our cradle upwards, had been indissolubly associated with a thousand vague traditionary tales of terror. A brief space, however, brought us to Clovenford, where John had arrived some time before, and where Ellen-one of those, who to more than woman's length, adds "more than woman's mildness”—welcomed us in with her kindest smiles. We" coost aff the wat, pat on the dry," and went-not to bed, as the fair but frail Countess of Cassillis directed Johnnie Faa, but to dinner. Clovenford is in its arrangements, what every country inn ought to be. The meat and drink are of the best, and in overflowing abundance and every thing is banged down on the table at once, without any order of place or succession. You may begin the pudding, and end with fish, (as we did,) and you see the cheese stand lovingly side by side with the soup tureen. This is the true welcome for famished sportsmen. Here close the adventures of the first day. "But there is matter for another tale, And I to this would add another rhyme." LITERARY CRITICISM. Writings of the Reverend and Learned John Wickliff, D.D. The first English Translator of the Holy Scriptures. (Vol. I. of the British Reformers, from Wickliff to Jewell.) London. Printed for the Religious Tract Society. 1831. ALTHOUGH this is, according to the natural arrangement, the commencement of the valuable selection from the writings of the British Reformers, at present publishing under the auspices of the Religious Tract Society, nine volumes of the work have appeared before it. The comparatively easy access to the writings of Tindal, Latimer, and others, rendered such an arrangement expedient. Two more volumes will appear in the course of the year, and complete the series. The publication is at once cheap and elegant; and the works which it embraces rank, in every point of view, among the most valuable monuments of our language. Trusting that an occasion may soon be offered us of leading our readers to cast a look backwards at the other fathers of our church, we confine our remarks at present to the first, the most daring, yet the most gentle of them all. Wickliff was born at a village of the same name near Richmond, in Yorkshire. His parents were respectable, and his relations possessed among them a considerable amount of property. He was destined for the church, and entered, early in life, first at Queen's College, Oxford, from which he soon removed to Merton College. His studies seem to have been confined in a great measure to such branches of science as had a direct bearing upon his profession. He was a thorough master of the subtle scholastic fence of his day, and deeply read in the writings of the Fathers, of whom St Augustine seems to have been his especial favourite. He was chosen Warden of Baliol College in 1361. In the same year he was presented to the living of Fellingham. In 1365, he was appointed Warden of Canterbury Hall. In 1373, he was admitted to the degree of Doctor in Divinity. The king presented him, in 1375, to a prebend in the collegiate church of Westbury, and shortly after to the rectory of Lutterworth, in Leicestershire. In 1382, he was expelled from Oxford, but none of his livings seem to have been taken from him. On the 31st of December, 1384, he died of a paralytic affection at his cure of Lutterworth. We have been thus minute in tracing the progress of the Reformer's worldly fortunes, for an important reason. It appears from our recapitulation, that Wickliff was in easy circumstances, as far as wealth is concerned, during his whole life. His ambition to be distinguished in his profession, if he had any, must also have been amply gratified. He was a dignified clergyman, and the highest | honour of learning-conferred then with even a more sparing hand than at present, by the learned body to which he belonged-had been awarded to him. The hackneyed objection, therefore, to all who stir first in a good cause, cannot be urged against him. He was not goaded on by any unsatisfied craving after notoriety, or desperate desire to wring from unwilling hands a share of the world's wealth. His views were the fruit of calm, unimpassioned, and matured study. He was impelled to diffuse them by the love of truth alone. In our estimation, there is infinitely more grandeur about the character of Wickliff than of any other reformer. In the first place, he was the foremost in the cause. In the time of Luther, the world was prepared, by the sceptical spirit engendered by the study of classical literature, of which Erasmus is the first great exemplar, to hear the dominant superstition called in question. Light had already broken in upon Europe, and needed but to be directed to the proper place. The sympathies of thousands were with him of Wittenberg. The dry fuel was piled, and only awaited the torch. But Wickliff wanted the aid of a new and aspiring spirit of enquiry to make smooth his path before him; and, what is more, he stood alone in the world. Of all the ills which the great men who stride on before their age, till they are dwarfed in mockery-this is the most depressing. To have no one the distance, have to endure-calumny, persecution, to feel with us, to enter into our thoughts, to cling to us with a love based upon a thorough knowledge of our character, every one must feel would be a dreary doom. Yet this is the lot of all great reformers. And then there is added to this the natural misgivings of a mind which cannot support its convictions by the feeling that they are shared in by others, the restless fearful questioning, can that be true which has not entered into the thoughts of others to conceive?" Against these combined pressures had Wickliff to struggle, and he maintained the contest with a gentle firmness that more than realizes the description given by the Roman of his favourite sage. Wickliff, it is true, had a more inspiriting belief. "Humana ante oculos fœde cum vita jaceret There is an elegance and refinement at the same time about the mind of Wickliff, more akin to such men as Jewell and Hooker, than the rude but honest spirits to whom the office of pioneers in the work of mental illumination has in general been confided by Providence. Luther had a soul overflowing with love, but he was violent, daring, and reckless. When looking at his picture-the best is a full length, by Lucas Cranach, if we remember aright, in a chapel at Wittenberg-you see by his burly front, stout figure, and sturdy position-the feet somewhat apart-that he is a man to stand without flinching, with a world drawn up in battle-array against him, to speak his mind as plainly and freely to the emperor of the world as to the meanest peasant. Knox, again, was (with all deference to Dr M'Crie do we speak it) a man of iron. He was faithful and true as his Bible, but unfeeling as the paper upon which its characters were stamped. Wickliff's soul was cast in a finer mould. His language is a little more antiquated than that of Chaucer, and he contests with the poet the honour of being the first writer of English prose. His style is terse, unornamented, and full. His mind is capable of soaring to the heights of Platonic reverie, but with a constant and healthy reference to the duties of life. There is an un ter, he is every way worthy to hold a place beside his great contemporary. affected kindness in all his expressions. We not unfre- "And also let each woman beware, that neither by quently stumble upon passages which evince a quick eye countenance, nor by array of body, nor of head, she stir any to covet her to sin. Not crooking* her hair, neither laying to the peculiarities of form and dress which surrounded him. it up on high, nor the head arrayed about with gold and In short, taking him merely as a literary charac-precious stones, not seeking curious clothing, nor of nice shape, showing herself to be seemly to fools. For all such array of women, St Peter and St Paul, by the Holy Ghost's teaching, openly forbid. But let them be in clothing of shamefacedness and soberness; being subject to their husbands, after the rule of reason, as St Peter and St Paul teach; that they who believe not God's word be won to health, beholding in awe the holy and chaste conversation of women. Thus in old time good women and holy, believing in God, adorned themselves, as St Peter saith." Wickliff's views of the duty and pleasure of religious contemplation, seem to unite to the amiability of Fénélon, a manlier tone of mind. The following passage will serve, we think, to corroborate this opinion: "Contemplative life hath two parts; the lower consists in meditation, or thinking of Holy Scripture, and in other sweet thoughts of Jesus, and in sweetness of prayers. The higher part is in beholding of heavenly things, having the eye of the heart among the heavenly citizens, thinking on God, the beauty of angels, and holy souls. Contemplation is a wonderful joy in God's love, which joy is a loving of God that cannot be told. And that wonderful love is in the soul, and for abundance of joy and sweetness it ascends into the mouth; so that heart, tongue, body, and soul, joy together in God. "This gladness God sendeth into the soul that he chooseth to this life. When a man hath long practised good doing, and sweetness of prayer, and is wont to feel compunction, and to be free from occupations of this world, and hath learned to occupy the eye of the soul alone in the love of God, and hath begun in desiring earnestly a foretaste, yea, in this life the joy of everlasting bliss which he shall take in the life to come. Truly that soul which is called and chosen of God to this life, God first inspireth to forsake the world in will, and all the vanity and coveting and lusts thereof. After that, He leadeth him alone, all troubles and worldly company being forsaken, and speaketh to his heart; and as the prophet saith, He giveth him to taste the sweetness of beginning of love, and turneth his will to holy prayers, and sweet meditations; putting out of the heart idle thoughts and all vanities, setting it to think on him and heavenly things. Then He openeth to the eye of such a soul the gate of heaven, so that the same eye looketh into heaven, and then the fire of love enlighteneth his heart, and burning therein maketh it clean of all earthly filth; and so, thenceforward, he is contemplative, and filled with love of a sight which he saw in heaven with the spiritual eye of his soul. But no man hath perfect sight of heaven while he liveth here, in the body; but he that endeth in this love, as soon as he dieth, is brought before God with companies of angels, and seeth him face to face, and dwelleth with him without end." But this tendency towards a mystical piety was tempered by a clear and sagacious understanding. He thus speaks, in another part of his writings, of those who affected to devote their whole life to devotional reveries. "But hypocrites allege from the Gospel, that Mary chose to herself the best part when she sat beside Christ's feet, and heard his word. Truth it is that meck sitting, and devout hearing of Christ's word, was best for Mary; for she had not the duty of preaching as priests have, since she was a woman that had not authority of God's law to teach and preach openly. But what is this to priests who have the express commandment of God and men to preach the Gospel? whereas they would all be women in idleness, and follow not Jesus Christ in life and preaching of the Gospel, which he himself commandeth both in the old law and the new. "Also, this peaceable hearing of Christ's word, and the burning love that Mary had, was the best part, for it shall end in living in godly life in this world. But in this life, the best life for priests is holy life, in keeping God's commands, and true preaching of the Gospel, as Christ did, and charged all his priests to do. And these hypocrites suppose that their dreams and fantasies are contemplation, and that preaching of the Gospel is active life, and so they mean that Christ took the worst life for this world, and required all his priests to leave the better, and take the worst life! Thus these foolish hypocrites put error upon Jesus Christ, but who are greater heretics?" A short passage in his Commentary upon the Ten Commandments will show the grounds upon which we attribute to him a sharp eye to outward demeanour and peculiarities. In the midst of a moral exhortation he manages, by a few bold touches, to give us a picture of the fashionable head-dress of his day: The whole of Wickliff's life was in harmony with the grandeur of his sentiments and opinions. He escaped the stake, but that doom seemed constantly impending over him. The tranquillity of his deportment amid all his trials, is truly sublime. The history of one of his appearances before his bishop is interesting, from the contrast between his meek bearing and the fiery turbu lent zeal of his noble converts: "When the day assigned to the said Wickliff to appear was come, which day was Thursday, the 19th of February, John Wickliff went, accompanied with the Duke of Lancaster, also four friars appointed by the duke, the better to ensure Wickliff's safety, and Lord Henry Percy, Lord Marshal of England; Lord Percy going before to make room and way where Wickliff should come. "Thus Wickliff, through the providence of God, being sufficiently guarded, was coming to the place where the bishops sat. By the way, they animated and exhorted him not to fear, nor shrink a whit at the company of the bishops there present, who were all unlearned, said they, in respect of him,-for so proceed the words of my author, whom I follow in this narration; neither should he dread the concourse of the people, whom they would themselves assist and defend, in such sort that he should take no harm. With these words, and with the assistance of the nobles, Wickliff, encouraged in heart, approached the church of St Paul, where a main press of people was gathered to hear what should be said and done. Such was the throng of the multitude, that the lords, for all the puissance of the high marshal, scarcely, with great difficulty, could get way through. Insomuch that Courtney, Bishop of London, seeing the stir which the lord marshal kept in the church among the people, speaking to the Lord Percy, said, 'That if he had known before what masteries he would have kept in the church, he would have stopped him out from coming there.' At which words of the bishop, the duke, disdaining not a little, answered the bishop again, That he would keep such mastery there, though he said, Nay.' "At last, after much wrangling, they pierced through, and came to our Lady's chapel, where the dukes and barons were sitting together with the archbishops and bishops, before whom John Wickliff stood, to know what should be laid unto him. To whom first spake the Lord Percy, bidding him to sit down, saying, that he had many things to answer to, and therefore had need of some softer seat.' But the Bishop of London, cast eftsoons into a fumish chafe with those words, said, He should not sit there. Neither was it,' said he, according to law or reason, that he, who was cited there to appear to answer before his ordinary, should sit down during the time of his answer, but he should stand.' Upon these words, a fire began to heat and kindle between them. Insomuch that they began so to rate and revile one the other, that the whole multitude, therewith disquieted, began to be set on a hurry. 6 "Then the duke, taking the Lord Percy's part, with hasty words began also to take up the bishop. To whom the bishop again, nothing inferior in reproachful checks and rebukes, did render and requite not only to him as good as he brought; but also did so far excel him in this railing art of scolding, that, to use the words of mine author, the duke blushed, and was ashamed, because he could not overpass the bishop in brawling and railing. He therefore fell to plain threatening, menacing the bishop, that he would bring down the pride not only of him, but also of all the prelacy of England. Speaking moreover unto him; Thou, shall not be able to help thee; they shall have enough to said he, bearest thyself so brag upon thy parents, which * Curling. do to help themselves. His parents were the Earl and Countess of Devonshire. To whom the bishop again answered, that to be bold to tell truth, his confidence was not in his parents, nor in any man else, but only in God in whom he trusted. Then the duke softly whispering in the ear of him next by him, said, that he would rather pluck the bishop by the hair of his head out of the church, than he would take this at his hand. This was not spoken so secretly but that the Londoners overheard him. Whereupon, being set in rage, they cried out, saying, that they would not suffer their bishop so contemptuously to be abused, but rather they would lose their lives, than that he should be so drawn out by the hair. Thus the council being broken with scolding and brawling for that day, was dissolved before nine of the clock." In conclusion, we have only to repeat that "the British Reformers" is a publication eminently worthy of public attention. lose their hearts to Ina, Guthrum's daughter; but she, at once perceiving the superior merit of Oswith, surrenders her affections exclusively to him. At her intercession he is saved from death, to which her father, Guthrum, a warmhearted but passionate old warrior, had condemned him. In the developement of these incidents, which occupy the first act, there is much spirited and powerful writing. Oswith had been taken prisoner in endeavouring to save the life of a friend. He is brought before Guthrum, who thus questions him : Guth. Is he thy friend, whose life Thou count'st a thing so precious, thou would'st give Os. He is. Guth. What rich And heavy debt hast thou incurr'd to him, Os. And think'st thou friendship barters kindnesses? Alfred the Great; or, The Patriot King. By James She-In stead, that I go bound for him, or take ridan Knowles, Author of " Virginius," &c. London. J. Ridgway. 8vo. 1831. We have much pleasure in announcing the entire success of this new play from the pen of the author of “ Virginius." We are assured by a gentleman who was present on the occasion, that no tragedy could possibly have been received more triumphantly. At the conclusion of every Act, there was not only long and continued applause, but the waving of hats and handkerchiefs was general throughout the house. No doubt the circumstance of his Majesty having given his express permission that the play should be dedicated to him, and the many noble and patriotic sentiments put into the mouths of the different dramatis persona, which the audience chose to apply to the present crisis of affairs, contributed somewhat to increase their enthusiasm. But having impartially perused the drama in our own closet, we can confidently state, that it is entitled and destined to maintain its popularity, long after these adventitious and momentary causes of success have passed away. It abounds in well-drawn characters, vigorous diction, and powerful situations. Alfred is, of course, the person upon whom the interest principally rests; and we understand that Macready never appeared to greater advantage than in this part. Macready had already, to a great extent, linked his name with that of Knowles, and now the union is closer than ever. We have always entertained a high respect for Macready's talents; but his conduct in regard to his friend Knowles has been, from first to last, honourable in no common degree, and worthy of being held up as an example to all his brother performers. Macready is the pilot who has safely guided Knowles through all the dangerous navigation of green-rooms, and the tumultuous currents of contending theatrical interests behind the curtain. who know how many an author has suffered shipwreck in these dangerous latitudes, will be best able to appreciate the services of one so deservedly high in his profession as Macready. We are aware that they could not be felt and acknowledged more warmly by any one than by him on whom they have been bestowed. If Macready stands by Knowles, Knowles does not fail to stand by him, in every sense of the word. He is the only dramatic author of the day capable of producing a tragedy worthy of the better times of the British stage. We shall not, however, detain our readers any longer from a short analysis of the play before us, which, as we dislike the mechanical labour of giving an abstract of a plot, we willingly borrow from the second number of the Englishman's Magazine. They "The drama opens in the Danish camp, at a period when Guthrum, the Danish king, appears to have entirely dispersed and subdued the friends of Alfred, and remains master of the country. Among the prisoners, taken in the last battle, are Oswith and Edric, two young Saxons; but of very different dispositions, the former being brave and generous, the latter selfish and treacherous. They both His quarrel up! With friends, all services "The whole of the scene in which Ina intercedes for the life of Oswith, is exceedingly beautiful. We have room for only a part of it. Guth. Come, Ina, name Ina. When thou art happy, what Guth. That happiness may last. Ina. No, no! not that. Thou wishest others happy. Ina. And so do I. When I That live and move alone, but even such Guth. He lives!- My child! Ina. How near-how near to you "The second act introduces us to Elswith, the queen, Alfred's wife, whose castle, having been sacked in Alfred's absence, she has been obliged to wander in disguise and in much misery through the country, ignorant alike of the fate both of her husband and her son, the youthful Ethelred, whom she believes to have perished in the ruins of her castle. One faithful follower still remains with her, but although Elswith has been rendered reckless and almost maddened by despair, the strength of both seems to be fast giving way. The scene changes to the interior of Maude's cottage, where we find Alfred and Maude, and are presented with a spirited version of the old traditional anecdote, so dear to the memories of the people of England, which represents the monarch forgetting, in the mournful interest of his own thoughts, the good woman's cakes till they are burned to cinders. A party of soldiers arrive at the cottage, from whom Alfred gathers, before he discovers himself, that his friends are again collecting, and that some of them are now in the neighbourhood. The conversat is interrupted by the intelligence that a party of Danish troops is at hand. The English soldiers are about to fly, when Alfred puts himself at their head, and, making himself known to them, leads them out to encounter the enemy. The Danes are repulsed, and more Saxon chiefs, with their followers, gather round Alfred's standard. In the third act we again return to the Danish camp, where Alfred makes his appearance in the disguise of a bard, with the view of ascertaining the discipline of the Danish army. He is introduced to Guthrum, who is pleased with his manly and dignified bearing, and requests his advice in adjusting the rival claims of Oswith and Edric for his daughter's hand, the former being favoured by the lady, and the latter by her father, in consequence of some services he had rendered, which proved him ready to act the traitor towards his native country. Alfred proposes that the rivals should decide the strife by a trial of skill with the sword; 'Who masters first his adversary's sword, And yet not sheds his blood, be his the maid.' The suggestion is adopted, and Oswith is victorious; but not before Edric has seen cause to suspect that the pretended bard is not what he appears to be, and expressed his determination to discover who he really is before he allows him to quit the camp. The fourth act is, on the whole, the best: it is full of a highly-sustained interest. The scene is in Guthrum's tent, where a banquet is celebrated, at which Alfred and his follower, Edwy, are called upon for a specimen of their art. This they gave in the shape of a fine warlike ballad, Alfred playing while Edwy sings. At its conclusion, Elswith, who had been attracted from without by the well-known melody, enters pale, emaciated, and in wretched attire. Alfred recognises his queen, but dares not acknowledge her. Edric, however, begins to suspect that there is an understanding between them. Meantime, Ethelred, Alfred's child, who had been carried off by the Danes, but was carefully cherished by Ina, is brought in. His wretched mother recognises him, and clasps him to her bosom. She thus discovers herself to be the queen; but her appearance is such that Guthrum still has doubts. What follows, the author must tell in his own way: we know of few plays from which we could extract a more vigorous and highly-wrought passage: Guth. If the child is thine, Thou'lt know where it was found. Els. Too well I know! Both when and where! A castle did ye sack, At night the cry arose, The Dane!' The Dane!" And then the bursting gate-the clash of arms! The shout-the yell-the shriek-the groan which rage, And cruelty, and fear, and pain supply, To make the concert fell of savage war! That mother's care too safe had lodged her child In the remotest chamber of the whole. The Dane!' [Sinks exhausted upon a seat, clasping her forehead. GUTHRUM and EDRIC whisper. Els. Alas! they give not credence to my words! Will no one plead for me? My countryman, Essay your art! Hast not some melting strain?Such as draw tears whether they will or not? As moves.-(Recognising Alfred.) I've found him! Edr. (coming forward.) "Whom? Whom hast thou found? Els. (recollecting herself.) My boy! Edr. (aside.) I thought she meant the minstrel. She knows me, and I am a husband still! I am a father, and a husband still! I dare not touch it! Better were it far But first true answer to our question give. Alf. Guthrum, to the test I put Guth. Ay, by Odin. Els. Wouldst thou not take a ransom for us? Els. What ransom wilt thou take? Els. Alas! he will not ransom us with that! Alf. He wears it for his people. Guth. Minstrel, thou rav'st! He has not nature, who, 'gainst nature's law, Alf. He may have more! for thee Many, and many a day! Now fear'd thee dead! Yet 'twas not hunger brought me here, but thou, Alf. So were I found, Went I not instant hence. Look in my eyes, In nature's undissembling language vouch'd! Els, Well! Alf. Paramount of all, My public function! Husband-father-friend All titles, and all ties are merged in that! I leave thee to return to thee. Return, And soon I come! So cheer thy heart with hope! Els. (aloud.) You'll bear my duty to my lord. Els. Your hand that you will keep your word. Els. Be thy hand my missive! Thus- "As Alfred is about to depart, Edric stops him, and all would have been lost had it not been for the interference of Oswith, who knows the king, and hurries him off. Edric declares that it is Alfred; Guthrum instantly sends in pursuit of him; but Oswith fights till he is overpowered, while Alfred effects his escape. Guthrum, enraged beyond endurance, orders Oswith to be given immediately as a sacrifice to Odin,—an order which almost deprives Ina of her senses. The fourth Act here concludes." pleasure. We are much tempted to make an extract or two from them, but cannot find any whose dimensions will suit our columns. In this dilemma, we shall present our readers with the following touching delineation, by Macfarlane, of the misery of a Greek father, on the loss of an only child through Turkish barbarity: "On a day, fatal for us, an affray took place in our village, (Aya-Paraskevis, inhabited solely by Greeks,) in which a Turk of some consequence was killed, and two of his attendants wounded. I was absent at the time, shooting partridges with my wife's brother, on the hill of Alacchitta, but when I arrived and heard the fact, I trembled at the certain consequences. It was true the Turk had been killed in an attempt to commit the grossest injury upon a beautiful Greek girl of the village, by her relations, and a young man her lover; and that they who had done the deed, and she who had been the innocent cause, had prudently taken flight. But 1 too well knew the vindictive spirit of the Turks, the comprehensiveness of Turkish justice, its eagerness on every occasion to effect an avaniah, to drain money right or wrong, and to use the advantages of force to the utmost extent. The most, however, that I and my wife apprehended, (and that to us, blind, avaricious fools that comparative wealth, should be obliged to contribute largely we were! seemed a mighty evil,) was, that we, from our to the fine to be imposed on the village, for a transaction in which we had no more to do than if we had been living in the sultan's palace at Stamboul.-Oh, God! this would have been nothing-nothing! "At a late hour in the evening, a numerous body of furious Turks rushed into the village, discharging their firearms in all directions, as is their wont. A pistol-ball penetrated through one of my slight shutters, and struck my Helenizza! my lovely-my innocent-my happy child who, scarcely comprehending the alarm of her parents, had One shrill fallen quietly asleep on a sofa by the window. shriek, which still rings in my ears, and turns my blood to The opening of the fifth act is very fine. We regret that we cannot give the scene. It is laid in Ina's tent, and exhibits Guthrum's remorse and Ina's delirious misery in very beautiful colours, ending with a declaration on the part of the latter, that her lover shall not die alone. The catastrophe is soon told. Alfred rejoins his friends, who only wait for him to lead them against the Danes. ice, warned us of our unutterable woe! She threw herself In the last scene, as Oswith is about to be sacrificed to off the sofa towards me, and expired at my feet. Oh, sir, Odin, and Ina prepares to die along with him, the Eng-you have never known what is pain if you have not felt the lish, headed by Alfred, rush in; the Danes are defeated, agony, the madness of a fond father! What happened Guthrum disarmed, but spared, and Oswith and Ina around us for some time I have no idea, and, had it not made happy. The play concludes with the institution been for the care of our servant and a friend or two who of the Trial by Jury, and a dignified speech by Alfred, ran into our apartment, we should have expired, lying in a style worthy of the subject. prostrate by the side of our child, in the flames that had the fugitives that the Turks had set fire to. already reached our house from the deserted residence of Mr Knowles has gained new laurels by this production. It takes its place at once beside his " Virginius" and "William Tell," and is in some respects superior to either of them. It is announced, we perceive, for every evening at Drury Lane; and such is the enthusiasm it has excited, that it will, no doubt, continue to run the whole season. "When made sensible, I took my darling in my arms, and we went into the garden behind the house; there, on the bare ground, with the cold, pallid, blood-stained corpse on my knees, I sat in mute despair, heedless of the destruction of my property, and of all the horrors committing in the village. Thus passed the night. When the morning dawned, the hour at which, in my happy days, I had been accustomed to arise, and, ere repairing to the business of the day, to kiss my sweet little slumberer-heaven and The Sisters' Budget; a Collection of Original Tales in earth! what a scene did its hateful light disclose! Could Prose and Verse. By the Authors of the "Odd Vo- it, indeed, be she? my rose, my brilliant floweret-my darlumes." With Contributions from Mrs Hemans, Missling-late so full of life, and now colourless, inanimate as the marble of the fountain! was it possible? Could a Mitford, Mrs Hodson, Mrs Kennedy, Miss Jewsbury, morsel of dull lead, scarcely larger than the black pupil of Mr Macfarlane, Mr Kennedy, Mr H. G. Bell, Mr her eye, work such a change as this? Could the art of man Malcolm, and some others. London. Whittaker and do so much and so soon? But it was even so-she was Co. 2 vols. 8vo. 1831. dead-dead! and the blood that stained my hands, my face, my bosom, was her life's blood. My brain was bewildered; and when my friends consolingly said, Helenizza would be a saint in Heaven, I could not comprehend how her pure, holy spirit could be severed or separated from the pure, angelic form I still clasped in my arms. inform me of the aga's will, and of the sum I was expected In the course of the morning some neighbours came to to contribute: for even the Turks had not heart to face the THERE is both variety and amusement in these two volumes; and for these excellent qualities they are mainly indebted to the exertions of the fair sisters, whose lucubrations occupy at least four-fifths of the work. As for their contributors, with the exception of Mr Macfarlane --an excellent tale from whose pen opens the first volame-we must say they have scarcely done their duty. They have sent for the most part only scraps, or what our worthy old housekeeper would call "odds and ends." Whatever praise the work deserves is due almost exclusively to the Misses Corbett. Their translations from the Danish and German are good and interesting; but their Scotch tales of "Muirside Maggie," "Lochair Moss," ," "The Judge and the Freebooter," and the "Mil-wife, and myself) to a neighbour's house, ours being a heap ler of Calder," are entitled to still higher commendation. They are true to nature, and contain many scenes of natural pathos or humour, which cannot be read without wretchedness they had made. I took the money from my casket, which the attention of my servant or friends (and none of mine) had rescued from the fire, and mechanically counted out the pieces. It was a heavy sum, but it cost me not a thought; I could have thrown all that was left to me at my oppressors' feet with the same indifference. "We were carried (the remains of my Helenizza, my of ruins. The women engaged themselves in preparations for the funeral, and at the evening hour, borne down with grief, I staggered after the flower-covered corpse of my child to the grave. As she lay extended on her little bier, by the |