It is needless to say more, than that Sweyn no longer refused the lovely Ella to him who had claimed her hand in so lowly a guise. They were united; and when, at the death of Lud Hudibras, his son ascended the throne, he forgot not the scene of his wonderful cure. He erected a palace at Caerbran (so called from the baths of the pigs), and resided there many years with his lovely queen. He built a home for her father beside his own, and laid yearly offerings on the altar of the Druid priest. He is said to have been one of the most learned men of his age; and he loaded with favours the bard who sang of his home before the exiled prince.

We will conclude by remarking that the City of Bath was reared on the spot where Caerbran stood, and over the mineral spring which had effected the cure of the Leprous Prince.

M.

THE WIFE TO HER DYING HUSBAND.

I HAVE loved thee in thy beauty-thy glory, and thy power,
And shall I now desert thee, in thy sorrow-stricken hour?
There is no hand save mine, to wipe the death-damps from thy brow,
Oh! false as thou hast been to me, I will not leave thee now.

Thy friends and boon companions, the gallant and the gay,
Thy lovely and beloved ones-look round thee, where are they?
No trusted friend is near thee now, no gentle love appears,

To hang o'er thy death-swimming eyes, and bathe them with her tears.

And I alone return at last, my right in thee to claim,

I, with my sad and broken heart, my blighted hopes and name;
I, with my love, which, strong as death, alike in good and ill,
Hath clung to thee in scorn and shame, unchanged, unchanging still.

But I come not to reproach thee (ah! would I came to save),

I can but smooth the rugged path that leads thee to thy grave;
But sit for ever at thy feet, weeping in hopeless woe,
Ah, best beloved! would for thee, my own heart's-blood might flow.

I have loved thee in thy glory-thy beauty, and thy power,
And I will not now desert thee, in thy sorrow-stricken hour;
There is no hand save mine, to wipe the death-damps from thy brow,
Oh! dearest to my heart and soul! I will not leave thee now.

E. S.

ANTHONY FORSTER.

A BORDER STORY.

BY R. BERNAL, M. P.

THE winter of the year 1569-70 set in with more than ordinary severity; and in the North of England, its extreme rigour added to the sufferings, to which, a large portion of the inhabitants were, from circumstances, then subject. In the counties of Durham, Cumberland, and Northumberland, a feeling of restlessness, and a spirit of dissatisfaction with the government of the day, had for some time prevailed. Men's minds had become unsettled; the usual occupations and employments of labour and industry were neglected, while poverty and crime were greatly increased. Rumours of meditated risings had long been rife. Attempts had been openly made to commit the Catholic party into a general and decided manifestation against the continuance of the establishment of the reformed religion. The powerful chiefs of the disaffected, the Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland, were at length, somewhat tardily engaged in an open demonstration of hostility against the rights and rule of Elizabeth. Taking the lead of a considerable body of insurgents, they marched to Durham and other important towns in the northern districts. Manifestoes were published, in which their real intentions were not altogether candidly announced, but in which, pretences of discontent with the evil counsellors of the queen, were joined to declarations of their own loyalty, and of their anxiety for the restoration of the old religion of the country. The issue of this ill-concerted insurrection is well known its

:

progress had been only distinguished by rashness and irresolution; and at the end of December, 1569, the forces of the Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland were dispersed without a blow, and the leaders themselves became fugitives in Scotland.

The usual results of the ambition and defection of the instigators of this miniature rebellion, were soon made painfully evident. Their defenceless and deserted adherents, on returning to their homes in the neighbouring towns and villages, were visited with all the unrelenting severities of martial law; while the property of those who had anything of importance to lose, was violently confiscated, or compulsorily compounded for.

Such had been the unhappy state of affairs in the border counties, when in a cheerless and bitter evening of the month of February, 1570, a small and wearied party of travellers, consisting of a lady and her two attendants, arrived at the hostelry of the Rose, in the city of Carlisle. It was with difficulty, that any temporary accommodation could be procured by them; for though the inn was spacious, and the landlord willing to do his best, yet the influx of guests had been previously great, owing to the weather, or other accidental causes. The kitchen, lodging-rooms, and even the passages were thronged by men who bore the appearance of persons belonging to a class partly rural and partly military. To them, the arrival of a youthful and very handsome female, in so inclement a season, was an object of eager and noisy curiosity; and it was by no means an easy matter for the lady to find a refuge from the gaze and comments of the lounging guests, in a small dark parlour, which John Harrison, the landlord of the Rose, preserved as his own peculiar domain. There, however, she was enabled to take some slight and hasty refreshment alone, whilst her attendants repaired to the

public room of the house-Harrison himself waiting upon his fair guest with ready and respectful attention.

The wind was roaring loudly through the dark and narrow streets of Carlisle, and the snow falling fast, when, as the shadows of evening gradually merged into the gloom of night, the lady and her servants, accompanied by a careful guide, provided by the kind landlord, left the inn, on horses also supplied by him, on the farther progress of their journey.

Many and various were, the remarks made, and the questions addressed to Master Harrison by his remaining guests, upon the singularity of a young lady of apparent condition, venturing to leave the hospitable shelter of the Rose at such an unwonted hour, and in so stormy a night. The disturbed state of the country, and her want of sufficient attendance in the way of protection, were pointedly observed upon. But to all these observations and inquiries, the landlord very quietly replied, that the lady was in haste to reach the abode of a near and dear relative, situate upon the border, who was then lying seriously ill.

In the meanwhile, our travellers had cleared the gates of Carlisle, taking the direction of the high road which led towards Scotland; when suddenly their guide, having ridden in front to some little distance, returned to them, and as silently as possible, conducted his charge down a narrow lane, branching off from the highway. No surprise was expressed by the lady or her servants, at the conduct of their guide; they followed his directions as well as they could, through the darkness of the night, and the blinding interruption of the unceasing snow-flakes. Their course now led over the difficult bridle-paths of an extensive wood, which, though stripped of its leafy covering, still presented abundant obstacles to the quick passage of the travellers. With very persevering exertion only, were they enabled to