century. Their virtues being then ascertained, a few years afterwards, in 1695, the Society of Merchant Adventurers of Bristol, (proprietors of the Manor of Clifton,) granted a lease to Sir Thomas Day, Knt. and others, who erected the HotWell-House, and other buildings, for the reception of company: since that period, the repute of the spring has greatly increased; although as a fashionable resort it has, it is believed, of late years been on the decline. Two stanzas by the Rev. W. L. Bowles will appropriately close this short notice.

"How beauteons the pale rocks above the shore
Uplift their bleak and turrow'd aspect high,!
How proudly desolate their foreheads, hoar,
That meet the earliest sunbeam of the sky.
Bound to yon dusky mart, with pennants gay,
The tall bark on the winding waters line,
Between the river cliffs plies her hard way,
And peering on the sight the white sails shine."

THE CROISSY YE W.*

FROM THE FRENCH.

"I will tell you, sir, why I come every evening to smoke my pipe under the Croissy yew.'

So begins the tale. In 1812, the narrator, who had escaped the conscription, by entering college, which he had since left, did not know what to do with himself. Meantime, he amused himself by climbing up in a huge yew tree, and casting his eyes over the surrounding country. One moonlight evening, when at his post, he overheard a conscript, who was bidding adieu to his sister and his betrothed. The latter wept, The more resolute sister said,

"Have you not got a colonel? him who enlisted you? Well go and find your colonel, throw yourself on your knees, and say, 'My lord, I don't want to go away-I don't want to be killed. There are my sister and a wife, who cannot live without me, and who are going to throw themselves into the river. Beat me, colonel, put me in prison, but don't make me go away! Long live the emperor! He's a noble fellow ! Let him leave me in peace, and go about his business! Colonel, I am a man and a free one, and I have no right to leave my sister Christine, who won't have me to quit her; and who will hate you, colonel, if you make me go off!'"

The Croissy Yew is a little tale, full of freshness and interest. We vill let our readers judge of it by an analysis, and some extracts. JUNE, 1840.

Q Q

The brother smiled at his sister's eagerness and told her he must have a substitute, and money to pay him.

"Well," said Christine, "I will give you everything I've got. My gold cross, my ear-rings, my silk neck-kerchief, my collerettes; in a word, all my trinkets, to him who will consent to go,"

All that does not amount to the price of a man," replied

Eugene.

Christine reflected awhile, and said, catching her brother's

arm,

"Well! I am well worth a man-worth more than a manoh, certainly I am! I will give myself, then. I will tell somebody or other, 'Go in my brother's place, then, and I will be your wife. You see I am pretty-a little spoiled, but what matters that? I will love you so, if you will save my bro. ther!' Oh, yes! I swear by the golden cross, in which is some of my mother's gray hair, I would willingly marry him who would devote himself to you."

At evening, as they were seated at their humble meal, without being able to touch it, and looking tearfully at each other, some one knocked at the door.

"Come in," said the young man, hastily drying his eyes. An old sergeant made his appearance saying,

"Health! Is the conscript Eugene Leven here?" "Yes sergeant."

"There," said the soldier, throwing a letter on the table. Eugene read slowly at first, but afterwards devoured the paper. It was his discharge in due form. He looked at the old soldier with astonishment.

It's a

"That means that your place is taken, conscript. pity, though; for your mustaches would have sprouted with a little gunpowder. But enough, you are happy now-farewell." And he was going away.

"Oh the devil!" said he, as he returned, "Christine Leven -is that your sister? Where is your sister?"

"Here," said Eugene, pointing to Christine, who was pale with joy and emotion.

"This one is for you, miss ;" and he threw a second letter on the table, but stopped short as he saw Christine trembling with agitation, crumpling the letter in her hands, and gazing fixedly on the table.

"What is the matter, what is the matter?" said Eugene. "Dear Christine, let us see that letter? Selfish being that I

am, I never thought of it. Let me see who dares to write to

you? What does all this mean?"

And he ran over the letter hastily.

66

Oh, read it aloud," said Christine, "it's the same to me! Good heavens! this is but just!"

Eugene read aloud.

"Miss-I ask nothing-I go away without making any terms-I take your brother's place; you need him, and no one needs me. But I am honest and love you, ever since I saw you weep. I send you a ring of my mother's. If you have pity upon me, you will take the golden cross, in which is some of your mother's grey hair, and which glitters on your neck in the moonlight, this evening you will place it in the crevice of the large yew tree, near the branches. I will get it to-morrow morning; then you will wait two years, and, if I am not dead, I will bring it back. Will you remember what you swore on that cross? Farewell."

"What does this mean?" said Eugene, slowly. "How could any one know? Sergeant, do you understand this?" "Some fellow on the look-out near you.'

"Why then did he not come to us frankly?" answered the young man. "What a way of obliging is this!"

"Ah," ," said the soldier," there's the thing! one's afraid of being treated as a spy; and then, when one is young, and timid, and all full of romantic sentiments, one knows how to write and is afraid to talk, for want of practice; that's it!" Eugene shook his head.

"Soldier!" cried he, "your hand! I will not have this substitute-my sister shall not be sacrificed-I will go with you. See!" And he took up his discharge, and prepared to tear it in pieces.

Christine stopped him.

"After all,

"But what if I want to have him?" said she. it's a fine action on his part. And then he goes without making any terms-and then he is unhappy-and then I have no other means of keeping you-and then I want to be in love with him! He did well, however, in not showing himself-one might have regretted him too much. I will take the crossbut I should like to know-sergeant, have you seen him?” "Yes, now and then."

"Well! he is not humped-backed, or bandy-legged, is he?"

"A good joke! Is the French army recruited with such

sort of stuff under the little corporal? Is it not composed of individuals irreproachable as to their persons, and no fools as to morality?"

"Is he a man of worth?" asked Eugene. "Very much so, I answer for it."

"Well, sir soldier,' said Christine, removing from her graceful neck the cross with the black riband which supported it; "tell him that he has done well; and place this cross in the hollow of the great yew; and then, say nothing more to him, but do not quit him, do you hear! and try to come back with him, to tell me, 'There he is, it is he himself, he is wrothy of you.'

Eugene and Louise looked on, without being able to speak. The grenadier rose, took off his cap, received the cross, wiped away a tear, and said "Enough!"

She

Christine turned to her brother and future sister. was no longer the same person. Her character had assumed a more serious hue. She told Louise," I, too, am betrothed; the pledge of my faith is in the hands of a soldier of the guards."

A year afterwards Eugene had to leave his home. The enemy was in France, and he would not have accepted a substitute now if he could have found one. At Montereau his life was saved by a lieutenant of carabineers. As this officer informed him that he had no family, Eugene invited him home to his own.

Charles, such was his name, soon won Christine's favour; but she had plighted her troth to her brother's substitute, and she was faithful to him. Then Charles handed her the golden cross, and told her that it was he, who, a poor collegian, ashamed of the noble action he was about to perform, went away without seeing her, and finally rose to the rank of lieute

nant.

"At present, sir," continued the narrator, "we are married. The sergeant died at Waterloo. Eugene and myself have prospered in the world; we live in that little red and white house you see yonder, and I go every evening to smoke my pipe under the Croissy yew."