The Montreal museum, or Journal of literature and arts, 1 août 1833, Août

THE MONTREAL MUSEUM.No.9.AUGUST, 1833.Vol.Ï.T-S Ht » the ROSE.(Concluded from page 513.) After their first embraces, he presented his young companion to his family ; a few words sufiiced to interest his mother and sisters deeply.Scarcely had Blanche manifested a desire to resume the dress of her own sex, before the young girls almost dnurged lier away, and were disputing as to who should have the pleasure of being her femme-de chambre.This conduct, simple as it may appear at the first thought, nevertheless acquired great value by the circumstances of the moment.Nantes was struggling under the proconsulate of % Carrier.f It is a strange spectacle for the eye and the mind to sec a thole town all blecdin" from the bites of one man.We ask whence arises that force which takes an absolute command over 80,000 individuals over whom it domineers, and how is it that when one alone says, I will, all the rest do not rise and say : His well !.but we will not.Ifis because there is a na- tural habit of servility in the soul of the mass of mankind, and that individuals alone have ardent desires for liberty.It is bet-cause the people, as Shakespeare says, know no other method 111 of rewarding Cæsar, than by making him Cæsar.This is why there is tyrants of liberty as well as tyrants of monarchy.So blood tlowcd in the streets of Nantes, and Carrier, who was to Robespierre what the hyena is to the tiger, and the jackall to the lion, gorged himself with the purest of this blood, until he 06 should be the unconscious means of causing his own lo be n1L* ed with it.Entiroly new means of massacreing were invented, the edo, of the guillotine is so soon blunted.He imagined the nouadfl (a new method of drowning,) the name of which is become in# pcrablc from his own ; bateaux were constructed purposely jj, t he port, the purpose of which was well known, people tlockc4 lo see them on the stocks.They were curious things and new these valves ; twenty feet in length which opened to precipitate to the bottom of the water, the unfortunates destined to that modcoi death, and on the day of their trial there were was almost as great a crowd of spectators on the beach as when a vessel is launched whose masts arc wreathed with flowers, and triumphant colour; hanging from all her yards.Oh ! thrice cursed be those men, who, like Carrier, have applied their imaginations to inventing variation for death, for ways of destroying man arc but too easy to man ! And cursed be those who, without theory, have committed unnecessary murders ! They arc the cause that our mothers pronounce the words revolution and republick with trembling ; synonymous lo them with the words massacre and destruction ; and our mothers who make us men, and at the age of fifteen, who among us, when coining from the hands of his mother, does not shudder at the words revolution and republick ?which among us has do! had all his education to go over again ere he could coolly look upon those figures which he had so.long regarded as fatal—93! To which among us has it not required all the strength of twenty-five years to look steadily on the three great collossus, ofthe rerevolution, Mirabeau, Danton, Robespierre?Rut finally we have become habituated to their sight, we have studied the ground on which they walked, the principle on which they acted and involuntarily have we recalled those terrible words ofanothei epoch : That each of them fell but because be wished to stop the cart, while the executioner had yet work to do; it was they who passed beyond the revolution, but the revolution passed beyond them.r-2 1 'sJ 3 Mr H Lei us return to Marceau and an entire family which his name protected against even Carrier himself.IIis \jas a reputation of republicanism so pure, that a suspicion had not dared to light on his mother or sisters.This is why one of them a young mr The words were scarcely pronounced, ere the two fiiends were again at full gallop on the road to Nantes.There was not a moment to lose, it was then towards the house occupied by Carrier himself, that the friends directed their course.When arrived there Marceau threw himself off his horse, and mechanically taking his pistols which were in the holster, hid them under his habit, and darted towards the apartment of him, who held Blanche’s destiny in his hands.His friend followed him more coolly ready however to defend him with his life if occasion presented, and that with as much carelessness as on the field of battle.But the deputy knew too well in what execration he was held, not to be mistrustful, and neither menaces nor entreaties could procure the General an interview Marceau descended more calmly than his friend expected k see him.lie seemed to have adopted a new plan which he V ¦ EfH •« • 'Mi By a l I '¦’* > I f.M m •* *3 m m was fast bringing to maturity, and there is no doubt, that his resolution was taken when he requested Dumas to go to the post-house, and return instantly to the prison door for him with horses and a carriage.The name and rank of Marceau opened the doors of the prison (o him ; he ordered the jailor to conduct him to the dungeon in which Blancho was confined.He hesitated a moment ; Marceau reiterated the order in a more imperative tone, and the man signed to him to follow.She is not alone, said he opening the low door of a dungeon, but she will soon be rid of her companion who is to be guillotined to-day.With these words he I closed the door, requesting Marceau to be as quick as possible, as lie might be compromised by this interview.Still dazzled by his sudden transition from day to night, Marceau extended his arms like a man dreaming, endeavouring in vain to articulate the name of Blanche ; he heard a cry : the young girl threw herself into his arms ; she had recognized him instantly : her sight was habituated to the darkness.She threw herself into his arms, for at that moment terror I caused her to forget age and sex ; the only question now, was of life and death.She clung to him as a shipwrecked wretch docs to a rock, with inarticulate sobs, and a convulsive pressure.-Ah ! you have not abandoned me then ! she exclaimed at length.They arrested me and dragged me hither, in the crowd that followed I perceived Tinguy ; I cried Marceau ! Marceau ! and he disappeared.Oh ! I was far from hoping to sec you again.But you are here.You are here-you will leave me no more.you will take me away, will you not ?.Say you will not leave me.-At the price of my blood, I would snatch you from hero this instant ; but.Oh ! but see, feel this wall from which the water drops, this infected straw ; you who are a General can you not.Blanche, this is what I can do ; knock at this door, blow out the brains of the jailor,drag you to the yard,cause you to breathe the air, see the skv once more, and allow myself to be killed in [ 528 J your defence ; but, when once 1 nrn dead, Blanche, they will bring you back here, and there will no longer exist a man on earth who can save you.-But can you do it, yourself ?-Perhaps.-Soon?-Two days, Blanche ; I ask of you two days.But in your turn answer me a question on which depends perhaps your life and mine.Answer a3 you would answer your God.Blanche, do you love me ?Is this a time or place for such a question ?do you think these walls are in the habit of hearing avowals of love ?-Yes, it is the time, for we are between life and the tomb, between existence and eternity.Blanche, hasten to answer: each instant steals from us a day ; each hour a year.Blanche, do you love me ?-Oh ! yes, yes.These words escaped from the heart of the young girl, who forgetting that her blushes could not be seen, hid her face on Marccau’s arm.-Well ! Blanche, then you must consent to many me instantly.The young girl’s whole frame quivered.-What can possibly be your designs ?-My desigu is to snatch you from death ; we shall sec if they dare send the wife of a republican General to the scaffold._ * Blanche, then understood all his design, and her love increas* j—— ed with redoubled force.She shuddered at the danger to which he exposed himself to save her ; but recalling her courage, it is impossible, she said firmly.Impossible ! cried Marceau ! impossible ! This is folly; and what obstacle can intervene between us and happiness, since you have just avowed that you love me ?Do you think this is play?But listen, listen, see death on the scaffold ! the executioner, the axe, the cart.-Oh ! pity ! pity ! this is frightful.But you, you, once your wife, if that title does not save me, it makes my late yours.\ ( 529 ) ——Then this is the motive that causes you to reject die only means that remain for saving your life ! Well then listen ! listen to me, Blanche ; for 1 too have avowals to make, on seeing you, I loved ; that love has become a passion, 1 live from if, as from my own breath, my existence is yours, my fate shall be yours ; happiness or the scaffold, I will share all with you, Ï leave you no more, no human power shall separate us ; or, J if I leave you, I have but to cry long live the King, that word will re-open your prison to me, and we shall leave it together.It will always be something gained, one night in confinement with you, a passage in the same cart, and death on the same scaffold.-Oh ! no, no, go ; leave me, in the name of heaven, 1 entreat you.-What me go ! Take care what you say or wish for, for if l do go hence without your having given me a right to defend you, 1 will go to your father, who weeps, and of whom you think not, and [ will tell him : Old man, thy daughter could have saved herself, but would not ; she willed that your last days should be spent in mourning.Weep, weep, old man, not that your daugh-tei is dead, but because she loved you not enougli to live.Marceau had repulsed Blanche, who had gone and fallen on her knees at a few paocs distance from him, and he paced the cell with clenched teeth and folden arms, uttering the laugh of an idiot or damned soul.He heard the sobs of Blanche, and his arms fell motionless by his side, his own tears started and he threw himself at her feet.-Oh ! in pity, by all that is sacred in this world, by your mother’s tomb, Blanche, Blanche, consent to become my wife : it must be, it is your duty.-“ Yes, it is your duty, young girl, interrupted a strango voice which caused them both to start and rise : it is your duty, for it is the only means of saving your life, that life which is scarcely commenced ; religion commands it, and I am ready to bless your union.” M arceau, astonished, turned, and recognized the Prient of [ 530 J « Saint Muric-de-llhé, who made a part of the assemblage he had attacked on the night that Blanche had become his prisoner.Oh ! lather, he exclaimed, seizing his hand and drawing him forward , Oh ! father, obtain her consent to live.-Blanche de Beaulieu, again said the Priest in a solemn tone, in the name of your father, whom my age and the friendship that united us, give me the right of representing, I adjure you to accede to the entreaties of this young man : for your father himself, if he was here, would approve of the act.Blanche seemed agitated by a thousand contrary emotions ; at length placing her hand in that of Marceau, she said : oh my friend, I have not strength to resist you any longer, Marceau, I love you ; I love you and am your wife.Their lips joined ; Marceau was at the height of joy.The voice of the priest soon roused him from his ecstasy.Hasten, my children, said lie, for my moments are numbered ; and if you delay longer, I can only bless you from the skies.The lovers started : that voice recalled them to earth ! Blanche cast a fearful look around.Oh ! my friend, said she, what a moment to unite our destinies ! what a temple for our hymen ! do you think that a union consecrated in these dark and gloomy vaults, can be fortunate and durable ?Marceau shuddered, for he tvas struck with a superstitious terror himself.lie drew Blanche to a part of the dungeon where the light penetrating through the crossed bars of a small airhole,rendered the darkness rather less profound ; there, both knelt and awaited the benediction of the priest.lie extended his arms and pronounced the sacred words.At the same instant, the sound of arms and soldiers was heard in the corridor.— Blanche threw herself, terrified, into Marceau’s arms.Can it be me they arc already come for ! she cried ; oh ! my friend how dreadful would be death at this moment ! The young General had thrown himself before the door, a pistol in each hand.The soldiers stepped back in astonishment, -Be not alarmed, said the priest, presenting himself, it is me they arc conic for, it is me who is to die. [ 531 î The soldiers surrounded him.Children, said he in a loud voice, addressing the bridal pair ; children, kneel ; for with one foot in the tomb I send you my last benediction, and the benediction of the dying is sacred.The soldiers, awe-struck, kept silence ; the priest had drawn a crucifix, which he had succeeding in concealing, from his bosom ; he stretched it towards heaven ; about to die himself, it was fur them he prayed.There was a moment of solemn silence in which all present believed in God :—Let us go said the priest.The soldiers closed around him, the door shut, and all disappeared like a nocturnal vision.Blanche clung to Marceau :—Oh ! if you leave me, and they come for me thus, if you arc not here to help me to pass that door, oh ! Marceau, do you figure to yourself, the scaffold, me ! at the scafiold, far from you, weeping and calling on you and receiving no answer ! oh ! do not go, do not go ! I will throw myself at their feet and tell them I am not guilty.I will tell them to leave me in prison all my life with you, that I will bless them.But if you go.Oh ! do not leave me.-Blanche, I am sure of saving you, I answer for your life ; in two days I will be back with your pardon, then it will not be a life of prison and in a dungeon, but of air and happiness, a life of liberty and love.The door opened and the jailor appeared.Blanche pressed Marceau more closely in her arms ; she would not let him depart and yet a moment was precious ; he gently unclasped her hands whose chain withheld him, and promised to return before the decline of the second day : Love me ever, he said darting from the dungeon.Ever, she said, falling back and pointing to the red rose in her hair.The door shut like the gate of hell.Marceau found Dumas at the jailor’s waiting for him ; ho asked for pen and ink.What are you about to do ?demanded his friend, alarmed at his agitation.Write to Carrier, ask for two days respite, and tell him that his life shall answer for that of Blanche. [ 5»2 j -Miserable man, cried Dumas, snatching the half written letter : you menace, and it is you who are in his power ; have you not disobeyed the order to join the army ?Do you think that if he once dreads you, his fears will even wait to find a plausible pretext?In less than an hour you would be arrested, and then what could you do for her or yourself?Depend upon it, your silence will perhaps cause him to forget, and his forgetfulness alone can save her.Marccau had lot his head drop on his hands ; lie seemed to reflect profoundly :—You arc right, he suddenly exclaimed, and rising, dragged his friend into the street.Some persons surrounded a post chaise.—If the weather was but hazy to-night, 1 know nothing to prevent about twenty good fellows from entering the town and rescuing the prisoners : Nantes is miserably guarded.Marccau started, turned and recognized Tinguy, cxcliangcd a look of intelligence with him, and threw himself into the carriage.Paris, said lie to the postillion, giving him gold ; and the horses set otf with the rapidity of lightning.Every where the same diligence was observed, overy where by the weight of gold, Marceau obtained promises that horses should be ready at his return the next day, and that no obstacle should retard his passage.It was during this journey that he learned that General Dumas had resigned his commission, demanding as an only favor to be received as a soldier in another army ; and he had consequently been placed at the disposition of the committee of Public Safety, and that he was going to Nantes at the time he met Marceau, on his route to Clisson.At eight o’clock in the evening, the carriage containing the two friends, entered the square of the Palais-Egalité.Marceau set out on foot for the rue Saint-Honoré, descended it and arrived at No.336, lie enquired for citizen Robespierre.-He is at the Théitire de la Nation, answered a young girl of about sixteen or eighteen ; but if you will return in two hours, citizen General, he will be back.-Robespierre at the Théâtre de la Nation ! Art thou not mistaken ?. ~—No, citizen.-Well ! I will go there, and if I do not find him, I wili come and wait for him here.My name is citizen General Marceau.The Theatre Français had just separated into two companies.Talma accompanied by the patriotic actors, had emigrated to the Odéon.It was there then that Marceau sought for Robespierre, surprised that the austere member of the Committee of public Safety should be gone to a theatre.The Death of Cœsar was the piece that was being performed.He entered the pit ; a young man offered him a place by himself on the first row ofbenchcs, which he accepted, hoping that lie would from there sec him he soughi for.The performance had not commenced, but a strange fermen-tation reigned throughout the audience ; smiles and signs were exchanged, originating, as from a kind of general quarter, a group placed near the orchestra, this group commanded the whole house, and one man commanded this group, it was Danton.Al his sides, speaking when he was silent, and silent when he spoke, were Camille Desmoulins, his seid ; Philippcaux, Hérault • de Scchclles and Lacroix his appostlcs.ft was the first time that Marceau had ever seen this Mirabeau of the people full in the face ; he would however have known him by his strong voice, his imperious manner and commanding air, even though his name has not been repeated several times by his friends.* 'v) ?; ‘m o » » • • ' * lady abbess, arrives ; her stately manners, her enlightened conversation/and a certain indescribable something that argued toleration of true love matters in her looks, won the heart of Juliet ; she related tbo romantic story of her affection for the nameless cavalier, and the abbess rewarded her confidence by revealing the secret of her faith—that though the abbess of a convent, shells in all respects a Protestant.These communications are made in rather an interesting way, but we suspect seme of our M * readers will prefer to hear the .conversation which passed among the nuns who accompanied the abbess, Olive, and one of the servants of the Count's household.“ She had every reason to believe that her kind attentions were not displeasing to any of the holy ladies, who not only partook * • ?\ freely of what she set before them, but entered with great affability into conversation with her.“ ‘ It is really a pity,’ said the venerable sister Martha, sipping the cup which 0 ivo had presented to her, from the cheering composition on the lamp, ‘It is indeed, a pity and a sorrow that such a sightly damsel as you are, should be affronted every day you live, by having the bold ryes of ungodly men cast upon you.—Ilow well she would look in a bandeau and hood, sister Clara, wouldn't she ?’ “ ‘ She would he a perfect picture,’ replied the nun she addressed ; there is certainly no headgear in all Italy, that sets off fine eyes, like the bandeau of the V> hite Dominicans.’ “ ‘ But perhaps, daughter,’ observed another, ‘ you may have formed some earthly attachment, that would make it inconvenient for you 10 become the spouse of Christ V “ ‘ Vou need not be affraid to speak before sister Martha,’ «aid a third ; she is very good natured.Gome tell us all your history—-will you V “ Olive, who perhaps had some doubts whether her own history would be sufficiently cdifyiug for so select an audience, varied the subject by saying, ?Oh, dear ladies i if you like to hear •tones of true loyc, you ought to be told that which belongs, as 1 [ 544 ] may say, to this very castle, where you now are ; and 1 only wish that I could tell it to you as beautifully as Father Lawrence told it to me—! am right sure it would draw tears from your holy eyes.’ “ ‘ Nay, good daughter, let us hear you tell it,’ said sister Martha.• ‘I do not think any one could tell it better,’ said sister Beatrice.“‘lam sure Ï would rather hear you than any body’ said sister Joanna.“ ‘ Now, pray begin—pray do, Signora, said sister Clara.” The good abbess is gentle, accommodatin g,and kind ; she encourages her niece in her love affair ; accompanies her to an interview with her admirer on the sea shore ; arranges futuro meetings, and to secure Juliet from all machinations, carries her to the convent, and acquaints her with the secrets and intrigues of the place.Thither the young lady is followed by one of those fairy pages a child in size, but a man, and more, in acuteness of intellect and ready activity of fancy,whom we ncvei meet with in life, but often find in the pages of romance, where they solve all difficulties and unriddle all mysteries.This little hero, Morgantc by name, was found one evening by Count Albano in his chapel, and his confessor had the address to pass him off as something dropt from above ; when he grew up, he bestowed his whole regard on Juliet, and all his mischief (and it was not little) on the confessor and the domestics.As his character is naturally drawn, we must give our readers a glimpse of him.“ * The Virgin and all her holy company be praised, Signora ! I thought, for certain, they had locked you up in your cell ; and I meant to climb that high wall there, and clamber up to all the windows, one after another, till I found you out.—What a bcautij ful garden you have got here ! and all the ladies are they the nuns they sent us to Albano.—I suppose, ma’am, (addressing Mar- I 545 ] relia) that ycu would not trust these young ones out, for fear they should never come back.Well—I am sure, they all look as merry as Olive herself.May i come and walk in the garden with you, Signora, whenever I like !’ “ ‘You don’t know wha* you are talking about, my darling’, said old Marcella ;—’we should soon have a visit from my lord Abbot, just to ask what was the matter with us, if that were granted, I take it.-No, no, my man, you must run about outside (he walls, when you want exercise.We don’t want to make a nun of you, you know—but for the garden—no.’ “ Morgantc looked at the novices, and they all laughed.Away with you, my man, said Marcella’giving him a gentle push,—‘ away with you, I say ; your eyes are older than your stature.I must have no looking and laughing among my young ladies here.Como along, master Page, come along.’ ** May I not speak one word to my lady mistress V said Mor-gante.“ ‘ Well then, make baste—speak away; and have done.’ “ * Are you happy, Signora V said the boy in a low whisper ; but Juliet discreetly answered him aloud.“ ‘ Yes, Morgantc, very happy.And pray how do you like the convent l I hope you arc very well behaved and orderly V “ ‘ Why, as for my liking the convent, Signora, I shall find no fault with it, provided we do not stay too long—and, as for my behaviour, I suppose it is as it should he, because more old ladies than i ever saw in my life before, have done nothing but pat my head, and call me dear and darling, ever since I arrived.’ “ The novices again laughed aloud at this sully.“ ‘ Come along, you little imp you,’ said the mother, seizing him by the shoulder, * they shall none of them call you so again, l promise ye.’ “ The boy could not resist his inclination to laugh, though it appeared as if Marcella shook him not very gently as she led him awsv. 44 4 [ .549 ] • • Cross old plague !’ cried one of the young ladies, who felt fY disposed to forgive the diminutive size of the page, in favor of • • his sauciness, ^ • • “ * Cross old plague ! J perfectly hate her.’ ” The following scene acquaints us with some .of the pleasures .of a convent : it is graphic.The next morning, sister Agatha came to the cell of Juliet, and told her that the lady Abbess .waited breakfast for her.She Was quite ready, and, with spirits recruited by a night of sound sleep, and a morning of bright sunshine., walked gaily through the long corridors with her gentle companion.# ‘ Have you rested well, Signora?’ said the nun.‘ ‘ Never better, dear sister : .your convent is delightful.— •VV'hat a garden ! what dowers !’ “ ‘ Our convent is the richest in the Duchy ; and our ladies are most of them noble.’ “ Indeed !—and so numerous too.’ “ 4 Our convent has more cells than any other in Italy.’ 444 And ufe they all so comfortable as mine V “ 4 All exactly alike ; excepting that some of the sisters have images and relics of their own.’ 44 * And die air is jso fine here ;»-I think the convent must be * 9 » I * I be liny.ç so.—Our chapel has the heayiest gojden candlesticks of any chapel in the state .of the church, out of Rome.” “ * Really !—and all the rooms and passages are so lofty, and so well airod.’ 44 ‘ Yes.—We have three images of the Virgin in solid silver, beside our Sant’ Catheriuu and that is silver gilt.’ 44 4 >You don’t say so ?—In the convent where! was educated, our refectory was not half so large and well lighted as yours.’ 44 4 I dare say it was not.—Our convent has the largest piece of the real cross ia the state ; and it is the only relic in Italy» [ 5*7 J that has got diamonds round the lock and handle of the coffer in which it is kept/ “ ‘ Altogether your convent seems to be very superior/ “ ‘ It is the first in Italy/ “ ‘ You must feel very happy in belonging toit/ • • “ ‘ Yes, very.—Only the years seem so long !’ ” * * A We had marked sundry convent scenes, of a sterner cfiarac-ter than this, for quotation, and also a portion of the trial in (ho Inquisition, but our limits forbid such indulgence.We have not, indeed, the whole of the work before us.The Abbess arid V k * Juliet and Lord Hubert arc on the sea, on their way to Eng- t land, and we observe a tempest of consider able rigour and duration is about to rise ; for the cloud has come over the moon, • » » ^ ^ « grey old mariners shake their head and the authoress lias a hundred pages and odd to fill, before she can say finis.We • % 9 W ^ * » « are afraid that Mrs.Trollope has disposed of her heroines in a è way little tc the liking of her publisher—a shrewed man, who knows what’s what—and has, we presume, kept back the tragic conclusion, lest it should induce us to complain of the injustice of depriving the Inquisition of burning two handsome heretics for the pleasure of drowning them at sea.BORDER TALES, Ortiz El, COCHRANE.A TILE OF TWEEDHOVTH MOOS.When the tyranny and bigotry of the last James drove his t \ subjects to take up arms against him, one of the most formi- • v ; • , dable enemies to his dangerous usurpations was Sir John Cochrane, ancestor of the present Earl of Dundomild.fte was one of the most prominent actors in Argyle's rebellion, and for # « ages a destructive doom seemed to have hung over the house of Campbell, enveloping in a common ruin all who united tfioir [ -«S ] fortunes to the cause of its chieftains.The same doom cncorn-passed Sir John Cochrane.île was surrounded by the Kind’s troops,—long, deadly and desperate was his resistance, but at length overpowered by uumbets, he was taken prisoner, tried and condemned to die upon a scatfold.He had but a few days to live, and his jailor waited but the arrival of his death-warrant to lead him forth to execution.Ilis family and his friends had visited him in prison, and exchanged with him the last, the long, the heart-yearning farewell, Hut there was one who came not with the rest to receive his blessing, one who was the pride of his eyes, and of his house,—even Grizel, the daughter of his love.Twilight was casting a deeper gloom over the gratings of his prison-house, lie was mourning for a last look of his favorite child, and his head was pressed against the cold damp walls of his cell to cool the feverish pulsations that shot through it like stings of fire, when the door of his apartment turned slowly on its unwilling hinges, and his keeper entered followed by a young and beautiful lady.Her person was tall and commanding, her eyes dark, bright and tearless, but their very brightness spoke of sorrow,—of sorrow too deep to be wept away, and her raven tresses wore parted over an open brow clear and pure as the polished marble.The unhappy captive raised his head as they entered— ’ “ My child! my own Grizcl !” he exclaimed, and she fell upon his bosom.• “ My father !—my dear father !” sobbed the miserablo maiden, and she dashed away the tear that accompanied her words.“ Your interview must be short—very short,” said the jailor, as he turned and left them for a few minutes together.“ God help and comfort thee my daughter !” added the unhappy father as he held her to his breast, and printed a kiss upon her brow.“ I had feared that I should die without bestowing my blessing on the head of my own child, and that stung mo more than death,—but thou art come my love—thou art corne ! and the last blessing of thy wretched father”— [ Mfl ] “ Kay ! forbear ! forbear !” she exclaimed “ not thy last blessing !—not thy last !—My father shall not die !” “ Be calm ! be calm, my child !” returned he ; “ would to Heaven that I could comfort thee !—my own ! my own ! But there is no hope,—within three days, and thou and all my little ones will be-” Fatherless—he would have said, but the word died on his tongue.44 Three days !” repeated sho raising her head from his breast, hut eagerly pressing his hand, 44 three days ! then there is hope.—my father shall live.Is not nay grandfather the friend of Father Pctre, the confessor and the master of tire King.— from him he shall beg the life of his son, and my father shall not die.” “ Nay ! nay, my Grizel,” returned he, “ be not deceived —there is no hope,—already my doom is sealed—already the King has signed the order for my execution,—and the messenger of death is now on the way.” “ Yet my father shall not !—shall not die !” she repealed emphatically, and clasping her hands together-44 Heaven speed a daughter's purpose,” she exclaimed, and turning to her father said calmly—44 We part now, but we shall meet again.” 44 What would my child ?” enquired he eagerly, gazing anxiously on her face.„ Ask not how,” she replied,4 my father—ask not now, but pray for me,—and bless me,—but not with thy last blessing.” He again pressed her to his heart and wept upon her neck,— In a few moments the jailor entered, and they wore torn from the arms of each other.****** * * On the evening of the second day alter the interview we have mentioned, a wayfaring man crossed the d»;*wbridge at Berwick from the north, and proceeding down Mnrygate, sat down to rest upon a bench by the door of an hostclrie on the south side of the street nearly fronting where what was called 70 f 5.50 ] the “ Main-guard” then stood.He did not enter the inn, for it was above his apparent condition, being that which Oliver Cromwell had made his head quarters a few years before and where at a somewhat earlier period James the sixth had taken up his residence when on his way to enter on the sovereignty of England.The traveller wore a coarse jerkin fastened round his body by a leathern girdle, and over it a short cloak composed of equally plain materials.He was evidently a young man, but his beaver was drawn down so as almost to conceal his features.In the one hand ho carried a small bundle, and in the other a pilgrim’s staff.1 Having called for a glass of wine, he took a crust of bread from his bundle, and after resting for a few minutes rose to depart.The shades of night were setting in, and i( threatened to be a night of storms.The heavens were gathering black, the clouds rushing from the sea, sudden