No. III. THE MOUNTAIN LAKE. and excellent principles, and, with the thorough | REMINISCENCES OF NORTH WALES. approbation of Lord Elwyn, he made her his wife. For a moment I was tempted to murmur; but I soon taught myself, or rather was taught by a Heavenly power, to feel thankful that I had been made the involuntary means of repairing to Hester the wrong that I had done her. The lover whom I had alienated from myself by my misconduct was far more worthy of her than the lover whom I had allured from her by my coquetry. I prayed sincerely and fervently for their happiness, and have every reason to believe that my prayers have been granted. have only one perfectly bright spot to look back upon during the four years to which I have alluded-it was the marriage of my brother. His wife had a large fortune, a sweet disposition, and many other good qualities which I need not enumerate to you, Janet, since you fully appreciate the virtues of your dear mother. I "When my father died, it was the spontaneous proposal of my sister-in-law, that I should take up my residence with her and my brother. These arrangements are not usually expedient or desirable; but our case has proved an exception to the general rule, and it is a happy assurance to me how much the natural disposition may be altered and subdued by reason and religion, when I reflect that your mother has constantly commended my reserve of deportment to the other sex, and that you have considered me as carrying it to a blameable degree. My confessions have occupied a longer time, Janet, than I had intended; have you profited by them? do think the career of a coquette so satisfactory that you feel inclined to pursued it ?" you Janet replied by embracing her aunt, and would probably have added some words to her mute comment on her story, had not Edwin Ferrars just then entered. He had been indulging a paroxysm of indignation since he last left the house; but, as he was extremely good-tempered, he had become tolerably cool by that time, and he was anxious to judge dispassionately whether the treatment he had received at the hands of his fair fiancée was to be considered as a passing slight or as a deliberate injury. Janet welcomed him with kindness and cordiality, and voluntarily spoke of Captain Halford as a man whose manners were showy and plausible, but of whose intrinsic good qualities she felt so much doubt, that she intended to behave to him with great reserve in future. The first quarrel of the lovers was likewise their last; and on the appointed day in May, Miss Desmond stood among the bridal train who accompanied Janet to the altar, and returned thanks to Heaven that her beloved niece was united to an attached and amiable husband, and had not, like herself, wrecked all her prospects of domestic peace and affection upon the fatal rock of coquetry. BY FREDERICK ENOCH. Oh! the lone lake of dark water, On "The Shepherd's Hill of Storms," * Of mountains dark, that wildly fling The hour that we met; "Tis vain to endeavour That hour to forget! New scenes and new objects That remembrance is with me Thy smile haunts my fancy, For dreams bring thee near! Thine eyes fix'd on mineWith that deep searching gaze So peculiarly thine! In gay halls I'm feasted With glad hearts and light, For thou wert not there! Through scenes of enchantment By rock-circled ocean And green-hearted glade; The earth and the sea, My heart dare not question August, 1843. THE SWALLOWS. (From the French of Béranger.) In Moorish fetters captive, lay A Christian knight; and thus he sung, Say, little rovers, whence come ye? "My childhood's home perchance ye've pass'd; "Tis near a wood, a shady nook, Where lilacs fair, and jasmines, cast Their perfume o'er a murm'ring brook. My happy home! so free and fair, Beneath its roof your nests may be ; Oh, tell me, then, what saw ye there? Of home, sweet birds, why speak ye not to me? "My mother-lives she? dreams she still Of one long lost, yet not less dear? Or dying, did her bosom fill, Thinking my coming steps to hear? My sisters-are they tall and fair? My brother soldiers did ye see? Breathe they again their native air? Of friends, sweet birds, why speak ye not to me? "Have ye no whisper'd word from one Whose words were music to mine ear? Of that sweet voice as, weeping, she, All I hold dear, with anguish torn ; Whilst I like chainèd hound must lie No blow can strike to set them freeNo help can bring, but abject, die. Of France, sweet birds, oh, speak not then to me!" THE TRAVELLER AT REBEKAH'S Author of WELL. BY NICHOLAS MICHELL, Σ. "The Traduced." "The Eventful He breathes his steed, then mounts again in haste; Sweet is the bubbling fountain, cool and clear, The way-worn pilgrim spends the sultry hours. The green cicada* chirping 'mid the grass, All charm the sense, and soothe the pensive heart, NATURE'S WAIL; OR, THE INROADS Chas'd from each beauteous sylvan dell, oh where Far, far I've roam'd, o'er hill and ocean's tide; My flower-wreath'd brow a glory flinging, See, oh see what sunny nooks are hiding * A species of grasshopper. The gold-crested hoopoes are found in Syria, Mesopotamia, and Egypt; they are called by the Arabs, "beni-Suliman," or the children of Solomon. Abraham sent his servant into Mesopotamia to seek a wife for Isaac in his native land (See Genesis xxiv.). The town of Nahor is said to have been situated south-west of Ur of the Chaldees-the Orfah of the present day-and on the confines of the desert now called Sinj-ar. "The storm increases fearfully," observed the aged Duke of Murcia, a kinsman of the King, as a flash of lightning blazed through the casements, of such extraordinary length and brilliance, that even the numerous lustres, with which the room was lighted, looked dark when it disappeared. It was followed by a peal of thunder, loud as if a hundred cannons had been discharged above their heads, and causing several glasses to be shivered on the board. Unhappy those compelled to brave it." 66 66 66 Felix. "It may or may not be. For my own part, I credit not such things. We are ourselves the workers of evil-no fatality lurking in storms." Nay, better out, than in," observed another. The apartment adjoining the council-room of "There is excitement in witnessing its fury, and the castle, and selected this night as the scene gloom most depressing in listening to it thus." of King Ferdinand's banquet, was at the com- Perchance 'tis the shadow of the coming mencement of the storm filled with the expected evil," rejoined Don Felix d'Estaban. "Old leguests. From forty to fifty were there assem-gends say, there is never a storm like this, withbled, chosen indiscriminately from the Castilians out bringing some national evil on its wings. and Arragonese, the first statesmen and bravest "Ha! say they so?" demanded the King, warriors of the age. But the usual animated suddenly, that his guests started. “And is there discussion, the easy converse, and eager council, truth in it?" had strangely, and almost unconsciously, sunk "The lovers of such marvels would bring into a gloomy depression, so universal and pro- your Grace many proofs that some calamity alfound, that every effort to break from it, and re-ways followed such a tempest," replied Don sume the general topics of interest, was fruitless. The King himself was grave almost to melancholy, though more than once he endeavoured to shake it off, and speak as usual. Men found themselves whispering to each other as if they feared to speak loud-as if some impalpable and invisible horror were hovering round them. It might have been that the raging storm without affected all within, with a species of awe, to which even the wisest and the bravest are liable when the Almighty utters His voice in the tempest, and the utter nothingness of men comes home to the proudest heart. But there was another cause. One was missing_from_the council and the board; the seat of Don Ferdinand Morales was vacant, and unuttered but absorbing anxiety occupied every mind. It was full two hours, rather more, from the given hour of meeting: the council itself had been delayed, and was at length held without him, but so unsatisfactory did it prove, that many subjects "Fated or casual, if evil has occurred to Don Ferdinand Morales, monarch and subject will alike have cause to associate this tempest with national calamity," answered the King, betraying at once the unspoken, but engrossing subject of his thoughts. "Who saw him last?" Don Felix d'Estaban replied that he had seen him that day two hours before sunset. "And where, my Lord-at home or abroad?" "In his own mansion, which he said he had not quitted that day," was the rejoinder. "And how seemed he? In health as usual?" “Ay, my Liege, save that he complained of a strange oppressiveness, disinclining him for all exertions." "Did he allude to the council of to-night?" “He did, my Lord, rejoicing that he should be compelled to rouse himself from his most unwonted mood of idleness." : "Then some evil has befallen him," rejoined the King; and the contraction of his brow denied the calmness, implied by his unmoved tone. "We have done wrong in losing all this time. "Don Alonso," he added, turning to the Senor of Aguilar, "give orders that a band of picked men scour every path leading hence to Morales' mansion head them thyself, an thou wilt, we shall the more speedily receive_tidings. Thine eyes have been more fixed, on Don Ferdinand's vacant seat, than on the board this last hour; so hence, and speed thee, man. It may be he is ill: we have seen men stricken unto death from one hour to the other. If there be no trace of him in either path, hie thee to his mansion; but return not without news. Impalpable evil is ever worse than the tangible and real." Don Alonso scarcely waited the conclusion of the King's speech, so eager was he to depart; and the longing looks cast after him betrayed how many would have willingly joined him in his search. If the effort to continue indifferent conversation had been difficult before, it now became impossible. The very silence felt ominous. What evil could have befallen? was asked internally by each individual; but the vague dread, the undefined horror of something terrible impending, prevented all reply; and so nearly an hour passed, when, far removed as was the council-room, from the main body of the castle, a confusion as of the entrance of many feet, and the tumultuary sound of eager voices, was distinguished, seeming to proceed from the great hall. "It cannot be Don Alonzo so soon returned," remarked the Duke of Murcia; but even as he spoke, and before the King had time to make an impatient sign for silence, so intently was he listening, the Lord of Aguilar himself re-entered the apartment. 66 Saints of heaven!" ejaculated the King, and his exclamation was echoed involuntarily by all around. The cheek of the warrior, never known to blanch before, was white as death; his eye haggard and wild; his step so faltering, that his whole frame reeled. He sunk on the nearest seat, and, with a shuddering groan, pressed both hands before his eyes. "Wine! wine! give him wine!" cried Ferdinand, impetuously, pushing a brimming goblet towards him. "Drink, man, and speak, in Heaven's name. What frightful object hast seen, to bid thee quail, who never quailed before? Where is Morales? Hast thou found him?" "Ay," muttered Don Alonzo, evidently struggling to recall his energies, while the peculiar tone of the single monosyllable caused every heart to shudder. "And where is he? Why came he not hither? Why neglect our royal summons?" continued the King, hurrying question after question with such an utter disregard of his usual calm, impurturbable cautiousness, that it betrayed far more than words how much he dreaded the Senor's reply. "Speak, man; what has detained him?” "Death!" answered the warrior, his suppressed grief and horror breathing in his hollow voice; and rising, he approached the king's seat, and kneeling down, said in that low, concentrated tone, which reaches every ear, though scarce louder than a whisper, "Sire, he is murdered!" "Murdered!" reiterated the King, as the word was echoed in all the various intonations of horror, grief, and indignation from all around; and he laid his hand heavily on AguiWho would dare lift up the assassin's hand lar's shoulder-" Man, man, how can this be? against him—him, the favourite of our subjects as of ourself? Who had cause of enmity, of even rivalship with him? Thou art mistaken, man; it cannot be! Thou art scared with the sight of murder, and no marvel; but it cannot be Morales thou hast seen." "Alas! my Liege, I too believed it not; but the murdered corpse now lying in the hall will be too bloody witness of my truth." The King released his hold, and without a word of rejoinder, strode from the apartment, and hastily traversing the long galleries, and many stairs, neither paused nor spoke, till, followed by all his nobles, he reached the hall. It was filled with soldiers, who, with loud and furious voices, mingled execrations deep and fearful on the murderer, with bitter lamentations on the victim. A sudden and respectful hush_acknowledged the presence of the Sovereign: Ferdinand's brows were darkly knit, his lip compressed, his eyes flashing sternly over the dense crowd; but he asked no question, nor relaxed his hasty stride till he stood beside the litter on which, covered with a mantle, the murdered One was lying. For a single minute he evidently paused, and his countenance, usually so controlled as never to betray emotion, visibly worked with some strong feeling, which seemed to prevent the confirmation of his fears, by the trifling movement of lifting up the mantle. But at length, and with a hurried movement, it was cast aside; and there lay that noble form, cold, rigid in death! The King pushed the long, jetty hair, now clotted with gore, from the cheek on which it had fallen; and he recognized, too well, the high, thoughtful brow, now white, cold as marble; the large, dark eye, whose fixed and glassy stare had so horribly replaced the bright intelligence, the sparkling lustre so lately there. The clayey, sluggish white of death was already on his cheek; his lip, convulsively compressed, and the left hand tightly clenched, as if the soul had not been thus violently reft from the body without a strong pang of mortal |