had been afforded him of becoming acquainted with the forms which are there observed. On this occasion every thing was exhibited which was likely to astonish him, and elicit the latent feelings of delight which must unquestionably have possessed his soul. So far from being in the slightest degree confused, he acquitted himself in a manner which surprised every one present. The faculty of imitation, which, as we have before noticed, he possessed in a high state of development, enabled him to copy the manners of those around him with such promptitude and precision, that it would have been difficult for one unacquainted with the fact to have believed that he had been accustomed to move in a different sphere of life. The smile, the bow, and even the slightest gesture, he imitated with the most minute correctness. He expressed no astonishment at any thing which occurred, until the table was exposed on the removal of the cloth; when, struck by its extent and beauty, he uttered an exclamation of surprise, and set about examining its structure and qualities.'

It was amazing to observe the readiness with which Eenoo picked up other habits of civilised life during his stay at Aberdeen. He mastered the alphabet with great readiness, but did not carry his literary acquirements beyond mere reading and writing. "He had evidently no relish for such pursuits, for he could not perceive any advantage which would afterwards accrue to him from the knowledge of letters. It was chiefly by this prospectice principle that he was guided in every thing which he set about learning or acquiring. If he did not see that the subject of study or acquisition would be of future utility, he could not be persuaded to bestow attention upon it. When any toy accidentally came into his possession, he would examine it with great curiosity and care; but after discovering that none of the practical purposes of life, so far as known to him, could be served by it, it was soon thrown aside as useless. On the other hand, if he got any thing which he judged might afterwards be turned to account in his own simple avocations at home, he hoarded it up with the greatest eagerness." A lengthened and dangerous illness attacked Eenoo, and rendered Captain Penny anxious to get him safely home. Accordingly, he took his departure, in April 1840, in the whale-ship Bon Accord, to which Captain Penny had been appointed. After a hazardous voyage, the Bon Accord reached Eenoo's native country. "The whole inhabitants, men, women, and children, were speedily on board the ships, and the presence of Eenoolooapik rendered the Bon Accord a centre of attraction. We were first visited by the male part of the population in their canoes, then came the oomiak containing the women and children, under the guidance of an old man; and a most active and noisy traffic immediately ensued. They were all aware of Eenoo having been to Britain, and they crowded round him to learn the particulars of his voyage. In relating some of his adventures, he chiefly addressed himself to Coonook, the adopted daughter of Aaniapik, the old man mentioned before as guiding the oomiak. The features of this girl were naturally of a pleasant cast, and on this occasion they were more than ordinarily attractive. Since coming on board, her face had been washed, her jet black hair combed, braided, and decorated with ribands; and, in short, she displayed such a profusion of charms as immediately won the regard of Eenoo. It soon became evident, from his behaviour towards her, that she was acquiring a powerful influence over him; and had any doubt remained upon the subject, it would have been dispelled by seeing the severe rubbing of noses which took place between them-such being the manner in which the Esquimaux testify their affection towards each other. This was followed by a request, on the part of Eenoo, that I would immediately marry them, all the same as the Kudloonite. Not having, however, taken holy orders, I declined officiating on the present occasion. Eenoo, love-sick as he was, did not on that account resign himself to despair, for many long conferences might be seen taking place between him and Aaniapik, the result of which was, that, provided Captain Penny consented, Eenoo was to give his green painted canoe for the beautiful Coonook, and this canoe was to become the property of Aaniapik's youngest son, he himself being unable from the infirmities of age to manage it. Captain Penny being at the time engaged with other more important matters, the circumstance passed over without his attention. It may be remarked, that this affords an illustration of the Esquimaux ceremonial of marriage. Presents are offered to the parents of the lady, and, if accepted, the matter is considered as settled. These contracts are sometimes entered into at a very early age; but it would seem that, on arriving at maturity, the parties may break the engagements under certain circum stances. Coonook had been betrothed to another when a child, but the importance which Eenoolooapik had acquired by his visit to Britain, was considered sufficient to nullify any previous engagement."

This attachment helped to confirm Eenoo in the desire, which he had all along displayed, to return to his old way of life. When he parted with the crew of the Bon Accord, he exhibited not the slightest emotion. Obtuseness of feeling appears, indeed, to be one of the most striking characteristics of the Esquimaux race. "He met his relations and native acquaintances, and parted with us, without the slightest emotion. Yet he had evinced many commendable qualities, and, on the whole, had much that was amiable about him;

and, perhaps, had his intercourse with society, where the higher sentiments are cultivated, been of longer duration, this apathetic disposition might have been modified. It is pleasing to think, that in visiting this country, he has learned nothing that will tend to degrade him. On the contrary, we may hope that his residence among us may have imbued his mind with some noble principles, which may tend to soften the remaining barbarity of his nature, and, in the evolution of Time's dark mysteries, become subservient to the good of the hyperborean races. Under the influence of these bright hopes, we bid him farewell." A likeness of Eenoo is prefixed to the work from which we have made these extracts. It gives us a very favourable idea of the Esquimaux countenance, when set off by a little British cleanliness. A specimen is also given of Eenoo's handwriting, which is wonderfully good, considering his opportunities. Altogether, Mr Macdonald's little work is a very pleasing one, and we gladly recommend it to public notice. The charts and tables which accompany it, will render it also a very useful production to those concerned in the northern whale-fisheries.

AN INLAND TOWNSHIP OF UPPER CANADA. A LETTER from the same Canadian emigrant, James Lambert, to whose condition and history we have already adverted on two former occasions, enables us to lay before our readers some little account of an interior village of Upper Canada, and of the position in which its inhabitants are placed with respect to the necessaries and conveniences of life. We believe that persons of the more respectable class, and particularly the female portion of them, who propose to emigrate to the inland districts of Upper Canada, entertain many anxious fears lest the social and domestic comforts attainable in the wilds of the far west, should be of too poor a description to be endurable by those who have long enjoyed all the luxuries of life in Britain. Our present communication from James Lambert will be found to bear upon this subject, and will accordingly, we imagine, prove of some interest. James Lambert has been settled, for fully twenty years, in the township of London, which is situated in the county of Middlesex, in the western section of Upper Canada. The town or village of London, from which Lambert's farm is distant about eight miles, lies on the River Thames, a fine large stream, which, after a course of about 150 miles, discharges itself into Lake St Clair. The town occupies an extended level nook of land, formed by the junction of a tributary stream with the main river. To the north of London lies the broad tract of land, partly improved and partly covered with wood, called the township, which is twelve miles square, and is divided into sixteen strips of territory, each four rods in width, and running from east to west. These strips are called concessions, and are divided into lots of 800 acres each, by lines crossing them from north to south. The agriculturists of the district are settled upon these lots, possessing one or more, or a portion of one, according to their means. Good broad roads traverse each concession, and are joined by side roads from various directions.

thousand inhabitants) in a month. The streets of the town, and the roads even of the township, are so crowded with passengers, horsemen, and vehicles, that a person is in some danger of being trodden down, without a degree of caution. Indeed, this is so much the case, that it is made compulsory by authority to hang bells on the horses' necks. We have all plenty to eat and drink here. Every kind of produce is remarkably cheap; the bushel of wheat being only two shillings of your money, and oats sixpence. This is in some respects an immense advantage, and in other respects not so. We can scarcely get the money mentioned for our grain. There is little money in the country, and indeed it is impossible that the case should be otherwise, unless we can find a vent for our produce. The comfort is, that, as the country stands at present, we have plenty to ourselves. In truth, we must long have so, for we have a beautiful country, capable of any improvement, and of raising great abundance of the necessaries of life. By the time the condition of the population demands it, we may have sufficient outlet for our agricultural commodities. With this exception-that is, the scarcity of money arising from our produce having no sufficient vent, while we require many articles of foreign production -all kinds of trade do well in our township. For example, there are two tanners in London. Both of them are substantial rich men. The practice with them is, to sell or exchange sides or half-hides of tanned leather for the raw skins brought to them by the agriculturists. The country is so far in a primitive state, that exchange is compulsory to a considerable extent. Bark, we may add, is got by tanners for a mere trifle. They sell sole leather for Is. 3d., neat's leather for 2s., and calf for 4s., a-pound, prices not very greatly different from those of the old country.

a

I have said nothing as yet about our late rebellion. It appeared to me to be neither more nor less than the doing of a few disappointed men. They had deceived themselves with the idea that the whole country would follow their example when they took up arms. They had miscalculated both their own influence and the feeling of the country. One unfortunate issue was, that many lives were lost."

James Lambert, it must here be observed, though we do not quarrel with his love for peace, is now in that condition when all changes of a violent kind become specially obnoxious. By his industry, he has so assured the welfare of his family, that they are shooting up into affluence around him, and increasing in numbers, like the tribes of the patriarchs of old. He is one who merits all he enjoys.

A word further on the price of land in Upper Canada at this period. As has been mentioned, the county of Middlesex, and indeed the whole western section, is believed to contain land inferior to none in Upper Canada. James Lambert writes that he has recently purchased a new lot of land, on the 8th Concession, amounting to one hundred acres, forty of which are improved, or divested of wood, and perfectly cultivable. For these 100 acres, he is to pay 800 dollars, in three yearly instalments. This is at the rate, then, of eight dollars an acre, taking im proved and unimproved land together a rate which shows the value of land to be advancing. The increasing prosperity of the country, and augmenting population, could not be displayed in a more satisfactory way.

THE FRIEND OF THE MAN OF LETTERS. ONE of the most assiduous of the young litterateurs of Paris, whom we shall distinguish by the name of Constantine, went one day to dine, according to custom, at the Café de Paris. There he received a surprise in meeting one of his oldest friends, Frederick de Flavigny, who had been absent from Paris for some years.

Such is the position and arrangement of the township of London, which has been ever admitted to be one of the finest portions of Upper Canada, the land being rich, the streams numerous, and the climate excellent. Settled there, the emigrants enjoy also the advantages of the centre town of London, a place now containing three or four thousand inhabitants, and which James Lambert thus describes :-" London, according to the plan, covers about a mile square, but this is only in part built up. There are several perfect and fine streets, however, very broad and commodious. There is no pavement laid down, but foot-paths run along each side, and the whole is kept "I have often thought of you," said Frederick to dry by gutters and sunk drains. They are always in his literary friend; " and how could it be otherwise, good passable condition, as indeed all our roads here when your name has been so frequently brought be are. The houses are almost all built of wood, and fore me, with honourable distinction, in every journal strongly framed. Many of them are three and four and review of the day? Last month, I read your new storeys in height, and they look very fine, being all romance with delight. Ah," continued he, glancing handsomely painted on the outside. A few habita- at the handsome dinner array which he had found tions are made of brick. In the inside, they are Constantine seated before, "I am delighted to see divided just as in the old country, and all lathed and that, in your case, profit goes along with fame. You "Live plastered, over which are one or more good coats of live well, you celebrated men of letters." paint. There are very few chimneys, most of the well!" cried Constantine; "alas! pity me, my friend. houses being now heated with stoves, which prove a This good cheer does me injury. I detest chamvery great comfort in winter. The most of the under-paigne; but I am not allowed to make a modest reflats are occupied as shops, among which are plenty past. My imagination requires to be excited by luxuof taverns. These places of business are elegantly rious stimulants, and I sacrifice the health of the body furnished, and supplied with goods of all kinds, not to the exigencies of the mind. You know not how inferior to or differing from those of the old country. dearly we purchase celebrity. Our condition is a We have six handsome churches in London, one miserable one." As he spoke thus, the man of letters Presbyterian, one Independent Presbyterian, one rose to depart, and called a cabriolet. "What!" exCatholic, one Episcopalian, and two Methodist meet-claimed Frederick, "a cabriolet on such an exquisite ing-houses. London has also a very fine court-house, day as this! This is indeed luxury." "Luxury!" and good substantial jail. These are the chief public returned the other; "how little you know of the buildings. There are several small rural churches in matter! The truth is, that I cannot afford to walk; the township, for the greater convenience of the agri- I am too poor. Books, journals, reviews, and theatres, culturists. demand so much of my time, that it would be an absurd want of economy to permit myself to indulge in walking. Ah, you know nothing of the case, my friend!"

The people in the town of London dress pretty much as they do in the old country. The agricultural population usually dress in a garb of coarse, strong brown cloth, fitter for use than show; but almost every one has a holiday suit of superfine, or at least good cloth. With regard to business, I should say that more was done in London in one day, than in P— (a rural Scottish town, of about two

Next day, Frederick called upon his distinguished friend, and found him so magnificently lodged, as to feel impelled to pay him a compliment on the subject. "Alas!" cried the other, dolefully, "I am compelled to inhabit this gilded cage- I, whose tastes are so

Lothian."

arrival at his house of a wandering beggar or gaber-"but the matter will be executed soon-soon, I hope. lunzie, whose form, manner, and apparently audacious All you have in the meanwhile to do is to be at hand, character, seemed to sanction his being engaged for and ready. Here you can find no difficulty in loitering the purpose. What were the precise inducements about in your roguish profession, and be no way troubled held out on the occasion, tradition does not say; and for your safety. A boat, with a trusty hand to row it, it is enough to know that the wanderer, who, in his waits at Elie to carry you afterwards across the firth to rambles in the district, had sought a temporary resiTo this charge there was no remonstrance, and the dence at Thirdpart, was to remain for a day or two treacherous laird shortly afterwards set out for the Castle in the mansion, and to take an opportunity of murof Dreel. The distance being short, and the visit being dering the expected guest. one not of state but neighbourly courtesy, Thirdpart went alone, trusting also, by this show of easy and friendly confidence, to further the great purpose which he had in view, and which his dastardly spirit had brooded over, until all idea of its criminality had disappeared. It was true that in those days kings, and barons, and gentry, were all alike unscrupulous on occasions, and could take away the lives of guests sitting at their boards with confident trust in the ties of hospitality. Such deeds were not then viewed in the light which their guilt deserved; and it was comparatively easy for the actors, by money or influence, to exonerate themselves from the vengeance of the law, or other consequences that might follow. But, on the whole, men knew well enough that such actions were vile crimes. Thirdpart was sufficiently aware of this, but the rankling sense of imaginary insults led him to forget it, and to meditate a retaliation far, far exceeding the offence.

According as the story runs, the ragged mendicant comported himself, on the night of his arrival at Thirdpart, in a manner not to be expected from one of his apparent character. For more than two hours after retiring from the hall, to the mean apartment allotted for his rest during the night, he never stirred, but remained watchful like a sentinel at his post. At length, all sounds having ceased in the house, he raised his head in an attitude so indicative of alertness and attention, that it was plain he had hitherto lain in meditation, not sleep. In a short time, he rose from his couch, and lifting the lamp, went softly to the window. It was a high square one, not more than a foot and a half in diameter, and was no farther secured than by the strong wooden frame, which was not hinged or moveable. With the help of the table, the beggar examined it closely, and then, stepping down, he took from his dress a strong knife, and ungirt a rope of considerable length, which was wound round his person beneath his rags. With great caution, he began to force off the whole frame of the window, and, after much working, succeeded in getting it down without noise. The vagrant then fastened one end of the rope to a hook above the window, and, after bolting the door of his room, he passed his body backwards through the window, and by means of the rope, aided by the grasp of his feet upon the wall, descended safely to the ground. Leaving the rope hanging, he then cautiously but swiftly passed from the precincts of the house of Thirdpart, guided on his way by the light of a half-full moon.

Within an hour afterwards, the mendicant reached the Castle of Dreel, and with some difficulty procured an audience of its proprietor. His story was soon told, and to wondering ears.

"Sir William, your life is in danger. You have been invited to Thirdpart on the morrow at noon ?" "I have," said the knight.

"You are asked thither to be murdered!" returned the beggar.

At command of Sir William, the stranger then detailed the whole of the circumstances of the previous day, and disclosed the proposal made to himself. The startled knight cross-questioned the man relative to all the parties and particulars, and found the whole statement so clear, that conviction forced itself upon his mind. A pause then ensued. "And how come you," said the knight suddenly, casting a sharp glance at the stranger, "to take so much friendly interest in me, as to risk thy life, perhaps, to give me this warning ?"

As if conscious that the act did appear strange, the beggar looked down, and it was with some hesitation that he replied, "No true man should stand idly by, and see a brave gentleman borne down by traitors."

"Ha!" said the knight, "is this language natural to one in thy station ?"

"A poor man, Sir William, may be a true man," said

the other.

"What if I detain thee to await the issue of this affair,

and put thy truth to the test?" returned the baron. The vagrant looked up, and replied, quietly but firmly, "You will then, Sir William, give warning to your enemies of their betrayal, and put them so on their guard, that they may either make light of any accusation brought against them, or defy your power of retaliation. To permit proof of my words to appear, I must return to Thirdpart, and be found in the morning where I was left at night."

Sir William thought deeply for a few moments. "Yes," said he, "I will give them plot for plot! Return, friend, to Thirdpart. We shall meet again, I doubt not, when I may thank thee more fully for this service than is now in my power."

Once without the castle, the beggar started off at speed, and soon reached Thirdpart. By means of the rope, and the activity of his limbs, he reascended to his chamber. All was undisturbed. By the first light of dawn, he replaced the window as carefully as possible, and then, for the first time after his strange night adventures, the vagrant slept soundly.

The Laird of Thirdpart received a disappointment in the morning. A messenger from the Castle of Dreel announced that its lord had become suddenly unwell, though not to a very severe extent. "So hopeful, indeed, was Sir William Anstruther of the speedy disappearance of his ailment, that he prayed his neighbour of Thirdpart, with all courtesy, to visit him on the following day." So ran the important part of the missive. The Laird of Thirdpart saw nothing in these circumstances, excepting the occurrence of an unforeseen accident, and he hugged himself with the consoling idea that his revenge was but postponed, not frustrated. He even imagined that his visit to Dreel would improve matters, by throwing the knight more off his guard; though Thirdpart was sensible that Sir William, under any circumstances, was open and unsuspicious in temperament. The laird took care to warn certain confederates of what had happened, and he also had a conference with the beggar, whom he found in the morning quietly asleep in his place of confinement.

The knight of Dreel was made aware of Thirdpart's approach to the castle. Fisher Willie was, as we have said, naturally generous in spirit, but hot-tempered, and, like all of his class and race at the time, prone to revenge. Since the communication of the beggar had been made, until he had wrought himself into a state of wrath which the knight had meditated upon the intended assassination, bounds. On hearing of the coming of his foe, he snatched he found it difficult, almost perilous, to keep within up a pole-axe, and rushed to the landing-place at the top of the winding stair of the castle, by which Thirdpart had necessarily to ascend. The unsuspecting traitor came up the steps, with his smoothest looks called up to meet the knight. Behind him came one of the domestics of the castle, and in the train of this man followed an unnoticed guest, with quick but quiet steps. This was the beggar, who, imagining probably that the fiery knight might take some measures likely to be affected by his vagrant could not foresee what the hot and rash knight presence, had followed Thirdpart unperceived. But the

was to do.

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Base traitor!" cried Sir William at once, fronting Thirdpart on the landing-place, and raising his pole-axe to his shoulder; "how darest thou pollute this castle with thy presence? How darest thou come to smile to-day on the man, whom, hadst thou attained thy base ends, thou wouldst have stabbed yesterday to the heart ?"

At this sudden and unexpected charge, the conscious Thirdpart grew pale as death, and staggered backwards. His lips moved, but, in the shock of the moment, he uttered no audible words. "Look behind thee!" cried the furious knight, whose eye had lighted on the beggar, "and confess thy guilt!" Thirdpart unconsciously obeyed. When he saw the vagrant, he started, and could not restrain the word "Traitor!" The word was a rash one. "Traitor is he?" roared the knight; "thou art the traitor, and shalt die a traitor's death!" And as he spoke, the axe descended on the head of Thirdpart, and laid him lifeless on the spot where he stood.

The passion which dictated this dreadful act quickly abated; and while the domestic and the beggar looked with anxious faces on the body of the slain traitor, Sir William himself said, in a low voice, "It was a hasty deed!" A long silence ensued. The reason of the

knight gradually resumed its full sway, and his thoughtfulness indicated that he had become fully alive to the possible consequences of what had passed. Thirdpart was not without friends, and, through ignorance of the motives, the action might be viewed in a very unfavourable light-one much more so, at least, than those who knew the whole case would certainly view it in. "The king! the king!" cried Sir William at length, starting from his remorseful musing; "the king must be told all! He alone can remedy this evil hap!"

Within an hour or two afterwards, the knight of Dreel was ready to take the road, with an attendant or two. He had seen his daughter, and though the rashness of her parent had called forth many tears, the knight had partly succeeded in soothing her, and quieting her anxious fears for the consequences. "Fear not, child, I know my royal master well," said he. "A thought has struck me, which I will pursue." Accordingly, after giving particular orders for the detention of the beggar, the knight set out on his journey.

Sir William was not long in reaching the palace. Without delay, he presented himself before the king. "A boon, a boon! my liege!" was the exclamation of the knight as he knelt before his sovereign. "What! my burly knight of Anstruther! Welcome, welcome! How doth the fair Margaret? One word of her before aught else."

My daughter is well, royal sir!" replied Sir William. "But may it please you, listen to the suit I have humbly to prefer."

Speak, Sir William Anstruther," said the king; "it will be a hard asking which I will refuse to a tried servant like thee."

"I have, then, my liege," returned Sir William, gravely, "to beg that I may live to wear the coat now upon my back, and to possess all that is in it.”

The seriousness with which this seemingly droll petition was preferred tickled the fancy of the king, as well as of the others present, and they burst into prolonged laughter. "Thou hast thy boon, Sir William, and thy suit along with it," said Robert. The courtiers were bound to laugh at the royal joke, and all enjoyed the continued solemnity of Fisher Willie's look a little longer, "And when may it be done ?" said the other. until one of them, with the remark that the knight was "That cannot be told at present," returned the laird; | never deemed silly, suggested that the king should call

"The service which I looked for at your hands cannot be done to-day," said Thirdpart.

for an explanation of the petition. I have no fears that evil lurks under it," said Robert; "my Fisher-knight was never a terror to me with his quarrels, like some else." The king's glance at the previous speaker gave point to the remark. Sir William Anstruther, though assured that the king would not retract his word, and that, by the device which he had used-a device, by the way, which was far from uncommon in these strange old times he had secured life and lands, his charter-deeds being in his coat-pocket, yet felt it a difficult matter rightly to tell the rest of his story. The account of Thirdpart's death made the king start and look grave, but when the treacherous plot of the deceased was divulged, the cloud in a great measure disappeared. Finally, Robert confirmed his first decision that the coat and its contents should stick by the knight as long as he could stick by them. The monarch only required that a statement of the affair should be put into his hands, additionally certified, if possible, by the confession of one of the surviving parties to the plot. "But, mark me, Sir William," were the sovereign's last words, "no feuds with the friends of Thirdpart. Enough of blood has been shed. Claim my protection in case of assault, and the word of a king shall be kept with you."

It was with a lightened heart that Fisher Willie entered his own castle again, on the third day after his departure. "All is well, all is well, Meg," said he, as he kissed his daughter, and gave her an account of what had passed. "And now, Meg," said he, "I have a debt to pay, which must stand against me no longer." Then, calling his servants, he ordered them to bring the beggar before him. In a few minutes, the vagrant stood in presence of the knight and his daughter, with head respectfully bowed towards the ground.

"I owe this man my life," said the knight, "how thinkest thou, daughter, he should be repaid

"He has the warmest gratitude of a daughter for the boon he has conferred, in saving a father from death," said Margaret, with moist eyes.

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By my honour, but he shall have more," returned the knight. "How! are fathers so plenty, or of so little worth, or so lightly esteemed, that a daughter can give but the breath of her mouth for such an act as this? No, he must have more from thee, Meg!-to be brief, he must have thy hand !"

"Father!" exclaimed Margaret, in tones of extreme surprise.

"Yes," said Sir William, "such a debt can only be paid thus. He shall be thy husband! I swear it, by my father's bones !"

"Father! dearest father!" cried Margaret in tones of agony-heedless of the beggar, who had started forward with clasped hands; "dearest father, do not break my heart! Oh, say you are not in earnest! I love another!

"Pshaw, silly girl!" exclaimed the knight, startling his daughter still further by bursting into a hearty laugh; "can an old man's eyes detect the face which he had but once seen, while a slight disguise can blind thine, loving though they be ?" As he spoke, he seized the long black locks of the gaberlunzie, and, snatching them off, disclosed to view the short brown hair and fine features of a youth of two-and-twenty.

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Margaret! beloved Margaret!" said Patrick Home, for such was the unveiled beggar. The young daughter of the knight grew suddenly red and pale by turns, and her contending emotions ere long found vent in a flood of joyful tears. These were shed in her lover's arms, which were opened to receive her, and which folded her in an embrace the more exquisite to both, as former circumstances had given but little reason to hope that such a pleasure would ever fall to their lot—at least with a parent's full sanction, and under his eye.

We have now almost closed this traditionary story of Fisher Willie and the fair Margaret Anstruther. Patrick Home, whom she had met at court and loved, as already hinted, made the avowal to the knight, that he had disguised himself as a beggar, in the hope of seeing his mistress once more; and that he had brought with him a rope, prepared at all risks to attempt the accomplishment of an interview with her, without whom he felt life a burden. That rope had been of signal use to him, when, by mere accident, he had been taken into the house of Thirdpart, and had become acquainted with knowledge that Thirdpart had been a disappointed suitor the designs of that personage and his associates. The of Margaret, the descriptions of the plotters, and other circumstances, had made him fully assured that Sir William Anstruther was the victim aimed at. The rest is known to the reader. To the delight of Margaret's ears, Sir William praised loudly young Home's courage and presence of mind, which had been the means of producing such an escape. The knight also took some individual credit for detecting the youth through his rags, and admitted that the grave train of thinking which his own rash act had led to on the journey to Stirling, had determined him to cease his feudal hatred, and reward Patrick Home by consenting to the match in which his happiness and that of Margaret seemed to be bound up.

Patrick Home, soon after these events, conveyed across the firth to Berwickshire one of the loveliest brides who ever entered the bounds of the borders. We shall only further say, that regret for his rashness made Fisher Willie more temperate in his wrath throughout his remaining life, though some palliation of his act was derived from the confession, under promise of safety, of one of Thirdpart's associates. But, in truth, few in those days blamed Sir William for Thirdpart's death; and the king, in honouring the knight with new heraldic bearings, even made him take the allusive device of a "hand with a pole-axe," with the motto "Periissem ni periissem;" in English, "I should have perished, had I not gone through with it," or "had I not made another perish." To this day, the Anstruthers bear these arms; and it is also said that the coat in which Fisher Willie went to Stirling, was preserved, up till within these few years, at the modern family seat of Elie House. It was an ample garment, and very rich. A thoughtless lady-descendant unluckily cut this relic to pieces.

DETHRONEMENT OF RICHARD II. [From a beautifully embellished work-" Wanderings and Excursions in North Wales, by Thomas Roscoe," now publishing in parts.] THE town of Flint [North Wales] has all the appearance of a fallen and deserted capital. The imposing ruins of the castle are seen on the north-east of the town, and stand in bold relief upon a rock jutting from the south bank [of the Dee] into the sands. To this stronghold, we are informed by Froissart, the unfortunate Richard II. retreated, as a place of the greatest security; and here he was subsequently delivered into the hands of Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster. The scene between Richard and his haughty kinsman is perhaps one of the most remarkable and pathetic in the range of British history, and throws around these ruined precincts a still sterner air of melancholy interest and truth.

On the attainder of Vere, Earl of Oxford, Flint Castle came into possession of the Earl of Northumberland, who had the baseness, under the mask of a peacemaker, to entrap the sovereign whom he professed to serve, into the hands of his enemy and aspiring rival. As if anxious to effect a reconciliation between the king and the duke, by means of a personal interview, he appeared before Richard in the character of a loyal mediator, declaring that all his kinsman aimed at was the privilege of holding a free parliament, and having his estates restored to him. Deceived by his loyal professions, and weakly relying upon the honour of an English peer, he was prevailed upon to give his betrayer a meeting in the neighbourhood of Conway. The better to allay the king's suspicions, which were more than once expressed, he proposed to accompany him to high mass, and renew his oath of allegiance at the altar. The way from the holy temple lay through a lonely defile in the mountain district near Penmaen Rhos; and here the king was first taught to repent of having placed confidence in the solemn oath of one of the first nobles of the land. They were soon joined by a numerous military escort, bearing the arms of the Earls Percy on their standards. Upon the instant, Richard, who was never wanting to himself in moments of emergency, turned his horse's head to fly, but it was too late; the archtraitor himself dashing forward, seized the reins of his charger, and, seconded by his partisans, forcibly directed his wretched sovereign's route towards the then broad, frowning towers of Flint.

Bitterly did the royal Richard reproach the dastardly betrayer of his sovereign's trust, accusing him, to his face, of the vilest treachery that ever stained the arms of an English knight, and appealing to the God, in whose presence he had that morning sworn fealty, to visit its blasphemous violation upon his head, declaring a day of retribution would assuredly follow a deed so revolting to every mind. But his betrayer only hurried forward more speedily till he reached Rhuddlan, and, after a brief pause, hastened onward, with the conscious guilt of a retreating bandit, eager to deposit his stolen treasure, ere he could be overtaken, in the impregnable walls of Flint. Having secured the price of royal blood, he added the most despicable hypocrisy to treachery and insult. Both he and his employer affected to treat Richard with the utmost deference and respect. "The next day after dinner," says our pleasant old chronicler Stowe, "the Duke of Lancaster entered the castle, armed at all points, his basinet excepted. Kynge Richard came down from the keep, or donjon, to meet him, when Bolingbroke fell upon his knees with his cap in his hand. Seeing this act of apparent submission, the kynge tooke off his hoode and spake first'Fair cousin of Lancaster, you are right welcome home.' The duke, bending still more courteously, replied, 'My liege, I am come before you sent for me, the reason why I will shew you. The common fame among your people is such, that ye have for the space of twenty or two and twenty years ruled them very rigorously; but, if it please our Lorde, I will help you to govern better.' Then the kynge answered, Fair cousin of Lancaster, since it pleaseth you, it pleaseth me well.'" Stowe also informs us that Kynge Richard had a grayhounde called Mathe, who always waited upon the kynge, and would knowe no one else; for whensoever the kynge did ryde, he that kepte the grayhounde did let him lose, he wolde streyght rune to the kynge, and fawne upon him, and leape with his fore-feet upon the kynge's shoulders. And as the kynge and the Earle of Derby talked togyder in the courte, the grayhounde, who was wont to leape upon the kynge, left the kynge, and came to the Earle of Derby, Duke of Lancaster, and made to him the same friendly continuance and chere as he was wont to do to the kynge. The duke, who knew not the gray; hounde, demanded of the kynge what the dog would do? Cosyn,' quod the kynge, it is a great good token to you, and an evyll sygne to me.' 'Sir, how know you that?' quod the duke. I know it well,' quod the kynge; the grayhounde maketh you chere this day as kynge of Englande, as ye shall be, and I shall be deposed the grayhounde hath this knowledge naturalye, therefore take him to you; he will follow you and forsake me.' The duke understood well those words, and cherished the grayhounde, who wold never after folowe Kynge Richard, but folowed the Duke of Lancaster."

Soon, however, this hollow show of respect was thrown aside, and dropping the mask, with a high sharp voice he ordered forth the king's horses; and

After an interview like the foregoing, the speedy fate of Richard—the invariable fortune of a captive and dethroned prince-calls for no comment. In its most trying circumstances—such as the heartless parade of his victim through the country in his progress to the capital-how well does the exquisite description of our immortal dramatist exhibit the startling scene, and all the traces of Bolingbroke's character! With what peculiar felicity he holds to view the noble moral-a fearful lesson to princes-of the transient state of human greatness, and the still

more transient nature of human favour.

"Men's eyes

Did scowl on Richard: no man cried-God save him;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off—
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience-
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him."

SHEEP ON THE CHEVIOT HILLS.*
Graze on, graze on-there comes no sound
Of border warfare here;

then "two little nagges, not worth forty franks, were bauchles afore; there's gey lang tongues whiles aneath brought out; the king was set on the one, and the mutches, as ye ken." "It's a dream, ye stupid blockEarl of Salisbury on the other; and thus the duke head; will ye no keep your ain tongue within your brought the king from Flint to Chester, where he was teeth till I tell't to you. The bauchle was lookin' doun, delivered to the sons of the Duke of Gloucester and of as I thought, mae ways than ane on the puir hat, and the Earl of Arundel, whose fathers he had recently it was sayin', 'Friend, you're low aneuch i' the warld put to death." They conducted him straight to the now-chang't days wi' you; wha like you wi' your prison, and in this "dolorous castelle," as it is termed birse up when you were cockin' on the bailie's pow? by Hall, was deposed the weak and unfortunate mo-Ay,' said the hat, it's chang't days wi' me, nae narch, Richard II. doubt.' 'What brought ye to sic a waefu' plicht?' said the bauchle. Whan the bailie brought me hame, my skin was as sleekit as the otter's, and they were sae carefu' about me, that they would scarcely let sun or win' licht on me-put umbrellas aboon me when the least smur o' rain cam' on; an' when the bailie was on the bench, there was I lying aside him on the velvet cushion, as crouse as a newly kamed cat; but I got out o' fashion, an' anither ane was brought hame, and they would scarcely gie me a nail to hing on, but gied my braw brass pin to the new comer, an' I was ta'en out at nichts, and in wat wather, to save it ; and after they had sairt themselves wi' me, they selt me to an Eerish broker, and he selt me again to a Paddie: he got himsel' drunk ae nicht, and fell and clour't his ain croon, and knockit out mine; then they sewed me up and fill'd me wi' saun', and carried me frae house to house fu' o' brayed stanes to saund their floors wi', as lang as the steeks would haud my croon thegither; and then they threw me out into the close, and a blackguard callan tied me to a dog's tail, and he ran into the kirk yard wi' me, and I was tumbled in here. Ye seem to be sair forfochten yoursel', bauchle-you're aboon me noo in the warl'; time aboot, it's aye the way o't. Sin' I hae tell't ye my sorrowfu' history, ye micht let me hear yours. It's something like your ain, beaver; we may shake hands owre our misfortunes. When I cam out o' the souter's hands, wha like me?-ye micht hae taen aff your beard at me, instead o' a glass, wi' real reflection. Mony a bottle o' Day and Martin was poured on my outside, to gar me glitter. I was a real cordivan slipper; and my lady, when she brought me hame, wad only gang on carpets wi' me, and as canny as if she were gaun on velvet. In a while she put me on to balls and routs, and my sides pay't for't there; but the worst thing for me was the kicking and flinging at Highlan' reels; twa o' them did me mair damage than sax weeks, nicht after night, o' your scrapin', bowin', and becking at quadrilles. If I had my life to begin again, and had it in my power, I ne'er would gang wi' ony person to a place whar they were likely to dance reels; my lady dang out my sides wi' her kickin' and flingin', and put hersel' in sic a puff o' heat, that a gliff o' win', as she gaed through the lobby, catch't her by the throat, and sat doun on her lungs, puir thing, and we were baith thrown on the shelf at the same time; she was buskit in her deadal dress in less than three months after. The servants i' the house took me up next, and their big trampers soon finished my career; they coost me o'er the window up there, that looks into the kirkyard, and here I am.' That's my dream. Oh, man, Will, I believe I am gaun to dee, it's just a warnin' to me-wow! wow!" "Havers, man, Robin, what are ye youllin' at-it's just a sicht o' the ups and downs o' the warl'. Our ain bodies-bailies' beavers and ladies' slippers-a' below the beaver or aboon the bauchle. The doctor may plaster and cuiter us up for a while, but the steeks that haud the fabric thegither will gie way, rosin them as ye may; asunder ye come like the poor bauchle, an' a' the art aneath the sun canna put the pieces in their places, and steek them thegither again."—Laird of Logan.

No slogan-cry of gathering clan,
No battle-axe or spear.

No belted knight in armour bright,
With glance of kindling ire,
Doth change the sport of Chevy Chase
To conflict stern and dire.

Say, know ye that ye press the spot
Where Percy held his way
Across the marches, in his pride,
The chiefest harts" to slay?—
And where the stout Earl Douglas rode
Upon his milk-white steed,
With fifteen hundred Scottish spears,
To stay the invader's deed?
Graze on, graze on-there's many a rill

Wild wandering through the glade,
Where you may freely slake your thirst,
With none to make afraid :
There's many a murmuring stream that flows
From Cheviot's terraced side,

Yet not one drop of warrior's gore
Distains its crystal tide.

For Scotia from her hills hath come,
And Albion o'er the Tweed,

To give the mountain-breeze the feuds
That made their noblest bleed;
And like two friends, around whose hearts
Some brief estrangement run,
Love all the closer for the past,
And sit them down as one.

NATIVE SCENERY.

Sweetly wild, sweetly wild,

Were the scenes that charm'd me when a child!-
Rocks, grey rocks, with their tracery dark;
Leaping rills, like the diamond spark;
Torrent voices, thundering by,

When the pride of the vernal floods swell'd high;
And quiet roofs, like the hanging nest,
'Mid cliffs by the feathery foliage drest.
Beyond, in these woods, did the wild rose grow,
And the lily gleam white where the lakelets flow,
And the trailing arbutus shroud its grace,
Till its fragrance bewray'd its hiding-place,
And the woodbine hold to the dews its cup,
And the vine with its clustering grapes go up,
Up to the crest of the tallest trees.
And there, with the humming birds and bees.
On a seat of turf, embroider'd fair
With the violet blue and the columbine rare,
It was sweet to sit, till the sun laid down
At the gate of the west his golden crown.
Sweetly wild, sweetly wild,

Were the scenes that charm'd me when a child!

ROBIN'S DREAM.

MODE OF PURIFYING WATER.

It is well known that animal charcoal possesses the property of withdrawing certain salts from their solution in water. M. Girardin of Rouen was lately consulted in a case where water kept in a new cistern became tainted by dissolving a portion of lime and cement; Girardin ordered about 24 lbs. of ivory black, or animal charcoal, to be thrown into the cistern. In fifteen days, the water contained no lime in solution, and since that time the water has been excellent.-Newspaper paragraph.

MUSIC.

unnecessary

"An' there was

The "Rudiments of Music," and all other treatises composing "Chambers's Educational Course," may be had from the booksellers who supply Chambers's Journal.

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