his finger at a tall young man who marched slowly | worse; but when the clock had struck five, the unalong the other side of the canal.

They were obliged to carry O'Gunnell home to the house of his relative: he was so weak that he could sustain himself no longer. The merchant, persuaded that his malady was purely imaginary, had a clock placed in front of the bed, having previously put the hands forward half an hour. In proportion as the fatal moment drew near, the state of the disease grew

fortunate man became somewhat better, and they
began to conceive hopes of his recovery. At this
critical time, the sound of footsteps was heard in the
adjoining apartment, the door was thrust rudely open,
and a young man entered whom they readily recog-
nized as an Irishman, by his dress. O'Gunnell raised
himself in a sitting posture, threw a rapid glance upon
the intruder, and fell back dead in his bed.
It was the brother of Patrick O'Darcy.

[OXFORD-concluded from page 400.] human liberty could not be stated, for it transcends all calculation. In the year 1693, he found the book in which the expenses of the martyrs, during their residence in Oxford, were entered by the bailiffs of the city, was in existence, and it is probably still preserved among the manuscripts of that university. The sum paid for the burning of Archbishop Cranmer, and his two fellow-sufferers, Ridley and Latimer, appear in the book as follows:--For one hundred of

wood faggots, 6s.; for one hundred and a half of furze faggots, 3s. 4d.; to the carriage of them 8d.; to two labourers, 1s. 4d.; to three loads of wood faggots, to bùrn Ridley and Latimer, 12s.; item, one load of furze faggots, 3s. 4d.; for carriage of these four loads, 2s.; item, a post, 1s. 4.; item, for chains, 3s. 4.; item for staples, 6d.; item, for labourers, 4d. The above are exact transcripts from the bills, by the person who har charge of the funeral piles

THE SILVER ARROW.

A TALE OF SAVOY.

[ORIGINAL.]

UPON the summit of a lofty cliff in mountainous been frequent, almost daily, yet neither of them ever Savoy stood the castle of Count Rudolin, frowning dreamed of the inevitable result. Though the peasgrimly in the midst of sunshine upon the peaceful ant's son and noble's daughter might be freely together cottages below. Stern, rough, and half-inaccessible, as foster brother and sister, who could suppose they it was a fair type of its lord, the last Count of his would dare to form a stronger tie? line. And the sunny brightness, so lavishly poured upon it, was truly like the sweet influences of his young and gentle daughter. Father and child had the same name, but nothing more in common. Where sympathy is wanting there is little intercourse, so that while he regarded his daughter solely as his heiress, his repelling roughness caused her to look upon him merely as her guardian and natural protector.

They were now sixteen, and just arriving at a knowledge of the truth. The woman's nature of Lilien first perceived it, and her reserve, her absence from their usual place of meeting, and above all, her tone as she uttered the words: We are sixteen," conveyed it also to Albert's mind. Though yet unworn in the world's ways, and trembling with the delicious consciousness of a first love, she had sufficient In the deep narrow valley at the foot of the hill lay pride of ancestral birth to feel that they must meet a humble cottage, buried in the shadow of its lofty no more. But Albert was more hopeful. He too neighbour. The old cottager, Melchior, was the min-saw the barrier between them, but he also knew the strel and wise man of the whole barony. In those power of an invincible energy, and resolved never to days, the offices were commonly united, and the har-yield his faith.

per, who delighted high-born lords and dames with It was several days since they had last seen each his minstrelsy, was the repository of the peasants | other, and both looked eagerly forward to a grand unwritten lore, the story teller whom they always fête which the Count was preparing to give his dewelcomed, the seer whom they revered. Melchior pendants. Such had been an immemorial custom in pretended to little of the latter character, except when it was forced upon him, or could be made advantageous to his interest. Albert, his adopted son, was a manly youth, deeply versed in the "gay science," and yet the master of a spirit well fitted to lead in the front ranks of strife. The hand, which ran so lightly over the gentle guitar, was hardest in the contest, surest in the blow. Well worthy was he to have been a pupil of Scott's warrior minstrel," the jovial harper, who died at Jedwood Air."

"He brooked, not he, that scoffing tongue
Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong,

Or call his song untrue;

For this, when they the goblet plied,
And such rude taunt had chafed his pride,
The bard of Reull he slew.

On Teviot's side, in fight they stood,
And tuneful hands were stained with blood;
Where still the thorn's white branches wave
Memorial o'er his rival's grave."

Of such mould were the minstrels of former days, equally ready to exalt their science with sweetness of voice or strength of arm.

The adopted mother of Albert was foster-mother to the infant Countess Lilien, and thus from earliest childhood, notwithstanding the disparity of their conditions, an intimacy had grown up with their growth between the peasant's son and the daughter of Count Rudolin. She, the gentlest and loveliest of little maidens, was not the one to think of rank, and his strange wild heart burning with poetic fire, knew that it could disgrace the friendship of none, even of the loftiest. And no dreams of love had yet entered into the thoughts of either. Their ages were the same, but the matured soul of Albert naturally found itself sustaining her frailer and womanly spirit. This difference compensated for the equality in years, and placed him in the relation which man instinctively bears to the other sex. Their meetings had always

the barony, and one that he hardly dared to interrupt, though his taste was not in festivals and merry-makings for the poor. Perhaps he endured it less unwillingly, because the jovial unthinking tenantry would endure a year of oppression more readily, after a single day of pleasure. Upon these occasions feats of wrestling and archery throughout the day, followed by dancing in the great hall of the castle, amused the people and delighted not unfrequently the surly Count himself.

The morning of the festival dawned, and neither Countess Lilien or the young minstrel peasant imagined that their respective fates were crowded together within that single day.

From

The great court of the castle was early thrown open for the vassals as they assembled from every part of the barony. It was the only place near by which was well adapted for such occasions. the walls of the castle itself, a long smooth plat of ground stretched even to the verge of one of those tremendous gorges, so common in that broken country. It was a fissure between two portions of the same hill, running sheer down for an hundred feet, until where a mountain torrent dashed fiercely along over its rocky floor. The width of this fearful chasm was not more than thirty feet, and the two edges were connected by a light moveable bridge. This was the only defence of the castle on that side, and there, at least, made it almost impregnable.

The sports commenced, but Albert took no part and looked carelessly on the scene. Almost all his attention was directed towards the young Countess, in watching for a stray look, in receiving a chance smile, and more than once her shy innocent glance, resting on him for a moment, sent the blood thrilling swiftly through his veins. He busied himself for some time until a strange scene called his attention elsewhere.

There was a singular unskilfulness in the archers, | loose from those who would restrain him. The and one that might well have provoked a milder man Count continued: "The reward shall be given by the than Count Rudolin. He himself was a fine marks- hands of the Countess Lilien." Albert broke despeman and felt the disappointment as keenly as could rately from the grasp of his friends. the unlucky competitors. At last as each seemed shooting worse than the one before him, he rose from his seat and coming hastily forward, seized a bow from a peasant's hand. But even his skill was not exempt from the general disgrace. The arrow struck the target nearer than any before it, but still at a most provoking distance from the centre. The Count shook with rage and shame.

If success was in the power of man, his light agile form seemed most likely to obtain it. It was easy to ascend the tree up to the point where the dead limb shot off from the trunk. Here he stopped a moment and coolly formed his plan. There was no other course than to advance boldly upon the rotten branch without any support overhead, and to return in the same manner. He stepped lightly and nervously forward. His eye was fixed upon the silver arrow, as it glittered before him, loosely hanging to the branch with nothing between it and the torrent but an hundred feet of air. It was reached and in the bold youth's hand. Had he moved on without stopping, the decayed wood might have borne its burthen a little longer, but the unavoidable pause in grasping the "Remember, noble Count, that your ancestor re-shaft brought his whole weight for an instant upon a ceived that arrow from a dealer in magic for a particular mystic purpose, and the time of that has long since passed. Think too of the fatal caution which accompanied the gift,-to use it only where life or death to the House of Rudolin was concerned, for when the shaft should miss its mark, the unskilful archer should find it in his own heart."

"Bring hither my own cross-bow," he shouted, " and the silver arrow. I can do nothing with these awkward things. They, at least, will not fail." "Beware, Count Rudolin," said Melchior, "the silver arrow is not to be used on light occasions." "And why not, meddler?" He stamped with fury as he spoke.

"I am not the unskilful marksman whose arrow can miss," said the Count sternly, as he received the shaft and bow. This arrow, which had descended through many generations to the heirs of Rudolin, was delicately moulded of virgin metal. The shaft was hollow and skilfully ornamented with strange characters, and aside from the magic powers commonly attributed to it, was indeed a sure weapon in the hands of a good marksman. The Count examined it reverently, placed it in the bow and turned to take aim.

In his agitation he did not carefully draw the bowstring, and as he abruptly wheeled about, caught it against his doublet, and, of course, discharged the shaft. It whizzed swiftly through the air and lodged in a tree, which projected right over the fearful fissure already mentioned. All hurried to the spot.

The trunk of the tree was only a few feet from the narrow bridge, but where it pushed its boughs broadly out, there was nothing beneath them, except the torrent which roared far down under the cliff. The tree itself could be easily climbed by a hardy mountaineer, but unfortunately, the arrow had lodged in a dead branch, which seemed unable to bear the weight of a man. Any attempts from the land to loosen it would inevitably cause it to drop into the

torrent.

At one glance the Count saw all the hazard of an attempt to regain the arrow. Yet as a work of magic, whose loss would be followed by a curse, he could not bear to lose it. Rather his castle, anything, than that on which his life depended.

"Five hundred crowns," cried he," to the man who will place the silver arrow in my hands!" There was a wistful buzzing among his retainers, but no one stirred. The Count marked this and knew what must be the price of such fearful danger.

"I will grant," he said slowly and loudly, "any boon in my power and consistent with my honour, which he shall demand." At these words, he noticed youth in the back of the crowd striving to break

particular point. The branch cracked. He threw the arrow at the Count's feet just as the bough broke from the tree with a crashing noise and fell down the abyss. A cry of terror burst from the crowd.

In that dreadful moment, when his sole support gave way, the youth's daring coolness did not fail him. With a nervous effort, that snapped the rotten bough clear from the tree; he sprung forward as far as possible into the air. His only hope was to catch the bridge a few feet on one side in his descent, and he barely succeeded. His fingers just closed upon the rail, and though the sudden shock in falling nearly swung him away, life depended upon his grasp, and he steadily maintained it for a second. Then he lightly leaped upon the bridge, crossed it, and picking the arrow from the ground, whence no one had thought of removing it, placed it in the Count's hands.

The peasants broke into shouts of triumph. Even the Count's harsh features wore a smile of admiration as he said,

"Now, gallant boy, ask the boon."

Albert looked steadily at the young Countess until she shivered under his gaze. He stepped forward and offered to take her hand within his own. Trembling with recent excitement and conscious of nothing but the movements of one, so miraculously preserved to her love, she yielded to the only impulse of her heart and kneeled with him at her father's feet.

Count Rudolin whitened with rage at this presumptuous act. A storm of passion swept into his heart and almost burst the frame that was unable to contain it. For a few moments his retainers looked to see him fall in convulsions, as had often happened when anything roused his ungovernable fury. At length he spoke a few words in a hoarse, stammering hiss.

"Bind and dungeon the madman. On with your sports, simple fools."

Without noticing Lilien he walked hurriedly to the castle, the silver arrow still in his hands. In his joy at its recovery, he had vowed not to part with it throughout the day. The only reward of its restorer was a dungeon.

In the evening, the great hall of the castle was brilliantly illuminated, and thrown open for dancing. Count Rudolin was there, somewhat more composed

One of the first spots which the American traveller | lake perfect in all its parts. It has even its little visits after landing in England is Rydal Mount, the residence of the Poet Wadsworth. Omnipotent power of Genius! A quiet bookish man, whose life had been passed in the most secluded manner possible, who had made no brilliant speeches, headed no armies, amassed no wealth, but has simply written a few simple verses, so simple indeed, that they were adopted in the nursery and laughed at in Reviews, when they first appeared, takes up his residence at an out-of-the way village in a sequestered part of the country, when suddenly it becomes an English shrine, one of the "Meccas of the Mind," and every thing connected with it; the trees, the rocks, the streams, the views and the falls, become sacred objects in the eyes of the world, and Rydal is thenceforth a classic sound, a name linked with poetry, and enrolled on the scroll with the Helicons of literature.

green islands-on one of which is a heronry--and around it is a belt of wood-clad hills and noble mountains On the east is the little village, with its neat modern chapel, built by Lady le Fleming. Passing up the lane by Glen Rothay, you soon arrive at Rydal Hall, the seat of the Le Flemings, and Wordsworth's cottage on Rydal Mount. The park of Rydal Hall is the finest in these parts. Large trees are rarely met with in this district; but those here would do honour to a southern domain, while the views you gain from among them are such as only Rydal can show. In the park are a couple of far-famed waterfalls. The largest tumbles into a deep glen, and though not wilder than suits the vicinity of a lordly residence, has a grand appearance. But it is the lessor or Lower fall that is the most famous. It is one of the very daintiest little cascades that ever delightThe beautifully engraved view, which we presented the eye. Being in a pleasure ground it appears in our readers, of Rydal Falls, is the first one that has been published in this country.

A recent English writer says of the beautiful sheet of water which has been sanctified by the genius of Wadsworth, "Rydal Lake is a gem. Small enough to lie in one of the bays of Windermere, it yet is a