between her and the blast, while he urged her to rise," You will perish, Nora, if you sit longer here," he said. "I have a pillion for you behind my saddle; we can be in Banagher before an hour."

"In Banagher!" she exclaimed; " and shall we not first go to Inisbeg chapel ?" "Yes, yes," he replied hastily; "certainly we shall I had forgotten."

"Oh, Richard," she cried, taking his hand, "you would not, you surely would not deceive me?"

"Do I live? do I breathe?" he exclaimed; but the tone of indignant affection in which he spoke was too extravagant to be real:"but, Nora,” he added quickly in a low and eager whisper," have you brought the child ?"

"Alas! poor infant," she replied, "he is here in my arms. I would to God I were free of the sin of bringing him out this bitter night!-Baby, baby," she passionately added, addressing her covered and apparently sleeping burthen, "I have stolen you to-night from your lawful mother, but it was to gain a lawful father for my own. Oh, Richard, shall we not be kind to him when we are the happy couple that you promise this night's theft shall make us ?"

"We will, we will, Nora; but waste no more time, rise and let us go." He aided her to rise slowly and painfully, and placing his arm round her waist, supported her, while she began to lap the infant closer in its mufflings. Suddenly she started, and drew in her breath with the quick sob of terrified alarm. "What is the matter ?" cried her supporter.

"Oh, nothing-I hope, I trust in God, nothing," she replied, sighing convulsively, and trembling, as with a shaking and hurried hand she undid the wrappers in which the infant lay; but when she had bared his neck, and once pressed her cheek to its face, and her hand to its little feet, she fell from his arms to the ground, with one long cry and fainted.

"What is the meaning of all this ?" cried the man, in a voice of rough impatience and vexation, as he stooped down and raised her on his knee. Her head sank back upon his arm, and the child rolled from her relaxed grasp. He grasped it roughly as it fell, bent down, and gazed upon its still features, and laughed horribly.-"Ah, ha!" he muttered, "here is a speedy consummation. No more need for plotting and planning now ;-no more need for coaxing and quieting the scrupulous fool after this. Ha, ha, Sir Richard Morton, I wish you joy!"

But consciousness was now returning to the wretched girl; she heaved a deep sigh, and raised her hands to her forehead"Nurse, bring me the baby-oh! gracious God, what is this!-Richard, Richard, where

am I?-is this the Brehon's pillar?- and the infant-is he-oh! is he so numbed?"? "Numbed!" repeated Morton, in a voice of ill-subdued triumph, "he is numbed to death, I think."

"No, no, no," she exclaimed, frantically tearing away the kerchief from her bosom, and snatching the motionless body from the ground, where it had fallen like a clod out of the hands of the exulting villain, to press it ineffectually against her chilled and terrified heart. "Oh! no, no, he is not deadhe is not dead," she cried, “or I am the most accursed of women;" and starting to her feet, she rushed wildly into the storm. The storm caught her like a withered leaf in autumn, and upon the wings of the wind, and in the frenzy of despair, she flitted before her astonished pursuer, for Morton had followed on the instant; yet although he ran swiftly, impelled by anger and apprehension, he had left both horse and pillar far out of sight, before he overtook, and at length arrested her. "Touch me not, Richard!" she exclaimed, "touch me not, for I am a wretch that would pollute the hangman. Oh, God! send the storm to sweep me to the river, or the snow to bury me where I stand, for I have taken the life of that innocent babe, and am not fit to live!"

Amid her passionate lamentations, the voice of Morton was hardly heard; but when her tears and sobs at length choked their utterance, he said to her, as she sank exhausted in his arms, "Cease your useless complaints, and hear me. What is done cannot be undone; but listen to me, and, even as it is, I will show you how to make it better for us both-Do you hear what I say to you, Nora Boyle ?"

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Richard, Richard, do you know what I have done?" she sobbed in reply.

"I'll tell you what," cried he, sternly, you have done me better service than you ever did before-you have done the very thing I wanted."

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My brain is bewildered and burning," she said, " and I hardly comprehend what you would tell me. Service, did you say? Alas! I can do you no service, Richard. would to God I were dead !”

"I did not ask you to do more service,” cried he," I told you, you had done enough already. The stealing of their heir, I tell you, was of no use without this; and this would have been done sooner or later.-Why what a simpleton you were, to think that I would succeed to these estates, till a jury had been shown that the next heir was dead I was jesting with you when I said that would rear him in France."

Consciousness of something dreadfully sinful in her companion seemed to hav been gradually forcing itself upon the reluc tant mind of the miserable girl; she ha

shrunk partially from his embrace at the first faint suspicion, but now she sprung from his side with the energy of entire horror.

Jesting! jesting!" she exclaimed; " and your promise that you would marry me-oh! blessed Virgin! was that jesting also ?" "Perverse and provoking fool," he cried furiously, and grasped her by the arm, "dare you reproach me with a falsehood when the guilt of murder is on your own soul? What would you do? Would you rush into Lady Morton's chamber with her dead child in your arms, and tell her that you come to be hanged? Would you go mad, and rave to the tempest here, till you sink upon the common, and become like what you carry ?"

"Oh! that I were;-oh! would to God that I were!" she exclaimed, with a fresh burst of passionate weeping.

"Well, well," said he, "be calm; be calm, I entreat you now, and listen to me."

He set his back doggedly against the blast, and again drew her to his side, where, under the shelter of his cloak, he said, in a strong whisper

but

"You can save us both if you will, Nora. Go down to Mount Morton; I will see you safe to the door. Steal in as you came out. Dry the wet from the child's hair, and the marks of the soil from his night-dress, and lay him as you found him, in his cradle. The draught you gave the nurse secures you from interruption. Then, go to your own bed; you must hang your wet clothes to dry, and throw your shoes into the river out of your window. They will all say in the morning that the child died a natural death overnight. Come "for all at once, as he was speaking, she had clasped her hands closer over her breast, where the infant still lay, and with a deep and fluttering inspiration had made a motion of assent, in the direction of the house," Come, there is a good girl. Did I not say well, Nora? Why, you are a woman of spirit after all. I was wrong to quarrel with you. This was no fault of yours. You could not tell how cold it would be; never blame yourself then. honour I will marry you yet, if you only do this thing well;—but why do you not speak, Nora ?"

By my

"Make haste, make haste," in a voice of forced and tremulous calmness, was all the reply she made.

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Yes, let us hurry on," he answered; "the sooner it is done the better. But, I cannot take you with me to-night, Nora; you are aware of that. You must stay to avoid suspicion. And, mark me, be not too eager in the morning to take the alarm; and when you have to look at it along with the rest"

But let us not pollute our pages with the minutiae of deliberate villany which, in the pauses of the wind, he ceased not to pour into the ears of Nora Boyle, till they had

passed the farthest skirts of the declining moor, and were arrived beneath an arch of tossing and leafless branches. Through this the blast shrieked so loud and shrilly, that neither heard the other till they stood before an antique and extensive building at its farther end.

"Now, Nora," whispered Morton, as they advanced to a low door in the thickly ivied wall, "remember what I have told you; I will see you to-morrow: till then, give me a kiss "

But she had hurried in through the unfastened postern, and he heard the bolts shoot

and the chains fall on the inside ere the unhallowed words had passed his lips.

"She cannot mean to play me false," he muttered; "she cannot do but as I have desired. She has no choice. Yet I will not trust her. I will round to her window, and see to it myself.'

So saying, he turned from the door, and dived into the thick shrubbery that skirted the courtyard in front.

(To be continued.)

The Gatherer.

The generality of what the world calls friends, are but one's shadows, they accompany us while the sun shines, but quit us as soon as it disappears: "Felix sec nescit amari," says Lucan, and "the distressed have no patron," says experience.

Unkindness. How many heart-aches should we spare ourselves if we were careful to check every unkind word or action towards those we love, by this anticipating reflection. The time may soon arrive when the being I am now about to afflict, may be snatched from me for ever to the cold recesses of the grave, secured from the assaults of my petulance and deaf to the voice of my remorseful penitence.

Melody and Harmony.-A young lady one day playing a favourite air on the piano, with some useless variations, led me into the

following reflections. Melody is the soul of harmony, for, without melody, what effect has harmony but to puzzle and send the hearer to sleep? When an air is played every one is all ear, but what a discordant gabble is afloat when some of these fine harmonies are produced. As the poet says

"All discord, harmony not understood." Too many accompaniments in music destroy the pleasure arising from sweet sounds, and we think of such musical compositions as we do of more corporeal tastes, "that too many cooks have spoiled the broth."

Insanity Defined.-There are so many shades of want of reason, that a medical man is placed in very difficult circumstances in speaking on that point before a jury. Com

mon people think that when a man is in a delirium he is mad.-Sometimes the imagination of a person only is disordered, while the reason is sound. Sometimes only one feeling is disordered, at other times a great number of feelings. At other times his perception may be diseased. If a number of these are disordered, his reason becomes embarrassed. In insanity when a man does an insane act, I always look whether there is an adequate motive for it.-Madness is a most complicated disease and shows itself in a great number of ways.

The Drama.-Every dramatist must be a poet, but many of the greatest poets have proved very indifferent dramatists.-Madden. A Good Story.-Sir John Sinclair relates that the common people still believe, that the devil visited Patrick Forbes, bishop of Aberdeen, in his castle of Craigievar; that the two quarrelled, that his majesty of the "brimstone cutie" carried away with him the whole gable of the castle, on the stone stairs whereof they still pretend to point out his footsteps!

Electricity-Saussure and his companion, while ascending the Alps, were caught amidst thunder-clouds: they found their bodies filled with electricity, and every part of them so saturated with it, that spontaneous sparks were emitted with a crackling noise, and the same painful sensations which are felt by those electrified by art.

A vigorous mind is as necessarily accompanied by violent passions, as a great fire with great heat.-Burke.

Ignorance Bliss.-The disadvantages of literature, and consequently the advantages of ignorance, are much better understood in Turkish countries, and a more salutary terror entertained of them, than in any Christian clime.-Madden.

Burns.-Mr. Madden, in his clever work on the Infirmities of Genius, thus concludes a chapter on the poet Burns: "Let those who are without follies cast the stone at his infirmities, and thank their God that they are not like the other poor children of genius, frail in health, feeble in resolution, and in small matters improvident, and unfortunate in most things."

were brought from the Tower in separate coaches, there was some dispute in which the axe must go, when Lord Balmerino cried, "Come, come, put it with me." At the bar, he played with his fingers upon the axe, while he talked to the gaoler; and one day somebody coming up to listen, he took the blade, and held it like a fan between their faces.

Shows at Fairs.-Walpole had some experience of the deceit of these traps. In one of his letters he says, "I am not commonly fond of sights, but content myself with the oil-cloth picture of them that is hung out, and to which they seldom come up."

Arresting a King-Everybody knows the story of the poor insolvent Theodore, king of Corsica, who left his kingdom to his creditors. His arrest was cruelly curious. He lived in a privileged place: his creditors seized him by making him believe that Lord Granville wanted him on business of importance: he bit at it, and was sent to the King's Bench Prison.

Venison. When Walpole invited the Chevalier Lorenzi to dine at Strawberry Hill, he gave him venison, and as he was deteras good mined to like it, he protested it was as beef."

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Ancestry.-The Levis, a rich family of the last century, piqued themselves on their Jewish name, and called cousins with the Virgin Mary. There was an absurd picture of them, in which Noah was represented going into the ark, carrying under his arm a small trunk, on which was written Papers of the house of Levi."

Hot Weather.-In 1750, Walpole says, "we had eight of the hottest days that ever were felt; they say, some degrees beyond the hottest in the East Indies, and that the Thames was more so than the Hot Wells at Bristol. The Guards died on their posts at Versailles; and here a Captain Halyburton went mad with the excess of it. "

Over the door of a tavern, in the neighbourhood of Aberdeen, is the following intimation:

"James Rettie-Licensed to sell the year that's begun

P.P. Porter and Ale-F. F. Fusky and Rum. On a person inquiring the meaning of the above detached letters, he was answered that impediment in their speech, and, perhaps," "both the publican and the painter had an continued his informant," the painter had a stuttering brush also.”

Printed and published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) London; sold by G. G. BENNIS, 55, Rue Neuve, St. Augustin, Paris ; CHARLES JUGEL, Francfort; and by all News

rises abruptly from the vale below, presenting an extensive line of buildings, mixed with trees, flanked towards the east by the venerable remains of the Castle. The name Falaise denotes the position of the town Mr. Dawson Turner supposes it to be a modification of the German word fels, a rock; falsia, in modern Latinity, and falaise, in French, signifying a rocky shore.

The origin of the Castle may safely be referred to remote antiquity, the time, most probably, of the earliest Norman dukes. It is situated on a bold and very lofty rock, broken into fantastic masses, and covered with luxuriant vegetation. The keep is of excellent masonry; the stones are accurately squared, and put together with great neatness, and the arches are turned clearly and distinctly. Some parts of the wall towards the interior court are built of the dark stone of the country, disposed in a zig-zag, or, as it is more commonly called, in a herring-bone direction; the buttresses, or rather piers, are of small projection, but great width. The upper story, destroyed about sixty years since, was of a different style of architecture; according to an old print, it terminated with a large battlement, and bartizan towers at the angles. The dungeon was formerly divided into several apartments. The second, or principal story of the keep now forms a single square room, about 50 feet wide, lighted by circular headed windows, each divided into two by a short and central massy pillar, whose capital is altogether Norman. On one of the capitals is sculptured a child leading a lamb, a representation, as it is foolishly said, of the Conqueror, whom tradition alleges to have been born in the apartment to which this window belonged.

Connected with the dungeon by a stone staircase is a small apartment, very much dilapidated, but still retaining a portion of its original facing of Caen stone. It was from the window of this apartment, as the story commonly goes, that Duke Robert first saw the beautiful Arlette, drawing water from the stream below, and was enamoured of her charms. Another version of the tale is that the Duke saw Arlette, on his return from the chase, washing linen in a brook with her companions; that he was smitten with her beauty, and wishing to have her for his mistress, sent (says a chronicler in verse,) one of his most discreet cavaliers to make proposals to the family. The father at first received such proposals with disdain; but, on reflection, he consulted one of his brothers, who was a hermit in the neighbouring forest, and a man of great reputation for religion; the religious man was of opinion that the will of the powerful man should be done in all things; and thus the matter was settled. A third story relates that the rencontre took place as Robert was returning from the chase, with

his mind full of anger against the inhabitants of Falaise, for having presumed to kill the Ideer which he had commanded should be preserved for his royal pastime. In this offence, the curriers of the town had borne the greatest share, and they were, therefore, principally marked out for punishment. But, fortunately for them, Arlette, the daughter of one Verpray, the most culpable of the num ber, met the offended Duke, while riding through the street, and with her beauty so fascinated him, that she not only obtained the pardon of her father and his associates, but became his mistress, and continued so as long as he lived. The fruit of their union was William the Conqueror, whose illegitimate birth, and the low extraction of his mother, served on more than one occasion as a pretext for conspiracies against his throne, and were frequently the subject of personal mortification to himself.

The walls in this part of the Castle are from eight to nine feet thick. A portion of them has been hollowed out, so as to form a couple of small rooms.

Talbot's tower, thus called for having been built by that general, in 1430, and the two subsequent years, is connected with the keep by means of a long passage. It is more than 100 feet high, and is a beautiful piece of masonry, as perfect, apparently, as on the day when it was erected, and as firm as the rock on which it stands. This tower is ascended by a staircase concealed within the substance of the walls, whose thickness is from 13 to 16 feet. Another aperture in them serves for a well, which thus communicates with every apartment in the tower.

The walls and towers which encircle the keep are of much later date; the principal gateway is pointed. Immediately on entering is seen the very ancient chapel, dedicated to St. Priscus, or, as he is called, St. Prix. This building has been much altered. Henry V. repaired it in 1418, and it has been since dilapidated and restored. A pile of buildings beyond, wholly modern in the exterior, is now inhabited as a seminary or college.

It

Altogether the Castle is a noble ruin. possesses an impressive character of strength, which is much increased by the extraordinary freshness of the masonry. The fosses are planted with lofty trees, which shade and intermingle with the towers and ramparts, and group on every side with picturesque beauty. The outline of the Castle is eggshaped; and the following are its dimensions, according to M. Langevin: length, 270 feet; mean width, 420: quantity of ground contained within the walls, two acres and a perch.

The childhood of William was passed within this Castle. He was only seven years of age, when Robert, his father, made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem to atone for his sins