a cold perspiration came upon her face-her breathing ceased her pulse fluttered. There was a general fear, and all thought she was gone. This was, however, a mere transient oppression on the heart-a fainting fit from which she soon recovered: and on seeing those she loved standing round her in depair, she said :— "Why are you weeping? I am still with you." They all gathered round her, and after she had regained her breath, she turned to her mother, and continued:" Still I feel that life is passing from me, and that my hour is near. Now then be calm, and receive my last words-the last wishes of my heart.' She took a ring from her finger, and gave it to Ermelinda, saying:-" It was given me by Ottorino, in your presence the symbol of a knot which was decreed to be of short duration in this world, but which will be renewed in Paradise. . . . If it is granted to you to see him again, give it into his hands, that he may one day show it to me. . . . and also tell him, that in this solemn hour, while I tremble at the thought that I shall so soon be alone in the hands of the LORD, I entreated him to do me one favor, for the love he has borne me, for his own, for my eternal salvation,-I entreat him not to call any one to account for what I have suffered in this world." She leaned back for a few minutes, then indicating her attendant, who sat at the foot of the bed, with a slight nod, she added:-" I need not recommend her to you; you have ever had her under your own eye, and in your heart; but after all that she has endured for my sake, she would have been to me as a sister, so let her be as a daughter to you. She will be more obedient to you than this one, whom you have loved too well.' And turning to Lauretta, she said :-" Will you promise me....?" "Oh! yes,” replied the girl, “I will never forsake her while I live: I will always remain with her. I will be entirely hers." Bice was silent after this, as she felt her strength failing her. She remained a long time as if in a stupor; at last, slowly opening her eyes, she turned them towards the window, through which the sun's rays were shining in, murmuring to herself, "Oh, my dear mountains!" Her mother drew closer to her, and Bice, with difficulty, raising her voice, which was becoming every instant more feeble and tremulous, uttered these words, in broken sentences :-" There, in the holy Church-yard of Limonta, in that little Chapel . . . where my poor brother lies. . . where we have prayed together... and wept together so often Let me rest by his side.... You will go there alone to pray and weep for us both.. .. I shall have the best wishes of those good people. Salute them all for me... and poor Marta, who has a son also in that holy place. . . ." ... Her mother, more by signs than by words, for her utterance was impeded by tears, assured her that every wish should be fulfilled. Then the Monk, perceiving that the suffering girl had but a few moments to live, put on his stole, gave her his blessing, and began to recite the prayers for the dying, over her. All knelt round the bed and responded, sobbing. Bice, also, sometimes with her voice, sometimes with a slow and fervent inclination of her head, showed that she was taking part in the aspirations expressed in those holy words. Her calm and placid countenance gave testimony to the peace of that devout spirit, which, in the midst of the pangs of death, tasted beforehand the bliss of another life. But suddenly, the silent stillness which prevailed in that room was broken by the noise of hurried footsteps ascending the staircase. All eyes were turned to the door. The Castellan's wife, getting up, went to meet the two individuals who were approaching, and spoke a few words to them. One of the two paused on the threshold, but the other, rushing into the room, threw himself on his knees, at the foot of the bed, pressed and kissed the bedclothes, and inundated them with a flood of tears. Ermelinda, the Count, and Lauretta, immediately recognised Ottorino; the others guessed who it was. The young man had just arrived from the castle of Binasco, in company with him in whose name he had been detained prisoner, and who had gone in person to set him at liberty. The dying girl, disturbed by this sudden noise, languidly opened her eyes, without being able to distinguish the new comer, who was concealed from her view by those standing about, and enquired what it was. "Praised be GOD!" exclaimed the Confessor, with emotion. "You accepted the bitter trial from Him; you accepted it with resignation and gratitude; receive, with the same mind, the blessing He now grants you." "What? Ottorino ! said Bice, in the agonies of death, making a last effort to pronounce his name. Yes, your husband," repeated the Priest; and, going to the young Knight, he made him rise from his knees, and brought him to her. Bice fixed on him her two eyes, which sparkled with a ray on the point of being extinguished, stretching out her hand, over which he bent his face, agitated, but no longer tearful. After a moment, the expiring girl drew her hand gently back, and showing it to her husband, she at the same time pointed to her mother, and tried to say something, without being able to articulate the words distinctly. The Monk guessed her desire, and turned to Ottorino"She wishes to tell you of the wedding ring she has entrusted to her mother, and which you will receive from her." A smile brightened the countenance of Bice, signifying that he was right. Then Ermelinda quickly drew the ring from her finger, and gave it to Ottorino, who kissed it, and said, “It shall descend with me into the grave." "Your wife has also bequeathed a petition to you," continued the priest; "she prays you to lay aside all thoughts of revenge, if ever you entertained any in your heart. Vengeance belongeth to the LORD."" Bice kept her eyes anxiously fixed on the countenance of Ottorino, who stood with his head hung down, and made no answer; but the confessor took the irresolute young man by the arm. "Well," he asked, in a grave and severe tone, "do you promise? Do you promise this to your wife, who, at the last step from life into death, from time into eternity, asks it of you as a favour, imposes it upon you as a duty, in the name of that GOD, before Whom she is about to appear?" 66 Yes, I promise it," replied Ottorino, giving way to a burst of tears. Bice thanked him, with a look full of angelic mildness, which plainly showed that she had nothing more to wish for in this world. After this, the Priest signed to the bystanders, who knelt down again, and he went on with the prayers that had been interrupted. In this moment of suspense and universal silence, she who lay at the point of death seemed the only one who was aware of the suppressed sound of sobs, coming from the next room; and she slowly raised her eyes to her mother's face, as if enquiring who it was; but Ermelinda hid her face in her hands, for she could not bring herself to pronounce that name; the Priest, however, bending over Bice, said to her, in a low voice, "Pray for him, pray especially for him; he is Marco Visconti." She gently inclined her head in token that she did so; and they never saw her raise it. She had breathed her last. One of the most pleasing points in this work, is the graphic vigour of the delineation of the character of the Italian peasantry; a character compounded of naïve simplicity and acuteness easily persuaded, and unquestioning on all points relating to religious belief, but keen and penetrating in the perception of character. 206 There are also scenes in the book of much pathos. The passages we have quoted will recall to the reader's recollection the catastrophe of Kenilworth; and there is another, the death of the fisherman's son, which is not unworthy of being placed by the side of the similar scene in the Antiquary. POPULAR YEAR BOOK. Stow, in allusion to the year 1190, "were many robbers and outlaws; among the which Robin Hood and Little John, renowned thieves, continued in woods despoiling and plundering the goods of the rich; they killed none but such as would invade them, or by resistance for their own defence. The said Robert entertained an hundred tall men and good archers with such spoils and thefts as he got, upon whom four hundred (were they ever so strong) durst not give the onset. He suffered no woman to be oppressed, violated, or otherwise molested; poor men's goods he spared, abundantly relieving them with that which by theft he got from abbeys, and the houses of rich earls: whom Major (the historian) blameth for his rapine and theft; but of all thieves he affirmeth him to be the prince, and the most gentle thief." January 19.-On this day, 1247, ROBIN HOOD is supposed to have died. Albeit a robber and an outlaw, his popularity was unbounded among our English ancestors. The old ballads, still extant, which celebrate his feats of prowess and generosity, are very numerous; and his remembrance was kept alive for centuries, not only by those traditionary lays, but also by those dramatic representations" which formerly enhanced the joys of May in every town and village of "merrie England." The true history of this worthy, for such, on the whole, he seems to have been, notwithstanding the questionable character of his occupations, is involved in deep obscurity. One of the versions of his biography is as follows:-His real name was Fitz-Ooth. His grandfather, Ralph Fitz-Ooth, Earl of Kyme, whose name appears in the roll of Battle Abbey, came over to England with William Rufus, and was married to a daughter of Gilbert de Gient, Earl of Lincoln. His father, William Fitz-Ooth, was a ward of Robert, Earl of Oxford, who, by the king's order, gave him his niece in marriage, the third daughter of Lady Roisia de Vere, Countess of Essex. Having dissipated his fortune, Robin Ooth, or Hood, joined a band of depredators, and, as their chief, levied heavy contributions for his support on all such as he deemed rich enough to bear the loss. He was celebrated for his courage, skill in archery, and kindness to the poor, who often shared with him in the plunder he had taken. "It is said," writes Baker, in his "Chronicles," "that he was of noble blood; at least made noble, no less than an earl, for deserving services; but having wasted his estate in riotous courses, very penury forced him to this course." Some historians have affirmed Robin Hood was only a name assumed by the Earl of Huntingdon, who was disgraced and banished the Court by Richard I. at his accession. The old ballads, however, say nothing of this, and the only authority for it appears to be the outlaw's epitaph (cited below), the authenticity of which has been greatly doubted, although Ritson, the most fastidious of antiquaries, seems inclined to admit its genuineness. Robin is reported to have lived till 1247; but Baker, in his " Chronology," supposes that he "The king," he died in the reign of Richard I. set forth a proclamation to have him appresays, hended. It happened he fell sick at a certain nunnery in Yorkshire, called Kirklees, and desiring to be let blood, was betrayed, and made to bleed to death." According to some traditions, the robber was reconciled to his sovereign, feasted him in the "gay green wood," and subsequently gained all his lands and honours. Among such conflicting statements, it is impossible to arrive at any certain conclusion in reference to the rank, &c., of this Two points, however, repopular personage. specting him are clearly ascertained, i. e. the period "In this time," says and the scene of his exploits. The principal scene of Robin's exploits was "The reliques of the old merry Sherwood." "are few and forest," says Washington Irving, scattered; but as to the bold outlaw who once held a kind of freebooting sway over it, there is scarce a hill or dale, a cliff or cavern, a well or fountain, in this part of the country, which is not connected with his memory." A few miles distant from Newstead Abbey, and at no great distance from the oak of Ravenshead, one of the last survivors of old Sherwood, is a small cave which goes by the name of Robin Hood's stable. It is in the breast of a hill scooped out of brown freestone, with rude attempts at columns and arches. Within are two niches, which served, it is said, as stalls for the outlaw's horses. To this retreat he retired when hotly pursued by the law; for the place was a secret even from his band. The cave is overshadowed by an oak and elder, and is hardly discoverable even at the present day; but when the country was overrun with forest, it must have been completely concealed. A niche in one of a chain of rocky cliffs called Kirkby crags, is named Robin Hood's chair. It commands a wide prospect over the valley of Newstead, and here the outlaw is said to have taken his seat, and kept a look out on the roads below, watching for merchants or nobles, and other wealthy travellers, upon whom to pounce down, like an eagle from his eyrie. An account of the many valorous and courtly deeds of Robin Of Friar Hood would occupy far more space than we can spare even for so gentle a robber. Tuck, Maid Marian, and Little John, the outlaw's The story of Allan-a-dale, favourite companions, we shall probably make mention hereafter. another of Robin's celebrated followers, has been told in a modern ballad, which we here transcribe: The dew-drops lay like diamonds sheen, His face it was with weeping wan, For her father was a griping knave, Then Robin took a tuneful lyre, And a brave disguise put on, The Prelate he muttered the Church's ban, But Robin laughed out loud and long, And his troop hurried in with glee; And he took from the bishop, with scoff and jest, And stout little John in a vestment drest, Thus Alice was wedded to Allan-a-dale, And her father he stormed, the miserly knave, J. F. RUSSELL. At Kirklees, in Yorkshire, formerly a Benedictine nunnery, is a grave-stone, near the park, under which, according to tradition, Robin Hood lies buried. There are the remains of an inscription upon it, which, however, is quite illegible. Mr. Ralph Thoresby has preserved a copy of the epitaph, which, in modern phraseolgy, runs thus: "Here, underneath this little stone, And people called him Robin Hood; As supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine, their beauties lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven, with upward eyes, for all that they desire." KEATES. The above verse of a very beautiful poem alludes to the many kinds of divination practised on this day by virgins to discover their future husbands. Burton, in his "Anatomie of Melancholy," speaks of maids fasting, on S. Agnes' Eve, with this object; and the reward of their abstinence is thus alluded to by Ben Jonson : "And on sweet S. Agnes' night, Please you with the promised sight, Old Aubrey directs that, “Upon S. Agnes' night, you take a row of pins, and pull out every one, one after another, saying a Paternoster, sticking a pin in your sleeve, and you will dream of him or her you shall marry.” January 21.-S. Agnes' Bay. S. Agnes was a Roman virgin and martyr, who suffered in the tenth persecution, under the Emperor Diocletian, 306. About eight days after her martyrdom, her parents, going to lament and pray at her tomb, beheld a vision of angels, among whom was their daughter, and a lamb standing by her as white as snow; on which account it is that she is usually figured with a lamb by her side. She has always been esteemed a special patroness of purity. The " Popish Kingdom" contains the following account of the observance of this festival at Rome:: "In Saint Agnes' Church, upon this day, while Mass they sing, Two lambs as white as snow the nuns do yearly use to bring; And, when the Agnus chanted is, upon the altar high, (For in this thing there hidden is a solemn mystery) They offer them. The servants of the Pope, when this is done, Do put them into pasture good till shearing time do come; Then other wool they mingle with these holy fleeces twain, Whereof, being spun and dressed, are made the palls of passing gain." These palls, so made, consist of white cloth of the finest texture. They are duly consecrated, and sent by the Pope to newly-appointed archbishops. "The Bishops of Rome," says Mr. Palmer, "gradually acquired authority over the Metropolitans of the West by conferring on them the pall (or pallium), which was an ornament originally given to the patriarchs of the Roman Emperors, and which, from the sixth century, the patriarchs of Rome bestowed on those bishops became an object of extreme desire to the Western whom they constituted their vicars. "This honour Metropolitans and Bishops; and, from the middle of the eighth century, the Metropolitans generally began to receive it. But they were obliged to solicit it earnestly, and at length to go to Rome for the purpose; and, in fine, about the end of the eleventh century, it was represented by the Popes as essential to the discharge of the duties of Metropolitans ; and, this point being gained, the Metropolitans were at last compelled to take oaths of obedience to the Pope before they could obtain their palls." So expensive were these ensigns of dignity (or subjection) that an Archbishop of Canterbury has paid 5,000 florins for the privilege of wearing one. The pall was originally only a stole wound round the neck, with the ends hanging down behind and before. Mr. Hart, in his "Ecclesiastical Records," calls it "a narrow vestment, passing over the shoulders, and hanging down before, with crosses worked upon it." describes the ancient ceremony of the Blessing of Stopford, in his "Pagano Papismus," 1678, Sheep, on S. Agnes'-day. The sheep, he relates, were brought into the church, and the priest, having blessed some salt and water, read, in one corner, this gospel, "To us a child is born," &c., with the whole office, a farthing being laid upon the book and taken up again; in the second corner he read this gospel, "Ye men of Galilee," &c., with the whole office, a farthing being laid upon the book, as before; in the third corner he read this gospel, "I am the good Shepherd," &c., with the whole office, as before; and in the fourth corner he read this gospel, "In these days," &c., Miscellaneous. "I have here made only a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own, but the string that ties them."--Montaigne. with the whole office, as before. After that, he sprinkled all the sheep with holy water, saying, "Let the blessing of GOD, the FATHER ALMIGHTY, descend, and remain upon you, in the Name of the FATHER, and of the SON, and of the HOLY GHOST. Amen." Then he signed all the sheep with the sign of the cross, repeated thrice some Latin verses, with FENELON, Archbishop of Cambray, was asked one day the Paternoster and Ave Marias, sung the Mass of by an intimate friend, if he could communicate to him the HOLY GHOST, and, at the conclusion, an offering the secret of being always easy. "Yes," replied the good of fourpence was for himself, and another of three-man, "I can teach you my secret with great facility. It consists in nothing more than making a right use of pence was for the poor. your eyes." His friend begged him to explain himself. "Most willingly," replied the bishop. In whatever state I am, I first of all look up to heaven, and I remember my principal business here is how to get there. I then look down upon the earth, and call to mind how small a portion I shall occupy in it when I come to be interred; I then look abroad into the world, and observe what multitudes there are, who, in many respects, are more unhappy than myself. Thus I learn where true happiness is placed; where all our cares must end; and I then see how very little reason I have to complain.” Poetry. [In Original Poetry, the Name, real or assumed, of the Author, is printed in Small Capitals under the title; in Selections, it is printed in Italics at the end,] LAY OF THE MAIDEN. [S. M.] My heart is light, my fancy free, My morn of womanhood, Fresh as the wind that sweeps the sea Is chainless and unwooed; The thoughts my bosom's realm that fill My soul flings wide her hundred gates, For universal beauty waits To enter in, through each; The mighty tome of earth and skies, The hush of woods, the hum of brooks, And all serene and holy loves Are tenants of my breast, Most sweet and precious are the things If Sorrow's blasting wind profanes My desolated spirit gains As from Bethesda's troubled wave Or if some bright deluding dream As glaciers in the sunlight gleam, If rainbow hopes that shine and die, If longings wild and vain oppress Till earth seems one wide wilderness, - These are a sickness of the heart, The circle of my home's calm shade Life seems a sheltered green arcade, Where beckoning Faith with upward eyes, 66 FRIENDSHIP hath the skill and observation of the best physician, the diligence and vigilance of the best nurse, and the tenderness and patience of the best mother. -Lord Clarendon. WHEN you are disposed to be vain of your mental acquirements, look up to those who are more accomplished than yourself, that you may be fired with emulation; but when you feel dissatisfied with your circumstances, look down on those beneath you, that you may learn contentment.-Dr. Moore. A RESOLUTION which costs us much, should be realized the moment it is formed. The heart may not have strength for a second effort.-Anonymous. THERE is no such thing as forgetting possible to the mind; a thousand accidents may, and will, interpose a veil between our present consciousness, and the secret inscription on the mind; but, alike, whether veiled or unveiled, the inscription remains for ever.-Coleridge. Ir is a mean device to seek the affection of another by vilifying his friends, and seeking to alienate him from them. It is generally as unsuccessful as it is mean. If we disbelieve the accuser, and detect the artifice, it can only, as it ought, inspire disgust. If we believe him, we find small prepossession towards one who has dissipated a cherished illusion.-Anon. OUR friendships hurry to short and poor conclusions, because we have made them a texture of wine and dreams, instead of the tough fibre of the human heart. The laws of friendship are great, austere, and eternal, of one web with the laws of morals and of nature.Goethe. CHIVALRY is to modern, what the heroic was to ancient times; all the noble recollections of the nations of Europe are attached to it. At all the great periods of history, men have embraced some sort of enthusiastic sentiment, as a universal principle of action. Chivalry consisted in the defence of the weak; in the loyalty of valour; in the contempt of deceit; in that Christian charity which endeavoured to introduce humanity even in war in short, in all those sentiments which substitute the reverence of honour for the ferocious spirit of arms.Mad. de Staël. THE MAIDEN AUNT. MISS MARGARET FORDE, the lady from whose journal we now propose to offer a few selections to the public, died in the year 18-, aged seventy-one. She was one of a class, which, fortunately for mankind, is neither small nor rare. She was a Maiden Aunt, and she possessed that cheerful unselfishness, that indefatigable activity in the service of others, those warm, ready, and expansive affections, which we are enabled, by happy experience, to pronounce the appropriate characteristics of her genus. She was the eldest of eight children, of whom six married, and multiplied, and were scattered over the face of the earth, while Margaret, and Owen the youngest brother, remained in single blessedness. Of him we have little to say: he graduated at Cambridge, travelled for a few years, to complete his education, as the phrase has it, and then returned, to live as fellow of his college, assembling around him multitudes of minute comforts, studying his own peculiarities with a view to their scientific gratification, carefully guarding himself from all possibility of annoyance,-in short, behaving to himself exactly as a devoted wife might behave to an invalid husband, in whose happiness her own consists, and whose every gesture she watches with the tremulous anxiety of deep affection. Shall we be forgiven for insinuating that Owen formed no unfair specimen of another class of responsible beings, usually known by the name of Old Bachelors. While he was thus drawling and fidgetting through existence, knowing no harder trial of patience than the occurrence of a false quantity either in his verses or his punch, no heavier misfortune than the breaking of a watch glass, or the overboiling of an egg, his sister Margaret was living in the full sense of the word,-living more in one hour than he lived in a twelvemonth,-doing, suffering, and sympathizing, mourning with those who mourned, and rejoicing with those who rejoiced. In many a house, to many a heart, her face was as sunshine, and her step as music; and, if some human faults or harmless foibles occasionally provoked a frown, or compelled a smile, there were few who did not feel that, in her, the ridiculous was never far separated from the sublimethe sublime of charity and goodness. During the whole of a long and active life, passed among brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces, friends and acquaintance, Aunt Peggy amused herself by the feminine occupation of keeping a journal; and as, in addition to her other virtues, the good lady was a bit of a bluestocking, she |