from whom he exacted an oath to tear Adelaide from

Bernhard, and to revenge him.

He did not learn that all was too late, and that his dearest wife and child were no more among the living. Roger of Cossonex hurried to Lucens on hearing of the arrival of Manfred, and was a witness of his dissolution. He swore to partake in the bloody vengeance, more particularly as he accused himself as the author of all this evil, for he had shown a forged authority to the priest, and burned with impatience to wash away his misdeed in the blood of Bernhard.

Both knights collected their followers and proceeded with them to Esclées. Bernhard, hated and detested by every one, remained nearly alone in the castle, and there awaited his enemies. The besieged fortress resisted some time; but it was taken by storm, and destroyed by fire. Bernhard of Chillon perished in its ruins and

Where the wicked one (the Lord protect us) nightly drags his black soul bound with chains, with a terrific noise," added the old woman.

We returned her the book with a considerable present, mounted our horses, and arrived quite safe at Romainmotier where we recounted the affecting tale of Adelaide of Monthenard.

THE SMUGGLER.

I SPENT the whole of last summer, and a part of the ensuing winter on the Hampshire coast, visiting successively most of its sea-ports and bathing places, and enjoying its beautiful diversity of sea and wood scenery, often so intermingled that the forest trees dip down their flexile branches into the salt waters of the Solon sea; and green lawns and healthy glades slope down to the edge of the silver sands, and not unfrequently to the very brink of the water. In no part of Hampshire is this characteristic beauty more strikingly exemplified than at the back of the Isle of Wight, that miniature abstract of all that is grand and lovely throughout England. Early in August, I crossed over from Portsmouth to Ryde, purposing to fix my head quarters there, and from thence to make excursions to all such places as are accounted worthy the tourist's notice. But a guide-book is at best an unsympathising companion, cold and formal as the human machine that leads you over some old abbey, or venerable cathedral, pointing out indeed the principal monuments and chapels, but passing by unnoticed a hundred less

outwardly distinguished spots, where feeling would love to linger, and sentiment find inexhaustible sources of interest and contemplation.

For want of a better, however, I set out with my silent guide, but soon strayed wide of its directions, rambling away, and often tarrying hours and days in places unhonoured by its notice, and perversely deviating from the beaten road, that would have conducted a more docile tourist, and one of less independent taste, to such or such a nobleman's or gentleman's seat, or summer-house, or pavillion, built on purpose to be visited and admired. But I did not shape my course thus designedly in a spirit of opposition to the mute director, whose (not unserviceable) clue led me at last amongst the romantic rocks and cottages of Shanklin, Niton, and Undercliff. It led me to those enchanting spots and to that lovely vicinity; but to entice me thence, was more than its inviting promises could effect; and finally I took up my abode for an indefinite time in a cottage of grey native stone, backed by the solid rocks, and tapestried in front with such an interwoven profusion of rose and myrtle, as half hid the little casements, and aspired far over the thatched roof and projecting eaves. Days, weeks, months, slipped away imperceptibly in this delicious retreat, and in all the luxury of lounging felicity. Mine was idleness, it is true, the sensation of perfect exemption from all existing necessity of mental or corporeal exertion;—not suspension of ideas, but rather a season of unbounded

liberty for the wild vagrant thought to revel in, to ramble at will beyond the narrow boundaries assigued by the claims of business or society, to her natural excursiveness. Summer passed away-the harvest was gathered in— autumn verged upon winter, and I still tenanted the rock cottage. No where are we so little sensible of the changes of season as in the sea's immediate vicinity; and the back of the Isle of Wight is peculiarly illustrative of this remark. Completely screened from the north by a continued wall of high rocky cliff, its shores are exposed only to the southern and westerly winds, and those are tempered by the peculiar softness always perceptible in sea-breezes. On a mild autumn day, or bright winter's morning, when the sun sparkles on the white sands and scintillating waves, on the sails of the little fishing-boats that steal along the shore with their wings spread open like large butterflies, or on the tall grey cliffs, tinted with many coloured lichens, a lounger on the beach will hardly perceive that the year is in its "sere and yellow leaf," or already fallen into the decrepitude of winter. And when the unchained elements proclaim aloud that the hoary tyrant hath commenced his reign, when the winds are let loose from their caverns, and the agitated sea rolls its waves in mountainous ridges on the rocky coast, when the sea-fowl's scream is heard mingling in harsh concord with the howling blast; then, oh! then, -who can tear himself from the contemplation of a scene more sublimely interesting than all the calm loveliness of

a summer prospect? To me its attractions were irresistible; and besides those of inanimate nature, I found other sources of interest in studying the character and habits of the almost amphibious dwellers on that coast. Generally speaking, there is something peculiarly interesting in the character of sea-faring men, even of those whose voyages have extended little beyond their own shores. The fisherman's life indeed may be accounted one of the most constant peril. For daily bread, he must brave daily dangers. In that season when the tillers of the ground rest from their labours-when the artisan and mechanic are sheltered within their dwellings when the dormouse and the squirrel hide in their woolly nests, and the little birds find shelter in hollow banks and trees, or resort to milder regions, the poor fisherman must encounter all the fury of the combined elements-for his children's bread is scattered on the waters.

It is this perpetually enforced intercourse with danger that interests our feelings so powerfully in their behalf, together with its concomitant effects on their character --undaunted hardihood-insurmountable perseverance— almost heroic daring; and, generally speaking, a simplicity of heart, and a tenderness of deportment towards the females and little ones of their families, finely contrasting their rugged exterior. But, unfortunately, it is not only in their ostensible calling of fishermen, that these men are forward in effronting peril. The temptation of contraband trade too often allures them from