She paused for a moment, overcome by her feelings, but soon recovering her self-possession, she resumed'Deprived thus, through thee, of the two persons whom I loved most dearly in the world, my queen and my husband, I formed a resolution, at the peril of my life, to avenge their death on thee, the sole cause of their being so untimely cut from life. And here I came to execute my intent, in which I have been, by inopportune accident, prevented.'

The Queen had listened, with some degree of interest, to this narrative, but when she found that it was a woman who had attempted her life, and that, too, from feelings of love and duty to others rather than of hatred to herself, she relented, and addressed the prisoner in more gracious terms than any she had yet used towards

her.

'In this guilty attempt, which, fortunately for yourself as well as for me, you have been providentially withheld from accomplishing, are you persuaded that you were only doing what you conceived your duty to your mistress, and your love for your husband, imperatively required of 'Nothing but my fealty to them both,' said Margaret, 'would have led me to dare such a deed, which, in other circumstances, my soul would have abhorred.'

'But what think you,' rejoined the Queen, 'it is now my duty to do to you?'

Does your Majesty put the question,' asked Lambrun in her turn, in the character of a queen, willing to forgive, or in that of a judge, anxious to condemn ?'

'In that of a queen, undoubtedly,' replied Elizabeth. 'Then,' said Margaret, your Majesty ought immediately to grant me a pardon.'

'But what security have I,' said the Queen, that you will not again attempt my life.'

'Madam,' replied Lambrun, an entire and unconditional pardon would claim my lasting gratitude; but a favour granted under restraint ceases to be a favour. And in exacting any such guarantee, your majesty would be acting the part of a stern and inexorable judge rather than that of a good and merciful queen. Alas! princes are slow to learn that clemency is their truest and safest policy.'

The justice, as well as the boldness of these remarks, struck Elizabeth, and turning to those about her, among whom were some members of her council, she exclaimed, 'I have been thirty years a queen, but do not remember of ever having had such a lecture read to me before.' She then ordered the prisoner to be set at liberty, and granted her a safe conduct to wherever she wished to go. Margaret Lambrun, no longer Anthony Sparke, resumed, with her woman's clothes, all the better and purer feelings of a woman's nature; and soon after she retired to France, the native country of her husband.

MOZART'S REQUIEM. MOZART, the celebrated composer, was much addicted to melancholy, which at length became habitual. He fancied that his life was fast drawing to a close, and he beheld the prospect with horror. One day, being plunged in his melancholy reveries, he heard a carriage stop at his door: a stranger was announced, who desired to speak with him. He was requested to walk in. He was a man of a certain age, and had all the appearance of a person of distinction.

'I am charged,' said the unknown, by a person of rank to come and see you.'

'Who is he?' interrupted Mozart.
'He does not wish that to be known.'
'Very well, what is his pleasure?'

He has lost a lady who was extremely dear to him, and whose memory will be eternally so. He wishes to celebrate her loss every year by a solemn service, and he wishes you to compose a requiem for this service.'

Mozart felt deeply affected by this discourse: the grave

The stranger counted the amount on the table and disappeared.

Mozart remained for a few moments absorbed in thought, then asked for pon, ink, and paper, and in spite of his wife's remonstrances began to write with an ardour that was insensible to pain and fatigue; he composed night and day with an enthusiasm which seemed to increase as he proceeded, till at length he fell motionless off his seat, owing to extreme fatigue and lassitude: this compelled him to suspend his labour for some days. His wife endeavouring to dispel the sombre ideas which occupied his brain, Mozart said to her hastily, 'Yes, it is certain it is for myself that I am composing this requiem—' it will be for my own funeral service.' Nothing could eradicate this idea from his mind; he continued to labour at his requiem as Raphael did at the picture of the Transfiguration, equally struck with the idea of his death. Mozart felt his strength gradually decay; his requiem proceeded slowly; the period he had asked was elapsed. The stranger returned.

'I have found it impossible,' said Mozart, 'to keep my word.'

Don't let that trouble you,' replied the stranger; 'how much longer time do you wish ?'

'A month; the work has inspired me with more interest than I expected it would, and I have extended it much further than I intended.'"

'In that case it is necessary to augment your compliment; there are fifty ducats more.'

'Sir,' said Mozart, still more astonished, 'who are you then?'

'That has nothing to do with the business; I will return in a month.'

Mozart sent one of his servants after the stranger, to discover where he went to, but he returned only to inform him that he had lost sight of the stranger, and could not find him again. Poor Mozart took it into his head that this stranger was no ordinary being; that he certainly had some connexion with the other world, and that he was sent to advertise him of his approaching end. He now laboured with more ardour at his requiem, which he regarded as the most durable monument of his talent. He fainted away several times, and was with difficulty recovered. At length the work was finished before the end of the month. The stranger returned at the time agreed upon-Mozart was no more! All Germany account this requiem as the chef d'œuvre of the composer.

FIDELITY OF A DOG.

A shepherd had driven a part of his flock to a neighbouring fair, leaving his dog to watch the remainder during that day and the next night, expecting to revisit them the following morning. Unfortunately, however, when at the fair, the shepherd forgot both his dog and his sheep, and did not return home till the morning of the third day. His first inquiry was, whether his dog had been seen? The answer was, 'No.' Then he must be dead,' replied the shepherd, with a tone and gesture of anguish, for I know he was too faithful to desert his charge.' He instantly repaired to the heath. The dog had just sufficient strength remaining to crawl to his master's feet and express his joy at his return, and almost immediately after expired.

AN IRISH NEGRO.

A negro from Montezerat, or Marigalente, where the Hiberno Celtic is spoken by all classes, happened to be on the wharf at Philadelphia, when a number of Irish emigrants were landed; and seeing one of them with a wife and four children, he stepped forward to assist the family on shore. The Irishman, in his native tongue, expressed his surprise at the civility of the negro, who, understanding what had been said, replied in Irish that he need not be astonished, for that he was a bit of an Irishman himself.' The Irishman, surprised to hear a black man speak his native dialect, with the usual rapidity of Irish fancy, imagined that he was really an Irishman, but that the climate had changed his fair complexion. If I may be so bold, my dear honey,' said he, may I ask how long you have been in this country?' The negro man, who had only come hither on a toyage, said he had been in Philadelphia only about four months. Poor Pat turned round to his wife and children, and looking as if for the last time on their rosy cheeks, concluding that in four months they must also change their complexion, exclaimed, 'O merciful powers! Biddy, did you hear that? He has not been more than four months in this country, and he is already almost as black as jet.'

ANECDOTE OF HAYDN.

A female singer, who was in high favour with a German Prince, had to sing one of Hadyn's compositions. At the rehearsal, she and the conductor differed as to the time in which it should be sung. It was agreed that the composer should be referred to; who, when the conductor waited on him, asked if the lady was handsome? Very,' was the reply; and a special favourite with the duke.' Then she is right,' said Hadyn, with a significant look at the poor disconcerted professor, who, in all probability, had he gained his point, would have lost his place, and this Haydn well knew.

ABSENCE OF MIND.

A west country man, who had occasion to provide himself with a pair of new shoes, took the measure of his own foot to a nicety, intending to send a boy to the shoemaker's, about three miles distant, to fetch him the shoes. Something, however, occurred to prevent the boy from going, and the man resolved to go himself. He accordingly set off for the cordiner's, and was about half-way on his road, when he suddenly stopped short, scratched his head, and muttered to himself, Confound it! I've forgot the measure!' Back he went to procure it, and then proceeded to his original destination, where he learned with astonishment, from the man of awls, that his foot would answer better than the measure!

WHITEFIELD.

This man, the son of an innkeeper, without fortune or connexion, of very moderate attainments, trained in the ordinary manner of an humble youth, sent to college without any preconcerted plan, without having carefully furnished himself with auxiliaries, without any strong fancy of his own importance, without seizing on any striking public occasion, in a period and country of settled order, and of so much knowledge and civilisation as would, in ordinary speculation, be accounted sufficient to secure the community against any very violent effect of novelty and enthusiasm-under all these circumstances, this plain, undesigning young man came forth. And with what message did he come, and how did he deliver it? He came with no splendid rhetoric from the schools; he dazzled the eyes of the crowd with no jewels from the plundered shrines of antiquity; he spoke to them from no magnificent churches, nor amid the soothing and entrancing illumination of gorgeous windows. A table, a wall, a stair, a tub, a green hill-side, a grassy mound near a churchyard-these were the pulpits from which he launched those thunderbolts of invective and exhortation with which, it is no poetical amplification to say, in the altered words of Aristophanes, he lightened over England. -Review of Foster's Essays in Fraser's Magazine.

A WORD TO BACHELORS.

If you intend to marry-if you think your happiness will be increased, and your interest advanced by matrimony, be sure and look where you're going. Join yourself in union with no woman who is selfish, for she will sacrifice you-with no one who is fickle, for she will be. come estranged-have nought to do with a proud one, for she will despise you-nor with an extravagant one, for she will ruin you. Leave a coquette to the fools that flutter around her; let her own fireside accommodate a scold, and flee from a woman who loves scandal, as you would flee from the evil one.

HOME.

BY JOSIAH CONDER.

That is not home, where, day by day,
I wear the busy hours away:
That is not home, where lonely night
Prepares me for the toils of light.
'Tis hope, and joy, and memory, give
A home in which the heart can live.
These walls no ling ring hopes endear,
No fond remembrance chains me here;
Cheerless I heave the lonely sigh-
Eliza, noe 1 I tell thee why?

'Tis where thou art is home to me,
And home without thee cannot be.

There are who strangely love to roam,
And find in wildest haunts their home;
And some in halls of lordly state,
Who yet are homeless, desolate,
The warrior's home is tented plain,
The sailor's on the story main,
The maiden's in her bower of rest,
The infant's on his mother's breast;
And where thou art is home to me,
And home without thee cannot be.

There is no home in halls of pride;
They are too high, and cold, and wide.
No home is by the wanderer found;
'Tis not in place--it hath no bound.
It is a circling atmosphere,

Investing all the heart holds dear-
A law of strange attractive force,
That holds the feelings in their course.
It is a presence undefined,
O'ershadowing the conscious mind,
Where love and duty sweetly blend
To consecrate the name of friend.
Where'er thou art is home to me,
And home without thee cannot be.
My love, forgive the anxious sigh-
I hear the moments rushing by,
And think that life is fleeting fast,
That youth with us will soon be past.
Oh! when will time, consenting, give
The home in which my heart can live?
There shall the past and future meet,
And o'er our couch, in union sweet,
Extend their cherub wings, and shower
Bright influence on the present hour.
Oh when shall Israel's mystic guide,
The pillar'd cloud, our steps decide,
Then, resting, spread its guardian shade
To bless the home which love has made?
Daily, my love, shell thence arise

Our hearts' united sacrifice;

And home indeed a home will be,
Thus consecrate and shared with thee.

LITERATURE.

The study of literature nourishes youth, entertains old age-adorns prosperity, solaces adversity-is delightful at home, unobtrusive abroad-deserts us not by day nor by night, in journeying nor in retirement.

PARTING.

The moment of parting is perhaps the first moment that we feel how dear and how useful we have been to

each other. The natural reserves of the heart are broken, and the moved spirit speaks as it feels.

A COMPARISON.

It is with narrow-souled people as with narrow-necked bottles-the less they have in them, the more noise they make in pouring it out.

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No. 11.

MUSIC.

THE musical faculty is not peculiar to man. It abounds in the cries and carollings of many of the inferior tribes. There is music of the most melting and plaintive sort in the notes wherewith the bird whose 'little household hath been stolen, fills and saddens all the grove with melodies of deepest pathos.' There is a higher and harsher harmony in the scream of the cloud-cleaving eagle, who goes up singing his own wild song through the blue ether, and over the arch of the rainbow. There is cheerful and elevating music in the note of the lark, rising aloft in the dewy dawn and screwing the fresh morning air, which the poet thus apostrophises :

Hail to thee, blythe spirit-
Bird thou never wert-
That from heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art!

Higher still and higher

Through the air thou springest;

Like a cloud of fire

The blue deep thou wingest;

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.'

There is music, who needs to be told, in the note of the nightingale, called by Milton most musical, most melancholy bird,' which trills her soft and tender lays as if to soothe the evening for her grief at the departure of line kind in the roar of the lion coming up, vast and hollow, upon the wind of the wilderness, and affrighting the far off caravan on its solitary way. What a harmony there is in the varied voices of inanimate creation-what a fine pause in the hush of evening-what a sweet tenor in the lapse of a stream, which, to the 'sleeping woods, all night, singeth a quiet tune'-what a shrill treble in the higher notes of the gale singing through the shrouds --and what a tremendous bass in the voice of the thunder, speaking from his black orchestra to the echoing heavens! Mrs Hemans asked Sir Walter Scott if he had not observed that every tree gives out its peculiar sound to the wind? He said he had, and suggested that something might be done, by the union of music and poetry, to imitate those voices of trees, giving a different measure and style to the oak, the pine, the willow. Diversities in this respect may be noticed among the trees of the wood and the garden. From the willow comes a kind of dry hissing eery sound-from the oak, a strong sturdy rustle, as if the old king of the forest, over whom centuries had passed, yielded his head reluctantly to the force of a blast, born and dying that very moment-from the sycamore with its large leaves, a calm full murmur, as if the tree were one vast hive of bees (and, indeed, so often it is)from the yew tree, a funereal wail, as if each leaf were a

the sun. There is music of the boldest and most mascu

PRICE 1d.

sigh-and from the pine, a deep, lingering, and most musical sound, well called by a poet, an 'old and solemn harmony.' So much for the music of nature. We will only allude to the beautiful fancy of the ancients, that from the motions of the heavenly orbs there issued the soft floating of an ethereal and immortal melody, which the gross ear of man hears not, but which is audible to higher and holier spirits; and that thus literally do the morning stars sing together. We now know this to be but a fancy, though a fancy of the finest and most poetical kind. We now say rather with Addison in his beautiful hymn

'What though in solemn silence all

Move round the dark terrestrial ball?
What though no real voice, nor sound,
Amidst their radiant orbs be found?
In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing, as they shine,

The hand that made us is divine.''

Artificial music is divided into two kinds-instrumental and vocal. We are all acquainted with the common kind of instruments from which, by cunning fingers, the soul of music is extracted-the sweet-toned flute, which sounds so finely across a lake or river, in the still evenings of summer; the spirit-stirring and ear-piercing fife; the and swelling blast; the piano, with its soft, mellow, and deep reverberating drum-the trumpet, with its long trembling vibrations; the violin, with its cheerful and awakening notes; the lute, with its tender and amorous descant; the harp, consecrated as that instrument which once vibrated to the hands of David, as he sang on the plains of Bethlehem, or poured out his eloquent plaint from the roof of his palace, in the city of the Great King; the guitar, with its light and airy music, transporting our thoughts to the groves of Italy, or to the cork-tree forests of Spain, to the evening lattices of Madrid, or the moonlit waters of Venice; the Pan's-pipe, interesting because probably the first musical instrument ever invented by man, tuned by him as he sat of old in the solitary wilderness; the Highland bagpipe, with its thrilling sound, heard often with indescribable emotion on the morning of a battle-day, when

'Wild and high, the Cameron's gathering rose, The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn hills Have heard-and heard, too, have their Saxon foes; and last, not least, the majestic organ, with its awful volume of sound. But far above thesc, or all other instruments of music, is that glorious instrument first invented and tuned by Deity himself. We mean the human voice, with its melting cadences, its guttural sounds, its high clear melody, which, whether it swells or sinks, awakens to rapture or lulls to repose--whether it be grave or gay-whether it issue from the deep pipe of