former of which was the first monastery of Carmelite friars, in these kingdoms, founded there because of the similarity of its site to Mount Carmel in Syria. Beyond this British Carmel, the village of Edlingham reared its head, fringed with trees, and in the immediate neighbourhood of a beautiful lake, which spread its surface, like a polished mirror, to the luminary of day. Crossing the Alne to the westward, a path wound up the side of a mountain, which I was informed, displayed at every step, new, extensive, and beautiful views, leading to the tower erected on the Brisley Hill,―a tower from the most elegant design imaginable, finished in the highest style of the masonic art, and in which was a circular staircase, terminating at the top of the column, which is ninety feet in height. Immediately to the west lay an extensive moor, part of the ancient forest of Haydon, variously tinted with the blue-belled heath, the yellow flowered whin, and here and there the stinted hawthorn, whose lower branches were waving with tufts of wool from the backs of the sheep, of which there were great numbers, together with goats, cows, horses, and asses, belonging to the freemen.

The horse beneath me-without a "turned hair," to employ the language of its owner-appeared like a fixture, and might have remained in that immoveable attitude, fit for a draughtsman to sketch upon, had it not been for a general shout, similar to that at the Well, which startled him from a gentle slumber, and recalled my own eye from the tour it was taking across the country;-the infant burgesses were in sight; and if an insurance office for broken necks, legs, and arms, could have been found, perhaps it was never more necessary than at that moment. The ground itself was rough, as has been already hinted, and the tracks, formed by the sheep and horned cattle, while grazing, wound round immense clusters of whins; and some of the riders had rarely been mounted higher than when "set on end" on the tailor's board or cobler's stool, on either of which their masters-even Mr. Hurtim-found it difficult to keep them, much more on horseback, with their heads rolling on their shoulders, and the ground apparently turning round beneath them. The consequence was, that two or three were fairly scattered on the ground, and one was pitched into the midst of a large whin bush, where he sat and sang like a nightingale, till relieved from his situation, each struggle sending the unruly thorns further into the hide. The horses proving the lighter for this mishap, and being accustomed to the road, of course won the day. On the gentlemen of the whin and of the turf, left behind, coming up to their comrades, the young freemen again drew their swords, entered the town in triumph, preceded by the fiddler and hautboyist, and accompanied by an immense concourse of people on horseback and on foot. Having solemnly paraded the streets, the whole of the equestrians entered the castle, where they were entertained with ale at the expence of his Grace the Duke of Northumberland. Returning from thence, the company dispersed; but the young freemen repaired to the doors of their respective houses, and, around the holly-tree, drank a friendly glass with each other. They then assembled in the marketplace, when the scene was closed with a copious bowl of punch, each retiring to his house to dine with his friends.-There is a tradition,

that King John made this foolish institution as a perpetual mark of his displeasure, on account of his being thrown from his horse in the bogs of Haydon forest, on his dreadful journey to the north.

THE RACE BETWEEN DEATH AND LIFE;
BY JOHN MACKAY WILSON.

"DRAW round the fire until thy knees
Impart a singeing smell;

For fitted to make thy heart's blood freeze
Is the tale I have to tell.

And if the cold sweat from thee fall
As it rained down my chin,

Thou wilt be lean as a soft snow-ball-
A piece of melting sin!

No living thing was on the moor,
Save my old horse and I,-

Its beggar soil had grown so poor—

The worms did on it die!

The whins were scarce three inches tall,—
The heath was quite a dwarf!

The thin sick grass seemed nature's pall,—
A peat moss was her scarf.

A famished lapwing's bones I still
Could from the road discern,
Yet grasping in its shrivelled bill
A piece of withered fern.

The sun was setting far behind
The long and dismal swamp,
When to the horrors of my mind,
My great toe took the cramp!

And wickedly it up my side
Did like a palsy stalk-
I found it agony to ride,

I found it death to walk!

But now before me happily
A clay-built hovel rose-
Poor-as the ghost of poverty
Through whose ribs winter blows!

I drew the bridle, and my horse
Before the door did stop;

I said, my cramp wont be the worse
Of just a little drop.

I rapped and rapped, and rapped again-
Roared for a glass of something

Yea knocked and better knocked-in vain-
The lone house was a dumb-thing.

I from the stirrup drew each foot,
Dismounted from the saddle,
With pangs like fire within my boot,
I to the door did waddle.

I drew the latch; I entered in,
But could not hear a whisper!
My halting footsteps made a din
As soft as any lisper!

I looked before, I looked around;
I heard my own heart beating!-
I stood within the grave of sound!
And there was no retreating.
My eyes now fell upon the bed!-
My knees smote one another!-
Upon it-lay a man stone dead
As my great-great-grandmother!
Affrighted, trembling with dismay,
I strove the door to close-
And, saw one setting sunbeam play
Upon the dead man's nose.

I reached my horse, I grasped his mane-
Heaven knows how e'er I mounted,
I know I tried an hour in vain,

Had any body counted.

I shut my eyes.

VOL. I.

And heavy on my tongue;

Like Fear's High Priest on a pony's back,

Still to its mane I clung.

The sun went down, and the witch-like stars
Glimmered with evil light,

As we stumbled on o'er moor and scaurs
And bog-fires dancing bright.

I looked around-before, behind,
Was darkness thick as death;
In the solid air the silent wind
Oppressive held its breath.

Then! then! there burst upon my ear-
"Gee-hup! gee-hup! jick! jick!"-
My bones were palsied o'er with fear,
My very blood grew thick!

I little wist of such approach-
The dead man by my side,

D

Cased in a coffin for a coach

· Did on the devil ride!

He passed not by, but grinned on me!
My fear to horror rose,

For still the sunbeam I could see
Upon his thin white nose!

I lashed my horse through blood and bone,
Till whip and spur cried-shame!
But, where it stumbled at a stone,
The devil did the same!

In vain I thought of gaining ground,
"Gee-hup!" the dead man cried,
"Gee-hup! jick! jick!" and still I found
His coffin by my side!

All night we galloped on abreast,
Until the morning came-

The dead man laughed, wheeled to the west,
And vanished in a flame !

Some said I did the whole suppose,

And to convince me try did

I wish they'd seen his sun-tipped nose
Upon the moor as I did."

CHURCH-YARD RECOLLECTIONS.—No. I.

BY MARY WARKWORTH ARABIN.

THE Church-yard of my native village is situated about a mile from the town. It stands upon a picturesque rising ground, and a clear pastoral stream winds through the valley beneath, thick copses of beech, plane, elder, and elm trees surround it on north, east, and west, rendering its modes of access invisible on the opposite banks. The ruins of a Franciscan monastery moulder in the midst of the tombs, adding a more solemn interest to the scene. I had been several years absent from the neighbourhood, and my first visit, on my return, was to this favourite resort of earlier years. A simple grey stone, consecrated to the "MEMORY OF EMMA MORDAUNT," first attracted my attention-long, dark, green grass waved mournfully over the grave, and withered leaves were thickly strewn around." Alas! sweet Emma," I exclaimed, "and is this all that remains of thee !"

Her

When I first knew Emma Mordaunt, she was the loveliest creature eye ever beheld, buoyant with life and gaiety; her sweet countenance, beaming on all around, diffused that kind of gladness, which we receive from the view or fragrance of a rich and beautiful rose. husband, very considerably her senior, was of a vain, selfish character, and prized her as much as was possible for him, but his species of idolatry was truly characteristic, as through the medium of her attractions he arrogated an additional weight to his own consequence.

Her disposition was gentle and docile, accommodating itself to all his humours, and, though the routine of dissipation in which he encouraged her seemed unremitting, there was an attention to domestic order and economy, extraordinary in so fashionable and young a person. Immersed in all the elegant frivolities of life for several years, without one serious thought to counteract their influence, the natural errors of Emma's heart must inevitably have strengthened; yet there was such an unextinguishable sweetness about her, such a willingness to do what was right, as almost to be a convincing proof that, had she been fortunate in her marriage, she might have been as eminent for piety as she was for beauty and elegance. It is woeful as true, that with a heart alive to the gentler sensibilities of human nature, Emma was entirely ignorant of religion. Educated amid the vapid amusements of the army, the first principles had scarcely been impressed, and united at the age of fifteen to a man devoid of every moral feeling-who, in fact, held all religious authority in derision-her superficial life had been passed with scarce even a poetical approximation to the God who made her; but, alas! that period at length approached when this unfortunate young woman was to be practically taught the insufficiency of every useful or bril liant quality, disunited from what alone can soothe every care and allay every anxiety-when she was to be convinced of the fallacy of her former views and opinions, and to be taught that as she had "fed upon ashes," therefore had her heart been turned aside from what only could yield joy and comfort.

A neglected cold accelerated a tendency to consumption, and for three months-deserted by all her former gay associates did poor Emma linger in the solitary apartment, from which death only was to emancipate her. At first the natural sweetness of her temper, with the aid of novels and romances, beguiled the time; but these resources failed, and she became a prey to all the impatience of an unregulated mind, querulous and inconsistent. Her husband's forbearance was soon exhausted, and his visits of course gradually became more short and unfrequent-the only object always in sight of the fastidious invalid was a cross, ill-looking woman, whose harsh voice and disobliging temper were in keeping with her face. I can never forget the gloom of that lonely chamber, when, for the last time, little anticipating the event, I visited the cottage. There, extended upon a bed, pale and emaciated, but still pre-eminently lovely, lay poor Emma, whose loud and disturbed breathings scarcely left her power to articulate; a November's sun shone brightly in at the half closed window shutters, lending an unnatural gleam to the file of full and empty phials ranged on the chimney-piece, and disclosed to full view the room and furniture covered with thick dust-while a few live ashes, at the bottom of a rusty grate, added to the suffocating atmosphere of the apartment.

I was so overpowered by the combined desolations as scarcely to be able to utter a cheering salutation. "You find me changed," faintly responded she, not even attempting a smile; "no wonder-I have scarcely moved from this spot these three months, and that is a long time for so volatile a being like me." Her large blue eyes were still bright; but a wild, mournful expression had taken the place of their