press some surprise that men of such fine taste as your host and his clerk should be unacquainted with it (which they are,. for a real wonder), and order the liver, gizzard, and pinions of a boiled or roasted chicken to be brought to you on a trencher; season these yourself in an extraordinary manner with spices, mustard, salt, and butter, taking care slyly to add the powder I now bring you to the mixture; slash these fowl giblets in every part, that the seasoning may penetrate, and then send the dish out for the cook to grill over a brisk fire."

66

Why, Nicholas, that's what housekeepers call ‘a devil in a dove.'

"Yes, your honor, 'tis so; and when you see it playing the devil with the gormandizers, whom its savoury fumes will tempt to eat it, lose no time in following Robert's directions, who will leave Castle Norman with us, the Lady Edith of Hawarden, and some others, anxious to get away. Every thing will be prepared for this, our hasty departure.'

Nicholas, soon after concerting these schemes retired, and the young knight securing the important powder, composed himself to sleep, and actually reposed tranquilly, though he was as one who slumbered upon an ignited mine.

Next morning many significant glances were exchanged between De Waltham and Father Martin, when they beheld Sir Edgar seat himself at the breakfast board cased in shining armour, and with his trusty sword girded at his side. They bantered him upon his warlike accoutrements, which he averred were put on as a prelude to his departure, which he intended, he said, should take place immediately after the morning meal, his horse being less injured than he expected to find him. Of course the baron and his chaplain would not hear of his going, and Edgar gracefully suffered himself to be persuaded into passing with them one day, only one day more! But oh! how his heart throbbed during this one eventful day; and how abstracted were his thoughts from Father Martin's chemistry and from De Waltham's hawks, hounds, and horses.

Everything came to pass as Nicholas of Brome had forewarned him; and at the evening repast, eaten that night in private, the poisoned hypocras was offered, overset in the first

instance, and refused in the second, to the evident chagrin of the wily plotters against their fellow-creature's life.

"But though I am not particularly fond of highly spiced beverages and viands myself," said Sir Edgar, in the most good-humoured of tones, "there's no reason why I should deprive you, my kind entertainers, of a friandise which I know will afford you the highest satisfaction. In my part of the country it is much esteemed as a capital zest to wine, and constantly appears at my father's table; not having seen it however, at your own sumptuous board, which certainly has surprised me, I conclude you to be unacquainted with it, and it will give me great pleasure to prepare for you now this little delicacy, should what I have said make you desirous of tasting it."

The amiable pair demurred, saying something about

trouble.

""Tis no trouble in the world to me," answered Sir Edgar, as you have fowl and pounded spices ready at hand; but I hope I shall not get into disgrace with your lady of the kitchen, by asking her to help me in my cookery."

The dish, when prepared (and Sir Edgar followed minutely the directions of the cunning man), was sent to the aforesaid lady, with strict directions that she should preserve, as far as possible, the moist sauce of the grill, or rather stew, and send it back shortly smoking hot.

This done, the savoury odour of Sir Edgar's relish too far tempted the jaded appetites of the sensualists for them to refuse to taste it.

"Excellent! excellent!" quoth the friar, in gastronomic rapture; "this will indeed be an addition to our good things of the table."

"Sir Knight, you are a prime cook," added the baron, who was gobbling down the devilled morsels as fast as their tongue-blistering heat permitted him; " you deserve a leaf or two of the laurels of Apicius. This truly is dainty eating."

"I knew it would be," replied Sir Edgar, gravely, as he marked an extraordinary paleness already stealing over the heated countenances of his foes; it is often useful as well as pleasant to know how to prepare such compotes."

The gormandizing villains made some attempt to reply, but their words gurgled in imperfect accents in their throats, whilst their eyes, fixed in a horrible, unnatural stare, shewed that some sudden and unspeakable physical affection had seized them.

"It works, Sir Knight, it works already," said Robert, approaching the frightened Edgar, " for the powder you used is a deep chemical secret, sure and most speedy in its effects. Look you now, those wicked fools, though yet living and conscious, are paralyzed, dumb, and motionless. They cannot speak to give an alarm, they cannot rise to follow us; let us leave them, then, without remorse, to their merited fate, and, all things being prepared for our departure, make the best of the twilight and moon."

Sir Edgar rose from his seat at table, and casting one glance of keen reproach and ineffable disgust and indignation on the ghastly wretches before him, followed Robert from the private banquetting-room. Ere many minutes had elapsed, he, with the Lady Edith, several male followers, well armed, and two or three serving-women, all mounted, and laden with plunder, and altogether forming a picturesque, jovial party, quitted for ever the hateful walls of Norman Castle.

These poorer people as they passed to their several homes, or attached themselves to the persons of Sir Edgar and Edith of Hawarden, had every reason to bless the young knight's liberality. Nicholas of Brome, recovering his health and good looks (such as they were) as Sir Edgar's own faithful serving man and armour bearer, married the steady Marion, of the castle, who had followed her lately appointed mistress's fortunes; and news in time reached Sir Edgar and his bride, the charming Edith (for news in those days travelled slowlythere were no railroads) that the Baron de Waltham and Sir Martin the priest, being found dead at table in the private room where they supped, the vassals left in the castle rose tumultuously, sacked the edifice, fought with each other for the plunder, and the victors leaving the wounded and dead to shift for themselves, peaceably dispersed to their several homes, or joined the turbulent marauding hordes of other noble banditti, the scourges of the country, and disgrace the age.

THE CHILD'S FIRST GRIEF.

BY MRS HEMANS.

Oh! call my brother back to me,
I cannot play alone;

The summer comes with flower and bee,--
Where is my brother gone?

The butterfly is glancing bright
Across the sun-beam's track;
I care not now to chase its flight--
Oh! call my brother back.

The flowers run wild-the flowers we sow'd
Around our garden tree;

Our vine is drooping with its load-
Oh! call him back to me !

He would not hear my voice, fair child!
He may not come to thee;

The face that once like spring-time smil'd
On earth no more thou'lt see.

A rose's brief, bright life of joy,
Such unto him was given ;-
Go! thou must play alone, my boy!
Thy brother is in heaven.

And has he left his birds and flowers?

And must I call in vain ?

And through the long, long summer hours,
Will he not come again?

And by the brook, and in the glade,
Are all our wandering's o'er?
Oh! while my brother with me play'd,
Would I had loved him more!

FRATERNAL MAGNANIMITY.

Dramas and romances present us with the most striking and glowing features of the human heart. They inflame the imagination, but the heart remains cold. The glow of feeling thus produced is seldom more than momentary, and less seldom applied to the purposes of common life. Perhaps at the very moment when the unaffected benevolence of honest Puffs moves us almost to tears, we shall fly into a passion with a poor mendicant for knocking at our door. Who can assure

us that this artificial existence in an ideal world does not tend to obliterate the principles of our existence in the real one? We here embrace, as it were, the two extreme points of morality, angelic and diabolical; while the middle, that of humanity, we leave untouched.

The present anecdote, relating to two Germans-I state the name of their country with a feeling of proud delightmay boast, at least, the indisputable merit of being true. I trust that it will produce a warmer feeling of sympathy and admiration than all the volumes of Grandison and Pamela put together.

:

Two brothers, Barons Von Wrmb, had both formed an attachment to a distinguished young lady of Wrthr, without a knowledge of each other's passion. It was equally strong in both for in both it was a first passion. Unconscious of their mutual danger, each gave full rein to his affection, neither being aware of the dreadful truth, that he had a beloved brother for a his rival. They made an early declaration of their love, and had even proceeded to make further arrangements before au unexpected occurrence brought the secret to light.

The attachment of both had reached its highest pitchthat state of elevation both of the heart and imagination, which has produced so many fatal consequences, and which renders even any idea of the sacrifice of the object of affection, almost impossible. The lady, deeply sensible of their painful situation, hesitated how to decide: rather than inflict the agony of disappointed passion, and disturb the fraternal har mony subsisting between them, she generously referred the whole affair to themselves,