As she uttered these words, Khadidja convulsively clutched the hilt of a dagger of plain steel, fixed in the folds of her girdle.

"Let's drink then," cried Patrona, "to the recompense thou pro

misest me."

"I swear to thee," the lady replied, " that thou shalt not have long to wait."

At this moment an officer of the Capitan-Pasha knocked at the door.

"What's this?" asked the master of the house.

A letter from the most powerful Djauoun-Khodja, lord high admiral of the empire," replied the officer, bowing.

Patrona begged Khadidja to explain the minister's missive to him, for neither he nor his two companions could read. In it the CapitanPasha gave Patrona to understand, that, in compliance with his wish, he was ready to resign his charge in his (Patrona's) favour; and that the Sultan himself invited him to repair to the imperial divan, in order to receive the investiture of his new dignity.

"Go to the divan, brave Patrona-Calil," said Khadidja to him, hypocritically kissing the sleeve of his djioubé. "Heaven at length accords to you the price which your rare qualities deserve. I will not be the last to congratulate you on the justice which the padischah himself is proud to render."

The next day, in effect, Patrona-Calil, followed by an innumerable cortége, repaired in great pomp to the divan. The rebels who formed his guard were politely induced to wait the end of the council in the first court of the seraglio, where an elegant repast served to beguile the time. Ali, Muslou, and Patrona proceeded on, attired in gorgeous pelisses, which his highness, Mahmoud I., had sent them, confident in themselves, and unsuspicious of all around. Just as they were about to enter the hall where the divan was assembled, the Capitan-Pasha made his appearance, scymetar in hand; at a sign he made, twenty baltadjis darted on the chiefs of the revolt, and laid them dead at his feet. Amongst the arms that struck (each a mortal blow) PatronaCalil, 'tis said, that one was a woman's. She had kept her oath !

The suite of the popular triumvirs was in like manner massacred in the first court of the seraglio, whose gates had been fastened, so as to cut off both help and escape from the unfortunates. Sultan Mahmoud I., thus delivered from the terrible Patrona-Calil, was desirous of seeing his remains, when he was well assured of the success of the expedition. Whilst gazing on the gigantic corpse extended on the floor, just as he fell, he is said to have repeated the self-same words as Henry III of France over the body of the murdered Duke of Guise: "He seems to me yet greater after death than whilst he lived !"

THE GUARD OF THE GRAVE-YARD.

BY LEIGH CLIFFE, ESQ.

"GUARD of the grave-yard, for whom workest thou?
Say, who art thou turning the turf for now?

From boyhood to age thou hast pillow'd the head
On the bosom of earth of the tongue-silenced dead;
The worm, as it crawls from the crush of the spade,
Seems to know that a banquet by thee will be laid,
And he fears not thy tread, and he dreads not thy wrath,
While thus thou art clearing eternity's path !"

Why should not the worm be a friend, for my breath,
My person, my garments, are tainted by death?
Men shun me: they know that, when life's lease is past,
They must trust to my arm for a mansion at last.
You ask me for whom I am digging a bed ;-

"Tis for one whom I lov'd; whose existence aye spread
A sunshine upon me, when nothing else smiled;
Thou son of the stranger, this grave's for my child!

"I stand now alone-branchless-leafless ;-for all
My children have slept on the bier 'neath the pall;
And this one, my youngest, my boy, my soul's pride,
Whom nor snow-storm, nor illness, could keep from my side,
Is now gone. He, when 'reft of my children, my wife,
All the comforts of home, all the blessings of life,
Would cling to me fondly, content with the crust,
I have earned by the hundreds committed to dust!

"I am old, I'm heart-broken! This, this is the last,
Of my tasks here on earth,-my vocation is past;
I shall sleep by his side, while beneath us will rest,
My wife, and his mother, with five on her breast.
I have gather'd the aged and the young to the earth,
From whence, like the first man, they sprung into birth;
And now to the dust I shall soon be allied!"

His words were prophetic,-he sorrowed, and died!

SPAIN AND THE PYRENEES.

BY LADY CHATTERTON,1

HAVING been favoured with an early copy of this most attractive work, we congratulate ourselves on being enabled to present our readers with some first impressions of Lady Chatterton's new and welcome volumes, recording the events of her recent tour in Spain and the Pyrenees. The refinement and elevation of mind, the pure morality, the graces of style, and vivacity of delineation, so prominently distinguishable in all her ladyship's works, have had the effect of preparing the public mind anxiously to expect and warmly to appreciate the labours of her pen, and in this last and best effort we doubt not that her popularity will attain its acmé. The two copious volumes now lying before us attest her industry as well as talent, while their varied and versatile contents must find a charm for every reader, wake a responsive touch of feeling from every heart, andan echo of admiration from every mind.

In our consideration of these volumes, we have been struck with the contrast between those who enjoy life selfishly and those who enjoy it unselfishly. The first of these may indeed possess a species of taste and refinement, but it is for their own individual pleasure; they pass through scenes of natural loveliness, they traverse the foot-prints of the mighty great, they linger among time-honoured ruins, they explore the grand and lonely retirements of nature, they climb the mountain and linger in the valley, they inspect mighty buildings, view vast cities, adore a painting, dote on some strain of music's dying fall, "die of a rose in aromatic pain,"-in short, drink in from all the fountains of enjoyment the most varied flavours, the most balmy draughts, the fullest luxury that life can offer. Of all these they are the recipients only, forgetting that they who receive ought also to impart. Our second class, however, has this great distinction,-they receive only that they may impart. Pleasure would not be pleasure were it not reflected back again. Enjoyment would not be enjoyment were they to become mere misers in its possession. The benefits of life would all be negatived and neutralized were they to be buried in their keeping. The selfishness that makes the happiness of the one would turn blessings into curses in the other.

And thus it is that Lady Chatterton's writings have ever reflected her own pure gratifications back again upon the world. A tour of pleasure is with her not an individual but a general benefit. The thoughts of the wise and good are not their own. The richly-stored mind ought not to be a sealed treasury. They who enjoy mental and moral elevation, owe it to society that they should strive to elevate, mentally and morally, their fellow-beings. Lady Chatterton acts on this high theology. She preaches by the force of example. She elevates by leading the way.

Our readers will find it a delightful privilege to follow Lady ChatThe Pyrenees, with Excursions into Spain, by Lady Chatterton. 2 vols. 8vo.

terton in her wanderings. "Spain and the Pyrenees" are not hackneyed ground, and yet they are ground full of interest. Does she describe scenes of natural loveliness?-her pencil is dipped in the Iris hues of nature, and we seem to gaze on up-piled mountains, to see the waving verdure of the leaves, to hear the pattering of the rain, the moanings of the storm, or to feel our eyes dazzled with the sunbeams dancing over the brilliant clothing of the variegated flowers. Does she describe the peasant in his costume?-straightway he appears before us, with swarthy brow, black eye, and holiday attire. Does she paint a castle ?-there it stands, with its lofty battlements frowning down upon us. Does she delineate a city?—we seem to be wandering through its streets with the most delightful companion in the world. In all things we feel that truth and reality, enlivened and refined, not disguised and obliterated, by taste and fancy, have the pre-eminence. We set out on our journey with Lady Chatterton, and she leads us through scenes of natural loveliness, of historic interest, of timehonoured cities, we following the while with charmed attention, forgetful of self, unmindful of aught save the pleasures of our wandering, until, arriving at her last page, we wonder only at the shortness of our journey, and think the hours and the way alike too brief. And it is well for us, that, with this power to charm, Lady Chatterton also possesses the right to guide. Her observations are so just, her sentiments so amiable, her benevolence so comprehensive, that we are most safe when we most abandon ourselves to her influence. The pure feeling and refined morality of her work deserve, indeed, somewhat more than a passing mentioning.

We know not on which point of excellence to fix as the leading merit of this work, so many counterbalance each other. In passing through celebrated scenes, Lady Chatterton has revived their historical remembrances, and gifted them with the interest which hovers over arenas embalmed in national memory. But she has also described the modern aspect of these spots, thus uniting past with present interest. We seem to see them both in gone by times and in the actual moment. They breathe of to-day, and yet they are redolent of departed ages. The footsteps of the men of old still walk with a mighty echo the halls of their proud ancestral homes, but at the same time we hear the merry laugh of our co-existing brother: again, the imaginative and the truth-loving will be equally delighted with those graceful legends which give the work the engrossing interest of fiction, with the still more engrossing interest of fact. Some of the legends with which Lady Chatterton has enriched her book are in themselves delightful little romances, full of taste and grace.

But the admirable illustrations of the volumes offer another proof of the talents of this accomplished lady. They are marked by artistical skill, as well as most felicitous choice of subject. Exquisitely tasteful and effective, and greatly enhancing the interest of the work, these illustrations are gems indeed, and the whole work one of the richest, happiest, and most talented productions of our golden age of li

terature.

"July 19th.-We were up at five o'clock, and had the happiness to see the mountains perfectly distinct, and a brilliant morning; departure for

Spain, of course, resolved on. I in a chaise à porteur, carried by two men, with two to relieve, for which we are to pay forty francs: the rest of the party mounted, and our guide, Benoit, carries on his horse a portmanteau, and various other things-provisions for the men, and a leathern wine bottle, to be used à l'Espagnolle—that is, to be held a certain distance from the mouth, and the stream of wine directed into the mouth, thus really making the throat a thoroughfare for wine.'

"The ride up the valley was delightful; woods, and mountains, known before under the gloomy influence of mist and rain, now appeared in all their beauty. We passed the Tour de Castel Bielle, standing out in its fine position, and I found that the 'porteurs' kept up to the usual mountain pace, for in less than two hours we reached the point where the road to the Vallée de Lys branches off, and we entered the Vallée of the Hospice-- a valuable property of the Commune of Luchon.

"We soon reached the Cagot's hut; the Cagots seem to have ceased to be considered as a separate race-the only present distinction being their own inclination to remain in the mountains. The family occupying this hut lost a remarkably fine young man, who was killed at Constantine, and their remaining son has now been drawn in the conscription; I saw the wife loading a horse with wood, to sell at Luchon.

"We continued to ascend, enjoying a good view, of which the Pic de Pecade, not visible from Luchon, formed the great attraction: it is a complete sugar loaf of smooth shist, and looks almost as if it had been chiselled. We now reached the forest of Charagan, growing very fine beech and fir, with other trees, and I saw a large cherry lately cut, which is a wood much esteemed for building.

"Soon after leaving the forest, we reached the Hospice, having, by degrees, neared the great heights to which, for many days, we had looked forward with so much anxiety; behind us we saw the fine pasture height of Sobra-Bagnières, and could judge that the view from it must be very good, commanding all the heights; a visit to it might be combined with the expedition to the Valley du Lys. (Mem. for future travellers.)

"The Hospice is a large, substantial house, for which a considerable rent is paid; the tenant is obliged to keep the road to the Port from the Hospice in order, as it is called; and in winter, when he descends into the valley, must leave bread, wine, and firing in the house for the relief of any traveller who may call. It is a point of conscience, which is almost invariably observed, to leave money equivalent to the quantity of provisions consumed.

"Another trait of honesty connected with this passage is the sacredness of property left at the Port de Venasque. By law, the carriers do not cross the frontier; the bales of goods are deposited at the Port, and there they often remain for the day and night, before being removed by the parties to whom they belong, and yet the plunder of a bale is a thing never heard of. And whence is this? Is it that scenes like these, that the sight of nature in its sublimity, the awful terrors of the avalanche and storm in these high regions, have the power of elevating the mind, and rendering it incapable of base and sordid actions?

"A strong religious feeling, too, is connected with the pass: it has all been consecrated, so that the bodies of those lost in the passage may lie in holy ground. I was pointed out a spot, at the side of one of the small lakes, where lie the bodies of five men, who were carried away by an avalanche of snow, in attempting a passage during the winter. It was two months before they were discovered.

"Our cortège stopped at the Hospice a few minutes: we walked forwards, about to penetrate amongst the great heights around us, and with a feeling of curiosity as to how we were to get on-a feeling destined to be far more strongly excited. We had, from a height reached in a few