frugal table, and I should like well, would my wife and family permit me, to return to my sowens and my poor-man-of-mutton. Bride of Lammermoor, ii. 101.

"The friend, to whom I am indebted for the explanation of this term, has favoured me with so amusing an illustration of it, that I cannot withhold it from my readers.

"The late Earl of B., popularly known by the name of Old Rag, being indisposed in a hotel in London, the landlord came to enumerate the good things he had in his larder, to prevail on his guest to eat something. The Earl at length, starting suddenly from his couch, and throwing back a tartan night-gown which had covered his singularly grim and ghastly face, replied to his host's courtesy ; Landlord,

I think I could eat a morsel of a poor man.' Boniface, surprised alike at the extreme ugliness of Lord B.'s countenance and the nature of the proposal, retreated from the room, and tumbled down stairs precipitately; having no doubt that this barbaric chief, when at home, was in the habit of eating a joint of a tenant or vassal when his appetite was dainty."

GERMAN MUSICIANS.

In that extremely pleasing work, the "Summer's Ramble among the Musi"is the following cians of Germany,

remarks:

No artists can be less mercenary in the exercise of their profession, nor more ready to play for the pleasure of their friends, than the great musicians of Germany; but they have no skill in flattering the great, and no appetite for worthless praise. Most of them enjoy that enviable competency which enables them to pursue fame at their leisure; the little duties of their employment, such as di recting an orchestra, or composing a few pieces for the entertainment of the noblemen of whose establishment they are a part, are so easily discharged as to leave them plenty of time for idleness, if it was their taste to indulge in it. But this is not the case-they have that last infirmity of noble minds-an appetite for fame, and labour as hard for the mere pleasure of inventing and combining, as others do for the vulgar acquisition of wealth. The ennobling power of the divine art of music is best felt when among a number of professors each strains to penetrate the deepest into its mysteries, without envy and without sordid interest; and I believe it is the advantageous equality upon which they all start in pursuit

THE PEASANT COUNTESS;

A TALE OF FRANCE.

Continued from page 36.

Early in the morning, a gentle tap at the door, which was intended to arouse me, found me still awake, still unwearied and unexhausted with thoughts of the beautiful Estelle. The door immediately opened, and she entered, and approaching my pallet, took my feverish hand in hers: then how my heart thrilled-thrilled through its innermost core. Her tenderness, her affection, still increasing, and diminishing nothing in their devoted services, should I not have been as insensible as the clod at my feet, if these had not bred a like affection-a tenderness as entire, as devoted as her's?-Yes, I confess that the light of life she shed around my painful hours made pain a delicious pleasure-sickness happier than health! The day seemed too short for the happiness of the day, the night too brief to dream of the day's delights. Time passed too rapidly away, and I daily gained strength, and my wounds were less and less remembered.

"I should have mentioned that I had taken care to entrust a peasant, in whom I could confide, with the secret of my safety, lest my continued absence from the château should cause a search to be made after me, and so interrupt pleasures enjoyed within the walls of a cottage such as I had never known in my own gay saloons. Happiness is happiness, wherever it is found; the lowly more often find it without seeking, than the proud and lofty, who hunt and hurry after it through all the primrose paths of plea

sure.

"On the fourth day I was so much recovered, that I could pace my chamber; and in the evening, indulge in the porch, beautifully entwined with rose and honeysuckle. There, with Estelle near me, diligently turning her wheel, interrupted only by her pausing to make some affectionate inquiry, or to utter her guileless thoughts in as guileless words, I spent moments which I could have wished had been months. I listened to the voice of

Estelle, as to music, when, to while away my sickness, she narrated some melancholy tale of lady's love and troubadour's fidelity; and as she told the story, wished myself its hero, and yet wished it not-for I felt I was the hero of a tale of happier passion yet untold. Won by my attention, her own history followed. Her father -I will be brief-her father had, it seems performed a service of much danger for the Count, our dear father-blessed be his memory!-and had left, at his death, an antique ring, which had been given to him by the Count, that, if ever he stood in need of assistance, he might prefer that claim of recompence which he had resolutely refused when the Count would have rewarded him. I could not conceal my emotion-I shed tears of filial piety when I beheld that well remembered ring, which so forcibly brought back to my memory the sacred image of our good father. How often had I kissed that tender hand which had worn it!-how often had that kind hand been laid in gentle approbation on my head, in the father winning days of childhood-those halycon days, which are the proudest and happiest of an affectionate parent's life!

"Estelle, it seems, intended to visit the château, to remind the heir of Montauban that he had one grateful legacy to discharge, of his dear father's leaving. She had some simple favour to ask-I forget what-but it did not concern her own interests. And have you no fears, my gentle girl,' I asked, 'no apprehensions of trusting your beauty within the view of a gay young lord, who might be struck, as I am, with your charms?' This inadvertent disclosure of the impression she had made on me, startled her; her eyes, her face betrayed the emotions of her heart. I resumed, more guardedly-' Who might admire, as who would not, those excelling beauties of feature, and graces of person, which nature has so liberally bestowed on my gentle physician and friend?" She interrupted me. But the young Count is generous, and charitable to the poor; and charity and generosity reside not in the same breast with vice.' A flush of pleasure reddened over my face; Estelle per

ceived it.

"You blush, Sir,' she said, in an artless manner; surely you are not the Count's brother, who is- -no matter what, my dear brother; but your reputation for gallantry is known where you would not expect it. No, dear Estelle,' I said, interrupting her suspicions, I am not the brother of Count Montauban : II am I could have thrown myself at her feet, and confessed that I was the Count himself; but, fortunately, I diverted the mixed suspicion and curiosity

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with which she regarded me, by exclaiming, almost, involuntarily, Oh! happy, happy Count Montauban! thus to be praised for goodness by the good and the beautiful!' I assumed a forced calmness, to conceal the turbulence of my mind, and said, Will my dear Estelle defer urging her suit till her friend is so far recovered as to partake in her visit to the château ? I am a servitor, an humble friend of the Count, and one word of mine may conclude her claim.' She pressed my hand, and consented that I should accompany her. At that moment her mother joined us, and was not unwilling that I should be her daughter's friend and protector "at court. Estelle,' I said, need but make known her claim, and who would refuse her, though she asked to share a kingdom! She blushed, and hung down her head. 'Come, my dear children,' said her mother; our simple supper is spread, and waits but your presence, and a thought of thankfulness, to be a sweeter meal than monarchs partake of.' I was assisted in by my gentle ministrant, and, after a frugal supper, signified that I would retire to repose. I wished, indeed, to be once more alone, that I might again muse over the happiness of the day, and meditate again in solitude on that which was springing up for my enjoyment in the future. I acknowledged the kindness of the good mother, and pressing the hand of Estelle between mine with a modest warmth, we separated for the night she to rosy sleep and slumber's light,' and I to a couch where sleep was less desirable than a waking consciousness of a felicity, more happy than the most delicious

dreams of slumber.

"So passed the next day; and on the morrow we were to set out for the châ

teau.

A thousand thoughts, made up of pleasure, with some discomposing thoughts of pride, threw a feverish anxiety over my soul; and that night was the only uneasy one which I passed under that lowly roof. Pride whispered, Was it fit that a man of my rank should unite himself with the humble daughter of a peasant?" Then love painted her image to my mind-her beauty, her grace, her virtues, and above all, her pity and her courage, which succoured me in that hour of pain, and almost of death, when, like a ministering angel, she brought me back to life and love. Yes gratitude courselled well, and I resolved that she should be mine !-Did I not nobly, my brother? Why should we sacrifice to the empty vanities of rank the best feelings of the heart-the realities of happiness to the shadows of pride? No, my brother, when we have discovered where our happiness lies, let us take it to

our hearts, though we stoop lower than our feet for it.

"I will not dwell on the progress which love made in both our hearts in these two days each one too short for the happiness of the day, yet long enough to make that hope, which was but a dream, the certainty of years. Estelle had begun to discover (by unerring signs, which she, who is the object of love, however unwise in the daily affairs of life, can read as learnedly as the wisest) how deep, though silent, was the passion which engrossed my soul. I too, as unerringly, discerned that she was not unaffected by the same happy contagion. Her tenderness, which was at first pity, had unconsciously become love. Her eyes, which were continually turning their lustre on mine-the gradual abstraction of her manner-the gentle hand lingering in mine the studious attention which prevented my wants, and sometimes invented them, that she might dissipate them by the service she delighted in-these were signs such as I could not fail to perceive, and cherish, as happy hopes, without a shade of fear!

The morning came, when we were to set out for the château. I need not describe to you the anxiety which affected me in spite of myself, as we approached nearer and nearer to our destination. Estelle, however, perceived not my agitation: yet she seemed more thoughtful than was her wont. There was a seriousness in her smile, as if her heart's affections had become intertwined with mine, and she had not discovered it till the hour approached in which we were to part, never perhaps to meet again. Her arm pressed closer to mine :-I turned to gaze upon her; she averted her eyes, but the next moment they met mine, and that look was more eloquent than words, however eloquent. I could not speak and she was silent. We had reached the château before either perceived its neighbourhood. Then surprise, perhaps, brought back speech to me. Love will rather stammer than not speak. Dear Estelle,' I said

you are now to be made happy; for you are almost in the presence of Count Montauban, who will refuse you nothing that you can ask. Oh! might I be but equally fortunate with Estelle, and obtain at her hands all that is necessary to complete my wishes, and render me the happiest of men- She grew pale, and trembled. "What will not Estelle do,' she replied, that virtue does not forbid, to make her friend as happy as herself!' I seized the occasion. Will Estelle be mine!-will she give me her handheart-affections?' She fell into my arms. That moment was worth an age of exist

ence!

"Oh, my Estelle !' I exclaimed, 'I will no longer conceal from you that I love you more than man loved till now! Gratitude, inspired by your devotedness in the hour of need-tenderness, bred of your tenderness admiration of your beauty-pride in your virtues-these, and a thousand sentiments and endearing qualities, which love, all eloquent as it is, can neither define nor name, have made me your willing captive, were I a ransom worth the world! Convert not, then, the Eden, which I have planted, into a solitude, by refusing to share its new happiness with me! We were born for each other, though our lots have been different. Let, then, this embrace be the silent sign that you consent to be mine!' I clasped her to my heart, as a miser hugs his newacquired gold, and felt that her heart answered to mine. She was mine, brother, she was mine. 'One word, my adored Estelle for love can never be too thoroughly assured of his possession :do you love as I do? and are you wholly and willingly mine-mine for ever?'. For ever!' she replied faintly. Enter then, this château-no longer Estelle Leclair, but the Countess Montauban !'This disclosure was too abrupt; but passion and pleasure had made me rash. She fainted in my arms. I bore in the lovely prize, the richest argosy that ever noble merchant welcomed to the haven of home; and that day, ere the sun had reached the highest heaven of noon, the holy church had made us one and indissoluble.

"But see-as if to perfect the happiness of my recollections of that happiest day of my life-see where she comes!the fairest creation of heaven-the admired of all beholders-the wise, the good, the beautiful, the true! How does she dignify the rank she has raised to her, and not been raised to! Splendour may decorate, but cannot dignify the mean; no, for the noble nature still is wanting. But the native grace of my Estelle, which is diffused around her as unconsciously as the violet breathes its perfume, confers honour upon rank, and not derives it. Behold, my brother, with what harmonious motion she glides along, as if magic was in her steps! Let me fly to meet her for my devotion is as fervent as in that happy hour which made the lowly Estelle Leclair lady of the proudest peer of France!"-La Belle Assemblée.

nourable office above all other, is given a sword, which is made like unto a crosse, for the redempe'on of mankinde, in signifying that like as o'r Lord God died uppon the crosse, for the redempc'on of mankinde, even soe a knight ought to defend the crosse and to overcome and destroie the enemies of the same; and it hath twoe edges, in tokening that with the sword he ought to mayntayne knighthood and justice. Alsoe to him is given a spere, signifying truth, which is even as a speare; and truth ought to goe before falsehood: the iron of the speare betokeneth that truth hath much strength afore falsehood; which truth is susteyned by hope. The targett is put forth afore him and sheweth it to the people, which keepeth him from the stroke of the enemie; even soe it betokeneth that truth doth shewe himselfe to all men, and hath not power to doe any falsehood. The hel mett is close, and a man having it on cannot looke on highe but towards the earth, which alsoe defendeth the chiefe most highe and principall member of man's bodie, which betokeneth feare, without which principall he cannot be obeisant to the said order; whearby it maketh him ashamed to incline himselfe to any villanous deeds, which be contrarie to the said most noble office. The bodie harnissed, which is close and suer to his bodie on all sides, betokeneth a castell or fortresse, which is well kepte ane closse, that noe man enter into it, which unto the knight giveth noble corage; soe that by his default, theare can enter into him neither treason, shame, unfaithfulness, or other kinde of vices, and alsoe keepeth his bodie that he be not suddenlie overcome. The legg harnisse is given a knight to keep him suer from perill, signifying that a knight with sword, speare, mace, and other necessaries of iron, which apperteyneth to a knight, ought not to shrinke, but keep his waie. The spurres be given him to put forth and prick his horse, for the more expedic'on makeing, signifying dilligence and spede; for thearby he maye mayntayne the highe hono'r which he hath and maketh hast for his things to be done. The gorgett is given a knight to keep and defend him from strokes, which, without it, would soone pierce him, for it is writhen aboute his neck; which betokeneth obedience, which maketh him to fulfil the said order, and to doe his sovereign's will and commande

OF THE SIGNIFICATION OF THE ARMOUR OF A KNIGHT.

From an Ancient MSS.

UNTO a Knight, which is the most ho

feithfulness, nor other kinde of vice, maye cause him to breake the oathe which he hath made, and contrariewise being dis-obedient he doth dishonor his lord, and worketh not according to his oath and

order. The marke, token, or armes, is given a knight to the end that he maye be discerned and the better knowne howe farre and which waye he goeth, signify ing thearby his force and corage; which force of corage defendeth a knight from all manner of vices, and inforceth him to vertues and good customes, by the which they mayntayne rightfullie the order of knighthood, according to the high honor which to them is due and app'teyneth. The shield is given him to put betwene the enemie and him to beare of the strokes, betokening that a knight's office is to be meane betweene the king and his people, for a p'fect unitie betwene them. The gantletts are given a knight to weare on his hands, to the end he maye defend the same, and maye be the more suer to receive the strokes if it chance any part of his armor to faile, signifying that beside noble corage, yet vertue ought to be in him, to the end that if his corage did pricke him to do any thing contrarie to the said order, yet vertue might staie him and resist the same. The saddell of his horse is to the end that he maye sit suer therein, and stedfast when he rideth, soe that he cannot stirr or move unlesse he be willing; signifying thearby the steadfastness and suertie of courage which ought to be in him; whearby it causeth him to be in the front of the battaile, wch suertie aideth him in adventuring for the love of knighthood. And the great charge and deed of knighthood is, that he ought not to remove or retorne from things lawfull. The horse is given to the said knight whearby he is mounted and sett more higher than another man, and seen farther of; signifying thearby the nobleness of corage, and the apt and redie apparelling of him to that which apperteyneth to the order of knighthood, The more in him than any other man. horse hath a bridle, which the knight holdeth in his hand by the rayres, whearby he may holde and refrayne his horse at his will; signifying thearby that he ought likewise to refreyne his will from evil, and to bend himself to goodness.Retros. Rev.

Customs of Various Countries.

ST. MICHAEL'S EVE AT DEGGENDORF.

Pilgrims, from all parts of Germany, flock to Deggendorf upon Saint Michael's eve, which is a celebrated gnade-zeit, (time of grace,) when absolution is granted to all comers, in consequence of some

miraculous circumstances that, in the year 1337, attended the purloining and insulting of the Host by a woman and some Jews; who, having bought the consecrated wafer from her, scratched it with thorns till it bled, and the image of a child appeared; baked it, vision and all, in an oven; hammered upon an anvil, the block of which is still shewn to the pilgrim; attempted to cram it down" their accursed throats," (I quote the words of the original description,) but were prevented by the hands and feet of the vision aforesaid; and finally, despairing to destroy it, flung it into a well, which was immediately surrounded by a nimbus, &c. I should not have noticed these disgusting falsehoods, but for the melancholy fact, that the circulation of this trumpery story was considered a sufficient cause, by the pious Deggendorfers, for the indiscriminate massacre of all the wretched Jews in the place; which infamous and bloody deed was perpetrated the day after St. Michael, sanctioned by Christian priests, who, in grand procession, carried back the indestructible wafer to the church, and solemnly approved, in 1489, by Pope Innocent VIII., who issued his bull for the general absolution above-mentioned. Above fifty thousand pilgrims assembled here in 1801; and as late as 1815 so considerable were their numbers, that the greater part of them passed the night in the streets of the town, and in the fields in its neighbourhood.—The Descent of the Danube.

Sketches of Orators. No. 10.

PETRONIUS ARBITER.

Petronius Arbiter was a Roman knight and intimate with Nero, and a pander to his vices; for to this writer he owed his sports and pastimes, and therefore he delighted to be in his company. Tacitus, speaking of this cruel and voluptuous prince, says, that he accounted nothing sweet, and soft, and pleasant, but what Petronius sanctioned. Turnebus calls him an obscene and lascivious writer, and that he defiled the elegancies of his orations by his coarseness of their application. Indeed his Latin is of the sweetest strain, and therefore deservedly styled the purest fountain of the Roman language. Lipsius asks, Hast thou seen any thing since the muses were in the world more dulcet and witty?' And it is a pretty expression of the same critic. His fragments are of a most pure impurity.'

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