There is no root, no cliff among those mountains, No branch, no green leaf on a single spot, No blade of grass, no flower in yonder vale, No drop of water sparkling in those fountains, No wild beast in this forest that knows not, How bitter are the sorrows I bewail. Everything in nature that would have soothed him at a former period, now but adds another painful link to his remembrances. Thus he writes of the nightingale's song, in the 43rd sonnet: Quel rosignuol che sì soave piagne Forse suvi figli o sua cara consorte, &c. That nightingale who doth so sweetly wail Perchance his nestlings or his gentle mate, Filling the heavens and carth with his sad tale, Which he with piteous warbling doth relate, All the night long appears to sing to me, 'Minding me of my melancholy fate: Alas! I dreamed not that mortality A goddess like my lost love could await. How easily deceived are hearts that trust! Whoever thought sweet eyes more brilliantly Shining than stars, could turn to gloomy dust! Alas! I find 'tis fixed by destiny That living I should learn, 'mid tears and sighs, How Heaven a lasting happiness on earth to man denies. Not stars, bright sparkling in the darkest blue Nor 'mong green meads where streams Songs sweetly breathed by ladies fair and true, So deeply buried are its thoughts with her I long for death, to meet one whom 'twere far, run An enthusiast in everything he undertook, as well as in his passion for Laura, Petrarch, in the midst of all his love and poetry, had laboured hard to induce the removal of the seat of the Popes from Avignon to Rome, and had addressed exhortations to five successive Popes on the subject. It was not, however, till after his deathwhich took place in the year 1374, at a villa which belonged to him near Padua-that Gregory XI. established the change which the patriot-poet had so anxiously sought to forward. That the wreath which was placed on the head of Petrarch at Rome in 1341 was an unfading one will be owned by those who seek in his Italian sonnets the beauties which evade the pen of the translator. Thus runs the account of his coronation in an old Roman diary: "In nelle 1341, il giorno di Pasqua, fo Laureato Messer Francesco Petrarca, esaminato per lo Re Roberto, in presenza dello popolo di Roma, e foroli posta una corona in capo per lode delli Poeta." THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY; OR, THE ELM TREE OF VAURUS.* BY MISS JEWSBURY. Books of chivalry, such as King Arthur and his Round Table, Guy of Warwick, Sir Besis of Hampshire, Sir Isumhas, &c., are by no means fabulous pictures of the manners and customs of the time; not perhaps of the period when the heroes were reported to live, but of the time when their histories were compiled. The following story, which is recorded by Maître Juvenal des Ursins, who wrote the history of his own time, is one of the terrible realities upon which some of those histories were founded. town or fortress in the name of the King, the Dauphin, or one of the princes, and make inroads upon the neighbouring country; for the wretched inhabitants, it made no difference under whose name they were pillaged. The town of Meaux was held by a garrison, which had long troubled and ravaged the whole country round Paris. It was commanded by very valiant men, the Sire Guechard de Chize, Captain Louis Dugast, Phillip de Gamaches, and the Abbé de St. Pharon; but the most terrible and renowned of all was called the Bastard of Vaurus. He had been in the service of the Count of Armagnac (who was cruelly murdered in Paris by the people whom he had dreadfully oppressed); and to revenge his death there was no end of the cruelties in which Vaurus indulged. He overran the high roads and country round, seized merchants, poor labourers, and whomever he could find, bound them to the tail of his horse, and galloped back to the town, where he kept them until they paid a heavy *Related in De Baran's "Histoire des Ducs de ransom. When they were too poor to pay anyBourgogne." In 1421 the state of France was something too horrible to be realized in these days-a prey at once to civil war and foreign invasion, famine, pestilence, and the utter dissolution of all the bonds of society. The various armed companies calling themselves soldiers, and professing to serve in the army under different leaders, received no regular pay, but made what booty they could. Bands of men under some captain renowned for his valour would hold a thing, he either caused them to be hanged by his own executioner, or he hanged them with his own hand to a great tree. Nothing was so well known, or so much feared throughout the county as far as Paris, as this "Elm of Vaurus," to the branches of which had been suspended the bodies of so many unfortunate wretches! One occasion had in particular excited universal pity and indignation. It was bad even for those days; but unhappily it was by no means a solitary incident. Vaurus had in one of his raids carried off to Meaux a young man whom he had dragged from behind his plough. When he arrived at home his first care was to put his prisoner to the torture (every castle possessed the necessary conveniences for it), and then he affixed an exorbitant ransom to him. The young man continued to communicate to his wife the torture to which he was subject, also the sum demanded for his release. They had only been married a year, and were much attached to each other. She came directly to the town, where she first endeavoured to soften the heart of the tyrant; but he was quite insensible to her tears, and told her that if the ransom was not paid by a certain day her husband would be tied up to the branches of the elm. She was near the time of her confinement, but she set off, notwithstanding, to endeavour to scrape together the sum necessary for his release. She could not make up the amount until eight days after the term assigned, for money was very scarce, and everybody wretchedly poor. She hurried back to the town, broken with fatigue, and already feeling the first pangs of labour, she fell insensible on her arrival. On coming to herself she asked for her husband. "Pay first, and then you shall see him," was the answer. Whilst she counted the money she saw other peasants who had been unable to ransom themselves being carried away to be hanged, or thrown into the river, which did not tend to reassure her. As soon as the money was paid, the wretches told her that her husband had been punctually executed on the day appointed. The unhappy creature, wild with rage and despair, uttered bitter curses and reproaches. Vaurus, finding that she made more noise than was pleasant, ordered his men to cut her clothes short round the waist; and she was then driven, by blows, towards the terrible elm tree, and bound to the trunk of it so tightly that the cords cut into the flesh. She was left there. Night came on, cold and stormy: the wind agitated the dead bodies which were suspended to the branches above her head, and sometimes they even touched her. In the midst of this horrible situation her child was born. Her shrieks and cries were heard in the town; but no one dared to go to her assistance, so much were they afraid of that man. The wolves, however, were attracted by her cries. The next morning she and the infant were found almost entirely devoured at the foot of the dreadful tree. King Henry the Fifth, who had married Madame Catherine of France, and had been recognized by the poor old insane King Charles the Sixth as next heir to the throne, was at that time busily engaged in making good his claim against the opposition of the Dauphin and the repugnance of the people to having the English for master. This cruel garrison was professedly holden in the town and fortress of Meaux on behalf of the Dauphin; and as the indignation against its terrible cruelties was become very clamorous, King Henry thought he could do nothing better than march against it. Accordingly he set down before it with his army in the beginning of November, 1421, and besieged it in due form. It was a serious undertaking. Poverty, famine, pestilence reigned through the whole country, which had for so long been ravaged by an undisciplined soldiery; and the English were no: long before they too suffered from the general misery. They wanted provisions, and the men died in great numbers, of disease. Their sufferings made them cruel; whilst the king and his captains were more stern and pitiless than ever. "It was," said the poor people, "like being governed by ravishing wolves, who carried away the sheep with the wool, and devoured the flesh along with the blood." The inhabitants, who had suffered so much for long years past that they did not think it possible for their miseries to be increased, became now quite maddened with despair; they abandoned their wives and children, and went wandering about the world where chance might lead them. "What matters it what becomes of us?" said they; we may as well sell ourselves to the devil at once, and do all the evil in our power. We will go into the woods like wild beasts; what can they do but kill us when they catch us? Nothing can be worse than what we suffer under the rule of these traitors of nobility, worse than Saracens, who for the last fifteen years have practised against each other by sword and poison, and now see us all dying off one after the other by violent deaths, and without confession!" It was not only the country people who abandoned themselves to this phrenzy of suffering; the inhabitants of Paris, suffering from famine, despoiled of their last possessions by the collectors of the imposts, seeing every week that money altered in its value, abandoned their homes and departed from the accursed city to find refuge where they could. Some went into Dauphiny, some to Rouen; but many, like the peasants, took to the woods and became brigands. Whilst all this went on, the siege of Meaux continued. It was a long business, and lasted more than seven months. The English had never beheld such prodigies of courage and endurance as were exhibited by the cruel Vaurus and the other commanders of the garrison. They repulsed every attack, and their artillery killed many of the flower of the besieger's army. Sir John Cornwallis, one of the best English captains, was wounded, and at the same moment his only son was struck with a cannon-ball, which carried away his head. This calamity broke the father's spirit; he took it for a judgment upon him for trying to deprive the Dauphin of his lawful heritage, and he retired from the army, vowing never more to bear arms against Christians. Nothing, however, could conquer the obstinacy of King Henry. He saw the best and bravest of his officers killed in the assaults, and his army perishing from disease and famine; but nothing moved him, although this desperate resistance of a single fortress filled his heart with forebodings and misgivings. The Dauphin did not fail to attempt to relieve the garrison, but without success; and the town was at length taken by assault. But it was divided in two portions by the river Marne, and formed a separate fortress on each bank. Vaurus took refuge in one of them called La Marché, and continued to defend himself desperately; for a braver or more intrepid man was never known. The King of England at length took posses sion of a little fortified island in the midst of the river, and battered the besieged with his artillery. Still Vaurus and his band refused to surrender; they repulsed an assault that was attempted, and actually made a sally, in which they surprized a body of English soldiers, who defended themselves with courage, and were all killed except one man, who made his escape; and King Henry was so enraged at his cowardice, that he caused him to be buried alive along with the bodies of his companions who had died fighting. At last, in the latter end of April, the besieged seeing themselves without any resource, consented to treat of surrender. They could make no terms, and were obliged to yield at discretion. The first thing King Henry did was to hang Vaurus upon his own tree, with his banner stuck into his breast. Most people said that it was a just punishment for all his wicked cruelties; but there were not wanting others who said that the King of England had not acted nobly in putting such a valiant man to so shameful a death. As to the other commanders of the garrison, some of them were sent to Paris to be executed, some were put to death on the spot, and the rest were kept prisoners for heavy ransoms. King Henry, however, could not resist feeling admiration for the prodigious defence the city had made. He offered great honours and rewards to the Sire de Chizé, the chief captain of the garrison, if he would quit the service of the Dauphin and come over to him; but he refused, and remained faithful to his country and the Dauphin. EXPERIENCES AND THEIR TEACHINGS. BY CALDER CAMPBELL. In bygone days I hail'd the Spring, When health was flushing on my brow, With such a boisterous glee as now I cannot show for anything. The first green bud, ere yet it spread Its tender leaflets to the airThe first shoot of the crocus, where It peep'd above its darksome bed The first young primrose that held up, Mid soft green leaves, its salver, heap'd With pallid gold-snowdrops that leap'd To catch spring-dews in argent cup The first nest, found in grass or heath, Or on the boughs of some tall treeThe first-born lamb that look'd at me Fearlessly, knowing not of death All these were dear to me as life, What first, then, woke my dreamful eyes What told me that my youth, when fled, What told me that life's shadows, which Seem'd pleasant contrasts to the light, Should soon bewilder me, like night, Whose skies nor moon nor stars enrich? What but the growing soul within, That took man's voice ere youth's was gone, And made me think such thoughts as none Can think and cherish without sin! Thus childhood's buds and boyhood's flowers Around them angry passions flock, Like birds at enmity, or swarms Of vexing insects, from whose harms We flee for shelter to the rock The rock of other hearts; and learn To find them harden'd by such pain As we too suffer from. In vain For comfort to men's hearts we turn! Yet we must turn to human hearts, And love with them, and suffer too, Ere we can light upon the true And only balm which peace imparts. We may not shake off human love We may not wrap ourselves about Like silk-worms-with our own soft cares But twist and mingle ours with theirs, Who, like us, long for love, yet doubt. To brother-man, oh! tenderly Should each and all of us behave! Life is no place to dig a grave, Where human love should buried be! Though youth is past, and age bent low Though health be spent, and manhood too, And every day beset with pains; Of joy and thankfulness that still Friendship is found and love consoles ! LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONES. LITTLE CON. (A True Tale for Young People.) BY ALBERT TAYLOR. Mr. and Mrs. Allers were people of considerable property, and resided on their own estate in one of the most retired and beautiful parts of Kent. Swelling hills, verdant with hanging woods, surrounded the grounds on every side; and the sweetest green lanes, shaded by lofty-spreading elms and oaks, and whose mossy banks were studded by tufts of primroses and violets, besides innumerable other natural flowers, led here, there, and everywhere-so that one might wander the whole summer-day under the most grateful shade, and make up besides the most lovely bouquets of wild flowers that eye ever beheld. This worthy couple had three children-two girls, Sophia and Emily-the first some ten years old, the other rather more than a year younger, and one son, Conway, or " Little Con," as he was usually called. Emily would take the entire responsibility on her hands of looking after the comfort and general welfare of "Anna Maria" (Sophia's doll); so that, like twin streams, these two sisters would unite, as it were, their little currents, and glide on bubbling and sparkling in the sunshine, in the most charming way in the world. But poor little Con had no respect at all for dolls: he regarded them afar off in silent wonder, not unmixed with contempt. He could not at all comprehend how his sisters could possibly prefer nursing and petting these dumb effigies, to playing at horses; and as he justly considered these waxen beauties to be the great cause of this want of taste, as well as good fellowship on his sisters' part, his little bile rose against the dolls, whom in the bitterness of his heart he pronounced to be "two little stoopids;" in return for which compliment, Sophia and Emily assured him, in no measured terms, that he himself was the "little stupid," who had not good sense enough to admire the "two most darling, beautiful, pets in the whole world." opened and shut her eyes, with a languid, dieaway grace, not quite unmixed with affectation perhaps. These children had been very well brought up by their judicious, but none the less affectionate On one occasion only had Con regarded with parents, whose tenderness they repaid by trust- anything approaching to interest one of the tribe ing love and dutiful obedience-not but that of these waxen female individuals-namely, on they had their faults, and were naughty some-Sophia's being presented with a large doll, that times-for what children are quite perfect? Even the best of grown-up people, to let alone little children, have ever need to put up the prayer to God to make them better! But when these young people were not, or had not been, quite so good as one could wish, they not only instantly and penitently asked pardon of their parents, but knelt also humbly, and with contrite hearts, and asked forgiveness of that great Being, who alone could enable them to get the better of their disobedient tempers, and make them become a blessing not only to those dear parents, but to every one else about them. Now Sophia and Emily were the staunchest, most inseparable friends ever seen, sharing all their playthings in common, and rarely, if ever, disagreeing, so that sometimes Sophia would nurse" Jessie Matilda" (Emily's doll), a whole day, lavishing upon it all the tenderness she would have given to her own child, the while Con was a very strange boy; he never spoke much, but then he thought a great deal, and the idea that entered his little brain on this occasion was, What would this languishing young beauty do, were he to introduce a finger into the wonderful blue eyes-into one of them, that is, and then pull the string? "if she does it then," thought he, "ha!" So the very instant that Con found himself quite alone with this affected young lady, he forthwith eagerly thrust a finger into one of her die-away orbs, and then pulled the string with all his might. As Con breathlessly (anticipated, she could not perform this mysterious feat; but this proved to be the least considerable result of his experiment, for, to his horror and consternation, the lovely blue eye itself entirely disappeared, and left nought but sume his former position on Jane's shoulder, and stare away with increased energy and satisfaction. Now came Papa's birthday, and it fell on a lovely sunny one in June. The birthday of each of their parents was a very important affair to the children-a holiday, of course; and on such auspicious occasions they invariably came a dismal hole in its place; the while the other blue eye, entirely cured of any remaining affectation, answered no longer the guiding-string, but kept wide open, staring wilh all its might. Master Con suffered for this little trick; and though he showed great contrition for his misdeed, it still rankled in the minds of the sisters, who in consequence kept him a good deal aloof; and this was not very kind of them, though na-in to breakfast with their Papa and Mamma, tural, for they ought to have remembered that he was very young (he was not yet five years of age), and had no brother, and consequently looked almost entirely to them for companionship and sympathy. dressed in their best, each bearing a little bouquet of choice flowers, to be presented with a kiss, and every fond grateful wish that a good child could offer to the dear and respected author of its being. However, Con managed to hide his wounded Well, in they came, as usual; the sisters arfeelings on this, as on every other occasion, un-rayed in snowy muslin frocks, with broad pink der a considerable assumption of dignity, pouring into Jane's, the nursemaid's, ears alone the tale of his conceived wrongs and sufferings-for between Jane and Con there existed a strong love and friendship. Jane, who doated on him, perfectly understood all his little meanings and strange ways. He was never naughty with his dear Jane-she could read as in a book every look and revelation of his large dark eyes, that had a world of expression in them-for Con was a very pretty boy, with a beautiful straight nose, dark curly hair, and dimpled waxen cheeks like a girl. Jane sang him to sleep each night, or told some pretty tale, till slumber weighed down his eyelids; and at Jane's knee it was that he generally said his prayers, and recited his quaint little hymn. Above all things Con loved to stroll with her down the shady lane that led out on the village high road, where, seated on a favourite gate, he would lean one little elbow on her shoulder, and resting his little head on his hand, watch with large wondering eyes everybody and everything that passed along. Nothing escaped him; without moving his head, his eyes took in and followed everything with immense interest; though a quick-breathed" ha!" was the only exclamation that gave token of his feelings being more than usually excited. Now and then, indeed, he would raise himself from Jane's shoulder, and sedately inserting his hand into one of the little fringed pockets of his frock, draw out with the most profound gravity a paper screwlike some quaint old gentleman about to indulge in a quiet pinch of stuff. But Con had no opinion whatever of tobacco in any shapesugar was his staple commodity. In his book of trades, the sugar-baker was the one that most entirely met his approbation. "When I'm a man, Jane," he would say, I will be a sugarbaker! won't we have nice things then? Ha!" So that, of course, Con's lit le paper-screws invariably contained some dainty in this line; after selecting and introducing which between his own cherry lips, he would carefully select the next best bit, and, putting out his little hand, proffer it to Jane's every whit as ruddy lips, which sucked away also, apparently with equal relish to his own. That done, and the screws carefully restored to his pocket, he would re | sashes, and hair beautifully curled, and little Con in white blouse and trousers, hair nicely. done up with sweet pomatum by Jane's tidy fingers, and face radiant with happiness and Windsor soap. The bouquets were duly presented; the kisses given; every kind wish wished; and then Papa, after fondly returning their caresses, inserted, with an important smile, one hand into his pocket, from whence he drew out a small parcel in silver paper, which, on being unfolded, revealed no less than five bran new half-crown pieces, two of which he presented to each of the girls, and one to Con, with the desire that they were to spend them entirely as the fancy of each should dictate. "Ha!" exclaimed Con, turning his treasure round and round, and rolling his large eyes over it with immense satisfaction, "O! thank you, dear Pa!" and then off he went to exhibit his riches to Jane, who exclaimed, with lifted hands -- My goodness, Con! why you are rich now, quite a nabob!" Now, in the midst of breakfast-time, while they were in the full enjoyment of the good things which loaded the table, news was brought that their old nurse, Daine Golding, who lived in a small cottage at the end of the pretty lane that led to the village, was very ill indeed, and of course wanted, as they well knew, all the little comforts and delicacies which tend so much to alleviate the sufferings of the rich, but ཎཱ which, alas! stern poverty denies to the wants of the poor and needy; for the small annuity which the worthy Mr. Allers had settled on the poor, but excellent old woman, was most sadly taxed to meet the urgent demands of her married children and their families; so that poor dear old nurse pinched and screwed, and halfstarved herself, in fact, in order to supply the wants of those dearer to her than self. Papa and Mamma exchanged looks in silence. Papa went on quietly reading his paper - Mamma as quietly and silently sipped her tea. The sisters exchanged looks also; their eyes brightened-the colour mounted to their cheeks-their hearts beat quicker, as though some good, holy thought had passed through each at the same moment, and left the glow of good resolve on each brow. Hastily they finished their meal; |