idea of the coolness of the well came over my soul like balm. I rushed to its deadly brink. I threw my straining vision below. The glare from the enkindled roof illumined its inmost recesses. Yet for a wild moment did my spirit refuse to comprehend the meaning of what I saw. At length it forced-it wrestled its way into my soul-it burned itself in upon my shuddering reason. Oh! for a voice to speak! oh! any horror but this! With a shriek, I rushed from the margin, and buried my face in my hands weeping bitterly.

The heat rapidly increased, and once again I looked up shuddering as with a fit of the ague. There had been a second change in the cell - and now the change was obviously in the form. As before, it was in vain that I at first endeavored to appreciate or understand what was taking place. But not long was I left in doubt. The Inquisitorial vengeance had been hurried by my two-fold escape, and there was to be no more dallying with the King of Terrors. The room had been square. I saw that two of its iron angles were now acute two, consequently, obtuse. The fearful difference quickly increased with a low rumbling or moaning sound. In an instant the apartment had shifted its form into that of a lozenge. But the alteration stopped not here I neither hoped nor desired it to stop. I could have clasped the red walls to my bosom as a garment of eternal peace. "Death," I said, "any death but that of the pit!" Fool! might not I have known that into the pit it was the object of the burning iron to urge me? Could I resist its glows? or if even that, could I withstand its pressure? And now, flatter and flatter grew the lozenge, with a rapidity that left me no time for contemplation. Its centre, and of course, its greatest width, came just over the yawning gulf. I shrank back but the closing walls pressed me resistlessly onward. At length for my seared and writhing body there was no longer an inch of foothold on the firm floor of the prison I struggled no more, but the agony of my soul found vent in one loud, long, and final scream of despair. I felt that I tottered upon the brink I averted my eyes

There was a discordant hum of human voices! There was a loud blast as of many trumpets! There was a harsh grating as of a thousand thunders! The fiery walls rushed back! An outstretched arm caught my own as I fell fainting into the abyss. It was that of General Lasalle. The French army had entered Toledo. The Inquisition was in the hands of its enemies.

ROBERT POLLOK.

POLLOK, ROBERT, a Scottish clergyman and poet; born at North Moorhouse, in Renfrewshire, October 19, 1799; died at Southampton, England, September 18, 1827. He was graduated at the University of Glasgow, and in 1827 became a licentiate of the United Secession Church. A pulmonary affection had already begun, and he set out for Italy, hoping for benefit from a milder climate, but died just before he was to have sailed. While a student he published anonymously three tales, which were in 1833 republished under the title "Tales of the Covenanters." His literary reputation rests wholly upon "The Course of Time (1827), a poem in blank verse, which at the time was widely popular, being placed by some quite as high as "Paradise Lost," to which it bears a general resemblance, the best passages being imitations of Milton.

OPENING INVOCATION.

(From "The Course of Time.")

ETERNAL Spirit! God of truth! to whom
All things seem as they are; Thou who of old
The prophet's eye unscaled, that nightly saw,
While heavy sleep fell down on other men,
In holy vision tranced, the future pass
Before him, and to Judah's harp attuned
Burdens which made the pagan mountains shake,
And Zion's cedars bow: inspire my song;
My eye unscale; me what is substance teach,
And shadow what; while I of things to come,
As past rehearsing, sing the Course of Time,
The Second Birth, and final Doom of Man.

The Muse that soft and sickly wooes the ear
Of love, or chanting loud in windy rhyme
Of fabled Lero, raves through gaudy tale
Not overfraught with sense, I ask not; such
A strain befits not argument so high.
Me thought and phrase, severely sifting out

THE NEW Y PUBLIC LIP.

ASR, IR
TILINY

The whole idea, grant; uttering as 't is

The essential truth: Time gone, the righteous saved,
The wicked damned, and Providence approved.

TRUE HAPPINESS.

(From "The Course of Time.")

TRUE Happiness had no localities,
No tones provincial, no peculiar garb.

Where Duty went, she went; with Justice went;
And went with Meekness, Charity, and Love,
Where'er a tear was dried, a wounded heart
Bound up, a bruised spirit with the dew
Of sympathy anointed, or a pang
Of honest suffering soothed; or injury
Repeated oft, as oft by love forgiven;
Where'er an evil passion was subdued,
Or virtue's feeble embers fanned; where'er
A sin was heartily abjured and left;
Where'er a pious act was done, or breathed
A pious prayer, or wished a pious wish :-
There was a high and holy place, a spot
Of sacred light, a most religious fane,
Where happiness, descending, sat and smiled.

HOLY LOVE.

(From "The Course of Time.")

HAIL, holy love! thou word that sums all bliss;
Gives and receives all bliss, fullest when most
Thou givest! Spring-head of all felicity,
Deepest when most is drawn! Emblem of God!
O'erflowing most when greatest numbers drink!
Essence that binds the uncreated Three !

Chain that unites creation to its Lord!
Centre to which all being gravitates!
Eternal, ever-growing, happy love!
Enduring all, hoping, forgiving all;
Instead of law, fulfilling every law;

Entirely blessed, because it seeks no more;
Hopes not, nor fears; but on the present lives,
And holds perfection smiling in its arms!
Mysterious, infinite, exhaustless love!

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