twitching in the more prominent nerves of his face, which indicated a considerable degree of agitation. He hardly raised his head; did not cast his eye upon the auditors, and seemed to look more upon vacancy than upon the court. Still his dress, though mean, was cleanly: his thin locks lay flat upon his forehead, and those who had not read the evidence against him, could, not for a moment have supposed that one of his years and benevolent aspect could have been guilty of murder. The counsel for the prosecution, at an early hour, proceeded to state the case: in the outset he disclaimed prejudicing the jury against the prisoner who, though friendless and unassisted by counsel, would find an advocate in the learned judge. The evidence, he said was conclusive. His enmity to the deceased arose from the prohibition given by Mr. Wentworth; and from the moment he was forbidden to approach Vine Cottage, the prisoner, with vampire malignity, meditated the destruction of his innocent and playful victim. On the morning of the murder he was seen lurking near the cottage; and on the evening of the same day, with the cowardice of conscious guilt, he thought to shun the observation of the peasantry. Though his plan of proceeding was deliberate, Providence made the very means of concealment instrumental in the establishment of his guilt: in his haste he omitted to consume all the fragments of the boy's clothes; and, fearful of discovery, he converted his own floor into a cemetery: had he deposited the corpse elsewhere, perhaps the evidence might not have been less conclusive. În conclusion, he recommended the jury to give the advantage of any doubt they might entertain to the prisoner; but he, for his own part, could not possibly see how a doubt could arise. The opening speech of counsel was fully sustained in evidence; and when the prisoner was called upon for his defence, a breathless silence prevailed throughout the court. The wretched man, when asked if he had any thing to say, started as if from a horrible dream; and after glancing wildly round, declared in a broken voice that he was innocent. "Have you any witnesses?" enquired the judge. "I have no friends," was the significant reply. "Have you nothing further to say, otherwise it becomes my duty to address the jury?" : The prisoner now seemed to be alive to his critical situation and appeared about to address the court; but the confusion of his mind prevented him, and he ultimately declined saying any thing further. His lordship recapitulated, in a lucid manner, the evidence, and the jury, without leaving the dock, returned their verdict. While it was being recorded, the crowd assembled leaned forward with looks of anxiety: they could hardly doubt its nature; but all felt that while life or death was about to be pronounced, they could not too soon catch the accent of acquittal or condemnation. The prisoner was extremely agitated; the colour on his cheek, like an incipient flash of lightning, just touched and vanished; his lip quivered; and his breathing, though rapid, was audible. When the clerk of the court rose, he fixed his gaze with a bewildered intensity on him; and by the heaving of his breast it seemed as if the spirit of life was struggling to escape. After an awful pause-which seemed in its duration a day to the unfortunate prisoner-the fatal word "guilty" was pronounced. All breathed freely; certainty brought relief, and to none more apparently than the wretched man in the dock. He raised his eyes to heaven, ejaculated a short prayer, and instantly resumed his wonted composure. Sentence was pronounced in due form, and, at twelve o'clock the ensuing day, the executioner had to do his office. The awful fate which awaited him secured Owen no sympathy: his declarations of innocence were regarded as things of course; and, when the heart felt inclined to pity, the rising emotion was instantly quelled by reference to the victim of his guilt, and the parental hearts his crime had lacerated. At the appointed hour the usual preparations had been completed; and, as the clock struck twelve, the prison bell solemnly announced to the inhabitants of Hereford that a criminal was about to die. The assembled multitude grew every moment more dense; and the confusion consequent upon such a gathering was hushed to silence as the wretched object of their curiosity appeared beneath the fatal beam. At that moment a faint voice was heard at a distance; presently it became more distinct; and the rush of many persons intimated the approach of a disordered multitude. He lives! he lives!' cried a womanly voice; and the crowd gave way as a young female, with her dress disordered, rushed towards the officers of justice. It was the criminal's grand-daughter. She announced the astounding fact that the child for whose supposed death her aged relative was about to die still lived; and those who considered the girl crazed were quickly undeceived. A tall, shrewd-looking young man, bearing a wondering boy in his arms, and followed by a boisterous and impatient crowd, now presented himself; and said, 'here is the boy!' 'Who recognizes him?' demanded the sheriff. I do,' answered Mr. Wentworth, stepping from amidst the crowd, in the throng of which he had eagerly rushed to save the life of Poor Owen. The judge not having yet left the town a reprieve was forthwith obtained. It appeared that, subsequent to receiving sentence, Owen's grand-daughter waited on him in his cell: she was accompanied by a fellow servant, a native of Scotland, who, with the characteristic shrewdness of his countrymen, put several questions to the convict. From the answers he received he learnt that Owen had one enemy, a woman who resided in a secluded spot a few miles distant from Eden Dale. She, too, lived on alms, and her enmity arose from the preference every where given to her rival. She had repeatedly threatened him with her vengeance; and it was barely possible she might have murdered the child, and disposed of his remains in the manner related. On this hint Andrew Gordon set forward to her hut: she had deserted it three months before; but, by assiduous enquiry, he traced her to a Welsh mountain, ten miles distant, where he found her. You have got a pretty little girl,' said Andrew. Yes,' was th esullen reply; but POOR OWEN. before she could utter another word Andrew had discovered that it was a boy. Conviction now flashed upon him ; the wretched woman in vain endeavoured to free herself from his grasp; and, when carried before a magistrate, she confessed that her little girl having died, she stole Master Wentworth ; and, that she might not be suspected, contrived to implicate Poor Owen, for whom she entertained the deadliest hatred. The little fellow's clothes she partially burnt on his hearth, and subsequently deposited the body of her own daughter beneath the floor of his shed, when she understood that it was about to be demolished. The better to escape detection, she at first concealed the child, and afterwards removed to the Welsh mountains, where Andrew had detected her. The dead body was again exhumed, and the surgeon now discovered that it was that of a female. These circumstances were brought to light just in time to avert the fate of Owen. The guilty cause of his sufferings received that measure of punishment which the law awarded her offence, and Andrew Gordon soon received what he so well merited-the hand of Owen's grand-daughter. Poor Owen spent the remainder of his days under Andrew's roof; and the shrewd Scotsman had sense enough to prize virtue and beauty, though they met in a maid of such humble origin. THE OPENING OF THE FIRST SEAL. And I saw and beheld a white horse; and he that sat on him had a bow, and a crown was given unto him, and he went forth conquering and to conquer.---Revelations, vi. 2. Seraphic hosts, your harps melodious bring, Immortal hymns and endless praises sing Thus sung the hosts-the angel-hosts of heaven, The holy anthem on our earth was flung; 'Twas like the ocean dashing 'gainst the shore : Hark! 'twas the lion-monster spoke to me : Borne on the spirit's pinions, come and see.' Towards heaven's high arch I winged my rapid flight (A mortal guest I stood with trembling fear), I saw (but who can tell the wondrous sight?) A heaven-sprung courser swiftly drawing near, His form was perfect, of a spotless white, Fairer than snow, when winter rules the year : Arabia, though she's famed for steeds, might try In vain to match the courser of the sky. But who this fiery-footed steed could ride? Or on his plunging back a seat retain ? Could arm of flesh, without assistance, guide His mighty prancings o'er the heavenly plain? Ah! no; his strength would mortal man deride, And throw his helpless rider with disdain. A heavenly champion on the courser rode, Which skimmed, like lightning, oʻer the trackless road. Who can describe the glories of his face ? His stature tall, attired in snow-like vest; In majesty triumphant, sat confest, |