of feeling. It describes Athanasia in prison, and visited Valerius, through the connivance of Silo, the jailer, who o the Christian party :

Athanasia in Prison.

id I to myself, of what tidings am I doomed ever to be the messenger! salone; and how could I shrink from any pain that might perhaps alleI took the key, glided along the corridors, and stood once more at the chamber in which I had parted from Athanasia. No voice answered to I repeated it three times, and then, agitated with indistinct apprehension, o longer to open it. No lamp was burning within the chamber, but from ere entered a wavering glare of deep saffron-coloured light, which shewed sia extended on her couch. Its ominous and troubled hue had no power image of her sleeping tranquillity. I hung over her for a moment, aud o disturb that slumber-peruaps the last slumber of peace and innocence e chamber walls were visited with a yet deeper glare. Caius,' she whisstepped from beside the couch, why do you leave me? Stay, Valerius.' ck, but her eyelids were stili closed; the same calm smile was upon her ps. The light streamed redder and more red. All in an instant became hout as within. I approached the window, and saw Cotilius standing in f the court, Sabinus and Silo near him; the horsemen drawn up on either soldier close behind resting upon an unsheathed sword. I saw the keen fierce as ever. I saw that the blood was still fervid in his cheeks; for the of this man was of the same bold and florid brightness, so uncommon in you have seen represented in the pictures of Sylla; and even the blaze of seemed to strive in vain to heighten its natural scarlet. The soldier had word, and my eye was fixed, as by fascination, when suddenly a deep voice midst the deadly silence: Cotilius !-look up. Cotilius!'

the Christian priest, standing at an open window not far distant from h I was placed, stretched forth his fettered hand as he spake: Cotilius! ee look upon the hand from which the blessed water of baptism was cast ad. I charge thee, look upon me, and say. ere yet the blow be given, hope thy thoughts are fixed? Is this sword bared against the rebel of martyr of Jesus? I charge thee, speak; and for thy soul's sake speak

motion of derision passed over his lips, and he nodded, as if impatiently, orian. Instinctively I turned me from the spectacle, and my eye rested the couch of Athanasia-but not upon the vision of her tranquillity. th which the corpse fell upon the stones had perhaps reached the sleeping know with what swiftness thoughts chase thoughts in the wilderness of o it was that she started at the very moment when the blow was given; ispered-for it was still but a deep whisper: Spare me, Trajan, Cæsar, ve pity on my youth-strengthen, strengthen me, good Lord! Fie! Fie! t lie to save life. Felix-Valerius-come close to me, Caius-Fie! let er we are Romans-"Tis the trumpet'

etorian trumpet sounded the march in the court below, and Athanasia, m her sleep, gazed wildly around the reddened chamber. The blast of t was indeed in her ear-and Valerius hung over her: but after a moment f the broken dream passed away, and the maiden smiled as she extended › me from the couch, and began to gather up the ringlets that floated all her shoulder. She blushed and smiled mournfully, and asked me hastily ume. and for what purpose I had come; but before I could answer, the vas yet in the chamber seemed anew to be perplexing her, and she gazed o the red walls, and from them to me again; and then once more the is blown, and Athanasia sprung from her couch. I know not in what s essaying to tell her what was the truth; but I know, that ere I had said ls, she discovered my meaning. For a moment she looked deadly pale, in the glare of the torch beams; but she recovered herself, and said in a sounded almost as if it came from a light heart: But, Caius, I must not

go to Cæsar without having at least a garland on my head. Stay here, Valerius, and shal, be ready anon-quite ready.'

It seemed to me as if she were less hasty than she had promised; yet many minutes elapsed not ere she returned. She plucked a blossom from her hair as she drew near me, and said: Take it: you must not refuse one token more; this also is a sacred gift. Caius, you must learn never to look upon it without kissing theso red streaks-these blessed streaks of the Christian flower.'

I took the flower from her hand and pressed it to my lips, and I remembered that the very first day I saw Athanasia she had plucked such a one when apart from all the rest in the gardens of Capito. I told her what I remembered, and it seemed as if the little circumstance had called up all the image of peaceful days, for once more sorrowfulness gathered upon her countenance. If the tear was ready, however, it was not permitted to drop; and Athanasia returned again to her flower.

Do you think there are any of them in Britain?' said she; or do you think that they would grow there? You must go to my dear uncle, and he will not deny you when you tell him that it is for my sake he is to give you some of his. They call it the passion flower-'tis an emblem of an awful thing. Caius, these purple streaks are like trickling drops; and here, look ye, they are all round the flower. Is it not very like a bloody crown upon a pale brow? I will take one of them in my hand, too, Caius; and methinks I shall not disgrace myself when I look upon it, even though Trajan should be frowning upon me.'

I had not the heart to interrupt her; but heard silently all she said. and I thought she said the words quickly and eagerly, as if she feared to be interrupted.

The old priest came into the chamber, while she was yet speaking so, and said very composedly: Come, my dear child, our friend has sent again for us, and the soldiers have been waiting already some space, who are to convey us to the Palatine. Come, children, we must part for a moment-perhaps it may be but for a moment -and Valerius may remain here till we return to him. Here, at least, dear Caius, you shall have the earliest tidings and the surest.'

The good man took Athanasia by the hand, and she, smiling now at length more serenely than ever, said only: Farewell then, Caius, for a little moment !' And so, drawing her veil over her face, she passed away from before me, giving, I think, more support to the ancient Aurelius than in her turn she received from him. I be gan to follow them, but the priest waved his hand as if to forbid me. The door closed after them, and I was alone.

'Adam Blair,' or, as the title runs, 'Some Passages in the Life of Mr. Adam Blair, Minister of the Gospel at Cross-Meikle,' is a narrative of the fall of a Scottish minister from the purity and dignity of the pastoral character, and his restoration, after a season of deep penitence and contrition, to the duties of his sacred profession, in the same place which had formerly witnessed his worth and usefulness. The unpleasant nature of the story, and a certain tone of exaggeration and sentimentalism in parts of it, render the perusal of the work somewhat painful and disagreeable, and of doubtful morality. But 'Adam Blair' is powerfully written, with an accurate conception of Scottish feeling and character, and passages of description equal to any in the author's other works. The tender-hearted enthusiastic minister of Cross-Meikle is hurried on to his downfall by fate and metaphysical aid,' and never appears in the light of a guilty person; while his faithful elder, John Maxwell, and his kind friends at Semplehaugh, are just and honourable representatives of the good old Scotch rural classes.

'Reginald Dalton' is the most extended of Mr. Lockhart's fictions, and gives us more of the general form and pressure' of humankind

y than his two previous works. The scene is laid in Eng we have a full account of college-life in Oxford, where the hero, is educated, and where he learns to imbibe port, ejudice. The dissipation and extravagance of the son n his father, an English clergyman; and some scenes of d suffering consequent on this misconduct are related with anly feeling

Description of an Old English Mansion

ed to bait their horses at a little village on the main coast of the Palahen pursued their course leisurely through a rich and level country, until of Grypherwast received them amidst all the breathless splendour of a It would be difficult to express the emotions with which young Regid, for the first time, the ancient demesne of his race. The scene was stranger, of years and experience very superior to his, might have been r contemplating with some enthusiasm, but to him the first glimpse of e front, embosomed amidst its

'Old contemporary trees,'

e than realisation of cherished dreams. Involuntarily he drew in his e whole party as involuntarily following the motion, they approached the ether at the slowest pace.

ay is almost in the heart of the village, for the hall of Grypherwast had long before English gentlemen conceived it to be a point of dignity to uble roofs near their own. A beautiful stream runs hard by, and the most within the arms of the princely forest, whose ancient oaks, and a gigantic pine-trees, darken and ennoble the aspect of the whole surgion. The peasantry, who watch the flocks and herds in those deep and es-the fishermen, who draw their subsistence from the clear waters of d the woodman, whose axes resound all day long among the inexickets, are the sole inhabitants of the simple place. Over their cottages Grypherwast has predominated for many long centuries, a true old anor-house, not devoid of a certain magnificence in its general aspect, ing slender pretentions to anything like elegance in its details. The cen quare, massy, rude, and almost destitute of windows, recalls the knightly period of the old Border wars: while the overshadowing roofs, carved nd multifarious chimneys scattered over the rest of the building, attest ve influence of many more or less tasteful generations. Excepting in the onial tower, the upper parts of the house are all formed of oak, but this air of strength and solidity as might well shame many modern structof better materials. Nothing could be more perfectly in harmony with haracter of the place than the autumnal brownness of the stately trees he same descending rays were tinging with rich lustre the outlines of unks, and the projecting edges of the old-fashioned bay-windows which ed; and some rooks of very old family were cawing overhead almost in of the hospitable smoke-wreaths. Within a couple of yards from the house an eminently respectable-looking old man, in a powdered wig and very of blue and scarlet. was sitting on a garden-chair with a pipe in his a cool tankard within his reach upon the ground.

་

e of Matthew Wald' is related in the first person, and the riences a great variety of fortune. There is much worldly ss and observation evinced in the delineation of some of s and characters; but, on the whole, it is the poorest of Mr. s novels. Its author, we suspect, like Sheridan, required patient revision to bring out fully his conceptions, and ess was often tempted or impelled to hurry to a close.

Mr Lockhart was born on the 14th of June 1794, in the manse or parsonage of Cambusnethan, county of Lanark. His father was minister of that parish, but being presented to the College Church, Glasgow, he removed thither, and his son was educated at Glasgow University. He was selected as one of the two students whom Glas gow College sends annually to Oxford, in virtue of an endowment named 'Snell's Foundation.' Having taken his degree, Mr. Lock hart repaired to Edinburgh, and in 1816 became an advocate at the Scottish bar. He was unsuccessful, and devoted himself chiefly to literature. He was a regular contributor to 'Blackwood's Magazine,' and imparted to that work a large portion of the spirit, originality. and determined political character which it has long maintained In 1820 he was married to Sophia, the eldest daughter of Sir Walter Scott, a lady who possessed much of the conversational talent, the unaffected good-humour, and liveliness of her father Mrs. Lock hart died on the 17th of May 1837, in London, whither Mr. Lock hart had gone to reside as successor to Mr. Gifford in the editorship of the Quarterly Review.'

In 1843 Mr. Lockhart received from Sir Robert Peel the sinecure appointment of Auditor of the Duchy of Cornwall, to which was at tached a salary of £400 per annum. In point of fortune and connec tions, therefore, Mr. Lockhart was more successful than most authors who have elevated themselves by their talents, but ill health and private calamities darkened his latter days. He survived all the He had another

family of Sir Walter Scott, and his own two sons. child, a daughter, married to Mr. Hope Scott of Abbotsford, who died in 1858; her daughter, Mary Monica, born in 1852, married in 1874 to the Hon. Joseph Constable-Maxwell, third son of Lord Herries, is now the only descendant of Sir Walter Scott Mr. Lockhart died at Abbotsford on the 25th of November 1854, and was interred near Scott in Dryburgh Abbey.

PROFESSOR WILSON.

PROFESSOR WILSON (1785-1854) carried the peculiar features and characteristics of his poetry into his prose compositions. The same amiable gentleness, tenderness, love of nature, pictures of solitary life, humble affections and pious hopes, expressed in an elaborate but rich structure of language, which fixed upon the author of the 'Isle of Palms' the title of a Lake Poet, may be seen in all his tales. The first of these appeared in 1822, under the name of Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life; a Selection from the Papers of the late Arthur Austin.' This volume consists of twenty-four short tales, three of which-The Elder's Funeral, The Snow-storm, and The Forgers-had previously been published in Blackwood's Magazine.' Most of them are tender and pathetic, and relate to Scottish rural and pastoral life. The innocence, simplicity, and strict piety of ancient manners are described as still lingering in our vales; but,

e spirit of homely truth and antique Scriptural phraseauthor's scenes and characters are too Arcadian to be real. 1 work, The Trials of Margaret Lyndsay' (one volume,. ore regular in construction and varied in incident. The a maiden in humble life, whose father imbibes the opinions and is imprisoned on a charge of sedition, but afterwards He becomes irreligious and profane as well as disaffected, 3 with the mistress of a brother-reformer. The gradual leepening distress of this man's innocent family are related 1 pathos. In many parts of the tale we are reminded of ng pictures of Crabbe. Of this kind is the description of al of the Lyndsays from their rural dwelling to one of the of the city, which is as natural and as truly pathetic as in modern fiction.

The 'Flitting' or Removal of the Lyndsays.

ty-fourth day of November came at last-a dim, dull, dreary and obscure parting everlastingly from a place or person tenderly beloved. There . no wind, no sound in the misty and unechoing air. A deadness lay earth, and there was no visible heaven. Their goods and chattels were ny little delays occurred, some accidental, and more in the unwillinghearts to take a final farewell. A neighbour had lent his cart for the it was now standing loaded at the door ready to move away. The fire, Deen kindled in the morning with a few borrowed peats, was now out, closed, the door was locked, and the key put into the hand of the person ve it. And now there was nothing more to be said or done, and the ime started briskly away from Braehead. The blind girl and poor Marion in the cart-Margaret and her mother were on foot. Esther had two or flower-pots in her lap, for in her blindness she loved the sweet frathe felt forms and imagined beauty of flowers; and the innocent carried me pigeon in her bosom. Just as Margaret lingered on the threshold, dbreast, that had been their boarder for several winters, hopped upon the the side of the door, and turned up its merry eyes to her face. There,' s your last crumb from us, sweet Roby, but there is a God who takes The widow had by this time shut down the lid of her memory, and oard of her thoughts and feelin s, joyful or despairing, buried in darkassembled group of neighbours, mostly mothers, with their children in had given the God bless you, Alice-God bless you, Margaret, and the gan to disperse; each turning to her own cares and anxieties, in which, , the Lyndsays would either be forgotten, or thought on with that unpathy which is all the poor can afford or expect, but which, as in this ields the fairest fruits of charity and love.

eety rain accompanied the cart and the foot-travellers all the way to the as the distance was, they met with several other flittings, some seemingly d from good to better-others with woebegone faces, going like themthe path of poverty on a journey from which they were to rest at night d hungry house.

stopped at the foot of a lane too narrow to admit the wheels, and also too aden horse. Two or three of their new neighbours--persons in the very ondition, coarsely and negligently dressed, but seemingly kind and decent e out from their houses at the stopping of the cart-wheels, and one of Ay, ay, here's the flitting, I 'se warrant, frae Braehead. Is that you, y? Hech, sers, but you've gotten a nasty cauld wet day for coming into , as you kintra folks ca' Embro. Hae ye had ony tidings, say ye o' your ice he gaed off wi' that limmer? Dool be wi' her and a' siclike.' Alice ly to such questioning, for she knew it was not meant unkindly. The on unladen, and the furniture put into the empty room. A cheerful fire