passed the deserted old tower of Allerton, the ancient falconer, with Elinore, now aged also, on his wrist, looked forth, perchance comparing in his mind the gallant array of that morning when the fair manor of Allerton was the prize of the victor, with the splendid pageant that now passed by. And, wrapt in deep and sorrowful musings, the old man stood before the mouldering gateway, unconscious of the near approach of the monarch, while Elinore looked forth with her bright eye, and fluttered her wings, as the shrill whistle of the falconers, and the tinkle of the hawks' bells struck on her ear.

The last of our Henrys was always strongly attached to field sports (and happy had it been for that age, had his pursuits always been as innocent); and as he approached the old tower, the surpassing beauty of Elinore caught his eye, and he called to the old man to follow him. Overjoyed at this unexpected condescension, the falconer came forth, proud of the notice of the monarch, and still more proud of the noble bird, whose beauty had been the cause. The royal and noble company soon reached the borders of the clear lake-the herons were roused-each noble unhooded his falcon, when the King commanded that Elinore, alone, should be unloosed, that he might better witness her skill; and the old falconer, with many praises of her matchless training, threw her off his hand. The gallant bird sprung into the air but the heron wheeled proudly and heedlessly around-for Elinore, with the wildest cries of joy, had alighted on the hand of a meanly dressed man, who stood unnoticed among the many spectators of the sport. And warmly did he return the caresses of the joyful bird, while the wandering company stared with looks of astonishment at

this strange sight-for the lord of the fair manor of Allerton stood amidst his neighbours, unrecognized and unwelcomed, save by his faithful falcon. The King beckoned him forward, and soon learned his whole history; and how, too, that after many years of disappointment and anxiety he had returned to England, when, hearing that the King was about to visit that neighbourhood, he determined to follow in his train, hoping to find a fitting season to detail his eventful history.

It needs not to tell the shouts of welcome that re-echoed within the old tower, when the long-lost Sir Edgar Fitzallerton took possession of Allerton manor-nor to describe the joy and congratulation of his neighbours, when, soon after, the ample domains of his cousin Antony, who did not long survive this public disclosure of his treachery, were added to it.

As Sir Edgar was now a knight of great wealth and consideration, the worthy Abbot of Rivaulx sent him a most loving letter, indited by his own hand, and sealed with the convent seal, exhorting him to show his gratitude to heaven for this sig nal interposition in his favour, by his munificent gifts to the holy church-hinting that a new altar service, and a kirtle for our lady,' also a new set of bells, would be most acceptable presents. The four worthy priests, too, who, for the last ten years had sung the service for the living Sir Edgar, also suggested how proper it would be to continue that service in perpetuo,' by founding some well-endowed priory. But to all these suggestions Sir Edgar answered not; for though he had returned from the Continent as poor as he had set forth, yet he had gained more enduring riches than perishing gold, for he had brought back with him a purer faith, and more enlightened practice, and soon

a well endowed hospital, and well regulated grammar-school, bore witness to the gratitude of the lord of Allerton manor.

In a little chapel overgrown with ivy, and now falling fast into decay, the lover of ancient memorials may behold a time-worn monument, on which placidly reclines an aged man, in his long furred gown and rich collar of knighthood, his right hand resting on a bible, while his left supports a beautiful falcon, carved with the utmost delicacy, the splendid chasing of whose bells and collar seemed to mark her as a cherished favourite; and such, indeed, she deserved to be-for it is the effigy of the brave hawk, Elinore, and this is the tomb of Sir Edgar Fitzallerton.

Miscellanea.

Amulet,

TEST AND CORPORATION ACTS. The Rev. Rowland Hill, in the course of his sermon on Sunday last, took occasion to allude to the repeal of this act; he compared the present day of toleration with the time of Mary, when the fires were kindled in Smithfield, and ' blessed God that he had lived to see the repeal of this abominable act, which required you to take an oath that you had received the sacrament, before you could hold any worldly office,' and, in the most emphatic manner, exclaimed, and with the almost unanimous consent of the bench of bishops! God bless their lordships, and may they have more and more grace given them, to enlarge their hearts still further, and may they be enabled to work out their own salvation with fear and trembling!' and, raising his voice still higher, continued bless the old gentlemen!! I wish they may preach themselves to death!!-it is

one of the most glorious deaths they can die, whilst engaged in the work of their Lord and Master.'

MONKISH SUPERSTITION.

A gentleman, some years ago, being upon a visit to the Escurial, after having spent some hours in viewing the splendid collection of paintings, was shown over the several towers of this stupendous edifice. He remarked to the monk who had, with great civility and attention, pointed out every thing deserving notice, that he was much surprised there were no lightning conductors attached to any part of the building.

We can have no occasion for them,' said he, crossing himself very devoutly, as we have relics of Santa Barbara in every one of the towers.'

About a fortnight after this conversation, one of the principal towers was completely destroyed by lightning. Upon the gentleman's revisiting the monastery, he ventured to represent to the monk the inefficiency of the relics of which he had so much boasted.

'I took out my pen and produced the following.' Sheridan.

Written Extempore in a Coffee-shop, in a Book of Plays, at seeing them placed in the following order; viz.-The Busy Body, The Tobacconist, The Good-natured Man, and Oroonoko. The binder here, 'tis plain, did plan

His subjects rather odd-he
Should place with the Good-natured Man,
For peace, the Busy Body.
Another thing too he has miss'd,

Which I will bring to book O,
I'm sure that the Tobacconist
Should be near Oroonoko.
James Bruton.

LOVE.

A passion that much needs a definition,
For in its very indescribability
Yet is it found impossible t' explain it,
Consists its power.

THE celebrated Anthony Ashley, Earl of Shaftesbury, built this mansion, and went to reside in it about 1699: here he wrote his famous "Characteristics, and " The State of Europe," works which can never be forgotten, whilst learning, genius and patriotism, are held in honourable estimation. He was an excellent man; his remains lie in the western corner of Kensington church-yard, under a plain slab of granite, simply inscribed with his name, but with no date to a certain the time of his death-but as genius cannot die,' he will be terrestrially immortal.

6

The residence of this great and good man, rich in intellectual powers and fortune, the friend of the poor, is now converted into a Poor House, for the parish of St. George, Hanover Square.

The building still bears marks of the first owner's taste and judgment, and is kept in good repair. The garden, surNo. 108.-N. S.

rounded by a high brick wall, contains about three acres of land, now used for rearing kitchen vegetables. The summerhouse, in which it is supposed Locke and Addison wrote many of their finest essays, was levelled with the ground about eighteen months ago, and a stable erected on its site.

Sandy End, the country abode of Addison, is only a quarter of a mile distant from Shaftesbury House; but two of the walls are only now standing.

Cromwell House, the seat of the Earl of Essex, secretary to Cardinal Wolsey, is also close to the building, in excellent preservation; the entrance gate remains, and the stream is still flowing all around, over which drawbridges were flung in ancient days; one yet remains. To see all these edifices in a bird's eye view,' the best way is up Cromwell-lane, Old Brompton. It is worthy of remark, that this flat,

and then marshy region, was honoured by the residence of some of the sublimest geniuses and greatest men of which the annals of England can boast.

Sir Thomas More, Lord Chancellor in Harry the Eight's reign, occupied the house at Chelsea, now possessed by Sir Henry Wilson; he was the author of Utopia, and when he was going to lay his head upon the block, turning up his hair, smilingly said, 'I don't know that my hair has a right to be cut, for that never committed high treason.'

Gloucester House, so long the residence of the lamented Mr. Canning was built by Lord Burleigh in the reign of Elizabeth, where she often went to consult with him on

state affairs. The great Duke of Somerset died in it; all the old walls are still firm, and the ancient gardens not altered.

The drawing of Shaftesbury House is correct, and those who go to see it, will find these few remarks excellent directions to the falling ruins of the abodes of the illustrious who have long past away, but whose memories will be for ever reverenced by a proud, a brave, an intelligent, and generous nation of free men.

SPRING.

soms of varied hue, and the perfume of wild flowers float on the ambient air! All nature is glad; the plough boy whistles o'er the lea, and the rustic song of the milk-maid is intermingled with the hum of busy bee, gathering honied sweets from each opening flowret. The forests and woodlands resound with the music of the feathered choir; the lark welcomes the new-born day with his warble, as he wings his way to the cerulean arch of Heaven; and the simple note of the robin is re-echoed around. What affection they display towards their young offspring-flitting from spray to spray with food, or some trifle for the formation of their curious nests. The lambs play sportively on the distant plains gamboling in pristine innocence, and the rustic sower scatters the seed o'er the smiling land.

Soon as the shades of evening casts a veil over the landscape, from some sequestered dell the sweet notes of the nightingale break on the ear of the way-worn traveller, and charm the heart with its dulcet strains. What vivid recollections crowd upon the imagination at this delightful season! The days of our youth pass in review before uswhen we roved through the fields in youthful gaiety, e'er grief had pressed our hearts with sadness !— Then, all was sunshine and joy! how short-how fleeting ! tost to and fro in life's rude tempest, like the angry billows beating on the desert shore: fierce passions rend the heart- alternate joys and cares oppress; but we reflect that we are but mortal, and look up with confidence to the Great Author of our being, whose all-powerful hand is ever stretched forth to protect us in the day of need!

Now,

CHARLES Griffin.