habit in which he was clad, and, rejoicing mightily in having so unexpectedly found that which he most desired, equipped himself speedily in those splendid arms, which fitted his person so exactly, that they appeared to have been just fashioned, by some master taylor, for his express use; as, indeed, true it was that the infernal artificer had so prepared them. He then sprang into the saddle right-glad ly, and rode off as fast as the willing charger would carry him, with nothing to check his hilarity but the apprehension of meeting, on his way, with the true owner. This apprehension gradually died away, as league after league vanished with unequalled rapidity, from behind his tread-nor was he able, in the swiftness of his course, to keep any reckoning of the distance measured by him, until, to his unutterable astonishment, he found himself, at night-fall, before the gates of the town of Bourges, in Berry, having traversed, since morning, a space which it would have taken any but an infernal courser a week to perform. He entered the town, and alighted at an hostelry, where he commanded a good supper to be set before him, which he ate with exceed ing good appetite. It chanced that he was waited on, at his meal, by a daughter of mine host, a very comely damsel, whose charms made such an impression on the senses of this carnal-minded apostate, that he set about devising how he might render them subservient to his dishonest pleasure. As soon as supper was ended, he therefore sent for mine host, and began to lay before him certain proposals of such a nature as to offend even the avaricious spirit of him to whom they were addressed, and to draw from him an indignant refusal. He then changed his tone, and offered marriage, which was, in like manner, resisted, until his ungoverned concupiscence, suborning all the suggestions of human prudence, as it had before stifled all remaining sense of religion, he displayed, to his greedy eyes, all the treasures of his purse and portmanteau, the sight of which finally wrought such a change in the sentiments of the astonished inspector, as to overcome all the repugnance he felt at the thoughts of delivering his beloved daughter to the arms of a stranger, insomuch that he exclaimed in

rapture, he might win her and wear her as it listed him. The damsel's consent to become the bride of so rich and honourable a cavalier was gained with greater facility; and suitable arrangements being made for the suc ceeding nuptials, a chamber was pre pared forthwith, to which the false monk retired with his mistress, little loath to indulge him in anticipating the sanction of a solemnity she knew not how ineffectual.

It was already past midnight, when the devil, who had assumed the like ness of a horse to hurry the wretched Bernardin to his destruction, put on the human form for the purpose of accomplishing his work, and disturbed the slumbers of mine host (but not the repose of the lovers) by a loud and impetuous knocking at the door of the hostelry; which being at length opened by the landlord, he was immediate ly interrogated by the unwelcome vi sitor, whether it indeed was true that he had, the evening before, given his daughter in marriage to a stranger? mine host answered in the affirmative, whereto his new guest rejoined, "a blessed day's work hast thou done, friend, with this marriage-seeing that thy most honourable son-inlaw hath deceived thee, and be trayed and ruined thy daughter; he being one of a religious order, and incapable of contracting marriage in any manner whatsoever; whereby he hath done thee a grievous injury, in despoiling the damsel of her chasti ty, under false pretences. Weigh well, therefore, the consequences of this rash deed, and resolve within thyself not to endure the so great contumely, which hath been thus cast upon thy name and household, by a miserable apostate, who hath broke away from his cloister, and robbed a worshipful knight of his horse and armour, together with a considerable sum of money, and now proposes to do the like to thyself, and to murder thee, and take all that thou hast, and carry away thy daughter, whom, after having satiated his carnal appetite, he will complete the measure of his villanies, by putting in like manner to death. Follow, then, my counsel, which I give thee as a friend, and one who knows thee to be a man of worth. Go up softly into the chamber, where he is now lying in bed with thy daughter, and where thou wilt dis

cover what I have said to be the truth, by the clerical tonsure of his head; and, having satisfied thyself that it is even as I have reported unto thee, cut his throat while he lies sleeping-in doing which, thou wilt perform only an act of justice on a thief and assassin-and one of self-defence, his design being (as I have said,) to murder thee and thine, if not in due time prevented. Thou mayest afterwards, with a safe conscience, possess thyself of his horse and armour, and rich vestures, and money, as a compensation for the dishonour done to thy daughter, and for her marriage-portion with some fitter husband. Neither needest thou fear any evil consequences to follow from this action, he being a stranger from a far country, and utterly unknown in all this vicinage; and, for myself, I promise to keep the secret, so that no man shall ever suspect what hath passed. Go, therefore-make no delay, lest he awake before thy purpose be accomplished."

Mine host gave willing ear to this devilish counsel of the arch enemy, and, full of rage and indignation at the thoughts of the dishonour he had sustained, thanked his new guest for the advice he had given him, and begged him only to wait till he had finished the job, which he undertook to perform, even in the very form and method according to his instructions, in order that he might help him to bring the body when all should be eccomplished, promising him a part of the spoil for his reward, in so assisting him. The devil, with good will, undertook to await his bidding; where upon mine host, having provided himself with a light, and being armed with a butcher's knife, well sharpened, mounted silently the stairs leading to the nuptial chamber, where he found Bernardin and his daughter asleep in each other's arms, as the devil had made him suppose, and detected, in the clerical tonsure, the full confirmation of all he had suggested to him. A fresh access of rage at this sight nerved his arm, and deadened his heart to every feeling of repugnance, which the thought of assassination might otherwise have excited. Instantly was the knife plunged to its hilt in the throat of the miserable apostate, who died without a movement or a groan; and, the moment the deed was accomplished, mine host

retraced his steps, with intent to summon his visiter to assist him in burying the dead, according to his promise. But, on descending to the place where he had left him, to his utter dismay, he was not to be found. The machinations of hell were already fulfilled, and the guilty soul of the apostate had no sooner escaped from his body, than it was caught by the expectant dæmon, and carried away to the place which had long been prepared for its reception, in Gehenna. Mine host, not finding his satanic counsellor, became terrified at the risk of discovery, and hastened back to the fatal chamber, scarcely knowing what to do, or how to bestir himself in this emergency. Here his amazement was redoubled. The damsel, bathed in the blood of her lover, lay still asleep in the bed, unconscious of all that had happened; but the body of the false monk was there no longer, and, with his body had vanished his arms, his portmanteau and gorgeous habiliments, his purse, together with its contents, and every trace of all that had passed, except the dreadful stain of murder which remained on the bed, and the wretched consciousness of her dishonour, to which the unhappy damsel at length awoke, from that slumber which she could fain have wished to be eternal. The gallant courser, which had principally excited her father's cupidity, had also disappeared from the stable; and the disappointed landlord, after revolving in his mind the extraordinary circumstances which had happened, came to the conclusion, that it was a trick of Satan, although wherefore, and to what end invented, it passed his comprehension to imagine.

After a certain space, it chanced that St Anthony himself passed through the city of Bourges, on his pilgrimage of good works, and tarried a while with mine host, who became a convert to his preaching, and made to him one day, a full and true confession of the homicide, describing the form and features of the apostate monk, in such a way, as to bring distinctly back to the recollection of the holy father, the image of Bernardin, his late novice; after which, the good saint, with the permission of his penitent, made the history of this marvellous event the subject of his predication before the people, whereby

the hearts of many were turned to piety. Howbeit, he made revelation to none, of the place where it had happened, or the persons concerned, the same remaining unknown to all men, until after the death of mine host and his daughter, who both led holy and religious lives from that time forth, and, in good time, were gathered unto their fathers.

TALE THE SECOND.

A lesson for Mr Braham. How the devil laughed to scorn a certain young monk, who delighted himself in his singing.

An Abbot of Monte-Cassino, relates that, in his Monastery, there was once a youthful monk, who possessed a very sweet and delectable voice, but vain and effeminate withal, in which he greatly prided himself. It happened one day, when it fell to his turn, at some great solemnity, to chaunt certain antiphones and responses in the church, that he displayed in his chaunting, (with a design to excite the admiration of the populace,) so many false graces and flourishes, and such abominable affectation, as, by Divine permission, to induce the devil himself to come and hear him, which he did, appearing before him in the form of an ugly black child, who made mouths at him, and imitated all his contortions of voice and gesture, in a manner to excite the ridicule of all the bystanders, exclaiming, at the conclusion of his performance, in the tone of fashionable admiration, (but withal laughing the while,) "O bene! O canta bene! Sing again monk! sing again! seeing thou art so excellent a singer,"-and so saying, clapped his hands, and reiterated "Encore!" with such extreme noise and violence, that the people assembled, from laughing, fell at length to crossing themselves, and dispersing; till the crest-fallen performer, finding himself left alone, (for the devil himself had also disappeared in the general confusion,) could not choose but reflect on the vanity which had exposed him to such a severe humiliation; and which consequently proved the cause of his great amendment. (A much worse punishment was awarded to another monk, for the same fault of disfiguring sacred music, by his vain secular flourishes; for, at the close of

one of his most brilliant falsettos, the devil honoured him with a visit in his own proper person, and actually took him away in a tempest, so that he was never more seen by men.)

TALE THE THIRD.

Of a Devout Monk, who was wrapt in ecstasy by the singing of a Bird, and so continued for many years.

And,

A marvellous thing truly is that which is related by Henricus in his "Speculum Exemplorum," where he tells us how a devout and holy monk, reading one night in the choir, even until matins, with the rest of his brotherhood, came to that verse of the Psalmist where he saith, Mille anni ante oculos tuos tanquam dies hesterna quæ præterit; whereat he began to ruminate, neither knowing, nor being able to comprehend, how the thing should be possible. After matins were over, he remained in the choir alone to make his orisons, as was his nightly custom, and prayed to God with the utmost fervour, that he would vouchsafe to reveal to him in what manner the above text of the anointed prophet is to be interpreted. while he was yet persisting in this his devout and earnest meditation, behold! a bird of most beautiful plumage entered, and began to fly about the choir; at sight whereof the holy brother was so ravished with delight, that he could not forbear from following it, that he might the more fully enjoy the contemplation of its celestial loveliness. The winged visitant from heaven (for such, undoubtedly, it was) seeing that his mind was so enchained, flew, first out of the church into the cloisters, and thence into a wood belonging to the monastery, which was very extensive, the devout monk still following wherever it led him, with marvellous gladness of spirit, being entirely absorbed in the object of his pursuit; and the bird often flew so near to him, that he might easily have caught it with his hand, if he had been so inclined. At last it perched upon the branch of a tree, where it began to sing a strain so divinely sweet, that the monk was wrapt in ecstasy at the contemplation of its celestial melody, and so remained until the angelic stranger, ascending into the air, gradually vanished from his sight, which was strained in following

its flight, till it could be discerned no longer. Then, being recovered from his ecstasy, he pensively retraced his steps to the monastery, which he expected to reach before the hour of prime, supposing that no longer space had elapsed since he was first attracted by the object of his late contemplation, than from matins to that time. When he reached the gate of the monastery, he found it closed, and, knocking, it was opened by a porter, whose face was unknown to him, and who inquired (as of a stranger) what he was, and wherefore he came thither. The monk, stupified with astonishment, answered, that he was the sa cristan, and that he had gone out, after matins, into the woods to pray, and was now returned, having finished his devotions. At this, the porter believing that he was out of his senses, (inasmuch as his person was wholly unknown to him, and his vesture, although that which appertained to his order, very old and threadbare), asked if he knew him?-to which the monk having answered in the negative, the porter rejoined, "knowest thou, then, who is abbot of this our monastery, who is the prior, and who the cel larer ?" The monk replied that he well knew them all, naming by their names, each and every one of them, in order, together with all the other brethren of the monastery who were his contem poraries, not doubting that they were all equally known to the inquirer, although he were himself a stranger to him. But the porter only shook his head, thinking himself confirmed in the opinion he had begun to entertain, and the monk was more and more astonished at his apparent ignorance. At last, he demanded admission to the father abbot, to whose cell the porter conducted him accordingly; but, when he entered, his amazement was beyond measure increased, on seeing the seat of his holy father occupied by one an entire stranger to him, who (having been informed by the porter of what had passed at the gate) addressed him by asking who he was, and whither he was bound, and what were that abbot, and those monks, whose names he had uttered. Where

to the monk replied, that he marvelled exceedingly at the greatness of the change which had been wrought during that night, in the short space since he had chaunted his matins in com pany with that same abbot, and those same monks, whose names he again repeated. The abbot, then, meditating on what he had heard, called to mind the name of that holy father, and some of those of the brotherhood, which he had seen recorded in the annals of the monastery; and who had all been dead three hundred years, and were buried in the cemetery. At the same time the devout monk himself, from comparing the present state and appearance of the monastery, which had been greatly altered since he left it, and the change which had taken place in all its inhabitants, with his recollection of what had passed, was gradually brought to the persuasion that he had, by the Divine permission, been entranced during some long and uncertain period of time, whereof no account could be rendered. He then related to the abbot and all the monks (who were by this time assembled) the circumstance of that heavenly bird, and of his ecstasy, and of the contemplation he had enjoyed of its divine melody, and how he had been led thereto by that verse of the Psalm above-mentioned; from all which it fully appeared, that he had remained so entranced during the whole of the aforesaid space of three hundred years, without tasting earthly nourishment.

So, when he had made an end of relating what had be fallen him, the abbot and monks, one by one, embraced him, with many tears, and much consolatory reflection, looking upon him as a thing rather of heavenly than of human nature, inas much as all that he spoke seemed to be of divine purport, and such as miraculously to inspire his hearers with devotional rapture. Soon afterwards, the holy brother, having received all the sacraments, piously rendered back his soul to the Lord, and departed that he might enjoy in heaven, through all eternity, that angelic melody, whereof a foretaste on earth had been so mar❤ vellously afforded unto him.

MR EDITOR,

A SORT of garrulity seems to be the privilege of anglers. From old Isaac Walton in print, down to my old preeeptor in propria persona, a kind of quiet fluency, like one of those delightful deep streams that glide on so strongly yet so gently, and the surface of which, when free from "curl" during the intermissions of the breeze, is so pleasantly dimpled with quickly succeeding eddies, seems to be the lot of those who have spent many a happy hour in this best of sports. With us, the faculty of fighting our battles o'er again is developed in full perfection and not less so the power of anticipating those mighty approaching events which with anglers cast their shadows so far before. I know, that at the moment I am writing Cheviot is two feet deep in snow, and the cairns on the sum mits of the Simonside-ridge invisible; yet this hardly a jot abates the elas ticity of feeling with which I contemplate the feats to be performed on the approaching season, or recall the particulars of those I am about to dilate

upon.

In the details of angling there is a pleasure which only anglers know; and I believe the best mode of conveying the few remarks I have to make, will be to give a sketch of an expedition made last year to Harbottle on the Coquet, in company with a skilful and intelligent friend. If the reflections shall chance to turn out to be more interesting than the facts, it will only shew that my theory is more perfect than my practice-a thing very possible, considering the many fireside as well as waterside lectures which my tutor gave me. Peace be to his ashes! He was one of the most accomplished fly-fishers Northumberland ever produced. I preserve a light rod of his one of those old-fashioned black rods, in two pieces-with as much veneration as your countrymen can do the claymore of Robert the Bruce.

With this rod, and a common troutfly, he once killed a salmon upwards of eighteen pounds weight. It was

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

under Alnwick-bridge, and half the town witnessed the death. What a moment! No angler, in such a triumph, would have changed places with the duke whose towers overlooked the scene of action. For months after, as I have been told, in all companies of piscatory admixture, the fly was inquired for, and exhibited, with the characteristic introduction of" This, gentlemen, is the little fellow that did the deed." I seldom, for obvious reasons, use this rod-but let not its antique fashion cast any doubt on its excellence. It is a real fly-rod-none of your top-heavy things, such as I have seen in the land of Cockaigne-(all the angling ideas of which celebrated place, I thank Heaven, I have been so well brought up as utterly to despise)— lumbering, awkward, and stiff; and which might possibly do to "troll" for pike, if they would do for any thing. But I must begin my narrative, and in some form.

It was with this rod in my hand, on a fine morning on the 26th May, that I set out with my friend R from the village of Harbottle, to which we had walked from Rothbury the evening before, towards Shilmore, where we were to commence the day's sport. The morning, however, was one of those that, to the experienced eye, betoken the probability of too much sun and too little wind. Cool as the atmosphere was, we began to feel the beams before we reached the Wedderloup. The Coquet here, for the space of a couple of hundred yards, appears to have literally bored and scooped a way through the granite barriers to its progress. At the Wedder-loup, as it is called, the stream may be stepped with a tolerably easy stride. This, however, is rendered somewhat awful by the gulf just below the pass, into which the river rushes with a trifling fall; and where, from its depth, the waters seem, even in the clearest weather, of a dark brown, almost black colour. Above this pass, the hills for the most part come down to the wa