Will leave that poor girl to the villain a prey! " That's the truth, my Lord Judge-before Heaven and men I am innocent!"-Lowly the murmurs ran then Round the court; indignation and pity perchance, Glowed deep in some bosoms, or gleamed in some glance, choice; But THE ARMS left the timorous jury no They found "GUILTY"--and then rose the Judge's mild voice, "Transportation" the sentence-but softly 't was said[the dead) (Like summer wind waving the grass o'er And Phaidrig, though stout, felt his heart's current freeze When he heard himself banished beyond "the far seas." 1. J "Oh, hang me at once," he exclaimed; "I don't care [despair; For life, now that life leaves me only In felon chains, far from the land of my birth, [earth!" 4 I will envy the dead that sleep cold in the He was hurried away, while on many a pale lip [ship" Hung prophecies dark of "that unlucky Oh, judgment dread! That should carry him. "Didn't he ask And sure Heav'n hears the pray'r of the Since the poor boy's not plazed with the Now the villain Squireen had it "all his And howeverdisguised be the dominorare, The Squireen lived high, drank champagne "Tally ho!" in the morning; at night, hip, hurrah!" In reckless profusion the low rascal revell'd; The true "beggar on horseback "-you know where he travell'd.. But riot is costly-with gold it is fed, And the Squireen's affairs got involved, it is said; And time made things worse. Then, in wild speculation He plunged, and got deeper. Next came pec-ulation There is but one letter in difference-what then? [ten? If one letter's no matter, what matter for He return'd to his home-to that well beloved spot Where first he drew breath-his own wild mountain cot. To that spot had his spirit oft flown o'er the deep When the soul of the captive found freedom in sleep; Oh! pleasure too bitterly purchased with pain, When from fancy-wrought freedom he woke in his chain To labour in penal restraint all the day, And pine for his sea-girdled home far away! But now 't is no dream-the last hill is o'erpast, He sees the thatch'd roof of his cottage at last, And the smoke from the old wattled chimney declares The hearth is unquenched that had burn'd bright for years. With varied emotion his bosom is swayed, As his faltering step o'er the threshold's delayed: Shall the face of a stranger now meet him, where once His presence was hail'd with a mother's fond glance, With the welcoming kiss of a sister ador'd ? A sister!-ah! misery's linked with that word, For that sister he found—but fast dying. A boy Was beside her. A tremulous flicker of joy In the deep-sunken eye of the dying one burn'd; Recognition it flash'd on the exile return'd, But with mingled expression was strug gling the flame And a gray-haired man wipes labour's damp from his brow. But he cares for the boy; who, with love, gives him aid With his young 'prentice hand in the smithy's small trade, Whose stock was but scanty; and iron, one day, Being lack'd by the Blacksmith-the boy went his way, Saying, "Wait for a minute, there's something I found Th' other day, that will do for the work, I'll be bound;" And he brought back a gun-barrel.-Dark was the look Hark! hark!-take heed! What rapidly rings down the road? 'Tis the clattering hoof of a foaming steed, And the rider pale is sore in need, As he 'lights at the Smith's abode; For the horse has cast a shoe, And the rider has far to go From the gallows he flies, If o'ertaken, he dies, And hard behind is the foe Tracking him fast, and tracking him sure! Tis the forger-the scoundrel Squireen of Knocklure! Fiving from justice, he flies to the spot Where, did justice not strike him, then justice were not: As the straw to the whirlpool-the moth to the flame Fate beckons her victim to death and to shame! Wild was the look which the Blacksmith cast, As his deadliest foe o'er his threshold past, And hastily ordered a shoe for his horse; But Phaidrig stood motionless-pale as a corse, While the boy, unconscious of cause to hate (The chosen minister, called by Fate), Placed the gun in the fire, and the flame he blew From the rusty barrel to mould a shoe. Fierce, as the glow of the forge's fire, Flashed Phaidrig's glances of speechless ire, As the Squireen, who counted the moments that flew, Cried, "Quick, fellow, quick, for my horse a shoe!" But Phaidrig's glances the fiercer grew, While the fugitive knew not the wreck of that frame, So handsome once in its youthful fame, That frame he had crush'd with a convict's chain, That fame he had tarnish'd with felon stain. "And so you forget me?" the Blacksmith cried. The voice rolled backward the chilling tide Of the curdling blood on the villain's heart, And he heard the sound with a fearful start; But, with the strong nerve of the bad and the bold, He rallied-and pull'd out a purse of gold, And said, "Of the past it is vain to tell, Shoe me my horse, and I'll pay you well." "Work for you?-no, never!-unless belike To rivet yourfetters this hand might strike, Or to drive a nail in your gallows-treeThat's the only work you shall have from his doom was completed-Fate's shadows had spread Like a thunder-cloud o'er his guilty head, And the thunder burst, and the lightning fell, Where his dark deeds were done, in the mountain dell. The pursuit was fast on the hunted The reeking horse at the forge is seen, And the forge is crowded with armèd men; The Blacksmith told to the greedy crowd Who for gold had track'd the trail. Vain golden hope-vain speed was there; The game lay low in his crimson lair!To the vengeance of earth no victim was giv'n, 'Twas claim'd by the higher tribunal of Heaven! LITERATURE OF THE MONTH. "THE Roving Englishman" has well earned his travelling reputation. If he has not gone everywhere and seen everything, it is certainly not his fault. His rambles and explorations have extended to lands hitherto considered inaccessible from political or physical causes, for he is as little deterred by the animal ferocity of untameable savages as by the apparently interminable desert, the most colossal mountain-chain, or the deadliest climate. In short, this national instinct for the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties has be come so generally diffused, that "the home-keeping youths" seem confined to such of the rising generation as are tied by the leg with duties which rigidly confine them within a circumscribed range. Travelling, therefore, has necessarily become a pastime that yearly exhausts innumerable editions of Murray's Handbooks, and creates a very active demand for pocket-maps and MS. journals. Associa tions have been formed for mutual communication, in accordance with particular modes of locomotion. Such as care only for distance, congregate at the Travellers' Club; those whose ideas are exclusively for elevation, meet at the Alpine; and others who care to enlarge our knowledge of the globe, fraternize at the Royal Geographical. One of the results is, that ordinary ideas have undergone as complete a sommersault as M Leotard ever perpetrated. For instance, the old superstition as to going farther to fare worse, has been thoroughly exploded; such enterprising yachtsmen as Lords Dufferin and David Kennedy having beat up the haunts of the walruses beyond Spitzbergen, and lived very jollily, as the accounts of their adventurous voyages can testify; while a group of English tourists meeting accidentally under the roof of a log-hut erected within the Arctic circle as a tavern, enjoyed a banquet of salmon and * See the former's Letters from High Lati tudes, and Mr. Lamont's Seasons with the Sea Horses. So roast reindeer, washed down with a liberal supply of champagne, Tokay, Laeryma Christi, Constantia, Madeira, claret, Sauterne, hock, and other choice vintages, with copious draughts of London stout and Edinburgh ale, as may be learned from the trustworthy author of Through Norway with a Knapsack, a third edition of which has just been issued. thoroughly has the delusion been exploded, that a party has been got up to enjoy the hospitality of volcanic Iceland, where arrangements have long been completed by nature for an inexhaustible supply of "hot with" and "cold without," in its thermal springs and freezing atmo sphere, should the stock of vinous and malt liquors exported, fall short of the anticipated demand. It is not, however, in search of luxuries that some of our tourists exhibit the inclination which immortalized Lord Bateman of the old ballad; many "rough it" to a degree which even the roughly brought-up might desire ameliorated, and though well born and university bred, as pedestrians endure privations and fatigues that those only whose hard fate it has been to tramp their way through life, are believed to experience. To live day after day on the humblest fare, to brave the most inclement weather, to toil up steep ascents where every step is attended with more or less danger, and to wander mile after mile through forest, morass, desert, and along an endless vista of snow and ice, often with no more knowledge of the country than what may be gathered from an imperfect map, or an equally untrustworthy guide-book, is not unfrequently the fate of the traveller who endeavours to join enterprise with economy. The Roving Englishman in this case does not pride himself so much on the greatness of his endurance as on the littleness of his expenditure. One traverses Norway in ten weeks, with a total outlay of twenty-five pounds, from London and back, while for less than fifteen be |