compense you by any earthly riches: the more, however, shall we supplicate God daily that your dominion may be increased, and that he would subdue those that hate you under your feet; and daily may your preaching in Christ Jesus be increased; and may God raise up among you leaders who fear God, and who are kind to the poor, endued also with knowledge and prudence!

We have heard, too, that the people of your land are beseeching God for us, that he would supply and complete that which is defective and imperfect, both in our bodies and souls.

Respecting Samuel the priest,* who is held in honour by us, we received the letter which he sent by the hand of Joseph the priest; and we read and understood what was written in it: and very much did we rejoice, with exceed ing great joy, on account of your friendship for us. And may the Lord, who both hears prayers and grants petitions, lengthen your lives, and increase your peace!

But we call to mind the adage, "A glance is enough for the intelligent," and avoid prolixity. Besides, James,†, the honoured priest, will make known to you all that is going on among us. And I, the metropolitan, Mar Dionysius, your friend, very cordially salute you; also Abraham the priest, our obedient servant, and all the deacons, and children that are in the school. All the priests, moreover, and deacons, and the whole congregation of Christians who are in all the churches in Malabar, salute you. May grace be with you all: even so. Amen!

Our Father which art in heaven, &c. Remain firm in the power of Jesus! In the year of our Lord 1821. On the third of the month Ranun the first, Friday.

From the school of Cotym.

(Signed) MAR DIONYSIUS, Metropolitan of Malabar.

The Chateau Grignan. (From Hughes's Itinerary of Provence and the Rhone.)

THE Chateau Grignan impressed Mr. Hughes more than any spot which he

Rev. Professor Lee, † Rev. James Hough.

visited; and his description of it is given con amore. Its site indeed must be magnificent. Advancing from Montelimart, "over a road which consisted of the native rock in all its native ine-, quality, we caught sight of the Comtat Grignan, and the great plain of Avignon, into which that district opens in a south-western direction, flanked on the east by a colossal Alp, called Mont Ventou, on whose long ridge traces of snow were still visible. In the centre of the Comtat, Chateau Grignan is easily distinguished by the grandeur of its outlines and proportions, and the tall, insulated rock on which it stands, somewhat resembling that on which Windsor Castle is situated, though inferior in size. Its effect is somewhat heightened by several other smaller crags at different distances, which thrust themselves through the scanty stratum of soil, each crowned with a solitary tower, or little fortalice. In the feudal days of the Adhemars, ancestors of the Grignan family, who possessed the whole of the Comtat, these were probably the peel-houses, or out-posts, of the old Chateau, in the quarter from which it would have been most exposed to attack. The Chateau Race du fort was, in all likelihood, also the key of the mountain glen leading to the hill which we were descending, and formed the line of communication with Montelimart, which was formerly included in the family territory. The records on this subject trace the foundation of the lordship of Grignan up to the days of Charlemagne, who is said to have created Adhemar, one of his paladins, duke of Genoa, as a reward for having re-conquered Corsica from the Sara

cens.

Adhemar, having fallen in a second expedition against the same enemy, his children divided his possessions: the elder remaining duke of Genoa, another possessing the towns of St. Paul de Trois Chateaux et Mondragon; and a third, the sovereignty of Orange. A fourth possessed the town of Monteil, called after him Monteil Adhemar, or Montelimart; and, in 1160, the emperor, Frederic I. granted to Gerard Adhemar de Monteil, his descendant and heir, the investiture of Grignan, with many sovereign rights, such as

that of coining money. It was to this noble family that the Count de Grignan, whose third wife was the daughter of Madame de Sevigne, traced his blood and inheritance in a direct line.

"As we reached the level of the plain, and approached the castle, its commanding height and structure seemed completely to justify Mad. de S.'s expression to her daughter, Votre cha teau vraiment royal.' Few subjects certainly ever had such a residence as this; which, though reduced to a mere shell by the ravages of the revolution, still seems to bespeak the hospitable and chivalrous character of its former possessor. It rises from a terrace of more than a hundred feet in height, partly composed of masonry, and partly of the solid rock. The town of Grignan, piled tier above tier, occupies a considerable declivity at the foot of this terrace, and communicates with the castle by a road which winds round the ascent, and terminates in a massy gate way."

One of the towers of the church of Grignan appears to form a projecting part of the terrace of the Chateau. A moveable stone affords an entrance to the leads of the church; and from the interior is a communication with a gallery in the castle, in which the family could hear mass, as in a private oratory, without being seen. The ruffian mob, during the revolution, did much injury here. They deprived the statue of the founder of its head; and, doubtless, would have violated the cemetry of the Grignan family, had it not been for the precautionary measure adopted by some of the adherents of the castle, who changed the position of a flat stone which marked the entrance of the vault. This has since been restored to its original site. The simplicity of the inscription which it bears is remarkable. Cy git Marie de Rabutin Chautal, Marquise de Sevigne:" the date of her death, April xiv. 1696, is annexed. The castle itself was pillaged, and then set on fire by the revolutionists; but the strength of the walls was such that they are still perfect, and might be rendered habitable at a comparatively small expense.

"Mine host of the Garter," in the

town of Grignan, who played the part of Cicerone over the castle, was fit to belong to the spot.

"Voila le jardin,' said our guide, 'c'etoit la ou il y avoit de ces belles figues, ces beaux melons, ce delicieux Muscat dont Madame parle.' The fine trees, which marked the limits of the garden, have all been cut down and burnt, with the exception of a row of old elms on the western side, forming part of the avenue which flanked the mail, or ball-alley, a constant appendage in days of old to the seats of French noblemen. The turf of the mail is even and soft still, and the wall on both sides tolerably perfect. And now, Messieurs,' said mine host, you may tell your countrymen, that you have walked in the actual steps of the Marquise. C'est ici qu'elle jouoit au mail avec cette parfaite grace-et M. le Comte aussi-ah! c'etoit un plaisir de les voir.' We hardly knew whether to laugh at, or be interested by the comical Quixotism of this man, who, I verily believe, had, by dint of residence on the spot, and thumbing constantly a dirty old edition of Madame's letters, worked himself up to the notion that he had witnessed the scenes which he described. We were induced, in the course of our walk, to inquire somewhat into his own history, which appeared rather a melancholy one,though common enough in the times through which he had lived. About a week after the pillage and destruction of Chateau Grignan, he was denounced as a royalist, and immured in the prison of Orange, in company with several gentlemen of the neighbourhood, acquaintances of his master. By means of a friend in the town, (for they were not all devils at Orange, as he emphatically assured us,) he was enabled to procure a few common necessaries, to improve the scanty prison allowance of some of the more infirm; but his charitable labour soon ceased, for all were successively despatched by the guillotine in a short space of time. In the course of three months, 378 persons perished by decree of the miscreants composing the revolutionary tribunal at Orange, whose names were Fauvette, Fonrosac, Meilleraye, Boisjavelle, Viotte, and Benôit Carat, the

maitre! ce beau, ce grand chateau! ah, j'ai tout perdu!" One bright moment, however, as he exultingly remarked, occurred during his compulsory service in the army; for it so chanced that he was one of the guard on duty during the execution of his former oppressor, Fauvette. Moi a mon tour je l'ac compagnois a cet echafaud ou il m'auroit envoye; il avoit la mine triste, un fleur de jasmin a la bouche; ma foi, ca ne sentoit pas bon pour lui.'

From Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life. Consumption.

THE moss-roses are still clustered in their undecaying splendour above the porch of Calder cottage; the bees are murmuring in their joy round the hive on its green sward, rich with its white and purple clover; the turtle doves are cooing on the roof, with plumage brightening in the sunshine; while over all is shed a dim and tender shadow from the embowering sycamore, beneath whose shelter was built, many long years ago, the little humble edifice. In its low simplicity it might be the dwelling of

greffier. One of their first victims was an aged nun of the Simiane family, canoness of the convent of Bollene, accused of being a counter-revolutionist; so lame and infirm, that her executioners were forced to carry her to the scaffold. Madame d'Ozanne, Marquise de Torignan, aged ninety-one, and her grand-daughter, a lovely young woman of twenty-two, perished in the same massacre. The personal beauty of the latter, which was much celebrated in the neighbourhood, had interested one of the brigands of Orange in her fate, who promised to exert his influence with the council of five; to save the life of the grand-mother, on condition of receiving the hand of Mademoiselle d'Ozanne. The poor girl overcame her horror and reluctance for the sake of her aged relative, and promised to marry this man on condition of his success in the promised application. The life, however, of so formidable a conspirator as a superannuated and dying woman, was too great a favour to be granted even to a friend; and the only boon which he could obtain was the promise of Mademoiselle d'Ozanne's life, in consideration of her becoming his wife. ' Eh bien! il faut mourir ensemble; was her answer without a moment's deliberation, and next day, accordingly, both the relatives perished on the same scaffold. Poor Peyrol himself, after expecting the fatal Allons for many a morning, was at length relieved from his apprehensions by the fall of Robespierre, and obtained his release, on condition of serving in the army.After fighting for four years, with a cordial detestation of the cause in which he was engaged, he was disabled for the time by a severe wound, and obtained leave to return to Grignan, where be settled in the little inn; but the most severe blow of all was yet in store for him; for his wife died not long after, leaving him with five children. 'Ainsi vous voyez, Monsieur, que j'ai connu le malheur. Au reste, Mons. de Muy m'a donne la clef de ce chateau, et cela me vaut quelque chose; car il y a du monde qui viennent quelquefois le voir.' Then, relapsing into his habitual strain of complaint, he ended with, Oh mon pauvre cher

the poor; but the heart feels something in its quiet loveliness, that breathes of the spirit of cultivated life. A finer character of beauty pervades the still se clusion, than the hand of labour ever shed over its dwelling in the gratitude of its Sabbath-hours; all around seems ministering to the joy, and not to the necessities of existence; and as the eye dwells on the gorgeous ornaments whick sun, and air, and dew have showered in profusion over the blooming walls, the mind cannot but think of some delicate and gentle spirit retired from the world it had adorned, and enjoying in the twilight of life the sweetness and serenity of nature.

Such were its inmates a few short months ago. The sound of music was heard far down the romantic banks of the Calder, when, in the silence of evening, the harp was touched within these humble walls, or there arose a mingled voice as of spirits hymning through the woods. But the strings of the harp are now silent, and the young lips that sung those heavenly anthems are covered with the dust.

The lady who lived there in her wi

dowhood was sprung of gentle blood; and none who had but for a moment looked on her pale countenance, and her figure majestic even under the burden of pain, could ever again forget that image, at once so solemn and so beautiful. Although no deep lines disturbed the meek expression of that fading face, and something that almost seemed a smile still shone over her placid features, yet had that lady undergone in her day hardships, and troubles, and calamities that might have broken the heart, and laid low the head of manhood in its sternest pride. She had been with her husband in famine, battle, and shipwreck. When his mortal wound came, she sat by his bedside-her hand closed his eyes and wrought his shroud-and she was able to gaze with a steadfast eye on all the troops marching with reVersed arms, and with slow step, to melancholy music, when the whole army was drawn up at his funeral on the field of battle. Perhaps, then, she wished to die. But two children were at her knees, and another at her bosom; and on her return to her native country, she found heart to walk through the very scenes where she had been most blessed, be fore these infants were born, and to live in the very dwelling to which he who was now buried had brought her a young and happy bride. Such had been his last request and seventeen years of resignation and peace had now passed over the head of the widow-whose soul was with her husband at morning and at evening prayers, during hours of the day when there were many present, and during hours of the night when there were none but the eye of God to witness her uncomplaining melancholy. Her grief was calm, but it was constant -it repined not, but it wasted awayand though all called her happy, all knew that her life was frail, and that one so sad and sorrowful even in her happiness, was not destined by God for old age. Yet for her none felt pity-a higher feeling arose in every heart from the resignation so perfectly expressed in every motion, look, and tone-and beautiful as she was on earth, there came across the souls of all who beheld her, a thought of one yet more beautiful

iheaven.

Her three daughters, although their health had always been delicate, were well, cheerful, and happy; but some said, that whenever they were met walking alone, a solemn, if not a mournful expression was on their countenances; and whether it was so or not, they certainly shunned society rather than sought it, and seldom partook of the innocent amusements natural to youth, and to which youth lends so much grace and attraction. No one ever saw any of them unamiable, or averse from the gladness of others; but a shade of sadness was now perceptible over all their demeanour, and they seemed bound together by some tie even more strict than that of sisterly affection. The truth was, that they felt God had given them but a short life, and that when the bier of one was carried into the church-yard, that of the other would not be long of following it to the place of rest.

i

Their mother died first, and her death had been long foreseen by them; for they, who spoke together of their own deaths, were not likely to deceive themselves with respect to that of one so dear to them all. She was ready and willing to die, but tears were on her cheek only a few hours before her decease, for the sake of her three daughters, left to themselves, and to drop away, as she well knew, one after the other, in that fatal disease which they inherited from their father. Her death was peaceful-almost happy-but, resigned as she was, it could not but be afflicting to her parting spirit to see those three beautiful spectres gliding round her bedside, with countenances and persons that plainly told they were fast hastening on to the tomb.

The funeral of the mother was conducted as it deserved to be for humble as she was in heart, yet she had been highly born; and many attended her body to the grave, who had almost forgotten her when alive in her simple retirement. But these were worldly mourners, who laid aside their sorrow with their suits of sable-many who had no right to walk near her coffin, felt they had a right to weep over her grave, and for many Sabbaths after her burial, groups collected beside the mound, and while many of them could

not but weep, none left it without a sigh and a blessing. When her three daughters, after the intermission of a few Sabbaths, were again seen walking, arm in arm, into the church, and taking their seats in their own pew, the whole congregation may be said to have regarded the orphans with a compassion, which was heightened into an emotion at once overcoming and consoling, when it was visible to all who looked upon them, that ere long they would be lying side by side near their mother's grave.

After her death, the three orphans were seldomer seen than before; and, pale as their sweet faces had seemed when they used to dress in white, they seemed even paler now contrasted with their black mourning garments. They received the visits of their few dear friends with warmest gratitude, and those of ordinary condolement, with a placid content; they did not appear wearied of this world, but resigned to leave it; smiles and the pressure of affectionate hands were still dear to them; and, if they kept themselves apart from society, it was not because they could not sympathize with its hilarity, its amusements, and its mirth, but because they were warned by feelings close upon their brain and heart, that they were doomed soon to lay their heads down into the dust. Some visiters, on first entering their parlour, in which every thing was still as elegantly and gracefully arranged as ever, wondered why the fair sisters should so seldom be seen out of their own dwelling; but no one, even the most thoughtless and unfeeling, ever left them without far different thoughts, or without a sorrowful conviction that they were passing, in perfect resignation, the remainder of their life, which, in their own hearts, they knew to be small. So, week after week, visits of idle ceremony were discontinued; and none now came to Calder cottage except those who had been dear to their dead mother, and were dear, even for that reason, had there been no other, to the dy ing orphans.

They sat in their beauty within the shadow of death. But happiness was not therefore excluded from Calder cottage. It was even a sublime satisVOL. VII.

faction to know that God was to call them away from their mortal being unsevered; and that while they all three knelt in prayer, it was not for the sake of one only who was to leave the survivors in tears, but for themselves that they were mutually beseeching God, that he would be pleased to smooth the path by which they were walking hand in hand to the grave. When the sun shone they still continued to wander along the shaded banks of their beloved Calder, and admire its quiet junction with the wide-flowing Clyde. They did not neglect their flower-gar den, although they well knew that their eyes were not to be gladdened by the blossoms of another spring. They strewed, as before, crumbs for the small birds that had built their nests among the roses and honey-suckles on the wall of their cottage. They kept the weeds from overgrowing the walks that were soon to be trodden by their feet no more; and they did not turn their eyes away from the shooting flowers which they knew took another spring to bring them to maturity, and would be disclos ing their fragrant beauty in the sunshine that shone on their own graves. Nor did their higher cares lose any of the interest or the charm which they had possessed during their years of health and hope. The old people whom their charity supported were received with as kind smiles as ever, when they came to receive their weekly dole. The children whom they clothed and sent to school met with the same sweet voices as before, when on the Saturday evenings they visited the ladies of Calder cottage; and the innocent mirth of all about the house, the garden, the fields, or the adjacent huts; seemed to be pleasant to their ears, when stealing unexpectedly upon them from happy persons engrossed with their own joys, and unaware that the sound of their pastimes had reached those whose own earthly enjoyments were so near a close.