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nately left in my pocket. I soon heard the voices of the servants, who seemed to be searching for me, and gathered from their conversation that they had wounded and secured the marauder, and as soon as they could find me, would convey us, with their master who had come to himself, but was much hurt, to the next post town.

"I fortunately eluded their search, but as night came on, in attempting to leave the wood, with a design of begging a lodging in some farm-house, my foot slipped, and I fell with such violence with my knee against a stump, that I fainted in an agony of pain. Being unable to stir, I passed the night on the spot where I fell, and part of the next day, when, hungry and benumbed with cold, I crawled as well as the hurt I received would let me, to the place where your kindness found me.' I passed the second night there, and endeavoured to at. tract the notice and compassion of several travellers during the succeeding day; but they considered me as an impostor or a loose woman, and either neglected or insulted me.

“I gave myself up for a lost creature; but death, though retarded by your humanity, I feel is gradually creeping over me. I die in charity with all mankind; I pray to God that he will forgive my destroyers, and give them time and grace to repent. I beg that my parents, whose "name and direction will be found in a letter in my pocket, may be informed of my fate ; that I remembered them with gratitude in my last moments, and that, although misled by folly, my heart was untainted

by vice.

“I also make it my dying request, that my misfortunes may be published for the information of young women of my condition, in the hope of reminding them, that pride and vanity are the high road to crime and misfortune ; that London is a scene of temptation, where there are always artful women watching to take advantage of those of their own sex who are tired of working honestly for their livelihood, and fond of fine clothes.

* I wish to remind such as are of this unfortunate

turn, that a conscientious discharge of our duties in that state, however humble, in which Providence has placed us, is the only solid comfort in this world, and the most likely method of ensuring everlasting happiness in that which is to come.”

The Lounger's Common Place Book.

THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
THERE was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its volupt ous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,

And all went merry as a marriage bell;
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising

knell ! Did ye not hear it?-No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep 'till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feetBut, hark !-that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat ;

And nearer, nearer, deadlier than before !
Arm ! arm ! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar!

Within a window'd nichè of that high hall
Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because he deem'd it near,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying too and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness ;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs,
Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ;
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused

up the soldier ere the morning star ; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips—“The foe! they come!

they come !" And wild, and high, the “Camerons' gathering" rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes :How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill ! but with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce natire daring which instils

The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's

ears! And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,malas ! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass

Of living valour, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,

Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, : The midnight brought the signal sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms,-the day Battle's magnificently-stern array! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent, The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,

Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,-friend, foe, in one red burial blent!

Byron.

CHARLES BRANDON, AND MARY QUEEN OF

FRANCE.

The fortune of Charles Brandon was remarkable. He was an honest man, yet the favourite of a despot. He was brave, handsome, accomplished, possessed even delicacy of sentiment; yet he retained his favour to the last. He even had the perilous honour of being ber loved by the despot's sister, without having the least claim to it by birth; and yet, instead of its destroying them both, he was allowed to be her husband.

Charles Brandon was the son of Sir William Brandon, whose skull was cleaved at Bosworth by Richard the Third, while bearing the standard of the Duke of Richmond. Richard dashed at the standard, and appears to have been thrown from his horse by Sir William, whose strength and

courage however could not save him from the angry desperation of the king.

But Time, whose wheeles with various motion runne,
Repayes the service fully to his sonne,
Who marries Richmond's daughter, born betweene
Two royal parents, and endowed a queene.

Sir John Beaumont's “Bosworth Field."

The father's fate must doubtless have had its effect in securing the fortunes of the son. Young Brandon, we believe, grew up with Henry the Seventh's children,

and was the playmate of his future king and bride. The prince, as he increased in years, seems to have carried the idea of Brandon with him like that of a second self; and the princess, whose affection was not hindered from becoming personal by any thing sisterly, nor on the other hand allowed to waste itself in too equal familiarity, may have felt a double impulse given to it by the great improbability of her ever being suffered to become his wife. Royal females in most countries have certainly none of the advantages of their rank, whatever the males may have. Mary was destined to taste the usual bitterness of their lot; but she was amply repaid. At the conclusion of the war with France, she was married to the old king Louis the Twelfth, who witnessed from a couch the exploits of her future husband at the tournaments. The doings of Charles Brandon that time were long remembered. The love between him and the young queen was suspected by the French court; and he had just seen her enter Paris in the midst of a gorgeous procession, like Aurora come to marry Tithonus., He dealt his chivalry about him accordingly with such irresistible vigour, that the Dauphin, in a fit of jealousy, secretly introduced into the contest a huge German, who was thought to be of a strength incomparable. But Brandon grappled with him, and with seeming disdain and detection so pommelled him about the head with the hilt of his sword, that the blood burst through the vizor. Imagine the feelings of the queen, when he came and made her an offering of the German's shield. Drayton, in his Heroical Epistles, we know not on what authority, tells us that on one occasion during the combats, perhaps this particular one, she could not help saying out loud, “Hurt not my sweet Charles," or words to that effect. He then pleasantly represents her as doing away suspicion by falling to commendation of the Dauphin, and affecting not to know who the conquering knight was :-an ignorance not very probable ; but the knights sometimes disguised themselves purposely.

The old king did not long survive his festivities. He

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