WEEKLY DIARY.

JULY.

This word is derived from the Latin Julius, the surname of C. Cæsar, the dietator, who was born in it. Mark Anthony first gave to this month the name of July, which was before called Quintilis, as being the fifth month in the year, in the old Roman calendar established by Romulus. July was called by the Saxons, heu-monat, or hey-monat, because therein they usually mowed, and made their hay-harvest.

REMARKABLE DAYS.

TUESDAY 2.—Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

This festival was first instituted by Pope Urban VI, in commemoration of that remarkable journey which the mother of our Lord took into the mountains of Judæa, in order to visit the mother of St. John the Baptist. It was afterwards confirmed, not only by a decree of Pope Boniface IX, but by the council of Basil, in 1441.

WEDNESDAY 3.-Dog-Days Begin. These are a certain number of days before and after the heliacal rising of Canicula, or the dog-star, in the morning. The dog-days in our modern Almanacks occupy the time from July 3d to August 11th; the name being applied now, as it was formerly, to the hottest time of

the year.

THURSDAY 4.-Translation of St. Martin. This day was appointed to commemorate the removal or translation of St. Martin's body from one tomb to another much more noble and magnificent; an honour conferred upon the deceased saint by Perpetuus, one of his

successors in the see of Tours.

OBSERVATIONS

The shawls are generally of a circular form, with an opening in the middle to admit the head. They likewise are knit, and have a variety of open work upon them. Two small semicircular segments are left opposite to each other upon the circumference of the shawl: from each of these, a large tuft of untwisted fibres is suspended by a number of threads, wrought into the shawl along the margin of the segment, like radii of the circle of which it is a part. These tufts serve both for ornament and fly-flaps.

If the material, from which these articles are made, were manufactured in the same manner as flax, it might become very valuable; for it could be reduced to great fiueness, the fibres being remarkably strong, and capable of very minute division.

Money. When manufactured, grass-cloth becomes the representative of wealth: each piece is about 20 inches long and 15 broad, and worth threepence. With these, purchases of slaves, ivory, corn, pepper, &c. are made; and a person going to market, takes a roll of them under his arm. A certain number sewed together, make a piece of a proportionally higher value, which at the same time serves for clothing.

Trees.-Travellers say, that Congo and Loango abound in great varieties of beautiful trees, shrubs, and flowers; but during the season in which I have always happened to be there, they were not conspicuous; a few scarlet flowering trees, at a distance in the forests, being all that were observable from the river. luable cabinet timber, have at times been It is well known, however, that pieces of vapicked up among the fire wood, and sold in Liverpool at one guinea a foot. Bar-wood, or red Saunders, grows to a very large tree. It furnishes a valuable dye, and constitutes the chief article of trade at Mayumba, where ships of 400 or 500 tons burden come for it. The Ebony-tree abounds in Loango, and furnishes sceptres for the princes of the country. There per season, would make good walking-sticks.

By Mr. Maxwell, author of the Letters to Mungo Park, &c. Grass-Cloth. The substance of which this is manufactured, is prepared from the inner bark of a broad-leaved plant of the bamboo species. During the intervals of leisure in the hunting and fishing seasons, great quantities of it are collected from the marshy grounds; and at the rendezvous of each party, every idle person is immediately set to work to prepare it for use before the sap exhales. When completely disengaged from the external bark, it is hung up in handfuls to dry:part of it is afterwards stained with various substances, which produce very vivid and lasting colours. It is then worked up into cloths and different pieces of dress.

There is a small kind, chiefly used by the princes, covered with raised work of great regularity, and surrounded with a fringed border. These are all made from the fibres before they are spun. The spinning is performed by the simple operation of twisting the fibres upon the thigh, with the hand. In this state, it is wrought into shawls and caps, and other pieces of dress.

The caps are knit with a single needle in a very ingenious manner, commencing at the crown. They present the appearance of alternate zones of raised and inverted work, assuming different paterns. Their value varies from one to two guineas.

Cotton Tree. This tree grows to an enormous size. I measured two at Malemba, each 18 fathoms in circumference. The bark, which is an inch thick, yields a milky juice when wounded. The wood is so pervious, that it admits of wooden pegs being driven into it, whereby the natives are enabled to mount the tree in search of the birds which build among its branches. It is called by Europeans, the Palaver-tree, from the consultations that are held under it.

Elastic Gum, or Indian Rubber. The tree which produces this substance is very abundant here. The gum, when first drawn from the tree, resembles cream, both in colour and consistence; and it is probably in this state that the South Americans run it upon bottle-shaped moulds. Upon exposure to the air, it quickly coagulates. The natives form it into footballs, which have an astonishing spring and elasticity, and are admirably adapted for that, purpose.

Calabash. This is the shell of a species of gourd, used for holding wine and other liquors. It is sometimes beautifully ornamented with indented figures.

Fruits. Very few of the West India fruits are to be found either in Angoya or Chimfooka. A solitary Lime-tree at Oyster Haven, is the only one I have observed; but, according to the reports of the Bushmen, pine-apples, oranges, and sugar-cane, grow luxuriantly in

the interior. They have, however, fruits peculiar to the climate, which are very refreshing to seamen after long voyages. There is one called Phoote that grows in bunches like grapes, of a pleasant acid taste; also a black pluin, larger than a damson, of an agreeable musky flavour.

Vegetables.-The chief articles of vegetable food in Congo and Loango, are plantains, Indian corn, cassava, peas, potatoes, yams, and a species of nut which is roasted for eating. These are all very abundant, and, as beforementioned, are principally cultivated and gathered by the women. The plantain and cassava are of very rapid growth, and extremely productive. Their peas, called by the French the Angola pea, grow upon a tall shrub not unlike the laburnum, six or seven feet high, and though rather a more flatulent food than the common pea, are very agreeable and welltasted. They have also a pleasant odoriferous pepper, with which, along with Cayenne, they season their meats. Cotton, Cayenne pepper, and Palma Christi (the shrub from which cas tor-oil is extracted,) grow spontaneously, and may be collected in any quantity.

Minerals. Of these I can say nothing, having been at no pains to collect specimens ; but if we may judge from the pompous names of Mountains of the Sun, and Mountains of Crystal, given by travellers to some of the high ranges of land, a great variety of these might be obtained. At Malemba, the natives brought me a cubical piece of blue shining ore: it was heavy, and not unlike lead-ore; found that the action of the air had reduced it but on examining it a month afterwards, I to a grey powder, which makes me suppose it was manganese. Some of the rocks in the Congo have a greenish cast, resembling py(To be continued.)

rites.

THE ROOKERY.

(From Mr. Washington Irving's New Work:)

In a grove of tall oaks and beeches, that crown a terrace-walk, just on the skirts of the garden, is an ancient rookery; which is one of the most important provinces in the squire's rural domains. The old gentleman sets great store by his rooks, and will not suffer one of them to be killed; in consequence of which they have increased amazingly; the tree-tops are loaded with their nests; they have encroached upon the great avenue, and have even established, in times long past, a colony among the elms and pines of the church-yard, which like other distant colonies, has already thrown off allegiance to the mother country.

The rooks are looked upon by the squire as a very ancient and honourable line of gentry, highly aristocratical in their notions, fond of place, and attached to church and state; as their building so loftily, keeping about churches and cathedrals, and in the venerable groves of old castles and manor-houses, sufficiently manifests. The good opinion thus expressed by the squire put me upon observing more narrowly these very respectable birds; for I confess, to my shame, I had been apt to confound them with their cousins-german the crows, to whom, at the first glance, they bear so great a resemblance Nothing, it seems, could be more unjust or injurious than such a mistake. The rooks and crows are, among the feathered tribes, what the Spaniards and Portuguese are

among nations, the least loving, in consequence of their neighbourhood and similarity. The rooks are old-established housekeepers, high-minded gentlefolk, that have had their hereditary abodes time out of mind; but as to the poor crows, they are a kind of vagabond, predatory, gipsy race, roving about the country without any settled home; "their hands are against every body, and every body's against them," and they are gibbeted in every cornfield. Master Simon assures me that a female rook, that should so far forget herself as to consort with a crow, would inevitably be disinherited, and indeed would be totally discarded by all her genteel acquaintance.

The squire is very watchful over the interests and concerns of his sable neighbours. As to Master Simon, he even pretends to know many of them by sight, and to have given names to them; he points out several, which he says are old heads of families, and compares them to worthy old citizens, beforehand in the world, that wear cocked-hats, and silver buckles in their shoes. Notwithstanding the protecting benevolence of the squire, and their being residents in his empire, they seem to acknowledge no allegiance, and to hold no intercourse or intimacy. Their airy tenements are built almost out of the reach of gun-shot; and, notwithstanding their vicinity to the Hall, they maintain a most reserved and distrustful shyness of mankind.

There is one season of the year, however, which brings all birds in a manner to a level, and tames the pride of the loftiest highflyer; which is the season of building their nests. This takes place early in the spring, when the forest-trees first begin to show their buds; the long, withy ends of the branches to turn green; when the wild strawberry, and other herbage of the sheltered woodlands, put forth their tender and tinted leaves; and the daisy and the primrose peep from under the hedges. At this time there is a general bustle among the feathered tribes; an incessant fluttering about, and a cheerful chirping; indicative, like the germination of the vegetable world, of the reviving life and fecundity of the year. It is then that the rooks forget their usual stateliness, and their shy and lofty habits. Instead of keeping up in the high regions of the air, swinging on the breezy tree-tops, and looking down with sovereign contempt upon the humble crawlers upon earth, they are fain to throw off for a time the dignity of the gentleman, to come down to the ground, and put on the pains-taking and industrious character of a labourer. They now lose their natural shyness, become fearless and familiar, and may be seen playing about in all directions, with an air of great assiduity, in search of building materials. Every now and then your path will be crossed by one of these busy old gentlemen, worrying about with awkward gait, as if troubled with the gout, or with corns on his toes, casting about many a prying look, turning down first one eye, then the other, in earnest consideration, upon every straw he meets with, until, espying some mighty twig, large enough to make a rafter for his airycastle, he will seize upon it with avidity, and hurry away with it to the tree-top; fearing, apparently, lest you should dispute with him the invaluable prize.

Like other castle-builders, these airy architects seem rather fanciful in the materials with which they build, and to like those most which come from a distance. Thus, though there are abundance of dry twigs on the surrounding

trees, yet they never think of making use of them, but go foraging in distant lands, and come sailing home, one by one, from the ends of the earth, each bearing in his bill some precious piece of timber.

Nor must I avoid mentioning, what, I grieve to say, rather derogates from the grave and honourable character of these ancient gentlefolk, that, during the architectural season, they are subject to great dissensions among themselves; that they make no scruple to defraud and plunder each other; and that some times the rookery is a scene of hideous brawl and commotion, in consequence of some delinquency of the kind. One of the partners generally remains on the nest to guard it from depredation; and I have seen severe contests, when some sly neighbour has endeavoured to filch away a tempting rafter that had captivated his eye. As I am not willing to admit any suspicion hastily that should throw a stigma on the general character of so worshipful a people, I am inclined to think that these larcenies are very much discountenanced by the higher classes, and even rigorously punished by those in authority; for I have now and then seen a whole gang of rooks fall upon the nest of some individual, pull it all to pieces, carry off the spoils, and even buffet the fuckless proprietor. I have concluded this to be some signal punishment inflicted upon him, by the officers of the police, for some pilfering misdemeanour; or, perhaps, that it was a crew of bailiffs carrying an execution into his house.

I have been amused with another of their movements during the building season. The steward has suffered a considerable number of sheep to graze on a lawn near the house, somewhat to the annoyance of the squire, who thinks this an innovation on the dignity of a park, which ought to be devoted to deer only. Be this as it may, there is a green knoll, not far from the drawing-room window, where the ewes and lambs are accustomed to assemble towards evening, for the benefit of the setting sun. No sooner were they gathered here, at the time when these politic birds were building, than a stately old rook, who Master Simon assured me was the chief magistrate of this community, would settle down upon the head of one of the ewes, who, seeming conscious of this condescension, would desist from grazing, and stand fixed in motionless reverence of her august burthen; the rest of the rookery would then come wheeling down in imitation of their leader, until every ewe had two or three of them cawing, and fluttering, and battling upon her back. Whether they requited the submission of the sheep, by levying a contribution upon their fleece for the benefit of the rookery, I am not certain; though I presume they followed the usual custom of protecting powers.

a

The latter part of May is the time of great tribulation among rookeries, when the young are just able to leave the nests, and balance themselves on the neighbouring branches. Now comes on the season of "rook shooting;" terrible slaughter of the innocents. The squire, of course, prohibits all invasion of the kind on his territories; but I am told that a lamentable havoc takes place in the colony about the old church. Upon this devoted commonwealth the village charges "with all its chivalry" Every idle wight that is lucky enough to possess an old gun or blunderbuss, together with all the archery of Slingsby's school, take the field on the occasion. In vain

does the little parson interfere, or remonstrate, in angry tones, from his study window that looks into the church-yard; there is a continual popping from morning till night. Being no great marksmen, their shots are not often effective; but every now and then a great shout from the besieging army of bumpkins makes known the downfall of some unlucky, squab rook, which comes to the ground with the emphasis of a squashed apple-dumpling.

Nor is the rookery entirely free from other troubles and disasters. In so aristocratical and lofty-minded a community, which boasts so much ancient blood and hereditary pride, it is natural to suppose that questions of etiquette will sometimes arise, and affairs of honour ensue. In fact, this is very often the case; bitter quarrels break out between individuals, which produce sad scufflings on the tree-tops, and I have more than once seen a regular duel take place between two doughty heroes of the rookery. Their field of battle is generally the air; and their contest is managed in the most scientific and elegant manner; wheeling round and round each other, and towering higher and higher to get the 'vantage ground, until they sometimes disappear in the clouds before the combat is determined.

They have also fierce combats now and then with an invading hawk, and will drive him off from their territories by a posse comitatus. They are also extremely tenacious of their domains, and will suffer no other bird to inhabit the grove or its vicinity. There was a very ancient and respectable old bachelor owl that had long had his lodgings in a corner of the grove, but has been fairly ejected by the rooks; and has retired disgusted, with the world, to a neighbouring wood, where he leads, the life of a hermit, and makes nightly complaints of his ill treatment,

The hootings of this unhappy gentleman may generally be heard in the still evenings, when the rooks are all at rest; and I have often listened to them of a moonlight night, with a kind of mysterious gratification. This greybearded misanthrop of course is highly respected by the squire; but the servants have superstitious notions about him; and it would be difficult to get the dairy-maid to venture after dark near to the wood which he inhabits.

Besides the private quarrels of the rooks, there are other misfortunes to which they are liable, and which often brings distress into the most respectable families of the rookery. Having the true baronial spirit of the good old feudal times, they are apt now and then to issue forth from their castles on a foray, and to lay the plebeian fields of the neighbouring country under contribution; in the course of which chivalrous expeditions they now and then get a shot from the rusty artillery of some refractory farmer. Occasionally, too, while they are quietly taking the air beyond the park boundaries, they have the incaution to come within the reach of the truant bowmen of Slingsby's school, and receive a flight shot from some unlucky urchin's arrow. In such case the wounded adventurer will sometimes have just strength enough to bring himself home, and, giving up the ghost at the rookery, will hang dangling "all abroad" on a bough, like a thief on a gibbet; an awful warning to his friends, and an object of great commiseration to the squire.

But, maugre all these untoward incidents, the rooks have, upon the whole, a happy holiday life of it. When their young are reared, and fairly launched upon their native element

FOR THE IRIS.

THE NORMAN. CHAPTER I.

Anselm.-Look there Lorenzo

Who is that muffed stranger? Heavens! he stops
Under Aurelia's lattice-see he flings
A ladder from his mantle to the bars.-
Lor. He mounts-now Anselm for revenge.-

OLD PLAY.

IT was a beautiful moonlight night. The clouds which, during the day, had obscured the sky, vanished as evening approached, and scarcely a speck broke in upon the uniformity of the wide blue expanse. The beams of the moon fell upon a landscape of the most lovely scenery. Far as the eye could stretch, it was greeted with an uninterrupted succession of plains, smiling with fertile green, sloping dales, and shady recesses, where nature had lavished her wildest luxuriance. The luminous beauty of the sky was reflected on the calm breast of a lake that slept in majestic serenity, and on the borders of which, lofty trees cast their dark shadows, through whose branches the wind sighed in soft but melancholy murmurings. By the side of the lake rose a lofty rock, whose barren sides were scantily speckled with shrubs and lichens, and its towering summit was crowned with a small but strong fortress. The style of architecture seemed to denote it of Saxon origin. It was a square building, with small narrow windows, and from its battlements, black with age, the wreathing ivy hung in natural festoons. The wall which surrounded it, was built at the very brink of the precipice; while at its base, a deep moat, communicating with the lake, gave additional security to the inhabitants of the castle. It formed the most prominent object on which the eye could rest for relief from the monotonous, though beautiful uniformity of the surrounding prospect. Strongly fortified by nature and art, it was, except by one private passage, impregnable. At the head of this passage, a small tower was erected, to guard which, in times of peace, one sentinel only was placed. The whole force of the place consisted only of Sir Hugh de Montfort, its possessor, a warder, whose teeble limbs and scanty gray locks, seemed cotemporaneous with the building of which he was an inhabitant, and four stout men at arms, though even these few might have defended a spot situated as Rochby Castle was, against the open force of a hundred times the number of assailants. But danger was unexpected, and no echo replied to the footsteps of the

SATURDAY, JULY 6, 1822.

sentinel, who preferred snugly slumbering in his watch tower, to pacing about in the cold, though delightful scenes, which might be so well seen from his post on such a night as this, and which would have tempted any one, not endued with his insensibility to such charms, to ramble forth, and enjoy that delicious feeling of freedom and expansion of soul, which the fresh breeze imparts in such a place, and at such a time.

Notwithstanding the shelter which it was obvious the trees and shrubs growing on the margin of the lake, extending even to the entrance of the moat, might give to besiegers, so little was any attack anticipated, that they had been suffered to flourish in unchecked vigour. It was among these that a rustling sound might be heard, and the voices of men suppressed, as through fear of discovery. Now and then too, the glittering of a steel helmet, as the moon shone on its polished surface, gleamed through the bushes. This, however, might seem the reflection on the water, and was not likely to attract much notice, even if there had been any one to observe such appearances. No one, however, was sufficiently curious, or fond of the romantic, to be watching at that hour any thing that might take place in the neighbourhood of the castle.

In the middle of the thirteenth century, at which time the events of which we speak took place, this kingdom, in common with the continental states, was subject to the feudal law, a system which, whatever excellencies it might possess, seems to have thrown too much power into the hands of the nobles, who, secure in their fortified habitations, were enabled to delay, and not unfrequently to frustrate, the proceedings of justice. Under the reign of Henry the Second, a wise and prudent prince, these evils, though in some degree repressed, prevailed with a force that rendered the possession of the weaker part insecure, and there was too much to justify the expression, "might makes right."

"Is it not past the time?" whispered one of the men to his companions. He was to be here by the time the moon had risen above the rock yonder, and that she has long done."

"It is past the time most surely, Giles Foston," answered one of the persons addressed.

66 our

"Wait ye patiently," said another, master, Reginald Fitzurse, is not one to hang back when a pretty girl, or the stroke of the battle-axe is concerned."

"He is like to meet with both to night," added Giles, "they are equally welcome to him, and he would encounter the one with as much readiness as the other."

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"Peace," said the former speaker, "what noise is that?"

They listened, and the slow and measured strokes of oars were distinctly heard, as they were dashed into the breast of the lake. "He comes now, however," said Foston.

"Be cautious," whispered another, "it may be an enemy."

"What enemies have we to fear," said a third; "who knows our business here?"

"No one-but any one who finds us here, may think proper to enquire our business."

"We have a short answer for him," rejoined the first; "a word and a blow will silence his tongue."

"Be quiet," said Giles, "the boat draws near-ye may see the rower."

"And a proper rower he is by'r lady, he clears space at every stroke."

The boat, which had for some time proceeded cautiously along the farther side of the lake, for the purpose, seemingly, of being concealed by the shrubs on the brink, had now arrived at the narrowest part. Here the rower was to cross, and he dashed across with such swiftness, that he almost seemed a spirit skimming over the water, circled in a cloud of drops which followed every stroke of his powerful arm.

"Is the sword unsheathed?" said the new comer, as he sprung from his light vessel on the ground. This was the watchword.

"Is the battle-axe sharp?" was the reply. "Have ye observed any thing while ye have lain here?" "No, my lord, we have been undisturbed. The brave men of yon castle I guess, prefer sleeping to watching, for their sentinel has never stirred a foot."

"All is well then," replied Fitzurse, "and the sooner we commence operations the better. Are all here?

66

They are."

"What force do we muster then?-let me see, here are five of us." Bracebridge and I will first mount the passage. You, Giles and Sertoun, will follow and secure us against the people of the castle, while we assail the lady Eva's chamber. Geoffrey will guard the boat. But despatch must be the word-away!"

With a bound, successively, they cleared, one after another, the moat which, owing to the rocky foundation, and other impediments, was narrower at the place where the passage was cut, than at the other parts, though yet sufficiently wide to present an obstacle to any one passing. They rushed up the steps cut in the rock, clinging to the weeds and grass that grew on its surface-now clambering over some projecting rock-and now venturing a desperate spring, and catching at some prominent stone or faded shrub, for the road was

by no means without danger; and the few straggling steps approached to nothing like a regular flight. As Fitzurse had just attained the summit of the precipice, his foot slipped, and catching hold of a loose stone, it rolled a few feet, and springing down the side of the rock with a considerable noise, fell with a loud plunge into the water of the moat. This was immediately followed by the challenge of the sentinel, who, alarmed at the noise, rushed forward with his short pike, and encountered Fitzurse and his follower, almost at the edge of the precipice. Fitzurse sprung by him, and throwing himself over the wall, rushed on, leaving Bracebridge engaged in stout warfare with the sentinel; and it was a strife of no common peril. The latter had aimed a blow with his pike at his opponent, who, with one blow of his sword, severed the head from the handle. Springing forwards, he caught Bracebridge in his arms, and grappling him closely, prevented him from making use of his sword. They were in this situation, when the other two followers of Fitzurse having ascended the rock, hastened to them to assist their comrade, when the man of the castle, dragging his antagonist to the brink of the precipice, sprung with him into the moat. They sunk and rose again, and grappled together in the water, which would have speedily put an end to the lives of both combatants, had not the man in the boat hastened to the assistance of his fellow, and joining with him in attacking his adversary, the latter soon sunk and was seen no more.

ample and full revenge against the daring intruder. But they had not to deal with a common foe, and that they soon found out to their cost. Sir Reginald, with one stroke of his unerring and trenchant sword, cleft in twain the scull of the foremost assailant, who fell back into the arms of his astonished and terrified companions. They all now rushed for ward, but Sir Reginald, placing his back against the wall under the window, kept whirling round his sword for a moment in a circular direction, and then watching his opportunity, struck the right-hand man a blow, of such prodigious force, high up on the side, that the strength of it almost smote him asunder.

Sir Hugh now pressed closer on him, but the Knight, having some regard for his aged hairs, pushed him backwards with his left hand, which the surviving attendant observing, attempted to sever in two; and Sir Hugh recovering, they both again attacked him, and the combat raged as hotly as ever. The Knight now became enraged, and rushing forcibly upon them, smote down, with one blow of his gauntletted hand, the attendant, and ran Sir Hugh through the body; then casting a grim glance through the bars of his helmet, at the work of devastation around him, he leaped lightly up, and passed through the window.

OBSERVATIONS

height. The footpaths formed by the natives, wind through it in the most intricate and perplexing manner, and cannot be traversed but with considerable danger, owing to the concealment and opportunity afforded to all the hostile tribes of these regions. To guard against attacks when travelling under night, the natives carry blazing torches made of plantain leaves, besmeared with an odoriferous resin. From this resin, a druggist in Liverpool extracted an essential oil which he sold for nutmeg-oil!

Conflagrations.-The great risk and inconvenience of travelling through the long grass being much felt, the natives never fail to burn it in September or October when completely dry and withered. A voyage to the coast at this season, were it only to behold the waving lines of fire, would be amply repaid. I had the good fortune to witness a scene of this kind at Embomma, where the hills rise more ab- ·

ruptly from the plain than they do upon the sea coast. Being in the night time, it produced an effect, not only sublime, but terrific. When the flames reached the hills, two miles from the ship, they cast so great a light, that it was possible to read on board. The fire raged in a continuous blaze fully six miles in length, producing a noise somewhat like distant thunder; and from the Alpine nature of the ground, assuming a variety of singular shapes and extraordinary forms.

Old Sir Hugh snatched up the broad sword that had long slumbered in its sheath, and, calling out lustily to his men at arms, rushed to the chamber of his daughter Eva. A long protracted scream, and cries for assistance now resounded from that part of the castle into which Fitzurse had disappeared, and thither they had arrived. The door was closed upon them, but this soon gave way to their united efforts, and they beheld a sight which caused the old fiery blood of Sir Hugh to boil with resentment. The moon was shining so elear and bright, that every thing was as apparent as if it had taken place at noon day. There stood (the iron gleaming in and reflect ing the beams of the moon) the armed figure of Reginald Fitzurse, supporting the inanimate form of the beautiful Eva-at his feet lay also the senseless body of the lady Mary, whom terror and astonishment, at the thoughts of losing her beloved sister, had completely overcome. Sir Hugh groaned in the bitterness of his spirit, as he saw his daughters in this pitiable situation, and had he not feared that he might wound the lady Eva in his attack upon the Knight, he would not have hesitated a moment. Reginald's turbulent and daring spirit seemed to delight in the situation in which he found himself placed, and he laughed a laugh of fierce defiance at Sir Hugh and his followers. The form of Bracebridge now appeared at the window, and, quicker than thought, springing towards him, the Knight delivered his lovely burden into that attendant's arms. During this Sir Hugh was not unoccupied; he drew back his daughter Mary, and, placing her behind, determined upon an

Scenery.-The whole of the coast between Mayumba in 3° 30', and Benguela Nova in 12° 30' south latitude, affords the most delightful prospect from the sea that can be imagined. Perpendicular red cliffs in many places skirt the shore, while the back ground consists of mountains, here, receding far inland, there, approaching the sea. Several of these mountains are crowned with lofty semicircular precipices, set, as it were, in fringes of trees and shrubs; one of these to the southward of Benguela, from its resemblance to a hat, has been called Hat hill by voyagers. In other parts, they are studded with pinnacles of single rock, like monuments of Roman or Egyptian grandeur. On the summit of a high hill seen from Embomma, there is a rock of this description, called by the natives, Soanna. Another hill to leeward of Ambrize, has a rock of prodigious length and bulk lying across its summit. The intermediate space between the ridge of mountains and the sea, is beautifully diversified with rising grounds, and ornamented with clumps of lofty trees. The effect of the whole is magnificent, and has no doubt led the Portuguese to apply the names of many of their most romantic and picturesque scenes in Portugal, such as the Cascais, &c. to certain views of this fairy landscape. Immense lawns and pasture-grounds compose the greatest part of the fore ground.

Long Grass-To all appearance, when seen from a distance, the grass would not afford concealment to a rabbit, but in reality, it is so long as to hide an elephant, being in many places 12 feet long. Even on the hills, where the soil is shallow, it rises five or six feet in

grass around their dwellings; and even then, the combustible materials of which they are built, leave them at the mercy of every falling spark. It may be remarked here, how liable they must always be, on that account, to accidents from fire.

For a week or ten days after the conflagration has passed over the face of the country, nothing can be conceived more dismal and waste; but the luxuriant verdure which rapidly advances in the beginning of November when the moist weather sets in, quickly effaces every vestige of fire, and makes ample amends for the few days in which blackness and desolation kept joint possession of the earth. To these annual conflagrations, and to the effects of the ashes on the soil, must be ascribed the civilized and cultivated appearance of the country. This is the harvest of the carrion-crow, the kite, and the vulture, which keep hovering in the rear of the flames, pouncing down upon snakes, lizards, crabs, &c. destroyed by fire; and, as already mentioned, the Boa Constrictor itself, which fears no other enemy, frequently falls a victim to the fury of this irresistible foe, and becomes the prey of these rapacious birds. (To be continued.)

THE VEIL OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

MARIA STUART has been canonized, and.

placed among the Martyrs by the Jesuits. Of course there are relics of her's. Her prayerbook was long shown in France; and Whitaker, her apologist, published in an English journal a sonnet which she was said to have composed, and to have written with her own hand in this book. A celebrated German actress, Mrs. Hendel-Schutz, who has excited admiration by her attitudes, and also performed Schiller's