with impunity the natural equality of man!" The majesty of generous indignation irradiated his brow: the eloquent thunders of the Roman forum seemed to roll around me.-I agreed to attend him to the capital of the young Republic. Our visitor made no allusion to it, but expatiated very | fortress, where the Count Rainers of the past outraged agreeably on topics of general interest. He described the passes of the Alps with the accuracy of a mountaineer, and displayed an intimacy with the localities of the Cantons that filled my parents with pleasure and surprise. In pursuit of knowledge, he had traversed the most remarkable sections of the globe; and his observations, affluent in instruction, proved that his wanderings had been of a different order from the capricious migrations of sight-seeking wealth. The warmth with which I seconded some of his sentiments appeared to please him. He complimented my father on my education; adding, that the judgment with which I developed its resources designated me for a wider sphere of action than belonged to a tiller of the soil of Lombardy. I had been vain enough to entertain the same opinion; and its confirmation by a competent authority was balm to my spirit. Gładly I acceded to his request, of guiding him to the Baron's Font, a romantic cascade, where, to use his own language, he sighed to offer allegiance to Nature. My companion noted the peculiarities of the route, and committed to writing the information I furnished respecting the district. We rested on the summit of a steep, skirted by the foaming stream of the cascade, beyond which rose wooded grounds in bold acclivity, mellowing, with their dusky greenness, the gloomy grandeur of a mouldering tower. : The stranger abruptly adverted to the hateful humiliation of the preceding day. He descanted on the contumely I had suffered, with a vehement bitterness that chafed my young blood to flame. I denounced endless hostility against the Count and his minions. He calmly commented on the futility of the threat. In the frenzy of exasperation, I insinuated the possibility of resorting to the darkest means of accomplishing revenge. He replied, that in cooler moments I would spurn the idea of Italian vengeance. Requiring a pledge of secresy, he proceeded to point out an honourable mode of lowering the crest of the oppressor. "My name," he said, "is Philippon-my profession, a military engineer, in the service of the French Republic. The armies of Liberty only await the capture of Toulon to sever the chains of Italy. I am terminating a secret journey of observation through Piedmont and the Milanese. Come with me to Paris, and join the standard of Freedom. In France, no parchment barrier excludes untitled youth from fame and fortune; draw a blade in her cause, and relieve the place of your nativity from the thraldom of its petty tyrant. These brutal and stolid Austrians must be driven to their land of hereditary bondage-justice demands it. The time has gone by for insulted and injured Humanity to shed tears in secret. Five dreary years I pined in the dismal solitudes of the BastilleI saw it fall, amidst the curses of my countrymen; and never shall the spirit of a liberated nation taste repose, until every stronghold of remorseless power is patent to the winds of heaven as yon grim old V. Bent on entering the field of martial adventure, I anticipated much difficulty in obtaining the concurrence of my father. A lover of tranquillity, he had sickened at the sanguinary measures that had crimsoned the cradle of the French Revolution. Yielding also to age and infirmity, he had been accustomed to the prospect of resigning to me the chief management of our affairs. The narrative of my shame, however, which led him to tremble for the consequences, determined him against opposing my departure. Of my military project, and the pursuits of my patron, I made no disclosure-I barely stated the fact, that he had promised to provide for me at Paris, and proposed, in the mean time, giving me employment as amanuensis. an Sorrow and joy are twin daughters of affection. Notwithstanding the excitement of curiosity and ambition, reluctantly and despondingly I crossed our humble threshold. I went away at night, and this added to the melancholy character of the separation. My mother was unwell, and at her bedside I received her blessing. The features of my gentle-natured sister gave dim and pallid testimony to the fulness of her affliction. When I had parted with my parents, she escorted me to the extremity of the orchard. "Oh, Albert !" were the only words she had power to utter; and her face looked so mournful-so heartappealing, in the moonlight-that to desert her smote me as a sin. One embrace, and I bounded off like a chamois-then paused, till weeping relieved my soul— Katherine! Katherine! VI. I remained about a year at Paris in the house of my patron. Toulon had fallen, and the army of Italy had commenced operations by a successful movement on the Sardinian frontier. Profiting by the opportunity I possessed of studying the theory of the military art, I was rewarded with a commission in a regiment of the line--one of those destined for the invasion of the Milanese. I received, with alacrity, the order to proceed to Nice. I was shocked and disgusted by the dreary spectacle of civil broil, and I thirsted for distinction. The memory of wrong also rankled in my bosom, and in my dreams I planted the revolutionary banner on the battlements of St. Michael, and heard myself hailed in the halls of the insolent Austrian with the acclamations due to a hero. I joined my regiment; but a government weakened by vacillations in its form, and dissensions in the capital, permitted the army, with which my hopes were associated, to languish ill-appointed and inactive. Instead of running a career of glory, it was forced to contend with the most depressing privations. In my despondency, a long-delayed letter arrived from my father. Its contents were almost limited to the | the crazy supports of the antiquated bridge quivered earnest request, that I would immediately hasten like a harpstring. home. Its emphatic urgency, unaccompanied by explanation, assured me that all went not well. I would fain have obeyed the summons, but it was impracticable. The Directory, established in authority, ordered the army of Italy to the field. General Bonaparte, an officer in his twenty-sixth year, marshalled the way to the Alps. I resolved on a nocturnal attack, and was about to seek a passing interview with the dear domestic circle, when, looking towards the castle, I saw what stayed my step. A female ran wildly to the stream, pursued by some menials, in the rear of whom, on horseback, came the Count their master. The fugitive cleared the bridge just as her pursuers gained it. At that moment the centre of the infirm structure gave way to the torrent. Concealed among the trees, I perceived the female on bended knees, distractedly blessing God for her deliverance; and I knew that it was Katherine, my only-my beloved sister! I fired a shot at him who had been foremost in the Napoleon's campaigns in 1796 are familiar to all Europe. It was my fortune to be present in the most remarkable engagements, and to escape without a wound. When Wurmser, after repeated defeats, succeeded in recruiting his forces in the Tyrol, a strong body of our troops, headed by the Commander-in-chase-the infamous Ludolf-as he clambered up a chief, advanced against a division of 20,000 Austrians stationed at Roveredo. Our line of march lay through the district of my birth. A few hours before we were in motion I was summoned to the quarters of the General. It was the well-known characteristic of this extraordinary man scrupulously to ascertain the extent of his resources, even to the qualifications of an individual soldier. Aware of my knowledge of the country he was about to penetrate, he wished to make it subservient to his purpose. He questioned me as to the correctness of some local information, which I perceived had been derived from the documents of Philippon. Satisfied on these points, he sportively inquired, if I had any dislike to act as his herald to my old neighbours. I related my obligations to our German superior, and he promised me ample powers for discharging them in full. We were evidently unexpected. No artificial obstacle opposed our progress, and we proceeded with unexampled celerity. Our advanced posts were only separated from St. Michael by a few miles of broken ground, when I was despatched with a detachment to surprise it. The troops halted in a chestnut grove, about half a league from the mill, while I, grappling a fowling-piece, assuming a light hunting-cap, and covering my uniform with an ordinary cloak, went forth to reconnoitre the place, and to provide for the safety of my relatives. I skirted round the village and castle, which I found were occupied by a company of Hungarian infantry under Count Rainer. Not anticipating the irruption of an enemy into their secluded fastness, camp indulgences had relaxed order. My informer, a poor peasant, seemed afraid of confiding to a stranger his opinion of the Count and his followers. I asked concerning my family, but with the name of Reding he was unacquainted. It was the beginning of September. There had been a continuance of unusually sultry weather, and the melting of the mountain snows had swelled the stream at St. Michael to an impetuous torrent. Twilight was approaching when I reached a sheltered position on the bank opposite the castle. The waters dashed furiously against the base of the building, and remnant of the shattered bridge. He stood unhurt amidst the group that surveyed me, while I sheltered the dove of my boyhood in my bosom. In the confusion I exposed my uniform; the alarm was given, and every instant became precious. I supported Katherine until out of sight of the foe. "Fly!" I cried, “fly to our parents, dear sister! tell them I shall bring glad tidings in the morning!" I counselled in vain. The sense of injury had unsettled her mind-she hung helplessly upon meher lips moved, but I could distinguish nothing of what she spoke, save the repetition of the words, "Home! I have no home!"-Oh God! she was sadly altered! A bugle echoed among the cliffs. I bore her to a cavern, the discovery of my youth, and wrapt her in my cloak. Hurrying, by familiar paths, with a speed I had never before excrted, I rejoined my associates. VII. An intricate and circuitous track brought us at midnight to the isolated church of St. Michael, commanding the village and the narrow road to the castle. We crouched in the churchyard, until every sound ceased, and the lights that had blazed in different directions were no longer visible. Leaving part of my force to intercept the communication with the village, I led the remainder to a point of the fortress which I had scaled in my youthful rambles. The pacing of the sentinels, and the noisy vigils of the Count and his guests, were clearly audible as I descended the ivied wall. My party followed, one by one, and our success would have been signally complete, but for the accidental discharge of a musket. This was answered by a volley from the guard, the din of arms, and the hasty gathering of a tumultuous body of defenders. Ordering my men to keep close and follow me, we pressed forward to a private door that opened into the body of the pile. This barrier was quickly shattered by a shower of balls, and in a second the great hall resounded with the groans of the dying and the shouts of the triumphaut. In that arena of slaughter I was collected as I am now. Once had Rainer's bloated visage confronted me in the fray, but the baleful meteor vanished, and bootless to me was the issue of the conflict, until blade or bullet did its work on him and rable, to a world in which I was henceforth to have his subordinate. no portion. I left the hospital a phantom, and set forth on a The hall gave indications of a carousal. The red wine streaming from flagons overturned in the strug-pilgrimage, the performance of which was the only gle, mingled with the life-drops of the wassailers. Death derived a more appalling aspect from the relics of recent revelry. Some intoxicated wretches had been bayonetted with the goblets in their hands. One had fallen backwards on the hearth above the burning embers; he was mortally wounded, and the blood gushed freely in the flames. I stooped to raise him from his bed of torture. The streaks of gore did not disguise the lineaments of Ludolf. The reprobate had closed his reckoning with mortality. Victory was ours, but discipline was at an end; I could with difficulty muster sentinels for the night; the cellars were ransacked, and weariness and intemperance soon produced their effects. Sending confidential messengers to attend to my sister's safety, and convey intelligence to my father, I prepared to await the dawn of morning. Feverish from anxiety, I felt no inclination to grant my wearied limbs repose. My brain was racked with the thought of Katherine, and apprehension for my parents. I had seen enough to convince me that Rainer had done his worst.-What confederate demon had enabled him to escape me? I paced from post to post, execrating the sluggish march of time. Leaning over an eminence near the broken bridge, I listened to the turbulent music of the waters. A subterraneous opening cut in the rocky soil below communicated with the vaults of the castle. Hearing the echo of a foot-fall, I bent cautiously over the outlet. A lamp glimmered beneath. A muffled figure raised it aloft to guide its egress, then extinguished it hastily. The light fell on the face of the Count. it I grasped his cloak as he emerged, but, slipping from his shoulders, he retreated towards a shelving wood-walk on the margin of the stream. Had he gained it, the darkness must have saved him. Both my pistols missed fire. I outstripped in the race, and bore him back to the very edge of the ravine. He made a thrust at me with his sword. I neither paused for a trial of skill, nor attempted to ward off the weapon; the butt-end of a pistol found its way to his forehead; not a sound passed his lips; down he went -down-down-passively bounding over the jagged declivity, till a heavy plash told that he was whirling with the torrent. Vengeance was satisfied: 1 recoiled involuntarily from the scene of the encounter. Suddenly arose an explosion, as if a volcano had torn up the foundation of the castle: I was felled to the earth ere I could speculate upon the cause. VIII. My campaigns were over. Rainer had laid a train, and fired the powder magazine of his captured hold. The bravest of my men perished; and I, crushed beneath a fragment of the toppling towers, lived to curse the art that returned me, mutilated and mise business that remained to me in life. The tide of battle had ebbed from St. Michael, when I crawled up its steep-the church and castle were blackened ruins-the habitations of the villagers roofless and deserted-the mill a shapeless mass of timber and stones. Our orchard was unfolding the buds of spring-I fancied that the hoary apple-trees wore the aspect of friends-the voice of singing floated on my ear, as I neared the dwelling of my infancy, and the fountain of my heart re-opened. Close to the spot where our pretty porch once stood, a matron, in the garb of extreme penury, was bending over the trampled remains of a plot of flowers. Her features were only partially revealed, but the mountain melody she sang could not be mistaken-I fell at my mother's feet! Shading back the hair from! my scarred temples, she asked me if I had come from her children! Mercy was vouchsafed to her and to me. She soon slumbered with the clods of the valley. My father had died, ere my departure from France; and the i story of our injuries from the Austrian lightened the burden of remorse for the shedding of blood. I have discovered no trace of Katherine since I quitted ber at the cave. FOOTSTEPS OF OUR LORD AND HIS the spirit of inquiry is general. Thus, while mathe- Many books have been written descriptive of Pales- | sufficient to direct any really earnest traveller to the tine; some by travellers, some by mere scholars; some are of very ancient, others are of modern date. But there is ample room for more. However ably one set of writers may describe such a country, others, if endowed with the necessary intelligence, will bring to view traits of the natural landscape, or probabilities of history, unnoticed by their fellow-travellers. True it is, such minuteness of description may be as wearisome as useless, except in some few cases; but Palestine is one of the few, in which interests of the highest kind are served by exact and varied information. We should have a most excellent and conversable circle of friends, could we assemble around us the principal travellers and pilgrims in the Holy Land. Conspicuous among them would be the mother of Constantine, who would doubtless tell us many things that would silence a score of our later guides. And there would be the eloquent Gregory Thaumaturgus, and Cyril of Jerusalem, and the stern Hieronymus, men who knew every inch of ground in the most famous localities of the land. Two or three centuries later, and when the light of primitive Christianity was failing, another set of our supposed companions began their pilgrimage. They had neither the learning, nor, perhaps, the acuteness of their predecessors; but they were not so ignorant as modern presumption would represent. They did not walk quite in the dark, as some writers would make us believe; they could at any time have told their right hand from their left. A great, but common mistake, indeed, is committed in respect to the monkish travellers of the middle ages. If we had them to converse with, they could and would, we are persuaded, give us much valuable information. But in order to elicit intelligence from such men, we would not question them as sceptics but as believers; and though, in the latter capacity, we certainly should not credit all they told Es, we should learn what aspect Palestine bore in times of which we can really know nothing, if we despise our informants. But among the earliest guides to Palestine, we should find some, whose observations and acuteness would not be shamed by the best of modern wits. We question, indeed, whether any book has ever been written, considering, the advantages or disadvantages of the author's age, superior to the Guide Book of the fourth century, the "Itinéraire de Bordeaux à Jérusalem." This remarkable production describes, with great care, all the most important objects on the pilgrim's route through the fairest provinces of Europe and the East. The distances are measured by careful reference to official authorities. No available historical information is neglected; and there can be little doubt, that the pilgrim who made adequate use of the help thus afforded him, must have arrived in Jerusalem with a mind well exercised in the best science of a traveller. It is well worth notice, that the means of information which existed even in the dark ages, were quite main points of interest in his journey through the Holy Land. A careful comparison, a comparison which should have somewhat of a psychological character about it, of the records of early pilgrimages with those of later periods, would be valuable in many respects. Superstition would be made to indicate the depth at which truth lies beneath the surface; and it might be found, after all, that as the sands of the deserts have saved many a precious column or torso from destruction, so the old monkish traditions have preserved relics of true history. Worthless, indeed, as the sand are such traditions in themselves; but carefully examined, they might reward the search of the most sceptical inquirers. One passage in Mr. Bartlett's book is of especial interest as illustrative of the above remarks. "When we consider the amazing number of revolutions that have swept Jerusalem as with the besom of destruction, there needs no other evidence of the credulity or fraud which would seek to identify the houses of Lazarus and Dives, the place where the cock crew when Peter denied his Lord, and the many other spots where New Testament incidents are said to have occurred, even if the very monuments, by the modern style of their architecture, did not prove the absurdity of the tale. But, all allowance made for these changes, it is not altogether improbable, to say the least, that the streets may yet retain much of their original direction. In a city of such limited size as Jerusalem, and, moreover, so strongly marked as to site, nothing is more likely, as we see at the present day in oriental cities, than that the houses should be rebuilt very much upon the line which convenience or necessity originally dictated."-P. 170. It is in the spirit of these observations that Mr. Bartlett pursues his route from one station to another in Jerusalem, and throughout the Holy Land. Praise of no ordinary kind is due to him for the judgment which he has thus displayed. While, in common with the greater number of English travellers, he naturally scorus imposture in the garb of holiness, he has the patience to ask, after he has had his laugh, whether it may not be as well to consider, that the streets of Jerusalem "may yet retain much of their original direction." Undoubtedly they may, and most probably they do; and in this probability is involved a principle of vital interest to the cause of both historic and religious truth. Mr. Bartlett's narrative abounds in passages which, viewed in this light, give an unusual value to his work. But we should be very unfair both to the author and the public, if anything we said should lead to the idea that its principal merit is of a critical or controversial character. It is, on the contrary, just the book which we should read to one whom we wished to carry with us, on winter evenings, or summer afternoons, in an imaginary pilgrimage through the countries described. We have spoken only of the part which relates to Palestine; but a considerable portion of the work is occupied with an account of cities and provinces rendered famous as scenes of Apostolic labours. These are described with great vigour; and the anecdotes of personal adventure, the expression of feeling, always earnest and kindly, throw a pleasant pathos over the whole, and add, in no slight degree, to the charm of a very charming, as well as very useful book. cating ardour which made me willing to adopt the favourite device of America. The poacher, to whom I attempted to describe my feelings, declared that when out of the forest he was but half-alive. Being the son of a boisier at Camore, he had been born and bred in the forest. It was to him what the sea is to the sailor; he loved its sounds and its shades, and was acquainted with all its secrets. After following the foot-path for a few minutes, he passed through several openings, where the broken branches testified that the wild boars had already taken the same track. In the midst of the numberless thickets which intersperse the forest, and from whose inextricable labyrinths it seems utterly impossible to It would not be difficult for any one, however slightly instructed, to find reasons for questioning this or that passage, in a narrative which embraces so large and so sacred a field. But though it has been our lot to examine many works on the scenes here described, we have no hesitation in saying, that we should be very dissatisfied, indeed, were we set upon the task of finding a book of the kind contain-make an escape, he walked stright forward without ing more information, generally useful, or written in a more agreeable and attractive style. We abhor the title by which it is advertised: Mr. Bartlett's Gift Book." A gift-horse, which the author of the advertisement must have had in his mind, is certainly nothing like this beautiful volume; but much as we spurn the name, we think that the book itself would probably be as acceptable a gift as any which friends could bestow on friends at this season of the year. THE POACHER.1 CHAPTER II. A NIGHT IN THE FOREST. AFTER having with some little difficulty passed the borders of the wood, which were lined with brambles and other small bushes, we arrived at the old forest. I was involuntarily struck with the grandeur of those noble trees, whose thousand arches of foliage were intermingled like the roof of a Moorish palace, and whose mossy trunks formed verdant colonnades. Here solitude did not appear to court the poetic muse, as it had done in the wood I traversed with Marcella in the morning, but invited rather to a hazardous and manly life. Aminated by the fresh air, attracted and interested by the ever-varying and numberless prospects which opened on all sides, enjoying the pleasure of walking on a thick carpet of leaves, it was no difficult matter to understand the mania which about the twelfth century took possession of the whole of the nobility, and led them to the forest in the midst of horses, hounds, and the shouts of the huntsmen. At that time the woods, like a rising tide, invaded fields and villages. In Normandy, a single gentleman removed thirty-two parishes to make a chase; at Gavre the flood of verdure had, in like manner, banished man, and laws were necessary to preserve the nobles from the seductions of hunting. I, in my turn, experienced the irresistible attraction of the forest. The further I penetrated, the more pleasure I felt, and the more was I induced to proceed. I experienced an intoxi (1) Concluded from p. 368. looking on either side, as though led by some invisible guide. In proportion as we advanced the prospect became more and more wild. At length all trace of man's handiwork disappeared. We were row in the midst of a chaos of trees of every size, a phalanx of vegetation in which the weaker clung to the stronger, which sheltered and nourished it. Here and there huge oaks destroyed by time supported their crumbling skeletons against the robust trunks of their successors; the creepers, in search of the sun, had twined themselves round the noble trees until they reached the summit, when casting themselves from branch to branch they formed innumerable suspension bridges, much frequented by the squirrels. The soil itself, formerly disturbed by some terrible convulsion, was separated by ravines, from whose sides projected rocks thick set with briars and small bushes. Oc casionally there was an opening in this medley of stones, rocks and verdure, through which appeared ponds embroidered with water-lilies. Above were seen large flights of wood-pigeons, whilst the halcyon passed rapidly close above the osier plots, and the heron, perched on the dried branches of the willow, inclined its head to the tranquil waters like the patient fisherman. We were following the banks of one of these solitary lakes, when suddenly a general movement was made around us. The frogs which had been croaking on the edge, precipitated themselves to the bottom of the waters, the music of the foliage was hushed, and the birds descended hastily to the foot of the trees. At the same moment the silvery surface of the pond was darkened by two large wings, and I perceived a seaeagle apparently floating in the azure of the sky. After hovering in the air for some minutes, the eagle descended like a dart into the thicket, whence he soon returned, holding his prey in his beak. I then saw him fly towards a large oak, at the top of which BonAffût showed me his nest. The sea-bird was as large as a shepherd's hut, and seemed too great a burden for the tree he had selected, which appeared to tremble under his weight. My guide informed me that the eagles were very numerous in the forest, and that they even extended their ravages to the poultry-yards of the neighbouring villages. It seemed, indeed, that by their audacity they encouraged the less powerful, |