"You must fight," said the Baron Bluffenburg. "Your honour demands it." "I won't fight," said the count desperately. "You shall fight," said the baron, resolutely. So the baron took him by the arm and led him towards the gates, and when he resisted the master-at-arms took his other arm, and the seneschal and the warder pushed behind; and so they dragged and pushed him out at the gateway, and across the drawbridge, until he stood face to face with the valiant Baron Breckisnech, who advanced, sword in hand, to the encounter. The next moment Peter Bloch felt a sharp burning pain in his breast as the baron's blade went through him. He grew blind and dizzy, zrasped wildly at his own sword, and fell. Consciousness returned slowly to Peter Bloch. He looked around and saw, to his great surprise and joy, that he was in his own little cottage in the forest. He smelled the fresh resinous odour of the fir-trees, he heard the grunting of the pigs in the sty, and he saw from the open window the charcoal-kilns and the cabbage-garden; and sweeter than these to his delighted eyes was the plump, rosy face of Katrina, who, close beside him, was making a goat's milk posset, into which her tears slowly fell. Ach, himmel!" said Katrina, kissing him tenderly on either cheek; "but he knows me now: he is well!" "How was it?" asked Peter, heartily returning the salute and staring around. “We found you lying senseless under the fir-tree, where I left you sitting when you refused your dinner," answered Katrina, soberly. "Like the fool I was," muttered Peter. "And you have been so strange ever since, mein Peter; asking for a little wine, and inquiring about the Lady Hildegarde."" "Ah!" muttered Peter Bloch to himself, "that was the Count von Schwaltzschoffensburgh. He was here in my body whilst I occupied his, or-or have I been dreaming, I wonder?" "How did it happen?" inquired Katrina, in her turn. "There was an awful smell of brimstone about the fir-tree, so old Gottlieb just now thought it best to brand the mark of the cross upon your breast, to preserve you from the power of the Evil One. Here is the mark, you see. Did you feel the burn? It was that which aroused you." "And it was that which also saved me," aid Peter. "That Baron Breckisnech, in his Llack armour, was the very man I saw beneath the fir-tree this morning. I knew him before he let down his visor and rushed upon me. He thought to have me, did he, body and soul? But the cross saved me; ach, Gott! the cross saved me." Katrina thought him dreaming still. And whether or not it was a dream, Peter Bloch was never, to his dying day, able to decide. Of one thing only was he positively sure-and that was that he was much happier as Peter Bloch, the charcoal-burner, with his wife Katrina, than he could ever have been as the Count von Schwaltzschoffensburgh and the husband of the Lady Hildegarde. Probably Nature, of whom he had complained, knew this when she chose for his soul a corresponding body and station in life. is best for us after all. She knows what SUSAN ARCHER WEISS. THROUGH THE WOOD. Through the wood, through the wood, Yet he heeds not its song As it sinks on his ear, For he lists to a voice Than its music more dear. Through the wood, through the wood, Once and away, The castle is gain'd, And the lady is gay: When her smile becomes saci, Her bosom is glad, When she gazes on him! Through the wood, through the wood, Over the wold, Rides onward a band Of true warriors bold; They stop not for forest, They halt not for water; Their chieftain in sorrow Is seeking his daughter. Through the wood, through the wood, Warbles the merle; Through the wood, through the wood, Prances the earl; And on a gray palfrey Comes pacing his bride; While an old man sits smiling, In joy, by her side. WILLIAM ANDERSON. 1 1 Poetical Aspirations. By William Anderson, Esq. Edinburgh. THOUGHTS ON VARIOUS TOPICS. BY THOMAS FULLER. OF JESTING. Harmless mirth is the best cordial against, the consumption of the spirits: wherefore jest ing is not unlawful, if it trespasseth not in quantity, quality, or season. It is good to make a jest, but not to make a trade of jesting. The Earl of Leicester, knowing that Queen Elizabeth was much delighted to see a gentleman dance well, brought the master of a dancing-school to dance before her. "Pish!" said the queen, "it is his profession; I will not see him." She liked it not where it was a master-quality, but where it attended on other perfections. The same may we say of jesting. Jest not with the two-edged sword of God's Word. Will nothing please thee to wash thy hands in but the font? or to drink healths in but the church-chalice? And know the whole art is learned at the first admissions, and profane jests will come without calling. If, in the troublesome days of King Edward IV., a citizen in Cheapside was executed as a traitor for saying he would make his son heir to the crown, though he only meant his own house, having a crown for the sign, more dangerous it is to wit-wanton it with the majesty of God. Wherefore, if, without thine intention, and against thy will, by chance-medley thou hittest Scripture in ordinary discourse, yet fly to the city of refuge, and pray to God to forgive thee. Let not thy jests, like mummy, be made of dead men's flesh. Abuse not any that are departed, for to wrong their memories is to rob their ghosts of their winding-sheets. Scoff not at the natural defects of any which are not in their power to amend. Oh! it is cruelty to beat a cripple with his own crutches. Neither flout any for his profession, if honest, though poor and painful. Mock not a cobbler for his black thumbs. He that relates another man's wicked jest with delight, adopts it to be his own. Purge them, therefore, from their poison. If the profaneness may be severed from the wit, it is like a lamprey; take out the sting in the back, it may make good meat. But if the staple conceit consists in profaneness, then it is a viper, all poison, and meddle not with it. He that will lose his friend for a jest, deserves to die a beggar by the bargain. Yet some think their conceits, like mustard, not good except they bite. We read that all those who were born in England the year after the beginning of the great mortality, 1349, wanted their four check-teeth. Such let thy jests be, that they may not grind the credit of thy friend; and make not jests so long as till thou becomest one. No time to break jests when the heartstrings are about to be broken. No more showing of wit when the head is to be cut off; like that dying man, who, when the priest, coming to him to give him extreme unction, asked of him where his feet were, answered, At the end of my legs." But at such a time jests are an unmannerly crepitus ingenii; and let those take heed who end here with Democritus, that they begin not with Heraclitus hereafter. OF SELF-PRAISING. He whose own worth doth speak, need not speak his own worth. Such boasting sounds proceed from emptiness of desert; whereas the conquerors in the Olympian games did not put on the laurels on their own heads, but waited till some other did it. Only anchorites, that want company, may crown themselves with their own commendations. It showeth more wit, but no less vanity, to commend one's self, not in a straight line, but by reflection. Some sail to the port of their own praise by a side-wind; as when they dispraise themselves, stripping themselves naked of what is their due, that the modesty of the beholders may clothe them with it again; or when they flatter another to his face, tossing the ball to him that he may throw it back again to them; or when they commend that quality, wherein themselves excel, in another man (though absent), whom all know far their inferior in that faculty; or, lastly (to omit other ambushes men set to surprise praise), when they send the children of their own brain to be nursed by another man, and commend their own works in a third person, but, if challenged by the company that they were authors of them themselves, with their tongues they faintly deny it, and with their faces strongly affirm it. Self-praising comes most naturally from a man when it comes most violently from him in his own defence; for, though modesty binds a man's tongue to the peace in this point, yet, being assaulted in his credit, he may stand upon his guard, and then he doth not so much praise as purge himself. One braved a gentleman to his face, that, in skill and valour, he came far behind him. "It is true," said the other; "for, when I fought with you, you ran away before me." In such a case it was well returned, and without any just aspersion of pride. He that falls into sin is a man, that grieves at it is a saint, that boasteth of it is a devil; yet some glory in their shame, counting the stains of sin the best complexion for their souls. These men make me believe it may be true what Mandevil writes of the isle of Somabarre, in the East Indies, that all the nobility thereof brand their faces with a hot iron in token of honour. He that boasts of sin never committed is a double devil. Let them be well whipped for their lying, and, as they like that, let them come afterwards, and entitle themselves to the gallows. OF TRAVELLING. It is a good accomplishment to a man if first the stock be well grown whereon travel is graffed, and these rules observed before, in, and after his going abroad:— Travel not early before thy judgment be risen, lest thou observest rather shows than substance, marking alone pageants, pictures, beautiful buildings, &c. Get the language (in part), without which key thou shalt unlock little of moment. It is a great advantage to be one's own interpreter. Object not that the French tongue learned in England must be unlearned again in France; for it is easier to add than begin, and to pronounce than to speak. Be well settled in thine own religion, lest, travelling out of England into Spain, thou goest out of God's blessing into the warm sun. Know most of the rooms of thy native country before thou goest over the threshold thereof, especially seeing England presents thee with so many observables. But late writers lack nothing but age, and home-wonders but distance, to make them admired. It is a tale what Josephus writes of the two pillars set up by the sons of Seth in Syria, the one of brick, fire-proof, the other of stone, water-free, thereon engraving many heavenly matters to perpetuate learning in defiance of time. But it is truly moralized in our universities, Cambridge (of brick), and Oxford (of stone), wherein learning and religion are preserved, and where the worst college is more sight-worthy than the best Dutch gymnasium. First view these and the rest home rarities; not like those English that can give a better account of Fontaine bleau than Hampton Court, of the Spa than Bath, of Annas in Spain than Mole in Surrey. Travel not beyond the Alps. Mr. Ascham did thank God that he was but nine days in Italy, wherein he saw in one city (Venice) more liberty to sin than in London he ever heard of in nine years. That some of our gentry have gone thither and returned thence without infection, I more praise God's providence than their adventure. To travel from the sun is uncomfortable; yet the northern parts with much ice have some crystal, and want not their remarkables. If thou wilt see much in a little, travel the Low Countries. Holland is all Europe in an Amsterdam print; for Minerva, Mars, and Mercury-learning, war, and traffic. Be wise in choosing objects, diligent in marking, careful in remembering of them. Yet herein men much follow their own humours. One asked a barber, who never before had been at the court, what he saw there? "Oh," said he, "the king was excellently well trimmed.' Thus merchants most mark foreign havens, exchanges, and marts; soldiers note forts, armouries, and magazines; scholars listen after libraries, disputations, and professors; statesmen observe courts of justice, councils, &c. Every one is partial in his own profession. But Labour to distil and unite into thyself the scattered perfections of several nations. (as it was said of one who, with more industry than judgment, frequented a college library, and commonly made use of the worst notes he met with in any authors, that he weeded the library) many weed foreign countries, bringing home Dutch drunkenness, Spanish pride, French wantonness, and Italian atheism. As for the good herbs, Dutch industry, Spanish loyalty, French courtesy, and Italian frugality, these they leave behind them. Others bring home just nothing; and, because they singled not themselves from their countrymen, though some years beyond the sca, were never out of England. Continue correspondence with some choice foreign friend after thy return, as some professor or secretary, who virtually is the whole university or state. It is but a dull Dutch fashion, their Albus Amicorum, to make a dictionary of their friends' names: but a selected familiar in every country is useful: betwixt you there may be a letter of exchange. But be sure to return as good wares as thou receivest, and acquaint him with the remarkables of thy own country, and he will willingly continue the trade, finding it equally gainful. Let discourse rather be easily drawn than willingly flow from thee, that thou mayest not seem weak to hold, or desirous to vent news, but content to gratify thy friends. Be sparing in reporting improbable truths, especially to the vulgar, who, instead of informing their judgments, will suspect thy credit. Disdain their peevish pride who rail on their native land (whose worst fault is that it bred such ungrateful fools), and in all their discourses prefer foreign countries, herein showing themselves of kin to the wild Irish, in loving their nurses better than their mothers. THE DAMSEL OF PERU. Where olive leaves were twinkling in every wind that blew For she has bound the sword to a youthful lover's side, And sent him to the war, the day she should have been his bride, A white hand parts the branches, a lovely face looks forth, For the noon is coming on, and the sunbeams fiercely beat, That white hand is withdrawn, that fair sad face is gone; Of him who died in battle, the youthful and the brave, But see, along that rugged path, a fiery horseman ride; See the torn plume, the tarnished belt, the sabre at his side; And suddenly the song has ceased, and suddenly I hear The overflow of gladness when words are all too weak: THE BATTLE OF GARSCUBE.1 [John Strang, LL.D., born in Glasgow, 1795, died there 8th December, 1863. As a local historian he earned considerable reputation; and his Glasgow and its Clabs, full of amusing anecdotes, gossip, and sketches of men and places, has obtained much more than local popularity. Having inherited a moderate competence, he devoted much time to continental travel and to the study of continental literature and art. As the results of this study, he published the Life of Theodore Karl Körar, with translated specimens of his poetry: Tales of Hamour and Romance, from the German of Hoffman and others; Germany in 1831; and Travelling Notes of an Invalid in Search of Health. He also was the first to venture upon the issue of a daily paper in Glasgow, and the Dry was continued for six months under his direction (1832). In 1834 he was appointed City Chamberlain, and in this office onerously performed one of the those of Macassar, and ingratiated himself more by the raciness of his conversation than by the starch of his cravat or the sabre-cut of his whiskers. Besides all this, everything that was transacted in the city was as well known to him as it was to the prying and hawk-eyed editors-alas! now defunct-of the Journal and Mercury. He knew the peculiarities of every establishment, from the blue-andwhite-check CORK (anglice small manufacturer) to the tobacco aristocrat, and was as intimately acquainted with the past removes at a bailie's dinner, as the projected changes at the city council-board. In short, he was little less entertaining than the Spanish Asmodeus, and not less anxiously was he looked for by his morning customers in Glasgow, than was the little tell-tale devil by Don Cleophas Perez greatest services to his native city, by collecting and Zambullo, in Madrid. But tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis. The use of the barber's basin seems almost a fiction. The perambulatory race of Plaris est ocnlatus testis unus quam auriti decem. Straps are extinct-the morning tale of the PLAUTUS The sun had not long poured down its enlivening beams upon the spires and streets of Glasgow, when the loud knock of Ritchie Falconer, the barber, made me start from the blankets, and throw myself into my calico dressing-gown. In these halcyon days every nose in the western metropolis of Scotland, from the lord-provost to Bell Geordie, was daily or hebdomadally in the hands of the barber.-Silver-tempered razors, almond shaving-soap, and patent strops were in the womb of futurity; and however urgent the necessity might be of then ridding one's self of what has since become so fashionable, a man would as soon have tried to amputate his own limb as have attempted to draw a razor athwart his own face. The friseurs of that period, although they could not boast of the elegant scratch-wigs which cover the phrenological developments of our modern perruquiers, had bumps upon their frontal sinuses which indicated something more than a mere acquaintanceship with bear's-grease and honey-water. They were generally fellows of wit and observation, had got what was called a grammar-school education, and mindful of their former corporation connection with the men of the scalpel and lancet, conceived it becoming to sport as much of the Latin which Rector Barr had whipped into them as could easily be squeezed into their morning colloquies. The fact is, a Glasgow Strap of last century prated more of the virtues of Miltiades than 1 From The Englishman's Magazine. suds is no more. "Good morning, sir," said Ritchie, with a smiling countenance, as he opened my chamberdoor; "had a good night's rest, I hope?" "Pretty well," said I, throwing myself into my shaving chair. "Gaudeo te valere," added the barber, "as I always say to Professor Nwhen I'm gaun to curl his caput. But, alas! there's naething steerin' in the college at the present timethey're a' awa, frae the weest to the biggest, takin their otium cum dignitate; even John M'Lachlan bidellus, honest man, is awa to Gourock. He gaed aff yesterday in the flyboat,2 and his wife, on account o' the high wind, is between the de'il and the deep sea o' anxiety to hear o' his arrival." "You must have then quite a sinecure, Falconer," muttered I, through the thick lather that encompassed my mouth. "Sinecure," exclaimed Dick, "and the deacons'-chusing sae sune? I hae just been up wi' Deacon Lawbroad, the tailor, wha threeps he maun be shaved sax times a week at this time, instead o' twice, and my certie it is nae sinecure to raze him. Od, his face taks mair time to clear than half a dozen-but nae won'er, suner or later the corporation galravages tell on a man's chin and mak it tender." "But I thought the deacon had turned over 2 Before the invention of steam-boats, this was the only conveyance by water to the villages on the Frith of Clyde. The voyage to Gourock, which in those times frequently extended to two days, is now performed regularly in about two hours |