token of refusal. With better intention than judgment the friends, who considered this an act of duty on the part of the living, and of decency toward the deceased, would have proceeded to enforce their request, had not Oldbuck interfered between the distressed father and his well-meaning tormentors, and informed them that he himself, landlord and master to the deceased, would “carry his head to the grave." .

The sad procession now moved slowly forward, preceded by beadles or saulies, with their batons, miserablelooking old men, tottering as if on the edge of the grave to which they were marshalling another, and clad, according to Scottish guise, with threadbare black coats and hunting-caps decorated with rusty crape. The procession to the church-yard, at about half a mile distance, was made with the mournful solemnity usual on these occasions. The body was consigned to its parent earth; and when the labor of the grave-diggers had filled up the trench, and covered it with fresh sod, Mr. Oldbuck, taking his hat off, saluted the assistants, who had stood by in mournful silence, and with that adieu dispersed the mourners.-The Antiquary.

THE STORMING OF FRONT-DE-BŒUF'S CASTLE.

"And I must lie here like a bed-ridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hand of others! Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that you are not marked by the archers beneath. Look out once more, and tell me if they yet advance to the storm."

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath.

"What dost thou see, Rebecca?" again demanded the wounded knight.

"Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them."

"That cannot endure," said Ivanhoe; "if they press

not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is so will the followers be."

"I see him not," said Rebecca.

"Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when the wind blows highest?"

"He blenches not! he blenches not!" said Rebecca ; "I see him now; he leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. They pull down the piles and palisades, they hew down the barriers with axes. His high black plume floats abroad over the throng like a raven over the field of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers-they rush onthey are thrust back! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand and man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meeting of two fierce tides-the conflict of two oceans moved by adverse winds!"

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a sight so terrible.

"Look forth again, Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand. Look again; there is now less danger."

Rebecca again looked forth and almost immediately exclaimed "Holy Prophets of the Law! Front-deBoeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand in the breach amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife. Heaven strike with those who strike for the cause of the oppressed and the captive!" She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed—“ He is down! he is down!"

"Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "for our dear Lady's sake, tell me which has fallen ?"

"The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again shouted, with joyful eagerness"But no-but no! the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed! he is on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his single arm. His sword is

broken-he snatches an axe from a yeoman-he presses Front-de-Bœuf with blow on blow. The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the woodman -he falls-he falls!"

"Front-de-Boeuf ?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.

"Front-de-Bœuf !" answered the Jewess. "His men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar; their united force compels the champion to pause. They drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls."

"The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?" said Ivanhoe.

"They have-they have!" exclaimed Rebecca; "and they press the besieged hard upon the outer wall. Some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and endeavor to ascend upon the shoulder of each other. Down

stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads; and as fast as they bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the assault. Great God! hast thou given men thine own image that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren!"

"Think not of that," said Ivanhoe; "this is no time for such thoughts. Who yield? Who push them away?" "The ladders are thrown down," replied Rebecca, shuddering; "the soldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed reptiles. The besieged have the bet

ter."

"Saint George strike for us!" exclaimed the knight. "Do the false yeomen give way?"

"No!" exclaimed Rebecca; "they bear themselves right yeomanly. The Black Knight approaches the postern with his huge axe-the thundering blows which he deals you may hear above all the din and shouts of the battle. Stones and beams are hailed down upon the bold champion-he regards them no more than if they were thistledown or feathers."

"By Saint John of Acre," said Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his couch, "methought there was but one man in England that might do such a deed!"

"The postern-gate shakes," continued Rebecca; "it crashes it is splintered by his blows; they rush inthe out-work is won. O God! they hurl the defenders from the battlements-they throw them into the moat!

O men-if indeed ye be men-spare them that can resist no longer!"

"The bridge-the bridge which communicates with the castle-have they won that pass?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.

"No," replied Rebecca, "the Templar has destroyed the plank on which they crossed. Few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle; the shrieks and the cries which you hear tell the fate of the others. Alas! I see it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle."-Ivanhoe.

SCRIBE, AUgustin EugènE, a French dramatist, born in Paris, December 24, 1791; died there, February 20, 1861. After studying law, which he abandoned, he devoted himself to literature. His early plays were unsuccessful, but in collaboration with Delestre Poirson he wrote Une Nuit de la Garde Nationale, which succeeded. In 1816 he brought out Le Nouveau Pourceaugnac and Le Solliciteur, which brought him fame; and in 1820 he was engaged by Poirson to write exclusively for his theatre. Here Scribe's masterpieces were produced, including Le Mariage Enfantin, La Loge du Portier, La Reine de Seize Ans, La Marraine, Le Mariage de Raison, etc. In 1822 he brought out the drama of Valérie, in which Mlle. Mars appeared. Scribe wrote many plays with Legouvé, including Adrienne Lecouvreur (1849); La Battaille de Dames (1851); Mon Étoile (1853), and Les Doigts de Fee (1858). He wrote in collaboration with several other authors, composed the libretti of a great number of operas, among which were Les Vepres Siciliennes for Verdi; Les Huguenots, Le Prophéte, L'Étoile du Nord, and L'Africaine for Meyerbeer; wrote several novels, including Carlo Broschi, Une Maitresse Anonyme, and Piquillo Alliaga. He was elected to the Académie Française in 1836. The whole number of his plays is estimated at four hundred.