hard beset.'-'Then,' replied the royal father, 'return to those who sent you, and tell them he shall have no help from me. Let the boy win his spurs; for, please God, he and they that are with him shall earn the honour of this day.' This heroic answer inspired the prince and his attendants with new courage; the French cavalry were repulsed at all points, with the loss of their brave leader; nor could all the efforts of Philip, who made several brilliant charges, turn back the tide of battle. The shades of evening closed over a baffled and broken host, and enabled their sovereign to seek safety in flight; next day the slaughter continued, the crowded and bewildered French falling like sheep in the shambles; and on the third it was ascertained that the killed comprised eleven princes, eighty bannerets, twelve hundred knights, and above thirty thousand common men.

Such was the extraordinary victory of Cressy: a victory achieved almost without loss to the English, and one of the most striking examples of that success which has ever attended the deliberate and unflinching valour of the nation, when led on by competent commanders. One of its immediate results was the withdrawal of the Duke of Normandy from Guienne, where the Earl of Derby, notwithstanding considerable success at the outset, had been hard pressed by superior numbers. Edward himself, with that prudence which was habitual to him, resolved to employ his victory towards securing an easy entrance into France for the future; and he accordingly sat down before Calais, and began his memorable siege of that strong and important place.

Here, for the present, we must bring our narrative to a close, reserving for our next number the sequel of those events which have given such lasting celebrity to this period of history.

FRIENDSHIP.

into uneasiness, when there is none with whom we can share it; nor would the most passionate admirer of eloquence or poetry consent to witness their most stupendous exertions, upon the simple condition of not being permitted to reveal his emotions. So essential an ingredient in felicity is friendship, apart from the more solid and permanent advantages it procures, and when viewed in no other light than as the organ of communication, the channel of feeling and of thought. But if joy itself is a burden which the heart can ill sustain, without inviting others to partake of it, how much more the corrosions of anxiety, the perturbations of fear, and the dejection arising from sudden and overwhelming calamity! But it is not merely as a source of pleasure, or as a relief from pain, that virtuous friendship is to be coveted; it is at least as much recommended by its utility. He who has made the acquisition of a judicious and sympathizing friend, may be said to have doubled his mental resources: by associating an equal, perhaps a superior mind, with his own, he has provided the means of strengthening his reason, of perfecting his counsels, of discerning and correcting his errors. He can have recourse at all times to the judgment and assistance of one, who with the same power of discernment with himself, comes to the decision of a question with a mind neither harassed with the perplexities, nor heated with the passions, which so frequently obscure the perception of our true interests. Next to the immediate guidance of God by his Spirit, the counsel and encouragement of virtuous and enlightened friends afford the most powerful aid, in the encounter of temptation and in the career of duty.

Wisdom, indeed, is not confined to any limited circle, much less to the very narrow one of private friendship, and sound advice may often be procured from those with whom we have contracted no ties of intimacy. But the patient attention required to comprehend and encounter all the peculiarities of the case; the persevering ardour, the persuasive sympathy, necessary to invest it with authority and to render it effectual, will be wanting; in the absence of which, the wisest counsel is a wintry and sickly beam, which plays on the surface only: it may enlighten, but will seldom penetrate or melt. The consciousness, too, of possessing a share in the esteem and

The sympathies even of virtuous minds, when not warmed by the breath of friendship, are too faint and cold to satisfy the social cravings of our nature; their compassion is too much dissipated by the multiplicity of its objects, and the varieties of distress, to suffer it to flow long in one channel; while the sentiments of congratulation are still more slight and superficial. A transient tear of pity, or a smile of complacency equally transient, is all we can usually bestow on the scenes of happiness or of misery which we meet with in the paths of life. But man naturally seeks for a closer union, a more permanent conjunction of interests, a more intense reciprocation of feeling; he finds the want of one or more with whom he can trust the secrets of his heart, and relieve himself by imparting the interior joys and sorrows with which every human breast is fraught. He seeks, in short, another self, a kindred spirit, whose interest in his welfare bears some proportion to his own, with whom he may lessen his cares by sympathy, and multiply his pleasures by participation. The satisfaction derived from surveying the most beautiful scenes of nature, or the most exquisite productions of art, is so far from being complete, that it almost turns

The most remarkable victim was John de Luxembourg, King of Bohemia. He was old and blind; but on hearing that his son was dangerously wounded and compelled to quit the field, and that the Black Prince was carrying all before him, he resolved to charge himself; and placing himself between two knights whose bridles were interlaced with his, he charged and fell. His crest, three ostrich feathers, with the motto Ich dien' (I serve), was adopted by Prince Edward, and has ever since been borne by the Princes of Wales.

support to every virtuous resolution; it sheds a warm and cheerful light over the paths of life; fortifies the breast against unmanly dejection and pusillanimous fears; while the apprehension of forfeiting these advantages, presents a strong resistance to the encroachments of temptation. There are higher considerations, it is true, which ought invariably to produce the same effect; but we have no such superfluity of strength as should induce us to decline the aid of inferior motives, when all are but barely adequate to the exigencies of our state. The recollection that we are acting under the eye of Omniscience will lose nothing of its force by being joined to the remembrance that our conduct is subject to the scrutiny of friends, whose sentiments are in unison, whose influence coincides with the voice of conscience and of God. And surely it must be no contemptible aid in the discharge of his duties, which he derives who has invited the benevolent inspection of his actions, the honest reprehensions of his errors, and the warm encouragement of his virtues; who, accustomed to lay open the interior of his character, and the most retired secrets of his heart, finds, in the approbation of his friend, the suffrage of his conscience reflected and confirmed; who, delighted but not elated by the esteem he has secured and the confidence he has won, advances with renovated vigour in the paths that lead to glory, honour, and immortality. The pleasures resulting from the mutual attachment of kindred spirits are by no means confined to the moments of personal intercourse; they diffuse their odours, though more faintly, through the seasons of absence; refreshing and exhilarating the mind by the remembrance of the past, and the anticipation of the future. It is a treasure possessed, when it is not employed; a reserve of strength, ready to be called

into action when most needed; a fountain of sweets, to which we may continually repair, whose waters are inexhaustible.

Friendship, founded on the principles of worldly morality, recognised by virtuous heathens, such as that which subsisted between Atticus and Cicero, which the last of these illustrious men has rendered immortal, is fitted to survive through all the vicissitudes of life; but it belongs only to a union founded on religion to continue through an endless duration. The former of these stood the shock of conflicting opinions, and of a revolution that shook the world; the latter is destined to survive when the heavens are no more, and to spring fresh from the ashes of the universe. The former possessed all the stability which is possible to sublunary things; the latter partakes of the eternity of God. Friendship founded on worldly principles is natural, and, though composed of the best elements of nature, is not exempt from its mutability and frailty; the latter is spiritual, and therefore unchanging and imperishable. The friendship which is founded on kindred tastes and congenial habits, apart from piety, is permitted by the benignity of Providence to embellish a world, which, with all its magnificence and beauty, will shortly pass away; that which has religion for its basis, will erelong be transplanted, in order to adorn the paradise of God.-Rev. R. Hall.

THE MELROSES.

SOME seven or eight years since, there stood a farmhouse in a pastoral district, in one of the midland counties of Scotland. It was situated half way up a hill, which stretched away to a distance behind it, its heathery summits sinking and swelling till they formed a range, which, joining with others, seemed (as if conscious that union is strength) to be standing hand in hand, except where the rippling burn severed them, in its course to join the river in the valley. No trees were to be seen; and here the lonely house stood, amid what, on a summer's day, might be called wild beauty, by any one whose partialities bound him to the spot, though it would doubtless have seemed dreary to those who prefer life as it is seen in the dusty streets of the metropolis.

And now we will enter, but tread softly, and with reverence, for a guest is there that stills the merriest bosom and clouds the clearest brow. Death, mysterious death, is there-a soul has left its tenement of clay, and exchanged time for eternity; a wife is there, who is unconscious of every thing but the calamity which has overtaken her; children are there, who listen in vain for a father's voice; and as they realize their situation, they feel as if life itself were not worth the preserving. But hour follows hour, arrangements have to be made connected with the recent event; the mourning garb is assumed. Dust is committed to dust. How sad the party assembled in the little parlour on the evening of that day! But that evening passed away, and night after night of a long winter; and time laid his hand upon their cheeks, and gently wiped their tears. It was a household in which love formed the bond of union, and the removal of one member only drew the rest more closely to each other. On the winding up of her late husband's affairs, Mrs Melrose found that a very bare competency was all that remained for herself and children; so she immediately determined on removing to a town, where the education of her family might be completed under her own roof. It was decided that their removal should take place in the beginning of summer.

The delightful season of spring came and passed in more than its ordinary beauty, and the time drew on when they were to leave the place which, ever since their birth, had been their home, in the fullest, and happiest, and purest sense of that full, and happy, and pure word. The youngest of Mrs Melrose's children was ten years old; so that they had all reached an age to feel and regret parting with the old farmhouse. To Mrs Melrose herself

the change was mournful enough. She was quite aware of the difficulties they would have to encounter; from her experience of the world she knew that she never could be so happy as she had been. But to her children the future appeared to be a species of fairyland, where all their gilded dreams were to be realized.

Their new house was situated in the suburbs of a town some twenty miles distant from their recent habitation. It was a pleasant enough dwelling, with a delightful view from the upper windows, and a garden in front; and although they often looked back to the undisturbed quiet they had enjoyed so much in the country-to the serene moonlight nights when they delighted to wander by the river side, where not a sound was to be heard but its own murmuring, and the bleating of the flocks reverberating among the hills-still they were conscious of many advantages which they had never enjoyed before; and in a short time they became accustomed to the new scene, and were contented with such things as they had.

They were now all comfortably settled. The same furniture, arranged in the same way, made things seem less strange. Mrs Melrose felt quite cheerful in the consciousness that she had all her children around her; the children were happy in the happiness of each other. It was a beautiful evening in June when we visited them; they were all in the parlour up stairs at tea, the table drawn in to the double window, which commanded a very fine view of the Pentland range of hills, with the county of Mid-Lothian stretched at their feet like a richly variegated carpet. But we will take the opportunity to introduce each in order as we found them seated at the teatable. There was Agnes, the eldest, doing the honours of the table, whom some people reckoned pretty, and some plain, but who was really neither the one nor the other, but simply pleasing, very pleasing; her face ex- | pressive, being the index of her mind, which had been cast in no vulgar mould. Then there were the twins, Marion and Ellen; Marion had a good deal of wisdom, Ellen a good deal of wit, and both no small share of self-will. Then there was Charles, the only son, and the hope of ¦ the family; and Alice, the youngest, and the beauty. There was also, leaning over Ellen's chair, one who used to be a frequent visiter at Hollyhurst; and it was an on dit among the gossips in that quarter that Agnes was the attraction that drew the Rev. Mr Ballantyne thither.

'Well, Ellen,' said Mr Ballantyne, have you made any acquaintances yet ?'

Oh by the dozen,' exclaimed Ellen; there is a family on each side of us, and both have such fine children! They paid us a visit the first day we came here; and then we had their respective mammas, to apologize for the intrusion; then followed Mrs and Miss Gorman, overflowing with the milk of human kindness; and the Misses Mumper, who look as if Jupiter had been making a thunderbolt, and suddenly changed his mind and made it into these ladies; and then we had Dr Morruat, and Mrs Birrel, the gossip par excellence of the town.' 'Ellen,' said Charles, 'I doubt she will have reason to fear a rival.'

'You doubt, Charles, do you? Now, I don't; but that sweet timidity of opinion is very becoming in you.'

At this moment a gig drove up to the door, and Ellen exclaimed, 'Well, I declare, if there are not the Melroses of Hazelbrae come to spy!'

'Ellen,' said Mrs Melrose, with a look which silenced her for the moment.

Meanwhile Agnes and Marion had received their cousins; and having disencumbered themselves of their travelling dresses, they entered the parlour and were introduced to Mr Ballantyne, whom they had never met before. Miss Ellen and Miss Katie Melrose were the daughters of a brother of the late Mr Melrose of Hollyhurst. He was by many years his late brother's senior; he had been worldly wise, had prospered, and was thought to be worth a good round sum. The Misses Melrose were respectively twenty-five and twenty-nine years of age. The eldest had dark eyes, with a slight squint, a snub

nose, and brownish hair, and a person conspicuously tall. As a whole, her own opinion was that she looked rather well. She was thought clever, was bitter and sarcastic, prided herself on penetration, had a great deal of good sense, was acquainted with what passed in people's houses, and many other things which the uninitiated would have been at a loss to understand how she came to know. Miss Katie was reckoned good-looking, with some degree of justice. She was amiable in disposition, although, between her own affectation and the influence the character of her sister exerted over her, she was perhaps as much spoiled as her good nature would allow. Miss Ellen Melrose had always thought that her late uncle was a simple sort of body, easily taken advantage of, and she concluded that he had died poor; in fact, she was almost certain that the family must be ill left: but then Miss Melrose was not altogether certain, and she was nervously anxious to be so. When she was at Hollyhurst (she remarked at a family consultation) she had kept all her eyes about her, and they seemed to want for nothing. Indeed, on one visit, she had been nearly cajoled out of her usual composure by observing the acquisition of a very handsome pianoforte. Of course it would have thrown light on the matter if Miss Melrose had been informed that it was the gift of Mr Cameron, a maternal uncle of the Melroses. The present visit of the Misses Melrose, therefore, was partly the result of curiosity, partly of friendliness; they wished to see how their relations were getting on, and they had no objections to assist them if they would have explained their situation, and asked advice. But Miss Melrose saw no necessity for exercising delicacy by assisting poverty in connexion with pride; and, as she said to her sister, 'Give one present and they will expect more; and, of all things, greediness is what I cannot tolerate.' The conversation was mostly confined to commonplaces after the arrival of the cousins, although Mrs Melrose did what she could to entertain her visiters. Mr Ballantyne and Charles had gone for a walk, and both she and her daughters felt a kind of restraint which they were unwilling to acknowledge even to themselves-the result, perhaps, of a half consciousness that their looks, words, and actions were to be weighed and commented on at the first opportunity. At length Agnes inquired for a family of the name of Russel, who lived on the opposite side of the river from Hazelbrae, the members of which she had met while visiting there; to which Miss Melrose replied, that she understood Miss Russel was about to be married.

'Then,' said Agnes, 'I am sure I wish her every happiness.'

'So do I, poor thing,' said Miss Melrose, emphatically; 'but if all be true that is said, chances seem against her.' 'But then the half of what is said is not true,' quietly rejoined Agnes.

It is proverbial that what every body says must be true,' said Miss Melrose, piqued at her cousin's lack of curiosity.

'Yes, if every body, on the same subject, were to say the same thing; but you will probably not find two reports alike on the most commonplace occurrence of the day.'

'Well, Agnes, I don't mean to turn counsel for the proverb. But about Eliza Russel's marriage, although it is no great match, where there are so many daughters they will probably be very glad to get one off at all feasibly.'

'I should not think," said Agnes, 'that Miss Russel is a woman to form a disreputable connexion merely for the sake of getting off, as you seem to think.'

'I don't know,' said Miss Melrose; but where there are four or five daughters, and little or no provision for them, when one of them happens to get an offer of marriage, if it is not all the more out of the way, I think she would be wrong to let it slip.'

Miss Melrose had a peculiar knack of speaking to and at a person at the same time, and then watching the countenance for the effect produced; yet, though the

above speech was probably felt as she intended it should be, her cousin managed to conceal her emotion. 'Mr Russel's farm,' resumed Miss Melrose, 'is always understood to be held at a high rent; they have lived up to, and perhaps even beyond, what their income can possibly be. Just at this very time, for instance, the three youngest girls are drawn to and from school in a double gig, and they have a turnpike gate to pass into the bargain.'

'Oh, cousin Ellen, what an odd advertisement this is,' cried her namesake, "Wanted immediately, a man of good character, at a salary of £500 per annum, to mind his own business, and a further sum of £500 to leave other people's alone; for further particulars apply to the Secretary for the Home Department.' What a pity that it is not a woman that is wanted, for we could have supplied her nicely.'

At this point in the conversation, Charles and Mr Ballantyne rejoined the party; and the remainder of the evening was spent both pleasantly and profitably. When Mr Ballantyne retired to his chamber, if he had expressed his thoughts they would probably have run in this way, 'Well, Agnes Melrose is certainly a superior girl-so modestly simple, with a good store of retiring talent. Miss Ellen Melrose is a bold speaker, but makes some sensible remarks; what an affected girl her sister is!' The strain of remark in the chamber of the Misses Melrose was somewhat different. 'I declare, Kate, did you ever see such a simpleton as Agnes Melrose is ? She seems quite devoid of any penetration. Mr Ballantyne is thought to be a man of sense; and report says she was the cause of his visits to Hollyhurst.' Miss Katie had observed Mr Ballantyne's attention directed to her several times, which her oddly affected manner sufficiently accounted for; and she tacitly agreed with the opinion that he must be a man of sense; and on the second point of her reply she wished to draw out her sister's judgmentMr Ballantyne may be a man of sense,' continued Miss Ellen; if so, he seems to keep it to himself, as he hardly ever said a word; and as for his visits being on Agnes's account, he may come to amuse himself; but for a serious thought of her, it is absurd. What could he see in her ? Perhaps, as she may be silly enough to get entangled, not suspecting that he means nothing, it would be a good thing to give her a hint.' With this laudable resolution the Misses Melrose resigned themselves to their pillows and repose. Mr Ballantyne took his departure next day; the Misses Melrose stayed a week, during which they saw all that was worth seeing in the neighbourhood, paid a number of visits, shopped, and bought anything they had a fancy for, and returned home not much wiser than when they came, with the good wishes of their relations, and the promise of a visit from Ellen and Marion when the vacation should arrive.

Meanwhile, Charles was fully occupied studying for the medical profession; Agnes was perfecting her knowledge of French and Italian; Ellen and Alice, who were the musicians of the family, were getting lessons at the pianoforte; Marion devoted her time to drawing sketches from nature, in which art she also taught her sister Alice to excel. Their Hazelbrae friends did not see the need for Mrs Melrose bestowing an education on her children which must be so expensive; in their opinion, to teach them more of household work, and less of what might never be of any use to them, would have been much better. But in reality the education of the girls had cost comparatively little. Alice had never been at school at all; her sisters had been her only teachers; they had greatly assisted in bringing themselves forward, none of them having been more than two years at any school. With respect to household work, since they had left Hollyhurst they had not even kept one servant-the only circumstance of any importance which their cousins, in their late visit, had possessed themselves of, and indeed it was so obvious that it was no triumph of tactics to find it out.

The Melroses were happy-happy in each other's society, happy in having neither poverty nor riches. This might