therefore mounted my horse, and proceeded alone at a quick pace, in retracing the path I had come; hoping at least to meet with the peasant I had first met.

My horse went at a good pace, and day was fast declining, when I found myself in a by-path without an outlet. I had mistook my road. I was by this time several miles from any habitation, and being surrounded by an immense forest, began to fear being benighted in it. I dismounted, and led my horse back the road he had come, as I imagined; but judge my surprise, when I found myself again approaching the path without an outlet. I confess I began to feel some unpleasant sensations on the prospect of my night's lodging; and holding my horse's reins, I stood some minutes considering how I should act, when my ears were arrested by the sobbing, as of some one in distress. I listened, but not a voice was to be heard; presently the sobbing was repeated, and I approached the spot whence it came. Judge my pleasure and my surprise, when, on turning a corner, I saw before me two of the sweetest little children I ever beheld. The boy was sitting down crying most piteously; his head was dropt on his lap between his hands, and he appeared as if his little heart was breaking. A girl, nearly his own age, coarsely but cleanly attired, was standing by his side. Her hands were joined before her, and her countenance bespoke a thoughtful resignation to her disconsolate situation, the very opposite to the immoderate grief of the boy. I did not stand contemplating the scene, though a painter or a poet might have done so with advantage, but ran up to the little pair, and with great glee clasped them both in my arms, asking them whether they did not live in Mouzon, and whether Jaques Blaissot was not little father. Yes, yes," cried the little girl, while the boy, whose violent feelings would not allow him utterance, clung round my neck as though I had been his father, instead of a stranger; such is the effect the mention of home has on the mind, even of infancy.

I did not think it advisable to let them know that I was myself lost in the forest; but putting the boy on the horse, I mounted the saddle, and desired him to keep a tight hold round my waist. The girl I placed before me, and thus I sallied forth, trusting entirely to chance to lead me into the right path. The grey tints of evening were falling rapidly around

us, and I was just making up my mind to take our abode in the forest for the night, when the sound of a post boy's horn caught my attention. I followed the direction whence it came, and soon had the pleasure of coming within sight of him. He laughed heartily at the overloaded burden of my beast; but a short explanation soon created pity in the place of risibility. The post boy took charge of the little fellow from behind me, and we proceeded towards our destination at a quick pace.

The way was beguiled by the adventures of our little companions, which they told with so much artlessness and pathos, that the lubberly post-boy actually shed tears over his charge; and I must admit that I felt some little moisture in my eyelids more than once. From their joint accounts, the following appears a pretty true statement of the case.

A gang of gypsies had been for some days prowling about the village, living by petty depredations, and by levying contributions on the weak and credulous, whose fortunes they told. The day they left the village, an old hag of the gang saw little Blaissot and his sister playing in a field adjoining their father's cottage, and first conceived the idea of decoying them away. To effect her object she gave them some fruit, and promised them more if they would go to a certain field at the turning of the road. Allured by the temptation, and too young and unsuspicious to judge of the hag's evil intention, they set out to meet her. When arrived at the spot, they got into play with two gypsey children, who enticed them to take a ride in a pair of paniers across a donkey's back. The artful little imps evidently acted as they were taught. Blaissot and his sister consented, and the ass trotted off with them at a quick pace, until they met the rest of the party. The children now began to be frightened, and cried. They implored to be taken back; but their supplications were of no avail, and they were compelled to go. By the children's account it appeared the gypsies had sagacity enough to quit the high road for a bye path, leading into the forest, by which they escaped all observation. After travelling some hours, using both coaxing and menacing to appease the anguish of poor little Blaissot and his sister, one of the gang came up to say that a number of the villagers were close upon them, in search of the children. What was to be done? There was no time to delibe

rate; and it was quickly resolved that they should both be taken to a remote part of the forest, from whence they could not escape, and where at nightfall they could again take possession of them. This was accordingly done; and the children were taken to the spot where I found them. Not knowing whither to turn, and awed by the approach of evening, as well as by the threats of the gypsies, if they quitted the spot, the boy sat down absorbed in grief, whilst the girl stood "like patience on a monument," as though her heart would break, without a tear.

We were now approaching the village, and the sound of the post-boy's horn brought out some stragglers, who soon vociferated, "Blaissot's children! Blaissot's children!" Its echoes were soon carried into the village, and we entered it amidst the huzzas of nearly the whole of its little population. I need not say Jaques Blaissot was soon out to meet his lovely youngsters, who, with myself and the post-boy, were borne to Blaissot's cottage amidst the prayers and benedictions of all around.

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"Heaven be praised!" said Jaques as he entered his cottage, clasping his two children in his arms. Here, Marie," said he, addressing a young woman of pleasing appearance, but whose eyes were red and swollen with weeping. 'Here, Marie, thanks to this stranger, our young ones have been rescued from the Bohemians. Thank him, Marie, thank him, for I cannot."

I will not attempt to describe the scene that followed-the prattling of the little pair-the questions of the parents-and the gratitude of all towards me. I thought they had enough to do in caressing their children, and refused waiting any longer that night, but promised to call the next day. They pressed me to take up my abode with them, but I declined; and leaving them, amid prayers and benedictions, retired to my inn for the night.

The next morning I visited the cottage again. The scene was changed indeed from the day before:-cheerfulness was upon every countenance. Little Blaissot and his sister ran to me when I entered, and clinging round my knees, cried,Heaven bless our deliverer!" I kissed them, and as I looked upon their smiling and beautiful countenances, and also upon the now happy parents, I could not repress a sigh, when

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the thought came over me that though their elder in years, was their younger in real happiness; for what happiness can a wandering batchelor enjoy, equal to the comforts of a home blessed with a frugal and loving wife, and an obedient and affectionate offspring? The thought damped my spirits, and after receiving the grateful tears of both parents and children, I quitted the cottage, happy at least in having restored tranquillity and peace in the bosoms of one family.

BY WILLIAM

THE MOUNTAIN TOMBS.

HOWITT, ONE OF THE AUTHORS OF

FOREST MINSTREL, THE DESOLATION OF EYAM," &c.

[In the mountains, in a situation rendered memorable by the contests of the Covenanters, we found a deserted burial ground. On some of the head stones appeared dates of the early part of the fifteenth century.—MS. Journal.]

How strange, that thronged tombs should lie
Amidst these lonely hills!
Beneath this solitary sky,

And where the river fills
The air with its perpetual coil,
And ever through the thirsty soil

Its desert tide distills.

The river here alone is heard,
The river, and its haunting bird.*

The shepherd as he goes his round
May halt, at times, to trace

How years depress the circling mound,
And from each stone efface
The names of those who sleep below,
Memorials graven long ago,

When in this silent place,
Perhaps far other sounds were heard,

Than the swift river's haunting bird.

A kind of small sand-piper, whose note is particularly shrill, and strikes the attention in the silence of alpine valleys.

G. 28.

D

Sounds of man's pleasures and distress,
The living frequent tread;

But where are they? This wilderness
Shows not a single shed.

And save the shepherd to the fold
Or mountain passing, few behold
This city of the dead.

Peace to their sleep! From year to year,
How quietly they slumber here!

And yet above these desert graves,
A hurricane hath swept;

More than the summer storm which raves,
When tempests long have slept.
Wrath, horror, storms of fire and steel,
Storms such as warring spirits feel,
Long after to be wept.

Storms, which tradition kindling tells,
Aroused these slumberers from their cells.

They come in dreams, they meet by night
The shepherd on his roam;

They breathed abroad the soul of fight,
For altar and for home.

Power sought their children to enthral,
To cast o'er kirk, and cot, and hall,
From its minacious dome,

Its subtle chains, contriv'd to awe
Proud nations in the form of law.

Power on their chainless mountains trod,
And sought to interpose
Betwixt their spirits and their God,
And then the tempest rose!
Then lovers in the gloaming here
Loitering, beheld a sight of fear;
They saw the tombs disclose

Their awful guests, stern forms that owed
Death to the tyrant and the proud.

Then from the hills and wild moors came,

The flashing of fierce blades.