received from them, now shewing that the devotion and nobility of his nature are of a far loftier stamp. He follows them unarmed, and, unmindful of their taunts or their suspicions, watches with patient endurance for that moment of reversed fortune which he is sure will come, and when he hopes to render assistance that may be accepted and available. That moment of reverse soon arrives; but the indignant father only heaps fresh and more trying scorn on his faithful son; and it is only when the vengeance of the offended law dooms the father and the sons in arms to perish in their blood, that the sleepless and affectionate attentions of Francis, to soothe, and serve, and comfort them, break down the barrier of thick prejudice from the old man's heart, and he sees and acknowledges the wisdom and magnanimity of his devoted son. Here one scarcely knows whether most to admire, the frank confession of the old warrior and the confidence he immediately places in Francis, or the filial piety with which, to gratify the mind of his dying father, Francis undertakes a task, hopeless, and fatal to himself. The following out of these great human impulses; the portraiture of this sublime character of Francis Norton, than which none in history or fiction is greater; and, besides this, the beautiful sketch of his sister, equally devoted, equally strong in principle, though not so comprehensive and commanding in intellect as her brother; she

Whose duty was to stand and wait;

In resignation to abide

The shock, AND FINALLY SECURE

O'ER PAIN AND GRIEF, A TRIUMPH SURE:

these, altogether, were elements of heart and spirit, of character and action, in which the soul of the philosophical poet, who has sought to link fast to our theory of metaphysics the system of the affections, was sure to revel; although on one occasion we saw him, strangely enough, as the author of "Peter Bell," and of this poem, lay down a volume of a contemporary, full of the same elements, and actually of a most kindred nature, saying that he could not read of "sin and sorrow, finding enough of them in the world about him." Notwithstanding this paradoxical assertion, he has here, in his own case cast over the sorrows of the Nortons a profound sympathy, and a golden glory over the Scenery of the White Doe of Rylston; over Bolton Priory; the Vale of Wharf; over Barden Tower and Norton Tower, on the grim Rylston Fells-which, as it drew us thither, shall draw thither also, from generation to generation, other pilgrims as devoted to the charms of nature, of poetry, of history and tradition, as ourselves.

It

A visit to Hampton Court Palace, is one of the bravest pleasures that a party of happy friends can promise themselves. Especially is it calculated to charm the thousands of pleasureseekers from the dense and dusty vastness of London. lies in a rich country; on the banks of the Thames,—there unmuddled by commerce, but flowing free and pure, amid the greenest meadows, scattered villas, and trees overhanging its clear waters, and adding to its glad aspect the richness of their beauty. From the swelling hills of Richmond, Esher, and St. George, the palace is seen standing aloft amid

a wide sea of woodland foliage, like a little town in its extent. Its ample and delightful gardens, bounded by the splendid masses of its lime-tree avenues; its ancient courts, with all their historic recollections; its accumulated paintings, the Cartoons of Raphael themselves being part of them-all are thrown open to the leisurely and perfect enjoyment of the public. There is no royal palace in England, excepting Windsor, which, after all, is to be compared to it, and this is, as it should be, given up to the use and refreshment of the people. It is the first step towards the national appropriation of public property. It is long since it was said, "The king has got his own again," and it is now fitting that the people should have their own again. Of all the palaces, the towers, the abbeys, and cathedrals, which have been raised with the wealth and ostensibly for the benefit of the people, none till lately have been freely open to the footsteps of the multitude. They have been jealously retained for the enjoyment of an exclusive few, or have been made engines to extort still further payment from those out of whose pockets they were raised. But the tolls at the doors of St. Paul's and the Tower have been relaxed; park after park in the metropolis has been thrown open; and now this charming old palace of Hampton Court has been made the daily resort of any, and of all, of the English people who choose to tread the pavements, and disport themselves in the gardens, and gaze on the works of art, which for ages were wont only to be accessible to the royal, the aristocratic, and the ecclesiastical dignitary and their retainers.