if her prayer were heard, for in the very crisis of her agony, she recovered her strength of mind. She lost not a moment in disengaging the hand of Guyon from the polluted sheet; she dragged, nay almost carried him in her arms to the open window, but in vain she endeavoured to restore him. She looked around, and saw with delight a vessel filled with vinegar on the table where he had been writing his remarks; into this vase he had thrown his papers as he wrote them; and Delphine, as she knelt on the ground bathing his face, and head, and hands with the vinegar, saw him gradually revive. But to remain in that saloon would be instant death to him, and with much difficulty Delphine removed him to the antechamber, the doors of which were very near the place where he was then lying. "I cannot go farther," said he, feebly, as she closed the door upon the horrid room where she had found him and when Delphine looked in his face, she saw that he could not indeed be moved farther. A fearful change had taken place within the last minute. "He does not even know me!" she said, as he looked up in her face, and smiled vacantly. He closed his eyes, and remained for some minutes in a heavy sleep. He awoke, and with difficulty raising his hand, he drew forth from his bosom a small golden crucifix-he kissed it fervently. The little nosegay of lavender and vervain had fallen to the ground. He fixed his eyes upon the withered flowers, and said feebly, "Give it me; let me smell it. She said it might refresh me. Tell her, tell my sweet sister, that my heart was refreshed even at this awful hour, when I thought of -Who, who are you?" he cried, lifting up his head; but ere he could look at her again, his memory was gone. He now fell into a gentle doze, and Delphine felt a calmness steal over her as she hung gazing upon his still noble, but altered countenance, altered it was indeed; the last few hours had done the work of years! He spoke once as he slept, and Delphine thought she heard the words, "Happy! how happy!" He awoke repeating them; and she held up the crucifix full before his eyes. "Yes," he murmured, "by His sufferings His death-His alone!" He never spoke again.

'The plague ceased soon after the death of Guyon. He had discovered and fully explained the mysterious character of the disease; and the efforts of the medical men were blest with complete success.'-vol. ii. pp. 73–79. The next story is founded on the fate of the celebrated Alice Lisle, and is a very well wrought tale of deep tragic interest.

The "Lowly Lady," which succeeds the above narrative, has for its plot the subject of one of the prettiest of the melodies of Mr. Moore. Most of our readers will, we are sure, be able to recall to their minds, the ballad of "You remember, Ellen," which, as the author says, "is based on a real event that occurred to a member of the noble house of Cecil." The romance reads so well in the version of Mr. Tayler, that we are induced to make a few extracts from it, which we are sure will prove interesting to the reader:

'Not many weeks after the funeral of the heir of the noble house of D, a solitary wayfaring man stopped at the turning of a little foot-path, which led down the sloping side of the hill overlooking the village of HHe had been leisurely wandering on since the early hours of the morning,

and had not yet found the place where he would rest for the night. "Here at least, is a happy scene," he said, as he looked down upon the little village at the foot of the hill. About fifty or sixty persons were scattered, in careless groups, about the pleasant green. Some of them were dancing beneath a venerable grove of elms, others were crowding round the only booth which had been raised in the rustic fair. "At least, I may witness their enjoyment, though I cannot share it," he said, and in a few moments he was standing beneath the old and spreading trees on the green. But although he was not recognised as the Earl of D, and disgusted by the attentions paid to his rank and station, he found the familiarity of vulgar minds, and low manners, not quite so agreeable as he had perhaps expected. Quietly he turned away from the noisy scene.'vol. ii. pp. 146, 147.

Passing a little further on, the traveller turned into a shady lane, and proceeding with careless step in the course which he had selected, he had not advanced a great way, when a light step seemed to approach him. Through the hedge which separated him from the meadow whence the sound proceeded, he saw a young girl sitting on a bank. Her air and manner attracted his attention, and watching her on her retiring to an adjoining farm-house, he approached the house, and heard from her lips, as she read within, some words which he recognized to be words from Scripture. He was charmed with her voice and manner, and concluded that she who could read thus, though perchance only a peasant's daughter, had certainly the spirit of a true gentlewoman. The Earl, still concealing his rank, and assuming all the characteristics of a rustic, paid his addresses to Lucy, for such was the maiden's name. He made his proposals in due form, and after a great deal of negociation, not unattended with difficulties, the pair became one. In a few days, Thomas Clifford, (for it was by that title he was married,) told his wife that he would bring her to see his home in his own country. So they set out together on the journey; but the sequel must be told in the author's own language:

"That is a grand place, indeed !" said Lucy, as, towards the close of their second day's journey, they approached an ancient and almost princely edifice," but does our road lie through the park?"

"Not exactly through the park," he replied, "but I thought my Lucy might like to see these fine grounds, and the house and gardens. I have known the gardener and the housekeeper for years; and I am sure we shall find them very civil, and willing to shew us any little attention in their power, and we have time enough though the sun is getting low, for we are just at home."

'Lucy was delighted. She had never seen a nobleman's house before, she said.

“Well! all those large rooms, and the pictures, and all the fine furniture are very grand," said Lucy, " but my eyes ache with looking at them; I like this garden a great deal better. What a beautiful one it is! But may we sit down in this arbour of honeysuckle so near the house?"

Lucy sat in silence for some little time, gazing round her at the venerable house, and the trees and gardens; at length, she said, "I wonder if the lord of this grand place is happy! A man should have a very humble spirit, and be a great lover of the Bible, and of his God!" she added, “ to be master here! They say that riches often make men forget their God! How dreadful it would be to be called away from all this earthly grandeur and riches, in a state of forgetfulness! Is the Earl of D a good man, dear husband? Is he kind and free-spoken to the poor !-Is he a married man?" she added, looking with a smile of peculiar sweetness in her husband's face, and after a long pause.

"How many questions have you given me to answer, Lucy! Let me consider? Yes, he is a married man: he married, not many months ago, a young country girl, such another as yourself, dear Lucy."

"Poor thing!" said Lucy, and she sighed from her very heart.

Why do you sigh, my own wife?" he demanded; "Do you envy that poor country maiden?"

"what

"Do I envy her?" she replied, in a voice of tender reproach; a strange question! Do I envy any one?" and as she said this, she drew more closely round her the arm which encircled her slender waist; "would I exchange my husband with any one!" she added, looking up tenderly and lovingly into his face; "I sighed in pity for the poor young lady (for a lady she is now), such a change is enough to turn her head!

"Would it turn yours, Lucy?" he said.

6.66

Perhaps it might!" she replied, in the simplest and most natural manner. "But is she really happy? Does she love him for himself alone?"

My sweet Lucy," he began, and as he spoke, his wife thought that he had never seemed so tenderly respectful towards her: " My sweet Lucy, you alone can answer these last questions: you smile! I see you look amazed upon me; but I repeat it, you alone!'

"But first," said Lucy, very artlessly, "I must be lady here; you must make me Countess of D. -!"

'She had scarcely said this, when, from one of the castle turrets, a bell began to toll: Clifford rose up instantly, and, without saying a word, led his wife to the castle. They entered the chapel there, in which the servants and the tenants had all assembled, and the chaplain was preparing to commence the evening service: then, leading the wondering Lucy into the midst of them, he presented her to them all as their future mistress, the Countess of D——, his wife.

Lucy did not speak; she could scarcely stand: the colour forsook her face, and she looked as one about to faint. She stared first at her husband, and then at the domestics around her, and at last she began to comprehend every thing. Eagerly she seized her husband's hand, which she had dropped in her surprise, now affectionately extended to her; then, with an effort that was very visible, but which gave new interest to her in the eyes of all present, she regained somewhat of her natural and modest self possession; and, raising her innocent face, she curtseyed to the ground, and met the respectful greeting of those around her with smiles, which, perhaps, spoke more at once to the heart than the best wisdom of words. The Earl of D-led his wife to his own seat, and placed her beside him.

Lucy knelt down upon a cushion of embroidered velvet, with the sculptured escutcheons, and stately banners of the house of D- above her : but, perhaps, of all the high-born dames of that ancient family, none ever knelt there with a purer heart, or with a humbler spirit, than that Lowly Lady.'-vol. ii. pp. 157-161.

The next tale is founded on some of the events of the life of Anne of Cleves, one of the wives of Henry the Eighth. The narrative is very agreeably related, and will well repay a perusal.

The story called the "Son and Heir," the last of those narratives which we think it necessary to notice, is particularly recommended to our attention, by the practical admonition for the government of our domestic conduct, which it affords. The ground work of the story consists of the simplest materials. A married nobleman, who had for years mourned the absence of offspring, found himself at last blessed with a beautiful boy. The child grew apace, and was the idol of his parents; but the passions of the father were unconquerable, and upon some trivial occasion, being exasperated by the thoughtless conduct of his son, he struck the boy with a whip on the head. Irreparable mischief followed; the brain, it is supposed, suffered from the violence; at all events, the boy lived and died an idiot. To this narrative the author has added a note, which is worth extracting:

Since writing the above narrative, the mere fact of which really happened, at least so I have been told, many years ago in the family of a nobleman, the initial of whose name I have alone given, I have heard of other cases very nearly resembling that which I have thus brought before the public. One of a schoolmaster, who, in a moment of unguarded passion, struck a fine little fellow on the head with a ruler. Owing to the effects of his mad rage, first the life and then the reason of the child were long despaired of. Now my motive in republishing the journal of the Earl of A is, that the moral warning it holds out may, I think, be very useful. Those who are accustomed to the care and tuition of children-those men, I ought perhaps to say, (for I have generally observed an extraordinary degree of patience and forbearance in women), must be well aware, from their own experience, how soon the stupidity or insolence of a child provokes them! and how soon, in the moment of irritation, the blow of the large strong hand may fall upon the delicate and youthful frame, with a violence quite unintended at the time, and afterwards deeply lamented.

The way in which even a gentle father punishes a child, where corporal punishment is in some extreme case judged necessary, is often unnecessarily severe. I have seen many a sensible mother turn pale and tremble, even when convinced that some bodily chastisement was needed for her child, when the father, even the kind-hearted and good-tempered father, has withdrawn with the little culprit.

Let the chastisement be given-it is often a species of moral cruelty to withhold it; but let Christian temper conduct that punishment which Christian principle may judge it necessary to inflict. And let all beware of lifting their hand, when in a passion, against a child, even to give the

common, brutal box of the ear, which I have known to be followed by blood.'-vol. ii. pp. 277, 278.

From the various extracts we have made from these delightful volumes, the public will, we trust, be in a situation to estimate the extent of the instruction and amusement which they may expect to find in this work. A spirit of true piety breathes through every page of the book; and whilst the innocent recreation of the reader is amply consulted by the author, his motives to virtue and morality receive an additional stimulus.

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ART. IV. Journal of a Tour made in the years 1828, 1829, -through Styria, Carniola, and Italy, whilst accompanying the late Sir Humphry Davy. By J. J. Tobin, M. D. 12mo. pp. 242. London: W. S. Orr. 1832.

ON several occasions of late, our attention has been directed to the principal circumstances which attended the last years of the life of Sir Humphry Davy. The "Salmonia," and the "Last Days of a Philosopher"-both of them the production of Sir Humphry, drew their principal, or at least their more interesting materials from the observations made by him, during the last tour that he was able to accomplish. The publication of Dr. Paris's biography of the illustrious chemist, again brought him before us with all those claims to our veneration and sympathy, which his scientific achievements, and his premature mortal illness had conferred upon him. We have now before us, in the writer of this Tour, the companion" whom Sir Humphry had expressly selected, to attend him from London, upon that memorable journey, which was abruptly terminated by his lamented death.

Dr. Tobin, it appears, was residing at Heidelberg, and engaged in the study of his profession, when a letter was received by his mother, who also lived there, from Sir Humphry Davy. In this letter the writer stated his intention of making a tour on the continent, and expressed a wish that he should be accompanied by a son of his late warmly-loved and sincerely-lamented friend. The offer was gladly accepted, and Dr. Tobin having come to London to meet Sir Humphry, the party proceeded on the 29th of March, 1827, for Calais. Thence they proceeded in a northerly direction, and surveyed the principal towns which lay in their route to Brussels. They took Heildelberg in their way, after departing from the capital of the modern Belgium. Here we are struck with a description of the unhappy influence which his corporal sufferings had over Sir Humphry Davy's moral strength.-Dr. Tobin makes the following note under the date of Heidelberg.

12th. Sir Humphry finding himself too indisposed either to visit the university, or to receive any of its eminent professors, some of whom are very desirous to visit him, has determined to remain here only till to-mor row; for it is painful to him to know that he is surrounded by scientific