BALLAD.

The warrior rode on with the speed of the blast,
O'er hills, vallies, mountains, like lightning he passed,
Till be reached the red lake where all terribly gleam,
The turrets of steel o'er the flame rolling stream.

He sounded his horn, on the battlement's height
Appeared false Demara accoutred for fight:
"Give my wife and my child back," Sir Reginald cried,
"First cross yon red torrent," Demara replied.

"I am proof to thy magic, thou false hearted lord!
"On the walls of Jerusalem flash'd this good sword."
He plunged in the lake, the flames innocent roll'd,
Thus again spoke Demara, still vauntingly bold;

"Thou hast crossed my red torrent, now enter my halls,"
And demons, and giants, appear'd on the walls,
And darkness hung round him, while arrowy show'rs
Fell on Reginald's mail from the magical tow'rs.
"Foul fiend thou hast failed-O virgin, to thee
"A crusader appeals," and he sunk on his knee-
The darkness disperses-the demons are gone-
On the turret of steel stood Demara alone.

"Thou hast vanquished my demons, now try if thy sword
"Can as easily vanquish Demara their lord;
"Unfold my steel turrets!" the turrets obeyed,
And a hall and a furnace of flame they displayed.

Sir Reginald enters---Demara descends,
"In this hall not even thy virgin defends,

"For know, this the fates to Demara revealed,
"Thy life nor to man, nor to woman, shall yield."

"Then a child thus destroys thee!" and swift to his heart
Sir Reginald's son wings the death-bearing dart.
Loud shriek'd he in death, and mid laughter and scorn,
By fiends to the furnace Demara is borne.

Swift flashed the red lightning, the thunder roar'd loud,
The steel castle sunk in a sulphurous cloud;

And when all was silent, Sir Reginald press'd

His wife and his gallant son safe to his breast.

M. G. L. Jun.

ODDS AND ENDS.

There are several supposed quotations current in society, which. are not to be found in the works from which they are supposed to be taken. Every one has heard, seen, and perhaps quoted the famous lines

"He that fights and runs away,
May live to fight another day;
But he that fights until he's slain,
Will never live to fight again."

These were long attributed to Butler, and were said to be in Butler's Hudibras; but this, after a rigid examination, has been found not to be the case; the only lines which have any resemblance to them being

"But he that runs may fight again,
Which he can never do that's slain."

Not less celebrated is the following apostrophe, or rather exclamation, on England:

"O barbare Angleterre, où le fatal couteau,

Tranche la tête aux vois, et la queue aux chevaux !"

These have been erroneously stated to be in Voltaire's Henriade. The real author of them was a French poet, called Descazeaux, on the following occasion. Several individuals at a large party were complaining, that Crebillon did not finish his long-promised tragedy of Cromwell. Armand, a facetious gentleman of that species of jesters called hoaxers, turned to Descazeaux, and said, "Ah! if you had "but the inclination, that subject would be finely treated in your “hands.” “And why not?" said Descazeaux, swelling with gratified vanity; "I can, at least, manage it more quickly."

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Some days afterwards, Descazeaux drew his pretended admirer aside: "Here," said he, is my first act already finished; you may "judge of the high style I have aimed at, and expect to sustain, by "this monologue alone, which serves, in some manner, as a prologue "to my play."

What were the astonishment and delight of the malicious Armand, on reading the following verses:

"Barbare Nation, don les sanglans couteaux,
Coupent la tête aun Rois, et la queue aux chevaux!"

The verses flew round Paris like wildfire, and have ever since been repeatedly quoted as a jest by Voltaire; whereas they were, as above stated, the serious results of a genius more qualified to admire than to write poetry.

MOLIERE AND RACINE.

When Moliere's "Misanthrope" was first produced, Molierè and Racine were at variance with each other. A flatterer in the hopes of pleasing Racine, told him after the representation, that the play had been condemned. "I was there," he added, "and can assure you "nothing could be more dull." Racine answered, "You were there, "and I was not there, yet I do not believe you. It is not possible "for Moliere to write ill. See it again, and judge better."

A TYRANT'S JOKE.

Pope Innocent the VIth sent to Bernardo Visconti, two Abbots as messengers, bearing with them letters of excommunication. They met him surrounded by his followers, on the bridge of Lambri. Bernardo was highly incensed in perusing the letters, but concealing his anger under a polite demeanour, he asked the messengers whether they were hungry or thirsty? The messengers, however, casting a glance at the river rolling deep below, suspected the manner in which the tyrant meditated assuaging their thirst, and declared they were hungry. Good," answered the duke, "then eat the letters of your employer:" and the poor abbots were immediately compelled to swallow the tough and nauseous parchment with the seals, to the very great amusement of the surrounding courtiers and followers of Visconti.

THE DUEL.

A GERMAN STORY.

I was quartered with Prince Eric's regiment of Hussars in garrison. The town was pleasant, had an agreeable situation, picturesque environs, gay and hospitable inhabitants; but what was of most importance to a young officer, and made it like a very paradise, was the number of pretty girls which it contained. Chief among them for beauty shone the beautiful widow of General von Unstrutt, who lived in great privacy with two daughters; the eldest of whom had lately been married to the captain of my squadron. Since that time, the lovely family mixed very seldom in general society; we, young Lieutenants and Hussars, sought the charming Matilda in every ball which was given, but in vain. Nothing remained to us but daily to parade before the windows of her dwelling on horseback, and to receive a modest courtesy, or a friendly smile, which were eagerly seized by each as a proof of favor; a thing easily imagined by young, impetuous, good-looking, handsomely-accoutred Hussars in their first campaign. Each flattered himself with making an impression upon

the maiden's heart, and each had about an equal right to do so; for the dear girl was very good-natured to all, that is, polite---nothing more, only the politeness of a charming young woman is a thousand times more graceful and touching than that of any other person. My good Bayard must have been highly astonished when, on approaching the widow's house, he felt my legs press his sides, and was reined up so tightly that the fire started from the pavement beneath his feet; however, he soon became accustomed to his master's humour, and, on reaching a certain part of the street, learned to set off of himself into a graceful and curvetting gallop.

As I said, most of us young soldiers were, more or less, not exactly irreparably wounded, but severely grazed by the darts of love; but the powerlessness of our personal merits to produce a favorable impression on the fair one, soon made us look to other sources of hope. We all saw captaincies and colonelcies in the perspective, and ardently wished for war, or a plague, to give us promotion, that aided by high rank we might stand a better chance of success.

About this time, our regiment was joined by a young Pole, as Lieutenant, whose beauty attracted all eyes. Jealousy and self-love were silenced at once, and we were compelled to acknowledge the young Rosowsky as the handsomest officer among us. Health and benevolence shone in his untamed glances, dark-brown locks curled over his lofty and majestic forehead, and under the short mustachio his smile displayed two rows of teeth which rivalled ivory in whiteness; his face was one of those which it is impossible not to love, whether we wish it or not.

Rosowsky was not less admirably formed; his uniform sat upon him with the most enchanting exactitude; and, in riding, he seemed to make but one figure with his horse. He himself alone seemed unconscious of the advantages with which nature had gifted him; he carried himself modestly and respectfully towards his superiors, amicably towards his equals, was exact in his duty even to the minutest punctilios. At first, he joined in all the pleasure-parties of the officers; but gradually retired into a privacy of living, which was the more extraordinary from the eagerness with which his society was sought.

No one could naturally account for it, that any one could be so young, so handsome, and a Lieutenant of Hussars withal, without participating, to the utmost, of all those pleasures of life which smiled upon him so flatteringly, and abandoning himself to their endearments with all the thoughtlessness of youth. He, on the contrary, passed evening after evening in the company of an attendant of dry and caustic humor and but small conversation, or else with a retired veteran who had been long stationed in the place, and who till then had led a life of almost complete solitude.

It was at length accounted for among us, by referring it to an unhappy attachment, and it was whispered about, that the discovery of an amour with a princess of his father-land, had compelled him to

seek safety in flight, and to enter our service. The romantic weave their stories from the smallest shadow of a thread; and the Rosowsky was nolens volens guilty of having shot a rival in a duel. The young princess was disposed of in a cloister, and he, as every one saw, shunned like a hermit the joys of life, to indulge in the painful remembrance of his accumulated sufferings. They overlooked what ought not to have been overlooked, that so blooming and healthy an appearance as that of Rosowsky, accorded very ill with the lamentable history which had been invented for him. I, at least, could not reconcile his alleged fate with his real beauty; and I was tormented with anxiety between doubt as to the truth of this story, and the wish to become better acquainted with my young comrade, whose whole demeanour seemed to betoken that he was formed for love and friendship.

An unexpected accident brought us together: and we formed with all the ardour of youthful blood a friendship, which still renders it a matter of deep regret, that our duties should have so entirely separated us. I soon fell into the habit of spending most of my evenings, instead of in the coffee-houses, in the company of my friend; who introduced me to the old Captain, an experienced and well informed warrior, who had raised himself from the ranks to his present dignity, and adorned with honorable wounds, was compelled to seek retirement. He had known Rosowsky's father in earlier years, and this had produced the attachment of my friend, which was as warmly returned as if a second father had been restored to him.

There was of course not a word of truth in the story told of his unhappy attachment; on the contrary, Rosowsky assured me he knew love only by the name; and altogether shunned all adventures of the kind, which he observed always came to a disgraceful termination. He considered it as but discreditable gallantry, to entice the affections of a credulous woman merely to deceive her; and as for marriage, it was folly for him to think of it under his circumstances.

"But, dear Rosowsky," said I to him one day, as the subscription-list to an entertainment was brought to him, but in which he declined participating, "why do you withdraw yourself from all "the pleasures, which have so many attractions to the young? I "admire your prudence, and agree with you, that a man may be happy "without either debauchery or gaming; but I do not see the slightest objection to share occasionally in the moderate sports of friends, and "to enjoy rational gaiety with the gay." "Nor do I,-but to speak sincerely, my purse will not allow me."

He now related to me with the utmost candor, that the circumstances of his family from the various miseries of his father-land, had been reduced to the most deplorable condition; that his expenses necessary for his equipment were already a burden too great on his parents, and that he considered it the duty of an honorable man to deny himself every superfluity, and to avoid all expenses, such as the entertainment alluded to would necessarily involve.