Lady. Knight. Lady. Knight. Lady. Knight. Lady. Knight. THE SPANISH LADY AND THE ENGLISH KNIGHT. Is charges great at every resting-place And what of that? I've jewels, rings, and chains, Know'st thou the dangers of the stormy sea? When on the curl'd crest of the mounting wave And whips the uncurbed sea, that still bounds on Oh yes! in truth I will Abide all these extremities and more; for I've a trusting wife at home, Thrice happy is her fortune to possess So true a lord! God send thee blissful days! Hearing no music save the holy hymns Of sister nuns, by dawn and twilight sung: And I shall die of unrequited love! Nay-droop not thus-droop not, my own dear bride! Yes! thou shalt be my bride Within the hour. My heart runs o'er with rapture! 11 Lady. Lady. I felt their dangerous power, and strove to quell Ah, no! But bear thee homeward o'er the Pyrenees, Through the sweet vales of France, where Plenty smiles. Have I, that would enrich twenty hidalgos! And ladies own thy bright, surpassing charms: Nor shall the lilies of the land be vain When they have seen my blushing rose of Spain! P. B. "OH THINK OF ME." OH think of me, my love, oh, think of me— Meeteth the Morning's glance-and bright things be Oh think of me, my love, oh, think of me-- HERMION. ADVENTURES OF A MIDSUMMER TOURIST. CHAPTER I. It was on a sultry afternoon in August that I was sitting in my office in Court street, poring over the last number of the Jurist. My solitude had a short time before been invaded by an irruption of Irish clients, who, after boring me with a long detail of grievances, had left me without a fee. I was out of humour, and heartily tired of my briefless fate, and of my barren, musty, and unavailing studies. "I must have some recreation," I exclaimed, flinging the Jurist into a corner-"some respite from this continued drudgery-some rebound from this unremitted tension of the faculties. Here have I been pent up the whole summer in this miserable twelve by fourteen apartment, with a bruised bust of Cicero over my desk, and a box of cigars with Lucifer matches on my mantel-piece. Here have I been cabined, cribbed, confined; while the foam and the sparkles upon the bright goblet of existence have been fast subsiding and disappearing! The wild roses have bloomed, but not for me. The forests have heaped high their masses of foliage, but not to bless my sight. The streams have flashed, and the cataracts have roared, and the great sea has rolled its serried waves and tossed their white feathers upon the beach; but-God of Nature !— I have missed them all. I have lived as if they were not. And how inadequate has been the reward of my abstinence !" As I turned round suddenly after this sensible monologue, Cicero appeared to be looking at me with such an impertinent sneer upon his lip, that I incontinently dashed my fist in his face, thereby breaking his head, and strewing my floor with the fragments. I then threw my principes out of the window; sent the Lucifer matches to the devil; kicked Chitty on Bills into the chimney corner; threw Coke into the coal-hole; and finished my extravagancies by striking together my hands, clasping them over my head à la Kean, pacing my room at long strides, and soliloquizing aloud: "Yes I will leave this fetid atmosphere-these paved and dusty streets-this black hole of Calcutta. I will go off on a pleasant tour. I will. My mind is made up. But whither shall I go? To the White Hills? No-they are too familiar. To Lake George? I may take it in my way. To the Sulphur Springs? Not the season. To Saratoga? Decidedly too rowdyish. To Winnipiseogee Lake? Beautiful, but unfrequented. To Niagara? Perhaps so. What think you of Quebec? Capital! I have never been there! Wolfe, Montcalm, Montgomery-what associations are connected with the place! And then the St. Lawrence, and Montmorenci, and the Falls of the Chaudière! And I can visit Niagara on my way home. O, the exhilaration of freedom! I already revive. My bosom's lord sits lightlier on its throne. My brain expands-my veins thrill with " My rhapsody was interrupted. As I turned abruptly round, I came in collision with one of my Irish barbarians, who coolly wished the "top of the morning" to me, though it must have been perfectly apparent to him that the sun had long since past its meridian. This was beyond human endurance. Fortunately the door was open and the stairs were near. I am not an indifferent boxer-thanks to John Hudson, the prince of American pugilists. The next moment my unfortunate client took leave of me in a very precipitate manner, performing a rotatory motion down stairs which seemed to facilitate his departure. Early in the morning I quitted Boston for Concord, from which place I passed through Vermont to the delightful village of Burlington on Lake Champlain. Commend me to Vermont for magnificent scenery. There is a stream which runs into the Connecticut, known on the map as White river; and the scenery along this beautiful tributary is of the most imposing description. The banks are hedged in on either side by an immense range of stupendous hills, some rock-ribbed, frowning, and crowned with sombre pines; but many of them cultivated to the very top, verdant, fertile, and so precipitous and high, that it is with the utmost difficulty the ploughman pursues his hazardous task upon the almost impending slope. The road at the base of these hills and along the margent of the White river, (which is appropriately named, for its waters are like crystal,) is extremely narrow, and in many places formed by the timber hurled down from the hills and imbedded in the edge of the stream. Shall I ever forget that delicious journey through the gorge of those green mountains on that still slumberous afternoon, when the forests were mutely undergoing the resplendent transmutation caused by that successful alchemist, the frostwhen the blue sky was unfleckered, save by a few pearly, translucent clouds, majestic in their repose-when the river poured its silver tribute at my feet, and the diversified hills passed like a glorious pageant before my view-and nature, animate and inanimate, seemed instinct with the subdued joy of passive existence-shall I forget it? But a truce to rhapsody, which when the fit is over strikes me as very inane stuff. I crossed Lake Champlain in the night-time—— gazed on the British encampment of Isle aux Noyes at sunriselanded soon afterwards at the little Canadian town of St. Johnsand before evening was safely deposited at Goodenough's Hotel in Montreal. I did not remain here long. That same night I embarked on board the noble steamboat St. George for Quebec; and when I issued suddenly from the cabin the next day about noon, behold! we were overshadowed by Cape Diamond, which rose with its impregnable battlements like an exhalation from the edge of the river. The effect was decidedly melodramatic. CHAPTER II. It was the third day of my residence in Quebec, and one of those balmy, sunshiny days with blue skies and soft airs, when the man, who does not instinctively bless his Creator, has no music in his soul. I hired a calèche, and rode to the Falls of Montmorenci. My first view of the cascade was from the platform on the right side before crossing the bridge. From this height the effect is grand and imposing, and it makes the brain giddy to look down upon the foaming abyss, where the precipitated waters strike upon the jagged rocks, rolling up a cloud of fine white mist, on whose front a rainbow coronet is set by the sunshine. The falls of Montmorenci are higher by seventy feet than Niagara, but they are much narrower, and the volume of water that sweeps over is of course vastly inferior. Near the foot of the cataract, the whole foam of the falling waters appears to meet like drifting snow, and forming two immense revolving wheels, to be scattered thence into spray or sent lashed into froth over the bed of the torrent. Crossing the bridge, I hastened to take a view of the falls from the opposite side; and here the smooth bold sweep of the river, and the terrific plunge of its waters over the precipice, may be seen to great advantage. "The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below" is no where more beautifully exemplified. The path to the foot of the falls is extremely steep and precipitous; and as there are few bushes or shrubs to break your descent, ten chances to one, if you have the temerity to make the attempt, you will pitch down the declivity head over heels into the river. By dint of great precaution I descended in safety-got drenched |