unaccustomed, and exhibited itself in strange forms of hallucinations among both patients and nurses. Often would the former start from their beds affrighted, and rush down stairs, from whence they would have to be dragged up by main force, which only added to the general confusion. The mania of the nurses often took a curious, and even amid all the horrors of the scene, a truly ridiculous cast. It was that of dancing through their duties, not often unaccompanied by singing; and thus they would hurry from bed to bed, just staying to utter a consolatory sentence, or come up to receive orders, still tripping the fantastic toe, but it was too evident that the intention was not there. If dismay had penetrated even within the hospital, it can easily be imagined what it was in the town and harbour. Ships put out to sea, and flight was but a commonplace resource. More painful results attended upon the panic, among which, not the least numerous, were the evils of premature childbirth, which in some cases proved fatal to both mother and child. One man attacked by the disease threw himself into the sea, rather than await the dreaded progress of the malady.

A curious coincidence occurred at Sligo, as also at West Port; that during the acmé of virulence of the disease, the weather was exceedingly fine and clear, and seldom could a brighter sun be seen to rise and shine in unbroken lustre upon a sadder and more silent scene than that town presented. The contrast, indeed, between what, a few days ago, had been the busy arena of human activity, of bustling hopes, desires, and passions, now buried in anxiety or overwhelmed by distress; with the gladness of the natural world around, the singing birds, the rustling wind, the rolling waters, and ever bright atmosphere above, gave, to a calm observer, the idea of a perpetual sabbath, and led him almost to regret that this world was not always so prepared for another, and that sickness would not come as an infliction, but a grace.

Amidst the flight of inhabitants, citizens, magistrates, medical men, and others, that took place during the prevalence of the malady, there were some who remained steady to their duties, and assisted by that which alone will support man in all trials, met the visitation as it becomes man to meet such dispensations, with awe, but firmness-never ceasing to administer what comfort lay in their power, nor to contribute to the wants of the many the mite that was at their disposal. Such was the Rector of Sligo, who not only, almost in himself, filled the arduous duties of the local Board of Health, but whose amiable family wrought, day and night, in distributing blankets, fuel, or provisions, among the poor; and whose very house was even open to medical men, not always free, in the hurry of duty, from contamination, and yet, happily, no one suffered there from the pestilence. The Curate was also an able and enlightened young man, and used his talents with the local press-which, like other things, was soon extinguished by the pestilence-to allay anxiety, to ward off outrage, and to enforce the great cause of humanity. There were also some other persons whose conduct was truly deserving of high commendation.

The visitation is now gone by; it will be long remembered, with the ties that were dissevered, and the beloved that were lost, in that populous seaport; but to none will it be a source of sad reminiscence, less mingled with self-reproach or useless regrets, than to those who did not abandon their brethren in distress.

AN OLD MAN TO HIS EVERGREENS.

BY M. Y. W.

YE hardy race, who cheer,

When prouder trees are bare, the dreary scene,
Long have you deck'd for us each faded year,
Still fresh and green!

Seasons have come and gone,

Bringing us fruits, and flowers, and golden grain ;
All these in turn were ours; but you alone
Unchanged remain !

For you shall be my rhyme,

Who brave and bear the winter wind's cold breath;
So may you yield me, in this barren time,
One lasting wreath.

If Bays in vain were sought,

Would any goose-quill in the land be stirring?
Or, could the kitchen's mighty artist pot
A single herring ?*

Green Hollies, bright and strong!

The praise of song your glossy leaves may claim,
Through which our holidays, the winter long,
Keep up their name.

Soon will Old Christmas come,
And levy from you all the tithe you owe;
So shall he make, in every church and home,
His festal show.

Dark, melancholy Yew,

Long were your boughs to England's archers known;
And those that best your deadly weapons drew,
The Laurels won!

Oft in some ancient place,

Near manor-house or castle, are you found;
Or 'midst memorials of our frailer race,
In hallow'd ground.

And Box, so neat and prim,
Still do you thrive, as formal as of old,
Though all within the narrow plot you trim
Is hard and cold.

One flower alone we find,

And, smiling 'mid the graver shrubs, she blows,
Her blossoms waving to the rudest wind-
Our monthly Rose.

Scarce did we care for her,

Or you, dark Evergreens! in summer's bloom,
But now we turn to you, and hold you dear,
Around our home!

Thou Cypress of the grave!
Unchanging emblem of the love that grieves!
Thou mayst, in contrast to thy brethren, wave
Thy funeral leaves !

Long may you all live on!

Long may your glossy foliage meet my gaze,
With power to cheer, when gayer charms are gone,
My wintry days!

* Potted herring, like the poet's life, is very insipid without bay leaves.

LEGENDS OF THE MONTS-DORES.

BY LOUISA STUART COSTELLO.

NO. IV. THE ICE KING OF LE GOUR DE TAZANA.

THE Puy de Chopine is a very singular mountain; it is based on a mass of crystalized soil, and appears to start suddenly forth from the centre of a circular crater which environs it: this crater is called the Puy des Gouttes. A line of extinct volcanoes extends far and wide around, stretching out as far as Combronde, each with its dark wide mouth open to the sky: this row of giants is terminated by the Puy de Chalard, and an enormous gulf, called Le Gour de Tazana. This gulf, like the mysterious Lake Pavin, is filled with water; it is of great depth, and from it rush forth numerous rapid cataracts, which roar and foam over the piled-up rocks below. There is one part of this crater which is more profound than the rest; it is where a sort of basin is formed by high and rugged rocks whose broad streaks of orange colour, crimson, yellow, and black, shew that a great volume of flame must once have issued forth from its jaws: in this portion of the gulf the water boils and foams as if the fire, once beneath, was still raging; but on the contrary, this region, which was formerly given up to the dominion of the spirits of heat, is now the abode of those of cold, and on the broad plateau, which extends to some distance round the Gour, many strange and beautiful things are to be seen, produced, as is generally believed, by the subjects of the Ice King, who dwells in one of the caverns of Tazana hard by.

He is not very often seen, but when the traveller observes, above the peak of the mountain of Chalard, a great assemblage of clouds of remarkable forms, with one deep, dark, broad shadow above them all, he may be certain that the Ice King is holding a solemn meeting, and if he mounts to the top, his eyes will be gratified by the wonders he has heard spoken of. There is not much danger now that he will be punished for his curiosity, for the time is gone by when these spirits had power to do harm to mortals; many think that the period will one day return, but it will certainly not occur till all these volcanoes are restored to their original nature, and send forth their hidden flames, as they did in times of yore.

The young widow of the Count de Tazana lived in her castle on the summit of one of the numerous rocky peaks in the neighbourhood of the Gour. The late Count was an aged man, and when the beautiful Clarice was taken out of the convent where she had been educated to be married to him, she had never thought of anything but her prayers, and was bewildered to find herself mistress of great wealth and splendour, and the companion of a man who adored her, and allowed her to have her own way in everything. He was never weary of extolling her beauty, and was so anxious that she should love him, that he was always telling her histories of ladies who had been faithfully attached to knights, and painting to her the joys of a mutual attachment. She was delighted with these stories, and was never weary of hearing them; but the oftener she listened to their details, the more she mused and wished that fate had decreed that her lover had been one of the gay and beautiful young heroes which her husband told of.

"The Count," she would say to herself, "is the best man in the world, and is kinder to me than any one else has ever been; but he is old and infirm, and when he speaks of love, it seems to me to be out of place. I am very fond of him, but if he had been young-as young, for instance, as Amador-I should be able, I think, better to understand the love of which he tells me so much."

The person to whom Clarice alluded was a young minstrel, who had arrived but a short time at the castle, recommended to the Count as one of the best poets and singers of his age to be found in the country. He had so much genius, and exerted himself so zealously to please both the Count and Countess, that they were quite charmed with him, and every evening after the repast in the great hall, they ordered him to repair with them to an arbour of flowers in a garden, where they listened to his songs and recitations for hours together. The young Countess told her husband that she now began to understand the passion, the mysteries of which he had so laboured to explain, and the Count was gratified to find that she listened with extreme attention, and loaded him with thanks for procuring her so great a pleasure.

One evening as they were sitting in their arbour, the old knight was suddenly taken ill, and, being conveyed to his chamber, grew rapidly worse, till at length it became evident that his end was approaching. In effect, he died that night in the arms of his afflicted wife, and Clarice found herself a widow before she had attained the age of twenty, and the possessor of all her late husband's wealth.

Her grief at his loss was very great; she missed him at every turn; she knew not how to manage her household or her domains without him, for his kind care had spared her every trouble; she no longer heard his encouraging voice, or replied to his expressions of tenderness, and she wept ceaselessly at her bereavement.

She was in the height of her grief, when one evening-it was now winter-the horn of the castle was blown, and the steward came to inform her that a knight had arrived, who proclaimed himself the cousin of her late lord, and requested an audience of her. She desired that he should be admitted, and with some trepidation, for she had been little accustomed to receive strangers, she saw him enter her presence.

He was a very tall, graceful person, and wore a suit of armour of polished steel, covered with ornaments of bright silver. His plume was white, and a glittering scarf bound his breast. He approached her with great humility, and craved her pardon for his intrusion; but recounted that, being but lately returned from foreign wars, he was not aware of his cousin's death till he arrived at the castle; that it was to him his visit was intended, and he merely now ventured to pay his respects to the widow of a man he had highly esteemed.

Clarice received him very graciously, and requested him to make some stay in her castle, regretting her want of ability to entertain him, but offering her people as his attendants in whatever sports of hunting or hawking he might choose to engage.

He frankly accepted her offer, and after a little time became quite at home at the castle; so much so, indeed, that the young mistress began to feel surprised that he did not name a time for the termination of his visit; however, his society was agreeable, and he evidently wished to please and soothe her sorrows. Wishing to afford him pleasure, as her guest, she bethought herself of the young minstrel

Amador, whose stories and songs were calculated to amuse him; and as she did not care to pass so much time with a stranger alone, she was not sorry that the minstrel should exercise his art, to place them both more at their ease.

She found, when Amador made his appearance at her bidding, that he was greatly changed; his cheek was hollow and pale, and he scarcely raised his eyes when she spoke to him, except to cast them down on the ground, filled with tears. This evident attachment to his late master touched her, and she named him to the White Knight with commendation, as a faithful and affectionate servant.

The White Knight did not, however, seem to take much pleasure in hearing his lays, and pronounced that he had frequently listened to much finer minstrelsy than that of Amador, who, having overheard the remark made to the lady, was deeply mortified and annoyed.

He regarded the White Knight with attention, and the more he did so, the less pleasing did he appear in his eyes: it was true that he was remarkably handsome. His fair hair, which was almost the colour of flax, fell in long tresses on his shoulders; his eyes were full of fire, but their hue was that of the palest, clearest water; his complexion was like snow, and the pale hue of his cheeks greatly took from the general beauty of his face; his figure was, however, faultless, and his grace very striking. That which, nevertheless, peculiarly displeased Amador in his countenance, was a restless, convulsive movement about his mouth, which though he seemed anxious to suppress, it would constantly appear, and gave a sinister expression at times to his coun. tenance.

One day, sad and sorrowful, for he had not been summoned to the presence of his lady, Amador strolled forth from the castle, and took his way along the mountain to the Gour de Tazana. It was very cold, but a bright sun gilded the peaks covered with snow, and glittered on the icicles which covered the boughs of the dark pines.

He continued to wander listlessly until evening came on and the moon rose, when he came suddenly on a broad plateau of rock covered with thick ice so as to resemble a lake. He seated himself in a cavern close by, where the rocks formed a canopy, and from thence looked out on the wild prospect before him. The wind had risen, and was now driving the snow across the face of the mountain-the roar of rushing waters came to his ear, as they dashed over their icy boundaries, partly melted by the sun, and leaped into ravines beneath. As he found the wind increase, he advanced further into the cavern, when suddenly he distinguished sounds which made him pause, and presently he became aware that, without intending it, he had reached the verge of the Gour.

Round the mouth of the abyss grew flowers and shrubs in luxuriant profusion, but they were all of ice, and glittered in the moonlight as if formed of gems of which they had the colours: on the path at his foot were strewn stars, crescents, and rings of ice, of the most perfect form, and shining like silver.† He stooped to pick them up, but they

A convulsive twitching about the mouth belongs to evil spirits, and by that peculiarity they may sometimes be known.

† Winter on the Monts-Dorés lasts six months, when the snow is sometimes from three to four feet thick; it seldom falls in large flakes, but each flake seems separately congealed, and descends in a crystalized state. The form of the crystals