One

vanished in his hand; he reached to gather the flowers, but at his touch they disappeared, and more sprung up in an instant in their place. Curious to see whether the same phenomenon was continued along the icy arcade which stretched before him, he continued his way amongst icy foliage, whose leaves clattered together as he passed, when, seated beneath a tree which bent over the dark ravine below, he beheld the White Knight, surrounded by a group of small people not more than a foot high, all apparently formed of ice, but moving quickly about, as if busily employed. He concealed himself, and watched their movements, and to his surprise found that their occupation was to attend on the Knight, who remained motionless in the midst of them. of these ice figures combed his fair hair, and placed it in curls on his neck; another poured a mixture from a crystal vial into his eyes; a third smoothed his cheeks, and rubbed on them a liquid pressed from a pale crimson ice flower, which she gathered from the rock. Many were busied cleaning his armour, and it presently glittered like diamonds. All this time the White Knight never moved, but as soon as his scarf, which was dipped by one of the attendants into a leaping cataract hard by, was bound round his bosom, he began to shew signs of animation. It was then that Amador heard him addressed by one of the little ice figures, who had stood apart and observed what was going on without taking a part in it.

"Now, my son," said she, " you have again the semblance of a mortal, and it is time that you bring us home the lady, for till she becomes our victim, and we cast her into the Gour de Tazana, our penance is not accomplished, and we shall never be able to resume our earthly habits. We have the power of renewing this appearance in you only three times, and the third is now passed. If, therefore, you do not wed the lady before three days, our prey is lost; and instead of returning to our former life, as brigands of the mountains, we must remain for ever ice spirits, as we are now. Go, therefore, and take this opal ring, with which to wed the bride: the moment she accepts it from you and places it on her finger she is ours; but if the third day passes, and you have failed to gain her, you must return here, and be one of us as before."

Amador listened with amazement, and his heart beat quickly; he kissed the crucifix which he wore round his neck by a chain; and as he did so, the whole train disappeared, and he found himself standing by the gate of the castle.

He hastened to enter, and there found that the great hall was lighted up, as if for a festival; and a number of knights and ladies were already assembled, having come at the invitation of the White Knight, in the name of the Lady Clarice, to an entertainment which he had persuaded her to give previous to his departure, which he had fixed to take place in three days.

is various, and resembles the snow of the Poles, described by Lyon and Parry. The starry shapes they assume are very small, and they are united to a small compact ball, which forms a centre, so that the little sharp points form the rays of a star. The appearances caused by the white frost are sometimes very curious on the high plateaux of the mountains, which seem like actual gardens in which the natural flowers have been replaced by icy shapes resembling them: the smallest stem is sufficient on which to hang an icy garland, rosettes of the most graceful shapes are thrown on every point, and long festoons of glittering foliage depend on all sides, till as the sun gains power, the ephemeral garden gradually melts away, and leaves a shining plain, which the next early morning sees adorned in a similar manner.

The Lady Clarice was seated under a raised canopy, and was radiant with beauty; and though she still wore her widow's dress, it seemed to add to her charms rather than diminish them. Her brow, however, was clouded, and she looked anxiously round the hall, and when her eye rested on Amador, a flush of satisfaction came over her face. "It is strange," said she to herself, "how differently I regard the minstrel from any other person. Whenever he appears, I feel protected; while at other times I seem deserted and in danger: when once the White Knight has left the castle, I will resume the hearing of those charming lays which my dear lord loved so much, and which no one sings so well."

There was something in the expression of the lady's face which rendered Amador happy throughout that evening, and inspired him with a confidence which he had never before felt. It seemed also that Clarice was gayer since his arrival, although her manner towards the White Knight was more reserved and cold than usual.

He, on the contrary, was extremely assiduous; and his grace in the dance and his liveliness in conversation were so attractive, that not a lady there but thought him the fairest knight she had ever beheld.

Meanwhile, Amador had repaired to the neighbouring convent, and had had a long conference with a holy man whose sanctity had caused him to be held in great reverence throughout the country. While he listened to the account which the minstrel gave of the icy beings he had seen, the monk shuddered; then signing himself with the sign of the cross, he exclaimed

"No time is to be lost, or the lady will fall a victim to the arts of the Ice King; for he it is who has gained admission to the castle, in consequence of the thoughts of the Lady Clarice having wandered in her prayers."

He then gave Amador directions how to act, and they parted.

The evening of the third day had now arrived, and the lady sat in her bower; at her side was the White Knight, who was taking his leave of her, as the time of his departure had arrived.

"Before I go, madam," said he, "let me entreat you to accept from me a token of esteem. It is a ring blessed in Palestine, from whence I came when I returned to visit this castle. It will bring happiness to her who wears it, and success in love, should you ever deign to cast your eyes on one whom you think worthy to succeed my cousin."

Clarice graciously put forth her hand, to receive an opal ring which he presented; and at the same time her thoughts, she knew not why, turned to the minstrel Amador, not as the knight supposed, to himself: but just as the ring touched her finger, and she felt the cold lips of the knight pressing her hand, the door flew open, and the minstrel rushed in the ring fell on the ground, and broke into a thousand stars; a shower of holy water, cast from the hand of Amador, covered Clarice with its crystal drops, and at her feet she saw a stream of ice only, for the White Knight was gone.

"Lady!" said the monk, who at that moment entered the chamber, "you are saved-and your enemy is defeated. The White Knight was no other than the Ice King, who, attracted by your beauty, sought to gain you as a bride. It is decreed, that he to whom your thoughts have strayed, when they should have been directed to Heaven alone,

should save you from the evil spirit, if he is true and pious, otherwise he will be doomed to expiate your fault by retiring to a convent."

'Alas, father!" said the lady; "he is, he must be faithful, and merits reward rather than punishment. I confess that no other than Amador has engaged my thoughts ever since my husband's death; and since he has proved himself so worthy, it is but fitting I should give him my hand, with half my fortune to the church."

Whatever objections the monk might have made to the first part of the lady's design, her last words were convincing; and he denied not his blessing to the pair who knelt at his feet.

The Lady of Tazana and her new husband became the patterns of the country for conjugal affection, and they went in procession to the Gour, soon after their marriage, where a solemn mass was said over the abyss. Since that time, it is seldom that the Ice King dares to appear; indeed, it is said, that he is never allowed to do so to any but those who have deceived their lovers; so that few like to acknowledge that they have seen him; and in winter, all the inhabitants carefully avoid passing near the Gour de Tazana, particularly by moonlight.

ON THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.

BY CAMILLA TOULMIN.

No wonder poets choose thee for their theme,

Great Time? E'en if the lay be weak, 'twould seem,
From thy sublimity, to surely gain

Both power and glory,-borrowed not in vain;
For peerless attar, 'prisoned in dull clay,

Doth make the poor earth rich, though pass'd away,
Leaving a legacy of wealth behind.

'Tis thus we seek embodiment to find

Of those high thoughts, which, like an essence rare,
Men fain would bind and keep; for this they share
The subtle power or spirit with some thing

Of meaner quality, and strive to bring,

And hold, within their reach that spirit-power
Impalpable as fragrance from a flower.
So poets strive to summon at their call

Th' embalming words, which, if they come at all,
The best and brightest are but earthy things,
Dimming the radiance they should enshrine,
Too weak to follow Thought's aspiring wings,
Or pierce the depths of its unfathom'd mine!

Thou of the iron rule, great Time!—the thought
Of thee is all so vast, we cannot hope

To find for it a prison in the scope

Of narrow words;-enough if there be caught
Some feeble sparks, in kindred minds to light

A flame, which there may grow more clear and bright.
They fashion thee, old Time, with wings outspread;
Yet I could think that sometimes they are furl'd,
When thou dost move with halt and lagging tread,
Casting a shadow on that inner world

The mind itself creates. Lovers do count

The shadow'd days of absence, dark indeed
To the true heart, which eagerly would mount
The car of Phoebus, that each lazy steed

Might mend its pace, and gallop to the goal
Which seems so sadly distant to his soul.
Neither, methinks, hast thou too swift a flight
For him Ambition lures! Expectant wight,
Who struts along beneath his galling chain
Proudly, because 'tis gilt; looking in vain
To meteor fires, which mock his ardent chase,
Neglecting flowers he crushes in the race.

And there are others, too, who sometimes chide
The tardy pace of Time. In these there meet
Bright intellect and heart,-with the high tide

Of keen sensations ;-waters pure and sweet
To mirror fleeting joys; but dark and deep
Their under currents, where ingulfed there sleep
The wrecks of precious things. And such do long
And
yearn for years to swiftly pass along

Till "times" shall be less "out of joint" with all
Those revelations of a loftier state.

They see the twilight, and they feel the pall

Which covers this fair laughing earth-though lateWill be by Time removed;-such would not stay His rapid onward flight. Let him away!

What does Time rob us of?-our youth!-That wealth
Which we look back on through the golden gate
That ne'er shall ope again. With heart elate,
Youth is but little prized, until by stealth
We feel it shrinking, like a hoarded store,
On which th' inheritor draws heavy drafts.
So they were just, methinks no bitter shafts
Are left to rankle when our youth is o'er.
Who would give back the fruits of riper years

For the mere blossoms, or the produce crude
Of the May-days of life-their hopes and fears?
Both hollow cheats, which most in youth intrude
To misdirect our steps:-the world we find,
Its joys and dangers, different to the mind,
(Greater or less, but still of different hue,)
From the false scenes they conjured to our view!

But myriad are the clinging memories,
Which unto earth's "tired denizens " must rise
Whene'er the mind, as now, just stays to mark
The pauseless tread of Time!-Into thy dark
And measureless abyss, Eternity,
A few more sands are dropt.-Eternity!
That is a thing too vast for human speech,
Which soaring thought indeed can never reach!
Enough, created Time sprang from thy womb,
Of which thou art as well the mighty tomb!
Let us not mourn the rapid flight of Time,
The world grows richer ev'ry hour we live ;
Not in the drossy store of India's clime,

But in the dearer wealth that mind can give.
Pass o'er us then, old Time, with wings outspread,
Scatt'ring the blessings which shall still endure,
"Rip'ning and rotting" as our path we tread,

And healing wounds which only thou canst cure!

THE PERSONAL COURAGE OF MACBETH.

BY CHARLES MOUTRAY.

66

THE question respecting the personal courage of Macbeth is one that has long since been mooted by the commentators, solemnly argued, and decided against him; and this so authoritatively, that, by the world at large, it is considered settled. Our present purpose is to examine whether this be upon just grounds. Steevens states that Mr.Whately's "Remarks on some of the Characters of Shakspeare" have shewn, with the utmost clearness of distinction, and fidelity of arrangement, that what in Richard III. is fortitude, in Macbeth is no more than resolution. He adds, that this "judicious critic"!!! having imputed the cause of Macbeth's inferiority of courage to his natural disposition, he is induced "to dissent in one particular from an essay which otherwise is too comprehensive to need a supplement, and too rational to admit of a confutation." It were, indeed, a waste of words to stop to denounce the stupidity of this Mr. Whately, who would fain persuade us that he who, when spoken of, is especially styled "the brave Macbeth," he who is described as Valour's minion"-" Bellona's bridegroom"-was naturally and constitutionally a coward. But what shall we say to George Steevens' panegyric upon this besotted prater? Surely if one half of what has been said respecting the learning, acuteness, ingenuity, and taste of George Steevens be true, never were caresses less appropriately bestowed since Titania kissed the "fair large ears" of Bottom. The fact is, however, that, although we have abundant reason to be grateful to Steevens for his labours on Shakspeare-although he surpassed and surpasses all the editors of Shakspeare in the natural and acquired qualities, and in the enduring enthusiasm he brought to a task he assumed as a labour of love-yet he had not a mind sufficiently capacious, nor a heart sufficiently high to comprehend the great creations of the poet. While he was minutely examining the leaves and stem and thorns, the odour of the pɛpiorov avboç, the most exquisite flower, escaped his senses, and so wrought no spell. In the matter on hand, he has transferred the ass's head from the brows of Whately to his own, and it fits him so well that he can scarcely be said to wear it with a difference. The one particular in which he dissents cannot go for much. He says-" Throughout such parts of this drama as afford opportunities for a display of personal bravery, Macbeth sometimes screws his courage to the sticking-place." Ay, sometimes! He adds, however-" but he never rises into constitutional heroism." For his proofs of this, Steevens flies to the fifth act of the drama, the closing scenes of Macbeth's long career. Let us examine them. "Instead of meditating some decisive stroke on the enemy, his (Macbeth's) restless and self-accusing mind discharges itself in splenetic effusions, and personal invectives on the attendants about his person.' If we consider Macbeth's situation, we shall observe how unfounded is the first charge. The thanes have fled from him, and joined the English. He has no army to cope with them in the field. What, under such circumstances, should a general do, whose valour was guided by wisdom? Defend "great Dunsinane."

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