My story is nearly ended. The unfortunate Highlander stood his trial at Carlisle, and was sentenced to death. He met his fate with great firmness, and acknowledged the justice of his sentence. But he repelled indignantly the observations of those who accused him of attacking an unarmed man. "I give a life for the life I took," he said, "and what can I do more?" SEA SONGS. NEPTUNE'S RAGING FURY; OR THE GALLANT SEAMAN'S SUFFERINGS. You gentlemen of England That live at home at ease, Ah, little do you think upon The dangers of the seas; Give ear unto the mariners, And they will plainly show [All] the cares, and the fears, When the stormy winds do blow. All you that will be seamen Must bear a valiant heart, For when you come upon the seas In hail, rain, blow, or snow, When the stormy winds do blow. The bitter storms and tempests Both day and night, with many a fright, Our sleep it is disturbed With visions strange to know, And with dreams on the streams, When the stormy winds do blow. In claps of roaring thunder, Which darkness doth enforce, When the stormy winds do blow. Then down again we fall to prayer, "Tis that must bear us out; To God we call for succour, For He it is, we know, That must aid us, and save us, That sit in gowns of fur, In closets warm, can take no harm, When winter fierce with cold doth pierce, And beats with hail and snow, We are sure to endure, When the stormy winds do blow. We bring home costly merchandise, When the stormy winds do blow. In taverns on a row, Then we sweep o'er the deep, When tempests are blown over, In weather fair, and temperate air, If enemies oppose us, When England is at wars With any foreign nations, We fear not wounds nor scars; Our roaring guns shall teach them When the stormy winds do blow. We are no cowardly shrinkers, But true Englishmen bred, We'll play our parts, like valiant hearts, And never fly for dread; We'll ply our business nimbly, Where'er we come or go, With our mates, to the Straits. When the stormy winds do blow. The great naval victory intended to be celebrated by this excellent old song, was determined, after a running action of several days, off Cape La Hogue, on the coast of Normandy, the 22d of May, 1692, in favour of the English and Dutch combined fleets, consisting of 99 sail of the line, under the command of Admiral Russel, afterwards Earl of Orford, over a French squadron of about half that number, commanded by the Chevalier Tourville, whose ship, Le Soleil Royal, carried upwards of a hundred guns, and was esteemed the finest vessel in Europe. This last fleet was fitted out for the purpose of restoring King James II. to his dominions; and that prince, together with the Duke of Berwick, and several great officers both of his own court and of the court of France, and even Tourville himself, beheld the final destruction of the French ships from an eminence on the shore. Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe! And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, The spirits of your fathers For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave! Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Britannia needs no bulwarks, Her march is o'er the mountain waves, With thunders from her native oak As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, To the fame of your name, THOMAS CAMPBELL. his head as he went. The countess was the amiable daughter of a country gentleman— she was a flower which, from the pressure of the court atmosphere, drooped, but did not quite wither; to avoid ennui she had no resource but to swim with the tide of high life. She and her husband sometimes met-they never avoided, nor ever courted each other's society. Before marriage they had seen little of each other, and after it they had no time to devote to such an employment. There were people enough who spared the count the trouble of admiring his wife's perfections, and if they made no impression on her heart, they at least WHO COULD HAVE BELIEVED IT? gratified her vanity. FROM THE GERMAN.1 There lived in Vienna a young man of rank and fortune, who bore a strong resemblance to many other young men of that and every city, for he was a dupe to all the follies of fashion and high life. He combined a flexible heart with a handsome person; it had cost his mother a great deal of trouble to make him what is called a puppy; but, by indefatigable diligence, she had at last effected her purpose. All the ladies, consequently, loved him, and he loved them all in return. It has been said that once or twice his attachments have even been of more than a month's duration, but never did he impose any constraint upon himself or the object of his affection by an irksome fidelity. He possessed the nicest powers of perception, whenever any word or look summoned him to victory; but he always had the good manners to pay every attention to the clock, when it announced the hour of parting. With these qualifications he was certain of success with the ladies. He paid his devoirs to all, enjoyed all, and was at last tired of all. In one of his moments of torpid satiety our hero had returned home before supper. Happy is he who feels the time least oppressive when at home-he belongs to the better kind of men. Our young count threw himself upon the sofa, stretched his limbs, yawned, and so forth. Suddenly it occurred to him that he was married. No wonder that we should have forgotten it, since he himself only just now recollected it. 'Apropos," said he, and rung the 66 bella servant entered. "Go to your mistress and ask if I may have the pleasure of seeing her." The servant listened attentively, not believing the testimony of his own ears. The count repeated his orders, which the servant at length obeyed, shaking 1 Translated by Benjamin Thomson. Her husband's message was delivered to her at a moment when her state of mind was much the same as his:-she knew not what to think of this unexpected visit: she replied, however, that she should be happy to see him. He entered-hoped he was not troublesome-took a chair-made remarks on the weather-and The conversarecounted the news of the day. tion, as far as related to the subjects of it, was quite common, but his vivacity and Amelia's genius inspired it with interest. passed they knew not how: the count looked at his watch-was surprised to find it so late, and requested permission to sup with his wife. 66 The time With all my heart," replied Amelia, "if you can be content with my homely fare." Supper was brought they eat, and were merry, without being noisy. This calm pleasure possessed to them the charm of novelty; they were both pleasant without wishing to appear so, as is generally the case with most people. They were quite new acquaintances-the hours flew swiftly away, and the time for retiring to rest being arrived, the count took leave of the countess, highly pleased with his visit. The next day he was invited to a concert, and did not learn till it was late, that, one of the virtuosos being ill, the concert was deferred. How was he to pass the tedious evening? He inquired, as he passed, after his wife, and was informed she was somewhat indisposed. "Well," thought he, "common civility requires that I should wait upon her, and ask He sent a mesher personally how she does.' sage, requesting that he might be allowed to sit with her till supper, and was very politely received. He was cheerful, lively, and gallant. The supper hour arrived, and this time Amelia begged him to stay. He had been invited to a cassino party after the concert, notwithstanding which he remained with his wife, and their conversation was quite as pleasant, and | less reserved, than that of the preceding visit. "Do you know," said Amelia, "that the party to which you were invited would find a little trouble in discovering the cause of your absence?" He smiled, and paused for a few moments. "I must tell you something in confidence," began he at length, while he was playing with his fork, "something which you will perhaps think rather candid than gallant; you cannot imagine how much you are improved since your marriage."-" My marriage!" answered Amelia, in a jocose tone, "I believe it took place about the same time as your own.' At that time "Very true, my lady," replied he, "but it is inconceivable how so happy an alteration can have taken place in you. pardon me-you had so much rustic bashfulness, it is scarce possible to recognize you: your genius is no longer the same; even your features are much improved." "Well, my lord," replied the countess, "without wishing to return the compliment, all that you have said of me I thought of you. But upon my word," added she, "it is well that no one hears us; for it almost seems as if we were making love." The dialogue continued long in the same style, till Amelia at length looked at her watch, and in a fascinating tone remarked that it was late. The count arose unwillingly, slowly took his leave, and as slowly retired to the door-suddenly he again turned round. "My lady," said he, "I find it very tedious to breakfast alone-may I be allowed to take my chocolate with you?" "If you please," answered Amelia; and they parted, still more pleased with each other. The next morning it occurred to the count that these frequent visits to his wife might give rise to scandalous reports. He therefore desired his valet not to mention the circumstance to any one. He then put on an elegant morning-gown, and went softly over to Amelia. Amelia had just risen in the most cheerful humour. The bloom upon her cheek rivalled the blush of morning. She was animated and witty-in short, she was enchanting; and her husband, in an hour, discovered how much pleasanter it was to breakfast in company than to sit alone, and opposite a glass, gazing at his own person, and looking into his yawning mouth. "Why don't you come here every day," said Amelia, "if my company is pleasant to you?" He answered that he feared his presence might prevent the visits of others. "I shall miss no one," replied she, "as long as you indemnify me by your society." Upon my word," said the count, "I have more than once wished that I was not your ladyship's husband." "Why so?" demanded Amelia. "That I might be allowed to tell you," returned he, "how much I love you." "Oh! tell me so, I beg," cried she, "if only for the sake of novelty." "Fear not," answered the count; "I hope, my lady, I shall never so far forget myself; but we have had, I think, two very agreeable tête-à-têtes at supper-how if you were this evening to allow me a third." "With all my heart," answered the countess. The appointment was on both sides exactly adhered to. Their conversation was this time less lively, less brilliant-they gazed at each other oftener, and spoke less; the heart began to assert its influence, and even arrived so far, that they once, during a pause, involuntarily squeezed each other's hand across the table, although the servants were still in the room.— Who could have believed it? Her Amelia very plainly perceived that it was late, but she did not look at her watch. husband made not the smallest effort to depart; -he complained that he was somewhat tired, but not sleepy. In a word, from this day they parted in the morning instead of midnight, because they were then both ready to breakfast together. The count, enchanted with his new conquest, eloped with Amelia into the country, where they, with astonishment, discovered that the theatre of nature, and the concert of the nightingales, surpassed all other theatres and concerts. They at first thought of staying only a few days every morning they intended to depart, and every evening they changed their intentions. When autumn, however, approached, they returned to Vienna. same evening they went to the play, and our hero had the courage to sit in the same box with Amelia. The 1645. [William Browne, born at Tavistock, 1590; died, The author of Britannia's Pastorals, the Shepherd's Pipe, and other poems, is now almost forgotten. But in his own time he was popular, and won the highest compliments from Selden, Drayton, Jonson, and many others. Milton is said to have made a study of his style, which was modelled upon that of the Italian writers, and is in consequence marred by far-fetched conceits. Milton's Lycidas and Browne's Philarete are sometimes compared with no discredit to the latter.] Unknown was then the Phrygian broidery, wore, Russet or white, or those mix'd, and no more: The Arras hangings round their comely halls made; Their homely cots deck'd trim in low degree, As now the court with richest tapestry. The daisy scatter'd on each mead and down, A golden tuft within a silver crown(Fair fall that dainty flower! and may there be No shepherd grac'd that doth not honour thee!) The primrose, when with six leaves gotten grace, Maids as a true-love in their bosoms place; The spotless lily by whose pure leaves be Noted the chaste thoughts of virginity; The harebell for the stainless azur'd hue, Claims to be worn of none but those are true; The rose, like ready youth, enticing stands, And would be cropp'd if it might chose the hands; The yellow king-cup Flora them assign'd To be the badges of a jealous mind; The columbine, in tawny often taken, Is then ascribed to such as are forsaken; Flora's choice buttons, of a russet dye, Is hope even in the depth of misery; The pansy, thistle, all with prickles set, The cowslip, honey-suckle, violet, And many hundreds more that graced the meads, Gardens and groves (where beautious Flora treads), Were by the Shepherds' daughters (as yet are |