the following words in an elevated voice; "Return without delay, and pronounce your decree; for, by my hopes of eternal salvation, and by the sacred trust I hold from Almighty God, he should die if he were my only son."

The murderer was executed on a scaffold in the court of the Grand Chatelet, in the early part of the eighteenth century.

ANTITHESIS.

THE following example of antithesis, from the writings of John Lilly, who flourished in the reign of queen Elizabeth, will shew the pedantry which marked some of the compositions of that period.

"He caused the sees to breake their boundes, sith men had broke their vowes; and to swell as farre above their reach, as men had swerved beyond their reason. Then might you see shippes sayle where sheepe fed; anchors cast where ploughes goe; fishermen throwe their nets where husbandmen sowe their corne; and fishes throwe their scales where fowles do breed their quilles."

POVERTY.

POVERTY is a disease which rages as much and frequently in the republick of letters as the plague in Constantinople.

SELECTED POETRY.

WALTER AND WILLIAM;
AN HISTORICAL BALLAD.

Translated from the original Poem of Richard
Cœur de Lion.

"TWAS when athwart the dusky plain
Was thrown the veil of night;
And heroes, wearied out with strife,
Had ceas'd the lengthen'd fight:

'Twas when the echoing hills no more
The trumpet's voice resound;
When fainting Warriors seek repose,
Their clasping arms unbound:

'Twas when o'er ev'ry hill and dale
A solemn stillness reigns;

Save when at times, the rushing blast,
Deep murm'ring sweeps the plains:

'Twas then beneath proud JOPPA's tow'rs
Lay Richard's British host,
The gallant troops, who Albion left
To seek PALESTINE'S coast.

Ye blooming chiefs, who unappall'd,
Beheld the roaring main;

Ye, who at Glory's syren voice,
Forsook your native plain;

Ah little think ye what betides
The piteous choice ye made;
Ah! little think ye what's entailed,
On War's pernicious trade.

What boots it though your blooming brows

The twining laurels bind,

Will that relieve the suffering sire,

Ye left forlorn behind?

Tho' on PALESTINE'S sultry fields

Eternal fame ye gain,

Will that allay the mother's woe,
Who mourns her offspring slain ?

What tho' o'erpower'd by pagan foes,
A hero's death you die ;

Will that assuage the Widow's grief?
Or wipe the Orphan's eye?

Farewell! ye blooming young and brave !
Some other shall ye praise;

To me another theme belongs,
Earl WALTER claim's my lays.

From Albion he-with Richard's host
He left his native plain,

And dimly view'd his mountains blue,
Sink in the distant main.

Fair was his form-his dauntless soul
Rejoic'd in deeds of death;
To him no musick was more sweet,
Than brazen trumpet's breath.

Tho' now immers'd in War's alarms,
His flagging spirits fail;

His cheek, that once out-bloomed the rose,
Was now grown wan, and pale.

One only brother WALTER had,
A chief of spotless fame ;

Who with him sought PALESTINE's coast,
Earl WILLIAM was his name.

In friendship's holy ties fast bound,
The noble brothers were ;

And nothing was by WALTER priz'd,
Which WILLIAM did not share.

WILLIAM long erst, a chosen band
Had led from JOPPA's towers;
Their purpose gain'd towards the camp
Return'd the British powers.

With open arms Earl WALTER flew
His brother Earl to meet ;

The troops arriv'd-Earl WALTER found
NO WILLIAM there to greet.

Nor knew they, if on battle-heath

Oppress'd by foes he bled;

Nor knew they if in thraldom drear,
A captive life he led.

Then WALTER groaned-the gushing tear
Fast flow'd from either eye;
The hero beat his manly breast,
And heav'd the bursting sigh.

But soon he wip'd the tears away,
And soon conceal'd his grief;
And girding to his loins his sword,
In battle sought relief.

And now full many a turban'd head,
With trenchant steel he clove;
And thro' full many a Moorish head
His whirling lance he drove.

And when from out the throbbing breast
He wrench'd the reeking blade;
He sternly cried, "of WILLIAM's death
"Thou hast the forfeit paid."

When many a Knight, with streaming wounds,

Lay gasping on the plain,

All rough with wounds and drunk with blood
Earl WALTER spurn'd the slain.

All grim upon his sable steed,

Whose hoofs were dyed with gore;
Thro' shatter'd files, and broken ranks;
Thro' hosts of foes he tore.

Yet tho' immers'd in war's alarms
His flagging spirits fail;

His cheek that once out-bloomed the rose,
Was now grown wan, and pale.-

'Twas at the hour when spectres roam,
The hour of dead repose;

When, save Earl WALTER's, every eye,
Within the camp was clos'd;

VOL. 2.