bation which will be as unchangeable as the principles on which it is founded. But surely some malicious sprite broke in upon the dreams of Rembrandt, and presented to his imagination, as the model of beauty, the perverfe caricature of humanity, which, differently modified, appears in all his works. On this, the favourite object of his idolatry, he lavished all the graces of his exquifite pencil, and, infatuated by her allurements, fuffered himself to be seduced from that fimplicity of unadulterated nature, which is reflected to so much advantage in the mirror of art.

I

FITZALAN.

T was after fun-set, one evening in the decline of autumn, when, in consequence of a letter which he had just received, fummoning him to attend the deathbed of a much-loved friend, the protector of his infancy, Fitzalan, after having most affectionately embraced and bade adieu to his beloved wife Edith, and his infant Edwin, mounted his steed and departed from his dwelling-he had many miles to travel; and a great part of the road he was to pursue, lay over a bleak and dreary heath of immense extent. He quitted his home, though only for a short time, with extreme reluctance; and, notwithstanding his hatte, while it remained in fight, often stopped and looked back to catch another glimpse of the place which contained all that he held dear. Edith, and her little boy, followed him to the gate; waved their hands to him while he remained visible, and when the distance, and the advance of night hid him from them, returned to the house in a melancholy mood. Edith trembled for her husband, though she knew not why: the tears stole fast down her cheeks, and little Edwin, seeing his mother weep, clasped his arms round her neck-hid his head in her bofom, and mingled his tears with hers.

Fitzalan

Fitzalan having at length loft fight of the dear objects that retarded his progress, pursued his journey with all possible celerity: in a few minutes he entered upon the heath, across which lay the road he was neceffitated to take: not a fingle house was to be seen before himnot a single traveller appeared, whose prefence and conversation might have beguiled the tedious way he had to go. It was now night, and the moon had not yet rifen. The chilling wind, that howling mournfully through the trees, scattered their shrivelled yellow foliage upon the ground; the gloomy, spectre-like appearance of every furrounding object; the late parting from his wife and child, and the painful nature of the duty he was then hastening to perform, all contributed to fill the bosom of Fitzalan with the most melancholy reflections. "It is now fixteen years ago," said he, to himself, with a figh, "fince my brave and tender father difappeared on this heath; flain, most probably, by the sword of fome vile assaffin! Would to God that I could avenge his death! but, alas, I know not his murderer! The venerable fir Edmund too, the friend, the guardian of my youth; he whose liberality preferved my independence, when the rapacious Fitzurban wrested from me my paternal domains, he will, perhaps, ere I can arrive at his castle, be no more! I shall not have the fad fatisfaction of closing those eyes that were ever turned upon me with the tenderest affection. I shall not receive the blessing of him who delighted to contribute to my happiness: but yet, all is not loft. -My faithful, my lovely Edith, my little Edwin, till remain; and, while I possess them, I cannot be miferable."

In this manner Fitzalan gave vent to his meditations. He had now travelled over above one-third of the heath, when he imagined that he heard, at a great distance, as the gale wafted the sound, the trampling of horfes feet: he stopped for a moment, in hopes that some one might be journeying the fame way with himself: he liftened-but, not again hearing it, he supposed that he had been deceived by the wind, sweeping through the branches of the old half-leafless trees, that were thinly scattered over the heath; he therefore proceeded: but, in a few minutes, again heard, very plainly, the noife of horfemen, advancing with great rapidity: he once more halted, and favoured by the wind, and the stillness which reigned around him, heard one of them say to the other-" By'r lady, Walter, I wish we were well out of this adventure: for if he should prove such a lion-hearted fellow, as I have been told he is, it may, perhaps, cost us some broken bones, if even it should not turn out worse?" Why, what a fool you are, Hugo!" re-joined the other, angrily. "Do you think that us two, well-armed, are not a match for him? It is very well that the baron does not hear you express your childish fears; he would, certainly, fend you to keep company with the ghosts in the caverns of the castle; but, on the other hand, do but think of the angels we shall get poffef. fion of when we go back. Two hundred-think of that Hugo. Sweet, pretty creatures! how I long to be fingering of them. By St. Cuthbert, I should defire no better sport than to have fuch a commiffion every day. Faith, I would foon be as rich as the baron; and not a whit less honest with it. But come, come, spur on, he cannot be far before us; and the fooner we get through the business, the fooner we shall get our reward. But, if we should lose him through your fears, you may even go back to the castle by yourself: for my part, I would as foon meet the devil as meet the baron, when he has been disappointed in one of his projects."

Fitzalan heard this mysterious discourse with a confiderable degree of anxiety: he was convinced that

* An ancient gold coin worth ten shillings.

they were affaffins; and though he knew not why, yet still he was as firmly convinced, that he was the object of their pursuit. The afsassins were now so near that they discovered Fitzalan, and loudly called out to him to stop. As Fitzalan disdained the least thought of flying from his enemies, even if flight would have been of any avail, he turned his horse, and, in an angry tone, demanded the reason of their infolence." Afk no questions of us," anfwered the ferocious Walter, "but furrender yourself our prifoner." "Slave," replied Fitzalan, instantly drawing his sword, and advancing upon the ruffian, who was not backward in doing the fame. Fitzalan, at last, disarmed his opponent; and, at the fame instant, received a blow on the temple, from Hugo, who had stolen behind him, which stretched him senseless on the ground. On recovering from his trance, he found himself bound to the horfe, his hands firmly fastened behind him, and the horfe led by the two ruffians who had attacked him: he repeatedly asked his conductors to what place they were conveying him, but he asked them in vain; they preserved the most profound filence. After having travelled across the heath above an hour, the faint beams of the waning moon showed, at some distance, the turrets of a castle, which appeared, to Fitzalan, to be that of the baron Fitzurbar. He was right in his conjecture, it was the caftle of Fitzurban; and thither were the ruffians conveying him. In a few minutes they reached it, and Walter having given the fignal, the draw-bridge was let down, and Fitzalan, Hugo, and Walter, entered the outer court. A band of armed men now appeared, and Fitzalan, disarmed, and faint with loss of blood, finding it impoffible to make any effectual resistance, fuffered himself to be taken off the horse and fettered. He was now led by Hugo and Walter, with their swords drawn, into the inner court; and Walter, taking a key from his pocket, applied it to a door, the lock of which was rusty with age, and it was some time beVOL. II.

C

fore

fore it could be made to open, but, at length, he fucceeded. He entered, followed by Fitzalan and Hugo, and defcended a number of steps into a passage of great length, damp, and noisome; from which many others branched forth: at the end of this passage, a maffy door, strongly bolted, presented itself. Walter drew back the bolts, and unlocking the door, conducted Fitzalan into a dungeon of confiderable extent, and wet with unwholesome vapours. - In one corner lay a bundle of straw, almost rotten with age: "This, fir," faid Walter, pointing to it with a malignant smile, “is your bed; I hope you will approve of it: we will leave you to your meditations; you will be but seldom difturbed, I promise you."

"Base, dastardly slave!" exclaimed Fitzalan, his eyes flashing with indignation. With a contemptuous fneer, Walter and his comrade now quitted the dungeon, and as they fastened the bolts, harth and rusty from the lapse of years, Firzalan felt his heart die within him. He flung himself on the bed of straw, in a state of mind nearly allied to phrenzy a thousand tender recollections presented themselves to him, and every one of them affied to render his present situation more horrible: torn, for ever, from his Edith! from his Edwin! manacled in a dungeon, and, perhaps, on the verge of death; not a ray of hope illumined the dreary profpect before him." Gracious heaven!" he exclaimed, " if I had been doomed to fall in the fair face of day, on the field of glory, I had indeed been bleft but, to be thus immured and shackled! fated, too, to perish by the hand of fome vile assaffin, inglorious and unrevenged!-thus to fall, and far from those -it is too much for mortal endurance." In exclamations like this, of mingled grief and indignation, Fitzalan gave utterance to his feelings. Yet, disastrous as his present situation was, the thought of the forrow which his Edith would fuffer from his loss, gave him a thousand times more infufferable agony than the dangers