clasped his Lordship's hand with a feeble gripe, raised it gratefully to his lips, and sighed deeply, as he relinquished it for his crucifix. He then fell slowly back upon his couch, and after two or three convulsive struggles, which seemed like the last efforts of departing sensation, sunk into that deep and torpid slumber which, though not death itself, is its immediate precursor. Another short interval elapsed, and then, amid a burst of infectious sorrow, the death-wail sounded sadly for Antony Clifford.

The sun was careering brightly in the heavens, and all nature was rejoicing in its unclouded glory, as the funeral procession of Helen Hartlington, and Antony Clifford, wound its toilsome and melancholy way to Bolton Abbey. The sportive deer were bounding lightly over the hills, and the glad birds were warbling melodiously in the thickets, as if none but the living were moving amongst them; and but for the wild dirge, which mingled with the whispers of the wind, and but for the deep-toned knell which ever and anon rose slowly and mournfully above it, the lone traveller would never have conjectured that Death was conveying its victims through those smiling scenes. As the proces sion approached the portals of the Abbey, it was met, as was then customary, by the young men and maidens of the surrounding villages, in their best array, who hung upon the hearse chaplets of fragrant flowers, and strewed its path with rosemary, pansies and

rue.

At the same moment the solemn chant of the Miserere thrilled upon the soul, and was succeeded, as it gradually melted into silence, by the still more affecting strains of the parting requiem for the dead. The funeral ceremonies of the church of Rome are impressive at all times, but they were rendered more than usually impressive in the present in stance, by the recollection of the singularly unfortunate destiny of the youthful pair, in whose behoof they were celebrated. A short time ago, and every thing promised them a long enjoyment of happiness together; on a sudden, clouds and darkness overshadowed their prospects; and a storm arose, which parted them in life, only to reunite them inseparably in the grave. The unexpected vicis situdes which they had recently un◄

dergone,-their wedding-cheer changed into burial feasts, their nuptial hymns into sullen dirges, and their bridal garlands into funeral wreaths, made every spectator feel his own dependence upon Providence, and muse deeply upon the instability of fortune. It was owing to the engrossing feeling of religion, which such reflections naturally generate in the human bosom, that a tall female, whose features were carefully concealed by her mourning hood and cloak, contrived to intrude herself, without being observed, among the crowd of mourners, and to take her station at the head of the two coffins. As they were moved to the grave, in which they were to repose, till the dawning of a bright eternity, she moved quietly along with them; and it was not till they were both deposited in their final resting-place, and that incense had been thrown, and holy water sprinkled over them, that her vehement emotion and distracted gestures attracted general attention. No one knew her; but the excess of grief under which she laboured, gained for her, though unknown, both sympathy and respect; and she was thus enabled to reach the brink of the grave and to look down from its damp mound upon its insensible inmates, as the grave-digger began his necessary task of closing it up. The dull hollow clatter of the earth upon the coffins had scarcely grated upon her ear, when, with a tone of anguish, which dwelt long in the memory of Lord Clifford, she sobbed out, "My son, my son !" and fell in frantic sorrow upon his corse. In a few minutes she was taken out of his grave in a state of insensibility; and the removal of her hood to restore her to animation displayed to the wondering domestics of Lord Clifford the features of Antony Clifford's mysterious nurse, without her gipsy tinge and complexion, and to the elder villagers who were present, the long-lost features of the onceloved lily of Egremond, without their bloom and youthful beauty. The halfguessed secret of many years was thus revealed beyond denial, and Lord Clifford stood before the astonished group as the despoiler of her innocence, and the father of her child. Many circumstances, which before appeared unaccountable, became immediately capable of easy explanation; and the import of the gipsy's secret conversation with his Lordship on her restoring

her child to his care after rescuing him from the blazing bonfire of Flasby-fell, and the cause of her subsequently seeking and obtaining admission into his family as nurse, were both equally apparent. There were, however, portions of her history, into which the curiosity of the vulgar found it impossible to penetrate; and it was only by recollecting the unworthy association which Lord Clifford had formed in early life with the roving outlaws of Crokerise forest, that any mode could be found of accounting for her association with the troop of gipsies, which continued to infest it. On all such points Lord Clifford and herself were the only persons who could throw light; but Lord Clifford was unwilling, and she was unable, to be communicative; for, as if to shew, that the cup of her misfortunes had not hitherto been full, she only recovered from her insensibility to pass the remnant of her days in incurable madness.

Three centuries have elapsed since the melancholy pageant of that day awoke the rude sympathies of the peasantry of Craven; but though time has now unroofed the towers of Barden, and hurled down the lofty aisles

and superb altars of Bolton Abbey, it has not entirely swept away all memorials of these unfortunate lovers. Though stripped of the heraldic trophies and the architectural honours which once adorned it, the tomb which contains their ashes still exists; and when I first saw it, about thirty years ago, seldom failed to excite the curi osity of the stranger, by the simplicity of its form and construction. Whe ther its appearance is gifted with the same charm at present, I do not pretend to know, for I have not recently visited that portion of merry England; but at the time of which I speak, it generally gave rise to inquiries respecting the parties who slumbered beneath its moss-clad canopy. The answers were commonly vague and unsatisfactory, involving a confused story of love and madness, and voluntary death. Its palpable inconsistencies rendered me desirous to discover its actual incidents; and after sundry difficulties, I succeeded in collecting from the elderly inhabitants of the district, in scattered fragments, the particulars which I have combined together in the History of Clifford the Astrologer, a Legend of Craven. TEUTONICUS.

"WILL you never hold your little, yelping tongues to-night?" said Beaty Lawson to the nursery brood, whom she had presided over ever since their birth, and whom she had just tucked into the various sized cribs which surrounded an ample nursery. "Your elder brothers are all quiet in the next room, and so is your sister; I'll warrant they dinna get leave to cheep a word at school, after they are in their beds; and they will be weel sleepit, and up before any of you bairns, to wish their mamma a good Hansel Monday."

"Well but, Beaty, just answer me this one question," said a pertinacious little rogue, raising a curly bullet of a head from a well tumbled pillow ;"I'll go to sleep this instant if you will only tell me. Was that a guinea mamma sent out to get silver for?-I wonder how much we'll get to our hansels?"

"Oh, Jemmy, you should not be thinking about money after you have said your prayers," whispered a fairhaired little girl, whom Beaty loved above all the rest; " you know that nurse says, the fairies can turn it all into chucky stones, if we think about money in our beds."

"Tut, nonsense!" said Jemmy ;"Mary is always dreaming about the fairies, because papa calls her his little elf. Well, if I get five shillings for my hansel, I'll buy you a little green coaty, Mary, if you'll promise not to turn my money into chucky stones."

"Well, do not say another word about it, but go to sleep this instant. See, you are wakening Willie, and I'll have the whole pack of you up; and if that's the case, Jemmy, I'll positively leave you at home when we go to the shops in the morning.'

"

This terrible threat had the desired effect, for Beaty was known to reign despotic in the nursery; and her judgments being as merciful as just, they were never interfered with by Mrs Seaton, the mother of these children.

Sweet were the young voices, and the pattering of little feet, which assailed the happy parents' ears, as the little troop burst into their room to wish them a good Hansel Monday. Mr Seaton kissed his children, and then led them to their mother's bed. The three elder of Beaty's charge could

just on tiptoe reach the mother's lips; whilst the father helped a round faced little girl to scramble up the bed, and Beaty held the crowing baby in her

arms.

"Now, little Jane, you must not sit on mamma's pillow," exclaimed the dauntless James; " for I know all our hansels are under it."

"No, not all," said the silver-tongued Mary," for I see something very pretty peeping out on the other side. Oh, mamma, may I see what it is?"

The mother smiled, and Mary drew out a little, green silk frock, with silver clasps.

"Oh, it is for me," said the happy child," because I am papa's fairy!— And here is a doll for Jane, and a purse for James, and another for William; and a little one for me, I declare, besides my pretty frock!"

"Oh, mamma and papa, how good you are!" exclaimed the joyous creatures, and the kisses were renewed.

"Now, my little ones, you must go to breakfast. Nurse, take your boy; his mother's kiss is all he cares for yet."

"May God bless my infant!" breathed the grateful mother, imprinting a kiss upon his rosy cheeks.

To breakfast the little ones went; but what child who knows the value of a sixpence, and sees before him the toy-shop's boundless range, can look at "parritch" on a Hansel Monday! No; we may all remember the tumbled bed, the untasted breakfast, which told how unnecessary was sleep or food to the happy expectants of a day like this!

And now the little coats, the worsted gloves, and snow-boots were duly buckled on, and the mother saw the joyous troop depart. She did not detain them with ill. timed cautions, lectures, or advice, to check the freedom of their wildest wishes; she stayed but for a moment her little Mary, and, wrapping the Indian shawl still closer on her breast, she bade Beaty take care of her gentle child. The two elder boys had already gone out with Mr Seaton; and Fanny, being a little beyond Beaty's control, remained to accompany her mother.

It was a pleasant sight for old and young, to behold the various groups of restless, happy beings, which that

day crowded the far-stretched line of Prince's Street. Already were to be seen some impatient little urchins, the offspring of chicken-pecked mothers, returning with their load of gilded baubles from their early walk. And passing them came upright, pale-faced girls, the governess's pride! Poor things, one day of freedom might have been permitted you, just to gild the gloom of such a life of vain and heartless toil! And now came youthful mothers, and proud young papas, with riotous boys, and giggling rosy girls, as happy in the toy-shop as their children were. But amongst all the various throng, none were more naturally joyous than Beaty Lawson's brood. They were the children of a good old-fashioned nursery, where much kindness and little discipline kept all in order. Beaty knew nothing of the thousand methods and neverending books, which are now thought necessary for the education of youth. But she had all her Bible by heart, and the greater part of Shakspeare, besides a superabundance of fairy tales and romantic ballads; and the little Seatons knew no severer punishment than Beaty's declaring that she would not tell a story for a week. Never was an impure word or a base action known in Beaty's nursery. Her own mind was the mirror of purity and truth; her heart the seat of ardent and active feeling.

The little Seatons felt it no penance to be confined to such a nursery. They looked upon it as privileged ground, where they could enact a thousand sports, sure of Beaty Lawson's assistance and applause. Even Sunday, that day of injudicious gloom to many, shone a holiday to them; nay, it was the happiest day of all the seven, for the pious father spent it with his children; and when retired from their parents, they had still to look to Beaty's Bible story; and whether it was to be Daniel in the lion's den-the children in the fiery furnace, or Mary's favourite Ruth, was the only question.

But we must not forget that Monday is already come, and that Beaty has to attend to other high behests. No light task was hers, to hear and answer the thousand questions and never-ending projects, as to what their exhaustless wealth might be equal to procure. But, before entering the tempting precincts of the toy-shop,

Beaty's custom had ever been to exact from each child a tenth of its treasure, to be appropriated by her to some object of charity; and this being given with open heart and willing hand, there was no farther check to the disposal of the rest. It was delightful to listen to the various projected purchases the magnificent presents they intended to bestow. William knew his papa wanted a barometer, and did nurse think they would get it at the toy-shop, and that Mrs Connel would give it him for half a crown? Then came a list of gifts, commencing with a satin gown for mamma, and ending with a tea-canister for Betty the cook. If these things were at last discovered to be beyond their grasp, and something humbler was suggested when in the toy-shop, great at least had been their delight in talking of them, and Beaty was sure to make honourable mention of the first intention on their return home. And now the toy-shops having been ransacked, and the merits of good-humoured Mrs Connel been thoroughly discussed, another pleasure was still in store-a visit to George's Square, to taste old aunty Stewart's bun. This had always formed a part of the routine of Hansel Monday.

As long as the little Seatons could remember George's Square, so long had aunty Stewart inhabited the same house, and sat at her little wheel in the same chair, just between the fireplace and the window. Her grey silk gown, her beautiful pinched cap, her silver hair and smooth unwrinkled skin, these had never altered. There stood the little table with her Bible, the newspapers, and a volume of the Spectator, and from year to year these dear children had come, and still found all the same. The bright brass grate with its shining utensils, the mahogany cat, on which the frothy buttered toast was placed at breakfast, and the plates were warmed at dinner ;— the china figures on the mantel-piece, where Sir John Falstaff, with his paunch stuffed full of fun, still stood so temptingly beyond their reach; these well-known sights were sure to meet their eyes as the little folk marched into aunt Stewart's parlour.

Well, my bairns, and is this you?" said the good old lady, laying aside her spectacles, and carefully marking with a pin the place in the newspaper she had been reading; for since her