she, 'with the blows given by Don Frederic in contempt of my safe-conduct.' The admiral, perceiving how deeply he and his family had incurred the displeasure of the queen, took counsel with his friends, who were led, by their knowledge of Isabella's character, to believe that he would have more to hope from the surrender of his son than from further attempts at concealment. The young man was accordingly conducted to the palace by his uncle, the constable de Haro, who deprecated the queen's resentment by representing the age of his nephew, scarcely amounting to twenty years. Isabella, however, thought proper to punish the youthful delinquent by ordering him to be publicly conducted as a prisoner, by one of the alcaldes of her court, through the great square of Valladolid to the fortress of Arevala, where he was detained in strict confinement, all privilege of access being denied to him. And when at length, moved by the consideration of his consanguinity with the king, she consented to his release, she banished him to Sicily until he should receive the royal permission to return to his own country."

In proof of her courage, and the influence she possessed over the people, another incident may be cited from the same authority, the period of which was still earlier in her reign :

"The inhabitants, secretly instigated by the Bishop of Segovia, and some of the principal citizens, rose against Cabrera, Marquis of Moya, to whom the government of the city had been intrusted, and who had made himself generally unpopular by his strict discipline. They even proceeded so far as to obtain possession of the outworks of the citadel, and to compel the deputy of the alcayde, who was himself absent, to take shelter, together with the Princess Isabella, then the only daughter of the sovereigns, in the interior defenses, where they were rigorously blockaded. The queen, on receiving the tidings of the event at Tordesillas, mounted her horse, and proceeded with all possible dispatch toward Segovia, attended by Cardinal Mendoza, the Count of Benaventé, and a few others of her court. At some distance from the city she was met by a deputation of the inhabitants, requesting her to leave behind the Count of Benaventé and the Marchioness of Moya, (the former of whom as the intimate friend, and the latter as the wife of the alcayde, were peculiarly obnoxious to the citizens,) or they could not answer for the consequences. Isabella haughtily replied that she was Queen of Castile; that the city was hers, moreover, by right of inheritance; and that she was not used to receive conditions from rebellious subjects.' Then pressing forward with her little retinue through one of the gates, which remained in the hands of her friends, she effected her entrance into the citadel. The populace, in the meanwhile assembling in greater numbers than before, continued to show the most hostile dispositions, calling out, Death to the alcayde! Attack the castle!' Isabella's attendants, terrified at the tumult, and at the preparations which the people were making to put their menaces into

She

execution, besought their mistress to cause the gates to be secured more strongly, as the only mode of defense against the infuriated mob. But instead of listening to their counsel, she bade them remain quietly in the apartment, and descended herself into the court-yard, where she ordered the portals to be thrown open for the admission of the people. stationed herself at the further extremity of the area, and, as the populace poured in, calmly demanded the cause of the insurrection. 'Tell me,' said she, what are your grievances, and I will do all in my power to redress them; for I am sure that what is for your interest must also be for mine, and for that of the whole city.' The insurgents, abashed by the unexpected presence of their sovereign, as well as by her cool and dignified demeanor, replied, that all they desired was the removal of Cabrera from the government of the city. 'He is deposed already,' answered the queen, and you have my authority to turn out such of his officers as are in the castle, which I shall intrust to one of my own servants on whom I can rely.' The people, pacified by these assurances, shouted Long live the queen!' and eagerly hastened to obey her mandates."

In our next we shall return to her interesting story.

E begin in our present

WE

number a series of twenty-five Illustrations of Goldsmith's beautiful poem. They are copied from Etchings published by the "Etching Club," London. Only a few impressions of that work were printed, the copper-plates were destroyed, and the book, except in the most expensive form, has long been unattainable. Great care has been taken to render the present woodblocks as like the original etchings as the different methods of engraving will allow. This poem is classic; the world will never tire of it. It has some passages which modern "Temperance," and other reforms, might correct; but its general impression cannot but be salutary. We give it, therefore, entire.

The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks re-
prove;

These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these,

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But choked with sedges works its weedy

way;

Along thy glades a solitary guest,

The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Amid thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.

green;

These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more.

skill,

Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ;

sue,

Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return-and die at home at last.

O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreats from care, that never must be mine: How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these,

A youth of labor with an age of ease;

Who quits a world where strong temptations try,

And since 't is hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous
deep;

No surly porter stands, in guilty state,
To spurn imploring famine from the gate;
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;

While resignation gently slopes the way; And all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.

Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close,

Up yonder hill the village murmur rose :
There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below;
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,
The sober herd that low'd to meet their
young;

The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisper-
ing wind,

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant

mind;

These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.