solation, and they felt towards him something | devotion; but her right hand was clasped in of that tenderness which we feel for the dead, that of Harry Blake, who, sanctioned by parenwhen vice is recollected with compassion rather tal authority, had sought and received her wedthan hatred, and scorn melts into forgiveness. ded vows. Kate refused for a long time to Warmed by a common impulse, they contributed assume the sacred duties of a wife, conscious of munificently, and made immediate preparations her impaired usefulness; but Harry pleaded for the erection of a new building on the site of most eloquently, and Harry's father declared the old. Mr. Franklin, who was aware of their that he considered the cause of her dependence movements, entered the hall before they sepa- as a mark of glory and honour. He had forrated. It had been long since he had met his bidden his son to claim alliance with a degraded former friends, associated in such a respectable name; but Kate had proved, during her sojourn body; and a few days before, he would have in his dwelling, that a daughter's virtues could shrunk from their glances, conscious of his de- | redeem a father's shame. Kate soon learned to graded condition. Now, strengthened by a be reconciled to a misfortune which only ensolemn resolution, he came among them, and deared her the more to the hearts of her friends. standing in their midst, he begged permission She forgot to mourn over her physical dependto address them a few moments. He began ence, in a father's and husband's devoted love. with the history of his boyhood, and told them But though dependent, she was not passive. his parentage, his flight, his temptation, his per- She shared in all their intellectual pursuits, read jury and guilt. His voice was at first faltering, for them, wrote for them, when weary from but as he proceeded it recovered much of its professional toils; and all that her right hand former richness of tone, and when he painted found to do," she did diligently and in order," his remorse and despair, his solemn resolutions She was their inspiring companion, their modest of amendment, and his trust in Almighty God counsellor, their spiritual friend. for strength to fulfil them, his eloquence rose to the most thrilling sublimity.

For myself" said he in conclusion, "I would have asked nothing-hoped nothing. I would have buried in the deepest solitude the memory of my shame. But I have children—a daughter worthy of a better fate. For her sake I solicit the restoration of that confidence I have so justly forfeited, the birthright I have so shamefully sold. Low as I have sunk, I feel by the effort I have this moment made, that the in-dwelling Deity has not yet quite forsaken this polluted temple. I am still capable of being master of myself, and with God's help I will so be. I ask not for the hands of fellowship; and friendship I want not till time shall have proved the sincerity of my reformation, and purified from the defilement of the drunkard's name."

There was one more figure added to this domestic scene. A fair-haired child sat on Mr. Franklin's knee, and twisted her chubby fingers in his still raven hair. It was the child once cradled on the snowy bed, whose blooming cheeks and bright lips corresponded more with the rose-bud than the snow-drop, the pet name she bore.

Let no man say, when he is tempted, "I am tempted of God!" or having once yielded to the power slumbering in the lap of Delilah, he cannot of the tempter, that, like the giant break the green withes with which his passions have bound him, and find in after years the shorn locks of his glory clustering once more

around his brow.

ANSWER TO X. Y. Z.'s CHARADE.

Here every hand was simultaneously extended, in token of reviving confidence. Some grasped his, in silence and tears-others fervently bid him God-speed, and promised him encourage-There's a stir in yon valley; the war-charger's ment, sympathy, and patronage.

The introduction of a household scene-more than a twelvemonth after this-will close the history of The Drunkard's Daughter. Mr. Franklin was seated at his own fireside, reading; and when he raised his clear, dark eye from the book, and cast it on the domestic group at his side, you could read in his untroubled glance quietude, self-respect, and confidence. The red signet of intemperance being removed from his noble brow, every look bore witness to his intellectual and moral regeneration. Kate sat near him —she who, in the hands of God, had been made the instrument of his salvation-bearing on her youthful and lovely person a sad memento of her father's sin. Her left hand lay useless in her lap; its sinews had been contracted by the fires she smothered when snatching her mother from the flames, and she was destined to carry through life a witness of filial heroism and

neigh

And the clang of the trumpet salute the new day;
And a group of retainers, in martial array,
There 'wait their young leader to mount and away.
The sun is scarce up, yet fair eyes are awake,
And fair eyes are weeping for somebody's sake;
And many fair dames and fond partings, I ween,
In the castle's wide portal that morning were seen.
And there, in the midst doth the loveliest stand,
And a cup of chased silver she holds in her hand;
And she pours forth the red wine, till filled to the
Is the goblet, and then she presents it to him-
Her chosen-and bids him, when far, far away,
Remember the stirrup-cup parting that day.
He quaffs the bright draught, then bends to
And many a fond vow the maiden doth hear:
One kiss on the hand that will soon be his own--
He springs to the saddle-the brave band is flown!
S. J. G,

brim

her ear,

R

46

LITERATURE.

THE RHINE; ITS SCENERY AND HISTO- the city of Cologne: but his thoughts were RICAL AND LEGENDARY ASSOCIATIONS. By troubled, and his heart was heavy; for though his Frederick Knight Hunt. (How.)-It may be a c churches were rich beyond compare in relics, yet positive truth that long before the author of the other towns not half so large or powerful as his had present clever work set about his task, there was cathedrals whose fame extended over Europe, and little that was new to be said of the Rhine. whose beauty brought pilgrims to their shrine, profit to the ecclesiastics, and business to the townspeople. Every body had read Byron's glorious stanzas, After many sleepless nights, therefore, he determined and the poetical and pathetic tales of Bulwer's to add to his city the only thing wanting to complete Pilgrims." A few had followed, in thought, it, and sending for the most famous architect of the Victor Hugo's "Excursions ;" and German time, he commissioned him to complete the plan for history had been made " easy reading" by nu- a Cathedral of Cologne. merous semi-historical romances, and popular stories and ballads. Tourists who enter into an amicable race with each other, and boast of the hundreds of miles they have traversed in as many days, talk of the " castled crag of Drachenfels" as a thing familiar to them, if they be cockneys, as the dome of St. Paul's. Nevertheless, we suspect there is a dreamy indistinctness in the minds of not a few about all that is connected with this famous river; vague notions of beautiful scenery and ancient ruins blend with traditions of ruthless robbers, each mind having its own peculiar ideal of feudal times, while German wines and fast steam-boats are a present reality not to be lost sight of. Now this beautifully illustrated Rhine Book, at once handsome enough for the drawing-room table, and portable enough for a travelling guide, combines in a most succinct and pleasing manner all that the intelligent tourist would most delight to know. Interchapters in small type are given, to which maps (on the page) of the chief cities are appended, by the aid of which the stranger in Brussels, Liege, Antwerp, &c., would be able to find his way to the different objects of curiosity there indicated. Hotels are mentioned, and some hints to save the pocket afforded; while the more graceful portions of the work, historical reminiscences and traditional lore, which make up the mysterious charm we call "association," and lend so great an interest to celebrated places, are executed with a taste and discretion that belong only to a high order of talent. We must find space for the following supernatural story; to our mind there is a deep meaning and a stern moral in the words, "unfinished and forgotten," which might apply to many a work of genius. What are the works of genius, when compared to its aspiring unembodied dreams?

"Now the architect was a clever man, but he was more vain than clever. He had a dreamy notion of magnificence, which he desired to achieve without a clear conception of how he was to do it, or without the will to make the necessary sacrifices of labour, with great gladness, and gloated for some days upon care, and perseverance. He received the commission the fame which would be his as the builder of the structure which the Archbishop desired; but after this vision of glory, when he took his crayons to sketch out the design, he was thrown into the deepest despondency. He drew and drew, and added, and erased, and corrected, and began again, but still did not succeed. Not a plan could he complete. Some were too mean, others too extravagant; and others, when done and examined, were found to be good, but not original. Efforts of memory instead of imagination, their points of excellence were discovered to be copies-a tower from one, a spire from another, an aisle from a third, and an altar from a fourth, and one after another they were cast aside as imperfect and useless, until the draughtsman, more than half crazy, felt inclined to end his troubles and perplexities by a plunge into the Rhine.

"No stranger ever enters Cologne without going to see the Cathedral, and nobody ever looks upon that fragment of the mightiest Gothic design in Christendom without doing three things-without regretting that it never was completed, without asking who was the architect, or without listening to the LEGEND OF THE BUILDER.

"Mighty was the Archbishop Conrad de Hochsteden, for he was lord over the chief city of the Rhine

"In this mood of more than half despair he wandered down to the river's edge, and sitting himself upon a stone began to draw in the sand with a measuring-rod, which served as a walking-stick, the outtowers, finials, brackets, windows, columns, aplines of various parts of a church. Ground-plans, peared one after another, traced by the point of his wand; but all, one after another, were erased as unequal and insufficient for the purpose, and unworthy to form a part of the design for a Cathedral of Cologne. Turning round, the architect was aware that another person was beside him, and with surprise the disappointed draughtsman saw that the stranger was also busily inventing a design. Rapidly on the sand he sketched the details of a most magnificent building, its towers rising to the clouds, its long aisles and lofty choir stretching away before the eye of the gazer until he mentally confessed it was indeed a temple worthy of the Most High. The windows were enriched by tracery such as artist never had before conceived, and the lofty columns reared their tall length towards a roof which seemed to claim kindred with the clouds, and to equal the firmament in expanse and beauty. But each line of this long. sought plan vanished the moment it was seen; and with a complete conviction of its excellence, when it was gone not a portion of it could the architect re. member.

Days, months, years passed by, and the cathedral, commenced with vigour, was growing into form. The architect had long before determined that an inscription should be engraved upon a plate of brass "He found him still in bed, and listened with sur-shaped like a cross, and be fastened upon the front prise to the glowing account of the demon's plan.

vanity already anticipated a triumph over the Fiend whom he had defrauded. He was author of a building which the world could not equal, and in the pride of his heart defied all evil chances to deprive him of fame. Going to the top of the building to see where his name should be placed, he looked over the edge of the building, to decide if it was lofty enough to deserve the honour of the inscription, when the work-pathy is, and necessarily must be, the offspring men were aware of a black cloud which suddenly enveloped them, and burst in thunder and hail. Looking round when the cloud passed away, their master was gone! and one of them declared, that amidst the noise of the explosion he heard a wail of agony, which seemed to say, 6 UNFINISHED AND FORGOTTEN !' "When they descended the tower, the body of the architect lay crushed upon the pavement. The traveller beholds the building as it was on the morning when he fell there, and thousands have since then sought in vain to learn the name of The Architect of Cologne."

supported by the wealth and beneficence of the great; but they mostly serve, and are instituted expressly for the relief of the very poor. Nothing is more correct, more praiseworthy and honourable to any man or woman, than a sympathy with the wretched and distressed; such sym

REMINISCENCES OF THE CORONATION, AND OTHER HISTORICAL TALES, by Mrs. Lane. (C. T. Moon.)-The combination of fact and fiction is rarely so well developed as in the charming work before us, where the startling picture of the real scene is blended with the no less sterling one of the imagination, in such a manner as to carry the reader on without once allowing the idea to cross his mind that, though really so admirably woven together, they are entirely distinct the one from the other. It is a fault with by far the greater number of works of the class under notice, that the "creatures of the brain" unite with the people and times of reality, much in the same manner as a scarlet patch would in the centre of a black cloak. They are detached though connected, and so widely do they differ that the "mind's eye" may draw a line between the two at a first glance. Not so with the "Reminiscences of the Coronation." The poor widow and her son, though poor in almost the extreme sense of the word, mingle well with the aristocratic characters introduced, and the author has with judgment connected them, by infusing into her less exalted characters an aristocracy in mind, and a nobility of feeling and conduct, which at once bring them to a level with the more wealthy and the titled of the tale-and in a manner that in the reader's picturing of the scene, leaves no disparagement, no vacancy that the most fastidious of plot-constructors would wish to see filled up. Mrs. Lane has evidently written this tale with a view to expose that too prevailing and false idea of charity, that is clung to with such obstinate tenacity by the rich and powerful, and the influential of the nation. That charity which developes itself in the vainglorious subscriptions to the numberless institutions of England; such institutions doubtless are worthy of the highest praise, and of being

of a good heart; nothing more correct than that such feelings should be indulged; yet the great -those gifted with riches-in their benefiting the poor, forget, or never contemplate that there is an intermediate class, too proud to beg, their talents raising them above abject poverty, to one no less harassing and painful. Best let the authoress speak in her own words :

"The Countess appointed ten o'clock the next morning to give her first sitting, and Arundel departed as happy as though he had just been crowned king of the united kingdoms of Great Britain and Ireland. With a light and joyous step he turned towards his home. Scarce could he refrain from accelerating his pace into a run, so much did his heart yearn to gladden that of his affectionate parent with the tidings of his good fortune. Oh, ye favoured ones of the earth, you who, cushioned in down, clad in soft raiment, fed by the pampering hand of luxury, lulled to rest by the dulcet sounds of harmony, could little tithe from the vast sums you daily squander on you but once feel the joy, the unspeakable joy, one some foolish bauble would confer, were it bestowednot on the beggar in the streets-there is another class, who feel the griping hand of poverty with tenfold, ay, tenfold bitterness-not, I say, on the beggar, but on some pining artist-some neglected poet -some ruined family; could you, I repeat it, but once feel the joy which that pitiful sum would give them, you would no longer deny yourselves the greatest of all luxuries—the luxury of doing good!”

The discovery to Arundel by his mother, that the Count de Noirmont is his father, abounds with great sweetness, and at the same time vigour and intense feeling. The Count de Noirmont has befriended and patronized Arundel, ignorant of his being his child, and heir to his estates and fortune. He has given him commissions in his art, and the Countess, his wife, sits to the aspiring artist for her portrait. Formerly the Count de Noirmont was an officer in the French army, and engaged in the terrific struggle of Waterloo; being wounded, the father of Catherine (the widow of the tale) brought the young officer to his own home, where both the father and stranger were nursed for the injuries they had received during the battle :

"During the two succeeding months my time was fully occupied in tending the invalids, for my father's wounds were more severe than he at first believed, and indeed finally caused his death. He was, however, the first to recover; and, sooner than I thought prudent, he repaired to London upon military business, as well as to arrange some little matters there, previous to his finally settling at Brussels. Louis de St. Germain's, your father Arundel-'

"Arundel started, and with a movement of uncontrollable surprise repeated, Louis de St. Germain's?'

"His mother took no heed of the interruption.