reflections.

It was said by a constant tradition that a Malisius de Ravenswood had,
in the 13th century, been deprived of his castle and lands by a powerful
usurper, who had for a while enjoyed his spoils in quiet. At length,
on the eve of a costly banquet, Ravenswood, who had watched his
opportunity, introduced himself into the castle with a small band of
faithful retainers. The serving of the expected feast was impatiently
looked for by the guests, and clamorously demanded by the temporary
master of the castle. Ravenswood, who had assumed the disguise of a
sewer upon the occasion, answered, in a stern voice, "I bide my time";
and at the same moment a bull's head, the ancient symbol of death, was
placed upon the table. The explosion of the conspiracy took place upon
the signal, and the usurper and his followers were put to death. Perhaps
there was something in this still known and often repeated story which
came immediately home to the breast and conscience of the Lord Keeper;
for, putting from him the paper on which he had begun his report, and
carefully locking the memoranda which he had prepared into a cabinet
which stood beside him, he proceeded to walk abroad, as if for
the purpose of collecting his ideas, and reflecting farther on the
consequences of the step which he was about to take, ere yet they became
inevitable.

In passing through a large Gothic ante-room, Sir William Ashton heard
the sound of his daughter's lute. Music, when the performers are
concealed, affects us with a pleasure mingled with surprise, and
reminds us of the natural concert of birds among the leafy bowers. The
statesman, though little accustomed to give way to emotions of this
natural and simple class, was still a man and a father. He stopped,
therefore, and listened, while the silver tones of Lucy Ashton's voice
mingled with the accompaniment in an ancient air, to which some one had
adapted the following words:

"Look not thou on beauty's charming,
Sit thou still when kings are arming,
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens,
Speak not when the people listens,
Stop thine ear against the singer,
From the red gold keep they finger,
Vacant heart, and hand, and eye,
Easy live and quiet die."

The sounds ceased, and the Keeper entered his daughter's apartment.

The words she had chosen seemed particularly adapted to her character;
for Lucy Ashton's exquisitely beautiful, yet somewhat girlish featu