lingered under the window in conversation with his
son, who at length complained of being cold and drowsy. "Mark," said he,
as he closed the window, "mark father, Mars, the star of my fate, looks
smilingly to-night, all will be well." Sir Maurice looked up--a dark
cloud spot suddenly crossed the planet, and he shuddered at the omen.
The anxious father could not leave the spot. Sleep he knew it was vain
to court, and he therefore determined to remain where he was. The
reflexions that occupied his mind continually varied: at one time he
painted to himself the proud career of his high spirited boy, known and
admired among the mighty of his time; a moment after he saw the
prediction verified, and the child of his love lying in the tomb. Who
can conceive his feelings as hour dragged after hour, while he walked to
and fro, watching the blaze of the fire in the tower, as it brightened
and sunk again--now pacing the court with hasty steps, and now praying
fervently for the preservation of his son? The hour came. The cathedral
bell struck heavy on the father's heart, which was not to be lightened
by the cheerful voices of his daughters, who came running full of hope
to the foot of the tower. They looked up, but Walter was not
there;--they called his name, he answered not. "Nay," said the youngest,
"this is only a jest; he thinks to frighten us, but I know he is safe."
A servant had brought a ladder, which he ascended, and he looked in at
the window. Sir Maurice stood immoveable and silent.--He looked up, and
the man answered the anxious expression of his eyes. "He is asleep,"
said he. "He is dead!" murmured the father.

The servant broke a pane of glass in the window, and opening the
casement, entered the room. The father, changing his gloomy stedfastness
for frenzied anxiety, rushed up the ladder. The servant had thrown aside
the curtains and the clothes, and displayed to the eyes of Sir Maurice,
his son lying dead, a serpent twined round his arm, and his throat
covered with blood. The reptile had crept up the faggot last sent him,
and fulfilled the _prophecy_.

To this happy effort of the imagination in favour of prying into
futurity, may be added, with the same intention.

THE FATED PARRICIDE; AN ORIENTAL TALE OF THE STARS.

Ibrahim was universally celebrated for his riches and magnificence. His
armies were formidable, his victories splendid, and his treasury
inexhaustible. He enjoyed, moreover, what was ten thousand tim