t. I was opening the glass door to breathe the fresh air
again, when the entrance of the crowd drove me back into the interior;
they were following a bier, on which lay a body, from which the water
dripped in a long stream. From one of the hands which were closely
clenched, the keeper detached a strip of coloured linen, and a
fragment of lace. 'Ah!' said he, 'let me look, 'tis she!'

"'Who is it?'

"'The nurse who was here this morning; the nurse of the little Norman
girl. Good! they may be buried together.' And M. Perrin put on
his spectacles, opened his register, and wrote in his best
current-hand--_unknown!_"

* * * * *

POETRY.

* * * * *

The Maid of Elvar. By Allan Cunningham.

This is one of the most gratifying "appearances" in the literature of
the day. It reminds us that however the poet's harp may have remained
unstrung, it has not lost its vigour or sweetness--its depth of
feeling, or its melody of tone, and these too are ably sustained
through nearly 600 stanzas in an exquisitely embellished narrative.
The poem is "a song of other times;" the story is one of chivalrous
love; the hero is a young warrior and poet; the Maid of Elvar offers
a garland of gold for the best song in honour of one of his victories;
"minstrels meet and sing, but the song of Eustace, though on another
theme, is reckoned the best; the Maid hangs the gold chain round his
neck, and retires, admiring the young stranger;" and thereby hangs the
tale. As our limits will not allow us to detach a scene or incident,
we must be content, for the present, with culling a few of the
choicest flowers of the song.

CIVIL WAR.

Woe, woe was ours. Chief drew his sword on chief:
Religion with her relique and her brand,
Made strife between our bosom-bones, and grief
And lawless joy abounded in the land;
Our glass of glory sank nigh its last sand;
Rank with its treason, priesthood with its craft,
Turned Scotland's war-lance to a willow-wand.
But war arose in Scotland--civil war;
Serf warred with chief, and father warred with son,
The church too warred with all: her evil star
That rules o'er sinking realms shone like the sun--
Her lights waxed dim and died out one by one--
Woe o'er the land hung like a funeral pall:
The sword the bold could brave, the coward shun,
But famine followed fast and fell on all--
Pale lips cried oft for food which came n