the beds were thrown down, and a crown-piece was given to the soldiers on duty there, to fetch ale. As soon as they had departed, Morrice and his associates drew up the drawbridge, unsheathed their swords, and after informing them that they had a commission from the king to secure the castle, he thus spoke to his men, pointing singly to each, 'you and youre are for me and his own.' The captain of the guard perceiving eight of his men to be for Morrice, and being inferior in strength, began to be afraid, when Morrice promised fair quarters to those who offered no resistance. They then tamely submitted to him, and he cast them into a dungeon close by, thirty steps in depth, capable of containing between two and three hundred men.

Meanwhile the rest were buried in sleep, little aware of the stratagem and its contents, when Captain Wm. Paulden and two others, guided by a confederate, proceeded to the apartments of Cotterel. Awakened by the noise on the staircase, he started up and drew his sword; and on Captain Paulden entering, and telling him he was his prisoner, he, without speaking, made a thrust at the captain, and defended himself bravely until wounded in the head and arm, he began to be faint. He made another desperate push at the captain, and his tuck coming in contact with the bed-post it broke in two. He then begged for quarter, which was readily granted him. Paulden, having taken him prisoner, was conducting him down stairs, when Morrice met them. He told Cotterel to fear nothing, and comforted him with the assurance "of good usage, and that he would procure pardon from the king for his rebellion." He was then cast, with as many more as they could find, into the dungeon amongst the rest. In the castle was found a great quantity of salt and malt, four thousand stand of arms, a good store of ammunition, some cannon, and two mortar pieces. Morrice then ordered his chaplain, Mr. Charles Davison, to commence prayers, and render thanks to God for their success, and notice was sent to Captain Thomas Paulden, then in the wood close by. This assault was effected

on the 3d June, 1648, at half-past eight o'clock in the morning Morrice gave the plunder of the money to the eight soldiers as he had promised, and kept the castle gates shut, and the portcullis down, until Saturday the 6th June; when he gave public notice to all assembled, "that he had secured the castle for the service of his majesty, and by virtue of his commission declared, that no townsman should be molested if they remained at home."

• The conduct of Morrice towards Cotterel merits general infamy. He had been the object of his sincere regard, and unsuspecting confidence. He had eaten his bread, and on all occasions had been treated with such kindness as ought to have unnerved the arm of an enemy, and subdued malignity itself. Nor let it be supposed that the end justified the means. He might have been loyal without being treacherous; he might, as a friend to the king, have thought it his duty to surprise the castle, but he ought to have preserved sacred the claims and the rights of friendship. The man, who had by turns betrayed all parties, whatever his talents might be, can have no claim to be considered in any other light, than as totally destitute of principle, and governed solely by caprice, revenge, or ambition.'

The volume is full of amusing and useful information respecting the present, as well as the ancient state of this city and its neighbourhood.

BALLAD.

Oh heard ye the neigh of the fierce Deswere?
And heard ye the crash of the lance?
And the deadly clang of axe and brand,
And saw ye the Gisarmes glance?

Sir Egbert is there, that plume is his,
Where the foeman presses his he,

Where that broad red pennon floats on the breeze,
He fights right valiantly.

But soon the tide of the battle's turn'd,
And many a gallant head lies low,
And the bloody field has a banquet now
For the vulture, hawk, and crow.

The moon, as she rises o'er the hills,
Sheds her dim and sickly ray

On the field of death, where the fox and wolf
Are prowling for their prey.

And many a knight, in his armour bright,
Lies on the bloody field,

And many a hand grasps tight the brand,
As tho' in death 'twould scorn to yield.
What damsel's that, with step so light,

Her dark locks streaming in the wind;
Comes she to seek her own true knight,
Or what does she hope to find?
Is she some witch or sorceress
Come to batten on the slain?
Oh no, despair and deep distress
Drive her to seek this plain!

See! she kneels by the side of a mail-clad knight,
And raises his helm from his head;

'Oh mercy, sweet Jesu!' the maiden cries,

'My own true love is dead!'

Faintly Sir Egbert did reply,

'Weep not for me, my Bertha dear,'

But with thy sweet lips give a parting kiss,
For I feel my end draw near.'

So spake the knight-he spake no more;

For his gallant soul had fled,

And that form which had dash'd on the foeman's ranks, Is number'd with the dead.

Her fair arms encircled the mail-clad corpse;

Oh wait awhile, my love,' she cried,

Thy Bertha's soul will join with thine'—
She press'd his lips and died!

HUBERT.

Nor many leagues from Leganez was situated the country seat of Don Manoel de Uzeda. He had scarcely passed his fiftieth year, and still exhibited in his speech and manners the elegance and air of a gay and accomplished cavalier; one who had seen the world, and knew the enjoyment of its most refined pleasures.

He had tasted them without satiety, and, indeed, with so much moderation, that although half a century had passed over his head, and tended somewhat to abate the ardour of his pursuit, pleasure still found him in the motley train of her devoted worshippers. At court-at the theatre-the Prado-or, in fine, wherever nobility, fashion, and beauty, were congregated, Don Manoel was invariably recognized.

With an ample and unimpaired fortune, and a disposition so gaily inclined, it may be naturally supposed that he rarely visited his country seat at Leganez.

True, Madrid was the only atmosphere which he considered worth inhaling, or capable of supporting his existence.

VOL. I. June, 1828.

2 D

But his country seat was a sanctum, the repository of his heart's jewel, his beloved daughter, Luisa.

She was his only child, and had just attained her fifteenth year, yet so precocious in wit, beauty, and the enchanting fulness and symmetry of her person, that she appeared already to have arrived at womanhood.

Dance and song were personified in her light and airy step, and the silver tones of her dulcet voice.

Don Manoel loved his daughter, and admired her accomplishments, but was persuaded, from the experience of his youth, that the pure air of Leganez was more conducive to her benefit and pleasure than that of the capital.

He therefore consigned his treasure to this elegant retreat till he could provide her with a rich and noble partner, who might, if he chose, chaperon her in the gay circles of the great world. But he was resolved never to run the risk of losing Luisa by leading her into the giddy whirlpool of fashion, coquetry, and intrigue.

Meanwhile, Donna Luisa felt no sorrow in the deprivation of enjoyments she had never tasted, and, in the walled garden, where she daily rambled with her guitar, singing in concert with the feathery choir that warbled in the orange trees and the gurgling fountains, seemed as joyous and light-hearted as a canary (that hath never known the freedom of the leafy grove), attuning its little throat in its gay prison of golden wires.

Donna Rodriga de Cantillana, (a decayed gentlewoman, and a distant relative of the family,) and a little bright-eyed Arragonese wench, by name Francisca, were the only companions of her lone retreat. The one served her in the capacity of duenna, the other as tire-woman.

Don Manoel reposed the utmost confidence in the care and discretion of Donna Rodriga.

From the tenderest infancy of Luisa she had creditably, if not affectionately, supplied the place of her mother, who died ere her young heart's affections had learned to recognize her maternal love and solicitude.