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Well might they start as the bugle-blast came,
They deemed 'twas the Vampire of Marenham;
To each man-at-arms a maiden clings,
For fear of such ghastly visitings.

Sudden, with lance, and plume, and crest,
Onward, right onward, Lord Damian pressed;
He has clasped the hands of his brethren twain,
He has kissed his mother once again.

"Now, what of my father ?" from women pale,
The shriek of horror, and wild the wail;

"He is slain by the Vampire, the Vampire that came, In the midnight gloom, he of Marenham."

"Oh, revenge! oh, revenge! for the blood foully shed; Steel for the living and stake for the dead!" "Alas, my fair son!" sighed his mother's breath, "To seek revenge were to rush upon death."

"Oh, fear not, my mother dear, fear not for me; I have that shall make fiend and Vampire flee; Relic, and amulet, periapt, and cross,

And a sword full-fleshed to the Paynim's loss.

"At the tomb of holy men I've knelt;
At the unholy, blows I've dealt;

The blows and the kneelings shall profit me both,
And to 'venge my father I've sworn mine oath."

Scarce has he passed the castle door,

When the Vampire 'gan to ramp and roar;

But it raged in vain, for it might not harm

Who had fought for the Cross, with an hallowed arm.

Lord Damian rides with spur of power,

From the castle hall to the convent tower;

He has summoned with bugle, and summoned with bell,
The monks, each one, from his narrow cell.

"Now which of you will be so brave,
As to go with me to the Vampire's grave?"
Of all the churchmen there was but one,
Dared ride with the Baron of Raby's son.

There was ramping of shapes obscure and foul;
Of fiendish eyes there was glare and scowl;

As the hoodsman and knight thro' the churchyard passed,

There was rushing of tempest, and storm and blast.

As they opened the grave, there rushed away

A hideous beast, in huge dismay;

It might not bide where the champion true
Of the Holy Cross his falchion drew.

The churchman murmured holy word;
The knight held fast his own good sword;

"Avaunt, thou foul demon!" the churchman cried,
The knight to the corpse a stake applied.

When the stake was thrust thro' the dead,
There were hideous groans as the demon fled;
The blood from the body flowed full and free then,
A hideous token of murdered men.

"Alas! for the blood of the lady bright!
Alas! for the blood of the noble knight!
Alas! for the blood of my father bold!

Foul sight 'tis such full-gored corpse to behold!

"For the slain be the dirge and the chantry sung,
For the slain be the bells of convent rung;
But the corpse of the Vampire we justly burn,
That the demon to earth no more return."

Lord Damian lived long at fair Raby ;

The flower he was held of the north country;
But aye would he sigh when they asked him to tell
His tale of the blood-gorged demon fell.

"THE DRESS-MAKER."*

THIS essay, by the Rev. W. M'Ilwaine, of Belfast, has obtained the prize of twenty guineas offered by "the Association for the Aid and Benefit of Dress-makers and Milliners," and is published under its auspices. The fearful evils of the system under which the dressmaker labours are detailed in it with calm earnestness. They are indeed harrowing. Bad as may be the late-hour system, of which our young men justly complain, it does not yet amount to the complete slavery of body and mind under which the unfortunate dress-maker groans. With the weak and susceptible frame of woman, she undergoes exertion that would soon prostrate the stoutest man; and the more worn down and exhausted by process of time her system becomes, the less is she able to extricate herself from the terrible position in which she is placed. Before her there is nothing but an untimely grave; presenting, however, at least a prospect of repose. The bitterness of existence to these our unfortunate sisters who can estimate? One spark of sympathy remaining within us as men, we must be up and doing in their behalf. We must aid this noble Association, not merely by our pecuniary contributions, but by our viva voce operations. We must circulate their tracts, and, above all, this essay. On our heads rest the guilt, if we see woman, with her warm heart and tender feelings, so despised and degraded, and yet raise not for her one word or one endeavour.

A Prize Essay, published for the Association, by Aylott and Jones, Pater

noster-row.

"THE WARD OF THE CROWN."

66

BY THE AUTHORESS OF THE POPE AND THE ACTOR," &c., &c.

THIS is such a novel as we can cordially and honestly recommend. Interesting in its plot, elegant in its language, faithful in its adherence to history, and abounding in natural and well-sustained characters; it has afforded us such a fund of amusement and instruction, as we can seldom derive from novels of the present day. We have admired, on many other occasions, the talent of Miss Burdon's writings, but we have certainly never seen this talent so well developed, as in the novel, a brief sketch of which we are about to lay before our readers. Let us preface this sketch by a request that our readers will not be satisfied with the hasty brevity of our story, but will seek out, in the work itself, all the beauties which have induced us to recommend it to their notice.

Reginald and Hugh were the sons of Sir Ralph and Lady Isabel Collingwood, whose estates were situated in the North of England. Sir Ralph, compelled to take part in the wars of the Roses, had chosen to follow the House of York; but his son Reginald, the darling of his mother, was enamoured of a damsel whose father sided with the House of Lancaster. In this plight, Reginald very naturally married the lady of his choice, and went forth with her to fight for King Henry and Queen Margaret. Soon he was slain at the battle of Hexham; and his wife, who had not long given birth to a boy, died also, surrendering up the child to a faithful priest, Sir Christopher Urswick. The priest wished at first to carry back the child to its grandmother, the Lady Isabel; but in the meanwhile, the old Sir Ralph had died, his son Hugh had succeeded to the title and estates, and the old lady, through grief for the loss of her eldest son, had become eccentric, and was considered to be insane. Sir Christopher, therefore, carried the babe to its uncle, Sir Hugh, who promised to protect it, but gave it to the old village pastor, to be brought up as an illegitimate child. Sir Christopher, being a Lancastrian, was compelled to fly the country, but left strict injunctions to an old miller, who was in the secret, to watch over the child's safety. Sir Hugh married, but his wife died, and left him one daughter. As Sir Hugh was much at court, Lady Isabel, though she disliked him, took care of his daughter; and accidentally meeting with the child, who was being brought up by the village pastor, was struck by his likeness to her beloved Reginald, and allowed him to play with her little grandchild, Ellen. The children grew up from childhood to youth together, and naturally imbibed a strong affection for each other, without knowing that they were cousins. At the age of sixteen Ellen was sent for to court, where her father was, to the great grief of Hubert-for so was the boy called. Soon she returned, but with her came her father, and a suitor for her hand, in the person of Carlton, secretary to Richard the Third, who was then on the throne. The old village pastor now ordered Hubert to make himself ready for the priesthood; but the young man refused, and declared that he would be nothing less than a soldier. Whilst at

the hut of his old friend the miller, who knew of, and rejoiced at, his attachment to Ellen, he met with one Master Conyers, an outlaw, who was then treating secretly with the Earl of Richmond, respecting the approaching invasion of England. The outlaw had some conversation with Hubert, and bade him beware which side he chose; and Hubert was also introduced to a girl in boy's clothing, acting as page to the outlaw, and being an outlaw herself, her father having been burnt for heresy through the intrigues of Carlton, who being fruitlessly enamoured of Marion (the page), had thus avenged himself on her. The lovers were soon betrayed to Carlton by Ellen's maid, and by him to Ellen's father, who, to cool their love, gave out that Hubert was his own illegitimate son, and, therefore, the brother of Ellen. The lovers were dismayed at this intelligence, but took Lady Isabel into their confidence, who, as she began to suspect the real truth of the matter, would not believe Sir Hugh's story. Meanwhile, Carlton plotted to burn the Lady Isabel's house in the night, with the view of obtaining her money and jewels, which were wrongly considered to be concealed in the flooring of a particular room. But Marston Conyers got wind of the transaction, and, with Hubert, lay in wait for the robbers, and falling on them when they were taking up the flooring, slew two. But the old miller, who was in the kitchen defending his sister, the Lady Isabel's servant, was mortally wounded; Hubert was cut down, and Carlton, with two or three others, escaped, bearing with them Hubert, whom they confined in a dungeon of Sir Hugh's castle. Sir Hugh, hearing of the outrage, taxed Carlton with it; Carlton demanded the hand of Ellen, and threatened to sue Sir Hugh for certain gambling debts, unless he complied with his request. Sir Hugh then told him of Hubert's real parentage, adding, that the papers relating to his birth were in a secret drawer of his cabinet. This done, Sir Hugh went forth to seek his mother, and assure her he had no share in the outrage. Meanwhile, Ellen was busy releasing Hubert from the dungeon, by means of a secret passage opening into a cave, where Marion was to meet them with a horse. Whilst sitting in this cave, they heard a fearful scream; it was the death-shriek of Sir Hugh. Carlton had murdered him in a secret path leading up to the castle; but Marion had seen the deed, and had even picked up the murderer's dagger, when his back was turned. Ellen and Hubert, unknowing of the murder, parted; Ellen went by a secret passage to her father's chamber, and Hubert made the best of his way across the country to Newcastle. Ellen, peeping into her father's chamber, saw Carlton rifling his cabinet. Suddenly he heard a noise in the castle, and flew to his own room, first throwing on the fire the papers relative to Hubert's birth. Ellen snatched some fragments from the flames, and these fragments, coupled with the dying words of the old miller, were sufficient to make Lady Isabel believe that Hubert was indeed the son of her long-lost Reginald. Still proof was wanting. Meanwhile, Hubert, in journeying to Newcastle, lost his way on a moor, and was compelled to take refuge in the hut of a shepherd whom he met. The shepherd proved to be the son of a nobleman, who had been killed fighting for the house of Lancaster, and whose wife and child had consequently been compelled to disguise themselves in order to escape

observation. As the followers of Richard were, at this time, scouring the country for recruits, the shepherd's mother earnestly besought Hubert to let her son accompany him to Newcastle, that he might there take arms for the Earl of Richmond. Hubert consented, upon condition that the shepherd should wear woman's clothes, and ride behind him on a pillion.

Arrived in Newcastle, he met Marion, who told him that Ellen was in the town, having been carried off by Carlton, as a Ward of the Crown. Hubert rescued her from this man, and, with her and Marion, took refuge in a convent, after a desperate conflict with Carlton's men. During the conflict, however, he lost the hollow staff, wherein were papers and letters given him by Marston Conyers, to various persons in the Earl's camp. But the Abbot gave him other letters, and sent him on his way; at the same time, sending Ellen and Marion, with an escort, to the Princess Elizabeth, afterwards the bride of Henry. On his journey to the Earl's camp, Hubert fell in with a strange knight, to whom he rendered great service. On arriving at the camp, he found that this stranger was no other than the Earl himself, but, by his especial desire, he made no mention whatever of his services. The battle of Bosworth-field immediately ensucd, wherein Richard the Third was slain by Marston Conyers, who found his crown, and parted with it to Sir William Stanley, upon condition of receiving a reversal of his own and Marion's sentence of outlawry. Sir William Stanley, however, forgot his promise as soon as he had got the crown into his hands; and the Queen Dowager having a mortal hatred to Marston Conyers, a price was set upon his head. Carlton managed to change sides so cleverly, as to keep well with Henry the Seventh, who, being avaricious, made use of him to fill his coffers. Hubert was severely Wounded in the battle, and did not recover his health for some months, when he found that Ellen was about to be married to Lord Clifford the shepherd whom he had carried to Newcastle); that the Lady Isabel had been confined by Carlton, upon the plea that she was insane; that Marston Conyers and Marion were hiding for their lives; and that his affairs were perhaps as unprosperous as they could be. However, he did not despair, but sought out Lady Isabel's banker, a noted jeweller of the time, and stated his case. The jeweller had come into possession of the hollow staff which Hubert lost at Newcastle, and, therefore, readily acknowledged his claims, supplied him with money, and by disguising him as an apprentice, took him into the apartments of the Princess Elizabeth, to whom Ellen was maid-of-honour. the King and Carlton entered the apartment whilst he was there; both recognised him, and when Carlton accused him of murdering Sir Hugh, the King, without mentioning his former services, committed him to the Tower. Carlton bribed the gaoler to suffocate him, with a pan of charcoal; but ere this could be effected. Lord Clifford came to take him secretly to the King's apartments. Henry, weary of Carlton, was now glad to find some means of getting rid of him, and ordered Hubert to collect the evidence necessary to convict him of his numerous crimes. Hubert only demanded a free pardon for Conyers and Marion, which, having obtained, he began to search for them. But those two, having brought Lady Isabel to London, and lodged her with the old jeweller,

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