For ne'er did the sun's splendour close On such a picture of repose ;— All, all was tranquil, all was still, Save where the music of the rill, At intervals broke on the ear, And ceased her babbling call. "Light clouds, in fleeting livery gay, The smooth turf trembling as they bound, They thrill to amorous ecstasy, "Ah! days of innocence, of joy, Haste on,-ye roseate hours, Free from the world's tumultuous cares, 'Tis yours, beneath this favour'd clime, And beat with light and careless step the ground; The fairest flowers too soon grow sere, Too soon shall tempests blast the year, And sin's eternal winter reign around." Amidst the sights and sounds of the scene thus described, a traveller is seen descending the hills in the vicinity of Padua. He is attracted by the tolling of a convent bell, and seeing a crowd assembled at the gate, he enters, along with others, the convent chapel, after the sun has already set and vespers are over: "Dim was the light from the pale moon beaming, Or, from the western window streaming, To the eye of enthusiasm strange forms were gliding, And indefined shades in succession were striding The pillars to the vaulted roof In airy lightness rose; Now they mount to the rich Gothic ceiling aloof, A young novice is about to take the veil, or rather, it is about to be forced upon her. She is thus spoken of: "Light as a sylph's, her form confest, A perfect grace and symmetry; Or beam with sensibility, To Heaven were raised in pious prayer, A silent eloquence of woe; And now she beat her bosom bare, As pure as driven snow. Nine graceful Novices around In purest white array'd; Sabean incense o'er the head Of the devoted maid." Just as the ceremony is about to be performed, the intended victim, by a sudden impulse, throws herself among the crowd, and rushes from the chapel. The stranger, who has already felt interested in her fate, flies to her assistance, catches her in his arms, and bears her away through the gathering twilight beyond the reach of pursuit. A storm comes on; they seek shelter, and briefly inform each other who they are. The nun's name is Rosa, and the stranger is Paulo-the Wandering Jew. They conceive, strangely enough, a sudden affection for each other, and the first canto closes with the expression of Rosa's consent to share the future fortunes of Paulo. It is curious to observe, before proceeding to the second canto, that, in illustration of something said by Paulo, Shelley quotes, in the margin, the following line from Eschylus, so remarkably applicable to his own future fate, 66 · Εμε θανόντος γαια μιχθητο πολί.” In canto second, we are introduced to Paulo's castle on the banks of the Po, where he lives in deep retirement with Rosa, visited only by Victorio, an Italian of noble birth, who resides in the neighbourhood. Some bold and vigorous descriptions of Alpine scenery follow. But it is evident that Paulo is not happy, and he spends a wild, uneasy life: 66 Strange business, and of import vast, Then would a darker, deeper shade, And o'er his features roam. Oft as they spent the midnight hour, And heard the wintry wild winds rave Would Paulo start with sudden fear. As he mutter'd strange words to the ear?— As if some strange form was near? Fierce as a fiery furnace glow, As it burn'd with red and lambent flame; Would chill like the spectre gaze of death, As, conjured by feverish dream, He seems o'er the sick man's couch to stand, "But when the paroxysm was o'er, And clouds deform'd his brow no more, The ministering angel hung, And wiped the drops of agony, Or midnight dreams, his sorrows fled : He sank and fainted on her breast." These and similar passages naturally prepare the mind of the reader for the history of the Wandering Jew,-to which indeed they are merely introductory. We can afford room for only one other extract from this canto; it is a passage immediately preceding the commencement of Paulo's narrative, and is one not unworthy the future author of "Prometheus:" "'Twas on an eve, the leaf was sere, As wilder still the lightnings flew ; More wildly strange their converse grew. "They talk'd of the ghosts of the mighty dead, If, when the spark of life were fled, They visited this world of woe? When strange forms flash'd upon the sight,' Thought upon thought began to rise; From the seraphic strings! SONG. What sounds are those that float upon the air, Nightly those sounds swell full upon the breeze, Or float in dying cadence through the sky. Now rests that form upon the moonbeam pale, Oft will it rest beside yon Abbey's tower, Which lifts its ivy-mantled mass so high; Rears its dark head to meet the storms that lour, And braves the trackless tempests of the sky. That form, the embodied spirit of a maid, Forced by a perjured lover to the grave; And from the dark cliff plunged into the wave. A desperate fate the madden'd girl obey'd, There the deep murmurs of the restless surge, The mournful shriekings of the white sea-mew, The warring waves, the wild winds, sang her dirge, And o'er her bones the dark red coral grew. Yet though that form be sunk beneath the main, Still rests her spirit where its vows were given; Still fondly visits each loved spot again, And pours its sorrows on the ear of Heaven. That spectre wanders through the Abbey dale, And ere long all of us must meet her there." At the conclusion of the song, Paulo declares his intention to relate to Rosa and Victorio, who is also with him, his past adventures, which he accordingly does in the next canto. Cantos third and fourth are by far the finest; but our extracts having been so copious already, we must postpone their consideration till next Saturday, when we promise our readers several passages of thrilling power and beauty. Sermons on various Subjects and Occasions; including three Discourses on the Evidences, the Obligations, and the Spirit of the Gospel. By the Rev. James Walker, D.D., F.R.S. E., of St John's College, Cambridge, Episcopal Professor of Divinity in Edinburgh. To which is added, a Sermon on Redemption. By the late Rev. James Ramsay, A. M., Vicar of Teston, and Rector of Nettlestead in Kent. London. Rivingtons. Edinburgh. Bell and Bradfute. 1829. SERMONS may be divided into two classes, the purely didactic and the persuasive; or, in other words, the doctrinal and the rhetorical. The French, generally speaking, excel in the latter, while the English are found to have devoted their talents and learning almost entirely to the former. The interests of a contested Reformation first led our countrymen to a minute examination of the grounds of their faith; whereas the hereditary and more constant belief of the Roman Catholics has allowed their pulpit orators at all times to dilate more exclusively on the beneficence, the grace, the hopes and the fears of our holy religion; to connect it more closely with sentiment than with reason; and to employ its divine authority for stirring the affections of the heart, rather than for confounding the sophistry of the sceptic, or for strengthening the conclusions of the speculative Christian. The solemnities, too, of the Popish Church, invested with the powerful associations which have come down to her on the current of a venerable tradition, afford a subject extremely favourable to the declamations of an eloquent preacher; who, on the annual festival, addresses not only the faith of his auditors, as applicable to the grand mysteries in which they are engaged, but also their imaginations, excited by the splendid accompaniments of their captivating ritual, and warmed by the recollection of those old times, when their remotest ancestors are supposed to have performed a similar service. The people, moreover, in the countries of southern Europe, present in their ardent susceptibility, an advantage to the Christian orator, which is every where denied in these cooler and more argumentative latitudes. Hence the appeals of Massillon, which, in his native land, were attended with effects resembling the power of electricity, would have fallen on the ear of a Scotsman like the bursting of a soap-bubble, and, instead of alarming the conscience and shaking the nerves, would only have given birth to a feeling composed of surprise and ridicule. When placed on the narrow isthmus which divides the sublime from the laughable, the British mind naturally steps aside into the latter, and, amidst all the tropes and figures of the rhetorician, measures, with unrelenting criticism, the approach which the theological declaimer makes towards the province of the buffoon or the mounte-poses of redeeming mercy, we will now shortly consider. bank. in the world, may be generally seen by a reference to Scripture, and may be easily imagined, beyond what is there recorded, from his peculiar character. How well he was thus qualified from his position, as he stood connected with the very origin of the human race, and with ultimate purHe was the tenth in lineal descent from Noah, and the nineteenth from Adam. We trace his descent from Adam and Seth, through a list of men who seem to have preserved the knowledge and the worship of the true God with great care. But Abraham's knowledge ascends to the origin of fore less liable to error, than that which we have just menthe world and of man, by a course still shorter, and theretioned. Lamech, the father of Noah, was born fifty-six It cannot be surprising, therefore, that the prevailing character of English sermons is founded upon clear reasoning and chaste illustration. Several attempts have, indeed; been made to approximate our pulpit oratory to the continental model; but owing to the decided bias of our national feeling, and to that modesty which our more lively neighbours have identified with boorish bashful-years before the death of Adam, with whom, of course, he ness, every effort has only contributed to establish the fact, that we are more an intellectual than an imaginative people, and hence, that those who wish to please us must address our judgment, and not merely our feelings. Even in a country kirk, the rugged features of the peasant are expanded towards the minister, in expectation that some doctrine will be opened up,-that some point of truth will be illustrated or defended,—that some heresy will be exposed to condemnation, and that some perplexed portion of holy writ will be explained and brought within the limits of his comprehension. The perfection of a sermon, no doubt, consists in that lucid exposition of divine love, and of human duty, which affects at once the understanding and the heart; combining the onction of the French with the convincing argument of the English preacher; and eschewing equally the empty rhetoric which occasionally inflates the compositions of the one, and the dry discussion which ever and anon stiffens and deforms the logical essays of the other. To justify these remarks, we might refer to the works of the principal authors at home and abroad, who, at various periods have written on practical theology. But the names of Bossuet, Flechier, Bourdaloue, and of the eloquent Bishop of Clermont, will immediately occur to every reader, contrasted with those of Barrow, Sharp, Tillotson, Sherlock, Secker, and even of Blair; on which account, instead of pursuing a comparison which would soon carry us beyond our limits, we prefer to illustrate the statement we have made by a reference to the able volume now before us. The great merit of Dr Walker's sermons will be found to consist in the happy combination of doctrinal reasoning, with glowing pictures of Christian purity, and with animated exhortations to practical godliness. The first, which is on the "original, successive, and permanent evidence of revealed religion," contains many fine passages; setting forth, in a very convincing manner, the scheme of redemption, as it was announced immediately after the Fall, confirmed in the Abrahamic covenant, adumbrated in the Mosaical institutions, unfolded with a gradually increasing light to the several prophets, and finally established by the ministry of the Redeemer in the fulness of time. In reference to the patriarchal economy, he says,— "It is not my present purpose to consider the personal character of Abraham, in the various and interesting lights, by which he is so eminently distinguished as the friend of God, and the Father of the faithful, but simply to consider him as the selected depositary of revealed truth, and as the means of communicating it with authority and evidence to his posterity, and through them to us, and all mankind. In the history of the world he stands in a remarkable and conspicuous position, admirably fitted for the purpose which he was thus selected to fulfil. That purpose was to bear witness to ancient truths; to the first intercourse of God with man; to the first intimations of redemption, and to the practical effects which they at first produced; that purpose was, farther, to disseminate the knowledge and the influence of those ancient truths, and to prepare the way for future and clearer revelations of God, of redemption, and of human duty. How well Abraham was qualified, from his temper and moral qualities, to communicate the saving knowledge of religion to his children, and his household after him, and through them to preserve and disseminate it would have frequent personal intercourse, and from whom Thus is there established a chain of evidence, reaching from the first dawn of time, even to our own days, and confirming the purpose of Divine Providence in the original promulgation of the Gospel to the parents of the human race. In later periods, indeed, there have been occasional epochs of darkness, when the light of Divine truth, and of historical evidence, appeared to be withdrawn from the church, and when the faith, the hope, and even the duties of a Christian, could not be perceived but through the medium of superstitious rites, which were not less likely to pervert his conscience than to regulate his actions. We request the reader's attention to the following judicious observations on the necessity of a fixed standard in national faith, and on the regard which is due to the constitution and verity of the church: "The Scriptures contain all necessary truths; but the fact is notorious, that, respecting the truths therein contained, men vary exceedingly. Let us therefore consider for an instant what has been the result among those, who, the mission of her ministers, and the sacred mysteries of lightly regarding the constitution and unity of the Church, which they are the stewards, have left themselves without those sacred guides, which were given along with the Scriptures, in order to keep us in the way of truth and soberness. If we refer to the ancient Puritans of our own country, we shall find many of them men of learning and men of piety, mixed up, most unfortunately, with much passion and prejudice, and with an eager zeal, wasted upon absolute trifles; a zeal to which the Redeemer's reproof will frequently apply,- Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of. While they disturbed most lamentably the peace of the Church, they very generally retained the great substantial articles of the Christian faith; sometimes, indeed, carried to excess, by dwelling exclusively on partial views, without attending to that necessary modification, which results from the first combination of all the parts, as they are, in fact, connected truths of one system. As those warmminded men receded gradually more and more from the sacred forms of the society which they left-urged by feelings of prejudice at first, which were raised into feelings of hostility afterwards,-they came at length to consider preaching as the one thing needful-the essential ordinance and the only effectual means of grace. But, alas! the preaching of fallible men, in the very best circumstances, is peculiarly liable to error. Such was most lamentably the case in this country in the seventeenth century. Men, freed from the restraint imposed by the Church, not on liberty, but on li centiousness, fell into every variety of extravagance and absurdity. The Westminster divines lamented the errors and enormities of that unhappy age, which they themselves in fact commenced, and they attempted a remedy in their famous Confession and in endeavouring to enforce their discipline, taken, as they maintained, from Scripture. Look forward a little, and see the successors of these eager men, in whom, as they thought, centred all Christian orthodoxy, -see their successors swerving gradually from the doctrinal peculiarities of their fathers, into a system somewhat milder,-trace them forward still, as they deviate into high Arianism, and as they descend at length, with gradual steps, through the medium of Arius and Socinus, into that kind of Deism which has, in our own age, assumed the Unitarian name. When the eager zeal which leads to separation on minor points subsides, as subside it must, it is impossible to limit the subsequent deviations; because, the great safeguards of truth and uniformity being removed, the power of delusion is systematically placed in the hands of every popular preacher over whom those who give to preaching such perilous pre-eminence over all the other means and ordinances of religion can have no competent control."-Pp. 26-9. Dr Walker's own discourses, thirteen in number, are followed by a pious and most excellent sermon on “The purposes and effects of the mediation of Christ," written by his uncle, the late Reverend James Ramsay, a clergyman of the English establishment. The style is very plain, partaking largely of that simplicity of diction which characterised the theology of this country during the earlier part of the last century; but the views are truly sublime, pointing to causes and effects in the history of redemption, which respect the eternal welfare of the whole creation of intellectual beings in this world and in all others. The argument is so constructed that it admits not of abridgement, for which reason we must leave to the reader the gratification of perusing the discourse at length, in the form in which it is now for the first time laid before the public. Our opinion of the volume, of which we have given so meagre an account, (for our limits do not permit greater dilatation,) may be gathered from what we have already said. As Presbyterians, there are, we admit, some points in the sermons which we do not clearly comprehend, and of which we do not hold ourselves impartial judges, while there is certainly more stress laid on the authority of Bishop Bull, and other Episcopal writers, than we hold to be due to speculative theologians of any school, however great may have been their learning and reputation in their own communion. But, upon the whole, we are ready to acknowledge, that, since the commencement of The second discourse, on "The obligations of the Gos pel as they affect the final judgment of Christians," is devoted to expose the errors which usually attach to the doctrine of merit, and to illustrate the fundamental tenet of the Reformation, that man is justified by faith alone. We must not extend our extracts beyond the third sermon, which, by many readers, will be esteemed the best in the volume. Its subject is," The spirit of the world and the spirit of the Gospel considered and contrasted." Dr Walker, we believe, has been occasionally engaged in gious discourses which unites so much sound discussion, controversy in defence of his religious opinions, and professional erudition, and eloquent writing; and, were a few verbal inaccuracies corrected, and the composition hence we may infer, that the following remarks were suggested by experience in the course of his warfare within two or three places pruned of a little rhetorical excrescence, we should not hesitate to pronounce them equal to any which have issued from the British press during the last forty years. uncharitable adversaries: "Controversy is necessary for the maintenance and for the elucidation of the truth. Many of the most important works in theology, both ancient and modern, are, in whole or in part, controversial. The spirit of Christian controversy is not a bad spirit. Even when the controversialist, heated with his subject, or prompted by the injustice and the intemperance, or, what is still worse, by the smooth malignity and by the cunning craftiness of his opponent, expresses his indignation with the force which every Christian will feel, still it is not a bad spirit, provided he does not exceed the bounds of Christian decorum-in which case, he injures himself much more than he injures his opponent. "The honest warmth of fair and honourable controversy, even if it rise into indignation at artifice, ignorance, and injustice, not only may, but must be tolerated, and, if need be, encouraged; unless we would lose that which gives to controversy its value-which is sincerity, and the natural expression of sincerity. Nay, as there are gradations of evil, some more and some less tolerable, even Warburton, with all his violence, is better, his utmost virulence is more tolerable, less injurious to the fame, and less hurtful even to the feelings, of his opponents, than the cool malignity and the cunning craftiness of those whose words are softer than butter, having war in their hearts, and smoother than oil, yet be they very swords. "This narrow and sectarian spirit, with whatever fair phraseology it may be decorated, darkens the understand ing, destroys, to a certain, and sometimes to a fearful extent, the moral faculty, and cuts up charity by the very roots. You will seldom fail to detect in such men temporal views and selfish objects, such as actuated the apostles in their unconverted state. You almost always find them identifying themselves, their own condition in society, their own influence and personal consideration, with the progress of the peculiar system of religious belief which they have adopted. They promote this progress by every possible effort-by public preaching and speaking-ever pressing the same partial views, and the same peculiar phraseology, which draw an exclusive circle around them. They promote it, now by positive, and anon by artful insinuations, involving the most orthodox, and exemplary men beyond their circle; which may, if need be, be dissembled and disavowed, but which are ever and anon viewed with eager assiduity. They employ the agency of zealous friends of both sexes; they circulate cheap tracts and controversial treatises in every varied form." our critical career, we have not seen a selection of reli Tales of the Wars of our Times. By the Author of " Recollections of the Peninsula." London. Longman, Rees, Orme, and Co. Two volumes. 1829. CAPTAIN SHERAR has been long and favourably known to the public as the author of "Recollections of the Peninsula," a work which we consider among the very best of its kind which has appeared in this country. In its glowing and graphic pictures, the features of Spanish scenery, her modes of life, and the character of her late war, are delineated with such felicitous effect, that while perusing its pages, we seem to accompany the author through every scene which he describes, and to breathe the very air of that land of romance. There are many persons, we are well aware, who give a decided preference to the cold, military, and gazettelike narratives, redolent of the names of places, dates of actions, numerical strength of armies, and plans of positions; such things being associated in their minds with the idea of truth, while descriptions of the former character they conceive to be pictures of imagination, rather than of realities. Never was there a more erroneous opinion. We maintain, that he only who has the eye of the painter and the poet, can truly and fully describe things as they exist in nature. Your matter-of-fact men, are no doubt very good, as far as they go; they tell the truth, indeed, but not the whole truth. They are excellent landsurveyors, and inform you for your edification, that here stands a hill, and there lies a valley; that the right of the British attacked and turned the left of the enemy's army, which, by retreating, caused a corresponding movement of its right, and so on. All this is very well to fill up the pages of gazettes, and general history; but of the appearance of a country, of the peculiarities of a soldier's life, and the real nature of war, such generalities not only give us no idea, but (to use the emphatic phrase of an Irish orator, with whom we once had the pleasure of meeting) not even the "shadow of the ghost of an ing of a story called "The Tyroler," the whole of which idea." To return from this digression. we like exceedingly : The work before us consists of a series of tales, which the author informs us are "pure fictions," "inventions," but in which the character of the late wars is so completely preserved, that they seem "truth in fairy fiction dressed." They abound in tender, interesting, and often heart-rending incidents, beautifully relieved by consolatory glimpses of the brighter side of things. Throughout the whole work there runs a deep vein of piety, and of poetry; of amiable feeling, and frequently of strong and original conception. The first volume is entirely occupied by one tale, "The Spanish Brother." It opens with the following description of Cordova. “Cordova, in Spain, is a city of ancient and fair renown, and has been always very famous in the history of that romantic land. The capitano of the mule train coming from Castile and La Mancha, as he winds down the bare and stony road which descends from the gloomy solitudes of the Sierra Morena, does always suspend his way-beguiling song at the welcome sight of its cathedral tower-points out to the traveller in his company where its white dwellings lie, sunny and shining among green and pleasant gardens, and promises him both plenty and pleasure in merry Cordova; is garrulous about its snowy bread-its fine fruit-its excellent chocolate-its delicious ices;-tells of the famous mezquita of the many and gay festivities-the bull-fights;-forgets not to narrate how black the eyes, how small the feet, of the pretty donnas; and above all, how that wine is so good and so cheap, that 'vino puro, e non poco,' is the motto of the men of Cordova. "It was, in truth, a merry city some twenty years ago, and the most aged person within its walls could not remember when it had been otherwise. Had any one at that period passed through its streets in the noon of a summer night, he would have heard the tinkle of light guitars, and the rattle of lively castanets, from many an open casement.In the very midst of their accustomed pleasures, as they lay singing in the lap of peace, they were startled by the voice of war." The entrance of the French into Cordova, and their consequent excesses, are thus described : "The trumpet of France already sounded at her gates the eagle of Napoleon hovered over the devoted city, and the dusty Legion, which arrived before it on the burning noon of a hot June day, with scarce a pause for breathing or refreshment, formed its black column of attack. "One hundred sappers, with the necessary tools, advanced briskly to the stockades and barriers; they were covered in their dangerous but familiar labours, by the quick and well-directed fire of a cloud of skirmishers, and a few pieces of cannon. "The Spaniards were astonished: their own heavy but irregular fire, did neither check the boldness, nor disturb the good order of their enemics. Some of the French sappers fell by the very knives of the people; but after a short struggle, the barriers were in part demolished, a breach effected, and a heavy column of French infantry rushing through it, like the loosened torrent of a tumbling river, flooded the city. Alas, for Cordova! The troops and mercenaries retreated with despairing haste and terror-her citizens, resisting many of them to the very last, taking the last true shot, giving the last firm stab, fell slain upon their own thresholds, and saw not the miserable after-scenes the swift and headlong runnings-the hands together smote, and uplifted in agony to Heaven-the pillaged altars-the defiled beds-babes in their innocent blood. Alas, for Cordova! At length the shades of evening closed in; from blowing open doors, and breaking in windows-from plundering and killing, the soldiers betook themselves to cooking and drinking. Furniture served for fuel, and wine ran free in the open cellars, and they sung-the happy and innocent fellows-about L'Amour et La Glorie;' and at length, tired with the toil of their pleasant crimes, placed their booty-filled knapsacks beneath their heads, and slept -without a dream. The bright moon of a lovely June night, sailed calm and silent in the blue heavens above them, and looked with its soft light as kindly on their slumbers as on those of cradled infancy." We cannot, of course, attempt any analysis of the different tales; but we shall present one other specimen of Captain Sherar's powers. It is the following spirited open : "Hand never rested more lightly on a stile, nor did the gathered feet ever clear a leap more cleanly, than those of Albert Steiner, as, late on a pleasant and sunny evening early in April 1809, he vaulted over the stone fence of a cattle yard, belonging to the good inn, the Golden Crown, in the small post town of Sterzingen. He had been journeying all day; but his heart was light, his rifle hung steady on his manly shoulder, and his thoughts were running on before faster than he could keep pace with them, to greet his dear Johanna, the kellerim of this clean and comfortable hostelrie. "It was a month, a long month, since he had looked into her soft eyes, and he came as usual by the mountain path, and entered, as was his custom, by this yard. Here he was not unfrequently met and smiled upon by the welcome of Johanna; but now, as he made his footing in it, a very different scene was presented to him. Instead of the lovely kine with the full udders waiting the milking-hour, there were a dozen or more fine stout tall chargers, with their heads fastened up against a dead wall, and a brawny Bavarian dragoon, in forage-cap and stable dress, with each. The jump of Albert, and his sudden turning of the corner, made the nearest horse start; and the like motion being instantly gone through by the whole squad of these full-fed animals, there arose a volley of rough curses, which, Albert was made sensible by look and gesture, he was at liberty to appropriate. "Although a little startled himself, Albert readily recovered his self-possession. "You have brave cattle, friends.' "Yes, friend,' said the nearest soldier,-a fierce, surlylooking giant, with sandy moustaches o'ershadowing his boot.' mouth with their rude bristles; 'yes, and good swords to "A good horse is more to my fancy,' rejoined Albert. "I should guess so,' said the soldier, though I suppose it's not much use you could make of either; to be sure, if you held the mane fast, and put his head the right way, four legs would carry you faster out of danger than two.' "Did you ever see a bear?' asked Albert. "What do you mean, you goat-herd?' "I mean that I have killed many a one in these rocks above you, and made no words about it.' bert's words to the full; but as he looked into the blue and "The slow and surly Bavarian did not understand Albrilliant eyes of the fair and fearless youth, who stood erect before him, with very evident contempt in his smile, he saw that he was defied. "I will tell you what, my jack-bird,' said he, 'you shall take your naked feet out of this quicker than you brought them in, and by the same road.' With that he dropped the wisp of straw from his hand, and, relying on his huge size and superior strength, advanced towards the youth to put his threat in execution. Albert, stung by the sneering mention of his mountain costume, for he wore the sandal on his naked foot, and upon his graceful and well-proportioned legs the half-stocking without feet, gartered beneath his small firm knee; stung by this, and eager for an essay of his prowess against a Bavarian, he slipped his rifle quietly on the ground behind him, and, with fixed eye, awaited his antagonist. The heavy monster put out his broad and bony hands to seize the shoulders of Albert, but, ere he had a firm hold of him, the active youth, with equal courage and address, had caught him behind the knees, and threw him prostrate in his cumbrous length upon the puddly ground. "There, bullock, lie there, and have a care in future how you play tricks with naked-footed mountaineers,' exultingly cried the young Tyroler, and, catching up his rifle, he walked past the man towards the house, before, stunned by the shock, the soldier had breath to regain his legs. "The loud laugh of his comrades galled the savage soldier to madness, and with clenched fists, and an arm raised as though collecting all his strength for a ponderous blow, he ran after Albert, who turned to face him, and dexterous ly avoiding the descent of it, had the fresh triumph of seeing his clumsy assailant trip against a stone, and fall prone upon his face. phemus of old, he roared out for his sword, and swore he "With a fury as fierce and well-nigh as blind as Polywould have the young brigand's blood. But by this time a window above, called out in anger to the sergeant below, an officer, who had been spectator of the whole scene from and bade him place the infuriated giant in confinement. |