Upon his bier aye li'th this innocent
Before the altar while the massë last,
And after that, th' Abbót with his convént
Have sped them for to bury him full fast;
And when they holy water on him cast,

Yet spake this child, when 'sprent was the holy water,
And
sang, O Alma Redemptoris Mater !

This abbot, which that was a holy man,

As monkës be, or elles ought to be,
This younge child to conjure he began,
And said: "O dearë child! I 'halsë thee,
In virtue of the holy trinity,

Tell me what is thy cause for to sing,
Since that thy throat is cut, to my seeming."

My throat is cut unto my neckë bone,"
Saide this child, "and as by way of kind
I should have died, yea longë time agone,
But Jesu Christ, as ye in bookës find,
Will that his glory last and be in mind,
And for the worship of his mother dear,

Yet may I sing O Alma loud and clear.

"This well of mercy, Christës mother sweet,

I loved alway, as after my cunníng;

And when that I my life should forlete,

To me she came, and bade me for to sing
This anthem verily in my dying,

As ye have heard; and when that I had sung,
Methought she laid a grain upon my tongue.

1. Sprent, sprinkled. Halse, entreat. 2. By way of kind, in the course of nature

"Wherefore I sing, and sing I must certain,

In honour of that blissful maiden free,
Till from my tongue off taken is the grain.
And after that thus saidë she to me;

"My little child, then will I fetchen thee,
When that the grain is from thy tongue ytake :
Be not aghast, I will thee not forsake!"

This holy monk, this abbot, him mean I,
His tongue out caught, and took away the grain,
And he gave up the ghost full softëly.
And when this abbot had this wonder seen,

His saltë tearës trill'd adown as rain.

And 'groff he fell all flat upon the ground,
And still he lay as he had been ybound.

The convent lay eke on the pavëment,
Weeping and 'herying Christës mother dear;
And after that they risen, and forth been went,
And took away this martyr from his bier,
And in a tomb of marble stonës clear,

Enclosen they his little body sweet:

There he is now, God 'lene us for to meet.

1. Groff, flat. 2 Herying, praising. 3. There, where, 4. Lene, grant.

THOMAS A'KEMPIS.

[WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF THOMAS A'KEMPIS.]

MRS. E. OAKES SMITH.

What though a gloomy faith were thine,
With vigil pale and penance stern,
That deemed it sinful when the heart
For kindly sympathy should yearn,

And thou, within thy monkish cell
For weary years thy beads didst tell—

Yet, Kempis, it is sweet to feel
That God's own spirit from above
Will rightly guide the blinded child
By its own law of truth and love;

That, let the creed be what it may,
The heart will find the better way.

We praise thee not, that to thy limbs
The hairy vesture torture gave;
That all thy cloister vows were kept,
And fastings wore thee to the grave—

But humble peace to thee was given,
And love, which leads to God and heaven.

Brooklyn, L. I.

ERMINIA.

A LEGEND.

MARY DAVENANT.

In a solitary and romantic region in one of the northern counties of England, there lived upwards of two centuries ago, one of those fathers of modern science, a devoted alchemist. His house, mean and neglected, might almost have passed for uninhabited, had not the silvery thread of smoke arising from its broken chimney, betokened the presence of an occupant, and the lurid light that nightly would gleam from an upper window, betrayed his occupation to be of an unusual nature. It was several years since the philosopher Hermanus had fixed his abode in this solitary spot, to which, however, the fame of his deep learning, his knowledge of the healing art, and his skill in compounding simples, drew many visitants; few of whom were able to penetrate farther than the threshold of his dwelling, where their demands were generally answered by an aged crone, whom most of them believed to be his sole companion.

Ignorance, with her hand-maiden, Superstition, were

of course, at no loss to assign a reason for Hermanus thus cutting himself off from the society of his species, and many were the wild stories circulated among the neighboring peasantry of the strange sights and sounds that haunted the precincts of his solitary dwelling. Unearthly music, fairy shapes, demoniac mutterings, dark, mysterious forms that vanished through the unopened door, and anon, were seen to issue from it, at the starlit dawn, and glide beside the philosopher through wood and wild, aiding him to gather the early dew or seek the baneful herb. These last were doubtless brother Rosicruscians, who visited him from time to time in silence and in secrecy, while Teresa, his lovely daughter, and next to science her father's idol, might well have passed for a creature of no mortal mould, shedding the light of her beauty upon a spot so desolate.

But the affection of her father and the devotion of his aged house-keeper, did not fill the void in the maiden's heart, or compensate for the isolation of her mode of existence. In her father's mysterious researches she felt no sympathy, and among the few rapt and eager seekers after the universal solvent, or the elixir of life, or the philosopher's stone, who were admitted to the hospitalities of his house, she could find no companionship. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that she was often dull and cheerless, or that while bending over her embroidery frame, or singing to her lute, the tears would sometimes fall unbidden at the thought of the many pleasures that were denied her.