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formed themselves in different quarters, and departed in different ways, on expeditions of forage, or in the hope of skirmish with the straggling detachments of the enemy. Of these, the best equipped was conducted by the Marquis de Villen and his gallant brother Don Alonzo de Pache. CO. The sun, now high in heaven, glittered on the splendid arms and gorgeous pennons of Villena's company, as, leaving the camp behind, it entered a rich and wooded district that skirts the mountain barrier of the Vega; the brillancy of the day, the beauty of the scene, the hope and excitement of enterprise, animated the spirits of the whole party. In these expeditions strict discipline was often abandoned, from the certainty that it could be resumed at need. Conversation, gay and loud, interspersed with snatches of song, was heard among the soldiery; and in the nobler group that rode with Willena there was even less of the proverbial gravity of Spaniards. “Now, marquis,” said Don Estevon de Suzon, “what wager shall be between us as to which lance this day robs Moorish beauty of the greatest number of its worshippers?” “My falchion against your jennet,” said Don Alonzo de Pacheco, taking up the challenge. “Agreed. But, talking of beauty, were you in the queen's pavilion last night, noble marquis 2 . It was enriched by a new maiden, whose strange nnd sudden apparation none can account for. Her eyes would have eclipsed the fatal glance of Cava; and, had I been Rodrigo, I might have lost a crown for her smile.” “Ay,” said Vilena, “I heard of her beauty; some hostage from one of the traitor Moors, with whom the king (the saints bless him!) bargains for the city. They tell me the prince incurred the queen's grave rebuke for his attention to the noble maiden.” “And this morning I saw that fearful Father Tomas steal into the prince's tent. I wish Don Juan well through the lecture. The monk’s advice is like the algarroba;” when it is laid up to dry it may be reason

ably wholesome, but it is harsh and bitter enough when taken fresh.” * At this moment one of the subaltern officers rode up to the marquis, and whispered in his ear. “Hal” said Villena, “the Virgin be praised Sir knights, booty is at hand. Silence 1 close the ranks.” With that, mounting a little eminence, and shading his eyes with his hand, the marquis surveyed the plain below; and, at some distance, he beheld a horde of Moorish peasants driving some cattle into a thick copse. The word was hastily given, the troop dashed on, every voice was hushed, and the clatter of mail and the sound of hoofs alone broke the delicious silence of the noon-day landscape. Ere they reached the copse the peasants had disappeared within it. The marquis marshalled his men in a semicircle round the trees, and sent on a detachment to the rear to cut offevery egress from the wood. This done the troop dashed within. For the first few yards the space was more open than they had anticipated; but the ground soon grew uneven, rugged and almost precipitous; and the soil and the interlaced trees alike forbade any rapid motion to the horse. Don Alonzo de Pacheco, mounted on a charger whose agile and docile limbs has been tutored to every description of wharfare, and himself of little weight and incomparable horsemanship, dashed on before the rest. The trees hid him for a moment; when, suddenly, a wild yell was heard, and, as it ceased, uprose the solitary voice of the Spaniard, shouting, “Santiago, y cierra Espana; St. Jago, and charge, Spain " Sach cavalier spurred forward, when suddenly, a shower of darts and arrows rattled on their armour; and up sprung, from bush, and reeds, and rocky cliff, a number of Moors, and with wild shouts swarmed around the Spaniards. “Back for your lives!” cried Villena; “we are beset; make for the level ground !” He turned, spurred from the thicket, and saw the Paynim foe emerging through the glen, line after line of man and horse; each Moor leading his slight and firery steed by the bridle, and leaping on it as he issued from the wood into the

*The algarroba is a sort of leguminious plant,

common in Spain.

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down, his lance in his rest. Villena (ac. companied by such of his kinghts as could disentangle themselves from the Moorish foot) charged upon the foe. A moment of fierce . passed: on the ground lay many a Moor, pierced through by the Christian lance; and on the other side of the foe was heard the voice of Villena— “St. Jago to the rescue !” But the brave marquis stood almost alone, save his faithful chamberlain, Solier. Several of his knights were dismounted, and swarms of Moois, with lifted knives, gathered around them as they lay, searching for the joints of the armour which might admit a mortal wound. Gradually, one by one, many Villena's comrades joined their leader; and now the green mantle of Don Alonzo de Pacheco was seen waving without the copse, and Viena congratulated himself on the safety of his brother. Just at that moment a Moorish cavalier spurred from his troop, and met Pacheco in full career. The Moor was not clad, as was the common custom of the Paynim nobles, in the heavy Christian armour. He wore the light flexile mail of the ancient heroes of Araby or Fez. His turban, which was protected by chains of the finest steel interwoven with the folds, was of the most dazzling white; white, also, where his tunic and short mantle: on his left arm hung a short circular shield, in his right hand was poised a long and slender lance. As this Moor, mounted on a charger in whose raven hue not a white hair could be detected, dashed forward against Pacheco, both Christian and Moor breathed hard and remained passive. Either nation felt it as a sacrilege to thawt the encounter of champions so renowned. “God save my brave brother!” muttered Vilena, anxiously. “Amen,” said those around him; for all who had ever beheld the wildest valour in that war trembled as they recognized the dazling robe and coal black charger of Muza Ben Abil Gazan. Nor was that renowned infidel mated with an unworthy foe. “Pride of the tournament and terror of the war,” was the favorite title which the knights and ladies of Castile had bestowed on Don Alonzo de Pacheco. When the Spaniards saw the redoubted Moor approach, he halted abruptly for a momen, and then, wheeling his horse

around, took a wider circuit to give additional impetus to his charge. The Moor aware of his purpose, halted also, and awaited the moment of his rush; when once more he darted forward, and the combatants met with skill which called forth a cry of involuntary applause from the christians themselves... Muza received on the small surface of his shield the pon. derous spear of Alonzo, while his own light lance struck upon the helmet of the christian, and, by the exactness of the aim rather than the weight of the blow, made Alonzo reel in his saddle. The lances were thrown aside; the long broad falchon of the Christian, the curved Damascus cimeter of the Moor, gleamed in the air. They reised their chargers opposite each other ingrave and deliberate silence. “Yield thee, Sir Knight!" at length cried the fierce Moor, “for the motto on my cimeter declares, that if thou meetest its stroke, thy days are numbered. The sword of the believer is the key of heav. en and hell.” + “False Paynim,” answered Alonzo, in a voice that rung hollow through his hel. met, “a Christian knight is the equal of a Moorish army " Muza made no reply, but left the rein of his charger on his neck: the noble ani. mal understood the signal, and, with a short impatient cry, rushed forward at full speed. Alonzo met the charge with his falchion upraised, and his whole body covered with his shield; the Moor bent —the Spaniards raised a shout--Mua seemed stricken from his horse. Bot the blow of the heavy falchion had not touch. ed him; and, seemingly without an ess, the curved blade of his own cimeter,g: ding by that part of his antagonis” throat where the helmet joins the cuiras passed unresistingly and silently throo the joints; and Alonzo fell at once ani without a groan from his horse, his al. mour, to all appearance, unpenetrao while the blood oozed slow and gurging from a mortal wound. “Allah il Allah [" he joined his friends. Villena, in despair alike of same as life, and gnawed with grief for his broth.

shouted Muza, as

*Such, says Sale, is the poetical phrase of th | Mohammedan divines.

er's loss, at length resolved to put the last hope of the battle on his single arm. He gave the signal for retreat; and, to protect his troop, remained himself alone and motionless on his horse, like a statue of ron. Though not of large frame, he was :steemed the best swordsman, next only to Hernando del Pugar and Gonsalvo de Cordova, in the army; practised alike in the heavy assault of the Christian warfare and the rapid and dexterous exercise of the Moorish cavalry. There he remain3d, alone and grim, a lion at bay, while his troops slowly retreated down the Vega, and their trumpets sounded loud sigmals of distress and demands for succor to such of their companions as might be within hearing. Willena's armour defied he shafts of the Moors; and as one af. er one darted towards him with whirling cimeter and momentary assault, few escaped with impunity from an eye equally quick and a weapon more than equally formidable. Suddenly a cloud of dust swept towards him, and Muza, a moment before at the farther end of the field, came glittering through that cloud, with his white robe waving and his right arm bare. Villena recognised him, set his teeth hard, and, putting spurs to his charger, met the rush. Muza swerved aside just as the heavy falchion swung over his head, and, by a back stroke of his own cimetar, cleft through the cuirass of Villena just above the hip-joint, and the blood followed the blade, The brave cavaliers saw the danger of their chies; three of their number darted forward, and came in time to separate the combatants. Muza stayed not to encounter the new re-inforcement, but, speeding across the plain was soon seen rallying his own scattered cavalry, and pouring them down, in one general body, upon the scanty remnant of the Spaniards. It was at this time that the headlong valour of Hernando del Pulgar, who had arrived with Ponce de Leon, distinguisheditself in feats which yet live in the songs of Spain. Mounted upon an immense steed, and himself of colossal strength, he was seen charging alone upon the assailants, and scattering numbers to the ground with the sweep of his enormous and two-handed falchion.

ith a loud voice he called on Muza to

oppose him; but the Moor, fatigued with slaughter, and scarcely recovered from the shock of his encounter with De Suzon, reserved so formidable a foe for a fu. ture Contest. It was at this juncture, while the field was covered with straggling skirmishers, that a small party of Spaniards, in cutting their way to the main body of their countrymen through one of the numerous copses held by the enemy, fell in at the out. skirt with an equal number of Moors, and engaged them in a desperate conflict, hand to hand. Amid the infidels was one man who took no part in the affray; At

a little distance he gazed for a few mo

ments upon the fierce and relentless slaughter of Moor and Christian with a smile of stern and complacent delight; and then taking advantage of the general confusion rode gently, and as he hoped, unobserved away from the scene. But he was not destined so quietly to escape. A Spaniard perceived him. and, from something strange and unusual in his garb, judged him one of the Moorish leaders; and presently Almamen, for it was he, beheld before him the uplifted falchion of a foe neither disposed to give quarter nor to hear parley. Brave though the Israelite was, many reasons concurred to prevent his taking a personal part against the soldier of Spain; and, seeing he should have no chance of explanation he fairly put spurs to his horse and galloped across the plain. The Spaniard followed, gained upon him, and Almamen at length turned, in despair and the wrath of his haughty nature. “Have thy will fool!” said he, between his grinded teeth, as he griped his dagger and prepared for the conflict. It was long and obstinate; for the Spaniard was skilful, and the Hebrew, wearing no mail, and without any weapon more formidable than a sharp and well-tempered dagger was forced to act cautiously on the defensive. At length the combatants grappled, and, by a dexterous thrust the short blade of Almamen pierced the throat of his antagonist, who fell prostrate to the ground. “I am safe,” he thought, as he wheeled round his horse; when lo! the Spanialds he had just left behind, and who had now routed their antagonists, were upon him.

“Yield or die!” cried the leader of the troop. Almamen glared round; no succour was at hand. “I am not your enemy,” said he, sullenly throwing down his weapon; “bear me to your camp.” A trooper seized his rein, and, scouring along, the Spaniards soon reached the retreating army. Meanwhile the evening darkened; the shout and the roar grew gradually less loud and loud ; the battle had ceased; the stragglers had joined their several standards; and, by the light of the first star, the Moorish force, bearing their wounded brethren and elated with success re-entered the gates of Grenada as the black charger of the hero of the day, closing the rear of the cavalry, disappeared within the gloomy portals.

The song of the Forge.

Clang, clang—the massive anvils ring;
Clang, clang--a hundred hammers swing;
Like the thunder rattle of a tropic sky,
The mighty blows still multiply,
Clang, clang.
Say, brothers of the dusk brow,
What are your strong arms forging now f
Clang, clang—we forge the coulter now,
The coulter of the kindly plough;
Sweet Mary mother, bless our toil,
May its broad furrow still unbind
Togenial rains, to sur and wind
The most benignant soil.
Clang, clang, our coulter's course shall be
On many a sweet and sheltered lea,
By many a streamlet's silver tide,
Amidst the song of mourning birds,
Amidst the low of sauntering herds,
Amid soft breezes which do stray
Through woodbine hedges and sweet May,
Along the green hill's side.
When regal Autumn's bounteous hand
With wide spread glory clothes the land,
When to the valleys from the brow
Of each resplendent slope is roused
A ruddy see of living gold,
We bless, we bless the PLOUGH.
Clang, clang—again, my mates, what glows
Beneath the hammer's potent blows 7
Clang, clang—we forge he giant chain
Which bears the gallant vessel's strain
Midst stormy winds and adverse tides;
Secured by this the good ship braves
The rocky roadstead, and the waves
Which thunder on her sides.
Anxious no more, the merchant sees
The mist drive dark before the beeze,
The storm cloud on the hill;
Calmly he rests, though far away,
In boisterous climes his vessels lay,
Reliant ou our skill,

Say, on what sands these links shall sleep,
Fathoms beneath the solemn deep;
By Afric's pestilential shore,
By many an ice-berg, lone and hour,
By many a palmy western isle,
Basking in Spring's perpetual smile,
By stormy Labrador.
Say, shall they feel the vessel reel,
When to the batter's dreadful peal
The crashing broadside makes reply,
Or else, as at the glorious Nile,
Hold grappling ships, and strive the while
For death or victory !
Hurrah—clang, clang—once more, what glon,
Dark brother of the forges, beneath
The iron tempest of your blows,
The furnace's red breath?
Clang, clang—a burning shower clear
And brilliant of bright spark is poured
Around and up in the dusky air,
As our hammers forge the SWORD.
The sword: a name of dread, yet when
Upon the Reemant thigh 'tis bound,
While for the altar and his hearth,
While for the land that gave him birth,
The war drums roll, the tempest sout,
How sacred is it then :
Whenever for the truth and light,
It flashes in the van of fight;
Whether in some wild mountain pass,
As that were fell Leonidas,
Or on some sterile plain and stern,
A Marston or a Bannockburn;
Or amidst crags and bursting rills,
The Switzer's Alps, gray Tyrol's hills;
Or, as when sunk the Armada's pride,
It gleams above the stormy tide;
Still, still, where'er the battle word
Is Liberty, where men do stand
For justice and their native land,
Then Heaven bless the Sword.

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SoMNAMBUList's Vision.— the celebrated somnambulist, was being experimented upon at an ho in Connecticut, in presence of a number". scientific gentlemen, the servantato country girl, by the request of the to itor, brought in a blanket, and ano seemed to look on some of the to ments with much interest, but wo saw the somnambulist reading, tho paper through several folds of the to without the least difficulty, she ho very red, and edged her way shełło. out of the room, exclaiming in aft” the great amusement of the spello. that "If these sumnamby fellers co through things arter that fashi. o didn't know what good a body's to

did 'em.” |

-oooooo

ELLEN MIOR AN.

In the month of June, 1832, the ship FAME, Capt. Jones, arrived in this port from London, and moored at one of the docks in North River. Her commander, Geo. Jones whom I will pass over lightly was an Englishman, rough, untutored and boorish, yet he was a thorough bred seaman, and a perfectly fitting man to.command the hardy crew under him. The chief mate Charles Barton, the hero of the present sketch, was the only and cherished son of a wealthy planter from one of our slave holding States, then deceased. He had been educated in the most iiberal and expensive manner by his fond father, who spared neither pains nor expense to perfect him in anything he wished to acquire. At an early age and while at college Charles acquired (unsortunately his father thought) a passion for the sea, which grew with his growth, and strengthened with his strength, until it became absolutely too strong for control, and he determined to indulge it, coute qui coule. He was of a noble, high spirited nature very handsome for a man, brave and generous to a fault, and withal, his whole existence was but made of a romance. He was never happy, never cqnotented except he was engaged in some enterprise in which, he could call forth and exercise to the full extent all his powers and energies. o He disappeared suddenly from college and after wandering round the world, for three or four years while his father and friends mourned his death, returned to his native land, in time to receive his father's forgiveness, and to take possession of his estate and fortune, to the great disappoint ment of about fifty cousins, His passion for the sea however did not leave him, and having received an offer of the berth of chief mate of the “Fame,’ and left all his affairs in the hands of a trusty agent, gain went to sea, and as such, we now find him in this port. The vessel had been in four or five days and the cargo was nearly discharged. It was a warm sultry day, and the men who had been at work all the morning, were at their dinner in the forecastle. Capt. Jones was walking back

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wards and forwards on the quarter deck smoking, and Charles was seated aft without his coat, apparently in deep thought, his eyes fixed on the deck. “Is the Captain on board 1' inquired a soft melodious voice, which caused Capt. Jones to stop suddenly, and turn round to gaze upon the querist. Charles arose, and for a moment was utterly paralyzed. . The person who asked the question yet unanswered, was a girl apparently about eighteen handsomely clad, but of a beauty and loveliness that baffles my powers of description. Her hat which was small, but half concealed the finest head of glossy jet black hair in the world, which played in wavy ringlets over a neck and shoulder of surpassing whiteness and beauty. Her forehead was high and white and smooth as purest Parisian marble. Her eyes were large and dark, and they shot forth an expression which could not nor cannot be defined by me. It was so wild, so singular, yet so beseeching, so appealing that one could not look upon her or them without feeling an emotion of pity and almost reverence. “Is the Captain on board ” or. the young lady, as the Captain and his officer in silence fastened their eyes upon her charms. ‘Yes ma'am,' bluntly and half rudely replied Captain Jones, puffing his segar, and walking close to her, with a lewd loose air—"They call me Captain for want of a better.” ‘Will you marry me sir!' inquired the lady. Well, I’m d d if that aint a good one—marry you ! ... Why, my dear I have a wife in Liverpool now, and I don't know how many children. So I can't marry you for good, but I've no kind of objections to marry you while I stay here.' The proudlip of the fair girl curled with proud scorn, and her bright eye flashed with redoubled brilliancy, as she gazed for one single instant upon the rude boor. She curbed her feelings, however, and turned from him, with an expression on her bright and beautiful face, that made him puff his segar with redoubled fervor, and to hide his shame he returned to the cabin. She returned to Charles—he was standing near her, his bright and intelligent

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