river's brink, that it might appear as though she had accomplished her own destruction. To the care of the faithful Alice she had committed her children, and likewise the secret of her concealment. Alice was in continual correspondence with her unfortunate mistress; and great was the joy and exultation with which she communicated the arrival of a messenger from her lord, whom she had long mourned as dead. Providentially no interview took place between Hildebrand and the stranger on the night of his arrival; and sufficient time intervened to enable Lady Fairfax to make a desperate attempt, in the hope of gaining possession of the papers for which he had been sent. She well knew Hildebrand would not give up credentials that might ensure his lord's return. In this attempt she succeeded, and with these she met the envoy on his return from the castle; and disclosing all the tortuous and daring villany of Hildebrand, committed the real documents into his care, instructing him at the same time to lay before her sovereign the narrative of her wrongs. Soon was the captivity of Sir Henry terminated; and joy heightened by the past, and chastened by the severity of their misfortunes, attended the remainder of their earthly career. To a numerous posterity they left this motto— 66 Verily, there is a God that ruleth in the earth!"

THE WITCH'S ORDEAL.

A Dramatic Sketch.

BY MISS E. ROBERTS.

Scene, the outside of a hovel, on the edge of a common. A village in the distance. A crowd of rustics assembled.

FIRST RUSTIC.

OFF with the witch, I say; we'll try the test-
I warrant me the hag will swim. The fiend
Will be at hand to help-come, neighbours, come,
Assist to hale her to the river's brink;

Then we shall see how like a cork she floats

Upon the rapid waters.

SECOND RUSTIC.

Down with her;

She has performed her wicked freaks too long.
The mildew hangs upon the corn; the earth
Teems with unwholesome damps; whole flocks of sheep
Are smitten with disease-and she has wrought
These deadly plagues. Beneath the waning moon
I saw her gather poisonous herbs, and heard
The spell she inly muttered. Off with her!

CROWD.

Ay, to the river straight; the witch shall swim!

ELLINOR.

Nay, nay, good people, hold your eager hands; old dame is innocent, indeed

The poor

She cannot harm you if she would,—so old,
So pressed by want. O, if she had the power
To work forbidden spells, she would not starve
Upon a morsel wrung from the cold hand
Of most reluctant charity: then pause,
Nor for an idle prejudice commit

This cruel deed.

THIRD RUSTIC.

She has been proved a witch,

A foul, rank witch. 'Twas but a fortnight since
She passed our door, and out of wicked spite,
Because the silly children set a cur

A snarling at her heels, to verjuice turned
A cask of stout October. 'Tis in vain

We nail the guardian horse-shoe o'er the porch,
And place witch-straws across the threshold, still
Our cattle die, and still the noisome blight
Destroys the labourer's toil, the farmer's hope.

ALICE.

I drove the canker'd beldam from my gate,

And straight a loathsome toad dragged its foul length, And shed its venom o'er the rosemary,

The thyme, and sage, drying for winter's store.

MARGARET.

The hens break all the eggs, and we may churn
Until our arms drop off-no butter comes.

Strange cats, with glaring eyes, some of the brood
She nurtures in her hovel, roam abroad,

And dart at people's throats.

She sends the owl To hoot around our houses. Snakes, and frogs, And slimy reptiles, birds of night, the bat, The croaking raven, and the hedge-hog grim, Creatures who fly from men, are with this hag Familiar. And in her spite she sends The will-o'-wisp to guide the wanderer on To some deep bog: our hind was lantern-led But yesternight, and came home scared to death.

ALICE.

She fears nor Heaven nor man; is never seen
At church or meeting: when she mumbles prayers,
She says them backwards. Out upon the witch-
Ay, to the river!
Down with her, I say.

THE WITCH.

You will not be content until you have
My life, you greedy blood-hounds! Can I stir
A step without a gibe? Pitfalls are set
About my path, and I am sorely bruised
By sticks and stones cast by the village fry,
Whene'er I wander forth. Your imps are taught
To maim my cats. I soon shall be without
A shed to screen me from the sky-the roof

Is pulled about my ears. The murrain take
Your beasts-the red curse hang on all!

ELLINOR.

Stay! Stay!

Nay, do not curse, good mother. You should strive, With meekness and with gentleness, to turn

Their stubborn hearts.

THE WITCH.

Turn stones and rocks, 'twould be

A task as easy. Preach not peace to me;
I hate the canting vermin, and I'll spend
My latest breath in railing. Blisters be
Upon your slanderous lips!-famine and pestilence
Feed on your vitals!

FIRST RUSTIC.

Peace, thou foul-mouthed witch?

Shall we stay tamely by, and hear her curse?
Seize her, good neighbours, drag her to the stream.

CROWD.

Down with the witch! down with the wicked hag!

(Enter, a Traveller on horseback.)

ELLINOR.

Oh, sir, for charity arrest the mad

And murderous purpose of these credulous,
Inhuman peasants. They will put to death
poor old harmless creature, something given,
In truth, to evil speaking, but indeed

A