Page 9. On the banks of the Rye, In the vale of Ryedale, stood formerly a very handsome Hall, which I have called a Castle :—It was sold some years ago by its hereditary possessors, and purchased by a very respectable family, (the descendants of which I have the honor to be acquainted with,) who, finding the Hall too large, and comfortless for their use, levelled it to the ground, and built a neat modern country house, near the spot where the old mansion formerly stood; and left but very small part of one of the wings of the Hall standing, which still remains an emblem of fading grandeur, and of the changes which time and opinion are constantly producing.

The present name of the grounds and hamlet upon the estate is Ness, and what was once an extensive and very handsome park, adorned with Statues and every ornament of gothic magnificence, is now chiefly cultivated ground, and luxuriant cornfields, presenting to the eye all the varied beauties ofvariegated vegetation: yet here and there a mutilated statue, or a falling pedestal, proclaims to the observant beholder, that taste and grandeur once decorated the spot; and the lover of Nature and ancient times cannot but observe with regret, the decay of those remains of rude elegance, (if I may be allowed the expression,) which were once considered as contributing to the beauty of the scenery, and which spoke the wealth, powers, and consequence of the owner.

At South Holme stood in ancient days a very venerable and handsome edifice, then denominated Holme House: but this structure has long been demolished, and there is not, at the present moment, one vestige remaining to denote the spot where the noble building reared its towering head. A farm-yard now occupies part of the space where the Hall stood: and where the lofty battlements, which spoke wealth and power, rose frowning defiance on all invaders, the blossom of the teeming orchard sheds forth its perfumes, and the foliage of innumerable trees, waving to the passing breeze, invites the noonday stroller to coolness and repose: while the tempting fruit of the apple and the plum-tree, flourishing in abundant beauty and full plenty, offers a rural refreshment and welcome repast.

The circumstance here recorded is founded on a truth to which I was myself a witness;—with the parties themselves I was very well acquainted.

An officer of—regiment accompanied a detachment to a Spanish fortress on the Barbary coast, viz. Ceuta. There he met with a Spanish lady of rank and beauty, with whom he fell desperately in love: her father and relations disapproved of his suit, on account of the difference in his religion.

The lover, according to the Custom of the country, declared his passion by serenading his mistress; but her father dismissed him with threats: however, as the fair object of his affection favoured his suit, the knight of Erin was not to be so easily dismissed; he continued to persuade the lady to consent to an elopement. Accordingly her lover removed the iron bars from her window, (which, like the generality of Spanish casements, had been strongly barricaded,) and by theaid of a rope ladder obtained possession of the prize; who was immediately received by several ladies of the regiment acquainted with the plot; and the ceremony of marriage was in their presence performed, on board a vessel which was then sailing out of the harbour, with the troops, bound to Gibraltar; where the gallant Irishman triumphantly introduced his bride.— I am sorry that truth compels me to add, that he was not long spared to the enjoyment of conjugal happiness; relentless death, who descends with falcon wings alike upon the young and old, cut the thread of his destiny before he had been married quite a year; and the tongue of fame did not scruple to assert that, even for that short space of time, happiness was not allotted to his share; however this might be, after her husband's decease the lady returned to her friends, where, after due penance done for the heinous crime of marrying (what they called) a heretic, she was again received to their countenance, and the bosom of her mother-church: where we will hope she enjoys, at this day, peace and contentment. Such is the little tale which I have very briefly and imperfectly re- corded, in Edith's Song of the Knight of Erin.

The peasantry around Holme and Ness, tell a tale of a murder committed near Holbeck-bridge; and a skeleton having been found beneath a small moundon the rising hill near it, seems to authorize the suspicion. Whether the murder is supposed to have been perpetrated on a man or woman, I cannot precisely say, as report differs on that point: I have however, for obvious reasons, chosen to imagine it the latter. There is also a Vulgar idea that an apparition has been seen, and still continues to walk, near the spot whence the bones were dug; but, when we consider the fine opening that circumstance gave for the romances of superstition, and the terrors of ignorance, we cease to wonder at the popularity of the tradition among the illiterate and uninformed.

The peasantry in the neighbourhood of Holme and Ness, seem particularly given to this kind of romance; and, within the space of three miles, not less than three or four of the gentry commonly denominated ghosts are supposed to take their nightly rounds, for the laudable purpose of terrifying the unmolesting passenger, or chasing the untimely visitor, whose hours of gaiety have been prolonged, till after the god of day has withdrawn his glories from our quarter of the globe. I can only say, I have some time resided at Holme with the much respected family who now occupy the premises, and, during that period, have often fallen under the latter class of evening strollers, through the kind hospitality of our neighbouring friends; and, I need hardly add, I have never found myself or party disturbed by the presence of the aerial intruders.

The Isle of Wight is the depot of His Majesty's forces in time of war, and frequently culled "Eden of England," from its excessive fertility, and extreme beauty. It is indeed a spot where nature seems to have poured forth her treasures with a lavish hand, and where the charms of art appear to be rivalling the bounteous goddess, to arrest the eye of taste, and enchant the sense, with all the varied elegance which the connoisseur in grace delights to behold.

The Bay of Biscay; whose high swelling waves and dashing foam present a scene awfully grand, and terrific beyond description. In time of calm the swell is really alarming, and with only a light breeze its continually ruffled bosom offers a fearful prospect; but in a gale, it is too dreadful for description. One moment the vessel hangs as it were in the clouds,high-raised upon a mountain of liquid surge, tottering on the brink of destruction: while beneath her, on either side, appear immense gulphs, opening their tremendous jaws to enclose their destined victim; and all around are seen rolling mountains of water, moving rapidly onward to envelope the fated ship, and shut her from sight for ever. A moment, and she plunges headlong into the abyss below, while instant destruction seems about to overwhelm her; but the next instant, by a wonderful power of buoyancy and art, she rises over the watery hill, and, once more soaring in the air, seems to mock the fury of the elements around her, and laugh at the rage of the wind and waves.

It has been my lot to experience all the horrors of this bay. during a gale of eighteen days' continuance; and I know it is impossible for language to express, or for the mind to form, any idea of the awfulness of such a situation, or of the dreadful grandeur of the scene it presents.

Is in the morning generally covered with a cloud: not unfrequently this cloud descends to its breast, and, as I have said, appears like an airy mantle or veil of ether: thus enveloped, first breaking on the sight after a long, perhaps tempestuous voyage; andafter being many days, sometimes weeks, without seeing land; it presents a sight truly sublime and cheering, and is generally welcomed with delight by the weary voyager. I think nothing can be more beautiful than the appearance of the rock, as the clouds slowly and gradually roll away before the approach of the mid-day sun: thus gracefully folding back as a brilliant curtain, disclosing to the anxious eye the appearance of verdure and vegetation.

It is well known that, during the last Peninsular war, the French took every advantage of' the British troops; and the anecdote here alluded to was an authenticated fact. The French troops were on their retreat, (at which time they made a practice of committing every outrage which barbarity could meditate, or cruelty inflict,) and, knowing the British army to be near, they poisoned the wells in passing through a village in their route. Wellington's troops coming into the town, a few hours after the departure of the French, much spent with fatigue, heat, and thirst, the men with one accord rushed to the wells; and great numbers fell a sacrifice to the unfair artifice used by the enemy. It was no uncommon event, for the British troops on their march to observe whole villages in flames, and houses falling in every direction, which had been fired in wanton barbarity by Bona‐parte's troops: and the dreadful circumstances of the section following the before named quotation, were but too frequently acted by the French army, with every exaggeration of cruelty, that a merciless soldiery could inflict. I have alluded to one of their sacrilegious acts, because I thought it a most unprovoked piece of ferocity; it occurred at a town in Portugal, the name of which has at this moment escaped me, but it is nevertheless a well attested fact. I learned it from an officer, who with his regiment entered the town in pursuit of the retreating enemy, a few hours after the outrage had been committed.

The real anecdote is simply this:—A Portuguese Count, of noble blood, who was a very brave man, had died some weeks previously, and had been buried with all the honors that respect could pay, a high station demand, and wealth purchase. This circumstance by some means reached the ears of the soldiery, while they were demolishing the chapel in which he was interred; they immediately tore up the marble which covered the departed hero, dragged him from his coffin, and, in the habiliments of the grave, placed him in one of the niches, from which they had previously taken the statue of a Catholic saint, for the purpose of enriching themselves with the jewels which adorned it. Having fixed the corpse in this cavity, they amused themselves by dancing round it; paying it a mock reverence, and practising upon itsuch freaks of horrid sport as their brutal mirth and depraved minds suggested; thus forfeiting all preeminence above the brute creation, and exciting in the breasts of all, who were not dead to every sentiment of humanity, virtue, and religion, feelings of the deepest abhorrence.

It very frequently happened that a running stream was the only boundary between the two armies. At such times it was usual for sentries belonging to each force, to be placed along the banks of the rivulet to prevent surprise: at those periods they used generally to hold converse together as brother soldiers, forgetting, for the time, all hostile intentions, or only remembering them to praise or vaunt the merits of their respective leaders.

This occurrence is strictly true, and has been avouched by the testimony of many respectable officers serving in the British army, and belonging to the division where it took place.

This anecdote is a fact.—The discovery of the horridsight was certainly not made by a female, but by some officers of the Duke of Wellington's army. They had been some time pursuing the French troops, and for several weeks had been deprived of all shelter, save the blue expanse of sky above them, with no other roof than the shifting clouds. They approached the hut with pleasure and delight, thankful to have the prospect of a friendly covering for one night; they entered hastily,—but they shrunk back appalled from the sight which met their view:—they retired, shocked and disgusted; execrating the cruelty of those men, who had left their wounded brethren to expire of want, neglect, and famine.

This relation was repeated to me by two or three of the officers who witnessed the circumstance. They supposed it to have been the hospital for the wounded, who had been laid there immediately after a battle;— and whom the French had left without food, or any kind of sustenance. There, with wounds yet open, with veins yet gushing with the blood they had shed at the call of their country and their sovereign, they experienced all the aggravated anguish of pain and famine; expiring in tortures which mock the powers of language, and set description at defiance.

Of all the superstitions which ignorance and idolatry ever dictated, the worship of the Persiansseems the most reasonable. When we consider the difficulty of an uninformed mind being able to comprehend the presence of an invisible Deity, we cannot wonder that those which were veiled in darkness, and shrouded by impenetrable ignorance, like the Persians, should fall into an error: or that they should bow down in reverence before the glorious Sun, whose kindling powers they felt, while they acknowledged the milder beams of the chastened Moon as an inferior Deity.

We who are favoured by a Divine light, who bask in the full radiance of God's mercy, should look with pity and consideration on the less fortunate lot of our fellow brethren; we should behold every sect with the eye of liberality; and, when we humbly prostrate ourselves before the Divine footstool, we should make many allowances for those who enjoy not the blessings which we participate; and, instead of reviling the less fortunate heathens, we should pray that the glorious beams of the Gospel may be made visible to them, and that they may also be of the same fold, and at the last day may be collected under, one Shepherd.

In this world none can be excellent; and, if we feel a right, a humble spirit, it will induce us to believe, to hope, that, however ridiculous the belief or deed of another may appear to us, yet it may possess much reason and truth, which we do not, or cannot, perceive.