ry; he
escapes, but in crossing the sea for Gaul, is taken by the piratical
Picts, carried to Scotland, and condemned to a rigorous and lifelong
slavery. Leoline and Guinessa are married, and Hengist becoming
paramount in Kent, assigns to them a castle with ample domains in the
Isle of Thanet; and in sailing along the coast they often pointed to
"the dizzy summit of the Druid's Chair," which Leoline often proudly
declared to be far more precious to him than any other object in
existence, since it had given him that which alone made existence
valuable--his Guinessa!

In one of the Tales--of the Council of Nice, in the fourth century, Mr.
Smith indulges his usual felicitous vein of humour, in a burlesque which
he puts into the mouth of a slave of the Bishop of Ethiopia,--"a little,
corpulent, bald-headed, merry-eyed man of fifty, whose name was Mark;
whose duty it was to take charge of the oil, trim the lamps, and perform
other menial offices in the church of Alexandria." The profane wight
deserved, for his wit, a better place.

* * * * *

THE JUST DYING SPEECH AND CONFESSION OF THE PAGAN IMMORTALS.

Alack and alas! it hath now come to pass,
That the Gods of Olympus, those cheats of the world,
Who bamboozled each clime from the birthday of Time,
Are at length from their mountebank eminence hurl'd.

On their cold altar-stone are no offerings thrown,
And their worshipless worships no passenger greets,
Though they still may have praise for amending our ways,
If their statues are broken for paving the streets.

The Deus Opt. Max. of these idols and quacks
Is now thrust in a corner for children to flout,
And the red thunder-brand he still grasps in his hand.
Lights not Jupiter Tonans to grope his way out.

Their Magnus Apollo no longer we follow,
He's routed and flouted and laid on the shelf,
And no poet's address will now reach him unless
He can play his own lyre and flatter himself.

As for Bacchus the sot, he has drain'd his last pot,
And must lay in the grave his intoxicate head,
For although by his aid he his votaries made
Full often dead drunk, they have now drunk him dead.

O Mars, battle's Lord! canst thou not draw a sword,
As forth from its temple thy statue we toss?
We want not thy lance, since our legions advance
Beneath the bless'd banner of Constantine's cross.

Juno, Venus, and Pallas, to s