re is a striking resemblance between this process and that of the
court of _Arcopagus,_ at Athens, for murder, where the prisoner and
prosecutor were both sworn in the most solemn manner--the prosecutor,
that he was related to the deceased, (for none but near relations were
permitted to prosecute in that court,) and that the prisoner was the
cause of his death; the prisoner, that he was innocent of the charge
against him.

In time I hope to be able to furnish you with other specimens of our
curious ancient oaths.

W.H.H.

* * * * *

SONNET.

(_For the Mirror_.)

Whose heart is not delighted at the sound
Of rural song, of Nature's melody,
When hills and dales with harmony rebound,
While Echo spreads the pleasing strains around,
Awak'ning pure and heartfelt sympathy!
Perchance on some rude rock the minstrel stands,
While his pleased hearers wait entranced around;
Behold him touch the chords with fearless hands,
Creating heav'nly joys from earthly sound.
How many voices in the chorus rise,
And artless notes renew the failing strains;
The honest boor his vocal talent tries,
Approving love beams from his "fair one's eyes,"
While age, in silent joy, forgets its pains.

J.J.

* * * * *

THE DEATH OF SALADIN.[9]

[9] For the particulars of which, see Knolle's "history of the Turks."

(_For the Mirror._)

The angel of death hath too surely prest
His fatal sign on the warrior's breast--
Quench'd is the light of the eagle-eye,
And the nervous limbs rest languidly--
The eloquent tongue is silent and still,
The deep clear voice again may not chill
The hearers' hearts with its own deep thrill.

Ah, who can gaze on death, nor inward feel
A creeping horror through the bosom steal,
Like one who stands upon a precipice,
And sees below a mangled sacrifice,
Feeling that he himself must ere long fall,
With none to save him, none to hear his call,
Or wrest him from the agonizing thrall?

And yet it is but sleep we look upon!
But in that sleep from which the life is gone
Sinks the proud Saladin, Egyptia's lord.
His faith's firm champion, and his Prophet's sword;
Not e'en the red cross knights withstand his pow'r,
But, sorrowing, mark the Moslem's triumph hour,
And the pale crescent float from Salem's tow'r.

As the keen arrow, hurl'd with giant-might,
Re