was the renowned Cid, whose beard never man had touched, stretched forth his hand to dishonor it; for it seems that the Spaniards of those days, among so many things which they had borrowed from the Moors, had learned to look upon the beard as representing the majesty and dignity of the person. The Jew was not, however, permitted to defile the person of the Christian champion by his touch; for ere his purpose was accomplished, the Cid frowned, and Tizona half flew from the scabbard; overcome with fear, the Jew fell lifeless on the pavement, and being found there some time after, and restored, related the evil thought that had beset him, and all that had happened to him; whereupon all gave thanks to God for remembering his servant, and rescuing him from the pollution of a Jew by this miracle, which was no doubt got up among the monks, with an especial view to procure respect for the body of the Cid. As for the Jew, he took the hint and turned Christian, being ever after known as Diego Gil, by which name he was presently baptized, devoting himself under it to the service of God in this same convent, in which he ended his days like any other good Christian

"Como qualquier buen Christiano."

A LEGEND OF MONT ST. MICHEL.

▲ SKETCH FROM HISTORY.

It was on a sultry day in the summer of the year 1620, that two individuals toiled wearily up the landward side of one of that range of mountains that separates the town of Avranches, on the coast of Normandy, from the inland. The erect form and firm step of the elder of the two, showed that his old age was as a "lusty winter, frosty but kindly." And in every motion of his companion was manifested the light heart and untiring spirit of youth. The ascent was steep, and the path winding and rough; so that by the time the summit was attained, the hardy sinews of the old man, and the lusty limbs of the youth, were equally fatigued. But the scene that there met their eyes was well calculated to make them forget their weariness. Beneath them lay the town of Avranches, at such a distance that the mud and filth of the place were invisible; while its picturesque cottages and busy peasantry presented only an appearance of neatness and industry more suitable to "la belle France." On either side, for miles along

the coast, villages, forests, cultivated fields, and winding streams met the eye in endless succession; while in front, looking over Avranches, was seen the singular fortress of St. Michel, surrounded by the still more singular sands of the same name. As these last two objects are immediately connected with our tale, it will be necessary to say a few words in description of them as they appear to our travellers.

The rays of the declining sun streamed full upon the vast plain that lay between the ocean and the main land, partaking of the character of each, yet widely differing from either. From the outer verge of this plain, three or four miles from the main land, arose a tall conical rock, on the summit and sides of which were built a fortress and a town. This plain was the famous sands, and this rock the famous fort of St. Michel. Were the latter less fortified by art than it is, it would still, from its situation, be well-nigh impregnable. Surrounded by a desert of sand, which at the coming in of the tide becomes one vast quicksand, covered entirely with water, it rears itself above the waste, too lonely and exposed to be approached unseen; while if it were attacked in the broad light of day, the assailants would be engulphed in the devouring sand long before they could obtain a footing on the firm rock.

The younger traveller gazed upon the scene with ever-increasing wonder and delight; now pointing out to his companion some shady nook in the dark forest, and now directing his attention to the glittering of the rivers as they lost themselves in the sands. 66 Ay," said the old man," it is a glorious scene all France can boast no fairer. I too, when the blood danced as merrily through my veins as it now does through yours, ere the exposure of seventeen summers had darkened the down upon my lip, I too beheld it from the same spot on which you now stand, and with the same feelings of wonder. Little did I then think that on yon sands I should one day narrowly escape a horrid death; little did I then think that within the gloomy walls of that castle my nearest and dearest friends would one day find a grave. Let us sit beneath the shade of this tree, and while the cool sea-breeze fans our brow, I will tell you a tale of the Fortress of the Genii.'"

You may thank a benign Providence, my son, that your youth has been passed in better days than those which, in your father's boyhood, were burthened with gloom and danger, with civil war for our beloved country, and family discord for her oppressed children. The Wars of the League have indeed gone by; but like the dread tornado we hear of in that new world beyond the sea, they have left behind a wide path of desolation, strewed with the blasted hopes and ruined fortunes of the best and bravest of our land. The hand of war, which was laid so heavily upon others, did not spare my kindred; and we are now gazing upon the place in which each of my brethren, nearest in affection as well as in blood, were, in quick succession, ruthlessly murdered.

We were all, as you know, the dependents of the Count de Montgomeri, whose noble nature would not suffer him to behold the wrongs of an oppressed people without attempting redress, and whose arm was nerved by the thought, that his father's murder was yet unrevenged. His energetic spirit and undoubted courage made him one of the most active and successful leaders of the Huegonots; and when therefore he announced to his brave companions his determination to attempt the capture of the celebrated fortress of St. Michel- the impregnable fortress -the declaration was received with no surprise, though all doubted whether even Montgomeri was equal to the task. But his hopes of success were well-grounded no thought of fear entered the bosom of him or his companions, and he had every possible motive to urge him onward.

On the wall of the castle, on the north side, there is erected a small tower, which at this distance you can scarcely perceive, whose base projects a little over the bare steep rock, which at that place goes down, almost perpendicularly, to the sands beneath. In the floor of the tower there is a trap-door provided with tackle, through which it is said the monks, who in days of yore possessed the place, were accustomed to draw up those goods they were ashamed to carry in through the open gate, and in the broad light of day. Though this is the weakest point in the fortification, yet it was supposed to be so secure that but one soldier was stationed there to guard it. This man was bound by the strongest ties, of what nature I know not, of gratitude to our noble master; and though fortune had thrown him into the ranks of our opponents, it was believed that he had not forgotten his former faith, and was still eager to serve his former friends. It would be of little use for me to tell of the difficulties that were met, and the dangers that were overcome, before an agreement was made with our friend within the walls. It was at length, however, determined, that on the appointed night, the Count, with a brave band of an hundred associates, should steal up to the rock, and one by one be drawn up by the tackle of the monks.

The day came; how wearily it passed! The sun went down - oh! how different from that on which we are now gazing- amid a mass of low black clouds that settled down and enveloped the gloomy fortress, as if its guardian genii had summoned their black battalions to come in mist and darkness, and protect their drear abodes. The night advanced, and though the wind and the rain were raging, though we had to grope our way, through thick darkness, over lands, which even in mid-day are dangerous, yet calmly and determinately we gradually approached the rock, and at length stood close at its foot. Would to God we had never reached it, that we had all perished together in the quicksand ere we saw the beacon-light of the faithless sentry; would

that his lying lips had become dumb ere he spoke the words that led so many of my friends and kinsmen to a bloody grave. But anger is now in vain; it becomes rather to wait patiently for a death, how different from theirs!

I have said we stood beneath the trap-door, and you may imagine with what anxiety we gazed at the twinkling light above, and with what joy we heard the creaking of the blocks and the crank of the irons at the end of the ropes as they struck the ground. Then for the first time we breathed freely; for we heard in the sound a confirmation of the good faith of our ally. Our joy, however, was shortlived; for as we surrounded, by the light of dim lantern, the iron cleets by which one of our number was to ascend alone, and with no friendly hand to aid him, to unknown dangers, our hearts again sank within us. Even the bold spirit of our leader was subdued at the thought of the fearful risk which he who first ascended was to run. At length my youngest brother, young in years but the bravest of the brave, stepped forward, and without a parting embrace, without a farewell word, with scarce a farewell look, placed his foot in the iron and grasped the cord. Gradually he rose from the earth, gradually he disappeared; and oh! how eagerly did each streaming eyeball gaze after his lessening form; yet breathless silence chained every lip, and almost stopped the beating of every heart. But when the creak of the descending rope reached our ears, when the clank of the iron was once more heard, a smothered cry of joy arose; confidence was restored to every bosom, and each man pressed forward with eagerness to join his companions in the tower above.

In this manner did I behold my five brethren disappear; in this manner, in quick succession, did fifty gallant soldiers unhesitatingly ascend. We listened eagerly to hear when the work of death began; we expected every moment to hear the shout of victory; we panted to peal forth the war-cry of the Montgomeri; but all was silent as the tomb. No clashing of steel or hurrying of feet told of the fierce encounter or the sudden surprise; the light above still shone feebly through the thick mist; the rope was still constantly and regularly lowered. Whispers and horrid surmises ran through the group. We looked eagerly around for some mode of solving the mystery. A large piece of timber, some forty feet in length, lay near at hand; and as the eightieth man was beginning to ascend, I proposed that, having fastened myself at one end, I should be raised in the air until I might be able to see over the ramparts. It was soon done. I was slowly and cautiously raised; I reached the top of the ramparts -I gazed eagerly. Oh, God in Heaven! what a sight of horror I beheld! In an open place below, by the light of half a dozen torches, stood a grim and blood-stained executioner, grasping a long two-handed

sword; from the point of which the reeking gore fell drop by drop. By his side was piled a horrid heap of ghastly heads; and even while I gazed, the same man, from whom but a minute before I had parted, the eightieth of our number, was led in; his head bowed upon the block, and I could distinctly hear the heavy blow of the sword, and see the gush of the warm blood from the headless trunk. I could endure no more. I closed my eyes, and gave one long loud cry of agony and fear. My startled comrades quickly lowered me. I recollect not how I told the hideous tale; but I well remember -- oh! I shall ever remember the taunting devilish laugh that broke from those accursed battlements. It came upon us as the cry of the bird of night comes upon the ear of the murderer. It was echoed back from tower to tower. I fancied that from every lowering cloud that swept by on the wings of the wind, I could see mishapen forms leaning, and pealing forth that demoniac laugh. We paused not, we tarried for one another; but clasping our trembling hands to our affrighted ears, we rushed wildly, madly across the plain. How I reached the shore I know not. The hand of the Almighty alone led me away from the quicksand, and preserved me from the treacherous