The Pathetic and Sublime.—­What a world of reasonings, not immediately obvious, did the sage of old open to our inquiry, when he said that the pathetic was the truest source of the sublime.

Fortune-telling by Gipsies.—­Very few men under thirty ever sincerely refuse an offer of this sort.  Nobody believes in these predictions, yet every one likes hearing them.

Gardening.—­’Tis a winning thing, a garden!  It brings us an object every day; and that’s what I think a man ought to have if he wishes to lead a happy life.

Knaresbro’ Castle.—­You would be at some loss to recognise now the truth of old Leland’s description of that once stout and gallant bulwark of the north, when “he numbrid 11 or 12 toures in the walles of the Castel, and one very fayre beside in the second area.”  In that castle, the four knightly murderers of the haughty Becket (the Wolsey of his age) remained for a whole year, defying the weak justice of the times.  There, too, the unfortunate Richard the Second,—­the Stuart of the Plantagenets—­passed some portion of his bitter imprisonment.  And there, after the battle of Marston Moor, waved the banner of the loyalists against the soldiers of Lilburn.  It was made yet more touchingly memorable at that time, as you may have heard, by an instance of filial piety.  The town was straitened for want of provisions; a youth, whose father was in the garrison, was accustomed nightly to get into the deep, dry moat, climb up the glacis, and put provisions through a hole, where the father stood ready to receive them.  He was perceived at length; the soldiers fired on him.  He was taken prisoner, and sentenced to be hanged in sight of the besieged, in order to strike terror into those who might be similarly disposed to render assistance to the garrison.  Fortunately, however, this disgrace was spared the memory of Lilburne and the republican arms.  With great difficulty, a certain lady obtained his respite; and after the conquest of the place, and the departure of the troops, the adventurous son was released....  The castle then, once the residence of Pierce Gaveston,—­of Hubert III,—­and of John of Gaunt, was dismantled and destroyed.  It is singular, by the way, that it was twice captured by men of the name of Lilburn, or Lilleburne, once in the reign of Edward II., once as I have related.  On looking over historical records, we are surprised to find how often certain great names have been fatal to certain spots; and this reminds me that we boast (at Knaresbro’,) the origin of the English Sibyl, the venerable Mother Shipton.  The wild rock, at whose foot she is said to have been born, is worthy of the tradition.

Consolation for the Loss of Children.—­Better that the light cloud should fade away into Heaven with the morning breath, than travail through the weary day to gather in darkness, and end in storm!

Bells before a Wedding.—­The bells were already ringing loud and blithely; and the near vicinity of the church to the house brought that sound, so inexpressibly buoyant and cheering, to the ears of the bride, with a noisy merriment, that seemed like the hearty voice of an old-fashioned friend who seeks, in his greeting, rather cordiality than discretion.