The air was darkened by a discharge of arrows-the contest began-and a violent charge of the Scots was received firm on the part of the English. Disappointed in separating the centre of the line of action, where the majesty of England commanded in perfon, the Caledonians gave way. Edward feizing the advantage of the moment, rufhed into the hotteft of the fcene of flaughter, and the fhout of victory reechoed o'er the enfanguined field.

،

But valour, even immortal, cannot preponderate the scale of justice. The well-known voice of Wallace, cheared the flagging spirits of his followers. They returned as brothers who fhrink not from each other's fide,' to their refpective posts. Eager to regain the reputation they had nearly loft, a dreadful charge was made this ftaggered the refolution of the English, and the renowned defender of his country dealt every where death and deftruction around him.

Eager to gain a name in arms, Sir Alwyne fpurred his mettled courfer to the quick,' in fearch of Wallace- they met, and the wearied foldiers refted on their lances, to await the iffue of the combat. Sword met fword,' and fhield encountered fhield; but Wallace, fkillful in the art of war, ioon o'ercame the youth his fpirit, not his ftrength maintain d the combathe fell

and the victorious hero flew into the

thickeft of the English ranks, calling aloud the name of Edward.

The Northumbrians faw the fall of their chief -their native valour fled-nor could the merited reproaches of their monarch draw them into a firm and close embattled line.The Scots, perceiving the open intervals, rushed forwardoverpowered every oppofition - a general panic feized the foldiers of England-they fled in all directions, and the standard of Liberty waved in the blast, free and uncontaminated by the ruthless hand of tyranny.

C

CHAP. IV.

So it falls out

That what we have, we prize not to the worth
While we enjoy it; but being lack'd and loft,
Why then we rate the value-then we find
The virtue that poffeffion would not flew us
Whilft it was ours.

Shakespeare.

Defpondency-Parental Affection-the SpectreManufcript defaced.

INTELLIGENCE of the defeat of Edward by the intrepid Scots, under Wallace, foon reached the manfion of the Percys. The melancholy fate of the unfortunate Sir Alwyne, drew many a tear, it formed a moral to the young, and fuggefted the inftability of human greatnefs, and of human affairs. Yet not one pearly drop courfed down the velvet cheek of Elwina; a fixed forrow dried up the current of her heart, and the roses that lately played upon her beauteous face, yielded before the fnowy whitenefs of the lily. No feftive merriment cheered her drooping frameno lively tale could win her to a smile-nor friendship, folder of fociety, gain her confidence.

The venerable Percy, with anguish, saw his only child, a prey to unavailing grief; and when betrayed into converfation by the fond anxiety of her parent, it generally fell on the many virtues that adorned the unfortunate object of her folicitude.

Had he lived,' faid the earl to his drooping daughter, my filver locks, fhaded by the finger of woe, would not have reached the tomb. But refignation

He lives!He lives to make you happy,' replied a voice.

The Baron and Elwina ftarted. The castle bell proclaimed the midnight hour.

'Heard you no noise--no voice,' cried the terrified Elwina, and rushed into the arms of her father.

• Hark! See the door opens.'

A warrior clad in fable armour, flowly entered the apartment-- he wore his beaver up-his gait was majeftic, and his pale features affumed a placid fmile. Fixing his eyes upon the wondering earl and terrified Elwina-he approached nearer to the couch.

"Providence defend us!' cried the agitated baron.

The daughter of Percy fainted.

Sir Alwyne lives,' faid the warrior, in three days expect him crowned with the wreath of honour, though not with victory-he well deferves the fair Elwina.'

Mighty powers!' cried Percy, the father of Sir Alwyne-the dearly beloved friend who reared my youthful mind to virtuous doings.'

The warrior filently drew off his helmet, and pointing to a large gafh acrofs his forehead, cried, By the remembrance of former days, revenge, oh Percy, my unnatural murder !

6

'Murder !'

exclaimed the baron.

Murder!' replied the spectre, and although the facred rites of the church were administered, and my afhes reft with my forefathers, yet the ruffian who fapped the fpring of my existence, riots in delufive pleafure, and boasts humanity. This awful vifit, Percy, is purposely to work you to revenge. Sir Philip Newton, of Wark; you know him well-I dare no more unfold. Revenge!'

The baron was preparing to addrefs the ap parition of his friend, but the warrior crossed him-he gazed awhile upon the aftonifhed