The air was darkened by a difcharge 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 person, the Caledonians gave way. Edward seizing the advantage of the moment, rushed into the hottest of the scene of flaughter, and the shout of victory reechoed o'er the ensanguined 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 shrink not from each other's fide,' to their respective posts. Eager to regain the reputation they had nearly loft, a dreadful charge was made-this staggered the resolution of the English, and the renowned defender of his country dealt every where death and destruction around him.

Eager to gain a name in arms, Sir Alwyne 'spurred his mettled courser to the quick,' in search of Wallace-- they met, and the wearied foldiers rested on their lances, to await the issue of the combat. Sword met sword, and shield encountered shield; but Wallace, skillful in the art of war, foon o'ercame the youth his fpirit, not his strength maintain d the combat he fell-and the victorious hero flew into the

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

The Northumbrians saw 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 opposition a general panic seized 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 possession would not shew us
Whilst it was ours.

Defpondency-Parental Affection-the SpectreManuscript defaced.

INTELLIGENCE of the defeat of Edward

by the intrepid Scots, under Wallace, foon reached the mansion of the Percys. The melancholy fate of the unfortunate Sir Alwyne, drew many a tear, it formed a moral to the young, and suggested the instability of human greatness, and of human affairs. Yet not one pearly drop coursed down the velvet cheek of Elwina; a fixed forrow dried up the current of her heart, and the rofes that lately played upon her beauteous face, yielded before the fnowy whiteness of the lily. No festive merriment cheered her drooping frameno lively tale could win her to a fmile-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 conversation by the fond anxiety of her parent, it generally fell on the many virtues that adorned the unfortunate object of her folicitude.

6

' Had he lived, faid the earl to his drooping daughter, my filver locks, shaded 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 started. The castle bell proclaimed the midnight hour.

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

Hark!-See the door opens.'

A warrior clad in sable armour, slowly entered the apartment -- he wore his beaver up-his gait was majestic, and his pale features assumed a placid smile. Fixing his eyes upon the wondering earl and terrified Elwina-he approached nearer to the couch.

6

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.'

6

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 gash across his forehead, cried, By the remembrance of former days, revenge, oh Percy, my unnatural murder!"

Murder!'exclaimed the baron.

'Murder!' replied the spectre, 'and although the facred rites of the church were administered, and my ashes rest with my forefathers, yet the ruffian who fapped the spring of my existence, riots in delufive pleasure, and boasts humanity. This awful visit, 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 address the apparition of his friend, but the warrior crossed him-he gazed awhile upon the astonished