""Twere tedious now the Goth to trace, And led, when Mervan, bent by time, "Now, list! my children. Mark my theme! From Mervan's blood, Arabia's race, "Mohammed, as the legend tells, * Notwithstanding the national and religious animosity between the Christians and the Saracen Moors in Spain, many a young Spaniard married a Moorish maiden; and many a young Moorish warrior has braved innumerable difficulties and dangers for the sake of obtaining a Christian bride. †The Goths came from the northern parts of Norway and of Lapland, anciently known as Scandinavia. They consisted of two tribes; the Visigoths and the Ostrogoths. The former became masters of Spain; the latter of Italy. They were Christians, of a sect called Arians, and at enmity with the catholics; but in the year 586 Recard, the Goth, adopted the Roman faith. The empire or authority of the Moors in Spain lasted nearly eight hundred years. Elated with their great success, they pushed their conquests and spread their religion, according to the command of their prophet, into France; where they were eventually defeated in a decisive battle by Charles Martel, the grandfather of Charlemagne, who thus stopped their further progress in Europe. A division of the Moorish empire took place in 758; when the Moors in Spain separated from the Arabian states, then under the oppressive rule of the usurping prince, Abul Abbas: the Bedouins, or wandering Arabs of the Desert, sending them an amiable and courageous young prince, a son of Mervan, named Abderahman, whom they had preserved from the fury of the usurper, to reign over them. This prince first called his new empire Cordova; and fixed his residence in a city of that name in the province of Andalusia. The kingdom of Cordova comprised Valencia, Murcia, Grenada, Andalusia, Portugal, and the whole of Castile; and before the death of Abderahman the Christians had established the two great kingdoms of Oviedo and Navarre. Cordova, like other great empires, having reached a certain height of prosperity, became luxurious, effeminate, and slothful; and thus gradually led to its own decline and fall. About two hundred years after the death of Almanzor the Conqueror it was overthrown, and its noble capital fell into the hands of that renowned Christian hero, The Cid, who eventually seized upon Valencia, and there founded a kingdom for himself. The kingdom of Grenada, the last possession of the Moors in Spain, came under the dominion of a Christian prince in 1402; when all the Spanish territories becoming united by the marriage of Prince Ferdinand of Arragon with Isabella of Castile, they laid siege to Grenada. The Moorish king, Abu Abdallah, seeing no hope of defending his city against overpowering numbers and a lengthened siege, capitulated on condition that the Moors should be allowed to retain their property, to exercise their religion, and be governed by their own laws. Having obtained this boon from the Christians, the gates were opened to the conquerors; and the unfortunate Abdallah, the last of the Moorish sovereigns, went forth to finish his days in Africa. The hill is yet pointed out from the summit of which he is said to have taken a lingering farewell of the abode of his youth. The mountain bears the name, " El ultimo sospiro del Moro," or "The last sigh of the Moor." "Then you are really a queen, Barbara," said Fitzgeorge, inten ding to humour the old dame's vanity; "and descended from a royal line?" "How else, boy, should I be honoured by the Zingari? Our people boast the noblest blood in the world; tracing their descent from the ancient kings of Egypt. The Arab and his steed may challenge the descendants of the Carlovignians and the Ghibelines for purity of pedigree." "If it will not fatigue you too much, Barbara," said Mary Jessop, "we should be much obliged by your promised relation of family mysteries." THE FLORENTINE MYSTERY. "It is now eighteen years, come Lammas tide, since I was seated on the steps of St. John the Bigallo, near the hospital for foundlings and orphans in the bright city of Florence; when I was addressed by a Zingara called Cosmo Carracola with a good day, Signora Barbara.' He was a tall, good-looking, well-framed man, with a Moorish countenance; the lower part of which was covered with ferocious-looking mustachios, and a black, bushy beard. A brown, slouch hat, of immense size, was drawn over his forehead, as if for concealment; and his tigerlike eyes glared from beneath his black, shaggy brows, like fire-balls. A few words in the Zingarese tongue relieved my fears; for I confess I mistook him for a bravo and a murderer-I found that he was only a brigand and a smuggler. The brown-throats tell me that you are on your road to England,' said he. I nodded assent. Would you like to make the journey pleasant and profitable?' "That will depend upon the services you require,' said I. "Nothing dangerous or unworthy of a Zingara,' he replied. Secrecy and confidence will be expected, and ensure a good reward. with me, and you shall hear more.' Come "I followed him down a side street, close to the church. It was the same where the bench of Dante, the poet, is still religiously preserved. We turned to the right, and soon arrived at the entrance of an old palace; situated in the corner nearest to the Piazza of Saint Laurence. It had been (as I afterwards learned) the original residence of the merchant Cosmo de Medici, the founder of that noble family. My guide led me up a wide, gloomy staircase; at the top of which we entered upon a long gallery. Here he left me, while he proceeded to the end to announce my arrival to his employers. In a few minutes he returned, and encouragingly said I was just the person for the required service; and, if I performed it faithfully, I should find good friends for the rest of my life." During the recital of this narrative, Julius Fitzgeorge appeared to be absorbed in deep thought. Once, and only once, he had whispered to Mary-"This is wonderful! It must be sorcery!" But when the old crone stopped to recover her breath, which was greatly impeded by asthma, he exclaimed-" As I live, it is wonderful! I have a dreamy recollection of such a house, so situated, with a large staircase and gallery. It led to a grand apartment richly decorated with gilded cornices and carvings and paintings. One, in particular, was a large oval portrait of a Florentine gentleman, in a curiously-embroidered black suit, with a point collar and tassels. Was it not so, old woman? Speak, quickly, and relieve my anxiety." "but "It was so, young sir," said the crone, somewhat pettishly; methinks you might have let the old witch' proceed with her marketable propositions' without your assistance." "Pardon my rude speech, Barbara. I will never doubt anything you say again." "Ha, ha, ha!" cackled the toothless crone. "It is my turn to laugh. I told you I held the thread of your destiny in my hand: will you believe it now?" By all my hopes, I do. Intercede for me, Mary. Implore our good geni, to proceed with her startling narrative. "You do well to invoke your companion, sir; but for the love I bear to that young creature you had never heard old Barbara's voice. By the children of the sun, there is not one of our tribe but would face the wild boar or the wolf, or strangle a blood-hound by the clutch, to serve the bonny Mary, the Rose of Rhedycina. "Dear, kind Barbara," said Mary, seizing her hand; "if you would gratify me, you will relieve poor Julius's anxiety." "Well, then, in that chamber, which you have accurately described," continued old Barbara, addressing herself to Julius Fitzgeorge, "I was introduced to a young and handsome Englishman, dressed in deep mourning. He was slow of speech, and very reserved. In a few words he made me acquainted with his wishes. I was to take charge of a male infant, then about five years of age; to convey the child to England with all care, but great secrecy; and, having there surrendered him to certain lawyers, to receive a handsome reward for my trouble, in addition to a small annuity for my life-contingent, as the lawyers called it, upon my preserving silence. I accepted the trust, and performed the conditions faithfully." "And did you never hear more of the child?" eagerly inquired Fitzgeorge. "Not for many years, was the cheerless reply. "In two or three, from that time, I was again compelled to leave England, with all my tribe. We wandered through Germany, and settled for a time in the secluded passes of the Tyrol. As my annuity was regularly paid, I had no motive to induce inquisitiveness; till an event occurred that stimulated inquiry and provoked revenge-aye, my children, deep, implacable, and undying revenge. I had returned to my native country, alone, in secrecy and in affliction, for a temporary purpose. I was in distress; and I sought relief from the man whom I had served when in Florence-whose secrets I had faithfully kept. I was refused, insulted, and defied. I threatened disclosures; when the unmanly brute struck me down, and directed his menials to turn me into the street: from that moment I determined upon vengeance. I sought for my colleague, Cosmo Carracola, and I found him; not, indeed, as I left him, for he had cast off his Italian disguise and returned to the gipsy camp. He was a half caste, but he was honest to his queen. By his assistance, although still in the pay of the offender, I traced out the history of the child I had brought from Florence." "And you found him?" inquired Fitzgeorge, with breathless anxiety. "Yes, I found him," said the crone, hesitating, as if disinclined to say more. "Where? For heaven's sake," said Fitzgeorge, " do not keep me in suspense; where did you find him, my dear old Barbara? Speak! In God's name tell me where. 66 'Aye, aye," chuckled the old dame; "I thought it would come to that. 6 The witch, the imposter,' is now my dear old Barbara.' I won't say another word unless you both agree to pay me a penalty I shall impose for your rashness." and Name it, name it! dear Barbara," said Mary, endearingly. You, Mary Jessop, shall kiss the old crone twice on the right cheek; you, Julius Fitzgeorge, twice on the left. There, now the charm is complete," said the sibyl. "Now, having done due homage to Queen Barbara, you shall be admitted to her councils; but mind, you are both sworn to secrecy. For your own sakes be very cautious. The necessary evidence will require time and care to substantiate facts; and a too early publicity might spoil all.' 66 But, my dear Barbara, you have not yet told us where you discovered this young Florentine," said Fitzgeorge; " or what he is designated." 66 Well, then, listen. I discovered him to be an Oxford student; and I found him in Christchurch Meadows, making love by moonlight to a very pretty girl, and I heard him abusing a poor old woman who proved to be his best friend." "And his name, Barbara; his name?" said Mary. "His name is-no, I am not quite sure that I can give that correctly -but, when he knows it, he will be very much astonished, and so will you, my pretty Mary: at present he is miscalled-JULIUS FITZGEORGE." It was in vain that the anxious lovers implored the Crone of Thorpe Glen to proceed with her mysterious narrative, to be more explicit in her relations, to satisfy their anxious doubts and fears by disclosing her future intentions; and, above all, to give some more definite information respecting the supposed name and connections of Julius Fitzgeorge. "It was too late the time had not yet come to reveal all she knew --to establish all she suspected; but the veil must soon be removed. The return of old Frank Jessop to Oxford would," she said, "be the signal for opening another chapter in the book of fate." At the corner avenue leading from the meadows up to Maudlin-bridge, the old crone bade them good night, telling the lovers to be of good cheer, and promising that in a few days they should either see or hear from her again. As Fitzgeorge and Mary Jessop traversed the high street on their way home, they were as silent as the night; each of them contemplating with deep anxiety what might be the result of the mysterious disclosures they had heard. Nor was it till their arrival at Frank Jessop's door that Julius Fitzgeorge, in separating, found courage to say-" Whatever change mysterious circumstances may impart, remember, Mary, I am thine, and only thine, for ever." 193 PHYSIOLOGY OF SPORTING IN FRANCE. BY MASTER HARRY. СНАР. І. JOHNNY CRAPAUD! Johnny Crapaud! read, and tremble! SPORTING IN FRANCE!! O thou all-pervading essence of Tom Arnold's birch and the Rugby Coaching-room! (unde derivatur "coaching-room" deponent sayeth not; but oh! most unflogged and non-Rugbyen reader! it signifieth neither more nor less than the flogging shop), instil into our recollection one quotation worthy of our theme! for such a subject, without a quotation as bottleholder, is like strawberries without cream, Don Quixote without Sancho, women without bustles, Robinson Crusoe without Friday, Lord Brougham without modesty-But hold! we grow personal. If we ever fall into his Lordship's clutches, we shall get a quid pro quo. To thy work, O Occiput! What! no godsend in the "Iliad"?-no line in the "Odyssy"? Demosthenes, help us! though many a time have we cursed thee. Eschylus! Euripides! "leave off your damnable faces," and assist us! What! is it possible that we are nonplussed? Avaunt, ye Greeks!-not one word for a man in a fix? Bravo Anacreon!-out with it, old boy! “ Θελω λεγειν-les Français Bah! that's worse than nothing at all! Ancient Romans! hear our cry. Horace! we invoke thee! "Sunt quos curriculo-" My dear Roman! 'tis threadbare-done to death. Give us another worthier of "SPORTING IN FRANCE." "Rara avis in terris-nigroque simillima cygno!" Thanks, in faith! what you mean to say is, ""Tis very like a whale" but try once more; never mind the "sacrés" of that mustachioed gentleman who overhears us. What! silent all?-then proceed we without immortalizing even one line of the ancients. There's a sweet revenge! We have it!-almost. There's an idea ascending the cerebral ladder of our pericranium; but it is mounting as slow and cautiously as if it expected the next step to fall back into the oblivious depths of the Lethean lake. By Jove! he's landed safe-so we'll lose no time in harpooning him before he's off again. Our first friend, the "Novum Testamentum," has come to our aid. But we won't give it in Greek, as some of our "lady readers" may not understand that lingo (we sincerely trust, at the same time, that nobody will be uncharitable enough to suppose for an instant that we have forgotten the passage altogether). It is a merciful motto-therefore worthier of the |