And on her raven hair it cast its nickering threads of gold,
And in a mazy garb of light her fairy form enrolled;
And placed a halo on her brow, and wreathed her lips with smiles;—
So the good angels deck the bride whom destiny beguiles.

Then from the neighbouring thicket the stroke of fate went forth,
And in her own blood weltering, she sunk upon the earth.
Faithful in death, her arms have clasped Prince Richard firmly round,
When the shaft— sped his life to end— a fairer victim found.
So she who loved "in death sleeps well:"— how could one wish to die
More sweetly than with love thus crowned— in robes of purity!

This is the tale that travellers tell in evening's witching hour,
When all the Forest owns the spell of her pervading power;
And thus they point the "Ladye's Cross" Prince Richard helped to raise;
And for the bliss of that sweet soul the holy pilgrim prays;—
And long may blessings such as these still crown the faith of youth,
And hallow in their memory the impress of their truth!

A SHORT TRIP INTO BOSNIA.

BOSNIA has, for a long time, been the most
unsettled part of the Turkish Empire.
Inhabited as it is by a majority of Greek
Christian serfs, and a minority of the most
arrogant and violent Moslemin, the war of
oppression has been carried on ever since the
former was called into a disputed political
existence, by the decrees of the late reforming
Sultans. Since that time, the immunities
granted to the Rajahs were contested by the
Turkish gentry, and petty insurrections of
the Rajahs against their oppressors, or of the
Moslemin chiefs against the Sultan's authority,
have unceasingly disturbed the peace of
the East, and courted the interference of
meddling neighbours. The disaffection and
confusion of conflicting interests in the Bosna
Vilajet, has become proverbial amongst the
Turks. It has defied the cunning of their
diplomatists and the courage of their generals.
The last Vizirs, in particular, were mere
tools in the hands of the reactionary Bosnian
aristocracy; but when it was found that the
Porte insisted on extending its liberal
reforms to the Bosnian Eajahs, the chiefs
of the province rose in arms, by the
connivance, and all but the protection, of the Sultan's
lieutenant. Ali Redir, a Bosnian landholder,
is the most active and talented among the
insurgents; and, thanks for his intrigues, the
cities, and among them Pridor and Banjaluka,
declared for the insurrection. Attacked by
the Sultan's general, Omer Pasha, the Bosnian
chief has suffered severe defeats; and
there is a likelihood of his being put hors de
combat for a time, but they have been
temporary. Other chiefs have started up, and at
the time we write, the insurgents are again
in arms. It is about the commencement of
the struggle that our trip took place.

The night was dark, and not too calm.
Staniza, an old, unbaptised, obstinate Servian,
who had brought me to the very borders of
the Turkish frontier, sat with me by the fire,
while Richard, my friend and travelling
companion, slept on a bed of straw by our
side. The storm, which shook the light
Servian cottage in which we sat, blew into
Bosnia; it was but natural that our
conversation should follow it. My curiosity was
great, and so was Staniza's desire to recount
the wonders of the country "on the other
side;" and while I questioned him, and while
he talked, he smoked his pipe with that
concentrated gravity which marks a true believer:
he said, at length, "Would you like to go
across?"

"I should; but I have no money."

"True! Your Swabian* bits of paper—
your notes— are of no use when you leave
these territories."
* In Servia and Bosnia every thing Austrian is known as
Swabian.

"How, then, can I go to Sarajewo?"

"Have you not a friend on the other
side?"

"Ahmed Beg?"

"Yes; that's the man! He will lend
you silver. I will find you in horses and
food."

When Richard awoke, I recounted our
project; and after some persuasion he
consented to accompany us. Staniza brought
three horses, and various good-sized packages.
We mounted, and set off in high spirits,
although without passports or money.

A short ride brought us to Ahmed Beg's
village, where we were received by a large
party of dogs, which escorted us, yelling and
barking, to my friend's house. Some boys,
who were playing at the door, raised a shout
which effectually scared the dogs; but they,
in their turn, surrounded us, yelling, and
laughing, and expressing by unmistakeable
signs their astonishment and disgust at the
spectacles which adorned my face. Staniza
collared one of the shrieking imps, and asked
for Ahmed Beg.

"He is gone to Bijelastjena," said the boy,
sullenly.

This was bad news; for we looked to
Ahmed Beg for everything we wanted; for
protection, advice, and money. Staniza,
however, seemed by no means inclined to
sympathise with our despondency. "When did
Ahmed go?" said he.

"Yesterday."

"And when will he come back?"

"This evening."

"I thought as much," said Staniza;" for