leave the Library by the door near which Primaticcio was concealed. As he lifted the arras, the King's voice inquiring who had dared to intrude so unceremoniously into his presence, proclaimed to the affrighted painter that his endeavours at concealment had been fruitless. Cursing the treachery of the page, and dreading lest the resentment of the monarch should fall on the lady who had been the innocent means of placing him in his present predicament, he almost sunk with fear. He was however soon relieved from his embarrassment by hearing the voice of la grande Sénéchale exclaim, "Come forward, Signor Primaticcio, you have nothing to fear but the resentment of the page whom you so properly took to task."

Here was an eclairissement-his unknown friend proving to be the beautiful Diana of Poictiers, and le joli Henri no less a person than the King

himself.

This event proved a fortunate one for Primaticcio: at the command of the King he painted the picture from which the engraving at the head of this article may be supposed to have been taken; and the monarch was so pleased with the work, that the artist became as great a favourite of his as he had been of his father; and often, when he was in a sportive mood, would Henry relate to his courtiers the adventure of Diana of Poictiers and Primaticcio the Painter.

SUPERSTITION AND GRACE.

AN UNEARTHLY BALLAD.

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.

THERE was an auld carle won'd under yon shaw,
His cheek was the clay, and his hair was the snaw;
His brow was as glazed as a winter night,
But mingled with lines of immortal light;
And forth from his livid lips there flew
A flame of a lurid murky hue.

But there was a mystery him within
That roused up the twangs and terrors of sin;
And there was a gleide in that auld carle's ee,
That the saint and the sinner baith trembled to see.

But, oh! when the moor gat her coverlet gray, When the gloaming had flaughted the night and the

day,

When the craws had flown to the greenwood shaw,

And the kid blett over the Lammer law;

When the dew had laid the valley asteep,

And the gowan had faulelit her buds to sleep; When naething was heard but the merlin's maen, Oh then that gyre carle was never his lane.

K

A bonny wee baby sae meek and mild,
Then walked with him in the dowy wild ;
But, oh! nae pen that ever grew,

Could describe that baby's heavenly hue :
Yet all the barmings of sturt and strife,

And weary wailings of morteel life,

Would soon have been hushed to endless peace
At ae blink of that baby's face.

Her brow sae fair and her ee sae meek,

And the pale rose-bloom upon her cheek ;

Her locks, and the bend of her sweet ee-bree,
And her smile might have wakened the dead to see.
Her snood befringed wi' many a gem

Was stown frae the rainbow's brighest hem;
And her rail, mair white than the snowy drift,
Was never woven aneath the lift;

It threw sic a light on the hill and the gair
That it showed the wild deer to her lair;
And the brown bird of the moorland fell,
Upraised his head from the heather bell.
For he thought that his dawning of love and mirth,
Instead of the heaven was springing from earth;
And the fairies waken'd frae their beds of dew,

And they sung a hymn, and that hymn was new.
Oh! Ladies list-for never again

Shalt thou hear sic a wild unearthly strain.

For they sang the night-breeze in a swoon,

And they sang the goud locks frae the moon :
They sang the redbreast frae the wood,

And the laverock out o' the marled cloud;
The capperkyle frae the bosky brae,

And the seraphs down frae the milky way;
And some wee fires of bloodless birth
Came out o' the worm-holes o' the earth,
And swoof'd sae lightly round the lea,
That they wadna kythe to mortal ee;
While the eldrich sang it rage sae shrill
That the waesome tod yooled on the hill:
Oh! Ladies list for the choral band,

Thus hymned the song of the Fairy-land.

SONG OF THE FAIRIES.

Sing! sing! How shall we sing
Round the babe of the Spirits' King?

How shall we sing our last adieu,

Baby of life when we sing to you?

Now the little night-burdie may cheip i' the wa',
The plover may whew and the cock may craw;
For the bairny's sleep is sweet and sure,
And the maiden's rest is blest and pure,
Through all the links of the lammer-muir :
Sin our bonny baby was sent frae heaven,
She comes o'ernight with the dew of even ;

And when the day-sky buds frae the main,
She swaws wi' the dew to Heaven again;
But the light shall dawn, and the howlet flee,
The dead shall quake when the day shall be,
That she shall smile in the gladsome noon,
And sleep and sleep in the light of the moon.
Then shall our hallelues wake anew,

With harp and viol ayril true.

But well-a-day!

How shall we say

Our earthly adieu ere we pass away?
How shall we hallow this last adieu,

Baby of life when we sing to you?

King! king!

Dance and sing,

And on the green broom your garlands hing;
Hallow the hopes of this ray of grace,

For sweet is the smile of our baby's face;
And every ghaist of gysand hew

Has melted away in the breeze she drew;
The kelpie may dern in dread and dool,
Deep in the howe of his eiry pool;
Gil-moules frae hind the hallan may flee,

Through by the threshold, and through by the key,

And the mermaid moote in the safron sea:

But we are left in the greenwood glen,

Because we love the children of men,