Surry, soon after his return from abroad, married the Earl of Richmond's sister, the Lady Mary; but this happy union did not last long, for Fitzroy died at the age of seventeen, leaving his sister and his friend unfeigned mourners for his untimely death, which, had it been prevented, the latter probably had never fallen a sacrifice to the fury of the king.

Lord Herbert gives the following account of Surry's behaviour at his trial for treason:-" At his arraignment," he says, "the Earl, as he was of a deep understanding, sharp wits, and deep courage, defended himself many ways; sometimes denying their accusations as false, and together weakening the credit of his adversasaries; sometimes interpreting the words he said in a far other sense than that in which they were represented. For the point of bearing his arms (among which those of Edward the Confessor are related), he alleged he had the opinion of heralds therein; and finally when a witness was brought against him viva voce, who pretended to repeat some high words of the Earl's by way of discourse which concerned him nearly, and added that upon hearing these words he (the witness) returned the Earl a braving and insolent answer, Surry simply replied, that he left it to the jury to judge whether it were probable that this man should speak thus to the Earl of Surry, and not have been stricken to the earth for the insult." In conclusion, he pleaded not guilty; but the jury (which was a common inquest, not of the Peers, because the Earl was not a member of that house) condemned him, whereupon also judgment of death was given, and he was beheaded on Tower Hill, January 19th, 1547.

The chief of Surry's poems are concerning love, and

the lady to whom he addressed them was maid of honour to Queen Katherine, and the most celebrated beauty of her time. Her name was Geraldine, and her family originally came from Florence, but was transplanted into Ireland, where she was born. This is intimated in a poem of Surry's :

From Tuscan came my lady's worthy race,

Fair Florence was sometime her ancient seat;
The western isle, whose pleasant shore doth face
Wild Camber's clifts, did give her lively heat.

There is hardly a poet of note since Surry's death, who has not paid some respect to his memory. Sir Philip Sydney, whose praise itself was a sufficient honour, recounting those few of our own nation who had written, as he says, with "poetic sinews," observes, "that in the Earl of Surry's lyrics there are many things tasting of a noble birth, and worthy of a noble mind.”

Dryden also has mentioned Surry in many of his writings; and in later days, Pope artfully applied his praises to his patron, Lord Lansdown. The lines areHere noble Surry felt the sacred rage, Surry, the Granville of a former age;

Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance,
Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance.
In the same shades the cupids tun'd his lyre,
To the same notes of love and soft desire :
Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow,
Then filled the groves, as heavenly Mira now.

THE CANADIAN NUN.

"YOU'LL not have my niece, Chillers, though, I promise you that, without the dollars."

"Pray, may I have the girl if I get the dollars ?" So spoke a rich Canadian concerning the disposal of his ward, and thus answered a well-built lively native of Charleston.

"Why, as to that, Mr. Chillers," replied the uncle, "I think I may safely say yes," and he smiled very complacently; "but besides, I have some notion that Louisa will take the veil.”

"Take the veil, that is what she never shall," said the American briskly: "I'll go and talk to her."

"Well-well-young man," resumed Mr. Pipon, "but where are the dollars to come from? why you're not worth a quarter-dollar at this moment.".

Softly, softly," returned the South Carolinian, "don't think so hard of me. I can soon work it out."

"Work it out?" said the Canadian, "why you know that there is scarcely a planter in your country who doesn't borrow upon the faith of the forthcoming crops; why you are smoking cigars, and drinking sangaree all day long under your piazzas instead of minding your business, work it out indeed!"

"I wonder when you will have done with your

objectings," replied the American coolly; "for my own part, I shall set off directly to New York, and then take the Calypso on to Charleston."

"The Calypso?"

"Yes-surely you know-not hear of the Calypso!" resumed the American.

"Why you'll be lost in the water courses, Mr. Chillers," continued the inflexible merchant.

"The water courses?" exclaimed the youth of Carolina, "didn't I tell you I was going to sea? and besides, they are bridged over."

"Well, good bye, friend," said the Canadian, stretching out his hand, "I hope that you'll look spry when you come back this way."

"Good bye, Mr. Pipon," returned the American. "Listen a moment though; I shall be back with ten thousand dollars-now I'm off for Charleston; if I don't suit myself there, you may hear of me in Georgia. If that won't do, I move along westward, for I detest Florida; and rather than not have your niece, Mr. Pipon, I'll start up the Mississippi in a steam boat, and then I don't much care. The land is noble, and the crops plentiful, old gentleman, and any body may have the territory. So now I shall go and talk to Louisa about the veil."

"And I must go after you," cried the Canadian, hastening as well as he was able in the rear of the nimble and care-despising Yankee.

Nearly three years had passed away after this conversation, when it was currently rumoured in the circles of Quebec that an interesting and lovely young woman was on the point of sacrificing the world, and retiring, her noviciate being completed, to the neighbouring con

vent. There was an unusual bustle amongst the gossips upon this important occasion, and it was not long before the niece of our Canadian, Mr. Pipon, was singled out by universal assent as the intended victim to Roman superstition. And not only was this approaching solemnity discussed in the ball-room and at the feast, the whole city also rang with expressions of curiosity and commiseration. For it most rarely happens in Canada that a young woman takes the popish vow, unless her charms have lost their day, and the tide of fortune has left her without a cheering helpmate. Such things will sometimes happen through resentment or caprice, but they are most unaccustomed sights. No wonder then that the tale should go forth: that the habitant, with his cherished spouse and chubby children, should startle at the news; that he should snatch his everlasting pipe from his mouth, draw down his bonnet rouge, and lengthen still more his lean and meagre visage. The very cariole * drivers, wont to speed their calashes to many joyous marriages espoused the cause with zeal, and coveted in their hearts to overturn the churl of an uncle, for Mr. Pipon had, naturally enough, incurred the general blame.

And now the fatal morning had arrived, when the white veil, the emblem of probation, was to be exchanged for the darker head-dress, which shuts out the victim from human smiles and joys for ever. The imposing preparations went forward with freezing accuracy. The superior of the convent began the procession, the nuns succeeded according to their order, next came a lady clad in the white garb of the noviciate. All eyes were fixed upon her, accents of pity burst forth on all sides, and