than eight days to deliver their opinions. The result was, that seven of the judges voted to sustain the reasons of reduction, and other seven to assoilzie the defender; the Lord President, who has no vote but in such a dilemma, voted for the reduction, by which Douglas, alias Stewart, lost both name and estate. An appeal from this decision having been taken to the House of Peers, the judgment of the Court of Session was reversed in the year 1769, and Douglas declared to be the son of Lady Jane, and heir of the Duke of Douglas. [Public feeling in Scotland seemed to be wound up to as high a pitch of excitement respecting the decision of the House of Lords, as it could have been respecting a great battle deciding the fate of the nation. An advocate on Mr Douglas's side, rode post to carry the news to Edinburgh, where a multitude hailed him with transports of joy, and, taking the horses from his carriage, bore him home to his lodgings in triumph.] Archibald Douglas was created Lord Douglas by George III., and his descendant now enjoys the title and princely family estates.

The printed papers in this great law-plea make up a formidable array of huge volumes, and are in great request for the libraries of Scottish lawyers to this day. It is acknowledged on all sides, that never was a more creditable display exhibited on the bench than in the opinions delivered by the judges, many of whom were known by their literary efforts throughout Europe. Among these were Lord Kames, Lord Gardenstone, and Lord Monboddo, who voted for the defender, and Lord Hailes, who voted for the reduction.

THE POOR MAN'S GRAVE.

BY ROBERT GILFILLAN.

THE poor man's grave! this is the spot
Where rests his weary clay;

And yet no grave-stone lifts its head,
To say what grave-stones say.
No sculptured emblems blazon here,
No weeping willows wave;
No faint memorial, e'er so faint,
Points out the poor man's grave.

No matter he as soundly sleeps,
As softly does repose,
Though marbled urn around his grave
No idle incense throws!
His lowly turf it burdens not,

Yet that is ever green;

And, hopping near it oft at morn,
The little redbreast's seen.

For none disturbs the poor man's
To touch it who would dare,

grave

Save some kind hand to smooth the grass, all wildly there.

That grows

The poor man's grave! call it his home-
From sorrow all secure-

For wo and want vex him no more,
Whom Fortune stamped as poor.

The poor man's grave!-a lesson learn,
And profit by't who can-

Here lies a man all nobly poor,

And yet an honest man.

He was a man well known for worth,
But all unknown to fame;

And yet within his village bounds,
He did not lack a name.

For all the village came to him,
When they had need to call;
His counsel free to all was given,
For he was kind to all.

The young, the old, the sick, the hale,
Found him a friend most sure;
For he rejoiced in other's weal,
Although himself was poor.

And yet not poor; for calm content
Made all that he possessed
Be cherished with a grateful heart,
Which made it doubly blest.
Serene 'mid ills, to age designed,
His days in peace did flow-
His timeward pilgrimage is past,
And now he sleeps below.

A happy man!-though on life's shoals
His bark was roughly driven,
Yet still he braved the surge-because
His anchorage was in Heaven!

I know no more-what more wouldst know,
Since death deliverance gave :

His spirit took its flight on high-
This is the poor man's grave!

THE GREAT EARTHQUAKE AT LISBON.

THE city of Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, was almost entirely destroyed by an earthquake on the 1st of November 1755, and the awful occurrence stands on record as one of the most disastrous that ever befell a kingdom. The accounts that have been transmitted to us of the particulars of this terrible event, are in many respects conflicting; which is not indeed surprising, since the spectators of such a scene may well be supposed to be

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G

incapable of minute attention to details when every moment threatened their inclusion in the general overthrow. The universal terror and alarm, joined to the natural anxiety for self-preservation, could have left few minds in a cool and collected state to mark the progress of a devastation so sudden and so indiscriminating. From the materials which contemporary accounts and the incidental notices of later travellers afford, we learn with sufficient accuracy the following particulars.

The weather at Lisbon for some days previous to the fatal event had been clear and very warm for the season, and the morning of the 1st November itself was ushered in with a brilliant sun and a cloudless sky. A few minutes after nine o'clock, a rumbling noise was heard like distant thunder, which gradually increased until it excelled the loudest roar of cannon; and then occurred the first shock. It shook the city to its foundations, and overwhelmed the inhabitants with consternation. The houses waved to. and fro with such violence, that the upper stories immediately fell, and crushed their occupants and the passengers in the streets to death. The motion of the earth was so vehement, that it was impossible to stand upright, and the effects of so unexpected and frightful a concussion were rendered doubly terrible by a thick gloom which overspread the light of day. Thousands rushed into the street to escape being buried in the ruins of their dwellings, and made their way over heaps of rubbish to the great square in front of St Paul's Church, to be out of the reach of falling stones.

The great church of St Paul's itself had fallen, and involved an immense multitude in destruction. The 1st of November was the festival of All Saints, and from an early hour the churches had been crowded with devotees and ecclesiastics. Most of these, in the act of religious worship, were at once killed or miserably mangled. Such of their congregations as escaped, including many of the dignitaries of the Church in their episcopal and purple garments, rushed to the side of the river as to a place of comparative safety. Priests in their sacerdotal

vestments, ladies half dressed or with tattered clothes, and an immense concourse of people of all ranks and ages, were here assembled, supplicating Heaven upon their knees, and with agonising shouts repeating their Miseracordia meu Dios. In the midst of their anguish and their devotions the second great shock came on, nearly as violent as the first, completing the work of destruction. The general consternation was at its height, and the shrieks and cries of Miseracordia resounded from one end of the town to the other. The church on the top of St Catherine's hill, after rocking to and fro, fell with a tremendous crash, and killed great numbers who had sought protection on that eminence. But the most terrible consequence of the second shock fell on those at the water-side. On a sudden, the river, which

at that part is four miles broad, was observed to heave and swell in a most unaccountable manner, since no wind was stirring at the time. In an instant there appeared at some small distance a large body of water rising like a mountain, which came on foaming and roaring, rushing towards the shore with fearful impetuosity. The crowd attempted to retire before it, but the motion of the waters was too quick to permit escape in so dense a throng. The volume of water burst upon them, and sucked back into its tremendous vortex, amid shrieks and wailings, the defenceless multitude. A magnificent quay that had been recently built of rough marble at a vast expense, was at this moment entirely swallowed up with all the people on it who had crowded there for refuge. Numberless boats and small vessels, likewise, which were anchored near it, and were full of persons who had thrown themselves into them with the idea that the place of greatest safety was on the water, were all swept away, leaving no trace behind.

In the meantime, the ships in the river were tumbled and tossed about as in a storm; some broke their cables, and were carried to the other side of the Tagus; others were whirled round with incredible swiftness; several large boats were turned keel upwards; and all this