conveys him to a chamber, where the chains are taken from his legs and bound about his arms; and in this condition he is conducted to a place named the Old Tower, where he awaits the coming of the procession.  After some little time has elapsed, the procession sets out from the cathedral; two of the canons bear the shrine in which the relics of St. Romain are presumed to be preserved.  When they have arrived at the Old Tower, the shrine is placed in the chapel, opposite to the criminal, who appears kneeling, with the chains on his arms.  Then one of the canons, having made him repeat the confession, says the prayers usual at the time of giving absolution; after which service, the prisoner kneeling still, lifts up the shrine three times, amid the acclamations of the people assembled to behold the ceremony.  The procession then returns to the cathedral, followed by the criminal, wearing a chaplet of flowers on his head, and carrying the shrine of the saint.  After mass has been performed, he has a very serious exhortation addressed to him by a monk; and, lastly, he is conducted to an apartment near the cathedral, and is supplied with refreshments and a bed for that night.  In the morning he is dismissed.

G.W.N.

* * * * *

THE SKETCH-BOOK

* * * * *

Abbotsford,

And Sir Walter Scott’s Study.

[The following extracts are from the private letter of a distinguished American gentleman, and form part of one of the most striking articles in “The Anniversary for 1829,” edited by Allan Cunningham.  We intended the whole article for our Supplementary “Spirit of the Annuals;” but as our engraving will necessarily occupy a few days longer, during which time this description of Abbotsford will be printed in fifty different forms, we are induced to take it by the forelock, and appropriate it for our present number.  It is, perhaps, one of the most, if not the most, graphic paper in the whole list of “Annuals,” notwithstanding there are scores of brilliant gems left for our Supplement.  Certain arts must have their own pace; but, in our arduous catering for novelties for the mirror, we often have occasion to wish that block-machinery could be applied to engraving on wood.]

“Stepping westward,” as Wordsworth says, from the hall, you find yourself in a narrow, low, arched room, which runs quite across the house, having a blazoned window again at either extremity, and filled all over with smaller pieces of armour and weapons, such as swords, firelocks, spears, arrows, darts, daggers, &c. &c. &c.  Here are the pieces, esteemed most precious by reason of their histories respectively.  I saw, among the rest, Rob Roy’s gun, with his initials, R.M.C. i.e.  Robert Macgregor Campbell, round the touch-hole; the blunderbuss of Hofer, a present to Sir Walter from his friend Sir Humphrey