S.I.B.

    [1] This elegant and curious piece of workmanship, the history of
        which is involved in uncertainty, bears the marks of an age
        subsequent to that of the choir, and was probably erected in
        the reign of Henry VI.  It is in the most finished style of the
        florid Gothic, containing niches, canopies, pediments, and
        pinnacles, and decorated with the statues of all the sovereigns
        of England, from the Norman Conquest to Henry V. The statue of
        James I. stands in the niche which tradition assigns as that
        formerly occupied by the one of Henry VI.

    [2] These stalls or seats which were formed of oak, and of the most
        elaborate workmanship, occupied the side, and western end of the
        choir:  they were surmounted by canopies, supported by slender
        pillars, rising from the arms, each being furnished with a
        movable misericordia.

    [3] Vide Drake’s Eboracum, p. 527.

    [4] We thank our intelligent antiquarian correspondent for this
        article, which, he will perceive appears somewhat, abridged,
        as we are unable to spare room for further details.

* * * * *

THE VINE.

FROM THE GERMAN OF HERDER.

(For the Mirror.)

On the day of their creation, the trees boasted one to another, of their excellence.  “Me, the Lord planted!” said the lofty cedar;—­“strength, fragrance, and longevity, he bestowed on me.”

“Jehovah fashioned me to be a blessing,” said the shadowy palm; “utility and beauty he united in my form.”  The apple-tree, said, “Like a bridegroom among youths, I glow in my beauty amidst the trees of the grove!” The myrtle, said, “Like the rose among briars, so am I amidst the other shrubs.”  Thus all boasted;—­the olive and the fig-tree—­and even the fir.

The vine, alone, drooped silent to the ground!  “To me,” thought he, “every thing seems to have been refused;—­I have neither stem—­nor branches—­nor flowers,—­but such as I am, I will hope and wait.”  The vine bent down its shoots, and wept!

Not long had the vine to wait; for, behold, the divinity of earth, man, drew nigh; he saw the feeble, helpless, plant trailing its honours along the soil:—­in pity, he lifted up the recumbent shoots, and twined the feeble plant around his own bower.

Now the winds played with its leaves and tendrils; and the warmth of the sun began to empurple its hard green grapes, and to prepare within them a sweet and delicious juice.

Decked with its rich clusters, the vine leaned towards its master, who tasted its refreshing fruit and juicy beverage; and he named the vine, his friend and favourite.

Despair not, ye forsaken; bear—­be patient,—­and strive.