Imatges de pÓgina

suddenly struck me that I would return to Florence, then proceed to the Count's palace. The remembrance of Agatha-how fondly she had loved me-and my cruel desertion, all conspired to urge my immediate departure. I would throw myself at her feet, I exclaimed, I would ask her forgiveness, though I had nought to palliate my conduct, and I knew she would pardon me.

With this determination I hastily arose, and placing two of my few remaining pieces of gold on the table, I left the cottage for ever.

I procured a horse at an osteria on the mountains, to take me as far as Florence, from whence I could easily proceed on foot, as I calculated on reaching the city at noon. But in vain I urged the wretched animal onwards. Already tired, the spur and whip were of little avail, so that night had advanced ere I arrived at the suburbs of the town.

I had long observed the decrease of population, as I approached the city; and the melancholy aspect all around me bore. But my surprise was increased when I beheld the streets overgrown with grass and tall weeds which brushed my feet as I rode through them. At times a few solitary figures would suddenly emerge from the houses, and as suddenly vanish. I called, I shonted to them, but they heeded me not, and I trembled at the awful silence which succeeded. I proceeded slowly; my wearied horse often pausing from fatigue, or else stumbling at every step. In turning a sharp angle I had almost been thrown from my seat, so startling was the effect of a bell, which was rung by a man, who with a cart went through the street.

I was about to speak, when he exclaimed,' bring out your dead,' and a body was instantly borne out, and cast into it. And I knew then that the plague was in Florence.

Once more I proceeded. The peşt cart; with its noisome load, moved onwards. I heard the dismal signal of its approach given at intervals; and then the sound died away in the distance.

Unmindful of the agreement I had made of leaving my house in the city, I turned with a heavy heart into the public road. The gloomy state of the atmosphere accorded well with my own feelings; wind and rain alternately prevailing, with a few faint flashes of lightning shewing me the path. My horse, after toiling slowly for a few miles, I gave full liberty to, and again I set forward on foot. But the encreased exertion was more than I could support, aud often was I obliged to throw myself on the ground to recruit my almost ex

hausted strength. It is needless for me to relate every particular of this tedious journey, as it can interest no one. I feel anxious to proceed at once to the subject of my narrative.

It was sun-rise when I arrived at the pleasure grounds surrounding the palace. This fairy spot had formerly been under the superintendence of Agatha, and was rendered eminently beautiful by her superior taste in the disposition of its ornaments. But now all had fallen to decay. The fountains were choked with weeds, and the water had formed itself a channel through the beds of flowers which were planted around it. Grass grew in the walks; and the climbing plants, which had been trained with so much care, fell unconfined over the path, and brushed my cheek as I passed slowly by.

Below me, and appearing at times between the bushes, rolled the magnificent Arno, which in the sun's rays seemed like a stream of molten gold, but solitary and deserted. A swiftly flying sea bird was the only living creature that agitated its surface, as it sunk downwards and laved its pinions, and then, mounting rapidly, disappeared in the blue heavens.

The long colonnades, and snowy stones of the palace presently broke on my sight. The echo of my own footsteps as I trod the court-yard, resounded dismally in the suites of apartments that surrounded me. An A dead, cold indescribable dread oppressed me. weight seemed pressing on my heart, and yet my head was burning. Each distant avenue my heated imagination peopled with hideous forms, which flitted between the clustered pillars, and shook their heads, and reproached me with their looks as I advanced. I turned away from the hall towards a wing of the building appointed solely to Agatha's use; and to which I proceeded in my accustomed manner. furniture of the rooms through which I passed was of the most delicate, though costly description; but all seemed changed, all seemed faded, soiled, and disordered. I knew not then what occasioned this neglect. stillness Throughout the apartments the same reigned, no voice of man, no sound of life was to be


heard. I arrived at the termination of the rooms, and it was Agatha's sleeping chamber.

Was it indeed a human form I beheld reclining on a couch, or was it a creation of my own fancy. I approached rapidly, to view the figure more closely, and its features seemed familiar to me, though they were partly hidden by the long hair which had fallen over the countenance. I could not lift aside that natural veil, for my arm was paralysed. I saw the eyes were

closed, and their lids were swollen and discoloured. I saw, too, that it was Agatha who lay before me.

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Why do ye not darken the room, and shut out the light from me? Tis true, I behold not the rushing Arno, or the vineyards on its banks: but the scenes I have witnessed there, pass in succession before my eyes. There, do you not see yon dismantled vessel, and the spectral crew! Ha! one man gains the shore, and has escaped. Look, lock-he stoops to drink in that pellucid fountain, and the water now is tainted and discoloured. 'Tis a horrid sight, for his face has marks of some loathsome disease, which, doubtless, he will communicate to us. Nay, nay maiden, clasp me not so tightly. Entwine not thine arm with mine; I have no power to shield thee, but must escape if I would wish to live.'

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I have thus given a few of the unconnected speeches which I recollect uttering during the period of frenzy that succeeded the sight of Agatha's corpse; of the rest I have no distinct remembrance; though I do not yet forget the heavy chains that bound me, or the fever that reigned in every vein.

It was many months before I became sufficiently tranquil to hear the account of Agatha's death. It seems that the plague was communicated by the wretched being who escaped from that sinking vessel, on the night of my heartless flight from the palace.

One by one the domestics perished, and the disease spread over the adjacent country, till it reached Florence, where the devastation was fearful.

My affianced bride was the last survivor in her father's halls; she lived to see her parents and the whole of the count's vassals expire, when she herself departed in the silence death had occasioned. Life had now no pleasure for me; the veil which had so long hung over me, suddenly vanished, and I saw, with feelings which have ever since influenced me, the precipice on which I stood. After disposing of my estates to my relations, I retired to this monastery, where I have spent nearly fifty years; and while I look down the mountain on which it is situated, towards the scene of my former trials, I can say with fervour, it is good for me that I have been in trouble,'


BY THE LATE ROSE LAMBERT PRICE, ESQ. THOU hast cast off the heart that I gave thee Like a weed that was worthless and vain,An heart that had perished to save thee,

Thou hast given to the bleak world again;
Thine is false, that so oft thou hast told me
Liv'd only to beat for my own,

And the arms that were want to enfold me-
Perhaps round another are thrown!
When I gazed on thy beautiful tresses,
On thy brow and thy bosom of snow,-
When I lived but amid thy caresses,-

Oh! how little thine heart did I know!
When I felt that wild heart vainly beating,
I believed it could beat but for me,
The delusion was lovely, but fleeting,
As all that is lovely must be !
Yet who, when thy bosom was heaving,

While he drank thy bewildering sighs,
Could think that thine heart was deceiving,
And false the pure light of thine eyes?
Oh! who when thine arms were around him,
As his lip to thy kisses he press'd,
Could think that thy falsehood should wound him,
That pillow'd thine head on his breast?

But go! Though that soft breast were heaven,
Its snows were a heaven alone
To the chosen one to whom it was given
To rest on it all as his own!
Farewell! thou art faise and I leave thee!
Farewell! my vain hopes I resign:
Farewell! I could never deceive thee;
No, the crime and the ruin are thine!

Une Nuit au Corps de Garde.

THAT the revolution has produced many evils; that it has caused great ravages, and deprived France of some of her bravest citizens, every one must allow;

that it has destroyed many prejudices, many abuses,
and has been instrumental in laying the foundation of
many valuable institutions, no one can deny: it is ne-
cessary to convince those persons of the last mentioned
facts, whose memory's are apt to deceive their judg-in
ments, through their amusing themselves too frequently
in regretting the past rather than hoping for the future.
A note handed to me a few mornings since, by the
porter of my hotel, gave rise to the above reflections.
It was a billet de garde, and has furnished me with
the materials for the following narrative of the oc-
currences of a night on guard.

The first patrole which was ordered out I commanded; it was required at the Palais Royale at a maison de jeu, where a young gentleman had discharged a pistol at his head. During the time occupied drawing up the proces verbal, in an adjoining chamber, the unfortunate youth expired. We brought with us to the guard-house an officious personage, who accidentally found himself in possession of the watch of the deceased, whom he had been very attentive in assisting.-Towards one o'clock all was silent in the guard-room: cards, singing, smoking, reading, had all ceased, every one except myself was wrapped in profound slumber, and the peace of night was only disturbed by the nasal twangs proceeding from a corpulent guardsman, fast locked in the arms of mor

While possessing myself, (with the aid of my spectacles,) of the information contained in the billet, I par hazard cast my eyes on a looking-glass, opposite to where I stood, which proved to me that the serjeant-pheus. On a sudden the sentinel without cries fire!—In major of the company, in commanding my service, had certainly not troubled himself to consult the register of my captain. I resolved, notwithstanding, to present myself in person, in order to claim my future exemption, intending however to do myself the honor, (though nearly eighty years of age,) of passing the night in the company of those brave citizens, who voluntarily offer themselves as protectors of the property and persons of their fellow subjects.

When I presented myself in the ranks, it excited a degree of surprise in my comrades, among whom I did not observe any contemporains; the officer approached me, and with a respectful air immediately authorized my absence, but resolved to finish my enterprize, I did not avail myself of his permission.

Our party consisted of twenty men, commanded by a sub-lieutenant. Our place of meeting was in the court of the Bibliothéque, from whence we sat out for the Rue du Lycée, near the Palais Royale, and having taken possession of our post, the serjeant called the muster roll, and to avoid fatiguing me, I was appointed to the rank of corporal.

Night approaching, every one returned to the guardhouse after having dined. The drummer brought to the station, the cloaks, roquelaires, and fur caps, with which the more wary part had taken care to furnish themselves for passing the night. Some, marked by a pillow or a blanket, their place upon the Lit de Camp Some played at piquet on the stove; others smoked their meerschaums; a group, surrounding a lamp, listened to the news of the day, which was read to them, from a journal by one of their comrades, while the officer of the night, seated in his arm chair, smoked his cigar, and issued his orders with all the sang-froid of a veteran general.

a moment the guards are up, a detachment of ten men, of which I formed one, hastened to the spot, where we arrived before the firemen, and our first care in approaching the house, from the windows of which, the inhabitants uttered the most fearful cries, was to break open the door and rescue the women and children, from the devouring flames. It is but justice to the Parisians to say, that there is no people in the world more feelingly alive to distress: the national guard, which may be considered as the êlite of the inhabitants, never fail, under these circumstaces, of setting an example of zeal and courage. The neighbouring postes joined themselves to ours. The firemen hastened to the spot; and in less than two hours a fire which had threatened so great a destruction, was extinguished without a single loss of life, or even extending its ravages to the adjoining houses.

It was nearly three o' clock when we returned to the guard-house, where we refreshed ourselves with a bowl of punch, that our officer had prepared for us. We discoursed on the drama in which we had been actors as well as witnesses, when a new adventure happened to form the after-piece.

A bourgeois, of about fifty years of age, whose appearance was so singular and manners so pompous, yet so candid, that it was impossible to restrain a smile even before we had learned the purport of his visit. Living near to the guard-house, he came to beg of us to procure him admission to his own house. He had dined in the country at the house of a friend where he was to have slept, but his friend, who lodged several foreigners, not having a bed disposable, he was obliged to return, and his wife through excess of jealousy refused to open the door: he enquired for one of our


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comrades, with whom he was intimately acquainted, | She had given birth to a son, a lovely infant, who is

and who he knew to be on duty at our guard-house. The person he enquired after had obtained, (I know not upon what excuse,) permission to absent himself for several hours during the night, but notwithstanding the want of his recognition, three men were commanded to go and enquire into this curious affair.

We knocked at the door with violence, a window of the entresol opened, the spouse appeared, and with a simpering air and in a voice imploring and complaining, enumerated the griefs she had to complain of against her husband, from which he excused himself with a tone of simplicity and truth, which convinced us even while it excited our risibility. We began to intercede for him; the young wife, who it was apparent wished only to gain time, conjured us in the name of good manners to make her husband pass the night at our guard-house. Our young men who would have willingly placed themselves in the situation of the latter, insisted, however, that she should open the door: I gave the formal orders, and threatened force. She at last decided upon admitting us to avoid scandal; after some minutes the door opened; we ascended in darkness with the husband, who overwhelmed us with acknowledgments, and we quitted the house after having heard him close the door of his chamber. There were four when we set out, but we found five on returning; of which number was the guardsman, who had obtained leave of absence, and for whom the good husband had so particularly enquired. His unexpected appearance excited bursts of laughter, which redoubled at the sight of his sabre and cartouch box, slung over the same shoulder, and one of his gaiters fastened on à l'envers:

The Widow's Daughter.

C. W. C.

THE widow's daughter, followed the brigand of Bovine; him who for two years had desolated La Pouille, and whom the terrified peasants had designated as the mountain king.

Conceiving him to be a soldier who had deserted and was threatened with death; sympathy and pity for his misfortunes were her first emotions; she loved him without knowing her passion, and when her heart informed her of the secret-to tear herself from him was impossible. She followed him to avoid disgrace and her mother's anger; and now she wanders in the savage haunts of the bauditti, and shares their perils and fatigues. Poor wretch! thy imprudence costs thee dear.

her idol, all that is dear to her-her only happiness; for the robber-chief had resumed his ferocious and repulsive manner, and his looks became no longer softened on encountering her eyes. Desperation had seized his soul and usurped the place of love. His band formerly numerous and warlike, is destroyed; soldiers from France had in numerous encounters gained the advantage, and the companions of the chief had perished; many had been betrayed; others had deserted: a reward of two thousand piasters was set upon his head.-But four men remain faithful to himFour! out of a band of sixty!-resistance would be vain and useless. The little band closely pursued by the enemy, hastily make for the last and surest of their retreats. The pursuers are ill acquainted with the passes of the mountains, but the slightest noise serves to guide them to the fugitives, who march with caution, speaking seldom, and then only in whispers, whilst the brigand's son slumbers in its mother's arms;-it wakes and cries. "Peace!" exclaims the chief, "his life is less precious than ours!-silence him!"-A horrible presentiment enters the mind of the terrified mothera chilling fear absorbs her soul.

The soldiers hear the infant's cries, and direct their pursuit with greater certainty; they know that a woman and child accompany the brigand; they approach! their footsteps are heard! a prompt silence is the only means of escape.-"Peace!" again exclaims the chief. The cries cease, and a dead silence succeeds the noise which had betrayed the direction of their flight.-To save his companions and himself, he had dashed his son against the sharp point of a rock! - The mother sheds not a tear; the chief turns aside his head, and his companions avert their eyes, while she raises the body of her child, and in speechless agony presses it to her bosom. She carries it a few moments, but the chief commands her to relinquish it. She insists upon bearing the body to a place of safety: she wishes to form a grave which she may hereafter visit: but stung by the sight, the bandit tears the infant corpse from the mother's arm, and dashes it with violence to the earth! Still she weeps not, she utters not a word.

Evening approaches, the bandits overcome by fatigue, pant for repose; she offers to act as sentinel. Her inflamed and swollen eyes announce no disposition to sleep; they give her arms, and she watches by their side as they lay extended on the ground. They sleep; her gaze is fixed on one-the murderer of her child. Her thoughts reverts to days of bliss and innocence

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to her mother, her poor deserted mother, who is now perhaps, no more-her child murdered in her armspresents itself to her frenzied imagination. VengeanceItalian vengeance-fills her heart.-" Wretch! he does not dread my hate; he holds me even in contempt.', She utters a wild convulsive laugh,-the musquet is levelled with a sure and deadly aim.-She fires!-the bullet pierces the robber's breast!-a groan!-a struggle! and he is no more. The report arouse his sleeping comrades, and she flies to save herself from their vengeance, but fearful of an ambuscade, they dare not pursue. She seeks the soldiers, and demands an interview with their captain, exclaiming "I have slain the brigand of Bovine, the scourge of La Pouille, him who was surnamed 'the mountain king!'"

The soldiers behold her with amazement; they listen to her horrible recital and they pity her. She claims and receives the reward, but her mother for whom she intended it, is no more; she had died heart-broken at the loss of her lovely but ill fated daughter.

Again she becomes a bride. After the birth of a second son she is seized with a dreadful delirium, she imagines they are murdering her child, and sees the bleeding corpse constantly before her. At times she wanders through the forest, and tearing up the earth with her hands to seek for the body of her first born. Her reason had for ever fled.



FORGET thee! though hast done me wrong,
And left me o'er that wrong to grieve;
And outward trace of suffering strong
May every eye but thine perceive:
Yet hath not day, nor night of pain,

Though working madness in my brain, Or changed my heart, or broke my chain.

Thou art afar 'mid radiant things,

All reckless of my grief or gloom, For thee; the desert hath its springs, And oft recurring spots of bloom; And life for me, had once the same, Until thy influence, like a flame, Brillant but blasting o'er it came.

Despised! forgot! well, be it so, Thou dost not gaze on my distress; Nor murmur of my love and woe,

Nor tear that pride cannot repress, Nor look revealing sense of wrong, To thee can e'er be borne along,— And this, at least, is comfort strong.

Y. V.

Indifference I may learn to brave,
And harder still my own despair;
May think with gladness of the grave,
But pity,-thine,-I could not bear.
Oh! false one! had we never met,
All had been well; it might be yet,
Could I, as thou hast done,-FORGET.

Alas! alas! my woman's heart

Is bound with memory's burning chain, To thee, all faithless as thou art! To thee in madness and in pain!

I vow my fetters to forswear,—

To hate thee in love's deep despairI strive, the curse becomes a prayer:

For thee, for aye;-and though the blight Of grief is on my soul and frame; Though life is but a starless night,

And none will sooth me, all must blame,That prayer, affection's fondest vow, With breaking heart, and burning brow, I feel it, breathe it, even now!

Miscellaneous Gleanings.

A CARRIAGE broke down in the middle of an uneven country road, near the little town of Gondecourt, in France: it sustained much damage, and there was little chance of its being speedily repaired, consequently the delay promised to be tedious; besides there was no resource in the place: for the judge, the curate, the lawyer, and all the respectable families, had left for the season. Our traveller, in this predicament, spies a prettily situated house, surmounted by a plain looking clock; it was a Capuchin convent, he approaches and rings; they open the gate, and perceive a man of a slight thin figure, having the appearance of an invalid, well dressed and extremely polite, who demands a lodging. The Capuchins possess little, but they bestow all they have; they receive and treat the stranger courteously. After the usual compliments lavished on the one side, and received on the other, with great politeness, the Capuchins commence a desultory conversation; he pays great attention, and seldom speaks. They interrogate him on various subjects, to every thing he replies shrewdly and sensibly: the angelus bell sounds. "Will monsieur join in the angelus?"-" My friends I was just about to propose it." Afterwards comes the repast, middling without doubt, but however of a better description than usual. They were more particular in consequence of the presence of their new guest. During the dinner they speak of theology, (for that is the philosophy of the Capuchins:) the

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