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particular care to make herself acquainted with the safety of their winter guests. Every report of a skirmish terrified her, which her mother attributed to the humanity of her dis- ¦ position, not suspecting the real cause of her solicitude.

Frederic did not omit to convey information to his mistress of his situation from time to time, by private letters, which reached her through the means of a faithful chambermaid. As soon as the campaign was at an end he began to make every preparation for his expedition, and waited with the most restless impatience for the joyful day when he was to repair to a little wood near the castle.

On the day of All Saints Emily prepared herself for putting her scheme into execution, with the assistance of her chambermaid. She affected a slight indisposition, retired to her chamber at an early hour, and metamorphosed herself into one of the handsomest uuus whose spirit had ever appeared.

The tedions hours moved on leaden wings; every moment increased her eagerness to commence the adventure. In the mean time the moon, a friend to lovers, threw her pale light over the castle, where the bustle of the busy day had given way to awful stillness. No one was awake but the housekeeper, who was reckoning up the domestic expences by the dim light of a candle; the porter, who also served as watchman, and the dog, Hector, who|| barking, saluted the rising moon.

When the midnight hour arrived the undaunted Emily sallied forth. Provided with a large key that unlocked the doors, she slided gently down the stairs into the hall. Descrying unexpectedly a light in the kitchen, she began to rattle a bundle of keys with all ber might, threw down the chimney board with violence, opened the house door, and entered the small porch.

As soon as the centinels heard this rattling they thought of the ghosts, and took refuge in different places. The housekeeper ran into bed, the dog into his kennel, and the porter to his wife, on the straw; by which means Emily obtained her liberty, and hastened to the wood where she fancied she already saw at a a distance the carriages and horses. But what was her amazement when upon a nearer approach it proved to be the shade of a tree; she thought that she had mistaken the place of rendezvous, and traversed every part of the wood from one end to the other. But all her searching terminated in the most grievous disappointment; her knight and his equipage were no where to be found.

of thinking or acting. Not to attend to engagements of this kind is a crime amongst all lovers, but in the present case it was unpardonable; the affair was to her inexplicable. After waiting an hour in the most cruel anxiety, in which her heart was torn with conflicting passions of grief, shame, and vexation, she began to weep and utter the bitterest complaints, when at length reflection led her to recal her long lost family pride; she was mortified at her condescension in making choice of a man of unknown family. The ecstacy of passion had now forsaken her; her reason had gained the ascendency, and she resolved to retract the false step she had taken, by returning immediately to the castle. Upon her arrival there she was met by her maid, who received her with a mixture of joy and surprize; every thing however was buried in the profoundest silence.

Her lover was not so culpable as the incensed Emily imagined. He had not failed to attend at the appointed place, even earlier than necessary, in order to be in perfect readi ness to receive his beloved mistress. While waiting with anxious impatience, the form of a nun presented itself before him. He spraug from his place of ambush, clasped it in his arms, and cried out:-"I have you; I hold you; I will never let you go, dear Emily, now thou art mine, and I am thine with beart and soul." Upon these words he joyfully carried the lovely burden, and placed it in the carriage, which drove off with the utmost speed. The horses snorted, kicked, and shook their manes, one of the wheels broke, and by a violent jerk the horses, carriage, and man were thrown down a precipice into a deep ditch; our hero became insensible from the violence of the fall, and upon his recovery found himself in a village, whither he had been carried by some country people who discovered him in the moroing in a deplorable condition. He had lost all his equipage, together with his fair companion. This circumstance afflicted him more than all the rest. He sent people to different parts in pursuit of Emily, but could obtaiu no information. The midnight set him free from the auxiety of suspence: when the clock struck twelve his door was opened, and his fellow-traveller made her appearance, not in the form of the enchanting Emily, but of the ghostly nun, as a horrible skeleton. The terrified Frederic became sensible of his mistake, blessed and crossed himself, and uttered many ejaculations.

The ghost turned itself towards him, walked to his bed, stroked his cheeks with her ice-cold Amazed at this event she was incapable hands, crying "Frederic! Frederic! I am

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thine, thou art mine with heart and soul." Having persecuted him for a whole tedious hour with her presence, she at length disappeared. In this manner she continued her persecution every night, and followed him to the place where he was quartered. He had there no respite from the irksome caresses of the ghost. His melancholy became the subject of conversation among his campanions, who felt compassion for him, without being able to conjecture the cause of his anxiety, for be had not ventured to divulge his unfortunate secret. He had, however, one coufidential friend among his comrades, an old lieutenant, who was reputed to be expert in laying spirits; to him Frederic explained the grounds || of bis uneasiness. "Is that all," said the exorcist with a sinile, "I will relieve you from this impertinent visitor; follow me to my quarters." Upon entering, he observed many magical preparations and characters marked upon the floor, and as soon as the lieutenant called, the midnight spirit appeared in a dark room, lighted by the dull glimmer of a magic lamp. He reproached the ghost severely, and appointed a willow in a lonely glen as the place of its abode, with an injunction for it immediately to repair thither, never more to return. The ghost disappeared; but in the same instant a storm and whirlwind arose; which was dispelled by a procession of twelve pious men in the town, who rode on horseback, singing a penitential psalm, according to their usual custom. After this the spirit was never more

seen.

Fredcric recovered his spirits and repaired again to the field under Wallenstein, where he fought many successful compaigns, in which he conducted himself so nobly, that on his return to Bohemia he was honoured with the

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command of a regiment. He took his journey through Vogtland, aud, upeu perceiving the castle of Laurenstein,his heart beat with doubt whether his Emily had been faithful or not. He called as an old friend at the castle, where he met with a reception suitable to the name. The dismay of Emily was inconceivable when her supposed faithless Frederic entered the

room.

A mixture of joy and sorrow overwhelmed her; she had been reasoning herself for three years out of a passion which she thought beneath a person in her rank of life; but still she could never completely erase the plebeian lover from her thoughts. In this state of mind, fluctuating between resentment and affection, was the tender Emily when Frederic address. ed her, and by bis insinuating manuers procured an opportunity of relating the whole affair; whilst she in return informed him of her suspicions and resentment. The joy and affection of the two lovers redoubled upon these mutual confessions. They agreed to extend their secret a little farther, aud include her mother in the circle of their confidence.

The good lady was struck with as much astonishment at the art of her daughter in carrying on an intrigue, as at the circumstance of her elopement in so extraordinary a manner. She thought it just, however, that an affection which had experienced so severe a trial should be rewarded by an union of the persons. And though this idea militated against the prospects she had formed for her daughter; yet, since no prince or count was in view, she gave her consent, after which the handsome Frederic embraced his charming bride, aud his marriage concluded happily, without meeting any farther opposition from the ghostly nun.

THE WANDERING JEW.

Our Readers are acquainted with the uses to which Mr. Lewis, in his Novel of the Monk, has converted the ancient legend of the Wandering Jew. The original story was the invention of the celebrated Schubart, and is as follows.

AHASUERUS, the Jew, says this distin- || Ahasuerus, the unfeeling wretch drove him guished writer, crept forth from a dark cave of mount Carmel. Near two thousand years are elapsed since he was first goaded by ever-eucreasing restlessness to rove the globe from pole to pole. When our blessed Lord was wearied with the burden of his ponderous cross, and wanted to rest before the door of

away with brutality. The Saviour of mankind staggered, sinking under the heavy load, but uttered no complaint. An angel of death appeared before Ahasuerus, and exclaimed indignantly: "Barbarian, thou hast denied rest to the son of inan; be it denied to thee also until he comes to judge the world."

A black dæmoa, let loose from hell upon Ahasuerus, goads him now from country to country. He is denied the consolation which death affords, and precluded from the rest of the peaceful grave.

Ahasuerus crept forth from a dark cave of mount Carmel; he shook the dust from his beard; and taking up one of the skulls heaped up there, hurled it down the eminence; it rebounded from the ground, and was shivered to pieces. "This was my father!" roared Ahasuerus; seven more skulls rolled down from rock to rock, whilst the infuriate Jew, following them with ghastly looks, exclaimed: "And these were my wives!" He still continued to hurl down skull after skull, roaring in dreadfui accents :-" And these, and these, and these, were my children. THEY COULD DIE! but I, reprobate wretch, alas, I cannot die. Dreadful beyond conception is the judg ment that haugs over me! Jerusalem fell. I crushed the sucking babe, and precipitated myself into the destructive flames. I cursed the Romans; but, alas! alas! the restless curse held me by the hair, aud-1 could not die.

ance to the victorious German; but arrows and spears rebounded in shivers from my body. The Saracen's flaming sword broke upon my skull. Balls in vain hissed upon me.—The lightenings of battle glared harmless round my loins. In vain did the elephant trample upon me, in vain the iron hoof of the wrathful steed. The mine, big with destructive power, burst under me, and hurled me high into the air. I fell down upon heaps of smoaking limbs, and was only singed. The giant's steel-club rebounded from my body; the executioner's hand could not strangle me; the tiger's tooth could not hurt me; nor would the hungry lion in the circus devour me.

"I cohabited with poisonous snakes, and pinched the red crest of the dragon; the ser-pent stung, but could not kill me ; the dragon tormented, but could not destroy

me.

"I now provoked the fury of tryants; I said to Nero, thou art a blood-hound! said to Christiern, thou art a blood-hound; said to Mulei Ismail thou art a blood hound; the tyrants invented cruel torments, but did not kill me.-Ha! not to be able to die! not to be able to die; not to be permitted to rest after the toils of life! to be doomed to be imprison

for ever clogged with this worthless body, its load of diseases and infirmities; to be condemned to behold for milleniums that yawning

hyena, ever bearing children, and ever devouring again her offsprings! Ha! not to be permitted to die! awful avenger in heaven, hast thou in thy armory of wrath a punishment more dreadful; then let it thunder upon me! command a hurricane, to sweep me down to the foot of Carmel, that I there may lie extended, may pant, and writhe, and die!"

"Rome, the giantess, fell; I placed myself before the falling giantess. She fell; but did not crush me. Nations sprung up, and dis-ed for ever in the clay-formed dungeon! to be appeared before me; but I remained and did not die!! From cloud capp'd cliff's did I precipitate myself into the ocean; but foaming billows cast me upon the shore, and the burn-monster, Sameness and Time, that hungry ing arrow of existence pierced me again. 1 leaped into tua's flaming abyss, and roared with the giants for ten long mouths in accents of despair, polluting with my groans the mount's sulphureous mouth.-Ha! ten long months! the volcano fermented, and in a fiery stream of lava cast me up. I lay amidst tortures of hell in the glowing cinders, but continued to exist. A forest was on fire; I darted on wings of fury aud despair into the crackling wood. Fire dropped upon me from the trees-but the flame only singed my limbs-alas! it could not destroy me. I now mixed with the butchers of mankind, and plunged into the tempest of the raging battle. 1 roared defiance to the infuriate Gaul, defi

MR. EDITOR,

And Ahasuerus dropped down! Night covered his bristly eyelids: au angel carried him back to the cavern. "Sleep here," said the angel to Ahasuerus: "Sleep in peace; the wrath of thy judge is appeased. When thou shalt awake, He will be arrived, he whose blood thou sawest flow upon Golgotha, and whose mercy is also extended to thee."

MILTON'S ITALIAN SONNETS.

THE Italian Sonnets which were written by Milton, have, so far as I know, never made their appearance in an English dress till the late posthumous publication of Mr. Cowper's

translation of them, along with the Latin Poems of the same great author. With the merit of this work I am unacquainted, as I have never yet seen it; and it is therefore with no view to enter the lists of competition, or to

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Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome honora
L'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco,
Bene é colui d'ogni valore scarco
Qual tuo spirito gentil non innamora,
Che dolcemente mostra se di fuora

De sui atti soari giammai parco,

E i don', che son d'amor saette ed arco,

La onde l'alta tua virtu s'infiora.

Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti Che mover possa duro alpestre legno

Guardi ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi Le' entrata, chi di te si truova indegno. Gratia sola di su gli vaglia, inanti

Che'll disio amoroso al cuor s'invecchi.

Sure, sweetest lady, whose most honour'd name Rhine's grassy vale reveres, and proud alcove,

No manly passion can that bosom move, To which thy spirit imparts no tender flame; That gentle spirit, whence Cupid takes his aim,

And shoots what Poets call the darts of love, Thy gifts and graces, which his armoury

prove;

Whence Virtue's self may lovelier honours claim. [soug, When aught of converse sweet, or jocund Song that might move the knotted mountain trees, [sight

Falls from thy lips, let each of sound and The entrance bar, if hopeless thee to please:

'Tis only heaven can save the youth who long

Hath cherish'd in his breast the soft delight.

11.

Qual in colle aspro, all imbrunir di sera

L'avezza giovinetta pastorella
Va bagnando l'herbetta strana e bella,
Che mal si spande a disusata spera
Fuor di sua natia alma premavera,

Cosi amor meco insù la lingua snella
Desta il fior novo di strania favella,
Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera,

Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso,
El bel Tamizicangio col bel Arno.
Amor lo volse, ed io a l'altrui peso
Seppi ch'Amor cosa mai volse indarno.
Deh! foss' il mio cuor lento, e'l duro seno
A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.

As some exotic plant, borne far away [bow'r,
To northern mountains, from its native
The virgin tends at evening's blushing hour,
Fearful it's softer beauties to display,
No XLI. Vol. VI.

Where the sun shines with less indulgent ray ;'
So on my tongue hath love's creative power
Waked of Italian speech the tender flower,
And ope'd its richness to the northern day.
Majestic sweetness! 'tis of thee I sing,
For so Love wills, who never will'd in vain,
And Thames' proud banks with Arno's num-
bers ring,

Ill understood by Albion's sons the strain. Oh may my breast so rude, and heart so slow,

A fertile soil on Heaven's fair flow'r bestow

III.

Deodati, e te 'l dirò con maraviglia,

Quel ritrozo io ch' amor spreggiar solea,

E de suoi lacci spesso mi ridea

Gia caddi, ov huom dabben talhor s'impiglia.
Ne treccie d'oro, ne guancia vermiglia

M'abbaglian si, ma sotto nova idea
Pellegrina bellezza che'l enor bea,
Portimenti alti honesti, e nelle ciglia
Quel sereno fulgor d'amabil nero,
Parole adorne di lingua piu d'una,

E'l cantar che di mezzo l'hemispero
Traviar ben puo la faticosa luna

E degli occhi suoi auventa si gran fuoco,
Che l'incerar gli orechi mi sia poco.

With wonder let Deodatus be told,
That I so stern, who ne'er love's power con-
fess'd,
[jest,

To whom his wiles and weapons were but Now fall the victim of the urchin bold : 'Twas not the vermil cheek, or locks of gold My heart enthrall'd,and tamed my stubborn

breast;

But some new goddess, who, for ever blest, In foreign beauty chose her form t'unfold: Her port majestic, and her sparkling eyes Darkly serene; persuasion from her tongue In various language flows; and with surprize The moon might stop, and listen to her song. So warm the flashes which her eyes impart, They melt their passage to the coldest heart,

IV.

Per certo i bei vostr' occhi, Donna mia,
Esser non puo, che non sian lo mio sole ;
Si mi p percuoton forte, come ei suole
Per l'arene de Lybia chi s'invia,
Mentre un caldo vapor (ne senti pria)
Da quel lato si spinge, ove mi duole
Che forse amanti nelle lor parole
Chiaman sospir, io non so che si sia :

Parte rinchiusa, e turbida si cela
Scosso mi il petto, e poi n’uscendo poce

Quivi d'attorno o s'agghiaccia o' s'ingiela; Ma quanto a gli occhi guinge a trovar loco Tutte le notti a me suol far piovose Finche mia Alba, rivien colma di rose.

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Yes, dearest maid! those eyes so heav'nly
bright

Must be my sun: just as he sheds his ray
On the lorn traveller, that haps to stray
O'er Barca's sands, they shed on me their light:
Meanwhile a vapour bland, too pure for sight,
(Which I not know to name, but lovers say
"It is a sigh") where'er thy eye-beams play,
Springs upwards, but alas! too dank for flight,
Part sinks abortive on thy lover's heart,
And chills and freezes all within his breast;
Whilst to his eyes ascends the lighter part,
And oft, full oft, at the still hour of rest
Drops thence in showers of tears, till thou,
my fair,

Com'st, crown'd with roses, to dispel his

care.

V.

Giovane piano, e simplicetto amante

Poi che fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono,
Madonna a voi del mio cuor l'humil dono
Faro divoto; io certo a prove tante
L'hebbi fedele, intrepido, costante,

De pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono :
Quando rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono,
S'arma di se, e d'intero diamante;

Tunto del forse e d'invidia sicuro,
Oi timori, e speranze al popol use
Quante ingegno e d'alto valor vago,
E de cetta sonora, e delle muse :

Sol troverete in tal parte men duto
Ove amor mise l'insanabil ago.

A gentle youth, a fond and simple lover,
Oppressed with doubts, unknowing where to
fly,

This present makes, with deep humility; His heart-a truer, you will ne'er discover, More brave, or good; from her it loves no rover;

Playful in thought, yet prudent; can defy The world's rude buffets; Heav'n's harsh minstrelsy

Hear unappai'd, with virtue arm'd all over.

Far from the boisterous and the envious crew,

The hopes and fears that witch the vulgar brain;

But deeply smitten with the tuneful art, Friend of sweet song, and of the Muses train :

One only spot but little strength can shew, 'Tis that where Love hath fix'd his cureless dart.

CEREMONY OF LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE

OF

COVENT-GARDEN THEATRE.

It is with satisfaction that we are exclusive- || Royal Grand Master of the Order; near to this, ly enabled to lay before our readers the only authentic account of this proceeding.

at the N. E. angle, of the ground, was the foundation-stone, which hung suspended over The ceremony of laying the foundation-stone a basement stone, and weighed about three of the new edifice took place on 31st of Decem- tons. On surrounding scaffolds above seven ber, 1808. It was laid by his Royal Highness hundred workmen employed in the building the Prince of Wales, a distinction unprece- were ranged, and detachments from the second dented; and the spectacle was rendered highly Regiment of Guards, with their colours flying, interesting and impressive by the dignity and was stationed at the Bow-street entrance, as a elegance which that illustrious personage dis-guard of honour; flags were reared at each played in the ceremonial. The most judicious || angle of the ground, and five military bands, arrangements were made on the enclosed area, elevated on platforms, played alternately till for the performance of the ceremony, and the one o'clock. accommodation of the spectators; every avenue The procession of Freemasons entered the to it was guarded from the populace by de- ground at twelve : they amounted to near four tachments of horse and foot soldiers, and un- || hundred, and were ornamented with their interrupted order prevailed. An extensive various paraphernalia; Chevalier Ruspini, as covered building, furnished with seats, was Grand Tyler, bore the sword before, and a erected parallel with Bow-street, which, before band preceded playing an appropriate air: at twelve o'clock, was filled with several hundred one o'clock the Prince of Wales arrived, under spectators. Opposite was another erection for an escort of horse guards, with the Duke the accommodation of the Freemasons who at- of Sussex, attended by General Hulse and tended in procession, and a marquee for the Colonels M'Mahon and Blomfield; he was

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