OR, WEEKLY THE VISITOR. FOR THE USE AND AMUSEMENT OF BOTH SEXES. VOL. XIII.] Saturday, May 25,....1811. KILVERSTONE CASTLE 4 Tale. (Continued) Scarce breathing with horror, rage, and madness, Audley stepped forward to destroy the fair, the insensible Jessalind his wife! But Heaven seemed to commiserate her condition, and the elements at war, bursting in loud pearls of thunder, seemed to make the earth tremble to the centre. Awakened from the very grasp of death, Ironside once more cast up his eyes and hands, and faultering bid him forbear! The attitude, the accent of his dying friend, seemed to express something irresistible. Soothed a little from the height of his former passion, reason began to take her wonted sway in his bosom. Ironside took advantage of this interval, and raised his body up a little, as much as his strength would allow, spoke as follows: [NO. 5. 'If you suspect the virtue of your wife you are deceived. Our meeting here was accidental. I die content, if I should save her innocence.' He ceased.The blood gushed from his wound in torrents-his speech declined his eyes grew dim he fainted he fell. Audley, like one who heard the awful voice of an avenging angel denouncing desolation to whole empires, stood fixed in horror! His staring eyes shifted their distracted stare from his wife to Ironside! His trembling hands stained with the murder of his friend, convulsively grasped his reeking sword! Irresolute for suicide; irresolnte for flight; too proud to seek for sanctuary; and not longer able to endure the horrid spectacle, he got up to seek some hiding place, where he might form a resolution for his conduct, Every place was alike. Alas! Audley found he could not fly from himself, and every object alike afforded him occasion for despair. Too late he proved the want of suspicion of Polydore: for, from his apparent ⚫ly well-proved faith, he could never conceive that he was treacherous. till the approach of night; as he was assured, in these walks, the alarm would speedily be spread, and his escape.thereby frustrated; thence, under the favor of darkness, he determined to proceed into the worlds, and, at some secure distance, live unknown, till, perchance, a favourable apportunity might present to gain an advocate for the obtaining royal clemency. He now too late recollects the pious precepts of the hermit at the chase. Too late he finds that the abortive claim, so basely instigated by the Benedic tine, was not affected; and, as a murderer, not only life was forfeited, but his lands escheat- How distracting a scene ed to Lord Wentworth! How presented itself to Jessalind dreadful was the prospect of upon recovery from her swoon, his total desolation! Divested Ironside weltering in his blood, of his property; guilty of in- convulsed, and in the agonies of death! Her husband gone, nocent blood; a victom due to justice, By one rash act, fal. full of condemnations, jealousy len from the height of human and hatred against his forlorn happiness, into the darkest gulf Jessalind! Then, cries she, of misery.! Fallen from afflu- all the remainder of existence ence, from all the sweet joys is given to despair! With laof virtuous love, domestic har-mentations and dishevelled mony, and that heartfelt, self-hair, she fled into the veapproving rectitude and honor which can never be so well described as felt. and to aggravate all, and fill up the cup of of his afflictions, the innocent and traduced Jessalind widow-mestics, alarmed at her comed in penury, her Lord absent, and she at that very time preg. nant. The first confusion of his mind being a little over, he little over, be bethought himself to take an nue, and strained her voice with incessant calls on her be loved husband! No voice replied. She flew to her late happy habitation. The do plainings, stood astonished and melted into tears. Some peasants, who were passing that way, took up Ironside, who yet shewed marks of life they carried him to a asylum in an adjoining wood. | shepard, who occupied a cot hard by, and who had the re- | In short, she was turned out putation of being well skilled on the most dreadful night ein chirugery and the virtue of ver remembered by the oldest drugs: learning which he had man. acquired in foreign parts, where he had borne arms. After ex amining and dressing his wounds, he gave hopes that the principal wound was not mortal. Whilst these matters, were transacting, the rumour spread with rapid wing, and soon reached lord Wentworth's ears whose officers, like hungry wolves upon the snow-clothed Alps, poured down their rude rapacious bands on the estates of the unfortunate Audley. They beset the mansion-house; possessed themselves of all; and with a brutality peculiar to their office, commanded the friendless, heart-broken, wid. owed Jessalind to quit the place. The command admitt. ed no reply; their hardened hearts suffered no compassion; and, whilst her lingering steps hung anxiously on the threshold which she loved, with horrid imprecations they threatened her if she did not instantly retire. All these transactions took place on a dreadful night; the elements in combustion shook the very ground to its centre, The wretches who executed Lord Wentworth's commission, with conscious guilt, conjecturing the storm was raised by evel spirits, soon fled: and shuting up every avenue to the castle, left it without inhabitants. Whilst the report of these extraordinary circumstances busied the ear of every villager, poor Jessalind found a friend in a sheperd, whose early years had been fostered by the munificence of the good old Lord Audley, and for whose sake he would venture any thing out of gratitude for his beneficence. By this shepherd's friendly assistance, and that of a foreign merchant, with whom Jessalind deposit. ed some trifling jewels, she was enabled to cross the seas over to Normandy, to her father; but whom she was disappointed of seeing, as he was gone to the wars in Catalonia. With the servants that remained she found an hospitable retreat, and seemed for a while to forget her troubles, being resigned to whatever heaven should direct. crimes. The monk baffled in his former projects, hit upon. this soldier as a fit person to execute his base, insidious scheme. This solder was & fit person to tamper with; for covetousness had the ascen ing risen by the fatalities of was, was both unlettered and unprincipled. Ambition war his only passion, and by that he meant to mount the scale of death to superiority. (To be Continued.J THE MONK OF THE GROTTO: The monks of Crowle were, not idle amidst these transactions. The priests and the prior, inflamed with the zeal of their hypocrisy, rejoiced in the intelligence,esteeming all these wonders as the bugbears born of cradulity and ignor.dency of his honesty ; and havance, and apprehending this a fortunate opportunity to execute their exorcisms, and acquire an impious credit with the vulgar, by exercising the miraculous privilege of chaining spirits by their religious offices, they sought their principal, to crave his license for their visiting the house of the unfortunate Audley. Father Peter was then in close conferance with one on business of importance, and would not be disturbed; well judging, it were best for these rash men not to brave the wrath of the enchanting armour. At that very instant Father Peter entertained a visitor, whose friendship was not to be neglected. The grant of Audley's es cheated lands already was framing for the records of the monestery; and Polydore was shut up with the monk in his cell, to claim the miserable reward of his inestimable services.. Polydore had been gained by avarice and great gratuities, to perpetrate the worst of A Tale: "Alas!" said she to the Marchioness, with a trembling. voice, "all my hopes are lost! -Your son, too faithful to the line of conduct I traced out in my letter, informs me, by his fatal silence, that I must renounce the only happiness that could have made me cherish life. Madam," added she, clasping her hands, "deign to pity my sad destiny!-Obtain my father's permission that I may pass the rest of my days in a Convent! The world is become my aversion. I cannot longer remain in a place where beautiful gardens, and seemed desirous that Virginia should give it the preference. "I will conduct you there commend you to my sister; myself," said she; "I will re and I shall be in some measure consoled for the loss of you, by the reflection that I have An exclamation of joy was on the point of escaping the Marchioness, but she recollect-placed you under her care." ed herself, and assumed an air of sadness, whichthe credulous Virginia attributed to her affection and concern. with regard to the Monastery Virginia, who was indifferent to which she retired, provided it was at a distance from Torre After having sought to make Vecchia, willingly consented her change her resolution, the Marchioness, with her usual address, used arguments to confirm it. She then promised to speak to the Marquis; but that promise appeared to Virginia to have resulted from a conviction of its necessity, and not to have been sanctioned by her feelings. On that same evening, the Marquis announced to his daughter that she might dispose of her future destiny as she thought proper; he appeared extremely agitated, and the Marchioness avoided leaving them together a single instant. She spoke much of the abbey of San Cipriano, of which her sister was Abbess; commended the insolated situation of that Monastary, its fine air and to make choice of the one the Marchioness had mentioned; and her departure was fixed for the next day. At seven in the morning, a post-chaise was got ready, by order of the Marchioness. The servants, with grief in their hearts, and tears in their eyes, placed Virginia's trunk behind the carriage: a kind of gloomy consternation. reigned throughout the Castle-nought was heard but sighs, murmurs, and regrets. Virginia was the only one who appeared calm and tranquil; her countenance was usually animated; a degree of self-exultations seemed painted in her eyes, and expressed in her actions. previous to her departure she threw herself at her father's feet, and de |