"Where are we going?" "Rue de la Clé, sir."

"How, Rue de la Clé?"

"By virtue of the peremptory decree issued against you on the first day of June, by the tribunal of commerce, duly registered, and to you notified, a petition, etc. etc., I arrest you, in the king's name: that you may not remain ignorant, I beg leave to inform you, that I am an officer in the guard of commerce, and these gentlemen are my satellites."

At these words I fell into a lethargic despondency, from which I was not roused until I heard the grating of the lock of Saint Pélagie, as it closed behind me.

"Another time," said I, “catch me giving my address to the first wrangler that comes to hand, and thus compromising my existence as a free man, for the sake of making a show of empty bravery." The reflection is excellent, but comes, unhappily, a little too late, like all other reflections in which the prisoner indulges within the walls of Saint Pélagie. J. G. W.

THE CURSE OF THE FLOWERS.

Ar the coming of dawn, ere the sun

Had his visible course begun,
And song burst from every bill;
Whilst the earliest breezes were chill,

And the dews on our hearts and our homes
Lay sweet as our balm in bee-combs ;—
In the sultry succeeding of noon,
When in the pale azure the moon
Lay faint as the faintest of clouds,
And we swoon'd in our emerald shrouds ;-
At the graceful survening of even,
Ere twilight shed sleep upon heaven;
We were cheer'd thro' the beautiful hours
By bands of our sweet sister-flowers:-
But scarce had the sun's loving eye
Look'd its last from the golden sky,
When a creature that seem'd of the skies,
By the light of her eloquent eyes,

By her checks, and her lips, and her tresses,
And the bed where they lay in caresses,
And the grace of her form and its motion,
Came amidst us; and seeming devotion
To our beauty and fragrancy paid,

And with love-looks our droop'd lids survey'd:
But ruin pursued her regard;

And bloom after bloom from the sward,

And bud after bud, did she sunder;

And o'er her white bosom and under
With passion fantastic array'd them,
And for joy with death-dreariness paid them:
That now, in the light of the stars,
Our sorrow dew'd slumber debars;

And the spirit of life in our veins,
Of bereavement eternal complains;

And when the new dawn shall arise
On the verge of the orient skies,
"Twill but vex the shut grief in our eyes!

For this murder of those that we cherish'd;
Whose life in her selfishness perish'd,
May she love, and be answer'd with scorn,
And her heart with vain cravings be torn!
Which to glut, with mere limb may she mate,
And then sicken with loathing and hate;
Whilst the life which her blood must allume,
Doth but gasp thro' one breath to the tomb,
And she drag on from morrow to morrow,
To lorn death thro' a desert of sorrow!

But, if by the love she will vow,
Which deep in her young blood doth grow,
And which springeth, and springeth, and springeth
And grace all about her forthbringeth-
Never more, with a merciless hand,
To make spoil of our innocent band
But leave us to live, love and die
At God's will, in the breath of his sky;
And the beam and the dew of our birth
Still feel as we wither in earth-
We revoke every spell of our curse;
And its tenor heart-blighting reverse;
May her fond love, by fond answer met,
Never droop in the shade of regret;
May she kiss, and still kiss, and adore;
Till the dream which enchanteth be o'er;
May she bee-drain the sweets it can give,
And die when 'tis sorrow to live!

THE WHITE CROSS.

A BRAZILIAN STORY.

BY LIEUT. COXE, U. S. ARMY.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

In all the bay and harbor of Rio de Janeiro, so often described by travellers as one of the most capacious, and certainly the most beautiful in the world, no portion is so beautiful or possesses so much of the romantic and picturesque as Botafogo Bay, one of the many parts which unite to constitute the beauteous whole first mentioned.

Brazil, justly styled the garden of the world, has no spot equally fair with this, and while wandering midst its verdant fields and in the depths of its forests, where

"nor dint of hoof nor print of foot

Lay in the wild luxurious soil;"

a traveller might well imagine he had at last reached the spot so long sought after, where our first father saw and wooed the fairest, first of women, Eve.

To return, however, to the Bay of Rio, completely shut in on three sides by lofty hills and mountains covered with perpetual verdure, high among which the towering corcovado rears its head, like a blasted pine in a grove of beauty; groves of orange trees, filled with the "golden apple" scattered in every direction by the tasteful and profuse hand of nature, give a rich beauty and softness to the scene, while in bold relief are seen the massy Gavia and the well known sugar-loaf, nature's handmarks, to guide the weary mariner to the "haven where he would be:" all that is wanting to complete the picture is the massy fort of Santa Cruz, "bristling horribly" with

"those mortal engines, whose rude throats

The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit,"

and presenting an impassable barrier to the entrance of the harbor, at the mouth of which it is situated.

The shores of Botafogo Bay are lined with villas of surpassing beauty and neatness of architecture; among which stands pre-eminent that of the late beautiful Countess of Santos, a monument at once of the frailty of its fair occupant and the munificence of her imperial lover, Pedro the First.

I have been thus particular in the description, or rather in this poor attempt at description, of this lovely spot, from its being the scene of the events I am about to narrate; and as the facts upon which this "ower true tale" are founded, did actually occur. I might in compliance with the long observed rule of scribbling, premise," that the actors in the drama, or some of them, being still alive, delicacy forbids me to disclose their names, etc." Such, I believe, is admitted to be a privilege of long standing, and I might be disposed to avail myself of it, but for the simple reason, that I do not know the real names of any one mentioned in my story, although I once heard them; nor do I know whether they are alive or dead, but I think I hear my fair reader exclaim, (while more than half inclined to throw away this nonsense,) the story, sir, the story; thus, then it is:

In the year 18-; but before I proceed any farther, I ought to tell you how I became acquainted with the facts I relate, and begging the pardon of any one, whose patience has accompanied me thus far, for drawing a little more upon their stock thereof, I will, in as brief a way as possible, state the the how, when, and where.

It was on an evening of surpassing loveliness, such as is no where seen but in the tropics, that after having spent a day of solitude in my hammock, trying by inactivity and passiveness to escape the heat, as the thermometer had been playfully ranging from 90° to 100° in the shade, with no society but my Byron, my own thoughts, (poor company, I think I see you preparing to remark, so

that I will save you the trouble by confessing it myself,) and though last, by no means least, a choice "Havana," the which I can confidently recommend to every one, as the greatest of luxuries in a warm climate, where was I, oh! I had just got out of my hammock, (another luxury,) and detertermined to enjoy to the utmost the coolness of the evening. I entered my canoe, and with my only attendant, (cook, valet, and chambermaid, " trio juncta in uno" as Sheridan said,) paddled down the harbor from my cottage on the Island of Cobras, until we arrived at the mouth of Botafogo Bay, which we entered; whilst paddling round the bay and resigning myself to the control of spirit engendered by the fairy like appearance of the scene, I observed a white cross painted upon the rocks, which near the entrance of the bay, reach to the water's edge.

Having never before noticed it, I was considerably astonished at the sight, as these crosses are usually the "memento mori's" of some murder that has been committed on the spot where they are erected, and I could not believe that the hand of the assassin would have invaded a sanctuary like this.

On inquiry, I gained from my companion, a venerable Brazilian, the following particulars, which I give you rendered into English, and stripped of numerous digressions on his part, during the narration, which would most certainly not interest you, any more than I fear mine have.

In the year 18-, the Martini palace which was located a short distance from Botafogo bay, in the direction of the city of Rio de Janeiro, was not more celebrated for its grandeur and magnificence, than for its owner, the Marquis Juan de Martini ;-cold, haughty, and reserved in his manners, he was liked by no one; secluded almost altogether from the world, he appeared to feel no interest in any one around him, and but for one circumstance, the fact of his existence even would have been forgotten, so rarely did he appear in public. Like Jeptha, he had one fair daughter, and her he did indeed love passing well.

Isabel de Martini had long been celebrated as the fairest of the fair, in the imperial city of St. Sebastian; her dark eye beaming with intelligence, was surmounted by a brow of perfect symmetry, and her raven locks playing loosely about her sculptured neck, gave her an almost elf-like appearance. Beauty cannot be described, and any description would fall short of what Isabel really was; let every one draw from his imagination for her image, for she was lovely as imagination can conceive; would that I could do so, but although a worshipper of the fair daughters of Eve, almost to idolatry, I never yet could transfer their charms to paper: suffice it then to say, that among all the dark eyed beauties of this sunny land, who stand unrivalled both for form, and face, Isabel de Martini shone preeminent. Many were the admirers, and among them many of the proudest nobles of Brazil, who had sued for the honor of her hand, and all in vain; to all she turned an inattentive ear, and if the truth must be told, the fair Isabel was just the least in the world of a coquette, and however much her vanity might be flattered by seeing her train of admirers swelling with the noble and the rich, she passed along unmoved by any, "fancy free."

Pass over a year in the life of our heroine, and go with me to the shores of the bay I have described to you; the moon was shining with its silvery light upon the still waters of the bay, which clearly as a mirror, reflected all around it, yet no object was reflected half so fair as the forms of Isabel and a young man, who, with his arm around her, was gazing on his companion with an expression of the deepest affection. Long they walked, and if we do not give you the subject of their conversation, it is for the two-fold reason, that being lovers, it was necessarily of a character uninteresting to a third person, and moreover, I did not hear a word of it; time flew, but still they strolled along the tranquil margin of the bay, and it was the lady who first observed the lateness of the hour, and spoke of returning.

Do not detain me longer," she said, " indeed, indeed, Fernando, I must leave you; my absence will be remarked, and though for myself I care not, still your safety as much as my own, demands that we should be prudent; indeed we must separate, but 'tis only till to-morrow."

"Dearest Isabel," replied her lover," how can I ever sufficiently repay you? you, the admired of all, the loveliest of your sex, thus to brave all for me-and must we part? would that the time were come, when we will fly together far from this hated place, and secure from all pursuit, live only for each other."

"Once more, then," said Isabel, "good night; for my sake, be careful of yourself, and remember that my existence is dependant upon yours. God bless you, good night."

The youth folded her in his arms, and hastily impressed a kiss upon her brow, which was of a marble paleness, and then releasing her, the maiden disappeared among the rocks; he gazed after her for a few moments, then casting off the fastening of a canoe, which lay concealed in a small cove boneath, he sprang into it, and rapidly plying his paddle, in a very brief space he reached the opposite shore, and disappeared. As the scene just described may appear a little strange to those whose patience has carried them thus far, it will be proper to state the particulars of the acquaintance which had arisen between our heroine, and the evident object of her choice.

At a public ball given by the Emperor, to which not only the nobility, but all the respectable inhabitants of Rio were admitted, the fair Isabel was as usual the cynosure of all admiring glances; and while to all their flattering speeches she turned an inattentive car, she was much struck with the appearance of a young stranger, who although not belonging to her own rank in life, was evident

ly one of " nature's noblemen," and she secretly acknowledged to herself that had any of her previous admirers but resembled him, her heart had not been so difficult to subdue;-never had she experienced such sensations as those which now possessed her, and she was pleased, although unable to define the cause, to observe that he was evidently gazing upon her with an eye of sincere admiration.

He was the son of a captain in the Imperial Army, who had fallen in the service of his country, and had left his son wholly dependant upon his own exertions for support. Long had he gazed with admiration amounting to idolatry, upon the lovely Isabel, whom he had often seen in public; never before, however, had he been thrown so directly into the society of one, whom, he felt, to see was to love; and now that he could at leisure gaze upon those charms, he resigned himself to the control of his passion, and with a thrill of transport, observed that his admiration was noticed, and was evidently not disagreeable to its object. The last person noticed by Isabel, on leaving the ball, was the stranger, whose eyes were still intently fixed upon her, and if a responsive glance from her met his eye, who shall blame her?

In this country, where intrigue is the chief business of life, but little difficulty occurred in his conveying to his lady love" the intelligence that he lived but for her; and it would be tedious to narrate the manner in which he obtained his first interview with her. The greatest difficulty which arose was respecting the place of meeting, until chance disclosed to them a path leading through the mountains from the Martini palace to the bay; there in the face of heaven, alone, the lovers met in the still hour of midnight, and with the resplendent moon, and all the heavenly" isles of light" alone for witnesses, told their love, and spoke of future happiness.

Much difficulty attended their meetings, as it was necessary for Isabel to await the retiring of all the family, before she could leave her chamber, which she was enabled to do by means of a private door, communicating with the garden. Anxiously would she remain in the solitude of her apartment, until the entire cessation of noise within the house, bade her fly to her appointment; then in her lover's arms, with no thought for aught on earth save him, in whom were centred all the resistless feelings of her heart, would she be for a time completely happy; as few will deny, that the enjoyments (and especially those of this description,) of which we partake by stealth, are more intense than those which we possess sanctioned by all around us.

Thus had they met in secret, for several months, and now only awaited the sailing of a vessel, whose captain (convinced of the propriety thereof, by the argument of a well filled purse) had consented to receive them on board, and carry them to some far distant land, where secure from opposition, and revenge, they might be happy in each other. But I am delaying the catastrophe too long, and will forthwith proceed to the dénouement.

To enable Isabel to carry into effect her plans for meeting her lover, it had been necessary for her to make a confidante of a servant, whom she believed to be devotedly attached to her; avarice, however, reigned triumphant in her soul, and she betrayed the secret to her mistress' father, for a sum of money. His rage at learning the disgrace thus brought upon his house, for as such he considered it, cannot be described.

I felt, but cannot paint his rage,

He determined at once upon a terrible revenge; that he might be certain of the fact, he had followed Isabel on this, their last night of meeting, and unseen, had been a witness of the lover's interview; he could scarcely restrain himself from at once rushing upon, and destroying the devoted lover, but he did so, and returned to his palace with the fixed resolve, that this meeting should be their last.

On the following night, he took measures to detain his daughter in conversation for an hour beyond the appointed time, and several of his servants were stationed at the place of meeting with orders to assassinate the unfortunate object of his wrath, on his arrival.

At the appointed hour, Fernando hastened on the wings of love, to meet his mistress; another night of beauty seemed to hallow his intent: nature was at rest, and the bright moon shone coldly down, only to light him to his death; with a light heart he entered his canoe, crossed the bay, and arrived on the opposite shore; before he had time to notice and wonder at the absence of his mistress, the assassins' daggers were in his heart; he died with her name upon his lips, and leaving him where he fell, the murderers fled.

The moment that Isabel could disengage herself from her father, she hurried to her room, and regardless of her former caution, flew to her appointment; her father watched, and at a distance fullowed her; she soon reached the spot, and oh! what a sight of horror met her eye! her lover, whom she last saw in all the radiant pride of beauty and of youth, now lay dead before her, pierced with many wounds, and covered with his blood; she threw herself frantically beside him, hoping that some spark of life might still be unextinguished. Such hopes, however, were in vain; and as the thought flashed upon her that she had been betrayed, she gave herself up entirely to the horror and anguish of the moment; it was but for an instant, however, for rising rapidly, she rushed with a frantic scream to the water's edge, and throwing herself into the depths beneath, which possessed no terrors for her, she sank to rise no more.

Her father had followed her to enjoy the sight of the betrayer of his house, (as he supposed,) lying dead before her, and to upbraid his daughter with the dishonor she had brought upon him. He was too late, he arrived but in time to see her sink beneath the wave.

The waters wild, went o'er his child
And he was left lamenting.

The cross I saw is the sole monument to the unfortunate lovers. Such is the story I listened to, and I only regret my inability to do it greater justice; such as it is, however, it is true, and many of the inhabitants still can tell of the surpassing beauty and tragic end of the fair and unfortunate Isabel de Martini.

St. Augustine, East Florida, April 20th, 1839.

EARTH AND OCEAN.

A RHAPSODY.

How beautiful, O mother earth! thy varied scenes to me:
Whether the cultured landscape smile with soften'd majesty,
Or, in thy sterner aspect, rocks in wild confusion rise

Abrupt, magnificently grand, their summits in the skies:

Whether thou gleam'st with winter's sheen, or spring's gay smile dost wear,
With summer blossoms cloth'd, or pale leaves of the dying year;

Though 'neath night's star-inwoven mantle wrapt in sacred gloom,
Or blushing in the morning light, all fragrancy and bloom,
Or basking with voluptuous looks in noontide's fervid ray,
Or smiling through thy dewy veil meekly at close of day:
Still, mother earth! in every mood, in every varied change,
My heart could almost worship thee-so wonderfully strange.

And thou, O ocean! beautiful, most beautiful thou art,
And ever to my care-worn soul fresh joy dost thou impart.
Whether fierce-wing'd with tempest-wrath, thou battlest with the sky,

Or, like a cradled infant, singest thy low-sweet lullaby :

In all thy shifting forms, I see the wonder-working skill

Of him who wakes thy wildest rage, or whispers “peace be still!"

Thou mighty reservoir! vast cauldron ! ever pouring forth

Into the spongy air thy mists to fertilize the earth;

Like the heart's life-blood bubbling through each artery and vein,

Returning by unnumber'd tubes back to the fount again;

So sea-fed clouds descend, springs gush, and rivers feed the main.

Ocean! I never gaze on thee but solemn musings fill

My eyes with tears, my heart with an unutterable thrill.

Thou two-fold emblem! of eternity thyself; thy waves

Of time, which rising from thee, find within thyself their graves.

Vast as thou art, the moon's behests thou dost perforce obey;

And as she bids, dost rise or fall, obedient to her sway.
Great moral lesson! did we thus to virtue's rule conform,
Ne'er should we mourn the wreck of peace amid our passions' storm.

LASH.