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dark foreground of the strong light from an immense pering from her shoulders, and which were slightly sened, with her face buried in her hands, and a pile of burning logs on the rough-built chimney- gathered at the waist, were a quantity of colored low sob escaping from her. I arose and approached place, was as uncouth and wild a specimen of and misshapen rags, but which, as in the strong her. humanity as were the witches of Macbeth. With light and shadow caused by the bright fire-light, "For what do you weep?" inquired I, laying some misgivings, I ventured to ask for protection and from the exquisite artistic effect which every my hand on her shoulder. She started, and from the night for myself and steed. rag draperied the statue-like figure, made up a pic- turned her face towards me, now suffused with ture for picturesque and romantic effect I never tears. She meekly pointed to a few red stripes on before saw equalled. You have observed this same artistic effect produced by some of your friends, and which quality, I must say, you possess in an emi

"Thee canst have it, mun," replied she; "thee canst have it; I be a sair sad woman, but its little harm you could be doing to me. Come from the night air, mun."

"But what shall I do with my horse, good wo-nent degree, in which the commonest articles of

man?"

"Bring him in wid ye. The's a warm corner for him, and some straw scra'ings he may chaw on. It's sorry comfort I have for mun or baste."

dress are allowed to gracefully drop into a combina-
tion of folds, at once inimitably elegant and artistic.
But this figure seemed a statue, robed as though a
sculptor would set off the white, swelling beauty of]
his marble with the contrast of dark, misshapen
rags; but which, as arrayed by an eye ever seeking
for poetic effect, unconsciously assumed a nameless
but striking grace. The sculpturesque beauty of
her attitude bore out the seeming.

her arm.

"You have been beaten," said I.
"Yes."

"Are you often so?"
"Alas! very."

"For what cause?"
"I do not know."

Her replies, though brief, were soft and low.
"Are you this woman's child?"

"I do not even know that, sir."
"Nor your name?"

"Willie."

Without replying to her singular invitation, I stepped into the strong light, and after some persuading, induced my somewhat alarmed companion to follow me. The building was of large size, built of rough-hewn logs of immense proportions, with narrow slits for windows, the hard-pressed sod for a floor, a high ceiling supported by ponderous beams -all, walls, floor, ceiling, brown and greasy with sculptor, was as defined and firm as if of marble. wood; but when I'm beaten, because we are cold

One foot rested flatly and firmly on the sod, and its shape and clear chiselling, as if just fresh from the

"Willie! Why, that's a boy's name."

It is, sir? I didn't know that; but I am always called Willic-that is, when we have bread and and hungry, which is very often, I'm called sad, sad

names."

"Have you always lived with this woman?" “I don't remember, but I think always.”

age, but at that moment bathed in a ruddy glow. The left rested slightly on the ground and inclined I led my animal to one corner, and, after securing towards the other, the pedestal on which the body him, began to speculate on the uses of the building. rested. The attitude, the exquisite blending of light "But how do you obtain your living?" After having examined more completely, observing and shade, the drapery of rags, made up a wild and "By begging, sir, in B. But when there are the broad stairway of rough logs, which led to the singular picture. But as the eye wandered up the heavy snows and rains, we can't reach B—, nor upper floors--how many I couldn't guess-it seemed, figure and rested on the face, admiration was enobtain wood to burn in the forest; so, sir, we are evitably, to be one of the block-houses frequently hanced by wonder. A more perfectly beautiful one very cold and hungry." seen in that part of the country, and which were I never saw. The black locks fell down in great used, in the early history of the State, as a retreat masses; a heavy frame casting a dark shadow on for security, by the families of the frontiers, when the face, save where the light penetrated through it I found she could tell me nothing of her parentanticipating an attack from their Indian enemics. and lit up the features in a wonderful kind of glow-age, nor with her relation with this woman. I The narrow windows, placed high in the walls, the ing light; the chin and lips surrounded by a halo, became so deeply interested in her, that I proposed range of loop-holes beneath them, and the great and the eyes beaming out of shadows dark as Cere- she should leave that place and be under my protecdimensions of the building, bore out the supposi- bus. It was a picture of harmonious and subdued, tection. She sprang to her feet with enthusiastic but of almost unearthly beauty. Add to this, my joy, and her glorious features, her deep, eloquent dear niece, an expression of sad melancholy, and eye, were all lightened up with an expression of conceive, if you can, the scene, the figure, and, fervent delight I assured her that she should, and above all, the face; for it is one in which you are urged her to return to her rest. She slowly comgreatly interested plied, and I again flung myself down on the horse"Me, uncle !" blanket, but did not sleep again. I could but muse over my strange adventure.

tion.

The only furniture at present in the cabin, was an old table, a few three-legged stools, and, on a board shelf, a few rough specimens of earthenware. Availing myself of a stool, I took a seat at some distance from the fire. Meanwhile the old woman had been hobbling about and occasionally addressing some remarks to a person who appeared to be concealed behind a tattered cloth that was suspended across one corner of the cabin.

"Good woman," said I, after a pause, "can you provide me with something to eat no matter what -brown-bread or potatoes?"

I

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"Almost as soon as the first dawn of light began to penetrate the narrow windows far above me, the old hag hobbled out from behind the screen. I immediately began to negotiate for the possession of the beautiful wild girl. The old woman surveyed me at first with a sinister lock, and was very obstinate in her replies. But, by dint of importuning, tempting offers of gold, &c., she at last grew more yielding, and I secured the possession of the girl. In an hour's time we were both seated on my horse, and riding rapidly towards B, where I procured for her suitable clothing. We remained there for two days, and then started for Albany. In a week more I left her at a seminary on the banks of the Hudson, with directions that she should be instructed in every branch of education and in every accomplishment."

"Don't interrupt me. I shall never forget that occasion, nor will you. I sat examining this strange appearance for some time, lost in wonder and admiration, when the sharp, harsh voice of the hag aroused me from my reverie. The figure for still it seemed, so breathless had it stood started at the words of her companion, and, hastily removing Instead of replying to this, she addressed a sharp the dishes I had eaten from, disappeared behind the remark to the person concealed behind the screen, screen. For a full hour I anxiously waited for her and presently received from behind the same screen reappearance, but she did not come; and, after fruita wooden dish of potatoes and a thick slice of cold less efforts to draw from my hostess some particuvenison. As I addressed myself to this repast, lars relative to her history, I spread my horse-blanket thought over my singular situation, and pictured all on the ground before the fire, and, with my saddle kinds of dangers and all kinds of delights arising for a pillow, thanked fortune I was so well accomfrom my adventure. I had finished my supper, and modated. I lay for some moments, thinking of my was fast sinking into a reverie; when, as I suddenly singular companions; but the fatigue of the day and raised my eyes from contemplating the fire, there the genial heat of the fire soon caused me to drop stood before me, at the opposite side of the cabin, a into a deep slumber. I remember being disturbed most singular being; a very Phidian in rags. It by low moans, and of a noise, as if some one were "Oh, I see," broke in Kate; "she became your was the figure of a young girl of about fourteen weeping at my side, or of a kind of dream of these wife! What a dear, delightful way of getting a years, standing motionless, with her eyes fixed with things, when I was suddenly and fairly awakened by a steadfast gaze upon the ground. Her lower limbs a low cry. I listened, and it was repeated. I were bared, almost to the knees; her shoulders were started into an upright position, and there was the also uncovered, but these were partially concealed young girl, seated on the rough stone hearth on by the long black locks that swept over them. Dra- which the fire was burning, now considerably les

wife. I should so love to get a—; that is, if i were a man, I mean!"

"She did not become my wife," replied Uncle Bob, solemnly.

"No!"

"She became thy mother, child."

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'My mother!' exclaimed Miss Kate, in utter astonishment. Then you were not married, after al:?" "Yes, I was,” replied he, and he shaded his face with his hands. When he resumed, his voice was tremulous.

bright and her cheek flush at the sound of his voice;
when I saw the rapturous gaze he would bestow
upon her, and even upon a time saw her arms twined
about him,-then, then I knew my fate, dismal,
wretched as it was. I strove to forget my love: I
could as well have stilled the wide sea. I hoped to
think of her as a sister: my heart would not be con-
trolled.

well the noble form and the youthful face of my brother was winning into her heart. And then there grew up within me this demon, jealousy. I struggled against it, God knows I did! but still it slowly grew upon my heart. And yet I loved him, loved him with a passion, even while I could not bear his "I called her Mary. The eagerness and avidity presence; and a tender word spoken by him to Mary with which she applied herself to her studies rapidly racked me as though a fury breathed it. I trembled overcame all obstacles; and in a short time she was lest I might learn to hate him, and would avoid him; possessed with the rudiments of the different but that only threw him more into her society, which branches. I visited her regularly once a month, and thought was a hell. But when they began to take on each occasion would be astorished at both the long walks at twilight and by moonlight, and dwelt mental and physical advancement she would mani-long in favorite spots; when I marked her eye grow fest. She grew more beautiful, because the intelligence fused into her mind so chastened what was once an expression of fire, and so stirred up the deep fountains of thought, that there ever beamed from her countenance a soft and gentle expression of love and feeling. The great spirit of the past, embodied in history, as transmuted by the alchemy of intelligence to her mind, pervaded her nature and swayed the impulses of her intellect. Great actions, wherever enacted, became to her enshrined as a chivalrous glory, to which she rendered a willing worship. Nor was it this alone that she was led to admire. The sciences were to her the embodiments of abstract ideas, the interpretation of unwritten law. Society, so new, so rosy, and so fascinating, contributed a large share to the sentiment of her mind; association was romance; friendship, a golden field, inexhaustible in its resources. But, above all, was her subtle power in detecting and large appreciation in securing truth. Biased by no secular or hereditary prejudices, and unconscious of scepticism, her lofty intellect looked clear and far abroad upon the great principles of truth, written in all things of nature, and which are as 'general as the casing air,' and comprehensive as eternity.

"A nature warm, ardent, and buoyant ; a mind all glowing with sentiment and feeling; a form as light and waving as a fairy's, with a beauty that seemed the inspiration of a dream,—was it a wonder that I grew to love her? Day by day her form grew upon my heart, and filled my thoughts.

"Meanwhile, my brother had grown up to be a noble-looking youth. There was that about him which attracted me to him with a deep and earnest affection. Mary had reached her eighteenth year ere I made my brother acquainted with the fact of my having a protege; and then, so urgent was his solicitation to know her, that I yielded, and took him with me on one of my periodical visits. He admired her much, and from that time always accompanied me. Not long after, I removed her from her school residence, and introduced her into the household of my step-mother. From that moment dated my misery; from that moment I saw, bloom by bloom, all the hopes and joys of my heart wither and decay. "The first truth that forced itself upon my mind was, that Mary looked upon me with profound respect and filial affection only. Yes, I was much her elder; I could even detect the gray hairs mingling with my black; the blush of youth had fled from my check, and its buoyancy from my heart. I was too old, much too old. for her all-glorious youth. Her bright beauty was no mate for one rapidly verging on to the 'sere and yellow leaf.' And as this consciousness gradually grew upon me, I began to mark how

"Thus time passed on. And she, artless, innocent, unconscious of the misery she inflicted, would at times fling her arms around me, and, with her cheek almost next to mine, would gently whisper, Dear Brother,' in tones that so thrilled me, I would break away from her, choking with emotion. Oh, how I cursed my mad fancy, and beat at my burning brain, to think how pure and confiding the trust and love she put in me, thinking me as one who loved her with all a brother's care; and I to return this trust and fondness with a wild and guilty passion! Yes, it was guilty-madly guilty-at times. There were moments when every fiend seemed whispering to me-when every accursed wrong was urged upon me. Thank Heaven! that while I could not subdue my nature, I never yielded to that which would have sent me crawling, loathsome, broken-hearted, to a villain's grave!"

I

oaths of sincerity and affection, were as false, then, as are yourself. You thought to blind me. while you robbed my peace. You've played a frank part, an innocent one, a gentle, affectionate part, even while you planned how you might snatch from me the worth I had found!'

"Brother Robert!' broke from him.

"I know what you would say. You will plead ignorance; that you knew not that I loved; that you thought not, dreamt not of it! But that, I say, is false !'

666

'That you loved!'

"That I loved! Can't I love as other men love! Have I not the same right to love that my younger, handsomer, and falser brother has? Had I not in this the most right to love? Had I not plucked her from a very desert of wretchedness-a world of misery and woe-to engraft accomplishments on her native beauty, and to enrich her mind with thought and knowledge? Have I not fostered in her mind great qualities and great virtues? Have I not preserved it pure and glad, through sin that surrounded, and vice that tempted? Brought I not to the light the treasure which, fool, fool that I was, I betrayed to you? Was it not mine? You knew that it was mine; you knew how much I valued it; and so you stole it from me--so you robbed me!'

"She had risen from the floor, and stood before me, with her arm upon my shoulder. She had risen from the floor, with her hair dishevelled, which fell in masses over her cheek, and a strong light from a fire in the room, then playing through it, showed me the face as I had first seen it—as I always see it now. Her eyes looked sorrowfully up, and she spoke still more sorrowfully: 'Robert, let us talk about this calmly.'

"I buried my face in my hands, in very shame. I heard a momentary whisper, and when I looked up, we were alone. She was very pale, and very serene, and came to me, still looking sadly into my face, and spoke slowly:

666

"Well, one day they came to me, hand in handtwo children, both with blushes on their cheeks, and their happiness all blazing in their eyes. They Brother, if you had spoken of this before—if I came to me as one unmoved by passion, as one had but guessed as much before I saw your brother serene and calm, to pronounce upon their wishes-I never would have seen him again. If, when I and judge of their hearts; as a father who should first saw him, I had known, as in thoughtful hours rejoice in their love, and bless it. As Charles was I had hoped it might be so, that you loved me, that speaking, and growing eloquent upon his theme, by care I might have won your love, I never would sank back into a chair-my limbs refusing to sup- have seen him again. I knew, from the first, he was port me, and my bosom pierced with anguish that attracted to me, and I loved him, mostly because he seemed to wrench and rack it. He ceased speaking, was your brother; for then deep and fervent gratiand I sat looking at him with a kind of numbness, an tude was so much in my heart, that whatever apinsensibility of despair, that seemed struck into proached to yoor goodness or assimilated to your silence by the quiet that ensued. Her eyes had been nature won my deepest admiration. But when fixed on the floor, or otherwise averted, and not hear- Charles became my daily companion, and a convicing my voice, she raised them until they met mine. I tion forced itself upon me that you, to whom I saw her cheek grow suddenly pale, and a spasm owed the service of a life, might be enshrined in my pass over it; and even while I marked her affections as a brother, deeply loved and reverenced, anguish, I could not then control the rush of my nay, was so-but that only-my passion, changed passion, but sprang to the floor as a mocking laugh | from its first channel, fretted a deeper one.' rang out from my lips. She sank upon the floor, with her face buried in her hands, while he towered over her, with his face ghastly pale, and his unmoved eye confronting mine. With arms folded on my breast, and a sullen sense of wrong and shame buzzing in my ears, I began to speak; with a heart that gave the lie to what I said, and an unborn impulse to fly from the scene, I spoke on: 'Vain boy! Presumptuous and ungrateful! Your pretended love, your many

"Now deeply conscious of my shame and the ungenerous part that I had taken, and with a keen pang to think how she might have been mine-how very near the treasure came of nestling in my bosom

how entirely my blindness had brought this suffering on me, and its consequent shame, I looked at her steadily and earnestly. Whatever my fate was to be, I only had been its architect-and so my resolve was taken.

"Mary,' said I, 'it is impossible for me to explain how much this day's doings have mortified and shamed every thought of manhood about me. To tell you how much I have loved you, and love you still-how wretched my heart has been, with a thousand contending emotions of love, jealousy, hope, and fear, until the intensity of passion blunted my sense of right, were useless now. But, from the first moment I saw your wild and wierd-like form, so marvellously lovely even beneath the rags that covered it, and first gazed into your face, so unearthly beautiful, I loved you with a wild, romantic passion. I did not know, as I ought to have known, how ill my age and sorrow and care comported with the untouched heart in your bosom; I did not feel myself so far removed from you, because your gentleness and beauty so moved and stirred me, I forgot how old I was-forgot what a poor, withered, pulseless thing was my heart, compared to yours. I see it all now. I see how what you now say was your first passion, was only gratitude and esteem, and Heaven preserved you from making a fatal mistake in that belief. My early sorrows and cares were too great for me to have known this joy; I had been too much embittered by every passion, to be purified and made happy by such a bliss your hand and your love would have conferred on me. My fate has always had too dark a shadow to have known this sunlight. But I have mastered the passion now; it lies bleeding and broken at my feet. I would I could obliterate every remembrance or suspicion of this day from your mind.'

"I went to New-York, threw myself into society, and in six months from my arrival was married. I told the lady all. She was near my own age, highly intelligent, amiable, and I entertained a sincere regard for her. With my wife on my arm, I returned to them. The astonishment they manifested was great, and even then Mary could not be induced, at first, to consent to marry Charles. She had grown thinner and paler than she was when I had left her, and had evidently suffered much. In time she yielded to our persuasions, and only with my assurance that her refusal would contribute more to my unhappiness than any thing else. No sooner was their union completed, than with my wife I started for abroad. I did not dare to trust myself with Mary. For five years we travelled, when suddenly my wife sickened and died. The blow was severe, for I had grown serenely and calmly attached to her. But scarcely was she consigned to the grave, than the terrible news arrived that both my brother and his all-beautiful wife had been swept away by a fearful malady, leaving a female infant, but a few months old. Stunned, bewildered, heartbroken by this blow, I hastened back to my native land. The terrible story had been too true.

"I immediately adopted my infant niece, and bent myself to her rearing and care. While she was yet an infant, my step-mother died. My marriage had been private, and none ever knew of it but my brother and sister. Therefore my niece grew up supposing me her bachelor uncle. And thus, through life and in the wide world, my only hope and joy is the daughter of that being I had worshipped with a love "Oh, Robert, Robert,' said she, weeping, 'why and an intensity that seems now to have been a did you not speak before?' dream of paradise."

"Mary, what is past must remain unregretted. You see how calmly I am looking and speaking now. Charles is waiting impatiently. Shall I call him?' "Robert, I can never marry him.' "Nevery marry Charles!' exclaimed I. "No, brother,' she returned, 'I cannot marry him now. While there is a thought, a pulse in my bosom, I must remember your generous devotion to my welfare; I must remember how complete are your claims upon me; how entirely my gratitude masters everything else. I cannot marry you-that would be a crime. But then I know how your generosity prompts you to lessen this disappointment. I know, Robert, what a pang it would be for you to see me the sworn wife of another. I could not take such an oath, while my gratitude so lived and so breathed in my bosom as it does now. No, no, Robert; to the being to whom I owe every good in my nature, every joy in my heart, every quality, will I devote my life and service. Solely, solely, Robert."

"She said these last words solemnly, and before I could reply, she left the room. How then I cursed my mad infatuation, which had thus brought separation and sorrow to those two hearts-both whom I loved deeply and earnestly. When next I saw Charles, he was very pale, and his eyes stared wildly. At first he accosted me with upbraidings, but suddenly broke down into a passionate burst of tears. Again I saw her, and urged her to marry Charles, but she was firm."

"There was but one course to pursue. I was determined to restore them once more. I resolved it should be done, and left them suddenly and secretly

As the old man ceased speaking, Kate suddenly twined her arms about his neck, and laid her soft cheek to his, all withered and wrinkled, and then, as she sunk upon the ground, looking upward tearfully, his own eyes grew moistened, as, pressing her fondly to his heart, his fancy again traced the saddened past down among the embers of the glowing anthracite.

Contributed to the Illustrated N. Y. Journal THE VISITATION. *

BY M. T. CARPENTER

"TIS midnight, and the silvery moon

Beams softly from on high,

And not a cloud is shadowing now
The blue yault of the sky;

And like a young bride seems the earth
All beautiful and bright,

And balmy as the breath of spring
The breezes are to-night.

Oh! who amid this lovely scene

Could breathe the fragrant air,
And deem on zephyr wings it bore
Destruction everywhere;
That all its softness was a lure,
That in its perfumed breath,
Concealed from view, in ambush lay
The messenger of death.

But see, from many a window gleams
A pale and flickering light,

• These lines were written in Jackson, Miss., during the prevalence of yellow fever in September, 1853, The population was reduced by flight, to 700, and out of that number there were 600 cases and 120 deaths.

Which tells that there are watchers there
At this dread hour of night;

And listen, mingled groan and shriek
And wild disjointed prayer,
Portentous of a spirit's flight,

Fall on the midnight air.

And thus, throughout the livelong night,
These woful sounds arise,
Though fair as young love's earliest dream
Appear the earth and skies;

And though inviting seems the breeze,
Inhale it not-beware,
Each inspiration bringeth pain,
And fever and despair.

The morning breaks, and backward now
The shades of night are rolled,
And, like a god, burst forth the sun
From out a sea of gold-
And hill and vale and leafy bower,
Bespangled o'er with dew,
Outsplendors every jewelled crown
That monarch ever knew.

Upon our city fall his beams,

Regilding dome and spire,
And burnishing the windows, till
They seem all wrapped in fire;
Yet desolate the streets appear,

As when, like sable pall,
The solemn night in silence flung
Its shadows over 'all.

The merchant has forsook his store,
The purchaser has fled,
And half of those, who lingered here,
Are numbered with the dead;
No tempting goods are now displayed
From window or from door,
For death has stilled the pulse of trade,
The strife for gain is o'er.

The morn advances-groups of men
Are gathered here and there,
Yet every care-worn face presents
Sad tokens of despair;

Their words are breathed in hurried tones,
As if scarce time were left

To question and to answer those
Not yet of life bereft.

But hark! a rumbiing sound is heard,
And each dilated eye

Is gazing on the sable hearse,
Full-freighted, passing by;

'Tis not because the sight is strange
That each one holds his breath,
For all have grown familiar with
The equipage of death.

But men, though brave, are mortal still,
And while they fear no strife
They shudder at the pall and shroud
The end of human life;

And he, who braves a thousand foes,
Who would not yield to men,
Will quail before a ghastly corse,
Which may not breathe again.

Come night, with all thy darkness, come,

I want no ray of light,

While scenes of horror and of gloom
Alone may greet my sight;
And dreaded silence, come thou too,
Shut sound from out mine ear,
Till stilled are every groan and shriek
Of agony and fear.

"Tis vain, for darkness may not hide These horrors from my soul,

Nor silence keep from out mine ear,
The hearse's heavy roll;

And while death holds such riot here,
Upon my tortured mind,
These horrid visions still would float
Though doubly deaf and blind.

ST. FLORE.

A NEW HISTORICAL ROMANCE. (FROM THE GERMAN OF HORN.)

(Continued.)

At these words, spoken in a clear and somewhat proud tone, Acevedo, turning round like one electrified, started from his seat. His eyes sparkled like fire as he looked at the young man, folded his hands nervously, and every shade of color forsook his face. A convulsive sigh escaped him, and his heart beat violently.

The Admiral did not remark his emotion, his back being turned to the astrologer; and Gui himself was too much absorbed in his new commission to heed either the action or the expression of the old man as he exclaimed

"Great God, impossible!"

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De Viole de St. Flore!" said Coligny. is a name which has a good sound in France." "It was once, however, written on the gallows at Montmartre," murmured Acevedo, shuddering, still never turning his eyes from the young man, on whom every power of his soul seemed concentrated.

sorrow, for a peace shone on his countenance, which the crowd, and often brooded in solitude over his
came from another source.
lost father and his blighted love.

One afternoon Maugiron had invited him to an entertainment which he proposed to give his brother officers, but Gui, feeling his spirits so unequal to the scenes of festivity, excused himself, resolving to enjoy an hour's seclusion and quiet.

Coligny now turned to Acevedo, and said— "In truth, master, we might almost envy the dead patriot the love and regret of so brave a son." During this scene some officers in an adjoining apartment appeared to have heard sounds of woe; for one of them, curious to discover the cause, made He longed to breathe again the fresh, free air of some pretence to enter the apartment, when it was the quiet country, and accordingly bent his steps evident by a smile, as he glanced at the weeping towards the gates of Orleans; and after hastily youth, that this manifestation of sorrow excited passing the line of their tents with throngs of busy only contempt in his heart. jovial soldiers, he at last was out of the sound of Coligny, on whom nothing was lost, observed the mirth. At no great distance he discovered a hill, the sides of which, clad with trees, promised an "Captain," he said, "have you a father whom agreeable resting-place. you love tenderly ?" The captain quailed beneath the glance of the spread a glowing red light over the heavens, and Admiral, as he answered in the affirmative.

look.

"This young man has lost a father, then, of whom he and all France were justly proud. Of this loss he has only just become acquainted through me. Let me tell you a piece of news which you will do weil to remember,—that he who never sheds a tear will never merit one. Leave us; we would be alone."

Gui now looked up.

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I feel," he said, “my lord, that my demonstra"Then you are doubtless the son of our late pa- tions of grief, however natural, are out of place here triotic senator, he who suffered so nobly in the cause-forgive me!" of truth. Is it not so?"

"His only son," replied Gui, his bosom swelling with the proud knowledge that he might call such a patriot father.

The old man's head meanwhile sank on his breast and covering his eyes, he breathed a fervent prayer for strength to bear the trial laid upon him.

"Thrice welcome, then, to our ranks," said Co

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ligny, offering his hand to Gui. May the faith
and courage of thy noble father be revived in thee,
his son.
But yours was an early loss, young man;
and France may well shed tears of blood over the
grave of the noblest son she ever owned. And our
holy religion, what has that not lost, for with him
fell its foremost and truest adherent? He was
worthy to have stood by Beza's side at Poissy, and
then greater would have been our triumph there.
You have indeed before you an example of true
nobility of soul, of which, as a son, you cannot he
too proud. Cherish his devoted ardor, and France
will repay you with warmest gratitude."

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"You spoke of my father as in his grave," said Gui, turning pale. God grant this is not true." "Is it possible," replied Coligny, "that the news of the good man's death has never reached your ears?

The sun was about to set. Its departing rays

lighted up the city of Orleans and its mass of buildings in wonderful brilliancy. There lay the camp, with its busy inhabitants, and the beautiful Loire, like a broad silver band, glittered in the valley below; but all the natural loveliness of the scene failed to comfort or delight Gui, for he could but think of himself as a lonely being in a world so beautiful.

The sun now went down-the rosy tints faded from the sky-and soon the sombre, gray mantle of approaching light enveloped the prospect. A faint, purple streak in the horrizon was all that re

darker was the shadow on the young man's soul. Suddenly a horny hand was laid on his shoulder, and the words, "Salam alecum!" were whispered in his ears.

"You have no reason to be ashamed of your feel-mained of the sunset glory, and darker and yet ings," replied the Admiral. "The greatest hero need not blush at the tear of affection. Your loss is, I know, irreparable; but if you need a father's counsel and a father's help, apply to me; it is at your command."

Acevedo now rose and said to Gui-
"Will you not take a friend's hand, young man,
in token of sympathy?"

The young man offered his own frankly, but
could scarcely refrain from a smile at the abrupt-
ness of the request.

Acevedo grasped it fervently, and turning to Coligny said "My Lord Admiral, command my heart's blood, it is yours!" and, hastening from the apartment, soon left the house.

66

'Strange, mysterious man!" observed the Admi-
ral; "how cruel a fate is that which has encrusted
a naturally noble heart with so hard a rhind."
Gui ventured to ask who he was.

"That is more than I can tell you," replied the
Admiral; "Thus much I believe, that he is an
honest man."

Coligny now called the officers, and introducing

"Who art thou, that darest to break in on my solitude?" exclaimed Gui, grasping his sword,

"A bitter hour in thy lire is come, Gui de Viole," replied Adelma, for it was indeed the gipsy. "I am come with it, as I promised, to say peace be with thee!"

"Dost thou come to mock my misery ?" said Gui, reproachfully.

"How like thy father!" returned the old woman. "Thou would'st fain drive all hearts from thee; but do not so, my son. Adelma might spurn theemight reproach thee, Gui-for thou hast dug graves for many of her children; but she chides thee not. The sons of the desert curse thee. Not so Adelma. As the child of thy father, thou inheritest the love which was his. She mourns with thee, Gui, if he is dead. It may be that he is, but the dead do not rise. Be strong, therefore, my son," and here her voice lost its wildness. "The cup is a bitter one, but I have drank it with thee. My heart since then

been a stranger. Faint not-faint not! Tarry not here,-a voice calls thee. Adieu!"

How grieved I am to have told it to you so sud- Gui to them, recommended him to their friendship, has been at peace-a calm to which it had hitherto denly. Yet it is even so, and we cannot recall him. and took leave of the youth with hearty goodwill. Your brave father is no more. I received tidings The warm recommendation of Coligny insured of his death some little time since through Du Gui a favorable reception from the officers; and Plesis Mornay, one of your father's most attached the first few days of his stay at Orleans passed. pleasantly enough, so far as outward circumstances could contribute to his comfort; but his heart was very heavy and lonely, and he often felt the need of sympathy and affection.

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The astrologer looked on in silence, and it was Maugiron was noble and good, he admired and with no little difficulty that he restrained the impulse respected him; but from his superior age and posito clasp the mourning one to his heart. His face tion he stood yet some distance from the young was greatly agitated, his lips trembled, tears stood heart of Gui, and he felt that he could not even to in his eyes also; but they were not the tears of him unbosom his feelings; so he lived alone even in

Adelma was right; his name was pronounced at no great distance. The gipsy vanished; and as he bent his steps homeward, his servant met him with the information that his colonel, Mouvans, had sent three times to his quarters, summoning him to his presence. He lost no time in hastening to the Colonel, and, as soon as he entered his apartment, where he was seated in company with three military men, one with evident marks of belonging to the royal army, Gui was quite puzzled. He could not conceive how it was that Mouvans, with his fervent

Protestantism, could be sitting in such familiar intercourse with an enemy to the cause; but the riddle was about to be solved. Mauvans and Maugiron looked serious.

"You have kept us some time waiting for you," said the Colonel, gently. "Where can you have

been?"

"I am extremely sorry," returned Gui, apologetically," that I was not within call; the truth is, that I am accustomed to lead so free and roving a life at home, and to pass so much of it in the open air, that I have felt of late, at Orleans, as though I could scarcely live without such a luxury; but I must entreat your forgiveness."

"It is the first time, and we must pass it over," observed Maugiron, kindly, when Mouvans at once began to introduce the stranger to the youth's notice.

MISCELLANY.

And now Gui entreated to hear the particulars of his father's last days. They were, indeed, soon told, for the information which Du Plessis had received THE COSSACKS.-In the fifth century, Bishop of them was but scanty. When he found that all Sollius writes of this people as follows:-"The hopes of discovering Gui's retreat were at an end, Cossacks are a terrible race, both in soul and body. the tidings secretly conveyed to Du Plessis by means When quite infants they are fearful to behold. The of the Cardinal of Chatillon became less frequent. forehead is extremely narrow, the head round, two Once, indeed, a gipsy had brought some vague in-caverns instead of eyes, keen, searching glances formation to him; but not believing in her veracity, which escape thence, without our being enabled to he had paid little heed to it. Then by degrees all distinguish their origin-a power of seeing at any tidings ceased; and even Cardinal Chatillon, who distance, and yet the eye totally hidden--the skull took the warmest interest in de Viole, had failed to covered with hollows, as if the brain had shrunken discover the place of his residence in England, until Such is the hideous population of which I at length, by some accident, the intelligence of his speak. The mothers are afraid lest their children death arrived in France. should have nostrils—and, consequently, they flatten them with bandages. The Cossacks are created for battle, but maternal love deforms them, in order that their faces, without noses, enlarged by the continual pressure of the compressing bandages, should the better suit the casque.

The conversation, now terminated, and, as Du Plessis rememembered that he had not yet introduced his companion to Gui, he at once presented "Here is a nobleman, Captain de Viole, who is him, under the name of Montgommeri, formerly one making inquiries for you," he said. of the Royal Life Guards.

Gui respectfully accosted him, and observed,-
"May I ask to what cause I am indebted for this

honour?"

away.

Although Gui was somewhat astonished to observe "They are fine men, with immense chests, large the mournful and abstracted air of his new acquain-shoulders, and small waists. Not tall on foot, they tance, he was quite unprepared for the announce- appear giants on horseback. The moment a child is But there was no reply. With folded arms the ment which the officer made in the most sorrowful weaned, he is flung on horseback; and to see them, stranger stood gazing at Gui by the pale light of the tone. one would suppose that the members of the man and taper. And, after a long pause, he said,— the horse made but one existing being, so completely do they appear grown together. Other people are only carried by their horses; those, on the contrary, exist with them. The Cossack loves the bow and arrow, or the lance, and invariably attains the target."

"Yes, they are thy father's features. When I last saw you, young man, you were a little child, and a fugitive with your honored parent."

Gui waited for an explanation, whilst the words awoke a recollection within him. The very features seemed familiar, and after a few moments silence, he said, inquiringly,

"Du Plessis Mornay ?" "Even so; I am thy father's friend. But how is it possible that you can remember me, or my name?" "I saw you often in childhood, remember; and your image and memory are so connected with my own and my unhappy father's deliverance, that your image was indelibly engraven on my young

heart."

Du Plessis and Gui now withdrew.

"Between past and present-between the child Gui and Captain de Viole," observed Du Plessis, "there is such a gap that I must ask for some particulars of your history."

Gui then related to his newly-found friend, as nearly as possible, the events of his youth, enlarging, in the most grateful and affectionate terms, on

the kindness of Rabaud and Salers.

Du Plessis interrupted the narrative at this point, by asking if no inquiry had ever been made, or had come to their ears, as to the place of his retreat.

“I have a dim remembrance,” replied Gui, "that once Rabaud brought news from Grenoble that there was a search instituted for me, but in vain.

Our hiding-place was beyond our enemies' ken; and, had it not been so, I passed everywhere 23

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"Behold in me the miserable author of the late
King Henry's death,-
‚—a regicide without the will or
design of having perpetrated so horrid a deed."
Gui looked compassionately on the poor man, on
whose conscience the remembrance of this unhappy
occurrence pressed with the weight of an actual
crime; whilst Du Plessis endeavored to divert his
attention from the dejected man by entering into
conversation with him on the state of public
affairs.

Gui now learned from his friend that Montgom-
meri, who had adopted the cause of the Huguenots,
was committed to the command of the defence of
Rouen, whither he was now bound; and at Gui's
carnest solicitation, thirsting as he did for a life of
action and enterprise, he was permitted by Condé
and Coligny to accompany the expedition. Perhaps
he had not felt so light of heart for many a day as
at this commencement of his life of danger, and the
prospect held out to him of serving his native land
in this perilous undertaking.

A spy meantime having brought intelligence of the rapid progress of the Catholic army to Rouen, it demanded the utmost despatch on the part of the Huguenots to reach that city before their arrival. The journey was successfully accomplished before the forces of the Catholics came in view; and their army was at this juncture happily strengthened by a small detachment of soldiers furnished by the Maiden Queen of England.

In Turkey there are several colonies of Cossacks, which have emigrated at different epochs either from the Crimea, or the borders of the Don or Dnieper, to certain parts of the Ottoman Empire-where they preserve-since more than a century—their religion, tongue, and the institution and dress of their ancestors, under the rule of native chiefs.

The most celebrated of these colonies is that of the Cossacks of Javapores, which was associated with the designs of Mazeppa.

The Russians have preserved a warm resentment against what they term the "treason of this tribe,” and because of its emigration to the Ottoman territory. In 1775, Catherine forbade, by an ukase. that their name should be pronounced, except the first and last day in Lent-when Mazeppa and his followers were anathematised in the Préclad a sort of excommunication pronounced against the traitors

to their country.

DRINKING ALONE.-The author of the "Parson's

Daughter," when surprised one evening in his armchair, two or three hours after dinner, is reported to have apologised by saying “When one is alone,

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the bottle does come round so often." On a similar Montgommeri at once commenced vigorous pre-occasion, Sir Hercules Langrish, on being asked, parations for the defence of the ancient city. Night Have you finished all that port (three bottles) withand day he laboured, assisted by Gui and Maugiron, out assistance!" answered, "No-not quite that—I with untiring assiduity, denying himself sleep and had the assistance of a bottle of Madieira." food, in order to put the town in a state of perfect defence against the threatened attack of the Guises.

(To be continued.)

• Henry II. lost his life at a tournament given in honor of his daughter's marriage. He entered the lists with Mont

gommeri, and in the rencontre a splinter from the lance of

the former struck the King in the left eye. He died at his

palace of Tournelle, eleven days after, July, 1599.- Life of

Coligny."

NEVER prefer a great good intention to a little good action. If a poor friend wants a frieze coat, don't let him wait in his nakedness till you can give him a cloak of broad cloth.-Gerald Griffin.

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