comes endurable-and the evils of existence are softened into mere shadows. Gertrude, though timid as the deer that fits over the green sward at the echo of a sound, and seeks safety in the deepest recesses of the forest at the sight of a creature of a different species, was now as calm and collected as if she had been in the reception room of Elizabeth of England. The alarm of the monk had prevented him from considering that the warmth of the apartment was not likely to aid his efforts to restore the almost suspended animation of Francisco. By the directions of Gertrude a free current of air was now admitted, and as the coolness of the evening breeze corrected the confined air within the room, she fondly fancied that the cheek of Francisco began to glow faintly with the blush of returning life. By slow degrees his respiration became perceptible, and Gertrude perceived by the slight heavings of his chest that he was recovering from the state of appalling insensibility in which she had found him. Lady Susan had taken the distracted Nina under her own care; for her 'plainings and her tears prevented Miguel from paying that attention to his patient which was at the moment highly necessary. As the breathing of Francisco became more quick and regular, the monk beheld with joy a slow current of blood flow from the orifice which had been made in his arm. Now indeed he felt that there was hope. The ecstacy of Gertrude was unspeakable, but in a moment the most trying she had preserved that calmness which, perhaps, had been the first and real cause of Francisco's restoration to life. He unclosed his eyes, and gazed on the dearest object of his tenderest affections. Gertrude imprinted a kiss on his pallid cheek, and with heartfelt delight exclaimed " He lives!" "You are beside me, love," said Francisco in a faint tone of voice. "Have I slept long, Gertrude, and was it but a dream that agitated my mind? A dream!" he continued, pressing his forehead with his hand, "a dream! Sure, wandering fancy never raised such phantasies. Let me not sleep again, lest the same horrible vision should disturb my imagination. A dream! Say, Gertrude, was it indeed no more? Give me airair-more air, ere I am suffocated. No, no, it was no dream. Bear me without, good Miguel; lay me on my father's grave-I hope to meet him in Heaven." The force of his feelings nearly stifled him. Supported in the arms of Miguel and Gertrude, he was borne into the garden of the convent, where the freshness of the night breeze imparted new vigour to his lungs. Weak as he was, he entreated Miguel to ease the agitation of his mind by imparting the particulars of that dreadful secret, to which he had so unexpectedly obtained a clue. "Were it a rich and pleasant tale, my son," said the monk, "it would joy my heart to impart delight to yours; but it is a tale that might freeze the blood of age, and chill the beating current in the veins of youth. It is a tale so sad and sorrowful, that pitying angels might shed tears at its recital, and even demons shrink aghast at a crime dark and deadly as those for which they have been exiled from the joys of Paradise, and doomed to suffer eternal torments. Wait the dawn of the morrow, my son, and then, in the presence of your wretched and almost heart-broken mother, the sad story shall be repeated, on your promise to abide by my counsel." Francisco bowed his head. He was resolved not to make any promises which he might perhaps have reason to regret. The morrow, then, was to end his period of probation; the morrow was to give him, for the first time, a name; the morrow was to thrill his soul with agony. Yet even that agony he courted; he had sought it for years as ardently as men seek the allurements of pleasure, for it was destined to give relief to his mind. It was difficult to persuade Nina that her son was restored to animation. Her mind wandered wildly; and horror, which had long been so familiar to her bosom, was with difficulty dislodged from its resting-place. Though dissuaded from the trial, Nina persisted in seeing her son before he left the convent for his own residence. She promised calmness and forbearance, and for once she sustained the fortitude which it cost her a severe effort to obtain. Her mind was now comparatively at ease, but Francisco's was still in chaotic confusion. The communication Francisco had so ardently desired he was not able to listen to at the appointed time. When the morning dawned it found him weak and restless, while the high fever which parched his lips and heated his blood, rendered him incapable of attending to the first wish of his heart, and the chief business of his life. It was some days ere the force of the fever subsided; and though ignorant of the real cause of his illness, the medical attendants unanimously agreed that its violence was increased by mental agitation. A strong and sound constitution, however, overcame the strength of the disease: the glow of returning health beamed over his countenance, and his eyes again sparkled with their wonted brilliancy. The kind attentions of his friends, and the unremitting tenderness and care of Gertrude, in a short time restored his mind to something like composure; and in compliance with their urgent entreaties, he consented to delay the interview with the monk till he should be pronounced convalescent. It was a degree of self-denial to which he could with difficulty bring himself to accede, but it was the request of Gertrude, and he had not the power to refuse anything she asked. was convinced that in making the request she was guided by prudence; her affection for him had been severely tried, and it was his duty now to cherish life for the sake of her who lived but for him. He Lady Susan had received letters from some of her friends in England. Her departure from the Castle had caused a great sensation in the Court circle, by whom she was honoured with soubriquets innumerable; for she was now as much envied for the daring spirit she had displayed, as she had previously been for her beauty and her attractions. The Earl of Sutherland had protested that he would never pardon her for uniting herself with a family against whom he cherished the most inveterate hatred; and the Queen, who was chagrined at being foiled in her plans and opposed in her wishes, was said to be equally unrelenting. Poor Gertrude, who would not have ventured to brave the anger either of the Queen or her uncle without being strongly supported by her cousin, received more than her share of blame. It was reported that she was the mainspring of the whole affair. Her love for the Neapolitan was described as a degradation to the nobility of her own birth, and she was on all sides stigmatized as an ingrate to the monarch whose smiles and whose favour had at all times been lavishly bestowed on her. There was something like policy in this; for though Sir Simon de Elvis was little better than halfwitted, there were many maidens of Elizabeth's Court who would have been content to accept his hand and his fortune without making any enquiries as to the qualities either of his head or his heart. To pique the pride of the Knight of Lanham, and to traduce the fair fame of her who would not become his bride under any circumstances, was, in their opinion, the only way to attract his attention to themselves. Gertrude kindly wished them every success in their speculations, and congratulated herself on her escape from the thraldom of wedlock with a man she detested. That her uncle was enraged against her she could very readily believe, but though she was always willing to pay him every duty, she did not conceive it necessary to take misery by the hand, and clasp despair to her bosom as her friend, because it was his will she should do so. She felt that she owed a duty to herself, and that duty she was happy she had performed to her own satisfaction. It was true that she had experienced much sorrow and suffering, but still there was a gleam of sunshine breaking through the clouds in the distance, and the future might make amends for the troubles of the past. The mind that is enlightened by hope is enabled to combat with evils with fortitude. Gertrude never lost sight of its cheering beams, and those rays were as a star to her heart. A dream of Beauty! young, and pure, and fair In thy fresh girlhood; even such might be The first young muse that sang in Arcady, Hymning the Sun-God! On thy radiant hair The immortal laurel wreath, and in thine eyes The inspiration of divinest thought, All-glorious visions into music wrought, By the bright spell of heavenly Poesy. Such art thou to my heart, young aspirant To Fame undying; round thee ever lies A hallowing influence. All sweet forms that haunt A Poet's day-dreams-all pure feelings given To those whose souls indeed are "light from heav'n," Shone ever near thee from thy childhood's hour; For she who rear'd thee to so fair a flower, Lull'd thee to rest with deathless melodies, And to the echoes of her golden lyre, Thy young beart panted first for Fame and Song. Pure as the flame that lit thy sacred fire, Shall thy fair brows the undying garland wear, Be thy strains ever; then, sweet Florence, long And thy name live in gentle hearts entwined Leeds. THE PARTING. She stood upon the marble steps A tear stood in her deep blue eye, Th' emotion that she strove to hide"- That deep eye took a colder hue, Of soft, low whisper'd murmurings O'er her bright path, and taught that breast To know it could be griev'd And sadden'd by the faithlessness Of one it had believ'd. SONNET. BY MAJOR CALDER CAMPBELL. It is no solitude to be alone, From human sound and human semblance far; For I companion with each gentle star, And commune with the wild and fitful tone Of Ocean's surge-that now is come, now gone! This is no solitude: bright visions glance, Chasing each mental terror far away; Oh! that my spirit in such heavenly trance Could, for less brief a space of transport, stay! But these are wishes vain-for rapture never Dwells long with one whose dreams end sadly ever! THE NEAPOLITAN. (A ROMANCE.) (Continued from page 328, Vol. VI.) prudence in the management of the business. In compliance with the king's desire, she fixed two o'clock on the following day for an audience, which was acceded to by Louis. When the time arrived, and she was on the The result was a resolution to throw themselves upon the King's generosity and chivalrous politeness, without the intervention of Louvois. Ac-point of departing, De Gourville entered her cabicordingly, the Marchioness, at De Gourville's net, pressed her in his arms, and with an air of desire, taking up a pen, wrote the following letter mingled gravity and fondness, said -- to him: "SIRE,―I venture to address your Majesty with many apologies for the, perhaps, unwarrantable liberty which I am taking. I am interested for a young woman of rank, who depends upon your goodness and generosity to extricate her from almost overwhelming difficulties. May I request an audience for herself and me, any day and at any hour which it may please your Majesty to name? I venture to hope that two ladies, of no mean condition, will not in vain appeal to the noble heart of their sovereign. "I have the honour to be, Sire, "THE MARQUISE DE GOURVille." There was to be a court ball the next evening, to which the Marchioness was invited. She spared no pains to heighten her natural charms, which, as the reader is aware, were considerable; but she had a superior inducement than vanity; for it was desirable to make a favourable impression on the king, in order the better to serve the cause of Leonora. Choosing her opportunity, when she could do so without being observed by the busy eyes which encircled the monarch, she put this letter into his hand, saying, in a subdued voice, “I beseech you, Sire, to do me the honour of reading that note in private." Louis started-stared, and by his look seemed to think her bereaved of her senses; however, he bowed, took the paper, and promised to obey her. There was an air of mystery in her manner which induced him, notwithstanding his extreme curiosity, to know more of her (for her name was all with which he was acquainted), to abstain from singling her out with his attentions or visible observation, lest he should betray her to the inquisitive and jealous gaze of the men and women belonging to the court. Extremely impatient to learn the contents of her note, he retired early; and the next morning an answer was brought Madame de Gourville to the communication. It was as follows:: "MADAME,-You do me honour by selecting me as the depositary of your secrets; and I trust I shall not prove myself unworthy your confidence. I beg you will name any day and hour that may suit your own convenience, and that of your friend for an interview, and if it is in my power I will conform myself to it. I hope to be able to arrange this affair to your own satisfaction, and that of the lady for whom you are interested. "I have the honour to be, Madame, &c., "LOUIS." There was something in one particular phrase | of this letter which did not exactly please either De Gourville or the Marchioness; however, they had gone much too far to recede, and the Marquis had nothing to do but trust to Madame de Gourville's "Go, my Félicité, and introduce your friend; but remember how much is committed to your discretion. Throw aside your enfantillage, and summon all your excellent sense. Recollect," and anxious whisper, "that all my peace and continued he, lowering his voice to an impressive happiness depend upon your conduct." He kissed her affectionately, at the same time grasping her hand with a force which went to her heart. She read all his thoughts in a moment. "Fear nothing, my dear Gourville," said she, shedding tears, "if I could forget what is due to myself I could never-forget-you." She then drove away, and called for Leonora, who lodged in disguise at a house recommended by the Marchioness, in the Rue Colombier. But a fresh difficulty was started. Leonora, who had resumed a masculine garb since the attempt to arrest her, objected to appear in it before the king. "No," said she, "I cannot consent to it; I particularly in this unworthy and improper dress. must not present myself before a foreign King, How deeply am I sunk!" Here she was falling into one of those paroxysms of shame and regret, which sometimes mastered her faculties; but recollecting the important busiher self-possession, she succeeded in calming her ness in which it was necessary she should call up irritable feelings. The Marchioness proposed Leonora with a female dress. driving back to her own hotel, and furnishing moiselle, and the coachman will never recognize Neapolitan, and executed. Gourville enquired for the grand chamberlain, and "Monsieur le Chamberlain," said she, with that air of modest assurance which was natural to her, "his Majesty has granted an audience to me and a friend of mine to-day. May I beg you will have the complaisance to signify to him that we wait his pleasure?" "Certainly, Madame," replied he, and then quitted the room, and proceeded to the king's private apartments. CHAP. XVI. On being informed of the arrival of Madame de Gourville and her friend, Louis ordered the grand chamberlain to introduce them into his cabinet, whither he immediately went to receive them. He had remained there a few minutes, when one of the ushers entered with Leonora and Madame de Gourville, who each made a profound curtsey to the king. He returned it by a low bow, and paused a few moments to contemplate two of the loveliest young women he bad ever beheld, and who were still more striking from the extraordinary contrast they exhibited to each other. Both, how ever, had that air of innocence which can scarcely be counterfeited, at least so as to deceive a prac-prising to me that your brother was not aware of tised eye. Louis was aware of it, and settled, in his own mind, that they were at the worst imprudent and thoughtless young people, but utterly destitute of the spirit of licentious intrigue. Requesting them to be seated, and taking a chair himself on their complying, he addressed himself to Madame de Gourville, and begged to know the nature of her request. "Will it please your Majesty to hear it from that young lady, who is no other than Signora Leonora di Colonna, the sister of the prime minister at Naples?" At these words the king's countenance assumed a cold severity, completely at variance with the obliging politeness he had shown hitherto; but bowing to Leonora, he said—“ Mademoiselle, I am all attention: I trust you will be able to clear yourself from the charge of having set my commands at defiance." "Sire," replied Leonora, with cool, energetic dignity, “I am a foreigner-I am a female, and I am born of a noble house: for these reasons, I must confess that I expected protection, and not arrest, when I crossed the frontier, and set my foot in your Majesty's kingdom." misfortunes, and admire your conduct. I know not what the world may think of it, but it appears to me the very essence of self-denying affection. I sincerely hope that the object of so much love is not wholly unworthy of it. I agree with you, that if you return to Italy unmarried, it will strike the death-blow to your honour. It is now surthis. I revoke the lettre de cachet, and will send for Count Colonna, as soon as he is sufficiently recovered from his wound, to entreat his consent to your marriage with Signor di Gozzi. In the meantime, Mademoiselle, as you will, I think, be safer from persecution here than anywhere else, may I request your acceptance of apartments in the Château? You shall be lodged near the Queen, and placed under her special protection. Do you consent to this?" Leonora bent one knee to the ground; the king raised her up immediately, and she accepted his offered kindness in terms of the most enthusiastic gratitude. The king then sent for the queen, introduced Leonora to her, and in about half an hour more the conference ended, by her leading away Leonora to her own apartments, and Madame de Gourville respectfully and gratefully taking her leave. CHAP. XVII. Leonora remained a month at Versailles, and greatly endeared herself to the queen: at the end of that period the Count di Colonna, being recovered from his wound, attended the king by his Majesty's desire. The minister could scarcely contain his indignation within the bounds of respect, when Louis entreated his consent to the marriage of Leonora and Gozzi. "But, Signora, allow me to represent to you, and without accusing me of impertinence, the circumstances under which you enter this country. You have, I grieve to say, abandoned your family, your noble brother, your rank, and, let me add, lowered your own dignity-and for what? To "Good God!" exclaimed he, "does your follow into exile an outlaw!-a shame to his Majesty forget that a price is set upon his head? country, and a disgrace to human nature !—a—" Shall I give my sister's hand to the blackest vil"Hold, Sire! hold!" cried Leonora, consi-lain that ever breathed? No, Sire, do not require derably agitated. "Do you wish to tear my heart from my breast? Cease, if you are a man-if you have a spark of mercy in your soul!" "Calm yourself, Mademoiselle," returned the king, "I am sorry to have agitated you in this manner; but reflect-you will find that I have spoken no more than the truth. Your brother pursues you-he comes to me; he represents the utter ruin to which you are exposed, and begs, almost on his knees, that I would grant a lettre de cachet to enable him to secure, and conduct you back to Italy. What could I do but acquiesce?" "Will your Majesty condescend to listen to my melancholy story?" returned Leonora. "Certainly; I beg you will relate it." Leonora then began the mournful tale, and recounted it, without omitting a single particular, with the exception, indeed, of glossing over those passages of self-devotion, which she could not dwell upon without the weakness of self-praise. The king's features varied with the narrative: tears gathered in his eyes; and when she had concluded, he hid his face in his handkerchief. It was several minutes before he could command his voice to speak with composure: at length he said— Signora, I cannot express how much I pity your 66 me to comply with a request which would disgrace my family so irretrievably." "But, Count, your sister is disgraced if she does not marry this man," replied the king. "Then she shall bury her dishonour in a cloister," returned the Count, whilst indignation and shame were burning on his brow. "Hold, Sir; the young lady is now under my care; I will never desert beauty and innocence in distress. She threw herself upon my generosity; I will never give her up to be immured in a convent-I am master here." These words were pronounced with an air of decision and authority, which admitted of no reply. Colonna seemed ready to burst with suppressed rage. "Keep her, Sire, and I wish your Majesty joy of the bargain!" said he, with a bitter smile," but never will I consent to so worthless and infamous a match." So saying, he bowed to the king, and abruptly quitted the room. Louis, notwithstanding he was extremely provoked at the bold opposition of Colonna to his wishes, could not conceal from himself that there was considerable room for palliation in his conduct. The minister immediately set off for the court of his sovereign, to whom he bitterly complained of what he called the tyrannical conduct of the king of France; his relation considerably incensed the Italian prince; but though he felt the affront as if offered to himself, he knew that it would be madness to resent it. Louis was in the very zenith of his fame; his conquests had rendered him the arbiter of Europe; and the king of Naples was too wise to bring the force of his displeasure on his people and himself, in order to avenge a private quarrel. He therefore consoled his minister as well as he was able, but dropped no hint of an intention to interfere otherwise than by mediation, which he gave Colonna hopes might possibly take effect. In the meanwhile Louis resolving to leave Leonora at liberty to follow her own plans, did not even suggest to her any particular line of conduct. But her mind was bent upon an immediate marriage for many reasons, which the reader may not require an explanation of here; amongst them was the precarious state of Gozzi-his unsettled mind, bordering upon insanity, and his ruined constitution, which rendered it necessary that he should be under the care of some one whose prudence might avert a relapse; and Leonora was too well aware that, with the exception of the Marquis and Marchioness, she was his only friend. This intention was communicated to the king and queen, who giving their approbation, Leonora wrote to Gozzi, and requested he would come to Versailles. No answer was returned to this communication, and Leonora thinking that the letter had never been put into his hands, wrote again in the same terms, and sent her note by a confidential servant of the queen's, being very particular in her directions that it was to be delivered to no one but himself. The messenger returned, and gave a note to Leonora, who tearing it open with avidity, found it written in a "My darling Leonora! Come and see me for the last time-a last embrace will soothe me; my resolution is strong, violent. What are the hopes of the blessed? Oh, horror indescribable! Igrasp The rest was utterly illegible. them-I die." had been allotted for her accommodation, and Leonora rang the bell, ordered the coach which drove without hesitation to the Rue St. Bénaît, where Gozzi had lodgings. She was shown into a room. She descried him sitting by the fire, apparently sorting cards, and tossing over chessmen. His sunken and usually settled crimson, which mantled near the eye, but pallid cheeks were partially coloured with a deep the rest of his countenance retained its accustomed ghastly hue. His pale thin lips were apart, and muttering to himself, and the horrible and insane expression of the eye sent a cold chill to the heart of Leonora ; but terror, which would have shaken her had she been in the presence of any other in whom these alarming symptoms manifested themselves, was now lost in affection. She advanced, threw herself on his breast, clasped him fondly voice every kind expression which warm attachin her arms, at the same time uttering in a soft impulse-she wished to unlock his heart, to soften ment dictated. Nor was this entirely the effect of his emotions, to reduce him to tears if possible; she had never seen him weep during his whole embrace, but rather with the kindness of a brother melancholy sojourn in France. He returned her in order to read his eye; its blighting expression than with a lover's warmth. She raised her head, remained the same. she, "I have something to say to you." conversed in the same manner; but she studiously She placed herself on a sofa near him, and still avoided alluding to their early youth. He did not appear to comprehend what she was saying; hand so broken and tremulous that she could not he continued with an air of abstracted indifferdecipher it. In vain did she pore over this comence to sort the cards, and count over the chessmunication with an aching head and a heart men. One look of that deep agony, which seems to agitated with suspense; she could only make out, after the most painful exertion, the following in-brow of Leonora, but by a strong effort she comturn the course of the very life-blood, crossed the dark terrupted words "I have-my Leonora-Alas! I-when your heart-despair-and the mercy-a bloody death. Gozzi." posed her countenance. She took her lover's small ring made of plaited hair upon his finger? hand in her own-what was her surprise to see a She had herself braided it in former years, and intended it for a young friend, her companion in Her only hope was that the king or queen could the convent where she was brought up. She had read it; but his Majesty was driving in the park missed it; she never knew its destination till the with some ladies of the court, and the queen was present moment; her eyes overflowed. What the gone to Paris. Leonora thought it best to arts of affection could not accomplish, the symdespatch the same messenger again to Gozzi pathy of nature effected. Gozzi turned his looks with another note from her, purporting that she on the wet eyes of Leonora, and then they caught could not read his, and begging him to endeavour the ring. A deep sigh heaved his bosom, he took to write his intentions in a more legible manner. both her hands, and clasped them in his own. The page, taking up the note, proceeded again But Leonora still studied the expression of his without delay to Gozzi's lodgings. Leonora eye, which she never neglected; and had so long awaited his return with that restless impatience, practised this scrutiny that she could translate that rising of the heart which is positive pain-every change, every look, every shade of feeling, that mixture of exhaustion and excitement which is common to the union of irritated nerves and mental anxiety. At last the page returned-he brought a note almost as unintelligible as the preceding one, which Leonora received, and read with a breaking heart. with a certainty which never deceived her. She observed, at this moment, returning reason, and mentally thanked the Almighty for the blessing. She thought it would be hazardous to press at that moment an immediate marriage, and therefore did not mention the subject. |