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which were once black, glared with a “I murdered her. Who else loved light in which all colour was lost, and her so well as to shed her innocent seemed to fill the whole dungeon with blood ? It was I that enjoyed her their flashings. I saw his guilt-I saw beauty—a beauty surpassing that of what was more terrible than bis guilt the daughters of men,-it was I that his insanity-pot in emaciation only— filled her soul with bliss, and with not in that more than death-like white- trouble, it was I alone that was priness of his face—but in all that stood vileged to take her life. I brought besore me the figure, round which her into sin—I kept her in sia-and was gathered the agonies of so many when she would have left her sin, it long days and nights of remorse and was fitting that I, to whom her heart, phrenzy-and of a despair that had no her body, and her soul belonged, fears of this world or its terrors, but should suffer no divorcement of them that was plunged in the abyss of eter- from my bosom, as long as there was nity.

blood in her's,--and when I saw that For a while the figure said nothing. the poor infatuated wretch was reHe then waved his arm, that made his solved--I slew her ;-yes, with this irons clank, motioning me to sit down blessed hand I stabbed her to the heart. on the iron frame-work of his bed ; and “Do you think there was no pleawhen I did so, the murderer took his sure in murdering her ? I grasped place by my side.

her by that radiant, that golden hair, A lamp burned on a table before us, --I bared those snow-white breasts, –

and on that table there had been I dragged her sweet body towards me, drawn by the maniac-for I must in- and, as God is my witness, I stabbed, deed so call him-a decapitated hu- and stabbed her with this very dagger, man body-the neck as if streaming teu, twenty, forty times, through and with gore-and the face writhed into through her heart. She never so much horrible convulsions, but bearing a re- as gave one shriek, for she was dead semblance not to be mistaken to that in a moment, but she would not bave of him who had traced the horrid pic- shrieked had she endured pang after ture. He saw that my eyes rested on pang, for she saw my face of wrath this fearful mockery-and, with a turned upon her,--she knew that my recklessness fighting with despair, he wrath was just, and that I did right to burst out into a broken peal of laugh- murder her who would have forsaken ter, and said, "to-morrow will you her lover in his insanity. see that picture drawn in blood !”

“I laid her down upon a bank of He then grasped me violently by flowers,—that were soon stained with the arm, and told me to listen to his her blood. I saw the dim blue eyes confession,—and then to say what I beneath the half-closed lids,-that face thought of God and his eternal Pro- so changeful in its living beauty was yidence.

now fixed as ice, and the balmy breath “I have been assailed by idiots, came from her sweet lips no more. My fools, and drivellers, who could un- joy, my happiness, was perfect. I took derstand nothing of me nor of my her into my arms-madly as I did on crime,-men who caine not here that that night when first I robbed her I might confess before God, but re- of what fools called her innocenceveal myself to them,—and I drove the but her innocence has gone with her tamperers with misery and guilt out to heaven—and there I lay with her of a cell sacred to insanity. But my bleeding breasts prest to my heart, hands have played in infancy, long be- and many were the thousand kisses fore I was a murderer, with thy gray that I gave those breasts, cold and hairs, and now, even that I am a mur bloody as they were, which I had derer, I can still touch them with love many million times kissed in all the and with reverence. Therefore my warmth of their loving loveliness, and Tips, shut to all besides, shall be opened which none were ever to kiss again but unto thee,

the husband who had murdered her.

467

VOL. 4.]

Confessions of a Murderer. “I looked up to the sky. There sand times, even when she lay in reshone the moon and all her stars. signed love in my bosom, something Tranquillity, order, harmony, and whispered to me, “Murder her! It peace, glittered throughout the whole may have been the voice of Satan-it universe of God. “Look up, Maria, may have been the voice of God. For your favourite star has arisen. I who can tell the voice of heaven from gazed upon her, and death had begun that of hell? Look on this bloodto change her into something that was crusted dagger-look on the hand that most terrible. Her features were hard- drove it to ber heart, and then dare to ened and sharp,-her body stiff as a judge of me and of my crimes, or lump of frozen clay,,her fingers rigid comprehend God and all his terrible and clenched, and the blood that was decrees ! once so beautiful in her thin blue veins “ Look not away from me. Was was now hideously coagulated all over I not once confined in a madhouse? her corpse. I gazed on her one mo- Are these the first chains I ever wore? ment longer, and, all at once, I recol- No. I remember things of old, that lected that we were a family of mad- others may think I have forgotten. men. Did not my father perish by his Dreams will disappear for a long, long own band ? Blood had before been shed time, but they will return again. It in our house. Did not that warrior may have been some one like me that ancestor of ours die raving in chains? I once saw sitting chained, in his black Were not those eyes of mine always melancholy, in a madhouse. I may unlike those of other men ? Wilder have been only a stranger passing at times fiercer—and oh! father, saw through that wild world. I know not. you never there a melancholy, too woful The sound of chaios brings with it a for mortal man, a look sent up from crowd of thoughts, that come rushing the darkness of a soul that God never upon me from a dark and far-off visited in his mercy ?

***

world. But if it indeed be true, that “I knelt down beside my dead wife. in my boyhood I was not as other But I knelt not down to pray. No: I happy boys, and that even then the cried unto God, if God there be clouds of God's wrath hung around • Thou madest me a madman! Thou me,-that God may not suffer my soul madest me a murderer! Thou fore- everlastingly to perisb. doomedst me to sin and to hell! Thou, “I started up. I covered the dead thou, the gracious God whom we more body with bloody leaves, and tufts of tals worship. There is the sacrifice! grass, and flowers. I washed iny hands I have done thy will.-I have slain from blood I went to bed—I slept the most blissful of all thy creatures; yes, I slept for there is no hell like the -am I a holy and commissioned hell of sleep, and into that hell God depriest, or am I an accursed and infidel livered me. I did not give myself up murderer ?'

to judgment. I wished to walk about “ Father, you start at such words! with the secret curse of the murder in You are not familiar with a madman's my soul. What could men do to me thoughts. Did I make this blood to so cruel as to let me live? How could boil so ? Did I form this brain ? Did God curse me more in black and fiery I put that poison into my veins which hell than on this green and flowery flowed a hundred years since in the earth? And what right had such men heart of that lunatic, my heroic an- as those dull heavy-eyed burghers to cestor ? Had I not my being imposed, sit in judgment upon me, in whose forced upon me, with all its red-roll- face they were afraid to look for a mojpg sea of dreams; and will you, a ment, lest one gleam of it should right holy and pious man, curse me frighten them into idiocy? What because my soul was carried away by right have they, who are not as I am them as a ship is driven through the to load me with their chains, or to let raging darkness of a storm? A thou- their villain executioner spill my blood?

If I deserve punishment-it must rise spirit, wilt save him from eternal perup in a blacker cloud under the hand dition, whom thou now knowest God of God in my soul.

created subject to a terrible disease. " I will not kneel-a madman has If there be mercy in heaven, it must Do need of sacraments. I do not wish be with thee. Thy path thither lay the forgiveness nor the mercy of God. through blood : 80 will mine, Father! All that I wish is the forgiveness of thinkst thou that we shall meet in her I slew; and well I know that beaven. Lay us at least in one grave death cannot so change the heart that on earth." once had life, as to obliterate from Ina moment he was dead at my PHINE the merciful love of me! Spi- feet. The stroke of the dagger was rits may in heaven have beautiful bo- like lightning, and— * soms no more; but thou, who art a

CLERICAL DUTY TO MALEFACTORS.

From the Monthly Magazine. To the Editor-Sir, NHE deeds of borror and of villany his father, is told to make his peace

which have been perpetrated in with God, and the unconfessing parrithis country from the murders of the cide declares, that he has already made Marrs and Williamsons, attest a de- bis peace with God; thus Hussey, pravity Dever knowo before; and,when declaring himself innocent, is most at length worldly justice overtakes the exemplarily penitent, and writes fine criminals, we behold them dying with letters, worthy of publication ; yet, just all the paraphernalia of religious peni- at the last, by the perseverance of the tence, faith, and hope, yet without con- priest, owns the actual sin. Are mere fession of the condemning sin. Surely words to make our peace with God? the mind of every one wbo believes in Does he want us to confess to him? the all-wise, all.just God of truth, must Does the priest only wish to have his be filled with horror at the scene of owo curiosity gratified ? Is there any hypocrisy and delusion which takes meaning in a private confession to God place; while the law loses its terrors, and the priest, and from which confese and sin beguiles its fears; and wicked. sion mankind is to reap ao benefit? The ness, with greater hope, spreads further security is false, the comfort is rain, and wider. The gospel gives us one without sincerity. “ If ye love not instance of dying repeo tance, hence your brother whom ye have seen, how there is hope ; and but one, hence there can ye love God whom ye have not is fear. How different was that one seen ?” Is this the religion of truth? from any of these :-“We receive the Is this Christianity? where the convict due reward of our deeds," said the dying professes his innocence, makes bis peace malefactor before all the people ; and with God (as he and others call it,) by with his penitence, even at that late continual and fervent prayer; and now, hour, proving his faith,-“ Lord, re- when worldly hope of a reprieve, or of member me when thou comest into thya mitigation of his sentence, is past, kingdom;" while his Lord was dying on acknowledges the sin ? Were not all the cross; but among these we have his acts of penitence performed with all the outward acts of holiness, long hypocrisy at his heart, and can these prayers, and verbal professions of ge. acts avail him before the God of truth? neral sin, penitence, &c.; but the only Surely all his acts of penitence were act that can prove truth is omitted, or salsehoods,– were additional sing-in some cases delayed, till the sufferer they were but a cloak to the robber and himself is beyond the effect of it. Thus, the murderer. “I suffer the penalty of Channel, just condemned for murdering the law ; why should I involve others?

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VOL. 4.]

Recluse of the Pyrenees, a new poem. Why should I injure the reputation of acceptable to God. With what promy family, my relations,and my friends? priety can the public minister attend on I will be true to my companions--I will the convict who will not confess that not make myself the object of popular for which he is convicted? This should indignation.” Assuredly, there is no be the priest's language.-" Innocent or need of any public confession and re- guilty, truth can alone, through Cbrist, morse, if the things of this world have make your prayers of any avail; your the first place in the heart; but tbere is case becomes more and more grievous every need, if there be a hope of another and dangerous, by every appearance of world. “ He that loverb father or religion, as long as you deny the truth. mother more than me, is not worthy of If I advise you, or pray with you, or me,” says the God of trutb. There can administer the sacrament to you, I am be no faith in Christ, and hence no hope the unwilling means of evil, not of good in Cbrist, unless the penitent labours, till your heart be sincere and true. as well as he is able, to prove his truth. There is not a robber, an adulterer, or It is the first thing that the penitent is to a murderer, now rioting in full sin, and do, to confess as publicly as his con- success, and ease, whose case is not fession is likely to be of service in more favourable than your own now is, convicting sin in himself, or in others, with all your penitence, and sorrow, in shewing the debasing nature of sin and preparation for death, as long as in his own person, in making repa- you persevere in falsehood and deceit.” ratiou to the injured laws of bis coun- Most earnestly would I caution all attry, and is bringing truth to light before tending priests—their office is not to all men, though he himself may not see call the righteous, but the sinner to all the good consequences of the same, repentance; and repentance can only

Confession precedes absolution. Where be proved by the utmost sincerity, the the sin has been general, let the con- most earnest endeavours to undo every fession be so too ; but,where thesin has evil, and a constant eagerness and been particular and public, so must the anxiety to recompence, to serve, to confession be. The public and particular oblige, and to be obedient, in all the confessions of a Rousseau were most different ways in which they may procontemptible, but from a Hussey they mote any good on the part of the ofwere imperiously demanded, as that fender.

C. Lucas. justice towards man which might be Devizes ; Sepl. 4, 1818.

THE RECLUSE OF THE PYRENEES....A POEM.

From the Literary Panorama. M HIS poem is evidently an imita- had glanced upon him as he entered the

I tion of Lord Byron's style and castle ; unable to control his feelings, manner. The fable is briefly as fol. While the fresh cool air of midnight breath'd lows: Mansel, a British Officer, who around, Mansel had been left desperately wounded on left the couch where he no rest had found, the field of battle, on the Pyrenees, is

: With restless feet the corridor to pace. jn danger of being devoured by the Here bis attention is arrested by some wolves that followed the contending exquisitely sweet but melancholy notes ; armies ; but just as one of them is in and, observing a distant figure, which the act of springing on bim, the beast is he pursues in hope of meeting with the killed by a shot from an invisible hand. object of his passion, he follows these Mansel's deliverer is the Recluse, Count strains through various winding pasAlba, who conducts him to bis castle. sages, until he meets with ' a youthful and tends bis wounds with the utmost beauty' koeeling before an altar care. On his return to health, Mansel , With arms upon her bosom mcekly cross'd. begins to think on a lovely form, that While • Mansel stood, bewilder'd

and amaz'd,' Count Alba suddenly ad. Those kindred spirits, now how doubly dear, dresges him: and informs him that he When hope seem'd lost,and death was hor`ring near;

No faithful friend to read the dying eye beholds the mockery of life,'—the

That beams affection, when the tongue is dry. marble figure of the Count's departed wife, with whom he had fed from a

While lost in that dark loneliness of mind,

A moaning sound arose, like mountain vind convent. Although she escaped the

When first it murmurs in the gloomy bold, toils laid for her by her pursuers, the Where cavern'd deep it lies, benumb'd with coldterrors of excommunication, which had Again it sounds ! a fear awaking yell! been thundered against her preyed upon

As spirits of the waste, or spectres fell,

The deep voic'd echoes to the cries reply, her mind, and she died prematurely, From rock to rock in piercing shriek they fly. after giving birth to a lovely child. At length a rav’ning troop of wolves are seen, Here the poem abruptly terminates ; Shaggy and gaunt, with eyes of fiery gleam,

Rioting, on their lascious feast they break, and the anonymous author informs us,

And in the purple gore their hot thirst slake; in a note, that, “should any further cu

With foaming jaws the mangled corse they rip, riosity exist as to the ultimate fate of And from the white firm bone the soft flesh strip; these personages, (Mansel and the There, o'er a youthful form that mocks at life,

Gorging, and growling, urge they wrangling strife; Count's daughter,) the reader may per

Those manly limbs, where shone a nistehless rett, haps have some future opportunity of Disjointed, torn-are left without a tracesatisfying it.”

Like some fair temple, which the thunder-flame There is so much true poetry, and Has scatter'd wide in ruin o'er the plain delicate feeling in this production, close

Was it for this..their mothers o'er them smiled,

And kiss'd the cherub-lips of each dear child, ly as it treads in Lord Byron's steps, And felt a proud exulting joy to see that we cannot but wish the author may Each blooming blossom reach maturitybe induced to publish a second part,

. And fondly hop'd that well spent years would crean

Their honour'd heads with wisdom's hoary dowa? and finish the tale he has so ably com

Was it for this..that beauty's eyes have beam'de

w menced. We transcribe two or three Delighted with the future scenes they dream'd; stanzas, descriptive of Mansel's danger On each lov'd breast in silent rapture hung, and deliverance.

And blush'd to hear the music of each tongue ?

Now fill'd and glutted, slow they mumbling feast, Helpless he lies, upon his bloody lair,

The victors of the field.in thought at least; No comrades' watchful eye to guard him there ;

While some a banquet view, with longing eyes, Their hearts are cold, their gallant spirits flown;

Where the warm luxury of life still lies ; And, if indeed he breathes-he breathes alone

With hankering jaws around, sullen they howl, "Tis hard so say, if those pale lips still hold

Claiming the victim with a snarling growl. The beaming monarch, of his earthly mould;

He stood defenceless-Fet the cowards wait!
Or have those gaping wounds a passage given,

Resign'd he stood, to meet the blow of Fate;
For the unfetter'd soul to soar to Heaven?
Ah no! the labouring breast that deeply swells,

And yet they pause !--but not in merey there, Shows that the vital flame within it dwells

Their greedy teeth they gnash, their red eyes glare, Struggling and slow, he draws the gasping breath

Ready to spring, thronging they crouch around; That seems to wrestle with the arm of Death !

And yet they pause-as if in magie bound ! And, as returning strength warms each dull vein,

'Twas Mansel's firm, and bold, unfaltering glance The muscles quiver with awaking pain

That fixt them motionless, in harmless trance; And features too that stunn'd in torpor lay,

It was that mighty magic of the mind, Now shrink with anguish-and convulsive play,

That for a moment can the tiger bind, Yet still he sleeps-as if a spell had bound

The monarch bid of Afrie's burning sand His form in leaden slumber to the ground !

Turn baulk'd away, or check'd and daunted stand. Yet still he sleeps !--if sicep indeed it be

A moment cow'd they stood...chen with a bound, To feel-yet know not, wounds and agony:

And roaring yell that made the rocks resound,
A shaggy monster sprung...but sprung in vain,

The whistling death-shot crash'd his giddy brain ! The midnight air was clcarly cold and keen,

Dash'd to the earth, the daring felon lies,
And as young Mansel gaz'd on that dread scene,

And wreathing in the dust..convulsive dies I
He felt it probe his rankling wounds again
Nor found he that proud apathy to pain,
Which nerves the valiant in th' combat's heat,

Some instances of careless rhymes When danger charms, and death itself is sweet. occur in this elegant poem, which the He stood like lonely wretch, escap'd a wreck,

author will doubtless correct in a futare Whose grateful joy the tears of famine check; Who almost wishes that the roaring wave

edition, and avoid in any continuation Had giv'n at once a momentary grave.

which he may hereafter publish. His feeble frame began to sink and faint, While cheating memory would fondly paint

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