And on the wizard-stone he sat, And fearful gaz'd around: "Now, holy Mother! what was that?'' A hollow chuckling sound That echo'd through the ruins old, Made his blood run-now hot, now cold. And Guy, he made essay to sing And dull and slow the hours pass'd by, The lady moon had mounted high, But deadly cold the stone On which he sat his teeth they chatter'd ; But Guy was now resolv'd: what matter'd ?— He could but die! and life to him As faded leaf might seem. He had no friends; he had no gold; The night wore on: at length the sound— "Too-whit! too-whoo!" above-below, The last faint note of night was clang'd, The loud blast shook the castle walls; And Guy he started to his feet: "Good angels be my speed! The last faint dong was echoing yet And died at once the sounding blast, From off the moon the cloud had pass'd, And nearer grew the hollow sound Of horse's hoof beneath the ground: Trample-trample-on it came; And trample-trample-on apace, It seem'd above the ground; When suddenly within the spaceUpon the moonlit moundThere rose a lady, passing bright, Seated on courser snowy white. With calm and graceful mien she sat, "Oh, saints! did ever mortal man Behold a maid so fair!" The blood like lightning through him ran; Her face so lily fair Was turn'd on him; and quick she started, And headlong from the ruins darted. And Guy he bounded to his steed, The whip and spur he hotly plied; And though the white horse flew like wind, They cross'd the wide extended plain, Where the tall pines held their solemn reign. And in the midst, like pearly gem, To grace the fairy queen; She nipp'd it off, as quick as thought, Beside her, on his knee, Was Guy, who said, "Thou rich beautie: That little flower give it to me!" His heart beat high; with wond'ring eyes The lady 'fore him stood A moment gaz'd in mute surprize : "I may not, if I would, Refuse it thee. There, take the flower; Be warn'd, and wisely use thy power!" Then slowly to her steed she turn'd, Without another word; Guy follow'd her, with eyes that burn'd, And heart all strangely stirr'd; Then on the flower he wond'ring gaz'd, And felt no ill though sore amaz'd. And gracefully she glided on, A soft meandering stream; Or the vesper-star in the calm twilight, And Guy he follow'd close beside, For utterance, the whole did seem The lady gain'd the castle walls, There was no sound-there was no breath- Saving the horse's measur'd tramp: Where no more moonlight glows, Down to the gloomy castle vaults; And there the silent lady halts. And thrice she tapp'd upon the rock Which made Guy's horse start with affright. Into a cavern long and vast The lady canter'd light, And Guy he follow'd, nigh aghast, Eye never saw a scene so rare ; The gems of a thousand mines were there! Carbuncles of the purest dye Each worth an earthly throne- His thoughts may not be told- He threw his eyes around, aloft, And from her eyes a light there stream'd, Thou lovely thing, and who art thou? I never beauty saw till now!" The lady smil'd a witching smile, And answer'd soft as lute "While you stand there time flies the while; "As much as thou canst bear away Of gems and gold are thine, But if the spell should pass, beware; "As much as I can bear away! Is't thus the spell doth stand?" And he seiz'd some gems of purest ray; Then dropp'd them from his hand, And turn'd again to that lovely face; Where struggled smiles with bashful grace. Entranc'd, his eye upon her hung, As spell-bound by her charms; Then suddenly he forward sprung, And seiz'd her in his arms: "No other gem but thee-but thee; Thou art the choicest gem to me!" The lady gave a thrilling cry, Of pleasure half-half pain; And vainly to escape did try, And pleaded soft in vain. Firm in his arms the maid he bore, And bounded through the portal door. And swiftly through the gloomy vault, Until he reach'd the stone- And whilst the burning kisses shower'd The lovely lady seem'd o'erpower'd: "Yes: thou art mine!-my own!-my all; But, as he spoke, with sudden pall The moon was darken'd o'erAgain the blast around him blew, And scream'd the owl-"Too-whit! too-whoo!" "Too-whit! too-whoo!" and gibbering cries Did run along the ground, And large bats stared with gleaming eyes: Rang round, like laugh of fiendish sprite; Then died at once the moaning blast; And died each hollow moan; From off the moon the dark cloud pass'd; But by the wizard-stone Was neither knight nor lady fair; All was as lonely as despair, It is a saying no less trite than truthful, that "reality is stranger than fiction ;" and though in the incidents I am about to relate there is nothing startling or marvellous-for, truth to tell, misery and want and wretchedness are too frequently, alas! to be met with in many phases of life to excite more than the ordinary notice of its minor vicissitudes-yet it is to be hoped that from its stern reality I shall be forgiven for recalling to memory the fate of one with whom perchance some of my readers might not have been unacquainted, and from my slight sketch may recognize at once him whose early career themselves may perhaps have known-the closing scene of which-alas for genius! alas for mind!--was terrible. I knew, then, the subject of this sketch; I being little more than a boy, and he, if not a prosperous man, yet above the cares and anxieties of the great world. I watched with painful attention his downward progress step by step, until he sank in the abyss of poverty and destitution, from which I lacked the power to save him, and from which he never rose again. It is but a few years ago—and, in truth, they seem but months-that I, a young aspirant for musical honours, worshipping among the lowliest in the temple of Apollo, and endeavouring to woo the torch of Fame into a flame, was first introduced to him. He was of Italian birth: by name, Cesare Martini; and was a perfect specimen of the children of La Belle Italia; now fiery and impetuous; now eloquent and impassioned; sometimes as bitterly sad as when the heart weeps while the eyes are seared and tearless; at others, so gay and joyous that one would almost think it were impossible his spirits could suffer a reaction. Driven by the barbarous hand of despotism and party faction, because he had, as a boy, renounced the worship of the saints, and embraced the creed of the only true God, to fly his own sunny land, he sought refuge on the bleak though hospitable shores of England, where he found that his only prospect of subsistence would be to culti vate and pursue those acquirements in music which he had before studied only as a pleasure or an accomplishment. Looking hopefully towards the future, he applied himself with vigorous energy and self-denial to the mastery of the English language, and at the time I became acquainted with him (which was some years after his arrival in England) he had so far conquered its difficulties and characteristic idioms, that any one previously unacquainted with his origin would scarcely have been able to discover his foreign accent. To confess the truth, it was not perceptible to my ear, probably because he was named to me as Mr. Martin, until I afterwards learned from his own lips that he was not an Englishman. Then, as is mostly the case with all, I thought it odd-very odd-that I should not have remarked the slight hesitation of utterance which our hard crabbed tongue (the more difficult of pronunciation from the very sweetness and euphoniousness of his own) gave him. He had saved the scattered wreck of his little patrimony, for he was an only child and an orphan, and so brought it over with him to England, and this served as the means of his support during the time he maturely weighed his plans for the future. His brightest ambition was to be a composer; and a few months after his arrival beheld the completion of the score of an Italian opera. By dint of untiring of perseverance and the well-timed application "Be seated, Signor-be seated!" said he confusedly: "I am glad to see you. I was about to send to you." Cesare's face became deadly pale, and he was so immovable that he scarcely seemed to breathe. The manager continued as if unconscious or callous of the wretchedness his words inflicted. "I was about to write to you to say that your opera is, unfortunately, not adapted for performance; at least, so Signor C- informs me. The music is extremely beautiful, and original-but-ahem! Days, weeks, months passed by in a feverish, enervating anxiety. Cesare had received no communication respecting his opera. Resolving to call at the theatre that he might know his fate at once, thither he proceeded; his mind occupied in a very different train of thought from that which, a little time before, gilded his spirit with the beams of hope. Ushered into the presence of the manager (and only those who have sued to an autocrat of this genus fully know the chilling ceremony of being ushered into his "private study"), Cesare, in a tremulous voice, spoke his object: "I have taken the liberty, Monsieur, of calling to inquire if you have yet determined if my opera will suit you?" My name is Martin, Monsieur !" the other replied with humility. 66 me." Ah, yes! - you comprehend me? It is not quite the thing the public like, albeit the merits of the work are great; and, besides, the resources of the theatre would not allow me to cast it with The unsuccessful suitor uttered not a word, no, not one! Whether he did not dare trust himself in speech, or whether he thought that all further entreaty would be useless, I leave to the opinion of my readers; but from the tear, the one bright drop that sprung into his eye (glittering there, as if the parched eyelids refused to part with that little bead, so beautiful, so rare and mute an emblem, as it was, of their master's deep strong grief), it is more than probable that it was the former cause prevented him from making any reply. Taking his much cherished score (whose merits he had fondly imagined would have proclaimed his name to the world) under his arm, he hastily departed, and the despairing look of sorrow that overshadowed his features smote even on the careless, selfish heart of the manager with painful force: but if a more noble emotion filled his breast for an instant, the composer was gone, and the manager's momentary feeling of self-reproach soon fled. It was a considerable time ere Cesare, disI remember now; but I am heartened by this trial, could summon sufficient afraid, Signor Martini, I must give you an in-courage to adventure a second time. He had decisive answer, for Signor C- has not yet completed an entire English opera, and was led had time to examine the work you left with to expect from the interest of a friend with an English manager, the consummation of his hopes. But here the same trials and the same ill-success awaited him, and he mentally vowed never to bend again to the caprices and rebuffs of a theatrical Midas, and determined never to offer another work of his to their notice, until time had ripened circumstances to his favour; and the season was propitious to his wish. The poor composer looked chagrined and disheartened, and it was with a tone of deep melancholy that he replied "Pardon me, Monsieur, for my intrusion. You will, I dare to hope, allow me to call on you again in the course of a short time?" "Oh yes! certainly! by all means, Signor Martini!" ejaculated the manager with an air of patronage, at the same time bowing him out: "I shall be extremely happy to see you." Dispirited, it is true, but yet not devoid of all hope, two months flew over Cesare's head, and he bethought him of again waiting on the manager. He called several times both at his private residence and at the theatre, but was ever unable to meet with him. At last fortune took compassion on him, for one day, by means By this time his resources had visibly diminished, and it therefore became imperative for him to seek some certain means by which he could earn his daily subsistence. To this he found the path smoother than he had expected, for the same manager who had refused his first opera willingly received him among his corps d'orchestra as a ripieno violin, so that Cesare soon found himself earning a comfortable independence. From his engaging manner, his good looks, and his conversational powers, enriched by a cultivated mind, extensive reading, and a brilliant imagination and flow of thought, he soon became a great favourite among his confreres, and the next four or five calm years which followed may be aptly termed the "golden age" of his life. ral good feeling and respect in which he was held, and he had never so far lost self-respect or self-interest as to appear inebriated even once at rehearsal or during his evening duties. But when once the demon has taken possession of the soul there is no opposing him effectually: he watches his time; the very hour, the very minute, the How, or by what means, through what hidden very second, for he knows it must come, or springs and causes, or from what impulses the sooner or later, and so it was with Cesare. One good, the God-gifted, the most strong-minded, evening he took his accustomed seat with his the most self-reliant, the brave in faith and instrument, his flushed cheek and heavy dispurpose, the most virtuous, fall, is a matter of torted eyes would have plainly betokened to the painful, of degrading certainty; is a theme that most casual observer that he had lost partial, if my poor weak pen shall not attempt to explain not total, control over his actions. Resting or inquire into: it is only for me to record the his violin on his knee, and breathing heavily, fall-the one great error of our poor musician. he awaited the signal from the conductor. To speak in plain homely words-for, clothed Too much intoxicated to know what he was in language other than the most unornamented, about, he had quite forgotten to tune it, and they would lose all their majestic meaning and the result was, that the moment he drew his terrible effect - Cesare became a confirmed bow across the strings, the conductor, hearing drunkard. Had he been no more than ordi- the discord, turned round and perceived in a narily prudent he would have continued in the glance the real state of the unhappy man. It receipt of an ample salary-more than sufficient required some trouble and no ordinary tact to for his wants, even up to his death; for, unlike prevent his continuing to play, but it was done singers, who either depart (as do all whom "the without attracting much attention. Confused, gods love") young, or by taxing their bodily overcome as he was, Cesare could not avoid feelenergies too greatly, prematurely lose those ing, as the light of reason and thought overcame physical powers, on the possession of which the powerful narcotics for a moment, the critical depends their only means of subsistence-in-situation in which he was placed, and a chilling strumental performers, if they are not paid at so high a rate of remuneration, have yet this much in their favour, that few things, save the common casualties of life, can snatch away from them the means for their self-maintenance. sensation of misfortune crept over him when he tried to ponder on what would be the consequence of his wretched error. That sensation was indeed prophetic, for the next day he received his dismissal from the situation he occu pied, and which, had he not fallen a prey to the wiles of the arch-tempter, he might have even yet fulfilled with honour and satisfaction. But he the gifted, the promising-who seemed one of those rare, bright creatures whose spirit, beneath the pressure of adverse circumstances, becomes more etherealized, partaking From that moment his descent was rapid; more of its heavenly source; even he-and the it appeared as if, with the loss of his situation, tear of friendship hallows the melancholy recol- the very care of life had fled also. The mainlection while I record it-fell! Who shall pre- spring of his existence had been snapped; but judge? who shall say how the fatal influence he exerted not himself to regain his lost balance. first overcame him? Who could not but weep He might have repaired his error and reclaimed at the thought that drink (drink, horrid and his position; but, alas! the trial was not made bestial) should have overcome a mind like his !-and, deeper, deeper, deeper he fell! But it was so; and the passion, once awakened, The next time I heard of him after his disgrew on him gradually, but with such firm hold missal from the Opera orchestra, was that he that in a short, a very short time, he was an ab- was one of those ill-paid adjuncts to mediocre solute wreck of his former self, dismasted of all evening parties, the humblest order of "pianist,” the glory of manhood, all the signs of his Divine the poor quadrille player. Sometimes, when origin. Though he had been habitually and one of the givers of these "parties" wished to constitutionally pale, his face soon became vie with his neighbours in splendour, he would attenuated and angular, but exhibiting the bane-be engaged as violin with another as the pianoful spots, never to be mistaken, caused by the intoxicating draughts, his body lean and emaciated; all proclaiming that the arch-enemy was insidiously preying upon his very life. It is true that he often made strong resolves never to touch any exciting liquid again, but they were broken soon almost as formed; and he seemed to fly to it with the greater ardour from the previous self-denial, even though the term of its endurance was so brief. forte accompanyist. There he would be condemned for many hours, with weary fingers and aching, burning eyes, in a crowded, heated room, his soul attuned to anything but "sweet sounds," to make food for the enjoyment and gratification of others, while his heart-an Italian's heartwas struggling, almost bursting, beneath the crushing weight of his own sorrows, his own self-reproaches. Thus was he compelled to continue, without one momentary intercession His attendance at his post in the orchestra (save when the guests retired to the souper), and had been gradually growing less and less punc-yet no one gave a considerate thought to his tual; but for some time this had been passed fatigue, no one eye was bent in pity on that poor, unnoticed, or was borne on account of the gene- despised, wretched player. And at last he is |