The orange girl of Venice, or, The Secret Council of Ten
page: 0Illustration (TitlePage) [View Page 0Illustration (TitlePage) ]0 THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE; OR, THE SECRET COUNCIL OF TEN. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE SWAMP STEED; OR, MARION AND HIS MithR-' M k*' TrO., ETO NEW YORK: DICK ANJD FITZGERALD; PUBLISHERS, No. 18 ANN STREET. page: 0[View Page 0] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, by JOHN SLATER, in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New York Stereotyped by Aizx. CRAWFORD, 96 Ann Street, N. Y. . THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. CHAPTER I. THE STUDENT. N a low vaulted chamber, in the upper story of an humble building, situated in a disreputable section of the far-famed queen of the Adriatic, sat a youth of sogne three and twenty years. A low, broad, cross-legged table was before him, on ..-which, in careless disorder, some ten or twenty volumes, bound in parchment, and ornamented with metal clasps, were scattered. Sheets of unstained parchment, lay here and there, while directly before him was a sheet half filled with annotations, dates, &c,, apparently for reference. A saucer of brass, containing a dark liquid, rested within a few inches of the dotted parchment, while a long gray quill, cut at the tip, and stained with writing fluid, lay on the edge of the table, as if just put down. The youth leaned backward in his low-seated but high-backed Chair, his right hand sup- porting his pale, high brow, while his left hung listlessly over the cross-piece of his chair. The features of the youth were more of the feminine than of the masculine cast, the forehead being high and pale, the eye dark, lustrous, yet soft and melting, the cheek pale, the eyebrow arching, the page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] 6 THE ORANGE GIRL 0? VENICE. nose small, and with but a slight show of advancing toward the lamp and opening the nostrils ; the lip slight; and the chin small, parchment.- but pointed. He wore a small, silky mus- The face of the student grew pale, as he tache, and a slight, pointed tuft adorned his glanced at the characters traced on ,he chin. Hi4 hair was dark and redundant, and page. fell in long, wavy curls over his narrow 'Thy cheek blanches,' observed the stran- shoulders. He wore a tunic of ordinary gray ger, resting his sharp eye upon the student. cloth, square at the neck, and bordered with 'Doth it, my lord?' said the student, fal- dark velvet. His pantaloons, fitting tightly teringly. to the skin, were of a blue color, but some- 'Aye, it doth. The meaning oPt?' what faded by constant use. His shoes 'Take back the parchment, my lord,' said were of a russet hue, and ornamented with the student, with increased agitation, ' 1-1 rosettes of the same color. -dare not translate its language!' The apartment was small, containing one ' Dare not!' exclaimed the other, ironical- window only, through which the moonlight ly. 'What fearest thou?' entered, and fell upon a low, rude coucl in 'Death!' answered the student, holding a corner, which gave evidence of the late- the parchment towards the stranger. ness of the hour when its master rose. 'Ha ! is it so?' cried the latter, starting Hanging on a peg, over the couch, was a up, and seizing the document. 'Lies the cross-hilted sword, sheathed in a scabbard wind that way?' he added in irony, glancing of bright yellow metal, while a belt of dark with a curled lip and contemptuous eye at velvet hung down its side. A slouched cap the pale student. 'Go to, I took thee for a of gray stuff, with a full, fetty plume, hung man !'z against the wall, a short distance from the 'I am no coward, my lord !' answered the sword, while a mantle of dark cloth rested student, in a'deep, and half reproachful tone, beside it. The rest of the apartment was 'but I will not rashly throw away life. chillingly bare. The contents of that document are not for The studentappeared rapt in meditation, my eyes: to read it were sealing my own his eye falling vacantly upon the parchment doom.' before him. A small three-cornered lamp 'Wherefore?2' burnt dimly beside the saucer, gave to his ' 'Tis signed by the "Ten,"' was the countenance the appearance of one over- reply. worked with midnight toil. 'By the "Ten!"' A knock at his chamber door roused him 'As I do live, my lord, 'tis true.' from thought, and, in a deep, stern voice,- 'Well?' as he turned slightly rotind in his chair, he 'The usual warning, my lord, is given in bade the knocker enter. in the first prt of it: 'Whoever dares to The door opened, and a tall, majestic per- read this document, save he to whom it is sonage, enveloped in a mantle of dark and directed, shall be visited by the vengeance of glossy'velvet, of the finest texture, entered the "Ten."' the apartment. A slouched cap, of the same * H4! is it so?' exclaimed the stranger in material as his mantle, surmounted by a a deep voice, 'is it so? Then it is a sen- cluster of raven plumes, adorned his head. tence! No matter-I must know its con- He wore mustachios, and his bold chin was tents. Look you sir,' lie continued, ' I'll hid beneath a thick, jetty beard. His eyes give thee choice of gold or instant death to were large, black and piercing as an eagle's ; resolve me the tenor of this parchment.' Say- his forehead was high and massive, and ing which, the stranger flung the letter and a there was an expression of sternness and re- purse upon the table, and drawing a dagger solution about his broad nostrils and firm from beneath his cloak, he pointed the stu- upper lip, calculated to strike a beholder dent to the table. with awet Calvari remained motionless. On perceiving the garb and rank of his 'Wilt thou obey, or perish?' demanded visitor, t he student sprang hastily from his the stranger, in a voice that made the chame seat and offered it to the stranger. The lat- ber echo. ter took it in silence, and motioned the stu- 'Perish!' answered the student, boldly. dent to be also seated. The noble looked at bim witn apparent 'Thou art called Calvari, the scribe, art astonishment, then sheathing his dagger, he thou not?' said the stranger. advanced toward the student, and in a voice SI am, my lord,' replied the student, bow- in ill accordance with his words, exclaimed ing in surprise. -' Fool! thou art only fit to mingle with 'Thou dealest in ancient and modern lore, the herd that so cravenly fear the" "Ten." dost thou not?' Thou hast a form and face that belie thy 'A little, my lord.' soul. I took thee for a man,; one who nad 'Canst translate me this?' said the stran- suffered, still suffers, and had'heart enough to ger, drawing from his girdle a letter, and dare n struggle for his freedom. But Imis- handing it to the student. took thee-thou %t i 'vorm! The'" Ten" 'I will try. ty lord 'replied the student, will rule ever th ivt sunlight and 'x dark- THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. ness-at all times, in all places-thou art only fit to be a slave ! Fear not me ; I would not stain my' blade with blood like thine. But sir, a word with thee: If thou would'st henceforth revel in gold, go thou to-morrow to St. Mark's; seek the house of Count Foscari, and tell him, all potent as he is, there is another man in Venice,-one Count De Galliano,-who will overthrow him and the " Ten." Tell him this, and tell him too, that a plot is now afoot, to drive all tyrants from the soil of Venice, and that Count Galliano is at its head. Tell him, too, that we meet to-morrow night, in the vault of St. Mark's, and that our watch- word is-' The Orange Girl of Venice'.' The student uttered a cry of recognition, and fell on his knees before the stranger. CHAPTER II. THE GONDOLIER. On the day following the incidents in the preceding chapter, a nobleman approached a group of gondoliers, who were rattling dice,'on a little round table, in front of a low hostel, which stood in a-long, broad street leading from the grand square of St. Mark's, and fronting the sea. Small heaps of cop- per coin lay here and there upon the table; and it was evident, from the excited features of the players that the stakes, to them, were of an unusually large amount. One face alone of the party evinced but little symp. toms of excitement, although, to the deep observer, there was more meaning, more real language, to be detected in his passion- less features than in those of his more frothy, and more talkative companions. His eyes were large, dark, lustrous and full; his fore- head high, his hair thrown back, and falling in careless disorder adown his swarthy, sun- burnt neck ; liis nose was Roman in its shape, with the nostrils wide and heavy, de- noting the deep, fearless, and violent nature of their owner; his chin was bold, pointed, and covered with a heavy tuft of black and glossy hair: a heavy mustache covered his firm, upper lip, and his thick, bull-like throat was exposed to the effects of the sun and atmosphere from the shoulders upward. He wore a loose, red shirt, with a broad, ruin- pled collar; the sleeves rolled up to the el- bow, revealing a pair of siout, muscular, sun- burnt arms, which seemed to bid defiance to the best stalwart compeer in the struggle for gondolier or wrestling fame. Yellow shoes, blue trousers, fitting tightly to the skin, a rough, short, canvass frock, just reaching to the knees, and a leathern belt, with an enor- mous steel buckle in the front, completed the gondolier's attire. His height was slightly above the commonrand his figure, as lie half stcod by, and half sat on, the edge of the rude table, displayed a suppleness and mus- cularity of limb not often found among the everyday tenants of this habitable house, the world. The garb of his companions was sim- ilar to that of the bold gondolier, with the ex- ception that, in general, his habiliments seemed tidier and cleanlier than theirs. The master of the inn stood at the door, smoking his long, reed-like pipe, apparently with great satisfaction. Ever and anon, he cast his eyes furtively upon the gamesters, as if watching the progress of their games; and, at each result of the 'last throw,' a sickly, sarcastic smile would play around his mouth, revealing a set of teeth which seem- ed inade to contrast, in their whiteness, with his dark and swarthy complexion. Judging him by his appearance, lie could not have been far from five-and-forty years of age. He wore an apron, of coarse, dirty muslin, and looked every inch the landlord of 'the inn of St. 1Vary's.' A stout, ill-favored knave lie seemed, and though, wliilesmok- ing, he' paid, apparently, but little attention to 4he oaths and other exclamations of triumph or disappointment of those at the table, still a keen observer could easily have seen that not a word escaped his ear, or a gesture of the gondoliers his eye. As the noble approached, two or three of the gamesters threw down their dice, and, running towards him, proffered tbeir'services to row him out into the Lagoon, 'if it was the noble Signior's pleasure.' Passing them by unnoticed,,the noble mo- tioned the stout gondolier alr eady described, to jump into his boat. The latte'r, with a .respectful silence, sprang into his gondola, which lay moored beside a small flight of landing stairs, directly in front of the hostel. The noble followed slowly, an d took his seat in the stern with a dignity which im- pressed the group on shore witian awe they could scarcely banish, even when the fleet bark had rounded the quay. 'Lie to,' said the noble, when the boat had reached the centre of the Lagoon. 'Dost know me?' 'I knew thee at the first,'replied the gon- dolier, resting on his oars. 'How speeds the cause?' demanded the noble, in a low voice. ' Bravely, my lord: the innkeeper, Marco, bath a daring and patriotic heart. He hath gold, too, and will loan it to the cause, with. out interest.' 'Good! and the rest?' 'They wear their dirks in their bosoms, 'twixt their flesh and shirts. Three hundred of them, as brave hearts as ever pulled oar or wielded knife, are-ready to march a: word of mine. When do we strikeI?' 'That will be determined to-night. I think 'twill be on Carnival night : though I speak without authority. The number of men we can surely count on?' - 'Three hundred. 7 page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 TiIE ORANGE G 'And all determined?' 'Every one, my lord.' 'Speak lower, and title me not,' said'the rioble, leaning forward in his seat. 'Since I have been travelling for assistance to our cause, I have learned that water and air nave listening ears and tell-tale tongues, as well as dungeon or cavern walls. Why,- man, the elements around us are witnesses to our speech ; and strange things are told of how the "Ten" have made even the waters, aye, and the floating atmosphere creatures of their will. Therefore, lest our voices betray us, speak thou in whispers: the Lagoon,. though broad and deep, hath, ere now, been the doom of many a votary of its bosom. Remember the fate of De Gama, and title me not.-The "Ten" are every where.' ' Were it not better I should row about?' said the gondolier, in a low tone. 'If we should be watched from the shore, by any of the spirits of the Tribunal:-' ' Right,' replied the noble, 'row on-but guide her farther from the shore.' ' What successfrom abroad?' inquired the gondolier, slowly pulling outward. 'None,' responded the other; '.we must depend upon ourrolvee ~ Physicnl help e hopeless ;'although, in one shape, it is cer- tain. I have raised twelve thousand ducats, in sound yellow coin, from certain citizens in Rome, Verona and Cyprus, which now lies in a 1cocner of the vault of St. Mark's: it will be shown to-night, at our meeting.' 'Gold may do much,' observed the gon- dolier, meaningly. ' It will rouse the heart-s of the desponding, if any be among us, when convened,' said the noble, quickly; 'for, to the vulgar mind, there is a power, yea, an eloquence, irresis- tible in a sack of shining dross. But be that as it may, we have a doom even for the weak-hearted.' 'Ave-the cord-and knife!' observed the gondolier, with a slight curl of the.lip. Pah ! 'tis too like the " Ten."'. ' Can they be dispensed with?' demanded the noble, quickly. 'They can,' replied the gondolier, impe- tuously. 'How?' said the-noble, earnestly. 'By depending on the honor of all who choose not to proceed,' responded the gon- *lolier. ' Psha ! you know not men!' exclaimed the noble,' hastily. '\When men league themselves together for a mighty work, there must be a fear held out to bind them to be true. Else doubts and fears as to the success of the enterprise, would be the fore- runners only to desertions and betrayal. Men are not all true, all brave ; and the weak nerved must be held in check, must be kept true, by the known brave, and the known true, beside them: which latter failing, there m-t be a doom for apostates, which they IRL OF VENICE. must fear, to keep them true. D or great ends, we must not scruple to employ small means. And what end, what enterprise more glorious, than the freeing of one's country from a horde .of villains that make all fear ! They scruple not to shed our blood, they scruple not to tear away from life, on most trivial and uncertain causes, too, those they deem dangerous to themselves or to their power-and should we risk our lives, the lives of all united with us, by sparing one, who, knowing all our secrets, would depart on dastardly excuse, and peril the safety of us all ? No; once colleagued, we must not risk our enterprise and lives at the soft voice of mercy. We aim for freedom and for life-perpetual freedom, and life's life-not for one, but all-high and low, the wealthy and the low born: and such an acme were rashly endangered, to spare a craven's life, for sake of mercy!' '1 fear not betrayal,' observed the gon- dolier, prouely. ' Nor I,' replied the noble, 'while we have a doom for traitors. But, enough of this. I called, last night, on our spy, in the eastern section. Would'st believe it-he knew me not "' 'Ha . not know thee!' exclaimed the-gon- dolier, leaning foryrard on his oars. 'Has he turned traitor' ' In good faith! not he,' replied the noble, 'It was my beard and face and dress he knew not.' ' By St. Mark ! I feared something els? !' said the gondolier, half smiling. ' What number reports he ready for the trial-hour ? ' Four hundred and twelve,' answered the noble.-' Their names are registered on parchment. Ii truth, that same student is a brave worker: his parchments contain the names of every member of our order, in characters as plain and bold as ever came frbin the hand of man. Our constitution and our-laws, our rewards and penalties- the progress of our order, and its history- the causes 6f our existence-the wrongs we have suffered, the injuries forborne-in fine, -our- order's whole history,-are traced in characters of truth, upon his parchments.. His daily journal keeps lie: of the proselytes made, wrongs suffered, the day-and hour of the deed, and the names of the wronged and the wrongers. A terrible history of life lies in those parchments; a terrible history of blood, lust, murder and oppression, which cries aloud to heaven for vengeance.' ' And it wMl come, ere long!' exclainqed the gondolier, with a savage smile. 'Aye, it will,' cried the noble, in a deep tone, though without stirring a hair, -'1it will--aye, it shail '!-and when it does, wo, wo to the doers of aark deeds ! wo to the Tribunal ! wo to the " Teti!"' 'Amen! with all my heart!' exclaimed the gondolier, slowly pulling his oars. ' Now,. to what I would tell thee'' added THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 9 the noble, leaning forward a little, and rest- pale with terror at tl e loud voice of his n g his elbow on the rim of the boat. 'The companion, and rowing rapidly farther out old count of R omagna has been missing these from the shore. three days: and his motherless daughter, 'Foscari's son !'-was the reply; 'Fos- the lady Isabel, is all but mad in conse- cari's son,-that insolent, purse-proud das- quence. The count's friends speak of his tard,-proposed to ihe lady Isabel to become absence with a pallid cheek and a faltering his mistress !-Dost hear it, his mistress- tongue. 'Tis evident that they suspect, and she, the daughter of a race of nobles.old as yet-the cravens !-they dare not give ut- Venice self, and whose scutcheon had never iterance, with their tongues, to that which known stain !-His mistress! his! aye, the is seen so plainly in their eyes !' mistress of a mongrel heart that never had 'Hast thou no suspicion of his fate ?' said courage enough to strike a whining dog! the gondolier, earnest. His mistress! Ha! ha! ha ! 0, that I S 'I have,' replied the noble, drawing a had been by, to have smote him for the small roll of parchment fiom hits belt. 'The word! He proposed, I say, in dastard speech, lady Isabel herself did, but yesterday, put to-lady Isabel, and was ejected from the into my hands this note, traced in characters lord's house he had ,insulted. Stung with recognisable only by those familiar with the rage and mortification, he forged a lie, and hand writing of the President of the infernal told it to his father. In an hour, the black Tribunal. Listen: it runneth thus- messenger of the Tribunal summoned him S 'This day, Friday the 9th, 4 of the dial. before the " Ten." He bowed, and seizing Thomaso Romagna, we summon thee to his hat and cloak, left the house, in com- appear before us within the hour. pany with the note bearer, without even ta- (Signed) "'THE TEN." - king leave of, or bidding adieu to, his daugh- The gondolier turned pale. ter. W while leaving the room, he dropped the 'Thou seest the necessity of action,' said summons, which the lady Isabel picked up. the noble, on perceiving the change in the She tried to read it, but the warning sen- countenance of his companion. 'Thon oont tonee w 0a the firet that met her eye, and, the manner i Which we live-we, the though she kept, she did not dare to readit. rightful inheritors of our beloved Venice- But yesterday, she gave it me-but yester- we, the strong armed and lion-hearted-we, day, I saw her, like a lily which once iad the descendants of the fathers of the Adria- reared its head in towering pride, now bow- tic's chosen isle-we, the favored and the ed to the earth with the shafts of sorrow gifted of nature and of God! Shall we en- and despair! She sits now, in her home, a dure it, shall we suffer these upstarts of motherless, fatherless girl: with nor friend, power to trample upon the God-chartered nor brother to save her from the importuni- rights of Venetians, and crush us at their ties and insults of the dastard who robbed will? Shall We live on, inbase and abject her of her father !' fear-shall we crawl, like worms, before The cheek of the gondolier crimsoned a these soulless, heart-spotted lepers, tilt or moment, with rtge and scorn; when the Nature, Accident or Tyranny-, tears us from blood fell back into its channels again, leav- such mind and bodir vassalage ? Shall we ing his features pale as marble-Dark and endure to have the bravest and purest blood terrible were his thoughts ; and, though lie amongst us rifled from our midst, and not grasped his oars 61l the nails almost enter- raisena hand to smite the murderers ? For- ed the wood, he spoke not. bid it, God of my fathers!, while there yet, The noble felt conscious -that he had exists a son of Venice wise enough to detect, touched a string in the breast of his compa- and brave enough to strike at, Villainy and nion, which would not soon die away ; and, her myrmidons !' pointing silently to the shore, the gondola The gondoler pulled his oars lustily, fear- was soon back to the spot from which it ing that the excited gestures and bold, loud started.- voice of his companion would be heard by As many were lounging about the door those on shore. of the hotel, the noble sprang hastily from ' Think'st thou he is dead ?' asked the the boat, saying, in a low voice, as he pass- goniolier, s'-,':ing to turn the excitement of ed the gondolier: the noble back to its former cautious cur- 'Remember to-night! The vault of St. tent. Mark's !' . ThinA he is dead!' exclaimed the Count, in a lower tone. ' If I thought so, if I thought there existed the slightest shadow of a hope that the old man was yet alive, CHAPTER III. all Venice should ring with the war-cry of Galliano ! Think heis dead ! the summons T HE PU R lDE oF V E N IoRE. of the victim of the atTen" is but another word for: "Thu art marked, and doomed- It was a night of beauty and ci' music, in 'nie to thy death !"' -Venice. The vaulh of heaven s'.emed like ' ut the cause ?' inquired the gondolier, an eternal canopy of darkest velhet, thickly '~A~Ai~ page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] gemmed with silver, ana crowned with 1, al of fire. The housetops, the balconies, the vestibules, the gardens, -streets and quays, were thronged with the young and old, of both sexes, drinking the evening eth- er. The moon-kissed waters were covered with fantastically arrayed gondolas, from which arose the ripe, rich voices of the gay young roysterers and cavaliers in melodious song; while from others, the flute and gui- tar mingled their music with the floating zephyrs, rendering the whole a fairy scene. It was a night of harvest to those who lov- ed the bright and beautiful; it was a night of harvest to the maidens whose lovers hntd been coyish in naming the hour for betroth- al before high heaven; it was a night of harvest to the aged and infirmt: for their pains and rheumns were dissipated by the mellowness and liveliness of the air; it was the harvest night of gondoliers and musicians and drmnk-venders ; and it was the harvest! night of the sorrowing ones: the beauties of earth, air and sky- their veriest beauties -made their sorrows lighter, their griefs less ppignant, their woes less dark, less ter- rible ; it was a night when the grief-stricken could smile without d~eniing it a sacrilege; it was a night when foes thought kindlier of each other, and were half disposed to for- get injuries past, and to look kindly on acci- dents of the future. Who has not seen such' nights in the course of life's travel-but who has ever seen them in such perfection as they are found in Venice in the merry month of June? On the night described, two i'urg fe- males, evidently of high rank, were talking up and down the gravelled walks of P private and beautifully-fashioned garden, _-adorned with statues and a small fountain. They were dressed in darkest mourning, and with- out ornament of any kiid. Their hands were linked together as they walked, and their voices were low as doves' when whis- pering the feelings of their hearts. A wall of some ten feet guarded them from time in- trusion and observation of those without; while an old, white-headed servant, whosat on a cushioned bench on .he porch of the house, attested at once the fearfulness and chariness of character of tie females. Tie appearance of the elder-for there was evi- dently a discrepancy in their years-was that of' a maiden of about twenty sum'ners. She was slightly above the comnnmon height of her sex, and had a full, high and beauti- fully polished forehead : her nose was Gre-" cian, and the mould of her lips like unto a perfect bow ; her chin was slightly pointed, yet dimpled ; her eyes large, and black as night ; her hair, of which there was a pro- fusion, was black and silky, and was parted tastefully in the centre of her brow, and iumng in wavy masses adown her snowy neck. A narrow collar (f the whitest and finest lace, hemmed the neck of her.dark 10 THE ORANGE Gl IRL OF VENICE. THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 11 velvet frock, and gave to her figure a beauty 'Yes, Eugenia, replied Isabel, with emo- a tear leapt into her eye: but, after a silent which could scarcely be idealized by a tion: 'talk to aged Philippo, on the porch but violent struggle, she forced it back, and, painter. Her dress fitted -tightly to her yonder; though not an Adonis, he is yet a rising, approached the table, as it to ring waist and arms,-and her hands were hid by merry talker ; and, in good truth! he can a little bell,.which stood upon it. The stran- gloves of white kid. The costume of har while an hour away as pleasantly as many ger, divining her. intent, suddenly rose, companion was precisely the same: but a younger of his make.' caught her by the wrist, and exclaitne, in though the features and figure of the latter Though the lady Isabel spoke with an a low but biting tone- were smaller, less imposing, less striking, attempt at pleasantry, there was yet a sad- 'Lady, be not in haste to call your ser- less beautiful, still they had in them some. nesc in her tone which touched the heart vants,-I can leave your house without their thing more winning, something more pleas. of her companion. and brought a tear into aid. Besides, this is not a question of polite- ing, something more congenial to the hum. her eyes. ness, but one of life and death. So, oblige ble soul. Her brow was of a moderate They kissed each other, and the elder me by taking my blunt speech as it suits height, and its complexion was like that of slowly entered the house. you, till I am done.' Pray, be seated!' And one accustomed to wander in the sunlight, When the lady Isabella entered the re- he led her, with scrupulous politeness back fearless of the effects of such exposure upon ception room, an old man, sitting on a high to her seat. the skin ; her lips were small, her eyes cushion near the window, and dressed in a 'The gallants of ou set-girt isle, call thee moderately large, but full of lustre, full of gay and flashy suit illy becoming his years, the Pride of Venice,' continued the old love, full of gentleness, confidence and kind- met her eye. A crafty and sinister expres- man, seating himself opposite Isabel, and ness. Her chin was bold, but it was a sion played around his small thin lips, and gazing at her with a cold and brazen eye. softened boldness; her neck was beautifully sharp, ferret-like eyes. He wore a pointed 'See what it is to be beautiful, lady,-see shaped and full, but it was of the shape that beard, and mustachiot, white as the driven what it is to have an atgel's stamp on hu- artists love to draw from, not the neck which snow, and both, to all appearance, cultivated man lineaments! Reflect what it is to ha- e creates passion in the sensualist. Her form with the extremest care. His eye-brows youth and hot blood and all the appe' Les was perfect in its proportions ; but it was were white and sloping, which gave to his for the luxuries and pleasures, invent A by one of those forms which strike the eve of visual organs the appearance of having been man to charm youth and the summer of the gentle heart, not the proud, the rave, set in without regard to taste, propriety or Life! And ponder over the beauties and the impassioned. It was a short, delicate ' fashion. His forehead was low, but the luxuries, generously accorded to all human form ; and one which seemed to tell the absence of hair upon the crown made it, at kind by 1Nature, to make.man, from his first looker-on, that it was a spirit-sojourner here. first view, appear lofty. He was dressed in to his second childhood, feel the enjoyments not a human one ; that it was a tender plant a scarlet jacket and shoulder cloak, and created for his sole benefit. Connect them formed to bloom in the most carefully cul. trunks and hose of the finest and whitest with the Imiuries conceived and perfected tivated and most tenderly watched plats, silk. He wore slippers with white rosettes, by man, and then feel the poignancy of the not in the rough, wind-exposed spots, of and a long, slender-rapier was slung around thought that human hands have doomed thee God's green garden, Earth. his waist, upon the hilt of which his both to taste no more of either-have doomed They were, evidently, not sisters in kin, hands rested, as Isabel entered the apart- thee to the eternal sleep found only in the but it was also evident that they were more ment. grave!1' than sisters in love. Perhaps Suffering had 'Your pleasure, sir ?' demanded the lady, Isabel spoke not-though her cheeks made them such, perhaps Trial ; but what. sitting on a raised cushion, opposite him. blanched every moment, paler, her eyes ever the cause, though strangers in blood, '1 have called on an errand, lady,' said quailed not at the steady and brazen gaze of they were without question sisters in heart. the stranger, ' which involves thy safety, the man now ,before her, but her heart The old servant who sat on. the porch, kept and the lives of all thy kin. I would first throbbed painfully rapid. his eyes upon them with a look of love and ask if thou art aware of the existence of a 'WVhat if thou wert doomed, lady ?' con- affection, which attested Isis anxiety for young noble called Galliano?' tinued the old man, in a tone indicating, in their welfare. And when any thing like a 'I am,' replied the lady, slightly blushing. spite of himself, his disappointment in not smile layt~ed a'rountd time lips of eitlier, his 'I would further ask, lady,' continued the receiving nv response to his observations. .own hertz bound ed anid his own checks were old man, ' if thou bast seen him within -' I--' said Isa bel, faintly, as a sickly pal- enlivened more cheerily than theirs. It was three days' lor darted across her features. something worth looking after. we opine, 'Why these questions?' said the lady, 'Aye, lady,' added the old man, ' what or the old man would not have watched so turning slightly pale. if thou wert doomed ?' earnestly for a smile from either of the fe- ''Tis thine office to answer, not to ques- 'I'd neet it, like my father,' replied Isa- males, lion, lady,' replied the old man with a sar- bel, firmly. WV hatever thme subject of their discourse, castic smile, and rivetting his bold and crafty ' So thou say'st now,' said the old man, it was dissipated by a servant, who entered eyes upon the lady. with a qiet and cold smile; 'but, if thou from the house', stating that a gentleman 'What if .t answer not?' inquired Isabel, stood'st in a chamber whose walls were would see the lady Isabiella. proudly. .bare as thine own limbs of vesture, with the 'His name?' demanded the elder of the 'Means will be found to make thee an- engines of death girding thee around, while ladies. 'swer, lady,' responded the old man smiling, the grim forms of scurvily clad and masked ' He'll not reveal it, my lady,' answered and in a tone which made the young lady's executioners stood waiting the signal of the servant. heart sink with terror. 'There are means their master to rend thy bones asunder,- ' His age ?' inquired the lady. for the performance of every thing, lady,' thy speech would falter as thy cheek now ' He is turned of sixty, lady,' replied the he continued in thme same biting, sneering doth blanch !' servant. tone, 'and it will argue wisdom in thee not 'W hat is thine errand here ?' demanded ' Say 1 will wait on him,' responded the to provoke the engines of wrath. Thy Isabel, in a low, deep voice. lady, majestically. , father did, and thou now wearest sables for ''I'o warn thee beware a traitor,' answer- The servant bowed, anti withdrew, his inmprudence !' .ed the old nian, ' to warn thee cease all 'Ihall I remain here ' inquired ,e t The cheek of Isabel now turned ghastly communication with one to whom thou giv- younger lady. white ; her bosom panted with'emotion, and est too free licenbe wiih thine ear an lip page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 THE ORANGE GTl L OF VENICE. For shame on thee-! that one so highly born-an orphan, too !-should think so lightly of her honor 'as to permit the free addresses of a known libertine and -' 'Stn thy dastard tongue V' exclaimed the lady Isabel, starting up, and pointing the old man to the door,-' whoe'er thou art- whate'er thine errand-I care not! Begone!' 'Lady-' 'Not a word! This house-this roof is mine-mine, by heritage and law-mine, by the legal codes ofVenice--and,while beneath mine own roof, no low-born hind, nor crea- ture of birth or power, shall assail mine ear with insolence, or bravado. Begone!' The old man leaned upon his cane, be- tween her and the door, his feathered cap hanging in his left hand, and his eyes gleam- ing maliciously and sharply at the fair speaker as she stood, stern, bold and erect, her finger pointing to the door. .rady, I am here for a purpose,' said he, in a I w, soft voice, and with a smile which was an index to his nature, 'I am here for a purpose, and till it be accomplished, thy threshold shall calmly await my inclination to cross it.' 'What ho, Martino!' exclaimed Isabel, loudly, and ringing a silver bell which rest- ed on the circular table, 'what ho, MartinoI thy mistress needs thy help!' The object of her wrath, smifing, quietly resumed his seat. A hurried stop was heard in the entry- the door opened hastily, and a young servi- tor, of some seven and twenty years, entered the apartment. ' The matter lady !' he exclaimed, burri- adly and bowing. ' 'Turn yon hoary wretch from out my doors !' she cried, pointing to her visitor." The eyes of the servitor and the old man met-a hasty sign from the latter, unobserv- ed by the lady isabel, but which the sharp eye of the servitor detected, silenced the lat- ter, and caused his cheek to blanch to the hue of ashes. 'L eave us,' said the old man, in a calm and silvery tone. Without a word-without an ugraised look-without a glance at his astonished mistress, the servitor bowed, and, his eyei resting upon the carl)et, slowly retired from the apartment. Isabel looked after him in astonishment. ' Thou seest the engines of thy house, observed the old man, sardonically, 'thou seest the faith of its small pillars!' The lady Isabel heeded himnot, but clasp ing her hand to her forehead, staggered pale and ghastly, to a cushion, and san.i upon it speechless. CHAPTER IV. The sun was playing through the case meant when the lady Isabel awoke, and th hum of voices mingled with the winds. Sh looked round. . The door was closed; and, save herself, no human thing breathed in'the chamber. The apartment seemed smaller than usual, and the drapery around the walls seemed darker than on the preceding day. A large and heavy lock was on the door too; and the door itself had changed its color since yester-night. The entire aspect of the Apartment seemed changed. A picture-a small one-hung between the windows, which she could not recollect. She sprang up, and advanced towards it--she did not know it.-Her brow felt heated-her eyes weak and nervous. She sat down on a cushion, and tried to think-she could not. A sharp pain shot athwart her brow, and scattered the loose leaves of her memory. She felt sick at heart, chilled in soul, vacant in mind. A phantom seemed to dance be. fore her-a dim and shadowy phantom- yet could she not give it shape: for when her eyes gazed intently and boldly at it, it vanished, and the sunbeams were before her, She rose, and paced the chamber, vacantly. Something heavy was on her heart-an iron weight upon her brow.-Air ! air! Her tongue was parched-her lips seemed glued together. 'Water-water!' she muttered, unconsci ously. She paused,-her eyes riveted upon s(nar- row slit in the carpeted floor. It gradually widened, till a square hole, of some four feet, revealed a dark vault beneath.-She stood fixed, gazing into the depth, which appear. ed like the chasm of eternity. Presently, a slender and curiously carved wash-stand, with a snowy towel dangling at its side, rose, as if- by some springy pressure, and, when its base had reached the carpet's edge, the wooden floor resumed its place, and the stand, surmounted by a circular basin of brass, filled with scented water, remained motionless. She gazed upon it half vacantly, amoment ; then plunged her hand into the liquid and applied it to her brow. Memory seemed to return shadowingly, with the first drop of the cooling liquid, and, frantically seizing the towel and bathingit in the bowl, I she applied it to her burning brow. A sob I -a cry, burst from her parched lips, and she s sank overpowered upon the floor. As if by magic, the stand immediately disappeared-- the casements darkened, and a huge torch rose through an opening in the floor. The drapery on the wall opposite the windows was thrown aside, and a young and magnifi- cently dressed cavalier entered, and raised - the inanimate lady in his arms. A smile hovered around his lips, as he gazed upon the fevered lip and ashy cheek of his bur- den. A smile-but it was not the smile of love, nor guilt. Raising her in -his strong arms, he silently and stealthily departed, - with his burthen, through the secret pane4 e behiiI the drapery. . e The torch still burned Dn. THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. [4 L 13 CHAPTER V. all Venice bath disgorged its4iving, an. they float upon the Lagoons like water-fish. The- THE KI N5sM N 's TALE,. young maid leans upon her lover's arm, and, happy now, dreams that the Future hath in It was eventide : the stars shone dimly in it no more of Joylessness. Umphi! she 1Ifind the heavens, and the moon was pale. The her mistake out, ere the world hath done atmosphere, after a warm and sultry day, with her. Boy,' lie added, 'dost recollect was cool and. pleasant, and- infused new thy sister?' strength into the feeble, and made the couch 'Aye father,' replied the other, sadly. of the despairing invalid a couch of hope. fIDost recollect her beauty, boy-her an- ft was one of those nights when the nervous gelic smile, her heavenly eyes, her spirit- mind feels settled, joyous, strong, fearless ; like form, her tiny feet, and lady-like hands, one of those, nights when the timorous- so small, so white. We used to call her heart is, sanguine of success, and fears not our ' little belle.' Throughout Venice she to make a venture; one of those nights when was called ' the pretty Orange Girl ;' she the malignant-heart is so acted upon by the usea to sel. her fruit on sunny days, in her elements, that its dark conceptions centre on little, round basket, ornamented with'range one spot, and that a bloody one-when it is leaves. Every body used to buy of her, she in such a state that one kind word from its was so fair, and had such - winning ways hated foe would change its venom into love; with her! Dost remember her perfectly, one of those knights when thp woe-stricken boy ?' and the trampled of God's make half forget 'Aye, father, aye!' replied the youth, in their wrongs, their injuries, their sorrows, a deep guttural voice. calamities and woes, and feel cheerful, half - ' And then her voice, too ! so ripe, so rich, joyous, more than resigned; one of those so mellow, that, when she pleased, she could nights when, if ever, angels in heaven look lull the sternest heart into the calmest, down, upon mortality with a hope and a gentlest humor, and make it sad, or joyous, smile; one of those nights when earth has as she willed. Ah! she was too fair, too more laughing, joyous ones, and less weep- beautiful for earth!' A tear danced a mo- ing and groaning ones-one of those nights meant on the lid of the old man's eye, then when the King of the Eternities says to the leapt upon his rough and hoary cheek. . he recording angel-" Cease thy recording la- brushed it off-a moment afterward, and the bors-crime sleepsI" -snowy locks that covered his crown were Venetians, of every grade, promenaded not more pale than his tear-kissed cheek. the streets and squares and quays. The tide ''Tis now three years since she was taken was high, and almost on a level with the from us,' continued the old man, as if speak- piers. The Lagoons were covered with the ing to himself; ' and yet no word, no trace richly caparisoned barges and gondolas o f her! Boy,' he added sternly; 'hadst the nobility and higher classes of citizens; thou but the spirit, the fire, the bold blood while the humble gondolier, ,his bark that should mark thine age, thy father's freighted with youig lovers, pulled his spirit would, in the winter of its years, take oars cheerily, as the ripe, rich voices of his its last look of Venice and of earth, with a passengers chaunted their favorite melo. smile !' dies. It was a night of universal joy. Uni- 'What mean'st thou, father?' cried the versal? No-there were exception'. De- youth, starting up, with surprise. spite the cool and delicious air-despite the 'What do I mean-what do I mean?' joy which seemed so universal, there were muttered the old man, sarcastically, ' aye, two that night in Venice upon whose cheeks boy, wohat do I mean !" no joy, ni smile, nor aught betokening mirth. 'Speak out, fattier,'cried Paulo, earnestly. or happiness, could be detected. An old man, 'Foscari!' said the old man,'laconically. with locks snowy as the vesture of the high- Well?' est Alps in winter, and clad in coarse, brown '.He robbed thy- sister' of her honor, and velvet trunks, and a jacket of the same, yet lives!' sat on the edge of the Orfano canal, bathing *Remember his birth, father!' his feet in the tide. Beside him, Llf-dis- 'His birth?' tended, his elbow resting on the earte, and 'Aye; father, his birth- remember that! his head supported by his broad, sinewy 'Too well, too well do I remember it, hand, was a young, stout, well proportion- muttered the old man, satirically. Too ed youth, of some four-and-twenty years, well do I remember it; my heart is like a clad in the garb of a gondolier. burning coal when I remember it!' 'What a beautiful night, Paulo!' exclaim- ' What would'st have me do, father i' ed the elder, glancing at his companion; 'Avenge ier wrongs-hadst thou the 'it half tempts one to forget his griefs, and heart !' think Venice a free land. 'Tis a shame, 'Have I it not, father?' boy, that thy barge was broken at the re- 'Thy conduct doth not show it, boy!' gatta of Monday last. It would have been - 'The hour hath not yet come father ' money in thy pouch, to-night--for, look ' Dos; look for it, Paulo?' page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] 14 THE ORANGE G 'I watch for it, father.' ' Watch for it! The brave heart and cunning mind make time, and, for revenge, wait not for circumstance or accident. I'll tell thee a tale, toy.-When I was of thine age, or near it, I loved thy mother. We were poor, both; we were young, both, we wesre comely, both. She had no superior in beauty among the haughtiest or lowliest, in Venice,'of her sex. For her beauty's sake, a young lord n ooed her-wooed her, but wooed her not te wed her. He dazzled her eyes with his gold, rank and promises. She was weak enough to believe that he would disgrace his birth, pride and rank by wedding a lowly craftsman's daughter ; and therefore, though professing much before to love me, discarded me. Knowing well the motives of the noble's visits to her cottage, I con- fronted him, one night, upon the Rialto, as he was returning from her house, and charg- ed him with his vile intents. He answered me with a look, only-a look of supercilious scorn-and bade me stand out of his path. Persons were passing at the moment, and I obeyed him, meekly. He passed on, with a loud, scornful laugh. My bldbd was up- but the hour had not yet come. The moon was up, the stars were forth, in all their light and beauty-it was not the hour ! Fearful of death, he did not venture to cross the Rialto, again, by night, for a week; when, conquering his timidity, he donned his plume and sword and cloak, and posted for her house. She had been expecting him, and was arrayed in her most glittering and showv attire. She looked beautiful, and knew it. She stood at the door, anxiously awaiting his-arrival. The night was dark, and the streets and quays were dimly light. ed. Concealed behind the gate of an adjoin- ing house, I heard every whisper which passed between them. She had promised to become his on the ensuing night. It was to be a secret marriage-to be kept concealed at first-then gradually broached to his family and her's. Thou understandest the meaning of such a marriage, Paulo ! I heard it all-understood it all! My heart was ren with jealousy and rage, and yet I kept mv post, till he quitted her to return home Taking off my shoes, so that my footfall should not alarm his ear, I stealthily follow ed him, till lie had arrived within ten pace, of the Rialto. Then drawing my knife, 1 rushed upon him, and the blade had thric entered his neart ere he could recover from his surprise. A groan-the- faint groan of tl e despairing-escaped his lips, and he la3 upon the pavement, lifeless as a stone. N human ear save mine had heard his fall-ni human eye, save mine, had seen the deed I rolled hin-in his cloak, and dragged hin to the brink of the Lagoon hard by. A pil of stones lay near, from which I gathered dozen of the largest, and placed them on th body ; then taking a corA from my girdle IRL OF VENICE. THE ORANGE GIl carefully tied the cloak around them,afi, and ingly: 'hast either of these-and yet wear-I plunged the bulk into the watery tide. It est 'Shame, Cowardice, upon thy brow ?I sank, and, till now, no human ear hath heard Hast thou a heart, a hand, I say, and dost f d ld b thou play the woman',s game: watching.! of the fate of our doge's elder brother. ou on te wran' ''Twas a base and bloody deed!' excaim. Out on Fthee, craven ed the gondolier, shuddering, as he turned 'Father!I' hisegazedawayfrom the oodhrh drma, and h red 'Not a word !-not a word ! and dare not his gaze away from the old man, and looked call me by that name again, or I shall smite fearfully around to see if other ears beide thee ! 'Father!' Who gave thee the right his own had listened to the dark recital. to call me by that name ? Dost dare to call A base and bloody deed!!repeated-the thyself of ni blood-my name-my race ? other, mockingly; ' a base and bloody deed 'Father!' Now, as I live ! I do believe Pah! He would have slain thy mother's thee to be the spawn of some chicken-heart- honor, robbed me of peace for life, and made ed dastard, whose wily arts-exchanged thee, wanton with a score of hearts as fond, as in infancy, for mine own proud-souled and trusting as her's,-perchance driven an hui- fearless child,, when my wife was absent. dred others into despair, like me-had I not Go to! thou et no son of mine !' slain him. Pah! He was a villain, and de. The chafed spirit of the young gondolier served it. He was a noble, and the tramp. could stand no more. He sprang upon the - ler on peace, virtue and honesty-he 'had colstnnomr.R spagunth wl onighmurdeedmypeacevin oehe ad old man, and, grasping him by the collar, for that act, I became mine own avenger,. with one stern and sudden jerk, stretched forB at ak, hw b e kindre h avenger. him, lengthwise, upon the pavement ; then But mark, how his kindred ha've avenged planting one knee upon his breast, lie, with him: his nephew, the present young Fos.. i iegge ad rwa og arw cari, beguiled, seduced my only daughter- b fhis drdnl and, raising nalow thy sister-and yet he is at large !-branded exlae i et 4exclaimed- eternal shame upon her erst innocent fore- 'If thou wouldn't have me an assassin, head, and upon mine and thine, and yet he"whuject st t adetiet-nsain lives, to play the same pranks upon others. what subject so fit to dye this yet-unstained Thou knowest that that vile deed of his knife, as thine own foul carcase? Another sent the heart and hairs of thy mother'with word-another taunt-and, , though thou anguish to the tomb, and made a wanton of wert ten times my father, thou'lt find I am thy sister, and made the ruin of our house not the poor, patient, gibe-bearing spaniel what it is, and all but broke the heart of thou deemest me!' him who wobed her, ere Foscari laid his 'Let go thy hold! cried the old man, serpent eyes upon her to lure her on to ruin- struggling and writhing, as the white foam and yet he lives, and so do I-I,-in weakness of passion gathered around his lips. Let and gray hairs ;-and so dost thou-thou, in go thy hold, or I shall call for help!' young manhood's vaunted strength and fire! 'Call on, I care not!' exclaimed the gon- 'The hour hath not come!' thou say'st ;~ dolier, huskily, "call on, I care not, even if first the das- Athou should'st be answered by the all-potent three years have flown since fis"h a- Ten"l!' tardly deed was consummated, and yet for e . s a , v thee and vengeance, ' the hour hath not yet .' h he Ten "it isl a teepoer come!' Outupo the, cward bo !' side him,', "the Ten!' it is a terrible power Comee' Out upon thee, coward, boy!' t ey ' Father! father!' groaned the young . gondolier, passionately, 'crush not my'spirit The gondolier started at the unexpected sby branding me with, such opprobrious and thrilling voice. Did he know it? Was names. Coward ! boy!1 Oh!' there a magic spell in its deep, rich tone ' What art thou else?' said the old man, that his ear recognized an old acquaintance ? t gibingly, and glancing maliciously at his fingers let go their clutch of the pros- son. 'What rt thou else'? Where is the rate fruit-vender-the knife dropped from his hand-his face lost its passionate flush, bold spirit, where the lion-darig, that and was usurped by a chalk-like paleness. should mark hthya years? For three years He rose from his threatening position by the Shath the cloud of Wrong floated over our old man, and catching the eye and cloaked s house-for three long years bath the finger form of the stranger, dropped upon one Itnee I of' scorn pointed at us as varlets that patient- before hiisaying- de e ly submit to infamy, oppression, indignity, 'What vould's thou, master?' without the courage toraise a finger touh an tu, becomr a f smite the villain down. Three long yea etian?' said the stranger, impatiently; 'To y of shame, opprobi'um-three long years-' th fe satstange ti ; o an old man, I-a young man, thou! - Three Th et, man--to thy feet!.' o long years of unavenged shame !-three Te gondolier, crimsoning to the tem- [. long years !-think of that !' pes, started up, and, suddenly doffing his a The young gondolier groaned, deeply * lmeless cap, with downcast eyes, and imn eHe buried his head in his broad, tanned uia on hky with shame and emotion, in- a hands, acid wept, like a little child, ,Ar . -ed? e ' Hast thou a sou-a heart-a brain-an q1 atm reped th tagrsfl;' e, eye-a hand ?' persisted the old man, hismsepidte-tagesfly;'a burden, not far frop1 hence, needs thy carry- ing. I have had a heavy task of it, myself, this hour, and need aid. Canst go?' I can.' 'Then follow me.' They left the spot, together; and, ere the old fruit-vender could recover from the ef- fects ot their sudden meeting and departure, the stranger and gondolier were out of sight, There's more in this than I can fathom,' said the old man, pondering over the strange scene ; ' there is matter touching the State in't ! Who is yon stranger? Methinks I've seen his face before, but where-where ? I cannot recall the time, or place. Some high-born scion, doubtless--common blood bath no such eyes, no such face, no such voice, no such step, no such trappings, as his! What can it mean? Paulo trem- bled, losftmanhood, fire, dignity, passion, at his voice! Some dark game's a foot! The State needs cleaning-I've heard Paulo mutter it in his sleep. If lie be engaged in a conspiracy to sweep off all our lordly ty- rants--if he be !'-a strange light, like the enthusiastic gleam sometimes seen in the eyes of youth, shone in the fruit-vender's dark orbs--" if he be'! why, then, his fa- ther's benison go with lim! 0, that I were young again-young as my brave, wronged boy--with what a heart I'd plunge into the midst of these conspirators, and be one of them ! I would-I would-I wovld! But I am old-weak--half-falling into my grave. No, no: I must think of other things than blood. The State must be cleaned by the Young-the down-trodden, avenged by the young. Old men can but preach. And yet, how I have wronged poor Paulo! how wrongly charged him! 'He watches for the hour'! I see it all, now-I see it all ! How I have wronged hir !--My poor, ,wronged daughter will yet be avenged !" With thoughts and mutterings like these, the fruit-vender hied him homeward. CHAPTER VI. THE COM PANI oNs. They walked on, the stranger and the gondolier. 'They kept side by side, and spoke in low tones. They walked on, firm- ly, yet nervously, as if on each step the ex- istence of an empire depended. The streets and squares and quays were now alive with the. young and aged, of every class, return- jag to their homes. The deep-toned bell of St. Mark's fell upon their ears, and through- out Venice its heavy toll warned the popu- lace that it lacked but an hour of midnight The moon and stars waxed paler and dim- mer every moment, till the stranger and his companion could scarce see their way. StiL. they walked on. Wished they for dark- ness ? RL OF VENICE. 15 page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 THE C RANGE GIRL OF VENICE. The moon and stars were hid. The whole vault of heaven was curtained with drapery, dark and thick and frightful. It seemed as if man's last hope had been cut off-as if Deity had drawn a sheet of darkness between his Throne and Earth, that hio already-of- fended eye might be no more offended by. the deeds of darkness committed by man upon his fellow man. Yet the elements were not at peace:-the winds played bo- peep with each other on the Lagoons and throughout the corners of old Venice, as if to frighten the few still awake, and to arouse to wakeful fear the thousands sleeping. Their wandered on, the gondolier and stranger. They had already traversed half of Venice, and yet had not reached their goal, if goal they had in view. They had neared the Rialto, still in con- versation earnest as when they haa first set out, when the watchful eye of the stranger discerned light ahead. He laid his hand upon the arm of his companion, and, point- ing to the advancing torches, both noiselessly and cautiously drew back, and concealed themselves behind a broad, towering pillar at the base of the bridge. Now,' whispered the stranger to his companion, 'now, thou wilt see the scourge of our fair isle; now, thou wilt behold the instruments of that power, the very name of which makes the cheek of childhood turn pale, and the nerves of gay youth and stern manhood turn watery. Behold, but speak not-stir not-breathe not ; nay, utter not a word, though the victim be thine own sire!' - I will not,' said his companion. 'Hush-they come!' In silence, and with slow and solemn step, a double file of guards, six on each side, and each bearing a naked, double-edged sword, crossed the Rialto, and passed the pillar be- hind which the stranger and his companion were concealed. In their midst, with pon- derous and muffled chains around his wrists, was a young man of some seven-and-twenty - ears, in the garb of a gondolier. A tall, alf-naked, swarthy-complexioned slave, bearing a torch in one hand, guarded either side of the prisoner ; while before and be- hind the little troop marched one in the cos- tume of a cowled monk, with a long, white cross in his right hand, carried carelessly like a cane. - % 'Ha !' exclaimed the gondolier, as his eye fell upon the prisoner's face, 'tis-- But ere he could complete the sentence.the band of tne stranger was upon his mouin. The procession, witn its victim passed on, and, turning an angle of tne square, was soon lost to vieW. 'Rash man!' exclaimed the-stranger, re- proachfully, 'would'st betray us?' j$ut the latter answered not--a film was before his eyes-his whole frame shook with terror and emotion-and he sank into :he arms of the stranger, speechless. The winds whistled, and the Rialto seem ed almost on the point of giving away before the violence of the gale. CHAPTER VII. THE STORM. The belfry of St. Mark's gave a solitary toll ; the gale swept around the old tower, and gave to its chime, a heavy, stern, iron- like sound, which seemed almost powerful enough to re-awake to time and being the tomb-sleepers of old Venice. The wail of the increasing gale seemed like a dirge of" devils over the corse of their king, in the royal chamber of the Shades. TheRialto shook as if an earthquake ivere coursing be- neath its foundations. The gale was at its height. As if the ministers of Deity had been ordered to level their several shafts at Earth and destroy it, the windows of heaven were opened-of - lightning, flash-,succeeded flash,, and peal 2 followed peal of thunder--the rain came rushing down upon the seemingly-doomed city---and the angry blast flew around the squares and Lagoorn as if determined to make a chaos of the isle towering above the waters. Mothers, with their infants in their arms, started cut of their beds affright- ed, and with their nurslings, crouched in corners and dark. places to hide them from the broad, bright flashes of the red lightning and the deafening roars of the booming thunder. Young and tender-hearted brides crept, shudderingly, from their couches, and dropped upon their knees, in prayer. Old men, hoary with age and crime, turned pale, and mumbled half-broken sentences ofR long-forgotten prayers. Widowed matrons, upon their knees, sent up supplications to the throne of the Most High, for sons ex- posed to the dangers-of the angry deep; and youthful and hoary monks counted their beads and said earnest prayers that He would yet spare their criminal city for repentance. The waters of the Lagoons were swollen to a fearful height, deluging ttie piers and streets, and sweeping off into the tide of the broad Adriatic every floating thing that came within their reach. Yet all was dark- ness, save when, ever and anon, the gleam of some fitful flash exposed the havoc of the storm. The stranger, cloaked, bent over the sense- less gondolier, who lay in a sitting posture, at the base of tne pillar, and shielded him from the descending rain. Though drench- ed to the skin, the noble cared no for him- self, but had every thought cen red upon the peril of his companion. 'Terror hath unnerved, unwitted him,' he muttered, 'and the discord and battle of the elements have not in them enough of power to wal-e him!' THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 17 The tide rose higher, and the ncble felt and his companion, as they bent their heads the water entering his shoes. Quick as and listened. A sickly pallor overspread the thought, he raised the inanimate gondo- features of the latter, and a momentary tie- lier from his perilous position, and.dragged mor ran through his frame. He glanced at him up the bridge. This sudden movement, Galliano, whose face was dimly seen by the together with the sharp, heavy and rapid reflection of the Vault lamp ; but the latter,I beatings of the rain, roused the latter from though gazing thoughtfully at the mysteri- his stupor. He started, and put out his ous entrance, evinced not the slightest hands wildly-for the darkness prevented symptom of astonishment, or fear. his eyes from being of any service-and he 'What dost think it is ?' said Paulo, ga- felt the cloak and hand of the noble. At thering courage from the other's coolness. this moment, a bright flash revealed the 'Think!' answered the noble, with an face of the latter, and, the evening's events exulting smile, 'think ! why, that the ele rushing through his mind, he cried out- ments have revealed to us one of the chief ' Still here? Let us fly!' pathways to the dungeons of the 'Ten.' 'Whither?' responded the noble, as a Had we now but twenty men, brave-hearted chill ran through his frame at sight of the and true, we might storm this dungeon-en- ghastly features of his companion. 'Whi- trance,Ind perhaps rid Venice ofits tyrants, ther? The streets and piers and squares without the spilling of more blood than are deluged, and the Rialto alone affords flows in the veins of the death-dealing 'coun- refuge from the waters. Here we must cil!' Dost thou not see through it all ?" abide till the storm gives owr!' continued Galliano, his face radiating with 'But we shall die here !' . alternate scorn and pleasure at the discovery; 'Die! Fear it not: fate bath not yet " dost not see through it all ? For safety spoken such decree ;.and till it bath, why and escape, should they be assailed in their fear the mere playthings of fate ? The rain infernal councils, lot1 the staircase and the may wet, the tempest rage, the lightning magic outlet! Would they, at midnight, play in antics in yon clouds, but till the enter, unobserved, their bloody caverns, lo I word is spoken in tones louder than yon the marble door! When their fiendish tor- rumbling thunder, Galliano shall bethink tures have plt to death a victim, lo! the tim of Life, not Death!'. ' staircase and the door-close beside the Scarce had he spoken, when a broad, canal-by which, at dark hour atid solemn, bright flash, that, for at moment, lit every to slide the mutilated corse into the deep thing around brighter than noon-day, struck Lagoon! Who dies in Venice? 'Wo the spire of the marble-pillar, which had breathes his spirit out, among his kindred, been the concealment of the companions, on the caXn and -peaceful couch of home ? shivering it in fragments. We die not-we disappear ! atid the Adri- 'Lo, the warning of the waters!' exclaim- atic tide of an after day, finds'us floating- ed Galliano, pointing to the ruins. But five down its current, our bodies crisped and mmites agone, thou and I were there, for headless--memorials of Blood, Secret Deed shelter and concealment. Now, behold the and Tyranny-tyranny that hides its dastard wreck of our arc! The lightning hath robbed face in God's daylight, and prowls about in it of its glory and its power, and we must darkness, with dagger, cloak and mask, to here bide the peltings of the pitiless storm!' sweep from Life and Earth the suspected I All was darkness again, and yet the eyes The marble-door-the secret stair-ease- of the two were rivetted in silence, in the ana the grand-canal! Convenient instru- direction of the shattered pillar. A dini, ments ! But the red lightning hath shivered hazy light seemed to rise from its centre, their pillar, and we, we the patriotic band, hke the faint rays of a lamp in some dark we of the sworn body, shall rend the tyrants passage. The pillar, broken as it was, was themselves!' still about three feet above the level of the Though excited almost to delirium, yet $e ast rising waters surrounding it. The rain young noble's voice rose not above the gale. fell ceaselessly, and yet that strange, dim 'Let us depart,' said Paulo, looking car- light still shone around the broken remnant nestly around ; eyese, even now, may be of the pillar. Cautiously, the noble and his upon us !- Let us depart ' companion advanced toward the spot. They 'In good faith, not I,' replied the noble, Icoked down-the pillar was hollow, and a coolly ; 'I gonot hence till these eyes know circular flight of narrow stairs, wideningas more of the 'mysteries of yon stairce. they de ended, met their gaze. A lamp, Wilt follow me?' with f1 e burners, was suspended from the 'I have no weapon,' answered the gonnb- ceiling, a small distance from the gap, ap- lier, half fearfully. parently under the earth. The entrance 'Thy knife?' said Galliano, interroga- was not more than five feet, but gradually tively. widened in its descent. The walls were 'I have it not.' damp, and big drops of vault-sweat were 'Then fill thy pockets with scraps of yon continually falling to the bottom. A low, strewed marble,' said the noble, gaily, -tnd nmoanmg noise saluted the ears of Galliano ringingg into the pillar; ;'they will, throw 4 page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 . THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENIQE. be weapons enough to silence the clamors smote each other-respiration grew, evev of any we may encounter ere our return. moment, more and more difficult, and he felt Hast got them?' as if the Icy-Hand were tugging with his 'I have.' frame to tear away his heart. A long, deep, 'Stay, a moment, here is my dirk: thou agonising groan fell upon his ear. and, drop- may'st have need of it. Now, as thou ping on his hands and knees, his face close hast a heart, follow me!' to the ground, he crawled, shudderingiy, The noble drew his oft-tried rapier, and, backwards, in the direction of'the staircase. throwing off his cloak, that it might not in- His feet touched something heavy behind terrupt iis activity, or speed, quickly, yet him, and, turning his face, Galliano beheld cautiously, descended the narrow stairs. his companion stretched upon the pave, his The gondolier followed after him, noise- mouth and eyes agape, his erst sun-burnt lessly as possible, his heart beating pain- cheeks pale as chalk, his lips twitching as fully with excitement. if a serpent were gnawing them within, his breast heaving with agony, andl. his arms swinging above his head frantically, as if to ward off some horrid phantom visible to his CHAPTER VIII. terrified eyes. With a bold and convulsive effort, the noble passed him, and, weak and THE DUNGEoN SOrF THE TRIBUNAL. faint, reached the base of the staircase. A few moments' sojourn here partially recov- After descending the spiral staircase, our ered him : when, anxious for his companion. heroes, on verging to the right, found them-' and deeming his strength sufficiently restored selves in a long, broad avenue, of an iron for the task, he boldly rushed into the pas- hue, dimly lighted by lamps, with three sage, and, catching the gondolier by the burners, suspended by heavy chains, from collar of his jacket, dragged the body, hasui- the ceiling. On either side of the passage, ly, into the area, by the stairs. were massive oaken doors, covered with The sudden change of atmosphere soo-t heavy iron bars, rivetted transversely, and restored the latter to his senses, and re-in- each fastened outwards by a ponderous pad- vigorated the strength of both-yet -bothb lock. The cells were ranged in pairs,-i. e. were pale, 'very pale. Their eyes were every pair formed one little block, or square, strained and bloodshot with their recent ter- whiich was divided from the next by a nar- ror and struggles to-escape the empoisoned row pa ;hway 1kadiog into t he avenue be hind' air. )= it. The passages were covered with a dark, 'We have seen enough-let us now de- ielditig substance, which had tne effect of part,' said Faulo, half whisperingly. illing the echo of a footfall; so that, while ' Not I,' replied Galliano; 'life and curi- one stood conversing with a companion, a osity are yet sufficiently strong within me, spy might, unheard, turn an angle, and, ap- to urge me on to more than a gian,ce at these proaching within earshot, catch every word. infernal avenues. I must behold in full, ere The door of each cell, was numbered, near I again ascend to the world above us. The the top, immediately under a transversed atmosphere of the avenues beyond is, per- pair of shoulder-bones, surmounted by a chance, better than that of the first. Did'st grinning skull-the relics, doubtless, of the notice that it was not till we passed the sell's last victim. The ceiling of this sub- third block of cells that the air changed so teiranean vault presented a dark, spongy suddenly, and that it was when 'near the speet as if intended to drown the loudest fourth that the deadly ether first saluted wound. and thus prevent the groans of the usV ,ribuna:'s victims from being heard above. - 'Methinks I did; but what inference draw The noble, despite his natural nerve, you from that paased atd shuddered at the grim silence I'A plant one,' replied thenoble;'murder and appalling aspect of the strange scene. is going on in that cell-murder, not by the A dreary , heay, choking atmosphere was knife, nor by the pincer, nor by the thumb- arotnd him, and he repented of- having' screw, rack (r burning floor-but murder, thrown away his cloak. Taking ea few by robbing the poor victim of his feelings steps onward, a sudden and unaccountable and senses one by one, that, with his last feeling came over him The iron of his gasp, the victim may spring into the portals nerves seemed gradually 'Jeparting. and the of Eternity with a thrill of agony uneqttalled incible energy and irAdomitable resolution by any other torture. Did'st hear a groan!' o~f his nature, by some mysterious Process, 'I did., appeared to be oozing through his pores, and 'Be sure 'twas the victim's last! No tor- his blood, weak and tremulous, felt as if ture could drag from living clay such a grotn converted into water. His cheeks and lips as that ; it, more than the sulphurous air, blanched-heavy drops of hot sweat rolled struck me to my knees!' rapidly down his limbs-his eyes grew hag- 'So did it me-I never beard its like.' gard-his lips quivered-the moisture was ';Hush !' said Galliano, whisperingly, and fast departing from his gums--his knees placing his finger on his bn. I1 II I; THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 11 A sound, like the rumbling of a door - 'ThI'cross of St. Mark's,' was tloI re swinging upon its rusty hinges, now jarred sponse. upon their ears. The no b peeped cau- 'Pass on,' said the voice, in a sat'afie# tiously into the passage, and eheld a sight tone. which made his blood creep. Two stout, As Galliano was about leaving his con goodly sized wretches, garbed in long, cealment, a hand, from some one be.,ind greasy, blood-stained tunics,without sleeves, was laid gently upon hts shoulder, and som' and sandalled and capped, were dragging one whispered into his ear- the remains of their victim, on a broad 'Stay ! Death is before thee!' board, from the cell. The body was en- 'Ha!' exclaimed the noble, quickly re tirely naked, and, by the process-of the tor- cognising and, grasping the hand of thi lure, reduced almost to a skeleton. The gondolier; 'I'm glad I've found thet little flesh that remained upon the limbs thought thee lost in these infernal 1:,by was torn and ragged, as if by the violent rmnths.' struggles of the victim while writhing under 'I've been searching for thee,' said th the poisonous and sense-killing vapor. The other, in a hollow whisper. wretches, after having taken out the body 'Knowest thou the direction of the s air and the vapor-box, threw in a powder to- case ?' continued Galliano, earnestly, ' fo' kill the effluvia remaining in tne cell, care- I have lost it.' fully locked the door, and, taking up the A despairing groan escaped the gondoiei body.slowly and silently disappeared through as he replied: 'And I! Great God!' an ajoining passage. 'Hush !' exclainmed the noble, quietly The curse of a Venitian be upon ye, and clapping his hand to his company in'. bloodhounds!' muttered the young noble, mouth, 'thou'lt betray us!' shaking his doubled fist in the direction They plunged deeper into the glo, mn which they had taken. 'Follow me!' he pass, and stood mute as statues ; when, I ud exclaimed, turning suddenly to his compan- ing they were not overheard, they E ol ion, and immediately darting into the vault, carefully into the avenue behind, and, a te; apparently with the intention of hastening looking watchfully around, walked onw ird after the murderers and inflicting-upon them As they passed on, a masked figure, hohting the punishment due to their crine. a sharp-pointed spear, suddenly darted ftn The noble ran with speed, but soon found an adjoining passage, demanding sternly - himself bewildered in the countless and 'The password ?' complicated passages. His sword was 'The cross of St. Mark's,' replied G li drawn, and gra-ping it firmly in his hand, ano,,carelessly, and passing on. he darted from avenue to avenue, from nar- 'The password, thou?' said the fignl e row passage to narrow passage, his eyes, addressing Pailo. the while, searching every lighted and dark ''The cross of St. Mark's,' muttered h spot for the myrmidons of the Tribunal, gondolier, in a tone, which nothing but 11 but all in vain-they had vanished. Tired, last, bold effort of the despairing could -al panting and and spent out, he leaned against up. a cell, in one of the avenues, for support. 'Pass on,? was the response. Having rested awhile, and bethinking him of Treembhingly, indeed, did Paulo obey hI his companion, he strode swiftly4n, what ap- order, while the sentinel returned silent ' feared to him, the direction.of the staircase. into the passage from Which he had so sLd iut in this he was baffled : for, notwith- denly emerged. % standing all his efforts, he could not reach ' Cease thy trembling, man,' whisper e( the spot. Avenue after avenue, passage af- the noble, ' else we are ruined ! By change ter passage he traversed, but all in vain, I learned the watchword, and therefore i a and he was -forced to trust to chance in prepared for the fellow's challenge. he reaching it at all. member it!' In this critical. situation, and pondering 'I shall ;-' the cross of St. Mark's?' on the dangers to which he was exposed, he 'Aye! That knave was a watchm in resolved to explore every avenue and pas- and challenged us when we passed his pst sage till all the secrets of the vault we.e Be sure we'll meet with others, ere we known to him, or till he stumbled upon reach our goal.' sonie path leading to an outlet. Accordingly, 'Wihy not ask the next to lead us to ' h he iaced impatiently the lengthy avenue in staircase?' Which he stood, till he unexpectedly fouid 'Uamph! I doubt if wouldd be safe. 11, !miself within a few yards of an approach- would, for all our knowledge of the paRIs Ina personage, masked and enveloped in a word, suspect us. Suspicion would be tihe Sarkmantle. Fortunately for Gall.- forerunner only ofcapture and certain dea'b kne, h'is own sombre costume, the sound- No; we must trust to fortune for escape. killing pave, and the darkness around, pre- 'The watchword!' cried a figure, se'd Vented him from being seen or heard, and denly entering time page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] T11E ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. whispered Galliano; ' we must be ghary of I our speech. These villains must have their allotted posts, like the watchmen of iur city. Count the dungeon-sets we pass, are we again are challenged.' 'Six,' whispered the gondolier, as soon as they had passed the next sentry. 'Right, my count exactly,' said the noble, softly ; 'could we, now, through the dim light of these avenues, but learn the number of dungeon-squares from end to end of the vault, and the number of avenues, we might easily compute the amount of sentries at all times on guard here.' ' The advantage of such knowledge?' 'We then might guess the number of foes we should be likely to meet, in case we should storm the " Ten " in this, their den. I doubt much if their number is as great, as the prevailing fears and reports of our coun- trymen would lead one to imagine. Their great weapons are Mystery and Fear. Ve- netians are prone to fear an unseen power, and that is an all-subduing sword when properly handled. And yet, after all, how men, gifted with reasoning faculties and brave hearts, can be frightened by such pal- try bug-bears is more than I can fathom. A mystery is easily made up by the simplest mind ; the lookers-on may see the action of the mystery, but the mind that created it sees in't only the working result of his own mechanism ; tear away the cover, or tire curtain, and the gaping spectators, seeing the machinery, no longer wonder. These dungeons look m' serious and terrible, and yet they are nothing more than thick, wood- en boards put together by the aid of iron- nails and ordinary rivets, The head and bones of some poor victim are nailed upon them, for effect. Take away the human- hnman ? inhuman, rat'ier-instruments, and of what danger can the dumb bones and painted boards be? A frowning, elf-like visage and physique, like to the form and features of the last knave that challenged us, are easily made up by the aid of paint and dirt and black cloth. -They might be made on blocks, to frighten children with, and yet the scare-crow would be harmless. So with these knaves on duty here ; disrobe them of their black tunics, shave them of their matted beards and lanky wigs, wash them of their stained hands and filthy faces, and what would their bare forms present of terror more than ours? Pahi! That men should suffer wrongs, and let the perpetra- tors pass unpunished, because wrapped in Mystery and Paint !' The gondolier acknowledged the truth of these observations, but, though physically brave, he could not shake off the fears which his adventures among the dungeons thus far had gathered round him. 0 They passed oniviin" the password when- ever demandedtilhltey reached the end of the avenue-but no outlet met their vww. ' What shall we do?' cried Paulo, whose presence of mind and courage now seented to shrink at he hopeless prospect before them. ' Pass on to the next,' was the cool re- sponse-., ' But the sentries there may be the same that we have already met,' added the gon- dolier, falteringly. .' We'll make sure they are not, by taking our path to the one beyond. Lo ! our goal! see where the light gleams in yon area.' continued Galliano, when they had reached the point proposed, and pointing, as he spoke, to what seemed to be the entrance to the staircase. The hearts of both bounded, as they saw deliverance. They pressed forward, hastily, but on reaching the threshold of the area, the cheek of the gondolier blanched as if suddenly converted into marble-they weri on the threshold of the hail leading to the council chamber! A sentry was on duty there-almost before them-pacing, slowly. up and down the hall. His back was to- wards them, when they approached so near his post. He was about turning, when a sudden jerl of the gondolier, by the hand of Galliano, preserved both from the eyes, of the sentry, as he re-paced the pave by the door. 'Where is thy coolness-where thine eyes, man !' mustered the noble, as they hurried itto a contiguous and dark passage. They had been in their copqealment scarce a minute, when a cavalier cloaked and mask- ed, and wearing a scarlet cap, shaped like a sugar-loaf, which was ornamented by a tall;, white feather, fastened by a glittering loop in front, passed them and entered the hall. . ' The password?' demanded the sentinel, presenting his spear. - The mercy of the Ten,' responded the cavalier, laughing. 'Pass,' said the sentinel, recovering his weapon, and resuming his pace. 'T he watchword is changed!' whispered Paulo, aghast. ' Aye, for that department,' added the noble, in explanation. 'Fear not-another door than tile one we entered, must be near at hand, as the quick breathing and sudden entrance of yon cavalier plainly denote. Let us seek it.' They emerged slowly from their conceal- ment, and, watching the moment when the sentinel had turned, strode hastily past the door. Turning an angle, some few yards beyond, they fund themselves in a broad, high, arched passage, whose only light was received from a torch, which stood in the centre of the pave, supported by three port- able, upraised poles. 'We are near the door,' whispered the noble; 'dost detect the coolness of the air?' I do,' responded Paulo, looking fearfully I arou:.d. I. 20 -Z ' Have the dagger I gave thee at hand,' continued Galliano, 'for if there be a pass- word for the knave who stands sentry at the door other than the ones we have, we must fight for our egress.' As they proceeded, the passage, at every step grew less wide, till only one person tould make his way. A faint light ahead, encouraged them, and they trode swiftly on, when, all at once, they found themselves in a large, semi-circular vault, lighted by three lamps, hanging by chains from the high, arched ceiling, each about forty feet from the other. The atmosphere was cool and refreshing, and contrasted strongly with the confined air of the vault they had just left. A sound like the rushing of waters fell upon their ears, but no human object met their searching eyes. By the light of the burning lamps, they could distinctly perceive a semi-circular range of dungeons before them, each heavily barred and locked. Con- vinced, by the atmosphere and the noise of ti beating surge, that either a dooror win- dow-was at hand, the keen eye of the noble searched every spot around, till, glancing upward, over the range behind him, he dis- covered a small, grated window, through the broken panes of which the night winds rushed, and revealed to him at once the cause of the refreshing atmosphere around him. While pondering on what part of Venice the grated window-faced, his coin- panion touched him gently on the shoulder, and pointed silently to a figure, with his back towards them, sitting on a low stool, in the extreme corner of the vault: Imagining, and with reason, that this man must be the sentry of the main entrance, though, in con. sequence of the gloom around him, no door was visible, Galliano touched his lip with his finger, to his companion, and, grasping firmly the hilt of his drawn sword, advanced, on tip-toe, in the direction of the sentry, when he suddenly grasped him by the throat, and hurled him to the ground. It was the work of a moment, and so hastily and perfect- ly had the feat been executed, that the poor wretch fell without a mutter, or a groan. 'A word, a whisper, or the slightest movement, and this steel is in thy throat!' exclaimed Galliano, in a hurried whisper, as he stood threateningly over the prostrate figure, his sword pointing to his breast. 'eize his keys!' added the noble, to his companion, who, dagger in hand, had now approached. Paulo stooped, and, from the girdle of the unresisting sentinel, wrenched a huge bunch of keys, and handed them, in silence to Gal- liano, who, grasping them firmly, bade his astonished victim rise. The gondolier as- sisted,- and, in the act, bared his dagger across the wretch's throat, muttering as he 4id so-'Attempt to struggle, escape, or call for help, and my knife and thy gullet shall kly acquainted!' ZA - The poor wretch made no attempt to di- obey, but gazed sullenly at his captors. I'Now, knave,' said the young noble, i u peratively, 'where is the door that lrprns from these infernal caverns ? Speak, o1 ; slay thee!' The sentinel spoke not, but pointed to t11 e wall in front of which he had been sittimit;. The noble turned, and discovered a bro 1, dark door, with a huge lock and thi ce heavy cross bars. Seizing, instinctively, tiic largest key, he applied it cautiously to f-e key-hole, imd turned the-lock. Then slidig back the bars, the door easily ca ite op I, revealing a flight of broad, winding staint. 'On reaching the top of yon stair cae, where shall I find myself?'demanded i.e noble, sternly. 'In a bare apartment, lit by a single la "p, the door of which, fastened by a single lo, 1, opens into the Grand Square, directly front- ing St. Mark's,' replied the sentry. ' And that door can be opened from %v th- out ?' ' Aye-by a latch-key, of which e-y member of the Council is provided with a duplicate. The exterior of the apart atit represents an ordinary dwelling, and is guarded on either side by the habitation of a member of the Tribunal.' Is this the entrance for prisoners?' It is.' 'The only one?' 'No ;-there is another.' 'And that-' 'Is through a secret door in the wiute pillar' by the Rialto.' 'How long art thou on guard here ? From dusk till dawn.' Thy name?' 'Ugerto.' 'How long hast thou been in the sei tioe of the 1"Ten ?"' ' Three years.' ' Stayest thou by force?' I do.' 'Thy wages?' 'Bread, wine, raiment and couch.' If thou desert'st ?' 'The creatures of the "Ten" darf not desert.' 'And if they do?' 'If caught; the "Fire Chamber" is their doom-they are burned to a crisp, and .heir ashes flung, at midnight, into the Adri ,tic. 'Have any prisoners been brought th; ough this door to-night?' 'Aye, two.' 'The first-' 'A woman-the daughter of a noble.' 'Her name?: 'I know it not.' 'Where is she now ?' 'In the next range.' 'Through yonder passage?' 'The same. 'And the second victini- TllI ORAINIE GIRL OF VENICE. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 'I he sentinel's face grew pale, and his vot. e husky, as he replied--' A gondolier, I thi 1k.' IHa! and he-' Lies chained in yonder cell-number eig ,t.1 .I 4s the key in this bunch?' Aye-the key of every cell in the hrst ranee is there.' And this is the first range?' rhe number of ranges in all?' Pwenty.' And, of cells, each range counts-' Fifty.b 'tay, a moment,' till I open number rig- i., thou can'st not, without my aid.' Ia! Wherefore ?' ' xcept by a practised hand, the lock can iot be turned, without alarming the bell- wa , her in the next range.'. the distance is too far for him to hear.' .hou dost mistake: to every lock there is a wire attached, that rings a bell in the wa li-room, which noie but an accustomed turn 'ey can prevent.' 'he motive of that?' 'is a safeguard against strange hands, in c se a stranger should, by any possibility, fnd entrance here, and seek to set captives free and also to prevent prisoners from es- cap igby forcing the doors.' Vilt thou open number eight?' - iye, if thy companion here will take his dag er from across my throat?' '1 l'st know the prisoner in number eight?' c' do.' 1 is nanie ? ennaro!' a! .Didst thou know him? did!' Vert thou of his calling?' ye, my lord ! I it was who first taught him iow to pull the gondolier's oar ; taught him iow to brave the deep and angry tide, wheo billowy waves ran high amidst the stor r. We'slept under the same roof, ate at tI a same table, prayed the same prayers, front his infancy, till I was summoned be- fore lhe " Ten."' 'I deed! Who art thou?' f'lennaro's father P ~ atI. his father ? Swear it !' s I do hope for heaven's mercy!' F'nough ! 1 trust thee ! Release him!' P olo let go his hold, and the old senti- nel owed his banks. Emotion was plain- ly v bible on his boldly delineated features - but ' was thi- emotion of one who had long sine learned to curb the rising passions of his ' heart. His face was livid, clammy ; his eyes large, dark, but lustreless ; his 'hands ro-' ,bony, and indicative of grcat strength; his torm about the common height, his shot ders broad, and covered with a loose, coar-s, dark-hued tunic, which reached but slightly below his knees, revealing the na. kedness of his legs and feet, the latter being preserved from contact with the ground by a pair, of rough, black sandals. His arms were bare, and his chin and upper lip cover. ed with a profusion of dark, bushy hair, His aspect was hideous, gaunt and grim, As the light of the hanging lamp fell upon his face, the keen eye of Galliano detected a twitching on his wrinkled brow and cheeks, and a swimming in his lustreless eyes, which plainly told how deeply his heart was wrung with suffering. 'Shall I open number eight?' asked the sentry,. his voice thicker and hoarser than before. Thou meant no treachery?' 'By all my hopes of' heaven, no!' 'Enough-I'll trust thee. Take the keys. The old man took the bunch, and, select ing the proper key, advanced towards the dungeoii. After cautiously turning the lock and shoving back the bars, the door swung open, and the old man entered the cell. A noise, like the falling of chains, was heard, and, a few moments afterwards, the old nan re-appeared, bearing in his sinewy arms the slumbering body of his son. He laid his burden softly upon the pave before the no- ble; and, kneeling by it, pointed to the body and exclaimed, in a lw, choked voice- ' Behold, in the dungeons of the masters and rulers of Venice-behold a sight for a fath. er .' ' Hast thou a father's heart and permittest thy son to lie there, when an effort of thine could restore him to life and freedom?' said Galliano, in a stern, reproachful tone, eye- ing the sentry. , 'That effort were death to him and m,,' responded the old man, in a low, hoarse voice; ' the argus-eyed Tribunal would hunt us in the extreme corners of the earth, and drag us back to unescaping death!' 'What ! lovest thou life ? 'Ave, count-for my boy's sake.' 'Ifis sake ! Ha! ha ! old man, what aid can'st thou render him?' 'INone, my lord, till his sentence be o'er. Then-' 'Ha ! and then?' - 'Then,--that is iny secret, my lord !'said the sentry, suddenly recollecting himself, and raising the body.-' Follow me, and thou shalt see,' he added, lifting his son care- fully, and walking in the direction of the passage through which the nobfe and his companion had come. ' Ha ! stay, whither goest thou?' demaid- ed Galliano, sternly, and advailcing towards him, The sentry answered not, but on reaching the entrance to the passage, paused, and pressing a stone, a door in the wall flew open, into which the old man entered au- tiously, Galliano and nis companion follow- ing, wonderingly. I i AL 22 THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 23 The at.artment into which they entered in the picture, vthen the latter feli back, re- was square, about six feet in height, and vealing a large, high-vaulted chamber, faint- the same in length and width. A small ly lighted. The room was bare of furniture lamp rested on a low, cross-legged table, or ornament, Qf any kind, and nothing but which stood in the furthest corner, beside a a single lamp, suspended from the ceiling, ted. It was a wretched, filthy-looking could be descried. ole, and the poisonous stench arising from 'The purpose of that chamber ?' said Gal- .he bed was almost sufficient to strangle liano, interrogatively. the noble. ''Tis the dungeon into which they are Having entered, the sentry placed his plunged who are doomed by the Tribunal to senseless son upon the rude couch, and then linger out a torturing life by starvation, carefully and silently closed the door. A bolt answered the sentinel, coolly. 'But it is soon made the latter fast, and the old man, not used much,' lie continued, ironically; though really deeply agitated, seated him- ' the Teii are rapacious, and love to hear the self coolly upon the foot of the bed, and gave quick groans and screams and yells of those a loud laugh. whom they doom, But see, my boy moves ; 'How now-the meaning of this ?' de- the air has changed the action of his blood. manded the noble, a suspicion of treachery In a few moments, lie will be conscious, and flashing across his mind. then ye must all depart ; for the dawn is 'Let me have my laugh, my lord !" said close at hand. But not a word must lie hear the sentry calmly. "No living soul, our- from you that will teach him who I am!' selves exceuted, is aware of the existence 'But if I should wish to return,-say by of this little chamber, It is the handiwork to-morrow night-with a friend br two with of these unpractised hands, and made during me-wilt thou admit us?' asked G1alliano. the few hours allotted me for sleep. I have 'I will,' replied the sentry, ' but remem- robbed nature of her dues to cheat the eyes ber and ponder on the peril of the attempt.' and interests of men. It is a rare work- 'I shall remember all,' said the noble, manship, is it not my lord ?' he added, with 'and tie Tribunal-shall remember me, too. a chuckle and a smile which gave him I have a work to rdo, old man; a work in more the semblance of a demon than a rnan. which five thousand of the bravest and most 'Look my lord, how tastefully the'hangings patriotic of Venetians are sworn to aid me. and the tapestry are arranged.' As he spoke, A work, I say, a work of retribution-dost he touched a cord beside~ the foot of the thou understand me?' couch, when as if by magic, the sombre- Their eyes met-and, though neither uto ness of the walls changed to a beautiful tered a word, they understood each other's and luxurious appearance, each side having thoughts and meanings, and' were satisfied a portrait painted in its centre. The ceiling with each other's faith. was white as porphyiy, and a number of 'Ha ! where am I?' cried the gondolier, circles, each smaller than the other, were starting from the couch, and gazing around painted with great skill, in its centre, giving him in astonishment. 'Sure I know your it the appearance of a magnificent dome. faces!' he added, gazing alternately at the The table, by some mysterious process, as- noble and his companion. 'Are ye what sumed the aspect of a card board, and the ye seem-or are ye but the dreamy figures low couch became a couch of rare beauty. cf my crazed brain. Speak, art thou not The floor alone remained unchanged, and Paulo, the son of the fruit-vender.' its dark hue presented a melancholy con- 1'I am, Gennaro,' replied Paulo, in a low trast with the rest of the apartment. tone, extending his hand. The noble and his companion were mute 'And thou?' he gazed, addressing the with astonishment. The former, at last, noble. broke the silence, by demanding of the sen-- 'Thy friend,' said Galliano, softly; 'but try-'Art thou man, or devil?' one whose name even these walls must not 'Nenther, msay gracious lord,' replied the hear. Thou art a freeman, once more, if sentry, with a sardonic grin, 'nor magician, thou hast strength to walk to where I'll hide, nor fiend ; but a simple man, one who has thee even from the Tribunal. What' say'st made use of his simple wits to outwit the thou-be-brief i thy answer, man, for day craftiest ones of Venice.' is fast approaching.' 'The Tribunal ?I 'I cannot walk,' replied Gennaro, faintly, ' The same, my lord. For years, they and sinking on the bed,-' my limbs have have played upon each nerve of this poor lost their wonted strength. I am feebler frame, till they have broken-as they think than a child.' --the sole remaining links that bind me to 'Let hini remain,' said the sentry in a rnan As a captive and a slave, they have choked tone, which he endeavored to hide used me as they listed-as a captive and by coughing. 'Let him remain then, in a stave, I have used what they could not heaven's name. I'll answer for his safety succeed in robbing me of, my will, to their with my life. His trial cannot tike lAce ultimate undoing. Behold!' till to-morrow night, at the earliest,-as the As he spoke, the sentry touched a spring Tribunal sit only at night--and, as other? 0 i -*.- , , page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. prisoners are yet to be tried, ere he is sum- moned, lie shall in thy company depart-I trust, never to return !' 'Theanfarewell,' said the noble, extending nis hand to the prisoner. ' The Tribunal, perchance, did Venice a service in arresting thee. Thou hast a foretaste of the horrors that have been rioting in these infernal caverns: it will serve to nerve thee for the coming trial. Brother, farewell.' A moment more, ana the gondolier was alone. But a few minutes had elapsed, when the sentry again entered the -apart- ment. 'Thou must return to thy dungeon,' said ne, in a low, deep tone. 'There is danger that thy cell may be searched between this and the coming night, and it, in such case, thou wert not found, my life would answer for thine absence. Thou wilt receive no food during thy imprisonment, therefore take this loaf and pitcher of Wine-all I can give thee-and when the hour of ten arrives, be sure that 1 shall be with thee. Follow me, in silence: for thy life or death depend- eth on thy conduct. Follow me.' Without a word, without a murmur, though vith his brain full of conjectures, the young man soon found himself re-locked m his first dungeon. CHAPTER IX. THE HGtUSE OF THE USURER* With our kind reader'a leave, we will now leap over time a week, during which inter- regnum some incidents pertaining to, this history transpired, which, in their proper time and place shall find a fitful- record. We'll chance th. scene., too, and tisher into sight one fair be g whom we have already kept too far in the vista-our heroine. Reader, hast thou ever been in the favor- ed land-the land of song and beauty ; thE land, above all others, where the Eterna One tarried the longest while creating hi fatr and beauteous Earth ; the land whert every zephyr is an angel's whisper-where every rustling of a flower leaf is a flower" sigh--where the orange blooms withV rmoisteniwg,golden beauty that almost shame. the brightt and mellowing sun-where thi dews of dawn infuse new life, new strength new blood, new nerve, into the wearies frame-where the pale cheek is made ros) and hicalthful, as the first blu'h of youth by the pellucid atmosphere-where, a night, the stars shine brightest, and th moon gleams purest-where the sky i bluer, the clouds lovelier, the atmospher clearer, the flowers brighter, gayer ant more lovely in their variegated hues, an( the waters more blue and clear than in an ether of the water-bound islets of God' fair garden, Earth ; where man is blithest. gayest, boldest--where woman is more the seraph and, at the same time the syren- the syren conscious of the all-conq.ering attributes of her nature-where old men of three-score are glad, joyous and fleet-lii'nb. ed as the youth of eighteen of less-favored climes-where every gale hath music in it -where the very waves dash on the pale, sands like murmuring lullabys, and are echoed by the busy, ever-flying zephyrs :bove -and where the full, loud, ripe, hearty laugh is heard from every honest heart the isle around, for very mirth and gladuess- Venice! Hast thou been there reader mine, and not felt thyself nearer the Para- dise of eastern fable, or that truer, holier home spoken of in the Tome of tomes, than ever, or in reality or in thy dreams, beforeV What though dark dungeons, and bridges, and narrow, winding waters confront thee at- every turn-what though tm stic tales, and legends of terror and mystery, salute thine ear at dawn, high noon and dusk and even- what though grim processions and fiendish instruments of % power inhuman warn thee to be mute in thy speech and thought, and ever inert in action-what then ?-The calm, refreshing, invigorating air -the mel- low haze and inspiriting sheen of earth's day-god-the bright, b'lue sky--the deep, broad, gay, sun-kissed mirror of the cloudaS and sky-the Adriatic, are about thee still, telling thee of beauties so vast and glorious, that man, for all his powers of appreciation of the bright and beautiful, for all his skep- ticism of the works of Deity, for all his loathing of the dopraiity of man, must first bow his head in worship to the bright and beautiful, ere he passes censure on the things of ill and villainy around him. . In an obscure quarter of the city, in a dwelling as humble in its exterior as the ob- scurity of the section in which it stood, dwelt Uberoni, the Usurer. Though strong, - ly suspected of possessing wealth, the hum- ble exterior of his abode seemed to give l such belief the lie.. Though -s well known s throughout Venice as the Doge himself, and equally-as loathed, yet-for all his repu. tation for wealth-no man's doors were freer from the depredations of midnight thieves, nor the person of Foscari himself more safe from danger or insult. In fact, lie was strongly suspected of being one of the numerous instruments or- spies of the secret and dreaded "Tribunal," and'by not a few was he secretly deemed to liold a more important position in the eyes Jf that t terrible body. Though the quarter of the e town in which he lived was inhabited by s the poorest and vilest,. and therefore the e section most populated, still, for years pre- d vious to the opening of our tale, the rude, d low dwellings an either side of the Usurer's y house, had stood tenantless. Though their s rents werc comparatively, nominal, still so THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. great and so universal was the dread of'this man, that the dwellings in question were shunned by all, as if a curse rested upon them. Whenever-the Usurer was seen to leave his door, at what hour soever of tle day or night, the inhabitants of the street, though sitting before their own doors, cea- sed speaktng-the laugh was broken-the merry jest sundered-the low whisper si- lenced, each eye bent fearfully to the ground, tll he had passed from their sight. His door was ever closed and locked, and his small windows heavily curtained ; precau- nons almost entirely useless ; for scarcely a being, of the thousands dwelling in that part of the citypassing,would have had "Ie nerve, to turn his eye in the direction ofthe house though its door stood agape. A small, square, faded sign hung by the entrance, giving notice of the name and calling of the tenant, and also of his business hours ; still, as was well known to the peor'e of that neighborhood, the Usurer did his business elsewhere. On a bright morning,-about a week after the incidents recorded in the preceding chapter,- -a young, handsome and gaily at- tireI cavalier, was seen advancing in the direction of the Usurer's house. He wore scarlet trousers, fitting tightly to the skin, the outward seams hidden by a bright, gold. spangled stripe ; a jacket, of blue velvet, trimmed with white eimine and snowy frills, and a jewelled cross ; a shoulder cloak, of the same glossy material ; a circu- lar, low-crowned cap, ol' a hue correspond- ing with his cloak and jacket, ornamented with a high, ostrich -plume, fastened in front by a jewelled l-oop ; white kid gaunt- lets, yellow boots, and a long, slender, sil- ver-burnished rapier. His figure was slight- ly above the common height, and finely moulded ; his step firm and proud ; his fea- tures of the Roman order, and haughty as the noblest-born of that once martial race; his head was covered with hair of the deep- est jet, and was thrown backwards in ring- letted ma-sesrevealing in full his broad,high- ly-polished brow; he wore small mustachios, and his jetty beard was trimmed to a poit His whole appearance, at once proclaimed his rank, and as he passed, the obsequious and deferential bows and doffing of caps, by the people, attested their knowledge of his name, caste and person. On arri-ving at the house of the Usurer, the young noble tapped ' hastily at the door ;it was opened slowly, by a tall, stout black, -dressed in along, dark tunic, fastened together, in rough, careless folds, round the waist by a leathern belt, from which hung a long, slender dagger,en- eas'd in a sheath of plain brass ; a pair of well-worn sandals completed his attire. *Is thy master at home, knave?' demand- ed the noble, haughtily. The black answered by gestures, that he was, bu\ engaged. 'But I must see him,' said the noble, brushing past him, haughtily, and entering a door on his right. The black gave a significant shrug, closed the door, and disappeared, hastily, down the basement stairs. 'Ho, ho, my trusty man-of-gold,' cried the noble, laughing, on entering the room, fss lie caught a glimpse of a female dress hastily disappearing through the door of an inner room 'Ho ! ho! So thou hast not forget thy young years, yer-a petticoat in thy house ! Uo, ho! a precious sage and moralist thou art, my trusty-gray-beard!' The Usurer colored, and was sanimeling an excuse, when the noble, laughing, inter- rupted him s.ying-' Nay, no excuses, bring in the lady-I must see her-- ou know how fond I am of the fair-what pains I take to make myself agreeable, and how agreeable I can make myself, when I try ! So, oblige me with an introduction.' ' Pardon me, my lord,' said the Usurer, slowly, 'but I cannot oblige you, at least to- day.' SWhy not, my youthful money-lender?' inquired the other, laughing, 'you must have the poor thing imprisoned in this little box, like a captive bird, and allow no ey es othet than your own, and that dumb porter's and knave-of-al-work of thine, to gaze upon her beauty, or listen to her songs I And that, too, while Leonardo Foccari,--" the Prince of Gay'Gallants,"-as 1his companions term him, lives ! Out on thee, the very idea is unworthy thy reverend wisdom !' 'I'm sorry for it, my lord,' replied the usurer, coldly. ' Nay, man, never purse thy brow so deep- ly,' added the noble, t it is bad for thy wrin- kles-it exposes them terribly, believe me. Come, my gay Adonis, do let me hiave one word with-one glimpse of, thy Venus!' ' Not to-day, my lord,' was the cool re- sponse. - What! you won't ? Ha! ha ! ha ! By St. Mark ! I do believe thou hast been cut- ting-thy stale bachelorship, and that this is thy honeymoon! Well, if thou art already jealous, heaven watch o'er thy young bride!I for she'll have a time of it, with thee for her lord! Come, lend me an hundred ducats, and I'll leave thee to thy fair one!' 'An hundred ducats, my lord P 'Aye, my young bridegroom, an hundred ducats ! Not a moiety less will answer.' 'But it is impossible, my lord.' 'What is impossible?' 'For me to lend you an hundred ducats, my lord.' 'Why so-h?' I have not so much money in the house, mylord.' ' Pooh ! pooh ! fiddlestick ! I know your old excuse, to drag out of me a higher in- terest than usual., But it won't do, my venerable child. I must have the money-- 6 L If I "1 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. and insartly-my honor is pledged for it!' When the usurer recovered from his 'BRut your lordship has had three hun- spasm, which he did in about half an hour, dred ducats within ths fortnight.', he found himself stretched on a low, broad, 'His lordship is perfectly aware of the cushioned bench, his head supported by a fact, and his lordship now wishes another high pillow. A young girl, of soine eigh- hundred added to the amount, and that with- teen or nineteen years, sat on a low bench out delay, as his lordship feels himself grow- beside him, wiping, with her handkerchief, ing more and more choleric,'added the noble, the saliva from his lips, and the cold at is. in a tone not to be misunderstood. ture from his cheeks and brow. The stony ' But I have not the money,' said the eyes of the usurer fell on her fair, small, usurer, biting his ip; but I might possibly tanned features, and rested there in silence. raise it ot a friend, if I could give hima pawn She was small in stature, but of a contour for security.' of form and features that would strike a ' Nay, but thoul't raise it without security sculptor with reverence and awe. Her lips other than what thou hast had on the other were small, but shaped like a perfect bow, three hundred,' said the noble, playing with and were ripe and rosy as the hower that, the hilt of his sword. itself the loveliest, reigns queen amid the 'But-' fairest. Her brow was -high, but, like the Nay, me no buts,' said the noble, h'tugh- rest of her skin, bronzed by her Italian sun. tog, but his pale visage giving the lie to hi. Her hair, parted in the centre of her fore- seeming pleasantness; 'I want the money, head, and falling in heavy masses round her or I know a tale shah jeopardize thy head!' neck, waz dark and silky as the wings of a ' My lord- gasped the usurer, turning raven. Her attire was plain, but tasty, and pale, and starting, revealed in full the perfection of her petite Ho, ho ! it brings thy pale liver up, t'oes figure. It consisted of a dark merino frock, it?' said the noble with a quiet smile of fitting close to the shoulders and waist, and triumph ;'I thought it would.' reaching a little below the knees ; while her At tnis moment a groan was heard-the small and delicately-shaped feet and ankles noble started, and looked wonderingly were encased in black silk stockings and around; when he again turned. he beheld buskins of the same hue. She was pate, the usurer lying upon the fb or,-his eyes and the expression of her large, dark eyes, turned upwards, as if in death, and his thin as they met the usurer's, was- Thou, poor, lips covered with white foam. suffering man, I can feel for thee ; for I, ioo, Somewhat startled, and still more con- am a sufferer.' fused, the young noble instantly resolved to The usurer interpreted the glance, and quit the I oiuse, and return towards evening the hard stoniness of his eyes immediately for the money which he needed. So, sum- changed into a moistening softness that, it moning the black, and pointing out to the was evident, was unusual to them. Find- slave the condition of his master, he, with ing this sudden change was visible to the hasty strides, took his departure. loi ! young girl, and fearing that it might be ho !' lie muttered, as h2a passed up the street, seized by her for a purpose which would ' how soon that hint of the murder of old conflict* with his interests, the usurer couigh- Galliano brought him to his senses ! The ed to hide his feelings, and, finditig himself pale fool thought it was forgotten. But lie fully equal to the effort, started up, witlh a labored under a mistake. That is my hold brief ' Thanks!' and hastily left the room. upon his purse and services-when lie fails Scarcely had he quitted the apartment, me in either, when lie dares again to look when a hand from without pushed by the me so boldly and insolently in the face the curtain, and a small piece of parel-ment was base murder of his white-haired victim, the thrown into the. room. The young girl noble Galliano, shall be a luxurious end-to cked it up, but ere she had time to read, the one I have in. store for him. Ha ! ha the footstep of the usurer was heard, and in ha ! And then, when I have cased him of another moment, he was before her.' Agi- his saucy blood, how easy it will be, with a tation marked his step, his features, though troop of disguised and masked confederates, he was evidently struggling to master it, to enter his crib at night, and take possession Ile paced the room nurridly, his eyes bent of his strong-box. Ha! ha ! ha! The upon the matting covering the floor. Fir- ' tho'ight is quite reft 'shing. But that gioan ing himself a lit tle calmer, he seated him- -what could it mean ? Spirits hidb not self upon the cushioned bench, and, ktuking hemselves in holes and corners by day ! So the young girl full in- the eyes, said, our worthy confessors tell us, aid they, pass- sternly- inig their days and nighs itt holy and spiritlial ' Girl of a blighted na-ne, for thy kindness studies, should knotv. Ard the mysterious in tending me in my weaknr -s, accept my petticoat, t )o- -I must understand it, and thanks : in return, if I can do aught for thee, that before long. Uniphi !' And in this sin- name it.' gular train of thought-this mingling of the ' Restore mne to-my friends,' said the girl: assassin with the roue-he hied him to the falteringly.I house of a companion. The usurer smiled, and shook his head, THE ORANGE G1 S s he replied: Thy friends cannot receive thee.' ' Have they refused to ?' asked the young girl, weeping. 'They have not,' replied the usurer;'they would be glad, doubtless, to have thee with them. Shall I tell thee a secret? And if so, wilt thou retain it ' 'I-?' She laughed, but a sob was min- gled with it. 'Thou'rt fight,' said the usurer, catching 'Q, the meaning.of her laugh; :if thou hast no means of conversing, to whom canst thou reveal? Thou'rt right : and for that reason I will tell thee why tby friends cannot re- ceive thee-they are not in Venice.' No?' No.' 'But where, then?' Theat remains a mystery.' Have they fled?' By some strange means, they have,' re-' plied the usurer ; 'liut their flight is merely momentary : they will soon return.' ' Thank heaven for that!' cThey would scarce thank thee for such offering.' Ila V' 'When they return-as return they must, they but return to die!, 'Are they, then, condemned?' The suspected, inVenice, are condemned before they are arrested.- The arrest is but the forerunner of the shroud.' 'But they've escaped.' 'Aye-and I will tell thee how. Dost remember the night of the old man's arrest ?' 'Ido.' That night Odo, the Tribunal's Death Messenger, presented the old lord a packet: it summoned him to leave undone whatever he was doing-if eating his food, tolay down the untasted mouthful-if drinking, to set down the cip, without tasting, though it were within a hair of his lip-if preparing for his bed, to don his cloak and cap, and, without a word, without a glance, without '- a movement, without a sign eould be trans- lated by a child, to follow the Tribunal's messenger. He did so: for his rank's sake, the Ten awaited his coming.- Sooner even than they thought, sooner than they looked for, their victim was before them. Sooner than he wished, the old rman stood in the council chamber, in the presence of those whose fiat was as relentless as their decrees were terrible. A chamber, eighteen feet high, fifty broad, and fifty deep, the walls and ceiling hung with black, with devices of every torture used, curiously wrought thereon, each device being in itself a picture to fright the prisoner ere he has spoke a word, ere a word has been spoken to hin,- with ten masked men, in black, sitting in a semi-circle, on a raised platform, before him. Pale but firm, the lord stood before his S doomosmen. The charge of endeavoring to RL OF VENICE. 27 suborne the peace and welfare of the state was put against him. The old roan fleplied by demanding the name of his accuser. ' Leonardo Foscari,' was the answer. The accuser and the accused stood face to face- a triumph in the young man's eyes,-aston- ishment, withering scorn atd defiance, in the face of the old. Deep silence reigned awhile, A signal was given-a box was handed round-the box was opened-and lo ! 'twas empty-the lord's doom was spoken, sealed, without a word-the interior of the box was black-nothing iwhitened it-lie was doom- ed! Three nights afterward, lie suffered In the -sulphur dungeon. Hast thou ever heard how terrible is that death? I'll tell .thee.-The victim's dungeon is strongly barred, so that his strength., be it as super- human as it may, cannot burst the dooi-; the walls and ceiling are covered with soft, springy wool, so that, when frantic, the vic- tim cannot dash his brains out ; by degrees, the sulphur, mixed with white powder, ground from lilies' hearts, begin. to ooze through holes in the floor: the sensation is delightful beyond conception-to the aged victim, youth seems to be restored; 'the bright visions and dreams of boyhood, glide past the mind's eye-the air built castles, the amours and gaieties and enjoyments of body and mind pass, as in a mirror, before. his mental vision-in a momen , as if by magic, this vanishes, and the vict m is seiz- ed with cramps and chills,--his very blood seems dried up-his veins and nerves Inock one against the other, creating pains and agony beyond belief. The flood of vapor changes, as to a mist-through which the victim's countless actions and scenes; from youth to the silver hairs upon his head, the gay and the grave, -he innocent and the guilty hours of pas'ime- it seems as if all the chambers of mentory are opened wide, that the spectres of the brain are dancing before your eye, as in a magician's mirror. The vapor fades slowly-and again the chills and pains of torture seize upon the victim, only more intensely than before. A sharp pang fastens upon his forehead-vultures appear to be devouring his body-lie strives to, speak, to cry, to groan, but cannot-the pain is so intense that he cannot utter a sin- gle word. Again the vapor rises-tie vic- tim feels relief according as the nist in- creases in thickness around him. 'he t.ell becomes more crowded with th6 vapor every moment, and in proportion does the delight -of the victim increase. The spiritual world is opened to his mental vision, all nis doncep- tions of the happv land ef the Hereafter are embodied and aiured before him. A spirit stands on the s'lore, and beckons him to come. The vapor again vanishes, and the former tortures seize him with increasing virulence. He yells, screams, starts, springs from corner to corner of his cell, as if pur- sued by a demon. Again the vapor rushes 40 II I page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] Ii~ THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. through the floor-the cell becomes hot as Dusk had stolen i i--lightly at first-then fire-the burning Lake, with all its horrors, heavier-even as gray hairs fall on the rises to his view-the King of the Doomed crown of man-until Night had usurped the leaves his throne to drag him into his fire- place of Day. Night, with her stars and the sweat rushes in torrents from the vic- drapery, and clouds, and bright silver orb- tim-his senses leave him one by one, and night,'fair and graceful and beautiful, with- with a cry, rising from the exquisite perfec- out-night, all dark, and dreary, and cheer- tion and very acme of human torte, he 'less within. bounds into the air. The power of the va- She moved not, that fair, that beautiful. por ceases-the executioners enter the cell, that terrified girl. ' and naught is visible but a mass of fleshless The hours waxed on, and yet the usurer, bones !' contrary to his word, did Dot make his ap- The orange girl did not shdder-she did pearance. Did his victim expect him-did not scream-but leaning back in her chair, she yearn for his arrival? gazed wonderingly at *he speaker. Her fea- Midnight arrivet-midnigh't: that hour tures. injood, nht'nged, and, as the Usurer when deeds unholy ad dark and murder- paues d, turned, shade by shade, paler and ous are perpetrated by God-defiiig hands; paler, til her whole visage resembled a that hour when the student's brightest con- countenance of cold and frigid marble. ceptions flash' athwart his vision,-when Having exhausted, his anger, and indif- man ponders deepest on human schemes, ferent to the terrified feelings of his victim, and woman's dreams are holiest-midnigh.! the usurer changed his tone, and added, in The outer door swung back on its oiled a bland voice-' Time presses-I must hinges, noiselessly-the door of hie cham- hence. When my business for the day is her in which the orange girl sat, opened finished, I shall return. Meanwhile, pon- softly-a hand was laid upon her sliolder; der on what I have said. If I find thee in a the fear-spell was broken, and, without ut- humor consor'ing with mine own, thy future tering a moan, or a sob, or a shriek, the days shall be one eternal reign of joy and orange girl turned her head slightly around. bliss. If not-mark me: the wretch that The unknown, at that moment, pulled aside lives in caverns, and feeds on mouldy diet- the heavy drapery curtaining the vindow, whose loathsome carcass even worms shud- when, like a bright haze; the sheen of the der at and shrink frota-whose bowels like moon fell upon her features, and the strain* the fabled magi's, are ever being devoured ger beheld a fair, pale face, gazing at him, by serpents-whose palate, like those of the her eyes full and lustrous, and tears rushing, tLoomed in the ever-flaming lake of the like a silent stream, adown her alabaster Eternitis, is hollow and painful through cheeks. thirst--1 tel thee, girl, the sufferings of ' Dost thou not know me?' said the stran- such a, one shall be bliss, compared with ger, in a low, deep voice the tortures I have in store for thee! Know. thee!' she repeated. Adieu !' 'Aye,. thou poor, wronged girl,' added A minute more, an? ale orange girl was the stranger, 'Dost thou net know me ? 1 alone. am thy friend.' Reader, mine, hast thou ever had thy 'Friend-my friend!' mind so begirt with fears-so harrowed, nar- 'Even thme, Eugema. Cheer up-I've rowed, cornered--so hemmed round that come to save thee!' thy very physical members have seemed to 'Save me!' join in ihe dreadful-league against thee-so 'Aye, girl ! The hour is propitious -the 2rtushed, so overburdened, so wrought upon usurer is absent-my gondola is at hand- by those possessing Power over tnee, that and friends, who have mourned-over thine even ie fountains of thy soul have refused absence, anxiously look for thee.' thee a single drop of moisture-a single 'Friends-Fm to sleep im the vault below tear---wherewith to cool the fire of thy an- us-over a dead man's grave-over the ash guish? Hast thou ever ? If not, then es of the father of one who-' kneet, and thank thy God for sparing thee- '\Why dost thou pause, fair one?' when oters are aflicted-from such heart- 'Thou'lt betray me!' said the girl, timid forming woe. ly. fow still she sat-how calm-how pale 'Nay,' replied the unknown, encourag -hiow silent ! ingly, 'I am Po spy.' Ttie hum of voices spread through the 'Art sure? key-holc of the outer c'oor-through the 'Nay, look into mine eyes.' crevices im the crazy walls, and yet no sign, 'They are no index of. the man.' no token that the tenant of that little cham- ' Wilt thou not trust me, then ? , ber lived and breathed, was visible. There I trusted once-and was deceived. she sat, moveless as marble-her eye gazing . All men are not villains, lovely one.' on the spot where the usurer last had stood, 'Right-my brother was not-nor yet ng as if unconscious of the absence of him she father-nor Gennaro-yet all deserted me. had seen standing there I ''Twas cruel in them. THE ORANGE GIRL CF VENICE. 29 It was, and yet they did it. A wronged, The black glanced significantly at Ins betrayed, affrighted girl, I fled from home, cinetar. and they never tried to find out and bring 'Ah! thou wilt make that acquainted with me back. I fled, to escape reproach-ex- my breast?' pecting they would seek me out-promise The mute bowed. to chide no more, and take me home.' 'Thou art very kind, my prince of spades ' And for that thou didst fly thine old home, but, as Pin in no humor for jesting, I'll 'en thy friends and kin?' disobey thee for the nonce. So, give way, 'For that, and no other.' or I'll cleave thee to the head ' Poor girl!' The mute replied only by planting the I like thee, stranger, thou hast a heart; spear-pointed torcn in the floor of the nall, for loI how thy voice doth change while and casting on the noble a look of stern de- thou speakest. Bend low thine ear, and I fiance. will tell thee the name of' him over whose 'What !' cied the noble, sharply, 'thou grave I am to sleep and dream, till I have lovest sword-play ? Then taste the temper dreamt my soul away!' of mine!' And he aimed a hasty blow at The stranger abeyed. She whispered to the head of t1.e black, which was as quickly hifn a word-but one-and, almost ere its parried as given; a cold, heavy laugh warned final accents had'died upoa her tongue, the the noble that he ha] no mnh oweedoman chamber echoed with lou-, wild and thrill- to deal with, and, setting his hurthen on a ing laughter. chair, he firmly, yet cautiously, re-appr oach- Ha! ha! ha! My father's! Are cir- ed his antagonist, in the hall. Their swords cumstances and my suspicions at last veri- met, but, so perfect was each in the art of fied ? Ha! ha ! ha! And I am in the house handling his weapon, that~ neither could whose walls do hide his ashes! Ia! ha! ha ! touch the flesh of his foe. At every tiirust, My father's grave found at iast! his murder- the black warded off the glittering blade, er, too! Ha ! ha ! ha! Revenge, revenge! with a derisive grin, that called up all the thou at last hast found thine altar!' pride and passion of the noble. Every trick He paced the apartment wildly, his brows of fence, every stratagem calculated to take knit-his cheeks pale-his hand clenching away the other's guard was resorted to, but the hilt of his.oft-tried blade. Then turning with.dut success: the black appeared invul. to the trembling girl,,he cried- nerable. On his part, the mute tried every * But thou, poor victim of a coward's lust move to bring his antagonist to disadvan, anck an assassin's tyrrany, thou must hence! tage ; but his efforts were vain-victory I've pledged mint honor torescue and restore stood poised between them, not knowing thee to those who, like thyself, have felt the the brow her garland yet should crown. hand of a villain! Nay, fear not-give me Through the door, the orange girl beheld thy waist, girl! Time presses, and we must the combat which was to restore her to light fly while yeti the tiger is absent from his and liberty, or plunge her deeper into misery. lair V' Told she not, in voiceless numbers, prayers Throwing his arm around her waist, and to the Mighty One ? raising her, like a feather, from the ground, The combatants paused spontaneously, as he was about rushing with his burden, from if to recover the muscularity ot nerve spent the apartment, when his' ear caught the in the all but silent trial.. sound of heavy and hurried footsteps, and Lo ! hand to hand, foot to foot, eye to eye, the next moment, the gigantic black mute they are again. Every nerve is straine- stood on the threshold of t"e door, his left every trick of fence again played o'er. Now hand holding a burning torch, in his right a they thrust high-now low-now, round naked cinetar, while round his lips and in and round, like rings of glittering steel his large sleepy-lookring eyes there hovered dancing in the air, play their swords. O'er a grin that would have answered for the head and shoulders-at breast and neck, chuckle of a fiend. they at'each other aim. Mark well their The aspect of this personage was so re- eyes-how full, how fiery, how lustrous, volting, that Gailiano, despite his r.atural ana yet how cautious, as if all the daring nerve, shuddered as his eve fell upon him. and cunning attributes of their natures were The orange girl crept closer and ,loser to centred in their eyes.! the noble, twining her arms tightly round Again they pause. his well-shaped neck, And gazed fearfully Their eyes shoot fire and hate-their upon the hideous being before her. breasts swell with loathing and scorn which Conquering his momentary tremor, and only those men feel who have a foe, vet clasping firmer his burthen, the noble de- know they cannot harm him, because his handed, sternly-' Thy business, slave?' courage and cunning are, at any moment, a - The black raised his large dark eyes, and, full match for heirs. pantomimically; ordered him to set his bur- Now, shey eye each other doggedly, as then down, and depart. if conscious that the third trial is victory to The noble, now wholly self-possessed,, one, death to the othex, or, perchance, death laughingly resoonded- What if I obey not ?' to fikth. Shbrink they I S page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 31 THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. Mark the pale cheek-the clasped hands, 'q tLe anxious eyes of that poor, peril-girt girl c within, as they are rivetted upon the features b of her champion.' Move not her lips? Per- a forms she not a double task ? Prays she not, d and watches she not ? s Lo! their blades are crossed agaih--quick- er than before each weapon flies from point t to point-who wavers ' Both-they scarce s can stand the fire aac deadliness of each d other's eyes! Death stands between them- h his shaft raised on high to strike ! Who g wavers now, in that struggle! See ! the white foara gathers round their lips-now, a 'tis changed to blood ! Hark ! a cry from s within--has her champion received the ja- o ve'in ? No: for look, where, across the e threshold, lies the black, and where, above him, his knee upon his enemy's breast, the s noble's bold hand presses the hilt of that unfailing steel whose point now pins the c dark slave to the earth!t Hark ! the lock turns in the outer doom-S toe r'oor swings back-and now, the mur- lI derer and the first born of the murdered one e stand eve to eye, in the presence of the dying, yea, over the sepulchre of the dead ! 0 Mark ! how blanches the one cheek-how s fires upthe ot her. Note the quailing of there old nr;l's eye, and mark how each white hair rises erect upon his crown, as if in judz- S ment against the owner of the crown-as if i corsEcious that'God's human Avenger stands I i tlhere, with bolt' hand, good sword and un- I flhnchinrg heart, to stain each snowy lock wik)h its owner's blood ! The old mnan, bravo, n youth, brave in manhood, yea, to his hart's core fearless, why shrinks he now at the eagle eye of one so much in years hist junior? He sees his foe before him, yet t has not thought enough to reach from its I scabbard his sw ord! Fresh from halls where human blood and dying groans are a nightly banque,'where among the heartless he is the most heartless-old mran! old man I wher is thy iron heart, now ? ' Reach forth thy weapon, man,' cried Gailiano, sternly ; 'I've sworn to take the Aife of my father's murderer. Vet would I ive thee a chance for the retaining of thy rif. Draw, and defend thyself.' The spel Iwas brolken-t~cugh returneJ, and the usurer, casting a glance behind him, sznatclred tip the torch, and darted down the stairs leading to the vault. . With a Spring blithe as mis own, the noble darted after him, closely followed by the affrighted orange girl. As she flew past the distended black, a'hasty hand attempted to grasp the skirts of her dress, but fear winged her footsteps, and she escaped the death-clutch of the wounded mute. The vault into which the usurer fled was deep ari3 spacious, and contained a range of nine low arches, which were covered by heavy oaken doors-the depositories, doubt- less,'of the old nan's valuables and papers rhe walls were thick and mouldy, and a hilly atmosphere pervaded its length and readtb. A small blind grating stood on ne side of the vault, near the ceiling, while' irectly beneath it, rose an earthy mound, haped like a lowly grave. As the orange girl reached the foot of he rough, broad stairs of the vaulc, she tarted on beholding Gallianu graspng the listet'ded usurer by the throat, with one rand, and with the other pointing to the 'rave. The features of the usurer were pale as shes, his eyes seemed starting from their ockets, and his whole frame shivered like rne in the last throes il' life. In his pow. less hand ie grasped*a broken blade, which plainly told the history of his last hort, but hasty combat. ' Look i,here, caitiff!' exclaimed the ex- ited noble, pointing to the grave, '1ok here, where repose the bones of my father! See where his spirit stands in sorrow-his ustreless eyes gazing on thee, his murder- r, and now on nie, his avenger! Look at his hollov cheeks and bloodless lips!-- made so by thee, villain ! Lo! where I' tands, a dim and misty shadow of his fii mer being, upon the roof of his obscure grave! See-hris hand is rai-ed-'is the ignal for mine avenging sword! Die, wretch! Go, and join thy fellow-assass.a n the realms of the Infernal!' Then dragging the body to the grave, k-z exclgimed-' Father! let mhy troubled spirit rest: for here, on the altar of thy grave, I immolate thy murderer !' Tihe sword of the frenzied noble passed thrice through the breast of the usurer, and the dreaded President of the Tribunm was no more. CHAPTER X. TI B ROBB'2RY AND' DISci RY The night following the incidents of the preceding chapter, two fashionably dressed young men were conve-sing in a retired room of an hostel well known in Venice, at the time of our tale, as the 'ha of thre Golden Grape.' It stood on the broad quay Orfano, and was the favorite resort, of the young nobles and high. ranks, as its wines, edibles, smoking-reeds, and accommodations were said to be superior to those of any other hostel in Italy. A rmind table was before then, on which two large waxen tapers burned, throwing a bright light on the spangled and jewelled~ gear of the gallants, as they quaffed their goblets of generous grape, during their whis- pered speech. " I tell thee, Leon, no harn can possibly come of it, if we proceed with despatch "R and secresy,' said the taller of-the two, in a low, cautious voice, and draining his cup of its mellowy juice. 'But we need more help,' responded his companion, half falteringly: 'if we should - be surprised-? 'V e need not be surprised,' persisted the former, earnestly; 'if we but take the pro- 4 t.er hour, and use sufficient precaution, nei- ther noise norscuffle shall ensue. What need, then, of other' confederates, to whom we must allow an eqpal share of the spoil? Besides, how know we that they would keep their own counsel, after the deed They might betray us, and then, shame and ruin would be our portion. No-no ! we must have no m r sharers in that rich booty. There will be none too much-even A though there should be a thousand times more than I suspect-in his strong box. Besides, think of the girl-or, despite what I 1 have said, [ do not believe~she is yet wed- ded to the old moan-is there not jov, rap- ture, more than bliss in that thought ? Speak, shall we hazard it?' I care not if we do,' replied the other, slowly, ' provided thou art certain there is no danger in the attempt: and that, after the usurer is dead, thou wilt share fairly in the monies and jewels.' 'I pledge 'myself to as much. Is it a bargain 2' ' It is,'Oplied his companion, giving him his hand. At this moment, the door of the chamber opened, and a young fashionable presented himself to the "yes of the plotters. 'Ha ! Lorenzo, my .g'ay madcap,' ex- claimed 'lie first speaker, his sober counte- nance changing, all at once, to the Joyster- er's careless smile, 'give thee good even! What circumstance indebts us for thy most welcome company?' 'Have ye heard the news?' sad the new comer, seating himself, and clearing his throat with a draught of the tempting juice before him. 'I good, sooth! not I,' replied the roue, 'I, for one, am no newsmonger. But to what do you allude?' - The usurer,-the life of the money- mart-has not been seen "on change" to-day.' 'Indeed ! The reason ' 'I have not, heard. Some suppose him ill-others, that ie is engaged in forming a -lcontract with the devil how to get -all the A currency of V.;nice in his grasp. I con- fess that I incline to the latter opinion my- 'Ha! ha!' laughed the roue, glancing V rareaningly at Leon, ' doubtless, it is so: for the white-haired kna,'e hath either had his soul so deeply wrapt in the study and wor- - ship of Mamnon, that it is no wonder if he hath now, i his old age, sacrificed a day in out how to change his copper into gold. N Vhy, my merry hearts,' he continu- ed, re-filli-g his cup, and emptying it at a swallow, as if to quiet the restlessness whicn had seized upon his nerves by the intelli- gence brought by Lorenzo, 'do ye not re- collect how, .some ten or twelve year agone, the old wretch was absent from the mart two whole days ; and 'that,, when he returned, how desperately he plunged iat" the stocks, outbidding all, till it seemed as if lie meant to buy up all Venice? Do ye not remember it ?' 'I was young then,' said Lorenzo; 'but I remember the sensation it made irhrougi- out the city.' 'I have a recollection of it, too,' added Leon ; 'it was about the time of thie myste- rious disappearance of the elder Galliarno.' 'Exactly,' said' t'e roue, his cheek chang. int color, 'it was the very time. And, my life on't ! this is but another of his tricks: and, it will be well for our impoverished merchants, if his re-appearance to-niorrow, or next day, be not followed by the same disastrous result.' As he spoke, his eyes met Lorenzo's ; a sickly smile hovered round the lips of the latter. But come, my merry hearts,' cried the rouc, 'let us forth. The night is tempting, and woos, us forth. I would nbt stay in- doors on such a night for the brightest smile of my mistress. Come! ' Nay, I prefer the grape and weed,' said Lorenzo, filling his cup to the brim. 'Soon as this goblet is emptied, and this sweet- flavored Turkish powder wasted in clouds, I shall hie me home: for I have a chiding letter to write to my fair mistress, ere 1 seek slumber ;and I m st drink wine enough to nerve me for tie task.' , Chide 'her not too harshly,' said the roue, laughing, and leaving the room, fol- lowed by Leon. They passed through tie hostel, laugh- ing, and nodding carelessly to those whom they met, "hey walked on, in silence, each busy with his thoughts, till they reached an un- frequented part of the quay. ' Hold'st thca still thy mind?' said Lo- renco, breaking the silence. 'Listen, and then judge,' -eplied tire other, with g-eat coolness. ' For the past eight months I have run ot, in extravagance, upwards of four thousand ducats ; a thou- sand of wich was furnished ine by my father. The rest was obtained partly from the usurer, aid partly front fields who must be paid. Most of the money falls due within a week, or my credit is fost. The notes held against me by the usurer I care not a straw for, as I do not mean to pay them: and be dare not seizo upon me, partly because I am son to the first man of Venice, and partly because he is aware of a secret of Iis in my possession, which might I harm him, if revealed. But 1 am in direst - I, k t page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] need-creditors-impertinent varlets !-dog which, resting in the earth, near a pile of my heels at every step-my father's patience fresh dug earth, threw a broad and brilliant and kindness are exhausted, and I must glare around the terrificscene. Standing in have means to h-old my head up, as beseems a grave, and holding in his hands a fleshless my birth. The mammon-eaten bags of the earth-hued skull, stood a masked figure, in old usurer can supply my wants, and- the guise of a gondolier. A few feet from- THEY SHALL!' him, his left hand restig on'the edge of a His face was pale, but not with fear ; his new made and open coffin, winh ts-was lips were bloodless, but not with remorse ; mounted on a pair of cross-legged stools. his eyes were cold and stony, but not with stood another in the same garb and masked. shame. A haughty swnde hovered round Behind the latter, and near the cotlin's foot, his lip, and a slight blue shade was visible stood a tall, majestic personage, enveloped under his eyes. His whole aspect was ter- in a mask and cloak, and wearing a low- rible. crowned circular cap, surmounted by a His companion, who, so far as his means cluster of raven plumes; while, at the side and prospects were concerned, was scarcely of the grave, his left gnd holaming a white a jot better off, surveyed him, a moment, waxen taper, and his left' a long, slender with awe. But as his nature was not above cross, stood a monk, also masked and temptation-as he loved Pleasure, and cared cloaked. As the skull was raised by the but little for Honesty, when she interfered figure in the grave, the form of the capped with his dearer mistress, Pleasure,-as, figure was seen to tremble and turn away, moreover, he had been, for years, the buon as if shook by some internal agony--but no companion and co-mate of Leonardo Foscari, Myord, no sigh, no groan escaped him; his in all his scenes of dissipation,-his awe grief was not for other's ves. soon gave way to impatience, and he flatter- The grave-digger, after a moment's sur- ed the bent of the young lord by exclaiming vey of the skull, handed it, silently, to the Time wvanes ; let us on ! figure on his right, by whom it was laid si- So be it!' replied Foscari, laconically. lently into the coffia. They passed oin. Plying again his pickaxe and spade, the A few minutes of travel brought them to figure in the grave soon drew forth a few the street in which the usurer's house was half decayed bones, which were also placed, situated. Every thing seemed to favor their a silence, in the coffin. purpose. The street vas silent and, appa- 'They are all there,' said the fN i e, now rently, deserted. The moon t eans shone on leaping out of the chasm, arid with the the side opposite the house they were about other, counting the relics of the dead. to enter, and the Louse itself was shaded. 'They are,' added lie to whom the bones Were not their prospects bright? had been handed, arranging them in the They neared the door, and paused. Were shroud. ihey conscience-stri-en ? 'Then, children,' said the monk, advanc- Lo! they are masked. And now, they ing, 'let us to prayer.' press against the door, gently at first-anon, On the bare earth they knelt, that little heavily. In vain: it yields not. A thought and solemn group ; their caps off, and their strikes the noble-he whispers to his com- heads bent, and their hands claspedin holy paion, and they leave the door. The house and heart-feeling prayer. beside the usurer's is old, tenantless, and The holy words were o'er; all rose, but ruinous. They press against its door-it that lone form whose heart was bent the yields, and now, they are in darkness. most; whose cheek was palest, whose eyes Hark ! voices are heard-low, confused, most dim with tears-the loftiest, the bra- but still voices, aye, and human as their own. vest, the proudest, the noblest of thea all.- The sound of pickaxe and spade as they clash From his pocket the monk drew forth a against each other, or strike into the earth, phial, containing holy water, and sprinkled is heard. A ianit gleam, like unto that of the relics. Then opening his missal, read the soiitarvstar sonititnes seen in the heav- the prayers of his church for the dead; ily-curtained sky, at night, stole through a which, being done, ,the water was again crevice in the floor. Foseari bent over the sprinkled over the bones. The ceremonies spot, anJ, with his dirk, widened the ci vice. bein concluded, the most thrilling one to The sounds .ow were plamuer, but naught the ,,ble youth at the foot of the coffin, ncw was visible, save the torch-gleam. presented itself; it was the closing and Foscari groped round the floor, cautious- screwing of the coffin lid. During its ope- ly. Joy! his fingers touch an iron ring. A ration,lie rose rom his knees, and leading trap-door is its his grasp-'tis raised-and asgain-t an upright beam, near the stair- now- case, gave vent to his o'ercharged heart, in His eyes fall on a tbleau. that turns his a stream of mournful tears. naturally strong nerves into wavering The lid was closed-the last screw rivet' reeds. ted into the wood-when one of the figures It was a strange and startling picture. drew from a sack, a black velvet pall, and The vault was lit by a huge, flaming torch, threw it over the coffin. 22 - THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. THE ORANGE GIRL Of VENICE. 33 The noble resumed his erst stern bearing- i er ; his glassy eyes staring full upon them, the gondoliers raised the bier upcn their while at the foot of the staircase, as if he shoulders-the monk seizeil the torch from had fallen headlong frem the top, lay ts niche in the earth, and thus, the noble the corse of the gigantic black-its fea- ,eading, in silent procession, they ascended tures betraying the last agonies of d'ath. the staircase, and the vault was in dark- The youths started at the sight, and Fos- ess. cari exclaimed- The hall was reached-the door opened, 'By St. Peter! there has been foul mur- itd, slowly and solemnly, the party march- der here! It would be well to inform the #d forth. A few stragglers, fresh from scenes authorities of the matter! What thinkest of mirth and vice, were passing up the pave, thou of it?' singing snatches of low, lewd songs ; but 'We had better see if his money bags heir mirth was checked by the strange and' have been- jilted of life also,' answered .udden sight. On beholding the priest, as Leon, nervously. he marched in the rear, with cross in one 'Right, business first-pleasure after- nand and the flaming torch in the other, wards,' responded Foscari, laughing. 6Let their voices were hushed, and, doffing their us examine yonder arch : perhaps; as the caps, bent their heads till the procession doors are fast, they have neglected to add was passed and beyond their sight. theft to theircrime.' The moonbeams shone on the jetty pall, They proceeded to the first of the arches, fas it was borne to the quay Mazolio, a few but were somewhat staggered on finding no yards from the usurer's 'house, and the stars means of opening it, as the lock was on the ,looked bright as it was placed carefully inside. They then advanced to the next, in the gondola, which was to bear it to and to the next, but the same unpleasant the ancestral vault of the Galliano family. sight greeted them at each. The noble seated himself sternly at the 'Where, in Satan's name, is the master- helm-the bier rested lengthwise, on a key of these treasure caves,' said oscari, bench, brought for the purpose, in the cen- impetuously, and glancing, uneasily around. tre of the boat-the monk took his station 'The girdle of the black,' said Leon, forward-the gondoliers taking their seats suggestively. "near the stern, raised their oars, and the 'Psha-!' exclaimed the oilier, contemptu- aext moment the little barge was gliding ously, '4think'st thou the cunning gray- tapidly o'er the smooth waters, in the direc- beard silly enough to thrust the magic key tion of a little island, where stood a mansion, of his whole wealth to that foul carcaseI towering above the rest, known as the home More likely his own breast!' of the Gallianos. 'Then, try, thou that,' responded Leon, Return we, now, to the watchers. 'while i examine the mute.' Fiscari understood at once the meaning of 'So be it,' said Foscari, hastily, and ad- the ceremonies attendant on the disinter- vancing towards the corse of the usurer. ment, and in the form of the masked stran- ''Tis not here,' said he impatiently. icer recognized the favorite of the metropo- 'But 'tis here,' cried Leon, joyfully, hold- fis; and his once beloved friend. His com- ing up a bunch of cunningly-devised keys, A panion was not so fortunate in comprehend- which he cut from the leathern girdle of ing the scene, but Foscari enabled him to the mute. gather enough to form a dim conception of After several attempts, Foscari succeeded its meaning, by pretended conjectures and at last, in hitting on the right key, and in exclamations. opening the'4irst arch. But, nothing but The darkness was no obstacle to Foscari, shelves of parchment met their gaze. Giv- for he well knew, by repeated visits to the ing vent to his disappointment in an oath, house, where to find appliances to furnish the roue proceeded to open the next, but him a light, and, leaping down into the with no better success. The third and vault, groped his way to the staircase. As- fourth arches were opened, and found to cons cending, and searching an apartment in the tain little packages, evidently pledges, of rear of the house, he found box flint and rings, and jewels of considerable amount. tinder, by which he was soon in possession 'Cospetto !' exclaimed Foscari, 'but the of a light. A portable lamp, with three knaves have left us something, after all. small burners, stood on a mantle before Here!' and he handed handful after hand- him, and, touching -the igniting wick, he tul to his companion, after having filled his was soon in possession of light enough to own pockets first. 'But the gold itself, he guile him back to the vault. added, impatiently, 'I must have that. 'Thou may'st spring,'he exclaimed, to This trash may do for those who want it!' his companion, and holding the lamp under He did not, however, disencumber him- the trap. self of what he had already in his posses- Leon leapt down, and, for the first tire, sion. the hopeful youths had a full view of the The fifth arch was opened, and then objects around them. In one corner, cold what a sight greeted his gaping eyes. On and stiff, and gory -y the body of the usu- broad shelves, extendin fonm side to sidD page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 35 34 THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. of the arch, lay heaped piles of glittering unerringly on all who entered it,-m that coin. vault of Darkness, and Mammon and Death ' Ho ! ho ! my perry heart!' he exclaim- and Terror, the strong heart of Leonardo ed, rapturously, to his companion, who was Foscari did not desert him. busily engaged in helping himself to the He seized the spade, and, like a ceaseless little packages in ' the next cell, 'what and fearless worker,. threw up the eat1,r think'st thou of this? Is it not a feast to till a hole of sufficient size to suit his pir- the hungry! Look!' ose was made, when he flung the body of Bkt he gave Leon little chance for sight, his late companion in, and covered him with ere he commenced filling his own pockets the soil. Having filled up the gap, and with the tempting food. strewed the superfluous earth around, to Leon exerted his utmost to grasp the hide the evidence of his crime, he shovelled golden coin, hut so violently did Foscari re- the treasure back into the cell,-yea, every pulse him, so eagerly did the roue seek to coin,-fastened each arch, and, with his clutch it all, that he had but a small pros- pockets sinking with his ill-gotten gold, de. ect of reaching any without a struggle. parted from the house. Desperate at the repacity of his companion, As he closed the outer door, he beb -i and eager to seize upon a pile of ducats on two muffled and masked figures on the .p the third shelf, he violently thrust the hand posite side of the street. ut, careless f, of Foscari aside, and, in the struggle, the or indifferent to, aught in the shape of 'ian- stirred shelf gave way, and down tumbled ger, he passed on, regardless. of their :res. coin, shelf and all upon their heads.- ence. '. A bag of gold, of considerable weight, ''Tis my mine!' he muttered, ffrom concealed behind some piles of ducats, fell whose depths I shall, henceforth, drew mine with them, and with such force that, stri- income. The master-key of the eels is in king the young lord on the breast in its de- my possession ; the house's door secret spring scent, it felled him to the earth ; where he is known to me, and the enrance to the was soon covered with the coin swept from vault through the crazy cot, known to me the shelves by Foscari. When'the greedi- alone. A week must elapse eie the suspi- ness and rapacity of the latter had some- cions of the "1Ten" are aroused; during what abated, he exclaimed-' Now, Leon, which time, those arches must be emptied: take thy share, and let us begone.' and thon, what care I how soon the bodies But Leon answered not. are discovered ? They are not my work! ' Leon!' he exclaimed, looking around, But for Leon !-the fool-his greediness Leon, where art thou?' brought his doom upon himself-I had no No answer came. hand in't! Ere a week expires the earth Springing -)ver the heap of treasure be- around his grave will have lost its freshness fore him, his heel grazed something fleshy -and then who wilt suspect that aughilies beneath him, and immediately after a sharp beneath other than common soil ? But if cry rang through the vault, and all was si- they do ? What then-I murdered him not; lent. Half suspecting the actual state of 'twre an ill-timed accident: no more. Psha! things, Foscari hastily flung the heap aside, I am reasoning myself into an assassin. Ha! and, to his horror, discovered a gash on the ha! ha!' head of his companion, and his face and lie laughed, but it was a faint laugh. neck all covered with blood! He journeyed home ; and, as he sat be- ' Great heavens!' he exclaimed, recoiling, side his gay couch, he counted the gains of 'have I slain hiim! Leon ! LeonI!' his crime. A smile played around his fea- No voice responded to his own. tures. ' Leon ! 'tis I! for heaven's sake, speak Wine was within his reach-lie drank, No answer came from the lips of the and the coin before him repaid him amply prostrate man. Foscari knelt, and placed for his guilt. his hand upon the heart of his friend-it Hiding the gold in his dressing case, he was still! wooed sleep. But did it conic? Hath gu.lt Cold sweat rolled down the cheeks and a charter to refreshing, balmy slumber ? lmbs of the roue on this' discovery; his As the gray dawn first peeped through knees trembled and his eyes grew moist. the lattice-of his chamber, sleep threw her For a few moments, terror unnerved him, folds over hisphysical orbs. But his mental and the finger of a child might have robbed vision-the conscience-slumbered that I him of his balance. Thought then came to his aid, and he was himself again. In that dark vault, where Death reigned over - three ghastly subjects,-in that dark vault, CHAPTER XI. where 'mainmon yawned from his glitter- ing cave-in that dark varilt, with the life Tin E HO USE OF MOU R Ni NG. of earth before him, and three pictures of the King of,Terrors around hin,-in that Ere yet the dial had told the hour of nine vault where Fate seemed to levd her shafts on the succeeding morn, the few domestics of the house of Galliano were assembled in the old reception hall, to witness the last sad rites of 'holy church' over the ashes of the dead. The bier stood in the centre of the chamber, upon two mounted stools ; around wh'ch, on little circular tables, wax- en tapers gleamed. A priest sat by the cof- fin, reading his breviary in silence, while the parties who were privileged to attend tLe service were gathering. Two young females in deep mourning, sat together on a cushioned and muffled bench near the reverend man, while the few friends of the young lord of Galliano sat on muffled chairs in promiscuous groups around the bier. The ycang lord himself soon en- tered, attired in a suit of mourning, and took a seat at the foot of the bier. He shed no tears, but his features bore those unmistake- able traces of true grief, which command' more attention than even tears ; and, as his large dark eyes fell sadly on the pall, every eye was moistened, every heart touched in sympathy. There was a nobleness in his tearless eye,a majesty in his colorless cheek, yea, a solemnity on his pale, nervous brow, which struck the assembled auditors with pity, and produced in each a willing readi- ness to die in his defence, if such sacrifice was necessary. There was scarce a being in that chamber who had not, within the past few months, felt the blessings either of his courage or his purse ; and there was not one but knew his love of right, his ar- dor as a patriot and a man, his n-lbleness of so:1 under every situation, and ;iis willing- ness to battle even for the most friendless in the hour of danger. Yet in his grief-in that hour when be mourned over the new found relics of his murdered father-who could give him consolation ? His mother had long since taken her place amid the ashes of the kindred of her lord- he was motherless. His father's bones now rested in their cerements--he was fatherless. His only brotLer had sunk to the tomb in earl- youth, when the worm of that fell de- strover of the fair and beautiful-consump- tion-had eaten up his heart-lie was bro- therless. His fair and angelic sister, had pined and sickened, and died on the loss of her father-the young lord of Galliano was, in view of all the world, kinless. Unknown to the Tribunal, he had return- id. tc Venice, and now, in his ancestral halls, was sole heir to his ancestral name, and mourner over his father's dust! The solemn rites of'holy church' were now p erformed-and the remain of the noblest enetian nobles were borne, with measured step and solemn, into the family vault, and raced among the ashes of its kindred. The rites were o'er ; the guests returned to their homes, and the only pillar of tht Galliano houz tre'ired to his e hamhebr t glean that repose which the exciting inci- dents of the past three days had rendered doubly imperative. CHAPTER XII. THE HOUSE OF CONCEALMENT An humble dwelling, in a retired quarter of Venice, was Mastachio Benedetti's; and a merry heart was Benedetti's; and a merry dame was Madame Benedetti ; and a merry maid was Junetta, the daughter of these Benedetti's. Benedetti was a respectable citizen; Madame Benedetti was a respectable wo- man, and a respectable citizen's wife ; and Junetta Benedetti, being the daughter of two such merry and respectable people, was, of course, a very merry and a very re- spectable girl herself. But it is a danger- ous thing for the young of the sterner sex, when a young lady of respectable parentage has found such qualifications to recommend her as respectability, wealth, merry-heart- edness and beauty, because such things are apt to engross their attention, rob them of their sternness, and render them love-sick : i. e. tender. When a youth is once touched with the disease commonly nicknarped Love, he degenerates in dignity and manli- ness, until he becomes the veriest bondman imagination can picture. With his love a change comes over his mental and physical parts, which has every thing but dignity in it; and it is not until he is either noosei or loosed, tht he recovers his former manly nature. The fact is, while the Love fever is on him, a man is a sort of pliant sapling; and the object of his affections a sort of ladle, whose coquetry draws from him the greater part of the natural sap in his crani- urn. When he is knotted, he begins to get an insight of the real state of things around him. Romance is very deceptive ; and un- til matrimony sweeps it aside, man is a laughable and ridiculous animal. The gen- tle sex understand this fact intuitively, and, through life, man is their victim-their play thing: in view of which facts, we wonder where man's charter is for pre- dominancy. These thoughts ran through the mind of Junetta, as she beheld, from day to day, how perfectly her beloved mother led her be- loved husband round tile matrimomai cir- cle ; and, as she fancied her mother's system of domestic government, she had made up t her mind to run a cord through the nostrils of her beloved, whoever he might be. and 3 lead him into obedience in the same mas- terly manner. But, somehow, or another, i the youth whom, out of all her admirers, e she esteemed the most, lAed very like one who wi'1 stand bu little of this kind o: I ,I page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] government. His features and general bearing bore the impress of one born to com- mand, not those of one born to be led. At least, so Junetta thought, and she sighed as she pondered over it. Now, when a young maiden sighs over the result of thought, it is a pretty good evidence that she is diseased around the heart ; and that that disease is the result of too much thought upon the object that created it. A young man, whose features proclaimed his recent entrance into manhood, knocked gently at the door of the Benedettis. It was opened, by a servant,and the youth, as if accustomed to the house, nodded famil- iarly to the servitor, and entered the sitting room without ceremony. Whena youth is-as far advanced as this, he is in a dangerous state indeed ; for he even forgets politeness. 'I am sure you-might have knocked, Messer Calvari,' said Junetta, starting up in coquettish confusion, as though she had not seen him, through the curtained window, ere he knocked at the door. ' Indeed, my pretty lady,' replied Messer Calvari, c'so I might, if my head had not been so filled with thoughts of a certain young lady.' ' To whom does Messer Calvari allude?' inquired Junetta earnestly, as though not aware, in the slightest of who that certain young lady could be. He took her hand in his-he turned his eyes on her's-lie twined his arms around her waist-he drew her close to his breast- he put his lips to her's-and he gave her to understand that way, to whom he alluded. Junetta appeared to be satisfied with the reply. This introductory business finished. Mes- ser Calvari inquired if one Eugenia and a certain lady Isabel were visible.6 Junetta pouted, as if jealous at the inter- rogatory. 'Nay, my beloved, I bear a message, to them, from a gentleman in whose fate they are interested ; and I have promised to use despatch,' said the youth, earnestly. - ' But do tell me what all this mystery means, Calvari,' said Junetta, inquisitively, ' I can't bear to live in suspense. Do tell me who and what these strange ladies are, and who that strange man is that brought them here.' a ' Thou would'st not have thy Calvari for. feit his honor by a breach of faith, would'st. thou, Junetta?' inquired the youth, earnestly. 'What, there is a mystery about them then ? I knew there was: from the strange manner in which they were brought here by that Messer Galliano. In the night lie brought them-in the dead of the night- and I knew nothing of their presence till I met them at breakfast. Father, nor moth- er, would tell me any thing abox. them ; and, moreover, enjoined me not to speak a word about them in the presence of I 36 'THE ORANGE G'. IRL OF VENICE, strangers, :n any account. I declare it's a shame! so it is, that any modest and well behaved girl can't be admitted into a share of secret matters, as well as any one else And the coquettish beauty appeared to be very indignant at her cruel treatment. 'And of course Junetta has not perils ' the safety of the unhappy ladies under her father's roof by disobeying her parents ?' in- quired the youth, earnestly and tenderly ta, king her hand. Junetta gazed fondly upon-him, as she re- sponded, smiling, 'funetta loves her parents too much to permit any rash and idle curi- osity of her's to bring them misery, or mar the happiness or safety of others. But,' she continued in love's tone o1 tender reproach, ' how comes it thou dost play the truant from thy Junetta so muoh of late P 'My studies'- 'Thy studies, indeed! As if they were so important to the world! Ha! ha! ha ! You used to come and take me out on the La- goons every fair moonlight, and compare my eyes to the bright stars, my brow to the snowy clouds, my cheeks and lips to the blushing rose, and my hair to the locks ol an elfin. But now, if I see thee once a weik, 'tis wonderful; and even then, thou never comest, unless on some such message as to night, to these fair and unhappy la- dies. It is not fair. Besides, how dost thou know how thine absence may operate against thee, if thou persistest in this unloving course'? Are not our doors besieged, night- ly, by bra% - and goodly formed gallants- and is it not possible that one of them--I need not say which-might steal away my heart without my knowing 'it ? Stranger things than that have happened. Thy al- legiance to thy lady love demands a constant attendance, and look that she exact it not!' 'Hast thou done, Junetta?' No, I have not done. Thou must pay me more attention, or I shall cut thee from my favor.',- 'Must is a hard word, Junetta.' I cannot help it.' 0, Calvari, if thou couldst but take in thy brain, the yearning that Inaid feels for the every visit of the man she loves! If thou could'st but con- ceive her watching on his expected presence -how her ear catches the slightest token of his approach-how her eyes traverse an hundred times an hour the path he is ac- customed to approach herby-if thou could'st but comprehend her silent and ever-offered prayers for his present and eternal safety- the anguish of her heart when he comes not-the jov delirious of her soul when she hears his foots-tep-then, then, Calvari, thou would'st not wonder that she is anxious for his presence in lovers' hours-night-then, then, Calvari, thou wou4d'st not marvel tflat she grows jealous when he plays the truant, or gives her slightest cause for believing he is indifferent to, or careless of her love., ~Al1 j '1 THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 37 Her speech was earnest, yea, and earnest- He gave an ivory cross to the orange girl. ly spoken, and its import and truthfulness Isabel opened the note: it ran thus- struck deep into her lover's heart. 'Nay, but thou dost me wrong, Junetta,' . cBeloved of ny soul-these lines to thee, said he, kissing away the tears that danced in haste, greeting : upon her cheek; there'ss not a slave in Ven- 'The hour when our country shall be freed ice but has more holitime than thy Calvari. from her oppressors, rapidly approaches. Sleep seldom greets these eyes for more After mature thought, I deem it better for than an hour at a time. I am struggling thy safety and the well-being of the deeply and toiling for a cause which shall yet bring wronged Eugeia, that ye prepare to leave 1 joy and comfort to our Isle. My poor brain your present abode, and take shelter in the is overtasked, and my erst strong limbs have dvellin of a friend whom I have made i lost their iron, by my "cep studies, severe toil the isle of Cyprus. There, till the storm and broken rest. Thou dost not know, fair be o'er, and our oppressors swept away, one, what it is to pass unnumbered hours, thou canst remain in safety. I would haxe in thy solitary chamber, at a never-endintg sent this warning to thee last night, but cir- task; liable at any moment, to be summoned cumstances, of which I will hereafter in- from thy studies or thy bed, to give healing form thee, prevented my so doing. le in balm to the sick, or ease the pangs of the readiness by the midnirght of to-morrow, dying. Thou dost not know what it is to when 1, with a couple of trusty friends, shall ve in the eternal fear of such a dreaded be with thee. power as the ' Ten,' in the following of such ' Thine, tlirlugh time and eternity, anairt as mine ; for learning is not paid with GALLIANO.' reverence or gold by our mysterious and ter- fible rulers: they regard the searcher after When she had concluded herperusal of knowledge with suspicion, and once sized, the note, Isabel took a ring from her finger, what follows, but death. Thou dost not and, handing it to the student, said- know what it is to struggle through the 'This to the gentleman who sent thee- dark days and lonesome nights against pov- say that that circle represents the unbroken erty, with no other hope than that thy cease- faith the unfortunate Isabel has in his hon- less efforts may, at last, be crowned with or, and that I shall be prepared at the hour some small share of man's passport through he names.' life-success. If thou did'st, thou would'st I shall so report, honored lady,' said the 2ot chide my unavoidable absence.' , student, bowing. 'Nay, I knew not before of the stern ne- 'Hast thou no answer for thy beloved?' Cessity of thy toil, or-' asked Isabel of her companion. 'Nay, sweet one, apologies are needless. The orange girl's lip quivered, and her Pheday, I trust, is not far distant, when our cheeks colored, as she replied- old and gladsome evenings shall return ; and I' The hour is past when I could speak of then, doubt not but that we shall be happy., love ; the hour is fled when I could return But till then, if thy Calvari is tardy in his truth for truth, or plighted faith for lighted roning, he sure thy pangs at his absence are faith ; I fear I must return his token ! not more painful than his own.' - 'And break his heart?' exclaimed Isabel, 'Wilt tho, forgive me ? staying her hand as .she was returning the 'Bv this kiss. Now lead me to the cham- white cross to the student. her of your fair prisoners: for what I have The hatter, though well acquainted with to deliver to them is of importance.' Eugenia's history, was too much of a novice 'Then tarry a moment, till I inform them in the study of woman, not to be surpri- of your arrival.' sed itt this movement on her part ; but he She soon returned, and bade the student had presence of mind enough to conceal its follow her. effect upon him. The back chamber on the second floor was Eugenia, bursting into tears, exclaimed- tlosely curtained, and neatly furnished with 'What should I do, lady?' wite and red matting, three or four cush- 'Give him a token,' replied Isabel smi- ioned chairs, a picture of the virgin over the ling, 'but send not back his own. Thy ring mantel, a guitar in one corner, a lute and a for instance, or something that tho-m dost 'Mall circular table. The females were sit- prize, and so prove thy willingness to make tag beside each other, their arms aroun! a sacrifice for the returning of his good each others waists, when our student enter- opinion.' e. Junetta, after opening thetdoor, imme- Eugenia had a little golden cross, around diately withdiew. her neck, which she had worn since child- The student bowing, advanced and handed hood. She gave it to the student, and, with the lady Isabel a small leaf of parchment, an agitated voice, said- neatly folded, saying- 'Give him this-'tis all I have-but he 'This, from the Messer Galliano, to the will know hsow deeply I do prize it.' ldy Isabel; and this, from the Messer Gen- She wore it in her days of innocence, ere :n, to his beloved, the fair Eugenia.' yet ti, brand of shame was blazoned on ' I. page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 38 THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. bro-w. It was the only relic of her happier A white-haired man, of the middle height, days. Was it a wonder, then, she sighed with a- proud step and a noble mein, was on parting with it ? pacing the marble pave in front cf the 'ducal 'No word, no cheering sentence, to send palace, and surveying the'lofty pile of St. with it ?' said the student, interrogatively. Mark's. His eye was large, dark and ' Tell him,Eugenia is grateful for his fidel- bright; his forehead wtas high, full and ity,' replied the orange girl, in a tremulous slightly wrinkled;-, his nose was of the voice, and with downcast eyes. Roman mould, and his lip was small, and ' A world is in that sentence,' said the spoke much for its owner's firmness and student, smiling respectfully. 'Adieu!' decision; his chin was bold and pointed; J ' Think'st thou lie can love me?' asked the he wore a small mustache and beard, an, [ poor girl, when they were alone. 'Think'st they gave to his features a venerable and thou-knowing as he does my shame- sage-like expression. He was cloaked, as think'st thou he can love me ' much to hide his costume as to prevent theJ ' If he be human, and aware of the vile effects of the night air upon his person. arts by which Foscari first entrapped thy This was Foscari, the Doge of Venice. It guiltless and too confiding heart-if lie is was his custom thus to traverse the pave, yet aware of thy sorrow, thy repentance, fronting his palace, on pleasant nights) and thy trials and thy persecutions-if he ever no particular object, other than the beauty loved thee, I say, and his heart still be hu- and calmness of the evening, called him man, fear not but that his re-proffered love forth on the evening in question. But it is honest as his first.' was not his custom to turn his eyes so fre. 'But, lady, if thy case were mine-if thou quently and so earnestly on one spot durir7 hadst been lured away from virtue's path as these short wanderings. I have been-if thy soft heart had been en- A strange form, cloaked and masked, and snared and wronged, as mine has been-if, majestic as the pile itself, stood, in stern after the shame, thou had'st awoke to sense dignity, in the shade of the broad door of and misery,-if, knowing the nobleness of the entrance of the temple of St. Mark. A the heart you forsook, he, forgiving your' jetty cap, with a heavy clustre of plumes of great fault, should offer you again his hand the same color, adorned his head. He stood and home and honored name,-would'st there as motionless as a block of marble, thou forget thine own sense of right, the contemplating, apparently, the motions o: world's sneer upon thy former shame, and the Duke. his weakness in affiancing thee in thy Was he a spy? 'The Duke was hated shame, would'st thou so outrage his name by the ''"Ten"-feared for his impartial de. as to accept his new loyalty through thy cisions in matters pertaining to justice, and short stay on earth?' his fearlessness in advocating and main- Isabel pondered a while with a pale cheek taining the rights of the poor against the and throbbing heart, as the timid eye of the insolence and tyranny of the rich and the orange girl rested on her; then, without noble-hated equally by the poor, because raising her eyes, replied, nervously- he spared no caste in his administration of 'No, so help me heaven! I would not!' the laws. Was the stranger a spy? Ifnot 'I thought so-I knew so!' murmured was he an assassin, awaiting the moment the broken-hearted girl, sinking back in 'when the duke's back should be toward her seat. him, that he might plunge the cowardly That night was one of tears. steel, unseen, into the spine of his victim? In either case, the duke had nothing to - fear ; for his private guards stood on the seeps of his palace, and within call at any CHAPTER XII. - moment, when he choose to summon them The moonlight was no favorer of raurder, T H E I E E T IN G. if that was the stranger's object. The duke, to settle all uneasiness and The moon and stars shone brightly in the gratify his curiosity, watched the ino- heavens ; the sky was like a blue arch, here ment, when tie pave was clear of the and there dotted with specks of snowy throng passing to and fro the faca-de of the clouds. The air, after a sultry day, was palace, and walked slowly towards the cool and refreshing to those within and door of the temple. The figure budged not without. The proclamation of nature seem- at his approach. ed to have gone forth to all the children of Who art thou?' said the duke, whe= earth-" Night reigns: cease your toil !" within a few paces of the .stranger Nature seemed to invite the house-dwellers ' A man,' was the reply forth, that in the rich and beautiful combi- 'Thy business here?' nation of the beauteous sky, the silver night 'To feed my humor!' orb, the bright and silent stars, the murmur- 'Less pertness and more politeness would ang waters and the pellucid air, they might better become thyself and me. Who$, enjoy a foretaste of the Paradise of ehe Holy. knave art thou ? #'Mine own. ' It would seem so, indeed, from the li- cense which thou givest thy tongue. What charter hast thou for standing in the por. tals of St. Mark's?' ' Every true Venetian's.' ' Ha! thou usest strange language, Messer Breggart. Art thou mad, I pray?' . ' Not wholly ; though there be enough in out fair sea-kissed isle to change us all to madmen.' 'I do not understand thee, knave.' 'Then thy white hairs indicate rhore brains than their owner is master of: for thou hast at least, the semblance of wis- dom. Fie upon these, that thy years and experience 'have not taught thee yet to un- derstand the prattlings of children, let alone the language and figures of men!' 'Knave thou art pert!' 'Softly, good master: thou didst first pro- pound ere I did answer. If I have puzzled thee, in my replies, thcu should'st have been content.', ' Doth defeat teach contentment to the vanquished?' 'Look at Venice, and judge for 'thyself.' 'What shall 1 learn by looking? 'Much for the eye, but nothing for the tongue.' 'Why got for the tongue?' Because we may see, but speak not.' Give me lignt, I pray thee.' It would be dangerous to my head.' Nay 7m no babbler.' 'Art sure?'. 'Men call me honest; and honest hen blab not that given to them in confidence. I think that I deserve my reputation.' 'Men never know us truly. We know not even-ourselves till we are tried.' 'Do we even then?' 'Most veritably: we know then of what we are capable when tried by circumstance and interest. Hast thou been tried?' Oft., Deeply ?' 'Deeply., By what guage?' Truth-right-justice.' And hast never found thyself a recreant to thy soul's interest.' 'Never!' 'Old man-on the dome of this holy temple there is a cross guarded by angels, whose ears catch the lowest whisper of undefiled Truth, and Waft it up to heaven ; they are Truth's watchmen, and hover round the honest lip, like a halo of eternal light, as bulwarks against all evil: on the first sylla- ble of falsehood .hey, shrieking, fly away, and never more return. It till now, thy tongue hath spoke no-falsehobd, on peril of thy soul, chase not thy angels from thee V' 'What mean'st thou?' ''Twixt thee and me there is a current of tell tale air, which, as Vei etian ether is I dangerous to trust, might peril my sa if my speech were in unison wit my thoughts ; if thou wilt step into thi 'hade, or go with me where our conv can be free and dangerless, I will open y mmd tb thee.' ' What if I object?) ' Thou canst, if 'tis thy humor ; but if thou dost, the thing concerning which I would speak to thee, will remain unsaid- perchance to thy sorrow and mine!' 'Strange man ! there is a mystery in thy speech and bearing, doth tell me there is a connecting tie between thy tate and mine. Follow me: and fear not.' The duke led the way, through a private door, and into the palace. It was a pleasant room for converse that they entered. It was the private chamber of the Duke, and situated in the rear of the marble pile, and looked out upon the broad sheet of the moonlit Adriatic. The case- ments-of which there were five-were fur- nished in the most gorgeous style of the middle ages. Thd walls were hid by heavy arras of blue and crimson velvet ; and on one side, the ducal bed stood prominent, orna- mented-with gold and azure; beside it, the easy chair in which the reverend noble sat and meditated when released from the cares and troubles of his office. A few feet from it was a small marble altar, whose top was garnished by a silver crucifix ; in -ont of this, a low cushion, on which the zad man knelt at morning, noon and night, while of- feringup his prayers. A silver burner, rested on a toilet table of polished oak, between two windows. The floor was covered with a soft matting, ingeniously figured to repre. sent the mosaic pave of a palace hall. ' Be seated,' said the duke, on entering, and pointing to a high cushion near his fa- vorite chair. 'se mask obeyed. 'Now,.to thy business,' said the duke, seating himself. 'To what doth it relate ? ' Thy son,' replied the stranger, laconical- 'Indeed !-a new subject! Say on.' 'He hath wronged a confiding heart- - broken it-sundered it from all its ties ant kindred-blasted its hopes and prospects- cut it off from all its earthly joys and tha sunny days which, ere his presence blighted. promised a harvest.' 'Her name?' 'Eugenia. 'Her rank I' ",Of the fourth caste.' 'Has she kindred?' 'She had-his crime sundered her froni them.' Her age when wronged?' 'Sixteen.' 'So, so! And this deed was committed - ' Three years agone.' ' Did lie then desert her?' LI 39 I page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] a THE ORANGE GI 'He did.' 'And she since bath led the life of-' 'A harlot ? No, duke. She had still a soul when he, in sight of all the world, had made her honorless; and, when by him de- serted, found friends.' ' For her, and in her case, what would'st thou have me do?' Justice.' 'I am in the dark as to thy meaning.' 'Compel him render back the honest name he stole from her to gratify his lust.' Art in thy senses?' 'I hold the wits given me by my God, and till he takes them from me shall deem me still as sane as e'er a breather this side the Eternities.' 'What! the son of a Venetian doge wed a wanton?' 'No wanton, duke ; but one, by his un- manly acts, torn ruthlessly from honor, and plunged into never ceasing misery. The pangs are her's-the guilt, Leonardo Fos- cari's.' 'But think of the shame he'd bring upon his ancestral name by such affiaicement.' 'I think of nothing but his guilt, duke. I am a Venetian born; and, from childhood up to the present hour, have reverenced Jacopo Foscari, the famed Doge of Venice, as the first and purest ruler of any state on earth ; have prayed for him, at early morn and dusky eve, as one beloved and renown- ed for his justice. I would not in my tra- vels, allow a taint upon his name to pass unvindicated or unpunished. I fought for him when a boy, and in his wars with the Turks have borne his royal banner through seas of blood and carnage ; have ever loved him as a father; reverence him still, and would not let his glorious fame pass on to posterity blemished by his son. I would have him vindicate his fame and name when assailed by his dearest kin, as well as when attacked by those foreign to his eye and heart. I would have him ever just-to the lowly as to the noble-to the weak as to the strong-I would have him ever Fos- .cari the just.' 'But thou dost forget the ignominy such marriage would bring upon our nobility- the dangers to which our throne would be exposed from the indignant nobles of Venice by such impolitic union !' ' 'Let the marriage be never so secret, my lord duke, 1 care not, so long as it be done. The lease of life of the victim herself is fast drawing to a close ; even if she live, she would not subject herself to the ridicule of the woild by appearing as bride to the son of the great Doge of Venice. But she cannot live: for the worm, created by his hand, hath eaten up her heart-and she is nigh unto death. Do her sorrows justice, then, 0 duke; let her not die with the Might upon her name and soul for ever ! Do and the prayers of her kindred, the 40 IRL OF VENICE.TV prayers of her friends, yea, the prayers of the poor victim herself shall be recorded by thy name on the archangel's record when thy soul seeketh for eritrance into heaven!' The duke pondered. ' What if my son refuse?' he asked, after a pause. 'Thou art his father,' was the meani:a response. 'Thou dost not know him,' said the doge, with a sigh. 'He does not!' exclaimed a voice behind the arras. The doge started, and colored to the tem. ples. The next moment, Leonardo FoscariA stood before them. ' Thou hast overheard us, then?' sid the duke, angrily; 'thou hast been playing the eavesdropper. Shame on thee, son!' 'Nay, shame on thee, father,' responded : Leonardo, cooly, 'who could'st give audi. ' ence to the vituperation heaped upon thy son by yon vile slanderer!' ''Tis well thou art in thy father's pre sence and 'neath thy father's roof,' said the _z mask, sternly, 'or thy base throat and de. generate heart should answer for thine inso- len ce : as t is, I have no answer for thee N other than scorn.' ' Indeed!' exclaimed the other, mocking. ly, 'then a time will come when we shall hold converse in terms more in consonance with our rank.' ' Cease these idle threats,' cried the duke, indignantly. 'Go, my son-that I should call an eaves dropper a son of mine !-go hence, till my conference is ended with this stranger. When he is gone, I shall sum Mon thee, and look that thou be ready.' 'But father,-' ' Not a word, I charge thee. Go, and play not the spy again upon thy sire's privacy, or a doom thou little areamest of, shall be vis- ited upon thee.' Leonardo obeyed, with scowling brow, and wrathful step. 'Said I not thou didst not know my son?' said the duke, in a somewhat piqued tone. ' Thou said'st truly,' rejoined the mask; '' and I dare venture to assert your lordship bath never, till this hour, known how far his presumption could lead him from that inan- ly path'which honor bath ordained.' 'I confess as much,' returned the duke, testily; 'and were it not for pity of his youth, I should have chastised his insolence on the spot. But, enough of him; return we now to his victim.' ' Which one, my lord?' The duke glanced at the qiestioner-but the mask shrank not from his eye. ' Which one ? Hath he wronged morA. than one ?' ' ' That question, my'lord, argues thy little knowledge of thy son; What would your i highness think should I prove him a raur- I derer and a thief, as well as a seducer V' .| I The duke turned 'pale and gasped. 'No, doge.' ' Said'st thou ?-' he muttered, feebly. 'Dost thou love thy country's chief ruler i' 'A spy, too, on his father's every word 'With a patriot's'love? Aye.' and act-a liar, and-' ' And thou dost know of a danger threat- The mask paused: for the duke had ening his well buing, and yet concealest it fainted. from him 2' The mt.sk started back in confusion at 'I have told thee enough to preserve thee this his critical position, scarce knowing from all danger, if thou Kat followest my what to do. His eye fell on a small silver counsel.' bell, standing on the altar. He rang it, and, 'What wrong in me, if I should now a moment afterwards, a servant entered the order thy arrest?' apartment. 'What wrong, doge ? A foul wrong-a ' Water, sirrah, in haste,' cried the mask: wrong would blast thy fame througli all 'for lo! the doge hath fainted.' time, and do thee not a jot of benefit-the 'The servitor rushed out ; as if he had heard base and treacherous wrong of inviting a the order-as if it had recalled him to con- stranger to thy house, and, taking advantage sciousness, Foscari raised his eyes, feebly,' of thy power, robbing him of his chartered till they encountered his companion. liberty. Durst thou do it, duke ? Thou 'Stay,' be muttered, 'what need of alarm- durst not--it were too vile a deed for one so ing the knaves for trifles ? 'Twas but a slight strictly just.' touch of the weakness of age; but heaven 'Thou art right, strange man-I dare not.' preserve me from them in future! Another 'I knew it-and, warning thee again not such, and this beating pulse would soon be to quit thy palace on the night of the ap- still. Tell me all-stay.' proaching Carnival, I take my leave. Fare- A Lost of servitors were now in the apart- well!' ment. .I' A word, ere thou goest: Shall we meet ' Beware knaves !'he cried, angrily; 'and again? wait till ye are summoned.' 'We shall.' They departed, in confusion. 'Where?' ' Tell me all,' he repeated, addressing the 'E'en there where circumstance shalh mask ; ''ell me all, and spare not: thou seest place us.' now firmly I can bear it ; now the first shock 'Ere long ? of amazement is over. Tell me all-all thou 'Ere long, doge. Shall the wronged gim knowest.' of whom I spoke be righted?' 'I have no more to tell,' replied the mask; 'If possible, aye.' 'I have given thee the outlines of his char- 'Without delay?' acter: time will reveal to'thee the minutiae. 'As soon as I can prevail on my sop to Meanwhile, as the hour grows late, I'll right the wrong.' take my leave. But, ere I go, a word with 'Wilt thou not compel him, doge?, your highness: on the night of the coming 'Think'st thou he can be corrpelledV Carnival, leave not thou the palace.' 'The man who, sheltered by small power, And why not, mysterious man ?' doth, play the tyrant and the villain, can, by 'Danger to thy person will then be avoid- a power greater than his own, be compelled ed, your highness. More, 1 have neither to aught-be it base or godlike?' the power nor inclination to expose. But, 'That is thy thought' as'thou valuest thy life, pay heed to my ''Tis nature, doge.' warning. ' Thou hast studied that?' 'Explain thy meaning fully, strange man, 'All things befitting man to know, that or I shall summon and bid my servants to can be had for mental labor, know I.' seize thee as one dangerous.' 'I fear me much, thou'rt but a braggart.' ' Summon them,' said the mask, coldly.' 'Princes are privileged to doubt, and to ' Art thou so determined, so fearless in speak their doubts.' thy nature, then ? I implore thee to expound ' Thou art bod;too, as never a man in thy strange words.' Venice is bold.' 'It would aid thee naught, and jeopardize 'He who would serve the cause (f Truth myself, said the mask, with a stern lauga. must not enter her ranks with a timid 'Art thou my foe?' heart.' 'Doth my conduct of to night lead thee to -'Thou art a courtier, by thy ready speech. so think., doge' -'Courtier I am n'ot,-your highness ; but 'Nay, I know not what to think: thy a plain, unpretending man The air of bearing is noble, thy voice manly, but thy court agree not with my humor ; at& least eondu'n inexplicable.' those courts that I have seen. There is not 'Time will unravel my mystery; as neith- enough of God's unpolluted essence sprink- er force nor fair speech on thy part can en- led in their halls. I would not be a courtier, lighten thee now, take the wise man's alter- and am none.' uative-time-and put thy fai h isn't !' 'Thou art a strange, bold man.' Thou dost not hate me?' 'Yourhighness is at liberty to hold me 'I' THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 41 I page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. Tk . in your thought as your inclination wills. I have performed mine errand-war-ned thee and advised thee; and so, farewell!',, 'Strange, strange man!' soliloquized the doge ; 'brave and honest, noble and proud, young and wise.-ah! why, why was I not blessed with _kson like hi-n! But, for the victim of whom he spoke, yes, she shall be igh ted ! Leonardo must do her justice- lowly though she be! It wi' tea-h him a lesson-perhaps incline him to wisdom. He is in that stage of manhood when sharp les- sons have the most power in regulating and strengthening the mind. Tue lesson may make a man of him. He is wild, impetu- ous, frolicksome, half thoughtless ; and a bold act on my prrt might transform all his youthful folliesinto virtues. It shall be tried-my word is pledged, and justice must be done!' He rang the bell-a servitor answered it. 'Go, and tell my son, his father awaits his presence.' The servitor bowed, and withdrew. 'I'll have no refusal,' soliloquized the doge, 'he must consent to right his victim. I've borne his follies till they have' ceased to be follies, -I'll put up with them no longer. He hath a winning way with him, in excu- sing hi's errors; but I'll be firm now, and in- sist on his giving them o'er for ever. If he braves me, I'll discard, nay, disinherit him. I'll be tender wilh -him no longer.' Footsteps were heard iii the hall, near the d o o r .b' d'le comes, but not alone,' muttered the doge;ohe fearsmy reproaches, and there- fore comes in company. But I'll be stern and firm with him.' The door was thrown open rudely, and a huge black, cloaked and capped, and attend- ed byaixmasked figures in black, entered the chamber. The aoge's heart sank, and his cheeks turned pale, and his nerves quivered and his voice trenib;ed, as he demanded of the lead- er his busniess. The latter, without a word, placed a seal- ed packet in his hand. The doge broke the seal, and, with an ef- fort, mastering his agitation, scanned its con- tents. When its perusal was concluded, the stat- ues fronting his ducal palace, were not more white than he. His voice was subdued, his head bowed low to thn dark bearer, as he responded- am ready-lead on!' CHAPTER XIII. -THE EFFECTS OF T HfE A ARREST. Pass we now three days. The faces of the nobility and citizens of Ven -e were marked with fear, mnistrusN, sadness. One naght have read their thoughts in their eyes, without hearing a word from their ashy and quivering lips.'" A3 is an all- slaying plague were raging thr.ugh the streets, the citizens kept in-doors, fearfully. The marts of trade were deserted, the shops closed, and the churches void of worshippers. Those -whom stern necessity drove forth to traffic, did their business in laconic senten- ,ces, and downcast eyes, as ifan universal edict had been issued, forbidding speech and action. Men met each other in tle streets and squares, and, though their acquaintance- ship and friendliness were unbroken, yet passed without a word or sign of recognition. A dark cloud seemed to hover over the fair city, although the sun shone glowingly, and the sky was lovely as ever. Doors were closed, windows heavily and closely cur. tained, as if the stricken ones within feared the eyes of the fear-stricken ones without. One form alone was seen traversing the streets boldly. One form alone, amid the Fear-contagion dared to stalk ihrougL street and square, and look at the right and left, his large dark eye searching every face he met without a moment's quailing. Pale was his cheek, though; pale his li4 as he read the Fear in the closed doors and cur. tained windows and hasty steps and down- cast'eyes, and caught the laconic and fear- -choked words of those whose stomachs forc- ed them into traffic. Pale was he! but not with that paleness which marks the wretch whose timidity is caused by fear: but pale with that hue which the strong heart wears when indignation at man's cowardice takes the place of pity. With hasty strides, his good sword hang- ing boldly at his side, he passed from street to street, from square to square, from quay to qnay, from canal to canal, his eyes every tuoment searching each spot, before, behind and around him, as if in anxious pursuit of some loathed foe, or beloved friend. So passed the day. Night came ; night, with all her beauties and magical influences; night, with her .right stars, sky drapery and moon, and soft, wooing air; night came, and. one by one, as if ashamed of their-cowardice, the inhabit- ants of Venize braved tne outside of their doors. Still, the silvery .hugn rang not in the air, and voices were not heard alotd, as in knights gone by. It appeared as if hahit, not the loveliness of thenight, brought them forth ; and, more like funeral followers they seemed, th.n beings forth for pleasure, so whisperingly they spoke. On this night, three men, guised as com- mon gondoliers, met, asif by accident, a the foot of the quay Zechetti. ' Give thee good even, friend,' said one, art thou for a sail on the Lagoon to- nighit?'o ' Customers are scarce,' replied tae other; *I know not if I shall pull an oar, or poetet persons congregated on the pier, drinking a piece of the mint.' the breeze of the sea, shrugged their should .'Nay, rather than pull not for reward, I'll ers at the temerity of the singers in disturb- e'en pull for mine own pleasure,' said the ing the silence of the night; and, recollect- third- ing their own fears through the day, mutter- 'I like thy spirit, friend,' said the first, ed to each other, as they glanced at the gotr ' and if thou hast no dislike to my company, dola, fast receding from the shore, 'Bold will join thee at a tug.' fellows! bold fellows!' Many expressive so, be it, an' thou wilt,' replied the oth- 'umphs!' and meaning glances were direct- er, 'I've done nothing to-day, but sleep, and ed toward the boat also, as though te gon- must have exercise. So jump in.' doliers had committed high treason by in- ' Wilt thou not join us ?' he added, ad- dulging in mirth. But example has a pow- dressing the remaining boatman. erful effect, and our worthy cynics soon had 'I care not an' I do,' responded tae other, sutficient courage to speak above a whisper, leaping into the boat. though their tones were not over loud at ''Inan take thy seat astern,' said the own- that. er of the gondola, arranging his oar, 'for, Return we to the boat. till we are tired, thou can'st not exercise thy Soon as the gondola was far'enough from skill. Now, then, my merry hearts, let's thb shore, to suit the purpose of the gondo- dive into the breast of our ocean mother, liers, the owner of the boat exclaimed, in a and sing our passage out, in the merry strain low tone, ' Enough of the song; it hath done of our craft. Hast thou thy pocket flute?' its office, in blinding those on te pier as to ' I have,' responded the boatman at the our real purpose. Now, to business. -low helm. speeds the cause !" ' Then make the air ring with its tones,' 'Bravely,' replied the second oarsman. said the inquirer, 'while we follow thee 'My men are ready-their ktiives are sharp- with our voices.' ened. their courage strong, their spirits buoy- They pushed from the quay, and as they ant, as the nour approaches.' rowed forth, the flute led the strain, and the .'And thine, Gennaro?' said he of the stern, ears of those assembled on the quay, caught in a voice not to be mistaken, how much the following song:- soe'er his garb might do him wrong. h 'They wait the hour impatiently ; each SONG OF THE GONDOLIER. day but makes them more inpatientt. The The night-.he night-the night, days pass slowly.' Whn hesk i clman cea, I thought so to-day,' exclaimed lie of the Then thekishcalmeandgha, stern, 'as I passed from street to street, and night-the night-the night, beheld the cowardice of our inhabitants, in When the tide and shore are near.- hiding within doors. Scarce a man to a FromthepierI lapstreet! and all because Foscari had disap- From the ier h deep - peared so mysteriously. Is this the courage Indmytbaronathefdeep;of our Venetians'?' An with bark all full, frhey have been used to terror for years,' To the Lagoons I pull, replied Gennaro; 'rid them of +he cause of Cheerily ! Cheerily! that terror, and then see if their fears are Greater than those of any other nation. The The night-the night-the -might, - - iTen" have held our speech and action in W hen the sky is calm and clear; cheek so long-have robbed us of our rights The nighf-the night-the night, and privileges for so many generations, that When the tide and shore are neat.- it is no wonder that at this their last and From the crowded quay, most daring deed, the people shrink aghiast To the dcbrowd bay, in terror. In fact, your lordship is not alto- Toheeep- broad bay, gether free from the universal dread, else The lover with his ove, why that unseemly guisein which thou now To my gondola move, atwat Cheeriy! ly! art wrapt! Cheerily !Cheerily 'Not from fear have I donned it,' respond- ed the noble, ' but from a fancy that it would The night-the night-the night, save me from rude remark in my perambu. When the sky is calm and clear- nations. I would see without heig seet, The night-the night-the night, and hold converse with the leaders of our When the tide and shore are near.- cause without being noticed by vulgar eyes. But this aside- -have ye no suspicion, after Who will fly the quay, what I've told you of my conference with AW h wnybark away- the duke, of the accuser's name? With the gondolier,'I have.' Cheerily! Cheerily! 'Whom dost thou think?' The song died away in the distance; the 'Leonardo Foscari.' - ii I I- 42 .43 page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] THE ORANGE GI1RL OF VENICE. 44 THE OR ANGEGlRL OF VENCE. W hat-his own son?' 'The same.' 'Acavens! Can he be so lost to filial love and honor? The cause?' 'Nay,.I suspect it only. But I opine that fear of his father's anger and reproaches led him to the deed. You know he is the lead- ing spy of the "Ten"-has, from that pow- er, free license to do what he will against the laws, for his service as a spy upon those whom meauer spies cannot reach-and that ne likewise receives reward for his unprin- cipled labors. Ye know al- tais?' '\We have so heard?' 'My intelligence is beyond a doubt, and subsequently confirmed by witnesses whose, probiiy is beyond a peradventure. Ye must implicitly believe my reports, and'speak of them, among our men, as facts beyond a doubt, else my labors in procuring them will prove of no avail. But to the main matter of this conference-how didst thou find thy sister ?' 'Ill in health-lowly in spirits,' replied the second oarsman, whom the reader has ere this rceognised. 'And the lady Isabel-thbu saw'st her, also?' 'Sad in spirit; e'en as sad as my sister.' 'Liked they -their new abdde?' 'Tis safer than their last.' 'Sent they no message ?' 'Much the lady Isabel blushed when your name was mentioned ; and much she tremb- ed w hen I spoke of the sudden -and myste- rious disappearance of the doge.' 'But no message?' 'None.' Galliano sighed, and for a few moments, gazed in silence toward the island where his beloved was concealed. All hope is o'er for thee, Isabel,' he mur- mured, 'if his our glorious cause succeed not ; thy Galiano will not outli ;e his rtrug- gle for his country's freedom, and then, 0 Isabel! what, what will be thy fate. Kin- less, harmless, poor and friendless, what, what will be thy fate! But SHALL we fail? -after all our secret meetings-our mid- night watchings, our expenditure of time, and wealth, and blood,-our wrongs, our sufferins, and high hopes-shall we fail? Great God foi bid it!' In good truth, the noble was sad at neart, yea, o'er'hadowed to the very soul. The circumstances attendant on his father's deati- -the singular discovery of his father's grave -his burial in the old family vault-the scenes witnessed 'in the subterranean dun- geons-il he sudden death of the father of nis neloved-ier owa dependence, weakness, danger--his combat wh and triumph over the olack-his meeting with the usurer, -nd the latter's d,. ith over the gra-e of him ne murdered-the doge's disappearance, per- haps death, and all through his means,-the g,oomt he witnessed o'er the city-all this floated through the chambers of his mind in images darker than the facts ;-was it then a wonder he was sad? He thought of his own cheerless home- of the dark prospect before his beloved in case all his schemes for emancipation from the Tribunal's tyranny should fail-of the wo and ruin of all engaged in that great en- terprise, if fortune, timeoand circumstance favored not the cause-of the revolution in men and things, if the enterprise succeeded -of the blood that must flow, whether tri- umph or defeat was their guerdon for the peril-he thought of this, and he was sad,-- very, very sad.' ' Have ye any new proselytesV said the noble, in a deep voice.- ' Seventy in our section, since our last meeting,' replied Gennaro. ' And thirty-three in ours,' added the other. ' Good !' 'When saw you last the secretary?' ask- ed Gennaro. ' An hour before dawn of to-day,' replied the noble. 'What addition to his leger since last report?' 'Ninety.' 'The work speeds on.' - 'Aye, bravely,' said Galliano, in a more s cheerful voice. 'But as for - the doge, he must not die. le is a friend to the people- opposed to the Tribunal-and loves freedom equal to the best of us ;-he must not die.' ' How can we save him?-' said the gondo liers, anxiously. ' By hurrying on the hour when we strike for liberty,' responded the noble. ' He is of too high rank for the Tribunal to hurry on his death,' said Gennaro. 'We had better look to the cause first ;-the hour already rapidly approaches-to hasten it were dangerous.' ' Thou dost not know the "9Ten" for all that thou hast suffered,' said the noble ; c'tis the Tribunal's policy, once-their victims are in their power, to hurry on their doom. It lacks but a week of the Carnival, and, ere that time, thechances are an hundred to one that the mock trial, sentence and death of the doge will be over. In which case, what new tyranny will be planted on the ducal throne! It wei-e best to strike at once, and, saving ourselves, preserve the duke.' ' It were dangerous,' said Gennaro, 'for any cause soever, to change the day or hour for striking: our preparations are made for the Carnival night-our men have been told to look forward to that night for the -signal -their minds have no other thought. To change the time, or for an earlier hour or Iater, would change their thoughts, mar their plans, and perhaps chill their patriot- ism. Knowing the minds of the rude ones in our section, I think a change would be dangerous to the cause.' W W ell, we'll let it pass,' said Galliano, gloomily. 'Row in ; perhaps' fortune may save the old man without our aid. I shall not see ye again till the last meeting night, when, if fortune fail me not, I shall bring ye a proselyte ye little dream of. Row in.' The gondola was turned toward the shore; and, as it flew over the waters, a huge crowd was seen congregating on the pier from whence our heroes started. 'Something is going on there,' said the noble, in an excited tone. 'I know not what it is, but my heart misgives me! On your lives;'row in!' The gondoliers needed but little bidding: for that natural fear wh ich creeps over men when conscious that those they love may be in jeopardy, lent fiery strength'to their arms tand sped their bark with the speed of light- ning to the pier. The noble sprang hastily from the boat, and made his way through the crowd; and, when his companions had neared the spot on which he stood, they beheld him stand- ing in triumph over the prostrate figure of one well known to, and loathed by, every son of Venice--Leonardo Foscari! 'Coward! dastard!' exclaimed the excited noble,waving aloft the sword he had wrench- ed from the prostrate roue, care acts like these the charters for thy manhood ? Hast thou neither soul, nor honor, nor shame left in thy foul, filthy carcase, but thou must play the dog for ever? What! steal women from their homes by night, when their defenders are away and beyond their cries! Take that, cowardly slayer ' and as he spoke, the foot of the excited and indignant noble was plunged into the side of the wretch ; ';take that!' he added, 'and bear it as a living mark of thy unworthiness to be punished by the sword!' The miserable wretch groaned at the pain inflicted upon his person, and gasped with a demon's passion. Starting up, he ran up the pier with wild and hurried speed, and utter- s ing threats of vengeance. All gave way fearfully before him, and many of the crowd, fearing lest spying eyes should be upon them, stole from the spot noiselessly, and soon were lost from view. Ere those who remained had time to-recov- er from the sudden and startling incidents, the young noble, his companions and two young female forms were seen in the gondo- la, and rowing fast from the shore. , The forms on the pier, as if aware of the danger of being found there after such a scene, were soon scattered over otner parts of the city, and the quay was'deserted, all wondering when Venice would be like the Venice of olden time, free from broil and ty. ranny and wrong. CHAPTER XIV. THtE EXPLANATION. The boat swept over the water, liie a oird fleeing from the deadly gun of the sports. man. A little island, containing about an hundred houses, was the spot to which Ine bow of the gondola was directed. Having reached a broad stair flight, the rescued females were hastily landed, and, escorted by the noble, borne to an obscure looking dwelling on the eastern part of the isle. The gondoliers, immediately afterward, released their bark, and, again plying their oars, pulled for an island about three hundred yards distant ; on reaching which, they pulled their boat ashore, and, covering it with a quantity of old canvass,-thus giving, it the appearance of a boat which had 'ain there for some days-fledhastily, to a low- looking shed about forty paces distant from the shore. Tihey were met at the door by one of their own caste and costume, tu whom they hurriedly related the cause of their sud- den appearance, and witu whom they im- mediately departed to another dwelling, of the same rude caste, in another part of the Island. Return we now to the rescuer and the rescued. When they had reached the dwelling, the noble conducted the females into a neatly furnished apartment on the second floor, where, after pointing out to them a secret door, and discovering to them the manner of its opening, in case of a surprise, lie left them, saying that he would soon return. Descending the staircase, the noble entered the front apa-tment, where he was met by a middle-aged man, whose costume at once proclaimed his calling. 'Ho, good nster goldsmitfisaid the noble, smiling, 'I have used the privilege thou gavest me-and, lot thy chambers are in my possession. Two fair beings, whose misfortunes and persecutions are only equal- led by their beauty, are now in thy charge.' 'Aught in my humble power to serve them, shall be heartily given my lord !' replied the goldsmith. ' At another time, my good friend, I will tell thee of the cause of niy sudden appear- ance here, and of-the wherefore of my guar- dianship of the ladies who now lodge be- neath thy honest roof.' ' It matters not, my lord,' replied the gold- smith; 'that they are under your protection is sufficient for me that they are ladies of worth. How speeds the cause?' 'Bravely! our next meeting will make the most sanguine of us leap for rapture. Mean- while, thy lady will do me honor' and great service by keeping close the fact of her luowl- edge of our fair unfortunates.' 6 pledge myself for her secrecy, my noble lord.' 45 page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] 46 THE ORANGE ;TrL OF INCE. Ik THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. 'Etiough, t y honest friend. A's time is precious, and as my fair friends may nped my presence for a few minutes, I'll take my leave.' The noble hurried up stairs. Ihabel and Eugenia were in tears, by the window, as he entered. ' What! weeping, fair ones!' he exclaim- ed, taking a seat near them. ' Shall the vil- lain have it to boast that he can make us all weep, whene'er he lists ? Nay, cease, as ye love me! I ne'er'could bide the sight of tears -they rob me of my manhood, and turn me back, in years and feeling, to a weak and timid child.' ' Have we not .cause for weepiig ?' said Isabel. ' N-y, I'm no woman and cannot answer thee,' said Galliano, with a smile. 'Men thinly not of weeping o'er a wrong-they re- ;ress it straight, and, in the joy o'er revenge, laugh till all remembrance of the deed is swept away. But tell me, lady, how it chanced I found ye so far from that asylum in which I placed vou. Methought my meas- ures for preservirng you from all further per- secution b Foscari were mist effective.' The orange girl blushed, and exclaimed, 'The fault was mine, my lord, and on me let your anger fall.' ' Nay, fair trembler,' responded the noble, 'your severe sufferings swallow up all an- ger. Give me to know how it all hath chanced, that I may take warning and pre- vent the further visits of the princely liber- tine.' . 'The night was fair,' said Isabel, 'and, weary of our room, we sought the garden. A small arbor invited us, where, as we in- haled the evening ether, Nwe spoke of our several destinies, our past, our present, and our future. While speaking thus, a strain of music, proceeding from the garden next our own, fell upon our ears. We paused to listen ; anon, arose, and Ppproaching the fence, drank in the sounds of the melodious instrument, till our souls forgot their woes and were wrapt in bliss. Thus we stood, entranced, when he, Foscari, suddenly stood before us. Palsied, by fear, we scarce could speak ; and when our tongues had found free utterance, we were being dragged from out house of refuge to the beach. We screamed and struggled, but none came to our aid. for the villain had a band of fierce and armed knaves around him, whose 'bright sword awed the few whom we encountered on out way. Brought to the beach, we were hur ried into a boat, filled with stalwart ant masked rowers, whose stout arms soon bor us far from shore. The wretches gagge us to silence our screams, while he, th chief? villain, held our arms, and with insult ing words bade us struggle not, or we should be plunged into the deep. We were silent unresisting, till we were landed. A crow was gathered round the pier; and in thi hope that some brave hearts would attempt our rescue, we screamed and struggled as they bore us up the pier. Nor were we mistaken: for our young friend, Calvari, was among the crowd; who, recognising our voices, and divining the rank and intentions of our abductors, rushed boldLy forward, and felled the foremost wretch, who held us, to the earth. The rest catching the spirit of his courage and enthusiasm, rallied to our defence. Foscari, at length declared his name and rank, and bade them stand tack on peril of their lives. They all gave way but Calvari, who, fearless of every thing but our danger, seized me and bade the villains do their worst. The wretches paused, fear- ing lest the crowd should fall on them again; when Foscari, rushing forward and dealing him a blow, commanded his myrmidons to seize and bear us to the palace. They hesi- ta-.ed, and he, to inspire them, seized us, and, bidding the crowd give way, was dragging us onward, when your timely arrival saved us from further outrage, and punished the foul dastard.' ' Enough! enough!' said the noble, gaily yea, more than enough,' he muttered tc himself,' I thought him base before, but knew not till now the perfection of his vil- hiny. But the hour is commg for him, and for all his kind. Till then, we'll let him pass. Ye are safe here,'he cominued aloud, and rising;'the suddenness of cur flight and this change in your abode will baffle the vigilance of the keen villain. A few days and all shall be quiet, all at rest. Our friend, the goldsmith, and his kind dame, will be your guardians in my absence. Every thing necessary to your well-being will be by them provided. I need not warn you of being careful to preserve your faces frn strangers, nor of listening to music in neighboring yards,' he added smiling. 'There are other cavaliers as dangerous as the gay Foscari.o And now,' he took their hands, and his voice faltered as he spoke, 'farewell! .'for five days you must not expect to b visited by the gloomy Galliano. Duties weighty and I imperious will detain me from paying my . respects to all save a few stern friends, and they reside not in this Isle. Farewell, Isa- r bel; farewell, Eugenia, brighter days I trust I are in store for us. The clouds are not al: r ways dark. and the sun is not always hid. I But when I come to ye again, I shall look s for the smiles that adorn beauty and spur r men on to high and glorious dceds. Another - shall accompany ine,'-he glanced at the d blushing orange girl-' whose presence, I e trow, will add more joy to thy heart than d thou hast felt this many a day. Farewell, e again-and may He who watcheth o'er he .. shelterless lamb as o'er the housed one, pro- d tect ye till my return!' , The orange girl sank back with emotion d The lady Isabel accompanied the noble e to the door, her band still lingering in his- 47 .) 4 Ga.hano trembled, as he felt the pressure of that soft hand. It sent a thrill through his stern frame that robbed him of his col- lectedness. At last, unable longer to with- stand the force of his passion, he clasped the peerless, unresisting beauty tg his breast,' and, in one wild, lone. burning kiss, told at =nce his long-concealed and ardent love. CHAPTER XV THE L &ST .MEETING OF THE CONSPIRAToRs. It was the night before the Carnival. Scarce a heart in Venice but bounded with anticipative delight ; scarce a maid but had spent the day in searching the city wide for gaudy trinkets, bright colors and attractive gauds; scarce a youth but tried every depot of second-rate clothes for the fancy attire he would weer on the succeeding night. The merchant's clerk, the artisan's apprentice, the merry-hearted bachelor, yea, and the churchman, too, burned impatiently for the darkness of the coming day, when all Venice should be alive with mirth, joy, frolic and gladsomeness. Every where the needle was plying with wonderful rapidity, every where the hammer fell on the rivet, every where the jest and loud laugh rang forth, as the sports of the Carnival darted in anticipation through the minds of the gay. The streets' and shops swarmed with runners and buyers of every sex. Already the sports of the laughter loving and mirth-provoking had commenced. Torches floated through the city, borne by the hands of gay apprentices, nerry-hearted clerks, and young gondoliers, at the head of motley processions and roving groups. From their casements, maidens. preparing for the Carnival, peeped forth a moment upon some gay and boisterous throng, then hurried back to their needle- work to make up for the misspent time. Sober citizens, whose reverend tongues two hours before pronounced the cause of mirth an absurd and ridiculous farce, unworthy to 'te ever looked upon by men of sense or years, by some strange means lost their pre- judicial notions, and slowly approached their windows, where, like men, who are not fond of roaming from spot to spot without suffi- cient inducements, they quietly remained,- not to look upon the roysterers, of course not, -and some how or other their eyes were di- rected towards the motley groups passing by, without the slightest sign that they beheld them. Jealous minds would perhaps assert that they loved, and were -infected by, the general mirth ; but, psha! old men's blood warmed by the follies of youth ! Men, with merry faces and laughing eyes, .albeit when they deemed none were looking on, were not so merry in their features, or youthful in their steps-men, we say, many ~1 of them, old men, yea, and young men, too, sped hastily through the streets, as if irr great anxiety to meet *a fellow wight in pleasure. There was a peculiarity about these men: a certain fixedness, or earnest- ness, in C iir gait and features, which would have irvtommended' them to the close in- spectirm of an observing eye, even on such a nignr as the eve before the Carnivat. There was a certain estlessnessmin their eyes,-a sharp prying all around then as they sped on, as if half fearful of being sur- prised, or. watched, or followed Ly those they loved not, or at least had no ver great affection for. Soraething more than pleasure produced this incessant,-tnis great anxiety to reach their goal unnoticed. By a strange mystery, too, these men all bent their steps in the same direction-that is, towards St. Mark's Square, and there they disappeared. A man might walk beside you for a mo- ment; your eyes bent forward, in thought, perhaps, on the words which have fallen from his lips. Perhaps you are answering a reply ; ere your speech is finished, lo I you are alone! You are in St. Mark's Square ; hundreds on hundreds are playing merry feats, and setting hundreds on hundreds of others in a roar. Some of the windows are illuminated while from others, young and aged faces are gazing upon the sights below. One by one the spectators withdrew, till scarce one half of the original number remained. Where are they ? The hour of eleven approaches, and the actors are surprised to find they out- number their auditors. Where are the lat- ter ? Gone to their homes ? In a vault of some two hundred and eighty feet in length and about one hundred and twenty in breadth, were assembled a host (for they were countless) ')f masks. Skull caps adorned their , heads, hiding the dark and gray locks of eveiy member of the as- semblage. A ho, ', we say, a host of mask- ed heads. Their forms were dominoed, so that it was impossible to catch the slightest sight of the gear they wore. Like one massive body of human forms conjoined they seemed, as they stood in close. proximity to each other fromwall to wall of the long, broad vault. A sea of human heads, silent and breathless as that assembly of old which waited the moment of the tyrant's entrance into the imperial hall of the capitoline city that each ' might kill his share of him.' Silent were they, as if on each one's speechlessness depended the lives of the uni- ted throng. In one direction their eyes were turned, and there, on a rough and tempora- ry stage, an altar stood ; a lamp, with five burners, suspended from the ceiling, threw a bright glare on the open leaves of a writ- ten volume, whose characters symbolic, to- gether with a bare dagger, a slkull on each side of the book, struck awe into every heart of that mighty throng. Grim andgaunt and it page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 THE ORANGE MIRL OF VENICE. terrific, yea, and majestic was that altar. In l gazing on't, and on its eloquent symbols, a a thrill ran through the multitude, enthusias- b tic as that of the pious pilgrim who has t spent months in weary travel to his favorite g shrine.. On one side of the altar, and in view of t the while assemblage, sat a masked figure, with a large volume before him, over hoses. pages he appeared to be absorbed in patriot- ic earnestness.- Like the rest of the assem--r bly, he wore a domino, which enveloped him from head to foot. The excitement was high, t as was evinced by the quick breathings t which, like the first swell of ocean, ever andc anon, rose up and fell back into the bosom of the throng. - I Why was that multitude so silentT Fear- f ed they speech would betray them, if they I dared to use it? Or, tarried they a leader f to open their proceedings ? The hour is late,c and yet, though the assembly is huge beyond conception, no word bath been spoken, noI form of meeting opened. Hark ! a sound as of a muffled gong! lo! the assemblage breathe freer-that sound, - what doth it betoken ? Lo! the front of the altar sinks, and within two forms are seen. Their rank is noble,I or else nature hath made men wear the as-E pect of nobility, without the silken charter given by manto man to proclaim him above the common herd. Hark to that shout, deaf- ening as the sudden peal which the dark and angry clouds roll forth, when the ele- ments would fling the Fear pall over the hearts of the Triune's images. Again the peal rings forth as if to split the earth above into countless fragments. - And now, lo I a masked bu-t gallant form enters from the altar's bosom, leading a weak and tremulous companion into the presence of the mighty throng. The face of the latter is bare, and on his reverend brow and cheeks a tale of recent and terrible agony is written, as if the veil which hides the caves of the Infer- nal King from human vision had been opened to him alone of all the breathers this side the abyss of the Eternities. The shout of the multitude ceases on his appearance, and mouths are agape with wonder. Mur- murs run through the vault, and whispers of half-believed treachery are audible. Con- cealed knives are half-drawn from their sheaths, and half-suppressed mutterings tell the danger of the new comer. The younger raises his hand aloft-and now, the murmurs cease, the daggers ire returned to their sheaths, and marvel takes the place of audible suspicion. The old man casts his eyes around the mighty throng, but masks-masks--masks greet his vision on every hand. His cheek - is pale with suffering, not fear. His limbs are tremulous, and his lips in vain assay to speak, His younger and more hardy companion eads him to a seat on the right of'the altar, nd, like a son humoring the whims )f a fee- le-minded parent, fears not, in sight of a housand eyes, to do each little act which ives relief 6r feeds the humor of his sire. Aind now that kindness is acknowledged by he throng, for lo! how Iustily they shout. The hand of the mask s raised again- he assemblage is dumb. ' Hark! to the voice of the swayer of the, multitude: ' Venetians, ye must not deem me faithless to the post which ye have honored me with, because of the lateness of my arrival at this our last, most solemn meeting. But when ye have heard the cause of my detention, ye will pardon my lateness. Ye know well the features of yon old man-ye have known, je have felt, his kindness, justice and humanity for years, when the dark power, for whose destruction we are now assembled, held over us the hidden steel and midnight summons. Look on him, pity him, for he ha'h suffered, -welcome him, for I bring him to ye as a candidate for your voices. ' For the last five days, he hath suffered the infernal torments which only the Fiends of Venice are capable of inflicting upon man, On a base, false and cowardly charge he was summoned at midnight, by the dark messen- ger of the Tribunal to appear before the " Ten" and answer to charges which none but a devil could invent. He was tried, con- demned, and sentenced to the "Sulphur Death." Venitians, he is your doge-ye are his loyal subjects, and, now, fresh from the dungeon's torture, he comes tojoin us in our battle with the foes of liberty and conscience. Shall lie be one of us ? it is for your voices to decide whether our cause shall be aided by the influence and worth of one so patent- as our doge.' ' Who will vouch for his honesty ?' de- manded a voice, in the throng. ' - 'Galliano,' responded the noble, boldly. A look of gratitude from the aged victim rewarded the young noble's generosity. ' Shall be be one of us?' demanded Galli- ano, energetically ; 'shall we proceed in the coming struggle with a star- at our side, whose fame as a warrior, a statesman and a man hath never been' excelled by the brightest of our country's sons ? Shall we go forth, with this brave man and true, this great man and good, this sage and warrior,, at our head, or shall we, trusting to his hon- or for fidelity, let him depart, to be again seized by the dark Tribunal, a victim to its rapac.ty. It is for you to say whether he shall become one of us, and live ; or, return to the vengeance of the "Ten," and die!' The assembly was silent. 'Your signal, friends, your signal,' cried the noble. Every right hand of the throng was raised aloft. " Enough, friends-I thank ye. Then THE ORANGE 31 turning to the pale doge, the noble added- 'Father of Venice, Jacopo the Just, it is the pleasure of these worthy citizens that you be admitted into our holy cause. Thou will now prepare to take the initiatory.oath ; it is a solemn and an holy one, and he who breaks it, forfeits all right to honor, man- ihood, y ea, and life. Art thou willing to ru m uch haard P ' 4I am,' replied the old man, firmly. S 'Then arise, and take thy stand with me beside this altar.' The doge obeyed. 'Lay thy hand upon this holy volume,' added the noble, 'and follow me in the oath.' i"By all my hopes of life on earth-by all the ties that bind me to kindred, friends and tountry-by all my hopes of, heaven and fears of hell-I swear to be faithful and true to the cause of which I am a brother ; to hold myself in readiness to follow the orders of my officers ; to aid my brother members when in suffering or in danger ; to be ready at all hours, whenever summoned, to carry out the object of our institution-to keep secret its secrets, to keep secret its proceedings, to keep secret the names of its members, to keep secret its place of meeting-to advance its power, influence and number by every means in the power of my hands, mind and tongue. To give of my means and abun- daice all that can be given, to sustain and strengthen our institution ; to obey when ordered, though it were to sacrifice my dear- est friends, my kindred in blood, or though it were to jeopardise mine own life. To Iknow no object in precedence of this-to obey its officers, though to obey. were peril beyond conception. This do I' swear, in sight of heaven and earth, and will main- tain my oath before the courts of Life, Death or Darkness !" Word for word, with trenbling lips, the dogs followed the speaker, till the last word ef the fearful and responsible oath was tiuttered. Then advanced the secretary with his leger. Laying it on the altar, he opened its pges, saying-' Thy name 'For what?' demanded the doge. 'This book doth bear the name of every member of our order, sil-ned, or marked, by his own hand,' responded the secretary. 'Give me the pen,' said the duke, huskily. It was put into his hand. Why paused he? His son was one of the creatures of the itTen"-the " Ten" were ITible in their decrees, terrible in their tu tures-but his son was allied to them- if the "Ten" were destroyed, his son, his darling, spoiled, but yet his son, would be swept away with them. He had suffered by both, terribly suffered-but he was a ii'her, and had a father's feelings. E'en aol', if his Leonardo stood before him, for all his wickedness of heart, be felt he coud forgive him, wholly, yea, heartily forgive LL OF VENICE. 49 him. Though his son had forgot his duties, his loyalty, his manliness, his affection, still there *as yet a pleader for him in his fa- ther's heart. He knew his boy to be mark- ed-that many a heart in that tirong thirsted for hisblood,4nd viould have it,-and yet he, a father, was about to join a band of men whose solimn purpose wa to dlay, it cold blood, suddenly, and at midnight, the protectors of his son. He felt his eyes grow dim-he could not see the book before him, his band trembled. ' Why dost thou pause?' said the noble. The lips of the doge moved, but no sound issued forth. ' The torture hath done its work upon him,' thought the noble. 'He fears to sign, but he has taken the oath,' shouted a voice. He must sign, or die, doge or no doge,' shouted another. ' Aye, he must,' echoed an hundred voices, at once. ' Silence!' thundered Gralliano, indignant- ly ; ' think ye the .old man means us treach- ery ? For shame ! Scarce two hours have flown, since I, with the connivance of one of the Tribunal's instruments, rescued him, stealthily, from the dungeon where he was to linger till murdered by the torture ! Last night the Tribunal stretched him on the rack to extort confession. 'Tis the agony of his tortured limbs that now makes him patuse. His strength is gone. Would you add to his sufferings by harsh, unkind re- pioaches?' The throng was silent.- The old man leaned against the altar, and, casting a look of gratitude upon his defender, said, feebly-' Cease*thy pleading, noble youth ; I am not popular with these stern men,and thy efforts will be of little or no avail. My hours are well nigh numbered,-my aid in your cause feeble, no matter how heartily given. Still, go on; go on, with an old man's dying blessing. Rid Venice of its plague-sweep them off, and be freemen once more. Posterity will do your efforts justice, whether fruitless or successful. If you succeed, go at once into an election and create your doge. Let the people's choice live and reign for the people; not for him- self, but for the great body of Venice, I- I-.' N His voice had now sunk to a whisper. Galliano rushed toward and supported him from falling. The secretary ran, and, throwing the old man's right shoulder over his neck,sustained him on one side, as the young noble did the -same on the otaer. ,Thus supported, - the doge, turning his face toward the throng, and, running his eyes over the multitude, as if to command .their attention, said, in a tone feeble, but whisperingly audible. 'Venetians, you need not give yourselves uneasiness, relative to 4 Lx page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] I THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE 51 50 TIJE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. one who has made Truth, Justice and Hon- A burst ofapplause here informed'the ven. esty his study all his days. I have not erable speaker, that the sentiments of the enough of life in me to aid your cause phys- throng were in unison with his own. ically ; but, judging you kindly, and believ- The duke proceeded, in a tone firmer than ing your intentions to proceed from pure before:- patriotism, I believe, what before I doubted, 'The counsels of your leader must le that your great number, if harmoniously obeyed ; no murmurs must ascend to discour. acting, will accomplish your noble purpose. age, no deeds performed other than he has Fresh from the torture house of the Tribu- ordered, to balk his purposes. Be firnt, nal,with the effects of the rack now hastening courageous, and fear not ; in the hour ye me into the dark house of the lifeless, I can choose for the attempt, let no thought of fear attest how high and how holy is the cause enter your breasts ; but let each man strike which has for its object the entire destrue- as if a world's existence depended on hi tion of so dark and terrible a power. No bravery. Ask heaven's aid on, your enter. thought of vengeance for mine own wrongs prise, and fear not but the succeedinZ dawn urges me to bid you proceed, but for the sake. will break on the overthrow of the Tribunal, of your wives, your children, your children's and bethe birth hour of our freedom' children, aye, for the sake of all posterity, Scarce had he finished, when a spontane- T implore you to put a period to this fiendish ous shout from the huge throng, rang through Tribunal. Its acts for an hundred years, as the vault, and voices shouted ' Foscnri ! Fos. the archives of our royal library tll attest, cari! be one of us ! be one of us!' have been of the most remorseless and fiend- Over exertion, in his address, had weak. ish character-its dark pall failing alike on ened the doge, and he could scarcely master the youthful, the manly and the aged, on hiraself'sufiicientlv to bow his thanks. He the tender maid, as on the time-hued ma- seized the pen anew, and, with a trembling iron ; sparing none, but with mocking trials, hand, added his name, to the long list; at and relentless tortures, hurrying all into the sight of which, loud bursts of cheers again dark shades of the Eternities. Its spies eat rang through the vault, ant voices shouted at our domestic and festal boards, and, their -'Foscari! Foscari! Foscari the Just! he lips scarce dry of the food they've ate, the is one of us-he is one of us!' wine they've drank, post to the Tribunal When the enthusiasm of the throng had with the secrets they have gleaned, and,, somewhat abated, the President of the Pa. reartmg mountains out of molehills, report triots took his seat, and, with a little ham' us to the Relentless. We cannot quit our mer, called all to silence ; and then, called doors, and know we shall return; we cannot on the secretary for the reading of the list of speak a word, and know it will not be the new members. This being done, the latter signa.. of our doom ; we cannot impart a were sunmmoned to the altar, and there, hand word in confidence to a friend, lest that in hand, the foremost having his hand upon friend should be a spy ; we cannot sit down the book, the formalities of initiation were to'a meal with the consciousness that we gone through, and the rostrum was again shall finish it unsummoned by the dark cleared. messenger of the Tribunal. The general history of the Institution va ' Life is not life, but a continual fear lest then read by the secretary ; all its transac- we be lhur.ied to death. Our wives cannot tions, the amount of funds loaned to aam go forth to inhale the cheering bracing, air, and support its members in the conning with safety ; our daughters cannot receive struggle ; the number of its members, and the addresses of their lovers, lest, benrath all and every thing pertaining to its transac- the wooer's guise, they turn out spies upon tions. Speeches were made to strengthea our householkts; physicians cannot visit us and encourage the timid ; warnings were in sietcness, lest they prove intruments of given to intimnidate the doubtful, if any such thie itren" for destroying us. Shall this be were there. The place o' gathring on th' longer borne, and we be called Venitians ? following night appointed ; a benedietist No; let us arise in our might, and, with one by the doge, was pronounced; and ten, mn purpose, one thought, free ourselves from utes afterward, the vault was all dark,a d such cowardly dastards, such blood-thirsty silent, fiends. Their houses of torture are well known to thiis gallant gentleman beside me, whose sitong heart and fearless atm rescued mit from the death-cell. He knows their CHAPTER XVI. dari avenues and mazes, their mysterious doors and hidden traps, and can lead you. THE NiG H T OF T'I E CARNIVAL# through all their labyrinths as unerrinly as if lie had traversed them since childhood. .The skies were dark and starless; thl Let him be your guide. And, if an old man's night queen, as if in anger, shed neitherral prayer can aught avail, let him be your lead- nor light upon the earth : a gloomy, solesi er, too: a faithfuller, a keener, a bolder can- darkness pervaded the isles scattered oyd not he found on earth.' the broad Adriatic ; the waters were stilL I as if the Eternal's voice had turned it into aark and solid glass ; the atmosphere was deadly calm and hot. The piers of Venice were crowded with continually-arriving boats from the numer-. ous isles around ; the streets were thronged with citizens an:~ strangers, all attended by se-vant- bearing flambeaux, and all hurry- :ng toward 8t. Mark's Square. Torches and .imp festooned, hung beneath the windows of ever house; music, frotn a thousand in- struments, greeted the comers, now issuing from every corner, in the square. The street from side to side, was floored with ciese-grooved planks, and rendered slippery as glass by holistone ; and caulirus was the foot that did not fall. Shoes, sandals, boots, slippers, and chopines, were chalked by the knowing ones ; while those who visited the scene for the first time, af- forded.great diversion by their numerous falls and award attempts to preserve their equil- ibrium.- The sports commenced by th'e entrance of an hundred morris dancers, all dressed in tight-fitting pantaloons and jackets, with nu- merous small bells attached to their steeple caps and belted waists. Their grotesque dance being finished, and confidence implant- ed in the breasts of the over-modest, the hi- larity of the Carnival began. Clowns, sober citizens, monkeys, villagers, tigers, usurers and monks, all'joined in one mirthful set. each figure dancing as closely as possible, in imitation of the tiing whose character he represented. The heat was oppressive, and cunnning wights, taking advantage of the holitime, carried about water and choice wines, for which, receiving whatever they demanded, they made enough t6 pay for the time lost in preparing, and the expense incurred in costuming for the gay holitime. Nuns, with every thing but nun-like steps, might be seen, arm-in-arm, with a soldier ; a tiger with a monkey on his back, the mon- key doing the roaring part, and the tiger, both through mistake, performing the mon- key's squeak; a burly monk with huge chops and laughter-loving eyes, dancing a comic, ecuplet with a gay shepherdees ; a king footing it with a huge, greasy looking cook; and ten thousand other fantastic and laugh- able vagaries might be witnessed, as the sports and crowd increased. The bell of St. Mark's temple struck the midnight signal ; and, ere its sound had died away, the darkness was changed to the light of day, by the sudden discharge of a thousand rockets, fr-am all pvrts of the torch-lit square. This lasted for about uve-minutes, in which time a countless host of caps were raised aloft on poles,,and swung round, in-tle'air, amidst deafening shouts. Fediers of food and wine and water were now seen busily disposing of their articles to the hungry and thirsty, while the thou- sand antics of the merry throng kept the pave alive with boisterous delight The throng continued to increase,-the dancers and spectators to grow nearer and nearer to each other; till there was scarce space enough for the trippers to obey the music. At last, on6 merry wight bethought him of a schenle to clear the pave, and, a few moments afterward, a bare was seen rolling from the top of the square, with frightful rapidity, from either end-of which shot forth, like fire rockets, numerous fla- ming balls, scattering the crowd and dancers in every direction. But the balls were harm- less, doing no other mischief than that of frightening the astonished multitude, amidst peals of laughter. A tall form stood A the door of a two- story house, opposite the temple ofSt. Mark, scanning, with scowling' brows, the figures of the merry multitude. The house before wbich ,he stood had nothing in it to distin- guish it from the buildings on eitWer side of it, except indeed that its facade was hum- bler in its pretensions. It was an ordinary building, and free from all the fancy stucco and carved work which distinguished the majority of the dwellings in St. Mark's Square. It appeared to be the residence of some wealthy, but unpretending citizen! and had nothing' to recommend it to the passing eye, but its simplicity. The indi- vidual alluded to, was young in years, gay in his labiliments, handsome in figure and features, and evidently one who had to small opinion of his own importance. His eyes were every where; but an eye was on him, that he little dreamt of; an eye, dark, large, sharp and piercing as his own. Having satisfied his curiosity, and growing tired of gazing on sports in which neither his humor nor pride would permit him to mingle, he opened the door cautious- ly, though in an apparently careless manner, and disappeared. Whether he had received a signal, invisible to all but himself, to hurry him from th'e scene where he was only a spectator, or whether he retired to avoid the eve or presence of some approaching foe, it matters not-he retired, and, a few moments afterward, a fancy masque was being played almost in front of the house, which was so attractive that hundreds, aye hundreds on hundreds, gathered around to witness it. They gathered around to witness the mask, we say ; but, many, instead ot remain. ing to feast'their eyes upon the farce gradu- ally drew back, and one by one, disappeared throughh the very door which the pcrsonage before mentioned had entered. The mirth of the masque was at its height-the spec- tators were splitting their sides with laugh- ter,-their eves were.bent upon each feature of the gay performance, when, lo! hundreds fell back, just as unpropped earth gives way before the press 6f dampness and approach- ed the onetted door. They disappeared page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] I 52 THE ORANGE GIRL OF V.ENICE. rapidly, and when the masque was over, the President's chair, 'what hast thou to say to remaining auditors were astonished at the the charge urged against thee ?' thinness of their number. They imagined 'Not guilty,' responded the prisoner. that the play they had been looking on was 'Not guilty?' repeated the judge, in appa. poor, and that the greater part of its auditors rent amazement. 'We have a witness had retired in disgust; and so, likc wise against thee.' people, they left the spot too, in order that 'Produce him,' said the prisoner. they might not be reproached with gazing 'Behold him,' said the President, point. delighttedly upon a play of parvenu caste! iag to one of the Council, who had just risen from his seat. 'Doth he accuse me?' demanded the pris. - -oner, faintly. CHAPTER XVII 'He doth,' responded the President. 'Of murder?' 'Of murder.' THE DUNGEONS OF THE TRIBUNAL. 'flath be sworn it? 'He hath.' The trial chamber of the Tribunal was a- 'He hath spoken falsely, sirs. Jacapo Fos. bout sixty feet in length, thirty in width, and cari arraigns him for falsehood and per. about sixteen feet high. The walls and ceil- jury.' ing were lined with black silk velvet, orna- - ' Thou art thyself arraigned, doge, and it mented (or disfigured, if you will,) with sil- behooves thee to rid thyself of the charges ver emb.ems of the different modes of ,tor- against thee, ere thou attemptest to bear ture used by the Council to extort confession witness against another. ;Thou art accused or silence the breathing of its victims. Near of the foul murder of Ubetoni, the rich usu- the head of the apartment, stood an altar rer, for the sake of 'his euppcsed wealth. covered with the same dark material, the Sentence hath been passed upon thee. Why front of which was garnished with a silvery should it not be performed?' cross, woven into the cloth. . A semi-circu- ' Ye have the power, dark men, as ye are,' flar seat ran round the altar, on which the said the prisoner, boldly, ' ye have the pow. members of the Tribunal sat when deliber- er of murder in your hands, and ye may use ating, or holding council on their victims. it on me, soon as it consorts with your will; In its centre was an upraised chair, for the but I am innocent, and sith there is no President, and before it, lying on the altar, means of baffling ye in your humue for my an open book, a naked dagger, and materials blood, e'en take my life: 'twill be but anoth. for writing. At either end of the altar stood er to the already long list of your crimes.' a table, covered with parchments and wri- 'Beware, rash man,' exclaimed the Pres. ting materials; while directly before it stood ident, 'less impertinence in thy speech a circular paling of iron, for prisoners when would perhaps incline us to mercy.' on trial. A huge lamp, hung from the ceil- 'Mercy ! your mercy?' cried the prison- iag, over the paling, whose bright light was er, in tones of the most withering scorn ; 'ye calculated to fall directly upon the person of. showed it me two nights agone, when, upon the prisoner. A rack, with all its infernal this same false charge, ye stretched me on apparatus, was visible, a few paces from the yon rack, and, after glutting your sanguina. altar. ry eyes upon my tortures, ve bade your slaves Such was the Trial Chamber, when its release and plunge me back into the dungeon members were absent. But On the night of from whence ye took me. Your mercy! the the Carnival, it was tenanted, and hideous mercy of the "Ten !" Ha! ha! ha!' was the sight it presented. A white-haired 'Madman!' exclaimed the President man, haggard and pale, stood in the prison- dost beard us to our very throats? Hol er's dock !-chains on his hands, and chains there, ye knaves! lay him on the rack! on his feet; a pulley hung from the ceiling, Wrench him limb from limb! We'll see, if the hook of which was run through an iron his proud heart cannot be broke, or his un- circle attached to the back of a broad, thick, bridled tongue taught reverence and decen. leathern belt which girded the waist of the Cy in its speech!' 4. prisoner ; the end of this pulley was in the As the minions of the Tribunal obeyed the hands of a couple of fierce-looking wretches, order of the President, he who had stood up garbed in coarse dark frocks reaching to as witness against the doge, was seen to start their knees. The Tribunal was sitting, each and heard to groan as if an earthquake had member bare-headed, masked, and domino- suddenly opened before him. A hand of one ed. The lamp, before-mentioned, threw a beside him, was laid, gentti, upon his shoul. broad, bright light over the features of the der, and, his-presence of mind returning, he half-naked prisoner,over the right trappings resunied his former seeming stolidity. of the -velvetted walls and ceiling, over the 'Now,' continued the President, rising, parchments and altar and rack, and over the and gazing. upon his victim, as he lay stretch- glossy masks and dominoes of the judges. ed upon the iron bed, confess themeans 'acopo Foscari,' said he, who sat in the Jby which thou -didst escape thy dungeon, yesternight, and thou shalt be saved the torture.' . The prisoner was silent. ' Confess the name of thy accomplice, and thou sh'clt oe pardoned the murder of the usur2,' continued the President. Still the prisoner uttered not a word. *Confe'ss, ere I give the sign,' thundered 'he President. ' I laugh at thee and thy threats, villain,' respontled the prisoner., The Council rose in agitation, and hastily collkcted round the prostrate man. In faith, they had good cause for trem- bling; a traitor was within their gates, or else the secret of the entrance to their dun- geons was knevn to some daring one un- known to the Tribunal. Hethe doge, their hst and highest victim, had found some secret means of escaping his dungeon; true, they had. re-captured him, at dawn, as he was stealing, with a companion, through a bye-path, near St. Mark's cathedral, into the rear of the gardens of the ducal palace: still, the secret of the entrance was known to Another than themselves. This fact troubled them, and to find out the name of the being possessing this mighty and dangerous secret, caused the Tribunal to dally with their vic- tim ere they resorted to the last deadly measure. 'Confess, anal save thy life,' said the Pre- sident; 'give us but the name of him our spies found thee with this morn, and thou shalt live. Refuse, and thou shalt die.' 'Do your worst-I'll betray no man,' re- plied the prisoner, firmly. 'Beware ! our vengeance is - - 'Laughed at, and at end,' thundered a voice, without. A moment more, and a knight, in black armor, his viztr down, .his sword drawn, and accompanied by an hundred warriors, in mail, each Ltaring a broad, bright blade in his right hand, entered the chamber, and confront d the astonished Tribunal. 'Ho, there ! what treachery is this?' cried the President, starting back. 'No treachery, villains !' replied the black knight;'we are Venetians, and your dooms- men! Seize them!' he added, pointing to his companions. Stand back, knaves!' pried one of the judges, rushing forward, his sword drawn, and throwing off his dominoes, 'stand back, as ye do value life! Give we but the signal, ye are on all sides hemmed in, and death, death in its most startling and terrible shape, is your portion. Think ye fo come and bcerd 'is thus in our very denT Fly, fools, fly, and Aave your v, retched lives !' ' Cease, thou foul-mouthed braggart! tease thine empty vauntings, for every pas- sage, or entrance to this blood chamber is filled with men thirsting foryour blood! 'Think'st thou, by this shallow trick, to in- lim'date artss a thousand times more brave 53 and cunning than thine own? Fool! thou art too well begirt, though aimies could now spring up on all sides of this chamber to aid thee-death, death, in its most ap- palling forms, have been marked out for thee and all thy fellow assassins! Seize dliem!' The knights obeyed; and, in five minutes, every member of the Tribuual, together with the wretches who were about to stran- gle the aged man on the rack, were seized, bound and tied to the altar around which they had so often sat in sanguinary coun- cil. 'Behold, my friends,' cried the black knight, pointing to the rack, 'behold the weapons of these midnight murderers. Be- hold the fearful engines we are called upon by reason, manhood, justice, aye, and fate, to destroy. Release yon noble victim, and bear him to the palace. We'll hear his thanks another time,' he continued with averted face, as the doge, freed from his iron manacles, was about to throw himself on his knees and thank his deliverers, for their timely arrival ; 'we'll hear his thanks another time. Be-.r him hence, and see him well attended, ere ye quit your burden. Away! ' And now' continued the knight, 'pass the word for the oil, we'll teach these idle hounds the mercy they have taught to others.' The oil was brought. ' Now, sirs,' said the black knignt, turn- ing to the judges, 'it is but the emptying of these jars upon this pave, and the touching of this torch to the oil, and ye are in a hu- man hell, built by your own death-dealing hands. What if we so act?' The judges were silent. . ' What if, like yourselves, we, to gratify our thirst for blood, fire these dungeons, leav- ing you, 'artners in blood and iniquity, to list to each other's cries and shrieks and groans, as the flames of Vengeance hurry ye from this chamber of fire into that burning lake the other side the Eternities which ye so long have laughed at?' ' Do it,' said one of the judges, sullenly; 'we fear not.' ' Liar that thou art,' replied the knight, 'tis thy fear that gives thee this sad show of courage in the dark hour of death. Are ye then so brave, that ye will not ask for mercy ? Ho, there!' he added, turning to his men, 'swathe these walls with oil, We'll e'en burn the villains into a crisp.' A cry of terror,.rose from the midst of the captive judges, as they beheld the threat of their unknowncaptor being carried into ef- feet. 'What! ye come to your senses at last, eh ' exclaimed the knight, with a derisive laugh ; 'ye begin at last to have a foretaste of tie dark doom which ye have so oft inflict- ed upon your wretched victims? Ho, there! 'a 'HE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. rXy brave hearts, seize these dastards, and convey them to the outer vault.' His command was obeyed. ' Now then, friends,' continued the knight, 'pass the word, to set all the captives free, swathe all the dungeons with oil and pitch, .and when we reach the outer vault, let the torch fire the dungeons-if possible, we'll end our glorious work without shedding a drop of human blood.' - The dungeons were opened, and captive after captive released, till not a cell was left unexplored. The walls, floors, and ceilings were then bedaubed with oil and pitch, and all moved, hastily, to the outward vault. There the judges stood, chained, and, de- void of their cloaks, gazing sullenly on their captors,-their faces were well known, and the huge throng recognized many a favorite citizen among the now powerlessJudges. The black knight advanced towards one who bore a torch, and seizing it, cried out- 'Seize these villains, and bear them to the ducal hall. Away, on your lives-,fbr the brand must now end these scenes of blood!' None needed a second bidding: and ma- king a rush for the stair flight, were, with their captives, soon beyond the reach of dan- .ger. The knight finding himself alone flung the burning torch into the narrow passage:;' and for a moment paused to witness the re- sult. The passage, swathed with oil and pitch, was instantaneously in a flame, and spreading like a sea of fire, till all before him was of one lurid glow. The heat drove him to the stair flight, where stood a large jar of pitch and oil. A slight push sent it into the vault, where it was soon caught by the ap- proaching fire. The danger was now evi- dent, and, closing the door, the black knight ran, with his few remaining companions, up stairs. A crowd was congregated without the door ; whichson the approach of our he- ro, soon gave way, and all bent their steps toward the palace. In a square phalh:.A they moved, the black knights in the centre, till they reached the ducal mansion. CHAPTER XVIII. THE T RIAL. The reception hall of the ducal palace was filled to overflowing. An oaken desk, carv- ed in the fashion of the furniture of the middle ages, stood in the upper end of the hall. Behind it, his vizor off, and his manly face exposed to the full vie* of -the multi- tude, sat Galliano, the hero of the night. Ranged on either side, were twenty knights in black armor, each holding his helmet on his arm before his breast. On either end of the desk stood a large vaxen taper, fling- ing a broad light around. The captive judges were in a line befcre the desk, their faces toward the desk, and separated from the spectators by an iron railing, which ran from side to side of the apartment. Silence reigned throughout the hall. 'Venetians,' said Galliano, in a stern voice, 'the late foes of our beloved country, are now before you for judgment. The witnesses against them are your own eyes, and the sufferings which we all have suffer' ed since nature gave us breath.' Are ye prepared for judgment?' ' We are,' was the reply, as with one voice. ' Their crimes are known to ye-their villainy as plainly graven on your hearts, as the memory of yesterday. Speak, what is the doom of'the prisoners ?' 'Death!' was the solemn response. 'Without shriving-without preparation?' 'Without shriving--without preparation' 'Their mode of death?' 'The block-the block!'F 'When, and where?' 'This hour, and in front of the church of St. Mark!' ' Who shall be their executioner?' ' Their chief,' was the reply again, as with one voice. ' Ho, there !' exclaimed the black knight, rising from his seat, ' let the biall be cleared; and let the state block and axe, which have lain so long unused, be brought and' placed on the portico of St. Mark's. It is decreed!' The hall was cleared of all save the knights and their prisoners. Galliano whispered to his companions; on which two of them hastily left the apart. meant by a side door. Silence reigned there some half hour; at the expiration of which time, the knights returned, accompanied by a gray-haired priest and a mantled female. Galliano led the latter behind the oaken desk. She trembled, and would have sunk, had not the arm of the noble sustained her. ' Courage, fair lady,' he whispered; 'cour- age, or else our pains will all be turned to nought. Command thy nerves with all thy might: harm cannot come to thee, surround- ed as thou art by those who know thy melancholy history well, and who would die for thee. Courage!' She answered not, but bent her head upon his arm, and wept. The noble made a sign to those who had brought the lady, and they advanced ; rcd signing the female to their charge, Galliana fixed his eye upon one of the captives, and said, in a deep and solemn tone: 'Leonardo Foscari-on the verge of eternity, as thou art, I summon thee in heaven's name, to do one act of justice, which will, in part, redeem the infamy thou hast brought upon thy fath- er's name.' 'What is't ?' demanded Foscari, sullenly. 'Behold this tender form,' said the noble, THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. turning and pointing as he sooke, 'and let thy oncse noble heart answer thee.' n 'I am no reader of riddles,' replied the roue, sneeringly. s 'Nor need'st thou be, to draw the mean- t ing I would have thee,' sai-l the noble, f stifling his.anger at the insolent reply. 'Lead him hither?' he added, addressing the v knights near the prisoners. The ronte made no resistance.B 'W hat think'st thou now ?' said the noble, lifting aside the veil which had hidden the f features of the female. 'Eugenia !' exclaimed the roue, starting back at the pale countenance of his weeping s victim. ' The same,' said the noble, indignantly;' 'Eugenia, the orange girl of Venice! She,c whom thy false tongue did first betray and afterwards malign. Behold her now,t pale with misery and woe-behold her now, heart-btoken, as thou hast made her!' I 'Well, sir, the object of bringing us again 1 together ? said the roue, with a sneer, and recovering his self-possession. ' To urge thee to do her justice,' repliedI the noble, indignantly. ' As how, my gallant lord?' ' By wedding her, ere thou diest,"respond-I ed Galliano. The roue laughed. 'Hast thou no heart?' said a feeble voice near him. Foscari turned pale and started-his sire was before him-his sire, pale with suffer- ing in limb and brain. ' Hast thou no heart ?' repeated the doge, in a low, feeble, sad, reproachful voice ; 'hast ihou no heart, Leonardo?' The roue heard the tones of that voice, and saw the mighty change in that face, whose features almost till now were ever turned on him with parental love and pride. He shrank as he gazed, he trembled at the chang- ed tones of that voice, as they fell upon his ear-changed, too, by his own ingrate heart. ' On the verge of that dread Eternity, where we soon shall meet together,' contin- ued the doge, 'I implore thee to do what good thou canst whilst yet the breath is in thee, by righting this poor girl. Lo! death is near at hand, boy, and if thoul't but do this one little act of justice, thy father's lips will pronounce his pardon for thy guilt to- wards him,'and his last prayer shall ascend to heaven for mercy on thy soul! Wilt thou do it ?I Leonardo replied not. ' Hast thou no spark of manliness nor hon- or left in thee, boy?' said the 'doge, in a choked voice. 'Shall thy poor father go down intohis grave with the conviction that his only begotten, shamed the mather's breast that bore him ? Speak, Leonardo,- may boy-one word ! See, thy poor sire is on his knees before thee!' The eyes of the roue were 'moistened- is lips trembled-his frame shook-he spoke o word, but his sire had conquered. The roue raised his father kindly up-then ank at his father's feet--then seized his fa- her's hands in his, and implored his father's orgiveness. 'W hen thou hast righted her thou hast vronged!' said the old man, solemnly. At this moment, the solenin tongue of St. Mark's steeple, toled a solitary chime. The doge staggered against the desk-his ace ashy, his eyes turned upward, and his ips murmuring-' 0 God!' 'The lock is prepared-the axe whetted,' aid a solemn voice, at the door. What is that glossy stream now coursing down the old man's cheeks-tears, silent ones ? The roue advanced to the orange girl, and taking her hand, said, in a low, deep voice- ' Eugenia, thy hand is cold and icy ; un- like the hand which, in days long gone, I used to hold in mine without a sigh or mur- mur from thy lips: it is cold iow,as thy be- trayer's soon shall be. I did thee a foul and heartless wrong, for which, on the threshold of Eternity, I implore thy pardon and the for- giveness of thy kindred. The priest is at hand to seal my repentance-let him ap- proach, that my last act on earth may not add to the remorse which now burns within this heart.' . The ceremony commenced, went on, wa finished. Again, St. Mark's bell rang a warning note. 'The prisoners are summoned to the block, said the voice at the door. ' Let this my first, my last honest kiss,, Eugenim,' said the roue, in a brusque tone, ' be the pledge of my repentance.' Then rushing to his father, he knelt; and, seizing the old man's listless hand, exclaimed-' Fa- ther I father ! now forgive and bless me!' The lips of the doge moved, but naught save a whispering sound was heard. 'Father! father! for God's sake! speak to me ' repeated the roue in agony. His father's eves were raised heavenward -his lips were moving, as if in prayer. The bell pealed again. 'The hour for death is struck,' said the voice. The roue started up-embraced his uncon- scious sire-then waving a farewoll to his new made bride, sprang into the procession of judges, as guarded on either side. by the black knights, they slowly left the hall. The doge, the priest, the orange girl and one in the garb of a gondolier alone remain- ed. The lips and eyes of the doge still heavenward turned ; the priest and gondolier supporting0the statue-like form of the veiled bride. The bell struck again; a sound, as of an axe falling on a block, grated on their ears. A long loud shriek rang through the hall- the orange girl fell back. .4 " " N page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 636 THE ORANGE GI Shouts swelled in the Square, as the last stroke of the executioner's axe fell on the block, and cries, wild and solemn-and shrill and enthusiastic, split the air-' The tyrants are slain-Venice is free!' Wii that loud shout, the lips of the doge ceased to move-his eyes grew glassy-his limbs tottered, and his spirit was travelling with that of his son to the Soul's High Court. CHAPTER XIX. THE DAWN OF -FR.EEDOM. The news of the execution flew from mouth to mouth, like wildfire ; the people looked in each others' eyes half paralysed ; even those who had been in the conspiracy couid sca-rce believe their glorious work was fully accomplished, till they beheld the de- capitated trunks of those who had composed the Tribunal. The Carnival ceased only to break forth anew, with wilder mirth. Peo- ple laughed, danced, shouted, yea, and wept for gladness' sake. Groups met, chatted a moment over the affair, then separated, in wild joy, and, collecting again together, re- hearsed their former converse. So wild was the enthusiasm,' that old men, forgetting their age, frolicked, 'danced, gambolled, shouted and made merry, like youths; misers forgot their avarice, and, joining in the gen- eral gladsomeness, squandered the savings of years; processions formed in every part of the city, and, preceded by music, strode through Venice in triumph. The sick and the feeble, the halt and the blind were help- ed to the windows that they might either see the cavalcade or hear the enthusiastic strains which announced their country's free- dom from the thrall of the Long-Dreaded. The timid forgot their timidity, arid, as they strode in the processions, felt brave as the bravest; the niggard forgot his narrow-heart- edness, and when the upraised hand of the beggar mtet his regenerated eye, gave of his means freely ; men who had long been foes, met, and, in the patriotism of their hearts, looked kindly on each other, and embraced ; jealousies were discarded by rival trades- men, and free and generous hands and sym- pathies exchanged, and lasting friendships formed where all before was hatred. It was a time of universal joy, and brought back to the mental eye of the moralist, those happy days and scenes when men's faces were the outward pictures of their hearts. Still there was a sadness, too, in Venice- the corse of the just doge,-Foscari,.-lay in state, in the ducal palace. Waxen tapers gleamed around the bier, and monks and priests, and the dignitaries of the State sat In little groups, thinking of the dead. Alone in his palace, with no son nor wife nor daughter to weep o'er his pale and deathly IRL OF VENICE.. brow, lay Jacopo the Just. None wept for him-none told his virtues, his secret deeds of charity, or his worth. Men of place and mamnon were around him, gazing on his shroud, and thinking-of their future in re- gard to place and mammon. They knew their country was freed from a yoke which had, in its time, bowed all their'necks to i' will ; but they participated not in the gene ral Joy, because the doge's death and the Tribunal's overthrow might be the harbin- gers only to their loss of office. And, in this train of thought around the bier of Death, they pondered o'er the means of coin- ing gold and place, ' Who next' shall be doge V'* Who be the electors?' 'Shall my' office and its emoluments be wrested from me ?, Or shall I become a favorite with the elected one V' Such were a few of the thousand interrogatories each of the sitters put to himself, while paying one of the last duties of man to his fellow man in that hall where Death rejoiced o'er one victim. But there were many on that day whose minds were sorely rent while reflecting on the state of things which had been brought about by the conspirators. The doge was dead-this was not expected, andno provi- sion had been made for such emergency. A party of twenty men were assembled in St. Mark's vault. Their ages varied from thirty to fifty years. They were of different castes in rank, and each was garbed as be- fitted his rank and calling. They were sit- ting, in solemn conclave, upon the rostrum and around the altar on which they had be-- fore sworn to immolate the tyrannical rulers of their country. They were the officers of the sworn Brotherhood. They had been, in council since day-break, and had not bro- ken bread nor tasted drink, nor closed their eyes in slumber since the hour of their en- trance into the dungeons of the late Tribunal. It was now verging on to noon, and they had not yet decided on the object of their meeting. When their council had broken up, a glow of earnest satisfaction was visible in every eye and on every cheek ; and'on the day succeeding the burial of the late doge, the anxieties and cares of those who had held office under him, were set at rest forever: and-they murmured! CHAPTER XX. TU E B RIDAL IORtN. Pass we now three months. It was ab6ut the hour of nine, on a lovely morning in June, that a young man, in the garb of a secretary, knocked tyriskly at the door of an humble and retired-looking dwell- ing in the Raoni square. Fe wore a small moustache, appointed beard and jetty ringlets l 0" 4A THE ORANGE GIR hung ove1 nis shoulders. A slender rapier ti hung at his side, and a short dagger dangled ti from his girdle. He was handsome as the a term goes, and-we are afraid to believe- a knew it. There was a no small share of s importance in his step, and carriage ; but k then he was young. He entered, sans cerc- e monie, and was met in the half by ayoung s lady, whom we have already introduced to t the reader. N You are one to keep a promise!' said the C young lady tossing her head, indignantly. y 'Nay, f could not come earlier,' replied a the secretary: ' but we'shall lose nothir.g s by this trifling delay: for I have the doge's t permission to take thee to the palace, that t we may enter St. Mark's with the bridal s cortege. So get thee ready soon as may b be.' t There was a mischievous light tIhe eyes c of the secretary during this brief s eech. s They entered the sitting room. t 'Ho! ho!' said the secretary, as his eye1s v fell on some bright and gauzy garments which were lying on a cushion in one cor- ner. ' I The maiden met his glance and blushed.I She did not speak a sylla':e, but blushed to the temples. A great deal of meaning is I often convoyed in a blush. 'Nay, thou shaltN wear it, my beloved's said the secretary, taking her hand and t drawing her fondly to his breast, and im-r printing a lover's seal upon her lips. 'So, t ike a fair arid bewitching damsel, don itt with all speed.'' Did she need a second bidding e Ten minutes afterward, they left the- house, and bent their steps in the direction of the palace. ' St. Maik's temple was crowded with the wives and daughters and scions of all castes in Venice. .From the palace to the church was but a short distance ; but that shortI distance was amply taken advantage of by the populace, and a crowd was collectedI from either side of the palace portals, to either side of the portals of the church, leav- ing a broad and winding passage for the noble cortege. The bell of St. Mark's pealed forth men rily, and its notes seeineI to spread jc-yOus- ness over the hearts and faces of the niulti- tude. The bridal bells, the bridal bells, how merrily they sang ! The palace portals were opened wide, and the gaping throng shouted as if their lungs would rack, as the bridal procession ap- peared. , 'Make way-make way!' shouted the guards who had oeen posted to keep clegr the passage to the temple. The throng fell .a:k, but riot unwillingly: for there was no: one in that mighty throng, but would have died, if necessary, in defeice of the well beloved doge. ' A party ol purists and at tar attendants led I I L OF VENICE. 57 he procession; a score of pages following hem, and tIe different grades of te nobility after them, till the doge in lhis bridal robes ppeared. Then rang the eching air with houts and vivas and waving of caps, and ierchiefs, by the mpltitude. 'I he dogle bow- d his thanks, and his noble bearmg and plendid figure well became his ollice, as he whispers of adniration, as ne i-assed, sell attested. Almost next himt, followed Dalvari, .secretary to the doge, leading a oung and blushing maiden, Junetta by ane; and so firm and confident was ihis rep that many believed lie 'iad no right to he blushing one at his side. IIe appeared o be too confident in his carriage for ra lover o thought arid so spoke, the ladies, I e ore himself like a true and frarnlss ian, so thought and so spoke the ren. 1"he pro- ession had reached and entered t-ie citurch till the bell rag ntoirlily-but where was he bride ' So questioned the iultitude without, and so did not question the multi- ile within: for the bride, veiled, hatd bf- ered by the vestry door, even at the moment her fumtre lord had entered by tLe front. The broad isle was cleared for tIe bride- groom and his party, and the lhnde and bridegroorm met, as if by accident'-but it was not by acciderit-and then they strode Solemnly-(people put on such solerimir airs!) to a royal seat, prepar(e(t for themti, on the right hand of tie marble altar.. The secre- tary and his beloved were not fir off ; and the parents and cousins of JuRnetta, by a strange coincidence, were not far off from t.reir daughter. Every brody looked grave, and almost every one blusned ,although there was but little need of eit ber. These thing s will happen -despite of their inpro- priety The bell ceased pealing, and, ere the ca- dence of its last note hard died away, the bride and bridegroom were summoned by the priest, aid the doge, Galhanro, anrd his beloved Isabel were united forever. The ring was placed upon tie linger of the bride, and then St. Mark's temple re-eccoed to the shouts of those within a.dI tie ceermg of those without. The be'l pealed agrainI and even it seemed to share in the general joy, St silV ts notes. i-r coup asscJ the ordeal of the p'est, and they? vere cheered ioo, but not so loudly as the noble pair ihat preceded them ; still thev were cheered, and a little old man and a little old womai were ob- served to be very fussy, and nervous during the ceremony ; weeping and smiling by turns, and turning to the people and mtxion- ing them to be silent, as if they had bzren the chreerett ones, and were more important than they were. Hotr people will act some- times ! As the doge was leaving the church to return to the palace, his eve was observed to look anxiously around, as if in search of ' { '4 page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 THE ORANGE GIRL OF VENICE. faces that had not yet met his eye. expression of sadness passed athwart brow, as if disappointed in his search. An his CHAPTER XXI. CONcLUbAoN. On a low cushioned couch, in a chamber where Ce luxuries of 'he higher caste con- trasted - troungly with the simple garniture of the lowly, refined the fragile fo'rm of the fair but sutTering Eugenie. The apartment had but one window, and that was adorned with a curiai. of crimson gauze. It was mid-day ; and the sun-rays gleaning through the curtain, east a glowing tint upiton the couch on wiich the orange girl reclined. Her head was leaning upon her upraised hand, and her dark eyes- gazing vacantly upon the antics of a little biud Which was hopping from cross-twig to cross-twig of ts wiry cage, and singing merrily, as if to im- part a corresponding mirthfulness ,in the heart of its fair mistress. An eastern carpet covered the floor ; paintings, amorous and religious, adorned the yellow colored walls; and, like tbose of the wealthier classes of the day, the ceiling was hid by silkea sheets, so disposed as to represent the ceiling of a Venetian boudoir. A small circular table stood beside the couch, whose surface was covered with low, square bottles of rich wines and inspiriting waters, for the re-in- vigorating of the feeble frame of the invalid. But thesee were untouched,while an earthen iar of water beside them was more than half emptied. The costume of the orange. girl was composed of a simple tight-fitting frock of green velvet ; a pointed collar of worked lace, and a string of pearls around her waist. A small golden cross, hung from her neck by a blue ribbon, and lay on her breast ; a bracelet of hair, mounted with . gold, encircled her left wrist, and a plain ring adorned her forefinger. 1Her hair was in clusters and fell in profusion over her alabaster neck. I'r feet, scarcely percep- tible, were encased in slippers ef green mo- rocco, and adorned with small square silver. buckles. In fine, tne apartment resembled more the boudoir of some gay and coquett- ish belle than that of a poor, deluded girl ; and the fair occuptant herself som.3 spoiled, effeminate child of titled parents, than the' daughter of a poor and obscure fruit vender. But these things aside. A low knock at thto door broke the re- flective train of the orange girl's thought. 'Come in,' was the response, in a low, soft voice. The door opened. and a lady of imperial dress and beauty entered the chAmber. 'How art thou love?' said the latter in a tone of.affeeticnate anxiety. 'Better, much better,' replied the orange girl, faitl y s. a ffev days more, and-I shall cease to trouble earth.' 'Nay, Eugenie,' rejoined her companion, playfulny, ' we'll have no such melancholy sentiment as that born in our palace house- hold.- We brought thee here to make thee happy and life-loving, and we shall not suf- fer thee to harbor any thought traitorous to our intentions or to happiness. Life was given us to enjoy, not to cause us misery ;, and it is impiety to be wretched, when we can be happy. Thou must live for thine own sake, for our's, and for love's.' 'Love's ? Ah, your highness!' Hightess! Hey day! Mine nwn l6ved friend and companion growing cold and dis- tant ! ' Highness' me not, Eugenie; I am no ' highness' to thee. To thee now, as ever, I am plain Isabel. 11 ve thee ith a sister's love, and thou, loving me the same, must call me, as heretofore, 'dear Isabel.' Because bride to the doge am I to lose the affectionate greetings of my friends? Marry, not I! Friendship and love are too rare to be sacrificed so cheaply. Call ie Isabel, dear Isabel, or never word speak to me again.' ' Dear Isabel!' 'There's a-dear girl,' said the other, kissing her, and twinig her arms around tle orange girl's neck, 'thus thou shalt call me ever. As for title, art thou not the greater 'high- ness' of the two ? Did not the patriots in token of thy wrongs, use thy well known nickname as their signa, cry, their watch- word, to inspire each other with confidence and courage in their brave enterprise ? By my troth! I shall henceforth' Ihighness' thee, ip revenge ; if thou darest title me again. But I've a word for thee. Now don't blush but boldly guess what it is!' 'Nay, I cannot guess.' 'Cannot guess-py sister, Eugenie, c.i not guess ! Oh, horrid ! Th'u a woman, and cannot guess ? Shocking! I shall hence. ffrth deem-thee other than thou art, if'thou canst not guess ! Look in mine eves!' 'I see nothing in them but love, dear Isabel!' 'Nothing but love! Of course not ! Gal- liano always says the same ; and kisses my lips as a punishment for every such asser- tion. Nothing but love! Marry ! I want thec to see nothing else in them ! But there are other eyes could look even more fondly on thee than mine; and my dear sister must let them do so. Come, promise me that they shall have such permission!' ' Dear Isabel-' ' Nay, nay, no treachery, my pretty little captiie. Like a grim arid hideous bear, I'll hug thee into consenting. Dost thou refuseI Nay, tthen, thus I keep my word!' And she clasped the orange girl affectionately, to her breast. Eugenie wept. 'lay, pretty tremnbler,"said her compaa ion, in the same mnoctW-serious tone, 'have I not already tldthee that tiars, and all other v ), 1 4 ft THE ORANGE GIRL OF14 VENICE. 59 symptoms of unhappiness, are treachery to door opened, and Gennaro, now a .ieaitenant our court ! The edict has gone forth-'n in the body guard of the doge, was at her tears here!' and wilt thou be the first to be feet. summoned t. judgment? Come-come, my They were alone. little rebel, we'll have no tears-this is the She did not bid him rise ; but there pas palace of the graces, Love, Hope and'iapoi- a language in her eyes, which Gennaro, ness.! See that thou rememberest it!' novice as he was in Love's ambiguous 'Even for joy, dear Isabel, I should weep. tongue, understood at once. ' Tears are traitors to joy, sweet one. Put He sat by her side-her hand in his-his on thiy smiles, thy brightest ones, for there arm around her waist-her head bowed on is di certain young lieutenant-whilom a his breast. gondolier,-who desires speech with thee. Need we tell their speech, as thus they He is in the ante-chamber, frbtting his life sat i No; there are scenes and whispers free away, lest his fair mistress should refuse to from the profane per of the scribe. accept him for her tyrant. ' I am his ambas- The day following, whispers were heard sador to the court of Love, and the queen in the palace of a bridal-a private bridal,- of that heart-breaking court must not refuse at which the doge enacted the fli other's part, 4 to reward him for his fidelity.' and gave away the bride. The duchess also A tear now dar.ced on the carnost eye of had a part in the matter ; and so did the lady Eug-nie. of the duke's secretary. There were some 'Shal I bid hinm enter?' said the duchess, tears shed before, during and ifter the cere- in a tone half playful, half earnest. mony ; but on such occasions women have a '0 spare me- spare him! I am unfit to right to weep-though we cnnot say for wed !' exclainied the orange girl in reply. what. 'Unfit to wed ! Now, by St. Mark ! thou Years passed on, and a group of ittle boys art the very image of a simple-witted child! were assembled in the private garden of the Unfit to wed! -Art thou not ringed and wid- ducal palace. , They were a merry 'little owed-art thou not free and loving ? Was group, and were wiesiling for a wreath life given thee to make a mockery of? Are which a lovely girl,,in the simple costume thy friends blnd to thy merits or thy vir- of an orange vender,*who stood in the centre tues? Iast thou novirtues? If aye, should'st of a green plat. held in her hand. A young thou not give them to the eyes of the world, fellow, about twelve years of age, who that they may be taken note of and acknow- called himself her little husband, won the .edged ? Sh'alt thou for a paltry squeam prize, and, like a true little knight t, knelt.at refuse to live out thy appointed time as 'the feet of the little beauty, while she placed happily as possible ? Wilt thou be thine it, gracefully, amid the shouts of the little own foe ? Be wise-thy lover adores thee, party, upon his brow. loves thy very footprints, and would sacrifice A party of ladies and gemlenen were sit- his life's dearest hopes to make thee happy, ting on cushioned benches inl the balcony, to call thee his. And wilt thou do him such gazing with affectionate an:.iety on tTe scene. deep wrong as to let such devotion as his There was a shade or two of deeper age go unrewarded, unrequited? Go to! Foscari upon their brows and faces than whten we did thee wrong, but righted thee at last ; saw them last ; but they were gently touch- thou art his widow now,-in sight of heaven ed by Time for all that.: and they all looked and earth, his widowed bride! IMaven and so happy, too! earth so look upon thee ; -and so thou art, Shall we tell their names? Velh Gallia- let who will gain say it ! The doge of Ven- no, the doge, and Isabel, the duchess ; Gen- ice, the duchess, the whole court, aye, and naro, the leader of the Vieneitan forces, and every hones. mind in Venice will vouch the Eugenie, his beloved ;.Calvari,n1toV secretary same against any caviller soever ! Wrong of State, and his talkative and merry-heart- not thyself by flinging aside the honest heart ed Junetta ; Paulo, captain of the doo'e's and brave hand of him who hath ever loved body-guard, and a little body, that lie lad thee dearer than himself!' caught, in a house where mourning was, Eugernie still wept, and the glow of con- because its head had been decapitated in scious shame shone on her cheeks. She re- consequence of being one of the' ''Ton '.lIe had infected, and she wept while she reflected. caught-her there, we say, and ;ii his efforIts 'Sumnion thy courage at once,' said the to consele her for her father's loss, some duchess, affectionately, and bid me call himti how or other got her to accept him as her in. protector for the remainder of her initural The eves of te orange girl and those of life. Young men have such ways with them! her friend met-it was a meaning glance- The reign of the doge Galiano was one the next m eintit Eugenia was alone. of prosperity and happiness to Venice ; and Iter eye grew caim on the instant-no to this day, old gossips and young lovers gush of blood barred the alabaster hue of cajole old Time by the recital of the events her bio' or theek. Her lip was pale, but caused Jy the wrongs of the Orange Gi- firm. A light tread caught her ear---the of Venice. -THE EAND. * 1/ A 0 page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] cj AGNES. CHAPTER . that the woman he hiad betrayed forgot her wrongs in his presence, and the creditor, who came to dun TAn nmghst was dark, and the wind blew keenly him for the payment of debt- ,already incurred over the frozen and rugged heath, when Agnes, went away eager to oblige him by letting him in- pressing her moaning child to her bosom,,was cur still more. travelling on foot to her father's habitation. Fatal perversion of uncommon abilities I This " Would to God I had never left it 1" she ex- man, who might have taught a nation to look up claimed, as home and all its enjoyments rose in to him as its best pride in prosperity, and its best fancy to her view; and I think my readers will be hope in adversity, mqde no other use of his talents reedy to join mu the exclamation when they hear thai to betray the unwary of bothli exe, the one the poor wanderer's history, to shame, the other to pecuniary difficulties;, and Agnes Fitzhienry was the only child of a res- he whose mind was capacious enough to have im- ectable merehiant in a country town, who, having agined schemes to aggrandize his native country, loathis vi t whem his daughter was very young, the slave of sordid selfishness, never looked be ond resolved for her- sake to form no second connsexion. his owvn temporary aisd petty benefit, an dsat To le steady, nianly affection of a father, Fitz- down contented with the achievements of the day, henry joined the fond anxieties and endearing at- if he had overreached a credulous tradesman, or tentions of a mother ; and his parental care was beguiled ali unsuspecting woman. -'amply repaid by the love and amiable qualities of But, to accomplish even these paltry triumphs, Agnes. He was not rich'; yet the profits of his great, knowledge of the human heart was aeces trade vere sueji as to enable him to bestow every sary, a power of discovering the prevailing foible possible expense on his daughter's education, and in those on whom he had designs, and of convert. to lay up a considerable sum yearly for her futuie ng their imagined security into their teal danger. support ; whatever else lie could spare from his He soon discovered that Agnes, who was rather own absolute wants, he expended in procuring inclined to doubt her possessing, in ac uncommon comforts and pleasures for her.' " What an excel- degree, the - good qualities which she really had, lent father thiati man is I" was the frequent excla- valued herself, with not unusual blindness, on those msation among his acquaintance. "And what amn which she hiad not. She thought herself endowed excellent child lie has I well may he be proud of with great power to read the characters of those hem," was as comnmnonly the answer to it. with whom she associated, when she had not even Nor was this to be wondered at. Agnes united discrimination enough to understand her own; to extreme beauty of face and person,bvery a- and, while she imagined that it was not in the comphshiment that belongs to her-own sex, and a power of others to deceive her, she was constantly great degree of that strength of mind, and capacity -it the habit of deceiving herself. for acquiring knowledge, supposed to belong ex- Clifford was not slow to -avail himself of this clusivly to tme other. weakness in -is itemded victim ; amd, while he For this coinbiiation of rare qualities, Agnes taught hie erto believe that none of sis faults hid was adnired; for her sweetness of temper, her escaped her observation, with hers lie had made willingness to oblige, her seeming unconsciousness himself thoroughly acquainted. But not content of her own merits, and her readiness to commend with making her faults subservient to his views, te merits of others-for these still rarer qualities Ie pressed her virtues also into his service ; and Agnes was beloved ; and shie seldom formed an lher affection for her father, that stronghold, secure ac qmoitance without, at the same time; securing in which Agneg would have defied the most vio- a friend. lent assaults of temptation, lie contrived should be Her father thought lie loved her (and perhaps the neans of her defeat. ie was night) as never father loved a child, before; I have been thus minute im detailing the various and Agies thought she loved him as child never seducing powers which Clifford possessed, not be- before loved fauti'. "I will not marry, but ive cause lie will he a principaelfigthre tirnama single for imy father's sake," else often said; but tive, for, on time contrary, Ime chief characters in it Else altered her determination when her heart, are the father and daughter, but in order to ex- hitherto unmoved ty the addresses of the other cuse as mlmch as possible the strong attachment sex, was assailed by an officer in the guards, who which lie excited in Agnes, came to recruit in the town in which she resided. "Love," says Mrs. Inchbald, whose knowledge Clifford, as'I shall call him, had not only a fine of humanin nature can be equalled only by the hu- figure and graceful address, but talents rare and mor with .which she describes its- follies, and the various, and powers of conversation so fascinating, unrivalled pathos with which she exhibits distresses li I; 4 ~i1 lo.1ve, however rated by many as the chief pas- posed; and the little chance which there is for a sVon of the heart, is but a poor dependent, a re- man's making a constant and domestic husband who taner on the other passions-admiration, gratitude, has been brought up in an idle profession, and accus- respect, esteem, pride in the object ; divest the tomed to habits of expense, intemperance, and irre- boasted sensation of these, and it is no more than gularity. " But above all," said he, "1ow is it pos- the impression ot a twelvemonth, by courtesy, or sible that you could ever condescend to accept the vulgar error, called love." And of all these ingre- addresses, of a man, whose father, he himself owns, dients was the passion of Agnes composed. For will never sanction them with his approbation t" the graceful person and manners of Clifford she Alas I Agnes could plead no excuse butthat she felt admiration ; and her gratitude was excited by was in love, and she had tbo. much good sense to observing that, while lie was an object of attention urge such a plea to her father. to every one wherever he appeared, his attentions "Believe me," he continued, "I speak thus from were exclusively directed to herself; and that he the most disinterested consideration of your interest; who, from his rank and accomplishments, might for, painful as the idea of parting with you must be have laid claim to the hearts even of the brightest to me, I am certain I should .not shrink from the daughters of fashion in the gavest scenes of the bitter trial, whenever my misery would be your metropolis, seemed to have'no higher ambition than happiness (here his voice faltered): but, in this case, to appear amiable in the eyes of Agnes, the huii- I am certain that, by refusing my consent to your ble toast of an obscure country town. Besides, his wishes, I ensure your future comfort, and in a cooler superiority of understanding, and brilliancy of moment you will be of the same opinion." talents, called forth her-respect, and his apparent Agnes shook'her head, and turned away in tears virtues her esteem; and when to this high idea of "Nay, hear me, my child," sesimed Fitzhenry, the qualities of the man was added a knowledge "you know that I am no tyrant; and if, after time of his high birth and great expectations, it is no and absence have been triedf in order to conquer wonder that she also felt the last mentioned, and yopr unhappy passion, it remain uncheiged, then, often perhaps the greatest incitement to love, in defiance of myjudgment, I will consent to your pride in the object." marriage with Mr. Clifford, provided his father When Clifford began to paythese marked atten- consents likewise; for, unless lie does, I never will: tions to Agnes, which ought always, on due en- and if you have not pride and resolution enough couragement from the woman to whoim they are to be tIle guardian of your -own dignity, I mnupt addressed, to be followed by an offer of marriage, guard it for you ; but I am sure there will be no he contrived to make himself as much disliked by need of my interference, and Agnes Fitzhenry the father, as admired by the daughter; yet his would scorn to be clandestinely-the wife of any management was so artful, that Fitzhenry could* man:' not give a sufficient reason for hits dislike; he could mAgnes thought so too; and Fitzhenry spoke this only declare its existence ; and, for the first time in so-mild and affectionate a manner, and im a tone in her life, Agnes learned to think her father unjust so expressive of suppressed wretchedness which and capricious. C nt e bare idea of parting with her had occasioned Thus, while Clifford ensured an acceptance of hunii, that, for the moment, she forgot everything his addresses from Agnes, lie at the same time but her father, and the vast debt of love and grati- secured a rejection of them from Fitzhenry; and tude which she owed him; and throwing herself this was the object of Iis wishes, as lie had a decided iito his arms, she protested her entire, nay, cheer- aversion to marriage, atid knew besides, that mar- ful acquiescence in his determination. 4 trying Agnes would disappoint all his ambitious . ' Promise me, then," replied Fitzhenry, that prospects in life, and bring on him the eternal dis- you wil never see Mr. Clifford more, if you can pleasure of his father, avoid it: he has the tongue of Belial, and if-" At length, after playing for some time with her Here Agnes indignantly interrupted him with hopes and fears, Clifford requested Fitzhenry tosanc- reproaches for supposmg her so weak as to be in tion with his approbation his addresses to his daugh- danger of being seduced into a violation of her ter: and Fitzhsenry, as he'expected, coldly and firmly duty : and so strong were the termsis i which she declined the honor of his alliance. But when Clifford expressed herself, that her father entreated her mentioned,, as if unguardedly, that he hoped to pre- pardon for having thought such a pronise neces- vail on his flither to approve the marriage after it sary. had taken place, if not before, Fitzhenry proudly The next day Clifford did not venture to call told him that he thought Iis- daughter much too at the house, but ie watched the door till lie saw good to be smuggled into the family of any one; Agnes come out alone. Having then joimied her, he while Clifford, piqued in his turn at the warmth of obtained from her a full account of the conversation Fitzhenry's expressions, and the dignity of his which she had had with Fitzhenry; when to her manner, left him, exulting secretly iim the conscious- great surprise, lie drew conclusions from it which ness that lie had Iis revenge, for he knew that the she had never imagined possible. heart of Agnes was irrecoverably his. H saw, or pretended to see. in Fitzhsenry's re- -Agnes heard from her lover that his si4t was re- jection of his offers, not merely a dislike of her elected, with agonies as violent as lie appeared to marrying him, but a design to prevent her marr- feel. " What !" exclaimed she," can that affectioh- ing at all-, and as a design like this was sehlish in ate father, who has till now anticipated my wishes, the last degree, and ought to be frustrated, lie disappoint mse in the wish nearest to my heart V" thought it would be, kinder in her to disobey her In the nidst of her first agitation her father en- father then, and marry the man of her heart, than, tered the room, and, "with a countenance more in by indulging his unreasonable wishes on this sub- sorrow than in anger," began to expostulate with ject once, to make him expect that tie would do her or, the impropriety of the connexion which she so again, and continue to lead a siigle'life; because, Was desirous of forming. He represented to her in that case, tle day of her marrying, when it came the very slender income which Cliffird possessed; at last, would burst oii blim with tenfold igony. the inconvenience to which an fli:er's wife is ex- The result of this specious reasoning. enforced ii ,I AGNfS- 61 page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 42 AGNES. 4 AGNES. by tears and protestations, was, that she had better Clifford's voice and countenance, pr nounced hims go off to Scotland immediately with him, and trust all that was ingenuous, honorable, and manly, could to time, and necessity, and their parents'affection, suspect him capable of artifice ? Codd she, re, to secure their forgiveness. tracting her pretensions to penetration, believe she Agnes heard these arguments, and this proposal, had put herself in the power of a designing liber- the first tine, with the disdain which they merited; tine? No; vanity ancd self-love forbade this salu.. but, alas! she did niot avoid all opportunity of tary suspicion to enter her imagination ; and with. hearing them a second tine. Vain of the resolu- out one scruple or one reproach, rhe acceded to tion she had shown on this first trial, she was not the plan which Clifford proposed, as the only one averse to stand another, delighted to find that she likely to obviate their difficulties, and procure them had not overrated her strength, when she reproach- most speedily al opportunity of solemnizing their ed hei- father for his want of confidence in it. marriage. The consequence is obvious. Again and again Deluded Agnes! You might have known that she heard Clifford argue in favor of an elopement: the honorable lover is as fearful to commit the and though she still retained virtue sufficient to honor of his mistress, even in appearance, as she withhold her consent, she every day saw fresh rea- herself can be; that his care and anxiety to screen son to believe lie argued on good grounds, and to her from the breath of suspicion are ever on the think that that parent whose whole study had been watch; and that, therefore, had Cliftrd's designs her gratifichion, was, in this instance at least, the been such as virtue would approve, he would have slave of unwarrantable selfishness. put it out of the power of accident to prevent At ha t; fmding -that neither time, reflection, nor your immediate marriage, aid expose your fair even a tenpmary absence, had the slightest effect fame to the whisper of calumny. on her atitahment, but that it gained new force To London they set forward, and were driven to every day, -he owned that nothing but the dread an hotel in the Adelphi, whence Clifford, went in of making her father unhappy withheld her from search of lodgings; and having met with cQnve- listening to Clifford's proposal. It was true, she nient apartments at the west-end of the town, he said, pride forbade it; but the woman who could conducted to them the pensive and already re. listen to the dictates of pride, knew nofting of love pentant Agnes. but the name. " Under what name and title," said Agnes, "an This wa the moment for Clifford to urge more I to be introduced to the woman of the house I" strongly than ever that the elopement was the " As my intended wife," cried her lover, pres. most elfectual means of securing her father's hap- sing her to his bosom ; "and in a few days- iness, as well a her own ; till at last her judgment though to me they will appear- ages-you will ecame the dupe of her wishes, and, fancying that give me a right to call you by that tender name.' she was follonvipg- tie dictates of filial affection, " In a few days I" exclaimed Agnes, withdraw- when ,he was in reality the helpless victim of pas- ing from his embrace; "cannot the marriage take sion, sIe yielded to the persuasions of a villain and place to-morrow " set off with him for Scotland. "lmpossible!1" cried Clifford; "you are not of When Fitzihenry first heard of her flight, lie sat age, and I cannot procure a license ; butI have for hours ab-cr bed in a sort of dumb anguish, far taken these lodgings for a nionth, arIde we will more eloquent than words. At length he burst im- have the bans published, and be mrnrried at the to exclamations against her ingratitude for all the parish church." love and cm e that ie hiad bestowed o her : and To this arrangement, against which her delicacy the next moment lie exclaimed, with tears of ten- and every feeling revolted, Agnes would fain have derness ' Poor girl ! she is not used to commit objected im the strongest manner ; but, unable to fauit ; how inier-able sie will be when she comes urge any reasons for her objection,- except such as to rel ect . mandl lh sIre will long for my forgive- seemed to imply distrust (f her own virtue, shns ness! and, O0 yes ! I am sure I shall long as ar- submitted, in mournful silence, to the plan ; with' dently to forgi-e her t" Then his arlas were folded a heart then for the first time tortured with a in fancy rouinl his child, whom ihe pictured to him- sense of degradation, sie took possession of her self confe-sing her marriage to him, and with tears apartment ; .and Clifford returned to his hotel, nie- of contrition iiploring his pardon. ditating with eavage delight or the success of his But dy afer day came, andnoletter from the plans, and on the triumph which, he fancied, fungitives acknowledging their error, and begging awaited him. his blessing on their union-for no union had taken Agnes passed the night in sleepless agitation, place. ' now forming and now rejecting scheiees-to obviate When Clitford and Agnes had been conveyed as the danger which must accrue tio her character, if fast as four horses could carry them ione hundred not to her honor, by remaining for a whole month miles town da -Gretna-green, and had ordered fresh exposed to the seductions of i man whior hie had horses, Clitfoi started as ie looked at his pocket- but too fatally convinced of his power over her book, and wih well-dissembled consternation ex- heart ;-and the result of her reflections was, that claimed, " What can we do I I haye brought the she should insist on his leaving town, and not re- wrong pot-book, and have not money enough turning till he came to lead her to the alar. lap- to carry uis above a hundred and odd miles farther py would it have been for Agnes ehad si-le adhered an the North-road " Agnes was overwhelmed to this resolution ; but vanity and self confidence with grief ani apprehension at this information, hbut again interfered. " What have I to-fear i" said did not for -n ieant suspect that the fact waes Agnes to herself; am I so fallen in iny own es- threrwni e than as Clifford stated it to be. teeni that I dare not expose myself even to a As I bef.e ob-erved, Agnes piqued herself onI shadow of temptation i No; I will iot think so her knowkvdrI;e of characters, anid she judged of meanly of my vitue-the woman that is afraid them frequenlv by the rules of physiognony ; she of being dishonored is half overconme already; I had studied voice's too, as well as countenances; will neet with boldness the trials which I camot was it possible, then, that Agnes, who had, four avoid."' - $1 [ Es L 4 I ,1 -1I a 0 Vanity I thou hast much to ansm er for I I out, "What am I, did I akI I am a mother, am convinced that, were we to trace up to their and earth still holds me by a tie too sacred to be source all the most painful and degrading events broken" of our lives, we should find inost of them to have Then by degrees she became calmer, and re- their origin in the gratified suggestions of vanity- joiced, fervently rejudiced, in her athier's second It is not my intention to follow Agnes through nmariage, though she felt it as too convincing a the succession of fortifications, embarrassments, proof how completely lie had thrown her from his and contending feelings, which preceded her un- affections. She knew that the fear of a second doing (for, secure as she thought herself in her family diminishing the strong affection wich he own strength, and the honor of her lover, sie be- bore to her, had been his reason for not marrying came at last a prey to her seducer); it is sufficient again, and now it was plain that ie had married that I explain the circumstances which led to her inr hopes oif losing ris affection for her. Still this being, our a cold winter's night, houseless and un- iniform-atioIn removed a load from ier mind,.by rotected, a melancholy wanderer towards the showing her that Fitzhenry felt himself capable house of her father. of receiving happiness from other hands than Before the expiration of the month Clifford had hers ; and sIe resolved, if she heard that he was triimphied over the virtue of Agnes ; ahd Soon hapy in his change of situitiomn, never to recal after he received orders to join his regiment, as it to Iris memory the daughter whom it was so much was going to be sent oi immediate service. "But his interest to forget. you will return to me before you embark, in order The time of Agnes' confinement new drew near to make mae your wife I' said the half-distracted -a time which -fills with appreiernsiion even the Wgnes; " you will not leave nie to shame as well wife, who is soothed andl suported by tre tender as misery I" Clifford promised everything she attentiois (of an anxious lbnir, arnd the assidri- wished ; and Agnes tried to lose the pangs of part- ties of affectiinante relntiiins an friends, aid wio ing, in anticipation of the joy of his return. But knows that the child with which -he is about to on the very day when sie expecte51 him, sIe re-' present them, will at once gratify their afections cdived a letter froni him, saying that ie was un- and their pride. der sailing orders, and to see her again before the sensations of -gnesnat a momnt oaut an embarkation was impossible. dangerous as nthis t Anes, who had no husband 'T'o do Clifford justice, ie in this instance told to'soothe her by his anxious inquiries, no relations tre truth; nh, as hie really loved Agnres as e or friends to cheer her drooping soul by the ex- as a libertine can love, ie felt the agitation and pressions of sympathy, and Whose child, instead distress which his letter expressed ; though, had of being welcomed by an exulting fimnrily, must he returned to her, ie had an excuse ready pre~ be, perhaps, a stranger even to its nearest rela- pared for delaying the marriage. tons t Words can but ill describe the situation of Ag- . - b nes on the receipt of this letter. The return of Bunt, mii proportion te her trials, seued to af Clifford was not to be expected for mronthis at Agnes' poer of rising suipenir to threm, an - least ; and perhaps he inghrt never return I The te eu h l se s is i a d ofreort- tiought of his danger was madness ; but, when the house, whom coipassion had induced to at- she reflected that she should in all probability be tr oue, 'ciongavconiptssio a Iav ilvudoce tFrat a mother before she became a wife, ina'an tend o her, se gave birth to a ove oy. rm of frantic anguish she implored Heaveninpmerty that romnt, tmugm n-indrarely s ni, amdevjr to put air end to her existence. "0 my dear in- saw any oinue but hier kinid lndly, her mind was jured father ' she exclaimed, " I who was o no ln pn n whichshre hil before labonre-,; inI whemnsire had your pride, am now your disgrace !-and that child heard from Clifford, or of her father beihg happy whose first delight it wias to look in your face, and .l ' see your eves bearing with fondness oni her, can and Clasped her babe to he- bosoi, Agnes might now nevermdare to meet their glance again I, almost be pronounced cheer ful. But, though Agnes dared not presume to write After sIe had been six nionthis a mother, Clifford to her father till sie could sign herself the wife of returned. and, in the transport of seing him safe, Clifford,shre coiild not exist withoutcmaking sone Agnes forgot for a nionent tht she aid been secret inquiries concerning his health and spirits, anxious and unhappy. Now aganir wai s tine sib- and, before ie left her, Clifford recommended a ject of the marriage resumed ; but just as the trusty messenger to her for that purpose. The wedding-day was fixed, .Clifford was summoned first account which she received was that Fitzietn- away to attend Lis expiring father, and Agnes ry was well; the next, that he was dejected ; the wis once more doomed to the torture's of suspense. three following that his spirits were growing After a minnth's absence Clifford camie back, but better-aud the last account was, that lie was appeared to labor under a dejection of spirits, married. -. which ie seenied studious to conceal froin her. " Married !" cried Agnes, rushing into her cham- Alarmed and terrified at ain appearance so unnis- ber, and cutting the door after her, ip a manner usual, sIe demmuded- an explanation, which the coin- sutliciently indicative to the messenger of the an- summate deceive gave at length, afemr many en- guish she hastened from hir to conceal-" mar- treaties on lher part, and feigneid r-luictance on ried ! Clifford abroad-perhlanps at this moment a iis. le told her that his father's illness seis oc- corpse-and my father married I What then amsi casioned by his having been inifornied thiat ie was I1 A wretch fourlor i! an outcast from society i privately married to her; that re had sent for him no one to love. no one to protect and cherish ne ! to inquire into the trtith of the report; and, being Great God ! wilt thou not pardon me if I seek. a convinced by his solenmn assurance that no mar- refunge from my' suffering in the grave !" ringe hind taken place, he had Colm mlalded him, Here nature suddenly and powerfully :mpressed unless he wished to kill him, to take isoletmn on her recollection that sire was about to become oath never to marry Agnes Fitzhenry withouthis a parent; ird, falling on her knees, she sobbed conseiL ) - page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] .64 AGNES. 111 M6 t ; Ii : i " And did you take the oath I" cried Agnes, her young men of Clifford's acquaintance 'who weer whole frame trembling with agitation. the most distinguished for their talents and deco " What could I do ?" replied he ; "my father's ruin of manners ; but this was the only departure life in evident danger if I refused; besides, the that he had ever yet prevailed on her to malt dreadful certainty that he woujd put his threats from the plan of retirement which she had adopted into execution of -cursing me with his dying One evening, however, Clifford was so unusually breath I and, cruel as- he is, Agnes, I could not urgent with her to accompany him to Drury Lane help feeling that he was my father." to see a favorite tragedy (alleging, as an addition "Barbarian I" exclaimed sheI; " sacrificed my al motive for her obliging him, that he was going .father to you! An oathI have you taken an oath to leave her on the Monday following, in order to never to be mine ?" and saying this, she fell into a attend his father into the country, where he should long and deep swoon. . be forced to remain some time), that Agnes, un- When she recovered, but before she was able willing to refuse what he called his parting re- to speak, she found Clifford kneeling by her ; and, quest, at length complied; Clifford having pre- while she was too weak to interrupt him, he con- vailed on Mrs. Askew, her kind landlady, to ae. vinced her that he did not at all despair of his company them,.and having assured Agnes, that, father's consent to his making her his wife, else he as they should sit in the upper boxes, she might, should have been less willing to give so ready a if she chose it, wear her veil down. Agnes, it] consent to take the oath imposed on him, even spite of herself, was delighted with the represen- although his father's life depended on it. . station, but, as- "On I no,"- replied Agnes, vtith a bitter smile ; Herts re' - you wrong yourself; you are too good a son to Tsrened the sadden d tint retain, have been capable of hesitating a moment-there are few children so bad, so very bat. as I am ;" she was desirous of leaving the house before the and, bursting ito an agony of grief, it was long farce began ; yet, as Clifford saw a gentleman in before tie affectionate language and tender cares- tire lower boxes with whom lie lad business, she ses of Clifford could restore her to tranquillity. consented to stay till he had spoken to him. Soon Another six months elapsed, during which time after she saw Clifford enter the-lower boxes oppo- Clifford kept her hopes aiive, by telling her that site to her; and those who know what it is to he every day saw fresh signs of his father's relent- love will not be surprised to hear that Agnes had ing in her favor. At these ties she would say, more pleasure in looking at her lover, and draw- " Lead rie to hin-let him hear the tale of my ing favorable comparisons between him and the' wretchedness-let me say to him, 'For your son's gentlemen who surrounded him, than in-attending sake, I have left the best of'fathers, tie happiest to the farce. of homes, and have become an outcast from soci- She had been some moments absorbed in this ety!' Then would I bid him look at this pale pleasing employment, when two gentlemen en- cheek; this emaciated fori, proofs of tire angutish tered the box where she was, and seated them- that is undermining my constitution ; and tell him selves behind her. to beware how, by forcing you to withhold from " Who is that elegant, fashionable-looking man, me my right, ie made you guilty of murdering my lord, in the lower box just opposite to us I" the pooredeluded wretch, who, till she ktev you,lsaid one of the gentlemen to the other. "I mean never laid down without a father's blessing, nor lie who is speaking to Captain Mowbray." rose but to be welcomed by his smile !" "It is'George Clifford, of the guards," replied Clifford had feeling, but it was of that transient his lordship; "and one of the cleverest fellows in sort which never outlived the disappearance of England, colonel." the object that occasioned it. To these pathetic Agnes, who had not missed one word of this entreaties he always returned affectionate an- conversation, now became still more attentive. swers, and was often forced to leave the room in "Oh I Ihave heard a great deal of him," re- order to avoid his being too much softened by turned the colonel, "and as much against him as them; but, by tire time he had reached the end for him." of the street, alays alive to the impressions of "Most likely," said his lordship ; " I dare say the present moment, the sight of some new beauty, that fellow has ruined more young men, and se- or soume old companion, dried up tire starting tear, duced more young women. than any man of his and restored to hin tihe power of coolly consider- age in the kingdom." ing how lie should continue to deceive his miser- Agnes sighed deeply, and felt herself attacked able victim. ' by a kind of faint sickness. But tire tiie at length arrived when the mask "But it is to be hoped that he will reform now," that hid'his villany from her eyes fell off, never to observed the colonel: " I hear he is going to be be replaced. As Agnes fully expected to be the married to Miss Sandford, tie great city heiress." wife of Clifford, she was particularly careful to "So ie is, and Monday is tire day fixed for the lead a retired life, and not to seem unmindful of wedding." ' her shaie by exhibiting herself at places of pub- . Agnes started. Clifford himself had told her- lie amruxeient. In vain did Clifford paint the ie must leave her on Monday for somse weeks. charmss of the Play, tire Opera, and other places and in breathless expectation she listened to m liat of fashionable resort. " Retiremuent, with books, followed. music, woric, and your society," sie used to reply,' " But what then I" continued the speaker; -lie "are better suited to isy taste and station; and marries for money merely. The truth is, his never, but as your wife, will I prestume to nseet father is lately come to a long-disputed barony, the public eye." 'and with scarcely an acre of hid to support the Cliffurd though ie wished to exhibit his lovely dignity of it; so his son has'conserted to marry conquest to tie world, was obliged to submit to ar heiress, in order to maloe the family rich, as her will in this instance. Sometimes, indeed, Ag- well as noble; You must know, I have my inform. nes was prevailed onI to admit to ler table those mation fro the fountairn-head. Clitford's mother my relation, and the good woman thought pro- is very fond of her father, though she was pre- r to acqeint mae il form with the advantageous 1 valued on to desert him, and has neve" known a lance which ier hopeful son was about to :iappy moment since her elopement, noi could se "ten be easy without making frequent but secret in- This ccnfirWation of the truth of a story, which qiries concerning his healtht" thl iro'w hoped might be mere report, was " Strange inconsistency I" muttered the coloveL [folr than Agnes could well- bear ; but, inade " This anxiety gave Clifford room to fear that courag.uS by desperation, she resolved to listen she migt at some future moment, if discontented while tr continued to talk on this subject. Mrs. with him, return to her afflicted parent before he Askew, i the nre while, was leaning over the was tired of her ; so what do you think he did I" box, too mrch engrossed by the farca to attend to At this moment Agnes, far more e(ger to hear what was pasiag behind her. what followed than the colonel, turned round, and, Just as this gentleman concluded the last setn- fixing irher eyes on1 -her unknown friend with wild tence, Agnes su f Cford go out with his friend ; anxiety1 could scarcely help saying, " What did and she who had 'ot the minute before gazed oni Clifford0 o, my lord I" him with looks of mdrmring fondness, now wished " lie got his factotum, the man I mentioned, to ia the bitterness of he coul, that sie tight never ersonate a niessenger, and to pretend that he behold himl again ! ' ' lad been to her native town, and then ie gave "I never wish," said tie colonel, "a match of her such accounts as were best calculated to calm interest to be a happy oue." aher anxiety ; but the master-stroke which secured "Nor will this be so, depend on it," answered her remaining with him was, his telling the pro- his compaion "for, besides that Miss Sandford tended messenger to inform her that her father is ugly and disagreeable, she has a formidable was married again,-though it is more likely, poor rival."uphappy mean, that he is dead, than that he is ,IIndeed !" cried the other; " a favorite mis- marriedd" tress, I suppose ?" At the mention of this horrible probability, Ag- Here the breath of Agnes grew shorter and ies lost all self-commnand, and, screaming aloud, shorter; she suspected that they were going to fell back on the knees of the astonished narrator, talk of her ; and, under other circumstances, her reiterating ier cries with all the alarming help- nice sense of honor would have preVented her at- lessness of phrenzy. tending to a conversation which she was certain "Turn her out I turn her out I" echoed through was not meant for her earr; but so great was the the theatre-for the audience supposed that the importance of the present discourse to lier future noise proceeded from some intoxicated and aband- peace and well-beinmg, that it annihilated all sense oned woman; and a man in the next box struck of inipropriety in listening to it. Agnes a blow ott the shoulder, and, calling her by "Yes, ie has a favorite mistress,-a girl who a name too gross to repeat, desired her to leave was worthy of a better fnte." tIhe house and act her drunken freaks elsewhere. 4"You knrow her then ?" asked the colonel. Agnes, whom the gentlemen behind vere sup "No," replied he, " by name only'; but when I porting with great kindness and conipassion,Jeard was in the neighborhood of the town where she nothing of this speech save the imnjurious epithet lived, I hiel'd continually of her beauty and ac- applied to herself; and alive only to what she comiplishneits : hier name is Agnes Fitz-Fitz-" thought the justice of it, "Did you hear that I" "1Fitzhenry, I suppose," said the other. she exclaimed, starting tip with the look and tone "Yes, that is the nane," said his lordship. of phrenzy-" did you hearthat I Oh! nmsy brain How came you to guess " is our fire " Then, springing over the seat, she "Because Agnes Fitzienry is a name which I rushed out of the box, followed by the trembling have often heard toasted: she sings well does she and astonuishd Mrs, Askew, wo in vain tried to notli keep pace with the desperate speed of Agnes. "She does everything well," rejoined the other ; Before Agnes, with all herlaste, could reach "and was once the pride of her father, and the town the bottom of the stairs, the farce ended, and the in which she lived." lobbies began to fill. Agnes pressed forward, Agnes could scarcely forbear groaning aloud at when, amongst the crowd, she saw a tradesman this faithful picture of what she once was. who lived near her father's house. No longer sen- "Poor thing !" resumed his lordship ; "that ever sible of shame, for anguish had anihilated it, she she should be the victim of a villain I It seems rushed towards him, and, seizing his arm, ex- he seduced her from her father's house, under claimed, "For mercy's-sake, tell ne] how my pretence of carrying her to Gretna-green ; but on father is I" sone infernal plea or another, ie took her to Lon- The tradesman, terrified and astonished at the don." pallid wildness of her look, so unlike the counte- Here the agitation of Agnes became so visible nance of successful and contented vice that he Asto attract Mrs. Askew's notice; but as she as- would have expected to see her wear, replied, sured her that sie should be well presently, Mrs. "He is well, poor soul I but-" Askew again gave herself up! to the allusion of "But unhappy, I suppose f" interrupted Agnes, the scene. Little did the speaker thiink how se- "Thank Heaven he is well -,-bdt is ie married I" merely hie was wounding the peace of one for "Marrieitl dear.mrueno Iie is--" whomn ie felt such compassion. "Do you think he would forgive me 1" eagerly "Yo seemnimuch interested about-this unhappy rejoined Agnes. girl," said the colonel. " Forgive you " answered the main. " flow "I am so," replied the other, "and full of the you talk i like he night forgive you, if--" fubject too ;for Clifford's factotum, Wil-oni, has " I know what you would say," interrupted Ag' been with me this morning. arid I learned from nes again, "if I would return. Eunoungh, enough; his seie of his mister's ticks, which sade mire Heaven bless you1 you ihave saveu me from da ill more anxious rabn t iris victim. It seems she inaction." I -I A NESc / page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] ko saying, she ran out of the bou'se;Mrs. As- early in order to prm- er. her depi rture, if he, kew having overtaken her, followed by the noble- threatend resolution weeaytimgirehnth man and the colonel, who, with the greatest con- frantic reessons of a disappointed woman. Be. sternatio, bad found, from an explanation of Mrs. sides, he knew that at that time she was scantily: Askew's, that there obect of their compassion was supplied with money, and that Mrs. Askew dared Miss Fitzhenry herself.. not furnish her wi (th"n' o h uroeo evn But before Agnes had proceeded many steps hinm. any for the purpose of leaving down the street, Clifford. met her on his return But lie !eft not Agnes, as he supposed, to vent from a neighboring coffee-house with his compan- her sense or injury in dle grief and inactive lamen eon, and, in spite of her struggles and reproaches, tation, but to think, to decide, and to act. What which astonithedand alarmed him, he, with Mrs. was the rigour of the night to a woman whose Askew's assistance forced her into a hackney- heart was torn by all the pangs which convictions coach, and ordered the man to drive home. such as those which she hid lately received, could No explanation took place (luring the ride. To give? She hastily, therefore, wra ped up her all the caresses and questions of Clifford, she re- sleeping boy in a pelisse, of wli i in a calmer turned nothing but passionate exclarmations against unomenit she wotld have felt the -want erself, and his perfidy and cruelty. Mrs. Askew thought hier took him in her aruos ; thent throwing a shawl insane. Cliftord wished t think her s6, buthis over her shoulders, she softly unbarred t'he hall conscience told dm thot, if by accident his conduct door, and before the noise could have summoned had been discovered to inr, there was reason any of the family, she was out of sight. enoth for thi frantic sorrow which liewitnessed, So severe w as the weatlwvr, that cven those ne- At length they reached their lodgings, which customed to brave in ragged garments the pelting were in Suffolk street, Charing-cross ; and Agpes of the pitiless storm, shOddered as the freezing having at length obtained some composure, in as wind whistledh around them,1111d crept with few words as possible related the gonversation tiemblirg knees to the wretched hovel that which she hid oveleud. Clifford, as might be awaited tliem. But the winter's winis blew' un- expected, denied thi truth of what his accuser hid felt by Agnes--shie was alive to nothing but the advneceih , but it was no oner in his power to joy of having escaped from a villain, and the faint deceive thi awakened pen etati n of Agies. Ui- hope tat she was hastening to obtain, perhaps, der his as-uted uncoiicerni, she cleanly saw thin a fithliem's forgiveness. confusion of detected guilt ; aid, giving utterance "Thaink heavenl"s she exclaimed, as she found in very strouch noire to thie cotein- at the rails along the Green ark, " the air dignnin which she felt, while contemplating such which I i breath here is un1coiiamiuuated by hits complete depravity, she provoked Clifford, who breath I" whenas thei wathiunnammalled halfipast was now more than half intoxicated, bokly to eleven o'clock. th recolle ctionithat s phdant avowwhiat lie mas at first eager to deny ; and place of shelter for the night occurred to her, and Agne , who before hbudered at hs hypocisy, at the same instant she reinembered iat a coach was now shocked at his unprimcipled daring. set off at twelve from Piccadilly, which went with- "Bt T what right have you to complain V added in twelve miles of her native place. She therefore he. " Thin cat that I put upon you relative to immediately resolved to-hasten hither, and, either yourfather was certainly meant in kindness ; and in the inside or on the outside, to proceed on her though Miss. Sandford wvilhave mty han, you journey as far as her finances would admit-of, in- ahone w il ever possess my heart; therefore, it tending to walk the rest of the way. She arrived was my design to keep you in ignorance of my at the imu just as thn coch 'as setting off, and marriage, anid retanim you as thin greatest of all fond, to her great satisfaction ieiid lc my worhlly treasures. Plague on this prating vacamit. lord ! ie has destruyedlthinprettiest arrangeman gvNothing worti mentioning occurred t e r ever made. However, I hope we shall part good ney. Agnes, with her veil drawn over her tae, f"ieait d"r"i and holding her slumbering iboy in her arms, while Great God !" cried A' raising ier tearless the imcessan0t shakg of hen kune, and th piteous eyes to heaven, " and have I the forsaken the i manne-in which she sighed gave evident marks of best oif parents for a arechi like this Buttink the ngitation of er nind, miighi excite in some de not, sir," sheinadded, turning with a coulanding green the curiosity of her fellow travellers, but air tonau ed eCrifoln d whose temper, naturally give n o promise of that curiosity. being satisfied, wvari, thin term " wretch " hiad riot soothed, 44 think and shin was suffered to remiut iUrqiiecstioneil and not, fallen as I am, that I will ever condescend to undistuibeh. receive protection and support, either for myself At noon the next day the coach stopped, for the or child, fiomaaia whiot I know to be a con- travellers to dine, and stay a tfew hours to recruit sumnite villain. You to itve manihfe criminal, themselves after their labors past, and to fortify but yo- have not oblit'ated -y horror for crime themselves against those yet to oine. here and my veneration for virtue-and, in the fuliese Agnes, who, as shie approaciwd nearer home, be- of my contempt, I imfoerm you, sir, that 'ae shall came afraid of meeting some acquaintance, re- meet no morn li solved to change her dress, wid to'equip herself in Not till tomorrow," said Cliffrd; "thus is otir such a miainner as should, while' it screened her first quarrel, Agnes, ad thie quarrels of lovers are from then clemency of the weather, at the same only thi renewal of'hovbe, you know; therefoue, time prevent her beimg recogni-+d by any one- heavimig thin Ibitter, piercing air' to guard my trea- Accordingly she exchanged her pehsse, hawl, and sure till to-morro , I take my leave, hoping in thie a few otier things, for a man's great coat, and a moninhg to f d you iiiatbetter h 1tmor." red cloth cloak with a hood to it, a pair of thick So saying lie departed, secure, from the in- shoes, and' some yards of hunnel in wlich salv ehemeAcy of thn weather aid darkness of the wrapped up her little Edward; and, htaviig tied tight, that Agnes woul minot veiture to go away her straw bonnet under her chin with her'veil, sbe before the uoroig, aiid resolved to return very ould have looked like a ountry-woman dressed 0 AGNES'. AGNES V for market, could she have divesteA herself -of a thought she saw something like a hunai form certain delicacy of appearance and gracefulneis of running across the road. Fot a few moments she manner, the yet uninjured beauties of former days. was motionless with terror;- but judging from the When they set off again she became an outside swiftness with which the object disappeared that passenger, a' she could not afford to continue an she had inspired as much terror as she felt, she. inside one, a d covering hjer child up in the red ventured to pursue her course. She had not gone cloak, which she -wore over her coat, she took her far when she again beheld the cause off her fear; station on the top of the coach with seeming fin- but hearing,as it moved, a noise like the clanking ness, but a breaking heart. of a chain, she concluded that it was some poor Agnes expected to arrive within twelve miles animal which had been turned out to graze. of her native place long before it was dark, and ' Still as she gained on the object beforee her,she reach the place of her destination before bed-time, was convinced it was a man that sie beheld; and, knownn and unseen ; but *she was mistaken in as she heard the noise no longer, she concluded 11 expectations, for the roads had been rendered that it had been the result of fancy only, but that, so rug( )d by the frost, that it was late in the with every other idea, was wholly absorbed in ter- eveni when the coach rea hed the spot whence ror when she saw the figure standing still, as I she was to commence her walk;-'and by the time waiting for hier approach. "Yet why should she had eaten her slight repast, and furnished her- fear I" she inwardly observed; "it may be a poor self with some necessaries to enable her to resist wanderer like myself, who is desirous of a compan- the severity of the weather, she fouid that it was ion ; if so, I shall rejoice i such a tencontre." impossible for her to reach her long-forsaken home As this reflection passediher mind, she hastened before daybreak. towards the stranger, when she saw him look has- Still was she resolved to go on. To pass ano- tily around him, start, as if he beheld at a dis. other lay it- suspense concerningher father, and tance some object that alarmed him, and then, her future hopes of his pardon, was riore formida without takhrg any notice of her, run on as fast as, ble to her than the terrors of undertaking i lonely before. But what can express thehorror of'Agnes and painful walk. Perhaps, too, Agnes was not when she again heard the clanking of a chain, and sorry to have a tale of hardship to narrate on her discovered that it hung to the ankle of the stranger I arrival at the house of her mwse, whom she meant " Surely lie nust be a felon," murmured Agnes; to employ as a mediator between her and her of- " 0, my poor boyI perhaps nwe shall both be mur- fended pareiit. dered ! This suspense is not to be borne;- I will His child, his penitent child, whom he had follow him, and meet my fate at once.' Then. brought up with the utmost tenderness, and screen- summoning all her remaining strength, she follow- ed with unremittingcare from the ills of life, re- ed the alarmed fugitive. ar turnimr, to imiplore'lhis pity and forgiveness, on A~fter she had walked nearly a mile farther, ns foot, and unprotected, through all the dangers of she (lid not overtake him, had flattered herself lonely paths, and through the horrors of a winter's that lie had gone in a contrary direction, she saw night ustshe flattered herself, be a picture too him seated on the ground, and, as before, turning affecting for her father to think upon without some, his head back with a sort of convulsive quickness; conmieration, and' she hoped lie would in time but, as it was turned from her, she was convinced bestow en her his forgiveness :-to be admitted to that she was not the object which he was seeking. his presence was a favor which she dared not pre- Of her he took no notice ; and her resolution of snic either to ask or expect. accosting him failing when she approached, she But, in spite of the soolhiing expectation which walked hastily past, in hopes that she might es- she tried to encourage, a dread of she knew not cape him entirely. what took possessinof her mind. Every moment As she passed, she heard him talking and laugh- she looked fearfully arouiid hen-, and, as shte Ifeheld ing to himself, and thence concluded that he was the wintry waste spreading on every side, she felt not a felon, but a lunatic escaped from confinement, awe-struck at the desolateness of her situation. Horrible as this idea was, her fear was so far over- The sound of a human voice would, she thought, come by pity, that she had a wish to return, and have been rapture to her ear; but the next minute offer him some of the refreshment which she had she believed that it would have made her sink in procured 'for herself and child, when she heard terror to the ground. him following her very fast, and was convinced by e Alas ," sihe mournfully exclaimed, "I was not the sound, the dreadful sound of his chain, that he always timid and irritable as I now feel; but then was commg up to her. I was nt iOays guilty. 0, my child ! would I The clankimg of a fetter, when one knows that wee otce inure iinoceit like thee ' So saying. in it is fastened round the limbs of a fellow-creature, a paroxysm of grief, she bounded forward oni her always calls forth in the soul of sensibility a sei- way , as if hoping to escape by speed from the Ration of horror; what then, at that moment,rnmust misery of recollection. have been its effect on Agnes, who was trembling Agies was now arrived at the beginning of a for her life, for that of ier child, anid looking in forest, about two miles in length,'and within three vain for a protector around the still, solemn waste I of her native place. Even in her happiest days Breathless with apprehension she topped as the she never entered its solemn shade without feeling maniac gained upon her, and, motionless and a sensation of fearful awe ; but now that she en- speechless, awaited the consequence of his apt tered it leafless as it was,'a wandering wretched proach. outcast, a mother without the sacred naniWof wife, Woman 1" said he, in a hoarse, hollow tone- and bearing in her arms the pledge of her infamy, " woman I do you see themI Do you see them r her knees smote each other, and, shuddering as if "Sir ! pray what did ou say, sir I" cried Agnes, danger were before her, she audibly implored the in a tone of respect, and curtsying as she sp;ae- to f Hefor what is so respectful as fearI .pro et i instan'tav shheard a noise, ant, casting a "I can't see them," resumed he, not Attndm startled glance into the obscuirity~ before her, she to her, " I han- escaped them I Rascals I cowards 1' : page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 8 . .AGNES. I have escaped them " and then he jumped and which the darkness had hitherto prevented beh clapped his hands for joy. from distin' guishing; she however tried in vain, & Agnes, relieved in some measure from her fears, his hat was pulled over is forehead, and hicin, and eager to gain the poor wretch's favor, told him rested on his bosom. But they had now nearly she rejoiced at his escape from the rascals, and gained the end of the forest, and day wa yjust hoped that they would not overtake him; but while breaking; and Agnes, as soon as they entered the she spoke he seemed wholly inattentive, and,jump- open plain, seized the arm of the madman to make xlg as iewalked, made his fetters clank in horrid him look towards her-for speak to him she could exultation. . not. He felt, and perhaps reented, the *inportu The noise at length awoke the child, who, seeing nate pressure of her hand, for he turned hastily a strange and-indistinct object before him, and hear- round, when, dreadful confirmation of her fears, mag a sound so unusual, screamed violently, and hid Agnes beheld her father! his face in his mother's bosom. It was indeed Fitzhenry, driven to madness by "Take it away, take it away I" exclaimed the his daughter's desertion and disrace! maniac, " I do not like children." dn I Agnes, terrified at the thought of what might happen, tried to soothe the trembling boy to rest, but in vain; the child still screamed, and the angry CHAPTER IT1 agitation of the maniac increased, "Strangle it! strangle it P he clod; "1do it this moment, or-" After the elopement of Agnes, Fitzhenry entirely Agnes, almost fantie with terror, conjured the neglected his business, and thought and talked of unconscious boy, if he valued his life, to cease his nothing but the misery which he experienced. In series; and then the next moment she conjured the vain (lid his friends represent to him the necessity wretched man to spare her child: but alas! she of making amends, by increased diligence, for some aoke to those incapable of understanding lier,-a alarming losses which lie had lately sustained. She, hild and a madman!I for wliom alone he toiled, had desoerted lout - and The terrified boy etill shrieked, the lunatic still ruin load no terrors for ii. h I was too proud of threatened, and, clenching his fist, seized the left her," lie used mournfully to repeat, mand Heaven arm of Agnes, wtnon ith tie other attempted to has humbled me &en in liner by whom I offended.* defend lier infant from his fury; olinen, at thne very Month after month elapsed, and no inteligence moment that his fate aeemod inevitable, a sudden of Agnes. Fitzlhenry's dejection increased, and lii gale of wind shook tha leafless branches of the affaiirs became more and wnore involve. At length, surrounding trees, and the fMadman, fancying that absolute and irretrievable bankruptcy was become the noise proceeded from his pursuers, ran off with his portion, when lie learned, from authority not to his former rapidity. be doubted, that Agnes' was living with Clifford as Immediately the child,.iulieved from the sight hins acknowledged mistress, l'hins was tne death- and the sound whicn alarinil it, and exhausted by stroke toshis reason; and tIhe only way in which the violence of its cries, sach into a sound sleep on lis friends (relations hoe had none, or only distant the throbbing bosom of it mother. But alas! .ones) could be of any further service to him was, Agnes knew that this was but a temporary escape: by procuring him admission into a private mad. the maniac might return, and again the child might house in the neighborhood. wake in terrors: and sEarcely had the thought Of lois recovery little hope was entertained. passed lier mind when she saw him coming back; The constant theme of lis rin was linustained but as he walked slowly, the noae was not so great ter-sometimesie bewaileavmiergas dead, at other as before. times line complained of her as ungrateful ; bitt so pI hate to hear children cry," said he, as lie ap- conlete was the overthrov awhiichis reason had proached. recds'eod, that line knew no one, and took no nnotice "lMine is quiet now," replied genes. Then, re. of those whon friendship or curiosity e d to hi collecting that she had some food in her pocket, she cell. Yet line was always mneditatioig~Iis escape; offered some to the stranger inc -der to divert his and, though ironed in consequence of it, the night attention from the child. He snt tchied it from her lie met Agnes, he had, after iicredile difficulty hand instantly, and devoured it %itth terrible vora- and danger, effected his purpose. ciosness; but again lie exclaimed 1. "I do not like But to return to Agnes. When she beheld in children; if you trust them they \wil betray b yoi;"heiiinane companionbaier injured father, the vie and Agmnes offered himn food agoinn, -is if to'bribe hinin tim probably, of lier guilt, sloe let fall lier sleeping to spare her helpless boy. "I had a child once,- child, and smking on te( ,round, extendedper but she is dead, poor Soul!" contiued lie, taking arms towards him, articuloting in a faint voice, Agnes by thne arno, and leading lier gently for.wuard. "MAy father " then Prostrating herself at his feet, "9And you loved lier very tend :ly, I suppose?1" she clasped loins kinnees in ,it agony too great for said Agnes, thinking that the loss f his child had utterance. occasioned his lady; but, inste .d of answering At the name of " Father," the poor maniac her, line vent on. started, and gazed ottncoe earnestly withn savage "They said that sle ran away from me with a wildness, while lis whole frame became con- lover; but I knew they lied; she was good, and vulsed; then, rudely disengaging himself from her would not have deserted thne father who doted on embrace, line rano from lier a few paces, and dashed her. Besides, I saw her funeral myself Liars, himself upon th ground in ldal the violence of rascals, as they are I Do not tell any one; I got phrensy. H'o raved, lie tore lis hair, line screamed away from them last night, and am now going to anuoittered the most (dreadful execrations ; and, visit her grave. with his teeth shut and his bands clerched, lie re- A deatdlieke sickness, an apprehension so hor. peated the word " Father," and said the name was rible as to deprive her almost of sense, took po mockery to heiinme AGNES. 69 1g to liner gow, and in its half-fornd accents who could with difficu ly be separated from entreat to be taken to her arms again; she saw, Agioes, while another of the keepers, laughing s she heeded nothing but her father. She was lie belheld her wild anguish, said, "We shah have alive to nothing butler own guilt and its conse- the daughter as well as the father soon, I see, for quences ; and she awaited with borrid composure I do not believe there is a pin to choose between the cessation of his phrensy, or the direction of its thetssoe" v fury towards her child. Bot, sever. as t.etesufferiogs of Agnes were At last she saw him fall down exhausted and already, a still greater pang awaited her. 'le motionless, and tried to hasten to him ; but she .keepers finding it a very difficult tos t c was unable to move, and reason ana life seemed Fitzhienry, threw him down aind tried by bows to at once forsaking her, when lie suddenly started terrify him unto acquiescence. At this outrage up and approached her. Uncertain as to his pur- Agnes became frantic indeed, and followed thm poc. Agines caught lier child to her bosom, and within shrieks, entreaties, and reprnlhes ; while tie fatliong again on her knees, turned on him her struggling victim called on lier to protect bim, as almost closing eyes ; but his countenance woos they bore him by violence along, till, exhaiuosteo mild, and gently patting her forehead, on which with anguish and fatigue, sle fel isiensible oin the hung the damps of approaching insensibility, ground, and lost in a deep swoon the conscious- ',Poor thing !" hoe cried in a tone of the utmost ness of her misery.1 tenderness and compassion, " Poor tIing 1" and When she recovered hoer senses all vas stil then gazed on her with such inquiring and mourn- around %er, aind shne missed d her cil. 'n en ful looks, that tears once more found their way hastily rising, and looking round withnrenewed and relieved her burning brain, while scizimog ler phreinsy, she sow it lying at some distance from father's hand, she 'pressed it with frantic emotion her, and on taking it upsloe foed thot it wios in to lier lips, a deep sleep. 'lhne horrid apprehensions' iinonedi- He looked at her with great kindness, and suf- ately rushed onen omind, that suh no sleep, in the fered her to hold his hand, then exclaimed, " Poor midst of cold so severe, was the sure forerunner of thitog I don't cry-dnon't cry-I cant cry-I hedeathn tried for inaoy years-oot since meocild died 2ionster I" she exclaiool, "destroyer of my -for she is dead, isp she not I" looking earnestly child, as -well as my father I Bot pu ldaps it is not at Agnes, who could only answer by lier tears. yet too late,ond my curse is inot coninpethe. -So Comid," said he-" come," taking hold of her saying, she ran, or rather flew, ainog tne troad arm, then laughing wildly, " Poor thing I you will and seeing a hoouse at a thonce,d,hehe ato- not leave me, will yiou V; . wards it, andl buirstiingopein thne doori, hehoeld a Leave you ' se replied, "never !-I will cottager and his family not louekfast;tisni, sink- live with you-die with you I" ing unthler knees, and hnoldinog oout lao sleeping Irue, toue," cried lie, sloe is dead, and we boy to tne woman of the houe, " lomtie love of will visit her grave." So saying, he dragged Ag- God,' sloe cried, "loomere I look here I Sove nes forward with great velocity ; but is it was him 1 0 save hin1" .o along the path leading to the town she made no A mother appealing to tne 'eeart of a mothers resistaunce. rarely unsuccessful in ier appeal. Tie cottage's leisdsc it was such a pleasure to her to see wife was as eoger to begin the recovery of the that, though he knew her not, the sight of her chil of Agoes as Agnes herself, and in atmomint was weincoonte to lier unhappy parent, that shoe thoe vhoocfamniliy were emopoyedl in its service; sought to void tbnkiug of t e future nd to be ior was it long before t oey nere rewarded for alive only to tlo Pinesent. Sloe tried also to forget their liunuoaity by its coinmplete're'storatioon, that it was to his not kunowiog her thaot shoe oweod Tne joy of Agunes woos as frantic as hoer grief load the ooks of tenderness and pity whch hoe bestowed been. She embraced tnein all by turos, io a loud on ier and that the hand which now kindly held voice invoked blessings on their heads, ano proinm hers, would, if recollection returned, throw her ised, if sInec a ever ci, omake heir fortune from hun with just imdignation. lastly, sle caught tne still Inoguid boy to her heart, But she was soon awakened to redoubled an- and almost drowned huoun in hr tears. Puso y ern huoeclaim, "1They are como- onSloe c(ott aged mo-Idilois faoiily a scene like tin te re omi " and as ie saridtiis, lie excited wonder as well as emotion. He anoheis ran with frantic haste across the cominion. Agnes, wife were good parents ; they loved their children, immediately hookir behind her, saw thoee mein -voulo haveben anxious .uriio"their illiess, pursuing lier father at full speed nd coclouded aod would huave sormrowed for their loss;, loot to that tloh, wrethie keepers of thne bedlmom whineoe these violent expressions anod actions, thie result of lie lad escaped. Soon after, shie saw the poor cultivated sensibility, they were wholly unac- lunatic coming towaros iner, and lad scarcely tie costoeo, mond coolo sercely help iaputing dwind to lay hoer child gently on floe groound, before lien to insouiity- non idea whbicho tine pe cheek anod wild father threw himself into hoer arms and implored look of Agnes strongly contfirnoed ; -or did it lose her too save hunt froun lis p'iorsuers. strength whem Agnes, whto, inn terol at hier child's Ir auo sagomfy tboat mocks description, Agnes danger, and joy for his safety, had forgotten even clutoped bum to ler heart, ad a waited in trembling ier fotter anolhut situation, suodenly recollecting agitationn thne approachi of floe keepers. herself, exclaimnedl, 46lHove I daoredl to rejoice i- - l"Hear ic I liear iota! " she cried ; "I conjure wretch that I am I Oli! no, there is rio joy for you to leave him to my care-he is tmy father, and me e" you may safely trust him. witho me." 'I'he cottager and his wife'eon hearing these "Your father If " replied one of the men; "and words looked significantly at each otier.in what hen, cildbe You could do nothing for im, Agnes solon after started, up. and class ping her aid you should be taonkful to us, young ioman, hands, cried out, n0. my father I my dear, dear for takinmghint off your hoanuds. So come ahong noas. -father I thou art past cure, and despair must be any teronca .mg" he continued, seiiong Fitahenry poirtion." sin to -Il 31 40 I I page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] -Il -r ~.1 5' AGNES. "Oh! you are unhappy because your*father is r se apj'roched she saw the cottage's wife rw Rhoobserved fi cottager's wife "ut o nbe move the knives. This circumstance forcibly re o sorrowfl on that account, he may get better called her rash action,.and drove away her retur- Perhaps."- ing appetite. ."You may trust me now, she esaid; " -Never, never I replied Agnes; "yet who "I shink with horror from my wicked attempt on knomw ho kdmy life, and swear in the face of Heaven, never "Ay; who knows, indeed? " resumed the good- to repeati-o yol ihi woman. "But if not, you nurse him yourself I suffer. t it--no; my only wish is t ave and te suppose; and it will be a comfort to you to kw , wife m e an tes that e has everything done for him that can be for bringing back gIme wfe tae e rbrgm bak kife to the tablean roeus Ages sighed deeply. 'Agnes her confidence in her word ; but this well. Agnes sighed d euY. meant attention was lost on her se sat leaning "host my own father," continued the cottager's on her elbow, and wholly absorbed in lea own Wife, "last whnter, and a hard trial it was, to be meditation. sure; but then it consoled me to think I made his When it was completely night, Agnes rose to end comfortable. Besides my conscience told inc depart. "My kind frieiids," said shel"who have that, except here and there, I had always done myde hospitably received ands es ained a wretched duty by hitnto the best of my knowledge" n Wanderer, believe ne d I nertaintdlwhov Agnes started from her seat, and walked rapid. ligation b'ich mIowe shall never faiethed ly round the room.P g w I y h e eb kid hope to repay them; hitakig he "He smiled on me," resumed her kirid hostess last crown piece from ;ibut accept this (t Ie eero here tthelastmomentandjher pocket) as a ple Wiping ch ey, t the lsad 'mom t ahd Just my inclination to reward your kindness. If I am before the breath left him, lie said, 'Good elirld ! ever hicli You shal-l." Here her voice failed good child ' Oh! it must be a terrible thing to her, and she burst into ter lose one's parents when one has not done one's duty This hesitation gave the virt oupe le d to them " nshe addressed an opportunity of rejecting her of At these words, Agnes, contrastin her conduct fers. "What we did, we did because we could and feelings With those of this artles, and innocent not help it," said the cottager.' You would not knife that la overcome with despair, and seizing a have had me see a fellowtcre e going to killsoul her existence; by herendeavored to put an end to and body tes and not Prevent it, would you i' hexinstetpevut th cottager caught her hand "1And as toa eveti, woul yu fP istime toprevent the blow, and his wife easily " ims I nots to saving the child," cried the wife isarmed her as er violence instantly changed for a mother mPoo'r little thi cit lookpdfeeli- into a sort of stupor;henthrowin herself back teous too, and felt so coldp on the bed on which she was sittingi she layvithi Agnes could not sPeak; btsi,.y signsshe her eyes fixed, and incapableoftt s an y bAcl The cottager and h'ifeowos tendered the money for thir stanc,. expressionsgef wandhifed now broke forth into "No, no," imneyfor the p 0,hichreumsheie wasger wkenderfo expresses of ni d horror at the crime those who iay pot be t otit for which sbe was icodoygaer ric going to commit ; and tihe latter, for nothing." ing to do you a service held it towards Agniesom "ee'ip of hrdaughte, AdAns I taking little Ed ward from -thip of, hr daghtr, Aiid Agnes reluctanlyrpl he er money. child stretched forth its liee cried she, as the But then a fresli source of altercation bean; the herd"unnturalmotheitslttlearms to embrace cottager insiste d on seeiof Agnes to the tgan;Zthd her, "unnatural mother I would you forsake your she insisted onl ing herself Attnad child I"1he blj' goivnifan ygredsta bsheul These words, assisted by . agreed that ho go with her as fits tho iliselfds)aroused Age the caresses of tIh street were ler friends lived, wait for her at the sake him l Never, nev fromher stupor. " For end of it, arid ifty were not livit or ere te satchhi m toeerov-I'shefdth n, moved, she was wee n ,rer, amd sleep et the Snatching him to her bosom, she threw herself back cottage' vs torturn, ond a pillow which tie good woman had placed Then, with a beating heart and dejected count. maerierheat, famidsoo , to the great joy of the tenance, Agnes took her child in her a ts, and compassionate family, both mother and child fell leaningoioncil irasady si aiy leer n i ~ agrte eardt sepsi oheber companion, with slowv and unsteady his daiousleorid his wife and thindrepaired t steps she began to walk to her native place, once stai aevr children ban the sceie of her happiness, but now about to be their household tasks; but ever and aien t y the witness of her misery and her shame. neast a watchful glance upon their unhappy guest sAs they drew near the town, Agnes saw on one dreading least she should make a second sdeo te -nd anw ndistm'l Thep side of the road, a new buildingad instantl on her life. ateup huire rmi sfata erlding lms ol The sleep of both Agnes and her child was so carry fher. hiiirrienfromeivas fasaas hertrenWbsiigllimsncoull the aid heavy, that ight was closing in when "Did you hteartheta " asked the cottage the little boy awoke, and.-by his cries for food, "Hdar whom I" said Agees broke the rest of is unhappy mother. ' Hear aiAes.ge. But consciousness returned not with1 returim 'h poor creatures," returned her com- s o As lke areurd her, e a thipanin lwho are confined there, That is time Sens Agns loked rouzdeestihed at lie7 nw bedlami,amid hark! what a loud scream that situation. At length,dby slow degrees, the dread- wasI" ful scene of the preceding night, and her own rasi Aganes,ttmable atteinpt, burst oilher recollection; she shuddered a bench that pojected fot ete court aurround- at theretrospect, aid clasping Ier hands together, ing the building, wpile tmhe cottag.er, s remained for seine omnients in speechless prayer. why she stopped, obervel the at, uit ws strange sihto hr itl E s i mr orflya teta opd osve ta' it wacs us Then she arose, and smilinamg orulyat the crat se should like t ay and hear ths.rneo sight of her little Edward eatingbf voraeioisly the creatures.nFor his part, he thought it poor mnilk and bread that was set before prt s fhe eated o lero iriek, and still more so to hear themg hersef attheable a riaed oraker of * th s g "r it is s piteous;- sia be '14 St *are tnt aolsom fetmpreine ic bir. 'tt~e Iaegn Who nave so much reason tocyn Agnes had'not power to interrupt him, amnd lie fa Went on. .r "This house was built by subscription; and it si was begun by a kind gentleman of the name of th Fitzhenry, who afterwards, poor soul, being made lo low in the world-by losses in trade, and by having l his brain turned by a good-for nothing daughter, e was one of the first patients in it himself." s Here Agnes, to whom this recollection had but g too forcibly occurred already, groaned aloud. it "What ; tired so soon ?" said her companion. sI I doubt you have not been used to stir about- you have been too tenderly brought up. Ahl! tender parents often spoil children, and they never n thank them for it when they grow up neither, tl and often come to no good besides." Agnes was going to make some observations d wrung from her by the poignancy of self-upbraid- y ing, when she ieard a loud cry as of one in ago- w ny; fancying it her father's voice, she started up, ]A and stopping her ears, ran towards the town so n fast that it was with difficulty the cottager could g overtake her. o When'ie did so,he was surprised at the agita- tion of her manner. "What, I suppose you eI thought they were comig after you " said lie. k "But there was no danger ; I dare say it was on- ly an unruly one whom they were beating." Agnes, on hearing this, absolutely screamed with agony ;land seizing the cottager's arm, "Let f us hasten to the town," said she, in a hollow and broken voice, " while I have strength enough left to carry tme thither At length they entered its walls, ard the cotta- ger said, " Here we are at last. A welcome home to you, young voman." ,t "Welcome I and home to me !" cried Agnes, wildly, "I have no home now-I can expect no welcome! Once indeed-" Here, overcome with recollections almost too painful to be endured, she turned from him and sobbed aloud, while the kind-hearted man could scarcely forbear shedding tears at sight of such mysterious, yetevidently real, distress. In happier days, when Agnes used to leave home on visits to her distant fiends, anticipation of the welcome she should receive on her return was, perhaps, the greatest pleasure that she en- joyed during her absence. As the adventurer to India, while toiling for wealth, never loses sight of the hope that lie shall spend his fortune in his native land,-so Agnes, whatever company shef saw, whatever amusements she partook of, looked eagerly forward to the iour when she should give her expecting father and her affectionate compan- ions a recital of all that she had heard and seen. For, though sie had been absent a few weeks only, "her presence made a little holiday," and she was received by her father with delight too deep to be expressed ; while, even earlier than decorum warranted, her friends were thronging to her door to welcome hIome the heightener of their plea- sures, and the gentle soother of their sorrows (for Agnes "loved and felt for all;" she had a smile ready to greet the child of prosperity, and a tear for the son of adversity.) As she was thus honored, thus beloved, no won- der the thoughts of home, and of returning home, were wont to suffuse the eyes of Agnes with tears of exquisite pleasure ; and that, when her native town appeared in view, a group of expecting. and joyful faces used to swim before her sight, while, hastening forward to have the first glance of her, a mcy used to picture her father I- Now, dread reverse ! after a long absence, an absence of years, me was returning to tht same place, inliabited by te same friends; but the voices that 'used to be oud in pronouncing her welcome, were now to be oud inl proclaiming indignation at lier sight ; the yes that used to beam with gladness at her pre- ence, would now be turned front hier with dis- ust; and the fond father, who used to be count- ig the moments till shoi arrived, was now-I mall not go on-suffice, that Agnes felt, to her heart's core,' all the bitterness of the contrast. When they arrived near the place of lier desbi- ation, Agnes stopped, and told the cottager that hey must part. " So much the worse," said the good man. " I o not know how it is, but you are so sorrowful et so kind and gentle, somehow, that both my ife and I have taken a likinrT. you. You must ot be angrybut we cannot 'p thkikdng you are not one of us, but a lady, though you ame so dis- uised and so humble ; but misfortune spares no ne you know." Agnes, affected and gratified by these artless xpressions of good will, replied, "~I have, indeed, nown better days." " And will again, I hope with all my heart and oul," interrupted the cottager with great warmth. "I fear not," replied Agnes, "/my dear worthy riend." Nay, young lady," rejoined lie, "my wife and are proper to be your servants, not friends." "You are my friends, perhaps my only friends," returned Agnes, mournfully. " Perhaps there is oet, at this moment, another hand in the universe, hat would not reject mine, or another tongue that would not upbraid me." " They must be hiard-iearted wretched , indeed, who would upbraid a poor woman for ier nisfor- unes," cried the cottager; "however you shall never want a friend while I live. You know I aved your life ; and, somehow, I feel therefore un f you belonged to me. I once saved one of- my pigeons from a hawk, and I believe, were I star- - ving, I could not now bear to kill the little crea- ture -, it would seem like eating my own flesh and blood-so I am sure.I could never desert you," "You have not yet heard my story," replied Agnes - " but you shall know who I aim soon ; and then, if you feel still disposed to offer me your friendship, I shall be grateful to accept it." The house to which Agnes was hastening wait that of her nurse, from whom sie had always ex- perienced the affection of a mother, aund] hoped now to receive a temporary asylum; but she might not be living-and, with a beating heart, Agnes knocked at the door. It was opened by Fanny, ier nurse's daughter, the playfellow of Agnes's childhood. " Thank Heaven ?" said Agnmes, as she astened back to the cottager," I hope I have, at least, one fiend left;" and telling him lie might go home again, as she was almost certain of shelter for the mght, the poor man shook her hMartily by the hand, prayed to God to bless her,. and departed. Agnes then returned to Fanny, who was still standing by the door, wondering who had knocked at so late an hout and displeased at being kept so long in the cold. " Will you admit me, Fanny, and give me shel- ter for the night 1" said Agnes, in a faint and broken voice. I 445 Ii' AONES. I page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] '12 AGNES. I "Gracious Heaven I who are you I criec Fanny, starting hack. "Do you not know me?" she replied, looking earnestly in her face. Fanny again started; then bursting into tears, as she drew Agnes forward and closed the door-" (0 dear . it is tumy young la dyV" " And are 3you sorry to see me ?" replied Agnes. "Sorry !" answered the other, "Oh no! but to see you thus 1 0 my dear lady! what youmsust have suffered ! Thank Heaven, my poor another is not alive to see this day?" "And is shie dead ?" cried Agnes, turning very faint, and catching hold of a chair to keep her froms faling. "hen is the measure of my afiiction full -I have lost my oldest and best friend !" I nn nt demma," said Fanny respectfully. Exceilcuit, Ihid creature 1y" contin-ued Agumnes, itI hoped so muc alleviation of misery from her affec- "iD1-" "Do you hope none from mine ?" rejoined Fanny, in a totne of reproach. "IIndeed. ny dear youtg lady, I love you as well as M1 mother did, and will do as much for you as she would have dome. Do I not owe all -1have to you and now thtat you are in tr-ouble, perhtmps iii want too-butt no, lint cannot amd shah tiot be," and she wi-ng her hiandsh and paced the room with frantic violeumee. "I can-j not bear to think of such a thing. That ever I should live to see my dear young lady in want of the help which she was always so ready to give !" Agnes tried to comfort her ; but the sight of her distress notwithstandingi vas soothing to her, as it convinced her that sie was still dear to one pureI and atectionate heart. During this time little Edward remained covered up so closely that Fanny did not know what the bundle was that Agnes held in her lap ; but- when she lifted up the cloak that concealed him, Fann y was in an instant kneeling by his side, and gazig on hin with admiration. " Is it-is it-" said Fanny, With hiesitation. " It is my child," replied Agnes, sighing; and Fanny lavished on the unconscious boy lie caresses which respect forbade her to bestow on the mother.i "Famity," said Agnes, "you say nothing of your husband., "lie is dead,",replied Fanny, with emotion. "Have you any children I" "None." "Then ill you promise me, if I die, to be av mother to this child. Faity seized her hand, and, in a voice half- choked by sobs, said, "I promise vou.* Enough " cried Agnes; then holding out her arms to her humble friend; Fanny's respect yielded to affection, and falling on Agnes' neck, sie sobbed aloud.a "My dear Fanny !" said Agnes, "Ihave a question g to ask. and I charge you to answer it truly." ti "Do not - ask mae, do not ask me, for indeed I w dare not answer you," replied Fanny, in great agi- tatin. a Agnes guessed thte cause, and hastened to tell her g that the question was not concerning her father, as 'W she was well acquainted within lis situation already, and proceeded to ask whether her elopememt and ill conduct had at all hastened the earth of her se nurse, who was in ill health when she went away. si "Oh no," replied Fanny, "she never believed that you could be gone off willingly, but was'sure h you were spirited away;; and shi6 died expecting d tt you would some day return, and take the law fr of the villain; and no doubt she was right, though toobody thinks so now but me, for you were always too good to do wrong1-.' Agnes was too honorable to take to herself the merit which she did nt deserve; sle thiereftore owned that she was indeed guilty; " or should I," she adted, "have tared to intrude my elf on you, or solicit you to let me remain under your roof had I not beeniseverely punished for my crine, amid resolved to pass the rest of my days int solitude aid labor." You should not presume to imtrule yourself un me P" replied Fainny. "1Do not tl this, if you uko not mean to break ny heart." "Nay, -Fanny,' answered Agnes, "it would be presuamplioti it any woman whnhuas quitted the ath p of virtue to itrudemerself, hte'e- high her rank miogt be, on the ineauest of her acquaintance whosphloruor is spotless. Nmr would 1 tius throw inyself ont your generosity were I not afraid that if I were to be unsoothed by time preeice of a sym- pathsing fruemd, I should simibeneath my sorrows, and watt resolution o fulfil tie huid task which my dutty enjoins me." I shall tot Attempt to describe the anguish of Fannmy when sie thouughit, of her young lmahy, thie pride of her hea-t, as he -used to call her, being oiuced so low it time world, nor the sudden bursts of joy to which ilie gave vent the next moment, when she reflected that Agne-s was returned, never perhaps to leave her again. Agnes wore away gmeat part of thm night in teiii gFaum yher mour-ful tale, and iml hearing from her a full account of her father's sufferings, bankruptcy, aind consequent madness. At day- break she retired to bed, not to sleep, but to rumi- nate on the romantic, yet in her eves feasible, plan, which she had formed for the fture ; while Fanny, wearied out by the violent emotions which she had undergone, sobbed herself to sleep by her side. The next morning Agnes did not rise till Fanny had been up some time; and when she seated her- self at the breakfast-table, ste was surprised to see t spread im a manner which ill-accorded with her or Fanity's situation. On asking the reason, Fanny owned she could not bear that her dear young lady -hould fare only as sie did, and had, therefore, pro. vided a suitable breakfast for her. "But you forget," said Agnes, " that if I remain with you, neither you nor I can.afford such break- asts as these." "True," replied Fanny, amourifully; "then you must consider this as a welcome, unadam." "Ay," rejoined Agnes," the prodigal has return- d, and you have killed the fatted calf." Fanmy burst into tears; while Agnes, shocked t htavimng excited them- by time htin us hmici she un- 'uardedly gave to her poor friend's attention, tried o oothe her into composure, amid affected a gaiety uhich she was far from feeling. le "Now then, to my first task," said A gnes, rising s soon as she had finished her breakfast. "I am miing to call o lMr. Seymour -you say lie live. here lie formerly did." 10 call on Mr. Seymour !" exclaimed Fanny. amye ear madam, -do not go near him, I be- yech you. He is a very severe man, and will in, ult you, depend upon it." "iN matter," rejoined Agnes, "I have deserved imnihiatiomi, and will mnt'sldmriuh fmomn it ; but his daughter Caroline, you know, was mc amy dearest iend, and she will fiot suffer him to trample on the U AGNES. 13 Mien; besides it is necessary that I should apply "0, my poor Agnes !" cried Ca oline, pamionato. to him in order to succeed in my scheme." ly. "A sertant I She a ser " What scheme i' replied Fanny. place too -" '" You would not approve of it, Fanny, therefore William added, in a low voice, "1A miss I and 1 shall not explain it to you at present; but when she looks so poor and wretched." I return, perhap-5' shall tell you all." Meanwhile Mr. Seymour was walking up and "But you are going so soon-not in daylight, down the room, hesitating ow to act; bmureflect. surely I Jf you should be isulted !" ing that it was eaier to forbid an bnunication Agnes staited with horror at this proof which with Agnes than to check it if one -begiti, he again Fanny had unguardedly given how hateful her desired William to shut the door against her. guilt had made her; but recovering herself, she said. You must do it yourself, then," replied William, that she should welcome insults as a part of the "for I am not hard-hearted eno .og." expiation which she ieant to perform. Mr.- eyorewr sumniolteu) g rvesolionr told "But if you will not avoid them for your own Agnes. that there erl other governor to whoi sake, pray do for mine," exclaimed Fanny. "If she might apply, and then locked aie doorragainst you were to be ill-used, I ami sure I should never her himself. Poor Aguc~si nlow l1r owVanl somow0A- urvive it; so, if1 ymustegodto, sre ur t fo d her stes towards the niore hospitable least oblige me by not going before dark." roof of Fanny. Afected b tis fresh mark of her attachunent, She had not gone far, however, when she heard Agus consented to tay. a light footstep behind her, and her ane was pro- At six o'clocktinthe evening, while the family nounced in a gentle, faltering voice. 'iningrouud, was sitting round the fire. and Caroline Seymour she beheld Caroline Se iour , wh eeitinoher hand was expecting the arrival of her lover to whom she forced something into it, haly w d itto er was to be unied in a few days, Agnes knocked at lips, and without saying one wordh, sudde-nly dis Mr. Seyinur's door, having positively forbidden appearelmvnAnsa oinh' sasatoe, Fanny to accomipany he'r. Caroline, being on the amnd, but for the parcel ,ble held in her lhin,,is- watch for er int tnded bridegroom, started at the posed to t ink that she was dream in g. hien e u er sound; and tlioIuglh the knock which Agnes gave to see what it contained, she hastened back to Pan- did not much resemble that of an impatient lover, ny, who heard with indignation time recel)tii nshe still "it might be lie-lie might ncau to surprise had bset wiih from Mr. Seymour, iut mn her knees her;" and half-opening the parlor door, she listened invoked blessings on the eadfof Caroline, the, with a beating heart for the servant's answering on opening the parcel, ialie foupi that it contained the knock. twenty guiea , inctosed in a paper, ou whih r'was By this means she distinctly heard Agnes ask written, but almost effaced with - ,tear,"1For my whether Mr. Seymour were at home. The servant still dear Agnes-would I tare say inre." started, and sta'mmiered out that he believed his 'This money the generous gin had taken from master was within ; while Caroline, springing for- that alloived her fr/ her weiig ou1itit, tiidfelt ward, exclaimed, "I know that voice -oh yes ! it more delight in relieving wili it ie vwaiteven must be she 1" of a guilty fellow-creature, lan the pureliaing But her father, seizing her arm, drew her back the most splendid 'dress could have ,a1rdi- her. into the parlor, saying, "I also know that voice, And her present (lid niori' t-ii tIe exIected-it and I coummnand you to stay where you are." relieved the miind of Ag -tes ; i-liehad taught her- Then goimig 1) to Agnes, lie desired her to leave self to meet without repinig the a'sulso fr po- 'his house directly, as it should be no harbor for verty, but not to encouter the scori of the friend& abandoned women and unnatural children. vhom she loved. But will von not allow it to shelter for one But Caroline and her kindns sf father moment the "wretched and the penitent I" she re- again from her iind, atnd the idea of her thtber plied. and her scheme tiiik entire1osesit (f it. Bu; "Father, my dear father !" cried Oaroline, again it might not succeed--no doubt r. Seymoer coming forward : but was immediately driven back would be her eneiyo; still e Anited that she by Mr. Seymour, who turning to Agnes, bade her might apply to the oier governors Fa claim shelter from the man'for whom she had left having learnt that they were all to meet at the the best of parents; and desiring the servant to asylum, on business, the next day, Agne reserved shut the door in her face, he re-entered the parlor, to write a note, requesting to e aowed t whence Agnes distinctly heard the sobs of the com- pear before them. Passionate Caroline. 'This note Fany, who was nt acquainted with But the erva t was kinder than the master, and its contents, undertook to deliver; and, to the could not obey the orders which he had received. great surprise of Agnes (a she Lecd Se *Oh madamt MissgFitzhenry, do you not know mnour wond oppose it), her re lfe-t wgas instant me ?" said he; "I once lived with you. Have you ganted. Indeed, it was lihiself wo forgotten little William I I shall never forget you; compliance. you were the sweetest tempered young lady- lThre was not a under hearted mian in te that ever I should see you thus I" world thani Mr. Seinour; amd, mu his severity to- Before Agnes could reply, Mr. Seymour again wards Agnes, he acted wowref omuwht lie tough angrily asked why his orders were not obeyed ; and his duty than froa mis incli-atim. lie wa, the chgnes, seckhing her emotion, besought William to father of several daughters, and it was his opinion deliver a message tg his master. "ITell him," said that a parent could not too forcibly inculcate on ihe, "all I ask of him'is, that he will use his interest tthe miids of young women the salutary truth, that to get me the place of a servant in the house, the loss of virtue must be to them the loss of friends bedlam I should say, where-he will know what I Besides, his eldest daughter, Carmi %Ve, was got mean," she added, unable to utter the conchsion of tMo e married to thesontof a vey severe, rig Willai a hi oken voice, delivered the message. feared that, if he took any notice of the fallen Ag LI page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] AGNES. Des, the ,old lady might conceive a prejudice " Here is a cl,air," added another. And Mr, Soy' against him and her daughter-in-law. Added to mour, bowing as he did it, placed 'a -seat for her these reasons, Mr. Seymour was a very vain near the fire. man, and never acted in any way without saying Agnes, who had made up her mind to bear ex- to himself, " What will the world say ?' Hence, pected indignity with composure, was not proof, though his first inpulzes were frequently good, against unexpected kindness; and hastily turning the determinations of his judgment were often to the window, she gave vent to her sensations in contemptible. an agony of tears. But, recollecting the impor- But, however satisfied Mr. Seymour might be tance of the business on which she came, she with his motives on this occasion, his feelings re- struggled with her feelings ; and on being desired volted at the consciousness of the anguish which by the president to explain to the board what she he had occaioned Agnes. He wished, ardently wanted, she began to address them in a fAint and wished, that he had dared to have been kinder ; faltering voice. However, as she proceeded, she and when Caroline, who was incapable of the gained courage, remembering that it was her in. meanness of concealing any action which she terest to affect her auditors, and make them enter thought it right to perf'orn, told him of the gift warmly into her feelings and designs. She told which she lhad in person bestowed on Agnes, he her whole story, in as concise a manner as possi- could scarcely forbear commending her conduct; ble, from the time of her leaving Clifford to her and while lie forbade any future intercourse be- recontre with her father in the forest, and his be- tween them, he was forced to turn away his head ing torr from her by the keepers ; and when she to hide the tear of gratified sensibility', and the was unable to go on, from the violence of her smile of parental exultation. Nevertheless, he ejnotions, she had the satisfaction of seeing that did not oimit to tell her to keep her own counsel; .the tears of her auditors kept pace with her own. "For, if your conduct were known," added lie, When her narrative was ended, she proceeded 94what would the world say ?' thus :-"I come now, gentlemen, to the reason No wonder then, that, softened as lie was by why I have troubled you with this narration. Agnes's application (though lie deemed the scheme ,From the impression which the sight of mue made wild and impracticable), and afraid that he had on my father, I feel a certain conviction that, were treated her unkindly, he was pleased to have an I constantly with him, I might in time be able to opportunity of obliging ier, without injuring hin- restore to him that reason of which my guilt has self, and her request to the governors was deprived him. To/effect this parpose, it is my strengthened by his representations ; nor is it ex- wish to become a servant is t his house; if I traordinary that, alive as lie always was to the should not succeed in my endeavors, I am so sure opinion of every. one, lie should dread seeing Ag- that lie will have pleasure in seeing me, that I es, after the reception which lie had given 'her, feel it my duty to be with hism, even oi that ac- more than she dreaded to appear before the count; and, if there be any balsn fosr a heart and board. conscience so wounded as sine, I must find it in Agnes, who had borrowed of Fanny the dress "devoting all my future-days to alleviate, though I of a respectable maid-servamit, when summoned to cannot cure, the misery which I have occasioned. attend the governors, entered the room with' And if," added she, with affecting enthusiasm, "it modest but dignified composure, prepared to ex- should please Heaven to bless my endeavors to pect contumely, but resolved to endure it as be- restore hun to reason, how exquisite will be my fame a contrite heart, But no contumely awaited satisfaction in laboring to maintain him!", her. To this plan, it is to be supposed, the governors In the hour of lier prosperity she had borne saw more objection than Agnes did; but, though her faculties so weekly, and had been so careful they rejected the idea of ler being a servant in never to humble any one by showing a conscious- the house, they were not averse to giving her an ness of superiority, that she had been beloved even opportunity of making the trial which she desired, more than she lhad been admired ; and hard in- if it were only to alleviate ler evident wretch. deed must the heart of that man have been, who edness; and having consulted the medical attend- could have rejoiced that she herself was humbled. ants belonging to the institutiojs, they ordered that A dead, nay, a solemn silence took place on her Agnes should be permited two hours at a time, entrance. Every one present hieheld with sur- morning and evening, to see her father. And she, prise, and with stolen looks of pity, the ravages who had not dared to flatter herself that she which remorse and anguish had made in liar form, should obtain so much, was too ful of emotion to and the striking change im lier apparel ; for every show otherwise than by incoherent expressions one had often followed with delight her graceful and broken sentences, ier sense of the obligation. figure thssingh the dance, and gazed with admi- "Our next care," observed the president, "must ration on the tasteful varieties of hier drqss; every be, as friends of your poor father, to see what we one had listened with pleasure to the winning can do for your future support." sound of her voice, and envied Fitzhenry the pos. " That, sir, I siall provide for myself," replied session of such a daughter. As they now behield Agnes. " I will not eat the bread of idleness, as her, these recollections forcibly occurred to themt- well as of shaie and affliction ; and shall even. they agonized-they overcame them. They thought rejoice in being obliged to labor for my support, of their own daughters, and secretly prayed to and that of my child-happy if, in faltilling well Heaven to keep them froi the voice of the sedu- the duties of a mother, I may iake some atone- cer-away went all their resolutions to receive ment for having violated those of a daughter." Agnes with the open disdain and detestation "But, Miss Fitzhenry," answered the president, which her crime deserved ; the sight of her dis- "accept at least some assistance from us till you armed them, and not one amongst them had, for can flnd means of maintainiing yourself." some moraents, firmness enough to speak. "Never, never," cried Agnes ; I thank you for At last, " Pray sit down, Miss Fitzhienry," said your kisdness, but I will mnot accept it ; nor do 1 -the president, in a voice hoarse with emotion, need it. I have already accepted assistance fron. AGNES wne kind friend, and merely because I should un- and so did she when I bade her. Oh I she suMg 4er similar circumstances, have been hurt at having it so wIll I But she cast sing it no snore now, a gift of mine refused; but allow me to say, from for she is dead; and we will go and look for her the wretchedness into which my guilt has plunged grave."t o h d i me, nothing henceforward but my owns industry Thenl he walked hastily round the garden, while shall relieve me," Agnes, 'Whom the words of this so g, by neealling So saying, she curtsied to the gentlemen, and painful recollectious, had almost deprived of rea. hastily withdrew, leaving them all deeply affected son, sat down on a bench, nearly in-sensible, till ho by her narrative, and her proposed expiatory again caie to her, and taking hier lmisl, said, in a plan of life, and ready to grant her their adiira. iurried manner, " You will not leave mise, will tion, should she have resolution to fulfil her good you? " Oil her answe'rimg " No,"iin a very carn- intentions, after the strong impression which the esa and, passionate manner, lie looked delighted, meeting with her father in the forest had maule on and saying, " Poor thing 1" again gmzed omn her her mind should have been weakened by tineand intently ; and again Agnes's hopes that lie would occupation. in time know her returned. "1Very pale, very pale !" lie added the next ____moment, stroking her cheek ; " and she had such a blouma I Sing again ; for mercy's sake, sing CHAPTER I1. againi" In a horse, broken voice, Agnes complied. WHEts Agnes left the governor's room, she hast- "She sang better than you," rejoinemi lie, when ened to put isn force the leave which she had ob- she had done ; "so sweet, so clear it, was !-but she tained, and was immediately conducted to ier is gopeP" So saying, lie relapsed into total indif- father's cell. She found hiin withi his back to the ference to Agnes, and everything around him- door. drawing with ft piece of coal oi the wall. and again her new raised hopes vsansishsed. As he did not observe lier entrance, she had an The keeper now told her it was time for her to opportunity of looking over his shoulder, anid she depait. She mournfully arose ; bust, first seizing saw that lie had drawvn the shape of a coOhln, and her father's hand, she leaned for a mmiment her was then writing on the lid the name of Agnes. head oi his arm ; then, bidding God bless imi, A grosn, which involuntarily escaped her, made walked to the door with the keeper. him turn round. At sight of her he started, and But on seeing her about to leave him, lie ran looked wildly as lie had done in the forest; then after her, as fast as Isis heavy iron would let him, shaking his head and sighing deeply, lie. resumed wildly exclaiming, " You shall not go-you shall his employmneit, still occasionally looking back at not go." Agnes, who, at length overcome by ter feelings, Agnes, overjoyed at this evident proof of the threw herself oi the bed beside him, and burst pleasure her presence gave him, looked at the into teas . keeper for permission to stay ; buts lie told her Heaig her sobs, lie immediately turned round it would be against the rules ishe thu ighit it more again, and patting her cheek, as he had done on prudent to submit ; and before lie could catch their frst meeting, said, ' Poor thing I poor thing I" hold of her in order to detain her by foace, she then fixing his eyes steadfastly on her face, while ran thisough the house, and the grated door was Agnes turned towards himt and pressed his hand closed behind her. to ier lips, lie gazed on ,her as before with a look "And this," said Agnes to herself, turning round of anxious curiosity.; then turning from her, lie to.survey the melancholy mntsiioni which cshe had muttered to himself, " She is dead for all that." left, while mingled sounds of grans, shiefis, Soon after, lie asked her to take a walk with shouts, and laughter, burst upon her ears, " this is him, adding, in a whisper, " We will go and find the abode of soy father I and providedd for him by her grave ;'- and, taking her under his arm, he led me I This is the recompense bestowed oun him by her to the garden, smiling on her from timse to the daughter whoi lie loved anal trusted, ina re- time, as; ifit gave him pleasure to see her, and turn for years of unparalleled fondness and([ indul. sometimes laughing, as if. at some secretsatisfac- gence tion which lie would not cominunicate. When The idea was too horrible ; and Agnes, calling they had made one turn round the garden, he sud- up all the energy of her mind, remeibnred the denly stopped and began singing-" Tears such as uselessness of regret for the past, but thought with tender fathers shed," that affecting song of Han- pleasure on the advantages of amnenisest for the del's, which he used to delight to hear Agnes sing. present and the futie-; ntil ]by the timse she f I cai't go on," he observed, looking at Agnes- reached Fanny's door, her minu had recovered its "can you ?" as if there were in his mind some as- sad composure. sociation between her and that song ; and Agnes, Her countenance at her return, was very dif- with a bursting heart, took up the air where hue ferent.to what it had been at ier detparture. -Hope left off. animated her sunken eye,-and sie seeded full of He listened with restless agitation; and when joyful though distant expectations ; may, so much she had fi-iihed, he desired her to sing it again. was she absorbed in pleasing anticipatios, that " But say the words first "ise added: and Agnes she feebly returned the caresses of lesr child, who repeated- climbed up her knees to express his joy at seeing Tears, astetler fathers shed her; and even while she kissed his ruuddy cheek, Ters, san as tenher eye looked beyond it with the open gaze of War?& from may aged eyes descend, absence. Forjoy,.to think, when Iam dead, ."I have seen him again," she cried, tmmning to My so iwill have mankind his fn end. Fanny; "and he almost knew micIl He will know "No, no," said her father, with quickness -, me entirely in time; and next, lie will know every- a'For joy to think, when I am dead, Agnes will thing-and then I hall be happy I" 'have m ankind her friend.' I used to sing'it so ; Fannym to whom Agjses' htad given no clume te :1 I -: I I I page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] I1 enable her to understand this language, wa alarm- Sd for her intellects, till she explained her plans and her hopes ; uhich Fanny, though she could not share in them, was too humane to discourage. "But now," continued Agnes, " let us consult on my future means of gaining a livelihood ;" and finding that Fanny, besides keeping a day-school, took in shawl work, a considerable shawl manu- facture being carried on in the town, it was settled that she should procure the same employment for Agnes, and that a small back room in Fanny's little dwelling should be fitted up for ler. In the mneIiwhie, the governors of the asylum had returned to their respective habitations, with feeliiugs towards Agnes very different to those with which they had assembled. But too pru- dent to make even a penitent sinner the subject of praise in their own families, they gave short, evasive answers to the inquiries that were made there. . Mr. Seyrnour, on the contrary, thought it his duty to relieve the generous and affectionate heart of his daughter, by a minute detail of what had passed at the meeting; but lie had no opportunity of doimig this when he first returned home,-as lie found there a large party assembled to dinner. Caroline, however, watched his countenance and manner, and seeing on the first an expression of highly awakened feeling, and ii the latter a de- gree of absence and aversion to talking, which lie always di-played whenever his heart had beei deeply interested, she flattered herself that Agnes was the cacuie of these appearances, and hoped to hear of om1,1etlJHring favorable. During dinner, a lady asked Caroline which of her young friends would accompany her to church in the capacity of bridemaid. Carohine started, and turned pale at the question-for melancholy were the reflections which it excited in her mind. It had always been an agreement between her and Agnes, that whichever of the two were married first, should have the other for her bridemaid, and the question was repeated before Caroline could trust her vice to answer it. " I shall have no bridemnaids but miy sisters," she replied, at length,' with a qivermig hip; "I cannot-imdeed, I wish to have no other now." Then, looking at her father, she saw that his eyes were filled with tears; and unable to suppress, but wishing to con- ceal, hI motion, hie abruptly left the room.. 'u'lere i scaretly any human beimg whose heart has not taught him that we are never so compas- sionate nd benevolent towards others, as when our ownv wi hes are completely gratified-we are never so humble as then. This was the case with Mr. Seyniour. He was about to maiur-y 1lis eldest daughter i a m manner even superiorl to hits warm- est expectations, ani his paternal care, therefore, was amply rewarded. But his heart told him that is care and hi affection had not exceeded, per- haps not equalled, that of Fitzhenry ; nor had the prone of hisdaughter's youth, fair as it was, ever equalled that of the unihappy Agnes ; yet Caroline was going to aggrandise her family, and Agnes hlad disgraced hers. She was happy-Ag- nes mise able. He was the possessor of a large fortune, and all the comforts of life-Fitzenry was in a madhouse. This contrast between their situations was for- cibly recalled to his mind by the question ad- dressed to Caroline; and already softened by the iterviesw of the morning, he could not support his feelings, but was obliged toIasten to his chamber to vent im tears and thanksgivings the mingle aewn nations of humility and gratitude. Caroline sWon followed him, and heard with eniotions as violent, her futhier's description of Agnes' narration, an+i her conduct before the governors. "But it is i.' sufficient," said she, "that you tell me this; yo must tell it wherever you hear the poor penitent, name mentioned, and avow the change which id has made in your' sentiments towards her; you must be her advocate." Her advocate I What would the world say '" "Just what you wish it to say. Believe mie, my dear father, the world is in many instances like a spoilt child, who treats with contempt the foolish parent that indulges his caprices, but behaves with respect to those who, regardless of his clamors, give the law to him, instead of receiving it. You speak from the untaught enthusiasm and confidence of youth, Caroline ; but experience will teach you that no one can with iIpunity run counter to the opinions of the woldd" " My experience has taught mae that already but, in this case, you do not seen? to dto the world justice. The world would blame you, and justly too, if, while talking of the unhappy Agmues, you should make light of her guilt; iut why not, while you acknowledge that to be enormiouis, descant with equal justice on the deep sense of it which she entertains, and on the excellence of her pres- ent intentions I To this, what can( the world say, but that you are a just judge I And even sup- pose they should think you too-lenient a one, will not the approbation of your own conscience be an ample consolation for such a condemation 0 my dear father I were you not one of the best and most unspoila6le of men, your anxious attention to what the world will say of your actiotis. must long ere this have made you one of the worst." " Enough, enough," cried Mr. Seymour, wounded self-love contending -in his bosonm with parental pride, for he had some suspicion that Caroline was right ; 1"what would the world say if it were to hear you schooling your father I" " When the world"iears me trying to exalt my own wisdom by doubting my father's, I hope it will treat me with the severity which I shall deserve."I Mr. Seymour clasped her to huis bosom as she said this, and involuntarily exclaimed, "Oh, poor Fitzhenry I" "And poor Agnes too'!" added Caroline, throw- ing lier arms round his neck ; "it Oill be my part- ing request, when I leave my paternal rof, that you will do all the justice you can to my once honored friend, and let the world say what it pleases." "Well, well, I will indulge you by granting your request," said Mr. Seymour, "or, rather, I will in- dulge myself." Thieni, satisfied with each other, they returned to' the company. A few days after this conversation Caroline's marriage took place, and was celebrated by tie ringing of bells and other rejoicing. What are the bells ringing for to-day I" said Agnes to Fanny, as she was eating her breae- fast with more appetite than usual. Fanny hesitated, and then, in a peevish tone, re- p lied, that she supposed they rang for- Miss Caro- line Seymour as she was married that morning. Adding, "Such a fuss, indeed! such prepara- tions l one would think nobody was ever married before I" AGNES. 77 AGNES. 10 i-s. -1 III iv'. Yet, spitefully as Fanny spoke this, she had no the gratification would only be a selish one, and dislike to the amiable Caroline; her pettishness therefore I will reject it." proceeded merely from her love for Agnes. Just Having formed this laudable resoluticr, Agnes such preparations, just such rejoicings, she had after trying to compose her agitated spirits by hoped to see one day for the marriage of her dear playing with her child, who was already idolized young l;idy; and though Agnes bad not perceived by the faitliful Fanny, bent her steps as usual to it, Fanny had for the last two days shed many a the cell of her father. Unfortunately for Agnes, tear of regret and mortification, while news of the she was obliged to pass the house ol iMr. Seymour, intended wedding reached her ear on every side ; and at the door she saw the carriages w:ting to and she had uot courage to tell Agnes what she convey the bride and her train to the country- heard, lest the feelings of Agnes on thebecasioii seat of her mother-in-law. Agnes huriied nil as should resemble hers, but in a more painful fast as her trembling limbs could carry her ;,but degree. as she cast a hasty glance oi the splendid liveries, "6Caroline Seymour married i" cried Agne,, and the crowd gazing on them, she saw Mr. Sey- tising from her,utiinished meal ; " well married, I mour bustling at the door with all the plese( con- hope t" sequence of happy ptirent in his countenance; "0 yes, very well indeed-Mr. Seymour is and not daring to analyse her feelings, she rushed proud of the connexion 1" forward from the mirthful scene, and did not stop "Thank God !" said Agnes, fervently; "may she again till she found herself at the door of the be as happy as ,ber virtues deserve !" and asylum. then, with hasty step, she retired to her own But when there, and when looking up at its apartmentb. grated windows, she contemplated it as the habi- It is certain that Agnes had a mind above the tation of her father, so different front that of the meanness of envy, and*that she did not repine at father of Caroline, and beheld in fancy the woe- the -happiness of her friend ; yet, while with tears worn, sallow face of her parent, so unlike thu trickling down her cheek she faltered out the healthy, satisfied look of Mr. Seymour--' I cant words " Happy Caroline I-Mr. Seymour proud! go in, I can't see him to-day," she taintly articu- .Well may he be so !" her feelings were as bitter as lated, overcome with a sudden faintness, and, as those which envy excites. " Oh I my poor father I soon as she could recover her strength, she return- I once hoped-" added she ; but overcome ed fbime, and shutting herself up iin her own with the acuteness of regret and remor-e, she apartment, spent the rest of the day in that threw herself on the bed in speechless anguish. mou/nful and solitary meditation that " niaketh, Then the'image of Caroline, as she last saw her, the heart better." weeping over her misfortunes and administering It would no doubt have gratifed the poor to her wants, recurred to her mind, and In a trans- mourner to have known that, surrounded by joy- port of affection and gratitude, she took the paper ous and congratulating friends, Caroline sighed for that contained the gift froin her bosom,,kissed the the absent Agnes, and felt the want of her con- blotted scrawl on the back of it, and prayed fer- gratulations. "Surely she will write to ie !" said vently for her happiness. she,.mentally, "I am sure she wislies-me happy ; "But surely," cried she, starting up and run- and one of my greatest pangs at leaving iy na- ning into the next room to Fanny, "I should write tive place is, the consciousness that I leave her a few lines of congratulation to the bride ?" Faii- miserable." ny did not answer ; indeed she could not; for the The -last words that Caroline uttered, as she affectionate creature was drowned in tears, which bade adieu to the domestics, were, '"Le sure to Agnes well understood, and was gratified, though send after ine any note or letter that imay one." pained, to behold. At length, still more ashamed But no note or letter from Agnes arrived ; and had of her own weakness when she saw it reflected in Caroline known the reason, she would have loved another, Agues gently reproved F-anny, telling her her once happy friend the more. it seemed as if she repined at Miss Seymour's The next day, earlier than usual, Agnes went happiness. in quest of her father. She did not absolutely "No," replied Fanny, " I only repine at your flatter herself that lie had missed her the day misery. Dear me! she is a sweet young lady, before, still she did not think it altogether iipos- to be sure, but no more to be compared to sible that lie might. She dared not, however, ask You--" the question ; but, luckily for her, the keeper tohl "1Hush 1 Fanny ; 'tis I who am not to be com- ier, unasked, that her father was observed to be pared to her-remeiber, my misery is owing to restless, and looking out of the door of his cell fre- my guilt." queintly, both morning and evening, as if expect- It is not the less to be repined at on that ac- ing somebody, and that, at night, as he was going count," replied Fanny. to bed, he asked whether the lady had not been To this remark, unconsciously severe, Agnes there. with a sigh assented ; and, unable to continue the "Indeed I" cried Agnes, her eyes sparkling with conversation in - this strain,' she again asked pleasure. " Where is he I-Let me see him di- whether Fanny did not think she ought to con- reetly." But, after the first joyful emotion, wIhich gratulate the' generous Caroline. he always showed at seeing her, had subsided, she "1By all means," replied Fanny. But before could not flatter herself that his symptoins,were she answered, Agnes had determined that it more favorable than before. would be kinder in her not to damp the joy of The keeper also informed her that lie had been Caroline by calling to her mind the image of a thrown into so violent a raving fit, by the agitation wretched friend. " True," she observed, "it would lie felt at parting with her the last tinie she was gratify my feelings to express the love and grati- there, that she must contrive to slip away unper- tude I bear her, and my self-love -would exult in ceived whenever she came; and this visit having being recollected by her with tenderness and re- passed away without anything material occurring, gret, even in the hoir of h - bridal splendor; but Agnes contrived to make her escape unseen. lI page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] '18 AGNIVS. J4I On her return sle repeated to Fanny seVeral times, witb a sort of pathetic pleasure, the ques- tion her father had asked-" He enquired whether the lady had not been there-think of that Fanny ;" while so imcohierent was her language and so ab- sent were her looks, that Fanny again began to fear her ifflictions had impaired her reason. After staying a few days with the new married couple, Mr. Seymiour returned home, Caroline liav- img, before lie left her, again desired hitm to be the friend of te penitent Agnes whenever hie heard her unpityigly attacked ; and an opportunity soon oftferel of gratifying his daughter's benevo- lence, and his aowt. Mr. Seymour wats drinking tea in. a large party, when a lady, to whose plain, awkward, uninterest- ing daughters, thie once beautiful, graceful, and engaging Agnes had formerly been a powerful rival, stud, with to small share of malignity, " So! -filoe iupudence indeed I-I hear that good-for- aothmg minx, Fitzhetnry's daughter, is come back' S --I wonder for my part she dares show her face here---ut the assurance of those creatures is amazing. "6Ay, so it i," echoed from one lady to another, "ut thi g ir1 must be a hardened wretchl, in- deed," resumed Mrs. Macfienidy, the first speaker: " I suppose hier fellow has now become tired of her." - " Al i!" replied Mr. Seymour, whom a feeling of resentni-nt at the vulgar expressions of feisale spite hail hitihei to kept silentt ; " Miss Fitzhenry has h li the power of charming the eye of the libertine, and even the wish ; but she is an object whoi the compassionate and humane cannot be hold Ir li-ten iito, without thte strongest emotion.". "No, to be ire' replied Mrs. Macfiendy, brid- ling, " tie girl had always a plausible tongue of her own-and as to her beauty, I never thought that as mdIe fir lasting. What, then, have you seen of her, Mr. Seyiour I I wonder that you could consde--ce-d Io look at such trash." " Yr s, mien, I have seent a.nd heard her too andl if heart felIt miery, contrition, and true peni tence, titay 1 -hop- ii wi favor in the sight of God and expiep jast ofrfences, ' a ministering angel iay this tail it- be, though we lay howling.'" I lie- owlmg, indeed !" screamed out Mi-s. Mactimendy. Speak for yourself, if you please, Mr. S-ymior I! For my part, I do not expect, wh- II gIo to another world, to keep such com- panty as M iiSazhenry." "I i wth the saiei measure you mtete it should be mete tomyou again, madam-," replied Mr. Sey- mouir, " ilti-nto her wiorid you and Miss. Fitzhenry will not be ing acquaintance." Then, bespeak- intg thr a ttention of the company, lie gave that account, of Age-, her present situation. and inten- tions for th Iui-ure, htich she gave the governors and ail tie comaiany, save the outrageously virtu- cus i th er aItth-c daughters, heard it with as much e it a- h felt it relating-it. ExIirian tons (t - Poor unfortunate girl I what a pity he should Lave been guilty 1" followed his recital. Mrs. Maiendy could not bear this in silence but witir a eliichk pale, nay, livid with inalignity, and a volte m- Ipened by passion, which at all times resenibled the -s-creamt of a pea lien,-she exclaimed, 4 Well, for my pirt, sonime people may do anything, yet be prais-d up to thie skies; other people's daughter- would not find such mercy. Before she went off, it wai2 iis Fitzhenry this, and Miss Fitz- henry that-though either people's children cou perhaps do as much, though they were not so fond of showing what they could do."'' " No," cried one of the Misses Macfiendy, "Mw Fitzhenry bad boldness enough for anything " True, child,"*resumed the mother:- "and what did it all end in IWhy, in ruin I" ' "Fie madam, fie1" cried Mr. Seymour; "why thus exult over tle fallen ?" " Oh then do you allow her to be fallen I" "She is fallen indeed, madam," said Mr.Seymour, "but, even in her proudest hour, Miss Fitzhenry never expressed herself with unchristian severity, but set you an example of forbearance which you would do well to follow." - w " She set me an example !" vociferated Mrs. Mac- fiendy. "She indeed ! a creature !-I will not stay, nor shall my daughters, to hear such immoral talk But 'tis as I said-some people may do anything- for, wicked as she is, Miss 14tzhenry is still cried up as something extraordinary, and is even held up as an example to modest women''i So saying,- she arose;.but Mr. Seymour rose, also, and said, " There is no necessity for leaving the company, madam, as $ will leave it ; for I am tired of hearing myself so grossly misrepresented. No one abhors more thInm I do the guilt of Miss Fitzhenry; aid no one Would niore strongly object- for thie sake of other young women, to her being again received into general company v; but, at the saie time, I shall always be ready to encourage the peniteit by the voice of just praise; and I fee delight in reflecting that, however the judges of this world may be fond of condemning her, she will one day appeal ft-ero them to a merciful and long- suffering Judge." Then, bowing respectfully to all but Mrs. Maq- fiendy, lie withdrew, and gav lier an o opportunity of remarking that Mr. Seymour was mighty warm in the creature's defence. She -did not know that he was so interested about her; but sIe always thought hin a gay man, atd hie supposed Miss Fitzherry, as lie called her, woud be glad to taka up with, anything now. This speech, sorry ami I to say, was received with a general and complaisant smile, though it was reckoned unjust; for there are few who have virtue and resolution enough to stand forward for an ab- sent and calumniated individual, if there be any- thing ludicrous in the tale against lim; and the precise, careful, elderly Mr. Sieynmour, who was always shrinking from censure like asesitive plant from the touch, accused by implication of being the private friend of the youthful Agnes, excited a degree of merry malice in the company not un. pleasant to their feelings. But, in spite of the effortsof calurmny, the account Mr. Seymour had given of Agnes amd her peni- tence became town talk; and, is it was confirmed by the other governors, every one, except time fero- ciously chaste, was eager to Prevent Agnes from feeling pecuniary distress, by procurlg her eny ployment. Still she was not supplied with work js fast a shie executed it; for, except during the hours which she was allowed to spend vith her father, she was constantly employed; and she even deprived her- self of her usual quantity of sleep, and was never in bed before one, or after fona In proportion as her emplhoynent and profits ma creased, were her spirits elevated', but the auore she gained, the more savinshecime; se would scarcely allow herself efficient food or clothing AGNES. and, to the astonishment'of Fanny, the once gener- her sutpicions were just; while to the shudderin ous Agnes appeared penurious, and a lover of Agnes she unfolded a series of persecutions which money. she had undergone from her employers, because " What does this change mean, my dear lady I" she had declared her resolution of starving rather said Fanny to her one day. than drive from her house her friend and benefae- " I have my reasons for it," replied Agnes, cold- tress. ly; she then changed the subject, and Fanny res- Agnes was not long in forcing her resolution; pected her too much to urge an explanation. and the next morning, without saying a word to But Agnes soon after began to wonder at an ob- Fanny on the subject, she went out in search of a vious change in Fanny. At first, when Agnes re- lodging for herself and child-as gratitude and jus- turned from visiting her father, Fanny used to ex- tice forbade her to renaim any longer with her amine her countenance; and she could learn from persecuted companion. that, without asking a single question, whether her But after having in vaintried to proeire a lodg- father seemed to show any symptoms of amendment, ing suitable to the low state of bei finances, or or whether his insanity still appeared incurable. If rather to her saving plan, lie hired a little cottago the former, Fanny, tenderly pressing herlhand, would on the heath above the town, adjoining to that say, " I am so glad 1" and prepare their dinner or where she had been so liospitably entertained in supper with more alacrity than usual; if the latter, the hour of her distress; and having gladdened Fanny would say nothing, but endeavor, by brng- the hearts of the friendly cot tager and his wife by hig little Edward to her, or by engagingher in con- telling them that she was coming to be their neigh- versation to divert the gloom which she could not bor, she went to break the unweloine tidings to remove; And Agnes, though she spoke not of these Fany. artless pr lofs of atfection, observed and felt them Passionate and vehement indeed was her distress deeply ; and as she drew near the house, she always at hearing that her young lady, as she still persist- anticipated them as one of the comforts of her ed in calling her, was going to leave her ; but her home. expostulations and tears were vain; and Agnes, But, for sonie days past, Fanny had discontinued after promisig to see Fanny every day, took pol- this mode of welcome so grateful to the feelings of session that evening of her humble abode. Agnes, and seemed wholly absorbed in her own.-- But her intention in removing was frustrated She was silent, reserved, and evidently oppressed by the honest indignation and iidiscretion of Fanny with sone anxiety which she was studious to con- She loudly raved agatist the illiberality which hid ceal. Once or twice, when Agnes came home rather robbed her s.f the society of all that lie held dear sooner than usual, she found her in tears; and,-when and as she told every one that Agnes left by her she affectionately asked the reason of them, Fanny own choice and not at her desire, those children pleaded mere lowness of spirits as the-cause. who had been taken aw ay became A gnes resided But the eye of anxious affection is not easily with her, were not sent back to her on her removal. blinded. Agneas as convinced that Fanny's misery At last the number of her scholars became so small had some more important origin ; and secretly fear- that she gave up school-keeping, and employed ing that it proceeded from her, she was on the herself in shawl-working only ; -while her leisure watch for soniethiig to confirm her suspicions. time was spent in visiting Agnes, or in inveighing, One day, as she passed through the room where to those who would listen to heragainst the cruelty Fanny kept her school, Agnes observed that the that had driven her young lady from her house. number other scholars was considerably diminished: Fanny used to begmi by relat ing the nuniy obliga- and when she asked Fanny where the children tions which ber mother andi she lid received from whom she missed were, there was confusion and Agnes and her father, and always ended with say- hesitation in her manner, while she'madedifferent mg., " Yet to this woman, who saved e and mine excuses for their absence, which convinced Agnes fromti a workhouse, they wanted ile to refuse a that she concealed from her some unwelcome hone whent she stood i need of one t'I hey need truth. not have beeni afraid of her being too happyI A very painful suspicion immediately darted Such a tiind as hers canl never be hippy ut der across her mind, the truth of which was but too the consciousness of hiavimg been guilty ; and could soon confirmed. A day or two after, while again she ever forget her criue, one visit to her poor. passingg through the school-room, she was attracted father would make her remember it, agaitt.' by the baaty of a little girl, who was saying her 'Ihius did Fanny talk, is I said before, to thoso lesson ; and snmmothing down her curling hair, he hvto would listen to her ; aind there wts. one atooped to kiss her ruddy cheek; but the child, ut- auditor who could have listened, to hir for ever on tering a loud screati, sprang fcom her arms, and this subject, arid who thought latiny looked mior sobbing violently, hid her face on Fanny's lap.- lovely while expressing her affeciun for her peni. Agnes, who was very fond of children, was much tent mistres, and pleading her cau-e witlt a check hurt by sywpfoms of dislike so violent towards her, flushed with virtuous iniiitation, and eyes suffused and urged the child to give reason for such strange with-ters if ar-tles seihidty, han lhen at-tended conduct; en which the artless girl owned that her by the.then happy Agnes, she, iti the -bloom of mother had charged her ever to touch or go near youth daid beauty, gave hier lian lto the man of - Miss Fitzheuiry, because shei was the most wicked her. heart. person thIt ever breathied. .This auditor was a re-pecteble it-desmian who Agnes heard this new consequence of her guilt hived itt Fannys neighborhitd, to whom her faith- with equal surprise and grief; but on looking at ful attachment to Agnes had for smt iie ttie endear- Fanny, though she saw grief in her countenance, ed her ; -while Faty, it return, ftIt grateful to there vas no surprise in it; and she instantly told him for entering with such w-nith fito her feel. her she was convir*ed that the loss of her schol,- ingsand for listening so patiently to her comnphdnts; ars w 1s occasioned by her having allowed her to and it was not long before he offered her his hand. -eside with he'. 'To so advantageous an offer, and to a man so Fanny, bursting into tears, at last confessed that 'amiable, Fatnny could muke no oldeetion, especially I I I Iv I I page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 AGNES. 7 I I *1 St I as Agnes advised her accepting the proposal. But world towards whom I have done my duty." But Fanny declared to her lover that she would not the next minute she recollected that the guilty marry him, unless hue would promise that Agnes flight which made her violate the duty which she and her cuild should, whenever they, chose,'have a owed her father, at the same time removed her home with her. To this condition he consented, from the power of fulfilling hat which Elue owed telling Fanny he loved her the better for making the indigent; for it is certain. that our duties ar " it; and Agnes had soon the satisfaction of witness- so closely linked together, that, as the breaking ing the uiomi of this worthy couple. one pearl from a string-of pearls hiazards.hhue loss But they tried mi van te persuade Agnes to of all, so thie violation of one duty endagers tIe take up her residence witli thiem. She preferred safety of every otier. living by herself. To her, solitude was a luxury; " Alas !" exclaimed Augnes, as this melancholy as, while the little Edward was playing on the heath truth occurred to her, "it is tnot for me to exult; with the cottager's children, Agnes delighted to for, even in the squalid, meagre countenance of these brood it uninterrupted silence over the soothing kind and grateful beings, I read evidence of my hope, the fond idea, that alone stimulated her to guilt-they looked up to am for aid, and I deserted exertion, and procured' her tranquillity. All the themI" I energies of her mimd and body were directed to In time, however, these acute feelings womi one end ; and while sin kept her eye steadfastly away; and Agnes, by entering again on the offices fixed on the future, the past lost its power to tor- of benevolence and humanity towards the distress- ture, and the pm esent had some portion of enjoy- ed, lost the consciousness of past neglect in that of ment. present usefulness. k But were not these soothing reveries sometimes True, she could io longer feed the hungry or disturbed by the pangs of ill-requited love ? and clothe the naked, but she could soften the pungs of' could she, who had loved so fondly as to sacrifice sickness by expressing sympathy in its suffering. to themindulgence of her passion everything that She could make the aiseous medicine More wel- she held most dear, rise superior to le power of come, if not more salutary, by administering it be- tender recollec , atnd at oice tear from her heart self; for, though poor, shei was still superior to tha the iiage of her fascinmatimg lover? It would be sufferers whom she attended; and it was soothuin& unnatural to suppose that Agnes could entirely to them to see "such a lady" take so mmcl troubk forget the once honored choice of her heart, and for those so much beneath her - andl the could the father of her child; or that, although experience watch the live-long night by the bed of the dying had conimced her of its unworthiness, she did not jiin in the consoling prayer offered by the lips of sometimes contemplate, with the sick feelings of another, or, in her own'eloquent and'impassionmed disappointed tenderness, the idol which her itmagi- language, speak peace and hope to the departing nation had decked im graces all its own. souh. But these remembrances were rare. Shie oftener 'Ihese tender offices, these delicate attentions, se beheld himi as he appeared before the tibunal of dear to the heart of every one, but so pant icularly her reason-a cold, selfish, profligate, hypocritical welcome to the poor from their superiors, as they deceiver, as the unfeeling destroyer of her hopes are acknowledgments of the relaticnhip existing and happiness, and as one, who, as she had learned between them, and confessions that they are if the from his own hips,whien hue most invited confidence, -same species as themselves, and heirs n-f the same was the most determined to betray. She saw bins hopes, even those who bestow money with generous also as a wretch so devoid of fhiecommon feelings profusion do not often pay. But Agmues was never of nature and humanity, that, thouglm she left her contented to give relief unaccompanied by attend- apartments it London in the dead of night, and in ance; she had reflected deeply on the nature of the the depth of a severe winter, with an abnoimst help- human heart, and knew that a participating smile, less child it her amums, and no visible protector near, a symspathising tear, a friendly pressure of the hand, he had never made a single inquiry respecting her the shifting of run uneasy pillow, and patient atten- fate, or that of his offspring. tion to an unconnected tale of twice told symptoms, At times, the siensations of Agnes bordered on were, in the estitation of the indigent sufferer, of phrenzy, when itt this heartless, unnatural wretch, as great value as pecuniary assistance. thu beheld the being for whom she had resigned Agnes, therefore, in er poverty, had the satis- the matehless comforts oif her hime, and destroyed faction of knowing that she was asconsnoliug to the the happme-s and reason of her father. At these distressed, if not as useful, as she was in her pros- mioments, and these only, shut us-l to rush wildly pprity? and, if there could be a moment when she forth m useeh of company, that sne might escape felt the glow of exultation in her breast, it was from herself; but more frequently shie directed her when shie left the habitation of indigence o- sorrow, steps to time abode of the poor -- t these who, in followed by tihe well-earned blessings ofits inhabit- her happier hours, had been supported by her ints. bounty, and who now were eager to nicet her in her Had Agnes been capable of exulting in a con- walks, to i-ay hum past benefacetonms by a 'God sciousness of being avenged, another source of exul. bless you, Jady !' uttered in a tone of respectful tation might have been hers, provided she ad ever pity. deigned to inqumre concerning her profligate seducer, When her return w-as first hnown to the objects whom she wrongfully accused of having neglected of her -tbenevolence; Agnes soen saw herself sur- to make inquiries concerning her and her child. rounded by their, and was, in her humble apparel Two months after her return from London, Agnes und dejected state, followed by them- with more saw an account of Clifford's mar-age in the paper, blessings thanin the proudest hour of her pros- and felt tone curiosity to know what had so long perity. retarded a union, which when shie left town, Was "Thank l1 eaven I" ejaculated Agines, as shq turn- fixed for the Monday following; ani'd Fanny obser- ed a glistenmig eye on her humble followers, "there 'ved anl increased degree of gloorg and abstraction are vet those whose eyes minesmay meet with in her appearance all that day. But,ndismissinig humbk confidence. There are sominia gs in the this feeling f-rem hem ind as unworthy of it, fror: AGNES. . fiat imonient she resolved, if possible, to recall inquired whether a lady and child had gone from Clifford to her imagination as one who, towards her, that inn the night before in the coach that went had been guilty not of perfidy and deceit only, but within a few miles of the town of-- But as of brutal and unnatural neglect. Agnes had reached the inn -ust as the coach was In this last accusation, however, as I said before, setting oif, no one belonging to it, but the coachman, she was unjust. When Clifford awoke in the morn- knew that'she was a passenger. ing after his last interview with Agnes, and the " Well, I feel certain," said Clifford to Mrs. As. fumes of the wine lie had drunk the night before kew, endeavoring to smile,' that she will make her were entirely dissipated, he recollected, with great appearance here at night, if she does not come to- uneasiness, the insultit.g manner in which lie had day; and I will not stir from this spot till the coach justified his intended marriage, an'd the insight in- starts off, and will even go in it some way, to see to the baseness of his character wliic!i his unguard- whether it will notAtop to take her up on thn road." ed confessions had given to let penetration.0. This resolution lie speedily put in practice. All The idea of having incurred the content of day Clifford was stationed at a window opposite Agnes was insupportable. Yet, when he recollected to the inn, or in the bookseller's office; but night the cold, calm, and dignified manner in which she came, the coach was ready to start off, and still no had acted when lie bade her adieu,lie was convinced Agnes appeared. However, Cljfford, having secured that'he liehad taught her to despise him; and know- a place, got in with the other passengers, and went ing Agnes, lie was also certain she must soon cease six miles or more, before lie gave up thie hope of to love the man whom she had once learned to hearing the coachman ordered to stop, in the soft despise. voice of Agnes. " But I will go to her directly," exclaimed lie to At last all expectation failed him ; and complain- himself, ringing his bell violently, "and I will attri- ing of a violent headatlielie desired to be set bute my infernal folly to drunkenness." He then down, sprang out of the carriage, and relieved the ordered his servant to call a coach, finding himself other passengers from a very disagreeable com- too languid, from intemperance, to walk; and lie panion. So that Clifford, in a violent attack of was just going to step into it, when lie saw Mrs. fever, was wandering on the road to London, in Askew pale and trembling, and heard her, in a hopes of neting'Agnes, at the very time when his faltering voice, demand to see hin in private for a victim was travelling on the road to her native few minutes. place, i company with her unhappy father. I shall tiot attempt to describe his rage and as- By the time Clifford reached London lie was tonishment when he heard of the elopement of bordering on a state of delirium, but had recollec- Agnes. But these feelings were soon followed by tion enough to desire his confidettial servant to in- those of terror for her safety and that of his child; form his father of the state in which lie was, and anti his agitation for some time was so great as to then take the road to - , and ask at every inn deprive liim of the power of considering how lie on the road whether a lady and child (describing should proceed, in order to hear some tidings of the Agnes and little Edward) had been there. The ser- fugitives, and endeavor to recall them. vant obeyed-; and the anxious father, who had been It was evident that Agnes had escaped the night informed of the cause of his soil's malady, soon re- before, because a servant, sitting up for a gentleman ceived the following letter from Wilson, while lie who lodged in the house, was awakened from sleep was attending at his bedside: by the noise which she made in opening the door; and running into thie hall, she saw the skirt of Agnes' ."M LORD-Sad news of Miss Fitzhenry and gown as she shut it again; and looking to see who the child, and reason to- fear they both perished was gone out, sie saw a lady, who she was almost with cold. For, being told at one of theminns on certain was Miss Fitzheriry, running down the street this road that a young woman and child had been with great speed. But to put her being Agnes found frozen to death last night, and carried to the beyond all doubt, she ran up to her room, and find- next town to be owned, I set off for there directly; ing the door open, went in, and could see' neither and while I was taking a drop of brandy to give her nor her child. me spirits tQ see the bodies, for a qualn came over To this narration Clifford listened with some tme when I thought of what can't be helped, and calmness : but when Mrs. Askew told him that how pretty and happy slid once was, a woman came Agnes had not taken any of her clothes with her, down with a silk wrapper and shawl that I knew he fell into an agony amounting to phrensy, and belonged to the poor lady, and said the young wo- exclaiming, " Then it inust be so-she has destroyed man found dead had those things on. Thuis was both herself and the child!" his senses failed him, proof positive, my lord, and it turned me sick. and lie dropped down insensible ont the sofa. This Stil it is better so than self-imurder, so my master horrible probability had occurred to Mrs. Askew; had better know it, I think; and humbly hoping snid she had sent servants different ways all night, your lorpship will think so too, \n order to find her if she were still in existence, " I remain, your lordship's most bumble servant that she might spare Clifford, if possible, time pain to command, of conceiving a suspicion like her own. - " J. WILsoN. Clifford was not so fortunate as to remain long in "P. S.-If I gain more particulars shall #end a state of unconsciousness, but soon recovered to a them." state of miserv-al unavailing remorse. At length he recollected that a coach set off that very night Dreadful as the supposed death of Agnes and for her native place, from the Whiile Horse Cellar, her child appeared to the father of Clifford,ie could and that it was possible that shie might have ib- not be sorry that so formidable a rival to his future tained a lodging the night before, where she meant daughter-in-law was no longer to be feared; and as to stay. till the coach set off on the following even- Clifford, in the ravings of his fever, was continually ing. He immediately went to Piccadilly, to see talking of Agnes as self-murdered, and the mur- whether places for a lly and child hiad been takei1; deret of her child, aid of himself as thn abandon but rio such passengers were 'mi the list. He then ,cause; anid as that idea seemed to haunt and terify it J I page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] s imagination, he thought, with his son's rervait, tliat be had better take the first opportunityof tell- igClifford the truth, melancholy as it was. And taking advantage of a proper opportunity, he had done so before he received"his second letter from Wilson:- "Mr LonD,-It was all a mistake; Miss F. is alive, and likely to live, at -. She stopped at an iimiout thin road and panted with her silk cloak and shawl for some things shie wanted, and a hin- y of a chambermaid stole them and went off in the night with them: but justice overtakes us sooner or later. I suppose his honor, my master, will be cheery at this; but, as joy often distracts as much as grief, they say, though I never believ- ed it, I take it you wil not tell him this good news hiand-overhead, and am your lordship's most humble servant to command, " J. WILsON." " P. S.-I have been to -, and have heard for certain that Miss F. and her child are there."- His Jordship was even more cautious than Wil- son wished hiim.to be ; for lie resolved not to com- municate the glad tidings to Clifford, cautiously or incautiously, as lie thought there would be no chance of his son's filfilling his engagements withI Miss Sandford, if he knew Agnes was living; es-I pecially, as her flight and her supposed death had 1 proved to Clifford how necessary shie was to his happiness. Nay, lie went still farther; and re- solved that Clifford should never know, if he could possibly help it, that the report of her death Was false. How to effect this was the difficulty ; but wisely conceivming that Wilson was not inaccessible to a bribe, he offered lim, so much a-year, on condition of hi s'-ufferng his master to remain convinced of the truth of the story that Agnes and her child i had perished in the snow, and of intercepting tiall1 letters which he fancied cuamne from Agnes ; telling him at the samoe time that , if he found lie hade violated the conditions, the annuity should inimne-d diately cease- I To this Wilson consented, and when Clifford re- covered, lie made his compliance with the terms h more easy, by desirimg Wilson. and the friends to c whom his connexion with Agnes had been known, p never to mention her name in his presence again, h if tley valued his health and reason, as the safety s of both depended on lis forgetting a womai, of t whom lie had never felt the value sufficiently till b lie had lost her forever. II a Soon after, hue married, and the disagreeable qualities of his vife made him recollect, with more e aimful regret, the chiarms and virtues of Agnes. .o fhie consequence was that lie plunged deeper than f ever into dissipation, and had recourse to intoxica- rc tion im order to baimsh cate and disagreeable re- li collections; and, Ahile year ,after year passed ft away in fruitless expectation of a child to inherit th the estate and the long-di sputed title, lie remem- or bered, whIm agoizing regrets, thpe beauty of his h Ast. Edward, and reflected that, by refusing to ca perform his promises to the injured Agnes, he lad mi deprived hnitmse' of ,the heir he much coveted, and c of a wife who would have atidded dignity to'the title which lie bore, and been the delight and or- P namenit of his family. - Such were their miserable feelings of Clifford- ev such the corroding cares that robbed his mind of ai Its energy, and his body of health and vigor. n Though courted, caressed, battered, and surrounded by afllunce and splendor, hie was disappointed sch AGNES.: S.l and self-condemned. And while Agnes, for the first time condemning him unjustly, attributed i silence and neglect of her and her offspring to a degree of indifference and hard-heartedness At which human nature shudders, Clifford was feeling all the horrors of remorse, without the consoladona' of repentanc'-e CHAPTER V. I iAvR before observed that one idea engrossed the mind and prompted the exertions or Agnes; and this was the probable restoration of her fN'- ther to reason. " Could I but once muore hear him call me by my name, and bless me with his for- giveness, I should die in peace; and something within me tells moe that my hopes will not be in vain ; and who knows but we niay pass a content- ed, if not a happy life, together yet So toil on, toil on, Agnes and expect the fruit of thy labors." These words she was in the habit of repeating not only to Fanny and her next-door neighbors (whom she had acquainted with he' story ,)butoto herself as she sat at work, or traversed mime heath. Even in the dead of night she would start fmom a troubled sleep, and repeating these wordi, they would operate as a charm on her disturbed mind; and as she spoke the last sentence, she would fall into a quiet slumber, from which she awoke at daybreak to pursue with increased ahicrity the labors of the day. Meanwhile Agnes and her exemplary industry continued to engage the attention and idmiiration of the candid and liberal in the town of Mr. Seymour, who did not venture to inquire concerning her, of Fanny while ,ie lived atqher house, now often called'there to ask news of Ag- nes and her employment ; and his curiosity was excited to know to what purpose she intended to devote the money earned with so much labor, and hoarded with smich parsimonious care. But Fanny was as ignoritt on this stbjet as itself, and the only new information which she would give him was, that Agnes ha begmn to em- iloy herself in fancy-works, in orier to increase ier gains ; and that it was her intentionsoon' to end little Edward (then four years old) to thi own to offer artificial flowers, ornamented meedle- ooks, work-bags, &c., at the doors of the opulent nd humane. Nor was it long before this des-igmn was put in xecution ; and Mr. Sevmour hid the satisfaction f buyingall the lovely boy's first enigo himself, or presents to his daughters. The litihe merchant turned to his anxious mithier, bounding with de- ght, not at the good success of his trt venture, ir its importance he did not understand, but at ie kindness of Mr. Seymour, who 'had met him StIe road, conducted him to his house, and helped his daughters to load his pockets with makes, and put in his basket, in exchange for his merchandise, tongue, chicken, and. other things'to arry home to his mother. ' 1 Agnes heard the child's narration with more measure than she had for some time ex perienced. They do not despise me, then," said she;." they ven respect me too much to offer ine pehuniary d,or presents of any kind, but in a waythat can- ot wound my feelings.", But this pleasure was almost immediately acked by thei recollection that lie whose wounded Li3 AdNEs. spirit would have been soothed by seeing her may be able, when that time comes,to procurefor once more an object of delicate attention and re- him elsewhere the best possible a-ice and assist. spect, and for whose sake alone she could now ance. "Yes, yes, I know I am riglt; there ever be capable of enjoying them, was still un- lest your own exertions should not, . thespaceg conscious of her claims to it, and knew not that a twelvemonth, be, crowned with, sufficient suo% they were so generally .acknowledged. In the cess, I conjure you, by our long friend1ship,-tot'p. words of Jane de Moptfort, she could have said- propriate the enclosed to the purpose in question; and should the scheme which I impute to you he le to whose ear my praise most welcome was, merely the creature of my own brain, as it is a Hears it noi mor/ good scheme, employ the money in executing it. "But I will hope on," Agnes used to exclaim, "To silence all your scruples, I assure you that as these thoughts occurred to her; and again her my gift is sanctioned by my husband and my countenance assumed the wild expression of a dis- father, who join with me i approbation of your satisfied but stillexpecting spirit. conduct, and in the most ear'iet wishes that you Three years had now elapsed since Agnes first moay receive the reward of it in the entire restora- returned to her native place. "The next year," tion of your afflicted parent Already have the said Agnes to Fanny, with unusual animation, candid and enlightened paid you their tribute of "cannot fail of bringing forth good .to me. You recovered esteem. know that, according to the rules of the new asy- "It is the slang of the present day, if I may Ib lum, a patient is to remain five years in the allowed this vulgar, but forcible expression, to i- house; at the end of that time, if not cured, he is veigh bitterly against society for excluding from to be removed to the apartments' appropriated to its circp, with unrelenting rigor, the woman who, incurables, and kept there for life, his friends pay- has once transgresed the salutary.laws of chas- ipg a certain annuity for his maintenance ; or he tity ; and some brilliant and persuasive, but, in umy is, on their application, to be returned to their opinion, mistaken writers, of both sexes, have en- care-deavored to prove that many an amiable woman "And what then " said Fanny, wondering has been for ever lost to virtue and the worldand at the unusual joy that animated Agnes's coun- become the victim of prostitution, merely because tenance. her first fault was treated with ill-judging and Why then," replied she, " as my father's'time crinmial severity. for being confined expires at the end of the next ."This assertion appears to me to be fraught year, lie will either be cured by that time, or lie with mischief, as it is calculated to deter the vie- will be given up to my care; and then who, tim of seduction from penitence and amendment, knows what the consequences may be I" by telling ber that she would employ them in her "What, indeed returned Fanny, who foresaw favor in vain. Aind it is surely as false'as it is great personal fatigue and anxiety, if not dangerdangerous.- I know many imistances, and it is fjir to Agnes in such a plan, and was going to express to conclude that the experience of others is similar her 'Fears and objections; but Agnes, in a manner to minie, of women restored by perseverance in a overpoweringly severe, desired her to be silent, life of expiatory amendment to that rank in socie- and an1grily withdrew. ty which they had forfeited by one false step. Soon after, Agnes received a proof of being while their fault has been forgotten mi their ex- still dear to her amiable friend Car-oline, which emplary conduct as wives attd mothers. gave her a degree of satisfaction amounting even "But it is not to be expected that society should to joy. open its arms to receive its prodigal children till Mr.-Seymobr, in a letter to his daughter, had they have undergone a long and painful' proba- given her an accountof all the proceedings-of Ag- tion-till they have practised the virtues of self- nes, atd expressed his surprise at the eagerness demial, patience, fortitude, and industry. And she with which hie labored to gain ioney, merely, as whose penitence is not the mere result of wounded it seemed, for the sake of hoarding it, as she had pride and caprice, will be capable of exerting all then; and always would have, only herself Amid these virtues, in order to regain some portion of child to maintain, as it was certain that her father the esteem which she has lost. What.will diffl- ' would he allowed to continue, free of all expense, culties and mortifications be to herI Keepilig an inhabitant of an asylum which owed its erec- her eye steadily fixed oin the end which she has in tion chiefly to his benevolent exertions, view, she will bound lightly over them all; nor But Caroline, to whom the mind of Agnes was will she seek the smiles of the world, till, intead well known, and who had often contemplated with of receiving them as a favor, she can demand them surprise and admiration her boldness in projecting, as a right. her proiptness in decidmg, and her ability in ex- "Agnes, my dear Agnes, do you not know the ecutmmg, the projects which she had formed, and, original of the above picture I You, by a life of above all, that sanguine temper which led her to self eial, patience, fortitude, and industry, have believe probable what others only conceived to be endeavored to atone for the crime which you coln- possible, found a reason immediately for ,the pas- mitted against society ; and I hear her voice say- sion of boarding which seemed to have taken pos-- ing, 'Thy-sins are forgiven thee I' and ill befa session of her friend; and following the instant the hand that would uplift the sacred pall which impulse of friendship and compassion, she sent penitence and amendment have thrown over d& Agties the following letter in which was enclosed parted guilt!" a bank-note of-a considerable amount:- Such was the letter of Caroline-a letter in "MY DEAR AGmA,-- have divined your acret. tended to speak peace and hope to the heart,o I know why you are so anxious to hoard what you Agnes, to reconcile the offender to herself, and gain with such exemplary industry. In another light up her dim eye with the beams of self p- Year your father will have been the allotted time probation. Thus did she try to console her gnity nder the care of the medical attendants in your and unhappy fi-iend in the hour of her adversity rt ef f t w h e ; and you are hoarding that you and degradtion. But Caroline ad given a t page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] greater proof of the sincerity of her friendship- recovered a debt .f a Landred pounds, which had she had never wou qded the feelings, or endeavored long been due t: him, and this -sum they gene- to mortify tile self love, of Agne in the hour of rously presented to Agnes, in order to further the- her prosperity and acknow ledged superiority; she success of her last hope. had seen her attractions, and heard her praises On the day fixed for her father's release, Agnes without envy, nor ever with seeming kindness but purchased a complete suit of clothes for him, sugeh real malignity related to her, in accents of pre- as he used to wear in fornei days, and dressed her. tended wonder and indignation, the censures which self in a manner suited to her birth rather than her she had incurred, or the ridicule which she had situation; she then set out in a post case, attended excited ; but in every instance she had proved her by the friendly cottager, as it was judged impr - friendship a memorable exception to what are dent for -her to travel yith her father alone, to take sarcastically termed the " friendships of women !" him up at the asylum, while Fanny was Crying g Yes, she has indeed divined my secret," said with joy to see her dear lady looking like herself Agnes, when ebe had perused the letter, while again' and travelling like a gentlewoman. tears of tenderness trickled down her cheeks, But the poor, whom gratitude'and affection made " and she deserves to assist me in procuring mehns constantly observant of he actions of Agnes, were for my _ poor father's recovery-an indulgence full of consternation when some of them heard, and which I should be jealous of granting to any one communicated to the others, that a post-chaise was else, except to you, Fanny," she added, seeing on standifng at Miss Fitzhenry'S iloor. " i0sear! she Fanny's countenance an express sion of jealousy of is going to leave us again; what shall we do with- this richer friend ; "and on thle strength of this out herI" was the general exclamation; and when noble present," looking with a smile at her darned Agis came out to enter tie chaise, she found it and pieced, - thoug neat apparel, " I will treat surrounded by h'er humble fiends, lamenting and mysef wih a eW gwn."inqiing, though with cautious respect, whether "Not before it was wanted," said Fanny, she ever meant to come back again. peevishly. " Fanny will tell you everything," said Agnes, " Nay," replied Agnes with a forced smile, overcome with grateful emotion at observing the "surely I am well dressed enough for a runaway interest which she excited. Unable to say mor e daughter. 'My father loved to ee me fine,' as siewaved ier and as a token of farewell to them, poor Clarissa says, and had I never left him, I and the cha ise drtve off. should not have been forced to neit b such a gown "Is Miss Fitzhem'y groin rich again ?" was the as this; but Fanny, let me but see him once more general question addressed to Fanny ; andi I am capable of knowing me, and of loving me, if it be sure it was a disinterested one, and that, at the imo- possible for him to forive me," added she, in ment, they asked it without 4 view to their p.ofit- a faltering voice, " ant I will then, if lie wisles it, ing by her change of situation, and merely as anx- be fine again, thought I work all night to make ions for her welfare; and when Fanny told them myself so." whether and why Agnes was gone, could prayers, "My dear, dear lady," said Fanny. sorrowfully, good wishes, and blessing havsecud succes t I am sure I did not mean anything by what I the hopes of Agnes, her father, even as soon as she said; but you have such a way with you, and talk -Stopped at thle gate of 'the asylum, would have re- so sadly I Yet, I can't beat, indeed I can't, to se icogised and received her with open arms. But such a lady in a gown not good enough for m e; en she arrived, sthe found her fiither as irrational nd then to see my young master no better dressed as ever, though delighted to hea that e was going than the cottagers boys next door; and then to to tke a ride with "the lady," as he always caled hear them call master Edward little Fitzhenry, as Agnes; and she had thepleasure of seeing him if he were not their betters; I can't ear it-it does seat hin self beside her with a look of uncommon not signify talkingaI can't bear to think of it." Satisfaction. i ow, then," answered Agnes, in a solemn tone, Nothing worthy of relating happened on the and grasping her land as she spoke, "how can I road. Fitfhenry was very tractable except at night, bear to think of the guilt which has thus reduced whenthe cottage, who slept in the same room with so low both me and iiy child heO I that my boy him, found it difficult to make him keep in bed, and could exchange situations with the children whon was sometimes forced to call Agnes to his assis- you think his inferiors. I have given him life, in- tance; at sight of her he always became quiet, and deed, but nst one legal claim to "hat is necessary obeyed her implicitly, to ther suport tf life, except(lie scaity pittance The skilful and celebrated man to who ,s ap. which might, by a public avowal of my shame, plied received her with sympathising kindness, ad wrin; front is father.' heart hei mstorteith a degree of interest aid sem- eI woult er my bread with him through the sibility peculiarly grateful to the afflicted hear streets before you should dt that" hastily exclaim Agnesa related, with praiseworthy ingenuousness , ed Fanny; amid pray say no more on this subject! the whole of her sad history, juding it necessary He is my child, as well as yours"She continued, that the doctor should know the cause of the nialady snatching little Edward to er bosom, who was for which he was to prescribe. contentedly playitig ith his top at thme door; and it was peculiarly the faculty of A gnes to interest Agnes, in conteniplatimig the blooming graces of the in her welfare those with whom she conversed; boy forgot that lie was ~an object of compassion. and the doctor soont experienced a more thatm ordi- ;'he next year passed away as the former had nary earnestness to cure a patient, so interesti ng done; and at the end of it Fitxhienmy being pro- from his misfortutmes, and recommended by so in.- miounced inicurable, hut perfectly quit and hiarni. teresting a daughter. 11Six months," said he, willl les% Agnes desired, in spite of the advice and en- be a sufficient time of trial; atid in the meanwhile treaties of thin governors, that hie might be deliveredd fyou shall resitde-in a lodging near us." nto her, that shemight put himi under thme care Fitzlienry then became an inmate of thedo D.W- 0 tores hollse, Agnes took possession of aparek~ients in Lu^kily for-AgnesthAl sge-o e ahrte egioiod n h ctae eundhia Al- AGNES. 45 The ensuing six months were passed by Agnes concerning the state of Fitzhenry. Scarcely could a the soul-siekeing feeling of hope deferred; and the caresses of her child, and the joy which hle ex- while the air of the place agreed so well with her pressed at seeing her, call a smile to her lips; and, father that lie became stout and heahby in his ap. as she pressed him to her bosom, tears of hittr pearance, anxiety preyed on her delicate frame, disappointment mingled with those of tenderness. and made the doctor fear that, when lie should be - In a day or two after, Agnes in compliance with forced to pronounce his patient beyond his power the doctor's deire, hired a sniall tenement very to cure,sme would sink under the blow, unless the near the house in which they formerly lived, and hope of bping still serviceable to her father should in the garden of which, as it was then empty, they support her under its pressure. He resolved, there- obtained leave to walk. She mdno procure -aen. e, to inform her, in as judicious and cautious a son to sleep in the room with her father, instemolof amimiem as possible. that lie saw no prospect of cur- the mai who caine with them; and lie carried ingthie toroglyshiattered intellect of Fitzhenry. back a letter from her to the doctor, informing hin I can do nothing for' your father," said lie to that he had arranged everythmig according to his Agnes (when lie had been under his care six months) directions. layin-g geat stress on the word I; Agnes, avith a It was a most painfully-pleasing sight to behold ,face of horror, stated from aen seat, amid laid her thinattetios of Agies to her father. Shiniew hanid mi his aria; "but yeu can do a great deal" that it was int ini len 'po~yen tto repair the emion- "Can It can IT'" exclaimed Agnmes, sobbing moos imjimy which she ind done imii, amd ittat 'all convulsively "Blessed hearing ! but the means- she coulh now do was but a poor amends; still it the means was affictimig to see how amixiusisly she watchietd his tIt is very certain," lie replied, "that lie expe- steps whmeneven he chose tokwatenr alone from riences gmleat delight when lie sees you, amid sees home, amid what pains shin took to make him icat younceo geaplod gii hrvice amid vhien lie lives in his peson, and cleanly in his appearance. I1er with you, aid sees you again where lie has been child and herself were clothed in coarse apparel, accustomed to see you-"Pbut she bought for her father eVeryting of the accYou advise his living with me, thenI". inter-' best materials ; and altered as lie was, Fitzhienry rupted Agnes with eagerness, still looked like a gestleiimm. r I (hti, mtst stremiuiushy," replied the doctor. Sometimes lie set1ed in every respect so like "Blessings on -ou for those words !" answered himself, that Agnes, hurried away, by hen imagine Agnmes; "they said you would oppose it. You are tion, Would, after gazing oi him sontie iite, start a wise amid-a kitud-hmemrted man." frtim her seat, seize his huiad, antI brentimless With " Iy dear child," rejoined thi doctor, "when an hope, address him as if lie were a rational being, evil catt he 1ured, itshould %at least be alleviated.' when a laugh of vacancy, or a spech full of tie "You thimk it can't be cured, then I" again in- inconsistency of phrensy, would send ier back to terrumpted Agnes. . hen chair agaim, with a pulse quickened, and a cheek Smot absolutely so; I know not whlat a course flushed with tin fever of disappiite -expt'tio. ofe medicine, amd living with you as much inn your ever, lie certainly was pleased with lhenatr old way as possible, umay do for- him. Let iiire- temitioms; but, alas!I lie kiiew nt -vhmo was thin be- sume his usual ay abits liiiusual walks, live as near stowe of them; lie knew it itht the frtilm woe ounfrme habitation as you possibly cn; let him ingratitude onhonseteath lie still hpmented inhis beahis pmuis so nd e smuchl with him ravings i the dead of the iigit, was retuneth to Swith him,"nrsumedthedco.mro bnrddhrhpeelasapa as you can" coitrive to be; aid if you should not succor, to s'thin, amd to devote herself entirely succeed in makimg hum rational again,eou Will atohes service. He ietrt lien, hut lie knew her least make hum happy-"-nt;lie saw hier, but iiher lie want certain that dHappy ! I a him happy now I" exclaimed he elield his child ; and thiswis thn pang tht Agmoes, pacig rtheedoom in - ita-g6ey. of imt preyed on the cheek ,adtwithered tme frameof him happy o e h-but nw-a Agies; but she cntiued to hope, aid patiently "Yu must hue someone to sleep in thn noomnes mIduredthi paim to -dayexpectimg tin joy of to- with him," resumed thi ae awels orrow;miorodidoy lienopes always anipeir ill- "No, no," cried Agnes impatiently; "no om e rfonirded. iall rwaiti thio but myselfie will attend h . first day that Ag 'es led him to the garden day nihnighit a fd m ce his o iso, hliemnitiougheve walkwith eager fi'Amid should your stremg; be worn out by such deltghit; but lie seemed sursedamidancgmy to see incessant wateig who would take came of diiae i tlhien cotigm ass goig it, as ned not few then Remnemnber, you are bht mortal." flowers that remanmed chitiketh up -with weetds, amid Ages shook her heah, amid was silent, began to phuck up tinewees with hasty violemrce. "Besides, tiestrength of a m Ams ay sometimes "It is time to go htoee," sai Agnes to fhitfm;just be necessary;- and,' fom'liii sake as well as yours, I usSine day begami to close in, amid Fitzimmry uimne must insist on being obeyed." immediately Waked to iedmord wich led into the "You s hall be obeyed," said Agnes, mournfully. hiousze, amid fimndimng it locked, hooked surprised;- thieh Turhen ow,1rejoimed lie, "let m give ymu my turning to Ages, lie asked hienif she had iot tme adwtice relative to diet, medicine, and matagemnt." key i len pocket; amidou e telling him that This lie did in detail, as ie fou d Agnes hind amingd that i nt hise ionme,h fitted t in hme tvi Capacious enough to understand his systons;*,amid deftly with great distress amid rehuctammee, andl was proniisiag to answer lien letters immediately, -whemn- Continually looking back at it, as if he did not know ever ishin wrote to him fur advice, he took an afffec-I how to believe her. tionate farewell of lien; amid Agnes amid hem father, 0mm this, little circumstance 'poolrfugnes lay rum- aceompamied by a mami whom the doctor had pro- minatimig thin whole night after unithu joyful expec.- cured for thme purpose, set off for-'-. tatiorms; mn iudse repaired to thin garden at day- Faun was waiving at - She cottage with little break, wvith a gardener vhmomn mime hired, to mamke Edward to receive them; but the dejected counte- thme valks hook mas mmuthi as possible as they fonmner- 1.anceof1Agns -1reludedll neessityofVas IFig id. But they eamitted to tie up soine strag I AGNES. 'p I page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] s8 A nUrLI4 I AGNES. gling flowers; and when Agnes, Fanny, and the strength to the hopes of Agnes however, she a cottager, accompanied Fitzhenry thither the next thePleasure to see that her father not onlysee ed evening, though he seemed conscious of the im to be attached to ert, but pleased with little d Provenent that had taken place, he was distubed ward. at seeing some gilliflowers trailing along the She had indeed taken pains jo teach him to eil. ground, and suddenly turning to Agnes, he e de amuee tak r; - . "Why do you not hindup these I" had theortificatio of hearing, when fits of n'ud To do these little offices in the garden, and keep laughter from tihe child reached hei ar, "Edward the parterre in order, was formerly her emplt was only laughing at gral dpapa's odd faces and encut. What delight, then must these wordsoyf actions,y mama;" and having at lart taught him Fitzhenry, so evidently the result of an association that it was wicked to lauah at such od bacan in his mind between her and his daughter, have his grandthwierwas not well when lie distorted his excited in Agnes ! With a trembling hand v anda face,etheart was nearly as much wrung by the glowing cheek ste obeyed; and titZhenry, with pityiviich he expressed; formuhwr the manifest satisfaction, saw her tie up every strag.. casional slight fits of p rawh ee Fitzhe'oe gling flower in the garden, while .e eagerly fol- little Edward -would ery attached nitzmy, lowed her, and bent attentively over.hei- lie is not well now; I wish we rould make im At last , when she had goe the whole round of well, mamma!" But oi te whole akeason the flower beds lie exlaiied,sr Good girl! good to be tolerably cheerful. lie had reason girl !"sand putting his arm round her waist, sud- -.Every evening, when the weather was fine, deny kissed her cheek. Agnes, holding her father's arm wa seen taking f Snedrovrs e thy, e mtion dif cult to be de- her usual walk, her little boy ga m bowlln before fined, overcame the irritable frame of Agnes, and them; and never, in theii most prosperous hours, she fell senseless tothe ground, .ut the care of were they met with lbwe curtsies, or bows more anny soon recovered er, h gain; and' the first respectful, than on theseoccasbsmore question she asked was, rhw er father (whom she ,grasped with affectionate is; and imny a one saw in great agitation running round the garden) handof Fitzhenry, and the feverish hand of Agnes; behaved when lie saw her fall. for even the most rigid hearts were softened in fa- seHe raised you up" replied Fanny, "and vor of Agies, when they beheld the ravages which seemed so distressed. l would holds- the salts to grief had made in her form, and gszed on her coun- your nose himself, aid would scarcely suffer me to tenance, which spoke in forcible language the sad- do anything for you but earing you mutter ness, yet resignation of her mid aShe night, if 'Father dear father as you began to come to .she, had chosen it, have been received at many ourelf lie changed color, and immediately houses, where she had'formerlybeeivedmatemanyu hmimn." eprumu the garden, a- you now see she declined it, as visiting would have interfered Sayo with the necessary labors utday,wmterfer it s enmore, my dear friend," cried Agnes; constant attention to her father, and with the edu- "it is enou me I am happy, quite happy; it is cation of her child. 'But when my father recov- clear that lie knew mae and Ihave again received er," said she to Fanny "as heiill be pleased to a father's erbrac Then hid'anxiety too while find that I am not deemed wholly unborthy of no- I am ill. Ohil there is no doubt now that he will tice, I shall have great satisfaction in visiting -with beO quite himself in time."hi. Perhaps he nay," rep lie perha selied Fanny! "but--" To be brief. Another year elapsed, and Agnes "But! and perhaps I" cries Agies pettishly ; still hoped, and Fitzhenrycomntieued the same to I tell you he will, lie certainly oill recover; and every eye but hers. Sie every day fancied that those arean timy friemids who doubt it." So say- his symptoms of returing ron fnreased, and ing, she ran hastily forward to meet heer father, no one of her fWends dared toconmtradi sdter. But ho was joyfully hastening towards h'er, leaving in order, if possible, to accelerate his recovery she Funny grieved ad astonish ed at er petulance. had resolved to carry him to Lods recve But few anre the tem ser at are proof against the best advice that themeto lidn; to received central anxietyildi the souring nluence of still Fitzhenry was attacked byranaute coedplaint, renewed and still disap hinted hope ; and even which confined hii to his bed. ahis event, instead Agnes, tie once gentle Ag 'es, if contradicted on of alarming Agnes, redoubled her hopes. She in- this subject, became agry and umujuist. sisted that it was the crisis of his disorder, and x- Buto he wlas niver conscious of having given pected that health and reasomi wouldretu nto- gretoan an feae stdes of , without bitter re- gethier. Not for onemniment therefore would te great, an anearnest desire of healing the wound leave his bedside; and she would allow herself which sbe had made; and when leaving on her neither food nor rest, while with earnest attention father's arm, she returned towar's Faminy, and she gazed on the fast sinking eyes of Fitzear saw her im tears, he felt apang severer than that eager to catch'in them an expression of returning which she had inflicted, nd said everything that recognition. affection anid gratitude could dictate, to restore One (hay, after lie had been sleeping some her to tranquillity agaimi. Her agitation alarmed time, and she, as usual, was attentively watched Fitzhenry ;amd exlainigigbol a Poo thing " lie by him, he slowly and gradually awe; wad, at held the smeldiig bottle almost by force, to her last, raising himself on) his elbo, e oked round faise,and seemed terrified lest She was goimg to him with an expression of surprise,amd seeing You see, you see," said A Agnes, exclaimed, "My child I are you there "ouanny yend sen, sade Anetriumphantly, Merciful God! is this possible?" to Fanny; amd earny, made cautious by experi- Let those who have foryears been pining away nce, declared her conviction that hem- young lady life in fruitless expectation, and who see thwy mut know m ore of all matters than she ed id. selves at last possessed of the longer e' tnut month after nthelapsed, ando icircum- blessinoigrto ItaRMceiof sa similUm. ueocre ogv vfguet hmevsterpuso i I AGNES. SHe kiows me I He is himself again !" burst hero of that show, which, by its novelty aa from her quivering lips, unconscious that it was too parade, so much delighted him. while his smiles. probable that restored reason was here the fore- poor orplianm excited the tears of those around runner of isolution. himn. "0 my father !" she cried, falling on her knees, Just before the procession began to move, a bat not daring to look up at him-" 0 my father, post-chaise and four, with white favors, drove into forgive mie, if possible I I have been guilty but I the yard of the largest inn in the town. It con- am penitent." tailed Lordf and Lady Mountcarrol, who were Fitzhenry, as much affected as Agnes, faltered married only the day before, and were then on out, Thou rt restored to me, and God knows their way to her ladyship's country seat. how heartily I forgive thee I" Then raising her His lordship, who seemed imcapable of resting to his arms, Agnes, happy in the fulfilment of in one place for a niinute together, did nothing but her utmost wishes, felt herself once more pressed swear at the postilion for bringing them that road, to the bosom of the most affectionate of fathers. and express an earnest desire to leave the town " But surely you are not now come back ?" again aa fast as possible. asked itzhienry,. "I have seen you before, and While lie was gone into the stable, for the third very lately." - time, to see whether the horses were not suf- Seen me 0 yes 1" replied Agnes, with pas- ficiently refreshed to go on, a waiter came in to sionate rapidity; " for these last five years I have ask Lady Mountcarrol's commands, and at that seen you daily ; and for the last two years you moment the funeral passed tie window. The have lived with me, and I have worked to mai- waiter (who was the very servant that at Mr. Sey- tain you." mour's ad refused to shut the door against Ag- " Indeed I" answered Fitzhenry; "but how lies) instantly turned away his head, and burst pale and thin you are I You have worked into tears. This excited her ladyship's curiosity, too much. Had you no friends, my child I" and she drew from him a short but full account of " 0 yes and guilty as I have been, they pity, Agnes and her father. nay, they respect me, and we may yet be happy, He had scarcely finished his story when Lord as heaven restores you to my prayers. True, I Mountcarrol came in, saying the carriage was have suffered much, but this, blessed moment re- ready ; and no sooner hid his bride began to re- pays me; this is the only moment of true enjoy- late to him the story which she had just heard, iment which I have known since I left my 1home than he exclaimed in a voice of thunder, 4It is as and you I" false as hell,, adam i Miss Fitzhenry and her gnes was thus pouring out the hasty effusions child both died years'ago." Then rushing into the of her joy, unconscious that her father, overcome carriage, lie left Lady Mouitcarrol terrified and with affection, emotion, and, perhaps, sorrow- amazed at his manner. But when she was seat- ful recollections, was struggling in vain for utter- ing herself by his side, she could rinot help saying dance. that it was impossible for a story to be false, which At last! For so many years-and I-knew all the people in the inli averred to be true; and ou not-worked for me-attended me-bless I as lie did not offer to interrupt her, she went less, bless her, heaven Pi he faintly articulated, through the whole story of Agnes and her suffer- and worn out with illness, and cholsed with con- wings; but before she could proceed to comment ending emotions, he fell back on his pillow and on them, the procession, returning fiom church, expired!- crossed the road in which they were going, and That blessing, the hope of obtaining which alone obliged the postilion to stop. gave Aguies courage to endure contumely, pover- Foremost came little Edward, with all his mo. ty, fatigue, and sorrow,-.was for one moment her ther's beauty im his face. "Poor little orphan I" own, and then snatched from her forever I' No said Lady Mountcarrol, giving a tear to the memory wonder, then, that, when convinced her father was of Agnes. "See my lord, what a lovely boy I" really dead, she fell into a state of stupefaction, As she spoke, the extreme elegance of the cur- from which she never recovered ; and, at the same riage attracted Edward's attention, and sprimging time, were borne to the same grave, the Father from Fanny's hand, who in vain endeavored to hold and Daughter. lhim back, he ran up to the door to examine the figures on the panel. At that instant Lord Mount- carrol opened the door, lifted the child imto the chaise, and throwing his card f address to the as- The day of the funeral was indeed a melancholy tonishmed itiourners, ordered the servants to drive on one. They were attended to the grave by a as fast as possible. numerous procession 6f respectable inhabitants of They did so in despite of Mr. Seymour and both sexes, while the afflicted and lamenting oor others, for astonishment had at first deprived them followed mournfully at a distance. Even those of the power of moving: and before the witnesses who had distinguished themselves by their violence of this sudden and strange event had recovered against Agnes at her return, dropped a tear as their recollection, the horses had gone too far to be they saw her borne to her long home. Mrs. Mac- stopped. fiendy forgot her beauty and accomplishments in The card with Lord Mountcarrol's name explained her misfortunes and early death ;. and the mother what at first had puzzled and confounded, as well of the child who had fled from The touch of Agnes, as alarmed them; and Fanny, who had however felt sorry that she had evei- called her the wicked- fainted at sight of his lordship, because she knew est woman in the world. , him, altered as lie was, to be Edward's father, and But the most affecting part of the procession the bane of Agnes, now recovering herself, conjured was little Edward as chief mourner, led by Fanny Mr. Seymour to follow him immediately, and tell sad her husband, in all the happy insensibility of him that Edward was bequeathed to her care. hildhood, unconsciouis tat he was the pitiable Mr. Seymour .ipstantly,ordered post-horse* A a I, page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] s8 I AGNES. in about an hour after set off in pursuit of the kd- sir; from you, sir-flom you, as - as Aerfrie,4I napper. can bear anything." S pt the surprise and consternation of Fanny and Wordscoulan ot do justice to the agonies of the rest of the mourners were not greater than that Lord Mountcarrol, while Mr. Seymour, beginning of Lady Mountcarrol at sight of her lord's strange with Agnes' midnight walk to - , -went through conduct. a recital of her conduct and sufflerings, and hopes "What does this outrage mean, my lord ?" she and anxieties, ard ended with the miomentry re- exclaimed in a faltering voice, "mnd whose child is covery and death-sceine of her father. that r" But when Lor; Mountcarrol discovered that Agnes " It is my child, madam," replied lie; "and I will supposed his not making any inquiries concern- never resign hin. but with life." Then pressing the ing her or the child proceeded from brutal indif- astonished boy to his bosom, he for some minutes ference concerning their fate, and that, considering sobbed aloud-while Lady Mountearrol, though she him as a mobster of inhumanity, sie hiad regarded could not help feeling compassion for the agony him not only with contempt but abhorrence, and which the seducer of Agnes must feel at such a seemed to have dismissed him entirely from her moment, was not a little displeased and shocked at remembrance, he beat his breast, he cast himself on finding herself the wife of that Clifford, whose the floor with frantic anguish, hamenitinig in all the name she had so lately heard coupled with that of bitterness of fruitless regret, that Agues died with. vilain- out knowing how much lie loved her, and without But her attention was soon called from reflections suspecting that, while she was supposing him un- so unpleasant bythe cries of Edward, whose sur- naturally forgetful of her and her child, lie was prise at being seized and carried away by a stran- struggling with illness caused by her desertion, and ger now yielded to terror, and who, bursting from with a dejection of spirits which lie had never alto- Lord Mountearrol, desired to go back to his mam- gether been able to overcome - execrating at the ma, Fanny, and Mr. Seymour. same time the memory of his fqtlher and Wilson, " What! and leave your own father, Edward ?" whom lie suspected of having deceived him. asked is agitated parent. "Look at me-I am To conclude. Pity for the miserfhnd compune- your father; but I suppose your mother, as well tion of Lord Mountearrol and a sense of the advan- she ought, taught you to hate me i" tages both in education and fortune that would " ny mother told me it was wicked to hate any- accrue to little Edward from living with his father, body; and I am sura, I have no papa; I had a prevailed on Mr. Seymour and the husband of gradpapa, but lie is gone to heaven along with Fanny to consent to his remaining where he was; my mammiiia, Fanny says, and she is my mamma and from that day Edward was universally known now." And again screaming and stamping with as the son of his lordship, who ininiediately made impatience, he insisted on going back to her. a will bequeathing him a considerable fortune But at lenigit, by promises of riding on a fine Lord Mountearrol was then sinking fast into his horse, and of sending for Fanny to ride with hini, grave, the victim of his former vices, ad worn to lie was pacified. Then with artless readiness he the bone by the corroding consciousness that Agnes related his mother's way of life, and the odd ways ha'd died in the persuasion of his having brutally of his grandpapa. And thus by acquaintirg Lord neglected her. That was the severed pang of all I Mountcarrol with the sufferings and the virtuous She had thought him so vile that she could not for exertions of Agnes. lie increased Iris horror of his a moment regret him. own conduct, and his regret at not having placed Hhe such~~~~~~~~ aHoa tteha fIi aiy Bt Iis first wife lie despised because shie was weak such a woman at the head of his famly. But and illiterate, and hated because she broulit him whenice arose the story of her death he had yet to n. learn.no children. His second wife was too'amiable to leare. be disliked; but, though he survived his marriage In a few hours they reached the seat which he with her two years, she also failed to produce a bad acquired by his second marriage; and there too' heir to-the title. And while he contemplated in in an hour after, arrived Mr. Seymour and the hus- Edward the mind and person of his iotber, lie was band of Fanny... almost frantic with regret that ie was not legally Lord Mountearrol expected this viit, and received his son ; and be cursed the hour when w ith short- them courteously; while Mr. Seymour was so sur- sighted cunning he sacrificed the honor of Agnes praised at seeing tIe once healthy and handsome -i. Clifford changed to an emaciated valetudinarian to his views of family aggrandisenent. and carrying in his face the marks of ha4bitual in t But, selfish to the last moment of his existence, 1" twas a consciousness of his own niis('rv, riot of that temperance, that his indignation was fix a moment i' rots iser sons lost in pity. But recovering himself, lie told his i which e iflieted, which prompted is expressions lordship that Ie came to demand justice for the of misery and regret; and he grudged and envied outrage which lirehad commiitted,an in the nm outag wic h hacmmttdarid in thnm Agnes the comfort of having been able to despise of a friend to whom Miss Fitzlhenry hiad, in case ofad regret him. her sudden death, bequeathed her child, to insist on his being restored to her. * We wil settle that point 'presently," replied Lord Mountearrol ; "but first I conjure you to tell Peace to the memory of Agnes Fitzhenry:- me all that has happened, since we parted, to her And may the woman who, like her, has been the whose nanre I have not for years been able to re- victim of artifice, self-confidence, and temptation, peat, and whom, as well as this chdd, I have also like her endeavor to regain the esteem of the world fr years believed dead." 4 by patient suffering and virtuous exertion, and look "I will, mly lord," answered Mr. Seymour; "but forward to the attainment of it with confidence I 1 warn you, that if you have any feeling it will be But may she whose innocence is yet secure, and krtured by the narration.' whose virtues still boast the stamp of chastity, which "If 1 have any feeling I" he replied ; " but go on, can alone make them current' in the world, tremble it ( AGN1ES so I with horror at the idea of listening to the voice of doomed to pine with fruitless remorse at the Oon- ducer, lest the image of a father, a mother, a sciousness of having destroyed thrt of another. bthe dr, sse.o some other fellow-being, whose For where is tire mortal w~Ireean venture to pro, brother, a sister, orse d by her deviation nounce that his actions are of importance to ir from virtue, should haunt her path through life; one, and that the consequence of bnr irues orlNO ird she sho u miht, perhaps. have contemplated vices will be confined to hi melf a\ r with fortitude the wreck of her own happinas. bk 09 I I page: 90 (Advertisement) -91 (Advertisement) [View Page 90 (Advertisement) -91 (Advertisement) ] DICE & FITZGERALD'S CATALOOcUjME. X aroand's Fortune-Teller and Chesterfield's Letter-Wtgr and Com reame'a Dictionary. ~Containing 'a p.late Book of Etiduette; or (onci complete Didtionary of Dreams, Alphabeti. yematid -Directions for- Arranpng a ., caly arranged, with a clear iuterpretation of Witing Letters. Also, Model C rrespon. each Dream, and the Lucky Numbers that dence in-Friendship andBusmnesh, and a great belong to them. Also showing how to tell variety of Model Love Letters. This work Fortunes by the Wonderful adid Mysterious is also a Complete Book of Etiquette. You Ladies' Love Oracle; How to Foretell the will find more real information in this book Sex and Number of Children; How to Make than in half-a-dozen volumes of the more ewo a Ioer or Sveetheart come to You; To tell pensive ones. This book contains 136 pages, whether your Lover or Sweetheart Loves and is bound in pasteboard sides, with cloth You; How to Tell any Person's Age; To back. Price----------------------30 eta, know wio your future Husband will be, nd how soon you will be Married; To ascertain Etiquette and the Usages of Society. whether your Husband or Wife is True to Containing the most approved Rules for Cor- You; How to Tell FutureEvents with Cards, rect Conduct in Social and Fashionable Life; Dice, Tea and Coffee Grounds, Eggs, Apple- with Hints to both Gentlemen and Ladies on Parings, and the Lines of the Hand; How to Awkward and Vulgar Habits. Also, the tcll a Person's Character by Cabalistic Cal- Etiquette of Love and Courtship, Marriage culations, etc. By MADAxE LE MARCeAND, Etiquette, etc., etc. By H. P. WILLIS. A the celebrated Paisian Fortune-Teller. Il- book of 64 pages. Price-----------10 eta. lustrated with a Steel Frontispiece and nu- Bound in cloth with gilt side, and merous Wood Engravings. This book con- printed on fine paper, suitable for a tahls 144 pscand is bound in pasteboard present to a lady---------------25 ets. with cloth back. Price, -----30 ets, The Sociable; or, One Thousand and Oned rhe Book of 1000 Tales and Amus- oe. uemns otiin.cioro ing Adventures. Containing over 30 Hems Ausemenets. Containg ActingPro. Engravigs and 430 pages. This is a mag- verbs, Dramatic Charades, Acting Charades, nficen okadiicamd auloft . or Drawing-room 1antomimesMusical Bur., niivent book, an tu is crammed full of the lesques, Tableaux Vivants, Parlor Games, narratives and adventures of travelers, the Games of Action, Forfeits, Scionce in Sport romantic tales of celebrated warriors, amu. and Parlor Magic, and a choice collection of sing stories in Niatural History, besides a cuismnaad -hiwlPzeet. thousand things relating to curious tricks, curious, mental and mechanical Puzzles, etc- sports, pastimes games. illustrated with nearly 3O Engravings and entertaining sparramsastheswhod aanever- The liook is worth ten times the price we ask Dia rams, thewhole being a fud of never- for it. Price ------------. -------...$1 25 ending -entertamment. By the author of "The Magician's Own Book." Nearly 404 Ladies' Guide to Crochet. By Mrs. ANN ages, 12mo, cloth, gilt side stamp. I. STEPIIENs. Copiously illustrated With Irice---------.---------------$1 231, original and very choice designs in Crochet, etc., printed in colors, separate from the let- Rarey & Knowlson's Complete Horse ler press, on tinted paper. Also with num- Tamer and Farrier. Comprising the erouswood-cuts printed with the lette'-press, whole theory of Taming or Breaking the explanatory of terms, etc. Oblong, pp.117, Horse, by a New and Improved Method, a beautifully bound im extra cloth, gilt. This practiced with great success in the United work has the terms in Crochet so clearly ex- States and in all the Countries of Europe, by planned, that any Crochet pattern, however I- 5- IAREY, containing Rules for selecting a difficult, may be worked with case. good Horse, for Feeding Horses, etc. Also, Price------------------- - 1 00 THE COMPLETE FARRIER pr, Horse Doctor; a Guide for the Treatment of Horses in all 8Richardson's Monitor of Free-Mason- Diseases to which that noble animal is liable, ry. . A complete Guide to the various Cere- being the result of fifty yeats' extensive prac. monies and Routine in Free-Masons' Lodges, tice of 'the author, by Josse C. KNowLsoN. Chapters, Encampments. tierarchies, etc., during his life, an English Farrier of high etc., in. all the Degrees, whether Modern, popularity, containing the latest discoveries Ancient, Ineffable, or Historical; containing in the Cure of Spavin. Illustrated with de- t gns, Tscriptive Engravings. Bound in boards, with and descriptions of the tealia and Jewels, clothiback. Price--------------30 ets and likewise the Passwords and other Secret Words in each Degree. Profuselyillustrated The Everlasting Fortune-Toller and with Explanatory Engravings and Plates. Magnetic Dream-Book. Containing the BV JABEZ t A sn -, A. M. Any Society the Science of Foretelling events by the of Maso~s who wish to work in the higher Signs of the Zodiac ; Lists of Lucky and Un- Degrees, or in any Degree whatever, Will lucky Bays, with Presages drawn therefrom; find this book an invaluable aid to them. List of Fortunate Hours; Phy siogynomy, or 192 pages, bound in gilt cloth. Prgonostics drawn from the color and nature Pries-------------------------75 ets of the Hair of Men and Women, also from If sealed op with scaling-wax, and letter their whole nssemblage of features ; the Sei- postage paid--------------------$1 00 ence of Foretelling Events by Cards, Dire, &rt of Dancing without a Master' or, Dominoes, etc.; the Science of Foretelling Ball Roo Guide and Instructor. To which anything in the future by Dreams; and also is added hints on Etiquette; also, the containing NAPOLEON's ORAcuLUM, or the Figures, Music, and Necessary Instructions Book of Fate, found in the Cabinet of Napo- for the performance of the most Modern end leon Bonaparte. Price only--.25 eta. Improved Dances. By EnwAn FERREog Professor of Dancing at West Point. E the Narratives and Adventures of Trav- aid of which any one can attain a knowledge elers in Africa. Illustrated with nura- of the Art of banking without a Master. crous fine Engravings, and containing a Map This work also contains 105 pages of the of Africa, on which the routes of Dr. piving- Choicest Music, arranged for the piino-forte stone and Dr. Barth are accurately traced. by the most celebrated professors. Thus you Large 12mo, gilt back. Price-....-..t 25 can obtain a History of Dancing, Hints on Etiquette. theFiguresandStepsofall Dances, The Chairman and Speaker's Guide; and Ten Dollars' worth of the choicest Music or, Rules for the Orderly Conduct of Publia for one dollar and a quarter. Price, $1 25 Meetings,-------------.......Price 10 ets. 0"' Any Book on this List will be sent to any address in the United States or Canada, Free qf Postage. Send Cash Orders to DICK & FITZGERALD, 18 Ann St., N.Y. DICK & FITZGERALD'S CATALOGUE. Tmb Art of Conversation. With remarks . Xrs. lliburton's Troubles. A Novel j Fashion and' Addresh. By MRS. MABER. By rs. sENrY WOOD, author of, *"EaA xy. This is the best book on the subject Lyne," etc. Paper covers--------50 etc. ever published. Is contains nothing that-is Cloth-------- -------------.7 ete. verbose or difficult to understand, b.ut all the . "This is ona of the best novels published instructions and rules for Conversation are for a season. The plot is interesting, intri- given in a plain and common-sense manner cate, and well carried out; the cLitracters so that any one, however dull, can easily are life-like, and the writing simple and comprehend them. 64 pages octavo, large. natural. There is nothing forced, nothing Price.....--------------------------25 ets. disjointed or unfinished about it; np dis- crepancies in the story.'' Anecdotes of Liove. Being a true account Irpnisi h tr. of the most remarkable events connected Gervase Castonel; or, The Six Grey Pow- with the history of Lovq in all A ges and ders. By the author of "East Lynne; or. among -all Nations. By LOLA MONTEZ, The Earl's Daughter." Large octave. Countesss of Landsfoldt. Large 12mo, cloth. Price.........................25 et. These romantic and surprising ane dotes "So full of incidents, so exciting in every really contain all of the most tragic and age, so admirably written, that one hardly comic events connected with the history of Enows how to go to bed without reading tbe the tender passion among all Nations and in last page." all Ages of the World. Price. 1 25 The Heir to Ashley. By the author of Lady. Audley's Secret. By Missan i B.ocaastLynne; or, The Earl's Danghter BRiADiJON. This novel lias, caused an im- large octavo. Price............. 50ate mense excitement in London, and-will have Castle Wafer; or, The Plain Gold Ring, an enormous bal u here. The English press 1 By the author of "East Lynne; or, The pronounce it to hofr superior to "THE W O" Earl's Daughter." Large octave. MAN IN Wini," "EAsT LYNNesE," or any of Price..........................50 ate. the celebrated novels that have made their appearance in the literary.world for the- past Barren Vonour. A Novel. By tho autbt two or three. 3ears, and, the furore, it has of "Guy Livingston," "The Sword and created threatens to make for it a sale even Gown," etc. Large octavo. Price..5t t. greater than Victor liugo's Les Aliserables. "This is a talo of remarkable power. It Paper. ri---......... -5 ss.et' displays a force of description, and a dra- Cloth.-.--------------------------g.5 eta. matic- completedness, we have seldom seen a r passed. We all remember how the first Darrell Markhazn; or, The Captain of the work of this author-'Guy Livingston'-- Vulture. A Novel., BY Miss M. E.BRADDoN, fell upon the readin public like a bomb. author of "Lady Audley's Secret," aurora shell, and was a comp eto success. 'IBarren loyd," "John Marchmont's Legacy," "Tho Honour' will sustain his well-carned repu- Lady Lisle," etc. This is another novel by tation-Londos Observer. the author of "Lady Audley's Secret,"who, is now being read, talked about, and ad- Rory O'More. A Romance. By SAWcUL mired more than any writer of fiction of the LovEn. This. work is illustrated, and con- day. Paper. Price.---..---------50 eta. tains 230 octavo pages. All are familiar with cloth.....-75 eta. the fun, humor, and wit, which pre to be found in every line of this national romance. The Lady Lisle. A Novel. By the author P ice...............-...........50 eta. of"LAdy Audiley'sSecrett" "AuroraFloyd," etc. It is an animated, interesting, wellcon- Handy Andy. A Novel. By SAMUET. Lovri. utructed novel, written'in a pleasant, flowing Handy Andy speaks for itself to tho hearts style, that contributes largely to hold the at- of all gay, jolly, and mirth-loving folks. It mention which the ingenuity of its plot will, we have no doubt, be a favorite with awakens. Paper. Price-........ -50 etas. the public. Price...-..--------------0.at Cloth..................-......75 eta* Treasure Trove; or, Accounts with Irish PHeirs: X s.d. Large octavo. One of Lover's Ea.st Lyne or, The Earl's Daugter. By best. Price-.---------------30 ets. Paper. Price..................50 eta. Cyrilla. A Novel. By the author, of "At Cloth------ ------------------.75 et. Odds," "Quits," "The Initials," etc. Oc 'tavo, paper. Price----------- -.50 eta. displays a forceof description and a dramatic Fontaines GoldenWheel Dream-Book cmetneswhich has seldom been sur- and Fortue-Teller. By FissiX FOX- passed. The interest of the narrative inten- 'rAixr m t onortune-Tlllerlind Astrologgr.)Being sifies itself to the deepest pathos. The closing the most complete book on Fortune-Telling scene is in the highest degree tragic, and the and Interpreting Dreams ever printed.cach whole story exhibits unquestionable genius Dieam has the atacrd tUuF whichtho a nd originality."-London Daily'Kews. Dream signifies attached to it, ans wtlsowho wish to tpurhaseLottery Tikets will do wsll Barney O'Riordon; or, The Adventures of to consul tthon. This book soiifor ou a Bashful Irishman. We need hardly say how to TELL FOReaNS with thoe Golde that this entertaining and very humorous Wheel, Verde, ei and Dominoes; how to work is from the versatile pen of Samuel fnd where to dig for water, coDltiin-all kinds Lover, Eq., whose expressions in describing -of metals, with the celebrated ivselo yon, the scenes and heroes of his fancy have Chars to mke your Sweetheart love you cracked many a side, and convulsed many a to make ou Lover pop the estiou 40 countenance with laughter. Prico-.25 ets. getheith'14,et Ways of Tisiofcu tunes tin ew Year's Eve. This book con- Legends and Stories of Ireland; or, t ins 144 pages, and is bond in pstehost The Adenture4 of Fadty Mulownecy. Mr. sides with cloth back. It is illustrated w.if Lover has here produced- his best work of numerous engravings. This hookEngroet- fiction, which will survive when half the tains alrgednolorcl Lithgaphie ongri. 1rish sketches with which the literary woldi ing of thaGoen ur Wheel, ithich folks up. teems, are forgotten. Price..2.....,.2is5the tp epes on our lit. Price, 30 e$. MV" Any Book en this Litill be sent ko an adidresIn the United States or Canada, Frg f yestate.hSnd Cash Order t 1 a C & FITGERALD, 18 Ann8.1. A 1! h ~ji I page: 92 (Advertisement) -93 (Advertisement) [View Page 92 (Advertisement) -93 (Advertisement) ] DICX K& FITZG E RALD' CATALOGUE- Strange Stories of a Detective Officer; The Parlor Magician; or One andre or, Curosities of Crime. By an ex-Detec- Tricks for the Drawing-Room, containing an tive. There is something exceedingly fasci- Extensive and Miscellaneous Collection of nating in stories like these. Beyond the in- Conjuring and Legerdemain; Sleights witl terest engendered by the nature of the nar- Die Dominoes, Cards, Ribbons, Rings,- rative, the roa4er gets to sympathize in the Fruit Coin, Balls, Handkerchiefs, etc., all pursuit of the crimirn, and -watches with of which may be Performed in the Parlor or relish the closing of the net around the ob- Drawing-Room, without the aid of anyappa- ject of thoi officer's pursuit. Some of these ratus; also embracing a choice variety 'of contests of crime with the agents of justice Curious Deceptions which may be performed are exceedingly amusing -1"The Ebony with the aid of simple ecppara s; the whole Box," for instance, where sturdy honesty illustrated and clearlyeplained with f21 and a keen perception of character are n- cng-uraings. Paper covers, price--25 ets. e atsetof rascals, to the discom- Bound in boards, with cloth back-..3 ets. o r. Price- 50 eta. The - Book of 500 Curious Puzzles. The 'cian's Own 'Book, contai.in. Containing a large collection of entertaining Tevera mdrea usiwng Booantai nlng Paraftoxes, Perplexing Deception in num- several aunred amusing Magnetical, Elec- hers, and Amusing Tricks in Geometry. By trial and Chemical Experiments, Sleight- the author of "The Sociable,'' "The Secret of-Hand and Card Tricks, Perplexing rnu Out," "The Magician's Own Book." Illus, Nub, Estertaining Tricks and Questions in trated with a Great Variety of Engravings. treated with over 500 Wood Eng ravine ,12mos This book will have a large sale. It will cloth, gilt side and back stap, 400 ages , furnish Fun and Amusement for a wholo c e mp, s winter. Paper covers. Price.---25 ets. Price---------------------------.--. $1 25 Bound in boards, with cloth back---38 ets. The Secret Out; or, One Thousand Tricks Book of Riddles and Five Hundred with Cards. A Book which explains all the Home Amusements,'containing a Choice Tricks and Deceptions with Playing Cards and Curious Collection of Riddles, Charades, ever known or invented. This book con- Enigmas, Rebuses, Anagrams, Transposi. tains, in addition to its numerous Card tions, Conundrums, Amusing Puzzles, Queer Tricks above described, full and easily under- Bleights, Recreations in Arithmetic, Fireside stood explanations of some two hundred and Gaines, and Natural Magic, embracing En- orty of the most curious, amusing, and in.. tertaining Amusements in Magnetism, Chem- teresting Sleight-of-Hand Tricks everinvent- istry, Second Sight, and Simple Recreations ed, and which are illustrated by Engravings ia Science for Family and Social Pastime, il- to make cach Trick understood with ease. lustrated with sixty engraviigs. Illustrated by about 300 Engravings, and Paper covers, price-------------- 5 ets. hound in a handsome gilt binding. It con- Bounid in boards with cloth back --2_3s ets. trains about four hundred pages.- Parlor Tricks with Cards, containing Ex- Price-------------------------. $1 25 planations of all the Tricks and Deceptions with Playing Cards ever invented, embracing The Gamm of Draughts or Checkers Tricks with Cards performed by Sleight-of- Simplified and Ex lined With Prac- Hand; by the aid of Menory,*Mental Cal- tical Diaigrams and Iliustrations, together culation,. and Arrangement of the Cards; with a Checker-board, numbered and printed the aid of Confederacy, and T ricks Per- in red. Containing the Eighteen Standard by the aid of Prepared Cards. The Games, with over 200 of the best variations whole illustrated and made plain and easy, selected from the various authors, together willu seventy engravings, with many original ones never before pub- per cver s, lised B D.Sc TE~ooD Eundinclt,, apercovers, price...---.----.----.--25 ets* ished.x B ce. PSriao --- --ound in cloth Bound in boards with cloth back... .38 eta . with flexible corer. Price- .38 eta. The Book of Fireside Games. Contain. W0O Tricks with Cards. J. Ir. Green, the ing an Explanation of the most entertaining Reformed Gambler, has just authorized the Games suited to the Family Circle as a Re- publication of a new edition of his book en- creation, such as-Games of Action, Games titlcItI"Gamblers' Tricks withCardsExposcd which merelyrequire attention, Games which and Explaimed." This is a book of 00 pages, require memory, Catch Games, which have and t gxpos aid explains all the mysteries for their objects Tricks or Mystification, of the Ganbling Table. It is interesting Games in which an opportunity is afforded to not only fQ those who play, but to those who display Gallantry, Wit, or some slight know. do not., 0l1 Players will get some new ideas ledge of certain Sciences, Amusing Forfeits, faom lius curious book. Price.....25 cts. Fireside Games for Winter Evening Amuse. !ourtshai ]~ade Easy' or. Tue Art of meant, etc. Paper covers, price-.---25 ets. CoutsipI-ldeEay o o. he reP/ Bound in boards, with lt t Making Lore futty Explained. Containing ut ba---38 et. full and minute directions for conducting a Pettingil'S Perfect Fortune-teller and Courtship wth Ladies of every age and posi- Dream-Book; or TnE ART OF DsEaING- tion in society, and valuable information for FUTURE EVENTs. This is a most complete persons who desire to enter the marriage Fortune-Toller and Dream-Book, and is 'e ,forms of Love-letters t used of the best ever printed.-It is compiled with on certain occasions. 04 pages. great care from authentic authorities on As- Price--a----------------------12 trology, Geomancy, Chiromancy, Necroman. ,Prie ------------------------ 1 c cy.gSpiritual Philosophy, ec., bte. Amorng How to Win and How to Wed. Con- too sul'ects treated of are Casting ativi- taming Rules for the Etiquetto of Courtship, ties by the Stars; Telling Fortunes by Lines wi th rec ions showing how to win the favor on the Hand, by Moles on the Body, by turn. of Ladies, how to begin and end a Courtship, ing Cards, by Questions of Destiny. by rhy-: and how Love-letters should be written. sical Appearances, by the Day of Birth, etc.-; Priee..-.---.---.---- -----------it eta. Signs of Character froni the Shape oftise Fin'- he Laws of Love. A Complete Code of the Ny, the Shapfthe ye. ta ;narkslon Gallantry. Containing concise rules for the signs to choose Husbands and Wires, etc. conduct of Courtship through its entire pro- Indeed, it is the most complete and curious gross, aphor.is of love, rules for telling the Book of Destiny ever printed. Everything iaracters eand dispositions of women, r2me- you can think of as to fate or fortune is here dies for love, and an Epistolary Code, l2mo. explained. A book of 144 pages, bound in Paper. Price------------------25 eta, boards, with cloth back. Price-..30 eta, 10 Any Book on this List will be sent to any address in the United States or Canada, Fees /1Potge. Send Cash Orders to DICK & PITZGERALD4 18 Arm St., r.. Y. DICE & FITZGERAI the Beasou Why: General Science. .caorarei collection of iiothousands of *reasons for things, which, though generally known, are imperfectly understood. A book of condensed seortific knowledge for the iil- lion. By the author of "1Inquire Within.') It is a handsome 12mo volume, of 336 pages, printed on fine paper, bound in cloth, gilt, andembellished with a largo number of wood cuts, illustrating the various subjects treated of. This work assigns reasons for the thou- sands of things that daily fall under the eye ofthe intelligent observer, and of whieh he secks a simple and clear explanation. Price . ---.----.--------------- 5 1 25 The Biblical Reason Why: A HAND- Boos ros lBIrIcAe STUDENTs, and a Cuide to Family S.ripture Readings. By the an- . thor of "Inquire Within," etc. Beautifully illustrated, largo l2mo, cloth, gilt side and back. This work gives Reasons, founded upon the Bible, and assigned by the most eminent Divines and Christian Philosophers, for the groat and all-absorbing events record- ed in the History of the Bible, the Life of our Saviour, and the Acts of his Apostles. This volume answers upwards of 1400 questions. Price-------------------------.-$1 25 Tho Reason Why: Natural History. .By the author of "InluireWithin,"1 oTh biblical Reason Why," etc. l2no, cloth, gilt side and back. Giving Reasons far hun- dxeds of interesting facts in connection with Zoology, nd throwing a light upon the pe- oIi ,abits and instincts of the various Ord her of the Animal Kingdom. This vol- ume answers about 1300 uestions. Price--an-wers - -..-.........$1 25 The Devout Chuchman'ls Companion;, or, A Faithful Guide in Prayer, Mediation, and the Reception of the Holy Euchanst, Edited by the Right Rev. W. H. OsDENIMIi- ra, A.M., B'shop of New Jersey, author of "'Young Churchman Catechiied,'' "The True Catholic no Roaanist," etc. The merits of this standard work are too well known to need comment. The" Companion" will find a place in the library and closet of every true "Churchman." lmo, cloth, beveled boards, and red edges. rrico..---.------------------------$1 00 Te Corner Cupboard; or, Facts for Bverpbod. By the author of "Inquire Within," " The Reason Why," etc. Largo 12mo, 400 pages, cloth, gilt side and back, il- lustrated with over one thousand Engrav- ings. Embracing Pacts about-I. Things not generally known. IL Things that ought to be known.. III. Things worth knowing. Whether in the parlor or the kitchen, the chamber or the boudoir, at home or abroad, it may be very alppropriate- ly called the Family's, eady Adviser. Price------------------------$ M & Inquire Within, FoR ANYT1No U wanT TO icNOW. A book of Universal Knowledge, containing more than three thousands Facts for-the People, and will give you correct in- formation on every possible subjcctthat you ever heard or thought of I Vihethr yo may desire to make love, to a pretty girl, c cook a dinner-to cure a sick friend or cut an acquaintaLne-to get up a'dinner party o dine abroad-to play at cards, at chess, c any other popular game, or go to church- whether you wish to establish yourself in lif eceordisi to the rules of etiquette, or live iin a plain, genteel way-this is a book that tell low to do t. It is the mostwonderful ns valuable book over printed. Price__$1 25 5D'S CATALOGUE. Live and Learn: a Guide for all who wish to Speak and Write correct; particularly intended as a Boots of Reference for the solu- tion of difficulties connected with Grammar, Composition, Punctuation, etc., etc., wils explanation of Latin and French words and phrasesof frequent occurrence in newspapers, reviews, periodicals, and books in general, ' containing examples of one thousand mis- takes, of daily occurrnc, in peaking, writ- ing, and pronuncmlatieii.qk21 pages, cloth, 12mo. Price -------------------063 eta, LI r a .0 II '3 (5 Amy Bog k on this List will be sent to any address iathe united States or Cansaiw pf Pt'esleBoSnd Cash Orders to DICK~ & FMITZEALD, 18 Anu Ut4 N. Y. L Epitome of Braithwaite'3 Iotrospect of Prp-ctical Iedicine anid Surfory containing aconense simniary of the nos important cases; their Treatment and alt the Remedies, and other useful matters em- braced in the Forty Volumes-the wholo being alphabetically classiiled. By WALTER S. wIELs, M. D. Two volumes, large 8vo., each volume containing over 900 pages of closely printed matter, Sibstanii!ally bound in shop. Price for the set.-----$10 00. 10 000 WonderfuAl Things. Comprising the Marvelous and fLare, Odd, Curious, Quaint, Eccentric, and Extraordenary, in all Ages and Nations, in Art, Nature, and Science, including many wonders of the world, enriched with hundreds of Authentio Illustrations. Edited by Ema liLmor - iAu Kwio, M. A., author of "Lieo of New- ton," etc., etc. 12mo, cloth, gilt silo ans back. Price---.---.--.------.--$1 25 That's It; or, Plain Teaching. By tho au Slir of "Inquire Within, ""''The tcaso Why,"I1The Corner Cupboard,' ''ILive and Lcarn," "The Liblical teisoin Why," etc. Illustrated with over 1200 wood-cuts. 12mo, cloth, gilt side and back. Every illustration is employed for a purpose, or a number of purposes, and is made, by numerous refer- ences, explanatory of things whih, without such assistance, could only be imiperfectly conceived. The work contains nearly 400 pages, and over 1200 wood cnrravings, and forms one of the cheapest and most interest- ingbooks of elementary instruction ever pub- lished. Price-----------------------$1 25 The Perfect Gontleman. A hook of Eti- quette and Eloquence, Containing Inforima- tion and Instruction for those who desire to become brilliant or conspicuous in (Icneral Society, or at Parties, .Dinners, or Popular Gatherings, etc. It lives directions how to use wine at table, wits IRules for judging the quality thereof-Rules for Carving and a complete Etiquette of the Dinner Table, in- cluding Dinner Specchics, Toasts and enti- ments, Wit and Conversation at Table, etc. It has also an American Code of Etiquetto and Politeness for all occasions - Model Speeches, with Directions how to deliver thens -Duties of the Chairman at Publio Meet- ings, Forms of Preambles and Re solutions, etc. It is a handsomelybbound and gilt vol- ume of 335 pages. Price---------1 25 'The Lady's manual of rnnoy Work. A Complete Instructor in evesy variety of Ornamental Needle-Work, wIth a list of ma- - terials and hints for their election; advice r on making sip andtrimming.1 ly lir fPu.- rLANS Director of the Wouk-tailo of Frank Lslie's Magazine, etc., etc. Illustrated with a over 300 Engravings, by the best artists, with eight large pattern plates, clegantly printed Ing colors, on tinted paper. Large octavo, d beautifully bound in fine clothewith gilt side and backstamp. Price .-----------$1 50 - - - -5- WL- page: 94 (Advertisement) -95 (Advertisement) [View Page 94 (Advertisement) -95 (Advertisement) ] DICA & FITZGERALDS CATALOGUE. fte Tinger-Pestbto Publio Business. Con- The Ladies' Own'Pattern Mook; or, Treas- taining tae mode of totmig and conducting Soci- ures: in Needlework. Comparing instructions in ties, clubs, and otlierOrganised'Associations; full Knitting, ,etting, Crochet, Point Lace, Tatting, tules of Order for the-Government of their Debate# Btaiding, Embroidery, &c. Illustrated with over and Business; coinplete directions how to Compose 500 useful and ornamental Designs, Patterns, &c. Resolutions, Reports and Petitions; -and the man- By Mas. PUcatmNand MiM.:WAiREEN. Large 12mo., ner of mnagmng Conventions, Public Meetings, Gilt-side and back. -This' work, which is superbly Celebrations, Dinners, Barbecues,. and Picnies; gotten up, so as to fit it for Holiday Souvenirs, con- Models of Constitutidns for Lyceums, Institutes, tains over Five Hundred Engravings, pattern )ilit cry, Fir Compantes, etc.; with Rules of Plates, &c., and, besides,embraces minute itrue- Orickat, Basi dIl, Shinny, Quoits, Yachting, and tions for the execution of every known species of Rawinl, anI instructions concerning Incorpora- Needlework, Lac#-work, Embroidery, Wire-work, tioni; fHints about Lilrarics and Museums; with Crochet, Knitting, - Knotting, Netting, Tape-work, ra Oialgua of Desirable Books, ai a List of Transferring, Dead-work, lierlin-work, Braiding, Asnericain Coins; also, Rules for the Collection and Applique, and we know not how many more won- Preservation of Books, MSS., and objects of Curi- Oerful, pretty, useful. profitable, and entertaining osity; R1iles for Debating, and the Composition kinds of light industry, adapted to the feminine an1 Dlihvery of Public Addresses, with Examples taste and feminine fingers. It is precisely the sort of Figur-s of Speech, and a Selection of Specimens of a volume that every lady, rich or poor, would of Styl,' from various American Orators;' together accept with delight and ytem beyond conception. with an appen lix, containing original Articles of No family should be without it. 'riceon n'25. Confedleration of the United States, the Constitu- tion, the Cleinte4 Virginia and Kentucky Reso- How to ivar, Drinks. Containing Recipes for lutioni, and other 'Docuineits of reference. To Mixing American, English, French, German, which is prefixel a copious Index. By an Ex- Italian, Spanish, and Russian Drinks-such as Member of the Philadelphia ar. Juleps, Punches, Cobblers, Slings, Cocktails, &c. 12 mo., cloth -------1,25. By JiEna TunOMAs, late bar-tender at the Metro- politan Hotel, New York, and Planters' House, illgrove'nBall Room Guide, and Cor- St.Louis. To which is appended a Manual for the niate Dancingeaster. Contacting a Plain Manufacture of Coridials, Liquorg, Fancy Syrups, - Treatise on Et iquette iad Dcportmentat Balls iind &(:., containing Recipes after the most approved Parties, with Valuable Hints in Dress and the methods now used in the Distilation of Liquors Toilet, together with full explanations and des- end Beverages, esigncd for the special use of criptions of ths Rudiments, Terms, Figuresi and Manufacturers and Dealers in Wines and Spirit, Step u ; in Dancing, including Clear and Pre- Grocers, Tavern-Keepers, and Private Pamilies- drsa Intrctionm how to Dance all kinds of Qua- the same being adapted to the trade of the United drill, FWaltzes. Polkas, Redowas, Reels, Round, Sitesand Canadas. Dy Prof. COisrox's ScnUsi, Plain an I Fatncy ilinoes, so that any person may Prictical Chemist, and Mlanufacturer of Wines, learn tce without the aid of a Teacher; to whit Liquors, Cordials,'&c, from Berne, Switzerland; isgules fevry Directions for Calling out the the whole Work containing over 700 Valuable Reel-- Figuires of every Dance, and the amount of Music pes. A large book, bound in cloth---$2900. require I for each. The whole illustrated with one . hun ire,1 and seventy-six descriptive engravings Parlor Theatrioals;-or, Winter Evenings' En- and diagrams, by Tiox es HIL LGRovE, I rofessor of terteisment. Containing Acting Proverbs, Dra- Dancing. Bound in cloth, -with gilt side and matic Charades, Acting Charades, or Drawing- back I-----------------------------------75 ets. room Pantomimes, Musical Burlesques, Tabeaux Boun: in boards, with cloth back --------50 ets. Vivants, &c.; -with Instructions for Amateurs; The Poet's Compahion; A Dictionary of all how to Construct a Stage ani Curtain; how to Allowa ble Rhsymes in the English Langsuage. This getIup Costumes and Properties, on the "Making is a B - ok to aid aspiring genius in -the Composi- Up"' of Characters, 1Exits and Entrances; how i- .to arrange Tableaux, etc. Illustrated with Engra- tion of Rthymes, an-I in Poetical Efasions en- vines Papercoespre--------25t. rally. It gi res the Perfect, the Imperfect, and tho Bo aiFng covers, p rice------------25 eta. Allowable Rhymes, and will enable you to ascer- dinoards, clot back,----------"38,cts' tain, to a certainty. whether any wort can be ma- The Dictionary of-Love. Containing a Defini- ted. ft is invaluable to any one who desires to tion of a1l the Terms used in the History of the court the muses, and is used by some of the best Tender Passion, together with specimens of curious writers in the country. Price--------.25*ets. model love-letters,-and many other interesting The Book of 1,000~ Tales and Amusing matters appertaining to Love, never before pub-. Adventucres. Containing over 300 Engravings lished; the whole forming a remarkable Text-book and 410 p iges. This bobk is crammed full of the for all Lovers, as well as a Comp-leGuide to Mat- narratives an-tladventures of Traveler3, the roman- clonyt and a Companion of Married Life. 12mo, tic tales of the Celebrated Warr-ors, amusing sto- cloth, gilt side and back---------------t.25. ries in Natural History, besides a thousand things The Young Reporter; or, Iow to Write shool relating to curious tricks, entertaining sports pas- Had. A compe Phonographic teacher, in- times iTd Games. In this capital work we have tended as a School Book, to afford thorough in- our oI-I frieu- Peter Parley again, and he tells his struction to those who havo not the assistance of stories as well as ever. Price..----------01.25. an Oral Teacer. By the aid of this work, any The Al-Ma-Kan-Tur Circle; or, Homw to Win person of the most ordinary intelligence may learn a Sweetheorl o Lover. Containing Factsand New to Write Short Hand, and Report Speeches and Discover'es never before offered to the public, Sermons in a short time. Bound in boards, with being of tis greatest importance to both Married cloth back, price--------------------30 ets. and Sin-Ic ieersons, of both sexes. 5y M. L. BYrN, The French Wine and Liqnor Manufactu- M. D., Greduate of the University of the City of rer, A Practical Guide and rivate Receipt Book New York-----------------------------23 etas. 'for the American Liquor Merchant. By Jonx The Fortunes of Hector O'Halloran; and R AcK, Practical Wine and Liquor Manufacturer. His Man MN Anthmony O'Toole. By W. H. MAx- Illustrated with descriptive Diagrams, Tables, and - WaLe., author of "Stories of Waterloo," etc. Engravings. This is bytsr the most complete and. 2 vols. octavo. 'his-is a Book to make you Laugh. reliable Book on the Manufacture of Liquor, ever The Blenders of Mark Anthony O'Toole are even published. Cloth, prico ---------------$3,0o0 mare funny than those of "ucHandy Andy." , The Nightingale Songster; or, Lyricsof Love. Price,--------------------------1400. , Containing 14 .Choice Sentimental Songs. Bound Lacour on the Nanufactura of Liquors, in boardsT with cloth back, and illustrated cover, Wines and- Cordials, without the aid of Dis. price.-------------------------------.---30 ets.. tlation; als the Manufacture of Effervescing The Emerald; or. Book of Irish Melodies. Con- Beverag's anI Syrups, Vinegar arVd Bitters. Pre- taini a Choice Collection of.Irish; Comic, and ed and arranged expressly for the Trade. By Sentimental Songs. Bound in boards, with cloth ,ERnnL coun. 12mo, cloth -----------$2,00. back, and illustrated cover, price.----..30 ets. (,t DAny Book on this List will be sent to any aldress in the United States or Canada, Free qf wege. l Cash OrderstoI SICK & ITZGE iALD, 18 Ann St, N. ,T I DICK & FITZGERALD'S CATALOGUE. 5 TheSociable or, OrneThousand and Ne -B6 i en~n 8- -M ContamingActingPrbDrActing Charades,'or Drawing-room.PantO- mimes, Musical Burlesques .bleaut Vivants, Parlor Games, Games of Action, 'Forfeits Science in Sport and Parlor-dagic,and aeboice election of curious mental and meciihanical puzzles, &c., illustrated with nearly 00 Engravings and Diagrams, the whole being a fund of never-ending entertainment. By the author of"i Tha Magician's Own- Book." Nearly 400 pages, 12mo, cloth, git side stamp . The Sociable- or, One Thousand and One Home Amusements)" is a repertory of games and other entertainments, calculated for the use of family parties the fireside circle, or those social gatherings among friends and neighbors which pass away the winter evenings with so much animation and delight. It Is Impossibl for any esimpany to exhaust'all- the sources of irreproachoble mirth,-and mutual enjoymnn' produced In this volu . .. ...... .. . .. .*-. ..--- -**i* *** The 1V)agician's Own Bok; A Complete Guide to the Art ofojuring. Being a land-bookof Parlor Magic, and containing several hundred amus- . tag Magical Magnetical, Electrical, and Chemical Experiments, Astonishing Transmutations,. Wonderful lleight-of-Hand and Card Tricks, Curious and Perplexing Puzzlss, Quaint and En- tertaining Tricks and Questions in Numbers, Secret Writing explained, Seigts and Subtleties in Legerdemain, kc., together with all the most noted Tricks of Modern Performers. Illus- trated with over 500 Wood Engrayings 12mo, cloth, gilt side and back stamp, 400 tages. Here is ths wholo process made simplo o manipulating the cards, and performing trickswith - sleight of hand............................ -.- -- Parlor Theatricals or, Winter Evenings Entertainment, Containing Acti Pro rbs Dramatic Charades, Acting Choarades, or Drawing-room Panto- mimes usical Burlcsqies, Tableaux Vivants kc. By the author of "The Bociablo," "The Magician's Own Book," "1The Secret Out," c 12mo, gilt side and back, illustrated with descriptive engravings and diagrans......................... . . ..- -3- The BOsk of 1,000 Tales and Amusing Adven- TURES. Containing over 300 Engravings and 450 pages. This is a magnificent book, and is cramedutell of the narratives and adventures of travelers, the romantic tales of'celebrated warriors, amusing stories ia Natural History, besides a thousand things relating to curious tricks, ostertaising sports, pastimes and games. In this capital wok we lave our old friend Peter Parley again, afiffho" tells his stories as well as ever. The book Is worth ten times the price weask for it................ ..............................."**"'" T ,iContaining a Definition of all -The -D1. d10 ryo. ove. the Terh smied in the History of the.Tender Passion, With raro quotations from the Ancint and ModernrPoets of all Nations;together with specimens of curious model love-letters, and many other interesting matters appertaining to Love, never before published; the whhoo forming a rmarkable Text-book for all Lovers, as well as a Complete Guide to liatrimony, and at ianion of Married Life. Translated, in 'part fromAtho French, Spanish, German, and Italian, iith several original translations from the Greek and Latin, by Tunocarus, Ju-son. 12mo, cloth, gilt side and back..... .....- .... *-...*--'.-... - 10,000 Wo~nderful Tn*gs. Comprising the Marvel- ous and Rare, Od,Curious,Qulaint, Eccentrio,and Extralordiniary, in all Ages and Nations, In Art Nature, nil tdcience,including many wonders of the World enriched with Hopdred zif Authientie illustration. Edited byIsEMUDe FImrOn r rINGo, Ik. A., author of "Lifeof Newton," &c. ,, c. 12no, cloth, gilt side and back. In the present work, interesting scenes front iNaturn, curlositiesof Art, costuie, and customs of a by-gono periodi, rather predominate; bt w-o have devoted many of its pages to descriptions of remain kablo occur- gences, beautiful landscapes, stupendous waterfalis, and sublime sea pieces................1 2 Thatis it; or, Plain Teaching. By the Author of "Inquire Within, The Reason Wy," a"The Corner Cupboard," "Live and Learn," "The Biblical Beaken Why." Lc. Illustrated with over 1,200 Wood Cuts. 12mo, cloth, gil sidesnnd back. We common I to the attention of parents, teachers, and friends of popular improvement, the recommendation which." 'That'sIt ; er, Plain Teaching," has received from gentlemen well qualified to pronounco jlgment upon the soundness of its inoral tone, anti the accuracy of the varied information contained 14 its pages. But, above ali, we desire an examination of the Work. withoutwhich it will be impossible to comprehend tho effective system of commu- nicating facta,and developing ideas, and powers of observation adopted therein. bTher ould be no greater mistake than to suppose "'That's It" to be a mere "picture-book." Every illustration is employed for a purpose or a number of purposes, and is made. by numerous references explanatory of things With, without such assistance, could only bo imperfectly co.ccivc. The work contains nearly 400 pages, and over 1,g200 wood o tgrav- Ings, andiforms on of the cheapest and most interesting books of elementary instruction ever published......... 5.----.----.--" .."".-"'".""."".".-.- --' andAdventures of Travelers in AlIhICA. liluist-ated with hlbaerois Sfhe Rngravings, and containing a Map of Africa, on which the routes of Dr. Livingstone and Dr. Barth are accurately traced. large 12mo gilt basck. bki intento interest has recently been awakened, and widely extended, Iiregari to South Africa. Questions are in consequence, frequottly anisingas to the character of its surface; its diversified tribes, its plants. and ite animals; and the rematkalecrcuto u tnce under which, af-er long concealment, they have been gradually disclosed tonr tview- The - object of the present volume is tO meet such inquiries by popular details, on theahigt l authority, abundantly interspersed with true stories of chivalrous enterprise en heart-thrill- ing adventure. It respectthly solicits,thereforethe acceptance of ail ranks, and of al ages....a ,, toot so oOto ##o oo## 90# 9so"gi"""9ft""'""sTo Wg Copies of the above books sent to any address in the United States,'free of postage. Senad Ca4 orders to Dio&A Fitrzgerald, Publishers, N. Y. I page: 96 (Advertisement) [View Page 96 (Advertisement) ] -UDiCK & F1TZERALD'S CATALOGUE. 'I The Lady's MaAual of Fancy Work ; A complete Instructor in every variety of Ornamental Npedle-Work ; including Applique, Bead-Work, Berlin-Work, Braiding Bobbin-Work, Crochet, Embroidery, Golden Tapestry, Knittingi Knotting, Lace-Work, kluslin-Work, French Embroidery, Netting, Orne-Work, Patch-Work, Point-Lace, Potichomanie, Taps'o- D'Auxerre, Tape-Work, Tatting, Transferring, Velvet Tall, Wire-Work, Shading and Coloring, Printers' Marks, Explanatory Terms, &c., &c. With alist of material and hints for their selection ; advice on making up and trimming; a catalogue of articles suitable for Wedding, Birthday, and New Year Gifts; and a Glossary a of French and German terms used in needle-work, not to be found in aiy ictionary. The Tole being a complete Lexicon of Fancy 'Needle-Work. By Mrs. PuLLANEditor of the ndon and Paris Gazetto of Fashion, and Director of the Wgrk-table of Frank Leslie's Mag. azine, Illustrated Magazine, &c., &c. Illustrated with over 300 Engrtwings, by tho best artists, with eight large pattern plates, elegantly printed in colors, on tinted paper. Large octavo, beautifully bound in fine cloth, with gi-t side and back stamp. There is-no imagina- ble species of fancy needle-work, knotting, knitting, netting, lace-work, embroidery, crochet, &c., &c., which may not be found fully illustrated in this volume ; and here are complete Instructions for the inexperiencedfrom the pen of one of the ablest of needle-women of the present age......... .............................................. 1 50 Anecdotes of Love. Being a true account of the most re- markable events connected with the history of Love in all Ages and among all Nations. By LOLA MorECountess of Landsfeldt. Large 12mo, cloth. Thesb romanutin and surprising anecdotes really contain all of the most tragioand comic events connected with the history of the tender passion among all nations and in all ages of the world. It is recisely the kind of book which a man will fied it impossible to relinquish until he has read t through from the first to the last chapter. And besides the exciting love histories embraced in this volume, it really contains a great deal of valuable historic lore, which is not to be found except by read- ingthrough interminablo volumes..:..............................,..,,............1. 25 Arts of Beauty; or, Secrets of a Lady's Toilt. With Hints to Gentlemen'on the Art of Fascinating. By Madame LouA Mom'z, Countess of Landsfeldt. Cloth, gilt side. This book contains an account, in detail; of all the arts employed by the fashionable ladies of all the chief cities of Europe, for the purpose of developing and preserr- ing their charms. Independent of Its rare and really useful matter, the book is a curiosity as a piece of art, itself, for the most beiicate subjects are handled with a skill and an unex- ceptional propriety of language which are really surprising. This work is also ful of the curious and useful recipes used by the beauties of Europe, and will enable our ladies to sup- ply their toilets, at a trifling cost, with what cannot be purchase at the peifumer's at any cost ..,9.. .. .,,,,.,.......... ........................................ 63 The Family Aqua 'um. A new Pleasure for the Domes- tic Circle. Being a familiar and amplete Instructor upon the subject of the construction, fit- ting up, stocking, nd maintenance of the Marino and Fresh WaterAquarit, or River and Ocean Gardens. By H. D. BUTi.rFsq. . Iqmo, cloth, gilt side stamp. This work is a com.. pleteadaptation to American peculiarities of every species of useful information upon Marine and Fresh Water Aquariums, to be met with in the elaborate volumes of European authority; together with a careful concentration of all the practical results of the author's great experi- ence in the structure and management of Aquaria...... .. .... .. .. 62 The Game of Draughts, or Checkers, Simplified and Explained. With practical Diagrams and nIlustrations, together with a Checker-beard numbered and printed in red. Containing the Eighteen Standard Games, with over 200eol the best variations, selected from the various authors, together with many original ones never before published. By D. EouannaooD. Bound 14 cloth with flexible cover....&.......8gg The Book of 500 Curious Puzzles, Containing a largo collection of entertaining Paradoxes, Perplexing Deceptions in Numbers, and amusing Tricks in Geometry. By the author 6f " The Sociable," "The Secret Out," "The Magician's Own Book," "Parlor Games," and "Parlor Theatricals." Illustrated with a great variety of Engravings. 12mo, fancy paper cover............@.....*,.0...................5 The Book of Fireside Games; A Repertory of Social Amusements. Containing an Explanation of the most Entertaining Games, suited to the Family Circle as a Recreation, such as : Games of Action-Games which merely require at- tention-Games which require Memory-Catch Games, which havo for their object Tricks or Mystincation-Games in which an opportunity is afforded to display Gallantry, Wit, or some slight knowledge of certain Sciences-Amusing Forfeits-Fireside Games for Winter Eveningl Amusement, &c. By the author of "The Soiable," '.' The Secret Out," &c. Beautifully 1luustrated. 32mo, fancy paper cover...... ..........................,.. The American HomG Cook-Book.'Containing several hundred excellent eelpeos. The whole based on many years' experience of cn American , Housewife. Illustrated with Engravings. All the Recipes in this Book are written from actual experiments in Cooking. There are ro copyings from theoretical cooking recipes. It is a book ofr2pages, and ii very cheap.... ........................,..,.... 8* " Copies of the abovo books sont to any address in the United States, free of pstage. Send Cash orders to Dick & Fitzgerald, Publishers, N. Y.
