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he saw the very scene which he had be. apprehensions had been realized, that he held in the mirror at old Alice's hovel! had in truth ceased to exist, and that it He looked again at the wall nearest to was for him that these midnight orisons him. The stone upon which, in the were sung. mirror, he had seen his name inscribed, • It was not long, however, that he rewas not there ; but the branches of a cle- mained under this delusion. Shaking off, matis that had been trained against the by a violent effort, the thick-coming fanwall had left a square space of exactly the cies which crowded upon his brain, be size of the tablet of his vision. Nothing recommended himself to the protection of was wanting but the name. He gazed at Heaven ; and, resolving that he would no it with horror; a cold sweat stood upon longer vex himself with speculating upon his brow, and a groan burst from his over- an accident, which, however frightful it charged bosom.

had been rendered by circumstances, he “ You are unwell, I fear,” said the could neither prevent nor hasten, he abbess, who saw the paleness of his face, closed the window, and retired again to and felt the trembling of the arm she his bed, where his attempts to sleep were held.

more successful.' .* Her voice recalled Leopold to himself. At Berne Leopold falls in love with “I find the night-air chill” he said ; the beautiful Laura Baldini, is ac" and the length of the march has fa- cepted both by the lady and her tigued me more than usual. With your father, and a day is fixed upon for permission we will return."

the celebration of their nuptials. • The company proceeded back to the Time has now brought round another convent, and Leopold was able to master his emotion so well that his momentary but our hero is enjoying the mirth

anniversary of All-hallows Night, indisposition was universally believed to have arisen wholly from the cause to which and gaiety of a ball in company he had attributed it. Having taken some

with his Laura. Here, however, in wine, at the entreaty of the abbess, he the course of the evening, he is retired to his chamber.

horror-struck at seeing her father in In vain he attempted to sleep : when close and earnest conversation with he closed his eyes the scene in the ceme- the student whom he had caned at tery was as vividly before his sight as it Gottingen. Signor Baldini and his had been when he gazed on the real sub- daughter quit the ball-room abruptly, stance, At length, feverish, and worn out with tossing in his bed, he arose, and the latter, having no doubt as to the

worn without taking leave of Leopold; and went to the window. Upon opening it he found that it commanded a view of that person to whom he is indebted for part of the garden which adjoined the this slight, fixes a quarrel upon the burial-ground, where it had been foretold student, to decide which they meet his own grave should be dug. The moon upon the ramparts at five o'clock was now nearly sunk, the night breeze the next morning; Leopold having had freshened a little, and, blowing left a note at his lodgings, to be against the tall cypresses, they seemed to transmitted to Laura, in case this adbeckon him towards the narrow spot which venture should end fatally. Here at some period he believed must be his

our hero, to his amazement, discovers He gazed at them until, his fancy the identity of the student with his aiding the impressions he had before received, he became convinced that this was

old tormentor, Schwartzwald; and the place destined for his dissolution the latter, after an unsuccessful atperhaps this was the very time when that tempt to assassinate his opponent, event was to happen.

seeks his safety in flight. • As he pondered over the events of Leopold remains in a weak and his life, and reflected on the bitterness almost insensible condition for sevewith which they had been tinged since the ral days. On his recovery he finds fatal All-hallows Night, he felt little oc- that Baldini and his daughter have casion to regret even if this should be his left Berne, but he is unable to ascerfate. At this moment the notes of the tain whither they have gone. At organ in the chapel of the convent fell length, after a 'search of several upon his ear; and, soon after, the voices weeks, he arrives at a convent, in of the nuns were heard in celebration of which he is given to understand that the funeral office for one of the sisters who had lately died. Leopold listened: Laura has been placed. the coincidence was so striking, that for • The abbess was a prim, but kind-looka moment he could have fancied that his ing, old lady. She received Leopold with

own.

an air of stately politeness. He looked we can hope to enjoy that true happiness about the room, and could have fancied which is in Heaven." that this was not the first time he had been

Leopold would have rushed from the in it. He thought of the nunnery of Santa room without listening to any more of the Croce, but this abbess was not like the old lady's exhortations, but the desire of principal of that house; besides, he was learning whither Laura had gone restrainconvinced of this being situated in a dif- ed him. ferent part of the country; and, upon look. “ If you will moderate that transport, ing again, he saw that, although the gene- which even now shakes your every limb, ral plan of the rooms might be the same, and will promise to bear like a man that that in which he was now sitting was de which man is born to suffer, I will tell you ficient in the severe elegance which cha- whither our dear sister is departed.” racterized the parlour of Santa Croce.

Leopold bowed. There was a solem• The religious emblems, which are com- nity in the manner of the old lady's last mon to all such establishments, were address to him which shocked him. He there--the bad painting of the Madonna, had thought that to find the place of and the crucifix, hung against the walls; Laura's abode was to be happy. Now, for but the fresh-filled flower-vases were ab- the first time, he began to think that some sent, and every description of even allow., sinister accident might have happened, able ornament was rigorously banished. more fatal to his hopes than even her

Leopold, mastering his agitation as flight. well as he could, approached the abbess, “ I do promise,” he said, and the blood and, telling her his name, said he had receded from his cheeks as he gazed alcome in search of the Signora Laura, who most breathless on the abbess. he had reason to believe was now within

“ The track of many years had oblitethese walls.

rated, I thought, the very scars of former “ I assure you,” replied the abbess, sorrows from my heart," said the abbess, with a cold and formal manner, “ that she

as her eyes streamed with tears ; " but the is not.”

sight of your sufferings makes me feel the “I beseech you, madam,” said Leo- old wounds again. My son, the sister pold-while his features expressed the Laura has gone to her home-she is anxiety and pain of his mind~" I beseech dead !you not to trifle with the feelings of one Leopold gasped, and looked in stupid who is already on the very edge of despair. astonishment for a moment—then fell at I implore you, by all that you hold most the old lady's feet, as if a thunderbolt sacred, not to make two persons utterly had struck him. wretched. This cannot be the end of true

* She immediately rang for assistance ; religion; and this, perhaps worse than the porter, a priest who performed the rethis, must be the consequence of your ligious services of the cloister, and sonte separating me from Laura. Our passion of the elder nuns, entered. At first it was is mutual ; our happiness-our lives--nay, thought that Leopold was dead: no pulse the salvation of one of us—depends upon could be felt in his veins, no respiration on our being permitted to meet once more. his lips, and his face was pale and rigid,

“ My son,” replied the abbess, who, as if death had already inflicted the last apathetic as she was, could not avoid feel- blow of suffering on him. At length, howing moved by the vehemence of Leopold's ever, the cares of the surrounding persons manner,

“ iť is not any more in my power were successful; he slowly opened his eyes, to unite you than to increase the space and, as the recollections of the fatal inwhich separates you. Pray calm your formation he had received recurred to him, emotion, and arm yourself with Christian a cold shuddering convulsed his frame. patience to endure those evils which must “Tell me, when did she die ?” he asked, be the lot of all of us in this world.”

in a scarcely audible tone. "Is she here?" cried Leopold impa- Five days ago,” replied the abbess; tiently.

and yesterday she was buried.” My son,

she is not,” replied the ab- Leopold groaned deeply. bess.

" I know, said the abbess, (who “ But she has been here ?"

thought that if she could get him to listen It is very true that she has been here, she might be able to relieve him by divertbut she has departed hence.”

ing his thoughts,) “ the whole history of When did she go, and whither? Tell your ill-fated attachment, and I pity you me, and the speed of the winds of Heaven most heartily. But you are not yet aware shall not equal mine in pursuit of her.” that we believed you were dead.”

“ Again I say to you, be patient! Re- • Leopold made no answer, but by his member that sorrow and suffering are the gestures showed that he was attending to lot of mortals, and that it is by them alone the abbess's discourse,

66

" Sister Laura," she continued, “ loved Santa Croce that the spot on which he you too well to be moved by the absurd stood was that predestined to be his grave. reports which her father so readily be- • Once he looked round, as if to assure lieved ; and she lived in the hope of being himself-once he gazed on the grave of his united to you, until the receipt of that fatal Laura, where the flowers strewed by her letter, by which she understood you were weeping companions lay yet unwithered dead.”

then turned his eyes to the dark blue sky, “What letter do you speak of?" asked and, sinking again upon the shoulder of Leopold.

the priest without speaking a word, and The letter which you wrote, and in uttering but one long sigh, his spirit fled which you said you should be no more at for ever!' the time it would reach her hands. This it was that killed her; this destroyed the Such is the close of this sweet and hope that sustained her; and she died, melancholy, but intensely interesting, because, without you, the world had no story. Our extracts have been copijoys for her.”

ous, *** Show me that letter,” cried Leopold, to give our readers a just idea of the

but are, nevertheless, inadequate with a faint effort.

* The abbess did so immediately; and beauty and power of the connected he recognised the letter which he had narrative, which our author has rewritten on the morning of his duel, and lieved by several happy touches of which he had since sought in vain. He that dry quiet humour with which sunk back in despair. “ The fiend tri. these volumes abound. umph3 !” he said; “ it is in vain to con- • Lady Arabella Stuart' is another tend further. The last blow is now highly interesting tale, founded upon struck."

a tragic incident in the history of the • After a few minutes he recovered again, reign of James the First.

• Le Mort and, fixing his lustreless eyes upon the a tué les Vivans' is, we believe, also abbess, he said, “ Lead me, I inplore you, founded upon fact; and, together to her grave.” • The abbess, hoping that the sight of

with the Knight and the Disour,' this melancholy spot might, by exciting which closes the series, will amply his tears, assuage that mortal agony which repay the time bestowed upon their racked his heart, complied with his re- perusal. quest. She added some words of conso. These tales are connected by delation, which fell as much unheeded upon scriptions of ‘My Grandmother's the ear of Leopold as if he had already Guests,' who are the supposed narbeen laid in the grave he sought to rators. Here Mr. Slingsby is, if posvisit.

sible, still more successful than in • The old priest and the porter sup- the stories. The whim, and truth, ported him, for his own limbs almost re- and spirit, with which he has painted fused their office; and, followed by the abbess and the nuns, all of whom wept at

his dramatis personæ, make them the piteous spectacle which Leopold exhi- marvellously entertaining. The Vilbited, they proceeded towards the convent lage Lawyer—the clever, half-starved, cemetery. Leopold never raised his head Country Apothecary—the old lady, from the shoulder of the kind priest until My Grandmother,' herself—but, they stopped.

above all, the retired Sea Captain• Here," said the father, “is the low are each, and all of them, persons grave in which lies she whom you loved, of infinite wit-of most excellent and who was the personification of beauty fancy. The humour and verisimiliand virtue.”

tude of the last sketch would induce * Leopold looked up. One glance was

us to believe that the author was enough-the well-known spot, which nothing could have erased from his memory, all his days on the bring element;

some . deboshed fish,' who had spent was before him. The ivy-covered wallthe tall cypresses--the white tablet, on

while, on the other hand, the volumes which the moonbeams fell with a silvery contain abundant evidence to prove lustre-the sparkling marble spires of the that his life has been passed in Gray's conventin the back ground—all convinced paradise, “lolling upon a sofa, and him at once that this was the cemetery of reading eternal new romances.'

Vol. J.-No. 4.

X

THE HERMIT IN IRELAND.NO. IV.

A SUNDAY STROLL.

of the little politicians who strutted I HAVE been long in the habit of through the room was not to be visiting all the little villages, and all borne. Driven from this quarter, I the places of city resort or of rural had only one more resource—the recreation, in the neighbourhood of green fields and the open air. I Ireland's beautiful metropolis. I went slowly up Sackville Street, have passed, at sunset, over the cele- crossed Blessington Street, and, after brated green of Donnybrook; crossed passing the Circular Road, found mythe winding Dodder; toiled through self at last upon my favourite path Windy Harbour; and taken up my in the Park. The day was one of the abode for the night at Dundrum, for finest which the season had given us, the sake of sleeping beneath the and the crowds of the metropolis healthy breeze of the mountains, seemed eager to avail themselves of and of enjoying, in the morning, the the enjoyment that it afforded : the far-famed luxury of goats’_milk. I place was all life-all gaiety and anihave wandered to Golden Bridge to mation. In one direction you beheld drink of the spa; or driven to Dun- a group of sprightly-looking young leary to behold its bustle, its dust, men engaged in leaping; in another and its rocky nakedness. On the 1st quarter a party appeared throwing a of May. I steer to Finglas, to gaze weight or stone; here were the playupon the beautiful May-maids. I ers of foot-ball, and there was a have been at Leixlip to view the crowd of hurlers: the jaunting-car Salmon-leap; I have dined in the of the citizen hurried along the ivy cabin at Drumcondra; and, in the beaten road-the chariot or the curblackberry season, I shall always be ricle passed rapidly; while the unfound lingering in the vicinity of fledged horseman risked the safety of Saggard. In each, and in all, of his own neck, and endangered the these places, I have found something lives of others, by the velocity and to cheer and enliven memuch with irregularity of his movements. As which I felt amused. Even in the you advanced a new scene presented Phenix Park, lying, as it does, itself: where the rich green slope within the very eye of the city- arose, and the hawthorns grew thick, spreading almost within the smell of there rested the happy swain, with its smoke-even there I have enjoyed the girl of his heart sitting by him; many a pleasing ramble, and witness- others were strolling on in pairs, ed many a scene and many an inci- carelessly plucking the blossoms that dent that, for me at least, possessed overshadowed them, or chatting on something of interest.

matters that might, without difficulty, My last visit to that quarter oc- be guessed at. The picture, altocurred some years ago. I had passed gether, was a striking, and indeed a a restless night, it was late when I pleasing, one. The fineness of the arose, and I felt myself wearied and day, the associations of the season feverish: the task of shaving, dress- itself (it was spring), the rich greening, and breakfasting, being over, I ness of the trees, the variety of blosbegan to turn my thoughts on the soms, the singing of the little birds manner in which I should pass the that fluttered around me, the Sunday day. There were some long-pro- neatness of the girls and of their mised letters to be written, but my companions, the quiet pleasure that head and my hand shrunk from the seemed to beam from every countelabour. I felt disposed to read, but nance-all this gratified, nay, subno book was near ine: the bells of dued me. I melted into the spirit of the chapels and the churches were the scene, and, for once, felt happy. ringing around me, proclaiming to By this time I had reached the all that it was the morning of the Spa, one of the sweetest resting-places sabbath;-I heard them, but I had that a wanderer ever selected. I no heart for prayer. I ventured out; found the little cottage crowded with I reached that haunt of all the idle visitors, and groups of idlers stood the Library; but the incessant prattle around the fountain. An ill-constructed eagle is placed above the one before us, but it was rejected spot, as if to guard the sacred spring; it was too simple, and it wanted, he exhibits a rhyming inscription, in moreover, the rich sauce of flattery.' which Jove and the old Duchess of While conversing, we had moved a Richmond are rather freely -spoken little from the crowd: I looked again of. I stood for a moment to read this upon my young acquaintance, and precious composition. That is mi- the countenance was one that pleased serable doggrel, sir,' said a pale- me. Then you think,' said I, that looking youth who stood beside me. persons in authority, as you call it,

Why, said I, ' it is not very credit- generally lean to the side of the able to the poetical taste of your Dub- dunce ?>We see too many instances lin folks : it argues rather a dearth of of it,' answered the young poet: genius.'— Nay, sir,' replied the look to Trinity College, with her young man, there is genius enough prize poems-look to the selection amongst us, but there is nothing to they made when the king came: they call it forth, and few to appreciate its gave a premium, on that occasion, worth when it appears : much better for a production that even the “Old verses than those here could have Monthly,” or the “ Gentleman's Mabeen easily procured; but there is, gazine,” would indignantly reject. among persons in authority, a sym- Better poems, I know, were offered : pathy, a sort of inborn affection, for my friend, Bertridge Clarke, the authe productions of dulness. I write thor of " Ravenna,” wrote something occasionally. I offered an inscription at the time; I remember one highthat many thought superior to the sounding stanza

“May God of thy enemies baffle the arts,

Make them drunk with the red wine of fear and of wonder!
May the eye of thy lightning, Lord, wither their hearts,

And mock at their fears with the laugh of thy thunder.” This, sir, is very fine; but my It bore no title, but there had been friends are going, and I must join something written at the top about them.' He bowed, and was out of the defeat of Kosciusko: over this, sight in a moment. I looked after however, the pen had been afterhim-he had dropped a paper ; I wards drawn. The lines I give withsnatched it up, and found, as I ex- out alterationpected, that it was a poetical effusion.

Oh! sad may the lonely orphan be

That bends by a parent's bier:
Most sad! even though no eye can see

That orphan's starting tear.
And deep is the pang in the mother's breast,

When each cherish'd hope is gone;
When the bed of death by her hand is drest,

For the child she hath doated on.
The widow may mark, with moistened eye,

Where a husband's dust is laid ;
Or her dead lover's name call up the sigh

Of the sorrow-stricken maid.
But what of these? there's a grief more keen,

Which the world's cold crowd scarce understand;
Let the hero speak who hath stood and seen

The ruin of his own loved land. As I read the lines I walked on. to be the better seen and heard by I reached an open part of the Park: those around him-he was preaching there were a number of persons ga- away with extraordinary fervour. thered on a little slope before me; He had lost an eye, his hair was in the centre I beheld an old man, combed sleekly over the forehead, his who had placed himself upon a stool cravat tied behind, and his coat, of

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