phe. The Count Brittorno was the victim of his own snares. Believing that MALAVOLTI was his secret rival in the affections of his mistress, Angelica, he had resorted to the familiar practice of his country, and employed three desperate bravos to prowl about the grounds of his villa, and watch their opportunity for assassinating him, should he approach the house. These hired stabbers had been in his pay for several weeks; but, as MALAVOLTI was really no candidate for the lady's favors, they might have pursued their honourable calling for as many months, without surprising their prey. It was to this secret ambush, however, that Brittorno alluded darkly, when, in his altercation with MALAVOLTI at the Duke de Montrefelto's, he retorted, that there" were fools in the city of Naples who tempted the chance he mentioned;" that of being "provided with a grave, before he thought seriously of dying." By what fatal mischance, or under what unforseen circumstances, it happened, was never known; but that very night, Count Brittorno himself, repairing to his villa, was mistaken for MALAVOLTI, set upon by his own bloodhounds, and left for dead, in the way already mentioned. At first, Brittorno believed that the persons who had attacked him were hired by MALAVOLTI, who had taken that method to supersede the necessity of meeting him on the following morning. Hence his own willingness, and that of his family, to conceal the fact of his wounds not being mortal, in the hope that the convenient forms of Neapolitan justice would work out their revenge by sending him to a scaffold; while they knew it would be no inexpiable offence in the

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eyes of the majority of their countrymen, that Brittorno should afterwards appear. He would be rid of a detested rival at all events; and he did not despair of living down whatever odium the circumstance might at first excite. The scheme, therefore, was fully resolved upon, and adroitly managed. But in the interval, and while slowly recovering from his wounds, Brittorno received unequivocal proofs from his mistress, that his sus picions were utterly unfounded with regard to MALAVOLTI, and he also learned who were his real assassins. It was then that something like compunction began to awaken in his breast for the impending fate of MALAVOLTI. He would willingly have rescued him from it. But how could he do so, without betraying his own unparalleled perfidy? His first contrivance was sending one of his myrmidons, disguised as a monk, to prevail upon MALAVOLTI to escape from prison; but when this project failed, he knew not what to do. Base as he was, he could not reconcile even to his conscience, the idea of sacrificing not only an innocent man, but one who, he had ascertained, had never wronged him in the point where he was most sensitive. Still he could not resolve to make the sacrifice of himself, in the only way that would enable him to do substantial justice. At length the day of MALAVOLTI's execution arrived, and impelled by a restless impulse, which he strove in vain to resist, he mingled with the crowd in disguise; but when he saw the guiltless MALAVOLTI in the act of offering up a life he had not forfeited, his emotions became so violent and ungovernable, that he rushed forward to arrest the

fatal catastrophe in the way described, though almost too late to give effect to his tardily awakened sense of honour.

The First and Second Husband.

CHRISTINE BOISSARD was the daughter of a schoolmaster at Thoulouse. At the early age of fifteen she was married to BERTRAND DE ROLS, himself only one year older than his bride. They had been companions from their infancy, and the innocent attachment of childhood had ripened with their years into feelings which, at the important ages of fifteen and sixteen, were easily mistaken for love.

CHRISTINE was very beautiful; it was that kind of beauty which Bacon says is the best"that which a picture cannot express." It dwelt upon her countenance; it enshrined her person; and seemed to be a perpetual emanation from herself, rather than any union of exquisite proportions, either in form or features. The beholder saw she was beautiful, but could not discover in what it consisted. There were those who had a fairer brow than CHRISTINE; whose tresses were more luxuriant; in whose eye dwelt the soul's meaning more eloquently; round whose mouth played a more gracious expression of softness, and in whose air there was more of elegance; but in all Thoulouse there could not be found one to

vie with her in that loveliness which, touching the heart at the first glance, makes silent worshippers.

The mind of CHRISTINE was worthy of such a temple. It had received no soil from the world, and seemed incapable of receiving any. Its stainless purity, like that of the diamond, was inherent. She could not be said to shun evil so much as to be shunned by it. The exceeding simplicity of her character, the frankness and sincerity of her nature, were such, that as she had no thoughts which needed disguise, so were there none that did not lie as open to all the world as to herself.

Similitude may be the basis of friendship; it is not that of love. CHRISTINE loved BERTRAND DE ROLS when they went to the altar, and after; and BERTRAND loved her-but they did not resemble each other. BERTRAND was quick, fiery, impetuous-easily excited, and requiring excitement to break the irksome monotony of domestic life. He was of a moody temper, too; fond of lonely musings, in which it was his delight to summon up fancied scenes of wild enterprise, where there was free scope for a stirring spirit to signalize itself. During the first years of his marriage, these outbreakings of a restless nature were few and feeble. The novelty of his situation, the fulness of his happiness as the husband of CHRISTINE, and the consciousness of youth and inexperience, were all so many checks upon them; but as he trod the verge of manhood, as the freshness of his felicity wore off and he required something more than even CHRISTINE to fill up the measure of his desires, they came thick upon

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