by his interesting companion, to whom he found himself, almost involuntarily, deeply attached, the more so, perhaps, from the romantic circumstances of the case, and the secrecy which it was absolutely necessary to maintain of the whole affair, so that no ear was privy to his visits, and no eye had marked their meetings. At length, however, the matter began to effect a singular change in the mind of the lady, which became every day more and more composed, though still subject to wanderings and abstraction; but the new passion, which was daily taking possession of her mind, seemed to be eradicating the cause, or, at least, counteracting the effects of her malady. This alteration was soon visible to the inmates of the house, and the progress of her recovery was so rapid as to induce them to seek for some latent cause, and to watch her frequent and prolonged visits to the garden. The consequence was, that at their next meeting an eye was on them which reported the circumstance of W—'s visit to the superior of the establishment; an immediate stop was then put to her return, and the lady's walks confined to another portion of the grounds. The consequences were soon obvious; her regret and anxiety served to recall her disorder with redoubled vigour, and she eagerly demanded to be again permitted to see him. A communication was now made to her parents, containing a detail of all the circumstances-her quick recovery-her relapse --and the apparent cause of both; and after some conferences, it was resolved that W- should be invited to renew his visits, and the affair permitted to take its natural course. He accordingly repaired to the usual rendezvous, where she met him with the most impassioned eagerness, affectionately reproached his absence, and welcomed him with fond and innocent caresses. He now saw her as frequently as before, and a second time her recovery was rapidly progressing, till at length she was so far restored that her parents resolved on removing her to her own home, and she accordingly bade adieu to the asylum. After some farther intercourse, he was obliged to be absent from Ireland for some time, and, during that interval, the progress of her mind to perfect collectedness continued uninterupted; but her former memory seemed to decay with her disease, and she gradually forgot her lover. Long protracted illness ensued, and her spirits and constitution seemed to droop with exhaustion after their former unhealthy excitement, till at length, after a tedious recovery from a series of relapses, her faculties were perfectly restored; but every trace of her former situation, or the events which had occurred during her illness and residence in Dublin, had vanished like a dream from her memory, nor did her family ever venture to touch her feelings by a recurrence to them. Her In the meantime, W― returned, and eagerly flew to embrace, after so long a separation, her who had never passed from his thoughts and his remembrance. family felt for him the warmest gratitude and affection, from the consciousness that he had been the main instrument in the restoration of their daughter, but the issue of this interview they awaited with the most painful suspense. She had long ceased to mention his name, or betray any symptom of recollecting him; he seemed to have passed from her memory with the other less important items of her situation, and this moment was now to prove to them whether any circumstance could make the stream of memory roll back to this distracted period of her intellect. From the shock of that interview, W— never recovered. She received him as her family had anticipated; she saw him as a mere uninteresting stranger; she met him with calm, cold politeness, and could ill conceal her astonishment at the agitation and despair of his manner, when he found too truly that he was no longer remembered with the fond affection he had anticipated. He could not repress his anxiety to remind her of their late attachment, but she only heard his distant hints with astonishment and haughty surprise. He now found that the only step which remained for him was to endeavour to make a second impression on her renovated heart; but he failed. There was still some mysterious influence which attached their minds, but the alliance on her part had totally changed its former tone, and when she did permit her thoughts to dwell upon him, it was rather with aversion than esteem; and her family, after long encouraging his addresses, at length persuaded him to forego his suit, which, with a heavy hopeless heart, he assented to, and bade her adieu for ever. But the die of his fortune was cast; he could no longer walk heedlessly by those scenes where he had once spent hours of happiness, and he felt that, wander where he might, that happiness could never return. At length, to crown his misery, the last ray of hope was shortly after shaded by the marriage of his mistress.* W- now abandoned every prospect at home, and, in order to shake off that melancholy which was gathering like rust around his heart, went to the Continent; but change of scene is but a change of ill to those who must bear with them the cause of their sorrow, and find within that aching void the world can never fill. He hurried in vain from one scene of excitement to another: society had no spell to soothe his memory, and change no charm to lull it: "Still slowly passed the melancholy day, And still the stranger wist not where to stray." At length he joined the cause of the struggling Greeks, and his name has been often and honourably mentioned amongst the companions of Lord Byron at Missolonghi. After his Lordship's death, he still remained in Greece, but his constitution was too weak to permit him to be of active service as a Palikari. He had, therefore, taken a post in the garrison which held possession of the castle and town of Navarino, in the Morea, and was wounded in *She is at present the wife of a gentleman of eminence at the Irish bar. the action at Sphacteria, in the summer of 1825. The unskilful management of a native surgeon, during his confinement in the fortress, previous to its surrender to Ibrahim Pacha, and a long and dangerous fever from the malaria of Pylos, combined with scanty diet and bad attendance from his Greek domestics, united with his broken spirit to bring on a rapid consumption. When last I saw him, he was perfectly collected, and, as fully as he could, was giving his last directions to his friend, who had so generously attended him; he spoke much of his family, and gave particular messages to each, pointing out the various little trinkets he wished to send them as dying memorials of himself; a ring which he still wore on his finger, and which bore the inscription "To the memory of my dear mother," he desired might be buried with him, together with a locket which was suspended from his neck, and contained a lock of raven hair, he did not mention whose. But words could not paint the expression of his countenance, nor the sad sublimity of his voice, when, for the last time, he feebly grasped the hand of his affectionate friend, thanked him for all his former kindness, and bade him his last mortal farewell; he shortly after sank into an apparently painless lethargy, from which he never aroused himself. It was evening before he died; there was not a breath of wind to wave the branches of the peach-trees around his window, through which the sunbeams were streaming on his death-bed, tinged with the golden dies of sunset. It was in a remote corner of Smyrna, and no sound disturbed the calm silent progress of death; the sun went down at length behind the hills; the clear calm voice of the Muezzin from his tower, came from the distant city, and again all was repose. We approached the bed of W— but his soul had bade adieu to mortality; he had expired but a moment before, without a sigh, and without a struggle. ODE FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON. FROM THE ITALIAN OF MANZONI. The stormy joy, the trembling hope And twice on Fortune's altar raised. His name was heard; and, mute with fear, Submissive from his mouth to hear He passed, and on this barren rock As on the drowning seaman's head The wretch had turned his straining eye, And gazed along the gloomy main For some far sail, but gazed in vain : So on his soul came back the wave Of melancholy memory. How oft hath he essayed to grave Till o'er the eternal chronicle The weary hand desponding fell. How oft, what time the listless day No. 23-24. U |