actors, in this horrible drama, were deprived, by terror, of their senses. Was all this, indeed, real? Could such things be? or was it an illusion? the hideous dream of an overwrought imagination began to doubt my own existence, my own individuality; the dread of witnessing something, even more terrible than that which I had most assuredly, beheld, overwhelmed me; and I called or rather bellowed aloud, in my fear and astonishment, the names of the count and Michel: no one replied; the silence of the grave reigned in that horrible place, whence echo herself seemed almost vanished, having scarcely a nook there, or a wall for her habitation; in agony and desperation I shouted aloud, till the surrounding forest rung with my cries: at that moment I would have given all that I was worth in this world not to have been alone! Michel, at last, recovered his senses, and answered me; he had fallen at my feet, and as he rose, regardless, under circumstances so terrible, of conventional distinctions, we warmly grasped and shook each other's hands, in token of satisfaction that we were companions in so frightful and lonely a spot, and had escaped some apprehended and supernatural danger. We agreed to watch in the chapel until day-break, and find and recover Count Schoenburg from the fit into which we doubted not he had fallen. Alas!alas!long ere the dawning of day our search, and anxious cares, convinced us that breath had for ever forsaken the body of the unfortunate and forsworn lover! How lingering, how horrible was that night! it seemed as if it would never end, and haunted by phantom shapes of ghastly heads with out bodies, which mowed apishly at us, unhappy tenants of the ruined fane, in scorn, mockery, and anger, that we had possessed ourselves, for a few hours, of their tenement; this might have been only fancy, probably it was no more; but, during that weary night, my senses I believe were incapable of distinguishing between imagination and reality: when lingering morn did appear, it confirmed Michel's and my own conviction of Count Schoenburg's demise, and presented to our shocked and alarmed eyes, his once handsome form and features, swollen and blackened, as from the action of poison or fire He had, in fact, touched the DEATH BRIDE. She, who is at once the guileful tempter, and the avenger of man's faithlessness! He had beheld her and her attendant

chaplain in their undisguised ghastliness, and death, a horrible death, had overtaken his perfidy to Theresa, even at the marriage altar!

"Hence," continued our host, keenly glancing at Ritter Frederig the fickle, "let all false-hearted men beware how they tamper with one woman's affections through the allurements of another's charms; Schoenburg's punishment, though awful, was just! What became of the drivers and carriages, which brought us to the forest sanctuary, I know not; one probably was of the visionary nature of his fare, and the other might have been frightened far from the spot, by my own demoniacal howlings. Michel and I, together, interred, with immense labour, the disfigured corpse of Count Schoenburg, in the deserted cemetery of the chapel, and gave out that he had been murdered by banditti in the forest, who had carried off his body, but that his servant had escaped to tell the tale."

Our host paused, and filled his glass, as if in conclusion of the narrative, so I ventured to inquire what had become of poor Theresa.

"Why, I married her," he replied, with a melancholy smile; " yes, gentlemen, she was my late beloved wife, and fondly attached to me ;-though, not aware of Count Schoënburg's delinquency and fearful fate, which I conscientiously concealed from her susceptible mind, I believe she never entirely forgot him."

We thanked our host for his singular narration, but Ritter Frederig, with a sullen air, bowed and took his leave; since which, as I have heard nothing of him, whether the story took its intended effect, or whether, in spite of the fearful machinations of the Death Bride, he really ventured to marry the widow for whom he had forsaken the maid, I cannot say. And this is my tale.

The Italian marquis paused, and looked round the attentive circle of his auditors, for that meed of approbation which his efforts to amuse them, he justly thought, demanded. This being warmly bestowed, he promised, at some future opportunity, to relate to them another marvellous tale; of which kind of stories he boasted he had an ample store.

Great Marlow, Bucks.

I must not love thee, yet tis passing strange,
d. My eye and thoughts would rather rest on ther
Than thro' the halls of peerless beauty's range, starts
Tho' high their rank, tho' proud their pageantry.

I must not love thee, yet I prize each look,

And while I gaze my heart and thoughts are light.
Forget thee? no-the thought I cannot brook-
Remembrance is the footsteps of delight.

I'must not love thee, yet the very hour
Creeps sadly, slowly, if not urg'd by thee;
Where thou art not, gay scenes possess no pow'r
To light my eye or check despondency.

I must not love thee, yet no other name
Will hang like thine so oft upon my tongue,
Or gladden me, or truant thought reclaim,
So oft as thine in solitude has done.

I must not love thee, though a spotless name,
And virtuous mind so strongly me entice;
Did heav'n from all mankind a tribute claim,
I could not make a greater sacrifice.

I must not love thee, tho' I fain would burst
All other ties, all other joys resign,
Entail a father's frown, a mother's curse,
To press thee to my arms and call thee mine.

I know I must not love thee, tho' thou art
A part of my existence, yet to me
"Twere sweeter far with thee, with all to part,
Than bring thee days of anguish,-misery.

Love thee I do, but I'll not nurse a flow'r,
Admire its fragrance, watch its tints in spring,
While well I know in winter's adverse hour,
It will not flourish 'neath my fostering.
L. 33. 2

い

I would not lure a sportive light gazelle
From its lov'd plains and precipices high,
And young ones dear it nurs'd, it lov'd so well,
In drearer climes to see it faint and die.

Thou may'st despise me-think me cold and base—
It shall not make me the less warm to thee-
Revile or frown, thou shalt a foremost place
Hold ever in my heart and memory.

Orford.

HESPERUS,

!

STANZAS.

BY MISS ANNE MARIA SARGEANT.

She looks not now, as then she look'd
When first her form I knew;
How is it faded! and her cheek
How lost its roseate hue.
Her eye of lustre beams no more,
And faultering is her tone;
To heaven, her every hope of bliss
Has with his spirit flown,

She does not talk of woe,-her voice
Is seldom heard to vent

One single word of sad complaint,
Her sorrows to lament.

No, she their poignancy essays

To hide for other's sake;

She would conceal them in her heart,

Until that heart shall break,

Yet there is one, who sees beneath
The false delusive veil ;

One, whom no transient smile can cheer,
By whom the hidden tale

Is read, and read with agony;

'Tis a fond mother's eye

Which watching o'er that withering flower,
Beholds its beauties fly.

Oh! there is nought that can elude
A mother's piercing glance;
Her offspring droops, and she is sad,
Their smiles her joys enhance.
And none but those who feel can know,
How deep a mother loves;
And none can estimate her loss,
But who that anguish proves.

The daughter's pallid cheek implants
Upon the mother's brow,

A careworn look, though piety

Sheds there its radiant glow.
Ah! yes, her fond maternal heart

Will keenly feel the stroke,

When death shall claim his drooping prize,
And life's last link is broke.

GOOD WIVES.

"

BY MRS. CHILD, AUTHOR OF THE MOTHER'S BOOK,' EIC.

No. 10.--Mrs. Ross, WIFE OF CAPTAIN ROSS.

Captain Ross was an officer in the English army during the American revolutionary war. He was much attached to a young lady, whose engagements to him her parents refused to ratify. When military duty compelled him to cross the Atlantic, his lady-love, without apprising him of her intentions, resolved to follow him. For this purpose, she disguised herself in men's clothes, and took passage for America. She arrived immediately after a battle had been fought between