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The Countess denied all knowledge of the by choaking her till her beautiful dark eyes crimes with which she was charged, and as it is started from their sockets. But she yielded not customary in Spain to put the accused to the until her head swam in dizziness, and she was rack, and extort by torture what, in the absence about falling, when her sturdy antagonist wrestof witnesses, cannot be obtained, she was con-ed the reeking weapon from her hand. But his

demned to be stretched upon the rack the next day. So long accustomed to intrigue, it is not strange that the Countess now, in the hour of danger, should have her emissaries. These contrived to elude the vigilance of the jailor, and convey to her the instruments necessary to make her escape. She did not fail at night to use them, and after long and lingering toil she found herself at midnight in the archway of the prison, where slept the keeper of the many miserable victims confined within its walls. The groans of the miserable sufferers alone broke the silence of the solemn hour. By the glimmering rays of the moon that entered through the iron lattice at the end of the arch, she could distinctly see the sleeping turnkey, as he lay stretched at full length upon his couch. Every moment was pregnant with danger, and she advanced, took from beneath her robe a poignard, and stood a moment to designate the spot where she should

triumph was of short duration, for, quick as the lightning's flash, she struck the poignard from his hand, and held it a moment glittering in the moonbeam, aimed at the shuddering breast of her combatant. Her arm descended, and he fell as falls the bullock of Spain beneath the knife of the dexterous butcher.

In the next moment, the desperate heroine was beyond the walls of the prison; and ere the next sun rose and set, she was in the gloom of a far distant forest, where the hungry wild wolf howled in concert with the maddened spirit of the murderous Countess. Her soul now breathed nothing but revenge on Don Juan, and was occupied only in the contemplation of the plan by which she might gratify her new passion. She had passed the Rubicon of crime, and was prepared, in the daring spirit of fallen woman, for those deeds which outstrip romance, and set at defiance even the most extravagant pretensions

strike with effect. In the hurry, she dropped of turpitude. Quick in intellect, it did not rethe poignard; in stooping for which, she placed quire long for the countess to mature her plans her hand upon a locket containing the portrait against Don Juan; for, in three days, she was of one she had known in better days. Curiosity again in the streets of Madrid, watching every

overcame the sense of danger, and for a moment she gazed upon it with intense feeling. It was the portrait of her mother; but who could the being be who possessed it? Could he be her brother? He might not be; and if she waked him, her doom would be eternally sealed; and, oh! the agonies of the rack which she must endure. Thus she reasoned, and at last determined to plunge the poignard to his heart, rather than risk the consequence of his waking. She grasped the poignard, and raising her arm, said, in a low tone

"No, I must kill him-my own life depends upon his death."

"Hold! rash woman, hold!" cried the turnkey, springing from his bed, " would you murder your own brother? I knew you, when first arrested, and it was through my agency that you received the instruments by which you have escaped. Would you, then, imbue your hands in the blood of your brother?"

"Pardon me," said the Countess, "my own life"

Nay, you are free," interrupted the turnkey, "fly this moment from the shores of Spain: fly! fly!" And he bore her along the deep, resounding vault, towards the massive door.

movement of her intended victim. She discovered, by means of her disguise, that Juan would leave Madrid in a few days for Italy, which was all her dark soul, brooding on revenge, desired. Juan and Inez accordingly set out; and, after visiting Valladolid, Saragossa, and Barcelona, crossed over the gulfs of Lyons and Genoa, and landed at Lucca, in Italy. After visiting Pisa, Florence, and several other cities, they departed for Venice, the idol of the isles. The sun was just casting his last red rays on the silvery surface of the Mediterranean, when they reached a defile of that long chain of mountains, the Apennines, which runs through almost the whole extent of Italy. Passing through this gloomy pass, Don Juan amused Inez by reciting the story of a bandit who had stopped an English nobleman and his lady in that spot, and after murdering him, bore off the lady to a fate worse than death.

"I see him now!" said Inez, " behind that fallen tree. Oh, God! we are lost!"

"Nay, 'tis but your fancy," returned Don Juan, "I see no living creature."

"See, see! he moves," cried the lady, "О! save me, save me!"

At that moment a being dressed in the garb of a bandit, with long dark whiskers, sprung from behind the fallen tree, and seized the bridle of Juan's horse. Two large horse pistols hung in the belt round his body, and two stilletoes peered from his bosom; at his side hung a long glittering poniard or attaghan.

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A moment sooner, and the Countess would have been free; but the noise had aroused the higher officers of the prison, and before the turnkey could unbar the door, an officer rushed forward and attempted to seize the Countess. In an instant, ere the officer could fix his grasp, she gave him a tremendous blow, the poignard was buried to the hilt, the blood gushed in a torrent against the wall, and sprinkled the loose robe of the infuriated Countess. The next moment a second officer seized the uplifted arm of the desperate woman with one hand, while he grasped her white neck with the other, and attempted to have followed you over the world, but fortune wrench the poignard from her supernatural grip | has favoured me. Nay, think not of resistance;

Who art thou, audacious villain?" interrogated Don Juan, " that thus darest to cross my path."

"It matters not," muttered the bandit, "further than I am thy deadly foe. I have sought revenge, and now the hour has come. I would

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my band of brave hearts are feasting in the dis-had been removed by her death. knowing the

tant cavern, and one stamp or call of mine shall bid an hundred start to avenge my wrongs."

" I never wronged you," said Juan, "and why do you seek revenge?"

"No, the wolf never wronged the lamb," sarcastically retorted the bandit, "but you shall taste death, and Donna Inez, the generous Donna Inez, shall"

Don Juan, alarmed, hastily drew from his bosom a small pistol, levelled it at the heart of the bandit, and drew the trigger. But the pistol flashed, and the next moment he was in deadly conflict with the bandit, each struggling for the mastery. The bandit being small, was thrown by Juan; but was busy in attempting to draw one of the instruments to stab Juan, which, after some time, was effected. But the wound was given only in the arm; and Juan, in the mean time, had drawn one of the stilletoes from the besoin of the bandit, and as he supposed had pinned him to the ground. But the wound Juan had given was not fatal. The weapon had struck the ribs, and glanced down through the flesh on the side. A small artery, however, had been severed, and the bandit bled profusely. Juan finding his antagonist so weak, raised himself and looked full in the face of the fainting bandit. "Tell me, this instant, who thou art," cried Juan, "or this moment is thy last."

He held the stilleto glittering in the gaze of the fainting bandit, whose beautiful melancholy eyes, rolling in their sockets, touched the soul of Juan with compassion.

"Know, then," said the bandit, rising on one arm, "that your most deadly foe is no other than the Countess Isabella Donzella, whose arm of vengeance shall yet reach thy heart."

Juan, at the sound of that name, sprung upon bis feet, with surprise and horror.

"Nay, threaten not-remember, you are in my power," said Juan, holding up her pistols.

"Aye, I am in thy power, but I fear thee not," retorted the dauntless woman, rising on one knee. "Here I swear never to rest till I have avenged the wrongs I bear."

"Go," interrupted Juan, "weak woman, I fear thee not. Thy weakness I pity, thy threats I despise."

"I swear that the time yet shall come, proud man, when you shall tremble beneath the arm of that woman you once loved. I will follow thee from country to country, and never will I rest till this dagger is buried in thy cruel heart." "Go, hie thee to some cloister," said Juan, and wash with repectance the blood that reeks upon thy guilty hands."

desperate character of his adversary. The countess had hated Juan with all the rancour which is common to women who have loved, and whose love has been slighted. Juan now felt free from all dread, and passed on to Venice, where he arrived in safety. They were conducted through all the canals of this grand city of the sea, until the gondolier conveyed them to their own splendid palace of marble, situated near the Rialto, the most sublime bridge in that sublime city of bridges and canals. Here they passed their time in the most refined and luxurious enjoyment, until some months had worn away. It was late one evening after having been on a pleasure excursion, in a gondola, that Juan retired to bed, fatigued and somewhat overcome with wine. He slept soundly, but was awakened in the dead of night by a voice near his couch, which called loudly on his name. He awoke in his fright, and what was his horror when he beheld a stern, unearthly being, brandishing a dagger in the moonlight.

"I swore I would not rest until this dagger had reeked in thy heart's blood, and now I have come to execute my purpose. I am not dead'twas but a tale told to lull thy fears."

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Juan sprung from the couch with horror-for so much like an apparition did the countess pear, that he could not dispel the idea. "Ho! help, here-help! help!" cried Juan, raising his voice to the highest pitch.

"Nay, struggle not, call not, for I have secured thee ere I waked thee," said the countess, "and now the hour of my vengeance has certainly arrived. Not for all the splendour thou hast robbed me of, nor all the wealth of Italy, would I relinquish the luxury of reaching thy heart. Now thou tremblest-did I not tell thee thou shouldst tremble at my gaze? Thou wouldst have glutted thine eyes on my agonies - now I will feast on thine."

Juan, bound hand and foot, stood on his knees before her, and was in the act of imploring mercy, when footsteps were heard on the stairway leading to the apartment. No time was to be lost, and the Countess again hurriedly addressed him.

"Juan, 1 revenge the wrongs you have heap ed upon me, and this blow will obliterate them for ever from my memory. Die! traitor-die like a man, by the hand of her you loved."

She struck at the moment she spoke, and Juan fell backwards, with a groan, on the floor. At the same instant Inez rushed into the room, and seeing her husband fall, snatched the dagger from the hand of the countess, and in an instant plunged it into her heart. The blood gushed upon the floor, and the countess, springing upwards, fell dead at the foot of Inez. Juan finding all danger passed, raised himself, and found that his wound was not mortal. The blade had glanced. He recovered both his health and property afterwards. MILFORD BARD.

The large dark eye of the countess scowled on Juan, as he recalled her degradation; and she would have rushed upon him, had she not fainted at that moment with the loss of blood. Juan and the insensible Inez now pursued their journey, and stopping a few days after, at a small town, they were informed by a traveller who had just left the mountains that the unfortunate countess was dead on the highway where she fought. Sorrow stole into the heart of Juan, for he had once devotedly loved her, and it is hard to hate whom we have loved. Yet he could not but feel that a great suspense and uncertainty | thoughts of other men.-Beatlie.

The aim of Education should be to teach us rather how to think, than what to think-rather to improve our minds, so as to enable us to think for ourselves, than to load the memory with the 440

THE VOICE OF THE STREAM-GREAT AFRICAN WHITE ANT.

Written for the Saturday Evening Post.

THE VOICE OF THE STREAM.

'Tis sweet, as day's declining ray

Fades in a lingering beam,
By softened evening's light to stray,
Beside the silver stream:

And listen to the gurgling sound,

Its pebbly waters make

While insects, from the enamell'd ground,

In echoing numbers wake.

Oh! there's a voice so softly low,
Of gently varying theme,
In the calm waters' sparkling flow,
Of that bright silver stream.

'Tis with the music-breathing tongue
Of love's peculiar tone,

Whose softest whispering notes are sung,
To rocks and woods alone.

Even trees and leaves are music-stirr'd,
Bright flowers in chorus seem,
And the clear warblings of the bird,
Are mingling with the stream.

And when that fairy light alone,
Which gentle evening brings,

O'er the deep woods and rocks, has thrown
Its far-spread, shadowing wings:

Then soft, unmingled, murmuring notes
But break on nature's dream,

'Tis the fond voice that gently floats
O'er that bright silver stream.

C. H. W.

The following interesting article, illustrating a beautiful plate in the Book oF NATURE, is taken from the third number of that work.

Great African White Ant. (Termite. Termes Bellicosa, Linn.) Smeathman has given the best account of the habits and instincts of these curious insects; and they are so singular that they cannot fail to be interesting to the reader. Whole volumes have been written respecting the various tribes of ants, and the curious reader is referred to those of Huber and Satreille, where he will find examples of an industry that has become proverbial, and traits of affection and feeling that would do honour to our own species. Love and courage, patience and perseverence, almost all the higher virtues of human nature, seem to be the ordinary springs of action in the ant.

The termites are represented by Linnæus as the greatest plagues of both Indies; and, indeed, between the tropics they are justly so considered, from the vast damages and losses which they cause. They perforate and eat into wooden buildings, utensils, and furniture, with all kinds of household stuff and merchandise; these they totally destroy, if their progress be not timely stopped. A person residing in the equinoctial regions, although not incited by curiosity, must be very fortunate if the safety of his property do not compel him to observe their habits.

"When they find their way," says Kirby,

"into houses or warehouses, nothing less hard than metal or glass escapes their ravages. Their favourite food, however, is wood; and so infinite is the multitude of assailants, and such the excellence of their tools, that all the timber-work of a spacious apartment is often destroyed by them in a night. Outwardly, every thing appears as if untouched; for these wary depredatorsand this is what constitutes the greatest singularity of their history-carry on all their operations by sap or mine, destroying first the inside of solid substances, and scarcely ever attacking their outside, until first they have concealed it and their operations with a coat of clay."

An engineer, having returned from surveying the country, left his trunk on a table; the next morning he found not only all his clothes destroyed by white ants, or cutters, but his papers also, and the latter in such a manner, that there was not a bit left of an inch square. The black lead of his pencils was consumed; the clothes were not entirely cut to pieces and carried away, but appeared as if moth-eaten, there being scarcely a piece as large as a shilling that was free from small holes; and it was further remarkable, that some silver coin, which was in the trunk, had a sed by it, caused somenumber of black specks thing so corrosive that they could not be rubbed off, even with the hand. "One night," says Kemper, "in a few hours, they pierced one foot of the table, and having in that manner ascended, carried their arch across it, and then down, through the middle of the other foot, into the floor, as good luck would have it, without doing any damage to the papers left."

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The destructiveness of these insects is, perhaps, one of the most efficient means of checking the pernicious luxuriance of vegetation within the tropics; no large animal could effect in months what the white ant can execute in weeks; the largest trees, which falling, would rot, and render the air pestilential, are so thoroughly removed, that not a grain of their substance is to be recognized. Not only is the air freed from this corrupting matter, but the plants destroyed by the shade of these bulky giants of the vegetable world, are thus permitted

to shoot.

The different species of this genus resemble each other in form, in their manner of living, and in their good and bad qualities, but differ as much as birds in the manner of building their habitations, and in the choice of the material of which they compose them.

Some build on the surface of the ground, or partly above and partly beneath, and some on the stems or branches of trees, sometimes aloft at a vast height.

Their societies consist of five different descriptions of individuals.

Workers, or larvæ, answering to the neuters of bees. These constitute the most numerous division of the community; they construct the nest, and take charge of the young until the latter are capable of providing for themselves.

Nymphs, or pupæ; which differ nothing from the larvæ, except in possessing the rudiments of wings.

Neuters: which are known by their large heads, armed with very long mandibles. These exceed the labourers much in bulk, and are in

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numerical proportion to the latter as 1 to 100.- | rent skin, and appear of a fine cream colour, a

They are the soldiers of the community.

A male and female arrived at their full state of perfection. Each community contains but one of each of these, and they are strictly king and queen; they they are exempt from all the ordinary duties falling upon their subjects. When first disclosed from the pupa, they have four wings; but like the ants, they soon cast off these members. They are known from the blind larvæ, pupæ, and neuters, by their having two large eyes.

"In this form," says Smeathman, " the animal comes abroad during or soon after the first tornado, which at the latter end of the dry season proclaims the approach of the ensuing rains, and seldom waits for a second or third shower, if the first, as is generally the case, happen in the night, and bring much wet with it.

The quantities that are to be found next morning, all over the surface of the earth, but particularly in the waters, is astonishing.

"On the following morning, however, they are to be seen running upon the ground in chase of each other. From one of the most active, industrious, and rapacious; from one of the most fierce and implacable little animals in the world, they are now become the most innocent, helpless, and cowardly; never making the least resistance to the smallest ant."

The ants are to be seen on every side in infinite numbers, dragging to their different nests these annual victims to the laws of nature. It is wonderful that a pair should ever escape so many dangers, and get into a place of safety; some, however, do in fact escape, and being found by some of the labouring insects that are continually running about the surface of the ground, under their covered galleries, they are elected kings and queens of new states. All those who have not the good luck to be so preserved, certainly perish, and most probably in the course of the following day.

The little industrious creatures immediately inclose the favoured individuals in a small chamber of clay, suitable to their size, into which at first they have but one entrance, just large enough for the workers and the soldiers to go in and out.

About this time a most extraordinary change begins to take place place in the queen, to which nothing similar is known except in the chigoe, and in the different species of the coccus tribe. The abdomen begins gradually to enlarge, and at length acquires such an enormous size, that an old queen will have it increased to an extent which equals fifteen hundred or two thousand times the bulk of the rest of her body, and twenty or thirty thousand times the bulk of a labourer.

The skin between the segments is distended in every direction; and at last the segments are removed to the distance of half an inch from each other, though at first the length of the whole abdomen is not half an inch; they preserve their dark brown colour, and the upper part of the abdomen is marked with a regular series of

little shaded by the dark hue of the intestines, and watery fluid seen here and there beneath.

The abdomen is then of an irregular oblong shape, being contracted by the muscles of every segment, and is become one vast matrix full of eggs, which make long circumvolutions through an innumerable series of very minute vessels. This singular matrix is not more remarkable for its amazing extension than for its peristaltic motion, which resembles the undulation of the waves, and continues incessantly without any apparent effort on the part of the animal; so that there is a constant protrusion of eggs, to the amount, as Smeathman has frequently counted in the case of an old queen, of sixty in a minute, or eighty thousand and upwards in twenty-four hours.

These eggs are instantly removed by her attendants, of which a sufficient number is always found waiting in the adjacent chambers, and carried to the nurseries, which, in a great nest, may be four or five feet distant, in a direct line, and consequently much farther by the winding galleries which conduct to them.

The nests of these insects are usually termed hills by natives, as well as strangers, from their outward appearance, which being more or less conical, generally resemble the form of a sugarloaf; they rise about ten or twelve feet in perpendicular height above the ordinary surface of the ground.

One inch of the terme's building, being proportionate to twenty-four feet of human building, twelve inches, or one foot of the former must be proportionate to twelve times twentyfour, or two hundred and eighty-eight feet, of the latter; consequently, when the white ant has built one foot, it has, in point of labour, equalled the exertions of a man who has built two hundred and eighty-eight feet: but, as the ant-hills are ten feet high, it is evident that human beings must produce a work of two thousand eight hundred and eighty feet in height, to compete with the industry of their brother insect. The great pyramid is about one-fifth of this height; and as the solid contents of the ant-hill are in the same proportion, they must equally surpass the solid contents of that ancient wonder of the world. These hills are sufficiently strong to support the weight of a large bull, to whom they furnish a convenient stand for watching the rest of the herd ruminating below.

There are also around large subterranean galleries, to which the Roman sewers are not to be compared, when the size of the worker is taken into account. Some of these are thirteen inches in the bore, extending more than a hundred yards under ground, and forming the great thoroughfares of the community. The tender bodies of the termites, compared with the armour-like integument of their mortal enemies, makes it necessary for them thus to conceal themselves.

Fig. 1, represents the labourers, less than a quarter of an inch in length. When its formidable jaws are examined, and its immense industry 442

brown bars from the thorax to the posterior part and activity are considered, the effects resulting of the abdomen; while the intervals between from the labours of myriads of these insects, will them are covered with a thin, delicate, transpa- | scarcely excite surprise.

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GREAT AFRICAN WHITE ANT.

Fig. 2, are the soldiers, with the huge head armed with awls.

Fig. 3, the king, which after losing its wings never increases in bulk.

Fig. 4, the males.

Fig. 5, pregnant females, or queens, represented on branches, to show the entire figures. Fig. 6, nests.

On attempting to knock off the top of one of these nests, a soldier will run out, and walk about as if to reconnoitre; he is followed by two or three others, and to them succeed a large body, who rush out as fast as the breach will permit them. It is not easy, says Smeathman, to describe the rage and fury they show; being blind, they bite everything they come against, making a crackling noise. They make their hooked jaws meet at every bite; and if it should be on the leg of a man, a spot of blood, extending an inch on the stocking, follows the wound. Nothing can tear them away, and they must be taken off piecemeal. The same author saw an army of the marching ants, Termes viarum, emerge from the ground, and observed their motions. Their march was orderly, and very rapid, and their numbers prodigious. They were divided into two columns, sixteen abreast, composed chiefly of labourers, with here and there a huge soldier, that appeared like an ox among sheep; other soldiers kept a foot or two from the column, acting as videtts, appointed to guard against a surprise; others mounted the plants or blades of grass, which flanked the main bodies, and thus elevated a foot or more, looked over and controlled the proceedings of the moving multitude. They turned their heads in the different directions where danger might arise, and every now and then struck their forceps against the plant, producing a ticking sound, to which the whole army answered simultaneously with a loud hiss, and quickened their pace. The stream continued to flow on for an hour, and then sunk into the earth; the rear was brought up by a large body of soldiers.

As the termites have a portion of their community expressly set apart for the duties of war, they may be expected to exhibit the most perfect form of insect tactics; and such, indeed, is the fact. Upon an alarm being given, the labourers, being incapable of fighting, betake themselves to the interior, while the soldiers take their places. A sentinel starts out, walks rapidly about, and after ascertaining the nature of the danger threatened, retires to give the alarm. Upon this, two or three more hurry out, and the intelligence spreading, the vicinity is soon filled with warriors in a state of great fury. These, in their haste, being only capable of directing their movements by feeling, frequently lose their footing, and tumble down hill. The soldiers, says Smeathman, fight to the very last, disputing every inch of ground. Neither can a building stand so as to get a view of the interior parts without interruption; for the labourers keep barricading all the way, stopping up the different galleries and passages which lead to the apartments, particularly the royal chamber, all the entrances to which they fill so artfully as not to let it be distinguishable while the work remains moist, and externally it appears like a

shapeless lump of clay. It is large enough to hold many hundreds of the attendants, besides the royal pair. These faithful subjects never abandon their charge, even in the last distress.

"If," says Huber, " we are desirous of beholding regular armies wage war in all its forms, we must visit the forests in which the wood-ant (Formica rufa) establishes its dominion over every insect in its vicinity. We shall there see populous and rival cities, and regular military roads diverging from the ant-hill like so many rays from a centre, frequented by an immense number of combatants of the same species, for they are naturally enemies, and jealous of encroachment. I have witnessed in these forests the inhabitants of two large ant-hills engaged in spirited combat; two empires could not have brought into the field a more determined body of combatants. The rival cities were a few paces from each other, and alike in population."

The author describes the ground covered with the ants, when both armies met. Thousands took their stations on the highest ground, and fought in pairs. Many were engaged in leading away prisoners, who endeavoured violently to escape. The scene of warfare was almost three feet square, and a penetrating odour exhaled from all sides. Numbers of dead ants were seen covered with venom. The little creatures laid hold of each other's legs and pincers, and dragged their antagonists on the ground. They were often so closely wedged together that they fell on their sides, and fought a long time in that situation in the dust, till a third came to decide the contest. Sometimes both received succour at the same moment, when the whole four, keeping firm hold of a foot or antennæ, made ineffectual attempts to win the battle. On the approach of night, night, each party retired gradually to their own city, and next morning returned to the conflict with increased fury. The event remained for a long time doubtful, but by mid-day the contending armies had removed to the distance of a dozen feet from one of the cities, whence it was concluded some ground had been gained. The ants fought so desperately that they did not perceive they were watched, seeming to be wholly absorbed in the object of finding an enemy to wrestle with. This battle terminated without any disastrous results to the two republics; and in fact its duration appeared to be shortened by long-continued rain, which compelled each of the belligerents to keep within their walls, and the warriors ceased to frequent the road which led to the camp of the enemy.

The simplicity of religious feeling is one of its most touching beauties. It is a sunny and childlike, and single-hearted repose upon plain and realized truth. The very charm of it is, that it is so ingenuous and transparent that there is no mistaking its nature or its reality. Its expression is, "Read, recognize, receive me;-there is in me no reservation or disguise, welcome me, and I will make you happy."

GLEANINGS.-In Shakspeare's time all the world was a stage, and all the men and women merely play. ers. In ours, all the world's a book, and all its population simply readers.

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