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unheeding the remark of his ans- successful without them for its guide; ious listener, “taxed on the one side save us all, by becoming our leader, by the Government, and on the other from the Austrian, from the people, by their priests, forced to bear without from the anarchy of lawless power!" murmuring every species of cruelty, “If such a position were possible, driven to the last verge of tyranny, my youth would present an insurare ready to revolt. Did you observe mountable obstacle.

To my poor this morning the angry looks of the father, if he were well in health, such Paduans, their excitement, their cries? a station would be fit." a specimen of the feelings I have ob- No, Porro; it is not to the old served in Milan, in Brescia, and other we should look for aid, but to the parts of Lombardy: To manage

and young, full of vigour and intellect, guide them right is a more difficult and capable, by their strength, to bear task than to excite to open rebellion. the fatigues of such a station. Think The element of progression with the over this night what I have said to you. people has made advances far beyond

Ponder well the consequences of rethat in the higher circles, and if not fusal. Be assured that there is none properly controlled would envelop it- other whom this position can be deleself' in its own ruins ; how dangerous gated to; that I have not spoken to to its own well-being can be imagined, you without good and sufficient warwhen men of talent, as Mazzini - a rant; and that if you accept of it, the theorist and republican-are ready to gratitude of a warm-hearted people seize the helm and urge it, with good will follow you, and the approval of intentions, perhaps, to a certain wreck. your own conscience. Farewell I may Thus, the people ready for revolution, your decision be a wise one.” the nobles but wanting the example to For a few moments Porro sat enlead, I turn to look for a chief, and rapt within the vision conjured up becan find none. Shall I look for one fore his imagination, the last words of amongst the people?--the nobility would the Baron still thrilling in his ears. refuse to join. Shall I search for one Quick, with lightning rapidity passed amongst the half-impoverished nobility, before his mind's eye thought upon without power to make himself re- thought, leaving, as each one successpected ?--the people would not follow. sively. passed, a new feeling to contend The leader we all inust have should be for mastery in his heart of hearts. a noble, high in birth, popular with Ambition, pride, revenge, and not last, the people, rich in large territorial pos- patriotism, reigned there in turn, each sessions. And where can all these striving for the victory. The last three be found better united in one pure, and bright, and sacred in the than in you, Alberico Porro, the heart of youth, when untarnished by heir to a long line of princely ances- the cold policy of statesmanship’s tors?"

chicanery — gained the sway; and as “), Baron Pinaldi, become your he slowly rose from his seat, while a leader?"

deep-drawn sigh escaped him, he Yes. Save your own class the turned to look for the Baron, and shame of not furnishing a leader, which found himself alone. Was it his the populace will soon do; save your country's better or evil genius which own class from the doom that will sure. bad flown ? Time, unerring in its proly follow it, if the revolution becomes

gress, will show.

CHAPTER IV.

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

" In worlds of strife,
Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray !"-Byron.

SWEETLY across the waters of the Lago Maggiore shone the silvery queen of night, tinging with hues of light the fairy scene which lay around. Proudy in its centre was seen, dotting here

and there the quiet waters, the Borromean islands; whilst conspicuous amongst them was the one so wortbily named the Isola Bella. Along its shores, on either side, rose the villas of many a signor, who sought in this placid scene of beauty to steep his memory in forgetfulness of the world which lay beyond. Nature seemed to have poured on this enchanting lake every charm the eye could imagine or the heart could feel, bestowing on earth a paradise of celes. tial delight!

In a small villa, against the walls of which the waters of the lake gently rippled, and from whose garden joyfully arose the song of the bird, on a terrace projecting from the house, was seated a female. The light of the moon, which shone full on her, revealed a countenance, on which the eye of the painter would wish to dwell. Her eyes, full and languid, yet filled with expression; her hair, rich and glossy, dark as the raven's hue; her cheeks full, with a small mouth beautifully chiselled; her form well developed, of exquisite symmetry, she seemed the impersonation of Hebe, budding forth in all the beauty of womanhood.

As she sat, with her face leaning on her hand, and her eye roving over the placid waters before her, an expression of anxiety and sadness stole over her countenance. Was it the quiet, calm scene, so solemn, yet so silent, speak. ing of the unutterable immensity of nature, which caused the feeling to spring which dimmed the lustre of her eye? Or was it the craving of the heart's loneliness, which spoke of a thousand pleasures-the stars of memory's brightness ! all set, and never to rise again? It might have been one or the other ; but hark! what is the sound which breaks the silence of the evening, and calls back the smile to the lady's lips ?

Darting along the waters, like a swallow skimming the surface, appeared a small boat, rowed by the hands of a sturdy boatman. At the farthest end of it was seen the form of a young man, on whoin the eyes of the lady rested, while borne to her ears came the sound of music, accompanied by the rich and mellow voice of the player, as he sang the following verse:

"O Patria adorata
Che vivi agli affanni
Piu sacra congli anni
Diventi fier me:
M'è sacro il tuo cielo
Mê sacro il tuo suolo
M'è sacro quel duolo

Ch'io sento per te."
VOL. XLVI.-NO. CCLXXI.

As the last words of the song died away on the breeze, and the boat glided to the shore, the lady left her seat, and hastened to the room which gave egress to the terrace.

“Hasten, Margerital” she exclaimed to an attendant who stood there; " hasten and open the door, the Signor Porro has come.”

Nina Ezzellinni was the sole survivor of a long line of ducal ancestors. An orphan, and living upon a small income, the remnant of a princely fortune formerly enjoyed by a family, which in the middle ages yielded to none in splendour and magnificence, she retained all the pride of birth and of ancient lineage. Proud to her superiors, yet affable to those she considered beneath her — adorned by a beauty of a regal character, with warm and generous feelings - her very poverty constituted with her a virtue, and made even her pride sit more becomingly than if surrounded with all the appendages of a sovereign's court. It was little more than a year before this period, when Porro first encountered her. Walking along a steep precipice one day, her foot accidentally slipped, and she fell over the height. Providentially for her--for she would have been inevitably killed—her dress caught in a projecting tree nature had fancifully allowed to grow there. Porro, who was near at the time, although not a spectator, alarmed by the cries of those who beheld her suspended as if between heaven and earth, hastened to the spot, and, accustomed from his earliest childhood to roam over hill and preci. pice, nothing daunted, attempted her rescue, and at the hazard of his life accomplished it successfully. From that bour her fate was sealed. Love at first sight, which in another country is ridiculed and considered impossible, but which in Italy is a common matter of fact, born with the clime and its troubadours of song, instantly filled the heart of Nina Ezzellinni. Astonished at the daring feat he had accomplished in her behalf, joined with his youth, his manly appearance, and his high ancestral birth, unbounded gratitude and love seized upon her heart. Nothing, in her opinion, was sufficient to recompense

him_her very soul was wrapt up in his being. Every glance from his eye, every smile from his lip, was to her a delight. Her

I

love was a passion, a feeling full of in- “ Nina, what happiness to see you tensity. In bim she saw the reflection again !” uttered Porro. of her world herself. She loved as “My beloved !" murmured the no other but an Italian woman can trembling yet happy girl. love.

For a few moments no other words The departure of Porro had very passed the lips of the lovers — their soon after followed-to her it was as if thoughts, their feelings were too in. her life had departed. How an utter tense for utterance. Nina at length loneliness seemed to prey upon her raised her blushing countenance from heart! All her joys, her pleasures the breast of her admirer, and timidly were flown. Music, formerly a delight glanced on his features. Although to to her, avd her welcomed companion another's eye everything appeared for many a long hour, now fell insi- there smiling, and gay, the quick pidly upon her ear. The beautiful glance of love instantly detected a care landscapes of bier land, with their old lurking upon that high and thoughtful towers and ancient halls, chroniclers of brow. But, with a woman's delicacy, many a tale, in which she felt a plea- she abstained from noticing it, and her sure in roving through, now to her love told her she would soon know mind had lost their every charın.

the cause. Wearily fell the hours of his ab- “ How happy, Porro, must you not sence, her sole consolation the letters feel in returning to dear Italy. Your penned by his hand. How ofien were song told your ardent feeling for your they not read — each sentence, each country, which you will love the word dwelt over! How was not that more from comparing her with other paper envied that but a few hours lands. before had lain within his hand! Iler “Happy, dear Nina ; yes, happy mind's eye pictured him in the act of with you. But in seeing my native writing, his thoughts dividing the land again, there has been many a space that separated them, by being bitter mingled with the sweet." centered on her. What happiness, “ Your father? say nothing is the what delight, while thus in fancy matter with him. He wrote to me breathing his presence ! Could she but three days ago, telling me how but live on in such a dream, how en. impatiently be was waiting your arviable her fate! But too soon, alas ! rival." came reality, dispelling with its stern “ My father! No, no; he is as well features every spell of ecstasy which as I could wish. But why, kind love, for a while hung over her being, and should I sadden our first hour of bringing with it both sorrow and pain, meeting after so long an absence, by sure barbingers of the heart's woe. making you, whom I so ardently deShe stood alone-llope her only friend. light to see happy, a participator in Time, in its flight, passed rapidly on.

my sorrow?" To some, surrounded by the gay, the It is you now who are unkiud, happy, the sparkling, how quickly flew Porro. Am I not yours?

do I not each day, each hour-far too quickly, love you ? Every grief, every thought while new joys and pleasures stood which casts a cloud over your exisbefore them, yet untasted in the brief tence - must I not feel them, too ? span of their existence. But to Nina Porro, dear Porro, do not speak so." Ezzellinni how different! Every day “I meant not unkindness, my own to her seemed an age, a space that Nina ; nor did nor would I cast a divided her heart from her beloved. single doubt on your affection. Come, At length came the news that Porro in- let us rest ourselves, and I will contide tended to return, and then his arrival

to you my troubles." at Padua. This evening he announced Throwing his arm around her waist, by a messenger he would come to see he led Nina Ezzellinoi to a seat, and her; and now she stood, trembling placed himself by her side. with joy, to encounter him whom she Nina, do you recollect one day, had not seen for many a month. The when we were wandering through the door of the room, towards which ber

picture gallery of the Palazzo Borroeyes were turned in eager gaze, at méo, you were struck with a fine porlength opened, and Porro stood before trait of Masaniello ? How, dressed in ber. In a second she was folded a poor fisherman's garb, there was yet within his embrace.

a look which spoke of high and noble deeds, as if nature had placed him in Pinaldi ; of his own fears ; of his a rank not his own ?".

hopes; of the many dangers and “Well do I remember with what difficulties to be overcome in the curiosity I looked upon the portrait of emancipation of Italy. And well and one, whose history had often excited wisely did Nina Ezzellinni weigh with my admiration, and whose memory is him every obstacle, and balance the so dear to the heart of every true probabilities of success. Nothing was Italian."

forgotten that either youth or national “How would you, then, think of me, love could suggest. Porro seemed at if I, unlike him, born with fortune and length to have formed his determinafriends, should endeavour to imitate

tion. his noble example, and break the chain “ Nina, we have then decided. Toof tyranny ?"

morrow I shall visit the principal “I should recognise in you, Porro, friends I can put trust in, in Milan, the idol of my dream; the same daring and induce them to visit me privately, spirit which made you my saviour, and to deliberate on the present aspect of may lead you to be the saviour of your my country. Then, when I have heard country," exclaimed Nina, in passion- what they have to say, my course of ate tones, her beautiful countenance conduct will be an easier one.

Nor, if flushing with crimson pride.

they decide contrary to my belief, will “Nina,” exclaimed Porro, as he em- I forego my own future plans; nor will braced her in delight, “I wanted but I remain quiet, and forget my plighted your voice to decide me in my course. word to my poor nurse. Away now then with fear and doubt; Try the power of gold, dear all is dispelled before the ardour of Porro, and perhaps its effect will not your prophetic counsel. May heaven fail." smile upon the path I have chosen !" “If it does, dear Nina, force must

“ She will, she will, doubt it not, have its way. God knows how long dear Porro; for staly, the paradise of and patiently the Italian race has earth, was never made for slavery. borne oppression upon oppression, but

“ Yet, Nina, there are many things even tyranny must have its limits, and to be thought of, and I will take coun- I, however young, must not hesitate sel with you."

to show my countrymen a noble exNor was Porro far wrong in ad- ample. Come weal or woe, life or vising with Nina Ezzellinni. “Passion- death, my arm shall not be found ately devoted to her country, and wanting: looking upon it not merely as her " And Nina Ezzellinni, in victory or native land, but as the scene of the defeat, will be found by the side of exploits of her ancestors, she joined her country's champion !” with this her intense love for bim, and Rising from his seat, Porro embraced would not lead him in a course of con. once more the ardent and enthusiastic duct she might imagine either detri- girl, and, bidding her farewell, he sped mental to his honour or his safety. with a lighter mind on his road toLong did he speak to her of Teresa wards Milan, to fulfil the destiny he Avellinni's unfortunate position; of had marked out for himself. the offer made to him by the Baron

THE AMATEUR HAYMAKERS.

The rich hill-meadow sloping to the sea
Lies hot in sunshine : through the summer tree,
Heavy with foliage, passeth not a sigh

Of any wind that drops

From the blue mountain-tops,
Or guides its winged coursers from the glowing sky.
None but a charmèd pinnace on that wave
Could move its keel. "No calmer waters lave
Indolent shores in fabled faery-land;

Or where the lotos-fruit

Made man's ambition mute,
When Laertiades fled from the mystic strand.
From that rich meadow comes a murmuring chorus
Of youthful laughter ; and in vases porous
The long-necked flasks are cooling in the brook ;

And claw of lobster crimson

Acetic liquid swims on,
In a huge china bowl, in that delicious nook.
Green islands speck the ocean. Through the mist a line
Of distant hills dips to the waters crystalline-
Cool snowy summits, full of cloud-abysses,

And rifts and fissures deep,

Where the king-eagles sleep,
And from the skyward peaks the headlong torrent hisses.
And there was Townshend the Photographer,
Idlest of men. And there, his heart astir
With beauty of fair girls, and land and sea,

Was Vane the metrist, who

More of Catullus knew
Than that Verannius who shared his reckless glee.
There was my Ada. Never any wooer
Pressed ruddier lips, looked into wild eyes bluer,
Than my straw-batted, slender-ankled Dryad's,

Who on the harp gave birth

To strains of magic mirth,
And gaily sang thereto a burst of marvellous triads.
We talked of Thetis and Oceanus
Myths of old Time. The songs melodious
Of Grecian years, the greybeard as he passes

On to the unknown end,

Doth with new meanings blend. We Goths have changed the Gods of the old Greek faith to gases. We have found oxygen and hydrogen In every brook that frets the shadowy glen, In every cumaid curve on sandy shores,

In every tear that lies

In depths of lustrous eyes,
In every snow-white cloud through which the falcon soars.

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