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nurse pointed. "I sleep here; I should see it every night: tell me of something far, far away.

"Well, well, dear; it is only to amuse you. It shall not be of this room, nor of this house, nor even of this country; will that please you ?"

Lucy gave a slight inclination of the head, and again fixed her gaze steadily on the bright and sparkling fire; meantime the old woman took a deep draught from the tankard, disposed herself comfortably in her seat, and began her story in that harsh and hissing voice which rivets the hearing whereon it grates.

66 Many, many years ago, there was a fair peasant-so fair that, from her childhood, all her friends prophesied it could lead to no good. When she came to sixteen, the Count Ludolf thought it was a pity such beauty should be wasted, and therefore took possession of it: better that the lovely should pine in a castle than flourish in a cottage. Her mother died broken-hearted; and her father left the neighbourhood, with a curse on the disobedient girl who had brought desolation to his hearth, and shame to his old age. It needs little to tell that such a passion grew cold; it were a long tale that accounted for the fancies of a young, rich, and reckless cavalier; and, after all, nothing changes so soon as love."

"Love!" murmured Lucy, in a low voice, as if unconscious of the interruption: "Love, which is our fate, like Fate must be immutable; how can the heart forget its young religion ?"

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Many," pursued the sibyl, can forget; and do and will forget. As for the count, his heart was cruel with prosperity, and selfish with good fortune; he had never known sickness which softens; sorrow which brings all to its own level; poverty which, however it may at last harden the heart, at first teaches us our helplessness. What was it to him that Bertha had left the home which could never receive her again? What, that, for his sake, she had submitted to the appearance of disgrace, which was not in reality hers?-for the peasant-girl was proud as the count; and when she stepped over her father's threshold, it was as his wife.

"Well, well; he wearied, as men ever weary of woman's complaining, however bitter may be the injury which has wrung reproach from the unwilling lip. Many a sad hour did she spend weeping in the lonely tower, which had once seemed to her like a palace; for then the radiance of love was around it-and love, forsooth, is something like the fairies of our land; for a time it can make all that is base and worthless seem most glittering and pre

cious. Once, every night brought the ringing horn and eager step of the noble hunter; now the nights passed away too often in dreary and unbroken splendour: yet the shining steel of the shield in the hall, and the fair current of the mountain spring, shewed her that her face was lovely

as ever.

"One evening he came to visit her, and his manner was soft, and his vioce was low, as in the days of old. Alas! of late, she had been accustomed to the unkind look, and the harsh word.

666 It is a lovely twilight, my Bertha,' said he; help me to unmoor our little bark, and we will sail down the river.'

"With a light step, and yet lighter heart, she descended the rocky stairs, and reached the boat before her companion. The white sail was soon spread; they sprang in; and the slight vessel went rapidly through the stream. At first the waves were crimson, as if freighted with rubies, the last love-gifts of the dying sun, for they were sailing on direct to the west, which was one flush, like a sea of blushing wine. Gradually the tints became paler; shades of soft pink just tinged the far-off clouds, and a delicate lilac fell on the waters. A star or two shone pure and bright in the sky, and the only shadows were flung by a few wild rose-trees that sprang from the clefts of the rocks. By degrees the drooping flowers disappeared; the stream grew narrower, and the sky became darker: a few soft clouds soon gathered into a storm; but Bertha heeded them not; she was too earnestly engaged in entreating her husband that he would acknowledge their secret marriage. She spoke of the dreary solitude to which she was condemned; of her wasted youth, worn by the fever of continual anxiety. Suddenly she stopped in fear-it was so gloomy around; the steep banks nearly closed overhead, and the boughs of the old pines which stood in some of the tempestcleft hollows, met in the air, and cast a darkness, like that of night, upon the rapid waters, which burried on as if they distrusted their gloomy passage.

"At this moment Bertha's eye caught the ghastly paleness of her husband's face terribly distinct: she thought that he feared the rough torrent, and for her sake; tenderly she leaned towards him-his arm grasped her waist, but not in love: he seized the wretched girl, and flung her overboard, with the very name of God upon her lips, and appealing, too, for his sake! Twice her bright head-Bertha had ever gloried in her sunny curls, which now fell in wild profusion on her shoulders-twice did it emerge from the wave; her faint hands were spread abroad for help; he shrunk

from the last glare of her despairing eyes; then a low moan; a few bubbles of foam rose on the stream; and all was still-but it was the stillness of death. An instant after, the thunder-cloud burst above, the peal reverberated from cliff to cliff, the lightning clave the black depths of the stream, the billows rose in tumultous eddies; but Count Ludolf's boat cut its way through, and the vessel arrived at the open river. No trace was there of storm; the dewy wild-flowers filled the air with their fragrance; and the moon shone over them pure and clear, as if her light had no sympathy with human sorrow, and shuddered not at human crime. And why should she? We might judge her by ourselves: what care we for crime in which we are not involved, and for suffering in which we have no part?

"The red wine-cup was drained deep and long in Count Ludolf's castle that night; and soon after, its master travelled afar into other lands-there was not pleasure enough for him at home. He found that bright eyes could gladden even the ruins of Rome-but Venice became his chosen city. It was as if revelry delighted in the contrast which the dark robe, the gloomy canal, and the death-black gondola, offered to the orgies which made joyous her midnights."

"And did he feel no remorse ?" asked Lucy.

"Remorse!" said the crone, with a scornful laugh; 66 remorse is the word for a child, or for a fool-the unpunished crime is never regretted. We weep over the consequence, not over the fault. Count Ludolf soon found another love. This time his passion was kindled by a picture, but one of a most strange and thrilling beauty-a portrait, the only unfaded one in a deserted palace situate in the eastern lagune. Day after day he went to gaze on the exquisite face and the large black eyes, till they seemed to answer to his own. But the festival of San Marco was no time for idle fantasies; and the count was among the gayest of the revellers. Amid the many masks which he followed, was one that finally riveted his attention. Her light step seemed scarcely to touch the ground, and every now and then a dark curl or two of raven softness escaped the veil; at last the mask itself slipped aside, and he saw the countenance of his beautiful incognita. He addressed her; and her answers, if brief, were, at least, encouraging; he followed her to a gondola, which they entered together. It stopped at the steps of the palace he had supposed deserted.

"Will you come with me?' said she, in a voice whose melancholy was the lute

when the night-wind wakens its music; and as she stood by the sculptured lions which kept the entrance, the moonlight fell on her lovely face-lovely as if Titian had painted it.

"Could you doubt?' said Ludolf, as he caught the extended hand; • neither heaven nor hell should keep me from your side!'

"And here I cannot choose but laugh at the exaggerated phrases of lovers: why, a stone wall or a steel chain might have kept him away at that very moment! They passed through many a gloomy room, dimly seen in the moonshine, till they came to the picture-gallery, which was splendidly illuminated-and, strange contrast to its usual desolation, there was spread a magnificent banquet. The waxen tapers burned in their golden candlesticks, the lamps were fed with perfumed oil, and many a crystal vase was filled with rare flowers, till the atmosphere was heavy with fragrance. Piled up, in mother-of-pearl baskets, the purple grapes had yet the morning dew upon them; and the carved pine reared its emerald crest beside peaches, like topazes in a sunset. The count and the lady seated themselves on a crimson ottoman; one white arm, leaned negligently, contrasted with the warm colour of the velvet; but, extending the other towards the table, she took a glass; at her sign the count filled it with wine.

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"Will you pledge me?' said she, touching the cup with her lips, and passing it to him.' He drank it for wine and air seemed alike freighted with the odour of her sigh.

"My beauty!' exclaimed Ludolf, detaining the ivory hand.

"Nay, count,' returned the stranger, in that sweet and peculiar voice, more like music than language-'I know how lightly you hold the lover's vow!'

"I never loved till now?' exclaimed he, impatiently; 'name, rank, fortune, life, soul, are your own.'

"She drew a ring from her hand, and placed it on his, leaving hers in his clasp. What will you give me in exchangethis?' and she took the diamond cross of an order which he wore.

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Ay, and by my knightly faith will I, and redeem it at your pleasure.'

"It was her hand which now grasped his; a change passed over her face ; 'I thank you, my sister-in-death, for your likeness,' said she, in an altered voice, turning to where the portrait had hung. For the first time, the count observed that the frame was empty. Her grasp tightened upon him-it was the bony hand of a skeleton. The beauty vanished; the face grew a familiar one-it was that of Bertha! The

floor became unstable, like water; he felt himself sinking rapidly; again he rose to the surface-he knew the gloomy pinetrees overhead; the grasp on his hand loosened; he saw the fair head of Bertha gasp in its death-agony amid the waters; the blue eyes met his; the stream flung her towards him; her arms closed round his neck with a deadly weight; down, down they sank beneath the dark river together-and to eternity."-N. Y. Mirror.

RELICS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. THE indefatigable Mr. John Deane, of Gosport, has assembled what he terms a "Cabinet of Submarine Recoveries, Relics, and Antiquities from the bed of the Sea and various Wrecks;" of which he proposes to publish a Series of Pictorial Illustrations. The annexed Engraving is a specimen of these curiosities of the deep, and represents a Bottle, with oysters, &c., recovered by Mr. Deane from the wreck of the Royal George, which we take to be the most interesting of all the submerged vessels that have been visited and inspected, by aid of the diving-bell or other apparatus. To this stupendous wreck we believe Mr. Deane to have first riveted public attention; on which account, as well as for his persevering ingenuity, we hope to see the above work of our "submarine engineer" liberally patronized by the public.

Many details of Colonel Pasley's more recent operations upon the Royal George wreck will be found in the Literary World, vol. ii. pp. 9, 96, 127, 133, and 192.

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"Ours is a nation of travellers; and no wonder, when the elements-air, water, fire-attend our bidding, to transport us from shore to shore; when the ship rushes into the deep, her track the foam as of some mighty torrent; and in three hours, or less, we stand gazing, and gazed at, among a foreign people. None want an excuse. If rich, they go to enjoy; if poor, to retrench; if sick, to recover; if studious, to learn; if learned, to relax from their studies. But, whatever they may say, whatever they may believe, they go, for the most part, on the same errand; nor will those who reflect think that errand an idle one.

"Almost all men are over anxious. No sooner do they enter the world, than they lose that taste for natural and simple pleasures, so remarkable in early life. Every hour do they ask themselves, what progress they have made in the pursuit of wealth or honour; and on they go, as their fathers went before them, till, weary and sick at heart, they look back, with a sigh of regret, to the golden time of their childhood.

"Now, travel, and foreign travel more particularly, restores to us, in a great degree, what we have lost. When the anchor is heaved, we double down the leaf; and, for a while, at least, all effort is over. The old cares are left clustering round the old objects; and at every step, as we proceed, the slightest circumstance amuses and interests. All is new, and strange. We surrender ourselves, and feel, once again, as children. Like them, we enjoy eagerly; like them, when we fret, we fret only for the moment: and here the resemblance is very remarkable; for if a journey has its pains, as well as its pleasures, (and there is nothing unmixed in the world,) the pains are no sooner over than they are forgotten, while the pleasures live long in the memory.

"Nor is it, surely, without another advantage. If life be short, not so, to many of us, are its days and its hours. When the blood slumbers in the veins, how often do we wish that the earth would turn faster on its axis, that the sun would rise and set before it does; and, to escape from the weight of time, how many follies, how many crimes are committed! Men rush on danger, and even on death. Intrigue, play, foreign and domestic broil, such are their resources; and when these things fail, they destroy themselves.

"Now, in travelling, we multiply events, and innocently. We set out, as it were

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on our adventures; and many are those that occur to us, morning, noon, and night. The day we come to a place which we have long heard and read of,-and, in Italy, we do so continually,-it is an era in our lives; and, from that moment, the very name calls up a picture. How delightfully, too, does the knowledge flow in upon us, and how fast! Would he who sat in a corner of his library, poring over his books and maps, learn more, or so much in the time, as he who, with his eyes and his heart open, is receiving impressions all day long from the things themselves? How accurately do they arrange themselves in our memory,-towns, rivers, mountains; and in what living colours do we recal the dresses, manners, and customs of the people! Our sight is the noblest of all our senses.-" It fills the mind with most ideas, converses with its objects at the greatest distance, and continues longest in action without being tired." Our sight is on the alert when we travel; and its exercise is then so delightful, that we forget the profit in the pleasure.

"Like a river, that gathers, that refines as it runs-like a spring, that takes its course through some rich vein of mineral, we improve, and imperceptibly; nor in the head only, but in the heart. Our prejudices leave us, one by one. Seas and mountains are no longer our boundaries: we learn to love, and esteem, and admire, beyond them. Our benevolence extends itself with our knowledge. And must we not return better citizens than we went? For the more we become acquainted with the institutions of other countries, the more highly must we value our own.' Samuel Rogers.

THE DEMAUNDES JOYOUS. DEMAUNDE. who bare the best burden that euer was borne. ¶. That bare ye asse whā our lady fled with our lorde into egypte. ¶ Demaunde. where became ye asse that our lady rode upon. T. Adams moder dede ete her. T. Demaunde. who was Adams moder. T. The erthe. T. Demaunde. what space is from ye hyest space of the se to the depest. T. But a stones cast. Demaude. Whā antecryst is come in to this worlde what thynge shall be hardest to hym to knowe. T. a hande barowe, for of that he shall not know which ende shall goo before. ¶ Demaunde. How many calues tayles behoueth to reche frome the erthe to the skye. T. No more but one if it be longe ynough. ¶ Demaunde. How many holy dayes be there in the yere yt neuer fall on the sondayes. T. There be eyght, that is to wete ye thre holy dayes after Eester, iii after Whytsondaye, the

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holy ascencyon daye, and corpus crysty daye. T. Demaude. whiche ben y trulyest tolde thynges in the worlde. T. Those be ye steyres of chambres and houses. ¶. Demaunde. Which parte of a sergeaute loue ye best towarde you. T. His heles. T. Demaude. Which is the best wood and leest brente. ¶. Vynes. ¶. Demaunde. Which is the moost profytable beest and that men eteth leest of. T. That is bees. T¶. Demaunde. Whiche is the brodest water and leest Jeoperdye to passe ouer. T. The dewe. T. Demaunde. What thynge is that neuver was nor neuer shall be. T. Neuer mouse made her nest in a cattes ere. T. Demaunde Why dryue men dogges out of the chyrche. T. Bycause the come not up and offre. T. Demaunde. Why come dogges so often to the churche. T. Bycause whan they se the aulters couered they wene theyr maysters goo thyder to dyner. T. Demaunde. Why dooth a dogge tourne hym thryes aboute or yt he lyeth hym downe. T. Bycause he knoweth not his beddes hede frome the fete. T. Demaunde. Why doo men make an ouen in the towne. T. for bycause they can not make the towne in the ouen. T. De emaunde. How may a man knowe or perceyue a cowe in a flocke of shepe. T. By syghte. T. Demaunde. What almes is worst bestowed that men gyue. ¶. That is to a blynde man, for as he hathe ony thynge gyuen hym, he wolde with good wyll se hym hanged by the necke that gaue it hym. T. Demaunde. Wherfore set they upon chyrche steples more a cocke than a henne. T. yf men sholde sette there a henne she wolde laye egges, and they wolde fall upon mennes hedes. T. Demaunde what thynge is it that hath none ende. T. A bowle. T. Demaunde. What wode is it that neuer flyes reste upon. T. The claper of a lazers dysshe. Demaude. how wolde ye saye two paternosters for your frendes soule, and god neuer made but one paternoster. T. Saye one two tymes. Demaunde. whiche ben the moost profytable sayntes in the chyrche. T. They that stonde in ye glasse wyndoures, for they kepe out the wynde for wastynge of the lyght. Demaūde. what people be they yt neuér go a procession. T. They be those that rynge ye belles in ye meane season. Demaūde. what is it that freseth neuer. T. That is hote water. Demaūde. What thynge is that, yt is moost lykest unto a hors. T. That is a T. Demaunde. What daye in the yere ben the flyes moost aferde. T. That is on palme sunday. whā they se euery body haue an handeful of palme in theyr hande, they wene it is to kyll theym wt. T. Demaunde. what thynge is it the lesse it is the more it

mare.

is dredde. A brydge.

T. Demaūde. what is it that is a wryte and is no man, and he dothe that no man can, and yet it serueth bothe god and mon. ¶. That is a be. ¶. Demaude. which was fyrst ye henne or ye egge. ¶. The henne whā god made her. T. Demaunde. why doth an ox or a cowe lye. Bycause she can not sytte. T. Demaude. what people be they that loue not in no wyse to be prayed for. ¶. They be beggars and poore people whā men say god helpe them whan they aske almes. T. Demaude. How many strawes go to a gose nest. T. None for lacke of fete. he that slewe the fourth parte of the worlde. ¶. Cayne whan that he slewe his brother abell in the whiche tyme was but foure persones in the worlde.

T. Demaunde. What was

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T. Demaunde what thre thynges be they that the worlde is moost mayntened by. T. That is to wete by wordes, erbes and stones. Why with wordes man worshyppeth god, and as of erbes that is all maner of corne that man is fedde with, and as stones one is that gryndeth the corne and other encreaseth the worlde. De. what is ye aege of felde mous. T. a yere and hedge may stand thre mous lyues, and the lyfe of a dogge is the terme of thre hedges standynge and the lyfe of a hors is thre dogges lyues, and the lyfe of a man is thre hors lyues, and the lyfe of a gose is thre menes lyues and ye lyfe of a swanne thre gose lyues, and the lyfe of a swalowe is thre swanne lyues and the lyfe of an egle is thre swalowes lyues, and the lyfe of a serpent is thre egles lyues, and the lyfe of a rauen is thre serpentes lyues, and the lyfe of a harte is thre rauens lyuves, and an oke groweth a hondreth yere, and it standeth in one state fyue hondreth yere, and it fadeth fyue hondreth yere besyde the rote whyche doubleth thre tymes eueryche of the thre aeges aforesayd. ¶. De. A man had thre doughters of thre aeges, which doughters he delyuered to sell certeyne apples, and he toke to the eldest doughter fifty apples, and to the seconde thirty apples, and to the yongest ten apples, and all these thre solde in lyke many for a peny, and brought home in lyke moche money now how many solde eche of them for a peny. T. The yongest solde fyrst seuen for a peny, and the other two syster solde after the same pryce, than ye eldest syster had one odde apple lefte, and the seconde syster two, and the yongest thre apples, now these apples lyketh the byer soo well that in contynent he came agayne to the yongest syster and bought of her thre apples after thre pens a pece, than had she ten pens, and the seconde thoughte she wolde kepe the same pryce, and solde her two apples for thre

pens a pece, and than had she ten pens, and ye eldest solde her one apple for thre pens, and than had she ten pens, thus solde they in lyke many apples for a peny broughte home in lyke moche money. ¶. Demaunde. what man is he that geteth his lyuinge bacwarde. That is rope maker. ¶. Demaunde. what people be the that geteth theyr lyuynge most merylyest. T. Tho be prestes and fullers, for one syngeth, and the other daunceth. ¶. Demaunde. what is he that made all and solde all, and he yt bought all loste all. ¶. A smyth made an alle, and solde it, and the shoemaker ye bought it lost it.

T Thus endeth yt Demaundes Joyous
Emprynted at London in Fletestre
te at the sygne of the swane by
me Wynkyn de worde
In the yere of our
lorde a M

ССССС

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Periodicals.

THE EDINBURGH REVIEW. NO. CXLIV.

[THIS is, in the main, a political Number, relieved with a few pages of graceful criticism and masterly literature. Although political, it is not, however, over-full of party spirit: the views are broad and liberal, yet sound and enlightened; and the line of policy advocated is just and fair, and free from misrepresentation. There may be a leaning to one side, but there is no actual going over; whilst the comprehensive minds of the writers are not disfigured and narrowed by party prejudice. It is true that such papers yield but little fruit for a miscellany which is literary and scientific in its tastes and objects; although some of the Reviewer's observations may not be out of place in

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a journal of popular information." Upon all questions of public interest, every person of average intellect is expected to possess information up to the time; for which the general reader will do well to look into our leading Reviews. There he will find ably yet popularly written papers upon what are termed the topics of the day; and the reading of them will mature his mind for the best conversation, and intellectual enjoyment of an uncommon order. As a nation of talkers on politics, we know ourselves to be far behind our continental neighbours : in France, for example, every man is a politician. from the main-spring at the Tuileries to the cheffonier on the Pont Neuf: hence the French people have been compared to grains of gunpowder, with

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