unnerved by the picture of woe that met his eyes, and a dreadful presentiment caused the blood to freeze in his veins. The mourners were too deeply absorbed in their grief to be aware of his approach, and for the moment he dared neither to advance nor to speak, such was the mysterious dread that assailed him; at last, unable to endure a further suspense, he uttered in trembling accents-'In the name of Heaven what has happened?'

"At the sound of his voice, Olimpia, without changing her position, burst into an agony of tears. The Count alone raised his head, and, in a voice broken by emotion, said-' Damaso, the ways of God are inscrutable, but most cruel sometimes, and hard to bear.'

"Damaso scarcely breathed, while the old gentleman, beckoning him to seat himself by his side, continued-'You are aware, my dear friend, that I have been separated from my son for the last four years; I have too often spoken to you of the unhappy difference of opinion that existed between us, and which had induced him to leave home and become a traveller in foreign countries. My poor son! suddenly, and without having apprized us, he arrived here three days ago the very day on which you went into the country; weary of living amongst strangers, he came to seek a reconciliation with me, and

to fix himself once more in his native city, and that very night, as he left my house, he was murdered in the street! My son, my dear son, fell by the hand of an unknown assassin!' and the unfortunate father, overcome by the dreadful words he had uttered, hid his face in his hands and sobbed aloud.

"You can, perhaps, imagine what passed in the head and heart of Damaso after this revelation had been made to him, but words would be inadequate to express the desolation and despair that assailed him, for, notwithstanding the violence of his character, he possessed a noble and generous soul.

"Your son,' he exclaimed, 'your son-murdered three days ago. Oh God! oh God!' and, with hands wildly clasped together, he sank to the ground upon his knees.

"The count stretched out his hand to him, for, little suspecting the part which Damaso had taken in the dreadful tragedy, he felt grateful to him for the sympathy he evinced in his sorrow. But the unhappy Damaso dared not touch the hand that was tendered to him; and rising, without venturing to turn his eyes towards Olimpia or her father, he rushed from the room, nor stopped until he reached his own dwelling, where he shut himself up and forbade any of his household to approach him.

"The next day Count M

containing these words:

announcement astonish

received a letter

"We have met for the last time, nor will this you when you hear that my fatal jealousy has caused all your anguish and all your despair; that I, the guilty and mistaken Damaso, am the murderer of your son. Death, which ends all sufferings, would be too great a boon for so very a wretch as I have become. I shall live to expiate in tears and remorse the crime into which I was hurried by my blind, ungovernable passions. May God pity and pardon the wretched Damaso P-.'

"On the same day he entered a convent of mendicant friars, and, during the year of his noviciate, which has just expired, he has never been seen beyond its walls. Some of his friends have endeavored to obtain an interview with him, but without success; his days are spent in the most rigid observances of his religious duties, and his nights in acts of the severest penance.

"This is the first time he has been seen since the horrible event which has caused his seclusion from the world, and so much is he changed by all that he has suffered, that I had at first some difficulty in recognizing him."

"And Count M- —," ," I inquired, "and the

Contessina Olimpia?"

"They quitted Ravenna at the period of the fatal discovery, and have never since returned home."

GRACE BROWN.

A SKETCH FOR MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS.

BY MRS. D. CLARKE.

GRACE BROWN was the pet of the villagepretty, lively, and, like all other pets, very selfwilled; but the effects of this latter quality were softened down and rendered quite loveable by her open, generous disposition, which would not allow her to injure another, even to gratify that ruling passion. Some said that Grace thought herself sufficiently handsome, and termed it vanity. True, perhaps, when each Sabbath morning found her ready decked for the sunny walk to the parish church on the hill-side, or the week day's evening saw her in her little chamber window plying her needle—yes, perhaps then, as she caught a side-long glance at herself in the little mirror, she might think it no such great wonder that the young men gazed as they passed her, or that they looked so curiously at the bowpots and flowering geraniums perched on the sill of her casement-perhaps, too, she might think they cast a glance beyond. But was this vanity? No; Grace was as free of that hateful quality as

the bird which carolled so joyously in his bright cage on the cottage wall. Vanity cannot be justly attributed to those who are only conscious of possessing the qualities which are theirs in reality, but to those alone who boast to themselves of perfections which they can never hope to possess. Such was the case with those who termed Grace vain.

One fine autumn evening she sat, as usual, beside her geraniums, over which was hung her little bird Pet; but the leaves of the former hung droopingly, as though to ask of their sweet mistress the usual drop of spring water, and poor Pet chirruped and hopped from perch to perch, and ruffled his yellow feathers to attract her attention, but in vain. No cooling drop greeted the sickly leaf-no tiny fingers placed a bit of sugar between Pet's cage wires. And how was this? Was Grace ill? No; but her thoughts were wandering, and although her eyes were fixed full on poor Pet and his companion plants, she neither saw one nor the other. And whither were her thoughts wandering? Only into a neighboring lane, up which she strolled when the sun was beginning to dip his bright head beneath the blue tops of the neighboring hill. It was a very pleasant lane, but as its sides were bounded by high hawthorn and wild rose-bushes, it may be supposed Grace did not go there for the sake of any