for what could be alleged against Manfred? he who, his country's boast and pride, was handsome and generous, gallant and gay, gifted with genius, blessed with prosperity, and the truest, the fondest, and most ardent lover that ever poet feigned or historian recorded.

The brave sons of the republic rushed out upon the waters at the call of danger! The banner of St. Mark floated on high in the bright blue air,—the guardians of the golden-winged lion exalted their victorious standard ! and the hearts of the Genoese quailed beneath it. The then unspotted bride of Venice, the circling Adriatic, proved a grave to those whose adventurous prows invaded the acknowledged rights of the Island City; and Manfred Camaldano, pre-eminent in the glorious strife, bound fresh laurels round his triumphant brows, and, leaping from his stout bark upon the shore, was hailed by applauding multitudes as the preserver of his country's honour. Garlands of flowers were strewed in the dust in the wide square of St. Mark, the fronts of the houses were draped with rich tapestry, or wreathed with blushing roses,-and silken flags waved from the summit of every tower. The shout of the populace came upon the ear mingled with the bray of the trumpet, the roar of artillery, the loud clash of the cymbals, and the deep boom of the double drum, whilst every bell in Venice rang out a peal of joy. At the gates of the ducal palace stood the Doge, surrounded by a crowd of senators, and a broad platform raised for the occasion was occupied by the noblest and fairest ladies of the city.

Amid her bright and blooming companions, like a drooping lily of Sharon, sat Rosamunda. The proudest moment of Manfred's existence had arrived, the most distinguished gift which Venice could bestow was offered to him by the hand of its chief magistrate.

Suddenly a squalid wretch, worn to a skeleton by disease or famine, pierced through the dense multitude; and, flinging up his arms to Heaven, exclaimed, "I accuse Manfred Camaldano of murder!-of the murder of the Count Andreas!" The whole assembly for a moment remained paralyzed with astonishment, and the intruder profited by the opportunity to narrate his mysterious tale. "Dark was the deed!" he cried, "and dark the scene wherein the crime was perpetrated the vaults beneath the ruined church of St. Ildefonso, where few are wont to pray; but on that fatal night there were two suppliants at the subterranean shrine of the saint beside the Count Andreas, though both were hidden from the assassin's view. I was one witness, and I call upon the Lady Rosamunda di Guarini to substantiate the charge, for she was the other!" The eyes of the spectators were immediately turned upon the trembling being thus fearfully adjured. She was pale,—so pale, that the gazers marvelled at the increasing paleness of one who already seemed to have whitened into stone; her blue orbs were veiled by their drooping lids,—her lips were closed,-her limbs had stiffened, she was dead!

BOLTON ABBEY.

THIS is the loveliest scene in all the land;
Around me far a green enchantment lies,
Fed by the weeping of these April skies,
And touched by Fancy's fine, "all-charming wand.”
Almost I expect to see a lightsome band

Come stealing through the hazel boughs, that cross
My path, or half-asleep on bank of moss,
Some Satyr, with stretched arm and clenched hand.
It is a place all beauty. There, half-hid
By yellowing ash and drooping aspens, run
The river waters swift to meet the sun;

And in the distance, in its boiling might, The fatal fall is seen, the thundering STRID ;And over all the morning blue and bright.

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