"In this pleasant group was one, whose peculiar sweetness of tone thrilled at once upon my heart, and came in at intervals, with its rich mellow tenor, between the shrill youthful treble, and deep bass of the family dialogue, just as the speaker herself—a graceful, elegant woman, of about eight-and-twenty-formed, as it were, the connecting link between a pleasing-looking couple advanced in life, and young people of various ages, from ten to twenty. I was just thinking that I would have given the world to hear this lady sing, when one of the youngest of the group-a slender, fair-haired girl-hung coaxingly around her, and with privileged importunity, seemed to anticipate my wishes, by entreating for a song. A guitar was soon brought from the carriage; and never, surely, did the appropriate airs from "L'Ultimo Giorno di Pompeii" find their way more resistlessly to the heart. They were sung with taste, and skill, and science; and thus I had heard them at San Carlos the night before. But what were taste, skill, and science behind a row of stage lamps, and amid the thunders of an orchestra, compared with the feeling and pathos which now woke the desolate echoes of Pompeii, and commemorated, upon its site, a city's overthrow! I listened in breathless ecstasy, and felt as if I had never understood till then why I was surrounded by roofless edifices and tenantless dwellings!

"The song ceased-the spell was broken; and the party, warned by the lengthening shadows, arose to

depart. I looked on their preparations with indefinable interest, although with the feeling that I should in all probability never see them again; and I felt a childish pleasure in moving, when they were gone, to the spot which they had so recently occupied. Here, among the debris of their miscellaneous repast,- half hid beneath orange - peel, sandwich papers, and empty wine flasks, my eye was soon attracted by a red-morocco volume, apparently a sketch-book, forgotten by one of the party. I snatched it up, in the joint hope of being yet in time to restore it, and of getting, perhaps, a soft word of thanks from the delightful mezzo soprano,-when the songstress herself, aware of her loss, re-entered the Basilica to recover it.

"As I walked towards her with the book, I read, inscribed on its cover, the letters Louisa Ormond;' and their talismanic power as effectually transported me back some dozen of years, to the bloody field of A———, as the surrounding objects had before carried me a couple of thousand, to the fall of Pompeii. Encouraged by the sweet smile and slight blush, with which the property was claimed and received, I found voice to ask if indeed I had the unexpected pleasure of speaking to Miss Ormond, of F- Hall?

"The same,' answered the fair artist, with a flush of surprise, and quickness of expression foreign to her general manner: does any one here know me?'

"I was unaware,' replied I, 'till this moment, that

one, for whom I am entrusted with a sacred commission, was within my reach. May I be permitted to acquit myself of a long-cherished duty, by waiting upon you when it may suit your convenience to receive me?' So saying, I handed her my card, and received one in return, indicating the name of the friends with whom she was residing, at a well-known hotel on the Chiaia.

“Just at that moment, one of her young companions came back in quest of her. I resigned her to his privileged guardianship, and stood rooted to the spot, pondering on the marvellous coincidences which, in real life, laugh to scorn the timid contrivances of fiction. Twelve years ago, on the banks of the Ganges, I had received a packet, to be delivered, should I return alive, to a young lady in England; and lo! on this identical person I had stumbled amid the ruins of Pompeii, when, but for a song, I should never have thought about her, and but for a lost scrap of paper, should never have found her out! Of course, I thought now about her, quite as much as such a concatenation of circumstances warranted; that is to say, all night, and all next day, till it was time to go and call upon her.

"On arriving at the Albergo delle Croalle, the handsome suite of apartments occupied by the family, I was introduced to the head of it,-a benevolent, sensiblelooking man, whose frankness at once informed me why the task of receiving me had in the first instance devolved upon him.

"Your absence from your native country, Colonel Merton, has probably kept you ignorant of some painful circumstances in Miss Ormond's history, which induce her partial friends to shield her from every possible source of sudden agitation. Her health is at all times delicate, and her spirits are only recovering from a shock of the severest kind. This being the case, you will perhaps allow me the parent's office, of judging how far the communication you alluded to yesterday may safely be hazarded. If it comes from one quarter, I could almost take upon me to say, it is equally ill-judged and fruitless.'

64 6 'It comes from one, sir,' said I, ' long removed, by death, from the possibility of offending, and who, I am sure, would have gladly forfeited life to avert from Miss Ormond the shadow of pain or displeasure. Did you ever hear her speak of her cousin, Edmund Lyttelton?' Often. She regarded him with sisterly affection, and was much affected by his untimely fate.'

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"It was with more than fraternal feelings that poor Edmund remembered his fair cousin,' said I, with a sigh. 'Living, she shared his youthful heart with glory; and his dying words were of her alone. Could she, do you think, without danger, afford me the melancholy satisfaction of consigning to her own hands tokens of boyish affection, endeared by youthful associations, and hallowed by the early grave of him by whom they were treasured?'

"Certainly,' said Mr. Owenson, with the air of one relieved from secret uneasiness. My dear young friend, whose feelings have been wounded in the tenderest point by unkindness, can only, I think, be soothed by testimonials of innocent attachment from one whose memory she cherishes, but to whose loss she has long been resigned. I will, however, just prepare her, if you will excuse

"But ere the good man had time to leave the room, Miss Ormond entered it, with somewhat of the hurried manner of one who anticipates a scene, and wishes it

over.

"My dear Louisa,' said Mr. O., ' this gentleman is from the East Indies, and was the commanding officer and intimate friend of poor Edmund. He has a message from the dear fellow, to deliver to his cousin Louy. I am sure it will be welcome, as well as its bearer.-You will look in upon us frequently, sir, I hope,' added he, as he left the room. Any friend of Edmund Lyttelton's I shall ever be proud to see.'

"Miss Ormond,' said I, when alone with the lovely woman, whose slight air of absence and pre-occupation convinced me more than words, that there were no overwhelming feelings connected with her cousin's memory, 'I need not tell you that there never beat in human bosom, a braver or a softer heart than Edmund Lyttelton's! That heart, from very childhood, was yours; and a passion, too boyish, probably, to excite in your breast any corresponding feelings, kept its hold of his