sickness. When you saw me first, I had in, truth no complaint save that the nearness of my victim and purpose had made my heart so deeply palpitate, that a degree of irritable fever had come over me. The fair Julia was too kind and tender: I fell madly in love with her; I almost forgot my stern duty of revenge. | You cannot guess the choking struggles between my two master passions. Yielding so far to the former, I compromised my pride in another point, and consented to be a dependant of Mrs. Mather's. By Heaven! I was not born with a soul to wait at palace doors-I would have rejoiced, under other circumstances, to live with my sister, free as the pretty little finches that hunt the bearded seeds of autumn; but love and revenge, mingled or separately, imposed it upon me to accede to your charity and Mrs. Mather's, that I might be near the two Romellis. In her playful mood, perhaps, Julia one evening prophesied that I should become a murderer. You cannot conceive the impression which this made upon me. I had begun to flag in my first great purpose, but now again I thought myself decreed to be an avenger; and to avoid stabbing Romelli that very night in your house, I had to keep myself literally away from him. Now, judge me, my friend. Was

it not by him that I was shut up in a mad house? Yet for your sake, and Mrs. Mather's, and Charlotte's, and Julia's, and perhaps mine own (for I have been too weak), again I refrained from slaying him in your house-nay, I left the place and neighbourhood altogether, and went to London. I engaged to sing and play in an opera-house, and made enough of money. My heart again grew up dangerous and revengeful. I returned to Scotland to pay Mrs. Mather for having kept us, to send Charlotte to a seaport town, whence a ship was to sail for the Continent on a given day, then to call Romelli to account, and thereafter to join my sister a few hours before the vessel sailed. On my arrival again in your neighbourhood to make preliminary inquiries, I called at the house of a young woman, who was Mrs. Mather's servant when I first came to the cottage; but who, about a year afterwards, went home to take care of her mother, an old blind woman. So, then, Charlotte was dead! My sister Charlotte-My young Charlotte Marli!-and all in my most damnable absence! I heard it all, and your own noble generosity: but nothing of Julia's marriage with Stewart, which my informant, in her remote dwelling, had doubtless not yet heard. All this might change my line of politics. In the first place, I imposed secrecy as to my arrival on my young hostess,

who readily promised to observe it, in virtue of having loved me for my music. I had now to concert not only how best to strike Romelli, but, at the same time, how to prevent for ever your marriage with Julia. You know my double scheme in one. The brother of my hostess had, in former years, been an organist, and one day I took his instrument, which the affectionate lass had carefully kept for his sake, and went to the remote churchyard to play a dirge over Charlotte's grave. You were there, and I found it an excellent opportunity of for warding my scheme, by making you promise to meet me afterwards in the aisle; which you did, when Signor Romelli happened to be there.

Ha! ha! how came he there, the foolish man? Before naming to you the precise night of our threefold meeting, I had been prudent enough to find out that the excellent signor had just come home from some jaunt, and in all probability would not again, for at least a few days, leave his house. To make sure. however, I instantly forwarded to him my letter of invitation. How expressed? how signed? I remember well (for nothing of that dreadful night will easily pass from my mind the sailor's name whose story broke iny father's heart. So, under his name, I scrawled a letter to Romelli, stating, that if the signor would know the immediate danger in which he stood in consequence of certain things which once happened in a boat in the South Seas, when he was captain of the Arrow, and if he would not have these points now brought publicly to light, he must meet the writer alone, at the door of the given aisle, on Saturday night, precisely at eleven o'clock. I was much afraid that he would guess the true writer of the letter, and so would not come. However, about ten o'clock on the appointed night I crouched me down, with a dark-lantern in my pocket, beneath Charlotte's tombstone, upon which, I may here mention, I had got a mason from the village, for a large bribe, to put a slight inscription relative to my brother, which he secretly executed between Friday evening and the dawn of Saturday. Almost contrary to my expectations, Romelli came; but I think somewhat after the hour appointed, with a darklantern in his hand; and, finding the door of the aisle open, he advanced into the interior, and began, I suppose, to read the inscription, which, to heighten the effect of my revenge, as above stated, I had caused to be written the preceding night. In a moment I started up, and ordered him to fall down on his knees and confess his crimes; but instead of obeying me, no sooner did he see who I was than he drew

Such were the prisoner Marli's explanations, partly won by the cross-examinations of Hume, but in general given continuously, and of his own accord.

"And now, Frederick Hume," continued the prisoner, after a long pause of mutual silence, "you alone, of all the human race, are dear to me; will you promise to lay my head in the grave, despite of the ill which Charlotte and I have done you?" "Bethink you of some other reasonable request and I shall do it for you to the utmost," answered Frederick; "you know the above is impossible." "No, no," cried Marli, impatiently; "you shall lay me beside her in your own aisle." "Antonio Marli," returned Frederick solemnly, "must I remind you of your sad sentence?" "O ho! you mean the dissection? The precious carnival for Dr. Pry and his pupils?" said the Italian, laughing grimly. "But if I can accomplish the half-If I can get quit of the cim of the law in that respect, would you bury me, my brother?" "Talk not of this any more," said Hume, not comprehending what the prisoner meant: "but cry for the parifying mercy of Heaven ere you die." "You are from the point, sir," replied Antonio; "but hear me:-I will leave one request in a letter to you after my death, if you will promise, and swear-nay, merely promise (for I know your honour in all things) to fulfil the ame. Let me hear it, and judge," said Hume. I will not," said the Italian; "but yet my request shall be simple and your accomplishment of it very easy. Moreover it -hall be offensive neither to your country's laws nor to your own wise mind. Give me this one promise, and I die in peace." "Be it so then," said Frederick; "I will do your request if I find it as you negatively characterize it." "Then leave me leave me for ever!" cried Marli. "But if my heart, and body, and all my soul, could be fashioned into one blessing, they would descend upon thy head and thy heart, and all thy outgoings, thou young man among a million.-Oh! my last brother on earth!" So saying, Marli sprung upon Frederick's neck and sobbed aloud like a little child: and so overcome was Frederick by the sense of his own unhappiness, but chiefly by pity for the fate of the poor Italian boy, in

with worse passions, that he gave way to the infectious sorrow; and for many minutes the two young men mingled their tears as if they had been the children of one mother. At length Marli tore himself away, and flung himself violently down with his face upon his low bed.

CHAPTER VII.

The very next day word was brought to Frederick Hume that the Italian had killed himself in prison by striking his skull against the walls of his cell, and at the same time the following letter was put into Hume's hands:

"I claim your promise-I forbore distinctly stating to you my purpose last night, because I knew you would have teased me with warnings and exhortations, which, despite of my respect for your wisdom, could no more have stayed me in my antique appropriation of myself, than you could make a rain-proof garment from the torn wings of beautiful butterflies. Did you think my soul could afford to give such a spectacle to gaping boors? Well, we must be buried in the first instance (for the law and the surgeon have lost our limbs) among nettles, in unconsecrated ground, at a respectful distance from Christian bones, in the churchyard of this town. But now for my request, and your vow to fulfil it. I demand that you raise my body by night, and take it to your aisle, and bury it beside Charlotte Marli's beautiful body. This request, I think, implies nothing contrary to the laws of your country, or which can startle a wise heart free from paltry superstitions about the last rites of suicides. Moreover, you can do the thing with great secrecy. Then shall I rest in peace beside her whom my soul loved; and we shall rise together at the last day: and you shall be blessed for ever, for her sake and for my sake. Farewell, my brother. 66 'ANTONIO MARLI."

Hume prepared without delay to obey this letter, and providing himself with six men from the village of Holydean, on whose secrecy he could well depend, he caused three of them by night to dig up the body of Marli from the graveyard where it had been buried, whilst the other three, in the meanwhile, prepared another grave for it in Mrs. Mather's aisle, as near as possible to his sister Charlotte's. The complexion of the night suited well this strange work, darkening earth and heaven with piled lofts of blackness. Frederick himself superintended the work of exhumation, which was happily accomplished without interruption.

Leaving two of his men to fill up carefully the empty grave, with the third he then accompanied the cart in which, wrapped in a sheet, the body of Marli was transferred to Holydean churchyard. There it was interred anew beside his sister's remains, and the grave being filled up level with the surface, the remains of the earth were carefully disposed of, so that without a very nice inspection, it could not be known, from the appearance of the ground, that this new burial had taken place in the aisle. Thus was Antonio Marli's singular request faithfully accomplished.

Next morning Hume visited the aisle, to see that all was right. The history of the Marlis, and their late living existence, and his own share in their strange destinies, all seemed to him a dream; yet their palpable tombs were before him, and prostrate in heart from recurring recollections of their fate and his own so deeply intertwisted, he remained one last bitter hour beside the graves of these wild and passionate children of the South.

Julia Romelli heard, too late, how she had been imposed upon, in reference to Hume's supposed inconstancy of affection, but, for their mutual peace of mind, she determined never to see him more, and never to exchange explanations with him. As for Frederick, he too had resolved steadfastly to observe the same forbearance. But though Julia could be so self-denied, she was not the less inwardly racked, as she reflected on her own unhappy rashness. Her father's murder was a dreadful aggravation to her distress, which was still farther heightened by the harsh treatment of her husband Stewart, who was conscious probably that his wife had never loved him. The loss of her first-born boy, who was unhappily drowned in a well, brought the terrible consummation. Poor Julia went mad, and night after night (for her brutal husband cared little | for her) she might be seen, when the image of the full moon was shining down in the bottom of the well, sitting on its bank and inviting passengers to come and see her little white boy swimming in the water. From week to week she grew more violent in her insanity, and after many years of woful alienation, she ended her days in that very cell where Antonio Marli had once lain.

A few days after the second burial of Antonio Marli, Frederick Hume went to London. There he found means of being present at a ball to see the great Nelson, who was that year in this country. It was most glorious to see the swan-like necks and the deep bosoms of England's proudest beauties bending towards him,

round about, when he entered-that man with his thin weather-worn aspect. And never did England's beauties look so proudly, as when thus hanging like jewels of his triumph around their manly and chivalrous sailor, who had given his best blood to the green sea for his country. He, too, felt his fame, for the pale lines of his face, as if charged with electricity, were up and trembling, as in the day of his enthusiastic battle.

At sight of this unparalleled man, Frederick was struck to the heart. He bethought him how much more noble it was, since his life was now of little value to him, to lose it for his country, than waste it away in selfish unhappiness. Accordingly, our doctor gave up his more peaceful profession, and with the consent and by the assistance of his patroness, Mrs. Mather, he entered the navy. In his very first engagement he found the death which he did all but court, and his body went down into the deep sea for a grave.

A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. Oh, when I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy,

My mates were blythe and kind! No wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the tear-drop from mine eye, To cast a look behind!

A hoop was an eternal round

Of pleasure. In those days I found
A top a joyous thing;-
But now those past delights I drop,
My head, alas! is all my top,

And careful thoughts the string!

My marbles once my bag was stored,Now I must play with Elgin's lord,

With Theseus for a taw! My playful horse has slipt his string, Forgotten all his capering,

And harnessed to the law!

My kite, how fast and far it flew!
Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew
My pleasure from the sky!
"Twas paper'd o'er with studious themes,
The tasks I wrote,-my present dreams
Will never soar so high.

My joys are wingless all and dead;
My dumps are made of more than lead;
My flights soon find a fall;

THE ENCHANTER FAUSTUS AND

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Elizabeth was a wonderful princess for wisdom, learning, magnificence, and grandeur of soul. All this was fine, but she was as envious as a decayed beauty-jealous and cruel-and that spoiled all. However, be her defects what they may, her fame had pierced even to the depths of Germany, whence the Enchanter Faustus set off for her court, that great magician wishing to ascertain by his own wits, whether Elizabeth was as gifted with good qualities as she was with bad. No one could judge this for him so well as himself who read the stars like his A, B, C, and whom Satan obeyed like his dog-yet, withal, who was not above a thousand pleasant tricks, that make people laugh, and hurt no one. Such, for instance, as turning an old lord into an old lady, to elope with his cook-maid -exchanging a handsome wife for an ugly one, &c. &c.

The queen, charmed with the pretty things which she heard of him, wished much to see him and from the moment that she did, became quite fascinated. On his side, he found her better than he had expected, not but that he perceived she thought a great deal too much of her wit-though she had a tolerable share of it, and still more of her beauty-of which she had rather less.

One day that she was dressed with extraordinary splendour, to give audience to some ambassadors, she retired into her cabinet at the close of the ceremony, and sent for the doctor. After having gazed at herself in all the mirrors in the room, and seeming very well pleased with their reflection,-for her roses and lilies were as good as gold could buy-her petticoat high enough to show her ankle, and her frill low to expose her bosom,-she sat down en attitude, in her great chair. It was thus the Enchanter Faustus found her. He was the most adroit courtier that you could find, though you searched the world over. For though there are good reasons why a courtier may not be a conjuror, there are none why a conjuror may not be a courtier; and Faustus, both in one-knowing the queen's foible as to her imaginary beauty-took care not to let slip so fine an opportunity of paying his court. He was wonderstruck, thunderstruck, at such a blaze of perfection. Elizabeth knew how to appreciate the moment of surprise. She drew a magnificent ruby from her finger, which the

doctor, without making difficulties about it, drew on his.

"You find me then passable for a queen," said she, smiling. On this he wished himself at the devil (his old resting-place), if, not alone that he had ever seen, but if anybody else had ever seen, either queen or subject to equal her.

"Oh Faustus, my friend," replied she, "could the beauties of antiquity return, we should soon see what a flatterer you are!"

"I dare the proof," returned the doctor. "If your majesty will it but speak and they are here."

Faustus, of course, never expected to be taken at his word; but whether Elizabeth wished to see if magic could perform the miracle, or to satisfy a curiosity that had often tormented her, she expressed herself amazingly pleased at the idea, and begged it might be immediately realized.

Faustus then requested her majesty to pass into a little gallery near the apartment, while he went for his book, his ring, and his large black mantle.

All this was done nearly as soon as said. There was a door at each end of the gallery, and it was decided that the beauties should come in at one, and go out at the other, so that the queen might have a fair view of them. Only two of the courtiers were admitted to this exhibition; these were the Earl of Essex and Sir Philip Sidney.

Her majesty was seated in the middle of the gallery, with the earl and the knight standing to the right and left of her chair. The enchanter did not forget to trace round them and their mistress certain mysterious circles, with all the grimaces and contortions of the time. He then drew another opposite to it, within which he took his own station, leaving a space between for the actors.

When this was finished, he begged the queen not to speak a word while they should be on the stage; and above all, not to appear frightened, let her see what she might.

The latter precaution was needless; for the good queen feared neither angel nor devil. And now the doctor inquired what belle of antiquity she would first see.

"To follow the order of time," she answered, "they should commence with HELEN." The magician, with a changing countenance. now exclaimed, "Sit still!"

Sidney's heart beat quick. The brave Essex turned pale. As to the queen, not the slightest emotion was perceptible.

Faustus soon commenced some muttered