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brave and amiable man, but his pedigree seemed to be buried in perfect oblivion.

The secret enquiries of the anxious Emily did not remain long concealed from him. His friends thought to flatter him with this information, and accompanied it with many favourable conjectures. His modesty would not permit him to consider this any thing but a joke; at the same time he felt a secret pleasure in supposing himself the subject of a young lady's thoughts, who was by no means indifferent to him; the first view of her had excited in him an enthusiasm which is the precursor of love.

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death should separate them. Emily inforined him of her mother's sentiments on the choice of a husband for her, and the improbability that her pride would yield in a single point to affection.

An hundred schemes were alternately fixed upon and rejected, as the difficulties of each preponderated in their minds. When the young warrior perceived the wi linguess of his mistress to embrace any plan that would contribute to the completion of his wishes, he proposed an elopement as the securest method which love ever suggested, and by means of which it had often succeeded in frustrating the views of parsimonious pride. Emily, after a little reflection, consented. The only subject of consideration was the method of escaping from the strongly guarded castle, and the scrutinizing vigilance of her mother, which would be redoubled upon the departure of Wallenstein's army.

But the inventions of love surmount every obstacle. Emily was well acquainted with the periodical visits of the spirits, and that on AllSaints day in the ensuing autumn, when sevea years would have elapsed since their last appearance, they were expected to be renewed. The terror of all the inhabitants she knew to be great on these occasions, which suggested a notion of the possibility of passing for one of the ghosts. For this purpose she proposed to keep a nun's dress in readiness for herself, and under this disguise to make her escape. Frederic was enchanted at the happy thought; although at the time of the thirty years' war, that infidelity, which in its rebellion against the Supreme Being, has been the scourge of all Europe, was but in its infancy, yet the young hero was philosopher enough to disbelieve the existence of ghosts, or at least to deny their interference with human affairs.-" Ghosts, my Emily," said he, "are enemies to avarice, to tyranny, and to vice, but they cannot be otherwise than propitious to love. Those nuns who haunt the castle will not interrupt the escape of lovers; besides, my dear, there is an exorcism in a pretty face, and a spiritual enchantment in a soldier's jacket, which will prove as powerful as any cabala or crucifix.”

No words are so forcible or intelligent as the looks which declare the sympathy of a tender attachment. A verbal explanation did not take place for some time, but both parties could divine each other's thoughts; their countenances declared what the bashfulness of love forbade them to utter.

The unsuspecting mother was now so immersed in the care of providing for her guests, that she had not leisure to guard with her usual diligence the avenues to the heart of Emily. Frederic perceiving this did not fail to turn it to his advantage, by insinuating himself in her favour. As soon as he had

gained her confidence he her
gave very differ-

ent instructions from those she had received
from her mother. As he was the avowed
enemy of distinctions, his care was to free the
mind of Emily from the prejudices she had
received upon this subject; teaching her that
birth and rank must not be put in competition
with the softest and most pleasing passion.

The enamoured Emily suffered her pride to fall before her attachment, and excused in her lover the want of nobility and titles; she even carried her political heresy so far as to conecive that the prerogatives of birth, with regard to love, were a yoke which human freedom should be permitted to shake off.

The affections of Frederic were now fixed on her, and from every circumstance he was satisfied that his love would meet an ample return. He sought therefore an opportunity to open to her the state of his heart. She received his professions with blushes, but with real pleasure; and their confiding souls were united by mutual vows of inviolable fidelity. || They were now happy for the present instant, but shuddered at their future prospects. The return of the spring recalled the army to the field, and the melancholy period in which the lovers were to part quickly approached.

Consultations were now begun to determine how an intercourse might be kept up between || the two lovers, who resolved that nothing but

When every thing was prepared for his departure Frederic mounted his horse, committed himself to the protection of fortune, and put himself at the head of his squadron. The campaign terminated fortunately for him; love seemed to have listened to his prayers and taken him under his protection.

In the mean time Emily, who was alternately agitated with hope and fear, trembled for the life of her faithful Amadis, and took

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particular care to make herself acquainted with the safety of their winter guests. Every report of a skirmish terrified her, which her mother attributed to the humanity of her disposition, not suspecting the real cause of her solicitude.

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Frederic did not omit to convey information to his mistress of his situation from time to time, by private letters, which reached her through the means of a faithful chambermaid. As soon as the campaign was at an end he began to make every preparation for his expedition, and waited with the most restless impatience for the joyful day when he was to repair to a little wood near the castle.

On the day of All Saints Emily prepared herself for putting her scheme into execution, with the assistance of her chambermaid. She affected a slight indisposition, retired to her chamber at an early hour, and metamorphosed herself into one of the handsomest uuus whose spirit had ever appeared.

The tedions hours moved on leaden wings; every moment increased her eagerness to commence the adventure. In the mean time the moon, a friend to lovers, threw her pale light over the castle, where the bustle of the busy day had given way to awful stillness. No one was awake but the housekeeper, who was reckoning up the domestic expences by the dim light of a candle; the porter, who a'so served as watchman, and the dog, Hector, who barking, saluted the rising moon.

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When the midnight hour arrived the undaunted Emily sallied forth. Provided with a large key that unlocked the doors, she slided gently down the stairs into the hall. Descrying unexpectedly a light in the kitchen, she began to rattle a bundle of keys with all ber night, threw down the chimney board with violence, opened the house door, and entered the small porch.

As soon as the centinels heard this rattling they thought of the ghosts, and took refuge in different places. The housekeeper ran into bed, the dog into his kennel, and the porter to his wife, on the straw; by which means Emily obtained her liberty, and hastened to the wood where she fancied she already saw at a a distance the carriages and horses. But what was her amazement when upon a nearer approach it proved to be the shade of a tree; she thought that she had mistaken the place of rendezvous, and traversed every part of the wood from one end to the other. But all her searching terminated in the most grievous disappointment; her knight and his equipage were no where to be found.

of thinking or acting. Not to attend to engagements of this kind is a crime amongst all lovers, but in the present case it was unpardonable; the affair was to her inexplicable. After waiting an hour in the most cruel anxiety, in which her heart was torn with conflicting passions of grief, shame, and vexation, she began to weep and utter the bitterest com- \ plaints, when at length reflection led her to recal her long lost family pride; she was mortified at her condescension in making choice of a man of unknown family. The ecstacy of passion had now forsaken her; ́ her reason had gained the ascendency, and she resolved to retract the false step she had taken, by returning immediately to the castle. Upon her arrival there she was met by her maid, who received her with a mixture of joy and surprize; every thing however was buried in the profoundest silence.

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Her lover was not so culpable as the incensed Emily imagined. He had not failed to attend at the appointed place, even earlier than necessary, in order to be in perfect readi ness to receive his beloved mistress. While waiting with anxious impatience, the form of a nu presented itself before him. He spraug from his place of ambush, clasped it in his arms, and cried out:-"I have you; I hold you; I will never let you go, dear Emily, now thou art mine, and I am thine with beart and soul." Upon these words he joyfully carried the lovely burden, and placed it in the carriage, which drove off with the utmost speed. The horses snorted, kicked, and shook their manes, one of the wheels broke, and by a violent jerk the horses, carriage, and man were thrown down a precipice into a deep ditch; our hero became insensible from the violence of the fall, and upon his recovery found himself in a village, whither he had been carried by some country people who discovered him in the moroing in a deplorable condition. He had lost all his equipage, together with his fair companion. This circumstance afflicted him more than all the rest. He sent people to different parts in pursuit of Emily, but could obtaiu no information. The midnight set him free from the auxiety of suspence: when the clock struck twelve his door was opened, and his fellow-traveller made her appearance, not in the form of the enchanting Emily, but of the ghostly nun, as a horrible skeleton. The terrified Frederic became sensible of his mistake, blessed and crossed himself, and uttered many ejaculations.

The ghost turned itself towards him, walked to his bed, stroked his cheeks with her ice-cold Amazed at this event she was incapable hands, crying "Frederic! Frederic! I am

command of a regiment. He took his journey
through Vogtland, and, upeu perceiving the
castle of Laurenstein,his heart beat with doubt
whether his Emily had been faithful or not.
He called as an old friend at the castle, where
he met with a reception suitable to the name.
The dismay of Emily was inconceivable when
her supposed faithless Frederic entered the
room.

A mixture of joy and sorrow overwhelmed
her; she had been reasoning herself for three
years out of a passion which she thought be-

thine, thou art mine with heart and soul."
Having persecuted him for a whole tedious
hour with her presence, she at length disap-
peared. In this manner she continued her
persecution every night, and followed him to
the place where he was quartered. He had
there no respite from the irksome caresses of
the ghost. His melancholy became the sub-
ject of conversation among his campanions,
who felt compassion for him, without being
able to conjecture the cause of his anxiety, for
be had not ventured to divulge his unfortu-
nate secret. He had, however, one coufiden-neath a person in her rank of life; but still
she could never completely erase the plebeian
lover from her thoughts. In this state of mind,
fluctuating between resentment and affection,
was the tender Emily when Frederic address.
ed her, and by bis insinuating manuers pro-
cured an opportunity of relating the whole
affair; whilst she in return informed him of
her suspicions and resentment. The joy and
affection of the two lovers redoubled upon
these mutual confessions. They agreed to ex-
tend their secret a little farther, aud include
her mother in the circle of their confidence.

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tial friend among his comrades, an old lieute-
nant, who was reputed to be expert in laying
spirits; to him Frederic explained the grounds
of his uneasiness. "Is that all," said the ex-
orcist with a sinile, "I will relieve you from
this impertinent visitor; follow me to my
quarters." Upon entering, he observed many
magical preparations and characters marked
upon the floor, and as soon as the lieutenant
called, the midnight spirit appeared in a dark
room, lighted by the dull glimmer of a magic
lamp. He reproached the ghost severely, and
appointed a willow in a lonely glen as the place
of its abode, with an injunction for it immedi-nishment at the art of her daughter in carrying

The good lady was struck with as much asto

ately to repair thither, never more to return. The ghost disappeared; but in the same instant a storm and whirlwind arose; which was dispelled by a procession of twelve pious men in the towu, who rode on horseback, singing a penitential psalm, according to their usual custom. After this the spirit was never more

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on an intrigue, as at the circumstance of her
elopement in so extraordinary a manner. She
thought it just, however, that an affection
which had experienced so severe a trial should
be rewarded by an union of the persous. And
though this idea militated against the pros-
pects she had formed for her daughter; yet,
since no prince or count was in view, she gave
her consent, after which the handsome Frederic
embraced his charming bride, and his marriage
concluded happily, without meeting any far-
ther opposition from the ghostly uun.

seen.

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Fredcric recovered his spirits and repaired again to the field under Wallenstein, where he fought many successful compaigns, in which he conducted himself so nobly, that on his return to Bohemia he was honoured with the

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THE WANDERING JEW.

Our Readers are acquainted with the uses to which Mr. Lewis, in his Novel of the Monk, has converted the ancient legend of the Wandering Jew. The original story was the invention of the celebrated Schubart, and is as follows.

AHASUERUS, the Jew, says this distin- | Ahasuerus, the unfeeling wretch drove him guished writer, crept forth from a dark cave of away with brutality. The Saviour of mankind mount Carmel. Near two thousand years are staggered, sinking under the heavy load, but elapsed since he was first goaded by ever-en- uttered no complaint. An angel of death apcreasing restlessness to rove the globe from peared before Ahasuerus, and exclaimed indigpole to pole. When our blessed Lord was nantly: Barbarian, thou hast denied rest to wearied with the burden of his ponderous the son of inan; be it denied to thee also until cross, and wanted to rest before the door of he comes to judge the world."

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A black dæmoa, let loose from hell upon Ahasuerus, goads him now from country to country. He is denied the consolation which death affords, and precluded from the rest of the peaceful grave.

Ahasuerus crept forth from a dark cave of mount Carmel; he shook the dust from his beard; and taking up one of the skulls heaped up there, hurled it down the eminence; it rebounded from the ground, and was shivered to pieces. "This was my father!" roared Ahasuerus; seven more skulls rolled down from rock to rock, whilst the infuriate Jew, following them with ghastly looks, exclaimed: "And these were my wives!" He still continned to hurl down skull after skull, roaring iu dreadful accents :-" And these, and these, and these, were my children. THEY COULD DIE! but I, reprobate wretch, alas, I cannot die. Dreadful beyond conception is the judg ment that haugs over me! Jerusalem fell. I crushed the sucking babe, and precipitated myself into the destructive flames. I cursed the Romans; but, alas! alas! the restless curse held me by the hair, aud-1 could not die.

ance to the victorious German; but arrows
and spears rebounded in shivers from my body.
The Saracen's flaming sword broke upon my
skull. Balls in vain hissed upon me.-The
lightenings of battle glared harmless round my
loins. In vain did the elephant trample upon
me, in vain the iron hoof of the wrathful steed.
The mine, big with destructive power, burst
under me,
and hurled me high into the air. I
fell down upon heaps of smoaking limbs, and
was only singed. The giant's steel-club re-
bounded from my body; the executioner's
hand could not strangle ine; the tiger's tooth
could not hurt me; nor would the hungry lion
in the circus devour me.

"I cohabited with poisonous snakes, and pinched the red crest of the dragon; the serpent stung, but could not kill me; the dragon tormented, but could not destroy

me.

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"I now provoked the fury of tryants; I said to Nero, thou art a blood-hound! said to Christiern, thou art a blood-hound; said to Mulei Ismail thou art a blood hound; the tyrants invented cruel torments, but did not kill me.-Ha! not to be able to die! not to be "Rome, the giantess, fell; I placed myself able to die; not to be permitted to rest after before the falling giantess. She fell; but did the toils of life! to be doomed to be imprisonnot crush me. Nations sprung up, and dis- ed for ever in the clay-formed dungeon! to be appeared before me; but I remained and did not for ever clogged with this worthless body, its die!! From cloud capp'd cliffs did I preci- load of diseases and infirmities; to be conpitate myself into the ocean; but foaming demned to behold for milleniums that yawning billows cast me upon the shore, and the burn-monster, Sameness and Time, that hungry ing arrow of existence pierced me again. I hyena, ever bearing children, and ever devourleaped into Etua's flaming abyss, and roared ing again her offsprings! Ha! not to be perwith the giants for ten long months in accents mitted to die! awful avenger in heaven, hast of despair, polluting with my groans the thou in thy armory of wrath a punishment mount's sulphureous mouth.-Ha! ten long more dreadful; then let it thunder upon me! months! the volcano fermented, and in a command a hurricane, to sweep me down to fiery stream of lava cast me up. I lay amidst the foot of Carmel, that I there may lie extortures of hell in the glowing cinders, but tended, may pant, and writhe, and die !" continued to exist. A forest was on fire; I And Ahasuerus dropped down! Night darted on wings of fury aud despair into the covered his bristly eyelids: an angel carried crackling wood. Fire dropped upon me from him back to the cavern. Sleep here," said the trees-but the flame only singed my the angel to Ahasuerus: "Sleep in peace; limbs-alas! it could not destroy me. I now the wrath of thy judge is appeased. When mixed with the butchers of mankind, and|| thou shalt awake, He will be arrived, be whose plunged into the tempest of the raging battle. blood thou sawest flow upon Golgotha, and 1 roared defiance to the infuriate Gaul, defi whose mercy is also extended to thee."

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MILTON'S ITALIAN SONNETS.

MR. EDITOR,

THE Italian Sonnets which were written by Milton, have, so far as I know, never made their appearance in an English dress till the late posthumous publication of Mr. Cowper's

translation of them, along with the Latin Poems of the same great author. With the merit of this work I am unacquainted, as I have never yet seen it; and it is therefore with no view to enter the lists of competition, or to

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challenge comparison, that I venture to send you a translation, which I have long had by me, of the five Italian Sonnets only.

ALTARBORIANO.

I.

Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome honora
L'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco,
Bene é colui d'ogni valore scarco
Qual tuo spirito gentil non innamora,
Che dolcemente mostra se di fuora

De sui atti soari giammai parco,
E i don', che son d'amor saette ed arco,
La onde l'alta tua virtu s'infiora.

Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti
Che mover possa duro alpestre legno

Guardi ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi Le' entrata, chi di te si truova indegno.

Gratia sola di su gli vaglia, inanti
Che'll disio amoroso al cuor s'invecchi.

Sure, sweetest lady, whose most honour'd name Rhine's grassy vale reveres, and proud alcove,

No manly passion can that bosom move, To which thy spirit imparts no tender flame; That gentle spirit, whence Cupid takes his aim,

And shoots what Poets call the darts of love, Thy gifts and graces, which his armoury prove; Whence Virtue's self may lovelier honours claim. [song, When aught of converse sweet, or jocund Song that might move the knotted mountain trees, [sight Falls from thy lips, let each of sound and The entrance bar, if hopeless thee to please:

'Tis only heaven can save the youth who|| long Hath cherish'd in his breast the soft delight.

11.

Qual in colle aspro, all imbrunir di sera
L'avezza giovinetta pastorella

Va bagnando l'herbetta strana e bella, Che mal si spande a disusata spera Fuor di sua natia alma premaveru,

Cosi amor meco insù la lingua snella Desta il fior novo di strania favella, Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera,

Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso, E'l bel Tamizi cangio col bel Arno.

Amor lo volse, ed io a l'altrui peso Seppi ch'Amor cosa mai volse indarno.

Deh! foss' il mio cuor lento, e'l duro seno A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.

As some exotic plant, borne far away [bow'r, To northern mountains, from its native The virgin tends at evening's blushing hour, Fearful it's softer beauties to display,

No XLI. Vol. VI.

Where the sun shines with less indulgent ray ;"
So on my tongue hath love's creative power
Waked of Italian speech the tender flower,
And ope'd its richness to the northern day.
Majestic sweetness! 'tis of thee I sing,
For so Love wills, who never will'd in vain,
And Thames' proud banks with Arno's num-
bers ring,

Ill understood by Albion's sons the strain. Oh may my breast so rude, and heart so slow,

A fertile soil on Heaven's fair flow'r bestow

III.

Deodati, e te 'l dirò con maraviglia,

Quel ritrozo io ch' amor spreggiar solea,
E de suoi lacci spesso mi ridea

Gia caddi, ov huom dabben talhor s'impiglia.
Ne treccie d'oro, ne guancia vermiglia
M'abbaglian si, ma sotto nova idea
Pellegrina bellezza che'l enor bea,
Portimenti alti honesti, e nelle ciglia

Quel sereno fulgor d'amabil nero,
Parole adorne di lingua piu d'una,

E'l cantar che di mezzo l'hemispero Traviar ben puo la faticosa luna

E degli occhi suoi auventa si gran fuoco, Che l'incerar gli orechi mi sia poco. With wonder let Deodatus be told,

That I so stern, who ne'er love's power confess'd, [jest, To whom his wiles and weapons were but Now fall the victim of the urchin bold : 'Twas not the vermil cheek, or locks of gold My heart enthrall'd, and tamed my stubborn breast;

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