able supper soon smoked upon the board; this, too, was assisted by choice wines, and liqueurs, and delicate confitures brought from one of her carriages; for she was a veteran epicure, and curious in her relish for the good things of this world. She was, in fact, a vivacious little old lady, who mingled the woman of dissipation with the devotee. She was actually on her way to Loretto to expiate a long life of gallantries and peccadilloes by a rich offering at the holy shrine. She was, to be sure, rather a luxurious penitent, and a contrast to the primitive pilgrims, with scrip, and staff, and cockle-shell; but then it would be unreasonable to expect such self-denial from people of fashion; and there was not a doubt of the ample efficacy of the rich crucifixes, and golden vessels, and jewelled ornaments, which she was bearing to the treasury of the blessed Virgin. The princess and the count chatted much during supper about the scenes and society in which they had mingled, and did not notice that they had all the conversation to themselves; the young people were silent and constrained. The daughter ate nothing, in spite of the politeness of the princess, who continually pressed her to taste of one or other of the delicacies. The count shook his head: "She is not well this evening," said he, "I thought she would have fainted just now as she was looking out of the window at your carriage on its arrival." A crimson glow flushed to the very temples of the daughter; but she leaned over her plate, and her tresses cast a shade over her countenance. When supper was over, they drew their chairs about the great fireplace. The flame and smoke had subsided, and a heap of glowing embers diffused a grateful warmth. A guitar, which had been brought from the count's carriage, leaned against the wall; the princess perceived it: "Can we not have a little music before parting for the night?" demanded she. The count was proud of his daughter's accomplishment, and joined in the request. The young man made an effort of politeness, and taking up the guitar, presented it, though in an embarrassed manner, to the fair musician. She would have declined it, but was too much confused to do so; indeed, she was so nervous and agitated, that she dared not trust her voice to make an excuse. She touched the instrument with a faltering hand, and, after preluding a little, accompanied herself in several Polish airs. Her father's eyes glistened as he sat gazing on her. Even the crusty Caspar lingered in the room, partly through a fondness for the music of his native country, but | 66 chiefly through his pride in the musician. Indeed, the melody of the voice, and the delicacy of the touch, were enough to have charmed more fastidious ears. The little princess nodded her head and tapped her hand to the music, though exceedingly out of time; while the nephew sat buried in profound contemplation of a black picture on the opposite wall. "And now," said the count, patting her cheek fondly, one more favour. Let the princess hear that little Spanish air you were so fond of. You can't think," added he, "what a proficiency she made in your language; though she has been a sad girl and neglected it of late." The colour flushed the pale cheek of the daughter; she hesitated, murmured something; but with sudden effort collected herself, struck the guitar boldly, and began. It was a Spanish romance, with something of love and melancholy in it. She gave the first stanza with great expression, for the tremulous, melting tones of her voice went to the heart; but her articulation failed, her lip quivered, the song died away, and she burst into tears. The count folded her ten derly in his arms. "Thou art not well, my child," said he, "and I am tasking thee cruelly. Retire to thy chamber, and God bless thee!" She bowed to the company without raising her eyes, and glided out of the room. The count shook his head as the door closed. "Something is the matter with that child," said he, "which I cannot divine. She has lost all health and spirits lately. She was always a tender flower, and I had much pains to rear her. Excuse a father's foolishness," continued he, "but I have seen much trouble in my family; and this poor girl is all that is now left to me; and she used to be so lively—" May be she's in love!" said the little princess with a shrewd nod of the head. "Impossible!" replied the good count artlessly. "She has never mentioned a word of such a thing to me." How little did the worthy gentleman dream of the thousand cares, and griefs, and mighty love concerns which agitate a virgin heart, and which a timid girl scarce breathes unto herself. The nephew of the princess rose abruptly and walked about the room. When she found herself alone in her chamber, the feelings of the young lady, so long restrained, broke forth with violence. She opened the casement, that the cool air might blow upon her throbbing temples. Perhaps there was some little pride or pique mingled with her emotions; though her gentle nature did not seem calculated to harbour any such angry inmate. "He saw me weep!" said she, with a sudden mantling of the cheek, and | joining chamber." "Call him then, but lose no time." The young lady knocked at her father's door. He was not yet retired to bed. She hurried into his room, and told him of the fearful warning she had received. The count returned with her into her chamber, followed by Caspar. His questions soon drew the truth out of the embarrassed answers of the woman. The inn was beset by robbers. They were to be introduced after midnight, when the attendants of the princess and the rest of the travellers were a swelling of the throat, "but no matter! no matter!" And so saying, she threw her white arms across the window-frame, buried her face in them, and abandoned herself to an agony of tears. She remained lost in a reverie, until the sound of her father's and Caspar's voices in the adjoining room gave token that the party had retired for the night. The lights gleaming from window to window showed that they were conducting the princess to her apartments, which was in the opposite wing of the inn; and she distinctly saw the figure of the nephew as he passed one of the case-sleeping, and would be an easy prey. "But ments. She heaved a deep heart-drawn sigh, and was about to close the lattice, when her attention was caught by words spoken below her window by two persons who had just turned an angle of the building. "But what will become of the poor young lady?" said a voice which she recognized for that of the servantwoman. "Pooh! she must take her chance," was the reply from old Pietro. "But cannot she be spared?" asked the other entreatingly; "she's so kind-hearted!" "Cospetto! what has got into thee?" replied the other petulantly: "would you mar the whole business for the sake of a silly girl?" By this time they had got so far from the window that the Polonaise could hear nothing further. we can barricade the inn, we can defend ourselves," said the count. "What! when the people of the inn were in league with the banditti?" "How then are we to escape? Can we not order out the carriage and depart?" "San Francesco! for what? To give the alarm that the plot is discovered? That would make the robbers desperate, and bring them on you at once. They have had notice of the rich booty in the inn, and will not easily let it escape them." "But how else are we to get off?" "There is a horse behind the inn," said the woman, "from which the man has just dismounted who has been to summon the aid of a part of the band who were at a distance." "One horse! and there are three of us!" said the count. "And the Spanish princess!” cried the daughter anxiously-"How can she be extricated from the danger?" "Diavolo! what is she to me?" said the woman in sudden passion. "It is you I come to save, and you will betray me, and we shall all be lost! Hark!" continued she, "I am called-I shall be discovered-one word more. This door leads by a staircase to the court-yard. Under the shed, in the rear of the yard, is a small door leading out to the fields. You will find a horse there; mount it; make a circuit under the shadow of a ridge of rocks that you will see; proceed cautiously and quietly until you cross a brook, and find yourself on the road just where there are three white crosses nailed against a tree; then put your horse to his speed, and make the best of your way to the village-but recollect, my life is in your hands-say nothing of what you have heard or seen, whatever may happen at this inn." There was something in this fragment of conversation that was calculated to alarm. Did it relate to herself?-and if so, what was this impending danger from which it was entreated that she might be spared? She was several times on the point of tapping at her father's door, to tell him what she had heard; but she might have been mistaken; she might have heard indistinctly; the conversation might have alluded to some one else; at any rate it was too indefinite to lead to any conclusion. While in this state of irresolution she was startled by a low knocking against the wainscot in a remote part of her gloomy chamber. On holding up the light she beheld a small door there which she had not before remarked. It was bolted on the inside. She advanced, and demanded who knocked, and was answered in the voice of the female domestic. On opening the door the woman stood before it pale and agitated. She entered softly, laying her finger on her lips in sign of caution and secrecy. The woman hurried away. A short and "Fly!" said she: "leave this house instantly, agitated consultation took place between the or you are lost!" The young lady, trembling count, his daughter, and the veteran Caspar. with alarm, demanded an explanation. "I The young lady seemed to have lost all apprehave no time," replied the woman, "I dare hension for herself in her solicitude for the not-I shall be missed if I linger here-but safety of the princess. "To fly in selfish sifly instantly, or you are lost." "And leave lence, and leave her to be massacred!" A my father?" "Where is he?" "In the ad-shuddering seized her at the very thought. The gallantry of the count, too, revolted at the | one disappearing, a sign that the house was gradually sinking to repose; and she trembled with impatience, lest succour should not arrive until that repose had been fatally interrupted. They passed silently and safely along the skirts of the rocks, protected from observation by their overhanging shadows. They crossed the brook, and reached the place where three white crosses nailed against a tree told of some murder that had been committed there. Just as they had reached this ill-omened spot they beheld several men in the gloom coming down a craggy defile among the rocks. "Who goes there?" exclaimed a voice. The count put spurs to his horse, but one of the men sprang forward and seized the bridle, the horse became restive, started back, and reared, and had not the young lady clung to her father, she would have been thrown off. The count leaned forward, put a pistol to the very head of the ruffian, and fired. The latter fell dead. The horse sprang forward. Two or three shots were fired which whistled by the fugitives, but only served to augment their speed. They reached the village in safety. At length Caspar interfered with the zeal of a faithful old servant. No time was to be lost -the first thing was to get the young lady out of danger. "Mount the horse," said he to the count, "take her behind you, and fly! Make for the village, rouse the inhabitants, and send assistance. Leave me here to give the alarm to the princess and her people. I am an old soldier, and I think we shall be able to stand siege until you send us aid." The The whole place was soon aroused: but such daughter would again have insisted on staying was the awe in which the banditti were held, with the princess-For what?" said old Cas- that the inhabitants shrunk at the idea of enpar, bluntly; "you could do no good. You countering them. A desperate band had for would be in the way. We should have to take some time infested that pass through the mouncare of you instead of ourselves." There was tains, and the inn had long been suspected of no answering these objections: the count seized being one of those horrible places where the his pistols, and taking his daughter under his unsuspicious wayfarer is entrapped and silently arm, moved towards the staircase. The young disposed of. The rich ornaments worn by the lady paused, stepped back, and said, faltering slattern hostess of the inn had excited heavy with agitation-"There is a young cavalier suspicions. Several instances had occurred of with the princess-her nephew-perhaps he small parties of travellers disappearing mystemay-" "I understand you, mademoiselle,"riously on that road, who it was supposed at replied old Caspar with a significant nod; "not a hair of his head shall suffer harm if I can help it!" The young lady blushed deeper than ever: she had not anticipated being so thoroughly understood by the blunt old servant. "That is not what I mean," said she, hesitating. She would have added something, or made some explanation, but the moments were precious, and her father hurried her away. They found their way through the courtyard to the small postern gate, where the horse stood, fastened to a ring in the wall. The count mounted, took his daughter behind him, and they proceeded as quietly as possible in the direction which the woman had pointed out. Many a fearful and an anxious look did the daughter cast back upon the gloomy pile of building: the lights which had feebly twinkled through the dusty casements were one by first had been carried off by the robbers for the sake of ransom, but who had never been heard of more. Such were the tales buzzed in the ears of the count by the villagers as he endeavoured to rouse them to the rescue of the princess and her train from their perilous situation. The daughter seconded the exertions of her father with all the eloquence of prayers, and tears, and beauty. Every moment that elapsed increased her anxiety until it became agonizing. Fortunately there was a body of gens-d'armes resting at the village. A number of the young villagers volunteered to accompany them, and the little army was put in motion. The count having deposited his daughter in a place of safety, was too much of the old soldier not to hasten to the scene of danger. It would be difficult to paint the anxious agitation of the young lady while awaiting the result. The party arrived at the inn just in time. The robbers, finding their plans discovered, and the travellers prepared for their reception, had become open and furious in their attack. The princess's party had barricaded themselves in one suite of apartments, and repulsed the robbers from the doors and windows. Caspar had shown the generalship of a veteran, and the nephew of the princess the dashing valour of a young soldier. Their ammunition, however, was nearly exhausted, and they would have found it difficult to hold out much longer, when a discharge from the musketry of the gens-d'armes gave them the joyful tidings of succour. A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers were surprised in the inn, and had to stand siege in their turn; while their comrades made desperate attempts to relieve them from under cover of the neighbouring rocks and thickets. I cannot pretend to give a minute account of the fight, as I have heard it related in a variety of ways. Suffice it to say, the robbers were defeated; several of them killed, and several taken prisoners; which last, together with the people of the inn, were either executed or sent to the galleys. I picked up these particulars in the course of a journey which I made some time after the event had taken place. I passed by the very inn. It was then dismantled, excepting one wing, in which a body of gens-d'armes was stationed. They pointed out to me the shotholes in the window-frames, the walls, and the panels of the doors. There were a number of withered limbs dangling from the branches of a neighbouring tree, and blackening in the air, which I was told were the limbs of the robbers who had been slain and the culprits who had been executed. The whole place had a dismal, wild, forlorn look. "Were any of the princess's party killed?" inquired the Englishman. "As far as I can recollect, there were two or three." "Not the nephew, I trust?" said the fair Venetian. "Oh no: he hastened with the count to relieve the anxiety of the daughter by the assurances of victory. The young lady had been sustained throughout the interval of suspense by the very intensity of her feelings. The moment she saw her father returning in safety, accompanied by the nephew of the princess, she uttered a cry of rapture and fainted. Happily, however, she soon recovered, and what is more, was married shortly after to the young cavalier, and the whole party accompanied the old princess in her pilgrimage to Loretto, where her votive offerings may still be seen in the treasury of the Santa Casa." THE CURTIUS AND THE RUSSELL In the proud Forum's central space Earth yawned-a gulf profound! And there, with awe on every face, Rome's bravest gather'd round; Each seeming, yet with startled ear, The Oracle's dread voice to hear. Young CURTIUS on his war-horse spring, 'Mid plaudits deep-not loud, For admiration check'd each tongue In all the circling crowd:- Grant that the deed, if ever done, Our history can unfold: The RUSSELL stood beside her lord When evil tongues were rife; And perjury, with voice abhorr'd, Assail'd his fame and life:She stood there in the darkest hour Of Tyranny's and Faction's power.1 No stern oracular behest Her gentle courage gave; No plaudits, utter'd or suppress'd, Could she expect or crave; Duty, alone, her Delphic shrine, The only praise she sought-divine. She sate at Guilt's tribunal bar 1 The poet here alludes to the following passage in the account of Lord Russell's trial: "Lord Russell. May I have somebody write to help my memory? "Mr. Attorney-general. Yes, a servant. "Lord Chief-justice. Any of your servants shall assist you in writing anything you please for you. "Lord Russell. My WIFE is here, my lord, to do it." Mr. Jeffrey, in reviewing Rogers' "Human Life" (Edin. Rev., No. 62), in which the above dialogue is quoted, says: "We know of nothing at once so pathetic and sublime as these few simple sentences. When we recollect who Russell and his wife were, and what a destiny was then impending, this one trait makes the heart swell almost to bursting." Fearless in love, in goodness great, She rose-her lord to aid; And well might he intrust his fate To one so undismayed, Asking, with fond and grateful pride, No help but that her love supplied. Hers was no briefly-daring mood, More lasting worth can plead; Woman of meek, yet fearless soul! BERNARD BARTON. THE INQUIRY. Amongst the myrtles as I walked, Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd: "Tell me," said I, in deep distress, "Where I may find my shepherdess?" "Thou fool," said Love, "know'st thou not this, In everything that's good she is? In yonder tulip go and seek, There thou may'st find her lip, her cheek. "In yon enamell'd pansy by, There thou shalt have her curious eye; "In brightest lilies that there stand, ""Tis true," said I, and thereupon With that I stopt. Said Love, "There be, Like those short sweets thus knit together." THOMAS CAREW. MERDHIN. [Harriet Martineau, born 12th June, 1802, at Norwich. Her ancestors removed from France to England on the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. In 1823 she issued her first book, Devotional Exercises for the Young; and since that date she has produced numerous works of travel, history, biography, and fiction, besides essays and short tales illustrative of social and political economy. An earnest and sympathetic spirit pervades all that she has written. Amongst her chief productions are: Society in America; Retrospect of Western Travel; History of England during the Thirty Years' Peace (the first book of which was written by Charles Knight); Biographical Sketches; The Positive Philosophy of Auguste Comte, freely translated and condensed; Tracts on Subjects relating to the Working-classes; Mary Campbell, a tale; Deerbrook, a novel; and Forest and Game-law Tales, from which the following tale is taken.] There is reason to believe that, a thousand years ago, one of the prettiest rural districts in England was that which has since been called, with a mixture of compassion and contempt, the Fens. For a considerable extent south and south-west of the Wash wide rivers flowed between wooded islands, on whose rising grounds were erected the buildings suited to the character of the age and the locality;—here a monastery surrounded by orchards and vineyards;—there the dwellings of the superintendents of the fisheries,-and elsewhere the lodges of the foresters in the service of king or abbot. Where dreary and sickly swamps afterwards extended from east to west, noble woods marked the undulations of the soil; and the waters which, some centuries later, bred ague and fever from their slime, then flowed and ebbed in their main channels, and were clear and wholesome in the stillest coves and recesses which afforded their tribute of eels to the monks, and permitted the formation of thick ice in its season. A region so fair and fertile, lying near the east coast of our island, was, above every other, tempting to the Danes in their predatory visits of those days. Again and again did they burn the towns, pillage the estates, and lay waste the fields of the district: but the peculiar beauty of the scene was scarcely impaired. The orchards bloomed and bore fruit,-the forests spread their leafy shade,- and the waters abounded with fish, as if men were living in the peace of the religion they professed. Thus it was when King Canute began his reign. Grentebrige (since called Cambridge) had been a second time burned by the Danes in A.D. 1010; and it had scarcely begun to rise |