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Oft have I watched the daylight fade,
And marked thy waters onward glide,
Or idly on thy banks have strayed.
Though beautiful in sunset hour,
Thy brightly gilded waters are,
As still, or foaming on, they pour
Oe'r rocks, or by green islands fair;-
While all around the dying sun
Glances a mellow, golden light,
And slowly fading, one by one,
The purple clouds are lost in night,—
Though beauteous at this hour thou art,
And calm enjoyment soothes each sense,
Yet 'tis not then the willing heart,
Confesses most thy influence;
'Tis when fair day has left the sky,
And yon blue arch is lit with stars,
When the bound spirit strives to fly,
And fain would break its weary bars,-
Ah! then indeed the bosom feels
That fancy's wings brook no control,
And melancholy pleasure steals
Unconsciously upon the soul.
When, in the hours of silent night,
The thousands of the city sleep,
While, with an eye of tender light,
The moon its mournful watch doth keep,-
When winds, and trees, and birds are still,
And nature's self in slumber lies,-
When dew-drops shine on every hill,
And not a cloud floats in the skies,-
When, turning to itself, the soul
Communes upon the solemn past,
And feels that Time's resistless roll,
Must bring all to the grave at last,-
How sadly, to the bosom, swells
Thy voice upon the silent air;
For every tone, prophetic, tells
Fate's stayless step is echoed there.

Yon beauteous orb, so calm and pure,
Was there a thousand years ago,
And softly through its nightly tour,
Spread o'er the world its silver glow.
And thou, fair river, raised thy song,
And swept as now through vale and hill;
Thou sped thy sparkling steps along,
With wild, unchecked, and wayward will.
Those islands that thy bosom press,
And dip their verdure in thy wave,
Blushed forth in summer's lovely dress,
That found, as now, an early grave:
Then, o'er thy tide a simple race
Their light and fragile vessel bore ;-
But ah! each bright and fertile place
That knew them, knows them now no more.
Upon thy marge, the palace proud
Now stands with bold and stately air,
And where the savage meekly bowed,
Another people bend in prayer.
A few brief years-Time's blasting breath
Shall wither all around thee now;
This mighty nation, grasped by death,
To fate's decree, must humbled bow.

But thou wilt sing and sparkle on,
And through the night wilt raise thy wail,

When those that hear thee now are gone
Their journey through the shadowy vale.
Thus do I muse and sadly dream,
While listening to thy ceaseless moan;
For thou art like life's troubled stream,
That bears the world tumultuous on:
O'er rocks thy waves are wildly cast,
With here and there a clear, calm place,
Till in the distant ocean lost,

Thy form or path no eye can trace.

And man, through waves of smiles and tears,
Floats on Life's river to the sea:

The sun that lights his course soon wears,
And fades within Eternity.

Richmond, 1837.

L. R. S.

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The death of Lorenzo de' Medici, surnamed the Magnificent, on account of the lustre of his private virtues and his enlightened patronage of letters and arts, preceded the commencement of an era fraught with events destined to be fatal to the interests of Italy. The policy, prudence and reputation of this prince had contributed to maintain the balance of power among the republics, and to restrain the ambition of many petty sovereigns, particularly those of Naples and Milan.

Ludovico Sforza (Il Moro) governed Milan as Regent during the minority of his nephew Gian Galeazzo; and when the latter attained the full age of manhood, continued to exclude him from the exercise of any share of the power belonging rightfully to him. The young duke was feeble and imbecile in character, and of infirm health, ill able to struggle against the encroachments of his uncle; but he had married Isabel of Arragon, daughter to the Duke of Calabria; and the lofty spirit of that princess ill brooked Ludovico's usurpation. With the timidity ever attendant on the consciousness of wrong, Ludovico stood in awe of the courageous resolution of this lady, whom he knew to have appealed to her grandfather, the Neapolitan king, in behalf of her husband; and his fears were increased by the intelligence of a league between Piero de' Medici and Ferdinand of Naples; intelligence followed speedily by a demand that the Milanese duke should be put in possession of his legitimate authority. Determined not to relinquish the power so unjustly gained, Sforza looked abroad for aid; endeavored to persuade the Pope, the Venetians and the Duke of Ferrara to unite with him for their mutual protection, and apprehending this measure insufficient for his security, took the fatal step of inviting the French king into Naples; thus sealing forever the ruin of Italian independence.

The throne of France was at that time occupied by Charles VIII. A grant of the kingdom of Naples by Urban IV, in 1274, to the brother of St. Louis, the Count of Anjou and Provence, had often been the ground of claims on the part of the French monarchs to the sovereignty of that portion of Italy; and when the promise of aid from Milan offered a fair opportunity for securing so rich a province, Charles VIII, in whose right ancient pretensions had merged, resolved to lose no time in making good his claim. He prepared to pass the Alps with a powerful army.

Though Ludovico had judged his application to the French king to be his only means of humbling Ferdinand, and securing himself against the danger of being compelled to resign his illegal authority, he was not without misgivings in his secret heart, as to the ultimate consequences of the step he had taken, in tendering his arms and treasures for the assistance of Charles. Scarcely was he certain that his invitation had been eagerly accepted-scarcely saw he, in prospect, the first lances of France gleam along the defiles of the Alps, than his restless fears were again awake; and a thousand apprehensions of which he had never dreamed in his eagerness for revenge, started up before him. But it was now no time to shrink; he had but to rush onward in his dark and crooked career, and close his eyes to the dangers that menaced himself.

The apartment was hung with various pictures, conspicuous among which was one larger and more highly finished than the rest, the work of a Cremonese pencil. It was the full length portrait of one of the former Dukes of Milan; a green silk curtain, drawn to one side of the gilded frame, showed the care taken to protect it from dust and smoke, with which defilement it was especially threatened from two chimneys, whose immense jambs, bright with burning faggots, yawned like some tomblike chasm on either side of the room. In front of the portrait was a seat covered with cloth, embroidered with silver, designed for the occupation of the principal individuals in affairs of state business; five or six other seats arranged with less luxury, completed the furniture of the room.

The Regent remained sitting with his head leaning on his hand, apparently lost in thought; nor started from his revery, when a footstep without, and a pressure on the fastenings of the door, gave notice of the approach of an intruder. When the door opened, his eyes glanced towards it; yet without changing his position, he pursued his meditations; while the air of his visitor indicated the easy familiarity of one used at all times to approach unbidden the presence of his superior. His garment of black serge was simply fastened by a ribbon of the same color;-thick bushy mustaches gave an air of gravity to features which, though strongly marked, were indicative of low cunning and repulsive to the utmost degree, nor rendered less so by an evidently assumed expression of audacity, meant to pass for conscious dignity. He came near the table, and remained standing a few moments, till Ludovico, with a deep sigh, removed his hand, and spoke, more as if communing with his own mind than addressing his companion.

"It will not do!" he exclaimed in a tone of despondency; "the train is fired, and I fear me, will spread further than we wot of. He has leagued with Maximilian; the cowardly Florentine is ready to throw himself at his feet; fate opens him a golden path to victory-worse than all-Orleans is on his way to Genoa! Ah! well I know at what prize HE is aiming!-Signor Malvezzi, look not so fateful! here alas! even thine art cannot avail me-unless I could send thee to cure the distemper at Asti."

It was towards the close of a brilliant day in the autumn of 1494. In the castle of Pavia the ill-fated young duke of Milan, then lying dangerously ill, was retained with his duchess, who was permitted to attend him. Apartments were assigned them in a remote part of the castle; and in a solitary room used as the private council chamber, sat he who held their destiny in his hands, the crafty Regent. Ludovico was alone: the rich light of the setting sun streamed through the high arched painted windows, and colored with crimson, fell full upon his figure. He was seated at a table covered with a carpet and strewn with parchments and papers, on which his eye seemed to rest with an expression of vexed dissatisfaction; he looked like some lonely and baffled magician, cheated by the very agents he had summoned to minister to his success. His features, as far as they could be discerned, half shaded by his hand, were most forbidding; his complexion, from the darkness of which he is supposed to have received the appellation of "the Moor," wore yet a gloomier tinge from his aspect of disappointment; his eyes, oversha- "Talk not of pleasure to me-I am foiled-entangled dowed by thick bushy brows, flashed with painful keen-in the web mine own policy hath helped to weave. I Dess. The whole expression of the countenance, was would to heaven, Malvezzi, thou wert as wise a statesnot one of malignity, but of cunning, and shuffling man as thou art a skilful leech! thou, at the least, meanness; the quick glance, and momentary contrac-art faithful." tion of the brows, showed too the workings of a mind oppressed by fear of approaching evil; while the occasional movement of his lips denoted that he was laboring to form some decisive determination.

A loose robe of dark colored velvet, lined with grey miniver, gathered round his waist by a belt from which protruded the hilt of a poniard studded with gemsand an undervest of silk, composed his dress;-a bonnet of the same material with the robe, was carelessly ⚫ thrown upon his head, and a chain of gold, depending from a richly ornamented collar, fell as low as his waist, bearing the star of a religious order which had been conferred on him by the king of France.

"If in aught I could pleasure your highness"-began the courtier-like physician.

"Hath aught chanced to trouble your grace?" "All-all-falls out to my discomfort. Look at these pacquets; they bear me the intelligence that ruin, on every side, is falling upon Naples; yet from my soul I repent me that I prepared that ruin! Charles of France is recovered of his malady-and hastens to consummate my vengeance-yet would the ill-fated project had never been born of my unlucky brain!"

"Has your highness fears of him? Hath he not guaranteed you possession of your dominions?"

"Mostro! what is the word of a king, pledged in purchase of men and treasure, when his desires are fulfilled, and its violation can pleasure an ambitious rela

tive? Thou know'st the claims of Orleans on the Dukedom of Milan ?"

"This very night! I repeat it"-answered Sforza ; "the very fiend hath spurred him from Asti hither"Trust your fortune, my noble lord-shrink not from to visit, forsooth, his young cousin the duke, who he distant evils!"

has heard, lies ill at ease in this castle; I tell thee, leech, his coming must be provided for! I must forth to meet him—and this moment; be it thy care to prevent his sight of the prince. Shorten the business, if needs be-enough-Charles must not behold my ne

“Never! Malvezzi!” returned the Regent, pushing from him the pile of papers, and rising from his seat. "Yet one step-one-ay, and that in my power, could place me higher, and secure my elevation. The investiture of this duchy, granted me by the king of the Ro-phew alive! I leave ALL in thy hands." mans, will avail nought with the discontented populace, The physician placed his hand on his heart-as if to nor with foreign courts, so long-so long-as any can intimate his sense of the responsibility—and with suldispute my rights." len haste, Ludovico departed. Ere an hour had passed, "I understand you," replied the physician; "you the principal street of Pavia presented a gay and stirwill soon be undisputed lord of Milan." ring scene. The King of France, accompanied by

"Ha! is my nephew" gasped, rather than spoke twelve chevaliers, the flower of his nobility, entered the Regent. the city, received with the show of cordial reverence

"The malady gains strength apace. There are none and exulting friendship by the Regent. The young but myself to attend him"-answered the other-ap-monarch rode a superb Arabian horse, richly capariproaching nearer, and speaking in a whisper-while a soned in the Eastern style, which, with others of the glance supplied the horrid meaning to his words.

Sforza could not suppress an inward shudder as his "trusty friend" thus announced the partial success of his villainy; but he quickly mastered the emotionand said in a low voice-"I fear me, we have been too hasty; the life of a prince, good friend, hath too many watchers to be safely tampered with ;-and the Lady Isabel-"

"Think not so lightly of mine art-your highness. Her vigilance hath ample employment ;-she has a child-"

"Harm him not-on thy life, I charge thee!" exclaimed Ludovico, catching his arm. "They can be readily disposed of whenever they are no foes to mine ambition! meddle not with the mother and child!" "Nay"--said Malvezzi-“1 will pledge them health and safe passage from this good city, when the young duke is no more. His days, I warrant me, will not be long-for I know your highness' strait. But signify your will-he shall not live till midnight."

same breed, he had received as a gift from Bajazet the Magnificent. The royal armor was of silver, elegantly wrought by Spanish artificers; it covered his shoulders and breast, but descended not lower than the hips; from the lower border hung small plates of silver, light and easily moved aside, so as to prove no impediment to the rider. He wore a species of helmet of the same metal, the front of which was surmounted by a crown of the purest gold, while the back was turned up. It was closed at the side of the crown by a nail in the form of a star, whose rays were alternately of gold and silver. The upper part of the helmet was divided, and resembled in shape the top of a cardinal's hat. The dress was becoming, and added grace to the deportment of the monarch, who had not been so fortunate as to receive from nature the advantages of a fine figure, or a prepossessing countenance.

At his side rode Brissonet, his favorite, and one of his chief encouragers to the present enterprise. His attire was a strange mixture of the dress of the soldier and the ecclesiastic. He wore a vest of white silk and cloth of gold; a white mantle, fastened on his left shoulder with a rich clasp of gems, was suffered to fall, confined, however, at the waist by a belt embroidered with gold. The sword at his side, the gift of his royal master, was curiously ornamented; and in contrast to the implements of warfare, a cross of gold, attached to a violet ribbon, hung on his breast. In his left hand he carried a small shield, destined it would seem, more for ornament than defence: upon a white field were blended two devices ;-one in French had for a motto "L' "By our Lady"-ejaculated Sforza-" but I should humilité m'a exalté;" the other in Latin, ran thusknow that peal! without there-hoa!"

"My good Malvezzi," replied Sforza, with a slight ironical emphasis on the adjective, "we are beholden for thy zeal. Could the state boast many servants true as thyself;" but ere he could finish the sentence, an unwonted tumult without, and the sudden winding of a horn, changed the current of his thoughts. The messenger who had sounded the signal for admittance, after a single blast, began to play an air of victory; the wild and exulting tones of the instrument rang through the silent corridors of the castle, and smote with no welcome music on the ears of its master.

The summons was speedily answered by the entrance of an attendant, who with a deep obeisance presented a pacquet; the Regent glanced impatiently at the superscription, tore asunder the silken string that secured its folds, and broke the massive seal, which bore the royal arms of France. Whatever intelligence the letter contained, seemed most distasteful to the reader; it was with deeper paleness on his dark features, that he refolded the pacquet, and calling his attendants, bade them prepare his train to go forth upon the instant; while he whispered some directions in the ear of Malvezzi. "To-night?" gasped the bewildered physician-"the King of France in Pavia to-night?"

"Ditat servata fides."

The personage who after Brissonet rode next in the king's train, was of a very different character from the ambitious minister, yet one of no insignificant importance in those days in the equipage of the court-the king's dwarf. He was mounted on a low horse, the trappings of the animal adapted to the figure of the rider, who was arrayed in a doublet of yellow silk, with a square cap of deep red, so formed as not to add even the fraction of an inch to his stature. He had at his side a small flat sword, and a horn not unlike those with which the swine herds of Germany were wont to summon home their charge. His small round eyes, quick in motion and flashing with unusual brilliancy,

added to the effect of his singular figure, his rapid and Italian, were immediately on foot, and courteously movements and unnatural agility. lowered their lances in honor of their superiors. Then mingling and exchanging military greetings, they followed the princes.

Such were the principal personages who divided the attention of the crowd. The train of Charles consisted, as we have mentioned, of twelve Knights completely armed, magnificently adorned according to the taste of that period,—their brilliant armor and decorations shining yet more brilliantly in the beams of the setting sun. Each carried his lance leaning against his side, and rode as if proud of forming the guard of a monarch so illustrious, not less than vain of the addition made by his own figure to the cavalcade.

Nor were the subjects of the duke of Milan destitute of anxiety to receive with becoming respect a sovereign who in reliance on their friendly hospitality, entered their city with so slight an escort, wearing the aspect not of an ambitious superior, but of an equal and cordial ally. The balconies were thronged with spectators of both sexes, who gazed admiringly on the stately train; and wreaths of flowers were thrown from the windows upon the Knights as they passed. Two files of Italian soldiers, at the head of whom rode the Regent himself, accompanied the royal cavalcade towards the castle; their very horses seemed to have received new spirit from the music and the presence of the multitude, and swept proudly along the street-while the waving of plumes, and the floating of rich mantles, and the glittering of steel, increased the gay splendor of the scene, illumed by the picturesque glory of sunset. All was festivity and exultation in outward show, but the secret minds of the spectators were occupied with other thoughts than those of unmixed admiration and delight. National feelings caused them to look with jealousy upon a sovereign who expected to build his glory on the conquest and devastation of the fairest portion of Italy;-at the moment, the narrow feelings of self-interest, that could shut out sympathy for the misfortunes of a neighboring province, separated by arbitrary lines of division, but heir to the same great inheritance of freedom, were swept away-and many who gazed upon the scene felt as Italians and as men. Nor were those wanting whose penetrating vision discerned the gilded snare into which they were falling; who failed not to foresee the probable consequences of a step which joined them in league with the natural enemies of their country.

Dark and tumultuous were the emotions that thronged the breast of Ludovico Sforza, as he passed at the head of his guards conducting the French monarch to the castle; yet fearful of awakening suspicion, he smothered the expression of his disquiet, and strove to assume an aspect of bland satisfaction; his outward gaiety gloomily contrasting with the apprehensions that had taken possession of his inmost soul. He bowed low and repeatedly in reply to the cheers of the people, but the consciousness of his own purposes made him fancy every eye fixed on him with an expression of distrust. His dress had undergone some alteration; a rich robe of black velvet lined with white and ornamented with ermine about the neck and shoulders, was worn by him in common with the chief nobles of the ducal court, who rode at his side.

Arrived at the castle, the Regent hastened to assist his illustrious guest in dismounting, and welcomed him with ostentatious cordiality. The Knights, both French

Ludovico led his royal visitor into the magnificent apartments of the palace, which the bustling servitors had already fitted up with unusual splendor for his reception. Tapestries of the finest wool, fringed with gold, covered the walls, and paintings from famous pencils served to relieve the vastness of the lofty ceilings. All the windows were illuminated; the torches of pure wax, and the huge lamps of wrought gold, were in a blaze, though darkness had scarcely fallen upon the city. Banners hung from the casements, or streamed from posts in the street; trumpets and cymbals were pealing forth a note of welcome, and the tumultuous tread of guards and serving men, announced the suddenness of the occasion, and their zeal in endeavoring to do honor to the distinguished guest.

The banquet prepared for the king and his chevaliers in one of the halls, bore evidence of the same profusion and magnificence. The massive plate, wrought with the richest devices and designs of art, the pitchers and flasks of gold and of Venetian crystal, the vases of alabaster, exhibiting also the triumphs of the artistwith other articles of table furniture equally splendid and expensive-the cushioned seats hastily covered with furs and velvet, and decorated with flowers, the perfumers and the radiant lights, heightened in dazzling effect by the gorgeous reflection of the mirrors of pol|ished metal,—all were arranged to the best possible advantage by the servitors, themselves of no mean rank, moving under the direction of the major domo. This personage, clad in a black dress, the sleeves of which were garnished with lace ruffles, moved as gravely about his task of superintending the preparations of the board, as if he had the care of sacred vessels or instruments destined to the sacrifice of a hecatomb to the infernal deities.

Sforza performed more gracefully the part of host at the feast; but when it was ended-when the rich and delicate viands, which, brought from remote countries, had lately graced the board, were laid waste in ministering to the soldierlike appetites of the noble guests— he was startled and dismayed to hear the monarch drink the health of his "fair cousin the duke;" and express his desire to be led presently to his chamber, "that he might comfort him with the assurance of a kinsman's love." This proposal was doubly disagreeable to the Regent, as it recalled to observation his own subordinate rights, and as it awakened his ever ready apprehensions.

"Let me pray your grace," urged he, "add not to this day's fatigues. To-morrow morning we will visit my nephew, who will be better prepared by his night's slumbers to receive you."

"To-night," answered Charles, "we must be far on our march to Piacenza. Nay-noble Sforza, we thank you for your hospitable reluctance to part with us,but necessity is imperative. Lead on, then, to our cousin's chamber."

Far different from the brilliant scene of festivity was that which presented itself in the apartment of the young prince. The rooms occupied by him and his attendants were separated by a narrow gallery from the

rest of the castle; his chamber, the remotest of all, timed merriment smote on her ear; at the moment a was large and gloomy, its only light during the day child, three or four years old, crossed from the antechamadmitted through two high stained windows, the heavyber with cautious footsteps, for even infancy had learned folds of the curtains contributing still more to diminish | consideration for the repose of the sick, and glided to the effect of the feeble rays. At present a sufficient the mother. The tears of the hapless lady flowed light was afforded by large torches of wax in tall iron afresh as she gazed on the little partner of her anguish, candlesticks, that flared in the night wind, which found and in convulsive grief she strained the child to her its way through the ill-constructed casements; while bosom. from wood smouldering in the antique chimney, the Presently an unusual bustle in the courts below, the smoke reeked upwards to the bare and blackened raf- trampling of horses and the shouts of grooms, announcters of the roof. Yet notwithstanding the want of neat-ed the departure of the French to be at hand. Malness or taste displayed in the arrangement of the apart-vezzi left his place by the bed, and walked to the winment, and the rude and old fashioned style of architec-dow, hoping to hear, if he could not see, what might ture, there were traits of magnificence which contrasted give him more certain information. But he was soon strangely with the general want of that appearance of recalled by a shriek from the Lady Isabel; a frightful comfort which in modern days the humblest peasant's change had taken place in the countenance of the invadwelling would present. There were tapestries of silk lid; the calm stillness of sleep was replaced by distortoo rich to be in keeping with the time worn and mas- tion, and a death-like rigidity had settled on the feasive oaken furniture, on which were wrought pictures, tures. The physician poured a few drops from a mixwhich if not life-like, were vaster and more startling ture in one of the phials, and raising the prince's head, than life; gigantic warriors wielding ponderous maces, administered it; the effect seemed for the moment saluwith bushy beards and muscular limbs; there were tary: the duke opened his eyes, and fixing them on the carpets of velvet, and mirrors of steel reflected the light agonized face of his wife, bending over him, moved his of the torches and the figures on the tapestry. The lips as if he would speak, while an expression of gratibedstead was of black oak, its spiral posts ornamented tude and fondness lighted up for an instant his pale and with flowers wrought in gold; it was constructed after emaciated countenance. a former fashion in a triangular form, the base forming "Now God be praised!" exclaimed Isabel, clasping the head and the point serving for the foot. Three her hands, "he knows me once again! The crisis is columns supported a canopy from which depended past. Look up, mine own beloved! that glance brings fringed curtains, fastened back by brass nails;-theme health and peace once more! Look up-Giovanni!” bed itself showed none of the luxury of modern times; The crisis was indeed past. The powers of nature a scanty mattress, sheets of muslin, for linen in those that had rallied for a last effort, were fast sinking fordays was rare even in the chambers of princes,-and ever. The prince could not again raise his eyes to a silken coverlet, completed its furniture. A brazen | meet the fond glance of affection; the lids closed heastand in front, projecting from the wall, supported a bronze candlestick whose torch threw a faint light on the countenance of the princely invalid. The silken coverlet but ill concealed the attenuated proportions of a frame wasted by disease and suffering; and there was a ghastly paleness on his face, which too surely betokened that the springs of life were exhausted. The young duke had fallen into a quiet slumber; so deep and quiet indeed, that but for the occasional stirring of a portion of the light drapery, it might have been deemed a breathless one. The physician Malvezzi, leaned against one of the columns at the foot of the bed, surveying his patient with a look of intense anxiety, which he vainly strove to hide beneath his usual cold and indifferent expression. At a little distance, before a table on which were placed books of devotion, knelt a lady of noble air and figure, yet whose beauty was clouded by sorrow. She was robed in black, not above the middle height, yet her lovely features, combined with their natural aspect of gentleness, an expression of heroic pride that might have been nourished or developed by the unhappy circumstances of her condition. She was not apparently occupied in devotion, but remained kneeling on the cushion, her head bent on her hands, as if engrossed by the most painful reflections. Here in the deep silence that reigned through the apartment could be distinctly heard the festive tumult from the great hall; the echoed laugh of the guests, the bustling of servants, and the music that welcomed the revellers. Isabel raised her head, and glanced uneasily and impatiently around, as the sounds of ill

vily, no longer obedient to the will; the breast heaved irregularly once or twice-then a deep calmness settled on the face, where a smile yet lingered-though the struggles of nature were over! Not for many minutes did the knowledge of the fatal truth enter the mind of the bereaved lady. When at length it flashed upon her, not by shrieks or outcries would she disturb the awful solemnity of the scene. Sunk on her knees at the bedside, her lifted hands and tearless countenance gave evidence of the extremity of her wo; yet forgetful of her own sufferings and fate, her lips moved in prayer for the departed. The child awed, though unconscious of its loss, knelt by the side of the mother; and two or three female attendants who had entered from the antechamber, formed a group in the back ground, where they stood in wondering silence.

It was at this moment, when DEATH in his majesty and solemnity was present as it were in bodily form, striking terror to the hearts of the living-that the door opened to admit the King of France, accompanied by Ludovico. Not a movement was produced by this addition to the inmates of the apartment, except on the part of the leech, who gliding with a noiseless step across the room, whispered in the ear of his master.

"Sire," said Ludovico in a low voice to the king, half averting his face at the same time, "a more potent and terrible visitor hath forestalled your highness. The prince has just breathed his last. Will it please you— retire with me?"

Without reply, Charies approached the couch where still knelt Isabel; she rose on perceiving him, whom

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