what's the use of treating a chap if he don't treat you back; nobody but one as was’nt a gentleman 'ud do so; if I ever catches, that chap agin, I'll wollop him.”

At this particular juncture, a porter with his wheelbarrow passing along near the cellar door disturbed one of his limbs, and he arose and departed, leaving behind him the statue like form of



The Storm King.


What bark is that which sweeps o'er the wave,
Like the galleon proud of some victor brave?
Gemm'd is its flag with the lightning's spark,
And its sails are the clouds of the thunder dark,
Cordage of fire and masts of flame,
Bark of the pathless : what is thy name 7

o 'Tis the Storm King's galley, that breasts the gale, Through the tempest burst and lightning pale; When the rattling war, makes heaven to ring, Then is the time that the Storm King braves, The scowl of the skics and the roar of the waves!

What is so free as the boundless deep,
Where Liberty's wings in their grandeur sweep?
When Death rides the billow and grasps his prey,
Then proud rides the King in his galley gay;
He laughs at the sire of the grisly form,
And chaunts in derision his song of the storm;
What of the heaven, of earth or wave,
Can dare the grim chief liko the Storm King brava?

Around his brow is a crest of light,
Rent from the wing of a meteor's bright,
Amid his tresses of raven hue,
re twined the fillets of lightning blue;
His form is enrobed in a sable shroud,
£ringed with the foam of the stormy kissed cloud.
As onward he sweeps on the tempest's wing,
Ha! has who so blythe as the dark Storm King 7

The Storm King holds a boundless reign,
In the realms .#. o'er land and main,
No hour of mirth did he ever claim;
He was rent from the womb of sulphurous flame;
Ere the ray of God cleft the realms of night,
The Storm King reigned in his pride of might!

He sails o'er thee deep and lashes its bleast, -
Till the sparkling foam tips each wave's dark crest,
Then springs on his throne of the lightning free,
And laughs in the welking all joyously;
Then treads the bosom of earth in pride,
And terror and ruin spreads far and wide :

Is there a warrior of giant form,
Can vic with the bold dark King of Storm?
Is there a chieftain in pride of might
Can mate with the King of stormy fight?
No! no . They are dust on Time's grey wing:


A TALE of Rome's Evil DAYs. By Henry F. Harrington,


The senators of Rome issued from the Senate House. There was a gloom of indignation on their faces, for Domitian the emperor, had that day dared to offer to their sacred body assembled in solemn meeting, a degrading and unpardonable insult. They retired in knots, discours. ing in low whispers—and there was that in the countenances of many which be: trayed the deeply wounded spirit, and the bitter thirst for revenge. There was somewhat of virtue yet remaining amid the degradation of Romans. The venerable Marcellus was one of these. He was a true lover of his falling country—he wept for the days that were gone. “Lentulus,” said he to his companion, “come thou with me.” The two hastened to the palace of the senator—and in his private apartment they conversed long and earnestly. When Lentulus rose to depart, Marcellus grasped his hand, and said in servent 1OneS—

“Thou wilt assuredly be true to meto thyself, and to Rome.”

“Ever,” was the ready answer; “this hour will I seek our friends.”

“Wilt thou so 7 Then let the emperor beware.”


The lady Livia the daughter of.” proud Senator, Marcus Livius Marcellus, of whom I have already spoken a.o. cendant of one of the noblest families of Rome, sat in the garden of her father: palace, upon the marble steps leading." the statue af Hebe. She had stolen" observed from her apartment, and " with her arm upon the step abovo . and her cheek resting upon her ho

Theh hurra! hurra: for the dark Storm King !

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pression which commands the admiring

aze; but there was in her, and around so that retiring modesty, that voluptuous grace of form, and action, and feature, which gently win the enraptured sight, and stamp a living image upon the soul. Her hair was of a pale golden hue not dyed thus in accordance with the taste of the Roman ladies of her time, but so tinged by the hand of Nature; and it fell in ringlets over her neck, only bound by a single ribbon—in that too, differing from her compeers, in as much as the sweet purity of nature was set in contrast with the stiffnes of art. Her eye was blue, soft. and changing; her fathressmall but regular, with a tinge of subdued melancholy in their brightness. Her ornaments were of the richest gems —and her robe of the costly Indian silk, shone in its twice dyed Tyrian hue. It was near sunset, and the rich rays of the departing orb rested on the gor

geous palaces and decorated temples of

the mighty Rome—mighty even in its

fall—and shed a lustre round the marblel

walls of the lofty Capitol. All was still —and the lady Ł. caught magic inspiration from the beauty of nature, and often rose from her seat. and gazed in rapture around; but she as often sunk down again, and bent her mild gaze steadfastly upon the entrance to the garden. There was a sound--she started— yes, an armed heel trod the tessallated pavements. A crimson hue, that rivalled the tint of her robe, mantled upon her transparent cheek, and her bosom heaved. The gate opened, and with a light yet finging step, for he was clad in complete Armour, Glycon, the captain of Domitian's body guard, the favoured of his prince, he bravest man in Rome, stood before £r, She rose. Delight—glowing delight *as pictured on her face, and as he twin# his arms around her, and pressed her o his bosom: she looked into his eyes, And while all the fervor of woman's love *as glistening in her own, she softly murmured— “My Glycon—thou hast returned.” “My sweet, sweet Livia, yes; after a

month's long absence, yet true to thce as ever. Come, let us sit, my love. Ere I pay my obeisance to my master, I will spend an hour with thee.” They sat down side by side, and conversed of love, and were happy in the vows of each other; and then they spoke of the past and of the future—of themselves. It would seem to have been a pleasant subject, but as they conversed, Glycon's smile faded, and a sad frown usurped its place. Livia was alarmed. “My Glycon—what ails thee? Why sits that frown upon thy brow? “My own Livia, I fear for our happiness; I fear for the peace of Rome. This day did the emperor convene the senate, and when that grave body were assembled he would have their opinions on some matter of cookery—the dressing of a turbot—and they burn with indigna. tion. Thy father was there. I saw his swelling anger and choking shame. My Livia though he has smiled upon our ifterviews, he will not give thee to one who serves the hated emperor.” “Then why, my Glycon, dost thou serve him 1" “I have an oath, an oath, sworn upon the holy altar of Jupiter. He saved my life.” “Domitian saved thy life? Thou hast never told thy Livia of this.” “'Twas but forgetfulness. I lived, thou knowest, in famed Arcadia; and there was near to my father's dwelling a Roman fortress. Ostentimes the soldiers visited our cottage—I was but a poor peasant then—and we ever receieed them kindly, freely giving them of what they stood in need. Sometimes there came among them one Rhetius, a captain, and he beguiled the heart of [Iyala, my gentle |sister.”--- - - - ** “Hast thou a sister " “I had, but now I own her not. She is lost—lost. O, Livia, forgive me these tears, but—I loved her most dearly—I would have treasured her in my heart, But she has fled with the villain Rhetiusfled for ever. That outrage, and the sting of other wrongs, maddened a trampled People. We rose to revenge our disgrace —but, alas, the Grecian name alone was left us ; the Grecian heart of steel, the Grecian honor were gone, We wers

soon conquered, and I, with others, was brought to Rome. All perished save myself. The emperor preserved me. Gratitude is strong, my Livia.” “O, Glycon, where is thy poor, poor sister!'. Speak thou not so harshly of her. She loved, my Glycon"—and Livia look... ed up in her lover's face, and clung to his bosom., ... “She fled in dishonor with the Roman.” , “She loved, she loved. Thou canst not estimate woman's love. Where, where is she 1” ** * “I know not. I never sought her.” “Forgive her. Thou wilt forgive her.” “Never.”, . . His tone, was firm and decided, and Livia only sobbing, “Poor Hyala "wept bitterly. Glycon rose te depart. He placed his burnished helmet upon his head; and his tall, manly form, displayed as it was by his closely fitting armor, and his bland, gencrous, yet noble features, made the bosom of Livia glow with pride that he should be her own. She wiped away her tears, and throwing herself upon his breast, twined her arms about his neck, while he strained her in a close embrace. “Farewell, my Livia, the gods be with thee, and watch over thee. Farewell "and the soldier left the garden. As he strode through the hall of the palace, a slave intercepted him. “My master would speak with thee— wilt thou follow? The slave led the way to a small apartment adjoining the hall, where sat the senator... The noble Marcellus, who inherited with his name the pride and virtue of his ancestors, often wept over the ignominy of Rome, the prostration of her power, the stain upon her honor, the scorn that greeted her name. He would have raised the cry of “Liberty—the republic!” in every street. He would have bid the eagle of the republic, spread its broad wings once more above the polluted capitol. He wonld have hurled defiance at e's tyrants. But Rome was debased—enslaved; and the days of her glory were not destined again to greet the eyes of the despairing patriot. As Glycon entered, he rose to welcome him, and the soldier doffed his helmet, and bent low in reverence of the venerable man. Marcellus spoke:–

“Glycon, thou lovest my daughter." “As I love my honor.” “Well. She loves thee, Glycon," “Yes—yes—the gods be thanked." “Thou saidst thy honor. Thou tre+ surest thy honor, then?” The cheek of the Grecian glowed and his lip quivered—while a frown gathere! on his brow. “Does the noble Marcelles suspec me?” “No-no---young man—thouservestan honorable master.” The crimson on Glycon's cheek became deeper. “Didst thou send for me that thou mightst insult me !” * Nay—be calm. Honorable becaus: he is the emperor of Rome.” Glycon's thoughts reverted to hismo ter's character, to the insults he had that day given to the senate, and he felt thath: needed to offer an excuse for his devotion to him. “Most noble Marcellus,” said he, “Do mitian saved my life.” “Ha! well. For this thouservesthim". “Yes—yes. For this I have been itk, dy to die in his defence.” “So-sol I like thee—I like thee-co again—often. I will converse with to more anon. Farewell.” | After these few words, Glycon depo ed. The old senator stood awhile o musing thought—then he paced the roo “Yes, yes; gratitude—honor—wellvery well! Captain of the emperor's so vateguard—my daughter's lover—hiso" tried bravery—yes—very well.” And thus speaking he left the asso ment.

chapter, iii.-TEE sistER,

The informer Matho, the most deleto man in Rome save his patron the empo or, met Glycon, as he wended his way." Domitian's palace, after the conversallo described in the last chapter. “Ha, good Glycon, returned! I in glad to see thee. Thou has conquered. people thou wast sent against. Tho be better loved than before. I envythe'' The malignant look, but illy concelo beneath his fawning smile, betrayed" he envied him, indeed. Glycongaro

at him with contempt, but cautiously sup-
pressing his feelings, he replied—
“Yes, Matho, returned. How fares
the great emperor?”
“He prospers. Ha—how finly he trick-
ed the grey beard sentors-to day ! I saw
thee there. How they did wince' 'Twas
delightful. But I’m bound upon an er-
rand; adieu !”
He passed on, and Glycon continued
his way, wondering what could be the
import of the few words addressed to him
by the father of Levia. As he strode
along, the citizens whom he met bent low
before him in debased servility, for he
was the captain of the emperor's body
guard; and scorn overcame gratified pride
in our hero's breast—scorn of the grov-
elling offspring of noble ancestors—and
then he heaved a sigh—a deep sigh of
anguish for the debasement of his own
storied and honored Greece, whose sun
had set in eternal night. Rome had
gronnd his country into the dust; Rome
had placed her iron foot upon the soil of
his glorious home; and somewhat of hate
was mingled with his scorn.
His sister—naturally did he think of
her, sadly dreaming as he was, of the
degradation of his home; and with a
firmer stride he rushed on. More bitter
grew the expression of his features. He
heeded not friend or stranger—and with
a heartfelt curse upon the name of Rhe-
tius, and a clenching of his teeth that be-
trayed some desperate purpose, he enter-
ed the gate of the emperor's palace.
* # * # #: #
I will now convey the reader to an
apartment of that palace, the chamber of
the Captain Rhetius. It is night, and he
is alone within it—reclining upon a couch;
and while he seems, at times, to slum-
ber, his quick starts, when any sound,
however slight, disturbs the silence, be-
tray an anxious watchfulness. His fea-
tures are stern, yet beautifully regular;
while much of elevation is imparted to
his countenance by the broad expansion
of his forehead. He could smile—with a
Sweetness that took the feelings by storm.
It was his noble forehead that threw into

dark-eyed Grecian—the lost, the wretch-
ed Hyala. -
Rhetius soon rose from his recumbent
position, and as he sate with folded arms,
looking intently at the dim lamp which
threw a pale light around, that deceitful
smile wreathed itself about his features,
and thus he communed with himself:-
“Yes—yes—the girl will be of worth
to me. The emperor will well pay me
for giving her to him, and in his search
for new pleasures, will soon cast her back
again; and then—yes—Lucius shall have
her. He loves a dark eye, and a pearly
skin like hers, and he shall fill my coffers
—the foolish spendthrift. O, rare luck
that I found her —Why comes she not
She would not dare to be coy, when I
so sternly bade her yield. No ; she loves
me—me alone of all on earth, and will do
as I have bid”—and the villain's smile
grew deeper, that he could use such love
for his demon purposes.
The door opened, and a female entered,
with a step so light that it seemed not
mortal. Yet she trod slowly and wearily.
Her head was bent, and her dark hair, un-
bound, fell down dishevelled over her
neck and bosom, that heaved with her
painful breathing. She advanced toward
the couch on which Rhetius still sat, with
arms outstretched to receive her, and
when she had come near to him, she stood
still. Faintness seemed to be stealing
through her frame and palsying her
strength. With weak power, she pressed
her hands upon her eyes, and then clasp-
ing them before her, looked into the face
of her betrayer—and a loud, long, ago-
nized shriek issued from her lips, telling so
dreadful a tale of wo, that the sentinel in
the hall beyond started and grasped his
spear, and the hardened soldiers by the
gates, who had often heard such sounds
in that gilded abode of crime, smiled grim-
ly in each other's face, It was the utter-
ance of a broken heart—and Hyala fell
senseless upon the floor.
Rhetius placed her upon the couch, and
applying restoratives, bent over her in
wily craft, and tried to recover her by en-
dearing caresses, and tones of sorrowing

the shade the fearful developements of av.

arice and passion. It was that smile which

šiole and settered the gentle heart of the WOL. 3–13–3.

love. He well knew the human heart, and he succeeded. She grasped, and her

eyes opened. For a few moments, her

senses wandered. A saint smile played about her lips, and she murmured the name of her native village, and of her beloved brother. When reason came again, and she felt all the horror of her situation, she calmly rose and stood up. Despair—hopeless, guilty despair was painted on her features. Her eye was bloodshotten and wildly bright—her cheek of a startling paleness, and a cold shiver ran through her frame. Rhetius was alarmed, and would have spoken soothingly— but the miserable girl motioned him to keep silence, and then, in calm, hollow tones, she said— “O, Rhetius, Rhetius—what hast thou made of me!” The sound of her voice restored the callousness of the monster by her side, who had feared she was dying; and he answered— “Nay—nay, Hyala, thou wilt not upbraid me; I love thee still—as much as ever. Arouse thee, Hyala—this is foolishness.” Hyala remained yet before him, her eye wandering around, and seemed not to hear his words; for when he had ended, she only replied, with a mournful shake of her head, as if agony had stolen her Senses— “Rhelius, Rhetius, what has thou made of me !” “Girl,” answered he, “thou has done nothing more than the Roman women do every day. Away with this grieving. Bethink thee—it is an honor to thee that the emperor of Rome has smiled upon thee! and more—it has added gold—much old to thy lover's coffers. Ha! has hou shalt partake of it, and—and—thou shalt visit the prince again, my Hyala”— and he kissed her. At these words she fell down upon her knees before him, and clasped her hands in mute supplication—as white and still as the marble statues that adorned the apartment. In the act, a circlet of the richest gems, wrought in the finest gold, partly escaped from beneath the bosom of her robe, and glittered in the light. Rhetius darted upon it with a smile of joy; and drawing it forth, he strode to the lamp, and examined it with a a scrutinizing cye. Then he held it up in admiration. “My good, dear Hyala—so thou didst

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