said in a more subdued voice. "I cannot bottom of the boat, and she now first perhelp it, my child," he continued almost sad- ceived the blood. She cast a rapid glance ly, and as though in a dream; "but we towards the hand with which, as though must both go down-both together and unwounded, he was using the oar. now!" he shouted, and clasped her suddeniy in his arms. But the next moment he drew back his right hand, and the blood spurted out she had bitten him severely.

"Here!" she said, and extended her handkerchief to him. He shook his head, and rowed on. At length she stood up, went to him, and bound the handkerchief "Must I do as you will?" she cried, tightly round the deep wound. She then, pushing him away with a sudden movement. notwithstanding his opposition, took one of "We shall see if I am in your power!" the oars herself, sat down opposite, but With these words, she sprang over the side without looking at him, and fixed her eyes on of the boat, and disappeared for a moment the oar, reddened with blood, at the same beneath the water. She came up again im- time impelling forward the boat with powermediately, her dress clinging tightly round ful strokes. They were both pale and silent. her, her hair, loosened by the water, hang- As they approached the land, they were met ing heavily round her neck; and she threw by the fishermen going out to lay their nightout her arms energetically, and swam on nets. They shouted to Antonino, and jeered without another syllable towards the distant at Laurella; but neither looked up or replied shore. The sudden alarm seemed to have with a word. The sun still stood tolerably bereft Antonino of his senses. He stood bent high over Procida when they reached the forward in the boat, with his eyes fixed rigid- shore. Laurella again shook out her dress, ly on the girl, as though a miracle were pass- which was by this time almost dry, and ing before his sight. Then he shook himself, sprang to land. seized the oars, and followed her, with every The old spinner who had seen them start nerve distended, whilst the bottom of the boat in the morning was again upon the beach. was reddened with the stream of blood which" What is the matter with your hand, continued to flow forth. In a moment he "Tonino?" she cried. "Holy Mary! the was by her side, fast as she swam. boat is swimming in blood!" name of our holy Mother," he cried, into the boat. I have been a fool! Heaven knows what came over me. A flash of light seemed to dazzle my brain; I was mad, and did not know what I was saying or doing. I do not ask you to forgive me, Laurella; I only wish to save your life, by entreating you to get in again." She swam on as though she had heard nothing.

In the

come

"You can never reach the land; it is at least two miles off. Think of your mother: if anything were to happen to you, she would die of grief." Laurella measured the distance to the shore with her eye, then, without replying, she swam towards the boat, and grasped the side with her hands. He stood up to help her; his jacket, which had lain on the bench, slipped into the water as the boat was drawn on one side by the girl's weight. She swung herself up, and took possession of her former seat. When, he saw her safe, he resumed the oars, whilst she tried to wring out her dripping garments, and to shake the water from her hair.

Whilst thus engaged her eyes fell on the

That un

"It is nothing, good mother," replied the young man. I have razed the skin a little, but it will be well by to-morrow. lucky blood is always at the surface, ready to flow forth, and make things look worse than they are."

"I will come and lay herbs on it, comrade. Wait; I shall be with you in a minute." "Do not trouble yourself, Goody. It is all right now, and by to-morrow it will be well, and forgotten. I have a healthy skin, which heals up directly."

"Addio!" said Laurella as she turned into the path up the ascent.

"Good-evening," cried the young man, but without looking at her.

He then removed his tackle and the baskets from the boat, and climbed up the little stonesteps to his hut. No one but himself inhabited the two rooms, through which he now began to pace up and down. There was more air than there had been in the morning, and it came in refreshingly through the open windows; the solitude, too, was delightful to him. He stood some time before the little picture of the Virgin, and gazed thoughtfully

day or two will set it all right." She shook her head.

"It will be a week at least before you can go out to sea again."

on the glory which surrounded it; but he she took his hand and removed the bandage. did not pray, for he knew not what petition She started when she saw the violent swellto make, now that all hope was gone. Time ing, and exclaimed: "Holy Virgin!" had seemed to stand still to-day; he longed "It has bled a little," said he; "but a for night, for he was weary, and the loss of blood affected him more than he imagined. He felt a sharp pain in his hand, and seating himself on a chair, loosened the bandage. The blood, which had been repressed, burst "Nonsense. It will be well by the day after out again, and the hand all around the wound to-morrow at latest. Besides, what does it was much swollen. He washed it carefully, signify?" Meanwhile, she had re-washed #and strove to cool it. On examining it again, the wound, to which he submitted like a t he could clearly trace the marks of Laurella's child. She then placed upon it the healing teeth. "She was right," he said; "I was herbs, which almost instantly relieved the a brute, and deserved no better. I will send fever, and bound up the hand with strips of back her handkerchief to-morrow by Giu- linen which she had brought in her little seppe." basket. When she had finished "I thank you, Laurella," said he. "And

When he had again bound up his hand as at well as he could with the aid of his teeth, he threw himself on the bed and closed his eyes. The bright moon awoke him from a doze, and the hand seemed even more painful than before. He had just raised himself to soothe the beating pulses with water, when he heard a noise at the door.

2

1

now- - listen! If you will favor me still
further, forgive me for the madness which
took possession of me to-day, and forget all
I said or did. I do not myself know how it
happened. You were not the cause,
I can
assure you; and you shall never again hear
anything from me that can displease you."

"It is I who have to ask your pardon," With-interrupted she. "I ought to have put things before you in another and a better light, and not irritated you with my nonchalant air; and then the wound"

66 "Who is there?" cried he; and lifting the latch, Laurella stood before him! out a word, she walked in, threw off the covering she wore on her head, and placed a little basket on the table. Then she drew a long breath.

"You come to fetch your handkerchief," said Antonino; "but you might have been spared the trouble, as to-morrow morning early I should have requested Giuseppe to take it to you."

"It is nothing about the handkerchief," she replied quickly. "I have been on the hillside to gather herbs for you, to stop the bleeding. There; "' and she raised the cover of the basket.

66

Why did you give yourself so much trouble?" said he without any bitterness. "I am better already-much better; and if I were worse, it would be nothing but what I deserve. Why have you come at this hour? Suppose any one were to find you here! You know how they chatter even when they have no foundation."

"I care for none " she said hastily. "I will see your hand, and apply these herbs, for you can never manage it by yourself." "I tell you there is no necessity. "Then let me see it myself, that I may believe you." Hs could not resist her when

"It was necessary, and quite time that I should be brought to my senses," he replied; " and, as I have before said, it is of no consequence. Do not speak of pardon: you have done me good, and I thank you for it. And now go home, and to bed; and there is handkerchief your you can take it with you." He held it towards her, but she still stood there, and appeared struggling with herself. At last she said:

"You lost your jacket, too, through my means, and I know the price of the oranges was in it. I thought of this only on my way home; and I cannot exactly make it up to you, for we have no money, and if we had, it would belong to my mother. But here is the silver cross the painter put on my table, the last time he was with us. I have not looked at it since then, and do not wish it to remain in my box any longer. If you sell it

it is worth at least a couple of piasters, my mother said at the time-your loss will be almost replaced, and what remains I will try to earn by spinning at night after my mother is asleep."

"I will take nothing!," answered, he short-"Holy Mother! do you imagine all my heart's ly, and pushing away the bright cross which blood has run out of that little, wound? Do she had drawn from her pocket. you not feel it there beating in my breast, as "You must take it," said she. Who though it would burst? If you only say this knows how long it may be before you can earn to try me, or out of pity for me, go away, anything with that hand. There it lies, and and I will try to forget this also. You shall not think yourself guilty, because you know what I suffer about you."

I will never look at it again."
"Then throw it into the sea!"
"Why, it is no gift I make you; it is
nothing more than your right, and what you
ought in justice to receive."

"No," she replied firmly, and looking up eagerly from his shoulder through her swimming tears. "I love you! and, lest I should 'Right? I have no right over anything let you see it, I have struggled strongly of yours. If, in future, you should meet me against it. But now I will behave differently, anywhere, do me the favor not to look at me, for I could not help looking at you if I met that I may not think you remember how you in the street. And now," added she wrongly I acted towards you. And now solemnly, "receive this kiss, that you may good-night, and let the subject drop." say to yourself if you doubt again: 'She kissed me, and Laurella kisses none but him she intends for her husband.' And now," concluded she, disengaging herself, go to bed, and get your hand well. night! Do not go with me, for I fear no one -but you." She then tripped out of the "It is nothing," she said. "I will go door, and disappeared in the shadow of the home; and she turned towards the door; walls. Antonino continued to gaze for some but her emotion overpowered her, and lean-time longer through the window over the ing her head against the door-post, she sobbed glorious sea, in which a thousand stars seemed aloud. He hastened towards her, but before to twinkle. he could take her hand, she threw herself into his arms.

He laid her handkerchief in the basket, and the cross by its side; then closed the lid. When he looked up, he started. Large heavy drops were rolling down Laurella's cheeks.

66 Holy Madonna!" he cried, are you ill? You are trembling from head to foot!"

"I cannot bear it!" she cried, clinging to him like a dying creature to life. "I cannot bear your speaking so kindly, and bidding me leave you, when I am conscious of having done you so much injury. Strike me! tread me under your feet! curse me even! or if it be true that you love me still, after all I have done, here, take me, keep me, do with me what you will; only do not send me away from you thus!" Sobs again interrupted her. He held her for a time in his arms in silence.

"If I still love you!" cried he at length.

-

you must Good

The next time the little priest came out of the confessional, in which Laurella had long been kneeling, he smiled quietly to himself.

"Who would have thought," said he mentally, "that Heaven would so soon have shewn mercy to this poor strange heart? And there was I anticipating a hard struggle with that besetting sin of hers, pride. But how short-sighted are we mortals, where Heaven is so wise! Well! may the blessing of all the saints be upon her; and may I live to see the day when Laurella's eldest son can take his father's place in rowing me across the water. Ei, ei, ei! La Rabbiata!"

THE BALLADS OF IRELAND. Collected and edited | Historical [quære, Political?] Ballads, "Oliby Edward Hayes. In two volumes. ver's Advice," by Colonel Blacker -an Orange WITH rare exceptions, and they mostly trans- homily on the text of " Keep your powder dry lations, these "Ballads of Ireland" are of mod-and similar poems, appear along with "The ern date, Moore's Melodies being about the old- Wexford Massacre, ""The Treaty Stone of Limest specimens; the most numerous belong to the erick," and similar patriotic themes. The genperiod when Young Ireland" and the Nation eral impression is that which we noted in reviewnewspaper were in their meridian glory. The ing the poetry of the Nation newspaper years ballads are judiciously classed. according to their ago the echo of " the Saxon," rather than the nature; notices of the writers or notes on the raciness of the Celt." It is an interesting colsubject are given when necessary; and the selec- lection. Spectator. tion has been made with impartiality. In the f

66

of

bowl

THE enclosed soliloquy was written in 1837, And the sparkling wine of the full-wreathed by Miss -, now Mrs. Ky., and published in the Cincinnati Chron- No lustre lends to the darkened soul, icle, a literary journal of limited circulation at And the maddening draughts of excitement fail that period, edited by Charles Drake. The so- To re-mantle the cheek with its griefs made pale, liloquy was subsequently altered and amended Then how wretched and lonely and desolate materially, but never republished. Prior to her Will this heart be, when abandoned to fate! marriage Mrs. had some local celebrity as a poetess, and published several pieces which Yet must I not pass through the gazing crowd were highly approved by the public, and com- With a careworn brow, and a spirit bow'd, mended in very flattering terms by Mr. Prentice With a grief not veiled from their scornful eyes and other journalists of cultivated taste in Ken-By the dazzling array of wealth's disguise, tucky. After her marriage she abandoned the So dearly obtained by the loss of truth, Muses, but has contributed occasionally to some And the cherish'd visions of dreaming youth, of the religious periodicals and newspapers, prose I would mix with the thoughtless, revelling articles of very decided merit. If the enclosed be deemed worthy of a place in the Living Age, which I hope it may, it would perhaps be proper to state that it appears by request, and without the cognizance of the authoress. As a specimen of the poetry of the West it has morits, in my poor judgment, which entitle it to preservation

in American literature.

W. H. S.
ROCKVILLE, IND., Nov. 17th, 1855.

THE BRIDE'S SOLILOQUY.
WEAVE in my hair no buds, which rainbow

showers

And whispering winds have nursed in fairy
bowers;

For they are Eden-born and eloquent
Of all the pure fresh feelings which are sent
By Heaven, to guide young Love's affections
right,

And gild its pathway with celestial light.

Bring me no flowers, for they are tokens all 21 Of early vows and hopes, which to recall Methinks would fever so this pallid brow That it would scorch to dust a garland now. And O! they say 't would stain my cheek with crime

To brood o'er memories of a happier time.

Bring me no flowers, but with a glittering chain
Bind the mad pulses of my throbbing brain;
And let not one unbraided tress wave free,
To mock my heart with its wild liberty.
But bind them regally, with gems whose gleams
Shall dazzle all with their cold, starlike beams;
That none my spirit's agony so deep,

Or my dim, tearful eyes, that fain would weep,
And smileless lips, may mark; while I to-night
My false and hollow vows of duty plight.

And then, when my faltering voice hath said
The solemn words, let me straightway be led
To join in the dance when the tireless feet
And the bounding hearts of the glad young
beat,

In measured time, to the notes that ring,
So gaily out from the minstrel's string.

For O if the light of enjoyment falls

throng,

By the current of pleasure borne along,
Till the soothing words of the flatterer's praise
Shall call up the mem'ries of other days;
And my eye shall rest with a kindlier glance
On him whose fond, vain faith, perchance,
Will deem it the glow of love, not pride,
That flushes the face of his fair young bride.
But no let him find me - all cold and vain;
One born for a priestess in Fashion's fane;
For I would not for worlds that a look of mine
Should awaken a hope of that bliss divine,,
Where welcoming smiles and endearments sweet
Wait with impatience the lov'd one to greet,
When at eve, with quick pace and swelling
breast,

He hies to a home with affection blest.

How fleeting did those joyous moments prove,
When, basking in the sunshine of thy love,
I question'd whether in Elysian bowers
Was ever known a bliss so sweet as ours.
Iarro, O Iarro! linked with thine,

Methought a bright and glorious fate was mine:
That I should move thro' palace halls of earth,
Won proudly by the riches of thy worth.

But thou hast rashly, ay, and coldly flung
From thee a heart, that still had fondly clung
To thine, though Fate o'er fields of gory dead
To earth's rude bounds, where, desolate and
Or storm-washed decks thy spirit brave had led

lone,

Spreads the wide waste of cold Siberia's zone.
And in that cheerless, unblest wilderness,
With thee I could have found more happiness

Not bright on my footsteps in Wealth's proud Than in the gorgeous halls of pomp and pride,

halls,

To which I go,- -a hopeless, heartless Bridel