on monsignor the Cardinal of Valenza, as he then was," interposed the Orsino.

"You mean, my lord, that it pleased the Cardinal of Valenza to have it, and the protonotary, Giovanni Battista Ferraro, to sign it over to him in the name of the sacred chamber," returned the Hospitaller. "The cardinal of Valenza! a sweet churchman, truly, that stole a dedicated nun from the cloisters, and one too that bore the noblest name in Rome, a Colonna."

"You shall pardon me, sir; the Orsini yield to none; our charters are the oldest which the church ever granted!" said Signor Paolo, with an asperity, which was perhaps as much occasioned by the disparaging tone of the religious knight's observations upon his promised bride, as even the fierce hatred and emulation which had existed between his race and that of the Colonnas for many ages. Moreover, 'tis well known that it was the pagan sultan who lured that hapless damosel to her destruction, eternal and temporal."

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Nay, that was only the pretext which that chivalrous Turk allowed to be used, to varnish Alexander's refusal to seize and punish her as the canon law enjoins," said the stern Knight of St. John.

"Messer Bembo, I pray you tell me what punishment that may be?" said Sir Reginald, turning to the ecclesiastic with an expression of some interest.

"Her punishment would be immuration; that is, she ought to be bricked up in the convent wall, and in the cloisters where the sisters walk, that they may not soon forget it," replied the canon, gravely. "But you do not often hear of these sentences being properly executed, to the great relaxation of discipline."

"Then all honour to Pope Alexander, and I drink his health a thousand times, that would not suffer it!" exclaimed the hearty young English knight, swallowing a deep draught of the canon's wine.

"Methinks, gentlemen, the night being far wasted, and this conversation likely to bear no good fruit, it were time we hopped up on our perches," interrupted Ser Machiavelli, with a feigned yawn. "Signor Paolo, you most of all need rest."

"But I would not have it last too long," said the Orsino, starting from a reverie into which he had fallen, and looking palely around at the sleeping soldiery, and the silent Carthusians, who had yet been listening with the eager interest which only men so long secluded from the world take in its affairs. "Who knows," he continued, in explanation of the somewhat singular observation, "who knows what these wild soldiers of the Borgia's may have overheard or project?" And his eye fell with a puzzled and profound earnestness on the countenance of the fool, who had for some time nodded and dozed on his lowly couch.

"I will watch, then," said Sir Reginald," and, lest I fall asleep, will stride up and down the hall till I see as many shadows on the wall as there are moonbeams on the windows."

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Brother, we will watch turn about," said the Hospitaller, gravely smiling, or we shall have thee dropping from the saddle to-morrow.' "That will be much the best," said the canon, who loved his ease and safety almost equally. "And but that I am nigh dead with the jolting of my mule, I would let none of you share the vigil with me, for you are young and need rest, God knows." So saying, he adjusted

himself as comfortable a couch as he could achieve out of the materials at hand, and finally fell asleep on it, without learning with any nicety the issue of a controversy which arose between the Orsino and his two deliverers, the former of whom insisted on taking his turn in this seemingly superfluous watch But so powerfully worked in men's imaginations the extraordinary anecdotes of the Borgian subtlety and cruelty, which had formed the staple of the conversation, that no one seemed to perceive anything ridiculous or excessive in the precaution.

LONDON BRIDGE.

BY ARNHELDT WEAVER.

"Mad from life's history,

Glad to death's mystery

Swift to be hurl'd,—
Any where, any where,

Out of the world."-The Bridge of Sighs.

I was crossing London Bridge one night during the last winter, when out of the severe heaven blew the coldest wind that ever in my remembrance had visited our latitude. Few persons were in the streets, though it was comparatively an early hour. Even the mendicants had deserted them; but there was here and there to be met with, one of that class of unfortunates, who are despised by the self-righteous, but whom the real Christian pities with a compassion that is as large as the universe.

I thank God that there was a Thomas Hood. Who else could have written The Bridge of Sighs?" Clarkson and Wilberforce are names that the world has ploughed into its history-messiahs of the negro race. And that of Hood shall be as memorable to the repentant magdalen; and the good angel who wraps his wings around the fallen female that drops a tear for her lost virtue,-shall,—if wit, if kindly feeling for all humanity, if faith in human progress and generous exertions in behalf of human suffering should die out and drop from the memory of man, preserve that name coeval with the endurance of the race for which he wrote and strove.

I was crossing London Bridge on the night to which I allude, and was meditating upon Hood's poem. There, beneath me, rushed the dark waters of the Thames, flashing in the light of the bright stars. Beneath and upon each side they rushed, bearing to the sea-what tidings from this great metropolis? Suddenly there was a cry, a thronging of many persons to one spot. Eyes looked strangely out of human heads, and people held their breath with singular fear.

A young female had cast herself from the bridge into the river. Boats below, there-lights and boats-to rescue a fellow-creature, a poor despairing girl. Oh! for God's sake, save her. Save her, that the future may be better to her than the past. Save her, that she may know that not God only, not alone the angels, but that man also knoweth and doeth mercy.

I climbed upon the bridge and looked over into the dark abyss of waters. The Thames, as seen at night, is possessed of features

peculiarly its own; the lights gleaming from the various craft that, either stationary or in motion, occupy the river's edge; the dark masses looming through the shade like living creatures, huge in bulk, and undefinable in outline; the red glare issuing from furnace fires, and casting its lurid reflection on the tide. I have noticed these at other times, but upon this occasion I had no eye for them,-only below I gazed with straining vision, that tried to pierce the obscurity that hovered like a fog over the surface of the river. There was great stir beneath, of men searching in boats for the rash girl whose faith in the compassion of her fellows had been all trodden out.

"Spurned by contumely,

Cold inhumanity,
Into her rest."

They found her, and landing at the stairs on the Southwark side, carried her into an adjoining hotel. Instantly the doors were besieged: there were human faces in crowds, and never shall I forget the expression that dwelt upon them all. Only upon that occasion, and since, in my dreams, have I beheld it. Elsewhere nothing like it. Men have hearts, and when they see borne into a dwelling the corpse of a young girl, who with her own hands has severed the thread of life, they cannot choose but wear their awe-impressed souls upon their foreheads.

I was one of the few that, half by force, half by entreaty, obtained admittance.

They deposited her upon the floor in a side apartment. Immediately the carpet was saturated with the water that streamed from her apparel. A medical man was present. She was dead, quite dead, he told us.

It was

When the light first fell upon her features, I thought that I had never beheld such Grecian beauty in a face of human flesh. like the ideal which haunted the sculptors of old Athens. But so pale, the marble which sprang into vivid life beneath their chisels was not whiter, was not colder.

She would never breathe again. I fell to thought as I looked upon her, and wondered what her history might be

On quitting the hotel and proceeding on my way, oppressed with terrible thoughts of wrong and crime, I was conscious that I was closely followed by some one. I found that his steps kept equal pace with mine, never went faster, never slower. Step for step, the frosty pavement rang with the tread of our feet until we had reached the Town Hall, Southwark. I was about to cross towards the other side, when I felt myself touched on the shoulder. I turned and beheld a man, whom I had noticed in the room, and had observed him take in his own one of the hands of the poor drowned creature. I fairly

"That

started at the sound of his voice, so husky and unnatural. girl, sir; that girl," he said, with singular abruptness. "Yes; shocking," I answered, annoyed at the interruption. "I must hurry home. It has made me feel ill."

"And me also," he returned,

did you not?"

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VERY ill. You-you pitied her,

"Can you ask? I trust I am not heartless. It is so horrible for any one, but especially for a female,-a young female, too, to be driven by desperation to commit suicide."

"She a suicide ?" the stranger retorted angrily. "You are mistaken. She was murdered!"

I looked at him with surprise. We were standing beneath a lamp. I saw into his eyes-down deep into their hollow sockets. He had a hold upon me from that moment. He was the Ancient Mariner, and

I was the wedding guest. Say what he would, I could not choose but listen. His presence was as a spell.

"She was murdered!" he proceeded. "Call a policeman. Give me into custody."

You-you!" I stammered; for I could not articulate distinctly. Overpowered by some singular charm, I seemed bereft of speech. "Hearken!" he said. For a man to be a murderer, it is not imperative that he should have laid violent hands upon his victim. When I tell you that, but for me, that poor girl would now be seated at her father's board, happy as a blithe bird, do you not see that I am her murderer?"

I attempted to dispel the illusion which was cast around me. "Yes," I replied, with an effort, "I perceive your meaning. You have been very, very guilty!"

He laughed; for he, as well as I, knew the strait I was in, and how I was fascinated by his basilisk eye.

"Let us retrace our steps," he said.

I complied, though I would as soon have accompanied Pluto to the infernal shades. We returned, side by side, in silence to the hotel.

The crowd outside had not dispersed, but, on the contrary, had grown more dense. Voices traversed the whole assembly, and every new comer lost all sense of the cold night in the sudden awe which seized him when he had learnt what the concourse meant, and what a sad spectacle the stars had so lately beheld. My companion pushed his way through the multitude, and I followed him. The human mass closed instantly behind me, and left me no retreat. I was compelled to go onward.

We entered the hotel, no one seeming to offer any opposition, and once more I found myself in the room I had previously quitted, with the body of the self-slain girl before me.

My companion advanced and took one of her hands in his own, as I had noticed him to do before. Falling upon his knees (the spectators made way for him to do so), he bent over the corpse, and addressed the poor girl, as if she only slept.

"Mary," he said, and his voice on this occasion seemed human and full of feeling, "speak to me, love; why have you done this? Tomorrow would have been brighter than to-day. It always is."

I know not what was his impression, but I confess to an expectation that the dead girl would, by some movement, indicate her knowledge

I was

of his presence. It was very foolish, but such was my belief. breathing a preternatural atmosphere, and was as one in a trance or dream.

All present were much moved. From a feeling of delicacy, they restrained their curiosity, and withdrew a few paces further from the corpse, that they might not seem to intrude upon the grief of the speaker. I loved them for the action. Looking at my companion, I saw that tears were falling in torrents from his eyes, and that they glittered like diamonds upon the dead girl's face, which had previously been wiped and cleansed of the slime and muddy water of the river.

The spell was dissolved, and I was released from the singular fascination which had before enthralled me. I remember that I was accosted by several individuals, who had noticed that I had entered the room in the company of the man who was kneeling by the side of the corpse. They desired to know the meaning of what they beheld. I professed ignorance. I would not repeat what he had told me. I left him to act as his own conscience impelled him.

Suddenly rising, he said, addressing all present, "Is there any one here who will send for this girl's father?"

There were numerous answers in the affirmative, and a youth volunteered to go himself, and fetch him. My late companion took him aside and communicated the necessary instructions.

I resolved to remain and witness the sad scene which I expected was to follow. I remember that there was much moving to and fro, much going and coming, rapid change of faces, frightened looks of appalled human beings, suppressed sighs, and long-drawn breathings, as fresh individuals entered the room, and beheld the ugly sight upon the floor. I remember, as I stood apart, that every thing wore a phantasmagorical appearance, and seemed to pass under my review like the swift suecession of objects in a magic lanthorn. There was one object which never moved, never shifted its position; inert, striking a chill by its very presence, the centre to which all eyes were turned, its silence illustrated a fearful history, which I would have given much that all the fine, dashing men about town had been there to read.

One hour passed before the youth returned, accompanied by the 'father of the deceased.

He was a man turned of sixty,--a grey-headed man, with whom time, as well as the world had dealt roughly. I subsequently learnt many particulars of his history. I shall not relate them. He had reared a family of eleven children, Seven he had buried honourably and decently. Three were still living, and the other had occasioned tho panic of that night.

The youth who had fetched him from his home had been silent respecting the event which had happened. When he entered tho room, wondering for what he had been withdrawn on that cold night from the comfort of his fireside, those who were present, knowing who he was, formed a circle around the corpse of his daughter, so that the horrid sight did not meet his eyes. But my late companion stood apart, in full view of the doorway, and upon him the old man's glance rested immediately. He started back, like one who has trodden upon a serpent.

He was bewildered. The crowd without the hotel, and the crowd within, puzzled him. What could it mean? Why were so many per