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"They have forbidden our interviews-shut the convent door! "Five o'clock, and not a line, not even a flower. The last she sent is withered, like my heart. Oh! I conjure you, Bianca, write to me. Tell me that you love me still, that no earthly power shall sunder Another day like this must be my last."

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"A second day, and we have not met. I cannot live without you; you are become a portion of myself. I have been wandering about the spot where we plighted our faith, sealed by that kiss that still vibrates through my frame. Have you forgotten it, that you do not write to me? O Bianca, but one line-in pity, one word. Relieve me from doubts, from agonies worse than death. Can you doubt me? Can you think that you are not dearer to me than life; that I am not eternally yours? Oh! I will make you my idol; will devote to you all my thoughts, feelings, affections. You shall have no wish that is not mine. Were we not attracted to each other by a mutual sympathy? Was it not destiny that brought us together? And now, oh! if you knew what a miserable life has been mine, you would pity me. And to be again doomed to that solitude of the spirit, to be again condemned to the torture of my own thoughts. If you could imagine what I have suffered,-in what a sea of reveries I have been lost! What are we?' I have said to myself. Have we pre-existed? Shall we exist again?' The desire of proving the mysteries of our nature, of sounding infinitude, that barrier where all our vain systems end: all this I have felt, and must feel again, if you forsake me. On every side gape precipices, a gulf between me and heaven. See to what abstraction has brought me! -to anatomise my mind, to dissect it nerve by nerve, to count my sufferings, to contemplate them as in a mirror, to entertain but one desolating idea that we can know nothing, that we are nothing;-to have enjoyed paradise, and then to be driven from it. O Bianca, Bianca! on my knees I pray you to trust your destiny to my

care."

"Miserable, the most wretched of human beings, tormented with doubts, distracted by fears, sometimes I think she does not love me; and then again I fear to have lost her for ever. A sense of calamity oppresses me. My eyes are without sleep; yet have I waking dreams worse than those of sleep. Sometimes I see her pale, dishevelled, lifeless, and, oh! horrible! in the arms of another, her whose heart has throbbed in unison with mine,-whose soul has intermingled with my own. Oh! agony! If you do not think of me, think of yourself, Bianca, what you will feel when you hear that you have destroyed

me!"

"Another wretched night. My reason totters. I have been wandering, not knowing where. The moon was at her full, and my eyes sought the grave where all my happiness lies buried. Death is light, compared to the darkness of my soul. What is death, after all, but a deliverance of the galley-slave from the chain he calls life. Welcome! welcome! thou pale phantom!"

I have not sufficient data for tracing the progress of Sydney's passion, or how far it was crowned with success, for Bianca, the character which Shakspeare has drawn of Cressid is not inapplicable

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So loose was the discipline of the convent, that I have reason to know that Sydney was frequently closeted with the fair pensionaire. A plan, too, was organized for contriving Bianca's escape. Such a step would have involved all the parties concerned in the most serious consequences. This the Professor knew, and therefore successfully counteracted its execution. Indeed, it was by the power that, as her confessor, he had acquired over her mind, that he persuaded her to break the engagement by which she had bound herself to Sydney. No earthly power, should have induced her to sacrifice herself to another. The person who was selected for her husband was, I am told, every way incapable of engaging the affections of one so highly endowed. He conducted her to the Mahremwas, where his estate lay, and which to a Florentine may be considered as an exile to Siberia. To pride of birth the Governor added an excessive bigotry, and Sydney's proposal was contemptuously spurned. The knowledge of the intimacy that subsisted between the lovers hastened the evil, which ended in the misery of one, the madness and death of the other.

The part which Torriagni played in the whole of this drama, that led to so fatal a termination, was precisely what might have been expected from him. To break two young hearts must have been to him a delight such as fiends enjoy. He showed that his name, The Devil of Florence, was not wrongly given. I at times feel some compunctious visitings when I think that I was the innocent cause of hastening this catastrophe, by suggesting the remedy, which I firmly believed, was the only one that could have saved Sydney from becoming a prey to that gloomy abstraction, into which he was fast plunging, as into a gulf. It may indeed be said, one deep called upon another. May his spirit be absorbed into that which gave it

"The bosom of his father and his God!"

ELECTION FREEDOM!

BY LADY WYATT.

On Father Maher's opposition at Carlow election to Colonel Bruen.

THE reverend priest, strong sentiments pursuing,
Showed he thought "mischief to his cause was -Brewing!"
On Discord's race-course he ne'er cried "for-Bear!"

Hence in the field the Bruen beat the Maher!

The poll proved Bruen of true "Polar" race,

Quick climbed "the head o' the poll," and held his place!

THE THREE RATENS.

Is me of the jomeles rulers of de vest of England stands a small Siva nuet SterON. A SCROm wering the antiquaries of de que fa rymi mume i Grevesne. Near the market-place, 100 for from die SAVI-MUL DNĚ the pirner of a street (the name of VİRİ VE AT DIE Jerniat a ve tvar i Mr. Stran Raven, undertaker: ta tus tritesson Mr. Raven had formerly added those of Burtoneer må kopramer: bus viether the two latter branches brought ben bas small pris, or the is getrus iry excisively in the former, ve kur me. Certan 1 is that at the time of which we write Mr. Raven was my an undersker, bus to that be enthusiastically devoted komself mind and DICT.

Every morning is somase. Ms. Riven might be seen (dressed in a Buick Telter Chalk lering her bome with the charitable intention of Tating the sex. In the art of causing the eyes of the dying, and rendering them the last sad offices, she had by leng practice acquired a winderfil address. Her appearance in a house was almost a sure sign of aporaching death, and some of her neighbours were uncharitable encore to say that she had been known to occupy herself with the funeral preparations even before the breath was out of the body.

All the happiness of this thrifty couple (a happiness partaking, however, of their moody temperament) was centered in an only daughter, Miss Niobe Raven, who also shared the gloomy labours of her parents. Her greatest delight was in reading. She delighted in the solemn pages of Sherlock, Hervey, and Dr. Dodd; sometimes, to give a little variety to her recreations, she tried the poets. It is unnecessary to add that Young's "Night Thoughts" and Blair's "Grave" were preferred to all others. In music, she had a great predilection for "The Dead March in Saul," and the bell tolling for a funeral had for her a silvery sound. But to the cause of these melancholy tastes.

For some years past (we will not say how many) Miss Niobe had been of age, yet she still remained in the sorrowful state of singleblessedness. For many years she had hoped to establish herself in matrimonial life with some swain of her native town, or the neighbouring parishes, or, indeed, of any other, for the fact is, she was not particular as to where he came from, so that he did come. But, alas! no one had presented himself,—and this tender cypress found no prop to support her.

Several years had elapsed, as we have been credibly informed, since young Roots, (the son of a market-gardener at the end of the town,) thinking that Mr. Raven had gathered a more profitable harvest from the churchyard than his father was ever likely to do from his garden, had intended to pay court to Miss Raven; but, too discreet a lover, he had only proceeded as far as a few tender glances.

Strop, the barber, too, the most punctual, as well as the most busy man in the town, had been known to spare a few minutes in his rounds to address a compliment to Miss Raven; but latterly he had been heard to declare that he never had the slightest intention of converting Miss Raven into Mrs. Strop.

Things were in this state when Miss Niobe arranged a plan to put

an end to her state of desolation. She had tried in vain to gain a husband by assuming a gentleness of manner; and she was now determined to act with decision.

Exactly opposite to the house of Mr. Raven lived a Mr. Narcissus Nonpareil, draper. This Mr. Narcissus Nonpareil, unlike the usual measurers of cloth, had an aspiring mind. No tradesman in the town carried his head so high, nor had any better reason to do so, for his stature was only four feet four. He might be seen every morning standing at his shop-door, rubbing alternately his hands and his chin while inhaling the morning air, - for tyrant custom, as in most small towns, confined him all day to the shop. Miss Niobe had seen "and marked him for her own." Mr. Nonpareil had retired to his parlour one evening after the cares of the day, when a shopman entered. "Any one waiting, Mr. Smith?"

"No, sir, Mr. Stoat's clerk has just left this letter, and has since over to Mr. Raven's."

Wondering what Stoat, the lawyer, could have to write to him about, Nonpareil opened the letter, and read as follows:

"SIR,—I am instructed by my client, Mr. Simon Raven, to inform you that if you any longer refuse to fulfil the engagement contracted by you with Miss Raven, that legal proceedings will be forthwith commenced against you. "I am, sir, your obedient servant, "CAYMAN STOAT."

"To Mr. Narcissus Nonpareil, &c."

It is not necessary to paint the surprise into which this singular epistle threw our friend, the draper: he read it over more than once; but that only plunged him deeper into conjectures as to its meaning. "What engagements had he contracted with Miss Raven that Stoat could call upon him to fulfil? What proceedings were to be taken against him for the accomplishment of a contract he had never heard of before? It must surely be some pleasantry between Mr. Raven and Mr. Stoat," thought he. But Mr. Raven was not a man given to joking, and Mr. Stoat was anything but a pleasant man. "I have never," said Nonpareil, (rising from his chair with dignity,) “never by word or thought injured Miss Raven, in fact, never thought about her."

Having said this, and being convinced of his own innocence, he took his hat, and went out. "I must see Stoat immediately," said he, "and learn the meaning of this letter." Saying which, he proceeded to the lawyer's house.

"Good evening, Mr. Stoat," said Nonpareil, entering the office, in which he found the man of law busily occupied in writing; and presenting the letter he had received, asked the meaning of it. "If it be a joke, it is one that will not make you the richer, I suspect."

"A joke-you may call it a joke if you please, Mr. Nonpareil, though I am sorry to find you treat so serious an affair in this manner; but I would rather see your lawyer about it. We shall be better able

to come to an understanding."

"Understanding-about what? I do not understand a syllable of all this. What do you mean."

"Nothing more, Mr. Nonpareil, than this, that we have the most conclusive evidence, the most efficient witnesses, that you have proceeded too far in your attentions towards Miss Raven to draw back now without subjecting yourself to very heavy damages."

Naturel on bearing this threw himself into a chair in a state of

Damages — for what? You surely do not mean to force me

← Young men ought to have more discretion, Mr. Nonpareil. The demeres will be ind at five thousand pounds!”

There was such a tune of sincerity in these words that they failed not to make a great impression on the draper.

"Alas!" cried be. What can I do?”

- You are not in a ft state st present to listen to me. Who is your lowver?”

Mr. Ferrett-Mr. Ferrett," replied Nonpareil, trembling,—" Ferrett, who lives at the end of North Street."

- Very well. I will see him," said Stoat, conducting Nonpareil to the door, who followed him like an automaton, a thousand times more onfused and bewildered than when he entered. On his way home he thought the best way to get at the truth would be to go to Raven's base. He arrived there, knocked, and asked in a loud tone for Mr. Mrs. or Miss Raven. Walk in, sir,-missus is in the parlour." He entered, and found Mrs. and Miss Raven seated at work.

"Ah! sir,” said Mrs. Raven, with a solemn air, "we have waited to receive this visit for some time." Then (turning towards her daughter) said “Niobe, my dear, take courage; all will be well.”

Miss Niobe, on hearing this, said in a languishing tone, “No— no ; this is indeed too much to bear."

*Leave the room, my dear; take the shroud with you, and finish it in the other room." Then turning to Nonpareil, Mrs. Raven continued, "You see the sensibility of this dear girl." As she retired, Narcissus could not forbear murmuring to himself, "Frightful creature! would the shroud were her own!"

* You see, sir, we are obliged to assist in the work,” said Mrs. Raven, with a ghastly smile. “We have so many funerals to complete just now that we cannot find hands enough. You will excuse me if I continue my employment; but Mr. Raven will be here directly."

During this explanation our hero had heard the noise of hammers in full operation in the back premises. A shuddering came over him, and be turned deathly pale. The entrance of Mr. Raven did not at all tend to allay this feeling of alarm when he said in a sepulchral voice, “So you're come at last, Mr. Nonpareil; but you seem ill ?”

"Yes," filtered Narcissus, —“I am ill-very ill," for he found the eye of Mr. Raven fixed on him, as if already measuring him for his coffin.

“You do look ill; and, considering the shameful manner in which you have treated my poor Niobe

"What the devil do you mean by the way in which I have treated your poor Niobe? Do you mean to insinuate that I ever paid any attention to your daughter-that I ever pretended to like her? So far from thinking of her, if she had her weight in gold I would not have her."

"Oh! oh! you would not have her, eh?" replied Raven with a frightful grin. No matter, we'll see if you do not marry her. We know how to make you."

"The devil take me if I do, though," muttered Nonpareil, as he buttoned up his coat with the air of a man prepared for anything.

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