worthy of his family. Yet I hope on, although things grow worse and worse. One glance of his bonnie eye, or a note of his winsome voice, would repay me for long hours of lonely watching.'

He will never return!' said I, mournfully; for I was touched by this reminiscence of the homeless heir of Heidelberg.

When the sun rose and set day after day, and I saw the grass growing taller above the ruins, while strangers roamed and frolicked in the home of my mistress, my heart misgave me that my brighthaired boy would never return to carol away the day under the green boughs. It is a sad thing, lady, to wait thus day after day for those we love, without one kind voice to tell us of their fate, or to remove the heavy weight of suspense from an aching heart. Sadder still it is to see the worm crawling where once their cherished forms have moved, and to hear the owlet hooting where their pleasant voices rang. Alas! when I look on yonder saplings growing on the very spot where my mistress used to sit with her maidens at their embroidering frames, the sun looks black to me, and I could bless the hand that would hurl me from my pedestal. Yet when I see careless strangers ranging here, and listen to them as they speak of those who never will return, I glory that I live to feel that one heart beats for them alone.'

'It must be a noble satisfaction to you to mourn the fallen. Few cling to the unfortunate. The prosperous glide down the stream of time with sails filled with the breath of applause, while the children of adversity lie stranded and forgotten.'

'Forgotten!' cried he. I cannot forget. When I first came here, and before I learned to love the gentle race, my heart yearned to hear the voice of good Sir Walter, who came so often to my master's shop; the day wore heavily away without him. Even now I long to see him once more. When once I love, I cannot forget. My memory is adamant; let Affection but write the names of those I love there, and Time can never efface them. Ah, me! the noble boy I loved the best, the heir for whom these blinded eyes have watched so long, will he never sit on yonder bank? Shall I hear his silvery voice no more? The thought of him has been healing to these aged limbs. Scattered, lost, why should I survive the noble race? When the wind sighed amid the tall trees springing in the ruined hall, I mourned, but said, He will return.' When the wraith of his mother faded from my sight, Farewell, dear shade!' I cried; what ambition lost, love will restore.' It may not be : love will never more warm and hallow the home of the Stuart. Alas! the bonnie boy! - my heart will break!'

6

The figure shook violently. I perceived a tremor in the air, as if it shared his grief; and a moment after, a loud report, followed by a stony avalanche, threw me senseless at the foot of the saplings. When I opened my eyes, Mrs. was bathing my temples with water, and a group of alarmed faces surrounded me. It was sometime before I recollected where I was; but as soon as I did so, I asked for the figure. All stared at me with astonishment.

'Where were you standing when the wall fell?' asked Mrs. we feared you were crushed.'

I looked around me, and saw that the tower had fallen, carrying part of the palace façade with it. I had had a narrow escape. Nothing but the fall which the shock gave me prevented my being hurled down with the ruins. A moment before it fell, I was leaning on the sill of one of the loop-holes. As soon as I could stand on my feet, for I was extremely dizzy, I sought the figure. It was gone. The wall had fallen on it, and I searched in vain for some relic of the faithful mourner. After the first regret was over, I was glad that the little fellow was doomed to wait no longer for footsteps which had no echo on earth.

My friends heard of the tête-à-tête with incredulity. I expected as much, for the world will never believe any thing but scandal, without ample evidence. Faith is at a low ebb with us. Even children smile at tales once fondly believed by former generations. I doubt not that even my reader will suspect me of dreaming; 'but little I reck,' if I can but for one moment arouse a feeling of sympathy for the lone watcher at Heidelberg.

E. A. C.

And, husbands, moderate your blame,

Ye upon female rights who trample, If, now and then, some bolder dame Prove that her nature is the same

As yours, by copying your example.

Now, wives, I mean to win your thanks
By a brief tale, ne'er yet related,
How once, to check her mate's mad pranks,
A lady, in the upper ranks,

Not only checked him- but check-mated.

A STORY OF THE CARNIVAL.

A NOBLE Austrian of Trieste

Was wedded to as fair a creature

As e'er a bridal pillow blest;
Of all Vienna's court confess'd

The paragon, in form and feature.

Her husband in his dog-star days,

I mean his youth's more sultry season,

At galas, revels, routs and plays

Had set full many a heart a-blaze,

And blazed himself beyond all reason.

But, like a fire of pitchy wood

That rages for awhile and flashes, And suddenly becomes subdued, Unless the resin is renewed,

To a dull heap of lukewarm ashes:

Thus BARON STEINER'S fever-heat
Seemed cooling to a quiet glimmer
Of bliss domestic and discreet:
More calmly now his pulses beat,

Though age hath made his eye no dimmer.

No more ecstatic glimpses now

Of paradise, beneath a bonnet, Warmed his imaginative brow; No rosy lip inspired a vow,

Nor angel's voice awoke a sonnet.

Surely the Lady BERTHA lacked

Nothing that man of maid requireth; But wedlock, after the first act,

No more of Fancy all compact,'

Like a dull play of TALFOURD, tireth.

Pardon the Baron then, I pray,

You gentler readers of my story,
That, after long repose, one day
A humor seized him to be gay,

Before his whiskers had grown hoary.

CARNIVAL time was come at last:

All Italy was filled with mummers;
Till Lent 't was held a sin to fast,
And winter days as fleetly passed
As ever did a Tuscan summer's.

But, from Palermo to the Po,

Such mirth, such masques, such feats of tennis, Such revelry of high and low,

What bright metropolis could show

As the proud spouse of Ocean - Venice?

The gondolas that all night long

Like fire-flies in July were glancing;
The games, the gladness, and the throng
That rent the air with shout and song;
The feasts, the drinking and the dancing:

The puppets and the strolling sights

With Punch, his wooden woman mauling;
The bridges hung with colored lights,
Like little rainbows, and the flights

Of rockets, rushing, flashing, falling:

The flaming wheels, the whizzing snakes,
Soaring and lost among the Pleiads,
Then raining down in fiery flakes,
The deities of woods and lakes,

Fawns, tritons, oreads, naiads, dryads:

The innumerable fry of fools,
Professional and dilettanti;
Jugglers, defying Nature's rules,
With monkies too, and dancing mules
That stepped like pupils of PAPANTI.

All sorts of monsters- - mermen, sharks
Cheaply exhibited or freely,

As though some dozen NOAH's arks
Had been let loose upon Saint Marks',
Or emptied from the Campanile.

The peasant folk that thronged the Square,
The dominos- -a gaudy legion!
The comfit-sellers with their ware
All these made merry Venice wear
The look of an enchanted region.

Since every thing that's rare or queer,

For which there neither name nor use is, Was hither brought from far and near; Whatever in each hemisphere

Nature or man's quick brain produces.

And multitudes, all Europe through,
From England, Russia, Prussia, Poland,
Hither their eager way pursue,
Merely to mingle in and view

A pageant paralleled by no land.

Hither, with too much ease oppressed,
Happy, almost to melancholy,
The Baron speeds, a greedy guest,
To rest awhile from too much rest,
And dash life with a little folly.