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"Perfidious wretch !" groaned the duke.

crimes. And when, after tedious and weary months of hope and disappointment, at the court of Maximilian, fortune seemed once more to smile on him-when by use of the treasures he had preserved, he had succeeded in

"Waste not time in reproaches-there is no safety but in instant flight! The people welcome the enemy we must begone through the darkness, and escape by the private postern. Tarry not for garniture, or leave-levying an army of Burgundian and Swiss mercenataking-away!"

ries, and had nearly recovered his Duchy-recalled by Sforza left the palace hastily under the guidance of the voice of the fickle people--when he was once more his brother; they joined in a place of concealment a about to taste the cup of prosperity, it was unexpect small body of infantry and men at arms, and accompa-edly dashed from his lips. The Swiss bands in his sernied by the only true servants in all his court, the Cardinal de Este and Sanseverino, the fallen sovereign set out on his midnight flight. As he threaded with his companions the narrow streets of Milan, he heard the warlike music and the exulting shouts of the victorious French, who had thus won the capital without strife; but those sounds thrilled him not with anguish and mortification, as did the insane and riotous delight of the Milanese populace, receiving their conquerors with tumultuous acclamations. Breathing a malediction on the heartless rabble, the duke pursued his way till without the walls of a metropolis, where his reign was at an end; when his party, perceiving a group of French soldiers in the vicinity, approached and prepared to give them battle. Their leader, however, prevented any movement of hostility—and riding up to Ludovico, saluted him with ostentatious courtesy.

"Traitor!" cried the duke, who recognized in the faint light the faithless Count Gajazzo-" darest thou address thine injured master ?"

vice, finding his treasures exhausted, mutinied, and sold his person into the hands of the French-abandoning him in spite of promises, tears and prayers, on the very eve of success! Disguised in the habit of a Swiss private sentinel, as the last chance for escape, he passed through the French army in military order with the rest. Here a fearful retribution overtook him ;-as he passed the last battalion, his bosom beating high with hope, and apparently unknown to all-his steps were arrested by a vision of terror, scarce less appalling than those conscience often summoned to his nightly couch; for the voice of MALVEZZI, Sounding in his ears like that of the accusing demon, startled him from his fancied security.

"Ha--mine ancient patron! is it thus we meet ?"

From Germany the physician had returned to his own country, to find patronage among the conquering French. His recognition of his master was fatal to the unfortunate duke, thus filling the measure of punishment. Ludovico was seized and conducted to the "Nay-good your highness," returned the count, French King at Lyons; an object of wonder and pity "since it is your princely pleasure to leave your hapless to the spectators, who read in his fate a humiliating subjects, it were but just they should have liberty to lesson on human grandeur. Refused admission to the transfer their allegiance to the successor of your high-presence of Louis, the remaining years of his miserable ness. A noble one have you chosen in the royal Louis; I commend your selection-and trust me, will do my best to honor the choice. Fair sirs-good even!" and bowing till his plume touched his horse's neck, the count rode back to his troop.

Before Sforza could give vent to the boiling rage the cruel insolence of his revolted servant roused in his breast, he was hurried on by his companions, who would risk no skirmishes in their pressing peril. They reached Como, eighteen miles distant, before daybreak-whence they were rowed as far as Bellagio. The beauty of the lake, illuminated by the beams of the rising sun, and shadowed by the steep mountains that embosomed it, sleeping in its calm loveliness-the deep rich green of the foliage, and the golden glory of the morning--the lively appearance of the numerous small fishing boats shooting here and there over the bright waters-formed a scene that contrasted painfully with the mood of the fugitives.

life were passed in a foreign prison; a narrow dwelling for the man whose thoughts and ambition all Italy was scarce sufficient to circumscribe!

MISFORTUNE.

BY JOHN CARROLL BRENT.

There is nothing we gain without toil and trouble,
Possession is sadden'd by pain,

And thousands are dup'd with the gleam of a bubble,
Which bursts to entice them again.

'Tis proven by Time and Experience's test,
That he who's the same in misfortune and mirth,
Is only the blest

Of the children of earth.

sorrow

Shall wither the cords of the mind,
And the fancy evokes all the ills of the morrow
To its own real interests blind,-
There is yet in our power a subject to cheer,
Which pours the sweet balm o'er the wounds of the
heart,

The duke proceeded to Bornio, his way lying through When the world shall grow cold, and the touches of all the towns where, but a short time before, in the height of his prosperity and glory, he had entertained Maximilian so magnificently, who at that time, had more the appearance of an officer in the Venetian service, than of a king of the Romans. Now, crownless and landless, Ludovico re-entered the cities that had witnessed his triumphs, pursued by a victorious enemy, and by the troops of the traitor Gajazzo, who hung on his footsteps till he reached the borders of the Emperor's dominions.

Which dries up the tear
When 'tis ready to start.

Thus was the downfall of the artful and ambitious In the storm's fearful hour when the mountainous billow prince, so rapid and complete, prepared by his own!

Is dashing in wildness along,

When the north wind has risen in might from his pillow,
And peals forth his terrible song-
The sailor may see with his intellect's eye
The Being who lash'd the deep sea into foam,
And calmly rely

On his mercies to come.

Then shame on the man who when pain is in power,

Shall yield to the ills of to-day-
To-morrow may bring back the sun to the bower
Which now droops because he's away!
Amid the wild storm which a moment unchained
Sweeps far o'er the breast of the perilous wave,
The plank when attain'd
May snatch from the grave!

THE PERILS OF PASSION.

BY HORATIO KING.

"Your sorrows are self-bought, and you may reap The iron harvest that your hand has sown."

"We are then left to our own meagre resources," said Julia; "Adams' promised aid will never be realized."

"What aid?" asked Henry, hesitatingly-for he saw in the countenance of Julia a look of disappointment. "You know it was not for love that I married you, Henry. You have not forgotten that James Adams influenced me to accept your hand. He promised, when he should be possessed of his uncle's immense estate, to furnish me with the means of living in affluence, notwithstanding your poverty. That alone overcame my objections to be your wife," said Julia peevishly.

Henry was struck with astonishment. It is true, he had not always lived on the happiest terms with his wife-having before frequently discovered in her signs of dissatisfaction. Attributing this misfortune, however, more to poverty than the want of affection, which he supposed was only overclouded in consequence of his unsuccessful endeavors to acquire an easy competency, he suffered it in silence. But, to be thus saluted by a wife he sincerely loved, and at such a time too, was calculated to produce in his mind most disagreeable reflections; it was as the funeral knell of his earthly

"We have strange news to-night, Julia," said Henry happiness. What-thought he—has it come to this! Lee, one evening, addressing his wife.

Henry had just returned from the village; and his countenance betokened that something unusual had occurred.

In two short years, have I thus been brought to experience what, but yesterday, I confidently believed could never be my lot to suffer!

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"What-what news, Henry ?" inquired Julia, with means this sudden outbreak against your husband? some surprise.

"The death of our friend Adams."

Have I deserved this treatment from you? Do you thus requite my kindness and love?"

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"Adams! is James Adams dead? I saw him in ap- "Poverty! poverty! poverty!" responded Julia, with parent good health this morning; what can have caused a contemptuous look; 'we are doomed to live in pohis death so suddenly?—a fit—a fall-or a duel, per-verty. Had you the spirit of a man, there would be haps." some reason to hope that the time might come, when we should not be pointed at as the poorest family in the neighborhood."

"No, neither,” replied Henry; "he put an end to his own existence immediately after dinner. His body was found suspended in the chamber of his store at four o'clock."

"Poor man! yesterday his goods were attached; is not his failure in business the supposed cause of this dreadful act ?"

"Yes; he left a note, in which he said that he had lost all, and preferred death rather than a life of poverty and disgrace."

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"But the fortune promised him by his uncle at Hart-destroying spirit to enter the circle of my domestic life. ford, would have made him independent. Was he not sure of that large estate, at the demise of Mr. Harwood?"

Alas! it even now threatens to drive me mad!—me-a father, too! Behold that innocent one-she, who has scarcely reached the age of one year-dependent upon us for protection-for life! And shall we suffer ourselves to be torn asunder, and disgraced forever, by our own folly-nay, crimes! Julia, it cannot be. Talk of poverty! But for me, long since would you have been a beggar in the streets."

"He was. But he was this morning informed of the death of his uncle. With this intelligence, came also the report that the property had all been willed to his uncle's attorney and particular friend, Mr. Lawson. It was too much he gave way to the feelings of despair, and committed the fatal deed, without once reflecting "Say what you will, Henry, you are the cause of all that the sun of prosperity might again shine upon him. my unhappiness," continued Julia, covering her face; Had he waited even until now, he would never have" and were I free from you, with my own hands would been guilty of the awful crime of self-murder; for a I obtain the means of securing to myself the pleasures letter from his agent in Hartford, received this evening, of society. Enough have I seen of your incapacity, contradicts the unfavorable report of this morning, and and of your want of interest in all that renders life states that Mr. Harwood is recovering from a severe agreeable. I will bear it no longer. Would to Hea attack of the fever, which had threatened to prove ven, that the scenes, not only of to-day, but of the last fatal. His uncle had willed him the sum of two hun-two years of my life, were a dream! Widowhood dred thousand dollars."

were preferable to my present condition !".

Julia stopped suddenly-for on casting around, she | residence in Hartford, and consider herself at home in

perceived herself no longer in the hearing of her husband. He had taken his hat and overcoat, and left the house precipitately, with a determination never to enter its walls again.

The night was an unhappy one to Julia; for it required but little reflection to convince her that her conduct was most unbecoming and cruel toward her husband-though it afforded him no sufficient apology for hastily abandoning her, as he did. She knew also, that his disposition would not allow him readily to grant her forgiveness, even were it in her power to ask it.

On the following morning, a hat, supposed to be Henry Lee's, was found near the margin of the river, in the town of -, in which he resided, at the distance of about twenty miles from Hartford, (Conn.) Search was now immediately made for him; every part of the river in the vicinity was closely examined, and persons were despatched to the neighboring towns, in the hope that possibly he might yet be among the living. This hope was cherished with the more confidence, from the fact that he had always appeared to view the act of self-murder with great horror. Julia, though suffering severely for her own ill-conduct, and filled with fear, could not believe that he had committed suicide. The conclusion, however, in the public mind was, that Henry Lee was dead; and his death, accompanied with the supposed circumstances attending it, was announced in the papers.

Time passed on. Julia, for several weeks, still entertained hopes that her husband would return to her. She felt, indeed, that she could not leave this world, without first hearing, from his own lips, the word of pardon. But hope finally ceased to administer to her any relief; and she was compelled not only to look upon herself as a widow, but almost as the murderess of her husband! What remorse--what sorrow did she feel! She awoke from disturbed and frightful slumbers in the morning, only to realize the depth of her grief, in sensible and sober reflection. She could now see what happiness was, from experiencing the extremes of misery. Bitterly did she repent that she had reproached her husband for his poverty, when in comparatively happy circumstances-for she saw before her a scene only of want-a life of wretchedness. We pass over a few years in the life of this unhappy woman, without detailing the many instances of pain which she experienced. Her path was beset with troubles and sorrow, and the messenger of death often seemed about to deliver to her the last summons.

We turn to a more pleasant part of the picture.It was in the year 17—, when a gentleman, far advanced in years, rode up to the miserable dwelling of Julia Lee in a costly and splendid carriage. On knocking at the door, it was opened by a young Miss, apparently about ten years of age, who invited him to walk in. He accepted the invitation, and at once made known the object of his visit. He had heard of the wretchedness of the poor woman and her daughter. He had come to afford them relief. His first request was, that the mother should allow him to take her daughter, Mary, and call her his own child. His next was, that she should herself accompany them to his

his family during the few remaining years of his life. Julia consented-though not without some hesitancy, and a secret apprehension that all would not prove right.

They reached Hartford just at sunset. The evening was enchantingly delightful; and, in spite of all the causes of her unhappiness, Julia felt invigorated from the ride, and a secret joy stole through her heart at witnessing with how much pleasure her daughter relished this, to her, novel mode of exercise and amuse

ment.

"This is my house," said the old gentleman, as he reined his horse up to a magnificent mansion on street, near the centre of the town.

The truth at once burst upon the mind of Julia. She had seen the house before; it had, in her happier days, been pointed out to her by her friend Adams, as his uncle's. She could not be mistaken;-it was even so. She had time only to raise her heart in thanks to God for His goodness, before she and her daughter were welcomed into the house by Mr. Harwood and his not less kind and benevolent wife.

With that night came more happiness to the bosom of Mrs. Lee, than she had experienced for a long, long time before. Hunger and want disturbed not her repose-and her pillow was no longer a pillow of straw. But for the remembrance of the unpleasant scenes of the past, she would have been happy indeed. But the past could not be blotted from her mind. Her reflections, however, were those of a repenting heart; and most devoutly and sincerely did she pray to be pardoned for the faults, which had already brought upon her so much wretchedness. She felt a secret assurance that she was forgiven.

She was awoke in the morning by the voice of her daughter, who, with joyous countenance, was eagerly calling her attention to the ornaments of the room, and the happy contrast between their present and former condition. "Oh, how happy should we be, mother," said she, "if my dear father were here! Would he not come, mother, if he knew we lived in so pretty a place? I am sure he would. Can you not send for him, mother?"

Mrs. Lee could not repress her tears. "Do you not know, my daughter, that your father is dead? We can never see him again;" answered the mother.

"But we will be happy now, mother. I am sure I would not weep-for you have wept enough. I will work for you, and be a good girl, mother. This kind old gentleman will take care of us."

The little girl was correct in the belief that the old gentleman would provide for them; for he proved a guardian to them, indeed. They all soon became warmly attached to each other; and Mr. Harwood was every day strengthened in the opinion, that he had extended the aiding hand in the right direction. He immediately placed Mary at school, where she made great progress. Mrs. Lee had not neglected the moral and intellectual improvement of her daughter; and the superior advantages now secured to her for acquiring a finished education, were highly appreciated by both. In the course of a few years, during which time nothing unusual transpired in the history of the family, Mary found herself esteemed one of the most accomplished

have sought rest in various undertakings, in which others seemed to experience it; but sought in vain. I despair of ever realizing it, until the past shall be irrevocably buried in oblivion."

young ladies in her circle of acquaintance. She was | proved my entire destruction, have I encountered. I particularly partial to the study of the French, and frequently expressed the wish that she might become a perfect scholar in that language. Mr. Harwood narrowly watched the disposition and inclination of his adopted daughter. He saw with peculiar pleasure her "It cannot be that your character is stained by crime, love of knowledge, and witnessed her extreme anxiety and that you are fleeing from the hand of justice!" exto become mistress of her favorite study. He soon claimed Mary, with surprise. "If so, we have no prodetermined to place her in a situation, where her wishes tection for you here. Explain yourself," said she, “or could not fail to be gratified. He had a brother-in-law, we shall be obliged to call the police." named Jeffreys, who resided in France,-having married "I am guilty of a great offence," replied the poor a French lady, and adopted that country as his perma-beggar; "but I flee from no human hand of justice. nent residence. In choosing France for his home, he The upbraidings of my conscience alone, are what chose its language also, and soon nearly ceased to speak most disturb me, and what I would most wish to be his own. Mr. Harwood at once made arrangements relieved of. Would that it were in my power to heal to place Mary under his protection. She had now the wound that I, a long time ago, inflicted in the heart reached the age of seventeen, when he communicated of her whom I solemnly swore to protect, defend, and to her the object he had in view. She received the support, before all others! But the deep, dark gulf of proposition with much joy. Though warmly attached death forever separates us! Poor girl! she sunk in to home, she nevertheless entertained the idea that it sorrow to the grave, with no one to soothe the aching would be a very pleasant thing to visit France, aside heart-hastened to her end, it may be, by the very from the advantages afforded of perfecting herself in want of the necessaries of life to sustain her! And the French language. her sweet infant too must have soon followed her!-a Arrangements being completed, Mary took her de- daughter, who would have been our comfort and solace parture for Paris. On the voyage, which was a long through life! Oh the danger—the fatal results of pasand tedious one, she more than once wished herself sion! She reproached me for my poverty--she earsafely in the arms of her mother. Her courage, how-nestly affirmed that she would be happier without me! ever, did not entirely forsake her; and she finally With wounded pride, jealous, and filled with passion, reached the end of her journey without experiencing | I hastily abandoned her. I purposely refused myself any serious difficulties. She was kindly received by time for reflection, before embarking for a distant land, Mr. Jeffreys, who had been apprised of her intended visit.

She now pursued her studies under the direction of one of the most popular teachers in Paris--devoting her attention more particularly to the acquisition of the language of the country. She was also much aided in her pursuit, by the son of Mr. Jeffreys, whose qualifications enabled him to be of great service to her. But a few months had passed, before she found herself prepared to speak the language quite fluently; and the pleasure she derived from conversing with young Jeffreys, and others with whom she became acquainted, tended greatly to relieve her mind from the depression she frequently experienced, in reflecting on the distance which separated her from her home and dearest friends.

About two years had elapsed since her arrival in France, when Mary received a letter from her mother, earnestly desiring her to return home. She was sitting at the open window of the parlor, perusing this letter, when a man, miserably clad, and with dejected countenance, came toward her-and, addressing her in broken French, humbly begged a morsel of bread to save himself from starvation. Her heart was open to the petition, and his request was at once granted. Observing him to be an Englishman, and anxious to learn what misfortune could have reduced him to so miserable a condition, she addressed him in her own tongue, and invited him into the house.

where I well knew I should be beyond the knowledge of all who should seek me! Nay, I took especial pains to create the impression that I had put an end to my existence. But a few months after-having determined to return to her-I heard incidentally that she had died under that awful impression! The circumstances were related in a journal which fell into my hands at the time; and though names were withheld, I was convinced I could not be mistaken. I then dared not return; and sought to banish the recollection of the subject, by constantly searching for new objects to interest and absorb my attention. I have travelled the world over; but life itself has been constantly a burden to me. I have lost all hope of ever bettering my condition. I am indeed far more miserable than even my appearance indicates. No, lady, I flee from the pursuit of no living being; for no punishment can be more severe than that I have already suffered."

"But where," eagerly inquired Mary, “is your native place?"

"I am an American,” he replied; "and proud am I of my country-though I expect never to return to it."

"From what part of America are you?" she continued-more and more interested in his history. "The town of -, in the state of Connecticut. My father was a poor man; and my wife, who before our marriage, was usually designated as the 'accomplished Julia,' died before she attained the age of ma

"Sir," said she, "you are a stranger in these parts,turity." I presume; what calamity can have brought you to so wretched a condition?"

"I am what the world may well call a son of misfortune," he replied; "many a dark cloud has hovered over my path, and many a storm, which has nearly

"And your name is

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Henry Lee."

"My father! my father!" she exclaimed, “behold your own daughter before you! I am not deceived-it is my father!"

She was on the point of throwing herself into his arms, when he arose to meet her, anxiously inqui ring:

"Mary, my child! Can it be possible that you live to witness the sorrow and misery of your wicked father! Oh, I discover in you now the image of your own poor mother! Tell me--how came you here? What breeze of fortune hath borne you onward to so favorable a condition? Oh, my wife! would to heaven I could call thee to life again!" he exclaimed, weeping and sobbing most bitterly.

ERNEST MALTRAVERS:

By the Author of "Pelham," "Eugene Aram," "Rienzi," &c. &c. In two volumes. New York. Harper & Brothers. 1837. The inexhaustible fountain of Mr. Bulwer's genius continues to pour out upon the literary world its beautiful effusions. Its waters seem as pure and limpid as the mountain stream, and sweet as the honey of Hymettus. But alas! those who drink of them too deeply, I fear will find them poison to the soul!

"Stay, father!--she lives! she lives!" cried Mary. "My own dear mother still lives to bless you!" Among the writers of the present day, there are "What! Julia-my wife? still lives! Gracious hea-none who have a stronger hold upon the public ven! may I dare to meet her! Oh lead me-yes-lead taste than Edward Lytton Bulwer. Even on this me before her. I deserve no favor from her; but she side of the Atlantic, his productions are eagerly knows I was not alone to blame--and she will forgive sought after by every class of readers. He has me-yes, she will forgive me!" "Oh, I bless the fortune that has brought us to something to fascinate all; love-sick scenes for gether!" said Mary. "Compose yourself, my father--love-sick girls and amorous boys; fashionable life and you shall soon know all. Mother still resides in for modish gentlemen, who look to an English Connecticut. We were wretchedly poor and needy; novel as "a glass wherein to dress themselves;" but a good old gentlemen, by the name of Harwood, heroic achievements for gallant and romantic came one day and took us to his home in Hartford, youth; profound reflection for the philosophic mind, where she is invited to remain so long as he lives. It is and intimate knowledge of human life for the man by his kindness and generosity also that I am here of the world. Withal, the incidents of his tales pursuing my studies. I was preparing to return-have often the deepest interest, though the plot is having, the moment you accosted me, received a letter not always without objection; and they are confrom my mother, desiring me to embark for home im

mediately."

"The poor man was nearly overcome at so unexpected a meeting-with intelligence at once so gratifying, and the prospect of being again united to the bosom companion of his early days.

No time was now lost. The next packet that sailed, took the father and daughter to the shores of their own native country and home. And here let me remark, that on leaving, Mary failed not to give young Jeffreys a most pressing invitation to visit America at as early a day as his engagements would permit.

I need not describe the meeting of the long separated husband and wife. Suffice to say, it was affecting in the extreme. Each felt to have been most in the wrong—each begged most earnestly to be forgiven by

veyed in a style, which though by no means faultless, is often brilliant and always vigorous and striking.

It is a sad thing that such uncommon powers should be so much misapplied. There is no man more capable than Mr. Bulwer of bringing efficient aid to the cause of virtue; none who could more powerfully inculcate a sublime morality; none who could more successfully penetrate the recesses of the heart, and expose its wicked workings, and its deceitful imaginings; none who could more beautifully portray the loveliness of virtue, or make vice more ugly. What an ally to a school of Ethics! Even our instructors in the pulpit would scarcely decline the aid of such

the other. The day was one of mutual congratulation and joy; and that night were their hearts unitedly an auxiliary. While the professors of moral phiraised to God in humble and sincere prayer for the par-losophy, instead of imbuing the mind with practidon of all their misdeeds-for His protection against cal wisdom, lose themselves in the mazes of metathe unhappy consequences of PASSION--and for His physics, and the preacher of the gospel, intent constant guidance and blessing. only on its mysteries, neglects the inculcation of In less than one year from that time, Mr. Harwood those moral precepts which it was mainly deand his aged companion were both called to their re-signed to sustain and enforce, the talented novelist ward in Heaven; and Mary Lee, his adopted and only child, came into possession of his immense estate, subject only to an annuity to her parents, sufficient to ensure them a comfortable and affluent support while living.

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would come to the rescue." Holding the mirror up to nature, he would shew to vice its deformity, and win over converts to virtue by her attractive graces. He would pursue the wicked through all their deceitful windings, trace them through every doubling, and penetrate and expose their base and He would make meanness ignoble motives. blush-abase the selfish-unmask the hypocrite, and detect the cheat. He would appal the gambler, disgust the gross voluptuary with himself, and wither the seducer with the sight of his unhappy victims. On the other hand, his genius

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