Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

The Marchioness sincerely condoled with Gour- [ ravings of insanity, and in the rending pangs of ville on his loss. remoise. They returned to the Marquis's hotel as He rejoined, "In your affection, my sweet privately as they had left it, and impatient of all darling, I must try and forget this rude and sud-restraint upon their thoughts and conversation, reden shock to my feelings. I cannot blame Mon- tired to Leonora's apartments. They entered a tesecco-I even esteem him the more for what he cabinet adjoining her bed-room, and remained till has done; and I hope and believe I should have the shades of night obscured the room. acted in the same manner, if placed in so distressing and trying a situation."

"A parent's feelings must always conquer any other," observed Madame de Gourville, pressing her boy to her maternal breast.

[ocr errors]

Eh, Félicité-that is neither civil nor grateful to me," returned Gourville, with a faint smile. "But I declare, Gourville, I did'nt give you a thought!"

"Worse and worse!"

"Pardi! you'll make me mad," cried Madame de Gourville, with a pretty look of pettish anger"I'm thinking, Marquis," continued she, resolved to keep up the little gleam of cheerfulness in De Gourville," that this child is not a bit like you. Don't you think he resembles the petit bon ?""

"Really, Félicité, you are too bad; you break the poor young man's heart, and then laugh at him!"

"He's handsome, he's elegant, he's agreeable, he's rich, he's high-born, he wears a beautiful perruque-he has but one fault-he's a fool !"

"Leonora!" said Malevolti, taking her soft warm hand in his own, "What do I not owe you? Who has ever equalled your heroic affection? Can I ever repay it? It is impossible!"

"Do not say so, Ludovico, or you will make me doubt your own," said she, in a voice of timid embarrassment, and half withdrawing her hand"for you know (lowering her tone) that I am but too richly paid with that affection."

"It shall be the study of my life to make you happy-deserve you I never can."

A low and tender sigh was the only answer to this self-accusing sentence. Passion seldom weighs with any thing like impartiality the merits of its object.

"Leonora! I have known you from my childhood; we can neither of us tell when we first met; you have been entwined with my life from the happy days of my infancy. God grant that I may not outlive you, but that is not probable!"

Leonora burst into an agony of tears, which any allusion of this kind was sure to call forth.

Forgive me, my dearest angel," said Malevolti, " for exciting your feelings in this manner; yet is it not better to be prepared?"

"Do not talk of it," exclaimed Leonora, in a voice of anguish, "unless you would wish to kill me."

The following day De Gourville sent a note to M. de Villars, the gentleman who had introduced Montesecco to him, to make inquiries concerning 'this unfortunate man. M. de Villars informed him, in his answer, that, to his great surprise, Montesecco having written to him a hurried farewell letter, had quitted Paris that morning, as soon A fond and gentle embrace from Malevolti folas the barriers were open, and had taken the road lowed this passionate declaration, and succeeded in to Calais, for the purpose of embarking for Eng-soothing the agitation of the youthful Italian.

land.

The next thing to be done was to inform their Majesties and Signora Colonna of the projected marriage, which was however postponed on account of the deplorable state of Malevolti, which disabled him from going through the ceremony with any thing like composure. He was confined to his chamber, attended with unremitting care by his sister and brother-in-law; notwithstanding which, so great had been the shock of his sudden encounter with Montesecco, that it was several weeks before he was sufficiently tranquil in mind and restored in body to be capable of bearing the agitation of the nuptial solemnity without a relapse. At length, however, the day fixed upon arrived. Leonora left the protection of the Queen, with many expressions of gratitude to their Majesties, and the ceremony was performed in as private a manner as possible at a small church in an obscure parish of the Faubourg Saint Honoré; the Marquis and Marchioness being present.

CHAP. XXV.

The ceremony was concluded. Never had Malevólti felt so tranquil; an emotion approaching to delight overspread his blighted soul as he gazed on that lovely and noble being who had never deserted him in grief, in sickness, in guilt, in the

The flames upon the hearth were expiring, and sent a flapping, mysterious light around the room, partially illuminating the spot where Leonora and Malevolti were seated, while the further corners of it were wrapped in blackest and most impenetrable gloom. A rather lengthened pause ensued, neither broken by the young man nor by his bride. The latter remained entwined in that secret rapture which defies all power of words to express. She had paid a tremendous price for the present hour of happiness-such a price as I venture to advise none of my female readers to pay; but she enjoyed it, in proportion to the dearness of the purchase.

Malevolti's mood seemed altered. He cast hurried, wild, suspicious glances round the room; then seemed tranquillized by gazing on the countenance of Leonora ; that face, bright with the most intelligent and expressive beautybeauty which he might be said to feel rather than admire, for admiration seems too cold a word when applied to an attachment like theirs. But, withdrawing his eyes from her modest and enchanting face, they again became quick and restless; a slight shivering crept over his limbs; his At last breathing became short and difficult. Leonora's eyes, which had hitherto been cast on the ground, scarcely ever daring to meet his own, were raised, and by the wavering, flickering light of the half-dying embers, she read the

horror expressed in them. She watched him | with that look of vigilant affection so peculiarly her own; the embarrassment of modesty died within her; anxiety and intense watchfulness usurped its place. Malevolti started. The colour fled from his bride's cheek. His purturbed and restless eyes wandered round the apartment.

"Look, Leonora !" said he at last, in a low and hollow voice" look, my beloved! Do you not see those awful gliding figures? they are linked in a solemn dance!"

[ocr errors]

No, I see nothing-compose yourself; it is a fancy, it is a mere fancy; let us leave the room." So saying, she arose, put her arm within his, and was leading him out, but she was startled by his throwing his arms around her and pressing her convulsively to his heart. The mutual agony of that caress was intense. They approached, the door opening into Leonora's chamber, where she believed that candles were placed for her toilet; the light, she thought, might dispel the floating visions in his brain. They were within a few paces of the door. A loud cry burst from Malevolti-his limbs trembled to such a degree that Leonora could scarcely support them-the sweat ran in streams down his face.

"Stand off!" cried he, looking wildly at the door.

"No one is there, my beloved!" whispered Leonora.

"Stand off, I say-phantom-cruel-merciless, unpitying phantom-that dost pursue my stepsthat hauntest my sleep-that barrest my happiness from me! Avaunt! But, ah! that melancholy smile returns, beloved of my heart, Francisco! -my earliest friend! Ah! could'st thou think that he wretch-wretch that I am-"

Leonora, in a paroxysm of anguish, threw herself on his bosom-clung round him-wept-implored-tried to console-in vain! She sprang forward to open the door; he pulled her forcibly back before she could accomplish her purpose.

"He follows, he follows-his face is stern," cried Malevolti, receding with staggering haste. "He shakes a bloody sword. Whose blood is that? my friend's? And who shed it? Villain! worst of villains! He pursues-he pursues! Swallow me, oh earth! Oh save me! save me! He strikes! I die."

Leonora, who in the dim twilight had perceived her lover fall under the imaginary stroke of the phantom conjured up by a remorseful conscience, now flung the bed-room door open, which admitted the light of an expiring lamp into the adjoining cabinet. She would have called for assistance, but feared his betraying himself to strangers. She now flew towards him-attempted to raise him; his frame was strongly convulsed-he appeared in the agonies of death; his eyes seemed to start from their sockets, and his hair stood out straight and wiry from his head. She laid that head upon her faithful breast; a deep groan burst from his heart-it was his latest breath!

Leonora survived him a short period in lingering agony of mind, which I will not attempt to describe; she was never seen to smile, nor to take notice of anything during that painful interval. Her miseries, however, did not last longer, for a

rapid consumption happily delivered her from all her woes. One grave enclosed their mortal remains, and Gourville raised a humble stone to their memory, in the same church which had witnessed their nuptial rite-the sole memento of the guilty and unfortunate Malevolti, and of the tender and highly-gifted Leonora. SATURN.

NITÔCRIS.*

Hast thou ordered the feast to-night?
Art thou there amidst perfume and hosts and light,
And thy pulse does it throb deep and low?
Art thou wrought by the might of the scene?
Does thy beauty wax gorgeous or pale?
That brow is it stamp'd with its sculptured mien,

Are thy tables wide in their glow?

Or does fear rend in twain its still veil? Are they there who did wrong theeThey who did wring the blood from thy brother's breast?

And dost choke as they throng thee,

And burn, and know vengeance's thy only rest? Then swift to thy havoc,

Swift to thy leaden sleep!

And though thousands are swept beneath the shock,
From thy lips let the mandate leap!
"Tis done! and a monstrous tide roars in,
A monstrous eddying wave;
Through a million chinks its surge pours in,
And filled is that banquet-cave!

Lo, a shriek and a howl and a maddened wail,
Then a laugh through that vaulted hall;
Then a calm so dread the proudest quail,

For vengeance has hung her pall!

And thou, where art? thou Egypt's Queen ?
Hath thy feast been royal to-night?
Dost thou pray-wouldst thou crave it had not
been-

Is revenge to thee a blight?
Then swift to thy refuge,

Swift to thy leaden sleep;

Tho' the price of thy vengeance be deep and huge, To the dream of thy Spirit keep!

FRANCESCA.

Nitocris was a woman of great beauty; and if and flaxen hair. Her immediate predecessor was we may believe Manetho, she had a fair complexion her brother, who was put to death by his subjects; but neither his name nor the cause of that event are mentioned by Herodotus. Resolved on revenging herself upon the authors of this outrage, Nitocris had no sooner ascended the throne, than she invited those she suspected of having been privy to it, to a festival. A large subterranean hall was prepared for the occasion; and though it had the appearance of being filled up with a Vien to celebrate the proposed feast, it was in reality designed for a very different purpose; for when the guests were assembled, the water of the Nile was introduced through secret canals into the apartment; and thus by their death she gratified her revenge, without giving them an opportunity of suspecting her design. But she did not live long enough to enjoy the satisfaction she anticipated; and, fearing the indignation of the people, put an end to herself by suffocation, about 2,000 years before the Christian era.

THE PENNY-A-LINER.

A SKETCH FROM LIFE.

[ocr errors]

the press. I am the Herald, and my friend here (they very often, like magpies, go in couples) is the Post." This explanation procures him a carte blanche, and he is allowed to enter the burning ruins if he think proper. Enviable privilege!

They are the very abstract and brief Chronicle Who would not be a Penny-a-liner? The mornof the Times."

HAMLET.

ing journals of the following day teem with elaborate and "touchingly pathetic" accounts of the "awful effects of the devouring element," which accounts are wound up by a detail of minutia that could not have been collected by any breath

Considering a newspaper in the strict meaning of the term-that is, as a catalogue of recent events -the Penny-a-liner may be called "the very ageing soul but a Penny-a-liner. and body of the Times." Viewing it as an organ of public opinion, he occupies the situation of bellows-blower; while if we look at it in a literary light, he bears about the same relation to the editor as the omnibus-cad does to the driver. Little does the newspaper reader think, whilst occupied during breakfast time in reading an amplified detail of a murder, or a serio-comic report of a coroner's inquisition, or "the price of marrow-fats at Covent Garden market"-ah, little does he think who has been the wise medium of such edifying intelligence. Reader, 'tis the Penny-a-liner to whom your thanks are due; 'tis he who has been up all night, engaged in the enviable capacity of rendering an "awful conflagration” or a midnight murder an occurrence of advantage! and who, while the effusions of his brain are giving a relish to your breakfast, is doubtless occupied in the wide world in procuring a breakfast to relish.

But the Penny-a-liner (at least the hereditary one) is amongst fickle Nature's chosen favouriteshe sees by day more than good Grimalkin can by night. He is indeed the very Argus of modern times! and well does he merit the appellation. Little does John Bull-unreflecting, ingenuous John Bull-dream that he is indebted to the Penny-a-liner for half the instructive entertainment he gleans by his daily perusal of the newspapers.

The Penny-a-liner is personally acquainted with all the metropolitan police, and is equally conversant with the wise enactments which prescribes their duties. He knows all the magistrates; the "secrets of the prison house" are no secrets to him; is well versed in the "Crowner's quest law," and can recount the life, adventures, and ultimate fate of all the highwaymen (whose annals have afforded such "wholesome exercise" for the "grey goose quill" of our modern biographers), and is artistically conversant with the internal machinery of a court of justice. In short, he knows every thing and every body, and is everywhere.

In contemplating the countless privileges with which the Penny-a-liner is vested, we have often thought why he should not have the same latitude for fiction writing as our novelists; if the imagination of the one is as fertile as the other, why should he not reap the same reward, provided the literary experience of the one be not excelled by the profound erudition of the other; and who can deny that an ideal murder is worth all the sentimental love stories which form the staple commodity of two-thirds of the novels of the present age?

We have said that the Penny-a-liner represents himself as belonging to the press. Who will have the effrontery to doubt it? He is the very hand which sways its destiny-the engine by which it is wrought-the medium of communication between the newspaper and its readers! What are the duties of Mr. Editor compared to those of the Penny-a-liner? Is he who does the drudgery of the scissors and paste worthy to occupy the same niche in the Temple of Fame as the genius who is obliged to invent what he writes, and not unfreThe jackall of the newspaper press is as appro- quently to write what nobody else could invent? priate a title as we can, consistently with our no- Is the lucky wight, whose duty consists in sitting tions of celebrity, invest him with; and experience at a desk from seven in the evening till eleven or (the world's expositor) sanctions the observation twelve at night, fit to hold a candle at the shrine of that if half the jackalls of another species pos- the notorious character who is in every corner of sessed the property of ubiquity to as great an extent the great metropolis in the space of one short day, as Nature has apportioned to the Penny-a-liner, and all for the benefit" of himself?--no, for the "forest king" would be pretty well provided that of his fellow creatures! The Penny-a-liner's for. If a murder has been committed in the neigh-intrinsic worth is not properly appreciated, but as bourhood of Mile-end, the Penny-a-liner is there with greedy ears amongst the most active zealots, engaged in ascertaining the "cause and effect" of the delinquency as well as the whereabout of the offender.

If an alarming fire has broken out in the more aristocratic vicinity of the West End, there also our ambitious friend is to be found encroaching with all the sang froid of the firemen's dog on the sacred territories of the "engineers." But in such warm spots he does not always meet with a warm reception, and in reply to the policeman's order to depart in peace, he says-shrugging his shoulders like an energetic Frenchman, and assuming an air of dignity mingled with contempt-"I belong to

the march of intellect progresses, so will superficial dabblers in literature bow low to that literary curiosity.

The Penny-a-liner is a man of words. His writings tend to contradict the opinion that "long words prove the absence of genius ;" and who can deny that a man possessing the imaginative faculties so fully developed is a genius? He, however, in the true Johnsonian style, does not hesitate to make use of two epithets where one will answer all purposes. He disdains to follow in the track of those laconic writers who hold that the merit of a composition consists in the number of ideas that it contains, and not in the inflated grandiloquence of verbeage. Par exemple, in detailing the ac

count of a fire, he says, "Last night the inhabi- |
tants of the thickly and densely populated neigh-
bourhood of, and its vicinity were thrown
into considerable consternation (this apt allitera-
tion is very nearly equal to a line) and alarm by the
unfortunate and unforeseen occurrence of an ap-
palling fire which spread its devastating influence
over the ancient and dilapidated houses in
street, &c., &c." In short, the Penny-a-liner
"weighs his words before he gives them breath."
Sometimes, however, strange to say, his pon-
derous levities raise him in esteem, and he pro-
cures a permanent engagement; and then-"Oh,

what a noble mind is here o'erthrown"-he is no

longer the libertine of the press, and his genius

dies for want of nourishment. From that moment he ceases to enjoy the liberty of writing what he pleases for whatever paper he pleases, but is obliged to confine his valuable services to one particular journal, and that journal perhaps differing from him on political matters! but, no-the Pennya-liner (discreet man) generally eschews politics; from the moment he loses the "freedom of the press," he is no longer paid by the line for his important information, but receives a stipulated salary per week, which qualifies him for the more honourable though less romantic distinction of " porter."

re

the numerous placards with which two-thirds of The Penny-a-liner is a great quiz. If in any of the houses in the purlieus of the metropolis are besprinkled, a word is mis-spelt, the worthy Pennya-liner does not fail to note down to what an extent education has been neglected in this country! and by way of a gentle hint, he reminds the unfortunate owner of the placard, through the medium of

the

newspaper,

that the article contains a gramma

Row," and "Prospect Place ;" and-as though they felt the inspiration which the very names breathe-in one of these delightful "fields of fancy" the majority of the Penny-a-liners pitch their tent. Mark! ye reverential followers of genius-ye enthusiastic gatherers of autographsand thank us for the hint; 'tis here where you may Occupy yourselves for a day very much to your ultimate satisfaction, provided at least that you give your attendance on no other day but Sunday, for the Penny-a-liner is compelled to perambulate the streets on week days. As the burden of the old song "Home, sweet home," is very seldom a burden to him, what can his home be but a secondary consideration; and for this reason (contented mortal) he never rents an entire house, but generally apartments as near the "starry firmament" as possible-for the benefit of the breezes. These apartments consist of two rooms, wherein his better half and the whole of his family (bachelors, we believe, are seldom seen in the role) may eke out their daily existence with little or no more exercise than is afforded in their passage from one room into the other. The Penny-a-liner is amongst the list of unfortunates who enjoy the blessings of a large family with a comparatively small income, and by way of consolation, he occasionally breaks through the rules of his fire side (that is, when with him, and arrange an interesting article for the murders, robberies, &c. are below par) by taking a fellow labourer home to smoke a friendly pipe newspaper. And here we are reminded of an anecdote, with which we may aptly conclude.

One of the more celebrated of these gentry (who, strange to say, had not entered into the bonds of wedlock) engaged apartments in the house of a middle aged woman-a spinster !-who, unfortunately for the Penny-a-liner, was possessed of a more than ordinary share of cunning and scepticism. "Our hero" had not been long an inmate of her dwelling ere she resolved to ascertain the means by which he gained his livelihood. Accord

tical error, in a paragraph headed "Schoolmaster "" March of orthography," or it may be abroad," "March of intellect." There are many other figurative terms equally applicable, and he varies them alternately. This judicious interference on the part of the Penny-a-liner generally has a bene-ingly she betook herself one evening to his room, ficial effect, for he finds subsequently that the pla- that his apartments consisted of one room) with (being a single man, it is hardly necessary to say card, which he has made the subject of his derisive remarks, has been either destroyed or carefully morandum books which he kept in the tablethe intention of examining his account and merevised and corrected by a master hand-perhaps drawer. She was in the act of satisfying her by the Penny-a-liner himself; for, with the keen sensibility of a common informer, he delights in Curiosity when certain footsteps on the stairs anremoving all" nuisances," the intermeddling with nounced the approach of her unsuspecting, incauwhich may conduce to his own advantage. Bright concealed herself behind the bed curtains, intendIn order to avoid discovery, she oracle of an enlightened century! Amiable ar. biter of chequered Nature's destinies! Little dosting to glide out of the room as soon as an opporthou know what golden treasures are in store for by another knight of the goosequill, who was a was accompanied stranger to the inquisitive landlady. The two their own peculiar fashion as to the most advantageous method of "killing" an elderly gentleman having, according to report, lost his life in a somein the newspapers; the said elderly gentleman what mysterious manner. that good mistress landlady had so situated herself Little did they think

you!

We have dwelt through the greater portion of our sketch upon the manifold talents, privileges, and virtues of the Penny-a-liner; and our conscience will not allow us to think that we should do him justice were we to omit calling the attention of our readers to the whereabout of this mysterious personage. On being asked where he lives, his answer is, nine times out of ten, "over the water," which in more intelligible parlance signifies the neighbourhood of Blackfriars, Waterloo, and Westminster road, extending about as far as Newington. This salubrious district boasts such celestial spots as " Providence Terrace," ""Paradise

tious tenant.

tunity should offer. Mr.

worthies entered forthwith into a conversation in

that she could

"With a greedy ear Devour up their discourse."

The Penny-a-line-gentlemen had consulted together for some minutes, (during which time the

worthy listener had great difficulty in suppressing | her emotions) and at length came to the determination of "hanging the old gentleman up to a tree in his own garden, on account of some family misfortunes." After satisfying themselves that they could make more money by "killing" him thus than by any other means, to which they might resort in the exercise of their functions, they resolved to "set about it immediately." From the ambiguous manner in which they expressed themselves, the obtuse headed landlady misunderstood their design; she thought they were projecting a bona fide murder instead of arranging the most profitable method of publishing a death. Under such circumstances, no wonder that she gloried in the idea of giving the gentlemen into custody, for fear they should put their threat into immediate execution. Without saying a word she stole quietly out of the room and returned with a policeman, who, like all the members of his craft, was intimately acquainted with the gentlemen whose conversation good Mistress Pry had so unluckily misconstrued.

"Oh!" said he, pointing to the occupier of the room, "that's Mr. , of the public press. How are you, Sir? I hope I see you well."

The matter was then mutually explained over sundry potations of strong waters, which formed the only compensation in damages the landlady thought fit to offer to the distinguished individuals whose characters she had so grossly libelled.

On the following morning the affair was more satisfactorily conveyed to the comprehension of

A SISTER'S LOVE.

BY G. J. D. BUTLER DANVERS, ESQ.

"Beautiful is the love of a sister-the kiss that hath no guile, and no passion; the touch is purity, and bringeth peace and satisfaction to the heart, and no fever to the pulse. Beautiful is the love of a sister-it is moonlight on our path; it hath light and no heat; it is of Heaven, and sheds its peace on the earth."

A Sister's love, from passion free,

Needs not the fetters of restraint; Bright as the Heaven she hopes to see, And, like that Heaven, without a taint. Though oft Affection's reign is brief, A Sister's love may still remain, Console the heart oppress'd with grief, And to the last it's zeal retain.

If all our feelings were as pure,

This world would rival that above; From each unhallow'd thought secure, Angels might own a Sister's love. And will they not-when from its bed Of clay her spirit shall remove, Though earthly sentiments have fled, One lingers still-a Sister's love.

THE CAPTIVE.

the landlady through the medium of the news- (Written on watching a Squirrel turning the tread

paper, which contained an elaborate paragraph concerning "The suicide of an elderly gentleman at Camberwell." The paragraph consisted of some fifty lines, and the two suspected murderers congratulated each other on the success of their speculation.

In the course of the same day an old gentleman called at the publishing office, and requested to know the name of the person who had thought proper to kill "an elderly gentleman" with the simple weapons of pen and ink, inasmuch as he was not only alive but likely to live longer perhaps than the gentleman in question anticipated. However, he should be satisfied if the writer of the article would contradict it in the paper of the next day.

"That's impossible," said a little grim-visaged gentleman, answering to the letter the glowing description we have just given of a Penny-a-liner"that's impossible; we are infallible."

"Well, but," rejoined the old gentleman, somewhat chagrined by the uncourteous reply of the personage to whom he had addressed himself "I tell you he is not dead, for he now stands before you."

[ocr errors]

We

"Well, Sir," said the imperturbable Penny-aliner, (who happened to be the principal author of the ingenious fabrication), "we are very sorrythere must be some mistake on your part. cannot write a contradiction, Sir. As I said before, we are infallible! We never retract-we cannot contradict ourselves. The most we can do is to say, if you please, that the rope broke.”

G. W. HODDer.

mill of its gilded prison.)

BY MRS. C. BARON-WILSON.

Pretty, playful, sportive thing,
Gay as bird upon the wing,
Vain and futile is thy rage
'Gainst thy prison's gilded cage,
Be contented with thy doom,
(Though it be a living tomb,)
Since the light of Florence' eye,
Blue as Heaven's cerulean dye,
Beams on thee with fond delight,
Can'st thou wish for skies more bright?
Au! I guess thy sad reply-
"Not the light of woman's eye,
Bright and beauteous though it be,
Is meet exchange for LIBERTY!"
Dearer far thy native wood,
With its leafy solitude,

Than thy mistress' fond caress,
And lavish acts of tenderness,

That while they speak her kindness, will
Remind thee, thou'rt a prisoner still.

A lesson sage thou dost impart
To her who'd hold man's wayward heart;
That woman's sweetest smiles are vain,
To him who feels he wears a chain !

EPIGRAM.

BY LEIGH CLIFFE, ESQ.

Young Halfwit lives on Law, some people say; For be's unsafe by night, and dunn'd by day. He live on LAW! No, no, reverse your whim, He lives on credit, and Law starves by him!

« AnteriorContinuar »