While I was thus absorbed, I heard a rustling in the shrubs below me, and soon perceived a woman rapidly mounting a path, which led from the direction of the monastery to the place where I stood. I observed her distinctly as she approached; she appeared to be about forty years of age, tall, with the traces of beauty, but thin and wasted by mental or physical suffering. Her negligent dress, dishevelled hair, rapid movements, and unsteady demeanour, filled me with that irresistible awe, which the appearance of insanity, in any of its stages, so commonly excites. I withdrew a little, but not so as to lose sight of her. I know not whether she thought she was observed, but if she did, it was with perfect indifference.

She approached the statue, threw herself on her knees before it, and struck violently three or four times on the marble steps, with a stone which she carried in her hand. The sharp sound had something singularly impressive, as it rang through the forest. Then the woman bent her head, and laid her ear close to the earth, as if she expected some answer to her awakening summons. But she to whom it was addressed, replied not.

"Laura! Laura! Laura!" exclaimed the woman, in accents rudely harsh; silence followed the hoarse echo of her call. She then struck her clenched hand against her breast, tore her hair, and with groans and piercing cries, bewailed some untold, or perhaps, (as I thought,) some imaginary loss.

Two men now appeared: they were almost breathless from the speed with which they had run; they endeavoured to lead the woman quietly away; but she struggled fiercely, and with piercing screams, until a young priest of interesting, though by no means of refined appearance, came forward. At this sight the woman was at once appeased; she flung her arms round his neck, and sobbed deeply, but tranquilly, on his bosom. In a few minutes the whole group had disappeared, and the stifled sighs and groans of the poor woman, alone told me they had taken the path in the direction of the monastery.

There seemed an attraction in these sounds, for I unthinkingly and almost insensibly, followed them, till the party reached the gate of the monastery. The romantic solitude in which this building was placed, formed in itself a sufficient excitement to my curiosity, but that was considerably

increased by the scene I had just witnessed: and altogether, I felt warranted in entering the open gate for the purpose of inquiries more minute than those of a passer by.

The porter soon brought me into the presence of the young monk, to whom I expressed my wish with as little abruptness as was possible, and with the best excuse I could frame, for what (uotwithstanding my national right to know something of the circumstances relating to the English inscription,) might still seem an unauthorized intrusion.

The monk listened to me with great urbanity, and answered in a tone that spoke him to be personally and deeply interested in the subject. He was, however, reserved, and, I thought, unwilling to enter fully into it, until, in the course of our conversation, I happened to acknowledge myself to be an Irishman. I had no sooner done so, than a more familiar and confidential air was evident in my companion; I profited by this to the utmost, and, in short, obtained from him all the information I required, and much more than I expected. While I took my slight repast in the relectory, he went to his cell, and shortly returned with a manuscript which he presented to me.

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This," said he, contains all the details of the story which I have lightly sketched to you, as far as I myself was not personally concerned. You will perceive how much your being an Irishman has entitled you to the gift; and 1 not being able to read the English language, you will see that for me this MS. possesses but little value. As we walk down to the shore, I will tell you the few particulars of what passed after the written narration was finished; you will then know completely the short history of Laura Pemegia."

The monk performed his 'promise as we slowly wended through the deep shades of the forest. When we reached the little bay, the boatmen were nearly ready to return to the ship. The fresh water, and some goats and fowls, were soon stowed in the pinnace, and we rowed away from the shore; the monk waving his hand, and showing by his gestures, that he valued more than its worth the Mosaic Snuffbox of which I had requested his acceptance.

On examining my MS. I found that it was written in imperfect English, mixed with many Irishisms of idiom and expression; it was evidently done at long intervals. The earlier parts were in an unformed and childish hand, which

greatly improved towards the conclusion, and that had taken the form of a journal, but very abrupt and irregular. I endeavoured to throw it all into a connected form, and to purify its errors as best I might. But I have not changed its style, and but slightly altered its phraseology here and there, and I thus present it to the reader. The passage which, as I have arranged it, forms the opening, was written on a detached sheet of paper, and was evidently almost the last page composed by the unhappy author. It was traced with an agitated hand, and was literally deluged with tears. But these had long since dried up, and left every word still legible.

LAURA PEMEGIA.

COUNTRY of my birth, once so dear to me! Beautiful forest, whose shades have so often sheltered me! Sweet stream, in which, youthful and innocent, I have many a time sported! I now return to you, in guilt and misery-witness my bitter tears! Fatal and treacherous sea! when the ship that bore me from my native shore skimmed thy smiling surface, why didst thou not swallow me up? Innocent then, and not knowing even the name of sin, death had been a blessing death, my only refuge now!

Gracious Heaven! mercy, mercy and pity, for my poor children! They, at least, are blameless, and even for me there may be pardon. Oh, my beloved children, this is the evening hour, in which we were always together: perhaps, even now, you are calling my name-cruel thought!—Oh, never, never forget your mother!

Let me dry those tears. I would do one act of virtueI would that my fate might prove a warning to the companions of my childhood-I would that the remnant of my sad life might be an example to those young and guileless girls who still gambol in yonder valley, as I once did-alas, alas !

This is my first endeavour to compose any thing in a connected form; my letters, such as they are, do not pretend to that. They were meant for only one being, who will find no imperfection in his too faulty Laura! What I am now about to attempt is by his wish. He will excuse all defects.

I was born on the coast of Sicily, not far from the foot of Mount Santo, and at no great distance from Palermo. My father, a poor fisherman, died before I could know him. He left to my mother his cabin, his boat, and his nets. My brother was some years older than I. He was my mother's favourite; but as he was good-hearted and kind to me, and

as I loved him myself very much, no feeling of jealousy disturbed me.

From morning till night I watched our goats, as they browsed on the hills, while my mother and Anselm were out fishing. I played on the rocks all day, as happy as the goats I tended, and at nightfall I came back to the cabin just as gayly as they. Brown bread and milk formed my supper; my bed was of straw.

I grew up in ignorance of every thing beyond what I saw, and even much of that was inexplicable. I had no notion of the Divinity; but when the storms blew on our coast, and the fishing-boats were tossed by the waves, I knelt down mechanically, at the foot of the high and rude cross placed on the shore, and I prayed fervently for Anselm and his companions. At twelve years old, I knew how to milk the goats, make cheese, knit a thick thread, with which my mother mended the nets, and gather flowers. I was indebted to this kind of life, and to my mother's dislike of me, for a total ignorance of evil. But neither had I the least notion of virtue. Nothing could exceed the simplicity of my thoughts. I loved to oblige my companions, to yield to them in all matters, merely because in doing so, I felt a sensation of pleasure. I had a mortal fear of offending my mother, because she used to treat me with great severity.

The day on which I completed my fourteenth year, was an important epoch in my life. I had risen at daybreak; and, joined by several of my young friends, ignorant and thoughtless like myself, I went out to gather our harvest of white roses, on the skirts of the forest; these flowers being a source of traffic with the chemists of the neighbouring towns. We culled our roses for some hours, and made our task a pleasure, by turning it into a playful contest as to who should first fill her apron. I got the start of all my companions in running to reach a rose tree which I knew to be untouched, and this made me gain the victory. I expressed my triumph somewhat noisily, when I saw suddenly before me a handsome young man, who stood gazing and smiling at me. dress, and the colour of his hair, told me he was a foreigner, as well as some others who began talking to my companions. As he looked at me I became confused, because the poverty of my dress scarcely concealed my knees. I stooped down as if to pick more roses, but so awkardly that I stumbled forward, and all the contents of my apron fell on the ground. VOL. I.-M

His