during life, the affections of your husband."

The Duchess trembled at these words, and dismissed the sorceress, but Laura still retained her. Rosalba in despair, after having exhausted repeated offers of reward-repeated entreaties to find some other mode of relief, at length yielded to the obstinacy of the Jewess, who declared that alone to be infallible. These horrible hairs must be severed by the timid Rosalba!

"Hearken," said the Pythoness. "At half a league distance from Palermo, on the road from Corlione, is a little chapel surrounded by a deep ditch: a wooden bridge leads to this chapel, round which, on the outside, is a stone railing, half a foot in breadth. Above this railing are suspended from the wall, the bodies of those criminals executed at Palermo. They remain there until they drop down into the ditch, which serves as a sepulchre for their disgusting relics. If you have sufficient courage, or rather sufficient love, to go to this chapel alone, at the hour of midnight; to stand on the railing, and to cut with your left hand the hair of the first malefactor which may offer, I will answer for the rest. But no one must accompany youyou must go all alone, and precisely at the hour of midnight."

Rosalba reflected some moments, then forcibly seizing the hand of the old Jewess, exclaimed, " I will go!" Eleven o'clock struck:-Rosalba prepared for her enterprise. She demanded her mantle; Laura trembled in presenting it. She takes a dark lantern, provides scissors, arms herself with a poignard, desires the sorceress to wait, and escaping by the garden door, pursues the road from Corlione, and proceeds alone in cheerless solitude and darkness, preserving a firm and rapid step, and chasing away all ideas save her adored, though unworthy spouse.

She arrives, beholds the chapel

....an universal tremor seizes her : notwithstanding, without a single pause, she seeks with the lantern the entrance of the wooden bridge. It is crossed....she advances, and preparing to step on the stone railing, she stops to examine it by the light of her glimmering lamp. This railing was not half a foot wide; it was formed with a slope, inclining towards the ditch. The Duchess directs her light, and casts her eyes over the precipice, where thousands of bones, whitening in the gleam at the depth of twenty fathoms, glare appalling!

Rosalba, ready to faint, yet makes a desperate effort, and rests one foot on the narrow railing; at the second she trembles. Her first impulse is to stretch forth her hand, to lean against the wall....this hand encounters the leg of one of the gibbetted bodies!....she seizes it: it proves a support. She passes the lantern from her left hand to that which clasped the leg, takes the scissors, and rising on the points of her ill-secured feet, she endeavours to reach the head of the corpse, in order to cut the hair. In the midst of this fearful occupation, an open carriage, drawn by six horses, passes the highway. In this carriage sat a gentleman who was conducting two opera dancers home to his country house. He perceived the glimmering of the lamp, and distinguishes a woman, apparently in the act of taking down one of the bodies. Seized with horror, the young man imagines this to be a sorceress who meditates some atrocious purpose. He stops his horses, leaps from the carriage, advances, and exclaims

"Infamous hag! let the dead rest in peace, or learn to dread the living; tremble, lest 1 tear from thy hands their frightful prey, and then deliver thee to the Holy Office!"

What was the situation of the Duchess during these words:-they were the accents of her husband!

In her terror and surprise she drops the lantern, which suddenly extinguishes, and the unfortunate, surrounded by fearful darkness, rests suspended from the corpse, with scarcely power to breathe - her strength had quite forsaken her.

The Duke redoubles his threats : -he crosses the bridge. Forced thus to speak, Rosalba, in a voice nearly inarticulate, cried,-"stop, stop! I meditate not a crime. God and my heart can witness it. Commit not thus an outrage on a wretch who merits at least your pity; and come no farther lest you plunge me down this precipice!"

At these words, -at the sound of this voice, the Duke recognises his spouse. He utters a piercing cry, rushes towards her, calling on the name of Rosalba, and entreating her to feel reassured, he even expressed himself in terms of passionate tenderness, which her fearful position drew from his heart. He gains the spot, takes her in his arms, carries her fainting to his carriage, from whence he chases those who occupied it so unworthily, and flying swiftly towards Palermo, petrified with astonishment and terror, they arrive at the palace before the Duchess was restored to animation. Laura, on receiving her mistress senseless from the arms of Castellamare, fills the air with shrieks of despair. She employs every means of restoring her, whilst the Duke, almost distracted with suspense and horror, sought in vain to comprehend this scene of mystery. The Jewess then addressed to him these words, in a tone of imposing gravity :

" Insensible and cruel man, fall at the feet of your amiable and unhappy wife-adore this divine model of passionate and faithful affection! never lover, - never husband, received a proof of devotion so great, so powerful, so touching, as you have experienced. Learn, ungrate-ful as you are, learn what the tender,

timid Rosalba has encountered for you! Blush, for having reduced her to such debasing extremity, and employ your future life in repaying the obligation which this night has imposed."

The Jewess then related minutely her conversation with the Duchess, and the terrible enterprise which she exacted from her. The Duke interrupted the recital-he fell on his knees before his wife - he shed tears of admiration, of tenderness, of repentance! He vows to make amends by eternal constancy, for the past, -he sues for pardon, and acknowledges himself a villian. The tender Rosalba raises him, with a melancholy smile; she presses him to her bosom, bathes his cheeks with tears of joy; and both, uttering at once the language of gratitude, offer mutual thanks for the happiness which they now hope to enjoy.

From this moment, the young Castellamare abandoning the profligate companions, who had not succeeded in corrupting him; happy in a species of enjoyment unknown to his heart-that arising solely from virtue, pure love, and intellectual peace: Castellamare, more enamoured than ever, more beloved by Rosalba, felt time pass cloudlessly on in the society of his lovely wife, the children which she brought him, and the good old Compte Scanzano.

The Jewess, rich in the bounty of the Duchess, renounced her former calling; she even confessed, that in proposing to Rosalba this enterprise, she knew that the Duke passed that way generally at midnight. She had perhaps calculated on the probable effect of this rencounter : although this does not diminish the glory of her success, nor yet weaken my faith in the power of enchant

ments.

ORIENTAL MAXIM.

Never trust appearances; whatever noise a drum makes, 'tis only filled with air.

Characteristics.

ENGLISH SOCIABILITY.

It chanced that a few evenings since, I found myself seated in the box of a coffee room, immediately opposite a foreigner, in whose favor I was somewhat prepossessed by the first impression. We had simultaneously laid down our papers, and as no foreigner is at a loss to introduce some subject of conversation, and as this is a talent in which I have always considered they have the advantage of us, and have, of course, admired and encouraged it, we were soon as deep in the familiarities of social conversation, as if we had been intimates of years standing. There are men in the world, with whom an intercourse of some hours is necessary, before even they can be said to have become our acquaintances, and with whom, on every fresh interview, we have to form one anew. These are the beings that take you by the hand as though you stung them, and measure and dole out their words, as though you listened only to cavil at them. Not so my voluble friend; he was, I should imagine, about sixty, but hale and strong; his face was toil-worn, and his hair, interspersed with grey, was hanging lank and thin over his forehead; his eye was piercing and vivacious, he abounded in anecdote, and seemed strongly impressed with a sense of our national sullenness and taciturnity, in illustration of which, "It is no very long time," said he, "since I was called by business into Yorkshire. When I do travel, I have always plenty of money, and I do like to spend it; I do like to have my pleasure. It was in one of your stages, and so soon as we had left London, I did begin, as my way is, to talk of the news, and the price of merchandise, and on the church, and every thing I could think of; but no-although there were three gentlemen and two ladies-I could

not for all my soul divine what was the pursuit of any of them. Yes' and 'no,' they would say, and at length they all went to sleep. Well, the supper time is come; I do say to the coachman, stay as long as you can, and there is money for you to drink with. Well, we sit down, I do call for two bottles of wine, and I say, ladies and gentlemen, you will not do me the honor to talk with me, I shall hope to have the pleasure of to drink to our better acquaintance. The ladies stare and look to suspect me-will not drink with me; the gentlemen always take spirit when they travel, and take to themselves as much as they think they can eat, without too much ceremony, and devour it with great appetite, but without replying to me. What am I to do? I take two, three glasses of wine; I am determined to make them speak if I can, and I talk of robbers; but my two ladies only eye me more suspiciously, and my gentlemen give me one way or the other to understand they go well armed, and then in a few minutes fall to whisper and to cast their eyes on me with great significance; and when we once more take our seats, I give it up for a bad job. But I sometimes ask, who lives in such a place? when it is the light of day; my companions don't know, and at length I do decide I am in a very entertaining company. I have tried every thing I can think of, and all will not do. Well I must submit. Now you shall see what will set their tongues at liberty; you shall see their taste. The mail passes us a little on this side York, and when we reach that place, we find it is reported that a certain nobleman have cut his throat; after this I have no room to say any thing. I do go with them fifteen miles further, and as they all five do talk together and without ceasing about my lord's suicide, in having the honour of wishing them good day, I say, I do hope when

ON PASSAIC FALLS.

In a wild tranquil vale, fringed with forests of green, Where nature had fashion'd a soft silvan scene, The retreat of the ring-dove, the haunt of the deer,

PASSAIC in silence roll'd gently and clear. No grandeur of prospect astonish'd the sight, No abruptness sublime mingled awe with delight;

There the wild flowret blossom'd, the elm proudly waved,

And pure was the current the green bank that laved.

But the spirit that ruled o'er the thick-tangled
wood,
And had fixed in its gloomy recess his abode,
Loved best the rude scene that the whirlwinds

With a glance of disgust he the landscape survey'd,

deform.

And gloried in thunder, and lightning, and

With its fragrant wild flowrets, its wide-waving shade,

storm.

Its rivers meand'ring through margins of green, Transparent its waters-its surface serene.

of flame,

He rived the green hills-the wild woods he laid low,

All flush'd from the tumult of battle he came, Where the red men encounter'd the children

Where shadows of horror embrown the dark wood,

And the rainbow and mist mark the turbulent flood.

Countless moons have since roll'd in this long lapse of time,

Cultivation has soften'd those features sublime, The axe of the white man enliven'd the shade, And dispell'd the deep gloom of the thicketed glade.

Yet the stranger still gazes, with wondering eye,

On rocks rudely torn and groves mounted on high

Still loves on the cliff's dizzy border to roam, Where the torrent leaps headlong embosom'd in foam.

The Essayist.

THE BLESSINGS OF A GOOD
APPETITE.

I was struck the other day with the singular coolness or total suspension of passion or pursuit, which many men manifest at their meals or on similar occasions. Mr. Anderson, in his life of Dr. Johnson, has given us a curious account of his voracious mode of eating or drinking; but with the Doctor, I believe, the practice of fiercely devouring his food was perfectly voluntary. There are men, however, and I have seen many such, who cannot command their appetite for eating and drinkink, and who, if they are immediately before dinner suffering under the greatest mental agony, if their minds are fully and keenly occupied with the most serious affairs of distress or business, war or love, abandon every thing the moment dinner is announced. If any class or number of men are happier than another, surely these must be the happiest of nature's children. They are born to enjoy the periodical obliteration of all their troubles by legs of mutton or rounds of beef; and their most acute sensations of pleasure must be merged in those tranquil intervals of intellectual oblivion. From this happy interruption, such persons will never be either much afflicted with violent emotions of delight, or extraordinary paroxysms of grief. They will go

through the world like philosophers, and the world itself confounding their philosophy with their eating and drinking, will perhaps conceive that eating and drinking are in themselves incentives to philosophy.

I have read in the works of some great medical author, that the courage of a properly constituted man generally rose and fell with the state of the stomach. I believe that any soldier who has seen hard service will be able to say, that fighting is never half so successful before as after dinner. A good dinner rejoices and encourages the animal propensities, at the same time that it lays asleep the finer intelectual organs, which, before dinner, would probably have tempted the possessor to run away. Where there is a sudden demand for the energy of an army, recourse is generally had to spiritous liquors to rouse them into bravery; thus Mina observes, in his dispatch of the 27th of October, to the Spanish Cortes, "At day-break I ordered an allowance of brandy to be distributed among the troops;" but I make no doubt that wherever time and opportunity admit of it, solid food has a much more martial effect upon the animal man. Spirit may give a desultory, desperate lighttroop sort of courage; but I put it to all experienced commanders, whether the "flesh of beeves, or goats, or mutton" will not endue soldiers with the true animation of men of metal, with that single-souled, wall-like, phalanx-moving inspiration, which enables them to fight unbroken through the ranks of their enemies, which gives them the power of keeping a breach filled with assailant life till the assault succeeds, which alone emboldens them to ford rivers en masse, to spike hot cannon with their bayonets, and to take a place by assault, as it were by marching through and over tremendous iron gates and hitherto impregnable towers. It would be worth the labor of some