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vity, paved with broad easy steps, over which the grass and a few wild flowers trailed carelessly, to show how little that path was used as a link with the world. The funereal trees which had spoken mournfulness in the distance now reared their slender columns and swelled into shadow on either side; and at every few steps was a crucifix, with some saintly inscription to dispel the memory of scenes less holy.

At the end of this avenue was a sad-looking edifice, with gothic arches and balustraded galleries, with an image of the Holy Virgin beside the ponderous doors, and a broad dial above them, which had no sun to mark the hour, and seemed to indicate a place where time stood still. The priest touched the bell, the latch rose with a string, and they traversed gallery and quadrangle as though the walls were deserted, till they entered an apartment of the interior, where Frederic was left alone.

All that he had observed on his approach was that he was probably conducted to the holy father's monastery; and he gazed from the deep casement on the remote city of sorrows without heeding the moments that passed, or

giving a thought to what they might produce. At length the father returned; his face was not free from emotion, and he prepared his companion for the exhortations of one who had experience to appreciate his grief and to direct its cure.

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"You have no word to say," continued he;

your tale is told; and your deepest sin absolved by a spirit whose pardon will be ratified."

There was a mystery in the old man's manner, and a tear in his eye, by which Frederic was startled into a sudden perception of the place in which he stood. His agitation increased to a shudder.

"Father," he exclaimed, "what place is this? This is no house of holy brotherhood. These flowers-these delicate works of charity -these implements of woman's occupationbear witness all to the wild whispering of my soul. This is the convent-Teresina the forgiving spirit !—Deny it, and forgiveness comes too late!"

He flung himself in frenzy at the confessor's feet; and, as he gasped for speech, a hand

placed gently on his head bestowed its blessing-a voice of melody from the spheres pronounced the name of Frederic-and at the

same moment his arms received his Teresina.

VOL. I.

D

THE LOVER'S QUARREL.

A TALE OF THE ENGLISH CHRONICLES.

Alas, how light a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love!

Hearts that the world in vain had tried,

And sorrow but more closely tied;

That stood the storm when waves were rough,

Yet in a sunny hour fell off,

Like ships that have gone down at sea

When heaven was all tranquillity.

Moore.

I WISH I could describe the young Lady Sibyl: she was rather tall than otherwise, and her head was carried with a toss of the prettiest pride I ever saw; in truth, there was a supernatural grace in her figure, by which she was in duty bound to be more lofty in her demeanour than other people. Her eyes were of a pure, dark hazel, and seemed to wander from the earth as though they were surprised how they happened to drop out of the skies; and the sweet, high, and mighty witchery that sport

ed round her threatening lips inspired one with a wonderful disposition to fall down and worship her. It was, of course, not to be expected that such a strangely gifted lady should be quite so easily contented with her cavaliers as those who were not gifted at all; and Sibyl, very properly, allowed it to be understood that she despised the whole race. She likewise allowed it to be understood that, the world being by no means good enough for her, she conceived the best society it afforded to be her own wilful cogitations; and that she meant to pass the whole of her pretty life in solitude and meditation. People conjectured that she was in love, and too proud to show it; and Sibyl surmised that they were vastly impertinent, and by no means worth satisfying.

There was a small grotto by the lake that wound before the old arched windows of the hall; a world of fine foliage was matted fantastically above and around it, so as to exclude every intruder but the kingfisher, who plunged, meteor-like, on his golden prey, and vanished in the shade before he was well seen; and an endless variety of woodbines leaped from branch

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