piest moments of my intercourse with my friends; and often, when the merry laugh and the joyous glee which pervaded our parties at the villa was at the highest, I thought of that picture, and my heart sank at the recollection, and I would hasten to my home to conceal from every eye the terror and anguish these thoughts ever inspired me with.

One evening when dressing for the -count's villa I received a billet, written in pencil and evidently in haste; it came from himself and informed me that the countess, who had that morning made a short excursion upon the river, had returned home so ill that the entertainment was deferred. I was, however, requested to call the following morning, to take some sketches of Pirna from the villa, which I had long since promised to make for them. So completely had I withdrawn myself from all other society during my great intimacy with Count Lowenstein, that I now felt the billet I received left me unable to say where or how I should pass my evening.

In this uncertainty I wandered forth, and without thinking whither my steps led me, it was only on hearing the boatmen ask if I were ready, that I perceived I had strolled to the steps beside the bridge, where I usually took my departure for the villa. Lost in reverie and led captive by habit, I had walked to this spot unconsciously to myself.

I was about to dismiss the boatmen for the night, when a whim seized me to drop on board and visit those small and wooded islands that lie about a league up the river. It was a calm and beautiful night; and in the wild and untrodden solitude of these romantic islands I remained till near midnight.

As we passed the grounds of the count, I ordered the boatmen to land me at a spot remote from the house, whence I could proceed on foot, wishing to make some inquiry for the countess before I returned home. They accordingly put me on shore at a small flight of steps which descended to the water's edge, from a terraced path that ran a considerable distance through the park, and was concealed in its entire length by tall hedges of beech, completely overgrown with

flowering creeping shrubs, and so impenetrable, that even in noon-day, it was impossible for those without to see persons walking within, while the closely-shaven sod effectually preventfootsteps being heard. The moon was up, and nearly at the full, and all beneath me in the richly-ornamented flower-garden was bathed in a sea of mellow light. The marble statues that adorned the walks threw their lengthened shadows at their bases, while their own whiteness seemed purer and fairer than ever. The villa itself, half obscured by trees, seemed, in its tranquil beauty, the very emblem of peace; and as the pillars of the portico threw a deeper shadow, gave a broadness to the effect which struck me as wonderfully beautiful. I gazed around me with momentarily increasing admiration. The gentle murmuring of the leaves agitated by the breeze, and the plash of the river, made the silence around me even more striking. I stood lost in the enjoyment of the delicious repose of the whole scene, when a slight noise upon the gravel walk attracted my attention; I listened, and now distinctly heard footsteps approaching, and also the voices of persons whispering in a low and much suppressed tone. They came nearer, and were now only concealed from my view by the tall hedge, beneath which they walked; and soon the shadow of two figures were cast along the broad walk in the bright moonlight. For a moment they stopped speaking, and then I heard a laugh, in a low and under tone-but such a laugh. My very blood ran chilled back upon my heart as I heard it. Oh, if the fiend himself had given that dreadful and heart-appalling laugh, it could not be more awful. scarcely died away in the faint echo, ere I heard the sobs, deep and low, of another and far different voice. this instant the figures emerged from the darkness and stood in the bright moonlight. They stood beside an old and broken pillar, which had once supported a sun-dial, and around whose shaft the clustering ivy had wound itself. They were entirely concealed by large cloaks which enveloped their entire figures, but still I could perceive that one was much larger and more robust than the other. This latter taking a small lamp, which was concealed be

It

At

neath the folds of his cloak, placed it upon the pillar, while at the same instant, the other figure, throwing off the cloak, knelt at his feet. Oh, that reason had left me or that life itself had parted from me ere I should look upon that scene. She-she who knelt and held her suppliant hands was La Mercia; and he who now divested of his mantle, stood over her-was the dark and awful-looking man of the picture. There they stood. The dresses of both were copied to the life; their looks-oh, heaven! their very looks were pictured as they stood.

She

spoke and as she did so, her arms fell powerless before her. he scowled the same horrid scowl of hate and scorn. My brain was turning; I tried to scream out, my voice failed me-I was mute and powerless; my knees rocked and smote each other; convulsive tremor shook me to the centre, and with a groan of agony I sank fainting to the earth.

The day was breaking ere I came to myself; I arose, all was quiet around

me.

I walked to the boat-the boatmen were sleeping; I awoke them, and we returned to Dresden. I threw myself upon my bed-my brain seemed stupified and exhausted-I fell into a profound sleep, and woke not till late the following evening. A messenger had brought a note from the count— "The countess is worse." The note detailed briefly that she had passed a feverish and disturbed night, and that the medical attendants had never left the villa. Was it then but a dream-my dreadful vision of the past night? and had my mind, sorrowing for the affliction of my best friend, conjured up the awful scenes I believed to have witnessed? How could it be otherwise? The billet I received told most distinctly that she was confined to her bed, severely, dangerously ill; and of course watched with all the care and attention the most sedulous anxiety could confer. I opened the picture, and then conviction flashed with lightning's rapidity upon me, that it was not delusion-that no dream had brought these images before my mind. "Ah," I cried, "my friend, my patron, how have I betrayed thee? Why did I not earlier communicate the dreadful story of the picture, and thus guard you against the machina,

tions which the fiend himself surrounded you by. But then what had I to tell how embody the vague and shadowy doubts that took, even in my own mind, no palpable shape or form ?"

That entire day was passed in alternate resolution and abandonment; now determined to hasten to the villa, and disclose to the count every circumstance I had seen, and then, thinking how little such mere suspicion would. gain credence; and how unfit the present moment to obtrude upon his breaking and distracted heart, the horrid dread that haunted mine. Towards evening, a messenger arrived, breathless with haste. He brought no note, but merely bade me hasten to the villa, as the count wished to see me with all possible dispatch. I mounted the servant's horse, and in a few minutes reached the place. Servants were running hither and thither distractedly. I asked, eagerly, how was the countess? No one could tell, but all seemed to imply that there was no hope of recovery. I entered the large and spacious hall, and threw myself upon a sofa; and as I looked around upon the splendid hangings, the gilded cornices, and marbled pillars, and thought upon that sorrow such splendour surrounded, my heart sickened. A shadow fell upon the brightly-polished floor. I looked up a figure stood at the window of the hall, and stared me steadily in the face. The eyes glared wildly, and the dark malignant features were lit up with a scornful scowl of more than human

hate and triumph. It was the incarnation of the Evil One exulting over a fallen and lost spirit. A loud shriek rent the air behind me; I dared not turn my eyes from the horrid sight before me. "Oh heavens! it is true-he is, he is the Tuttore," I cried, as the features, convulsed for an instant with fiendish triumph, resumed their cold and even more appalling aspect. A threatening gesture from his hand arrested me, as I was about to call aloud. My voice came not, though my lips moved. I could not rise from the seat -a dreadful scream rang through the building-another, and another followed-the figure was gone. At the same moment the count rushed forward his dress disordered, his hair

falling loosely upon his shouldersmadness, wild insanity in his look. He turned and saw me; and bursting into a torrent of hysterical laughter, cried

out

"Ha, ha, Carl !-welcome to our abode of pleasure; here is all gaiety and happiness. What sorrow ever crosses this threshold ?" and then, with a sudden revulsion, he stared me fixedly, and said in a low sepulchral voice" She is dead-dead! but the time is passing-a few minutes more, and 'twill he too late; this Carl will explain all. Take this, and this-these papers must be your care-promise me to observe them to the letter; they were her-her last wishes, and you knew her. Oh, is this a dream? it is tootoo horrible to be real. Ah!" said he, after a moment's pause; "I am ready!" and springing from me wildly, rushed through the door towards the inner apartments.

I started up and followed him-I knew not which way he took in the corridor; and as I stood uncertain, a loud report of fire-arms crashed on my ear. I flew to the sick chamber-servants stood gasping and trembling without. I tore open the door; there lay the count upon the floor, his head rent asunder by the bullets from the pistol his hand still grasped. He had endeavoured to reach the bed, and fell half upon a chair. In the bed lay the still warm corpse of the countess, beautiful as in life. I looked from one to the other; my seared and stony heart turned to apathy by the horrors I had witnessed, gave no relief to its feeling in tears; and I spoke not as I slowly left the room.

For two days I spoke not to any one. A dreamy unconsciousness seemed to wrap my faculties, and I felt not the time passing. On the third day, I rallied sufficiently to open the papers the count had entrusted to me. One contained an affectionate farewell to myself, from the count, with a dying bequest; the other was in a lady's hand-it bore the countess's signature; and here I discovered with surprise and horror, that to the performance of the rash act, by which the count had terminated his existence, he was bound by a solemn oath. I read, and reread, to assure myself of the fact. It was true. Such was the terrible pro

mise she extorted from the wretched lover, under the delusive hope of their meeting in another and happier life. Then followed the directions for the funeral, which were minute to a degree. The bodies of both, when coffined, were to be placed in a small temple in the garden, near the river; the key of which was to be sent to a Dominican monk, who lived in an ob scure part of the city. By him were the coffins to be closed, which it was strictly enjoined should be done by him alone and unaccompanied, the night before the burial.

All was done, as the wish of the deceased enjoined; and the key despatched by a trusty servant of my own, to the friar, who appeared to be in expectation of it, and knew its import.

I sat in the lonely and desolate room, which had formerly been mine in the villa of the count; that long and dreary night the wind poured its mournful wailing through the pine trees in dirgeful memory of him who was no more. From the window of the temple a bright light gleamed till near morning, when it gradually faded away. Thither I repaired at day-break, with the household. All was still-the door lay open the coffins were closed and screwed down. The friar was gone;

we afterwards found that he had not returned to his lodgings in the city, nor was he ever after seen in Dresden. The bodies were committed to the earth, and I returned to my home alone in the world.

It was several years after thisthe awful death of my earliest, best friend that I arrived in Paris to exhibit, in the gallery of the Luxembourg, a historical picture, upon which I had laboured for years. I must be brief. My picture was exhibited, and my most sanguine expectations surpassed by its success; and in a few short days the whole scene of my early triumph was re-enacted. Praise and flattery poured in upon me; and as in Dresden before, so now in Paris I became the fashion and the rage. how changed was I! No longer exulting in my success, and buoyant with hopes, I received all the adulation I met with, with cold indifference and apathy.

But

Among the many attentions which

my popularity had conferred upon me, was an invitation to the Hotel de Rohan. The duke, a most distinguished connoisseur in painting, having seen and applauded my picture, waited on me. Thus bound in duty, I went; and fatigued by the round of soulless gaiety, in what I could no longer feel happy, or even forgetful, I was retiring early, when the duke met met me and said—

"Ah, monsieur, I have been looking for you. The Comtesse de Julliart has desired me to present you to her; and when I tell you that she is the most beautiful woman in Paris, I need not say how much you must prize the honour among all the distinctions your talents have earned; come this way."

I followed mechanically-my heart took no interest in the scene and I only longed to be once more alone and unobserved. As I walked after the duke, he gave me a short account of the beautiful countess, whom he mentioned as the last descendant of an old and honoured family, supposed to have been long since extinct, when she, a few months before, appeared in Paris, and laid claim to the title. As she possessed unbounded wealth, and had no great favours to ask any where, the

court were charmed with her beauty, and readily admitted her claims, which some were ill-natured enough to say, were perhaps merely assumed without foundation.

I took little interest in the story. My thoughts were far away, as they ever were for many years, from every thing of the present; and 'twas only as I heard the duke announce my name among a group who stood near a sofa, that I remembered why I was there.

The countess sat with her back to us, but rose immediately on hearing my name. I bowed deeply as she stood up; and recovering myself from my obeisance, looked up. Oh! merciful heaven, with what horror I looked. -It was no other than La Mercia. With one loud cry of "'tis she, 'tis she," I fell fainting to the floor.

Weeks of wild raving and delirium followed. I left Paris-I returned to Dresden. There all reminded me of the past. I fled from my home; and now, after years of wandering in solitary and distant lands, I feel deep in my heart the heavy curse that has followed upon my broken oath, and which has made me an outcast and a brokenhearted wanderer in the world for

ever.