Two other queens, the last of the proud dynasty of Aragon, were, one after the other, oppressed, abused, and shut up in the small castle of the rocky Ischia. Caroline of Austria (nicknamed Pappea), a woman whose ambition caused a river of blood to be shed in the kingdom of Naples, was the first wife of Ferdinand I. of Bourbon. She was three times a fugitive, despised, disgraced, and cursed by the people; and she died of a broken heart, in exile. sensual appetites, which seemed to strengthen | the hopelessness of a further struggle, he finally in intensity as her advancing age increased the abandoned the kingdom to his rival, and joined shame of indulging in them. She married James the queen, bringing her the sad news of the loss of Bourbon, Count of la Marche, who, in reward of a crown in 1442. for having obtained a kingdom, gave her, in re- Another Isabella was the wife of Frederick, turn, contempt, domestic war, and sorrow. who ascended the throne of Naples in 1496, on His first acts were to deprive her of the royal au- the death of Ferdinand the Second of Aragon. thority; to arrest, torture, and put to a cruel She was exiled and imprisoned in France, in and an ignominious death, Jacopo Pandelfello-1501; then escaped and took refuge in a small the first minion of Joanna, a young man of five- convent in Ferrara, where she was miserably and-twenty, of low birth, and with the solitary supported by the charity of some friars. recommendation of a handsome person-and to imprison and subject her for one year to a rigid state of durance. She was then rescued from her guards, in a popular tumult, and compelled to besiege and expel her husband from the kingdom, who died in a Franciscan Convent in France. Being without offspring, or the hope of having any, she adopted as her heir Alfonzo of Aragon, King of Aragon and Sicily, who, jealous of her power, came to an open rupture with her, arrested her second minion (she could not remain without one), Sir Giovanni Caraccioli, besieged herself in her palace, and compelled her to summon Sforza to her deliverance. Scarcely was she delivered than she substituted (1423) Louis of Anjou for her heir; but this substitution proved not useful to her also. After ten years of peace, in which she was tyrannized over by Caraccioli, even beyond the endurance of woman's love, and doubting in her safety, she sought refuge in the confidence of the Duchess of Suessa, the consequence of which was painful to her. This new favourite inflamed her weakness to anger against Caraccioli, awakened her apprehensions of his designs, induced her to permit his arrest, and obtained a pardon for all those who assassinated him in the same royal palace. This very Duchess afterwards took the part of Alfonzo, and obtained from Joanna a secret revocation of her adoption of Louis of Anjou, which was of no use to him. She at length adopted Regnier, brother of the Duke of Anjou, and died utterly worn out in mind and body in 1435. Isabella was a princess of great spirit and the wife of Regnier, to whom Joanna had bequeathed the kingdom of Naples. On the death of the latter, Alfonzo of Aragon immediately made his claim upon her kingdom, and trusted to the force of his arms. Unhappily for Regnier, he was at that time a prisoner to the Duke of Burgundy, and Isabella hastened to Naples to maintain the rights of her captive lord; but she brought with her neither treasure nor soldiers. She supported with difficulty the unequal conflict against the King of Aragon, but yet prolonged it for three years, when her husband, having effected his ransom (1438), joined her. When the troops began to desert, and his possessions were gradually wrested from him, until the city of Naples alone remained in his interest, the Queen Isabella escaped from the kingdom with her children. Shortly after, the troops of Alfonzo entered Naples by surprise, through a deserted aqueduct; Regnier then escaped also, and, perceiving Caroline Murat, sister to the first Napoleon, after a short reign, descended from the throne of Naples and returned to France, only to hear of her husband being shot at Pizzo, in Calabria, by order of Ferdinand the First. Clementina was the first wife of Francis the First, who ascended the throne of Naples in 1825. This queen was always unhappy. After her marriage she was a long time delayed in Austria by the hindrance of war. She at length reached Naples, during the French armistice, and shortly after was obliged to fly with her husband to Sicily; finally dying, in her 20th year, of melancholy and a broken heart. Maria Christina, the good and sainted queen of Ferdinand the Second, of cursed memory, was his first wife, as well as his first victim. Abused by her husband, after her accouchment in 1836,* and frightened by a duel which was about to take place between the King and his brother Charles, she died after a few days, regretted by all who knew her. Maria Theresa of Austria was the second wife, and is now the widow, of Ferdinand Bomba. She was, as a queen. cruel and sanguinary, like her husband, and hated by the people to death. When Francis the Second granted a constitution to save his dynasty, she, to escape the popular fury, was obliged to fly from the Capital, and shut herself up in Gaeta for several months, and then leave for Rome, exiled, despised, and accursed by all. The young Queen Maria Sophia was deemed to close the list of the queens of Naples. *When well enough to get up after her accouchment, the King, playing with her in his room, as she arose took away the chair where she had down again, she fell on her back. The King bebeen seated; SO that when she bent to sit ginning to laugh, she felt indignant, and said"Your Majesty has just played the part of a Lazzarone." Upon which, Ferdinand gave her a severe blow on her cheek-an insult not only unkingly, but unmanly. Scarcely had she married Francis II. (who was brought up to be a Capuchin) when she was put into mourning by the death of her father-inlaw. As soon as she was a queen, Garibaldi upset the throne of her husband, and, being shut up in Gaeta, she suffered the shame and grief of a defeat; and, after a reign of one year, in the very hour in which Cialdini entered Gaeta, she left the Neapolitan shores, never, it would seem, to see them again. This historical sketch speaks too plainly of the sad destiny of the Queens of Naples; and it cannot be considered anything else than a piece of good fortune for the Princesses of Europe, that the line of the Queens of Naples has finished, and that of the Queens of Italy begun. LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONES. FERGUS AND HENRY. BY HANNAH CLAY. "Fergus, my dear, do you know that you are acquiring a very bad habit of striking and beating your little brother for the merest trifle? Some day you may cause a serious accident, and hurt him severely. I shall be compelled to chastise you if this goes on long. I have not yet told your dear Papa, because I do not like to vex him, when he can stay with us at home so seldom; but-" "Oh no, Mamma! dear Mamma!" exclaimed Fergus, with a burst of tears. "Indeed I do not mean to be a naughty boy: and if you will only not tell Papa, I will not be so any more. Only kiss me and forgive me, Mamma, and smile upon me as you used to do!" That night the little boy added to his usual evening prayer these words-" Please God help me to be a better boy to my little brother!" But although Fergus wished now and then to be a better and kinder boy, and even tried a little to be so, he did not try very hard: and poor Henry, who was a most amiable child, still received many an undeserved thump and blow. Nurse did not like to tell; and it happened that Mrs. Linton was very much engaged for a considerable period; so that nothing of this came to her personal knowledge, and she really thought Fergus had improved in his temper. One summer-day the little boys were playing on a large grass-plot surrounding the fish-pond in front of the house, and which towards the middle sloped down on all sides to the edge of the water, where swam various pretty ducks of foreign breeds. Usually the two children were not permitted to play on this grass-plot; but to-day they were considered quite safe; because not only was their careful nurse watching over them, but their mamma herself, her fair face shaded by a large garden-bonnet, was fishing with a rod and line, beneath the shade of a drooping willow that stood between them and the water, in the company of her friend Miss Frances Rigby. Papa likewise, at home on one of his brief holidays, sauntered along a path near the fish-pond, now and then turning his frank and noble countenance towards his dear boys, and smiling upon their gambols with all a father's love "Mamma! Mamma!" cried Fergus, "do turn your head, if you please, and look at the funny man!" And he clapped his plump, chubby hands. This "funny man," the object of Fergus's admiration, was a portly Dutchman, with a noble paunch, constructed so cunningly of gutta percha, that he could roll to any extent without permanently reversing his natural position; always returning, like the wise man out of the depths of misfortune, head uppermost. The Dutchman had dangled, like a ripe fruit, from the last Christmas-tree, and Fergus had gathered him, and had possessed him ever since. But with prudent foresight Mrs. Linton had put him away for awhile; and he had only been brought out this sultry afternoon to keep the children quiet on the sunny grass-plot. "Look, Mamma! look, Papa! look, do, please, Miss Fanny!" called out Fergus again, as the Dutchman commenced another caracole. "I do think he is funnier than ever!" "Me! me !" cried little Henry, extending his dimpled finger to give the toy a push-" me do it, Furry!" "No, not you! Let him alone!" said Fergus. "He is mine, and you mustn't play with him." Henry, however, persisted with baby perseverance; and Fergus, raising his hand in a fit of passion, gave him a blow that sent him rolling down the slope of the grass-plot. Nurse jumped up, with lips as white as death; mamma, glancing round, caught a glimpse of her darling baby's peril, and uttered a frenzied scream. Little Henry rolled on over the smooth, slippery grass with accelerating motion, and fell with a dull splash into the deep water. All was confusion and dismay; and when Mr. Linton turned from his extended promenade at the further end of the gravelled path, he beheld his wife leaning far over the brink of the fishpond. Her taper, jewelled arms and hands reflected gleamingly from its depths, and the nurse and her friend Miss Frances struggling with her to prevent her from uselessly following her precious baby into the suffocating waters. The father divined, rather than saw, what had occurred. To throw off his coat, and rush to the rescue, was but the work of a moment with the strong, loving man. Little Henry was caught as he rose to the surface, close to a group of pure white water-lilies-well was it for him that he had not been detained in the tangle of their roots and branches: as it was, he was only partially insensible. His papa bore him tenderly to the house, and he was soon stripped of his wet garments, and warmly cradled in his mother's arms, while her tears of joy bedewed his curly head. But my young readers will naturally ask, "Where is poor Fergus? What has become of him all this time?" thought he perceived, in a little hollow cleared of underwood, the glimmer of a scarlet sash. He hastened to the spot, and there indeed was his poor boy crouched close to the ground, his cherub face hidden in his little hands, over which his flaxen curls fell dank and dishevelled. Fergus! dear child!" exclaimed the father, in his tender, vibrating tones-"rise up, and come with me, my dear boy. Your little brother is safe, and all will be forgiven !" Fergus yielded to the kind force that was exerted to raise him, "Oh! Papa," he cried, throwing his arms round his father's neck, and bursting into a passionate flood of tears-" oh, Papa, I am so glad! I meant to die here, and never, never come home again, if I had killed Brother Henry!" Mr. Linton, notwithstanding the agitation he had passed through, could scarcely forbear smiling. That was more than anyone could tell, when at last they could turn their attention from his little brother to look for him. The boy had disappeared, and they almost began to fear that he might, in a fit of childish terror and re"And did our dear boy think that Papa and have thrown himself into the water. Mamma would make no search for him to bring morse, However, before they could resolve to make him back again, even if his wicked temper had preparations for dragging the pond, Jemmy-killed his poor little brother? No, no, we love a man who helped in the little farm-yard at-him far too well for that; and we hope to see tached to Mr. Linton's estate-came up to the him endeavouring, with all his heart, by God's house to say that he had seen Master Fergus in the Deep Lane about the time the accident must help, and for the sake of the love we bear him, to get rid of this wicked temper, which causes have occurred. This Deep Lane ran on one side of the house, and led to a somewhat ex-mise me this? Only to try, really and with all so much unhappiness. Will my Fergus protensive wood. It was a lonely place; but, as his might, remembering that this day's blessed the man had often seen him there, gathering sunlight had nearly set upon a little chickweed and groundsel for his canary-bird, he did not think much of it, and went about his business without speaking to him. derer!" mur Fergus still sobbed and wept, as though he could never be comforted; but he made a soMr. Linton immediately went in search of the lemn promise to his father, though feebly and child. The lane was narrow and winding, with with broken words—and he meant it too. And a high bank and hedge on each side, hence its so great is the success of really trying, with name. The anxious father passed turning after one's heart in the attempt, that, although many turning, looking round each hedge and bush, in weeks did not pass without the occurrence of the hope of seeing his child: still no Fergus other childish altercations, and the little boy's appeared. At length, very far on, near the hand was again lifted against his brother more entrance to the wood, he found the toy which than once, the memory of that dreadful day arhad been the occasion of the sad occurrence. rested the blows before they descended. By This determined him to go on, and to enter the degrees the habit of quick anger itself was wood. The trees were thickly planted, and it cured; and now that Fergus Linton has grown was dark and gloomy even in the full daylight. a man, you cannot perceive, on his calm and Mr. Linton peered anxiously between the vales thoughtful brow, any trace of the turbulent pasof the fir and beech-trees; and at length hesions that disturbed his early childhood. MATERIALS: Fine Nanscok Muslin, and Messrs. W. Evans and Co's. Embroidery Cotton, No. 24. This new and pretty style of embroidery is | remarkable for the ease and dexterity with which it is worked and for its effective appearance when finished. The rosebuds and leaves are formed by making very minute dots, three stitches being taken precisely one over the other to make one dot. The line of dots round the collar are worked in the same way. The small leaves are worked in satin stitch: the little sprigs and eyelet-holes are simply run and sewed over, and the edge worked in button-hole stitch, HANDKERCHIEF CORNER. TO BE WORKED TO CORRESPOND WITH THE COLLAR AND CUFF. Long engagements between lovers are usually looked upon as unadvisable and imprudent; and it is certain they not unfrequently come to an unsatisfactory termination. An old song says Happy is the wooing That is not long a-doing; led into them by circumstances beyond their personal control, or fall into them, as it were, unawares, by the habit of postponing a serious responsibility for which they desire to be, perhaps, too fastidiously prepared. A man wishes, before marrying, to be assured of a competence, to get reputably established in busibut this seems to point to the other extreme; ness, to attain a higher place in rank, in some and, as all extremes are of questionable tendency, way or other to secure a good provision, and a it may be assumed that this also ought to be fair prospect for the future. To achieve this avoided. Hasty courtships are commonly ill-object generally requires time, and if its achievefated. Being made without forethought, they bring together persons of ill-assorted tempers and dispositions, disappointment follows, and is soon followed by bickerings and disagreement; which, growing sometimes unendurable, compel the parties to seek deliverance from their differences through the convenient agency of the Divorce Court. Long engagements are not subject to any of these evils, but they have perils of their own, which it is desirable to avoid if possible; and the readiest way to avoid them is to refrain from entering into such engagements. This is, no doubt, very simple and obvious advice; but it seems to be the best for the occasion, and, if more generally adopted, its effects would be to lessen the anxieties and disappointments arising from deferred hopes and expectations, by which youth and beauty is so often worn away, and the pleasant inheritance of many lives is blighted. Long engagements, however, are not always matters of design or pre-intention. People do not enter into them deliberately, but are ment be considered a necessary preliminary to the matrimonial contract, the latter, of course, must be put off until the first has been secured. It may seem at the outset that there need be no very great delay, but circumstances transpire which render the postponement still desirable; something does not succeed as was expected, and more time is requisite, either to renew the experiment or to try some other venture; and thus an engagement, never intended to be long, unexpectedly falls into that category, from its fulfilment being repeatedly deferred, out of regard to some more immediate convenience. The persons concerned meanwhile wait more or less patiently; in some instances with no diminution of attachment, and in a reasonable course of time get comfortably married. In other cases the delay is prolonged till one or the other becomes tired of it; and then the one dissatisfied either abruptly marries somebody else, or the other, who has grown indifferent, quietly drops the acquaintance, heedless of succeeding consequences, which may include a possible action |