the person of the gallant Francis, the stranger who had so generously aided him in the Forest of Fontainbleau. "Has he any witness besides that maiden, who is too deeply interested in this matter, to prove that he killed his antagonist in fair fight?" "He is one of a band of murderers and ravishers," cried the chancellor in a rage; "he has no witness." "Thou art a liar, though thou wert a thousand chancellors,” replied the youth; "and since peaceful men like thee do not make war but on weak maidens, I defy thee by thy champion. No, my liege," he added, turning to the king, and kneeling-" I have no witness, save God and your majesty." "And may every honest man have witnesses as good in time of need, to oppose to perjurers and lawyers. He is no murderer, chancellor ;-by my holy patron, Saint Denis, I believe he could himself have killed those three murderous villains whom thou didst retain; but know, that I helped him—that I cut the throat of that traitor, Sangfeu, whom, in spite of me, thou didst cherish, to do deeds which thy black heart planned, but dared not achieve. I helped him to carry off the maiden, thy dead friend's daughter, whom thou didst basely oppress; and if he had not been there, I had done it myself."

The king and his train then departed, leaving the young people with Cellini, whom the disgrace of the chancellor had put into mighty good humour. He made Ascanio tell him the story of the fight in the forest over and over again; he kissed Beatrice, and called her his child; he forbade all work in " Il Piccol Nello" for a week; had the wedding celebrated with great magnificence; and said, that of all the works he had ever produced, none had made him so happy as LA TESTA DI MARTE.

LIGHTS AND SHADES.*

THE gloomiest day hath gleams of light;
The darkest wave hath bright foam near it;
And twinkles through the cloudiest night
Some solitary star to cheer it.

The gloomiest soul is not all gloom;

The saddest heart is not all sadness;

And sweetly o'er the darkest doom

There shines some lingering beam of gladness.

Despair is never quite despair;

Nor life, nor death, the future closes ;
And round the shadowy brow of Care
Will Hope and Fancy twine their roses.

From The Forget Me Not' for 1829.

RECONCILIATION.*

"FASTER, faster! your horses creep like snails! drive for your life!" cried the impatient Morley, as the noble animals he so slandered, dashed along the pebbly turnpike road, while the sparkles flew from their iron-shod hoofs like a flight of fire flies.

The postilion, with voice and whip, put them to the top of their speed; and the chaise, in its rapid course, left behind it a trail of light, as though its wheels had been ignited.

A high and steep hill in front, at length, enforced a more moderate gait, when Morley, as if struck by a sudden recollection, turned his head anxiously towards his companion, a lovely young woman, who pale, silent, and motionless, reclined on his shoulder.

“Ellen, my love," said Morley, tenderly, "I fear this will prove too much for your delicate frame."

There was no reply.

Morley leaned his face nearer to hers, and by the moonbeams, saw that her features were fixed, her open eyes gazing on vacancy, while the tears which had recently streamed from them, seemed congealed upon her bloodless cheeks.

"God of Heaven!" exclaimed Morley, "what means this? Ellen, beloved, adored! do you not hear me? will you not speak to me to Morley, your Morley?" and he gently pressed her in his arms.

The name he uttered, like a charm, dissolved the spell that bound her. A long drawn sigh, as if struggling from a breaking heart, escaped her cold, quivering lips; a fresh fountain of tears burst forth; and with an hysteric sob, she fell upon the bosom of her

lover.

The alarmed, but enraptured Morley, folded her in his arms, and bent to kiss away her tears-when with a sudden start, she disengaged herself from his embrace, and drawing back, looked wildly and earnestly in his face.

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'Morley," she said, in a voice of thrilling tone, "do you love me ?"

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"Dearest, best Ellen," he replied, "do you, can you doubt it?" "Do you love me, Morley ?" she repeated with increased ear

nestness.

Truly-devotedly-madly," cried Morley, on his knees. "By the heaven that is shining over us———"

"No more oaths-enough of protestations. Are you willing, by

From "The Atlantic Souvenir." Philadelphia, 1830.

one action at this moment, to prove that I am truly dear to you, Morley?"

"I am, though it carry with it my destruction!"

"I ask not your destruction-I implore you to prevent mine. Return!"

Morley gazed at her, as if doubting his sense of hearing. "Return!"

"Return, instantly !”.

“Ellen, are you serious-are you," he might have added “in your senses?" but she interrupted him.

"I am serious-I am not mad, Morley; no, nor inconstant, nor fickle,” she added, reading the expression that was arising on Morley's countenance. "That I love, and in that love am incapable of change, do not Morley, insult me by doubting, even by a look. But O, if you love me as you ought, as you have sworn you do, as a man of honour, I implore you to take me back to my father-—” "To your father!" exclaimed Morley, almost unconscious of what he said.

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Ay, to my father, my grey-headed, my doting, my confiding father: take me to him before his heart is broken by the child he loves. I have been with him," she cried in wild agony, even now, as I lay in your arms, spell-bound in my trance, while the carriage rolled on to myrdition. I could not move-I could not speak; but I knew where I was, and whither I was hurrying: yet even then was 1 with my father," she said with a voice and look of supernatural solemnity: "he lay on his death-bed; his eye turned upon me-his fixed and glaring eye, it rested on me as I lay in your arms; he cursed me and died! His malediction yet rings in my ears-his eye is now upon me. Morley, for the love of heaven, ere it is too late

"Compose yourself, my beloved-my own Ellen."

"Do you still hesitate," she cried; "would you still soothe my frantic soul with words? Your Ellen! short-sighted man, your Ellen! What shall bind her to a husband who could abandon a father-what power may transform the renegade daughter into the faithful wife! Morley, listen to me; as you hope for mercy, do not, do not destroy the being who loves you-who asks you to preserve her soul!"

Morley caught her as she sank at his feet; and she remained in his arms in a state of insensibility.

He was confounded-subdued.

The fatigued horses had laboured about midway up the acclivity, when Morley called to the postilion.

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Turn your horses' heads," he said; "we shall return."

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The steeds seemed to acquire renewed vigour from the alteration in their course, and were proceeding at a brisk pace on their return, when Ellen again revived.

"Where am I,-whither am I carried ?" she wildly exclaimed. "To your father, my beloved," whispered Morley. "To my father, Morley, to my father!-can it be?-but no, I will not doubt; you never deceived me-you cannot. God bless you, Morley, God bless you, my brother, my dear brother," and with her pure arms around his neck, she imprinted a sister's holy kiss upon his lips, and, dissolved in delicious tears, sank with the confidence of conscious innocence upon his bosom. The ethereal influence of virtue fell like a balm upon the tumultuous feelings of the lovers; and never in the wildest moment of passion, not even when he first heard the avowal of love from his heart's selected, had Morley felt so triumphantly happy.

"Where is he let me see him-is he alive-is he well?” shrieked Ellen, as she rushed into the house of her father.

"For whom do you inquire, madam," coldly asked the female she addressed, the maiden sister of Ellen's father.

"Aunt, dear aunt, do not speak to me thus. I am not what you think me. But my father-my father, is he is he alive, is he well? O beloved aunt, have pity on me, I am repentant, I am innocent"

"In one word, Ellen, are you not married ?"

"I am not."

"Heaven be praised! follow me-your father is not well"For the love of heaven-before it is too late ;" and the distracted girl rushed into the room, and knelt at her father's side.

"Father! do not avert your face-father, I am your own Ellen. I am restored to you as I left you. By the years of love that have passed between us, forgive the folly-the offence-the crime of a moment. By the memory of my mother——"

"Cease," said the old man, endeavouring, through the weakness of age and infirmity, and the workings of agonized feelings, to be firm; "forbear, and answer me, is this gentleman your hus

band ?"

Ellen was about to reply, but Morley stept forward. "I am not," said Morley, "blessed with that lady's hand; she has refused it, unless it is given with your sanction; and without that sanction, dearly as I love her, and hopeless as I may be of your consent, I will never hereafter ask it."

"Do you pledge your word to this, young man?"

'My sacred word, as a man of honour:-I may have inherited your hate, but I will never deserve it."

Children, you have subdued me!" exclaimed the father. "Morley, my daughter is yours!"

Morley seized the old man's hand, scarcely believing the scene before him to be real.

My father!" said the weeping Ellen on her knees, her arm around his neck, her innocent cheek pressed to his.

The good aunt partook of the general joy, and even Ellen's favourite dog seemed to thank her father for his kindness to his dear mistress.

The happy father sat with an arm around his daughter's waist, and, as he pressed her lover's hand, he said,

"Behold, in all this, the goodness of God: behold the blessings that follow the performance of our duties. Your father, young gentleman, before you saw the light, had entailed my hate on his offspring. I had nourished this bitter feeling even against you, who had never offended me, and whom every one else loved. This very day, the cherished hostility of years had given way before my desire to secure my daughter's happiness. I felt that age was creeping on me-and but the morning of this blessed day I had resolved over this holy book to prove my contrition for my sinful harbouring of hatred towards my fellow creatures by uniting you, my children, in marriage. The tidings of my daughter's elopement scattered to the winds all my better thoughts, and revived my worst in tenfold strength. I did not order a pursuit: I did more. I felt, at least I thought so, the approach of my malady to a region where it would soon prove fatal. No time was to be lost: my will was hastily drawn out, bequeathing my beggared daughter but her father's curse; it would have been signed this night; for over this book I had taken an oath never to forgive her who could abandon her father.

"O my father!" interrupted Ellen, to whom the horrible images of her trance returned; "in pity, my dear father"

"Bless you, for ever bless you, my ever-excellent Ellen. Your filial obedience has prolonged your father's life."

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