'Tis a spell that I cannot vanquish,
A power I cannot fly;
Words cannot paint my anguish,
And for ever the spirit is nigh.
All day does it seem to deride me,
At night as it lies beside me,

It mocks my words as I pray; 'Tis a vision impalpable to me,

Though its voice is. e'en now, thrilling through me,
And it haunts me by night and by day.

Mine eyes are sunk with weeping,
My brow is blanch'd with care;
Night flies without my sleeping,
For the fiend breathes in the air.
Of my malady haply I wist not,
They say it is madness- it is not,
Though soon, alas! it may;
'Tis a power that still subdues me,
A fiend that ever pursues me,

And haunts me by night and by day.

When all I lov'd had perish'd,
As I mourn'd alone that night,
O'er her my bosom cherish'd,
I first beheld the sprite.

And the face of the fiend was lighten'd
With pleasure, and as his eye brighten'd,
It glanc'd on me its ray:

In my ear rings his laugh of derision,
To my eye is still painted the vision

That haunts me by night and by day.

Welcome is sleep to the weary,
Hope to the sailor at sea;
More welcome than bliss to the dreary,
Is the prospect of death to me.
My Fanny lies low, and the willow,
Waves over her moss-cover'd pillow,

Oh! when will it wave over me?
Come, death, lay thy cold hand upon me,
That the spirit that's now glaring on me,
No more may my torturer be.

A TALE OF THE PARISIAN CARNIVAL.

FROM OUR PARIS CORRESPONDENT.

Thank heaven, dear Maria, the carnival is over! It has been the gayest that the Parisians have seen for many years. The masqued balls, Loth public and private, have continued without intermission through the whole time. At first I was delighted, 1 thought I never could be tired of those balls, but I soon found that nothing is so fatiguing as pleasure of this kind; perhaps this idea was strengthened by the change which it made in my appearance. I grew thin and pale, and as Papa said, looked like a ghost. I was not singular I assure you, but 1 stopped in time. Some of my friends who have danced through the whole carnival, and who, to say the truth, look like spectres now, are nevertheless fully bent upon keeping it up during the Lent; for although masquerades have ceased, balls are expected to be as frequent as ever. Strange that in a country calling itself christian, the solemn season of penitence should be so openly perverted: it is, however, but justice to say, that there are many, even among the higher classes, who pass it in a more fitting manner.

A most tragical event, which has excited considerable sympathy, took place in the last week of the Carnival, but before I introduce the actors in it to you, I must recount a little or their previous history. Alfred de V-, a young man of good family and fortune, conceived, when he was about eighteen, a violent passion for Mademoiselle de S, who was seven years older than himself. Her disposition was amiable, and her person pleasing but not beautiful. In the eyes of de V- however, she appeared an angel, but the difference of their years prevented his daring to declare his passion. Just as she had completed her twenty-fifth year, a period at which a demoiselle in France begins to be looked on as an old maid, she received an offer which was considered by her parents a very suitable one, and as her affections were disengaged, she consented to accept it. The news drove Alfred to despair,-he resolved to commit suicide. He shut himself up with some lighted charcoal, having first carefully excluded the air from his apartment. Fortunately before his dreadful purpose was completed, a servant who had conceived some suspicion of his intentions, revealed his

fears to Madame de V, the mother of the infatuated young man. The doors were burst open, and he was saved. A few minutes more and it would have been too late. A letter that he left revealed to Madame de V the cause

of his attempt, and trembling lest he should renew it, she addressed herself to the parents of Mademoiselle de S, and even to the young lady herself. The proof which Alfred had given of his love had great weight with Zelie, and his fortune still greater with her parents. The other match was broken off; Zelie became Madame de V~~, and for some time the happiness of the married couple was perfect.

was

But, alas, what might easily have been foreseen happened too soon. At the end of a twelvemonth Alfred was a kind and polite, but no longer a fond, husband. Zelie, who passionately loved him, mourned the change in silence; nor did she even when kindness and politeness gave place to total neglect and indifference, ever reproach him. Thus matters went on till the beginning of the Carnival. De Vigny made an acquaintance at one of the masqued balls with a very pretty woman, whom it afterwards appeared was the kept mistress of M. T—, the gentleman to whom Zelie was to have been married. She kept De V- ignorant of this circumstance, and passed herself off upon him as a young widow of fortune. T- found out the intrigue, and insulted Alfred in such a manner that a challenge was given and accepted. They met the next morning,-De Vwounded, but it was supposed not mortally. All his early affection for his wife revived in full force, fand poor Zelie hoped that happiness was once more within her reach Three days passed without any visible change for the worse; on the fourth, as Madame de V was hanging over him, be said to her, "Zelie there is a question that I wish to ask you and yet I know not whether I ought to do it." She tenderly pressed him to speak. "Well, then," cried he, “were we now unmarried, and could you foresee all that has happened, would you be mine?" She answered without a moment's hesitation, "Yes." Bless you, bless you for that word," said he straining her to his bosom. In an instant his arms relaxed their grasp, the effort had been too much for his strength-he expired in making it. The affliction of the widow is said to be such at to threaten her reason.

16

THE LADY'S VISITOR,

(Concluded from page 86.)

you,

Upon approaching the retreat of Amiantha, she arose, and with languid step came forwards :-" Daughter," said Strozzi, you had methinks but now some person with -had you not?-1 conjure you to answer truly.”—“ Í had;" replied Amiantha her countenance immediately lighting up with a blush and smile, whilst it assumed that singular character of sublime and awful beauty, which we have heretofore mentioned-" and," added she, "I expect ere long to see my visitor again." "Audacious girl!" exclaimed her mother, reddening with anger,, "'tis well that you don't equivocate! Would I could say, 'tis well, of your shameless conduct!"- -"Where," cried Strozzi," is your anonymous paramour, Signora ?" "O!" remarked the Conte, in a scornful, taunting tone, "the scoundrel fled, of course, upon our approach; and I should like to know whither?""Where you, my lord Conte," said Amiantha calmly and coldly," will never again be permitted to approach him with malicious intent." Fire flashed from Alborezzi's dark eyes, as with bowed head, and lowering brow, he cried, Again!-Have I ever then beheld my favoured rival ?"-" You have, Conte Alborezzi, and may some day see him yet; but, to change a subject which I perceive annoys you, permit me to ask, how proceed your chemical experiments?" A singular accent and emphasis accompanied this inquiry; Alborezzi darted a basilisk glare upon his betrothed; his head hung lower, his countenance gloomed darker and darker, and without uttering another syllable, he walked into the palazzo, and shortly afterwards took his leave.

These circumstances were extraordinary; and the parents of Amiantha, awed by her mysterious manner, and the frankness with which she avowed the encouragement she gave to an anonymous lover, nor less by her confident anticipations of future interviews with him, forbore at that time to question her further on a subject which gave them extreme uneasiness. However, when Amiantha retired for the night, Madonna Strozzi could not refrain from following her to her chamber, and observing:-"Your marriage, my child, with

Conte Alborezzi, takes place the day after to-morrow.' "Pardon me, Madame," replied her daughter, "it cannot and will not; of Conte Alborezzi, and of any mortal man, I shall never become the wife, I assure you."" Perhaps," returned Madonna Strozzi, with a bitter smile, "you mean to imply, that you are already married?"" I am, madre carissima,I am, to the grave-to the DEAD!"-" What! the old story again, Amiantha ?-Nonsense, my dear: pray shake off these gloomy fancies, and prepare to become the wife of a living husband." The sorrowing girl mournfully shook her head-" And, Amiantha," continued her mother,

after a brief pause, "1 must insist upon your immediate return to a sense of female propriety and delicacy; if, after marriage, the Conte indulges you, according to the customs of Italy, with any cicisbeo, or cavalier servante, whom you may please to fancy, at least, in Christian charity, pay some deference to his feelings before the ceremony, and dismiss his rival; who he is I fear to inquire."-" Madre mia, you know-that is, you have known him well." That may be, Amiantha, but you must consider yourself already the wife of the Conte, and dismiss and forget this suitor.""Dearest mother, I am neither the Conte's wife, nor ever, ever shall be; nor, also, though the shadows of the grave fall gloomily around me, can I--dare I, dismiss and forget the unknown! Press me no further, I entreat, upon a subject equally pleasant and painful to my feelings-a subject of which at present I can give you no explanation; but assure yourself, and (turning to a painting of the Virgin, which adorned her own little private oratory)-witness for me, Mother of God, that never did thought enter my mind, nor action engage my body, which I, as a daughter of the house of Strozzi, should deem derogatory to the purity, honour, and dignity of that house, and of my own character." Madame Strozzi retired from this little conference, more than ever perplexed, but convinced of her daughter's in

nocence.

Next day, Amiantha was in so languid and exhausted a state, that explanations, exhortations, and remonstrances were consentaneously avoided by her family and noble lover, who only sought to afford her that repose which should enable her to meet the trying ceremony now so near.