I entered the castle, I beheld her, whom I had so lately seen in all the pride of beauty and happiness.

"She motioned me to leave her; but I had heard these despairing cries, and I attempted to force open the door of the turret. She prevented me with a strength that seemed supernatural; when suddenly the bolts were withdrawn, the door opened, and the Count himself stood before us. Oh, Heavens! the changed expression of his features ?—the exhausted, wild, and haggard appearance of that unfortunate young man! Large drops of perspiration standing on his brow; his dark hair falling in dank masses over his forehead!

"The Countess sprang forward to meet him, and fell fainting at his feet. His noble mind, not yet completely overthrown, was aware of the error into which he had fallen, in exposing her to a trial beyond the strength of woman. In a few faint words he told me all, and prayed me to remain and support them both. I cannot dwell upon these last hours. The trial lasted for three days, the paroxysms returning more frequently, and with a violence which obliged me to summon other assistance. On the morning of the second day, he besought the Countess to give him poison, and with an almost overwhelming eloquence, endeavoured to persuade her that no sin could be attached to the shortening of a hopeless agony. Can I ever forget the tenderness and firmness with which, on her knees before him, she prayed him to submit yet a little while to the will of heaven?

"At length he died, in agony inexpressible; yet his last words were a prayer to heaven for his noble wife. As she heard the prayer, she smiled, with an expression that was almost triumphant. She was not long left to mourn his loss. When her firmness could no longer be of service to him, it deserted her; and a few hours saw her on the brink of the grave. This day she received the last consolations of religion, and my hands have closed the eyes of one of the fairest and purest of God's creatures. Peace be with her soul !"

I thanked the monk for his narrative, and the next day revisited the scene with a melancholy interest. Its brightness had faded, and clouds seemed to darken the landseape. Thus it is that the traveller gazes on the smiling

hamlet, or admires the splendid palace, and envies the peacefulness of the one, or the grandeur of the other; but how little he knows of the human hearts that are breaking within. F. E. 1.

THE SHEPHERD BOY.

BY MISS PICKERSGILL.

The sun bad risen bright and high,
And cloudless shone along the sky;
Each mountain's craggy breast it lit,
Where oft the white clouds slumb'ing sit;
Each hil disclosed its verdant hue,
Losing its misty vest of blue,
And every clear and crystal rill
Looked in the sunshine clearer still,
When gaily roved the shepherd boy,
And caroll'd blithe his song of joy,
Leading his snowy charge to roam
Through sunny valleys far from home,
Where violet blue, and primrose pale,
Give forth their sweetness to the gale,
And all the fav'rites of the spring,
Their tribute stores of fragrance bring.
When the pale morn with dappled gray
Proclaims the near approach of day,
Then must he rise, his flocks to guide
To flowery mead, or mountain side,
To taste the glittering drops that fall
From morning's fragrant coronal,
Ere that the sun with burning ray
Shall steal those balmy drops away.
Scarce less delighted he than they
To trace again the well-known way,
While yet 'tis cool, along he bounds;
Oft list'ning to the pleasing sounds
Of sky-lark's song, or milk-maid's voice,—
Sounds that seem only to rejoice
And hail the glorious light of heaven
As the best gift by nature given.

Often his idling steps pursue
Some painted fly of brilliant hue,
Now crouching 'midst the flowery heath,
Now on a honeysuckle's wreath;
Then spreads its ready wings for flight,
And soars above his eager sight;
When, weary of his fruitless chase,
He must his wandering steps retrace.

But lo! in noontide's sultry hour,
When, withering, droops each shrinking flower,
Till evening's cool refreshing dew,
Shall all their life and strength renew;

Then seeks the shepherd boy the shade,

By close entwining branches made,

Where some smooth stream, with murmurs sweet,

Glides laughing by his sylvan seat.

His golden locks were floating free,
As the light breezes on the lea,
Above a brow, where oft the sun
Had laid his scorching fingers on,
Bronzing his cheek with ruddy glow,

Where peace and health their tints bestow;
And brightly beams with light of joy
The eye of the young shepherd boy.

His faithful watch-dog by him lay,
Companion of the toilsome way,
Repaying back his kind caress
By fond and deep attentiveness,
Watching his eye with glances keen;
Then bounding o'er the enamelled green
To bring each wandering lamb that roved,
Back to the master that he loved.

His labour's meed, his homely fire,
In kerchief wrapt was lying there,
And near a little flagon placed,
That many a rustic board had graced,
Which spread within the spacious hall
Proclaims the harvest festival;