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river, the woods, the hills, the sunbeams on | the trees, the birds in the air, the clouds in the heavens; to wish myself free to play, to fly, to scud along like them; to open the tiny square which alone moved, and breathe the fresh air of morning, or the perfumed breezes of evening; to listen to the twitter of the birds, the distant horn or rifle of the huntsman, the bells of the little church in the village below; all these were my joys snatched by stealth, and tasted with a zest misery alone can create. Often I thought of all I had loved dearest-often breathed the dear name of Conrad, and pictured to myself his grief, his despair; aye, amid the ordained prayers and hymns has his name mingled: may God forgive me the sin!

"About a year had elapsed, when I was once more summoned to the presence of the Abbess. How was she changed! her faded form reposed on the carved seat, her mild eyes were grown hollow and dim, her fine features thin and haggard. Disease was hurrying her to the grave. She beckoned me to a stool at her feet, and in a low weak voice thus addressed me :

"My dear child, your year of probation has now ended, and it is the will of your parents that you enter on your novitiate. You have seen enough of our order to be able to judge of it. I have no power to force your will, and can but advise and warn. Should your heart be yet unsoftened, and lead you to refuse to take the veil, a second year of probation, and a harder term of trial, will begin."

"I had not anticipated this: hope never wholly dies out, and I had built upon the kindness of ma tante and the affection of my father a beautiful superstructure of forgiveness and liberty. A breath had shattered it to ruins; perpetual imprisonment, exile from all I loved, was my doom; nay, more, I was called upon by my own act to seal an eternal separation from the world. I replied, that I felt no vocation for a monastic life, and demanded permission to communicate with my relatives. The eyes of the Abbess rested on me with a sad pitying expression as I spoke; those of the Domina gleamed with malice and

anger.

"From that day I was confined to my cell; each morning came the Domina, and inquired, Has Satan departed from you, and are you become worthy to enter our holy sisterhood?' My reply was in the negative; and the face disappeared from the little wicket in the door, to return no more for four-and-twenty hours; my scanty allowance of bread and water was reached me through the same wicket; but then I saw no face, for a veiled nun ever brought it. Thus passed days, weeks, and months, in one long monotonous round; and I sat for hours as still, as devoid of thought, hope, and energy, as one in a trance. Once only, at the funeral of the Abbess, did I quit that living grave. Then, as I stood by the coffin, and touched with my lips her icy hand, and gazed on her calm rigid features, I felt as if my last friend, my last hope, was gone. When the Domina became Abbess, my trials increased; the mattrass was replaced

by straw, the allowance of firewood diminished, the bread coarser, harder, and more sparingly bestowed, and the little square which admitted fresh air closed up. A breviary and rosary, bequeathed to me by the deceased Abbess, were brought to me by her successor, who after that ceased her visits. I was entirely alone, and I prayed, wept, and thought of those I loved, or lay sunken in lethargy.

"How long this had lasted I know not; I had no means of reckoning time, but it must have been years. One day, as I lifted my store of wood from the wicket shelf, a paper fell from between the pieces. I snatched up the long unseen material, more in mere curiosity and wonder than with any hope of finding aught in it; there was writing, and the word "Ottilia' caught my eyes. Could she be near me ! after so long an isolation from everything human, was it possible that a loving heart was within those walls! Yes, it was from her. She had found me, and entered the convent as a lay-sister. The one who usually brought my food was ill, and Ottilia filled her place. I should see her once again, once again hear a loving voice, and that one the voice of his sister. The time which elapsed before her coming seemed an eternity. At length the wicket was opened; she stood there separated from me by the thick oaken door; her lips pressed my hand, which I passed through the hole; her hot tears bedewed it; how I longed to embrace her, to press my lips to hers! But sad and fearful were her tidings. She told me how on foot she had pilgrimaged to Gräfenheimb, in the hope of finding me there; how ma tante had set off for La Plaisance, to inquire why I had not arrived, but could gain no intelligence, mamma having departed for Paris, and nothing being known of La Brune; how Conrad, on his return from Prussia, had wandered like a madman over the country in search of me. How a revolution had broken out in France, and my parents, sister, and thousands of others, had been butchered; ma tante died of grief, and Ottilia came to reside with her nearest relatives, who chanced to be the steward of the lands of Sancta Clara and his wife.

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I screamed aloud, and fainted. For nearly a fortnight I lay in the utmost danger, delirium veiled my senses. When again I recovered their use, I was lying on a clean soft couch; the balmy breath of evening came in through the opened lattice; Ottilia sat knitting by my side. My danger had affrighted the Domina; but that past, she resumed her harshness. Once more was I alone, enclosed, bedded on straw; and how sad and dark was now that loneliness! No ray of hope ever so faint and distant illumined the future: my relatives dead without forgiving me; Conrad lost, gone; ma tante died, perhaps

cursing me as the destroyer of all. What remained now to live for? the grave enclosed all that had been dear to me!

"But in the place of my earthly hopes came a spirit of peace, of humble submission, of religion. Ottilia had procured writing materials for me, and thus I use them. To thee, beloved Ottilia, will these lines belong when I am no more; it is all I have to bequeath to thee, dear sister of my beloved, true friend of my heart. Peace be to all my enemies! Peace to all who have afflicted me! I pardon them, and pray most fervently for pardon for all the sins I have committed. I look upon my life as ended, upon these walls as my grave. Oh may I be the last unfortunate ever enclosed in this dreary space!

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Glory be to God in the highest, and on earth peace, and good will towards men!

Amen!"

Here ended the MS.: the rest of this narrative was related to me by the countess.

"I myself beheld the last acts of this strange drama. I came hither with my husband and the Prince von T, when the order for breaking up this convent was issued. The Abbess received us, and presented us to the remaining sisters; the books were examined, to see if the names of the ladies corresponded with the entries. There was one missing, the Gräfin Rosa Maria Regine von Gräfenheimb. No record of her death or departure appeared. Where then was this lady? The Abbess turned pale.

"A little bent form plucked me by the robe, and whispered, 'At the end of the long corridor-behind the large crucifix; seek there, seek there!'

"The Prince, on my hint, expressed a wish to see the cells, and offered his arm gallantly to the Abbess, who trembled and tottered as she found him directing his steps towards the crucifix. That cross is not a fixture, I think!' observed his Highness. Will it please you, Lady Abbess, to direct us how to move it?-I should like to see what it conceals.'

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"The Abbess fled from the spot. The little crooked sister eagerly assisted to sway the heavy crucifix from its nitch, and then sprang like a

"The quiet valley in which the cloister stood had for some time escaped the sacrilege, the de-cat up to the iron grating, which was now revastation, of that war which was raging along the beautiful banks of the Rhine; but at last a troop of soldiers were quartered close by, and the Abbess's wine-cellar was laid under contribution to supply the officers. Ottilia, as lay sister, had the privilege of passing in and out, and to her were confided the keys of the cellar. One day, while giving out the wine, she recognized her brother. To communicate with him, to answer his eager inquiries after Rosa, and to plan her escape, followed of course. Ottilia undertook to remove the external fastenings of the window; Rosa was to cling to the branches of a vine, and lower herself until she reached the wall, against which Conrad was to have a ladder. Then a few steps, and a swift horse was to convey her to happiness and safety.

"The hour came, the signal was given; a white form glided along the vine; a low, sweet, fondlyremembered voice whispered the name of Conrad; she stepped upon the wall, and thence upon the ladder, and already they felt as if saved. Hark! a shot-a shriek-a heavy fall, and then a deep stillness, broken only by faint groans. Lights were brought, and a female form picked up; she had fallen with the ladder, her head was cut and bleeding, both legs broken just below the hips. Conrad's corpse lay beneath. It appeared that the soldiers were in pursuit of a spy, and seeing the stealthy movements of the dark form under the wall, had fired.

"A few days afterwards it was reported that the unfortunate Rosa had expired, after having repented of her sins, and received absolution. She was buried at midnight. But little more was seen of Sister Uttel. In the following summer the climatis was there, marking the scene of that fatal tragedy; and every morning and evening a weeping figure stood by the young plant, and watered it with her tears.

vealed. One of the sisters returned with the keys; an iron door was opened, and the little nun and one or two others rushed in. The prince and I followed. Never shall I forget the scene revealed to my eyes by the pale light of the lamp his Highness carried. The little nun, who I need not say was Ottilia, was kneeling on the ground, striving to raise into her lap the head of what seemed a skeleton. Two deeplysunken holes designated the position of the eyes, the rest of the face was a mere skull, with a thin white skin drawn over it; long faded and dishevelled hair was matted about the head and neck; tatters of a coarse garment hung about the bony and powerless limbs; in one corner of the cell was a pitcher of water; bits of crumbled bread lay around; rats and toads scrambled away from us; and the cold, damp, grave-like atmosphere made us sick and shudder. It was the Gräfin Gräfenheimb we looked upon!

"She was brought out, and conveyed to a comfortable chamber, where she lay for upwards of a year, in a state of utter helplessness and unconsciousness; murmuring almost incessantly, as if praying, and her hands crossed on her bosom. It appeared as if the broken bones had never been set, and the use of her legs had been lost for many years, for all circulation had ceased; the muscles were shrivelled up, and nought but bones and skin remained. Ottilia never left her, or suffered any one else to perform the slightest office for her dear lady. Night and day that devoted creature sat watching for one spark of consciousness, one glance of recognition. At the moment of death those hollow eyes opened once more; long and fixedly they were riveted on Ottilia; then the feeble arms were raised, and thrown around the neck bowed over her. Too weak to retain their position, they fell; the right hand caressed Ottilia's cheek,

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and the pale lips breathed her name, in an expiring sigh. It was the only word she spoke. "Ottilia first took to spirits, in order to support herself during her long watchings; and then I fear she continued them, to drown the voice of her sorrows. Let us judge her failing mercifully."

I

The Countess had ended her recital, and I walked around this place, which now seemed alive with the events I had just listened to. looked up at the little window which lighted what was Rosa's cell, surveyed the vine by which she reached the wall, fancied I could hear Conrad waiting below on the other side with his ladder, and in my mind's eye witnessed ali the details of that tragic scene. Nor was I alone there. Uttel came hobbling up; she bent forward to pluck a flower from the climatis; the branch was tough, and she shook the whole plant in her obstinacy.

"Choose another, Uttel," I said, "or let me pluck it for you. You shake those tottering stones on the wall." But she repulsed my offer, and I passed on. A cry-a crash arrested

me.

The stones had fallen, and poor Uttel lay crushed beneath them. That spot, so fatal to those she loved, had been fatal to her also. The breviary was buried with her.

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Oh, come-the sun will sink ere long
O'er the purple hills we love
(Ah, never in his course before
Did he so quickly move);
Come, let us take a last farewell

Of the cherished things that bind The home of childhood's cloudless days To the weary heart and mind.

Here are the green fields where we played In days for ever gone,

Ere the flow'ry path our footsteps trod

Care threw one shade upon :

It was here we plucked the hawthorn boughs
In the smiling month of May;
And 'twas here, in bright July, we laughed
Among the new-mown hay.

Let us pluck the daisies from the sod,
And keep the simple flowers;

In a foreign land we'll weep o'er them,
As we think of vanished hours:
Let us paint, in memory's fadeless tint,
On heart and mind this scene;
One look! Ah, now 'twill linger there
For ever fresh and green.

Here is the old tree, 'neath whose shade
We sat in summer-eves,

Whilst down on us the vesper star

Shone trembling through the leaves:
From this moss-grown root we lov'd to watch
The sun set gloriously,

Or the silver moon come sailing up
The broad unclouded sky.

Alas, farewell! we leave thee now

To strangers, careless, cold;

Thou hast no tales to whisper them

Of the sunny days of old:

They will not watch, as we have watched, Thy spring and summer prime,

And thy leaves will fall unmarked by them In the coral autumn time.

Here is the bower formed by the hand
Of one whom low we laid,
In glorious manhood's budding prime
Beneath the cypress' shade;

For his dear sake 'tis dearly prized,
This little bloomy bower-
And sacred in our eyes appears
Its very simplest flower.

Farewell, farewell! fond hands will now
No longer care for thee;

Round thy rose-wreathed porch the rankest weed
May clamber fearlessly.

We never more may speak of him
Beneath thy shade-Ah, no!
Home, friends, and country leave we now,
O'er the restless wave to go.

Let us wander, we, the lonely ones,
Through each beloved room;
'Twill make less deep the bitterness
Of the exile's dreary doom,
To take with us the memory fresh

Of all we love and prize;

For the loved and lost will our treasures be Beneath the alien skies.

'Tis done-we've wept our last farewell!

Our last? Ah, no! we stand

On the hearth of the dear old household room, A sad and tearful band;

And the keenest pang of all is come,

As around us now we gaze,

For a tide of memory swift and strong
Brings back our happiest days.

'Twas here we piled the bright yule-log, When Christmas times came round, And here the magic mistleoe

A yearly dwelling found:

When birthdays came 'twas here we held Our merry-makings then,

And the chime of pleasant voices made The roof-tree ring again.

Here was our father's wonted seat,

And here our mother's dear;

And here were thine, and thine, and thine,
And we two nestled here:

But all is cold and cheerless now,

Oh, dark and bitter woe!

From the friends, the home, the land we love, An exiled band we go.

*

The dancing waves are under us,

And the silver moon above;

And the silent stars look down on us

Like gentle eyes of love:

But we heed them not-we see them not, We fix our straining ken

On the land we love and leave-the land We ne'er shall see again.

O Breeze! that fill'st the snowy sails
And drives our ship to sea,

Oh, fold thy wings one little hour,
And slumber tranquilly!

O Lady Moon! a boon, a boon,
We crave a boon of thee-

Arm, arm thy blessed beams to-night
With tenfold brilliancy!

So longer may our lingering gaze
Rest on our island green;

Ah, the rising sun will find us far
From thee, thou Ocean Queen!

We thought our bones in death would rest

Within our native soil,

We know the God who watched o'er us
Within our own loved land,

O'er the ocean wave, in the stranger's clime,
Still guards the exile band.

THE APOSTLE AND THE CHERRIES.

(Suggested by a passage in Miss Martineau's "Letters from the Holy Land.")

BY CALDER CAMPBELL.

'Twas Summer 'midst the plains of Jericho,
A morn of Summer, when our Saviour took
His way from proud Jerusalem with some
Of his disciples. From the upland range
That looked on Jordan, in the early light
The distant hills of Moab soared aloft,
Scanning a fertile track; while southwards stretched
Its motionless expanse the dark Dead Sea.

'Twas Summer 'midst the palms, whose genial shade
Lay yet remote before them-and as Time
Wore on, and higher clombe the sun,

The far-off palm-trees' shadows would have been
A welcome shelter. But, in sweet discourse,
The Teacher and His followers passed along,
The ardent Peter ever at His side:

"Lo! what lieth there ?"

Jesus exclaimed; and Peter, looking down,
Beheld a Horse-shoe. "Take it up, my friend-
It yet may profit thee;" the Teacher cried.
But Peter, with a look that little said
For such old lumber, passed it scornfully;
Nor yet perceived how, stooping down, our Lord
Picked up the unregarded thing.

Ere long

A village at the ridge's base they reached,
And there unnoticed still-Christ did exchange
The Horse-shoe for a measure of ripe fruit-
Juicy and mellow Cherries! High and higher
Now mounted the hot sun, and higher they
Mounted the ridge that looked on Jordan: bare
And flinty, rugged to the feet, and hard
To climb, that ridge! and from the heated rocks
A stifling breath tormented passers-by.

Peter, sore tortured with the heat and dust, Now lags the last of all; and fainting thinks

And the sweet thought strengthened heart and hand Of the palms' shadow and the distant well.

To brave both woe and toil:

But the old and mighty yews, that shade

The graves of those we love,

Will never sing their leafy chaunt

The exile's grave above.

Oh, Erin dear, farewell to thee,
Green gem on ocean's brow!
'Tis the gaunt hand of Want alone,
That drives us from thee now.

Farewell! but all the waves that soon
Shall roll 'twixt us and thee
Could wash not from our Irish hearts
Our country's memory!
Our eyes are dim with bitter tears,

Our hearts are sore with grief; But there's a hand to dry those eyes, And bring that woe relief.

Lo! what is in his path!-a gem ?-a stone
Of luminous worth? Nay, better still, a Cherry!
-He stoopeth quick, and quickly to his lips
Putteth the grateful fruit that cools his mouth:
And lo! another, and another-each

Dropped by our Saviour, who, well-pleased, beholds
The eagerness with which the Apostle stoops
At every step to take the cool refreshment!

So, at length

When all the Cherries had been duly dropt,
All gathered, and sweet Jesus paused awhile-
Up came refreshed His follower: with a smile
The Teacher, looking gently in his face,
Said " Peter! from the scorned Horse-shoe sprang
Those Cherries !-think'st thou not, my friend,
That he who scorns to stoop for what is small,
May chance ere long to bend his stubborn back
For even smaller things?"

THE DRUNKARD'S HOME.

CHAP. IV.

BY B. B. A.

(Concluded from page 302.)

How much of woe, terror, and suffering, is associated with that most terrible event a fire! It comes suddenly like a destroyer to the abode of peace and security, and departs again, leaving all bare and desolate. The hearth-round which have perhaps gathered for years those to whom it was a haven of repose from the blighting cares of the world without-is, by this fearful scourge, rendered in one short hour but a mournful heap of ruins. The relics of past joys, long and fondly cherished for the tender thoughts and memories which they recall, are swept suddenly away, often never to be replaced; and worse than all is it when the humble dwelling of the poor and striving man crumbles into ashes before his eyes, leaving him to wander houseless upon the earth, and knowing not when the night comes on where to lay his head.

Ralph Howard hurried on until (scarcely knowing how he had reached it) he found himself at the scene of conflagration, and in the midst of a multitude of persons, who were collected in front of a burning house, by the light of which, as the young man cast his eyes around, he observed that the neighbourhood in which he stood was mean and squalid, and composed entirely of small dwellings of wretched appearance. Whilst, however, his attention was thus (for an instant) engaged, a wild cry of agony rent the air, and with the warm impulse of a generous and manly nature he sprang forward in the direction whence it proceeded. The crowd gave way before him, and he found himself close to the burning house: from one of the upper windows leant the form of a woman, whose pale countenance and wild attitude had a striking and unnatural effect, as seen by the fitful glare which alternately rose and fell, lighting up at one moment her features, and then again leaving to view only her tall slight figure bent forward in frantic entreaty. It was evident that she perceived Ralph Howard's approach, for immediately the shrill piteous voice was heard in accents of mingled supplication and despair. "In the name of God! what does she say?" cried he to the bystanders. "Are there no means of extricating her from her fearful position? I at least will try. Help me, if you are

men!"

And thus saying, he was about to rush into the house, when a rough grasp was laid upon his arm, and a voice near him exclaimed, "Stay, young man, and do not wantonly risk your safety; the girl has been already warned, but

she will not descend because there is a sick person above, and she expects we are going to expose our lives to save him. If there was anything to be gained now, I should be willing enough, but they are little better than paupers ; so take my advice, and stay here; you'll gain nothing by putting yourself out of your way."

Too much disgusted at the base cruelty of this speech to vouchsafe even a reply, Ralph thrust aside the hand which would have held him back, and in another instant he had entered the dwelling, and was mounting the stairs which led to the upper chambers. Twice did he pause, half choked by the thick bitter smoke which closed around him, but true to the unflinching courage of his character, he continued to ascend, and to his extreme gratification soon reached a landing. Here sounds of lamentation reached his ear; following them, he entered a room, and through the dense atmosphere which pervaded it beheld a scene which roused his deepest pity and sympathies.

Across a bed at the extremity of the apartment lay an inanimate figure, partly supported in the arms of an elderly woman, who was vainly endeavouring to raise it from the couch, while the same slight female form which he had seen at the window but an instant before, now sprang towards him and dragged him forcibly to the side of the insensible, and, as it appeared, lifeless person; who, on closer inspection, proved to be a young man of emaciated aspect. Ralph Howard needed no reflection to comprehend what was required of him, and, almost unmindful of the exclamations of passionate gratitude which they poured out, he lifted the unfortunate youth gently in his strong arms, and desiring them to follow, he hurried with his burthen to the staircase. By this time the smoke had so increased as to render it a task of difficulty, and even danger, to descend; for, being each instant forced to close his eyes against its blinding influence, he was unable to distinguish the steps; and impeded also by the weight he bore, was in momentary dread of falling headlong down them. Giddy, confused, and suffocating, he paused; and a feeling of despair, lest he should not succeed in saving the helpless being within his arms, overwhelmed him. At this instant a blast of scorching air and a shower of fiery sparks swept past him, when, rousing his remaining energies, he hurried desperately down the now crackling staircase. With feelings of more acute enjoyment than he had ever before experienced did the heroic young man feel the cold night air blow over his heated brow, and

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