near the bed, he often looked long and wistfully at her, as resting her arm on the table, she leaned on it thoughtfully and dreamily, without speaking for some hours, which was quite unusual with her. The fallen fortunes of her family, or their troubles, were not on these occasions the chief food of her thoughts; that strange contrast of feelings, often observable in Frenchwomen was now at work within her; the calculations of the gaming-table occupied these intervals, and when her eye kindled, and her cheek flushed, some happy combination had struck her fancy. Gaming, always a passion with Madame, was soon indulged without restraint; her remaining property slowly wasted, for she was seldom fortunate, and she was obliged to retrench one little indulgence after another. Louis suspected the cause, but he dared not speak of it. At night, the mother stole from the chamber of her son to the rouge-etnoir table, with an eagerness of hope-a strange enthusiasm-still believing in some new calculation of the chances and turns of the game. Sometimes she won; and Louis was startled by the flow of words and thoughts, that then broke from her lips, and reminded him that her eye used thus to beam, and her utterance to be eloquent, when Eustache returned from his Russian captivity. This sudden success, and the confidence it kindled, had all the effect of a brilliant happiness. One day she called at our apartinents in Paris, to offer for sale some beautiful lace scarfs and veils, the remains of former times; her dress was becoming; in her manners and conversation there was nothing of a fallen state, or a troubled mind; the features were still fine at the age of sixty, and there was a serenity in the tone and look with which she spoke of the elegant articles she wished to sell. She had probably worn them at many a brilliant party-perhaps at the very ball from which Ireneo fled. The first scarf was offered at the price of sixty francs. It was the very sum with which he had set out for his retreat. "I would not trust myself," he wrote in his first letter, "to see you again I went to the Abbé Augustin, superior of the Trappists; he gave me sixty francs to go to Avignon, into a seminary." Louis, her youngest son, recently raised from his illness, was with her; his countenance had a deadly paleness. They both spoke with enthusiasm of St. Ireneo, of their earnest desire to go to Italy to see him; but he still withheld his permission. Madame was a woman of strong mind and a thorough knowledge of the world; yet, with her memories, with her deep love, the hazard-table was her rich, her favourite passion. It was strange as she unfolded her articles of taste, to hear her speak of the Camalduli, of her celebrated son, and his stern resolve. The latter knew not of the distresses and shifts to which his parent was reduced-they were hid from him. His next letter was in the close of the year '36. "My Mother, "You ask earnestly after my health; the heats of Paris, and the sickness prevailing there, have filled you with alarm about me. In this mountain solitude the air has been excellent the whole season; yet I am not well. I believed that here the grasp of the world was broken, that it could not fold itself around me again. "Two months since I received a letter from my uncle the marshal, the first he has written me here. I thought he had forgotten me, as he disapproved strongly of my retreat to a convent; but he writes with all his former attachment. He gave me my first commission in the cavalry in the army of Germany; made me a captain at eighteen, and placed me on his staff; he predicted I should be a general at five-andtwenty had the war continued, the prediction would have been verified. In his letter he dwells on the past, on the battles in which I served under him. You know how he loved the emperor, and how I loved him also; he was in my eyes the greatest of human beings. I shall ever remember his words, his looks, the movement of his hand, when my uncle introduced me to him, his smile when he said, 'I was the youngest captain of cavalry in the army.' How vividly these things come back upon me now! I have never spoken of them in my letters, because I wished them to sleep within me. My uncle describes the émeute of which Paris was the scene this year, "The fierce and heroic struggle,' as he expresses it, for liberty-the blood of the people poured out like water;' he is still the soldier of the empire; he hates the present family, and still expects the young Napoleon. His details of the struggle; his thrilling words and memory of the past, have moved me strangely. "The peace of my mind is gone! My mother, can you believe that the love of war is within me again; that after sixteen years of seclusion, of fasting, meditation, preaching, prayer, the image of the emperor is dearer to me than that of the blessed Marie, or my guardian saint! "Why did my uncle describe this émeute in Paris? he said that they invoked the spirit, and when shot in the streets, they murmured the name of Napoleon, not of home or wife or child. I have fasted and wept and grieved. I spent some weeks with the hermits of St. Remualdo, with fearful penances; but in vain. Lost ambition and glory, long buried, are risen again from the tomb ! "I am still visited by the fainting-fits I had some years since in the Canonica de Lodi. A few days since I was walking in the forests that surround the monastery-my favourite spot is an avenue of aged trees on the steep, beneath which is a deep glen and its torrent, here I am always alone, my brethren do not seek so solemn a scene. The day was declining, but I did not return-my thoughts were too agitated to bear the cell-I fell down at the foot of a tree, in a fit, and remained there for some hours-the night gathered over me. I was awoke to consciousness by a sound that rang through the forest-it was a trumpet ! beautifully it rose on the night, faintly at first from afar, then louder and louder-it was our own trumpet! of our regiment, that used to call us at dead of night, and at break of day, in the German campaigns. I knew it instantly, for the trumpeter, Jean Nolet, was celebrated in the whole army. My heart thrilled at the tones; I rose, but my weakness made me fall down again at the foot of the tree. Oh! in how few moments can live again the things of the past! The battles, to which that sound had called us, passed before my eyes-my uncle was there, his head white with age-he beckoned me to follow-I struggled convulsively but could not rise--what agony it seemed to be so helpless! "You will say that these were visions! It appeared to me that I was awake, and perfectly conscious; for I remember the faint sound of the torrent below, and the aged trees, and the cliffs above. I was able at last to rise and walk feebly to the monastery-the clock struck twelve as I entered the court-there were lights in the chapel-weak as I was, I hastened there. I was used to be alone in this chapel, in the moonlight, in the tempest, in the darkness, I have often gone there, and I loved it, because I was often happy then: there was a freshness and glory in my feelings--but now, there was deep anguish. I knelt in the aisle and tried to pray, but all I felt in the forest was with me. I went to my cell, but dared not lie down to sleep, lest that guilty thirst should fill my soul. "It is night again: I had scarcely written the above, when I was summoned early in the morning to visit a lady in Florence whose intellect had been affected, by early sorrow or love. I would have declined the office, but she was of a family who have been benefactors to our monastery. I will tell you of this in my next when my mind will be more calm. “St. IRENEO." HINDOOSTANI MELODY. BY MAJOR CALDER CAMPBELL. THOU art fair,-and BEAUTY hath Roses pale beside thy cheek, A pet gazelle is at thy side;- A viper-harmless-folds thy lute! Earth and all it hath to thee ALTHOUGH to-morrow was to end all Amine's hopes and fears-all her short happiness-her suspense and misery-yet Amine slept until her last slumber in this world was disturbed by the unlocking and unbarring of the doors of her cell, and the appearance of the head jailer with a light. Amine started up-she had been dreaming of her husband of happiness! She awoke to the sad reality. There stood the jailer, with a dress in his hand, which he desired she would put on. He lighted a lamp for her, and left her alone. The dress was of black serge, with white stripes. Amine put on the dress, and threw herself down on the bed, trying if possible to recall the dream from which she had been awakened, but in vain. Two hours passed away, and the jailer again entered, and summoned her to follow him. Perhaps one of the most appalling customs of the Inquisition is, that after accusation, whether the accused parties confess their guilt or not, they return to their dungeons, without the least idea of what may have been their sentence, and when summoned on the morning of the execution they are equally kept in ignorance. The prisoners were all summoned by the jailers from the various dungeons, and led into a large hall, where they found their fellow-suf ferers collected. In this spacious, dimly-lighted hall, were to be seen about two hundred men, standing up as if for support against the walls, all dressed in the same black and white serge; so motionless, so terrified were they, that if it had not been for the rolling of their eyes, as they watched the jailers, who passed and repassed, you might have imagined them to be petrified. It was the agony of suspense, worse than the agony of death. After a time, a wax candle, about five feet long, was put into the hands of each prisoner, and then some were ordered to put on over their dress the Sanbenitos-others the Samarias! Those who received these dresses, with flames painted on them, gave themselves up for lost; and it was dreadful to perceive the anguish of each individual as the dresses were one by one brought forward, and with the heavy drops of perspiration on his brows, he watched with terror lest one should be presented to him. All was doubt, fear, and horror! But the prisoners in this hall were not those who were to suffer death. Those who wore the Sanbenitos had to walk in the procession and receive but slight punishment; those who wore the Samarias had been condemned, but had been saved from the consuming fire, by an acknowledgment of their offence; the flames painted on their dresses were reversed, and signified that they were not to suffer; but this the unfortunate wretches did not know, and the horrors of a cruel death stared them in the face! Another hall, similar to the one in which the men had been collected, Concluded from No. ccxxiii., page 412. was occupied by female culprits. The same ceremonies were observed -the same doubt, fear, and agony were depicted upon every countenance. But there was a third chamber, smaller than the other two, and this chamber was reserved for those who had been sentenced, and who were to suffer at the stake. It was into this chamber that Amine was led, and there she found seven other prisoners dressed in the same manner as herself: two only were Europeans, the other five were negro slaves. Each of these had their confessor with them, and were earnestly listening to his exhortation. A monk approached Amine, but she waved him away with her hand: he looked at her, spat on the floor, and cursed her. The head jailer now made his appearance with the dresses for those who were in this chamber; these were Samarias, only different from the others, inasmuch as the flames were painted on them upwards instead of down. These dresses were of gray stuff, and loose, like a waggoner's frock; at the lower part of them, both before and behind, was painted the likeness of the wearer, that is, the face only, resting upon a burning fagot, and surrounded with flames and demons. Under the portrait was written the crime for which the party suffered. Sugar-loaf caps, with flames painted on them, were also brought and put on their heads, and the long wax candles were placed in their hands. Amine and the others condemned being arrayed in these dresses, remained in the chambers for some hours before it was time for the procession to commence, for they had been all summoned up by the jailers at about two o'clock in the morning. The sun rose brilliantly, much to the joy of the members of the Holy Office, who would not have had the day obscured on which they were to vindicate the honour of the church, and prove how well they acted up to the mild doctrines of the Saviour-those of charity, good-will, forbearing one another, forgiving one another. God of Heaven! And not only did those of the Holy Inquisition rejoice, but thousands and thousands more, who had flocked from all parts to witness the dreadful ceremony,and to hold a jubilee-many indeed actuated by fanaticism and superstition, but more attended from thoughtlessness and the love of pageantry. The streets and squares through which the procession was to pass were filled at an early hour. Silks, tapestries, and cloth of gold and silver were hung over the balconies, and out of the windows, in honour of the procession. Every balcony and window was thronged with ladies and cavaliers in their gayest attire, all waiting anxiously to see the wretches paraded before they suffered; but the world is fond of excitement, and where is any thing so exciting to a superstitious people as an Auto da Fé? As the sun rose, the heavy bell of the cathedral tolled, and all the prisoners were led down to the Grand Hall, that the order of the procession might be arranged. At the large entrance-door, on a raised throne, sat the Grand Inquisitor, encircled by many of the most considerable nobility and gentry of Goa. By the Grand Inquisitor stood his secretary, and, as the prisoners walked past the throne, and their names were mentioned, the secretary, after each, called out the names of one of those gentlemen, who immediately stepped forward, and took his station by the prisoner. These people are termed the godfathers; their duty is to accompany and be answerable for the prisoner, who is under their charge, until the ceremony is over. It is reckoned a high honour conferred on those whom the Grand Inquisitor appoints to this office. |