"Listen to me," said the sorceress. "Half a league from Palermo, on the road to Corlione, is a small chapel, surrounded by a deep ditch. A wooden bridge leads to this chapel, and round the chapel runs a ledge of stone, about six inches wide. Above this ledge are suspended from the walls the bodies of the criminals who are executed at Palermo. They continue there, as a warning to others, till they fall into the ditch, which serves as a sepulchre for their remains. If you have courage enough, or rather love enough, to go to this chapel alone, and to cut off with your left hand the locks of the first corpse that you meet with, I will answer for the rest. But no one must accompany you. It is necessary that you should go alone, and that it should be at the hour of midnight."

Rosalba reflected for a few moments; then, seizing and strongly pressing the hand of the old Jewess, she replied, "I will go.'

The clock struck eleven. Rosalba determined to make the attempt immediately. She called for her veil, and Laura trembling gave it to her. She furnished herself with a dark lantern, a pair of scissors, and a dagger; ordered the sorceress to wait for her; forbade Laura to follow her; and quitted the palace by the garden gate. She then hastened out of the city, took the road of Corlione, and was soon in the country, entirely by herself, amidst the darkness of the night, walking forward with a rapid and firm step, her mind solely occupied with the idea of her husband.

She arrived; she saw the chapel-a trembling came over her; but, without stopping, she sought with her lantern the entrance to the wooden bridge. She crossed it, and pressed forward; and, when she came to the ledge of stone, she paused to examine it by the feeble light of her lantern. This ledge was barely half a foot in width, and was cut sloping towards the ditch. The duchess turned the light to it, and looked down the precipice she could distinguish whitened bones about forty yards below her.

Almost ready to faint, Rosalba rallied her spirits, made

an effort, and placed one foot on the narrow ledge. At the second step she tottered. Her first impulse naturally was to stretch out her hand, to support herself by the wall. Her hand met the leg of one of the suspended corpses. She seized and held it fast, passed her lantern from her left hand to that which held the leg, took out her scissars, and stretching out her insecurely fixed feet, to raise herself on tiptoe, she endeavoured to reach the head of the corpse, that she might obtain the locks which she wanted.

While she was in the midst of this horrible occupation, a chariot with six horses passed along the high road. In this chariot was a young man who was conducting two opera-singers to his country-house. By the twinkling of the pale light, he distinguished from the road a female, who seemed to be trying to take down the body of one of the wretched criminals. Struck with horror and affright, the young man took the female for a sorceress, who was preparing to perform some magical operation. He stopped the horses, rushed from his carriage, hurried forward, and, superstitious even though debauched, he exclaimed, with a thundering voice, "Infamous wretch! leave the dead in peace, or fear the living. Tremble lest I instantly drag you from your horrible prey, and deliver you into the hands of the Inquisition.'

What were the feelings of the duchess on hearing these words. It was the voice of her husband! In her surprise and terror she dropped the lantern, which rolled down, went out, and left the unhappy Rosalba in utter darkness, suspended to the corpse, trembling, scarcely breathing, and aware that her strength was rapidly deserting her.

The duke redoubled his threats. He was already crossing the bridge. Compelled at length to speak, the nearly dying Rosalba said to him, "Stop, stop! God and my heart bear me witness that I meditate no crime. Do not revile an unfortunate being, who deserves only pity; but, above all, do not come near me, unless you wish me instantly to throw myself into this gulf."

At these words, at that voice, the duke knew his wife.

He screamed, hurried towards her, uttering her name, and imploring her to wait for him, and to take courage; he even lavished expressions of tenderness, which were forced from him by the danger of Rosalba. At length he reached her, seized her in his arms, carried her senseless to the chariot, from which he turned out those who occupied it; and flying back to the city, frozen with surprise and horror, he reached his palace before the duchess recovered from the swoon into which she had fallen.

Laura, when she saw her mistress lifeless in the arms of the duke, filled the air with cries of grief. She assisted, and restored her to life; while the duke, almost beside himself, could not believe what he had seen, strove in vain to comprehend it, and requested an explanation. The Jewess, then, with an awful gravity, addressed him in these words:

"Insensible and cruel man! fall on your knees before your wife, and adore that model of affectionate and constant hearts. Never did lover, never did husband, receive a warmer, greater, stronger proof of love, than that which you have now received. Learn, ingrate! learn what your Rosalba has done for you; blush for having reduced her to it; and employ your whole future life in paying the debt which you have thus contracted in a single moment.

The Jewess then recounted her conversation with the duchess, and the terrible proof which she had required from her. The duke did not wait till the old woman had finished her story; he threw himself at the feet of the duchess, and shed tears of admiration, tenderness, and repentance; he vowed to atone, by an eternal constancy, for that misconduct which he now abhorred; he entreated her pardon, and confessed that he was not worthy of it. The tender Rosalba raised him up with a melancholy smile, pressed him to her bosom, bathed his face with tears of rapture; and, both at once pouring out their grateful acknowledgments, they mutually thanked each other for the happiness which they were henceforth to enjoy.

From this moment the young Castellamare, aban

doning the false friends who had not been able entirely to corrupt him, happy in a felicity which he had not yet known, that which is given by virtue, pure love, and a heart at peace with itself,-Castellamare, daily more attached to and more loved by Rosalba, passed his days serenely with his faithful wife, their children, and the good old Scanzano. The Jewess, enriched by the gifts which the duchess lavished on her, followed her advice, and relinquished her dangerous profession. She has since confessed that, when she proposed to Rosalba to visit the chapel, she knew that the duke always passed by it about midnight. She, perhaps, reckoned upon this meeting; but that circumstance does not diminish the glory of her success, nor ought it in the least to lessen the faith which is due to the wonderful power of magicians. R**

Pocket Magazine.

AN ADVENTURE IN MERIONETHSHIRE.

THE season had for many days been uncommonly wet. The waters were swelled with continual rains, and the low lands were almost inundated. It was July. After a series of heavy showers, one afternoon the sky brightened, the sun burst forth with redoubled splendour, and all nature smiled. This is a moment particularly dear to the lover of rural scenery. Dry weather tarnishes the face of nature, fades the lovely colours of hill and valley, and profanes and destroys those sweet odours which, more than any thing else, give the last finish to the charms of nature. I hastened to enjoy the golden opportunity. By long practice I knew how to find the paths where mire and swamps would not occur to interrupt my pleasure. My way led me by a steep acclivity of the mountain which overhangs the basin that forms the source of the Desunny. I gained the eastern extremity of the ridge, that I might the more amply enjoy the beams of the setting sun, as he sunk beneath

the waves of the Irish Sea. It was the finest evening my eyes ever beheld. The resplendent colours of the clouds, the rich purple and burnished gold in various streaks, fantastically formed and repeated, were beyond any imagination to conceive. The woods were vocal. The scents that surrounded me, the steaming earth, the fresh and invigorating air, the hay and flowers, constituted, so to express myself, an olfactory concert, infinitely more ravishing than all the concords of harmonious sounds that human art ever produced. This lovely moment combined, in one impression, the freshness of the finest morning, with all the rich and gorgeous effects peculiar to the close of a summer's day.

I stood, as I have said, on the edge of the precipice. I gazed for a long time upon the various charms that what we ordinarily, but improperly, call inanimate nature unfolded, I saw the rustic, as he retired from endeavouring to repair the injuries his hay had sustained, and the flocks, as they passed slowly along to their evening repose. Presently an individual object en-. grossed my attention. A young lamb had wandered by some accident to the middle of the precipice, and a peasant was pursuing it, and endeavouring to call it to his arms. I shuddered at the sight. The precipice was in some parts almost perpendicular. The rains had rendered the surface exceedingly slippery. The peasant caught at the shrubs and tufts of grass as he descended; and, with a skill peculiar to the inhabitants of the mountains, seemed to proceed securely in the most desperate places. The lamb, whether from heedlessness or wantonness, advanced further along the mountain's side, as the shepherd pursued.

While I was engaged in observing this little manoeuvre, I suddenly heard a scream. It came from a spot exceedingly near to me. Two boys sat in a nook where I had not perceived them, and cried out, " My brother! my brother!" A venerable gray-headed man was with them. He exclaimed, " My son! my William!" and prepared to plunge down the precipice. The scream I had heard was the effect of what at that moment happened before