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on. I declare, my friend, I never felt so ashamed manner in which I treated you just now," he of myself in my whole life ; and instead of re- continued, giving me the money, “because you plying to the insulting question of Belladonna's were in the wrong and deserved it; but if you father, which was accompanied by a still more will sup with us this evening, I will endeavor to contemptuous glance at my feet, I stood there, banish whatever unfavorable impression I may growing red and pale by turns, and looking at have created. I suppose Belladonna," he added poor Belladonna, who was burying her head in with a laugh, “will reconcile you to the shortthe sofa pillows, as if, like the ostrich, she fancied ness of the invitation." that by such means she could shelter herself I stammered out an acceptance, rushed out of from further attack.

the house, and five minutes afterward had pur“Leave my house instantly, rascal!" stormed chased and put on a pair of the tightest patentthe old gentleman, who was growing more furious leather boots it was possible to find. every instant. “Leave my house, before I sum- “And do you really know," interposed Bellamon the authorities to lodge you in a place donna, just at this point, " they had actually where I've no doubt you have often been before. red tops." Go!"

“I need not ask the conclusion of the story, I went. I limped to the door with my one Noble," said my friend, flinging his cigar into boot, utterly crushed and humiliated. The old the fire as he spoke. gentleman stood at the door, determined evi-1 "No, my friend, it is here. Kiss me, Belladently to see me to the very extremity of the donna !" threshold. I did not utter a remonstrance. I did not even speak a farewell to Belladonna, but went down the stairs like a coward. With my

THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH. hand on the hall-door my courage rose a little. No, though all the winds that lie I was so nearly out of the old gentleman's house N In the circle of the sky that I felt almost independent again; so I turned Trace him out, and pray and moan, and said a few words to him as he stood on the Each in its most plaintive tone,second stair from the bottom, looking as if he No, though earth be split with sighs, would have given worlds to kick me.

And all the Kings that reign “Sir," said I, “you have wronged me. That Over Nature's mysteries I can pass over. Do not, however, wrong your Be our faithfullest allies, daughter, or visit on her head punishment for All-all is vain : which, if you had allowed me to explain, there They may follow on his track, exists no cause. I, Sir-I, Noble Sydale,”

But He never will come back• What name did you say?" inquired the old Never again! man with a sudden alteration in his tone.

* Noble Sydale. You have seen that I am a Youth is gone away, foreigner, but you may not know that I am an Cruel, cruel youth, American, and a gentleman."

Full of gentleness and ruth “Stay-stay a moment, Sir. I have a word Did we think him all his stay; to say to you." So saying, he put his hand into How had he the heart to wreak a wide coat-pocket and pulled out a bundle of Such a woe on us so weak, letters. “You are an American, you say: from He that was so tender-meek? what portion of the United States ?"

How could he be made to learn ** New York."

To find pleasure in our pain? “ Have you an uncle residing there ?"

Could he leave us to return * Yes.-Mr. Jacob Starr. Has he written to Never again! me ?” and my heart leaped into my mouth, as I observed him fumbling among the bundle of Bow your heads very low, letters.

Solemn-measured be your paces, “ Yes !" said he, “here it is. Mr. Noble Gathered up in grief your faces, Sydale, your uncle has not written to you, but Sing sad music as ye go; his lawyer has to me. I regret to inform you In disordered handfuls strew that your uncle is dead. It may alleviate the Strips of cypress, sprigs of rue; pain of such a communication, however, to tell In your hands be borne the bloom, you that he has left you property to the amount Whose long petals once and only of eighty thousand dollars, a considerable portion Look from their pale-leaved tomb of which has been placed to your credit in our In the midnight lonely; house. You can draw on us, Mr. Sydale, when Let the nightshade's beaded coral ever you please."

Fall in melancholy moral “Sir, Sir!" said I, without almost waiting to Your wan brows around, think, “will you have the goodness to lend me While in very scorn ye fling fifty francs?"

The amaranth upon the ground "Certainly, with very much pleasure," and he As an unbelieved thing; pulled out his purse, with a pleasant smile. “I What care we for its fair tale will not apologize to you, Mr. Sydale, for the Of beauties that can never fail,

Glories that can never wane?
No such blooms are on the track
He has past, who will come back
Never again!

If he deigned our lips to kiss
With those living lips of his,
We were lightened of our pain,
We were up and hale again :
Now, without one blessing glance
From his rose-lit countenance,
We shall die, deserted men,-
And not see him, even then!

Alas! we know not how he went,
We knew not he was going,
For had our tears once found a vent,
We had stayed him with their flowing.
It was an earthquake, when
We awoke and found him gone,
We were miserable men,
We were hopeless, every one!
Yes, he must have gone away
In his guise of every day, i
In his common dress, the same
Perfect face and perfect frame;
For in feature, for in limb,
Who could be compared to him?
Firm his step, as one who knows
He is free where'er he goes,
And withal as light of spring
As the arrow from the string ;
His impassioned eye had got
Fire which the sun has not ;
Silk to feel, and gold to see,
Fell his tresses full and free,
Like the morning mists that glide
Soft adown the mountain side ;
Most delicious 'twas to hear
When his voice was trilling clear
As a silver-hearted bell,
Or to follow its low swell,
When, as dreamy winds that stray
Fainting 'mid Æolian chords, .
Inner music seemed to play
Symphony to all his words ;
In his hand was poised a spear,
Deftly poised, as to appear
Resting of its proper will,
Thus a merry hunter still,
And engarlanded with bay,
Must our Youth have gone away,
Though we half remember now,
He had borne some little while
Something mournful in his smile-
Something serious on his brow:
Gentle Heart, perhaps he knew
The cruel deed he was about to do!

We are cold, very cold,
All our blood is drying old,
And a terrible heart-dearth
Reigns for us in heaven and earth:
Forth we stretch our chilly fingers
In poor effort to attain
Tepid embers, where still lingers
Some preserving warmth, in vain.
Oh! if Love, the Sister dear
Of Youth that we have lost,
Come not in swift pity here,
Come not, with a host
Of Affections, strong and kind,
To hold up our sinking mind,
If She will not, of her grace,
Take her Brother's holy place,
And be to us, at least, a part
Of what He was, in Life and Heart,
The faintness that is on our breath
Can have no other end but Death.

LOVE AND SELF-LOVE. | TT was during the very brightest days of the

I republic of Venice, when her power was in its prime, together with the arts which have made her, like every Italian state, celebrated all over the world for Italy has produced in poetry and painting, and in the humbler walk of musical composition, the greatest of the world's marvels --that Paolo Zustana was charged by the Mar. quis di Bembo to paint several pictures to adom his gallery. Paolo had come from Rome at the request of the Marquis, who had received a very favorable account of the young artist—he was but thirty. Paolo was handsome, of middle height, dark, and pale ; he had deep black eyes, a small mouth, a finely-traced mustache, a short curling beard, and a forehead of remarkable intellectuality. There was a slight savageness in his manner, a brief, sharp way of speaking, a restlessness in his eye, which did not increase the number of his friends. But when men knew him better, and were admitted into his intimacy-a very rare occurrence—they loved him.

Then, he was generous-hearted and noble; his time, his purse, his advice, were all at their service. But his whole soul was in his art. Night and day, day and night, he seemed to think of nothing but his painting. In Rome he had been looked upon as mad, for in the day he was not content with remaining close at work in his master's studio, but at night he invariably shut himself up in an old half-ruined house, in the outskirts, where none of his friends were ever invited, and where no man ever penetrated, and no women save an old nurse, who had known him frorn a child. It was believed, with considerable

Now, between us all and Him
There are rising mountains dim,
Forests of uncounted trees,
Spaces of unmeasured seas :
Think with Him how gay of yore
We made sunshine out of shade,
Think with Him how light we bore
All the burden sorrow laid;
All went happily about Him,
How shall we toil on without Him?
How without his cheering eye
Constant strength embreathing ever?
How without Him standing by
Aiding every hard endeavour?
For when faintness or disease
Had usurped upon our knees,

plausability, that the artist had a picture in hand, I painting ; with a mouth and chin moulded on and that he passed his night even in study. He some perfect Grecian statue, she thought he had rarely left this retreat before mid-day, and gener- never seen any thing so divine. ally returned to his hermitage early, after a cas- “Ah!" she said, with a sigh, "you painters ual visit to his lodgings, though he could not are dreadful enemies of woman. Who would occasionally refuse being present at large parties look at reality after gazing on this glorious ideal ?" given by his patrons.

“It is reality,” replied the painter. “I paint On arriving in Venice he resumed his former from memory." mode of life. He had an apartment at the Palace “Impossible! You must have combined the Bembo; he took his meals there, but at night- beauty of fifty girls in that exquisite creation." fall, when there was no grand reception, he wrap-! “No!" said the artist, gravely; " that face erped himself in his cloak, put on his mask, and, ists. I saw it in the mountains of Sicily. I have drawing his sword-hilt close to his hand, went often painted it before : never so successfully. forth. He took a gondola until he reached a cer- “I would give the world to gaze on the origtain narrow street, and then, gliding down that, inal,” replied Clorinda. “I adore a beautiful he disappeared in the gloom caused by the lofty woman. It is God's greatest work of art.” houses. No one noticed much this mode of life; “It is, signora," said Paolo; and he turned he did his duty, he was polite, affable, and re- away to his work. spectful with his patron; he was gallant with the Women born in the climate of Italy, under ladies, but no more. He did not make the slight- her deep blue sky, and in that air that breathes est effort to win the affections of those around of poetry, painting, music, and love, are not him. Now all this passed in general without guided by the same impulses and feelings as in much observation.

our colder and more practical north. Clorinda Still, there was one person whom this wildness did not wait for Paolo's admiration; she loved and eccentricity of character-all that has a stamp him, and every day added to her passion. His of originality is called eccentric-caused to feel undoubted genius, his intellectual brow, his nodeep interest in him. The Marquis had a daugh- ble features and mien, had awakened her long ter, who at sixteen had been married, from in- pent-up and sleeping affections. She was herterested motives, to the old uncle of the Doge, self a woman of superior mind, and had reveled now dead. Clorinda was a beautiful widow of in the delights of Petrarch, Dante, Ariosto, and one-and-twenty, who, rich, independent, of a de- Boccaccio. Now, she felt. How deeply, she termined and thoughtful character, had made up alone knew. But Zustana remained obstinately her mind to marry a second time, not to please insensible to all her charms : to her friendship, relations, but herself. From the first she noticed and her condescending tone, as well as to her inPaolo favorably; he received her friendly advances tellect and beauty. He saw all, save her love, respectfully but coldly, and rarely stopped his and admired and respected her much. But there work to converse. She asked for lessons to im- was—at all events, at present-no germ of rising prove her slight knowledge of painting; he gave passion in his heart. . them freely, but without ever adding a single It was not long before she began to remark word to the necessary observations of the inter- his early departure from the palace, his mysteview. He seemed absorbed in his art. One day rious way of going, and the fact that he never Clorinda stood behind him ; she had been watch- returned until the next day at early dawn, which ing him with patient attention for an hour; she always now saw him at his labors. The idea now came and took up her quarters in the gallery at once flashed across her mind that he had found all day, with her attendant girl, reading or paintin Venice some person on whom to lavish the ing. Paolo had not spoken one word during that riches of his affection, and that he went every hour. Suddenly Clorinda rose and uttered the evening to plead his passion at her feet. Jealousy exclamation,

took possession of her. She spent a whole night "How beautiful !”

in reflection ; she turned over in her mind every “Is it not, signora ?"

supposition; and she rose, feverish and ill. That "Most beautiful,” she returned, astonished day, pleading illness, she remained in her room, both at the artist's manner, and the enthusiasm shut up with her books. with which he alluded to his own creation

About an hour after dark, Paolo, his hat drawn “I am honored by your approval," said Paolo, over his eyes, his cloak wrapped round him, and laying down his pallet and folding his arms to his mask on, stepped into a gondola which awaitgaze at the picture-a Capid and Psychem with ed him, and started. Another boat lay on the actual rapture.

opposite side of the canal, with curtains closely It was the face of the woman of the girl, drawn. Scarcely had the artist's been set in motimidly impassioned and tender, filling the air tion than it followed. Paolo, who had never, around with beauty-that had struck Clorinda. since his arrival in Venice, been watched or folWith golden hair, that waved and shone in the lowed, paid no attention to it. The two gondosun; with a white, small, but exquisitely-shaped las then moved side by side without remark, and forehead; with deep blue eyes, fixed with admir- that of Zustana stopped as usual, allowed the ing love on the tormenting god; with cheeks on artist to land, and continued on its way. A man, which lay so softly the bloom of health that it also wrapped in a cloak, masked, and with a hat seemed ready to fade before the breath from the and plumes, leaped out also from the other gondola, and, creeping close against the wall, follow-ing up a book she began to read, with much of cd him. The stranger seemed, by his gazing at the imperfection of a young school-girl, but so the dirty walls and low shops chiefly old clothes, eagerly, so prettily, with such an evident desire rag shops, and warehouses devoted to small trades to please, that, as she concluded her lesson, the - very much surprised, but, for fear of losing the artist clasped her warmly to his bosom, and cried track of the other, followed closely.

with love in his eyes and in his tone, “My wife, Suddenly Zustana disappeared. The other how I adore you!" moved rapidly forward in time to observe that he had entered a dark alley, and was ascending with One summer morning a young man, with a heavy step a gloomy and winding staircase. The knapsack on his back, a pair of pistols in his belt, stranger followed cautiously, stepping in time a staff to assist him in climbing the hills and with Paolo, and feeling his way with his hands. mountains, and in crossing the torrents, was Zustana only halted when he reached the summit standing on the brow of a hill overlooking a of the house. He then placed a key in a door small but delicious plain. It was half meadow, -a blaze of light was seen, and he disappeared, half pasture land ; here, trees; there, a winding locking the door behind him. The man stood stream, little hillocks, green and grassy plots ; irresolute, but only for a moment. The house beyond, a lofty mountain, on which hung a somwas built round a square court, like a well": there bre-tinted pine forest ; the whole illumined by the was a terraced roof. Gliding noiselessly along, joyous sun of Sicily, which flooded all nature, the stranger was in the open air; moving along and spread as it were a violet and metallic vail like a midnight-thief he gained a position whence over her. After gazing nearly half an hour at the windows of the rooms entered by Zustana the delicious landscape, the young man moved were distinctly visible.

slowly down a winding path that led to the river A groan, a sigh from the stranger, who sank side. Suddenly he heard the tinkling of sheepbehind a kind of pillar, revealed the Countess. bells, the barking of dogs, and looked around to The groan, the sigh, was occasioned by the as- discover whence the sound came. In a small tounding discovery she now made.

corner of pasture-land, at no great distance from The room into which she was looking, was the stream, he saw the flock, and seated beneath brilliantly lighted up, and beautifully furnished, the shadow of a huge tree, a young girl. while beyond—for Clorinda could see as plainly He advanced at once toward her, not being as if she had been in it—was a small bedroom, sure of his way. and near the bed sat an old woman, who was She was a young girl of sixteen, the same delpreparing to bring in a child to Zustana. Just icate and exquisite creation which had so struck withdrawing herself from the embrace of Zustana Clorinda on the canvas, and in the garret, of was a beautiful young girl, simply and elegantly Venice. The eye of the artist was delighted, the dressed—the original of the Pysche which she heart of the man was filled with emotion. He had so much admired. Now she understood all; spoke to her : she answered timidly but sweetly. that look, which she had thought the conscious- | He forgot his intended question; he alluded to ness of his own beautiful Creation, was for the the beautiful country, to the delight of dwelling beloved original.

in such a land, to the pleasures of her calm and The child, a beautiful boy nearly a year old, placid existence; he asked if he could obtain a was brought to Zustana to kiss. Now, all his room in that neighborhood in which to reside savageness was gone; now, he stood no longer while he took a series of sketches. The girl the artist, the creator, the genius of art; but the listened with attention and interest for nearly man. He smiled, he patted the babe upon the half an hour, during which time he was using his cheek, he let it clutch his fingers with its little pencil. She then replied that her father would hands, he laughed outright a rich, happy, merry, gladly offer him a shelter in their small house, if ordinary laugh; and then, turning to the enrap- he could be satisfied with very humble lodging tured mother, embraced her once more, and drew and very humble fare. The young man accepted her to a table near the opened window.

with many thanks, and then showed her his “What progress to-day ?" asked the painter sketch-book. gayly.

| “Holy Virgin !" she cried, as she recognized “See," replied the young mother, handing him herself. a copy-book, and speaking in the somewhat harsh “You are pleased," said the artist, smiling. dialect of a Sicilian peasant girl. “I think, at “Oh! it's beautiful; how can you do that last, I can write a page pretty well.”.

with a pencil ? Come quick, and show it to fa“Excellent," continued the painter smiling. ther!” “ My Eleanora is a perfect little fairy. A pret- The young man followed her, as she slowly tier handwriting you will not see. I need give drove her sheep along, and soon found himself no more lessons."

within sight of a small house with a garden, "But the reading," said the young girl, speak- which she announced as her father's. She had ing like a timid scholar; “I shall never please the drawing in her hand, looking at it with deyou there."

| light. Unable to restrain her feelings, she ran “You always please me," exclaimed Zustana ; forward, and, entering the house, disappeared. “but you must get rid of your accent."

Zustana-of course it was helaughed as he “I will try,” said Eleanora earnestly, and tak- picked up the crook of the impetuous young

shepherdess, and, aided by the faithful dog, began | faithful and attached nurse. He devoted to her driving home the patient animals. In ten min every moment not directed to his art, and at once utes Eleanora reappeared, accompanied by her began her education systematically. He found father, her brother and sister: regular Sicilian an apt and earnest scholar, and at the time of peasants, without one atom of resemblance to which I speak, Eleanora was possessed of all the this extraordinary pearl concealed from human mental advantages to be derived from constant eye in the beautiful valley of Arnola. They were intercourse with a man of genius. all, however, struck by the portrait, and received But Paolo Zustana, out of his home, was a the artist with rude hospitality.

changed and unhappy man ; he lived in constant He took up his residence with them; he sought dread of his treasure being discovered; he saw, to please, and he succeeded. After a very few with secret impatience, the many defects which days he became the constant companion of El- still existed in his beloved idol, he felt the reeanora. They went out together, he to paint, she straint of confining her always within a suite of to look after her sheep-both to talk. Paolo found rooms; he longed to give her air and space; but her totally uneducated, ignorant of every thing, he dreaded her being seen by powerful and ununable to read or write, and narrow-minded, as scrupulous men; he dreaded ridicule for her all such natures must be. But, there was a peasant origin and imperfect education. Hence foundation of sweetness, and a quickness of in- the defects in his character. tellect, which demonstrated that circumstances alone had made her what she was, and Paolo It was on the afternoon of the next day, and loved her.

Zustana, who had been giving some finishing

touches to the Psyche, was absorbed in its conHe had been a fortnight at Arnola, and he had templation He held the brush in his hand, and made up his mind. One beautiful morning, soon stood back a little way, examining it with attenafter they had taken up their usual position, he tion. spoke.

“It is beautiful! The Countess Clorinda was " Eleanora, I love you, with a love that is of right,” he exclaimed. my life. I adore, I worship you; you are the “Not nearly so beautiful as the original,” reartist's ideal of loveliness; your soul only wants plied that lady in a low tone. culture to be as lovely as your body. Will you “Great Heaven !" cried Paolo, turning round be my wife? Will you make my home your pale and fiercely, to start back in silent amazehome, my country your country, my life your ment. life? I am an artist; I battle for my bread, but! There was Eleanora, blushing, trembling, timid, I am already gaining riches. Speak! Will you hanging a little back, and yet leaning on the arm be mine?"

of the Countess, who smiled a sweet sad smile of “I will," replied the young girl, who had no triumph.' conception of hiding her feelings of pride and joy. “Be not angry, Signor Zustana,” she said;

“But you do not know me. I am jealous and “it is all my fault. You excited my curiosity suspicious, I am proud and sensitive. You are relative to the original of this picture. You said beautiful, you are lovely ; others will dispute you it existed. I immediately connected your myswith me. I would slay the Pope if he sought terious absences with something which might exyou; I would kill the Emperor if he offered you plain all. Last night I followed you home, I saw a gift. You are a simple peasant girl; those this beautiful creature, I understood the motives around me might smile at your want of town of her seclusion. This day I went to see her knowledge ; might jeer at you for not having the early; I forced my way in. Half by threats, accomplishments and vices of the town ladies : I half by coaxing, I extracted the truth from her. should challenge the first who smiled or jeered. Signor Paolo, your conduct is selfish ; to save You must then, if you can be mine, and will make yourself from imaginary evils you condemn this me happy, live apart from men, for me alone ; angel to a prison life; you deprive her of air and you must know of no existence but mine ; you liberty-the very life of a Sicilian girl ; you premust abandon all society, all converse with your vent her from enjoying the manifold blessings fellow-creatures. I must be your world, your which God intended for all; you deprive us of life, your whole being."

the satisfaction of admiring a face so divine, and "I will be what pleases you best,” said the a mind so exquisite. But then, you will say, she young girl gently.

is beautiful enough to excite love; she is simple “The picture does not alarm you?"

enough to excite a smile. Signor Paolo, she is “Will you always love me?" she asked timidly. good enough to scorn the first word of lawless

“ While I live, my art, my idol, my goddess ! passion; she is educated enough to learn every Eleanora, while I breathe.”

| thing that becomes a lady, and befits the wife of “Do with me as you will," replied the young | a man of genius, if you will but let her mix with girl

the world. You are yourself miserable ; your A month later they were married, her parents life is a torment. 1, the friend, the confidante, being proud indeed of the elevated position to the sister of this innocent, good girl, declare to which their daughter attained. They went in you that you must change your mode of existthe autumn to Rome, where Paolo had prepared ence." for his mysterious existence by means of his “Countess, you have conquered,” cried Zus

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