another, equally good-natured, will not only offer you these very songs for sale, but actually three or four yards of such novelties, which he unrolls and displays for your inspection. Well, notwithstanding these little interruptions, you pursue your walk in comparative peace, till you come near the White Horse cellar, to that comitatus of coachmen and cads, that synagogue let loose, that emporium of oranges, and that multitude of persons of both sexes, who, to my astonishment, are always wanting to " go down the road,” as the coachmen have it. There you are regularly in for it; hustled by boys, beseeching you to buy their penknives and pencils, lemons, pocket-books, sealing-wax, and sword-canes. While you stand for a moment, pitying a poor woman, whom two merciless cads are forcing into a wrong coach, a third runs up, and insists upon it you want to go to Putney; and the worst of it is, he does not seem the least abashed at your contemptuous look in return, but seems to think it quite a natural thing that a well-dressed gentleman (such as you flatter yourself to be) should want to go “down the road.” Escaped from this, and tired with your walk, you, perhaps, wish to take a coach to the next part of the town you are going to. With some little bawling, the coachman is awakened, with some difficulty the machine is put in motion, and with some rattling the step is let down at the curb-stone. Now the calamity to be complained of is this,-when comfortably seated in the coach, having told the man where to drive, the waterman still keeps the door in open, and, with a rapid touch of his hat, hopes you will remember him. Now, though this may appear a small evil to some who would quietly d-n him, and say, Drive on," yet to others it is an intolerable nuisance to be asked for any thing which you are either unwilling to give, or obliged to refuse; at all events, it is an evil, when you state to the man you have no coppers, or, without any such statement, desire him to shut the door-to have that door slammed with such energy of disappointment, as if you had grossly insulted the fellow by your reasonable non-compliance New Monthly Magazine. Births Marriages, and Deaths, From July 25th to August 25th. BIRTHS. Truro, Mrs. Pront of a daughter Mrs. Glasson of a daughter Helston, Mrs. Osler of a son Condorrow, Mrs. Moyle of a daughter Mrs. Peters of a daughter Mrs. Matthews of a daughter Redruth, Mrs. H. Grylls of a daughter St. Teath, Mrs. Fayrer of a daughter MARRIAGES. Gulval, Mr. Bedford to Miss Bolitho DEATHS. Larrigan, Mrs. Pascoe aged 83 Miss Eales aged 74 St. Hillery, Mr. Nicholls aged 87 Printed and Published by J. PHILP Falmouth, and sold by most Booksellers in the County. The Cornish Magazine. OCTOBER, 1st, 1828. MONTECO,-AN ITALIAN STORY. (Continued from Page 218.) At the time when these words were spoken,-about an hour, that is, after midnight,-Pietro, the servant of Adrian Monteco, was seated in the antechamber of his master's bed-room, which was as yet untenanted by its wakeful and laborious owner. This brave and unscrupulous attendant was every way worthy of his employer. He was of a bulky, yet sufficiently active form; hardened by long military exercises, and covered with many scars. His rude and vulgar, but bold and cunning expression, shown red in the lamp-light, was the exact picture of his mind. He was now employed in sharpening and polishing, with peculiar care, some choice weapons which lay on table before him, beside a flask of rich wine, and a large glass, to which he frequently had recourse. He muttered to himself, while he pursued alternately his labour and his enjoyment; each of which, however, yielded probably an equal gratification to his sensual and bloody nature. "The foul fiend seize that Jacopo Bondini, whom I commissioned to buy this Mila. dagger! Satan! did I give him five ducats for a lump of iron, which would no more slip past a bone than through a stone wall? It will do, however, if he comes within my reach, to prick the throat of the Jew, and teach him more conscience when he deals with me again." With this consolation, he returned the despised weapon to its sheath, and filled out a liberal glass of wine. "San Marco! this Monte Pulciano is the right liquor for any one but the servant of Adrian Monteco," he added hastily, as he heard the slow step of that formidable Noble sounding along the corridor. He quickly disposed of the bottle and glass behind a large crucifix which stood in the niche of the apartment; and, without hiding the arms, opened the door for his master. It was among the symptoms of Monteco's distrustful temper, that he never admitted to his sleeping chamber, while he himself was there, any more graceful or practised attendant than Pietro,fearing, probably, to be taken at unawares, and unprotected by the secret armour which he always wore but when at rest. This trusted follower now preceded him into the bed-room, and lighted a large lamp which hung from the ceiling. It completely illuminated the wide and splendid room, hung with tapestry, whereon were embroidered the exploits of Cæsar. Much of the furniture was of a massy and semi-barbaric richness, which showed it to be the produce of his victories over the Mohammedans. He flung himself into a large and gorgeous chair, covered with crimson and velvet, and undid some of the buttons on the breast of his rich doublet, so as to show the blue gleam of the metal underneath His face was pale with toil and anxiety; but there was in the features no expression of weakness or lassitude. The spirit was sufficient to every occasion, and to the longest and most wearisome labours. "Pietro," he said, "draw your sword, and guard the outer-door. the Doge, if he should attempt to enter. I am going to see her." "My Lord," said Pietro. "What, Sir?" answered Monteco, fiercely. Slay "My Lord, I must be so bold as to tell you, that you will never succeed with her; not, at least, until you can make the Grand Turk a Christian." "What know you of these matters ?-But go on !" "When I carried her bread and her cruise of water to the Signora this morning, I asked her through the loop-hole how she felt; and she answered, 'I feel that I shall soon escape from your cruelty.'" "How mean you-escape, did she say?" "Aye, my lord; but when I told her that the walls were as thick, and the bolts as strong as ever, she said, 'It boots not to converse with thee; but he who will free me is stronger than thou or thy master, even death !'" "Psha! Pietro;" (but his lip quivered while he said it,)" go on, however; what saidst thou next, or what said the other fool to thee?" "I asked her, whether she were not an obstinate rebel, and deserving damnation." “Now, by all the saints, villain, didst thou speak thus to my daughter? But I am a fool to be moved by thy insolence to a jade such as she is." "I asked her, what she did not deserve for choosing to die rather than obey her father, and whether she had not better consent to come out of that dismal vault, and wed the noble Senator Soradino? But all she said, was, Leave me, leave me, and torment me no longer with his name. I shall soon be where it can never be pronounced with favour, unless the angels delight in evil.' This was all that passed between us, my lord." "Begone, as I told thee, and guard the door." He took a bunch of keys out of a bronze cabinet, seized a lamp, and opened a pannel in the wainscot of the antechamber, through which he disappeared, leaving Pietro to watch against surprise. Even that hardened ruffian somewhat doubted, as was evident in the last conversation, whether the vengeance inflicted upon the unhappy girl were not inconsistent with that remnant of kindly feeling which alone he professed to entertain. He shut the door through which Monteco had first entered the room, as well as that through which he had departed, not liking to see the black recess of shade which they disclosed. He trimmed his lamp, and brought out the flask from behind the crucifix, to wash down his scruples. He sat down; and then suddenly stood up again, and walked about the room. He loosened his sword in the scabbard; he hummed a tune; and then took a second draught of the Monte Pulciano. But all would not do. He could not bring the imprisonment of a gentle girl by her own father in a deadly prison, under the same class of peccadilloes as ordinary robberies and murders. In short, to escape from the qualms of his conscience, the worthy swordsman almost resolved to cut his master's throat, and fly to the mainland with all the property he would be able to lay his hands on. How this halfconceived plan was defeated, will appear hereafter. In the mean time Monteco descended the winding staircase, till it brought him upon a level with the surface of the canal. He then moved forward rapidly through the labyrinth of vaults which supported his palace. After opening more than one iron gate, which cut off all communication with the neighbourhood of her prison, various passages of great length, and all in complete darkness, except where the lamp he held illumined them, conducted him, at last, within sight of a low and massy door. A narrow slit above enabled a tall man, by reaching upwards, to drop into the prison whatever was not too large to pass the orifice; and it was thus that the provisions of the miserable captive were daily introduced. As Monteco drew near he heard his daughter singing, with feeble and lingering notes. He heard her, how 止 ever, but for an instant. So soon as he had gained that point at which the light could pierce the loop-bole, as to inform the prisoner that some one was approaching, the song ended in a groan. Even Monteco paused for a moment at the door, and his hand moved slowly to unfasten the bar which confined it. He entered the dungeon, but the maiden was not there. She had passed from its outer to its inner division, and was kneeling before a rude stone figure of the Virgin, which stood in a corner of the cell. This image had become very dear and holy to her, as the only symbol of comfort contained in her narrow dwelling. A small grated window, in this division of the prison, threw for a few hours of the day a faint beam upon the form of the Madonna. She had so long ceased to hope, that she did not even look round when she heard the grating of the door; and when she recognised her father's footsteps, she pressed closer to the wall, and buried her head in her hands. "What," said Monteco, "you will not deign to look upon me?" The complying girl turned her head for an instant; but, dazzled with the light, and terrified at her father's presence, again averted her face. That glance startled her parent, and he was silent, till, recovering herself with an effort, she leaned against the wall, looked at him, and endeavoured to stand up; but she was too feeble, and she fell with her face upon the stones. Monteco lifted her with one strong grasp, and seated her on a stone bench, built into the wall close to where he stood. She regained her senses in a few seconds, and her gaze wandered round the dungeon, till at last she fixed her eyes upon his face, when she sank slowly upon her kuees, and, clinging to his cloak, shrieked with all the strength of her faint voice, "O! Father, Father, save me." He again raised her; but he this time continued to support the form which trembled so violently as almost to escape from his hand. He watched her shrunk and pallid face, while he said, "Foolish and disobedient girl, for that purpose I am come hither. I have visited thee only that may save thee from those consequences of thy own madness, which if it continue, must as inevitably follow as the blood flows from a wound." I "A wound-a wound-oh, that you would bestow upon me a mortal one!" "This is trifling. Do as I command; and you shall have freedom, wealth, honour, and pleasure. Disobey me, and this cell shall remain your dungeon till it becomes your tomb." "I have often prayed to God that it were so already." "Yes; I doubt not you would willingly escape from performing your filial duties, by escaping at the same time from life. But mark me-what will be your doom hereafter if you die without the rites of the church." "O God!" said the terrified girl, "will you permit him to kill both soul and body?" Monteco replied, without hesitation, though with something of a subdued sneer, "God himself hath commanded you to honour your father. Think you he will fail to punish your rebellion ?" "Alas! alas! what shall I do, holy Mother!" she proceeded, looking at the image of the Virgin, "save me from sin!" Nothing can save you from sin, and from misery, unless you marry Marco Soradino." "Never," she replied, while her father hastily grasped at his dagger, and she fell for the third time to the ground. But he returned the half-drawn weapon to its sheath, and listened to her while she said, "Father, you may do with me what you will. The blow that would at once destroy-but for that I may not hope;-the rack that would crush my limbs, the imprisonment from the very air of heaven, which will achieve what it as already half accomplished, the overthrow of my reason-any thing that you will you may subject me to, for you can. And not on me be the responsibility; but in wedding the wretch Soradino, I should bring down guilt and pollution on my own soul. I should swear love, where there is abhorrence; respect, where there is disgust; fidelity to one whose touch would be contamination; and obedience to him whose every word and thought is evil. Your cruelty has denied me light and motion, and almost breath, and debarred me from communion with my kind, till my own words sound strange in my ears, and I scarce know what are my own thoughts; but I have one feeling as strong as on the day I was shut into this prison-it is loathing for the name of Soradino. He shall never have my hand till it is that of a maniac or a corpse." Now, by heaven, by the memory of my sires, that malignant spirit shall be broken. The Roman Father had the power of life and death over his children for them the Turk hath still the narrow rack, and the deep sea. If there be privations that can wear, or torments that can crush obstinacy, thou shalt wed the man I have chosen." He turned to leave the dungeon; and his departing form was clearly defined to the eyes of his daughter by the interception of the light of the lamp he carried,-a mournful emblem of that paternal interference which deprived her life of all its natural illumination. He was stooping under the low portal, when she threw herself towards him with all her remaining energy, and exclaimed-"Oh! my father, I have sinned against heaven.”— He turned his head, and interrupted her-" Will you then at last return to your obedience? Do you perceive the necessity as well as the duty of wedding the bridegroom I have chosen?" "Hear me," she cried in accents of piercing yet broken supplication, "hear me before you again depart. A prisoner who never sees the sun has little means or inclination to keep count of time; yet if I remember right, it must now be nearly four months since I last saw you. Why, when God was perhaps prompting you to relent, and to depart from the commission of this great wrong, why did some evil spirit put into my heart to answer you, my father, with words of defiance and almost of scorn. Rather I will implore you, by the faith of Christ, and by the memory of my mother, to abstain from urging me into this hateful prostitution. I have been told, that my birth cost my mother her life. Oh! if she were now living, how would her unstained conscience and matron purity have been outraged by the attempt to force her only child into the arms of a ruffian and a debauchee. Nay, must you not believe that at this moment her holy spirit can see through the gloom of this dungeon, and pierce into the recesses of that heart which was a sworn offering to her, but which you have hardened against her daughter with plates of steel, as if you dreaded that I would raise my feeble hand against your life." Monteco did not attempt to interrupt her; but nearly the only touch of human feeling which he displayed during the whole of this agonizing interview, was the almost unconscious action by which he drew his cloak over his breast so as to hide the cuirass. For he had thought it necessary to place a mantle on his shoulders when entering, but for a quarter of an hour, the vaults in which his child had been imprisoned for a year. Isabel went on with an impassioned and almost frenzied vehemence, to which her physical strength but ill responded: "Alas! when as an infant I climbed your knees," and again she embraced his knees as she spoke, "when you seemed almost pleased that my little hands should play with your chains of honour, and well-won badges, if some wizard had predicted to you that while yet scarce more than a child, I should be grovelling at your feet on the floor of a dungeon, to entreat with a voice worn and hoarse, by many months of sighs and lamentations, for the enjoyment of the common air, for the preservation of my life, for that choice in the bestowal of my person, which is granted to the poorest fisherman's daughter in Venice, to the rudest |