broken heart: thy dagger will not make it bleed more sorely than it doth now-kill me; but be not angry with your victim!"

She could no more, but sank into his arms insensible. Long did she lie

"In sleep most like to death,"

and long the deeply alarmed monarch feared her life and woes were both at end. Bitterly did he curse the day when, under the mask of honourable love, and as a private suitor, he won upon her heart's unsuspecting innocence.

His efforts at length restored her to animation. He bore her to a couch, and strove, by entreaties and tenderness, to subdue her determination. He told her that, though linked by interest to the queen, his heart was his Rosamond's.

"I was betrothed to her, but I love thee

By love's own sweet constraint!"

He told her and truly did the fond monarch vow-that were his haughty Eleanor no more, his crown, his kingdom, should at her feet kneel for acceptance. Vain were his vows, his protestations, bis entreaties. Virtue re-assumed her reign in the bosom of the fair penitent, and the wealth of worlds could not seduce her fixed determination.

"Remain but in this place," cried Henry, pacing the apartment in agitation; "consent thou but to tarry here till three days from this; then I shall return; and if, my Rosamond, thy purpose then be fixed, I will no more oppose thy firm resolve. If, three days from hence, thou still maintain thy cruel determination, hard as 'twill be to part-deep as my heart will feel the pang, I will consent to lose thee."

Rosamond acquiesced; and the king, after not much fur. ther converse, left her.

The howling storm that roared incessantly without, the sheets of rain that deluged the earth, the vivid lightning, whose unceasing flashes displayed the horrors of the scene, and the pealing thunder that shook, and even convulsed, the ground, could not deter the perturbed monarch from instantly quitting Woodstock. With a single attendant he departed, and Rosamond retired to her sleepless couch.

*

*

Two days had effected an entire change in the personal appearance of Rosamond Clifford. Habited in a coarse

black robe, the ample folds of which effectually concealed her lovely form, with a plain ivory crucifix suspended from her neck, the once voluptuous favourite of royalty now spent her days and nights at the altar, or in her closet. Her cheek, though pale "as monumental alabaster," betrayed no signs of perturbation. Within her bosom all passions, save that of deep and penitent devotion, were extinguished. Truly did she seem aided in this trying hour by that divine spirit which she had so piously and fervently invoked.

*

*

The third day closed calmly and serenely in. Rosamond Clifford marked the westering sun's progressive declension towards the horizon, with a pleasurable feeling of selfapproving satisfaction. Adieu, bright and glorious orb," she ejaculated; "now for the last time I bid farewell to thee, and to the world thy beams illumine. To-morrow's dawn beholds me an inmate of the cloistered convent. The lady abbess has kindly consented to receive a penitent magdalene. Christ has said to me, 'Nor do I condemn thee!' My love for Henry is, methinks, passed like a fatal, yet, I must acknowledge, a delightful dream. The king will soon be here--I will evince that penitence with Rosamond is no light thing, to be conceived and be forgotten. I know his noble nature; he will not oppose, but applaud and further my desires."

She ceased, and, receding from the window of her bower, prostrated herself before the crucifix, and knelt awhile in silent but fervent prayer. Suddenly the door opened. Rosamond arose, and turned to greet, as she supposed, the king.

Gracious heavens! it is her infuriated rival-it is the queen, the revengeful Eleanor ! In her right hand gleams a dagger, while her left extends a bowl of deadly poison. A smile of bitter scorn lit up the pale and haughty features of Eleanor, as she thus addressed the trembling Rosamond.

"Woman, dost thou know me? Yes, that blush of shame and deep confusion tells me thou dost! I come not to bandy words with thee. Choose, minion, whether I shall bury in thy bosom this gleaming steel, or wilt thou seek death in this poisoned bowl. Believe me, 'tis composed of subtle drugs, that without pain will straight absorb thy being."

Rosamond arose, and calmly received the poison from the hands of Eleanor.

་་

"Thus, then, princess, Rosamond Clifford gives thee satisfaction for her many injuries." She drank the contents of the bowl, and resumed, Eleanor, thou hast been deeply wronged, and it may astonish thee to know that Rosamond most umeluctantly has paid the forfeit of her folly."

The queen, deeply stung by the calm and willing smile of her victim, rushed, with a shriek, from the apartment. Instantly after, Henry entered, breathless. "I saw my

queen!" he exclaimed, in a voice of madness, "I saw my queen rush from hence. Rosamond, art thou harmed? speak, speak, my love! tell me, my life, has that fell woman injured thee in aught?"

The ill-fated Rosamond turned on her lover a dying glance of love unutterable. "Oh, Henry!" she exclaimed, “I still am thine-the same fond woman still!" She sank lifeless into the arms of the frantic monarch.

Glancing his eye wildly around, he saw the bowl which Rosamond had drained; the horrid truth, in all its overwhelming terrors, flashed upon his soul-hastily snatching the bowl, he swallowed the portion of poison that remained. "It is not enough!" he cried, "it will not kill!" and straining the lifeless victim of jealousy to his breast, sank with a deep and thrilling shriek upon the floor.

WE PART.

BY HARRIET OATES.

We part: oh, would that we had met,
Thy heart, thy hand, as free as mine,
With souls to cherish, not regret,

The feelings that have made me thine;
Then had I priz'd each hope that now
Flings but remorse across my
brow

For what must leave no sign,
Recalling with despairing tears
Those dreams of execrated years.

The sun that rose in burning gold
Was darkened on its way;
And love as deep as mine, untold
Must wither in decay;

And smiles, deceiving smiles, hide well
The tale no living lips may tell,
While agony must prey

Upon each thought's uncheck'd career,
With nought to hope, yet all to fear.

Thou canst not feel as I have felt,
For guilt is not thine own;
The cares that o'er my soul have dwelt
Are mine, but mine alone.

And others deem my gladdening smile
Could grief of all its stings beguile,
As if it were unknown-

As if no falsehood could be there
To veil a broken heart's despair.

Farewell! but deem not thou my soul
Can part with thoughts of thee;
For it were vain, as to control

The billows of the sea.

In every scene, through joy, through grief,
My heart nor hopes, nor seeks relief,

Nor wishes to be free;

But to a thousand feelings still

It clings with many a madd'ning thrill.

Naples.

ENGLISH FASHIONS AND NOVELTIES.

LONDON PROMENADE DRESS.-Satin pelisse; the colour is a new shade of grey. The corsage made high and close to the shape, is trimmed with a pelerine square behind, but descending in a point to the waist; it is bordered with a row of satin trimming set on full. Sleeves à la Gabrielle, finished with knots at the upper part. Ceinture en suite. The skirt is finished down one side with a double row of trimming corresponding with that on the corsage, but broader. Bonnet of dark brown satin, a capote crown, and long deep brim, lined with pink velvet, and trimmed next the face with blond lace arranged in the cap stile. The crown is decorated with bands and knots of pink velvet. Cashmere shawl.

LONDON EVENING DRESS.-Figured satin robe, the ground white, the pattern in the new colour, Eau de Danube; a low corsage made to fit the shape exactly, with a shawl lappel of a new form; it is edged with lace set on plain. The sleeves are tight nearly to the elbow, from whence they extend in a very large bouffant nearly half way to the wrist; the lower part is tight. The sleeves and the front of the corsage are trimmed with red roses formed of velvet, and the hair arranged à la Berthe, is decorated with velvet nœuds.

REMARKS ON THE PREVAILING LONDON FASHIONS.

We see, in plain walking-dress, a good many cloaks composed of meninos of either full or sombre hues, and trimmed with velvet to correspond. Their form does not afford any novelty. We notice them merely to recommend them to our fair readers, as being, perhaps, better calculated than any other kind of mantle for the streets of London.

Velvet and satin are the materials most in request for promenade bonnets; black ones begin to be very much in vogue. We see also a good many coloured satin ones, trimmed with black velvet. Generally speaking, the trimmings of promenade bonnets are of a simple kind; they consist either of ribbon or velvet. We see, with pleasure, that feathers and flowers, both so ill calculated for exposure to the humidity of the air, as well as the smoke of our metropolis, are but little adopted in walking-dress, with the exception, however, of some small flowers, that are frequently intermingled with blond lace, which is used to trim the interior of the brim in the cap stile. The brims of bonnets are worn deep and very long at the sides.

Let us now take a glance at the numerous novelties in preparation for carriage dress. We may cite in the foremost rank, a revived fashion-how far it will become a general one we cannot pretend to say-we mean cloth dresses and pelisses for ladies; both were very much in vogue about five and twenty years ago. We have seen one of each ordered by a lady of high rank. The pelisse made extremely ample, with a light corsage and sleeves demi large, was composed of very fine lady's cloth, of an extremely soft and light kind. The colour was a rich golden shade of brown; it was lined