respecting the fate of her brother, hastily quitted the house. She had no sooner gained the street than the populace recognized her. "It is the sister of Montanini!" they ex. claimed, "we'll carry her to the palace of her ancestors." Without further ceremony they bore her along to the area, and here, in the splendid home of her fathers, she met her brother, surrounded by bands of armed citizens. Half a score maidens immediately appeared in attendance upon her. The events of the day were speedily communicated to her; and she learned, with surprise, that a revolution had taken place in Sienna. Charles, it appeared, had already mounted the scaffold; his neck was bared, the executioner stood by, and the officer was about to drop the fatal signal, when a respite arrived: this, however, did not satisfy the people they exclaimed to each other," Our rulers are unjust, the brave Montanini has been wronged-down with the faction of Salembeni," and, with sudden frenzy, they proceeded to open revolt. The officers of government were almost instantly massacred; the nobles fled with precipitation; and the convict of the morning was now declared to be "the man of the people." This was no more than what Charles considered himself entitled to; and he lost no time in seconding the efforts of his friends to procure the liberation of Sienna. He had just been installed in his high office of dictator, in his own grand hall, when his sister arrived; and, her safety being provided for, he proceeded to the councilchamber, of which the elders of his faction had already possessed themselves. In a few days the new government had acquired the utmost stability; and several of the adverse party were in prison, amongst others the heir of the hostile name of Salembeni. On examining some documents which fell into his hands, Charles discovered, that the boor, Casani, was one of the ruffians who attempted to carry off his sister, the better, perhaps, to possess himself of Montanini's domain; and while he was meditating a fit punishment for such a delinquent, his secretary, having assured him that Casani was already dead, being killed in the first day's revolt, laid before him papers of still greater importance: they related to Salembeni, and contained proofs that Charles had been indebted to the generosity of his opponent, first for his liberty, and subsequently for his life. Montanini was not ungrateful; and his house had been al ways distinguished for the performance of noble deeds. He willingly obeyed the impulse of the moment, and in less than an hour the young Salembeni was a guest in the house of his rival. On being introduced to Angeliqua he modestly bent his eyes on the ground; but she quickly discovered in the proud adversary of her house, the youthful stranger who had rendered her such services, and who had created so intense an interest in her heart. In a month or two peace was permanently restored to Sienna by the union of the two rival houses. Salembeni and Angeliqua were amongst the happiest of the happy; and in the sister of his friend, Charles discovered a lady of congenial disposition and surpassing beauty. They were all married on the same day and before the same altar.* BLIGHTED AFFECTION. The flower that smiles to-day To-morrow dies: All that we wish to stay Tempts, and then flies: Scarcely any thing is more fatal to the future comfort and happiness of men endowed with souls of a sensitive, and minds of a romantic and imaginative temperament, than the being deprived, by death, of the object of an early and ardent attachment; for that acuteness of feeling which renders the sense of pleasure more exquisite, sharpens, likewise, the agonies of grief, and makes them doubly poignant. When such susceptible bosoms are touched with affection, it becomes a part of their existence-the very essence of their being "To be beloved is all they need, And whom they love, they love indeed." They have so long been accustomed to indulge in their passion without restraint, and to yield fondly and implicitly to its delicious influence-to fancy that it will be as permanent The incidents on which this tale is founded are ascribed, by the historian of Sienna, to the year 1395. as it is rapturous, and to forget that their beloved may be estranged or separated from them-they have experienced so much pleasure in her every word and look, and have embellished their future destiny with such brilliant colours-that the shock assails them like an earthquake; and is the more deeply felt, inasmuch as it was unexpected, and almost undreamt of. Time, that general soother, may blunt the sharpness of their sorrow, yet the annihilation of their hopes most pitiably enfeebles their spirits, leaving them sunk in pensive depression, and embittered by vain retrospection. The beam of light that illumined their life is vanished, and with it all their joys faded. She, who gave a zest to their enjoyments by participating in them, is no more : "She's gone, she's gone! All, all is hush'd; no music now is heard; That waked their sweets, shall never wake them more." he pleasures which in her company were delightful, are without her poor and tasteless-the touching strains, that, poured forth by her voice, seemed ravishing melody, from another now only awaken feelings too deep for utterance, yet too exquisitely piercing to be concealed; and memory, that mirror which so truly and so cruelly reflects back our miseries with increased effect, continually recurs to past joys now buried with her in the grave. If anticipation be more rapturous to the happy, retrospection is more agonizing to the wretched. "The love of youth-the hope of better years The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears-" is gone, and gone-for ever. Some may say this picture is too highly coloured, but too well do I know that it is not so. Our brightest expectations fade soonest-our fairest dreams depart most quickly-the sweetest flowers often whither in their first blossoming. Many a fine spirit have I seen overwhelmed by the loss of the idol of its affections, striving to appear gay, but striving, alas! in vain. I have seen them mixing in society, but only in compliance with the wishes of their friends-joining in their amusements, but more for the sake of giving than receiving pleasure smiling at their frolics, but with an effort painful to any intimate observer : "As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow, While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, So the check may be tinged with a warm sunny smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while." Their souls, I could perceive, were in the tomb with their beloved. In such cases a dreary vacuity of common interest with the world succeeds to those warm aspirations which once enlivened their fancies, and a sombre cloud covers the perspective of futurity, as far as regards their mortal state. They make no complaints; they endeavour to conceal their grief, and to seem to taste enjoyment, but they really enjoy nothing they are never spontaneously animated, all is hollow, and put on to aid their kind deceit. They continue to live, but pitiable, indeed, is their condition : "The day drags through, though clouds keep out the sun, And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on." The absence of a beloved object-particularly when occasioned by death-is attended by that melancholy of the heart which acquires additional sorrow from every minute circumstance that serves to recall the image and memory of the departed. In such a situation we cannot even profit by that dubious consolation which proceeds from "hope deferred." Our loss is irrevocable; we know this, yet can hardly believe it; so unwilling are we to admit, even to our own bosoms, that our hearts are desolate-that the tendrils of affection, which so fondly clung around them, are rudely torn asunder-and that joy, which abided there, has vanished -and for ever! This the damp feeling which tinges the cheek of youth with an unhealthy hue; and gives that aspect of loneliness to those apparently capable of revelling in all the rich delights of a world, which, to them, ought to have been one of perpetual gladness. But the casual observer does not know that the worm has been consuming the bud, and that the once "damask cheek must hence assume the tints of "pale and yellow melancholy." To such life affords no happines save that of retrospection: to look back is their consolation; and, though there may be something chilly and withering in the thought, they are perpetually recalling the image of the lost fond one: they delight to haunt the place which her presence had once almost sanctified, and they can love the most inanimate thing which once appertained to-or is associated with-her memory. The sense of loneliness which may be said to surround at such a moment the sorrowful, is beautifully expressed, by Mr. Crofton Croker, in the following stanzas: "Death had been there since last we met, And left its silent trace: There was no cheek with sorrow wet- "I saw her room-the very same- To seek its morning fare! "The gleam of sunshine on the wall THE RETURN. "I've roam'd through many a sunny land, Of laughter-loving Italy; My wayward steps have travell'd o'er с |