powering idea possessed me. I believed this introduction was the turning point in my destiny. I answered only in monosyllables to the editor's warm eulogiums of the Thespian, and ran along al nost dragging him, despite his half articulated protestations against the pedestrianism of country-bred Scotchmen. Emerging from the glare of mid-day into the shadowy gloom of the theatre, we stopped to take breath and accustom our dimmed vision to the change. My companion taking my hand, drew me between two scenes in about the centre line of the stage, and there we began to observe.

1

'Is she here?' I asked faintly. Just then Helen appeared, slowly walking up the stage, intent upon a manuscript. She was dressed in a simple gown of black silk, and over her neck was carelessly flung a shawl of richly wrought lace of the same color. As she walked, the light from a very high upper window fell directly upon her features; and ever and anon, she lifted her full expressive eye from the paper, and repeated to herself, as if to make trial of her memory. When she came parallel with us, my companion whispered her name. She turned towards us; he stepped forward, and was instantly recognized and kindly greeted. A few expressions passed between them among which such words as-news,' 'cold,' 'Glasgow,' and others of an import so common-place that they seemed to mock the solemn interest of my feelings, when my companion beckoned me forward. I

approached with throat. 'Miss

hat in my

hand and my heart in my my this is the gentleman of whom I

spoke to you,--Mr. Francis Graham, of.' 'I

am happy to see you, Mr. Graham,' returned the Thespian, with a smile that thrilled me, and an accent that seemed heavenly. I bowed repeatedly. I looked my veneration and tenderness. I could not speak.

V.

I had passed the Rubicon, and thenceforth obeyed the impulse of my feelings fearlessly and freely. Every night found me behind the wings. The best oranges that searching could procure in Edinburgh, the fairest roses of the public gardens, did I lay, as votive offerings, on the shrine of my idolatry. Five memorable times I attended the Thespian to her home. On three memorable evenings I sat beside her, in the midst of her family. I was abundantly content. If any thing had been necessary to deepen my interest, it was afforded by the acquain⚫ tance I now formed with her character. She followed her profession uncomplainingly, for the sake of those dependent for support upon her toils. During a morning walk to Salisbury crags, I resolved on the succeeding night to offer my hand to the Thespian. I determined to marry her openly; to lead her before the public on her farewell benefit. As I strolled back to the city, I was composing the poetical address which I determined she should speak on this occasion, when the door of my law office, which I had mechanically reached, interrupted my I gravely entered, took down the proper volume in course, opened it at the right place, and seating myself before the extended page, fixed my eyes in

muse.

tently upon it, and was soon lost in-dreaming of Helen Trevor.

'It was a lovely afternoon, the one preceding the evening of my intended declaration. I was in my chamber, cutting the dead leaves from some wild flowers, just brought me from the country. Helen was to play Ophe. lia that night, and these were destiued for her 'fennells, columbines, and rue, her violets and daises.' There was a noise in the passage. A sudden foreboding oppressed me. The door slowly opened, and in walked my old aunt, the Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University at St. Andrews, my cousin and Mr. Connington. There was an awful gravity in their countenances. The flowers dropped from my hands; I was aghast with astonishment and anxiety. The intruders silently seated themselves. Nephew,' said my aunt, in the old lecture tone, but with unwonted severity of manner, 'I need not ask for whom those foolish weeds are de. signed; I know all, sir. The disrespect you have shown for the honor of your family, my honored kinsman has informed me of. I warned him never to reprimand you, but always to notify me of your misdemeanors. This he has done, in season, happily, to prevent farther mischief. Your learned friend, here, and she pointed to the professor-starts to-morrow for France. We have decided that he shall be the companion of your travels. Prepare to accompany him, sir.'

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'Suffice it to add, that I was forced from Edinburgh without being permitted to see the Thespian. Nearly five years have I been on the continent. Knowledge I

have devotedly pursued, but I was born to live and joy in feeling. I have never entered a theatre since my departure from home, till to night, the anniversary of my 'first play.' I ventured, and you saw how I was overcome, ay, and lured into repeating, for the first time during my exile, the tale you have so patiently heard.'

'Receive my earnest thanks, and all my sympathy,' I replied; but what became of the Thespian?' She went to America, and report says she is there married.'

'One query more ere you go'--for he had risen to depart 'deep as is your grief, you evidently have a theory that supports you. I have seen you cheerful--what is it? He smiled, and taking a miniature edition of Childe Harold from his pocket, said, 'It is written here;' then grasping my hand, he repeated with great force and pa thos, the following lines:

Existence may be borne, and the deep root

Of life and sufferance make its firm abode
In bare and desolated bosoms: mute
The camel labors with the heaviest load,
And the wolf dies in silence: not bestowed
In vain should such examples be; if they,
Things of ignoble or of savage mood,
Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay
May temper it to bear,-it is but for a day.

MODENA.

"There are those who lord it o'er their fellow-men

With most prevailing tinsel."

Keats.

Of all the strong holds of despotism at present existing in Italy, Modena excites in the mind of a republican the greatest impatience. The narrow limits of the state are in ludicrous contrast with the tyrannical propensities of the government. One cannot approach the neat little capital and gaze through the vine-ranges of the contiguous plains, to the distant and snow-clad Appenines, without dwelling regretfully upon the political condition of a people, upon whose domain nature has lavished her resources with a richness that would seem to ensure their prosperity and happiness. The conduct of the Modenese during the revolutionary excitement, which agitated this part of Italy several years since, and which is now allud ed to with a significant shrug, as l'affare di trent'uno, and the sufferings consequent upon its failure, are such also as to elicit the hearty sympathy of every true friend of lib