INDEX TO VOL. XLVII. A Comparison, 22. ORIGINAL PAPERS. Aunt Margaret. By Mrs. Charles Tinsley, 48. Battle of Benevento, The. An Historical Novel of the Thirteenth Century. Abridged from the Italian of F. B. Guerazzi. By Mrs. Mackesey, 1, 133, 252, 349. Bertrand de Born and Henry II. By Mrs. Charles Tinsley, 293. Cambriani. By the Rev. Robert Jones, 50. Classic Haunts and Ruins. By Nicholas Michell, 28, 430. Convict's Last Hours, The. By Mrs. Crawford, 406. Dialogues of the Statues, The. By Peter Orlando Hutchinson, 58, 174, 287, 443. Division Leave. A Fragment of Exile, 23, 182. Double Romance, The, 213, 433. Dream on till Morn. By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 68. Dying Pole, The. By Captain Rafter, 372. Innocent Victims, The. By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 315. "Karenza Wheelas Karenza;" or, Love Worketh Love. By Mrs. Abdy, 402. Les Anglais pour Rire; or, Parisian Adventures. A Passage in the Mr. Joel Brown's Day's Pleasure. By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 89. My Love. By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 89. Mysterious Man, The, 336. New Year's Eve; or, Let us drink to the Year that is fled. By Mrs. Crawford, 403. Old Looking-glass, The. By Mrs. Crawford, 450. President's Wife, The, 31, 155, 272. Railroad Heiress, The. By Mrs. Abdy, 404. Real Solitude. By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 250. Recollections of Madeira during the Winter of 1844-5, 458. Sad Facts from Newspapers. By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 309. Second Series of the Light of Mental Science applied to Moral Train- ing. By Margracia Loudon, 65, 223. Shade of my Brother, Hear! By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 154. Soft! He Thinks! By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 222. Song. None are Left to Welcome Me. By Mrs. Crawford, 249. Song of the Author's Wife. By Mrs. Crawford, 442. Spanish Adventures. A Passage in the Life of Captain Anthony Still-born, The. By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 315. The Oppressor and the Oppressed. By Mrs. Edward Thomas, 346. To a Little Boy. By Mrs. Crawford, 190. To-Morrow. By Mrs. Charles Tinsley, 87. To the Memory of the late Joseph Lochlin Miller, Esq., C.E. By Tour among the Theatres, A. By Tippoo Khan, late of Hydera- Triumph of Tasso, The. By Mrs. Charles Tinsley, 172. THE METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE. THE BATTLE OF BENEVENTO.* AN HISTORICAL NOVEL OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY. ABRIDGED FROM THE ITALIAN OF F. B. GUERAZZI. BY MRS. MACKESEY. CHAPTER XIII. PERHAPS it was the reward of firmness: Charles of Anjou touched the shore. When his courage was in the lists with death, if any one had laid a hand upon his heart its throbs would not have been to be either accelerated or slackened; when all hope of external help being lost, his soul was reduced to the alternative of yielding itself up conquered, or of struggling for existence, it exerted a degree of vigour of which it would not have deemed itself capable if the occasion for it had not arrived. Charles reached the shore, although the galley had foundered about a mile from land, between Cape Linaro and Civita Vecchia; yet was he so wearied, so weakened, as if life had but held out long enough to save him from dying in the sea. The morning saw that ambitious man, destined to overthrow the throne of the great Frederick, extended motionless on the sand; all his limbs. rigid, and the water dripping from his hair and his clothes: the meanest might have insulted him with impunity; the greatest coward might have slain him; the slightest breath would have been sufficient to extinguish that vital spark, which, uncertain of itself, quivered around the seat of sensation. The sun, diffusing its subtle fire through his veins, warmed his blood, and recalled his spirit to its accustomed office. He sat upright, like one who had lost his memory, and cast his bewildered eyes upon the expanse of waters. The sky was serene, the sea was tranquil, and * Continued from page 387, vol. xlvi. Sept., 1846.-VOL. XLVII.—NO. CLXXXV. B though there might be seen floating about the witnesses of its dreadful wrath, planks, oars, and the bodies of the rowers, yet pleasant to behold with its beautiful azure; and lightly rippled it invited, with a flattering hope of pleasure, man to trust himself on its vast surface-even thus tempts sin. Amongst all the relics of the tempest, Armand, the unfortunate master, was observable; he lay supine, and swollen by the water he had swallowed, and fluctuating hither and thither, like a floating island; sometimes the water, wafting him to its utmost verge, seemed about to restore it to land, then suddenly snatching it away, carried it farther away than before; again brought it back to shore; and again, as if repenting, took it thence. If once or twice the wave retreated without the body, it seemed to run back, as if to have scope for a more vehement rush; so that the third or fourth time it came boiling, foaming, and roaring, and carried away its prey in triumph; it seemed like a child playing with a toy but the playthings of the sea are wrecked vessels and dead bodies. "Poor Master Armand!" sighed Charles, when he had sadly contemplated him, and yielded his soul to sorrowful meditations; then lifting up his head, he saw against the horizon some sails, which, aided by the wind, were making for land; and immediately Charles, forgetting every other sentiment, breathless between fear and joy, sprang up, anxious to discern if they were his vessels. Pity, in the heart of the ambitious, is like a lucid interval in the mind of the maniac; Master Armand, and his brothers in misfortune, vanished from the mind of the Count, never to return to it. "Can it be an occular delusion? does my wish deceive me?" exclaimed Charles, rubbing his eyes to clear his sight. "Can that be my own banner? surely it is azure-no-yes. So may St. Denis grant me the grace that they may prove my gallies, as that the banner is surely azure. But, alas! the field of Manfred's banner is also azure; but his white eagle fills a great space, and would certainly be visible from this; in the fluttering of one fold I have seen gules; yes, gules. Glorious St. Martin! it is my banner; the golden fleurs de lis-the portcullis gules." And here he showed his joy with an extravagance at which he blushed on immediately recollecting himself; for the old saying has it, that no man is a hero when he is alone. Fortune, like a female, weary of Manfred, followed lovingly the footsteps of Charles, and, like a female, forsook the good for the evil. The gallies obeyed the Count's signals, approached the shore, and the French saluted their lord with such demonstrations of joy as were suitable to a man restored by a miracle from the dead. At some short distance appeared belfries, church domes, and the highest houses of a city: it was Civita |