that frequently, the door of the cell. Through a narrow loop-hole, too high to be reached by any thing but the voice, we have spoken with each other. How have I raved before the barrier which kept me from my sister! How have I smote the iron door, till my hands were broken and bloody! But I have been maddened in vain; and have had reason in nothing but my despair!" Then a burst of sorrow and tears stopped for a time the utterance of the unhappy boy. The Englishman mused for a short time before he spoke : “Against a man so powerful as the Lord Monteco, I can easily believe that no laws, existing in Venice, could afford protection. But still something may, doubtless, be done; if not by the laws, yet in spite of them." "It is in the confidence of your so thinking, that I come here. For months I had almost resigned the hope of achieving my sister's deliverance. The iron resolution of Monteco-it would be as easy to move St. Marc with a finger! No Venetian would dare, for the wealth of all my house, to cross my father's path. But you-from the moment I first heard you speak as you did, the last evening, to Father Paul-from that moment I knew I had fallen on one who, with no hope of reward, no aim but the relief of misery, would venture and perform all that talents, and courage, and enterprise can accomplish. And do not suppose that I would diminish the danger of the attempt, for the purpose of disparaging your valor, when I say that you will encounter a risk, which, terrible as it is, is yet incomparably slighter than it would be if you were a Venetian citizen." "Think not of my danger, my friend, but of the means of success. Life is only valuable in proportion as we can improve our own nature, and show the fruits of that improvement in deeds of mercy and generosity." 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 ante 7 ATHENEUM, VOL. 1, 3d series. chamber 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 a 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 labor 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 Milan 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 liquorfor any one but a 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 a niche of the apartment; and, without hiding the arms, opened the door for his master. 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, It was fearing, probably, to be taken at unawares, and unprotected by the secret armor 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 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 labors. "Pietro," he said, "draw your sword, and guard the outer-door. Slay the Doge, if he should attempt to enter. I am going to see her." My Lord," said Pietro. "What, Sir?" answered Monteco, fiercely. 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 favor, 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 ante-chamber, 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 small 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 recesses 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 could lay his hands on. How this half-conceived plan was defeated,will appear hereafter. SUMMER MORNING LANDSCAPE. BY DELTA. THE eyelids of the morning are awake; The dews are disappearing from the grass; The shadows of the twilight fleet away, As in Medina's mosque Mahomet's tomb.- Mounts, mounts the skylark through the clouds of dawn, The clouds, whose snow-white canopy is spread Athwart, yet hiding not, at intervals, The azure beauty of the summer sky; And, at far distance heard, a bodyless note Pours down, as if from cherub stray'd from Heaven! Maternal Nature! all thy sights and sounds Stirless, as in the wave its counterpart,- Of dark-green copse-wood, dark, save, here and there, Where spangled with the broom's bright aureate flowers.- Sailing with sportive breast, 'mid wind and wave, And now the wood engirds me, the tall stems High stretching; like a good man's virtuous thoughts Amid the topmost boughs, with azure vest, Sweet minstrel of the morn? Behold her nest, From lurking dangers may ye rest secure, How sweet, contrasted with the din of life, Are scenes like these; yet, in the book of Time, The days of pastoral innocence, and health, The thought delighted turns; when shepherds held Far different are the days in which 'tis ours Wisdom and worth no more are chiefest deem'd No loftier attributes, the supple knees Of the immortal multitude. Ah me! That centuries, in their lapse, should nothing bring From Bethlem-Judah; glean'd the barley-fields Sketches of Contemporary Authors, Statesmen, &c.—No. I. 61 Thou, Nature, ever-changing, changest not— And spring, and summer's heat, and winter's cold The very sun that look'd on Paradise, On Eden's bloomy bowers, and sinless man, Farewell, ye placid scenes! amid the land Your green embowering groves, and smoothly spread And first of all, and fairest, thou dost pass From those sweet vales, where we have often roam'd The brightness of the morn in other scenes? Which now I gaze on; but which, wanting thee, SKETCHES OF CONTEMPORARY AUTHORS, STATESMEN, &c. THE veriest orangeman from the heart resolution and prejudice to avoid being pleased with him. Hence those of his political partizans who come most in contact with their "great leader" are invariably his warmest and most enthusiastic friends. Independently of the national causes which place him at the head of the Catholic body, the qualities to which we have alluded have probably no inconsiderable influence in enabling him to control the fiery and ambitious spirits associated with him, and to reconcile the jarring tempers to whom the guidance of the great machine is entrusted. |