The fatal spell; and still it draws us on,
Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds;
The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun,

Seems ever near the prize-wealthiest, when most undone." So says the poet, whom death has now consecrated among the classics of our own language. Narenor had begun this alchymy of the heart, and Francesca was adorned with all its golden product. But the ground-work was defective. Not but that Francesca was a very good girl :--but then she wanted tact, and she was a woman. She played off a few little tricks of coquetry against Narenor with another young peasant. Here was the unpardonable offence. The mind, the information, the intellectual polish of Narenor, were as nothing to the little rustic, who only saw a handsome young man, where she ought to have discovered a superior order of being. Carl was a handsomse young man too,— and-Francesca married him.

After this, Narenor would sit for hours immovable as a statue. When he moved, he moved listlessly. He seemed to have lost all that vital spring which makes existence really life. But

"The deepest ice that ever froze,

Can only o'er the surface close;
The living stream lies deep below,

And flows, and cannot cease to flow."

It was thus that the passion of his heart broke forth from this state of apathy-" Fool that I was to imagine that wealth, or person could avail me without life's chiefest talisman-rank! With the three combined, I had burst irresistibly upon the world;-but now I am for ever fettered in a condition that I abhor. I cannot mate myself with an uneducated mind: I cannot endure this round of monotonous labour without an object—this dull, ceaseless pain, which returns unshared upon my own heart. Better that I had died in the dungeons of Cronstadt, than that I should support this living death; and there is no remedy! The magician's art might change my form-might endow me with exhaustless wealth, but to ennoble the plebeian blood that flows in these veins is beyond his power!"

"Not so!" replied a voice, which Narenor recognised for that of the old man, who now appeared before him, with a scroll of parchment in his withered hand. All men (continued the phantom) are noble, if they did but know it. Could the meanest peasant trace back his ancestry, he might find that the mean rill descended from a mighty source, some lustres ago-while the loftiest lord, in pursuing the same process, might discover that the Nile of his genealogy sprang from an almost imperceptible stream. In short, were all things known, the humblest might have cause for pride,

and the proudest for humiliation. Your ancestors, Narenor, were noble not many centuries back. Behold the record of your race! But your father (honest man) was a cobbler. This genealogy then is so artfully managed that you appear to be directly sprung from peers and princesses-but, if ever you attempt to make a wrong, or dishonourable use of it, the noble list will be instantly replaced by that of your immediate ancestors, with your father (honest man) bringing up the rear.”

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You shall no longer have any reason to complain that my gifts are imperfect. If you accept this, you will possess all that, in the eyes of mankind, constitutes perfection: yet once again, I urge you to take time for reflection, before you make another trial of endowments as perilous as they are brilliant. Any thing is preferable (replied Narenor) to this waveless calm; this desert of the mind, in which I have passed my late most wretched hours. Welcome danger, difficulty, even death itself, rather than that I should end my days in such a state of joyless apathy. Give me the scroll." It was given.

Vienna was the wider theatre, which Narenor now chose, for the display of his varied qualifications. The genealogy was handed about, in confidence, among a few particular friends; and this, combined with the attractions of a handsome person, a magnificent hotel, and a boundless profusion of expenditure, arguing a boundless possession of wealth, was irresistible. Narenor was fêted beyond measure, and was made the indespensable of every distinguished party. Narenor was in search of a wife, and it was his object to see as many high-born dames as were to be seen in Vienna. There was a beautiful widow, the Baroness Rudolpha di Hormuth, who shone superior among the ladies of Vienna,

She was, I know not precisely of what age, but she looked only five and twenty. Her beauty was of a very voluptuous and remarkable kind-what the French call épanoui; there was an easy negligence—an air of abandon-in her figure, that admirably accorded with the "eyes' blue languish, and the golden hair." Indeed, there was something altogether Circassian in her form and face. The large lids fell droopingly over those full blue eyes, which seemed always to unveil themselves with a tender reluctance. The profuse, luxuriant, redundant hair appeared to baffle every knot and braid that would have confined it, and gathered towards the top of the head, fell again, with graceful ease, upon the polished shoulder. Her movements in the dance corresponded with the character of her beauty. She did not

"trip upon the light fantastic toe," but, like the Queen of Pleasures in Gray's Progress of Poesy,

"With arms sublime, that float upon the air,

In gliding state, she won her easy way,"

And did the mind fulfil the promise of the face? Pity it was, that so fair a casket should have enclosed a poison! but so it was. The character of the Baroness may be summed up in a few words: she was a bad, ill-tempered, artful woman. By means of the last qualification she contrived to conceal the two first, from all buther maid—and her husband (for such it may have been con jectured, Narenor became). Her previous history may also soon be told. At the age of fifteen, she had voluntarily married the Baron de Hormuth, who was old, infirm, and rich. But, unlike most doting old men, the Baron could see, and judge for himself. Either Rudolpha's art was not yet perfected, or her temper not sufficiently under the control of prudence-for she failed most ingloriously in her prime object-to keep him in good humour, till he died. He left her a handsome jointure certainly, but the bulk of his immense fortune was bequeathed to his nephews and nieces. This very circumstance, which one would have thought must have been her ruin in the eyes of the world, she made use of to throw an additional lustre around her name. Through her suggestion it was that the Baron had done justice to his relations. This was universally believed, for the lawyer who drew up the will had said so. (N.B. The lawyer had nothing further to hope from the side of the relations, who already had every thing in their own power.) From the moment that the Baroness saw Narenor, she resolved to throw out her lures for him. He had not only rank and wealth, but, as far as a cold-hearted woman's affections could be engaged, his person was by no means unpleasing to her. This time there was no "just cause or impediment in the way of Narenor's felicity. Settlements were made, investments endorsed-the genealogy blazed upon its snowy parchment-" Merrily, merrily, rang the bells" and gratulating crowds poured in, to pay their bridal visits to the happy pair.

"But mortal pleasure, what art thou in sooth?
The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below."

This last line is also admirably adapted to express the character of the Baroness: she was "the torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below." The first time that Narenor heard the muttering of the cataract from afar, he was astonished, he was uneasy; but when the whole collected force met his ear, he was overwhelmed. It is said that they who live near the falls of Niagara become deaf from the continual roar of waters. Ah happy, if the shock of matrimonial

violence could have the same effect! The Baroness had unfor tunately a very sharp voice, which, before company, was carefully repressed, and sounded almost harmoniously from its very piano tones. As I have said before, her whole manner, and appearance was languishing: but every thing like languor wholly disappeared in a conjugal tête-a-tête. She then seemed determined to indemnify herself for the constraint, which she had so painfully practised in the world. If there be any thing more especially startling, and in its effect, disgusting, it is to hear a disagreeable voice proceed from a lovely mouth. Madame de Genlis has a story entitled Le Charme de la Voix, in which a plain girl, with sweet voice, carries off the heart of the hero from a beautiful girl with a dissonant voice. I confess myself to be of her opinion. A sweet voice is "a most excellent thing in woman:" but of all irritating things, the most irritating is to hear one's name called upon in sharp exalted tones from one end of the house to the other, seeming, like the shrill, ear-piercing fife, to "play the prelude to dispute." Narenor had frequently this gratification. He was obliged to have recourse to the beautifying elixir at least twenty times a day, and to fly precipitately from the presence of the Baroness, lest his secret should be discovered. But, even this did not avail him, for the indefatigable Rudolpha followed him one day to his retreat, and, making use of that convenient aperturea key-hole-beheld her beloved spouse in all his native deformity, witnessed the application of the elixir, and his restoration to "the human face divine." Now, the Baroness herself was indifferently well versed in magic; therefore she did not shriek out, or fall into fits, but quietly descended the stairs, in the pleasing persuasion that she was married either to a sorcerer, or to one who had sold himself" for a consideration"-to the powers of darkness. Nevertheless, she felt a degree of exultation in the thought, that he was now in her power. She was at least in possession of his secret; and first she resolved to torment him a little by dark hints and startling allusions. Accordingly, placing herself before the glass one day, she pretended to look pensively at her own lovely image, heaved a sigh, and said, "I begin to grow very old: you did not know how old I was when you married me. Positively I do see a wrinkle. Could you not invent for me some wash or lotion that 'would make me grow young and handsome again?” Narenor started; he well knew that the Baroness said few things without a meaning, especially out-of-the-way things. She was consummate mistress of the masked battery, that most ingenious method of tormenting which forbids reprisals, because to recriminate would be to own the wound." Again, on another occasion, the Baroness observed, "How very ugly it makes one look to put oneself in a passion: therefore I endeavour always to pre

serve my temper." And so she did, as long as such a method of proceeding was the most likely means of exasperating her opponent. At another time, she appeared to be attentively studying a huge folio, which half-closing, and looking up abstractedly, she thus began, "Do you know, my dear, I have been reading the very shocking history of Dr. Faustus! How very dreadful it was of him (was it not?) to sell himself to the devil! And it says, too, that he signed the contract with his own blood! How horrible! Do you think such things have ever really happened? To be sure, he gained every earthly advantage. Do you think he was an ugly man before he bartered his precious soul?-because, you know, it says that he was to be young and handsome till he died; so I suppose he was naturally very plain; perhaps a little deformed-why not?" In this manner, the Baroness made Narenor perfectly aware that she knew of his occasional transformations;yet she so managed that he could never come to an explanation with her on the subject. This she kept as a derniére resource. At length, Narenor one day, with as much calmness as he could command, proposed separate board and maintenance. The Baroness was resolved that such a measure should never take place; for character was her idol; and she contrived to maintain, in the eyes of the world, the reputation of a most exemplary wife. She told him, then, that, if he said another word on the subject, she would denounce him as a wretch, who practised forbidden arts; and she also dropped a hint, tending to caution him in what manner he would speak of her to others. Now was Narenor indeed most wretched. Look which way he would, he saw no means of escape from the miseries of his present situation: he was bound in inextricable fetters. How willingly would he now have forgone those extrinsic advantages, for the mere sake of which the partner of his life had bound her lot with his! How sadly did he now recognise the justness of those warnings which the old man of the forest had addressed to him. But how vainly torturing is that voice,

"Which cries, I warn'd thee, when the deed is o'er."

There is a certain point of suffering beyond which the human mind will resort to any desperate remedy, or even to any thing that promises a change of place, or circumstance. "Farthest from the fatal spot is best," is the genuine language of impatient wretchedness. To this pitch was Narenor wrought up. He determined to fly from Vienna, and from his wife. His escape was easily effected, because it had not been foreseen, and he reached the little village of in safety. There was something in the peaceful appearance of this spot peculiarly inviting to the harassed, and storm-tossed voyager of the tempestuous