existence. Alas! this is the penalty pride must pay for the little hour it has retained its 'vantageground. Yet thou hast not deserted me, Faneli; no, no; thy breath blows warm upon my cheek, and I feel thy tears, refreshing as the dew of heaven upon my brow. Leave me, girl, leave me!" he continued wildly, "or the world will chase thee from them. Is there no air in Naples that will blow freshly o'er my throbbing temples? Air-air-more air, or I perish! I feel as though I could gulp the winds, and yet not be satisfied." For awhile the Duke seemed to gasp for breath, and as the carriage drove through the streets of Naples to the citadel, the gaping crowd which lined every avenue, were gazing so earnestly at Caserta that Faneli was little better able to support herself than her father. It was a relief to her when the gates of the citadel closed upon them, and she was exposed to the gaze of the soldiery alone. De Lasti now delivered up his prisoner to the governor, who, with much outward shew of respect, immediately conducted him to an apart ment, the windows of which were secured by strong bars of iron, and the door watched by two sentinels. When Faneli was about to follow her father into his dungeon home, the governor interposed to prevent her entrance. This the weeping girl had not foreseen, and almost delirious with grief, she threw herself on her knees before him to entreat that her father might not be deprived of her services. With a manner very different to that of De Lasti, he informed her it was the order of the Prince that the Duke should not be permitted to hold communication with any person, not even with a priest, until he had been examined before the council; therefore she must not consider him rude, or his conduct harsh, if he requested that both she and the Marchese would profit by the liberality of their Sovereign, who had kindly pardoned their offence, and take advantage of that liberty to which by his bounty they were now unconditionally restored. "Art thou a man or a demon," passionately exclaimed Faneli, "who wouldst thus separate a parent from his child when his soul is bowed down by agony, and his enemies are pressing round to crush him to the earth? Say not that the Prince has issued so cruel a command; no, no, you do but belie the benignity of his nature, when you charge him with acting so unfeelingly. Look at my father, weak and enfeebled as he is, can he live without the attentions of his child? In mercy do not deny me this boon! Let my life be the sacrifice; but spare, oh spare his age! It is his child-his fondest, dearest child, who thus supplicates your pity-who kneels to implore a favour you would not deny to the daughter of the ineanest Lazzaroni in Naples!" The governor appeared moved by her entreaties, and as if unwilling to add to her suffering by a more peremptory refusal, withdrew from the hall without uttering a sentence. The sentinels did not dare to deviate from their duty, and Faneli was at length borne into the castle yard by the Marchese in a state of insensibility. Had not the affection Soldani bore towards the afflicted girl been better founded than that which has mere beauty for its basis, he would have repented having formed so very inauspicious a union. But his love was fervent and sincere, and he felt a gratification in being now the legal protector of one who would perhaps shortly be fatherless. Faneli was too much absorbed in sorrow to be capable of appreciating his tenderness; but as her head sunk upon his bosom, and her eyes, worn out with watching and tears, closed in slumber, she seemed to be aware that she had yet one friend in whom she could trust, and who truly sympathized with her sorrows. The dawn of the morrow was but the renewal of the lease of Faneli's woes. The respite of a few hours from suffering served, while it gave her a momentary strength, but to increase the certainty of her father's fate. The whispers of the domestics, and the less scrupulous communications of those officious friends, who, to gratify their own curiosity, came to pay her their visits of condolence, soon convinced her that the Duke had little reason to expect a favourable result from the examination he was destined to undergo before the council. With an aching heart, and the assumed firmness of a heroine, she repaired to the palace. The council were already met, and Caserta was undergoing his interrogations. Notwithstanding her entreaties, the officers on duty refused her admittance; but her agony, her loveliness, and her rank prevented them from forcing her away from the outer door of the ante-chamber. There she awaited the egress of the Duke, though the force of her agitation at times rendered her almost incapable of standing, even with the support of Soldani, whose arm entwined around her waist, and gave strength to her feebleness. Surrounded by his guards Caserta at last appeared. Faneli forgot her weakness for a moment, and breaking through them before they were aware of her intention, she clasped her father in her arms, and bathed his face with her tears. She seemed to have lost the power of speech, and the greeting she gave her father was but a succession of heavy sobs that seemed almost to rive her heart. Though their hearts melted with pity they did not dare to disobey the orders of their superiors, and Faneli was by force separated from the arms of her sire. All the information she could obtain was that his trial was to take place within a few days, and then all restrictions would be removed. This was but a poor consolation to a heart nearly severed by sorrow, but as she found entreaties were useless, she bowed with humility to the will of those who she feared might be irritated by an opposition to their decrees. The isolated state of her father preyed upon her mind. She felt that he was neglected by those who ought to have shared his sorrows with him, and that from her alone he could hope to meet with attention and respect. That he should be deprived of her kind offices at such a moment, was more than enough to lacerate her affectionate bosom ; but it was necessary to bear up against the pressure of evils with fortitude, and though she had at first bowed like a branch to the wind, she assumed a calmness and composure which was as little felt | So nervously apprehensive did he at length beas the smile is expressive of joy on the countenance of the departed; for The astonishment and the delight of Gertrude when she learned the particulars of the events of the last few days, it would be difficult to depict. Now she could boldly crave the pardon of her relative, and even the haughty Elizabeth could not refuse her sanction to the alliance she had formed with one of the noblest families in the Italian states. Sincere congratulations, mingled with tears of pleasure from every member of this little family circle, amply repaid Francisco for his forced absence from his domestic joys; and when Nina, with whose agency in the affair he had not been made acquainted, related to him the part she had taken in the summary and decisive measures which had been adopted to enforce the ends of justice, he was ready to fall down at her feet, and view her as something more than mortal. "The ocean has its ebbings-so has grief-" and in the plenitude of present felicity, the sorrows of the past were but indistinctly remembered by Francisco. Lady Susan, who was vivacious and volatile as ever, contributed in no slight degree to exhilarate the spirits of her companions, while even her sedate and steady lord, whose smiles were indeed "few and far between," relaxed from his natural gravity, and took a lively interest in the concerns of his friends. But though pleasure shed her brightening beams round the breast of Francisco, the germ of sorrow and of suffering was not entirely removed. The man against whose life the rigid proceedings of justice were now to be enforced, was akin to him by the near ties of blood, and he almost recoiled at the idea of his dying a death of shame, which, should they not fail in producing convincing proof of his guilt, must inevitably be his fate. That Caserta felt all the horrors of his situation, he could not doubt; forsaken both by peace of mind and by hope, he must be desolate indeed. But when he remembered the wretched and untimely end of his father, and the subsequent sufferings of his mother, he indignantly strove to check every sensation of pity, as unworthy of a son whose duty it was to appease the manes of a murdered parent. come by the recollection of the miseries cast upon his mind, that he was impelled to seek society even at the expence of his feelings. The minister who had so readily afforded Nina the powerful assistance of his emissaries, was indefatigable in his exertions to bring the crime home to the Duke. Lamioli, who had secreted himself in the most obscure part of the city, and waited but for an opportunity to make his escape from the kingdom, was discovered and arrested so privately that not the most distant hint of his detention had reached the ears of either party when the Duke appeared before the council, nor was he at that time confronted with his master. It was the intention of the council to elicit what evidence they could against the Duke from his confidential domestic, as they feared, from the protracted absence of Father Miguel, they might not be able to bring forward more than his written deposition at the trial, which was appointed by the sovereign to take place within a few days. But from Lamioli both innocence of the imputed crime, and igthey could obtain no information. He pleaded trusted, had removed those who could have testinorance of the perpetrators of it. Years, he fied against him, and he clung to the idle hope that the papers which had so mysteriously been removed from the armoire in the Duke's private apartment at Caserta, might perhaps never be produced, and if so, though his name could not escape without being tainted, his life would be safe. A courier had been despatched to Rome to urge the instant return of Father Miguel; but it was scarcely probable that, even with the exertion by the day which had been fixed for the trial. of the utmost speed, the monk could reach Naples The few persons who took any interest in the fate of the Duke, and who had faith in the days of chalk and charcoal, were inclined to consider his case hopeless, from the circumstance of the day of his trial being fixed for a Friday, which was then, as it is to this day, believed to be the day of misforune. There were but few who pitied his situation, and perhaps none, save Faneli, that believed him guiltless. The Duchess with her family had returned to Naples, where propriety compelled her to remain secluded until the fate of her husband should be decided. She strove not by exerting her influence with those in power, or petitioning the mercy of the Prince, to abate the rigour of the prosecution against her lord; but with that enviable apathy which but few persons possess, awaited the event of his trial with as much composure as she would have done the entrance of a visitor after the page had announced the name and quality of the expected guest. There were not wanting among that portion of the population who knew what it was to bask beneath the influence of hope, or quail under the piercing gale of terror, persons who took the liberty of animadverting freely on the conduct of the Duchess and her equally insensible son. The example of Faneli was brought forward to illustrate the difference between real and affected feeling, by many a mother to her child; and while one received the meed of general sympathy and approbation, the other was coldly mentioned as the wife of an unfortunate man, whose grave would scarcely be remembered by his offspring. Public opinion is generally correct in the aggregate, though frequently wrong in the detail; and even Nina, who had real cause to detest every branch of that family who had risen on her ruin, could not help feeling for the melancholy and deserted state of the man, who, though the cause of all her misery, was left to sink beneath the weight of his own reflections, without one friend even to whisper the necessity of his making his peace with heaven. No longer compelled to secrete herself from observation, Nina now in a manner resumed herself. She was not like the same being that she was when dwelling in conventual seclusion, and in the society of her son and Gertrude, seemed again to be restored to the world. Even the pensiveness of her manner was gradually wearing away, for as her bosom was now relieved of the weight of woe which she had for years been compelled to conceal, she could enter a little into the concerns of the world. The vivacity of Lady Susan, who rallied Francisco sometimes without mercy on the attentions he received from the fairest of the Neapolitan dames, insensibly drew the thoughts of Nina from the present situation of her own affairs, and the assumed gravity with which she would at others kindly warn him not to give implicit credit to their professions, rendered her an invaluable appendage to the domestic circle. Had not Gertrude been perfectly acquainted with the gay and generous disposition of her kinswoman, she might have fancied when she was told of her husband, "He is the ladies' idol, they have not leisure To say their prayers for him ;" that she might find some difficulty in retaining possession of his heart. But she had too much confidence in both parties to cherish such a weakness for a moment, and it must have been a damning proof indeed that could have induced her to waver in her opinion of the heart of Francisco. Nor was Lady Susan less severe on her own lord, who would, she asserted, have become a very ex cellent pattern-husband had he not been spoiled by the flattery of the ladies; and by way of caution she would add, with a significant glance at each, "Do not believe them, my young lords, they'll make Fools of a thousand such; they do not love you." No one could speak on this subject from experience better than Lady Susan, and she sometimes received a gentle hint that there were many among the train of Elizabeth's court, who could bear testimony to the truth and justice of her remark. “Women, my good Sirs," said her ladyship, "have the privilege of attracting as many lovers as they have the power to ensnare. I believe I have taken many a heart captive while moving down in a passamezzo to pleasure the Queen, and rivetted on fetters with a melody played on the virginals. But then I had a worm in my brain, which, at some times of the moon, did make me play strange pranks to ravish men to madness. Then I could raise expectations with a smile, and depose high raised hopes with a frown. Now, alas! those times are gone by." "Those were the times before marriage," replied De Ruthin, with an arch glance at Francisco. "You were then untamed, sweet love, but I question much if your power would, under present circumstances, be so extensive.” "Aye, there you have the advantage of me, and the best part of the argument," rejoined Lady Susan. "That fatal word marriage is like an eclipse, and hides our talents from the view of men.' "But you forget that at the same time it makes your virtues more prominent," said Francisco. "And if I cannot gainsay your argument, will whom those virtues are to be appreciated? I may you be kind enough, sage Sir, to inform me by sit over my broidery loom from sunrise to sunset, wreathing mimic flowers together, and working birds which turn the works of the Omnipotent into ridicule; and after I have wearied mine eyes, and pricked my fingers to the bone, if my husband is gratified, I must of course be delighted. No, no, I like not such cold commentaries on housewifery. There must be something more stimulant to whip me to exertion. Why, I do not know whether I would not prefer a matrimonial salutation a la Russe, though in that instance I might, perhaps, different beings; she, quiet soul, would cry "I be disposed to retaliate. Gertrude and I am very thank thee," for anything, and I verily believe it would be next to impossible to make her jealous of her wedded lord." Gertrude was too much accustomed to the licenced raillery of her cousin to heed what she said, and generally responded to her badinage with a hearty laugh. She knew her heart was most truly overflowing with kindness, and that she dethe temptation of teazing those who were beside lighted in doing good, though she could not resist her. Although Lady Susan, under the mask of gaiety, concealed every trace of care, she was at times seriously uneasy at the difference which existed his impetuosity, and his irritability of temper, she between her and her father. With all his faults, felt that his affection and his pardon were necessary to render her life happy. All the opposition she had thrown in the way of his wishes, and the disappointment she had given to his fondest expectations by her stolen marriage with De Ruthin, would at times come across her mind like a dense cloud which veils the splendour of the noon-day sun, and casts a shadow over the beauties of nature. The letters which she had addressed to him since she had taken up her residence in Napies, he had not deigned to give any reply to, and she began to fear that he was indeed that inexorable being which the world described him. anxiety of her mind she carefully concealed from De Ruthin, as she feared if he was aware of her secret unhappiness, he would brave all risks and return to England, and thus incur the very evils she was so desirous he should avoid. The The Chevalier De Lasti, who being a Knight of Malta, was considered by the ladies to be harmless as a friar, and had the entré into the boudoir of both matron and maid, was the sole confidant of her troubles. To him she frankly disclosed the uneasiness of her mind, and entreated him to exert his skill to effect a reconciliation between her and her irritated parent. De Lasti, who had first beheld her surrounded by admirers, and perhaps the most attractive maiden at the Elizabethian court, was ready enough to comply with the request of so fair a suppliant, and promised to make the appeal personally as soon as Francisco's claim should be established; and Gertrude as the acknowledged Duchess Di Caserta might perhaps have some reason to hope his countenance would not then be withheld from her. The Chevalier made no merit of undertaking the difficult task; real regard had induced him to embark in the affairs of his young friends, and he was resolved if possible to accomplish this more difficult than diplomatic negociation, to the satisfaction of all the parties concerned. Lady Susan was profuse in her expressions of gratitude, but the Chevalier playfully put a stop to her thanks by quoting a passage from a popular drama of that period "Your beauty hath the power To melt a Scythian's bosom-those divine Hath seal'd the crannies up with frost; your eye With this flattering tribute to the charms of his fair friend, the Chevalier made his bow. As the time of Caserta's trial drew nigh, every other circumstance was beheld but as things of minor consideration. The event of that day would indeed be an era in the life of Francisco and Nina, and the only fear that harrassed their bosoms now was, that wealth might, perchance, be able to bias the power of justice. Venality was then much too prevalent in the supreme courts of law; and in Italy, where all the members of the learned and legal profession were by no means over-burthened with wealth, there certainly was some cause for suspicion. Nina was not inclined to coincide in this opinion; she trusted more to the power by which Caserta was opposed, and which few would be willing to contend against, than to be led by the idea that had taken possession of the minds of those with whom she was now so closely connected. Besides, it did not appear that the fate of the Duke had excited anything like pity among the branches of his own family, and therefore it was scarcely probable that those who could refuse him their commiseration, would part with their wealth to render him a service which might at last prove wholly ineffectual. Let the event be what it might, she was resolutely determined to trust to the justice of her cause, and she doubted not that a beneficent Providence, that had watched her in her wanderings and protected her in her perils, would restore her to those rights of which she had been so long and so cruelly deprived, and still be the father of the fatherless, the guardian of the widow, and the protector of the desolate and oppressed. LYRICS FOR THE CAMP. BY MRS. CORNWELL-BARON WILSON. No. I. ON, TO THE TENTED FIELD. On, to the tented field, On, to the battle-plain; The sword of valour wield, And Freedom's cause maintain. The flag of England waves Proudly before our eye; The foe, our vengeance bravesWe'll conquer, or we'll die! On, to the tented field, On, to the battle-plain; The sword of valour wield, And Freedom's cause maintain ! The land that gave us birth, For her we draw our swords; Our altars, home, and hearth, A righteous cause affords ! The Isle that rules the main, The Empress of the sea, Must ne'er know tyrant's chain, But, as the breeze, be free. On, to the tented field, On, to the battle-plain; The sword of valour wield, And Freedom's cause maintain. The smiles of those we love Shall greet our home-return; Makes ev'ry bosom burn: On, to the battle-plain; A POETIC YARN. Away, away, bounds the bark of the Rover, And proudly the moon is arising on high; Before the morn he'll be half-seas over, For swift as a bird the "Restless" will fly. He's left behind him a heart that is beating For him as true as the glad sun is bright; And, oh! how it longs for our happy meeting, When the gallant old ship will once more bless the sight. But now he's gone roving again o'er the billow, And he makes for awhile the proud ocean his home; I wonder if he, on his wild rocking pillow, Will dream of the sweetheart he's leaving to roam! Yes, I know all of me are his thoughts and his dreaming; Whate'er you may say, true lovers to part. Had you seen, when he left me, how sad was the beaming Of his eye, you'd say that I held all his heart. But, now we have parted, there must be a meeting, And the wild winds will bring the young Rover THE NEAPOLITAN. (A ROMANCE.) CHAP. XX. The unfortunate Gozzi, through the skill and unremitting care of the King's physician, was restored to the use of his reason, some few months after the alarming attack, of which Leonora's courage had averted the bloody consequences. In the meanwhile, the King of the Two Sicilies had used every pacific means in his power to recover her from the hands of Louis, and restore her to the Count, her brother. His efforts were fruitless; and the young Neapolitan remained during the whole interval under the protection of the King and Queen. It was now the summer; but De Gourville, true to his benevolent intentions, did not hint a design of going to his chateau. The Marchioness had intreated him to remain in Paris until the marriage between Gozzi and Leonora, which had never been abandoned, was solemnized; for she was aware of the respectability the Marquis's presence and her own would give to the ceremony; and he had complied without any hesitation. young Viscount into her room. The mere sight of his merry face seemed to recal the cheerfulness of the Marchioness, for the moment at least. They fondly loved each other, and met with tears and smiles after a separation of some weeks; and the Marquis drew the most pleasing omens from the brightening up of that poor little face, which had caused him so much anxiety. Castelnan was in raptures with the boy. "Faith! sister, you have made me quite jealous. Let me have him in my own arms; it is fit that I should learn to nurse.' "Pardi! but you shan't practise upon my child!" cried she, impetuously, but half laughing. "Let's have a game of goose, brother," exclaimed Madame De Gourville, in a few minutes. "With all my heart, Félicité; but we must find some more to join: brother, will you make one?" "Certainly," replied De Gourville. "Then we must summon the rest, if they're in the house." "Not Madame d'Adhimar," said the Marchioness; "she delights in teazing me." "But my Félicité used to be far above that," said the Marquis, kindly. "Yes, but I'm in a silly fit now-but, as you please," said she, submissively. "It never pleases me to annoy you, little pet; no-you shall choose your own party." From this day, the Marchioness, though she frequently relapsed into melancholy, grew gradually better, and at last the "blue devils" finally took their flight. It is true, that renewed strength had as much share in this desirable result as the company of Castelnan; but he certainly gave the first impulse to it. Her fondness for her infant appeared to have increased every day. De Gourville, who, with his usual insight into character, had always predicted that she would make the tenderest of mothers as well as the most obedient and affectionate of wives, felt as if all his happi But an important event had occurred in De Gourville's family, for the Marchioness had presented him with a son; and this circumstance crowned the happiness of a man so eminently fitted for domestic enjoyment in all its branches. She had not recovered either her health or spirits since her accouchement. Like many persons who have scarcely known what severe illness is, she was very easily overcome by pain and sickness. Her lowness of spirits was almost in proportion to their previous elevation. If she was a little worse, she immediately fancied she was going to die; at other times, the confinement of a sick chamber was not to be borne: she would ask for champagne, or insist upon going out; and she was often so completely unmanageable, that the physi-ness was consummated. cian entertained serious apprehensions. But, generally speaking, she was reclined in a sort of melancholy languor upon a sofa, with her baby on her breast, which scarcely any persuasion or remonstrance could induce her to part with out of her arms; and which seemed to be her only joy in this doleful period, as it seemed to her, of weakness and incarceration. The Marquis would in vain turn her thoughts to the delights of being a mother. She listened, it is true, to what he said with that respectful attention which never failed her, but it did not make much impression, and he was generally silenced by her complaining of a "terrible head-ache." At last, the Marquis, really distressed to see her in this unfortunate condition, and fearing her constitution might | be injured by the wretched state of her nerves, bethought himself of calling in her lively brother, Castelnan, as a more effectual physician than any to "a mind diseased." He had hitherto forbidden him Madame De Gourville's apartment, fearing the effect of his violent spirits upon her exhausted frame. Accordingly, without informing her of his intention, that the surprise and pleasure might be the greater, he one day brought the | Madame de Gourville had now quitted her apartment, and sat as usual in the saloon. Gozzi had, since his recovery, been removed to De Gourville's hotel, where he was treated by the Marquis with every attention which his benevolence suggested. He had hitherto remained in his own apartments, without entering the Marquis's saloon, for he had a natural dread of seeing visitors; and De Gourville, sensible of the unfortunate situation in which he was placed, would not press it. One evening, however, when he and his wife resolved to be alone, and had given orders to be denied to every body, they entreated Gozzi would join them. He complied, though with some reluctance; and found the Marchioness with the baby in her arms, and De Gourville employed in reading to himself. "My sweet Félicité!" said Gozzi, approaching and tenderly embracing her. She hung on his neck, weeping. "My dear, dear Ludovico! how glad I am to see you again!" He then took her fine boy in his arms, and repeatedly kissed him, whilst a melancholy smile passed over his pale lips. The Marchioness seemed to read his thoughts, for she said, again |