Enough—I thank you,” rejoined the comte, calmly restoring the relic to its former place; then, as the jeweller left the room, he desired Louis to see that his repasts were served regularly in the apartments of the comtesse," who is too ill," continued he, "for me to think of leaving her till her health is in some degree re-established."

And for fifteen days, to keep watch over her. from time to time heard struck terror to the soul of the guilty woman, and horror and despair crept through her veins; but, when she would have thrown herself at his feet to implore for mercy on herself and the stranger that was dying there, without allowing her to give utterance to the agonized prayer which rose to her parched lips, with a fierce and cruel emphasis, he checked her, saying, "You have sworn on that crucifix,

did the Comte de Mersêt continue During the first six, a noise was in that closed-up cabinet, which

there is no one there."

PHILLIS AND THE PAINTER.

Translated from the Italian of Giovanni de Rossi.

BY MISS AGNES STRICKLAND.

"THOU, whose art I must approve,
Skilful Painter! paint me, Love,"
Phillis to Apelles cries—

"How should I?" he straight replies.

Much surprised at this, the maid
Turned about and quickly said,

"If, indeed, thou dost not know,
List, and I will tell thee how !

Paint a boy with angel face,
Full of charms, and full of grace;
In whose every look shall shine
Tenderness and truth divine.

O'er those eyes no fillet bind,
For I know he was not blind
On that day when first his dart
Through those glances reached my heart,

Heard'st thou not? Begin thy task;
When 'tis finished, come and ask
Large rewards, and thou shalt have
All thine eager wish can crave."

Phillis ceased; and he again
Answered, "Simple maid; in vain
Thou would'st tax, with guileless heart,

All the magic of my art.

Ere I seek to picture Love,

Wait awhile, fair maid, and prove,

If I may indeed pourtray,
All the charms he wears to-day.

Phillis, these enchantments bright,
All are brief and swift of flight;
Even now a dark alloy
Mingles in thy cup of joy.

Pause a trifling space and see

If Love remain unchanged to thee;

If he should;-return! and I

Will freely give what thou would'st buy.”

Joyful went fair Phillis home,
Sure again with joy to come,
And the promis'd semblance claim,
Of Love still smiling, still the same.

But the sad reverse, alas!
Vain illusions, how ye pass!

Hopes, enchantments, bright and fair,
All dissolve in empty air.

Love the maid has learned to know
As her fierce and cruel foe!

Charms and smiles have vanished all,
And his sweets have turned to gall.

"Ah!" the experienced Painter said
"How your brilliant colours fade;
See how Love betrays the truth
Of ardent and confiding youth."

THE WRECKERS.

A Cornish Tale.

BY JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

Ir was a March morning-dark, yet without a drop of rain or breath of wind, that kind of marbly-black, compact sky which is the sure forerunner of a storm. The night had been a raw and cold one-too cold to sleep with comfort in the open air; yet such was the chamber which a peasantgirl, a native of a little fishing hamlet upon the coast of Cornwall, had chosen for repose. Her couch was a hard

and fearful one! the verge of a clift that rose nearly a hundred feet perpendicular from the sea-shore; and yet not the softest couch that ever was spread in hamlet, town, or city, contained a tenant, in form, for symmetry-in feature for beauty-excelling the mistress of her who occupied that strange, appalling place of rest! Her slumbers were disturbed, yet deep. Neither the full dawn could break them; nor yet the pressure of a hand that had taken hold of hers; nor the tears that fell upon her face from the eyes of one who was hanging over her—a young man about her own age, or a little older, and who seemed to belong to the profession of the sea.

“And hast thou slept out again all night!" he murmured -his tears still flowing. "And does it grow worse and worse with my poor wits! and shall I never see the day when I can make thee my wife! They will not let me marry thee, because, as they say, thou art mad, and knowest not what thou dost; but when thy mind was sound, I was loved by thee! Had I married thee then, thou still hadst been my wife! thou still hadst been cherished and loved! Why must I not marry thee now? I could watch thee then, at night! My arms would enfold thee then, and prevent thee from stealing from thy bed to sleep in such a place as this!"

The attachment which united this young man to the being whom he so pathetically apostrophized, was of that pure and steadfast nature, which can never take root, except in the unsophisticated heart. She had lost her reason in consequence of having been witness to a transaction of blood, which made her an orphan. She was to have been married to him; but, in the unfortunate state of her intcllects, no clergyman would celebrate the rites. But she did not the less enjoy his protection. Beneath his mother's roof, she lived as sacred as a sister--the object of a passion

in which frustration, and almost hopelessness, had only produced increase of strength.

"Kate! Kate!" he called. "Rouse thee, Kate-rouse thee! Don't start! Don't be frightened! 'Tis only William! Get up, and come home!”

He offered to raise her, but she checked him-looked round, and fixed her eyes, inquiringly, upon the sea.

"Where is it?" she exclaimed-her voice tremulous with intense emotion. "Where is the storm? I see the

black sky; but I want the thunder and the wind! the white, white sea, and the big ship, driving upon the reef!—or is it all over? No," she added; "'tis coming-'t will be here! I see it!"

She rose, and passively accompanied her watchful lover to his mother's cottage; where leaving her under the custody of its mistress, the young man repaired on urgent business to a town at some distance from the hamlet.

That morning the storm came on; three days it continued it was now the third day. A lee shore, a boiling sea, and on the coast of Cornwall! A wild and fearful offing! Foam! foam! foam! which way soever you looked-nothing but foam. Black reefs of rocks, that even in the highest spring tides were never completely covered, discernible now only by a spot here and there-so quick the breakers flew upon them! The spray flying over the cliffs.--fifty, sixty, ay, a hundred feet and more, above the level of the sea, and spreading over the land for acres. And all above pitch black, though at noon-day! Every thing seemed to cower before the spirit of the storm-everything except man. The shore-which consisted partly of huge masses of rock, partly of shingle-was lined with human beings—some in groups—some alone-promiscuously furnished with boat-hooks, gaffs, grapples, hatchets, and knives-ready to dispute with the waves the plunder of