"Ay," muttered the confessor, still musing; "in a chamber of that house there is "What noise is that?" said the Marchesa, interrupting him. They listened. A few low and querulous notes of the organ sounded at a distance, and stopped again. "What mournful music is that?" said the Marchesa, in a faltering voice; "vespers were over long ago." "Daughter," said Schedoni, somewhat sternly, "you said you had a Alas! you have a woman's heart." man's courage. "Excuse me, father; I know not why I feel this agitation, but I will command it. That chamber?" In "In that chamber," resumed the confessor, "is a secret door, constructed long ago. A passage leads to the sea. There, on the shore, when darkness covers it; there, plunged amidst the waves, no stain shall hint of”"Hark!" interrupted the Marchesa, starting, "that note again !" The organ sounded faintly from the choir, and paused, as before. the next moment a slow chanting of voices was heard, mingling with the rising peal, in a strain particularly melancholy and solemn. "Who is dead?" said the Marchesa, changing countenance; requiem!" "it is a "Peace be to the departed!" exclaimed Schedoni, and crossed himself. "Hark to that chant!" said the Marchesa, in a trembling voice; "it is a first requiem; the soul has but just quitted the body." They listened in silence. The Marchesa was much affected; her complexion varied at every instant; her breathings were short and interrupted, and she even shed tears a few, but they were those of despair rather than of sorrow. "That body is now cold," said she to herself, "which but an hour ago was warm and animated. Those fine senses are closed in death! And to this condition would I reduce a being like myself! O wretched, wretched mother! to what has the folly of a son reduced thee!" She turned from the confessor, and walked alone in the aisle. Her agitation increased. She wept without restraint, for the evening gloom concealed her, and her sighs were lost amidst the music of the choir. Schedoni remained for a moment on the spot, looking after her, till her figure was lost in the gloom of the long perspective. He then, with thoughtful steps, quitted the church by another door. -Mrs RADCLIFFE. THE HUMBLE ARE SECURE. G REAT Lord of all things! Power Divine! Breathe on this erring heart of mine Thy grace serene and pure: Defend my frail, my erring youth, And teach me this important truth, The humble are secure. Teach me to bless my lowly lot, Remote from regal state; Content to court the cooling glade, No anxious vigils here I keep, Yon tower, which rears its head so high, Invites the hostile winds; Yon branching oak, extending wide, Then let me shun th' ambitious deed, To honours falsely won: Lord, in Thy sure protection blest, And may Thy will be done! -HANNAH MORE. MY NATIVE LAND-GOOD NIGHT! 66 "A DIEU, adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue; The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, Yon Sun that sets upon the sea "A few short hours, and he will rise And I shall hail the main and skies, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; "Come hither, hither, my little page, But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our ship is swift and strong: Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along." "Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind: Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind; For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friend, save these alone, "My father bless'd me fervently, Yet did not much complain; |