nor the friendship of his uncle, who bestowed on him a fortune of five hundred pistoles a year, could alleviate his grief for the loss of his adored. Being now restored to health, he one evening approached a cemetery near the gate of the palace, situated in the midst of a rural and secluded region, intersected by rapid streams. The cemetery was a square edifice, with porticos inside, and encircled by high and white walls. On the front were many passages from Holy Writ, which spoke with striking and sublime eloquence of the resurrection, the last judgment, and an eternity of happiness and of wo. Camillo passed under the deserted arches, and exclaiming "Here rests in the sleep of eternal peace the bride who was prized beyond the world!" quitted the sad retreat.

The snowy summit of Monte Rosa already hid the flaming disk of the sun; and the moon arose majestically behind the hill of Superga, where the ashes of the Sabine kings repose in marble arches in the vaults of a temple worthy of the triumph which it was designed to commemorate. Not wishing to return to the city in the agony of spirit in which he found himself, Camillo followed the lonely path that runs by the wooded banks of the Dora, and passed beyond the suburb which takes its name from this stream. The murmuring of the river below, shrouded in its stony bed, the solitary star of night rising from behind the sepulchre of the kings, the autumnal wind rushing from the precipices of Musinetto,— all were in unison with the grief of the lover. He proceeded till he arrived at the mills of the city, and he called to mind how often, in the first days of spring, he

had strolled there with Adelaide and her mother. In the fantastic forms which the silver rays of the moon presented, as they fell on every surrounding object, he thought he discerned through his tears the image of his lost one, arrayed in vestments white as the upturned leaf of the willow. He moved a few paces, and soon discovered that it was the creation of his disordered fancy. Unable to bear the thought of being for ever bereaved of the only being who appeared worthy of his affection, and reproaching himself also for having by his imprudence hastened her death, the oppression of his mind became so intolerable, that he deliberated on voluntarily abandoning a world which could no longer afford him happiness. His eyes fell on the rapid stream, rushing furiously onward in its winding and precipitous

course.

"Why longer delay ?" he exclaimed, and already he approached to plunge into the vortex of the angry waves, when a thought, the offspring of a generous mind, checked this desperate resolve. Such a death appeared to be ignoble and unworthy of his love. "Whilst all Europe," said he, " offers an arena for combat, and every clod of earth is stained with the blood of the brave who have fallen in battle, shall I terminate my days like the wretch who is covered with infamy ?" Leaving the place which inspired such evil thoughts, he returned to the city and applied himself to a more noble design.

It happened at this time that a regiment of cavalry was in progress of being raised in Turin, in which those officers who had left the army, were invited again to

take arms. Camillo resisted the prayers of his friends; comforted, as well as he could, his father and uncle, and placed himself under the pinions of the powerful eagle. War raged fiercely in the north; the youth joined the camp, and performed deeds of shining valour; but in vain he sought death amidst a shower of bullets. It was not in the field of fame, but in the gloomy precincts of an hospital, that death seized him for his prey. The military registers shew, that the epidemic disease with which the French army was afflicted on its return from Germany, after the total defeat at Leipsic, destroyed more lives than the bayonets of the foe. The malady attacked Camillo, and the assistance of skilful physicians could not preserve his life. In the hospital of Magonza, he expired in the arms of a friend, who braved the horrors of the contagion, to receive the last breath of him who had saved him from the lance which a Cossack was on the point of thrusting into his breast. To this friend, faithful in adversity, the dying Camillo Consigned the dearest and most valued of his possessions—an ornament of gold, shaped like a heart, which hung from a black ribbon and rested on his breast.

“Place this with me in the grave!" were his latest words. His friend rendered to his ashes the last sad duties, and obeyed his farewell injunction; but before depositing the ornament in the sepulchre, he opened it, and found that it contained some leaves of a white rose. They were the leaves of the rose which Camillo had plucked from the funeral garland of his beloved.

ADELINE ST. AUBIN was an orphan, and the want of parental guardianship was peculiarly trying to a girl like her, for she had received from nature a face and person unrivalled in Normandy. Youth and beauty are attractions always dangerous, frequently fatal to their possessors. It is not the most worthy that most successfully aspire to win their smiles. The voice of the deceiver is too often the sweetest, and therefore is the warning of parental experience necessary to protect the maiden in her innocence from cherishing a serpent in her bosom. Adeline the interesting Adeline-the "Rose of Rouen," as she was called in her native city on account of her fine complexion, had, it is true, friends and relatives— but what friend or relative can atone for the loss of a father and mother?

She looked as if she needed the counsel of a parent. She was sitting in deep thought at the close of a July

evening, in the recess of a window in the house of her amiable sister, in the ancient city of Rouen. Her work had glided out of her fingers, which hung down relaxed, and she was so rapt in reflection, that she did not hear the entrance of her little nephew and niece, until startled by their voices at her side.

"We have had such a long walk, and are so glad to be home again—we are so tired!"

"You must to-bed early, and sleep off the fatigue," said Adeline, patting the glowing cheeks of her prattling favourites.

"Dear aunt Adeline," said Marie, climbing upon her lap, "don't talk of bed, but tell us the remainder of the story about Blue Beard to-night.-Ah do!"

"I will, Marie," said Adeline, passing her delicate fingers through the child's curly hair, "if you promise not to be frightened in the dark—and if Charles will sit quietly on the footstool, until mamma comes back to tea.”

"But it is only a story like the fairy tales ?" rejoined the little girl inquiringly." There are no men with such ugly blue beards now-are there, aunt ?"

"It is nothing but a nursery tale, child," replied the aunt, "there are no such cruel monsters in the world we live in. But listen.-There was once a man who lived in a great castle'—hark- some one knocks.-Should it be the Baron de Gavray, you shall hear the remainder of the story to-morrow."

Placing Marie upon the ground, Adeline hastened to the window to see who was at the door. "How I dislike that baron," grumbled Charles to his sympathizing