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children are apt to play upon one another, was friendly manner. They knew the Swiss botanical quiet when wrong was done to him, and resisted name for all the meadow flowers, and talked of many temptations which Fellenburg and Werli their medicinal and other properties like born placed in his way. It was also a very fine trait apothecaries. The strength of the children; of hin, that when he found anything which he their freedom from all restraint; their childish could have appropriated without being discovered, familiarity with Werli, with their benefactor he never brought it to Mr. Fellenburg, in order to Fellenburg ; their contentment with their fate in show himself in a favourable light, and to weaken life, which was visible on their blooming cheeks ; his attention, but brought it each time to Werli, and among them all, with his open, handsome who he thought was unacquainted with his for countenance, the little culprit won back to humer history. The child passed a year in this manity—all this moved me inexpressibly. I conmanner with wonderful diligence; and Mr. Fel- versed a long time with the child apart from all lenburg took out, one day, his day-book, in which the others; he answered me sensibly and dethe little one, as soon as he could write legibly, liberately; but when I came to speak of Mr. every evening, unreminded, regularly wrote Fellenburg, and praised his indulgence, kinddown all his thoughts. The last was as ness, and love, he turned away, in order to prefollows :

vent my seeing his wet eyes. When Werli “This evening the little Rutli was obliged to called them home, he forced upon me his nosecarry a letter to the country; he thought he gay, and said in a low voice: "Good night, sir ; would be obliged to wait for an answer, and then you are a pious man, I would like to talk longer it would be late, and was afraid to return in the with you; but see, the moon is rising over the dark. As I now possess a good conscience, I mountains. Pray to the dear God who created have no fear of the dark; and therefore I begged the sun and moon, and you and me, that I him to let me take the letter for him. Rutli always remain good.” did not let me ask twice. He wished me to accept When the children were no longer in sight, I pay for it, and a guantity of beautiful peas; fell on the noble Fellenburg's neck, and thanked but I did not take them, for little Rutli is weak, him in the name of humanity for having preand cannot earn as much by daily labour as I, served the child. May God bless them both! and is very poor, and has neither father nor If the kind reader is convinced, through my mother. I had a very long way to go, but I tale, that even the most corrupt child, through went quickly and easily, for I saw constantly a mild, careful education, through continual before me the friendly, grateful face of little occupation in the open air, through the inculRutli; and I believed this once I had done a good cation of useful knowledge, and principally action. When I had passed our boundaries I through good example, can be formed to a noble

, came to a large fruit garden : the boughs of a upright man, I shall indeed rejoice, and shall take splendid apple-tree were hanging over the wall; the liberty of calling my sketch a practical one. and on one of the branches was a beautiful apple. I heard once, the wanderer may take with legal authority all that hangs over the wall;

LINES, I was very thirsty, and the apple hung so low, I could have seized it easily; but I thought, 'When thou returnest thou willst be more thirsty,' and In Commemoration of the Victory gained by the I did not break it off. I soon accomplished my

British Troops in India. journey. The sun was sinking behind the mountains when I passed, on my return, the stranger's Ulike not the sound of the booming gun, garden; the apple was still hanging there, and when it heralds the tidings of battle won;

was much thirstier than before, but I did not Each flash seems to tell of the soldier's doom, break it off, for the evening was too beautiful.”

Who has won but his laurels to wave o'er his tomb!

I like not the sound- to me it appears There can be no sweeter conscientious con- The wail of the dying, their anguish and tears. fessions; no piety more pure; no greater childish simplicity!

Many mourn o'er a father—a husband, a son, Mr. Fellenburg, deeply moved, laid the daily Or brother laid low, by a boom of the gun; he had bestowed on his, and on his friend when it thinks of the hearts made desolate now. book in its place, thanked God for the blessing And the bright flush of conquest must fade from Werli's labours, and from that moment placed Thankful we may be that God was the shield unlimited confidence in the little one. The And strength of the brave ones who won us the field; child has now passed four years in the institu- But sad is the thought that from sin war began, tion, and has never once gone astray.

And it still leads man on to strive against man. When I was at Hofwyl I saw the child : it was evening; he was returning from the fields But peace to the warrior, whose sun has gone down with his companions and Werli

. The children Had gladden'd his heart or been placed on his brow;

On the red battle-field ere victory's crown were singing a merry song, and each carried a May the crown of the blessed be given him now ! large nosegay of the meadow flowers in his hand. And may the Great Father and Giver of all, The little galley-slave was cheerful, merry, and Who wills e'en to mark when a sparrow doth fall, was walking hand-in-hand with another child Look down from His throne with his merciful power, over the lovely pastures. The little returning And support the bereaved in their sorrowful hour, workmen greeted me and Mr. Fellenburg in a Bloomsbury, Feb, 27th, 1846.

UPON HEARING THE TOWER GUNS FIRE

E, A. L.

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excelled;

Never were two sisters more unlike, and yet passed away, and still he lingered. Kind, merrymore fondly attached to each other, than Orsala hearted, and as generous as he was wealthy, he and Francesca Caccia. They were the daughters had become a universal favourite, more especially of William Caccia, better known to fame under with the sisters; and his time was mostly spent his common sobriquet of “Guglielmo,” a painter in the pleasant studio of Guglielmo and his of some eminence, whose genius they inherited. gifted daughters. He was evidently struck with He is chiefly celebrated for his Madonnas, which the faultless symmetry of Orsala's tall, noble breathe the true spirit of the Roman and Floren- figure, as she bent over her employment; or the tine schools. The sisters, while yet very young, radiant beauty of her pale, classical features. Nor took to fresco painting, a practice hitherto un- was the girl wholly insensible to his silent hoknown to female hands, in which they greatly mage ; although she certainly thought a great

but such was the similarity of their deal more of what she was about, and the absoexecution, both in this and all other branches of lute necessity of finishing her allotted portion art, that to avoid confusion Orsala was wont to of the cartoon before the materials of which it mark her performance with a flower, while the was composed should become dry and unfit for younger distinguished hers by a bird ; these use, and so the harmony of colour be destroyed symbols passing in time into pet, household throughout the whole picture—a necessity which names, so that Guglielmo often called them in Lorenzo, who was no painter, could never be playful sport, his Flower ! and his Bird ! brought to comprehend.

Orsala was beautiful as a flower, and almost Francesca laughed, and sang, and talked to as fragile ; often drooping over her high tasks, him just as if he had been her brother ; conbut never discouraged or weary in mind-it was sulting his taste oftentimes, when she knew her the body only that suffered. She was ambitious own to be the best. A word of praise from him and enthusiastic, habitually serious and thought- never failed to make her gay and happy all the ful

, but not gloomy, and kind and affectionate day afterwards, and she even dreamt about it at in her domestic relations.

night. She thought it only natural that he Francesca, bird-like, sang at her easel, or as should admire Orsala the most. Occasionally, she flitted about the house. If not quite so beau- however, Francesca, as she marked Lorenzo's tiful as her elder sister, she was more lovable, earnest and devoted manner towards her sister, and certainly more gifted. Her genius was like would stop singing, and sigh, “and wish that a glad inspiration-a flash of sunshine, that came heaven had made her such a lover!” And then almost without the seeking, and made bright a moment afterwards her merry voice was again whatever she attempted; but she was not in- heard : "Time enough, Francesca !" dustrious. And the patient, persevering Orsala, Guglielmo was well content that Lorenzo Maby dint of unremitting toil and study, kept so lanotti should marry one of his daughters, and close upon her track that, as we have said, there cared but little which. Perhaps the thoughts was no telling their work apart.

and pursuits of the ambitious and enthusiastic Both had their dreams-what young girl has Orsala were most in unison with his own. But not? Orsala would be great! Francesca yearned then, what should he do without his little laughto be loved! The one panted already for the ter-loving Francesca-his Bird ! world's plaudits ; the other asked no higher

About the time of which we write there was meed than her father's approving smile, or the a prize offered by the principal nobility and whispered praises of their kinsman-Lorenzo lovers of art in the neighbouring town of Casale, Malanotti.

for an altar-piece for the church of the DomiAt the period our story commences, Lorenzo nicans. Guglielmo having already too much was staying at Moncalvo, on a visit. He had employment upon his hands to care about workcome originally for a few days only; but weeks ing for mere competition, declined entering the

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lists; but his daughters, young as they were, 1 times as bad; partly because, as we have said, eagerly availed themselves of this glorious op- he was but an indifferent judge in such matters, portunity of extending still further the well- but principally for the sake of the artist. Franestablished fame of the Caccia. Already, in cesca, as usual, sided with the latter; protesting anticipation, did the ambitious and aspiring that it was the light in which it stood, and perOrsala bear away the prize from all competitors; suaded Orsala to wait at least until the morning while Francesca, less sanguine, and really caring before she destroyed it. And then, with fond much less about the result, except that her dear and soothing words, led her gently to her own father would be so pleased if either of them apartment, where she remained with her until should chance to win, sat calmly down to the she was asleep. contemplation of her task.

That evening, Guglielmo and his young kinsOrsala's very impatience defeated its own ob- man sat alone in their usual cheerful little saloon, ject. All day long she remained apart, musing for Francesca had also pleaded a headache, and over that picture which was to produce such did not appear again. It was the first time that glorious results, and scarcely closed her eyes at Lorenzo had ever found the hours hang heavily night for thinking of it; until at length she fell since his arrival at Moncalvo. ill, and was fit for nothing. Francesca was a Orsala awoke early on the following morning, kind and judicious nurse; she did not peremp- much refreshed, but sad and dispirited, and went torily forbid Orsala's saying a single word about instantly, with a kind of desperate resolution, her picture until she was quite well

, for in that to the studio where her father and sister were case she never would have been ; but encouraged already at their task. her rather to talk on the subject nearest her “ Francesca was right, dear child !” said heart, and then managed to throw in a thousand | Guglielmo, as he quitted his painting, and came little hints and suggestions, of which she took eagerly forward to meet her; " it must have been no merit to herself; so that by the time Orsala the light in which it stood. Your design is was able to put them into execution, the whole really beautiful !" design of the projected work, even to the minutest Orsala shook her head sadly as she drew back details, stood out palpably before her-and a the curtain ; but was immediately struck by the beautiful conception it was !

exceeding grace and power of her own per“Oh, if I have but strength to realize it !" formance. exclaimed the enthusiastic artist.

“ Yes, it will do,” said she. And a proud, “ Francesca's soothing voice and fond ca- exulting smile played over her pale features. resses calmed her excited spirit; and from that “ Did I not tell you so ?” exclaimed the no hour she slowly recovered, but so slowly that it less happy Francesca. appeared almost impossible for the picture to “ It is all like a dream,” said Orsala. Why I be completed within the allotted time.

do not even remember drawing that exquisite “For my part,” said Lorenzo, who still lin- profile.” gered with them, but had absolutely limited his “I do not think you quite knew what you were stay until the first adjudgment of the prize, “I doing at the last,” replied her sister, affectionwish the whole affair had never been thought of ! | ately. “ But we must not let you sit so long It only makes you ill, Orsala."

to-day-must we Lorenzo ?” “What of that?” replied the girl, raising her Her kinsman made no answer; he did not beautiful eyes dreamily to his. "What are a few even hear the question, but continued standing weeks, or even years of bodily suffering, in com- before the unfinished sketch, lost in thought

. parison with so great a triumph! Those who When he spoke again it was to notice how pale fear thorns must not expect to gather roses !" Francesca was looking.

“ But there are roses without thorns,” said “I have been several times about to make the Francesca gently.

same observation,” said Guglielmo. “Come and “ And without laurel !”

tell me what ails you, my bird !" “But sweet nevertheless, dear Orsala.” “Nothing, indeed, papa."

“Yes; only they die so soon! The laurel Perhaps you did not rest well last night?" for me, sister Francesca, although it should only whispered Malonatti, catching her hand, as she bloom over my grave !"

attempted to pass him. Guglielmo gazed proudly upon his child, and “Not very. You must remember my telling his eyes filled with unshed tears. While Fran- you that I had the headache;" and Francesca cesca looked at Lorenzo with a sweet confidence, cast down her eyes, and coloured deeply beas though she would fain make him a sharer neath his earnest gaze. Lorenzo released her in both in her admiration and her fears for this silence, but continued unusually grave and dear sister.

thoughtful during the remainder of the day. Although better, Orsala was very far from Inspired by the beauty of her own conception, being competent to the task which she had Orsala worked on until she could no longer assigned herself—the working out of her own stand to her easel, and was again carried to bed, beautiful ideal ! Her hand trembled ; her strokes and watched and tended by her affectionate wanted power and decision; the whole sketch sister. was feeble, and she felt it to be so. Guglielmo “This will never do,” said Guglielmo, when shook his head; he was afraid it would not do. Francesca returned to them at length : “ she had Lorenzo would have praised it had it been ten best give it up at once.”

worn.

"No, no, dear father, Orsala has so set her a poor chance of gaining the prize this time.” heart upon this prize, the disappointment " Never mind, if Orsala gets it." would kill her. Beside, she will get better again; “ And yet, with your genius, what might you and there is time yet.”

not have achieved ? But I am forgetting how Lorenzo said nothing: he was thinking at ill you have been, poor child !” that moment, as his eyes rested on her beaming * Not so often, or so seriously as Orsala," countenance, that, after all, Francesca was quite observed Malanotti. “But then, to be sure, as beautiful as her sister, only in a different Francesca had no good angels to work for her!" style. And he was not sure whether he did not "Nay, Lorenzo, I must not have even you prefer her simple loveliness of the two.

taking part against me!" exclaimed the girl, Orsala continued weak and ailing ; so that with an earnest and pleading glance. “I do she could only paint a few hours in each day, not care the least in the world about the prize, and get the picture grew in beauty, and was so long as my dear father is not angry with me." rapidly approaching its completion. Francesca “No, no, 'my bird ! not angry, only a little worked hard also, but not with her usual suc- vexed, for your own sake. You could not both cess; perhaps because she was far from well. win.” For although she never complained, her large “ Thắt was what I thought,” said Francesca; dark eyes grew heavy, and her cheeks pale and and then paused abruptly, while a burning

No brother could have been kinder flush spread over neck and brow. But those than Lorenzo was to her. Poor Francesca few words had afforded Guglielmo a faint glimpse thought she could guess why; but was grateful of the real truth. nevertheless. Any now, his affectionate sym- Intent on the contemplation of her chef pathy made her very glad and happy.

d'auvre, Orsala heard nothing of what was The pictures were nearly finished. Orsala passing around her. Her woman's nature worked on with a flushed cheek and glittering struggled vainly against the prevailing selfisheye; the beauty of her own performance infu- ness of an all-absorbing ambition; and therein sing into her, as it were, a new life.

lies the danger—the not altogether fabled poison Do

you believe in spirits ?” asked she one of the laurel when unmingled with, unblest by day, after a long pause.

the sweet home-flower of domestic affection. " In good spirits, most undoubtedly," replied During the interval that necessarily elapsed beMalanotti, who was leaning idly on the back of tween the sending in of the pictures and the final Francesca's chair.

adjudgment of the prize, Orsala was restless “I have often thought,” continued the girl, a and impatient, but not desponding; for she could little wildly, “ that some such must have helped not but be conscious of the rare excellence of me to the completion of my task. Many a time her own performance. While Francesca, rahave I retired to rest, weary and dispirited with pidly recovering her health and spirits, returned my own work, but in the morning it was ever to her ordinary tasks with renewed cheerfulness, bright and beautiful !"

and once more sang as she worked. Again the " For the very reason you have stated,” said sisters laughingly compared their fresco painting, her father, “ that you were ill and weary, and so placing each that distinctive symbol without saw the same things through a different me- which it was impossible to tell one from the dium.”

other. Orsala found leisure to wonder at Fran“Well, it might have been thus; but it seemed cesca's first failure, and to pity her for it with strange oftentimes. And so you are a believer many kind and soothing caresses; but this time in spirits, Lorenzo ?

Guglielmo never said a word, and yet he was far "I believe," replied Malanotti, earnestly, from guessing the whole truth; imagining only " that angels walk the earth in human form, that she had purposely taken less pains than usual, and dwell among us, and we know them not.” in order that she might not rival her sister in

Francesca glanced towards the pale radiant the possession of a prize upon which, from the face, and graceful form of her beautiful sister, very beginning, she had set her heart. Malaand smiled softly; but Lorenzo's eyes were notti was, however, more keen sighted; and poor fixed

upon her only. While Orsala, taking the Francesca often blushed and trembled under his compliment as a matter of course, went quietly scrutiny, or at the hints he threw out, but on with her painting.

trusted nevertheless to his love for Orsala to The pictures were finished at length. Gug- make him keep her secret. lielmo was proud of his eldest daughter; but he It was a proud and happy day for Guglielmo pitied the younger. Orsala read her triumph in and his children when the prizes were at length ħis first glance. Francesca had forgotten her- awarded, and Orsala unanimously declared to self. She thought only of her father and sister. be victor over all her competitors. How beautiAnd yet she could not help feeling a little sorry ful she looked ! her eyes flashing, her cheeks when she saw him turn away from her picture burning, and her heart throbbing with the antiwithout a word, and that even 'Orsala was silent: cipation of that future fame, of which the present but it could not be helped.

triumph was but an earnest and a prophecy; “I know what you are thinking of, papa,” while Francesca, equally glad and joyous, and, said Francesca, gently—“that I have been very as Malanotti thought within himself, and that idle and negligent; is it not so ?".

not for the first time, equally beautiful, hung "Why truly, my bird! I fear you stand but about her sister's neck, and laughed and wept

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by turns. She kissed both Orsala and her , the artist should continue to mistake them for father in the wild exuberance of her delight, and her own; and then coming down the following seemed very near doing the same by Lorenzo; morning, pale for want of sleep, but meek, and but fortunately—or rather unfortunately, accord cheerful, and uncomplaining; and how often ing to his idea-recollected herself in time ; and he had longed to pour forth his sympathy and he was forced to be content with the small white admiration, but forbore lest it should pain her hand, so frankly extended as if to demand his generous nature; thinking within himself, what glad sympathy in the general happiness. bliss it would be to call such a treasure his own,

There was a festival that night at Montcalvo, and that so good and affectionate a sister must in honour of Orsala’s triumph, who moved needs make a dutiful and loving wife. He among her guests like a queen. Francesca had paused at length for a reply; but none came. twined a wreath of laurel-leaves, which she Poor Francesca ! she listened to him like one mingled amid the dark tresses of her sister ; but bewildered in a pleasant dream. It seemed too she herself wore only one simple white rose. The great a happiness to be real! But Malanotti young, the beautiful, and the gifted were there; was not discouraged by her silence; and drawbut Orsala seemed like a star among them alling her gently towards him, she wept upon his so at least thought Guglielmo and his daughter ; bosom. and the latter wanted Malanotti to say the same, That night was a memorable epoch in the but he would not, and yet she never doubted lives of both the sisters; the one, so proudly that it was in his heart, and only laughed and triumphant ; the other, so sweetly happy! shook her head at his silence.

Guglielmo willingly gave his consent to the “ You do not believe me?” said Lorenzo. match; and was glad that his Bird, as he called

“Why not exactly. But you need not look her, had found so peaceful a nest; while the so grave about it."

Flower remained to cheer his solitary home. “ Francesca," continued he, “has it never Orsala afterwards founded the conservatory occurred to you that some may prefer the rose of Ursulines, at Moncalvo; where, and at Casale, to the laurel?”

she left several altar-pieces and cabinet pictures, The girl coloured, and thanked him for his exquisitely finished, after the manner of Paul compliment; but she still laughed incredulously. Brill, and strewn with flowers; while a holy

“Let us go into the air,” said her companion. family, executed in the same taste, is still to be “ It is too warm here."

seen among the collection at the palace. But of “With all my heart,” replied Francesca, Francesca little more is heard. ` Both realized passing her arm carelessly through his. And their early dreams. The one was worshippedthen pausing on a sudden, she added quickly- the other, beloved ! Fame speaks most of Orsala; “But you are ill, Lorenzo!”

but the memory of Francesca was shrined in the No, it is nothing. I want to talk to you hearts of her husband and children! very seriously, Francesca.”

Ah, I know what is coming,” thought his companion, as they passed into the quiet moon

SEPTET IN D MINOR. light. But after a pause, and observing that he The immortal looketh far beyond earth's strife, still continued silent, she said, timidly

The human turneth back, and loves to say Lorenzo, you are not angry with me for Its alphabet of lifewhat I have done? You will not betray me to

Day after day. my father, or Orsala, who is now so glad and We cherish flowers, whose thorns have dealt us pain, happy!—for her sake, you will not ?"

And though our love meets never love's repay, Say rather, for your own, dearest! That Return to them againwere the more powerful plea.”

Day after day. “ Well, then, for my sake, Lorenzo!” replied The soul moves in the future, but the heart Francesca, coaxingly. But her playful gaze Is like a child that loveth best to play sank before his; and a burning blush spread over Its often acted partneck and brow. She would have fled from him,

Day after day. but Malanotti held her hands firmly in both of Clinging to first loves as the hiving bees, his, while he poured forth into her wondering, And clasping hands his first learnt prayer to say and yet joyful heart, the long concealed affection of Upon his mother's knees his own. He confessed to having being struck,

Day after day. just at first, by Orsala’s rare beauty; and how Lingering in oft-trod walks and daisy fields, soon the impression had passed away, to be suc- Or on the primrose-haunted banks to lay, ceeded by one, which, in the phrase of all true Unwearying pleasure yieldslovers, death only could efface!" while, like

Day after day. all true women, Francesca believed him with a The child shrinks not from grief, but will draw nigh, ready faith. He told her how he had watched

Familiarly, to those who weep, and say, her steal from her chamber at dead of night, Why do you sadly crywhen the weary Orsala slept at length, and take

Day after day? her place until dawn, carefully erasing the feeble So the heart never tires of its own thenies, touches of a weak and unsteady hand, and But letteth memory have her gentle way, working in bright, warm tints, so exquisitely Following life's darkling streamsblended with the original, that it was no wonder

Day after day.

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