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at Rome, but the extraordinary talents of a famous Sorceress. Every one was anxious to hear her predictions, and either from curiosity or weakness, all classes resorted to her for her divinations.
Fabricio, a young Italian nobleman, felt a great desire to consult this prophetess, and wished that Rosario, his most intimate friend, should accompany him ; the latter, rather of a weak and timid characo. ter, at first refused, not choosing to try the experiment; he feared to see this prophetess, lest he should place any faith in her divinations ; and it was not without considerable difficulty, that this indefinable feeling was overcome, or that Fabricio could persuade him to accompany him. The day at length was fixed on, and they departed. Having arrived at the house of the sorceress, who lived in a certain street at Rome, the door opened of itself ; and, after passing through many apartments, without meeting any object, they at length found themselves in a gallery, at the end of which hung a large curtain, on which was the following inscription :
" • If you wish to know your fate, pray, before you
pass this Curtain."
“ Rosario was much agitated—he threw himself on his knees, unconscious of what he did, and already seemed to feel himself under the infuence of some mysterious power. After some moments of consideration, the two friends drew aside the curtain, unsheathed their swords, and penetrated into the sanctuary. Here appeared a beautiful young woman habited in black-her figure was remarkable, and the extreme penetration of her counterance forbade the eye of curiosity to fix itself on her ; she addressed some questions to the two friends, but was particularly occupied with Rosario ; she spoke to Fabricio, but not with the same interest. In the mean time, the latter begged his friend to leave him, and he was immediately alone with her. After a short conversation, he returned to Rosario, and found him sunk in deep meditation_he laughed at him, and begged him to be assured, that he had heard nothing terrible; that the sorceress had predicted that he should be married to his sister, (this marriage indeed had been decided on, between the families of Fabricio and Rosario,) and though some little accident might retard it, still it must take place. Rosario, as though urged on by some invisible power, went into the apartment of the sorceress. bricio, during the time, walked backwards and forwards in the gallery, until on a sudden he heard a dreadful cry, and distinguished these wordsMurder, sacrilege, blood, and violent death ;' he immediately returned to his friend, and found him on his knees at the feet of the woman who shook over his head a bloody wand; he ran towards him-he hurried him away ; but in vain questioned him concerning the scene. Rosario, pale, and almost motionless, was incapable of answering him. They at length reached home, and after some hours of unbroken silence, he told his friend that the sorceress had predicted to him, immeasurable love, sacrilege, murder, and violent death.' Fabricio was horror-struck ; but not daring to seek any further, lest he should distress his friend more, he determined to see the prophetess
ricio was pre
again, and to know why she made this dreadful prediction ; he went to her house, but it was deserted all had disappeared, and not a trace of her remained.
" Some weeks had passed away, and the marriage of paring. Rosario seemed more calm, and the following day was fixed on for its celebration ; when the Marquis of Osino, the father of Rosario, fell from his horse, and though he was not severely wounded, became so ill, as to oblige the parties to retard the ceremony. Rosario, his sister the beautiful Rosaura, and Fabricio, were all lamenting this unfortunate event, when the latter, suddenly calling what had passed to his recollection, exclaimed, the prediction of the sorceress is accomplished.' Rosario, on hearing these words, was exceedingly agitated, and from that day, chiefly confined himself to his own apartment; he avoided all society, save that of one man, a respectable monk: this man, whom he had chosen, was allowed to visit him at all hours, and long conferences passed between them, the meaning of which no one could interpret.
6. Fabricio, occupied with his love, had not seen Rosario, who seemed to have forgotten all the world, and lived in utter seclusion. The day at length arrived, when Fabricio became the husband of Rosaura ; but Rosario appeared not-he was nowhere to be found his father and his desolate family remained for a whole month in this wretched state of uncertainty, when the Marquis of Osino received the following let. ter:
666 My father; spare yourself all vain pursuit it is useless that you < should endeavour to change my determination. I renounce all claim ' to your property. Rosario is dead to the world. Believe me, it is • sadly repulsive to my heart thus to forsake and abandon you ; but
a horrible destiny has rendered it unavoidable.--Adieu-forget your unhappy
6 ROSARIO.' “ This victim of superstitious terror retired to a convent of Domi. nican friars, at Messina, and, at the end of a year's noviciate, assumed the religious habit, and became dead to the world. His eloquence, however, caused him to be appointed a preacher, by the Superior Montalte, and the fame of his discourses spread far and wide.
The festival of the convent being near at hand—the King of Naples arrived with all his court, and Rosario was appointed to deliver the panegyric on St Thomas, the patron of the convent. tions were made the day arrived
and an immense multitude filled the church. Rosario, with great difficulty, pushed his way through the throng to reach the chair. At this moment his cowl fell down, and discovered him to all, when he heard these words, - Heavens ! how handsome he is ! Greatly astonished, he turned round, and saw a beautiful countenance, whose eyes were fixed on him with a rapturous expression :- a few moments sufficed to disturb the future existence of these two beings. Rosario reeled to his place, and having delivered his discourse, he hastened away, and immediately shut himself up in his cell. But every thought was centred in the image of her he had seen; he found sensations springing up within him, that he had never felt before; he became agitated, and sought in vain for repose ; he believed that he had only begun to exist from the moment he heard
the accents of that enchanting voice beyond this, all was void. Alas ! he dared not think of the future ; his destiny was irrevocable.
66 Every morning he went to read mass ; every morning in the same place, he saw a female veiled : he conjectured who it was ; he desired not to see her again ; he knew the necessity of avoiding her --but this veil was not her ; he dared to fix his eyes on it ; be followed all her motions ; he perceived the beating of her heart his own throbbed in return_too weak to be exposed to danger; he feared to examine him. self; he wished not to know the truth. His life became restless and changeful ; he existed but for some minutes of the day ; for the remainder he seemed lost to all worldly things. He was determined, however, to fly, if she should be there on the morrow. This resolu. tion being formed, he thought himself more calm and happy. The morrow arrived; he returned to the church sooner than ordinary ; no person was there ; the mysteries of the service began. Rosario scarce knew what he did; she appeared not; her chair was unoccupied. He approached it when the congregation had retired, and perceived a book of prayer lying on it. Ah! it must be her's ; she has forgotten it—he hardTy dared touch it ; he opened it, however, and saw inscribed on the first page, the name of Theresa ; he assayed to pronounce it; he did som in the sound there seemed a spell that attached him to her. Theresa ! Theresa !' he repeated, whispering, as though fearful of being heard ; he still remained alone : an hour had passed away; he saw her not there. Did she dare return ?—but days and weeks rolled on, and Theresa appeared not.
“ Theresa married to an old man, whom she loved as a father, felt herself happy in her duties ; and the purity of her heart hindered her from anticipating any other enjoyments than those which she possessed. She saw Rosario, and lost her peace for ever. Theresa had an ardent soul; her first impressions ruled her future destiny. She adored Rosario ; to see him, to hear him, constituted her chief happi.
Until now she had mentioned every circumstance to her husband ; she had intrusted to him all her thoughts ; but she had not, however, spoken to him of Rosario. This silence troubled her, she ought to reveal to him her fault; she knew it was necessary to absent herself, and had the courage not to revisit the church. Believing that she might soothe her feelings, she determined to have recourse to her confessor, and to make an entire acknowledgement to him. With this aim she decided on returning to the church of the Dominicans ; she chose the hour when she knew Rosario would not be there. To avoid him, it was necessary to think of him, and perhaps this duty even was sweet. She approached the confessional ; she threw herself on her knees, and mentioned all that she had felt since her encountering Rosario, on the feast-day of the convent; she spoke of her happiness in seeing him at the mass ; she told also of her having had the courage to avoid him ; but that this sacrifice was beyond her power. What can I do? Oh ! my father, say ; tell me how I ought to act ?? The tears ran down her cheeks; her agitation was extreme, as she described those feelings which had been so deeply buried in her heart. Scarcely had she concluded, when a terrible cry went out from the confessional, • Wretched woman! what dreadful sacrilege!' said Rosario: for it was him
that chance had brought therehe rushed forwards ; he wished to fly ; but Theresa arrested his steps; she threw herself on her knees she seized his robe, and begged him not to curse hershe implored him for her soul's welfare ; implored him for her love. Rosario repelled her, but repelled her feebly: Theresa ! Theresa !' said he, hasté away ;shortly I should not have power to resist.' At these words, Theresa threw herself into his arms, and seemed to encircle him with her soul : Say; O say, Rosario, before I quit you, that you love me !' Alarmed and trembling lest he should be surprised, he answered to these endearing words ; drew her to his heart, but swore for ever to fly from her ; he exacted from Theresa the same promise-she consented to all that he requested he loved her; she well knew how reciprocal the feeling was in her own breast--they at length separated.
“ Rosario, now left alone, was alarmed at his own imprudence ; he saw the precipice; he had not avoided it; his destiny was accomplish. ed; he proved he felt this immeasurable love,'—the sacrilege had taken place for he had pronounced his love in the same church where he had taken the sacred vows-true, he had sworn to fly, to fly for ever-strange caprice of feeling ! that, which should have punished his heart, consoled him ; but in this terrible conflict with love and duty, the unhappy sufferer had only choice of pain.
“ A dreadful struggle of the passions ensued in both parties : Rosario, in order to avoid his impending destiny, wrote to Theresa that he had never loved her, and retreated within his cell. Theresa was brought to the verge of the grave by grief. She believed she was about to die; she took a last farewell of all her family, who were heart-bro. ken to see one so young, so beautiful, so beloved, on the verge of the grave: her husband adored her: he attached himself to her with a paternal tenderness ; he saw that an unknown and secret wretchedness was drawing her down to the tomb; but he never once questioned her concerning it. He went to consult the Father Montalte, and begged him to send a priest, who might inspire Theresa with confidence. The Father promised that the same evening one of the brothers should visit her, and administer to her the consolations of religion. He chose Rosario for this duty ; gave him the address of Signor Mareschi, (the name of Theresa's husband,) and charged him to exercise all his power in tranquillizing the last moments of an unfortunate fellow creature. Alas! what consolation could Rosario bestow; victim himself to the deepest despair ; he could weep, but not console. Rosario departed, and after a long journey arrived; he was introduced into a chamber, but feebly lighted. Many persons surrounded a bed, upon which a female reposed ; but they retired out of respect to the Father, immediately that he entered. Alone, with this unknown person, Rosario was motionless ; he could not advance, as a well known voice said, • Father, refuse not your assistance to an unfortunate being, whose days must speedily terminate.'-Scarcely had Rosario heard these words, when he knelt down by the side of the sick bed. • Theresa ! Theresa !' this name so dear to him, escaped from his heart. Who could paint their transports ? There was no need of explanation---they loved. With what a melancholy enthusiasm did Rosario describe to her all
that he had suffered, as he accused himself of being the cause of her wretchedness. • Pardon ; O pardon me!' he exclaimed, · Rosario is thine for ever.' These soothing words reanimated Theresa ; she had not the power to speak, but she saw him, she heard him, she clasped his hand; thus to die seemed delightful. How miraculous is the influence of love ! Rosario embraced her in his arms; he wished to give his life to her, he drew her to his heart. • Thou shalt live ; for me thou shalt live; thy love is near thee ; speak Theresa ; shall I never more hear thy voice ? Rosario thus addressed her, and Theresa recovered her power. • I love thee, Rosario ; I love thee. All she valued was comprehended in these words ; she said all in this. How swift do the hours of happiness, such as these, pass away; but the certainty of seeing each other again, allowed them courage to separate. They said, • We meet again to-morrow.' Oh! how happy were they in saying, to-morrow,' after such a long separation.
“ Theresa's health became re-established ; every day she seemed to have acquired new life ; every day Rosario came to see her ; their affection augmented : a sweet intimacy reigned between them. Rosario seemed to have forgotten his scruples; occupied only with his love, he took care to afflict her no more ; he saw that her life depended on him. All the thoughts of Theresa were so pure, that Rosario felt himself safe, when near her.
Two years had now passed away since he quitted Rome. One day be appeared more sorrowful than usual; Theresa pressed him to tell her the cause of his affliction ; she always respected his silence, but she wished to partake of his sorrows ; she felt it necessary to know them. Rosario related to her the terrible prediction made to him, and his flight from the home of his father. This recital awakened all his remembrance : and with terror he exclaimed these words, Love without measure, Murder, Sacrilege !' Theresa was dumb ; but these words, . Love without measure,' these alone her heart recognised, and when Rosario repeated with affright, Sacrilege, and Murder,' Theresa answered, Love without measure :' she thus believed to cheer him, to make him forget all besides ; for to love was every thing to her. Rosario, sometimes hurried away by the violence of his feelings, regarded her with such a wildness of countenance, that she dared not look at him ; she became agitated ; she trembled ; an anxious silence succeeded these emotions ; still they were happy; for they were still innocent.
" Long, however, they could not remain so, and though the monk denounced eternal damnation on himself and his beloved, if they fell from virtue-fall they did. • Theresa, (writes the reckless Domini. can) it must be, that you are mine, but you must compel me to think 6 so : I should never have the power to abuse thy tenderness ; but yes
terday you saw that I could tear myself from thy arms; you never
said, I wish to be thine : but think we are lost to eternity. Oh, • Theresa eternal damnation'—these words make me shudder : they even come to disturb my peace, when in thy arms; for us there is
no happiness remaining ; death is our only choice: to-morrow, if you • wish to see me again, (and you know at what price,) to-morrow, • say, send Carlo to the church : if he brings with him your prayer