who could draw no distinction between the inspirations of her genius and the ravings of insanity! As the attendant prepared to apply the key to the door, she turned to me and said, "You need not expect to be much shocked at her appearance, sir; she gives us little trouble, poor lady; she behaves very properly, and is very careful about her person, herself." Had I been told that I should have seen her chained, and in straw, I could not have felt a greater sinking of the spirits than at this familiar and degrading mention on the part of a menial, of her whose every movement was grace, and whose appearance was a model for imitation. me. The first glance I had of Clorinda contributed to calm She did not appear so much altered as I had expected. Her dress was of a nature calculated to conceal the ravages which sorrow and disease had made in her well-proportioned figure; her long black hair, it is true, unconfined, hung down its whole length behind; but from off her beautiful brow it was, as formerly, drawn back, and simply parted her eyes were bent downwards; and she sat crouched in a corner, shivering with cold; and from the manner in which she was intently gazing on her own folded arms, it seemed as if she thought she was still, as when we first saw her, nursing her child upon the mountain. "This," said the woman, "is the best fit to see her in; she has other illusions less tranquil, and, I fear, less innocent." I thought that it would be well to endeavour to discover if she would recognise me, by repeating the offer made at the period to which her recollection seemed to tend: "Can I be of any assistance to you, madam?" It was the first external impulse her thoughts had received for some time. At the sound of my voice she started up, raised one hand to her brain, as if she there felt the impression of the sound, and then pushing me on one side, grasped at vacancy beyond, saying, with a wild laugh, which seemed the very antidote to gaiety, "Oh! so you are come again, and without your English bride !" From this time forward I cannot repeat-I do not like to remember-what she said. She uttered every thought aloud some were piteous to hear; few were extravagant, except in their unconscious avowal; yet though there was not one which the most delicate-minded might not have cherished in the secret recesses of thought, still, who could bear that all their wandering imaginations, their involuntary fancies, should witness against them, embodied in words! She spoke much, as if to Alfred, in ardent, impassioned terms. I, who well remembered, whilst her sovereign reason still held its seat, how sensitively nervous she used to be, lest any symptoms of her preference should appear in public, could not bear the situation in which I was placed. It seemed to me as if, by participating in this involuntary confidence, I was taking an unworthy advantage of her infirmity, and committing a sort of treachery to my friend, who, to the last, had kept his own secret. I therefore seized the first opportunity of a comparative pause in her ravings, to produce before her the object of my mission, the necklace of pearl. The moment I silently placed it in her hands, she seemed to divine its import, exclaiming, "Dead-I know it-I saw it! He has been here, but now he's gone, for they've shrouded him in the snow, with my poor child!" One solitary tear dropped upon its rival pearls-I watched long and anxiously for a second-I should have hailed it as the symptom of returning consciousness, but it never came. Instead, her eyes gradually fixed on the necklace in a vacant, unmeaning, immovable stare. I often tried in vain to rouse her by words-they had no effect. I at length sought to awaken her attention by a change of external 420 A TRADITION OF DARLEY-DALE, DERBYSHIRE. objects-I took my leave-she still stood in unconscious silence-I opened the door, and paused upon its threshold— still the same senseless stare-the door was closed, and again opened-still not the slightest symptom of a change— the case seemed hopeless-at last the key was turned—I never saw her more! A TRADITION OF DARLEY-DALE, DERBYSHIRE. BY W. WORDSWORTH. 'Tis said, that to the brow of yon fair hill Two brothers clomb; and, turning face from tace, Nor one look more exchanging, grief to still Or feed, each planted on that lofty place A chosen tree; then, eager to fulfil Their courses, like two newborn rivers, they In opposite directions urged their way Down from the far-seen mount. No blast might kill Embraced those brothers upon earth's wide plain, Nor aught of mutual joy or sorrow knew, Until their spirits mingled in the sea THE CURSE OF SCOTLAND. A NIGHT or two previous to the battle of Culloden, three or four gentlemen, retainers of Prince Charles, and who were residing in the same house with him at Inverness, were amusing themselves with a game at cards. During the evening, one of the latter suddenly disappeared, and, though anxiously sought for, could nowhere be found. "Curse the card!" exclaimed one of the gentlemen, impatiently, after looking for it for some time in vain-" I wish it were in the Duke of Cumberland's throat." The missing card was the nine of diamonds. The gentlemen, however, determined not to be baulked of their sport, contrived a substitute for the lost article, and played on till bed time. Two days after this, the battle of Culloden was fought; and, as is well known, the insurgent army was totally defeated, and the hopes of the unfortunate Adventurer laid prostrate for ever. One consequence of this event was, that Inverness was thrown open to the Royalists, and thither, accordingly, the victorious general, the Duke of Cumberland, directed his steps after the engagement. It was a practice of the Duke's, on arriving at any town or village which had been previously visited by Charles, to inquire for the house, nay, for the very apartment and bed he had occupied, and to take possession of them for his own use, alleging, shrewdly enough, as a reason for this conduct, that they were sure to be the best in the place. In conformity with this practice, the Duke, on arriving at Inverness, inquired for the house in which Charles had stopped; and it being pointed out to him, he immediately took up his abode in it. On the day after the engagement, it was reported to the Duke that a great number of the wounded insurgents and others were still wandering, or in concealment, in the neighbourhood of the field of battle. The ruthless general— whose naturally cruel disposition and sullen temper seem to have been fearfully excited by the resistance he had met with, and by the trouble it had cost him to subdue the rebellion in Scotland-on being informed of this circumstance, gave instant orders that a party of military should be sent out to destroy the unfortunate men wherever they could be found. A strong body of troops were accordingly immediately dispatched on this sanguinary mission. But the officer in command of the party, after proceeding some way on his dreadful errand, suddenly recollected that he had no written authority for the horrible atrocity he was ordered to see perpetrated, the commands of the Duke having been merely verbal. Desirous of being better secured against any consequences which might arise from the shocking proceeding in which he was about to be engaged, he hastened back to Inverness, sought an audience of the Duke, and respectfully requested him to give him his orders in writing. "No occasion whatever," said the Duke, sternly, and somewhat irritated at the want of confidence which the demand implied. "Do as you are desired, Sir. I'll answer for the consequences." The officer, however, continued to press his request, and reiterated his desire to be put in possession of documentary evidence that what he was about to do was done by authority. Impatient at his importunity, and desirous of getting quit at once of the subject and his pertinacious visitor, the Duke hurriedly looked about the apartment for paper on which to write the desired order; but he could see none. While looking for the paper, however, he accidentally turned up a |