be determined to die, he must follow his course."

"Who talks of dying?" exclaimed the old Squire Roberto, who had followed his master as quickly as possible, and had seen the man arrest Buondelmonte's horse with a suspicious eye. "And what induced you to stop the noble Count on his way?"

"I would have saved his life," said the stranger, looking with anxiety towards the further end of the bridge;-" I would have saved him from those accursed Ghibellines: but it is too late," he continued, scanning the little group of armed retainers; "and your numbers are too small to offer any resistance, so God's will be done," added he, in a solemn tone, as he disappeared amid the populace.

Old Roberto, who had not been sufficiently near his master to hear the whispered warning, could not comprehend the particular danger which threatened him; but his anxious gaze was rivetted by a crowd and skirmish at the opposite side of the bridge.

66

They have seized him-the Buondelmonte

falls!—murder! treachery!" shrieked the old man with horror; and followed by the little band, he darted with the speed of lightning across the bridge.

A multitude of people, among whom were the chiefs of the Ghibelline faction, surrounded the statue of Mars. An awful silence reigned, and the countenance of the mob wore an expression of direfully satisfied revenge.

The brilliant rays of a May-day sun illuminated the group, and glittered on their shining corslets and gaily plumed helmets. The broad river flowed on in calm repose with a gentle murmuring sound, and the face of nature was joyous. The solemn tones of sacred music were heard from the adjoining church, mingled with the glad song of birds in the convent garden.

One deeply troubled breast was still. A suffering heart had ceased to beat—a wearied and perplexed spirit had flown to the realms of eternal peace.

"He has not slept so tranquilly for many a day," said old Roberto, after the first burst of grief and anger had passed away, and he stood and gazed on the placid features of his beloved

master. "He looks so happy, I could almost forgive the hand that dealt the death-blow. May God be merciful to his soul, and forgive his errors !"

"Amen!" muttered a faint hollow voice. It was that of Count Amidei, who stood near, leaning on a sword which was steeped in blood.

"Ha! are you the murderer !" exclaimed the old esquire, as he grasped his sword, and looked with fury on the father of Elvira. But when he saw the expression of deep sorrow, of hopeless despair, on the old noble's countenance, Roberto paused. The sight of that heartstricken father recalled to the squire's mind his master's errors, and the injured and forsaken heiress of Amidei. His sword fell harmless to the ground, he covered his face with his hands, and wept aloud.

But the kinsmen of the assassinated Buondelmonte, and the whole faction of the Guelfs, were not influenced by the same Christian feeling as the old esquire.

Buondelmonte's death was fearfully revenged. I will not, however, describe the unhappy wars

which desolated Florence for many years afterwards. The two heroines of my tale-the two friends-found peace in the convent where they had passed their happy childhood. Together they wept over the untimely fate of him who had been so fatally dear to them both-together they prayed for the prosperity of their country, whose peace they had been the innocent cause of troubling-together they thought, felt, and loved during the remainder of their lives. Long after their pure spirits had found rest in the bosom of their Maker, was the memory of Bianca Donati and Elvira Amidei cherished in the convent; and their example of good works and cheerful endurance of sorrow was held up for praise and imitation.

CHAPTER III.

The use and danger of Society.-Thoughts during a Winter's Journey to Ireland.

THOSE who do not feel in the humour for the following grave and sage reflections I made during a dull journey in the dreary month of January, are requested to skip them and go on to some other part.

Wednesday, 17th.-When I opened my Bible this morning, I thought that the map of my life and death was spread before me in glowing, vivid, joyful colours. I saw the hand of God pointing out my path, and felt sure of being sustained in all trials. These cheering views were suggested by the 143rd, 144th and 145th Psalms.