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RY JASSES W. .WAES. Th3 Southern PU JGU.I.'IO EV :RV SATURDAY MORNING. TERMS. Three dollars per annum, payable within six months after the receipt of the fit st number, or four dollars if not paid within the year. Sub scribers living out of the State, will be expect ed in all cases, to pay in advance. No subscription received for less than one year, unless the money is paid in advance; and no paper will be discontinued until all arrear ages are paid, except at the option of the pub lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance, of their Papers, are requested to bear in mind, a settement of their accounts. Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates; when the number of insertions is not specified, they will be continued until ordered out. All Letters to the Editor or Proprietor, on matters connected with the establishment, must be post paid in order to secure attention Notice of the sale ofLand and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, must be published sixty days previous to the day of sale. The sale of personal Property, in like manner, must be published forty days previous to the day es sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that Application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must be published four months. Notice that Application will be made for Letters of administration, must be published thirty days and Letters of Dismission, ®ix months. For Advertising—Letters of Citation. 8 2 75 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 325 Four Months Notices, 4 00 ■Sales of Personal Property by Executors, Administrators, or Guardians, 3 25 Sales ofLand or Negroes by do. 4 75 Application for Letters of Dismission, 4 50 Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents for every thirteen lines of sm-11 type, (or space equivalent,) first insertion, and 50 cents for each weekly continuance. If published every other week, 62 1-2 cents for each continuance. If published once a month, it will be charged each time as a new advertisement. For a single insertion, 81 00 per square. PROSPECTUS OF THE THLd paper formerly edited by Wm. E. Jones, is now under the direction of the undersigned. The growing importance of Ath ens, the state of parties in Georgia, and the a«ritation of certain questions having a direct influence on southern interests; render it neces sary that the northwestern part of Georgia should have some vigilant, faithful sentinel always on the watch tower, devoted to a strict construction ofthe true spirit ofthe constitution, the maintainance oflhe rightsand sovereignty the States, the: r**trcnfi4’.mont executive patronage, reform, and a strict accountability of all public officers; moderate, yet firm and decided in his censures, “ nothing extenuate or setdown ought in malice,” —to expose prompt ly abuses and corruption when and wherccvr discovered —such an one the undersigned pro doses to make the Whig; while it will contain the most authentic and important information connected with our foreign and domestic rela pons, the latest commercial intelligence, ori | tiinal articles, and selections from the mos- i gopular works ofthe day in the variqgs departi I uients of Agriculture. Literature ai d the Arts. To Georgians the undersigned is conscious he appeals not in vain for an increase of patron age—and he respectfully asks the friends of constitutional liberty to make an effort, to ob tain subscribers. The Southern Whig is published weekly in Athens Georgia, at Three Dollars per annum payable in advance, Three Dollars and fifty cents if not paid within six months, or Four if not paief until the end of the year. J. W. JONES. __ AT the late meeting of the Alumni of Frank- ' tin College, it was unanimously resolved to i be expedient to make arrangements to issue a Monthly Literary Magazine, to be called THE ATHENIAN. The undersigneo were appointed by the So ciety a committee of publication and joint Edi tors of the w.ork, until the next meeting of tue I Society. We-have no interest in the work, ex- I cept that which we take in the welfare of the , country and honor of the State. We, ofthe [ South, have too long depended upon foreign I parts forour Literature, and neglected our own , talents. We shall be weak so long as we think i we are weak: and dependent until wo. make ef forts to be independent. We hope all the friends of Literature in the State, and especially the Alumni of Franklin College, will patronize the enterprise both by word and deed. S»ate pride the love of Literature, our interest in the cause of general Education, all call upon us to sustain an enterprise so necessary »o our improvement, and the honor ofthe State. A. 8. CLAYTON, x JAMES JACKSON, IL D. MOORE, WM. L. MITCHELL, C. F. McCAY, SAMUEL P. PRESSLEY, IL HULL. Tme Athenian shall issue monthly, on fine paper, stitched and covered in pamphlet form, and shall contain sixty-four pages royal octavo. Nothing derogatory to religion, offensive to any denomination of Christians, or of any political party, shall appear in the Athenian. Its pages shall be honestly devoted to general Literature, the cause of Education, the Review of new works, and notices of improvements in Science, Arts and Agriculture. Price Five Dollars per annum, payable on the delivery ofthe first num ber. A np HE Subscriber would respectful! v inform the public that he has ta en th' 3 Commodious establishment situate on the North East corner of the Public Square and opened it for the accom modation of Boarders, ami Visitors. He deems it unnecessary to add any thing in relation to the healthy situation ofthe Village, or the many virtues ofthe adjacent Spring, botli of which have been fully tested. For the comfort of those who call, his best efforts shah be brought into requisition. J. W. SHAW. Gincsville, Geo. May 13,—2—fit The Augusta Sentinel, Southern Recorder and Federal Union, will each give the above 6 weekly insertions and forward their accounts for payment EmOUR months afterdate, application will be made to the Honorable Inferior Court of Madison county, when sitting for Ordinary pur poses, for leave to sell the real Estate ofßubcU Williams, Se-n’r. late of said Conntv deceased DAWSON WILLIAMS, Adm’r. Feb. 25,—13—1 in nw -- W # JW&cUUhcous. THE LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE? A BALLAD —BY BOZ. The captain ia walking his quarter-deck, With a troubled brow and bended neck; One eycia down through the hatchway cast, The other turns up to the truck on the mast; Yet nene of the crew may venture to hint, “Our skipper hath gotten a sinister squint !’’ The captain again the letter hath read Which the bum-boat woman brought out to Spithead— Still, since the good ship sailed away, He reads that letter three times a-day; Yet the writing is broad and fairto see As a skipper may read in Ins degree, And the seal is as black, and as broad, and as flat, As his own cockade on his own cock’d hat • He reads, and he says, as he walks to and fro— “ Curse the old woman —she bothers me so!” He pauses now, for the topmen hail— “On the larboard quarter a sail! a sail!” That grim old captain he turns him quick, And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced Dick. “ The breeze is blowing—huzza ! huzza ! The breeze is blowing—away! away! The breeze is blowing—a race ! a race ! The breeze is blowing—we near the chase ! Blood will flow, and bullets will flj - Oh where will be then young Hamilton Tighe ?” —“ On the foeman’s deck, where a man should be, With his sword in his hand, and his foe at his knee ; Coxswain, or boatswain, or reefer may try, Buttlie first man on board will be Hamilton Tighe !” * * * * * * * Hairy-faced Dick hath a swarthy hue. Between a gingerbread nut and a Jew, And his pigtail is long, and bushy, and thick. Like a pump-handle stuck on the end of a stick. Hairy-faced Dick understands his trade; He stands by the breach of a long carronade, The linstock glows in his bony hand, Waiting that grim old skipper's command. “ The bullets arc flying—huzza! huzza! The bullets are flying—away! away!” The brawny boarders mount by the chains, And are over their buckles in blood and brains: On the foeman's deck, where a man should be, Young Hamilton Tighe Waves his cutlass high, And Capitainc Crapaud bends low at his knee. Hairy-faced Dick, linstock in hand, Is waiting that giim-looking skipper’s command : A wink comes sly From that sinister eye — Hairy-faced Dick at once lets fly, And knocks off the head of young Hamilton Tighe ! ******* There’s a lady sits lonely in bower and hall, Her pages and handmaidens come athercall: i “Now haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see How he sits there and glow’rs with his head on his knee! ’ The maidens smile, and her thoughts to destroy, They bring her a little pale mealy-faced boy ; And the mealy-faced boy says, “ Mother dear, Now Hamilton’s dead, I’ve ten thousand a year !” The lady has don-n’d her mantle and hood, She is bound for shrift at St. Mary’s Rood : “ Oh ! the taper shall burn, and the bell shall toll, I And the mass shall be said for my step-son’s soul, And the tablet fair shall be hung up on high, Orate pro anima Hamilton. Tighe!" Her coach and four Draws up to tire door, With her goom, and her footman, and half a score moro; The lady steps into her coach alone, And they hear her sigh, and they hear her groan ; They close the door, and they turn the pin, But there's one rides with her who never slept in ! And all the way there, and all the way back, The harness strains, and the coach-springs crack, The horses snort, and plunge, and kick, Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old-Nick; And the grooms and the footmen wonder and say, “ What makes the old coach so heavy to-day ?” But the mealy-faced boy peeps in, and secs A man sitting there with his head on his knees. ’Tis ever the same, in hall or in bower, Wherever the place, whatever the hour, That lady mutters and talks to the air, And her eye is fixed on an empty chair; But the mealy-faccd boy still whispers with dread, “ She talks to a man with never a head ! ******* There’s an old yellow admiral living at Bath, As gray as a badger, as thin as a lath; And his very queer eyes have such ver}' queer leers, They seem to be trying to peep at his ears. That old yellow admiral goes to the rooms, And he plays k >-g whist, but he frets and fumes, For all his knaves stand upside down, And the Jack of Clubs does nothing but frown ; And the kings, and the aecs, and all the best trumps, Get into the hands of the other old frumps: While, close to his partner, a man he sees Counting the tricks with his head on his knees. In Ratcliffe highway there’s an old marine store, And a great black doll hangs cut at the door; There are rusty locks, and dusty bags, And musty phials, and fusty rags. And a lusty old woman, call’d Thirsty Nan, And her crusty old husband’s a hairy-faced man ! That hairy-faced man is sallow and wan, ! And his great thick pigtail is withered and gone ; I And he cries, “Take away that lubberly chap j That sits there and grins with his head on his lap ! And the neighbors say, as they see him look sick, “ What ti rum old covey is Hairy-faced Dick !” That admiral, lady, and hairy-faced man. May say what they please, and do what they can ; But one thing scents remarkably deax-j* They may die to-morrow, or But wherever they live, or whenflHEKilic, They’ll never get quit of young From Blackwood's Magazine for February. The Page. A Story of Ihe i-leign of Cliurles IX. {Concluded.) The Kit g, in the mean time, daily becoming more gloomy and more irritable through cor poreal suffering, for his ua'uraily weak habit of body had been increased by vexation nt tae failure of his military schemes, resorted evert day tohii favorite pastime of hunting, accom panied by a small train, of which Go.-z.’tgu and | Caussade always formed a part. Ihe latter I seemed obviously advancing in his go->d gta- I ccs, while his mast, r was as visibly ducliui.’g, ! for the attentions which the Duke openly paid i to his sister could not escape his notice, while I they plainly were in the highest degree dis j tasteful to him ; the more so that they app ai led on her part to be received with approbation, j itttd that at ibc ver s .' moment when be bet !'»■ “where powers are assumed which have not been delegated, a nullification of the act is the rightful remedy.’ Jejfeison. ther was toiling to raise her to a throne, she was treating the individual whom he had se lected only with sarcasm and contempt. With his usual power of controlling Ins emotions, however, he disguised his irritation ; determin ed, nevertheless, to avail himself of the first op portunity to remove out of his way the impe diment which opposed itself to his wishes. Chal ies had on one occasion been separated from his train in pursuit of a stag, and had been extricated by the arrival and presence of mind of Caussade, who, however, had only succeeded in preserving the King’s life, at the price of a severe wound, which was followed by a fainting fit occasioned by loss of blood. The King sprung from his horse, and hurried, w ithout waiting for the arrival of his train, who were still at some distance, to restore the wounded page to his senses, by tearing open his vest io give him air. The first object on which his eye rested, as the Duke Gonzaga came up, was the white band with the ruby ornament resting on C«ussade’s breast. He recognised it at a glance. His next rested on the Duke, who, although he did not recog use the ornament,seemed coufounde I to see a white silk band so adorned on his page’s breast. But remarking the’penetrating eye of the King di rected upon him, he thought it most prudent to preten I that he had seen nothing; so he hur ried to a neighboring spring in search of wa ter, while the King, with sudden resolve, plac ed the riband within his own breast. Caus sade had in the meantime recovered his senses, and ignorant of the loss of his treasure, and delighted at having been the means of preserv ing the King’s hie, abandoned himself to a feeling of youthful triumph. He seemed de termined nut to quit the King’s side. The lat ter, though his brow was clouded, seemed not displeased by his zeal. He gave his train a signal to ride on before, while he followed with Caussade at a little distance. “Caussade,” said he, turning suddenly, tyid directing a piercing glance towards the con founded page, “you have betrayed a secret — but (and thank the saints for it) as I hope, to me alone !—for thus lam Enabled to requite life for life. Caussade, how comes my sister’s sash in your hands?” Caussade stood for an instant, as if struck by lightning. “Your sister, sire?” said he at last mechanically. “ How comes it in your hands ?” repeated the King, still more sternly. “I will promise to conceal what you tell me; but the honor of my house demands inquiry, and I will know \ how that ornament comes to be on your bo som.” “Sire,” said Caussade, who had now recov ered his presence of mind, “I know not the owner. A ruby m the clasp had broken loose. The Duke desired me to have it quietly re placed—perhaps the Princess may have di rected i.im.” “The Princess!-—direct him! Ah! I see you would conceal some intrigue with some of her attendants. No matter, I will not be tray the falsehood. Restore that riband to him who intrusted it to you. And be silent with regard to this conversation ifyou vane your life. ’’ The King rode forwards. Caussade’s hand, some lip curled into a sneer. “Yes, sire,” he whispered to himself, “I might have told you such a tale of myself; but you would not have bel.eved it. Well. The Duke must get out oflhe scrape now as he can. At all events, his head is not so likely to pay for it as that of a poor page. And I owe him agr dge, since he has taken it upon himself for some time past to direct his glances where they are little wished for.” Caussade was not the man to be daunted by a hat had taken place ; he only followed the King a little more slowly, and when his master ntered his own apartments late in the evening, ;he page seemed almost to have forgotten w hai had happened. Not so Gonzaga himself. — The King had this evening treated him with more than usual coldness. A perpetual cloud seemed to lower upon his brow, and he was frequently lost in gloomy reveries. The Duke could not. but ascribe this increased irritability to the adventure of the morning. And setting down all to the eredit ofthe unlucky page, he determined to bring matters to a crisis with him at once. “It is time, Seigneur Caussade de St. Mc gret,” said he, as soon as they were alone, “that I should tell you plainly what I have hitherto avoided doing. Your glances have long ago betrayed to me too much. But even these, it seems, will no longer content you. An adventurer, who is a riddle even to his pat ron, and yet is tolerated by him, should at least beware how be ventures to approach, even vith his eyes, an element to which, notwith standing his amphibious nature, he can scarce ly hope to raise himself. What the King drew from your breast this morning might be . to me a matter of indifference, were it not pro bable that the monarch holds me answ ;rable for the audacity of my servants, —and had I not observed too the white color of the riband, which looked but too like a pledge of love. I advise you to make me your confidiwit at once. Have the goodness, Seigneur Caussade, once more to allow me to look at the jewel.” Shame and displeasure appeared to contend with each other in Caussade’s features, but he did his best to affect extreme surprise and con sternation. “ How,” said he, “ what say you ? —in the King’s hands ? 1 have indeed missed it with pain. Well, if he interrogates me I must answ-r him as 1 may.” ‘•Him— but not me?” cried Gonzaga, with anger. “ Towards you I am candid, my Lord Duke. I have told you a vow restrains me.” “ If it bind you one moment longer, you re main no more in my service. Stay—whither so fast.” “To take my leave, since such is your Grace's pleasure. Yet permit me to remark, you might have chosen a better time for'my dismissal.” “That sounds like a threat.—-Begone.— Quit the castle!” Suddenly a dark glow shot into Caussade’s cheek, which was as quickly exchanged for a deadly paleness. He made a movement as it to lav hand on his sword; but soon calm ng himself, he darted a look of indignation on the Duke, bowed with an air of mock reverence, and retreated in silence. . The next morning the King paid an early visit to his sister. He appeared more open and cheerful than for some time past; but his good humor seemed to excite the very opp< - site feeling in the Fiincess. The subject of her royal suitor was brought upon the carpet, and Renee could not resist indulging in the us ual remarks with which she never failed to treat the matter. Hush! hush!” said Charles t last, with earnestness. “Be on your guard, 1 Renee. The union is fixed. I have already I pledged myself j’ r your consent.” ■ “ Let him come, I will see him first, ano’ | then—•limn brings come • GEORGIA, !?HVOjSWAY, JUftE 27, 2 537. The brow of the King became visibly cluod ed. “Renee,” said he, “show me the sash, with the gold and ruby ornaments, which I pre sented to you. I should like again to examine the workmanship.” Renee blushed crimson and rrmainad stand ing before him. “I will not deceive you, brother,” said she at last, —“ I have it not. I gave it sometime since to the Princess of No vers. Since her good fortune, a gift of value would have been unsuited to her. A trifle from me best suits with her elevated fortu>.es. She throws vour sister now into shade,” she continued jestingly, scarcely knowing whether the observation proceeded from a slight, feeling of envy, or the wish to lead the King’s atten tion to another subject; “ who knows but she may soon witness kings at her feel? Even before her acccession of riches and dignity' she had refused the hand ofthe Duke Gon zaga.” “ In truth.” said the King, with a bitter smile “she seems fortunate in finding a friend dis posed to take at. second hand what she had re jected.” And he retired precipitately, as he always did when he wished to conceal his rising passion, or had not matured his resolu tions in regard to its object. The Princess was at first rejoiced that she had escaped so easily out of this difficulty. But when Caussade suddenly disappeared from court. Whan neither Gonzaga nor any one else knew what had become of him—when the only intelligence which she could gather was that he had been dismissed from his master’s service, a trouble arose in her bosom which every day tended to increase. Si co her brief interview with Caussade she had concealed from her friend what had taken place ; and the sudden change Hi Diana’s fortunes had still further increased the temporary separation of the friends ; but now in this hour of distress sheagain resolved to resort to her friendly j sympathy and to disclose all, when her reso lution was shaken by the sudden appearance of Caussade in the train of the King, and in the attire of a young courtier. The King had perceived that he no longer appeared i.i the service of the Duke, and miss ing him at the hunt, w here lus services had be come ia a manner indispensable to him, his suspicion and displeasure against the Duke were increased by his misanpearaiice. It ap peared probable that the Duke had dismissed him as a penance for his indiscretion, or from fear of discovery. After some days ho asked the Duke, with whom since the conversation with his sister he had had little *:oinmuiiica tiou (the more so as he suspected the introduc tion of Diana’s name on that occasion to have been a mere pretext,) what had become of the page. “I know not,” said the Duke, with appa rent unconcern, “ wln re the fellow has gone to. I disliked his mysterious bearing, and dismiss ed him.” It seemed as if every trifle increased the suspicious of the King. Even in the open avowal of the Duke he th.iughi he perceived the secret cousciousueea of guilt. lie was si lent, but that same evening he gave instructions to a confidant, and next morning Caussade ap peared tn the antechamber of the King. He was soon summoned to the Royal presence. “ Caussade,” said the King, “ Gonzaga has dismissed you from his service. For what reason ?” “ Probably,” answered the page, boldly, “ be cause I had not conducted myself therein with sufficient discretion.” “ Can mine r. quite you for the loss?” “It would indeed,” exclaimed Caussade, with delighted surprise; but recovering Him self, he asked, “ I n what service would my gra cious master employ mo?” “Wear my colors only,” said the King; “ Vou shall no longer have to play the part oi a page.. You shall be one of my hunting train. You have a sure and steady hand. lull me— Do you hate the Duke?” “ I love him not, sire !” answered Caussade, after a short silence. “ I hate him,” exclaimed the King, gloomi iy. “ Caussade, do thou likewise. I expect from you fidelity and devotion. If you know ot any wrong done to me, it is your part to avenge it.” “ Your wrongs shall be mine,” exclaimed Caussade. The King looked at him sharply. “ Think well what you say or do, Caussade, it you would gain or keep my favor. 1 am sickly, irritable. A word may excite me to—more than words. There, take this weapon,” con tinued he, with a strange snide, pushing across to Caussade a splendidly ornamented dagger which lay on the table, such as was then gene rally worn at the girdle; “that I may not be tempted in a moment of passion to raise it against you, since it lies so conveniently‘be fore me. Forget not this lesson. Provoke not Kings. Take it, and use it against your enemy, and mine, when need is.” Caussade turned pale as he took the dagger; “and when will need be ?” said he, in a hurried and faltering voice. “ When he forgets once more that Charles has no mercy lor him. were he ten times a Duke, who seeks to mislead his sister, who forgets the respect du? to him, and opposes Ins will. And now go!” Caussade went; but scarcely had he reach ed the - chamber assigned to him, when h? cast tin-dagger from him with a shudder. “No, Charles!” said he to himself, “not to this did I eng.ige myself-—not to pfoy the assassin’s pari am I here. True I dislike this imperious Gonzaga; I will revenge myseil upon him; but it shall be by repaying evil with good. Now he is safe since Ins life is in my liai.d Pei haps, too, it was I that brought him into this danger. Well, what better does he de serve? Vv hv will he continue to court the fa vor of her who has eyes only I°*’ nic, and play the ciiignifico as he does in her presence I No, pride must have a tall.” The time for decision soon arrived. Two days afterwards he was again hu; ting in the train ofthe King, and as he assisted th- mon arch to mount, Charles whispered in his ear —“ Have you your new weapon by you, Caus sade ?” Caussade nodded. “Then to-day let the game fid! ; I will give vou opportunities io the course o' the day for executing the deed unobserved. The King kept his word. In the course ol the day lie gave the Duke, end the page seve ral commissions, so as to separate them from the rest ofthe train ; and in which Caussade [easily discerned his intention, that hu should ! attack the Duke i i the dark and unfrequented ( part of the wood. He saw in the agitated [ features ofthe King an inquiri g, restless, and ; discontented look when lh“ Buko, after exe- I euting the commission, again appeared safe i li; d semtl. The day orc ooh) ' the King, darting a look of vengeance on Caus sade, gave the signal for return. He sent for Caussade instantly into his ca. binet. A sort of bold defiance sat upon the features ofthe youth as he entered; but the I gloomy and lowering indignation which sat upon the brow of the King seemed gradually I to banish his confidence, and for the first time | perhaps in his life he felt his own insiguifi- I cance in the presence of superior power. ’ “ Boy !” thundered Charles in his ear, “You I have made a fool of me. And jet you dare I return to a house which you ought never to j have entered alive till another had, through j your means, been brought hither a corse? Did I fear unman your mind, —for of opportunities ! you had enough?” | “Sire,” said Caussade, calming himself and Hooking up with more confidence, “’twas on yout account I paused. Repentance never I comes too late—permit me” “Silence!” interrupted Charles. “The King knows not the word repentance. Bethink thee of tiie words with which I delivered that dagger to you. Think of them, and provoke me not. The dagger is destined for him—or you. There is no third course. No—-go and choose: to-morrow we hunt again ; till then you can deliberate.” Caussade retired. A feeling of despair to which his former life had been entirely a stran ger, seemed to overmaster him. “A murder er or murdered—or”—.he did not express the thought, but shook hia head. “Audyet alhird course there must be,” said he with determin ation. after an internal contest. *“ Fool that I am, I have deserved degradation ; I will bear it him; my childish dislike to him must disap pear before tiie prospect of his danger.” He hurried ,o the window. It was still early ; lights Were burrniug in all the cham bers. He hastened to the chamber of the Duke, whom he fortunately found in the palace —he pushed past the page, who seemed to hes itate about announcing him, and entered the apartment unannounced. The Duke sprang up in displeasure, and as he saw Caussade draw ent a naked dagger, clapped his h md upon his sword ; but ere he could draw it, or even utter a word, tile latter, casting the dagger from him, had dropped upon his knee- “ What is the matter!” cried the Duke, in surprise. “See,” exclaimed Caussade, with an agi tated voice, pointing to the dagger, “there lies my sha -e. That weapon the King forced in to my hands to murder you—the secret suitor of his sister, as he and many believe. I can not, I will not be a murderer. But both our lives are at stake, we must flee, and that on the instant.” “Flee!” replied the Duke, whose momen tary agitation hud soon given way to an ap pear..nee of cold composure, “ Gonzaga never flees.” “So then,” replied the youth, almost with a sneer, “you would willingly sacrifice exist ence; tor, doubt not, hundreds, ot murderers are at the King’s command, though in this case by good luck he has mistaken his man. I have perhaps urn hi,.kingly been the mcansofdraw mg suspicion on you—but I have no time now to accuse myself; my purpose is to save you; weigh well what you do; you have time to consider,till to-morrow’s hunt.*’ Caussade now communicated to him the substance of his conversations with the King— the reports which prevailed at court with re gaid to his attentions to the Princess—his uwn suspicions, and all such with a degree of open ness, that the Duke almost felt himself recon ciled to the young adventurer. He stood a moment in thought, then said, “lift up the dagger Caussade, and let me look at it. In truth a sharp and trusty weapon— which would glide through clothes and flesh into the heart like wax. Now retire, Gonzaga [ will not forget this moment. Cotne to me so f c-retly to-morrow. Mean time I lot/Z consider I ot your plan. Take the dagger with you. Let it be to you from this momenta token of honor, I and not of shame.” Caussade retired in strong agitation. The Duke looked after him with an apparent calm ness ; but no sooner had he disappeared, and he began to weigh in its tull extent the danger which he had escaped—but. as it appeared for a moment only, than the weakness of nature began to assert its power even over the resolu tion ofhis mind, lie seemed to feel by anti cipation the cold steel within his heart; le could see at the time no way of escape from the wrath ofthe young King, who, when lous ed to vengeance, was never known to listen to any other voice than that ot passion. Wherever | he turned his eye, a dagger’s point seemed to threaten him. The thought which next to his own peril haunted him was that of his mother and of her grief. His mother! with the re collection of'hera glimmering of hope revived, for he remembered how often in times ot peril and difficulty her wise counsels had averted evil tri m her house. Without, further pt use, with an agitated and hopeful haste, as if he had been flying from the pursuing steel, he dashed down the secret stair into her chamber. The Duchess was not alone. She was ac companied bv the Duchess of’Nevers, who had latterly become an almost daily visitor, accus tomed to find tn the instrttciive and clear-mm ded conversation of the Duchess a source oi amusement and interest which she met with no where else. Diana, as she saw the Duke rush in in such agitation, withdrew into the recess of a window,’not to interrupt a convcr- ! sation which she foresaw was one requiring ; the presence of no w itnesses. Gonzaga in his I present state o£ excitement scarcely noticed i her. Ina whisper he communicated to his mother the danger of his position, and entreat- , ed her advice. “Advice!” she repeated with a shudder; | “ where the King is itiflatred to hatred ! But ' j stay,” said she, interrupting herself, as if a I sudden thought crossed her brain. Then af i ter a pause, she contim ed. “ I know but of 1 one plan. You must marry—and to-night. [ The question is where to find a bride.” ! Iler son started at her in confusion. The plausibility of this plan as a means of escape I was as evident to him as its execution appear icd impracticable. In the same moment, how. I ever, he saw his mother, with her usual quick- 1 '. ivssof decision, at the feet of the Princess. “ Bn our benefactor —save me—save my son!” i Diana, who had overheard no part ofthe i whisuered comuiui.ication, and was wholly at : a loss to know to what to ascribe the agitated : condition of th.e Duke, scarcely possessed corn, i posuro enough to raise the Duchess from the > ground, who, with all the eloquence of a mo < ther. briefly put her in possession of the peril in which her son stood. While she did so, the Duke had, with evi dent uneasiness, attempted to interrupt the nar raiive. A dark flush of shame, the herald of a f loliug even more painful than the apprehen- I sion es death, crimsoned his cheek, while hia piercing glance rested with an expression of offended pi ide upon the Princess, whose pale ness by degrees was giving place to a blush not less intense than the Duke’s. “Mother,” he exclaimed, “ what are you doing? This hand she has already” “ Rejected,” added Diana, hastily, “ rejected while she was a dowerless and friendless mai den -—dedicated by her relations to a convent ual life—because she prized it too higtily to think of obscuring the lusture of a life to which she would rather have imparted some aclditio al rays. When it might have been inclined to think and act otherwise, it was no longer plac ed within her power. Ifhe, in truth, despises not this hand, 1 lay it with pleasure in his, dear mother.” And so saying, she extended it towards the Duke. “ From compassion !” said the. Duke, hesi- i tating, and yet overpowered. “Let not our union be concluded in wrath, Gonzaga,” she replied. “My compassion, as you term it, may well be placed against the looks of dislike and anger with which, since that hour, you have met every look of mine. Even then'l did not so interpret them: give me, in turn, credit for something better than compassion. To preserve your life, I would indeed, endure death ; but how much more gladly would I live, to save it and to render ii happy!” “Do I dream?” said the Duke, sinking at h«.T feet. “Is my hour of darkest peril to be changed at once into the happiest of my file? Oh, Diana, never one instant did I cease to love you! My very Uneasiness, ray anger, my looks of dislike, what were they all but. i >ve?” The mother weeping tears of joy, lain I: ir hands together,’ and hastily despatch: in s senger to summon a priest, and to c n n: cate to the Princess Renee that her t' i would that night remain with her.. The you pair, remained alone, exchangi g, in a lengih ened confidence, ail the hopes, fears, and sus picious which, during their long estr: gemer t. had crossed and agitated their minds. “ Now y then,” said Gonzaga, at its close, “my faithin you is henceforth mialterubi ! Do what you will, I will believe in the heart; you have bestowed upon me. Let circumstan ces be what they may, nothing shall hereafter shake my confidence. We are human beings liable to mistake; but I feci that, from this hour, my belief in your fidelity and affection is impregnable. If such be your feeling so. j we shall, indeed, be an enviable pair.” She extended her hand to him solem Iy. 1 “ I at le .st am so. for I trust in you.” In these confiding communicutioiis the night i flew by like a moment. The morning hud scarcely dawned, when the Duchess-moth r reappeared with the priest, and in a few min utes they were secretly u lited—a circurnsia. ce at this time, and in this Court, of no Uufrequent occurrence. No sooner had the hour of the King’s levee arrived than the Duke entered the presence, dressed more sumptuously than usual; and, kneeling before diaries, requested his sanction and approbation to his marriage with the Priii- I cess Diana of Nevers, which hud already been | secretly concluded some time befo-.e. He i took care, of course, to suppress the precise I period of its celebration. Charles listened to him with evident, and yet on the whole, pleasing surprise. A new light seemed to have broke upon him. With a sud den return of good-humor and ki dness, he wished the Duke joy. His dis, leasure van- I ished at once, and hu acceded in all points to j Gonzaga’s wishes with regard to the solemni- I tv. He lost no time in paying a visit to his j sister, who had already been informed (and ! somewhat more accurately) of the whole cir- j cumstnnces by her friend; but, o his wonder, I though her features, i.i answer to the triumph ant glance of her brother, seemed to indicate ! surprise, he could perceive no traces of vexa- j tion or disappointment. He began to believe t that the whole hud after al), been a mistake, i He repented—he was ashamed ofthe rashness j with which he had sought the life of the Duke . under this erroneous impression. H; took the first opportunity of calling Caussade aside, anti whispering to him, — “ Give me back the dagger. I will give you another jewel instead ; or if you will keep ! it. keep it carefully, and to yourself.” “Allow mo to retain it as a memento mori, and a token of royal favor,” said the unabash ed youth. And Charles, in this moment of re turning cheerful: ess.wasgood humored enough to overlook the sarcastic boldness of the an swer. The series of festivities which followed the nuptials of Gonzaga with the Princess of Ne vers was like the last flicker of an expiring torch—a brilliant flash before extinction ; for with the increasing illness of the young Ki g \ the gaiety of the Court soon after disappeared. ‘ Banquets and masked balls es more than usual splendor, even at that splendid Court, announc ed on this occasion the satisfaction ofthe fxiug; while the envy and dislike of many disappoint- - ed suitors was visible in tholooks and obser vations with which the newly-married pair i were received. At the most splendid of these masked balls. | 1 Caussade, now high in favor at once with the j i Duke and the King, was present. Well tic- I I quaiuted with the Court, he had found little dis Acuity, while disguised himself, to detect most ) ofthe other maskers. His object was to pro- | cure, if possible, a short ii terview with '.he ; Princess, for in the ball-room aloe he feit that, , if possible at all, it was to be obtained; bn’ I , Renee, whether from fear that Caussade. by some indiscretion, would bring destruction upon both, or from a resolution new to resign [ hcrselfto her fate, excused herself, on pretex. I of sudden illness, at the commencement of tin [ festival, and retired. It was only after Caus ! sade had sought her through the crowd, with increasing impatience, that he had learned her absence; he gnashed his teeth with vexation. All at once a sudden resolution seemed to sug gest itselfto him. Making his way up to the young Duchess of Gonzaga, he requested to bo allowed to speak to her for an instant in private. He drew her into a retired corner of the room, took off’his mask, and entered, with all the eloquence of love, on the subject of his I distress. What arguments he employed— what disclosures he made during this animated conversation, did not appear; but the result was, that even the prudent and cautious Diana seemed to be so moved by his tale, and by his | representation ol the state of the Princess s I mind, that she agreed to give bun a secret audi [ euce next day in her apartment. The cheerful sound ofthe horns once more announced a hunting party, an amusement which the increasing weakness ofthe King had for some time prevented. Renee was awakened by the entrance of her friend, who, throwing her arms round her, exclaimed—“ Bo quick, slumbcrcr! do you not hear the bugles? Vol. V—l\io. 7. Rise, and let us once more see them dcpi.ri, from the balcony. I, you know, must hrve eyes only for Dmi Lewis now. Nay, I will allow you to look on him too, provided only vou spare a glance from him now and thei to the fair Caussade.” “ I comprehend you not,Diana,” replied the Princess gazing on her with surprise. “ But be it so. To please you I will go, though ( have bid adieu to pleasure.” But notwith standing the apparent resignation of her an swer, her hand trembled so that she could scarcely adjust her dress. “ When we were last seated here,” said Di ana, as they reached the balcony, “ how dif fi rent weie then our views. You, reconciled to the unavoidable, and armed with courage to meet it, clung to the dreaming comfort of a love, which I (with despair in my own heart) would have denied to you. And yet you found time, amidst your own anxieties to speak words of comfort and kindness to me. That, Renee, I never can foiget. Now, lam cheerful and hapny—while you however little your fate may. have really changed since—you have become melancholy. O..ce I may have thought you in the right; I might have lent my aid to en courage you in that feeling. Strange to say, however, since I became a wife, I am dis posed to think less rigorously than before on these topics. But see, look, Princess, the train are departing. Caussade is looking up.” “O thoughtless being!” cried Renee, turn ing pale, and drawing buck. “ Why this terror?” said the Duchess,’sur prised at her vehemence. “ Car you rsk 'hat, Diana, when your lover ■-> i ecrly atoned by bis life for some slight at i ti' i “s. oerhaps a few ugu .rdsd glances? . . .or two rights past I ha’-e dreamt that I v. (. rise up paie anc e.eeding from a" Y ; ■ . .1. nr Re- to bring < • !• you : Iso- . doubt : Z ' ppy at tin SC ■■■. '.z ‘ ; fit ians, new that It IS p::H. Ugh ,;\y won t I show mv gruii ude- -wowil co;.sole you- .c- i tiveh assist you. Tell me.Jnei .w? arey u more mciinch thoo be io rex?” “ VVhv ?’’ D.-ies n<>t the dav 1 r. to be sacrificed ipprt h nearer and • r . - —— Wh.it h ve my resistance, my defiance avail ed ? Has i.ot my brother already pledged my consent against my will—is not this hated sm ; tor on his wa v ? O. friend, assist me, and I ' will adore you. Yes, I love him still, this fair Caussade with th sc eyes of spirit and fire. But I am winched by jealous eyes—my gian cos can no longer meet his—and what, after all, are looks? —the longing heart asks for . w >r Is—one ho ir of happy intercourse for a life pf privation. No, believe me, ii I despair of my di stiny, it is from no want of love. Let this whom they force upon me, come, 1 will refuse him. And what can my brother do ? Deprieve me ot life ?” “Renee —if I am to assist you, be reasona ble. Piovoke not your brother. Rather avert his attention from you by submission. Act up to your rank, your dignity. Submit to the sa crifice with resolution: then leave to y T our I frie..d to provide for your happiness with st- I lence ai d fidelity.” “Do I undeistand you aright—may I ven ture to do as my heart would dictate? Shall I see him ? Speak to him? Where? when?” Be calm—remember our conditions.— ; When you shall appear before the world as a : Princess, as the destined and consenting bride I oflhe English Prince, that day you shall meet [ Caussade in my apartment.” i “lam a princess,” said Renee lifting up [her head proudly. “This day my consent I shall be given. Diana, your fiendship gives me courage for all. In your apartment, say you ? Do< s then Gonzaga know ?”—dropping ! her eyes, and almost terrified. “Heaven forbid! This secret is not for him, I know the purity of my own intentions ' and yours ; but of such matters men are no judges. No one, not even Gonzaga himself, shiiii learn of me aught regarding you, which might occasion in his mind a shade of suspi cion : But I know the hours when his avoca tions demand his presence in the castle, and I by means of the stair, which you know so well, ! you can easily pass into my chamber. If the matter is to be communicated to any one, rather let it be to the Duchess-mother.” Renee had during this speech, pressed her glowing cheek to the Losorn of her friend. “ Oh ! no—no!” she exclaimed—“ and Caus sade?” “ Be at ease ; Gonzaga confides in mt. Ne ver will I unnecessarily subject his confidence in me to trial; but here, where the occasion is unavoidable, where a fneutl’s happiness is at stake, I must run the risk. These pages must not batray the secrets confided only to the seal. of friendship. I hus far only we know, that more than one inter view between the Princess and her lover took place in the apartments of Diana, interviews which Renee’s consciousness of her own dig nity would have rendered perfectly innocent, even if the presence of Diana had not afforded an additional security. Renee regained her cheerfulness and bloom, like a flower reviving in the rays ofthe morning sun, after being bent to the ground by the heavy showers of evening. 'Hie‘violence of her feelings was softened; it is true that an occasional sigh would escape her when the subject ofthe Eng lish Prince was me- tinned ; but she proceeded to select her wardrobe, and to accept tbe con gratulations of the Court with a pale couate nance, indeed, but with the composure and dig nity litt;•(! to her rank. In the Court circles, where Caussade now invariably appeared in rh train o 1 ’ he Kin.L r , at the promenades, or at • na.-s, her eye no longer sought her lover. She set m< >ll > s e his image in her hetirf to which a>< ne her looks w> re di.-t-cteL Csnssnde on ihe co tiaiy, bur- himself with a i ok cf tri umph. His eve soiiiiht b. I- •“■!>>’.. • cd, if not h< rsi ls; aHif 1 •<’ Ho a he th '<’ 'no perceived :hat his g’;.'c ■ v•: w .i j wouh! i.' ■; ; U !■ -v. ?;.t 100 b . Di.i . who, as r-x-edv, w . ■.. :o be f.-tr.’.d by her side. Th: le W . V -.vi e ed th se 1 >ks . h I! th activity of ha’r. d -d cir.y. Th. y were not slow io li fer a s er. t ; ■■ lersta: ding be. wee i him and the Duchess. Even before th? ho ney-moon was over, rt;m< rs began to spread I about the Court of secret visits paid bv Caus sade lothe Duchess’s apartment in tneahseneo of the Duke; these rumors did not indeed reach the parties chiefly concerned, but hints were mysteriously given to the Duchcss-mo ther. which however, she seem" J resolved not to understand. It was then debated among the self-called confidential friends of the Duke, with areat appearance of affectionate Zealand in reahtv with secret satisfaction. « hether it was not their duty tom>ke him aware ofth>» reports which prevailed. At last they did ven-