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the Christians when they received him
in their midst.”
‘ You have wandered indeed from the
paths of wisdom, young man, and it will
not astonish tne to hear of you bidding an
eternal farewell to those gay compan
* >
ions
“ Cease these cowardly imprecations
against those who are not present to jus
tify themselves. Excuse this apparent
want of respect, but when I hear the re
presentative of the gods expressing him
self in a manner little suited to the dig
nity of his office, I cannot but speak open
ly and tell him of his error.”
And Jnbal paced up and down the
room in one of his usual fits of excite
ment. The old priest felt humbled by
this reproach, and already a reply was
on his lips when ho reflected that the
best way to serve his interests was to
yield for the present to his proud and
influential friend.
“ But, what of Yivia?” he demanded
with a slight curl of contempt upon his
lips. “ I tiiought you had sworn to shed
her blood ?’’
“ That is passed. My hatred is ex
tinct. Those words which you declared
she had said of me, have changed my
feelings in her regard. Now I love her
—yes, lo'. e her with a love worthy of
her. lam no longer her enemy.”
** Ah !ah ! ‘The lamb should not be
near the wolf.’ Ah ! do you remem
ber ?”
Olympian had now touched the right
cord, for its vibrations moved every
nerve of his body. He stood still, while
his clenched hands and dark eyes showed
the vehemence of that movement that
was going on in the depths of his soul.
His lips trembled convulsively, and deep
groans escaped from his heaving breast.
The old man looked quietly upon the
scene, and congratulated himself upou the
successful issue of the interview. It was
a complete victory. He was sure of it,
and such being the case, he could now
bring him to aid powerfully in the general
rising which he contemplated.
Ideas dictated by sentiments of the
most deadly revenge, arose in the mind
of Jubal. lie tiiought of placing a dagger
in the hands of Afer and commanding
him to imbrue it iu the blood of Yivia.
He endeavored ta compose himself, and
recover calmness of mind. When the
power of utterance returned, he ap
proached near to the priest, and placing
his hand on the table to steady his nerves,
ho looked him in the face with an un
wavering gaze :
“ Take care not to repeat to others
those words which you have just uttered.
You shall not do it with impunity. Mark
my words !”
The priest trembled for lie knew the
disposition of Jubal .which led him to
sacrifice anything’ or commit the worst
of crimes to satisfy the cravings of re
venge.
You mistake me, Jubal. lam your
friend and you take mo for your enemy.”
“ I tell you openly, without disguise,
that 1 believe [ believe . Well,
1 respect your grey hairs, but let me tell
you that there can be no concert of ac
tion between us, for, old man, I decest
you! Yes! yes! by the gods above
us” .
“Hold! you forget my dignity and
the respect which is due to my person.
You arc powerful, it is true, but remem
ber there is an authority above you,
which will bring you to an account for
an insult offered to the highest vicar of
the gods in the city of Carthage. Take
care young man!” and the convulsive
movement of his aged face indicated
clearly that he was under the influence of
anger.
“ Let us put an end to this disagreea
ble subject. I will leave you to your
own reflections, but one thing I will say
before quitting your room. If you
threaten Vivia, or cause one hair of
her head to be touched, your head will
arswer for it. You know Jubal; he is
determinate.”
Olympian said nothing, but bit his
?ip in silent anger, lie felt profound
ly mortified that Jubal should have dis
covered his real intentions. He had
not given him credit for such acute
penetration, but the evil was done and
his influential friend lost to the side
of persecution. But it was too much
tor the priest to brook the imperious
words of the young libertine without
venturing to reply. Courage returned,
and he rose to his feet.
“ you will not save your Vivia.
- hwear h in the name of the immortal
=°^ s - i l m yself will demand her blood!”
Tue last words that would have es
caped those withered lips had I my
poiguard, base deceiver! thou incarna
tion of hypocrisy ! Woe be to that
man that injures that noble lady !”
“ Lash youth ! What could you do to
save her if I raised my voice ? Besides,
she would disdain your powerless pro
tection, for I know she hates you at this
very moment”
“ No! It is false ! Her heart is too
pure to harbor resentment.”
“Do not deceive yourself. There is
an impassible gulf separating you from
each other, and if you want to know
what it is I will tell you—it is blood !
You know not that she is fully aware
of the details of the murder of her
husband—-that he fell by the hand of
your slave. Jubal, listen! you are in
a difficult position,” continued the old
man, lowering his voice to a whisper,
“however, I think I can be of use to
you, if you will only curb your im
petuous temper.”
He watched the effect of his words
upon the rapidly changing countenance
of Jubal, and tried to read in the move
ment of his eyes the secret of his
thoughts. The young man continued
to remain silent, with his arms folded
across his breast, pondering over the
idea of eternal separation between him
and Vivia, and of the perilous position
in which he would be placed by any
untimely revelation on the part of Afer.
“ Besides,” resumed the priest, “what
slave can resist the torments usually in
flicted upon those whom the law desires
to force to an open avowal of a sus
pected crime ? He may betray you,
Jubal —that slave of yours, and your
protestations of innnocence, will have
little weight against the conclusive evi
dence which can be adduced to prove
your guilt. The influence of your
name, and the high rank of your ancient
family, will not protect you against the
severity of justice, for, remember that
there is a question not of the murder of
any obscure individual, bat of a great
General, to whom the Senate had con
fided its army aud the guardianship of its
national fame. Again: loook to the pre
sent agitated state of Carthage. Is it
not stirred to its depths by this horrible
assassination ? Do they not already cry
out that the murderer and his accom
plices must suffer the penalties of the
law ? Now, I can be of service to you,
as I before remarked, and, moreover, 1
will be, provided you listen to my coun
sels.”
“Well! well! but let me hear from
your lips that Y ivia shall not be injured,
but, on the contrary, protected against
the fury of an excited mob,” replied Ju
bal, in a tone of voice which clearly
marked that his firmness had given way
to the most fearful apprehensions.
“ You love her, theu ?”
“ I do more than my life.”
“ Well, Jubal, it depends upon you to
save her.”
“How? Speak! I consent. What
is it that you ask of me ?”
The young man was conquered, and
was brought with profound humiliation to
the feet of Olympian. The hopes of the
latter were now realised beyond expecta
tion. He could now press him iuto his
service, and make him a docile instru
ment in his hands. But, was Vivia really
to be saved ? He would flatter him
with this idea until he should have no
further use for him, and then she should
be led to the altar of sacrifice, along with
all those who, like her. bore the stigma
of apostacy upon their brown If any
one could have seen the perfidious smile
of the old priest as he promised that the
life ofthe’young patrician should be sived,
he would have learnt to doubt of the
sincerity of his words.
“ You asked me for my conditions. In
the first place, I want that old shepherd,
Sylvain, to come here and remain in my
household. I have a reason for it. It is
not necessary that I should enter into
details. As for Afer, you can keep him
to yourself. Sylvain will do all I want.”
“ You can have him, assuredly, if he
will come. I have no claim upon him.
tie’s not my slave.”
“ Well, never mind, I will see to
that: but what I want principally is that
you spare no effort to excite the people
against the Christians, and especially
against that execrable leader of theirs,
Tertullian Employ your power and in
fluence for this purpose, arid do not for
get to expose the indifFerence of the
Senate and the apathy of our magistrates,
who remain unmoved despite the severe
edicts which have emanated from the
palace of the Caesars.”
“I do not like to do it, old man, but
I suppose I must. Well, taking that for
granted, what next?”
“ The remains of Jarbas will soon be
conveyed to the city with unusual pomp.
Our object must be to check this pro
posed demonstration on the plea that
honors should not be paid to a Christian.
Accordingly, that blind decision of the
Senate must not be carried into execu
tion, but, on the contrary, openly opposed
by the sovereign vote of the people —
made sovereign at least in the case of
criminal folly on the part of the rulers.”
“ What! Insult the ashes of noble
Jarbas? Impossible! Besides, 1 should
deeply offend Vivia, and you promised
to protect her.”
“Jubal, you cannot appreciate the
MHHSI Os SHI WE
value of my alienee on the subject of
your complicity with his death, nor can
you see what service I can be to yon in
using my influence to counteract the evi
dence of the slave against you. Leave
aside this false delicacy, this childish
sensibility, which is only tit for women or
men whose foolishness has degraded them
below their weakness. I do not desire
that Yivia should be corporally punished,
but I desire that she feel the sting of pro
found humiliation, in order that she may
no longer repose in security upon the
name of her husband, but, on the contra
ry, learn to look to herself for her own
defense. Once she becomes really aware
of her own dependence and feels the soli
tude of her isolated position, she will be
come more tractable and easier of approach.
Therefore, if you love Yivia, and wish to
obtain her hand, you must adopt the
means which I suggest. You must
humble her pyide.”
Thus he encouraged the inordinate
passion of the young man for Vivia, so
as to attach him more firmly to his inter
est. Jubal promised him all that he de
sired. His firmness, courage and pride,
had all passed away, and he was now
like a mighty tree in the forest stripped
of its foliage, and bent to the ground un
der the blast of a tempest Ho caused
Sylvain to repair to the house of Olym
pian, liberated Afer, and sent him co the
woods, and trembled with fear as he re
ceived the haughty commands of one
whom he hated as much as he div aded.
“Come tu-morrovv, Jubal, and we
will mature our plans. Come at this
hour.”
“ I will not fail. Adieu! and as he
descended the great marble steps before
the grand door of the episcopal house, he
muttered to himself:
“ The infamous wretch has got me in
his power! What if I employ the dag
ger of Afer a second time ? But, no !
the danger is too great —it would be too
hazardous for the moment. We will see,
however, what the morning brings.”
|_TO BE CONTINUED. |
THE PLAY-FELLOWS
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.
A boy sat on the sea-side, near the
town of Genoa, one May-day in 1793.
He was gazing fixedly across the broad
glittering expanse of water at his feet,
lie was about ten years old, with a
slight figure, delicate pale face, dark
hair, heavy eyebrows and most marvel
lous black eyes; from their rapid
changes, they had an almost weird ex
pression—at one moment fiery and
proud, the next sorrowful unto death.
A clear, sweet, childish voice broke in
on the young dreamers meditations, as
a lovely little girl ran up, and cried,
“Naughty Niccolo! where have you
been ? 1 looked for you everywhere the
whole afternoon !” Here she kissed him
and scattered a quantity of roses, myr
tle, and orange blossoms over him, out of
her little white apron.
Niccolo threw his arms round the chat
terer and stroking her wild locks, said
gently, “I slipped away from father,
Gianetta, for I wanted to be happy, and
sit and dream here on the still sea-shore:
you know it is your play-fellow’s favorite
spot.” Instead of answering, Gianetta
began to scold her young friend’s father.
“He gives you no peace by day or night,”
she exclaimed. “He will bring you to
an early grave, for my mother always
says, “Your Niccolo is not a strong boy;
that crazy fiddle wears his spirit, and the
father will rain his body.’ ”
“Don’t believe it,” returned Niccolo,
earnestly. “1 shall not die—l cannot,
until i have become a great man ; and I
am not weak, for look here !” and rising
up. his figure seemed to expand, his eyes
burned with a wild fire, and a strange
smile played around his mouth as he
raised Gianetta, and held her over the
glassy water at his feet. The girl did
not tremble as he put her down again,
but looked at him timidly. She soon be
gan her pretty prattle, while Niccolo
listened patiently to many childish plans
and stories about her flowers and pigeons.
Sometimes he would sink into a reverie,
but a kiss from Gianetta, or the caress
of her soft little hand, would rouse him,
when she would look indescribably hap
py in her innocent delight Later, when
it grew dark, they went home hand-in
hand, through many broad thorough
fares, until they turned otl into a side
street; at the end of which stood two
houses thickly covered with vines, and in
one of these lived Gianetta, opposite to
Niccolo. A father’s hard, stern counte
nance awaited the boy, but Gianetta’s
mother stood anxiously watching at her
door, and kissed her little girl tenderly ;
then both children said good-night and
parted*
As Niccolo with a heavy sigh entered
his lonely chamber, he opened the window
to let in the delicious evening air, then
took an old violin out of a coffin-like
case, and began to improvise. The pure, j
strangely attractive tones gushed out '
iuto the silent night, or rose and swelled j
in the narrow room, seeming to make
the walls vibrate with their thrilling
sounds. Scarcely had the first note died
away, when from the thick vine, growing
up the window, out crept an unusually
large and beautifully marked cross-spider.
“Welcome, little Silver Cross,” said
Niccolo softly, and laid his hand on the
window si'll ; the spider ran up at once,
and was placed by the boy on the neck
of his violin, where she clung fast with
her little feet, and remained there
motionless, listening to the sea of sound
which swept over and around her. The
boy played until inn arm ached, theu
laying (town his violin, he carried the
spider back to the window, while she
moved about between his fingers as if to
thank him, and then slipped in amongst
the vine-leaves. As he followed her
with his eyes, a feeling of inconsolable
loneliness came over him, which over
powered him every night when little
“Silver Cross,” the strange listener and
companion of his melancholy childhood,
had left him.
Niccolo clung with tender affection to
this little creature. The first note of
iiis violin called her out, and not until the
last sound ceased did she awake out of
the sweet stupefaction into which those
magic strains had plunged her.
Often when Niccolo, while sunk in
meditation, dreamed of the fulfillment
of his ambitious aspirations, little “Silver
Cross" would come creaping up so softly,
that the movement seemed to him like a
light kiss; and then he closed his eyes,
and forgot the loneliness, and that nobody
cared for him. The father was his stern
master; his gentle mother was dead ;
and the boys of his own age avoided
him with a strange kind of shyness;
only Giacetta played with him and kissed
him; so Nicolo’s heart was divided be
tween the affectionate girl and his strange
window-friend. But Gianetta could not
bear spiders and said timidly, “They are
witches therefore, whenever the child
was with him listening breathlessly to
his marvellous playing—Niccolo never
put “Silver Cross” on his violin ; and
soon the spider seemed t * understand
that, and did not appear when Gianetta
was there; but if Nicoio drew near the
window with his instrument, and peeped
out secretly, there he saw the mute
listener hanging motionless on a vine
leaf.
Gianetta was never content when his
arm sank wearily, and the sounds were
hushed, but he must then tell her stories,
wild, fanciful legends, as well as the
dreams and aspiring plans of his own
burning heart. When he told her about
the celebrated German, Maestro Mozart,
and how he had written long concertos in
his sixth year, and was a star in the
musical heavens, his cheeks would burn,
and tears of excitement and mortifica
tion would burst from his eyes. “You
see, Gianetta,” he would say, with a
bitter smile, “what a wretched bungler I
am compared with him !”
One day—under his father’s direction,
and in a state of inward torture—he had
been playing the most monotonous exer
cises. His hands were powerless, his
forehead glowed, and all strength, all the
life ot his body, seemed to have gone
into his eyes, they glittered so wonder
fully : when suddenly he heard Gianetta’s
mother calling him, in a piteous voice.
He hastened to see her, and found the
child seized with violent fever. She
looked at him , her dearest playfellow,
with an imploring glance ; he understood
it and brought bis violin while his heart
was read}* to burst.
“A slumber song for you, Gianetta !”
cried lie. She smiled, and then the boy’s
magical fiddle sang slumber songs. When
he had ended, Gianetta whispered softly,
“Thanks, dearest Niccolo ; I am going
to sleep sweetly, but you may not need
rest yet; you must give light on earth,
like a bright beaming star ! Go, far, far
away from here, and think of me aud of
my words !” Here the lovely child sank
her head with a gentle sigh—and died.
Niccolo would not stir from the loved
body all night long. On returning late
iu the evening, his quiet, dark room filled
him with a thrill of horror. From the
window he could see into Gianetta’s
little chamber opposite; tapers were
lighted there, and the child lay on the
bier with her angelic countenance decora
ted and almost buried in flowers. “Fare
well, sweetheart !" mmanured the weep
ing boy, “lam going aiyay—as far away
as I can. There is nothing now to keep
me, desolate and unloved as I am!”
Here he sank on his knees and sobbed
convulsively. But at that moment he
felt a strange, soft touch on his hand, and
he started. It was little “Silver Cross.”
“Is that you mute, and alas! now sole
companion of my life ?” cried Niccolo,
as a ray almost of joy stole over his
countenance, and he glanced thoughtfully
at the little creature.
At last he rose up ; “One last farewell
to Gianetta, and then away into the wor] J
with you , only mighty, heavenly, i OVC( j
one of my heart,” cried he, pressing
violin to him. And then made the
strings sing more wonderfully
entrancing!} 7 than ever. m ° re
* * * * * *
As the morning sun looked into the
little room, he found an almost senseless
bov lying on the ground, his violin clasped
in his arms, and on the strings oiithunrr
little “Silver Cross”—dead! Did Giatu
etta’s loving prediction ever come true 7
The boy’s name was Niccolo Paganini
A FORECAST OF THE FASHIONS,
'Ph&tpontiaental (Paris) Gazette , in
it article on the fashions, hints at
tpp innovations which may be expected
with the approach of summer. These are
classified under eight different headings
as follows : 1. Sedan chairs (with appro
pi-iate costume). 2. The Queen of Na
varre ruff is the stepping stone to the
Medicis and Elizabethan ruff, which we
hope to promulgate, with long peaked
corsages and stomachers, before the end
of this year. It is to stand up behind by
means of a small piece of wire, and to
fall down like a re vers in front, thus to
ornament open bodices. 3. The alms
pouch and chatelaine are indispensable
with slashed sleeves, sixteenth century
style, and, with evening full dress, are
to be made of nothing but artificial
flowers and cordons of buds. 4. Tbe ma
terials for usual wear are to be sultane,
light serge, lawn, alpaca, mohaire, pop.
lins, Valencias, and Scotch merino; these
can be ruched, frilled, aud plaited with
taffeta, all cut in the Marie Antoinette
styles—flounced underskirts, frilled over
skirts, cassaques, or pelerines and sashes.
5. Foulards are to be the prevailing ma
terial; the Japonais and Celestial Empire
are the newest on account of their gloss
and splendid texture; the hues we most
wish to see are Veronese green, Suez
blue, Montespan pink, Rubens blonde,
Nile lotus, myrtle, bronze, cigar, striped
foulard, sprinkled with Pompadour, and
nizam of Indian red. 6. Faye and
taffeta are in their chamelion shades to
vie with every tint of the varying ocean
under sunrise, midday, twilight, or moon
beam. The striped are of two sorts—the
modern stripe which only seeks bright
contrast; the ancient Marie Antoinette
stripe, which seeks opposites in eccen
tricity, and is better for underskirts
than full costumes. 7. Cashmere shawls
will resume their former sway; basheliks
and polonaises, Camargo basques, with
mantle ends in front, are the black
mantle arrangements; also coachmen’s
capes, called caricks, but let it bs im
: pressed that everything in suit is pre
ferable, and the great feature, ruche,
plaiting, frills, flounces, and a protu
berance behind. S. As to trimmings,
fringe and lace are all that is neces
sary 7 ; but of the highest order of the for
mer with heading of net work inter
spersed with balls, and, like carved
delicate sculpture in stone, the cashmere
guipure is a Byzantine novelty also; it
is made of Cashmere tissue in rich gor
geous shades, and terminated by long
silk strands of silk in all the cashmere
shades. It is the Sheherazade of fringes.
Flowers are to be used in profusion ; hats
will bo decreed at a future meeting.
We institute also a great variety of fichus
and chemisettes to be worn under open
boddices. The Marley fichu is nothing
but a lace round a low body behind, and
crosses ala paysanne over the bosom id
front.
A Ride over a Precipice. — A most
wonderful escape occurred on the York
shire moorlands on Tuesday night. A
Mr. Smith, a Cleveland farmer, who
rode a valuable horse, had been at a
stock sale near the east coast. in re
turning over the moors at night he had,
it seems mistaken the track for the des
cent into Newton Dale (a deep moor!an
gorge), and though moonligub r '- ut ‘
over a precipice of 35 feet perpendiemar,
with a slope of 200 or 300 feet below,
at a very high angle—little loss t.ian
perpendicular. The rider was unseat' and,
but was littie the worse, beyond “ >U ‘ K
contusions. The horse had no
broken, but was severely cut by
stones aud tree stumps, being b lo:1 Yy
up at last against a tree. A\ ith
difficulty Mr. Smith got his horse to t
bottom, crossed the river, and
the railway to the first crossing. :l
then reached one of the Moor uila HY'_
where his horse was attended tu.-
noon train yesterday it was stated y
re-started homewards. It _is sal °
place of accident is quite 350 foot a ' '
the railway, and that about o'' J
ago a similar mistake was m ™ c j
horse and rider both killed.
Thursday. -