has evidently bestowed little pains; but even in these, single figures of great beauty are discoverable. Limit ed to subjects which would be effec tive in tapestry, the great artist could not introduce those refined delicacies of character and expression, the effect of which is so decisive; and probably, because the importance of these designs was undervalued; or possibly, by some unpardonable negligence, the original drawings were left in Flanders. The best of these tapestries are the Massacre of the Infants; the Resurrection; the Donation of the Keys; the attempted Sacrifice to St Paul; St Paul in the Areopagus; St Peter Healing the Lame; the Blind Sorcerer; the Draught of Fishes. The life and character which flash out of the coarse material, are truly wonderful. They reach the heart of every beholder, and it is truly gratifying to observe the devotional feeling which animates the speaking features of the Romans, as they stand in groups before these tapestries, and point out to each other their various beauties.

Raffaelle's" Massacre of the Innocents" makes every other design on this subject insignificant and tame. I beheld several beautiful women shedding tears as they gazed upon the affecting groups in this wondrous pic ture; so natural and so heart-rending is the expression of infant innocence and unconsciousness; so appalling are

the roused energies of maternal affec tion. One mother is running with outstretched arms and streaming hair; another sits weeping over her murdered infant; a third is furiously contending with the murderer, while her infant clings to her. The beauty of these mothers is more than human, and there is an inexhaustible charm in the finely blended and stirring action of this composition, which covers three large tapestries.

St Peter healing the Lame, the Sacrifice to St Paul, and the Donation of the Keys, are all master-pieces: the figures admirable and full of nature; the grouping perfect.

The design of the Resurrection is highly imaginative. The guards are flying in terror as from a spectre. The commander with a spear, whose native courage is visible through his apprehensions; the soldier clinging to him in terror; another, with upraised arms and shield; and a third, who is running away, are all masterly; while the three Marys in the distance complete the stirring harmony of the whole.

It is impossible, however, to do critical justice to these fine tapestries, except when standing before them; and even then, the critic must be well acquainted with the peculiarities of Raffaelle, and know how to make allowance for the deficiencies of the coarse and inadequate material.

"WELL! this is sufficiently tantalizing," exclaimed young Harry Ponsonby, as he sat at his solitary breakfast, sipping a cup of very indifferent tea, and perusing a letter which had just been brought him. "Now, here have I been for this month past, think. ing, dreaming, and talking of nothing else than my expected meeting with my dear little Emily; and at the very moment I am going to set off post on this delightful errand, comes this confounded letter, to quash all my hopes! -Deuce take me if I go at all," said the impatient youth, tossing the unwelcome epistle from him to the furthest corner of the room.

The letter which called forth this burst of impatience from the youthful lover, was from his guardian, Mr De

vereux, and we shall give its purport in his own words, as follows-" Dear Harry, we are rejoiced to hear of your success at Cambridge, and at the near prospect of seeing you here. Had your little mistress been with us at present, we should no doubt have had mighty preparations for your reception at Stokely, and you might have had the satisfaction of throwing yourself and your laurels at the young lady's feet in the true heroic style. But joking apart, my dear Harry, though sorry for your disappointment, I think it may be just as well that my ward and you should not be thrown together until the childish impressions received when you were last here shall have undergone the test of time, and till the influence of society, and the

attractions of others may have had free scope to act upon the unfettered hearts of both.

"You no doubt thought me a surly fellow, when I forbade all childish promises; but you may live to thank me for my obduracy, and mean time you must console yourself as best you can, or if much at a loss, may practise pretty speeches at the expense of my Emily, who, though not perhaps so gay as her lively cousin, is very much what her father could wish her to be; and who, together with Mrs Betty and myself, will be delighted to see you at Stokely Priory," &c. &c.

"Well! perhaps Mr Devereux was right, and I was wrong after all," said Ponsonby, as after another perusal, he crumpled the letter into his pocket, and threw himself into the carriage which had been in waiting for some time. "But unfortunately the promise was given before I was aware of his intentions, or at least before I had done more than half suspect them. And now, what if Emily should have grown up coarse!-but surely that is impossible;-she was so pretty and so playful. Let me see, it is just five years since I saw her last-she was then but thirteen; and now she is eighteen-what a charming age !"and in contemplation of that golden age, and on the change which five years must have made upon his Emily, the hours rolled on, and so did the carriage until he arrived at Stokely Priory.

It was a bitter sharp evening in the end of February; the ground was covered with snow, and the sound of the carriage wheels was scarcely to be heard as it swept round the circle, and stopped at the door of his guard ian's mansion.

Ponsonby was one of those youths who delight in surprises, and who love to throw the whole precise arrangements of a quiet family into confusion. He congratulated himself, therefore, that no one appeared at the door to receive him, except the old butler, a favourite domestic of the family, and was still better pleased, when old John assured him, that he might, if desirous of so doing, steal upon the family quite unawares ; for," added he, "master always makes Miss Emily sing to him after dinner until the candles come, while he sits listening with his eyes shut in one arm-chair, and Mrs Betty is sleeping in t'other;

so if you go in by the anteroom, sir, you may hear Miss Emily sing, and she be never the wiser; but you know, sir, it's not your Miss-I mean, sir, that it's t'other Miss Emily, master's daughter, that's at home now."-" I know, I know, John; I shall be very happy to see Miss Devereux, and to make acquaintance with her."-So saying, Harry stept lightly up the staircase, and softly opening the door of the apartment which led to the drawing-room, he stopped for a moment, lest the noise of his footsteps should arrest the sweet sounds which met his ear from thence. Oh, what a voice was that! so soft, so full, so sweet!-but it was not his Emily who sang, and a pang of disappointment thrilled through his breast.

Harry was passionately fond of music, and he stood chained to the spot, drinking in the rich melody which seemed formed to penetrate his soul. The air was one he well knew,-it was a beautiful French air from the opera of Joconde-" Dans un delire extreme." There was something in the tenderness with which the words

"Et l'on revient toujours, toujours, A ses premieres amours!" were breathed, which thrilled through his heart. Had it been his Emily who sung, what a moment of delight would this have been! But he had no time to sigh or to think about the matter, for old John entered the room with candles, and at this moment an exclamation of surprise, and, as Harry fancied, of pleasure, escaped the lips of the lovely songstress-for lovely she indeed appeared, as she started from the instrument, her cheek suffused with the brightest blushes, while she hastily extended, and as hastily drew back, the prettiest little hand in the world. "Papa, it is Mr Ponsonby," said Emily, "and I have almost introduced myself to him." Mr Devereux rose to welcome Harry, and complete the introduction, while Mrs Betty rubbed her eyes, and, putting on her spectacles, exclaimed, "Bless me! Master Harry !—it surely can't be ;-why, he is a finer man than his father was, and that I thought hardly possible."-" Do spare my blushes, dear Mrs Elizabeth," said Ponsonby, grasping the old lady's hand with much kindness; "you know I was always a modest youth, and I would not have my fair cousin think

me otherwise now, although I have been so bold as to steal upon you unannounced, but the temptation old John held out was not to be resisted, and the sounds I have heard not easily to be forgotten."-" What, Mr Ponsonby, and you have been a listen er," said the blushing Emily; " well, my cousin Emily told me many of your faults, but she did not give me reason to believe you were so very unprincipled."-" Did Emily speak of me to you?" enquired Harry with eagerness; "and what did she say ?-You must tell me what faults she said I had, that I may set about reforming them."" Come, come," said Mr De vereux, we shall not enter upon so ample a field at present; see, the urn is smoking on the table, and no tea in yet. Why, Emily, you are getting as giddy as your cousin; and I have been telling Harry here, that you are a paragon of steadiness and regularity." An arch smile played for a moment around the rosy lips of Emily, as, without farther reply, she rose and began to busy herself in the duties of the tea-table. Harry and his guardian talked about his Cambridge studies and future views; and thus, between the grave and gay, the evening quick ly passed in pleasant conversation.

When Ponsonby had retired at night to his old quarters in the blue room, he cast around him a glance of cheerful recognition upon every familiar thing, grown dear from the recollections and associations of childhood. "Well," said he mentally, "were my little Emily but here, I should feel just as I used to do, and we might be as happy as possible." But Harry was at that moment aware that in truth he did not just feel as he used, or as he ought to have done. The beauty and attractions of the present Emily had filled his heart with a troubled delight, and he felt the necessity of wishing for the presence of the absent Emily, to protect his plighted faith."Then this Emily is so like her cousin," reasoned he with his own conscience," that I almost forget myself in her presence; and yet she is different too-more grave, more thought ful. My Emily's face was ever speak ing, even when her tongue was silent." Thus making out a catalogue of his little Emily's charms, and confusing them gradually with those of her love

ly cousin, the bewildered Ponsonby fell asleep.

A week had passed away, and Ponsonby was forced to acknowledge that his uncle's acquaintance with the human heart was greater than his own, and that it would have been far better for himself had he submitted to be governed by it. But the fault of Harry Ponsonby had ever been impetuosity, and it required all the generosity of his disposition, and all his high sense of honour, to atone for the imprudences which he too often committed.

Little Emily, as she had always been called, to distinguish her from her cousin, who was a few months older, and formed upon a larger scale, was the orphan daughter of a younger brother of Mr Devereux. He had filled a high situation in India, and upon the death of his wife, sent home his only child to be educated with her cousin. His own death quickly followed, and Emily's recollections of her parents and of India were but as a dream, while all the bright realities of youth were connected with Stokely Priory, and the kind friends she had found there. Mr Devereux was a widower, but the two Emilies passed their earlier years under the tuition of an excellent governess, between whose attentive solicitude, and the caresses of good aunt Betty, the loss of a mother was never felt. Mrs Elizabeth Devereux was an unmarried sister of Mr Devereux's father, and consequently grand-aunt to the children. She was the kindest of women, and the sweetest of old maids. She did not attempt, with her old-fashioned habits and ideas, to reform the ways and manners of the young; but she entered into their tastes, and made allowance for their feelings and their manners, for which she was repaid by the tenderest affection and the most watchful care.

As the cousins grew out of childhood, Mr Devereux found it necessary to alter his plan of educating them together. Their governess had accepted an advantageous offer of superintending a limited establishment for young ladies; and the increasing infirmities of his aunt, made Mr Devereux unwilling to deprive her of the society of both the little girls at once. A plan was therefore arranged, that

the cousins should each alternately be for a year with their former governess, Mrs Hartly, and with their grand-aunt at Stokely, until their education should be completed. Thus it happened, that during the twelve months which Harry had passed with his guardian, previous to his quitting him for college, the younger Emily had been his only companion, and the natural consequence of their being thus thrown together, was a growing affection for each other. Ponsonby then thought that his love for Emily was the sweetest, and would be the most enduring, feeling of his existence; he had cherished it during five long years of absence, and had been proud to feel that it never was stronger than at the moment when he expected to be restored to her. All this was trueand even now he felt that sweet and young affection warm at his heart :but it was not love!-ah no!-how different from this was the wild tumultuous feeling which now swelled his breast, and beat in every pulse, as woman, lovely, full-grown woman, asserted her sway, and burst upon him in all her charms!

But not unchecked did young Ponsonby permit himself to indulge in this sweet intoxication; severely did he take himself to task, and yet he scarce could say whence the blame had arisen. He had come prepared to love his own long cherished mistress, yet ere one wandering thought had sprung within his breast, he had listened to that voice which could never be forgotten, and gazed on those bewitching eyes which still would follow him where'er he went. Yet was it long before the youth would admit the painful, humiliating truth, that his first love was extinguished, or had never deserved the name of that omnipotent passion. His upright honourable heart turned with pain from the possibility of such unfaithfulness, and he shut his eyes to the danger, and resolved to struggle with it, if it indeed existed.

Thus passed the time away, and Ponsonby felt his task becoming more difficult every hour, nor did Emily appear to aid him in it. It was true, she rather encouraged than checked him in any allusion to his youthful attachment; nay, she dwelt with emphasis upon the minutest circumstances regarding it, which had been confided to her by her artless cousin;

and Harry thought she almost took a malicious pleasure in attaching importance to them, at the very time when he was wincing under the recollection of his fetters. Yet it was difficult to reconcile this mischievous triumph with the deep blush of pleasure which would suffuse her cheek when she herself was the exclusive object of his attention. Thus, as the conduct of Emily became every day a greater enigma to Ponsonby, and consequently fixed more of his observation, his heart became more and more filled with her image. He tried to satisfy himself as to the state of her feelings, but his efforts were in vain. Her character was much too open, and her disposition too generous to admit the imputation of coquetry, and yet at times her conduct was inconsistent almost capricious. Puzzled with Emily, and dissatisfied with himself, Ponsonby resolved to turn from the dangerous contemplation. He would busy himself with bookshe would only make his appearance when the assembled family party would render the meeting less dangerous to him.

He

It was after having thus absented himself for some days, that he chanced to meet with Emily on her return from an early walk, and though he had resolved on striking into an opposite path, such is the weakness of a lover's forbearance, that his resolution failed him at the moment, and he could not resist joining the enchantress. even induced her to prolong her walk, by observing that the day was too inviting to allow of her returning to the house, and requested permission to accompany her. But no sooner had he made the request than he repented of it, for it seemed as if the lady was more disposed to resent his unlooked for attention than to accept of it.

Pray, Mr Ponsonby," said the provoking girl, "to what am I indebted for this unusual piece of gallantry? I rather think the sun has shone quite as brightly for this week past, but neither it nor any thing else has been able to draw you from your room. I hope my absent cousin has had more of your thoughts of late than we of your company, or I fear she may have reason to repent of her early preference. Does Mr Ponsonby avoid thinking of the absent, as studiously as he does talking of them?"—" What can you mean, Emily? Surely I have never

avoided talking of your cousin when an opportunity has offered."-" But you have avoided the opportunity," said the saucy girl," which comes much to the same thing.-Poor little Emily! I fear she runs much risk of being forgotten altogether; and yet it's no fault of mine, for I am sure when we were together, I reminded you of her daily, hourly-did I not, Harry?"—" Oh, Emily!" exclaimed the agitated Ponsonby, grasping her hand," you do indeed remind me of her, and that so powerfully, that at times I scarce know which Emily I am thinking of or speaking to. I look on you as I should look on her! I think of you when I should think of her, and wish, and wish-what is impossible that there was but one Emily in the world for me, and she was—”—“Oh, do not say it, Harry!" exclaimed the now trembling girl, placing her hand upon his lips, as if to stop the words she dared not hear. "Come, come, I must not listen to this nonsense.-I shall go to Mrs Hartley's and send Emily to you, and then you will have your wish, and I shall have mine; for believe me, dear Harry, there is nothing I desire so earnestly as that you should continue true to your first affection." With these words Emily returned to the house, leaving Ponsonby more bewildered than ever. "Nothing that she desires so much as that I should be true to my first affection!" repeated Harry." Strange, unaccountable girl!-But be it so-The task becomes easier now that I know that she does not love me. And now I have but to school my own heart, and avoid the dangerous pleasure of being alone with this bewitching creature while she remains here."

But this schooling of the heart, Ponsonby found no easy task. Every member of the family appeared to have a plot to bring this unfortunate couple together. Even good Mrs Elizabeth innocently lent her aid, she could not make out her evening walk unless supported by an arm of each; and when she had reached her accustomed distance, she would urge Harry and Emily to continue their way a little farther, giving them frequently some commission of benevolence to perform, which she herself was unable to accomplish.

It was while proceeding one after

noon, on a mission of this nature, to the cottage of an old Scotch woman, a pensioner of Mrs Betty's, that Emily and Ponsonby had been induced to prolong their walk. The evening was sultry, almost to breathlessness; and as Emily leant on the arm of her companion, slowly pursuing their way, a more than usual constraint seemed to weigh on the spirits of both. Few words had been uttered by either, until they reached blind Margaret's door, and they felt it a relief when the old woman appeared, seated in her usual sunny corner at the end of the house. She arose, and spreading down her apron, seemed prepared to welcome them long before the silent pair believed it possible for her to be aware of their approach. "Well, Margaret, and how are you to-night?" said Emily advancing; " I have brought a friend with me to see you, and you must tell who it is before he speaks. You know I always said you was a witch, Margaret, and now I am sure of it, for you rose to-night to receive us before even 'Fine Ear,' in the fairy tale, could have told we were coming."

"Na, na, Miss Emily, I'm no a witch, nor as little a fairy," said the old woman; "the gifts which witches and fairies possessed are no bestowed on mortals now-a-days; yet God has given a sense to the blind which amaist maks up for that which he has seen fit to deprive them of, and I dinna think it needed ony witchcraft to tell that it was Maister Harry, coming up the loan, switching the thistles and nettles wi' his cane, as he used to do when he was a laddie, and little Miss Emily would aye be trotting after him. His step is no sae light to-night as it used to be in ither days, and yet I would hae kent it amang a thousand!" "Thank you, Margaret, for your kind remembrance of me and my boyish tricks," said Harry, kindly shaking hands with the old woman. "I was not aware that I was disciplining the thistles to-night. I think I might have been cured of that bad habit ere now."- -"And I thought sae too, Maister Harry, for ye may mind weel it cost you a sair heart when you was younger than you are the day, and you nearly whipped out little Miss Emily's een, driving about you with your switch-ay, I mind weel how you