sent, with the faithful domestic who now attended him, to the other side of the island, and remain disguised in a peasant's cottage till it was seen how the crisis would terminate. Alas! the darkest forebodings of Leonzi's soul were fulfilled. A Turkish fleet appeared off the island, and speedily landed to take possession of it. Though they seemed at first peaceably disposed, and no rising of the Turkish inhabitants had yet taken place, yet urged by terror for those he loved, Leonzi hastened to plan some temporary concealment for the dying man and the beauteous Ianthe. This offered itself in a cave not far distant from their lonely and mountainous abode. On the memorable occasion when Leonzi rescued Alexis from being the eagle's prey, in climbing the dangerous cliff to reach the boy, his preserver had observed a fissure on the outer side, large enough to admit a man, and which he doubted not led to some cavern. He was not long in exploring this, prompted by curiosity, and a wish to ascertain all the fastnesses and retreats of the island. The approach from the cliff was hazardous and nearly impracticable; but by ascending patiently a winding and most intricate path, the spot might safely be gained. The cavern it led to was spacious, and scarcely known to any of the inhabitants. To this shelter, by incredible exertions, and the aid of attached domestics, beneath the shades of night, the aged Montholoni was conveyed securely, with those comforts that were necessary to his state; and thither Leonzi, Ianthe, and the confessor of the family, with one female Greek attendant, followed. It was given out in the mean time by their trusty household, that their venerable master had breathed his last; || and from this report, and in this retreat,|| a faint hope was cherished by Leonzi, that those he loved might escape the Turkish blood-hounds, who, he was convinced, only crouched in seeming quiet the more securely to spring on their helpless prey, the Christians. The next morning rose in peace-but set, alas, in blood! The merciless assassins, casting away all mercy, as disguise, unsheathed their swords for general carnage. The dreadful sounds of furious pursuit, and the piercing cries of the vic tims, reached the concealment of the noble family, and told the tale of horror. As for Ianthe, from the moment of the arrival of these pitiless enemies, she had cast away all hope, and derived a better courage from pity and resignation. She sought to cheer her dear Leonzi by smiles, such as angels may bestow on suffering mortality. She herself seemed above its fears and sorrows, intent only on that Heaven, to which the spirit of her revered relative was hastening, and where she trusted all she loved might be allowed to unite in blessed and undisturbed peace. It was on the third night after the distressed family had sought this recess that the venerable Montholoni breathed his last. The confessor was still holding the crucifix to the yet warm lips, Leonzi was tenderly supporting his beloved Ianthe, who knelt to perform the last pious office in closing the aged eyes, and impressing a farewell kiss on the calm brow, when all were startled by a loud cry of terror from the female attendant, and at the moment a Turkish soldier forced his way through the narrow inlet. Romano, who was fully armed, started to his feet, but ere he could draw the pistol from his girdle, the carbine of the intruder would have reached his heart, had not Ianthe instantaneously sprung before him, and received the fatal charge in her bosom. She fell back on Leonzi's breast, who caught her in his arms with feelings that rendered him totally reckless of further danger. At that moment another strange voice was heard, in authoritative tones, commanding the soldier to stop; and a Turkish officer rushed in. This man, though an infidel, knew some touch of pity. His men had discovered the secret path, and ascended it, in the hope of finding treasures or victims; and whether he had followed to check or promote their designs, certain it is, when he beheld the beauteous and bleeding Ianthe, the silent corpse lying near, and the white-haired priest, his hands raised in an agony of supplication to that Being who is alike the God of Christians and Turks, he said to the soldier-" Forbear, here is death enough already!" and inquired of Leonzi, who was visibly the husband of the murdered lady, whether he could give any assistance. Leonzi waved him away; love!" The slender hand pointed above -the heavy eyes closed-a slight convulsion past over the beautiful features, and then they settled into the most blessed and undisturbed repose. for he read with a grief that knew not consolation's name, on those features dearest to him in this world, the stamp of death too legibly impressed; and he was insensible to all, even to the thought of retribution on her murderer, in the only wish Ianthe was no more!-the lovely and he had left to soothe her last moments on beloved. She was buried beneath the earth. The Turks disappeared, and Ro-Eagle's Cliff. Leonzi, by a wonderful mano gently endeavoured to place his Providence, escaped his enemies once Ianthe in a more recumbent posture. more, and returned to a world he loath"No!" she faintly murmured, fixinged; but only to fight bravely, and fall her eyes with unutterable tenderness on gloriously at the siege of Missolonghi. his face; "let me remain still. It is sweet to die thus with you, and for you, and in the sure and certain hope of being united there in an immortality of perfected Peace to the ashes of the virtuous and the brave! They were lovely in their lives, and in their deaths they were not divided. FLORENCE. THE VILLAGE PUMP. "THE handle broken!" exclaimed Lucy White, in a tone of dismay; "what shall we do! What can we do! What shall I do! What will poor Betsey do, who "As bonnie lassies I hae seen "A bonnie lass I will confess, "She dresses ay sae clean and neat, Both decent and genteel; She was not an ideal, but a flesh and blood beauty-full rosy cheeks-gentle blue eyes-that could both laugh and weep, rich nut-brown hair, and round (dare I commit such a vulgarity to paper!) red arms, that looked precisely what they were, industrious and healthful. Oh yes! decidedly Lucy was pretty, and so every body said, and we all know, that what every body" says must be true. Gentle reader, has it ever been your destiny to watch the folk, who at early morning, at mid-day, and at even-tide congregate round the pump of a small village? It is the very centre of gossip. There it stands, in the hamlet of Mussleton, with its-I had almost said natural appendage of an iron ladle, and a long stone trough-the ducks, busy waddlers, quacking and guzzling at its base, scampering now and then in every direction, with awkward agility, from the gambols of some lazy cur, aroused from his slumbers by the ill-timed bite of an ignorant horsefly, or malignant wasp.-How I do hate wasps! their long, slender, striped bodies, their huge mishapen, black heads, and the sting, which even when resting on the fairest flower, they are ever and anon pushing in and out of its sheath, as if to keep it in practice; they are more like critics to my mind, than any other living thing, and that, I suppose, is one reason for my antipathy. However, this has nothing to do with Lucy White, and Mussleton pump, which pump stood di C rectly under my window in the afore- pump was made for yourself, that ye're mentioned village. "Pure air and quiet," said my doctor, "is what you require, and therefore go to Mussleton, the sweetest village in the world-clean, tranquil, comfortable, fresh eggs, good cream-Madam, health grows upon every sprig of sweetbriar at Mussleton. I am a Mussleton man, and know it." I might have conjectured that the man in black, and of dark imaginings, was a Mussleton man, and had some sinister end in view; but I was innocent and unsuspecting, I liked quiet, fancied I was ill, took the doctor's advice, and went to lodge not only at Mussleton, but with his old maiden aunt, who lived, as he but too truly described it, "just at the corner of the pump." "Quiet!" Quiet indeed, with all the tongues of the village, click, click, clack,|| clacking from morning, ay, and upon those horrible anniversaries of discomfort in every family and country, denominated "washing days" before morning, and after night-fall. As a specimen of this Babylonish confusion, which, after all, it is perhaps impossible to comprehend, take the following Time, seven o'clock-dramatis personæ, Lucy, Mary, Kate, Martha, Sarah, and|| deaf Mrs. Wheeler : "Good morning, Mary Grey, have you heard any news to day?" No, Kate, not to-day, but may be you didn't hear what was on the paper last night, all about the King, going to make Parliament gentlemen out of the parishes, and my master says, as how 'Squire Gosling's positive about being returned for Mussleton, when we have our rights; and I said to my master that we may turn an honest penny by our vote then, as well as-I know who.-But the best of all is, that I am credibly informed that tobacco will be to be had for a song-and the best tea for sixpence a-pound." "Martha," next interrogates her cousin Kate," and how are you going to have your Dunstable trimmed, don't have green, it is too rural; pink is pretty, but you are pinky enough without it." "Pinky, no more pinky than I'd like to be, or you either, if you could," retorted the offended maiden; " do you think the keeping the handie quiet, and hindering me from getting to work, and my mistress that must have her tea at eight to the minute, though she eats as good as two pound of a night, to say nothing of the young onions, when they're in season." "Young onions," repeated Sarah Lee, my mistress would not let such ungenteel things come to table; but then, to be sure, she was brought up in London, and has a cousin german married to the great Lord Brougham's valet, whose master, he says, does not give him the least trouble.” "Lord Brougham,” repeated deaf Mrs. Wheeler, "that's him that put the crown on the King's head, when the King told the grandees they were to behave themselves, 'tother day." "Put the crown on the. King's head," repeated Lucy, "Oh Lord! I wonder he wasn't afraid to go near him and he a king; I should like to be a king, shouldn't you, Mrs. Wheeler? I could do so much good then." "I can't say I should," replied the old dame, "at my time of life it would be very troublesome, though I'm not much older than himself, God bless him, that's king now." 66 They've a fine time of it, those lords and ladies!" mused Mary Grey; “ and to think, after all, that they're only the same flesh and blood as ourselves!" "What's that you say?" inquired Mrs. Wheeler, who, protected by deafness and a small pension from a Tory family, remained true to the aristocracy even in these radical times." Lords and ladies the same flesh and blood as such as you! -Marry, come up! Was ever the like! You might as well say the little porker your mother won at the raffle last night for sixpence, was the same flesh and blood as a Christian. Lords and ladies indeed!" At this comparison, the juvenile portion of the water-carriers were greatly incensed; and a war of words-a Babylonish confusion of tongues, ensued, which I dread even now to think upon. The parties separated for a time; but another, and another, and another" still succeeded. The carrier to water his horse was instantly joined by the smith and the cobbler, whose politics differed so violently that they never spoke to each other, though both questioned the unfortunate || pretty person, and never having a shilling carrier with unceasing volubility. Every jingling team that passed the road-every ballad - singer-every organ- grinder — every braying donkey-every gabbling turkey-cock, made the pump their trysting-place. So much for the "quiet" of Mussleton! But these rural sounds, dissonant as they might have been, were preferable to the eternal clattering of women's tongues, which succeeded as certainly as evening follows morning. Saturday night was not to me what Burns describes it "Weary carking cares beguiling." in her pocket to spend (as Mary Grey very naturally said the other evening at the pump) upon herself at dance or fair. Perhaps she had poor relations? No-her parents were dead, and no one claimed kindred with her. It was very strange! || Perhaps she put her money in the savingsbank? No-for Ellen Smith had taken the trouble to walk to Kenner, to ascertain that fact. So much for village curiosity! This failure did not discourage me. I was resolved to make it out, and determined not to leave Mussleton till I did. Accordingly, I began a regular series of investigation. I overheard a girl at the pump saying, that she knew Lucy had received her quarter's wages, for she had changed a two-pound-note at the baker's. And presently Lucy passed towards Kenner, evidently equipped for a long walk. I am not ashamed to own that I pursued her footsteps; for a woman gets credit for being curious, whether she is so or not, and may therefore as well confess the crime-if crime it be. I followed; but, being somewhat-though I believe, I hope imperceptibly-lame, I did not overtake her till she had got nearly to the middle of the town, and had gone into a smart haberdashery warehouse, whither I likewise entered. She was standing at the counter, and had just pushed away a pile of marvellously low-priced silk handkerchiefs and many-tinted ribbons, which the cunning shopman had displayed to tempt the young and pretty-attired servant. His skill availed him not; for I myself heard her ask and, hearing, doubted if I were not becoming deaf as well as lame-ask for "men's worsted hose!" Astonishment!-she selected two pair; and then called for " men's worsted gloves!" Dismay! What could the pretty, the discreet Lucy White, want with men's habiliments? But this was not all. She next selected a man's red-woollen nightcap! All my ideas of cross-questioning vanished before this last breach of decorum, and I partially concealed myself behind the folds of a capacious Bath cloak, as she passed with her precious parcel from the shop. My curiosity was certainly not abated; and yet I dreaded the result of its gratification. What did she want with such gear? One point I reconsidered. For the good dames of Mussleton thought proper to bring all their "bairns"-all their "boy bairns," at all events, to be washed-scoured, I should say-at this everlasting pump.-The urchins! how they screamed and kicked! Boys have a natural antipathy to cleanliness; but what availed that to the devoted boys of Mussleton? Their mothers here, impressed with an idea of its necessity, offered up the comforts of their offspring as an evening sacrifice to the deity they worshipped! || I did not think my favourite, Lucy White, could have assisted in such barbarous practices, and imagined she kept away from the pump on Saturday evenings from the express feeling, that, as she could not aid the sufferers, she would not witness their ineffectual efforts to escape. I had thrice resolved to give warning, and leave Mussleton and its pump; but, insensibly, the village gossip interested while it tormented me. Having no occupation of my own, it was a perpetual excitement. I was three days on the rack to discover if the Savoyard boy (for whom, I confess, I felt much) had really stolen Sarah Byng's old poodle.-N. B. The creature was discovered drowned in a ditch, into which its blindness had doubtless conducted it. Then I was particularly anxious to see how the black hen's chickens would turn out. But, more than all, was I puzzled about Lucy White. She was every thing that I have said at the commencement, and much more for she was a gentle, kind girl, a beauty, and not a flirt-having the very best place in the parish-receiving at least ten guineas a year, and not laying out five-no, nor three, upon her own "What shall we do?" she repeated, while examining the fractured arm of the centre of village attraction; it is broken just at the top too." 66 A young man could not want, would not flew into his arms! This tender duo wear, a red night-cap. And such a cap- was immediately interrupted by the apwith black ears-Mother Shipton's was pearance of a third person, an old man, a fool to it! So far, scandal was silenced. | who hobbled forward as if gout or rheuBut yet it was very strange. An entire matism had taken possession of his limbs. week elapsed, and though I saw Lucy It was very interesting, I must confess, White every day, the fates were unpropi- to see the tenderness with which he in tious. It was just as if the little gipsy turn embraced Lucy. Then I saw him suspected my design of fathoming her wipe tears from his aged and wrinkled secret, and avoided speaking. She blushed, cheeks, and then place their hands toand was silent. I wondered had she seen gether, and look upwards, as if invoking me in the shop. The following Saturday, || a blessing on their heads, which put me before the hour the unfortunate boys very much in mind of Mr. Bartley, who were generally dragged to their watery plays the father so beautifully in the doom, Lucy came with her shining pitcher || Miller's Maid. I particularly remarked to the pump, and uttered the exclamations that the old man had a red night-cap on I have so faithfully recorded at the com- his head; and as the trio returned tomencement of my narration, in every pa- wards the village, I thought it looked thetic intonation that her most sweet and very like the one which Lucy bought; I womanly voice was capable of. knew it by the black ears. The maiden appeared to have quite forgotten the pump-handle and the carpenter. She never spoke to a living being except the old and young persons who accompanied her, and but little to them. She seemed to me overpowered as it were by strong emotion. I would have given the world to know what it was all about, but guessed in vain. Lucy and her friends proceeded straight to her mistress's house, who was, I ought to have said before, no other than the vicar's widow; and the garden gate closed out all prospect of the group. The eyes and ears of the inhabitants of Mussleton hardly slumbered or slept that night; and we all watched on Sunday morning to see if Lucy would accompany her mistress to church as usual. They came-the old lady leaning on the arm of the blooming girl, who wore a shawl, which the villagers could not make out, but which I knew to be real India; and the young man whom I had seen followed them at a short and respectful distance, on the same side with Lucy, but not approaching near enough to enter into conversation, a compliment, I suppose, to the vicar's widow. Not one could get to speak to Lucy, so closely did she keep to her mistress's side, though she nodded and smiled, and, I am sure, "Do!" exclaimed the surly smith,|| who had been looking on for some time; why, , go for the carpenter, to make a new handle to be sure." 66 Why should she go?" retorted Mrs. Flynn-the idlest woman in the neighbourhood, who came up at the moment. Idle, because she spent her time in finding out what right people had to do so and so, and all the time was doing nothing herself. "What's every body's business is nobody's, I suppose," observed the cobbler, who by this time had joined the group. "I will go down the glen for the carpenter with pleasure," said my goodnatured favourite. "My work is done,|| and I always have Saturday evening to myself." "Oh, oh!" thinks I, that is one reason then, I suppose, why you never come to the pump. "I'd give a trifle to know where you do go." Away she flew as lightly as a fawn; but she had not got to the end of the lane, when (I saw her by accident from the attic window, which commands an extensive view of the country; I like it on that account) she met a young, hand-blushed more than ever. The day passed some man, whom I was certain I had never seen in Mussleton before, and (it is truly astonishing how women can forget themselves in such a way) absolutely without our gaining any information, except, indeed, that the young folk walked out in the evening, and there could be little doubt he was an accepted lover. |