and leave me at no loss to account for your reluctance to give them up; and as for your courtesy, I pray you keep it until it be asked. I did not come to sue for their liberty, but to demand it. ”
“Tt may not be, senor; the prisoners must pass to their trials, where they will have justice.”
“Oh, doubtless!” said Carvalho, with a bitter smile, “such justice as the wolf metes out to the lamb, and the vulture to the dove.”
“I pray you, senor, to reflect upon the unseasonableness of a jest upon an occasion like this.”
-“In good sooth, jocularity is not my wont, or a jest within the torture-room of the Holy Office, from any other than an inquisitor, would possess too much of the charm of novelty to be forborne. But, credit me, I was never more in earnest than lam now. Be this the proof. Before I ventured to obtrude myself into your reverend presence, I left instructions with the commandant of artillery, in obedience to which, if I be not with him in half an bour, he will open a fire upon your walls. Now I depart not alone; and you, who best know how the light of day will accord with the secrets of your dungeons, will make your elec- tion between surrendering the pelteness: or seeing this edifice a smoking ruin.”
“Senor Carvalho,” said the singular, who had witnessed too many awful instances of the minister’s veracity, as well as of his power, to doubt, for a moment, that his threat, if disregarded, would be fulfilled with a terrible punctuality, “in yielding to this extraordinary exercise of power, I feel it my duty, in the name of the Holy Office, solemnly to protest: against this interference with its privileges; and you will not be surprised, if, in our own justification, we find it expedient to appeal to the pope.”
“So did the Jesuits; and in order that their memorial might not miscarry, ksent the appellants after it by ship-loads, until his holiness heartily wished the appeal and the locusts that followed it in the Red Sea. You will do wisely to profit by the warning which their example should convey to you.”
Having said this, he turned towards Alvarez and Mary Wentworth, and, passing an arm of each through his own, led them unmolested through the several gates of the prison. Mary glanced at his countenance, and perceived that the sardonic smile which had marked it while in the presence of the inquisitor had passed away, leaving in its place his wonted sternness, softened, she thought, by somewhat more of solemnity than she had hitherto observed him to assume. He walked on between them in silence until they arrived within a few paces of the principal street in Lisbon, when he stopped, and said: “Here we part; I have risked my power, and, it may be, my life, to save you. But be that my care; all I ask of you is, get you out of this city, for it is no abiding place for either of you. There is an English vessel in the bay; this officer (beckoning to him a person in uniform, whom, for the first time, they observed standing within a few yards of them) “will assist you in getting your effects on board: follow them with all despatch; for twenty-four hours you are safe; beyond that time I will not answer for your lives. Let me hear of your arrivalinEngland. May God bless and keep you!—Farewell!” He pressed the hand of each, and they saw him no more.
It is scarcely necessary to add that the advice was followed: before half of the allotted time had expired they were on their voyage, which proved safe ond prosperous.
THE MAGIC OF NIGHT.
Maiden, arise from the darkness of sleep,
The night is enchanted, the silence is deep;
Open thine eyelids—awake to the gleam.
Brighter than ever yet burst om a dream.
Sweet though thy vision be, fair as a star,
Here is a vision more exquisite far,
Oh! look at yon bill, while the blue mist above
Is wreathing around it—an image of love.
Now glance below o’er the sparkling bay,
And the ship that severs its star-led way;
And the moon that stops, like a beautiful bride,
To look at her face in the tranquil tide.
And mark how far the heaven is strewn,
With courtier clouds that worship the moon;
While others lie snowy and still through the night,
Like a myriad wings al! ready for flight.
Earth seems an Eden unstained by crime,
So pure is the scene, and so holy the time!
Tempest is now with the winds upcurled,
And Nature and Night are alone in the world.
The numbered sands of the time seem
And Earth and her Heaven are mingling in one;
The light, like love, is silent and deep—
Maiden, is this an hour for sleep?
THE ARRIVAL OF WINTER.
The summer’s gone, and the winter hour
Comes fiercely on with its chilling blast,
And the stricken grove and leafless bower
Proclaim the pride of the year is past.
O, whither is gone the violet wreath,
That threw its loveliness o’er the spring?
It has sunk beneath the hand of death,
And decayed,dike every beauteous thing.
And where is now the bright summer’s pride,
The blushing rose with its sweet perfume?
That, too, has shed its flowers and died,
And where they fell they have found a tomb.
Thus all mortal things must stoop to fate:
They may boast awhile of beauty’s glow;
But death will approach, or soon or late,
And his reckless hand will lay them low.
Spring will return, and the violet bank,
With its scented flowers, again be gay;
Andithe rose bud afresh, when it has drank —
Again the enlivening dews of May.
So Man, though he yield his fleeting breath,
And lie awhile in the grave’s deep gloom,
Shall waken again and vanquish death,
And in heavenly bowers forever bloom.
