but more as a penance than a pleasure; for the thought of his slain brother pursued him through them all his form seemed to beckon from the shadows of the trees; and when he would have rested his trembling limbs in the arbours, the seats, like those of Macbeth,' were full.'

The last beams of day had at length faded in the valley, although they still gilded with a rich crimson tint the summits of the hills, and he again approached the house. But, unlike the others that were now buried in the shades of night, he was astonished to perceive lights-almost in every window. He became sick and faint, for the thought struck him that Leonora was dead; and for some time he had not resolution to go in, but still continued to wander at a distance about the precincts, like some guilty spirit, forbidden to enter within the circle. After some time longer had elapsed, during which he probably experienced many of the bitterest feelings which it is the lot of man to endure, a sound reached him from the illumined dwelling —it might be the tinkling of the bell, he thought, used in the ceremonies of religion, or the first swell of the hymn which rises for the dead. At length a louder hum stole on the night-air, and starting from the ground on which he had thrown himself in his agony, he rushed with impetuous haste to the house--for it was the sound of mu

sic and of mirth! A dreadful suspicion flashed on his mind, as he recognized an air commonly used in that province on occasions of nuptialfêtes.

A gay and splendid bridal party were indeed assembled in the house, who seemed, in their extravagant mirth, determined to enjoy at least one night of festivity amidst the desolation of their country. The music and the dance were at their highest, when a confused sound from the porch reached the hall-loud voices were then heard in the anti-room, the music ceased, the dancers stopped short in their career, and a figure burst suddenly into the apartment, so pale, so haggard, so unlike the form of a living man, that it might have seemed, to that startled party, some reproving spirit, conjured up by their illtimed mirth, from a deep and bloody grave. All shrunk back aghast-except the bride, who fixed her eyes on the unexpected guest, while a deathlike paleness overspread her countenance. Leonora!" said the Guerilla; she started, stepped forward as if by an incontrollable impulse, then suddenly paused, as if transfixed by some hideous recollection. With a trembling hand the Guerilla undid the gold chains, and bending down, laid the two portraits—both portraits of herself -at her feet; then, rising slowly, cast one long and melancholy look on the original, and saying,

in a subdued and broken voice, while he crossed his hands on his bosom, "It is just!" turned round and left the apartment.

In vain the music resumed its loudest and wildest strains; in vain the dancers mingled again in the whirl; in vain the bridegroom lent his soothing and caresses. The impression made. on Leonora de M- by that dismal scene,

was never effaced.

The two brothers had loved her with the most violent and impetuous passion, and she, though secretly preferring him who had just stood before her, in a romantic spirit of patriotism, had vowed that he only should obtain her love, who went forth to the battles of her insulted country, and returned with the brightest laurels; if either should fall, the survivor was to bring as a token the portrait which, with her own hand, she bound round his neck.

The news of the skirmish of San Josefo had been accompanied with intelligence of the death of both brothers, probably owing to neither having been again seen in the band; and on this night, with the tears scarcely dry on her cheek, she had yielded an indifferent hand to the solicitations and menaces of her relations.

With regard to the Guerilla, nothing more was known with certainty of his fate; but the body of a man, answering his description, was

found long after on the ridge of a distant hill, which overlooks the scene he had quitted. Some earth was thrown over the remains, and a rude cross raised, according to the custom of the country, to mark the spot signalized by the guilt of man, or the vengeance of heaven.

THE

WAY TO RISE;

OR,

THE CUNNINGE CLERK.

ABOUT sixty years ago (for this history is silent as to the exact date) there dwelt in the town of Greenelm, situated on the west coast of Scotland, a certain merchant named Duncan Menzies, its most distinguished inhabitant. He was a trader in extensive business, having the entire ownership of two coasting vessels, besides a large share in a three-masted West-Indiaman, that was seen regularly once a year sweeping up the river, laden with the produce of another zone, and putting to shame with her white lofty sails, as she drew in towards the quay, the humbler craft, whose uncouth-looking hulls and sooty