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nita eastward of Leadenhall; the very class of the population, too, which is the most helpless in its own behalf, and which most of all requires the extension of those blessings which for themselves they have neither the ad dress, skill, or energy to obtain. It would be found, we do not in the least doubt, that the mortality of the metropolis is exactly in the inverse ratio of proximity and access to public parks and open spaces; and this, for all we know to the contrary, may have already been demonstrated by Mr Farr, or some other equally high authority in vital statistics.

Whether or not, however, the necessity of public walks-when we say public, we mean public, not gentilitymongering places, but spaces thrown open freely and altogether to the lowest class of our labouring and manufacturing population, who need all the rational recreation we can afford themis but too apparent. Genteel people are abundantly provided for already: they can afford to go down the Thames and up the Thames to the suburbs, the parks, the country. Money, and their legs, will carry them whither they will; but with the poor artisan or labouring man it is not so. cannot afford time or means to set out with his wife and children on a Sunday voyage of discovery and to find the shades of night, perhaps, falling around him just as he has succeeded in

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refreshing his eyes with a bit of any thing green.

Does any body suppose that the love of nature is not an instinct with the imprisoned poor of our great cities, and of our great city of cities in par. ticular? Go through a crowded neighbourhood, crammed from the cellar to the attic with the children of toil, and look up at their windows; see the attempt the poor people make to cherish the belief in a world of verdure and freshness of trees, and hills, and vales, and flowers, and birds-the little green box of cherished mignionette, the broken tea-pot with a bunch of primrose or of cowslip in it, the geranium in an old cracked jug; and the poor artisan himself, debarred as he is

"The common air, and common use Of his own limbs,"

nurturing, with almost paternal affection, his two or three little shrubs or flowers-who will have the impudence to deny the capacity of this man for enjoying that of which his condition in life almost precludes the possibility of enjoyment?

Let us hope that the Commissioners of Metropolitan Improvements will bestir themselves, and that in the east end of London-in Southwark and in Lambeth-something may be done in behalf of the creditable, industrious, and well-conducted manufacturing and labouring population of the vast metropolis of this vast empire.

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PIETRO D'ABANO.

A TALE OF ENCHANTMENT.

FROM THE GERMAN OF TIECк.

CHAP. I.

THE FUNERAL.

THE red rays of the setting sun were streaming upon the towers and houses of Padua, when a young foreigner, who had just entered that city, found his attention attracted, and himself hurried forward, by a bustling con. course of people who were pushing eagerly along. He asked a young maiden, who was rapidly passing by him, what it was that had stirred up such an unwonted commotion. "Are you not aware," answered she, "that the funeral of the fair Crescentia, the young daughter of the house of Podes ta, takes place this evening? Every one is anxious to look for the last time upon the face of her who was accounted the loveliest damsel in all Padua. Her parents are inconsolable."

The maiden could say no more, for by this time the pressure of the crowd had carried her to a considerable dis

tance.

The foreigner, having turned the corner of a gloomy palace, and entered the main street, now heard the funeral dirge, and encountered the glare of the pale red torches; and, approaching nearer, he beheld a scaffold covered with black cloth. On this lofty black chairs had been placed, and on these were seated the disconsolate parents and relations of the dead maiden, all in profound sorrow, and some of them bearing in their countenances the expression of despair. Dark figures were now observed to issue from the doorway of the palace; and the priests, with their black attendants, bore forwards an open coffin, from which green wreaths of flowers were hanging. Pale, amid these blooming garlands, lay a female form in the raiment of the grave, her gentle hands, which held a crucifix, placidly folded on her bosom, her eyes closed, and her dark tresses, which fell in heavy masses around her head, enwreathed with a chaplet of roses, cypresses, and myrtles. The priests, having placed the coffin with its fair dead on the scaffold, prostrated themselves in prayer-the la

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mentations of the parents flowed forth afresh-the dirge of death broke out into more uncontrollable strains-and all seemed to share the burden of an almost insupportable sorrow. foreigner thought he had never beheld any thing so beautiful as the corpse before him, which so wofully reminded him of the transitoriness of human life, with all its charms.

By this time the funeral bells were pealing, and the bearers were about to lift the coffin, in order to convey it to its vaulted tomb in the great church, when suddenly the mourners were disturbed and shocked by a loud noise of riotous rejoicing, and shouts of the most obstreperous mirth. All looked around them with indignation, to discover the cause of this ill-timed merriment, when there came thronging forth, out of anotherstreet, a procession of young people, singing and huzzaing almost without intermission. They turned out to be the students of the University, who were carrying on their shoulders an elderly man, who sate on his chair like a king on his throne, clothed in a purple mantle, his head covered with a doctor's cap, from under which his silver locks streamed forth, in unison with a long snowy beard which flowed majestically down his black doublet : and it was in honour of him, their renowned and venerable teacher, that all this shouting took place. A fool with bells, and in party-coloured vest, went skipping along with the procession, and, by his pokings and jokings, was in the act of forcing a way through the funeral crowd; when, upon a sign from the venerable old man, the students lowered their burden, their teacher stepped down from his seat, and, with a sad and sympathetic aspect, approached the weeping parents. " Forgive us," said he earnestly, and with tears in his eyes; "forgive us for having disturbed this sad solemnity by our wild uproar. I am profoundly distressed and shocked. I have just returned

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from my travels: my scholars insisted on celebrating my arrival by an outburst of rejoicing. I yielded to their entreaties and preparations; and now, amid our festivity, I find alas, what do I find? your Crescentia dead that pattern of all grace and virtue dead, and lying before you here in her coffin. Around me I behold but the ghastly paraphernalia of the grave, and you mourning forms who are about to accompany her with tears and breaking hearts to her place of rest." Here he made a sign to his attendante, and addressed a few words to them. They had already all become silent, but now most of them withdrew, in order to allow the funeral to proceed without any interruption. Then came forward the bereaved and trembling mother, and sank down at the feet of the old man, and embraced his knees in a paroxysm of grief. "Alas! wherefore were you not present when my daughter died," cried she, in despair; "your art-your skill-would have saved her. Oh, Pietro! Pietro! you the friend of our family! How can you permit your darling-the apple of your eye, as you used to call herto be torn from us for ever? Awaken her yet out of her sleep of death. Administer to her some of those miraculous essences which you know how to prepare. Oh, make her but once more to move among us, and to speak to us, and take, as thanks, every thing that we possess!"

"Do not thus give way to despair," answered Pietro d' Abano; "the Lord gave her, and the Lord hath taken her away: let us not be desirous of thwart. ing his wise determinations. What are we that we should murmur against him? Shall the son of dust, who flutters in the wind, lift up his weak voice

to challenge the eternal decrees? No! my friends, bear your affliction as pious parents ought to bear it. Sorrow ought to be the domesticated guest of our souls, as much as joy and pleasure: it also is sent down upon us from above: and He who counts all tears, who tries our hearts and our reins, He knows well what we weak mortals are fitted to endure." More to the same effect was uttered by the wise man of Abano, and he concluded thus:"Carry her," my friends; "carry her whom you have lost to her place of rest, and follow her thither in resigned and God-given humility, so that no impious repinings on your part may disturb her spirit in its mansion of eternal peace.

All present were moved by these words. The father stretched forth his hand to the speaker, with a mute expression that he had given comfort to his soul. The funeral now proceeded on its way; and guided by the masks and other attendants, whose business it was to accompany the corpse, the procession had almost reached the church, when it was suddenly met by a young horseman, who came galloping forwards on a steed covered with foam. "What is the matter?" cried the young man. He threw a glance upon the coffin; and then, with a cry of despair, wheeling round his horse, darted off from the crowd; while his cap, falling from his head in the hurry of the movement, left his long locks floating behind him in the evening breeze. This was the bridegroom who had come to wed the fair Crescentia.

The shades of night now settled down on the mourners, and ended the ceremony: and the maiden's corpse was left to repose in the vault of her ancestors.

CHAP. II.

THE MONK.

As soon as the crowd had dispersed, Alphonso (for that was the name of the young foreigner who had followed the procession and taken part in the mourning) turned to an old priest who tarried alone in prayer over the grave. He longed to know who that majestic old man was, who appeared to him as if endowed with godlike power and supernatural wisdom. Accordingly, he respectfully interrogated the priest concerning him; upon which the latter, standing still, keenly scrutinized

his countenance by the light of a lamp which shone upon them from a window hard by. The old priest was a little emaciated figure, whose small pale visage enhanced the fire that burned in his penetrating eyes. His tightdrawn lips trembled as he replied, in a tone of displeasure,

"What! know you not our worldrenowned Pietro d'Abano, a name which is in the mouths of all Paris, London, the Germanic empire, and the whole of Italy? Know you not the great philosopher and physician, astronomer and astrologer, to receive whose instructions the unbridled youth even of distant Poland come flocking hither in shoals?"

On hearing this name, the young Spaniard receded a step in delighted astonishment; for it was the fame of this great man which had attracted him also to Padua, across the sea from Barcelona.

"It was indeed himself, then!" cried he, in a tone of enthusiasm. Hence it was that my heart was so deeply moved; my soul instinctively recognised his. And you, my reverend friend, how much I love you because you also appear to revere this great man as much as any saint or martyr in the calendar."

" Is it your intention to study under this man?" asked the priest, in a harsh angry tone.

"Certainly it is," replied Alphonso, " if he will deign to receive me as his pupil."

The old man stood still, and, laying his hand on the youth's shoulder, addressed him in gentler accents.

"My dear young friend, the season of safety is not yet past; pray, give ear to my fatherly warning before it be too late. Do not deceive yourself, as multitudes have already done, but be on your guard, and preserve your precious soul from the snares of the tempter."

"I understand you not, father," replied Alphonso. "Did not you yourself see and hear how piously, how Christian-like, and with what overpowering majesty that glorious being spake, when by his heavenly consolations he turned back into the right path those who had been led astray by the affliction their too fond love was groaning under?"

"Ay! what is there he dare not, he cannot do, juggler and sorcerer that he is?" cried the old priest, much exçited.

" Sorcerer!" exclaimed Alphonso. "It appears, then, that you also share in the foolish fancy of the rabble, who, being incapable of appreciating the science of lofty minds, will believe every thing that is absurd, rather than strengthen their own understandings by gazing on the sublime career of a mortal like themselves."

" If you have already gone so far in your admiration of him," returned the priest, " you have but little occa

sion to enter yourself as a pupil in his famous school; it is manifest that he has already caught you in his magic snares. Thus it is that he entraps every heart that beats in his neighbourhood. Yes, heathen as he is, he has this day spoken like a Christian minister, and coloured his lying schemes with the hues of holiness. Thus it was that he gained an ascendency in the house of Podesta. The poor Crescentia, on her deathbed, could scarcely find her way back into the bosom of the Holy Church, so much had she been led astray by the false doctrines which this wicked hypocrite wove, in poisonous meshes, around her young soul. Thank Heaven, however, she has escaped him! The Lord has called her to himself, and, visiting her with a mortal sickness, has saved her soul at the expense of her body."

The speakers had now reached the open square. The youth was in a state of excitement, and gave vent to his feelings thus:

"Pray, Mr Priest, whence comes this spirit of furious envy on your part? Is not the secret of it this, that the more you see the world day after day falling away from its obedience to you, the more are you determined to beat down beneath your exterminating curse the new spirit-the spirit of eternal truth-which is now beginning to quicken every region of the globe. In vain, however, would you endeavour to smother this spirit, and restore your musty legends to the place they once held in the estimation of the people."

"Be it so, then," cried the old man, in high indignation. "Let us have Averroes instead of Christ, Aristotle instead of Almighty God, and your Pietro here-that Iscariot-instead of the Holy Ghost! But wait a while: watch the end of this man, and see whether the seven spirits over whom he exercises a sorcerer's power, together with that Famulus of histhat imp of hell-will be able, when his hour comes, to rescue him from a most miserable doom."

"Was his Famulus present today?" asked Alphonso.

"Did you not observe the spectre that was dizzened out in fool's attirethe humpbacked abortion, with distorted hands and arms, bowed shins, leering eyes, and monstrous nose projecting from a hideous visage? That was his Famulus, or familiar attendant."

"I thought that figure had had a mask on."

"Not a bit of him," said the priest; there is no occasion for him to mask himself. Take him as nature has made him, and he is already a mask and a monster. If ever there was a spirit of hell upon earth, this Berecynth, as they call him, is that spirit. But it is drawing late; will you put up with the

accommodations of our cloister until you have provided yourself with a lodging elsewhere?"

The young foreigner declined this invitation, chiefly on account of the very different opinions which each of them entertained respecting the subject of their late discussion; and they parted mutually dissatisfied.

CHAP. III.

THE ROBBER'S DEN.

The young Florentine, who had met in a miserable hour the funeral of her who was to have been his bride, rushed like a madman through the city gates, and took his course in reckless haste through wood and wold. When he found himself in the open country, many were the bitter curses he poured forth against the world and his ownfate; and, tearing his hair, he again dashed onwards, unconscious whether he was going. He spurred against the wind, which blew upon him with the freshness of night, as if to cool the burning fever of his cheeks. At length his horse, stumbling and overdriven, fairly sank under him, and he was compelled to continue his career on foot. He knew not where he was, or what he would be at: only, encompassed by the black infinitude, he prayed despairing. ly for death. "Oh, death, take me to thyself, and still the beatings of this stormy heart! Would that I might this moment expire in mortal pangs, so that my place might know me no more in the light of to-morrow's sun, and that no beam of his might ever again awaken me to the consciousness of my woe. Am I not the most miserable of all living creatures? - and all the more so, because a few hours ago I was the happiest of men. Alas for youthful love, which ends by bringing such bitter disappointment to all the rapturous feelings of the heart!"

The rain, which for some time had been drizzling through the cold air, now began to descend in heavierdrops. The youth was already deep in the forest, and no shelter, as far as he knew, was at hand. He began to collect his scattered senses; his anguish grew milder, and tears at length forced themselves from his eyes. His hatred of life became less and less intense, and he felt as if comfort were poured into his troubled soul by the soft voice of the dark sobbing night.

While he stood in suspense, considering whether he should search for his lost horse, or shelter himself from the storm in any hole or cranny he could find, his eye was suddenly caught by a distant light, which, dancing behind bush and dale, appeared to greet him with a friendly glance through the thick darkness. He hastened after the fickle fire, which now vanished and now re-appeared. All his faculties and feelings were bound up as if in slumber-his whole being felt as if wrapt in a dream.

The storm was now raging with fearful violence; and after struggling on for some time, almost blinded by the lightning and deafened by the thunder, he found himself close to the light by which he had been attracted. He knocked at the window of a small cottage which stood behind some trees, and begged for admittance and shelter from the inclemency of the elements. A loud hoarse voice answered from within, but the youth could not distinguish the words, for the tempest and the rain and the tossing trees raved so frightfully around him, that no other sound could be distinctly heard.

The door of the cottage entered from the garden, through which, having passed, he was conducted by a female hand along a dark passage into a small chamber, in which there was a lighted lamp and a fire burning on the hearth. In a corner beside the lamp sate a hideous old woman spinning. The young maid who had introduced him busied herself about the fireplace, and kept so moving about that he was unable to obtain a near or correct view of her countenance; while the deafening peals of thunder for a long time rendered any thing like conversation impossible.

"This is a dreadful storm!" said the old woman in a croaking voice,

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