entered, when the door of the interior apartments flew open-apartments in which the bride, surrounded by Venetian matrons, awaited the moment of the ceremony. Every eye was immediately turned to that door, and none with greater eagerness and curiosity than that of the impatient bridegroom.

The moment of expectation passed, the betrothed slowly entered, when, lo! a wild cry burst from the lips of Leonardo! But it was lost amid the shouts of admiration and enthusiasm which arose on every hand at the sight of such matchless beauty.

Alas! the miserable bridegroom recognized, in the simple maiden who now approached half veiled in white-the symbol of a virgin life-no other than the lady who had met his friend in the cassino. Again he viewed her under the mask of that innocence which had already roused within his bosom so much repugnance and contempt. A dense cloud darkened his vision, and that instant of weakness was as terrible as it was rapid. It first struck him publicly to disgrace the fair one who thus dared to present him with infamy as a dowry. But the sight of her father, the thought of his despair, pity for the loveliest of beings, the generous feelings of his own heart, all equally determined him rather to incur in the face of his countrymen the stigma of being called mad, or at least unjustly capricious,

than to do so. While the bride, therefore, after having received the paternal benediction, slowly and modestly advanced towards her destined consort, Leonardo started back a couple of paces, and having commanded silence by a sign, exclaimed, "Never, never can that lady be my wife

-never shall I be her husband!" The beautiful Elisa cast upon the agitated youth a look of fearful amazement, fainted, and was carried away into her own apartments.

Excess of astonishment for an instant sealed every lip; but the swoon of the lovely bride became a signal for uproar and disorder. The seats, in the twinkling of an eye, stood empty; every one had leapt into the centre of the circle; some swore loudly, demanding an explanation. The aged senator alone stood speechless and immoveable. On hearing the unexpected words of Leonardo, he had started and was violently though momentarily moved, while his eye had followed with intense interest his only child borne away from the altar; yet, had it not been for his fixed look and the contraction of his trembling lips, one might have easily imagined that he was altogether calm and unaffected. All at once, however, he, pressing the crowd, approached close to Leonardo, and having seized him forcibly by the arm, exclaimed, "Hast thou determined to

insult me and mine? To despise that for which the Republic is most remarkable? Speak, when

66

will this caprice of thine be over?" Never!

never!" replied Leonardo, with a firm and determined voice. In one moment the shout of revenge echoed through the hall. Eyes flashed fury and daggers glittered, while from the walls were torn the antique and heavy arms that had hung there so long, useless and still. The relatives and friends of Leonardo were furiously attacked by those of Elisa. Insult, defiance, the clashing of weapons, the cries of the women and priests who sought safety in flight, drowned the few conciliatory voices who still spoke of peace. All was confusion and noise, when the aged senator, bridling his anger, rushed amid the combatants, and by his eloquence and authority attempted to prevent the effusion of blood. No sooner had he succeeded in quelling the disorder, than, turning to Leonardo, he firmly and calmly said, "I here renounce my revenge, and leave it to Him who punishes every insult offered to the grey-haired

man!"

Leonardo a few days afterwards, fell by the hand of an assassin, pierced with twenty strokes of a stiletto.

232

THE PLAZA DE TOROS OF SEVILLE.

BY THE HON. R. DUNDAS MURRAY.

By far the most agreeable of the many marvels of Seville* is the beautiful avenue of trees which for more than a mile fringes the southern bank of the Guadalquiver. At the point where the trees mingle with the suburbs of the city, the eye of the stranger is struck by a massive building of a circular form, whose arched gateways open upon this the shady resort of the Sevillanos. This is the Plaza de Toros.

With the exception of its

"He who hath not seen Seville, hath not seen a marvel." So saith the Spanish proverb; and the boast might have been just while the riches of a new world were adorning the city to which Columbus returned a discoverer; but the Seville that was the wonder and envy of the 16th century has survived the lofty epithets with which it was once crowned, and of its former splendour nothing now remains but the ruins, to belie the still oft-repeated vaunt of its citizens.

vastness, and the traces of some architectural ornaments which time has charitably spared, we look in vain for that imposing appearance which should belong to one of the largest amphitheatres of modern Spain. The exterior wears a dismal and sombre air, somewhat characteristic of the scenes enacted within. Even a profusion of white and red paint which the outer walls display makes matters appear rather worse, by taking away that time-worn aspect which could alone have excused the sins of execution and design.

All was bustle and gaiety, however, around this huge pile upon an April evening. By the wealthy Andalusians the day had been spent in prayers and pious thoughts, and by the poor in fasting and mortification of the flesh, for it was a holiday; and both were now come, the one to recruit his spirits and the other to silence his wants, in the enjoyments of a bull-fight. Our first endeavour was to secure the services of a Spanish friend to pilot us through the streets of Seville towards the spectacles of the evening, a precaution absolutely necessary, as the unwary traveller, if not, thus provided, will find them a Slough of Despond, in which, if once fairly engulfed, he may bid adieu to all hopes of extricating himself. Under his guidance we wound our way through the intricacies of the city, very often doubling back