and proposed to add a new veil to her real condition, by becoming her husband. She consented to his proposition; and this princess, who had been destined to wear the crown of Russia, and whose sister actually wore that of the German empire, became the wife of a lieutenant of infantry! In the first year of her marriage she had a daughter, whom she nursed and educated herself, and instructed in the French and German languages.

They had lived ten years in this happy state of mediocrity, when D'Auband was attacked with a disorder which rendered a surgical operation necessary; and his wife, alarmed at his danger, insisted that it should be performed at Paris. They accordingly sold their habitation, and embarked in the first vessel that sailed for France. On their arrival D'Auband was attended by the most skilful surgeons; and till his cure was completed, his wife never quitted him for a moment, nor suffered any other person to perform the tender offices which were necessary in his situation. She waited upon him, throughout his illness, with the most watchful and patient affection.

On his recovery, D'Auband, in order to secure her the little fortune which he possessed, solicited from the French East India Company an employment in the Isle of Bourbon, where he was appointed major.

While he was engaged in soliciting this business, his wife sometimes went to take the air, with her daughter, in the gardens of the Thuilleries. One day, as she was sitting upon one of the benches, and talking with her in German, that she might not be understood by those who were near her, Marshal Saxe passed by, and hearing two ladies speak in his own tongue, stopped to look at them. The mother lifting up her eyes, and recollecting the marshal, instantly threw them on the ground; when he, still more attracted by her embarrassment, suddenly exclaimed, Is it pos sible, madam-'

She did not, however, permit him to finish the sentence, but, rising from the seat, begged him to ac

company her to a more retired part of the garden, where she acknowledged herself, and, after having requested his entire secrecy, invited him to see her at her own habitation, where she would inform him of every thing which concerned her.

On the following day, Marshal Saxe paid her a visit, and heard the recital of her adventures, as well as the share which the Countess of Koningsmark, his mother, had in them. She conjured him, at the same time, not to reveal any thing respecting her to the king, till a negociation which her husband was agitating was concluded, and which would be completed in three months. The marshal solemnly promised to comply with her request, and paid visits to her and her husband in the most secret manner.

The three months being almost expired, the marshal one day calling to see her, was informed, that she and her husband had quitted Paris two days before; and that M. D'Auband had been named to a majority in the Isle of Bourbon. On this information the marshal went immediately to Versailles, to give an account to the king of every thing that related to the princess; when his majesty sent for the Minister of Marine, M. de Machault, and, without assigning any reason, ordered him to write to the Governor of the Isles of Mauritius and Bourbon, to treat M. D'Auband with every mark of distinction.

This order was punctually executed, according to the report of Baron Grant, who had been a long time in her society; and he remarks, in his history of the former island, as an extraordinary circumstance, that he had seen the princess pregnant, when she was upwards of fifty, about the year 1745.

The king also wrote to the Queen of Hungary, with whom he was then at war, to inform her of the fortune and situation of her aunt. The queen accompanied her letter of thanks to the king with one to the princess, in which she invited her to come and reside with her; but on condition that she would quit her husband and daughter, for whom the king engaged to make a

suitable provision. The princess did not hesitate a moment to refuse these conditions, and remained with her husband till the year 1747, when he died.

Being a widow, and without children, she returned to Paris, and took up her abode at the Hotel de Peru. Her design was to retire to a convent, but the Queen of Hungary offered to fix her at Brussels, with an annual pension of twenty thousand florins; but it is uncertain whether she went to reside there or not. She was alive in 1768.

A PICTURE.

A lovely maid

Stood in the cottage porch-the trellised vine
Bowed, as in admiration of her form,

Before her keen black eyes, that shone, like stars,
"Twixt the light waving clouds of flowing hair
That dimmed their lustre :-'twas a sight as fair
As ever did bewitch a gazing eye!

Her face, enwreathed oft in winning smiles,
Did seem as radiant as the face o' the sun!
Her cheeks displayed the rosy tint of health,
Though now and then encrimsoned by a blush,
That even would suffuse her Parian neck.
Her queenly bearing shone through all her acts,
As gold imprisoned in the coarsest purse
Will glitter still, and show, through all its folds,
Its precious quality. Her little feet,

That peeped below from out her rustic robe,
Twinkled like gems-a moment-then retired,
Just like a bashful maiden with her wooer!
Her air, I said, was noble-far above
Her seeming station: in her face a mind
Of gentleness surpassing, goodness rare,
Benevolent, and kind, shone brightly out,
Yet chastened down with wisdom; yet withal
A look of pride, of noble pride, was there!
Was she then what she seemed-a peasant girl?
Or monarch in disguise? She was a queen

Queen of my heart!

VOL. 1. March, 1830.

F. G. FITZOSBORNE.

L

My lord, you should have seen her as she stood,
Bidding the world farewell; her pretty hands
Like two enclasping lilies; in her eyes

Two quivering crystal drops; her cheek a rose,
Yet of the whitest, turned upon the sky,

To which her thoughts were winged! I never saw
So heavenly-touched a sorrow.'

ITALY, fair Italy! how sacred are thy balmy groves and fairy bowers to the lovers of poetry and romance! Nowhere is the gentle passion so assiduously courted! From the days of Boccacio, till the age of chivalry was past, thou hast been a land where the poet's lip and painter's hand are both divine!' O thou pervading power of love! thou art to some sweet as the bubbling fountain of freshness to the burning brow of the desert-worn traveller; but to others terrible as the fiery pestilence, or the breath of the unmerciful simoom!'

Rosalia di Lambertazzo, a younger daughter of the illustrious house of that name, was consigned, as the custom of that country was, and, we believe, still is, to the gloomy austerities of a conventual life, almost before her bud of life had slowly opened into flower.' Rosalia had, however, unfortunately for herself, been suffered to enter for a brief season into the pleasures of the world; and it was during that period, at a crowded carnival, that she first saw Ippolito Gheranzi. From that time her spirits, which in life's young spring' were the gayest of the gay, drooped, and her noble relatives were at a loss to conjecture the cause of this sudden change. In the meanwhile the youthful lovers breathed the most ardent vows of affection, and though the stolen interviews they had at first were frequent, they were soon obliged to limit their number, from the fear of discovery. Indeed, from the first they were painfully aware that their ties of love could never be strengthened, by reason of the fair Rosalia's in

tended conventual life; and their relative situation in point of rank forbade even the most distant hope of ever gaining the consent of her parents.

Thus far matters stood; and now the time was not far distant when the ill-fated girl was ordained to go through the ceremony of her profession,' which event would for ever put an end to those dreams of love and happiness she had unfortunately indulged in; the participation in the pleasures and gaieties of this world being henceforth denied her.

It was on a balmy night in the 'leafy month of June that an entertainment was given by her parents to their friends, who came to bid her farewell, previous to her seclusion from the world.

"The coloured lamps sent forth their odorous light,
Over gold carvings, and the purple fall

Of tapestry; and around each stately hall
Were statues, pale, and finely-shaped, and fair,
As if all beauty, save her life, were there;
And, like light clouds floating around each room,
The censers rolled their volumes of perfume;
And scented waters mingled with the breath
Of flowers, which died as if they joyed in death;
And the white vases, white as mountain snow,
Looked yet more delicate in the rich glow
Of summer blossoms, hanging o'er each side,
Like sunset reddening o'er a silver tide.'

Yet this splendour and festivity had no charms for Rosalia; it wore even the appearance of mockery; her heart was sad; and though her melancholy was thought to proceed from her averseness to enter upon the duties of a conventual life, yet there were not a few who ventured to hint their doubts whether this was the sole cause of their fair relative's depression. The morn of the following day was fixed for the ceremony; and a few brief and fleeting moments were all that remained to Ippolito and his dear love.' The lovers were seated in an alcove formed of the twining branches of the mountain ash, the honeysuckle, and the sweet flowering jasmine; the blue waters of the