blood will soften the diamond; the moderns laugh and deny this assertion most positively. Lately I met with a diamond at a jeweller’s which was so soft as to be capable of receiving an impression. As it had evidently been beautifully cut and highly polished, this softness could only have taken place latterly. On viewing it closely I observed a dark red stain, as if it had been dipped in blood, which had adhered to it. Being fond of natural curiosities I bought it, although the man asked a considerable sum; it was not, however, too much, considering the rarity of the thing.”
Nadasti expressed a desire to see it, and Father Paul went to his chamber to fetch it.
“It is still in what was probably its original setting,” he said, as he unclasped the case, and handed it to Count Harras, who sat next to him.
The old nobleman gazed at it with astonishment. “Why, Viola, my love, this was yours; I sent it to you as a memorial of your departed mother.”
“The jeweller bought it of a boy who said he found it among the rocks,” observed Father Paul.
“Look at it, my child,” continued the Count, offering the case to her; but with a faint scream she covered her eyes with her hands. “This is folly,” exclaimed her father; “take the jewel.”
“Why not, my own Viola?” said Nadasti, fondly taking it from her father, and approaching her; but even while he spoke his eyes fell on the bodkin—he turned pale, shuddered, and the wound in his hand burst out bleeding. Like lightning did the past flash on his mind, and his voice thundered out—“Accursed sorceress! now do I remember thee. It was thy devilish spells which tore my soul from its tenement! My blood it is which has crimsoned this stone! see how it flows afresh. Maria, gentle, innocent being! have I sacrificed thee, and to such an one!”
Viola, pallid and fainting, stretched out her arms imploringly towards him, and would have thrown herself on his bosom, but he repulsed her; and as he did so the point of the bodkin pierced her heart. “Ah, that pain!” she murmured; all is now accomplished. Forgive me, my lord, my husband! I am no sorceress; I am weak, but not wicked. Gertrude can tell you all. Forgive—forgive!” Her spirit fled with the last accents.
Nadasti shortly fell in battle, and Serini is supposed to have died in the Holy Land, whither he went as a pilgrim.
The sympathies of nature are neither exploded by philosophy, nor condemned by religion. These two luminaries of the mind do not extinguish, but only regulate the affections; restraining them when inordinate, and reducing them under the dominion of reason when they begin to acquire an undue and dangerous tendency.
STANZAS.
When every leaf and every flower
Is fading from that hue so bright,
Of loveliness bestow’d by light,
When o’er the fields and meadows gay
The deep’ning shades of parting day
Diffuse a soft, a tranquil hue,
Though stealing beauty from the view?
Possesses no sweet soothing power;
I love it not: its pensive light—
More solemn than still darker night—
Brings to my heart in sad review
All that of pain it ever knew;
And those to love or friendship dear
Are thought of with a sigh or tear.
Which gives to night a softer day—
When the full orb with light serene
Presides the goddess of the scene,
And o’er the glittering landscape throws
A beauteous calm, a bright repose;
While hill and valley, lake and stream,
Shine lovely in her lucid beam?
When stars, in their own splendour bright,
Surround her in the deep blue sky
With awful majesty on high!
For then, forgetting earthly care,
I gaze on all the grandeur there,
And feel, as o’er my path they shine,
“The hand that made them is divine!”
Nor eve nor night can glad thy heart
Toward earthly things: but in the dawn
Of fresh, reviving, rosy morn,
Or in the sun’s effulgent ray,
Which rules in brightness o’er the day,
Say, canst thou aught of pleasure find,
To solace or delight thy mind?
The wak’ning beauty of the morn—
The sun just rising to my view;
Like the mild native of Peru,
My heart rejoices in the sight,
Nature’s great source of life and light;
I feel his animating ray,
And hail the glorious god of day!
The thing that is uttered from the inmost parts of a man’s soul differs altogether from what is uttered by the outer part. The outer is of to-day, and passes away; the inmost is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.
The weakness of sickly and imperfect virtue might perhaps often be recovered and strengthened by the support, and in the society of more fixed and regular characters, and this would lead to its being established upon a better and surer foundation.
