204
��THE GRANITE MONTHLY.
��honored by your fatherly care and affection."
Monsieur Rospigliosi's carriage was called. Roth got in and drove toward Casade Dei.
Capellani knew the way to the cav- ern only too well. Around the en- trance the bushes were not broken, and the earth showed no tracks. For a moment hope filled their hearts.
Alas ! at the back of the cave, upon a mass of autumn leaves, lay Lucrecia, a poniard in her breast. Marcel threw himself upon the still warm body with a horrible cry. He pressed her to his heart, and looked at her with terrible agony in every feature ; he kissed her and called to her by every endearing name.
In the presence of the dead the Rishop found 1 his apostolic strength. He seized Marcel with a powerful hand and drew him away.
"Leave this body," he said sternly, " which needs nothing now but a litde earth, and think of this soul which you have lost. Come ! cover her with her shawl, hide the entrance to the cave, and say a prayer."
Marcel could not reply, and hardly understood. He had not strength to resist, and fell upon his knees, stupefied with grief, but he handed the Rishop her letter, and while he read it a low moaning sound escaped from Marcel's lips.
•'This woman was not a christian," said the Bishop severely, giving the letter back.
��" She was a heroine," murmured Marcel.
" A pagan, a sophist, poor girl ; who knew no better than to try and repair a fault by a crime, and who mistook physical courage for the best of the virtues. Ask of religion, that is of eternal justice, what her duty was, and it will reply : to break a guilty bond, to expect of God alone her punishment, and to expiate by prayer her youth and folly ; but that would have been long, painful, and humiliating. It was easier to die and she did. Ah ! you have much to expiate for her. Pray ! my son, yes, pray long, pray always for her and yourself !"
The minister had spoken, but with this last thought the friend, the father, could no longer repress a deep sob, the sign of an aching heart. He crossed himself, and repealed a prayer. 'Then he went out.
Marcel raised a stone tomb in the grotto, and buried her there ; but he never left her. With a cross upon his breast and her tomb at his feet he spent his life in prayer.
Count Palandra did not return to Pistoja. Monsieur Rospigliosi sent word to the authorities, who kept him there.
One evening, ten years later, Mar- cel, with white hair and bent shoulders was saying his prayers at the setting of the sun, when suddenly from a neighboring thicket a stream of lire poured forth, a ball whistled through the quiet air of evening, and he fell dead.
��EARLY AND LATE POEMS*
��[Read by Col. George Kent at the recent re-union of the Dartmouth College
Association, Washington, D. C]
Thy power aud goodness, mighty (rod!
In nil thy works of wonder shine; The heavens declare thy love abroad.
The earth proclaims thy power divine.
��Hanover, X. EL, 4th July. 1S14. Hymn composed by Mr. George Kent, and sung by the choir. (Tune — Den- mark.)
Eternal God thy name we praise;
To thee we humbly look for aid; And while to heaven our songs we raise.
Tlie tribute of our hearts be paid.
- See Granite Monthly lor March, page 181.
��'T is by thy power, from age to age. Creation stands, and time endures;
Thy voice can calm the whirlwind's rage, Thine arm the thunder's force secures.
�� �
