The New-York Weekly Magazine, or Miscellaneous Repository Part 160

What was his surprise, on more attentively viewing the persons he had delivered, to perceive they were no other than Henriquez, and Alonzo, the guardian of Marina. Some desperate young cavalier of the city, who was in love with Marina, knowing it was intended that Henriquez should espouse her, had hired bravoes, to a.s.sa.s.sinate them; and, had it not been for the valour of Don Alphonso, the young scholar and the old miser would have found it no easy matter to escape.

Alphonso did his utmost to avoid their grateful acknowledgments, but Henriquez, who piqued himself on having learned politeness at Salamanca, swore he should not leave them that night. Alphonso, in despair, had already heard the clock strike eleven. Alas! he knew not the misfortune that had happened.

One of the bravoes, whom he had put to flight, had pa.s.sed m.u.f.fled up in his cloak, near the lattice of Marina. The night was extremely dark, and the unfortunate beauty, having opened the window, imagined him to be Don Alphonso, and presented him the box with joyful impatience: 'Take our diamonds,' said she, 'while I descend.'

At the word diamonds, the bravo suddenly stopped, took the box, without speaking a word, and, while Marina was getting out of the window, fled with the utmost precipitation.

Imagine the surprise of Marina, when she found herself alone in the street, and saw nothing of him whom she had taken for Don Alphonso. She thought, at first, he had left her, to avoid raising suspicion or alarm.

She, therefore, hastily walked to a little distance, looked round on every side, and called in a low voice. But no Alphonso could she see; no lover could she hear.

She was now seized with the most alarming apprehensions. She knew not whether it were most adviseable to return home, or endeavour to find the horses and attendants of Don Alphonso, that were waiting without the city. She continued to walk forwards, in the utmost uncertainty and distress, till she had lost herself in the streets; while her fears were augmented by the darkness and silence of the night.

At length she met a person, whom she asked if she were far from the gate of the city. The stranger conducted her thither; but she found n.o.body waiting as she expected.

She dared not yet accuse her lover of deceiving her: still she hoped he was at no great distance. She proceeded, therefore, along the road, fearful of every bush, and calling Don Alphonso at every step; but the farther she walked the more she was bewildered; for she had come out of the city on the side opposite to the Portugal road.

In the mean time Don Alphonso found himself unable to get away from the grateful Henriquez and his father. They would not suffer him to leave them for a moment, but obliged him to enter the house with them; to which Alphonso, fearful of betraying his intent, and frustrating his dearest hopes; and imagining too that Marina might be soon acquainted with the reason of his delay, most reluctantly consented.

Alonzo hastens to the chamber of his ward, to inform her of the danger he had escaped. He calls, but receives no answer; he enters her apartment, and finds the lattice open; his cries collect the servants, and the alarm is immediately given, that Marina is missing.

Alphonso, in despair, immediately offered to go in quest of her.

Henriquez, thanking him for the concern he expressed, declared his resolution to accompany him. Alphonso suggested, that the probability of finding her would be greater, if they took different roads. Accordingly, he hastened to rejoin his domestics: and not doubting but Marina had taken the road to Portugal, put his horses at full speed. But their swiftness only removed him farther from the object of his love; while Henriquez galloped towards the Alpuxarian mountains, the way which Marina had actually taken.

In the mean time, Marina continued to wander, disconsolate, along the road that led to the Alpuxares. Presently she heard the clattering noise of approaching horses; and at first, imagined it might be her beloved Alphonso: but, afterward, fearful of discovery, or apprehensive of robbers, she concealed herself, trembling, behind some bushes.

Here she presently saw Henriquez pa.s.s by, followed by a number of servants. Shuddering at the danger of being again in the power of Alonzo, if she continued in the high road, she turned aside, and took refuge in a thick wood.

The Alpuxares are a chain of mountains, which extend from Granada to the Mediterranean. They are inhabited only by a few peasants. To these, fear and terror conducted the unfortunate maid. A dry and stony soil, with a few oak trees, thinly scattered: some torrents and echoing cataracts, and a number of wild goats, leaping from precipice to precipice; are the only objects which present themselves at day-break to the eyes of Marina. Exhausted, at length, by fatigue and vexation, she sat down in the cavity of a rock, through the clifts of which a limped water gently oozed.

The silence of this grotto, the wildness of the landscape around, the hoa.r.s.e and distant murmur of several cascades, and the noise of the water near her, falling drop by drop into the bason it had hollowed beneath, all conspired to excite in Marina the most melancholy sensations. Now she thought herself cruelly abandoned by her lover; and now she persuaded herself that some mistake had happened: 'It certainly could not be Alphonso,' said she, 'to whom I gave my diamonds. I must have been mistaken. No doubt he is now far hence, seeking me with anxiety and distraction; while I, as far distant from him, am peris.h.i.+ng here.'

While thus mournfully ruminating, Marina, on a sudden, heard the sound of a rustic flute. Attentively listening, she soon heard an harmonious voice, deploring, in plaintive strains, the infidelity of his mistress, and the miseries of disappointed love.

'And who can be more sensible of this than myself?' said Marina, leaving the grotto, in search of this unfortunate lover.

She found a young goatherd, sitting at the foot of a willow, his eyes bedewed with tears, and intent on the water as it issued from its rocky source. In his hand he held a flagalet, and by his side lay a staff and a little parcel.

'Shepherd,' said Marina, 'you are no doubt forsaken by your Mistress: have pity on one abandoned, like yourself, and conduct me to some habitation, where I may procure sustenance, at least, though not repose!'

(To be continued.)

_For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._

THE CRIMINAL.

"And now, which way so ere I look or turn Scenes of incessant horror strike my view; I hear my famish'd babes expiring groan, I hear my wife the bursting sigh renew!"

Ah! cruel fortune, thou hast driven me to this! Ah, my father! thou wilt not relieve my wants, because I wedded the woman of my choice and not of thine. Once was I stiled my father's darling, the son for whom he only lived; and yet, for acting once contrary to his will, he banished me his presence, with a pension barely sufficient to support life--That pension now has ceased; for what reason I am totally ignorant. An amiable wife and two children are peris.h.i.+ng for want, and unless I bring them something, they cannot exist. I went to my father's house, with an intent of informing him of our wretched condition: I sent in my name, he would not see me!--Must my babes starve? They are young, and my wife lies ill--and I am indeed a wretch for thus joining her to poverty!--

Here I am alone on this dreary heath--and what have I brought with me?--A pistol charged with death.--What light was that?--My fears transform every thing into enemies--It is the sun! Why dost thou shed thy beams on one, whom dire necessity hath made the foe of man?--

Here I am, plunged yet deeper in this forest's gloom, like the insidious serpent thirsting for his prey. On man--on a being formed like myself, am I to avenge my want of bread?--My family must live--despair, do what thou wilt!----

--Hark! what noise is that? Sure it resembled a horse's tread. Undone man, what fate hath bid thee pa.s.s this way? He approaches--how unlike me.--Serenity is pictured in his countenance. He little thinks, that like the harmless bird who flies unto the fowler's snare, he is hastening to destruction. Oh! My wife!--My children!--He comes!--

--"Stop, traveller!"----

L. B.

(To be continued.)

+The MENTAL and PERSONAL QUALIFICATIONS of a HUSBAND.+

Great good nature, good humour, and good sense.

Lively by all means.

Stupid by no means.

His person agreeable rather than handsome.

No great objection to six feet, with an exact symmetry of parts.

Always clean, but not foppish in his dress.

Youth promises a duration of happiness, therefore is agreeable.

Well read in the cla.s.sics, but no pedant.

Experimentally acquainted with natural philosophy.

A tolerable ear for music, but no fidler. I must repeat it again, no fidling husband.

An easy and unaffected politeness.

No bully; just as much courage as is necessary to defend his own and his wife's honour.