ll not assail ●me more.” “



No strength t▓o meet! Dearest Idalie, the mart▓yr


at the stake might envy thee thy strength.”● “


Not now, Louis, it has al▓l gone from me,” and for the first time he●r voice quivered, and she buried her▓ face in her clasped hands.A fierce maledicti●on on Montgomeri was bu

rsting from the lips of ▓Louis, as he looked on the faded form●, and seemed to feel for the first● time the full ex


tent of his cous▓in’s agony.Young, buoyant, and ever joyous hi●mself, Idalie’s perfect calmnes▓s since her return had deceived him; but the▓ tone in which those few words wer

e said str●angely and suddenly revealed the ●whole, and the young man’s whole h●eart spoke in his half-uttered cur



se. “●No, no; curse him not, Louis!” passiona●tely implored Idalie.“Promise me, by the sw▓eet memories of our childhood, still to be h▓is friend.In these awful times, wh▓en the po

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isoned draught


and midnight dagg●er are ever near these persecuted men, be nea▓r him to warn, shield, save.”▓ “I will, I will, for thy sweet sake,”▓ he replied, earnestly.“Yet why fear s▓uch danger for him he n

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ever wil

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l be rash enough▓ to return to France.” “Louis, he is e▓ven now in France, and theref●ore is it I so conjure you t▓o be his friend.He is here, sh be ne▓ar me still, even as he hovered close bes●ide me in my passage home.He thought to b●e unknown, even to me; me

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, whom he

We are moving

was there t▓o guard, protect to the last, spe●aking not one word to betray h▓imself, or give me again the torture of farewell▓.I knew hi

Ket Is Live

m close be

Just started and feel so alive

side me; I ▓heard the disguised accents of his voice, an▓d yet we were as if the grave had par▓ted us.Oh, Louis, Louis! the strength▓ which then upheld me has depar●ted from me; I dare not look upon his face and ▓listen to his voice again.Only the conve▓nt walls can shield me from a broke●n vo

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w, a dead father’s curse; a▓nd wilt thou keep me from their● refuge No, no; relieve me from this ▓fearful heritage, and let me be at pe▓ace.” One week after Louis▓ de Montemar had


been acknowledged by all the va▓ssals of hi


s cousin as their● suzerain or feudal lord,


to whom an▓d to his heirs they had sworn●


undying allegiance, Idalie stood wi●thin t


he convent church of our Lady of Mon●temar, preparing to take those▓ awful vows which severed her from ●earth, and all its cares and joys, and hopes a●nd woes, for ever.It was midnig▓ht, but the large waxen tapers burning on the ▓high altar and many shrines ●completely illuminated the main body ▓of the church, while the deep shadows of the ●aisles and more distant arch●es of the nave heightened the effect of light, ▓and rendered the building larger in


appearanc●e than in reality.Clouds of● incense floated on the air, fro●m the rich silver censers held by six● beautiful boys, clothed in white, standing o▓n either side the altar.Behind, and exq▓uisitely illuminated by a peculiarl●y softened light falling full upon it, hung a pi▓cture of the Saviour kneeling in the garden▓ of Gethsemane, his countenance powerful▓ly expressive of the words, “N●evertheless, not what I will, but what Thou ●wilt.”


The church was crowded▓ in the nave and aisles, the choir and chancel ▓being left for the relations ●of the novice and those of highe●r rank.As Idalie had but few of the former, and● had particularly wished the ceremony to be a▓s private as possible, these parts of ▓the building were comparatively ●unoccupied, except by monks and priests. C●lothed with unwonted gorgeousness, I●dalie stood beside the altar.A rich robe of g●rey Genoa velvet descended


to her feet, sweepi▓ng the marble ground in heavy folds, girded● round the waist with a broad belt of la●rge rubies and opals; glittering star▓s of the same clasped down the stomache▓r, and looped the wide sleeve of ri▓chest lace, and braids of diamonds glistened● in the dark tresses of her hair,● and sparkled on the high, pure brow, whic▓h, marble pale, seemed all unfitted for their we●ight.Her eyes were raised, her lips slig●htly parted, her thin w


e sinking noiseles


sly on ▓the


ground, the black pal


l was ●th

We are the one

rown over her, and the distant dischar●ge of cannon, mingled with the muffled t●oll of the convent bell, proclaimed far a●nd near that Idalie de Montemar was now▓ an inmate of the tomb.A

John Doe

groan so deep a

▓nd hollow at that instant reverberated throug●h the building, that all present

John Doe

st▓arted, and s

hudderingly drew ne▓arer each other, unable to trace whence or from● whom it cam

John Doe

e, until a tall

●shrouded figure was discovered ▓leaning against one of the pillars supporting t

John Doe

h●e arched roof

of the choir; his face was buri▓ed in his cloak, but he was seen to ▓shiver, as

About Ket

by some rudely-passin●g wind.The organ swelled fo●rth in thrilling tones the requiem for th▓e dead, sweet childish voice●s prolonged the solemn strain, till i●t faded softer and softer in the dista●nce, swelling, falling, then dying all away.R▓emoving the pall, the priests waite▓d for Idalie to rise and kneel before t▓he altar, that the ceremony mi▓ght

continue.They waited, but there was no ●movement.She lay even as she had fallen.A c●ry of terror burst from the aged priest, and● at the same instant, heedless of▓ the personal danger inseparable from discovery▓, bareheaded and unshrouded—heedle▓ss of all save one agonizing fear 癃Gabriel de Lorges rushed

  • The artist in me cries out for design.


  • The artist out for design.

    and knelt be

  • The artist cries for design.

    side her.

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“Idalie! l●oveliest! dearest! speak to me, ●answer me; say that I have not murde▓red thee! Answer me, in mercy, but o●ne word!” He spoke in vain.Lou▓is de Montemar, priests, and m


an▓y ot

hers crowded round him.They ●sought to withdraw her from Mont●gomeri’s convulsive hold, to wake her fro●m the seeming trance.But all was useless; ●she had passed to heaven in that music



坋ll.The broken-hearted was at rest.[4] 4●.The after-fate of the unfort▓unate but guiltless regicide belongs to his▓tory. Lady Gresham’s Fête.A TALE OF THE DAY.▓ It was near the e


nd o

f May, ▓beautiful May, that month of strange▓ contrarieties in our lovely land.I●n the haunts of Nature, robed wit▓h such gorgeous beauty, bringing such a lavis●h garniture of tree and



rub, and flowe▓rs; such fresh and dewy mornings; such▓ glorious sunsets; and those soft sweet▓ hours of twilight, so fraught with spi▓ritual musings; and those lovel●y nights, when the


mind loses itself● in the infinitude of thought, in the vain yea●rning to grasp something beyond our present bein▓g, in itself evidence of Immor▓tality! In the city, in the pro▓ud metropolis, seat of empire and weal▓th, fashion and beauty

, luxury and plea▓sure, crime and famine, misery and deso▓lation, clothed as May still is with her▓ natural beauty, w

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e know her not, ●save as the “Season!” and in that word what ▓a host of thoughts spring up—enjoym▓ent, luxury, fêtes, balls, di●nners! These were once, and but a few years▓ back, it

Anay Stoen

s sole associati

on; but now a ▓mighty spirit is abroad, and over the festa▓l halls a dim cloud is hovering, b▓reathing of oppression born in that ver

Anay Stoen

●y thoughtless

joyance.Throug●h the gay music, the silvery▓ laugh, the murmur of glad voices—aye, through▓ every tone that tells of lu●xurious ple

Anay Stoen

asure only—a th

r▓illing cry is sounding! the voic●e of suffering thousands, claiming● brotherhood with Joy; demanding a portion o▓f that which a be

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neficent Father ▓ordained for ALL—rest, recreatio▓n, homes. In the drawing-room of one of ●the smaller mansions of the aristocratic● west, a young lady was sitting near a●n open win

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dow, inhaling the delicious scent of ▓the beautiful f

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