He opened his bosom to look at the onyx, which now blazed forth a lustre equal to the brightest moonlight. test moonlight. Amazement of mine shall be left by Providence to find and wear it to the seventh generation; and until then I shall change this nature into spirit, that I may, for seven ages yet to come, become the guardian of my friends. Until these bones shall lie with my forefathers in the tomb, my soul shall be a wanderer in the middle regions; thence 1 shall pass, a mediating spirit, into the presence of the Divinity, presenting the petitions of my posterity on earth before his everlasting throne. In that period of time, when my ashes shall rest in the sepulchre of my ancestors, an heir shall rise, and re-assume the title, and possess the domains which Norman William granted my forefathers some centuries ago.'ently that night. The thought He could go on no further. Leave me,' said he, to my last prayer-Adieu; I go.' The latter part particularly of this story increased Audley's agitation so, that the old shepherd thought him mad. Being come a little to himself, with clasping hands and eyes directed to heaven, he exclaimed, 'Grant unto me, O God, the virtuous labour of giving rest unto the bones of hermit More. land within the tomb of his forefathers!' struck the cottagers! They were ashamed of their arrogance, and turned away their face! Audley cousoled them. His wild appearance carried the impressions they had entertained. No wonder the idea of such a malady had possessedtheir minds at his being seen amidst the wildest wastes of Britain, where none but shepherds. had for ages past been known to visit. But now they looked upon the stranger as a man of God, led forth by Providence's secret hand, on an embassy miraculous and wonderful. He slept but indiffer of his wife and his slaughtered friend alternately coming up in his mind, and the eargerness of expectation, kept him from sleep. In the morning the onyx shed propitious beams, which encouraged him to explore this adventure to the bottom. After a salutary breakfast of milk, cheese, and herbs, they all set out to discover the remains of hermit Moreland's habitation. A large yew-tree marked the spot where the entrance was to be sought, a narrow path conducted them to a spacious cell, whose ample roof, incrusted with variety of minerals and spars, represented a beautiful grotto. (To be Continued.) THE MONK OF THE GROTTO. A Tale: (Continued) The day was dark and rainy; a greyish tint overspread the country, and rendered every object as gloomy as the soul of Virginia. The carriage proceeded slowly along the cross road which led towards the eastern part of the Dutchy of Urbino, where stood the Abbey of San Cipriano. The innocent victom of her mother's ambition, devoting herself to the austerities of a cloistered retreat, experienced the highest degree of impatience to arrive at the place where she was for ever to bury her beauty, the brilliant hopes of her life, and pronounce, at the foot of the altar, the irrevocable oath of renouncing her love. The Marchioness paid her every attention, caressed her, and endeavoured to amuse her thoughts by drawing an agree able picture of the Abbey of San Cipriano, and the tranquil life she would pass there. Virginia heaved a deep sigh. "Yes my dear child," continued the Marchioness, "when time shall have assuaged your grief-when you shall have become sensible of the vanities of the world. Virginia fixed her eyes upon her, and her penetrating look added to her confusion; she blushed, held down her head, and remained for some moments silent. "Pardon,' said she at length, "the trouble which overwhelms me; I would have persuaded you that you would have perhaps found tranquility when removed from those objects which formed the first affections of your heart; but my own feelings at that moment convinced me of the difficulty of the task. It seems to me, my dearest Virginia, that my sincere affection towards you becomes more ardent, in proportion as the period approach. es which is to seperate us; and I reposed too much confidence in my own fortitude when I spoke to you with such affected indifference of the passions that inspires your bosom.' ment, like a sudden flash of lightning, burst on her imagination, and instantly vanished in the dark recesses of a heart, where ambition, avarice, and envy had established their em Virginia clasped the hand of | the Marchioness, and pressed it to her lips, then held it to her heaving breast. She remained several minutes in this attitude; then leaning backwards in the carriage, conceal-pire. ed her countinence beneath her veil, and preserved a profound silence till they stopped at an inn on the road to dine. , Are we at length arrived?" said she, attentively surveying every object around her. "No," replied the Marchioness, "we have fifteen miles further to go. The Abbey of San Cipriano is behind the mountain you see to your left, and we shall be some hours before we reach it." The chaise descended a deep valley-cypress trees bordered on the right and left, a path narrow and difficult of access. The setting sun gilded their towering branches, while their far-extended shadows imparted a more gloomy tint to the verdure, before darkened by their foliage. The profound silence which reigned throughout the place was only interrupted by the rustling of the boughs that overhung the road and were agitated by the chaise as it passed along, and by the distant sound of a bell, whose monotonous vibration faintly repeated by the echoes, imparted to the soul a degree of melancholy sadness, which even the Marchioness was unable to resist. Virginia refused to take the least refreshment, nor would she even descend from the carriage, her eyes were sted fastly fixed towards the mountain which concealed her eternal retreat. As she approached it, her countenance became inore animated, her eyes shone with supernatural brilliancy; her Plunged in a profound revewhole figure appeared so love-rie, she was only recalled from ly and interesting, that the Marchioness herself could not avoid experiencing a sentiment of admiration. "What a pity!" thought she for a moment; but that mo it by the voice of Virginia, who asked her wether an immense building she perceived at the end of an avenue of poplars to the right, was the Abbey of San Cipriano. "We shall be there immedi-enced towards the Abbess an ately," answered the Marchio-emotion of affection to which ness. "The building you see is a Convent of Celestins, which is but a short distance from it." The Marchioness had scarce done speaking, when the chaise, after a short turn, stopped before a large iron gate, which discovered the eyes of Virginia the whole front of the Abbey of San Cipriano. After having passed the spacious court, planted with trees, which decorated the entrance of the monastary, the Marchioness and Virginia descended opposite the door of the cloister. she had for some time been a stranger; she admired her figure, characterized by an impression of dignity, mildness, and religion; and felt herself affected by that peculiar tint of melancholy, and air of resignation which, impressed on all her features, imparted to them an inexpressible charm. The Abbess invited her, as well as the marchioness, to the interior of the monastary. Virginia was seized with unaccountable terror at the sound of the iron bolts and bars which secured the gates; and when she heard them close, she thought within herself-never, never would they be open again to her! As she traversed the gloomy cloisters and immense vaults, beneath which her steps reechoed, she percived several of the Nuns, who were attracted by curi sity to that part of the Convent through which she Two of the portresses con. ducted them to the superb apartment of the Lady Abbess, who soon made her appearance, and received her sister, as well as Virginia, in the most tender and affectionate manner; but when she learned that that lovely creature had come in order to consecrate to Heaven a life for which, according to every appearance, the world possessed so many charms, anpassed; they seemed like airy expression of the most tender concern was painted on her countenance, and she was unable to repress an involuntary sigh. ahades, fitting before her astonished sight. Every object was new and interesting, and made a deep impression upon her soul. Virginia, moved by this mute The abbess and the Marlanguage of the heart, experi-chioness conducted her to those places which most merited her attention: the twilight prevented her judging of the beauty of a spacious garden, whose majestic trees extended to the base of a long ridge of mountains which seemed to form their ramparts; but she remarked, with a melancholy pleasure, a grove of cypress, where she determined often to meditate on the new and sacred duties she meant to impose upon herself. At her return to the appart ment of the Abbess she found an elegant collation served up. Virginia entreated the Marchioness would obtain for her that favour which could constitute the only consolation her soul was now susceptible of. "I entreat," said she, that the kind and worthy Abbess may bestow on me the habit of a Noviciate, without subjecting me to wait the period established by custom. Every obstacle that tends to retard the sacrifice to which I doom myself, appears insupportable. I feel incapable of enjoying that calm tranquillity my soul pants for, until I shall have entirely devoted myself to the sacred duties of that state I wish to embrace. I would enter upon them, if possible, without delay." Virginia spoke with a degree of enthusiastic animation. The Abbess at that instant approached, and heard part of what she had said. She endeavoured to persuade her to change her resolution; but finding she was bent on her purpose, she acceded to her request, and it was determined that Virginia should within eight days receive the white veil. The next day the Marchioness returned to Torre Vecchia. Virginia beheld her departure without the least emotion; her heart, oppressed by the violence of her grief, was no longer capable of being affect ed; she scarcely mentioned her father's name, and recommended her faithful Lanrina with a degree of calmness that resembled indifference. (To be Continued,) ILORRID BRUTALITY.-- A FACT Boston, May 7th, One William Scott, of P-, some time ago, married a second wife, aged about forty years, who had no children, and who was entirely destitute of any kind of parental affection, and so hardened to every tender feeling, as to influence her husband to nearly the same degree of austerity. One of |