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LONDON:

Printed by WARD & GRIFFITH, 16, Bear Alley,

Farringdon Street.

INDEX TO VOL. XLIX.

ORIGINAL PAPERS.

By the Editor, 135.

By Themselves, 95, 231, 342.

An Historical Novel of the Thirteenth Century.
Abridged from the Italian of F. B. Guerazzi. By Mrs. Mackesey, 1,

119.

Civilization, Thoughts on. By the Editor, 386.

Copenhagen as it was. By J. Ewing Ritchie, 223,

Craik's Pursuit of Knowledge under Difficulties, 311.

Doolittle, The Fortunes of Ephraim. By H. Hastings Weld, 108.

Evening, The Watkinson. By Miss Leslie, 94.

Fitzmaurice, Annie. A Tale. By Mrs. Edward Tnomas, 237.
Festus, 421.

Hamburg as it is. By J. Ewing Ritchie, 80.

Hutton, Marmaduke, or the Poor Relation. By William Dodsworth, 172,
276, 395.

Moyle, Sir Monk, By J. Lumley Shafto, 23, 195, 324.

Madeira, Recollections of, During the Winter of 1844, 1845, 32.

Press, the Daily, its Price and its Profits, 433.

Romance, The Double. A Tale of the Overland. By Tippoo Khan, the

Younger, 154.

POETRY.

Adèle, to, 79.

Atheling, Margaret, the Death of. By J. Ewing Ritchie, 143.
Ah, yes! I well remember her, 193.

Clara; a Retrospective Tale. By J. S. Smith, 380.

Contrast, the; or, the Artist and the Dwarf. By J. Ewing Ritchie, 462.

Famine, Lays of. By Mrs. Charles Tinsley, 304, 393.

Garden and the Prison, the. By Mrs. Abdy, 420.

Green Point, Table Bay, 426.

He fell in Love, 444,

Israel, Lays of. By Mrs. Crawford, 222, 230, 236.

Italy, Greeting to. From the German of the Countess Hahn Hahn, 91.

Mourning. From the German of F. Von Sallet, 140.

Music at Sea. By Mrs. Abdy, 23:

Mussulmani, the. By Tippoo Khan the Younger. 31.

Name, the One Loved, 134.

Perfumes, 310.

Past, a Chant for the. By Mrs. Charles Tinsley, 152.
Prima Donna, the. By Mrs. Abdy, 170.

Rembrandt, the Death of. By J. Ewing Ritchie, 275.
Ring, the Wedding. By Mrs. Abdy, 336.

Song of the Scotsman, By Mrs. Abdy, 44.

Sonnet to the Morning Star, 212.

Song, 323.

Sonnet, 432.

Song, "Wilt thou love me still." By Mrs. Crawford, 450.
Voici Consuelo, 62.

LITERATURE.

Chronicles of the Ancient British
Church. By James Yeowell, 117.
The Pre-Adamite Earth. By J.
Harris, D.D., 352,

Howitt's Journal of Literature and
Popular Progress, 464.

Religious Parties in England. By
R. Vaughan, D.D., 349.
The History of the Saracens. By
Simon Ockley, 148.

Tales of Many Lands. By Margaret
Fraser Tytler, 464.

THE

METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE.

THE BATTLE OF BENEVENTO.*

AN HISTORICAL NOVEL OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY. ABRIDGED FROM THE ITALIAN OF F. B. GUERAZZI, BY MKS. MACKESEY.

CHAPTER XXV.

LET a vanquished king learn to die on the day that is destined for the termination of his glory, on that same day let him close his eyes to this mortal life. Let him look round from the field where night has prostrated him, what illusion encourages him? there is no arm raised for him-the wailings of the ruined, which had been before drowned in the shouts of victory, now rising above all other sounds, and heard alone, oppress his soul.-If choosing between death and the degradation of being led in triumph before the car of the conqueror, he presses the debasement, below even the reptiles were those who supported him; and the crown crushes his head, as the tile crushed the head of Pyrrhus. Is he not dispirited by the insults of the cowards who hasten almost joyously to shelter in the shadow of that great overthrow? Is he not tortured by the sneers of traitors? In the vista of his meditations does he not see a vengeance of blood, a retributive justice on the edge of his enemy's sword? The conqueror fears God: he will not slay him. Is it befitting that a man on whom thousands of his fellow-creatures depended, should taste the bitterness of suspense for his own destiny? The hour of passion is past, and half eternity could not compensate for it: he will live; this is his life: to strain after the

* Continued from page 368, Vol. xlviii.

May, 1847.-VOL. XLIX.-NO. CXCIII.

B

splendour of a diadem on which he gazes, but which shall never more adorn his brows, or those of his race; to struggle after it the more vehemently the nearer he approaches to the sunset of hope; even as the flower that was once a nymph* turns to the daily mutations of the sun-god that has ceased to love her-to dash himself against the bars of his prison, to stain them with his blood, and then to fall back exhausted in the despair of impotency: his own thoughts are the vultures that prey upon his vitals; he fears every viand: he tastes no drink till he has first held it up to the light and examined it: he does not hazard a step without first trying the spot where he must place his foot; his own shadow alarms him. And his children? he cannot see them, he would not see them. And what could he teach them? maledictions! the rattling of the fetters will make their hatred grow up in them more effectually than his words. Shall he show them his misery? Is not that which they themselves endure enough? Shall he hear them reproach him for their existence? He will never again see or hear a human being; his mind has become ferocious, his intellect wild : no one speaks to him, yet he lends an ear to unknown voices, and replies to them. Sometimes a reminiscence of victory animates his visage; but suddenly he casts down his eyes and beholds an object so miserable that pity itself has no tears to weep for him he contracts his brow, and closes his heart so tightly that not a single sigh can escape,-victory always exalts, though defeat does not always degrade; but the soul of iron that can survive defeat pays a greater penalty for it than the loss of the crown.

Sweet is the repose of the victorious; but sweeter still is the morning saluted by the eager thought of what has been gained. Scarcely did the fateful Charles see the darkness clearing away than he called his squires and bade them buckle on his heaviest suit of armour; a thousand times he chided them for their slowness, while his own impatience delayed them: at length he sallied forth completely armed; the vanguard, ready to march, was awaiting him in the square: to the reiterated acclamations with which he was received, he modestly answered, "we have not yet conquered."

The orders were given, the military movements commenced ; Charles pursued his rival with the eagerness of a hawk, for he well knew that fortune was often changed by one hour of inertness, and his men were invincible, in their first ebullitions, he did not take the road to Capua, considering it too long, but went to Venasso; and there, knowing that the unprecedented atrocities committed by his troops at San Germano had alienated the Neapolitans, and being besides admonished by the Apostolic Legate with strenuous remonstrances, he sought to repair the past; wherefore he received

*Clytie transformed to a sun-flower,

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