“Humph! and is that all?” growled the baronet.

“I want a thousand crowns,” said the chief, in a gentle tone, “you may then proceed.”

“Humph! and won’t five hundred do?”

“I insist!” returned the brigand, placing his hand on his sword!

This menace was enough.  It produced an awful consternation in the countenance of the Englishman.  He, dear man, felt his heart quake within him, as he paid the brigand his enormous demand.  But a second trial was reserved for him—­he turned to his carriage—­his daughter was not there! where could she be?  He heard a laugh, and on raising his head, saw the identical object of his care!  She waved her delicate white handkerchief from the steeps above, while an Italian officer stood beside her laughing with all his might.  The suspicions of the father were realized.  He was the tall intriguing scamp who had charmed the eyes of Rosalia at the inn!

Away ran the sire, but the guilty pair seemed to fly with the wings of love attached to their heels; up the steep he clambered, scaring all the birds from their solitudes; still the lovers kept on before; they passed the bridge of Laino; the infuriated sire pursued; spire, tree, castle, church, stream; and in short the most beautiful features of the landscape appeared in the chase, but the fugitives did not stop to survey them.  Away they pressed down the sunny slope, through the glen, along the margin of the Casparanna, swifter to the eye of the agonized parent than Jehu’s chariot-wheels.  Now they flag—­they sit down amid the ruins of yonder old chapel—­he will reach them now; alas! how vain are the calculations of man!  In leaping across the Cathanna Mare, he received a shot in his arm; the cursed Italian had fired at him, and he fell, like a wounded bird into the stream!

* * * * *

“Dear pa’, how you kick one!” exclaimed the beauteous little daughter of the Englishman; “surely you have had a troublesome dream.”  “Dream! let me see,” said the baronet, rubbing his eyes; “then I’m not drowned, and we are again at Albano, are we, and this is our merry host, and thank God, Rosalia, you are safe, and I must kiss you, my sweet girl.”  This was a pleasant scene!

R. AUGUSTINE.

* * * * *

TIME.

IN IMITATION OF THE OLDEN POETS.

(For the Mirror.)

      Time is a taper waning fast! 
      Use it, man, well whilst it doth last: 
  Lest burning downwards it consume away,
  Before thou hast commenced the labour of the day.

      Time is a pardon of a goodly soil! 
      Plenty shall crown thine honest toil: 
  But if uncultivated, rankest weeds
  Shall choke the efforts of the rising seeds.

      Time is a leasehold of uncertain date! 
      Granted to thee by everlasting fate. 
  Neglect not thou, ere thy short term expire,
  To save thy soul from ever-burning fire.