here, and many a jocund measure been danced to the sound of the reedy pipes, under the encircling walls beside the pure water. A low arch opposite the entrance, similar in construction to that of the Cloaca Massima, but infinitely grander and better preserved, appears, earrying through its depths a rushing, rapid current, clear as crystal, but soon lost under the dark arching recesses beyond, as the water flows and flows into the gloom-a path leading to the floods of Tartarian Acheronrecalling those realms of Pluto described by Virgil, whither Æneas, in obedience to the commands of the Sybil, descended "a cave profound and hideous, with wide yawning mouth, fenced by a dark lake, and the gloom of woods." A singular and quite original place it is, much more like the ideal scene of an unnatural legend or fantastic spirit-tale than a real, positive fact. It has a poetry of its own, however, for it is the Emissay of the Lake of Albano, dating back to Rome's early history and the siege of Veii, that obstinate neighbour, who for ten years disputed her arms.

After the many episodes in which my subject has tempted me to indulge, I will not particularise that well-known siege, but only mention the prophecy of the old soothsayer, who during the siege, standing on the walls of the rebellious city, declared in derision to the Romans encamped beneath, as he laughed and mocked at them, "that they might think they would take Veii, but that they never should succeed until the waters of the Lake of Alba were all spent, and flowed out into the sea no more." And when the old man was afterwards captured by the Romans, who believed him to be a prophet, by stratagem, and conducted to the generals, he repeated the same words; because, he said, that it was the Fates who prompted him to declare what he spoke, and that "if the waters ran out into the sea, 'woe is Rome!' but that if they be drawn off, and the waters reach the sea no more, then it is woe to Veii!'" So the Romans, unable to comprehend his import, sent to consult the Oracle of Delphi, which agreed in all things with the old man's words. The Romans, therefore, who had been much molested at various times by the capricious rising of the waters within the lake, sent workmen, and bored a hole underground through the hills, and on the other side, where it emerged, made the waters obedient for watering the lands. So the Emissay was built, and Veii fell; and this far misty legend and the nineteenth century are linked by that low arch under which runs the rapid current into which, standing on a few rough logs of wood, we gazed! There is a popular belief, similar to that of the Indians on the sacred Ganges, that little barques charged with wishes, bearing a lighted taper, confided to this dark subterranean current, running no one knows where through the earth's inmost caverns, will bring success to those who faithfully embark their hopes in these frail argosies, provided these tapers are not extinguished as long as the barques remain in sight.

I could not conceive why H- had so teazed and tormented the custode about bringing with him lights, seeing that the sun shone brightly, and had actually insisted on sending back a message into the town on purpose to bring some moccoletti. Now his purpose was revealed to me, as also his active and anxious desire to conduct us to the Emissay, spite of the expostulations of our duenna, who declared that the passage down "naturally suggested," as Box says to Cox, "how we

LIR

ever should get up!" The little barques were lading; one for Sand another for me and H; and sent sailing down on the gloomy river, heavy with memories, where the waters flowed centuries before Christianity descended on the benighted Pagans. The deep low vaults and the rapid current received and bore them; and we watched their passage, and saw that the voyage promised fair, for the lights illumined the dark sides of the water-paved cavern for a long, long while, then dwindled, and at length disappeared. I wonder if my wish will be granted? and I would also know on what strange shores that little barque has stranded, and if the good spirits that came down to meet it on that dreary shore, and receive the votive offering of a taper on their altars, will hear my prayer? H was immensely anxious about his; but we all kept our secret, and no one knew the other's mind.

We left this place--the high road, as it were, into a visionary world— and, as "Pilgrim's Progress" says, "addressed ourselves to the ascent" -a labour not easy to accomplish, seeing that the hills are as straight as a house-side, and that, by way of hastening, we chose a path where there was little or no footing. Over stones, and briars, and holes, and rocks we scrambled, sitting down now and then to rest and laugh-not Hwho, ever since the launching of his wishes, was grave, absent, and silent, even from the legends of Old Rome. At last S hit on a way

of dragging us up. The rough boy, our guide, went first, I hanging to his tails; then came our silent friend, sorely complaining, hanging to me; and S last, pushing us all. So, at length, we landed on the summit, breathless and hot, but merry as in the morning when we traversed the Campagna. We gave a look at the Pope's villa-an ugly, staring place, with a grand view over the lake on one hand, and the broad level regions of sea and land on the other-and Torlonia's villa; then seated ourselves in the carriage and wound down a rapid hill, shutting out effectually the lake and all its charms. A delightful drive through the cool evening air brought us towards Rome. We saw the sun set in sheets of gold and saffron over the sea, and light up the Campagna and the ruins with long streaks of glorious light; for a space the very heavens seemed on fire, then settled down in lines of crimson and deep blood-red, like mists rising from a volcano. These gradually melted too, and then came the pinks, and the blues and purples, reflected on the Sabine Hills, and on Mount Algidus, and ancient Tusculum, and the ruined villas of Cicero, Adrian, and Domitian. Then night-dark leaden night-gradually spread her sable mantle around, and the stars came out one by one, and the moon rose, and the heaven shone with a soft and mellow radiance, lit up by her pale crescent, as we passed by the overarching ruins near by the Lateran. What a pleasant day that was!

THE ADVENTURES OF A WEDDING-RING.

BY WILLIAM PICKERSGILL.

I BELONG to a numerous family circle. At the risk, perhaps, of being charged with an immoderate quantity of egotism, I am bound to say that I am one of its most distinguished members. I do not spurn my humbler brethren, for they all have their duties assigned them, and I believe these duties are faithfully and honourably discharged. Our occupations, it is true, are various; one binds the leg of the felon-another soothes the crying child—a third loops up the household drapery—a fourth serves as a pledge of love, constancy, and fidelity. I act in the last of these capacities.

I have recounted a few of our occupations, which will enable the reader, if he have any penetration, to form some opinion of my nature and character. Sometimes I have been called the emblem of eternity, because I have neither a beginning nor an end, but I am simply a small circle of gold-very thin, and bright, and beautiful-in a word, I am neither more nor less than a wedding-ring! My dear madam, how you start! A wedding-ring, I repeat. Is there anything horrible in that? -anything surprising ?-or, perhaps, you think that a wedding-ring can have either nothing to say or too much to say? If you be in the former way of thinking, I can tell you a wedding-ring has a great deal to saymore than, perhaps, it would be prudent at all times to relate.

What hopes are centred in me! Oh! young ladies, am I far from the truth when I say that I am your coveted prize-the thing to which cling your fondest aspirations? Is not everything which you hold most dear associated with me-balls, routs, bridescakes, and I know not what besides? Is there anything which you hold in comparison with me? If you speak frankly, your reply will be in the negative. This, however, is only one view of the question. I might appeal to some and ask them if I have realised all their anticipations. I might ask those who have obtained me whether they have not experienced more pleasure in my pursuit than in my possession. It is an invidious office, and will not, I fear, bear too close a scrutiny. Oh! how many hands have I united, and how few hearts! I am ashamed to think how often I am made the helpless instrument of cupidity, avarice, and shameless selfishness. Oh! what lying protestations sometimes accompany me!

I blush-or rather my metal is slightly suffused with a tarnish-to find that I should so frequently be the precursor of misery. The fault, however, is none of mine. I am surely not to blame if people make compacts totally unsuitable to their respective interests. This subject, however, presents another phase, and I am compelled to confess that but for human selfishness and ingratitude, I might have healed many a broken heart, and snatched many a fair and fragile form from a premature grave.

I must leave these generalities, and speak of myself. About twenty years ago there was a very handsome jeweller's shop in Cheapside-it may be there yet for anything I know. It was kept at that time by a very wealthy Jew, who, I believe, has since been gathered to his fathers.

Upon a purple velvet cushion in the shop of that jeweller I was exposed, along with many other rings, for sale. I would give anything to hear the histories of those rings. I know they must be interesting-I know that from my own. It is, perhaps, better, however, that they should be silent. I shall be charged, no doubt, myself with being a conspirator against the married state, but I am prepared to meet any obloquy that my. disclosures may call down upon me.

I lay some months upon that rich velvet cushion before I was sold, not that there was no demand for rings of that description, or that I was too dear, but entirely because I was not fortunate enough to fit the finger of any of the young ladies who were about to change their condition. I saw my companions depart one by one, till at last there were only six or eight of us left. I thought my turn was long in coming, and I envied those who had gone before me. The truth is, I was tired of lying so long in the shop-window, looking into a noisy and dirty thoroughfare. I was wishful for a change. One day a young lady and gentleman came into the shop. The young lady was exceedingly handsome, and, if I might judge from her countenance, exceedingly amiable; one of the sweetest smiles played perpetually upon her face, and the tones of her voice were soft and musical. I had no sooner seen her than I longed for such a mistress.

"Have you," said the gentleman to the shopman, "a good assortment of wedding-rings ?"

"The very best that you can meet with in London," the man replied. "I will thank you to show me some."

Certainly, sir, with much pleasure."

The case in which I was deposited was brought forward. I was delighted beyond expression: my time, I thought, had come at last. I felt sure the young lady would select me; she tried one after another—at length she came to me. She slipped me over her finger as though I had been made on purpose. I was in ecstasies.

"I think this ring will do," said the young lady.

"If you think so, you had better keep it," said the gentleman.

I was duly purchased, and paid for, and I was much gratified by the acquisition of my beautiful young mistress. I was taken to a somewhat shabby, but retired street. The gentleman knocked at the door of one of the larger houses at the top, which, on being opened, he said:

"I have at length brought you Mrs. Elmore, and I hope she will like her new abode."

"I hope she will," said the landlady; "and I am sure I shall do all that I can to make her comfortable."

"I have no doubt you will," my mistress remarked.

In a few hours I was able to comprehend the relative situations of my master and mistress more clearly. After tea, as they both sat together by the fire, a dark shadow once or twice passed over the fair countenance of the lady, whilst her eyes were intently fixed upon myself.

"Julia, my dear, why do you seem so dull ?" said the gentleman, when she was in one of those abstracted moods.

"My thoughts are sometimes rather oppressive."

They ought not to be so."

Well, perhaps not; but still, when I think upon my situation—when

I look at this ring which we have purchased to-day, I am unavoidably reminded of the deceitful part I am acting."

"How, deceitful ?”

"Is it not deceitful to assume the character of your wife, and to bear your name, without having the least claim to it ?"'

"I hope it will not be necessary for you to remain long in this position; shortly it is my intention, you know, to enable you to declare to the world that you are my wife."

The lady sighed, but made no reply.

I heard my mistress once tell her story to a confidential friend. It was this: She was the daughter of a respectable farmer in Somersetshire. The gentleman with whom she was living had met her at a country ball, fallen in love with her, and accomplished her ruin. He was

a person of fortune, and, under the pretence of making her his wife, he had brought her up to London.

If my mistress disliked the part she was taking, I had no less reason to hate that which I assumed. I had, indeed, the greatest repugnance to the abominable situation in which I was placed. I was acting the part of a false witness; my presence on the wedding finger seemed to imply that my mistress was a wife-a respectable woman. The contrary was really the case. I confess my present degraded condition considerably underrated me in my own estimation. I had always had a very high notion of the mission with which I was entrusted. I grew indignant for a moment, but I soon recovered my usual equanimity. Why should I be indignant?-my mission was the same, but man had perverted it as he had done many things besides.

Days and weeks and months passed away, and my situation became at length very painful; my dear mistress was almost constantly in tears. I do not know whether it was owing to the frequent absence of her soidisant husband, but such was the case. I think she had become more alive to the real character of her situation. Before her arrival in town she had placed the most implicit faith in the assurances of her seducer, but she now began to estimate them at their proper value. When urged upon to fulfil his promises, he either evaded the question or endeavoured by shallow pretexts to keep up the delusion from which she was gradually awakening. I remember an incident which rather annoyed and put me out of love with my mistress, but when I considered her provocation, I forgave her. She was sitting one night alone-the hours passed heavily away for a while she was engaged in looking over some of the letters she had received from her betrayer, which, after she had read, she destroyed one after the other. When she had done this, in a paroxysm of passion, in which I had never before observed her indulge, she pulled me from her finger and threw me upon the floor.

"Begone, thou liar and cheat!" she exclaimed; "I will wear thee no longer; thou shalt no longer be a screen for my wickedness and disgrace. I can appear as I am, the mistress, and not the wife, of him who has accomplished my ruin. I am no hypocrite, and I will disguise myself no longer."

The next day the landlady of the house came into the parlour with me in her hand; she had found me upon the floor while dusting out the

room.