the stories of enchanted castles, and wandering adventurers, of which he had been so fond, in his early youth, were here realized.


AFTER a repast, rather hospitable than splendid, during which the looks of paternal admiration, and tenderness with which the Count observed every action of Anzoletta, and her innocent and agreeable vivacity, rendered them both more attractive to Willoughby: Monsieur de Bellegarde, finding that Willoughby rather wished to listen to the history he had promised, than to take any repose, during the heat of the day, proposed retiring to the north gallery, and there beginning this interesting account. Willoughby most readily agreed to the plan—and the Count, dismissing his daughter and her governess, led him hither.

This room extended far on the north side of the building—and looked over the moat to a wood of fir and cypress, fringing the abrupt ascent of the mountain, which rose almost perpendicularly from the. plain. As this acclivity commanded the castle, two strong redoubts were built on it, where, in hostile times, parties were stationed to keep the enemy from possessing posts, whence the castle might be annoyed. In the port-holes of these fortresses, now fast approaching to decay, the cannon yet remained, though rusty and useless—and the strong but tresses, and circular towers, mantled with ivy, were seen to aspire above the dark trees, on every side encompassing them—while, a little to the west, from a fractured rock, of yellow granite, which started out amid the trees, a, boiling and rapid stream rushed with violence, and pouring down among the trees, was seen only at intervals, as they either crowded over it, or, receding, left its foaming current to flash in the says of the sun.
It was altogether one of the most sublimely beautiful landscapes Willoughby had ever

seen; and he contemplated the scenery with pensive pleasure, while the master of it thus addressed him:
Perhaps you are so well read in the history of France, as to make it unnecessary for me to remark—that my family is ancient and illustrious.—My father, the Count of Bellegarde, was educated with every prejudice that could make him tenacious of his rank, and anxious to support it.—He was married early by my grandfather to the heiress of the house of Ermenonville; and his eldest son, the only issue of that marriage, inherited from his mother the great property of that family.
But ambition, which my father possessed a great share, both from his temper and his education, saved him not entirely from the influence of soster passions.—During the life of his