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| Che Examiner. ~

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© ‘THIS Is. TRUE LABERTY WH iN k KR ER-BORN Mk N—H. \VING TO ADVISE THE PUBLIC—MAY SPE AK FRE e PerShges TON'S } EuniPipas, paereenen i : = e- New Series. . CHARLOTTETOWN, SEPTEMBER 23. 1850. Vol Ll: No, 69 oe _ + a a eee - — aaeeeainh aa . ta ~— — een - c & a

aE Y PS i % Y =

THE CONSOLER. In Winter, when the trees are bare, And nights are moonless ; When in the damp and chilting air The birds are tuneless ;

When keen winds rattle on the road And nip our fingers,

There is a comforter abroad, Who never lingers.

Iver he aingsin silent ways— “The winter closes :

‘Tis ] who bring the sunny days, And strew the roses.”

When Summer heats our veins oppress; And the woods swelter ;

When, faint with noon-tide sultriness, We pine for shelier;

When weary of the daily walk O’er moor and meadow,

We long for change—for fire-side talk, And the lamp’s shadow ;

Still sings the soother of our woes— “To sigh is folly:

The same kind haud that brought the rose, Shall briag the holly.”

‘True friend '—too often call’d a foe— He prompts al] gladness ;

Ho whispers warmth when cold winds

blow,

And joy in sadness;

tie lighis the darkness of to- day W ith promised morrows

And has some kindly word to say ° In al! cur sorrows,

For every grief he beara a spell— Care’s best centrolier ;

And ioves al! those who use him well— Time, the Consoler !

Cuaries Mackay.

ON A LATE PORTRAIT OF JEN- NY LIND.

BY ANNA L. SNELLING.

Tis ane to life! in every line we trace

The quick emotions of her radiant face,

The mild, firm lips, the genius lighted eve,

The brow of lofty thought, serene and high!

in gazing thus we almost dream the while

‘Vhose Jips are parting with their wonted smile,

‘Chat heavenly voice in fancy we ean hear

Breathing the welcome to her friends so dear.

- Mat more than this, O matchless child of gong |

noe mere the raptured sou} i¢ borne dlong °

"ba the full tide of melody to rise,

As if on seraph pinions to the skies!

‘The chisellad features of the loveliest

face—

The form of eymmetry and matchless grace—

What are thoy to the bright, o’ermaster- ‘iag soul,

Bubjecting all things to its sweet contro! !

‘fis thus with thee--thy features in re- pose,

Mictt lack the brilliant colouring of the rose.

But genius lends them that celestia! ray

Ng Sime uor change can ever take away.

LEST TA rua

Mary of Hisietines

BY G. P. R. JAMES.

(Concluded )

So well and wisely had her unknown

counsellor hitherto advised her, that Mery followed is directions in this also to the letter. She showed no repugnance, but bending down her head with the ingenu- of modes'y upon her cheek, she hud been dictated. The duke eased; perhaps it was more expected, and he replied) with expectation that fis divorce now be long delayed, after ‘ispensation would be easily ob- ‘ere was but one thing which ught bim earnestiy to grant, Hat she might returo on the (worrow the convent where she had passed her early days.

The ‘ke consented; but while’ he spoke, the old attendant, who had ever rematned attached to her, was adumted by ja page, bending low, he related to the Duke the adventare which had be- fallen them on the way, and commented | bitieriy on the treachery of the driver.

ous Dlusi replied a feeined

than he Sanguine would n which a ained,

Mary. bes which was

the Duke sent for his secretary and whis- pered a din his ear; and #«s he was leading Vary tothe hail where supper awaled em, there came through tne windows the sound of a loud volley and

one shri!) piercing ery. The Dake moved gracefully on by her side without a change of countenance; but Mary turned deadly pale, and on the following morn- Ing another servant drove the vehicle that contained her back to the convent.

It was about noon when she arrived, and the busy nurs sarreuoded her hike a Swarin of bees. They were ali eager to hear tidings from without, but soon satished; and at the same evenine hour at which onthe day before she had watched the fair prospect of the Mantuan plains, she again stood by the tabie of stone in the convent garden, and the Stranger was by her side. She thanked him e8 agerly and often, and gazed upon the bright and glowing ccuntenaice that soond, ‘with tender admiration vpon her again.

“Have [ not won my reward? said.

Mary replied not, but cast down her eyes wif) a warm blush. The stranger bent over her, and with the love ened by respect, his lios upon hers.

“ Mary.” he said, © Mary. I will win thee or die. ‘Three more evenings will [stand by yon old shrine in the dear hope of seeing you again; and then my footsteps muet wander from thee far. But ! leave thee not unwatched, ungarded. My spirit shal! hover round thee though my bo- dy be absent ; and [ promise, | swear, in three months more, even toa day, tostand again in your presence and win you for my bride or die.”

‘There tn ight have been many in Mary’s state and station who would have thought ihe stranger bo id to believe she m ight be

so won by an unknown and inferior per- son, and to talk as ifhe were born ft con jtend for her hand with princes. But Mary thought not so; feelings which she had never known before were busily pos- sessing themselves of her heart, though to feel thein made her thrill with some- thing like epprehension, yet they were so sweet she would do nothing to banish them. . She lingered with hin long and

he with her, and for three nichts more a

they were

?” he

chaste

he pressed

they met and passed a happy hour, cildec with the dawning brightness of yourg Jore.

tenderness of

He left her on the third with a painful and anxious farewell; and Mary now felt how lonely was her state of being.

The hours flew heavily, the days rolled on in care aud anxiety—but she forgot not the absent; and every romour that she heard of movements at the Court of Rome regarding her uncle’s divorce made her heart sick. But Vinsenzo, himself seemed to press matters but feebly, and when at fength the apvaling news reach. ed her that he was free, he showed no in- clination to profit by that feedom.

She then heard that he was sick —sick even to the gates of death, and there were rumours of arming in Gustalla, and of Austrian forces moving to take possession of Mantua on the Duke’s decease, or of irance sending armies to secure it for the house of Nevers. ‘hen came tidings of messengers hurrying to and fro be- tween Paris and Mantua, and berween Mantua aud Rome, andso went by the tine till the three months had passed over, and then, though the air was wintry, Mary eagerly hurried forth and stood by the table of stone as the sun was sinking to repose.+ She gazed over the Mantua plain; but no oue was seen: she listened; but heard not the voice whose memory had cheered her solitude. The sansunk, and all was darkness.

With a heart sad and depressed, she was taking her way back to the conven, wien the bell at the gate rang, and @n unmediate sammons was mven her to proceed to Mantua in one ot the Duke’s carriages with all speed, io hear tie jast injunctions of her dying uncle, State now surrounded her, guards were on each side of the vehicle, and in the convent parlour waited a high dame of the court to accompany her ou the way.

The scene she had to go through, Mary felt would be painfnl ; “but there was a grexter depression at her heart than even the anticipation of stauding by the death hed of her unele could account for. Gloomy then desponding, disappointed and anxious, Mary entered the carriage, ask- ing herself what was to be her fate when her uncle would be no more. Vhat night was dark and stormy; the dull winds blew and whistled along the road, and for abont half a mile not a word was spo- ken by either Mary or her companion.

At length, however, the lady said, “1 have been commanded to inform your Highness as soon as we were actually on the way, that it will be necessary for you to prepare your mind for a great change of condition, The Duke is as you. know at the point of death. The Duke of Ne- vers is next heir tothe coronet of Man- tua, and asit isabsolutely necessary that all claims to this duchy aud Montferrat should centre in one race, it has been de- termined that your Highness should give your hand to the young Duke of Rhetel, son of the Duke of Nevers. The Prince. destined to be your husband, has already arrived in Mantua; and as there is the iInost urgent necessity that your marriage shonid take place before the death of Nuke Vincenzo, he has generous!y deter- mined, that even in his morta] jiliness he will see the alliance completed this very night, the proper dispensations having already arrived from Rome.”

It was with difficulty that Mary of Mantna prevented berself from sinking from the seat in terror and agony. The horror, the awfal horror, of being called upon to wed ene whom she had not before beheld, while her heart was but too surels give to another, overpowered her for 6 few minutes; bat when she recollected ai! the resolutions and covrege of her | race: she protested against the cruelty and injwstiee ef the act which her uncle proposed to commit, and solemnly de, ciaved that botting should rodace her te |

| prison;

} diers;

yield her hand in such indecent baste te an utter stranger. The lady who accom- panied. her heard all with that chilling coldness which is far inore dispiriing than actual opposition, and meraly said, “thar she fexred her Highness would find herself forced to obey. ”

Mary had recourse to silence: and though her heart was sad and heavy, it remained firm, and she said 10 herself, “They can bat kill me—that they will not do—and if they do, better 86 to die.”

Once more, then, she passed the mani- fold wates and draw-bridges, aml entered, what she felt to be, for her , one vast dark but she thought of him she loved and though she call ed him crae! in her own heart, for not having come to advise s deliver her—still she felt that she

loved, and that she could not, dare not, wed another.

The gates of the palace were at length reached ; the courts were filled with sol- cannon guarded the entrance ; everything told that vast preparations had been to secure tranquility among the peo- ple on the death of tae reigning duke.

Sue saw light streaming from the. hal} abov ye,and led forward by her companion, she advanced up the wide staircase and into the antechainber ‘There, however, an officer addressed her, saying, “ All is ready, Madam, the, Duke waits yonr Hichness. There is not a moment to spare !”” ,

* Go forward, Madam!” said Mary te the lady who accompanied her, * go fer- ward and tell iny unele my unaltered re- solve, as [ announced it to you,”

The Jady paused and looked beck, But she saw that Mury could not escape, and advancing, she entered the hall beyond, leaving the door ajar behind her. Mary could only see the faded form of her un- cle lying on a splendid couch, and leok- ing as if death had already achieved the victory. But she heard first his voice say sharp!v, “If not by good will, by force !” and then another, but a awecter voice, add in the French tongue, * Let me speik with her fora moment, my gre- cious lord,”

An instant after the door opened, and, clothed with princely apparel, a young man appeared. But Mary’s heart beat fast—her knees trembled—the color came and went. in her cheeks—she stretched forth her arms towards him-— she fell almost fainting on his bosom.

“Oh! why came you not? why came you not?” she cried.

“Hark, Mary!” he answered, as the palace clock struck lond and clear; * hark, beloved, it is the hour of meetings and | am here, Thine own, dear cousin, Charles of Gonzaga—will you refuse the Duke of Rhetel still ?”

‘The warm, warm blood, was all over that bright face, but the smile—-the timid yet confiding smile, spoke more than words could have done, and ina moment more the Duke of Rhete!, led on to the altar, raised in the hall beyond, a trem- bling, a blushing but not 4n unbappy bride.

: nog

! _SORRESPONDENG bg.

ISLANDER FA LSEHOODS.

& caida TO THE EDITOR OF THE EXAMINER. Sin—The Islander defies me to prove ‘hat any falsehoods have been inserted ‘herein, . In that paper of Sth August, 1850, is the following paragraph :— “The Land Question had previoussy

een a standing dish, with the liberate every session, but eince their epion with

‘the corruptionist#, the sybject has never

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