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New Serics.

PaRTey. LIFE IN CLOUDLAND. A Poet built an air chateau High in the summer heaven, Ail tinted with the rainbow’s glow, And bright with gold of even.

I’barned with emulation proud, As mortals often do,

And thought that on the tinted cloud I'd build my castle too.

‘Then straight a fairy structure rose, Turret, and tower, and dome,

Whe court its gorgeous aisles disclose Might be a Peri’s home.

The stars upon its azure walls For evening lamps were given, A wind-harp filled its “ airy halls” With music meet for heaven.

The spirits of the light went by In every glancing ray,

And tomy golden portals high Came many a gentle fay.

But place was none in fairy hall Where human love might twine, And not a sprite was ’mong them all

Who bore a heart liké mine.

The wind swept o’er my high-strung harp, But sadness filled ite tone ;

fy soul amid the stars grew dark, for | was there alone.

One evening when the moonbeam kissed Each cloud- wrought colonnade,

And silver-touched my towers of inist, While all below was shade.

I leaned from that lone parapet ; The breeze that swept my hair,

As if to soothe all fond regret, Thrilied with a tender air.

A chime of mingled voices sweet Rose from the darkened earth,—

I knew its tones, with love replete, Rose from a happy hearth:

Fleft my harp of magic rare For that sweet human sound, And changed my castle in the air For a cottage off the ground.

wo.

_ SELRET TALE.

Mary of Mantua.

BY G. P. R. JAMES.

“The noble house of Gonzags,” says aut Italian writer, in the year 1627, “had declined from its former splendor, and, forgetful of its ancient valour and wisdom, had given itself up to luxury and intem- rerance.” Three brothers had succes- sively filled the ducal chair, Francesco, Ferdinando, and Vincenzo, and each had distinguished himself not by restoring “ay vigor toa decaying line, but by in- ‘roducing new modes and forms of vice.

The first of these brothers, Francesco, had left one child by a neglected and in- Jtred wife : but that child was a daughter, std in her mere infaney when her father fied; and while the undoubted law be- “owed the duchy of Mantua on the bro- ther of the deceased prince, the arm of power gave him also the duchy of Mont- etrat, which the lawyers of Italy held to

long of her own right ta Mary of Man- ‘98. Under the guardianship of her uncle

inand she rose toward womanhood. “quiring new graces and accomplish. Maia every hour, but rarely suffered t

“THIS Is TRUE LIBERTY WHEN

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REK-BORN MEN—HAVING TO ADVISE THE PUBLIC—MAY

CHARLOTTETOWN, SEPTEMBER 21. 1850.

appear at his court, and kept carefally from the eyes and tongues of all who might be captivated hy her beauty, or inform her of her rights.

At length, however, in the year 1626, the consequences of vices and follies carried Ferdinand childless to the grave. and the Jast male of the race, Vincenzo, bound his brow with the ducal wreath of Mantua. Searcely had he taken posses- sion of the durkedom, when Mary receiv- ud a summons to appear in his presence, and hastened to obey.

She was at that time in the convent of ,afew miles from the city of Mun- tua, in which she had been educated, and usually resided. No state—no display marked out the Princess from among the nuns; and it was only a greater degree of liberty, a different dress, and the prac- tice of the different accomplishments which formed the relief of her solitary life, that distinguished the fair young Duchess of Montferrat from her cloistered companions. ‘T'wo servants, indeed, were allowed to her; the maid who had atten- ded upon her from her youth, and: the good man who had been ordinary ecuyer to her mother. She had mules, too, to take the fresh air, beyond the limits of the convent gardens, so that her life was easy if not happy ; and feeling no passions, knowing no joys beyond the simple ones of her condition, she sought not to change a fate so calm, for that sea of troubles the distant roaring of whose waves she heard even in her tranquil solitude.

{t was evening when she received the summons toxuttend upon the new Duke, and her heart beat somewhat quickly, for many a dark tale had been told within the convent walls, of the crimes and faults of Vincenzo of Gonzaga, the faithless priest, the married cardinal. It was evening, and in the autumn, but yet warm and bright, with glow'ng skies and rich verdure, and grapes swinging from tree to tree, ready for the basket of the husbaadman; and as Mary stood in the convent garden, waiting for the carriage which was to convey her to Mantua, as fair and beautiful a scene was spread before her eves as the pencil ever borrow- ed from that land of sunshine. Wide extended beneath her view lay the fair Mantua plains toward Vernoa—plains and scenes which never quitted the memory of the great Roman poet, though he aban- doned his birth-place for more southern lands—and there, bathed in purple light, with every blue shadow, minoled with liquid gold, appeared the gentle sweeps and soft lines of trees and manifold streams, with here and there the feudal casile crowning an eminence, or the tower of some village church rising up out of the dell. The songs of the vinegather- ers, for they had already begun, made the air tuneful; and the sight of manifold living objects in the distance, trains of gay peasantry, the loaded cart, the quick- driven car, and the silver-gray cattle swimming in the Mincio, rendered the landscape gay as beautiful.

Nor was Mary herself (could anv eye have seen her there) an object wortlty of but slight remark. Exquisitely Jovely, with an air and expression not exactiy melancholy, but of that calm pensiveness which her life and situation were so calculated to give, she stood by the wal! of the convent garden, partly leaning upon a worn stone table which had much the character of an ancient tomb, partly resting against a high Gothic cross which rose from the lower wall of the garden, and marked out—to the eye of those who travelled along the road that ran at the bottom of the deep bank below—the abode of those who, dedicating themselves to @ life of religious solitude, found peace

or discontent according te the feelings of |

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their own hearts.’ Her whole person was full of loveliness, her whole attitude re- plete with grace, ...Her hands rested crossed on a book, which she had taken to while away the time, her head was slightly bent forward, and her eyes gazed upon the distant prospect, while the white drapery in which she was clothed, and the warm loveliness of her complex- ion, contrasted beautifully with the cold gray stone and yellow lichens of the an- cient cross,

As she thus stood and gazed, she heard @ voice not far distant say, “ Lady !” ina low and gentle tone. ‘Those were days, however, in which danger was frequently close to the domestic hearth, that prepa- ration was ever the part of manly courage, apprehension a Matdral part of womanly weakness.

Mary of Mantua started suddenly back, and looked around with fear, but the same voice repeated:

“Lady, be not alarmed. [ft is a friend who would warn you of matters touching your safety.”

At the same time, from behind the ruined column of what had once been a smail chapel, attached to the walls, came forth a stranger with a slow step, as. if afraid, by any sudden movement, of scar- ing the fair girl away. The wall was still between them. it is true; but the stranger held his giddy footing easily on the top of the high bank, and the wall was there not breast-high.

(To be continued in our next )

Che Examiner.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1950,

ae ce ttt eee

MR. LAWSON’S LETTER. Wuen we published some remarks ine late number of this paper, touching the inconsistency which has marked the ca- reer of Mr. Lawson since he ceased to be the editor of the Review and become con- nected with the Gazelfe, we did not anti- cipate that that gentleman himself would come forward voluntarily to corroborate our principal statements. He has pub- lished a letter inthe last Gazelle, address- ed “to the editor of the Examiner,” which establishes conclusively the fact of his hav- ing changed his opinions regarding the conduct and proceedings of the majority of the House of Assembly. We were desirous of putting this fact clearly before the public, and drawing the following conclusion from it: that a public writer so liable to change can never be depend- ed on, as a guide and instructor through the press. Mr. Lawson has kindly testi- fied to the truth of the fact,

We regret that we have wounded the sensitive feelings of our worthy confrere, by making him the subject of a newspapet article, and putting him on his “ trial for political apostacy at the bar of the public.” But Mr. Lawson should remember that the paper over which he no v exercises con- trou!, has seldomor never spared ‘the feel- ings of thoze who differ from it in opinion whenever an opportinity offered for ap-* plying the lash; and we confess we are ata loss to understand why our conduct should be styled “ disgracefully atrocious’:

SPEAK FREE.”—MiTor’s EURIPIDES.

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when we happen to put in force the lex]

SEMI-WEEKLY INTELLIGENCER.

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Vol. 1: No.6

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fahonis-against one of our defamers. Wien we asserted that he held a retainer from the Government, {o defend it in the columns of the Gazetle, we did not snip- pose that any person would give our words a litera] interpretation, Since Mr. Lawson appears, hewever, to be so thick- skulled and thin-skinned, we shall briefir explain what we meant by the “retainer :” The Gazelle is directly under the control of the Government, and. is paid by the Government for its publications, . When a gentleman is employed to write for that paper, and receives compensation for his writings, is it unreasonable to regard him as the retained advocate of the Adminis- tration. His pay, to be sure, may net come directly from the Treasury to bis pocket; but the “cherished fee” comes through Mr. Haszard’s hands, who re- ceives it from the Treasury. If Mr. Law- son can Satisfy the public that his edito- rials for the Gazetfe are gratuitous contri- butions ; and that he is at liberty to write against the Government, a8 well as for ix, in the columns of that paper, if he should feel inclined so to do,—then we shalj withdraw the assertion at which the pride of the learned advocate seems to have taken offence. What, in short, we meant to convey is simply this: that Mr. Law- son, as editor of the Gazette, is not, and cannot be, his own master. We will per- sist in this belief in spite of all our bre- ther’s sophistry.

Mr. Lawson may be a good pleader and practitioner in the Courts of law, but he is evidently ignorant of the responsibilities of the editorial office, when he puts on unseemly airs inthe exercise of its d@u- ties, and arrogates to himself privileges which would not even be allowed in the other profession. “ Whatever may be the nature,” he observes, “of the connexion between the proprietor of the Gazelle and myself, or the extent of my commnniez- tions to that Periodical, they concern neither you nor the public.” Again, he says: “Of what consequence is it whe- ther such puerile effusions are the com- position of John Lawson, John Dickson, or John Thompson?” This is a mosi extraordinary doctrine to be held by the conductor of a Periodical! That his communications, written for the instric- tion of ihe public, do not concern the pub - lic! Pray, who do they concern? And is Mr. Lawson, then, content to be regar¢- ed asa mere machine for supplying Mr.

| Haszard with ideas, of which Mr. I. ie

to have the honours of the midwifery? We are sorry to think that any ed.or shou'd have so mean an opinion of bia vocation. But Mr. Lawson—much as be may be desirous of doing so—cannet shirk the responsibility of his writings True, the “ puerile compositions of Jolin Laweon, John Dickson, or John Thomp- son,” would be of no consequence to any one, if they came to the public nuthents- cated by the name of the writer; but the pullie would, nevertheless; have aright