"This is no time for delay. Away, Captain Dundas!" exclaimed York; "you must fly. Catanio will lead you to the beach ere the house is surrounded. Farewell, sir! a long farewell to you: we may never meet again!" Deeply moved by the old man’s manner, I bowed, and, according to the custom, kissed the hand he extended towards me: a massive ruby ring—the great coronation ring of our ancient kings—sparkled on his finger. Catanio hurried me away, and by the most unfrequented paths we reached the beach; while the soldiers surrounded and searched the villa. The cardinal died a few months afterwards, at Rome, in the eighty-second year of his age, and was buried between his father and brother at Frescati. Henry IX. is inscribed on his tomb; which the genius of Canova has adorned with the most splendid sculpture. It is a curious fact, that till the last day of his life, the cardinal was in communication with many men of rank, wealth, and power, who seemed still to have entertained the chimerical hope of placing him on the British throne; and many documents discovered after his decease, and now preserved in our archives, prove that his family had, even then, numerous adherents in the three kingdoms: some of them men whom the Government could little have suspected of such sentiments. Buonaparte, too—that overturner of kings and kingdoms—is said to have expressed a wish to place him on the throne; and, as an earnest of his friendship, robbed him of his French estates: but the star of the Stuarts had set. George III. kindly and wisely passed over in silence the names of those whose romantic enthusiasm, or political bias, the papers of the cardinal-duke had so awkwardly revealed. I got on board Zamori’s little sloop in safety; and, in obedience to the cardinal’s command, the warp was cast off, the sweeps run out, and he anchored about half a mile from the shore. Catanio left me, promising to return after dusk with the signora, whom I anxiously awaited; expecting every minute to see bayonets glittering on the sunny beach, or a boat filled with armed men push off towards the barque of Zamori. The latter was a garrulous old fellow, whose tongue gave me very little time for reflection. Night began to close over Canne; and I beheld its approach with joy: the day had seemed interminably long. The evening gun was fired from the French fort, the tricolor descended from its ramparts, and I heard the evening hymn floating over the glassy sea from the various craft around us; where many of the sailors lay stretched upon bundles of sails, smoking cigars, tinkling the mandolin, and enjoying the rich sunset of their glorious clime. Sinking behind the mountains, the sun bade us adieu; darkness gradually crept along the winding shore, and white vapours curled in fantastic shapes from the low flats and ravines: slowly and brightly the moon soared into view, bathing land and ocean in a flood of silvery light.