I see _her_ now—she trembles— There is phrensy in her eye; Her blanchéd lip is quivering; There is no good angel nigh;— She falls,—the deep-toned bugle Breaks on the quiet air; Look to the calm blue heaven— That sound—her soul—are there! In the cavalcade she saw him, In his plumes and armor drest, And more closely to her bosom His treasured gifts she prest; Her eye met his—’twas finished— Not a word by tongue was spoken; A cold glance—a look of passion— And her heart was broken! How common are such histories, In the cottage and the hall; From prison bars how many eyes Look on life’s carnival! The joys we seek are phantoms That fade ere closed the hand In the dark reached forth to grasp them, But the brain receives their brand. * * * * * THE TWO DUKES. BY ANN S. STEPHENS. (Concluded from page 245.) The duke saw his wife, and at first seemed willing to avoid her, but after moving forward a step or two, he turned back, took her hand in his with an energy that startled her, and pressing his lips to it, turned away and hurried on with the guard still surrounding him. The duchess stood gazing after him, filled with strange apprehension. The force with which he had wrung her hand was still painful, and there was an expression in his face which made her heart sink with sad forebodings. What had befallen him? Where was her daughter—and why did he, who so seldom forgot the etiquette of his high station, take leave of her thus, when only going forth for a morning? As the gentle and yet proud lady stood pondering these things in her mind, the old counsellor, whom we have mentioned, returned slowly up the corridor, and approaching her with touching reverence, told her all. She thanked him, tried to smile as she extended her hand—but in the effort her strength gave way, and she fell pale and helpless on the stone floor. The old man lifted her in his arms, and carrying her to the Lady Jane Seymour’s room, placed her on the bed, and bathed her temples with water, which he laved from a silver basin with his hand, till at last he went forth in despair to call assistance, for she lay upon the glowing counterpane pale and still, like a draped statue reposing in the purple gloom which filled the chamber; and for many long hours the lady who had always seemed so quiet, proud, and almost void of feeling, remained as one dead. It was half an hour before Lady Jane was informed of her mother’s condition. She was still in her father’s closet, with her hand locked in that of Lord Dudley, and her large troubled eyes bent earnestly upon him, as he spoke to her in a voice so deep, so earnest and impassioned, that every tone thrilled through her heart with a power that made it tremble.