Say--are ye _mirthful_?--then we'll sing Of wayward feasts and frolicking;-- Tell jests and gibes,--nor lack we store Of knightly tales, and monkish lore; High freaks of dames and cavaliers, Of warlocks, spectres, elfs, and seers, Till with glad heart, and blithesome brow, Ye bless your brothers of the bow! Is _sadness_ courted?--ye shall lie When summer's sultry noons are high, By darkling forest's shadow'd stream To muse;--or, sweeter still, to dream Day-dreams of love; while round ye rise Distant, delicious harmonies; Until ye languishing declare An archer's life, indeed is fair! M. L. B. * * * * * THE NOVELIST NO. CV. * * * * * THE GHIBELLINES. _A Fragment of a Tuscan Tale_. BY MISS EMMA ROBERTS. "His name's Gonzago.--The story is extant, and written in very choice Italian." Ten thousand lights burned throughout the Alberoni palace, and all the nobility of Florence flocked to the bridal of its wealthy lord. It was a fair sight to see the stately mirrors which spread their shining surfaces between pillars of polished marble reflecting the gay assemblage, that, radiant with jewels, promenaded the saloon, or wreathed the dance to the witching music of the most skilful minstrels in all Tuscany. Every lattice was open, and the eye, far as it could reach, wandered through illuminated gardens, tenanted by gay groups, where the flush of the roses, the silver stars of the jasmine, the crimson, purple, orange, and blue of the variegated parterre were revealed as if the brightest blaze of day flashed upon their silken leaves. Amid all this pomp of beauty and splendour the bride moved along, surpassing all that was fair and resplendent around her by the exceeding loveliness of a face and form to which every eye and every heart paid involuntary homage. At her side appeared the exulting bridegroom, to whom, however, more it should seem through diffidence than aversion, her eyes were never raised; for though Count Alberoni had advanced beyond the middle age of life, yet he still retained the majestic port and commanding lineaments for which he had been distinguished in early youth; his riches rendered him all potent in Florence, and none dared dispute with him the possession of its fairest flower. Intoxicated with the pleasures offered at the banquet and the ball, whatever of envy or of jealousy might have been hidden in the bosoms of the guests while contemplating the treasure which the triumphant Alberoni had snatched from contending suitors, it was concealed, and the most cheerful hilarity prevailed. Yet, amid the general expression of happiness, there were two persons who, attracting notice by the meanness of their attire, and the melancholy gloom upon their countenances, seemed to be out of place in so stately and so joyous an assembly. They were brother and sister, the descendants of