I had the curiosity, soon after the first disturbance, to go to the house of the deceased, under the pretext of visiting the old lady who had so faithfully attended him in his last illness. She told me her friend had an unbounded affection for Antonelli; that he had, for some weeks previous to his death, talked only of her, and sometimes represented her as an angel, and then again as a devil. When his illness became serious, his only wish was to see her before his dissolution, probably in hopes of receiving from her some kind expression, or prevailing on her to give him some consoling; proof of her love and attachment. Her obstinate refusal caused him the greatest torments, and her last answer evidently hastened his end; for, added she, he made one violent effort, and raising his head, he cried out in despair, _"No, it shall avail her nothing; she avoids me, but I'll torment her, though the grave divide us!"_ And indeed the event proved that a man may perform his promise in spite of death itself. _Weekly Review._ * * * * * UGGOLINO. MODERNIZED FROM THE "MONK'S TALE" IN CHAUCER. _(For the Mirror.)_ Of Uggolino, Pisa's hapless Count, How shall my Muse the piteous tale relate! Near to that city, on a gentle mount, There stands a tow'r--within its donjon grate They lock'd him up, and, dreadful to recount, With him three tender babes to share his fate! But five years old the eldest of the three-- Oh! who could rob such babes of liberty! Doom'd was the Count within that tow'r to die, Him Pisa's vengeful bishop did oppose; With covert speech and false aspersions sly He stirr'd the people, till they madly rose, And shut him in this prison strong and high; His former slaves are now his fiercest foes. Coarse was their food, and scantily supplied, A prelude to the death these captives died. And on a luckless day it thus befell-- About their surly jailer's wonted hour To bring them food, he enter'd not their cell, But bolted fast their prison's outer door. This on the County's heart rang like a knell-- Hope was excluded from this grizzly tow'r. Speechless he sat, despair forbade to rave-- This hold was now their dungeon and their grave. His youngest babe had not seen summers three; "Father," he cried, "why does the man delay To bring out food? how naughty he must be; I have not eat a morsel all this day. Dear father, have you got some bread for me? Oh, if you have, do give it me, I pray; I am so hungry that I cannot sleep-- I'll kiss you, father--do not, do not weep." And day by day this pining innocent Thus to his father piteously did cry, Till hunger had perform'd the stern intent Of their fierce foes. "Oh, father, I shall die! Take me upon your lap--my life is spent-- Kiss me--farewell!" Then with a gentle sigh, Its spotless spirit left the suff'ring clay, And wing'd its fright to everlasting day.