heard, like the loud echoes of cannon in a mountain gorge--the earth shook beneath his feet--a stunning crash was more felt than heard, as if the globe had been hurled in contact with another body--the strong walls on each side seemed giving way--huge masses of the building, falling on all sides, blocked up all egress in front,--behind, all was darkness! Nature could endure no more: his legs refused to support him, and he sank with his precious burden to the ground; yet consciousness did not forsake him, and he preserved her from injury, bending over her yet inanimate form, that he might shield her to the last, and that his head should be the first to receive the blow which he felt assured must fall. The second violent shock was over, yet crash after crash continued to be heard, as each massive wall and lofty tower, which man in his pride had fancied would last for ever, were overturned like pasteboard fabrics raised by childhood's hands. A third time was the loud thunder beneath the earth heard--the ground shook, and the few remaining walls of the convent were cast down, and that vast fabric, which, a few minutes before, had stood firm and entire, was now one shapeless mass of ruins, with hundreds of human beings buried beneath it. The anguish of death came over Luis: Clara--his own Clara, lay, without breathing, in his arms. Her pulse had ceased to beat, animation had fled, and he welcomed destruction as a boon from Heaven. Each instant the end of all things seemed about to arrive; the shrieks of despair, which had before wrung on his ears, were hushed; the thundering crashes of the falling buildings were no longer heard; and the more terror-inspiring muttered roar beneath the earth had ceased; but foul exhalations arose, and poisoned the air, already filled with suffocating dust; and darkness, impenetrable and oppressive, surrounded the lovers. Volume 2, Chapter X. Were we to indulge, while describing scenes like the present, in the light jest, or stroke of satire, we should deem ourselves equally capable of laughing at the anguish and wretchedness to which, in our course through life, we have too frequently been witness; our readers must, therefore, pardon us, if, on this occasion, contrary to their wish, we lay aside that inclination we have hitherto experienced, to satirise the follies and wickedness of our fellow-men. It will be our duty to revert to the events which occurred to the principal personages mentioned in this history. We left the bridal party at the palace of the Marquis d'Alorna. They were assembled in a handsome saloon, which looked towards the street, while all were paying their compliments to the lovely Donna Theresa, and their congratulations to the young marquis, on his happiness at possessing so fair a bride, when a train of carriages was heard passing. "It is the King and the royal family, on their road to Belem," said the Conde d'Atouquia. "They were to go there this morning."