and formless, and indefinitive, and was the shadow neither of man nor God--neither God of Greece, nor God of Chaldæa, nor any Egyptian God. And the shadow rested upon the brazen doorway, and under the arch of the entablature of the door, and moved not, nor spoke any word, but there became stationary and remained. And the door whereupon the shadow rested was, if I remember aright, over against the feet of the young Zoilus enshrouded. But we, the seven there assembled, having seen the shadow as it came out from among the draperies, dared not steadily behold it, but cast down our eyes, and gazed continually into the depths of the mirror of ebony. And at length I, Oinos, speaking some low words, demanded of the shadow its dwelling and its appellation. And the shadow answered, "I am SHADOW, and my dwelling is near to the Catacombs of Ptolemais, and hard by those dim plains of Helusion which border upon the foul Charonian canal." And then did we, the seven, start from our seats in horror, and stand trembling, and shuddering, and aghast: for the tones in the voice of the shadow were not the tones of any one being, but of a multitude of beings, and, varying in their cadences from syllable to syllable, fell duskily upon our ears in the well remembered and familiar accents of a thousand departed friends. For the Southern Literary Messenger. CURSE OF THE "BETRAYED ONE." A FRAGMENT--BY HUGH BLAIR. They moved her couch, that the whispering breath Of evening might come with its balmy sigh, And fan her brow, e'er the film of death Spread over her dark and beautiful eye. But she heeded not the whispering wind, For her burning thoughts afar were roaming; Madness had seized on her wretched mind, And her high brow throb'd, and her lips were foaming! And the beautiful curls of her sable hair Streamed wildly over her fevered pillow-- And her bosom heaved in its whiteness there, As the breeze heaves up the snowy billow-- And her teeth with convulsive grasp were set, And her eye burned bright as a beam of day-- She twined her hand in her locks of jet, And tore their glittering curls away! And she screamed with a wild, convulsive shriek, Then uttered a low protracted groan-- As ye've heard the wind thro' your lattice break, And die away with a hollow moan. But at length, through the evening's gathering gloom, Her voice came forth from the riven chords Of her broken heart, as from a tomb! And she utter'd these wild and fearful words: