rs from England.

Now that it is past, I may confess, that till now, a faint--a very
faint hope did cling to my heart. I thought it might have been just
possible; but it is over now--_all_ is over!

We leave Lyons on Tuesday, and travel by short easy stages; and they
think I may still reach Paris. I will hold up--if possible.

Yet if they would but lay me down on the road-side, and leave me to
die in quietness! to rest is all I ask.

24.--St. Albin. We arrived here yesterday--

* * * * *

The few sentences which follow are not legible.

Four days after the date of the last paragraph, the writer
died at Autun in her 26th year, and was buried in the garden
of the Capuchin Monastery, near that city.--EDITOR.

THE END.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: First published in 1826.]

[Footnote B: It must not be forgotten that this was written ten years
ago: the aspect of Paris is much changed since then.]

[Footnote C: By Christian Friederich Tieck.]

[Footnote D: "Rousseau, Voltaire, our Gibbon, and De Stael,
Leman! those names are worthy of thy shore."
LORD BYRON.]

[Footnote E: The sentence which follows is so blotted as to be
illegible.--ED.]

[Footnote F: This was indeed ignorance! (1834.)]

[Footnote G: Hail, O Maria, full of grace! the Lord is with thee!
blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
even JESUS. Holy Virgin Mary, mother of God! pray for us
sinners--both now and in the hour of death! Amen.--ED.]

[Footnote H: The family of the Cenci was a branch of the house of
Colonna, now extinct in the direct male line. The last Prince Colonna,
left two daughters, co-heiresses, of whom one married the Prince
Sciarra, and the other the Prince Barberini. In this manner the
portrait of Beatrice Cenci cane into the Barberini family. The
authenticity of this interesting picture has been disputed: but last
night after hearing the point extremely well contested by two
intelligent men, I remained convinced of its authenticity.]

[Footnote I: TRANSLATION, EXTEMPORE.

Love, by my fair one's side is ever seen,
He hovers round her steps, where'er she strays,
Breathes in her voice, and in her silence speaks,
Around her lives, and lends her all his arms.

Love is in every glance--Love taught her song;
And if she weep, or scorn co