Marquis de Alberti. It was not likely, therefore, that she would offer any obstacle to the completion of Eribert's wishes. On the contrary, her utmost influence was used on his behalf, and the preparations for the union were speedily completed. The ceremony was to be performed in private, and attended only by Madame Durazzo and one of her neighbours, Eribert led the beautiful Constance to the altar. A strange oppressive, and undefinable feeling came over the heart of Eribert as he led his intended bride up the dim aisle of the chapel where the marriage was to take place. The priest commenced the ceremony, and a sensation almost amounting to horror took possession of the bridegroom. He felt like one about to take a part in some unholy and accursed sacrifice, and as he looked on the downcast and trembling Constance, his imagination pictured her as the victim. He strove vainly to overcome these feelings, and he shuddered involuntarily as the priest pronounced the closing benediction. Constance was, however, now his bride, and as he pressed her to his breast, he fondly thought that, spite of his previous ominous sensations, his bliss would be both lasting and perfect. The period appointed for his return to his parents had gone by, and as they would no longer be pacified by his reiterated excuses, he was compelled, shortly after his union, to bid his bride a reluctant adieu.

Proudly did the Marquis and Marchioness de Alberti embrace their beloved son, but Eribert's thoughts were with his bride at Florence, and he found some difficulty in evading the inquiries of his mother, who with the keen eye of maternal love soon saw that he met her not with his usual expression of frank delight. Eribert shrank from the idea of deceiving his parents, yet when he gazed on their dignified forms, and saw the state with which they were surrounded, he felt that it would be almost madness in him to expect their sanction to his union. The secret, therefore, remained closely shut up in his own breast. Slowly passed the time which he was obliged to spend at the seat of his ancestors, ere he returned to his adored Constance. Several months had glided on, when availing himself of the absence of his father, who had departed to visit a distant estate, he again set out on his way to Florence. Attended only by a confidential servant, he travelled with a lover's speed, and joyfully did he enter the fair city in which he had treasured up his hopes.

Day had closed when Eribert arrived at the place of his destination, and leaving his steed to the care of his attendant, he proceeded on foot to his wife's habitation. He paced the well-known street with rapid steps. The night was one of alternate gloom and brightness, and a cloud had now veiled the face of the moon, but he perceived a light burning in the home of Constance, and was in the act of bounding over the street, when he beheld the dark figure of a man muffled in a cloak emerging from the house. He started back in astonishment, and retreating beneath the shade of a projecting door-way, he watched unseen the man's movements. The stranger cast around looks of anxious observation, and then glided stealthily away. What did he there? Could Madame Durazzo be the object of his visit-if so why did he steal away in such a guilty manner? Perchance Constance-at the thought a jealous fury fired his brain, and he rushed after the figure. The person whom he pursued, on hearing the advance of footsteps, stopped short, and turned suddenly round. "Villain!" cried Eribert, "defend yourself!" and unsheathing his sword, he

dashed madly at the unknown, who drawing forth his own weapon, vigor. ously repelled the attack. They struck at random, for they were in darkness. By a chance thrust Eribert wounded the sword arm of his opponent, whose weapon fell from his grasp. Eribert's blade was aimed in the direction of his enemy's heart, when the moon burst its shroud, and shone brightly on the combatants. Eribert's hand sank powerless by his side-he sprang back as from a spectre-he gazed upon his father! For a few moments they stood in mute astonishment. The silence was broken by the Marquis de Alberti. "What means this, sir!" said he, "have you turned spy-or think you I have lived too long, that thus you come upon me like a midnight assassin-boy wouldst thou commit parricide?" "By heavens, I knew you not!" said Eribert, in horror and surprise. "Follow me," said the Marquis. Eribert obeyed in silence, and his father led the way to an obscure house of entertainment. They entered a small room. The Marquis locked the door, and sank exhausted on a chair. Eribert would have assisted in binding up the wound he had inflicted, but his aid was refused. "Away!" cried the Marquis, "I seek no help from an assassin-explain this conduct, or you are henceforth no son of mine." "Father," said Eribert, "first tell me, in mercy I beseech you tell me, what know you of Constance Durazzo?" The Marquis started from his seat with a pale and ashy countenance, and his lips quivered with pas sion. His hand sought his sword, but the scabbard was empty. "Death and hell!" he cried, "must I endure this, madman; forbear, forbeartempt not thy father thus!" Then suddenly subduing his emotion, he recovered his former cold and haughty bearing, and tnus addressed his son."Presumptuous boy, by what right playest thou the spy upon my actions? How darest thou thus to question me?" "Hear me," said Eribert, "father, hear me. In this case, in this alone, I have a right to question you the right of Constance Durazzo's husband!" "Her husband!" groaned the Marquis and fell senseless on the floor. Eribert, utterly confounded, used every means for his father's recovery, and he was at length restored to consciousness. He gazed around, with a wild and haggard look, and murmured "what horrid dream is this?-ha! EribertGreat God! 'tis real!" He was again relapsing into insensibility, but, with a powerful effort, he mastered his feelings, and retained his faculties. "God, oh, God!" continued he, "the sins of the father are indeed visited on his children. Answer me-is Constance Durazzo thy wife?" Father, we are married." "Then Heaven pardon thee, my child, for THOU ART WEDDED TO THY SISTER!" "My sister!" gasped Eribert, convulsively-" no, no, it cannot be-father you rave-trifle not with me thus!" "Listen to me," said the Marquis, "listen, whilst my parched lips give utterance to a tale whose every word must sink into thy soul, as though impressed upon thy brain with brand of burning iron. Thou well know'st that a deadly feud subsisted betwixt thy mother's father and mine The enmity of parents descends not always to their offspring-thy mother and myself saw, and loved each other. We met often in secret, for we knew that our sires would never consent to our union, and in an evil hour, when passion triumphed over reason, thy mother fell from virtue. Oh, the agonies I was destined to endure from that fatal indiscretion' More than a year had elapsed, when I was informed that the effects of our stolen interviews could no longer be concealed. Feigning an invitation from a

own.

relative who resided at a distance from her father's residence, thy mother contrived to leave her home for a time, and taking refuge in a retreat I had provided for her near Florence, she gave birth to an infant. I placed the child in the care of Madame Durazzo, with an injunction that she would adopt it as her own. A short period after this event, the mother's father died, and as the enmity of my sire extended not beyond the grave, with some difficulty I obtained his consent to my union with the daughter of his deceased foe. Thy mother and myself were united, but still I resolv ed to preserve the reputation of my bride unsullied, and the offspring of our guilt knew not her parents. Having completed the business which was the cause of my present journey, I halted to-night, on my return homewards, at Florence. An irresistible impulse led me to re-visit the house of Madame Durazzo, and inquire from her the destiny of the infant I had confided to her care. I found that it had grown up to womanhood, rich in beauty and accomplishments. I enfolded the innocent fruit of my crime in my arms, and bestowed upon it my blessing. Constance (such I found was the name bestowed upon my child) knelt before me, and earnestly entreated that I would at least inform her of her parents' names and rank, but pride, and a slavish fear of the world's censure, prevailed over the dictates of my heart, and I was proof against her supplications. I tore myself from her, and left the house."

After that night the Marquis de Alberti never again beheld his son, who soon found in battle the death which he sought. The brief remainder of the existence of the ill-fated Constance was terminated in a convent.

THE TREE OF ODD-FELLOWSHIP.

AN ALLEGORY.

BY P. G. BENJAMIN SCOTT, (Manchester District, Eng )

FIRM in the centre of the sea,

A rock-bound island long hath stood,
On which there grows a goodly tree,
The tree of faith and brotherhood.
'Twas planted by an angel's hand,

Sent down in mercy from above,
To guide and cheer our father-land,
To bind us in paternal love.

Fair is its form, and passing fair
The fertile spot where it doth root,
Its broad umbrageous branches bear,
A blessed life-sustaining fruit,

It flourisheth o'er all the earth,

Beloved by the grateful soul,
Its precious seeds and moral worth,
Have spread its fame from pole to pole.

'Tis free from foul corruption's curse,

And pure as is the maiden's lip; A thousand tongues its praise rehearse, THE TREE OF TRUE ODD-FELLOWSHIP. Oh! blessed tree, our hope below,

Beneath thy boughs mankind are blest, There can we soothe our deepest woe, There can we find a blissful rest.

Where'er thy glorious seeds are spread,
The shelterless shall succour find,
The wretched shall be clothed and fed,
Protected be the lame and blind;
The weeping widow left in grief,

Shall find a balm for all her fears,

Sweet sympathy shall bring relief,
And kindness dry her burning tears.

The little helpless orphan child

That lifts its tiny hands in prayer,
Whose innocence was ne'er beguiled,
Shall claim and have especial care;
Men shall be link'd in friendship's ties,
And universal love shall reign,—
All that our nature dignifies,

Shall kindle into life again.

Odd-Fellowship, all hail the time!

That hastens on thy welcome course,
Thy principles are pure !-sublime!
And godlike is thy heavenly source.
May all the world in love combine,
To greet thee as the friend of man,
And He all hearts in mercy join,
Who is, and was, ere time began.

ADDRESS.

BY BRO. CAMPBELL R. BRYCE.*

MOST NOBLE and Brethren:—

LET us recollect on this occasion the credit that is due from us to those respected and well beloved brothers of our Lodge whose more arduous task it has been to introduce into this community within the past year the novel principles of our venerable Order, and the obligations they have imposed upon us by their most successful efforts in elucidating its origin, detailing its progress, explaining its motives, illustrating its high and honorable virtues. Having reached the safe and elevated ground upon which we now so peacefully repose, let us remember the services of these our pioneers, whose earlier and more conspicuous labors have happily removed many of the obstacles which the indifference, or ignorance, or prejudices of men had opposed to our progress; and while we congratulate ourselves that there was much in the cause itself to command success, let us gratefully acknowledge that we owe something to the ability and eloquence and fervid seal with which that cause was advocated.

We shall not misappropriate any of the few moments now at our dispo sal in following them in the difficult paths which they have so successfully explored. A more pleasing duty than theirs has fallen to our lot. Instead of the invidious task of allaying the fears and combating the prejudices of a suspicious and unenlightened auditory, we have the more delightful one of addressing those who are already alive to the importance of the subject, who are indulgent and partial hearers of our theme, whose hearts already glow with the warmth of a generous enthusiasm in that common cause which we have here espoused. Our humble but more agreeable object is to commence together in a plain affectionate way, upon some of the motives which should induce us to an active cultivation of those principles, upon which the prosperity and happiness of our institution depend. And while we readily confess that there is hardly a brother in this Lodge, however young or inexperienced, or newly initiated he may be, at whose feet we could not sit with all humility to learn some principle or rule of conduct belonging to our Order, we yet indulge the hope, that in some of our feeble remarks we may be fortunate enough to excite the minds of others to reflection upon the topics we suggest, and start them in pursuit of that knowledge to which we are unable ourselves to lead them. And our excuse for the indulgence of such a hope may be found in the fact, that it is so easy in the hurry of business, in the fascinations of pleasure, in the struggles of ambition, amid all the varied excitements of life, to lose sight of the simplest and commonest truths which we are ever ready to acknowledge, but so prone to forget. Unable therefore as we are to enlighten the understanding by the developement of any new knowledge, or delight the imagination with the beauties of a poetic imagery, or

Delivered before Palmetto Lodge, No. 5, of I. O. O. F., on the 25th August, 1813, Columbia, S. C.Published by request of the Lodge.