ssage is full of wo--my heart faints, and
my tongue refuses its office to give it utterance. The old prophet bade
me say, that the celestial influences are all unpropitious; that the
destiny of the infant princess is a life of sorrow, with a gleam of more
than earthly brightness in its evening horizon. And then, prostrating
himself upon the great altar, he groaned out one long, deep,
heart-rending wail for the imperial House of Tenochtitlan, and the
golden realm of Anahuac."

A deeper shade came over the brow of Montezuma, and heaving a sigh from
the very depths of a soul that had long been agitated by melancholy
forebodings of coming evil, he raised his eyes to heaven, and said,
"the will of the gods be done." Then, waving his hand to his attendants,
they bowed their heads, and retired in silence from the apartment.

"It has come at last," inwardly groaned the monarch, as soon as he found
himself alone--"it has come at last--that fearful prophecy, that has so
long hung, like the shadow of a great cloud, over my devoted house, is
now to be fulfilled. The fates have willed it, and there is no escape
from their dread decrees. I must make ready for the sacrifice."

Nerved by the stern influence of this dark fatalism, Montezuma brushed a
tear from his eye, and putting a royal restraint upon the turbulent
sorrows and fears of his paternal heart, hastened to the apartments of
the queen, to break to her, with all the gentleness and caution which
her delicate and precarious circumstances required, the mournful issue
of their inquiries at the court of heaven, into the future destiny and
prospects of their new-born babe.

A deep gloom hung over the palace and the city. Every heart, even the
most humble and unobserved, sympathized in the disappointment, and
shared the distress, of their sovereign. And the day, which should have
been consecrated to loyal congratulations, and general festivities,
became, as by common consent, a sort of national fast, a season of
universal lamentation.

The little stranger was welcomed into life with that peculiar chastened
tenderness, which is the natural offspring of love and pity--love, such
as infant innocence wins spontaneously from every heart--pity, such as
melancholy forebodings of coming years of sorrow to one beloved, cannot
fail to awaken. She was regarded as the most beautiful and the most
interesting of all her race. Every look and motion seemed to have its
peculiar significance in