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poor. What an imposing paragraph, my dear Mrs. Deverell, for the Court Journal!"

"I could retort fairly on you, Miss Fordyce," said Reynold, stung by her words; "but a woman's tongue is too privileged and contemptible a weapon for me to oppose."

"You would willingly annoy me, I dare say," answered Helen, whose whole spirit was up in arms against him for his careless flirtation with her during the autumn; "but I have full revenge. You will never see that broken-hearted victim's face again. If I can read eyes, hers spoke indomitable resolution. You have done your own work; she may die of grief, but she will never expose herself again to the mockery of your coward love."

Reynold started, heart-struck at this prophecy. "I will see her this instant; I will prove to you all that I will not desert her."

exercise now. I cannot return to your aunt's—I cannot see any of you again. I am not unworthy still of your esteem; but my heart is broken, and I flee to the bosom of religion. I loved earth rather than heaven, and God has taken away all on which I leant. Soften this to your aunt--tell her of my gratitude, my ever-enduring remembrance of her goodness; think of me kindly, but attempt not to see me-in a few days I shall be lost to the world for ever! "ROSA L."

"She is gone, she is gone! that villain has carried her off!" cried Angus, frantically; "but I will tear her from him, proud and secure as he may be."

Now Angus had no right to conclude that Rosa had fled to Reynold; but his mind was in no mood for calm reflection, and having seen Rosa with Mr. Longford, whom he knew by sight, and having heard that he was a "dashing man of the

"Nonsense," interposed his alarmed sister, as he hastened to the door, "I heard her lock her door; you cannot go now, it is too late. Youth Hussars," he took alarm instantly for her he shall see her early in the morning."

But in the morning Rosa was missing, and no one knew whither she had departed.

The housemaid thought it very odd that Mrs. Deverell had slipped along the passages at daybreak to the fugitive's room, and paid a long visit there; but as she was given five shillings to be silent, of course "it was none of her business," and she earned the bribe by a most unwomanlike taciturnity.

CHAP. VIII.

Angus Fullarton sat as of old, at his aunt's supper-table; but how sad and forlorn was his air!

"Eh, my bairn, dinna be sae dowf and dowie. There's nae woman worth half sae muckle o' your cares. She's no for you, puir lassie! she maun

be demented to be sae ill to suit."

"Is not Rosa to return this evening?" said Angus, vainly attempting to look cheerful.

Aye, aye, Miss Fordyce will hae dune wi' her, and I'm thinking I've dune wi' her too; I canna keep baith her and you in the same hoose, and I canna miss yer auld merry voice, that's sae sad and pitifu' now. Waes me!" and Mrs. M'Dudgeon wiped her horny bleared eyes. "Mr. Dingitdoon was here the day, tellin' me he misdoots the lassie's a doonright Papisher; and I mysel' fand a picture-book, wi' nonsense prayers aboot the Virgin, in her room since she left, and I'm fearfu' that somebody's led her into the broad path o' destruction.”

Angus reddened and paled at his aunt's account. Once he had from a distance seen Rosa walking with a gentleman; he was not sure at the time of her identity, but he had been painfully suspicious. As he mused silently, a porter came to the door with a note for him.

He knew Rosa's writing, and his eyes swam so that he could not see to break the seal. It was as follows:

"DEAREST ANGUS,-You bid me seek your friendship if I ever fell into trouble. I ask its

loved better than himself. With a brief word of horror to poor astonished Mrs. M'Dudgeon, he rushed out of the house, and strode with all the hurry of blind passion to Mrs. Deverell's. There he thundered at the door, till the whole house was in commotion.

"Where is Mr. Longford? let me see him immediately!" he exclaimed, as the maid-servant stood aghast at his look of rage and excitement, and faltered in her answer

"He is just returned from the country, and has gone to his room. You must come to-morrow." "No to-morrow! now, now! at once!" cried Angus, stamping passionately on the ground.

The servant was so frightened at his vehemence, that she slammed the door in his face, and ran to Miss Marden for advice, as Mrs. Deverell had not arrived from Castle Moriston with her brother. By Miss Marden's orders the reluctant servant she stood ready to receive him. There was so much ushered poor Angus into the dining-room, where anguish in his words, as he implored her by the sincerity in his expression and tone, so much love she bore her fellow-women to help in saving the young forlorn orphan from destruction, less, was melted into tears. that Miss Marden, herself an orphan and friend

"I do not believe Mr. Longford can know anything of her; but I will inquire if he will see

you.'

will wait here for your return." "Do so, madam," said Angus, eagerly; "I

Miss Marden went up to the door of Reynold's room; she knocked gently-no answer. Another in." She was a little surprised, but entered, and knock, somewhat louder, elicited a faint "Come found the young man sitting with his great coat on, and his hat fallen by his side, and his eyes fixed with a vacant stare on a letter he held before him. "Here is a person named Angus Fullarton wishes to see you," Miss Marden ventured to say, timidly.

"Let him come up; I guess his errand," muttered Reynold, mechanically, without raising his eyes.

Angus hurried up on her summons, and she had

scarcely time to beg forbearance of him by a beseeching look, ere he rushed into the room; but stopped short on seeing Reynold, and the writing which was in his hand.

"There," murmured Reynold, holding out the letter, "read it, and you will know as much as myself of the fate of Rosa Leyton."

Angus complied in silence; he felt under a strange influence, and began to think Reynold must have suffered instead of injured.

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Newington, whence a few minutes' walk brought them to the Roman Catholic convent near Morning-side. Mrs. M'Dudgeon boldly rang, and requested from the lay sister, who opened the door, that she might see the Superior. When this lady presented herself, Mrs. M'Dudgeon exclaimed,

“Sae, mem, ye hae got that puir bairn, Rosa Leyton ! Noo, I've just brought this weel-respeckit minister o' our godly kirk to witness that she's naething but a rinawa' lassie, that's left a' her friends, and that she's no' of age, and canna do sic a thing oot of her ain head.”

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Mrs. M'Dudgeon looked puzzled, but the minister having explained matters to her, she briskly answered,

"REYNOLD," began the letter, which betrayed an unsteady hand, and frequent tear-drops“ Reynold, I know now how impossible it is that "Pray," asked the Superior, and her well-tuyou should connect yourself with me. I know tored face could hardly repress her surprise at such what I once hardly even imagined-that pride'friends' appearing connected with the beautiful is a wider barrier than death. You could not be creature who had the day previous sought her roof, happy with me; I was made for sorrow that must are you a relation of the young lady's, or have be unshared. I have taken sanctuary at the you any legal control over her actions?" Romish convent here. Soon I shall go to the continent, and assume the religious habit, and oh! pray for me, that a life of unceasing labour in holy works, and devotion to heaven, may atone for my blind idolatry to one created being. Farewell! it is a cold word; it cannot tell you how my heart is broken. Be happy-find another, better worthy of you in all things; one who will bring riches and increased honour, instead of giving poverty and contempt for her portion, as I must have done. Oh! pray for me, Reynold, that I may not faint in this my bitterest trial. Farewell again, for ever!

"ROSA."

"Lost! lost for ever!" cried the Presbyterian, horror-stricken. "Rosa an apostate! But you, you," he cried, "who have that precious jewel of her love, are you a man? and will you sit to see that glorious young loveliness immured in the darkness of a cloister?"

"It is a good work,” replied the Catholic, with a sigh; "I dare not interfere between her soul and heaven."

"Heaven!" exclaimed Angus indignantly, "can you fancy God's creatures are made so beautiful, so loveable, so full of warm feelings and bright thoughts, to be killed by inches in unnatural seclusion? Do you think such a woman as she, made for the holy offices of wife and mother, fulfils her mission on earth in the barren darkness of a nunnery? Oh, Rosa, Rosa !" and the manly heart of Angus gave way, and he wept aloud.

Reynold was deeply affected. "My friend," he said, "you were more worthy of her than I, weak hesitating wretch that I am! God forgive me, that I ever stepped between you !"

"Ow, then, I canna jist say I'm her guardian, but her mother wrote to me on her death-bed, beging me to see till the puir thing, and I did sae.'

The Superior, who did not half comprehend the good woman's broad Scotch dialect, applied to the clergyman for elucidation in her turn; and although he also mystified her by his Aberdeen twang, she at length made out that Mrs. M'Dudgeon's charge of Rosa was merely voluntary. She accordingly said plainly, that as the orphan had chosen to come, she would protect her if she chose to stay.

"Let me see the misguided bairn," pleaded the distressed visitor; "she canna' listen to my voice wi' a hard heart; and surely, Mr. Dingitdoon, she canna' but fear, if you thunder to her the awfu' words o' truth against a' thae Papishers."

The Superior, curling her lip, left to seek Rosa, but very soon returned with a kindly worded, but decided refusal on Rosa's part to see any of her friends. "She was dead to the world, and she had no interests beyond her sacred duties."

"Sacred, ca' ye?" exclaimed Mrs. M'Dudgeon, departing in wrath; "eh, Mr. Dingitdoon, ye were right, she was never a vessel o' grace. The Lord has blessed me in keeping my laddie frae her evil sorceries, 'deed she just 'minds me o' a real witch."

Angus did not wonder when he heard of his aunt's negotiation and their results. "Poor girl, he said to himself, "it is the desperation of a stricken heart."

Many years passed ere Angus forgot his firstlove; indeed he never forgot, though in due time, The young men shook hands, and Angus has- another sat enthroned in his heart of hearts. A tened back to his aunt, who was weary of expec- good, sensible, active, and happy wife she was, and tation. Her distress, horror, and disapprobation she always blessed the day when, as governess to when he told her of Rosa's destination, were be- the exacting, haughty Mrs. Deverill, she saw the yond description. She wept, she scolded, she generous manliness and goodness of him whom pitied, she blamed by turns. At last donning her she thought it no degradation to marry. Mrs. Deold black bonnet, she set off alone, resolutely re- verell stormed at such a mésalliance for one fusing the escort of Angus, who could not discover" who had moved in the best circles," as her her intentions.

Having dismissed him, she procured the aid of the rev. Mr. Dingitdoon, and walked with him to an omnibus, which soon deposited the pair at

children's teacher; but Miss Marden judged wisely and well when she gave up a splendid dependence in the house of an Honourable for the cheery home where she was mistress, and the kind

noble heart which formed alike her happiness and her support.

There is a tradition that Angus Fullerton died Lord Provost of Edinburgh, and that he once had he honour to welcome the sovereign of bonny Scotland to her northern capital. At any rate, if that be true, I can vouch for my old friend that he was not the Lord Provost, who on such an occasion could be "caught napping!"

"La

Poor Rosa! About twenty years after the events above related, an English colonel was thrown from his horse in the streets of Paris. As he was insensible, and apparently much injured, he was carried to the nearest hospital. Here he lay for some weeks with a broken leg. He was attended by a Sister of Charity, Sœur Marie" she was called, whose tenderness in sickness was proverbial in those places of suffering. He recovered, and thanking her for her attentions, his eyes rested a moment on her still beautiful features. But he did not recognise those eyes dim with weary watching by many a sick and dying bed, and he departed to the showy, titled wife and fashionable daughter who awaited his return, impatient for the gaieties of a London season. He departed, and the nun meekly pressing her hands on her breast, as if to shut there the anguish of a too faithful memory, with a mingled sigh and prayer, departed also on her errands of mercy. If the blessings of the poor can make sorrow's heart sing for joy, Rosa Leyton ought to have left grief, as indeed she had nearly left sin, far behind her in life's track; but we fear we cannot conclude with this poetical justice. When the nun died, on her tomb was engraved, "Keep yourselves from idols."

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me thy sainted mother's lays, that joy this heart may fill,

And the sunny dreams of other days, may rest upon me still.

And when the clouds of evening come across yon

summer sea,

And night steals o'er the cottage home so lov'd by thee and me;

Together, kneeling side by side, we'll raise our fervent prayer

That God may guard the blind old man and bless thy tender care.

SONNET.

WINTER.

BY MRS. F. B. SCOTT.

Desolate winter-first, most faithful friend

Of the storm-king-who lay'st the branches bare, Plucking from autumn's brow her fragrant hair, And can'st the sturdy oak, unpitying, bend! Thou chain'st the pure springs, as they softly wend Their forest course; and on the breezy air, Where light buds fall (last fruit of summer fair), Thy mournful note of triumph thou dost send! Thou, who art weaving snowy robes, to deck

The fair earth's form, and gatherest from the dell Bright hawthorn berries-pearls from ocean's cave: If the light wind should laugh around the wreck Of faded leaves-come thou, in peace to dwell, And quench all tumult near that lonely grave!

CONCEIT CAN KILL-CONCEIT CAN

CURE.

A TALE OF THE LAST CENTURY.

In a country town lived a doctor who had acquired the greatest celebrity in his profession;

so much, indeed, was his advice solicited, and so much were his medicines approved, that he might be fairly said to carry all before him. He, therefore, soon became, to all intents and purposes, a great man. If one were tortured by an excruciating head-ache, his nostrums were infallibly efficacious; if another suffered from wakeful nights, his draughts were certain soporifics; in short, he had an antidote for every malady, a cure for every pain. So extensive, at length, did his practice become, that, for many miles round, the very mention of "the doctor" had undoubted reference to himself. Such unparalleled success had naturally excited the envy of his brother Esculapians, and caused many an inquiry amongst them as to the means by which he obtained such rapid practice. Some had frequently visited him for this purpose, and, as they had no reason to believe otherwise than that he was a perfectly uneducated man, they came to the satisfactory conclusion that he was a quack. However, be this as it might, he still maintained the pre-eminence, and ultimately succeeded in driving off, physically, every rival from the field; and many who, previously to his advent, had been sufficiently blessed in the number of their patients, by a hasty retreat, were compelled tacitly to acknowledge "palmam qui meruit."

In the same town resided a young doctor who had lately received an appointment, and was shortly about to sail for the east. Being naturally of a credulous, and at the same time a sanguine disposition, he had entertained an idea that "the doctor" was in possession of some important secret in the profession, which might ultimately tend to his interest. He had, moreover, had several remarkable dreams, in which "the doctor" and himself were singularly coupled-all tending to corroborate and increase the impression already formed. So deeply, indeed, was this belief impressed upon his mind, that he repaired to his house, acquainted him with his intended departure, and begged he would state any reasonable terms of remuneration in exchange for the important secret. He also assured him that the distance between them would utterly prevent any interference on either side.

The doctor had no objection to a fee, and, as it seemed so easy to be earned, and would occasion no future inconvenience to himself, he agreed to put the young man in possession of the secret the day previous to his departure, upon the payment of three hundred pounds, and an agree ment written and attested, that a packet in which the desired information would be enclosed should not be opened until three weeks after his departure from England.

These were hard terms, and the other strongly

remonstrated at the exorbitant demand, and the unreasonable tax upon his patience. Many were the interviews between them, and many were the arguments and entreaties made use of to obtain a mitigation, but in vain. The doctor was inexorable, and his only reply to all expostulations and objections was that "his fee ought to be double." alterable as before, and the young man, under an At length the day arrived. He was still as ununconquerable presentiment, which had only been augmented by opposition, that his future success stipulated sum, signed the bond, and, the next in life strangely depended on the sacrifice, paid the day, embarked upon his destined voyage.

Suspense is of all evils the worst to endure, amidst dark presentiments of disaster; but, when the mind is buoyed up by brilliant expectations, fancy is apt to indulge in Elysian reveries, and, alas! how often does anticipation destroy the due fruition of reality itself!

During the three weeks he often spent an anxious day, and often a sleepless night: many a longing glance was bestowed upon the object of his neverceasing solicitude, in vain-the mystic talisman was mute to all the cravings of curiosity.

At length the time expired, and his utmost wish can be gratified-he breaks the seal; but what were his mortification and chagrin when he found his anxiety rewarded simply by the following sentence, written very legibly on a slip of paper :

"CONCEIT CAN KILL-CONCEIT CAN CURE."

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Maddened at his own blind credulity, and still more at the infamous fraud practised on him, nothing but the determination of revenge induced him to preserve the manuscript. To communicate the circumstance, he well knew, would be to establish his character as a madman; he therefore resolved to keep by him his dearly-bought treasure until some future period should render it of service. Experience makes fools wise" is a proverb. That "experience" makes wise men more cautious is equally true. The dupe was by this time capable of appreciating the grand moral fact, and naturally came to the same conclusion, at which all earlier or later arrive, that true and substantial blessings are not to be obtained by a romantic and over-wrought imagination, but by the efforts of a conscientious and well-directed mind depending on its own resources.

Time rolled on, and some few years devoted to unceasing industry rewarded him with much of India's golden dust, and he determined to return to his native country.

was

One summer day, whilst the town of engaged in one mingled scene of business and gaity, report (than which there is nought more swift) announced the arrival of a great physician from a far distant land, whose miraculous attainments in the art of healing were sufficient to cure all complaints which could possibly afflict mankind: that it was the intention of the great panaceist publicly to address the townspeople, in the market-place, on the following day.

The report was soon circulated by the gossips,

and many were the maladies canvassed by the old women at the tea-table. Some who had never had complaints before almost considered themselves in duty bound to be ill on such an extraordinary occasion, and many ventured to hope the time had arrived when the whole country would be purged of all manner of sickness and disease. "A consummation so devoutly to be wished" excited crowds to assemble and gaze upon "the great unknown."

Dinner came, a dinner sufficient to satisfy the most scrupulous epicure, but notwithstanding all the attractive viands with which the table groaned, he was unusually abstemious and thoughtful, occasionally exclaiming, "What does the rascal mean? I'm well enough!" and suchlike ejaculations, perfectly unintelligible to his wife.

Dinner ended, the wine-bottle did not fail in its duty; but, still nothing could avail to conquer the manifest perturbation of the doctor; he paced the room, resumed his seat, then paced again : at last, after innumerable pacings and restings, he exclaimed, "It is too true, after all; I have the head-ache! I feel the sickness too! (Another pacing and another resting). Oh, nonsense; I don't believe in quacks-I won't be ill!”"

Having made this magnanimous resolve, the worthy hale old gentleman retired to his dispensary, where he felt somewhat relieved by the reflection that he was surrounded by drugs sufficient to suit every emergency. Under this delusive impression he endeavoured to lull himself into a state of comparative tranquillity.

We may here remark upon the absurdity of such salutations as the following, amongst friends: "Dear me, you look very ill!" "Don't you feel well?" "It grieves me to find you so altered since I saw you last!" and suchlike animating and consoling expressions of courtesy, not likely to contribute to the comfort of the person addressed. Thus it was that the doctor, singled out from a whole crowd, his state of health and the consequences so minutely and ominously described, and by one of his own profession, experienced considerable misgivings and unaccountable presen timents, in spite of his heroic determination, won't be ill."

"Gentlefolk," commenced the philosopher, "it gives me pleasure to see so many of you anxious for your own welfare. Having been accustomed to regard all the intricacies of nature and science, I have been enabled to attain a degree in medical research altogether unprecedented, and in the country from which I come not an individual exists who would not bear testimony to the truth of my assertion. You must suppose, good people, nothing but the pure dictates of philanthropy could induce one possessing such unbounded reputation to travel so far for the good of his fellowcreatures. You have now an opportunity which may never occur again. I engage to eradicate all diseases of the past, to remove all indisposition of the present, and to provide preventives against all maladies of the future. Are there any troubled with indigestion, spasms, coughs, colds, fevers, liver complaints, asthmas, gout, rheumatism, dropsy, or consumption? Let them come and be cured. I see before me many who require my aid, many who must positively partake of my medicines, if they wish to preserve their lives. Many years' experience has also enabled me to prognosticate precise cases of illness, by the countenance alone. can see many amongst you who will soon be the victims of disorders which they least anticipate. Their cases I can describe as minutely at this mo- Being of a very irritable temper, and mortified ment as if they were actually suffering under them. beyond endurance at the bare possibility of a rival I will prove it by one example. Look, for in--alarmed at the strange manner in which the first stance, at that apparently hale old gentleman, with powdered wig and gold-headed cane; he is listening with the greatest unconcern, perfectly unconscious of his approaching fate; he seems healthy and vigorous, and likely to continue so for many years; yet scarcely will he reach his house ere he will complain of head-ache-symptoms of sickness will follow-a sleepless night-worse in the morning-loss of appetite and despondency-the next night delirium; the next day he will give up all hopes of recovery, and be compelled to send for me!"

In these, and similar terms, did the learned orator address his awe-struck audience. One continued burst of admiration and applause succeeded -a universal impulse of medicinal enthusiasm pervaded the crowd-pill-boxes and bottles were the order of the day, and never had an event more unexpected and propitious happened to the gossips and old women of

But we must follow the wig-powdered, hale old gentleman, the principal object of our care, and who was no other than the redoubtable doctor, whose fame has already adorned our tale. Upon his return home his wife thought he looked remarkably pale; but he assured her that nothing was the matter, but that he wanted his dinner.

symptoms of indisposition had been realized-the doctor was now in a state calculated to verify still further the prediction of the mysterious oracleat one time avoiding company for fear of being questioned, at another shunning solitude (it was contrary to his habits), he passed the remainder of the day, "nunc solus, nunc comitatus," in no enviable state. He retired earlier than usual to bed, hoping that "sweet restorer, balmy sleep," would kindly relieve him of his troubles, but his hopes were vain; once, indeed, a kind of doze stole over him. He dreamed he was in the marketplace with the "great unknown" at his side. His first effort was to turn and grapple with his foe, but great was his surprise and disappointment on finding that his wife, whose screams and resistance were of no feeble nature, was the undeserving victim of his merciless gripe.

"When in trouble to be troubled,

Is to have our trouble doubled,"

was particularly applicable to the doctor on this occasion. In addition to his own distress by day, he found he had severely shaken and alarmed his better half by night. Slumber, before an uncertain guest, now considered all obligations at an

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