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end, and, accordingly, Auttered to some more words of his visitor, began to think he had thrown inviting sphere. The whole of the next day our away his life when he had the means of restoration hero remained in bed, weakened by loss of sleep in his power. He was influenced, moreover, by and anxiety. In the mean time his spouse had the philosophic reflection, that three hundred been acquainted with all the particulars relative pounds would be of no use if he did not live to to her unfortunate husband ; and from her own enjoy it. Under these reflections there was but personal experience on the preceding night, as one alternative. “Call him back,'' he cried ; “I well as the prediction of the renowned oracle, cannot exist without him !" He returned, and the no doubt was entertained in ber mind but de money was promptly paid. lirium, of an awful nature, would ensue. Such

“Now,” said the philosopher, “ there is only proved to be the case; and he, who had hitherto been sedulously employed in blistering and bleed- deposit beneath your pillow, containing a specific

one condition more--that a parcel, which I shall ing his fellow-creatures, was now compelled to

upon which everything depends, shall not be undergo the same operation by the hand of moved until the expiration of the three days; you another. The next day he was reduced to the

may then do as you please.” This condition relowest degree of weakness, for blood had been co-quired no payment, and therefore its observance piously extracted from his veins. His first wish

was ratified by the most solemn pledge. The was to sce the mysterious stranger~"he whose

state of the body is ever dependent upon that of wonderful atta iments could enable him to foresee

the mind, and the patient now experienced a transuch fearful calastrophes, was the only one to

quillity to which he had hitherto been an uiter apply the remedy." He was sent for, and soon stood by his side: he felt his pulse" Very bad! stranger, and for which he could not account. He

was already healed in imagination, for be natuHave you made your will ?"

rally concluded a most miraculous cure ought to “What !” exclaimed the patient, in an agony, be the result of such a princely fee. Everything “must I die, 100!"

of a strengthening nature was duly adminisiered; “ Why," replied his attendant, gravely, “your he soon reached a state of convalescence, and at case is very distressing, to say the best ; yet,” he the end of the three days "the Doctor” was himcontinued, after a pause, “I feel convinced that I self again. He now considered himself fully justican even now save you ; but as this is an ex- fied in examining the packet, which had remained traordinary case, of course the fee must be in pro- untouched, and even unseen, during that period. portion.'

Already had he conceived an idea of curing the “Oh!" exclaimed the patient and his wife, in whole world, when possessed of such a magic a breatb, “name any fee you like, and it shall be charm. He opened it, when, to his surprise, out paid.”

flew a slip of paper, inscribed by no other hand “Well," said the physician, “ upon the imme- than his own- Conceit can kill, conceit can cure." diate payment of three hundred pounds, I will en- In conclusion, there is little need to add, that gage to effect an entire cure in three days." the great and mysterious physician was no other

“ Three hundred pounds!” cried the patient, than the duped young doctor in disguise ! After in a tone of horror, " this is worse than all the reaching England he made every inquiry respecting blisters in the world !"

the impostor, and fioding he was still on the same Unfortunately the old gentleman was particu- he succeeded we have already described-how

theatre of action, determined to punish him. How larly partial to that most alluring of worldly acquisitions-gold. Having endured during youth chagrined the old doctor was may be better imaall ibe inconveniences of pinching poverty, nothing


G. J. short of imperious necessity could induce him to part with what he considered the primum mobile of happiness. Thus it is that many are destined to pass lives of misery : during the first part of it they suffer from want itself, and afterwards from the fear of it. Great was the dismay displayed in

HOPE. the countenance of the doctor; one moment elated by the hope of life saved, the next dejected Star of my pathway, ever brightly beaming ; by the overwhelming thought of three hundred My consolation in life's solitude : pounds lost! The latter consideration was Bright beacon of eternity! Gay streaming ! weighty. He began to abuse the great physician How welcomeart thou when dark tempests brood, in the inost unqualified terms, for his unconscion- | And fitful waves of life's rough ebbing sea able demand-it was altogether without precedent Gather around us, seemingly to burst, -adding, he might as well die at once, as subject And gulph the too frail bark I 'Tis then that we himself to starvation !

Flee to thee for thy succour, and do thirst, “Well,” replied the other, “I came here to As heated flowers amid the fervid noon, serve you ; but, as I find you determined to pur- For thy reviving brightness. Thou dost dwell sue your own course, I take my leave: by to-night in the expiring bosoin ere the swoon all assistance will be useless !"

Of death steal back the pulse's throb, and tell Having thus said, be departed : however, no Of sunny lands where sorrows never rave, sooner was he gone, than the patient, fatigued by A bright and peaceful home beyond the grave. his previous excitement, and terrified by the last


Life it had Aed-
Kneeling and weeping,
Each deemed him sleeping,

But he was dead !
The hopes he had nourished
Had blossomed and flourished

She loved him, he knew ; Wben she near him was kneeling, He groaned, 't was the feeling

Of Death's chilling dew.
Hope yet was there
O'er him, still smiling,
Herself beguiling,

Fell her dark hair.
Aye ! she who would gladly
Have died for him, madly

Now sought for his breath But the feather dissembled, 'Twas her frail hand that trembled,

Indeed, there was death.

Hope was no more-
Tearful, despairing,
Her tresses iearing,

Him home they bore.
At the grave she sank pale,
And her reason did fail;

She lived now in gloom,
For her first-love was blighted,
Aye! as soon as required

'Twas lost in the tomb.

A feeble man, with hoary head,

Oft wandered there about;
And when he could no longer see,

Those children led him out.
Ile said that old men loved to think

Of boyhood and their prime,
Or ere the heart had felt a woe

Or dreamt of sin and crime;
And much he loved their merry tone,

And many a time did say,
“God bless you all, my children,

My heart is in your play."
Year after year rolled rapidly

On fleeting wings of time,
The children ceased to speak of love-

The old man of his prime;
But children they were not, for now

Manhood had marked each face ;
And each one sought at length to quit

His childhood's calm play-place;
And, one by one, amid ihe world

In quick succession went;
The ties that bound their earlier years

By selfishness were rent.
I passed the little woodland cot:

The old man-he was dead;
The children had returned again

Where their fond boyhood sped;
One from the sunny east had come,

Another from the west;
But there was pride sat in each eye,

And coldness in each breast;
And one was rich, and one was poor,

And I was grieved to see
That those who once were so beloved,

Should so much altered be.
'Tis sad to think the world should warp

A brother's love, and strife
Exist in that same heart where once

in part, its life.
But so it was; the brothers all,

Sought nought but this world's store ; The hours when they were children,

They thought of them no more : For at the old man's funeral,

They mingled there; and when The greensward wrapt their parent's clay, They never spoke again.


Love still lived on-
Buried in feeling,
To his grave stealing,

When the moon shone,
She would twine summer flowers,
Like her, weeping, for showers

Had injured their pride But night-wind, her traitor-guest, Soon siole to her gentle breast,

And then, 'twas she died.

It was,

STANZAS: 'Twas in a wild wood's silent path

A cottage chimney peep'd Above the honey-suckle flowers

That o'er its roof had creep'd :
The woodbine and the ivy grew

Amid the wild-rose there;
A sweet-briar by its little porch

Grew round an oaken chair;
And often, in the summer time,

Beneath the green trees’ shade, From morn till evening shades crept on,

A “band” of children played. A silent river wound its way

Near to the cottage door; And there, in mirth, they'd sport awhile,

Along its pebbly shore.

It is not difficult to comprehend the fascination exercised by astrology over the minds of men, at a period when the mists of ignorance and the blight of superstition covered the earth with a density which the rays of truth could only pierce at few and far between intervals. Nay, there is, and there will be, while the human mind retains its impress of the divinity, the same yearning after the unknown and the immaterial ; and now, as they did in years gone by, and as they will in years to come, the silent sentinels of the night awake a poetry and a mystery which science can never dull.


of Mr. Jessering, there resided a wealthy family of the name of Melton; and, being such near neigh

bours, the families were, of course, on terms of “Death distant? No, alas ! he's ever with us,

intimate acquaintance. Frank Melion, their only And shakes the dart at us in all our actings:

son, was a tall, finely-formed youth, of some five He lurks within our cup, while we're in health showy, rather than a solid education-danced well,

or six and twenty years. He had received a Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines. We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel,

sang well, played sweetly on the flute, and had a

certain ease and polish of manner and conversation, But Death is by to seize us when he lists.”

mingled with that gentle and respectful deference THE SPANISH FATHER.

when addressing a female, which is so well cal. culated to win upon a woman's heart. He had

known Miss Jessering long, and as he beheld each In the north of Leinster-it matters not now in succeeding year adding to her sweetness and what particular spot—there once stood a beautiful beauty, Frank felt that he loved her. Scarcely a and romantically situated villa. The grounds day passed, on which he did not visit Greenleigh ; around it were laid out with an elegance that was

sometimes with Aowers which he had heard her highly creditable to the taste of their proprietor. admire, sometimes with a book with which he The house itself was situated midway on the slope thought she would be pleased, sometimes with a of a graceful hill, its while brow just visible above new song that his sister had lately received, and a cluster of magnificent trees; a river swept round

“ which he knew would suit Miss Jessering's the foot of the declivity, and meeting with a low voice so well.” but rocky eminence on the left side, iis waters fell It was a lovely summer's noon, with a blue and foaming over it, and formed a beautiful lake cloudless sky above, and a green earth breathing beneath. Mr. Jessering, the owner, was a very perfume beneath, when Lucy threw up the wealthy man, and having a taste for such matters, drawing-room window, and taking a book in her had spared do expense in the decoration of his hand, sat down near the casement. She could not estate. His wife, a fair and gentle creature, hear a sound save the low, sweet tinkling of the had died of decline not many months after the waterfall, that brought with it a sense of grateful birth of a daughter, the sole child with which and refreshing coolness, and an occasional note their union was blessed ; and she, just at the from her tame canary, as he came and perched period we speak of, had attained her eighteenth upon her shoulder. In a short time she became year.

absorbed in the work which she was reading, but Lucy was very lovely. Her rich brown hair was suddenly aroused by hearing the sound of a was soft and glossy as unwoven silk, her brow footstep at her side. She looked up, and Frank as fair and smooth as polished ivory ; her eyes Melton was there. He had often seen Lucy look were of a deep chesnut colour, the whites tinged beautiful, but never so beautiful as now. Her with that delicate azure which gives peculiar cheek was flushed with surprise, and perhaps (love beauty to an eye; but yet the principal charm whispered him) with pleasure. Her splendid eyes of hers was iheir variety of expression-now were lit up with even more than their usual lustre, they sparkled with the most bewitching archness, and a smile played around her exquisitely chiselled and now they swam in the softest sadness. The lips. soft blush that mantled on her cheek, the extreme “ I protest, Frank,” she said, smiling still, "you beauty, regularity, and delicacy of her features, are sadly ungallant, to startle and frighten one so. the angelic expression imprinted on each, and the Here have I been just about to shed a flood of exquisite symmetry of her graceful, though rather tears over this tale ; so sad," she continued (the petite form, served to render Lucy the admired of smile fading from her lip), "so like real life-of a all who beheld her. Her disposition was extremely happy young creature cut off by a fatal malady in lively; but, nevertheless, there lay concealed beneath the midst of her happiness." feelings the deepest and most sensitive. His only “Then may I Aatter myself, Lucy,” said Frank, child, the playful, interesting, and interested “that my presence has banished those tears ?companion of bis walks, the fond admirer of all “Oh! the vanity of man!” she exclaimed, the his rustic plans and improvements, his tender rich blood mounting to her cheeks ; " and yet I nurse in sickness, his gentle comforter in sorrow believe I must reprove you for interrupting my fit who sang 10 him, played to him, read to him; of seriousness, as I fear I am not sufficiently osten it is not, therefore, a subject of surprise that Lucy in such & mood,” and again she smiled. was the very idol of her father. He appeared to “Dearest Lucy!” said Frank. He took her love the very ground on which she trod-he grati- soft hand in his, and spoke to her long in a low fied her every wish- the thought of her came and tender tone. between him and his God; for in the gift he too That day decided the destiny of Lucy Jessering ; frequently forgot the Giver. The natural excellence she learned she was beloved, and confessed that of her disposition, and the deep love which she she loved in return. entertained for her father, prevented Lucy's being Mr. Jessering and the parents of Frank did not spoiled by this extreme indulgence; and the fair long withhold their consent to the union of the girl grew up, beloved and admired by all who lovers, and the day was fixed for its being solembeheld her.

nized. Lucy's love for her betrothed husband was At a short distance from Greenleigh, the residence deep and enthusiastic; she thought not of his


manly beauty—she thought not of his youth-she of mind Lucy retained her seat; and in the mean thought not of his wealth--she loved him wholly time two or three countrymen, throwing themselves and entirely for himself: her father alone ex- before the horse, endeavoured to stop it by their cepted, he was all in all on earth to her : without cries and gestures. This had the effect of renderhim, life would have been living death; and with ing it irresolute, and Frank, plunging the spurs him, existence under every aspect would have been once more into his steed, it bounded forward, and the extreme of bliss. Poor, dear Lucy! thine in another moment Lucy was lying senseless but was woman's love!

unhurt in his arms. Whilst the lover with the Three weeks after the day on which Frank tenderest care was supporting the lifeless burden had avowed his attachment, it was again a in his arms, and Alinging back the dishevelled summer's noon ; large clouds of dazzling whiteness ringlets that fell around her face, one of the men floated over the deep blue surface of the sky, and ran to a neighbouring cottage for some water; on the warmth of the sunny day was tempered by a receiving which, Frank, by bathing her temples gentle breeze.

and sprinkling her face with it endeavoured to re“ It is a charming day,” said Frank, as he and store animation. For a length of time bis efforts Lucy rode slowly down the avenue of Greenleigh, proved unavailing, till making in his trepidation “ and exactly the description of day too that suits and anxiety some awkward movement with his so well for seeing our favourite view to advan- hand, the contents of the vessel he held was poured

on her neck and bosom. The cold shock aroused " It is indeed, Frank," she replied ; “ how very Lucy so that in a brief space of time she was perbeautiful it must look at this moment !” she fectly recovered from her swoon. The long hair continued, her dark eyes flashing and sparkling as that fell on her bosom, and that part of ber dress slie spoke. “I can fancy it now—the bright green which covered her chest, were completely saturated of the valley glowing beneath the sunlight-ihose with water ; but being fearful that her long abclouds casting their shadows and this sun his light sence might alarm her father, and recollecting on the broad high hills." She looked up and met the distance they were now from Greenthe eyes of Frank fixed upon her with a look of the leigh, she neglected to dry either the one or deepest love and admiration. Hers instantly fell the other, and requested that they might at once -the vivid blush mantled to her cheek, and urging proceed on their homeward way. Unwilling 10 on her palfrey she exclaimed, “ Come, Frank, let delay till another horse could be procured, she us visit it."

mounted her own again, having first warmly What a sweet picture of life and happiness did thauked the three countrymen, and offered them Lucy and her lover at that moment present! Two an ample remuneration for their trouble; 10 acshort weeks more, and they were to be united to cept of which the true-hearted fellows positively each other. The heart of the young girl was filled refused. with visions of love and bliss ihrough a long vista “God bless her, she's a sweet young lady," of years to come; and as he, who shared her every said one of the men, as they stood looking after thought, gazed on the beautiful creature so soon to the receding couple. become his own, he felt that his cup of bliss was filled to the very brim. Lucy looked beautiful, as well as the face of an angel. She didn't recol.

“Fair she is," said another, and has the heart as seated gracefully on her milk-white horse she lect me, but 'tis I that well remimber her; for only cantered down the avenue. The balmy breeze, for the sweet crathur my poor old woman 'u'd that waved her long soft tresses, brought a vivid have been lost entirely, whin she had the farer. bloom to her cheek, and an increased brilliance to her eyes, through which shone the mirth and hap: come to see her every whole day, idout the least

Miss Lucy—the heavens be about her-used 10 piness of her young heart. Frank rode enraptured fear of the infliction, bringin' lier physics and other by her side, drinking in the music of her sweet fine things.' voice; and thus did the happy pair proceed on their way, till a turn in the road brought them al- "They say she's to be married to Misther Frank most within view of their favourite landscape.

Melton," said a third ; “shure I pray he may “Oh! here it is,” cried Lucy, and boih were

make her happy, that's all !" about urging their horses 10 proceed at a swifter “Amin!” responded the others, and turned to pace (for lovers generally ride slowly), when a hare pursue their way. rushed across the path; the animal on which Miss Lucy reached home in safety, and on arriving Jessering was mounted, started, plunged violently there, found her father anxiously awaiting ber for a single moment, and before Frank could find return. Laughing, she related to him the adrentime to restrain the frightened beast, it set off with ture in which she had played such a dangerous the speed of lightning. Lucy was an excellent part, and allayed his fond fears for her safety by horsewoman. From her earliest youth she had assuring him that she was perfectly unhurt. That been his companion in her father's riding excur, night was to our heroine an almost sleepless one; sions; and with great care he had trained her up she felt agitated and nervous, and when she in all the mysteries of horsemanship. Now, how- appeared in the breakfast-room on the following ever, though all her skill and strength were exerted morning, her father remarked that she looked pale in the effort, she found it perfectly impossible to and languid. restrain ber palfrey; nor could Frank, who pursued “Well, papa,” she said, smiling faintly, "you with all the speed of love and despair, succeed in must lay the blame of my ill looks on that runaway overtaking the flying animal. With great presence horse of mine. A little fright, you know, will banish for a few days the bloom from a lady's cannot bear 10 lose my child.

Oh! save her cheek."

save her; and all that I have is yours." On the next day Lucy was very feverish and ill. “ It is a needless offer, quite a needless offer, A short, dry, and distressing cough supervened ; sir," said the physician, rising," I shall do all but believing her ailment 10 proceed from a slight that in me lies for the benefit of Miss Jessering.”. cold, and being unwilling to alarm Frank, or her Poor Lucy! Day succeeded day, and each father, she refused their solicitations to have a one found her weaker and weaker. Her whole physician called in. She continued in the same nature appeared jchanged; she knew, she felt state for seven or eight days; her appetite was that she was dying, but as the tenement of clay almost entirely gone, the bloom of health faded gradually lost strength, the spirit by which it from her cheek, and her once bright eyes were now was animated became strengthened. The natural become languid and lustreless.

vigour of her mind uprose, the unthinking gaiety of “My dearest child,” said her father one day, her character was now totally cast aside, she became taking in his her dry and burning hand; “My grave and thoughtful, though neither sad nor redearest child, you must allow me to consult a served, for she saw that an additional pang

would doctor to-morrow; I cannot, and will not hear a pierce her father's heart, if he beheld melancholy word of objection from you. There is poor Frank settle on the brow of his beloved child. But, ah! too, so miserable about you. Lucy, my sweet in the solitude of her chamber, or during the long child, I fear that you are very ill.”

nights, when all round her'was hushed in repose, “I must confess, papa,” she replied, "That I whilst she alone lay sleepless and weary, then, feel myself somewhat worse to-day; but, I trust, then, would the thoughts of this earth force themI shall soon be better."

selves upon her. Many a time and oft, during “Worse! do you really feel yourself worse to- those dark hours, did the warm tears fall down her day? then I shall immediately send for Sir William wasted cheek. It was a bitter pang to be D-," said Mr. Jessering, and he instantly snatched away, when just on the brink of happi. quitted the room to execute his purpose.

ness; it was a bitter pang to know that all ihe Sir William D--, the family physician, was fairy visions of youth and hope were now to sink a man of uncommon skill and experience, but into the gloomy grave; it was a bitter pang to possessed of a bluntness and sternness of manner leave so soon the green earth, the smiling face of that frequently proved hurtful to the feelings of nature, for the cold, damp, dark tomb; but oh! those who required his services. He was not more bitter still than all was the pang of leaving tardy in obeying the basty summons of Mr. her father, and Frank, her betrothed husband ! Jessering, and he arrived at Greenleigh not many with all her fortitude, she could not endure this hours after the above-mentioned conversation. thought; it prostrated her spirit to the very earth: Having seen Lucy, and been informed of her she could have borne without repiving the acutest symptoms, he requested to speak with her father pangs of death, but this, this she could not endure. for a few moments in private; and when they were At a short distance from Greenleigh, there alone, he said

resided a very worthy clergyman; Lucy had “No power on earth, sir, can save your child; always been a favourite with the good old man, she is hastening to her grave in a rapid decline.” and now, in her hour of sickness and sorrow, he

The unfortunate parent stood before him unable did not desert or forget her. He visited her to move a limb, from the intensity of his agony constantly, and endeavoured to make her sensible and surprise. His eyes fixed with a stony stare of the necessity that existed of preparing for the upon the physician, his hands clasped rightly approach of death; he read and explained to together, every faculty seemed destroyed by the her the Holy Scriptures ; he pointed out to her the shock; but in a few moments he started from kindness and loving-mercy of the Lord, and the this stupor, he paced wildly up and down the everlasting delights of the world to come, till, at room, he wrung bis hands, he tore his grey length, what had formerly been a source of pain, hairs, and exclaimed distractedly-

now became one of happiness to his gratified “Oh! my child, my child ; my lost and only listener. She looked forward in faith and hope to

an eternal union with those whom she loved, Sir William D---, though long married, had beyond the portals of the grave. never known the feelings of a parent; but yet his It was a calm, sunny, beautiful evening, six heart was touched by the tone of wild anguish in weeks after the commencement of Lucy's illness, wbich Mr. Jessering spoke.

and the gentle invalid was lying on a low couch “ I entreat you to be composed, sir," he said, beside the open window. The bright smile had " we must

left her lip, but there was an expression of holy “My child, my child !” cried the unhappy calm upon her brow. In place of the rich glow father.

of healih, that once mantled on her cheek, there “ Well! but, sir, I promise you that we shall do now burned upon it the feverish hectic of consumpall in our power that may tend to effect her tion, and the wasted form bore sad testimony io recovery,” replied Sir William ; “though,” he its ravages. Her long rich hair hung in damp added, relapsing into his habitual cold stern tone, masses on her shoulders, and there was a glassy “I am almost certain our efforts will prove un- lustre in her dark eyes. By her side sat Frank availing."

Melton, holding one of her hands in his; his “Do not say so-do not say so," cried Mr. countenance pale as marble, and his lips quivering Jessering ; “I cannot part with my Lucy-I | with suppressed emotion ; whilst at the foot of the


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