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• Light be the earth on Billy's breast,

our ignorance of her christian name adds And green the sod that wraps his grave.'

some indefinable charm to the interest we “There was a plaintive wildness in the air not to take in Miss Walton. His slight feelings of be withstood; and except the keeper's there was not an unmoistened eye around her. “Do you weep

jealousy and unhappiness when he hears she again?' said she; “I would not bave you weep:

is to be married to Sir Harry Benson, are you are like my Billy; you are, believe me ; just natural and exquisitely described. He walks so he looked when he gave me this ring; poor out, he sits down on a little seat which comBilly ! 'twas the last time ever we met!

mands an extensive prospect around the ''Twas when the seas were roaring.'

house. He leans on his hand, and scores I love you for resembling my Billy; I shall the ground with liis stick. “Miss Walton never love any man like him.' She stretched out married !" says he; “but what is that to her hand to Harley; he pressed it between both of his, and bathed it with his tears. Nay, that is me? May she be happy; her virtues deBilly's ring,' said she, 'you cannot have it, indeed; serve it; to me her marriage is otherwise but here is another, look here, which I pluited to- indifferent. I had romantic dreams ! They day of some gold thread from this bit of stuff; are fled ! it is perfectly indifferent.” Poor, will you keep it for my sake? I am a strange girl; diffident, true-hearted Harley; death gradbut my heart is harmless : my poor heart! it will burst some day: feel how it beats! She pressed ually, step by step, wooes him to the silent his hand to her bosom, then holding her head grave. IIe feelingly says :in the attitude of listening : ‘Hark! one, two, three! be quiet, thou little trembler ; my Billy is cold !- at a time when the infirmities of age have not

"• There is a certain dignity in retiring from life but I had forgotten the ring.' She put it on his sapped our faculties. This world, my dear Charles, finger. “Farewell l I must leave you now. She

was a scene in which I never much delighted. I would have withdrawn her hand ; Harley held it

was not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the to his lips. 'I dare not stay longer; my head dissipation of the gay; a thousand things occurred throbs sadly; farewell!' She walked with a hurried where I blushed for the impropriety of my conduct step to a little apartment at some distance. Har when I thought on the world, though my reason ley stood fixed in astonishment and pity; his told me I should have blushed to have done otherfriend gave money to the keeper. Harley looked wise. It was a scene of dissimulation, of restraint, on his ring; He put a couple of guineas into the of disappointment. I leave it to enter on that state man's hand. •Be kind to that unfortunate.' He which I have learned to believe is replete with the burst into tears, and left them.”

genuine happiness attendant upon virtue. I look

back on the tenor of my life with the consciousness The narrative of the veteran Edwards bas of few great offenses to account for. There are likewise drawn tears from many an eye. blemishes I confess, which deform in some degree But the most interesting part of the work is the picture ; but I know the benignity of the Suthe account of Harley's distant, respectful preme Being, and rejoice at the thoughts of its exand sincere love for Miss Walton. Harley's thought. I shall enter into the society of the ideas of the beautiful were not always to be blessed, wise as angels, with the simplicity of childefined, nor indeed such as the world would dren. He had by this time clasped my hand, and always assent to. A blush, a phrase of affa- found it wet by a tear which had just failen upon it. bility to an inferior, a tear at a moving tale, time šilent. At last, with an attempt at a look of

eye began to moisten too; we sat for some were to him like the cestus of Cytherea. To more composure: There are are some remembe near Miss Walton, to walk about the brances,' said Harley, 'which rise involuntarily on grounds surrounding her mansion, sufficed for my heart

, and make me almost wish to live. I the ideal love of Harley.

have been blessed with a few friends, who redeem my opinion of mankind. I recollect with the ten

derest emotion the scenes of pleasure I have passed “ The air of paradise did fan the house, And angels offic'd all.”

among them; but we shall meet again, my friend, never to be separated. There are some feelings

which perhaps are too tender to be suffered by the A few mornings ago I rose about day- world. The world is in general selfish, interested, break. The air was soft and pleasant, and and unthinking, and throws the imputation of rothe

young grass and leaves were of a moist mance or melancholy on every temper more susbright green. On looking upward, I saw regions which I contemplate, if there is any thing

ceptible than its own. I cannot think but in those one star shining mildly through the branches of mortality left about us, that these feelings of a tree; it was fair, distant, pure. I looked will subsist'; they are called—perhaps they are at it with admiration, with a subdued joy; weaknesses here; but there may be some better such as was my admiration for that star, so the names of virtues.' He sighed as he spoke these it seems to me was Harley's love for Miss last words. He had scarcely finished them when Walton. I have often thought, too, that the door opened, and his aunt appeared leading in

Miss Walton. "My dear,' says she, “here is Miss, the wind; he waved his hand as if he mimicked its Walton, who has been so kind as to come and in motion. There was something predictive in his quire for you herself' He rose from his seat. 'If look! Perhaps it is foolish to remark it, but there to know Miss Walton's goodness,' said he, 'be a are times and places when I am a child at those title to deserve it, I have some claim.' She begged things. I sometimes visit his grave; I sit in the him to resume his sent, and placed herself on the hollow of the tree. It is worth a thousand homisofa beside him. I took my leave. Miss Margery lies; every noble feeling rises within me! every accompanied me to the door. He was left with beat of my heart awakens a virtue! But it will Miss Walton alone. She inquired anxiously about make you hate the world. No; there is such an his health. 'I believe,' said he, from the accounts air of gentleness around, that I can hate nothing ; which my physicians unwillingly give me, that but as to the world, I pity the men of it." they have no great hopes of my recovery. She started as he spoke; but recollecting herself imme- Hazlitt, in one of his essays, observes : diately, endeavored to flatter him into a belief that “Of the 'Man of the World' I cannot think his apprehensions were groundless. “I know,' said he, • that it is usual with persons at my time of life so favorably as some others; nor shall I to have these hopes, which your kindness suggests; dwell on the picturesque and romantic beaubut I would not wish to be deceived. To meet ties of Julia de Roubigné, the early favorite death as becomes a man is a privilege bestowed on of the author of Rosamond Gray; but of the I think I can ever be better prepared for it than Man of Feeling I would speak with grateful now: it is that chiefly which determines the fitness recollections : nor is it possible to forget the of its approach. Those sentiments,' answered sensitive, irresolute, interesting Harley ; and Miss Walton, are just ; but your good scuse, Mr. I that lone figure of Miss Walton in it, that Harley, will own, that life has its proper value. floats in the horizon, dim and ethereal, the it is to be desired. To virtue has the Supreme Di day-dream of her lover's youthful fancyrector of all things assigned rewards enough even

better, far better than all the realities of here to fix its attachment. The subject began to life.” overpower her. Harley lifted his eyes from the ground. There are," said he, in a very low voice, and material age of ours, have neither time

A great many readers, in this artificial there are attachments, Miss Walton.' '. His glance met hers. They both betrayed a confusion, and nor taste to study the minute and refined were both instantly withdrawn. He paused some beauties of a genius like Mackenzie. His moments. I am in such a state as calls for sin- colors are too delicately laid on, the shading cerity; let that also excuse it

. It is perhaps the last too exquisitely clear, to please a vitiated or time we shall ever meet. I feel something partic- uneducated taste, which must be startled ularly solemn in the acknowledgment; yet my heart swells to make it, awed as it is by'a sense of into admiration by something far-fetched, my presumption, by a sense of your perfections.' violent, and exaggerated. The more fantasHe paused again. Let it not offend you, to know tical and unlike to real life a story, and the their power over one so unworthy. It will, I be characters described in it, are drawn, the lieve, soon cease to beat, even with that feeling which it shall lose the latest. To love Miss Wal- more sure they are to please the public. A ton could not be a crime ; if to declare it is one, monster whom the world ne'er saw, combinthe expiation will be made! Her tears were now ing genins and virtue, ignorance and unmitflowing without control. 'Let me entreat you,' igated depravity, love and fiendishness, besaid she,' to have better hopes. Let not life be so indifferent to you; if my wishes can put any value

nevolence and meanness, a character which on it, I will not pretend to misunderstand you—often appears in modern works of fiction, is I know your worth—I have known it long—I have loudly praised. esteemed it—what would you have me say? I have loved it as it deserved. He seized her hand; “These are the volumes that enrich the shops ; a languid color reddened his cheek; a smile bright- These pass with admiration through the world." ened faintly in his eye. As he gazed on her it

Roscommon. grew dim, it fixed, it closed. He sighed, and fell back on his seat. Miss Walton screamed at the Though I doubt if they will bring their ausight. His aunt and the servants rushed into the thors to immortal fame.

There is no room; they found them lying motionless together. strength in this, but on the contrary it His physician happened to call at that instant

. shows great weakness, an absence of power Every art was tried to recover them. With Miss and imagination. It is like stage thunder Walton they succeeded; but Harley was gone for

He was buried in the place he and lightning compared with “ Heaven's arhad desired. It was shaded by an old tree, the tillery” when it “comes rattling on over the only one in the churchyard, in which was a cavity Caspian.” The one is genuine, the other a counted the tombs. The last time we passed there, sickly imitation. An author must attentive methought he looked wistfully on the tree: there ly peruse the red-leaved tablets of the heart, was a branch of it that bent toward us, waving in must wisely attend to the throbbings of his





own bosom; then with a learned spirit, he absent, and feel his cheeks glow at ber approach; will appeal with a lasting effect to the hu- he wondered what it was, that made him sigh and

blush. He would sometimes take solitary walks, man mind and its eternal sympathies. We without knowing why he wandered out alone: be need the harmonious and true, not the coarse found something that pleased him in the melan, and unreal; by the former the intellect is choly of lonely recesses and half-worn paths; and enlarged, the heart softened; the latter dis- his day-dreams commonly ended in some idea of play the foul depths of leprous sin, gloat on think of such an object. He had strayed in one

Miss Sindall, though mcant nothing less than to deformity, degrade the intellect, harden the of these excursions about half a mile from the heart, and encompass us in a miasma which house, through a copse at the corner of the park, poisons the springs of life. Many parents which opened into a little green amphitheatre; are fearful that by reading novels their chil- in the middle of which was a pool of water, dren will become sentimental and romantic. formed by a rivulet that crept through the matted

grass, till it fell into this basin by a gentle cascade. There is no danger of that. Mammon is The sun was gleaming through the trees, which the only god worshipped in America with a were pictured

were pictured on the surface of the pool beneath; burning zeal.

and the silence of the scene was only interrupted

by the murmurs of the water-fall, sometimes ac“ Mammon led them on;

companied by the querulous note of the woodMammon, the least erected spirit that fell pigeons who inhabited the neighboring copse. From heaven ; for ev'n in heaven his looks and Bolton seated himself on the bank, and listened to thoughts

their dirge. It ceased; for be had disturbed the Were always downward bent; admiring more sacred, solitary haunt. I will give you some The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, music in return,' said he, and drew from his pocket Than aught divine or holy else enjoy'd

a small piped flute, which he frequently carried In vision beatific; by him first

with him in his evening walks, and serenaded the Men also, and by his suggestion taught,

lonely shepherd returning from his field. He Ransack'd the centre, and with impious hands played a little pensive air, which himself bad comRifled the bowels of their mother earth

posed. He thought he had played it by chance, For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew but Miss Sindall had commended it the day beOpen'd into the hill a spacious wound,

the recollection of Miss Sindall accompanied and digg'd out ribs of gold. Let none admire the sound, and he had drawn her portrait listening That riches grow in hell; that soil may best to its close. She was, indeed, listening to its close, Deserve the precious bane."

Milton. for accident had pointed her walk in the very same

direction with Bolton's. She was just coming out The “ Man of the World"

of the wood, when she heard the soft notes of his

appears to me to be greatly inferior to the Man of them, that suited the scene; and she was irresist

flute. They had something of fairy music in Feeling. Sir Thomas Sindall is a vulgar ibly drawn nearer the place where he sat ; Lovelace, possessing neither the gayety nor though some wayward feeling arose, and whisspirit of his famous prototype, and using the pered that she should not approach it. Her feet same means to accomplish his purposes of and she stood close by his side, while the last ca.

were approaching it, whether she would or no; seduction as Lovelace used to accomplish dence was melting from his pipe. She repeated the ruin of Clarissa. And his attempt upon it after him with her voice.“ Miss Siudall!” Lucy Annesly, after a lapse of some twenty cried he, starting up with some emotion. I years, is revolting and unnatural. The story here, but I was enchanted bither by the sound of

know,' said she, 'you will be surprised to find me of the fall of young Annesly is affecting, your' Alute. Pray, touch that little melancholy and described in a masterly manner. Rich-tune again. He began, but he played very ill. ard Annesly, the parson, gains our entire : You blow it,' said she, 'not so sweetly as before;

She put it to esteem, by his simplicity and kind nature. I let me try what tone I can give it.'

her mouth; but she wanted the skill to give it It is a portrait equal to Goldsmith's village voice. There cannot be much art in it;'--she minister, or the one drawn by Chaucer. tried it again—' and yet it will not speak at my Rawlinson is likewise a beautiful character, bidding!

on the one of God Almighty's gentlemen. The holding her fingers on the stops, her lips were

; growth of Lucy and Bolton's mutual flame red from the pressure, and her figure altogether so

pastoral and innocent, that I do not believe the is truly and gracefully written :

kisses, with which the poets make Diana greet her

sister-huntresses, were ever more chaste than that " The state of the mind may be often disguised which Bolton now stole from her by surprise. even from the owner, when he means to inquire Her cheeks were crimson at this little violence of into it; but a very trifle will throw it from its Harry's. • What do you mean, Mr. Bolton ?' said guard, and betray its situation, when a formal exam- she, dropping the flute to the ground. “'Twas a ination has failed to discover it. Bolton would forfeiture, he replied, stammering and blushing often catch himself sighing when Miss Sindall was excessively, 'for attempting to blow my flute.



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"I do not understand your answered Lucy; and from carrying a sort of fear along with that turned towards the house, with some marks of re- delight; it was like a pulse in the soul.” sentment on her countenance. Bolton was for some time riveted to the spot. When he recovered How beautiful and true is the expression: the use of his feet, he ran after Miss Sindall, and “ It was like a pulse in the soul !but it gently laying hold of her hand, 'I cannot bear need not be pointed out to any one who has your anger," said he; though I own your dis- ever loved. Savillon's feelings on leaving pleasure is just; but forgive, I entreat you, this France are interestingly told. I have read unthinking offense, of him

whose respect is equal to his love.' Your love, Mr. Bolton! I cannot somewhere that it is a greater trial to leave retract the word, though my heart has betrayed one's country, when one must cross the sea. me from that prudence which might have stifled There is such a solemnity in a pilgrimage, the declaration. I have not language, Miss Lucy, the first steps of which are on the ocean. It for the present feelings of my soul : till this momant, I never knew how much I loved you, and

seems as if a gulf were opening behind you, never could I have expressed it so ill!"" He and your return becoming impossible. "Bepaused : she was looking fixedly on the ground; sides, the sight of the main always prodrawing her hand softly from his, which refused, foundly impresses us, as the image of that involuntarily, to quit its hold. “May I not hope? infinitude which perpetually attracts the seid he. You have my pardon, Mr. Bolion.' * But'-'I beg you,' said Lucy, interrupting him, soul, in which thought ever feels herself lost. * to leave this subject. I know your merit, Mr. Travelling, say what we will, is one of the sadBolton--ny esteem-you have thrown me into dest pleasures in life. If you ever feel at ease such confusion—nay, let go my hand.'•Pity then, in a strange place, it is because you have begun and forgive me.' She sighed-he pressed her hand to his lips. She blushed-andblushed in to make it your home: but to traverse unsuch a manner.—They have never been in Bolton's known lands; to hear a language which you situation, by whom that sigh and that blush would hardly comprehend; to look on faces unconnot have been understood."

nected with either your past or future; this is

solitude without repose or dignity. For the “ Julia de Roubigné," the last of Mac- hurry to arrive where no one awaits you, kenzie's novels, has been the most attractive that agitation whose sole cause is curiosity, of them all in public estimation. It is very lessens you in your own esteem, until new interesting, and doubtless its melancholy objects can become bound to you by some pages have often been stained with the tears sweet link3 of sentiment and habit. Julia of the young. Sad and affecting it truly is, hears that Savillon marries in Martinique : and we close the book with a deep and long- her heart still remains faithful to him, but drawn sigh. Julia in childhood has a young a neighbor by the name of Montauban, a companion by the name of Savillon. They Spaniard, seeks her hand; he aids her father read the same books, play the same music, in his ruined fortunes, and more out of take rambles in the country together, and gratitude than love she at last consents to what was in childhood friendship, as years become his. Her maid Lisette gives a demultiply, becomes love. Savillon, to better scription of her at the marriage ceremony: his fortune, sails for Martiniqne, without de-"I think I never saw a more lovely figure claring his attachment to Julia. But she than my lady's; she is a sweet angel at all possesses his picture, and in a letter to a times

, but I wish your ladyship had seen friend she writes: “Maria, when this picture how she looked then. She was dressed in. was drawn! I remember the time well. a white muslin night-gown, with striped lilac My father was at Paris, and Savillon left and white ribands; her hair was kept in the with my mother and me at Bellville. The loose way you used to make me dress it for painter (who was accidentally in our pro- her at Bellville, with two waving curls down vince) came thither to give me a few les- one side of her neck, and a braid of little sons of drawing. Savillon was already a pearls; you made her a present of them. tolerable designer; but he joined with me and to be sure, with the dark-brown locks in becoming scholar to this man. When resting upon it, her bosom looked as pure our master was with us, he used sometimes white as the driven snow. And then, her to guide my hand; when he was gone, at eyes, when she gave her hand to the Count! our practice of his instructions, Savillon com- they were cast half down, and you might monly supplied his place. But Savillon's see her eye-lashes, like strokes of a pencil hand was not like the other's; I felt some- over the white of her skin; the modest thing from its touch not the less delightful gentleness with a sort of a sadness too, as it


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were, and a gentle heave of her bosom at break. As I passed that hall the door was the same time.

open; I entered to take one last look, and bid Savillon, in a letter to Beauvarais, recall it adieu! I had sat in it the night before ing the days of his early love, says: “There with Julia; the chairs we had occupied were was indeed soinething in the scene around still in their places. You know not, my us, formed to create those romantic illusions. friend, what I felt at the sight; there was The retreat of Roubigné is a venerable pile, something in the silent attitude of those the remains of ancient Gothic magnificence, chairs that wrung my heart beyond the and the grounds adjoining to it are in that power of language; and I believe the serstyle of melancholy grandeur which marks vant had told me that my horses waited five the dwellings of our forefathers. One part or six times over, before I could listen to of that small estate, which is still the appen- what he said." dage of this once respectable mansion, is a Montauban discovers the miniature of Sawild and rocky dell, where tasteless wealth villon; jealous feelings immediately agitate has never warred on nature, nor even ele- him, and gance refined or embellished her beauties.

sweep like a stormy rack The walks are only worn by the tread of the

In fleet succession o'er his clouded soul."

GRAHAM. shepherds, and the banks only smoothed by the feeding of their flocks. There, too dan- Savillon returns to France, wealthy, (the gerous society! have I passed whole days report of his marriage was untrue ;) he with Julia; there, more dangerous still finds his friend Beauvarais dead ; Julia the have I passed whole days in thinking of her. wife of another. They have one interview A circumstance trifling in itself added not a at old Lasune's, which will draw tears from little to the fascination of the rest. The the sternest eye.* Montauban is aware of same good woman who nursed me was also their meeting ; Julia returns; he administhe nurse of Julia. She was too fond of ters poison to her in some medicine. Monther foster-daughter, and too well treated by auban writes : “ Had you seen her when thesə her, ever to leave the fortunes of her family. trembling hands delivered her the bowl! To this residence she attended them when She had complained of being ill, and begged she left Belville; and here, too, as at that to lie alone; but her illness seemed of the place, had a small house and garden allotted mind, and when she spoke to me she beher. It was situated at the extreme verge trayed the embarrassment of guilt. I gave of that dell I have descsribed, and was often her the drug as a cordial. She took it from the end of those walk we took through it me, smiling, and her look seemed to lose its together. The good Lasune (for that is confusion. She drank my health. She was our nurse's name) considered us her chidren, dressed in a white silk bed-gown, ornamented and treated us, in those visits to her little with pale pink ribands. Her cheek was dwelling, with that simplicity and affection gently Aushed from their reflection; her which has the most powerful effect on hearts blue eyes were turned upwards as she drank, of sensibility. Oh, Beauvarais! methinks I and a dark brown ringlet lay on her shoulder. see the figure of Lasune, at this moment, Methinks I see her now; how like an angel pointing out to your friend, with rapture she looked! Had she been innocent, Segarin her countenance, the beauties of her lovely va! You know, you know it is impossible daughter! She places our seats together; she can be innocent.

When she produces her shining platters, with fruit I was returning to my apartment, I heard and, milk for our repast; she presses the the sound of music proceeding from my smiling Julia, and will not be denied by. wife's chamber; there is a double door in it; Savillon! Am I then a thousand leagues I opened the outer one without any noise, distant! * * * Where now are Roubigné's and the inner one has some panes of glass little copses; where his winding walks, his at the top through which I saw part of the nameless rivulets ; where the wired gate of

room, Segarva! She sat at the organ, her his venerable dwelling, the gothic windows fingers pressing on the keys, and her look upof his echoing hall! The morning on which raised with enthusiastic rapture ! The solemn,

! I set out for Paris is still fresh on my momory. I could not bear the formality of * "The sweets of love are washed with tears." parting, and stole from his house by day







NO, I.

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