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As she squeezed my hand at parting, Caroline whispered "she supposed she should not again see Matilda Selby;" and I, silly girl that I was! by my blushes, and my silence, admitted that I understood her, and that I cherished the same expectation.

Last night, when we greeted each other on the stairs, did she not speak of the "unexpected pleasure" of meeting me with my sister; and could I not plainly perceive the malicious innuendo contained in the commonplace words?

In solitude, one is more aware of the void in one's heart; but, in society, one sees the triumphant glance,-one hears the commiserating sigh,-one perceives the mortifying smile.

Oh! how could I so pity that youthful widow yesterday! She is not exposed to the sneers of the unfeeling; her sorrows are not humiliating. To all around her she is the object of interest, kindness, consideration, and respect friends and strangers feel for her: no eye can fall on her but with a kindly ex

pression in every bosom she must find sympathy. She may still enshrine the image of her beloved in her heart of hearts; and, when her race is run, may she not hope for a reunion of their spirits? while I! *

THIRD FRAGMENT

OF

MARGARET'S JOURNAL.

London, September 13th. Here we are, once more, in our native land! My heart yearned towards it from the moment I descried its white cliffs;-the land of my birth,the land of my youth,-the land where my fathers are buried,-where I hope I may be buried with them,-and, what to me is the dearest tie of all, the land which contains the remains of my poor Henry.

It must, indeed, be a bitter necessity, which could induce me to emigrate. One might be contented to live in a strange land, but not to die there perhaps it is a fanciful feeling; but, to those who have lost any dear friend, the tie to the father-land seems to me one which

can be replaced by no other. I should have been sorry if death had overtaken me during our travels: I may now look forward to Henry's mortal remains, and my own, being consigned to the same vault; and, though the Church never united us in life, in death the same holy ground will contain my father's nephew, and my father's daughter.

THIRD FRAGMENT

OF

MATILDA'S JOURNAL.

Rockstone Abbey, September 16th.-My heart sickened at finding myself again in England, and in reflecting upon the change that has taken place in myself-in my feelings,―my hopes, my wishes. This time last year I left Rockstone, full of joy and sanguine expectation: Lord George had appeared devoted to me the last fortnight we were at Elversham; and I imagined he but awaited my arrival in London to declare himself. How I then pitied Margaret, who was still weeping our poor cousin Henry's death,-and, now (how I envy her!) she is calm and cheerful; and she even expresses satisfaction at returning home, although it is here that Henry is buried! She takes an interest in all that

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