THE day was drawing to a close, one of summer's longest and loveliest; but as yet with scarce abated fervour the beams of the bright day-god were bathing in their own warm splendour, the azure heavens and the gladdened earth. It was an hour in which to stand on some bold cliff, catching the fluttering of the western breeze, borne from the breast of Ocean, and looking out upon the wide-spread waters, watch their gentle undulations, sparkling into beauty beneath the kindling radiance; or, from the mountain pass or hilly ridge, to gaze on the extended landscape, mark how, with a charm as touching, if less majestic, those golden beams are shedding light and life upon each varied scene of sylvan beauty; tinging with fairy glow the distant slopes, the purple heath, the village spire, or fresh-mown meadow, decking with refulgent smile alike the noble mansion and the humble cottage; lovely and perfect emblem of heaven's bounties, encircling all within their gracious influence.

In such an hour, should one have paused to mark that pretty dwelling, whose garden, gay with flowers and verdant turf lay basking in the rays of the declining sun; hardly could he deem that the bright beams which pierced the partly shaded windows, could wake within no thought of answering gladness; for there were eyes which tears were darkening, and there a heart pressed down by anxious care.

The freshened air of evening is abroad, playing in the light draperies of the opened sash-a harp is standing near, responding in low murmurs to the fitful touch of the capricious zephyr; but she who leans beside it mournfully, her ear is closed to melody, and nature smiling in its beauty and repose, has lost the power to cheer or tranquillize.

A letter is in her hand, bearing the post-mark of a distant land; and she in thought is wandering there amid the scenery it pictures, amid the fragrant groves, and vine-clad hills of the sweet

south. And yet that closely-written sheet has now no smile of pleasure--the momentary flush of welcome has faded from her cheek, as sadly she retraces those familiar characters, "Long as I have been absent"-it concludes" and without the immediate prospect of return, believe me Elizabeth, I entertain the ardent hope of one day rejoining your little circle, and singing again with you the songs of past and happy days."-" No," she exclaimed, " 'tis now too late-this can never be again. The heart which would have throbbed delightedly at such a promise, owns now no pulse of joyous expectation ; neglect has chilled affection which nought beside would have sufficed to deaden; which would have clung to you in grief, in sickness—even in shame ; but thrown away unheeded, unappreciated, it has perished utterly and for ever. It was not the conviction of your fickleness-that I could have pardoned; I asked but for confidence due to the disinterestedness of my attachment ;—in this too you were wanting: and then the truth which, even from myself, I would have hidden, that like the summer shadow you too had vanished with the sunshine, leaving in its solitude the hour of gloom and sorrow. Oh! Willoughby, you will return to find all changeda change which is indeed but the reflection of your own; yet unkind as you have been and keeping aloof in our adversity, the absence of your favourite instrument will at least affect you, with whose chords our voices will never blend again." .

Aroused from these painful musings by the chimes of a neighbouring clock, Elizabeth remembered the appointed hour was already passed for the arrival of a stranger, whom she hoped would become the purchaser of her harp. Surely," she thought, "he will not fail; although the note speaks positively of seven, and this lovely evening might well tempt any one abroad."

The evening was indeed invitingthe rosy glow of the last sunbeams were

flooding with resplendent glory the track of the descending luminary, while with every shape and hue of brightness, vast piles of gorgeous clouds were resting in the western heaven.

Till now beneath the billowy horizon once more sinks

The traveller of six thousand years

It was impossible to remain insensible to the sublimity of such a scene; yet, even amid her admiration, Elizabeth felt how much the heart gives tone to all around-how vainly the eye is lured, the sense attracted, when care or grief is nurtured in the breast. There was a pensive stillness in the air which seemed to shed a calm upon her harassed spirits -it was the hour wherein she most had loved to wake the voice of music; and this was probably the last, in which from her own harp its strains would ever echo on her ear: that harp which Willoughby himself had chosen; whose chords his voice had first accompanied.

And other memories rose; of many joyous hours which song and dance had gladdened-thoughts of those who, then assembled, would never meet again-of friends whom change or circumstance had scattered; the dead, the distant, or estranged, "yet wherefore," sighed Elizabeth, "wherefore do I regret the pleasures, proved by experience, so vain and transient; henceforth I will banish the remembrance, with one last song which breathes my farewell strain." She drew the harp towards her, and begun a low and plaintive air which, heard amid the falling shadows of the soft June twilight, seemed to express the very soul of melancholy.

The last full tones were dying into silence, as a ringing at the gate announced the expected visitant. A moment's pause, and he was ushered in: a young man apparently of five or six and twenty, who with easy grace apologized to Elizabeth for having so far exceeded his appointment, alleging that the fineness of the weather had tempted him considerably to extend his ride.

Relieved by this courtesy of tone and manner, she quickly recovered from her first embarrassment-approaching the harp, she said, this is the instrument referred to; you will recognise the name of one of the first makers, and will

probably convince yourself whether the tone does justice to his reputation.

66

Why indeed," replied the stranger laughing, "I must confess myself but poorly qualified for the commission intrusted to me by my good mother and sister; but, having furnished me with plenary authority for the completion of every arrangement, I am sure I shall exercise it most to their satisfaction, by making a selection which has your recommendation: there is only one request you must permit me to make, enabling me to judge of the harp, as its tones should always be heard, united to sweet words, and a lady's voice.”

Gladly would Elizabeth have excused herself a trial to which she felt unequal both in strength and energy; but the young stranger was not easily refused, and to avoid the appearance of disobliging affectation, she attempted to comply with his repeated solicitation. In such an hour her hand, her voice, could try no lively strain; she chose a simple and romantic ballad, which had always been a favourite of her own.

The first low notes were tremulous with timidity-still she went on, endeavouring to repress her agitation by yielding to the sentiment her song expressed; but it needed no excitement of poetic interest, to the increase of sensibility already highly wrought-the effort to proceed was ineffectual-the nerveless fingers refused their office- the faltering accents ceased.

The stranger rose in great embarrassment. "You are ill!" he exclaimed; "how unfortunate I did not think of this-how shall I forgive myself for the pain thus occassioned you?"

"No," 27

said Elizabeth, recovering herself, "it is I who must apologize— my spirits are unusually depressed this evening; but the emotion was but momentary, and has now passed away.”

The stranger spoke in a tone of much kindness.

"This parting with a valued instrument distresses you," he said, "intimate your wish only, and I shall willingly retract a purchase which appears to grieve you.”

"Oh no!" she replied quickly, "you mistake indeed; it was not the loss of the harp, but merely recollections connected with it, that for the instant affected me; but associations now broken

up, have left me small reason to regret a recreation, which, delightful as it is when participated by others, is scarcely suited to solitary enjoyments." The young man smiled, and Elizabeth smiled too, at the implication of his words, as he replied, "Nay, I allow that music requires the excitement of at least one listener, especially with the accessories of such an hour and scene as this. Let me hope that this pleasure yet remains to be restored to you; that the present, is only a temporary interruption; and before I take my leave, which my horse's impatience I perceive is rendering necessary, permit me to offer an invitation to Street, which I am sure my mother and Louisa will feel proud to repeat.

Elizabeth replied, she should have felt honoured by such an introduction, but that having given up visiting entirely, she was compelled to decline so flattering an acquaintance.

There was nothing in the words themselves, beyond the ordinary expression of courtesy demanded by the occasion, but the tone bespoke a sorrow wherewith the 66 stranger intermeddleth not ;" and the young man, as he took his leave, could only express a hope that at some future time he might bring a pleader who should be more successful.

She remained some minutes at the window, watching the gradual disappearance of her departing visiter, as he

rode along slowly, seemingly enjoying to the utmost the calm and freshness of the evening air.

The crimson flush had faded from the west, where yet the last faint light of day was lingering; but overhead the clear expanded concave was already glittering with silver star-beams; while scarce above the brow of the horizon, a slight, yet brilliant crescent, just marked the presence of the summer moon.

In such an hour who has not felt a pure and holy influence in the still beauty of the heavens, producing on the troubled heart the reflected image of their own tranquillity? Elizabeth experienced this; her thoughts attracted towards those far-off spheres, more brightly glowing in the deepening azure, escaped awhile the bondage of terrestrial cares, bringing back to the calmed spirit tokens of hope and peace, gathered in their soarings amid those bright and distant regions.

Elizabeth saw not again the stranger, whose appearance and manners had so much prepossessed her: but recalling his open countenance and bright blue eye, she often pleased herself in picturing the fair Louisa of whom he spoke, as equally interesting as her brother; imagining her harp again the attraction of many a happy group, to whose light strains or bounding steps its own glad tones supplied the pulse of joyous aniH. L. M.

mation.

IT is perhaps in that deep glow of rapture stealing on the mind under the exciting influence of a brilliant morning, that we approach most nearly those perceptions of delight, which shall combine to form the beatitude of the spirit's immortality; by enjoying all that ministers to sense, unmingled with aught of evil or pollution. It is in the contemplation of Nature's loveliness, bright and sparkling in its freshness as when first flushing into life at the fiat of her Cre

ator, that the soul, rising equally above the distinctions, or the humiliations of the earth, forgets awhile her weakness and her suffering, in the proud consciousness of capacity to enjoy, and right to appropriate, those varied sources of delight with which this lower world is so abundantly enriched.

Under the influence of feelings such as these, we seem most truly to escape from earth; drawn upwards by instinctive yearnings towards those smiling

heavens, our very being seems commingled with their deep blue ether, as though already freed from the frail body the spirit there might seek a calmer home; like the soaring bird, would cleave the balmy air as buoyantly, leaving far beneath the cares and sorrows of mortality.

Yet aspirations such as these indications of a state of being reserved for her futurity, exert upon the spirit but a passing influence a lower flight is yet her appointed sphere. The heart returns again to earth-that earth whose trials and distresses are still so sanctified by duty, and soothed by tenderness that earth, which so unites itself to our affections, that death, though it dissevers, cannot dissolve the union.

And then with softened feelings we gather the endeared, the almost spontaneous assurance, that Creation was the work of love and looking forth on the face of Nature, bright with sunshine, and gay with flowers, and rich with fruits, we no longer doubt that in Divine Benevolence alone originated the gift of Life, to creatures, whose dwelling Divine Goodness has thus decked with beauty. And while we know that the shade which sin has thrown upon our world,

is traced upon the fading splendours of her skies, and in the fragile beauty of her flowers, we look upon the radiant morning and know, that glorious and undying will be that, succeeding to the night of Time and Nature.

Night is beautiful with its thousand stars, its calm and silver moonlight, its fragrant and refreshing dews: yet amidst its soothing peaceful influence, there comes a still and solemn feeling which depresses, while it purifies. "All dimly glorious and divinely sad," it seems to speak of blighted hopes, and buried joys, of silence, and oblivion, and the grave sacred to sorrow, and endeared by tender recollections.

Beautiful are each and every change in the natural world around us, whether illumined by the sunbeam, or shaded by the veil of evening: yet is there that in the early morning, which nothing in the after brilliancy of noon, the gorgeous hues of sunset, or the chastened loveliness of night can rival: emblem of all things fair and fleeting-of youth, and hope, and spring-time-too bright to be enduring here, yet destined to a renovated existence, where spring knows no decay, and suns know not decline.

H. L. M.

G. E. I.

Ir was a bright beaming afternoon; the rain which had fallen in the morning had been just sufficient to give freshness to the grass and flowers, which had drooped beneath the blaze of a fierce July sun, and the birds, as if grateful for the delicious fragrance which met them wherever they flew, poured forth one clear continuous spirit of minstrelsy. It was an afternoon, perhaps, that no other climate, save our own dear aspersed one, could have furnished, full of warmth without oppressiveness. And it certainly congregated a party at my aunt's tea-table, distinctively and entirely English. My aunt, whose very infirmities bestowed an extra charm upon her, by the grace with which she bore them, was seated in her old arm-chair, her foot resting upon a stool, where sat with upturned face, patiently waiting her accustomed evening donation of milk, the large Angola cat, whose varied beauties and accomplishments, I think, would have made her a formidable rival to that Jacobina, whom the author of Eugene Aram has so felicitously sketched. Many were the sly caresses my aunt bestowed on her purring favourite, many were the encomiums publicly awarded to her gray shining coat, which all admired, yet few ventured to touch, for she had an ungracious mode of repaying any approach to such familiarity, save from the well-known hand of my aunt, by a growl and a scratch. She was in truth a very termagant of a cat.

It was six o'clock; the hour, which in London begins the labours of the toilet for dinner, was the one which at Mayfield assembled the guests for tea and scandal. For where is the country coterie which, when meeting for the one, can dispense with the other? I know it not-and truly Mayfield was a scandal-loving, scandal-provoking village. The girls were prettier than I ever saw any where else the men more accessible to the tender passion, and what with the aid of a dressmaker from London, a yearly fair, and an occasional visit from the strolling players, Mayfield afforded ample scope for the gossip

loving-and these in England form no inconsiderable class.

On this particular evening it seemed as if all the Pry's in the village were congregated together. Firstly, there was Mrs. Perkins; she, whose restless curiosity was a terror to the evil doer, almost to the evil thinker. She was the first person who established the use of a telescope at Mayfield to ascertain the acts of her distant neighbours. Those in her immediate vicinity might indeed congratulate themselves if an additional flower bloomed in their garden undetected by her lynx eye. Next to Mrs. Perkins sat Mr. Williams, the lawyer of the village, whose professed employment it was to find out all the errors and flaws-not in the constitution of his country-would that he had been content with that, but with the constitutions, moral and physical, of his neighbours. Every ebullition of spleen, every casual cold that had occurred in the village for the last ten years, he had accurately chronicled. Did you mention a person's name, his answer was, "Yes. He is a good-hearted man, but you should have seen him in the passion I did, in the September of 1822!" Meet him in the street, and, though boasting of your health he would check your buoyancy by reminding you of some long deceased fever or cough, which would one day or other return, and consign you to the "tomb of all the Capulets." Besides the persons individualized, there were sundry others at my aunt's tea-table, whose names and fortunes might differ, but whose minds were a facsimile of each other. These kept a perpetual watch on the politics of the village. Not a carriage or cart could pass without some of these worthies were acting spy to the occupants thereof. Not a stray cat or rambling cur could make high way of Mayfield, without being matter of speculation and remark as to its whereabouts. My aunt herself was a quiescent sort of person enough, but if she encouraged not the spirit of detraction by example, she afforded it sanction by sufferance. This evening the tea