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devotion would at last meet its due reward ? , age.” She married the enthusiast in an ecstacy No, Edina knew too much of life, too much of of joy at his volunteering to print a three. man's nature, to despair now. Cholmondely's volumed novel, which in MS., under seal of heart was too noble, too full of warm affections profoundest secrecy, she showed to all her adto recoil wholly upon itself; and, at the same miring acquaintances. Alas for the credulity time, he was neither young enough nor hopeful of woman! the lover volunteered to print, the enough to venture into the untried depths of husband tore up the MS. to make matches to stranger hearts. With these reflections she light his cigars ; the only thing dirty written looked so radiantly lovely that Mrs. Winterton paper was fit for. was astonished at the effect she produced.

Did she think women had no other duties “ Is it dress that improves your ward so but to sit at desks, spinning nonsensical stories much, Horace? I have never seen her before about love, and trash of that sort? Go back to in ball attire; I had no idea it would make such your dizzies and sircars, Mrs. Postlethwaite, and a difference. Or have you been bewitching her mind that my clothes are mended, and my dinwith Affghan spells, that she is so bright this ner properly cooked; and let me hear no more evening ? What an eye she has for expres- about poetry and wishy-washy romance.” sion!"

Mrs. Postlethwaite saw her three-volumed Cholmondely fully assented to his cousin's novel consumed in daily smokings, her genius admiring remarks ; he was pleased to see Edina tied down to ordering dinner, and keeping the appreciated, he had begun to appreciate her house accounts; and after scribbling elegies himself, and was delighted that evening at the ‘On a stifled muse," on the back of the weekly praises he overheard among the Calcutta judges bills, which were discovered and ignominiously of beauty.

torn before her eyes, she took to beer as a reIndependent of Edina's new hopes, there was source, and with that and eau de Cologne, soon much that night to amuse and enliven her. floated herself out of this world of prose and There was Miss Skylark floundering in valse poverty. and galop with a mustachioed aide-de-camp; But the Dreadnought has sailed while we there was the eccentric Miss Redhead with a have been digressing, and borne with her Cholshabby morning-gown and crumpled collar, mondely and his ward. There were pleasant sitting behind a pillar, reading one of the passengers, civilians with their wives, going Bridgwater treatises, with apparent absorption in home on furlough, some intelligent foreigners, the subject, and vouchsafing no reply to the ancient heroes of colonels; all was amenity and beaux whom her strange unconcern had piqued friendliness. Edina never shone so much as into accosting her. There were Miss Archer among a few; her many good qualities were and Miss Simpson sharing the attentions of the created for a select circle and intimate comfascinating chief-mate of the Dreadnought, who, panionship. Every day Cholmondely saw in relieved from his captain's fidgetty eyes, was her more to respect and love ; and when they amusing himself with mischievous tatteries and landed at the Cape of Good Hope, where the insinuating sighs, and by his carefully alternated Captain stopped for a few days to take in water, devoirs had embittered the ci-devant friends he begged her to accompany him to the lovely against each other beyond hope of reconcilia- villa of Claremont, where they had first met

, tion. There was also Miss Lackinsense, who nearly seven years before. Edina complied with sate in the centre of a listening circle, to whom a fluttering heart; and having procured two she was, in a low voice, reciting her last cele- horses, they rode thither on a lovely spring brated “ Ode to Immensity,” which had already morning. The huge hill was tossing about his found its way into the Bengal Hurkaru;" to silvery veil of mist in a sort of gigantic pet; say nothing of seven sonnets on the Passions, the vines hung fresh and tenderly green over in the Calcutta Literary Gazette; so that the the neat white Dutch cottages ; the lanes were genius felt herself in all the glory of a poetical exquisitely lovely with wild flowers ; the very lioness. Her Corinna-like air

, the Sapphic up. waggons, with their teams of twenty bullocks, turning of her eyes, and the disposal of her looked happy in the sunshine. Edina's thoughts robes, in which she had copied Miss Adelaide ran back with powerful emotion to her life in Kemble's dress as “ Norma,” struck Edina as these sweet scenes--her first dawn of proud love so irresistibly ludicrous, that she could scarcely in the sensation that Cholmondely preferred recognize her old shipmate with gravity, and her to the snowy-skinned Dutch beauties; her her composure was still further tried by the trials at home, the dreadful desertion of her Juno nod she received from the scornful lady father-all returned upon her : but this last of the lyre.

sorrow had been much softened by CholmonIt is a sad truth, which this faithful history dely's narration of Bremer's repentance and cannot in bounden duty omit to relate, that death ; and when she remembered that his hand Miss Lackinsense’s portion of fifty thousand had saved him to whom her heart clung, she rupees created so many budding poets among blessed him daily in her prayers. As she rode ensigns and assistant-surgeons, that she was along, Cholmondely broke silence by saying, in deluded into accepting a young gentleman who a faltering toneshowed a taste in raving about her divine poems,

“Do you remember, Edina, the old French which she said " she had not believed yet ex- proverb ? – On revient toujours à ses premiers isted in this degenerate and railway-hardened l amours.' No man has lived to feel its truth


more than myself. Here, Edina, did I first Although the fortune in money which the old meet you, and here you excited no slight interest gentleman had left Frank made him better off in my bosom. But ill health, and the hurry of than the good old aunt had imagined, yet her my departure, prevented my feelings from de proposal was so feasible, and so much for the veloping themselves even to myself as they must happiness of all, that it was immediately achave done had I remained and known you as cepted, and Miss Merton, the happiest and you are. I went to England: I did not recog- liveliest old maid that ever was seen, is very nize you when we met, you were so changed; busy, she has announced, in saving up a marand your cousin was so beautiful, so susceptible, riage portion for Mary's baby daughter, in so artless--you know the rest. Edina, here on whose features she has, to her own delight, in the spot where first I saw you, is it presump- spite of universal incredulity, discovered a retuous of me to return, and offer mine ancient markable resemblance to herself. She has also fealty to mine ancient shrine? to ask for a arranged a charming match between Edina's prize, of whose excellence I have ever been un- boy and Mary's girl. worthy? Edina, mine is not a youthful ardour, “ He is the image of his dear papa's papa, founded on a fair form, or a winning glance. my first love, Mary, and my only one. Just look It has required years of intimate intercourse of at this picture; and then you see Providence has trial, which no woman but yourself could have just suited them for each other-for there is 80 nobly borne, for me to appreciate and fully just a week between their ages, and the boy has recognize the traces of evident excellence, which the advantage, a very great advantage; for what my grosser nature was always blindly incapable is more absurd than a husband young enough of penetrating. Edina, I ask it humbly, for you to be bis wife's son. Oh! it will be a charming have convinced me of your immeasurable supe-match ; I only wish I could live to see it.” riority to all other women; I ask you humbly, will you be content to take pity on a worn heart, and a poor shattered frame?” Was Edina satisfied ? was the voyage home

NAIRLA. happy? was the simple, quiet wedding, at the Isle of Wight, happy? was the little picturesque cottage near Ryde a happy home? Go, and you on the dark forest irees the dew lay sleeping, will see, gentle reader; you will see a veteran hero, with eyes brimful of love and affection, when her lone watch an Indian girl was keeping,

Sunset had tinged with gold each fleecy cloud; reading in the sunny porch that looks out on

Where a tall pine had cast its shadow proud. the Solent sea, and on the white ramparts of Portsmouth. You will see an elegant, still Nairla! the stern Manhatta's lovely daughter, young-looking matron, plying her needle on a

Brightest and best amid thy dark-brow'd race, child's frock, while she listens to her husband's Linger not still thus by the lake's blue water, voice, and her eyes of earnest tenderness follow Else will they miss thee from the greenwood chace. a baby round-about, all smiles and curly locks, that is rolling on a quilt on the lawn. They are Ah! she is not alone! through wood and brake, very happy-far from rich, it is true; but a few Parting the boughs that o'er his pathway fall, books, a few prints, a small neat house, health, An aged man his feeble way doth take, and contentment make them blessed beyond

And waves a welcome to the maiden's call. kings.

Miss Merton had very soon the rapture of Swift as a deer she flies his steps to meet, welcoming back her beloved niece. For the old And there the maiden kneeling at his feet,

And lead him 'neath the stately forest tree; man died in his attack of liver complaint, and

Bowed her young brow in bitter agony. Frank being the heir, Miss Merton insisted on his taking up his abode with her, and sharing Father!" she cried, “ look on these waving trees, the pleasures and comforts of the Meadow Land

This silver lake; is it not passing fair ? in her lifetime.

Yet oh, my father, death is in the breeze

That steals e'en now to play within thine hair. “For then, my dears," wrote the old lady, "you will not be wishing for my death, as all heirs naturally “ Thou from thy distant land, with gentle speech do, and as you would do, were you to go on baking And patient look, hath wander'd here alone, out in India, and scraping and sciewing to make both The red man in his forest wild to teach, ends meet, while I am lolling on my bed of roses in And win him to a worship not his own. Meadow Land. No, no; come home, and let me clasp my darling Mary to my old heart before I die ; “ And thou hast taught me from thy holy book and then I shall not feel a cumbrance on the ground, Things that do make me scorn the life I've led ; and a shadow on the happiness of those I love best in his daughter's change Manbatta cannot brook ;

Alas! his wrath will fall upon thy head. P.S. Cholmondely is very well off, I hear. Edina makes a pattern wife, and is always laughing and They say thou hast bewitch'd me; turn’d my heart merry. Who would have believed it ? she seemed to From all it used to love in days of yore; me a stiffer, primmer old maid at twenty than I am

That in their rites I cease to take a part,

And join them in their festive sports no more.


at seventy.”

A gentle girl, with modest mien,
Fairer the sun had never seen,

Approach'd their sports to see ; Though sister, and their senior far, She did not scorn their sports to share

About that Linden tree.

And they will kill thee, father ; aye, this night;

Perchance this hour. Oh fly, ere yet too late ; See, my canoe rides o'er the waters bright,

Swift shall it bear thee from thy cruel fate. “ Oh, fare thee well! thou must no longer stay."

But calmly did the missionary stand : Weep not, my child, I will not flee away,

Though bonds and cruel torture be at hand." “ Father, 'tis madness! they are rushing on ;

Quick to the bark, ere they can gain the spot. Alas! it is too late ; our bope hath gone ; They've track'd thee here, yet Nairla leaves thee


When o'er yon rugged steep they race,
Where sterner heart would fear to chace,

Then gently chide did she;
But soon returning the truant smile,
She counsels them to keep the while

Quite near the Linden tree.

Her careful hand averts the fall,
Her patient aid regains the ball

As oft as need may be.
When tired, she strives their thoughts to raise
To other worlds, and songs of praise

Teaches 'neath the Linden tree.

Round the old man the Indian maiden clung,

Her dark locks twining with his snowy hair, Clasping, as in her sorrow wild she hung,

His feeble hands that join'd in fervent prayer. And onward, onward, came the band of death,

Swiftly, yet surely, like a mighty flood, Trampling the flowers, that seem'd with balmy

breath To stay their footsteps from the deed of blood. Near, and yet nearer, till with vengeful cry

Manbatta marks his prey before him rise, Through the still air the fatal arrows fly,

Then starts he back with horror and surprise. He sees two victims wrapp'd in last embrace, His heart grows cold! What form his eye doth

meet? Why does he dread to look upon the face

Of her who sleepeth in her beauty sweet? Lo! with the blighted flower upon his breast,

The aged martyr in the forest lay ; The dart that gave his earthly spirit rest

Hath call'd the Indian maiden's soul away.

A change comes o'er this fairy scene,
Where winter stealthily aspires to reign;
Gently to brown turns each green field,
Nips tender buds; yet will not summer yield,
But soothes and cheers each flower with smiles,
That promised to withstand all winter's wiles.
Soon icy breath the fair plain sweeps,
Chills the smooth stream; alas ! the Linden weeps:
Winter's strong arm now bolder grown,
Conquers with one fell blow, and reigns alone.

When thrice ten rounds this globe had run,

And swallows thirty visits paid, Slowly came forth a wearied one,

And sat him down beneath its shade.

No sportive smile rests on his brow,

No light heart sparkles through his eye : There all is cold and seared now,

E'en Linden's greeted with a sigh.

Pass we the frantic woe, too late to save;

The wailing dirge, the stricken chief's despair : In the far west there is a hallow'd grave,

Shelter'd by trees-Nairla is sleeping there.

“ Ah! brother, thou art blest,” he cried ;

“ Thou left this world while it was fair, The slippery paths of life untried,

Thy heart untouch'd with guile or care.

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BY S. X.

" But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,

Is first and passionate love : it stands alone,
Like Adam's recollection of his fall !"


I am a hale, strong, hearty, old gentleman ; present day, call wickedness of expression. Her but

, like you, gentle reader, was once young, figure was graceful, easy, and elegant in all its gay, and active, as you are at this moment, in movements ; and her head was supported on a all the hey-day excitement of youth; but the neck and shoulders of a whiteness, clearness wild blood grows tame, and yet more tame, as of complexion, and symmetry of form, rarely we descend the darkened vista to future years, equalled, and never have I seen it surpassed. and this you will find when you have arrived at Such, gentle reader, is the description ; and pic. my age, and are enabled to look down the per- ture it in its most refined degree, and you will spective lines of life, wondering at their length, arrive at a resemblance of the young lady who and at their indistinctness as they approach the won the admiration of an old English gentleutmost horizon of existence.

man,” thirty years ago. Perhaps it was someIt is not to so far distant a period as the day thing more than admiration, for her mind was of my birth that I would have the reader's fancy as refined as her appearance, as gentle, as recede, but would have it pause and alight at polished; the one the gift of nature assisted by the time I had almost attained my twentieth art, the other the gift of art assisted by nature ; fear. For the better understanding of my nar- all guarded by that self-pride, the possession rative, and for politeness-sake to my readers, and influence of which prevents the possessor being very particular in all matters' in which committing an action which should cause the etiquette is involved, I must introduce, par dé- slightest blush of shame on the most modest scription, a young lady, to whom, as the reader cheek, and yet a pride that none could call ofwill shortly' see—1 say shortly, having a great fensive or absurd. prejudice to long prosy narratives—I presented Of myself, inquiring reader, I can say but my“ First Love-Gift."

little. Doubtless I differed much from what I At the time of which I write, she was, to the am now, having then youth, energy, and am. best of my memory, nearly--perhaps quite two bition, coupled with an activity of mind and scars my junior; unquestionably beautiful, having body; all of which are now, like myself, on the that peculiar cast of countenance and expres- shady side of fifty, and in their decline. I sion which Sir Joshua Reynolds loved to pour- think, perhaps, the description I one day heard tray. Her hair was light brown, of a texture a young friend give of me at a party, when unbeautifully silky, and I remember on the evening known to him I stood almost at his elbow, is of which I write, it was bound tastefully with a the one the reader will find most intelligible, wreath of various artificial flowers, then first because it is most to the point, and though it coming into general use.

Her eyes were full, referred more particularly to my present characand abounding in expression, showing the emo- ter, I think I have but little changed since the tions of a heart whose feelings could spring year I first bade farewell to my teens, save that only from a nature truly estimable and good, I have grown a little more steady. “Ah !” and their expression was heightened by the long said he, * Mr. Hetherstone is rather hasty somelashes that shadowed them; her nose was regu- times, but it is soon over, and then he is one of Jar in its form, and her mouth and chin are best the best fellows in the world.” It is wonderful described by the paintings prompted by the how one's personal pride is gained upon-wonimagination of the great master I have before derful ! for the very next day I asked him to dine mentioned, having an archness when she smiled, with me. I lived in the country, at a pretty villa, that was more or less diffused through every sometimes visiting a friend at a few mniles disfeature, yet never approaching to that excess i tance, a great crony of mine, and who knew which the "men about town” I have heard, at the Miss James (or Mary, as I shall in future call


her, such being her Christian name), when I I left the house, and soon arrived at my own met her on the evening, the events of which I dwelling. shall briefly describe. I find I have omitted I threw myself on my bed, and strove to get mentioning that I sometimes perpetrated poetical a little sleep; but the brilliant lamps, the thrileffusions, once published a song, and that Miss ling music, aud the merry laugh, all hurried Mary James is the present Mrs. Alfred Hether through my brain. I was watching the revelry stone.

as it had passed before me a short time since ; I had been introduced to the family several again I heard the joyful song, again I joined in months previous to the evening to which I have the applause, and again I sat by the beautiful more than once alluded. Mrs. James was a being I had so lately parted from. After tossing great invalid. Of Mr. James I saw very little, restlessly on my bed for more than two hours

, he being rarely disengaged from his profession. I rose, for sleep I could not. Having, lit my Mary had brothers and sisters, all tractable in lamp, and placed it on a table by my bedside, their general looks and behaviour. The evenings I began to read—but to no purpose : the letters were spent chiefly in music, of which I am pas- became transformed into a thousand dancing sionately fond, though able to perform but little forms, pictures, lights, faces, everything in fact on any instrument.

which had passed before me. I'dropped the Early one spring I received an invitation from shade of my lamp so as to screen my eyes ; but a young and lately married friend, whose parties the delusion continued, till, suddenly, as if naI always enjoyed, the which I accepted, and was ture was overcome with excitement and fatigue, not a little pleased to see Mary James enter the I fell asleep. The short rest that followed must room, accompanied by her father and some have been broken and disturbed in the extreme. other members of her family, though I more Apparently, scarcely had I fallen asleep when I than half expected they would be there. The again stood on the staircase, waiting the departime passed agreeably and, like all our happiest ture of Mary James; she came, radiant in moments, rapidly away, finding me repeatedly beauty; again I advanced, and again stood by by Mary's side, when the conversation between her side. I offered the rose : in taking it she us suddenly turned on flowers.

smiled; and in any dreams I pressed her hand "That is a beautiful rose you have in your fondly and affectionately. Suddenly the scene coat, Alfred,” she said, gazing on the flower, changed, and I stood on the top of the staircase, "and so early in blossom, it is the first I have when I heard the angry tones of her father's seen this year.”

voice: they sounded harsh and unkind. “Yes," I answered, "and for a moss-rose it What is that?" I dreamed he asked. She is very early, April having but just commenced.” did not answer, but seemed to conceal some

"Is it indeed a moss-rose ?” she inquired, thing in her handkerchief. Again he demanded with one of her archest smiles, and I thought what it was. Still she made no reply: “ You she called to mind the language of the bud- should not have accepted it of him," were the perchance it was only fancy, for I replied im- next words I heard him speak distinctly: "give mediately that it was, making some passing re- it to me.” I dreamed she pressed the hand mark on the sweetness of its scent. She inhaled kerchief closely to her bosom, her eyes fixed its perfume, and the next moment we withdrew stedfastly on the ground. “ Give it to me," to another room where the music had com- he repeated; and I saw him snatch the handker. menced.

chief from her, and drawing from it the rosethe very rose I had the moment before given to

her-hé threw it away. I saw them approach Night had far advanced, but parties were the carriage, and instantly stood beside them. given earlier then than now, when Mr. James's We parted. There was a coldness in Mr, carriage drove up. I stood on the staircase, James's manner; he parted with a formal “Good awaiting the time when Mary should pass me night, sir,” and the carriage rolled away. ExMy feelings can be better imagined than de- cited, I returned, rushed into the passage seekscribed; the thoughts that fitted through my ing for the rose ; I found it, but on grasping brain how sweet, how beautiful! lit up as they the stem, it seemed to strike a chill, like that of were by hope, bright, dazzling, sunny hope ; death, through every vein. hope bounding beyond the present; far into the At that moment I awoke, and found myself

, years of futurity; hope that traced all with a to my no small surprise, in my own room, half pencil dipped in gold, apparently without alloy: stepped out of bed, and grasping the cold brass Presently I saw her descending, and advanced stand of my reading-lamp, which, doubtless, a step or two to meet her; drawing from my from the excessive heat and excitement I was in coat the rose-bud, I paused for a moment by caused that death-like chill, which I dreamed her side.

came from the Slighted rose, and, releasing my “Will you accept this rose ?" I demanded in grasp, I dropped into a chair, and you may a hurried and excited tone, pressing her hand guess my joy at finding it all a dream, and that as she took it, and, without distinctly hearing her she had indeed retained my reply, I continued my way up stairs. Presently the rest of the party descended, and having handed

FIRST LOVE-GIFT. them to the carriage, I returned to the crowded and brilliant rooms; but the charm had gone : Brighton, March, 1845.

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