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disposal of Miss Beverley, since in his writing-, and Mrs. Harrington briefly informed him of the desk was found a paper specifying that his will, distressing events of the morning. in which he bequeathed the whole of his pro- “You tell me the man has confessed his perty, of every description, to Mildred Beverley, imposition,” said Mr. Harrington, “and therewas in the hands of Mr. Whitfield, of Chancery- fore I cannot doubt the truth of Mr. Whitfield's lane. I have legal vouchers for the truth of all statement; but still, there is a circumstance I allege.”

which I find it difficult to account for: how “ Then who is this man?” cried Mrs. Har- could a runaway valet have been master of five rington, turning to her shivering son-in-law thousand pounds--the sum which he has placed elect.

“What was his purpose in coming here, to my credit at my banker's?and what is his name?"

While Mr. Harrington was speaking, he had

two more auditors than he imagined, for Mildred “ I doubt not he has many aliases,” replied and Charles-who had accompanied Mr. WhitMr. Whitfield; " but the name I knew him by field to the house, and remained in the breakfasta year ago, when Mr. Farnford engaged him as

room-now joined the party. his valet de chambre, was that of William John

“I can clear up that mystery, my dear Sir," son; he accompanied his master to Portugal, said Mildred. “ When Mr. Whitfield informed and, immediately after his melancholy death, ab- me, three days ago, that I was every inch an stracted his snuff-box, diamond rings, and a heiress, and offered to advance to me any sum large sum of ready money, and made his way to that I required, I joyfully took him at his word, England. I am empowered by Miss Beverley and requested that he would instantly favour me to allow him to pass unpunished for the robbery; by placing five thousand pounds to your account if he will immediately restore the jewels, and at your banker's. Do not make any objection to make a full confession of his guilt.'

it, if you please; I have promised to become William Johnson dropped on his knees, not your daughter-in-law, and near relatives should quite so gracefully as he had done to Anastasia, never scruple to receive a little pecuniary acwhen he inade proposals to her. He owned that commodation from each other." a short time before Mr. Tarnford's death, he The Harringtons, cold and selfish as they had heard him declare to a visitor, that he had were, could not help feeling somewhat touched left all his property to his first cousin, Mildred at Mildred's delicacy and disinterestedness. She Beverley; that her mother was the only person was praised, caressed, and admired by all the who had ever been kind to him; and that he family; but she knew that their devotion was valued so much a common miniature she had paid to the heiress, and not to the woman, and given him, that he bad employed an eminent her vanity was not greatly exalted by it. In the artist to copy it for his snufi-box. After Mr. faithful love of the disinterested Charles HarFarnford's death, it struck him that he would rington, however, she found all the happiness possess himself of his jewellery, go over to that she could anticipate upon earth: preparaEngland, seek out Mildred Beverley, assume the tions were quickly made for their marriage, and character of Mr. Farnford—inventing a story to Anastasia was a particularly brilliant bridesmaid, account for his restoration to life-and endeavour since she took her lately purchased wedding to induce Mildred to marry him; by which means finery into every-day wear.

Mr. Harrington he would obtain a legal right over her property, was in remarkably good spirits : he had received Frustrated in this plan by Mildred's refusal, and accounts of the success of his speculation, and encouraged by Anastasia's advances, he thought requested Mildred to take her five thousand that he should certainly do well for himself by pounds back again; but Mildred begged to be marrying the daughter of a rich merchant, and allowed to bestow it as a wedding portion upon as he had only a very small portion remaining of Anastasia, and that young lady accepted it with the money he had taken from Mr. Farnford's abundant gratitude, recommenced her search for secretaire, the contract into which he had entered, a husband with great animation, and evinced no that he would endow his bride with the half of tokens of having suffered in her peace of mind his worldly possessions, would not have invested froin her brief love-passage with William Johnher with any very magnificent jointure. Mr. son, except that she ever after recoiled from the Whitfield led him away at the close of his con- name of a valet, and shuddered at the sight of a fession, feeling that it must be a trial to Mrs. snuff-box! Mildred and her husband led a life Harrington and Anastasia to remain in his pre- of uninterrupted peace, they bless the caprices sence; the bride-elect fell into a swoon, and the of fortune which tended so fully to convince room was forthwith filled with servants, bearing them of the affection of each other, and Mildred hartshorn, sal-volatile, and other restoratives ; declares that our greatest calamities often turn the only novelty attending their assiduities being to our greatest blessings, and that the Giver of that the under-housemaid, having heard burnt all good was conducting her by a rough path to feathers mentioned as a sovereign remedy for a home of joy and contentment, when she enfainting, caught a magnificent bird of Paradise tered the family of the Harringtons, silent, subplume from the box on the table, singed it in the dued, and sorrowful, as an Humble Companion. fire with as little remorse as if it had been a bundle of old pens, and proceeded to apply it to the nose of her ill-fated young mistress! Anastasia was just recovering when her father entered,

THE RETURN.

BY GEORGINA C. MUNRO.

The light bark skimm’d the stormy seas,

And cleft the waves in twain,
And left behind the waving trees

And sunny skies of Spain;
On, onward through the showering spray,

On, on, 'mid circling foam,
She bounded swiftly on her way

To bear the wanderer home.
On, on, she went! the English strand

Is brightening on his view;
" Oh, welcome now, my native land,

Where hearts are ever true !".
There came no low voice whispering

Reproaches in his ear;
He heard but waters murmuring

O'er the white sands gleaming near.
On, on! the steeds are flying,

Like hopes across his mind, And the ocean-roar is dying

On the wind he leaves behind : There is music in the fleetness

Of the horses' hurrying feet, And memory gives a sweetness

To each sound his senses greet. On, on! against the evening sky,

'Mid starbeams trembling light, Grey turrets rise before his eye

Like spirits of the night“ Ye have not changed, though sun and blast

Have beat upon your brows, Since in your shade I wander'd last

Beneath the chesnut boughs !” Yet no upbraiding memory

To his heart would entrance win;
He heard alone the melody

Of joy's own voice within ;
The flower he left within those walls,

When duty bade him roam,
Still lingers in her father's halls,

To smile his welcome home.
Home from the field of victory,

With laurels brightly won !
Her fears shall from his presence flee,

Like shadows from the sun.
But why is torchlight streaming

From yon chapel ’mid the trees? And say, can he be dreaming

Of music on the breeze ?

One look upon that snowy brow

By orange-wreath entwined,
One wild word of reproach, and now

Those towers are left behind ;
On, on! as the avenger
Of

wrong were following fast, As by his side rode danger,

And death upon the blast! " Oh, Woman's faith and truth and love,

How often have I dreamed
That ye were sunrays from above

Which on our planet beam'd!
Oh, Woman's faith and love and truth,

I wead ye now aright,
Ye are bright phantasies of youth,

Which fade from manhood's sight!"
Now, hark ! was it the sighing

Of winds around his path? Or a stern voice replying

To his impotent wrath ?
'Twas the reproach of conscience

Which tardily awoke,
When the past's fitting recompense

Upon its slumbers broke.
Then rose upon his startled thought

Memory of hours gone by,
Of sorrow by deception wrought

Beneath another sky;
A heart won but to cast away,

Vows breathed as 'twere in jest;
Oh, woman's falsehood could repay

A lover's falsehood best!
The blow came home unto his heart,

Which one before had borne;
The links of truth he tore apart,

By other hands are torn. " Oh, Woman's love and truth and faith,

I taunt ye now no more ;
Each guileful act perchance repay'th

Some evil wrought before !"

MIDNIGHT MUSINGS.

BY W, G. J. BARKER, ESQ.

There are strains of gladness swelling

On the enraptured air ;
Of what can they be telling ?

They do not speak of prayer.
Now, now, from every casement

Lamps gleam upon his sight; From watch-tower unto basement

Is yon castle wrapp'd in light. On, on! there needs no gates set wide,

They have not closed to-day :
On, on! but soon the living tide

Obstructs his farther way:
He hears a well-remembered name;

It should not give him pain,
Or wherefore was it that he came

To meet the bridal train?

My thoughts are of the dead. The queenly moon

Is up, and on her silent course through heaven : Along the valley comes a soothing tune

Of gentle music, by deep waters given,
That falls upon my senses like some strain
Of other years, I never thought to hear again.
There breathes no voice from any living thing

Except the night-bird's melancholy cry;
The folded flowers delicious odours fling;

A few pale stars are gleaming in the sky; And all is hush'd, for 'tis the peaceful hour When wearied mortals bend to slumber's welcome

power. But on me seldom the blest boon descends

That ever favours others; on my eyes Not in this hour the holy sleep attends,

Dear visitant, that weeping mourner's prize: A restless couch I press till dawning light, Gaze on the lovely moon, and chide the tedious

night.

The fresh-cut hay with fragrance loads the gale Invisible; 'tis in such hour as this

That slowly by my open'd casement sweeps, I ween they quit the stars, pure mansions of their And ling’ring as it passes down the vale,

bliss. Its viewless wings in dewy fragrance steeps : Alas ! to me it bears no healing balm,

Ay, even now, perchance at my right hand Nor hath my soul a share in Nature's breathless The ghost of some great ancestor may be ; calm.

Perhaps angelic shapes around me stand,

Bright eyes are bent upon mine smilingly,
My thoughts are of the dead-of those whose hearts, And seraph voices, which 'twere heaven to hear,

Whilst upon earth they dwelt, were wholly mine ; Are whisp'ring mystic speech in my unconscious ear.
And sweet remembrance of their love imparts
Some solace to my grief, as sunbeams shine

But hence, wild dream ! the flesh cumbers me still Through falling showers, gilding with light serene

With an oppressive load of heavy clay, The thunder-blasted oak, stripp'd of its early green.

And, bow'd beneath the weight of mortal ill,

In vain my soul struggles to flee away :

Bound to the orb whence the first man had birth, But as that tree will never more display Fresh leaves, when visited by genial Spring,

My thoughts may pierce the skies, but I remain on

earth. So to my wither'd heart no cheerful ray Of heaven-born hope can lasting comfort bring :

How pure and peaceful shines the summer moon, Mine is the wounded spirit's secret gloom,

The very landscape seems to be asleep ; That finds no real peace till summon’d to the tomb.

Around my lattice creeps the flower of June,

And countless blossoms dewy fragrance weep : In vain for me the starry flowers expand,

Alas! sweet slumber from mine eyes has fled; Clothing with beauteous colours ħill and lea ;

Tedious is the fair night-my thoughts are of the In vain for me Summer adorns the land

dead. Groves to the wild bird, blossoms to the bee ;

Banks of the Yore.
And to the happy, prospects gay and warm ;
But for the sick of life, all these things have no
charm.

OLD CHRISTMAS AND HAPPINESS.
The linnet's melody, when morning light
Sportively dances on each mountain stream,

(A Song for Winter.) Sweet Philomela's dulcet song by night, When in the firmament bright planets beam,

BY J. J. REYNOLDS. Haply may please the untroubled mind of youth ;

'Tis said that old Christmas and Happiness wander'd They who have drain'd grief's cup such trifles cannot In search of a home from calamities free; soothe.

And as on their lot and their prospects they ponder'd,

Both vow'd that where one was the other should be. My thoughts are of the dead. How calm they rest,

With this resolution, unyielding though vainly, Escaped for ever from affliction's rod !

O'er many a mile did the travellers roam, Cold and unconscious is each mouldering heart And sad to relate, they perceived but too plainly, Beneath the marble floor or burial sod :

Though nations were plenty, right scarce was a Winter and summer are to them the same,

home. December's icy blast, or the fierce dog-star's flame.

Sometimes if old Christmas was cordially greeted, Still is the fever'd pulse; through burning vein As greeted he should be, with love and respect,

No longer in hot stream life's current flows; His companion, alas ! was unworthily treated,
Oblivion wraps the once distracted brain,

Dull sorrow would come their repose to infect. And the heart hath forgotten all its woes ;

At length they reach'd England, bright pearl of the Stiff are those hands that waked the golden lyre ;

ocean ! Love's dreams are at an end, and quench'd ambi- When, after surveying the island around, tion's fire.

Both the rovers exclaim'd with the warmest devotion,

“ Come, here let us rest, for a home we have No more the thrilling trump and rolling drum

found." Pour strains inspiring on the warrior's ears; The voice of festive revelry is dumb;,

Now since the pair hither have chosen their dwelling, There is no laughter, but there are no tears :

Let's hail them and prize them, while prize them Oh, happy beings who have gone to sleep,

we may, No more you toil and mourn, no more you watch And watch lest the foul traitor Discord, rebelling,

Should lift up his head, e'er to drive them away.

Through each freak of fortune, 'mid all change of My thoughts are of the dead. Hark! from yon weather, tower

May nothing occur these two friends to divide; Peal'd the deep death-knell of another day; In peace may they live, and uniting together, How long must I expect the distant hour ?

Bring joy to our homes and each blythe fire-side. How long on earth a weary pilgrim stray ? Days after days, months after months have flown, Friends lovers, all are gone, and I am left alone.

ANSWER TO ENIGMA IN OUR LAST. If, as some hold, the shades of those we love Revisit us amid the hush of night,

At length the reason I plainly see, And through our darkly-curtain'd chambers rove, 'Tis that you must always come after tea. (T. U.) Kind vigils keeping, though to human sight

X, Y, Z.

and weep:

CAST THY BREAD UPON THE WATERS; THOU SHALT FIND

IT AFTER MANY DAYS."

(A Tale.)

BY GRACE AGUILAR,

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Why, Willie, what is the matter?" inquired The tale, which his inquiries elicited, was a Edward Langley, entering his father's office one very common one. Willie's father had been an evening after business hours, and finding its sole artificer in one of the manufacturing towns; but tenant a boy of fourteen or fifteen, leaning both too eager for advancement, he imprudently threw arms on one of the high desks, and hiding his up his situation and tried independent business

. face within them, whilst his slight figure shook Matters grew worse and worse; his family inwith uncontrollable sobs. “And how came that creased and his means diminished. Hearing of drawer open?” he continued more sternly, per- an excellent opening at New York for an artificer ceiving a bureau drawer half open, so as to dis- like himself, he worked day and night to obtain play its glittering contents, which looked disc sufficient means to transport himself and family turbed. I hope you have not been doing any across the Atlantic, and support them till a busithing wrong, Willie.”

ness could be established. His wife ably aided “Oh, sir, indeed-indeed I have not! Count him, when unhappily he was tempted to embark the money, Mr. Edward; pray count it; see all his little savings in one of the bubbles of the that it is all right, or I can never hold up my day, which he was confidently assured would be head again. The temptation was misery enough, so successful as to permit his embarking for returned the boy, as well as his sobs would | America at once, and so seize the opening permit, and displaying such a countenance of offered. Few speculators had perhaps a better suffering as to enlist all Edward's sympathy at excuse; but fortune did not favour him more once.

than others; it failed, and he was ruined. Three “ But, my good boy, what could have tempted months afterwards he was thrown into prison you? You seem so to feel the enormity of the for the only debt he had ever incurred, and sin, that I cannot imagine what thought came though he had friends to persuade him to his into your head."

ruin, he had none to liquidate his debt. His " I only thought of my poor father, sir. Oh, wife's health, already over-worked, sunk under Mr. Edward, he is in prison, and my mother is privation and sorrow; and though she toiled too ill to work; and she and my poor little even from her fevered pallet, her feeble earnings sisters are starving,” he replied, bursting again were not sufficient to give her children bread. into tears. " I did not know what to do to help Edward Langley was a creature of impulse; them; I give them all I earn, but that is so very but in him impulse was the offering of high little it only gives them a meal now and then; principle, and therefore, though the following and then, when I saw that drawer accidentally it often caused him unlooked for annoyance, left open, and remembered twelve pounds, only it never led hiin wrong ; and Willie's tale called twelve pounds would get my father out of forth sympathies impossible to be withstood. prison, and he could work for us again, the “ Edward !” said one of his numerous sisters horrid thought came into my head to take them; one evening, about three weeks afterwards, as they would never be missed out of so many; they were sitting at tea—a meal which, bringing and I had them in my hand. But then I thought them all together, was universally enjoyed. what could I tell them at home? It would break “What have you done with grandpapa's birthmy poor mother's heart to think her Willie was day present ?' You were to do so many things dishonest; she could better bear hunger and with that money; and I have not heard you grief than that, sir; and I knew I could not speak of it since my return." hide it from her; and so I dashed them back! “ Because wonderful things have occurred They seemed to scorch me! Oh, Mr. Edward, since you left, Fanny,” said another slily. “ He indeed, indeed I speak the truth!”

is going to accompany Mr. Morison's family to Edward did believe him, and he told him so. Italy and Paris; and bring us such splendid There was little need to speak harshly; the boy's presents. His fair Julia cannot go without him, own conscience had been his judge.' To satisfy and he has promised to join them.” him, however, he counted the money, found it “Wrong, Miss Ellen, I am not going," was the correct, and after talking to him a little while, reply, with rather more brusquerie than usual. kindly yet impressively, promised to do what he Why, have you quarrelled ?" could for his father, and left him, indelibly im- “ Not exactly.” pressing that evening upon Willie's mind by “ But she will be offended, Ned; I am sure I never reverting to it again,

should be."

" No

66

con

you

would not, Anne, if you knew my, without being a very worldly parent, were not reasons.

perhaps unnatural. “ What are they, Edward dear? Do tell me, “My dear father," was Edward's earnest and I am so curious.”

affectionate rejoinder, “ do not be vexed for my • Of course, or you would not be a woman!” sake. A visit to the continent would no doubt

Against this all his sisters expostulated at have been improving; but I will work doubly once ; and even his mother expressed curiosity, hard in dear old England, and that, though it adding, that he had talked of this continental may not be as much pleasure, will be just as trip so long, and with so much glee, it must be serviceable. With regard to Miss Morison," a disappointment to give it up.

his cheek slightly flushed, “if her affections are “ It is; but I do not regret it."

only to be secured by being constantly at her “ But you must have a reason.”

side, and always playing the lover, there could “ The very best of all reasons; I cannot A separation for three or four months can surely

be no happiness in a nearer connection for either. afford it."

have no effect on real regard, and I am quite “ Come to me for the needful, Edward,” said willing to subject both myself and Julia to the his father. “ I cannot give you luxuries; but ordeal

. As to not being sure of doing the good this is for your improvement.'

I hope--who can be? I do believe that poor “ Thank you most heartily, my dear father, fellow's story, I confess, and strongly believe he but I am, rather I was, richer than any of you will do well; but I do not mean to give the know. I earned so much for my last en- subject another thought, except to work the graving.”

harder. The money is as much gone as freely “ And you never told us,” said his mother given, and I expect as little reward as if I had and sisters reproachfully.

thrown it on the waters —” “ I did not, because it was already appro

“ Where thou shalt find it after many days,” priated. I wanted exactly that sum to add to continued his mother so affectionately and apmy grandfather's gift; and that was what I provingly, that Edward threw his arm round worked so hard for."

her and kissed her tenderly. “ You have done “ To purchase some bridal gift,” said Fanny right, my dear boy; and if Julia Morison does archly.

not think so, she is not worthy of your love." “ No, Fan; I never mean to purchase love." How quick is woman's, above all a mother's, “ But if the lady requires to be so

penetration. From the first allusion to Miss ciliated ?”

Morison in the preceding conversation, she knew “ Then she is not worth having —"

that something had occurred between them to

annoy, if it did not wound her son; and the “ Of course not,” rejoined Anne. come, Edward, you have never kept anything actual fact. Perhaps her penetration in this in

moment she heard his story she guessed the from us before. What is this mystery?”

stance was aided by previous observation. She “ Out with it,” laughingly pursued Ellen. had never liked Miss Morison, desirable as from “ Julia Morison will not thank you for pre-worldly motives the connection might be. Edferring anything to accompanying her, I can tell ward, youth-like, had been captivated by her you; so, as Anne says, what is this mystery?beauty and vivacity, and gratified by her very

No mystery at all, girls. You will all be marked preference for himself. His complete disappointed when I tell you; so you had better | unconsciousness that he really was the handlet it alone."

somest and most engaging young man of the. But beset on all sides, even by his father and town of L-, by depriving him of all conceit, mother, Edward told the simple truth, which increased Miss Julia's fascination. Mr. Morison our readers no doubt have already guessed. was meinber for the county, and had made himHis money had been applied in releasing Willie's self universally popular; and certainly took father from prison; restoring his mother to marked notice of Edward. The good people of health, by giving her and her children nourish- L- were too simple-minded to discover that ing food; securing a passage for them all to their member's attractions were merely graces of New York, and investing the trifling surplus for manner; and that he noticed Edward only betheir use on their arrival. He told his tale hur- cause he was perfectly secure that his daughter riedly, as if he feared to be accused of folly, and would never do such a foolish thing as to prohis father did somewhat blame him. He was mise her hand to the son of a country attorney, provoked that the little scheme of pleasure and however agreeable he might be. improvement, which Edward had anticipated so Edward's wish to accompany them to the many weeks, should be frustrated; and annoyed continent met with decided approval. Mr. Mothat he should be disappointed, though the dis- rison thought the young man would save him a appointment was perfectly voluntary. How could great deal of trouble, as a kind of gentleman he tell that the man's story was true? How was valet, without a salary; and Miss Julia was dehe sure the money would produce the good effect lighted at this unequivocal proof of his devotion, he hoped? He must say he thought it a pity, and at the amusement she promised herself in a very great pity; a visit to Paris would be so playing off her country beau on the continent, improving ; Mr. Morison's family such a de- his simplicity being the shield to cover her sirable connection and other regrets, which, manæuyres; besides, he would be such an ex.

“ But

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