written to you, let your heart plead an excuse for my weakness in writing."

When next I heard of her, she was at the sea-side with her father, and it was feared in a rapid decline; my anxiety overpowered my prudence, and I wrote to her mother, which brought the following answer from Ada herself:

"Do I deceive myself, Arthur, when, judging from the feelings with which I hailed your last letter to my mother, I imagine it will give you pleasure to hear from me. If my vanity misleads me, do not read another line. It is now three years since the commencement of that delicious dream, from which I was so cruelly awakened. I do not say we, for you have often loved, and therefore our positions were not the same. Even now, when I dwell in thought upon the different stages of that brief, rapturous period, my heart throbs with emotion. Of course, time has done its work, and the agony I felt for months after our separation, has long since subsided, yet never, oh! never

can the recollection of that dear dream of my existence become a subject of indifference to me. They told me, Arthur, that you were heartless and designing; but I never believed them, even for a moment. I wonder if we shall ever meet again. You would not love me now, for I am dreadfully altered in appearance. have been very ill, and have suffered much, but, thank God, I am better. My sister is staying with me; her married life is a dreary one. She is the same innocent creature as when you knew her, only ten times handsomer."

I

CHAPTER X.

My pen is at the bottom of a page,'
Which being finished, here my duty ends.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

"I DON'T wish to use no compulsion, but you must come along with me," says a policeman, who, "from information he has received," has caught firm hold of a delinquent by the collar. Now, armed with the authority of an author, who can make all the personages he has to deal with "move on" at his bidding, I must adopt the above saying, and ask the reader (who, be it

understood, I compare not to a delinquent) to accompany me home to Pembroke Abbey, where the happiness of the party assembled was only marred by the remembrance of the death of the late owner, for my father had fallen a victim to the pestilence that then raged for the first time in this land. My mother who still retained her looks, which were not at all disfigured by the widow's sombre cap, was occupied in teaching her grandson the spelling of certain monosyllabic words, while a young and blooming wife was devoting herself to a baby in arms.

"And what name, Arthur, shall we give the little beauty?" she inquired, as I kissed the object of her solicitude.

"Mary," I replied, "after yourself, dearest, and Elizabeth after my mother.

"I think it ought to be Elizabeth Mary," responded my wife, " since Lady Pembroke has been kind enough to say she will act as one of the sponsors."

I have now brought my autobiography nearly to an end, but ere I conclude, it will be necessary

to give the reader an insight into what took place after my correspondence with Ada had terminated; the serious illness of my father caused me to return to the Abbey, where I took the earliest opportunity of unburthening my heart to the most indulgent of parents.

"Arthur," said he, "listen to the words of a dying man' the sunshine of youth, the glow of warm blood, the vigour of health, and the strong powers of imagination, represent to us the budding May of life, as the morning of day, when all is fresh, cheerful, and replete with pleasure; the world appears charming as the season of early spring, inspiring us with the wildest rapture and heart-felt joy--but alas! every sublunary transport is of a transitory nature, and those who seek no higher enjoyment than from their passions, will sooner or later experience satiety in their indulgences. Happiness, peace of mind, are not to be procured by idle fancies, sensual gratification, or luxurious habits, as has been exemplified in more cases than your own; redeem then the past, and let