is as impossible as it would be for us to create the sympathies which govern our spiritual being within our own hearts. For some time the couple wended their way in moody silence: now admiring the beauties around. them, and then letting their eyes fall upon the path, which they were following; they would appear to be lost in silent communings with their own hearts. "This is indeed a blessed morning," at length uttered David, "but to me it brings feelings of commingled joy and sorrow." "Nay," said the tender and confiding girl; "unbosom your trials to me, and let us share them together." "To-morrow," said he, "I must bid you adieu and enter on my journey to the West. How can I part from you, my dear Eliza, you for whom alone I live, and in whose society only do I find enjoyment? Hundreds of miles must intervene between us, and long and weary months must roll away ere we shall be permitted to meet and again share each othes's joys and sorrows." Twelve "Do not allow your peace to be marred by unprofitable meditations," said Eliza. months will soon pass away. You will then return, when the earth will again be arrayed in its present beauty, and you will claim your affianced for your own. Fortune will smile upon you, and the blessing of a true and devoted heart will attend you. "Your language," said David, "only strengthens the tie that binds me to you and to this place. Say no more, for greater must be the effort to separate myself from you. I will indeed return in one year from this time, and then shall all our anticipations be consummated. Nor shall we be wholly deprived of mingling our thoughts and feelings during my absence. The silent language of the pen shall tell the depth of my love for you, and keep you advised of the devotion and sincer ity of my heart's early love. Place this ring upon your finger as a lasting memento of me, and there let it remain until I replace it by another at the altar." These remarks sank deeply into the heart of Eliza. She could not doubt the sincerity of him on whom she bestowed her best affections; still, she was not free from gloomy forebodings of the future, as she pondered the solemn pledges he had made. New scenes and other society might effect a change detrimental to the welfare of both. But she strove to banish such thoughts from her mind. and to repose her whole hope in the honor and integrity of her lover. After returning from the walk they attended divine services for the day, and early on Monday morning David Montague took a farewell leave of his betrothed, and of his friends and acquaintances, and soon was beyond the confines of the neighborhood where he was bred and where lived the girl of his choice. Of the David was one of five sons then living, one older and three younger than himself. His father was a farmer, of a retired neighborhood in Vermont. and the sons were all bred to the same occupation. The family enjoyed a comfortable livelihood, but they possessed few of the luxuries of life. five sons David was the more promising, and bid fairer to become a man of enterprise and usefulness than either of the others. Now he had arrived at the age of twenty-one years, and he resolved to leave the paternal roof and go forth into the world to seek his fortune. The fair Eliza was the daughter of a farmer in that neighborhood, in alike moderate circumstances, but she possessed a mind, heart and soul above the average. On arriving at the place of his destination David. wrote to his friends informing them of his happy prospects. He also wrote a letter to Eliza couched in the strongest terms of fidelity and love. this he ceased to write. After Weeks and months rolled away, but no tidings came from him whose destiny lay so near the hearts of friends whom he had left. The most gloomy forebodings weighed upon the heart of Eliza, yet she did not despair. In the meantime death had been busy in the Montague family. Two brothers had been called from time to eternity in the space of a few months, and the father, as well as the remaining members of the family, began to feel the necessity of aid and protection from the absent one. A letter was addressed to him informing him of the afflicting dispensations of Providence to them and requesting his immediate return. He did not come, nor did they receive any intelligence regarding him, Another and another letter was sent him, but all proved abortive. What could it mean? The family were anxious for his return for the aid that he might render them; and the forlorn Eliza for the consummation of her hopes. Speculation was exhausted in endeavors to solve the mystery. At length, after months of cruel suspense, the anxiously looked-for David made his appearance. He had not received the letters sent him and was ignorant of the devastation death had made in his father's family-so he asserted. All gave him a cordial welcome, but none greeted him more affectionately than did the true-hearted Eliza. Although cruelly neglected, she had a heart to forgive. Had David come to claim his affianced bride? The unsuspecting Eliza believed it. Arrangements were partially made for David to have the homestead and provide for the maintenance of his aged and bereaved parents. He, however, must return to the State of New York, and close up his business which he had there left in an unsettled condition. Alas, how deceitful is the heart of man! What was the surprise and mortification of that respected family when they learned that their beloved son, hitherto so full of hope and promise, was married-married to a poor and obscure widow. with a family of four children, the oldest a daughter of nearly his own age, while his wife had seen years enough to be his mother! Was this the young, intelligent, enterprising David Montague? So fact determined, though charity would fain have it otherwise. The effect these cruel tidings had upon the mind of the deceived and confiding Eliza language is inadequate to describe. That she had failed to marry the man of her choice was enough; but that she had been deceived by him who had kept her company. while he had a wife and four children dependent upon him for support, was more than her susceptible heart could bear. Of the reasons for this strange conduct on the part of David Montague I am not at liberty to speak. If the reader wishes to know why he mar ried as he did, he must allow his imagination to answer when considering the arts and designs of a wicked woman. Notwithstanding these disclosures David came to his father's home-he, his wife, and his wife's children! After remaining there two years, and causing much unhappiness, as well as loss of property, to his father and father's family, he again departed for the West, with the same family that he brought and an addition of two others. He is probably living at the present time in some part of the western country, as poor and as miserable as when he left for the last time his relatives and early friends among his native hills in Vermont. May the sad events of his life serve as a warning to all young men who may be situated in like circumstances and have like temptations to encounter. But what of the broken-hearted Eliza? Her history is brief. Her affliction gradually took the form of disease, and consumption soon claimed her for its own. After lingering out a few years of suffering and woe, she cheerfully resigned her wearied spirit into the hands of Him who gave it. It was her dying request that the ring placed upon her finger, accompanied with the words: "There let it remain until I replace it by another at the altar," should not be removed. It was buried with her. Oh! the undying love of woman. When once her affections become fixed, nothing but death can sever them from the object of their attachment. According to all human probability, had David Montague proved true to the pledge of his first love, and married his betrothed Eliza, they both would be at this time alive, prosperous and happy. But fate would have it otherwise. The one has become a miserable vagabond upon the earth-the other has gone down to a premature grave. The above is not a tale of fiction. The events there recorded are mostly familar to the writer. and there are not wanting those in Lowell, as well as in Vermont, who will recognize the story as one of facts. If it has a moral let it be applied. Lowell, Mass., Aug. 1841. From the Literary Repository. ΤΟ ΟΝΕ IN HEAVEN. BY A. B. F. HILDRETH. One word from thee, thou starlight of my being,- One syllable, while Time's stern hand is freeing My heavenward wings,-and let that word be, "Come!" Devotion has held up her holy finger, Pointing to starry seats where thou art blest; Yet does this heavy mass of anguish linger Till thy own voice shall call me to thy rest! One word from thee when lighter hearts are sleeping, Looking upon the starry sky, or keeping A dumb communion with the vapor's flight; Wilt thou not blend one of thy sweetest whispers, |