over Selina's head: whenever she was permitted she was at her father's bed side, passing in an instant from the utmost alarm to hope. But though she saw despair expressed in every face, her mind still rejected it. She could not bring herself to believe her beloved father was indeed to die!

Those who most fervently love most ardently hope, and building their faith on the most trifling circumstances, cling to it with a force none less deeply interested can imagine. It is well they do.

Their fond hopes makes them use exertions, and bestow comforts, they would be otherwise incapable of. And thus affection is enabled to cheer the bed of death to the last moment.

And as for the survivors! no anticipation can prepare them for the overwhelming despair of the moment in which they lose what they most prize on earth!

Grief, rising supreme in this her hour of triumph, will have her dominion uncontrolled, and defies alike the past and the future,—even religion must be aided by time to subdue her giant force.

On the evening of the third day of Sir Henry's illness Augustus Mordaunt arrived at Deane Hall; the domestics flocked around him, each conveying to his agonized ear more dismal tidings, he spent a dreadful half hour alone in the library, without seeing either Selina or Mrs. Galton, as Mr. Temple was at that time administering the sacred rites of the church to Sir Henry, whilst they joined in prayer in the antechamber. When Sir Henry had finished his devotions, he asked for Selina, and his voice brought her in a moment to his bed-side; where, kneeling down, in a half-suffocated voice, she implored his blessing, which never father gave more fervently, nor amiable child received more piously.

"Selina! you have always been a good child, and obeyed me; when I am gone, mind what Mrs. Galton says to you. If I had followed her advice, I should

have been better now." The baronet spoke with much difficulty, and exhausted with the effort, closed his eyes in a temporary lethargy. Selina answered not, but with streaming eyes kissed his hand in token of obedience. At last, raising his head from his pillow, "Where is Augustus? he is a long time coming.' -at that instant footsteps were heard slowly and softly traversing the anteroom. Selina opening the door admitted Augustus: she would have retired, but her father signed her approach; and recovering his strength a little, faltered out, "Happy to see you, my dear boy-I have been a father to you, Augustus, be a brother to this poor girl."

Augustus poured forth his feelings with more fervency than prudence, and was stopped in the expres sion of them by Selina, whe perceived her father was quite exhausted: he once more opened his eyes, saying, "I die content;" he struggled for utterance, but his words were unintelligible, and he could only articulate, "Go away,--Send Mrs. Galton." Augustus flew to bring her, whilst Selina hung in distraction over her dying parent: as they entered the room, her exclamation of "Oh! my father, my dear father!" gave them warning, that all was over; and when they approached the bed, parent and child were lying side by side, the one apparently as lifeless as the other.

Augustus, in his first distraction, thought he had lost Selina as well as his beloved and revered friend, but being recalled to his senses by Mrs. Galton, assisted her in removing Selina to another room. At length their exertions revived Selina to a dreadful consciousness of her misfortune-how agonizing was that moment, when, in her frantic grief, she upbraided their kind care, and wished they had left her to die by her father's side! "I have no parent now." "Dearest child of my heart, have I not ever been a mother to you, and will you refuse to be still my daughter when I stand so much in need of consolation?" Selina threw herself into her aunt's arms,

and gave vent, in tears, to the sorrow of her bursting heart; at length she cried herself to sleep, like a child, and her aunt remained at her side all night, ready to soften the horrors of her waking moments.

Selina, next day, being comparatively calm, was wisely left in perfect solitude to disburthen her heart; her grief was not insulted by officious condolence, too often resembling reproof rather than comfort. The aspect of grief is obnoxious to the comparatively happy, and they often use but unskilful endea vours to banish her from their sight, more for their own ease, than for the relief of the unfortunate beings who are bound down to the earth by her oppressive power. Those who have felt it, will with caution obtrude themselves on her sacred privacy, and will know when to be mute in the presence of the mourner.

But where shall the reign of selfishness end?Her votaries intermeddle with sorrows they cannot eure, and absent themselves from scenes where they might bestow comfort: they are to be found in the chamber of the mourner, but fly from the bed of death, which their presence might cheer, leaving an expiring relative to look in vain for a loved face, on which to rest the agonized eye. The friends of the

dying do not fulfil their duty, if they desert the expiring sufferer whilst a spark of life remains. For who can say the moment when sense begins to cease? Though the eye is closed, and the tongue mute, the grateful heart may yet be thankfully alive to the kind voice of affectionate care, or the last silent pressure of unutterable love!

Scenes of pain may be appalling to the delicate female. But should a wife, mother, daughter, or sister, shrink from any task, which may be useful to the object in which her duty and her love are centred? This is the courage, this the fortitude, it be comes woman to exert !

CHAPTER XVI.

Hark! at that death-betok'ning knell
Of yonder doleful passing bell.

GILBERT COWPER.

IMMEDIATELY after Sir Henry Seymour's death,

Mordaunt wrote to inform Mr. Seymour of the event, who was the nearest male relative to Sir Henry then alive, but who had not lived on terms of any inti macy with the Baronet, having chiefly resided on his own estate in Cumberland. He, however, lost no time in repairing to the Hall, less out of respect to the memory of his relation, than in hopes of benefiting by his decease. The day after his arrival was appointed for opening the will, but in it he was completely disappointed; it had evidently been written but a few days before Sir Henry died; and, except small legacies to his servants, no bequest was made in it to any person but Mrs. Galton, Augustus, and Selina. To the first Sir Henry gave a thousand pounds as a slight testimony of his friendship and esteem; to Augustus he left a small estate in Cumberland, and to Selina all his other property of every description, appointing Lady Eltondale sole guardian of her person; Mordaunt and Mr. Temple trustees to her estates till she married or came of age. The interest of a large sum in the funds was appropriated to her support till either of these events occurred; a considerable portion of which was to be paid to Lady Eltondale for her maintenance, as it was Sir Henry's wish that she should reside with her.

Mr. Seymour endeavoured to conceal his own disappointment by paying a variety of compliments to

Selina and Augustus, whom he choose to class together, in a manner which had either of them been sufficiently disengaged to observe it, would have been not a little embarrassing to both: fortunately, however, they were each too much occupied by their own feelings to attend to him; and, as his only motive for visiting Deane Hall was now at an end, he was glad to escape from the house of mourning, with as little delay as possible.

Sir Henry's generosity which was totally unexpected by Augustus, served but to imbitter his regrets for the loss of his benefactor. In him he had lost his earliest friend; for his uncle he considered as an entire stranger, and of his parents he retained no recollection. Whatever had been the errors of Sir Henry's judgment, his benevolence had never failed towards Mordaunt; and, while his many virtues had always ensured respect, his kindness had sunk deep in the grateful heart of Augustus, as, in their intercourse, essential obligation had never been cancelled by casual caprice, or rendered irksome by ungracious austerity of manner. He however carefully suppressed his own feelings, in order the better to administer consolation to those of Selina; and while Mrs. Galton and Mr. Temple with affection almost paternal, used every argument which religion and reason could suggest, to reconcile her as much as possible to her loss; Augustus endeavoured by the tenderest care and unremitting attention to divert her thoughts from her recent calamity, and thereby gradually soften the poignancy of her sorrow. Selina had, till the moment when she was deprived of her father, been totally unacquainted with grief; for when her mother died, she was too young to be sensible of her loss; and Mrs. Galton's almost maternal kindness had filled the void of her infant heart, while she was yet scarcely conscious of its existence. At first she could hardly be persuaded that Sir Henry really breathed no more; so sudden, and to her so unexpected, was his dissolution. But,