But be it so! I will submit! the tears which blot | I could not have had more honors paid me. I this leaf are not those of discontent. I do not now, passed the night in a richly furnished chamber. and never yet have prayed for wealth and distinc- The bed and carpet particularly were really so eletions. But Lord! Lord! dismiss not thy vassal gant, that it seemed to me they could not be infrom thy service forever! Weak and powerless tended for use. though he may be, permit him once more to labor in thy vineyard, and as thy agent, to gather souls to the Life Eternal!

On the following day, Mr. Withiel ordered his handsome carriage to convey me back to Erekelade. I left him with a deeply penetrated heart. January 13th.-My journey to Trowbridge has My children wept with me for joy, when I showed been fortunate even beyond my expectations. The them the bond. "See," said I, "light as is this night was far advanced, when I arrived with wea- paper, it has been the heaviest burden of my life; ried feet in the pleasant old town, and I did not but now, owing to the generosity of this man, it is rouse from sleep till late the following morning.null and void. Pray for the life and happiness of I then dressed myself with much care. Jenny had our preserver!" taken great pains in the selection of her father's wardrobe, so that I think, since my wedding day, I had not appeared so well apparelled. I left the inn and went to Mr. Withiel's, who lives in a large, handsome house.

His reception was, at first, somewhat formal; but as soon as I made known my name, he immediately carried me into his business-room, which was a fine commodious one. Here I thanked him for his great goodness and forbearance; related how I came to enter into such a contract as I had done, and what hard fate had hitherto been mine. I then laid my twelve pounds on the table.

January 16th.-Yesterday was the most memorable day of my life. We were sitting together at noon in the parlor; I rocking little Alfred's cradle, Polly reading aloud, and Jenny sitting at the window sewing; when Jenny sprang suddenly from her chair, and, pale as death, sunk into it again. Much alarmed, we inquired what she had seen! She forced a smile and said, "He is coming!"

Meantime, the door opened, and Fleetman, attired in handsome travelling apparel, stood before us. We greeted him very cordially, were delighted at his unexpected appearance, and particularly so, that his circumstances seemed so much better than when

Mr. Withiel appeared much moved, and was he first came among us. He embraced me, kissed silent a few moments; then smiling, he extended Polly, and bowed to Jenny, who had not entirely his hand, and grasping mine, said, "I know you recovered from her trepidation. He seemed struck well, for I have made inquiries respecting you. with her paleness and inquired anxiously after her You are an upright man. I cannot bring it over health. Polly accounted for Jenny's loss of color, my heart, to rob one situated as you are, of your by saying how startled she was by his sudden ennew-year's gift, but must beg you to retain your twelve pounds. It would please me much better could I make some addition to the sum, in return for your thus bearing me in memory."

He arose, and going into another room, brought out of it a written paper, which he held towards me, saying, "Do you recognise this bond and your own signature? I here resign my right to the sum therein mentioned in favor of you and your children." He then tore the paper in two, and put both parts into my hand.

All utterance was denied me. However, my moistened eyes expressed more fully than words could do, how much I felt. He plainly saw my inability, as I tried to pour forth the gratitude which was swelling at my heart. He said, "Be still! be still! not a syllable I pray you; no thanks are necessary. I would gladly have done the same by the unfortunate Brook, had he but dealt openly with me."

trance; he then kissed Jenny's hand and apologized for having been the cause of such agitation. After that, he seemed at a loss for speech, and as for the poor maiden, the color mantled in her cheek till it looked like a young half blown rose.

Wishing our excellent and well-beloved guest to share, as he had formerly done, a repast with us, I ordered some cold fowl and wine to be brought; he however declined, saying, he could not tarry long with us, as he had left some companions at the inn. Yet, on Jenny's adding her entreaties, he consented and seated himself to take some refreshment.

When he spoke of belonging to a party, I concluded he meant a company of players, and asked him whether they intended to perform here in Erekelade, adding, I thought the place too poor to be of any benefit to them. He laughed, and said, "Well, we will give them a play gratis." Polly He begged me to give him an unreserved state- rejoiced at this, for she had long desired to see 3 ment of my affairs, and when our conversation was play; and she gave the information to Jenny, who at an end, carried me to introduce me to his wife soon came in with the wine and fowl. Polly inand son; then finished his kind treatment, by send-quired, "Have you many performers with you, Mr. ing to the inn for my little bundle, insisting on it Fleetman?" "Only one lady and one gentleman,” I should remain the night at his house. I do not he answered, "but they are excellent players." know a more noble and generous man. He has Jenny appeared most unusually grave: she cast a been kind beyond measure. Had I been a prince, serious, steadfast look on Fleetman, and asked him,

46

You, do you also make your appearance?" She son, whom he had destined should be the husband of said this, in that peculiarly soft and yet penetrating his niece, while she, on the contrary, had secretly tone of voice, in which I had seldom heard her engaged herself to the young Lord Sandom, whose speak, except at such times, as when the question| father was yet living, and who was not in favor of of our weal, or woe, was lying deeply at heart. the union. Without being discovered by the uncle, I saw how this peculiar intonation affected Fleet- or the old Lord, the marriage was solemnized. man; he trembled, as if standing before a tribunal When my sister had been about a quarter of a year of justice. He looked earnestly at her and ap- with her guardian, upon the plea that sea-bathing peared struggling with himself, ere he could answer; was necessary to restore her to health, I took upon at length, advancing a few steps towards her, he myself the responsibility of removing her from his said, "By my God and yours! you alone can de- house, and taking her under my own protection. cide that!" After the birth of this little child, it became necessary to place it under the care of some trustworthy individual. I heard, accidentally, during the researches for such a one, of the poverty and phi

Jenny cast down her eyes-he went on speaking and she said something in reply. I knew not what these people were prating about. They still talked on, but Polly and I, though listening attentively, lanthropy of the Vicar of Erekelade, and came could not understand a word. We heard sound, hither to convince myself of the truth of such reindeed, but no sense. However, they seemed per- port. The manner in which you received me defectly to understand each other, and what struck cided the business. me most peculiarly, while Fleetman appeared much agitated by Jenny's replies, she seemed to retain perfect command over herself. Fleetman at length folded his hands as if in fervent prayer, and lifting even tearful eyes to heaven, said in a tone of deep despair," Then I am indeed unhappy!" Polly could contain herself no longer. droll expression she looked from one to the other, and cried at length, "I truly believe you two have begun the play already."

With a

He seized Polly's hand with vehemence, exclaiming, "Ah! that your words were true."

To put an end to this confusion, I filled our glasses and proposed drinking the health of our benefactor. Fleetman said, as he passed the wine to Jenny, "Will you join in that toast from your heart?" She laid her hand on her breast, looked down, and drank.

Fleetman's spirits then seemed to revive. He next went up to the cradle, looked at the child that lay therein, and after Polly had related the occurrence to him, he laughed and said to her, "You have not discovered then, that I sent you this new-year's present?"

"I forgot to say, that my sister returned no more to the house of her uncle. It was now four months since I had gained the law suit, establishing me in the possessions to which I was legitimate heir. My uncle then, however, commenced a new suit against me on account of my removing my sister from his guardianship; but a few days since the old Lord Sandom died from apoplexy, and there being no longer cause for secrecy, my brother-inlaw openly declared his marriage. The law-suit is thereby at an end, and the cause removed for keeping longer secret the birth of the child. The parents have arrived here with me to take the child now under their own charge, and I have come with the proposition, that you, with your family remove also from this place to one which I will tell you of, hoping you have no argument to urge against it. "During the time these law-suits had been pending, the office of Rector in the parish appertaining to the estate of our family remained unfilled. The tithes of this benefice are over two hundred pounds sterling, and it devolves on me to bestow it where I will. You, reverend sir, have lost your place here. I shall be but too happy, if you will accept

We all cried with incredulous surprise, "Who, this office, and dwell in my neighborhood." you?"

God alone knows how my spirit revived at these He then gave an explanation in nearly the fol- words; my eyes were dimmed with tears of joy. lowing words: I stretched out my hand to the noble being, who "My name is not Fleetman, but I am the Baro- was to me as a messenger from Heaven, and fell net Cecil Fairford. My uncle having some old on his breast. Polly, with clamorous joy, also enclaims upon the estate of my father, the grounds twined her arms around him, while Jenny grateof which were rather equivocal, instituted a law-fully kissed the hand of the Baronet. With visible suit, which, after some years duration, terminated traces of emotion, he at last tore himself away and against him, and my sister and myself were rein-left us to ourselves. stated in the property which had belonged to our With fond embraces, my enraptured children deceased father. Previous to this, we had been mingled their tears of conscious happiness with living on the scanty means afforded us from a small mine; but not many moments elapsed before the estate which had belonged to our mother. My sis- Baronet re-appeared, accompanied by his brotherter during the time, too, had suffered much from the in-law, Lord Sandom, and his young wife. This tyranny of her uncle, who was her guardian. One uncommonly beautiful young woman did not greet of his most confidential and powerful friends had a us, but went immediately towards the cradle where

It is in vain-I can write no more this day; my happy heart is too full-this joyful perturbation has unstrung me-I must lay down my pen.

the child lay sleeping. She knelt by the side of new-year's gift! See'st thou Bishop's caps on the little Alfred, and poured forth the feelings of Bishop's caps!" Upon this, little Alfred awoke. mingled pain and pleasure, which must have filled her heart, in an unrestrained torrent of tears. Her husband raised her from her kneeling posture, and with much solicitude endeavored to calm her. When she had somewhat recovered, she apologized to us for her conduct, and then, with the most touching expressions of gratitude, addressed herself first to me and then turned to Polly. The latter disclaimed all title to such acknowledgements, and pointing to Jenny, who had withdrawn to the window, said "My sister there has been the mother!"

Lady Sandom went towards Jenny, regarding her for some moments with silent admiration; then she looked back with a smile upon her brother, and locked the maiden tenderly in her arms. The dear girl, in her humility, scarcely ventured to look up. "I am eternally your debtor indeed," said Lady Sandom. "I feel I can never repay you for the comfort you have shed on a mother's heart. Let me be a sister to you then, lovely Jenny. There need not, and should not be an account of debit and credit between sisters."

Jenny blushed and said, "I feel he is my father's benefactor." The lady replied, "And will you not be the benefactress of my poor brother? Look kindly on him! Ah! if you but knew how very dear you are to him!"

The Baronet took Jenny's hand, which, in spite of her struggle to withdraw it, he pressed to his lips, saying, at the same time, "You do not wish to see me unhappy, Jenny? Without this hand I must be so." Jenny, much confused, then permitted him to retain it. The Baronet led my daughter up to me, and entreated me to bless him as my son.

LOVE SKETCHES.

No. VIII.

THE POET'S PILGRIMAGE.
Thou knowest not what mournful tints,
My homeward fancies trace,

Nor how, with many bitter tears,
I pine to see thy face.

How all my lightly spoken words
Repentantly return-

Ah! me, how many painful thoughts
The absent one must learn!

More than a year had elapsed since Arthur Mordante's departure on his travels, and in a far country he was still a wanderer. He had looked on the wonders of many climes, and his soul had felt their marvels. He had pondered by the "blue As they again embraced each other, the Baro- rushing of the arrowy Rhone," and paused, dreamnet drew towards them. "There stands my bro-ingly, beside the castled Rhine. He had traversed ther," continued Lady Sandom; " as you are now the haunted land of Germany, and grown wise in my sister, you must give him a nearer place in your its legendary lore; and now, beneath the soft beauty heart. May he not have it?" of Italian skies, the poet's spirit knelt down, enchanted, before the majestic relics of the world and people that have passed away. Amid the excitement of change, and the novelty of varying and congenial associations, Arthur's mind lost something of its sorrowful nature, though there were times when the sense of his loneliness was painful, when the wild yearning for sympathy recalled the bitterness of his heart's abiding disappointment; and there were moments, too, when the silent pining for the remembered faces of home, was almost too powerful to be resisted. Yet, he was comparatively happy; for, such longings leave no shadow where they fall, and serve but to bring to our thronging fancies the sweet serenity of tenderer thought. All around him was beautiful, and the subdued melancholy hovering over ruin, the She turned her eyes towards the Baronet, who, solemn thoughtfulness, the past taught the present, full of anxious suspense, stood before her, and, sank not unheeded on the poet's soul. Now, full with a thrillingly expressive glance, took his hand many an ideal of his boyhood, stood before him a between both hers, pressed it to her heart and reality. And he pored, with redoubled interest, then, looking up to Heaven, said, "God has deci- over the pages traced by Italian genius, as his footded for me." steps reverently lingered where the intellects of I blessed my son and daughter;-they both em-ages had mingled to brighten a rainbow-world of braced me every eye was moistened-a solemn glory. And though far from those who loved him silence reigned around. best, withal he was happy, even as she who now The stillness was suddenly broken by Polly's feebly chronicleth the poet's pilgrimage, looketh springing forward, and throwing her arms round abroad over the fair features of a new land, and my neck. She cried as she smiled through her feeleth blest, yet thinketh pleasantly, but mourntears, "We have it now! there is more than one fully, of her own home beyond the far blue mountains of the household circle who tearfully miss

"Jenny," said I, "do we not dream? Thy will is mine, my child! Can'st thou love him? the decision rests with thee."

her accustomed presence, and prayerfully grieve her divided destiny. O! separation! shadowy and fear-haunted spirit! what hath the earth, more terrible than thou?

It was the vesper hour. The glare of daylight was vanishing, and the ruby glow of sunset bathed the earth. Arthur was wandering idly and listlessly, when, attracted by the pealing of an organ, Arthur's tidings from Edith were fond and fre- he entered a Catholic chapel where the evening quent, and he still received, at irregular intervals, services were being performed. The interior of the singular communications of his mysterious the building was magnificent, and decorated with Italian friend. Her letters were always without whatever the most perfect art could summon to date, and were, apparently, forwarded by some aid the ceremonies of the most gorgeous of all faithful private messenger; for, there was neither religions. Through stained glass of richest hues post mark nor other clue to the writer's location. streamed the glorious rays of departing sunshine, They evinced constant and accurate knowledge of and threw upon the marble pavement a brightness the young traveller's movements, and the same of many colors that rested like rainbows on the watchful interest in his welfare, that had charac-earth. Around were scriptural paintings of many terised them from the first. There was a tone of of the most impressive scenes recorded in sacred romance in this unchanging guardianship, which history, and amid the advancing twilight, the lifeenhanced its value in Arthur's estimation, and he like forms appeared wrapt in mystery, as if the would often turn despondingly from Theresa's tran- shadow of the past was upon them. The eye quil and timid kindness to the glowing and impetu- could not be raised without meeting the vivid porous warmth of Nina's written Friendship. trayal of events, which, though long familiar to the "You are an enthusiast, Arthur," thus said one mind, now appealed eloquently through the sight, of her letters, "and I love to trace in your cha- to the heart. The gathered clouds of centuries racter that unrestrained impetuosity of thought and seemed rolled away; there stood, in maiden meekemotion which has long ago departed from my own. ness, the restored beauty of the ruler's daughter: Your experience has been, as yet, too brief for there was the visible repentance of the prodigal you to comprehend this pleasant retrospection of son speaking forcibly of the inward grief of one, one's self in the unfolding nature of another. It who felt, from the depth of his soul, that he has is a gratification, dearly purchased, which comes sinned against heaven. And sadly looked down only when the conflict of life has wrought its upon the kneeling worshippers, the fair, but sorwrecks, and the heart, weary with the present, row-faded features of the Mary to whom much shrinks, dejectedly, from the sad consciousness of what it is, to ponder, dreamingly, on all it was and might have been. I think of your mental tendencies, and recall the many points of intellectual sympathy between us, and the vanished era of my youth returns, the glare and tinsel of society for a while are forgotten, and soft associations arise, I know not how, as they spring for the captive when wild flowers bring him a thought of home, as they silently dawn on the mourner at the sound of some 'olden melody.' My career has been one of extremes; it will be so to the close. I have felt the weight of penury, and past suddenly from its heavy yoke, to bask in the sunshine of adulation. I have since lived amid praise, homage and success, all that Arthur's was a simpler and a different belief, and wealth and influence could bestow on one followed he was only there as an accidental observer. He and flattered, and these are still at my command; stood enraptured before one of the paintings, when but the spirit of delusion, which renders them pre- again the organ pealed forth its solemn melody, and cious, has perished. I am neither weary of exis- clearly, amid the harmony of many voices, one tence, nor at war with the world, but I have grown well-remembered, but long silent tone, vibrated on indifferent, that last and saddest of all changes; for, it is irremediable. Life were a pleasant thing, could we retain amid its final years our early credulity, our early hopefulness, though it is well for our higher aspirations that these may not linger. We realize the beauty of our pure illusions, only when their silver chord is severed, and the sweet music it had spoken to our souls has ceased to sound. My friend! may it be long for you, before you win such knowledge!"

VOL. IX-80

was forgiven; her countenance, eloquent with all the human heart can know of affliction, remorse, and the humiliating conviction of guilt, mingling with the God-given trust of the penitent. And there, too, the gentlest and loveliest of all, was the spiritual face of the Madonna, with eyes raised reverentially to the skies, as if gazing on the angel who had pronounced her "blessed." Not mine, is the faith, which, with such outward beauty, draperies its forms, but who may declare that, under proper limitation, such things are wholly in vain, and who, whatever be his sect, can dwell, without a thrill of religious emotion, on the brightly pictured holiness of the Virgin Mother?

the listener's heart. Eagerly he turned towards the familiar and welcome sound, but the folds of a curtain fell between him and the musicians, and he sought in vain to discover the singer. For several minutes, that gush of entrancing sweetness swept above the kneeling audience, then suddenly the full tide of music ceased to flow, and silently and slowly the inmates quitted the chapel. Arthur regarded them closely, hoping to obtain a glimpse of the minstrel, but he watched for her vainly, and

often in the pilgrim's visions that night floated the mysterious guardian, and well had her untiring strange and thrilling witchery of Nina's voice.

care for the youthful and solitary pilgrim, proved the sincerity of her professed friendship. May there not have been a glimmering of truth in Arthur's superstition? Was it altogether chance, his first meeting with the Italian, and the deep impression produced by her character? We know not: there are mysteries in the daily experience of our mental being, we may not fathom, and this was of them.

Beneath the judicious attendance of his friend, Arthur's indisposition slowly disappeared, and he now required nothing but tranquillity to complete

The months wended on, and Arthur remained stationary. His health became feebler; for, when separated from Edith, he carelessly forsook the prudence on which she always insisted. The trifling exposures, which a stronger constitution might have braved and borne with impunity, seriously affected him, and though not actually an invalid, he again became depressed and languid. But two months remained of the period allotted for his absence, and as the time for his return drew near, he grew restless and impatient. Even his irrepressi- his recovery. As he became decidedly better, ble dissatisfaction at Theresa's reserve was merged Nina withdrew her constant attention, and now only in the pleasant thought of meeting her again, and visited him once a day. She always brought with now he counted the lingering days of separation, her fruit or flowers, or some book calculated to and they appeared to glide too slowly. The belief excite interest in a mind enfeebled by sickness, that Nina was sojourning in his vicinity had gradu- and the invalid learned to look on her presence as ally faded, as his continued and diligent inquiries his greatest happiness, and impatiently to number had gained him no knowledge of her movements. the hours that elapsed between her regular visits. He frequently attended the chapel where he felt In truth, they made the sunshine of his lonely days, assured he had listened to her voice, but his search and the very falling of her footsteps, to him, was was fruitless, and he heard those tones no more. music. But the weeks glided on, and, at length, had arrived the last day of Arthur's sojourn in a foreign land. Under Nina's active superintendance, every requisite preparation had been made for his departure, and Arthur reclined on a couch placed beside an open window, and gazed sadly over the beautiful land whose time-hallowed loveliness his eyes might behold no more. He was still languid from the lingering effects of his indisposition, and the lady insisted that he should endeavor to guard against the unavoidable fatigue of his homeward journey, by spending several days preceding it, in perfect quietness. Arthur obeyed all her injunctions implicitly; it was a pleasure to him to yield unhesitatingly to the slightest wish of one, who had watched over him so long and faithfully. She had promised to visit him this evening for the last time, and as he looked mournfully

At length the poet's habitual neglect of his health, met the punishment he might have anticipated; and alone, in a strange land, Arthur was seriously ill. Every comfort and attention in the power of wealth to procure, were abundantly around him, but oh! how often and mournfully the young wandered sighed for the tenderer care of love, and yearned for that patient devotion which had soothed his earlier hours of suffering and despondency! There is nothing that can atone to the sick one, for the quiet watchfulness of affection, for the fond pressure of a soft hand on the fevered brow, the low whisper of a kind voice, when pain racks the frame, and the gentle utterance of prayerful hope, when the very spirit falters and grows weary. Several days were spent in suffering and danger, and then the crisis of his disease was safely passed, and by degrees his mind awoke from the forgetful-over the fair scene before him, Arthur listened anxness of delirium.

The subdued tone of a woman's voice was the first sound of which he was conscious, and a white hand drew aside the curtain. The appearance of the speaker was not familiar; her dress was black, and fashioned in the simple style of that worn by the sisters of charity.

"You are very kind, lady, to visit a stranger thus," said Arthur, as he looked gratefully up to the fair face bending over him; "I thought there was no one here, who felt any thing like interest in my situation."

"Then you have forgotten my promise, Arthur, or you would have expected my presence in your moments of trial," and as the invalid regarded her more intently, as if startled at her words, Nina smilingly placed her hand on his lips to impose silence, and then left him to the repose he needed. And thus had they met at last, the poet and his

iously for her familiar step. The sun had gone to his rest, the echo of the vesper bells had died away, and the round moon was growing momentarily brighter through the deepening twilight, when, with her accustomed noiseless movement, the sister of charity entered the room.

It is ever a depressing conviction, that we are regarding for the last time, one who has been kind to us, and with Arthur, this feeling was present now, with painful and overpowering intensity. He naturally looked on Nina with peculiar interest; he knew that, in her disinterested solicitude, her romantic communion, her counseling and hightoned sympathy, she had been to him, what none could ever be again. He felt that hereafter the past would paint for him, what the future could not restore; that however blest his lot might be, there would remain a void in his life which his more tender and passionate tie would never fill.