oath was administered. It probably was the first time that Ludlow had gone through this solemnity, which might account for his seeming somewhat perturbed. His eye roamed uneasily around the court, as if in quest of something to rest upon.

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Young gentleman, you will please to look me steadily in the face," said the experienced barrister. "Now, sir, the question I am about to ask you, affects only a simple act of recollection; and you can therefore use what deliberation you please in your reply, provided it be explicit. The witness who has just left that stand, stated that yourself and another person-the name is immaterial-were present when your father delivered the paper which I hold in my hand, to the gentleman who sits opposite to you. Now, without stopping here to identify this third individual, I ask you, whether it be true that yourself and another man-" The features of the youth became much agitated, and the examiner, pausing an instant, resumed, as he fixed his eye keenly upon him-"I say, another person and yourself" Ludlow was again re-assured, but only to be more completely overwhelmed the next moment; as the deliberate lawyer, interrupting himself again to remind the witness of the solemnity of his oath, at last brought the question out in a shape that admitted of no prevarication "Answer me, in a monosyllable, ay! or no! were you or were you not present upon the occasion alluded to -with another man?"

The last words were pronounced with a significant whisper, that was heard in every part of the crowded court-room. The witness hesitated for a moment, and turned deadly pale. His lips were slightly convulsed, as if unable to syllable the words his tongue would fain record. His father leaned forward with clasped hands and an appealing, agonized expression, that was wholly indescribable. The youth caught his eager and anxious eye, uttered an indistinct sound, and fainted upon the spot.

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"Stand back-stand back!" cried the agitated father; my child-my child let me take care of my own child ;" and he struggled through the

crowd to get near the insensible object of his anxiety.

"One moment, sir," exclaimed the lawyer, feelingly, but with firmness, as he stretched across the table and held him back with an air that was not the less decided, from being perfectly respectful-“ Dr. P**t already has his hand upon the pulse of the youth, and the swoon will be over the moment his lungs have play." And even as he spoke, the physician had thrown open the frilled bosom of poor Effie's lover, while a cry of astonishment filled the court, as the fair and feminine proportions of a beautiful WOMAN were disclosed.

It has never been known exactly what became of the accomplished female who so long figured in the society of New York, under the name of Ludlow G. Few thought it strange, however, knowing the eccentric and unprincipled character of old G., that he should thus have trained his only daughter to play an unconsciously dishonest part in his legal intrigues. As for the mere fact of a girl thus acting in male character upon the theatre of life, the example of the celebrated chevalier D'Eon had found too many imitators, both among ladies of the best families in Europe, and among the enthusiastically patriotic of her sex in the United States, to make this feature of the case at all remarkable.

And what became of poor Effie Gay? she, whose kind and gentle heart had withstood so many assaults from the other sex, only to be yielded up at last to the delicate arts of a spoiler of her own. The false lover, who doated upon her like a sister, is said to have had all the painful emotions, which her career might well have excited, swallowed up in contrition for the ruin she had so unintentionally wrought upon the happiness of the confiding Effie; but the heart of that unfortunate had been too completely thrown away ever to be recalled, or to beat aright more. Her brain either became perverted by the sudden blow, or else she could never fully comprehend the circumstances by which she was overwhelmed, so as to reconcile them to each other, and think rationally upon the subject. In a word, her mind,

see her more, and Effie was told that she had embarked with her father for another land, the spirit of the faded and pining girl sank completely, and her mind lost its last gleams of intelli

gence.

Happy would it have been for her then, if death had intervened to close the scene. But no! the resources of an excellent constitution did not yet give way, and Effie Gay, for many a long year, still lived on. But how?

Reader, were you ever at the Bloomingdale asylum? Did you ever look down into the inclosure where the unhappy inmates may be seen at a certain hour, amusing themselves as each one listeth? Did you ever look in vain among that motley crew, for that piteous, yet picturesque air of distraction, with which poets and painters have so often gifted the maniac? You have gazed there in vain, if you hoped to find the romantic madness of a Hamlet, or an Ophelia! And yet, among those common-looking creatures-for all human creatures do look common when the spirit of mind that once ennobled their forms hath departed, and left them animated only by the instincts of sense -among those common-looking creatures, are many who have once been the loveliest of the land. Ay! among those who are at this moment gathered in that very yard, is one whomark her as she sits crouched in yon sunny corner! Those livid and sunken eyes have once matched heaven's own blue in colour, as they beamed with heavenly purity and feeling! The freshblooming rose, in fulness, and softness, and colour, was once rivalled by that

But

sallow and shrivelled cheek! Freely did the eloquent blood-though disease hath now

"Starved the roses on that cheek, And pinched the lily tincture of her skin"

freely did it once course through the blue veins of those shrunken temples! Those leaden lips-fevered-withered as they are-they

But why dwell upon this appalling picture? The original was but now before us, in all the light of youth and loveliness. Alas! that the copy, so strangely disfigured, should still be true to all that remains of poor Effie Gay. Reader, if thou knowest what woman's love is, thou wilt not wonder that one who had thus wooed a cloud,

could not be released from its embrace, without being scathed by its lightning!

THE JUNIOR PARTNER. (Concluded from page 363.)

IF Lady Ravelgold showed beautiful by the uncompromising light and in the unornamented hall of Almack's, she was radiant as she came through the mirror door of her own love-contrived and beauty-breathing boudoir. Tremlet had been showed into this recess of luxury and elegance on his arrival, and Lady Ravelgold and her daughter, who preceded her by a minute or two, had gone to their chambers, the first to make some slight changes in her toilette, and the latter (entirely ignorant of her lover's presence in the house) to be alone with a heart never before in such painful need of selfabandonment and solitude.

Tremlet looked about him in the enchanted room in which he found himself alone, and, spite of the prepossessed agitation of his feelings, the voluptuous beauty of every object had the effect to divert and tranquillise him. The light was profuse, but it came softened through the thinnest alabaster; and while every object in the room was distinctly and minutely visible, the effect of moonlight was not more soft and dreamy. The general

con

form of the boudoir was an oval, but within the pilasters of folded silk with their cornices of gold, lay crypts containing copies, exquisitely done in marble, of the most graceful statues of antiquity, one of which seemed, by the curtain drawn quite aside and a small antique lamp burning near it, to be the divinity of the place the Greek Antinous, with his drooped head and full, smooth limbs, the most passionate and life-like representation of voluptuous beauty that intoxicates the slumberous air of Italy. Opposite this, another niche contained a few books, whose retreating shelves swung on a secret door, and as it stood half open, the nodding head of a snowy magnolia leaned through, as if pouring from the lips of its broad chalice the mingled odours of the unseen servatory it betrayed. The first sketch in crayons of a portrait of Lady Ravelgold by young Lawrence, stood against the wall, with the frame half buried in a satin ottoman; and, as Tremlet stood before it, admiring the clear, classic outline of the head and bust, and wondering in what chamber of his brain the gifted artist had found the beautiful drapery in which he had drawn her, the dim light glanced faintly on the left, and the broad mirror by which he had entered swung again on its silver hinges, and admitted the very presentment of what he gazed on. Lady Ravelgold had removed the jewels from her hair, and the robe of wrought lace, which she had worn that night over a boddice of white satin laced loosely below the bosom. In the place of this, she had thrown upon her shoulders a flowing wrapper of purple velvet, made open after the Persian fashion, with a short and large sleeve, and embroidered richly with gold upon the skirts. Her admirable figure, gracefully defined by the satin petticoat and boddice, showed against the gorgeous purple as it flowed back in her advancing motion, with a relief which would have waked the very soul of Titian; her complexion was dazzling and faultless in the flattering light of her own rooms; and there are those who will read this who know how the circumstances which surround a woman -luxury, elegance, taste, or the opposite of these enhance or dim, beyond

help or calculation, even the highest order of woman's beauty.

Lady Ravelgold held a bracelet in her hand as she came in.

"In my own house," she said, holding the glittering jewel to Tremlet, "I have a fancy for the style antique. Tasseline, my maid, has gone to bed, and you must do the devoir of a knight, or an abigail, and loop up this Tyrian sleeve. Stay-look first at the model

that small statue of Cytheris, yonder! Not the shoulder, for you are to swear mine is prettier-but the clasp. Fasten it like that. So! Now take me for a Grecian nymph the rest of the evening." "Lady Ravelgold!"

"Hermione or Aglae, if you please! But let us ring for supper!"

As the bell sounded, a superb South American trulian darted in from the conservatory, and, spreading his superb black and gold wings a moment over the alabaster shoulder of Lady Ravelgold, as if he took a pleasure in prolonging the first touch as he alighted, turned his large liquid eye fiercely on Tremlet.

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Lady Imogen has retired," said her mother, in some surprise.

"Then, madam, will you be seated one moment and listen to me?"

Lady Ravelgold sat down on the nearest ottoman, with the air of a person too high bred to be taken by surprise, but the colour deepened to crimson in the centre of her cheek, and the bird on her hand betrayed by one of his gurgling notes that he was held more tightly than pleased him. With a calm and decisive tone, Tremlet went through the explanation given in the previous parts of this narration. He

declared his love for Lady Imogen, his hopes (while he had doubts of his birth) that Lady Ravelgold's increasing obligations and embarrassments and his own wealth might weigh against his disadvantages, and now, his honourable descent being established, and his rank entitling him to propose for her hand, he called upon Lady Ravelgold to redeem her obligations to him, by an immediate explanation to her daughter of his conduct toward herself, and by lending her whole influence to the success of his suit.

Five minutes are brief time to change a lover into a son-in-law; and Lady Ravelgold, as we have seen in the course of this story, was no philosopher. She buried her face in her hands, and sat silent for awhile after Tremlet had concluded; but the case was a very clear one. Ruin and mortification were in one scale, mortification and prosperity in the other. She rose, pale but decided, and requesting Monsieur le Comte Manteuffel to await her a few minutes, ascended to her daughter's chamber.

"If you please, sir," said a servant, entering in about half an hour, "miladi and Lady Imogen beg that you will join them in the supper-room."

The spirit of beauty, if it haunt in such artificial atmospheres as Belgrave square, might have been pleased to sit invisibly on the vacant side of Lady Ravelgold's table. Tremlet had been shown in by the servant to a small apartment, built like a belvidere over the garden, halfboudoir in its character, yet intended as a supper-room, and at the long window (opening forth upon descending terraces laden with flowers, and just now flooded with the light of a glorious moon) stood Lady Imogen, with her glossy head laid against the casement, and the palm of her left hand pressed close upon her heart. If those two lights-the moon faintly shed off from the divine curve of her temple, and the stained rose-lamp pouring its mellow tint full on the heavenly shape and whiteness of her shoulder and neck-if those two lights, I say, could have been skilfully managed, Mr. Lawrence! what a picture you might have made of Lady Imogen Ravelgold!

"Imogen, my daughter! Mr.

Tremlet!" said her mother as he entered.

Without changing her position, she gave him the hand she had been pressing on her heart.

"Mr. Tremlet!" said Lady Ravelgold, evidently entering into her daughter's embarrassment, "trouble yourself to come to the table and give me a bit of this pheasant. Imogen, George waits to give you some champagne."

"Can you forgive me?" said the beautiful girl, before turning to betray her blushing cheek and suffused eyes to her mother.

Tremlet stooped as if to pluck a leaf from the verbena at her feet, and passed his lips over the slight fingers he held.

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"Pretty trulian !" murmured Lady Ravelgold to her bird, as he stood on the edge of her champagne glass, and curving his superb neck nearly double, contrived to drink from the sparkling brim, pretty trulian! you will be merry after this! What ancient Sybarite, think you, Mr. Tremlet, inhabits the body of this bright bird? Look up, mignon, and tell us if you were Hylas or Alcibiades! Is the pheasant good, Mr. Tremlet?"

"Too good to come from Hades, miladi. Is it true that you have your table supplied from Crockford's?"

I

"Tout bonnement! I make it a principle to avoid all great anxieties, and I can trust nobody but Ude. He sends my dinners quite hot, and if there is a particular dish of game, he drives round at the hour, and gives it the last turn in my own kitchen. should die to be responsible for my dinners. I don't know how people get on that have no grand artiste. Pray, Mr. Tremlet, (I beg pardonMonsieur le Comte, perhaps I should say?)"

"No, no, I implore you! 'Tremlet' has been spoken too musically to be so soon forgotten. Tremlet or Charles, which you will!" Lady Ravelgold put her hand in his, and looked from his face to her daughter's with a smile, which assured him that she had obtained

a victory over herself. Shrinking immediately, however, from anything like sentiment, (with the nervous dread of pathos so peculiar to the English,)

"Well, take some of this spiced mocha. I got it of the Turkish ambassador, to whom I made beaux yeux on purpose. Stop! you shall have it in the little tinsel cups he sent me. George, bring those fillagree things! Now, Mr. Tremlet, imagine yourself in the serail du Bosphore-Imogen and I two lovely Circassians, par exemple! Is it not delicious? Talking of the Bosphorus, nobody was classical enough to understand the device in my coiffure to night."

"What was it?" asked Tremlet, absently gazing while he spoke, with eyes of envy, at the trulian, who was whetting his bill backward and forward on the clear bright lips of Lady Imogen.

"Do you think my profile Grecian?" asked Lady Ravelgold.

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Perfectly!"

And my hair is coiffed à la Grec?" "Most becomingly."

"But still you won't see my golden grasshopper! Do you happen to know, sir, that to wear the golden grasshopper was the birthright of an Athenian? I saw it in a book. Well; I had to explain it to everybody. By the way, what did that gambler, George Heriot mean by telling me that its legs should be black? All Greeks have black legs,' said he, yawning in his stupid way. What did he mean, Mr. Tremlet?"

"Greeks' and blacklegs are convertible terms. He thought you were more au fait of the slang dictionary. Will you permit me to coax my beautiful rival from your hand, Lady Imogen ?"

She smiled, and put forward her wrist, with a bend of its slender and alabaster lines, which would have drawn a sigh from Praxiteles. The trulian

glanced his fiery eyes from his mistress's face to Tremlet's, and as the strange hand was put out to take him from his emerald perch, he flew with the quickness of lightning into the face of her lover, and buried the sharp beak in his lip. The blood followed copiously, and Lady Imogen, startled from her timidity, sprang from her chair and pressed her hands one after the other upon the wound, in passionate and girlish abandonment. Lady Ravelgold hurried to her dressing-room for something to stanch the wound, and, left alone with the divine creature, who hung over him, Tremlet drew her to his bosom and pressed his cheek long and closely to hers, while to his lips, as if to keep in life, clung her own crimsoned and trembling fingers.

"Imogen!" said Lady Ravelgold, entering, "take him to the fountain in the garden and wash the wound; then put on this bit of gold-beater's skin. I will come to you when I have locked up the trulian. Is it painful, Mr. Tremlet?"

Tremlet could not trust his voice to answer, but with his arm still around Lady Imogen, he descended by the terrace of flowers to the fountain.

They sat upon the edge of the marble basin, and the moonlight striking through the jet of the fountain, descended upon them like a rain of silver. Lady Imogen had recovered from her fright, and buried her face in her hands, remembering into what her feelings had betrayed her; and Tremlet, sometimes listening to the clear, bell-like music of the descending water, sometimes uttering the broken sentences which are most eloquent in love, sat out the hours till the stars began to pale, undisturbed by Lady Ravelgold, who, on the upper stair of the terrace, read by a small lamp, which, in the calm of that heavenly summer night, burned unflickeringly in the open air.

It was broad daylight when Tremlet, on foot, sauntered slowly past Hyde Park corner on his way to the Albany. The lamps were still struggling with the brightening approach of sunrise, the cab-men and their horses slept on the stand by the Green Park, with cheerful faces the labourers went to their work, and with haggard faces the night-birds of dissipation