to pronounce her unwilling acquittal. With a spirit broken down by the hard sufferings to which she had lately been subjected, and escaping them only to learn her brother's violent death, with the ingratitude and desertion of her affianced husband, her sensitive and feminine mind, unable to bear up against so great a complication of misery and woe, gave up its sway, and she became a pitiable and wandering maniac.

Manning was one evening returning to his newly acquired residence, after a survey of his grounds, which had afforded him no inconsiderable satisfaction and pride, when his attention was aroused by the suppressed sound of voices outside his park gates. His conscience felt no compunction, as in seeking the place from. whence the sounds came, his eyes encountered the dark gibbet, from which dangled the rigid and ghastly corpse of the once noble Sir Harry; concealing himself within the shadow of a tree, he observed two or three figures, together with a horse and cart, grouped around the gallows' posts. Arthur Manning was one of those men, who, to quote the masterly words of Bacon, "would not tread upon a worm if it could do him no good, but would set another person's house on fire to poach his own eggs;" and therefore, since nothing could be gained by his interposition, he felt little temptation to disturb the intentions of the visitants, which were evidently to bear away the body, and afford it the means of decent interment. He could hear the clanking of the chains, as its descent was effected, and the audible sobs that burst from one of the party, upon its removal into the cart, and, as overcome with grief and sorrow the figure turned towards the gate, he thought he could distinguish the afflicted features of the good natured and scarlet-faced butler.

It was with a feeling of satisfaction that, as the cart jolted along on its rutty and uneven road, it bore away an unsightly object, which bad spoiled the approach to his lodge gates, (for the law of that age, and until a comparatively later period, not content to take summary vengeance upon its victim, prolonged its rigour upon his dead body also, by enforcing the disgusting practice that it should remain pendant from the gibbet until such time as destroyed by the elements, or the birds of the air) and long disturbed the vision of their owner, that Manning sought, and was shortly afterwards snugly ensconced within his library, and absorbed in the compilation of divers official documents and epistles. The servant had that night forgotten to close the shutters, and draw the window curtains of the apartment, and as he raised his eyes from his task, and looked in the direction of the deep oriel casement, he was startled at beholding in full relief against the murky sky without, a white and spectre-like figure, gazing on him with eyes of dazzling and supernatural light. It lingered but a moment, and then as suddenly disappeared, and was lost in the darkness without. Although no coward, and far above the superstitious feelings of his age, this incident made a great impression upon Manning's mind, and it was some days ere its effects were erased from his memory.

My tale is nearly ended. Sir Arthur Manning (for by dint of political machinations and servile

address, he had acquired the honour of knighthood) was late one night, or rather early one morning, rolling along in his carriage toward London, whither he had been abruptly summoned upon business of startling and immediate import. His vehicle had, perhaps, accomplished a mile of its journey, when he was startled from a long train of ambitious ruminations by the sudden plunging of one of its horses, succeeded by a deep and painful moan; bidding his attendants open the carriage door, and impatiently jumping out, he perceived his postilion supporting, and vainly endeavouring to restore animation to a female form, which he learnt had, in attempting to cross their path, been knocked down and trampled upon by the affrighted horses. He hastened to tender his assistance also, and in so doing, recognised, in the phantom of a few nights past, the blood-stained and dying features of the poor idiot Lady Alice Burnett! The heartless and designing Manning lived long and prosperously to enjoy the fruits of his avarice and ingratitude; and that, too, by a system of policy that must for ever consecrate him a beacon and bright example for those "men of the world," who have made up their minds to rise in it, and care not by what means their aggrandizement and ends are consummated. A perusal of the biography of this illustrious statesman and tactician imparts to us the secret upon which his permanent success depended; it tells us that, upon the accession of James, loyalty to his monarch induced him to renounce Protestantism and to embrace the Catholic faith; that he was one of the deputation sent to welcome the Prince of Orange upon his landing at Torbay, that he proposed the health of William III., and desecrated the name of James at a dinner given in honour of the "Battle of the Boyne," and that he was carried home gloriously tipsy in a clothesbasket from another carousal in commemoration of the passing of the "Bill of Rights." A long train of unmoved followers attended his remains to the stately cathedral, and viewed their consignment to the "marble jaws" of a richly carved mausoleum that yawned to receive them; whilst a plain white grave-stone within an obscure country churchyard, and one broken-hearted mourner, in the person of their faithful Achates, the red-faced butler, were all that marked the obsequies of Sir Harry and of Alice Burnett.

Nor are the fictitious incidents so feebly pourtrayed in the above pages without their parallel in that large and varied book-the World. We see daily instances of men-crafty, selfish, smiling sycophants-crawling through the most debased and filthy avenues to opulence and ease, and, like the poisonous upas tree, withering and destroying all within the baneful range of their vitiated atmosphere and scene of action; but although we may be tempted to declaim against the tardy course of retributive justice, which permits their development and growth, we must recollect that her march, though slow, is certain; and that a life of remorse and at last the death-bed of those who, like Manning, have been elevated by the sacrifice and immolation of their confiding friends, would exhibit a picture far more dark than the sad and bloody end of that black ingrate's victims.

X

L. F. V.

BRIGHTON.

FROM MISS MORDEN TO DR. MORDEN.

Portsmouth, Aug. 10, 184—.

MY DEAR UNCLE, In rapturous spirit at once more setting foot in dear, happy England, I write to tell you Her Majesty's ship "Fire-fly" arrived here yesterday, bringing, among other valuables, your very affectionate niece. I suppose the news has preceded me, of my uncle Charles having left me the bulk of his property; if so, I entreat you to keep this circumstance a profound secret for the space of three weeks. When we meet I shall explain to you most satisfactorily my motives for this apparently whimsical desire; and, among other reasons, shall offer twenty thousand in the shape of as many pounds, which I intend bestowing on my dear cousin and namesake, your daughter Louy, (blessings on her sponsors, for giving her the same name as myself, without which all my schemes would fall to the ground). I shall be of age the 3rd of next month, when I shall be enabled to

make all proper arrangements for the disposal of my rupees, &c. I hope to be with you at Brighton as expeditiously as rail-road can convey me, trusting to your hospitality for a welcome. With love to my aunt and Louy, believe me your attached niece,

LOUISA MORDEN.

Dr. Morden had been settled many years at Brighton as a physician. Without ever having experienced any great misfortune, or, on the other hand, any sudden augmentation or advancement in his worldly affairs, he had for twenty years pursued the even tenor of his way, a very fair sample of that envied but nearly extinct class-contented men. It is not, however, very surprising that the letter we have just presented to the reader should have startled and delighted him. And putting aside the pleasure he might expect to feel in meeting his niece, we must allow that the "twenty thousand reasons" had their due weight. Of the fair writer, however, some account must be given. She was the only child of a merchant, who was the youngest of three brothers. She had some pretensions to beauty, and great natural abilities, which had been strengthened by cultivation. From those changes so incidental to mercantile men, her father, when she was about sixteen years of age, saw himself reduced from affluence to beggary. The shock was too much for him, and he died, it was said, of a broken heart. The bachelor brother, who had accumulated an immense for tune in India, no sooner heard of his misfortunes, than he insisted on the orphan girl (she had lost her mother in infancy) being sent to him, promising to provide for her, as if she were his own; which promise, it would appear, had been amply fulfilled.

Premising thus much, the reader is introduced to the drawing-room of Mrs. Morden, in Square, Brighton, the morning after Louisa's arrival. Cashmere shawls, chains, feathers, beetle-wing

ras, which friends or relatives are of course expected to bring with them from India, had been presented to their destined owners, duly admired, and all pretty acknowledgments made and accepted.

"But now, my dear girl," said Mrs. Morden, "do tell us what is this scheme that induces you to desire our secresy with respect to your for tune."

moured

"It is a long story, aunt, and I must tell it you from the beginning; and you, Louy, must listen, and I hope will not refuse the role I have arranged you shall enact. We had not embarked many days, when I discovered that it was ru among the passengers, although previously I certainly should not have troubled myself as to a stranger to them, that I was a very rich heiress. been annoyed by the attentions, or persecutions what they said about me, had I not very shortly rather, of a Colonel Yellowhammer, one of our party. So detestable a creature is he, I hardly is the colour of a London fog, and his countenance know how to describe him to you. His complexion about as cheerful; with a thin body, wrapped up round an Egyptian mummy. His conceit equalled in as many Cashmere waistcoats as there are folds his ugliness; he never would take a hint, nor believe he could be disagreeable. If I walked on deck he was by my side, giving me some tiresome account of his tiger hunting expeditions, or skir mishes with the natives. When I sat down to the piano he must turn over the leaves of my music, and every evening inflicted on me the misery of being beaten at chess. My only safe retreat was my cabin, yet I soon became tired of solitude. I was convinced, notwithstanding my coldness, that he contemplated doing me the honour of offering his future assistance in spending ny money and, as I was equally certain it was that only he cared for, I hit upon an expedient which at once released me from his troublesome attentions. One morning I, with two or three of the ladies, was sitting, working in the cabin, while Capt. Dalton, an officer in the same regiment as Yellowhammer, read one of Scott's novels to us. My tormentor came in: presently the book was laid aside, and we began talking. The conversation took just the turn for which I had some days been waiting, and I had the opportunity of telling them I was no heiress. A cousin of mine of the same name as myself, I said, had been my uncle's choice. You cannot think, my dear aunt, how well I managed it. I never believed I could have told a falsehood with so much calmness. An old maid, who was present, exclaimed kindly, not impertinently, Poor thing, how disappointed you must have been!' and another lady seemed very desirous of knowing what my views were, as I had led them all to believe I was quite dependent on my relations. Oh!' I cried, I shall procure a situation as companion to some old lady, when I reach England, I suppose, and wash her poodle dogs and old china.'

"Until now I certainly had not considered Captain Dalton as malicious or illnatured; indeed, till that moment, I had never thought anything about

being a little in advance, "why did you seem so pleased when I first undeceived our fellow-passengers with regard to my having a fortune?" "Did I look pleased? I felt, mentally, thankful."

"Why?"

"At first from a simple impulse, which assured me you would not be the wife of that hateful Colonel; and the next moment, because I thought the soldier of fortune might dare to love one whom as an heiress he would never have addressed." "Do you know, Alfred, had you not cared about me, I do not think I should have been doomed to wash poodle-dogs and old china ?" "I cannot believe you would. No; you would have married some one richer, nobler, perhaps more worthy of you; but never one who could have loved you more devotedly." "I had something I intended to tell you during this ride, and here we are at the door while it is unsaid. There, now, you must help me to dismount." And as he lifted her light form from the horse, she whispered in his ear, "I am the heiress! Awkward creature, you have nearly let me fall; but come into this room, I want to ask your forgiveness for the only deception I have ever practised; will you trust to my truth and sincerity for the future?" Half-laughing, half-crying, she led him into her uncle's study. "My dream of happiness,' ," she added, "from childhood, has been to be loved, dearly, devotedly, for myself alone. I think that dream is realized. You might, perhaps, have loved me as truly, conscious of my fortune, but I doubt if I should have been vain enough to believe it. Tell me, shall we not be as happy with a good house and carriage, as in 'lodgings near the barracks ?'"

"My life, I am too blessed!"

THE ENGLISH BEAUTY.

(A French Anecdote.)

"A boon-a boon! dear papa: I claim your promise," exclaimed Virginie de Martel, as she bounded into her father's study, bright in the bloom of her sixteen summers, with her fair, high forehead, and long sunny ringlets, shading deep blue eyes, which, together with a skin that ri valled the lily's whiteness, had gained for her the appellation of the English beauty.

Virginie was a French girl of noble family, and long descent, and this was to be le jour de ses fiançailles, with the young Count Edward de Vermont.

"And what would my child?" asked the old Marquis de Martel, as his daughter threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him on each cheek, à la Française. "Thy father has not forgotten that he promised to grant thy first request on the happy morn that witnesseth thy be trothal to the lover of thy choice, and the son-inlaw of his. Fear not, my Virginie, thy boon is won ere it gains utterance."

"My father!" (and she spoke hurriedly, almost wildly, as if she feared some hasty interruption) "Tu sais que c'est aujourd'hui le jour de mes fiançailles; et ce jour en huit celui des noces. Eh! bien. My request is, that my sister and her husband be invited to the wedding."

The old man's face darkened as she spoke; "Virginie, is this well?" he cried. "By whose advice dost thou act-who has counselled thee to this?"

"My father, I needed no counsellor but my own heart, which has ached to see my sister ever since I can remember emotion."

"Virginie--Virginie! the half of my marquisate I would have granted thee with pleasure-but this-no, no, not this-never, never, Virginie!"

SEVIGNIANA.

La Sévigné did once maintain
This paradox, of satire full,
"Our pleasant guests give greater pain,
And less delight, than inmates dull:

While those amuse, and these annoy,

D. D.

To part with those afflicts the heart; But oh! les Ennuyeux! what joyWhat rapt'rous bliss when they depart!" X, Y, Z.

been in my heart ever since, and I almost wished for the day that I might make it. And so thanks, thanks, dear, dear papa!" And away she flew, determined to suppose her request granted; and indeed, so much had she taken the old Marquis by surprise, that he had scarcely recovered himself before the messenger was far on his way, with the invitation to Monsieur et Madame Delvars, accompanied by a hurried line from the Marchioness to her eldest daughter, whom she had not beheld, save once, for thirteen long years! And where is the mother's heart that can forget her child?

She assisted, nevertheless, with scrupulous anxiety, the arraying her fair Virginie for the ensuing grand ceremony of betrothment (which in France equals, and indeed, often exceeds the splendour of the marriage feast); and proud did she feel to be the mother of that sweet girl, who might

And when her father saw how very lovely she looked, he forgot her temerity of the early morning, and only wondered in his mind, if it were possible that any one could be found so hard-hearted as even

to vex her?

Pass we the transports of the young Count, the compliments of the company, the examination of the splendid "trousseau," and distribution of the several presents which custom has rendered imperative on these occasions, to the incidents which had given rise to Virginie's seemingly strange request. Her sister Amélie was twelve years her senior, so that she loved her more from hearing her mother and the Bonne talk of her, than from actual remembrance.

Thirteen years previous to the commencement of our tale, Amélie de Martel was the idol of her father's heart, the admired of all eyes, and sought for in marriage by the noblest of the land, amongst whom her father had selected for her suitor, whom alone he thought worthy of his beautiful and gifted Amélie; but alas! that there should be such things as hearts, and that they will make themselves heard, or rather I should have said felt, by their possessors.

The nearest neighbour to the chateau in which the Marquis with his family usually spent the rural months of the year, was a young man who had not long come into possession of his property; and who, to the advantage of a singularly handsome person, added the graces of a perfect education, and finished elegance of manner; and having once rescued Amélie from the attack of a furious dog whilst walking in her father's grounds, an acquaintance had commenced, which soon became intimacy, and shortly ripened into love. Although Amélie well knew the hopelessness of such an attachment; for her father, who was a nobleman of the old régime, regarding rank as the first thing in the world, looked down with sovereign contempt on all the new made titles, and regarded commoners as nobodies; and, alas! Charles Delvars was a commoner (or what we should call of gentle, but not noble descent), as rich as almost countless wealth could make him, but still-a commoner! The old Marquis was grateful to him for having rescued his daughter, and so far overstepped the boundaries of what he considered due to his rank, as to give the young man an entrée to their country soirées, offer him the privilege of fishing on his lake, and shooting over his grounds; but that a daughter of his should ever fall in love with a commoner, came not in his idea within the range of possibilities! nor did he awake from his security on this point, till a formal demand was made on the part of Monsieur Charles Adolphe Delvars, for the hand of Madlle. Amélie Adrienne Louise de Martel. Then, indeed, his fury knew no bounds, his words could scarely find utterance, and he was literally almost choked with passion. He would not hear any remonstrances from friends, he was blind to the tears of his daughter, and deaf to the entreaties of his wife; and only regretted that the days of the bastile, and "lettres de cachets" were

young man incarcerated for life. He hurried his family to a distant part of the country; and having sent Monsieur Delvars a positive and unqualified refusal, began by confining Amélie to her own apartment, where, unheeding her drooping spirits, and the sorrowful pleadings of his wife, he kept her a close prisoner during several months; and equally unmindful of her fading health and woeworn countenance, declared he would rather mourn her dead, than witness her bridal with a commoner.

Such unparentlike treatment would almost excuse a rash step; and certain it is, that one dark, rainy night (aided, as was afterwards ascertained, by her Bonne, who had contrived to give intimation of their whereabouts to Charles, and the harsh conduct of the Marquis towards his Amélie) she made her escape from the window of her dressing-room, was received with rapture by Monsieur Delvars, who, placing her accompanied by the aforesaid Bonne in a carriage which he had in waiting, and himself mounting his horse as escort, conveyed her to a convent twelve miles distant, where his aunt was lady abbess. By her, who was both fond and proud of her nephew, poor Amélie was received with the kindness of a dear relative; and though she could not but blame such a decided opposition to a father's will, she yet mixed up so much of pity, and seeing the dreadful state of agitation the poor girl was in, and knowing the step she had taken was now irremediable, spake so soothingly that Amélie was at length pacified into something like calm. And here she quietly remained, as no one entertained an idea of seeking for her in her own immediate neighbourhood; whilst Monsieur Charles having seen her safe in the protection of his aunt, proceeded to consult with the legal authorities in order to prepare for the next step, which was, the first of "les trois requisitions respecteuse," or demand for the sanction of the parents to his marriage with their daughter, which has to be repeated three several times, allowing an interval of one month to intervene between each application; after the third, the marriage is legal, even though consent from the parents may not have been granted. In most cases, the parties applied to are glad to give their permission the first time, at all events the second; as nothing but the marriage can replace the lady in society.

The old Marquis, however, continued obdurate to the last. And on the third supplication being presented, and no notice whatever taken of it, Charles returned to the convent, and claimed his bride, whom he had not seen since the hour he placed her within its walls. They were married in the convent chapel, in presence of his aunt; and Amélie found from all his family the welcome of a friend, and the affection of relatives.

For some time after her marriage she vainly sought reconciliation with her father; and once, by the connivance of her mother, when they visited the country seat near which Amélie and her husband chiefly resided, she gained entrance into the gardens; and, concealing herself in a bosquet, where she knew her father generally took his afternoon stroll, she awaited in breathless anxiety the