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Happy Lisle! the ball will have no more pleasure for thee, for thy master hath higher joy for the children of his love. And he sat and gazed vacantly at the waving elms. But dark thoughts fought within, and there was no peace there. He would not humble himself to seek that forgiveness which he had denied to a fellow mortal, and sleep closed not upon his aching brain that night.

And there are witnessing angels in this world, and every evening they carry up their report to that tribunal from which there is no appeal.

CHAPTER II.

THE INAUGURATION, AN UNEXPECTED

MEETING.

Six months had passed away. It was the evening of the opening of a new music hall in the town in which our plot is laid. All the élite of the neighbourhood were present to honour the inauguration. There was a little mystery connected with the performers. They had to consist of certain gentlemen of the town, who were to remain incog., until their appearance on the platform. The entertainment was to consist of music, both vocal and instrumental, and of readings from popular authors. For days and weeks beforehand, there were surmises made as to whom the amateurs would be. There was a good deal of brilliant local talent, and little doubt existed as to the ultimate success of the affair.

The great night came at last. Carriages drove up in scores, and deposited their fair burdens at the doors of the ball. As all the seats were previously taken, though the place was crowded, there was little confusion. The hall was gaily decorated with festoons of flowers, and elaborately wrought mottoes gleamed out amid the floral beauties which so artistically adorned the walls; and the carved and coloured ornamentings, which appeared on the front of the galleries, added not a little to the effect which so much beauty in art and nature was calculated to inspire. But, undoubtedly, the fairest sight in that brilliant scene, was the dazzling row of female loveliness

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in the front of the side elevations. Arrayed in all the hues of the rainbow, decked with gems from every land be neath the sun, and set off in all the magnificence which the finery and fashion of the age could produce, these butterflies of the evening had come to be admired, and to pronounce their various opinions on the various performances. None could feel the overwhelming effect which such a scene imposed so much as those who were least accustomed to it. It is a matter of little surprise that the boy just entering society, should feel the unhealthy excitement of similar scenes with a strange, bewildering delight, and that while the giddy pleasure which they produce charms away all sense of danger, that he should set his bark on the edge of that whirlpool which may ultimately lead him into the centre of destruction. It is almost needless to say that I refer to the intoxicating delights of the theatre and the ball.

Of course there were gentlemen present in abundance, and these, if not so showy in their attire as the ladies, were only inferior in that department on account of the restrictions which society imposes on our sex.

At length a silence fell upon the hum and gossip which filled the hall, and the notes of the noble organ at the end of the room rolled out grandly the royal air "God save the Queen;" and in honour of that prayer which is known to every child in the land, the whole assembly stood up and sang those glorious lines.

The music and readings followed. But we cannot stay to describe these, as our business is not here, but rather to follow the history of the characters in our little tale. Taking advantage of an interval in the programme, two ladies resumed a conversation which had been interrupted at the commencement. One of the ladies was little and round, presenting rather a matronly appearance; her face was undeniably pretty, and wore a charming smile. The other might boast of the highest order of beauty, but a sad, dejected air sat upon her countenance, which seemed pale through undue and harassing anxiety.

"Well, Lisle," said the former, "so

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you have given up attending balls. For shame, see how ill you look."

"It is not the desire to return to those amusements which has depressed my spirits so much of late, and also shown its effects externally. You may know the reason some day."

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And, you naughty child, you actually think to hide the cause from me, and I know all the while, as well as you can tell me. When you separated from George What Earle, your heart was still his. made you quarrel, you silly child? Why, Charles and I would have made it up long ago. You loved each other, and yet you quietly and coolly, as if you were perfect strangers, said good-bye after two or three minutes' difference, and hoped never to see each other again. I declare that Charles and I, ever since we went to N- have done nothing else but talk about it. He said that if it had been fifty years ago, he would have called Earle out; as it was, he had a good mind to give him a horsewhipping. If it had not been for your foolish wish to hide his fault, everybody should have known about it. But you don't care so much about him now, do you, dear?"

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'No-no," said Lisle, hesitating.

Oh! how her heart misgave her when she uttered that belying monosyllable. How it beat back quick affirmations in throbs which she tried to still by pressing her hand against her bosom lest Florence should hear them.

you

"Well, child, I am glad I have seen you. I always intended to come up to your inauguration, and it has given me great pleasure to have a chat with my must get But dear Lisle once more. better, do you hear? There's Lord Vardy and ten thousand a-year will have you directly, if Earle has forsaken. I won't have you sitting in the house, pining away. I am glad I persuaded you to come here. You must give up this foolish fancy, and you will get a handsome husband in a twinkle."

"I don't wish to marry."

"I know a little too much of the world to believe that small fib, my child. Never tell me such a thing again. It is what you young ladies who are disappointed in love always say; but allow me to tell

you that you do. It is of no use trying
to make yourself believe that you don't,
because you do, and it will be the only
thing that will mend you. What do you
mean? Why, once you were full of life,
and pride, and wit, now you sit with
your hands crossed before the fire as
It won't do,
You
gloomy and ugly as a nun.
Lisle; we must have a change.
must come over to N-, and stay a few
weeks with us, and I promise you we
will have no balls if you don't like
them."

“Oh! thank you," said Lisle, bright-
ening up at the idea, I think I will. I
have often thought of coming over to see
you, but never managed to summon up
courage to de so."

"Well, will, as I have your pro-
you
Hush, dear! they are going to
mise.
commence again. I wonder who we are
going to have next?"

A few lively strains of music here put
a stop to the chatter of the ladies and
gentlemen. After an air or two from a
popular opera the performers retired, and
a gentleman stepped from behind the
screen, and announced that he was going
to give readings from Shakespeare. There
was silence the moment his full, clear,
voice fell upon the ears of the assembly.

"Dear me, Lisle! how you tremble. What is the matter? Are you ill?"

Poor girl, the blushes came hot upon her face, and she shook her face ner vously, for there, in all his pride and glory, and magnificent manhood, stood he who was, despite all she could do to the contrary, all-in-all to her-George Earle. "I am better, thank you, Florence." "You must try to control your feelings, dear, or you may be noticed."

Lisle did not reply, she never heard the remark. Her ears were open only to the tones of that voice which gently, clearly, filled the hall.

The first reading was from "Romeo and Juliet," the last act. The effect was overwhelming. Nothing could exceed the fire, the grief and anguish, with which the different parts were rendered. He seemed thoroughly to appreciate the spirit of the great author in the produc tion of Romeo, and a visible thrill went through the hall during his last speech.

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With a pathos which seemed to melt the very hearts of his audience, he gave those magnificent passages on which we have often lingered

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"I will stay with thee;

And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again; here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy chambermaids. O here
Will I set up my everlasting rest,

And shake the yo e of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh."

It was transcendently grand, and there was not one hardly in that room but what felt his liveliest sympathies laid under tribute to the oratorical powers of George Earle.

On coming to the part when Juliet discovers the dead body of her lover, a tear glistened in the eyes of Lisle Somers, and stole down her cheek. No wonder she felt it, when she saw, in the glowing admiration of that crowded hall, so noble a tribute to the genius of him who was once her lover, and also felt the strange power he exerted over others upon herself-no wonder, I say, that her emotions were so kindled.

Florence saw the intense interest with which she listened to every word, but said nothing.

When he had finished, the hall rose to applaud him. He was rapturously encored. As a substitute, he read the closing scene in "King Lear," and the mad grief of the aged monarch was rendered with a power in no way inferior to the thrilling sorrow of Romeo. The propriety of tone in which he personated the different characters, proved him to be a master of his art.

As soon as he was done, Mrs. Chambers turned, and said to Lisle, "He must have attended the theatre himself, to have perfected the intonations of the voice in so dramatic a manner."

"He was never in a theatre in his life," returned Lisle, warmly; 66 certainly he bas listened to all the great public speakers of the day, but you ought to be aware that imitation can never accomplish such success as that. It must be intuitive, to appreciate so genuinely the spirit of such good poetry as that. There

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is a world of difference between merely
assuming and actually feeling.'
"Well, well, as you like it," said Flo-
rence, with a smile.

up.

The programme for the evening was at length concluded, and the assembly broke Florence had a large number of ladies to congratulate, and, in the meantime, Lisle repaired to the refreshment rooms, where she waited for her volatile friend. She had just sat about five minutes when a gentleman entered. She did not notice him at first, but on casually looking round, she discovered, to her surprise, that it was Earle. His back was turned to her at the moment. as he was getting something at the stall. Her first impulse was to leave the room, but she was afraid that he had seen her, and determined to remain. She had a strange, indefinite sort of fear lest he should address her. How she longed for Florence's arrival, and she knew not why, yet so it was. She heard him turn on his heel and approach her. She trembled slightly. In another moment he would speak, but she was relieved. Mrs. Chambers came bounding in.

"Oh, dear child, have I kept you waiting? I am sorry for it, but I could not get away. But, come, your carriage is waiting."

Lisle rose and left the room, but, just as she reached the door, she could not resist the temptation, and stole the forbidden look. George Earle was standing with his face towards them, and his large, mournful eyes encountered hers full. Both instinctively averted their gaze, and yet it was too late, they had seen each other. She reached the carriage she hardly knew how, and yet here she nearly made a mistake.

"Mr. Earle's carriage," said the man in livery, correcting her.

"Where are you going?" said Florence, laughing and pushing her on to the next one, which proved to be her own.

And the dark eyes were looking there all the while.

A carriage lined with velvet, and emblazoned with a coat of arms, drove rapidly past.

"See! there he is!" said Florence, quickly, and that other is the Earl of

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A, who has likely come over to spend a week with him in town. There, he saw you full !"

"Hush!" said Lisle, leaning back. "I am sure I can't tell what will be the end of all this," said Mrs. Chambers, endeavouring to sigh.

Poor Lisle could not tell. It did not trouble the former much, but the latter was too much excited to repose that night.

"Then let the stricken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play;

the carriage drive which overlooks the
declivity, I thought it time to return, as
it was then nine o'clock. I was just di-
recting my steps homeward, when I
It was
descried a rare plant, in search of which
I had been for some time past.
only about two feet below the walk. You
I con-
understand my small penchant for botany.
It was too strong to be resisted.
sidered for a while how I should reach
it. There was no way but going down
carefully towards it, which I did; but no
sooner were my feet off the walk, than

For sonie must watch, whilst some must sleep, the ground, which was very soft after a
So runs the world away."

I

"And so you are reconciled at last. always said it would be so. Well, you must tell me all about it, as your letters were very brief."

Three months after the events last recorded, and our two old friends met again. Florence was on a visit to the town, and had come straight from the train to see Lisle.

Lisle, with the old sparkle in her eye, and the old bloom upon her cheek, was sitting at the open window. It was the early spring. The carefully-trained flowers on the stand filled the room with a delicious fragrance, and the more modest beauties of the garden, in their tasteful and varied order, were not to be despised. Lisle, in her sweet, pure morning attire, seemed fresh and lovely as the spring itself. All the varied luxuries of a refined taste were at hand in that clean little parlour, which she denominated her sanctum sanctorum. It was Liberty Hall, and she was the presiding divinity. In reply to Mrs. Chambers' question, she answered, "Well, it is rather a romantic story, if you must know it all. don't know what George would say, though; but, as you are such an esas you have bepecial friend, and come so conscientious on my account of late, I suppose you must know it. It took place just about a fortnight after the inauguration. One evening I went out for a walk-it was about eight o'clock-it was a beautiful mild night. I went rather further than I expected. You know Hawksworth Castle? Well, I got as far as that. When I had reached

recent shower of rain, gave way beneath
my weight. I grasped hold of the grass
with all my strength, and thus saved
myself from falling. But, as soon as I
endeavoured to regain the path, my feet
slipped away again, and left me in a worse
position than before. This I tried two
or three times, but with similar success.
At last I gave up in despair-my hold
Just then I
got weaker and weaker, and a fainting
sensation came over me.
heard the sound of carriage wheels. I
In another minute I
gave a slight cry.
was lifted firmly on to the pathway. I
remember nothing more, until I was
aroused by the jolting of the carriage. I
opened my eyes. George Earle was sit-
Endeavouring to master
ting before me.
those feelings which my surprise natu-
rally gave rise to, I said,

"You will excuse me; but I slipped in reaching for a flower.'

"Do not mention it,' he said, kindly; I am only too happy to serve you, Miss Somers.'

"I said nothing, and there was a He took silence; at last he broke it. my hand gently, firmly, and looking me Ime full in the face, said, 'Lisle, Lisle, have you forgotten George Earle ?

"I could not answer.

"You have not forgotten him?' he said, softly; but are you ready to for give him?"

"I tried to say yes, but added something about 'the promise.'

"The promise has been kept since that night,' he said. 'Lisle, you have Will six been watched ever since. I have seen you when you thought it least. months of anguish atone for the pain I

gave you that evening. I have been
Lumbled, and am a better, at any rate a
wiser man, to-day for it. Will other six
months purchase your pardon?'
"I have no wish,' said I, 'to bestow
another day's anguish upon you. If any
thing is wanting from me, George, to
make you happy, you have it to-night.
you have it now. But you believe I
broke my faith with you-'

"Don't mention it, dearest Lisle,' he said, interrupting me; 'unless you wish to rob me of the happiness you have this moment conferred upon me. We vill forget the past, except the lessons it Las in reserve for mutual forbearance and Christian charity. I am thankful for the example your recent life has set me in that divine love without which

religion is a dead and barren thing.'
And now, Florence, you know the rest."
"Well, my dear, allow me sincerely to
congratulate you. Mr. Earle is a noble-
Learted gentleman, and I wish you every
Lappiness a union with him can afford.
Lately, I understand he has been fore-
Lost in every good work, and is more
respected than ever. But when are you
going to be married?"
"Oh! let me see. Why, it is just
four weeks to-day. You must come over
and see the wedding. George intends to
Lave it celebrated in grand style. In
fact, his friends will have it so, or he did
it want it. But they insisted on hav-
ing it according to the position he holds,
and he is obliged to submit. Some think
he is rather hasty, but he declares that
he wants a wife, and will wait no longer."
"And quite right, too," said Florence,
rehemently; "I have no faith in long
engagements. You will be far happier
when you are married, you may take my
experience for it."

Lisle laughed merrily.

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crown,

And have veiled in beauty the mountain's frown.
I have howled and battled in ocean's caves,
And shrieked a lament o'er its victims graves;
Then snatched the sea-weed that covered the shore,
And flung it far back midst the water's roar.

Then a frail boat tossed in merciless sport,
Till it leaped as if by a demon caught;
And tears and curses were mingled with prayer,
As the crew met their doom in wild despair.
Then onward again, but in milder mood,

I traversed the forest's dim solitude;
I bore on my wings the mocking-bird's song,
And carried its wondrous music along.
I rode on the top of the mammoth tree,

Swinging its branches with maddening glee,
Then flew over valleys and prairies bright,
With a speed that rivalled the mandu's* flight.
On to distant scenes, that no mortal knows,
Where the fierce polar bear roams o'er trackless
snows;
From thence I have wandered on mountain chains,
And have roved at will over boundless plains;-
I shrank from the side of the loathsome snake,
and moaned as I swept by the lifeless lake;+
And o'er desert sands my fiery breatht
Became the herald of poison and death.

O'er moorland and hill, o'er morass and fen,
And over the sin-stained dwellings of men,-

"Well, as to that, you will know better Anywhere, everywhere, onward I flee,
than I do, surely.'

Reader, the tale is ended.

The gifted head, the humble heart, the willing hand-these are beauties rarest, but the noblest, godliest, best.

Fit are they to adorn the King's Archangels on the throne's footsteps-then are they not esteemed fairest among

men!

And each changing aspect of life I see;
I have passed o'er ocean, city, and wood,
Working the will of the Author of Good;
And my course will last till that final day,
When time, earth, and I must all pass away.

NELLA.

"Mandu," an American bird, famed for its swift running.

"The lifeless lake," the Dead Sea.
"My fiery breath," the Simoom.

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