Nor only in Dynebridge, but along the whole valley growing into womanhood, with the same dowry of of the Dyne, there was not a fairer or sweeter girl than beauty that she possessed. She was called Claudine, Agatha Grasset; so everybody said, and so her father for Mr. Grasset had not failed to give his daughters thought; therefore he might have been the more readily whatever advantage might be in romantic names. contented to leave the matter of her settlement in life to Providence, confident that sooner or later, yet in good time, it would come.

But Mr. Grasset was not so contented. He was a loud, pompous man, with a small income and a large family, and it chafed him to see this, his eldest daughter, despite all her beauty, approaching her twentieth year, while as yet no suitor had appeared willing to take her off his hands. The retirement of Dynebridge, and its dearth of young men, was a solution of the enigma that brought no consolation to Mr. Grasset, for circumstances chained him to the spot, and he saw no brighter prospect for the future.

In Mr. Grasset's house his will was law, and that law was frequently declared with a harshness that made those around him tremble. But now his good-humor was unfailing, and he even went the frolicsome length of rallying Agatha on her "adorer," as he termed the young officer, who, he had already elicited, was the scion of a good family, with an allowance of three hundred a-year, and the money lodged by his family for his company.

"He is no adorer of mine, papa, I assure you," said Agatha earnestly; and she blushed deeply at the thought of speaking of any one in that light.

66

Oh, indeed, my dear! I thought he had been. Then it is your mother is the attraction, I suppose!" was the affectedly innocent reply.

"Papa, how wicked you are, when you know that you are yourself the attraction!"

"Am I? Dear me, I had no idea I was so charming

upon it—a silk dress to a silk handkerchief?"

But one day the echoes of the valley rang with the stirring strains of fifes and drums playing a military quickstep, and a recruiting party with ribbons flying, marched across the bridge, and took up its quarters in the village. The sensation this arrival caused, it would be superfluous to describe. Everyone knows by parallel-I am afraid you flatter me. But what will you bet occasions that the village was stirred to its very foundations. The whole population rose to do honor to their guests, and higher than any other rose Mr. Grasset; and as he was a plausible and rather brilliant man, with a considerable knowledge of the world-some years of his life having been passed in a government office in London-he soon became a great favorite with the officers of the party.

"No, indeed, Papa; for I could not afford to pay it; but I don't mind betting you a hair-chain."

"Oh, very well, that will do," he said, rising to leave the room; "but, Agatha," he continued, as he held the door half-open, "I don't think you need trouble yourself to make it, unless for a keepsake when you go away."

After some time, Mr. Grasset was rather indisposed, He deserved his popularity, too, in some degree, for and confined to the house for a week or two: and every he was indefatigable in his efforts for their amusement; day came his faithful friend, Hope Cunningham, to see and many were the inexpensive little entertainments him, and was generally the bearer of a magazine, a given at his own cottage on the officers' account. And pamphlet, or a book, to brighten the hours of his imthough in more aristocratic spots those heroes would prisonment. It was never long before the invalid probably have looked with contempt on the little teaparties, and the impromptu dance to the piano that often followed them; or the picnics among the hills, in which they sustained the parts of cavaliers to a bevy of village girls; yet here they were pleasant changes to a monotonous life, and welcomed accordingly.

Of the three officers, one was a devoted angler, and spent most of his time on the river bank; another was an inveterate geologist, and was always wandering among the hills, hammer in hand; so the third having no such resources, when once the surrounding scenery had been sketched, fell completely into the hands of Mr. Grasset, and was to be seen daily sauntering with him about the green lanes; and their walk invariably ended by their turning in together at the cottage-gate. And then Hope Cunningham would spend the next hour or so chatting pleasantly with Mrs. Grasset and her daughters-for Agatha had a younger sister fast

would begin to dip into his new treasure; and then the young officer would turn his attention to the ladies of the family, and gossip, and jest, and laugh with them, heedless of the passing time. But Mr. Grasset was not so absorbed in his reading as to be unconscious of all this, or unobservant of the half-admiring glances that Hope Cunningham occasionally cast on Agatha; nor did he fail by sly comic looks to make his daughter cognizant of his discovery, though it sent the blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Upon my word, it is a very pleasant thing to have grown up daughters," remarked Mr. Grasset soliloquizingly one day, as he looked over a beautifully illustrated work Cunningham had just left. "Their lovers are really very polite and attentive, on the principle of 'Love me love my dog,' I suppose, eh-Agatha ?"

"Nonsense, papa; how can you go on in this way?" exclaimed the young girl, blushing.

"Because the occasion inspires me. Master Hope | departure-Cunningham spoke of "dear old DyneCunningham has really a very pretty way of doing the bridge," and how happy he had been in it, rallied her. devoted; the attention he bestows on the old father is What she hoped, she knew not; but it was pleasant to very gratifying-of course he can't do less than learn to hear him speak thus of Dynebridge; besides, she soon love him as a son." found that he was not to leave for nearly a month, and who knew what might happen before then? perhaps he would ask her to remember him when he was so far away-she would, whether he asked her or not. And with a deep sigh she dried her eyes and went downstairs, and tried to look as if it was nothing to her, when her father jested about lovers' partings.

Mrs. Grasset and Claudine laughed heartily, and Agatha could not help joining them, though she denied the imputation with almost suspicious earnestness, assuring her father that the inspiration was not true, for that Mr. Cunningham's devotion was entirely that of devotion for himself.

"I am very glad to hear it," was the grave reply; "for I was beginning to be particularly uneasy respecting the expense of wedding finery."

The next day Hope Cunningham made his appearance with a bunch of beautiful water-lilies, in addition to a book.

"What charming flowers! are they for me also?" inquired Mr. Grasset.

"Certainly not," said the young officer, laughing, as he held them back from Mr. Grasset's extended hand; then gallantly expressing his regret that they were not more worthy of their happy destiny, he presented them to Agatha, who received them with the bashfulness of an unpractised girl, infinitely increased by the mischievous glance her father cast on her from behind Cunningham.

CHAPTER II.

THAT day, when the visitor was gone, Agatha did not attempt to defend herself against her father's raillery, but fled away to her own room, leaving him master of the field. Thenceforward, whenever the garden-gate was heard to open, Agatha Grasset's heart seemed to stand still; and if a light firm step subsequently sounded along the path, it beat so violently that she could scarce summon composure to greet the visitor who appeared.

A few days more, and Mr. Grasset was well again and once more threading the green lanes with his young favorite, over whom his wit, shrewdness, and plausibility were gaining for him a considerable influ

ence.

But Mr. Grasset was not now able every day to devote himself to his friend, for business frequently called him to the neighboring county town. And on these occasions, partly from the result of habit, partly from the pleasure most young men take in the society of beautiful girls, Cunningham paid lengthy visits at the cottage, when day by day Agatha's young heart surrendered itself more completely to his keeping.

In these tea-parties and picnics, these walks and visitings, the summer glided pleasantly away, and autumn was beginning to carpet the lanes with leaves, when Hope Cunningham received orders to join the servicecompanies of his regiment in the West Indies. What a shock the intelligence gave Agatha! For a moment the room seemed to swim round, and she caught at the table to support herself. But the manner in which-in reply to her mother's expressions of regret at his

And now that very acute gentleman watched with a hawk's eye each word and look that passed between the young people; and when a few days had passed, he stayed at home all one morning; and when Cunningham came to seek him, he met him with the inquiry, whether he had received a note from him that morning? The young man replied in the negative, saying that he had not been home since breakfast; and after sitting for a short time in wonder that his host did not enter on the subject on which he had written, he departed, to solve the question by a reference to the note itself.

In a short time he returned.

"I have come about that note you sent me," he said, in considerable agitation.

"Come into my room, we can talk there uninterrupted," replied Mr. Grasset calmly; and he led the way to a little study on the opposite side of the cottage, and closed the door.

"I am greatly distressed, Mr. Grasset, that there should have been any misconception with regard to my friendship for your family. Though I have the greatest respect and esteem for Miss Grasset, I assure you I was far from having any thought of engaging her affections; or aspiring to her hand," said the young officer earnestly.

Mr. Grasset sat gazing for a moment, as if he could scarce believe the meaning of the words that met his ear; and he put his hand on his heart, as though to still the pain they gave him. But there was another heart on which they fell with a weight that crushed out hope and peace, and so bruised the fair blossoms of youth, that they would never flourish more.

For Hope Cunningham had another listener that he knew not of. In a still smaller room within that in which they sat, Agatha, by her father's directions, was engaged in copying a passage from a book. Every word they spoke fell on her ear with terrible exactness; and though, with the natural aversion of an upright mind, she shrank from listening to a conversation not intended for her to hear, she had no means of escape, the only door being that leading into the study; and she felt as if she would rather endure anything than face Hope Cunningham while engaged in that conversation.

After one wild look around, as if for some means of escape, Agatha sank down in her chair, and sat with her hands clasped tightly together, while each burning word was branded on her heart, never to be effaced.

She heard her father ask his companion how he could

set, starting up; and going to the door, he opened it, and looked in.

For a moment he stood silently looking at the scene before him; then turning to his companion, he said, quietly, "Come here, Cunningham, there is your work

reconcile it to his conscience to win a young girl's
heart as carelessly as he would pluck a flower, and reck
as little the withering of the one as of the other; and
she heard him whom she had so long loved coldly deny
his belief in her affection, express his certainty that
she could not have so misunderstood his common-place-what do you think of it?”
politeness, and his hope that Miss Grasset would
yet find some one far more worthy of her than he
should ever be.

Every word Hope Cunningham uttered, every tone of his voice, brought conviction to Agatha's heart that he had never loved her. At once she perceived that her affection had been called forth, not by the young officer's attentions, but by her father's raillery in giving a point and meaning to every word and look that would otherwise have passed by unnoticed. Her heart cried silently to him in sorrowful reproach for what he had done, and more bitterly for what he was now doing, in laying open the secrets of his daughter's heart to a stranger's eye, and one that, as Agatha suspected, he well knew to be indifferent.

Had Agatha's courage been equal to her will, she would at once have cut short this humiliating discussion, by appearing before them, and exonerating Cunningham, while she entreated no more might be said on a subject so uncalled-for. But she was young and timid, and until recently her father had been a stern ruler to her; so she sat still, and with an aching heart listened to her father and Cunningham pursuing that distressing theme; and at length she heard him, with an agony of shame that made each word sharp as a stab, entreat the young officer to marry his daughter for her love's sake.

In silent astonishment the young man stood for a few seconds, regarding the fair face that now, pale and stony, lay on the ground, pillowed only by the brown clustering curls, and the small hands clasped rigidly together, as if in despair.

The thought that this was caused by affection for himself, touched Hope Cunningham's heart. Perhaps the sight of her exceeding beauty, as she lay there in her unconsciousness, touched him also; and he said softly, as if he feared to disturb her

"I will marry her. I cannot do it now; but when I return from the West Indies I will marry her." "That is quite sufficient," was the reply; "I only care for my daughter's happiness."

CHAPTER III.

WHEN, half-an-hour after, Agatha first opened her eyes, both her parents were bending over her.

"Ah, here is our fair bride reviving again," said her father, playfully stroking her cheek, which instantly flushed the deepest crimson, though she was still too weak to speak: but later in the day, when she had rallied, when something of the same sort was repeated, she said, earnestly, "Papa, I cannot marry Mr. Cun

"I cannot," was the reply; "I have not the means." ningham !" Mr. Grasset laughed mockingly.

"It is quite true," continued the young man earnestly-" certainly I have an allowance from my brother, but he has the right of withdrawing it when he pleases; and he would do so immediately, if I married without family or fortune--he would have no mercy on me, for he himself married a woman older than himself, for wealth."

"My poor Agatha !" said Mr. Grasset, sadly; "and yet she would make the most careful of wives."

"And yet you would have her to die of a broken heart? Cunningham, I cannot stand by and see it."

Her father's brow contracted into a frown, she well knew as indicative of stern displeasure. "And wherefore not, I pray?"

"I cannot be married from compassion; and that is all Mr. Cunningham feels for me."

"Upon my word, young lady—and so you are so exigent, that you must even choose why and wherefore your husband marries you! But I tell you, Agatha Grasset, to bless your stars: it is not every girl, so poor as you, who secures such a husband." The poor girl

"I do not doubt it; I believe Miss Grasset to be pos- began to weep. The pain of bearing her unrequited sessed of every good quality." love was nothing to the misery of being forced on the acceptance of him she loved. "And more I tell you, Agatha," pursued her father-"when next you see Mr. Cunningham, receive him as it is becoming to receive your future husband; and always treat him as such. Remember, there are to be no silly offers of release, or romantic willingness to sacrifice your own happiness to his. It would be of no use; but the very attempt would bring on you anger such as you have never seen-no, not the fiftieth degree of!"

This was the signal for a fresh appeal to Cunningham's generous feelings. Agatha thought it was the young officer's necessities, not his feelings, prevented him yielding, for his tones declared him greatly moved, but only by pity. Every fresh word her father uttered seemed to add to the burthen of shame pressing down his daughter's head, and to the heart-sickness that was almost overwhelming her. At length the strain became greater than she could bear, and she sunk fainting from Agatha had often trembled beneath her father's her seat. The book from which she had been writing anger; but even this threat did not prevent her making was disturbed by her fall, and fell heavily to the ground an effort to set Cunningham free; but he turned it off beside her. so kindly, and looked with such admiration on her fair "Good heavens! what is that?" exclaimed Mr. Gras- face, with its timid, blushing earnestness, that Agatha

could not persevere, and the opportunity was lost, and | gold had been used to go. Of his ample allowance he

Cunningham knew that it was to rid himself of the though Cunningham "dear girl," that this last aggression on him was comlooked at them with horror-by the sight of his son-in-mitted; and he could scarcely summon temper to law's brother-officers waiting by the church-porch to accord to the travellers a passable reception. But. greet them. Cunningham's hope of concealing his | Agatha's pale and drooping aspect, her nervous timidity,

shore. But that was nothing to him; Agatha had now | had no profession, no peculiar aptitude for anything; a husband, and it devolved on him to protect and and the search was a difficult one. He applied to guard her from want and hardship; and Mr. Grasset his wealthy brother; but he refused anything, save the returned home, rejoicing over the deed he had done, advice that he should resort to those to whom he had and resolved to marry off his second daughter-in | allied himself, and so, at last, though with an embitwhich he very soon succeeded.

Seven years passed, and there was again a stir at Dynebridge, greater almost than that day, so long ago, when the recruiting party had marched into it with their lively music. The new event that had monopolized every thought, and occupied every tongue, was the return of Agatha Grasset to her father's house, accompanied by her husband and her three children, all utterly penniless. All marvelled how Agatha's "grand match came to end so disastrously. Had they known all, it was the most natural result in the world. What but debts and difficulties were likely to follow Cunningham, with his diminished income and increased responsibilities? And the indifferent heart, that made him devoted to society, but added to them.

In the course of years came four children, and though they brought love with them, they added so greatly to the pressure, that in her anxiety about the future, it was with almost a thankful heart that Agatha laid her bestloved one beneath the palm trees, and thought of its bright home above, in contrast to what they all suffered below. At last there came the step so long looked forward to Cunningham's commission was sold to defray his debts; and for a time they lived upon the small balance that remained—but that did not last long, and then they were penniless.

tered spirit and humiliated heart, Cunningham found himself compelled to do; and with more feeling than was evinced by the wealthy owner of the Priory, Mr. Grasset received them into his home-not kindly, nor without many a well-winged shaft at their poverty; still, he received them. Perhaps by that act of grace, he sought to make some amends to his conscience, which would no longer be silent, but constantly reminded him that this poverty and sorrow were of his own causing, in that he would not patiently await the course of events, but took his daughter's destiny into his own hands.

But amid all these lowering clouds, there was one fair star shone out, and its beam fell on Agatha's heart, with a gladness that enabled her to bear all the rest-she was no longer unloved! In that hard world-struggle, she had conquered her husband's heart, and the strength of that new-born happiness it was that bore them on through their sore extremity.

At length the clouds cleared, and another star shone out; Cunningham obtained a small appointment, aud they had again a roof of their own-a very lowly one, it is true; but oh, the happiness of a home to those who have known its want! Round the hearth sit peace and joy, and hope; for, by steadiness and attention, there is a promise of something better in future; and for these Hope Cunningham can pledge himself he has

Cunningham endeavored to get a situation but he suffered too much to peril the prospect lightly.

THE DYING HUSBAND.

"YES, I am dying; darkness sweeps
Like a dim pall around my bed:

I look, and lo! the golden hair
Has turned to shadows on thy head.

"I see, as through a tempest cloud,

Thy slender form wave to and fro,
Thy garments gleaming like a shroud,
Sweep downward with a ghostly flow.

"Ah! now I feel thy trembling breath;
I know these arms are folding me,
Closer-still closer! This is death-
My soul looks on eternity!
"Alone within this awful hush,

When all around is dark and chill,
I listen for the tears that gush

BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.

From this poor heart-be still, be still!

"Subdue the yearnings of thy grief,

Give death its own sad mastery-
My soul is like an autumn leaf,
Trembling between high heaven and thee.

"Nay, waver not, but fold me thus,
Pillowed upon thy faithful breast,-
Ah, let my worn and weary soul
Pass forth to its eternal rest!"

She stills the beating of her heart,
She clasps him in a last embrace,
Her white and trembling fingers part
The damp locks from his pallid face.
And there upon his cold white brow

Her grief in one wild kiss was given,
And press'd as if 'twould draw him back-
Back from the very gates of heaven.

A sigh return'd, that last caress,
As if some spirit from above
Had stirr'd deep waves of tenderness
Within the fountains of his love.

Death yielded to that holy kiss
His grey and gloomy shadows fled,
And smiles of calm seraphic bliss
Stood, like a glory o'er the dead!