(Continued from page 200.)

CHAPTER X.

ALLAN GRAHAM was the descendant of a noble Scottish family, which, although it had become impoverished, was still proud of its ancestral honors. Sir Robert Graham, his grandfather, had spent a princely fortune in remodeling and refurnishing the old castle, which had been rendered illustrious by the six weeks' residence of a Scottish king. The arms of the McIntoshes, the Montroses, and the Stuarts, were quartered with their own, and the leaves of the family tree had never yet been blighted by cowardice in the sons, or infamy and disgrace in the daughters. Yet the money lavished so profusely in endeavoring to prop the falling towers, and cement the parting stones, had failed to preserve the cherished edifice from decay, and Sir Robert found, on his death-bed, that he had little to bequeath his children, save a spotless name and a few acres of worthless land. His eldest son, James, inherited these, and his youngest, Allan-who had long fixed his eye upon the New World as a fair opening for his ambition-resigned all claim upon the estate, except sufficient to supply his wants until some path to distinction might be opened. He was a man of refined manners, liberal education, extended views a calculating philosopher, an acute observer, an eloquent orator, and an ardent politician. The star of his destiny was as yet obscured by adventitious circumstances, and the difficulties of his position. But mind, mind, was to tri

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umph over all. Allan Graham soon found himself on the high road to distinction.

Meantime his only son grew up, the pride of his father, and the admiration of society. Young, handsome, accomplished in all those subtile arts which please the eye and engage the heart, young Allan soon became a favorite in the circle in which he moved. His figure might have been taken for a model of Apollo, his face as the beau-ideal of manly beauty. The gentleness of his manners, the seductive tones of his voice, his enthusiasm for the grand and beautiful, and his brilliant talents, riveted the attention and ensnared the heart.

Years flew by, and the junior Allan Graham was left the sole representative of his ancient family. His father and his uncle had paid the debt of nature, and the young heir to the wealth and honors of the Grahams, found himself, at the age of twenty-one, alone in the world, with nothing but those talents for which he had been so much lauded, to support him. The last letter of his father lay open before him, in which he bade him seek the hand of some wealthy American lady, by means of which he could restore the honors of his ancient family. "Marry the young heiress, Mary Stanbrook. She likes you, my boy.. Your romantic love for any one else is mere nonsense. Mary's money will gain for you more than whole years of toil. Let money be your object, my son. nothing. Without it you are · That will assure you a welcome : wherever you go. Genius, talent, enterprise

what are they without this talismanic charm? load of sorrow, which neither time nor distance

I have failed to attain it; you, with your many personal attractions, may secure it. Let every thought, every feeling of your soul, resolve itself into the one desire for money! money! money!"

"And so," thought young Graham, "I must fling aside my glorious dreams; I must cease to dwell in the bright regions of poetry and imagination; I must come down to the realities of life; study the practical instead of the ideal. Oh, how I could dream away my existence among the romantic scenes of Italy, with 'one fair spirit as my minister.' But oh! this sordid dross, for which we must sacrifice everything; this terrible, but necessary evil; this damper upon ambition; this leveler of the intellectual with the ignorant-the really great man with the common hind-the philosopher with the fool! I hate, detest, but I must court you. MUST! Is there, then, no god-like ambition kindled within me? Am I to be classed with these brainless dogs, who would lick the very dust beneath the feet of the wealthy? Away! I will not. But, then, here's the difficulty-I cannot live upon air; and here is money ready to drop into my hands, with a fair encumbrance —a doll—a mere ninny, whose thoughts are merged in her cashmeres and her silks! A flitting shadow-a moving automaton—a mere puppet of fashion, who will talk to me in the morning of her intended calls-in the evening, of the scandal gathered during the day, and her proposed route for the next; wondering who will give the next party, and whether Mrs. A., B., or C. will give the most elegant supper. My study, if I have one, will be turned inside out, to accommodate a card party; my books and papers scattered to the winds. If I remonstrate, I shall be told that she brought me a fortune, and she is resolved to enjoy it. No sympathy with my pursuits-no intellectual resources-no companionship! What a different lot should have been mine!" He took a miniature from his bosom, pressed it passionately to his lips, and his whole frame shook as in an ague fit, as he inclosed it in a case. and locked it up in his cabinet. "There," said he, "lie all my buried hopes. Clara! with you I might have been happy. You, you alone, awoke the energies of my soul, when they were sinking beneath the stagnant atmosphere I had breathed so long. Leave you! forget you! What have I then left to think of with pleasure? Yes, I will marry, and fly from the · scenes of former happiness, bearing with me a

can remove. To remain here, and see her the wife of another, is more than I could bear. Yet I cannot leave without, at least, acquainting her with my misery-the hopes in which I have so vainly indulged, and their total overthrow. She shall, at least, know that I have loved her."

He then sat down and dictated the farewell letter, of which Clara had spoken in her letter to Inez. He had supposed it the last he should ever write. But years had rolled on---years of trial and vicissitude, of mingled pleasure and pain—and he had returned to his own country, a lonely and miserable man. The interview with his former associates had revived old recollections, and again he took up his pen, to appeal to the sympathy of her whose loss he had so much deplored. Clara received the letter, and wept over it long and bitterly. But a distrust, nourished by acquaintance with the world, prevented her from replying to it as her heart dictated, She had cast the idol from her heart, and feared to receive it back again, without better assurance that it was worthy to be cherished there.

"I answer your letter," she replied, "for I feel it will be a relief to my own feelings, while it will at the same time prevent any further petitions, which you must know enough of me to be aware will be fruitless. I have known misfortune, and been obliged to exert the talents which nature gave me to obtain a support. I inherited the poetical genius and ardent imagination of my father, and have been indebted to my mother for the earlier part of my education. My own restless desire of acquiring knowledge completed the rest. I have practised the arts as a pastime, and learned most of the languages without a teacher. I have studied nature in all its beautiful variety of forms, and imbibed philosophy from real life. I have passed through life de pendent upon my own resources, experienced many misfortunes, endured many trials, and often suffered the stings of poverty. An orphan, with few friends to protect me, I have been exposed to all the dangers which assail the young and inexperieneed. That I have escaped them is owing to no merit of my own, but reliance upon a higher power. I have been often rudely awakened from my dreams of happiness, to find friendship but a breath of summer air, and love a shadow. Though bright at first, one rude blast will change their glowing dyes. I have experienced the wreck of hope and blight of heart too often to trust

to them again. I have sighed for fame, to find it a passing sound, incapable of healing the wounds inflicted by the world upon the proud and sensitive spirit, and have turned from all to weep over my own foolish fancies. Yet, a beam of light would sometimes dawn upon my soul, and the current of my thoughts turn into that channel which leads to happiness the world can neither give nor take away, by faith and hope directing me to that region where all at last is peace.

will never marry one who is not willing to be-
come an American in everything.
You are
one by birth, and yet your ambition is to be
considered only as a scion of a noble race-not
as a citizen of an infant, yet enlightened Re-
public. The faded splendor of your ancestral
castles, and the slavish allegiance of your hired
menials, are ever present to your view. How,
then, can we ever agree? Facts have shown
us that a true daughter of America can never
be happy, even amid the splendors of a foreign
lordly mansion. The lovely and unfortunate
Ellen Sears, whose mournful history has often
drawn tears from my eyes, could assure us of
this. A title conferred by a despotic monarch

of thousands of helpless peasants, dragging chains at their heels, which destroys all the satisfaction they might derive from the successful issue of their daily labors-the crushed heart

"Farewell! our destinies can never be united. You have chosen your own career. A brilliant one, if you pursue it with that zeal and energy which are necessary for the accomplishment of any object. Torture me not with vain re-wealth gained by the groans and sufferings proaches and accusations of indifference. Indifference! alas! would that it were so. Your love for me was a mere caprice, since it had not sufficient strength to resist the brighter allurements to which your vanity yielded: That I have loved you, I will not deny. It was you who taught me to look upon life as a splendid dream. Το you I owe the only blissful moments I ever enjoyed-to you the misery that followed. Yet, do not imagine that the love you once slighted will be ever bestowed upon another. No, never! No earthly mortal could ever again awaken those emotions once excited by yourself. Your image has been too deeply engraved upon my heart to be effaced; and even in this moment of agony, at sealing my own fate with my own hand, my heart exults in the thought that you have at last considered me worthy your preference, although the conviction that I was so, was felt too late.

"My grandfather was an officer in the Revolutionary war, and the patriotic feelings which inspired him to contend against injustice and oppression, have descended to his grand-children. Though a woman, I have imbibed the same sentiments. The love of my country is an inherent principle of my soul. I could never love one who despised her institutions, or was not prepared, if necessity required, to fight under her glorious banner. You love foreign aggrandizement; I love Republican simplicity. Our views being thus diametrically opposite, we can never agree in opinion. I

the proud form, bending beneath the heavy weight of oppression-the galled spirit, condemned to quench its kindling fire, and bow beneath the yoke of the tyrant, who exults at the thought that he has power to extinguish it; these are pictures which some may delight to witness, but with such spirits I claim no companionship.

"I am a woman, and therefore have no right to enter into a political discussion. By casting aside all personal feeling, I might be able to state my views more clearly upon this subject. But the main point of your letter I have allowed to remain unnoticed till the last. You say that you loved me, and me alone! when you married. I would fain believe you, and yet can find in my own heart no justification of your conduct. How poor and meagre must be that affection, which can be so readily sacrificed upon the altars of wealth! how weak that heart which can stifle its better impulses, for mercenary considerations! Perhaps my language is too harsh, but suffering makes us sometimes unjust. You have requested one interview previous to your departure for Europe. If, after the perusal of this letter, you still desire it, it is granted. A few friends will visit me to-morrow evening; it will gratify me to see you of the party.

"CLARA."

CHAPTER XI.

Lady of star-like loveliness! to thee

Well might the raptured gazer bend the knee:
Well might all Europe wonder at the charms
Which were New England's boast! And yet that face-

That form so perfect in its native grace-
What are they to the bright, o'ermastering soul,
Illuminating all? Italia's pride-

The "bending statue that delights the world."
Were it instinct with life, methinks would lose
Half its attractions, should the lips betray
That mind was wanting there; but thou,
With form that e'en Praxiteles would worship,
Joinest to it that nobility of soul-

Those simple manners, and that magic sweetness,
Without which, beauty, bright as poet's visions,
Loses its greatest lustre !

WHAT a contrast in the glare, and splendor, and frivolity, and attempts at fashion, in Mrs. Fortescue's gay mansion, and the unobtrusive simplicity of that of Miss Legard! Instead of crystal chandeliers, French hangings, Persian carpets, and foreign luxuries, there were books to instruct the mind, pictures to delight the eye, and busts and statues to gratify the artistical taste. Groups were passing to and fro through the rooms, conversing or admiring the works of art scattered around in graceful profusion. The hostess herself receiving her guests as they entered, with a bow and smile of welcome. There was no effort to appear fashionable. No affected finesse, to engage attention. All who could enjoy the refinements of life and the pleasures of literature, made

themselves at home without reserve in the apartments of Clara Legard. There was the perfect ease which education alone can give and vice shrank appalled from the dignity of virtue. No dragging on of long weary hours, spent in examining each other's dresses, the arrangement of the hair, and the quality of the ornaments worn; no longing for and supper champagne, to elevate the spirits! The rarest flowers were arranged with taste about the

marble room, and shed their fragrance upon busts of distinguished American statesmen. On one a wreath of laurel had been placed by the fairy fingers of Inez-the aerial spirit of the scene—as if to distinguish it above all the rest.

the Patriot-Father-Friend-
Chosen by Heaven, to defend
His land."

It was Inez who arranged the books upon the marble centre-table, taking care to give the authors of her own country the precedence. Saucy girl! It was Inez who placed the lamps in the most favorable position, to exhibit to

advantage pictures by West, Sully, Cole, Inman, Page, Allston, Thompson and others. Inez, who arranged the draperies of the windows, that they might fall gracefully on each side of the divans and ottomans of American manufacture; for Miss Legard despised the practice of importing foreign luxuries of this kind, when they were to be obtained equally well made in her own country.

After the lively girl had completed her arrangements, she called Clara to admire them. "There," said she, "I think the books on the table will suit you. I have put Tom Moore under a volume of Hoffman's poems, Byron under Park Benjamin, Pollock's Course of Time under Robert Tyler's 'Ahasuerus,' and Schiller and Goethe are obscured by the 'Voices of the night,' Bryant stands alone, by particular desire, and Colton's 'Tecumseh' lies by the side of Walter Scott's 'Lady of the Lake.""

Everything that could please the eye and gratify the taste was collected for the evening's amusement; Members of Congress, throwing off the cares of state, seemed to have broken

loose from the shackles of faction and the

bickerings of party spirit, and enjoying, to their hearts' content, the hilarity of the present moment. Stern brows unbent, and the wrinkles of thought were smoothed to complacency, The poet, who, in his solitary garret, had toiled all day for a bare subsistence, here encountered no haughty frown of upstart pride, no reflection upon his humble apparel, no ribaldry and contempt. As the flower opens to greet the genial rays of the sun, his heart warmed beneath the smiles of beauty, and his genius received new impulse from the breath of applause and approbation.

Scandal found no field for the display of her powers-envy no object for her venomed darts. The heartless minions of fashion were awed by the superiority of the great, the learned, and the wise, and retired into the sphere of their own insignificance. Wit sparkled without the aid of sarcasm to give it zest. There were the pleasures without the forms of artificial life.

Inez passed through the rooms, leaning upon the arm of Frederick Howard, diffusing her smiles, like sunbeams, upon those of her acquaintance who were present, thrilling every heart with pleasurable emotions, and adapting herself to the peculiar tastes of all. At length they reached the upper end of the room. where the harp of Miss Legard stood. Here she seated herself upon an ottoman, and How

the young Pole, bending on her his dark eyes, Pray gratify me by repeating them,” cried sparkling with animation.

low voice of earnest entreaty, perceiving that "Do, and gratify us all," said Howard, in a Inez hesitated, not from unwillingness to oblige, but from timidity.

her friend's hand. "For my sake, Inez," said Clara, pressing

the lines, while her expressive countenance Thus encouraged, the lovely girl repeated courage gained strength from the beauty and gradually lighted with enthusiasm as her

fervor of the language.

She ceased; and the tears of one among the company, and the admiring looks of another, tation. The young Pole, when she had finished bore witness to the effect produced by her reci

the poem, suddenly started forward, grasped have urged her to repeat more, but at this moher hand, and pressed it to his lips. He would ment Allan Graham and Cornelia Stanbrook entered the room.

Clara was about complying with a request them with a song, when the mincing tones of from a large number of the company, to favor Beaumont's voice, who approached to pay his compliments, interrupted her; and at the same time Miss Cornelia Stanbrook said, in a tone of great condescension,

introduced to you." "Miss Legard, Mr. Graham wishes to be