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a small piece of paper toward me from a handful she carried, and immediately vanished on the opposite side. On eagerly picking up the document, which, in the absorbing selfishness of love, I imagined to contain a solution of the enigma that perplexed me, I found written on it, in the patois of the country, S'ist zeil, "It is time:" Was this the answer to the challenge of Rusen—“Is it time?" The affinity between the expressions struck me with a kind of panic, and I endeavored, in startled haste, to recall to my remembrance what had been the appearance of the people as I passed through the country. I recollected that I had observed, in the course of the day, various knots of peasants going into the waters of the Eisak; and that once, when a sudden shouting arose from one of the groups, it seemed to have been caused by the appearance of a quantity of sawdust floating down the torrent. The people, however, had dispersed to their homes as usual, when the evening set in; and on leaving the village a quarter of an hour before, no sign of tumult had been visible, and, indeed no appearance of the inhabitants at all, except about half a dozen conversing behind one of the houses. These last were gazing earnestly toward the castle of Salurn; and at this moment it struck me, but not at the time, as being strange that their attention should have been attracted so forcibly by so familiar an object. They appeared to be gloomy and discontented; and I heard one of them say, in the constantly recurring form of expression-" It is not time."

ble schemes as mine can only flourish where public tranquillit is maintained under the safeguard of the laws. I well kno v the reason why your Association pitches upon me for this ser vice. It is necessary for your success that I should be pledged beyond recall; that the weight of money, influence, and mercantile credit and solidity should be thrown into the scale. Be it so I consent. But, if I this night set in jeopardy my character, my fortune, my life, it is for your sake, Dorathen-in your cause, and no other; and it is to you I shall look for my reward! Say but the word, not equivocally as you have hitherto done, for I will not be trifled with here, but openly, distinctly say that to-morrow you will be my wife; and that instant I shall scale the rock and do-what is to be done."

It was some moments before Dorathen replied; but when she did so, her voice was so low and tremulous that I could not catch a single word.

"She consents!" cried her female companion: "away if you be a man!"

"I did not hear her," remarked Rusen, sulkily and suspiciously.

"I tell you she has consented-I am your witness." A stir took place among the speakers, but as the flame of the lamp suddenly disappeared, I could not see of what nature. My feelings were by this time excited to a pitch of frenzy. Every thing that had seemed strange in the conduct of Dorathen was now accounted for. Her love, her hopes, These things, even when put together, were too slight to her happiness-all were to be offered up with a blind but beauamount to much; for even the words of the written note, and tiful piety on the altar of her country. This was the highits mode of delivery, might have referred to some festival of place of the terrible superstition-this the moment of sacrifice! the neighborhood. Nevertheless, an infinite feeling of alarm I rushed round the point of the cliff, hardly thinking of caubegan to rise in my breast, and I debated for some moments tion, and only anxious to interpose, I knew not in what way, whether I should not return at once to my party. Love tri- between her and her fate. Her name was just about to esumphed, however, assisted perhaps by curiosity; and I deter- cape my lips, as I groped for her in vain, when I felt my hand mined, since the way was now so short, to climb the castle seized by some one in the dark. It was Dorathen herself! rock before returning to the village.

The way was not so short as I imagined. Rock after rock was passed-sometimes scaled, and sometimes coasted round and still the castle appeared to be as distant as ever. By degrees, the portion of its walls that was illumined by the sun grew less and less, and at last, as the light faded altogether, I could only recognise it by its outlines, faintly traced against the dull sky Plunging on in desperation, I at length reached the base of the enormous cliff on which the castle is built, when there was only light enough to distinguish that I had thus far succeeded in my undertaking.

The grand difficulty now was to find the path, or stir, which led to the building above; and the search for this object led me nearly all round the rock, and wasted so much time, that it became almost pitch dark. It is impossible to describe the state of my mind at this period. Independently of the struggle between public duty and private interests, there strangely mingled with my knowledge of the reality of the rendenzvous between Dorathen and her suitor, an idea that the whole was nothing more than a dream and a delusion. As the night wind that had now arisen began to sigh among the cliffs, it seemed to me to convey a sound resembling marching; and when raising my head, I half expected to see between me and the dim sky, some grinning faces looking down in derision. In the midst of these absurd fancies, engendered by the strangeness of my situation, and the loneliness and wildness of the place, I heard, with a distinctness that at once recalled my wandering senses, a human voice.

It was the voice of Rusen, and so near, that I instinctively curved my fingers to return his grapple. The next moment, however, I remembered, that he must be wholly unconscious of my presence, while I, on the contrary, might have expected him; and, coasting cautiously round a jutting point of the cliff, I endeavored to steal unheard toward the sound. A gleam of light presently fell, although only for an instant, upon one of the rocks before me; and I conjectured that he was provided with a dark lantern. It had revealed enough of the locality to enable me to gain, without noise, a spot from which I could see the bearer.

Rusen was not alone. Two female figures stood near him; in one of which—notwithstanding that the only light was a reflection from the rock, of the flames of the dark lantern-I recognised Dorathen. The whole three preserved a profound silence for more than a minute; during while, they might have seemed a group of statuary.

** Hear me !" cried Rusen, at length, in a stern and almost fierce voice, "let us understand one another. I am no Tyrolese; I have no interest, real or sentimental, in setting this unhappy country in a blaze; but on the contrary, such peacea

"Forgive me!" said she, speaking quickly but distinctly, "in such moments it is only your sex that can be calm and resolute. I do not hesitate! At a time like this, love and hate are alike to me. The first man who reaches the Castle of Salurn is Dorathen's husband! Away!" I looked up involuntarily, and saw the lantern gleaming like a star far above our heads.

"Agreed!" said I in a whisper; and pressing her hand, I sprang upon the stair. The steps were steep and rugged, being roughly hewn out of the rock; but, like a man walking in his sleep, I seemed to hit by instinct the proper place for my feet, and ascended with rapidity and safety. I neared the light, and my strength seemed doubled by the common tigerfeeling of our nature when within spring of a deadly foe. The path, however, became more difficult; all trace of hewn steps disappeared, and I imagined that I must have wandered in my excitation, from the track. The light, however, seemed stationary, not many feet above my head; and, although a considerable distance from the surface of the earth, as I knew that it could not have reached the earth wall, I conjectured that the steps in this place had really disappeared, through the efforts of time and war, and that the climber was obliged to make one of the projecting points of the rock assist him in his ascent.

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This I thought was rather fortunate than otherwise; for if the stair had been the only means of access, the struggle-for I knew that a struggle must come would take place on the bare side of the steep. Endeavoring therefore to get round my enemy, and reach the brink before him, I pursued my way more slowly and more cautiously than before. When I proached near enough to the light to see the dim figure of the Italian, and gain some idea of the localities around him, I found he was standing on a tabular piece of rock, which seemed to have been one of the landing-places of the ancient stairs. He was occupied in scraping out with his knife a hole in the side of the cliff that was choked up with sand and moss. This apparently was a place for the foot; for a very short distance above, the stair recommenced with greater regularity than ever, and ascended till it was lost in the darkness.

The tabular rock proved to be indeed a landing-plaee, and the only point at which further passage could be effected. The cliff was properly smoothed all round it in a manner that, before the invention of gun-powder changed the art of war, must have made the place defensible by a single man against a thousand. The operations of Rnsen were just completed, and he was in the act of raising his foot to the hole, from which a slight effort would lift him to the stair above. I felt that I grew pale. The next instant I sprang upon the rock, and caught him by the throat.

"Jesus Maria!" cried he, returning the grapple, "is it time?"

"Yes, it is time!" said I; and as the light of the lantern revealed my features to him, I could see a gleam of mingled joy and terror light up his swarthy countenance.

"I arrest you as a traitor," said I, "in the name of the Bavarian Government! Do you yield?

"Yes! take your prize!" replied he, with a grin of mockery and a gripe like that of death.

"I arrest you as an intended assassin! Do you yield?" "No!"

"Down then-first to earth, and then to hell! Die, dog, in your guilt!"-and with a painful effort I bent him down over the abyss, and at the same instant caught by the rock with one hand, to save myself from perishing with my victim. He yielded to the force which perhaps he could not at any time have withstood; and I thought for an instant that I held him suspended over the gulf, into which I could spurn him with my foot. In a moment, however, the wily serpent twined his arms round my legs, and dragged me down with him, upon the edge of the cliff. No situation could be more helpless than mine. Victory indeed was easy, but only in union with death; and it appeared, from the frantic efforts of my enemy, that he himself was content to die, so that we died together.

I was deceived. The next moment he loosed his hold of my legs, and threw himself on the rock, only clinging by the hands to the edge, till he had secured a footing below. This was instantaneously effected; and with what seemed to me the same motion, he caught me by the foot, and dragged me over the precipice. I clasped him in my arms, as I fell and tore him from the rock. A yell of rage and terror burst from his lips. The providence of God interfered miraculously between me and what seemed inevitable destruction; for my strongly-embroidered military jacket was caught in a point of the cliff, and I hung for some time helpless-and alone.

When I descended to the surface of the earth, I found the two females hanging in distraction over the mangled body of Rusen, to the breast of which the lantern was still fastened and uninjured.

"Dorathen!" said I.'

"You here!-Merciful God, is this a dream?"

"Yes it is a dream which we must all forget. Away! You, at least, should have nothing to do with guilt and death." She did not reply, but stooped down and unfastened the lantern from the dead body.

"Unhand me!" said she, in feverish agitation, "I have a sacred duty to perform.-Since Rusen failed, I will myself undertake the adventure!"

"This is madness! You are not in a condition to act, or even to think at present; and I must charge myself with your safety. Come, let us leave this accursed spot, and speedily; for I, too, have a duty to perform."

"What?" said she, with sudden animation, "to disclose the conspiracy of women, and send the Dorathen you pretended to love to the scaffold?"

"No, by heaven! not a word-not a look

"But there are other witnesses! The castle above contains a-a-paper which I must burn to ashes, before I can sleep again in this world."

"I myself will do it. Give me the light."

"You! Oh, no-no-no!"

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lamp without looking, and turned my eyes for a moment upon
the table. The packet had no address! A nervous tremor
seized me at this instant, I knew not why; but the paper had
already ignited. It blazed like gun-powder; and the fire com-
municating to the box, a column of steady flame rose up. I
overturned the table in a transport of rage and terror, and
trampled the fatal apparatus to pieces. But it was too late.
The SIGNAL had been given!-From every rock-from every
mountain-top, answering lights glared forth, like spectres in
the night. The roll of the drum, and the shrill call of the bu.
gle, and the thunder of artillery, entered through the valleys.
That night the Southern Tyrol was lost to Bavaria.
I descended the rock, I know not how. I broke from the
arms of Dorathen and rushed like a madman toward the vil
lage. I arrived in time to see my brave fellows cut in pieces
by the infuriated peasantry. Every where the cry rasounded
-"S'ist zeit, s'ist zeit!" It is time! It is time! I re-
membered no more.- -When I awoke from a raging fever, the
Tyrol was again in the arms of its beloved Austria. Dora-
then was my nurse. Soon afterward Dorathen was my wife!
THE BELEAGUERED CITY.... BY H. W. LONGFELLOW.
I have read in some old, wondrous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleagured the walls of Prague.
Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The
of the dead.
army
White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And with a sorrowful, deep sound,

The river flowed between.
No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasp'd the air,

As clouds with clouds embrace.
But when the old cathedral bell

Proclaim'd the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air!
Down the broad valley, fast and far,
The troubled army fled:
Uprose the glorious morning star,-

The ghostly host was dead!

I have read in the wond'rous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms, vast and wan,
Beleaguer the human soul.

Encamped beside life's rushing stream,]
In fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.
Upon its midnight battle-ground

The spectral camp is seen,
And with a sorrowful, deep sound,

Flows the river of life between.
No other voice nor sound is there
In the army of the grave-

No other challenge breaks the air,

But the rushing of life's wave.
But when the solemn and deep church bell
Entreats the soul to pray,

The midnight phantoms feel the spell-
The shadows sweep away.
Down the broad vale of tears afar,
The spectral camp has fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star-
Our ghastly fears are dead.

November, 1839.

THE DEVIL AND THE DOCTOR....AN IRISH LEGEND. "I wonder entirely," says a most learned Doctor,-" I wonder entirely," said he, and he going along the road-"what is the reason that the Devil doesn't come upon the earth in some borrowed shape or another, and so tempt the people to sin-it would be so much easier to talk them into it than draw them by means of their own thoughts. If the Devil would hearken to me, I think I could put him in a way of getting a

The Devil and the Doctor-Emily, or the Unexpected Meeting.

deal that is voted to him, and that he knows nothing of." And saying this, he turned off to take a short cut across the fields, the road having a great round in that place.

Passing by a little fort that was in his way, he was met by a man who came out from among the trees and bid him a good morning. He was as handsome a man as could be only the Doctor remarked him for the smallest brogues, and of the queerest shape that could be imagined.

"Heaven and Saint Patrick be with you!" says the Doctor. "Hum!" says the strange man.

"And who are you now that say, Hum! when I bid Heaven be with you?" says the Doctor, looking down toward his heels, where he saw, just peeping out under the great ridingcoat, something like the end of a hurley, curling, only very hairy.

"I am the Devil," says the strange man. (Lord between us and harm!)

"I was beginning to have a notion of the kind myself," says the Docror again, eyeing the tail now very hard-but not at all put out of his way, being used to all sorts of wickedness himself from a creature up, having been once in his time a tithe proctor. "I thought no less-and it proves an old saying very true-for I was talking of you to myself just as you started up before me."

"No good, I'll be bail."

"Believe it, then.-No good in the world, only harm. I was wishing that you would employ me in collecting your dues -what's yours by right only-and let us go halves in the profits."

It's a match-give me the hand," said the Devil. "Let us go along the road together and whatever you make out to be mine, I'll have it surely.".

Away they went, the holy pair, and they soon got out upon the high road again. As they were passing along by a cabin door, they saw an old woman standing with some oats in her apron, and she trying to entice some of her geese and goslings in to her, from the middle of a pond where they were swimming about, only the rogue of a gander wouldn't let them do her bidding.

"Why, then," says the old woman, "the Diconce take you for one gander; there's no ho at all with you."

"There!" says the Doctor, nudging his neighbor, (Lord save us!) "did you hear that?"

"Ah! my honest friend," says the Devil, "that gander is a fat bird to be sure-but 'tis none o' mine still. That curse didn't come from the heart, though it was sinful enough, to give me power over the women."

In a little time after, the blessed couple were met by a counuyman with a little slip of a pig that he was driving to the fair, to make up the defference o' the standing gale. He had a sugan (hay-rope) tied about one of the hind legs, and a good blackthon switch in his hand, and he doing his best endeavors to entice him on, but he couldn't. The pig, as young pigs will do, darted now at this side, now at that, and would run every way but the right one-until at last he made a start right between the legs of his driver, tumbled him clean in the mud, from which he rose, painted all sorts o' colors and saw the pig skelping along the road home, in the hight of good humor.

“Why, then, the Diconce take, fetch, and carry every bone in your carcase, crubes and all!" says the poor man, shaking himself, and turning into a meadow to roll himself in the grass, before he'd folly the creature home again. "Have I all my morning's work to do over again-bad 'cess to it for a stony!"

"There! there!" cries the Doctor.

"Not so fast," cries the Devil-" that was but a slip o' the tongue after all. The man that curst is mine, but not the thing that be curst, for the heart was not concerned in it."

Well! away they went; and, in passing by a potatoe-field, they saw a tithe protector valuing a pit o' the cups, and a man standing upon it, with a hammer in his hand, going to cant it off to some Palentins for the rent. There was a poor man standing at the road-side, with his arms leaning on the ditch, looking at the sale of his little property.

"There's ten barrels, all going for an old song, that I raised by the labor of these hands. May the Diconce fetch all the tithe-proctors in the land, and Heaven bless them that sent 'em to us, to take the little means he gave us out of our hands-."

'Well!" said the Doctor, "now you have a proctor at any rate that was a hearty curse, I'm sure."

At this, the Devil put both his hands to his sides and burst

45

out into a fit of laughter. "Send your sense! you foolish man," said he, "if the Devil had nothing else to do but to carry away all the tithe-proctors that's voted to him in a summer's-day, he'd be soon compelled to look out for a new corner to take up in, for they'd have all hell to themselves in less than no time."

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"Whew!" says the Doctor, "if this be the way with you, I'm likely to make a great deal by my bargain-Get out my way, you lazy gaffer," said he (growing cross) to a little boy that was sitting on a style where he wanted to pass.

"I'm no lazy gaffer, you great natural," said the lad, "and I'll not stir out of this, for you have no right to trespass on my mother's ground."

The Doctor made no answer, only looked at him for a minute, and then riz his stick, and laid him on the ground, quite easy.

Oh! murder alive! you Turk, you killed my boy," cried the mother, who was sitting combing her wool at the cabin door-"Why, then," said she, falling on her knees, and lifting up her two hands-" the mother's curse upon your head -and may the Diconce carry you this night før drawing the blood of my child!"

"Come, my good man, come!" said the Devil, seizing the Doctor by the collar, "the favor of your company down bzhow. The mother's curse is on you."

"Oh! nonsense-nonsense! easy, easy, man!" said the Doctor, but.

Before he could well know what he was about, his friend whisked him up and about into the air, and warm was the corner he had for him before night. "I'll be your bail."

EMILY, OR THE UNEXPECTED MEETING.

BY THEODORE HOOK.

It would be a waste of time to endeavor to describe the personal charms of the amiable and accomplished girl who is destined to be the heroine of this brief story. Let the reader embody her attractions, and bring them to his view, by imagining her the very counterpart, or fac-simile rather, of his most esteemed favorite. Having established this standard of beauty in his imagination, he has only to give her to use a jeweler's phrase a mind and accomplishments to match,' and he will have formed a tolerably fair estimate of the qualities and quali fications of Miss Emily Langley.

In this literary age, when every body writes, and so many bodies write well, it is exceedingly difficult to describe any ordinary scene or situation of real life, without rendering ourself obnoxious to the imputation of plagiarism; yet it must so happen that in historical works, as well as in works of fiction, the absolute necessity of beginning at the beginning, must reduce the historian, as well as the novelist, to the coexistent necessity of giving his reader an account of his characters, real or imaginary, in the outset of his work; and hence the difficulty of performing this duty in any thing like a new or unhackneyed manner.

To say which please to recollect is the truth-that Emily Langley and her mother, placed far above those cares of this world which are incidental to poverty or even a state of very moderate competence, lived in the neighborhood of a prosperous and well-populated country-town, in a cottage of gentility,' with no sorrows to afflict, no difficulties to excite them, in an exceedingly lady-like manner, is but to speak truth. Their residence would have afforded a popular auctioneer of highly imaginative powers, ample matter for his eloquence. Their carriages were well appointed; their house bien montée; and, as the most competent judges in the neighborhood decided, the wines were even better than those with which the cellars of widow ladies are usually stored.

These last words may lead to a discussion which would, perhaps, be here somewhat premature-they infer that Mrs. Langley was a widow. Now, strange as it may appear, intimate as were the terms upon which this amiable lady and her daughter lived with all the best families in the neighborhood, nobody-not even the apothecary of the village, knew whether she were a widow or not. Her carriages were perfectly plain, her plate bore merely a cipher; but as she herself never volunteered any information on the subject, and as her neighbors were quite satisfied that every thing was right and propernot only because Mrs. Langley was exceedingly agreeable, and was constantly giving particularly pleasant parties; but because, very soon after her arrival in the neighborhood, the Bishop of Bridgewater and his wife, and the four Misses Langshawe-their tall, pale, thin, and accomplished daughters, paid her a visit, and remained her guests for five days, no

body, upon the plea of either friendship or candor, or good nature, ventured to make any inquiries upon the subject.

The moment the Bishop of Bridgewater became her visiter, the Rector of Busfield was too happy to make Mrs. Langley's intimate acquaintance. The Curate was most attentive; and a few contributions to a fancy Fair, held for the purpose of raising funds for repairing the church, rendered her and her daughter exceedingly popular with the quieter and more sober portion of the neighboring population.

Her daughter-there again-was Miss Langley her daughter? Emily was exceedingly fair-Mrs. Langley remarkably brown; one had blue eyes that seemed to melt in all the softness of Knellerism; the other black sharp orbs, that seemed to dart into one as she spoke.

"Garrick, sir," said some one to Wewitzer, the actor "Garrick's eye can pierce through a deal board.”

"I presume, sir," said Wewitzer, "that is what is called a gimlet-eve."

Now, although Mrs. Langley's eyes were equally removed from the Garrick and the gimlet, there is no question but that her eyes were 'piercers;' and when occasion served, she seemed any thing but a tyro in the management of them. It was in this feature especially and peculiarly, she differed from her daughter; but in the drawing-room, over the fireplace, there hung the portrait of a gentleman, painted, as it should appear, some five-and-twenty years ago, in whose countenance the visiters at Beaulieu Lodge contrived to trace a distant resemblance to the daughter; for although, as I have already said, every body was perfectly satisfied of the propriety and respectability of the ladies, especially with a Bishop as a guarantee, it was not in the nature of things that people can go and call, and dine and sup, and dance at Beaulieu, without feeling a little anxiety to know something more about its inhabitants.

One day Miss Scoop, a maiden lady in blue silk, made a desperate dash as regarded the picture; for, having got Emily all to herself, standing before the fireplace, over which it was pendant, she all at once, and apropos to nothing, said,

"Is that your 'pa's picture, Miss Langley?

"Oh dear no!" said Emily, bursting into a fit of laughing, violent enough to induce Miss Scoop to fancy she had done something exceedingly ridiculous; so she just twisted her neck and poked out her chin, and drew it back again, and said, 'Umph," in a tone, meant to be expressive ef pleasure and self-satisfaction. Emily turned from her and walked away, and Miss Scoop's next little grunt was unequivocally indicative of her belief, that Miss Langley, after all, was an exceed ingly ill-bred Miss; beside, murmured the immaculate scarecrow, "If it is n't her 'pa, I should like to know who it really

28.

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Spoken to him!" said Emily.

"Yes, dearest," said Mrs. Langley; "it was my duty-my most important duty. Of all men living-of all created beings-Alfred Sherwood is the last-tbe very last, on whom you should bestow a thought."

"What!" said Emily; "has he committed any crime? Has his conduct been dishonorable?"

"No," said Mrs. Langley, shaking her head sorrowful y. "I thought not," said Emily; "I was sure he could have done nothing to disgrace or degrade himself. Beside, is he not the constant companion of those whose honor is as dear to them as life?"

"True, true," said her mother; "but there are secrets, Emily, in all families. Sherwood is aware of the reason which exists for your separation. Hence his lengthened absence."

"Did my father"—

"Hush, hush!" said Mrs. Langley, laying her finger on her lip, as if to command the silence of the animated girl; "I have told you, dearest child, that you shall knew all. Each hour as it flies brings you nearer to the discovery of the mystery which hangs over you. Every day I expect to receive the intelligence which will empower me to tell you every thing, and as you know, dearest, the release will be to me a happy one."

"I care for no discovery," said Emily, "if it involves my eternal separation from Alfred Sherwood. Do not suppose, my dearest mother, that the affection I feel for him is that of a giddy girl, fallen, as the phrase is, in love with a young officer. No, indeed. My regard for him is founded on an esteem for his high qualities: the nobleness of his character; the variety of his accomplishments; the sweetness of his temper; I feel toward him as a sister."

"Merciful heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Langley-" My child, no more of this. The day will soon come-all will be explained.-Here, here are visiters. Come, come, let us go to meet them; but let me implore you, do not let us recur to this subject until I propose it. It shall not be long frst."

Emily felt, of course, bound to obey; but, as the promise that she should know all' had frequently been made before although not with reference to Alfred Sherwood; she did not give quite such implicit credit to the maternal assurance as to the brevity of the time to come as it might have been quite dutiful to do.

Swift says, ' It is a miserable thing to live in suspense; it is the life of a spider.' Poor Emily Langley was well qualified to judge of the figure; for there is no denying that every thing connected with her seemed in mystery. Even the portrait over the fireplace was to her a mystery; and when she burst into the wild, hysterical laugh which shocked Miss Scoop so much, it was rather by way of avoiding an explanation which she could not give, than snubbing an inquiry to which she was able to make any satisfactory reply.

The reader can hardly suppose it possible that, moving in society as Emily did, surrounded as she was by all the agrémens of life, fair and accomplished, too, she should, even if unwon, have, up to this period of her existeuce, remained un- That Mrs. Langley's words and manner-especially the latwooed. Oh! dear, no. She counted several suitors in her ter-upon the occasion just noticed, sank deep into Emily's train, several of whom were officers of the regiment quartered mind there can be no doubt. In fact, interested as she was in the neighboring town; and one or two sons of country gen- about Alfred and every thing connected with him, she resolved tlemen, whose names, unknown to London fame, stood ex--mutinously perhaps--to avail berself of the very first opporceedingly high in their own district; but Emily seemed indifferent to all-gay, kind, and agreeable, she dispensed her smiles equally, sang the songs she was asked to sing, danced with all who asked her, without preference, favor, or affection, and, in short, was a general favorite-her own playfulness and ingenuousness of manner keeping all her followers at an almost equal distance.

In the midst, however, of this gaiety and good humor, it was not difficult to perceive that one person who visited at Beaulieu was preferred before all others; but he was not to be found or numbered among the gay bevy most in the habit of flirting and fluttering about the house. Mrs. Langley was aware of this preference-so was its object; and strange to say, as the conviction of its existence strengthened in his mind, the rarer became his visits to the lodge.

Emily, who had no disguises from her mother, and who saw no cause, and knew no reason why she should conceal her feelings of esteem for the person in question, spoke upon the subject to Mrs. Langley, and told her that she thought it exceedingly strange that Alfred Sherwood came so seldom to see them.

"Emily," said Mrs. Langley, "thy wish was father to that thought.' I have watched-I have seen you, when Alfred has been here he knows I have-say, Emily, I have spoken to him on the subject "

tunity of speaking to him upon the subject of the hurried conversation which had taken place between her and her mother. The casual visit of the neighbors, which Mrs. Langley saw approaching them, occupied more of Emily's time than attention. Her thoughts were not with them, and to appear interested in their conversation required considerable effort. It seemed to her as if they never would go-and yet among them were two of her favorite female friends: so that it was clear that Alfred Sherwood was an object of greater importance to her than she would have believed half an hour before the mysterious warning of her mother had induced the apprehension of losing him.

In the evening of this day there was a public ball given, as the phrase goes, at so much per head, at the town-hall; and where, of course, Emily was expected to be present. In fact, Mrs. Langley was one of the lady patronesses, and it would be impossible for her or her daughter to be absent. Never before this day had Emily stayed to consider whether she should meet Alfred; never before did she feel apprehensive of encountering him. That she liked him, esteemed him, enjoyed his society and admired his accomplishments, she was conscious; but until she was told there was danger in their association, she never properly estimated the sacrifice which the relinquishment of's company and conversation involved.

After the protracted visitation had actually ended, and the

friends were gone, Emily and her mother were again left to gether alone. The poor anxious girl, who would have given the world to bring back the conversation to the only subject which now engrossed her thoughts, saw with pain that of all topics in the round of remark or observation upon which Mrs. Langley seemed ready to touch, that was clearly the very one which she not only wished, but was resolved most scrupulously to avoid. This studied evasion was not lost upon the daughter, who rather contented herself, under the circumstances, inasmuch as, although her undisguised avowal of a preference for the young gentleman had caused an exclamation on the part of mamma, and an abrupt implied prohibition against speaking of him again, nothing had transpired on the part of her anxious parent which could be construed into a mandate not to speak to him; and knowing her mother's character and conduct too well to apprehend, for a moment, that she would run the risk of causing a 'scene' in the ball-room, Emily satisfied herself with the resolution to treat Alfred as she had always hitherto treated him, and dance with him as usual, if, as usaal, he should ask her.

All these resolutions, however judiciously framed, were nevertheless destined to be of no avail. The ladies went to the ball, and there were all the moons of the neighborhood-as the Persian Princes call our ladies-and all the dandies, rural and military; even the Curate was there, but no Alfred Sherwood. In vain did Emily's eyes wander over the motley group; in vain did they glance toward the deor of the room, which opening, or rather closing with a weight, fully announced the entrance of each new-coming visiter in the most inharmonious manner: midnight came, but not the one she watched and wished for.

Every officer of the distinguished corps to whose safe keeping the respectable inhabitants of the town, in the hall of which they were assembled in peace and security, was present, and each in his turn solicited the honor of Emily's hand. But no: her head ached; besides, she had sprained her ankle in stepping out of the carriage-in fact, she could not dance. This disinclination and refusal were not lost upon her mother, who endeavored to persuade, and then rally, her out of her la ziness, or indifference, or ill-nature, but who with difficulty assumed the gayety necessary to the performance of the part which she had assigned to herself. In fact, the hours seemed longer than hours ever were, until, at last, the supper was announced, which with a considerable number of the company was the most agreeable part of the evening's performance. The occurrence would have been a charming opportunity for the escape of the ladies, but the carriage had not been ordered til the usual time, and poor Emily was forced to undergo the persecuting civilities of a Captain Lillycrop, who having failed in all his efforts to induce her to dance, endeavored to get her into good humor by loading her plate with the wing of an adamantine chicken, and filling her glass with gooseberry wine, furnished to the guests as champagne. All, however, was vain: the Captain's assiduities were all wasted; and the moment escape was possible the sorrowing, disappointed girl hurried away from what was a scene of gayety to others, but which in her mind was associated with other days, or nights, too painfully to be endured even with indifference.

As Emily and her mother returned homeward, both ladies appeared particularly taciturn-a very brief observation on the dullness of the evening, the smallness of the party, and a sweeping censure upon all the accessories, such as lights, supper, and music, constituted the conversation. Mrs. Langley did not inquire why Emily had declined dancing, nor even whether the sprain of her ankle, of which the effects were not visible as she stepped into the carriage, was better. In fact, there was a gloom hanging over them-a sort of mistrustfulness. One thing alone was certain: neither the cause of Alfred Sherwood's absence from the ball, nor even his ' once familiar name' was mentioned during their drive.

The mother and daughter separated for the night, not as they usually separated. Hitherto, although Emily had been for several years aware that, at some period of her life, disclosures were to be made to her which would conduce to alter her position in society very considerably; stil, as her mother's conduct was invariably kind and affectionate, and she was given to understand that the change to be operated by the development of the secret with which she was mixed up, whatever it might be, would be advantageous to her in a worldly point of view, she never allowed herself to be agitated or irritated, or even anxious upon the point. But Mrs. Langley's mysterious exclamation, as alluding to Alfred, did prey upon her mind. What it could mean, or by what particular

feeling it was excited, she could not imagine. But, after a long consultation with her pillow during a sleepless night, she resolved to terminate this new solicitude, and know the worst at once. Yes; the next noon should not pass away without an appeal to her fond, indulgent parent upon the subject. Our poor heroine-if Emily Langley may venture to lay claim to such a character-tired out with thinking, and wondering, and wishing, and hoping, and fearing, and doubting, and imagining, at length fell asleep: nor did she awake till the clock had struck eleven. Her faithful abigail had more than once ventured on tiptoe into the bed-room, but her young mistress heard not, nor did the soubrette deem it prudent to disturb her after the fatigues of the preceding evening. At length the well-known bell summoned Grindle to her lady's toilette, and Emily's first question was whether mamma was up, or had breakfasted: to which Grindle replied in the affirmative, and added to her answers a bit of information which not a little startled the young lady.

"Your 'ma has breakfasted," said Grindle, "and had a visiter to breakfast with her."

"A visiter?" said Emily.

"Yes, Miss," said Grindle, "and such a visiter as never did I see in this house. He was here by half-past ninebrought a letter which must be,' as he said, 'delivered instantly to Mrs. Langley.' I took him for a watchman, and Elkins fancied he was a bear. He was wrapped up in a huge thick coat, with fur all over it. I never saw such a man in my born days." And did he breakfast with mamma?" asked Emily.

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Yes, Miss," said Grindle, "the moment she had read the letter she desired to have breakfast prepared directly Up she got, dressed in no time, and in less than half an hour after the arrival of the visiter there she was, walking up and down the terrace, talking to him like any thing. Then, however, he had taken off his great-coat, and looked a great deal less like a bear than he did before."

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'But," said Emily, "you had better bring me my breakfast here, Grindle. I do not want to intrude myself upon mamma's visiters. You can tell her, afterward, that I am up, and have breakfasted in my room, so that if she desires my company I shall be ready to attend her, and if she do not, why I need not present myself."

"Very well, Miss," said Grindle. "Who the stranger is, I, of course, do n't know, and cannot guess; but since he has been here your 'ma has sent off two messengers in different directions. I tried all I could to find out where they were gone to, because I thought, Miss, you would like to hear, but I could not succeed."

"Well," said Emily, "I can do exceedingly well without you, so go and get the breakfast, and I shall be ready to go down, if I am summoned."

Grindle lost no time in obeying these commands, and Emily was left to fancy who the stranger could be, and what his bu siness. It was certainly not unnatural, as she was aware that her future destiny was clouded in mystery, that she should associate the new arrival with circumstances connected with herself.

While finishing her toilette, and thinking over every thing that she had ever heard her mother say, in order to account for the arrival of this 'rugged Russian bear,' she passed near one of the windows of her dressing-room, and happening accidentally, almost mechanically, to look through it, beheld, to her utter astonishment, Alfred Sherwood himself, pacing backward and forward upon the lawn immediately beneath

This sight startled her infinitely more than the news Grindle had imparted with regard to the stranger. What on earth could Alfred be doing? Surely he had not taken the desperate resolution of avowing an affection for her, which she scarcely doubted that he felt. No; that could not be. Why, if so, absent himself from the ball? She drew back, so as to remain unseen, but still commanding a view of the promenade which he had selected. She was not destined to observe him for any great length of time. He was almost immediately summoned into the house by one of the servants, and vanished from her sight.

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"Why, Grindle," said Emily to her maid, as she entered the room with the breakfast, "Mr. Sherwood is here!" "Yes, Miss," said Grindle. "I found that out. He was sent for. One of the messengers went after him. Only think!" Emily did think. A thousand thoughts filled her mind. It was impossible but that she must be somehow mixed up in this extraordinary movement. Breakfast was out of the question; her whole anxiety was to have her readiness to make

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