cessively pale and agitated. The plaintiff had been found dead in his bed that morning-having been carried thither in a state of brutal intoxication, the preceding night, from a tavern-dinner with his attorney and witnesses. He died single, and there of course was an end of the whole matter that had been attended with such direful consequences to Sir Henry and his lady. But of what avail is the now established security of his title, rank, and fortune to their unhappy owner?-an outcast from society-from home-from family-from the wife of his bosom -even from himself! What signified the splendid intelligence to Lady Anne-perishing under the pressure of her misfortunes? Would it not a thousandfold aggravate the agonies was enduring? It has been thought proper to intrust to me the difficult task of communicating the news to both parties, if I think it advisable that it should be done at all. What am I to do ?-What may be the consequence of the secret's slipping out suddenly from any of those around Lady Anne? About the Baronet I had little apprehension; I felt satisfied that he could not comprehend it-that whether he had lost or won the suit was a matter of equal moment to him!

she

As I had a patient to visit this morning, whose residence was near Somerfield, I determined to take that opportunity of trying the effect of the intelligence on Sir Henry. It was about two o'clock when I called, and I found him sitting by the fire, reading one of Shakspeare's plays. I gradually led his thoughts into a suitable train, and then told him, briefly, and pointedly, and accurately, his own history-up to the latest incident of all—but as of a third person, and that a nobleman. He listened to the whole with profound interest.

"God bless me!" he exclaimed, with a thoughtful air, as I concluded "I surely must have either heard or read of this story before! - You don't mean to say that it is fact? That it has happened lately?"

"Indeed I do, Sir Henry," I replied, looking at him earnestly. "And are the parties living ? Lord and Lady?”

VOL. XXXV. NO, CCXVII.

"Both of them-at this momentand not ten miles from where we are now sitting!"

"Indeed!" he replied, musingly "that's unfortunate!" "Unfortunate, Sir Henry!" I echoed, with astonishment.

"Very-for my purpose. What do you suppose I have been thinking of all this while?" he replied, with a smile. "What a subject it would be for a tragedy!-But, of course, since the parties are living, it would never do! Still I cannot help thinking that something might be made of it! One might disguise, and alter the facts."

"It is a tragedy of very real life!" I exclaimed, with a deep sigh.

"Indeed it is!" he replied, echoing my sigh-" it shews that fact often transcends all fiction-does it not? Now, if this had been the plot of a tale, or novel, people would have said-' how improbable! how unnatural!'"

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Aye, indeed they would, Sir Henry," said I, unable to keep the tears from my eyes.

"'Tis affecting," he replied, his eyes glistening with emotion; adding, after a moment's pause, in a somewhat tremulous tone-" Now, which of the two do you most pity, Doctor -Lord or Lady Mary

?" "Both. I scarce know which, most."

"How did they bear the news, by the way, do you know?" he enquired, with sudden interest.

is in

"I believe Lady Mary too dangerous circumstances to be told of it. They say she is dying!" Poor creature! What a melancholy fate! And she is young and beautiful, you say?"

"She is young, but not now beautiful, Sir Henry!"

"I wish it had not been all real!" he replied, looking thoughtfully at the fire. "What would Shakspeare have made of it! It would have been a treasure to the writer of King Lear! And how, pray, did Lord receive the intelligence.Stop," said he, suddenly," stop— How can one imagine Shakspeare to have drawn the scene? How would he have made Lord behave? Let me see-an ordinary writer could make the madman roar, and stamp,

H

and rave-and perhaps be at length sobered with the news-would not he?"

Very probably, Sir Henry," I replied faintly.

"Ah, very different, I imagine, would be the delineation of that master painter! Possibly he would make the poor madman listen to it all, as to a tale of another person! He would represent him as charmed with the truth and nature of the invention-poor, poor fellow!-commiserating himself in another! How profound the delusion! How consummately true to nature! How simple, but how wonderfully fine, would be the scene under SHAK SPEARE'S pencil!" continued Sir Henry, with a sigh, folding his arms on his breast, leaning back in his chair, and looking thoughtfully into the fire.

"Why, you are equal to Shakspeare yourself, then, my dear Sir Henry."

"What!-what do you mean?" said he, starting and turning suddenly towards me with some excitement, rather pleasurable, however, than otherwise-" Have I, then""You have described it EXACTLY as it happened!”

"No! Do you really say so? How do you know it, my dear Doctor ?" said he, scarce able to sit in his chair, his countenance brightening with delight.

"Because I was present, Sir Henry; I communicated the intelligence," I replied, while every thing in the room seemed swimming round

me.

"Good God, Doctor! Are you really in earnest ?"

"As I live and breathe in the sight of God, Sir Henry," I replied, as solemnly as my thick, hurried voice would let me, fixing my eye keenly upon his. He gave a horrible start, and remained staring at me with an expression I cannot describe.

Why did you see that flash of lightning, Doctor ?" he presently stammered, shaking from head to foot.

"Lightning, Sir Henry! Lightning!" I faltered, on the verge of shouting for his keeper.

"Oh-pho!" he exclaimed, with a long gasp, "I-I beg your pardon! How nervous you have made me!

Ha, ha, ha!" attempting a laugh, that mocked him with its faintness; " but really you do tell me such horrid tales, and look so dreadfully expressive while you are telling themthat-that-upon my soul-I cannot bear it! Pho! how hot the room is! Let us throw open the window and let in fresh air!" He rose, and I with him. Thank God, he could not succeed, and I began to breathe freely again. He walked about, fanning himself with his pocket-handkerchief. He attempted to smile at me, but it was in vain; he became paler and paler, his limbs seemed to stagger under him, and I had scarce time to drop him into a chair, before he fainted. I summoned his keeper to my assistance, and, with the ordinary means, we soon restored Sir Henry to consciousness.

"Ah! is that you?" he exclaimed, faintly smiling, as his eye fell upon the keeper. "I thought we had parted long ago! Why, where have you, or rather where have I been ?"

At length, with the aid of a little wine and water, he recovered his self-possession.

Heigh-ho! I shall be fit for nothing all the day, I am afraid! So I shall go and play at chess with the king. Is his majesty at liberty ?"

My soul sunk within me; and seeing he was uneasy at my stay, I took my leave; but it was several hours before I quite recovered from the effects of perhaps the most agitating scene I ever encountered. I found it impossible to pay my promised visit to Lady Anne that evening. One such interview as the above is enough, not for a day, but a life; so I despatched a servant on horseback with a note, stating that I should call, if possible, the next evening.

Sunday, Nov. 6.-I determined to call upon Sir Henry to-day, to see the effect, if any, produced by our yesterday's conversation. He had just returned from hearing Dr Y-read prayers, and was perfectly calm. There was no alteration in his manner; and one of the earliest observations he made was, "Ah, Doctor, how you deceived me yesterday!— What could I be thinking of, not to know that you were repeating, in another shape, the leading incident in-absolutely!-ha, ha! my own

tale of The Pedigree!' 'Tis quite inconceivable how I could have forgotten it as you went on; but I have gained some valuable hints! I shall now get on with it rapidly, and have it at press as soon as possible. I hope it will be thought worthy by the world of the compliments you took occasion to pay me so delicately yesterday!"

I took my leave of him, in despair.

On reaching Hall, in the evening, I found that the news, with the delivery of which I fancied my self specially and exclusively char. ged, had by some means or other found its way to her ladyship at an early hour in the afternoon of the preceding day. She had been but slightly agitated on hearing it; and the first words she murmured, were a prayer that the Almighty would make the intelligence the means of her husband's restoration to reason; but for herself, she expressed perfect resignation to the Divine will, and a hope that the consolations of religion might not be withdrawn from her during the little interval that lay between her and hereafter. Surely that pure prayer, proceeding from the depths of a broken heart, through guileless lips, found favour with her merciful Maker. Surely it was his influence that diffused thenceforth serenity and peace through the chamber of the dying sufferer; that extracted the keen thorn of mental agony; that healed the broken spirit, while it gently dissolved the elements of life-kindling, amid the decaying fabric of an earthly tabernacle, that light of faith and hope which shines

"Most vigorous, when the body dies !" *

Come hither a moment, ye that doubt, or deny the existence of such an influence; approach with awful steps this deathbed chamber of youth, beauty, rank-of all loveliness in womanhood, and dignity in station-hither! and say, do you call THIS "the deathbed of hope-the young spirit's grave?" Who is it that hath rolled back from this sacred chamber-door the boisterous surges

of this world's disquietude, and "bidden them that they come not near?"

It was true that Lady Anne was dying, and dying under bitter circumstances, as far as mere earthly considerations were concerned; but was it hard to die surrounded by such an atmosphere of " peace that passeth understanding?"

I found my sweet patient surrounded by her sisters, and one or two other ladies, propped up with pillows in a sort of couch, drawn before the fire, whose strong light fell full upon her face, and shewed me what havoc grief had made of her once beautiful features. She was then scarcely eight-and-twenty; and yet you might have guessed her nearly forty! The light with which her full eyes once sparkled had passed away, and left them sunk deep in their sockets, laden with the gloom of death. Her cheeks were hollow, and the deep bordering of her cap added to their wasted and shrunken appearance. One of her sisters-a very lovely womanwas sitting close beside her, and had always been considered her image; alas, what a woful disparity was now visible!

Lady Sarah, my patient's youngest sister, was stooping down upon the floor, when I entered, in search of her sister's wedding-ring, which had fallen from a finger no longer capable of filling it. "You had better wind a little silk about it," whispered Lady Anne, as her sister was replacing it on the attenuated, alabaster-hued finger from which it had dropped. "I do not wish it ever to be removed again. Do it, love!" Her sister, in tears, nodded acquiescence, and left the room with the ring, while I seated myself in the chair she had quitted by her sister's side. I had time to ask only a few of the ordinary questions, when Lady Sarah reappeared at the door, very pale, and beckoned out one of her sisters to communicate the melancholy intelligence, that moment received, that their father, the old Earl, who had travelled up from Ireland, though in an infirm state of health, to see his dying daughter, at her

earnest request, had expired upon the road! In a few minutes, all present had, one by one, left the room, in obedience to similar signals at the door, and I was left alone with Lady Anne.

Doctor," said she, calmly, "I am afraid something alarming has happened. See how they have hurried from the room! I observed Sarah, through that glass," said she, pointing me to a dressing-glass that stood so as to reflect whatever took place at the door. "Are you aware of any thing that has happened?" I solemnly assured her to the contrary. She sighed but evinced not the slightest agitation.

"I hope they will tell me all; whatever it is, I thank God I believe I can bear it! But, Doctor,” she pursued in the same calm tone, "whatever that may be, let me take this opportunity of asking you a question or two about-Sir Henry. When did you see him?" I told her.

"Have you much hope of his case?"-I hesitated.

Pray, Doctor, be frank with a dying woman!" said she, with solemnity. "Heaven will vouchsafe me strength to bear whatever you may have to tell me!-How is it?"

“I—I—fear—that at present-at least, he is no worse, and certainly far more tranquil than formerly."

"Does he know of the event of Saturday? How did it affect him ?" "But little, my lady. He did not seem quite to comprehend it." She shook her head slowly, and sighed.

66

I hope your ladyship has received cousolation from the intelligence ?"

Alas, what should it avail me! But there is my child. Thank God, he will not now be a beggar! Heaven watch over his orphan years!" I thought a tear trembled in her eye, but it soon disappeared. Doctor," she added, in a fainter tone even than before, for she was evident

ly greatly exhausted, " one word more! I am afraid my weakness has from time to time occasioned you much trouble-in the frequent attempts I have made to see my husband-my poor lost Henry!"-She paused for several seconds. "But the word is spoken from on high; I shall never see him again on this side the grave! I have written a letter to him,

which I wish to be delivered to him after I shall be no more, providedhe be capable-of-of❞— again she paused. "It is lying in my port-feuille below, and is sealed with black. It contains a lock of my hair, and I have written a few lines-but nothing that can pain him. Will you take the charge of it ?" I bowed in respectful acquiescence. She extended her wasted fingers towards me, in token of her satisfaction. I can give the reader, I feel, no adequate idea of the solemn, leisurely utterance with which all the above was spoken. In her manner there was the profound composure of consciously approaching dissolution. She seemed beyond the reach of her former agitation of feeling-shielded, as it were, with a merciful apatby. I sat beside her, in silence, for about a quarter of an hour. Her eyes were closed, and I thought she was dozing. Presently one of her sisters, her eyes swollen with weeping, stepped softly into the room, and sat down beside her.

"Who is dead, love?" enquired Lady Anne, without opening her eyes. Her sister made no reply, and there was a pause. "He would have been here before this, but for"— muttered Lady Anne, breaking off abruptly. Still her sister made no reply. "Yes I feel it; my father is dead!" exclaimed Lady Anne, adding, in a low tone, "if I had but strength to tell you of my dream last night! Call them all in-call them all in; and I will try, while I have strength," she continued, with more energy and distinctness than I had heard during the evening. Her eye opened suddenly, and settled upon her sister.

"Do not delay-call them all in to hear my dream!" Her sister, with a surprised and alarmed air, hastened to do her bidding.

They imagine I do not see my father!" exclaimed Lady Anne, her eye glancing at me with sudden brightness. "There he is- he wishes to see his children around him, poor old man!" A faint and somewhat wild smile lit her pale features for a moment. I hear them on the stairs

they must not find me thus. I am getting cold!" She suddenly rose from her chair, drew her dress about her, and walked to the bed. Her maid that moment entered, and as.

sisted in drawing the clothes over her. I followed, and begged her to be calm. Her pulse fluttered fast under my finger.

the gloom within. The country all around was wrapped in a dreary winding-sheet of snow; the sleet came down without ceasing; and the wind moaned as it were a dirge for the dead. Alas for the dead! Alas for the early dead! The untimely dead!

Alas, alas, for the living!

Her poor sisters, thus in one day doubly bereaved, were heart-broken. What a house of mourning was Hall! I felt that my presence was oppressive. What could I do to alleviate grief so profound-to stanch wounds so recent! I therefore took my leave shortly after the decease of Lady Anne. As I was walking down the grand staircase, I was overtaken by the nursery-maid, carrying down the little orphan son of her ladyship.

"Well, my poor little boy," said I, stopping her, and patting the child on the cheek, "what brings you about so late as this ?"

"'Deed, sir," replied the girl, sobbing, "I don't know what has come to Master Harry to-night! He was well enough all day; but ever since seven o'clock, he's been so restless, that we didn't know what to do with him. He's now dozing, and then waking; and his little moans are very sad to hear. Hadn't he better have some quieting physic, sir ?"

The child looked, indeed, all she said. He turned from the light, and his little face was flushed and feverish.

"Has he asked after his mamma?" "Yes, sir, often, poor dear thing! He wants to go to her; he says he will sleep with her to-night, or he won't go to bed at all," said the girl, sobbing; " and we daren't tell him that-that-he's no mamma to go to any more!"

I thought of the FATHER-then of the sou-then of the precious link between them that lay severed and broken in the chamber above; and with moist eyes and a quivering lip, kissed the child and left the Hall. It was a wretched November night. The scene without harmonized with

only one day.'

Such was the record of my sweet patient's death that appeared in today's papers. Alas, of what a sum of woes are these brief entries the exponents! How little does the eye that hastily scans them see of the vast accumulations of suffering which are there represented!

This entry was full before my eyes when I called to-day upon Sir Henry, who was busily engaged at billiards in the public room with Dr Y. He played admirably, but was closely matched by the Doctor, and so eager in the game, that he had hardly time to ask me how I was. I stood by till he had proved the winner, and great was his exultation.

"I'll play you for a hundred pounds, Doctor!" said Sir Henry; "and give you a dozen!”

"Have you nothing to say to your friend, Dr ?" replied Dr Y who knew that I had called for the purpose of attempting to make Sir Henry sensible of the death of Lady Anne.

"Oh, yes; I'll play with him; but before I lay odds, we must try our skill against one another. Come, Doctor," extending the cue; you shall begin !"

Of course I excused myself, and succeeded in enticing him to his own apartment, by mentioning his tale of the "Pedigree."

"Ah, true," said he, briskly; "I'm glad you've thought of it! I wish to talk a little to you on the subject."

We were soon seated together before the fire, he with the manuscripts lying on his knee.

"And what have you done with the wife?" said I, pointedly.