house in the neighbourhood. But this availed her nothing. She fell into the hands of an unfeeling, pitiless scoundrel, and was ruined. But Margaret had a mother who, notwithstanding her humble rank of life, cherished sentiments which would have adorned a princess. This mother, the same aged woman who followed the corpse to-day, and wept so bitterly at the grave, did not spurn from her the child of her bosom, but opened wide her doors, and extended to her that solace and comfort which her hard-hearted seducer denied. But poor Margaret could not long survive her dishonour: she pined in ceaseless, life-consuming sorrow, and two years after the birth of her child, she sank into the grave before she had attained the age of twenty-one. The care of the little Mary now devolved upon her grandmother, who had been an old valued servant in my father's family; and my poor wife was consequently exceedingly attentive to them, for she had a tender heart, and always loved to please me, so that Mary and her old nurse were often with us at the Rectory. Our little protegée soon gave tokens of intelligence, and when her mind was capable of receiving impressions, I employed my leisure time in instructing her. She grew up as virtuous as she was beautiful; and notwithstanding her ill-fated birth, she was beloved and caressed by all who knew her. It was not with us, Mr. Arundel, as it is with our more polished neighbours ; we do not, in this secluded vale, attach any disgrace to the offspring of shame, nor do we envy the lot of those whom Providence has ordained to be more fortunate than ourselves. are strangers to many of the evils, as well as to many of the advantages of a more highly cultivated and refined condition.Well, my good sir," continued my worthy friend," things were in this situation, when our only son returned after an absence of six years in the East Indies. He had prevailed upon us, while he was yet a boy, to permit him to try his fortune there, and at seventeen he left us as a Cadet: we heard from him time after time, and the newspapers conveyed to us the gratifying intelligence, that he had frequently distinguished himself, and had been promoted to the rank of Captain in the Company's Service.- Poor Edward was a generous, open-hearted fellow, full of life and spirit, and filial affection, and the day of his arrival among us was, indeed, a day of happiness and rejoicing!"

We

My friend's voice grew tremulous with grief as these events recurred to his memory, and hiding his face with his handkerchief, he gave vent to his feelings in a flow of salutary tears. Having somewhat recovered his composure he resumed his narrative.

6

"When Edward left us Mary was a mere child, and it was as a mere child only that he thought of her in his absence. Every letter contained a remembrance to his pretty little Mary,' and when a blushing girl of eighteen was presented to him as his former play-fellow and friend, he started with astonishment and

admiration at the change. The result is easily guessed,-they soon loved, passio nately, but purely loved each other; yet strange to say, I was for a long time, blind to their attachment; that is, I attributed his attentions to Mary to their long intimacy and to his wish to please his parents; in short, I considered his affection was that of a brother for a sister. The mother, however,—and what mother is not?-was keener sighted than the father, and she communicated her suspicious to me. 'I am sure

our dear boy is in love with Mary,' she said, every action denotes it. Is she walking to the town; Edward must walk with her. Is she going with any thing to the poor cottagers ? He must go with her too. In short they sing together, dance together, read together, walk together, and ride together, and I am quite sure they love each other dearly!' Now that I was thus apprized of this, it appeared equally as evident to me as it did to Mrs. Richards, and it made me thoughtful. I am not a proud man, Mr. Arundel; God forbid that I ever should be! nor was my poor wife a vain or a haughty woman; but this discovery startled us, and parental solicitude made us hesitate. However, after a little consideration, we came to the determination of suffering their attachment to take its course, 'She will make a good wife' said I, and if they continue to love each other, we must not oppose their affection.'

But our determinations were useless. Our dear son had brought with him a constitution shattered by the enervating influence of a tropical sun, as well as by the overpowing toil of a soldier's life; and in three months after his arrival he was laid upon his bed of sickness and of death! It was now that Mary proved herself worthy of all our care. She ministered to the poor patient with unceasing assiduity, and consoled us with hopes, which she herself could never have cherished. You do not know, perhaps, what it is to attend, day ofter day, near the sick bed of a most dear relation,—to watch with agony and suspence the variable symptoms of a languishing disease, and to hear the fond and wishful anticipations of this care and solicitude.-You do not know, perhaps, what it is to hang beside a child's couch in tenderness and anxiety,—to soothe his pain and sorrow,—and to feel that all your hopes of happiness on earth are fixed on him : to catch his last faint sigh, and watch in tenderness life's fluttering-dying spark.-But this I have felt; and during this period of suspense and agony, Mary was like a ministering angel to us; and, though harassed both in mind and body, no exclamation of pain, nor of impatience escaped her lips. She endured what I could not have supposed any mortal could have undergone in similar circumstances; and although she wept much in secret, she suffered no indication of sorrow or despair to appear before us, or her lover. Week after week passed by in this miserable manner, and, after languishing nearly four months, our dear

child breathed his last without sob or sigh in the arms of his distressed mother. This was a sad affliction for us,-but a sadder was in reserve for me. My poor wife, whose health had always been delicate, could not sustain the shock which she had received by the death of her only and beloved child, and she followed him to the grave in little less then half a year, leaving me to drag on my existence in solitude and sorrow. But even yet the measure of my grief was not full. I have said that Mary was unremitting in her attentions to Edward during her illness. This, independent of any attachment between them, was sufficient to destroy her life; but her heart received a severe shock, and one which it never recovered. Yet she did not complain, although it was evident that some secret grief was preying upon her with insidious but certain fatality.

"Yet never word, or murmur of regret
Linger'd upon that gentle lip. The spirit

Was wean'd from this world, and look'd on high
In humble faith. The grave no terrors had
For one whom existence had no charms."

6

"I had been reading to her one evening, and had paused to make some observation, when she faintly said to me : My dear father', she had always called me so,- -I have been thinking that I shall soon follow poor Edward; but I have a favour to beg of you before I die, which I am sure you will grant me. When I am gone, my poor grandmother will have nobody to wait upon her, and to attend to her little wants and wishes. Will you see that she does not stand in need of any thing? Your exceeding kindness has emboldened me to make this request; and I shall be more happy now that I have spoken to you about her. And will you, she continued,-taking from her bosom, as she spoke, a beautiful locket set in diamonds, the gifts of her lover, a lock of whose glossy hair it contained wreathed with one of her own sunny ringlets will you my more than father, keep this carefully for the sake of those whom you have loved so affectionately-I took the locket, and promised, as well as I could, to observe all that she required of me; when, after remaining silent for a few minutes, she requested me to deliver to several of her young friends such tokens as she named, in memory of her friendship for them, and gave a few directions respecting her funeral, expressing an ardent wish to be buried very near to poor Edward, and earnestly soliciting me to perform the service over her. After this she again thanked me most warmly for all my kindness, and then, seemingly exhausted with the exertion she had made, endeavoured to compose herself to sleep. I quitted the apartment, therefore, and retired to my study, leaving her to the charge of the nurse and her poor grandmother, who, al

though too aged and infirm to be of service, yet seldom left the patient's chamber."

"About two hours afterwards I was hastily summoned into Mary's room, and found that the icy hand of death was already upon her. There was, however, a placid smile upon her countenance, and she seemed perfectly conscious of her approaching dissolution. She extended her hand to me as I approached the bed,-for the power of speech was already taken from her,—and grasping mine affectionately, looked up towards heaven, and moved her lips in silent prayer. I had knelt down instinctively by the bed, and knew not, till the hand which grasped mine grew chill and clammy, that the spirit had departed from the lovely corpse before me. It was an awful moment, my friend; and I then experienced such a feeling of sadness and desolation, that in my affliction I repined at the lot which Providence had assigned to me. But now that I am grown more calm, and the intensity of my sorrow has somewhat subsided, I look upon all this as a chastening to be patiently endured, and I bow me to the will of the Father, if not with cheerfulness, at least with resignation, conscious that He would not afflict me thus without some especial reason. He has given me strength to perform the last sad rites to my poor Mary's remains, and now that I am left alone in the world, I must endeavour to render my life useful to others, as well as acceptable to Him who gave it." Such were the pious sentiments which these sad events inspired in my friend; and it is but just to observe, that he acted up to them to his death, which happened some few years since. I remained at the Rectory more than a week, and when I left it, I had the pleasure of perceiving that the strong and benevolent mind of my friend had successfully combated the evils which hovered around him. But I did not quit the village without visiting poor old Margaret. I found her in a neat and comfortable cottage, bowed down with age and sorrow, and looking forward to the silent grave for that peace "which the world can neither give nor take away!"

Miscellanies.

NUJNI

GREATNESS OF MIND.-A Corsican, the leader of a gang of banditti, who had long been famous for his exploits, was at length taken and committed to the care of a soldier, from whom he contrived to escape. The soldier was tried, and condemned to death. At the place of execution, a man, coming up to the commanding officer, said, "Sir, I am a stranger to you, but you shall soon know who I am; I have heard that one of your soldiers is to die for having suffered a prisoner to escape; he was not to blame; besides, the prisoner shall be restored to you. Behold him here-I am the man. I cannot bear that an innocent man should be punished for me, and I come to die myself." "No!" cried the French officer, who felt as he ought the sublimity of the action, "thou shall not die, and the soldier shall be set at liberty. Endeavour to reap the fruits of thy generosity thou deservest to be henceforth an honest man."

ANECDOTE-FACT.-A genteel looking young man was seen to enter a church in time of service; he paused at the entrance; the congregation stared, he advanced a few steps, and deliberately surveying the whole assembly, commenced a slow march up to the broad aisle : not a pew was opened: the audience were too busy for civility; he wheeled, and in the same manner performed a march stepping as if to Roslin Castle, or the Dead March in Saul, and disappeared. A few moments after, he reentered with a huge block upon his shoulders, as heavy as he could well stagger under. His countenance was immoveable ; again the good people stared, and half rose from their seats, with their books in their hands. At length, he placed the block in the very centre of the principal passage, and seated himself upon it. Then, for the first time, the reproach was felt. Every pew door in the church was instantly flung open. But no-the