swing their branches so heavily about it, and cast over it a desolate gloom even in the brightest hour of summer sunshine? Why is it apart from those other hillocks, that lie smilingly together, as though it alone were excluded from the peaceful communion of the dead? That grave does not cover one who withered on the stalk of human life, and then quietly dropped from it in the sere and yellow leaf; nor one that was plucked by the spoiler in the bud of infant promise; nor yet one who shed the leaves of life in the full beauty of maturity: it is not the grave of an old person who sustained life as a burden, and at last welcomed death as a refuge; or of the child who, snatched from the cherishing arms of its parents, was followed by them with deep but sinless sorrow: nor is it a matron's grave, "whose lovely and pleasant" life is embalmed in the memory of many friends. No-it is the memorial of a "sleepless soul that perish ed in its pride;" of one who made her grave with her own hand, and lay down in it without the Christian hope of awaking in heaven; and but for the terrible recollections of her last hours, which the grey-haired villager sometimes whispers in the ears of thoughtless youth, of one once so fitted to inspire affection and contribute to happiness, we might say, in sorrow and in truth, "her memorial is perished with her." and tottering column wreathed with luxuriant ivy, her youthful influence. preserved him from desolation, and partially concealed even his decay. Throughout the summer evenings the churchyard was their favourite resort: for the old man loved to rest upon a grave, and survey the wide and lovely valley lying at his feet, made glorious by the setting sun; while his spirit would melt within him, as, turning from that magnificent display of this world's beauty to the surrounding memorials of its perishable nature, he felt himself “ a stranger and a pilgrim upon earth, as all his fathers were." And then would his young companion press near him with the deep affection of a young and untroubled heart, lay his head on her bosom, and bend over it till her long golden tresses mixed with his hoary locks, like sunbeams upon mountain snows. Then would she whisper to him sweet assurances of her filial love, or sing to him a stanza of some old quiet melody; till, with the eloquence of a faded and now tearful eye, he blessed her as the comfort and the glory of his age. But he is now a neglected, deso late old man; he has no companion in his evening walks; "none to watch near him," to smile upon him, or to speak kindly. Day after day, or stormy or fair, or summer or winter, he haunts that churchyard, and resting against the dark trees which shade that lonely corner, sighs bitterly over the neglected hillock at their feet; and bitterly may he sigh, for his Ellen sleeps in that nameless solitary grave! There is an old man, feeble and nearly blind, often wandering about the churchyard, but not as he was wont in former and happier days. Then he leaned upon the arm of a fair and affectionate child, who cheer- Alas! how few comprehend the ed him by her smile, and soothedworkings of a woman's soul! how him by her tenderness. Like a hoary few know the altitude of virtue which it can attain, or the depths of sorrow and degradation into which it can descend! The days of a woman's life glide along in sameness and serenity, like the tiny waves of a summer brook; her manners wear the same unperturbed aspect; her habitual thoughts and feelings seem to preserve a like "noiseless tenour;" and therefore few suppose that the anxieties of ambition, the strivings of passion, or the fierce tumults of pride, disappointment, and despair, can possibly exist beneath so quiet a surface. We forget that women are essentially capable of feeling every passion, good or bad, even more powerfully than men. We associate them too much in our thoughts with the petty details by which they are surrounded, and deem them constitutionally trifling, because, from education, necessity, and habit, they are continually placed in contact with trifles. God forbid that the majority of females should manifest, or even know, the passionate depths of the soul! Comparatively few acquire a knowledge which involves the surrender of their happiness, and too frequently also the sacrifice of their worth; but those few afford us warnings--salutary though terrible instruction to the rest of their sex. Ellen was one. morbid refinement of feeling, which destroys usefulness and peace by magnifying the evils of life, while dimis nishing their many alleviations; dazzled by the gaudy fictions of imagi nation, and deluded by the vain flatteries of her own heart-she turned with disgust from the simplicities of nature and the sobrieties of truth; from the regular routine of common duties,and the calm enjoyments of every-day life. Restless, weary, and discontented, she longed for something that should satisfy the grasp of her imagination-something that should fill the aching void within her heart. Alas! she forgot that this "infinite gulf can only be filled by an infinite and unchanging object!" Thus, by degrees, a complete change came over her spirit; a change which those who surrounded her could not understand, and with which therefore they could not sympathize. The rose faded from her cheek, the smile played less frequently and less sweetly round her lips, sadness too often shaded her young fair brow; and her manners, once so warm and courteous to all, became cold, abrupt, and reserved. These changes were not the work of a day; though the necessity of concentrating their his tory in a few short sentences makes that appear sudden and rapid, which was in reality gradual and slow. Perhaps had Ellen at this critical world by some judicious friend, and gently introduced to things as they Reflective, passionate, and proud, "emotions were her events." Not merely the mistress, but the compa-period of her life been taken into the nion of her own thoughts, the being of solitude and reverie, the child of impulse, and the slave of sensibility-really are, her mind might yet have while she existed in the real world, she could be said to live only in the ideal one of her own creation. Ambitious, yet unable to appreciate the true distinction which should be sought by women; cherishing that recovered its energy and her spirits their tone; but limited to the seclusion of a village, she was debarred those little pleasurable excitements, whether of scene or society, which were necessary to prevent a mind like hers from preying on itself; and she yielded with proportionable enthusiasm to the first influence which broke the monotony of her life. That influence was love; love as it ever will be felt and cherished by one of Ellen's disposition, in all the delirium and danger of intense passion. But, alas! if she proved in her own experience the full truth of the observation, that "love is the whole history of a woman's life," she equally proved the justice of its conclusion," that it is only an episode in the life of a man." A complete novice in the study of character, and accustomed to view every object alternately through the glare of imagination or the gloom of morbid sensibility, it required little exertion to make her the dupe of a being, who added to seniority of years a consummate knowledge, not merely of books, but of men and manners, and the world; one, skilled to wear all aspects, suit all characters, and speak every language, excepting that of simple reality and truth; one of that class of men who treat the young hearts they have won like baubles, which they admire, grow weary of, and fling aside. But Ellen knew not this; and beguiled by the thousand dreams of romantic love, the present and the future shone to her ardent eye alike glorious with happiness and promise. "Her soul was paradised by passion;" every duty was neglected; every other affection superseded by this new and overwhelming interest. Even her old kind father felt, and sometimes a sighed over the change; for he remembered the days when his comfort was the first and last of Ellen's anxieties, and his love her great and sufficient joy. But how could he chide his darling, the single ewe lamb left of his little flock; the beau» tiful being that, like a star, irradiated the gloom of his evening pilgrimage? He could not do it, and he made those excuses for her inattentions, which Ellen's better feelings would not have dared to offer for herself. At length, however, she discover! ed the fatal truth: that the passion which had formed the glory, the happiness, and indeed the whole business of her life, had been but one of many pastimes to her lover. Cir cumstances separated them, and after lingering through all the sicken ing changes of cherished, deferred, and annihilated hope, she knew, in all the fulness of its misery, that she was forsaken and forgotten. It is well known that a strong mind can endure a greater portion of mental suffering without its producing bodily illness than a weak one can. Many other girls in Ellen's situation would have had a violent fit of illness, been given over by their doctors, have recovered, to the surprise of their friends; and after looking pale and interesting for a few weeks, would have married some one else, and lived very comfortably for the remainder of their days. Ellen was not such a character. When she knew that the visions of fancy and the blossoms of hope were for ever scattered and destroyed, the stranger would have supposed her insensible to the blow. But "the iron had entered into her soul." Throughout the whole of the night on which she received the "confirmation strong," she sat in her chamber motionless and solitary; she neither spoke, nor wept, nor sighed; and though every passion warred wildly in her bosom, she sat and "made no sign;" and in the morning she resumed her station in her family, and went through her usual occupations and domestic pursuits with more minuteness and attention than she had manifested for a considerable time. Many knew the trial which had befallen her, but none durst offer sympathy; for the pride that sparkled in her eye, and the deep calm scorn which curled her pale lip, alike defied intrusion and forbade inquiry. She conversed, but appeared unconscious of the meaning of the words she mechanically uttered; she smiled, but the sweet expression of her smile had vanished; she laughed, but the melody of her laugh was gone; her whole bearing was high and mysterious. Now her whole frame would shudder as at the suggestions of her own thoughts; then again she would resume the quiet stern determination of her former manner: one moment her lip would quiver, and her eye fill with tears of mingled grief and tenderness; but the next, her burning cheek, compressed lip, and firm proud step, bespoke only deep and unmitigated scorn. of mind, when the flimsy arguments which had cajoled his reason had vanished like evening shadows; when the sophistries, which had lulled his conscience, rose up like horrible deceits; when the home, friends, duties, comforts, even the life itself a moment before so despicable, appeared of an overwhelming importance; and when, more terrible than all, he was left to grapple alone and altogether with the anguish of his body and the dying darkness of his soul, with the near and unveiled view of eternity, and the dread of future and unmitigated vengeance. The sun was retiring behind the dark hills, like a warrior in the pride of victory, and field and stream and forest lay glowing beneath them in all the " melancholy magnificence of the hour," when the old man sought his beloved child to take their accustomed walk in the churchyard. In vain he sought her in her flowergarden, in the arbour of her own planting, and in his quiet study. At length he tapped playfully at her chamber-door, and receiving no answer, he entered. There indeed was Ellen! there she stood, every limb shivering in that warm summer evening, while the cold perspiration gathered on her brow and neck and arms. But who can portray the mysterious workings of pride, passion, doubt, horror, and despair, that crowd upon one who meditates selfdestruction? Oh! there is not the There she stood; her fairbeing in existence who may imagine hair dishevelled, her eye wild and to himself, in the wildest and most glazed, and her whole countenance horrible of his dreams, all that must changed with mental and bodily torpass through the soul before it can ture: she might less be said to violently close its earthly career! breathe than gasp; and the very moCould we summon from his scorned tion of her dress shewed how wildly and unholy grave one who has lain her heart throbbed beneath it. "Are down in it with his blood upon his you ill, my child?" said her father, own head, he only might adequately terrified by her appearance. "Speak paint the emotions of that little hour to me, my love!" continued he with between the action and its conse-increasing agitation, as he perceived quence; he only describe his state the agony depicted on her counte nance. Twice she strove to speak, but each effort was unavailing; no words escaped her parched and quivering lips; at last, grasping his hand with convulsive energy in her cold and clammy fingers, she pointed towards the fatal phial, yet upon her table. The hideous tale was told. The old man gave one long miserable groan, and the next moment fell senseless at his daughter's feet. There she stood, now turning her intense gaze upon her father as he lay extended on the ground; and now, upon that setting sun, that bright sky, and brighter earth beneath it, which she must never, never view again! But, oh! the depth of that darkness within her mind, that sickening desire of life, and that overwhelming certainty of death, the stinging conviction of her sin and folly, and the dread of impending judgment! All these, in a moment, passed over her soul like the ocean-billows in a raging storm, sweeping away in their fury every refuge of hope, every trace of consolation! But it is time to draw the curtain over a scene "too loathly horrible" for thought or description. Succour was ineffectual; comfort unavailing. She existed for a few hours in agony and despair; and when the morning sun arose to gladden and refresh the earth, all that remained of the once fair and gentle Ellen was a livid and distorted corpse. J. THE RIVAL OF A KING: "By St. Paul, your falcon flew firmness with which he walked, plainly said, "Thwart me who list, and my rapier shall right me." His whiskers, which fringed his broad and oily face, bore no small resemblance to those of his equally imperative but more potent master, for whom indeed Sir Henry Neville had not seldom been mistaken. The stripling, whom by a frown he had almost bowed to the earth, was no other, in spite of the degrading comparison made against him, than the Lord Percy, eldest son of Northumberland's duke, a man indeed far superior in lineage to him who now stood before him, the rival of a king, but who was yet obliged to stand before that king's favourite with his bonnet vailed. The natural risings of a proud spirit had caused him to join the falconers' sport undaunted, for he had not as yet encountered Sir |