it, to him in modest silence, and with a most bewitching grace. He received the gift with an easy inclination, and in so doing their fingers touched, true it was but slightly, but even that touch made the blood thrill through his veins with unusual violence, whilst she, disconcerted and embarrassed, abruptly turned away, and entering the cottage, left him alone in the full enjoyment of those enviable sensations, which possess a man on finding that he has behaved precisely like a fool in the presence of the very woman to whom he most wished to render himself agreeable. To those who have been in a similar situation it is almost needless to say that Vavasour, biting his lips in extreme mortification, departed in a mood very far removed from self-complacency. Equally superfluous will it be to say that they met again, ay, and again, and with mutual and increasing gratification. If her unadorned charms and sweet native simplicity enraptured him by their novelty and purity, the manners and conversation of one, whose natural talent and good sense had been ornamented and enriched by the extensive and varied information which Vavasour had gathered both from his studies and his acquaintance with actual life, showed him in Susan's eyes as one of superior mould to those who had hitherto crossed her path. Her mind, though the opportunities of cultivation it had enjoyed were but few, was imbued with natural sensibility and refinement, and eager for improvement. Vavasour's literary habits rendered books, such few as his mode of travelling afforded the means of conveying, indispensable companions. From these he selected some few volumes, chiefly of the poets, which he conceived Susan would best understand and most admire. On these pursuits she entered with ardour, and followed them with increasing delight. she found expressed in the burning words of poetry, many a thought that in her lonely hours had flitted across her mind unnoticed but for the moment. The melody of numbers soothed her ear, the beauty of imagery pleased her imagination, and the soft language of feeling saddened, while it delighted and sank into her soul. There were many passages which to her unprepared mind required illustration, and who so fit to

There

give it as that one who had opened to her this new world of fancy and mental revelling? She looked up to him with admiration and respect-feelings, which her inexperience saw not, were too rapidly deepening into affections of a warmer hue, and he gazed upon her with such delight, such curiosity to ob serve the first workings of a mind so intelligent, so unsophisticated as hers, that he forgot to ask himself whither tended this dangerous indulgence, this incipient, this growing passion. Fixed and habitual principles would have enabled him at once to discern and to avoid the latent snare. Unfortunately those principles were yet to be established. Not that his intentions were decidedly bad, indeed he had no settled intentions; but he shunned self-exami nation, and for such a connexion long to continue between individuals of dif ferent sexes, as free from stain as in its first conception, were worse than folly to expect.

Days and even weeks had flown away in this slumber of the feelings and pas sions. On a beautiful evening, so still that autumn's fading leaf stirred not on its fragile tendril, and the scattered petals of the rose slept on the bed where they fell, kissed by no breeze to bear away their expiring fragrance; on such an evening, when the misty shadows had warned the birds to rest, and when the hushing of their melody completed the silence of the hour, the fond pair were seated within the little cottage, near the lozenge-paned casement. Sunset was over, and a faint glow only hung over the dusky hills behind which the bright luminary had receded. The clearness of the evening sky rapidly declined into the dimness of twilight, and the small apartment in which Vavasour and his pupil were reading, became too dark for the continuance of their occupation.

"I will tell Caleb to bring in candles," said Susan, "the room is too gloomy to read any longer."

As she rose from her seat, she displaced the volume they had been perusing together, and it fell to the ground. Both stooped to recover it: as they bent, Vavasour felt one of Susan's silken tresses float over his cheek. Those who know what passion is, know also how faint a spark can raise the slumbering fire in its apparently most subdued and

most placid moments. Inconceivably slight as was the touch, it shot like lightening through his frame, as swift and as destructive. A moment and their cheeks had met-their hands were clasped together. The pure atmosphere seemed suddenly to become thick and noxious, and even to impede respiration. This fatal hour began in delusion-it proceeded in madness-it ended in despair.

The dream was gone-the blindness that had drawn her over the precipice passed away, and Susan awakening to the full knowledge of her wretchedness, found herself again alone, but far, far more desolate, than when her father's death had first left her an orphan on the world. Then supported by her own pure thoughts and conscious innocence, the tears she largely shed bore in their stream the sadness of sorrow, now they flowed with the corroding bitterness of remorse. Her lover, her betrayer, was gone, and she dwelt on the promises of affection that hung on his parting lips with all the self-deluding eagerness of hope. Yet her grief was unceasing. The morning but awoke her to fresh sorrow, to fresh regret; the evening brought slumber, but little rest to her weeping eyes. Those eyes lost the bright beam that once denoted the inward calmness and peace of mind that dwelt so fondly in her bosom; her cheeks retained no longer the bloom of life's happy spring, the smile of happiness played not now around her lips; her existence was blighted, her heart's peace was gone, and when that flies, the body's waste keeps time to the mental anguish.

Time fled, and he came not. Again involved in the whirlpool of the metropolis, courted and flattered, enjoying every varied pleasure by turns, he lost ere long the memory of the village maiden, or if his thoughts recurred to those distant scenes, they were hastily banished, or their consideration was postponed to a future day. That day never came. The heart that once turns away from the call of truth and fidelity will soon harden itself against all unwelcome intrusion-so it was with Vavasour. A few months saw new engagements formed, and the newspapers in the usual formulary announced the shortly intended nuptials of the fashion

able Mr. Vavasour with the accomplished and honourable Miss D—, daughter of Lord Unfortunately London newspapers rarely travelled to Elmhurst -unfortunately, for the hard intelligence they contained might, in destroying the last faint glimpse of hope, have closed at once those sorrows which were doomed to linger out to a painful and protracted period.

The alteration in the appearance of poor Susan was too remarkable to escape notice, or to fail of being assigned to its proper cause, even by the unconscious inhabitants of Elmhurst. Vavasour's visit had attracted observation, and his sudden departure had created inquiry. Among others, the rumour reached the ears of the clergyman, who officiated at the neighbouring church, and who had noticed Susan's regular and devout attention to the duties of public worship. He was a man of upright and inflexible principle and always acted accordingly. Stern to the hardened and profligate, but kind and affectionate to those, who misled by casual error sought to regain the path from which they had been betrayed. He visited the sufferer, became acquainted with her sad but simple tale of woe, all but the name of her betrayer, which being unknown in the village, the clergyman was unable to learn. This alone she concealed, the rest she communicated without reserve. The amiable divine sympathized with her griefs, he poured consolation into her bruised spirit, and directed her attention to that state of holiness and happiness which awaits the true penitent. Consolation she did certainly derive from his visits, and her mind became more composed, but happiness had fled for

ever.

It was now, when she knew that her fatal secret must be known, that her native strength of mind became apparent. She shunned no eye, she withdrew herself from no occupation to hide from the sight of her fellows. Her visits to the weekly service of the church continued; she affected no privacy, no seclusion. Yet was not this the hardihood of a callous mind, acting in defiance of the feelings and opinions of others. It was the lowly and voluntary humiliation of a repentant heart, conscious of its offence, and seeking its atonement in the sacrifice of a prostrate

and broken spirit. Deep was the pang, bitter was the self-abasement to which she thus submitted; yet she shrank not from it, but steadily proceeded in the work of repentance and expiation.

One morning, not long subsequent to this period, the inhabitants of the little inn before mentioned were thrown into general commotion by the unexpected arrival of a newly-married couple on their way to their country seat. They had travelled from an early hour in the morning, and arriving at Elmhurst long before the noon, the lady proposed a walk while breakfast was preparing. Her companion submitted but with a reluctance, which she either did not perceive, or thought it prudent not to notice. He suffered himself to be led away in the direction which his beautiful partner selected, occasionally observing on the scenery and pointing out the most pleasing views, with the readiness of one familiar to the spot; she observed this, and inquired whether he had ever before visited Elmhurst. Vavasour hurriedly answered in the negative.

On passing a cottage, its neatness and beauty attracted the admiration of his young wife. "Do look, Burnet," she said, "what a delightful romantic little dwelling!" He raised his eyes, and gazing wildly on the house, which seemed now uninhabited and deserted, he suddenly turned aside, as if seized with severe pain. "You are ill, my love," said his anxious companion, as she marked his changing colours and felt his trembling arm; "indeed you

are.

Do let us instantly return." It is nothing, replied he, a mere pain in the head, nothing more, however we will return. They did so, and Vavasour, availing himself of some trifling occasion, took his hat, and again left the house.

The village seemed almost deserted. He walked on rapidly, scarcely knowing whither he went, wishing to make inquiries, but meeting none of whom he could ask. Pressing forward, he had already passed the limits of the village; he knew not what he did, his brain was fevered almost to distraction.

A noise as of the measured trampling of feet, arrested his progress, and looking up, he found himself by the church -the burying-ground was crowded.

Drawing his hat over his eyes and mingling with the multitude, he took a station as free as possible from observation. There he stood fixed and motionless, while the clergyman reading with a solemn and impressive tone, the beautiful service in which the very poetry of religion breathes, consigned the dust to dust, and ashes to ashes, of the unfortunate and heartbroken Susan. The cord grated heavily as the coffin was lowered to its resting-place-the hard earth rattled on the lid.

A silence that told how much all were affected by the fate of their sister, who was now no more, for some time prevailed among the multitude, where all were mourners. It was suddenly interrupted by the violent agitation of an individual who had stood aloof during the ceremony. Those who were near the spot turned to look on the author of this interruption, when their brows darkened, and the looks that passed and repassed among them spoke their indignation. The clergyman had retired at the conclusion of the service-a confused murmur pervaded the assembly, a halfsuppressed burst of execration arose; the storm was on the eve of discharging itself, when the youth, formerly known as a lover of Susan's interposed, and by his persuasions, prevented a progress to violence. His sorrows had been great, and gave him in the minds of the bystanders a powerful claim to respect and attention. Checked by his interference the rage of the multitude for a while subsided into the deep stillness of indignation, whilst one of the more prudent in the assembly, took advantage of the pause, and taking the arm of the unconscious Vavasour, led him from the spot, where his continuance might probably have exposed him to severe or fatal violence. Yet still as he disappeared from the eyes of the crowd, their execrations thrilled through his frame, and spoke in the language of torture, their scorn and abhorrence of the murderer of Susan.

During his absence, some hints of the fate of the victim and its cause, had reached the wife of Vavasour. A woman of fine, high feeling, she had loved and married him, because she thought his mind congenial with her own-generous and filled with a noble and exalting spirit. If to a woman's heart, there be

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WHAT a life is a coward's! He is all agitation. He should have been born a woman. Then his trembling would have been so graceful in the eyes of the beaux-so many whiskered lips would murmur, do not be under the slightest apprehension, my dear, I will take care of you." What a mistake in nature to put the soul of a girl in a body six feet high !—to let the heart of a hare beat in the ample chest of a lion-to give a pair of great flashing eyes to express, instead of exciting terror-and a voice like the lower tones of Mr. Cioffi's trombone to breathe out feelings that should have been played piano on the flute! Thou capricious, laughter-loving nature, what fantastic freaks hast thou invented in the composition of thy creature man!

As the world goes, there is no feeling nobler and more necessary than courage. What a dark world of anxiety and misery it shuts out from the soul! With what a strange beauty it invests even the bad in the hour of danger!

So spake the grisly terror, and in shape
So speaking and so threatening, grew ten fold

More dreadful and deform. On th' other side,
Incensed with indignation, Satan stood
Unterrified, and like a comet burn'd,
That fires the length of Orphiuchus huge
In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair
Shakes pestilence and war.

Yet I have sometimes thought it was only a combination of nerve and good sense, to conceal cowardice. "He who has not felt fear," said Frederick the Great, "never snuffed a candle with his fingers.' To fear calamity or pain cannot be base. The most sensitive must feel all influences most suddenly and deeply. The courage of many is sheer stupidity and bluntness of perception; while the cowardice of others may be vividness of imagination and love of life. A pleasure-seeking and effeminate person will very naturally recoil from whatever threatens his peace and safety; but in certain situations these are the fiercest and most dangerous enemies. There is no devil like your coward goaded to desperation. I have heard of a German student in a duel so perfectly outrageous from the excess of fear, that he rushed upon his antagonist, a more