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Witor.c No. 1:.0.]
TERMS
:1711TINODON :01715.11A.L.
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POETRY
AM I A'COLD COQUETTE?
OY CATHERINE H. WATERMAN.
THEY tell me I am volatile,
An adept in my art.
Because I've many spots to fill
Within airy loving heart.
Th-y tell me I am fond of of change,
'And, like th' inconstant bee,
From sweet to sweet, I love to range,
All fetterless and free.
But yruld they look into my breast;
Where young fond thoughts have met,
5.1 e how their deep impressions rest,
They'd say I'm no Coqtette,
My heart from childhood's early days
Hath in its uncheck'd flu v,
Scatteed the sunlight of P.s rays /
In a perpetual glowi.
With gushirg tenderness i, t.lung
To all around, above;
To every bud and flower that sprung,
For it was made to love.
A rd'iNith tin imsparing hand,
It gathers flow'rets yet.
And loves alike the minglfd band.
Am I a cold Coquette?
There'are. deep tones wi hin my heart,
They've slept the sleep of years;
Why should I wake them, but to sta - t
The Unavailing tears.
They are, as hal ps,. too finely strung
For stranger hands to sound,
And careless fingers o'er them sung
Would probe an unheard wound.
Ifjoyoui :realities are o'er,
Bright fancies glad me yet; •.•
My bark of hope was wrec'd near shore—,
Am I a cold Coquette?
But if to loVe the sunny earth,
The bright and glorious skie-, •
The summer buds that spring to birth,
• In rainbow tinted dyes:
And joy in all that care beguiles,
And from the many claim
Afreetionciond and cheering smileS,
And friehdship's sacred flame;
To hold them to my heart, and still
' Its sad but vain regret,
Is to he weak and volatile—
. lam a cold Coquette.
From . the Commonwealth.
L INKS ADDRESSED TOS.O
Cap I forget thee - while there's life 4
Within my young and ardent frame,
My bosom burns with feelings rife,
I blush not now to name.
The tie that binds our hearts is one,
Misfortune neer can sever,.
And when the task of duty's dyne.
Well live in love forever.
Thni fate has now decreed that we,
Must part to meet no more;
Vet on the page of memory,
As brilliant us before.
Shall be the hours that we have spent,
When pleasure's sunny ray,
Beamed brightly from her firmament.
And plenty led the way.
Then think of him whose destiny.
Is dreary sad and dark,
ith but the star of memory.
My lonely path to mark.
If fortune e're again Should smile;
And happiness once more,
Resume its wonted throne awhile,
Then sorrow would be o'er,
Phi/ada. Sept. 1838
S EC 'l' TALL.
rot the Dublin University Magazine
(Tr; be continued)
THE DUEL•
It was just then that the gly said fash
°liable Mr. Leeson presented himself as
his rival. Ile was a young man of pol
ished exterior, and of prepossessing man
ners. And havingof course, tact enough
to conceal his real character, he was a
favourite with Mr Irving. Without much
difficulty he obtained that gentleman's
sanction for his addresses to his niece.
Mr. Irving was flattered by the prospect
of a coronet, and imagined that there
would be but little difficulty in procuring
Ellen's consent to become Lady -
Mrs. Irving did not t regard this matter
with the same composure as she had look
ed on the attentions of her nephew. Her
first wish was, 00 , her daughter's hus
band should be a religious character. She
telt! her 4rother-in-law, however, that she
had made rip her mind not to exercise any
undue influence over Ellen's choice; she
had grefit confidence, and justly so, in
the judgment and feeling of her child; and
if she thought she would 'be happy with
Mr. Leeson, she would give her full con
sent to her marline with hits.
. .
Leeson had been an open scoffer at re
ligion,
at Oxford he had narrowly escus
ped a heavy collegiate censure for his• da—
ring avowal of infidel opinions • With
wonderful tact, however, he now accom
modated himself to .feelings of those
,whom it wawhis object to conciliate. Ile
professed a deep respect forleligion; with
-great condone, however, he acknOwledg
ed that it hail hitherto occupied Iva little
of his attention. He assumed the atti
tude of an inquirer, and, if things must be
called by their right names,,he played the
part of the hypocrite most: admirably. On
Mrs. Irving he coin pl eteli imposed—on
her daughter p sand ly.
Ellen and Charles had .n.ver interchang
ed a word on the subject. if their mutual
attachment, and yet, in the,inmost reces
ses of their souls, each bed long retmi ,
ded the other as the object of a conscious
love. To Ellen's pure mind this feeling
carried with it all the sanctity ,ottt an en—
gagement: and, although •she could not
plead this in reply to her uncle's persua
sions to encourage the addresses of Mr.
Leeson, to her own heart it was in itself
,a safficient reason why she should refuse
ahem:
, .
Not that,she needed this motive to de
termine her. With that iututive percep
tion of her character which often seems an
: instinct of the female heart, she felt that
`there was an undefinable somethingabout
him which she could not ,like, and, with
all his winning manners, and even,his'ap
pearanee of regard for religion, she distrus
ted him. She feit, or fancied, her dislike
was an unreasonable, and; therefore, kri
unjust one,,and, therefore, she tried to
•overcome it, but in, vain; there arc un
taught and. unreasoning antipathies of the
heart, Avhich are under the guidance of
something ,higher than either reason or
experience:
•
Charles, however, could not See what
was passing in her mind. 'swam natural
that he should feel,a-jealoOsy of the ad
dresses.of one who had over hiinso much
advantage in external circumstances—in
all that men regarded as. calculated to
bribe the female heart into regard, - Born
of a family far higher than his circumstan
ces; Charles had all that . sensitiveness of
pride which such a position is calculated
to nurture, He dreaded the character of
an adventurer above all things. Had
Ellen been destitute of fortune lie would
long since have plighted to her words,
`those vows of constancy and love which
he had registered in his heart.
' such a disposition; the sensitive-
Hess OLWbibli was aggravated by a mor—
bid nervousness of temperament, the re
sult.of sleepless midnight hours, and in
tense applieation.to studdy, the presence
of a rival like Mr. Leeson * produced et-,
fects almost amounting to madness . . He
. flincie I that Ellen encouraged his addees
ses, perhaps because he thought it most
probable that any woman-Id her circum
stances would do so.. His pride .could
not bear the thought that ever he had of
fered the homage of his heart where it had
been rejected. He determioed to appear
indifferent—he rejoiced that never had a
distinct avowal of his affection passed his
lips. He resolved to make Ellen beliOe
that any past attenticins• had not beerilee
;ions upon his pert; he wished her to be
lieve that he Iliad trifled with her affec
tions, so false is .the . passion which men
call pride; he hid rather .that she should
have a just cause for. reproach, than an
unjust cause of triumph.
"ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY.'
A. W. BENEDICT PITBLASVIIIR AND PROPRIETOR.
lIUNTINGDON, PE . NI‘iSi(LVANIA, ViEDNESDA+, OCTOBER 24, 1838.
And he almost
. succeeded in convey'
ing to her the . impressioithe,desired, and
he made her miserable; his visits gradual
ly became fewer and fewer et the cottage'',
until even auot remarked to him that ,
, he was treglktful of his friends. ; .Oren'
PatiOn, and the necessity of intense study
flu nished,hini with an excuse.
In thetheantone her uncle, and even
her mother, urged •ti pon her the propriety
of receiving the attentions of M r. Leeson,
whicll,were so marked as no longer to , be
capable of being M . isunderscoißl. Mrs.
Irving had been imp . osed, on by the artful
ness of his hypocrisy; slip believed that
he was such a than as her fath:er 'would
have chosen for Ellen; and, while she was
not . altogeber dazzled by the worldly tul—
vantages of the match, so as to overlook
high consideratioons, she certainly did
feel proud of seeing her daughter occupy
that exalted station which she knew she
was qualified to adorn.
Poor Ellen,Was greatly perplexed; she
feared that Charles, if he had ever loved,
her, no longer regarded her with fee'ings
of atrertion. She could find no rational
grounds fot her dislike, or rather distrust
Of Mr. Leeson: but she felt that she could
not love him. Ilad ste been a girl of les s
high principles, she would not lon g hav e
hesitated; but she shrunk from solerhnl y
*kw , -
r ofat the alter of her God, the ten
de fe elings which her heart told her
rile could not fulfil ,
She told het feelings to her mother; Mrs
Irving was not altogether capable of un
derstanding their depth. .111 y child' she
said, 'ifyour he..rt tells yon that it wit
not go with the vows you make, let noth
iiig ever teroptyou to make them; but El
len my dear, do not tie led away by the
notions of a romantic attachment which
young people so ofton believe Should be
the foundatien of marriage.,' -EStiieiii, is'
the real source of the only loyd -that will I
last; it is almost in itself the love that a,
wife owes to her husba.nd. Do nor, Ellen
dear refuse a man . whom you esteem, be
cause you thi nOt-feef that wild girlish sea
timent which perhapi your education has
net fitted you to form; but consult your,
own heart, and pray to God to guide you
to what is right.' -
' The mother affectionately kissed her
child; Ellen made no reply. She might
have answered her mother's argument by
analyzing her feelings towards Mr.Leeson
and questioning whether the distrust she
felt for him was consistent with esteem.
Bat her own heart suggested a more suf
ficient reply; she hail but to compare her
sentiments towards hint .with those with
which she still regarded her cousin, to
know that she did not love hitt;
In sadness and sorrow she went out
alone to afavourite seat which overhung
the sea. I have been charged in these
tales, with forgetting that any . persons
wer to read them but those fainklar with
'the loealitiet Idscribed, aid that, presu
ming upon this acquaintance in my read
er, I have sometimes made my narrative
unintelligable to distant readers.: 'I ought
perhaps to plead guilty to the fault, but it
was a. , natural one; - hen L began to ,
write I scarcely acticipated that - my poor
memoradawould be read beyond the nar
row circle of those perrionally acquainted,
not only with the iecali:ies but the writer.
I have been agreeaffly surprtsed in flocking
that 1 ',have .readers who ,cnow nothing eel'
either. Thrl best that I can do to mani
test any feeling is to insert such explana
tions as may be necessary to enable them
to read qiy poor tales with whateVer lit
tle satisfaction their perusal is calculated
to afford. Those of my readers who do
aot require such explanations, can easily
-pasty them by. . • : .
For the behefit, theft of the unfortunate
readers who stray be so ignorant as to re
quire such information, I: may 'state that
Clontart is a little village on the sea-shore
lat the-distance of about two miles from
Dublin. The magnificent.bay spreads its
broad waters before it, far across them, on'
the opposite side l trose the romantic hills
1 of Killiney, and farther' still behind them
' the Witkloyr mountairre'repbse tepolf the
sky, the city itself lies to the westward,
like a German metaphysician, almost al
ways obscured in the dun atmosphere of
its own smoke; a little the north-ens: rises
the Hill of Howth, and far away to the
eastward you can discern nythingbut the
blue and apparently boundless bffloWs of
the Irish Channel; except indeed at even-
tide, when, like a solitary star on that
wild wrist of waters, you can see glim
mering afar off the lanthorn of the tight
ship., a vessel which is moored on a sand
bank many miles out at sea; bearing even
on the bosom of the perilous elementitself
or to sneak more correctly, of danger to
the mariner, presenting this really romans
tic oblpci; and performing these nnpprtant
services under the unromantic and unpre
tending designation of 'the Kish tight.' .
The residence to which Mrs. Irving
had retired, was situated on the sea-shore,
some little way farther down than the
1 4100 of Clontarf.- The grounds, confi.
. ... _ ....
ned as they were, reached down to the
beach. .•Stist on the smile rocks which
bteasted ltie billows of the deep. a rustic
had been constructed, so at to com
mand a view of all the scenery of the bay.
It was a favourite retreat of Ellen's; and,
in ker present frame of mind, there was
something attractive in its sequestered sit
uation.
It was almost the dusk of an autumn
evening; the clouds hung heavy in the ski'
land cast their dark shadows over the sea'
along which.the waves were running in
troubled anti irregular seccession. The
title was: near, its hight, and the spray was'
dashed high upon' the rocks. One or to o
lexies from the trees. which grew Awn. to
the water's edge, were now and then whir
led round and round in the eddies of the
rade ;blast. Ellen wrapped her cloak
closed ronnd her, as she walked rapidly
along the gravel walk. There was a mel
tencholy in the aspect of nature, suited to
the state oilier mind. She sat down on
the seat- and leaning her head on her hand
she looked Ovel , the sea, where the wind
was sweeping along - the waves. .
She hail sat for some time; the shadow
of clouds were getting darkel on the
waters, and the Kish light, shining dis
tinctly on the black horizon around. Ellen
was just thinking of returning home, when
ier attention was attracted by a female
figure that had been apparently making its
way along the rocks upon the sea shore,
and was moving up to the. cultivated
grounds about the cottage. The female
stopped, and looked earnestly at the cot.
tage„ for a few minutes, not man) r yards
from where Ellen sat; elle had, therefore,
concealel herself by the trelliced
that surrounded her, an, opportunity. il.l"
seanning the singular figure that presen
ted
The figure was tall, and;.eyen amid the
disfigurement of a large gray, cloak that
was wrapped around i her, sing,tdarlyjhand
• some. Ilia bead was fastened round
'with a red band, and a profusion .of the
moat luxurant black hair streamed half
way down the back, outside the cloak.
Iler feet and legs were quite barei the
elna
k .was manifestly intended • • for a
Shorter figure, and so indeed it appeared
alas the red petticoat which appeared :un—
der it, for the legs were uncovered nearly
to the knee, and 'the skin, vhich was of a
delicate whiteness, appeared torn by tram
Ides. Tier brMk was partly turned to-
wards Eilltn, so that she could n , t see the
faeeitoitthe form appeared to have her
finger in her mouth, and to be gazing in
tently nn the cottage,-end muttered to
herself. Ellen thought she distinguished
her (Ave-name:
'AT,' cried the figure in a louder th i ne,
'ay; little . she knows about him; little—
little—little—' The rest of the sen.
tence was 'ost in muttering.
The beating if Ellen's heart was so
loud ms Almost to preveift her froritilisten
ing; she caught by the trunk of the beech
tree which was close to her. •
'Little she knows; little—little;' again
resurnettthestianger, 'ma be, little she
cares that he has forsaken one, and made
the light heart a sad one;'' "again she ftli
into the lottinuttering:! Ellen could diS!!--
ting,uish nothing but. the word . ‘Gleuvaie,'
A mist came over her eyes She thoug,lit
she shoutd have fallen, Vizr mind in ,
stanCy reverted to Charles; ahe knew n6t
what to fear; a thousand thoughts were in
that moment.. Her ;agitation 'made her
s6ai to attract the notice'of her
mysterious visit•iit. • She turned round
with a glance of fire from eyes of the deep
est black. There Was' an expression of
wildness in the countenance. Ellen felt
as ifshe had !seep - the features before. 111-
deed; even through ita tiess; there 'Was
a beauty tha.tmatle it not easy to have
seen'and have forgotten. She rushed or
rather sprung, towards Ellen-=--Ay, then;
Miss Ellen, I'm glad--ight'd,..to•see you; it,
is I'm yen I'm looking; maybe, darlint, ,to
sate you from ttsore heart --a sore heart,
Miss Ellen, it's a sore thing. Maybe you
don't know;-- put your ha,nd here, Miss
'Ellen;' and the poor creature flung open
her bosom, and plaCed Ellen's hand upon
her heaft
'Miss Ellen, yob don't know. me,' she
continued looking up• earnesily in her
face, and la the earnest gaze Ellen recog
ni7etl a face which she had not seen tor
years. My ref.ders perhaps have before
this rocwinizeci Sally Browne. •
did not know you at fitst, Sally; 1
did not expect to see you here,' replied
Ellen, startled at the 'manner and appear
ance of het old friend; stilktuore startled
'at a thousands' terrible - •thoughts • . With
which her appearance was associated..
'No wonder,' replied thenthci; 'ttei
der. I'm not like what I was when •.I
used to catch the lambs for you at Gle . n.
vale. I used to be Might hearted. am
light headed now—my brain's not right
IS iss'Ellen dear'
It needed nut these wordy to assure
Ellen of the truth. The poor maniac put
her hand to her head and tapped several,
times With tier finger on her furenead,
"I might tap long. Miss Ellen," she
said; "but they're in it—whirling about
- , ay —ever since the day I saw them both
--the sod'wover them —and white daises
are on them—you know his hair was wh to
white, white, like the snow;" and she
walked away apparently forgetting her
companion altogether. .
Ellen recalled her with a. voice tre:n
bling with agitation, she raised its tone,
almost to a scream, before the other heard
it, she started.
"Whip?" says Sally, "oh, a , Miss El
len dear•" •
"Did you not say, Sally, you had some
thing to tell me," said Ellen, scarcely
knowing what she said.
'Oh. Miss Ellen," replied Sally, I
have to tell you--look at me clarlint;. you
wouldn't like to be like me —you ‘vouttln't
like to wander the world—you wouldn't .
Miss Ellen, dear; now take care, Miss'
!Ellen. don't trust him, he loved Me too." .
"Who?" interrupted Alen, in violent
emotion.
"Who?" exclaimed the other, looking
with a piercing stare into her. features,
are nut ymt to he Ids bride; won't he
make you a grand countess: didn't he
say it to me'Pl •
The maniac paused; Ellen breathed
freely. • •
"Ah, Miss Elleu, he will put diamond:
in your hair, but they will turn to serpent:
and they will get about her heart; so
don't take them: they're here;" and again
she bared her bosom and pointed to het
heart.
She sat down at Ellen's feet, and See
med more collected.
‘•l've wandered far to-day, Miss El
len, to tell you this story; and when I
did come I wandered in my mind, I can't
~thinly of any.thinis..." •
"How is your lather, Sally?" inquired
Ellen, hoping that the question might, re
call the scattered recollections of the
• poor creature.. •
• • :• •*:
She looked her face, and at
expression of deep meaning passed across
the wildness of her features; she. Clasped
her long,•latk hands; and her Only reply
was by a-troubledunoan. for some Minu
tes she continued this low and dismal
sound while she reeked herself backwards
and forwards with a motion that kept a
sort of time to her moans. ,•
She continued this motion foe sonic
time; at last she started to her feet. She
grasped her head wildly with her hands,
and then caught Ellen's with a violence
1 1 that made her shrink. A sudden fire
seemed to light up the maniac's eye.
"I...isten to roe, Miss Mew," she cried,
while her'svolee appeared to assurne'new
energy; "listen to mc, I must tell it; a
woman does not like to tell her shame;
'but the vow of the dead is wi t on me;" and.
las she continued to speak, tier breathing
rose higher and higher;"be warned, Miss
Ellen; it was Edward Leeson that made
me what I am; it was he that broke My'
father's heart; be warned . Misi Ellen. He
wants to 'marry your I know he does;
come; listen to Me;-there is nw one near
us, but them that you don't see;
.come,.
now, here give nie your solemn oath that
you'llnever tnaery him." She pansed . -1
atenaearthly fire lit up her eye...the squee..
Iced Ellen's wrist with a painful and con
vulsive 'grasp. "Swear it, swear it," she
repeated, wijh a violence that was becom
ing alarming, "as you would miss the
curse.---the curse,-the curse, Miss Ell en," ,
she . sereamed—'tthey're here. to curse;
you—do • you see . him-'-there; there
swear- r look tit him, he's beckoning toe—
Idly hair is all white—swear.".. Her .eye
balls were straining on some point by the
sea-side—a cold shudder passed over all
berJratne, while Ellen was literally coni
peltedjo give ;the 'required vow. The
manse became calm; "did you see him,
Miss Ellen," she said, in a low and fear
ful whisper, "my father—he was, there;
and she pointed in the dreetion in which
her eyes had . been - . previously directed.
saw him standing on that rock." • •
She paused for a long time, 'overcome
excitement;' she resumed; in a subdu
led tone, "Poor'old man—he was always
foe& of yea., Mics Ellen. • Do you re me in
beri long ago, when you were at Glenval;4
and we were both children; and I was
then the bonniest child in all the country
.except yourself; and-Master Charles us
ed
'•
tovex yoli;'isaying I had blacker eyes
than you, mid the old man would take •
you on his knee, when you Would begin
to look4lo - wncast, and tell
y ou thlt you
had the sweetest lace in all tne conntey
side; and that you would yet make a nice
Wife for Master 'Clinks—even in death
'he did not forget yon—you have all my
story, Miss Ellen . .darlint.,.My father
and my child are in one grave; his . white
hairs are in it; but
. When he .was cold un-,
der the sod he .caine to me in his• win
ding sheet, and he sent me to you; and I
have to tell you--lie—he--Miss Ellen—
be forsook me --Le left me to die by the
road side, if I choose, when my father put
me out; ny, and the old man's heart we, ,
broke, and he never locked up more.! bore
„
, •
[ VaL. IV,. No. 3.
it all until I saw him (lie —and my third;
too. I was with him when he died; I say,
him as the breath:went from him; and h,
Engay.c..me,.anc! he blessed me; ay, ant
he blessed the batty; but that, 81-;
len; went latest with him; but he ditibleso
it, mid he died; and I sat day and m g hff
beside•the corpse; I talked to it ell night;
they wanted me to quit it; :1:141 befune the;
morning light the child had gong. to him;
the dead man's blessings was 9n it; and
it took fits and died; then something pas
sed through my head; and from that non,
ning out---they sa v I'm mad; hurl saw .
him that's gone. tie Caine to At,: in his
white shroud; and laid. the vow upon nos
to Come
.to you, ate then I %VI s do-wan
der the wide world a desolate creature.
to gonear neither' kith. nor kin: to, diA -
grace thew: that w es wha the pa t upon nu ;
but maybe there's good for me in the next:
world, there's note in this; but Prelim),
one vow, and keep the other, thcog . ,
its a hard one. teoi. to be .desolate in thu
earth; desolate; desolate; desolater' a nit
repeating the.word with bitter enipha.4,,
she-turned to depart down towards the
sea.
•
It was now. .almost . dirk, and clic tide
had risen so high that there was no. pas
sage along the rocks, The mad girl stood
just upon the edv of the water: her darlu .
figure clearly discernible amid thii white
spray that was dashing round her... Look
Aliso Ellen," she . cried, "look," iiiktnting
out towards the light that glimmered on
the horrizon from the I,ight ship, "look;
il's all black but the ore star —alt, all,
• She stood fora moment gazing on thee
light; then turned rooms, having dr.coveN'
• ed that there* wag no egress by the way
I - she had- come. •
t Sae once more advanrel filorards
len: "Good by, Was Ellen;'if I liaias
said any thing queer don't be angry 'wills
-toe—remember my prior brain is turned
I've told' you all, • Miss Ellen; and keep.'
your promise, dartint, EA sometimes
think at of me;'maybe,- .liss Ellen," she.
added, doubtfully,- "you 'would some
times pray for me; pray that my wander
tog may short." She hesitated, as if .t
were almost impious in her to ask prayer'
fur the only ,blessing she seemed to re-,
gard as possible lor her.
• "The tide's fall in," she begun again;
and one might fall in along the rocks, bur.
I'll be watched; toy time's not all in yet;
wouldn't I make a pretty corpse, Miss El
len dear; it they found me with me long
hair all wet with the salt water."
They were startled by the sound of
Mrs. IrVing's. voice in gristle tones, ex
claiming, "Ellen, my love, wipe are y..a
' out selatef"
• Sally started; "I must be off," she Cried,:
wildly; "my bfiSiness was with you.".
Ellen almost mechanically held her.
"It is my mother,Sally— tell—tell her
—tell her 'all."
Mrs. Irving was now quite close to
them. 'She was surprised at the strange."
ness of the figure which she saw wildly
held by her daughter; she had no time, •
however, for inquiry. • The maniac sod- .
denly disengaged herself with violence
from the gentle grasp that had detained
her. bier eyes glared with fire; she rais
ed herself up with proud dignity to an
elevation that gave her tine figure a look
of commanding energy; and while she rai
sed•ber voice to a shriek, expressing the
:mingled emotions of terror and triumph
Ellen looked iu the direction to which'
her out-stretched arm pointed; there'
stood, motionless, and bt . eathless, Mr.'
Leeson; her uncle was following a tew pa
ces behind. •
There was, perhaps, fortunately for
till parties, little time for thought . or re
flection. The maniac moved towards the
object of her hate, as if she would have.
Scorched him with herjust indignation.
"Edward Leeson," she cried, "I have
. found you. Edward, do you know lie;
do you know the mother of tour. child?
When last you saw me you told me I
might go with it to hell; but it's in heaven
where you'll never be. Listen to me,
villiart; listen; the very dead have come
to warn Its about you; the blessed dead '
don't coins bac& for nothing. If there is'
a God in heaven, vengeance will overtake
you; you broke my father's heart; lot
- this lady ask what of the old sexton of
Glenvale; well she knew poor Sally when
she was a child; she would not knowher
now; but sun's Promised; and listen; the
curse of the • I;ght heart' that you have -
dodo heavy is with you wherever you,
v . ,' •
,
A wild ponl
. of laug h ter,' suc h es none'
but inaniaca laugh, t tis address, it
which no one had ventured to interrupt
her. She roshed down. •owlrds the sea,
and disappeared apparently into the
ware.•
"Good God shell be irriivned!" ex
cla'tne.i Mr. Irving, as he rushed to stop
her; hut her movement+ were too rapid;
4he had passed with' a light step along
rocks that seemed almost tmpassible; and