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MI Lettersand Communications addressed to the Editor by mail must be post-paid, or they will not be attended to THE GARLAND ; , • , • _ —"With sweetest flowervenrich'd , From various gardeaseull'd with care." o following effusion is from • little volume cu titled'%My early daps," by Walter Ferguson, Esq A ItIOTIIEft'S GIFT. Remember, love, who gave thee this, When 'other days shall come ; When she, who had the earliest kiss, Sleeps in her narrow home. Remember 'twits a mother gave J gift to one she'd die tcrsavo. That mother sought a pledge of love, Tho holiest for her sou; Anil from the gifts of God above., She chose a goodly one. She chose, for her beloved boy., The source of light, and life, and joy. And bade him keep the gift—that when The parting hour would come, They might have hope to meet again. In an eternal home. She said his faith in that would bo Sweet incense to her memory. And should the scoffer iu his pride, Langls that fond fai'h scorn, And bid him east the pledge aside, That he from youth had borne; She bade him pause, and ask his breast, If he, or' she, had loved him best. A parent's bbissinz on her eon, Goes with this holy thing; Tim love that would,retain the one •Must to the other cling. Remember! 'its no idle toy, A mother's gin remember, boy ! TO MOTHER IN IREA.VEN. "When such friends part, 'Tie tho survivor dies!—Young. " In his deep heart the memory of thy love Shall thence draw strength for all things " "Siege qf Valencia. No ! never more! Not in the mighty realms of human thought— Not in the kingdoms of the earth around— Not where the pleasures of the world are sought— Not where the sorrows of the earth are found! Nor on the borders of the great, deep sea— t:Ruth thou return again from heaven to me— No ! never more Not while the clouds are wafted by the breeze To deck the azure palace of the sky, Like ships of gold upon cerulean seas, Sailing in sunny multitudes on high. Greening the mountains with refreshing rain— Shalt thou return to this dark world again— No ! never more ! Not while the streams allows the mountain's elope, Like silvery serpents, through the flowery vales, As joyful us the heart when fug of hope, Shull trickle, yielding freshness to the gales From their own murmurings—shall thy spirit come To waft new pleasures to thy native home— No! nevermore! Not while the whirlwinds of immensity Shall muster up their giant waves of wrath, And on the floor of the illumined sea Write down their Orphic thunder—hymns of death; Not while Eternity shall roll his years, Shalt thou return to wipe away my tears— No! never snore ,Not while tho clouds that checker his dark course, Glinting the sunbeams, to the ICA are given; Not'when the voice of Ocean shall grow hoarse With telling of Time's centuries to heaven; Not while }he grandeur of that sea shalt roll, shalt thou return to comfort this sad soul— No never morn Not while the children of the Spring shall smile, And strew my path with flowers of every hue, Cooling the fever of toy heart the while With brimful goblets of nectarian dew; Not while the younglinge of her lap shall shine, shalt thou return to this dark home of mine— No! never more! Icot till ttio orange bowers that wooed us long, Where Love first haunted me in heavenly dreams; !!here Sorrow voiced itself away in song— , Pass away, with all their heavenly streams; • 'uc6 sad partings QU life's barren shore ~ anged tor tu2etiu3st that shall part no more— , No, never /owe; n shall onr never mores be made so sweet A• they are bitter now to this loud heart; And all out sorrow' when we there shall meet, Shall taro to pleasures which shall never part ; And never more to meet on earth be given For never mote to part again iu heaven— No—NavEn 4o,na ! SELECT TAME. Pt 0% the Ladies' Book. T Za' O 7 A. I\T : a 'l2 /A-6 Elc. DY BIDS. DIA DY H. PARSON'S Concluded. On the afternoon of that day, Clara left the house for a walk; sho kept the high road that led to the town for some time, as she was about turn ing off in a direction leading to the river, she saw Edward Morton rapidly advancing and signing for her to stop. "I am very glad I have overtaken you," he said as ho joined her; "you were walking so fast I was afraid you would not observe ine—by the way, I have brought your letters from the post office.— Old Peabody asked me if I was Coining this way. and would take charge of them there being one Mr. Malverton was expecting from India." "From India!" said Clare, and the colour fa ded away from her cheek and lip, giving to her features the hue of the grave. A shrewd reader of the human countenance was Ned Merton, and he knew by the face he looked upon, there was sore anguish, in, ilia heart. "It is no welcome letter this," he thought,'"yet why!" "Shall I give it into your charge!" ho said, "perhaps you would prefer it!" The colour rushed back to the face of Clara—ay, even to the very temples, Merton had aimed a random shot, he saw it told, arid with an impertinence very common to men of his class, ho ventured yet far. Cher--" Can I be of any use to you in the dispo sal of this letter! perhaps I had better walk on with it, and not trouble you to be-the bearer!" It was 'witlr.a bitter pang,Clara admitted-to her self, that Merton had divined her unxiety to pos sess the letter; to secure it was her determination at any risk. She extended her hand, "•I will take charge of this same weighty epistle, on which ire many words have been wasted; give it to me." "So i will," said Merton, "but let me under stand you right. Are you going to deliver it to your Whorl Believe me, Ido not ask from ex, riosity; I might inadvertently do mischief in con versation with Mr. Malvcrtoii." Clara could have crushed him beneath her foot; and it was only by a strong effort she could was ter her. voice sufficiently to answer, °Givo me the letter, sir—this is insolent!— My father's state, of health is too frail to admit of bis hearing agitated news; end if such there be in that letter he will not see it!" Merton 'was not to becleceived; ho hod known Clara foiyears, and ho knew her -conduct would have beentangli tier far, if she had felt herself free from all suspi cion. It was a desperate game; but Ned Merton was a man of desperate fortune. !.Permit trio to accompany you home," Imsaid respectfully; "we will then give the letter to Miss Everett—of course, the contents nearly con cern her; she will be the judge of the propriety of showing it to Mr. Mffiverton." Clara saw there was no alternative. °Give me the letter—keep it a profound secret, and you make me your friend forever."' °Enough, we - understand each other,"—and he surrendered it at once. Ho walked some distance with her, striving, by the respectful deference of his manner, and his insidious' flattery, to reconcile her to him and to herself. Once master of her se crets, and he resolved in duo time to make her his wife; or by exposing her character, bring shame upon her head, 'she would never endure. Ho little kxtew Clara hlidverton, or the towering pride of her tletertitired neture—she would have died, ere she would have given herself to poverty and Ned Morton. At the door Clara parted with Merton; her self-confidence teatored, and the guilty pangs in her bosom stilted, by the powerful opiates adniin', istered to her vanity. That evening Harry -§y denhain came over; he and Isabel were in anima ted conversation when Mrs. Mulverton entered the room, "How can you reconcile it to your senco of du ty, Miss Everett,' she asked scornfully, "to de sert your dear uncle! for really," she said, turn ing to Sydenham, "she shames vs all by her ex cessive devotion to Mr. Mulverton. However, I excuse her over anxiety, knowing the object she has in view." It was long since Isabel had recei ved any marks of affection (ruin her aunt, but she was quite unprepared for rebuke; she made an attempt to answer, but her heart was too deeply wounded; unable to command herself, she left the room. As she went out, Mrs. Malverton said, "The woman who would sacrifice her indepen• dente of mind, for the bread she oats, and the gar ments she wears, would sacrifice her integrity of character for as light a cause." ""Mumma!' mamma!" exclaimed Clara, "you are unkind! Poor Isabel! Consider how deso late, how dependant she is! You know how she dreads self•exertion; she has no one to look to but her uncle; blame her not if she is sometimes over anxious to secure his love!" "These are poor excuses," said Mrs. Malvorton, coldly, I cannot tolerate a woman, who will cringe to abject meanness, for the advancement of her in terests." "No more mamma! no more, I entreat!" Clara saw there had been enough said ft.e the present.— The face of Sydenharn was very pale, and his band trembled slightly as he passed it over his btow.— Had he heard aright! Isabel—so lofty and gen erous in her sentiments—was she accused of con duct so utterly contemptible! Never! he would not believe it! From his inmost soul he blessed Clara, for raising her voice in behalf of her absent cousin, and this feeling imparted a degree of warmth, and earnestness to hie manner she had never perceived before. Her heart bounded at the thought—‘sig, I was right; let his love cool to Isabel, and ho will turn to' e," and she felt al ready as though ono groat object had been gained. W hen Sydenham had thought over the events of,that night, the defehce of Clara pained Lim, far I more than the accusations of Mrs. Milverton. It sounded so strangely like the truth! He atrcrire to force back the dull, leaden, and heavy weight that was gathering over his heart; for ho felt that conviction of Isabel's unworthiness must unsettle his peace, His love had received a shock so rude, even yet ho could scarce comprehend it. No sue. picion of treachery ever crossed his mind; and through the wakeful hours of that night, he reeol vcd to watch, and judge for bicuscif. aa,owa - precasteina o atV2dz:/9-e.3.Z' bI).2 4, ;)ZTA:.t 9 ,1 ) 9 a Mono in her chamber was Clara Malverton; rapidly she paced the room, strong excitement yid. Ode in her flushed countenance. Suddenly she approached the table.-there lay the sealed letter from her uncle. Her eye rested long open the direction—to her father. Ilow did the avhito hairs of that old man rise up to reproach her!— Her heart was full of bitterness , "The daughter of my father she murmured, .should not do this unworthy am! but oh! I have none of his recti tude of character, his honour, or his truth—save me from myself!" and tLe big . tears chased each other down her cheek. She turned away from the tahle, and walked to the window. The moon was looking forth from her lofty dwelling-place, touching ail things with the spell of her soft and shadowy beauty. Within view stood the noble mansion of the Sydenhama, and their blond lands stretched farther than eye could scan. Clara look ed, and lo! Isabel Everett rose up before her, mks-, tress of that proud home, and wife to its lord.— Remorse fled, and the rigid and iron•like determi nation that steeled the heart of Clara to persevere till her end was accomplished. Reader—the first dark passion that entered the heart of Clara Malverton, was envy. Of all the passions that exist in the human mind, envy is the most debasing, the most demoralizing in its effects. Let it once acquire - a strong hold, it will stir up the evil inherent within, umil,like a stream that has burst its boundary, the mighty waters of crime will wash away every land mark of honour, virtue and truth! Ay—and wen thou fair, maid en, fair even as her who passed from under the hand of Almighty God, thy beauty would not protect thee from its desolating effects--line after line, it draws upon the brow of woman, despoiling her of that which constitutes her greatest charm —gentleness of expression. Believe it for thine own sake, fair reader—the eye grows cold with the heart—so God has willed it; mid man will not take to his bosom, in confidence and love, the wo man who bears this Cain like mark upon her fore head. Clara Malverton broke the seal, and read the letter.- She was alone, save the shroluw of the Omnipresent—silence. How terrible to the guil ty is profound stillness! For the first time in her life, Clara shuddered to look around; the cold arms of fear were Wed over het! with a mighty effort she broke the spell that chained her spirit; and ere she retired for the night, thought overher plans; and resolved energetically to pursue them. The system laid down try Clara was pursued by both mother and daughter. with a success that delighted them. So skillfully did they manage their game, that Sydenhem became convinced of [sabers unworthiness. she rarely attempted to answer the insolent language of Mrs. Malverton; until her uncle was well, She resoled to bear, and to bear silently. It would have broken that old man's heart, to have seen the child °This dead sis ter, go forth among strangers to earn her daily ~bread! At,d 'lsabel knew it, Nut fur any sacri- I Tice would she have pained the kindly bosom, that :tall Cherished her so tenderly! Well and trolly did that young girt bear on! But there was a yet heavy trial for that lone orphan: _e. change had come over Harry Sydenhani! He, to whom she had given the rich treasure of her young heart, seemed little to value the gift. So litter had been Sydunham's disappointnien!, that it imparted to his manner a degree of coldness, almost amount ing to asperity. Isabel knew no reason for this strange alteration •of conduct. Oh! how deeply and tritterly she felt it! Ofttitnes, when there was no - eye 'to see, save The U:-..resting, tears of an guish would moisten her pillow, and she would murmur, "How very, very desolate•tani!" The face of Isabel wore that touching expres sion of mournfulness, peculiar to the very young, when sorely smitten. She uttered no complaint; nay, sho strove earnestly to cheer the spirits of her uncle with some portion of the gentle gaiety that had once distinguished her. Every day his health improved; and Isabel in pursuance of a determi nation long since formed, ventured to hint to a very estimable friend of her uncle's her desire to obtain a situation as governess in some family of her acquaintance. This lady, u Mrs. Stanley, promised to make the necessary inquiries—men tioning at the same time, her own wish to procure an instructress in her family, but, having I spoken to a young friend of her own, she must await her answer, before she offered the situation to Miss Everett, The situation in Mrs. Stanley's family was so very desirable, that Isabel begged her to defer, making any inquiries, until it was ascertained what the answer of her young friend would be. To this Mrs. Stanley readily consen ted, for Isabel had *on her way to a heart, open and affectionate as her own. "And ill should bo so very fortunate, my dear Mrs. Stanley," said Isabel. in conclusion, "as to enter your family, would you make me tho propo sition as coming entirely, from yourself My un cle might think it so very strange that I should wish to leave him;" and Isabel coloured deeply,for she had no desire to make known her actual situ ation in her uncle's family. Mrs. Stanley who had long suspected the truth, consented to do sot and then she said, "Are you aware,my dear Miss Everett, that Mr. Malvertun's situation as regards pecuniary matters is a very doubtful one! Clara mentioned to nio that she believed her father's late attack, was almost whol ly owing to anxiety of mind, about some specula. lion in which he was deeply interested. I grieve to say that speculation- hta failed. Mr. Syden. ham advanced a very considerable sum to meet the demand, and the whole transaction has been kept secret from your uncle, until his health is suffi ciently restored to admit of his hearing it without danger. Under these circumstanced you cannot but feel your determination to seek support for yourself is a just one." Isabel heard with great astonishment, this dis closure of her uncle."a circumstances. And she rejoiced from her inmost heart, that she had not added to his anxiety by the recital of her own wrongs. A few day after this conversation, in the eve ning, as Isabel watched by her uncle's side, be fell quietly asleep. She left the room, closing the door softly behind her, the family were dining out, and, tearing no interruption, she sought the drawing room. Opening the piano, she ran her fingers over the keys, the /ow, soft tones of her voice min4led mourtluily with the tuusic. Au old and simple song it %Nos, that she loved fur he•r "FEARLESS AND FREE." rotdlter's sake. Ere she Was half through, mem ory of that ntotnt,'s tender love, contrasting with the cold heartednes s that surrounded her, swept o'er her spirit, bowing it like a frail flower before the tempest. It is sad to see the young so strick en, o glowing oil before their time !" Her sobs died away, and something like peace stole into her heart, for she felt assured that mother's bles sing was upon the faithful performance of her du ty to her uncle. Much earlier than they were expected, Mrs. Malverton and Clafs returned, accompanied by Sydenham. Every fact detailed by Mrs. Stanley to Isabel was known to both mother and daughter, and the anxiety of Mrs. Mulverton to secure Sy ' denhom for Ohm, had grown into a desire so in tense, that it blinded her judgment. Sho looked ' very angry at seeing Isabel in the drawing room, on their return ; it was unusual, as sho confined herself,very much to the sick room of her uncle. Mrs. Malverton could not avoid noticing the agi tatioo of Sydenham, who rarely saw Isabel of late: traces there were of suffering, of recent tears, that made his heart ache to behold. "And yet she will bear all this," he thought, "rather than se cure by exertion her own independence!" I need not ask if your uncle is asleep," said Mrs. Malvertan; "your being here, is all sufficient cadence that ho has not the use of his eyes, to note your dutiful and affectionate behavior!" "Dear mamma!" exclaimed Clara, deprecating ly, "any not Isabel be weary of the sick room as well re; the rest of ma" Mrs. lilalverton took no notice of tho interrup tion, neither did rho notice the flashing eye of Sydenhatn; but she went on, with even more than her wonted severity, to wound the feelings of Isabel. "Yea' premised to remain with Mr. Malverton, or I shoUld not have left him. Will you allow me to ask, Miss Everett why you are here?" Isabel was tried Coo far, she lost all control over her feelings; almost with a cry of anguish she ex claimed, weep!—yea! to weep the bitter tears of humiliation, wrung from the heart of a motherless child—:uin 1 here! Shame on the heads of those who have so cruelly used ate!" and the bitter tears streamed over her flee as she hurried from the room. .tihe ranched her own chambet. lucked herself-in. clasping her hands together, she sank down - , and in tones of anguish cried unto her mother: "My mother! you are in heaven, but you will not desert pie! slow could such love us yours pass a way! Look upon me, mother, I hallo no friend hut yeti!" she was silent for a time, and then she murmured, "Before him to bo so scorned, so insulted! Aunt--my aunt!" and Isabel shuddere,! at the dark thoughts rising within her. Then that low,iweet voice ruse up to the orphan's Father! in earnest and supplicating prayer. Few ever prayed. as Isabel did, when the shadow of evil thoughts.l4 heavy upnn her soul, and found their prayer unanswered! It was un hour that tried her faith, hut strength was given her "till the evil days pass." Mrs. Malverton Was confounded at the unex ' pected burst of feeling that escaped from Isabel; to cover her own confoGion, and leave the matter in ak!cr hauls, she instantly left the room. 'Sydenham crossed cWer.to where Clara was sit ling, in tones that betokened the deepest distress he exclaimed: .4 cannot be deceived: in her voice there was hopeless misery—Clara, the heart of that young girl is breaking!" Halt kindly, half pityingly, Clara's oyo dwelt upon Sy ilcniimmand then in the familiar language of past time she addressed him: ...Sit down beside me, Harry Sydenham! I can not bear you should waste so much feeling upon one no utterly unworthy—listen, and then judge if Isabel Everett be worthy of commiseration.— This morning, in crossing the hall, I met a servant Of Mrs. Stanley's with a nom directed to Miss Evereth As I was going to my father's room, I offered to take it. Isabel perused it, and without a word of comment, gave it into the hands of her wide. It was an offer of the situation of govern ess in Mr. Stanley's family. I am certain my father would have felt it a relief to much anxiety ho suite-s on Isabel's account, had she closed with an offer in every way so unexcentionable. After reading the note he remained silent, Isabel saw at a glance his feelings, and with tears she ex claimed, ""Do eat give me up tr the cold charity.of sti•nng cre my dear uncle! I hove no friend but you—du not desert me!' "You know my father—he promised her that protection, that will never foil while ho lives.— And now, Mr. Sydenhatn, after hearing this ac count, can you believe that Isabel suffers deeply! It grieves me to see the dislike my mother exhils. its towards her; but I could not ask her to love one, whose fondness fur the good things of this life gives her strength to endure ignominy and insult." Sydenbam made no reply: angry as ho was at Isabel, the tones of her voice were over sounding in his ear. Oh! how ho wished to •take her to his inmost heart and shield her from every ill.— Clara saw that LIN° had not produced the intended effect, but shn thought, and rightly, that his exci ted feelings blinded his judgment. lie soon rose to go. "It is scarcely necessary, Mr. Sydenham," said Clare, "to caution you as to keeping this matter secret. You wilt understand it is a family affair." Well might she caution him I She bad in. decd met the servant, and taken the note addres sed to Isabel, had opened it, and saw at once the ruin it would bring upon her schemes. She told the servant, who had waited fur an answer, that Miss Everett desired her to say, oa communica tion of that kind from Mrs. Stanley required no answer." She felt her situation a perilous one, but she had gofie too fur to recede. She hasped Mrs. Stanley would take olfunce ut the message, and never renew the subject. The morrow came, and Isabel 'Everett rose up with a heavy heart. She raised the chamber win dow. It was a glorious autumnal morning ; the sun shone with a hazy and shaded light, peculiar to the season of Indian bummer, Thu sir was yery mild—soft anti balmy it touched her cheeks, like the south N't Did of I.arly rummer. It soutMa the weary-lie ,Ited to hold communion oith na ture, to upon her :dici:t and everlasting rc pose—the far ofT mountains are tho same, yester day, to-day, and tomorrow ; they arc surety that in our Creator there is no change. Full of con solation to Isabel was that thought ; and then, as ofttimes it had cheered her before, came the con sciousness of duty well performed. Peace was in her heart, and its sweet expression was upon her face. She sought the chamber of her uncle. "Bless thee, Isabel, my child," he said fondly, "you are over the Gra to bid your old uncle good morrow ! lam better, Isabel, so much better that we will visit our friends the Stanley's, for I ani going to ride out, and you niust accompsny me." Isabel joyfully consented. When they reach ed Mrs. Stanley's, Isabel was struck with some thing very like coldness in that lady's reception of her ; there was a total absence of the cordiality end kindness, with which she 'had ever before welcomed her. Observing her uncle much enga ged with Mrs. Stanley, she ventured to ask •cif Mrs. Stanley had heard from her young friend 1" Mrs. Stanley regarded Isabel in surprise and displeasure, as she answered, "You must have known I did, Miss Everett, from the communica tion I made you." "This is very strange,' i said Isabel, "I never received :my communication from you, whatever." Mrs. Stanley looked for a single instant upon the face of Isabel, and was convinced ; she held out her hand. "I see, my dear, there was a mistake ; you will excuse my hastiness." Isabel warmly returned the pressure, while she waited with impatience to hear more. Smiling upon her, Mrs. Stanley drew her hand within her arm. • '.Yon must come with me, Miss Everett, to see my little girls ; l am sure Mr. Malverton will ex cuse tic for a few moments." Mr. Malverton shook his head smilingly. cannot excuse a long absence of my gentle nurse ; in very truth ; but fur her tenderness and Care aline, I should not have been hero to-day." I can Well believe your praise of Isabel's BUM.. Mg, having witnessed some of it myself," replied Mrs. Stanley au they left the room. When they reached the nursery, Mts. Stanley rang for the servant who had been the bearer of her note to Miss Everett- Be gave‘aii exact ac count of al! that had occurred. Mrs. Stanley then dismissed hint; and turning to Ifialtel said : do not understand the motive that has indu cod Miss Malverton to be guilty of such dishono• rabbi conduct she would alienate your hest friends from you, and the sootier you are from un- . , der her roof, the sooner your happiness will be secured. Will you, then, my dear Miss Everett, assist me in the charge of these little girls !" .4 shalt be most happy to do so !:" exclaimed Isabel. "Oh ! you know nut what a sacrifice I would make to secure an honorable inderen. denco. I will ask my uncle's permission -1 must expect opposition, but it is due to myself now to make an exertion fur my own support. But oh ! Mrs. Stanley, if my uncle should insist upon knowing my true reason for leaving his house_ what can I say ?" "The truth !" said Mrs. Stanley, sternly ;°Cla ra Malverton has brought shame upon leer own head l" Ah !" thought Isabel, "but thy uncle Vvi . ll feel it most." She said no more ; and they joined Mr. MalVerton, and, shortly after, left. Isabel had not in a long time seen her uncle so cheer= ful. As the carriage approached their home, thoy met Ned Merton. Mr. Malverton stopped the carrioge to speak to him ; Gut the beau seemed discomposed and out of humor, and passed on with a very slight salutation. "Very odd !" said Mr. Malverton, "and very unlike Ned, it must be confessed." When the carriage drove to the door, Clara was upoh the steps equipped for walking. Her father asked her what ailed Merton, as it was the first time he had ever seen a frown upon his smooth forehead ; and then ho laughingly related their encounter; Clara was evidently agitated, but she said abruptly to her father, "YOu are ex posing yourself in a most needless manner ; I would advise your going in immediately." f.So I am," was the reply ; but Isabel would have told me far more tenderly !" They , walked into the house ; at his door Isabel said, "This morning's ride will fatigue you ; if you feel quite rested this afternoon, will you give me half an hour's time, this evening when tea is o. ver "Halt a dozen, if you wish, my dear girl ; and now I will release you from such close attendance upon your old uncle." When Isabel turned a way from that kindly and happy smile, she felt her bosom glow with the consciousness that alto had been instrumental in causing it. From the day Clara had boon compelled to be. stow some portion of her confidence upon Merton, he had boon a narrow observer of her conduct._ And ho knew almost as well as herself the secret feelings that actuated her ; yet - he strove in vain to win from her own lips a confession of the whole or a pert. She turned a deaf ear to every hint, and never in the most distant manner allu ded to the letter, or what she had done with it. Angry creditors were at Merton's door at all hour:: of the day—he had far overrun his limited in.. come—he had every thing to gain, nothing to lose." Leave the country he must if unsuccess ful ; what !natty then how much ho offended Clara ? On the morning of Mr. Malverton'srido to Mr. Stanley's, be called upon Clara, resolving to invite her to walk out, that ho might have an opportunity of conversing with her without inter ruption. lie found her quite alone ; she men tioned that her mother had gone that morning to spend some days with a friend. Never had Mer ton exerted himself so mucli.to please, and Clara listened with a gracious ear to the glittering com pliments offered up as en incense to her vanity.— Murton saw the favorable impression he had made, and .ho ventured yet farther—to woo her for his wife. That was, quite a different affair—. the pleatied smile upon the lip faded. away, awl the corners of the mouth curved down ; giving to her countenance an expression of haughtiness lit tle favordolo to the lover's hopes. It was no trio anent to hesitate, and.althougla Clara closed tht; refusal in honied words, it was a moat unequivo cal refusal of his suit. Merton, maddened by the disappoii;ttoctit, aad dreadit to face his hungry creditor), threatened her with exposure—that he would ioetray her to 5 , . - ‘l,snitant, And then did G..::: PL717.7311.17P5, Editors [WHOM , : NO. 499. he pour out his knowledge of all her secret plane, taunting her with her unavailing elThrts to win the love of Harry. "Can you bear this expo. sure 7" he said, his whole manner changing sud denly. "No, you cannot. Bo my wife, and you shall never have cause to complain of the devo tion of your husband." "I cannot ho your wife ; I would be willing to be your friend," she answered. Again Merton urged her ; he painted in colors.that chilled the blood in her veins, the consequences of her refu sal ; but she struggled with the fear that possessed her, and again sho said : "Do not urge me, you know me not ! -I will not be your wire; and I know . 71014 too well, to think you would make an unworthy use of thu secret you possess." "Ha, ha, ha !" laughed Merton, "you know me, do you I my proud madam I then you knew a man as reckless of consequences, and unprincipled at yourself;" and so he left her. Clara, equipped for walking, encountered her father ; and her hardly acquired composure nearly gave way be. fore his recital of the meeting with Ned. 'rho fresh air did not restore her spirits as she hoped'it would. All that weary day, her mind was bar.. rusted and agitated. As it drew to a close, she could no longer bear to sit with her father and Isabel, lest her unwonted manner should attract attention. She sought her own room. "If he should tell Harry !" tho color left hoe cheek and brow; and her daik eyes actually dila ted with the agony of the thought. 4.0 h ! God, if he should tell Harty i" ahe clasped her henOs tightly together, while her lips closed like a vice ; and thus she sat', that fair girl, in the summer limo of her youth GuilL was in her, heart, and despair. lienuty was gone from her countenance —peace from her bosom—for her there was no solitude! The - void around was peopled , with the world of her imagination; and when conscience has filled that world with forms that mate tho blood to creep. and grow icy in the "Veins, 'then is a mental hell begun on earth. ,Dark thoughts, undefined and shadowy, cramped tho heart of Clara. Expueure, slnire, alienation from her fa. ther, stared her in the face. Well did she know that father that he would never take . to his heart and cherish there a child whose conduct had been so dishonorable arid base. And yet, upon the head of that father there was condemnation : his child had been given him to train up in the way she should go." The right principles of action were not instilled into her mind. She was told not to lie ; but the strong band of parental autho rity had not broken a vice which svernsinherent in the minds of the very young. Full scope had been given to the indulgence of her vanity i by a frivolous and worldly. mother. Could it'be ex pected when the test came, she could bear it N.) 1. Principles such as also pessessed, like the t 1 moors upon lEintes side, are sarn buried beneath the burning lava of envy, and hate ! • A, It was on the evening of the same day be had been refused, Ned Merton rlrova up to a small country inn, about three miles from the place of Clara's residence. It was kept by one of the old est inhabitants of the country ; a man respected. fa his honesty and integrity of character. When Merton entered, he found him in conversation with a man, quite a stranger to him, but whose striking featul.es and lofty bearing aroused his Cu riosity. He questioned the landlord as to who he was t tho answer seemed greatly to excite him. He paced the room for some minutes apparently in earnest cogitation ; then advancing, he addrea. sed the stranger respectfully, and entered into conversation with him. It was long and absorb. ing*; when over ; stranger rose, and inquired if his horse was ready, (it being in consequence of an accident to the animal ho had stopped.) He drew a cloak around him, although the evening was.unusually mild, mounted and rude off. Half all hour's Limo brought Min to Sydenham s. 110 dismounted, !listening the horse himself, and with the step of ono to whom the scene was familiar, left the house. Lamps were lighted, tho firo burned brightly upon the hearth, hooks were up on the table, and materials fur writing ; but the young master of that mansion, half eitung, half reclining upon the pole, bore net the countenance of a happy or oceupicd mind. He was in the mood that likes not to be distutbcd, and he turn ed half angrily as the deor cloned, and the strati. ger entered. Sydenham rose from his seat, ga zing in surprise at the immovable form before• him ; rind he asked coldly and haughtily, nWhor it was ho had the honor of receiving 1" Yet, o ven as he spoke, he felt regret for his ungracious behaviors. Who was ho 1 That stranger with the lofty and eagle glance—with the ample and intellectual forehead, where thought had garnered the rich stores of a life-time—the thin pale lips that looked like carving upon marble—but around which• hovered on expression like woman's when her youth is crowned with beauty ! In low, cleat, silver tones, slightly tremulous from emotion, the stranger said : "Your father would not have wel comed thus his earliest and oldest friend. Boy-- I am Richard Malverton !" Harry clasped the hand held out to Lim between his own, while his countenanco testified strong e. motion, es he bade him welcome again to his na. Live land '•Thou art vary liko thy father," was the an swer ; "anti I will love thee, Harry Bydenham, for that father's sake. •But I came here to-night upon business!. Tha• old landlord at the inn recogniied me ; upon bear— ing my name, a man. accosted me, saying that hw. was about to leave the country, and he believed• Providence had thrown me inlis way, that he might bring the hand of justice upon the heads of the guilty. A strange story he told me, Harr* Sycicuham ; and bade MO come to you as.a witness to its truth. •Go to him,' he said, 'he has been there day ho has seen—be has heard—ask if these ',bingo are true !' I have come, limy Sp. (Lnhem--new listen Ilene& had told all ; the secretion of the letter,. the attempt to embitter the mind of Sydennam a gainst Label - the foul wrong heaped upon the head of Isabel to loWer her in his esteem—and, itf conclusion, be had declared his belief, 'that Isabet had borne all patiently, rather than distress her uncle by seeking the moans of support' Wor4 for word, Richard Iblalverton detailed the whole, story. Marry, Sydenimur, the agony of that hone might live cxeukti, a heavier fault than thin•!—. Aye—he saw it all now- - -1111 why Ilea he no. + -
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