racter, the peace of mind, the quiet of conscience, | perish. Why pause in the path of ruin? It led even the favor of Heaven, which make a part of not to death more surely than every other path your stakes at the gaming-table!" that mortals tread !" I wrung my hands-I weptI writhed in agony, as if my step had been, even then, upon the brink of the abyss that yawns for all!

"This from you, Lucy!" I uttered with emotion. "Pardon me, if I have pained you. That I never designed. I fear, indeed," added Lucy, with much sweetness, "I fear that I shall not make you comprehend the motive of deep affection which has led me to this communication-I assure you it has been an effort which nothing but the consideration of your peace, in life and in death, has enabled me to make."

In death! How my blood curdled.

Worn out at length by the violence of my emotions, I sat down at the foot of a tree, and leaned against its trunk. Autumn had again set in, but it was early autumn. The sky still bore upon its horizon the flash of Summer-there trembled the early and dewy stars, and the serene influences of Nature were here-even upon the outskirts of a city. To whom has her utterance ever been in "Never speak to me again of this, Lucy," I vain? By what heart has her soothing ever been cried. "Any thing-any thing else;" and as I found powerless? Who is there, that, even amidst said this, I caught up my hat, and hastily left the death and grief, has not felt the all-quieting "dew room and the house not for the faro-table. No! of her blessing?" It fell upon even my worn and upon this night, I roamed into the green fields to tortured heart. Some soft association with the which my feet had of late been strangers! I com- autumn when I had first beheld Lucy, stole into muned once more with my own heart; I deplored my musings, and calm came with it. I recurred to its weakness; I recalled, with bitter penitence, the those days of hope, and to all their gifts of enjoyevents of the last few months; I wept; I tore my ment. I thought of the woods and romantic paths hair! In the ignorance and anguish of my heart, I around the willows, in which we then had wanasked why I had been created?-why I had been dered together, full of soft and winning thoughts, predestined to misery ?-what evil had I done, that that made life beautiful-even for me. A heavy I should be elected to suffer more than other men? sigh marked my sense of the present contrast, but They too were creatures of the dust, beings fated I still dwelt upon the past. I thought of Lucy's to death, but they lived in illusion which I could patient well-doing then-of my pity for her—of my never know!-they smiled, and hoped, and labored resolution to take her from the Pleydells, into a for the objects of hope, in the midst of that decay, home where she should never know sorrow. How in which they must at last be involved! But to me had I fulfilled these disinterested resolves? She was this dread consciousness reserved!-to me it was now unhappy, feeble in health, and in want— was decreed that my life should rest upon the con- and I! oh! had I done aught to sustain her in fines of death!-to me it was given to wander these circumstances? I remembered all her love, through the paths of existence, and to find, whith- and gentleness, and goodness; and then it was, that ersoever I might turn, that Peace and Rest forever some better angel seemed to inspire me-then it fled my approach! In such ravings I exhausted was that my wavering purposes became fixed, and myself. As I grew more calm, I turned to my I vowed that whatever might be our allotment present situation. I knew that I had risked and from the hand of Heaven, no act of mine should lost sums which were necessary to the preserva- ever again distress her. I would shut my eyes tion of my credit, nay almost of my character. I against misfortune, and acting out the duties of was thoroughly aroused. I saw the hideous reali- my station with manly constancy, at least guard ties before me. I had almost beggared my wife myself against the future gnawings of bitter selfand child. I had plunged into a madness which reproach. Quieted by this determination, I arose, was likely to become my ruin. I had done worse, and returned home. I went at once to Lucy, and I had grieved the kind heart which loved me best filled her soft heart with gratitude to me and to on earth, and reduced the comforts of my impover- Heaven, by repeating to her my resolution. I exished home, and of the two beings to whom my plained to her fully the state of my affairs, and it love and protection should have been forever con- was decided that I should seek employment in secrated. All this stared me in the face. And some mercantile house, if, as Alfred's letters my child! Unless I could put off this miserable seemed to threaten, our whole property should be weakness, unless I could manfully exert my facul- ultimately lost: and that, in the meantime, by a ties to some profitable and honorable purpose, he further effort at self-denial at home, we should at must grow into manhood without the education least endeavor to maintain our honor and indepenwhich alone could secure to him the respect of his dence, however we might, to promote that object, equals. Hours passed in wretched fluctuations of relinquish comfort. And now I thought of the sums thought, yet I resolved on nothing for to what I had lost at faro; and foresaw in the future privaever pursuit I turned, my agitated mind recalled at tions of Lucy, additional motives to regret the past. once its black and sole event. "Death must Will it be believed that within one week I was come, and my exertions and their fruits must again at the faro-bank? Yet it was so. It is per

:

haps impossible that a weak mind, passing over | casional use of an open carriage. That evening a the intermediate steps by which it has descended bill was presented me by an urgent creditor. I into vice, should at once spring back to the point took out my purse. Its scanty contents were inwhence it set out—to its original earnestness of sufficient to satisfy the demand, and, as I held purpose, and steadiness of virtue. No trial, no them in my hand, I stood considering the ways punishment, no reflections, can give sudden firm-and means. A chance which had before someness to an unstable character. Repentance itself times aided me, flashed upon my memory. can only point the slow and painful ascent, upon which Weakness is continually sliding back. This at least is the sum of my experience. No one had ever impressed upon my mind the immutable The thought haunted me all day. Next morning nature of Right. What marvel, therefore, if the bill must, if possible, be paid. That evening I I easily and unresistingly took up the yoke of resolved to make a last attempt-if it were sucWrong! cessful, it should be indeed my last attempt-to repair my former losses, and to supply, by gaming, my present necessity.

"One lucky hit at faro," whispered my evil genius, "and I might pay this debt, and have something left."

Employment might perhaps have done much to save me. But I had nothing to do. In the commencement of my career, I had carved out for my- I hurried to the scene of former weakness. I self no settled occupation. I had limited my pur-risked one-half of the money that remained to meposes of industry to study, and the refinements of I won-I staked my winnings. Again, again, life. My brother, it is true, was at the head of a again I won, and when at last I quitted the table, large commercial house, but I had never taken it was with a well-filled pocket-book. Elated by part in his business. I had lent him my money-success, I met and paid my creditor, and it was not that was all. This house was now, in the absence the least massive link in the chain which now again of Alfred, under the control of a partner, who enthralled me, that my winnings for some time sufknew enough of my habits to determine him against ficed to increase the comfort of poor Lucy. I now trusting me. He discouraged my application for endeavored to keep her in ignorance of my relapse a share in the labors of the concern, merely reply-into this apparently incurable habit. Yet I suffering, that they were "already within the power of ed cruelly, for I felt that I was unworthily practisthe assistants at present with him ;--they had less ing upon Lucy's easy faith. "But then her health; to do than they ought to have, and if they were she was now so weak—I dared not agitate her helped, they would absolutely play. When Mr. needlessly." As for abstaining from play, I had Alfred Worthingham should return, something could not fortitude. be settled. He really could not see what could I gamed on, and again I lost, and lost, and again be done." Now, then, I was thrown back upon I stood upon the verge of ruin. I knew not when myself; and having nothing to do but to torment my house and its contents might be sold, for they myself, I was once more abandoned to the power were in the power of persons who had advanced of an imagination, unregulated by holy teachings. me sums upon them. The truth is, that these perFor two or three days I staid much at home, tried sons were gentlemen, who shared the general resto occupy myself with books, and in whatever pect and sympathy for Lucy, and this fact alone amusements I could devise. Lucy's spirits seemed prevented the misfortune. And now the weight of to revive; but now that I spent the mornings my folly began to bear heavily upon her fate. within-doors, I perceived that she was greatly en- Every day she underwent privations unfit for one feebled, and that, during the greater part of the whose health was failing. Every day she made day, her strength was unequal to her self-imposed exertions beyond her strength, to supply our fastduties. In the evening, fever flushed her cheek, increasing wants. And my little boy-even he and supplied to her frame a transient and unnatural wore a saddened aspect, upon which I could not vigor. Alarmed at these symptoms, I called in a bear to look. He was now more than two years physician. He asked a few questions, and heard old, and of course of an age to feel the influences the responses of Lucy with the unmoved counte- of kindred faces. Unfortunate child! no face nance of one accustomed to illness and death. He smiled upon him now, except that of his tender and ordered exercise and some slight remedies, and I patient mother, and her smile was more melancholy imagined that he thought but lightly of her indis- than tears had seemed. It told of resignation, not position; I could not ask his opinion of her case. of joy, and was too faint to cherish infant mirth. If there were danger, I could not bear to know it. The child looked listless and dispirited. But as he had prescribed exercise, I insisted had time to share his sports-no one, in our impovupon taking Lucy to walk the very next day. erished household, had time to make him happy in Her fatigue and exhaustion deterred me from a any of those simple methods, through which haprepetition of the experiment. I was shocked to piness at his age is so easily communicable. He find her so feeble, and resolved immediately, how-was a beautiful little creature, and now even his ever limited my means, to procure for her the oc- beauty seemed to heighten the forlornness of his

No one

air, as I often saw him sitting alone upon the door-treasures of earth! How could it at once take in step, in some old faded garment-the relic of a bet-the idea of your death-of our separation-and of ter time, and drawn perhaps from Lucy's own bliss beyond it?" wardrobe, and by her hands adapted to his finely Something like this I said, and then I burst into moulded form. a passion of grief, and declared that "I could not Things seemed now to be drawing to a conclu-give her up-that I would hear of nothing but her sion. At least I knew not how to avoid the con-recovery-that sad as had been my fate-even summation of seeing my helpless family turned out with her-I could not believe that Heaven would of our present dwelling, without the means of se-heap upon it the added desolation of life without curing shelter from the approaching winter. I her." wondered at the forbearance of my creditors, as day after day elapsed, and no step was taken that could affect our quiet. I now remained with Lucy nearly all day, endeavoring to assist her in bearing the burden of poverty as best I might. I nursed her with the poor skill that affection only could impart to me. My visits to the gaming-table were now confined to the hours of the evening, when Lucy, exhausted by the day's fatigues, usually slept, and when I could leave her in the care of our only servant-a young girl, upon whose attachment to her I could entirely rely.

One evening the poor invalid had seemed uncommonly feverish and restless. She was lying upon a low couch, and beside her, upon the floor, sat the child, listlessly turning over the pages of a book of gaudy prints, which somebody had given him. A long silence, during which I had vainly hoped that Lucy would sleep, was at last broken by her saying

"I think painfully of you now, Henry-of you and of my child."

"No! but the blessing of everlasting life together!"

I wrung my hands.

in

Lucy," I cried, "it is useless-it is cruel to speak to me of these things now. If you are danger, I have no thought for any thing else. But you are not, you shall not be in danger! You are not well-your spirits are depressed—but ob! you are not in danger!"

66

Depressed!" repeated Lucy-" if it were not for you, and for my boy, I should now be happier than I have been for many months."

"Happy! And you speak of separation!" My heart was full as I spoke.

“I am human still," answered Lucy. “To leave you will be my last pang. But my prayers will be heard. The very event you deprecate, will rouse you to a sense of better things. In this confidence I am happy."

"Never-never-never! Without you, no good can reach me! But why harrow my heart with these dreadful forebodings? I will not—I will not "And why?" said I, starting with mingled sur- hear them! Speak of something else. It is more prise and alarm.

"Because the day is near when I must leave you both!"

Something like a cry escaped my lips, and I held up my hands to beseech her forbearance.

than I can bear!"

Lucy sighed deeply.

"I feared it would be thus," she said, as if speaking to herself. "I must write. A last effort, but the most effectual!" She turned away her "The time for delusion is past," said Lucy, qui- face, and was silent. In another half hour, her etly. “My health is utterly gone. I am slowly quick and difficult respiration told me that she dying even now; and it is the worst pang I shall slept. This evening I did not leave her. I took know in the last hour of human agony, that I must my poor neglected child into my arms, and pillowleave you comfortless, and this poor little child ing his head upon my shoulder, suffered him too to without my care." As she spoke, she laid her fall asleep. Twilight grew dusky in the noiseless small hand, now wasted and feeble, upon the soft room. Perhaps at that hour there was not in the curls of her darling's head, and unconscious of the wide world a watcher so miserable as myself! I melancholy meaning of that caress, he looked up to have since been far more miserable! her face and smiled. The next morning I was obliged to go out for I know not in what wild language I implored several hours. Business that could not be postthat Lucy would spare me-that she would not poned-business relating to my declining fortunes: drive me to distraction. no effort of hope, but a tribute to honesty, was my "The evil we must meet-if indeed it be an incitement to leave Lucy now. Some difficulties evil-Henry. It rests with ourselves to turn it delayed my return home until near one o'clock. into good. Do not give way to that terrible sor- When at last I re-entered my house, I found the row. I can better bear any thing else. Give me servant about to take my little boy to walk. Saryour hand, Henry—we have loved each other truly prised at this unusual indulgence, I asked the reain this world. Why should not this steadfast affec-son.

tion continue above-'eternal in the heavens ?'" “Mr. Lyne is with my mistress, sir, in the “But oh! Lucy, my soul was devoted to this drawing-room, and she bade me take little Henry world, and to you to you, beyond all the other out to walk."

"Mr. Lyne!" The name pierced through my ish. She still endeavored to discharge her househeart like an arrow. He was the clergyman upon hold duties, and, in spite of illness and poverty, whose ministry Lucy had always attended-one of the best of human beings, and one who had been to her a true friend in many trials. Not that he would ever have sought to know, or Lucy to confide to him, any of the particulars of our unhappy fortunes. He knew, however, that a sad reverse of condition had been our lot, and he had delicately, but effectually, endeavored to support her hope that good might be extracted from the evil-and though he could not make my Lucy purer or holier than she was, he had assisted her to bear her trials with more fortitude, by kindness unfailing, and counsel the most judicious. He was now with her. Why? I asked the servant "if he had been sent for ?" "Yes, sir, about an hour ago."

her habits of method still governed our domestic arrangements, and kept up their perfect order. And now, as the nights grew longer, she found time for reading, when the exactions of the day were over, and whilst she lay upon a low couch, beside which burned her lamp. It was thus that I usually found her, upon my return, as she now imagined, from my brother's counting-house. I had accustomed myself to call there frequently to hear the news of Alfred. One evening, after the lapse of several days, during which Lucy had been suffering more than usual, and in which I had not left her, I stole a few minutes from attendance on her to visit the counting-house once more. My anxiety for intelligence was now painfully intense, for my slender means were failing, and I could no longer disguise the danger of Lucy, or the nature of her

I felt that Lucy's belief that she was soon no longer to dwell with me on earth was indeed solemn, and I stood for a moment in silent conster-disorder, even to my own reluctant heart. She nation. The servant passed on.

Another moment, and I was almost irresistibly impelled to seek Lucy. I approached the room in which she sat with Mr. Lyne. It was a little open, and, as I drew near, I heard her voice. It was in the tone of supplication-but not of prayer to Heaven.

"Will you become his friend?" she said; and I leaned against the door too much agitated to enter; "will you become his friend, when I am gone? Will you give him, then, this letter, and tell him the last thoughts that I withdrew from Heaven were for him?-that all-all concentrated in the one desire that Heaven should make him also its own? Will you remember, if possible, my very words, and use the full influence of my memory to lead him to that faith which alone can reunite us ?" I tottered away, unable to hear more-threw myself upon my bed, and wept long and bitterly. An hour might have passed in this yielding of the heart-I know not-Misery, like Joy-takes little "note of time"-and I heard the kind voice of the clergyman, as he lingered upon the stair, uttering some parting words. I knew that Lucy would now seek me soon, and, commanding myself, I took a book from the table, and seemed to read, although I really was hardly conscious what I was doing.

was consumptive-I concealed from myself no more- -and funds which would enlarge her indulgences, might yet do much for her recovery. If any thing could be saved from the wreck of my fortunes, it would now avail me more than mines of wealth when all would be too late. Something like this was now ever in my mind, and impatient for information, I sought the head clerk.

"A letter from your brother, sir-we received it only a few minutes since."

I broke the seal. My brother announced his speedy return, and the fortunate issue of his exertions!! He had entirely retrieved his affairs-his business was now more prosperous than ever. He would immediately repay me the money he had borrowed, with the interest it had borne in his hands. Meantime his partner had instructions to honor my drafts. This was intelligence that made my heart beat rapidly. I was again a man of fortune, and the clerk, seeing pleasure expressed in my countenance, said—

"You have the news, I see, sir; and I am glad to be able to add to it, the stocks in which you are interested, have risen. Good news, like bad, seldom comes alone!"

I thanked the clerk for his sympathy, shook hands with him heartily, and then hurried into the Days passed on, and there now occurred an in-street, impatient to carry the glad tidings to Lucy. terval of weather so pleasant, that Lucy several But as I passed the hotel on my way home, its times was able to steal for a few moments into the lights gleamed invitingly. They struck upon hasunshine in our small garden, which her care had bitual associations. It was here that I usually once endowed with many flowers-past away now, sought the relief of gaming. I passed the doorlike all our former happiness! And though she paused-hesitated-looked back.

was very feeble, and leaned heavily upon my arm,

"I have a great mind to go in for a moment-I and though she could continue the exertion but for will give but a few minutes to the experiment. It a little while, I began to hope that she was grow- would be curious, if Fortune, in this relenting ing better. The cold weather, however, soon re-mood, should follow me even to the gaming table. turned, and Lucy was again a prisoner. Still sheI will-I will try this once-and positively I will seemed to have received benefit from the late fine never try again."

days, and, if not stronger, was, I hoped, less fever- I never did-but it was not fortitude of my own

VOL. VII-86

that restrained me. And now I entered the hotel, all the life still left to animate my Lucy's face, and pursued my well-known way to the faro-bank. seemed to express her earnest sympathy. I was As I approached the dealer, two or three of my shocked, stunned, motionless-for a moment I acquaintances passed me, and bowed with a signifi-gazed at this scene with a paralyzing sense of its cant smile. One of them stopped, and shook hands fatal import. When the prayer was ended, Lucy

with me.

Something lucky has happened, I am sure. Your countenance gives evidence of good fortune." "Oh, yes-Fortune, good fortune, is busy for me to-night! I have had great news from Alfred, and whilst the Goddess offers her hand, I must press forward to receive it! Therefore, I am here."

The gentleman smiled, shook his head, and said I was "welcoming Fortune in a fashion to frighten her away"-then, with a slight adieu, he passed on. I went forward to the table, and laid my stake upon a card.

I won-doubled my venture, and won again. Convinced that I was in a "run of luck," I continued to hazard with a boldness that astonished the bystanders. At length I believe I broke the bank. I pocketed winnings to the amount of some thousands, and withdrew, the envy of the persons who had witnessed my extraordinary success.

continued silent, and seemed to remain in supplication, for her eyes were closed, and her lips moved faintly. After this pause, she looked at the clergyman, and uttered my name. Her voice broke the spell which had held me powerless, and I threw myself upon my knees beside her, took the nerveless hand that seemed to seek mine, and, utterly overcome, bowed my head upon it. Never had Lucy been so dear to me before-never had her love, her life, been so closely twined with all my hopes, and all my feelings, as now, when—could it be?-oh, could it be, that I was now to lose her? All was confusion and horror in my mind? I could not have spoken, had her fate depended on it.

But Lucy spoke, and the trembling words that fell from her beautiful lips, were now, as they had ever been, for me-full of affection that death itself could have no power to weaken.

'Henry —is it you?—This is another unmeI hastened homewards. As I proceeded along rited blessing-that I should see you again, and the street, I heard the hour struck. It was late-bless you for all the kindness that you have always very late; but exulting as I was, I thought but lit-shown me! May God bless you, and soften to you tle of this.

this dispensation-and oh! may He consecrate it "If Lucy were but well," said I, "all would to your everlasting benefit!" She was so much now be happiness! But in the Spring she will be exhausted, that she was obliged for some moments better in the Spring she will recover, and now to remain silent; but I felt the pressure of her hand she shall have every advantage that wealth can on mine. I could not raise my eyes, far less regive her." As this thought presented itself, I re-ply-but I returned the kind clasp of that dying doubled my speed, anxious to communicate to Lucy hand. my various causes of happiness. At length I reached my own door. It was open, an unusual circumstance at midnight. Was Lucy sitting up for me? My conscience, for the first time during the evening, made itself heard as this fear arose. A lamp burned in the entry, and immediately I remembered that, when I was out late, it was not the servant's habit to leave a light below. A foreboding of some evil at once took possession of my mind. I hastened up stairs. On the first landing place I met the

servant in tears.

"Mr. Lyne will give you a letter," added Lucy, yet more faintly than before-" but oh! it can tell you little of my heart. Yet read it-know my last hopes!" Another pause, filled with quick and desperate efforts for breath.

"Mr. Lyne will be your friend, as he has been mine," she continued, at last. "Promise-promise me!"

I started up. I saw that her strength was failing, and I drew her from the support of her friend, even to that of my own bosom. She looked up. "What is the matter ?" I asked, my heart beat-Love unutterable filled that gaze, and a soft smile ing so fast that I could hardly articulate. The girl turned away without reply, but pointed" Give me your promise; shed the last consolato Lucy's chamber.

I was at the door in a moment-opened it-and found my worst fears realized. Lucy was dying! One glance at those white features told me all. She was half supported in the arms of a lady-one of her acquaintances-who had been hastily summoned by the servant. Dr. — stood beside her, his face sufficiently expressive of his conviction that she must die-his hand upon her pulse.

sat for a moment upon her lips. Then she repeated,

tion that earth can now give upon the heart that loves you best-that soon can love you no longer!"

"I will promise you any-any thing, Lucy!" said I, and I felt that I could have bartered all other interests to procure for her one moment's peace. "Hear then what Mr. Lyne will say for me when I am gone!"

Touched to the heart, I gave the promise she asked, rather by gesture than by words.

Her kind and steadfast friend, Mr. Lyne, was "Then I am satisfied," said Lucy, and a calm true to the hour of final anguish. He knelt beside overspread her still beautiful face. She lay withthe bed, and uttered words of prayer, with which out speaking for some time, evidently sinking into