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“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 her habits of method still governed our domestic the best of human beings, and one who had been arrangements, and kept up their perfect order. to her a true friend in many trials. Not that he And now, as the nights grew longer, she found would ever have sought to know, or Lucy to con- time for reading, when the exactions of the day fide to him, any of the particulars of our unhappy were over, and whilst she lay upon a low couch, fortunes. He knew, however, that a sad reverse beside wbich burned her lamp. It was thus that I of condition had been our lot, and he had delicately, usually found her, upon my return, as she now imbut effectually, endeavored to support her hope that agined, from my brother's counting-house. I had good might be extracted from the evil-and though accustomed myself to call there frequently to hear he could not make my Lucy purer or holier than she the news of Alfred. One evening, after the lapse was, he had assisted her to bear her trials with of several days, during which Lucy had been sufmore fortitude, by kindness unfailing, and counsel fering more than usual, and in which I had not left the most judicious. He was now with her. Why? her, I stole a few minutes from attendance on her

I asked the servant “if he had been sent for ?" to visit the counting-house once more. My anxiety " Yes, sir, about an hour ago.”

for intelligence was now painfully intense, for my I felt that Lucy's belief that she was soon no slender means were failing, and I could no longer longer to dwell with me on earth was indeed disguise the danger of Lucy, or the nature of her solemn, and I stood for a moment in silent conster- disorder, even to my own reluctant heart. She nation. The servant passed on.

was consumptive-I concealed from myself no Another moment, and I was almost irresistibly more—and funds which would enlarge her indulimpelled to seek Lucy. I approached the room gences, might yet do much for her recovery. If in which she sat with Mr. Lyne. It was a little any thing could be saved from the wreck of my open, and, as I drew near, I heard her voice. It fortunes, it would now avail me more than mines was in the tone of supplication—but not of prayer of wealth when all would be too late. Something to Heaven.

like this was now ever in my mind, and impatient “Will you become his friend ?" she said ; and I for information, I sought the head clerk. leaned against the door too much agitated to enter; “A letter from your brother, sir-we received it " will you become his friend, when I am gone ? only a few minutes since." Will you give him, then, this letter, and tell him I broke the seal. My brother announced his the last thoughts that I withdrew from Heaven speedy return, and the fortunate issue of his exerwere for him ?--that all-all concentrated in the tions!! He had entirely retrieved his affairs—his one desire that Heaven should make him also its business was now more prosperous than ever. He own? Will you remember, if possible, my very would immediately repay me the money he had borwords, and use the full influence of my memory to rowed, with the interest it had borne in his hands. lead him to that faith which alone can reunite us ?" Meantime his partner had instructions to honor my

1 tottered away, unable to hear more-threw drafts. This was intelligence that made my heart myself upon my bed, and wept long and bitterly. beat rapidly. I was again a man of fortune, and the An hour might have passed in this yielding of the clerk, seeing pleasure expressed in my countenance, heart-I know not-Misery, like Joy—takes little said“ note of time"-and I heard the kind voice of the “ You have the news, I see, sir ; and I am glad clergyman, as he lingered upon the stair, uttering to be able to add to it, the stocks in which you some parting words. I knew that Lucy would now are interested, have risen. Good news, like bad, seek me soon, and, commanding myself, I took a seldom comes alone!" book from the table, and seemed to read, although I thanked the clerk for his sympathy, shook I really was hardly conscious what I was doing. 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 ames was able to steal for a few moments into the lights gleamed invitingly. They struck upon haunshine in our small garden, which her care had bitual associations. It was here that I usually ence endowed with many flowers—past away now, sought the relief of gaming. I passed the doorike all our former happiness! And though she paused—hesitated—looked back. sas 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 she I 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




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.

continued silent, and seemed to remain in supplica“Something lucky has happened, I am sure. rion, for her eyes were closed, and her lips moved Your countenance gives evidence of good fortune." faintly. After this pause, she looked at the cler

“Oh, yes-Fortune, good fortune, is busy for me gyman, and uttered my name. Her voice broke to-night! I have had great news from Alfred, and the spell which had held me powerless, and I threw whilst the Goddess offers her hand, I must press myself upon my knees beside her, took the nerveforward to receive it! Therefore, I am here." less hand that seemed to seek mine, and, utterly

The gentleman smiled, shook his head, and said overcome, bowed my head upon it. Never had I was “ welcoming Fortune in a fashion to frighten Lacy been so dear to me before-never had her her away"—then, with a slight adieu, he passed love, her life, been so closely twined with all my

I went forward to the table, and laid my stake hopes, and all my feelings, as now, when—could upon a card.

it be?---oh, could it be, that I was now to lose her! I won-doubled my venture, and won again. All was confusion and horror in my mind ? I could Convinced that I was in a “run of luck,” I conti- not have spoken, had her fate depended on it. nued to hazard with a boldness that astonished But Lucy spoke, and the trembling words that the bystanders. At length I believe I broke the fell from her beautiful lips, were now, as they had bank. I pocketed winnings to the amount of some ever been, for me-full of affection that death it thousands, and withdrew, the envy of the persons self conld have no power to weaken. who had witnessed my extraordinary success. Henry ?-is it you ?- This is another unme

I 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 reach- “ Mr. Lyne will give you a letter," added Luey, ed my own door. It was open, an unusual circum- yet more faintly than before—" but oh! it can tell stance at midnight. Was Lucy sitting up for me? you little of my heart. Yet read it-know my My conscience, for the first time during the even- last hopes !" Another pause, filled with quick and ing, made itself heard as this fear arose. A lamp desperate efforts for breath. burned in the entry, and immediately I remembered "Mr. Lyne will be your friend, as he has been that, when I was out late, it was not the servant's mine," she continued, at last. “Promise-prohabit to leave a light below. A foreboding of some mise me!" evil at once took possession of my mind. I hast- I started up. I saw that her strength was failened up stairs. On the first landing place I met the ing, and I drew her from the support of her friend, servant in tears.

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

The girl turned away without reply, but pointed “Give me your promise; shed the last consolato Lucy's chamber.

tion that earth can now give upon the heart that I was at the door in a moment-opened it and loves you best—that soon can love you no longer ! found my worst fears realized. Lucy was dying ! “ I will promise you any—any thing, Lucy." said One glance at those white features told me all. I, and I felt that I could have bartered all other inShe was half supported in the arms of a lady-one terests to procure for her one moment's peace. of her acquaintances—who had been hastily sum- “Hear then what Mr. Lyne will say for me when moned by the servant. Dr. — stood beside her, I am gone !" his face sufficiently expressive of his conviction Touched to the heart, I gave the promise she that she must die-his hand upon her pulse. 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

death. At length, in a voice so faint that it seem- to struggle, as with a tangible enemy-with Death, ed a whisper, she said—“I must see my child.” whose “terrors I had suffered from my youth up

The poor little boy was hastily roused from ward” with a troubled mind ?—when the stroke, of his slumbers, and placed beside her. Her eyes which, even for myself, I had never dared to think, fixed on him and filled with tears, that grew and I now met, through the being that was dearest to gathered until they rolled down her pale cheek. me, and when the rigid stillness of Lucy's form She tried to draw him to her bosom, and the lady brought death into my very heart ? who attended her placed him nearer, that he might The third day after she had ceased to live, we receive his mother's last kiss. Long and tenderly conveyed her to the place of her repose. At “The did her lips press his infant brow, and when, as he Willows,” where I first had seen and loved her, was wont to do, he twined his little arms around she was now to sleep in peace, in the burial place of her neck, and caressingly uttered the words, “ Dear my fathers. It was meet that the scene of my Mother!" she burst into tears, and wept convul- dearest hopes should now become their grave. I sively. Apprehensive for the effect, her friend laid her in the earth; and after a brief sojourn with drew the child away, and I clasped my poor Lucy my family, whose tears, though they fell for her, yet more closely to my heart, and vainly endeavored failed to convey to my altered heart the soothing to utter some words of comfort-I knew not what. of sympathy, I returned to my desolate home.

The clergyman, in a soft and encouraging tone, My desolate home! Heaven only–Heaven whose repeated some of the promises to those who “die gaze is daily fixed upon the griefs of this world, in the Lord,” which come upon the hour of human only knew its perfect desolation ! Silence fell upon weakness and suffering, with all the calming and it, and in loneliness I sat, and fed upon the bitter holy influences of early and pious associations. past-the more bitter present. I listened involunThe heart of Lucy seemed at once to acknowledge tarily for her step, at times; for there were times their power to quiet all earthly sorrow, and over when I could almost believe that all that had seemher face stole an expression of perfect peace, ased was not. I called her by name, and I wept her eyes closed, and her hands clasped together, because there was no reply. The books that she as if in prayer. She spoke no more. Her thoughts had used lay where she had left them. All that returned no more to the world. They seemed her touch had hallowed I treasured sacredly. The absorbed in Heaven. And when at last all was miniature for which I had asked her to sit when over, and Death had fallen on her, gently as the we were first married, was ever in my sight, and “dew of slumber,” her attitude, and the last im- the tress of glossy hair which had been preserved press of consciousness upon her countenance, for me was dearer still. shewed that her soul had passed away in prayer. There was one friend—the friend of Lucy

For several minutes after her spirit had left its Mr. Lyne, who was now my only visitor, and his beautiful shrine, there was unbroken silence in the attentions were equally judicious and kind. He room. I held her still supported against a heart began by talking to me of her, whom, in this world, that was ready to break, but oh! I was now so I should see no more, dwelling much and soothused to wretchedness, that, in my utmost agony, I ingly upon her many claims to remembrance and uttered no complaint, but bent my head over my affection. When he marked the softening of my dead, assured that the world had now nothing more heart, as he thus spoke, he gave me her letter. bitter in store for me. The physician quietly with. It contained her earnest entreaties that I would, drew from the house. The lady took my poor with his assistance, “search the Scriptures," for little boy from the chamber of death. Mr. Lyne, the words of eternal life. She added her hope, her as if he felt that the house of mourning was the prayer that we should again meet, in that world proper place for the servant of heaven, sat down where Change and Death could sever us no more. beside the bed in solemn silence. With humane I wept long and bitterly over this letter. It had wisdom he made no attempt to restrain my feel- evidently been written with effort, and with a tremings. He knew well that the human heart is some- bling hand. It recommended her child to my care, times its own best teacher. And I-all this ex- and expressed so tender an anxiety for my peace, cess of anguish had fallen so suddenly upon me, that that I was wholly unmanned. Mr. Lyne suffered I could scarcely believe in the reality of its cause. me to weep without restraint.

But the moment came when I was forced to When I became composed, he began to speak leave my Lucy. The sad arrangements for our final to me of the Future—of my relation to that world separation were now to be made, and the friends whither one so dear had gone before me. “ Where whom her influence had gathered around me in thy treasure is, there will thy heart be also.” Mine this time of infinite distress, were kindly anxious dwelt upon this point of Mr. Lyne's consolations, to spare me the knowledge of these things. and I was irresistibly drawn to a subject with

I shall not attempt to convey to the reader an which Lucy was connected, as living—not dead, idea of my sensations at this time. How indeed as yet to be restored-not lost to me. Every day could I describe torments with which I seemed 'did the good clergyman visit me. Faithfully did he fulfil his promise to Lucy, and light began to In the morning he seemed to be calm from exhaustion. break into my mind, and to illumine my deep re- A few such days and nights, and the physician grets and bitter repentance for the past. Deep candidly bade me prepare for the worst. and unvarying melancholy settled down upon me, "Prepare for the worst! Must I then give up all!* but my soul had now occupation, and a “hope set I leaned over my boy. I kissed his fevered before it ;" and I bore my misfortunes with the brow. I took into my own that little burning hand, greater patience, because the love of my heart now and looked upon those soft and languid eyeslooked to Heaven.

those eyes so like to Lucy's! Thoughts of the And now I began to concentrate my cares upon mother mingled with my despair, as I thus best my child. His extreme beauty, his likeness to my over my still living child, and my tears fell fast. poor Lucy, the gentleness of his disposition were They fell upon his cheek, and he looked up. I saw all strong claims upon my devotion ; and when I his eyes soften with infantine pity of–he knew not perceived the wants that gathered around him, what. He was weak, and wearied with suffering, wants which only a mother's foresight could have yet he raised his little arms to clasp my neck, and prevented, his need of some tender guide of early as he tried to draw me closer, his parehed lips impulses, some fond and attentive watch over his formed some words of innocent soothing. infancy, I was drawn towards him by pity and af- And yet, ere the sunset of this miserable day fection, such as no one less unfortunate could com- my boy was dying ; and I stood beside him, and prehend. Perhaps I loved him too well, and Hea- saw the struggle of his spirit to be free! It futven was willing to take my flower to its own bright tered upon the breath of those parted and gasping atmosphere, before the influences of this world lips, like the wing of some bird that strives to could impair its loveliness.

spring towards the sky. And the wings were At night, his small couch was placed beside my freed, and the bird loosed—and my last, my young, own, and within my reach. By day he was almost my only earthly hope, was garnered in Heaven. my sole companion, and my endeavors to render I looked upon this, and long-long after, it was bat him happy were repaid by the most unbounded upon beautiful clay that I gazed, my eyes and my fondness and confidence.

heart continued to dwell upon my boy. But, oh! It was but a few months after the death of Lucy reader, I now was kindred with Death. It had that I was one night awakened by the extreme treasured up all I loved in the desolate world, and restlessness of my little Henry. I laid my hand every fear that could haunt my life was lulled upon upon his head. He was feverish, and seemed to the bosom of my child. I have never, since thai suffer, but I knew not then how great was my moment, averted my thoughts from Death. It is reason to be alarmed. I watched beside him until now blended with all my hopes, and all my wishes. the day dawned, and then sent for Dr.

We buried the son beside the mother. She has The physician frankly declared that he believed regained her nursling. Nor has the friend of Loey his disorder to be an infectious fever. Many such with harsh zeal represented my bereavement as cases had lately occurred within his practice, and the sad punishment of my own past errors, but some of them of a malignant character. At pre- rather as a blessing from a Father's hand! HE has sent, however, he saw no ground for alarm. He but borne before me the objects of my love into left his prescription upon the table, and departed. the “better land,” thitherward to draw the soul of In a state of mind such as I shall not describe, I deep affection. They “ will not come to me, bet remained beside my child, and endeavored to quiet I shall go to them." him into sleep. In vain-towards evening the fever rose fearfully, and he was evidently worse. “Mr. Filkin, what do you think of it?-isa't it I again summoned Dr. and he now no longer beautiful ?" said Miss Truelove, wiping ber eyes combatted my uneasiness. “ The disease,” he Miss Truelove was just eighteen, and had been for said, “had assumed an unfavorable aspeet-he a year emancipated from the boarding school

, in would not flatter me- -it was a serious case.” which a sub-governess had taught her-novels.

Once more he left me, and during the night I “ Is’nt it beautiful, Mr. Filkin !-isa't it. Mr. maintained a solitary vigil, by the bedside of my Dobbs ?" repeated Miss Truelove. boy. Already I began to relinquish hope. It was “Why, no! upon my word,” cried stout Mr. apparent that he was delirious, for, in the wander- Filkin, rising from his chair, and buttoning bis ings of his inind, he spoke of things and persons coat, as men sometimes do preparatory to a setno longer present, as if they were around him. tence of condemnation—"I think, for my part, the He seemed to suffer intensely, and sometimes ut- whole story is a sort of “much ado about nothing.' tered, in a murmured tone of complaint, words and if the writer expects to interest people in : which were but half articulate. How would Lucy hero as weak as a cup of damaged milk and waterhave watched over him!-how have softened even it shews very little knowledge of human nature illness by her patient tenderness ! But he had now that's my idea!” And he looked triumphantly no mother, and, ill could I supply to him her place!'the face of Mr. Dobbs.

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" As weak as a cup of damaged milk and water!"

THE NUPTIAL FETE. vociferated Miss Truelove46 Oh! Mr. Filkin."

AN IRREGULAR POEM. " It was a case of monomania, sir, you know,” explained Mr. Dobbs.

" Monomania ? fudge! nonsense! such a case as no doctor could ever acknowledge. Monomania


OF ALABAMA. that can sometimes talk common sense about it

Here is a frail memorial of a festive occasion, to the hapself—who ever heard of such a thing ?"

piness of which, both by your beauty and gaiety, you were

one of the chief contributors. Will the Muse who inspired “I think it was nervous !" suggested Miss True- the production, give it her smiles ? love, as if she had made a discovery.

1. " I'll tell you what, my dear-no! no! no!" cried

How proudly, o'er the yielding waters, Mr. Filken—"half knave, half fool-beneath con

Our gallant Steamer speeds along ! tempt, in my opinion. Such a fellow ought to Fairest and first of Fulton's daughters -have been flogged-that's it-flogged! Sitting still,

The queen of all the goodly throng! weeping and mourning like a baby, whilst he was Before her prow, the liquid mirror,letting every reasonable chance of happiness slide Glass of the wild-duck and the sky,past him, without ever once putting out his stupid Breaks into ripples, and in terror fingers to catch one. And then to turn gamester,

Foams as the spoiler hurries by! with such a good, worthy, excellent wife as he On either hand the trees receding, had! My dear, I doubt if flogging wasn't too good

Seem moving quickly up the stream,

And hill and dale and field succeeding, for him—in my opinion 'twas !"

Pass by, like pictures in a dream! "Why, sir, he wasn't a real live man!” cried Mr. Dobbs, in amazement.

The river too, the noble river, “If he wasn't, he might have been. But I

Like some bright serpent, winds along;

And never was a lovelier, never, don't like the tale-its all grief, from beginning to

Renowned by bard in olden song! end—and I hate misery!"

Ah, had the days of Nymph and Naiad, “It only shows the writer's intimate acquaint

Sweet creatures of the Grecian dreamance with the springs of human sympathies," said Not vanished like the fabled Pleiad, Miss Truelove, sig hing.

What forms would haunt this sylvan stream! “Mr. Dobbs did not smile, though he might have Then oft at noon, wild song and laughter done it very well, but, as he did not comprehend Would ring from out her beechen creeks, Miss Truelove, he may be perhaps excused. Mr.

And merry shouts come pealing after, Filkin looked at her with great contempt, and

Of half seen spirits at their freaks! wondered what was the object of modern education.

But now alas, all's calm and quiet,

Save where yon Steamer holds her way; The reader will seek in vain to know more of

There mirth and song and festive riot the circle around Mr. Peter Filkin's fireside. They

Mingle their giddy roundelay! are not of our acquaintance.

Lo! from her deck, her painted streamer,

Floats forth upon the freshning breeze;
And wreaths and banners !-you would deem her

Some fairy barque on fairy seas !

And softly too!-what sounds of pleasure (From the Antiquary.)

Are ringing from her peopled side! As Sir Arthur and Miss Wardom paced along, enjoying The drum and flute, with gladsome measure, the pleasant footing afforded by the cool moist hard sand,

And violin, are all allied ! Miss Wardom could not help observing, that the last tide

Ah, well may music's bells he ringing, had risen considerably above the usual water-mark. Sir

And well that Boat be deck'd in state ; Arthur made the same observation ; but without its occurring to either of them to be alarmed at the circumstance.

A gallant party she is bringing

To celebrate a NUPTIAL Fete, The sun was now resting his huge disk upon the edge of

II. the level ocean, and gilded the accumulation of towering clouds through which he had travelled the livelong day, and Change we the scene; our numbers change, which now assembled on all sides, like misfortunes and

And view a picture bright and strange. disasters around a sinking empire and a falling monarch. Within that Steamer's halls we standStill, however, bis dying splendor gave a sombre magnifi- How fair the scene, how rich and grand ! cence to the massive congregation of vapours, forming out Oh ne'er did orient palace shine of their unsubstantial gloom, the show of pyramids and In workmanship more near divine ! towers, some touched with gold, some with purple, some Rich tapestry from India's loom, with a hue of deep and dark red. The distant sea, stretched Purple and gold, bedeck the roombeneath this varied and gorgeous canopy, lay almost porten. Gay curtains shed a softened gloom, tously still, reflecting back the dazzling and level beams of That gloom which sways and wins the heart the descending luminary, and the splendid coloring of the In passion's hour, and seems a part clouds amidst which he was setting. Nearer to the beach, Almost, of that deep tenderness the tide rippled onward in waves of sparkling silver, that Which only loving hearts possess! imperceptibly, yet rapidly, gained upon the sand.

Art's richest miracles are here ;

T. H. E.

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