during the early part of the exhibition, always examined the sixth form exercises himself, in his own parlour.

The force of habit is surprising. When mere boy and girl, Frank and Fanny were accustomed to stroll round the close or in the church-yard during this brief period of relaxation, and so it went on, and they continued their rambles unconscious of the different circumstances in which they were placed by the flight of time. In riper years they met and walked and talked, on other subjects, perhaps, from those which amused their minds in earlier days, but the alteration was so gradual, the change so imperceptible in its progress, that when Francis Welsted at length discovered that the lovely and amiable daughter of his patron and protector was the idol of his manly heart, he trembled at the consummation he so devoutly yet unconsciously wished.

It may be asked, why?-It is true he had been received into Rodney's family an orphan, and his parents had died in distress; but then he had fitted himself to be the very prop which did sustain his patron's house, and even to be the successor to his honours and toils, when either inclination or nature should call him from the scene of his magisterial authority. But there are secrets they say in all families,-how they remain so, in this talkative world, if they ever do, I know not;-what the particular mystery was, which was apparently so important in the Rodney family, the following conversation may perhaps help to unravel.

Fanny and Francis were pursuing their accustomed walk the night subsequent to that, on which the reader was introduced to them: the evening was mild and serene, not a sound was to be heard, save the distant barking of the village dogs; and as they approached the termination of their stroll, the young couple insensibly decreased the pace at which they had been proceeding, and lingered near the stile which separates the close from the church-yard.

"Francis," said Fanny, "you are unusually out of spirits this evening. Has my father said any thing to vex you?"

"Not a syllable," said Welsted; "I am oppressed by my own thoughts, my own apprehensions, my own suspicions; and the very joy of this happy moment adds new bitterness to my presentiments."

"Have you had ill news from any one?" asked Fanny.

"News, Fanny!" said Welsted, "from whom should I hear news?—I am an orphan, an outcast, a beggar; -the creature of your father's bounty!"

"Why talk thus to me?" said the agitated girl, who felt that she would have given the world, had it been hers, that she had not touched upon the unlucky topic: -"do I not know all your history, Francis? have we not been brought up together? are we not like brother and sister?"

"Fanny!" said Welsted, "I was well born though ill provided for; my heart is pure and blameless, and, thanks to your excellent father, my principles have been strengthened by the religious instruction, and the moral education which he has given me. But it is because we are not brother and sister that my mind is disturbed, disordered, almost deranged."

"Dear Welsted," said Fanny, "what can you mean? -what has occurred to cast this gloom over your mind?" "Fanny!" said the devoted young man, "years have passed and I have known no home but this, even the turf on which we tread is familiar to my eye. Those trees, that venerable tower seem identified with my existence; I saw them as a child-here too I first saw you, -but years have passed away, and though all things around us remain the same, you have become a different being."

Changed in age," said Fanny, "perhaps in figure, and in face, but not in love for Francis !"

"Love, Fanny !" repeated Welsted in a tone of bitter anguish: "Did I hear it right,--you love?"

"As I should love my poor lost brother, William, whom you loved," said Fanny.

"This must not be," said Francis.-He pressed her

hand fervently,-she felt him tremble :-"We cannot, must not, think of loving thus-do not delude yourself, Fanny, it is an impossibility!"

"Welsted, for pity's sake tell me what you mean!" said Fanny." You are ill?"

"No, no,-dearest, dearest girl," said he, "I shall be better in a moment. It has been all madness and folly, I might have known what it must come to." "Welsted," said the affectionate girl, "what have I said to vex and agitate you thus ?"

"You love me Fanny," sobbed Welsted, "and you have owned it!"

Her cheek sank upon his shoulder, it was all too late to retreat-the doubt was over. Yet no responsive sigh re-echoed that, which heaved her snowy bosom,-no kiss of reciprocal affection pressed her cheek. He stood as if paralized, till after a pause he gently raised her burning forehead, and muttered in a deep and bitter tone of anguish, as she leant for support on his arm

"God! what a situation!"

Those in whose hearts is not implanted the high principle by which the exemplary Welsted was at that moment actuated, will marvel at his difficulty, and sneer at his distress. Even the unsophisticated Fanny herself felt surprise and something like disappointment, at the apparent apathy of him whom she had believed devotedly attached to her, and in whom (for disguise with my reader is useless) she always had considered (why, she hardly knew) she beheld her future husband. The disappointment and surprise which agitated her at the moment were not unmixed with dread, that she had committed herself by an avowal of unrequited passion; she trembled and sobbed violently: but the gentle pressure of her hand by Francis, and the sound of his voice mildly imploring her to be tranquil, soothed and calmed her

sorrow.

"For heaven's sake compose yourself, Fanny!" said Welsted; "I ought to have known all this; I ought to have seen the precipice upon the edge of which we stood;

but the dreadful steep was covered so with flowers that I was not conscious of my danger until too late."

"What danger, Francis?" said Fanny. "Am I despised by you?-Only say the word-"

"Despised!" exclaimed Welsted,-" adored! worshipped! No human being since earth has been created can have loved more fondly,-more tenderly than I do. Despise !-Oh, Fanny!"

"Why then this dreadful agitation?" said the sanguine girl.

"The crisis has arrived," said he, more ardently pressing her hand, "this is the last of it!-We must part."

"God forbid!" said Fanny.

"God forbid it should be otherwise," said Welsted. "Explain," sobbed Fanny; "what have I said,what have I done?-that I should lose the companion of my youth, the beloved of my heart?"

And again her cheek sank on his shoulder, and again did he more calmly than before raise her drooping head, and implore her to be composed.

"Stay a moment, Fanny," said he, "let the breeze blow on your face, your eyes are full of tears, your forehead burns and beats ;-stay, stay, and I will speak." "In pity do!" said the unhappy girl.

แ "Fanny, idol of my heart!-for such you are," said he-and even he was moved to tears,-"you saw my gloom,--my wretchedness,-indeed I could not hide them. And why should I have any concealments from you?-Look round, my beloved, see these well-known fields, those walks, that river;-gaze on them with me this night, for never more must we behold them together."

"Why, why?" said Fanny.

"You shall be told," answered he, "since it must be So. I need not repeat the obligations I owe to your father, I cannot even enumerate them,-I owe him every thing; he has allowed me the happiness of your society, and I have dared to feel myself your equal."

Equal!" interrupted Fanny.

"Stay, dearest, stay," continued Francis; "in the course of our lengthened intimacy that feeling has been generated which might have been anticipated. I hoped -I feared;-I never knew till this night how blessed I was;-and what a night is this in which to be convinced on such a point!"

Why?" said Fanny: "be assured my father will not disapprove the declaration of your affection for me. My mother, who you know loves you as a son, has more than once spoken to me, half jestingly to be sure, of the time when you and I should fill their places here, and visit them in their retirement."

"It might have been," said Welsted;" but the die is cast, you must not be mine.”

''

Then, Francis, I will vow

"You must not, shall not," interrupted Welsted; "be calm, dearest ;-listen :-As I have said before, I am bound by every tie of gratitude to your father, by every feeling of affection to you. I know my duty to both of ye too well, to stay another day beneath his roof,-tomorrow's noon sees my departure."

"How can you speak thus?" said Fanny; "what object can you have in such conduct, or what, indeed, in talking of it?"

"Your welfare and prosperity, Fanny," replied her devoted Francis, "are the objects; if I stay and persevere in maintaining your affection we shall marry, and not only will poverty be your lot, but worse, far worse, the curses of your parents will be upon your head." "Why? answer me, why?"

"An alliance, honourable and noble, is at your command," said Welsted; "I know more than you suppose,- -I know more perhaps than even your father himself knows at this moment. Before the whole truth breaks upon him I will go; never shall it be said that the orphan whom he cherished and supported, was the viper in his bosom to sting his fostering hand."

"Are you dreaming, Francis?" said Fanny. "What alliance?"

"You will know all in time," said Welsted, "the ofVOL. II.

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