happy as her fallen fortunes would t; she on the other hand repaid heir parental cares with dutiful affec-at length an event occurred, which is to checquer all her future life with nations of painful anxieties and pleasing hopes.

"My sisters Margaret and Bessie bounded into my room this morning crying, 'The aird is come, that is, he is coming; and we may see him pass, perhaps; for though there are two roads, that past our windows is the best and shortest.' Well, dears,' said I, and what then? is he a fine sight, that you are so desirous of seeing him?" Oh! but he is the laird you know; and he lives at the great house." This gentleman, however, Mr. Falconer, of Glancarron, is heir to a high title

I have seen the laird. I wonder what impression he would have made on me, had I seen him in former scenes; but here, where I associate with such a different set of men, he seemed to me almost like a descended god! No wonder the dear girls were so anxious to see him. But I dare say I over-rate him. I dare say he Would not have pleased me so much under

other circumstances.

It was fortunate that I did not finish my new curtain for my bed-room sooner-the slit in the old one gave me such an excellent opportunity looking at him without impropriety. It was fortunate also that my father cut the hedge so low, for it enabled me to see the horse's head as well as himself; and both together were very picturesque. I wonder who it was that he stopt so long opposite my window to converse with. How handsome he looked, when he took off his bat to turn back the hair that fell over his brow; while the breeze lifted his dark and glossy curls from his ample forehead! I think his eyes are black. His complexion is sallow, still he does not look unhealthy. I dare say he does not smile often; but when he smiled just now I thought I never whether he will come back this way. If expression. I wonder he does I shall venture to look at him again; for then his back will be to me; were it not so I dare not; for he certainly observed at last that some one was looking at him; and be darted such a piercing look at the window, that I felt myself blush, as if he had been able to distinguish me; and I was so glad I was alone."

w so sweet an

Love at first sight, was perhaps never curiosity of an artless girl unconsciousWell painted before, in the timid ly imbibing

trol her future destiny. The first in

a passion, that is to con

"But these feelings were all respectable, to those which followed when the service was over, and I was obliged to follow my family up the aisle. Mr. Falconer and his friend remained in their pew, much to my discomfiture, as if waiting till we should have passed them; and, restrained by an unusual consciousness of awkwardness, I hung back, and did not immediately follow the others but as little Charles held my hand, I luckily had some one to whom I could direct my attention as I passed Mr. Falconer. Still I could not but see that he held the door of his pew half closed for my accommodation, and that he half bowed with a respectful and courteous air as I went by, which obliged me to make a sort of obeisance in return.

"Now comes my delinquency. I was sure that from my mourning garb and general appearance he did not suppose I was one of the family, and that he imagined me a lady of their acquaintance: and so loth, so very loth was I that he should be undeceived, that I walked slowly along, and wished to avoid taking my father's arm as usual. Margaret came running back to meet me, and, seeing Mr. Falconer and his friend just behind us, she made them

an

easy unembarrassed curtsey. Why could not I be thus unembarrassed?

"I now saw that my father was waiting for me in the road, and, making a great effort, I walked rapidly forward and took his arm. That arm instantly pressed mine closely to his side, and, as he raised his eyes, I felt that they expressed so much unworthy child, that my heart reproached affection, and I believe pride in me, his me bitterly for feeling even a momentary shame at belonging to him; and, while tears rushed into my eyes, I no longer

regretted that Mr. Falconer now knew me to be only the daughter of Donald Munro. That he knew it I was very certain; for Margaret looked back, and saw him whispering with his old steward, while his eyes were turned towards me and it was evident that he was asking who I was. She also added, And when the old man answered him, he looked so blank, so I do not know how, Madeline, but not pleased.' I think I knew how he looked, and wherefore; and I felt pleased in one way at least; but perhaps this was only my own vanity and conceit: for why should Mr. Falconer be sorry to find I was only a cotter's daughter? Soon after Margaret had given me this information, Bessie, who had taken the arm she left, looked back, and said in a voice of delight,' Mr. Falconer is coming! He is just behind us;' and then, as if to express her joy, she kept knocking her elbow against me till I was terrified lest Mr. Falconer should see it, and put a wrong construction on the action. My annoyance was soon ended, for I heard a deep and mellow toned voice say, How are you, Mrs. Munro? Munro, recollect, I am not yet known to this your English daughter.' Why could he not call me Miss Munro? But I am not Miss Munro; Margaret is the eldest daughter, and that he knows probably. My father's English daughter blushed like a girl who had never stirred from her home while my mother, in her pretty manner, said, as she took on herself the office of introducing us to each other, My English daughter has still a Scottish heart, Glencarron, and loves her native hills and her own kindred, though so long a southron.' I am sure her own kindred must love her,' he courteously replied-' and be proud of her too,' said Margaret affec tionately. Undoubtedly,' was of course his answer."

6

From this day a mutual passion existed, and every little incident and opportunity encreased their affection; still no open declaration was made by Falconer, restrained by peculiar and to Madeline unknown circumstances. This reserve on his part embittered the life of Madeline, and filled the affectionate hearts of her parents with the most anxious fears and apprehensions ---at last he discovered the secret which he never could conceal, although he never could avow it---her artless pen traces the feelings of her agitated heart with masterly truth.

Friday night. "My trembling hand can hardly hold my pen, yet write I must, to vent the feelings

:

of my agitated heart. It was fortunate that I was not deterred by the coldness of the evening from walking in my little flower-garden as usual. If I had not done so, the joyful yet uneasy anticipation of this moment would not have been mine. I wonder that I had so much self-command as not to scream, before I knew who it was, when he leaped the hedge and stood before me but I suspect that my heart told me it was he before the moon disclosed him to my view. But let me say with pride and satisfaction, my sense of propriety did not sleep for one moment, aud that I desired him to withdraw, and not expect that I would stay to converse with him at such an improper hour. 'I own it is an improper hour; but you must hear what I have to say now, since I never see you alone fear nothing, dearest Miss Munro, my esteem, my respect are-' Here most unexpectedly (for I thought he was in bed) my father's voice angrily calling me, and desiring me not to expose myself to cold, broke off our conference; but not till I had promised, if we could not meet at our house in the course of the day, to grant him a meeting where we then were, as the happiness of his life depended on it, and he had something of the most important nature to him to disclose.

་

"He had scarcely disappeared when my father was by my side, and was going to reprove me severely for still lingering in the air after he had gotten up on purpose to desire me to come in; when seeing by the moonlight that I was in tears, he snatched me to his heart, and said in broken accents, Madeline, my dear, dear child! I see how it is with you; and Glencarron shall enter my doors no more. I will tell him the reports of the neighbourhood, and unless he replies, I wish to marry your daughter,' hither be shall not come again. I could not, would not reply; but I comforted myself with the idea that he would not call to-morrow morning, preferring to meet me in the evening in the garden, and that that conference was unnecessary. Yes; to-morrow evening my misery or happiness will be decided. How shall I support myself through the day to-morrow?

Saturday morning.

"He has not been past. I could not eat my breakfast, nor can I do any thing but walk up and down the room or the garden. I tried to force down my dinner, but it choked me. My father and mother and poor Meggie are quite alarmed. But pass a few hours more, and perhaps I shall be quite well, and we the happiest family in the world. Yet why did he request so urgently this clandestine meeting? That looks ill. And why did I grant it ?—-True,

he never yet has seen me alone but for a few minutes. Still, had he desired a private conference, I should not have denied it.

What can this mean? Dobbs returned with my father! Is he so soon come back: Well, I must go and speak to him, though less able than usual to bear his conversation. Into what an agitation has he thrown me! But no; it cannot be. How could I for a moment believe him? Mr. Falconer gone away! Met by him thirty miles off, on the road to England. Impossible! He must have mistaken another for him. Yet how could any one who had once seen him do that? And he describes him, too, as starting back when he saw him, and shrinking into the corner of the carriage. That was so likely to happen, that I know not what to think. However, if he be gone, I shall certainly receive some explanation from him. Still, I shall be very wretched till nine o'clock comes. I hope I got out of the room without any one's observing my indisposition. Had he seen me change colour, my father would have called my mother and sent her to me.-If he should really be gone! If my consent to meet him should have lowered me in his estimation! Yet how do I know it was of love he came to talk? Yet surely he would not have watched for an opportunity of conversing alone with me at such an hour, and have jumped a hedge to talk to me only of his respect and esteem.'

"The clock strikes eight:-my father calls us together. I shall not sup; but retire after the prayers to my own room. O my dear friend, how my heart beats! But it wants ten minutes of the appointed hour However, I can write no more. I feel as if life and death depended on the issue of this meeting. I hear a rustling in the hedge.

"Madeline, on hearing the noise in the hedge, repaired instantly to the garden; but no one was there, and her heart died within her; nor was she at all reassured when she heard a low voice from the road calling her by her name.-She immediately parted the boughs that hid the opening, and recognized the steward of Mr. Falconer-a grey-headed old man, whom she had known from her childhood. 'Is it you, Macinnon?'Yes.' What brings you hither? The laird sent me.' 'Is he ill No; not in body: but he is gone.' 'Gone?' 'Yes, to England.'And-and no message? no-Yes, dear young lady; be composed; he has sent this. He desired me to watch for you here, (oh, how sad and pale he looked!) and to deliver this into your own hand; I have done so; and now good night;-God bless you!' Madeline held the packet with a trembling Eur. Mag. Vol. 81. April 1822.

·

hand, almost unconsciously bade the old man good night, and tottered into her own apartment; for what might not that packet contain! But she dared not open it till she was sure all the family were gone to bed; for, as she had been so unwell all day, she was certain they would forego their usual custom of never intruding on her when she had retired, and come to see how she was. Nor was she mistaken; her mother and Margaret both came in, and the latter entreated to be allowed to stay with her all night; but she would not suffer it; and she was left alone. Then with foreboding trepidation she opened the fateful packet. It contained nothing but an old Scotch song, which Madeline wished to have, and an unsealed note, in which, traced in an almost illegible hand, were these words'God for ever bless thee!

EVAN FREDERIC FALCONER.' "A mist came over the eyes of Madeline when this destruction to all her high-raised expectations met her view, and she endeavoured to reach the bed, as she felt her senses going; but she could not, and fell upon the floor. The noise was instantly heard by the watchful ear of Margaret, whom affectionate apprehensions had determined not to go to rest till she was sure Madeline was in bed and asleep. She therefore ran into the room, aud found her where she lay insensible on the ground; the fatal writing by her side. Margaret, though terrified and distressed, did not lose her presence of mind. She laid the beloved sufferer on the bed; then, wisely conjecturing that the contents of the packet which her sister had evidently just opened, and in secret, had had this pernicious effect on her, she concealed the note, the song, and their inclosure, and then called her mother. Madeline had herself locked up her journal as usual, and put the key in her pocket, before she went to her appointment; and Margaret had the comfort of knowing, that whatever was the poor Madeline's secret, it was entirely safe.

"It was very long ere she recovered to life and consciousness, and beheld her mother and sisters weeping over her, (for even Bessie forgot her jealousy in her alarm,) while her father, stern in his sorrow, was gazing on her with looks of apprehensive agony. The sight of his countenance, in which anger seemed mingled with distress, recalled her instantly to anxiety concerning the fatal note, and she trembled lest it should betray Mr. Falconer to his resentment. She knew she could not bear to hear him blamed, and held up to detestation as the cause of her suffering; and eagerly raising herself, she looked fearfully around. Fear nothing,' said Margaret in her ear, all is safe.'

Z z

Margaret then declared her intention of watching all night, and the sisters were left alone.

"The sympathizing girl immediately told Madeline where what she missed was deposited; she desired the note to be brought to her. Did you read it?' said she. 'No.' Then read it now.' Margaret did read it, and wondered at the effect which it had on her sister. Is this all?' 'Yes; and therefore am I thus.' She then coufided all that had passed to Margaret in strict secrecy, and told her that she read in this sudden departure, and unsatisfactory adieu, the downfall of all her hopes. 'I see no such thing, but quite the contrary, foolish child,' cried Margaret; and Madeline, catching eagerly at the least word of hope, gave way to an hysterical flood of tears. But why, why do you think so, Meggie?' sobbed out the agitated girl. Because he evidently was summoned quite suddenly to England; because he had neither the time nor the heart to write to you at such a moment; and Macinnon told you he was pale and

sorrowful and because he writes- God bless thee? What then?' So superiors always write to inferiors in our country.' 6 Fye, Madeline; this is indeed self-tor. menting. He never seemed to consider you as his inferior, and thee' used instead of you,' and at such a moment, is the language of love.' 'Are you sure of it, Meggie? Quite sure. And no doubt he will write fully when he gets to England.'

"It is so very difficult to make the heart of sanguine nineteen despair, that the gentle soothings and encouraging representations of Margaret were not lost on her grateful sister. I really believe I shall be able to sleep soon,' said Madeline; 'therefore you may ventnre to leave me.' Leave thee!' cried Margaret, throwing her arm round her, Leave thee to the sorrows of the heart! Do I not know what it is to be separated from the being one loves best? and I am sure now thou dost love Glencarron, Madeline. No, no, I will stay, and comfort thee and weep with thee, my sister!' and Margaret's tears flowed as fast as her words. Madeline was comforted; and when the anxious mother came down in the night to inquire concerning her sick child, she found the sisters quietly sleeping in each other's arms."

Induced by peculiar circumstances, Falconer left Glencarron thus suddenly and joined the army abroad---he was wounded and sent to England: during his absence Madeline could not bear up against the anxieties of her heart, and a violent cold, caught during her return from Edinburgh, whither she had

gone for a short visit, terminated in a fever; one of those slow, dangerous, wearing fevers, which seem to prey equally on the mind and on the body. Falconer, hearing of the dangerous illness of Madeline, could no longer delay his return to Glencarron: repeated interviews ensued, and a private marriage, according to the laws of Scotland having been the consequence, he departed for England, whither his sister's illness imperiously called him--a secret correspondence by letter continued till his return, when frequent meetings were indulged in by the happy pair; whose felicity was clouded only by the mysterious secrecy, which enveloped it in order to satisfy the prudential scruples of Falconer: who feared to offend his sister Lady Benlomen, who was in a very precarious state of health, and to whom he considered he owed more than filial duty. Falconer again left Glencarron in order to obey the summons of his invalid sister; from whom he was called to attend a College friend, at the point of death, in an obscure village in Northumberland.

"On leaving this place, and being anxious to get to Scotland as soon as possible, he rashly disregarded bad roads and a dark night, and had met with a dangerous overturn, which had caused the scarcely healed wound to bleed afresh, and had brought on considerable fever by very severe bruises. A letter informed Madeline that he was thought in great danger; and he conjured her to hasten to him immediately, that he might see her once more before he died! Come then, my beloved, hasten to my arms! Come, though it must still be in secrecy and concealment. My servants are all newly hired ones, that you might not be known: but death settles every difficulty, and removes all obstacles. And thou shalt return to Scotland as my wife, or rather my widow, Madeline, and as the future mistress of Glencarron,'

"Madeline saw and felt no part of the letter, but that which urged her to fly to the dying Glencarron, and she returned to the house only to get ready to accompany the Macinnons, who, without saying whither they were going, or why, ordered a chaise to the door of the outer lodge, whither Macinnon was to conduct the trembling Madeline. It was well for her that she had not time to think, or good night' to wish. Annie and Charles were in bed, Margaret walking with William; her packages were soon made: but oh! the

pangs with which she wrote a farewell to her parents, who were to return the next day. She simply told them, that however appearances were against her she was not unworthy of being their child; that she left them at what she thought the call of duty; and should return to them, she trusted, excused and justified, till then she conjured them to remember her in their prayers! This note was scarcely legible, and blotted with tears. How she got out, of the garden and over the paling she knew not; Macinnon had to lift her into the chaise; but her anxiety and restlessness of mind supported and kept her up till she reached Northumberland; but she no sooner heard that Glencarron was out of danger and no sooner was permitted to see him, than her senses and her strength forsook ber, and it was hours before life and consciousness returned. The alarm which her illness occasioned Mr. Falconer brought on him a severe relapse; and Madeline was scarcely recovered from the effects of terror and fatigue, when she had to experience a renewal of her fears for the life of the man she adored, and to share with her more experienced companion, the new and anxious task of administering to the wants of sickness and of suffering. But Mr. Falconer's strength of constitution struggled through every obsta. cle unto complete recovery, and at the end of a fortnight Mrs. Maccinnon was able to return to Glencarron; thither her husband had returned as soon as Madeline recovered from her fainting fit. But Madeline remained with her husband."

The day of the departure of Madeline, was a severe trial in many respects to her distressed family, whose feelings are vividly portrayed.

"It was soon rumoured about that Madeline was gone off, and her school came to inquire if it was true that Miss Madeline had deserted them; the poor also, whose wants she administered to in various ways, came clamouring to the door, to inquire if they had indeed lost their benefactress. But the family were far more affected when, with an eye of wildness, and a cheek pale as death itself, Maclean rushed into the house, and with clasped hands, and quivering lips, to which utterance was denied, looked the enquiry which he was unable to speak. Yes, Lewis, yes, she is gone; she has deserted us!' said Munro, at length, But she is his wife !' To be sure; who doubts it? I would excommunicate any one who dared to doubt it in my presence!' exclaimed Maclean, his face crimsoned with emotion! "Thank you! thank you!' faltered out Mun

ro, while the mother caught his hand to her lips, and Margaret burst into tears. 'I fear, Lewis,' said Munro, there are few persons so candid in their judgment as thou art.' 'Oh! but every one loved her! and her fame was spotless! That ever a man, who pretends to love her, could bear to cast a stain on that fair fame!-that is what I can't conceive!' 'Aye, Lewis, hadst thou been the chosen of her heart!' 'I should have been so proud of her and of her love! I-' here his tears choked him, and drawing Annie towards him, he leaned his head against her shoulder. Annie did not like to resist this unconscious familiarity, but it distressed her, as she considered herself to be no longer a child; but her father, gently releasing her from Maclean, said, My dear Lewis, you forgot that Annie is a young woman now!' And as Macklean observed her blushing cheek and eye of shame,-of shame which he had inflicted,-he felt, in spite of his af fliction, that he could never forget her age again.

"The mother now asked Maclean what was said in the village, and Maclean was forced to own that the laird had been seen coming at day-break from Madeline's garden!-proof positive to the family and poor Maclean that the laird was her husband,—though not even they could blame the rest of the world for being less sure of the fact.

"It was at this moment of trial that Ronald, having obtained a short leave of absence from the army, arrived at the cottage. He had expected that his father's lip would quiver with emotion when he first beheld him, and that his mother and sisters would mingle tears with their welcomes and embraces; but he did not expect that their tears would flow in abundance, and as if in agony; nor that a hue like death would spread over his father's cheek, when, unexpectedly, he, smiling, stood before them; and he was disappointed indeed, as his eye glanced over the family group, not to behold Madeline among them. 'Where was she? Why not there?' And the heart of the soldier was appalled,-the heart of the son and the brother sickened, as he went from one weeping relative to the other, and felt his hand grasped convulsively in that of his speechless father! At last he heard the tale they had to tell, and he felt the laurels he had so lately gathered wither on his brow; for the mildew of disgrace had gathered on the fame of his sister; that sister too of whom he had been so proud, and towards whom his heart had so gratefully, so fondly yearned! Besides, was she indeed free from the stain of actual guilt? He knew her not, therefore he