"And is my dear Henry, that brave Major Dray-They prepare the scenes of death. In turning ton!" cried Helen, with all the demonstration of joy. away from this spot of earth, my mind at once Captain Ellis," continued Drayton, "I have used darted its flight to the azure vaults of heaven, there a name in battle not my own. Whatever my I imagined her joining her melodious voice with reasons are, they are now forever silenced. I am cherubim and seraphim, in the praise of the Most now Francis Drayton. By the last will and testa- High. ment of a dear beloved aunt, I became heir to an immense property by the assuming of that name, If my conduct would justify any future explanation I am still ready to give it. To her parents' command, and her wish-with such powerful reasonings opposed to my wishes, I silently obey."

"My commands, Major! commands! never-" “Hold, madam; your words, if allowed to explain further, will tend to lessen Helen lower in my estimation than she is at present, and of course will avail but little. Convinced, therefore, that ambition not love, actuated you, I will doff my beaver, as Captain Ellis observes, and wish you all good morning. So saying, he departed, leaving the captain thunderstruck, and Helen and her mother, equally mute and confounded.

A Walk in the Grave Yard. Ox one of those melancholy evenings in the beginning of autumn, when the withering rose, the dropping leaf, and whitening fields proclaim the decline of the year, I passed a short time in a neighboring grave yard. In wandering about, and musing a while on the destruction and desolation attending it, my mind was prepared for solemn contemplation. On entering the yard it seemed like stepping back into the antiquity, and losing myself in the crowd of those whose spirits have long since fled, and whose bodies are now mouldering in the silent shades of oblivion. I passed thoughtfully along from one step to another, reading epitaphs, till I came to the mound that covers the remains of a lovely female of my early acquaintance. No stone is raised to mark the spot where the maiden sleeps; no inscription tells her virtues and kind affections; yet, they are deeply engraved on the hearts of those who had the pleasure of an acquaintance with her. While I was gazing on this spot of earth, numerous were the thoughts that thronged back upon my memory.

a

Passing onward I came to the grave of my aged grand parents. Here thought I, repose the remains of departed worth, of Christians and philanthropists. Their abode is a peaceful one. From it arises a moral exhalation which perfumes the air with its sweetness and infuses into the desponding bosom, animation.

Oft when the sun is about to sink into the western wave, when nature is clad in her robe of melancholy, let me wander to these hallowed tenements of mortality, and reflect on the virtues of those whose bodies are mouldering here, and whose spirits have fled to that blissful region where the weary are at rest. In so doing let me receive instruction, copy their precious examples and imitate their holiness.

The Husband.

his equal, treat her with kindness, respect, and at A good husband will always regard his wife as tention, and never address her with an air of authority, as if she were, as some husbands appear to regard their wives, a mere house-keeper.

He will never interfere with her domestic concerns, hiring servants, etc.

He will always keep her liberally supplied with money for furnishing his table in a style proportioned to his means, and for the purchase of dress suitable to her station in life.

He will cheerfully and promptly comply with her reasonable requests, when it can be without loss or great inconvenience.

He will never allow himself to loose his temper towards her, by indifferent cookery or irregularity in hours of meals, or any other mismanagement of her servants, knowing the difficulty of making them do their duty.

If she has prudence and good sense, he will consult her on all great operations, involving the risk of ruin, or serious injury in case of failure. Many a man has been rescued from ruin, by the wise' counsels of his wife. Many a foolish husband has most seriously injured himself by the rejection of his wife's counsel, foolishly fearing, lest if he followed it, he would be regarded as ruled by her. A husband can never procure a counsellor so deeply interested in his welfare as his wife.

If distressed or embarrassed in his circumstances

Her bright eye grew dim-her soft cheek grew pale-her lovely form faded away, and none could explain the cause. Some tender plant, the pride and beauty of the garden; beautiful in its foliage, perfuming the air with its fragrance, but with worm consuming its root. As the dove clasps its wings to its side to conceal the arrow that has pierced its vitals; so did she, to hide from the world he will communicate his situation to her with canthe pangs of wounded affection. There is a re-dor, that she may bear his difficulties in mind, in membrance of the dead on which we dwell with her expenditures. Women sometimes believing melancholy delight. It covers every defect, buries their husband's circumstances to be far better than From its peaceful bosom springs they really are, expend money which cannot well nought but fond regret and tender recollections. be afforded, and which, if they knew their real situBut the grave of those we loved, what a place for ation, they would shrink from expending. meditation! The history of their virtues and gentleness, of a thousand endearments lavished upon us, becomes fresh as if it were the record of yesterday. Such thoughts bring a cloud over the bright hour of gaiety, and diffuse an irresistable sadness of the soul; yet, who would exchange them for the songs of unbridled mirth or the bursts of revelry.

every error.

The richest genius, like the most fertile soil, when uncultivated, shoots up into the rankest weeds; and instead of vines and olives for the pleasure and use of man, produces to its owner an abundant crop of poisons.

ORIGINAL.

URA DE FONTENOY.

A TALE OF FRANCE.

struck with her beauty, notwithstanding he had believed himself capable of walking unharmed beneath all the artillery of female loveliness.

The Compte De Lamarre and Ura were the first couple in the waltz, and so charmed was he with her sylph-like grace, that he would dance with none else during the night; a circumstance that was far from being displeasing to her. The festival ceased before the sun rose, and Ura left the hall for her own apartment-but not till she had turned and met the ardent gaze of De Lamarre with a smile that told him she was all his own.

THE youngest daughter of the Marquis de Fon- of her whole soul, it was he. The Compte was tenoy, (one of the wealthiest of the ancient peerage of France) was considered the most beautiful and accomplished lady of the court of Louis X. At the age of seventeen she had arrived at the zenith of her power, and the perfection of her beauty. She was of the common height, but remarkable for her slight and graceful form, possessed of features whose perfect regularity asserted her first claim to personal attraction, she lacked not that expression, which is the soul of beauty. Her dark glossy hair curled naturally over a swan-like neck, clearer than alabaster, and parted from a brow more beautiful than that of the imaginary Venus. But these were the least of her attractions. There was a spell in the glance of her full black eye, that enchanted all on whom it fell; and he who once caught that bewitching glance, knew no rest till the coral lip curled to a smile of favor or approbation.

De Lamarre returned to the camp, but not to his former light-heartedness and gayety. The angelic being he had seen, still haunted his mind, and he found that the shaft he had so often thrown, had rebounded to his own heart. From the vanity ever attendant on beauty, and a consciousness of possessing all the arts of gallantry in perfection, he had trifled, often cruelly trifled, with the too susceptible feelings of the artless, unsuspecting, and innocent objects of his flattering attention. But he now confessed that it was his turn to feel the passions which he had so often inflicted upon others. Absence from the object of his attachment having become insupportable, De Lamarre resigned his commission, and attached himself to the court of Louis. He had been absent but a short time, but a rival to his claims had arisen, more formidable than he was willing to acknowledge.

Henri D'Arblay, Marquis of Coligne, had cast his ambitious eye upon the fair flower of Fontenoy. Having discovered that she was sole heiress of all the estate of that ancient family, and that her estate upon the banks of the Garonne, would be the very place which would satisfy his desire of princely magnificence in time of peace, and of defence in war. In person he was any thing but attractive, but he had an address that left him few superiors in the art of winning the affections.

Such was Ura de Fontenoy at that era, within the circle of the most accomplished court of Europe. So powerful and universal was her sway, that, however unconscious she might be of it, the most sycophantic courtiers of the Prince Royal waited with more intense and thrilling anxiety upon her smile than upon his-and counted it a higher privilege to head the dance with her, who was above even the shafts of envy, and whom all admired, even to her female cotemporaries, who suffered neglect in consequence of her transcendant beauty. Such was the youthful heiress, when, at a grand festival, given by Louis to all his court, it was her fortune to be seen by the Compte de Lamarre, nephew of the Prince of Orange. De Lamarre was, unlike much of the court of that proud king, ambitious without sycophancy, and proud and high-born, without the overbearing hauteur of birth and power. Educated both to the palace and the camp, he combined the fearlessness and dignity of the soldier, with the polish and refinement of the court. Endowed by nature with a It was not long after the Count's arrival, before brilliant genius, and decisive and powerful mind, he heard what had taken place. He went instantly he cultivated them to the highest degree. But it and sought an interview with Ura. She was in was his fortune, or misfortune, be it termed which her saloon-as soon as he was announced by the it may, to possess a person and face of eminent servant, she came herself to receive him. The beauty. He was tall, graceful, and manly: his bright smile which she gave him, lightened his brow was expanded and noble, and his whole ap-heart for a moment; but when, as he took her hand pearance, such as would have become an Apollo. and pressed it to his lips, he raised his eyes, and It is said that, so powerful was the effect of his saw upon a sofa, his rival, Henri D'Arblay, the beauty, and so deeply versed was he in the arts of blood left his cheek, and then returned, till it manmale coquetry, that where he wooed, he won; and tled it over with the deepest crimson. He tremthat no woman could catch his soul-searching bled violently; it was however, but for an instant: glance without emotion. Till now, Ura had never he soon regained command of himself, and, as seen one that equalled the beau ideal of her roman- though nothing had disturbed him, entered the satic mind, nor one that had power to wake the slum-loon, and greeted politely the object of his emotion. bering and infant passions of her bosom; but when the Prince of Orange led up, and introduced to her the noble De Lamarre, she confessed to herself that if any one could ever claim the devotion

D'Arblay rose as he entered, and he too colored as he found himself in such proximity to the one he had attempted to supplant. He bowed coldly and haughtily to De Lamarre, and the servants who

had remained with them, when there were but | accounted a swordsman, and it would not be a two, now left the room, and there was a distressing trifling exertion I should make for so fair a prize." silence which no one seemed willing to break. "Oh! Lamarre, you must not go. Tell meAt length, a few words of no import having been promise me, that you will not go. I will not part spoken, and the situation of the parties becoming with you," said she, taking his hand, "till you prodisagreeable, especially to Ura, she availed her-mise me- "That I can know no higher pleasure than to be held in so sweet bondage," rejoined he, as he kissed the fair hand that had clasped his, in the vain endeavor to persuade him to relinquish his purpose. She bent down her head, and a tear gemmed her eye.

self of a word brought by a servant, from her father, to beg to be excused for leaving their company. As she rose to leave the room, the Compte and D'Arblay both rose, with the intention of handing her to her father. As each saw the other's intention, they turned upon each other with a frown of the most deadly hatred. Ura stepped back from both.

'Compte De Lamarre," said the Marquis, "you will not presume to take the care upon yourself, I imagine, that belongs to another."

"No, D'Arblay, I will not usurp the place of another; but, I pray you, let us not quarrel in the presence of a female. Suffer me to hand this lady to her father, and I will return to you here." "Have the patience to wait, yourself," said the Marquis, "I will attend the lady."

'Pardon me, gentlemen, I have no occasion for any attendance. I pray you, let there be no quarrel; I will remain."

She seated herself, and the Compte and Marquis resumed their seats; but not till D'Arblay had pointed significantly to the hilt of his sword, and De Lamarre had nodded assent to the implied challenge.

Matters being thus settled, the rivals appeared perfectly at ease, and nothing of note occurred during the day. At evening, as the Compte was walking alone on the terrace, a billet was handed him by a friend of D'Arblay, and before he had time to look at it, another, by a servant of the Marquis de Fontenoy. The first one was a note from D'Arblay, requesting information respecting the time and place of meeting, and the other read,— "Meet me instantly in the King's antichamber.

URA."

He obeyed the summons, and soon rapped at the door of the room appointed, and a female servant opened it. As soon as he entered, Ura, who was awaiting him, advanced to meet him.

De Lamarre," said she, "you are about to quarrel with D'Arblay: I saw the challenge which he gave you, and saw you accept it. Now my injunctions upon you are, that you avoid this meetingon your faith and fealty to your prince-as you regard your life-mine, I would say, do not meet this man: fear him not as a rival. He is already detestable to me, for having brought you into danger."

"Hush! I know you scorn the thought of danger, and there is your jeopardy: if you should slay this man, nothing short of death or imprisonment will appease his powerful connexions; if he should kill you-oh!-do not go there, I beseech you; promise me you will not go."

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Ura," said the Compte, "would you like to hear me scoffed at-sneered at-branded as a coward?"

"Oh, no, no! but-but is there no way?" 'No-none. I must fight D'Arblay, and then, I will return to you:" saying which he departed from her presence.

When the Compte had left the room, Ura rung the bell violently, and her servants stood before her. After dismissing all but two, she gave them some charge, and concluded by saying "Lose no time-be active and faithful, and expect your reward."

The sun had just risen above the hills, when, in the grove, within the precincts of the palace, two men were seen leaning against a tree, in close conversation. "What say, Jacques," said one of them, will D'Arblay be in time for us?"

"I can't tell, Lamarre; 'twere pity if he did not, for we may ere long have witnesses to our game; and victor or vanquished, it will go hard with you, if you do not accomplish this before you are seen. But list! I hear footsteps."

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"Is that D'Arblay or the guard," asked Lamarre. "Tis D'Arblay," replied the second: "I know him by his ugly countenance. He is accompanied by his friend."

"I am glad of it, Jacques," said Lamarre, “we may now possibly fix our affairs without interruption."

The Marquis and his second now appeared. "Well met, Monseigneur," said he to his impatient antagonist: :-"Let us to our business, without delay."

"You have found me waiting, Monseigneur," replied he.

In a moment the matters were adjusted, and the combatants drew. The skill of the rivals in the sword-play was nearly equal. De Lamarre had had no better master than D'Arblay, but he had long practice in the camp, and the foil was as much at home in his hand as the rapier in its sheath. D'Arblay was not his inferior in skill, but he lacked the severe exercise which had hardened to iron every nerve in the arm of his antagonist.

The Marquis knew the necessity of coolness, and could, on any ordinary occasion, control his passions; but his temper was naturally violent, and when it was awakened, did more to unman him than his antagonist could do.

The Compte, conscious of his skill, though naturally passionate, had been taught to quench, in Ura, this care for me has rendered you doubly such contests, every feeling: but in the present indear to me. But, since you know the affair, 'tis stance, both were highly excited. On the issue o useless to dissimulate. I have accepted D'Arblay's the contest depended every thing that they prized. challenge, and I shall be branded as a coward, if I It was not for life they fought-it was for Ura de do not meet him: but fear not for me--I have been Fontenoy.

Ura, this noble and generous affection has D'Arblay's cheek reddened with vexation. He inade my heart forever yours. I shall now know however took his second's sword, and again met what it is to love, truly, devotedly, and with the his opponent; but it was with a less resolute air, whole soul. But I must to the king; I have a staff and with a weaker hand; a few passes more were to lean upon, which will hardly fail me. Farewell, only made before Lamarre wounded his antago-Ura, if I see you not again, remember me." nist in the right breast-he paused—“ Are you satisfied ?" said he.

Compte," replied the King, "your boon is greater than we had imagined it would be. We must be just as well as merciful. There is a special law which declares your offence to be capital; but we have promised to grant your boon, and it is granted."

"Live forever! my generous sovereign," exclaimed Lamarre, dropping upon his knee, and

"It is indeed so; our rencontre was seen by the friends of D'Arblay, as Jacques has since dis-kissing the hand of the King. covered, and they are collecting in a body, to go to the King, and demand my life,"

"Rise, Compte, and hear us farther. You are pardoned for all your crime, but you must flee."