was that in spite of the uncomfortable prognostic | with a hand and arm that might have driven Phidias in which my worthy father indulged, and I could himself to desperation!" She is an angel!" exnot fail to participate, I found no difficulty in sum- claimed I: "but an heiress! the thing is immoning the requisite degree of placid nonchalence possible." to my aid, ere I showed myself at the King's Theatre, no fit cocale for the exhibition of the blue devils, except such as figure in the opera of Don Giovanni,' or the ballet of Faust.'

ration, at a respectful distance, I heard snatches of conversation behind me, in which her claims and perfections seemed to form the principal subject of discussion.

against the post. I was not sufficiently prepared for the shock, comparatively gentle as it was: I was fairly jerked out, and, without any spontaneous effort, measured iny length on the curb-stone rather "Lovely creature!-Splendid eyes, by Jove more roughly than I had calculated: while my Miss Henderson-great heiress-uncle died in faithful squire set up a shout that might have been India-father city man-very wealthy-stock heard at the Zoological, and in two minutes the exchange-hundred and fifty thousand down.-master and servants of the house were collected Man with her!-Lord Clon something or other-Irish around me. peer-very hard up—not a rap-cleaned out a few nights since at the Athenæum."

I looked wishfully towards the interlocuteurs, but they were strangers to me. I had, however, obtained some hearsay evidence respecting the lady, and was obliged to content myself with that for the present.

How malignantly envious I felt of Lord Clon, something or other when I heard the fair object of my devotion say to him, with a winning smile, as she prepared to obey, the summons that reached her from below, Remember, we shall expect to see your Lordship on Monday evening,-a very small party."

I followed the father and daughter down stairs, watched them into their carriage, and felt like Ruggiero in "The Rovers, or, the Double Arrangement,"

"Barbs, barbs! alas! too swift ye flew,

Ker neat post-waggon trotting in."

I lay quite motionless, and, to all appearance, insensible; while exclamations of terror and pity burst from the different individuals who composed the group, as they lifted me from the ground, and carried me, unresisting, into the hall.

I had scarcely been deposited on a couple of hall-chairs, when I heard a female voice, which I immediately recognized, exclaiming, "Good heavens! what's the matter?" and a faint-scream which followed the question proved that the fair inquirer fully appreciated the awful nature of the casualty.

Here, Julia; for God's sake, your vinaigrette, eau-de-Cologne, salts-anything! Here's a poor gentleman who has just been thrown out of a cab. John, run for the apothecary round the corner! God bless me! I an afraid he's dreadfully injured."

I gave a faint groan without opening my eyes. "Oh! for mercy's sake, bring him into the dining-room, poor young man!" exclaimed the

"Coach, Sir?-coach, Sir cab, Sir ?-cab, Sir?" lovely Julia. And when, in obedience to her was re-echoed on all sides.

A sudden thought struck me as the barouche drew off. I jumped into a cab-"Follow that carriage," said I to the driver. Come, be quick!

or you will lose sight of it.
Why, then," answered the auriga, in tones that
once proclaimed his country, "bad 'cess to me if I
don't make you spin over the ground in iligant
style, and no mistake! Only it wouldn't do to
stick too close to their skirts, as them vivils of
servants might smoke us."

"Umph!" thought I to myself, "a respectable confident for an affaire du caur, Master Tom Bermingham! But no matter; the end must sanctify

the means."

On we went-the barouche before, the cab behind-up Regent street, across Cavendish square up Harley street, until the carriages stopped at a house situated within a few doors of the New-road.

The cabman, still a good deal in the rear, checked his Rosinante.

"What'll I do now, sir ?" inquired he. "Wait a moment," said I, till the carriage draws off. But stay, I have it! It will be a rather hazardous trick, certainly; but there's nothing like making a bold push.

Pat, you shall have a sovereign if you will undertake to over-turn me as close to that house as possible-without breaking any bones.

Done!" said he; "but I needn't send the cab over. I'll just drive again' that lamp-post-asy, like. Do you jump out, and throw yourself on the ground; lie quite (quiet,) and leave the rest to

benevolent suggestion, I had been removed to a softer couch, the dear angel actually went down on her knees, and began rubbing my temples with eau-de-Cologne.

Yes; I felt those delicate fingers on my forehead; her breath fanned my cheek! I would have broken ten legs to secure such a moment; and, lucky dog that I was! I enjoyed it in a whole skin.

I was fearful, however, of carrying the joke too far, lest the surgeon should arrive, and insist upon phlebotomising me, or, what would be worse, discover that I was shamming, I therefore, with a deepdrawn sigh, opened my eyes, and looked languidly around me. What rapture to meet the earnest gaze of those soft black orbs!-to see that heavenly countenance bending over me in anxiety and alarm, nay, as I almost flattered myself, with something

of a tender interest!

"Thank God, he revives!" exclaimed she in a tone of delight; but I could, of course, only recover my consciousness gradually. Before I was sufficiently collected to speak, one of the party, having unrolled me from my cloak, had extracted my cardcase from my coat pocket, and read my name and address therein recorded-"Capt. Bermingham, Guards, Albany."

"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Henderson, "Captain Bermingham, of the Guards! The son of Sir Dionysius, the member for, whom we met at dinner last week, at the SeymourHigginbothams." He told me his son was in the Guards. "I hope, my dear sir," he continued, There was no time to be lost, as we heard the addressing me, "you are not seriously hurt ?” carriage-steps put down. While he spoke, Pat "No, nothing of consequence, I believe," ansuited the action to the word;-bang we went swered I, faintly. "I really-I—am quite shock

me."

ed-I am afraid I am giving a great deal of trouble."

"Don't mention it, my dear sir," said my good Samaritan. But pray compose yourself until the arrival of the surgeon, who will be here inmediately."

"Will he?" thought I; "then I must be off inmediately, after I have secured an excuse for calling to-morrow."

"Get along with you," said the butler. "Do you think the gentleman's going to pay you, for almost breaking his neck? You ought to be taken up to Bow-street."

Stay," said I, with Christian meekness, and a forgiveness of injuries that was truly edifying, “I dare say the poor man is not much to blame, and accidents will happen. Here is your fare, my good fellow." I continued, slipping a sovereign into his hand, “and for God's sake, drive more cautious.

Mr. Henderson's servants delivered me safely in Albany, with every precaution that my precaricus state required.

"Thank you very much,” said 1, rapidly reviving, "but I trust I shall have no serious orca-ly in future." sion for his services. My left arm is a little bruised, I believe, but I am sure I have no bones broken-I was only a good deal stunned. I shall, however, be quite well, in a minute or two, and My father had not returned from his club, and I cannot think of tresspassing farther, to-night, on gave the strictest i junctions that he should not be your kindness. My name is Bermingham-Cap-informed of what had occurred, supposing always, tain Bermingham of the Guards. I must and I regret to say that it was not a matter of make the best of my way home now; but I trust course, that he did not make his appearance in you will allow me, when I am rather more pre- that exquisite state of beatitude in which the vulgar sentable, to have the honor of calling upon you, cares of existence and the trifling interests of and expressing more fully the gratitude I feel for humanity, sink into insignificance in the eyes of the benevolent attention I have received." one who is

"O'er a' the ills o' life victorious."

After a night of unbroken slumbers, enlivered

"I shall be happy to see you at any time, Captain Bermingham-especially as I have the pleasure of being slightly acquainted with your worthy father. But you really must not think of going-by very agreeable dreams, throughout which 100 you cannot walk, I am sure. But stay, if you really will go, my carriage is here, and shall take you slowly home."

My dear sir, I cannot think of –

Nay, I must insist. My coachman shall drive very carefully. In which direction were you going?"

My dear sir-you are too kind—my head is so confused-I scarcely recollect-I think—I believe I was going to join some friends in the Regent's Park, to sup after the opera, but, as you really are so kind as to allow me the use of your carriage, 1 shall trouble the coachman to drive me home to Albany.

During all this time, I was furtively watching the countenance of the lovely Julia, whose interest in my welfare was apparently not diminished by my restoration to consciousness. I have no doubt I looked pale, for in the performance of my successful manoeuvre, I had got a slight shake; and my left shoulder just warned me that there was sufficient of reality in the affairs to heighten the effect of the romance.

I now took my leave, as gracefully as was consistent with the imaginary injuries I had sustained in the fall; and supported by the arm of one of the servants. I proceeded to the carriage. But before I had got out of the house, it occurred to me that ought in common gratitude, to inquire the name of my new friend, as I could not be supposed to know it. I therefore begged that he would have the goodness to inform me to whom I was so greatly indebted, etc. He complied by giving me his card. which, having asked it merely for form's sake, I put in my pocket without looking at it; and indeed there was not sufficient light at the streetdoor, where I received it, to admit of my reading the name.

"Plase your honor," said the coachman, as I was slowly assisted into the carriage, "you've forgotten

the fare."

mantic affections and marriage settlements-the '
darts of Cupid and the three per cent, coi sols~
were oddly jumbled in my head, according to the
usual incongruity of the fantastic visions of Mor
pheus, I arose in high spirits, and very line the
worse for my tumble. As I was completing my
toilet,—an operation in which I did not forget a
black silk handkerchief, by way of a sling for my
invalided aru,—as I meant it to do great execution,
I saw on my dressing table the card which I had
received from my Harley street friend on the pre-
ceding night, and which I had taken from my
waistcoat pocket while undressing. What was my
surprise when I discovered that, instead of Mr.
Henderson," it bore the name of Lieut. Col. Sir
George Jervoise !"--~Could it be the same card ?—
Yes, there was the address-No. Upper Harley.
street.

“Well,” thought I, “I took it for granted he was her father; but I suppose he is only her mele. Perhaps her father is dead. So much the be ́ter-→ parents are sadly in the way, when a yom g lady is disposed to make a disinterested match."

With this consolatory reflection I made my appearance at the breakfast table, where I four d the "governor" all sympathy for my mishap, of which he had heard the most exaggerated accounts.

At his request I now gave him my version of the affair, which was tolerably correct, as far as it went, although I took the liberty of suppressing such facts as I was not desirous to communicate. I therefore said nothing of Miss Henderson, but dwelt long and eloquently on the kindness of Eir George Jervoise. He stated, sir,” observed I, that he had the pleasure of meeting you at dinner lately."

To be sure, to be sure," said my father, sudden ly recollecting the name. "It was no later than last week, at the Seymour-Higginbothams,' I sat next to him, and a very sensible, agrecable fellow

he is. The dinner was given in honor of him and his young bride!"

Why, what the devil's the matter with the man ?" said my father, staring in amazement. "Bride, sir. Did you say bride ?'" "Yes sir, his bride! And a nighty pretty woman she is, I can tell you! with a splendid pair of black eyes. And an heiress too. They had only been married about three weeks. She was a Miss Henderson."

I started on my feet, upsetting sundry cups and saucers in the abruptness of the movement, tore off the sling from my arm, and threw it into the fire, and began pacing the room with gigantic strides. "Good Lord!" exclaimed my father, in real alarm. "the boy's mad! My life for it! he has had a concussion of the brain in that cursed fall!" And so saying, he began ringing the bell, as if the house was on fire.

"For heaven's sake, sir," said I, "don't alarm the neighborhood. I have only made a confounded fool of myself;--that's all."

Well, Tom," said he, "I am glad it's no worse; but as it isn't the first time by a great many, to my certain knowledge, you may as well take it easy, any how."

"Take it easy, indeed!" exclaimed I. "When I have run the risk of breaking my neck for nothing! But you shall hear the whole truth, sir, and judge of my disappointment."

I then proceeded to supply the deficiencies of my former narrative, and put my worthy father in possession of all the facts of the case. He listened to my recital with the most provoking hilarity; and, after complimenting me on what he was pleased to designate my unheard of-impudence," and "unparalelled effrontery," he ended by declaring, with an oath, that I was his "own son, every inch of me."

A True Story.

WHEN I was a young boy, I had delicate health, and was somewhat of a pensive and contemplative turn of mind; it was my delight, in the long summer evenings, to slip away from my noisy and more robust companions, that I might walk in the shade of a venerable wood, my favorite haunt, and listen to the cawing of the old rooks, who seemed as fond of this retreat as I was.

looked like a lovely woman. I closed my eyes forcibly with my hands, and when I looked again she had vanished.

I cannot exactly say why I did not on my return speak of this beautiful appearance: nor why, with a strange mixture of hope and fear, I went again and again to the same spot, that I might see her. She always came; and often in the storm and plashing rain, that never seemed to touch or to annoy her, she looked sweetly on me, and silently passed on: and though she was so near to me, that once the wind lifted up those light straying locks, and I felt them against my cheek, yet I never would move or speak to her. I fell ill; and when I recovered, my mother closely questioned me of the tall lady, of whom, in the height of my fever, I had so often spoken. Her story ran thus:

"When the rebel troops were retreating after their total defeat, in that very wood I was so fond of, a young officer, unable any longer to endure the anguish of his wounds, sunk from his horse, and laid himself down to die. He was found there by a lady, and conveyed by a trusty domestic to her father's mansion, who was a loyalist: but the officer's desperate condition excited his compassion, and his many wounds spoke a language, a brave man could not misunderstand. The lady with many tears, pleaded for him, and promised that he should be carefully and secretly attended. And well she kept that promise: for she waited upon him (her mother being long dead) for many weeks, and anxiously watched for the opening of his eyes, that, languid as he was, looked brightly and gratefully upon his young nurse.

You may fancy, better than I can tell you, as he slowly recovered, all the moments that were spent in reading, and low-voiced singing, and gentle playing on the lute; and how many fresh flowers were brought to one whose wounded limbs would not bear him to carry them for himself; and how calmly the days glided on in the blessedness of returning health, and in that sweet silence so carefully enjoined him. I will pass by this, to speak of one day, which, brighter and more pleasant than others, did not seem brighter or lovelier than the looks of the young maiden, as she gaily spoke of a little festival which (though it must bear an unworthier name) she meant really to give it in honor of her guest's recovery;' And it is time, my lady,' said he, for that guest, so tended and so honored, to tell One evening I sat later than usual, though the you his whole story, and speak to you of one who distant sound of the cathedral clock had more than will help him to thank you, while asking you to write once warned ine to return back to my home. There a billet for him, which, even in these times of danger, was a stillness in all nature that I was unwilling to I may find some means to forward.' To his mother, disturb by the least motion. From this reverie I no doubt, she thought, as with a light heart she was suddenly startled by the sight of a tall slender seated herself by his couch, and smilingly bid him female, who was standing by me, looking sorrow-dictate; but, when he said 'My dear wife,' and fully and steadily in my face. She was dressed in white, from head to foot, in a fashion that I had never seen before; her garments were unusually long and flowing, and rustled as she glided through the low shrubs near me, as if they were made of the richest silk. My heart beat as if I was dying, and I knew not that I could have stirred from the spot: but she seemed so very mild and beautiful that I did not attempt it. Her pale brown hair was braided round her head, but there were some locks that strayed upon her neck; and, altogether, she

lifted up his eyes to be asked for more, he saw before him a pale statue, that gave him one look of utter despair, and fell, heavily at his feet. Those eyes never truly reflected the pure soul again, or answered by answering looks the fond inquiries of her poor father. She lived to be as I saw her, sweet and gentle, and delicate always; but reason returned no more. She visited till the day of her death the spot where she first saw that young soldier, and dressed herself in the very clothes he said so well became her."

C. L.

ORIGINAL.

REMINISCENCE OF A CLERGYMAN.

THE life of a clergyman, even in a retired village, is not, as many suppose, without incident. By his office as an ambassador of Christ, it is his lot to soothe the heart of the suffering, and extract the sting of remorse from the mind of the sorrowing penitent. His very remoteness from the stirring scenes of life, has its advantages, opening to his view the secret springs of the soul, and confining his attention to the hidden machinery of the heart. That in thus ministering to the diseased mind of some erring fellow being, passages of a strange and startling interest in the book of human life, are often made known to him, must be apparent to the attentive observer.

I am induced to transcribe the following occurrences in the life of a deceased parishioner, in the hope that, while the circumstances therein mentioned are not of a nature to happen frequently, they may yet have their moral, and while they interest, also instruct the casual reader. It was in the summer of 18—that I was admonished by my failing health, to give up my ministrations, in one of our more southern cities, and take charge of a small parish in New England, near the place of my nativity. The village where I was located, was not extensive, but to one accustomed to the crowded thoroughfares and the busy streets of a large city, it was a luxury to tread the green fields, and breathe the fresh air of the country. I wished my children also to be educated in the moral atmosphere of New England-to imbibe the spirit of its free institutions. And to one of her children who has wandered far from her peaceful borders, lovely is the visage that New England wears after a long absence: lovely her rocky mountains and smiling vales; lovely her clear springs and picturesque scenery. The hand and heart of the writer must be cold, ere he cease to hold dear in his remembrance, the land of his birth and the friends of his early days.

row, and not age had chiselled the deep furrows on his brow, and whitened his hoary locks. After service, I looked to see if he were accompanied by any of the congregation; but no, he departed as he came alone. Yet in his demeanor there was nothing that told of pride, though he was evidently of a higher class in life than many of my people appeared to be; but on the contrary, I noticed a subdued and chastened expression of feeling in his face, as of one who had battled with the world, and been worn in the struggle, yet found peace at the last. During the week I made inquiries about him, and learnt that he had resided in the place for nearly two years, yet in that whole period had sought neither friends nor acquaintance, and appeared totally unconnected with any other human being, save the solitary and aged domestic who kept his house. Yet he was seemingly possessed of all the means of comfort, and liberal in imparting them to his poorer neighbors: retaining only this singularity, that no person could induce him to enter the cottages of those whom he relieved, or witness the happiness he had caused. This reserved disposition, which in another would have been condemned as uncourteous, produced in the minds of the inhabitants no unfavorable impression concerning him; there was such a touching melancholy in his manner when he replied to the inquiries which their kind feelings prompted, that the hardest hearts were softened when they gazed on his weatherbeaten face; and satisfied from his daily charitable acts that his heart was right, they believed that his unsociable disposition was the result of misfortune, and pitied his forlorn condition.

Such was the account I heard, and when I afterwards repeated my observation, and saw the individual evidently struggling with some secret sorrow that weighed upon his heart, subduing all outward demonstrations of suffering, or witnessed his devout and humble demeanor in the house of God, and the satisfaction he seemed to derive from the But to go on. Familiar as I was with the general features of the place, and the names of the inhabi- ordinances of our holy religion, I could not but tants, I yet found that even here time and change sign that his must be a strange and singular history. feel my interest strengthened, or resist the impres had done their work. Many of the old inhabitants There was something so affecting in his destitution had gone to their last homes, and their dwelling of the ordinary relations of life-so uncommon in were tenanted by strangers. I seldom recollect a more thrilling moment in my history, than when his voluntary seclusion, that I could not forbear deafter my introductory prayer, on the Sunday fol- siring to discover the reasons which led him to lowing my ordination, I paused to look around on ed me of that pathetic description of Rogers: adopt it. I know not why, but he always remindthe assembled people, to whom I was for the future, after my poor ability, to dispense the bread of life. Yet even then, amid that mingled mass, there was one person who powerfully attracted my attention, And I earnestly hoped that a farther acquaintance and for the remainder of the morning, I could not with him would afford me some means of allerefrain from many a recurring glance at one whose viating those sorrows under which I was persuaded name and person were alike unknown to me. He he suffered. An opportunity was soon afforded was a man in the decline of life, with a counte- me; I called at his house, and found him disposed nance that at once singularly impressed and inte- to receive with cordiality the advances I made for rested me. I could not forbear thinking that he his friendship. The conversation of one who felt appeared much older than he really was; that sor- a sympathetic interest in his welfare, seemed to

"An old man wandering in quest of something, Something he could not find."