merest gossip of the world should accuse him of having paid court to the heiress from interested motives.

All that Anne surmised was true; true now to a greater extent than she suspected. The regard which Clement Burton felt for Miss Middleham on their first acqnaintance had grown with their daily intercourse, and had at last attained such proportions as rendered it necessary for him to take some decisive step. What that step should be required in his mind but short consideration.

The feelings with which Anne had accredited him existed even more vividly than she had ima gined, and though he would have given all that he possessed to call Grace his wife, he feared to declare himself to her, lest his motives should be misunderstood. In the course of his experience he had frequently heard stories of doctors perverting the confidence which had been placed in them professionally to their own private ends, and the mere idea, that such an accusation should be brought against him, filled him with horror and dismay. Better trample out the fire which was consuming him and go away, leaving no sign. It was time the present condition of affairs should cease; and he set himself to work to bring about the end.

When Mr. Burton's mind was once made up, he was prompt in action, and three days after his determination he presented himself at the Hermitage. The friends were in the drawing-roomMiss Middleham at work, while Anne was reading to her. After the ordinary commonplaces, Clement said, in as gay a tone as he could assume, "I have come to make a little revelation, which, I think, will surprise, and which I am selfish enough to hope may grieve you."

Both the girls looked up instantly; Grace in astonishment, Anne with an odd prescience of what was coming.

Anne was the first to speak. "Something which will grieve us?" she repeated.

"I hope so," said Clement. "Odd though it may sound, I hope that the interest you both take in me is sufficient for you to be sorry to hear that I am going to leave you."

The usual color fled from Grace's cheeks as she said, "To leave us, Mr. Burton; you dont't mean for long, I suppose ?"

Anne was silent; but Grace said, in a faint low tone, "What can you mean? Surely this is very sudden ?"

"The decision is sudden," Clement said, "though I have had the idea for some time in ray mind. The fact is, that I find this kind of work telling upon me, and I have long been desirous for a change. I think I explained to you, Miss Middleham, that my own inclination did not lead me to my profession, and that I only took to it from necessity. I have nothing to complain of my success in it, and it has made me many kind friends; but I rather pine for freedom, and now there is a chance of obtaining it."

A dead silence ensued, to break which Anne said, "You are not going then to pursue your profession abroad, Mr. Burton ?"

"No," he said, as though suddenly recalling himself from a dream. “The fact is, that a patient of mine, and a kind friend as well, has received the appointment as governor to one of the West India islands. He takes me out with him as his secretary, and promises me that my work shall be nominal, and that I shall have plenty of time for any literary or scientific pursuits which I may choose to indulge in."

Still Grace was silent; but Anue said, in a hard voice, "The temptation is a great one-when do you go?"

66

My friend thinks of sailing in about ten days' time, but nothing is as yet decided. He only made me the offer last night, and you are the first to whom I have communieated it."

"We ought to be greatly obliged to Mr. Burton for his selection of us to share his confidence, ought we not, Grace?" said Anne. “Come, dear, you have promised me a drive to Richmond this morning, and the best of the sunshine will be lost if we delay." Then Grace, managing to regula her self-possession, said a few words, and Mr. Burton took his leave.

That was a silent drive to Richmond, for each of the ladies was too much immersed in her own thoughts to speak. The shock which Miss Middleham had received at the announcement of Clement Burton's intended departure, and the conse quent alteration in her whole life; the loss of seme thing which she looked forward to from day to day, the breaking up of that delightful communing which

been almost too much for her. Whatever dreams

she had indulged in seemed now to be hopelessly shattered. He could never have cared for her, or he would not have allowed himself to be carried away on so comparatively slight a pretext. All the kindness and attention, then, which he had paid her, had been prompted by friendshipnothing more; and, imputing no blame to him, Grace owned she had cruelly deceived herself. From every one, even from Anne, she tried to hide any expression of her feelings, but this was beyond her control; and as she lay back in the carriage, recalling the pleasures of the past, and mourning over the flight of the happiness which she had anticipated in the future, tears of disappointment, scarcely hidden by her veil, rolled down her cheeks.

Her companion was equally silent, equally preoccupied, and if her eyes were dry, her mind, at least, was as much disturbed. The story which she had heard Clement Burton tell that morning, and the scene which she had witnessed, were, to her, ample confirmation of what she had long suspected. She now was certain that the young surgeon had found himself unable any longer to go quietly through the ordinary routine of life, and he constantly in the presence of his idol, without declaring himself. To avow his passion and ask her hand would be, according to his supersensitiveness, an act of meanness and disloyalty, and he had, therefore, sought for this appointment as a means of escape from the dilemma. His heart was breaking at the idea of separating from Grace, but it was, in his opinion, the voice of honor which bade him go, and he hesitated not. Nor had Anne any longer any doubt, if such had ever possessed her mind, that her friend returned Clement Burton's affection. The sudden change in her appearance when Clement announced his departure; her altered demeanor ever since; the half-hysterical state in which, though she strove to disguise it, she then was-all showed that she was passing through no ordinary trial.

And, above all Anne felt herself called upon to make the crowning sacrifice of her life, by stifling for ever the deep attachment she had silently nourished, and solving the difficulty which existed between those two. It could be done, she thought the misunderstanding could be at once removed— if she only had the courage to efface herself, and to act as interpreter between them. If Clement could be persuaded that Grace was really attached

to him, and that in demanding her hand he would be behaving honorably, his motive being beyond question, he would only too gladly obey the suggestion. As for Grace, to bring her lover to her feet would be recalling her to life. Here was a way, then, Anne thought, of repaying all the friendship which she had received at Grace's hands; and when she remembered the devotion existent from their school days, and, even at that present moment, manifest in each of Grace's words and acts towards her, she felt that, though her own immolation was a part of the scheme, she could yield herself up without a murmur.

That night Anne Studley wrote to Mr. Burton a note, requesting him to call and see her the next morning, as she wished particularly to consult him. He was not to mention having received the note, and, if he saw Miss Middleham, was to make it appear to her that his visit was an ordinary one. Just before the time when she expected the young surgeon, Anne Studley took Grace with her into the morning-room, out of which, through heavy velvet portiéres, opened a pretty little conservatory filled with exotics, and with a fountain plashing in its midst. As they were sitting idly talking, the conversation being mostly carried on by Anne-for Grace was meditative and preoccupied-Mr. Burton was announced.

"Stay, Jennings," said Anne to the servant, quickly, "one minute before you let him in. Grace, dear, I have a particular desire you should not see Mr. Burton this morning; at all events, until I have spoken to him upon some very important business of my own."

The blush was on Grace's face in an instant. "What can I do?" she said, "if I go out I shall meet him in the hall."

"Step into the conservatory," said Anne; "you can pass through and go out by the other door. Now, Jennings, show Mr. Burton in."

But when Grace tried the outer door of the conservatory, she found it locked on the outside, and as Mr. Burton was already in the room, she was compelled to remain in hiding.

"You see I have obeyed your commands, Miss Studley," was Clement's salutation, "and I am here."

"It was very good of you to come," said Anne, quietly; "but I think, before our interview is ended, you will see the necessity for my somewhat apparently brusque summons. You

used to say," she added, with a slight color rising, but fading as suddenly as it came, "in the old days, when I was Mrs. Gaynor-you used to say that one of my chief merits was frankness."

"I never knew you to be otherwise than thoroughly frank and thoroughly trustworthy," he

said.

"And you will find, I hope, that those qualities have not deserted me. In all I am going to say to you now I shall be thoroughly frank-too frank for politeness, perhaps, but not for truth; certainly not too frank, considering how very nearly the happiness of one so dear to me is concerned."

He started, and looked at her keenly. "I am afraid I do not comprehend you, Miss Studley," he said.

tate to accept it and to throw your fine feelings to the winds."

"You scarcely know what you are saying, Miss Studley," said Clement, quietly.

"Do I not?" said Anne; "I think I do. I think anyone before whom the circumstances were brought would not hesitate to decide with me that, however much you may imagine yourself to be in love, in the course which you propose to take you are selfishly preferring your own ease and comfort, and the improvement of your position, to the love which you profess to feel."

Clement Burton rose from his chair and stood before her, hat in hand. "You told me that you would be frank, Miss Studley, and I expected plain speaking from you; but I was, I confess, but little prepared for the turn which your observations have taken. This is the first, and it must be the last, time on which this subject shall ever be mentioned between us. My frankness, therefore, shall be as great as your own, and I hope t

sion on you. You have guessed rightly that I

"I am not answerable for your own observation, nor for your intuitive knowledge, Miss Studley. I can only say that such knowledge could never have been derived from anything which I have ever said-or done."

"You may have your words and actions under command, Mr. Burton," she replied, "and yet involuntarily have given me reason to suspect what I have just averred. You love Grace Middleham, I repeat !"

"And what if I do?" he cried, suddenly. "It is not a confession which I should have voluntarily made; and yet, inexplicable as my hesitation may seem to you, it is one in which I glory."

you will never know. For that love I am prepared-nay, I am about to sacrifice what is to me the whole pleasure of existence-being with her, the seeing and hearing her, the breathing the air she breathes, the knowledge that this delight is to be renewed from day to day-for that love I am giving up the practice, to secure which I have toiled early and late, and the prospects which are opening before me; and I do this, I keep silence before her, and leave her presence for ever without having breathed one word of my hopes, because I will not have it said that I, the poor surgeon, made use of my professional opportuci ties to gain the confidence of the wealthy heiress for my own purposes. If Miss Middleham had herself been poor, I should, months ago, have put

so long troubled, and asked her to become my

He spoke with trembling lips and pallid cheeks. When he had come to an end he made a bow, and was turning away, but Anne caught him by the arm.

"Don't you think it fair?" she said, "that Miss Middleham should know the state of your feelings-should have an opportunity of answer ing that question ?"

An Incident of Lafayette's Visit in 1824.—Mr. Titian R. Peale mentioned an interesting scene he witnessed. When Lafayette was entering Philadelphia, while visiting this country in 1824, going up Chestnut street, just as he came near Independence Hall, every window was filled with ladies and gentlemen, who, as he approached, greeted him with "Hail to the Chief," sung with such a joyous, heartfelt expression that the General instantly stopped the carriage and there was a sudden silence, which for a moment dashed the singers, as they expected only to greet him in passing, for which they had practiced until there was a perfect accord, and an effect so grand when the many voices with great enthusiasm sang out the words, that the General was surprised, and rising stood with head uncovered, evidently delighted. The welcome was so touching when with renewed fervor they sang each verse with a glorious outburst of feeling, that the good Lafayette was quite overcome by it.

L. P.

Washington, Master of Masonic Lodge at Alexandria-Dates Wanted. In NOTES AND QUERIES for February it is stated that "the chair occupied by Washington as Worshipful Master of the Masonic Lodge at Alexandria, Virginia," is in possession of the Edenton, North Carolina, Lodge. Is there not some mistake here? When was Washington Master of that Lodge? I would be glad to have the dates. If it is possible for any of your readers to give the exact dates, it may aid in removing doubts as to the C. correctness of the statement.

Charles Peale Polk.-In the March MONTHLY, page 227, you state that Charles Polk painted an original portrait of Washington "at Valley Forge." On page 235, same number, the same thing is stated under the heading "Historical Society of Pennsylvania." On page 372 of May MONTHLY, Mr. William H. Polk says that Charles Peale Polk" died in 1822, aged 56." If this is a fact, then he was born in 1766, and was therefore only twelve years of age in 1778, when Washington was at Valley Forge. He could not have painted the pictures in question at that tender and inexperienced age. Query, Is Charles Polk and Charles Peale Polk one and the same person? That Charles Peale Polk did paint in 1799 the Madison and Jefferson portraits mentioned by me in the April MONTHLY, is a fact attested by his well-known signature on the back of the paintings, but it is not likely that the same person painted Washington's portraits in 1778. Will Mr. W. H. Polk please give us more light on this subject. W. T. R. SAffell.

Delinquent Debtors Warned. In the Connecticut Courant of June 2, 1784, we find the following: "TAKE NOTICE, DEBTORS

For Newspapers to the Subscriber. This is the last time of asking in this way; all those who settle their accounts by the 18th of June, instant, will have the thanks of their humble servant; and those that neglect,

will find their accounts in the hands of some person, wh will collect them in a more fashionable way, but more expen sive. JAMES JOHNSON

Thus we see that subscribers and advertisers were, le badly-made coffee, slow to settle nearly a hundred years agowe NOTE the fact for the gratification of their followers d the present day. WILLIAM T. WALLACE

Author Wanted.-Can any reader of the MINTHIY supply the ode of which the following is one stanza, 101 42 by whom it was written?

"Oh! I can gaze, and think it quite a treat,

So they be old, on buildings grim and shabby;

I love within the church's walls to greet

Some 'olde man' kneeling, bearded like a rab,
Whe never prays himself, but has a whim
That you'll'orate,' that is-'prayye' for him."

I have lately met this verse quoted without credit, an de sounds familiar, though I can't recall the piece or the atta MARY C. SHIRLEY.

The Editor would make a similar request for the po and its author's name in which occurs this verse: "There is an hour of deep repose

That yet upon my heart will close,
When all that nature dreads and knows
Shall burst upon me wondrously.
Oh! may I then awake for ever
My harp to rapture's high endeavor,
And, as from earth's vain scene I sever,
Be lost in Immortality."

When was the name "Long Knives" first applied by ne Indians to white men?

Lady Washington's Lament.-Can any of our res'es supply a song that used to be sung by everybody when ! was a child? It was called "Lady Washington's Lamer', and began,

"Saw ye my Hero? Saw ye my Hero, George?" Then came a response,

"I saw him on the plain-the battle just began." To my childish imagination, the tender Laly was rush wildly, with hair flying, in search of the great man, an song always set us to weeping.

I used always to hear people call Mesdames Washingt and Knox, Lady Washington, and Lady Knox. E.Q.S

A Word of Apology and a Word of Thanks --We are compelled by the pressure of Centennial matter to "The Records of Societies" this month, but hope to mát up for this omission hereafter. We beg to return our hr." thanks to the Virginia Historical Society for the honor er have bestowed upon us by making us a " Correspon Member" of their honorable fraternity.

Our artist having disappointed us, we are compelle, t omit our fac-simile from the old Saxon Calendar for Jur but shall give it, with accompanying NOTɛ, in July.