“Give me back, give me back, the wild freshness of morning,"

is answered-never!-the hart may pant for the waterbrooks, but they are dried up-I do not say that youth can be no more happy after this crushing of the soulthose who talk of everlasting misery, arraign the mercy, if not the justice, of the Creator-such a thing never was, never will be the summer may be warm, the autumn pleasant, but if the avalanche has fallen, and the violets of life are buried beneath its snows—their freshness is destroyed-destroyed for ever!

Count d'Oraine repeated his visit to Mrs. Lorton at the time and the hour he had appointed, and she received him -alone! After what had passed, we must suppose Henry Mortimer worse than weak not to deem, when Mrs. Lorton's excitement had subsided, some explanation of her extraordinary conduct necessary; he would have demanded this at once, had it not been for Mary's entreaties that he would wait, which he did day after day. She herself experienced mental distress which it would be impossible to describe; twenty times did she sit down to write to her uncle—and yet, what could she say? what had she to tell? It will be easily believed that, of her mother's singular epistle to Horace Brown, she was perfectly ignorant; though Mrs. Lorton had suddenly assumed a business-like manner, and complained loudly of the mal-arrangement of her affairs-evidently without knowing what those affairs were.

Count d'Oraine had called on Lady Norley; and, much to Harry's mortification, he was certainly admired both by his aunt and cousin: there are few persons, however highly cultivated they may be, who do not rejoice to receive an intelligent visitor at a country house.

Lady Ellen was so fond of observing human nature, that perhaps she was not exactly as particular in the choice of her associates as her cousin deemed necessary. She had a good deal of "philosophy" upon certain points, and Mrs. Lorton had formerly ventured to hint so to her more than once.

The accomplished foreigner did not attempt to conceal his great admiration of Mary, whom he met occasionally at Norley Lodge; he addressed her there as the daughter of his oldest friend--inquired continually as to her mother's health-grouped the autumn flowers into Oriental bouquets-sung to the guitar-and wrote German and Italian

sonnets in Lady Ellen's Album.' He even assumed an air of protection towards Mary, which was peculiarly offensive to Harry, and from which the poor girl instinctively shrank; had any one else so presumed, she would have acted with becoming dignity, but she felt as if he had a power over her destiny which she could not control.

One evening Lady Ellen rallied her on this. "My dear Mary," she said, "depend upon it we shall have a double wedding-I see it quite certainly that your mother will be a countess-nothing can be more clear-it will make quite a romance-they knew each other in childhood, or youthhood, if I may follow the fashion and coin a word—poverty frowned at the door, and love flew high and awaythe old story!-the lady married a richer lord—the husband dies-the lady then weds her first love, and if they do not live happy, that you and I may-that is all! But you are weeping, Mary; surely you do not want to have a husband, and keep your still young and beautiful mother from being happy in her way."

"She will never be happy, Lady Ellen, never—I say never. Oh, if you did but know

"Know what, my dear friend? I am sure I did not mean to distress you, my dear Mary-almost my cousin,” said Lady Ellen, affectionately.

"Ay, Ellen!" exclaimed the afflicted girl, laying her head on Lady Ellen's shoulder, "ay, Ellen, almost, but not quite-perchance I may never be your cousin!"

"My dear Mary, what means this-no new secret from your friend-I thought we had no secrets now, love, from each other-have you any cause for those tears, or is it mere nervousness?"

"Would to God," she exclaimed, suddenly clasping her hands, while her uplifted eyes swam in tears,-" would to God that I were dead!".

"Mary!" said her friend, in a reproachful tone,— Mary! this is not right; you must tell me what distresses you."

"I cannot," replied the gentle girl, "because I do not know. My mother is so changed towards me, and yet I know not why she should be. God-he knows, this minute, that to save her from one hour's sorrow, I would sacrifice all my joys--all my joys! Oh, Ellen,-I, who not a fortnight since was so rich in happiness, that but one cloud obscured a portion of my sky-I, who could not envy queens!-I am a beggar, a perfect beggar. My hap

piness is gone, I know not why or how: what little I have left would fit within the compass of a ring."

"But how?

Why?

"This man, this Count! But, Ellen, do not ask me-I cannot tell you truly I have nothing to tell—I would fain know who he is."

"And is this all," said the astonished Lady Ellen, who, of course, knew nothing of past scenes,-" and is this all to so fret and fume about? I cry your mercy, gentle Mary; I thought some desperate fortune was about to break in thunders o'er your head! This is such a mockery of sorrow, that I know not whether to pull these pretty ringlets, or to scold you for an hour by my watch. But is this really all?—that you want mamma to tell you who Count d'Oraine was, and mamma won't."

Mary's tears continued to flow on. At last she said, "you know how ill my mother is at times, how hard to manage; and indeed, Ellen, during the last few days, Harry has been unlike what he used to be."

"Cross, has he?" inquired his cousin, turning to the setting sun.

66

"No, no, not cross."

"Cold, then?"

"Oh, no."

"Jealous?"

"No; of whom could he be jealous?"

"Oh, I beg his pardon and yours.

Has he then looked

too much, or too long, at poor Miss Leslie ?"

"Did you find him making love to the sea-nymphs?" "No, Ellen, no."

"You really then, Mary, must explain the head and front of his offending. I cannot, having no lover, no regular, properly-arranged lover of my own, make out what it is yet I should like to know-not, Mary, dear, that I should profit thereby, because I do not think it at all likely I shall ever have occasion, unless some lord of the creation should first set up his crooked mind in opposition to my crooked body; and then, you know, a union of deformed candidates might take place on the principle of mutual accommodation. Pray explain."

"You may laugh at me, dear Ellen, if you will, though could you see into my heart you would the rather weep. I ought to have kept my own counsel. I can only repeat, that I feel Harry is changed, or changing. Lady Ellen,

that smile was too like a sneer for me to bear this conversation longer; let's talk of something else."

"My dear Mary," said Lady Ellen, "forgive me if I have been a little severe upon this subject. Now, listen to me, and I wish all maids and wives could hear what I have to say the result of observation. A lover is, in nine cases out of ten, anything but a type of what his married life will be the more subservient, the more devoted he is to every little whim and caprice of his 'soul's idol,' the greater chance there is of his being a tyrannical husband. He begins by making the woman a fool, he ends by trampling on her folly. This is hard, it is cruel; because though few women have heads, and fewer still are suffered to use them, they have all hearts, and they can feel when they cannot reason. Affection is only the under-current of men's actions; affection is the motive and the end of woman's existence. Now this, dear Mary, does not apply either to you or to my cousin. He never came under the denomination of a subservient lover, though I believe I am sure he was, and is, a most affectionate one. He has ever regarded you as a creature suited to be his friend-one who would give the perfume of her virtues to his honour, so that the one should elevate the other, being distinct in glory, yet each glorious. It is ill to say that such a man is changed because he may forget the fulfilment of some little duties as you call them, though to him they are but toys, trifles too light for notice, which business, care, illness, nay, a serious book, may hinder him to think upon. This is sheer folly on the woman's part,-to count a lover changed because his brow may wrinkle, his speech be less, his compliments not many: it is a betrayal of great weakMen have ambitions, thoughts, and projects flitting perpetually through their brain that we know nothing of; and with all confidence in a woman's reason, and in a woman's love, still they may not like to tell of their plans till they are ripe for execution-such things make all men thoughtful."

ness.

"Has Harry any such?" inquired Mary, for the heart that loves will catch at straws.

"How can I tell?" replied Lady Ellen, adding, “doubtless he has. You must remember, Mary, that his his -marriage will be but one of the events in his life; but it will be THE event of yours. He is to be a statesman, I suppose, and I do believe that much ambition is working in his brain-that may have wrought the change

you speak of, for I can hardly deem my friend a peevish woman, to fancy whim and pout for absolutely nothing, though I have known many such Things, quite regardless of their husband's greatness, cross-grained and selfish-I hate such women, they gain the sex an evil reputation, reversing the line,

'Though she rules him, never shows she rules.'

It is good to keep fools in fetters-if a woman has the misfortune to wed a fool-but wreath the fetters with roses, or the fool will kick, and a restive idiot is more hard to manage than a hard-mouthed mule. I have said this to show my wisdom, Mary, and how I have thought over subjects matrimonial. But this last, like my first case, has nothing to do with you or my cousin; he is no fool-and if he were, I do not, Heaven bless you! think you would know how to fetter him. The little lanes, and paths, and alleys, the turnings and pitfals of life are matters for which you have no talent, Mary; you will go steadily on the direct road, with some bright emblazonings of honour, and truth, and all the big and little virtues, at your winning-post: but do not, if you value your happiness, fancy every shadow that passes over your lover's brow a change."

Mary shook her head, and dried her tears; and Lady Ellen talked on--she talked well, and people who do so, are always fond of talking. Many envied Lady Ellen her conversational powers.

Mary said and said, to everything she urged," it is most true”—“ay, very true”—but still her own opinion remained the same. As the evening closed in a message came from her mother, that she wished her to return, and Lady Ellen said she would accompany her along the back path to Mrs. Lorton's cottage. As they walked together, to the gate, they saw Harry Mortimer talking to Mr. Leslie at the entrance to Lady Norley's house. Mary's steps lingered; Lady Ellen felt they did, and she lingered with her; but the gentlemen went on talking (they were talking politics, which invariably puts an extinguisher on politeness.) Suddenly Lady Ellen observed Mary's cheek flush, and she walked hastily forward, as if she said, “He shall not see that I am waiting for him," and so she hurried on, even while the tears were running over her heated cheek. More than once she half turned her head to look back, but he followed not,

VOL. II.-2