"I cannot pretend to understand you," said Rose; "but do let me go and make mamma acquainted with our unlooked-for prosperity:" and she accordingly explained to her mother, that a brother of her father's, one who had ever been on decidedly bad terms with all his relatives, and their family more particularly, died lately in Calcutta, bequeathing by will his property, amounting to many thousands, to his eldest niece, Margaret Sunderland, who, in the words of his singular testament, "had never offended him by word or deed, and must ever be considered a credit to her sex." There is no necessity to recapitulate the ecstasies, plans, and arrangements that succeeded, and in which Margaret took no part.

The next morning she granted her pupils a holyday, and when her mother went out, doubtless for the purpose of propagating the account of their good fortune, Margaret told her sister that she wished to be alone for some time to arrange her plans. She had been so occupied for about two hours, when Rose Sunderland, accompanied by a gentleman, passed the beechentree where Margaret and her lover had last met.

"I am sure she will not be angry-it will be an agreeable surprise — and mamma won't be home for a long time yet," said Rose; "I will open the parlour door, and-"

"There I shall find her forming plans for future happiness, in which, perhaps, I am not included," interrupted Ernest Heathwood.

"You are unjust, sir," replied Rose, as they entered the cottage; and in another instant Margaret, with a flushed cheek and a burning brow, had returned the salutation of him she loved. There was more coldness in her manner than he deemed necessary, and, with the impetuosity of a high and ardent sprit, he asked her if she attributed his visit to interested motives.

"No," she replied, "not so; I hold myself incapable of such feelings, and why should I attribute them to you? I tell you now, as I told you when last we met, that my constant prayer is, that God might exceedingly bless you and yours, and save you from poverty, which, in the world's eye, is the extremity of sin."

"But, Margaret," interrupted Rose, as was her wont, "there is no fear of poverty now; and Sir Thomas himself said, that, with even a moderate fortune, he should prefer you to other women."

"I have not even a moderate fortune," replied the noble-minded girl, rising from her seat, and at the same time laying her hand on a pile of accomptbooks that she had been examining. "You, Mr. Heathwood, will understand me, if I say that, when I first breathed the air of existence, I became a partaker of my family's fortunes, as they might be, for good or evil."

"And you shared in both, Margaret, and supported both with dignity," said Ernest, eagerly.

"I believe you think so, and I thank you," she replied, while the flush of gratified feeling passed over her fine features. "And now, bear with me for a little, while I explain my future intentions. My poor father's unfortunate failure worked misery for many who trusted in him with a confidence which he deserved, and yet betrayed. I meant not that,” she added, hastily, "he did not betray;-but the waves, the winds, and the misfortunes or ill principles of others, conspired against him, and he fell, overwhelmed with his own and others' ruin. Lips that before had blessed, now cursed him they had so fatally trusted, and every curse seemed to accumu late sufferings which orly I was witness to. To the very uttermost even the ring from his finger- he gave cheerfully to his creditors; there was no reserve on his part-all, all was sacrificed. Yet, like the daughters of the horseleech, the cry was still, 'Give! give!' and," she added, with trembling voice, "at last he did give-even his existence! and I, who knew so well the honour of his noble nature, at the very time when his cold corpse lingered in the house, -- because I lacked the means of

decent burial, - was doomed to receive letters, and hear complaints of his injustice. In the silent hour of night I knelt by his coffin; decay had been merciful; it spared his features to the last; and I could count and kiss the furrows which disappointment, and the scorning of a selfish world, had graven on his brow: -but, oh! how perfectly did I feel, in that melancholy hour, that his spirit was indeed departed, and that my lips rested on naught but cold and senseless clay; yet I clung, with almost childish infatuation, to the dwelling it had so sweetly inhabited for such a length of years. The hours rolled on, and the gray mists of morning found me in the same spot; it was then, as the light mingled with and overcame the departing darkness, that I entered into a compact with the living spirit of my dead father, that, as long as I possessed power to think or act, I would entirely devote my energies to the fulfilment of those engagements, which his necessities compelled him to leave unsatisfied. I am ashamed to say, I nearly forgot my promise; and though a portion of my hard earnings were regularly devoted to the darling prospect of winning back for my father his unspotted reputation, yet I did form plans of happiness in which his memory had no share. Ernest, for this I have suffered, and must suffer more. I have gone over these books, and find that, after devoting the entire of the many, many thousands now my own to the cherished object, only a few hundreds may remain at my disposal. This is enough-again I say, may you be happy with your dowered bride, and remember that the one consolation the only one that can support me under this separation is I have done my duty."

that

Strange as it may seem, young Heathwood did not appear as much distressed at this resolution as Rose-or, to say the truth, as Margaretthought he would have been. No matter how heroic, how disinterested the feeling which compels a woman to resign her lover; she naturally expects that the lover will evince a proper quantity of despair at the circumstance: and certainly, Ernest, after a pause of a few minutes, during which time he seemed more affected by Margaret's noble-mindedness than his own bereavement, entered cordially into her views, and praised the sacrifice (if, with her feelings, so it might be called) with an energy that left no room to doubt its sincerity.

After his departure she pondered these things in her heart, and came to the conclusion, that she had resigned her affections too soon, for that it was evident he had pretty well succeeded in banishing her from his love; and poor Rose, who had in so little time been twice disappointed in her hopes both of a fortune and a wedding, was reproved with some asperity for conducting Ernest Heathwood, under any circumstances, to their cottage. It is needless to add, that her mother's tears and remonstrances had no effect upon Margaret's purpose; and her lawyer received instructions to remit forthwith to all the creditors of the late Maurice Sunderland the full amount of all their demands, with the interest due thereon from the day of his failure!

It required all her firmness to bear up against her mother's complainings; and, above all, against the painful truth established in her mind, that Ernest had ceased to regard her with anything bordering on affection. Strange, that at the very moment we are endeavouring to repress the unavailing passion of the one we love, we secretly-unknowingly, it may be-hope for its continuance! Not that Margaret would have ever swerved from her noble purpose; but she could not support the idea, that she was no longer thought of. And he had left her too, without the sort of farewell she felt she had deserved.

All" business affairs" were arranged according to her desire; but she was fast sinking under the outward tranquillity which, under such circumstances, is more fatal than exertion. Listlessly she wandered amidst the

flowers which Rose loved to cultivate, when the unusual sound of carriagewheels roused her attention, and, with no ordinary emotion, she saw Sir Thomas and Ernest Heathwood enter the wicket gate, and take the path leading to the cottage.

"I told you, Miss Sunderland," commenced the old gentleman, with more agitation, but less embarrassment, than he had shown at their former interview," that I had need of twenty thousand pounds to support my credit, and save my family from distress. I told you, that I wished my son to marry a lady possessed of that sum, and I now come to claim you as his

bride."

"Sir!"

"Yes, Madam: I was your father's largest creditor; and though I had no fraud, nothing dishonourable to allege against him, yet I did not, I confess it, like the idea of my son's being united to his daughter. He was always speculative and imaginative, and I feared that you might be the same. The sum you have so nobly repaid me, I looked upon as lost, and you must therefore suffer me to consider it a marriage portion; it has saved me from ruin, without the sacrifice of my son's happiness."

"How is this?" exclaimed Margaret, fearful of trusting the evidence of her own senses; "I cannot understand the name—"

"Our original name was Simmons," exclaimed Ernest, eagerly; "but knowing all the circumstances I never told you-I knew how my father would feel at your disinterested conduct; and now that your trials are past, you will, I trust, no longer doubt me."

"Who said I doubted ?" inquired Margaret.

"Even the pretty Rose; and here she comes to answer for her apostacy."

Nay, dearest sister," exclaimed the laughing girl, "it was only last evening that I saw Ernest, and I have kept out of your way ever since, lest I should discover my own secret. Without my frivolity, and the thoughtlessness of another, who, for all that, is dear to us both, Margaret's virtues would never have shone with so dazzling yet steady a light.

"True, Rose, spoken like an angel; I never thought you wise before; it is to be hoped that when your sister changes her name, her mantle may descend upon you," said Ernest.

"I think she had better share it with you; and I only hope that Margaret She may want it for herself," she continued, archly; "who knows but the most bitter trials of Margaret Sunderland may come after marriage?" Ernest did not reply to the unjust suspicion, for he had not heard it his sense, his thought, his heart, were fixed only upon her who had thrown so bright and cheering a lustre over that truth, usually so dark, even in its grandeur: "The good things that belong to prosperity are to be wished, but the good things that belong to adversity are to be admired."

CHAPTER IV.

LOST BEAUTY.

THE TRIALS OF LADY LESLIE.

Claude. And is it nothing but a dialogue?
Mudy. In truth, no more; except that to the end

A little tale is fastened.

Claude. To pin morality to?

Mudy. No, sir. To help morality to mount still higher.

OLD PLAY.

IN the saloon of a large and antique house, of the Elizabethean era, two ladies were seated, enjoying the cool evening breeze that entered through an open window. The dwelling had been altered and realtered, to meet the tastes and improvements of the various masters into whose hands it had passed from century to century. Here and there fragments of turrets were propped up by modern buttresses, the modern and the antique appearing in perfect contrast; one beautiful arch still marked the old entrancegate. The former strength of the place was intimated by the remains of a moat, now nearly filled with rubbish and portions of broken and mouldering stone, from which the flaunting wall-flower, and various creeping plants, sprang up, and mocked at the decay which, alas, poor blossoms! was soon to render them far more contemptible than that over which they triumphed. The windows of Leslie Abbey- for so was the dwelling called--were of every order, and every size- from the small loop-holes to the spacious and modern French casements, that led out upon a lawn of matchless colour and beauty.

It was near one of these the ladies were seated and if we do not longer descant upon the richness and variety of the landscape, the extent of the wood, whose dark girdle of mingled oak and platanas clasped the green meadows, and shadowed the river that wandered and murmured beneath its protecting foliage, it is because we admire the living more than the material world, and would make acquaintance with that noble-looking woman whose countenance is turned towards the setting sun, and whose every attitude expresses dignity. How firmly, yet how gracefully, her head is raised above her polished shoulders! What richness, yet propriety, in her dress! - the folds of her velvet robe descend to her feet, that--so delicate are their form-hardly indent the crimson cushion with their slight presHer companion is of other, though, it may be, of more winning beauty. The childish golden hair, that clusters over her expansive brow in such redundancy of freedom, harmonizes well with the cheek of palest rose, and a form that, we could imagine, might rest upon a bed of violets without crushing a single petal.

sure.

Her voice is like the breathing of a soft lyre, when awakened by the spirit of joy; her bluc eyes are full of hope-that perfectly unsaddened hope, which dwells with youth as a companion, and calls innocence its sister.

They are both children of the same parents, though many years passed before Annette was bore, to be the playmate and friend of the stately Lady Leslie.

As they sat together in that great chamber, there was a feeling of quiet and solitude around them which darkened the shadows on Lady Leslie's mind, and sobered the smile on the lip of her gay young sister. They had both recently suffered from that fell disease which has been the pane of so much beauty. But, while Annette escaped unscathed, the blight had fallen upon her sister, and the mistress of Leslie Abbey arose from her bed with the marks of the pestilence written on her once beautiful countenance too strongly to be ever effaced.

It is not to be denied that the noble lady had as large a portion of personal vanity as usually falls to the lot of woman. Of high birth, and large possessions, she had consequently a sufficient number of flatterers to praise and fawn. Had she been as dark as Erebus, and as deformed as sin, they would still have sung of and praised her loveliness. But its character and brilliancy had been such that she could not move without receiving the homage of eyes—so rarely paid without being sensibly felt and duly appreciated. She had been feted and sung, painted and sculptured, until her exquisite head whirled upon its pedestal, and, what was still worse, her heart, naturally kind and benevolent, became careless of the wants or wishes of her fellow-creatures. Prosperity drives pity from the bosoms of the wealthy it is good to feel disappointment, and even adversity, at some period of our lives; for practical experience is a benefit to ourselves and others. It was Lady Leslie's beauty that steeled her heart; she thought of it -- acted upon it—dreamed of it. It had gained her the affections of the only man she ever loved. One whom wealth and title could not purchase was nevertheless canght by the matchless face-that now!--but she could not bear to think of it. To look upon it a second time, thus scarred and disfigured, was impossible! Her husband had been abroad; and the letter, which lay open on her lap, told of his hopes of an immediate return; and spoke much of anticipated happiness in meeting again (so ran the words)" with his bright and beautiful wife."

Annette had watched, with all the earnestness and anxiety of her affectionate nature, the effect produced by the perusal of that letter upon her sister's mind. She had longed for the return of her brother; for she felt that now was the time, when Lady Leslie's proud spirit was bowed by mortification, to lead her from the vanity of her ways, and teach her to mount far, far above the world's mean and sordid enjoyments. "Why should such as she," thought Annette, "trifle away the essence and energy of soul, that God has given her, upon those whose wonder is cankered by envy and to whose lips blessings are unknown! Her heart is touched

and softened by affliction; she valued the casket more than the jewel it contained for she lived among those who could appreciate the first, but not the last; the roses of her cheek were more lovely in her sight than the blossoms of her mind, that would have furnished forth such glorious fruit, had the one been cultivated with half the care bestowed upon the other. But it is not too late; she is yet in the summer of her days; and who knows that if Leslie comes not, it may be given to me- to me, her youngest and unworthy sister-to show her better things. When the old Roman soldier was blind, he was led by a stripling boy-as one child would lead another : not that the old man was less wise than before, but he wanted sight, and the youth lent him the only faculty he lacked. On the same principle, may not I give unto her, who is ten times greater than myself, the one quality she needs, the only one that I possess, and so render her loss a gain ?" Having thought so much, Annette looked into Lady Leslie's face; it retained the traces of recent tears, and was more than usually pale.

I