be no difficulty in disposing of a few weeks; indeed, part of the ensuing summer would probably be spent abroad." "Abroad!" I exclaimed, "and have you fixed on the precise where?" My aunt replied, that they had not absolutely fixed, but thought of the German baths. She had been almost persuaded to believe they might be serviceable to her health: Harriet was quite of that opinion. "Do you promise yourself much pleasure from this excursion?' I inquired, turning towards Julia, "Have you ever been out of England?" "Only for a very short time, and then not farther than Paris." But Maria, without listening, continued. "I think it would be a charming scheme for you to accompany us, Henry. You will have nothing to do in the summer; no gentlemen ever have; and, of course, it will be much pleasanter for us. Such an addition to the party may even reconcile Julia to leaving England." "I have no doubt," said Julia, taking upon herself to reply, "that when I am abroad I shall find much, both to amuse and interest me; notwithstanding which, I must confess that I should prefer staying quietly at home." "And," said I, "after all my wanderings, I, too, must confess, like Julia, a preference for staying quietly at home." "What a happy coincidence of opinion! You will agree charmingly together-I see that-whether abroad or in England." Maria spoke with apparent thoughtlessness; but her sister looked annoyed, and seemed anxious, by some inquiry respecting the mode of travelling in Bengal, to turn the conversation. In the latter part of the evening Maria summoned Julia to the piano forte, and they sang together a duet; then followed, on the part of the elder sister, a great deal of talking, and looking for a certain Irish melody, which I had formerly been fond of hearing Julia sing; but who now seemed resolved to remember nothing of the matter. "It won't do, Maria!" The words were spoken in rather a low tone; but I heard them; and, from the peculiar smile and shake of the head by which they were accompanied, I guessed that Julia referred to something more than the lost melody. Maria got up; she was on one knee, turning over a huge portfolio of loose music, and replied, rather angrily, Something else will not do, that you may be assured of." "Oh! yes, it will,” said I, though not knowing in the least what she meant. "If you can't find an old song, give me a new one; I am in the humour to be pleased with anything and everything?" "And with every body?" "Yes, Maria, every body; especially with you and Julia." Something, I forget what, that was soon after said, or sung, reminded me of Mary Deane, and, turning to the sofa, on which my aunt was seated, I inquired if she knew that her former acquaintance, Miss Deane, was living in Bath, and whether she had seen her? To the first question, Lady Tracey replied in the affirmative; to the second, that Miss Deane had not called in the Circus; that she (Lady Tracey) did not know in what part of Bath Miss Deane resided, and that they had never met accidentally. At this point Julia joined in the conversation; she knew that Mary Deane and her aunt lodged on the South Parade: she herself wished very much to call on them, but had deferred doing so, in hopes that mamma would waive ceremony, and accompany her. "You have another old acquaintance in Bath, whom you must visit," continued Julia. "You mean Mr. Penrose ? Yes, I shall certainly wait on him." "And go soon, Henry, for he will be rejoiced to see you again." "I will call at his lodgings to-morrow, in my way to Miss Deane, if you think he will not object to receiving an early visitor." "Not in the least,-that is to say, after eleven o'clock." "You seem remarkably well informed on the subject," observed Lady Tracey. Yes, mamma, I have been myself to see the good old gentleman several times." "You have!" exclaimed her mother, in a tone which expressed both surprise and displeasure. "Dearest mamma, I told you, if you remember, before I went the first time." "Yes, and what I told you, ought, I think, to have prevented your doing anything so foolish and improper." I confess that, considering Julia's age, to say nothing of that of poor old Mr. Penrose, I thought all this rather over-strained; so I remarked, " that at least there could be but one motive for such visits, and that a purely unselfish one." People should never interfere in family tiffs; they are more likely to mar than to mend; so it proved in the present instance. Maria, with a provoking sort of smile, looked at Julia, who coloured; she was very evidently distressed; and I, as evidently, had said just the thing I ought not. "I am walking in the dark," thought I," and must find out whereabouts I am, or I shall stumble at every step." I found Mr. Penrose occupying part of an old-fashioned house near the Orange Grove; and the welcome he gave me was, like his habitation, old-fashioned and warm. At first we talked of my concerns, for so he willed it; of India; the state of my health there; my homeward voyage; Knightswood, &c. And afterwards of his health; of the Bath waters; pumpings; douchings; time required for giving all remedies a fair trial; and this brought us easily and naturally to Fordover. He had been wishing much to see me; had a great deal to say concerning himself and others; some things, perhaps, that I should be surprised to hear. "It was next to impossible," I assured him, "that I could hear anything from such an old and valued friend as himself, that would not at least interest me." Thereupon, the good old man began with his own conscientious scruples regarding his parish he should never again perform his duties in it; that was wholly out of the question; and he had pretty well made up his mind to resign the living. It was in the gift of Mr. Gifford; and if there should be no friend for whom he wished particularly to provide, (relation there could be none) he had entertained a hope that, upon his own recommendation, Mr. Norton, his present curate, might be appointed to succeed him. Then followed commendation of Mr. Norton, so warm, yet so discriminating, that I could no more doubt the merit of one party, than the sincerity of the other. "Could I resign my flock to his charge," said Mr. Penrose, " my mind would be at rest; I should have nothing more to be careful for in this world. And now, Sir Henry, if you can put faith in my recommendation, and have no private objection to interesting yourself in this affair, will you employ your influence to get it settled according to my wish?" "My dear Mr. Penrose," I replied, “my influence, supposing me to have any, can hardly be of service in this matter. If Gifford has any strong objections, I could scarcely expect to overrule them; and if otherwise, your own influence must be sufficient. Are you not the oldest friend he has in the world? Were you not his first, and, as I have often heard him acknowledge, best and kindest tutor? You wrong him, surely, in supposing that he would more readily oblige any one living than yourself." Mr. Penrose paused before he replied. "There is, unfortunately, an opposing influence: your cousin, sir, Mrs. Gifford, has taken the field against me; and I fear that, with her consent, Mr. Norton will never become rector of Fordover." 66 Her reason?" I inquired. "That it is very fit you should be made acquainted with; I have no desire to conceal it. You may possibly have the same feeling on the subject as other members of your family, and therefore it is fair to apprize you, that if Mr. Norton should obtain such an increase to his income as the living of Fordover, I have no doubt of his proposing to Miss Julia Tracey; nor, to speak the truth, much doubt as to her accepting him." Now, then, the mystery was explained; and my soul, as the Persians say, fell from the skies; at least it would have fallen, had there been time for it to mount so high. As it was, I will not deny that I heard Mr. Penrose's announcement with momentary annoyance; I was considerably surprised, and, if not positively disappointed, had a narrow escape of it. "You are not pleased to hear this, Sir Henry; nor is it agreeable to the rest of the family; but wait till you have made acquaintance with Mr. Norton. I am confident that you will find him, on all points but fortune, worthy of your cousin; and I have a great regard for Miss Julia, too, I assure you, and think her a very charming person; she will be a fortunate one, too, in my opinion, if circumstances admit of her marrying Mr. Norton." "Julia's happiness," I began, "if not the first thing to be considered in an affair of this nature, shall always be cared for by me; and she is at an age to be safely trusted in her own estimate of what will most contribute to that happiness; but I know the character of her sister, and if, as you intimate, she has set herself in opposition to this union, the odds are against us. I can not tell what degree of influence she may have over Gifford, but it is unpleasant, and generally useless, to interfere between husband and wife." Still," said Mr. Penrose, in a matter of Church patronage, a wife should not presume to dietate; it is highly unbecoming." Then, siniling at his own vehemence, he continued, "I speak like a testy old bachelor." "And I, as a probable member of that fraternity, do not feel disposed to enter the lists against you; I will go farther, and say that there are few points on which a wife should presume to dictate. This, however, is little to the present purpose; what I have to suggest may, with your approbation, prove a more healing measure. I must, however, forewarn you in my turn; it will require a sacrifice on your part; you must continue rector of Fordover during your natural life. Mr. Ryder, the incumbent of Knight Magna, is likely to obtain a better piece of preferment; a circumstance which, as he cannot hold both, will oblige him to resign his present living. He called a few days ago to speak to me, as patron, on the subject. Neither the living nor the parsonage of Knight Magna are quite so good as those of Fordover; but both may be improved. In case of the removal of the present incumbent, could you consent to part with Mr. Norton?" No," replied Mr. Penrose decidedly, "I do not, think that I could; it entirely alters the case." True, it does alter the case, but in my opinion advantageously. Consider, in the first place, how much it will be in your power to benefit any curate you may see fit to engage. What an advantage to a young clergyman to learn his professional duties under your guidance! You might, with God's blessing, train up another Mr. Norton to the ministry; and as to the emoluments of the living, they would be at your own disposal; yours to give, as much as to keep. Possibly . there may be some pious or charitable work you would wish to perform at Fordover, such as your successor, if a family man, might not have power to accomplish. Besides," I continued, receiving no answer from Mr. Penrose, " you must not think of Mr. Norton as the only good man in the world." A good man, sir!” replied Mr. Penrose, peevishly; "I want something more than a good man. I had a good man; Mr. Brown was an exceeding good man, but he preached half my congregation out of Fordover church into the meeting-house at Knight Magna." "I am afraid, my dear sir, we are rather out of order in that parish; but give us Mr. Norton, and we shall amend our ways. With regard to my cousin, in case of her becoming his wife, I need scarcely observe how preferable to her would be a residence at Knight Magna; unless, as one can scarcely venture to hope, such a change should take place in her sister's feelings as would render their very close vicinity to each other desirable. At all events," I continued, after a moment's silence," you will, I am sure, kindly weigh what I have said, and think over it. And if," added I, "which is possible, Mr. Ryder should be disappointed in his expectations, we will try what can be done in your way." I then took leave, for Mr. Penrose seemed weary, and as if he wished to be alone. "So this was Julia's reason for wishing me to pay our old friend an early visit; and she thinks that I can assist Mr. Norton in regard to Fordover-but, Lord bless her! when did she ever know Harriet relinquish a point on which she had set her mind? A woman of that sort runs down her game; she keeps on and on, till her victim falls at her feet from very weariness. No. Knight Magna-that must be our object, if Mr. Ryder leaves. As to entirely rebuilding the parsonage, Ì.am in doubt; perhaps they may not like to wait so long-it certainly ought to be made to front the other way." Full of such thoughts and schemes, I would rather, at that time, have declined a visit to Miss Deane, or any one; but I proceeded, and in a few minutes found myself on the South Parade. Yes, there they were; at least, so I guessed; an infirm old lady in a Bath chair, and a younger lady walking by the side; yet it was possible they might not be the persons I sought. We met-we nearly passed each other, for I was irresolutebut the young lady chanced to turn her head; I caught her eye, and that glance confirming my conjecture, I ventured to address her. There was no mistake; it was indeed Mary Deane, who, though not at the first moment recollecting me, was no sooner assured of my identity, than her countenance became radiant with those pretty smiles commemorated by old Hannah, and she immediately pre sented me to her aunt. I attended them during the remainder of Mrs. Deane's airing, and afterwards to their lodgings. We talked of course, and that very soon, of Hannah; indeed, I was the bearer of a letter from her. Mary listened with an interest that made her fine dark eyes glisten with emotion; but her manner was perfectly composed, and, sooner than I expected, she turned the discourse from the neighbourhood of Beauchamps, to speak of her present proteetress; the general advantages of Bath to persons circumstanced like themselves; particular recommendations of that locality-so cheerful, so warm and sunny for her aunt, (she did not say that at times the heat was almost insupportable to herself,) and so short a distance from the abbey. Mrs. Deane was not slow in her own acknowledg ments; she gave Mary some trifling commission to take her from the room, and, during her short absence, assured me, that she felt it to be the crowning mercy of a good Providence, which had watched over her during a long life, that this doar child should have been consigned to her care. "It was scarcely to be expected," she observed, with great simplicity, "that one so lovely and so loveable, one so likely to be sought after, should have had a home to seek, or have found one, during so many years, under her roof."-" She is a dear, good, affectionate child to me," concluded the old lady, "and God will reward her for it in his own way and time." Mary soon returned to the room, which her absence, and Mrs. Deane's blindness, had enabled me to survey with some attention. The furniture, though neat, was but that of a common lodging-house; yet an air of comfort, almost of elegance, pervaded the apartment. A few sprigs of myrtle and geranium filled a small flower vase, and decorated the table, on which also might be seen some of those fancy articles ladies delight to fabricate. Books, too, there were, such as Mary loved; the gradual collection of one, whose means scarcely permitted the indulgence,. On a little table, in company with a venerable looking quarto Bible, I could perceive the Prayer-Book, my own gift; and above this table, suspended from the wall, was a small drawing in a maple frame. It looked like-what on close inspection it proved to be--Julia Tracey's Camellia. But why thus carefully preserved by Mary Deane? She had doubtless grieved with Mark over my expulsion from Knightswood-had felt for and pitied me; I seemed to understand it all. Poor Mrs. Deane had few acquaintances in Bath. Neither her health nor circumstances admitted of her giving entertainments, and Mary, in consequence, had few opportunities of mixing in society. She must have partaken very sparingly of what are termed the pleasures of life; the warm affections of her young heart had been chilled, and her best years devoted to patient and unwearied attendance on the sickly and infirm; yet it would seem as if a life of obscurity and self-denial were more favourable to the preservation of beauty, than one of prosperity and worldly amusement; for although Mary, like Julia Tracey, had lost the bloom of youth, there was no worn or haggard look in the countenance, nothing of emaciation in the figure. "What a very pretty person is Miss Deane !" was my observa tion on rejoining the party in the Circus, and in reply to certain inquiries as to how I had passed the morning. "Yes," said Julia, "she is a very pretty person, and one of the youngest looking, for her age, that I am acquainted with." "Her age is nothing," remarked Maria; "but where, pray, Julia, have you seen her of late?" rose. I found her sitting one morning with Mr. Pen well-bred, agreeable people; and it gave me pleasure to see Mary's diffidence and disinclination to the visit gradually give place to more agreeable sensations. It was the triumph of natural good taste and good sense, aided by the fostering kindness of Julia, who, considering Mary as especially her own guest, paid her more than usual attention. Both appeared to advantage; but there was a something in Mary's air and manner so simple, so unusually truthful, if the expression may be allowed, combined with so much natural grace, that to indifferent observers she must have been the most attractive of the two. The following day was productive of two interesting events, and in the right order of time: the morning brought a letter from Mr. Ryder, acquainting me with the favourable termination of his affair, and the evening was distinguished by the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Gifford. Mr. Penrose, good man, had resigned himself to his fate; it remained now to see how Harriet would submit to hers-how she would reconcile herself to the prospect of a brother-in-law, exemplary in his own character, and the choice of a sister who, in the account of the world, had not too much time to lose. Mark Gifford and I renewed our acquaintance with, I believe, equal pleasure, rejoiced in our near neighbourhood to each other, and looked forward to all but daily meetings. He was not greatly altered in any respect; a little more consequential in manner perhaps, at least in the presence of his wife, but almost as young and handsome as ever; in youthfulness of appearance he had decidedly the advantage of us all. I availed myself of our first after dinner tête-à-tête to acquaint him with my knowledge of Julia's attachment, and my own designs in favour of Mr. Norton. He heard with surprise of the expected vacancy at Knight Magna, but seemed mostly struck with the extraordinary good fortune of Mr. Norton in finding two individuals, Mr. Penrose and myself, equally desirous of preferring him to a living. Under this change of circumstances, however, he expressed himself well satisfied with Julia's choice: "very glad that the affair should be brought to so happy a conclusion, especially through my means;" that is to say, without any annoyance to himself. "For his part, he did not think Julia likely to have a better offer; Mr. Norton was himself an exceedingly gentlemanlike person; and as for the rest, what did it signify? People could not expect all their connexions to be Plantagenets;" thus leaving me to infer that, in spite of his well-sounding name, Mr. Norton's escutcheon was of doubtful origin. Mark concluded by assuring me that he should do his best to make Harriet view things in the same light; as to the accomplishment, however, of this desirable object, he did not appear extremely sanex-guine; ladies being, so he averred, apt to form unreasonable expectations. The effect of Mark's communication was visible when I next entered the presence of his wife, by the token of a scowling brow, and cold ungracious manner; "It was the climax of folly," she observed to Maria, before I was well out of hearing, "just as Henry Tracey had returned to England-and unmarried." The pelting of this storm fell the most heavily on my aunt and Maria, certainly the two least guilty of sanctioning the present aspect of affairs. Julia was too well satisfied with them herself, too sure of Mr. Norton's fidelity, to need support; and Mark prudently kept out of the way. We spent most of our time together, and together we called on Mary Deane. If a slight blush suffused her check in shaking hands with Mark Gifford, it was all of emotion she displayed; her manner was unembarrassed, and whatever she might once have felt or suffered, it expressed nothing but a kindly interest in his welfare. "Mr. Penrose," I observed, "seems to be in especial favour with you ladies; is he confessor general, or particular, Julia?" With a conscious laugh, she replied, "Oh, by no means general; Miss Deane and I consider him as clusively our own, and confide in him accordingly." My aunt did not look sweetly on her youngest daughter; yet I found, when occasion offered for conversing with her on the subject of Mr. Norton, that time had produced its customary effect; that, in regard to her daughters, she was more indifferent to their establishment in life-in regard to herself, more solicitous of reposc. We shall do well enough, thought I, if we can but bring Harriet to reason. My aunt is not, in her heart, much averse to this match; and nobody ever thought of minding Maria. At any rate, as the Giffords are expected in Bath, we must soon know the worst. In the meantime Julia and I had more than one confidential discourse, generally in our way to, or from, the South Parade. I found her moderate in every wish; unworldly, to all appearance, in every thought; and she found, as she was well entitled to do, an assured friend in her cousin Henry. I have said that Julia called with me on Mary Deane; Lady Tracey also left cards; after which Mary was induced, chiefly by the persuasion of her aunt, to accept an invitation to dine in the Circus. There were present one or two other guests, (To be concluded in our next.) "There is no path-I have no strength What can I do alone? Grant shelter, or I lay my length, And perish on the stone. I crave not much-I should be blest "What matters thy vile head to me? Home, wife, and children more !" The beggar raised his brow debased, "Madman or cheat! announce thy birth.""That thou wilt know to-morrow."Where are thy fiefs?"- "The whole wide carth." "And what thy title ?"-" SORROW." Then, opening wide his ragged vest, He cried, "Thou canst not shun thy guest." He stamp'd his foot with fearful din; He struck the door, and pass'd within, Right through the menial band. "Follow him! seize him! there and there !" They only saw the blank night air. But he was at his work: ere day Began the work of doom, The lord's one daughter, one bright May, His single son, that second self, Who, when his first should fall, Would hold his lands and hoarded pelf, Died in a drunken brawl: And now alone, amid his gold, He stood, and felt his heart was cold; |