provement to another, until she became, in general information, as well as in the knowledge of her particular business, actually without a rival in the establishment. It was about two o'clock on the Tuesday after Doolittle had seen her in church, that a female came to the residence of Miss Travers, and having asked if a young woman named Brindsley lived there, was answered in the affirmative by Becky, the servant. Miss Bennet was passing into the parlour at the time, and saw the woman standing outside with a letter in her hand. "It's a letter, Miss," said she to Miss Bennet, "for Miss Brindsley." "You had better bring Miss Brindsley down herself," said that lady; "perhaps she may wish to see the messenger." "Haith and you're right, Miss; maybe she would, sure enough." Becky then went up stairs to bring Maria down, when Miss Bennet, availing herself of the opportunity, asked the messenger if she knew from whom the letter came. "From a gentleman," replied the woman. "Oh !" she replied, "I'm not surprised at that, for Miss Brindsley has a good many gentlemen acquaintances; but who is he in particular?” "Why, Captain Doolittle, of theth." "Oh! I know; but he's no favourite with her, so if you wish her to read it, make off the moment you give it to her. Had it been from Lieutenant Clinton it would be well received-and you may say so." She then withdrew into the parlour, and Maria almost immediately made her appearance in the hall. "Here's a letter for you, Miss," said the woman, having added the "Miss" in consequence of Maria's beauty and elegance of deportment. Maria took the letter, looked at the address, and turned to the woman to inquire from whom it came. The latter was then proceeding out of the entrance gate, but turned round and said, "It's from Captain Doolittle, Miss-he's in love wi' you," and immediately disappeared. Maria was about to fling the letter after her, and would have done so at once, but from an apprehension that Miss Bennet, whom she saw in the parlour, might take it up, and probably make some use of it to her disadvantage. She accordingly brought it upstairs to her own sleepingroom, when, after having looked once more at the superscription, she got pen and ink, and wrote upon it the words, "Unopened, and rejected with indignation and scorn." At this moment she was summoned by Miss Travers to make out an account for one of her customers, and hastily placing the letter on the chimney-piece, she left the room. The moment she went, Betty M'Clean came out of a small closet which was boarded off the room, and in which she herself always slept, and being struck with something like curiosity at the indignant expression of offence which flashed over Maria's countenance, on reading the superscription, she stepped out and looked over the back of the letter. On reading the words which Maria had written on it, she said: "Haith, there's something queer in this letter, if one could only know it. Why the de'il disn't she open it, any way? Sure there could be no harm in that; but maybe she wull, after all.” A light foot was now heard coming up the stairs, and in order to cover herself from all suspicion of having even looked at or examined the appearance of it, she retired to the closet, which communicated with the room by a door, the upper half of which was glass, and behind which hung a piece of coarse green gauze, with a long slit or rent in the middle of it. She naturally expected that Maria would have returned, but to her surprise, the person who entered the room was Miss Bennet, as she could perceive through the rent. This lady looked around the room with a great deal of caution, then approached the chimney-piece, seized the letter, looked at it for a moment, hastily broke it open, and read it from beginning to end. A smile of baleful triumph then settled upon her face, and after putting her very white and beautiful hand to her forehead, as if to reflect upon the circumstance, she hurriedly thrust the letter into her bosom, and stole out of the room on tiptoe. Betty marked all this closely, and as the secreting of this communication was a dishonest and treacherous act, she resolved to allow the consequences of it to proceed, until some crisis requiring her testimony might arrive, if any such crisis ever should arrive, as she thought was not improbable. Maria, between one thing and another, had been engaged with Miss Travers for upwards of an hour, when, having returned to her own room, in order to determine whether she should burn the letter or return it to the writer with the strong expression of her indignation and scorn stamped upon it, she discovered, to her astonishment, that it had been either accidentally removed or stolen. Now, we must say for Maria, that she was not naturally suspicious, because no candid and artless individual, whether man or woman, ever is. It is only those who have been corrupted by the worst experience of life who are so, and who measure the motives and actions of others by their own. Still it was impossible that the letter could have gone without hands; but who could have been the thief, or what the object could have been in purloining an unopened letter, was the question. She determined, however, to make inquiry, and if possible to recover it, in order that she might cast it into the flames before their eyes, having first stated to them the individual from whom the messenger said it had come. With this object in view, she returned to the workroom, and inquired if any of them had seen or removed a letter which had been directed to her, and which she had placed on her chimney-piece only about an hour and a half ago. "I am confident," said she, "of having left it there with my own hands, and now it is not to be found-it has been removed; but if any of you have taken it away as a practical joke, I will forgive you, provided you restore it to me, in order that I may act upon the occasion as I ought." The poor girls stared at her with astonishment, and none of them with a more complete assumption of that feeling than Miss Bennet. "When did you receive the letter, Miss Brindsley ?" inquired that lady. "About two hours ago. I left it on the chimneypicee, having been called away by Miss Travers, and it is gone." "This is discreditable to the establishment," said Miss Travers; "the letter must be found. You are sure you left it on the chimney-piece, Miss Brindsley?" "As sure as I am of my life," she replied; "some one in the house has taken it. There can be no doubt of that." "Well," said Betty M'Clean, " de'il a doubt there can be of that. Let us be all searched, and here am I willing to begin with it." "Be it so," replied Miss Bennet; "although it is not a generous proposal, Betty, yet it is a fair one. I am also willing to be searched, although I never thought it would come to that with me." "No!" replied the generous Maria, "I will have no search. I would not insult my friendly companions by such a course. The letter, I have reason to think, is one not at all worth any notice. It can be of no use to any body, and of no injury to me. All I can say is, that I have never opened it; and what is more, that I did not intend to do so." "If I thought there was any person in my establishment," said Miss Travers, "capable of being guilty of such an act, they should remain but a very short time in it. I know what it is myself to receive letters, and I know what I must have felt if any one of those letters had happened to be purloined or opened; why it might have killed me, and I only wonder Miss Brindsley bears it with so much patience." "Miss Brindsley and I have not, I regret to say, been on such terms as we ought to have," observed Miss Bennet, in a tone of feeling that indicated a very generous spirit; "but I must admit that her conduct under the loss of this letter, and her unwillingness to have any person searched in consequence, considering how much the letter, if known, might affect her, is highly creditable to her." "You are quite mistaken," replied Maria, "if you think the letter could injure me in the slightest degree; unless, indeed, it fell into the hands of an enemy-nor probably even then; but as I know nothing, nor care anything about its contents, I beg we may drop the subject altogether. I don't think it is worth all the talk we have had about it." Betty M'Clean sat as mute as a milestone, looking from one to another as if she knew not which was the thief; but when her eye rested on Miss Bennet, there was a very slight touch of something like amazement in it, mingled up with what might be termed a strong feeling of admiration. In the meantime the honest girl kept her thoughts to herself, and made a firm and resolute determination to look closely into the coming events, so far, at least, as they might be connected with Maria. She knew in her soul that the abstraction of the letter, as well as probably the letter itself, would be used for the basest and most malignant purposes against the innocent girl; but as she had the clue to Miss Bennet's conduct, and as she understood her motives in the business, she resolved to countermine her in every one of her manœuvres. On the Saturday following, after a good deal of welldigested planning, Miss Bennet contrived to write the subjoined epistle to Captain Doolittle, in a close and successful imitation of Maria's hand, which she had frequently seen in accounts made up by the latter for Miss Travers : "SIR-I ought to feel ashamed while answering your too flattering and polite letter; but the truth is, that I feel tired of the wretched set that I am forced by most romantic circumstances to mingle with. I do not exactly know how to act-I am divided between two opinions. I know that Lieutenant Clinton has a sheep's eye after me-but only a sheep's eye. He is not the man for my money. I like a gentleman of liberal principles, and if I could be taken out of this miserable situation in which romantic circumstances have placed me, I would be true and faithful to any gentleman of honour, who would enable me to leave it without any future risk of poverty or neglect. I think I have a spirit above the mean life that I am obliged to stoop to. I have conducted the business of a most respectable house in Dublin for three years, and have had an opportunity of mixing in very polite society in the way of my profession, and could conduct myself in a very lady-like fashion. Do not blame me for going so regularly to church; for in a small town like this one must keep up a proper reputation. I can't have an opportunity of meeting you until to-morrow, when I shall be on the Newry road, about a mile out of town, as near seven o'clock in the evening as possible. We shall then talk over matters in such a way as I trust may be agreeable to both parties. I write this note always under the impression that you are a gentleman of honour and liberality. This precious document the vindictive and unprincipled wretch sealed up and contrived to put into the post-office, but not without observation. Disguised in a hooded cloak, Betty M'Clean-her evil geniuswatched her motions, and traced her at a distance to the post-office, at the hour of half-past eleven o'clock, A.M., a little before which time she affected to be taken ill, and pleaded the necessity of going to the apothecaries' to get a bottle of salts for her nerves. When she retired from the post-office, Betty went over to the window, and having tapped at it, said to the postmistress -"Am afeared, ma'am, that a put in the wrong letter a while ago. Will you look at it, if you please, and tell me who it's directed to ?" "How can I tell which letter you put in?" replied the postmistress. "It's the last in," said Betty, "and am thinking you'll be apt to find it on the tap of the rest." "The uppermost," answered the other-"this must be it, I suppose-To Captain Doolittle, Armagh Barracks.' "Thank you, ma'am," returned Betty; "that's it, and aalls right. I can neither read nor write, and a wasn't sure that a didn't put in the wrong letter." She arrived home somewhat sooner than Miss Bennet, who, in order to conceal her part in this most unprincipled intrigue, made it a point to go to the apothecaries', where she procured a few drops of smelling salts, as an apology for her journey out. The In the meantime, Sunday-a day connected with our narrative in a double sense-arrived, and Maria, as usual, prepared to go to church, accompanied once more by Miss Travers and Betty M'Clean, with whom, indeed, she generally went. They were in the habit of sitting always in the particular pew we have mentioned, and on this occasion they occupied it once more. congregation were only beginning to assemble, and in order that they might secure a seat in the same pew, three officers, dressed in full uniform, made their appearance, and took their places right opposite them. Maria was neither disturbed nor discomposed, but sat with downcast eyes, apparently engaged in thought. In a few minutes Doolittle made his appearance, and joined them; still, calm, and without the slightest indication of emotion, or any consciousness of the coming assignation. We do not say that she did not give each as they came in that natural glance of indifference which we bestow upon strangers, but that was the only notice she took of them. At length Clinton came to the pew, entered, and took his seat beside his friends. Never was there so marked, so legible, and so rapid a change, as his appearance occasioned in her countenance. A blush, instant and tumultuous, swept over her whole face, and as much of the neck as was visible. Nay more, her hands, as they held her prayer-book, visibly trembled, and her emotion was not only obvious to all, but it was perfectly distinct and clear to every one in the pew that he (Clinton) was the cause of her agitation. Even the very heavings of her bosom were apparent, nor could any effort on her part enable her to suppress them. After some time this tumult, whether of pleasure or pain, it is hard to say, perhaps it was of both, but be this as it may, it ceased, and was not renewed until after the conclusion of the service, when the officers rose to depart. Then a single glance, quick as thought, and again the whole countenance was overspread with blushes. On her way home, she took Miss Travers's arm, who perceived that she trembled violently. In fact, she was unable to sustain her part in the conversation, as was evident from the fact of her often giving wrong answers when she did speak, and sometimes she was absent and silent, and returned no answers at all. Both Miss Travers and Betty drew their own conclusions from what they witnessed, and in such a way as VOL. II. unquestionably to connect Maria's agitation with some mysterious influence which Clinton must have had the power of exercising over her. When our military friends left church, Clinton addressed them as fellows: "Gentlemen," said he, "I apprehend that this wager must be drawn. Pray, Doolittle, is the youngest of those three respectable-looking females, the person on whom you have made the bet?" "Certainly Clinton; and I will not withdraw it." Oh, but you must, my dear fellow, when you learn that she is the very individual on whom I also laid my wager. We have both, without knowing it, wagered upon the same person. It seems she is now in Armagh, a fact of which I was not aware until this day." "In that case," replid Doolittle, "the wager is off; but I care not for that. Where are you going, Clinton ?" "Faith, I will follow her home, until I see where she lives," he replied. "Save yourself the trouble, my dear fellow; she's engaged." "Engaged! What do you mean? To whom is she engaged?" "To a spruce, rather handsome youth-somewhat the worse of the wear though-by name Jeremy Doolittle." "Impossible," replied the other. "I will not, and I do not believe it." "Well, perhaps you are right; but in the meantime, will you lay another wager, to the same amount, that she is not?" "What, another fifty? be it so; but in addition to that, I would lay my life that you are mistaken." "Well, but is it a wager?" "It is, I said so; but I now leave you. Yonder she goes, and I must keep her in view, without seeming to follow her." 66 "Will you be at home in an hour?" asked Doolittle. Yes, in half an hour. Why do you ask?" "Because I have a document to show, from under her fair hand, which will rayther astonish you. bye!" Bye Doolittle who was-as too many of his class are-an abandoned profligate, and who boasted of his successes as if they had been feats of honourable enterprise, could not conceal his triumph on the receipt of this diabolical epistle. Having taken a pen and obliterated the words containing the time and place of assignation, he went to Clinton's room, and in a voice of elated swagger, whilst he capered and danced about, addressed him as follows: "Clinton, you owe me fifty pounds, which you may as well pay. Clinton, you're a goose-Clinton, you're a sheep, and will get well shorn some of those days; Clinton, you're late in the field-Clinton, you're a day after the fair. I have secured her: eureka, my boy, eureka I have found the prize; she's mine." "What the deuce are you at, Dooly? What maggot has bitten you now? Are you crazed? Only you don't drink in the morning, I should say you were at K the brandy bottle. What do you mean? And why do you flourish that letter about in such a fashion?" "Wait, my good fellow-wait, I say, till you see it, and then you will fork out without hesitation." "Where's the use of all this strutting and cackling about it," replied Clinton. "You may swagger as you like, but by -, I know I can't lose." "It is not that, my boy-it is not that, I say, but this" -and he placed Miss Bennet's assignation in his hand as he spoke " read, read, and propound." Clinton took the flagitious document, and deliberately read it through; but when he came to Maria Brindsley, at the bottom, his face became deadly pale; for, poor fellow, humble as Maria was, she had been his first love. To describe what he felt, would be difficult, if not impossible. He started to his feet, with the open letter in his hand, and began to walk backwards and forwards through the room. "Clinton, my dear fellow, don't faint," said his friend, with sarcastic triumph; "you are ill; it is a severe blow, I grant; shall I ring for a glass of water?" "Dooly, be quiet, sir," replied Clinton, sternly, "let me think for a little. I am more interested in this than you can imagine. I am surprised-astonished. Good heavens ! Are we to discard the very evidences of truth and modesty which the hand of nature, nay, of God himself, has impressed upon the countenances of some of his creatures." "Yes, go on; try metaphysics, they may relieve you," said Dooly, as they called him in barracks. "If, however, you take my advice, you will get a Bible, and become a good Christian; it's a clear case, that you will require strong spiritual support under this severe dispensation. The Bible then; or what do you think of the bottle. Come, I see it must be either the Bible or the bottle; bnt, if I were in your case, I know which I should prefer." Clinton still walked to and fro, in a silence that indicated some tumultuous struggle within him. He looked from time to time at Doolittle-looked fiercely too—as if about to speak; again paced up and down, but spoke not for a considerable time. "Dooly," said he at length, "this affair must go no further." "Must it not? and why so, Clinton? Have you any particular interest in this girl?" "A deep interest.” "I tell you I have a deep interest in her; an interest which I can neither explain nor account for. I cannot stand by and see so beautiful and modest a girl deliberately ruined." "Modest! did you read her letter? Egad, my boy, that's the production of a knowing one. See how ably she goes about making her bargain; but, to tell you the truth, I am myself devilishly surprised how a creature so young and innocent-looking should have got a knowledge of such diplomacy. Did you see how she blushed at the consciousness of my presence to-day ?" "I will not believe it," replied Clinton; "I cannot believe it. The thing is impossible." "What is her name?" "Brindsley-Maria Brindsley, certainly." "Well, and is it not there in black and white ?" "I will read the letter again," replied Clinton; "bat, in the meantime, I am utterly confounded." 66 He then reperused the letter, until he came to the following words: "I have conducted the business of a most respectable house in Dublin for three years." "Ha!" he exclaimed; 66 great Heavens! I am right; the writer of this cannot be Maria Brindsley; she is not more than a few months from her mother's house, from which she never had been absent until her removal here." There is no difficulty in that, Clinton. Do you think that she who could write such a letter, would scruple at a pardonable fib to give herself prestige? Why, you are sillier than I ever thought you were, and have, as she hinted, a good deal of the sheep in you. I dare say she never saw Dublin in her life, and that the thing is a fib; but even so, I pardon it, and rather give her credit for her fancy than otherwise." "Dooly," said his friend, "this letter never proceeded directly from herself; it must have been the consequence of evil communication, the result of some vile contamination, that has corrupted her principles, or that will do so, if she is not saved in time. I entreat you, then, to give up this base and ungenerous pursuit." "Base! I beg you to understand, Clinton, that I will not have the term base applied to me. You will please to retract it." "To ruin the only child of an humble but pious and respectable widow; to leave her hearth desolate, and to drive the poisoned shaft of affliction, sharpened by dis grace and infamy, into her heart; to do this wilfully and deliberately, in order to gratify a foul and licentious passion, is base, and I will not retract it, unless you retract your intention of destroying this ill-advised and unhappy girl." "Do you mean to fight for this girl?” "No, not in the present stage of the question. Do I cannot comprehend it. I cannot reconcile it to the conduct of a girl who bore a most amiable, pure, and unspotted character in her native place. Such a girl could never precipitate herself at once, I may say, into the gulf of vice and infamy, as the writer of this letter proposes to do." "It's quite evident, Clinton, that she requires but little temptation to do so, " replied his brother officer. "Well Dooly, for the present I suspend my judgment, and I entreat, nay, I implore you, to suspend your purpose, or rather to abandon it altogether. Believe me, you will feel the better of it on your death-bed." "Now, I really never poke my nose into your affairs, Clinton, and I beg that you will not interfere in mine. When you wish to break a lance as a gallant knight, let the lady of your love at least be worthy of it. And now about the bet." "I regret I made any such bet, Dooly; but as it is made, I shall see it out with more certainty. I deny that you have won it. Good heavens! if that girl were only what I supposed her to be, I would fling five times the amount of it to you, or to the dogs. Leave me, Dooly, I must go out again. I have business to attend to." Dooly left him, and on his way to his own room, exclaimed, or rather thought: "This fellow is in love with her, I can see that, and only wishes to get me out of his way, that's his dodge, but I shall disappoint him. What devilish fine lectures on moral virtue he can read me. I wonder would he practise them himself. Still, I am considerably astonished at this affair. On Sunday last at church I cursed her in my heart for not looking at me; and to-day again I could not get a glance; but that was shame on her part. Then there appeared to be such sincerity, and an earnestness in her devotions. Pshaw! hypocrisy; and that is easily assumed; but where could she have gotten it so early? Why, born with her-for such is the fact in too many instances, when vice does not proceed from either experience or example, but from instinct- and what, after all, does it come to? If I don't, another will." (TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT.) TWO CHINESE NOVELS. BY JULIA KAVANAGH. We knew China from our childhood; fire-screens, cabinets, hideous little ivory gods, mandarins, ay, even the willow plate pattern have done that work for us; but this distorted knowledge is almost worse than ignorance. This China with its caricature figures, extravagant landscape, a marvellously delicate handicraft, is not exactly the same that books of travels tell us of, still less that which we behold when we by chance open one of the few translations which exist of the many thousand Chinese novels. Judging the many by the few, the Chinese novels are wonderfully like our own. This is disappointing, but easily accounted for. The Chinese are an intellectual, commercial and civilized people, and like all civilized nations, they are composed, sceptical and dull. Utterly remote from the wild oriental and splendid imagery of the Arabian Nights are their tales; they are, indeed, wonderfully like some of our fashionable stories; the same want of all lively incident, the same predominance of conversation over action, and the same importance given to the formal and external part of life, mark them both. We owe to a distinguished French scholar several translations of these Chinese tales. We will give some account of two: one a tale of the intellect, the other a tale of the heart; and through both we shall acquire a more distinct view of Chinese feelings and manners than any traveller could furnish us with, for in their pages we shall see what travellers rarely have the opportunity of knowing-woman. In the first her intellect is raised to a height that suggests the inquiry-since according to M. Stanislaus Julien, Chinese novelists carefully conceal their names-is the work so much to the honour of the female sex written by a woman? In the second, the heroine acts the most prominent part: she is intelligent and firm, and by knowing how to keep a secret, she secures her dignity and happiness. Apart from this source of interest we get glimpses of various customs; yet fewer than we are prepared for. The Chinese are certainly more like ourselves than we have been pleased to think; they are more formal, more ceremonious than we are; they think more of book learning than we do, and no wonder, since it seems to be the road to success and power; but it requires some attention to say in what important questions-religion apart-they differ from us, as tested by the representations of life contained in their works of fiction. The only very striking difference is in the position of woman. Chinese ladies do not go out much, and do not mix in the society of men. But theirs would seem to be a retired, not a captive life. This retirement certainly excludes no faith in the intellectual culture of woman. Whether we take the heroines of "The Two Young Girls of Letters," as idealized portraits of what is, or as aspirations towards what can be, it would appear that the Chinese do not consider women incapable of acquiring knowledge or of excelling in composition, and their faith in, and desire for such a result, is one of the most subtle proofs of their intellectual refinement. It is only when they stand very high themselves that men are inclined to let women approach them. Less apparent, but very peculiar is the fashion according to which a Chinese novelist deals with love, as compared to the European author. In our good moral novel love is graceful, calm, wise; ruled by reason and generally fortunate; in our novel of real life, it takes every aspect from stormy to serene: it is essentially a passion: in our romance it is ecstatic and unconquerable; this is the love which is born of a look and lasts till death. Assuming that the Chinese novels we know are fair tests of the rest, we must say that Chinese love knows no such variety. It is conventionally painted as a feeling believed in, though rarely witnessed, for all the lovers love alike, for the same reasons and for the same |