LEASANT EVENING'S AMUSEMENT, OR, PASTIME FOR THE PARLOUR. Tocure from the printer's half a dozen of ted alphabets on cards. Cut out the letters ly, and with them make the name of a perobject, or thing, keeping the letters in your 1, or out of sight,-then shake them all toer, and give them to your friend to make what word it was you formed. Two persons sit down, each giving a puzzle, and amuse selves by intellectually endeavouring to be irst to find it out. J. P. ish flatterer, a bane of court; e oft envied by th'unfetter'd dame; hnic deity, adored by maids; 2, productive of long-lasting shades; ature reckon'd faithful by strong signs; thrive or dwindle on our jaunting ball. CAPTAIN JAMES RITCHIE, Edinburgh. CHARADES. 1. , roaming in the fields one day, fiss'd the path, and lost my way'earing that my first would come, n great despair began to run, Behold yon righteous priest! he can portray A mighty engine, so he can evoke, To settle sin through the strong, strenuous stroke. Such priest as I portray is often found- 41 EDITED BY HERR HARRWITZ PROBLEM No. XII.-By A. G. M'COMBE, Esq.--White to move, and mate in six moves. 19. B. to R. 3. ch. (b) 20. R. to Q. 19. K. to Q. 20. Mates in two moves, by R. to K. B. 8., double ch., K. takes R., and Q, to B. 7, Mate. 1. K. P. 2. 2. K. Kt. to B. 3. 3. K. B. to Q. B. 4. 4. Q. Kt. P 2. 5. Q. B. P. 1. 6. Q. P. 2. 7. Castles. 8. K. P. 1. 9. P. takes P. 10. Q. P. 1. 11. K. B. to Q. 3. 1. K. P. 2. 2. Q. Kt. to B. 3. 3. K. B. to Q. B. 4. 4. B. takes P. 5. B. to R. 4. 6. P. takes P. 7. B. to Kt. 3. 8. K. Kt. to K. 2. 9. Castles. 10. Q. Kt. to R. 4. 11. K. Kt. to Kt. 3. 12. K. R. P. 1. 13. R. takes Kt. 14. R. to B. 15. Q. to K. R. 5. 16. R. takes B. P. 17. K. to B. 2. 18. K. to K. 2. ELLEN LYNDHURST; A TALE OF TRIAL AND TRIUMPH. (Concluded from page 335.) CHAPTER XXIII. VIRTUE FINDS ITS REWARD. TIME passed, and in its flight scattered many changes from its wings. Charles Langford had never been heard of from the time of his abrupt departure, and it was anticipated that death by suicide, or some equally terrible fate had terminated his unhappy existence. The good old Squire, for several years, felt his disappointment keenly. At length he in some measure recovered the good spirits and the frank and generous manner which characterized him of old. But to the end of his days, there were periods of serious depression from which it was difficult to arouse him. His generous heart still believed that the object of his misplaced confidence possessed many excellent qualities, which had been thwarted by the evil influences of the world. He remembered that his brother died while his son was a mere stripling, and that he was in a great measure left to the pursuits of the wilful impulses of youth. A warm attachment had sprung up between those who had been attracted to each other by the misfortunes of our story. Mr. Montague's family became much attached to Mr. Lyndhurst, his daughter, and the Squire. And upon more than one occasion, Ellen visited Mr. Montague's house, and was a welcome guest for a long period. These visits were kindly designed by Mr. Montague's daughters, to obliterate from Ellen's memory the painful incidents connected with an ill-placed and disappointed love. Her natural piety, and implicit trust in the wise decrees of Providence afforded her material comfort-and she forgot the wrong she had endured, except when in her devotions she remembered the being who had injured her, and prayed for his repentance and salvation. It was during these occasions that she became acquainted with the Rev. William Montague, whose habits had become more attuned to the sacred mission confided to his hands. He was a cheerful, yet VOL. VIII.-NO. XCVIII. a truly devout man, and as he increased in years he afforded a sweet exemplification of the character of the true Christian. It was with him that Ellen's heart at length found a resting-place, and a healing balm for all her wounds. They were married, with the joyful consent of all their friends; and Ellen and her father recognised in this happy result the hand of Divine Providence. The health of the Squire at length declined; and as he felt his end approaching, he arranged the settlement of his affairs. This was indeed a trial to him, because it brought back to his mind the recollection of all his cherished dreams; and he felt how delightful it would have been to have called his adopted son to his side, and to have resigned to him, and to his wife and children, those means of future good, which God had so bountifully placed at his disposal. However, he regarded it as otherwise ordained, but still strove to keep in view the duty which he believed devolved upon him, for the disposal of his riches for the good of his fellow - creatures. One day he sent a request to Mr. Lyndhurst for his attendance. The two friends were soon side by side,-the one leaning upon a couch of sickness, the other listening to his words, as he spoke with a calm and clear voice. "My dear, my good old friend," said the Squire, "I feel that I have but a few days to live-my spirit will soon be demanded of me and as I shall be called to account at a solemn tribunal for the trust reposed in me, I have determined to leave my property to be disposed of in this manner. One portion will be devoted to the founding of Free-schools for this village, in which a liberal education, with food and clothing, shall be given to all children of the parish who may be left orphans at an early age. The hope I have in founding this institution is, that those who lose the genial influences of parental care, at that time of life when the mind most needs a proper direction, may have the advantages of good intellectual and moral culture; and that cases such as that of my poor lost nephew, may be prevented as far as possible." The old man paused for some moments, and, taking the hand of his friend, appeared completely overcome with bitter recollections. 2 B He then proceeded:-" Another portion of my property I would devote to the foundation of a Dispensary for the parish -a want which has long been felt by the poor in affliction. I confess that this duty has been impressed upon me by scenes I witnessed when passing through the Hospital with yourself and Alfred. The blessings that were distributed there-the sweet relief afforded to the victims of agonising pain-and the uplifting of the dying from the grave-made a strong impression upon my mind. "Further portions of my property will be divided between your nephew Alfred, and your daughter; and I am convinced that in thus applying it, I am no less studying the general good, and the true charities of the heart, than in the previous disposal. I feel sure that the benevolence of Alfred, and the truly Christian spirit of Ellen, will be the means of diffusing many blessings. "I have left a small legacy, and the cottage which adjoins the Hall, to Mrs. Davis, so that she will be comfortably provided for to the end of her days. There is also a sum of £50 for Matthew, who, as he is a strong and industrious man, will soon get into service, and may employ this mark of my approval as the best recommendation I could give him. "The residue, after these appropriations, I must beg of you to accept, as a mark of my brotherly love, and an expression of my profound respect in my last moments. Here is a will, which has been drawn up in accordance with these explanations." Mr. Lyndhurst took the document with one hand, while with the other he covered his eyes, for they were filled with tears. Weep not! my good old friend," said the Squire, brightening up and raising himself from the couch. "What is death, when heaven is in view?-A sweet translation from a state of sorrow to one of unspeakable bliss!-A smooth passage to a calm haven, after the storms of life are past! Uncertainty is over-doubt is at an end-temptations are trodden under foot-beauty, happiness, and peace, unite their charms to make the soul calm in the presence of an Almighty God, towards whom evermore there exists love without fear, for the terrors of hell are forgotten!" “I am wrong, wrong, friend Langford," said Mr. Lyndhurst. "I ought rather to rejoice to find you so calm and happy under this most solemn trial. I am, however, joyful, even in the midst of my tears; to see you so well prepared, gives me confidence and comfort-for probably my end is, comparatively speaking, but a few days off." "Then we shall be re-united," said the Squire with animation; "and our friends will follow us. Oh! never weep, but let the eye look up to Heaven, with no tear glistening therein to impede the Divine rays shed down from the throne of God." Such were the hopeful and the pious sentiments which the good old man breathed, up to the time of his death. When his release from earth and pain took place, he was surrounded by his friends; and in the solemnity of that dying hour a lesson was impressed upon many minds too deeply ever to be forgotten. Even to the young, whose hearts throb with the fulness of the love of life, death was shorn of its terrors; and to the old it imparted a longing to set out upon a journey to the eternal city. The Rev. William Montague, in a tone of voice clear, musical, and full of pious emotion, offered up a prayer; its language was so meek and trusting, yet so eloquent and hopeful, that every eye was raised as in prospect of heaven, and to all present visions of the beauty of a better world broke like the faint tracings of a gorgeous dream. In that moment, without a sigh or a groan, the spirit of the dying man departed. CHAPTER XXIV. "AFTER A STORM COMETH A CALM." IN one of the most beautiful suburbs of London, there stood a mansion, separated from the main road by an extensive lawn, bordered by broad elm trees. In the midst of the lawn were several flower-beds in a high state of cultivation, and a gentleman dressed in appropriate garments, was closely engaged in gardening operations, in which he took an evident interest. His daughter, a girl of ten years of age, waited upon her father, and as he worked, asked him many shrewd questions upon the nature of plants, and the effect of certain things which she saw him doing. A little frisky spaniel sported by her side, as she journeyed to and fro, but when she stopped to converse the dog stopped too, and appeared to take interest in the conversation. He was, however, only waiting for his little mistress's salutation of " now Carlo!" which he evidently thought gave him the right to scamper over the beds without restriction, and to catch up any loose fragments of plants that lay about, and to run off with them in any direction he chose. "Oh, dear, Louisa," said Mr. Beresford, "Carlo has run off with the verbena, and will destroy it." Upon which Louisa set off in chase of the offender as fast as her legs could carry her, and succeeded in returning the favourite plant without its sustaining much injury. Papa," "said the little girl," there is a ring at the bell-may I go and see who it is ?" "Certainly," said her father, "and if you make haste, you will save Mary the trouble of coming from the house." The child ran down the lawn, and opening the gate, took a letter from the postman, which she conveyed directly to her father. "Oh, oh!" said Mr. Beresford, "it is from Uncle William ;" and he put down his garden tools, drew off his gloves, and taking his little Louisa into the house, led her into an apartment where a lady sat, painting from a group of flowers which lay before her. "Mamma!" said Louisa, letting go her father's hand, "here's a letter from Uncle William and Aunt Ellen; I hope they have accepted your invitation, and will come and see us." The letter was opened, and read; and to the delight of the party, it was found that Mr. and Mrs. Montague had accepted a kind invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Beresford; and that in a few days they would have the pleasure of meeting in this beautiful spot. The Mr. Beresford who was thus employed in cultivating his garden, is the same Alfred Beresford who we hope has won the good opinion of the reader. Doctor Montague died about a year before the decease of old Squire Langford, and left his practice to Alfred, as a proof of his high estimation of his character and abilities. The lady who sat painting the flowers, was Louisa Montague, the youngest of the Doctor's daughters, and the little Louisa who was frisking in the garden, was the pledge of their devoted affection. When Alfred became sufficiently wealthy by the property left him by the Squire, he transferred his practice to an old college companion, and retired to this beautiful spot, to commune with Nature, and to investigate her mysteries. He had not altogether given up medical practice; for he was ever ready to attend gratuitously upon the poor of the neighbourhood, and in cases of extreme danger and immediate necessity, he had been instrumental in saving many lives. He did this, however, purely as a matter of benevolence, and as a duty gratefully rendered to those who had so eminently proved his benefactors. In a few days the visitors arrived, and a very happy circle they formed. Mr. and Mrs. Montague brought with them a fine boy of twelve years of age, who formed a cheerful companion for the little Louisa. Mr. Montague and Mr. Beresford found great profit in their conversations and experiments upon scientific matters, while Ellen and Louisa occupied themselves in the duties of the household, and in works of fine art. They often talked of olden times, and of the loved ones gone to a better world. Such had been the subject of their conversation one summer's evening, as they sat in a group upon the lawn, watching the red sun gently dip behind the hills, painting the western world with gorgeous beauty. The twilight commenced, the birds hushed their songs, and the cooling dews began to fall upon the thirsty earth, when they retired to an elegant apartment, and were entertained by Louisa's performances upon the piano. They were interrupted by the entry of the servant-girl, who said "There is an old man who wants to see master." "What is his name?" inquired Mr. Beresford. "He would not say his name," replied the girl; "but told me that you knew him some years ago, but must have forgotten him ere this." |