think your ladyship would like a little Venetian air, that I have never yet sung to you, better."

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Oh, no, no; nothing Venetian," said Lady de Clifford, passing her hand over her eyes; "the other, pray; for, when I feel melancholy, I like mournful music."

Miss Grant had now no alternative but to comply, and accordingly sang the following beautiful words: "Would that the hour you call'd me thine, Deserted girl, had been our last!

Before the star had ceased to shine,

Whose influence then was o'er us cast.
Would that we had not linger'd here,
But in the stillness of that dream,
Floated to some less troubled sphere,
Like rose-leaves down a summer stream.

"Thy heart to loneliness and grief,
Then had not been an early prey;

Nor had I felt my fond belief

In life's illusion fade away.

Oh no, I had not lived to mourn
The choice I in my madness made;

Of toys by folly won and worn,

Which left for banish'd peace a shade.

"The world-my uncomplaining love-
The world I wooed, avenged thee well;
The golden shower I prized above
Thy young affection, on me fell.
The hand of power, the voice of fame,
In later days have both been mine;
But never have I felt the same

In heart, as when you call'd me thine."

The expression of indignant feeling Miss Grant threw into the last verse, did ample justice to the beautiful words, and left the echo of her voice floating on the heart long after its sounds had ceased. The rest of the night passed wearily away, for it was past midnight before Lady de Clifford's room and bed were ready. On taking up the newspapers the next morning, Julia had the pleasure of reading the following paragraphs, all en suite."

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"Yesterday morning, Viscountess de Clifford left town for Grimstone, where it is her ladyship's intention to remain during the rest of the season.

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Yesterday evening, Viscount de Clifford entertained a select party at dinner, at his residence in Grosvenorstreet. Among the company present were the Earl and Countess of Shuffleton, Lords Albert and Harry

Dinely, Viscount St. Leger, Lady Charlotte Loory, Lady Stepastray, the Hon. Mrs. Dreadnought, the Hon. Mrs. Reynard Alley, the Hon. Herbert Grimstone, Mr. York Fonnoir, Mr. Snobguess, and Mr. Frederic Feedwell." "The Dowager Lady de Clifford also had a 'soireé musicale' at her house in Bruton-street yesterday evening, which was numerously and fashionably attended." "It is currently reported in the highest circles, that a marriage is on the tapis between the young Marquis of Cheveley and the beautiful Lady Fanny Germaine, the accomplished niece of the premier."

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Now, though Julia had often tried to persuade herself that Cheveley ought to marry, nay, though she had gone still farther, and tried to persuade herself that she wished him to do so, and though she did not believe this report of his marriage with Lady Fanny Germaine, yet it had the power of making her additionally unhappy for the rest of the day. Alas! poor human nature; disguise it as we will, love makes a chameleon of the heart; since, under its influence, every passing breath gives a different hue to its feelings; it only requires a word, a look, a tone, to make it "couleur-de-rose," and half of either, to render it more drear and dark than a starless midnight. It is this atmospheric variability, if one may use the expression, that occasions the thousand little dissensions that spring from love itself; for it is generally in the fondest moments, that hearts that love ask and expect sacrifices, and each feels chilled and disappointed that the other has not yielded to it: "You should not have asked at such a time," pouts one; "Ah! you should not have refused," sighs the other; and both are equally disappointed in the ovation that each thought should have been exclusively theirs.

Time rolled on, and except that passed with her child, whose sweet young nature daily promised all she could wish, it was weary in the extreme to Lady de Clifford, for there is nothing more difficult for the unhappy to get accustomed to than a forced and cheerless solitude: to be alone often is not only a relief, but a luxury; but to be always alone is next akin to madness. Except from Fanny, she seldom heard from any one; for her most professing friends were too happy, and too gay, and too busy to write; and when they did, their letters were either filled with their own triumphs, or with offensive and frivolous apologies for not having written

before; which, in plain English, amounted to, "I'll write to you when I've nothing better to do, and this is as much as you can or ought to expect, now that you are no longer in the way to contribute to our amusement or well-being."

She was also somewhat amused and disgusted at hearing that ladies who called their husband's brutes, tore their pocket-handkerchiefs, and went into hysterics at the disappointment of a delay about a ball or an opera-box, were much shocked at her for not cheerfully submitting to whatever species of banishment Lord de Clifford ordained for her; while other exemplary ladies, though engaged to be married to another before their husbands were cold in their graves, were equally shocked at her want of feeling in writing to them in unmeasured terms of grief at the loss of a faithful dog, who had been her unchanging friend and companion for years; and wrote her word she must be mad to think of intruding her canine loss upon the orthodox affliction of black crape and muslin caps. This was too disgusting to be angry with, and she merely thought of the story of the Venetian lady, who, when her confessor came to condole with her for the loss of her husband, found her in high spirits playing piquet with an adventurer; he remonstrated upon the indelicacy of such a proceeding:

"Ah padre mio," said the lady, "had you come a quarter of an hour sooner, you would have found me dissolved in tears! but I staked my grief on the game with this young man, and, as you perceive, I've lost it!"

Julia had still to learn that she should not measure other hearts by her own; for she would have done more to serve an utter stranger than her "soi-disant" best friends would do to secure her salvation: no wonder, then, that she was disappointed; but disappointment, after the first bitterness is past, is a fine tonic, and gives an elasticity to the mind that saves it from all future morbidity; when once we reflect, in the beautiful words of James Knox, that

"The friends have all deserted us,

We loved in days of yore,

Since stranded by the storms of fate
Upon misfortune's shore."

We begin to weigh those friends in the balance, and,

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THE MAN OF HONOUR.

if among the gay, the hollow, and the worldly, they are sure to be "found wanting;" to lose such, then, is, in fact, to gain a loss:" at first we grieve over the worthless phantom; but, oh! the happiness, as we look wistfully back again through the vista of years, to discover some dear "old familiar faces," with hearts as familiar, whose mild, steady light of love made no display in the sunshine of prosperity; but returns to cheer, guide, and help us through the night of adversity; and prove, that in some instances the bread we have cast upon the waters does indeed return to us after many days. Would that I could dip this pen into my heart, and I should be eloquent in praise of one whose kind, gentle heart is now cold and still; but the good he did is not "interred with his bones;" for he has delegated it to one as kind, as diligent, as generous, as delicate as himself; but how poor are words for friendship such as theirs or gratitude like mine. May the path they have smoothed for me on earth be remembered to them in heaven!

It was now May, beautiful, balmy May, that always seems to me like the first love of the year, when the flowers begin to blush beneath the warmth of the sun's gaze, and the bees murmur honeyed nothings in their leaves. Lady de Clifford had so portioned out her time as to fill up every interstice of it: her child, her flowers, her visits to the poor, and long country walks, all filled up the day; and even in the stillness of night, when thoughts, those noiseless and undeniable visiters, will intrude, she would get up, write letters, or do anything to banish the remembrance of Cheveley. Then came Sunday; a Sunday in the country, when there is a holy calm in all around, as though Nature herself was hushed in prayer, and no sound steals on the ear but the bells of the village church, proclaiming the Sabbath through the quiet fields, and harmonizing the spirit to thankfulness and hope. How often she thought, as she walked to the lowly fane, and still more when she heard the words of comfort and encouragement enforced and expounded by Mr. Osborne, the rector, that she had, or that she would conquer herself; that she would never rest till she had uprooted every sinful feeling! but still, thoughts, which are the shadows of feeling, would sometimes intrude in spite of herself.

She had been nearly three months in the country,

and notwithstanding all her incessant struggles with, and occasional victories over, herself, she had never had courage to take the sacrament; she wished, hoped, feared, trembled, and deemed herself unworthy of it. Whether it was that Mr. Osborne had remarked her constant attendance and attention at church, and her non-attendance at the communion-table, or that he merely gave the admonition, in the course of his duty, towards all his parishioners, she knew not; but certain it was, that on the tenth Sunday after she had been at Grimstone, had he been sitting in Julia's heart he could not have replied to her thoughts or refuted her doubts better. His text was from 2 Cor. v., 17: "If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature."

In the course of his sermon he said (and Lady de Clifford thought he fixed his eyes upon her), "Let no one be discouraged from coming to Christ because he finds not in himself that godly sorrow for sin, that ability to repent, and all those spiritual qualifications which he desires to have: we must first be in Christ before we are new creatures; we would fain have something before we come; we are prone to conclude that God's pardons are not free, but that we must bring something with us wherewith to purchase them; but no, the proclamation runs thus: Buy, without money,' 'Come and take the water of life freely." Therefore, do not say, 'I have a sinful disposition, and a hard heart, and cannot mourn for sin as I should; I will therefore stay till I am better.' This is as though I should say, 'I will go to the physician, but I will have my malady healed first.' The end of going to Christ is, that this very hardness of thy heart may be taken away; that this very deadness of spirit may be removed; that thou mayst be enlivened, quickened, healed; that thou mayst hate sin, and become fruitful in righteousness, before thy soul be united to Christ by a living faith. For it is faith that purifies the heart, and works (produces good works) by love. We must not pretend to serve God by only going to church, and doing other acts of outward devotion; while we are dead and cold, our religion is vain. They who, like Mary, seek grace from the words of Christ, receive the assurance of divine approbation; and this stimulates them to fresh acts of piety and beneficence. It is almost impossible for such to go on in haughtiness, envy, hatred, and disobeVOL. II.-Q