1 objection; after protesting a thousand times that her wealth had nothing whatever to do with their union— that he married his lovely Phillipina only for herself. And, perhaps, some young and romantic ladies may be weak enough to believe his assertions true-while those who have read mankind, and traced the powerful working of self-love in the human heart, will doubt the sincerity of his declaration. After some time he was presented with a valuable living, to which he repaired, and kept the parsonage, a spacious mansion, of antient date, for their usual residence; hired a curate at the enormous salary of forty-five pounds a year, to perform the solemn offices of his benefice, while he amused himself with the neighbouring gentlemen, or occasionally loitered away a month or two of the year either with his own family, or that of Mrs. Lawson's; who, not at all pleased with their country residence, and finding herself neither flattered or adored by her husband, began to retaliate on his want of attention, by peevishness, arrogance, and contempt; frequently taking flight to her uncle's, where she vented her disappointment in unavailing and unpleasant upbraidings. Mrs. Fitzcary, however, who had been highly offended at her marriage, and was extremely weary of the subject, frequently silenced her, by remarking, that as Mr. Lawson was the husband of her choice, it was both indelicate and imprudent in her to blazon his faults. Let us return to the cottage, were we left poor Maria, on the eve of becoming a mother-the person, whom Mrs. Fitzcary had in kindness appointed to take care of her, was much tinctured with methodism, of a gloomy temper, and uncharitable spirit-from her, poor Maria heard nothing, from day to day, but censures on her errors, and exhortations to repentance-with strict injunctions to hate her betrayer. Maria could only answer by her tears-to hate Lawson was impossibleand to repent without hating him, seemed equally so a terrible mental conflict ensued-she feared she was deserted by heaven, and abandoned to suffer misery in this state, and punishment in the next-while < her mind was thus cruelly agitated, she gave birth to a daughter; her attendant, either from carelessness, or ignorance, did not pay that strict attention to her that her situation claimed, her milk became extremely troublesome, was with great difficulty subdued, and, finally, the fever which had attended it ended in a delirium-the infant was of course taken from her, and, wanting that nourishment which nature sent for it, pined and died-for near two years Maria continued in a low dejected state; she seldom spoke-she had ceased to weep. Mrs. Fitzcary, who was extremely concerned at her situation, neglected nothing that was likely to restore her to her former state of mind-on her return to the Priory, after Maria's delivery, she beheld with extreme concern the harsh temper of the woman to whose care she had confided her; she was instantly removed, and a younger person, more chearful and humane, placed in her stead-but this act of kindness was now useless, for moaping melancholy had so firmly seated herself in Maria's brain, that even kindness could not move her. At length Henry, who had been by mistake reported dead, arrived in the village, but so mangled and altered, that no one knew him; he had been in battle deprived of a leg, and was likewise dreadfully scared in the face, and, add to these the ravages a torrid clime had made on his complexion, no one will wonder that he was not known by his old acquaintance; his wounds had gained his discharge, and he was come to solicit the Greenwich pension-if disappointed of that hope, he had no other resource but to beg his bread For he was too weak to work, Through realms his valour sav'd. He stopped at the Plough on the Green, told who he was, wiped the sweat from his sun-burnt face, for he had walked many a weary mile, then eagerly enquiring after his grandmother and his sister, he heard of the death of one, and the misfortune of the other, in an agony of grief that sets description at defiancehe drank freely, for liquor was become habitual to him, and then set out for the cottage; but how severe were his emotions, when he viewed from the little gate the desolation of its appearance; the garden was over run with weeds, the rustic seat round the elm had gone to decay, and had been broken up; the vine was matted together, and hung in rude confusion around the door and windows of the cottage, all emblematical of the change within-he entered the enclosure, the noise of his wooden leg aroused the attention of Maria, he rushed forward and caught her in his arms-spoke eagerly-uttered her name. She, for a moment, seemed to recollect the sound, but then relapsing into her, usual insensibility, she shrunk from his embrace, and fixing her wild eyes on vacancy, sat senseless and immovable. "This is too much," cried Henry, "my poor Maria; and, if I can find the vil lain who has brought all this upon thee, dearly shall he atone for it." He then rushed from the cottage, and, with as much speed as he was able to make, regained the publ c-house, where, from the villagers, who were by this time assembled round him, for it was then evening, he heard who was the reputed seducer of his sister; though none knew, yet most, from coincidence of circumstances, suspected Lawson. It did not, in the mind of Henry admit a doubt, he drank freely, and continued with his old companions the greater part of the night-he then slep: for a few hours-gained all the information he could of Lawson's residence-took one more look at his poor sister, which served only to invigorate his thirst of vengeance-then privately took from the cottage a pistol, which had been his father's, and, without saying a word of his intentions, set out for the residence of Mr. Lawson. He was two days and one night walking thither. He cleaned his pistol on the road, and purchased some powder and ball of a soldier he met with at a public-house, where he drank. till his money was nearly exhausted, and his brain in a state of frenzyand arrived at the parsonage-house just as Mr. Lawson, whom he demanded to speak with, had sat down to breakfast---he followed the foot-boy, rushed inte the breakfast-room, took his aim at Mr. Lawson, who instantly fell, groaned deeply, and died. The family was in a moment assembled at the sound, every possible assistance was given, but to no purpose --the aim was too surely taken---the ball had reach ed the brain. The wretched culprit was immediately secured, indeed he made no attempts to escape, and seemed perfectly satisfied to have taken vengeance for the injuries of his sister---though he knew his life must pay the forfeit of his crime. During this dreadful scene, Mrs. Lawson was absent on a party of pleasure ---the fatal news, however, was conveyed to her, and she instantly set out out for her uncle's residence, where she went through all the usual forms of grief and condolence---and was in a few days, between the intervals of tears and hysterics, enabled, by the help of aromatic salts, to consult with her milliner on the most elegant and becoming mode of wearing her mourning. In the mean time, the coroner returned the verdict wilful murder---and Henry was confined to take his trial for the deed. The body of Mr. Lawson was interred in the family fault--the effects at the parsonage all sold by public auction---and, as there was no children, Mrs. Lawson again figured in the first circles, with her fortune unimpaired. While Henry languished in prison, borne down by corporeal sufferings and mental sorrows---for the hour of reflection was come---poor Maria, as if acquainted by some secret impulse of the dreadful transaction, languished a few weeks, during which her reason seemed in some degree restored---and died without a struggle or a sigh, the morning preceding that on which her rash, "but unfortunate, brother was to suffer death, who had, during the interval of her illness, been tried and condemned. He suffered according to his sentence, firm and collected, beseeching the surrounding multitude to assist him with their prayers, and to take warning by his example---not to indulge the impulse of passion---or impiously snatch from heaven the thunderbolt of vengeance. On this tale, which we recommend to the serious perusal of the young, the gay, and inexperienced, we make no comment; sensible that they will see the necessity of subduing the first symptoms of passion, under whatever appearance they make their approach--convinced that it is much easier to destroy the egg, than kill the serpent. LAKES IN IRELAND. (From Holme's Tour in Ireland. } E were detained at Castle Island by heavy Wrains, the whole of Sunday; however, Mon day brought fair weather, and we betook ourselves to the road, not without some apprehensions, from information which we had received of the fords being swelled, through which we must necessarily pass; in this we were agreeably disappointed; the brooks were all fordable, with no great difficulty. Along the road, we had in view the immense mountains of the lakes, which afforded a boundless scope for fancy; their fantastical and rugged heads forming a thousand strange contrasts; every five minutes changed their appearance, according as mists would break, or clouds enwrap them; distant gleams of light would dart across their summits, and quickly vanish; then would succeed a thick and blackish vapour hanging on their gloomy sides, till it was again displaced by a blaze of sunshine! Thus were we entertained, till on our near approach to Killarny, the wide expanding bosom of the lower lake burst at once upon our expectant eyes; and here no one can pass without a pause; it de serves it; nay, it requires it for the eye naturally seeks for repose, as well as the grosser parts of our system after exertion; too numerous a succession of |