beauty. Pardon me for that expression, Catherine, for care, and suffering, and sorrow have so blighted the loveliness of your youth that it seems almost like mockery to speak of those charms of which but the traces remain. But your heart is still the same; still as pure and as faithful as it was in those early days of happiness when we both looked forward to a lengthened period of bliss, and mine beats with an affection as ardent, and as true as it did when my vows were first plighted at the altar." The mild humid eyes of Catherine were fixed on his face, and in the glance she gave him volumes of grateful tenderness were expressed. For such a glance, so pure, so holy, what would not man endure patiently! Edward felt its power --it was the reward of his affection-a reward which woman alone knows how to bestow-a benison which is a foretaste of a bliss superior to that of earth.

situation of Edward Harrington had a decided influence on his future fate. His steps had been watched by his father who had traced him to the cottage of the Mansfields-the very residence to which we introduced our readers at the commencement of this tale. At that time it presented a different appearance, for then comfort reigned where now distress was triumphant, and the fond anticipations of youthful love had not been banished by the stern frowns of despair. The passions of Mr. Harrington, always violent, now became tempestuous: he hastened to the cottage, and after exhausting the first flow of his fury by upbraiding the trembling girl, who in vain strove to deprecate his anger, he concluded by banishing his son from his native halls for ever. Almost maddened by conflicting emotions Edward now stood on the very verge of a precipice; it was the crisis of his fate, and when calmness succeeded to the bitterness of agonized feeling, he decided to make Catherine the partner of his future fate. Mr. Harrington remained inexorable to all the applications of the youthful pair, and his influence was exerted to prevent any attentions being paid to his son by those who had been his former associates, while he was held up by all prudent parents as a sad example of ingratitude and disobedience.

Happy in themselves, and considering that time would most probably work a change in the disposition of Mr. Harrington, Edward and his young wife treated the contumelious conduct of their For some neighbours with silent indifference. months the little money accumulated by Edward by saving from the annual allowance made to him by his father, enabled them to live in a quiet but respectable manner. It was humble-but they were happy, and had just enough philosophy to be content with their lot, therefore they were "rich enough." One of those epidemic fevers which are so frequently the scourge of our nation, prevailed in the village in which they had fixed their residence, and many were those who were gathered to their fathers by the influence of the fatal miasma. Edward was among the first who

Though suffering the extremity of want, and sinking under the pressure of severe affliction, Edward Harrington was not of the humbler classes of society. He was the only son of the principal person of the village of whose family had resided at Harrington Park for more than two centuries, monarchs of the surrounding acres as far as the eye could reach, who proud of his ancestral blood had expatriated his son for ever from his hearth and from his heart in consequence of his marriage with the broken-hearted female to whom we have just introduced our readers, but who was at that time the lovely and peerless Catherine Mansfield. Catherine and her brother were the orphan children of a military officer, who as is too frequently the case with gentlemen in that profession, at his death left his children dependant on their own exertions and the generosity of the nation but even the small pittance allowed to Catherine as the descendant of a veteran defender of his country ceased to be available to her from the period of her marriage. Thrown continually into the society of each other a mutual affection, as might have been anticipated, ensued, though by some fatality, which is not unusual, it was not observed by Mr. Harrington, until Edward in-felt its withering influence, but fearful of alarming timated to his father his intention of uniting his fortunes with those of Catherine. Then, and not till then, did the secret flash like a beam of lightning over the mind of Mr. Harrington. His pride, his ambition had received a deadly wound: for a moment it appeared to paralyze his faculties; he sat silent and motionless-then on a sudden he awoke to recollection, and with a furious burst of passion threatened his son with his eternal male- In a state of desperation Catherine flew to the diction if he did not instantly promise to renounce residence of his father: she forced herself into the her for ever. Accustomed to the waywardness of room in which he was sitting, and with tears imhis father's temper, and no stranger to the violence plored him to commiserate the melancholy conof his passions, Edward deemed this ebullition of dition of his son, for they were now left pennyless his wrath to be but the offspring of a momentary-in the depth of poverty at the very moment that rage, and resolved not to yield up his hopes of future happiness in order to humour the caprice of his father. A scene of reciprocal recrimination followed, and in a moment of irritated feeling he quitted his paternal home, and sought in the society of Catherine a solace for his present sorrow: the first real affliction that had ever befallen him, for he had as yet been the spoiled child of fortune. This step, so natural to a young man in the

his gentle and delicate wife, he was silent under his sufferings until the fever had rooted itself too deeply into his system to be easily eradicated. For weeks the insidious enemy had been preying upon his life-springs, and at last he sunk powerless and exhausted upon that bed of sickness, from which it appeared unlikely he would ever be enabled to arise.

they stood most in need of the means of providing not only the necessaries of life, but medicinal assistance for the invalid. Obdurate to all the pleadings of the agonized girl, Mr. Harrington sternly bade her begone, and when she sunk at his feet again to beseech him to rescind the fatal malediction he had pronounced against his son, he spurned her from him as he would have done a viper had it crossed his path.

He spoke not of him with bitterness-but as of one whose passions urged him to deceive himself, and who, satisfied with the deception, clasped misery to his bosom, and sent happiness away to seek another home. As he was one evening resting his head on the affectionate bosom of his faithful wife, he said, "I have been considering, Catherine, that I have been wrong in not personally intreating my father to banish all vengeful feelings from his bosom; but now it is too late for even a slight exertion, much more the strong and painful one of meeting a parent who has discarded me from his heart."

Hopeless of touching the feelings of the relentless father, Catherine returned to watch with an aching heart by the couch of the ill-fated Edward. Day by day to provide for his necessities the furniture of the cottage was diminished, till it assumed the desolate appearance which we noticed at the commencement of this narrative. The affection of Catherine, and the unwearied assiduity of her brother, were the only means by which the life of the sufferer had been prolonged: for as there was not a medical man resident within five miles of the village, it was not possible for him to receive those attentions which were required during the progress of the disorder, though, to the honour of Catherine sighed deeply as she replied, "If his the profession be it recorded, he volunteered his wrath could but be softened-his generous feelings services on the first intimation of Edward's illness, excited-we might even yet be happy-write to though at the time he was the Esculapius of Har-him Edward, I will again bear his scorn, and rington Hall, and risked by his philanthropy the humble myself at his feet though he should again loss of his professional practice in that quarter. spurn me from his door." He even ventured to mention the case once to Mr. Harrington himself, who received the intimation in silence, and with a formal bow quitted the apartment, without deigning even to utter a goodmorrow as he departed.

The last application having proved equally unsuccessful with those which had been previously made, both Edward and Catherine seemed inclined to bear the evils of existence with fortitude. All she asked was to die with him-all her hopes had been centred in him, and weakened as he had been by his lengthened illness, she could not now venture to indulge even a faint hope of his eventual recovery. Oh! what moments of agony are those which intervene betwixt an undecided state of existence and the hour of earthly separation! To watch the slowly ebbing tide of life-to see the eye beam fainter and fainter-to hear the voice grow feebler till it sinks into that tone of indistinctness, when but the knowledge of the heart can give interpretation to the words, is a period of sorrow which cannot be appreciated or understood by those who have not passed through the dreadful ordeal. It is a moment in existence when the past is but a dream, while the present and the future contend together to render life a burthen, leaving the heart a lone and sterile spot, where not one faint bloom appears to brighten the cheerless aspect of the bosom's desert. Such now were the feelings of Catherine as she knelt by the couch of the emaciated form of him for whose sake she had endured privations without a murmur, and of whose love she had been prouder than of all the treasures of the earth.

If those who deem the love of woman as fleeting as the wind; as transient as the reflection of the sunset on the pellucid bosom of the stream, had but witnessed the firm, the devoted, the untiring attentions of Catherine, they could no longer have been sceptical as to the unbounded extent of female affection. They would have been compelled to acknowledge that only the heartless could doubt that love once engendered within the heart of woman could cease ere life had closed the last page of the volume, and Time resigned his power to Eternity!

Edward daily grew weaker, and as his feebleness increased, his anxiety to part with his father in friendliness assumed a more decided character.

"Peace, dearest, or you will drive me to madness. Give me the pen, Catherine, and support my arm, love, for I feel as if I were powerless when thou art not by my side. Guide my pen,' he continued, as he attempted to write upon the paper which she had placed before him, "for there is a charm about thee that seems to give me strength."

The note to his father was concise. He expressed his conviction that it was the last epistle he should ever be permitted to dedicate to him, and was to this effect:

"Our correspondence, our intercourse has been too long interrupted, my father: renew, I beseech you, for the brief time allowed me to remain in this world, the pleasing dream I once indulged, of possessing a father's love. Quickly-quickly, my father, if you would soothe the last moments of your son, who, alas! may never again be enabled to address the parent whose blessing he implores. I feel an unnatural excitation creep over the feebleness of my frame which tells me that I am very near the close childless, the remembrance of having parted with of my earthly pilgrimage, and when you are left your son in amity-with one whose heart has never failed in duty, will perhaps cheer your last hour."

This billet was instantly conveyed by the brother of Catherine to the Hall, but Mr. Harrington, though aware of the serious illness of his son, threw the letter aside unopened, and thought not at the time of the bitter portion of sorrow he was treasuring up for his remaining years. Edward, whose natural strength of constitution had enabled him to struggle strenuously with the malady which was now nearly triumphant, bore this last disappointment of his hopes with calm resignation, and strove to prepare Catherine to support his loss with fortitude. It was almost the last exertion of his faculties, for as Catherine was smoothing his pillow, his hand relaxed its grasp, and without a sigh or a struggle he was gathered to his fathers.

On the succeeding morning the eyes of Mr. Harrington rested on the yet unopened letter. A momentary gush of tenderness came over his soul, and he was in the act of breaking the seal, when the slow and melancholy knell of the bell from the village church announced the departure of a fellow being from the troubles and toils of this world. It struck upon the ear of Mr. Harrington with a force that seemed to check the current of his blood:

he feared an event had indeed happened, which in
the fury of his passion he had wished might take
place, and with a strong presentiment of evil, he
waited with trembling anxiety a repetition of the
fearful sound, which he was still fondly inclined
to believe was a mere delusion of fancy. Again
the mournful echo resounded with hollow reverbe-
ration: the unopened letter dropped from the
hand of Mr. Harrington, and at the same moment,
a domestic hastily entered the room too deeply
agitated to give utterance to the message he was
commissioned to convey. The awful truth was
now but too apparent; he asked not a question,
but clasping his hands together he wrung them in
an agony of despair, and exclaiming,
66 my son,
my murdered son!" rushed from the house like a
frenzied being who speeds on his way regardless
as to whither he is going.

The very gaze of the villagers, as he hurried on
towards the cottage where his only son reposed in
the cold embrace of death, struck to his heart:
each glance seemed to his startled conscience to
speak the language of reproof-reproof that he felt
he but too well deserved. He entered the cottage
pallid and trembling; his eyes were rivetted on
the pale and inanimate features of Edward, and as
he stood speechless, almost motionless, by the in-
sensate body of his only son, he appeared like one
to whom a sudden call to eternity would be a
merciful judgment when compared with the poig-
nancy of his present mental sufferings. In a corner
of the darkened apartment, beside the couch of the
departed, sat Catherine, whose streaming eyes
were fixed with melancholy gaze upon the agonized
countenance of the now repentant father. She first
broke the melancholy silence that prevailed :-
"You have come to bless him now;-'tis well;
a blessing to the dead is like the flower that blos-
soms o'er the grave, it sheds its sweetness on the
air, and shews its loveliness to the eye of the living:
it is the tribute of the cold, heartless worldling
to those whom he deserted in their lives."

forehead of Edward, as he clung to him in despair, and bade him awake to receive a father's blessing. It was sad to see him grow wilder and wilder in his agony of sorrow, and imprecate the curse of Heaven on his own head, and then weep and laugh at intervals like one whose reason had fled; but thus he continued until the day arrived when Edward was to be placed in the grave.

The silver flood of a gentle river flowed by the side of the church-yard, and on its verge, adjoining the eastern window of the sacred edifice was the narrow excavation which was destined to receive the remains of the last male heir of the Harrington family-for all the other claimants to the property were descended from the female line, and bore not even the name. The entire population of the village appeared to have congregated together to witness the interment of Edward. Since the fatal termination of his illness the tide of popular opinion had turned against his father, and as the melancholy procession approached from the church to the grave there was not a dry eye amongst the assembled multitude. Supported by the arm of her brother, the gentle Catherine followed the remains of the departed, while with haggard looks, and unsteady steps the wretched father, stung with the keenest agonies of remorse, kept pace with the bearers of the corse, and was at times with difficulty prevented from clasping his arms around the coffin. The hollow sound of the earth upon the lid as the officiating minister pronounced the committal of the body to its primeval dust, struck with tremendous force on the feelings of Mr. Harrington: he uttered a piercing and fearful cry; a cry that made all around shudder with horror, for there was something unearthly in the sound, and in a moment afterwards he was missed from the spot on which he had been standing; a gurgling sound was heard from the river, which succeeded to a noise like that of the plunge of some heavy body into the stream; the water was muddy and agitated, as from some one struggling violently beneath its surface, and after a short time grew still and calm, and flowed on as softly as it had been wont to do.

The passions of Mr. Harrington were subdued -lost in the tide of sorrow and remorse with which his soul was overflowing. He motioned her to be silent, and said, "The arrow has struck to In the confusion of the moment the mental and my heart, Catherine; the stern, unrelenting father bodily powers of the bystanders appeared to be feels the curse has recoiled upon himself, and in lost, but as soon as a reaction took place, a boat this bitter hour of agony would freely give up his was provided and a search for the unfortunate man own life to restore that poor boy to your arms and commenced. Their anticipations proved too true to your heart. Oh! God, what a severe judg--the lifeless body of Mr. Harrington was discoment hast thou passed upon me! Thou hast visited my sins heavily indeed-" and he fell prostrate upon the cold form before him, weeping, and clinging around the marble-like neck as though he feared force would be used to separate him from the child he had disowned.

vered half buried in the deep muddy soil of the river, in which he had literally been suffocated, as he impiously rushed into the presence of the Eternal One to avoid the bitter upbraidings of a wounded conscience. By one of those strange coincidences which sometimes occur, his corse was stretched on the greensward close beside the grave of his son, which still unclosed, seemed to offer hum an earthly resting-place, and where, after the necessary formalities imposed by the law had taken place, he was laid by the side of him whose loss was death to his hopes both here and hereafter.

The calm sorrow of Catherine, broken-hearted as she was, formed a striking contrast to the violent ebullitions of grief which burst from Mr. Harrington, who felt the keen upbraidings of conscience would not be stilled, and who kept wildly imploring pardon of him whose ear no longer was enabled to catch the tones of a parent's voice, Catherine drooped and drooped until she bewhose heart had ceased to throb responsively to came the mere shadow of mortality. Her only the calls of affection. It was a piteous sight to joy was in wandering around the spot where Edbehold the silvered hair of Mr. Harrington sweep-ward was mouldering to decay, and often when ing over the dark tresses which rested on the pale the moon-beams played upon the bosom of the

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indeed her domicile was a favourite resort of Magnus, who loved a little idle chat as well as any old woman in the vicinity; and many a cigar did he smoke out while Phoebe and her intimates were discussing the politics of the village in general, or remarking on the characters of individuals. But St. Leger cared nothing for what was going forward in the place, unless it might contribute to his amusement, and as he was no propagator of scandal, the good ladies felt themselves quite at ease when he was present, and put no bridle on their tongues on his account. He was certainly a conciliating sort of person, and was soon a prodigious favourite with every woman in the village from the highest to the lowest. With the male population, except those of his own rank, he was not quite so familiar. He did not condescend to honour the weekly meetings at the Pig and Pepper Box with his presence, though he sometimes entered the house to change a note, taste the home-brewed, and say a few civil things to pretty Miss Rose, the landlord's daughThe shooting season arrived, and Magnus became still more popular from the liberal manner in which he distributed his game. He was an excellent shot, and the Squire at Dabbleton Hall, who was little else but a sportsman, was delighted with such a companion; thus our hero was, or appeared to be, an enviable man: his time entirely at his own disposal; not very rich, but with enough to purchase popularity with those in Dabbleton, who might not otherwise feel disposed to accord it. These however were few, doors and hands opened readily to give him welcome, and more than one heart might have done the same if he had desired to create for himself an interest therein.

ter.

Autumn arrived, and the evenings were getting long, when all of a sudden the peaceable village of Dabbleton became a scene of almost nightly depredations, as far however as loss of time, and inconvenience to individuals might be termed depredations. Sheep were driven from their folds and were found straying over a large tract of land in various directions; cattle were dispersed in the roads from their enclosures; cows on the common instead of grazing quietly in their pastures. Farmer Stubbs going to feed his pigs saw the sty vacant, and found the old sow and her family breakfasting on fruit in the orchard, and grunting their approbation of the change from buttermilk to plums and apples. One morning old Granny Drake's flock of geese, which after their daily forage on the common, were housed in a hovel at the back of her dwelling, were missing; but to the mortification of her neighbour, Master Plater, were discovered by him in his rick-yard, feasting with great satisfaction on the scattered corn which should have fattened his own poultry. Every morning there was some fresh tale to relate of what had happened in the night, and a few of the inhabitants determined occasionally to watch for the perpetrator of this continued mischief; but when any party were on the look out no nocturnal imp of wantonness could be seen or heard. Still the spirit would not be quiet; the Parson's mare, which inhabited a paddock near the church, was several times found at rest in the porch; nor was

Mr. St. Leger forgotten, for his horse had been discovered three times loose in the yard, bridled and saddled, and with the appearance of having been hard ridden during the night. Phoebe's shop was resorted to more than ever by the village gossips; the whole place was in a state of ebullition. Some dissatisfied paupers were suspected by a few persons, among whom was Phoebe. She almost hinted that she could name the parties, but as she had not been a sufferer would not be the means of getting poor folks punished. Whether she really suspected the perpetrators, or only wished to appear wiser than her neighbours we do not pretend to say; but we do rather mistrust the charity of her motives for being silent on the subject. She could not deny that "it is an ill wind that blows nobody good," and she found that the commotion brought a little "grist to her mill," for many a one, who did not usually patronize her emporium, would step in for some trifle by way of hearing "the rights of the story," when anything had occurred during the night; for the best edition of the news was generally to be had at Miss Small's. Phoebe made herself perfectly comfortable; she had no fears on her own account. She had no live stock of any kind to be sent wandering out of their proper bounds, nor was she in any way situated to be made the subject of a nocturnal prank. She was however mistaken, her turn was

to come.

In the village of Dabbleton there were a few females whose occupation allowed them much leisure, particularly in the evening. Some halfmonths at Phoebe Small's, for a round game, or a dozen of these met occasionally during the winter rubber, according to the number assembled. There was Mrs. Birch, who initiated some of the juveniles into the mysteries of learning; and her unmarried sister, who kept herself off the parish books by making lace and instructing others in the mother, and the shoemaker's aunt, and Dame same tedious employment. There were the tailor's Dowden the village nurse, who when at home domesticated with Miss Small. Then there was Mrs. Betts, the Squire's housekeeper; the latter lady was a valuable member of the coterie, as she seldom came without a little refection of some sort. A few nice sandwiches to relish a glass of good ale, with a few bottles of which she sometimes found means to supply the obliging shopkeeper, whose snug parlour behind the shop, but not exposed to the gaze of the customers, was a desirable place of meeting for the party. People might go into Phoebe Small's house without much observation. She and Dame Dowden were the only inmates; there were no tiresome men folks about to interrupt, or interfere with their game or their comfort. Sometimes the Hall furnished a piece of rich cake and a bottle of wine, Mrs. Betts thinking it no harm to entertain her friends abroad, as the squire was a quizzical bachelor, and did not allow his servants to have visitors at home.

October was in the wane; the evening was fixed for the first card party, which was to be a gala night, as two ladies were invited who were visitors in the village. Mrs. Betts had a friend from London staying with her for a few days as the Squire had left home to join a hunt of which he