have had a home to seek, or have found one, during so many years, under her roof."-" She is a dear, good, affectionate child to me," concluded the old lady, "and God will reward her for it in his own way and time." Mary soon returned to the room, which her absence, and Mrs. Deane's blindness, had enabled me to survey with some attention. The furniture, though neat, was but that of a common lodging-house; yet an air of comfort, almost of elegance, pervaded the apartment. A few sprigs of myrtle and geranium filled a small flower vase, and decorated the table, on which also might be seen some of those fancy articles ladies delight to fabricate. Books, too, there were, such as Mary loved; the gradual collection of one, whose means scarcely permitted the indulgence,. On a little table, in company with a venerable looking quarto Bible, I could perceive the Prayer-Book, my own gift; and above this table, suspended from the wall, was a small drawing in a maple frame. It looked like-what on close inspection it proved to be-Julia Tracey's Camellia. But why thus carefully preserved by Mary Deane? She had doubtless grieved with Mark over my expulsion from Knightswood-had felt for and pitied me; I seemed to understand it all. Poor Mrs. Deane had few acquaintances in Bath. Neither her health nor circumstances admitted of her giving entertainments, and Mary, in consequence, had few opportunities of mixing in society. She must have partaken very sparingly of what are termed the plea sures of life; the warm affections of her young heart had been chilled, and her best years devoted to patient and unwearied attendance on the sickly and infirm; yet it would seem as if a life of obscurity and self-denial were more favourable to the preservation of beauty, than one of prosperity and worldly amusement; for although Mary, like Julia Tracey, had lost the bloom of youth, there was no worn or haggard look in the countenance, nothing of emaciation in the figure. "What a very pretty person is Miss Deane!" was my observation on rejoining the party in the Circus, and in reply to certain inquiries as to how I had passed the morning. "Yes," said Julia, "she is a very pretty person, and one of the youngest looking, for her age, that I am acquainted with." Her age is nothing," remarked Maria; "but where, pray, Julia, have you seen her of late?" "I found her sitting one morning with Mr. Pen well-bred, agreeable people; and it gave me pleasure to see Mary's diffidence and disinclination to the visit gradually give place to more agreeable sensations. It was the triumph of natural good taste and good sense, aided by the fostering kindness of Julia, who, considering Mary as especially her own guest, paid her more than usual attention. Both appeared to advantage; but there was a something in Mary's air and manner so simple, so unusually truthful, if the expression may be allowed, combined with so much natural grace, that to indifferent observers she must have been the most attractive of the two. The following day was productive of two interesting events, and in the right order of time the morning brought a letter from Mr. Ryder, acquainting me with the favourable termination of his affair, and the evening was distinguished by the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Gifford. Mr. Penrose, good man, had resigned himself to his fate; it remained now to see how Harriet would submit to hers-how she would reconcile herself to the prospect of a brother-in-law, exemplary in his own character, and the choice of a sister who, in the account of the world, had not too much time to lose. Mark Gifford and I renewed our acquaintance with, I believe, equal pleasure, rejoiced in our near neighbourhood to each other, and looked forward to all but daily meetings. He was not greatly altered in any respect; a little more consequential in manner perhaps, at least in the presence of his wife, but almost as young and handsome as ever; in youthfulness of appearance he had decidedly the advantage of us all. I availed myself of our first after dinner tête-à-tête to acquaint him with my knowledge of Julia's attachment, and my own designs in favour of Mr. Norton. He heard with surprise of the expected vacancy at Knight Magna, but seemed mostly struck with the extraordinary good fortune of Mr. Norton in finding two individuals, Mr. Penrose and myself, equally desirous of preferring him to a living. Under this change of circumstances, however, he expressed himself well satisfied with Julia's choice: "very glad that the affair should be brought to so happy a conclusion, especially through my means;" that is to say, without any annoyance to himself. "For his part, he did not think Julia likely to have a better offer; Mr. Norton was himself an exceedingly gentlemanlike person; and as for the rest, what did it signify? People could not expect all their connexions to be Plantagenets;" thus leaving me to infer that, in spite of his well-sounding name, Mr. Norton's escutcheon was of doubtful origin. Mark concluded by assuring me that he should do his best to make Harriet view things in the same light; as to the accomplishment, however, of this desirable object, he did not appear extremely sanex-guine; ladies being, so he averred, apt to form unreasonable expectations. The effect of Mark's communication was visible when I next entered the presence of his wife, by the token of a scowling brow, and cold ungracious manner; "It was the climax of folly," she observed to Maria, before I was well out of hearing, "just as Henry Tracey had returned to England-and unmarried." The pelting of this storm fell the most heavily on my aunt and Maria, certainly the two least guilty of sanctioning the present aspect of affairs. Julia was too well satisfied with them herself, too sure of Mr. Norton's fidelity, to need support; and Mark prudently kept out of the way. We spent most of our time together, and together we called on Mary Deane. If a slight blush suffused her cheek in shaking hands with Mark Gifford, it was all of emotion she displayed; her manner was unembarrassed, and whatever she might once have felt or suffered, it expressed nothing but a kindly interest in his welfare. "Mr. Penrose, I observed, "seems to be in especial favour with you ladies; is he confessor general, or particular, Julia?' With a conscious laugh, she replied, "Oh, by no means general; Miss Deane and I consider him as clusively our own, and confide in him accordingly." My aunt did not look sweetly on her youngest daughter'; yet I found, when occasion offered for conversing with her on the subject of Mr. Norton, that time had produced its customary effect; that, in regard to her daughters, she was more indifferent to their establishment in life-in regard to herself, more solicitous of repose. We shall do well enough, thought I, if we can but bring Harriet to reason. My aunt is not, in her heart, much averse to this match; and nobody ever thought of minding Maria. At any rate, as the Giffords are expected in Bath, we must soon know the worst. In the meantime Julia and I had more than one confidential discourse, generally in our way to, or from, the South Parade. I found her moderate in every wish; unworldly, to all appearance, in every thought; and she found, as she was well entitled to do, an assured friend in her cousin Henry. I have said that Julia called with me on Mary Deane; Lady Tracey also left cards; after which Mary was induced, chiefly by the persuasion of her aunt, to accept an invitation to dine in the Circus. There were present one or two other guests, (To be concluded in our next.) The Beggar's Castle, wayward name, He told in words so sweet and true, I wish that he could tell it you. A puissant seigneur, who in wars And tournays had renown, With wealth from prudent ancestors Sloping unbroken down, Dwelt in these towers, and held in fee All the broad lands that eye can see. He never temper'd to the poor Misfortune's bitter blast; And when before his haughty door The monk, who toil'd from place to place, That God might have his dole, Was met by scorn and foul grimace, And oaths that pierced his soul: 'Twas well for him to flee and pray, "They know not what they do and say." One evening, when both plain and wood Were trackless in the snow, A beggar at the portal stood, Who little seem'd to know Like channell'd granite was his front,-- For who could leave to die i' the cold At first his prayer had no reply,— No more the inmates reck'd it, A voice out-thundered-" Wretch begone." "There is no path-I have no strength What can I do alone? Grant shelter, or I lay my length, And perish on the stone. I crave not much-I should be blest "What matters thy vile head to me? Home, wife, and children more!" But when the wrathful seigneur faced The beggar raised his brow debased, "Madman or cheat! announce thy birth."-- I see two valiant comrades, fresh from battle, He sits beside my hearth; and so, good night. [Going. Warm from the cager chase of flying foes; I follow thee. And noble king, I pray you, CHARLEMAGNE. With my whole heart, my brother! CHARLEMAGNE. Him who did slay thy brother by the stream. WINDRUDA. I cannot lic. "Tis true, he stands before me. CHARLEMAGNE. That churl with matted locks? WINDRUDA. The same, my lord; He with the glaring eyes and bushy brows. CHARLEMAGNE. Draco, come forth! Know'st thou this noble lady? Windruda, fair avenger, I did promise To give the guilty wretch into thy hands. Lo, there he stands ! judge thou, and take thy vengeance. WINDRUDA. Sir, sir, thou ladest me with bounteous gifts; CHARLEMAGNE. Pardoned. I heard not rightly. WINDRUDA. Yes, my lord. Didst thou not tell me thus?" Much Christ hath taught, And free forgiveness of our enemies." Fain am I to ascend that wondrous mountain, True, the first step is somewhat difficult, Yet feel I, as my spirit stirs within me, The path grows smoother as it rises higher. CHARLEMAGNE. Ah, thou choice flower, in God's own garden planted! Draco, be free, but fly the path of Charles; HAGENULPH. There stands your horse, my noble lord. And here Enter Frank knights, soldiers, and woodmen, all To tend such noble creatures, and to love them? |