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netian glass ; floor covers of fringed damask ; divans, lounging-chairs, and couches, of patterns quite out of date, and all disposed with inimitable art.

After commencing the dances on the lawn, the noble bridegroom and his bride left the festive scene for a retired walk conclucting to the brink of a lovely inland lake. A green bank, that might have formed a couch worthy of “ Titania’s ” choice, afforded them a seat. Here their eyes, even more than their lips, discoursed eloquent music. Pure and intense happiness, altogether without alloy, overflowed their guiltless hearts. The morning of their life glowed with joys whose rich and vivid colouring was unshadowed by a cloud. Yet in deep feeling some pensiveness is ever mingled. The gaiety they had left had not harmonised with the tone of their spirits like the hallowed stillness of this secluded spot. Here every object and sound favoured the interchange of the profound emotions with which the late blissful change in their circumstances had inspired them. The soft moonlight quivering on the deep purple surface of the lake; the clouds above of celestial whiteness; the dark masses of rock which gave grandeur to the picture; and the indescribable richness of the wild vegetation which was its chief grace; all seemed in exquisite unison with the feelings of the lovers.

While sitting here, the distant strains of jocund music came sweetly tempered on the ear. Now and then too the soft laugh of a peasant girl rambling with her companions near sounded not unpleasingly; and presently a liquid feminine voice, from a woody steep close at hand, trilled a little song so delightfully that it seemed to be challenging the nightingales in the trees to a com

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petition. The Marquis and his bride were delighted with it. The words were these :

Now 'tis pleasure's magic hour,
Every bosom owns her power ;
Youths and maidens are as gay,
As life were all one bridal day.

Silence to her haunts has won us;
See! the moon shines soft upon us ;
And the lulling breezes play
Farewell to the bridal day.

Sweetly tune the dulcet measure,
'Tis the magic hour of pleasure;
Wile with song and dance away,
The evening of the bridal day.

Blest may bride and bridegroom dwell,
Linked in love's entrancing spell;
Nor the vows neglect to pay,
Plighted on their bridal day.

Now 'tis pleasure's magic hour,
Every bosom owns her power;
Youths and maidens are as gay,
As life were all one dridal day.

Before the unpretending lay was concluded the young Marquis perceived some friends approaching—they proved to be his mother, his bride's parents, and the Pastor. These also seated themselves on the verdant bank, enjoying the delicious coolness and tranquillity of the hour, and conversing in blissful concord. The airy gladness of the rustic minstrel's expression pleased them, as well as the good wishes breathed in her song for the newly wedded pair. The bridegroom, who, if he did not inherit all his father's genius, yet certainly inherited his taste for poetry, quoted from Collins' Ode on the Passions," with enthusiasm

They would have thought who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids
Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing,
While as his fiying fingers kissed the strings,
Love framed with mirth a gay fantastic round."

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The spirits of each were rather deep and full than elerated. Lady Hester's eye frequently rested on her son with a melancholy rapture, and as frequently turned away filled with tears. Her memory was busy with its stores of sorrow, and fancy borrowed from them to image forth its ideal pictures. She had but recently been able to bring distinctly before her mental eye her long lost husband ; and now his face, his figure, his graceful mien, bis smile, nay, the very cadence of his voice, were palpably realised. Her son perceived the tears trickling down her cheeks, and clasped her hand in tender anxiety.

“ It is nothing, my son," said she, attempting a smile, 6. heed me not.”

o You wouid not weep for nothing, beloved mother," returned he, still more anxiously.

« I was thinking of your father,” said Lady Hester, in a low, trem lous voice.

1 Her son was silent. He loved her almost to adoration, and nothing ten ded more to increase that love than her devotion to his father's memory. Her constant grief for one who had been so long laid in the grave expressed, as he thougnt, an unworldly elevation of sentiment, which charmed equally his imagination and his feelings. Mrs. Lee had also noticed Lady Hester weeping, and

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when she knew the cause, her own eyes were bedewed likewise. In her heart there lay the images of two dear lost ones. Her father and her brother she still regretted with many secret pangs of a bitterness none but heaven could appreciate.

The Pastor caught the pensive infection, and one after another the children he had laid in the dust, and the friends who had departed, were remembered. He talked of them, narrated many passages of his life in which they had been concerned fifty or sixty years ago, with a minute accuracy that would have surprised his listeners had they not been well accustomed to it. Then, as night deepened, and the moon began to enter her meridian, he recurred again to the idols of his memory -Lucy and Clinton. This was a theme that never tired, and although Mr. Lee hinted that it was high time to return to the house, no movement was made. While the Pastor was fondly engrossed with his favourite subject, he suddenly broke off, and then declared that he had seen his grandson Clinton exactly as when alive, moving along by the margin of the water with a gliding motion. The friends arose in some consternation, and Lucy shrank into the arms of her husband with a pale countenance.

" There !—there !” exclaimed the Pastor energetically, pointing with his finger.

“ Where, Pastor Wilson ?” cried Lady Hester, wildly, breaking from Mrs. Lee and her son, and rushing forward in the direction indicated.

“ Mr. Lee, for God's sake follow her!" cried the Marquis, who was detained by his shrinking bride.

Mr. Lee did so with haste.

The Pastor fell on his knees in the moonlight, and clasped his hands, apparently lost to what was passing around.

“ Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright,

On his grey holy hair."

" But ah! that patriarch's aspect shone,

With something holier far--
A radiance all the spirits own,

Caught not from sun or star.
“ And silent stood his children by,

Hushing their very breath,
Before the solemn sanctity

Of thoughts oe'rsweeping death."

“ Grandfather !-dearest grandfather!” said Jane in trembling tones, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“ I am called away," softly ejaculated the Pastor, looking upwards. “ Hark !-again! I come-I come ! Lord receive my spirit !" and so saying he fell on his face.

He was immediately raised and carried to the mansion, where festivity and mirth still reigned with unbroken sway, but were now to be suddenly banished by the awful tidings of sudden death. But the habitual state of preparation for eternity in which the Pastor had lived, together with his great age, precluded any feelings of extraordinary surprise or horror at the event.

The mansion witnessed no more bridal merriment, but a solemnity, rather than any more oppressive feeling, pervaded it. The friends kept the singular circumstances of his death secret among themselves. The shock was soon subdued to a placid hallowed regret, saving only in the bosom of Lady Hester, who never smiled afterwards. She lived to an advanced age, always firmly

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