their social intercourse. Friend meets friend, around the humble hearth. In all the affairs of human life,-in commerce as well as religion, multitudes congregate together, and pursue in concert the great end of their existence. The very brutes-the flocks that feed upon yon sloping hill, enjoy the refreshing dews of night together. The birds have their companions in the woods, to whom they can utter a response. All the sweet flowers of night and day, have their appointed time for looking up in unison to heaven. The stars have their own bright family, shining through the blue expanse. Every intelligence in nature has its kindred essence; but I have nothing!" conducted her through the wilderness; who had borne with her spiritual idolatries, who had given her a friend as a faithful guide, and whom she now implored to look down from his habitation in the heavens, upon the weakest worm of his creation. Bound by fresh ties of more than earthly union, the two friends had knelt together; together they rose, and the embrace with which they separated that night was warm and pure, as in the days of their first love. Her feeble steps recalled from their slight wandering, her good resolutions confirmed after their short lapse, Anna Clare went onward in the path of duty; for she had learned to mistrust herself, and consequently to shun temptation. And having found how incompatible with true happiness is the gratification of vanity or ambition, she confined her hopes and wishes, and even her laudable desire to be of use, within the humble sphere in which her lot was cast. Anna's complaining ceased, and she was looking out again, when the solemn sound of a passing-bell fell upon her ear-she shuddered and turned within. In the twilight she could just perceive that some one approached. It was Mary, who came with the tidings that Lord Carrisbrooke was dead. In an On the reading of Lord Carrisbrooke's will, instant, Anna was restored to her better self. it was discovered that he had bequeathed That sudden and awful sound, and the un- | the sum of one thousand pounds to the artist daughter of his house; nor did a superannuated nabob make her the heiress of an Indian fortune; but she continued to dwell in the home of her friend, expected appearance of her, who had so often stood beside her as a guardian angel, bringing a silent reproof, where none was spoken; the stillness of the hour, and the recollections of the past, all mingling together, might have overpowered a spirit more hardened and perverse than Anna's. "Mary," said she, laying her hand upon the arm of her friend, "there is one duty which we have never, since the days of our infancy, performed together, except in public. Let us kneel down in this quiet chamber, and enter into a fresh covenant with our Heavenly Father, that we will drink of the cup which he has poured out for us, even though it should be gall and bitterness. That we will walk in the path which he has pointed out, though it should pierce our feet with thorns; and that we will never turn away, nor be unfaithful to his service, though we know that it requires us to give up all and follow him," And then, from her eloquent lips, and overflowing heart, she poured forth her gratitude and praise to that Being who had thus far who painted his portrait: and with this sum added to the well earned reward of her daily labours, Anna contrived not only to maintain a respectable and genteel appearance, but often to comfort the distressed, and supply the wants of the needy. Gentle reader, forgive the writer of this story, that she has no better fate in store for her heroine, even in the season of "the first grey hair," than that of a respected and respectable old maid; not a fretful, fuming thing, of false ringlets, and false smiles, but a woman of delicate and tender feeling, of calm dignity, and unbounded benevolence, who mourned no longer that earth afforded her no object, or rather no idol, on which she might lavish the warm feelings of an affectionate heart; for she had learned to pour forth into a thousand channels, "that charity which suffereth long and is kind." Alas! to the rescue of Anna Clare, from the shades of vulgar oblivion, there came no belted knight, no steel-clad warrior; no prince in disguise discovered her to be the alien "Happy and giving happiness;" she could still look around her with delight on the charms of nature, the world was no longer a mere picture, admired only for the harmony of its colouring, and the grouping of its different objects; but for the harmony of its creation and government, and the mysterious and admirable adjustment of its different parts, beneath the wonder-working hand of the great Artificer. And she could still pause to look at the village spire, but it was not merely to observe how beautifully it arose from the masses of dark foliage, and pierced the azure sky; it was to meditate and though highly gifted with those qualities, which might reasonably attract the attention of the wealthy and the noble, she never ventured beyond her own lowly sphere, but was content to remain, where she had not only the wish, but the power to bless. That enthusiasm which had given wayward wings to her inexperienced fancy, became tempered ❘ upon the privileges of living in a christian by religion, into energy and hope; energy, land, where the people of Christ may rest ELLEN ESKDALE. GONE from her cheek, is the summer bloom, And the spirit that sate on her soft blue eye, And the smile that play'd on her lip has fled, Like slaves they obey'd her in height of power, And the crowds that swore for her love to die, BARRY CORNWALL. CHAPTER I. WILL my young friends forgive me, if, under the character of a fictitious story, I should in reality preach them a sermon; and that on the gravest of all possible subjects-on the subject of death ? We learn, from an immense number of the publications of the present day, how the righteous pass away from works to rewards; and, from the public papers, how the murderer and the malefactor expire on the scaffold; but there is an extent of intermediate space filled up by those of whose fate we know comparatively nothing; those who act, unheeded, their little part upon the stage of life, then die, and are forgotten. It is from this class of beings that I have selected the individual who is to furnish to the attentive reader food for serious reflection during the perusal of a few dull pages, in order that we may lift the veil by which the moral secrets of the fashionable and well bred may be concealed from vulgar observation, and see for once how an amiable and very beautiful young lady may die. There lived in a certain large city, a family of the name of Eskdale, consisting of a highly respectable gentleman, his lady, and three daughters. To describe them individually would be a waste of words and patience, they were so much like half the people one meets and visits with. One thing, however, ought to be remarked about this family, though by no means peculiar to them, that, while living in a populous city, where the loud death bell was often heard to toll, and where as often a solemn funeral was seen to pass along the streets; yet, for themselves, they never thought of death. It is true they had been made acquainted with some instances of fatality within their own sphere of observation; for once their white muslin dresses came home from the washerwoman's uncrimped, because, as she said, her youngest daughter then lay a corpse in the house; and their old footman Thomas Bell, died in the workhouse the day before the five shillings which they sent him reached his necessities. And, in high life, too, had they not known it? Had they not all worn fashionable mourning for their most revered monarch, King George the Third? And had they not lost a maiden aunt? And were not the fountains of their grief staid by a legacy of six thousand pounds? Yes, they remembered all these things, and yet they looked upon death only as a frightful and far-off monster, who might never come to them; so they lighted up their drawing-room, and let down the rich damask curtains, and drew in the card-tables, and never thought of death. Perhaps one reason might be, they had never known sickness. It is true the mother sometimes presented, at the breakfast-table, a countenance pale and cloudy as a morning in November, but the evening party always found her adorned with ready smiles, and new made blushes:-smiles that betrayed no meaning, and blushes that told no tale but one. Ellen Eskdale, the youngest of the three fair sisters, was at this time, making her first appearance in the fashionable world. She had grown prodigiously during her last year at school, and now, though a little in danger of becoming too stout, was as lovely a young creature, both in form and face, as you could well behold. fined from the dross of nature; for her wild and merry laugh was sometimes heard resounding through the rooms, to the dismay of her mother, and the astonishment of her guests; as the bird that has been taught to sing in measured notes, will sometimes return to his own sweet melody, telling of woods, and streams and mountains, and breathing forth the inward yearnings of that spirit, which it is impossible for art to subdue. CHAPTER II. COULD the bright eye, the blooming cheek, or the polished forehead-could all, or any of the attributes of beauty, support us in the hour of trial, or cheer us on the bed of sickness, they would then be worth cherishing, and mourning for; but there must be something else, my young friends, to render the pilgrimage of life a path of pleasantness and peace. Rich as you may be, the grave has closed over the possessor of greater wealth than yours. Fair as you may be, the worm has fed upon a cheek as lovely. Young as you may be, death has laid his icy hand upon those who have not numbered half your years. But, as this is not the style of preaching which I have the talent, or you the patience to pursue, we will, if you please, return again to the family of the Eskdales; not as they first beheld them, but after a summer had passed away; and the assemblies, the concerts, the plays, and the parties of another winter had commenced. "A little in danger of growing too stout," has a very serious sound to a young lady, and yet it was much whispered among Ellen's friends, that in a few years she would be monstrous. The gentlemen thought otherwise, and swore it was all envy, for they could not see a fault in Ellen Eskdale, and perhaps she did not see many in herself; for she had ears to hear all that love and flattery could offer, and eyes to see, when gazing in the tall mirror, that love had hardly been too partial, or flattery too profuse. Though trained, and pushed, and bribed forward, in all the accomplishments of the age, Ellen's chief excellence was in music; and never did she look more beautiful than when her light and ivory fingers touched the harp; for then a rich mass of sunny hair fell over her cheek and forehead, often thrown back with girlish carelessness, when she forgot herself in any of her favourite airs. She had been well taught, and her parents had paid dearly for the loss of a fine girl, and the substitution of These ebullitions of feeling, however, a fine lady; but yet she was not wholly re- | came like angel visits; and when they did Ellen was still the centre of attraction, and still she was not wholly sophisticated, but would sometimes look, and speak, as if at the bottom of her heart there were left some latent feeling, that struggled to be free from the yoke of fashion-that rose in fruitless efforts to assert itself no longer the slave, but the minister of pleasure. come, they were so faint, so ill-defined, and generally so mixed up with various and contending emotions, that no one knew from whence they flowed, whether from heaven, or earth; no-not even the fair possessor herself; only the ladies wondered at those times how so young a girl could venture to talk sentiment; still more how she could make it answer, when they had so long talked it in vain; and, at the same time, the gentlemen would begin to doubt whether they might not do worse than make serious proposals to Ellen Eskdale. Miss Eskdale, the oldest sister, had been striving for the last five years, to attain that footing in society, which had been awarded to Ellen, apparently without any effort of her own. In loveliness, her own face would not stand the test of a comparison with her sister's; and in accomplishments she was far behind her; so taking to herself another standing, or rather, hanging her orb in another sphere, she determined that their rays should never intercept each other, and having failed to be a beauty, Miss Eskdale became a blue; and corresponded with (at least wrote to) great authors, and patronized poor ones, and held in her charmed possession the first manuscript copies of half the bright effusions that annually come forth, to delight or disappoint the expectant winter circle. Of the second sister it could not well be said that she had ever been guilty of any aim at all, and, therefore, feeling no loss in her sister's gain, she would often kindly, and almost affectionately, fall in with her wild fancies, when Ellen's exuberance of spirits exacted from others a somewhat un their entertainment, which they had never heard of before; taking this precaution, in every thing she introduced, that her own should be a brilliant and striking part. In case of a failure, she never sat down with an air of despondency, but immediately took up some other plan to cover her defeat, so that the company were sure to go away well satisfied at last. In this manner the gay evening parties came and went; and who was happier than Ellen Eskdale ? Of all the young gentlemen who flocked to her father's house, there was none more constant in his visits, more attractive in his person, or more pointed in attentions, than Harry Wentworth, a young man of enviable fortune, just whiling away the winter months, before commencing his travels on the Continent. It was, for a long time, matter of doubt with the two elder sisters, which of the three could possibly be the object of attraction, but the whole secret had been revealed to Ellen during a long moonlight walk by the side of the river, late in the autumn, when a party of pleasure had been formed to visit the ruins of a castle, situated some miles up the stream. Ellen had always been afraid of water, and Wentworth was happy to be her escort on the shore. The dew was falling heavily, the grass was thick and long, and Ellen found a more dangerous enemy than she had feared; for she dated from this night the commencement of a quick and frequent cough, which was at times, exceedingly troublesome. But it was surprising how little she thought or cared about the cough; for, on this night, her lover had de reasonable submission to her own whimsclared himself, and though she had insisted and follies; for Ellen was not merely a beauty, she possessed a ready invention, and versatility of talent, which, added to her natural good humour, and buoyancy of mind, gave an air of freshness and originality to whatever she said or did. Her path was not the beaten track of custom; she delighted in eccentricities, and charmed her mother's guests by a thousand schemes for that nothing should be said on the subject, as she was quite too young to think seriously of such a thing, she had kindly promised that she would try to think of it; and there is every reason to believe that it did really occur to her thoughts almost as often as her lover himself could desire. There was such unspeakable satisfaction in knowing that the very man, whom her sisters were |