would have given something just then to know what length of time was required for a young lady to dress. One quarter after another passed away, and Walter grew alternately hot and cold, red and white, hurt and irritated; and yet, no sound was heard upon the stairs. At last, when the half hour which he had allowed himself had fairly expired, he took up the watch, and returned it to his pocket, with the air of one who has "decidedly given the matter up;" and having done this, he had more thoughts to spare for his mother, and consequently took leave of her with the warmth and tenderness of one whose heart was almost exclusively her own.

grown more cold and distant, and she hardly knew whether her company was agreeable to him or not. But she would go directly and look for him in the garden, and ask him if there was any thing she could do.

On her descent to the garden with this laudable resolution, Agnes was met by a boy bringing home her dog.

"Where have you been, Peter?" said she, "and who told you to take my dog?"

"Mr. Walter, ma'am," replied the boy, "gave me strict orders to exercise him every day. He chose to walk two miles with him himself this morning, on purpose, as he said, to play with the poor animal for the last time, and to show me how to make him take to the water, and then to rub his coat, and all how I am to manage him; for, as he said, just as the coach was driving up, 'the poor fellow perhaps would miss him more than some others would." "

heart; and she retired to her own room to pour out the bitter and burning tears of self condemnation.

Something after this he seemed to have forgotten, and although the domestics would any of them have run up stairs or down in an instant, esteeming it a privilege to serve him, he either could not or would not explain exactly what he had left behind; but hurrying This reproach, simple as it was, and altoback to his own room, strode along the pas-gether unintentional, struck Agnes to the sage with such a tremendous tread as would, he thought, have been enough to awaken the "seven sleepers of Christendom." But no-it would not do. Young ladies can sometimes sleep very soundly when their cousins are going away; and Walter, when he looked back to the house, and up to the second row of windows, saw no white handkerchief waving as a farewell sign. There are few things in life more hateful than the first conviction we feel of our own ingratitude to those who we know will be deeply pained by our neglect.

Before Agnes had quite finished the duties of her toilet, at a late hour that morning, the thought struck her that it was possible Walter might be gone; and that, even if he were not, she had much to atone for in her unkindness the day before; for she had not done him the slightest service, nor even made him the offer of any. And then she excused herself by thinking that her aunt was one who never wished for help; and Walter, too, was of the same independent spirit; besides, he had not been so pleasant lately as he used to be. He had

The coach which Walter had chosen as the most suitable vehicle for himself and his sorrows, was one much celebrated for its rapid and furious progress; and though often inclined to pity the poor horses, he was upon the whole well pleased with the speed with which he passed through the air; the dangerous swing of the carriage, the shrill notes of the bugle, and the wonder and acclamation with which the arrival of such a vehicle is always hailed by the untiring rabble, supplying the stimulus which he wanted from without, to relieve that which was somewhat too intense within.

It was a close and sultry evening when this gallopping phenomenon reached the suburbs of the metropolis, whirling along in an increased vortex of dust and impurity, the horses foaming and panting in the heated atmosphere, the coachman stunning the ears of his fellow travellers with oaths and rude jests, the busy multitude through which they now passed evincing their metropoli

"I should say happy Walter," observed Arnold. "Who would not rather bid adieu to breaking hearts, than live for ever with those who cannot bless them-whom they | at the bottom of our hearts, unknown to any so callous to all other feelings. Well did the poet say,

The course of true love never did run smooth.'

for here is my poor niece wasting her young affections upon this statue of a man, who will never make her any other return than in cold civilities, and long stories about his own dark destiny; and blindly overlooking, slighting, and forgetting the kindest and most generous heart that ever warmed a human bosom."

being but ourselves. There must be a mutual understanding, occasionally an unreserved exposure of the inner mind, accompanied by innumerable little acts of kindness and consideration to constitue the happiness and the durabilty of all earthly attachments. Your heart is bound up within too narrow a compass; all its best feelings which might shoot up and flourish, and bring forth fruits of gladness, and beauty, and benefit to mankind, return without having found an object, and fall back upon itself with deadly and oppressive weight. Oh! be to others what It is possible that Agnes Forrester was you are to me, and they will-they must" - not quite so blind as her wise aunt suspect"love you," she would have added, and the ed; for a woman's heart does not always go time was when she could have spoken these along with her judgment, but will sometimes words with the same earnest gravity, and strike off in an oblique direction, leaving the without one thought of shame; but now her intellectual faculties to wonder at its eccencheek was spread over with a burning blush, tric movements. Besides which, the alland her eyes looked away from him whom powerful influence of society has so fettered she was addressing, and she found out again us with the chains of false delicacy, that we that it was time to return home, for the moon are not, on any account, to suspect the dewas just rising over the silvery waters, and signs of a gentleman until an offer of marthe distant line of coast grew indistinct in the ❘riage has really and bona fide passed his dimness of summer twilight. lips: and Agnes, like many other girls of her age, and in her circumstances, was glad to lay hold of the plea for continuing her intimacy with Arnold. "For I have yet no right," said she, with a sigh, "to suppose that he values me in any other way than as the playmate of his youth; and if he ever should, it will be time enough to take into account his capability for making a good husband, when he offers himself as one."

CHAPTER V.

ALTHOUGH the departure of Walter Percival was felt as a severe loss by every member of his mother's household, she herself was the only inconsolable sufferer; and much she wondered that Agnes, who had shared so largely in his kindness, and, she suspected, in his love, should go about her usual occupations as cheerfully as if no in road had been made upon her sphere of enjoyment. It is true, she sometimes bemoaned his absence, and exclaimed, "How much I miss poor Walter!" but her looks were not exactly suited to her words, and Mrs. Percival was little gratified to hear her favourite son perpetually spoken of as "poor Walter!"

Now there was something in this last homely expression that always brought a chill along with it, when applied to her cousin Arnold; and yet what must all their sailing, dreaming, and moon-gazing come to, but either this or nothing.

"Oh! that I could ask counsel of my aunt," said she; but Arnold was at that instant by her side, and she asked counsel only of her own heart.

"Has my mother told you," asked he, " that I am really going to try my fortune at college ?"

"There must be, and there is, a reason," said the sage lady to herself, "why Agnes is ❘ heard it from yourself."

"She has; and I only wonder that I never

"It is so impossible for me to believe any one interested in my fate," replied the misanthrope, "that if any thing extraordinary were to happen to me, which I must reveal, I believe I should tell it to the winds and waves."

sound in the wide realm of nature was sanctified by the idea of being seen, heard, and felt together for the last time.

How scornfully can those who are hackneyed in the sayings and doings of busy life look down from the citadel of the world and Agnes bent down her head, and the deep laugh at the loves and the follies of their shadow of her long, dark eye-lashes conceal-early years: but is there not more of bittered the glistening of her tears. ness than mirth in such laughter? and would

"I wonder," said she at last, "what earth- | they not give all the wealth of the peopled

ly token, what pledge or proof, in word or deed, would be sufficient to convince you that you were dear to any human heart?"

"I never feel so near that blessed truth," answered he, "as when I am in your presence; but one hour of solitary musing al ways undeceives me, and I am lonely and desolate again."

"Oh! do not indulge in these unsocial and unprofitable musings," said Agnes, forgetting, in her earnest warmth, all that had so lately occupied her thoughts: "you are not lonely-you never shall be desolate!"

Arnold began to think his hour was at hand; and, had he been subject to sudden impulses, the spell which bound his gentle cousin to him with more than sisterly affection would, probably, have been broken, then and there, by a full disclosure of his hopes and wishes. But he knew her firm character too well to risk any thing by rash confidence; and therefore they sailed together again upon the quiet sea, and Agnes scrupled not to be still like a shadow by his side.

"Let us go out, for the last time, in my trim boat upon the ocean," said Arnold, the day before he was to leave home; for it is one of the characteristics of a melancholy temperament, that when any sort of pleasure does by accident occur, it shall be supposed to be for the last time; and Agnes heard the mournful and prophetic tone in which these words were uttered with as sad a countenance as even Arnold himself could desire.

It was a clear autumnal day. The yellow fields and variegated woods were clothed in more than real beauty to the youthful and romantic wanderers, and every sight and

city to see again, with eyes that were lighted from within, and to walk once more in the sunshine of their own hearts? It is not thus with the happy few who are reaping the reward of a well-spent life. They can look back with as little of contempt as regret upon the enjoyments of youth, that live in recollection like the roses of summer, when the cold snows are sleeping on the groundfaded and fallen, it is true, yet fair and faithful pledges that the blessings which have been may yet be again: that the power which first created can still renew; and that every particle of our past or present happiness is an emanation from that source which is able to fill the future with eternal joy.

It was not easy for the two friends to converse on any light or trivial topic, and all the subjects which had lately afforded them the deepest interest, on this day appeared to be accompanied with too close a relation to their own individual feelings to be either safe or pleasant ground to touch upon. Consequently, they rode on in almost unbroken silence, yet each occupied by the same train of reflections, thinking, as it were, into each other's minds, feeling simultaneously, and understanding without words.

Arrived at Arnold's favourite point of observation, they stood upon the bold promontory, and gazed once more upon the wide expanse of waters. "Without a mark, without a bound," it lay before them like the ocean of infinity, on which their thoughts were floating. Arnold's tall and commanding figure stood upon a point of projecting rock, and Agnes, in her gentler character, held her wonted station, like a sister spirit,

at his side. There is no human sentimentalist who would not have pronounced these two beings to have been created for each other's happiness; but there is much to be done in the world, besides looking, thinking, or even feeling in unison with those we love; and life is altogether a very different scene from a sea-view on a sunny day.

Lightly upon the glassy surface of the ocean did Arnold's little boat glide off from the rocky shore; and when he rested upon his oars, there was such solemn beauty and stillness all around, that Agnes was less disposed than ever to interrupt the harmony by any words of her own. Still she had had much to say to her cousin before he left his home, and how could she answer to her conscience if she wasted this last opportunity?

that name) to be born in one particular nation, with a certain form and complexion, and not improbably with some peculiar tendency of constitution, both mental and bodily; but are all our reasoning faculties, with the power to choose and adopt our own habits, to go for nothing, while we float down the stream of time as weak and worthless as the weeds upon this wave? And, above all, is the grand working of an Almighty power pledged to assist our feeble efforts, not to be called in to promote the great end of our being, to complete our preparation for a higher and happier state of existence?"

"I hear your voice," said Arnold, "like the music of an angel's lyre. It charms me with strains in which I cannot join. It tells me of joys which never, never can be mine."

"Oh! do not speak to me in poetry. I have given myself up too much to ideal happiness. This may possibly be the last time that we shall ever share together that happy confidence which has been the blessing of

We have not yet said that Agnes Forester was beautiful, but there was something more than beauty in every change and movement of her expressive countenance. Even in its repose there was more to be learned, admired, and felt, than in the most loquacious | my life; and none can hear those boding efforts of many of her sex; and, now, when words with more true sadness of heart than her heart was labouring with a burden of I do now." disinterested anxiety and love, Arnold could not choose but gaze upon her face, to read there what her lips seemed unable to utter. At last she spoke, and the very tenderness of her expression showed how far were her thoughts from dwelling upon herself.

"I have often wished, dear Arnold, for the power of conveying my sentiments to you without the use of words, and never more so than at this moment; when I seem to have no proper language to express the deep and earnest desire which I feel for your happiness. Not merely for your successful studies, your satisfactory allotment in life, or any consideration confined to your temporal good; but that you may shake off that heavy stupor which paralyzes the faculties of your mind, and stand forth amongst your fellow men as good and noble as the best."

For a few moments Agnes turned away her face, it might be to conceal her tears, but she quickly resumed-"I have often thought it would be an excellent plan for friends about to separate, each to impress upon the mind of the other, as their parting charge, what they most wished them to bear in mind when absent."

"Tell this to me," said Arnold, "and depend upon my faithfulness."

"I have no scruple," replied Agnes, "in saying, that you can in no way add to my happiness more effectually than by endeavouring, consistently with the designs of Providence, to promote your own."

Arnold looked disappointed; and when Agnes appealed to him for this last duty towards herself, he coldly replied, that he knew of no fault she had to correct; and as to any

"It is my fate, Agnes. It was born with thing that would merely make him happy, me, and will haunt me to the grave." he hoped he never should be selfish enough to wish for that.

"But what is it that makes our fate? It is indeed our fate (if you choose to give it

"This plan of mine," said Agnes with a