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well; I go! You will see me-hear of me never again. You have held me up to the world as a thing to ridicule and despise; so be it-you shall not be a witness how deeply it has affected me. For the world's derision, the world's contempt, I care not-and so farewell, Viviana; but do not think me so selfish in my grief that I cannot wish you that joy-that felicity-which another's heart may win yours to reciprocate. No; all earth's best treasures, all heaven's choicest blessings, be on the pathway of your life! I-I-Oh God! Viviana, farewell!"

I snatched, in my delirium, a last kiss, and rushed out; but did not know till afterwards that she had fainted in Kate's arms. To have left her in such a situation would have been an additional pang to my already overburdened heart, and a still greater reproach for my hasty and vehement exclamations and behaviour.

evening, and I had then lost all recollection of it. I opened it hastily, and a tiny note dropped out. I stooped to recover it, and immediately perceived that the direction was in Viviana's handwriting. My first impulse was to crush it in my grasp; but after-thoughts triumphed, and I opened it. It was blistered with tears, and as well as I can remember, ran thus:

"That I have loved you, Frank-that I still love you with a truth and deep feeling, only He who is cognizant of the secrets of all hearts knows. I cannot guide my pen to write much; but let me entreat of you, if for my sake only, to read carefully the article which has for a time destroyed your peace of mind. Let me say, however, while acknowledging myself as the author of it, that I had formed such an estimate of your character, and was sufficiently strong in that faith, that it led me to believe you would not have yielded so passionately to the first burst of mortification-though that can be well forgiven in a young, scarcely tried, author. However, I shall find myself still more greatly deceived if, after reading carefully the critique on your work, and weighing well its well-intended advice (in which latter respect always the first to admire, and the world to appreciate), I have been aided by one whose genius you are you do not regain the natural firmness of your character, and, using this slight check as a stimulant to increased exertion, hasten to one who ever was and ever will be confident in your affection, and happy in sharing your joys, and in soothing your sorrows.

The anguish, the absorption of all my faculties, which I felt during the remainder of that night, will never be forgotten. I reached home in a state bordering upon distraction. A thousand ideas, a thousand tortures, racked my brain every instant. I paced my solitary room for hours unceasingly. I scarcely perceived the servant enter with a small parcel and a letter, which she offered to my hand, but which I mechanically bade her place on the table, and immediately forgot, as if no interruption had occurred. Mid-Need I say to night came, and passed-I did not count the long hours; I counted the eternal minutes by my sorrow-I measured them by the intensity of my suffering. I threw myself on my couch, endeavouring to woo the grand solace of life; but it was not till the white hours of morning were sporting among the eastern clouds in the grey horizon that I fell into a sound, refreshing sleep, interrupted only by a sweet dream, which painted Viviana and myself surrounded by earth's brightest happiness. Alas! to wake was to renew all the sorrow-lessened it is true-of the previous night. Strange that the first words that seemed to ring in my ears were― "YOUR DEAREST FRIEND WILL PROVE, FOR A TIME, YOUR DIREST ENEMY!" "How mysterious and inconceivable," thought I. "Can this really be a realization of the old crone's prophecy? Impossible! And yet how natural does it seem to suppose so. And then her concluding words-BUT IT REMAINS WITH YOURSELF ALONE WHETHER THAT EVENT WILL LEAD YOU TO DISTINCTION!' but that can never be, for I have renounced all hopes of authorship. I am fixed-fixed as the immutable Sphere above. May my hand, if it ever wield pen again to court the approbation of, or to create a boon to the world, be

While I was speaking, I had entered my sitting-room, and my eyes immediately fell on an unopened packet lying on the table, so I did not finish the anathema I was about to selfinflict. How came it there? I did not remember having seen it before. By whom was it sent? Ah, the thought struck me that the servant had brought it to me the preceding

"VIVIANA."

The emotions I underwent during my perusal of these few words pen cannot describe. A calmness, tempered with a kind of sorrowful joy, mingled in my thoughts. I once more took up the article which had been the source of so much misery, and as I more fully entered into it, began to feel in a degree compensated for the bitterness of its opening. It pointed out certain defects of style in my book, which might be easily overcome; it analyzed its diction-unfavourably, I must confess, but with a kindliness that overpowered me-it praised some parts of the work, it condemned others; but it concluded by earnestly recommending me to persevere, to correct crudities, to blot unsparingly, and that if I did thus, I might achieve a rank in literature that would more than compensate me for my exertions. How far I obeyed this advice may be gathered from the fact that although a work of mine was in the press, I immediately ordered the type to be decomposed, and sat strenuously to work on the manuscript; and so materially did I reform it, that I had the satisfaction-the thrilling satisfaction-of enlisting the good word of all the leading journals and reviews in its favour-not the least important among which was that of the Review. Since that time all my literary labours have prospered. I have only to announce a work but it gains me more friendship; and though I possess very many old friends, all of whom I sincerely esteem, never tired of gaining new friends. But stop. Dear reader, has not the gipsy's prophecy been fulfilled? "To the letter," you

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respond in the which I fully concur.

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But it is passing strange, is not it? For my part I am now a devout believer in every word a fortuneteller utters. But I have heard it said that the old Bohemian who foretold my destiny was none other than Kate Darcy (I beg her pardon, she is now Kate Brooke, having espoused our friend Harry, with whom she is happy "as the day is long"), who for a frolic had donned the strange gear, and being in the secret as to the expected criticism before referred to, chose to play off that trick upon me. However, I do not believe a word of it. Let those do so who please.

I have been married somewhere about two months, my wife's name being Viviana-of course!-and if my readers desire any more minute explanation, or at all doubt the veracity of this little history, they need only have the goodness to search the Court Directory, wherein they will discover the place of my residence, together with its number minutely shown; where, if they should feel inclined to journey so far, the said Viviana and myself will be quite charmed to render them every attention it is in our power to bestow.

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Meet for a Phoenix that rich odorous tomb.
There lies the Rajah on his couch of state,
And mail-clad chiefs around lament his fate.
Rich are his robes: a circlet wreathes his brow-
Ah! what avail gold, gems, and flattery now?
The racer Death hath early won the goal,
And endless years have dawned upon his soul.
But see! in many a bark across the main,
Borne from the Indian shore, that female train !
They come, slow-winding up the rocky strand,
Like ocean nymphs, or Krishna's flower-crowned
band.*

Dies o'er the wave the flute's aërial note;

Like moonlit clouds their veils around them float.
They reach the platform; 'mid the throng one face
More fair is seen, one form of statelier grace.
As silvery stars begirt the Queen of night,
Round her they form a circling line of light.
Wrapped in deep thought the beauteous bride appears,
Her soft silk lashes diamonded with tears:

* Krishna and his nine beautiful female attendants, called Gopia.-See Sir William Jones.

Flowers on her head, gold bracelets on her arms,
Her gem-starred robe conceals her bosom's charms:
Her coal-black hair, its masses all unbound,
Falls like a veil, and glittering sweeps the ground:
Her orient eye, with spirit flashing bright,
Oh, woman! fairest thing that God hath made!
Soft as Spring's skies, dissolves in its own light.
Sun of Mind's world! in heaven's own beams ar
rayed;

Th' unreasoning child of impulse sure thou art,
Warped by the feelings, governed by the heart.
Whate'er thy frailties, still, from eldest time,
Dazzling the sense and beautifying crime.
And she, the daughter of all-blinding zeal,
Who bitterest hate, and softest love could feel,
How deep her love for him who breathed no more!
Was come to prove-all other ties now o'er-
Yes, her soul burns to join her lord on high,
E'en fancy hears him whisper from the sky;
Telling of brighter beams, and fairer flowers,
In Swerga's* halls, and angel-peopled bowers-
Telling how sweet Amreeta's draught will be,
How blest the shade of green Cailasa's tree!
Brahm ever breathing through those fields above,
Music and fragrance, luxury, and love.
The dream is passed; the Brahmins now draw near,
And her young spirit owns a thrill of fear.
They wrap her veil more close, they shred her curls,
Draw off her wreath, and costly strings of pearls.
Slowly they lead her to the temple-cave,
Cast o'er her drops from Ganges' sacred wave,
Whose virtues cleanse the soul from foulest sin,
And e'en pariahs make all pure within.
See! round the funeral pile the Brahmins stand,
Each with an iron staff and lighted brand!
They bring the victim forth: her dew-damp brow,
And quivering lip, betray her terror now.
That fiery torture well might daunt the brave,
Yet none are there to pity-none to save!
She clasps her hands; she cannot speak or sigh;
But lifts to heaven her mute imploring eye.
Away! her anguish'd heart is calm'd at last,
And Nature's palsying fears are from her cast.
She mounts the pile, and calmly sits beside
Her hero lord-in life, in death his bride!
She takes his hand, his once dear name she calls,
And fast the tear upon that pale cheek falls.
The white-robed hand-maids-now a fairy ring-
Dance round the pile, and funeral dirges sing.
The arch-priest mutters prayers, that soon may be
The faithful wife from earth's dull fetters free;
And, upward-borne, no dark migration know
Through other forms, the heir of sin and woe;
But swiftly pass from Yamen's§ dread controul,
Absorbed in Brahm, the universal soul.

Hark! 'tis the fatal word! With ghastly smile
They wave their torches high-they fire the pile!
Then bursts the shout from that wild frantic throng,
Clatters the cymbal, rolls the thundering gong.
Vain are the sufferer's shrieks; her cries are lost
Swift on the flaming pile more brands are tost;
Till, like a pyramid, the fires arise,
Illume the waves and light the evening skies.
So died the wife, who felt all martyrs feel,
Victim of love, the dupe of erring zeal!

* Swerga, the heaven of the Hindoos. † Amreeta, the drink of immortality. Cailasa, a heavenly mountain, whereon grows a famous tree, at the root of which springs a celebrated stream.-See Hindoo Pantheon.

§ Yamen, the judge of the dead,

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I was twelve years old before I ever thought of looking at myself in the glass; and I might not have done so then but for a rule which was always observed in my uncle's family, where, being an orphan, I had resided ever since my childhood, that we should not wear our hair curled until that period; mine had, however, been suffered to grow for some months previously, and having a natural inclination to curl, I fancy that in my case the rule was slightly transgressed. But it was not until my twelfth birth-day that any one observed, "How do you think Margaret looks with her hair curled?" and my cousins shrugged their shoulders and laughed.

"Never mind," said my stern uncle, who was ever kind to me, "handsome is as handsome does! If you are only a good girl, Margaret, it does not signify about anything else."

That night, when I retired to rest, I wiped the dust from off the face of the old-fashioned mirror which hung in my little chamber, and looked at myself for the first time. The glance, however, proved anything but satisfactory, so that I had no temptation to renew it, but contented myself with recalling my uncle's words, it does not signify."

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Years passed away unmarked by any incident worth recording, during which my uncle suffered a great deal from the gout, and would have no one to nurse him at those times but me-a privilege which my cousins were far from envying me; and yet it had its pleasures, for it is very pleasant to feel one's self useful and beloved. My uncle's family consisted of a son and two daughters. At the period of which I am about to write, the former had just returned from abroad, and taken up his residence under his father's roof; he was clever and agreeable, with an intense love of the beautiful, which was scarcely to be wondered at when one gazed upon his own magnificent figure, and strongly marked intellectual features. His sisters were very proud of him, as they well might be; and so was his father, but he had a different way of showing it, and was, as we have said, a hard and stern man. Sometimes, when we were quite alone, he would say to me with glistening eyes-" Well, Margaret, what do you think of your cousin Walter?"

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And upon my replying, that I did not believe that there was any one like him in all the world; he used to smile kindly, and pat my cheek, but never ught to chide or contradict the warm encomiums which I never failed to lavish upon these occasions on my favourite cousin.

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There was a grand ball given in honour of Walte. return, and my kind and thoughtful uncle made me a present of a white India muslin dress, to wear upon the occasion.

"We are going to have a wreath of blush roses in our hair," said my cousin Fanny, "but of cousse you are too young for flowers." So she gave me some narrow blue ribbon, which fastene round my head as I had seen others do and twined carelessly among my dark curls for my hair had grown very long, and was certainly the only thing which I ever had to be

vain of.

The ball passed off admirably--at least everybody said so. But I was never very fond of dancing; perhaps, because my choice of partners was not great, for much of the pleasure depends upon that. On this particular night I danced twice with my cousin Walter, and I did not care to do anything afterwards but watch him about with earnest and admiring eyes. Presently he came and sat down again by my side. Well, Margaret," said he, what makes you look so grave? What are you thinking of?" I told him the truth, but not the whole truth. "I was thinking just then of poor Bell Hamilton!"

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Yes, we miss her to-night. My father appears to be as much incensed against her family as ever."

Quite as much; he will not even allow their names to be mentioned in his presence."

"It was unfortunate that Mr. Hamilton should have been foolish enough to go to law about a few acres of land. But, poor man! he is dead now, and it seems hard that his wife and daughter should suffer for his folly."

I agreed that it was very hard; and then we talked of other things until he was summoned away to join the dancers. How graceful he was, and how delightful it was to perceive that every one else seemed to admire him quite as much as I did!

The following morning, as we sat at our late

breakfast, talking and laughing over the events | hair so that it should look exactly as it had done

of the preceding evening, one of Walter's sisters asked him whom he thought the prettiest girl in

the room.

"I do not know about beauty," replied he; "for I did not notice that there were any particularly handsome (my sisters of course, excepted), but the one who pleased me the most wore a blue ribbon in her hair."

So intent was I in trying to recollect whom he could mean not once thinking it could by any probability be myself that I did not perceive my uncle's smile, until happening to look up, I met Walter's glance, and the whole truth burst suddenly upon me.

"Why do you not rise and make him a curtsey, Margaret?" said my cousin Fanny, laughingly.

But I felt as if I could not even speak, while a crimson flush mounted to my very temples. I forget what else was said; but I only know that I stole away to my own room as soon as I could make my escape without exciting observation; and standing before the mirror once more, essayed to fasten the blue ribbon in my hair just as I had worn it the night previously; but whether from the want of sleep, or the absence of excitement, together with the soft, beaming lights of the ball-room, the effect was anything but satisfactory, and I was foolish enough to sit down and weep bitterly.

Girls possessing such a brother as Walter, especially when he is rich as well as handsome and elegant, are sure to have plenty of invitations. My cousins were consequently very gay; but it was not until Walter had remained behind several times that people began to understand, as he wished them to do, that the poor cousin must be included if they hoped for the honour of his company. This was kindly meant, and proved the means of introducing me more into society than would otherwise have been the case; but if I enjoyed it, it was because he went with us; but for that I should have been quite as happy, and perhaps happier at home. That Walter's attentions won for me the attentions of others-men being an imitative race in such matters-was perfectly indifferent to me; although it served to give me a certain consequence in the eyes of my young companions.

One day I was sitting alone in the music room, the door of which stood open, when I heard my uncle enter the adjoining apartment and say to Walter, "As the girls are going out this evening, I think of taking Margaret to see the new play. Will you accompany us?"

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Yes, certainly; if Margaret goes." "But you promised the Grahams, brother," interrupted one of his sisters.

"Never mind, you must make the best excuse you can for me. Trust a woman to make a good excuse!"

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His father laughed, and I made my escape with a beating heart. My cousin's words haunted me strangelyYes, certainly; if Margaret goes!" Oh, what could I be to him? That night I took great pains to arrange my

upon the never-to-be-forgotten occasion when Walter admired it. I also wore a ribbon of the same hue, and my white dress. My uncle smiled approvingly when I entered; but Walter looked absent and pre-occupied.

It was late when we arrived, and all the private boxes being engaged, we had front places in the dress circle. Presently Walter left us to speak to a friend, whom he had perceived in another part of the theatre. He stayed away so long that I was beginning to fear he would not return; and I could not help looking back when I at last heard the box-door open; but it was not my cousin.

"What an exceedingly pretty girl!" exclaimed a voice immediately behind us. "Where?"

"There, just in front-dressed in white, with a blue ribbon in her hair."

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'My dear fellow, you must be blind! Do wait until she turns her head this way."

I took care, however, not to turn my head that way again; and soon afterwards Walter came back. He was now in high spirits, and talked and laughed until I forgot everything but him. I never could remember what the play was about. Presently I whispered him to look in an opposite box; and there, half hidden behind her mother, sat Bell Hamilton.

"How beautiful she is!" exclaimed I. "Yes, she is very beautiful, certainly. But we must not let ny father hear us both admiring her."

My uncle being tired, we left before the performance was over; and as I passed out, leaning upon his arm, I heard the voice of my unknown admirer saying to his companion-" You are right; she certainly is not at all pretty; but she looks interesting, nevertheless."

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I glanced at Walter and smiled; but he was looking at Bell Hamilton; and no wonder.

Shortly after our visit to the theatre, Walter went to spend some weeks with an old college friend. How changed everything seemed when he was gone! just as it does on a bright day when the sun is suddenly obscured; the earth and the flowers remain the same, and yet how gloomy everything appears! His sisters likewise missed him, but not so much as I did, although they were his real sisters, and I was nothing. We were all glad when he came back. But he was not like the same person, and had become grave and abstracted. Very often he would sit for hours together without once opening his lips; but it was happiness enough for me to be near him at such times, although he never spoke or looked at me. I would have given all the world if I could have thought of anything to make him happy; and perhaps he read as much in my countenance, for one day he came and sat beside me, and called me "his own dear good little Margaret!" I think he would have said more, but just then Fanny entered, and he returned to his seat and his book. A second time he seemed to be on the point of explaining himself, when we had been left together, and he

happened to look up and catch my eyes fixed upon him instead of my work, and a second time we were interrupted. That evening, when I wished him good night, he retained my hand in his, and whispered softly-" Can you be up by six o'clock to-morrow, Margaret? I want you to walk out with me. I have something to say to you."

I could not speak, but I bowed my head in token of assent, and made haste to my own apartment, where I spent the remainder of that sleepless night in a thousand wild and vain conjectures. What could he have to say to me? What was it that he had been about to say when we were so unfortunately interrupted? Why had he called me his dear Margaret? My temples ached and throbbed with intense thought, and yet I felt strangely happy; and was up with the first gleam of sunlight, waiting and longing for the appointed hour.

The church clock struck six as I stepped out of my own chamber, with my bonnet and shawl on; but Walter was waiting for me. He drew my arm through his with an affectionate pressure, and we walked quickly on. It was not until we had reached the park that he again spoke, and his voice was low and agitated.

"I have been longing for this opportunity!" said he. "I have so much to say to you, my dear Margaret-so much to explain! My very happiness is, perhaps, in your hands."

I could hear the rapid beatings of my own heart; surely he must have heard them too: and then it stood still all at once at his next words, and I felt like one suddenly turned into

stone.

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Margaret, I am married!"

Married!" repeated I, with white lips. "Yes, to your favourite Bell Hamilton. And my poor little wife is breaking her heart for fear of my father's anger, and its consequences on me; for she knows how utterly dependent I am upon him; and that I have not even a profession by which I might support her, if he should disinherit me, as I suppose he will when he comes to find it out. She thought of all this before, but her love was greater than her prudence, poor child! I wish that you would see her, Margaret -this afternoon, perhaps? And comfort and speak gently to her, as you so well know how. And by-and-by you must try and use the great influence which you have over the mind of my father, to reconcile him to our marriage. Will you? I confess that it was very imprudent; but you do not know what it is to be in love, my dear cousin.”

I smiled, but did not speak.

"Then you will go? Here is her address. Poor Bell will be so glad to see you! I told her how kindly you always spoke of her; it was that which first made me love you."

"Yes, I will go. Poor Bell! I shall like her better than ever now."

"God bless you, my dear Margaret! I feel as if a weight were suddenly removed from my heart. I trust everything to you."

We walked home in silence. No one had

missed us. I went straight to my own chamber, and putting the window a little way open sat down by it, gasping for breath. Notwithstanding this precaution, I believe I must have fainted away, for a cold, sick feeling came over me, and I remember nothing until I heard the breakfast bell ringing, as it seemed, a long way off. Having plunged my face into cold water, I felt somewhat refreshed, although my heart still ached with a weary pain, as if from the effects of a heavy blow. But I would not complain, for fear my kind uncle should object to my going out again, and then poor Walter would be so disappointed. I laughed it off therefore, and declared that I was quite well.

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"Poor Margaret!" whispered Walter kindly, "it was going out before breakfast, I have no doubt; it never did agree with you.' "Most probably," said I, turning away my head.

In the afternoon I went, according to my promise, to call upon Bell-I was just about to write Bell Hamilton-but she had another name now. She flung herself upon my neck with a cry of joy, kissing, and thanking me repeatedly for my kindness in coming to see her. And then we sat down upon the sofa, and began to talk of Walter-" Dear Walter!" as she called him. It was sweet to listen to his praises, and to mark how much he was beloved. The visit did me good. After all it was only natural that he should love one so guileless and beautiful, and every way worthy of his affection. We parted with regret, and not until I had promised to come again very soon.

"Do you think that they will ever forgive Walter for marrying me?" asked Bell, looking into my face with her bright, pleading eyes.

"There is no fear about my cousins-or my uncle either, if he could but see you."

Bell blushed and smiled, and called me a flatterer! And then I was forced to hurry away, being engaged to go that evening to a large dinner party.

It was late when I returned, but the lady's maid had set everything ready for me to put on. I dressed in silence, laying aside the blue ribbon which she offered me as usual, with a sigh, and arranging my hair so that it might fall over and shade my pale face, that was my only care now. Walter met me with a beaming countenance.

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Well," said he, as he drew my arm through his, and led me away to a distant part of the room, "have you seen her?"

I answered in the affirmative, and could not choose but praise her whom he loved, especially when I saw how happy it made him.

My uncle seemed pleased to notice how much we were together, and said to me with a smile, on our return, that he hoped I had had a pleasant evening."

"Yes, thank you, uncle, a very pleasant evening.'

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"You and Walter appeared to have a great deal to talk about."

How I longed to tell him the subject of our conversation, but I durst not then.

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