noticing the interruption, " my daughter and I must leave Abbey Holme; we will write from Hereford, and from thence Dinah shall inform you where to direct the answer to our letters,—and although your son-"

"He will not endeavour to delay your departure, Joseph Linton," faltered the old lady, leaning heavily on the affectionate arm of the young man, who read in her pallid cheek, her quivering lips, and tearful eyes, how great was the struggle that shook her frame: "Dinah already knows that she has to leave us for a time,-I did not tell her, I couldn't do it so suddenly, -that it might be for ever, but I did tell her that it was her father, with whom she was to set out, and whatever I and my son may know of your misdeeds, your child, at any rate, believes you guiltless."

"It is better so, ma'am," said her auditor, contracting the frown that hovered around his lips,-" and for all the kindness you have shown to me and mine, weakened as it is by the scene of to-night-"

"Enough, sir," rejoined Mrs. Harding, with proud composure, "I do not value your thanks,-it is enough to know I have done my duty,-I will now go and see Dinah, and bid her good night, for-" the old lady's lips quivered so, that she could not articulate the last word of her speech, and putting her handkerchief to her face, she bowed, and left the room, leaning on Stephen's arm.

As soon as she had gone, the man threw himself into a chair, in front of the fire, and pouring himself out a tumbler of sherry, drank it off, and then resting his boots on the hobs, fell into a moody reverie.

A moment after a cry reached his ear from the adjoining room. Opening the door gently, so gently in fact, that Stephen, who was bending over the venerable form of Mrs. Harding, did not even look up,--he perceived that she had fainted. He drew his head in again with the same noiseless precaution, and as the light fell on his eager upturned face, it disclosed features, that, through all their habitual joviality, were distorted with all the triumphant ferocity of a fiend.

He did not resume his former place again, but sitting down near the door, listened with malignant pleasure to the alarmed accents and hurried movements of the actors in the little tragedy he had evoked in the next room.

THE CITATION.

EVELYN BELLISLE had a father on the sea,

But he left her in a bower of soft security;

The treasures of far distant lands, the best gifts of the earth,
Had all been lavished doatingly on the fair girl from birth.

Evelyn Bellisle had no mother, and no kin,

No anxious hearts to watch her, no partial praise to win;
Her sire was the only one who claimed her fervent love,
Such love as holy angels know, in the bright realms above.

"How rich and rare my bowers must be," she said with thoughtful smile, "For the treasures of the earth are poured on Evelyn Bellisle :

But treasures from the deep I crave. My sire is on the sea,
And surely he will strive to gain these wondrous things for me."

A packet bound with silken cord was sped unto her sire,
Containing words of tender love, and this her new desire :
My golden harp is all unstrung, I'm wearied of its tones;

Ah! bring to me a mermaid wild, with sweet unearthly moans.

'My paradise of fairest flowers oft tires upon my view,

Though I have all from every clime, of every scent and hue;
But hie thee to the coral beds of some enchanted isle,

Pluck branches from the sparry caves for Evelyn Bellisle !

My casket is enriched with gems and diamonds from the mine :
The task to find the largest pearl, O father must be thine;
I've heard of gems in ocean depths, by lucky divers found,
Pellucid gems, of untold worth, on diadems oft bound.

My fond gazelle is graceful still, with tender dove-like eyes,
My fleet and docile Arab steed, my brilliant birds, I prize;
But thou art on the sea, father,-all around thee lie

The strange and unknown créatures, for whom I daily sigh.

"My voice rings through the breezy woods: at hush of evening hour I love to try, in cadence wild, its every varied power;

But syrens sing, you've told me oft, to mariners afar,

As they rest from their weary toil, beneath the evening star.

"Then wile away a spirit bright-a songstress of the sea-
And she shall teach me mystic lays of fairy minstrelsy,

And tell me of the secrets dread, where whirlpools lash and roar ;
Oh! let thy Evelyn be wise in ocean's fearful lore."

The treasures of the deep were hers, the gifts she wished, obtained;
But Evelyn Bellisle, alas! with her sire's blood was stained.
He perished in his last attempt to reach the syren's home,
But he cited his fair daughter, ere he sank amid the foam.

He cited her to meet him, in a year and a day,
Before a ghastly council-oh! worlds of space away!
The dread citation came, all across the rolling sea,
Borne in a classic nautilus, by voice of mystery.

In this dark world of woe, citations dread have been
From the dying to the living, as hath been proved and seen.
She sought the holy fathers,-they exorcised the while,
But the summons true was timely kept by Evelyn Bellisle.

C. A. M. W.

THE PARSONAGE OF SPRINGSIDE.

"It is but dust thou look'st upon. This love,
This wild and passionate idolatry,-

What doth it in the shadow of the grave?
Gather it back within thy lonely heart :
So must it ever end-too much we give
Unto the things that perish."

"How sad it is that nearly all deep feeling is pronounced romantic, the love of' things ancient' called eccentric, and that the finding sources of pure pleasure apart and independent from the worldly herd, subjects one to all sorts of silly impertinencies, if not to envy and malice!" Thus I exclaimed one evening to a dear friend, who fully sympathised with me, and even in her ancient days retained the freshness, may I say, the romance of youth; for that she was strongly imbued with this so-called foolish weakness, and that I loved her dearly for it, are equally certain.

As thus we confabulated and grumbled together, one still autumn evening, in her pretty parlour, by degrees we touched on the theme of love-ever an interesting discourse to young maidens, —and such I was then, though the kind lady was antiquated, and somewhat too indulgent, perhaps.

I much doubted if real love was left on earth-" real undying enduring constancy"-something I had formed an ideal of in my inmost heart of hearts, but never hoped to see embodied. She then, amid some tears of remembrance, and many sighs for the degeneracy of the present age, thus recalled these scenes of her by-gone years.

"We hear much talk certainly about misery, and that earth is an abode of wretchedness; and alas! I have drawn from my stores of memory and experience enough to make you believe it is so; but in the midst of all this there arises a green spot, an isle of beauty, so enchanting, serenely beautiful, and full of melody, that I turn to it in my day dreams, whenever loneliness or life's pressing cares weigh on my spirits too heavily.

I almost fear to paint too highly a scene of perfect earthly happiness it once was my blessed lot to witness, for the hand should rest with fairy lightness of touch, and the tints beam with celestial colouring, in attempting even a poor outline of this rare picture set in the wilderness.

Near a village on the banks of the Wye, the picturesque, winding, fanciful Wye, there stood an old grey church; a very old church it was, half covered with ivy, tower and all, full of old monuments within, and surrounded by the combined beauties of nature without,-green hills, rich woods, silvery streamlets, and verdant pasturage, while the churchyard, the dear old churchyard, seemed the very spot of all others where the weary might rest in peace. It lay on a hill-side, and it was large and open; but there were grand trees, of the growth of centuries, dark solemn trees they were truly; but then the profusion of gay wild flowers, the rare devices, and quaint inscriptions, relieved the somewhat sombre shadowing. There was a little gate in one corner, nearly hidden by abundant foliage: it opened into the garden of the adjoining parsonage, and the orchard trees stretched forth their spreading branches over the peaceful graves beneath. And when the time of blossoming came, how the dainty spring breeze scattered the showers of waxen leaves all over those grassy hillocks! But enter into that paradise of sweets with me, through the little wicket gate. I never roamed in the pastor's garden at the still evening hour, without thinking (reverently and sacredly, I hope, and thus would I speak) of "the Lord walking in the garden in the cool of the evening." A garden ever was an earthly paradise to me, and as a child, that brief but blessed description was vividly impressed on my imagination By a garden, I do not mean a narrow slip of

overlooked ground, I do not dignify such by the term: but I mean a plot of earth, large or middling, as may be, where reigns perfect solitude, and the stillness of undisturbed repose, combining pure air and deep shade; winding pathways of smooth gravel, not too wide; hedges that Evelyn would have gloried in; patches of emerald turf, with sloping, shaven, tiny lawns, that surprise on some sudden turning; fountains, too, and pretty terrraces, with rustic seats overshadowed by majestic trees, about whose knotted roots. the blue violets hide in beds of moss: with the clearest, swiftest, and narrowest of rivulets, threading its mazy way over sparkling pebbles, deep enough, too, for an ivied bridge to have been thrown across, and with strawberry beds sloping down to its very edge. And then the flower beds-oh! speak not of their brilliancy.. Flora's festival of garden gems is kept up here in stately pride.. In addition, there was a cedar-tree,-the pride of the neighbouring country, the growth of unknown years; it stood in the centre of the lawn, whereon the windows of the low, thatched, but rambling dwelling opened. A peaceful and most charming looking old home it was, so perfectly comfortable, too, giving no ideas of damp or earwigs, (I am reminded of good Mrs. Nickleby) or of home comforts sacrificed to show. There was a deep verandah, and there were many tasteful flower baskets dispersed about, full of lovely exotics. There was a pretty greenhouse, too. But peep through the antique latticed windows, festooned by simple but snowy drapery; look into the interior. There is the unpretending but unique library, with its few, but well-chosen, exquisite engravings of scriptural subjects, from the divine masters: the books, the beloved, well-used books, couches, reading-desks, classic lamps, busts, and instruments of music: a work-table, too, and vases of flowers. Ah! the tale is told that here a wife shares her husband's strictest retirement,—that no divided object of interest or pursuit is between them: and so it was, for I am not about to recall a fanciful recollection, but without comment or cavil as to right or wrong, merely to dwell on a detail of "perfect happiness,"-perfect as earthly happiness ever can be, as it really did exist for years.

The pastor of Springside and his wife Melicent had dwelt for a few years in this sheltered bower. He had taken possession of the living on his marriage, and since that period, their existence had been one bright dream of unfading love, perfect tranquillity, and the purest happiness, unbroken and entire. It was the more vividly enjoyed, perhaps, from contrast, because they had both known sorrow, the deepest, the most heart-wearing sorrow, previously.

Probably thus it was that outward events had no more power over their chastened, well-tried spirits. They had no offspring, that I t one alloy, one drop of bitterness, to dash their cup of over