so long oppressed. We have no wish to bear hard upon a falling man; and, therefore, shall make no comment upon the state of mind in which the person may be presumed to be, who must be conscious that he has so long been enjoying the just rights of others. Some extraordinary disclosures may be looked for when the trial comes on. We have heard from a quarter on which we are disposed to place reliance, that the claimant is a gentleman of decided Whig principles, and who will prove a valuable accession to the Liberal cause." The tears very nearly forced their way out of Mr Aubrey's eyes on reading this most unfeeling paragraph; but they had, with a strong effort, been dispersed just as Miss Aubrey entered the room. Her brother quietly folded up the paper and laid it aside, fearful lest his sister's feelings should be pierced by so coarse and brutal a paragraph, which, in fact, had been concocted in London in the office of Messrs Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, who were, as before stated, interested in the Sunday Flash, which was in some sort connected, through the relationship of the editors, with the Yorkshire Stingo. The idea had been suggested by Gammon, of attempting to enlist the political feeling of a portion of the county in favour of their client. "Here are several letters for you, Kate," said her brother, picking several of them out. The very first she took up, it having attracted her attention by the double seal, and the vulgar style of the handwriting, was that from Titmouse, which has just been laid before the reader. With much surprise she opened the letter, her brother being similarly engaged with his own; and her face getting gradually paler and paler as she went on, at length she flung it on the floor with a passionate air and burst into tears. Her brother with astonishment, exclaimed," Dear Kate, what is it?" and he rose and stooped to pick up the letter. "Don't don't, Charles!" she cried, putting her foot upon it, and flinging her arms round his neck. "It is an audacious letter-a vulgar, a cruel letter, dear Charles!" Her emotion increased as her thoughts recurred to the heartless paragraph concerning her brother with which the letter concluded. "I could have overlook ed every thing but that," said she, unwittingly. With gentle force he succeeded in getting hold of the painfully ridiculous and contemptible effusion. He attempted faintly to smile several times as he went on. "Don't don't, dearest Charles! I can't bear it. Don't smile-It's very far from your heart; you do it only to assure me." Here Mr Aubrey read the paragraph concerning himself. His face turned a little paler than before, and his lips quivered with suppressed emotion. "He is evidently a very foolish fellow!" he exclaimed, walking towards the window, with his back to his sister, whom he did not wish to see how much he was affected by so petty an incident. "What does he allude to, Kate, when he talks of your having spoken angrily to him, and that he did not know you?" he enquired, after a few moments' pause, returning to her. "Oh dear! I am so grieved that you should have noticed it-but since you ask me"-and she told him the occurrence alluded to in the letter. Mr Aubrey drew himself up unconsciously as Kate went on, and she perceived him becoming still paler than before, and felt the kindling anger of his eye. "Forget it - forget it, dearest Charles! So despicable a being is really not worth a thought," said Kate, with increasing anxiety; for she had never in her life before witnessed her brother the subject of such powerful emotions as then made rigid his slender frame. At length, drawing a long breath "It is fortunate, Kate," said he calmly, "that he is not a gentleman, and that I endeavour to be a Christian." She flung her arms round him, exclaiming, "There spoke my own noble brother!" "I shall preserve this letter as a curiosity, Kate," said he presently; and with a pointed significance of manner, that arrested his sister's attention, he added, " It is rather singular, but some time before you came in, I opened a letter in which your name is mentioned-I cannot say in a similar manner, and yet-in short, it is from Lord de la Zouch, enclosing one " Miss Aubrey suddenly blushed scarlet, and trembled violently. "Don't be agitated, my dear Kate, over, and he knelt down beside his mother with her hand grasped in his, "despise not the chastening of the Lord; neither be weary of his correction: "For whom the Lord loveth he correcteth, even as a father the son in whom he delighteth. "The Lord will not cast off for ever; "But though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion, according to the multitude of his mercies. "For he doth not afflict willingly, "I know-I-I-suspect-I"- nor grieve the children of men." faltered Miss Aubrey, with much agitation" I shall return." "Then you shall take these letters with you, and read, or not read them as you like," said her brother, putting the letters into her hand with a fond and sorrowful smile, that soon, however, flitted away-and, leading her to the door, he was once more alone; and, after a brief interval of reverie, he wrote answers to such of the many letters before him as he considered earliest to require them. Notwithstanding the judgment and tenderness with which Dr Tatham discharged the very serious duty which, at the entreaty of his afflicted friends, he had undertaken, of breaking to Mrs Aubrey the calamity with which she and her family were menaced, the effects of the disclosure had been most disastrous. They had paralysed her; and Mr Aubrey, who had long been awaiting the issue, in sickening suspense, in an adjoining room, was hastily summoned in to behold a mournful and heart-rending spectacle. His venerable mothershe who had given him life at the mortal peril of her own; she whom he cherished with unutterable tenderness and reverence; she who doated upon him as upon the light of her eyes; from whose dear lips he had never heard a word of unkindness or severity; whose heart had never known an impulse but of gentle, noble, unbounded generosity towards all around her this idolized being now lay suddenly prostrated and blighted before him Poor Aubrey yielded to his long and violent agony, in the presence of her who could no longer hear, or see, or be sensible of what was passing in the chamber. • "My son," said Dr Tatham, after the first burst of his friend's grief was It was with great difficulty that Dr Tatham could render himself audible while murmuring these soothing and solemn passages of scripture in the ear of his distracted friend, beside whom he knelt. Mrs Aubrey had suffered a paralytic seizurė, and lay motionless and insensible; her features slightly disfigured, but partially concealed beneath her long silvery grey hair, which had, in the suddenness of the fit, strayed from beneath her cap. "But what am I about?" at length exclaimed Mr Aubrey, with a languid and alarmed air-" has medical assist ance" "Dr Goddart and Mr Whateley are both sent for by several servants, and will doubtless be very quickly here," replied Dr Tatham; and while he yet spoke Mr Whateley-who, when hastened on by the servant who had been sent for him, was entering the park on a visit to young Mrs Aubrey, who was also seriously ill and in peculiarly critical circumstancesentered the room, and immediately resorted to the necessary measures. Soon afterwards, also, Dr Goddart arrived; but, alas, how little could they do for the venerable sufferer ! During the next, and for many ensuing days, the lodge was assailed by very many anxious and sympathizing enquirers, who were answered by Waters, whom Mr Aubrey-oppressed by the number of friends who hurried up to the hall, and insisted upon seeing him to ascertain the extent to which the dreadful rumours were correct-had stationed there during the day to afford the requisite information. The hall was pervaded by a gloom that could be felt. Every servant had a wo-begone look, and moved about as if a funeral were stirring. Little Charles and Agnes, almost imprisoned in their nursery, seemed quite puzzled and confused at the strange unusual seriousness, and quietness, and melancholy faces every where about them. Kate romped not with them as had been her wont; but would constantly burst into tears as she held them on her knee or in her arms, trying to evade the continual questioning of Charles. "I think it will be time for me to cry too by-and-by!" said he to her one day, with an air half in jest and half in earnest, that made poor Kate's tears flow afresh. Sleepless nights and days of sorrow soon told upon her appearance. Her glorious buoyancy of spirits, that erewhile, as it were, had filled the whole hall with gladness where were they now? Ah, me! the rich bloom had disappeared from her beautiful cheek; but her high spirit, though oppressed, was not broken, and she stood firmly and calmly amid the scowling skies and lowering tempests. You fancied you saw her auburn tresses stirred upon her pale but calm brow by the breath of the approaching storm; and that she also felt it, but trembled not. Her heart might be, indeed, bruised and shaken; but her spirit was, ay, unconquerable. My glorious Kate, how my heart goes forth towards you! And thou, her brother, who art of kindred spirit; who art supported by philosophy, and exalted by religion, so that thy constancy cannot be shaken or overthrown by the black and ominous swell of trouble which is increasing and closing around thee, I know that thou wilt outlive the storm-and yet it rocks thee! A month or two may see thee and thine expelled from Old Yatton, and not merely having lost every thing, but with a liability to thy successor that will hang round thy neck like a millstone. What, indeed, is to become of you all? Whither will you go? And your suffering mother, should she survive so long, is her precious form to be borne away from Yatton? Around thee stand those who, if thou fallest, will perish-and that thou knowest: around thy calm, sorrowful, but erect figure, are a melancholy group-thy afflicted mother-the wife of thy bosom-thy two little children -thy brave and beautiful sister-Yet think not, Misfortune! that over this man thou art about to achieve thy accustomed triumphs, Here, behold thou hast a MAN to contend with; nay, more, a CHRISTIAN MAN, who hath calmly girded up his loins against the coming fight! 'Twas Sabbath evening, some five weeks or so after the happening of the mournful events above commemorated, and Kate, having spentas usual several hours keeping watch beside the silent and motionless figure of her mother, had quitted the chamber for a brief interval, thinking to relieve her oppressed spirits by walking, for a little while, up and down the long gallery. Having slowly paced backwards and forwards once or twice, she rested against the little oriel window at the furthest extremity of the gallery, and gazed, with saddened eye, upon the setting sun, till at length, in calm grandeur, it disappeared beneath the horizon. 'Twas to Kate a solemn and mournful sign; especially followed as it was by the deepening shadows and gloom of evening. She sighed; and, with her hands crossed on her bosom, gazed, with a tearful eye, into the darkening sky, where glittered the brilliant evening star. Thus she remained, a thousand pensive and tender thoughts passing through her mind, till the increasing chills of evening warned her to retire. "I will go,' said she to herself, as she walked slowly along, " and try to play the evening hymn-I may not have many more opportunities!" With this view, she gently opened the drawingroom door, and, glancing around, found that she should be alone. The fire gave the only light. She opened the organ with a sigh, and then sat down before it for some minutes without touching the keys. At length she struck them very gently, as if fearful of disturbing those who, she soon recollected, were too distant to hear her. Ah! how many associations were stirred up as she played over the simple and solemn air! At length, in a low and rather tremulous voice, she begun 'Soon will the evening star, with silver ray, Shed its mild radiance o'er the sacred day; Resume we, then, ere night and silence reign, The rites which holiness and heaven ordain". She sung the last line somewhat indistinctly; and, overcome by a flood of tender recollections, ceased playing; then, leaning her head upon her hand, she shed tears. At length she resumed "Here humbly let us hope our Maker's smile Will crown with sweet success our earthly toil And here, on each returning Sabbath, join " Here poor Kate's voice quiveredand, after one or two ineffectual attempts to sing the next line, she sobbed, and ceased playing. She remained for several minutes, her face buried in her handkerchief, shedding tears. At length, "I'll play the last verse," thought she, "and then sit down before the fire, and read over the evening service, (feeling for her little prayer-book,) before I return to poor mamma." With a firmer hand and voice she proceeded "Father of Heaven! in whom our hopes confide, - Whose power defends us, and whose precepts guide In life our guardian, and in death our friend, -Glory supreme be thine, till time shall end!" She played and sung these lines with a kind of solemn energy; and she felt as if a ray of heavenly light had trembled for a moment upon her upturned eye. She had not been, as she had supposed, alone; in the farthest corner of the room had been all the while sitting her brother-too exquisitely touched by the simplicity and goodness of his sweet sister, to apprise her of his presence. Several times his feelings had nearly overpowered him; and as she concluded, he arose from his chair, and approaching her, after her first surprise was over,"Heaven bless you, dear Kate!" said he, taking her little hands in his own. Neither of them spoke for a few mo ments. "I could not have sung a line, or played, if I had known that you were here," said she. "I thought so, Kate." "I don't think I shall ever have heart to play again." "Be assured, Kate, that submission to the will of God," said Mr Aubrey, as, he with his arm round his sister, they walked slowly to and fro, " is the great lesson to be learned from the troubles of life; and for that purpose they are sent. Let us bear up awhile; the waters will not go over our heads!" NO. CEXCY, VOL, XLVII. I hope not," replied his sister, faintly, and in tears. "How did you leave Agnes, Charles?" "She was asleep: she is still very feeble" - Here the door was suddenly opened, and Miss Aubrey's maid entered hastily, exclaiming, "Are you here, ma'am?-or sir?" " Here we are," they replied, hurrying towards her; "what is the matter?" "Oh, madam is talking! She began speaking all of a sudden. She did indeed, sir. She's talking, and"-continued the girl, almost breathless. "My mother talking!" exclaimed Aubrey, with an amazed air. "Oh yes, sir! she is she is, indeed!" Miss Aubrey sunk into her brother's arms, overcome for a moment with the sudden and surprising intelligence. "Rouse yourself, Kate!" he exclaimed with animation; "did I not tell you that Heaven would not forget us? But I must hasten up stairs, to hear the joyful sounds with my own ears-and do you follow as soon as you can." Leaving her in the care of her maid, he hastened out of the room up stairs, and was soon at the door of his mother's chamber. He stood for a moment in the doorway, and his straining ears caught the gentletones of his mother's voice, speaking in a low but cheerful tone. His knees trembled beneath him with joyful excitement. Fearful of trusting himself in her presence till he had become calmer, he noiselessly sunk on the nearest chair, with beating heart and straining ear-ay, every tone of that dear voice thrilled through his heart. But I shall not torture my own or my reader's heart by dwelling upon the scene that ensued. Alas! the venerable sufferer's tongue was indeed loosed; but reason had fled! He listened he distinguished her words. She supposed that all her childrendead and alive-were romping about her; she spoke of him and his sister as she had spoken to them twenty years ago. As soon as he had made this sad discovery, overwhelmed with grief he staggered out of the room; and motioning his sister, who was entering, into an adjoining apartment, communicated to her the mournful condition of her mother. : 2 x LINES ON THE SALE OF THE BLACK ARAB, THE GIFT OF THE YES! it is well that he should go, The matchless present of a king, From ends so vile, and thoughts so low, As round the soul of England cling. And, in his generous veins, the same Such were the fearless few who stood He was a horse for days of old, true, Unfit for times so mean and cold, And that the greedy pedlars knew; They cared not, when to stranger-men The courteous monarch's gift was sent; That link'd therewith, for ever then They care not that the shameful tale A mark for just and hostile scorn. What though with throbbing hearts The stealthy tread of Russian war? Great thoughts, great deeds, and feelings high, The sunshine of our British past, All they can neither sell nor buy, To heaven or hell away they cast. Yes! it is well that he should go, low, As round the soul of England cling. The spirit of his Arab sires Would droop, as though in fetters bound, With no reflection of its fires, From aught that moved or breathed around. England of yore was full of men Made strong to run a glorious course, Of lion-port and eagle-ken, Fit riders for the Arab horse. On freedom's primal altar-stone. Such were the giants who upsprung Round her who crush'd insulting Spain, When, from our arms and hearts, we flung The fragments of the papal chain. Such who, in old manorial halls, Which yet with loyal echoes ring, Live still along the storied walls In armour for an outraged king. Knights who at Naseby stood, and died Unbroken by the Roundhead boor, Or from broad death-wounds swell'd the tide Of faithful blood on Marston moor. But Faith, and Truth, and Chivalry, And emanating powers, have fled; The veins of the worn earth are dry, By which each mighty growth was fed. Scarce, through the gathering dimness, One True-hearted heir of ancient worth Shines, like the last ray of the sun, The night before the floods went forth. The rest are shadows of an-hour, For noble right, or strenuous wrong. Amid the fog, and icy gloom, Round wither'd heart, and stunted brain, We have not sympathy, or room For aught that shows a generous strain. Then freely let the Arab go, That matchless present of a king, From ends so vile, and thoughts so low, |