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paled as with an half uttered ejaculation of dis- , tongues ; stunned with the suddenness of the tress he hurriedly strode towards the door. event. Now, reading my note a second time, he

“Who is the messenger ? where is he?" he began more systematically to question Dick. asked.

While he was doing so Laura Ainslie came inThere was a rising tumult of voices in the to the room followed by Mr. Devonshire. hall below, where stood young Dick Wilcox, pale “Mr. Brown,” she said, “have we not reason with excitement and fatigue, the centre of a cir- to suspect Mr. Witham, the same person who cle of liveried servants. His working coat on, has been lately at Captain Ashton's, of being a buttoned awry, no waistcoat, and his stockingless very desperate character ?" legs peeping above his bigblows, he presented "Yes," he promptly answered, “and Mrs. a strange contrast to those around him. They Gainsborough suspects strongly as I do that he fell back on seeing Mr. Brown approach, and has a hand in this business." the poor lad on seeing his face, cried, “Oh, it's “ What on earth could he have to do with Mr. Grant, sir; it's his work. Why were'nt it?" questioned another gentleman, who had you there to break every bone in his skin!” entered after Mr. Devonshire : this was Mr. And Dick clenched his fists, and then fairly Boradaile. burst into loud crying.

“ He knows she is an heiress, and wants her The rumour spread through the house and himself; that is what I think,” said Merton. reached Mrs. Wellwood and Mrs. Ainslie, who “Oh, impossible !" cried Mr. Boradaile, "I'm were conversing together on a sofa in the bou- quite sure you're wrong." doir beyond the second drawing-room. “My dear fellow," said Mr. Devonshire, “There's something said of Miss Dalziel of "how should a man who wants a lady himself Darliston Hall having disappeared," a gentle- assist another lover to run away with her? man remarked in their hearing. A waltz had | Besides, I happen to know that Witham was commenced, but the music soon sank and playing piquet at Captain Ashton's at nine ceased, for the dancers fell off one couple after o'clock, for I was there myself and won a another to hear what report so interested the sovereign from him.” others.

"Mr. Devonshire, I suspect this same Witbam Mrs. Wellwood, making her way to the hall, to be altogether a villain. I know he is in part, was met by Merton Brown.

“ Here is some and I sent him word by Grant Wainwright terrible business at Darliston," he said, “Miss some days ago that he was no fit company for Dalziel has disappeared since nine o'clock, and gentlemen. I meant to warn the headstrong it is feared has been carried away. Will you fool Wainwright-and I suspect he will find he let me have something to take me there as is a fool. Witham, I believe quite capable of quickly as possible?”

playing his own game under pretence of serviog Mrs. Wellwood had no saddle horses, but she a friend.” ordered a carriage to be directly made ready. “Oh, Mr. Devonshire, do speak!” cried

“The boy had better ride on the box," Mr. Laura. Brown said. “He is knocked up. Gunston, “Why the fact is, Miss Laura thinks there is see the mare he rode is taken good care of; it some connection in the affair, but I am afraid is Miss Dalziel's.”

I am very stupid—I don't see it. Mr. Witham "Why Brown, you take it very seriously," has undertaken charge of the Olive.” remarked a gentleman who had come up beside Mr. Brown looked for a moment perplexed; him. “I did not think you had any special in the next, he said, “The yacht in the bay?". terest in that quarter. And if the young lady “Yes, my brother's steam yacht. Tom is in has gone off with her cousin, I suppose it's an France, and wished me to send her over to old attachment_"

Kingstown to a friend : Witham manages her He was interrupted by Dick Wilcox who al- | first-rate, and so I said I should be much most shouted in his excitement. “Now don't obliged to him. I did really think it was very go saying that. You know nothing about it, good-natured of him to offer." sir; no, you don't. Miss Helen, she'd never

“ Has he gone?" go off willing from Darliston when her grand- “Not this tide-I think not-he was to be father lies in a fit-dying, maybe. And she away in the morning. If you are in earnest in never had nothing to say to him no more than saying the man is not fit company for gentlemen, she could help. "And he said he would go and I will go and put a stop to his departure. I tell the police, and he did'nt, not he."

don't want to get into a scrape with Tom. But Come into the library, gentlemen,” Mrs. don't fancy Mies Dalziel is on board - the thing Wellwood said, “and do you come in too, poor is impossible. The crew are on the vessel; I lad."

know every man of them, and can answer for She took him by the arm and placed him in their being honest fellows." an easy chair. Poor Dick had never seen so “I do give you my assurance that Witham grand' looking a lady in his life, nor so grand a has proved himself a liar and an imposter in chair.

more than one instance; and I am of course “Now, Merton," she said, "the carriage can- prepared to maintain my assertion. Do as you not be ready for a few minutes : sit down and have said, I pray, without loss of time-though think.”

I think the police may have been before you in He had been confused with the clatter of arresting his departure.”

Mr. Devonshire and Mr. Boradaile left the , bless my soul-Miss Dalziel is not there, you room together : the next minute the carriage know?" was announced to be in readiness, and Merton “I am going with you, Mr. Brown; mamma Brown started up to go.

has consented, and papa is there. If you please He had hastily shaken hands with Mrs. you must take me.' Wellwood and Laura, when he was aware of a

He looked at Mrs. Wellwood. “Go, both of pale, pretty face, hooded with white cachemire, you,” she answered to his silent appeal. “The looking up in his own.

party' is over for Alice; that I am sure ; “I am going with you to Darliston, Mr. and poor Mrs. Gainsborough ought to be conBrown."

sidered.”

Yes, indeed; she is in trouble, I am very “You going with me, Miss Alice? Why, certain.”

LETTERS, &c., OF LORD BYRON.

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Newstead Abbey, September 9th, 1811.

April 11th, 1816. As I long ago pledged myself never to sell -'s affairs are mine. I trust you got home Newstead, which I mean to hold in defiance of safe and are well. I am sadly without you, but devil and man.

.:. I am quite alone, and I won't complain. . . .. I can't bear to send never see strangers without being sick, but I you a short letter, and my heart is too full for a am nevertheless on good terms with my neigh- long one, but I think it unkind and ungrateful. bours, for I neither ride, or shoot, or move over my garden walls; but I fence, and box, ana swim, and run a good deal, to keep me in

Bruxelles, May 1st, 1816. exercise and get me to sleep. Poor Murray is My Dear -, We are detained here for ill again, and one of my Greek servants is ill too some petty carriage repairs, having come out of and my valet has got a pestilent cough, so that our way to the Rhine on purpose, after passing we are in a peck of troubles. My family through Ghent, Antwerp, and Mechlin. I have surgeon sent an emetic this morning for one of written to you twice, once from Ostend, and them. I did not very well know which, but I again from Ghent. I hope most truly that you swore somebody should take it, so, after a deal will receive my letters, not as important in themof discussion, the Greek swallowed it with tears selves, but because you wish it, and so do I. in his eyes, and by the blessing of it and the It would be difficult for me to write anything Virgin, whom he invoked to assist it and him, amusing, this country bas been so frequently I suppose he'll be well to-morrow; if not, described, and has so little for description, that another shall have the next. So-- likes I know not what to say of it, and one don't like children ; that is lucky, as he will have to bring talking only of one's self. We saw at Antwerp them up; for my part, since I lost my New the famous basons of Bonaparte for his navy, foundland dog, I like nobody except his which are very superb, as all his undertakings successor, a Dutch mastiff, and three land were; and as' for churches and pictures, I have tortoises brought with me from Greece. stared at them till my brains are like a guideIf you won't come here before Christmas, I book : the last (though it is heresy to say so), very much fear we shall not meet here at all, for don't please me at all. I think . Rubens a very I shall be off somewhere or other very soon out great dauber, and prefer Vandyke a hundred of this land of paper credit (or rather no credit times over, but then I know nothing about the at all, for everybody seems on the high road to matter. Ruben's women have all red gowns bankruptcy), and if I quit it again I shall not and red shoulders, to say nothing of necks of be back in a burry. However I shall see you which they are more liberal than charming. It somewhere, and make my bow with decorum may all be very fine, and I suppose it must be before I return to the Ottomans. I believe I art, for I'll swear 'tis not nature. shall turn Mussulman in the end. You ask me As the low countries did not make part of my after my health. I am in tolerable leanness, plan (except as a route), I feel a little anxious which I promote by exercise and abstinence. I to get out of them; level roads don't suit me, as don't know that I have acquired anything by thou knowest ; it must be up hill or down, and my travels but a'smattering of two languages then I am more au fait. Imagine to yourself a and a habit of chewing tobacco.

succession of avenues with a Dutch spire at the

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end of each, and you see the road; an accom- Coppet, where Madame de Staël has been paniment of highly-cultivated farms on each particularly kind and friendly towards me.... side, interverted by small canals or ditches, and Don't hate me, but—&c. sprinkled with very neat and clean cottages, a village every two miles, and you see the country.

Sept. 18th, 1816. Not a rise from Ostend to Antwerp, a mole-hill On the steps of a cottage in the village of La would make the inhabitants think that the Alps Meillerie, I saw a young paysanne, beautiful as haù come here on a visit; it is a perpetuity of Julie herself.

There was a trunk upon the plain and an eternity of pavement (on the road), table. The only book, except the bible, a transbut it is a country of great apparent comfort, lation of “ Cecilia,” (Miss "Burney's Cecilia); and of singular though tame beauty; and were and the owner of the cottage had also called her it not out of my way, I should like to view it dog (a fat pug two years old, and hideous as less cursorily. The towns are wonderfully Tip), after Cecilia's' or rather Delville's dog fine. ... The approach to Brussels is Fidèle. In the next room knocked his head beautiful, and there is a fine palace to the right against the door, and exclaimed of course in coming.

against doors. Women gabbling below. [The rest of this letter is lost].

Good-night.
Diodoti, Geneva, Sept. 8th, 1816.

Sept. 26th, 1816. By two opportunities of private conveyance, I We were roused by women, and women went have sent answers to your letter delivered by right for the first time in my recollection. Mr. -- 1 -- is on his return to England, There was a girl with fruit, very pretty blue and may probably arrive before this. He is eyes, good teeth, very fair, long but good charged with a few packets of seals, necklaces, features, reminded me rather of - Bought balls, &c., and I know not what, formed

some of her pears. The expression of her face of crystals, agates, and other stones, all of and mild but good, and not at all coquettish. I told from Mont Blanc, bought and brought by me, you of my purchases. The dog is a very ugly on and from the spot expressly for you to dog, but “ très méchant;" this was a great divide.. There are seals and all kinds of recommendation in the owner's eyes and mine, fooleries. Pray like them, for they come from for I mean him to watch the carriage. He hath a very curious place (nothing like it hardly in no tail, and is called “Mutz" which signifies all I ever saw), to say nothing of the giver. short tail ; he is apparently of the shepherd dog As for me I am in good health, fair, though very genus. The filly, which is one of two young unequal spirits, but for all that. ... my borses, I bought of the Baron de bas heart is broken. I feel as if an elephant had carried me very well. She is young, and as trodden on it. I am convinced I shall never quiet as anything of her sex can be, very goorlo get on, but I try. . . . . affected me very tempered, and perpetually neighing when she differently, if it were acutely it would not signify; wants anything, wbich is every five minutes. but it is not that, I breathe lead. ... I bave She is a very tame, pretty, childish quadruped. neither strength, nor spirits, nor inclination, to carry ine through anything which will clear my brain or lighten my heart. I mean to cross the Alps at the end of this month, and God

in the weather for the tour (of 13 days), i knows where, by Dalmatia, up to the Arnauts again, if nothing better can be done. I have have sent you, I have been very fortunate, still a world before me, this or the next.*

fortunate in a companion (Mr. H.), fortunate in has told me all the strange stories in petty accidents

and delays which often render

our prospects, and exempt from even the little some danger on the lake (near Meillerie)t, but journeys in a less wild country disappointing. I nothing to speak of..... I have heard was disposed to be pleased. I am a lover of nothing since your last, at least a month or five nature, and an admirer of beauty; I can bear weeks ago. I go out very little, except into the fatigue and endure privation; and have seen air, and on journeys, and on the water, and to

some of the noblest views in the world. But in all this the recollections of bitterness which must accompany me through life, have preyed

upon me here, and neither the music of the Although by many considered little better than an shepherd, the crushing of the avalanche, the infidel, Lord Byron was in reality a careful searcher of torrent, the mountain, the glacier, the forest, the Scriptures. This is proved by a little pocket-bible, nor the cloud, have for one moment lightened which was his constant companion, being found after the weight upon my heart, or enabled me to lose his death with its leaves worn by frequent perisals and my own wretched identity in the majesty, and pencilled throughout.

the power, and the glory, around, above, and † Admirers of Lord Byron will recall the storm beneath me.

To you, A--a, I sent, between La Meillerie and St. Gingough, which is and for you I kept, the record of what I saw described in the third canto of Childe Harold.

and felt.

O

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Sept. 30th.

go,

*

THE SOUTHERN CROSS;

OR,

LIFE'S OCEAN JOURNEY,

BY MARIA WHEELER,

Hope's message giv'n, she pass'd unseen;

And in her place approachèd now A being of immortal mien,

With garments spotless as the snow, Who said—“Dear child, my name is Faith ;

Your way with mine henceforward lies ; The flow’rs eternal in our path

For Faith is Hope which never dies." “ Fear not to call up Mem’ry now,

Her ;-Mercy's records must employ;
And Sorrow will in waking show

Her morning attribute is Joy.”
Our jonrney done we'll gain that shore

Where happy spirits are enfolden ;
And may sweet Mercy go before

To ope for us the gate call’d Golden.

" It is known at what hour of the night the sonthern cross is erect or inclined. It is a time-piece. How often have we heard our guides say, 'Midnight is past, the cross begins to bend !”—HUMBOLDT'S Travels.

The breeze had died, the night was dark,

Our ship was gliding slowly op;
With only tears our way to mark,

Sorrow and I had long been one.

LO VE.

BY H. P. MALET.

We rather were companions three,

Together brought in pain and care, Sorrow and I and Memory-

And she had somewhile seem'd Despair.

Where does the water come from, that falls so sweet

upon earth ?

It was in vain she told me how

The ling'ring rays of setting sun Had gilded once her furrow'd brow;

On me and Sorrow there fell none.

weep?

But in that weary night, and near,

A ministering spirit stood, Whose blessèd healing atmosphere

Exhaled unknown yet certain good;

Where have the hail and snow, the rain and the dew,

their birth? How is the moisture gather'd from the earth, and

from the deep Blue sea, is it called when either may chance to For both may weep and mourn, when they know that

their sons do wrong ; Then they would always weep; but they never weep

for long. Both laugh out right merrily, and dance in the sunny

rays, Earth in its golden crops, the sea in its silver

sprays; They yield their fruit in plenty to sunshine and the

showers, Their many-coloured fishes, and the scented flowers. There's a fondness and a kindness that runs the sys.

tem through, From bitter winds of March to the summer moruing

And this was Hope, too long cast out,

Or chasèd roughly far away;
The mis-us'd blessing of our doubt

In thick’ning shadows of the day :

“Children," she said, "though now you weep,

And toil along your weary way,
The day's at hand when you will reap:

Faint not-and I will watch and pray.”

dew;

"By lifting up mine eyes I may

(Should haply any stars appear) Read comfort through yon veil of grey,

To gladden all our hemisphere."

With careless feet we thrust aside the diamond on the

spray, And wish, with heedless thought, the snow would melt

away. Yet all are proofs of love, of a love that is always

true, That glistens in the snowdrop, and shines in summer

dew,

So Memory and Sorrow slept,

While I, with heart and head bow'd down, In lonely anxious waiting kept

To catch Hope's first or faintest tone.

INDIFFERENT.

BY ADA TREVANION.

And in this silence so intense

I yearn'd for sound and also light, And pray'd that my

o'erstrain'd suspense Might be assuag'd by “songs" of night.

What had seem'd stillness, now was rest;

Then there uprose a balmy breeze, And soon our watcher's voice express'd

Her triumph-and her words were these :

The songs of the sweet birds are heard in the wind,
Their melody brings a past scene to my mind;
Meseems that I stand as I stood in my pride,
Where the turf and the terrace slope down to the tide,
And one is beside me who bends low to speak,
With a light in his eye, and a flush on his cheek.
The songs of the sweet birds are heard in the wind,
Bnt I ope not the door, and I raise not the blind ;
I know in the lanes that the primrose is seen,
And the violet blooms, though 'tis hidden in green ;
But alas ! for the change which has fallen on me,
I care not if snow or spring flowers I see.

"Oye whose tears are falling fast,

Whose way in sorrow only wend, Surely e'en now your midnight's past,'.

For, see, 'the cross begins to bend,

TO THEBES, THROUGH THE DESERT.

Here we met, at Ghennay, the party of, and the boatmen, and, landing, we got the foreigners who had left the Colombo, and I saw escort of some country boys, who carried for that we had done right in sending to the agent us pitchers of water, and two or three of them for a guide and boat to meet us at Thebes , for also led donkeys. We supposed that it would this party had actnally no means of visiting it, have been easy to find the boat on our return, except by procuring horses to ride thither from so our minds were principally occupied with Ghennay, and paying a flying visit to its won- the anticipation of seeing this wonderful temple, ders, and trust on their return to whatever native so finely described by numbers of travellers, boat they could procure there. As for the lady particularly by Denon. We saw the propylon and gentleman, who left at the same time, they, in the distance, but the building, being buried terrified by the heat of the climate on arriving nearly for the depth of four feet in rubbish and at Ghennay, started in the first native boat which sand, appears much lower than it really is. they could procure. The town is a gloomy and Passing through a street of brick houses, ugly, bleak-looking one, similar to Cossier : it is dirty, and huddled together confusedly--the famous for the production of an earthenware, of miserable dwelling places of the Arabs who which they make a sort of pitcher, admirably reside in the neighbourhood we were blocked fitted for holding the Nile water. · Through out for a long time from the beauteous and its pores the exhalation which passes from astonishing sight which met our view on enthe water removes its heat; and, consequently, tering the temple. But on passing through when water has remained about an hour in it, it these and penetrating the court-yard, which becomes cool, refreshing, and delicious—in fact stood before the building, we came to a lofty the Nile water is peculiarly thc pleasantest and extensive hall, supported by massive and tasted of any which I ever drank. There is one finely-proportioned pillars of solid stone. They nice-looking house, which belongs to the Pasha were ranged five deep from the entrance to the of Egypt; he has taken it for a cotton manufac- interior, and ten deep from side to side. The tory. We saw the Turkish and Arab traders, hall was 168 feet in width, and about half the in numbers, by the side of the river, lounging distance in depth. The capitals of these pillars or in their boats.

were of a description which I never saw before. In the evening we determined to proceed The foldings of large curtains were represented across the Nile, and to drop down until we got cut out of the stone, giving the pillars a noble near the anchorage, from whence we could and sublime effect. Interior to this hall was most easily land and proceed afterwards to visit another, built in the same way, with the same Dendyra. Our boat was small, but clean and sort of stone roof, and also similar massive commodious ; the poop, or after-part, was just pillars; it was very nearly as spacious. Inte. sufficient for the accommodation of four; rior to these vast halls were three very large it was separated from the forepart by a wooden chambers, opening one into the other. But partition, roofed with wood. Upon its deck in the figures carved on the walls and on the the evening and cool part of the morning was columns were what attracted our attention most. the place where we generally sat. At mid-day Wherever the eye rested figures of men and we were obliged to go below. The boatmen women, large as life, all in perfect preservation were six in number; they were under the charge and in attitudes the most graceful, made the of a coxswain, and were hardworking fellows, whole seem a series of ballets cut in altobut such barbarians that were it not for the relievo, sculptured in varied groups in the solid superintendence of the coxswain, who was our stone. One ceased not to admire the elaborate guide, we could never have managed them, ingenuity, the wondrous excellence, the curious neither could we leave them to their own taste of the grouping and grace of the attitudes guidance during the night. The wind was which characterised the figures. The lines of much against us generally, but then the current beauty marked the proportions of each. Oatis so favourable that we were able to continue side the building were everywhere carved the our voyage day and night. In the morning they figures of warriors and their actions; these always stopped to cook our meals. We pro- were cut in colossal proportions. The building cured the sheep, the fowl, and the eggs at a being quite perfect rendered it probably the price which was quite incomprehensible to us, most unique specimen of architecture of all being so cheap that 88. was generally the price those which are to be seen in Egypt. The for a whole sheep, and other eatables in propor- grandeur and sublimity of the halls made one tion. It was about five o'clock in the evening wish to see them appropriated to the purpose of when we proceeded to visit the temple of Christian worship, and to hope that the traces Dendyra, which is situated on the other side of of heathenism and its "abominable idolatries" the Nile, at a distance of about three miles might eventually disappear from their atmofrom the shore, We left our boat to the guide sphere, and the mighty fane le consecrated to

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