persons.

At length, he learned that Mr. Tyrrel was seeking to establish himself as a medical practitioner, and was now journeying to a town about fifty miles distant, which had been pointed out to him as offering a fair field for his exertions.

"Could he not be prevailed upon to fix his residence nearer?" thought Mr. Levison; "Why not in my own neighborhood? My influence would secure him practice."

The proposition was made, and eagerly caught at by Mr. Tyrrel. The horse and chaise, in which the latter had travelled, was sent back to the friend from whom he had borrowed it, by one of Mr. Levison's servants, and he and his beautiful daughter accompanied their patient home, to remain with him until a house could be procured, and affairs arranged to their satisfaction.

Elinor was delighted with the housewhich was a truly noble mansion—the park, the shrubbery, the gardens, all were subjects of admiration, and she expressed her feeling with all the warmth and simplicity of childhood. Upon one occasion, when she had been thus warmly expressing the delight she experienced, Mr. Levison gained sufficient courage to say, "It is in your power, Miss Tyrrel, to be mistress of all you see, if you choose to take the owner into the bargain."

Mr. Tyrrel was present when this was said, though it was not uttered as if intended for his hearing. Elinor did not reply, but cast down her eyes and turned pale. Mr. Levison changed the conversation.

On that day, it was long before Mr. Levison and his companion left their wine, for the tea table, and Elinor's anxious eye read immediately, in her father's countenance, that something more than ordinary had occurred to please him. His look, as he met Elinor's inquiring glance, spoke volumes; and pale, trembling, and agitated, the unhappy girl sank down upon her chair.

"I think I must turn nurse, now," observed Levison, who was evidently elated with wine;" you have made me well, and I must try my skill in curing you."

Elinor thanked him and assured him that she was well-quite well.

"If you are not, you ought to be," observed her father with marked emphasis.

Elinor raised her eyes to his, with a look not merely of reproach; but reproach, contempt, indignation, and defiance, all were blended in one fiery glance, and Tyrrel's spirits seemed for a moment daunted, but he

levity, observed," Elinor, I suspect, begins to fancy herself a fine lady, because she has got into a fine house, and thinks it necessary to the character to be nervous and vapourish; but we shall soon find means to cure her of that fancy. Do not you think we shall,

Mr. Levison?"

"If that is all," said Levison, looking tenderly and thoughtfully at her; but Elinor had again sunk into a fit of musing, and did not seem to notice what had been said.

Elinor did not retire that evening at the usual hour. Her father appointed a meeting in the garden; and there he soon joined her. He at once informed his daughter that Mr. Levison had offered to make her the mistress of his hand and fortune.

"Now I know what you are going to say, Elinor," he continued, "but pray curb your impatience and listen to me. As to love for Hammerton, I know it is all very natural that you should fancy that you can never love anybody but him, rascally as he has behaved to you. I was IN LOVE, as it is called, two or three times before I was oneand-twenty, and I fancied each time that the goddess of my idolatry was the only one who could make me happy. I married at last for LOVE, and you know how suPREMELY happy your mother and I lived together."

"Do not mention my mother, sir," exclaimed Elinor with vehemence. Had my mother lived, I should never have been the wretch I am!"

"Very likely not," said Mr. Tyrrel, drily; she would have made you a wretch in her own way. She would have married you to some romantic fool, not worth a shilling, and have had the felicity of seeing you starving with half a dozen children around you."

"My mother would have done nothing but what was proper and good," returned Elinor, with increasing indignation. "My mother would never have seen her child sold to shame and misery! Oh! that I were now in the cold and silent grave, in which she rests! Oh! that I could forever hide

"Phaw! a truce to these tragedy airs. What shame have you incurred that requires so great a sacrifice as death in the prime of youth? What's past is past; and it is known to none but yourself. Hammerton is, by this time, some thousands of miles from us, and if he were to return, he would not dare to breathe a word against the wife of Mr. Levison."

"I can never become the wife of Mr.

Levison," said Elinor firmly. I am not going to plead the disparity of our ages; but there is another,—an unanswerable-a fatal objection;" and she hid her face with her hands while her voice became inarticulate with agony.

"It is a lie !" exclaimed Tyrrel, grasping her arm with voilence. "I will not believe it. It is a plan fabricated to defeat the fair prospects that have opened both for you and myself."

"No! so help me heaven!" exclaimed Elinor, sinking on her knees, and raising her hands in solemn adjuration.

The moonbeams fell full upon her beautiful countenance; her face was ghastly pale, and Mr. Tyrrel, after gazing at her for a moment in silence, raised her in his arms from the ground.

"My poor girl," he observed in a soothing tone, "I have been rash and unjust. If it be so, my child, do not grieve. I am poor, it is true. You know how poor; yet we must do the best we can to screen you from the world's contempt. But we will not talk of this now. Keep up your spirits, Elinor; and, above all things, do not discourage Mr. Levison's suit. I have a double reason to improve his friendship, since he alone can furnish the means to provide for you, my child. But it is late, and you had better go in, and retire for the night."

Although Elinor, like her father was fiery and vindicative, yet she was easily wrought upon by persuasion and gentleness; and, little as he deserved it, truly solicitous for his welfare. Neither was she insensible to her own interest; and having experienced the bitter evils of poverty, she trembled at the thought of being again exposed its terrors. On her next meeting with Mr. Levison she showed no reluctance to listen to his suit, except such as might be easily attributed to maiden modesty, which

"Would be wooed, and not unsought be won."

But Mr. Tyrrel's deep laid plans did not end in merely retaining Mr. Levison's temporary friendship; and, by degrees, Elinor was brought to listen to, debate, and finally assist in his nefarious plans for imposing upon their warm-hearted and unsuspecting benefactor.

Before the end of six weeks from their first meeting, Mr. Levison led Elinor Tyrrel to the hymeneal altar, to the astonishment of all his friends and neighbors, and the scandal of all the ladies, young and old, who had, at different times, flattered themselves that they stood a fair chance of overcoming his avowed aversion to matrimony.

Mr. Levison, however, was too much occupied with his new-born happiness to concern himself about what the world said of him.

The honeymoon passed away, and as Elinor was laboring under a slight indisposition, Mr. Tyrrel was requested to remain and watch over her health. Although Mr. Levison declared that he never knew what happiness was, until he became a husband, yet strange and mysterious whispers were soon in circulation, respecting the newly married pair; and it was predicted, by those who professed to have the best information on the subject, that a storm was gathering which would effectually destroy the present happiness at Levison Hall.Too soon, indeed, were these predictions verified; for such was the anguish of Elinor's mind, that her husband began to tremble not only for her life, but also for her reason.

"Are such things usual in her complaint?" inquired Mr. Levison of Mrs. Williams, his old house-keeper.

The old woman said she had heard of such things, and repeated two or three stories on the subject; but then it always proved that there was some hidden cause. In one, it was that they had been forced into a marriage with a person they hated; in another the fear of not being able to provide for their offspring; and a third, from a consciousness of guilt

"Pshaw! but none of these cases can apply to your mistress," said Mr. Levison, interrupting her.

No, no, to be sure not," returned the old lady, casting down her eyes, and looking rather mysterious.

"Williams! you know or suspect more than you are willing to tell," he at last uttered with difficulty, "you have been fifty years in my family. You nursed me, and loved me as your own, and I have always been kind and respectful to you: if, then, there is anything concealed from me; if you know any thing of the secret cause; and yet you cannot, dare not suspect. I know not what I am saying, Williams. You have distracted me, and I insist that you tell me what you know, or fancy you know!"

The old woman then said that Fanny in her sleep had murmured the following words: "it is no use going on this way any longer. I would sooner, at once, confess it all to him, and trust to his mercy to provide for me and the wretched child, than live to face that dreadful hour."

Mr. Levison hid his face and burst into tears. They were the first he had shed

since he had attained the age of manhood, but they had not the effect of allaying the tempest which raged in his bosom; and the old woman, frightened at what she had done, sobbed in concert.

"I will be satisfied before I sleep," he at length exclaimed, rising in a violent passion. "Williams, I charge you be silent as to what you have heard. It may, I pray fervently it may, be all the effects of delirium; but for my sake, if you value me, do not tell any one your suspicions."

"I would not say a word for the whole world," returned the old woman, still weeping.. "I'm sure I love the poor thing as if she was my own; and whenever I've heard hints thrown out among the servants, I've always

"So public, too," interrupted Mr. Levison, starting; "how have I slumbered all this while, or what infatuation has so long blinded me? I am the only one who could not see that I have been cheated, fooled, betrayed-made even the laughing-stock of my own servants and the whole world."

"Oh, no! I'm sure everybody pities. you," said the poor old woman. "I was asked by Madame Askew last Sunday, as I was coming from church,

"Do not, for Heaven's sake, do not torture me any longer," exclaimed Mr. Levison, in agony. "Where is Tyrrel? I will seek him instantly, and demand satisfaction of my doubts."

When, however, he caught sight of Elinor coming up the long avenue towards the house, her loveliness made him falter in his resolution, and he determined to appear perfectly easy in her presence. But Mr. Levison was a novice in deception. When he spoke to her his words died away in his throat; and he turned away, unable to speak.

Elinor darted a look of consternation at her father, as her husband turned away. "What can have happened?" she observed, in a voice of alarm; we are betrayed!"

"No, no-do not think so-something has disturbed him; but it is impossible, it cannot be that!" returned Tyrrel. "At any rate, keep up your spirits, and trust to my prudence. Go and dress for dinner. You know he likes to see you looking well."

When Elinor entered the dining-room, she saw Mr. Tyrrel there alone. He glanced his eyes anxiously upon Elinor as she took a seat at the table, but not a word was uttered by either.

At length, Mr. Levison entered the dining-room. He made a confused apology

for being so late, and immediately took his place at the table.

"Has any thing unpleasant occurred to vex you, sir?" inquired Tyrrel.

"Yes-no-yes-I have been rather— rather vexed," replied Levison, with hesitation, "but it is of no consequence," and he began to help himself, without, apparently, noticing Elinor's presence.

"What will you take, my dear?" inquired Mr. Tyrrel, speaking unusually loud.

Mr. Levison seemed suddenly to recollect himself; but he did not even raise his eyes, as he said,

"I beg your pardon-shall I send you some salmon ?"

Elinor replied, and silence again prevailed.

Mr. Tyrrel endeavored to introduce conversation, in vain, until Mr. Levison suddenly pushed his plate from him, and throwing himself back in his chair, uttered a deep groan.

Tyrrel and his daughter both arose.-"You are not well, sir," said Elinor, in a trembling voice, as she approached him.

"Oh, yes, well-quite well!" he exclaimed, starting up, as if to avoid her coming near him. “I am quite well, indeed. This room is insufferably hot and close-I cannot bear it;" and he rushed towards the door.

"For Heaven's sake, what is the matter, Mr. Levison ?" exclaimed Tyrrel, hastily following him: "you alarm us dreadfully. Look at Elinor. She is ready to faint."

"I will explain what is the matter, Mr. Tyrrel, when I return; which will be when Mrs. when your daughter has retired."

The servants looked at each other in silent consternation.

"I will follow my master, if you please, sir," said the butler, quitting his place at the side-board; "I have been many years in his service, but never saw him in this way before; and I am afraid

"You can do as you please," replied Tyrrel, coolly; "but I do not think there is any necessity for it.”

The man, however, did not wait for further permission; and Elinor, after a vain attempt to recover herself sufficiently to resume her seat at the table, said, in a low voice, "I had better go to my room, sir."

"I will conduct you," said Mr. Tyrrel, still preserving his coolness of manner, though his countenance betrayed the inward workings of his mind.

When Elinor's maid entered her chamber, she found her mistress just recovering from a fainting fit. "I am very ill, Anne,"

she observed; "but do not alarm any one; help me to pull off this finery, and get me to bed."

The servant entreated her to allow her to call Mr. Tyrrel; but she exclaimed with impatience, "No, no, I do not want him.I shall be better in bed, and he has enough -quite enough

The remainder of the sentence was uttered so indistinctly that Anne could not comprehend its purport; and the terrified girl, who was warmly attached to her unfortunate mistress, proceeded to undress her. That being done, Elinor lay down, and closed her eyes.

"You may now go, Anne," she observed; "I feel inclined to sleep."

Anne reluctantly obeyed, and repaired to the servants' hall; but there, too, all was consternation and dismay. Mr. Levison had severely reprimanded the butler for daring to follow him into the garden. The butler was loud in his condemnation of those whose misdeeds had so transformed a good

master.

"But it will all come out, now," he continued, "for master has gone back to the dining-room, and I heard him turn the key of the door, as soon as he went in, as if he had made up his mind that Mr. Tyrrel should not leave the room until he was satisfied."

"Hark! what noise is that?" exclaimed one of the men servants. Surely it was in the dining room. I hope my master will not be rash. Mr. Tyrrel is a very determined man, and if he is made desperate-'

The affrighted servants crowded to the door of the hall to listen; but no sound was heard, and convinced that their fears had deceived them, they once more returned to their hall.

the

An hour elapsed without any order being issued from the parlor. One by one, servants crept to the door to listen; but no sound was heard within, and at length, the butler proposed that one of the women servants should venture, as if accidentally, to pass by the windows which looked upon a terrace walk, and endeavor to ascertain what was passing within the room.

No one except Anne would venture upon this experiment. She had not been long absent before she returned, rushing into the room, pale as death, and scarcely able to utter a word in answer to their eager inquires.

"I have seen her ghost! it cannot be her!" she exclaimed. "But yet it looked like her-and who else could it be?"

"Who? what does the girl mean?" demanded the butler impatiently, "where is

my master? where is Mr. Tyrrel? Did you see THEM?"

"No, no," she replied--"I did not get so far; for I had just mounted the terracesteps, when I saw a tall figure, just like my mistress, all in white, glide from one of the windows and come towards me. I instantly ran back as fast as I could, though it did not strike me, until I got into the hall, how impossible it was, to be my mistress, whom I left in bed so ill."

At this moment, the bell in the diningroom rang violently, and two or three of the servants, rushed simultaneously to obey the call.

Mr. Levison lay on the floor in strong convulsions, and Mr. Tyrrel knelt by his side, administering some restorative.

"Your master's strange conduct is now accounted for," he observed to the butler. This attack has menaced him for some hours, and the violent pressure on the brain has completely deranged him. The effects of the fall from his horse will, I fear, after all, prove fatal."

The servants now crowded into the hall, and Mr Levison was placed on a sofa. Bleeding and other means were tried by Mr. Tyrrel, but he never discovered the least sign of recollection or sensibility; and, in less than an hour from the time, Mr. Tyrrel had summoned assistance, the unfortunate Levison breathed his last.

"Where is my daughter?" inquired Mr. Tyrrel, as he stood gazing on the lifeless corpse. "This sad event must be concealed from her, for, in her delicate state of health, it may have a fatal effect upon her.

"Does she not already know it?" said the butler, fixing his eyes firmly upon him,-"she was here in the room with you a few moments before you called for assistance." Mr. Tyrrel started.

"Here! my daughter here!" he exclaimed; "what is it you mean?"

"Her own maid saw her enter the terrace from that window," returned the butler, pointing to the inclosed window that opened to the ground.

FRIENDSHIP.

Bright offspring of Eternal love,
Come from thy native skies above,
In chains of rarest worth to bind,
This sinful race of human kind.
As o'er this globe's extended space,
Were nature's guiding laws to cease,
Atom, from atom soon would fly,
And utter ruin whelm the sky.--
So were thy reign, O, Friendship o'er
Thy boundless influence felt no more;
Eternal discord then would reign,
And kindred fall by kindred slain.

If highly bless'd thou e'er should find,
The treasure of a kindred mind;
It's value own, and then refrain,
From ought that gives thy friend a pain;
Small sparks awake the spreading flame,
That stigmatizes Friendship's name,
And smallest slights if thou repeat,
May change affection into hate.

When forced from scenes of wordly care,
We to some solitude repair;
How sweet in Friendship's arms to rest,
And fearless open all the breast!
Ah! lovelier far the hour of night,
When Luna sheds her silver light,
Whose soften'd radiance broad and still,
Sleeps on the mountain, and the hill;
And not a breath, and not a sound,
Disturbs the deep repose around;
If on the roving steps attend,
In fond society-a friend.

Around this vast etherial space,
It wanders not with sadden'd face;
But with a bright and happy glow,
Cheering us mortals here below.
While here on life's dark mazy strand,
It points us to yon heavenly land,
Where friends long lost forever stray,
Through that bright realm of endless day!
When bending 'neath life's galling chain,
Or chast'ned by the hand of pain,
Or on the bed of sickness cast,
And life's dim scene is fading fast ;-
What blessing could we more desire,
Than Friendship's pure and hallow'd fire;
It sheds around in darkest night,

A halo of celestial light!

Thou Friendship, graven on my soul,
Though time's unceasing tide may roll
O'er the smooth tablet, its dark wave,
Or whelm me in the gloomy grave;
Still shall the flow'r of Friendship bloom,
Beyond the confines of the tomb.

THETA.

The heart may be compared to a garden, which, when well cultivated, presents a continued succession of fruits and flowers, to regale the soul, and delight the eye; but,

when neglected, producing a crop of most noxious weeds; large and flourishing, because their growth is in proportion to the warmth and richness of the soil from which they spring. Then let this ground be properly cultivated; let the mind of the young and lovely female be stored with useful knowledge, and the influence of women, though undiminished in power, will, like "the diamond of the desert," be sparkling and pure, whether surrounded by the sands of desolation, forgotten and unknown, or pouring its refreshing streams through every avenue of the social and moral fabric.

THE BENEVOLENT TAR.

It was on the afternoon of a lovely day in summer, a veteran tar came whistling through the narrow lane that cuts off a most considerable portion of the main road between Plymouth and Exeter, and shortens the journey to the weary traveller.— There was something in his whole appearance so peculiarly interesting and neat, that the passenger, after receiving his "What cheer, what cheer ?" could not refrain from turning round, and stopping to take another look. Indeed, that sparkling eye of goodhumored pleasantry, that countenance, displaying at once the generous benevolence of his heart, was not easily passed unnoticed, or readily forgotten. His dress consisted of a blue jacket and white trousers, a straw hat bound with black riband, thrown carelessly back upon his head, so as to display the straggling locks of silvered gray that flowed beneath, and a black silk handkerchief loosely knotted round his neck, over which lay the white collar of his shirt; and a short cudgel was tucked under his

arm.

He had now reached the inn by the wayside, where he proposed heaving to, to hoist in a fresh supply of grog and biscuit for the voyage. Crossing the threshold, and entering the passage, his ears were saluted with vile discordant sounds of some one in a terrible passion. "Never throw hot water and ashes to windward," says the old tar, shortening sail; "I'd sooner engage a squadron of fire-ships than one woman in a rage. They're sure to have the last broadside, even while sinking."

He was putting about to stand off again, when a sweet voice, in plaintive supplication, struck upon his ear, and brought him up. "Twas in reply to the vociferations of the termagant, and he remained backing and filling in the passage.

"What, money-clothes-all lost, did