The bill was bought and sent to a correspondent in New York, with instructions to get English funds in payment. This was done, and a draft obtained upon a Liverpool house, accompanied by a letter of advice. The Liverpool correspondent was instructed in like manner to take a draft on Northumberland—this being the shire where resided the remainder-man. This latter draft was also obtained, with a letter of advice, duplicates being furnished in each instance. These several letters ran thus.

To George Balcombe, Esq.

Dear Sir, I wrote you, under date of March tenth, that the bill remitted by you for one thousand dollars, drawn by Edward Montague, on the house of Tompkins and Todd of this city, had been paid by a draft on Bell and Brothers, of Liverpool, England. This draft I remitted, according to your directions, to my friend, John Ferguson, of the house of Ferguson and Partridge, our correspondents there, with instructions to obtain, if possible, from the same house, a draft on the county of Northumberland. In this he succeeded, by procuring a draft on Edward Raby, Esq. of that county, for a like

amount.

To Edward Raby, Esq. of Raby Hall, Northumberland. Sir,-The draft of Messrs. Tompkins and Todd, on account of Mr. Montague's annuity, is to hand, and has been duly honored. We have this day drawn on you for the amount, in favor of Mr. John Ferguson, of this place. Hoping that it may be quite convenient for you to meet the draft, and begging a continuance of your favors, we remain, sir,

Your most obedient, humble servants,
BELL & BROTHERS.

Liverpool, April 10, 1820.

can novelists, and that certainly most indispensable— invention. With permission, we will go through these adventures one by one-doing this with the less scruple, because we intend to do it so briefly as not to interfere with the main interest of the book itself, and because, with this object in view, we have purposely delayed our notice until the volumes had been some time in possession of the public.

In a conversation between Balcombe and Napier, occurring in the early part of the first volume, we learn some particulars in regard to Mary Scott, daughter of Mr. Raby's overseer. Both Montague and Balcombe, we have already said, were protégés of the old gentleman, and resided at one period in his family. Both were enamored of Mary, who was "beautiful and intelligentgay, sprightly and impassioned,” and imbued with the spirit of romance. She, however, loved only Montague, and seeing the necessity of arming Balcombe against himself, frankly told him of her pre-engaged affections. The lover thus rejected, became the friend and confidant. At first, Montague would have been glad to have made Mary his wife; but as his circumstances improved, he discovered that Scott was even poorer than he had supposed, and his selfish heart grew chill at the supposition. A certain elderly maiden too, of wealth, was said to look kindly on him. His visits to Mary, therefore, grew less frequent. In one of them, Balcombe was witness to a circumstance which led him to suspect dishonorable intentions. Suspicion, unfortunately, was not all; it appears that the intentions were accomplished. Balcombe sought a private interview with the villain.

“Montague,” said I, "do you love Mary Scott?" He hesitated, muttering something about the strangeness of the question.

confidence. I would not accept it.
"Understand me, sir," said I, "I do not ask your
I demand to know
the fact, for my own purposes, and to be used at my
own discretion. Mark me. I do not ask whether you
profess to love her. I know that you do. I have that
from her own lips. I demand to know whether you do
love her in very truth."

"Oh!" said he, in the mildest tone, "if she has made you her confidant, I have no need to be secret. Therefore I acknowledge to you that I do love her with all my heart."

66

Why, then," said I, "do you not marry her?” He paused again.

"Speak on," said I, "and speak out."

Why, really, Mr. Balcombe, I do not understand this peremptory tone."

"You understand it well," said I, "and you understand perfectly that I will have an answer. I want it for my own purpose, again, and to be used at my own discretion. Answer you shall. Truly or falsely, is your own concern. I hardly expect the truth, and do not care to have it. But I will know on what footing you place this thing."

"Well!" said he, "you know I have a will of old Mr. Raby's in my hands, in which I am handsomely provided for by a bequest of valuable lands. I am, therefore, careful not to offend him; and I have reason to believe this marriage would not be agreeable to him. Poor as I am, he would regard it as a duty I owe my ancestors, not to ally myself to his overseer."

Here then Balcombe found his suspicions completely verified. Montague was in receipt of an annuity-an annuity grudgingly paid-and derived from the devisee under the primitive will. There could be little doubt that the money was granted as hush-money by the devisee, Montague still possessing the second testament, and holding it in terrorem. B. was about communicating with Mr. Napier upon this head, when accident threw them together in the prairie. Our hero now receives the benefit of Balcombe's energy and sagacity in many varied attempts to get possession of the will. Keizer, an original vagabond, is also a most efficient diplomatist and ally. The adventures of the trio in pursuit of the missing document, eminently display, in the author of George Balcombe, that rarest of all qualities in Ameri-will.

"And is this," said I, "the reason you assign to her for your delay to claim her hand ?”

"It is."

"Then you have told her what is false."
"How can you say that?" said he. "I wrote the
You never read it."

"That is true," said I, "but I witnessed it." "What of that?"

Why, this, sir. It is witnessed only by us two. What can you claim under it by your own testimony? Would you, the wary, the crafty, the selfish, rapacious Edward Montague, have been content to have a will of lands, under which you expect to claim, so witnessed? Shame upon you, sir. Would you palm such a bare-faced lie on me, as well as on that poor, confiding, generous, true-hearted girl? I will undeceive her instantly."

his wrong to Mary-again offered marriage-offered every service in his power, and, being rejected in all of fers, wound up by requesting a favor. He placed in her hand a packet as large as a dozen newspapers, and well secured with twine and seals. This he asked her to keep, and she promised to do so. He begged her to promise farther that no eye should see the contents of the packet. She did so. He mused awhile, and then added, "It is of great importance to me that that I shall never forget the grim smile in which some-packet should never see the light" "Then why not thing like triumph seemed struggling to free itself from destroy it?" said Mary. "I don't wish to destroy it," the mire of degradation into which I was trampling | said he, “it may be of some importance hereafter. Put him. it away." She took it to her room and locked it up. On her return, he rose to take leave, but paused at the door, and said, hesitatingly, "Perhaps you had better destroy that packet." She replied, "I will do so." He "Will you take her off my hands?" said he, with paused again, and said, “No!-maybe better not.” the same incomprehensible smile. I sprung at him, "As you please," she returned, "which shall I do?" know not why. But he darted through the door, and I really do not know," he said, after a thoughtful jerked it after him. I did not pursue him.

"You will use your own pleasure about that," said he. "I mean to marry her when circumstances will permit. Before that I cannot.”

Marry her you never shall," said I.

pause. "Do as you will with it. If it is in your way, throw it into the fire. If not, keep it until I call for it." He now departed, and Mary, doubting him much, determined to preserve the packet. It will be seen that the conduct of Montague in this matter was such as Balcombe had suspected, and that it enabled the conscientious rogue to swear, when summoned upon the probate, that he "could not tell what had become of the will."

Balcombe now sought Mary, and found her in tears. Still unsuspecting the whole truth, he revealed to her the deception practised upon her by Montague, and concluded with an offer of his own hand. Made sensible now of the value of Balcombe's affection, and alive to all the villainy of Montague, she divulges, in the first moment of her despair, the secret of her seduction. Balcombe reluctantly abandons her, and departs to the west. Scott did not long survive the ruin of his daughter's peace, and Mary, with her mother and little brother, was obliged to seek another home. Here, after the lapse of some time, Montague was seen to renew the visits which had been discontinued since the period of his interview with Balcombe. No one else visited the house-but from being steeped in poverty, the little family seemed rising above pecuniary trouble. This mystery is explained in a subsequent part of the first volume, when, shortly after the rencontre in the prai-her totally ignorant of what was going on in the world, rie, James, the brother of Mary, brings a letter from her to Balcombe in Missouri.

She writes that, after the departure of B. and the death of old Mr. Scott, Montague sought to renew his visits-that she refused to see him, and urged her mother to order him from the house-that Mrs. Scott was overcome, however, by his protestations, and pressed her to meet him-that, without undeceiving Mrs. S., she was unable to carry her opposition farther, and that finally, she consented. In a private interview he stated that Balcombe had misunderstood him, in supposing him to speak of lands, as the property bequeathed, and that no explanation had been offered before because he (Montague) had been forbidden the house by her father. He came now, he said, to offer reparation and marriage. She rejected the offer with scorn-and he left her, after taking measures for the comfort of Mrs. Scott, and the education of little James.

Mary did not see him again for some months, and he then endeavored to get possession of the packetfirst by asking for it as a matter of course-and, upon being refused, by force. He was foiled, however, in his attempt-and left the country with precipitation, after stopping the pension of Mrs. Scott. It was probable that he thought no new provocation could make matters worse. Mary proceeds, in her letter, to inform Balcombe, that thirteen years of seclusion having rendered

and having no one to advise with, she had no means of conjecturing the nature of the mysterious packet. It was obvious to her, however, that its possession or destruction was an object eagerly sought by Montague, and, she doubted not, for some villainous end. Although willing to bear her own lot without murmuring, she felt it her duty to alleviate, if possible, the want she had entailed upon her mother and brother. This, her knowledge of Montague's earnest desire for the packet, would enable her to accomplish-and she felt no seruple in using such means. We give her plan in her own words.

I have just learned where he is by means of a genendeavoring to find him out. tleman, who, for some purpose of his own, has been About the same time I ascertained by mere chance, that you, my only friend, were in the same part of the country. The coincidence seemed to point out the course I should pursue. I would gladly have your counsel, and have determined to sethat you do not approve. I have accordingly directed James to find you out, and hand you this letter. He carries one also to Montague, which contains a demand of a suitable provision for my poor mother, and of such qualify himself for a profession. Is this exacting too aid as may enable James to resume his studies, and much? Of that I constitute you sole judge. If you disapprove the measure altogether, send James back as he goes. If you approve it, then I must ask that your

Old Mr. Raby now died, and Mary saw nothing of Montague for two months. She heard from him, in-cure to myself all the benefits of it by doing nothing deed, and, though he did not express himself distinctly, she inferred from what he wrote that he had not been disappointed in the will. At length he called to see her, accompanying the English devisee, and requested again a private interview. She remarked a great alteration in his manner, for it was about this time that he joined the church. He professed deep contrition for

Keizer, the wily agent of Balcombe, is bound to that gentleman by many ties of gratitude. Of this Montague is unaware, and having frequently tampered with him in other cases wherein B. had no concern, does not hesitate to seek his assistance in the present scheme of villainy. This also B. has anticipated, and instructs Keizer not to refuse the rogue any service requiredlest he might employ other agents.

justice and honor may preside over what is done. Your | he, Balcombe, will have acquired the right to reknowledge of the past, and of Montague's present con- take it. dition, will make you the best judge of what it is suitable he should do. In making this demand, I do not propose to continue to hold the rod over him. It might seem too much like retaining the means of future and indefinite exaction. I have accordingly placed in James' hands a second communication, the receipt of which will enable Montague to recover the packet. This last will be delivered when you direct it, and not before; and I have to ask that you will direct it when that which is right in your judgment that Montague should de, is done, or so promised as to secure performance.... Do I then ask too much when I beg that you will your self see Montague, and hand him the first letter, which James will give you; and that, when he shall have done what is right, you will direct James to deliver to him the parcel with which he is charged. You will perceive that it is not my wish that this poor boy shall understand any thing of what is done, lest by possibility be might come to the knowledge of what would drive him to acts of desperate revenge.

Montague having called upon Colonel Robinson, Balcombe's father-in-law, with the view of purchasing land, he is there encountered by our hero and Balcombe. In a conversation dexterously introduced and sustained by the latter, the rogue is led to betray himself so egregiously that no farther doubts of his guilt are entertained, or of the surety of the grounds upon which the two friends have to proceed. Keizer is engaged to prevent, by force, if necessary, his departure from the neighborhood—but this is not attempted, and Balcombe | and James obtain another interview with him in the woods near a camp meeting. The letter from Mary is handed him by James. It states that she had put the packet out of the reach of his violence, and in the hands of a third person, who would deliver it only on presentation of a certain token—and that this token, together with the name of the depositary of the packet, was contained in the parcel in James' possession. Upon reading this letter Montague declares himself ready to do and submit to whatever might be required, upon the condition specified-the receipt of the parcel. Balcombe demands an advance of a thousand dollars, and ten bonds for three hundred each, payable to James Scott, at the end of each of ten successive years, with good security to each bond. To this, Montague, having no alternative, agrees-promising to deliver the money and bonds, and receive the parcel from the hands of James Scott, at the same spot, on the following Saturday evening. His real design, however, is somewhat different. Having decoyed Balcombe and James to the rendezvous, he purposes with the aid of some of his agents, to get possession of the parcel by force, before paying the money; and afterwards with a view of preventing discovery, to carry our friends across the Missouri, and leave them to perish in the wilderness. This design is easily anticipated by Balcombe, who converts it ingeniously to his own advantage. Had he possession of the token handed to James by Mary, it is clear that nothing further would be necessary in order to obtain the missing will. But James has been especially directed to deliver the parcel into no hands but those of Montague--and his scruples are not to be overcome. Neither can B. reconcile it with his conscience to pick James' pockets while asleep. He determines, therefore, to let M. get possession of his object in the manner designed. This accomplished,

In all this scheming, however, Balcombe is somewhat overreached. Montague discovers, by accident, the league between Keizer and B.—affects to have perfect confidence in the former-and appoints as the spot of rendezvous where Balcombe is to be entrapped, a spot at some distance from the true scene of action. By these means Keizer is placed out of the way, and his interference in Balcombe's favor prevented. It must be understood that (as expected) Montague, before his suspicions of Keizer were aroused, had engaged his services with those of a couple of his Indian friends, for the robbery and abduction of Scott and B., and Balcombe's plan was to turn the villain's false allies against himself. Coming, however, with James to the rendezvous, in full assurance that Keizer and the Indians were to be the agents employed against him, B. finds himself in the power of Montague and three unknown desperadoes. Montague, getting possession of the parcel, retires, while the rest of the party hurry off our two friends in the direction of the Missouri.

In the meantime, Keizer, with his Indians, having waited an undue time at the false rendezvous appointed him by Montague, comes at length to a suspicion of the true state of affairs, starts immediately in pursuit, and overtakes the enemy in good season for a rescue. Two of the villains escape-the third, one Ramsay, is shot dead by an Indian, and his body thrown by Keizer into the river.

The time having arrived for the return of Balcombe and Scott, Napier becomes uneasy, and disclosing the matter to Colonel Robinson, they proceed together to Montague's residence-thinking there to meet with some clue for further proceedings. As they approach, the door opens, and in the darkness they can just see Montague enter. Watching him through a window they perceive him opening the identical parcel of which so much has been said. It contained a casket, and this again a broken ring and a scrap of paper. Napier taps familiarly at the door, and Montague opens it, after being seen to throw the casket hastily in a drawer. Napier approaches the drawer at once, and obtains possession of the treasure. The villain is entirely taken by surprise, and in his terror indicates the route of his agents, professing at the same time his innocence of all design to commit murder. Taking him with them, the Colonel and Napier proceed to the river, and finding blood, with other similar traces, return home in despair, supposing Balcombe to have perished, when they are agreeably disappointed by his presence, with that of Scott and Keizer and the Indians-not forgetting Montague.

The contents of the casket are found to be a fragment of a gold ring, and a slip of paper with the words "Mammy Amy, the old housekeeper at Raby Hall.” Montague is dismissed with an injunction from Bal

combe to be forthcoming on the Monday ensuing-an | The rapidity of Montague's journey, it appears, deinjunction which it was supposed he would be unwil-feated his own object. Suspicions were entertained of ling, under the circumstances, to disobey. Here, how-him on account of James' non-appearance, and the ever, Balcombe reckons without his host. Although silence of Balcombe. A few days after the former's Montague has not the broken ring, yet he has read the departure for Missouri, old Mrs. Scott died of a paraslip of paper, and may easily persuade Mammy Amylytic stroke; and, about the same time, Mammy Amy, to deliver him the will. This idea now forces itself the housekeeper, was taken ill at Raby Hall. Mary upon Balcombe-but too late-for the arch-rogue is became her nurse, and also (at the request of Major already far on his way to Virginia. Lest Balcombe Swann, the steward of the English Mr. Raby) assumed should pursue him, he has managed, by an ingeniously her duties as housekeeper. In this new vocation she laid train of circumstances, to bring about his arrest, continued, the old woman never recovering her activity. with that of Scott and Keizer, on a charge of murdering Matters were thus situated when Montague made his Ramsay. This man, it will be remembered, after being appearance at the Hall, and entering the old woman's shot by one of the Indians, was thrown into the river room, endeavored to obtain from her the packet. Mary by Keizer. suddenly presenting herself, however, the villain is betrayed by his confusion, and fails altogether in his

next, using every artifice to get the packet, and closing
with an offer of marriage. Calling in Major Swann,
as witness to this offer, Mary desires the hypocrite
to repeat it in his presence.
With this request,
fairly caught, he complies-and having done so, is
rejected with disdain. The advantage hereby derived
to Mary is of much importance to herself. It entitles
her to full credence in the history of her wrongs; and
having given this history in full to her kind friends, the
Major and his wife, she is received and cherished by
them with more than parental affection. The next day

The accused party, however, after much difficulty, are admitted to bail, and Keizer starts for St. Louis indesign. He calls again the next day, and again the pursuit of the runaway-followed the next day by Napier. About half way between St. Charles and St. Louis, our hero encounters K. on his return, attended by a party of men, and with his feet tied together under the belly of his horse. Montague finding his steps dogged by K. in St. Louis, had obtained his arrest as a party to the murder. Napier enters into conversation with one of the company, who proves to be an attorney retained especially by Montague in support of the prosecution. The statement of N. puts this gentleman in possession of the true state of the case, and as Keizer had already been arrested and dis-Montague again appears, and with a bold face, decharged on bail, he is set free, by means of a habeas corpus, at St. Charles. Montague, however, has effected his escape, and is fairly on his way to Virginia. Nothing is now left but to write to Mary Scott, and trust to the chance of the letter's reaching her before his arrival. In the meantime the trial comes on. This is the most interesting portion of the book—and very different is it indeed from the caricature of judicial proceeding to be met with occasionally in the novels of the day. Fic-anxiety respecting it. She, at first, thought to hand tion, thus admirably managed, has all the force and essential value of truth. And here we cannot bring ourselves to mar the vivid and most ingenious details by any attempt at a digest or paraphrase. Balcombe's defence is beyond measure acute, and in every respect characteristic the party are acquitted, however, mainly through the agency of Keizer, who, taking advantage of his bail, crosses the Missouri, and, travelling night and day in search of a material witness, arrives with him just in time for the decision.

Napier now departs for Virginia, accompanied by Balcombe and Keizer. At Cape Girardeau, the whole are arrested. This is done at Montague's instance. The affidavit being shown, it proves to be a copy of that by means of which Keizer was arrested in a similar manner at St. Louis. Balcombe, however, having taken care to get a duly authenticated record of his acquittal, the villain's efforts to delay the party are defeated, and they proceed. Just after leaving Wheeling, they are again subjected to danger through the machinations of their arch-enemy, who, on his way home, it appears, has bribed some ostlers, connected with the line of stages, to attack the one carrying our

manding, in the name of the law, his property of Major Swann, and speaking of a search-warrant. To this the Major replies, that he himself, being a justice of the peace, will furnish him with the necessary authority, upon his calling in the morning. Montague takes the hint, and disappears. In the meantime, Mary receives the letter from Balcombe, and is put ai fait in regard to the nature of the packet, and Montague's

the letter and packet to Major Swann; but it occurred to her that, by so doing, she might place him in a delicate situation, between his duty to his employer, and his duty as a man. She resolved, therefore, to let things take their course, but at the same time to use effectual measures to keep the packet from falling into Montague's hands. We here quote a passage of much interest. Mary, it will be remembered, is writing to Balcombe.

Before I gave it to Mammy Amy, I had put it into a small toy trunk, which I locked, keeping the key myself. Near the hearth was a place where a hole had been burned in the floor, and here a short plank had been laid down. This was loose. I took it up, put down the trunk, and, with the broom handle, pushed it away to the wall. I had taken the precaution to tie a bit of tape to the handle, the end of which I left in reach, but too far under to be seen without stooping low, and putting the face to the hole. I did this while my nurse was out, so that I alone knew where it patiently awaited the approach of the enemy. About Having thus completed my arrangements, I noon Montague arrived. The constable was already there. Montague was a long time closeted with the Major, I supposed engaged in coining a suitable affidavit. At length they all came together to my room. At length, reaching Craiganet in safety, Balcombe courtesy and deference to my feelings, for what he was The kind old gentleman apologized with the utmost there finds a letter from Mary Scott, detailing events about to do, and handed me Montague's affidavit. This at home since the date of her former communication. I testified, that six years ago he had left at my mother's

hero.

was.

a packet, which he described by external marks and But the difficulties touching the will are not yet altoseals; that he had reason to believe, and did believe, gether ended. The case is laid before an attorney. As that I had got possession of it, and that it was secreted there was no doubt of the result, if the papers could be somewhere in the house. The search was now commenced, and every corner of the room was ransacked. secured, he determined to take such a course as would Montague took little part in it, but kept his eyes on at once put them safely into the custody of the law. me, and pointed out suspected places. I became at last A bill is drafted, to which Mr. Edward Raby in Engimpatient of his insolent gaze; I felt my spirit rise, land is made defendant, setting forth the whole tranand was conscious of that flash of the eye before which saction. Major Swann is also made defendant, charghis always quails, even when he sees it in the face of a woman. I now kept my eye on him, and his avoided ed with the possession of the will, and called on to proit, though he occasionally stole a furtive glance. At duce it. As anticipated, he disclaims the possession of length, walking across the floor, he felt the loose plank any such paper, unless such a one might be concealed move under his feet. He stooped and raised it. I-felt with the packet, and files the packet with his answer. ny courage give way; and as he lifted himself up after It is necessary that the papers shall reach the court (at his short and fruitless search, our eyes met, and I was conscious that mine had blenched. I felt that thick Fredericksburg) without having ever been in possession throbbing of the heart which always displays itself in of Mr. Napier, and they are accordingly given in the countenance, and again stole a look at him to see if charge of James. Mr. Napier, Balcombe, and Keizer he had observed me. He had replaced the plank, and looked on the protracted search with less apparent inte- accompany him. On the road, a short distance from rest than before. I saw, indeed, that he was weary of Fredericksburg, the party are attacked by Montague, its continuance, and he soon expressed himself satisfied. with some of his agents, and in the struggle which enThey now left the room-Montague last of all. There sues, M. is killed by the hand of James, who, having is no fastening to the door but a large bar, inconve- accidentally discovered the secret of his sister's wrong, niently heavy, and a slight latch. This caught as he has been long burning for revenge. In conclusionclosed the door after him, and I was once more alone. through the instrumentality of Keizer, our friends are I listened a moment, and heard the trampling of many feet, and the sound of many voices die away along the saved a world of legal trouble, and Mr. Napier's claims passage. My uneasiness now took its natural course. to a large inheritance are finally established. I ran to the hole and lifted the plank. At the moment Thus is given-and given very scantily-only the the door opened, and Montague reappeared. The sa- general thread of the narrative-which is really crowdgacity of the cunning wretch had taught him to expected with incident. We have spoken of no love advenwhat I would do under the influence of my alarmed and excited feelings. He had stopped at the door while the rest went on, and came in suddenly, as soon as he had allowed time for nature to do her work. He now sprang forward, while I, powerless with alarm, sank into a chair. He stooped down, and looked eagerly along the dark hole, and finally, groping, got hold of the end of the string. He drew it out, and I heard the little trunk come grating along over the laths below. I screamed, and sprang to him. He pushed me back, drew out the trunk, crushed it with his heel, and, seizing the packet, flung it into the fire.

It was a mild October day, and there was just so much fire as an old woman needs to comfort her rheumatic limbs. I rushed to it to rescue the packet. He seized and held me back, and I struggled, still screaming. The Major, who had missed Montague, and was returning to look for him, alarmed at my cries, hurried back. As soon as I saw him, I exclaimed, "In the fire-in the fire!" He understood me, and approached the hearth. Montague flung me across the room to my bed, on which I fell half insensible. But I saw Montague rudely seize the Major around the waist, and jerk him back, when, at the moment, Charles, my foster brother, entered. Ile darted at Montague, and, with one blow of his fist, felled him to the floor. The Major, disengaged, rescued the package from the fire, where its surface only was scorched, and turned to confront Montague, who slowly recovered his feet.

Here Montague's over-eagerness has again thwarted him. The only result of throwing the packet in the fire is, that the seals and other external marks of identification, sworn to in the affidavit, are melted and burned off. The Major offers, however, to deliver it up upon M's. identifying the contents. This, of course, the rogue declines, and the packet remains in the Major's possession, who declares his intention of resigning it, unopened, to the first person who shall show a just claim to it. The scene ends by Montague's being ordered to quit the premises. Shortly afterwards he attempts to fire the house, but fails, and in escaping, receives a shot through the shoulder.

tures of our hero-but it must not be supposed that he is therefore without them. They are omitted because altogether episodical-yet they form some of the most truly interesting portions of the book, and certainly the most original. In lieu of speaking farther on this head we copy a passage of rare beauty and full of a rich and meaning philosophy. Napier loves his cousin Ann, with whom his days of childhood and boyhood were spent in unreserved communion. He has reason to think himself beloved-but friends have their own plans to arrange, and a misunderstanding of each other's true feeling, arises between the lovers. Ann thus allows herself to be plighted to another, thinking the heart of her cousin pre-occupied. Things thus situated, N. as the protector and friend of Ann, speaks to her of her contemplated marriage. The passage we cite occurs in a conversation between Balcombe and Napier. The latter is confiding to B. the secret of his love.

"And what answer will you give?" I said. She hesitated, changed color, trembled, and seemed to restrain her tears with great difficulty. I continued. "Ann, dear Ann! if you knew how deep an interest I take in this question, you would not withhold the answer. Our lives from infancy have been spent together; each, as it were, a part of the other, 'like twin cherries growing on one stalk,' and shall we separate now?"

I saw her bite her lip, and her cheek flushed a little, while her countenance assumed an expression of slight indignation.

"Would you urge me then," said she, "to accept the hand of Howard?"

"To accept Howard's hand!" exclaimed I, "to place any man on earth between you and me! Oh, Ann, who can be dearer to you than I have been? And how can I endure that any other should ever occupy that place in your heart where I have lived so long; where all I know, all I can imagine of earthly bliss is centred ?"

The fervor of my manner, I suppose, more than my words, made her at length perceive my meaning. She