Julia unites considerable taste and skill in music, with a rich and flexible voice. In the evening we strolled through the grounds, and though father and daughter, as if by tacit agreement, avoided one part of the shrubbery, which I remembered as beautiful with moss beds, and flowers, and waving trees, and ever laved by a sunny and murmuring brook, yet I caught a glimpse of two white monuments in the quiet and sheltered spot, and I knew that there slept my early friends--the best beloved of those who now, with me, passed at a little distance their green resting place. Julia and her father looked saddened, but only the gloom of a few moments marked their feelings. On our return to the house, our conversation again became animated, and ere I left them, I had once more won them to smile.

Sagest of friends-wisest Jack Stephens! I have a secret sense that you too are beginning to smile. I know you have already pronounced "the fellow quite in love;"—but I protest against the inference, and repeat my oft-repeated maxim, "That he whose chances of happiness are so few and so slender as mine, should never offer those chances to the fair and happy." What! with my perilous profession, my absence of means, my destiny to wrestle with the world, could I dream of linking my fate with that of a creature so unfitted to encounter its evils? Not that I am ignorant of your penchant, Stephens. But notwithstanding such encouragement as I might draw from your example, and the implied precept of your excellent quotation, I shall act out my principle; and whilst I visit Julia every day, I shall be upon my guard, and only ask of her those early smiles that haunt my heart yet, though they no longer shed on her beautiful lips, that heartfelt brightness, that used to halo them.

[Extract from the Journal of Julia.]

with his. And whilst he sat beside me, and spoke to me, I forgot my fears. I must now forget them always, for his image is ever before me, and for his sake I must not be sad! My father too has sanctioned this engagement, and settled that we shall not leave him. I shall therefore still be at home, still near that beloved spot where lie those who would so kindly have sympathized in my happiness. To-night my father prayed for our future happiness-prayed that I might faithfully perform the duties I am to undertake; they will be too pleasant to be neglected, for they will tend to the comfort of Charles and of himself. He prayed, too, that Charles might continue to love me, and keep sacred the trust I repose in him. My own Charles, I doubt you not! My heart promises all that it could ask. MAY 28th.

Charles is writing to his friend Mr. Stephens. Why did my heart sink when he told me he should write? Why, too, have I felt so inadequate to exertion of late? I have been almost unhappy at times, during the last few days, and I believe I am ill every morning. But in the evening I am well and happy, for Charles is then always here. He compliments my bloom and spirits. I did not formerly care for compliments-from him they are very dear.

LETTER IL

From Lieutenant Walton to Lieutenant Stephens.
Yes, Stephens, it is all very true-you were very
right; it has all occurred precisely as you anticipated.
I am in love, and my sage maxim is thrown aside.

This is not all, however, Mr. Stephens. I am engaged to Julia, in spite of prudence and excellent resolutions. MAY 25th. However, my father and Mr. Lee tell me we can do A year ago I had no journal, but I had the dear and without the navy-so I come, after all, within my own fond bosoms of my sisters to receive my confidence. My exception to the rule. Julia does not seem alarmed at confidence! It was then of little consequence who read the idea of wedding a sailor, and I am too happy to my heart-its many hopes, its few fears. Now, I have make calculations. I will, however, if on second thoughts only my father-my kind father, and my heart shrinks she desires it, resign my commission; for the present I from disclosing even to him these new, and deep, and relinquish all consideration of the matter. The marengrossing feelings. Yet I am happy, innocently happy;riage is fixed within a month--you will of course be my and he for whom I feel so much is worthy of my devo- attendant; and my mother bids me tell you your room tedness. I am not offering an unsought love. No! I awaits its occupant. The latter part of the merrie, can have nothing to fear; yet when I reflect how happy merrie month of June will, I hope, see your friend I am, happy beyond my wildest hopes, my spirits sink, Benedict. Meanwhile, farewell. and seem to prophecy a mournful termination to joy so perfect. Why is this? It is childish and ungrateful. FATHER! I would not forget THEE in the gladness thou bestowed, and a thankful spirit which appreciates thy goodness, is due from the child of thy love! I will strive against this foreboding. Charles observes it. He looked at me so anxiously to-day, as if he read that I was thinking of my sisters, and shrunk from their fate. Should that fate be indeed reserved for me, Charles, you will read this journal-you will see how dear you are to me--you will keep and value this brief chronicle of happy hours--of hours whose happiness would be perfect, did I not dread its evanescence.

MAY 26th, 12 at night. Charles has just departed. How quickly has this evening passed away. Oh! what an evening to me! I have promised within one little month to link my fate

LETTER III.

Lieutenant Stephens to his Brother.

JUNE 25th.

I cannot tell indeed, Henry, when I shall return, for the bridal is now postponed, and I fear will never take place. Miss Lee has been exceedingly ill. She impru dently exposed herself to the night air and dews, in some moonlight walk with Charles, and a disorder of the lungs, which her hereditary disposition to consump tion rendered alarming, was the consequence; and though she is now able to join our circle, lying during the day on a sofa, and listening with the sweetest smile that ever shone on woman's lips to the conversation which she scarcely partakes, I fear-I fear she cannot live long. Walton was at first almost frantic. I arrived

the night of her extreme danger. He was at Mr. Lee's, and anxious to be of use to him. I hastened thither immediately. He was walking up and down the parlor floor, with clasped hands--the very picture of pale and haggard wretchedness. He started as I entered, and instantly advancing, caught my hand.

Nature had asserted her kindly privilege; and he who, careless of himself, had defied danger in a thousand shapes, had yielded—aye, yielded like a child, to his interest in another's safety. But that other! Oh, who that sees her, would not 'do likewise.'

The day dawned. The house was still silent. Charles "Stephens!" he said, wildly, "you are come to our sat absorbed in thought, and wholly inadequate to the marriage? Aye, you did not imagine you were coming conversation we attempted to force upon him. Poor to our funeral!-for mark you, sir, I will not survive old Mr. Lee was at this time maintaining a less anxious her. She is dying! By heaven, I will not survive her!" vigil beside his daughter. He was able to watch her I endeavored to soothe him. breathing as it hourly grew more calm and quiet, and "Oh! I foresaw it--I foresaw it," he replied hur-to perceive her small white hand less hot and burning, riedly. "I knew she was too dear to live-too pure to her pulse more regular and soft, as the flush of fever be with me a dweller upon earth!"

"Walton, this is frenzy!"

"Yes, it is all over with me, and I am desperate!" He wrung my hand, and left the apartment.

He left it to seat himself upon the stairs, to weary the attendants and physicians, as they descended, with questions, and he returned at last to resume his hurried and unequal pace through the room.

A physician entered after the lapse of an hour. Charles stopped, and looked eagerly in his face.

"I cannot tell yet," he replied to that earnest gaze. Walton threw himself upon a chair, his brows knit, and I expected some fresh outburst of impatient anguish. But he caught up a book from the table before him, and opened it with an effort to conceal his feelings.

faded from her check. He could thence draw a consolation denied to her lover, who feared to risk inquiry, lest, to satisfy him, the attendants might disturb the repose of the object of his solicitude.

The reddening morning stole into the room. How ghastly looked the apartment, with its evening arrangements, and still burning lights growing pale and dim in the early day. A cautious step was heard. The door opened, and Mr. Lee entered. Charles started from his chair.

"She is spared to us, my son!" said the old man; and as Charles leaned for a moment upon his shoulder, the father's tears fell rapidly.

"Let us thank God that he hath not forsaken us!" said the clergyman, after a short indulgence in this

It was Moore's Melodies. I looked over his shoul-blessed vent of feeling; and we all knelt. der. A mark lay between the leaves at that sweet song,

"I saw thy form in youthful prime."

Julia had left it there, and Charles remembering it, bent his face upon it, as it rested on the table, to hide the workings of his agonized heart. She had been applying to her sisters the pathetic words; he-who shall describe his feelings?

"FATHER!" said the old man, "in moments like this, with confidence, how fervent do we call thee indeed our father! Filled with this endearing reliance, our hearts are before thee to offer the incense thou lovest bestthe devotion and gratitude of the creatures thou hast blessed. Thine everlasting love hath been around us! In the night-watch of suspense-in the silence, when The clock struck two. What a melancholy sound is only the soul's agonized supplication to thee was breaththe striking of a clock in a house where suspense and ed, mournfully low, in the very anguish of prayer,-impending death make one watch the progress of time thine ear received our despair and our petition; thy with fearful interest! How much may a few of those pity heard, and granted all we asked. The last joy of minutes achieve of anguish and despair. Yet how age-the deep hope of youth, we owe to thee! Thou slowly do they lag to our impatient apprehension. hast spared the aged heart its keenest pang-thou hast Whilst thoughts like these passed in my mind, the phy-preserved to a younger breast its treasury of joy! For sician, who had left the room, returned, and sympa- this, in deep humility, we bless thee!-for this we thizing with Walton's feelings, announced with much worship thee, protecting Lord! pleasure, that Miss Lee slept, and that he thought a favorable change in her symptoms had occurred.

"Thank God!-thank God !" exclaimed the agitated Walton, rising hastily; and after a fruitless endeavor to suppress his tears, he left the parlor.

"Poor fellow!" said Dr. B

following him with his eyes. "He loves her so truly, and perhaps after

all- "3

"Surely, sir, you think now ?__”

"I hope now, Mr. Stephens, that my patient's danger is diminished. To the future I cannot look without apprehension. This disease is deeply seated in her constitution, and even if its present menace be withdrawn, she can never be secure. The disorder is hereditary, and the present attack is a fearful indication."

"Yet with care, and Walton's solicitude?" "With these, sir, I hope the evil may be long deferred. Yet candor will not permit me to prophecy with

confidence."

Walton returned. He had evidently been weeping.

"Two of my children already dwell within thy courts. And deep though the regret, and wrung-oh! wrung their father's heart, he had stifled his sighs, and resigned them unto thee. And oh my God, how closely then was the bereft one's spirit knit unto the last-the child now left alone to him. And young feelings began to twine around one beautiful, and young joys to brighten for her, and our souls hung upon her with a love too fond-too deep. Mercifully, my father, has the lesson been conveyed! We have felt that we hold our blessing but of thee. We have known the terror-the suspense-but thou, my God, hast interposed. The sorrow has endured for a night, but joy is come with the morning!

"Therefore, beloved FATHER, are we in thy presence. Receive the warm, the willing offering. Two hearts, overpowered with softness-with thy goodness-humble themselves before thee, and ask thine everlasting influence. To love thee first, nor in thy benefits forget thee. Father! let us be thy care!"

"Father! oh Father! let HER be thy care!" murmured poor Walton; and wholly overcome, he covered his face, and wept without restraint. Solemn, subduing were the moments that followed, when silence, tears, and prayer unuttered, mingled.

In about ten days the patient, still faint and weak, but touchingly beautiful, was permitted to recline on a sofa in the parlor, in order, as she said, to convince us that she was recovering.

Recovering that is very doubtful.

LETTER IV.

The same to the same.

JULY 5th.

"Miserable! God! But that is over now." "Over! Would I might rest in that belief." "Rest in it--rest in it, Julia-it is the web of my existence!"

"Alas! I dare not trust the whispering of my own glad spirit. Oh God! can one who has loved and worshipped Thee so long, be still so unresigned and faithless? But it will not at last be so. I know that Thou wilt soothe me in that dark hour, when human aid availeth nothing."

"Your spirits are weak, Julia, because you are still so feeble. Another fortnight-aye, another week, and you will be strong and cheerful!”

She smiled and pressed her hand to her side, significantly. Charles looked shocked, but apparently could not risk an inquiry.

"If we are indeed at last to part," she said, a moment

promise it—but will you restrain your grief for one who would not cause you a moment's sorrow? Will you seek, for her sake, consolation from on high ?"

"I promise anything!" said Walton, growing deadly pale. "And now, Julia, for Heaven's sake, feel and speak more cheerfully!"

I have just left Walton and Miss Lee. The good clergyman, whose duties have, he says, been much in-after, "will you--I cannot say forget me, nor can you terrupted by his daughter's illness, rode this evening to visit one of his parishioners, and left us to amuse the interesting patient. The very richness of summer shone into the room, through the open windows, beneath one of which was placed Miss Lee's sofa. Roses of various tints peeped into the apartment. Violets, of which a few yet linger in the shade, uttered a tide of perfume, that came almost like congratulation to the lovely convalescent. The landscape which lay beyond, seemed to win her pleased attention-it was so calm, so soft, its perspective so prolonged, its hues so rich and mellow. Banks crowned with graceful trees-long and broad masses of blue shadow-stealing and splendid gleams of sunshine-the distant grounds of country residences-far away the home of Walton's father, looking from amidst thick trees, bathed in gold, or sunk in deep shadow, its windows now blazing in the sunshine, now half buried in some green parasite, that spreads its luxuriance over half the house. Swelling hills-near us verdant, more distant dim and misty-kissed the small hand which had presented it. and the blue gleam of a wide stream, fringed with dipping trees and heavy shrubbery, ever and anon breaking its hue, but adding calmness and beauty to the scene. This was a prospect on which she had looked daily all her life, but which now seemed to afford her renewed pleasure.

"It is very beautiful!" she said to Walton, who sat on a low seat beside her; and looking towards his distant home, she added-

"Those kind sisters of yours! I have every day some proof of their affection."

"Who would not love you, Julia?" whispered Charles. I caught the words and smiled. Her pale cheek flushed as she observed it.

"They are among my best friends," she said, without more directly answering his words.

"It is always so," said I gaily. "Illness invariably depresses our spirits. But since you are resolved to console my friend Walton beforehand, why don't you bestow on him some parting gift? I dare swear you will reclaim it with a smile before the summer is over?" Julia immediately took from the sofa a little volume, which I had not before observed lying beside her. "Take, then, this Bible, Charles," she said, “I give it, not in the spirit of jesting, but of sad presentiment. It has been my consolation, and it will be yours!" Walton shrunk from the little gift. At length, however, he took it, and laid it on her work table. "We will read it together, Julia," he replied, and he

The coloring of sunset began to glow in the apartment, rendering rich and mellow the hues within it, tinting the young flowers that looked in at the window with a deeper flush, and settling a faint tinge on the pure cheek of Julia. Her soft blue eyes were raised to the portrait of her sister Lucy. A shade was resting on her beautiful face, and anticipating some fresh gush of sad feeling, I left her to the care of him who could best console her.

LETTER V.

The same to the same.

JULY 15th.

She begins to walk about the grounds again. Her

"They will always be so, 1 am sure," replied Wal-step regains its spring-her fine figure could never lose

ton aloud. "They are indeed kind and affectionate."
"I am glad for your sake they are so."
Why particularly for my sake?"
Because," said Julia, in a low voice, "the time may
arrive when you will require all their affection."
"Do not speak thus, Julia."

"Oh! Charles, I thought of you during my illness. 1 thought then that I must leave this calm and happy home, and I had the vanity to fear that you would be miserable!"

its roundness, and though they tell me her hand and arm have lost something of their beauty, in growing thinner, they appear to my eyes perfect. Her eyes are wonderfully lustrous, and her frequent smiles-the bright pure flush that every evening succeeds the paler tinge of the morning--her gay conversation-all confirm Charles in the belief that she is rapidly recovering. An early day is now fixed upon for the marriage. They are very happy. And I doubt if the father's felicity do not equal theirs. Poor old man! I am not

surprised at his devotion to his daughter. She is his | myself the dupe of hopes which, however, I cannotlast, and so lovely!

Perhaps, therefore, Henry, I shall again very soon be with you, and this their April day of life, will then have settled into the soft splendor of a summer calm. God grant it! I have my fears, I acknowledge. I do not trust to this apparently healthful flush, and this fine glow of spirits takes with it something too much like the excitement of fever. I sometimes observe the eyes of good Dr. B-, who is a frequent visitor, following his late patient with interest and anxiety, and whilst he gaily professes to admire his own successful skill, he gently cautions her not to incur fatigue or ex

posure.

"You are now quite well? Quite free from pain ?" he asked the other day. "I may consider this cure perfect ?"

"Oh! perfect, certainly, Doctor. I am really almost well. The pain is much less severe--I hardly feel it

now."

yet-destroy. I know that my marriage with Charles Walton never can take place. I am also aware of your influence over him. May I ask that you will remain here until all is over? Will you watch over him, when I am gone, until his mind becomes calm-until other thoughts can interrupt his wretchedness? He will require your friendship-that I feel.”

I promised, with moist eyes, all that she required. "I am resigned-even to this," said Julia calmly,-"even to the suffering of my soul's best beloved. They will lead his heart to God-they will unite us at the last. Within this short fortnight, I have felt much. I have wept in rebellious repining. I have prayed for a better spirit; and now I am very quiet. The Almighty has set every regret at rest, and I can look to an eternal, perhaps not distant restoration to his presence. Tell him all this—afterwards-Mr. Stephens, and tell | him too, that if ever the truth of human love awaited, in an immortal spirit, its earthly object, the feelings I

"Yet do not be imprudent. Do not omit my pre-have for him, will revive in another state of being, and scriptions, and do not fatigue yourself." earnestly, oh! earnestly await his coming! This will perhaps soothe him, when my voice can no longer reach his ear."

"I follow your directions exactly, Doctor," replied his gentle patient quietly.

"Ah! you owe much to my skill," said the physician jestingly.

She smiled and moved away.

"Dare we credit these promises of health, Doctor?”. said I, drawing a little nearer him.

The physician shook his head.

"I will hope the best, Mr. Stephens," he replied. "Such a creature makes me hope against conviction. At all events, it is better her spirits should be gay; and poor Walton, there!-who could lessen his hopes ?"

LETTER VI.

The same to the same.

JULY 25th.

Again, I promised to fulfil this sweet and self-forgetful wish.

LETTER VII.

The same to the same.

JULY 31st.

Yesterday evening, this sweet and beloved being breathed her last, in the clasp of affection, whose strength even she could scarcely have appreciated. In the course of the forenoon, Charles had left us to go to his father's-Julia appearing as well as usual. Before his return, however, she became alarmingly ill; and her father and I sat beside her sofa, whence in her dread of the effect of the intelligence upon Charles, she refused to be removed until his return, and awaited the coming of Dr. B-, (who had been hastily summoned) with extreme anxiety. We closely watched the suf

pression, through which she strove at times to smile, though her cheek was alternately flushed and pale with agony. Not a gesture, not a word was permitted to add to our fears.

She certainly grows extremely thin, but her color brightens, her spirits are gayer than ever. Poor! poor Walton! Must he after all endure the shock he has so much dreaded? His quick eye already notes the fail-ferer, and it was painful to note the fluctuation of exing of her strength, and the increasing attenuation of her frame; but he hopes that travel will restore her, and proposes as soon as the bridal is over, to take her to the south of Europe. She opposes this plan. She begins to feel her danger. She dreads removal from her home-the home also of familiar and dear associations-but she listens gently to Walton's argumentsto his animated pictures of European scenery and manners; and whilst she resigns her will wholly to him she loves so well, she suffers him to believe that she yields to the bright visions with which he endeavors to delude himself and her.

But, nevertheless, she is not deceived. She said to me this morning, whilst for a little while we were alone together:

"I wish to ask of you a favor, Mr. Stephens, and in spite of a natural diffidence in myself introducing the subject, I must gather courage to offer my petition."

Dr. Barrived.

He felt her pulse, and regarded her earnestly.
HE WAS SILENT.

Her father had fastened an agonized gaze upon his face. He now understood its expression, and was unable to remain in the apartment.

"Follow! follow him!" said Julia. The exclamation was stifled in a gush of blood from her lips. The abscess on her lungs had burst, and as Dr. B. supported her, he became aware that her strength could not endure much longer.

I hastily informed her father of what had occurred, and he returned to her side. Pale, speechless, trembling, he watched the ebbing of that life for which he would I assured her that I should obey her wishes with most gladly have exchanged his own. During some pleasure. moments there was silence-the profuse hemorrhage "Briefly then, Mr. Stephens, I am dying. I am not had exhausted itself, and with closed eyes, Julia leaned

back upon the physician's shoulder. It was evident | his quivering lips seem to satisfy her that her wish that nothing could be done, and nothing was attempted. would be accomplished. He pressed one long, long She lay quiet, but her frame apparently about to kiss upon her brow. undergo the death struggle. Her rich brown tresses, "Now, father, let your blessing rest upon me! If which had at first been shaken loose from the control of ever I have grieved you, father, dearest father, you will their usual restraints, and either hidden their bright-forgive me now. Press your lip upon my face, beloved father, say, 'I forgive my child!'"

Her ear had also caught the sound. Her eyes un-pale cheek in free and full effusion. "Dear, dear father! closed, and sought mine. I understood her, and hast- I love you in this parting even more deeply than beened to meet Charles. His first glance informed him of fore." all I delayed to disclose.

They have laid her in the dust-the young, the pure, "Pray for us both, father!" she faltered; "Bless us the beautiful--she for whom even the stranger's heart together!"

Walton tried in vain to speak, but the expression of writings of antiquity.