THERE lies in the north of England a considerable tract of land, now known by the name of the Waste Lands, which once formed the richest property of two wealthy families by whom untoward circumstances had caused it to be deserted. For some time, it was looked after by stewards, too much bent upon profiting themselves to regard the interests of their employers. The tenantry, who, drained of their hard earnings, were obliged to vex the land till it became a bed of stones, dropped off one by one. The hedge-rows, being unremittingly assisted in the progress of decay by the paupers of the neighborhood, were soon reduced to nothing but dock-weeds and brambles; which gradually uniting from the opposite ends of the fields, the property became a huge thicket, too encumbered ever to be worth clearing, and only valuable to poachers and gypsies, to whom it still affords abundant booty and a secure hiding place.

The two mansions have kept pace in ruin with the lands around them. The persons left in charge of them, being subject to no supervision, put themselves but little out of their way to preserve that which was so lightly regarded by the owners. Too careless to repair the dilapidations of time an the weather, they were driven, by broken windows and rickety doors, from office to office, and fron parlor to parlor, till ruin fairly pursued them into the grand saloon; where the Turkey carpets we tattered by hob-nails, and the dogs of the chase licked their paws upon sofas of silk and satin. In du time, the rain forced its way through the roofs, and the occupiers having no orders to stop it with a tile, the breach became wider and wider. Soon the fine papering began to show discolored patches, and display the lath and plaster which bulged through it; then the nails which supported the family portraits gave way with their burthens; and finally, the rafters began to yield, and the inhabitants wisely vacated the premises in time to avoid the last crash, rightly conjecturing that it was useless to leave the moveables behind to share in the common destruction, when there was so little likelihood of their ever being inquired after.

Thus ended the pride both of Heroncliff and Hazledell, which may still be seen, from each other, about a mile apart, shooting up a few parti-colored walls from their untrimmed wildernesses, and seeming, like two desperate combatants, to stand to the last extremity; neither of them cheered by a sign of life, excepting the jackdaws which sit perched upon the dead tips of the old ash trees, and the starlings that sweep around at sunset in circles, within which the country folks have rarely been hardy enough to intrude.

The last possessor who resided at Hazledell was an eccentric old bachelor, with a disposition so composed of kindness and petulance, that every body liked, and scarcely any one could live with him. His relations had been driven away from him, one after the other;-one because he presumed to plead the poverty of a tenant whom the old man had previously resolved upon forgiving his rent; another, because he reserved the choice bin of the cellar when wine was prescribed for the sickness of the poor; and a third, because he suffered himself to be convinced in politics, and destroyed a fair subject for arguments which were intended to afford time to his company for discussing their good cheer.

There was but one person who understood him, and this was his nephew; who continued to the last his only companion, and kept him alive solely by knowing how to manage him. He had the good taste never to remind him of his years by approaching him with that awe which is commonly demonstrated by young people towards the old; and the tact to observe exactly where his foibles would bear raillery, and where they required sympathy. He could lead him from one mood to another,

so that the longest day in his company never seemed monotonous; or if he rambled away amongst the neighborhood, he could return at night with a tale of adventures which sent him to bed without repining at the prospect of to-morrow. Unluckily the old man considered him too necessary to his comforts to part with him; and though merely the son of a younger brother, without fortune or expectations, he was not permitted to turn his mind to a profession, or to any thing beyond the present. The youth, however, was scarcely twenty-three; and at such an age, a well-supplied purse for the time being leaves but little anxiety for the future.

With a good education, picked up as he could by snatches, a sprightly disposition, and a talent equal to any thing, young Vibert of Hazledell was as welcome abroad as he was at home; and it was argued that his handsome figure and countenance would stand him in the stead of the best profession going. The young ladies would turn from any beau at the country-ball to greet his arrival, and never think of engaging themselves to dance till they were quite sure that he was disposed of. One remarked upon the blackness of his hair, another upon the whiteness of his forehead; and the squires who were not jealous of him would entertain them with his feats of horsemanship and adroitness at bringing down, right and left. Still Vibert was not spoiled; and the young ladies pulled up their kid gloves till they split, without making any visible impression upon him. His obstinacy was quite incomprehensible. Each ridiculed the disappointment of her friend, in the hope of concealing her own; and all turned for consolation to the young master of Heroncliff.

Marcus of Heroncliff, was nearly of an age with Vibert, and was perhaps still more popular with the heads of families, if not with the younger branches; for he had the advantage of an ample fortune. His person, also, was well formed, and his features were, for the most part, handsome; but the first had none of the grace of Vibert, and the last had a far different expression. His front, instead of being cast in that fine expansive mould, was contracted and low, and denoted more cunning than talent. His eye was too deeply sunk to indicate openness or generosity; and the tout ensemble gave an idea of sulkiness and double-dealing. It was held by many that his outward appearance was not a fair index of his disposition, which was said to be liberal and good-natured. The only fault which they found with him was, that his conversation seemed over-much guarded for one of his age. He appeared unwilling to show himself as he really was, and the greatest confidence which could be reposed in him produced no corresponding return. He walked in society like one who came to look on rather than mix in it; and although his dependants lived in profusion, his table was rarely enlivened save by the dogs which had been the companions of his sport.

Vibert, whose character it was to judge always favorably, believed that his manner and mode of life proceeded from the consciousness of a faulty education, and a mistrust of his capacity to redeem lost time. He felt a friendliness for him, bordering upon compassion; and their near neighborhood affording him frequent opportunities of throwing himself in his way, a considerable degree of intimacy was, in course of time, established between them. Vibert was right, as far as he went, in his estimate of his friend's mind; but he never detected its grand feature. Marcus was sensible that he was below par amongst those of his rank, and a proud heart made him bitterly jealous of all who had the advantage of him. It was this that gave verity to the expression which we have before noticed in his features; made him a torment to himself; and rendered him incapable of sympathising with others. If a word were addressed to him, he believed that it was designed to afford an opportunity of ridiculing his reply; if he chanced to be contradicted, his visage blackened as though he felt that he had been insulted. Vibert, so open to examination, was the only person whom he did not suspect and dread. They hunted, shot, and went into society together; and it was observed that Marcus lost nothing by the contact. His confidence increased, his reserve in some degree disappeared, and Vibert secretly congratulated himself on having fashioned a battery to receive the flattering attentions from which he was anxious to escape. His ambition, indeed, was otherwise directed.

At a few miles' distance from Hazledell was a pretty estate, called Silvermere, from a small lake, which reflected the front of the dwelling and the high grounds and rich timber behind it. It was inhabited by persons of consideration in the county, who were too happy at home to mix much with their neighbors. In fact, of a numerous family, there was but one daughter old enough to be introduced; and she was of a beauty so rare, that there was little danger in keeping her upon hand until her sister was of an age to accompany her into society.

In this family, Vibert had been for some time a favorite, and had been fascinated on his first introduction to it. The beauty of whom we have made mention, and her sister, a year or two younger, were placed on either side of him; and it was hard to know whether most to admire the wild tongue and laughing loveliness of the younger-the fair-haired Edith; or the retiring, but attractive dignity of the black eyes and pale fine features of the elder—the graceful Marion. They were, perhaps, both pleased to see the hero of the county conversations, but the younger one was the foremost to display it; without being a flirt, she was frank, and had the rare, natural gift of saying and doing what she pleased without danger of misconstruction.

The daring but feminine gaiety of this young creature speedily dispelled from the mind of Vibert all idea of his recent acquaintance. On his showing any recollection of it, she assured him that, on her part, the acquaintance was by no means recent, for she had heard him discussed as often as any Knight of the Round Table.

"To place you upon an equality with us," she said, "I will tell you what sort of persons we are, and you can judge whether, at any future time, when your horse happens to knock up in our neighborhood, and your dinner to be five miles off, you will condescend to take advantage of us. Papa and mamma, who you see have been a handsome couple, and would think themselves so still if they had not such a well grown family, are by no means rigid, exacting, fault-finding, and disagreeable, like papas and mammas in general. They have had the good taste to discover our precose talents, and profit by being our companions instead of our rulers, from the time we learned the art of spelling words of one syllable, and doing as we were not bidden. Instead of scolding us for our misdeeds, they used to reason with us as to their propriety, and generally got the worst of the argument; so, saving that in virtue of our old companionship we make them the confidants of most of our dilemmas, they have brought us up charmingly undutiful and self-willed.

“As for Marion, she is a young lady erroneously supposed to be the pride of the family, who presumes to regaid me with a patronising complacency, and to encourage me in the idea that, one of these days, I shall really learn to talk. She is a sedate personage, who tries to reflect upon things; but, as the same deep study has shaded her brow as long as I can recollect, I imagine that she does not often come to a conclusion. Yet the falsely-styled pride of Silvermere does not blanch her cheeks in the unwholesome atmosphere of learned tomes; nor by spinning the globes, nor by hunting the stars. Her character is a little touched with romance, and her study is how to mend a bad world, which continues ailing in spite of her. She gives all her consolation, and half of her pin-money, to a tribe of old dames and young damsels, who, under such patronage, only pull our hedges in greater security, or add fresh colors to the costume which is to flaunt triumphant on the fair day. The urchins whom she teaches to guess their lessons,' and buys off from aiding in the toils of their parents, are the most mischievous in the neighborhood; and, in short, things go on worse and worse, and poor Marion does not know what to make of it. From the humbler world, so different from the Arcadian affair of her imagination, she turns with despair to the sphere in which she is herself to move, and shudders at the prospect of disappointment there also. Where, amongst such a community of young ladies battling for precedence, and young gentlemen vowing eternal constancy to a dozen at a time, can she look for the friend of her soul, or the more favored being who is to console her for the want of one? Alas, the pride of Silvermere! with feelings so delicate that a gossamer might wound them, how can she accommodate herself to any world but that of the fairy tales which delighted our nursery, or expect tranquility in any place but a cloister?"

Vibert's calls were repeated often, each one affording a pretext for another, and each visit growing longer than the last. The father of his two attractions was required frequently by his affairs in London, where he spent weeks at a time, and their mother was generally confined by delicate health to her chamber. Thus Vibert's intimacy with them had but little ceremony to restrain its rapid advancement; and he soon felt, what has perhaps been felt by many, that the simple smile of the dignified and retiring is more perilous than the brightest glance of wit and vivacity. Indeed, Edith was too gay to be suspected of any thought beyond that of amusement; but the actions of Marion were more measured, and her approbation was the more flattering. Vibert laughed when he encountered the first; but his pulse beat quicker at the sight of the last.

There seems in the affairs of the heart to be an unaccountable intelligence, by which, without the use of external signs, the tremors of the one gencrally find their reverberation in the other. Often as Vibert entered to share in the morning amusements of the sisters, to give an account of the horse that he was breaking in for Marion, or the dog that he was teaching antics for Edith, it was impossible for him to be insensible to an increasing flush of satisfaction at his appearance, and by degrees he gave up all other society, and had no pastime to which Marion was not a party. Both young, both interested in the other's happiness, it was not likely that they should reflect how the brightest flowers may be the seat of poison, and the sweetest moments the parents of misery. Their intimacy became more confidential; and Edith left them more and more to themselves to seek amusement elsewhere. Still there was no question of love. Vibert knew that, without fortune or expectations, he could have no pretension to Marion: and that the number of her young brothers and sisters must render it impossible for her father to remedy the deficiency. It was then that he felt the extent of the sacrifice he had made in devoting himself so entirely to his uncle. Had he adopted any profession, he might have obtained a home of his own, to say the least; and, however humble that home might have been, would Marion have shrunk from it? Would Marion have failed to make it the richest spot upon earth? He was yet only of an age when many commence their career; his mind was too active and too brilliant to suffer his habits to become so fixed but that he could turn them to any thing. He determined upon breaking the matter to his uncle; and, as Edith was now eighteen, and the sisters were just about to appear in public, there was no time to be lost. If Marion were not to go forth with a hand already engaged, what had he not to apprehend? Fortune and honors would be at her feet-friends would reason-parents might command-and what had she to reply? She loved an idler who lived upon another's bounty, and whose future means were something worse than precarious! He seized upon what he thought a good opportunity, the same evening. His uncle was enjoying his arm-chair and slippers beside an ample fire, to which the pattering of a November storm gave additional comfort.

"Vibert," said he, "what have been your adventures to-day?"

"I have been to Silvermere."

"Folks tell me you have been there every day for the last twelvemonth-and who have you seen there?"

"I have seen Marion."

"Well, nephew, she is good-looking, you say; and sensible, and all that. Why do you not marry her, and bring her home to make tea for us?"

"Alas! I would willingly do so, had I the means."

"We can get over that obstacle, I think, by doubling your allowance.”

"My dear sir, you do not understand its full extent. Marion's family would never consent, unless she were to be the mistress of an establishment of her own."

“We can remedy that, too, Vibert. Divide the house with me at the middle of the cellar, and brick up the communications. Divide the stables and the horses; have new wheels and new arms to the old family rumble-tumble, and make any farther arrangements you please. You have been a good boy, to bear with a crazy old man so long, and I should not like you to be a loser by it.”

"My dear uncle, there was no need of this additional generosity to secure my gratitude, and my endeavors to prove it. I did not speak for the purpose of placing any farther tax upon you, but merely to consult you whether it were not better that I thought of some profession, by which I might attain a position in life not liable to reverse."

"A profession!-what, one that would call you away from Hazledell?"

"I fear all professions would subject me to that affliction."

The uncle's color rose and his brow darkened.

"Vibert leave me in my old age, when I have become entirely dependant upon him! Vibert knock away the only crutch that props me up from the grave-bequeath me to the mercy of hired servants, with not a soul to exchange a word of comfort with me! What fortune could you obtain which would compensate for reflections like these?

"Stay, nephew, and see me into my grave—the reverse which you apprehend-I never thought that you could so coldly contemplate my extinction; but it is right and natural that you should do so. Only stay-and I promise you that I will not keep you long-I will curtail my expenses, banish my few old friends, dismiss my servants, and live upon bread and water, to save what I can for you from the estate. I cannot cause it to descend to you; but, at all events, I can save you as much as you would be likely to make by leaving me. Yet, if it be your wish to go, even go; I had rather you would leave me miserable, than stay to wish me dead."

The old man had worked himself into a fit of childish agitation, and Vibert saw that argument was useless.

Uncle," he replied, with a look and voice of despair, "make yourself easy. Marion will find another husband, who will perhaps render her happier than I could, and I will remain with you as I have done hitherto."

From this time, Vibert spared no effort to overcome his ill-starred passion, as well for Marion's sake as for his own; seeking every possible pretext to render his visits less frequent, and to pay them in company. Marion perceived the change at the moment it took place, and, although she could not dispute its propriety, her sensibility was wounded to the quick. She commenced her first round of provincial gaiety with a fever at her heart, and an ominous presage of sorrow.

The appearance of the Silvermere party formed an epoch in the annals of the county-and, as Vibert had forseen, there was not a squire of the smallest pretensions who did not address himself sedulously to make the agreeable to them. They had little encouragement, however, in their attempts, excepting froh. Her heart was free, and her tongue was full of joy ; but Marion was looking for the return fert; and the reserved glance of her eye kept flattery at a distance, and hope in fetters. Still he returned not-she never met him in society, but she constantly heard of his having been at balls and merry-makings where she was not. It was in the vain pursuit of his peace of mind; and she was too generous to attribute it to any thing else. On his occasional visits of ceremony she received him as if nothing material had happened; but the flush was gone from her cheek, and the smile that remained was cold and sickly.

Meantime, rumor was liberal in assigning to each of the sisters her share of intended husbands. Vibert listened to the catalogue with all the trepidation of a lover who had really entertained hopes. Alas! if that selfish principle of denying to another what we cannot enjoy ourselves be excusable in any case, it is so in love. The loved object which belongs to no other still appears to be in some degree our own; and fancy conjures up, in spite of us, an indefinable trust in the future, of which the total destruction falls like the blow of an assassin. It was thus with Vibert, when, after writhing long in secret anguish at the mention of any name connected with that of Marion, report from all quarters concurred in the same uncontradicted tale. Marion was receiving the addresses of Marcus of Heroncliff: of him, for whom he had himself, from motives of the purest kindness, secured the good thoughts of her family-him whom he had made the confidant of his love-him who had professed himself to be only waiting for encouragement to throw himself at the feet of her sister! Th he should have met him daily, and never hinted at the change in his intentions! Yet might

have been that he feared to inflict pain? That he should have deserted Edith when his conduct had implied all that was devoted! Yet, was it not for Marion? But then, that Marion should have become the rival of her sister! Yet, oh! how soon she had overcome the remembrance of him, and how natural was it for the cold in love to become the faithless in friendship. Thus Vibert went on arguing for and against all the parties, and winding up with a forced ejaculation of—“It is nothing to me it is no affair of mine." It was meant to confirm his pride, but only proved his wretched

ness.

Upon this principle, and from a sense of his want of self-possession, the name of Marion never passed his lips in the presence of Marcus, who, on his part, was equally silent.

The report upon which this conduct was adopted was not so destitute of reason as those which had preceded it. Marcus, with the failing already noticed, was incapable of being a true friend; and, though at his first introduction at Silvermere, the marked intelligence between Marion and Vibert reduced him to the necessity of devoting his attentions to Edith, yet the circumstance of her sister's preference for another was sufficient to kindle in his heart the most burning anxiety to obtain her for himself. Without considering Vibert's earlier acquaintance, he felt himself eclipsed, and his honor wounded. The moment, therefore, that his friend's visits were discontinued, his own were redoubled. They were naturally, from his previous behavior, laid by the family to the account of Edith; and, upon this conviction, Marion often used him as a protection against the advances of her unwelcome host of admirers. If she was asked to dance, she was engaged to Marcus; and his arm was always ready to conduct her to her carriage. It was observed that she received much more of his attention than was bestowed upon her sister; and insensibly their manner in public became the practice in private, where there was no need for it. His hopes rose high, and he scrupled not to advance them by endeavoring to extirpate the last kind feeling which he thought might yet linger for poor Vibert. One while he affected chagrin, and invented excesses on the part of his friend as the cause of it: at another time he was incensed at injurious words, which he alleged to have been employed by Vibert towards herself. At last, when he thought himself quite secure, he disclosed his passion, and was rejected with astonishment.

The sting, for one like him, had a thousand barbs: he loved the beautiful Marion with all the energy of a soul which had never before loved a human being. Common report, and his confidence in her resentment against Vibert, had made him consider her as already his own. His triumph over all the competitors that he had feared, envied, and detested, was, as he deemed, on the eve of completion; and now he was to be the object of derision and mock pity! The means which he had used to ingratiate himself would probably be divulged. The inmost core of his heart would be exposed and scorned; and Vibert, whom he felt to be the latent cause of his rejection, was, perhaps, finally to be reinstated, and to flaunt his triumph daily before his eyes! The very evils which bad minds have attempted to inflict upon others, become a provocation to themselves: they have been defeated, and therefore they have been injured; and the rejected suitor returned home pallid and quivering with an ague fit of mortal hate.

The attentions of Marcus had never been discussed between the sisters until the occurrence of this catastrophe. He left them in a shaded alley of the pleasure-grounds, which were beginning to be strewed with the yellow leaves of autumn; and a clouded sunset cast a few long streaks across the sward, and made the deep recesses look still more sombre.

There are few who do not feel a melancholy peculiar to this period of the year. Marion had a double reason; for it was about the same time in the preceding autumn, and in the summer-house but a few steps before her that she had passed the last happy hour with Vibert!

"Marion," said Edith, as they walked on, with their arms fondly resting upon each other's neck, "you are not well. It is long since you were well; but I had hoped that the attachment of Marcus would have dispelled a deep grief, of which you forbade me ever to speak. I trusted that your heart had been arrested in its progress of sorrow, and I was silent, lest you should think me jealous of my sweet rival."

Heavens! that my apathy should have been so great as to mistake his intentions. I only bore with him because I thought him yours."

"Marion, I never should have wished him loved by you, had I not felt that your life depended on the diversion of your thoughts. I have been mistaken; you have been dying daily, and, unless you would have me die with you, let me write to Vibert. Sweet Marion, let me write, as from myself, in my own wild way, merely to bid him come and dance on my birthday."

"No, Edith, no. He would suspect the reason; it is too humiliating. I have still pride enough left to save me from contempt, if not to support me from Edith, let us talk of other things." She leaned her head upon her sister's bosom, and both were weeping, when they were startled by the gallop of a horse, and a ring at the garden gate. Edith saw that it was the servant of Vibert, and she sprang like a fawn to inquire his commission. He brought a letter for Marion, and thus it

ran :

"The relations who stood between me and the succession to the estates of Hazledell are dead. I am now my uncle's heir; but I fear too late. The sorrow of withdrawing myself to my proper dis tance when I was poor is probably to be followed up by the anguish of being forbidden to return now