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motives should influence me, when performing the last offices to my dead father."
Mr. Padmore fidgeted on his chair. "You are mistaking me, Miss Channing. But I scarcely like, at the present moment, to speak out plainly."
"Pray, say anything you wish," was Margaret's reply. "Plain speaking is best always; and certainly more consonant to an hour like this."
"Then, my dear young lady, what I meant to ask was, whether you are sure you will have the money to pay for it?"
"What?" uttered Margaret.
"I fear that Dr. Channing has not died rich. Not, indeed, in easy circumstances."
Margaret thought the lawyer must be dreaming. Dr. Channing not in easy circumstances, when their house was so full of luxury!
But it was that very uxury which had assisted to impoverish Dr. Channing, Mr. Padmore said, when explanations were entered on. Ever since he had resided in town, his rate of living had far exceeded his income, neither had he been quite a free man previously. He had borrowed money at different times, which was yet unpaid.
Margaret's heart sank within her as she listened. occurred to her. “There is the insurance money! his life."
"My dear, yes.
But there are debts."
She dropped her head upon her hand. It was a startling communication.
A hasty thought Papa had insured
"I did not know that you were wholly unacquainted with these facts," he continued. "I hope you will not feel that I have spoken unkindly in alluding to them."
"No, no; I thank you; it was right to let me hear this. But allow me, Mr. Padmore," she added, with sudden energy-"allow me to know all my position; do not hide anything. Am I to understand that my dear father leaves no money behind him? None?"
"I cannot tell that, yet. If any, it will be very trifling. Nothing like I am grieved to say it-nothing like a provision for you."
“Oh, I do not think of myself," she muttered, in a pained, anguished tone, "I am thinking what a weight all this must have been upon his mind."
"Therefore will it not be well to countermand the orders you have given, and have a more simple one? I think of you when I suggest this, Miss Channing."
"It will be well," she replied. "I will do so without loss of time. It would be very wrong to incur an expense which I may not be able to pay. And after all," she added, giving way to an uncontrollable flood of sorrow, "whether the funeral be grand or simple, what can it matter to my dearest father?"
Dr. Channing's affairs turned out to be as Mr. Padmore said. There would be sufficient to pay the debts, and but a very small surplus over it-about a hundred and sixty or seventy pounds, it was computed. The furniture was disposed of advantageously, standing as it was, to the parties who had taken the house off Margaret's hands, and the carriage and horses were sold at a friendly auction.
It was the night before Margaret Channing was to quit her home. She had remained in it till the last, superintending and arranging. The books and the plate she had only that day sent away to the place where they were to be sold; and she had packed up her own clothes and effects, ready to be removed with her on the morrow. Altogether she was very tired, and sat down on a low chair before the fire, her head aching. How miserably the new year had come in for her! What would the next bring her, twelve months hence?
She sat looking into the fire-her old habit-tracing out events in her imagination. Friends, but not many, had pressed invitations upon her at the time of Dr. Channing's death-" Come and stay a week with us;" or "a few days," or "a month," as the case might be. But Margaret said "No" to all. She deemed it best to have no deceitful procrastinations, but to grapple at once with her position. She had done so, and decided upon her plans. She was well-educated and accomplished, and she resolved to go out as governess. Not to one of those wretched situations, so much cried down, of half-servant, half-teacher-Margaret would not have deigned to remain a day in such-but to a desirable appointment in a desirable family, where she would be highly considered and properly remunerated. There would be little difficulty in finding this for the daughter of Dr. Channing. As she sat there, a remembrance came over her of Captain Hoare, of the position she had once thought to occupy as his wife: how different that romance from this reality! But not half so much did she shrink from this remembrance as she did at the next-her wicked conduct to Mr. Grainger. She had thrown away the dearly-coveted hope of being his wife; thrown it away for a chimera which had failed her. Oh! to compare what she might have been with what she was! with her isolated situation, her expected life of labour! Next, her thoughts wandered to her father; and tears came on, and she cried long and bitterly.
A servant, the only one she had retained in the house, came in and aroused her. "A gentleman has called, ma'am," she said, "and wants to know if he can see you. Here's his card."
Margaret held it to the fire, and strained her dim eyes over it. "Mr. Grainger." What can he want? she mentally exclaimed. It must be something about the insurance. "Show the gentleman in here, Mary; and light the lamps."
He shook hands with her as he entered, with more of sympathy and tenderness of manner than he might have done, had he not detected the change in her the once blooming Margaret Channing. Her tearful cheek was wan and pale, and her frame much thinner than formerly; unless the deep black of her mourning attire deceived him.
"I beg you to excuse this interruption," he began, when the maid had quitted the room; "I am here at the desire of my mother. She thinks there has been some mistake-that did not receive the note she wrote you
you last week."
"I have not received any note from Mrs. Grainger," replied Margaret, pressing her hand upon her side, for her heart was wildly beating at the presence of one whom she still fondly loved, "except one she kindly wrote me when papa died."
"Not that; you replied to that, I believe; this one was written on Thursday or Friday last. Its purport, Miss Channing, was to beg the
favour of your spending a little time with her when you leave here. I" -he hastened to add-" am no longer living at home. My mother is alone."
The tears rushed into Margaret's eyes. "Every one is so very kind," "I am much indebted to Mrs. Grainger for thinking of me; but I must decline. Though I will certainly go down and personally thank her. She is no longer able to move out of doors, I believe."
"Not now; not for several months past. She wished me to inquire your plans though I know not whether you may deem it an impertinence."
"No, no," answered Margaret, scarcely able to prevent the tears falling, so miserably did old recollections, combined with present low spirits, tell upon her that evening. "I feel obliged by Mrs. Grainger's kind interest. I am going to-morrow to Mr. Padmore's for a week or two; he and Mrs. Padmore would have it so. By the end of that time I hope to have found a permanent home. Friends are already looking out for me. I must turn my abilities to account now."
"But it is not well that you should do so," he rejoined, with some agitation of manner-"it is not right for Dr. Channing's daughter. We heard of your determination from Mr. Padmore, and it grieved and vexed my mother. She would be so delighted, Miss Channing, if you would, at any rate for the present, make your home with her."
Margaret did not answer. She was struggling to suppress her rebellious feelings. "If you would but put up with her ailments, she says, and be free and gay as in your own home, she would be more happy than she has been since the death of Isabel. Allow me to urge the petition also, Miss Channing."
Margaret shook her head, but the tears dropped forth uncontrolled, and she covered her face with her hands. Mr. Grainger advanced; he drew her hands away; he bent over her with a whisper.
"Margaret! I would rather urge one of my own. That you would come-after awhile-to my home."
She rose up shaking. What did he mean?
"Has the proper time come for me to ask you once again to be my wife? Oh! let me hope it has! Margaret, dearest Margaret, it was in this room you rejected me; let it be in this room that you will atone for it."
"I can never atone for it," she replied, with a burst of anguish. "Do not waste words upon me, Mr. Grainger, I am not worth it."
"You can atone for it, Margaret. You can let home be your home, my name your name; you can join with me in forgetting this long estrangement, and promise to be my dearest wife. I will accept all that as your atonement."
"But I do not deserve this," she sobbed. "I deserve only your contempt and hatred."
"Hush, hush, Margaret! You shall take my love instead-if you will treasure, now, what you once flung away."
"Indeed I do not deserve it," she murmured; "it is too great reward
"Is it ?" he answered, as he wound his arms round her. "It shall be yours, Margaret, for ever nd for ever."
RECENT DISCOVERIES IN THE HOLY LAND.*
Ir is one of the greatest pleasures derived from the pursuit of knowledge that its acquisition leads on to further inquiries. The preparation of the former Biblical Researches in Palestine, combined with the results of personal observation, awakened in Dr. Robinson's mind a more lively sense than he had ever felt before of the deficiencies yet remaining in our knowledge of the historical geography of the Holy Land. The account of a second exploratory journey possesses, then, all the interest of being the determination of questions which arose from continued investigation of the subject, and yet which could only be solved by personal inquiry on the spot. Combined with the researches that preceded them, they constitute a mass of material, which the author proposes to himself to embody in a systematic work on the physical and historical geography of the Holy Land. It is not a slight reproach to the learning and enterprise of the Church of England, that it has never attempted anything so complete or so comprehensive as has now been effected by an industrious divine of the New World. Not that all that ever can be done to illustrate Biblical geography has been accomplished-such an exploration cannot be regarded as within the power and opportunities of any single individual. To cultivate aright the particular field of historical topography would require a residence of several years, and a visit to every town and village, to every mountain and valley, to every trace of antiquity and ruin. It is only within very recent times that the decipherment of cuneatic legends has thrown a new light upon primeval sites in Babylonia, Chaldea, and Assyria. Much, very much, remains to be done in those countries, and in the long valleys of the Euphrates and Tigris, as well as in Palestine. The exploration of the numerous tells of North Syria would afford possibly unanticipated treasures to the Biblical, as well as to the general archæologist. Archæological investigation, which a few years ago was based upon the simple identification of names, distances, traditions, or a few Greek inscriptions and other monuments, may, even now that it has been developed by excavations and philological research, be considered in its infancy. So much remains to be done, so many mounds of ruin still exist to be explored. The indifference of the British public to researches of this kind is a discouraging sign of the times. The Palestine Archæological Association, especially founded for the purpose of carrying out such explorations in the Holy Land, numbers its few hundred subscribers, while controversial theology counts thousands in its ranks. As in the days of Hooper, Cranmer, and Ridley, the question of vestments and altars excites the deepest interest, where the determination of the localities of the most remarkable events in the Old Testament, and even of the sufferings of our Redeemer, fails to awaken aught but a momentary sympathy. It is evident that it is not so in the New World, and that the healthy tone of
* Later Biblical Researches in Palestine and the Adjacent Regions: a Journal of Travels in the Year 1852. By Edward Robinson, Eli Smith, and Others. Drawn up from the Original Diaries, with Historical Illustrations, by Edward Robinson, D.D., LL.D., Professor of Biblical Literature in the Union Theological Seminary, New York. London: John Murray.
Jan.-VOL. CIX. NO. CCCCXXXIII.
religious sentiment in that country seeks for its gratification in positive contributions to the knowledge of the localities of divine events and of the natural bearing of them, instead of the spurious excitement of sacerdotal vestments and sacrificial altars.
Some of our readers are, however, possibly aware that at a remarkable pass on the coast of Syria, near the ancient river Lycus, now called the "Dog River," are traces of the passage of Egyptians, Assyrians, Romans, and Muhammadan conquerors. Besides inscriptions to a Sultan Selimit is not certain which—and to Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, there are at the pass in question nine tablets, of which three have been regarded as Egyptian and six as Assyrian (Layard says seven Assyrian, which Dr. Robinson justly remarks may have been a slip of the pen, as he also specifies three Egyptian tablets). Lepsius and Bonomi have also treated of the Egyptian tablets as all three bearing the cartouche of Rameses II. Since that time, M. de Sauley has denied the existence of traces either of hieroglyphs or of human figures on the Egyptian tablets, and, backed by an opinion to the same effect of M. Oppert, has designated the whole as a petite imposture archéologique. M. V. Wildenbruch, Dr. Eli Smith, and Consul Schultz, have all since visited the same spot, and say that they have been unable to distinguish hieroglyphics, although they thought the sunken human figure could be recognised. One of the first spots visited by Dr. Robinson, after landing on the coast of Syria, was the place now in question; and although he admits that the tablets regarded as Egyptian are surmounted by an ornamental cornice, which is not the case with those of the Assyrians, he says he must confess that, for himself, on neither of his visits (he made two), although both were made at mid-day, and under a brilliant sun, he could not distinguish either hieroglyphics or other figures, and he adds that he cannot but think that fancy has had much to do in making out the reputed copies of these Egyptian tablets. One thing is certain, that if they ever existed, they have been effaced within a brief period of time. That they did exist, the combined testimony of Lepsius and Bonomi is quite sufficient to satisfy us; how they came to be effaced we cannot venture to opine. The effects of natural causes in the same neighbourhood are very remarkable, as seen in the case of the Selim inscription, the greater part of which is effaced, and what remains is so illegible that the best scholars have been unable to make it out satisfactorily. Still it is very curious that cartouches which had existed from the time of Rameses II.-the Sesostris of Herodotus-to those of Lepsius and Bonomi, should have been obliterated between their time and that of later observers. It would almost appear as if the spirit of mischief or of wanton destruction had been at work in these monumental rocks. That the elements have also had unusual play, seems apparent from the fact that the figures which were seen by Maundrell, Pococke, Seetzen, Guys, Berton, Lepsius, and Bonomi, and imperfectly by Wildenbruch, Eli Smith, and Schultz, are now no longer visible in the brightest sunshine. It may also be observed that, however faint the cartouches may have been in their time, Bonomi and Lepsius had far more experience in detecting such than their predecessors, or than those who have followed them. Some can detect a sphinx's head on the rocks at Antioch, where others can see nothing, and the same person can make it out at one time and not be able to do so at others, so feeble are the traces of this ancient sculpture in the present day.