"But I long to know now! do tell me, grandfather!"

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No, no; it is nine o'clock."

"Please, Sir !-I shall sleep so much sounder to-night." "Ask your grandmother, you young rogue!"

I glanced at her. A bright smile was on her withered countenance. She did not speak, but I knew that my aged grandsire was the identical Harry, and his white-haired partner no other than the Mary he had loved.


NAY, smile not on me! I have borne
Indifference and repulse from thee;
With my heart sickening I have worn
A brow, as thine own cold one, free,
My tone has been as gay as thine,
Ever thine own light mirth repeating,
Though in this burning brain of mine,
A throb, the while, like death, was beating.
My spirit did not shrink or swerve→→
Thy look, I thank thee, froze the nerve.

But now again, as when I met
And loved thee in my happier days,
A smile upon thy bright lip plays,
And kindness in thine eye is set,
And this I cannot bear !

It melts the manhood from my pride,

It brings me closer to thy side,

Rewilders, charms me there

There, were my brightest hope was crush'd and

Oh! if thou couldst but know the deep
Of love, that hope has nursed for years,
How in the heart's far chambers sleep
Its hoarded thoughts, its trembling fears-
Treasure that love has brooded o'er,
Till life, than this, has nothing more-
And couldst thou-but 'tis vain!

I will not, can not tell thee how

That hoard consumes its coffer now;

I may nor think of pain,

That sickens in the heart, and maddens in the

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"The love or hatred of brothers and sisters is more intense than the love or hatred existing between any other persons of the same sexes. Probably nothing so frequently causes divisions between those whom nature has blessed with the holy relationship of brother and sister, perhaps that it may be the depository of pure affection, as an unequal distribution of the affection of parents. H. MORE..


The young aspirant started from the contemplation of scenes of triumph and empire, carnage and blood-the last too soon to be realized-and beheld his father standing by his side, who had entered the library, and approached him unperceived. Seating himself in the recess of the window, he motioned his son to a chair, placed opposite to his own. The bearing of the veteran exile was at all times in the highest degree digni. fied and imposing. His was the brow, eye, and presence to command respect and receive homage.

The affection of Achille toward his father was not unmingled with sentiments of fear. But he was the only being before whom the proud eye of the boy quailed.

That his father loved him, he had never doubted. He knew that he was proud of him, his noble, fearless boy," as he would term him, while parting his dark clustering locks from his handsome forehead, after he had performed some daring feat of boyhood. But when he spoke to Henri, the gratified and proud expression of his eyes softened under the influence of a milder feeling, and his smile would fade into a sweet but melancholy expression; nor would Achille have exchanged his inspiring language to him, "his darling boy!" for the kind tone, and manner he involuntarily assumed when he would say, Henri, my beloved child, come and amuse me with your prattle "-nor would the tearful eye, as he gazed down into the upturned face of the amiable boy, have pleased his wild spirit like the enkindling glance of that admiring eye, when turned upon him in paternal pride. Achille translated his glance of pride into an expression of love, and sympathized with one so evidently regarded with an air of sorrow, if not pity, as his brother. If he gave the subject a moments' reflection, it resulted in the flattering conviction that he himself was the favourite son.


But on the morning which introduces him to our notice, he had to learn too painfully, that Henri was the favourite child

of the old soldier's affection, and that so far from loving him but a little less, he loved him not. That look of affection which he had translated as an expression of compassion for the gentler nature of his brother, he had to learn was an expression of the intensest parental affection. In his brother, his father worshipped the image of his departed wife, and all his affection for her, which the cold hand of death had withered in its beauty and bloom, was renewed in his beloved Henri. He was doubly loved-for his mother and for himself-and there remained for Achille, so the sensitive and high spirited boy learned that day, no place in the affections of his sole surviving parent.

His father being seated, addressed him :

"Achille, you are now of an age to enter the university, for admission to which the nature and extent of your studies eminently qualify you. In a few days the annual examination of candidates will take place, and in the interval you can select and arrange a library for your room, and collect what other conveniences you may require. You will leave by tomorrow's coach."

This was a delightful announcement to the subject of it, and not wholly unexpected. To the university, that world in minature, he had long looked forward with pleasureable anticipations. It was a field of action, at least, and he panted to enter upon it.

The two brothers had both prepared for admission into the same class, and he inquired if Henri was to accompany him.

"He is not," replied the father, coldly and firmly.

"He is certainly prepared, Sir !"

"Undoubtedly! But I have decided that he is to be my companion to the Continent this season, as I fear his delicate constitution will not admit of his confining himself at present to sedentary pursuits."

"I was anticipating that happiness for myself," replied Achille, chagrined at his father's preference for his brother, so unexpectedly manifested, not only by the words he uttered, but by this tone and manner. He had long known his intention to visit Italy, and expected to accompany him although his expectations were founded rather on his own wishes, than any encouragement he had received from his parent.

Now that he learned his intention of taking Henri, instead of himself, he felt keenly the preference; and the coldness, if not severity, of manner he assumed in communicating his

determination, offended his pride, whilst his decided partiality for his brother wounded his self-love. The old soldier was a man of few words, and his son was well aware, that his resolution once formed, he was unbending. He knew that his brother was to go, and that he was to remain; and with a bitter and wounded spirit he turned his darkening brow from the penetrating gaze of his father, and looked forth upon the beautiful scene which lay out-spread beneath the windows of the library.

A closing door roused him from his gloomy and sinful reverie, and turning, he found himself once more alone! No-not quite alone! An evil spirit-Jealousy! pregnant with dark thoughts and evil imaginings, was his companion. A long hour passed away, during which his first fierce conflict with his hitherto slumbering passions took place. The first suspicion that his brother was best loved, then entered his thoughts. Once admitted, it undermined by its subtle logio the better feelings of his heart. Doubts were strengthened to confirmations, suspicions magnified to certainties, in the rapid and prejudiced retrospect he took of his father's bearing towards his brother and himself, from the earliest period of his recollection.

But an hour-one short, but momentous hour-for then was fixed the lever which moved the world of passions within him, with all their evil consequences-had expired, and the cankerworm of hatred, with its venemous fangs, was gnawing at the last slender fibre that bound him to his brother, when the hall door was thrown open, and the unsuspecting and innocent subject of his dark meditations bounded into the room, holding in his extended hand a gemmed locket.


"See, brother, see!" he exclaimed, in a loud and delighted tone, see what my dear father has presented me as a birthday's gift ""'

Achille raised his eyes and fixed them full upon the sparkling locket which enclosed the miniature of an exceedingly beautiful female, with a form, cheek, and eye, radiant with feminine loveliness.

He recognised the portrait of their mother, which till that moment had ever been worn, as the holy pilgrim wears the sacred cross, next to the heart of his father. So dearly treasured had that sacred memento of his departed wife ever been, that he never was permitted to remove it from the mourning ribbon by which it was dependent from his neck. Now, he saw the cherished relic in the possession of his brother, a gift

from him. His lip curled, and his dark eye became darker still at this stronger confirmation of his father's partiality, yet he neither spoke nor betrayed his feelings by any visible emotion; but the fires within his breast raged deeper still. Like pent-up flames, his passions gained vigour by the very efforts made to smother them.

For the first time in his life he looked upon Henri coldly, and without a smile of tenderness. He felt indeed, although his lips moved not with the biting words that rose to them, that the poison of his heart must have been communicated to his eyes; for, as his brother caught their unwonted expression, he suddenly checked himself, and the gay tones of his voice sunk subdued to a strange whisper, as he faintly inquired, at the same time placing his delicate hand upon his shoulder, "if he were ill?"

"No!" he replied, with an involuntary sternness that startled even himself.

The next moment he would have given worlds to recall that fatal monosyllable, and pronounce it over again, more gently; but it was too late. The sensitive boy recoiled as though he had encountered the eye of a basilisk; his forehead changed to a deadly hue, the blood fled from his cheeks, and he seemed about to sink upon the floor; but, suddenly recovering himself, he laughed, and the rich blood came back again, and his eye glanced brightly as he exclaimed, but half-assured:

"Brother, you did but try to frighten me—you were not, in earnest, angry with me?"

His heart melted for a moment at this affectionate appeal, but with a strange perverseness he steeled it to insensibility. "Leave me to myself," he roughly replied, "I am not in the humour to be trifled with."

Mysterious inconsistency of will and action! He would have given his right hand, or plucked out his right eye, to have recalled the first angry word he uttered. In his own mind he did not will to speak thus harshly; yet, by a singular but frequent anomaly, his words and manner were directly in opposition to his will. The first word spoken in an angry mood, hewed out a broad pathway for legions.

As he uttered his last words, the tears gushed into Henri's eyes, and yielding to the influence of affection, he sprang forward and threw himself into his elder and beloved brother's arms, wept aloud, and sobbed out amidst his tears,

"Brother! Achille ! wherein has Henri offended you?" An evil spirit now seemed indeed to have taken possession of him. With angry violence he thrust Henri from his em

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