see you just now, and has enclosed it in this." Saying this, he handed a letter, which Henry, using no ceremony with his friend, instantly opened and read as follows:

bility of meeting with that gentleman and being | He had a letter for you, and did not know where recognized by him, was one of the dangers of her you were until I told him. He could not come to situation, which had never occurred to her. She still hoped that she might have left the room unobserved, and should he stay a week, she secretly determined that she would never be without a headache, or some other distemperature, to excuse her appearance in the parlor. But her hope was unfounded, for no sooner had Fielding returned the greeting of his friend, than he exclaimed-" But good Heaven! How is this? Did not I hear that Miss Courtney was married?"

"I understand she is," said Henry in a voice choked with emotion.

"I heard, too, that she had gone to the South, and yet I find her here."

"Here!" exclaimed Henry, with a start that, at another moment, would have sent a pang through his frame. "Here? Where? When did she ar

rive?"

"MY DEAR AUSTIN,

I have just heard of your whereabout, and will see you in a few days. Meantime I send the enclosed by Fielding. It was handed me the morning you left Washington, and I took it immediately to our room, but you were gone. Expecting to overtake you, I carried it to Baltimore, and have had it ever since. As it may be of some importance, I send it at once by Fielding, who is as regular as the post, and a thousand times as sure and faithful.

The enclosed was Gertrude's short, tender, pas"Was it not she who just left the room?" It fell from his hands and the scales The excitement of Henry's manner was gone sionate note. in a moment, and he answered sadly enough, "O! from his eyes. But the light it afforded was but That is her friend, Miss Bernard, who lives" darkness visible"-for it opened to his view here. You have perhaps seen them together, and mistaken one for the other."

no.

"You forget," said Fielding," that I saw her alone, and handed her your letter. Whoever this may be, this is certainly the lady to whom I gave it." Henry looked incredulous, but amazed, and Fielding added, "It may be that they are much alike, and if so, the resemblance is astonishing."

"You forget, my good friend," said Henry, struggling at a smile, "that you see so little of ladies, that you have never learned to look one in the face, and never know whether her eyes are blue or black."

"That is true enough generally. But I had more than an idle curiosity to see one who was an object of so much interest to you. Try me. I caught but a glimpse of this lady, but I will describe her. She is a neat and graceful figure, a little under the middle size, a brilliant, clear brunette, with rich, brown hair, and bright hazel eyes." "Your description happens to be right, and but confirms what I have said. The lady you saw in Washington," (and Henry shaded his eyes, and his voice sunk as he proceeded,) was tall, and a decided blonde, perfectly fair, with soft blue eyes and flaxen hair."

an abyss of crime and misery, in which he saw poor Gertrude, even more wretched than himself, the victim and the sport of fiends in human shape.

But who were they? Was Laura Bernard one of them? He again questioned Fielding about his interview with the supposed Miss Courtney, and satisfied himself that she had indeed been personated on that occasion by her treacherous friend. To Fielding, who was in all his confidence, he told all, as far as he understood it, and proposed that they should remain together that night and set out in the morning for Baltimore.

"What!" exclaimed the other. "I spend a night under this roof! I eat that woman's bread ! Let me not see her, for if I Let me go at once. do I shall not be able to treat her with common civility."

"Be it so," said Henry. "But I must see her Wait for me to again, though but for a moment. night at the next public house, and send a carriage for me early in the morning."

To this, Fielding assented, and went his way. Full of anxiety and alarm, Miss Bernard was divided between a wish to see Henry, and a dread of the explanation that might ensue. Halting between the two, she passed the evening in restless

"The lady I saw in Washington! I tell you, agony, and at length retired, but not to sleep, withman, this is the same." out seeking an interview. This departure from Impossible!" said Henry sadly. "Impossible. the regular routine of her attention to her patient, You must be mistaken."

66

confirmed him in the conviction that there was no "Well! Be it so. Be it so. I was mistaken. mistake in Fielding's statement. Under other cirBut I am not now. But let it be, and tell me of cumstances, the knowledge that Gertrude still loved yourself your health, and all about this cursed him, and that she too was unhappy, might have accident. It is not long since I heard of it, and I brought on fever and frenzy. As it was, he saw have just found leisure to visit you. By the bye, at a glance, the course that lay before him, and preour friend Holcombe is in the same predicament. pared himself for action, with a coolness akin to

the intrepidity with which a brave man faces certain death. He accordingly wrote a polite note to the mistress of the house, apologizing for his abrupt departure which he attributed to a call of business, brought by Mr. Fielding; and another to the daughter, requesting that he might see her for a moment in the morning. How he passed the rest of the night needs not be told.

you. It was delivered? To Miss Courtney, or to Mrs. Harlston?"

"To Mrs. Harlston."

"Then may the fiend you serve!"-he exclaimed, starting back. "Miss Bernard," he added, subduing his feelings, and speaking with solemn sternness, "as you would hope forgiveness from Man or God, let the mischief you have done stop here; and let the knowledge of this wretched transaction die with you."

She would have spoken in reply, but he was gone.

By sunrise he was ready for the road, and soon after the expected carriage appeared. He then repaired to the parlor. Miss Bernard was already there. She had passed the night in schooling herself for the interview, and she was composed, and Henry could no longer doubt the part acted by her words and voice were under command. But Mrs. Austin. He had ascertained that his first the excited eye, the deadly paleness struggling with letter to Gertrude had been suppressed, and the secthe dusky red, the swollen veins, the general as-ond intercepted by her; and that it was not by Gerpect of despairing guilt, were things that would not trude herself, but by some other, that he had been disappear at her bidding; and it required no sense repulsed from the door of Mrs. Pendarvis. Conof moral deformity to make her hideous in Henry's vinced of all this, he resolved to see her no more. sight. The difficulty was to avoid exposing to his father the conduct of his wife. This he resolved that he would not do, and he put his ingenuity to the utmost stretch to devise for himself such a course of

"You are leaving us, Mr. Austin," she said in a tone rendered more pathetic by the very huskiness of her voice.

"I find it unexpectedly necessary, Madam. Be-action and such an account of his motives, as might fore I go, give me leave to ask what was done with afford no ground to suspect his dissatisfaction with a letter to Miss Courtney, handed to you in Janu- her. ary by my friend, Mr. Fielding."

As soon as he reached the place of his destina

The look which accompanied these words made tion, he wrote as follows: all prevarication impossible.

66

I gave it to Mrs. Austin," was the reply. "And she? What did she do with it?” "She burnt it immediately in my presence." "Was she aware that such a letter was expected ?"

"She was."

MY DEAR FATHER:

"You will be gratified to learn that I am sufficiently recovered to have left the hospitable roof, where I experienced so much care and kindness, and that Iam so far on my way to Baltimore. I have stopped here to write this letter; because, as I am

"Did she know the name of the person who was about to take a step of very great importance, I to deliver it?" wish to apprise you of it without delay, "She did." 66 My long confinement has afforded me much lei"Had you any reason to believe that Miss Court- sure for reflection on your affairs and my own. ney expected it ?”

Your late losses, your feeble health, and your numerous family, all conspire to make me feel that I owe more to you and them, than I can ever accomplish by continuing at Bloomingdale. I must

"None. I was assured by Mrs. Austin, that the intimation that such a letter would be sent had not reached her." "And was it at Mrs. Austin's request that you seek a larger and loftier theatre, and, not to halt personated her daughter."

"It was. It was," exclaimed she passionately, and blushing deeply at this humiliating confession. "It was; but I had no idea what use she intended to make of it. I had no doubt she meant to give it to Gertrude, and remonstrate with her on the imprudence of a clandestine correspondence. She told me so. O Mr. Austin! O Henry! I was myself deceived; vilely, basely cheated."

between extremes, I have turned my thoughts toward the great commercial emporium of the Union. On such a theatre, I am aware that success is more doubtful, but in the like degree is it more desirable, and the attempt is more congenial to the new maxim, (magnis decidere ausis,) by which I have resolved to govern myself in future. In coming to this determination, I have not consulted you, not because I distrusted your judgment, but because In the fervor of this assurance, she clasped her I feared the bias of feelings which I had found it hands, and bent forward, as if uncertain whether to so hard to overcome. I do not fear that you will throw herself at his feet or on his bosom. He think me deficient in duty and respect, or attribute stepped back, and she would have fallen, had he to any selfish feeling my conduct, in putting every not caught her hand. Grasping it firmly, he placed thing to hazard, in the hope of rendering myself her on a sofa, and bending over her, added: "One essentially useful to you and yours. All I am, and more question, madam. The letter I myself handed all I have, or may acquire, are yours. It is not

probable that I shall ever marry; and you will perhaps guess my meaning, when I add, that I would not return to Bloomingdale at this time, because I wish not to revive feelings that must be painful, or to recall thoughts that ought to be forgotten. Hence this apparently sudden resolution. It is perhaps sudden; yet taken on full deliberation. My prudent and sagacions friend, Fielding, who alone is enough in my confidence to be put in possession of all the facts, fully approves it. The main point is the correctness of my estimate of myself. It would be vain to attempt to correct that by appealing from the partial judgment of selflove to the no less partial judgment of a father. On that point a candid and disinterested friend is the best counsellor, and Fielding bids me go on and prosper. I shall tax my good friend, Edwards, with the proper disposition of such of my unfinished business as he cannot attend to, among my brethren of the bar. To him, too, I shall commit the collection of my debts, on the faith of which, Fielding, whose outer coat of formal business habits covers a most generous heart, has advanced me all the money I shall need, until I can make more.

"You see then, my dear father, that my resolution is not only taken, but in actual course of execution. I saw enough of New-York, when there, to satisfy me as to the advantages of the position, and I am now on my way thither. On my arrival I shall keep you advised of my plans and prospects in detail. Let me hope that all may meet your approbation. Commend my love to all who love me, and think of me ever as your dutiful and devoted son,

HENRY."

be supplied.

Brief was the time allotted to each quick, succeeding band,
For thousands still came pressing on, in haste, on either
While oft, the generous host was heard to cry aloud, “give
way,"

hand,

And Henry has separated himself forever from Yet stood, as though by other's hands their wants would the friends of his youth; and Gertrude has gone to the broad Savannahs and blooming fields of the South; and Dr. Austin plods on in the duties of his profession, laboring to make some provision for his little children; and Mrs. Austin, secure in the possession of the grove, and enabled by the liberality of Harlston to prosecute her little plans for improving and ornamenting the grounds, is the happiest, the proudest, the most self-satisfied of mothers. Her conscience was silenced by the maxim, "that the means may be sanctified by the end," and she easily persuaded herself that Gertrude Yet no! one quiet group there was, who harmless stood was happy, and Henry not miserable.

How far she was right in these conjectures may one day be told. It may have been seen how my pen has dragged along over the pages that unfolded her machinations and their consequences. The effort it has cost me, makes me doubt whether I can ever man myself to the task of tracing to the end the history of two fond and true hearts, that never more found peace until they rested beneath the clod of the valley.

As some poor, hungry guest, yet at the table would delay ; And scarce among the countless hosts, who slowly homeward went,

Were aught, who, with their portion in the full feast, were

content.

apart,

What, though he yields substantial good to visionary bliss,
And barters this world's real wealth, for fancy's magic kiss;
Yet ah! methinks I'd rather choose his lot so free from
Than find myself a wrangler at the crowded feast of life.

strife,

Charleston, S. C.

MARY E. LEE.

THE PREDICTION.

(From the French.)

tasteful dessert, appeared the costly wines of Italy, the nectar d' Epernay, and the best Malvoisie and Constantia, all which only increased the perfect freedom of the feast, for it was one of those petit Soupèrs, so distinguished for gay sallies and lively satire, and where the conversation was directed to every subject in the departments of literature, philosophy, aye, even religion. Every one took his part in the torrent of words; one recited a tirade from La Pucelle; another a paragraph from Diderot; all lent some anecdote, double-entendre, or maxim, to this high fabric of jest and sarcasm. At length the name of Voltaire was pronounced, and the company united in loud applause of the patriAfter passing the early portion of his life at Mar- arch of Ferney; the man who had compelled sutinique, in the station of Governor of the Isles, the perstition and fanaticism to yield to sober reason; well-known Jaques Cazotte returned to France, and who had even calculated the epoch of the apwhere he became engaged in a law suit with the proaching Revolution, with such seeming certainty, Society of Jesuits, who refused to pay him on a that some of the guests, among them Bailly, exbill of exchange, which he had received from pressed a fear, that they would not live long enough Father Lavelette, to whom he ceded his estates to witness its excitements. But amid the general and possessions in Martinique. After gaining this approval, there was one guest, who remained perlaw suit, Cazotte chose his residence in the Com- fectly silent, till on hearing Bailly's observation, mune de Piery, near Eperney, where, surrounded Cazotte quietly observed, "almost all of us will by an affectionate family, he gave full scope to his witness the scenes of the coming Revolution, for literary inclinations, and would have been com- none can change the decrees of Providence, and it pletely happy, if business had not sometimes re- has been revealed to me, that the issue is nigh at quired his presence in Paris; every trip to which, hand." With these words, he relapsed into the increased his anxiety, since the Revolution, which reverie from which he had not until now arrived. he had long foretold, was now, with giant strides, "And shall we all really live to see these events, advancing. and to be actors in the great Revolution?" asked The death of his wife further increased his de- one of the guests. "Hail to the next prophet! jection, producing a religious melancholy, border-hail to the next prophet!"

ing on fanaticism; the dreams of his youth became realities; he pretended to have visions, which revealed the events of the future; and even fancied that by his individual exertions, the 18th century might become regenerated. This monomania did not, however, produce any aversion towards Cazotte, but rather won him a larger circle of friends, among whom he was regarded as a harmless and honest man. Such was his literary reputation, that whenever he visited Paris, a sort of fête-day was marked in the calender of letters, and during his last visit, Champfort called together a chosen set of beaux esprits, and won from the hermit of Peiry an unwilling promise, that he too would attend.

The Salon in which the guests assembled was magnificently furnished; the walls were hung with rich tapestries; the windows decorated with festoons of flowers, absolutely dazzled the eye with their brilliant illumination, and among the large party who assembled around the table, were to be seen Condorcet, Vicq d' Azir, Nicolaï, Bailly, de Malesherbes, Roucher, and La Harpe, while the Duchess of Grammont, with many other equally distinguished women, added, by their elegant appearance, to the gayety of the board. The meal was of the most recherchè sort, while with the

VOL. XI-90

"I am indeed a prophet," replied Cazotte; "the drama of the Revolution has been clearly revealed to me of your several fates, I am perfectly aware; and if you are willing, I will this moment disclose them."

"Listen all ye who are present, to the prophecy of Habakkuk," cried Condorcet with his peculiar, melancholy smile; while turning to his interlocutor, Cazotte regarding him steadfastly during some moments, then raising his hand, as if in menace, he exclaimed, "As for you, M. de Condorcet, your fate is certain. Overwhelmed by calumnies, outrages and disappointments, you shall expire upon the floor of a dungeon, from the effects of that poison, which you shall voluntarily take, to escape the hands of the common hangsman."

The gay guests were momentarily silenced, but with a fresh filling of glasses, and snuffing of tapers, their animation returned, and they observed to each other, "that poor Cazotte was subject to these singular hallucinations."

"Cazotte !" exclaimed one, "you are not half so agreeable as usual this evening. Give us another tale like your Diable Amoureux.'”

"Or even his Lord Impromptu,'" added another. "Or his 'Mille et une Fadaises,'" observed Champfort.

"Yours, M. Champfort," exclaimed Cazotte, “is | "Yes! yes! the lot of humanity you mean," a cruel destiny; for after twenty-two unsuccessful rejoined the laughing Duchess. attempts with your razor to open a vein, you will exist through two long months of acute agony." The company exchanged glances, and endeavored to laugh, while Vicq d' Azir hummed a De profundis.

"It is time that you should sing your funeral chant, Vicq d' Azir," remarked the old man solemnly. "Yonder pendulum will soon strike the hour of your death; when, in a horrible attack of gout, your trembling hands will refuse to aid you in destroying your own life, and a good friend will enable you to bleed to death. One hour more, and your fate shall be accomplished."

A general movement now took place, and the company arose with one accord; but Cazotte, observant of their intention, ran his eye along the ranks, as a shepherd, when he selects victims from his flock; till, at length, he exclaimed aloud, "Bailly, Roucher, Nicolaï, Malesherbes, you four shall undoubtedly die on the scaffold !—the scaffold, or suicide, such will be the general fate of all these guests."

Once more the shudder was followed by the witty jest, and one said to another, "Cazotte is certainly mad."

"No Madame," said he, "your destiny is also fully revealed, I read even now on the mystic page, that the Duchess of Grammont, with many ladies of her acquaintance, shall ride to the scaffold, with her hands tied behind her back."

"Of course it will be in a handsome chariot," exclaimed Madame.

"No! greater than you shall be conveyed in a common cart," remarked the old man reproachfully, "What! Princesses, would you say?" asked de Vitri."

"Greater than Princesses," muttered the prophet in a pathetic tone.

No one ventured to enquire further concerning this last prophecy, but the tapers seemed to burn suddenly blue, shades of fear stole over every face; the feast was allowed to lie untasted on the board, and the shadows of twilight seemed to extend mysteriously through the open casement. Cazotte's voice alone broke the silence, as in solemn tones he exclaimed, "Three times have I compassed the walls, crying, 'Wo to Jerusalem! Wo to Jerusalem! Wo to myself!'"

Yet once more the daring Grammont ventured a jest, as turning to the infidel Champfort, she ob

"Aye, he delights in these little pleasantries," served, "See to it, Champfort, that they allow me said another, as if in excuse.

"Yes; and to mingle in an abundance of the marvellous," observed the third.

the privilege of a Confessor."

"Even that shall be denied you," interrupted the implacable arbiter; "one only victim shall enjoy that grace." He hesitated.

"Speak out, Cazotte, who is that happy mortal!" "No other than the King of France!" And bowing a farewell, with these words the prophet left the apartment; while the guests continued to wonder over his singular hallucination which hallucication actually, it may be through chance, foretold

In the mean while, the ladies had shared in the alarm, which these revelations had produced; but the bold Duchess of Grammont, assuming an appearance of quiet indifference, enquired of Cazotte, "when all these predictions should be verified." "In six years, Madame," he solemnly replied, "all these things shall come to pass." "And may I not be included in your list of mira- events, which occurred in the same manner, and cles," pleaded La Harpe.

"You yourself shall present the most striking miracle of all," answered Cazotte; for you shall be seen bowing, bareheaded, within the sanctuary; kissing the hands of those very priests, whom you delight to ridicule,-searching for peace of mind within the gloomy walls of a cloister, and pleading pardon for your sins, at the grate of the confessional."

This less horrible, but most improbable prophecy, caused general merriment, and Champfort laughingly exclaimed, "Surely we shall all be Immortals, if the conversion of La Harpe is to prove the era of our deaths."

Madame de Grammont next enquired, "whether the ladies would be permitted to bear no part in the approaching Revolution;" adding, "that of course it must be understood that no harm should befall the gentle sex;" but the prophet interrupted her jest by the assurance, that her sex would not exempt her from the common lot.

within the same space of time that Cazotte had marked out for their accomplishment.

MARY E. LEE.

DREAMINGS.

Birds songs of life are singing,
Flowers from the Earth are springing;
Wavelets on yon murmuring stream,
Sparkle in the sunlight's gleam.
Would that I were like yon bird,
Breathing forth his carols free,-
Carols which are never heard

From a heart of misery.
Would that I were like yon flower,
Blushing into fragrant bloom,
Woven in a maiden's bower,
Emblem of her happy doom.