The tree is yet young-if spared, we fondly hope the branches would have been so fair; we fancy each germ of virtue would have grown to maturity.

A clock on the mantle-shelf was unerringly marking the time, Anna on one side, Cunnington on the other; the baron supporting the dying form; and Alphonzo marked the hands of that dial as they pointed each moment to a different spot. Poor Alphonzo! he looked mournfully round, and said, in very feeble accents,

r

Withdraw that clock, I pray; my moments are fleeting-death is at hand. I have often wasted precious moments I would now recall; then the dial pointed as it now does, and I laughed at the warning hands. Take away the clock."

The wish was obeyed, and the dying youth continued, " Anna, I have made my will; you are heiress to my property. As

we die, what care we for gold; but, Anna, it is worshipped in the world. Do not thou worship it, my sister. Relieve the

poor, succour the aged, heed the voice of suppliant infancy, wipe the tears from eyes which overflow with grief. God bless thee! God protect thee! God keep thee from the trials of the world, in which thou wilt be surrounded by flattery and deceit !"

Anna dropped on her knees, and Alphonzo deemed her grief too natural to wish to restrain it; turning from her sobbing voice, he pressed his thin hand on Cunnington's.

Cunnington," he said, "seek again your native land; you have a fond father and mother, live not away from their tender care; die not afar from those caresses which fall so gently on our dying ears. We have spent happy days together, forming plans for manhood, never to be re

alized. How often I told you the future was not ours, but returned again to our dreams of future fame. Oh, what is fame when life is fleeting away,-what is wisdom? The child who dies knows more of hidden mysteries than the gray-bearded philosopher. Cunnington, I shall soon be no more. Let me hope my image will not be effaced from your heart. Let it not speak to your memory when you are treading gay lighted halls-not in the pomp of riches-not in the haunts of the gay; but let my memory cheer you in moments of vexation; let me come to you in those dreams when the sombre rather than the gay tints of life are hovering round your senses. Above all, Cunnington, be not ambitious. Soberly, gradually, conscientiously earn thou the bright laurels of fame; but should its too partial wreath never press thy brow, on, on, still in one

undeviating path-there is but one road to proper fame-the road of honour. Oh, often in the graver haunts of men think of your early friend, distrust the flattery of the mercenary herd, who follow great men to glory in their greatness, and to laugh at their fall."

The words Cunnington wished to utter died upon his lips, his scalding tears fell upon the hand which gradually relinquished its grasp, and a sudden convulsive movement betokened that life was extinct.

At this solemn moment a slave noiselessly glided into the chamber of death, he whispered a few words to the baron, who left the apartment without uttering a syllable; a few more moments and he was on horseback and rapidly cantering

away.

Anna and Cunnington were alone. Perhaps the latter felt the acutest grief; for

he had known Alphonzo more intimately, had felt the restraining power of his virtues, but death was equally present to both the mourners, and the sigh of the one met with a response in the bosom of the other.

Arise, Lady di Lucia," said Cunnington (for by that name was the heiress called); "arise, this is a scene from which women are excluded."

"I have often watched beside the dead," said Anna, mournfully; "this has, indeed, been an angel's death-bed. It is you, rather, who ought to be away. Go, leave us, Mr. Cunnington; go to your own happy land; go to those who have claims to your affection. Leave this strange

island."

"let

Speak not so," said Cunnington; me prevail on you to take possession of your property in England; tell me not