"And I, too, Charles, must bless that persevering, yet generous spirit of yours, which has given me so dear a sister!" said Mary Winthrop, embracing Isola. year of my poor father's life, with these which | desolateness and woe, when death had left you now surround me, so replete with happiness, I an orphan!" seem to be the sport of some blissful dream!" "And a dream, dear Isola, from which let it be my care no rude storm shall arouse you!" replied Irving. "In the joys of the present, let the bitter past be buried-joys which to me would have never been, but for those sorrows which first awoke my sympathy and my love! Yes, Isola, I loved you from the first moment that I saw you in your sadness, kneeling at the feet of your father, upon the pavement of San Marc, and shall ever bless the hour, when led on by an interest which I then could not explain, I found you in that moment of your "I acknowledge, Irving, that I thought you a romantic, headstrong youth," continued Winthrop; "but when I see before me the lovely prize which rewarded your zealous pursuit, I also must be thankful that this very perverseness of yours, rendered my ridicule and my advice alike powerless, and has given to our home and hearts one whom it will ever be our pride and happiness to love and cherish." AUTUMN. I. BY R. H. STODDARD. DARK on the welkin's verge the city looms, (See Engraving.) But here the hills and vales, with all their blooms, II. For ever changeful o'er the changeful globe, Fantastic Masquer! who may sketch thee best? A curvéd bugle at thy baldrick hung, And in thy hand a slender hunting spear;— The field hands loll away the noontide hours, III. What time, emerging from a low-hung cloud, I saw thy glorious presence full revealed, A golden wheat sheaf, slipping slowly down, Across each arm, tugged downward by the load, In thy left hand a sickle caught the light, Along the fields of night: One moment seen, the shadowy masque was flown, IV. The sky is soft and beautiful to-day, Serener than is Summer's fiery reign; V. Come forth, ye dwellers in the sickly maze Can all the wealth ye rake together there Repay the need of ever limpid springs; Or some poor cripple's crutch an angel's wings! It cannot be!-despite your years of shame, The old allegiance binds ye as before; And all within ye feeds the sacred flame, And bids the soul adore The world's divinity around us evermore! VI. Hark! hark!-the merry reapers in a row, Shouting their harvest carols blithe and loud, Cutting the rustled maze whose crests are bowed With ears o'ertasselled, soon to be laid low; Crooked earthward now, the orchards droop their boughs With red-cheeked fruits, while far along the wall Full in the south, ripe plums and peaches fall In tufted grass where laughing lads carouse;And down the pastures, where the horse goes round His ring of tan, beneath the mossy shed, Old cider-presses work with creaky din, Oozing in vats, and apples heap the ground; And hour by hour, a basket on his head, Up-clambering to the spout, The ploughman pours them in! VII. Sweet-scented winds from meadows freshly mown, Blow eastward now, and now for many a day, The fields will be alive with teams of hay, And by and by, when northern winds are out, VIII. Sovereign of Seasons! Monarch of the Earth! With plenteous harvesting, on heaped increase, for recreation and self-improvement. We shall often visit you, and take a continual interest in your health and welfare; and as, at Mrs. Aston's suggestion, I have added fancy jewelry, perfumery, with the richer kinds of lace and muslin work to the chief stock of ladies' shoes, the profit of such addition I shall make wholly yours. With respect to your family, no member of it can be received here without my express permission." The next day the shop was opened by Emily and her assistant, and when its handsome bowwindow was decked with beautiful shoes, in both silk and leather, with rich lace, and collars, and handkerchiefs, it had really a gay appearance, so much so as to attract many purchasers. After remaining another day, Mr. and Mrs. Aston returned home, leaving Emily to prove the truth of her earnest promises. The business survived its first attraction; for ladies of rank and fortune in the neighbourhood, who had hitherto been provided from London, were glad to find goods as choice nearer home; and Emily's modest and ladylike demeanour, and anxiety to oblige, induced many to become, not merely purchasers, but warm and earnest friends. At the close of a fortnight her assistant left her, leaving the entire management solely to Emily's care, with so successful a result as to enable her, when she closed her month's account with Mr. Aston, to transmit through the bank a far larger sum than had been anticipated. fair heart, and (what was of most consequence) a heavy purse. Anxious to secure this prize, if possible, she resolved it should not be lost through the deficiencies of her wardrobe, so orders were given to Lady Edendale's tradesmen in the neighbouring town for new dresses, shawls, and ribbons of the most costly description. "Did you see in this morning's paper," said Sir John to Mr. Eyton one evening in the drawing-room, "that Mr. Aston is returned for that borough in Ireland you once tried for? I suppose it must be one of John Aston's sons. There was a pretty girl, too, of that name in York last summer. You remember, don't you, Eyton, for you are rather an admirer of the Warwickshire ladies." "Yes," replied Mr. Eyton, with apparent hesitation. "Don't blush so, Eyton," laughed Sir John. "And now, Miss Severne, as you are one of the ladies of this favourite county, you know the Astons, I suppose?" "By mere report," replied Charlotte with a haughty sneer, whilst her whole thoughts were absorbed by Eyton's hesitation, "for they are a low family. Indeed, such mere money-getting parvenus as to be quite out of the bounds of our acquaintance, for mamma wouldn't let us know a shoemaker for the world." "A parvenu!" laughed Sir John, lifting his hands in surprise; "your mamma's notions of gentility rise far higher than mine, young lady. John Aston not fit for an acquaintance, not genteel, a mere parvenu, eh! What! the man who recognises poverty and oppression wherever they may be-who builds schoolswho is a Samaritan amidst the moral leprosy of ignorance and crime-who has done more to raise the social and intellectual condition of his native town than any other man-not genteel? Perhaps not, according to such cant as convention preaches. If this be your class of opinions, what sort of distinction do you draw between him and his friend Bright, whom I heard, not long ago, you are to marry ?" "Marry! I marry Mr. Bright! I should refuse any man of such vulgar pretensions. I marry a button-maker!-I should not do such injustice to my family, Sir John." In the meanwhile Charlotte Severne had found Sir John Edendale's seat in the North, a far more luxurious place than she had imagined. For she had apartments, as well as a waiting-woman assigned to her, a horse to ride, a pony carriage to drive in, and though Lady Edendale was haughty and exacting, both Sir John and his daughters were mild and courteous. The house was often thronged with visiters, and amongst them was occasionally a gentleman named Eyton, who, being very wealthy, and possessed of a fine landed estate in the immediate neighbourhood of Edendale | Park, Charlotte thought the worthiest of her attention. Her views she considered were the more likely to prove successful, from the circumstance of his being a very old friend of the Edendales, often coming and remaining whole days at the Hall, and riding, walking, and passing the evening with Sir John's daughters, with the social kindness and familiarity of a brother. Charlotte being constantly with her cousins, could not escape sharing the brotherly "We differ, young lady. When we talk of an attentions Mr. Eyton paid them, but instead of honourable man, we talk of one in every sense receiving such in the spirit her cousins received a gentleman. It will be prudent for you, I them, she was pretty soon vain enough to think think, Miss Severne, to modify your views, for that her superior charms, her smiles, and it unfortunately happens that we are not all satin dresses had made conquest of a very so quick as the shepherd in La Fontaine, in "Well," pointedly laughed Sir John, "if he ever does me the injustice,' as you call it, to offer for one of my daughters, she will not say 'nay' by my consent." "Oh! Sir John, trade is so ungenteel !" TRADE AND GENTILITY. our discovery of real character; and the profession of mere gentility is often no more than the sheepskin to the wolf." Charlotte's conscience told her this was indeed too true; whilst this unexpected testimony to the worth of the man she had so heartlessly and so insultingly rejected, made the rebuke the keener and more forcible. Through the weeks which thus passed by in a round of luxury and pleasure, Charlotte heard once from Emily, but no sooner had she read about the shop, than the letter found a contemptuous resting-place in the fire, as did the more frequent ones from her mother, filled with doleful accounts of "John's poverty," and "John's wife," and "John's want of practice," and dear Montague's disappointment at his uncle's death, and consequent enlistment as a common soldier in the Spanish legion," and "Emily's ungentility and ingratitude," and "that Aston's selfishness in robbing her of her furniture." As this was the grand anniversary of the great musical festival at York, the Edendales made preparations to attend its celebration. On the evening before their departure from their seat for the county town, some of Sir John's neighbouring friends met at his dinnertable. As Charlotte was passing from the dining-room with the other ladies, she overheard the name of Eyton, and curious to know what was said, for Mr. Eyton had been in York some weeks, she lingered for the instant to listen. "Yes," said one of Sir John's friends, "Eyton is going to be married at last." "To whom?" asked another. "Do you not know? Why to the pretty girl from Birmingham. The whole surprise will come at York, for a house is already taken, and other preparations made." Charlotte could hear no more. Yet it was enough. "Certainly Mr. Eyton had made no proposal yet," she thought, "but he has been very attentive; and some men hang back so, that the proposal and the marriage may be both in one week." The more she viewed the case in this light, the more she was confirmed in her belief; and she at once made the resolution not to appear at the festival in her often-seen satin, but in new dresses that should win Mr. Eyton's heart, if dresses could. Acting upon this resolve, she ordered the carriage, on some pretext or another, on the very evening of her arrival in the town, and drove to the house of the most aristocratic and fashionable milliner. As the "niece" of Sir John Edendale, and with her address at a first rate hotel, of course her orders of blond, and crape, and flowers, of a ball dress, and a morning dress, and a 211 concert dress, were thankfully attended to; and the latter dress promised for the next day early, as the Edendales and herself had received cards to dine with Mr. Eyton, and afterwards accompany him to the evening concert. Just as Charlotte was stepping from the milliner's door into the carriage, she perceived a tall gentleman with mustaches, and in a military undress, regarding her attentively. She found he followed the carriage, so pulling the check-string, she ordered it to stop before a perfumer's door, where she alighted and entered. The gentleman entered too. "Who is that gentleman?" she asked the shopman in a gentle whisper. "Colonel Frederick Mortimer, ma'am, who is staying at a hotel in this very street. He is a very great gentleman, I believe, for the waiter spoke exceedingly in his favour, when he came in to order a large quantity of perfume for the Colonel this morning." "Well, here is another chance," thought Charlotte, "and a rich colonel too! Can anything be so fortunate, particularly as his admiration is unmistakeable ?” Dressed in the most costly white satin and blond, Charlotte repaired with the Edendales to Mr. Eyton's house. He received them so cordially, as to give new birth to Charlotte's hopes, and as he handed her up stairs she seemed to feel his weighty purse within her hand. As they entered the drawing-room, a group of ladies was gathered near the window: to this he led Charlotte and Lady Edendale. "My dear Lady Edendale," he said, when they had come near enough, "let me hope you will call this lady friend: Miss Severne, let me introduce you to this same lady as my wife, Mrs. Eyton, a week ago Miss Elizabeth Aston, whom I dare say you, Miss Severne, only know by name, as her father is unhappily a tradesman, a parvenu, and ungenteel." There was so much meant in these words, and they so fully conveyed the reproof desired, as to make Charlotte in an instant pale with anger; but conquering it by one of those efforts which the proud can alone make, she, as a set-off, warmly congratulated the bride, though it was with a quivering lip, and with a faltering tongue, which revealed more than words. Her very heart felt sick, but there was now no receding; on she must now proceed, to hide worse sins than insolence or pride. There at the concert, as she hoped, was her admirer. As it was now necessary to make a bold stroke for a rich husband, she received, though against ordinary custom, the courtesy of an opera glass, a book of the performance, and with great affability a better seat; and |
