In what new misfortunes will she not be involved?" “But what would you have me do?" replied || Zara; "I love, and nothing can cure me of that love. The idea of my lover is always pre. seut to my mind; I see it without ceasing, see it before mine eyes, and every moment encreases my tenderness. You know not what it has cost me to confine myself and my passion for these few days past from the eyes of those about me. Alas! when I appear to you gay and cheerful for a moment, I retire the next to give vent in private to the grie that overflows my heart. The fire with which I am consumed every day acquires additional strength, and it is impossible for me long to conceal my trouble. You wish that I should live; what a mournful life do you wish me; can you demand that I should suffer an evil which oppresses me, and for which I can hope for no remedy! Let me die, your pity and your friendship requires that you should do me that service, it is the greatest I can expect from you." "No, you shall not die," said Elivira; "you shall live, and live to be happy; if you cannot help loving where is the crime? You follow an impression which overpowers your reason; if you have not endeavoured to oppose it you have done wrong; but after all efforts have proved ineffectual, what can be plainer than that it is the will of a superior Power. Live then, Zara, and lay aside that imperious resolution of putting a period to your life!" mitted to look for the return of day. I will, however, live, since you require it; and I will endeavour to live contented, if you will assist me with your advice, and support me with your friendship." Elvira embraced her tenderly, and assured her of an eternal friendship, and a zeal which nothing could diminish. She then desired Zara to inform her by what chance love had stolen into her heart. "I am now going to relate to you a very singular history," replied Zara; "and which may serve to convince you that there is no heart, whatever precautions may be taken, which is proof against the arrows of love. You can, without doubt, recal to your remembrance, that the second day after we arrived at this country-house, I went to walk alone in the grove which terminates the garden. From thence I perceived a slave watering his flowers. His countenance struck me; it seemed, pardon the expression of my tenderness, like the picture of love; he had an aspect mild and spirited, his eyes full of fire, his features re gular, and his stature tall and majestic ; though dressed like a slave, it diminished wot the gracefulness of his person; I gazed on him with an uncommon satisfaction without knowing the cause of it, and continued viewing him for a quarter of an hour without stirring from the place; I imagined if I should offer to step, and happen to make the least noise, that he would perceive me, and that under the apprehension of being found in the same place where I was, he would retire for fear of punishment. However, the more I saw him the more I took pleasure in behold "But how can I endure," replied Zara," a life mixed with so much bitterness? There are no misfortunes which may not be softened bying him, and I could not resist the temptation the gleams of hope; but in hopeless love no of advancing a little nearer him, in order to comfort can administer relief; it is like one view him more attentively." perpetual night, in which we are not per (To be continued.) 73 OAKWOOD HOUSE.-AN ORIGINAL DESCRIPTIVE NOVEL. LETTER XXI. TO MISS FREEMAN. (Continued from Page 23.) Arrowby Lodge, July 10, 1807. THE evening after I wrote to you last I saw the sun set behind the mountains of Westmoreland; and took leave of them for ever. The next day we arrived at this place. As Mrs. Douglas has many guests besides Millichamp and myself, each has an opportunity of following the devices and desires of his own heart. We have one party for riding, one før walking, and another for reading and needlework, in a morning; and never less than two card-tables in an evening. Among the rest are a Mrs. and Miss Mornington. The mother is a widow, very eloquent and very positive; and so firm a supporter of sacred regal rights, that she declared, at the beginning of the French revolution, she would have sacrificed one half of that people at a blow, to have made the other submit quietly to their king. She is a violent politician and a philosopher, and a keen player at whist, which precludes every idea of an amiable woman. The daughter is very pretty, and not less vain; but in other respects so like Millichamp, that they are always of the same mind. When he chuses to ride, so does she. When he walks, so does she. When he reads, she is in the humour to listen. And when he plays whist, she either plays at the same table, or overlooks his cards. I really believe if he were disposed to romp, she would feel the same inclination. But you may be easy and I proud; for whenever he has an opportunity he seizes me; and if Miss Mornington seizes him, he gives me half. She calls him the philosopher. Our conversation at dinner generally turns upon eating and wine; and we have a Mr. | Temple who displays much learning on these subjects. He passes his whole life between eating too much and doing penance for it, and goes on, shortening his time of enjoy ment and suffering. He is an epicure and a valetudinarian; ever studying his health, No. XXIX. Vol. V.-N. S. and forming good resolutions, which are broken by the first dish be likes. For this week past it has been his daily determination to dine upon one dish. He has always exceeded it; but to-day he has made himself ample amends for the little forbearance he has exercised. After having crammed down as much sole as he could eat, he has taken two pigeons out of a pye, and a proportionable quantity of rich crust. He is now ill. Tomorrow he will do better-till to-morrow comes. When I first came I endeavoured to confirm his prudent resolves, and recalled Ithem to his mind when he wished to forget them. I now charitably advise him to sin on, without giving himself the trouble of repentance, since he has not strength to conquer, and only makes himself uneasy by the contest. Millichamp and he regards each other with mutual contempt. Such characters as these are common: Hundreds daily drop into a grave dug by their palate. We have a lady here who has accelerated her progress in a more unusual manner, who is now an old woman of thirty-five years of age. She is the only daughter of a merchant of Nantz, and, with her mother, was driven into this country by the horrors of the French revolution in 1791. I am going to tell you her own story. When she was a child her parents found it impossible to make her learn to read, and when she wanted a few months of completing her seventh year, she only knew her letters. Her father represented to her his sorrow for her ignorance, and promised her a crown, if she could read her book by her birth-day. Thus stimulated by shame and interest, she applied to it, without any instructor, and on the appointed day read it through to her father. She was many years attended by a writing-master, but she would not learn to write because she did not like his person. At fourteen she was rich and handsome, and sung and danced well. This she thought sufficient to secure the admiration K Ma of all mankind, which was the object she had in view, and she disdained all other acquirements. She made such use of the latter of these accomplishments, during the absence of her father and mother, that on their return they found her reduced to a skeleton. Dancing was prohibited in consequence. demoiselle scorned to be controuled, and continued the amusement night and day, as before. But to prevent her mother discovering it, by her languid looks, she took the precaution of dipping her head in a bucket of cold water, as soon as she had finished. By this practice she changed her complexion, which was very beautiful, to green and purple ; and brought on so violent an illness, that she kept her bed six months, during which time she never slept. At last she recovered to a tolerable degre of health; but her complexion never resumed its former lustre, and she found she must have something else to trust to. She read with the same avidity she had danced, and acquired the English language without a master. She speaks it as well as a native, and assures me she spoke it as well as she does now, except rather slower, when she had been only three months in the country. She regards the loss of her beauty as a fortunate circumstance, as it put her upon improving her mind, and made her, as she emphatically says, find a friend in herself. She profited so well by her application, that the last year she was in France, which was the nineteenth of her age, she was at the head of her father's countinghouse. She still retains her fondness pour le danse. She still dances, when she has an opportunity, though she feels it destroys her; and declares she would die sooner than be controuled. If you think this account exaggerated, my dear Margaret, I can only repeat that it is her own. I have not altered on tittle, and have frequently given you her very words. At her passing six months without sleep, I looked incredulous. She perceived it, and appealed to her mother across the table, who confirmed the fact with great earnestness. Another of our fellow-guests is an elderly gentleman, a Captain Murray, formerly of the Bavy; sensible, easy, and well-bred. He turns every thing he touches into gold; and makes even the soles and sauces of Mr. Temple delicious morsels. This gentleman met the immortal navigator, Cap'ain Cook, at St. Helena as he was returning from his first voyage, in the Endeavour, and frequently dined at the same table with him. He represents him as a heavy unpleasant man in conversation, with something coarse and vulgar about him; respected by his officers, on account of his abilities; but not beloved, on account of bis manners. He says his soul was solely absorbed in the great enterprize he had engaged in, and he had neither time nor inclination to make himself agreeable. This, I dare say, has its foundation in truth. Neither Captain Cook's education, or situation in life could give him polished manners. His pursuits were such as no other man's whole faculties would have been equal to; and it is probable that by continually keeping his eye fixed upon the great, he might overlook the little. I would as soon find fault with the majestic organ, for not having the soft tones of the musical glasses. Are you tired of our company; or shall I tell you that we have two animals of my own species, old maids? One is a Miss Rennel, verging upon forty, with a red face, and a nose that would not disgrace Bardolph.This prominent feature at first gave me some disgust; but I found the lady so unaffected in her manners, so ingenious, and so well informed, that its size diminished every day; and now I am not sensible that it is either larger or redder than other people's. Her companion is a Miss Rookwood, something younger, disagreeable in her person, and more so in her manners. Not deficient in sense; but formal, precise, inquisitive, affected, and loquacious. Such is my dislike to her, that I never answer any thing she says, unless it is particularly addressed to me; and I have forborne to inquire after some of my friends, whom she knows, lest it should engage me in a conversation with her. I could not live in paradise with Miss Rookwood. I am glad, my dear Margaret, that you bave contrived to visit Miss Caradine in my absence. I shall meet you with much pleasure on my return. (To be continued.) STORIES OF SEVEN DAYS. (Continued from Page 27.) TALE VII-THE DISBANDED SOLDIER. | advice, but has he a'so inspired into your THE seventh and last evening, Mademoi selle Previgny was called upon by the company. My life, my dear friends, said she, as I formerly mentioned to you, has bitherto passe in such a tranquil and uniform manner, that it offers nothing worthy of your notice; but as I must relate to you something in which I was concerned, I will tell you an incident which occasioned me the happiest moments I have ever known. You have beard me speak of my brother Augusto, and you know the affection which, even from our earliest infancy, has subsisted between us; our dispositions were, however, very different; I am naturally placid to an extreme; Augusto, on the contrary, was of a temper equally vehement and haughty. It was the will of Heaven to deprive us of our mother while we were yet infants, and our father married again; Madame Previgny grew very partial to me, but she unfortunately conceived a settled dislike to my brother, and the behaviour of Augusto, as he grew up, did not tend to remove it; in fact, he liked her as little as she did him; and as he was no hypocrite, he let her see it, and the consequence was, that she did every thing that she could to render his life uncomfortab'e. My father, who doated upon his wife, suffered her to manage his family as she pleased; and she even assumed the right of dictating to my brother the profession which she wished him to embrace. He himself longed most ardently to enter the army, and that was enough to induce Madame Previgny to insist on his studying the law; this he bluntly refused to do, and her anger against him was excessive. Though I had never attempted to oppose the will of my mother-in-law, yet, tured to take the part of my brother; but my doing so only made matters worse-" What," said Madame to me, "is it not enough that be should presume to act in defiance of my now ven ind a spirit of obstinacy and disobedience?" I was about to speak, but she interrupted me." Be silent, I desire," cried she, in a severe tone;" for the more you say in favour of Augusto, the more I feel enraged against him; you would act more wisely in eudeavouring to dispose him to obedience to our wishes, than in pleading for him." I knew the temper of Augusto too well to think of obeying Madame Previgny's commauds; she however insisted positively on his studying the law, and he told me privately, that sooner than do so, he was determined to go a volunteer to America. This determination of my brother's occa sioned me considerable uneasiness; but every effort I made to induce him to change it was vain. "I shall grieve to part with you, Adrienne," said he to me; "but I cannot consent to devote myself to a profession which I abhor; and without I do so, I am well convinced that Madame Previguy will incense my father against me to such a degree that my life must be miserable; I hope and trust that I shall distinguish myself, and should I return to my family bearing a commission, for which I am indebted to my own exertions, then my Adrienne will feel pride as well as pleasure, in embracing her brother." By arguments like these, Augusto endeavoured to reconcile me to our separation; but in truth, I was neither a heroine nor a philosopher, and I wept the present, as bitterly as if I had no hope for the future. Augusto departed secretly, and the anger of iny father at his doing so exceeded all bounds. I was forbade to mention him, and in a short time he appeared to be forgotten by the family; he lived, however, in my heart. Peace began to be talked of, and I anticipated the delight which I should feel in seeing him, when an event happened, that by plunging us all into affliction, diverted my thoughts into another channel. This was a loss which my father sustained of the greatest part of his property. He had inherited a large estate from an uncle, who bought it of a nobleman, and as the title unfortunately was not a good one, his heir sued my father, and recovered it. We had still enough left for the decent comforts of life; but my father was a man of the world, and the Juxuries to which he had been accustomed, appeared to him unfortunately necesssary to his comfort, and Madame Previguy regretted the want of them even more bitterly than himself; indeed she never recovered this blow, for in a few months afterwards she died of a decline. I thought that my father would have sunk under this affliction, and for a long time every effort that I used to console him was vain. We quitted Paris, and retired to a small estate which my father purchased, near the town of I had written to my brother the particulars of our misfortunes, but I had no answer, and the fear of his death was added to what I suffered. Though I was not sixteeen, my father made me his housekeeper; I was lucky enough to acuit myself to his satisfaction. His spirits grew better by degrees, and I had the happi- || ness to find that he treated me with a degree of affection which I had never before received from him, and were it not for my fears on Augusto's account, I would have recovered my tranquillity; I had heard from him only once since his departure, and this letter, which I always carried about me, I frequently took out to read when I was alone. One day my father entered my chamber while I was doing so without my perceiving him. "What have you got there, Adrienne?" cried he; I blushed even to crimson, for I had no reason to suppose that his anger against poor Augusto was abated, and he had positively interdicted my corresponding with him. me the letter; but I had now gathered courage, and I besought him to read it; for some time he refused, but my tears and caresses at length prevailed; he read it with tolerable composure till he came to a paragraph in which Augusto repeated to me his hope of distinguishing himself. 66 My father may then," continued he, " for get the anger which he has conceived against a son who never intentionally offended him. Oh! Adrienne, how happy should I be in receiving his pardon and his blessing. Yesterday I was for the first time in an engagement; the son of our Colonel, who is also in the regiment, behaved remarkably well; think, Adrienne, what I felt, when the father embraced his boy, and congratulated, him ou his deserving his thanks; I thought at the moment of the cruel interdiction which my father has laid on you not to mention my name, and my heart swelled almost to bursting." As my father read this paragraph, I could see that he was very much affected; tears trembled in his eyes, and in a faultering voice he said, "When you write to your brother, Adrienne, tell him I forgive him." Alas! I knew not that my poor Augusto was in existence, and I wept bitterly, whilst I related to him the uncertainty I was in as to his fate; he endeavoured to console me, and he immediately made inquiries, but the result of them was very unsatisfactory; all that we could learn was, that my brother must either have perished, or been taken prisoner by the Indians. I had, however, the melancholy consolation of mixing my tears with those which my father gave, to the loss of poor Augusto, whom we now gave up as lost for ever. Some time had elapsed, peace was proclaimed, and our troops returned from Ame. rica, but no intelligence whatever reached us of my brother. We lived in a very retired manner, but among the few families with whom we cultivated an intimacy, was that of Monsieur Dorval; his eldest daughter was about to be married, and we were invited to the wedding. My confusion struck my father with surprise, and in a tone of anger, he demanded to see the letter, I put it into his hands without speaking; he changed colour when he saw it was my brother's hand, and in a tone of mildness, which I had not expected:" It is hard," said he, "that both my children "I would wish your dress to be handsome, should disobey me." As he spoke he returned "in compliment to your friend, Adrienne," said |