¡ ... THE FAIRIES' GLEN. BY MRS. Y. B. SCOTT. There was a pleasant place Oft the poor peasant cast I loved it overmuch In my young days; Round the old maze! O how the grass was worn When on the winds were borne Voices of Spring. Fairies, the legends say, Oftentimes used to play, Ere the first peep of day, In the round ring. Mountains lay far behind, As Piety keeps the mind Then came the tall dark trees, We little children oft Ventured to play, When came the first sweet soft O how our laughter rung As years sped swiftly on, Still sauntered we, 'Neath spring and summer sun, Our young lives filled with dreams, 'Neath the old tree. Painters full well I ween Never came there; Canvas ne'er showed a scene One-half so fair. Some on the high green bank Some, kneeling downward, drank From the clear spring. Some, with their gambols wild, Tired as some playful child, Lay down asleep, and smiled, By the clear spring. THE SMILE. "Tis not the marvel of an eye, The wonder of a brow, Within whose snares enmeshed I lie, For ever captive, now; Oh, no-no-no! My heart has learned to know I am not captive to a cheek, Or prisoner to a curl, My snarers now in vain you seek My heart has learned to know Of stronger bonds than those so weak That held me long ago. Say I her voice would music teach As with all sweetness dower her speech SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF AN HEIRESS. BY CAMILLA TOULMIN. whilst still an infant, she had no recollections save those of "the heiress;" for, strive as parents or guardians may to conceal it, children very soon discover their real position, nor is it quite certain that it would be desirable to be otherwise. There were silly people who wondered at her quiet, gentle manners, her extreme affability and frequent condescensions, forgetting that arrogance is an attribute of the parvenue, and could form no part in the character of Alicia Rashleigh. Too young to remember the one parent, the death of her mother, while yet in the spring-tide of her girlhood, had seemed her first bereavement. She had friends it is true-kind, dear friends, but no near relatives; she felt keenly her isolation, and through that suffering understood, young as she was, the responsibility her own expectations entailed. I say expectations, for her property was so settled that she could not come into the entire possession of it till the completion of her twentyfifth year. Many, however, were the suitors for her hand long before that period had elapsed; some, we may charitably suppose, for admiration and love of her own sweet self; a few possibly from admiration of les beaux yeux de sa cassette. I must commence with a terrible confession. My heroine was not beautiful; neither was she, at the period I must introduce her to the reader, in her première jeunesse, for she had arrived at the age which a young lady in her teens considers if the individual be single-as verging most decidedly on old-maidism; if marriedwhich my heroine was-as a very near approach to middle age. In short, she had lived a quarter of a century. Those, however, who have considerably passed this epoch are accustomed to look back on it as a very bright period of their youth, and, if they are among those dear loveable people who enjoy their old age, acknowledge their advanced years, and remember not only the outward and visible events of their own youth, but the ebb and flow, the high tide of its keen sensations, its idle wishes, false hopes, and needless fears, they look on these emotions, reflected, as it were, in the mirror of another's heart, with sympathizing protection, yet calm and dignified composure. Now, as for the individual herself, at five-and-twenty she feels nothing passée which she has the slightest desire to recall. If she have a character, it is by that time developed; and the development of our own character usually places us on a pinnacle from which we can, better than here- It was neither the titled nor the wealthy whom tofore, view the world at our feet. If she have she chose, but the younger brother of a good a heart, its depths have probably been sounded, family. It was called an imprudent match; her an operation, whatever its results, involving so friends gave advice, a most unmarketable commany mingled feelings that its memory is some-modity; her acquaintances "pitied" her; yet, times sweeter than the reality. If she have a if the truth must be told, some of them (though mind, she must feel it is daily expanding, and they would not have owned it for the world) felt promising, with a prophet's voice, that its meri- rather glad that she, who was called a paragon dian is yet in the far future. If she have beauty, of perfection, had reduced herself a little nearer time hath not dared to mar it. I hope I have to their own level by doing one foolish thing in established the fact that five-and-twenty is a de- her life: her trustees, dressed in the armour of lightful age! In fact, it is so delightful that their "brief authority," threatened her, asserting people would like to stop at it. their rights and power the more pertinaciously as each passing month the more contracted their remaining span. Truly Love is blind; and yet his bandage is the very sign of his divinity! Heaven knows it is too apt to fall; ay, and how slight a thing will remove it! Had Arthur Forster said a silly thing, or done an ungentlemanly one (ungentleman-like, in this sense, to include everything mean, dishonourable, or vicious), it is probable Alicia would never have married him. But, having won her young heart, he was little likely to lose it. Strikingly handsome, intellectual, of polished manners, and brilliant in conversation, there was no fear of a rival. To be, where the heart is concerned, firm in her resolves, to be perchance too devoted, may be a fault in woman's character, or it may not; however this may be, Alicia Rashleigh was a true woman, and though many people would Alicia Rashleigh had a decided character, a warm and generous heart, an enlarged and cultivated mind; and so, though not beautiful, in accordance with a sure theory, she could not be plain. Her brow, though not so white as Parian marble, was finely shaped; there was mind in it, and intellect and heart were both revealed in her large yet rather deep-set hazel eyes. I have seen many mouths more finely chiselled, more "fit for a sculptor's model," but few where strong decision was so tempered by sentiment and feeling; her hair, though dark, was not the "hue of the raven's wing," but it was rich and abundant, and always fell gracefully. From a failure in the male line the barony of Rashleigh had become extinct, but the vast wealth annexed to it had centred in its sole representative, Alicia. Deprived of her father have praised her discretion had she broken her engagement, she kept her faith unswervingly. She was two-and-twenty; and three years, when in the future, seem an eternity. It must be confessed, she braved her guardians and trustees, and they did their worst, by consenting to her marriage only on the condition that Arthur Forster assumed her own name, and that nearly all her fortune should be settled on herself. Had she married without her guardians' consent, she would have lost many thousands; and fearing that she would do so might probably be the reason they granted it, however reluctantly. of the prize he sought. Alicia had known him for years (he was some half-dozen her senior), and felt for him a respect and esteem which almost amounted to reverence. Ah! why does not Love more often build his altar on those rocky foundations, instead of on the sandy, shifting soil of the passions? The Earl of had loved hopelessly for years; he had left England on Alicia's marriage, and, now that the charm of time had worked, he had wedded almost a stranger, one who, three months since, had been Alicia's guest, and then had never seen him. They were married abroad, and now the journal of the day gave particulars unknown to those most deeply interested. What a pity that an ingenious story was thus wasted; but be sure it was not half so "passing strange” as the truth. The smile that passed across Alicia's face had settled into an expression of joy and cheerfulness: not that the marriage of which she read was news to her; but it led her mind to dwell for a moment on past events, and thence to rejoice in the present; for she did rejoice that peace was restored to the heart which she had so much pained. Placing the journal on one side, ready to shew her husband, she descended to the conservatory, for Arthur had admired a bouquet she wore the preceding evening, and she wished herself to gather one precisely similar. I have said my heroine was five-and-twenty, consequently she had been three years married, and as yet had not repented that important step. It was morning, that is to say, an hour or so after noon, and she sat in an exquisitely arranged boudoir, employed in some of that busy trifling in which the sagest of us occasionally indulge. The windows, which opened to one of the parks, were crowded with rare flowers-Alicia had a passion for flowers-the odours of which the summer breeze wafted into the chamber. The room itself bore the test of true elegance, by wearing also an air of extreme comfort. An open pianoforte was there, and an uncovered harp, books in abundance, a few cabinet pictures by the first masters, a writingtable that had just been used, and a work-box, the inside of the lid of which had once been a The conservatory opened into a drawing-room, looking-glass, but which had been removed to and many a rich and odorous blossom had make way for an enamel painting of a child, a Alicia severed before she approached the glasslittle girl not more than two years old. But we door which led to that apartment; close to it, have nothing to do with the perfumed notes however, stood a beautiful myrtle, which she which had been written, the book which lay fain would rob of a delicate flower. She stepped open, or the filmy muslin which rested in the lightly, but at the moment her ear was arrested open work-box. The imagination is a magic by the preluding chords of a guitar, and a rich mirror, and the reader must picture on its sur- voice, which began a passionate Italian melody, face Alicia Rashleigh, with a newspaper of the and which she immediately recognized as that day in her hand. A smile passes over her coun- of a young foreigner, who for the last few tenance, and no wonder. Among the "fashion-months had been almost a protégée of hers. She able intelligence" she reads of the marriage of listened, but towards the close of the strain a an English nobleman with a high-born and slight movement presented to her view the intebeautiful maiden; and circumstances are related|rior of the room. Alicia was spell-bound; pale, touching their "long attachment" with all the acumen and confidence of perfect authority, of which, however, the parties concerned are entirely ignorant. Alicia smiled, for she thought how much more extraordinary was the true story than the false one. The earl alluded to had been her own devoted lover; it was he of all the admiring throng who had most truly worshipped at her shrine, and this, with a woman's instinct, she had known. Ah! why could she not return some tenderness for his devotion? How often, in former years, had she asked her own wayward heart the question! But she had the generosity of a highminded woman; the rejected was not the scorned; his secret was safe. The butterflies who had fluttered around her, and singed their wings when they drew too near, deserved for the most part to retire with drooping pinion, and to shew the marks of their discomfiture; but not so he who was in every attribute worthy motionless, she stood a breathing statue! Her husband was beside the singer, hanging over her in the unmistakable attitude of passionate devotion! He broke the silence which followed the concluding notes, by exclaiming, "Theresa, promise that you will never sing that song again." "Why not?" murmured the minstrel, raising her lustrous eyes, and revealing her flushed cheek for a moment to Alicia. "Because I heard it at Milan the first time we met-that fatal night when I was free, before I sold myself for this accursed gold!" Theresa sighed; and he-yes, Arthur Rashleigh-wound his arm around her, and clasped her unresisting form to his heart, murmuring Love's honey words in tones that seemed to Alicia more thrilling than any she had ever heard. Spell-bound, rooted to the spot, it were weak to tell the fearful truths the heiress heard and understood. Enough that he, her husband, for whom she had braved censure, and had refused, the noble, the wealthy, and the true, and, above all, to whom she had given the priceless treasure of her love, whose image seemed to saturate her heart, mind, and intellect-who was to her being (we write it not profanely) what the Spirit of God is to the Universe-he had never loved her! She did not start, she did not scream, she did not weep; but the words they uttered, and every gesture of mutual affection, were branded for ever on her memory with the searing-iron of frightful reality. At last the time-piece chimed, recalling the guilty pair to some sense of the world around them. "She will be home in an hour," sighed Arthur; and his wife recollected that a visit she had intended paying a few miles from town had been postponed in consequence of the sudden illness of one of her attendants. The time-piece reminded her that she had much within that hour to do. The myrtle-blossom had fallen from her hand, but even that she raised to make the bouquet complete. The flowers fulfilled their destiny three hours afterwards, Arthur Rashleigh found them on his dressing-table. By their side was a scrap of paper, on which, in pencil, these words were written : They were enough: a volume could scarcely have conveyed more meaning to the heart of the faithless husband than those few words. From a sort of blind instinct, hoping against hope, he flew to Alicia's boudoir: it was nearly in the state in which she had left it when, with smiling face and joyous spirits, she descended to the conservatory; but it is probable she had returned for a few minutes, as the miniature portrait of their child, before alluded to, was partially wrenched from the work-box lid, and the task of removing it seemed to have been relinquished rather from some after-thought than from any failure in the attempt. This, too, told its story; for before an inquiry was made, Arthur Rashleigh felt certain that wife and child were removed from his roof. How differently, under similar circumstances, do men and women act! And how cunningly hath custom moulded opinion, until it seems nature! Under similar circumstances, the "injured husband" blurts his sorrows to the world (blunting, it is to be hoped, by universal sympathy, the edge of his own sensibility), seeking satisfaction "e'en at the pistol's mouth." Woman has no defence but pride and selfrespect. Yes, Alicia was gone; but whither? Her carriage had been ordered at four o'clock, and she entered it, accompanied by her almost infant child and one faithful female servant. She had intended—if intention could belong to a mind so rent and bewildered as hers-to send back her coachman and footman after the first stage, and proceed to her destination with post-horses, concealing thus that destination from her hus band: but the infantile caresses of her child drew tears from eyes that had not wept from the last hour's fearful agony; and then the little prattler wept too, she knew not why, but she twined her arms round the wretched mother's neck, and sobbed upon her bosom; and so it was, the child appealed with mighty eloquence for the erring father! Her child's sweet influence was like oil on the troubled waters of her soul. She would send no message, but she would make no mystery of the home she had chosen : she would not shut the door of pardon if he sought, if he would deserve it. She tried to assure her own heart that, if she strove to forget the past, it should be only for her child's sake: but-she was a woman! Forgetfulness!—the meshes of the mind are fine; like great thoughts are great sufferings, if they enter they pass not out. The home the heiress had chosen was neither of the stately mansions which called her mistress; but the secluded residence of her mother's dearest friend, situated within twenty miles of London, and where she well knew she should be received with open arms. Whether Alicia had one or many interviews with her husband during the ensuing week, or whether their communications were only by letler, the chronicle of her life declareth not: it is enough that, for three years, she remained the guest of her kind and dear friend, Mrs. Lawrence. The noble mansions of the heiress were both deserted, for Arthur was on the Continent. The newspapers blazoned the separation, and hinted at incompatibility of temper; the gentleman's extravagance; and the lady's parsimony. But Alicia's wise selection of a protectress (Mrs. Lawrence being the widow of a dignitary of the church) shielded her from more dangerous slander. Notwithstanding such "high authority," in justice, Arthur must be acquitted of the charge of extravagance, and after their separation he did not avail himself of half the income left at his disposal. No, he was not mean; and, though it was true he had not loved Alicia passionately, he had intended to prove a kind and faithful husband. Alas! for intentions, when we lead ourselves into temptation. The truth was, that, though of vivid intellect and great acquirements, he was too young (a year her junior) thoroughly to estimate a mind so ripened as Alicia's. Circumstances had favoured its development, and it was in advance of his own-a fatal position for love on his part to exist or continue. At five-and-thirty he would have worshipped such a woman, with a far deeper, truer love than the Theresa of an earlier page ever awakened. And yet he fancied himself devoted to her, though she had in former years declined his addresses for a titled lover who in turn deserted her. a minute It was strange-to such as require chapter where its text a brief sentence might suffice-to mark with what deep anxiety the heiress perused almost all continental intelligence, chiefly, however, conning musical and theatrical notices, and the lists, at the different cities, of the arrival and departure of distinguished persons. Sometimes, after these careful perusals, she shed tears; at others, hope and joy sparkled in her face, settling, for awhile, to an expression of serenity, though fainter than | that of former days—like its shadow rather than itself. Alicia had always been a great reader, not confining herself entirely to the uncorrupted wells among our elder writers, but selecting with judgment the pure and living springs which do flow on, notwithstanding the poison-streams and froth and impurity which gather around them. Two or three periodicals there were in which she greatly delighted, which were (and are) in their timely, moderate quantity, and delicious quality, like olives to the mental appetite-that is, if we may for a moment compare it to that of the body. Latterly a series of papers had appeared in one of these works, in which she had been especially interested. The sentiments seemed familiar to her; their garment of words new: a page here and there seemed the very revealings of her own opinions and feelings; while the next, perhaps, described places she had never visited, or emotions she could imagine without having experienced. But the one spirit, the essence of a kindred genius, pervaded all these effusions, which were signed by the simple initial "F." One morning her favourite magazine was in her hand, its leaves even yet uncut, when her dear friend, Mrs. Lawrence, entered the room, with spectacles in one hand and an open letter in the other. The old lady was evidently excited by some very agreeable feelings. Laying her hand upon Alicia's shoulder, she exclaimed, "I have some news for you, my dear child-good news, be sure, or I would not grieve you by recurring to the most painful epoch of your life." "Good news for me?" murmured the heiress. "Yes; be calm. This is a letter from my young friend at Min which she tells me, among the local news, of the marriage of their prima donna, the Signora Therese de Vwith an old but immensely rich Italian, and—” But the kind old lady's further and unimportant continuation was cut short by the fervent ejaculation and thanksgiving of Alicia. The gush of happiness those few words brought to her heart was almost overpowering, and it was several hours before she regained even the appearance of tranquillity. At last, towards the middle of the day, she took up the book she had been on the point of opening, for she felt a sort of friendship for the unknown writer "F.," and seemed to long for his or her sympathy in her comparative happiness. The first lines which attracted her were the motto to his chapter-lo! an extract from a poetical effusion of her own! She pressed her hand upon her brow, and remembered that it must have been left behind, with many other half-forgotten manuscripts, on the occasion of her sudden and fearful flight. But how could her papers come into the possession of the unknown writer? A lightning thought possessed her, and with lips apart, and almost breathless from the wild beating of her heart, she yet read on, weighing every line and sentence. It was like the solving an enigma. How could she have been so dull as not before to tell the unknown writer was her husband? But how much did the knowledge (for her thorough conviction was knowledge) now reveal! First, vast mental progress, a higher footing gained by a spring rather than a step, of which the individual himself cannot fail to be conscious; secondly, remorse, regret; and thirdly, love for herself! Yes, there were sure oracles that told her she was now beloved. Through the accident (if there be an accident in the world) of her manuscripts falling into his hands, he had learned better to understand and love her than during three years of close communion. In absence, their minds had learned to mingle, and she knew that the author and the man were one, knit together like the soul and body. However chatterers may dispute the point, few thinking persons will deny that an author's real nature is revealed in his works. Depressed by inferior society, or chained by conventionalism, he may not always be judged by his outward seeming, or even by his actions: but genius must be unfettered, and the hand would fall powerless unsupported by the Spirit of Truth! The secret Alicia had discovered seemed too holy at that moment to repeat; and Mrs. Lawrence was a little surprised at her guest suddenly ordering her carriage, and preparing to start for London. The postilion was directed to the publisher of “. -'s Magazine," from whom she procured some other address, and drove to a street in the neighbourhood. It was towards the close of a summer's day, when, after the fresh, pure air of the country, London seemed especially close, dusty, and disagreeable: but Alicia Rashleigh was too much absorbed in her own emotions to heed whither the fleet steeds had brought her. She had been calm in giving her directions, yet her servant's thundering knock startled her from a reverie. An inquiry was made, and in two minutes the heiress and her husband met. There was a moment of almost motionless silence-the next her hand was taken-and in another one eloquent glance proclaimed that both loved, and one forgave! Her head rested upon his shoulder, and he kissed away the tears that now fell fast, till, raising herself for a moment, she pointed to the miniature of their child, which hung opposite, and with a smile, beautiful from its joyousness, she exclaimed-" Come to her; she has grown like you-more beautiful than that, now!" The newspaper writers, and "the world" in general, never clearly made out the cause of the Rashleighs' sudden separation, and as sudden reunion. A great many interesting tales were invented; but none, I believe, approached the truth. One circumstance, especially, puzzled inquisitive people; it was the fact of the beautiful conservatory, which in former years had been Alicia's pride and great delight, being entirely pulled down; and it was even rumoured that she loathed the scent of flowers. There are now two noble boys who call her |