him enter; yet down he came looking more cheerful than usual; there was no arrival as yet, so he stood leaning against the chimney-piece, and for the first time surveying his own recep. tion room. Stephen could not but acknowledge his mother's taste to be excellent; the rich satin hangings and mirrors almost dazzled him; but soon the baubles of earth passed from his mind, and he pondered on his own fate. Poor Sir Stephen! heart-broken, and pining for emancipation from the fetters of the flesh, was roused by a hand on his shoulder, and he turned round to welcome Mr. Singleton, with his daughter on his arm, and Jack a little to one side; his thoughts flew back to the day of the race when he had first seen them, and his smile of greeting was one painful to all. remembered his inattention, and apologizing, introduced the stranger cousins. Sir Stephen could scarcely believe that the fat, short, vulgar looking old maid of forty or more, with a brusque manner and hoarse voice, was the Lady Adelaide Waters, whom his mother had recommended to his protection; he felt disgusted with the fierce virago, and turned to reconnoitre her sister. Lady Julia was pretty and espiègle, slight and wiry as a French girl, with an elastic step and a kindling dark eye; she pleased him better, but there was a vixen in the lustry eye which by contrast recalled an image lost to him; and he thought how inferior all appeared to her; then he disappointed his mother by leading away Laura Singleton to the dining-room. He saw that Percy contented himself with Lady Julia, while the "Ha! a grave man for ever, my dear Sir stout veteran was pleased to smile on Jack SinStephen," said Mr. Singleton, with an affec-gleton. Sir Stephen exerted himself to perfectionate grasp of his hand; "you were indeed lost in thought when you could not hear your man in waiting announce us. It is enough for one like me to be gloomy." Sir Stephen looked at Miss Singleton, and addressed her with cordiality; he wished to change the theme also. "I have never seen you look so charming, Miss Singleton," he said; "London certainly has increased those attractions which I thought it could only injure." Laura smiled; there was a gravity and modest blush on her young face which completely charmed Sir Stephen; and the deep mourning dress reminded him of her friend Zenobia. "Do not flatter me," answered Laura; "I am yet too Irish not to be open to praise.” 66 May you never change, my young friend!" he interrupted. "Are you quite well again, Sir Stephen ?" inquired Laura, who gazed with an intensity at the wasted man before her. Yes, quite as well as I shall ever be. You think me altered for the worse; but here comes my mother. How absurd a fashion it is which will not allow a lady to be in readiness to receive her guests. It is past the dinner hour." Lady Osbaldistone looked more fitted to grace a court than a small dinner-table; but Percy now appeared, fresh from the hands of his valet, and Sir Stephen moved to a little distance with young Singleton, and saw in amazement that Laura looked with a perceptible glance of contempt at the extravagantly curled head of her admirer. tion; there was neither empressement nor labour in his politeness, and no shade or gloom more than what was natural, dimmed his smile or conversation; Lady Adelaide, at his right hand, bestowed all her conversation on him; and even Lady Osbaldistone felt that he reflected honour on his station. But the baronet himself was acting, practising what had so long been habitual to him in company-participating, but not enjoying. He saw in amazement, and with displeasure, that his mother endeavoured by every gentle and fashionable device to fascinate Mr. Singleton; he knew that it could be only to grasp at the riches of the widower, which might induce his aristocratic English mother to "stoop to conquer;' and he determined to warn the honest man if necessary; but Mr. Singleton scarcely noticed the white hand and braceleted arm, which were so gracefully displayed for him. Percy alternately addressed Lady Julia, and watched Laura to discover whether jealous feelings occupied her; he obtained encouragement from the duke's daughter, who began to dread a life of celibacy like her sisters; but the young and beautiful Irish girl, with "her soul on her lip" and "heart in her eyes," never noticed him. The dinner, with its formalities, its etiquette, removes, dessert, luxuries, elegances, was over; the ladies had gone; Sir Stephen felt that half his trial was passed; he need no longer entertain his guests, which office was as weary an act as that of any hired performer exhibiting before an audience: now the duke could talk, and he could listen; while Percy and the Singletons would amuse each other. An hour had his grace entertained the poor, worn-out, worried young man, who sat there silent and careless; at last, with a baffled air, he captured Mr. Singleton, and they commenced a lively discourse on the late session and the speech from royalty, which had that day prorogued Parliament. Sir Stephen, finding he was at liberty, retired to an arm-chair near the fire, and resigned himself to his memory. Percy and Jack Singleton went away in time; soon, the talking of the politicians lulled the dreamer, and he slept. The large time-piece in the room chimed eleven, and the deep, rich tone of the great hall clock took up the fairy-like music" from within; the duke started with as much lightness as gouty sixty was capable of exhibiting. "My niece will rate me sadly," he said to Mr. Singleton; "an hour only to midnight and we are here still. I hear carriages rattling up every minute. Where is Sir Stephen?" "Look! he is there, poor fellow," answered the kind-hearted Mr. Singleton, pointing with his finger; and both stood a moment contemplating the sleeping man. What is the matter with him?" asked the Duke; "he has everything in this world, and yet he seems dying of want." 66 "Sir 'Money and rank cannot satisfy a man in every relation of life," was the answer. Stephen, we wait for you." The sleeper started up, apologized, said he was ready, and then continued, "we shall be read out in my mother's select circle." They proceeded toward the drawing-rooms; Sir Stephen gazing, deprived of speech, at the change in the house. The gallery was lighted brilliantly, and thronged with people, who were just arranging for dancing: Lady Osbaldistone was advancing, leaning on the arm of a general officer covered with gold and orders. The Duke was soon the centre of a crowd, dispensing hol- | low smiles, and useless information. Sir Stephen felt out of place; he vanished through a sidedoor unnoticed, and met Mitchell coming from the dining-room. "We have a ball, Mitchell, it seems." 66 Oh! no, Sir Stephen, only my lady's friends, about one hundred and fifty-a soirée." "I must take a lesson from the old valet," smiled Sir Stephen, as he proceeded by another way to the scenes of gaiety. "Friends, my mother has in crowds; but I have not one.' 66 Music came, in all its delicious breathings, on his ear; a voice sang, in such exquisite harmony, Savourneen Deelish"-it was a favourite song with Terese, she used to enchant him in it: again he heard, and hung on those accents. Music, beyond anything in this world, recalls the melancholy past; music stirs the heart and all its sorrows; it unlocks the frozen casket, and pours misery on the soul. Sir Stephen pushed his way into the circle of performers, who were enchanting some twenty that did not care for dancing in the back drawing-room. He saw not that all stared and looked amazed at the intruder; he cared not, for, standing before the singer with folded arms and fixed gaze, a vision of his love was before him. The song concluded, the enchantment passed away, and a young fair girl in blue brushed past him with a gentleman; she looked in his face, and then, as though ashamed of her impropriety, blushed deeply. She was femininely pretty, with a sylph-like figure, and the face seemed familiar to Sir Stephen. A slight pressure of people at the door impeded her; she looked hurriedly behind, and again caught the gaze of the stranger. "A frivolous girl looking for admiration," | thought Sir Stephen, and he turned abruptly in another direction. 66 Who is yon prowler, so mournful and so dignified?" inquired a young officer of his fellow-lounger, as Stephen passed. "I don't know," was the answer; "I should imagine him one of the old cavaliers, stepped out of his picture; or some lunatic, who has imposed on Lady Osbaldistone. But where is the baronet so lately come to the title? every one is looking for him. Her ladyship said just Look! I say beyond, la belle Singleton has disnow, she supposed he had gone back to Ireland. tanced the new captain." Sir Stephen stopped before them. May I join your circle, gentlemen?" he asked, in a grave tone; "we each seem unemployed just now." "We have first, sir," answered the first speaker, "to learn who proposes to do us the honour." "It is scarcely worth while," returned Stephen, proudly, as he walked on, and sat down beside Laura Singleton, who seemed listlessly enduring the conversation of a young man at her side. Laura smiled brightly at Sir Stephen, who commenced detailing his late adventure. He pointed out the two officers, who still remained gazing about them. "One is Captain Mildmay, of the guards," said Laura; "the other is Lord Augustus Gordon, a lieutenant: two of the great men about London, who do not condescend to notice every one." "I am very glad to have met you, Miss Singleton," began Stephen, in a low tone; "so much has happened since we parted, and both of us have changed. Nay, do not blush, or hide it--you have improved very much; there is heart in every motion about you, and the mocking levity has disappeared. Let us talk as friends, for I feel as one to you. Are you still a repealer?" "No, far from it-my eyes have been opened, and I see. My visit to London has not been without its good; I know my country to be safer under the Union, and in the hands of the Saxon, than she ever could be among her own people. It is all a delusion this aversion to England! My religion, too, has become dear to me, and I bless the power which protected me from error. My poor mother and Zenobiahow sad!" Sir Stephen shook; but he rallied in a minute. "Will Mr. Sarsfield relish your apostacy?" he inquired. "I have dismissed him, Sir Stephen. I should not wish to marry a papist-and I felt I did not "Love," took up the young man. "Yes," he continued, "without love you could not; but that-that-would have made you." There was a pause of some minutes. Sir Stephen again began, "And my brother loves you-he will yet be the baronet. I shall never marry. Could those things tempt you?" "I have found out your brother to be heart Many thanks, Sir Stephen; we go back to Ireland next week-and papa has consented to everything which I wish." "Anketell has proposed then, and been accepted?" Laura coloured and looked down; her fan hid her face as she answered:-" Captain Anketell is 'selling out,' and we shall live at the Villa. How happy we shall be if you come to us there." No, that can never be," said the young man, and he looked sorrowfully at the bright girl beside him; "I must wish you every happiness here. Ireland, I have seen my last of; and soon England will be but a vision of the past.' "Why will you exile yourself from those who esteem you?" inquired Laura. "Esteem me!-exile myself!-No, I am exiled by one, to whose judgment I bow with submission. India shall be my home until death releases me; but I monopolize you. Why don't you dance?" "I, too, have tired of dancing. Come, we will walk about." Sir Stephen and his beautiful companion sauntered along; many a wondering look rested on the grave man, and the young girl who leaned on his arm. Lady Osbaldistone and Captain Mildmay stopped them; the officer scarcely noticed his late antagonist, but with a flowery speech requested Miss Singleton to dance the polka. "The what?" inquired Sir Stephen, looking at Laura. The officer sneered; Lady Osbaldistone explained:-" You are such a stranger to all our fashions, Stephen; but let me present firstly Captain Mildmay-Sir Stephen Osbaldistone.' The exquisite blushed, stammered some words of apology: Sir Stephen drew himself up proudly. "Nay, Captain Mildmay, you have not insulted me. I should be sorry to impose any restraint on your freedom of speech." Laura accepted the invitation to dance; and the officer, glad to escape from the sarcasm of his host, drew her away. Lady Osbaldistone seized her son's arm, and paraded him to her friends; now introducing a nobleman, then a countess, or leader of ton. To each he bowed with as much coldness as said plainly, he did not value their nod or approbation. Lord Augustus Gordon, with the young girl in blue, stopped a minute; Lady Osbaldistone hailed and presented him, but a silent stare of astonishment rewarded her politeness. "Your lordship is less amusing than you are wont to be," said Sir Stephen, for the first time speaking to one of the throng; "have your similies been exhausted? I do agree with you, that many lunatics impose on Lady Osbaldistone." There was a general laugh, at Lord Augustus's expense, for already Sir Stephen was an envied man. "There is the polka!" "The polka!" was echoed by voices round, and a sort of arena was formed round a dozen couple, who began to dance. Sir Stephen heard that this was the great wonder of the age-the perfection of grace in motion-the new and unrivalled dance, then recently introduced, which had burst on enchanted London. "Don't you polk, Sir Stephen?" inquired a conceited, mustachoed son of Mars. "Exhibit, you mean. My country surely has gone mad! Look at my brother: I had no idea he could be so ridiculous. When you see me exposed in that way I shall not be the man which I am everywhere reminded of. I wish you 'good night."" The officer turned to a companion, and both looked after the retreating figure with a meaning glance and expressive shrug of the shoulders. Sir Stephen in his retreat came on the Duke of Winchelsea, with Lady Adelaide beside him: his grace was explaining some court formula to a half dozen country gentlemen, who listened admiringly. Notwithstanding the smile of welcome from the lady, he passed on with visible anxiety to avoid them, and came on a couple who were resting, after the fatigues of the dance; the words "Sir Stephen is a most dignified man, just what I had pictured him," made him turn to look at the speaker. It was the girl in blue; her side-face alone was visible, as she smiled expressively, without perceiving him she eulogized; again the tout ensemble, and that gentle accent was familiar. Sir Stephen found himself loitering and watching the fair girl. He saw Lady Julia with Percy at a distance, and went to them. "Who is that lady yonder, with Lord Augustus Gordon?" he inquired. Lady Julia looked quizzically inclined, smirk ing now at one, then at another, while Percy laughed out. "What, Stephen! caught again! The lady in question is sister to Maitland of ours." 66 And rather nice," said Lady Julia, who wished to appear amiable just then. "Oh, Agnes Maitland-my young friend's twin-sister: how like to be sure !" and without heeding the looks of either, Sir Stephen again followed. He came up as Miss Maitland was seated on a sofa; while the cavalier, thinking ne could shew himself to greater advantage, was standing before her. Sir Stephen seized the vacant place. "Twice has the resemblance to your brother struck me, Miss Maitland," he said. "I could no longer help transgressing the rules of society, or wait for any other introduction than his name." The young girl blushed, accepted the apology, and soon they conversed with all the ease of mother, and pardon my failings; but never let those paintings be disturbed." Lady Osbaldistone stared in wonder; she scarcely comprehended such emotion as the glittering eye and quivering form of her son betrayed; but she accepted his hand, and promised that he should ever see them maintain their place. long acquaintance. During the next hour, time passed quickly with Sir Stephen and his companion; he spoke of her brother, and she mentioned her mother's anxiety respecting his intended residence in India; but when Sir Stephen said he also was going there, Miss Maitland expressed great satisfaction. "We have exchanged into the same regiment," he said, “and I shall ever remember you while taking care of him." The next day, when Percy and his mother The words were spoken with a natural kind met at dinner, Sir Stephen's place was vacant. heart and manner, but without any feeling be- “Go to Sir Stephen's room," said the lady to yond regard animating the speaker: yet the girl a servant; "he is in general punctual; I hope blushed crimson, and wished, and hoped some- we may not have him ill: I never could endure thing vague. There was a movement to sup-nurse-tending: it forms a pretty feature in the per: Sir Stephen turned to his companion. education of a country Miss; but to me-" Good-bye," he said; "God bless you! I have "Shocking!" echoed Percy, eating his dinner had enough of gaiety for my life my mother without a care on the matter. and Percy will do the honours; and I only blight what I look upon. Your brother shall be my friend till death!" He grasped her hand affectionately, and was gone. Agnes Maitland cast a look of anxiety after him; she scarcely heeded some one asking her to go to supper: an accent was on her ear, a low tone in her heart: she saw only Sir Stephen; she felt his presence, and felt all for the last time! The messenger returned; Sir Stephen could not be found, but a note lay on his dressingtable. Lady Osbaldistone glanced over it. "He has sailed, Percy, for India this morning here is a farewell to us: thank heaven he has spared my nerves, by this letter, the leave-taking." "He lived a fool, and will die one," answered Percy. "I wish I had been older than he, and I might have chosen for a wife some one less worldly, and more worthy, than my titled bride elect!" Thus, the man of mind, of heart, of generous missed without a word in praise, or one sigh of disposition and high-souled principle, was disregret! * * * A week again passed on: the same quiet monotony reigned over Sir Stephen Osbaldistone, who had been, as usual, invisible to all visitors and strangers. Lady Osbaldistone was passing from her boudoir an hour before dinner, when the noise of hammering in the gallery made her War!-The sound comes across the seas to open a door to look in. Sir Stephen was there with a workman, who, according to his sugges- noise of some wild storm, or the loud thunder, our quiet homes and peaceful shores like the tion, was hanging pictures. Lady Osbaldistone which fills us with agony and despair. The felt curious, and stood behind them, without note of victory then rings on our ears; the apmaking any noise. Stephen gazed in rapt delight at the picture which had just been hung; viving heroes are decked with immortal glory, plause of a nation is poured forth; the surIt was large as life; a full length figure of a girl titled and pensioned as they deserve! The leaning on a harp, with one hand touching the Tower guns peal forth, rejoicing, and Britain is string. She was dressed in black, yet richly: a chain with a cross suspended was round her neck. pronounced alike unconquered and unconThat pale exquisite face, so mildly dignified, with medals, and the name of that dearly-bought vicquerable. The remnants of regiments receive eyes of starry magnificence, a slight smile resting on the delicate lip, and the same grandeur of out-tory is carried proudly on the colours carried line told her it was her son's papist love. The who follow. Ah, Glory! dear and dazzling! evermore as a beacon, and adhering to those other picture represented Sir Stephen Osbaldidoes it bind the crushed and broken limb? stone: he wore an air of unusual satisfaction and Does it heal the death agony, or relieve the exenergy, as though he thought of her he loved. cruciating torture of the body? Does it quench the thirst, or cool the heated brow of the victim? The rejoicing, the prayer of thanksgiving, the vote of thanks, and detail of circumstances, do these bring no misery to parent, child, or friend? As one laughs another weeps; and the proud roar of artillery wakes the undying sorrow of a multitude. Yet such must be, and it is not for us to sigh an evil moaning over the glorious record of our country's fame! But who may think of our late battles on the Sutlej, and not mingle regret with gladness? There, by that swollen bank, among a heap of many as worthy, but few more wretched, Sir Stephen Osbaldistone fell. He died, wishing, longing for rest; and he found it. Young Maitland just heard his dying request, and swore to fulfil it. "You look exquisite; very lovely!" mused the baronet aloud: "I have staid to see your picture where I may not see yourself. It is time for me-" "It is really a great addition, Stephen," said the lady; and he turned round at the voice. "I am glad you have come, mother; very glad that you can admire her. Is not Terese an adornment? nay, would she not grace a court? It is customary for the heads of the house to hang next their dames: you are beyond with my father; poor Harold, and his wife, are opposite: here am I, and there is the only woman I wished to marry. She is the bride of a mistaken faith, and I might have forgotten everything but her. This is all a dream; banish it, P "In my desk," said the dying man, "is a packet: deliver it, and tell her-yes, tell her-" a sigh finished the sentence: his spirit passed away! None mourned in that general slaughter for the head of the proud house of the Osbaldistones, save his young friend, who remained with the dead body until stern duty called him away. Have not many felt the misery of doubt when reading newspapers and gazettes ? Has not many a soul bled, and many a heart died, in pouring over them? Yet no worldling wept or regretted our hero, who slept in his Indian grave! * Again all was bright and beautiful on our earth, as two ladies and a gentleman paused to ring the great bell at the Convent of It was a lovely day in September; yet those three who had alighted from a carriage looked sad and melancholy. A lay sister answered the summons, and looked through a narrow grating. "Can we speak with the sister Terese?" one inquired. "She has been ill; yet I will go and learn," answered the sister. "Tell her it is Laura Anketell: she always sees me," returned the first speaker; " and two friends on a visit with me, who desire to see her particularly." Presently the door opened; they entered, and were shewn into a room, generally used for receiving visitors. "How sad a place for the dazzling Miss M'Dermott to choose as a home!" said the young man, who carried a small packet in his hand. "Was she not very beautiful, brother?" inquired the third person. "Yes, Agnes, very: my poor friend and I agreed on that point." "Sister Terese has been very ill, in fact, dying," said the nun; "I will go to assist her hither." Laura sat down silently, and Agnes Maitland's heart beat wildly in anticipation of the visit. In about ten minutes, a tall shadow darkened the room: a nun, in the black veil of her order, was among them. "Zenobia dear!" exclaimed Laura; and a low tone answered-" God bless you, sister!" as they embraced. "Are you well, Laura-quite happy?" inquired the nun?” "Yes, dearest ;" and the bride looked sunny with delight. "I am happy with my lot." "I know you sent for me, Laura," she began again: "tell me at once-remember, I have nought to do with earth." "I cannot, Zenobia. There is Mr. Maitland and his sister: they will tell you." Terese turned round, and bowed to the young man, then to his sister. She was calm, thin, worn; while face and lip were bloodless. She folded her hands on her breast. "Go on," she said: "I know it-he died! I have been long dead to earthly love; but yet my sins are not expiated." 'He died in my arms!" said the young man, while tears rushed to his eyes. "His last words were of you. There is the packet left with ~; and Sir Percy is ordered to pay to whateverc vent you reside in the sum of seven thousa pounds-a small token of his undying regar I have nothing more to say." Zenobia took the packet with a steady hand looked at the writing, and broke the seals There was a silence, as all watched her motions. The parcel contained a copy of Sir Stephen's will, a withered branch of ivy, and a picture. Zenobia held the ivy, and a tear started to her dim eye, as she recognized the miniature of herself. Agnes Maitland stood beside her; there was a flush on her face: the nun read that anxious gaze. "You loved him?" she exclaimed; I see it. Why-oh, why did he not return your affection? You could have made him forget-here, take this picture, and some times remember me with kindness.' 66 وو Zenobia pressed the likeness into her hand, threw the will on the table, and vanished with the branch of ivy. The lay sister entered to shew them out, and they silently retrod the way to their carriage. "How beautiful she must have been! How sad and heart-broken she is now!" said Agnes. "I do not wonder that Sir Stephen adored her. I shall keep this picture to my dying day.” May our simple story serve to loosen the bonds of prejudice from the enlightened and educated—may bigotry not cling to us as a portion of our nature-may we feel that we are all brethren! AZALIE. BY MRS. WHITE. She sat within the lattice, half-concealed Amidst the clasping vine-leaves, and the flowers Of rose and jasmine, whose luxuriance veil'd The quaint, low casement; casting round her showers of mingling fragrance, till the twilight room Felt almost heavy with the rich perfume: Yet now and then a faint unmurmuring breeze Would kiss her youthful forehead, calm and fair; And stirring 'midst the vine-boughs and the trees, Cool with its freshness that too languid air, Men nor mirrors could impeach her And on her arm, so round and cold, Clasp'd its elastic band, Like the arabesques on ice, |