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* Well might I retort that question upon your lordship.” replied Horace; “ what unblushing insolence must that be, that could offer annoyance for a moment to such a being as that?”

“ Mr. Wright seems to forget,” said Lord Rutherford, with all his natural superciliousness, “that such a power exists in masters as that of discharging their servants when they forget their proper position.”

You, my lord, seem to forget that there is an inherent feeling in man to protect woman from insult, that there is a boiling desire to chastise impertinence in any one who disgraces his station. Your servant? my lord, I am no servant of yours.”

“ Indeed,” retorted the enraged nobleman, “perhaps I am mistaken, I took you for the tutor of my brothers, paid by my bounty. Perhaps you are some knight-errant in disguise?"

Horace, dear Horace, do not answer him," cried the weeping Helen, “ for my sake do not."

“ Indeed, is it thus ?" cried Rutherford, furiously, now then I can account for


distant coyness--your intimate and familiar acquaintance with that young man, my brothers' tutor, makes your intention, expressed by your father, of bestowing yourself upon me, particularly flattering." “ Lord Rutherford,” exclaimed Horace, seizing him by

“ beware that you tempt me not beyond my patience. I have long endeavoured to separate myself from the hopes, the cares, the feelings, and the passions of this world ; but I am fallible as mortals are; you have raised sinful thoughts within me-breathe but a word

the arm,

The young

against that spotless angel, and I strike you to the ground. Aye! maimed—crippled as I am- - the hand of death, as I verily believe, now upon me,-my rage will give me strength, and I will beat you to the earth, and buffet you brute-like, as you deserve."

“ Stand aside, madman and fool !” cried Lord Rutherford, and as he spoke he raised his hand, and pushed him with violence almost struck him to one side.

Horace staggered some steps; he caught by a large branch, and tearing it by a wonderful exertion from the tree, his eye-balls starting from his ad, his face crimson and swollen, every vein marked like whip-cord on his countenance, he raised the club with both his hands above his head, and rushed at his intended victim. lord stood aghast-surprise made him defenceless-but, in a moment the branch dropped from the hands of Horace-he staggered—he tottered—blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and he fell powerless to the ground. Again, but louder and more shrill, the agonized scream of Helen rang through the woods and pleasure grounds, and some servants who had been alarmed by the first cry almost immediately arrived, and carried Horace to a neighbouring summer-house, gaudily lighted up in the preparation for the fête. Oh! what a cruel mockery there appeared in the grotesque costumes around, and the death-like features and blood-stained garments of poor Horace-garments of the serious and sombre hue of the profession from which poverty had alone excluded him. Horace was not dead, but life was evidently fast flitting ; the excitement and exertion had been too much for his debilitated frame and the rupture of a large blood vessel, rendered recovery almost hopeless. He kept his dim eyes immoveably fixed upon Helen, who followed him weeping and knelt by his couch ; often he essayed to speak, but a fresh flow of blood nearly suffocated him.

“ Horace, dear, dear Horace !” sobbed Helen, kissing his blue pale hand, say—beckon to me-make some sign that you forgive me—I have been the cause of all your misery-I have now killed you.”

“Helen !” whispered he in broken accents, “my Helen, 1 may

call you now; you were the cause of all my happiness here—you are the cause of my seeking a far higher bliss hereafter. My God has granted my prayer to hear you once more call me dear Horace, and to die. What were my hopes, my prospects here, that I should wish to live—and what, oh, my God! what are thy promises for hereafter, that I should fear to die.”

My lord,” and he beckoned to Lord Rutherford, who stood awed and abashed aloof from the couch,“ do not think I was a spy upon your actions this evening; the superintendence you requested me to undertake, naturally drew me to those walks. I cannot regret the chance. I was saved by Providence from the sin of revenging upon you the blow—the disgraceful blow you inflicted upon me; it was a merciful interposition for a dying man. I have forgiven you all your injuries to me–I can now do more, far more-forgive your wrong to her.” At this moment, a voice from without was heard crying,

Horace, Horace—my son, my darling son! where is he?”

It was the voice of Mrs. Leslie ; for the servant of Helen having recognised Horace as the tutor of the young

gentlemen, hal officiously communicated his name, and it had reached her at the same time as the account of his danger.

Poor Horacestarted and shuddered—“Merciful heaven!” ha muttered, “ spare me this trial !” and as he spoke his eyes became glazed, and his troubled spirit was at rest.



What means this misery-happiness ?

In torrents wild my blood is flowing ;
My heart now mountains seem to press,

Now seems it but too freely glowing.

Whence come these transports ? Still the same,

From one dear Object only springing ;
Yet changing evermore their name,

So rapidly their flight they're winging !

Hope, doubt, faith, joy, fear, phrenzy, pain,

Seem one by one this heart to awaken;
With such emotions in their train,

Can reason long remain unshaken?

Still one by one, in absence drear,

These make my wild heart glow or wither;
In absence ? Aye! when thou art near,

Then—then I feel them all together!





'Tuink of me, dear one! when you tend

The couch whereon our hope reposes,
Think of me, dear one! when you bend

Above her sleep, while evening closes ;
Think! as you


heart rejoice,
And slumber makes you doubly love her,
Oh! think you hear a father's voice,

Join in the prayer you breathe above her !—
Weep for me, dear one! when her smiles

At morning's dawn, like sunshine, greet you;
Weep for me! when her infant wiles

At eve, of half your grief shall cheat you ;
And when you teach her lips to say

Fond words, that make her beauty dearer,
And when she names my name at play,

Weep for me then-I cannot hear her!
Pray for me, dear one! when the wind

Sweeps seaward, down the rushing river-
Pray for me! when the tempests blind,

Pray for me! when the lightnings shiver !
Though dark and drear my way may be,

No storm can chill, no blast can blight me,
While thoughts of that bright child, and thee,

Like angels, through the midnight light me!

The Danube, near Lintz.

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