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was above; and the most silvery high that visiteth us. Yes, I can nesounding little bell was just heard to ver forget that you have been a fa. strike as the casement of the window ther, or a pastor to me, dear Michael;" flew open; not a moment had passed and as she gently took the emptied ere a beautiful young head appeared glass from the old man, a tear fell on at the window, and bending over, said, his hand from the most beautiful in the sweetest of woman's tones, fount tears ever flowed from. It was and whisperingly, “ Wait one in- just one dew-drop of the soul, fresh, stant, good Michael, and I will be pure, and grateful as those that lie down.” Now, let every reader paint among the choicest violets. The sunfor himself the loveliest young crea shine of those eyes was not for an ture that can spring up in their ima- instant clouded by it—but all, all the gination-let them give her a soul, brighter and more exquisitely beamand a heart, and a mind, and a man- ing. The old man looked at her ner-a person, a voice, a counte- awhile, as if he could only look and nance,--and add unto it all that love her, and then said, with an earnameless charm which is emitted by nest, pious tone, “ May Godever bless such a combination, and even then thee ?” the being they picture will fall short “ I will go in and fetch my books, in loveliness of what was Medora and then I will walk with you as far Blessington! But how dare I speak as the seat on the common, for I for her, after all I have here said ? shall have time this morning for my Well, I must be forgiven, for I know favourite spot.” She soon came I shall not, I cannot do her justice ; back, with a large and shady straw -and again I ask the gentle reader bonnet, a little basket with three or to supply the charm, the enchant- four small volumes in it, pencil and ment, which my subject deserves, paper, and a little sketch-book; and but which my poor words, I feel, will closing the door softly after her, for never yield.

the whole house seemed hushed, The old man had just seated him- they went out together at the same self on a bench near the myrtle, gate where Michael had made his when, from a glass door of a small entrance. room, stepped the Aurora of the “What a morning it is, my lady! I scene. She brought a glass of milk, can almost fancy I hear the birds utand a slice of bread, to the old man. ter the praises of God, so sweet and “We are both very early this morn- holy-sounding are their warblings in ing, Michael, and it will be near two the still of such a dawning as this hours before you get your break- was.”—“ And why not, Michael ? I fast, so just take this, for I am sure ever feel sure that they do. I even go you are tired.”—“ A little feeble, so far as to believe, sometimes, when dear, kind lady--but I would not say their notes call up good feelings in tired, on such a morning as this, us, and win us to short prayers, though I have been out since four. and sending sudden thankings to But how comes it I was not in time heaven for all the gifts our Father to wake you ?-how comes it, my sends us to enjoy in the calm of loved young mistress, that you have summer evenings, and all the various already asked the day's blessing for periods when nature shews most the old man, before he was here to lovely ; then do I feel almost that tell you to wake up to see how gra- the gentle birds that speak to us, cious the Lord was to us-What and teach, and comfort us, must be another glorious day to our harvest!" ministering angels. The thought will -“ I know not why it was, but it come across me, at least-Do you was nature's own doing. I did not think there is folly in it, Michael?” ask the lark to come to my window," “ Folly ? Oh no, I think nothing said she, playfully, looking at the an- folly, dear lady, that has aught of cient man;

no, no; dear Old Mi- piety in it. But why ask a poor old chael is my lark, and as he first taught man, ignorant and unlettered as I me to lift up my heart, it is he who am ? Thy heart is pure, young creashall have his wish of seeing me in ture—and may God keep it so!-and these calm morning hours, in awa any thoughts like unto that need not kening me to thanksgiving for the be checked whilst it is a passing blessing of the day-spring from on thought, for it would not be whole

some to indulge too much in what we her pencil. "They were happy days, have no warranty for in God's word; and days that can be looked back and those who take hold of a fancy of upon without any bitterness in the this kind, and love it too much-more sorrow that must shade every methan a thought of their own should be mory of the loved ones who have loved-have been known to become been taken from us—No, there is no visionaries to live in little worlds bitterness, for I feel assured, dear of their own, and, neglecting those Lady, that Mary is happy; and if I straight-forward paths of holiness can but be the means of leading her that our Heavenly Father has already little Mary in the same paths, the pointed out to us, have chosen instead dews of my evening of life will not little flowery footways,where there is be heavier than it is good they should only room forone to walk-where they be.” tread alone, dear lady, doing no good “ What I can do to brighten them, to others, and, ten to one, getting into you know I will do-gladly, oh! more a maze themselves. But it is thus with than gladly! And you have promised, those who have not drunk freely of you know, Michael, to leave me two the waters of life-whose dawn, Lady, legacies--the little Bible you used to of religion in their souls, has been read to me in those long rambles of like unto the false dawn, common, as I ours, whence I first learned what it have heard or read, in Eastern coun. was, and whose word-and your dear tries, which appears an hour or two little Mary; and I must forget all before the true dawn comes; but the that there is in the first-aye, this true dawn does come-and so it will, beating heart must be made all siby God's grace, to those poor bewild- lent and hard, before I can cease to ered ones

who are feeling out a way do all in my power for the good, here for themselves, till He pleases to shew and hereafter, of the second gift. I them better, by His ministers, or by think, I hope, and I will ever pray any other of His many means. But that I may do well for her ; what you, thy true dawn is already risen, and good Michael, would approve, and thy day is begun- and you are blest thank me for.”—“ Oh ! talk no more with an understanding that will not of it, dear one; I know it-I know let any twilight musings, or summer it. May the old man's prayer bring evening thinkings touching this beau some blessing upon you; for if there tiful and wonderful world we are lives one who deserves to have all placed in, carry you too far; you they wish, 'tis my own dear lady.”— will betake yourself, in soberness of “ You think too well of me,

Michael: mind, as well as piety of heart, to I am not the very good girl you think your home again, fulfilling its du- I am-no, alas ! my heart is a little ties, and offering up, at your bed- rebel too, too often. You know it side, a prayer of faith, of hope, and not, and often I know it_not; but of love and through the only Me- sometimes I find it out. Besides, I diator."

am not quite happy, Michael. Me“ I love to hear you talk, dear Mi- thinks, at times, that my poor mochael; it reminds me of my very ther, had she lived, all angel as you young days, when I thought it my say she was, would not have been best holyday to be let walk out with quite happy either. And yet so kind, you among the mountains—when we so excellent, so benevolent as he is! used to be out for hours together, -it is so strange, so very unaccountand when I used delightedly to run able, that the one thing needful to dear Mary, on my return, to tell should be wanting. Oh! it is so sad her what you had taught me, how too-but I will not speak more of it. many things you had told me, and You know what I refer to; and so where we had been. What happy now tell me what you have been medays those were ! and how much do ditating, as you walked by the way, I owe, and must I ever owe, to you Michael ?”—“ Why, I think, lady,

to her! But do rest on the bank, what most I dwelt on was the rich Michael, for you must be tired, and promises and comfortings in the 103d I'll sit on my favourite little nook Psalm : and what language it is too! beside you.”

Old Michael rested it is music to hear one's self say it, himself in the sun, and Medora took here in the stillness of morning, as her little sketch-book, and was using one can gaze from east to west, and

adore the Maker of all, and only wish of the poet, which she took in her that the same fine thoughts, and holy hand, and walked away with, ramones, might abide with one through- bling about, and, ever and anon, turnout the day, from the rising up of the ing to the page she held open. She sun to the going down of the same; had just reached the most retired but then I must tell you that, finding and beautiful part of the lake, when I was so early, and remembering the she was met by one meditative strollday that it was, I went to the Wish- er, who seemed to have sought the ing-Gate -" Indeed! did you, tranquil spot, to obtain calm to an Michael ? then will you be the hap- anxious and agitated spirit. The pier; for the spirit or the angel that footstep made him raise his eyes, hovers there to listen to us is a good and with a start, and a look of despirit, I am certain. I have a multi- lighted surprise, he said, “ Medora !tude of superstitions about that She blushed, and the blush was a “joy gate. They say, or you say, for it fush,” as she held out her hand and was from you I first learnt the le- said, “ How little did I hope ; how gendary about it, that we may visit little did I expect to meet you. Your it

, to put up a wish at least, three uncle is not worse, I trust”—“ No, times only in the course of the year. no; at least I hope not, for I have Methinks I have a wish due; this very not yet seen him. I am but just arevening will I go, if my father does rived; I have travelled all night. I not need me to go with him else am come to ask his advice, his conwhere. I should like all the better sent; to tell him, rather, that I am to go the same day you go; besides, going to India.”—" To India !” said I too remember what day it is Medora, with a look of unfeigned -“Well, I must leave you now, dear sorrow, and dismay, and surprise. Lady ; they'll be looking for me at She raised her head to look at him the Squire's; and Mary will be there as he finished his hurried, and almost before me if I don't make good my agitated recital; her bonnet hung way; she's to bring me my break- back and shewed her beautiful eyes

and old Martha is told not to and forehead, and clustering dark expect her home all day.”—“Well, curls. At the word India, she let then, you will send her to me when fall her book, and it seemed to reshe has done her breakfast and read mind her that she was expressing to you, and I will keep her till you an interest too great; for as she come to dinner : there is much for stooped to pick up the volume, she her to do in the garden ; I can make blushed excessively, and almost muther very useful.”-“Thank you, kind tered, “ You know I have no reason one ; so she is with you, I am happy to love India. I wish not those I about her. So fare ye well, and may know to be doomed to go there.” A a blessing be with you through the change seemed to have taken place day !”

in Frederic de Lacey in the short The old man, with slow steps, de moment when all this was passing ; parted, and Medora, who seemed to a beam of happiness shot across his inhave begun a new drawing, lifted up telligent countenance, and his mouth, her head, and looked at him awhile, which was more expressive of sweetand then pencilled on quickly for ness of disposition than any other some twenty minutes longer; then mouth I ever beheld, looked its kindshe put away the drawing, and took est, and smiled its gentlest, as he took to some little books she had in her the book from her hand, and, taking basket, a small Testament, an Italian her hand, placed her arm within his, Dictionary, and a volume of Words- still holding the trembling little hand, worth ; she read a time in the first, and then said, “Now that I have once and then she looked into the last, and spoken this, let us calmly consider she pondered and seemed in doubt. it, and let me teach you, my dear At length she took a little sheet of Medora, to look upon a residence note paper and the pencil, and the in India as something better than a paper quickly received clear, dis- doom.” They walked on a few paces; tinct, and beautiful pencil writing on and though this was said with a steatwo of its pages; and then all were dier voice, both seemed under some shut

up and put in the basket, and restraint, for a short silence followed. ļeft on the bench, save the volume Medora no longer looked at her com,


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father-did by snatches, and as in much dis- it render to him in early life what comfort, Ought I not to think it a home and England would ? Oh! no, fair opening in life to me, to one de no; I cannot say go to you; besides, pendent as I am on an uncle, or ra


say aught to banish an old, an ther solely and wholly relying on my early friend? Ask me not then' to. own exertions, when nothing offers strengthen you, but rather ask me to here ? Ought I not to be grateful and plead on the other side, and then I more than grateful? Ought I not to be will be eloquent, for, in truth, Medelighted with the prospect of going dora Blessington cannot afford thus where so much is to be done-where to part with those whose place in her. youth, and health, and energy, and regard no new friends can ever supGod grant I may add devoted zeal in ply. Now may your uncle speak as the cause !_are so much wanted; all. I speak !" which, as I hope, I could offer. It is At one part of this speaking, she not from my friend here, whom I could scarcely refrain her tears; but have sometimes called in heart a fe at the latter part she made an effort male missionary, until she chid me to be more cheerful and assured. for it, it is not from such a friend “ Thank you for all those words of that I expected discouragement in kindness,” said he mournfully; "and these my views; ties enough are yet another pang, it may be the sethere of early friendship--deep at verest, is thus added to the cruelty of tachment-to draw me from my pur- my fate--to give pain to you; and pose, to incline me to stay my ac yet to hear from your own lips that ceptance of this offered preferment; my absence will give you pain, this to make me refuse the service of God; has soothing in it: for what that inin short, that I may cherish and de- dicates your feeling an interest can light myself still with these affec- fail to soothe? But I am not fit to tions that must ever cling to my speak : my heart is too full ; my hapheart; but surely Medora is not one piness, my well doing, my destinato keep me back when she thinks of tion for my whole life, depends on the good, little though it may be, the next few hours. The will of God which her friend may be enabled to will assuredlybe done; and what have .aid others in performing, for the be- I to do but to rest in faith on his dinefit of those many millions of souls recting me to what is best for me, whose state of darkness, she has so and most for his glory, and then reoften marvelledatand mournedover? signing myself to that sad conflict beTell me, tell me !--if I have not you tween the duties that lead to holiness for a strengthener of my weakness, and the deep affections that lead to one who will speak sweetly to me of happiness, which, alas ! in this case. its rich and high compensations for all must be mortified as well as sanctiof privation that the prospect com fied ? Here, then, I must leave you ; passes !" He pressed her hand, and but I will see you ere the day is done, sought her face, which was shaded and then may I have gained more and almost turned from him; at courage and comfort to speak, of bidlength she said, in accents almost in- ding adieu with a steadier voice and audible," No, indeed; I can give a less perturbed spirit. Have I your you no comfort. How can I strive to forgiveness for having thus broken reconcile you to a plan of which you forth, and given utterance to the mespeak with a tone of such deep sor- lancholy thoughts of my night jourrow? Oh! surely, surely, HERE you ney, which has fevered, you perhaps may do good ; here there are souls think, my very brain ?"--" Forgiveto save-many, too many, it may be, ness! is it not the best proof of true of those to whom none other could friendliness and kindness to tell our speak as you would speak, whom sorrows ? and think you that the none other is ordained to bring to little Medora,' whom you used to the foot of the Cross. But forgive call your sister, could grow up to my earnestness; sorrow to me must forgive your shewing her confidence, ever come with the name of India ; and speaking of those things so near it deprived me of the blessing of a your heart, that prove you think her mother, a sainted mother too, who sympathy worth having? You know,



me, for

6. Then

you know that this morning's sad ti thered her little books and papers todings can in no way call for my fore gether; she looked at the page she giveness, but much for my prayers, had written, and this seemed to cheer that-yes, yes, I must say it—that her. She found that her volume of you may not go: Say no more to me, Wordsworth was missing. Had it do not answer my foolish words, but fallen into the lake? She could not just tell


father is sure to remember; she knew it had fallen ask, though I have not, how it is you from her hand. Well, she would ask are going? what post to fill?”—“That old Michael to look for it; and now happily I can answer, as those who home, for it was later, her little watch care most for me would wish I should. told her, than it ought to be. For a greater mitigation of my ba “ You are rather late this morning, nishment I could not have. The new my love,” said Colonel Blessington, bishoprick of Madrąs* is given to my as his daughter came into the breakexcellent friend, my almost father, fast room; you have tired yourself, Charles Townsend; and to be his for you do not look so well as usual. confidential chaplain is the enviable, Have you been up long?” said he, the happy place which is offered, in most affectionately meeting her, and the most affectionate of terms, to the kissing the lovely lips that met his acceptance of the ungrateful being, with a smile of sweetness, as she who has passed hours of agony since thanked him, and told him she had it came within his reach! what to so been up very long, and had been many would be the summit of their walking farther than usual. wishes. You know all I feel for this shall I find something to employ and man; judge, then, what I must feel please me much, no doubt, here, befor those who must be left behind ! side my breakfast plate-What! the but I must leave you." And, dis- Sketchbook, and a page of writing turbed to a degree of anguish, he besides! That is indeed industry, or hurried from her, scarcely look- rather, that is like my loved girl, to ing at her, as he tore himself away. give a double delight to her faMedora was greatly discomforted, ther, who so prizes all that his child and her brow told it. Millions does." of thoughts ran rapidly across the “ Now do I fancy I shall see a sonsurface of poor Medora's brain, as net of my friend Wordsworth’s put she slowly bent her steps towards into as sweet Italian as Petrarch himhome; but one feeling pressed upon

self would have sung; but stopher heart, and to calm that, and to what have we here ? dear me, what comfort it, and to gain strength could induce you ?-well, well, good and composure to meet her father's

-yes, very good—Though so strange eye, and speak to him, as though a selection for a rendering into that feeling was not, seemed her Italian-Beautifully done, really:" purpose as she sat for a while on He read on between these words, the bench which had rested her, a and when he came to the end, said, little more than an hour before, in “ In truth, Medora, you have quite peacefulness and tranquillity. And made poetry of it.”—“ Made poetry now! but she had learnt where to of it! Oh, my dear father, it is seek submission; and that she might poetry—all is poetry almost in that find it ready for her when she reach- book-—too beautiful, too sublime, for ed her home, and find it hand in me to dare to translate it, and I nehand with cheerfulness, was the short ver before attempted it; but old Mi. petition that she made in the few mi- chael was with me this morning, and nutes that were left her. Some tears was saying how much he loved that she shed, and then she looked up at psalm-how much he delighted to the same lovely scene that had de- dwell on its promises, and repeat it lighted her in the early morning; as he walked among the glories of THAT was even more gladsome; and Him who inspired it—and this it was why should she be less so ? She ga- which made me think I would try

* I would this were prophetic, and that the time were speedily arriving when we shall have three bishops in India.

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