"More fool he to mind it," said Satterthwaite. "He should have done as I do; snuff it up, and never think of it. But he did not feel the smoak in his pocket," added he; ed as if he pitied my ignorance. At last he said, “Why, ma'am, do you reckon it nothing that we can get up our goods so cheap as to undersell our neighbours? If I was to trust to the fingers and spittle of your hundred cherry-" and perhaps I might not like to be blacked cheeked women, I might dine upon boiled beef and turnips, and carry an empty purse." "I do not understand manufactures," said 1; “but it appears to me that our neighbours will share the advantages of our discoveries at no very distant period, and have steam engines of their own. We shall then be upon an equality, as when both depended on the spinning wheel; and the price of labour being lower in France, and the taxes less, they will be able to sell their manufactures as much cheaper as if the steam engine had never bsen invented." for nothing myself. However, ma'am, if you'll come and see me, I'll stop my steam engine while you stay." "I consider that as the highest compliment you can pay me," replied I; "and if I were going into your neighbourhood, I would accept your invitation; but I go no farther south than Lancaster. Perhaps you will favour us with your company again at Oakwood, when I return." "But that while we are getting rich, ma'am," your acquaintance; and I suppose my nephew said Mr. Satterthwaite. "If you and I consider only ourselves, I believe you are right," said I. "You sell more cottons than you would without the steam engine, aud I buy them for less money." “And who should we consider but ourselves, ma'am," demanded Mr. Satterthwaite?" Does not charity begin at home? Is not it, every one for himself, and God for us all ?” "Yes," said John Freeman ; " but we should consider others as well. We should live and let live." "I al "That's true," said Satterthwaite. ways take care of the first part of the saying|| myself, and leave it to others to take care of the second." "I apprehend another ill consequence from the steam engine," said my brother. « Jt will consume coal faster than the earth can produce it; and I look forward to the time when I shall be obliged to fell my old oaks to warm myself. But I have been told," continued he, "that a method has been discovered to make the steam engines eat up their own smoak; and, if it is possible, they ought to be made to do it. I know a very worthy old gentleman, who has been smoaked out of his family mansion by one that reared up its head under his nose." will be loitering here, or hereabouts. I shan't have to advertise him again." Millichamp became our guest when his uncle went to Oatley. When he was first permitted to enter the library, he stood motionless with surprize. "Very well done,” cryed my brother, are not they; considering they are only of wood?" Millichamp started, and cast on him a look of the utmost contempt; and it was not till several books had been taken down, that he was convinced they were real paper and print, and laughed at his own credulity. He now forgets to eat, in earnest, as my brother predicted in jest. The hours pass away unperceived when he is in the library; and, as our maxim of every man in his humour extends to our visitor, we never summon him to dinner, and have several times dined without him, He commonly finds his way to the cold meat in the afternoon, or evening; but if he hear Margaret's voice as he passes the door, hunger is again forgotten, and he makes dinner trust till supper. I mean to set out in a fortnight on a visit to my old friend, Mrs. Douglas, of Arrowby Lodge; and, as I have promised to write to Margaret Freeman, you will probably not hear from me again, till my return to Oakwood. (To be continued.) STORIES OF SEVEN DAYS. (Continued from Page 97.) THE Baroness received the thanks of the company for her little narrative, and the following evening Count St. Blancard was called upon for his story. TALE II-THE RING; OR, THE TALISMAN OF REMEMBRANCE. You all know (said he, addressing the company), that I was originally a soldier of fortune, and that the estates which I at present enjoy are mine only in right of my wife; but I can truly say, that the riches of the universe could not have augmented the happiness which I have derived from the possession of my Julie, and it is the incident to which I owe the hand of this beloved and inestimable wo'man, that I am about to relate to you. Love, The union between my parents was, in every wordly sense, an imprudent one; for both were nobly born, and both were poor however, that most subtle of all magicians, threw over the dreary prospect which future years of poverty presented to my parents, one brilliant gleam of happiness from the undisturbed possession of each other. Alas! this hope was speedily destroyed; my father, who was in the army, had a dispute with a brother officer, and it terminated in a duel in which my father lost his life. This event happened only four months after his marrige, and the grief which my mother felt at i: bad sach an effect upon her constitution that it was for some time doubtful whether she would not follow him to the grave; and perhaps it was owing to her being in a state of pregnancy, that she acquired the courge to support an existence which was become burthensome to ber. My father's little potimonial property was si uated at a considerable distance from Paris; thither my mother retired soon after I was born, and t ́k ing me with her, she resolved to dedicate the best years of her life to my education. The Abbe Clugui had been my father's preceptor, and he was also my mother's confiden tial friend; struck with the magnanimity of such a resolution in a lovely woman, who saw scarcely eighteen, the Abbe resolved to accompany ber to the Chateau St. Blancard; and my mother, fully aware of the advantages which I should derive from being under the care of this venerable man, accepted his offer with gratitude. I shall pass over my infant years, which were indeed truly happy, and hasten to that period when it became necessary for me to make choice of a profession, and to quit the solitude I had hitherto lived in, for the dan gers and temptations of that world to which 1 was yet a stranger. In spite of the pains that my venerable preceptor had taken to prepossess me in favour of the law or the church, I felt a decided dislike to both; and from my earliest years a military life was the object of my wishes and my hopes. "It is in vain, my dear Madam," said the Abbe Clugni to my mother, "that we have || laboured to counteract nature; Lucien was born to be a soldier, and I am convinced that he will be miserable if you oblige him to make choice of any other profession." "Heaven forbid! my dear Abbe,” replied she, "that I should embitter the life of a son for whom I should willingly sacrifice my own; no, since his inclination prompts him to decide in favour of a military life, let him embrace it; his beloved father was an ornament to the ariny; but ob, may heaven grant my Lucien a different fate!" Nothing could exceed the transport with which I received the Abbe's intimation that my mother had consented to my wishes. A commission was purchased for me in the regiment of, and the day was fast approachng when I was to leave this beloved parent for the first time. The morning before that on which I quitted the chateau, my mother sent for me into her apartment. When I entered I could perceive she had been weeping; but she hastily dryed her eyes, and motioned to me to take a seat beside ber. More than twenty years are passed since that day, but the words which she ad dressed to me are indelibly impressed upon my memory, never more can I forget them. of false honour, I may through it lose a beloved son as I lost an adored husband. "Here, my Lucien," continued she, "here is a ring which your father took from his finger in his last moments to put upon mine. Oh, my son, let the sight of this ring be to you as a talisman to check the least approach which you may feel inclined to make to vice." "You are about, my son," said she, "to mix with a world which your young and sanguine fancy has doubtless painted in the most brilliant colours; educated in solitude, and under the care of one of the best of men, the hitherto tranquil uniformity of your life has bat ill prepared you to encounter its tempta-She placed it herself upon the fore-finger of tions. Your disposition is naturally good, my right hand.-"One promise," cried she, your education has been excellent; but the "I will exact from you; never to let this arm strength of your passions, your youth and inbe raised against the life of a fellow creature but in battle." experience, renders it but too probable that you will not be proof to the seducing voice of pleasure, and the force of bad example; and that forgetting the advice and the warnings of a mother, whose only hope you are, you will give her occasion to blush for her son." "Never, dearest mother," exclaimed 1, penetrated by the solemnity with which she spoke; never, I swear to you." "Hold! Lucien," cried she interrupting me; “hold, I want no protestations to convince me of your good intentions, I wish only that you may be able to keep them; I seek not now to convince your reason of the necessity there is to be virtuous if we would be happy, that is already done; it is not to the understanding but to the heart of her son, that the fond mother wishes to appeal." She took from her pocket a case which confained a miniature of herself; it was drawn at the time of her marriage, and represented her in all the bloom of youth and beauty. "Such, my son," continued she was your mother when she quitted, eighteen years ago, for your sake the pleasures and amusements of the world. Never have I for a single moment regretted what my friends called a sacrifice; the sweet promise of your infancy, and the virtues of your maturer years, have amply compensated to me for every thing that you occasioned me to resign, and from the moment in which I lost your father you only have attached me to life. The bitter and painful moment is at length arrived, when it becomes my duty to deprive myself of my ouly happiness by parting with you; and the profession that you have chosen adds to my regret, because it is of all others the most dangerous to the morals, and because from the refinements I made the promise that she required upon my knees; and while I kissed the dear hands that she extended to bless me, I wetted them with my tears. The following morning I quitted the chateau to join my regiment, which then lay at the town of The officers, gay, thoughtless, and dissipated, treated me with good humoured familiarity, and sought to engage me in their gaming and convivial parties; but I managed to avoid the vortex into which they would have drawn me, without giving them any offeuce, and I laughed at their raillery on my old-fashioned morality. One amongst them, however, pleased and interested ine. He was a few years older than myself, and his name was D'Alonville." St. Blancard," said he one day entering my apartment, "I am going to give you a treat; I know that the noisy gaiety of the mess room is particularly disagreeable to you, and I have obtained leave of absence for a few days for myself and you, if you like to accompany me, to visit a family whose tranquil abode, the seat of virtue and happiness, will I am persuaded pleasingly remind you of the chateau of St. Blancard." I readily accepted his offer; and on our way to the house of Madame Tournonville, he rau on with eulogiums on her and her family.-. "She is," said he, "a second Countess St. Blancard. Like your amiable mother, she quitted the gaieties of the world to devote herself to her children, of whom she has three, two daughters and an infant son. The eldest daughter, Sophie, is truly amiable; but Julie, the youngest, must be known to be esteemed as she ought." From the animation of my friend D'Alonville's manuer, I was convinced that the fair Julie stood very high in his estimation at least, and as I was informed that he had borue the appellation of the invincible, I felt some curiosity to see a lady who had effected such a change in his sentiments. We were received by Madame de Tournonville with that cordial politeness which denotes a sincere welcome; and her lovely daughters, with the happy innocence of their age, chid D'Alonville for his long absence, and declared that they were glad to see him in the same breath. I should have thought Sophie, then about seventeen, all that was lovely in woman; but when I looked at Julie, I confessed that it was possible for the fair Sophie to be excelled. Yet it was not her beauty that rendered Julie so facinating, for I have seen many handsomer women; it was a certain something which cannot be described; aud D'Alonville was right in saying that she must be seen and known in order to be properly estimated. Ten days spent at Madame de Tournonville's, appeared to me but as so many moments; and I resolved to avail myself of the invitation which I received at my departure to visit her again. "Well, my friend," cried D'Alonville to me as we were returning to our quarters, "what do you think of the family we have just now left?" || "I could have wished never to leave them," cried I;" for in truth they are very amiable." He laughed."Take care of your heart," || said he; “I should not wonder if it became the prize of the little Sophie." "And why of Sophie?" said I. "Because," replied he seriously, "the hand of Julie is already disposed of; I have her mother's promise that she shall be mine." I felt a pang at my heart while he spoke, but I endeavoured to assume an air of tranquillity, and I congratulated him upon the happiness which, as the husband of Julie, I thought he could not fail to enjoy." She is very young," said I; "how long is it that her hand has been promised you?” "Rather more than a year," said he. "My uncle, on whom I principaily depend, has long wished me to marry; and as he had the most entire friendship for the father of Julie and Sophie, he wished that my choice might fall upon either. Through the bounty of her grandmother, Julie will be extremely rich, but to do my uncle justice, that circumstance had no weight with him; and you, St. Blancard, will, I am convinced, believe me when I assure you that it has none with me. "Twelve months ago he gave me a letter to Madame de Tournonville, who ou his account received me with pleasure. Sophie was with her mother when I arrived, and after half an hour spent in chat, Madame de Tournonville began to wonder what had become of Julie. Her sister offered to seek her, and I accompanied Sophie in her search. "At a little distance from the house we saw Julie; her arm was bound up, and she led by the hand a beautiful boy of about five years of age, whose little features were swelled with weeping." My dear Julie," cried Sophie, "how have you hurt your arm?" "It was grand papa that did it," said the child. "Grand papa!" cried Sophie. "Yes," replied Julie; "it was indeed Monsieur Veisorand. You know how very passionate he is, and just now he was angry with Antoine, whom he threatened to horsewhip, though the poor little fellow was not at all to blame; I tried to beg him off, as I have very often done, but he would not listen to me, and quite frantic with rage, he aimed a blow at the child with the horsewhip which he held in his hand. You may beat me (said I, throwing myself between them), but you shall not hurt him-The whip fell upon my arm, which it has hurt severely, but Monsieur Veisorand was a thousand times more frightened than I was; he directly ran for something to rub it with, and made a hundred apologies. But why did you interfere? said he I think it is very fortunate I did, Monsieur,' said 1, since I am sure such a blow would have killed the child, and I will not be friends with you if you do not promise never to strike him when you are in a passion again.' He promised me very readily; and so now my little Antoine is safe for the future, provided he is not uaughty," added she turning to the child. "And now, Sophie, we will go into the house, and try if I cannot bind up my arm under my dress, for I would not wish mamma to know it if I could help it.' "Sophia had ran forward when she saw her sister, but I remained a few paces behind, and as I leaned against a tree Julie had not perceived me. I now came forward, and Mademoiselle de Tournonville presented me to her sister. "The unaffected goodness of this action prepossessed me strongly in favour of Julie, though she was then but a child; a month's residence at the house of her mother convinced me that she would make the best and most amiable of women. I wrote to my uncle that my choice was made, and besought his interest with Madame de Tournonville. "The maternal grandfather of Julie was then alive, and resided with her mother; he approved my passion, and Madame de Tournonville assured me that when Julie bad attained her seventeenth year she should be mine. But she is yet a child,' said she, 'and bas much to learn; I will not have her head turned with love stories; visit here as the brother and friend of both my girls and welcome; but I cannot receive you upon any other conditions.' "I gladly accepted her terms, and from that time I have continued to visit in the family. Julie treats me as a brother, and I hope that in time she will not be displeased to exchange that appellation for a more tender one.” D'Alonville now began another subject, but I endeavoured in vain to divert my thoughts from Julie. I resolved not to visit again at her mother's; but when D'Alonville told me that he was going there, and invited me to accompany him, I had not philosophy enough to resist the temptation; I compromised the matter, however, with my conscience, by resolving to consider Julie only as the destined wife of my friend. || which I could not account, but he soon explained it. "St. Blancard," said he one morning entering my chamber, "you love and are beloved by Julie de Tournonville." Astonishment prevented my replying, and he continued-"You knew her engagement to me; you knew how wholly my heart was devoted to her, and yet in despite of honour, in despite of friendship, you meanly, basely, treacherously stole her heart from me." "By all that is just," cried I, you wrong me. If my reason has unfortunately been subdued by a passion whose sweet and powerful influence I knew not how to resist, at least I have not forfeited my honour; Julie is yet unconscious of her conquest; never have I breathed a syllable that could give her reason to suppose I loved her." "Oh, what a mockery of truth!" exclaimed he, "is such a declaration. You have not given her reason to suppose herself beloved? no, not in words, perhaps, but what need of language where the eyes can so well supply the place of speech; and think you, St. Blancard, that I can believe Julie could not translate those ardent, those impassioned glances which I have myself observed?' “Your jealousy, D'Alonville,” said I,“ magnifies.". "It is false," interrupted he. "False?" repeated I; "take care D'Alon ville, do not presume too much upon our friendship to try my temper too far." ་་ "I again repeat it,-it is false!" cried be. "And as to friendship, dare not to profane its sacred name; thou art a wretch incapable of feeling its influence." This was too much; instinctively I put my hand to my sword; iu an instant D'Alouville's was drawn. A few days before I had slightly sprained my wrist, and in unsheathing my sword I felt a sudden pain which occasioned me to drop it, and in stooping to pick it up, my eye fell upon the ring. In an instant the vow I had made mother darted into my mind; the figure of that beloved parent, as I beheld her at the moment of my taking it, was present to my mind's eye, and fancy painted to me in the to my I shall not tire you, my dear friends, with a detail of the gradual increase of my passion for Julie; a passion that I soon had reason to think the dear girl returned. I did not, however, suffer myself to indulge in this delightful idea, till I was roused to a conviction af its truth by D'Alonville. For some time I had perceived a change in his behaviour forstrongest colours the distress and distraction No. XXIII. Vol. IV.―N. S. ន |