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ant's judgment, and smiled at the oft-repeated compliment, "That she would be the beauty of the ball-room!"

Occasionally she referred to the superintend- style of his Mary; while the fastidious Lord St. John required studied elegance, judgment, and the exercise of good taste, harmonizing with fashion, such as Rose Spencer used, to his satisfaction.

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"Busy, Rose?" said Hubert, as he passed through. 'I am on my way to our friends : have you any message?"

"None, Hubert," she answered, without turning round. "Elizabeth and her brother are coming to spend this evening, and be presented to Edward; Mildred said she would come also."

"And St. John-what of him?" inquired Hubert, in a lower tone, as he came near her. "Nothing!" she replied, in a voice so sharp and painful, though she immediately turned to the workmen, that Hubert felt distressed; he took her hand, and led her outside.

"Forgive me, Rose," he said; "I would not, dear sister, wound one feeling or strike a chord rudely. If you love St. John, may you not regret it! I saw him yesterday reading a letter, written in a lady's hand, bearing foreign postmarks. Rose, I love Elizabeth Talbot, and can well imagine your agony now; but, were he twenty times her cousin, he shall rue dearly any treachery to you. I owe a duty to her; but a deeper claim on me is the call of a sister's wrong. I detest him; and have only tolerated St. John because you wished it.

"I did not tell you that I wished it!" answered Rose, evasively.St. John is no lover of mine; so my dear brother need never to peril his life in defence of a shadow. You have my best wishes for happiness with Elizabeth."

"You may deceive me, Rose," returned Hubert, with solemnity; "but One there is, a Higher and a Holier, whom you cannot deceive He knows your Truth and Seeming.' I shall ask St. John to come this evening also."

Rose passed one hand over her closed eyes; an upbraiding conscience was at work within, agony and distress on her proud features.

"Brother, I confess !" she murmured. Rose opened her eyes, but saw she was alone! Her first thought was to call him back, and confide all to his care, seek his advice, and be guided by whatever that might be; her next to wait, and ask once more of St. John the meaning of such mystery. The former she knew to be right, truthful, and upright; the latter was but deceit still further, following inclination against principle. Rose decided rashly in the latter, stifling the whispering voice; yielded herself a willing victim to sin, and worshipped perishing, guilty man, rather than the undying perfections of the Creator!"

Hours rolled on. Rose dismissed those employed in decorating the rooms, and prepared to dress herself for dinner with more care than usual. Mary had finished her toilet ere her sister had well begun; so different an occupation is it to dress and be aware that the one whom you wish to please is waiting anxiously for your appearance, and to adorn, to suit the taste of one who is not expected for hours. Be sides, the young cleagyman loved the simple

The last dinner bell had rung, the last look of approbation had been cast towards the full-length mirror. Rose smiled at her own beauty, and questioned what St. John would say to the black lace dress, so suitable to her brilliant charms, and the costly sevigne, worn to point a slight attention to the white polished neck, perfect in symmetry, and displayed with due attention to modesty and fashion; still, amidst this scene of studied adornment, Rose sighed heavily, and a jewelled hand was pressed against her heart as she fled with the rapidity of the wind down stairs. At the same instant Mrs. Spencer was leaving her room, and they met a moment on the lobby.

"You are quite distinguèe in your dress this evening, Rose," said Mrs. Spencer, with the customary expenditure of simperings, politeness, and compliments; but Rose was in no mood to relish them.

"Mother," she answered, vehemently snatching her hand, "procure me what you have so long promised-the letter-and I shall say from my heart what I do not at present-that you

love me!"

Mrs. Spencer promised faithfully to lose no time, and they joined the family circle.

"Hubert has just sent a message," said Mr. Spencer aloud, for the edification of the whole family assembled, "that he remains for dinner at our neighbours, but to expect him with a reinforcement in the evening; I think Hubert must see something to admire in Miss Talbot, he is so frequently at Lord Belvidare's, and I cannot imagine any child of mine liking one of those St. Johns."

"I think Lord St. John a very fine young man, and one calculated to make an impression on any disengaged heart," answered Mrs. Spencer in her blandest accents, delighted that she might with safety give her opinion in favour of that rank which always won her esteem.

Mr. Spencer bowed to the little conceited woman, with more sarcasm than love in his politeness, as he answered

"Ladies are thought the best judges on such matters."

Rose thanked her mother with a grateful smile for her defence of the absent, which com municative glance was caught and wondered at by Edward Montague.

After dinner, each disposed of the time as best suited the individual; one after another, all had vanished but Rose, who still remained seated by the open window, chained there by bitter thoughts and memory; her spirit bowed down by some overwhelming sensation, which she could not shake off; a dread of evil haunted her, which she would have given riches to escape from; but Rose had scorned all assist ance, and used subterfuge with each.

"How should I now undeceive them, and live

to be pointed at by my father," she cried bitterly.

Rose wept not one tear of repentance; her eyes were scorching, and her heart like a tempest within; a choking sensation swelled her graceful throat. She saw Mary and her affianced husband pass into the gardens: so quietly happy was their mutual smile, that Rose shuddered at her own solitude. Edward Montague was rolling a shawl round his beloved, and then he gaily caressed her shining curls.

"They deserve happiness," exclaimed Rose, mentally; " for Truth has ever been their motto."

The sun went down slowly, with every variation of shade in his magnificent hues, from the regal purple to the bright, burning gold, so fierce in majesty. The west was yet in a sea of rays, when the harvest moon rose, pale at first, but gradually becoming full of mild lustre; daylight faded imperceptibly, the red streams glided one by one away, and the queen of the night held her court amid the blue vaults of heaven; while, every minute, twinkling stars in groups, apappeared to do homage to the sovereign! One watcher gazed untiringly on, but the young eyes of Rose Spencer-for she it was to whom we refer heeded not the still solemnity of the lulling hour; nor regarded the long shadows from the trees upon the walk. A hand was placed affectionately round her neck.

"Rose, my dearest, forgive me," said Mary in a gentle tone, "if I have forgotten you while with Edward; I am indeed in fault-yet forgive us both."

Rose raised her head and laughed. That laugh was intended to deceive again, for she could not trust her lips to utter a sound: but the moonlight shone full upon a face of agonized expression, and Mary trembled as she kissed the burning brow of her sister.

"What is the matter, beautiful Rose?" inquired Edward. "Were you studying the stars? Fancy Miss Rose Spencer in love with

the moon !"

"Brother, I wish that only were my folly." Edward Montague changed his light raillery, and whispered earnestly

"For mercy's sake, Rose, tell me, do you love St. John? Tell me, for I imagine such is the case."

Will you have the truth? what I have denied to my father, to Hubert, to myself, until I could no longer," she cried aloud, standing up. "I love him better than words can tell or soul imagine. Do you love Mary? Could you peril life-see friends, fortune, the dearly valued things of earth pass away, and yet feel rich in Mary's love? So do I feel for St. John."

"I do not censure you-no, Rose," he answered; "not for that love, which I can unlerstand, but I do for your deceit. It is not too late to confess; a late repentance is better than none. There is a mystery about St. John which I cannot sift."

"I shall sift it this night or never," interrupted Rose. "There comes a party up the avenue,

and, even in the moonlight, I can distinguish the Apollo outline of St. John. This very night I shall read my destiny-aye, though my heart broke in the attempt; let you Edward, in the morning, tell my father all, for this night shall break the chain that holds me. Oh! then this odious ball, and how I shall be dead—yes, my heart will be a stone to every homage!"

No time was given to either for reply; candles were lighted in the room, and Miss Talbot, her brother, Lord St. John, and Hubert, entered. All traces of Rose's emotion had passed away like a thought; the simple Mary wondering how she had regained conposure in time to inquire, "Why Lady Mildred was absent?"

"We could not prevail on her to come, Rose," answered Hubert; " she said it was stupid work walking with us."

Rose looked at Miss Talbot for an explanation of her brother's half whisper; but a blush and imploring look from Elizabeth caused Hubert to continue.

"I see I must solve this mystery for you, Rose. Wish me happiness, for I have fairly won my Elizabeth, and you have a right to hail her sister!"

"I am delighted, dear brother," said Rose, hurriedly accepting Miss Talbot's offered hand, and then passing to preside at the tea-table.

"How beautiful is that girl-such rare and wonderful perfections are hers. Do you not bow to Rose Spencer's charms?" inquired Lord St. John of Mr. Talbot, as they stood together at some distance, watching her graceful move

ments.

"Yes, I admire, and could have loved-but she has chosen, if I mistake not; and now, in return for my candour, say whether you will leave such a flower to wither; or, to prove that you can go against the poet, view the ripened rose, nor wish to wear it?"

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I really have not thought on the subject, Talbot," answered St. John gaily; "we cannot wear every rose, though we may inhale a little perfume from all, as I shall now." He was soon at Rose's side, gazing on her loveliness, whispering not anything beyond a compliment to her exquisite taste; but his eyes were eloquently speaking to her heart, while Mr. Talbot remained riveted to the spot, spending his time in vain hopes that Rose would not waste all her sweets on such a prodigal. Tea had given place to conversation, and some remark on the calm, mellow night, being made, Hubert suddenly proposed that all should muffle, and walk to witness the effect of moonlight on the new rock bridge, just completed. "My father's great glory and boast," he continued, "which will not be opened until Rose's fête, when it will be shown, all brilliant with illuminations, to the assembled guests. Is any of my opinion that we should go to see it?"

All the young people joyfully acceded; even Mr. Spencer thought it a wise movement, and Rose laughed, half with madness, half with delight, that her hour of trial was come. As they were proceeding en masse to the hall, Mrs.

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There was one in the shade of a clump of trees, close by, who stood an astonished listener. Mr. Talbot, wandering alone, saw Rose Spencer, and he could not resist the temptation of hearkening for her answer: he had not long to wait. The young girl seemed like one in wild frenzy ; she dashed the bonnet from her head, and heeded not its fall into the current, started from his side, screaming aloud,-" Am I indeed awake? Or has not Lord St. John scorned me sufficiently without disposing of my hand? No, never while she breathes shall Rose Spencer sell herself at your pleasure. True, he may be worthy; I question it not; but shall I say the same of myself? And you have spoken of love to me! Away--falsehood! deceit! Is this love? I am punished; I could have borne all without a murmur-to see you worldly, wicked, a very felon! But oh, to have loved me still." And Rose, overcome by her own energy, leaned down over the bridge.

The moonlight hour has been long held sacred to love and reflection; surely a more fitting time could not be selected to dwell on subjects so sacredly reverenced by the young and imaginative; a subject which can finally, by completion, render many envied and happy, or, by trials and doubts, fill up the measure of human misery. Thus Hubert and Elizabeth walked on like fairies, light of heart, and swift of motion; Edward Montague and his Mary forgot the whole world in themselves; but Rose, the brilliant, the loveliest, the proud spirited enslaver of so many, hung her haughty head as she sauntered slowly, and the last, with her idol, Lord St. "My Rose, my only loved, my dearest, hear John. They had been accompanied by Mr. me," he whispered. "I have never loved but Talbot, but he disappeared without their know-you. Yet, oh! God forgive me-the hour in ing when or where.

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Anything but silence, Rose," said Lord St. John, after a lengthened pause. Why not say the veriest trifle, for I love the sound of your voice better than the finest music. Why are you so sad? Where is the dignity of Rose Spencer, which ought to teach her to shake off this gloom?"

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My dignity has vanished, Lord St. John," she cried bitterly, "the moment that I deceived my family to listen to words full of flattery and untruth."

"No, not untruth, my dear Rose; to all the world I shall be false, but not to you. I have said that I am wretched; what would you more?"

All now paused together, and each said something of the strangely constructed bridge, on which Mr. Spencer had bestowed such pains. The moon streamed down on the party, and the waters, which flowed rapidly underneath, reflected her pale orb with a tremulous motion. At some little distance was to be seen the waterfall, rolling furiously down a steep declivity, its loud echo coming so startlingly on the ear, to remind you of the stormy, violent waves, which, even in the calmest hour of affection, threaten to engulph the dreamer. Rose lingered silently, leaning on Lord St. John, her other hand resting on the rocky parapet; suddenly she moved, on seeing the rest had passed away.

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Stay one minute, will you, Rose?" besought her companion. "I have a few words to say." Say on," murmured Rose.

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"I may not speak again on the subject; for it is time that I should part from one so dangerous to my own happiness for ever; yes, Rose, dangerous! Oh! had I but worshipped you years ago, as I do now, half this misery might have been spared us. Forget me, I wish you; I pray for it. There is one more worthy, who can share life and fortune with you; love him. Talbot I mean. Promise this, Rose."

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which I say it, but seals my ruin! Oh! Rose, forgive me, and we part for ever.'

"No, we part not; neither do I grant forgiveness until you tell me this mystery; tell it, and I forget all, everything! Yes, I will forget, Lord St. John, that I have been outraged. I ask you positively; as I have the letter at last from my father, and when I return, there I shall read your truth."

"But can you bear that we meet no more? That you should hate my very name? That "Yes, yes," she interrupted hurriedly. "I can bear it all, or die! On, on, for my heart is breaking."

Lord St. John raised the bent girl, and placed his arm round her for support; he felt every beat of that proud heart like the sound of a time-piece, and her eyes blazed wildly upwards, as he began-" Rose, would that I were cold as stone, and insensible ere I met you, for now I must tell of my dark treachery. In an evil hour, I became acquainted with a set of gamblers and unprincipled men. Amongst them one called me friend; whilst I, fool and benighted, subscribed to the name also. I gambled-lost; he paid for me, and I paid due attention to his sister, one whose ways I hated, yet whom I seemed to admire. In some short time, constant play reduced me to such straits that I wrote to my father, but he refused to assist me any further. De Valmont offered me full forgiveness, on one condition; but that one I started from with abhorrence. We disagreed on the subject; my leave had nearly expired; once more I tried my fortune at cards-lost everything; the estates, when they should be mine, were even bartered. Again the free pardon was held out: it was drawn up in legal form, and in despair I performed my part. Rose, oh! Rose, I am a married man!"

A start, a low cry, and hysterical sob, came from Rose Spencer, as she fell on Lord St. John's breast; a convulsive movement ran

through every fibre of her frame, and all was silent. St. John raised her face; the eyes were closed, and a tinge of blood stained the parted lips something horrible took possession of his mind; he placed a hand on her heart, but no throb woke the stillness. The truth, in all its fearful solemnity, rushed on his senses-Rose Spencer was dead! The struggle within, and excitement, had been too much for her frail body; with the spirit's conflict the chord of life had snapped asunder. A shriek rose on the summer air, heart-rending and piercing; it came from the miserable Lord St. John.

Mr. Talbot was the first who snatched the victim, Rose, from the frenzied man, and all the family came rushing to the spot; they had missed her on their return, then sought and found only a corpse; but no trace of Lord St. John could be discovered.

It was the night appointed for Rose Spencer's ball, to celebrate her twentieth birth-day; but a silence like the grave reigned in the place of festivity and gaiety. Lights shone through the blinded windows of the grand drawing-room, yet no breathing inmate was there: steadily the blaze burned, and no shadow impeded the reflection, which fell on the lawn without. At midnight the moon was commencing to unveil, and her mellow beauty showed a muffled figure in a large cloak, moving stealthily under the trees, and going towards the back entrance of Spencerville. The man appeared sad, and in affliction, his hat slouched, and not one look was cast by him towards the front entrance: he knocked with a low tap at a postern gate, which was immediately answered by an old woman, who seemed earnestly refusing to grant some request, while he pleaded both with gesture and words; then a purse was thrust into her hand. "Take it," he said, "and grant me five minutes. I ask it as the dearest wish on earth; nay, if you do not, I shall climb to one of the windows for an entrance."

The woman paused, weighed the purse, considered, and the petitioner entered; silently they proceeded through the deserted house, not an echo did their steps awaken as those two traversed the richly carpeted passages leading to the drawing-room. The old woman unlocked the door. "I will watch," she whispered, "and return for you in ten minutes; so make the most of your time."

The disguised person stood a second, and looked round the magnificent apartment; one object then secured his attention; he threw aside his hat, darted forward, and the many burning lights shone down on Lord St. John gazing in despair on the pale remains of Rose Spencer! Years might have told on his features and figure with less of destruction than the two last nights, in which he had wandered like an outcast; but a sad pleasure, and unconquerable desire once again to see his murdered love, brought him on this night to Spencerville,

where, by means of bribes and entreaties, we find him.

On the centre table, covered with a rich pall of black velvet, rested the close narrow prison, where, cold in death, lay that once brilliant Rose! The large chandelier, which had been hung for her fête, was lighted for the first time over her in death; it showed her more lovely than ever, and St. John, as he stood there, would gladly have exchanged places with his victim. According to Mr. Spencer's wishes, Rose had been dressed in the costume she was to have appeared in at her ball; and now, the rich lace dress and satin vied with the marble hue of the "bride of death;" her black hair hung in wavy folds, not redundant in curl, and those closed eyes looked like sleep.

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"Can this be death?" cried the guilty man aloud, as he clung to the coffin for support. Rose, my beautiful! my murdered Rose, wake! Ah me! I am alone!" He bent over the inanimate form, and with fervour pressed his lips long and fondly on her forehead. "Yes, mine in death. Who shall deny it?" he exclaimed. "And here is my bridal offering." Lord St. John laid a bunch of moss roses on her breast. "They will perish like my Rose," he murmured; "yet I have given them in memory of that one she gave me when first we met." He paused, for the door slowly opened, and Mr. Montague, supporting the weeping Mary, entered.

"Lord St. John," said the young clergyman, when he had recognized him, "you have neither consulted the feelings of the family, nor your own safety, by this intrusion. Can you not understand that the remembrance of your name must be associated with horror? How then must your presence afflict this mourner?"

"Talk on, Mr. Montague; upbraid, threaten!" cried Lord St. John. Mary Spencer does not suffer like me; she does not stand by the dead body of her idol-of the only one she loved, and know that she has murdered her! Let them come; I could endure death from a Spencer with joy !"

"But you must not meet it. Are you fit to die? Do not sins like yours need repentance? Think on the future, careless man, and mourn over the past! Yonder window is open, by it you can escape, for a bereaved father will join us here in a moment. Is it not enough, our sister stricken to the dust in her youth; her mother a senseless, raving maniac! Á father in despair! A brother searching for you for vengeance! Go, go! God is the avenger, and not your fellow man; such afflictions are punishments for your deceit and falsehood!"

Lord St. John heard all, and seemed like one under the influence of a spell; he clasped his hands on the worn, lofty forehead, exclaiming My punishment is greater than I can bear!" and vanished through the open window.

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The grave closed over Rose Spencer, and with death we are inclined to be silent as to the faults and errors of the departed; and of one who might have dwelt with the noble

and good, yet, by a train of misdeeds, saw himself banished from home and country. In foreign lands, a gloomy isolated hermit, Lord St. John read the announcement of Mrs. Spencer's death, which took place a few months after her daughter's. Again his self-upbraidings returned in full force, and the victim of remorse sank into an unregretted tomb about the same time as Mr. Spencer, no longer the stern eagleeyed man, was giving his tearful blessing to his other children; who, though beginning life with those so dear, yet bore evidence of a deep sorrow for one whose place was vacant for ever.

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TO MY INFANT NIECE.

Pretty little winsome thing,
Fair as flowers in early Spring,
Fain would I in measur'd verse
All thine infant charms rehearse,
But alas! the Muses know it-

Thine Uncle was not "born a Poet;"
Never yet on verse of mine
Smiled in love those Sisters Nine.
But, if I may not soar on high
To the bright realms of Poesy,
Scattering sweet music as I fly,
With folded wing I yet may try
To raise a humbler minstrelsy.

Household treasure, priceless gem-
Richer than monarch's diadem-
Little thou heedest now,
As on thy baby brow

Thy mother gazes, with a glow

Of joy, which only mothers knowHow dear thou art

To the fond heart

Near which thine infant head Lies snugly pillowed.

Still as she watcheth thee
Sleeping so peacefully,

Her own-her first-born-child,
How grateful is the thought
She cherisheth, that aught
So beautiful-so undefiled-
To her maternal care is given,

To guide on earth, and train for heaven.

Thy laugh so merry, and thy sunny looks, Oft keep thy father from his learned books, As thou the while

With winning smile,

His finger in thy tiny hand

With love enchainest;

And him from studious school-room band Gently detainest.

And we have heard thy fame,
Dear, playful little charmer,
How that thy mother's name
(May nothing ever harm her!)
With cherub lips so rosy
Thou murmurest "sotto você."

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Why wilt thou tempt me thus to idle, Spring?
I may not sit me down with volume sage
Beside the open casement, but thou'lt fling

A shower of hawthorn blossoms o'er the page;
Then hie away upon thy silken wing,
But only, arch coquette, fresh lures to bring,
And woo me from my studies with the scent
Of far-off violet beds in cool retreat,
And wilding flowers with honied dew-drops bent,
And paths where overhead green branches meet.
I feel the wandering of thy breath around;

I hear, enchantress, its sweet whispering sound,

I may no more resist. Books, books, away, And forth with thee amid thy favourite haunts to stray.

What downward bends yon purple harebell's head?
Not the sweet dew-drops lingering hidden there,
Nor the light breathing of the gentle air.
Softly approach, thereon hath found a bed

The little herald of the bloomy spring,

The bee, which there hath couch'd its busy wing, And sips the nectar, feasted like a king.

See, even now its task is done-away

The restless insect hies to other flowers, And, culling sweets amid the greenwood bowers, 'Twill journey onward thus from day to day. Oh, that we might like thee pass through life's way, Extracting joy from even adversity,

As in the scentless bell is sweetness found by thee.

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