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praise her son-his pupil. He spoke long and loudly of his talents and amiability, and expressed a conviction that he would one day do honour to the title he was born to bear.

The mother listened to the praises of her child, but her face expressed no sympathy with the words she uttered. "She was glad to hear that he was getting on well, and gave satisfaction to his instructor."

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But, oh! Mr. Akinside," she added, while her countenance wore the flush of excitement, and the tears rolled in big round drops from her eyes," had you but known his brother-my child, my lost one -if ever an angel was allowed to exist on earth he was one. With him all that was glorious, great, and good perished. He was my hope he was taken from me, and I feel myself alone-childless and alone."

Eugene would have said somewhat to console the grief he witnessed, had not the earl, who was aware that a violent fit of hysterics would succeed this outbreak of sorrow, given him a signal to leave the room, and requested his daughters to summon Miss Tarleton and her ladyship's maid. As he passed to the library by the same passage by which he had entered the drawing-room, Eugene's ears were pierced by a thrilling scream, followed by wild, unnatural shouts of laughter.

At dinner all was calm and tranquil, the storm had passed away, and left no traces of its violence.

After dinner Lord -, who usually took his bottle of claret with Mr. Akinside, did not allude to any thing that had transpired. As soon as the wine was finished, he proposed to join the ladies, to which proposal Eugene had no objection.

When they entered the drawing-room, Miss Tarleton was singing at the pianoforte, and the ladies Louisa and Fanny were accompanying her on the harp and with their voices. Lady - was reclining on a sofa wrapped in shawls, caressing a beautiful little dog that lay ensconsed in the folds of her dress.

Eugene looked towards her ladyship, but as she did not notice him, he sat down near the instruments and listened to the music. He was enchanted. He had never heard so much skill and execution displayed before. The tones of the nobly-born ladies were brilliant and full, but were surpassed in richness and sweetness by the voice of Miss Tarleton, which was deep and mellow. She also excelled her pupils in expression, for she seemed to feel the words which they sung merely as a vehicle for sound.

When the trio was over, Eugene sat like one entranced. The vision of delight, however, vanished from his mind when the countess said "Enough, Tarleton, that will do for to-night. You may retire."

The governess obeyed. Her pupils, kissing the cheek of their mother, which was coldly held out to them, followed her after they had thrown their arms about the neck of the earl, and bowed courteously to Mr. Akinside.

Two months elapsed. The castle was filled with visiters. Eugene confined himself much to his pupil and his books. He seldom joined

the dinner-table, but always passed an hour or two in the drawingroom to listen to the music and singing. He had been thrown much in Miss Tarleton's society, as she and the ladies Louisa and Fanny always dined at an early hour with Eugene and his pupil. They frequently rode or walked together afterwards.

In these interviews Eugene saw enough of her to be satisfied that she was highly-talented, very amiable, and very unhappy. She seemed nervous to a painful degree, and was in the habit of looking frequently and timidly about her, as if she dreaded the approach of some one. The cause of this nervous fear Eugene could not divine, as she was treated with the greatest kindness by her pupils, and with civility and attention by the domestics.

The mystery, however, was cleared up.

In the centre of the flower-garden stood a beautiful temple, called the Temple of Flora, and ornamented with statues and devices suitable to the name it bore. It was the favourite resort of the young ladies and their governess, whenever the weather induced them to seek its shady coolness.

As Eugene was engaged in the garden giving his pupil a clinical lecture on botany by the side of the flower-beds, he heard loud sounds of anger and rebuke uttered with rapidity and violence. He stood to listen. His pupil gazed upon his face, and blushed as he said,

"Lady" (for he never called her mother) "is scolding poor Tarleton as usual."

Without thinking of what he was doing, Eugene walked rapidly toward the temple whence the voice evidently came. The sight that presented itself astonished him. Lady, her countenance inflamed, her eyes flashing and looking more like a demon than a woman, stood with her finger pointed in scorn at the governess, who was weeping bitterly in the arms of her pupils, who appeared to be deprecating their mother's anger.

"You, too, an orphan, friendless, and unprotected, whom I took out of compassion from a charity-school, bearing the dress and badge of beggary upon you-you, whom I allowed to leave your humble station, and raised to a situation far above your worth-you-thing!reptile!-to desert your duties and try your seductive arts on the tutor of my son !"

"You accuse me falsely, madam," sobbed the governess.

"Mother-dear mother-you are mistaken; indeed you are," said the ladies.

"Falsely? I-I, the Countess of --- am to be told by one dependant on my bounty, that I utter a falsehood! and that, too, when I have proofs of what I assert!"

"What proofs, madam?" said Eugene, who, to the surprise of all, stepped into the temple.

Lady stepped back, drew up her tall figure to its full height, and eyeing him with bitter scorn, said,

"Your unexpected and unwelcome presence here, if others were wanting, is sufficient proof that you have been induced by that wanton there to neglect your duties, and forget your situation in this family."

Eugene was astonished. He would have demanded an explanation, but before he could speak, Lady seized her son by the hand, and left the temple, bidding her daughters "follow her immediately, and not to countenance, by their presence, the disgraceful intercourse of two ungrateful hirelings."

The daughters would have disobeyed their mother, and remained to comfort their falsely-accused friend, but Miss Tarleton waved them from her as she rose from their arms, and the countess again bade them leave, on pain of her displeasure, those who should shortly be turned out into the world as they deserved." They reluctantly obeyed.

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The situation of Miss Tarleton and Eugene was painful in the extreme. He, however, led the poor weeping girl to a seat, and in the most delicate way he could, inquired the meaning of what he had seen and heard. The explanation satisfied him that the countess was a slanderer and a tyrant. He strongly advised Miss Tarleton to quit the castle immediately.

Where was she to go? She had not a friend in the world. Eugene thought of his mother. He urged Miss Tarleton to put herself under his protection. She refused, for she said it would confirm the story which the countess had invented. Eugene combatted her arguments, and at last prevailed by promising her not to visit his home while she remained under its roof. He would resign his tutorship, and would retire to London for a time.

Eugene procured a means of conveyance, and when the countess inquired for the governess in the evening, a note was placed in her hands, which informed her that she had left the castle for ever. In anger she ordered the servant to send Mr. Akinside to her. The man told her "he had left in a post-chaise about an hour before."

Lady sought the earl, who told her that through her violent temper and unwarrantable accusations, she had driven a friendless girl to seek a home with the stranger, deprived her son of a conscientious guide, and himself of a sincere friend.

The countess sneered at her lord contemptuously as she said,

"It was cunningly contrived-she wished they might marry and live happily together."

Lord would have vindicated the characters of his friend and his daughters' governess, but the countess bade him not to attempt to deceive her as he had been deceived himself-and left the room.

CHAP. IV.

Two months had passed since the scenes I have recorded were acted. Eugene Akinside had been inducted to the living of Ditchingly. Lord- the patron of the living, had given it to him in a way which rendered a refusal impossible. It was but of little value, but it would, as his lordship said, support him in comfort until a more valuable one became vacant.

After induction and reading in Eugene returned to London until the vicarage-house was put into repair.

"The season" had again commenced; town was full; the streets and parks were thronged with carriages. Amidst the thousands who went to breathe the pure air of the park and Kensington-gardens was the sub-vicar of Ditchingly. As he was about to leave and seek his lodgings, some time after the great press of visiters had departed, and evening was throwing its lengthened shadows on the earth, he heard a loud shout followed by screams and shrieks. These were succeeded by a fearful trampling of horses-the ground seemed to shake under his feet. He turned to ascertain the cause of the sudden uproar, and saw an open poney-carriage approaching as fast as the little animals could draw it. A lady sat on the driving-seat, but the reins had fallen from her hand and she was screaming for aid. A gentleman who was sitting by her side seemed to be trying to recover the failen reins. This Eugene saw at a glance; the carriage came up, he sprung into the road, seized the bridle of the off-side horse, and turned the carriage towards the rails by the side of the drive; the ponies sprung over, broke the traces and the pole, and scampered over the green sward, leaving the carriage on the other side.

Eugene's arm was broken in the attempt to stop the ponies-the agony was such that he was insensible for a time. When he recovered a crowd was around him and a surgeon was binding up his broken limb; the carriage lay at his side overturned; a lady was fainting on the ground near him, and by her side lay what had been Lord Eugene's friend and patron. The ladies Louisa and Fanny were weeping over their dead father; he had fallen on his head and fractured his skull. The fainting lady was the countess, who had been driving the ponies and venting her ill-humour by lashing them into madness.

Eugene was assisted into a coach that had been called for him and left the spot. The fractured arm was for a long time painful, and the surgeons were in doubt whether they would not be compelled to remove it. They removed him instead of his arm, sent him down to his mother, where Miss Tarleton still dwelt-repaying the widow's kindness to her in her destitute state by educating her younger daughters.

A few years passed by, and Ditchingly vicarage was tenanted by the incumbent and his incumbrances. Eugene had a wife and six children all living happy and contented on 180l. per annum. Need the reader be told that the mother of those children had borne the name of Tarleton ?—that the countess's wish had proved prophetic ?

It was to be a great day at the parsonage of Ditchingly when the sixth child was to be christened. The grandmother of the child was to be there, and all its aunts and uncles-the whole family were to attend. They came the day passed off delightfully; never had an evening sun set on a happier family. When the same sun rose again, it shone on the house of mourning-joy and mirth were exchanged for gloom and sorrow. The cholera-the pestilence permitted by Heaven to pervade the land had fallen on the happy family. The scourge assumed its severest form all human aid was vain-victim after victim fell beneath its violence, and when the father recovered from its attack, he found that all his loved ones-all-his mother, his wife, his brothers, and his children-all save one-his infant-were dead and BURIED. Hidden for ever from his sight in this world. Many of his parishioners

had fallen too; for the plague had swept that part of the countryencouraged probably by the nuisance from the peats below.

Did Eugene Akinside sink under the blow? No: faith and hope supported him he lived to join his loved ones in another world, to rear and train up the only legacy his wife had left him—her babe-in this.

Within one year after this sad blow was sent to try him, the Countess of died. In her will, she left a large sum, amounting to thousands to the Incumbent of Ditchingly, as some compensation for the injuries she had done to him and his wife, and as a mark of her sense of his courage in attempting to save her from harm when her horses ran away.

Eugene did not want this money; he had enough, and more than enough for himself and his child. He gave it-the whole amount –anonymously, to a college for the education of orphan-girls.

Reader-my tales are told. The “ Five Incumbents” are still living, I believe. If you should meet with them all, or any of them, except the Rector of Squashyfield, whose merits I know not, and may never know, as he is still non est, cultivate their friendship for they are worthy of your regard.

If you are fond of angling, seek the village of Clearstream, on the top of the Exeter Highflyer. The landlord will tell you of my success, and point out my favourite spots; he will not complain to you of my having done nothing for the "good of the house" by sponging on the neighbouring parsons; but will tell you of the happy evening we passed on the day before my departure, when I entertained all my friends to an excellent dinner, gave them plenty of wine, and promised them to visit them again on the following year.

I have not been able to perform that promise, but my friend the professor vows he will accompany me to Clearstream next season to eat the trout and the fairy fish on the spot. He is nervously anxious for the time to arrive, but I tell him, in the words of Zachariah Bond, "Easy does it-no hurry-lots of time," to which he replies with a wink, like the Rector of Rushley's, and sings,

Time hath wings, old age approaches,

imitatory of my friend, Mr. Quaverton.

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