make in the world that would satisfy even your father; we are both young; and to win you, my precious love, I would grudge neither time, nor sweat, nor blood!”

"Richard," said the Quaker girl, growing still more pale, no more of this, in mercy to thyself

"What is your purpose?"

"To honor my father and my mother."

"That you may enjoy long life in the land!" said Richard with a bitter smile.

"That I may honor through them my heaven

raised the knocker, and he felt his heart die within him. The sound he made startled him by its incongrous want of measure, and he looked round timidly, as if he had committed an indecorum. When the respectable middle-aged servant marshalled him up stairs to the drawing-room, he followed the man with deference, as if he had some--and me. Thou mayest agitate and unnerve, but thing to say in the decision. The room was never change my purpose." empty, and he stood for some time alone, looking round upon the walls, the furniture, the books, the flowers, and reading in them all the ruin of his hopes. There was an unostentatious richness in that room, a method in its arrangement, a calm assumption of superiority, which made him quail.ly Father, who is above all. Farewell, my early The answer he had come to demand was before friend; return into the world, where thou wilt him. It spoke to him even in the whispered ca- forget Martha, and may the All-wise direct thy dence of the trees beyond the open window, and course!" She extended her hand to him as she the unhurried entrance of the air into the apart- spoke, and he grasped it like a man in a dream. ment, loaded with faint sweets from the garden. The reply he had demanded was distinct enough The loneliness in which he stood seemed strange in her words, but a thousand times more so in her to his excited imagination, and the silence op- look, manner, tone. He felt that expostulation pressed him; and when at length the door slowly was vain, and would be unmanly; and as she opened, unaccompanied by the sound of a footfall, walked away, with her noiseless and measured he started in nervous tremor, as if he expected to step, and her hands folded before her, he felt inbehold the entrance of a spirit. dignation struggling with admiring and despairing love. The figure paused for an instant at the door; but the next moment Martha disappeared without turning her head

Martha entered the room alone, and shutting the door, glided composedly up to Richard, and offered him her hand as usual. The clasp, though gentle, was palpable; and as he saw, in the first place, that she was paler than formerly, and, in the second, that a slight color rose into her face under his searching gaze, he was sufficiently reassured to address her.

"Martha," he said, "did my letter surprise you? Tell me only that it was too abruptthat it startled and hurried you. Was it not so?" "Nay, Richard."

"Then you knew, even before I dared to speak, that I loved you with all the guilelessness of my infancy, all the fire of my youth, and all the deep, earnest, concentrated passion of my manhood. Do you know of the reply my letter received?" "Yea, Richard."

Richard never knew, neither can I tell, whether any one watched the stage-coach that day from the upper window. Not even a prying servant could whisper anything of Martha, or guess at the nature of the interview that had taken place. She was pale, it is true, but so had she been for some time. Her health, it appeared, was not good; her appetite was gone; her limbs feeble. But this would go off, for her manner was as usual. She was assiduous in the discharge of her duties, kind to every one, loving and reverential to her parents. Still she was not well, and her father at length grew alarmed. They took her from watering-place to watering-place; they amused her with strange sights; they tried every day to give some new direction to her thoughts. Martha was grateful. She repaid their cares with smiles, talked to them cheerfully, and did all she could to seem and to be happy. But still she was not well; and when many months had passed away, "Then I was deceived in supposing-for I did the now terrified parents, after trying everything indulge the dream-that my devotion had awak- that science and affection could suggest for the ened an interest in your bosom? That interest restoration of their only child, consulted once belongs to another!"

"And you sanctioned it?"

"In meaning," but here her voice slightly faltered; "if the words were unkind, be thou assured that they came neither from my pen nor my heart."

"I never had a dearer friendship than thine," said Martha; and raising her eyes to his, she added, after a pause, in the clear, distinct, silvery tone, which was the character of her voice," and never shall!"

more. The nature of the step they ultimately determined upon may be gathered from the following communication received in reply to a letter from Mr. Hargrave :

"RESPECTED FRIEND-The inquiry thou directedst has been easy. I am connected in busi

"Yet you reject and spurn me! This is torness with one (not of our Society) to whom the ture! It cannot be that the difference in our worldly circumstances weighs with you; I know you better, Martha. Neither can you suppose that on my part there is the slightest tinge of mercenary feeling, for you know me better. Will you not give me at least hope? There are fortunes to

young man is well known, and by whom he is much esteemed. Richard Temple is wise beyond his years. He is of quiet and retired habits in his private life, and is an energetic and persevering man of business, and will, I have no doubt, get on in the world. That this is the opinion of my

"How ?"

friend is clear, for I know that he would willingly | may make thee consider thy place in the coach a give him his daughter to wife, who will bring light sacrifice." her husband a good dowry, as well as a comely person. But Richard, when I saw him last, was not forward in the matter. His thoughts, even in the company of the maid, seemed preoccupied-doubtless by business. Since writing these lines, I have been informed that he visits Elm's Cross in a few days, to arrange some matters connected with his late mother's affairs, the last remaining link of his connection with the place. I am, respected friend, &c.,

"EZEKIEL BROWN."

This letter determined Mr. Hargrave to recall his rejection of Richard Temple; and the effect of a conversation he had upon the subject with his daughter proved, to the unbounded joy of the parents, that as yet she had no organic disease.

"Richard," she continued, "thou didst once woo me for thy wife, and wert rejected by my father's commands. Circumstances have brought about a change in his feelings. Must I speak it?" and a slight smile, passing away in an instant, illumined the bright flush that rose into her face. "Wert thou to ask again, dear friend, the answer might be different!"

So long a silence ensued after this speech, that Martha at length raised her eyes suddenly, and fixed them in alarm upon Richard's face. In that face there was no joy, no thankfulness, no love; nothing but a blank and ghastly stare. He was as white as a corpse, and large beads of sweat stood upon his brow.

"Man! what meaneth this?" cried Martha, rushing towards him; but he threw out his hands to prevent her approach, while the answer came hoarse and broken from his haggard lip.

For some days Martha, though happy, was restless. It seemed as if joy had more effect than grief in unsettling the demure Quaker, for at the slightest sound from the lawn or the street the color mounted into her face. At length an ac- Ruin-misery-horror! But not for you," quaintance, when calling in the evening, informed added Richard, "cold and beautiful statue! her that she had just seen Richard. for you, beneath whose lovely bosom there beats "Thou rememberest Richard, Martha ?" Mar-not a woman's heart! Pass on your way, calm,

tha nodded.

66

Not

stately and alone; softened by no grief, touched

"He is grown so comely and so manly, thou by no love, and leave me to my despair. Martha, wouldst hardly know him."

I am married!" And so saying, he rushed out

"He will call here, peradventure?" said the of the room. Mrs. Hargrave had just entered it

mother.

"Nay. He has already taken his place in the coach for to-morrow." Martha grew pale; and the mother hurried out of the room to seek her husband. That night Richard received a friendly note from Mr. Hargrave, begging him to call in the morning on business of importance.

unobserved, and now stood beside her daughter. Martha remained in the same attitude, leaning forward, gazing intently at the door, till the noise of the street door shutting smote upon her ear and her heart, and before her mother could interpose, she fell senseless on her face.

It is said, and said truly, that men recover When Richard found himself once more in the more speedily than women from love disappointsilent drawing-room, his manner was very different ments. The reason is, not that they feel them from what it had been on the last occasion. He less deeply, for the converse is the case-the was now calm, but gloomy, and almost stern; and strength of the male character running through he waited for the appearance of his inviter with all its emotions—but that the cares and struggles neither hope nor fear, but with a haughty impa- of life, and even the ordinary contact with society tience. Instead of Mr. Hargrave, however, it into which they are forced, serve gradually to dewas Martha who entered the room, and he started tach their thoughts from the sorrow over which back at the unexpected apparition in surprise and they would otherwise continue to brood. Women, agitation. The color that rose into her face, and at least in the class affected most by such disapmade her more beautiful than ever, prevented him pointments, have more leisure than men. The from seeing that she had been ill; and when she world has fewer demands upon them; and they held out her hand, the slight grasp he gave it was can only exhibit their mental power and loftiness so momentary that he did not discover its attenua- of resolve by making wholesome occupation for tion. A painful embarrassment prevailed for some their fevered minds. Of these women was Martime, hardly interrupted by common questions and tha Hargrave. Although stunned at first by the monosyllabic replies; till at length Richard re-blow, its very suddenness and severity compelled marked that, his place being taken, he could wait her to reflect upon her position, and summon up no longer, but should hope to be favored with Mr. Hargrave's commands in writing. He was about to withdraw, with a ceremonious bow, when Martha stepped forward.

"Richard," said she, "I have no fear that my early friend will think me immodest, and therefore I will speak without concealment. Tarry yet a while, for I have that to say which, peradventure,

her energies. She did not permit her sympathies to lie buried in one absorbing subject, but cast them abroad upon the face of society; and wherever, within the reach of her influence, there was ignorance to be instructed, vice reclaimed, or misery relieved, there was Martha ready, a ministering angel at the moment of need. Under this moral discipline she recovered her bodily health.

INUNDATION OF THE Indus.

The fresh roses of youth continued to bloom in her lovely cheeks long after her hair had begun to change its hue; and SO the gentle Quaker commenced her descent gradually, gracefully, glidingly, but still demurely-into the vale of

years.

27

claim. "What is this murmur? Is it the sound of cannon in the distance? Is Gundgurh bellowing? Is it thunder?" Suddenly some cried out, "The rivers come!" and I looked and perceived that all the dry channels were already filled, and that the river was racing down furiously in an absolute wall of mud, for it had not at all the color or appearance of water. They who saw it in time easily escaped. They who did not were inevitably lost. It was a horrible mess of foul water-carcasses of soldiers, peasants, war-steeds, camels, prostitutes, tents, mules, asses, trees, and household-furniture-in short, every item of existence jumbled together in

The process was different with Richard Temple; but still of a kindred character. To say that he did not repent his marriage would be untrue; but still he had honor and integrity enough to cherish the wife he had married in return for her love. He devoted himself to business, and to his rapidly-one flood of ruin; for Raja Goolab Singh's army increasing family; prospered in both; and in due time arrived at the enjoyment of at least ordinary happiness. But at length a period of commercial calamity came, and Richard suffered with the rest. His fixed capital was still moderately good; but he was embarrassed, almost ruined, for want of money. One day during this crisis he was in his private-room in the counting-house, brooding over his difficulties, and in the least promising mood that could be imagined for sentimental recollections, when a letter was placed before him, the first two lines of which informed him, in a brief, business-like manner, that Martha was dead. The paper dropped upon the floor; and covering his face with his hands, he abandoned himself for a long time to the deep and painful memories of his early years.

On emerging from this parenthesis in the commoner cares of life, he took up the letter to place it on the table; when, on glancing over its remaining contents, he found that poor Martha had bequeathed to him her watch, and the whole of her original fortune of £5000. This completely unmanned the man of business; and throwing himself back in his chair, he sobbed like a child. Although the money was of infinite importance to him, at the time, freeing him from his present embarrassments, and paving the way for the splendid fortune he afterwards acquired, he attached a far higher value to the personal keepsake. When he had become quite an old man, it was observed that, as often as he opened the drawer in which the relic was kept, he remained plunged in a deep reverie, while gazing long and earnestly upon his firstlast-only token of Quaker Love.

INUNDATION OF THE INDUS.
TAKEN FROM THE LIPS OF AN EYE-WITNESS, IN
A. D. 1842.

was encamped in the bed of the Indus at Koolaye,
three koss above Torbaila, in check of Poynda
Khan. Part of the force was at that moment in
hot pursuit, or the ruin would have been wider.
The rest ran, some to large trees, which were all
soon uprooted and borne away; others to rocks,
which were speedily buried beneath the waters.
Only they escaped who took at once to the moun-
tain side. About 500 of these troops were at once
swept to destruction. The mischief was immense.
Hundreds of acres of arable land were licked up
The whole of
and carried away by the waters.
the Seesoo trees which adorned the river's banks;
the famous Burgutt-tree of many stems-time out
of mind the chosen bivouac of travellers-were all
lost in an instant. The men in the trees, the horses
and mules tethered to the stems, all sunk alike into
the gulf, and disappeared forever. As a woman
with a wet towel sweeps away a legion of ants, so
the river blotted out the army of the Raja. There
were two villages upon an island opposite Ghazi.
One of the inhabitants was returning from Srikote
and descending the mountain; when he came with-
in sight of the spot where he had left all he held
dear, he naturally looked with affection toward his
home. Nothing was visible but a wide-rushing
sea of mud. His house, his friends, his household,
his village, the very island itself, had disappeared.
He rubbed his eyes in mortal terror, distrusting his
sight, hoping it was a dream. But it was a too
horrible reality. He alone, of all that busy hive
of moving, struggling, hoping, fearing beings, was
left upon the earth.

So far the Zemindar; and to this eloquent description of an eye-witness, I need only add, that it will take hundreds, if not thousands, of years to enable time to repair with its healing hand the mischief of that terrible hour. The revenue of Torbaila has, in consequence, dwindled from 20,000 to 5000 rupees. Chuch has been sown with barren sand. The timber, for which the Indus had been celebrated from the days of Alexander until this disaster, is now so utterly gone, that I vainly strove throughout Huzara to procure a Communicated by Captain J. Abbott. Seesoo-tree for the repair of the field artillery carUSHRUFF KHAN, Zemindar of Torbaila, states:riages. To make some poor amends, the river In the month of Poos, (December,) the Indus sprinkled gold-dust over the barren soil, so that was very low. In Maag and Phagoon, (January the washings for several successive years were and February.) it was so low as to be fordable, farmed at four times their ordinary rent. (an unprecedented phenomenon.) In Chayt, it continued very low, but not fordable. In Bysakh (April) the same. About the middle of Jayt, (May,) the atmosphere was one day observed to be very thick, the air still. At about 2 P. M., a murmuring sound was heard from the northeast, Mr. Vans Agnew, whose late mission to Gilget amongst the mountains, which increased until it promises so much to the lovers of science.-(Jourattracted universal attention, and we began to ex-nal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal.)

It is

generally believed that the accumulation of the waters of the Indus was occasioned by a landslip which blocked up the valley; but this and other interesting questions we must leave for solution to

$28

FLOOD IN THE MACQUARIE, IN AUSTRALIA.-GERMAN MARRiages.

FLOOD IN THE MACQUARIE, IN AUSTRALIA.

through the deepest parts of the dark, dry, and shady bed, of what thus again became a flowing

THE talented and energetic Sir Thomas Mitch-river. By my party, situated as we were at that ell, Surveyor-General of New South Wales, in his lately-published Travels in Tropical Australia, gives the following graphic account of a flood in the Macquarie

:

13th February. I was again laid up with the maladie du pays-sore eyes. Mr. Stephenson took a ride for me to the summit of Mount Foster, and to various cattle-stations about its base, with some questions, to which I required answers, about the river and stations on it lower down. But no one

time, beating about the country, and impeded in our journey, solely by the almost total absence of water, suffering excessively from thirst and extreme heat, I am convinced the scene never can be forgotten. Here came at once abundance, the product of storms in the far-off mountains that overlooked our homes. My first impulse was to have welcomed this flood on our knees, for the scene was of water sent to us in the desert-greatly heightsublime in itself, while the subject-an abundance ened the effect to our eyes. Suffice it to say, I had witnessed nothing of such interest in all my Australian travels. Even the heavens presented something new, at least uncommon, and therefore in harmony with this scene; the variable star Argus had increased to the first magnitude, just

above the beautiful constellation of the southern

could tell what the western side of the marshes was like, as no person had passed that way; the country being more open on the eastern side, where only the stations were situated; Mr. Kinghorne's, at Gràway, about five miles from our camp, being the lowest down on the west bank. Mr. Stephenson returned early, having met two of the mounted cross, which slightly inclined over the river, in the police. To my most important question-What water was to be found lower down in the river the reply was very satisfactory, namely, "Plenty, and a flood coming down from the Turon mountains." The two policemen said they had travelled twenty miles with it on the day previous, and that

only portion of sky seen through the trees. That very red star, thus rapidly increasing in magnitude, might, as characteristic of her rivers, be recognized line. The river gradually filled up the channel as the star of Australia, when Europeans cross the nearly bank high, while the living cataract travelled onward, much slower than I had expected to see its first arrival the sweet music of the head of the it; so slowly, indeed, that more than an hour after flood was distinctly audible from my tent, as the

it would still take some time to arrive near our About noon the drays arrived in good orcamp. der, having been encamped where there was no water, about six miles short of our camp; the whole distance travelled, from Cannonbà to the murmur of waters and the diapason crash of logs Macquarie, having been about nineteen miles. In the river-bed. I was finally lulled to sleep by that travelled slowly through the tortuous windings of the afternoon two of the men, taking a walk up the river, reported, on their return, that the flood melody of living waters, so grateful to my ear, and poured in upon them, when in the river-bed, so evidently so unwonted in the dry bed of the thirsty suddenly, that they narrowly escaped it. Still the Macquarie. Thermometer at sunrise, 47°; at noon, bed of the Macquarie before our camp continued so 79°; at 4 P. M., 88°; at 9, 63°-with wet bulb, 57°. dry and silent, that I could scarcely believe the -(Lieutenant-Colonel Sir T. L. Mitchell, Kt., flood coming to be real, and so near to us, who on Tropical Australia, p. 56.) had been put to so many shifts for want of water. Towards evening, I stationed a man with a gun a GERMAN MARRIAGES.-The Edinburgh Review little way up the river, with orders to fire on the says: That nothing short of actual violence should flood's appearance, that I might have time to run enable a wife or a husband to escape from a domesto the part of the channel nearest to our camp, and tic tyrant, a domestic enemy, or a domestic diswitness what I had so much wished to see, as well grace, seems revolting. And yet if we go further, from curiosity as urgent need. The shades of it is not easy to stop short of divorce evening came, however, but no flood; and the ibilité; and certainly the domestic state of those pour incompatman on the look-out returned to the camp. Some parts of Germany in which such a ground of divorce hours later, and after the moon had risen, a mur-is sanctioned, is not attractive. Marriage there muring sound like that of a distant waterfall, min- takes neither the man nor the woman out of the gled with occasional cracks as of breaking timber, matrimonial market. Every household is in dandrew our attention, and I hastened to the river-ger of being broken up, by the intrigues of some bank. By very slow degrees the sound grew loud- man who wishes to appropriate the wife, or of er, and at length so audible, as to draw various some woman who thinks that she should like to persons besides from the camp to the river-side. marry the husband. This, indeed, may be inferred Still no flood appeared, although its approach was from their novels, the best indications of the social indicated by the occasional rending of trees with a state of modern nations; and it gives to their writloud noise. Such a phenomenon, in a most serene ers a great advantage. Our novels have only one moonlight night, was quite new to us all. At termination; and though the path may wind, the length, the rushing sound of waters and loud cracking of timber, announced that the flood was in the next bend. It rushed into our sight, glittering in the moonbeams, a moving cataract, tossing before it ancient trees, and snapping them against its banks. It was preceded by a point of meandering water, picking its way, like a thing of life,

reader sees it always before him. A German novel, in short, now begins where an English one ends. The plot is not how the marriage is to be effected, but how it is to be got rid of; and this may be accomplished in so many hundred ways that the most fertile writer need not repeat himself, nor can the most experienced reader see his way