fortunate enough to discover them, were soon exhausted. Her money was her idol, and I was not long in discovering that to this alone we were indebted for her presence—it was less expensive to pay us a long visit in the autumn than to remain at home. This conviction completed my disgust; yet I was, and still am, obliged to receive Mirs. Crosbie, as if she had conferred an obligation upon me." CHAPTER XV. I have lived long enough My way of life is fallen into the sear and yellow leaf. MR. LANGHAM'S MS. CONCLUDED. MACBETH. "Ir is now my painful task, my dear Hamond, to recall to your remembrance the last days of your beloved mother. You were much with her; you witnessed her resignation to her bodily sufferings, and were, I believe, sometimes present when her mind was relieved by tears-how slowly, how silently did they chase each other down her pale and griefworn cheek! But you saw not, Hamond, in that calm resignation, the willingness, or rather gladness, of a spirit to be released from earth, joined to the submission of a mind that bowed to merited chastisement; and for her tears-to you, doubtless, they seemed to flow from the desolating anticipation of leaving all she held most dear. Yet they sprang, my son, from as deep and sincere repentance as ever visited a human bosom. Every attention from the children around her awakened the remembrance of those whom she had quitted; and that affection which had before so fatally slumbered, revived with that intenseness which mothers only know, and which seems to baffle both time and death. It was natural too that, in proportion to the strength of this affection, the sense of having irreparably injured its objects should become more acutely painful. "Moreover an event had recently occurred which, in itself, was sufficient to create this feeling, had it not previously ex isted. Yes, I believe, she felt that she had lived too long, but that, living or dead, her conduct might prove as great a barrier to the happiness of all her children as it had already been to that of one-and of one who was certainly not the least deserving of her love. "Unless, however, you have been the confidant of Matilda, which I do not suspect you have, this sentence will require explanation; for it was on that excellent girl that the consequences of her mother's loss of reputation fell suddenly and blightingly in the first expansion of her warm and affectionate feelings, both in love and friendship. "You cannot have forgotten Henry Milman, at one time so frequently our guest, nor the correspondence so punctually carried on between his sister Ellen and Matilda, which you so often ridiculed. Neither perhaps have you quite banished from your mind the evasive answers you received to your repeated inquiries why Henry ceased to visit us, and why Ellen left off writing? You were then, Hamond, too young to be made acquainted with the real cause, and, on Matilda's account, we were glad to silence you as much as possible. The case is now altered;-a circumstance so honourable to your sister, and so well calculated to interest his feelings in her behalf, ought not to be withheld from the brother to whom she must hereafter look for protection. "Whenever Henry could come to us, he did, and why he came was soon sufficiently palpable. I thought too well of him not to rejoice in Matilda's prospect of happiness. It was however some time before he made any declaration of his attachment; and when he did so, with much embarrassment he begged Mrs. Langham's and my consent to his corresponding with Matilda, until he could come and claim her as his wife. To this request my ready assent was given, -I adding, 'Of course Dr. Milman is apprized of and approves your intentions.' “If he knew Matilda, he could not fail to do so.' "You have not then consulted him?" "Not yet. My father has some peculiar opinions, which, I trust, may be changed by time.' "The low and tremulous tone in which these words were uttered, the nervous manner and flushed cheek of the son, fully explained to me the nature of the father's opinions. A sudden light broke in upon my mind, and I felt myself trem ble from head to foot at the bare thought of my dear and virtuous child being rejected by any one. But I said calmly to Henry, Go to your father, and obtain his sanction before you again ask for mine.' "The remainder is soon told he did go, and did return to us; but, faint as had been the hope within him, its extinction made him an altered being. His face was pale as ashes, and his eye gleamed with the painful light of an overexcited and disappointed mind, as he again, with the eloquence of truth, repeated his declaration of attachment, and his certain conviction, that if Dr. Milman were once to know Matilda, his prejudices would instantly cease. "Matilda was present at this interview, and I suffered her to answer for me and for herself. She spoke with more firmness and indignation than I thought she possessed; but she admitted, she said, of no compromise with any one who thought ill of her parents. She saw that Henry was hurt by her manner and her words; she therefore extended her hand towards him, and begged he would remain with us till the following day. He gladly clung to the hope thus held out to him; but he saw her not again till the evening, when we found her seated by her mother, performing her usual gentle offices of kindness. "I could read in her countenance the struggle she had undergone, but it was then perfectly composed. 'Pale, but intrepid: sad, but unsubdued,' she smiled on her lover, as no man could bear to be smiled on by the woman he loved; for her smile was produced by an effort too powerful to be natural, and was more melancholy than tears. Milman wept in reply, for he felt that this silent declaration of her own filial feelings was the worst possible augury to his wishes. He was right: the next day they parted, to meet, I am afraid, no more. 66 My dear son, my narrative is now ended; and I have only to commend to your protection, when I am gone (and before, if necessary), your two poor sisters. I scarcely think the appeal needful, knowing, as I do, the kindness of your heart. But think, Hamond, of their peculiar situation; bestow upon them double care, and, if possible, a twofold affection. "In circumstances they will be independent, but they will not, on that account, the less need a steady adviser and disinterested friend. Let your strength aid their weakness. Watch over that imbecility which so frequently reigns paramount in a woman's heart, when an over-refined education has surcharged it with a dangerous and fatal sensibility. Be to Matilda a friend and brother, but to Jeanette as a father! As yet, Hamond, you are ignorant of the intensity of her affections, her intense capability of loving and suffering. Try to understand her, that you may the better be able to advise and guide her. "For the sake of my girls, and you, my dear son, I could wish to live some years longer; but my health does not afford much encouragement to hope; and beyond the desire of being useful to my children, I care little for the extension of my life. This infancy of being has been to me what the hours of childhood are to many,--a succession of chastisements, penitence, and tears. I erred wilfully and wickedly, and I have suffered where I was most vulnerable. 66 May the faint outline I have traced of the lasting consequences of vice, of the misery it may entail on all most dear to you, and the impossibility of escaping from its trammels, even by a life of virtue and atonement, be at least of use to you! Oh, let it strengthen every religious and moral precept I ever sought to inculcate! And may the best blessing of heaven descend upon you with that of your unhappy father." END OF THE MS. OF MR. LANGHAM. CHAPTER XVI. "Thick waters show no images of things: CATH. PHILIPS, 1644. HAMOND LANGHAM read the MS. entrusted to him by his father with breathless rapidity. His heart often swelled within him, heavy tears fell from his eyes, exclamations broke from his lips, but he paused not a single second till he arrived at its close. If the facts and feelings of the many pages he had read had been condensed into one sentence, they could scarcely have made a more entire and irresistible appeal to his understanding and his heart. Softened and subdued to the utmost, "My poor, poor mother!" "My dear, kind father!" had broken from him at intervals as he read, with all his former love. Neither the memory of the one, nor the name of the other, were now reproached by him, for his sympathies were awakened, and all his fondest affections returned. At one moment he felt a wish to rush into his father's presence; the next, he resolved on never seeing him again, The idea of a father having so humbled himself to a son exceedingly distressed him, and the longer he reflected on it, the more the distress increased, until it became at length so insupportable, that he wrote a few lines explaining the motives of his departure, and with the earliest dawn quitted Langham Court to rejoin his regiment. During the solitude of his journey, he naturally reverted to the random words of Mr. Cooper, which had led to the scene already related on the preceding day; and fearing that his friend might feel some needless pain on his account, from the first inn at which he stopped he wrote to him as follows: "I quitted my home too early this morning, my dear Cooper, to see you before I started-my father will perhaps have told you why I did so. But fearing that you may blame yourself unjustly as the cause of my being made acquainted |