Painful as it was to Mildred to write such a letter to a girl, whom she had so vilified and traluced; it was nothing to the anguish, the agony she experienced in addressing the following one, immediately afterwards, to her lover.

66 As this will be the last time I shall ever have the confidence -the courage to write to you—the last time, there ever will be any necessity for me so to do-the last time, I could ever hope, that you would condescend to receive any such communication from so utterly degraded a being as myself,-I will pour out my whole soul to you, in the undisguised despair and horror which is now so fearfully oppressing it.

"Algernon! my aunt has just informed me of my mother's fatal history-told me that you are privy to it-that you have been ever since her death. Think, then, what must be my feelings, to learn at the same moment a mother's shame, my own shame, and your godlike forbearance and heroism. You! who have so often been the victim of my caprice-my happiness-my contempt. You who have so often been taunted by me, for the mediocrity of your birth; the lowliness of your origin. You! who have so often writhed beneath the arrogant contumely of her, who, fancying she could boast of a nobler descent, denied the love she really felt; and affected to marvel at your presumption in daring to aspire to one so immeasurably your superior. Oh! when I recal the past, when I have fortitude to reflect on it; I am ready to sink into the earth with sorrow and mortification at the idea, that at the instant, when I forgot all that was truly feminine, all that was truly womanly; basely and ignobly triumphing in the superb consciousness of that beauty, from whose trammels you could not escape; you knew the truth -you knew that at a word, you could have prostrated me at your feet, to cringe and weep, and supplicate for pity-for pardon,-begging for the very love I seemed so disdainful of; and, becoming in my turn, even more abject than I had endeavoured to render you: but, you forbore to breathe that word; you remained silent, nobly, grandly silent; and for so doing, accept my prayers, my gratitude, my devotions, and my tears.

"Now, that I know the truth; we part for evcr. Never will I lay this cheek, burning with the blush of shame, on the bosom of such integrity, such worth. No, Algernon! no: although I love you sincerely, ardently, enduringly, I am unalterable in my resolve; only entreating you to believe, as indeed yon must, that I never lent myself in the remotest way, to the prosecution of the awful deception I now denounce and repudiate, and which, no doubt, at first, imposed upon you, as it did also upon the rest of the world. No, Algernon, dear Algernon! I declare before heaven, that the heartrending news is scarcely one hour old December, 1819.-VOL. LVI. NO. CCXXIV.

DD

with me-scarcely one. My ears yet tingle with the searing

information.

"Algernon, Algernon! I do not now confess my affection to lend a higher value to that which you are about to lose; not to deepen regret, not to enhance myself, not to rivet the chains of that remembrance which will now be so bitter, perhaps, to us both. No, my beloved, no; there was a time when I should have gloried in such coquetry; there was a time when I should have triumphed in such falsehood; there was a time when I should have been intoxicated with vanity at the effects of my skilful and tormenting artifice on you. But now -but now, I shudder at the faintest shadow of dissimulation, of subterfuge; for am I not the victim of a lie-an astounding, infamous, unpardonable lie-a horrible, atrocious lie? No, Algernon; it is to atone to you as much as I possibly can for the past that I own I love you, that I ever loved you, that I have in secret wept over the anguish my cruelty caused to the heart I prized so preciously. Still, knowing as you, alas! do, only too well, from those very sufferings, how haughty, how unyielding is my natural disposition, you can judge what it must cost me to write to you thus, how impossible it will be for me ever to face you again, how impossible it will be for you ever to expect me so to do that you would be even wanting in that generosity which has until now so eminently distinguished you, if you hoped or imagined we could ever meet after such a letter as this-that you would cancel and obliterate all the merit of your former reserve, your magnanimous silence, if you were indelicate enough to wish such an interview-that I could never pardon you for compelling me to blush before you; I, who am obliged to recollect that my crring mother is actually dead, to forgive her for bequeathing me the inheritance of shame which would, which does awaken that parching, withering glow. Farewell, then; farewell, then, for ever. Be happy; be happy in the belief that she who now resigns you will for ever pray for you, remember you, bear your image to the grave, as the only one love ever impressed on the heart, which anguish and humiliation have shattered to fragments, but only to multiply that adored image to infinity!"

Mildred was really so ill and depressed, from these conflicting emotions, that when dinner was announced, she begged earnestly to be excused descending to it. She also declined her aunt's affectionate solicitations to come and sit with her as soon as it was over, alleging, as a reason for so doing, her wish to be alone, for the sake of rest. But in fact, she desired it to endeavour to collect her scattered thoughts, to think over her present position, to form her plans for the future, to study how

she should act under such new and trying circumstances, and to weep without restraint or observation over the past-the brilliant, the glorious past-when, full of daring pride, of absolute power, she ruled with exulting dominion over every one captive to her tyrannic sway.

Now, like all selfish and despotic persons, she concluded, judging from herself, that every eye would be averted from her, every heart and hand closed against her, and that universal triumph would signalize the downfall of a creature so arrogant and detestable.

The very concessions she had just made, and which she hoped would appease her reproachful conscience, had by no means the tranquillizing effects she anticipated, they being rather the hasty and inconsiderate consequences of an imperious impulsiveness, than the matured regrets of a subdued and truly humbled spirit.

It

Mildred's was not a character to reform all at once. would have many relapses, many struggles, many combats, many, many good resolutions formed and broken, ere, becoming meek and lowly, it could feel that it was well to have been so visited, so punished, so suddenly precipitated from the dazzling and giddy eminence on which it was placed, not as a beacon-light, to guide, but as an ignis-fatuus, to mislead.

She was perfectly indifferent as to the effects of her letter on the simple-minded Laura, in comparison to the restless agony, the torture she experienced whilst thinking of that which it would produce on Algernon. She felt vitally interested in the effects her letter would produce on him.

She knew the generosity of his nature, the ardour of his affection, the persevering sanguineness of his disposition, the divine placability which influenced him. She knew that he would forgive, that he would supplicate, that he would not be lismissed nor discouraged. But she disdained to be pardoned by him; she resolved to be deaf to his intreaties; she revolted at the idea of being under so humiliating an obligation, of owing so oppressive a debt to one whom she had hitherto held in such barbarous subjection, one who might hereafter upbraid her with that very tyranny.

"No, no; never, never will I submit to the degradation, the mortification of being forced to quail before the man whose eyelids dropped instinctively at my presence! Never will I risk his reproach, never will I risk his upbraiding! But would he reproach? would he upbraid? Do I not know that he would not? do I not know that this very suspicion is the greatest act of injustice of all? O Algernon, Algerno.! I am not worthy of you; I never shall be worthy of you; it is

in vain to hope it. I cannot, even by repentance, even by prayer, attain to the perfection you merit. Never did I feel myself so little, so base, so contracted in sentiment, so ignoble in thought, so mean of soul. You have had an escape, indeed, my beloved-a most fortunate escape. May providence enable you to consider it as such!"

She was at length interrupted in these painful reflections by the entrance of her aunt, accompanied by Laura, who had come personally to answer Mildred's letter.

She arose with an unusual warmth of manner to receive them, to conceal her agitation, and the traces of the recent bitter tears she had been shedding.

Laura, without being able to utter a word, from emotion, opened her arms, and strained Mildred to her bosom with the most ardent affection, and then burst into a passionate flood of tears.

Mildred returned her embrace with unaffected ardour, and then burst into tears also.

"My dear child, my dear children," exclaimed Mrs. Belmont, tenderly kissing them both, "now I am happy indeed. It is thus that I have ever prayed to behold you-united as sisters, sharing equally my affection, and dividing my anxious solicitude for the welfare of you both. I look forward to much comfort and tranquillity yet.

"You will be a mutual benefit to each other, your opposite characters being imperceptibly improved by unreserved intercourse, Mildred learning mildness and patience from my gentle Laura, and she, strength of mind from the now corrected fortitude of my dear niece.

"Only one thing is now wanting to complete my earthly task, which is the securing to her a guide and a friend to take my place when I am gone-one my pretty Laura will not be allowed the option of making-one no female can make-one which is alone found in an affectionate and sensible husband." "Oh, aunt, such a friend I shall never possess; such a guide will never direct my waywardness."

"What! not Algernon?"

Do you

"No; I shall never see Algernon again. I have written to forbid his presence here, to decline his addresses for ever." "And do you suppose that he will obey you? suppose he will resign the dearest hope of his life-rend from his heart the strong ties of a long-cherished affection, and quench the light that renders this world radiant for him, at your bidding? If he does, I have much mistaken his character, and shall not consider him worth lamenting. But he will Woman's heart is prophetic in love, and mine predicts

not.

that Algernon will be a perfect paragon of constancy and faithfulness in his."

"I hope not, aunt, I sincerely hope not; for, it will be of no avail. I am unalterable in my resolution."

"No doubt you think you are; no doubt you intend to be so. But what girl of eighteen was ever firm in such resolve, when assailed by the pleadings of the man who adores her, when assailed by the pleadings of her own heart?"

"But aunt, situated as I now am

"That only affords him a more signal opportunity of evincing the disinterestedness of his attachment, and you of your gratitude; and he will seize it with avidity."

"Never, aunt, never, after such a letter as I wrote."

"Well, this reply to that terrible letter must decide between us," replied Mrs. Belmont, drawing one from Algernon from her bosom, and offering it to her niece.

"Oh! aunt, I cannot read it; indeed I cannot. I am too agitated."

"And yet you hope that he will give you up. Ah! Mildred, Mildred, you fear, you dread lest he should."

"Oh! do, pray, read the letter, aunt, or give it to Laura." "Well, well! you certainly are very indifferent about him. But I will take pity on your natural impatience, my love." Saying which, she broke the seal, and read the letter with considerable and varying emotion. It was as follows:

"My dearest, sweetest Mildred,-You exaggerate your own faults towards me, and you equally exaggerate my merits towards yourself, and both excesses simply proceed from the exaltation of an over-excited imagination, suddenly depressed by a violent and unexpected shock. What have you ever done to me to call forth those bitter self-reproaches, to torture you now, in the midst of such real, deep, and heart-rending sorrow? Why, at such a moment, waste a thought on me at all? I declare solemnly I can remember nothing, my most precious love, save innumerable acts of kindness and condescension, the recollection of which even now overpowers me with gratitude and sorrow; gratitude, at your goodness in bestowing them on me; and sorrow, that I shall never be able to repay them. It is in vain that I endeavour to picture you, even from your own accusations, under any other form than as a ministering angel, smiling on my destiny. I only see in you, have ever only seen in you the loveliest, the most adorable of your sex, and only fear, have only feared, that I do not deserve to become the envied possessor of such an inestimable treasure, that I never could deserve to possess it. And what have I done to elicit your glowing, your overwheming eulogiums? Concealed a