capacity of some sort, and it is for that, zur, I have cultivated my writing so greatly."

What he could mean by thus harping upon his caligraphic accomplishments, I could not guess; and so, having put the question again, point blank, he first expressed his great surprise at my not knowing at all what he meant ; and then confessed that, although his handwriting might not yet render him quite fit for the civil appointment he sought, nevertheless he did hope in a very short time to be sufficiently accomplished with the use of his pen, to deserve a writership.

It was with difficulty indeed I could make him understand how little round-text had to do with the duties of such a situation, and that it was an appointment exceedingly difficult to obtain, and with almost as much difficulty that I preserved my gravity on thus hearing the solution of that riddle which had so long puzzled me during my acquaintance with Mr. Molynooks.

Whether he perceived it or not, I could hardly tell, but he looked quite chap-fallen, muttered something about setting up a child-bed linen warehouse with his wife at Dublin, wished me good-bye, expressed a hope that Mrs. Simms might continue well, and I have not seen him since. I heard, however, with great satisfaction, from my friend H, that Mr. Molynooks is settled with his wife in the little village of D-y, on Lord M.'s estate; and that while he keeps the accounts, and occasionally earns something by his writing, she has a tolerable trade in the sale of made-up linen, etc.

H

They both, Mr. H— tells me, laugh at their past adventures in London; and, now they understand the joke, readily join with their witty neighbours in advising others not to depend upon the particular advantage of a round-hand in fitting other candidates for an Hingy writership.

S.

THE YACHTSMAN.

THERE is land for the night, there is Ocean for day-
The breeze rushes seaward-I too will away;

Yonder my anchored skiff doth ride,

Tossing impatient upon the tide;

Its half-furled sail

Flies brisk in the gale,

And flutters to be free;
We will on, my brave!
For the rising wave

No terrors has for me.

The anchor is up-her wings are spread,
The white foam is bursting around her dark head;
Nobly she mounts on the rolling swell,

And softly sinks in the watery dell;
Onward she springs,

And the spray back flings,

As her keel the green wave cleaves,

And its course doth urge

Through the rustling surge,

Which her track still scatters and leaves.

Tenants of Ocean! I seek ye not,

For the hard gains of Commerce I care not a jot; 'Tis not for wealth that I traverse the main,

'Tis not the garnish of life to gain.

Let the path for me

Be the boundless sea,

My music, the waves' hoarse roar;

Unknown to alarm,

'Tis these that charm

The bosom that seeks no more.

'Tis a glorious sight when the surf surrounds,
And the lightsome spray o'er the bowsprit bounds:
Swept on in the fleeting waves' embrace,
Fast, fast we fly, as they faster chase.

The blast gathers strong

As it drives us along,

And tight strains the bellying sail;

Up the green foaming steep

We climb, and then leap

From its crest to its billowy vale.

Child of the Ocean, dashing and bold
As the kindred waves that thy form uphold,
Till strength shall desert me, or death overwhelm,
This hand shall fondly still grasp thy helm ;

In a room, sordid even in its neatness, Lady Susan Clarendon lay struggling hard with death. Inch by inch she contended with the grim destroyer, for the love of life was still strong within her; and slowly, quietly, yet surely, the terrible avenger was gathering his forces for victory. Death was stamped upon her brow and written on her heart, and now she had nothing but to adjust her mantle, that her fall might be a becoming one at last.

Even in death, the indomitable will and nerve that had carried her triumphantly through so much, did not desert her. Ill in body, and wretched in mind, she still gave vent neither to murmur nor complaint; but, convinced at length that her hour was come, proceeded to set her house in order, and make such reparation to those she had injured, as was still in her power. "Bring your chair to the bedside, my love," she said, scarcely able to repress a sigh, as her languid gaze took in at a glance the well-darned, well-worn check hangings that adorned the

* Continued from page 99, vol. Ivi.

crazy bed, the sanded floor, with a bit of flaring red-and-green carpet in the centre, the paltry dressing-table, with its cracked looking-glass that libelled the human face divine whenever you looked into it, and the two or three flimsy chairs that flanked the naked walls, and then contrasted it in her own mind with her dressing-room at Leven, luxurious in gilded fanticals and mirrors, Turkey carpets, Sevres, cabinets, and costly bijouterie. "Draw your chair nearer, my love, and listen to what I have to say; for something tells me, Eleanor, that, ere many days are over, my lips will be silent for ever in this world."

"My dear aunt." said Eleanor Clarendon, in the sweet tones the dying woman had learnt to love so well, using the term of affection their connexion had sanctioned, "if what you wish to say would distress you, pray defer it to another time."

"No-no-no!" cried the dying woman, with all her old peremptoriness of manner, "there is no time like the present for discussing what is now in my mind; how can I tell whether I shall be alive to-morrow to tell it?"

Eleanor could not restrain her tears, but sat sobbing in her chair, with all the abandonment of grief. Then Lady Susan, stealing a withered hand out from under the bed-clothes, clasped one of the hot, soft hands of her protegée, and said, in a tone of unusual tenderness

"Can you forgive me, love, for the part I played in wishing to force you to marry poor Norman Macdonald ?"

"Why need you disturb yourself about that affair, madam ?" said Eleanor, in a broken voice. "Mr. Macdonald, I am afraid, would have acted just as he did, had he been left to himself."

"No, child, he would not," rejoined her companion, sternly; "one word from me, at the outset of your acquaintance, would have immediately driven all ideas of love out of his head,Norman Macdonald has been so accustomed from childhood to act by my wishes."

A faint-very faint smile was perceptible on Eleanor's delicately-beautiful face, as the proud old woman said this in her usual determined tone.

"Yes, Eleanor, you may smile," continued Lady Susan, in a gentler tone; "and yet, strange as it may sound, I have been the mainspring that has set all Norman Macdonald's impulses in motion from boyhood. I rescued him from a situation of imminent peril, at the risk of my own life, and from that day may date an influence on his destinies which I would now had never existed."

"But can such submission to the will of another-and especially that of a woman-accord with the well-known manliness of Mr. Macdonald's character?" inquired Eleanor, gradually

forgetting, in the interest she felt in the dialogue, how imminent was the peril to which it exposed her companion; "I have heard Erie Dennison describe him."

"Poor Erie!" sighed Lady Susan, sadly. "I shall never look on him and my gentle Lucy more." For once, tears stood in those keen, cold eyes, and they even fell upon her cheeks, as she added, "when I am dead, Eleanor, I could wish you to take up your abode with Erie and his noble-minded daughter, until Cecil rejoins you, if that should ever be. I suppose poor Norman has no chance of finding you a retreat ?"

"None;" was the calm reply. "Mr. Macdonald and I are henceforth nothing to each other."

"I will not attempt to controvert your determination, however I may deplore it," said Lady Susan, sadly. "Poor, poor Norman !"

"Ah, madam, he will soon meet with many more worthy of him," said Eleanor, modestly; "a simple country girl, like myself, without either beauty or fortune, will surely never disturb the peace of mind of such a being as Mr. Norman Macdonald."

Lady Susan sighed, and relaxed the throbbing hand she held within her own, and at that moment her attendant announced Mr. Jasper Vernon!

Lady Susan attempted to raise herself in bed, as he entered the room, and then sank back again with a stifled groan. Eleanor was beside her in a moment, supporting her in her arms, whilst their awed and yet audacious visitor, conscious that he was playing a losing game, attempted to fortify his courage by a false temerity, and advancing up the room, exclaiming as he did so,

"Is it possible, my dear Lady Susan, that I see you lodged in such a miserable hovel as this? Why, there is not even a carpet to the floor," calling up a look of disgust, as his foot came in contact with the beggarly rag that did duty in that capacity; "a beggar could not be worse lodged than your ladyship."

"Such as it is, the accommodation is good enough for me," said her ladyship, calmly. "What matters it, whether we go out of the world in a palace or a hovel? the soul can surely wing its way to its Creator as quickly from the one as the

other!"

"But, the rank of your ladyship!"

“Rank, and all its earthly privileges, are fast fading from my view," was the calm rejoinder of the dying woman; "but it is not to bandy compliments with you, Jasper Vernon, that I desired to see you now."