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support me under the varied conflicts of this life. To this sincere avowal of his feelings Maria yielded her entire acquiescence. In the smile which mingled with her confession, the faint resistance with which she suffered him to clasp her to his bosom, in a lover's innocent, though ardent embrace-in the expressive charms of her lovely countenance,-in all these pleasing intimations, Frederick easily read her gratified acceptance of his vows.
Oh, who the exquisite delight can tell,
The remaining part of the day was spent in a re-iteration of their attachment; and every adventitious circumstance conspired to aid the fascination on both sides. At the dance, by the harp, in company, and in hilarity, their delight was most exquisite, and seemed by its force and attraction severely to embitter the hour of parting, and to cement them more closely to each other.
Time passes swiftly with the happy—the clouds seemed to break for day, when at length they were separated. Frederick repaired to his home; Maria to her chamber; but both sought repose in vain. Maria, quite happy in the idea of her present engagement, sat very like, a miser, to count, to ruminate over her store of happiness, and to luxuriate in her wealth of bliss.
Enough has heaven ordain'd of good below,
To make us languish for a happier seat. Maria, whilst she was thus happy, could not help picturing to her agitated imagination the mighty ocean, its dangers and its terrors. She thought he was struggling with contending elements, and fancied that he might never return. She became discomposed and restless; but resolved to raise up her mind with the hope of frequently hearing from her lover, and to reflect upon the proceedings of this evening as one most dear in tender associations. -Frederick, although he had secured (as he thought the fair object of his love, was far from being tranquil. The extent of his commission, the uncertain duration of his absence, and the fatigues to which he might be exposed, precluded the refreshment of sleep, which the activities of the day, and the exhaustion of nature, demanded.
The day appeared, and found him unrefreshed. There was no alternative. This was the morning of his departure. The boat on the beach was waiting his arrival; the sails were ready to be unfurled, and every preparation was finished. The kiss from his mother seemed to linger on his lips; he sighed, and thought of his Maria, and very reluctantly obeyed the wish of the captain, that no time might be lost. The boat moved off, and with it the tears and sighs of Frederick.
There's something awful in the word adieu,
Frederick, in the vessel, found himself dull and lonely. He felt himself among strangers; and he dissipated the monotonous insipidity and gloom
of the voyage, by writing letters and poetical essays, dedicated to his dear Maria.
When distant far from those we love,
Is there a charm the heart can fetter?
O yes--a Letter.
At the expiration of three months, two packets were received, one 'addressed to Maria, and the other to his father. The former contained his mental exercises, and spoke of unalienated affection, unmoved fidelity, and the intensity of his love. Yes, my dear, (said he, in one of his letters), the vivid pleasure that I often realize on reviewing the pleasing scenes and interviews we had together, whilst in my native country—when
I did look
is more sweetly felt than described; and should we never see each other on this side of the undrawn veil of eternity, may it be our happiness ultimately to experience the full fruition of eternal joy in heaven!
• Adieu, adieu!
The communications to his father were limited chiefly to business and purchases.
Most of what Frederick had written accorded exactly with the wishes of the old gentleman; but, contrary to his son's wishes, he replied by giving renewed directions, and requested that he would prolong his stay for a considerable time, in order to carry more effectually his schemes into execution, and more particularly to consolidate his foreign property. Maria inclosed her answer, and some presents to her lover, in the same packet.
Frederick had waited, in anxious expectation, the arrival of a parcel from England; and, as he was sitting solitary at breakfast one morning, the above packet was presented. It seemed to infuse new life into his veins. He impatiently tore open the seal, and was glad to hear that Maria was well, quite well. She also sent him several little articles, which she wished him to view as pledges of her supreme regard : they consisted chiefly of a box, beautifully painted and decorated on the exterior, and a portrait of herself, taken since his departure, and inclosed in a silver case, the production of her own ingenuity, and made by her own fair hands. of love for a time made him happy. But when he read his father's letter, he was mortified to find him unyielding to the idea of his return. He loved his native country, and still more the dear object that inhabited it. Maria was indeed the illumined polar star, to which all his thoughts, all his wishes pointed ; and to continue in exile for six years without seeing her, which his father seemed to require, was more than he could bear.
Months rolled on in this manner; and Frederiek attended to business with reluctance-with less diligence. Intense thought preyed upon his spirits : it paralysed his exertions; and, together with the inclemency of the climate, and the influence of separation from friends, he gradually declined into a consumption. The complaint baffled the aid of medicine; and he at 28,-Fourth Edit.
length fell a victim to disease, when he bad scarcely completed his twenty
Not long before his demise, he addressed a laconie letter to Maria ; it was as follows:
• MY DEAR MARIA, • You will be surprised and grieved when you read the contents of this. It is written with a hand trembling in death ; its writer may, before it reaches you, be an inhabitant of the grave. My affliction and disorder have entirely frustrated the efforts of the faculty: my person is quite reduced, exhausted, and emaciated: I feel one regret—that my pillow has not been soothed, my mind comforted, by having you daily at my bed-side. I think I should have died more serenely, when perceiving your smiles still attending
I wish I could write more -I am worn out by this exertion—my love only moves the pen. When you are able to sustain the trial, communicate the particulars of this to my parents; and believe me, I am your's, and your's alone, even in the ranks of death.'
The intelligence of his melancholy fate excited the keenest regret. His mother felt the loss severely and tenderly; his father regretted the inflexibility of his own mind. But Maria was most acutely pained; nothing was comparable to her distress. She had centred all ideas of happiness on Frederick-in him she seemed to live, and move, and have her being. It is no wonder, that she suffered so much-nothing in fact, after this doleful letter reached her, could alleviate her sufferings. She fell into a kind of mental despair, and sometimes into a paroxysm of anguish. For months, she was delicious. At the returns of her lucid moments, when she partially recovered her physical animation, she would walk over the frequented paths that she had previously trodden with her Frederick, and she would recall to her memory his manly, yet affectionate image, and trace, in her agitated imagination, the lineaments of his countenance, his smile, his pleasing ac cents, and his tenderness.
We cannot boast the descriptive talents of some of our contemporaries, or we might here enter into all the feelings, sensibilities, and changes, that Maria endured, while she passed through the varied gradations of a decline; but, as this might not be sufficiently interesting to our readers, we must elose this sketch by adding, that the thought that Frederick had remained faithful to his vows brought to her mind habitual consolation. Society af forded her no solace; it conveyed to her none of the delightful associations that are more sweetly felt, more tenderly realized, in other cases than de scription can pourtray. A continued and insuperable langour preyed upon her spirits. Subsequently, however, amidst the darkness and dreariness of a sick chamber, she learned to derive her only comfort from the river that maketh glad the city of God.--Here she was encouraged by hopehere she was supremely blessed—and after experiencing the sufficiency of this blessedness, she passed the vale of death, cheered amidst it gloom with the consolations which are afforded by vital christianity to its faithful professors.
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,
Numbers followed her remains to the grave. They regretted they could not restore life to a creature so lovely. Her monument has frequently witnessed a silent meditation similar to the following: Ah, she is gone! She who was like the stately cedar-tall and majestic; putting forth her tender branches, and blooming divinely fair, the most fragrant Rower' of intellectual excellence. But the rough and pruning hand of death nipped the early bloom, blighted the tender shoot, and hurled the lovely plant from its proud pre-eminence; or (should it not rather be said ?) transplanted it from the ungenial clime of the present world to the garden of God, to bloom with unfading beauty, and, under the more genial influence of eternal sun, mature the golden tree.
W. C. W.
ADDRESS TO A SNOW-DROP.
No sorrow sore can touch thy heart,
And why art thou so pale ?
To sip the dew of woe.
Is full of misery?
Thou art so wondrous pale!
It withered, and if died.
And left thee desolate.
I wonder not thou’rt pale.
'Tis death must bring relief.
Through many a tedious year.
By the Author of “Waverley." Hurst, Robinson, and Co. London.
Archibald Constable and Co. Edinburgh.
By the extract we have given from the above work, page 409, our readers will be qualified to form a true estimate of the “Great Unknown.” The following is a hasty sketch of the plot, which is not without considerable intricacy, and is chiefly told through the medium of an epistolary correspondence.
The first volume consists entirely of a correspondence between the two younger heroes of the tale-Darsie Latimer, and Alan Fairford. The latter is the son of Sanders Fairford, a Scotch lawyer, the guardian of Darsie.
The two youths had been brought up together at school and college, and were connected by a friendship of a more than ordinary warmth. Alan, however, is a severe student, and Darsie a wild and extravagant, but warmhearted, honest youth. He is ignorant of his parents, and the thought of his loneliness in the world Alings, at times, a shade of melancholy over his character, which constitutes his principal claim to the sympathy of the reader.
On the shores of the Solway, he passes by the title of the Laird of the Lochs, and is supposed by the neighbours to be the leader of a powerful gang of smuggling fishermen; but a dim cloud of mystery hangs over him and his pursuits.
Every thing, however, is mystery that relates to Darsie. A young, fair, elegant lady, calling herself “Green Mantle," visits Fairford, to interest him in behalf of his friend Darsie, who is in some peril, from his proximity to England, (at Solway) he having been cautioned not to trust himself in that country. We cannot spare time to note any of the little adventures of Darsie, in Dumfrieshire, which after all are very uninteresting and protracted. A blind fiddler tells him a story which turns upon the fortunes of the Redgauntlets, who were leading Jacobites during the wars of the Pretender. Notwithstanding the connection between the story and the Redgauntlet family, they are but slightly and uninterestingly introduced. At Brockenburn
- the residence of the stranger-Darsie sees the Green-mantled lady, and is taken with her beauty and youth. In the meantime old Sanders Fairford is desirous that his son Alan should become a great lawyer. In this all his hopes are centred. Alan makes his maiden speech, displays very considerable talents, and excites a strong interest in his favour. In the midst of his reply, he reads, by mistake-a letter which contains the news of Darsie's captivity, and possible murder, by the Solway fishermen. Alan rushes suddenly out of court, and leaves Edinburgh in search of his missing friend. We are now fürnished with the journal of Darsie, containing the details of an encounter with the fishermen, and his imprisonment. The leader of this band of smugglers was the same mysterious stranger. In his house, he is confined under the pretext of insanity, and during that period he writes his journal. From an examination before a silly magistrate, it appears that the stranger is the Herries of Birvenswork, mentioned in Yonng Fairford's letter, and from subsequent conversations, it is made equally clear that he is one of the lairds of Redgauntlet, and a relative of Darsie. Fairford's researches after his friend approximate to something like success, and he catches some oc