a coach-box) drove rapidly by the hamlet. A yellow, languid face looked out upon me through the window, and was drawn back in an instant. The single encounter of our eyes, however, startled me with a sudden and unaccountable feeling of recognition, and the action of the stranger would have led me to suspect that this sensation was mutual at the moment. I felt, also, an emotion of deep shame and humiliation, which was still more mysterious than our apparently reciprocal mistake of identity. The latter indeed is a frequent occurrence in society. But it was its strong and singular effect upon my own mind that prevented my dismissing the eircumstance altogether from my memory. Rising early the next morning, and walking out to visit the few cultivated portions of my farm, I found that a change had taken place, in the night, which deserved to be celebrated by the flowery and fanciful pen of the renowned Johnson* himself. The whole face of the farm had been altered. My potatoes were trenched, as if by magic; my turf was moulded and cut and footed, my broken down hedges or ditches were repaired, and all done that could be done to repair the evil which neglect and malice had occasioned. On one of the large elms→→→ Whose boughs were mossed with age, the hand of the midnight enchanter had affixed the following notice, by the unworthy instrumentality of a round stone and a few pavers of hob nails. "This is from them that knows how to reward good behaviour as well as to make tyrants feel the smart. You will hear more as you desarve from Lieutenant Skin 'em Alive. United office." *Not, I apprehend, the fat and famous moralist and biographer of that name, but a man whose biography is in much greater request among the school-boy readers of the day.-Richard Johnson, author of that admirable piece of history entitled, The Seven Champions of Christendom. CHAPTER X. STILL my Peelers ate on, my bacon vanished, my potato pits were emptied, my tenants were estranged, my life threatened, Dalton's debt unpaid, my peace lost, my temper broken, my heart consumed with fear and vain expectation. I was doubly unhappy in the indulgence of my premature calculations, as I had been vain enough to assume, in advance, all the importance to which the accomplishment of my wishes might have entitled me. The consequence was, that my neighbours of my own rank were deeply offended by my arrogance. I knew enough of human nature to be aware, that on the first rumour of a disappointment this folly would be well avenged. I had, therefore, the apprehension of approaching ruin to terrify me, without the allaying consciousness that my fall would be attended with the pity of those who knew me in better days. Late voyagers inform us that the dreaded regions of the North, which gave birth to those black tempests that fill the rest of the world with confusion, are themselves wrapped in an everlasting stillness and repose. There are human tempers in which this natural phenomenon might find its own analogy. The sadness of the countenance" by which the heart of the offender is reproved, and all the demonstrations of that unsinning anger which virtue itself must often use for the preservation of its peace, may be found, in such a one, to originate in a heart that, even amid those indications of displeasure, is still calm, quiet, and confiding. Such was the unreal anger which my repeated unkindness at length drew forth from my unhappy and enduring Mary. I had refused her some moderate request to allow some poor protégé to fill a cleave [basket] of turf from our rick. She remonstrated gently on the whole train of conduct which I had pursued since my acquaintance with Dalton had commenced. I spoke passionately and roughly.- Satisfied with having done what she considered her duty, she was silent. In a few days after, rather with the view of showing me that she retained no ill feeling than with any anxiety to obtain what she asked, she made me a new and somewhat similar request. This I also refused, and with unnecessary rudeness. But her affection and her strong sense stood the trial, and she was still as cheerful and even-minded as before. Those who know how much one single act of intentional rudeness, one slight hurt in the affection, cán do to shake the happiness of a domestic circle, will perhaps be astonished at her forbearance. But hers was something higher, better, and more disinterested than an unregulated natural affection. I thought, because she expressed nothing, that she did not feel her loss of influence; but I was soon undeceived. We were sitting together about noon, after having spent the morning in unsocial, and, on my part, churlish silence. Happening to lift my eyes suddenly to hers, I found they had been fixed on me for some time with an eager and deeply expressive meaning. It was one of those looks in which whole volumes of language are comprised. Regret, tenderness, pity, gentle upbraiding, and the heart-suffering of kindnesses unappreciated and affection unreturned, were as clearly visible in the single glance as whole hours of complaint and reproaches could have made them. It pierced at once to my heart, and filled me with shame and remorse. Our early happiness-her sacrifice of rank and wealth-her unrepining love-her care-her tenderness, were all present in a moment to my imagination. I saw all she felt, and all my own ingratitude as in a mirror. My first impulse (old as I was) would have led me to throw myself at her feet-but I feared it, and left the room. I walked for a short time along the flagged hall, clenching my hand hard, and pressing it against my forehead in a strong feeling of pain and self-reproach, while I muttered repeatedly," the gentle-gentle creature!-What an unmannered ruffian I have been!" Anxious to lose no time in making reparation, I re-entered the apartment, at the window of which she still maintained her musing position. I walked up and down the room, endeavouring to find some mode of breaking the subject. Mary," I said, at length, "you must have observed a great change in me of late.” The unusual tone of voice in which I spoke startled and made her look on me for a moment with an expression of inquiry and surprise. She even blushed, as if fearful that she had suffered her feeling of that change to become too apparent. "Why should you think so, Abel?" said she, "what change do you speak of?" "Ah, you must have felt that I did not treat you as you deserve. I am sensible myself that my society must have been any thing but a pleasure to you; but if you knew my distractions and my anxieties, I am sure you would pity me." "I have considered them, and do pity you," she said, passionately, reaching me her hand, which I grasped and shook with warmth, while the tears streamed from her eyes. "I only wish that you could be made to pity yourself. But what peace can remain with us while you continue to expose yourself to so many dangers by provoking the anger of these people, or what wealth or distinction can repay us for anxieties like these?" "Come," said 1, " my dear monitor, the evening is beautiful. We will walk over as far as our friend Clancy's, and talk of our affairs and prospects by the way." She rose, with a gayety of spirits which she had not displayed for a long time, and made herself ready for the promenade. As we were walking down the lawn, we heard Willy's voice calling after me. Looking round, we beheld him galloping over the grass with a pair of pistols in his hands. "Won't you take your pistols, sir? you left them after you on the sate in the hall.' "Seat, I have often told you, Willy, was the word." "Seet, sir. Won't you take 'em ?" "No. There is no occasion. Take them in and don't meddle with them. If Phil Fogarty were here, he would tell you that it was unlucky to call after a person who is setting out on a journey." "Better take 'em so, sir." No, my lad. I'm not superstitious-and if any ill luck should happen, you may be assured that your calling after us shall be no part of its cause. He ran home, and we continued our journey. A few minutes, spent in frank and mutual interchange of confidence, completely restored cur minds to that calm understanding, that perfect communion of interests and feelings in which the happiness of married life alone consists. Mary had, early on this morning, (while I was still repairing the exhaustion of the previous night patrol) complied with the ancient duties of her religion, and the peace and serenity which the holy rite inspired were so visible, as almost to supply the place of the vanished bloom and freshness of her youth. I disclosed to her all my plans, prospects, and anxieties, and felt her advice and consolations falling on the fevered and restless pulses of my heart, with a healing and allaying influence. Difficulties which I had considered insurmountable were made plain and easy, Hope made to spring and flourish where Despair seemed to have established her empire; and perplexities at once unravelled by the first slight efforts of an upright and disembarrassed mind, which I thought it would be impossible ever to disentangle. "Well! it is now at an end, and I hope for ever," said Mary; "but I will confess to you that I have had, during the last few months, moments of dreadful apprehension. I had heard much of the misery of old age, in the married life of those who entered on that season without the necessary concordance of mind and temper, and my heart sunk within me, when in faithless and selfish moments, I thought it just possible that such a lot might be our own. They were but the doubts of a moment, for I knew you too well to think that any harshness, the effect of passing circumstances, could become habitual. But all is now past, and my breast feels as light as if a-dreary and stifling nightmare had suddenly left it. I am now happy. My fears, my griefs have fled, more swiftly than the wind, before the few kind words you have spoken. My heart is free, my mind is at ease. now happy. The dream of the young wife may now be realized a cheerful house-affectionate and grateful children, the unfading and minute attention of the same heart that ministered to my own the happiness of its youth; all may now be accomplished-I have every thing to hope I am |