humour; he felt so gratified that Arnold had preferred addressing himself, on the subject of his letter, to writing to Caroline herself, that he immediately concluded him to be a young man of sense and discernment. He often wished his daughters were married, but did not trouble himself in thinking how husbands could be procured for them.

That Caroline should refuse a suitable cffer of marriage never occurred to him, for, like most men, and many women, he imagined all girls were anxious to enter the matrimonial state; so he felt no doubt that his daughter would be delighted to accept the proposal of Mr. Hall, a fine-looking young fellow with plenty of money. Caroline was elevated in his estimation considerably by being thus honoured by one of his own sex, and with a caprice, alone worthy of a female, he forgot entirely how strongly he had a few days previously objected to Mr. Hall receiving even admittance to his house.

His daughter read the letter thus handed her, with undisguised surprise; a flush of pleasure suffused her pale cheek, for, alas! be it known, that in spite of her otherwise excellent disposition, Caroline Sydenhamn was the least atom in the world of a coquette. Under happier auspices, and had she moved in society, probably her wicked feelings might have been given full scope to; but at present they only existed without having attained a growth worth mentioning.

"What a silly young man," she observed, smiling, as she handed the letter to her sister, for whom she had read it out previously; "he wishes to marry me without knowing what sort of disposition, temper, or principles, I may have."

"Do not condemn him for that, Caroline; an intimate acquaintanceship of a year's standing might never discover to him your disposition or temper, unless you were married," replied Agnes."What will you say to him?" "I should like to punish him well for his presumption," laughingly returned Caroline.

"A refusal of his offer will punish him sufficiently, poor fellow," observed Miss Sydenham, who had joined her sisters. She was imbued with a horror of coquetry, and considered that Caroline should decline the proposal of Mr. Hall in a way least likely to wound

VOL. XXXVIII.-NO. CCXXIII.

and mortify him; and Caroline followed her advice. A letter to him was planned, couched in very amiable language, and not at all expressive of the extreme surprise, and even amusement, his offer had excited in her mind, before Mr. Sydenham saw his daughters again, and when he next entered Caroline's apartment, her decision was made known to his astonishment, and a little displeasure. The light way in which the young ladies all regarded the matter perfectly overcame him. He said little, but perused the letter intended for Mr. Hall very gravely.

"And these are your true sentiments, Caroline?" he asked, in a disappointed tone.

"Yes, papa; most assuredly I have no wish to become the wife of Mr. Arnold Hall. I have got one proposal now, at least, and this will preserve me from disgrace in your and my sisters' eyes when I am an old maid."

"Pshaw! do not talk like a fool. Of course you may do as you like in this case." In school-boy language, Mr. Sydenham felt "snubbed," and he looked so dejected, that Caroline's heart relented. He began to believe that his daughters would not marry, even if they had opportunities of doing so, and he retired from the room a good deal disappointed. Caroline leaned back on the sofa, weak and pale again, as before, and closed her eyes. But, alas! no pen can describe the sensations of Arnold Hall when the fatal letter reached him. Mortification, vexation, and wounded pride, all combined to crush the grief of disappointed love. The feelings of vanity overcame the anguish of his heart, and for a few hours he writhed under a load of pitiable mental agony. This excitement, however, at last cooled down, and was succeeded by a state of fixed melancholy which depressed him sadly. The hurry of departure from Cdid not rouse him in the least. He mechanically ordered his servant to pack up his clothes, and prepared for the route to Athlone in a frame of mind little to be envied. He paid no farewell visit to the ruin where he had wandered so often during the summer evenings, hoping and anxious. He banished Mary-street from his recollection, and gave no parting glance to the tall cathedral spire, ere he left the old city. Ellen Rooney, however, received a last visit from him, and in

F

terms of bitter sarcasm he expressed to her how sincerely he and his brother officers thanked the gentry in the neighbourhood of C for their kindness and hospitality to them during the space of five months. The remembrance of it would long live in their recollection. She smiled at him benevolently.

"Well, I hope you may be pleasanter in your new quarters, sir."

But Arnold felt as if there was no happiness for him any more. His spirit was crushed, if not altogether broken, and he left C as altered as he could have been in so short a space of time since his arrival there.

On remaining for some time at Athlone, he applied for leave of absence, on the plea of ill health, and repaired to England, where he spent a few months of wretchedness. In vain he endeavoured to forget the girl, who, he felt convinced, had done what she could to make him believe she loved him. He condemned Caroline unjustly. If she had betrayed emotion in his presence, likely to lead to the belief that he was not regarded with indifference by her, it was only because circumstances forbade her treating him with the civility and attention which she considered due to a person introduced to her as he was. Her father's harsh commands, coupled with her own sense of how inhospitable and unkind both he and his family must appear, always rendered her abashed and ill at ease while in company with him, and her consequent embarrassment on such occasions had been the fatal cause of deceiving Arnold. She had never intended to practise the slightest coquetry on him. But he felt it was otherwise, and his mind had received a shock it could not easily recover from.

One morning, while still with his family in shire, he read a paragraph in the Limerick Chronicle which struck him. It was this:

"We understand that Mr. Sydenham, the resident magistrate at C—, has relinquished his appointment there, owing to a family affliction."

A month after he was en route for Athlone again, to join his regiment, and he determined to pass through C on his way there, though by doing so he would diverge considerably from the direct route to the place of his destination. He was now sure

that the Sydenhams had left the old city, and he had no fears of encountering any of them. The autumn and winter had passed away, and it was rather late on a fine evening in spring when he entered C once more.

The city looked as dingy as ever in the fast falling twilight, and Arnold was glad that the gathering obscurity would preserve him from being recognised or noticed generally in the town. Strangers were no rare sights in C. New faces were continually passing and repassing through it, and military-looking gentry were fre quently casual visiters, so he was fortunate enough to escape attention or scrutiny, as he quickly bent his steps through different portions of the town, closely enveloped in a military cloak, and with his hat pressed over his forehead. He passed the stately domicile of the late resident magistrate, and saw that it looked as dismal as ever, and was evidently untenanted. He next proceeded to the ruin of the old cathedral, and ascended the rugged height on which it stood, with melancholy feelings.

The evening air was still sharp, but the grass looked fresh and green. Far away the surrounding mountains rose dimly upwards in majestic wildness,

and round about the ruin were new graves telling of recent deaths. Arnold stopped to read a few inscriptions on the tombs, when two particularly neat monuments arrested his attention. Side by side they were placed together, of pure white marble, and exactly alike in form. On the first that caught his eye, Arnold read these words :

"To the Memory of Caroline Sydenham, Who departed this life

on

26th December, 18—. Aged 19 years."

His head seemed spinning round. Was he dreaming, or under the influence of a crazed imagination? No; the monument was there in good earnest, and without knowing what he did, he glanced to the corresponding one, erected to the memory of Agnes Sydenham, who had expired exactly two months after her sister's death.

How long he stood there, shocked and doubting the sanity of his own mind, we cannot exactly say, but the clear moonlight night found him still

wandering among the old and new graves, round the ruined cathedral, with feelings of melancholy rarely equalled.

The " family affliction” alluded to in the paragraph of the Limerick Chronicle, announcing Mr. Sydenham's resignation of his appointment at C, no doubt was caused by the deaths of his two younger daughters, and all Arnold's bitter feelings against Caroline abated. She was now gone from the world, interred in a spot where he recollected to have heard her say, the very last evening he had seen her, she would "just like to be buried." The words had fallen lightly on him then; but, alas! how soon the wish was fulfilled. Her sister, too, the gentle, quiet little Agnes, lying now side by side with her in death! Arnold felt, indeed, that life was uncertain. He was taught a lesson not easily forgotten.

A few years have elapsed since the last hapless love affair of our young dragoon, and he is now a captain, of grave, steady demeanour. He attends church regularly every Sunday, in the morning and evening, and is observed to pay undeviating attention to his prayer-book during the period

of Divine service. His brother officers have ceased to wonder why, on earth, Hall has become so strange and altered; yet there are vague suspicions entertained that he has been jilted by some fair one, as he eschews the society of ladies, and rides thirty miles off when the regiment gives a ball, that he may not be expected to attend it.

We understand that Miss Sydenham is still unmarried, and her faithful attendant, Charlotte Fogarty, remains with her. Some young ladies, verging on old maidism themselves, begin to wonder that a "handsome girl like Miss Sydenham does not get married;" but she adheres to a determination made long since, and resolves on living in single blessedness all her days. Since the death of her sisters, her father and mother have become reconciled to each other's society, and they all now live together in a lonely mansion, some miles distant from a quiet watering place in the south-west of England, where they maintain a strict seclusion seldom interrupted.

And now, reader, our tale is ended, and it has, at least, the merit of being, for the most part, truthful, if it fails in brilliancy of incident or description.