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to think she had given him some cause of well,” said Mary, " for all his goodness to me, offence; at which she was not a little distressed. and have been very foolish to think or feel Her mind dwelt upon it, and her spirits became that, because I have been an object of his visibly depressed in consequence.

benevolence, I have a claim on his affections." “Stay behind to-night," Miss Garrison said “Your thoughts and feeling have been quite to her one day, “I want to speak with you." natural and proper, Mary," replied Miss GarShe had for some time noticed the maiden's rison. " It is but a miserable and poor

heart low spirits, and having some suspicion as to the that does not feel gratitude to a benefactor. cause, she felt it her business to remove it. Gratitude begets affection, and affection craves

“Now, Mary, what is the matter with you?” reciprocal feeling—it could not indeed exist she said, when, after the dismissal of school, without such reciprocity.' they were alone together according to arrange- “I feel the truth of what you say,” said the ment. “ You have something on your mind- maiden. “I have felt resentful. I felt as if I what is it? Be frank and tell me."

was suffering unmerited wrong. I knew it "Oh, Miss Garrison,” said the maiden, "I was sinful, but I could not help it.” feel so lonely. Ever since my grandmother “But you are mistaken with regard to Mr. died I have felt it impossible to be cheerful.” Shadwell,” said the schoolmistress, interrupting

“But, child, you have some immediate cause her, “as much mistaken with him as you are of distress. I am quite sure it is something with myself. Regard not his manner; he is different from sorrow for your grandmother- one of the school managers, and as such must something arising from unsatisfactory thought. show no preference. But he never fails to ask Am I right?”

concerning you with much interest." “Oh, Miss Garrison, forgive me, but I feel “I understand, Miss Garrison, I understand as if I had done something wrong. It seems quite. I am so glad, so very glad.” as if lately you are colder in your manner; and “Well then, now that you understand, let Mr. Shadwell, who used to be so kind, seldom us have no more low spirits and neglected speaks to me at all. I cannot discover what I lessons. You should have known that I could have done, yet I must have done something, not look pleased to see you remit your usual and am always endeavouring to find it out. diligence. And now dry your eyes and go. And sometimes, too, I become convinced I have Good-bye.” done nothing to merit reproach, and feel resent- “Good-bye, Miss Garrison," said the pupil ment. And then, again, I ask myself what teacher in return, and departed, happier than right have I to feel resentment. I cannot she had been for many a day. help these feelings, Miss Garrison. My grandmother is dead, and Willy has gone away

CHAPTER III. lost in the world--and I have nobody to love. I am alone-an orphan.”

TROUBLES. A choking sob followed her words, and Miss Mary GLEDSTONE had almost completed her Garrison's eyes brimmed with tears. She seventeenth

year

when an event occurred which drew her pupil to her breast and kissed her. much affected the current of her life. Miss As she did so her warm tears fell on the Garrison had left Newcastle to take charge of orphan's cheek. With a thrill, almost a a large school in London, and a stranger had paroxysm, of pleasure the poor girl threw her been engaged to fill her place. As head teacher, arms about her teacher's neck; but instantly, Miss Garrison had been much beloved. With a alarmed at what she had done, she unclasped happy mixture of good nature, good sense, and her embrace and stood blushing and confused dignity, and entirely free from arrogant before her.

snobbishness, she inspired her assistants at once Miss Garrison, in haste to reassure her, again with affection and respect, and a consequent drew her to her heart, and putting her arm desire to please her. The result was, that in round her waist said “I am your friend, Mary, every respect her school was a model one. and shall be whilst I live. If you have been Every heart was in the work, not as a task, but deprived of relations whom you could love, and as a cheerful duty. How anxious Miss Mason of whom you could be beloved, Providence has and all the other teachers were concerning the surely appointed me to fill their place. And disposition and bearing of her successor need as to Mr. Shadwell's demeanour towards you, not be told. They soon discovered she was not I assure you you are wrong in supposing you a Miss Garrison. have in any way given offence to him. But ".0, how severe she is, and stern to view,' he is rather eccentric in his ways and some how rigidly she keeps us at arm's length,” said times, in his pre-occupations of mind, rather Miss Mason. neglectful of the little courtesies.”

This young lady, a fine, tall maiden, had been “I ought to be very thankful to Mr. Shad- Miss Garrison's companion, and, therefore, as

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endeavoured to be civil. Perhaps there is a I don't know," said Mr. Jones,

6

she expressed it, found herself 'taken down a been more social. I have made two or three

-a circumstance not at all to her attempts to break his reserve, and have got fancy.

nothing beyond a bare 'yes' or 'no.'” “If she do not mend her manners,” she said At this moment the subject of their converto Mary Gledstone, " I'll put a rod in pickle for sation rose from his seat and advanced towards her.”

the door near which they stood. He passed “Dear Miss Mason," said her young friend, them without the slightest indication of notice. “ do nothing rashly. It is a pity she is not at all It happened, that just as he pulled the swing like Miss Garrison, but so long as she does not door to pass out, Mr. Shadwell faced him, treat us unfairly, let us not complain of mere coming in; with a quick motion he stepped demeanour.”

back to make way for the old gentleman, “But do you suppose for a moment,” replied holding the door, with his head respectfully Miss Mason, “that one of her disposition can be bent, as he passed. fair ? Like all shallow-minded people she must “ Thank you, sir," said Mr. Shadwell. form strong likes and dislikes, and, to tell the “Mr. Jones,” he continued, speaking to the truth, I feel already as if I were booked for her superintendent, “Who is that gentleman who enmity. Why, I don't know. I have has just gone out ?”

“ He is constitutional aversion between us. One thing quite a stranger; he joined a week ago. I I am certain of, she will work me mischief if only know his name is Gray." she can.

And you, as my friend, are in for it "A stranger," said Mr. Shadwell, as he too, Mary, be sure,- so that you must give me turned away. A fine-looking man. I will the cold shoulder if you would retain, or rather invite him to my house." gain, her favour."

When the stranger has passed into the street, The reader will gather from this fragment of a close observer might have seen conversation that the new mistress, Miss “Something in the aspect of his eye Cleaver, and some of her staff were not likely That spake the strong and troubled thought within." to pull agreeably together. Perhaps the “How changed he is,” he muttered; "his young ladies, accustomed to the treatment of shoulders stoop ; his hair is white; there is Miss Garrison, did not judge Miss Cleaver with care upon his brow. Care, and why? Ah, unbiassed minds, and were themselves partly wretched man that I am,

,'” he groaned, in the to blame. It is true Miss Mason, as she said, words of the Psalmist. is But I must seek an had endeavoured to be civil, but, the truth is, introduction to his house. I must sound his in that endeavour lay her chief offence. She mind. I must discover his feelings and had approached her with a degree of familiarity thoughts. He may even yet be made happy. that alarmed her pretensions. Miss Cleaver was Alas! that is what I can never be.” a schoolmistress and nothing more—that is, a Thus with painful musings the stranger schoolmistress according to code and time table. passed along Northumberland Street. Fol

We leave her and her assistants for a while lowing his footsteps, we see him enter a house
to adjust their differences, or otherwise, as we in Lovaine Place. It was here he lodged.
shall afterwards see, whilst we introduce a It will be quite evident to the reader that it
personage who will occupy a prominent position was Mr. Shadwell who formed the subject
in our tale.

of his thoughts. The truth is, he was that
gentleman's only son. Seventeen years

before
he had left home in disgrace, and fled no one
CHAPTER IV.

knew whither. His career, as a youth, had THE YOUNG REPROBATE.

been a sad one. “Who is that party who has joined us lately, Mr. Shadwell was a corn merchant of exMr. Jones ?” said a member of the Newcastle tensive business in Newcastle. His only son, Central News-room to the superintendent, and only child, John, was taken at eighteen indicating the party meant.

years of age from the Grammar School of the “ Flis name is Gray,” said the superintendent. town and placed in his own counting house. “He is evidently a stranger to the town. It At that early age he had contracted some seems as if nobody knew him. Several have pernicious habits, but all unknown to his asked the same question. He comes, reads the parents, who considered him a very promising news, and leaves, taking notice of nothing and boy, and treated him with what might be speaking to no one. My opinion is he is an termed indulgent care. Always anxious for his American. I observe that he always reads the future welfare, his father took every opporNew York Herald and other American papers.” tunity to inspire him with a desire of distinction

“You may be right," said the member, “but as a good man, by repeating good maxims and I should have thought a Yankee would have rules of life in his hearing, and by reference to

men who had formed for themselves honourable The explosion came. One night, resisting all and successful careers. Vain endeavour! It entreaty on the part of his wife, Mr. Shadwell was, however, a considerable time before sus- sat up till his son came home. At half-past picion that all was not right with his son one in the morning he appeared—tipsy. High entered his mind.

words ensued. The poor father's angry wail A natural fear of his father's

anger,
and even

was met by effrontery on the part of the son-a sort of horror of inflicting upon him so shame and affection alike had departed. terribly cruel a disappointment, the effect of Oh, John! John !” said his mother, who which, he was quite aware, would plunge him had appeared as soon as she heard the noise of into the most wretched misery, had operated so their voices. “Go to bed-go away at once.” as to force him to play the impostor and to “ Never more in this house, mother,” he appear at home all that was proper and good. replied, and darted out into the darkness. His But by degrees these fears weakened. At the mother ran after him, but he was gone. age of nineteen he began to infringe upon “ See what you have done ! See what you regular hours, slightly at first and always with have done !" she exclaimed to her husband. a plausible excuse.

"Away after him-go-bring him back!” “You are late to-night," his father would “ Done !—I done! woman, what do you say.

mean?cried the wretched man. “I was just having a walk round,” he would “ You have driven him away." reply, "and fell in with Robert Jackson. I went “Martha," said her husband, “you do me a home with him and the time slipped away.” great wrong. You know there is no sacrifice At first such excuses were not entirely I would not make for that boy.

Every farfabrications; they were, however, gross sup- thing I have in the world would I willingly yield pressio veri. A short call at Jackson's being to keep him in the right way—ay, were my made to cover a whole evening's career. life necessary to save him, I could give it.

But his father began to bave misgivings, and There is one thing, however, that I will not dooften expressed his fears to his wife. She, shirk my duty. That I will do whatever the more credulous, and resisting every thought consequence; I owe it to my conscience-I owe that John could deceive them, combated her it to God." husband's suspicions with energy.

“But, oh, Richard, there are different ways “The Jacksons,” she said, “ are respectable of doing it,” said the wretched mother. people. The Misses Jackson are excellent “I have tried every way,” replied her hus

What if he is fond of their band; and he buried his face in his hands and society ; is it not quite natural ?

groaned aloud. The strong man wept. As a matter of course John Shadwell soon John Shadwell did not return home. His became aware of his father's displeasure. He father thought it possible that he might turn did not want to offend him and make him un-up repentant at the office next day, and he happy. His affection for his parents was looked anxiously for him in the morning. undoubted. But he was weak of will ; in John here?” he inquired of the head clerk as everything that required resolution he was he entered. wanting. It never failed that in the morning, “No, sir, he has not yet arrived,” the clerk after a night's trangression, he awoke displeased replied, and Mr. Shadwell passed into his own with himself and repentant. But before the office. day was done the impression had worn off, and Presently the clerk followed him. “I wish the evening found him again open to the usual to speak to you on a serious matter," he said. temptations. The billiard-table was his beset- “Ah !” said the merchant, in great alarm. ting sin. That was what his father dreaded, and “ What is it? Nothing of my son, I hope." often to his mother expressed his fears. But “ It is of him I wish to speak.” the fond, indulgent mother could not, and would “Good God ! anything wrong, Mr. Young ?” not believe in anything wrong in her son. “You know, sir," replied Mr. Young, “that

Conviction came at last. It could not always Mr. John has for some time kept the petty remain hidden even from her affection-blinded cash. Lately, I discovered he could not balance eyes. Mr. Shadwell had discovered that what his accounts. I have pressed him hard to get ever were his son's pursuits, he had become them on the square again, and he has often addicted to drink. This was the fatal blow to promised. I am now, however, convinced that his hopes.

He became reserved and moody. it is not in his power. No doubt he means well, The love of his son had been the passion of his but, sir, he is weak, and has evidently got into life. He had built upon him great hopes. No bad company. I have lent him money of my wonder, therefore, that fierce anger mixed with own, wishing to give him every chance, and to his outraged affection and terrible disappoint- save you from the knowledge that I knew would ment.

make you unhappy. But he has exhausted all

young ladies.

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my means. I have begged him again and again and worse," he replied, " and must cut and to confess the whole matter to you, giving it as hide myself for a while in London.” my belief that however much you might be “No! no! Richard ! you shan't go! You shocked, and whatever pain it might cause you, shan't leave me ! you don't mean it ! you canyou would not cast him off, but would give him not think of leaving me !" and she clung to the every chance of amendment."

young man's neck. Mr. Shadwell listened to Mr. Young in sheer “I must leave you in the first instance,” he astonishment and anguish. It never had in said ; not without emotion, for the circumthe remotest degree entered his mind to connect stances of the hour had sobered him, - There is his son's conduct with absolute guilt.

no help for it.” It was some time before he spoke-before, “But you must take me with you,

Richard ! indeed, he could speak. When he did so, it Take me with you !—you must—you shall take was in a voice of forced calmness, the unnatural me with you,” she said hysterically. accent of which sounded painfully on the ear of “ Hush !” he said, “ here comes your mother, his listener.

hush, not a word ! I'll send for you. I'm off," “Mr. Young," he said, “I have not been and with a passionate kiss he fled. blind to my son's irregularity, but this is a blow

a

It will be seen that in his intercourse with I never dreamed of. He has gone-left my this young woman he had passed as a Richard house at an early hour this morning—the reason Cowell, from London. Lizzy Saunders was a is obvious. He may not return; it is not likely lovely girl, and had fallen a victim to the he will

. But we must save his reputation ; young reprobate's “studied, sly, and ensnaring that lies with you."

art,” and promises of immediate marriage. “His reputation is safe in my keeping, Mr. What passed between mother and daughter Shadwell, perfectly safe," replied Mr. Young. when John Shadwell had left; what confessions

“ I know it," said the afflicted man, and he were made; what tears were wept; what anger wrung his servant's hand.

was felt; what anguish was borne, our pen

need not reveal. CHAPTER V.

They saw no more of Richard Cowell, and LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY.” after a while Mrs. Saunders, who was a spirited When John Shadwell fled from his father's woman, to avoid exposure, assumed her maiden house in drunken anger, he found his way to name, and removed to an obscure part of the High Level Bridge, that connects Newcastle Newcastle, which served her purpose effectively with the neighbouring borough of Gateshead. enough. In the middle of the bridge he stopped suddenly.

(To be Continued.) “Here goes,” he exclaimed, “ for an end of this damned, miserable life! What should a

JESSIE GRAY. poor, useless devil like me live for ?And

BY THE REV. JAMES MILLIGAN, D.D. he began to climb the metal parapet of the

Jessie Gray, a bright eyed girl ; bridge. He gained the top with his knees;

Artless and open-hearted as the day-,

A thing all life and joyance. Rudest boys but in endeavouring to reach it with his Spoke ever kindly to her: when their blood feet, to take the fatal leap, he fell back

Was up in the quick quarrel, and their eyes

Look'd proud defiance, one sweet gentle word wards with a heavy fall, striking his head From Jessie made them friends. An orphan, she upon the ground. He was stunned. Recover- Lived with her uncle in a lowly cot, ing his senses after a few minutes, he arose,

Under the beeches by the public way.

Each passing season left a lovelier bloom but did not attempt again to climb the parapet. Upon her cheek, and to her graceful form The pain of his bruised bones had put the

Still lent

When she had reached idea of suicide out of his head. He pursued

Her sixteenth summer, no such beauty breathed

In all the pleasant vale of Wimpleburn. his road to Gateshead, and sought a remote She kept her uncle's house ; for the old man street. Tapping at a certain door, a female

Had never wed. Her whom his heart had loved,

Death early took. Content through all the years voice from within inquired, “ Who is there ?" Of a long life with his own thoughts he lived,

“Richard," he replied, " Richard Cowell." In the low cottage by the public way. The door was immediately opened, and a

She trained the roses round the humble porch,

And filled the little plot before the door young woman accosted him in a tone of alarm.

With rows of daisies, fiery marigolds, “O, Richard ! what is the matter?

Why have

Rich purple pansies, clustering cowslips pale,

And mignonette far-scenting all the air. you come at this time of the morning ?”

So sweet the spot became beneath her hand, " I'm going off,” he replied, “and I wished The passing traveller would stop and look to see you before I

sweeter grace.

66

go.
I'm
sorry

Admiring at the cottage and the flowers,

And bear the vision with him as he went, Lizzy, but I must go."

To cheer his way. Within, the walls were white “Leave me, Richard," she exclaimed, “what As snow new fallen, and the earthen floor do you mean ?”

Was crisp with yellow sand.-All neatness there.

The corner cupboard with its humble store “Simply this, that I am hopelessly in debt- Of hoarded china; the old oaken press

to leave you,

>

»

most men ;

With shining doors that like a glass gave back mind involving higher thoughts and feelings.
The sudden flame from fagots liberal piled
Upon the evening fire; the cheerful clock

A poet then is the man by whose words we
That meted out the hours with circling hands are lifted up from the common levels of our
From year to year unvarying. On the sill

thoughts and emotions to a state of rare Of the small window lay the Holy BookThe guide of youth, the stay of hoary age

exaltation. He does this because he lives, we Not in neglect, but every morning read,

may say, on the hill-tops of life; no doubt And its sage precepts sweetly closed each day.

descending often enough into the common Though many a suitor sought fair Jessie's hand, plain, but above is his true home, there he And ’mong them the young heir of Oakwoodlea,

breathes his native air. Whose stately mansion overlooks the vale

In other words, the Of Wimpleburn, with wide woods waving round, high moments of rapture, of rushing thought, They sought in vain. In a deep dell remote, Where grows the shining birch, whose drooping spray certain moments and crises of our life, are with

of intense feeling that we all have felt at Waves gracefully in the breezes like a veil Of airy texture; and the careless briar

the poet more frequent, more intense than with And the lithe hazel ; the umbrageous ash

these moments are to him most (That hears reluctant the sweet voice of Spring, And sheds its leaves all petulantly down

memorable, most significant. They have indenIf Winter breathe upon it from afar);

ted themselves into ineffacable impressions. With knots of primroses on mossy banks, And foxgloves, purple fingered. There at eve,

They are to him moments so great and wonderWhen all the birds in loudest chorus sung

ful as to be worthy of adequate record. Their short farewell to the red dying day,

Indeed, he feels a necessity within him of Fair Jessie often wandered. There she met Young Herbert Graham, a cotter's only son ;

giving vent to the thoughts or floods of feeling A gifted youth, with college honours crown'd. rising with spontaneous and irrepressible force No strangers they in former years; for he

in his soul. He must speak, or sing, or paint, Had sat beside her in the village school, Had romp'd with her upon the village green,

or chisel, or in some form of art give permanent Had wander'd with her in the selfsame dell,

embodiment to his divine frenzy. An ordinary And fondly placed the wild rose in her hair. And after seven long years of ardent toil

man soon subsides. The impression fades. He In the fair halls of learning he had come

does not perceive any significance in it. He To win the hand of peerless Jessie Gray.

feels little impulse to record it. You may find And all these years had Jessie silent watched His bright career, rejoicing in her heart

him in a few days, perhaps, ashamed of the As each long session closed, and brought the youth whole business, and he wonders what insanity With new won laurels to his native vale.

seized him, how it could have been possible for 0, rapturous hour, when two fond lovers meet, him to become such a sentimental fool. He And first discover that their hearts are one;

can't understand how it was possible that he O, sovereign hour, that beggars all the past, And makes it bliss to live ! So Herbert felt,

could have forgotten himself so far. The true One calm October eve, when the young moon poet is never ashamed of the moments of Hung like a silver sickle in the sky, And all the woods were silent, and each leaf

exaltation; he glories in them. Was jewelled with a trembling drop of dew,

We should then say that sustained exciteAs by the fruited hawthorn Jessie learned

ment, and the impulse to represent that Upon his breast to hide the maiden blush, Mantling her face when from her lips faint fell

excitement, are the first characteristics of a The word that gave her fluttering heart away :

poet. He clasped her in his arms and fondly kissed

The form of the excitement is significant of The lips that spoke the sweet consenting word, And with young hearts too full of bless for talk,

the greatness of the poet. What form does the They arm in arm went down the dewy dell,

passion assume in him? Tumult and vehemence And parted at her uncle's cot that stands Under the beoches by the public way.

is one form ; deep, calm, steady intensity of Ere the next spring had brought the primrose flower passion is another. Fair Jessie left the vale of Wimpleburn,

Greatness is always associated in our mind Young Herbert's happy bride, for a sweet home, A pastor's home among the Perthshire hills.

with calm intensity rather than with tumult.

In tumult the self-control of the will is lost; Full many a year has pass'd since then, but still Old garrulous grandames by the evening fire

it shows discord rages within, but with inward To listening maidens tell the artless tale

peace and wisdom comes the calm intensity of Of Herbert Graham and peerless Jessie Gray.

joy. The vulgar suppose that thunder and the

sea in a storm—the smoke, the noise, and shout WORDS WORTH.

of battle—are among the greatest phenomena

of the world. Far greater to the man of real FIRST PAPER.

knowledge is another class of phenomena, that NHAT is poetry?

We answer in the appeal little to the senses and wonder of the words of Dr. Arnold—“ It is that crowd. The silent motion of the world on its which puts us in a higher state of mind than axis; the silent rising and setting of sun and

stars; the solemn and slow march of the seathat we are commonly living in.” There is a

sons; the deep, quiet unfolding of life in all common state and an uncommon one. By the organic forms are really great to him. Tumult uncommon state we mean a higher state of comes from the noisy surface of things. In

BY ROBERT CAMERON.

W

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