THE day after the excursion of Lady Herbert and her party on the Mediterranean, Sarah, in a few words, informed her mother that she had consented to marry Sir Edward Mowbray.

Lady Herbert's first feeling on hearing this unexpected announcement was one of joy, and she exclaimed, "Have you, indeed, Sarah, consented to become Sir Edward's wife, how happy I am!" but she had scarcely pronounced these words, when a fear succeeded that her child would not be happy. How could she? marrying one man and loving another; and Lady Herbert casting away all thought of self, and stifling the wish that it should be so, replied to her child.

Sarah, dearest, are you very sure you will not repent of having made this promise? Have no concealment from me, your loving mother (and she endeavoured to still the beating of her heart as she spoke.) Have you then conquered your love for Lord de Montmorenci? Can you, without perjury, swear eternal fealty to another? If so, I rejoice at your having consented to marry Sir Edward Mowbray, for he is a good man, and dotingly fond of you. If you marry him, willingly, cheerfully, I am happy to intrust you to his care for life; because I am certain he will prove a good husband. Sarah, from my own sad experience, I have proved, it is not beauty of person, or fascination of manner, or an ideal kind of love, (which finds no habitation upon this earth,) that constitutes felicity; steady affection, good temper, good principle, are the ingredients which form true and abiding happiness. I think Sir Edward Mowbray possesses all these qualities, but I am afraid, my dear child," she added, with a melancholy smile, "it is of no avail, that I speak the sober language of truth to you, now, for I set you a bad example, one that belies my precepts; yes, I have pursued a vision, and you saw the result. Yet it is my duty to set these views of life before you, the real and the ideal. I fear, my poor dear, you are not formed to be content with merely esteeming your husband-your heart will pine in the midst of plenty-you will sigh for the unattained-the imagined happiness, and loathe the true. Think well, Sarah, if you will have sufficient courage and virtue, never to wish for other love than that which Sir Edward Mowbray can bestow; for it is better not to vow allegiance, than vow, and not pay;-better perhaps, in short, to love some one with the full tide of the young heart's affections, even should they fail to realize our dream of bliss, than never to dream that dream; to feel that We die, and have not lived a day,' to suffer any thing, every thing, in short, sooner than wither in a joyless existence with all the > means of happiness around, but no power to taste that happiness. Some would think, Sarah, that I did you wrong in speaking thus to you, my child, and that I turned your mind, from a state of abiding and sober happiness, to one of romance and illusion; but I feel I am fulfilling a duty to you. Few there are, who think and feel as I do; but doing so, and believing my child to share her mother's disposition, I

only warn you to examine your own feelings thoroughly, and not to attempt from any pique, or temporary disappointment, to rush into a situation which you may repent."

"Dearest mamma, all you say is most kind-most true; but fear not for me: if I marry Sir Edward Mowbray, I will never break my faith to him-I will never allow myself to recur to the past, or to think of a future, apart from him. I do not love him-I will not say I do-but I like him, and he is fond of me-and it is in vain, you know it is in vain, that I wait for Lord de Montmorenci's love, it never can be mine-so I have determined to marry Sir Edward Mowbray."

These words made Lady Herbert turn sick at heart; she thought for the first time, "Sarah knows he loves me!” but ere she could give utterance to what she wished to say, her daughter continued speaking: "I should only pine away my youth, in a vain indulgence of a misplaced affection. Hitherto, I think I have never betrayed my love for him to himself, but I have felt my courage failing me lately. Several times I have been near betraying myself, and, if I had done so, I never should have recovered the humiliation; -that is not a way of speaking, dearest mamma, it is the truth:" and Sarah drew herself up, and her lip curved with that expression of beautiful scorn, which personified the Grecian sculptor's imagery of disdain. "No," she went on to say, 66 no, dearest mamma, no one knows my weakness, save yourself. My best chance of conquering it, is to bind myself to another. I will place an impassible gulf between De Montmorenci and myself, and then my task will be easier. I could not trifle with Sir Edward Mowbray any longer; it would have been cruel, dishonourable, to have done so. I have not formed my determination hastily, though its execution was sudden. I do not repent the step I have taken. I have done what is best for my own tranquillity, and will endeavour to make Sir Edward Mowbray's happiness."

May it prove so, my own dear Sarah; but remember it is not loving first, but loving wrong that is shame! Your love for De Montmorenci is pure and honourable; perhaps in time it might meet with its return." "How can you so deceive her!" whispered the mother's conscience, as she faintly spoke these words; "but it is my duty to speak

thus; I must leave nothing unsaid, which could save my child from a rash vow."

"No, mamma, give me no such hope, for there is none, I will marry Sir Edward Mowbray; I will be a good wife, and make him happy; there is joy in making another's happiness, and that joy will be mine-give me your blessing, dearest mamma, and let us not talk any more on the subject. Will you announce my marriage to De Montmorenci, for though its announcement will give him a friendly joy, I am so weak, I dare not trust myself to hear his congratulations." And she put her arms fondly round her mother's neck, and they mutually felt that they could sacrifice all that made life precious to them for each other's sake. But it was Lady Herbert only who wept, and whose tears fell on her child.

"Do not weep, dearest mamma; your tears I cannot bear. I had hoped to have passed through existence, without ever causing you to shed one tear-at least, one of which I should have been the willing occasion; let that proud boast be mine still." And she smiled a radiant smile, which bursting through the gloom of her previous expression, only served to rend her mother's heart, not sooth its grief.

It is fortunate that the trivial circumstances attendant upon the common cares of daily life, break in upon moments of trial, and lower the tone of feeling, whether we will it or not, and by their own uninteresting character, act as sedatives to the excited feelings. Both mother and daughter felt relieved when the entrance of a servant to ask orders respecting the hour of dinner broke in upon their conversation, and that other interruptions followed of the same kind. There is no continued train of feeling, which lasts long undisturbed or unbroken-the sombre and the brilliant mingle with each other, the tear and the smile, the sublime and the ridiculous, alternately appear to our view, in rapid succession. It is scarcely possible to separate the one from the other for any length of time; these changes, this mutability, preaches to all a lesson-happy those to whom it is not preached in vain!

After Miss Herbert's marriage had been announced to Lord de Montmorenci, the whole fauxbourg rung with the news, and baskets of flowers came from all the venders of them, in token of congratulation.

Lord de Montmorenci's joy became visible; he tried to conceal it, but it was in vain; it manifested itself in a thousand ways, and Sarah Herbert felt more than ever confirmed in her idea of having done right in accepting Sir Edward Mowbray; and she succeeded in assuming a joyousness of spirits, which she did not feel, and Sir Edward Mowbray was deceived. Self-love whispered to him, that her former coldness had originated in doubt of his attachment to her. How fortunate that there is such a thing as self-love! how often it bestows a contentment we should never otherwise enjoy! it is only the overweening excess of it, which renders us unamiable or ridiculous.

But Lady Herbert was not deceived-from the moment her child had taken the resolution of becoming Sir Edward's wife, she had known no peace: previously, she had during her stay at Nice, avoided coming to any definite conclusion. She had not allowed herself to brood over the painful situation in which she was placed, with regard to her daughter, and had let day go by after day, enjoying the false calm, and dangerous illusion by which she was surrounded. But now, when there was a clear view presented to her of actual life; it was impossible she should longer. indulge in this unsubstantial enjoyment; and she could not endure to think in despite of every thing which Sarah had said to reconcile her to the thought that her young darling should have chosen a dry path of duty-bound with a heavy chain, to render her youth arid, and rugged even in its earliest season of opening existence, when something of flower and of sunshine, generally gilds and decorates the path of life. "But can I reverse the decree? No, it is

in vain. Were I to tell her love to De Montmorenci— were I to say to him, transfer your love from me to my child-were I to point out her superior beauty-alas! have I not done so?-her youth, her freshness, her virtues, her talents, and say, there she is as part of myself, as dear to ine as my heart's blood, love her instead of me; would he so love her? could he so love her? No." And Lady Herbert's feelings chafed and boiled with contradictory emotions, as she pronounced that no. But she thought, My child shall never know for certain that I have been a bar to her felicity-I will never become his wife. The same sacrifice shall be made on my part, as though Sarah had never married another. I will not taste a happiness so

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