"You do not eat, dear Hermance!" said Henri at length, having done ample justice to the decried entrées. "Let me give you a little of this rôti, it is very tender."

"It is only more unfortunate for that," replied Hermance, with a deep sigh; " but I cannot eat;" and with difficulty she suppressed the tears that filled her eyes, while a smile stole over the lips of her husband at her sentimental reproach.

Hermance felt hurt at the smile, and offended at observing that Henri continued to partake as copiously of the rôti as he had previously done of the entrées. How unfeeling, how indelicate to continue to devour, when she had refused to eat!

As soon as dinner was concluded, and the servants had withdrawn, Henri remarked, for the first time, that the eyes of his wife were dimmed with tears.

"How is this, dearest?" exclaimed he,-" you have been weeping-are you' ill?" and he attempted to take her hand, but it was withdrawn, and her face averted, while she applied her handkerchief to her gushing eyes, and wept with uncontrolled emotion. "Speak to me, I beseech you, Hermance!" continued Henri, endeavouring again to take her hand;" how have I offended you?"

66

"I see it, I see it all, but too plainly," sobbed the weeping Hermance; " you no longer love me! I have observed your growing indifference day after day, and tried not to believe the cruel change; but now," and here her tears streamed afresh"I can no longer doubt your fickle nature, when I hear you avow that you get tired of every thing-which means every person- and this to me, who, only a few weeks ago, you professed to adore! Oh! it is too cruel! why did I marry?" and here sobs interrupted her words.

"You wrong me! indeed you do, dear Hermance; I said one tires of things; but I never said, or meant that one gets tired of persons. Come, this is childish; let me wipe these poor eyes," and he kissed her brow while gently performing the operation.

"Then why have you seemed so different of late?" sobbed Hermance, letting him now retain the hand he pressed to his lips.

"In what has the difference consisted, dear love?" asked Henri.

"You no longer seem delighted when I enter the room, or join you in the garden, after being absent half an hour.

"Half an hour!" reiterated Henri, with a faint smile. "Yes! a whole half hour," replied Hermance, placing an emphasis on the word "whole." "You used to appear en

'The words used by a French lady to her husband on a similar occasion.

chanted when I came into the saloon at Paris, and always flew to meet me. You never admire my dress now, though you were wont to examine and commend all that I wore; and you doze while I am singing the songs, which a few weeks ago threw you into ecstasies."

Poor Hermance wept afresh at the recapitulation of the symptoms of her husband's growing indifference, while he soothed her with loving words and tender epithets.

Having in some measure reassured her by his affectionate manner, harmony was again established; but the veil was removed from the eyes of both, never again to be resumed.

They perceived that the love-unceasing, ecstatic-of which they had dreamt before their union, was a chimera existing only in imagination; and they awoke with sobered feelings, to seek content in rational affection, instead of indulging in romantic expectations of a happiness that never falls to the lot of human beings; each acknowledging, with a sigh, that even in a marriage of love, the brilliant anticipations of imagination are never realized; that disappointment awaits poor mortals even in that brightest portion of existence-the Honeymoon.

A TALE OF ERROR.

Quel vago impallider che'l dolce riso
D'un amorsa nebbia ricoverse."-Petrarch.

"One lovely bush of the pale virgin thorn,
Bent o'er a little heap of lowly turf,

Is all the sad memorial of her worth-
All that remains to mark where she is laid."
Joanna Baillie's" Rayner.”

It was a lovely evening in the early part of August, 1827, when a brilliant sun was sinking in the horizon, and tinging all round with his golden beams, that a travelling carriage and four was seen rapidly descending a hill on the north road. In the carriage, supported by pillows, reclined a young man, on whose high brow and noble countenance disease had stamped its seal in fearful characters, though the natural beauty of the sufferer still shone forth triumphantly over the ravages of ill health. His languid head rested on the shoulder of a young and beautiful girl, and his upturned eyes were fixed, with an expression of unutterable love, on hers. The last rosy rays of sunset, falling on the pale brow of the young man, shewed like a red cloud passing over snow, and contrasted sadly with its marble hue.

"Mary, my blessed love," said the invalid, "pull the checkstring, and order Sainville to urge the postilions to advance still quicker."

"Be composed, dearest Henry," replied the young lady; "observe you not that the velocity with which we advance has increased the difficulty of your breathing? You will destroy yourself by this exertion."

"Mary, you know not how essential it is to my peace of mind that we should reach Gretna Green most rapidly; every moment is precious, and the anxiety that preys on me is even still more fatal to my frame than the velocity of our pace. Tell Sainville then, dearest, to urge the postilions."

Mary pulled the check-string, and Sainville soon stopped the carriage, and stood by the step. The change that the last hour had produced on the countenance of his master struck the servant with dismay; and he almost feared he should see him expire, as, gasping for breath, he turned his eager eyes on those of Sainville, and laying his hand on the arm of the alarmed servant, said, "Remember, Sainville, that my life-nay, more than life, depends on my reaching Gretna Green in a few hours. Give the postilions gold-promise them all, every thing, if they will advance with all possible speed."

The postilions urged their steeds, and the carriage whirled along with fearful rapidity, while the invalid pressed with a nervous grasp the small trembling hand that rested within his.

Who were this young and interesting pair, at whose dreams of love and happiness the gaunt fiend Death smiled in mockery, while he held his dart suspended over them? To tell you who they were, it is necessary to return to the village of Dawlish, in Devonshire, where dwelt Mrs. Lester, the widow of a fieldofficer, who was killed at the battle of Waterloo; and who left his still young and beautiful wife, with an infant daughter, a scanty provision, and little else, save the distinguished reputa tion that his well-known bravery had gained in a life devoted to the service of his country, and sealed by his blood.

Colonel Lester's had been a love marriage; but, unlike the generality of such unions, the love had increased with the years that had united them; and they felt so happy as nearly to forget that their marriage had deprived them of the affection and countenance of their mutual relatives, who had declined all intercourse with two poor and wilful persons, as they considered them, who were determined to marry from pure affection, contrary to the advice of all their friends. It was not until death had snatched her husband from her, that Mrs. Lester felt the consequences of her imprudent marriage. Left alone and unprotected, with an infant daughter, how did she wish to claim for her child that protection from her family for which she was too proud to sue for herself! And it was not without many struggles with her pride that she had appealed to their sympathy. This appeal had been unanswered; for the relatives to whom it had been addressed found it still more prudent to decline an intercourse with an ill-provided widow, than it had formerly been to renew one with the happy wife of a meritorious officer, likely to arrive at distinction in his profession.

Mrs. Lester retired from the busy world, and fixed her residence in a small neat cottage at Dawlish, determined to devote her whole time to the education of her child. This spot had been endeared to her by her having spent some of the happiest days of her life there, with Colonel Lester soon after her marriage; and she found a melancholy pleasure in tracing their former haunts in its neighbourhood, when, leaning on his arm, and supported by his affection, the future offered only bright prospects. All the love she had felt for her husband was now centred in his child; and the youthful Mary grew, beneath a mother's tender, and fostering care, all that the fondest parent could desire-lovely in person, and pure in mind.

She had only reached her sixteenth year, when, in the summer of 1827, the young Lord Mordaunt came to Dawlish, to try

the benefit of change of air in a complaint which threatened to terminate in consumption. The cottage next to Mrs. Lester's was taken for the invalid; and his physician having occasion to refer to that lady for the character of a female servant, an acquaintance was formed that led to an introduction to his patient, who found the society of the mother and daughter so much to his taste, that no day passed that did not find him a visitor at Woodbine Cottage. He would spend whole hours by the drawing or work-table of Mary, correcting her sketches, reading aloud to her, or giving descriptions of the different foreign countries he had visited.

Lord Mordaunt was a young man so attractive in person and manners, that it would have been difficult for a much more fastidious judge than Mary Lester, not to have been captivated by his attentions; and his delicate health served still more to excite a strong interest for him, while it banished all thoughts of alarm, even from the breast of the prudent mother, who looked on him with sorrow, as one foredoomed to an early grave. It is perhaps one of the most amiable proofs of the tenderness of women's hearts-their sympathy and affection, which health and gaiety might fail to produce. The power was exemplified in the conduct of Mary Lester; for when, in their daily walks, in which Lord Mordaunt now attended them, his pale cheek assumed a hectic hue, from the exertion, and his eyes beamed with more than their usual lustre, those of Mary would fill with tears as she marked the first precursors of decay. With trembling anxiety she would urge him to repose himself on some rustic bench; and when he yielded to her entreaties, would hang over him with feelings, of whose source and extent her innocence kept her in ignorance, or led her to attribute solely to pity.

Days passed away, each one increasing the attachment of the young people, and confirming the fears of Lord Mordaunt's physcian, while he alone appeared unconscious of his danger. His passion seemed to bind him by new ties of life; and when pain and lassitude reminded him that he was ill, he looked on the blooming cheek and beaming eye of Mary, and asked himself-if one, who felt for her the love that quickened the pulsations of his throbbing heart, could be indeed approaching the cold and cheerless grave? and he clung with renewed hope to existence, now that it had become so valuable.

At this period, a sprained ancle confined Mrs. Lester to the house; and she confided Mary every day to the care of Dr. Erskine and his patient, to pursue their accustomed walk. The doctor was skilled in botany and geology, and the neighbourhood of Dawlish presented many specimens in both sciences