a remedy which I wish to try as soon as your pa- and upper lip had sprouted a neglected beard, tient can receive it." crisp, short, and of an auburn colour. This So saying Miss Blair came again to the bed-nobarbus with the hatchet face was certainly removed the elf-locks from the forehead of poor not very winning in his looks, but the eye of pity Tom Herries-looked sadly upon his face whilst and generous appreciation which beamed upon her lips moved with unuttered words—and then, him seemed to take no note of his extraordinary turning, left the room. John Herries followed; want of comeliness. as she sped along a passage he called to her; looking back she saw him come up slowly and with a meditative countenance. He presently said: "You perceive," said Tom lowly, “that I am nearly gone. Have a little patience; I will be out of your way before long." Minny stooped until her breath stole like a faint "I have entertained hard, and now I am sure, south wind over the stubble of Tom's chin, and unjust thoughts of you. Pardon my rudeness-repliedforgive my evil thoughts." "I do so, Mr. Herries, without reservation." and will live now. “We are overwhelmed by this domestic afflic-live for me?" tion." "Let us hope, sir." John Herries fixed a forgiving and even a tender regard upon Minny Blair; the community of feeling avowed in her brief let us hope sir,' swept his mind clear of all lingering doubts, and of much of its fear. This gentle and generous girl, partaking his griefs, was not an enemy to darken his future, when the power to do so should pass, by the death of her uncle, into her hands; moreover, a finer chord than this selfish one was touched. "I confide in you," he said, " for I begin now to know your noble nature. We turn over a bright leaf, Miss Blair, when we discover a true and self-sacrificing friend—and all the brighter when we find the friendship where we looked for a scornful want of sympathy. God bless you." Minny Blair's eyes became suffused with tears. The gentleness of a stern man is always effective. "I perceive no such thing. You are strong Do you know that you must "Live for you?" We are to be married-are we "But "You are generous, and devoted," the beautiful girl said in low tones, and with a tremor in them which is always of gentle omen. you want a just and manly self-appreciation. I think so nobly of you that, upon my word, I am unwilling to forego"-here Minny checked herself with a smile. She presently said—"will you keep my hand, which you hold now, if I give it to you willingly ?" Tom seemed very much surprised. "I perceive," said Minny, "that you are incorrigible with your humble and delicate fancies; solved not to speak, I must be so unfeminine as you are a singular lover. But if you are reto do so. Mr. Herries, will you remain faithful to your engagement, and permit me to be your wife?" The truth dawned upon Tom Herries. After a long silence, during which his countenance betrayed many varying emotions, he said: "You are not a human creature-but one of God's beautiful angels." Minny sat by her uncle's side, at Lindores, one stormy morning a few days after the visit, some scenes of which I have just given to the reader. The old man quietly enjoyed her presence and discourse. He did not perceive a frequent lapse, from the topic which seemed to engage her, into momentary silence, and thoughts of other things; for the devoted girl would quickly fly back from these broodings, and re-enter with hurried animation upon her suspended task of amusing. Breaking in upon her feverish discourse, came a summons; Dr. Gaunt had despatched the fast rider "Thank you. You are very much mistaken to say that Tom Herries had recovered his rea- however; you must perceive that my hand, which son. Minny, faithful to her promise, encountered you have nearly broken, is substantial. You a severe storm, and was soon at the bed-side of must also perceive that I have no wings." To her lover. Tom, whose face had become very prove this last assertion the tall and lithe girl much like a hatchet, held her hand placidly and turned her person until the graceful sweep of her welcomed her with intelligence, but without ex- shoulders became visible to Tom Herries. There citement. His cheeks were of an ashy white; were no celestial pinions; but only such shoulhis eyes were all the more prominent for the fall-ders as the quiver of Diana the huntress doubting away in the adjacent parts, but they were re-less rested upon. deemed by a soft and gentle expression; his chin Her modest lover, retaining her hand, answer ed the speech and the pretty gesture which ac- must be well very soon, and then you will be betcompanied it: ter looking." "Your hand is substantial and warm, and you have no wings, but you are at least as good and beautiful as if you were an angel. Miss MinnyMiss Minny-do not conceal anything from me. Speak truly, from the bottom of your heart. You are perhaps pretending that you love me, in order to save my good-for-nothing life." What -Adding quickly, "I seal our contract," she stooped and kissed his cheek. When Dr. Gaunt came back to the chamber from which Miss Blair had for an hour banished him, he found his patient in so hopeful a state that he began to entertain sanguine expectations of the fulfilment of Major Wright's promise. This promise, the reader will recollect, was to celebrate the recovery of Tom Herries with a dinner to the "picked gentlemen" of the country; at which dinner the hospitable Major was under an obligation to toast Tom as “a fine, dare-devil, dashing fellow." "We will get on now, I think," said Dr. Gaunt. "If there is no change for the worse by to-morrow, Wright must have notice." And Tom Herries shook disease off. Azrael has little to do with bold, hopeful hearts. Minny Blair had poured oil into his flickering and failing lamp; it began, with the moment in which she did so, to burn up anew, and soon regained clear and strong lustre. a “I said just now, Mr. Herries, that you were incorrigible. How often do you mean to compel me to tell you that I love you? Recollect that you have not once said that you loved me. Do you wish me to explain why it is that I am willing to become your wife? Well, fellowship in high sentiment produces love; and did we not, Mr. Herries, you and I, unite ourselves in gallant fellowship, when we galloped down to that frightful gulf? I felt it possible to become your wife in that swift moment; it was because I did so that I flew back to the hope of life, and used my best means-then when the speed of our horses, on the very verge as we were, could not be restrained to preserve it. You heard me, in that last moment, call to you to be wary." "Speak on; your voice is so musical. a brave heart you must have! Speak on." "I have positively very little to say, Mr. Herries. It is not often that we find inviolable truth, When I began this history it was with the purgenerosity, extreme devotion of self for the ease pose of developing the progress of a nature in of others, courage, tenderness, united in one which unrestrained passions in an evil hour prosome respects well-gifted, from a single crime to human being. I think that I have found them in you. Whatever drawbacks you may possess myself very early beguiled into a love-story, and pelled it, to remorse and eventual ruin. I found with them, you will, doubtless, cure in time. thrown quite out from my original design. I must Your worst faults have sprung from a want of self-respect; there can be little dignity of char- have been subordinate, to give in a final scene now leave the more pleasant theme, which should acter where a modest but manly self-respect is wanting. Is not this a strange, grave mode of of connection between the beginning and ending some necessary explanations, and an appearance speaking to you? I repeat that I love you-if of my work. In hastening on to this final scene, you take any pleasure in the avowal. You still hold my hand; it shall be yours forever, when you are well enough to receive it." I CHAPTER VIII. pass over the details of a great event-the marriage of Tom Herries with the beautiful "Well enough to receive it? That I will be it was infinite-I trust the reader has long ago Minny Blair; a lady whose worth, inasmuch as without much delay," said Tom Herries. "I discovered this-could receive no increase from have entirely given up the idea of dying. God the splendid dowry which the love of Andrew bless you-good--beautiful--generous-lady! Do Blair bestowed with her. It was a brave wednot go yet. Leave your hand in mine. So you ding; and its results have been fortunate. An are to be my wife? This hand-how soft, and unequal match can scarcely remain unequal very white, and warm it is!—is to be mine forever?" long, except where mutual dislike exists as a reTom drew the hand to his lips. Almost at pellant, and prevents assimilation. The coarse the same moment he caught a glimpse of him- and common must yield to the high and refined, self in a glass across the room. He heaved an or the converse must happen. There must be a immense sigh, and muttered— lifting up or a pulling down. In the case before "There never was any one so miserably ugly us the better result has followed. It will be reas I am." Minny Blair laughed, and said: membered that the follies which Tom Herries committed in an early part of this history were "You are certainly not very handsome; but after-dinner follies; he has since become somesick people are not generally handsome. You what marked for a gentlemanly moderation in his cups. His intelligence is not remarkable; but the less merciful tribunal of man; for my crime his manners are sufficiently subdued, leaving a man and his laws will not pardon. I make this fresh, entertaining and natural gayety without confession to be read by my representatives when coarseness; indeed I find this excellent gentle- death shall have removed me from fears of earthman a very agreeable companion, in the long evenings which I occasionally spend with him. When we recollect, moreover, how honorable, courageous and devoted he certainly is, we can scarcely pity his magnificent wife for the union, or deem her aristocratic hand and true heart, more than his due. Now let us pass on to a conclusion. It was a summer evening, six months after the wedding. Death was descending upon the old and weary master of Lindores. His intellect enfeebled but not clouded measured the pace of its approach. ly justice. Why do I make it? I know not; except that my secret struggles incessantly to escape, and I imagine that some peace may be gained by providing even for its eventual release. A secret of blood ravages the heart that would utterly confine it. "On the 20th day of November, in the year 18-, Col. Arthur Pellew, my neighbor, came to my house. I received him kindly, and induced him to remain and dine with me. Some months before, a portion of his lands had been sold under my agency; I had been made trustee in a deed of trust to secure payment of debts due The windows of the chamber, in which he from Pellew to certain persons living at a dislay dying, were raised; their curtains, hanging tance. The debts had slept for several years; before them, shut out a flood of moonlight, but demand of payment happened unfortunately to let in the warm breath of an August breeze. be made shortly after a change in Pellew's poThe trees, whose long boughs rustled against the litical relations with me, and upon the heel of walls and eaves of the house, were alive with the something like a quarrel which his failure to supsharp cries of katydids and numberless other little musicians of the summer night. Now and then a bat flitted in, as a curtain streamed with the entering breeze, and circled about the ceiling until a succeeding swell of the wind reopened a way for egress. Continually several large beetles droned in their harsh flight, beating the white walls with horny wings. Lights were burning dimly in the chamber. At the bed-side stood Minny Blair, now Mrs. Herries, and a tall gentleman in the black dress of a clergyman. As we join this group Andrew Blair begins to speak decisively. "Minny, the time has come for acquainting you with the dreadful secret of my life," he said with a transient energy. port me in a closely contested election had pro- "Any extraordinary communication will move we dined together, however, I perceived that I you, sir, and may injure you." had been mistaken. His complaints were re ، Go to the walnut cabinet; press the earving | newed, and in exceedingly offensive terms. I enat the extreme corner next the window; you will find a drawer-it fastens with a spring. You will see a single paper-bring it to me." His niece followed these directions-discovered and opened the secret drawer of the cabinet, and presently came back with the paper. It was folded like a law-paper, and labelled simply, "The statement of A. B." "Bring the lights nearer; and you, Mr. Gibson, read aloud what I have there written. Minny remain and hear." dured them with a show of equanimity, but with an intense rage under it. He left my house; I could not remain behind; with a half-formed purpose of vengeance I joined him. My manner continued to be moderate-I uttered certain formulas of regret that my neighbor and old friend should misunderstand and so deeply wrong me. His answer was a direct charge of falsehood, and double-dealing, accompanied by an oath, and a look not only of anger but of contempt. Then the measure was filled to overflowing. Would to God that my nature had been of the common sort which resents wrong or outrage on the spot, and when reflection comes, "I ask pardon of Almighty God for a griev- has no pang but for the passionate blow which ous crime which I, Andrew Blair, have com- laws and the best wisdom of man half excuse. mitted. I fear to make appeal for forgiveness to Ira brevis furor est. But the very moderation Presently Mr. Gibson, the clergyman, putting on his spectacles and arranging the lights, opened the paper and read aloud. which I could seem to assume, and which was arm. I spoke to him-what I do not recollect. commonly considered proof of a poised intellect We left the field of blood at last. And yet he has not dealt in all things gently by me. I forgive; I have so much to be forgiven. and tutored nature was my terrible curse. Why "The name of this man I will not give. If should I not admit the truth? The moderation he has committed an offence it has been merely of manner under offence which I had always one of concealment-concealment of my crime. practised was only the result of cowardice. The red blaze of anger in my fellow man paled me into timidity; it was only an art of manner that "The witness of my crime came to me one termade the timidity appear a temperate and wise rible night-the second night after the fatal evenforbearance. I was in fact a craven, with a vile ing-and said that men should have burial, and and vindictive temper-more unrestrainable after not be cast into pits like dead brutes. How awits subtil sort than the more ordinary passion of ful was his proposition! It was that the dead a rash choleric man. I continued to walk with body should be taken up and buried in consecraCol. Pellew, but now in silence; he gave me, at ted ground. He seemed to pity me-and if his first, a look of contemptuous surprise, when he views have since proved selfish, I am sure that found that his insults had not driven me off; then his pity was then genuine. He seemed to be full he walked on as if he had been quite alone. I of superstitious horror-I have no doubt he felt determined to take vengeance for his insults-it-at the idea of the brutal neglect of the redirect, terrible insults, such as no man had ever mains of a fellow man. I gave in to his propobefore put upon me. What measure or kind of sition; I could do no otherwise. The deserted vengeance? If a spark of manly courage had Baptist burial-ground, by the old church in the quickened my nature, the course would have hills, a mile from the spot of the murder, was been clear and the task easy. What easier than chosen as the place of sepulture. We went to to say in the fields—'turn sir; you have grossly work that very night. A horse, snorting under insulted me; give me satisfaction?' But I was a the horrible burthen, bore the corpse. We opencoward; I could not dare so extremely; the chol- ed an old grave where the dead tenant had reeric giant would have turned upon me as the turned to dust, and placed Arthur Pellew in his Bull of the Alpujaras meets the Toreador. I place. Some forest leaves and a dead thorn yielded to a wild anger and a base cowardice; I tree covered the marks of the fresh burial; there was sold to the evil genius; I yielded to the sub- now lie the remains of the murdered man. til devil within me; I determined to strike my "Col. Pellew had no connections in this counadversary at advantage-to murder him. When try. His disappearance excited surprise only this purpose was matured I found temperate until it was discovered that his fortunes were words to utter; if Pellew had shown the least hopelessly involved. Then it was easily conjecreturn to kindly feeling my purpose might have tured that he had collected his available means, been even then suddenly relinquished. But he and left the country. strode on in sullen silence. We came to the line of the estates-a skirt of woodland lies on this side of it. A disused well was near us; the foundation walls of an old farm-house, and some straggling fruit trees of a great age will guide those who may search for this well, although it has long since been filled up quite to the grassy level. "I ask pardon of Almighty God for my terrible crime. I have besought His pardon for years. I do not despair of it; for His mercy is infinite; and indeed I have suffered the tortures of hell here on earth. In consideration of my poor human weakness; in consideration of endured agonies, and a ruined earthly peace; but above all, upon the blessed basis of the Good Saviour's atonement, I beseech the divine pardon." "As we came within a few steps of the well I drew a sharp and long knife; I stood one This lamentable paper was written in a brostep behind my victim; I struck. I repeated ken hand; it was also marred and confused, in a the blow-I struck many times for there was part of it, with repetitions, as if the writer dreada confounding and desperate struggle. But death ed to approach the principal faet. Most of the came at last; the giant was quite dead at my feet. repetitions I have suppressed; I have suppressed More in obedience to a predetermination than also here and there an interjectional comment, from any present prompting, I drew with a great into which feeling seems to have forced him, effort the body to the edge of the well, and permitted it to fall heavily in. The depth was inconsiderable; I gathered heaps of the dried grass and weeds and threw them in upon the corpse. As the good clergyman ended his task of readAs I was engaged in this labor a man came run-ing, he heard a husky Amen-Lord pardon ning to the spot. I remember in a dull and me." It came from the lips, and the profound ghostly way his looks of horror as he caught my heart of the dying man. Then, as the exclama VOL. XV-20 upon the enormity of his offence. The original narrative is frequently interrupted with such "cries of anguish." 66 tion reached him, the minister knelt gently by the bed-side, and prayed. His prayers, accompanied by the sobs of woman, and the feeble echoes of his words from the dying, became fervent and eloquent. BOCCACCIO AND HIS WRITINGS. The fluctuations which may be observed in It was ended. There was a lull. The breath public taste in matters belonging to the province of Andrew Blair became obstructed. It might of literature, are no less unaccountable and rescarcely be heard for the wind that filled the markable than the variations which it undergoes chamber with the fresh odours of the summer in other respects. To endeavor to trace the world out beyond it; for the music of the insects change which has been gradually taking place housed in the rustling foliage; for the very beat- from age to age, would be to engage in a quesing of the two good hearts so near him. Finally it could not at all be heard. Andrew Blair was dead. tion the developments of which would undoubtedly produce materials as numerous and varied as interesting. Were we for a few moments to glance over the pages of English literature, restricting our survey solely to the progressive mutations of style, independent of those which influence the language itself, we should find abundant food for reflection in the strange diversity Perhaps the reader will expect a few conclu- of style which each successive period has given ding words concerning the families of Herries rise to, in the comparison of the literature of any and Wright. Major Wright still lives, and has period with the history and manners of the peonot lost his relish for the chase, or his power of ple at the time, and in the reconciling of various undergoing its fatigues. He has married his theories relating to the advancement of civilizadaughter with the name of the British queen- tion. Or to be more explicit, it may be as well a name which I was quite clear upon when I to enter into a more particular explanation of the formerly gave it to the reader, but which I have revolutions to which we have reference, and illussince forgotten from some trick of a bad memo-trate them by a few concise details, and a rapid inry-to a ruddy young fox-hunter with a good dication, of the more prominent points of this subproperty. Miss Araminta Wright is still in a ject that present themselves to our view. At one condition of enforced celibacy-her father having dismissed "the young gentleman from town" as too bad a horseman to marry into his family. period we shall remark a style full of conceits, qaint and grotesque humor, and a trifling play upon words, so continuous and so frequently recurJohn Herries, soon after the death of Andrew ring as to form almost the only features of the litBlair, made a bonfire upon a small scale. The erature of the time. At another period we are pictures of his dining-room were consumed. In overwhelmed with unwieldy masses of English the ashes left in the hearth after this conflagra- words entangled and thrown together with all tion, a servant afterwards found the metallic skel- the perplexing inversions so characteristic of the eton of a long-bladed knife, which, as its temper ancient tongues, and which are so effective and was gone, he threw away, with some ordinary appropriate an ornament in their native soil. comment to his fellow-servants. This knife had Again we have writers whose only effort is to in its time pierced human vitals. The plough dazzle by the polished eloquence which distinhas doubtless buried it long since in the fruitful guishes them. With one class of authors every soil, over which springs and summers, as they thing assumes a hue of austere philosophy; with pass, make the hiding wheat wave in its green, another there is an artful intermingling of pathos and droop in its russet. The life of John Her- of the most touching and affecting description ries, clouded by doubtful practices but fortunate- with strokes of humor occasionally of the broadly not stained by crime, became and continues est kind. serene. Prosperity has proved wholesome to The character of a whole age is sometimes him. His meek wife is a picture of sedate cheer-stamped with one or other of these features, and fulness. Her daughter Georgiana, a sweet girl whom we have too much lost sight of among the crowding forms of this history, is her gentle and affectionate companion. She looks too with pride and love to Tom Herries and his beautiful wife, and is a great deal with them at Lindores. I bid the reader adieu. Perhaps at some future time I will again impose upon his good will and courtesy. all works issued at these periods bear the impress belonging to the time. But this is not universally so, there are now and then remarkable exceptions. It sometimes happens that a single author of original genius may produce a work whose style and subject are both inimitable and unimitated, and this remark applies most particularly to English literature, containing as it does such productions as the Paradise Lost, Bunyan's |