The Aberystwith Observer

THE BARRIER BETWEEN; OB, REPENTED UNTO DEATH. CHAPTER I. NEWS FROJII PARIS. Two ladies sat in a lofty apartment in a large mansion in one of the most aristocratic streets of the West-end of London. The frescoed walls, silken curtains, and velvet carpet harmonised in colouring; but the costly mirrors which lined the walls reflected nothing so attractive as the living occupants of that elegant re- ception-room. A lady of three-and-twenty, stately and composed, sat with her noble head leaning against the crimson cushion of a divan, the dark, shining bands of her hair, and marble white complexion, contrasting with its deep-toned hue. Her dress was rich, and in good taste, and her hands, that played idly with a bunch of charms which hung from her chatelaine, were of exquisite symmetry and fairness. Upon her delicately sculptured features there was an expression of sonl weariness, and the red lips were slightly compressed, as if resolute not to express in words that which might give pain to her companion. This was a lady in half mourning, distinguished by a ■ Certain air of calm simplicity, which marks the highly- bred and refined woman, on whom Nature has bestowed a gentle heart, and to whom Fortune has also given gentle nurture. The reception was over, and the mistress of the house sank down in a velvet fauteuil, as the door closed on the last guest, and exclaimed- Thank Heaven the weary hours are gone, and I have time to break the seals of my foreign package. Oh, Amy, you do not know what I have had in my possession for the last hour." There was a sudden start, and uplifting of the drooping lids, which veiled a pair of magnificent dark eyes, and a faint streak of crimson flashed upon the pearly cheek. Letters from abroad-from Harold ? she quickly asked. Is there one for me ?" Of course; when did our wanderer ever forget to SOnd a volume to you, Amy ? I declare, I am half jealous sometimes." You need not be, Madge; for, of the two, I sus- pect he loves his sister far better than his friend. Only as his friend, remember, did I consent to corre- spond with him. Harold is free to write to me, or to let it alone." Of course," replied Mrs. Anderson, half smiling, "I understand all about that. But this pique will pass away before my brother returns, and in time your old relations will be established. I hope yet to see you the wife of Harold, Amy." It is not likely that I shall ever stand in that rela- tion to him," replied Amy Cunningham, in a low tone, and the sudden fading of the flush that had leaped to her cheek betrayed that she was moved by some very painful emotion. Tell me, how did his package reach you ?" ".Colonel Fredericks, the tall man in military un- dress, who came in with Mrs. Bathurst, gave it to me. He had just been at the Foreign Office, and he in- formed me that it came with dispatches to Government last night. A box will also arrive some time to-day With presents, no doubt, for us all. Colonel Fredericks bas just returned from Paris, where he saw Harold and something I did not distinctly hear, that he said about a Mrs. Harold Danvers, made me think that he 13 in my brother's confidence, though it sounded odd to me perhaps, after all, I did not understand him lightly." There may possibly be a lady of that name in ex- istence," said Miss Cunningham, with affected light- Bess but her heart fluttered wildly as she spoke, and then grew sick and faint with a sudden, sinking dread, which with her was always the forerunner of evil tidings. "Amy, how can you speak thus exclaimed Mrs. Anderson, indignantly. Even in thought I would opt deem my brother capable of dishonour. I hold him bound to you. Nav, do not shake your head, and look so defiantly. The love of years is not so easily set aside and my poor Harold is your devoted slave, in spite of his strangely inconsistent conduct before he left England. "Enough! enough!" was the almost imperious reply of Amy; let us not discuss that subject, Madge. It humiliates me to recall those bitter days in which I learned the sad lesson that a woman's peace can be set at naught by him who professes to love her. I have forgiven Harold, so let it pass. Pray open your package, and if there is a letter for me let me have it." Mrs. Anderson broke the seals, and two letters were taken from the envelope. One was for herself, the other for her father. She hastily unclosed her own, but there was nothing within for her companion. It was the first time Harold Danvers had thus sighted her, and Amy sank back with a pain so quick and sharp through her aching heart, that it seemed as if a dagger was piercing it; but she made no sign of Suffering. Like the Spartan boy, she could clasp the wounded side, and stifle the cry of anguish, which betrays less self-sustained natures. I Mrs. Anderson hurriedly glanced down the page before her. At the first sentence she uttered an ex- clamation, and raised her eyes towards her com- panion but her impassive appearance betrayed nothing. Hastily dropping them, she read and re- read the incredible contents of her brother's epistle. Amy Cunningham furtively watched the changes In the face familiar to her through all the years of girlhood, and she saw in them that which confirmed the fear of evil that had hovered as a dim shadow over her throughout the whole day. She apprehensively asked- What is the matter, Madge ? Is Harold ill ? rs. Anderson buried her face in her hands, and *>urst into tears. Oh if that were all, I could bear it But to -have my idol dethroned my brother, whom I believed the soul of honour and truth, false to himself, to you, is more than I can bear." "What can you mean ?" syllabled the white lips of her friend, but the words were rather breathed than Uttered. Madge, you wrong him. Speak not thus of Harold." "And you-you defend him Oh, Amy, sister of my heart, my brother has proved himself unworthy Sf you, for he has married another! Colonel Fredericks was right; there is a Mrs. Harold Danvers, but I will never receive her as such-never!" Chap 1 She might have gone on uttering passionate denun- ciations, for no voice was again raised in defence of the absent one. Amy Cunningham, for the first time in her life, had fainted. She lay white and cold before her friend, who, fortunately, had too much delicacy prudence to expose her condition to the rest of the household; she kneeled beside her, chafed her bands, and used her vinaigrette, until she showed Signs of returning animation. Consciousness slowly returned, and Amy sat up and recalled what had reduced her to this condition. All ■womarflfr, P e of llcr nature, the reserve of her <CT^ward cahrT in re(luisition, to bear with fallen upon her, Ind to clnTelfk^ eff° possible, even from the friend of her life° When she again spoke, Mrs. InLon was sur- prised at the even and quiet tones of her voice W;'TeU,mf;he^rtlCUlfr?0fthis sudden marriage? Where did Harold meet his wife? Let me hear all that I am interested m knowing, and then let us nut aside this subject for ever. You see that I was right Madge, to consider myself only in the light of a friend to your brother. As such I will prove myself now. He is not to blame in this, for I freed him from all ties to me before he left his native land. Read his letter to me, if you please. I wish to hear what he says of his bride," Mrs. Anderson kissed her tenderly. •nf ^,de,ar' ,aIways said that vou are of the material •ca^ l l-i10r0in(:S ,are made- Read for yourelf. I 'CienH t "m ^nation an<l disappointment suffi- ciently to read his verbiage aloud." :Sen,1!SiU"ni5ham1 to°k tlie tetter, though its touch effort si Tit r°\,&i he.r. frame. Making a great linP steadied her vision sufficiently to read the fact r.f111VY1 lro^ Danvers communicated the •of th? „ vnamage in Paris the twentieth •of llif3 mg rTth' t0 a 3'°'mg Italian lady the r!c accomplishments, who was also made hersolf wS°r. a lar £ e fortune secured to not be ^JLeXP[eSfd -tlie ll?PG that llis family would Mdlie Serar.iv S union with a foreigner, for had sent ov^6 ^aS t0° c^a?ming to be resisted. He her skill as J a !?-OX c°ntaining several specimens of and sister would b^pl^ed^1"011 h<3 hoped his father from a SstoJ"14? account of the marriage, fascination, ImyS'th^ a painful of thus e announcement, which ran "Married in Paris, on the 20th of October, Harold Danvers, attache to the English embassy, to Adelina Seraphine, only child and heiress of General Guiseppe Seraphine, Esq., formerly of Genoa, Italy. Below were the comments of the editor: "The distingue Englishman, who has so largely figured in our beau monde for the past two years, has distanced all competitors, and carried off the brilliant prize of the season in Parisian society from the numerous aspirants to her favour. Mdlle. Seraphine is the undisputed mistress of a large inheritance, which comes untrammelled into the possession of her husband. The jewels worn by the fair bride on the auspicious occasion were of extraordinary beauty and value, forming in themselves a magnificent dowry. The reader folded the letter again, and repressed the deep sigh that struggled for utterance, as she thought: Harold has yielded to his old temptation and reck- lessly gambled away his resources. In a moment of desperation he has married this poor girl for her wealth. I know that he loves me alone-will love me to the end of his wasted life. Ah me, my dream has vanished-my hope is dead. I prayed that he might become worthy of the love I gave him in those days when I was little more than a child. Now I am a woman with strength to endure, to conceal the torture that is wringing my soul, and I will conceal it, or die in the effort,. Mrs. Anderson watchedgher as she read, and she marvelled at the still calmness with which the lover's raptures were perused; the white cheek did not flush, the flexible lips did not tremble; and when the letter was tendered back without comment, she said, with some surprise-- Well Amy, have you nothing to say about this mysterious marriage ?" Nothing, except that I sincerely hope that Harold may be happy in his choice. He seems not to have neglected what the world considers the main things in marriage—family and fortune. I trust that his bride brings with her also a dower of sweet womanly affections and gentle temper." He deserves to get the most outrageous virago for his conduct towards all of us. What will my father say ? I own I dread to break this news to him." Permit me, then, to take this duty on myself. Your father will listen to my arguments in favour of his son's sudden choice, sooner, perhaps, than to yours. When Mr. Danvers sees that I consider it well that Harold has married, he will soon begin to think with complacency of his new daughter, endowed as she is with accomplishments and fortune. Leave to me the task of breaking the tidings to him." My poor Amy, it will be too much for you. I should be selfish, indeed, to suffer you to go through such an ordeal. I must carry the letters to my father myself, and do the best I can towards excusing my inconsiderate brother." You will do no such tiling," replied Amy, gently but decisively. Suffer and grow strong,' says the poet of the heart. I have done that, Madge. Nay, do not shake your head, and look incredulous, because the suddenness of the news overcame me just now. I assure you, my dear friend, that I gave Harold up as a lover, from the hour of our last parting. I have not ceased to love him, but the feeling I have now for him is far different from the girlish passion which I once cherished for him. There was a time when I would have given him my hand in defiance of the opposition of every friend I have; but now, I am older, I have seen more of life, I understand my own nature better, and I could never promise to love and honour a man who is an infatuated gambler. Nay—hear me out, and then let this subject be for ever tabooed between us. But once can I bear to allude to it, and I do it now, that it may hereafter be at rest. I now know that I have unconsciously cherished the hope that Harold would reform his habits, but this precipitate marriage convinces me that, after desperate losses, he has bartered his free- dom for the means of extricating himself from some terrible embarrassment. Now I am afraid he will never rescue himself from the terrible infatuation that at times possesses him. Harold was fully aware that the knowledge on my part that he has broken his pledges to me, would prove as effectual a barrier to our union as the existence of his wife. Our compact was that he was to return rescued from his vice, or never seek me as a lover again." Oh, Amy, how can you speak so calmly, when I know your heart is bleeding cruelly from this blow ? Your pride is too great—seek the sympathy you need, lest it break in its lonely struggles." Amy laid her cold hand impressively upon that of the speaker. No earthly comforter can avail now, Madge. I must seek help where the weary and sorrow-stricken are told to apply Come unto me, all ye that are heavy laden.' I carry my burden there, and if Heaven cannot help me, I need look for aid from no earthly comforter." You are right, as you always are," said Mrs. Anderson, in a subdued voice. Oh, Amy, may this wayward brother of mine never have bitter cause to contrast your upright, noble character, with that of this artful Italian woman, who has evidently en- trapped him into a marriage with her." Hush—hush—do not speak so harshly of one you know so little of. The pride of Harold is too great to permit him to be won by an inferior woman. When your new sister becomes known to you, no doubt she will win her way to your affections, as she has done to those of Harold." Mrs. Anderson would have protested against this possibility, but Miss Cunningham took from her hand the letter addressed to Mr. Danvers, and left the room. The task she had undertaken was a painful one, for she had long been considered by the old gentleman in the light of a cherished daughter, and he looked for- ward with certainty to her future union with his son. Amy Cunningham was an orphan ward of Mr. Danvers, and from early girlhood she had resided beneath his roof. She possessed an independence, but was not sufficiently wealthy to tempt a fortune hunter to seek her for her worldly endowments. At the age of ten years, she was left without any nearer tie than that of a cousin, who had been married but a short time to a man many years her senior. Mrs. Chard gladly took the fatherless child under her pro- tection, and her husband was contented to receive the young girl beneath his roof as a permanent inmate. All that a tender and considerate elder sister could do for her young charge, was performed by the lovely woman who undertook the duty, and until she was sixteen Amy was as happy as a bird beneath her fostering care. To Mrs. Chard she owed her fine perception of right, her truthfulness of nature, and, above all, her firm Christian faith and, with tender reverence she cherished the memory of the angel in heaven, whose teachings had formed her character. This labour of love was scarcely completed, when Mrs. Chard was called away from her earthly sphere. She left a child of seven summers, and towards her Amy assumed the duties vacated by her mother's untimely death. The little Rose was never permitted to feel the loss she had sustained, and in a short time the child clung to her young cousin as fondly as she had lately done to her mother. General Chard wished to console himself for the loss of his wife by a tour on the Continent, and he gladly accepted the offer of his half-brother, Mr. Danvers, to receive Amy and her young charge under his roof, till the former should make a suitable mar- riage. Miss Cunningham had been a schoolmate of Madge Danvers, and it was the influence of the latter which induced Mr. Danvers to make the pro- posal, which was at once gladly accepted. At the time of her removal to Mr. Danvers' house, Amy Cunningham was in her seventeenth year. Harold Danvers was six years older than his sister, and his absence at college had prevented him from having any familiar acquaintance with her most intimate friend. He had occasionally seen Amy as a child, and thought of her only as a shy, demure little miss, who was utterly undeserving of the notice of a young gentleman who had graduated at Oxford with Mat. After a lengthened tour, he was surprised on his return home to find a lovely and accomplished young lady installed in his father's house as a permanent inmate. At first Harold neglected her, but soon some inex- plicable charm, which he could not analyse, attracted him to her side, though he made manifest efforts to escape from the fascination. In a few months he became passionately enamoured of her, and in a fitful, morbid manner sought to win her love. Sometimes for weeks he would seclude himself from the family circle, appearing to be in a most depressed and miserable state of mind; then he would suddenly emerge from his fits of despondency, and show himself the brilliant, sparkling Harold of an earlier day. His family beheld his alternate fits of sadness and mirth with apprehension, and fondly sought to discover their origin. Nothing occurred to them so probable as his newly-developed passion for Amy, and they watched with deep solicitude for some token that he was beloved by her. The human heart is a strange riddle, and this young and charming girl, who already had several adorers, turned from the siren tones of flattery to the moody and melancholy man, who seemed afraid to betray to her how much he loved her. At length, in a moment of irrepressible emotion, he avowed his devotion to her, but protested that he was unworthy of a return to his passion. Amy interpreted this as merely the high-flown language of romance, and, in her deep heart, thought him worthy of the gift of any woman's affection. Hers was given to him without a doubt of her future happi- ness under his guardianship, and the pair were be- trothed. Mr. Danvers was delighted, and urged the comple- tion of the marriage as soon as possible; but, to the amazement of his friends, Harold shrank back, declar- ing that Miss Cunningham was too young to entrap into a marriage with the son of her guardian. The world would condemn both himself and his family, if he hurried a girl of 17 into a union with himself, be- fore she had seen enough of society to compare him with others who might seek her hand. He insisted that no woman should marry under 20, and a tacit understanding might exist between himself and Amy that when she attained that age, free from any other preference, they would be united. Amy gladly acceded to these terms, for she was too young and inexperienced to wish to fetter herself with so sacred a tie, before she had tried her own heart and principles in the fiery furnace of the world and its allurements. The three years sped by on fleet wings; Danvers was as devoted to her as was consistent with their mutual position, but at times his moody jealousy severely tried her forbearance. Through it all she clung to him with that devotion of which only a tender woman's heart is capable, outrage it as man will. The stipulated time at length drew near, and the melancholy of Harold Danvers deepened and darkened until his friends began seriously to fear for his sanity. He was evidently madly in love with his betrothed bride, yet the approach of the period ap- pointed for their union seemed to fill him with anguish. No clue to his inconsistency could be found, and Amy suffered inexpressibly. His reserve did not yield even to her entreaties, and she finally told him that it would probably be better for the hap- piness of both parties if their engagement was broken off. Harold protested against that as the last and crowning evil of his lot; and when his betrothed in- sisted that her freedom should be restored to her until his mind was in a calmer state, he rushed from her presence like a maniac. Without the knowledge of his family, he sought relief from the gnawing restlessness that devoured him in the excitement of gaming. In his moments of deepest despondency he had buried his griefs, of what- ever nature they might be, in the absorbing chances of cards and after this decisive interview with Amy, he seemed possessed by the very demon of reckless- ness. Sleep scarcely visited his pillow, and his vigils with a fast set of hard players at one or other of his clubs were often prolonged till day reddened the horizon. Of course he lost large sums, and the poor girl who had loved and trusted him found her remonstrances as powerless to stem the tide of recklessness as those of the merest stranger. Wretched himself, Danvers seemed careless how much suffering he inflicted on her. This was a season of deep humiliation and bitter grief in the house of which he had been the idol and the pride. At length a pause came in his career of ruin. This was occasioned by a severe brain fever, which brought him to the verge of the grave. As he recovered, all the cruelty of his conduct towards those who so ten- derly loved him, seemed to dawn upon him. He declared his deep penitence, and his resolution never again to be tempted to gamble. His health improved very slowly, and his physician advised a sea voyage. Amy secretly hoped that he would ask her to be the companion of his travels, for he seemed more devoted to her than ever in the early days of their betrothal; but he did not intimate any such desire. He was often restless and unhappy, and while those moods lasted Amy frequently detected him gazing upon her with an expression of mournful tenderness, that filled her mind with vague fears for the future. That lie loved her with all the strength of his fiery nature, she felt assured yet he refused to ask for that hand which he must know would not now be withheld. So the days passed on till that one came in which Harold was to bid adieu for a time to his native land. At the moment of parting, he would have wrung from her a promise to await his return; to permit no other love to come between the hope he had so long cherished, and its ultimate fulfilment; but the pride of Amy was aroused by his previous conduct, and she refused to give any distinct pledge. Harold might trust to her constancy, and if he returned redeemed from his be- setting temptation, and she were free, then he might ask and receive his reward. She insisted that only as friends should they consider each other until it became expedient to resume their old relations. Forced to be satisfied with this, Harold made many protestations of undying devotion, and Amy was left to the dreariness of life without him who had occu- pied so large a space in her world. Lovers came around her, for it was soon whispered that the engagement which had bound her to Danvers was broken; but to them all she turned a cold ear. She withdrew in a measure from society, of which she had been a bright ornament, and gave much of her time and means to the assistance of the wretched and outcast, of whom so many are to be found in every large city. Amy endeavoured to cultivate the graces of forbearance, charity, and long-suffering, that she might become worthy to fill the position of a noble and true woman, even if faith denied to her that which her solitary heart so earnestly desired-a perfect union with the man she had so long and ardently loved. To be perfect, she felt that it must be founded on esteem, and she fondly hoped that her beloved Harold would redeem himself from every re- proach, and return with renewed health and restored spirits to claim the hand that should never be given to another. The pair corresponded. Danvers' letters were those of a lover; and the passionate outpouring of devotion, which he had habitually repressed when near her, was uttered in those precious pages, which were treasured with more care than would have been diamonds from the mines of Golconda. Amy wrote only as a friend, but a subtle spirit of confidence and unwavering de- votion pervaded her letters, delicately and guardedly as they were worded. Young Danvers concluded his tour almost over the world, and then took up a diplomatic appointment at the English Embassy in Paris, procured for him by the influence of General Chard. He had held his post with credit for two years, and had been absent from Eng- land nearly three, at the end of which time he dis- tinctly said he would come home to claim the troth of her who had so long and faithfully awaited his return. Just as happiness seemed almost within her grasp, the cup was dashed from her lips. The tenor of his letters suddenly changed; they became more cautious, less fervid in their oxpressions of attachment; and Amy felt that the old melancholy had laid its hold on him again. Was it the prospect of a return to his native land, a meeting with her that caused this sad relapse ? How bitter was this fear, every human heart that has deeply loved can feel. A month had elapsed since the reception of that letter-days of self-torture, of racking doubt, of anguish almost too great to be borne, for the light of a great hope was crushed out in those hours of lonely struggle. Amy knew that she must give Harold up. Mysterious as was the cause of their separation, the invisible line that divided them she felt to be impass- able. Yet she did not realise that their lives were actually severed till that evening, when the sudden announcement of his marriage with another had struck her senseless. During these years of secretly cherished affection, Amy had permitted no one to read her heart; she spoke of Harold as a dear friend, resolute that if slighted and betrayed at last, no eye but that of her Creator should know the sad secret of her broken hopes and wasted love. It seemed as if some sad. intuition warned her that only by acting thus could her pride be saved when the hour of desertion came In the midst of her sufferings there was still some consolation in the thought that she was saved from the pity of her friends and the sneers of her enemies, over that forlorn and wretched thing, a human heart whose altar fires are quenched-a human heart that has analysed its dethroned idol, and finds not only the feet of clay, but the whole form destitute of the divine spark with which to light the pure flame that warms, yet consumes not. And now Amy Cunningham was alone in her deso- lation. Oh, weary heart that will not stop its beating." If such had been the first rebellious thought, it was stifled before the still small voice which made itself heard amid the greatest tumult of outraged feeling, Not for thy own happiness alone was that immortal spirit breathed into thee, but to do the will of thy Master;" and the stately head was bowed in humility before the chastening hand laid upon her. CHAPTER II. TRUE HEROISM. AMY CUNNINGHAM walked like one in a feverish dream toward the apartment occupied by Mr. Danvers. To accomplish the task she had undertaken without be- traying the depth of her own suffering was her fixed resolve. The indomitable pride of her nature would not permit her to spare herself a single pang, lest those around her might have a glimpse into her sealed heart. She felt that she could sustain herself if the respect of others was still left to her. Pity is akin to scorn, and she would have none of it; sympathy could never have sounded the measureless depths of desolation into which she had fallen, therefore she asked it not. Hers was not a sentimental sorrow, but a heart anguish which time alone could soften. A light tap upon the library door was answered by a cheerful voice which bade her enter. She quietly unclosed it, and stood within a lofty apartment, the walls of which were lined with bookcases, filled with a choice selection of miscellaneous works, for their owner was not a student, but a seeker after the honey hived by the labours of others. A man of fine taste and poetic refinement of mind, his books, even in youth, had been his most cherished friends and now the greater portion of his days were spent in their companionship. A deeply bayed window looked out upon a minia- ture lawn, shaded by groups of ornamental trees, and through the amber-coloured glass that filled it a flood of yellow light poured into the room. A venerable figure, with white flowing beard and silvery hair, sat in this recess, looking more like some ancient saint trans- figured, and surrounded by a halo, than a mortal man of our day. Mr. Danvers was nearly 70; his slender figure drooped slightly forward, and the thin white hands clasped in meditation over his book, reminded his visitor of the pictures of saints and martyrs she had seen. His faded lips relaxed in a smile, and his calm blue eyes lighted up with pleasure as Amy appeared. So, the fashionable folk have all gone home, and my darling Amy has not forgotten me in my loneli- ness. Come, sit close beside me, and give me the daily bulletin. Did Mrs. Lamode rival Miss Peacock in her display to-day ? And did Mrs. Grundy approve of what was done for her gratification ? Eh, my dear ? You look tired." I believe I must confess to a little weariness. Who would not be tired after occupying three mortal hours in receiving people, the majority of whom would scarcely do more than utter a well-bred ex- clamation of horror if they heard one had been devoured by a Feejee islander. Oh dear this ever- lasting round is wearisome to my spirits. The summer, with its freedom, is gone; and here we are for the season chained to the fashionable galley! Don't abuse the town, Amy, because you are tired with your day's work. People grow rusty in the country. The mind loses its brightness, unless it is brought in contact with other minds. Grass, flowers, and purling streams are well enough in the season for them but in cold weather give me my snuggery here, with the gossip of the day furnished by you and Madge, the visits of a few friends I really prize, and my dear old books, with a sprinkling of new ones that have the true stamp upon them. Come, sit down, child, and tell me of your dear five hundred friends' who came to see if you are in your usual good looks if the parlours have been newly furnished for the winter's campaign; if Madge has taken off her widow's weeds, and is ready for fresh conquests. You see I have not forgotten the ways of the world, in which I once played my part with as much zest as the best among you." Amy forced a smile in response to his cheerfulness, and went on to give him a humorous description of the reception, which evidently afforded him much enjoyment. When she paused, he heartily said- "Really, my dear, you are an inimitable word- painter. As Shakespeare says, you can hold the mirror up to nature,' and you do it well, for you never caricature. You are too high-toned for that, my dainty Amy. I wonder if all those people forbear toward you as you do toward them. Charity hideth a multitude of sins, and you wear its broadest mantle, my love." Thank, you, sir; I only endeavour to obey the rule that was early impressed upon me as the only true one to guide our conduct towards others Do as you would be done by.' But I have reserved the best thing for the last. We have received great news -news you never could guess." (To be oontinned.)