THE EXAMINER.

310 eae es eee Acar Ay camnr c me thither. I then proceeded to lay before hima full buttoned up his great-coat to OF. LR ] y 3 de y y a3 3 2 statement concerning myself, and the cause of my par-/on his warm gloves; ‘for her I would, EE ‘ticipation in the business. He was at first disposed to/a great deal more.’

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ibe angry ; but my own frankness, and perhaps an old acquaintance with my inmate of his youth, disarmed him, jand my explanation ended by shaking me good-na- jturedly by the hand.

| ‘Kgad,I[ believe I have been in greater fault of the two, young gentleman, in this affair,’ he said ; ‘for [ un- dertook my part with my eyes open ; and a troublesome and an awkward part it must e’en prove, at the best. But,’ he added, in a changed tone, ‘ with all its trouble and awkwardness, | would not have declined it fora thousand pounds; poor little thing; no, no, this was a matter of life or death ; the poor child reposed confidence in me, and trusted me with the secret of her situation, under the seal of silence. I could not honourably di- vulge it; nor could I, with one particle of common hu- manity ; refuse my aid, her life was in the balance; she would have had none to attend her but me, and without proper assistance must have died ; to have declined that aid, through any consideration of consequences affecting myself, would have been the act of a respectable scoun- drel; it would have been to perpetrate a prudential

SHAKSPEARE’S VIOLETS.

“ Like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets Stealing and giving odour.”

Sweets Violets—the morning bids Ye ope your silken eyes, And shake the moisture from your lids, That thus as sparkling lies As star of dew On heaven’s blue, Or atom of the skies !—

Unclose those velvet lids, and see, Who comes by Avon’s stream; The light of whose divinity Would break an angel’s dream! Tis Shakspeare dips Your purple lips, In inspiration’s beam!

murder,’ Oh! gifted flowers, oh! glorious hues,— As he spoke, there came a hurried knocking at the The golden morning saith— hall-door.

‘This must be Captain Jennings, I said.

‘Umph! he must not go up suddenly : they must pre- pare her for the meeting,’ said he; and opening the chamber door, he said to the attendant—

‘Show Captain Jennings, ifthis be he, into this cham- ber ; and as soon as you think the lady sufficient recover- ed to see him, you can tell him so”

W ith this direction, he re-entered the room, and walk- ed up and down once or twice, with rather an inauspi- cious expression of countenance while he awaited the appearance of the new visitor; he had not long to wait ; the door opened, and Captain Jennings, muffled ina cloak, entered the comfortless apartment.

Doctor Robertson received him with a stiff nod. Af- tera few brief inquiries, rather drily answered, the physician said, in reply to a significant glance which Jennings had directed towards me—

‘You need have no apprehension on account of his presence. Captain Jennings, whatever you have to say to me, may be said before him; he already knows all that is of moment in this affair, and his honour may be relied on.’

‘Honour? repeated Jennings ; ‘so then he’s a gentle- man, as [ suspected.’

‘Permit me, Captain Jennings,’ said Doctor Robert- son, ‘to recommend to you, what I conceived honour and common sense alike indicate, as the proper course to be pursued in this painful affair. I have not had un- til this moment, it is true, an opportunity of so much as even speaking to you upon this sugject, and do not know, even if I had, that [ was at liberty to introduce it. I can have now, however, no scruple in fully telling you my mind; and I must say, that the extreme imprudence into which you have led an inexperienced and fondly- attached girl, threatens seriously to compromise her, not only with her own relatives but in the eyes of the world. You have placed her in a situation calculated, unless it be at once explained, to prejudice her reputation fatally ; and Iam bound to say, as an old friend of the family, that unless you come forward frankly, and put Sir Arthur in possessign of the real state of facts, I shal] feel it my duty to do so myself.’

‘There is no need of any disclosure—at least imme- diately, said the young man, hurriedly. + Everything is arranged. No one but her old attendant has access to ‘her chamber at home, and Sir Arthur and young Chad- tl ‘leigh don’t see her once in five weeks, They don’t door ; for some of his half-tipsy guests were beginning suspect anything, and need not. Is it notclear that an to call for him, and, as it seemed, were about making explosion—a scene—just now, would be about the worst an exploratory excursion from the drawing-room. M ut-! thing in the world for her” tering a broken curse upon them all, he opened the door, ‘Very true, said Doctor Robertson, drily; and [ heard him, as I walked down the stone steps, res-'true; but if there be an explosion, pond in tones of affected gaiety to their clamorous chal. Jenge. With the rapid pace, which indicates an excit- ed mind, I retraced my steps; the bells w and the watchman drowsily calling four approached the scene of my strange advent

‘Thank God, at all events,’ I fervently murmured—| ‘And w ‘thank God, the poor creature is not disgraced and ruin-| which par ed; a strange perplexing, and, I fear, a most im affiir it unquestionably is; but after all, what cape !—how much to be thankful for!”

{ had now reached my destination, and was admitted. The young lady, I was told, was doing well; so I de- livered my message, and took my place inthe before, resolved to await the de bertson, who was still up stairs, my intention, the foolish accide

Oh! magic of the poet’s muse That triumphs over death, And keeps the mind Of all mankind Still listening to his breath!

The altars of great Jove are gone So earthly idols bend :— The pyramids shall one by one Beneath the sands descend ;— But ye, sweet flowers, Shall wreathe the hours Of man—till Nature end!

Wake, violets, ye virgin throng ! Awake, renown to claim ;— New married to immortal song New linked to Shakspeare’s fame ; The world shall bless That loveliness, Which shrines so dear a name!

CHARLES SWAIN.

THE FATAL BRIDE.

EEING A CONTRIBUTION FROM THE REMINISCENCES OF A BACHELOR,

{Founded on an event which actually occurred.) (Continued.)

While those emotions agitated me, Captain Jennin continued lost in thought, and at last he said :—

‘Ay, itis better to write; and tearing off the outer leaf of the note which lay before him, he traced a line or two with his pencil, but checking himself, again paus- ed, crumpled the note he had just commenced, and that he had received, together, applied them to the candle and dropped them blazing into the grate.

‘Say that [ will be with her as soon as I can get away,’ said he ,* but where is the house— she ? he added suddenly.

I described by the land-marks with which he was ac- quaited, exactly the spot where the poor young lady was to be found.

‘Then, just say as I told vou, that I will be there without one mome1ts avoidable delay.’

Thus speaking, he hastily led the way to the hall-

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possibly where is

— 28 il

‘all very there is no need it ‘should reach her ears. No, no, sir. Believe me, the only honourable course now open before you, is that of ere chiming, | promptitude and candour. Yon ought, without the delay o'clock, as I of an hour, to acquaint Sir Arthur with the fact of your ure. i marriage.

7 2 A |. 68 ow

with alook The expres-

ho the devil——’ began Jennings, took at once of rage and terror, prudent sion remained fixed for a time, but the sentence died an es- away unfinished ; and muttering some incoherent words he walked, with a sort of half-agitated, half defiant air, |twice across the floor, and stopping at an empty fireplace planted his foot upon the bar, and stood looking vacant] parlour as into the inhospitable grate, with an aspect as black an pirture of Doctor Ro- cheerless as its own.

and to explain, as was| ¢ Well, sir,’ said Doctor Robertson, som ident which had involved |* you will, of course, act as you think proper ; but I again me in the affair ; acquaint him with my name and ad- advise you to be the first to open this affair to Sir Ar- } dress, and assure him of my secr: cy. ; | thur; for, as I have already toid you, he shall otherwise Thad not waited very long, when [ heard him, with learn it all from mysel, [have avery strone opinion

creaking steps, slowly descending the stairs, issuing, as| about it.’ : ’ he did, some parting directions to the woman who at-| « Of course, of course,’ said jennings, petulantly ; and tended him with the candle. continued, in a haughtier tone, perhaps intended to show *Tsha!l look in in the evening, after dark,’ he said ;| Doctor Robertson that his further pursuing the subject ‘everything promises f.i-ly,—so that will do; I'll make| would be considered impertinent— By the way, sir, | my own way out; never mind—good morning.’ ought to have thanked you before this for your able

As the worthy man uttered these gruff civilities, professional assistance.’

sented myself at the foot of the stai ‘Sir, I intended no obli word with him in the interest is naturally strong] be brief, and with a pr lady’s account, replied D

’

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ewhat sternly,

I pre- rs, and requested a parlour. Merely directing me to odigious yawn, he accompanied

gation whatever to you. My y engaged on the poor young octor Robertson, gruffly, as he

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his chin, an

and then drey, if need Were, do

He turned, stiffly and grimly, from the young

shook me again by the hand and took his departure

At the same moment, in obedience to an intimatj from the attendant, Captain Jennings proceeded y the stairs, to the chamber where the young lady lay. ™ he followed the matron up stairs, the wailing of a a born baby reached his ears, This feeble and plaintive appeal to his paternal sympathies, was probably far fro ; welcome ; for he looked as if, but for very shame he would have cursed the helpless little creature ; and ne he stood at the chamber-door. Perhaps some touch of better feelings moved him, for his look grew sadder ani softened. He entered. Faint, and with eyes half-clos. ed, the fair young mother—her sore trial Over—Iay jy the hushed and darkened room. Weak and exhausted as she was, a faint cry of joy broke from her Pale lips and such a look of ecstasy welcomed his appearance, as must have moved a heart of stone, :

‘Oh! Richard, Richard—oh! Richard, was all the poor creature could say as he stooped over the bed and kissed her, with at least a show of fondness; while her feeble arm was clasped round his neck with an agony of delight, as if she had never hoped to have seen him again.

‘Oh! Richard— Richard, darling !—it is you—dar- ling, it is you!’

She clung to him, sobbing, and smiling, and softly repeated words of endearment, till gently disengaging himself, he kissed her again, clasped her hand in his, and pressed it, and wrung it fondly, as he saf by the bed-side. Thus silently testifying his affection, he leaned back, so that the curtain interposed between his face and hers. ‘T'wo or three bitter tears started down his cheeks, and such a look of unutterable anguish darkened his countenance, as might have shadowed the eternal despair of the damned. Thus some minutes passed, while he pressed the feeble hand he held with a feverish grasp.

This interview was prolonged to more than an hour: and at length Jennings, warned by approach of the dawn, took his departure, in sore disorder and dismay—his heart agitated with a tumult of terrible passions and sen- sations, his brain burning with a thousand wild and irreconcilable plans and projects—a thoroughly miser- able man.

Meanwhile, I returned to my lodgings, and had thrown myself into bed, not to awaken to the remembrance of my last night’s strange adventure until late in the day. It is, of course, unnecessary to say, that I felt the inten- sest Curiosity respecting the progress and final denoune- ment of this extraordinary affair. The conclusion was not long suspended.

Jennings had returned to his chamber in Kildare- street ; but repose for him was out of the question. He had spent hours of agonized uncertainty ; but at last his mind was made up, and his resolution taken.

‘I have but one course to take—necessity controls me—I have no choice left, he muttered. ‘ What infer- nal influence could have possessed me !—what accursed witchcraft can have blinded and infatuated me!—Great God! what a serious, what a frightful business it has turned out. Well, I suppose it was my destiny. I won- der ifthe old fellow had any inkling of my real situation when he forbade me his house? Merciful Heaven! if I had but acted then like a man of common sense ; but some accursed delusion was over me, I had got inter- ested and piqued in the pursuit. I did not dream of mischief. I could swear, with my dying breath, I never meant harm, until accident andthe devil—and poor, poor Mary herself—put that accursed piece of madness into my head. Curse my folly! It isa desperate, a frightful situation; but self-preservation is, they say, the first law of nature; and were [ even to sacrifice my- self, I don’t see that she would be essentially the better.’ He consulted his watch, and continued—~* My measures ‘must be taken promptly; that meddling doctor-fellow | will be on the fidgets till he does mischief. [| can’t be ‘too prompt.’ | He rang the bell, directed jto deny him to all visitors, bolted the door, and then, desk, wrote, with painful attention and assiduity, for full itwo hours, without rising. This task completed, he carefully read the manuscript, making various erassures land interpolations, and at last, folded it carefully, sealed it, and placing it in his waistcoat pocket (in those days

the servant peremptorily drew the window-blinds, seating himself before his

|a tolerably capacious receptacle), he buttoned his coat ‘across it, | *Will he do it? he muttered doubtfuily ; ‘we'll see—

'we’ll see. In the first place, he may never be called on to say a word, pro or con; in the second, even if he be, this is as easily said as anything else; and, in the third, we will gild the pill pretty thickly.’

| So saying, he opened a drawer in the desk, and took out a handful of guineas and a bundle of bank notes, the ‘spoils of his last night's successful play. :

‘Let me see what have | got in bank,’ he reflected ; ‘I must leave enough for my part of the business; it would not do to be money-bound just now. Ay, ay, he ‘may have the three hundred. I'think three hundred will be strong enough for him. Poor Mary—poor Mary”

Having counted out, in notes and guineas, the sum he had named, he rolled them up, and stuffed them into his pocket; then muffling his face in a shawl, and put

;

‘