HA8ZARD’S GAZETTE, JULY 7.

‘OTHER LID STEP-IOTKE3. CIAPTII ix.

Sin Enwaeo, observing that his son’s habits bad beootne unsettled, and that his old ursuits now seemed to have lost their interest tor him, became anxious that he should employ the time which was to intervene before his marriage in acquiring a more extensive acquaintance with foreign countries, and thus complete his education before sinking down into the even tenor of a coun- try gentleman's life. Lady Irwin eagerly caught at and seconded the proposal ; she was weary of the mute appeals of Frank's anxious looks, and of the importtinity of her own son. Frank would be employed, interested, and amused; his passion, the fruit of effervescent youth, might cool down, he would see other women ofa very different stamp from the modest country girl to whom he was betrothed, women with glorious eyes, every glance of which must make a man’s blood leap in his veins, and wtio would not disdain to flatter and court the handsome and accomplished heir to an English bsroiietcy, women skilled with spe- cious talk to sap the groundwork of principle, and to beguile their victim into a slough of treache- rous delight, afier which the simple Kitty would have entirely lost her power to charm him. Hail- ing this, there was ambition, there were a thou- sand allurements to bring out the evil of his na- ture aiid render him unfit or unwilling to fulfil his engagement. At all events, it was delay—-at all events, it was separation; it would be strange, she thought, if in ayear or eighteen months, souie occasion of mistrust did not arise which she could foster into lasting estrangemetit.

The idea of travel was not without attractions to Frank. The irritation excited by his passion, and by the obstacles thrown in his way had given him a distaste for his old studies, the vapid life of the fashionable world in London was wearisome to him ; bodily activity would, he thought, coun- teract his nervous restlessness of mind and allay the feverish excitement under which he laboured. True, he most part from Kitty, but he hoped that his mother might soften to her, when he was away, and that when he returned, she would be his own for ever. Now, the dark shadow of his stepmother seemed to come between them, even when they were alone, so powerfully was each impressed by the consciousness of her unavowed purpose, though even to each other they hardly ventured to breathe the fear, lest, by utterring it, they should give it substance.

For one long happy wrck before he went abroad, Frank stayed alone at Swallowfield—for one week of glorious sunshine his feet brushed the dew from the grass as he came across the field to the Parsonage-—for one week of soft summer weather the leaves of the old elm outside the garden-gate whispered over his nightly farewell, and then he went with smiles on his lips, though with tears in his eyes, to be away until another spring and suiuiiier were past, and until the leaves ofthet other sumtner were yellow with decay.

Catherine composed herself to wait, and de- voted herself with increased earnestness to her various occupations. But though she conscien- tiously employed her time and indulged in no vain repinings, she could not restrain a feeling ofjoy when a day was past, at the thougt, that the term of their separation was liy so mticli shortened. Her prayers seemed always to bring her near to him. and she had his letters. long, frequent, and int-xprcssibly deliglitful, for the evidence they bore of a heart turning over truly to her. Once in the winter there was an interval of sail anxiety-—a long three \\'L’t)h6, and no letter; then, at last, a short note, nrilten front a sick l)L'(l, Iiut in good spirits. and in the near hope of approaching res- toration to liealtli.

Sir Edward and Lzsdy Irwin remained iii town until the end of the summer, and when they did returti their attention was occupied by a succes- ccssion ofvisitors. Edward was gone to Rugby, so Catharine was left with little interruption to the enjoyment of her own thoughts, and to her ordinary occupations.

“ You don’t nieati to say, Ilelen, that that quiet little thing is F'rank’s fiancee!” said Mrs. Wil- ton Brook, Sir Edward’s fashionnble sister, now a well-preserved matron, who, with two full- blown daughters, was on a visit to Iier brother. " What a sacrifice! A man of his expectatiotis, such a handsome fellow, too—why he might have married any one"’

" He is going to marry according to his choice,” replied Lady Irwin, drily.

“ Oh that’s well enough for an old man with a broken constitution, a country curate, or some- thing of that sort—but in Frank’s position, with such opportunities, it’s inexcusable. Really, a

that Frank did not look about him a little before be tied bitnselfdown," said Lady Irwin. “Us- therine Birkby is just the sort of barley-sugar sweetheart that a boy fancies himsclf in love with. I would have saved im if I could: but he must buy his experience, like the rest of ua.’,

“ His father ought not to have given his con- sent. I wonder you did notetop it, before it came to a declartion, elcn.”

" How could I apprehend the danger? She has been backwards and forwards at the house ever since I married. I never dreeint of anything more than brotherly regard. However. it is no affair of mine: when Edward grows up, I shall do my best to avoid such a catastrophe.”

“ Edward will make a handsome fellow, Helen. He will make many a heart ache. He will beat Frank out-aiid-out—he has so much more of the devil in him. I am heartily glad my girls have a dozen years the start of him.”

“ Edward's good looks will not avail him much. A younger son has little chance of distinguishing himselfiii this age of gain and calculation.”

Mrs. Brook replied by extolling Edward’s talents and ecquirernents. Lady Irwin, pleased to fiear his praises even from one whose judgment she despised, incited her to further commendation by affecting to speak slightingly of him. rs.

rock was essentially a worldy-wise woman, though of a low order of mind, and debased by perpetual striving after petty ends. She was not without a certain acuteness, which enabled her to discover the assailable points of those characters the dignity and strength of which she could not appreciate. She was an adroit and unscrupu- lous flatterer; and Lady Irwin, because she saw through and despised her, thought she could lis- ten uninjured to her well-bred toadyism. She never perceived how lowering to the moral feel- ings intercourse with persons of Mrs. Wilton Brook’: class must always be-liow it helped to maintain in her an extraordinary opinion of her otvn endowments, and kept her in suicidal igno- rance of her true moral state.

Catherine, meanwhile, grew daily more and more conscious of the dislike with which Lady Irwin regarded her, and she consequently became more silent and depressed in that lady's presence. It was a great relief when Edyvard came home from school, full of his new experieiice, overflow- ing with anecdotes of masters and companions, lavish of caresses to his mother, and imperiously affectionate to Kitty. The jealousy which had at one time characterized his love to her bad now quite passed away; she was no longer the princi- pal object ofhis thoughts, and he began to have a perception, that charming as she was, she might be more desirable as a sister than as a wife. And now Frank was away, Kitty could altvays listen to his stories; she was never too much engaged to walk or ride with him; she was a better listener than ever, and soon knew the distinctive characters of Brown,Sinclair,and Tomlins, Edward’s particu- lar friends, and could talk about them as if she were familiarly acquainted with them herself; while the arguments she employed to mollify his indignation against “ that biilIy” Houseman, and to qualify his contempt for “ Uncle” Bobbins, the pawnbroker’s son, only gave additional gusto to the conversation by supplying the spice of a little contradiction. .

Catherine’s altered looks had struck Edward on his first arrival, and it was not long before he discovered that her spirits had lost much of their elasticity, and that in his inother’s company she \\ as always depressed and nervous. Witli unusual ,self-command, he kept his thoughts to himself,

land carried on his observations in silence tor

several days, when he had ascertained that a coldness and distance in his mother's manner aggravated, if it did not cause this suffering, be resolved at once to appeal to her better nature, and to plead with her for worthier treatment of his brother’s aflianced wife. Accordingly, he entered her dressing-room one morning. and fling- ing himself on the rug at her feet, laid_ his head in her lap—an old childish habit of his, which she loved-—and stroking her hand, caressingly,

said,

“ What a charming Christmas party we Iiave, mother! Iwish Frank were ere."

" Frank is much better where he is,” Lady Irwin. ,

‘* Of course, it’s very nice to be at Rome; and if l\'itty were with him,l don’t suppose he would be in any hurry to get back. ut as it is ”

replied

“Don’t distress yourself, Edward; Frankls love will never break his slumber_s, or.apoil his appetite. Catherine did not give him much trouble, you know.

" No,Idon’tlrnow what you mean by that,

man owes something to his family. No one cares less for money than do, but rank, fashion, beaut , or something, surely he should require.”

"lfour brother and your nephews consider Cetherine Birkby beautiful, I believe?"

“ Beautiful! What! A girl who has no idea of setting herself off—no air—no manner! Her e or are certainly not bad. if she had the least i ea how to use them ; and, [dare say, something might be made of her hair, it looks soft, and it certainly is a pretty colour, just the brun-dors which was all the rage last year. Clementine has it almost—her's is a triflstoo light, but, when prozrly brushed and oiled It lies very much the she , assure you. Really, Ilslsn. you should give the poor child a hint or two—lt is In It time something should be done to civilians her.’

“ I confess [cannot avoid feeling sortie regret

mother. IfKitty loved him with all her heart, as it was 'net and natural she should, would you have bad or tell a lie, and say she didn’t care for him!"

“ I do not blame her. I say nothing. Your brotlier’s honour is engaged. only say that he does not appear to suffer much from home- sickness.

“ I don’t think you can tell that, unless you were to see the letters he _wrttes to Kitty course he doesn’t let out his fselin s to you, or my father; but if he is so he py in ome, which I don't believe, you can lie _ly say the same of her. 0 mother, I do so wish We would take pity on her, and comfort her with a few kind

words. She will have finite lost her pretty looks before Frank comes bec .”

“ You are very much mistaeen, Edward, if you think that Catherine's happiness depends at ill on me ; and as to her fretting, I do not believe she has sufficient depth of feeling to fret for more than half a day about anything or any one. Agnsse tells me, that on the very day of Frank's departure, she went and took tea with that stupid paralytic old woman who lives at Hopwood.”

“Is thatthe only bit of scandal Agnese has been able to pick up! She’d be much better employed in putting bows into your caps, instead of poking her ugly face into all tbeflpoor peopls's cottages, and prying into the a sire of her betters. What comfort Kitty could have found in going to see that cross old woman, I can't pretend to say. Poor child, what a sorrowful heart she must have had coming all down Hop- wood Lane in the gleaming, with 00 Fflhlt l0 meet her! tell you mother, I can see the trouble in her eyes; and take my word for it, three nights out of the seven her pillow is not dry when she goes to sleep."

" What an extraordinary infatuation it is that you labour under about such a matter-of-fact person as Kitty. Ifshe does look pale sometimes. it can be no wonder, when Mr. Birkby eeps her so many hours reading to him. You should appeal to him,not to me. Catherine's feelings are never likely to injure her health.”

"Oh, my dear mother, if you did but know her! ”—cricd Edward rising on his knees in his eagerness, and looking with earnest entreaty into his mother's face—" if you would but open your heart to her! It would make you so much happier.”

“ My happiness is beyond her reach, either to diminish or increase," replied Lady Irwin, haughtily. It cut her to the heart to hear her boy pleading for the tender girl whom she hated.

" Only look at her, mother,” pursued Edward, undsonted by her coldness. " Where did you ever see a sweater smile? And as to her hands and feet, they are fifty times smaller and prettier than CIementiiia‘s, that Aunt Fanny is always making such a fuss about. Then for a companion, —w o is always sweet-tempered, always at leisure. like Kitty? I'm stire you have reason to thank her, mother; I don’t know what I should have been, if she hadn’t taken so much trouble with me. I never heard any one teach a fellow his duty to his neighbour, as Kitty does ; and it’s all the better. because she does not seem to be teaching at all. Oh, mother! you do not know what you do, when you shut her from your heart. She would be a dear dauglitef to you.”

“I had a daughter once,” returned Lady Irwin, bitterly, “who might have been, what it seems my son will never be.”

“ Do not be angry, mother. Ilove you—yoo know I love you dearly ; but, as Kitty says, love opens and does not narrow the heart.”

“ That is just the sort of speech I should have expected her to make—just the idea I should suppose her to entertain. Those who are in- capable of profound passion generally seek to hide the sliallowness of their feelings by high sounding theories of catholic affection."

“ I wanted to persuade you mother,—l wanted to entreat you; but it seems I only make you stronger in your own opinion. I am going down to have my lesson, now; perhaps I may not be home to dinner.

Lady Irwin said nothing. Edward lingered at the door, probably in expectation of a conciliatory word or look; then, with a heavy heart, he turned on his heel, and went his way.

Ai\'Gr.isc nx1'n.ior.oiivArtv.—In the Is-[ lands, where there are no streams suitable‘ to the angler, the natives ofonc of tliern—l those of Pnxo—prnctise an tit-rial kind of‘ angling, not indeed for fish, but for birds. Sitting on the edge ofn lofty cliff, with all the appliances of the art—rod, line, and baited hook—a natural fly the bnit—t|iey make their casts, and effect the capture of many a deluded swallow. In the V\"est Indies, there is a more exciting kind prac- tised; in Barbadees, for the shark; and at Trinidad, in the GnlfofPnria, for the whale. Both these are fierce struggles; the one carried on, the performer standing on a rock or cliff wnslied by deep water, the other in boats. Neither oftliese kinds of sport have I myself witnessed, but I have heard accounts of them from those who engaged in them, narrated with an annua- tion strongly betokening the zest with which they were foIlowed.—Davy’s ./iiigler and his Friend.

A Pedagogue told one ofhis scholars, a son of the Emerald Isle, to spell hostility. “ H-o-r-s-e, horse,” commenced Pat. “Not horse-tility,” said the teacher; “but hos- tility.” “ Shure," replied Pal, “ an’ didn’t

e tell me the other day, not to say lion? ejnpers! it’s tnan thing wid ye one day, an’ another the nixt.”

Aemall lot of very superior superfine

Flour, part of 500 barrels advertised, cargo of William Henry from Montreal, sold yes-

terday for56 shillinge.—H:. Recorder.

nous, swirr.-r Hour.

This sweet and delightful song derives much of its impresaivenese from circum. stances which the usages of New York city have nearly destroyed. How can anybody sing this song, who has just get settled in one dwelling and expects to remove to non. ‘ther in a few months? It is impossible to feel the sentiment of the song in such cir- cumstances. ne must become not only attached to parents, brothers, sisters, &c., in the family, but the surroundings ofthe place, the grass plat, the fences, the shrub. and every feature of the scene must be daguerreotyped u on our heart, before we can experience be full meaning of the word Home.

It is sad to think, that avast proportion of our city population have no home, and have no idea what home is. When they speak of home, they mean the place where, for the present, they sleep and take break- . The dear delights, the sweet kind- riesses given and received, the electrical sympathies, that flow from heart to heart, by which everything in and around the do. mestic fold is sanctified and made beauti- ful nnd Iovely—are unknown by them, unless by a chance they can look back to ti. childhood spent in the bosom of some coun- try dwelling, where the care and pressure ofbusiness and ambitious enterprise found no entrance.

We are losers of the sweetest and holiest of influences by this ceaseless rush of busi- ness anxiety, and this annual change of residence so far from the scene of our daily labor, that Ive can spend only the nights with our household.

What must be the effect upon a man's mind ofa system ofliving which offers him no inducement to plant a flower, or shrub, or tree before his dwelling; or to improve or beautify the premises, because he can- not enjoy the advantage; n system which takes him from his dwelling to his business in the morning before his children are awake, -and which permits him to return not until they have again retired to sleep, and not until he is too weary to exchange a word of pleasant converse with his wife and others ofthe household? There is no home-influence moulding and inellowing in that man’s heart.

And yet, how can any man expect to be, we will not say lirtppily, but even tolerably civilized, who is not daily and habitually baptized with the sweet influence ofn hap- py, united Home? None of us can afford to lose these influences. 'I‘lierc is so much of the savage in us, and in the wear and tear of the great world of selfishnes and bu- siiicss—-thcre is so much that is wholly debasing, that none of us can atfortl to live beyond the Ilonic-influence. Better lire in a cabin of logs or mud, with ottr household

'5‘ ID s-o

,treastiro around us, iiiuking music in our

cars, than slay during sleeping hours in palaces of ivory and gold. “ Bo it ever so liunilile, there‘s no place like IIome.” But utitil we can compass a reform in otir city rnuiiiicr of life, which divorces husbands and wives, and separates fathers and cliildrcii during all the waking, living hours ofex-irteiicc, let us not think of sing- ing, Ilonic, Sweet lIoinc.—-JV. Y. Organ.

Cameras R.lFI.£.\lI‘.‘N rxormo roit THI CR1.‘/IEA.-—TI]c train from Suspension Brid c, which arrived here at it late hour on IV onday night, brought a company of Canadian volunteer riflemen, armed and equipped, bound for the Crimea. They left yesterday morning, via Western Railroad, for Boston, where they will to-day ship on board a packet for Constantinople. The company numbers some sixty members- young, athletic, Iinrdy sons of Canada- who state that “they will not come back until they lick the Russinns!”—.t9lbtmy flrgus, June 6.

EX‘I'IlAORDINAR\’ Ilinrii.-—A poor woman, named Saunders, wife of an Irish labourer, rosidiu in Ellen-street, Cardiff, gave birth to four oliiIdrcn,all irls, on Wednesday morn- ing lost. The little strangers, with their mother, up to Thursday, 8p. m., were all doing well. .

Hnar.'rrs.—An indispensable requisite for business as well as amusement, wliic_li young men spend the greater art of their money in damaging, and ed men the

greater part of their wealth in repairing.