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THE EXAMINER.

101

j your father’s sword,’ he added, and a tear trembled in his eyelid, as his glance fell on the scabbaad—‘ would have been enough to avenge your quarrel—it is, not now. But, Emily, that name must not be sullied by a slander, on which a stain has never fallen from the act of one who’ bore it. Your woman’s heart may—nay must, shrink from this exposure ; but is it—the exhibition of, an artless, innocent affection, to be withheld at the cost of a sullied name? No, no, my dear, dear child,’ said the old man, softening as he proceeded— for your ake, for the sake of truth and honour, this request I must make of you. Urge me not, Emily, to lay it on you as a dying command.’

While her father spoke, a marked change came over Miss St. Aubyn’s face; the deep crimson which before had coloured it gave place to a marble whiteness. As he endeded, she raised her head from the hand which, till now, had supported it, allowing the arm to fall upon the pillow, and, with a strange firmness, said—

‘ Enough, father—your request is granted—your name shali not be stained through my weakness, cost what it

may.’

ge Emily’ said her ‘father, hurriedly, while the hand which held her’s relaxed its grasp, ‘God bless you, my child. I am faint—very, very faint—this painful scene —bring me a glass of water——call’ and, overcome completely, he swooned away before his daughter could raise the draught she had brought him to his lips.

She rang the bell hurriedly, and, alarmed by the vio- lence with which it was pulled, two or three servants hastened to the room, only in time, however, tosee their mistress an orphan. General St. Aubyn was no more,

The scenes of the house of mourning shall not be drawn from their sacred concealment by my pen; nor the sorrows of its lovely and heart-broken inmate need- lessly dilated on. 1 will drop a veil over the six weary months that followed, to let the reader know something | of the previous story of those who have been here intro- duced to his notice.

General St. Aubyn was the only son ofan officer who) had served with distinction in the campaigns of Marlbo-| rough and Prince Eugene. His family, as the name implies, were originally French, and had once ranked amongst the proudest oftheir native land in possessions and instation. His father, who had married an English lady of considerable fortune, was one of the thousands whom the bursting of the South Sea bubble had brought

from affluence to ruin, and died shortly after he himself, |,

at the age of eighteen, entered the profession, in which his gallantry rapidly won for him both honours and re- nown. At the age of thirty he married the mother of| Miss St. Aubyn, who brought him no other dowry save {what the world wisely refrains from setting any value on) beauty, accomplishments, and virtue; and, aftera few years of unclouded happiness, found himself sud- denly bereft of a treasure which that world had nothing to replace. Proud, shy, and sensative, the loss of his idolized wife would have produced fatal effects on his| character, had she not left hima daughter, in whom thenceforth were centered the affections which had clung with such fidelity to her. Emily St. Aubyn was little more than two years old when she lost her mother, and not very long after her father retired from the ser- vice, rich rather in honours than wealth, to watch the! development of the tender flower round which, with the| fond contemplation of the present, twined softening re-| membrances of the past, and serene anticipations of the’ future. He passed a considerable time in France and| Italy, and about four years before the period at which) our tale has its beginning, became the owner of the, cottage already described.

The immediate spot in which the General settled, was! attractive rather from its natural beauty, than from the| socisty of which it could boast. Its seclusion was, how- ever, far from unpleasing to Miss St. Aubyn, who,with a. mind stored with every thing that could adorn her sex; possessed a pride that led her rather to shun than to‘court attention from those moths of society,} who flutter round the light of each new beauty of the hour, and escape the | scorching which is the common doom of their insect bro-| thers, only because nature has formed them of less deli- cate material.—Miss St. Aubyn was worthy of higher homage. It is not wronging her to say, she felt she| was. Of admiration unsought and uncared for, sae had | however no unenvied share. Many and deep were the libations quaffed to that beauty which, least of her many charms, made dire havoc amongst the gentry of the! neighbourhood, and carried its unconscious possegsor| through the entire round of female artifice, from ‘ horrid | prudery’ to ‘impudent flirtation,’ with the mothers, aunts| and daughters, for a circuit of full thirty miles. The) extremes, far from being irreconcilable, showed only the fearful extent of her duplicity, and within a few months, Miss St. Aubyn was hated by all the women, and wor- | shipped by all the men within the dread space alluded to.

Amongst the visitors at the cottage during the first year of her residence in it there was, in truth, but one in whom its mistress felt even a passing interest,nor was the feeling of gratification which her slight intercourse with that one, created anything beyond. With Arthur Craw- ford it was far otherwise. Quiet and unpretending in his demeanour, careless to a fault of applause or obser- vation, the calmness of his exterior hid an under-current of feeling as impetuous as it was deep. A mind naturally refined and comprehensive, fostered by varied and ex- tensive reading, long and enthusiastic observation of nature and art, and still more by deep and frequent com-

heart retained all the warmth and freshness of boyhood. ‘To genius and passion he united a high, unswerving sense of principle; ruling equally over both, and ready, whenever necessary, to assert its own dignity at the sacrifice of either fame or love. Chance brought him fora short time to Miss St. Aubyn’s neighbourhood ; there intercourse was, as that of congenial minds must be, familiar and unrestrained—it was of short duration. He left her—perhaps not without hope—and left with her all he had then to give, the silent homage of a heart

which would have made any sacrifice for the power to)

speak that homage with honour. It could have made none so great as allowing it to remain unspoken.

The following year was an eventful one to Emily. About three miles from the General’s residence was the stately mansion of the Vandeleur family. Its present proprietor was old and childless, morose by nature, and not the less so that the softening influence, which the ties of family exert over the worst dispositisns, had never | come to curb the harsh and dogged inclinations cf his) youth. ‘The wealthiest resident of the district, without one idea above his sordid possessions, the acerbity of his teraper was increased by the thought that he should be succeeded in these possessions by one to whom travel and edubation had, in all probability, given tastes more exalted, and feelings more refined than his own. | Henry Vandeleur, his nephew, on whom the estates of the family were strictly entailed, was indeed, if report spoke truly, the very opposite in character and habits to

his worthless uncle. At the time when the St. Aubyns came to reside in the vicinity of Vandeleur Court, he was absent onthe Continent, where he had been travel-) ling for nearly three years, and about the close of the! second summer of their residence there, he returned) from abroad. Handsome in person, easy, polished, and | courteous in address, fluent in conversation, and skilled | in all the lighter accomplishments of the day, from the, hour of his first meeting with Miss St. Aubyn, she seem-| ed to absord his every thought. Her society he con-, stantly sought. Parity of years--kindred pursuits and| occupations-—these, too, for the greater part, unshared in and unappreciated by most of their mutual acquaintances —and that mystic electricity of the soul which, like the soul itself, defies inquiry into its origin--ere long won him the affections of Miss St. Aubyn. Vendeleur saw quickly into her feelings—he spoke his own, and met with the response he sighed for.

To narrate the details of the period which followed, is not my intention. Suffice it to say, that the income of Mr. Vandeleur not being such as to render an imme- diate marriage prudent or advisable, it was agreed to, defer the union for the long space of three years, at which time he would, under the will of his grandfather, ve entitled to property of some amount, while in all likelihood, from his uncle’s advanced age, he would

the casket of all her thought#and feelings—had he not done the like to her? Erxigeante wife! what could there be for a wife to exact ?—for a husband to conceal? The thoughts passed, with the rapidity of lightning, through her ,mind—not so quickly as that Vandeleur failed to trace them in her ingenuous face. Before she could reply to his words, he added—

‘ But come, my dear girl, you have indeed a right to know every thing from me, for to me you are every thing; yet, | confess, 1 would have kept this secret from you, for, I fear, it will give you pain. Will the motive ex- cuse the crime ?

‘It ought not,’ said Emily, pettishly, but with real tenderness ; ‘ but [ will try toforgive you. You should not rob me of my share in your annoyances,’

How weak a thing is woman when she loves. The proud, intellectual, high-souled Emily St. Aubyn was once again the fond, timorous, trusting girl. Alas! Eve was but the first of her sex that the serpent’s words beguiled!

And wherefore repeat his words? Why state the first treacherous language of a perjured man—the first dark falsehood clung to by a confiding woman? I will not sully with it a page consecrated to better memories.

That interview was, happily «for her, the last which Miss St. Aubyn had with Henry Vandeleur. Happily, I say, for to have met him after were profanation to her unsuspecting innocence.

(To be continued.)

scarcely survive even so long.

During this space of time, the intercou lovers was the most intimate and unrestrained. St. Aubyn’s communications with written, were the simple exponents of her fe dreamed not of concealing her emotions, fo of none that she should blush to reveal. true, he had a right to know them; if she believed he. could be false, she would have spurned him, asa reptile, | from her feet. No woman, whose love is worth possess- ing, will bestow it on a man whom she can doubt.

If the flight of Time be swift, how rapid must it be) when he adds Love’s pinions to his own. Only six, short months remained to the day which was to make Miss St. Aubyn a bride in name—in heart and feeling, she had been so long. One morning Vandeleur called. as usual; there was something of embarrassment, scarcely noticeable however, in his manner, but it did

‘not elude Miss St. Aubyn’s eye. They were alone IN| g.

Emily, for a time, was silent ;)

the shrubbery together. she seemed to expect that Vandeleur would allude to the cause of his apparent uneasiness-~she felt disap- pointed that he did not.

‘Henry,’ said she, at last, ‘ your are labouring under some annoyance: what is it ”

He started slightly, but replied, looking affectionately in her face—

‘Yes, Emily, I am indeed ; I meant to speak of it to you, but—I must leave you for a time.’

‘Leave me,’ said she, a sudden paleness coming over her lovely face—‘ Not, surely, Henry, fora long time.’

‘No, not a long time, Emily—but—’ he paused, and added, as if reproachfully, ‘1 thonght any separation would seem long to you: tome, I know it will?

he insinuation seemed to her unkind. She raised her eyes to his; whatever she saw there, instead of re- plying to his last words, she said, with some emphasis—

‘Henry, the thought of this separation is not the only cause of your embarrasment to-day. The reason of it may be——lI have a right to know it.”

Vandeleur coloured deeply, but, with assumed play- fulness, replied—

‘ My dear inquisitor, that you cannot learn just now. [ must go to London ; my stay will, I hope, be only a few weeks--five or six at the most: my business there is mosturgent. Is notthisenough?? =

‘No, said Miss St. Aubyn firmly, ‘it is not, Henry. There is some mystery about the cause of your going— there should be none to me.’

‘Indeed, said Vandeleur, with asmile. ‘Why what a dreadful erigeante wife you will be.’

‘ Exigeante wife? did she hear him rightly. She had

rse of the Miss) Vandeleur verbal or Serv elings. She) having accidental rshe knew) If he were

WISESELAWY,

Exvecrric Kers.—One day, wishing tochange the water in which the eectric eels were kept, we upset the tub on the deck, and thus threw them out. Having replenished the vessel with fresh water, we requested one of the sailors to put them in it. He proceeded to do so, but no sooner had he touched it with his hand than he received ashock which caused him to drop it ina moment. He attempted it again but with no better success than before. Great was the amazement of his fellows when all tried in turn to put the mysterious fish into the tub. But none succeeded, It was amusing to see their look of wonder at the strange sensations which they had severally experienced. The mate looked on in silence and surprise, and being himself wholly unac- quainted with the properties of the reptiles, he supposed the sailors dropped them more on account of their slip- periness than any other cause, On the strength of this opinion he walked up boldly to the largest one, and, in order to retain his grasp, seized him with great force; but the eel, little relishing such an assault,gave him so se- vere a shock that he“ dropped him like a hot potatoe,” nor could he be prevailed onto make a second trial. At Jength the captain procured a’shovel and put them both in without any further difficulty. The next day I ob- served one of the monkeys drinking from the tub, but

ly put his head down too far, his nose came in contact with one of the eels, by which he re- ceived a shock which made him beat a precipitating re- treat. As soon, however, as he had somewhat recovered from its effects, he returned with vehement wrath de- picted in his interesting countenance. Having mount- ed himself upon the side of the tub, he brought the eel a severe whack on the head with his paw. He imme- diately received another shock, but, being no philoso- pher, he struck the reptile again and again until he came to the conclusion that it was altogether too shock- ing an affair to prosecute, whereupon he retired, garrul- ously giving vent to his intense disgust.— Knickerbocker.

HovusrKxeerine.— You don’t want nothin, my dear lly,’ said the good mother when her only daughter got a husband, and was about to settle in the woods.— ‘you don’t want nothin’ except a dish kettle of the iron ware sort. When your father and I commenced we had but a dish kettle, I used to boil my coffee in it, and pour that in a pitcher; then boil my potatoes in it and

‘put them ina plate, while I stewed my meat in it; and

always after meals, I fed my pigs out of the same kettle. You can do a great deal witha dish kettle, Sally, if you only have a mind to.’

“Tom,” saida girl to her sweetheart, “you have been paying your distresses to me long enough, it is time you were making known your contentions, so as not to keep me m expence any longer.”

When a woman seeks to guide her husband, it should not be like one who breaks a horse to his own purpose —using bit and spur, now checking and now goading his career; but, like the mariner who steers the ship, directs it by a single touch, while none can see the power that rules its motion.

Many A TRUE worp 1n Jest.—A facetious cor- respondent, who is evidently in the first steps of punning, suggests that the Drawings of Mr. George Cruikshank’s “ Bottle” ought to be dedicated to the great Temperance Apostle of Cork. We value our correspondent’s sug- gestion, though we have the poorest opinion of his joke.

A Patate ror Pavrers.—An invention has been lately patented under the title of Pneumatic Palate,which we should imagine is calculated to enable the wearer to live, like the chameleon, omair. In that case, we re- commend the authorities of St. Pancras to supply the

oniner with itself, reached its full maturity, while his

given him her entire heart and soul; unlocked for him

paupers in their workhouse with these palates.--Punch.