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answered Adeliche, I know not what ails them all, for it can hardly be the score of ale-cans that we've emptied. We met here to-night to take a draught of a fresh brewing with our host Wenzel,—that's he in the goatskin jerkin lying across yonder the table,--and l'd been telling them some old tales of the Nibelungen ; but about midnight, as I guess, they all fell asleep, and though I shook them soundly when I heard you call, there was no moving them any more than a full hogshead !--No' returned the traveller, tossing one off a bench on to the ground, and kicking another out of his way, 'they won't wake at present, I'll warrant you ; for they've been driving another nail in their coffins !'

“ Again Adeliche stared at his guest, whom he now observed to be dressed in a more ancient habit than any he had ever yet seen: his face had a singularly ugly and sarcastic expression, whilst a profusion of red hair, and immense pointed ears, like a satyr's, did not greatly improve it. But though Adeliche might have some odd thoughts about the traveller, his frank and good-humoured manner soon gave him confidence, which increased when he drew from his pouch some excellent provisions and wine, and invited Adeliche to sit down and partake with him. It proved a noble feast to our story-teller, who endeavoured to requite it by several of his most in. teresting romances ; at the end of which the stranger said,You tell these tales bravely, though I've heard them before, and methinks you might be better employed; for the song and the bier-kanne do but drive another nail into your coffin! But you speak of the Nibelungen.Land, I promise you thre's some strange things there, that few people wot of.'—So I should guess,' replied Adeliche, since nobody knows where it is; for some tell us it's in Norway, and some say it's in Burgundy.'_ Be it where it may,' rejoined the traveller, • I came thence not an hour past. But you've played the host mightily well to-night, and I've a liking for you; now take this odd thing I brought from the Nibelungen-Land, and, if you use it rightly, 'twill make you tell a better tale than you ever yet heard of.' The stranger again felt in his pouch, and produced a short bent tube of some kind of yellow metal, having large bowl and cover at one end, to which he put. Jighted match, and then passing the Instrument to Adeliche, continued. There, put the silver bit in your mouth, and suck away as you would do with a reed in a Rhenish-cask.”

The simile was so perfectly adapted to Adeliche's understanding, that he soon became acquainted with the strange-looking tube, which seemed to inspire him with a feeling of delicious intoxication ; and for a while he thought himself in Paradise, clothed like a prince, and formed like an angel. Then, as he continued to inhale the fragrance of the burning perfume, he thought that a vast cloud of smoke arose from it, which con. veyed him in his own shape and dress, along with his short companion to the side of a mountain, in a wild forest, which echoed with the deafening noise of ten thousand hammers.-Whilst he was looking round him at the perfect solitude of the spot, and wondering where the workmen were concealed, the traveller said to him, -Well, how like ye the Nibelungen-Land ? this is the Knocking mountain, and yonder,' he continued, pointing up to a terrrific-looking cavity, at a great height, in a very precipitous part of it, yonder is the goat's gateway ; climb up it, and you'll see that which

you won't forget for one while.'— I get up there!' ex. claimed Adeliche,' why there's not room on the rock for a goat to set one foot! and for climbing to it,-1 could as soon mount the steeple of Eisenach outside!'• Try man, try !' returned his companion, 'that perfume of mine has made you stronger than you think for :' and so A deliche set out cautiously and slowly, and at length stood safely before the goat's gateway.

“Upon looking in, he saw a vast cavern lighted by immense lamps of brass, and containing some thousands of persons, shaped and habited like his conductor, all employed in making coffins; some being engaged in cutting them out, and others in joining them, the nail. ing of which produced a tremendous noise, to which the cavern replied with its countless echoes. When he was able to look more stedfastly, he saw that each coffin was marked with some person's name, and that when they were finished they seemed to be sent away through a passage in the earth. He next observed that some of the names were familiar to him ; and he felt a strange sensation of fear, when he read those of Velten Schwill, Karl Kranesnech, and Wenzel Malzmann his host, on coffins that were nearly finished; from which he half began to think that their heavy sleep would never have a wakening. But he also observed that there were other coffins scarcely begun; and on one of these he read the name of Andreas Beyspiel, a hearty old shepherd, renowned throughout Thuringia, for his temperance and piety. His age was not certainly known, but some said he was more than a hundred, yet he looked as youthful as if he were only a quarter of it.

“Whilst Adeliche was making these remarks, one of the most malicious-looking dwarfs in the whole crew, whose work was almost finished, called out to him• Ho ! honest friend ? wilt buy thee a coffin now ? Here is a sound one with thy name upon it,' continued he, slowly showing him the lid, which had, Adeliche Stark,' fairly graven upon it. • Dost know, now that I have been these twenty years making this for thee? and I've often heard thy mother say thou wert driving a nail in thy coffin, when thou wert off to the Bier-schenke.' • And art thou making that black box for me?' said the trembling Adeliche. Aye,' said the dwarf, • I shall send it home to you when it's finished, and somehow the owner don't live many hours afterwards. I had a round three hundred nails to drive in it at first : I hammered in one for every night you were carousing with your mates; and now,' added he, holding up a large nail and speaking in a solemn voice, only seven are wanting! Adeliche heard no more ; for whether it were the vapours of the perfume in his head, or the dwarf's terrific words, he knew not, but he fell backwards, and on his recovery he found himself alone in the forest, as wretched and ragged as ever.

“ With the most perfect recollection of all which had passed, he wandered on through the wood till he arrived at an iron-forge belonging to a baron of Lower, Saxony; and as he had not a single coin in his pouch, and probably but a short time to live, he offered him. self, in a sort of desperate fit, to blow at the furnace. In these old days there were no bellows, and so one of the smiths used to blow through an iron pipe ; and whether this occupation gave him more breath, or temperance and labour made him more healthy, he could not tell, but he certainly began to look quite another

He now wore a good coarse suit of clothes, and

man.

got together a little money; whilst years passed away and he heard no more of the coffin-makers, though he never forgot them. It was clear to Adeliche, that these dwarfs could not be other than the ancient inhabitants of Germany, who were driven into the woods and mountains, when Attila, king of Huns, overran the coun. try about the year of God 432. They are said to have taken with them all their great riches and wonderful secrets, and to be still living in the Nibelungen-Land; but how true that may be, I can't pretend to say. One thing, however, Adeliche had learned from their mountain-work-shop, and that was the making of wooden bellows, by placing one box over another with a tube at one end, and then shutting them forcibly together. He made these somewhat in the form of coffins, and they raised so furious a blast, that many believed he had a familiar fiend confined in a box to blow for him as long as he lived. However, that was all an idle tale; but Adeliche told his secret only to the baron and his fellows, who kept it so well, that to this day the name of the inventor is doubtful; though it is acknowledged that wooden bellows were first used in the Hartz Forest. Shulter says, that the Bishop of Bamberg devised them ; Andreas Rhyher gives the credit to Klaus Schelhorne, a miller of Schmalebuche ; and Calvor makes it out that Ludwig Pfannenschmidt, bellows-maker to the Hartz, first brought them out of Thuringia, which seems to trace them to the descendants of Adeliche Stark. When the baron died, he bequeathed the iron-forge to Adeliche in recompense for his invention, by which, and the discovery of a golden wedge in his furnace, doubtless sent him from Nibelungen-Land, he grew so rich, that he bought an estate in his native country, and set up the pillar and escutcheon to record his story. He died perfectly hearty, somewhere about the age of 137 ; haying repeated his fortunes to his great-grandchildren, and always closing his narrative with, Idleness and the tankard drive the nails of our coffins, but temperance and labour will build us a palace."

FROM “ Tales of an Antiquary.

The blot is made, no future sun

Can re-illume her shaded feeling; The wound is given, and such an one

No balsam bath tbe power of healing: There was a time when one could cure,

And chase her spirit's darkest brooding; Away, away! she then was pure

Why now are such vain thoughts intruding? The dreams of innocence are o'er;

Farewell the visions Hope bad painted ! She will not see the loved one more,

She most not, with a heart so tainted; She could not, dared not, look on him,

Whom once she met with pride and gladness, To let him see her eye grow dim

With tears of shame and lonely sadness ! Poor flower! thought I, as I retraced

Her sullied charms' decaying splendour, The spoiler who their bloom.defaced,

In tiger's form had proved more tender; For he must have a fiercer breast,

Who, gazing on such youth and beauty, Could keep not the foul wish represt

To lure them from their peace and duty!

THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS,

THE HAREM'S VICTIM.

Women, fortunately perhaps for their happiness and their virtue, have, as compared with men, so few opportunities of acquiring permanent distinction, that it is rare to find a female unconnected with literature or with history, whose name is remembered after her monument is defaced, and the brass on her coffin-lid corroded. Such, however, was the case with Dame Eleanor, the widow of Sir Richard Lacy, whose name, at the end of three centuries, continued to be as freshly and as frequently spoken, as • familiar' a household word' in the little village of Aberleigh, as if she had flourished there yesterday. Her memory was embalmed by a deed of charity and of goodness. She had founded and had endowed a girl's school for the instruction' (to use the words of the deed)‘of twenty poor children, and the maintenance of one discreet and godly matron;' and the school still continued to be called after its foundress, and the very spot on which the school-house stood, to be known by the name of Lady Lacy's Green.

It was a spot worthy of its destination-a spot of remarkable cheerfulness and beauty. The green was small, of irregular shape, and situate at a confluence of shady lanes. Half the roads and paths of the parish met there, probably for the convenience of crossing, in that place, by a stone bridge of one arch covered with ivy, the winding rivulet which intersected the whole village, and which sweeping in a narrow channel round the school garden, widened into a stream of some consequence, in the richly-wooded meadows beyond. The banks of the brook, it wound its glittering course over the green, were set, here and there, with clumps of forest trees, chiefly bright green elms, and aspens with their quivering leaves and their pale shining bark; whilst a magnificent beech stood alone near the gate leading to the school, partly over. shadowing the little court in which the house was placed. The building itself was a beautiful small structure, in the ornamented style of Elizabeth's day, with pointed roofs and pinnacles, and clustered chimneys, and casement windows ; the whole house enwreathed and garlanded by a most luxuriant vine. The

Upon her ottoman, alone,

Just weeping into rest, I found her Her head and arm along it thrown,

Pale as the moonshine playing round her, Closing her bright but languid ege

With such serene repenting features, That guilty, as she slumbered, I

Could deem her sleep a sinless creature's. The Moslem has her presence left,

The spell is broke ihat led him thither, The rose is of its sweets bereft,

Nor beeds he now how soon it wither; A corse upon the tyrant fall

By whom a young heart this is blighted; A curse npon his perfomed ball

That is for such a victini lighted ! Save the soft sigh her bosom heaves,

No sound is heard within her chamber, Nor out, except the rustling leaves

That up her lattice lightly clamber, As if desiring to be uear

The coach whereon her form reposes, To their dew-drops with the tear

That streak aloug ber cbeek discloses :

date of erection, 1563, was cut in a stone inserted in ent schools, and an unlucky quarrel with a favourite the brick-work above the porch : but the foundress had, lady's maid, promoted and banished to this distant gowith an unostentatious modesty, witheld her name ; vernment. Nobody could be well more unfit for her leaving it, as she safely might, to the grateful recollec- new situation, or better suited to her old. She was a tion of the successive generations who profited by her nurse from top to toe. Round, portly, smiling, with henevolence. Altogether it was a most gratifying a coaxing and an indolent voice; much addicted to scene to the eye and to the heart. No one ever saw snuff and green tea, to sitting still, to telling long stoLady Lacy's school-house without admiration, especially ries, and to humouring children. She spoiled every in the play-hour at noon, when the children, freed from brat she came near, just as she had been used to spoil restraint that sweetens liberty,' were clustered under the little Master Edwards and Miss Julias of her anthe old beech-tree, revelling in their innocent freedom, cient dominions. She could not have scolded if she running, jumping, shouting, and laughing with all would—the gift was not in her. Under her misrule their might; the only sort of riot which it is pleasant the school grew into sad disorder ; the girls not only to witness. The painter and the philanthropist might learnt nothing, but unlearnt what they knew before ; contemplate that scene with equal delight.

work was lost-even the new shifts of the vicar's lady ; The right of appointing both the mistress and the books were torn; and, for the climax of evil, no samscholars had been originally vested in the Lacy family, pler was prepared to be carried round at Christmas, from to whom nearly the whole of the parish had at one time house to house the first time such an omission had ocbelonged. But the estates, the manor, the hall-house, curred within the memory of man.

Farmer Brookes had long passed into other hands and other names, and was at bis wit's end. He visited the school six days in this privilege of charity was now the only possession the week, to admonish and reprove ; and even went which the heir of Lady Lacy retained in Aberleigh. nigh to threaten that he would work a sampler himself; Reserving to themselves the right of nominating the and finally bestowed on the unfortunate ex-nurse, the matron, her descendants had therefore delegated to the nickname of Queen Log, a piece of disrespect, which, vicar and parish-officers the selection of the children, together with other grievances, proved so annoying to and the general regulation of the school--a sort of coun- poor Dame Whitaker, that she found the air of Aberleigh cil of regency, which, for as simple and as peaceful as disagree with her, patched up a peace with her old the government seems, a disputatious churchwarden or enemy, the lady's maid, abdicated that unruly and rebelsturdy overseer would sometimes contrive to render suffi- lious principality, the school, and retired with great deciently stormy. I have known as much canvassing and light to her quiet home in the deserted nursery, where, almost as much ill-will in a contested election for one of as far as I know, she still remains. A kinder creature Lady Lacy's scholarships, as for a scolarship in grander never lived. places, or even for an M.P.-ship in the next borough ; The grief of the children on losing this most indul. and the great schism between the late Farmer Brookes gent non instructress, was not mitigated by the appeaand all his coadjutors, as to whether the original uni- rance or demeanour of her successor, who at first seemed form of little green stuff gowns, with white bibs and a preceptress after Farmer Brookes' own heart, a peraprons, tippets and mobs, should be commuted for mo- fect Queen Stork. Dame Banks was the widow of Mr. dern cotton frocks and cottage bonnets, fairly set the Lacy's gamekeeper ; a litttle thin woman, with a hooked parish by the ears. Owing to the good farmer's glo- nose, a sharp voice, and a prodigious activity of rious obstinacy (which I suppose he called firmness), the tongue. She scolded all day long ; and, for the first green-gownians lost the day. I believe that, as a mat- week, passed for a great teacher. After that time it ter of consideration, the man might be right, and that began to be discovered that, in spite of her lessons, the his costume was cheaper and more convenient; but I children did not learn ; notwithstanding her rating am sure that I should have been against him, right or they did not mind, and in the midst of a continual wrong; the other dress was so pretty, so primitive, so bustle nothing was ever done. Dame Banks was in neat, so becoming; the little lasses looked like rose-buds fact a well-intentioned worthy woman, with a restless in the midst of their leaves : besides, it was the old irritable temper, a strong desire to do her duty, and a traditionary dress-the dress contrived and approved by woeful ignorance how to set about it. She was rather Lady Lacy. Oh! it should never have been changed, too old to be taught either; at least she required a never !

gentler instructor than the good churchwarden; and Since there was so much contention in the election so much ill-will was springing up between thein, that of pupils, it was perhaps lucky for the vestry that the he had even been heard to regret the loss of Dame Whitexercise of the most splendid piece of patronage, the aker's quietness, when very suddenly poor Dame Banks appointment of a mistress did not enter into its duties. fell ill, and died. The sword had worn the scabbard ; Mr. Lacy, the representative of the foundress, a man of but she was better than she seemed; a thoroughly well. fortune in a distant county, generally bestowed the sia meaning woman-grateful, pious, and charitable; even tuation on some old dependent of his family. During our man of office admitted this. the church wardenship of Farmer Brookes, no less than The next in succession was one with whom my trithree village gouvernantes arrived at Aberleigh- Aling pen, dearly as that light and futtering instrument quick succession ! It made more than half the busi- loves to dally and disport over the surface of things, ness of our zealous and bustling man of office, an ama- must take no saucy freedom; one of whom we all felt it teur in such matters, to instruct and overlook them. impossible to speak or to think without respect ; one The first importation was Dame Whitaker, a person of who made Farmer Brookes' office of adviser a sinecure, no small importance, who had presided as head nurse by putting the whole of the school, himself included, over two generations of the Lacys, and was now, on the into its proper place, setting every body in order, and dispersion of the last set of her nurslings to their differ- keeping them so I don't know how she managed, unless by good sense and good humour, and that happy and skill would enable her to perform, she insisted on art of government, which seems no art at all, because it doing, and many things far beyond her power she atis so perfect ; but the children were busy and happy, tempted. Never was so industrious or so handy a little the vestry pleased, and the churchwarden contented. maiden. Old Nelly Chun, the char-woman, who went All went well under Mrs. Allen.

[graphic]

once a week to the house, to wash, and bake, and scour, She was an elderly woman, nearer perhaps to seventy declared that Jane did more than herself; and to all than to sixty, and of an exceedingly venerable and pre- who knew Nelly's opinion of her own doings, this praise possessing appearance. Delicacy was her chief cha- appeared superlative. racteristic—a delicacy so complete that it pervaded her In the school-room she was equally assiduous, not as whole person, from her tall slender figure, her fair, a learner, but as a teacher. None so clever as Jane in faded complexion, arid her silver hair, to the exquisite superintending the different exercises of the needle, the nicety of dress by which, at all hours and seasons, from spelling-book, and the slate. From the little workwoSunday morning to Saturday night, she was invariably man's first attempt to insert thread into a pocket handdistinguished. The soil of the day was never seen on kerchief, that digging and ploughing of cambric, misher apparel ; dust would not cling to her snowy caps and called hemming, up to the nice and delicate mysteries of bandkerchiefs : such was the art and magic of her neat- stitching and button-holing : from the easy junction of ness. Her very pins did their office in a different man- a b, ab, and b a, ba, to that tremendous sesquipedalian ner from those belonging to other people. Her manner word irrefragability, at which even I tremble as I was gentle, cheerful, and courteous, with a simplicity and write; from the Numeration Table to Practice, nothing propriety of expression that perplexed all listeners; it came amiss to her. In figures she was particularly seemed so exactly what belongs to the highest birth and quick. Generally speaking, her patience with the the highest breeding. She was humble, very humble: other children, however dull, or tiresome, or giddy but her humility was evidently the result of a truly Chris- they might be, was exemplary; but a false accomptant, tiap conduct, and would equally have distinguished her a stupid arithmetician, would put her out of humour. in any station. The poor people, always nice judges The only time I ever heard her sweet, gentle voice of behaviour, felt, they did not know why, that she was

raised a note above its natural key, was in reprimanding their superior; the gentry of the neighbourhood sus- Susan Wheeler, a sturdy, square-made, rosy-cheeked pected her to be their equal-some clergyman's or offi- lass, as big again as herself, the dunce and beauty of cer's widow, reduced in circumstances; and would have the school, who had three times cast up a sum of three treated her as such, had she not, on discovering their figures, and three times made the total wrong. Jane mistake, eagerly undeceived them. She had been, said ought to have admired the ingenuity evinced by such a she, all her life a servant, the personal attendant of one variety of error ; but she did not; it fairly put her in dear mistress, on whose decease she had been recom- a passion. She herself was not only clever in figures, mended to Mr. Lacy, and to his kindness, under Pro- but fond of them to an extraordinary degree-luxuriated vidence, was indebted for a home and a provision for in Long Division, and revelled in the Rule-of-Three. her helpless age, and the still more helpless youth of a Had she been a boy, she would probably have been a poor orphan, far dearer to her than herself. This great mathematician, and have won that fickle, fleeting, arowal, although it changed the character of the res- shadowy wreath, that crown made of the rainbow, that pect paid to Mrs. Allen, was certainly not calculated to vainest of all earthly pleasures, but which yet is a pleadiminish its amount; and the new mistress of Lady sure-Fame. Lacy's school, and the beautiful order of her house and Happier, far happier was the good, the lowly, the garden, continued to be the pride and admiration of pious child in her humble duties! Grave and quiet as Aberleigh.

she seemed, she had many moments of intense and plaThe orphan of whom she spoke was a little girl cid enjoyment, when the duties of the day were over, about eleven years old, who lived with her, and whose and she sate reading in the porch, by the side of Mrs. black frock bespoke the recent death of some relative. Allen, or walked with her in the meadows on a Sunday She had lately, Mrs. Allen said, lost her grandmother evening after church. Jane was certainly contented -her only remaining parent, and had now no friend and happy; and yet every one that saw her, thought of but herself on earth; but there was one above who was her with that kind of interest which is akin to pity. a father to the fatherless, and he would protect poor There was a pale, fragile grace about her, such as we Jane! And as she said this, there was a touch of emo-. sometime see in a rose which has blown in the shade ; tion, a break of the voice, a tremor on the lip, very un- or rather, to change the simile, the drooping and delilike the usual cheerfulness and self-commaud of her cate look of a tender plant removed from the bothouse manner. The child was evidently very dear to her. to the open air. We could not help feeling sure (notJane was, indeed, a most interesting creature ; not withstanding our mistake with regard to Mrs. Allen) pretty-a girl of that age seldom is; the beauty of that this was indeed a transplanted flower ; and that childhood is outgrown, that of youth not come ; and the village school, however excellently her habits had Jane could scarcely ever have had any other pretentions become inured to her situation, was not her proper atto prettiness, than the fine expression of her fine dark mosphere. grey eyes, and the general sweetness of her countenance. Several circumstances corroborated our suspicions, She was pale, thin, and delicate ; serious and thought- and at last, elicited by some warm praise of the charmful far beyond her years; averse from play, and shrink- ing child, our good school-mistress disclosed her story. ing from notice.' Her fondness for Mrs. Allen, and Jane Mowbray was the grand-daughter of the lady in her constant and unremitting attention to her health whose service Mrs Allen had passed her life. Her fa. and comforts, were peculiarly

remarkable. Every part ther had been a man of high family and splendid forof their small housewifery, that her height, and strength, Dream

tune; had married beneath himself, as it was called, a I

friendless orphan, with no portion but beauty and vir. One fine Sunday in the October preceding this tue ; and, on her death, which followed shortly on the dreaded separation, as Miss Mowbray, with Mrs. Allen birth of her daughter, had plunged into every kind of leaning on her arm, was slowly following the little vice and extravagance. What need to tell a tale of sin train of Lady Lacy's scholars from Church, an elderly and suffering ? Mr. Mowbray had ruined himself, had gentleman, sickly-looking and emaciated, accosted a ruined all belonging to him, and finally had joined our pretty young woman, who was loitering with some armies abroad as a volunteer, and had fallen undis- other girls at the churchyard gate, and asked her tinguished in his first battle. The news of his death several questions respecting the school and its schoolwas fatal to his indulgent mother ; and when she too mistress. Susan Wheeler (for it happened to be our died, Mrs. Allen blessed the Providence which, by throw- acquaintance.) was delighted to be singled out by so ing in her way a recommendation to Lady Lacy's school, grand a gentleman, and being a kind-hearted creature had enabled her to support the dear object of her mis- in the main, spoke of the school-house and its inhabitress's love and prayers. · Had Miss Mowbray no con- tants exactly as they deserved. nexions ?' was the natural question. Yes, one very This stranger, so drooping, so sickly, so emaciated, near--an aunt, the sister of her father, richly married was the proud Indian uncle, the stern Sir Walter Ely! in India. But Sir Walter was a proud, and a stern Sickness and death had been busy with him and with man, upright in his own conduct, and implacable to er- his. He had lost his health, his wife, and his children ; ror. Lady Ely was a sweet, gentle creature, and doubt- but, softened by affliction, he bowed to the rod, and less would be glad to extend a mother's protection to blessed the hand that chastened him. He was returned the orphan; but Sir Walter-oh! he was so unrelent- to England a new man, anxious to forgive and to be ing! He had abjured Mr. Mowbray, and all connected forgiven, and, above all, desirous to repair his neglect with him. She had written to inform them where the and injustice towards the only remaining relative of dear child was, but had no expectation of any answer the wife whom he had so fondly loved and so tenderly from India.'

lamented. In this frame of mind, such a niece as Jane Time verified this prediction. The only tidings from Mowbray was welcomed with no common joy. His deIndia, at all interesting to Jane Mowbray, were con- light in her, and his gratitude towards her protectress tained in the paragraph of a newspaper which announ- were unbounded. He wished them both to accompany ced Lady Ely's death, and put an end to all hopes of him home, and reside with him constantly. Jane proprotection in that quarter. Years passed on, and found mised to do so ; but Mrs. Allen, with her usual admirher still with Mrs. Allen at Lady Lacy's Green, more able feeling of propriety, clung to the spot which had and more beloved and respected from day to day. She been to her a 'city of refuge,' and refused to leave it in had now attained almost to womanhood. Strangers, I spite of all the entreaties of uncle and of niece.

It believe, called her plain ; we, who knew her, thought was a happy decision for Aberleigh; for what would her pretty. Her figure was tall and straight as a cy- Aberleigh have done without its good schoolmistress? press, pliant and flexible as a willow, full of gentle She lives there still, its ornament and its pride ; and grace, whether in repose or in motion. She had a pro- every year Jane Mowbray comes for a long visit, and fusion of light brown hair, a pale complexion, dark makes a holiday in the school and in the whole place ; grey eyes, a smile of which the character was rather Jane Mowbray did I say ?-No! not Jane Mowbray sweet than gay, and such a countenance ! no one could now. She has changed that dear name for the only look at her without wishing her well, or without being name that could be dearer :-she is married ---married sure that she deserved all good wishes. Her manners to the eldest son of Mr. Lacy, the lineal representative were modest and elegant, and she had much of the self- of Dame Eleanor Lacy, the honoured foundress of the taught knowledge, which is, of all knowledge, the sur- school. It was in a voice tremulous more from feeling est and the best, because acquired with most difficulty, than from age, that Mrs. Allen welcomed the yonng and fixed in the memory by the repetition of effort. heir, when he brought his fair bride to Aberleigh ; and Every one had assisted her to the extent of his power, it was with a yet stronger and deeper emotion that the and of her willingness to accept assistance ; for both bridegroom, with his own Jane in his hand, visited the she and Mrs. Allen had a pride-call it independence- asylum which she and her venerable guardian owed to which render it impossible, even to the friends who the benevolence and the piety of his ancestress, whose were most honoured by their good opinion, to be as good deeds had thus showered down blessings on her useful to them as they could have wished. To give remote posterity. Miss Mowbray time for improvement had, however, proved a powerful emollient to the pride of our dear schoolmistress ; and that time had been so well em

MORNING TWILIGHT: ployed, that her acquirements were considerable; whilst in her mind and character she was truly admirable,

Twas morn-che dew still glitter'd on the corn,

Like clust'ring pearls 'mid golden tresses worn mild, grateful, and affectionate, and imbued with a deep

Upon the brow of beauty-not a star religious feeling, which influenced every action and Linger'd in heaven's canopy afar, pervaded every thought. So gifted, she was deemed Nor had the sun dispel'd the darkning gloom by her constant friends, the vicar and his lady, per

Which bover'd round the vi'lets purple blooin,

While gentle zephyrs kiss'd each blossom ibere ; fectly competent to the care and education of children ;

And wafted incense thro' the morning air: it was agreed that she should enter a neighbouring fa

Oh! happiest hour of nature's own repose; mily; as a successor to their then governess, early in When beauty slumbers, and when sleeps the rose the ensuing spring ; and she, although sad at the pros

'Twixt morn and moonlight-when the world is bless'd,

When thouglit is idle and the soul doth rest, pect of leaving her aged protectress, acquiesced in their

Till earth awakens from her transient dream decision.

And universal light doth reign supreme.

J. E. CARPENTER.

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