she purchased this house, and obtained the pension of which she has given you the brevet.

As the physician was ending his recital, the servant entered, and informed Madame de Varonne supper was served up; she prevailed on the physician to stay, and, leaning upon the arm of Ambrose, walked into the other apartment, where she desired Ambrose, to place himself by her side. Ambrose excused himself, and said, it was not proper he should sit at table with his honourable mistress. How, replied she, is not my benefactor and my friend my equal? The modest, the generous Ambrose obeyed, and, with the physician on one side of her, and Ambrose on the other, Madame de Varonne enjoyed, that happy evening, all the pure and delicious pleasures, which gratitude and bliss inexpressible could inspire, and which a tender and a feeling heart could know.

You may well suppose that Ambrose had the next day, thanks to Madame de Varonne, a dress suitable to his new fortune; that his apartment was fitted up and furnished with every possible care; that Madame de Varonne during her whole life caused him to partake her fortune, and that she never received money without recollecting, with the utmost susceptibility, the time when the faithful Ambrose brought his day's wages in a bit of paper, laid it upon the table, and said......there, madam, is my small mite.

CAROLINE COURTNEY.

By the late Mr. T. Bellamy.

HE last smile of autumn had gleamed over the extensive and roman

and an early winter had strip

ped of their luxuriant foliage, the ancient and venerable Oaks which graced the majestic turrets of that impregnable pile, founded on ambition and defended by tyranny-in days when lordly rule held in ignoble chains, a British peasantry.

The haughty and vindictive William glowed with the spirit of the first Baron Henry, who built the fortress with part of the immense wealth which fell to him on his marriage with Elcanor, celebrated for her beauty, and remembered for her patient bearing and unexampled suffering.

In form and fate the Lady Matilda but too nearly resembled the personage just mentioned, whose life was the life of Sorrow-whose death was the death of Mystery. Such memorial rested on the long suffering, pious and resigned Matilda.

The interment of Matilda was equal to her exalted rank; and a sumptuous monument covered the mouldering remains of all that was, in life, lovely or interesting.

The black flags waved to the wind on the lofty towers of Courtney.Castle, in which the swelling heart of William exulted, and which he had lately considerably enlarged and strengthened, it was feared from intentions hostile to the peace of a country too lately ravaged by high-born Despots, while contending for portions of land to which they laid mu. tual claim, and for which the lives and liberties of hundreds were to be sacrificed.

Courtney, the proud unbending Courtney, experienced in Edward Fitz-Alban a powerful rival: in extent of domain and in sovereignty of sway, Fitz-Alban remained more than his equal. This good and galJant nobleman once loved, and had been beloved by the departed Matilda, before she was condemned by relentless prejudice to be the wife of Courtney. Since her doubtful death, repose came not to the desponding heart of Edward; and on the summit of an aspiring hill, which commanded a view not more vast than beautiful, frowned in proud defiance the battlements of a mansion towering and terrific as that of his implacable enemy.

The mournful occasion demanded a pause from hostilities which had crimsoned plains long peaceful and happy, when blooming with all the rich variety of healthful agriculture."

During that pause, answering flags appeared on Fitz-Alban Towers, where they displayed a type of affection. But in these funeral ensigns an exception to uniformity presented itself to William--an exception, which stung his soul, even to its deepest recesses. A banner raised above the rest; and streaked with lines of crimson, held forth a meaning which at once appalled and irritated the turbulent Baron, and fixed his resolve of affecting a long meditated vengeance.

A few weeks before the death of her parent, young Fitz-Alban had seen the beauteous Caroline, while walking on the terrace which surrounded the Walls of Courtney. ---From that inoment the stripling conceived an affection for the daughter of William; an affection which yielded not in strength or in truth to that which had imbittered the days. of his father.

The gardens of Courtney Castle were extensive and solitary. Caroline had no female confidant in whose converse affiiction might experience relief; therefore, since the loss of her best friend, every evening beheld her on the terrace and paths about it, wherein the ill-fated Matilda loved to ramble and beguile melancholy.

The grief of Caroline owned two sources; that which sprung from her mother's death was known to the Baron ;---the other remained with herself. She was conscious of a partiality for the son of her father's enemy, and in-born virtue commanded her to struggle against it.

The first time Caroline beheld Anselm Fitz-Alban was, when riding past the Gate which terminated the garden of the Castle. The horse starting at something on the road, he was dismounted and came to the ground. Stunned by the fall, his attendants bore him into the courtyard, where the servants ministered needful aid, while the Baron beheld, from a window, the son of his enemy, and was unfeeling enough to command that no one presumed to bring him beneath the roof of his dwelling.

This circumstance rendered Courtney still more hateful to Fitz-Alban; who, however, determined to remain a generous foe, and not sully the plans he had formed of just retribution with vindictive marks of mean

ness and inhumanity, even if chance should furnish him with the means of retaliation.” £burod vision

One evening Caroline had wandered later than usual, and had, proceeded to the end of a walk shaded with lofty trees and of a considerable length. She was musing on the probable meaning of the striped banner which she had lately viewed, as it fluttered to the moaning wind. On her return the distant thunder rolled awfully along the heavens. It spon became loud and frequent, and the atmosphere appeared one entire blaze. Trembling with dismay, the agitated Caroline hastened to a Temple, placed in a recess in the walk. She entered the porch; at that moment, a gleam of horrid light darted on the prostrate figure of a man, to all appearance lifeless, on the pavement!" Mysterious and all-protecting heaven," she exclaimed, "preserve thy creature!", At this moment another gleam, still more dreadful than the last, darted on the object, and presented to her view the form ofAnselm. Fitz Alban!

The sight overpowered her senses, and the agitated Caroline sunk on the ground: a violent shriek, the prelude of her insensibility, was heard by one of the armed watch, who had just taken his nightly station on the ramparts. The alarm was instantly given, and several of the Baron's domestics hastened to the spot from whence the sound which caused it proceeded. Caroline had left the Temple before she fell, and was found motionless, pale, and lost to all enquiry at some distance from it. She was borne to her chamber, and to the storm was attributed the cause of her situation.

The perturbed state of the mind of Caroline forbade repose. During the night she remained in a stupor which raised serious apprehensions, nor till the noon of the following day did she exhibit signs of returning reason. Her father, from an adjoining chamber, heard, with a mixture of surprize and indignation, the name of Anselm Fitz Alban pronounced in piteous and enquiring accents from the lips of his distracted daughter. His displeasure was still more heightened on hearing her exclaim, "I see him still! Ah! remove his pallid corpse from the blood-stained Temple!" Enraged at the expressions which so evidently spoke the state of her heart, toward the son of his enemy, Courtney commanded his vassals to follow him with torches to the spot where he suspected he might glut his revenge in beholding the unoffending youth either a lifeless corpse, or, at least, an unsuspecting victim to his dagger's point.

In vain, however, was the Temple visited, and all the avenues leading to it: no Anselm Fitz Alban was to be found, and the disappointed tyrant returned to his Castle, overwhelmed with suspicions which heightened the natural gloominess of his disposition. In the mean time, the afflicted Caroline, recovering by slow degrees, experienced not the consolation of a parent, whose affection was her right, and which she had never forfeited.

Restored to health, but for ever lost to happiness, Caroline sought, in vain the presence of her father. The thought of his being totally withdrawn, stern and regardless as she had ever found him, preyed upon her spirits: she was but too sensible of her love for Anselm, but she had determined never to swerve from the duty of a child, although the ties of nature appeared to be renounced by the author of her being.

VOL. II.

One evening, while wandering with her maiden Winifred, around the solitary boundaries of the Castle, and contemplating on the probable fate of the son of her father's foe, the object of her musings appeared suddenly before her.--." Think not," he said, "I can remain unconscious of your sufferings, on my account, from a vindictive father.” Caroline, with all the dignity of virtue, fixed her expressive eyes op Anselm; they darted reproof, and looked him into silence, on a subject hostile to those feelings which in-born virtue had planted in her unsullied bosom.

After a pause, Caroline earnestly entreated Fitz Alban to retire, and warned him of the probable consequence of being discovered by any one belonging to the Castle. Anselm was on the point of making a reply, when, reddening with fury, the Baron Courtney approached, accompanied by two of the Castle guard, who had discovered Anselm at a distance, on his way to the innocent, but unfortunate object of his love. The youth was disarmed, but at the moment his dagger was taken from him, darting a severe and reproachful look on Courtney, he exclaimed: "Monster; I am no murderer was Courtney in my power, I should only devote him to his bitterest enemy---his own reflection. Do with me what you will, and if it will gratify your resentment or your pride, hear me descend to entreaties for a daughter, whose sense of duty will never permit her to listen to the vows of Anselm. At the moment of your sudden appearance, her own lips had pronounced my fate, and that was, never to see her more. It is, however, some allevi ation to know, that the son of Fitz Alban is banished by the stubborn and unbending Courtney, and not by the gentle and deserving Caroline."

The Baron surveyed, by turns, the ill-fated lovers; while suspicion, dark as his own heart lowered on his brow. Then sternly commanding Winifred to see his daughter to her chamber and charging one of his guards to see that command obeyed, he turned haughtily towards Anselm, saying to the other guard," release, this presuming boy." "Thus disanined and disgraced do I dismiss a son, who would have robbed me of my child, to a father, who would have drawn my wife to dishonour. There! however, my fears are over; and I trust the monument wherein rests the remains of my ancestors was not disgraced when its doors were unbarred to admit the corpse of the erring and misled Matilda"

Anselm, from the noblest motives, and apprehensive of the too proprobable fate of Caroline, made no other reply to the tyrant, than

bo merciful to your innocent, your honourable, your duteous daughter; as you wish heaven in your expiring moments may visit them in peace." Saying this, he instantly departed, never again to return to the boundaries of Courtney Castle; when the Baron proceeded to the

Chamber of Caroline.

i

In vain the daughter of Courtney pleaded her innocence. The incensed Baron turned a deaf ear to her protestations, reproached her with all the vehemence of unrestrained passion, and on his departure affirmed, with a solemn oath, that not until young Fitz Alban became no longer an object of suspicion, would he permit her to wander beyond the limits of the Gallery leading from her own chamber to that of Winifred, to whose charge he consigned the unoffending and unfortunate object of his displeasure.

Many revolving and mournful days passed away in sorrow and confinement, before Caroline again beheld her father: but, on his next visit his manner appeared more consistent with that endearing title, than she had ever before experienced.-Emboldened by that manner, kneeling, she ventured to implore forgiveness, and even to intreat a blessing. The Baron paused, gazed upon her in expressive silence, and with a deep sigh bade her be at peace, as he himself wished to be. Then grasping her hand, he hastened from her presence, while her full-tear-eye followed him to the stair-case, where he was lost, for ever, from her sight.

His looks, his too evident agitation alarmed her; lost in lonely musing the time passed away till the hour of midnight was given by the deep toned bell of the Castle clock; an unusual weight on her mind denied the approach of sleep. She proceeded to the gallery. The beautiful appear ance of the moon engaged her attention, while the fantastic shadows its beams occasioned, as they illumined, with visionary light the gothic windows of the building, for a time, relieved her bosom from the extreme oppression. Returning to her chamber, she paused at the door to take another view of the gallery, when, to her astonishment, her eye glanced on a letter which lay on the floor; she took it up. It was addressed to the Baron Courtney. Caroline paused upon the impropriety of examining its purport, but the sudden and recent change she had observed in the person, whose name was on it, his perturbation, his downcast look, his unwonted tenderness, all conspired to raise her curiosity, and pravail on her, at length, without his knowledge, to open her father's letter.

ff, thus situated, Caroline might be said to have infringed upon the rigid rules of honour and of duty, she was sufficiently punished for her offence. The dreadful scroll was the work of the domestic Osborne, long in the confidence of his cruel, his unprincipled master. Its contents might well create terror and dismay-they were penned by a murderer! in characters, but too legible; the mystery of her mother's death was, at length, unfolded.

In a state, little short of distraction, she threw herself on the floor, and bathed the letter with her tears, then rising, she determined on seeking her parent. She hastened to the stair-case-her further progress was checked by a door barred and bolted. She recollected she was a prisoner -a recollection replete with horror; again she perused the dreadful lines -"The hand that removed one object of your displeasure, is equally ready to execute your commands on another. The Lady Matilda is at rest; pronounce the sentence, and the Lady Caroline shall offend no more."

In awful suspence the time passed on, till the bell in sullen tone announced the third hour; all was still, and Caroline was absorbed in thought; presently she heard a footstep, by its sound approaching the door of her chamber: fear forbade utterance, and now, by the reflexion of a lamp glimmering out its last--she discovered Osborne.

Seizing her unresisting arm, he muttered" Attempt to raise alarm, and I silence you for ever. Go with me, but fear not. You may sleep as soundly in Fernly-wood, as others have done before you." Osborne, on saying this, he applied his lips to a hollow tube, fixed in the door, and sounded a signal to those on the other side.

Presently a loud and continued shout expressive of riot and revelry, assailed the startled ear of Caroline, who now, recovering from a stupor, P 2

VOL. II.