the gradual conversion of Henry Lenox from deism to the true faith and a holy life. The plot is ingenious, and the incidents natural and dramatic, but the novel is on the whole inferior to the Countess Ida.

Mr. Fay's last work is a novelette entitled Robert Rueful, published in 1844. Besides his books he has written much in the literary journals, and among other things a series of very clever papers on Shakspeare.

A DUEL.

FROM THE COUNTESS IDA.

[CLAUDE WYNDHAM is in Berlin, where he has been the subject of continued persecutions by a soi-disant Lord Elkington, who, after many unsuccessful efforts to bring about a hostile meeting, finally strikes him at a court ball. Denham, a friend to Wyndham, just arrived from London, witnesses the act, and while our hero, stung almost to madness by the injury, is endeavouring, in the privacy of a night walk in the Thiergarten, to regain the mastery of his passions, he gives the duellist a meeting.]

CLAUDE went back to his hotel in a state of mind bordering on distraction, but it had the effect to divert him from the consideration of himself. It seemed that a fatal duel on his account, in return for an insult which he had declined to resent, was all that was necessary to sink him to the lowest depths in the world's esteem, if not in his own. But that was a less insupportable reflection than the situation of Mrs. Denham and the sweet little girl, who were, probably, yet locked in peaceful slumber, unconscious of the thunder-bolt about to fall upon them. He would have gone again to the police, but he had no precise information to give, and he felt sure, too, that it was too late for interference. There was, however, still a hope. It was possible either that chance might interrupt the meeting or that Elkington might fall-or that, if Denham should receive a wound, it might not be mortal. But then the utter recklessness of Denham-his knowledge of Elkington's affair with the cards and the unerring skill, as well as remorseless character of the latter, recurred to him with an agonizing force. As he entered the hotel he saw that there was an unusual confusion. Several waiters were running to and fro. One of them came up to him quickly as soon as he saw him.

"You had better go to Madam Denham."
"Has any thing happened?"

"Mr. Denham has gone off."

"And not yet returned?"

No."

He breathed again. He had felt an unutterable fear on approaching the house.

"Thank God!" he said, "all may yet be well." "The lady is in a bad way, sir; she's very ill." At this moment a voice from a servant at the top of the stairs called out,

"Has Mr. Wyndham come in yet?" "You'd better go to her, sir," said the landlord. "I fear something very dreadful has-"

Claude recovered from a momentary faintness, nerved his heart, and entered the room. All that he had imagined of horrible was surpassed by Mrs. Denham. She was pale as death herself. Her hair hung in disorder about her beautiful and lightly clothed person. Her eyes were distended with

terror, and the little Ellen clung to her bosom, weeping aloud, and winding her arms around her neck affectionately, and repeating,

"Dear sister, my dear, dear sister. He will come, he will come. He will indeed, indeed he will!"

Mrs. Denham's eyes were perfectly dry and starting from her head. She looked an image of tragedy itself. The moment Claude entered she saw him, for her wild eyes were fixed on the door; she sprang up with an hysterical laugh, and, rushing upon him as a lioness on one who had robbed her of her young, she uttered, in tones that pierced his heart and froze his blood, the dreadful words: "Ah! and now then! where's Charles ?" "He is he is-"

66 Is he here? Is he here?"

"No-not here-not this instant."

"Where is he, then? What have you done with him?"

"What do you know? Speak-as before your God. If you deceive me!"

Claude turned away, and, pressing his extended hand against his forehead, shook as one by the bed of the beloved and the dying.

She released her hold on him, and her hands fell nerveless by her side.

"Then he is dead. Oh God-oh God-I have often feared this." She sank back into a chair. "Charles-my husband-it is a dream-it is impossible."

Claude approached her, and took her cold hand in his.

"My dear friend, hear me. It is too late to deceive you as to what has occurred. Your husband has gone out to comply with a strange custom, but we have no news of him, upon my honour. It is very possible he may return-alive-unhurt. Believe me, dearest madam, there are many reasons to hope-indeed, indeed there are."

"I'm sure there are," said Ellen, climbing up and again winding her arms around her neck, and covering her lips, forehead, and face with kisses. "You do not know any thing, then?" "Nothing."

“And he may return? His step may be heard his beloved image may once more bless my eyes? Hark-hark"-her face lighted up with intense

[Wyndham repairs to the hotel of Lord Elkington, who offers, as satisfaction, for the murder of his friend, to fight him a proposition which is declined. An intimation follows that the presence of a man who has so little respect for the usages of society is unwelcome, and he goes back to his own lodgings.]

"Has he come home? Is he here? Have you seen him? Have you heard any thing of him?" were the fearful questions from every lip as Claude returned to his hotel.

"Madam Denham is nearly distracted," said the landlord. "She calls for you. Pray go to her." "I dare not," said Claude, with a shudder. "She has demanded to be informed the instant you come in," said the man. "She is in a state of intense excitement and agony. She walks the floor with frantic steps, as pale as a sheet. Sometimes she groans and weeps, sometimes she prays. She's in a terrible way. It's quite dreadful-and the poor little girl, too, is so distressed. My God! what sort of a man must her husband be, to leave her in such a condition?"

A servant here came for Mr. Wyndham. He must go instantly to Madam Denham. It was with a faltering heart that Claude complied with this request, and once more approached the door where so lately he bade adieu to the friend who, perhaps, was now in eternity. As he did so, he heard the hasty steps of the bereaved widow-her deep groans-her bursting sobs. He entered. Her look made him shudder.

"Speak!" cried she. "Charles "
"I know nothing," said Claude.
"Have you seen Lord Elkington?"
Claude hesitated.

She pressed her hands against her brain. "Ah, cruel, cruel Charles! Is it you who have abandoned me thus? you, who have torn my heart inflicted these horrid pangs? I will no longer wait. I will go seek him."

She rushed to the door.

My dear, dear sister," said Ellen, "you cannot go. You do not know where he is. You are not dressed. If he were in the street, he would soon be here. If not, where would you go? Stay with me, my dear, dear sister. God will take care of us;" and the sweet child again folded her in her arms, and pressed her ashy cheek against her little bosom.

"He might come, too, during your absence," said the maid respectfully.

Oh yes! true!" she said, with a frightful smile. Hours passed away as if they were ages. Noon -evening-night-and still Denham came notand no news. Claude had again addressed himself to the police. They were abroad in search of the parties, but they could obtain no intelligence as to where they had gone, or what had become of them. Elkington was not at his lodgings-Lady Beverly had left town the day before for Hamburg, as if in anticipation of some difficulty. It was reported, too, that Elkington, early in the morning, had also gone, but whither no one knew. His escape had been connived at by so many gentlemen, who thought they were aiding a gallant fellow out of an unjust danger, that the police could get no trace of him. Indeed, from many considerations, they conducted the pursuit with no great activity. Although duelling was strictly prohibited in Prussia, and particularly by the great Frederic, whose clear mind had seen all its folly and wickedness, the crime was then-as we fear, alas, it is now -considered as one of those genteel misdemeanours of which a large class of educated, and many excellent men, are rather proud than ashamed. The magistrate who sternly sentences a poor, ignorant creature for having stolen wherewithal to support fainting life, cannot condemn the passionate fool who submits his disagreements with his friends to the chances of mortal combat, and who shows so little respect for himself-his adversary-societyand God, as to stake two lives on a throw, and thus sanction one crime by joining it with another. The police also felt that the parties were Englishmen that securing a surviver in such a case would place them in an awkward dilemma. Lord Elkington's rank and fortune, moreover, threw a sort of exemption over his actions in the public opinion, and it was understood also that the injury had been words offensive to his honour as a gentleman.

Poor Mrs. Denham. It seemed impossible that she could endure the interminable length of this day; but the very intensity of her apprehensions prevented her from sinking into the insensibility which nature would otherwise have provided for her relief. As the night approached, her agony had reached a state of nervous excitement, which rendered it necessary to call in a physician; but she would take nothing, and permit no remedies to be adopted, till she should receive direct intelligence of Mr. Denham.

Nine o'clock struck-ten-eleven-twelve; still Denham came not, and no news of him could be obtained. It was now near one. The widow-for all felt that she was such except herself, and she still hoped-was almost deprived of her senses. At every whisper she started, at every step in the street she trembled. Sometimes the sound of horses' feet would advance from the distance. Her features would light up: the noise approached, and seemed about to stop at the door, but went on, and was lost again in the distance; now a shout in the street startled her now an oath. Sometimes she heard the tramping of the soldiers' feet, as the guard were led round to their posts; and once a party of riotous young men went by, and, by a cruel coincidence, stopped immediately beneath the window, shouting forth a glee, which was interrupted by peals of laughter. Then they departed singing, their voices softening as they retreated, and dying at last utterly away; leaving, they little knew what-silence, solitude, and despair behind them. "Mr. Wyndham," said Mrs. Denham, suddenly, in a voice of sternness, which made him think her senses were failing," you are the cause of this!" My dearest madam-" coward!"

66

"You "Great Heaven!"

"You knew my husband had the heart of a lion. You knew he couldn't see his friend abused, and you you meanly took a blow-a blow! a base, blasting blow! and yet you live-coward! and he, my brave, my noble, my lion-hearted Charles, for your infamy has risked his life-which, God in his mercy be praised, is but a risk. He will not perish. It is impossible. He will come. He is wounded, doubtless, but what do I care for wounds? He will come, or he will send for me. I shall nurse him. He will recover; but you, sir, must never look for his friendship again; nor his, nor mine, nor the world's esteem, nor your own. You are a dishonoured man. I had rather be Elkington than you. A blow! coward!"

ham, with a smile of ineffable happiness, and gasping for breath. The new-comer entered. It was again a stranger. A start of horror went round the room, and a low shudder was heard from Mrs. Denham, who buried her face in her hands.

"Mr. Wyndham?" said the stranger, who was a gentleman in dress and appearance.

Claude stepped forward and recognised Beaufort.

"I beg your pardon," said that gentleman, with a polite smile; "will you permit me to have one word with you?"

He cast a glance around upon the rest of the company, but without in the least changing his manner. He was a man of the world, and well knew what he was going to see when he undertook the mission.

Claude followed him into an adjoining chamber. "Devilish painful duty, my dear fellow-dissgreeable thing-in fact, d-d awkward—but—”

"Speak out, and tell me what has happened," said Claude, sternly; "I also have my duties."

"Sir!" said Beaufort, "your tone is very extraordinary, but your excitement excuses any liberty; I have promised to let you know that your friend is hurt."

"Hurt! Oh, Beaufort! Oh, Heaven be praised! is he only hurt?"

"Why, his wound is bad-d-d bad. He-he in short, he's dead, sir."

66

Yes, dead enough, sir. This is possibly rather annoying to you. I'm devilish sorry—I am, positively."

"Dead!" echoed Claude, the sound of his friend's living voice ringing in his ears; his beaming, laughing eyes flashing full before his imagination.

"To say the truth, this morning at P. He behaved very well-devilish well-I'm quite sure you'll be glad to hear that. The thing was perfectly well managed, I assure you. Perfectly. Nothing could be handsomer or fairer. Elkington missed

One o'clock. The heavy peal went floating and quivering over the silent town, and struck into the hearts of all present, for they now foreboded the worst. The solemn sound, as it died away, called forth new groans, sobs, and hysterical screams. All conversation ceased. There was as little room for remark as for hope or consolation. They sat like those unhappy beings we sometimes read of on a wreck, waiting in mute despair till the broken hulk goes down with them for ever.

Two o'clock struck. Mrs. Denham had sunk into a state of exhaustion, when a sharp, heavy knock announced an end of this suspense. There was decision in it. The door was opened by a servant, and a step was heard in the hall, quick, light, buoyant. It approached, and all eyes were turned toward the door.

"Ah God! he is here at last," cried Mrs. Den

The second he hit him. He's a terrible dog. The j ball went directly through the heart. He leaped six feet in the air, and he was a dead man before he came down. I protest I never saw any thing so handsomely done."

“And I am to bear this news to his wife!" "Certainly! I've done my part. I stood by him to the last, and have brought the corpse in town. It will be here in-let me see, half past two-it'll certainly be three. By-the-way, madam is a finelooking creature. Devilish pretty in that dress. Poor girl! I'm devilish sorry. You'll take good care of her, Wyndham? Egad, you're a lucky dog! Where are you going to have the body put ?"

Did-did my friend leave me no message?" "Oh, apropos-what a forgetful dog I am! Certainly a note for you."