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veries always ended with a sigh, and "perhaps after all, poor fellow, he is sorry.”

In the meantime Charles was pursuing his studies on the Continent, but he was not at ease; there was a gnawing at his heart, in the shape of conscience, which whispered, that he had been too hasty in his conduct towards Miss Melville, and he once seriously thought of returning, but pride in alarm took up arms, and drove poor conscience from the field, so he e'en pursued his journey, visiting most of the principal towns in France, Italy, and Germany, and was in a fair way of returning, as Julia had told him, with more learning than he carried out. At Dresden he was joined by a friend who had been his companion during his stay in Paris, and as they were both in pursuit of the same thing, information, and were of congenial tastes, they were both pleased in the opportunity of being comrades during a very interesting tour.

As they were one day wandering through the fine Gallery of the Duc de C, where were assembled some chefs d'œuvres both in painting and sculpture, they both, as with one consent, stopped at a picture in which a lovely female formed the principal figure. It was a St Cecilia, pale, but strikingly beautiful. The young men gazed for some time in profound silence, each wrapped in his own meditations. At length young Arlincourt exclaimed, "By heaven! 'tis as like as if she had sate for it!" Charles started, and asked with great earnestness, "To whom do you allude?"-"To a Miss Melville," replied Arlincourt, gravely; "and the most lovely creature I ever beheld-after I left you at Paris I went to England, and met her at lady E-'s: if I had had leisure I should have fallen desperately in love with her; but as it was, she received my attentions with great coolness-by the bye, Charles, you must know her; for on my mentioning your name, she asked several questions respecting you, which I of course replied to with as much nonchalance as I could muster; though I felt deucedly mortified at her apparent interest in such a handsome young fellow as you are, Charles, when I was trying to play the agreeable to her!"

"Yes," replied Charles, in a sort of audible soliloquy, "it is wonderfully like her, but too pale, she

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"Too pale," interrupted Arlincourt; "not pale enough, for by Jove she was as pale as yonder marble statue; she was thin, too, and looked as if she was in sorrow."

"Did she?" said Charles; "and did you make no inquiry about this syren?"

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Yes, I asked young Grey if he knew whether she was ill; he said he supposed she was pining after some faithless swain;

this, and a look of mighty significance, was all the information I could obtain."

Charles turned away, and busied himself in examining a small picture, but presently returning, and endeavouring to look very in-. different, he continued, "Oh, pray, Arlincourt, what questions did Miss Melville ask about me, and what did you answer?"

"Why, my dear fellow, in the first place she asked how you were? and I replied, perfectly well."

"You should not have said so," interrupted Charles hastily, "I was not well."

"She asked me, secondly, were you cheerful? Now, my dear Seymour, what could a young fellow do, when he found himself in the back ground, but tell a white lie, and so I replied, you were the merriest fellow I ever met, quite the life of Paris; I heard, or thought I heard, a sigh, and so the conversation ended. I began to imagine I had carried her by a coup d'esprit; but unfortunately she became taciturn, and complaining of a violent headache, I lost my pains and my partner at the same time-but my dear Charles, what is the matter? you look as pale as she did; I thought you would not care to hear all this now!"

66

"Oh, Arlincourt, you have ruined me, I must set off instantly!" Arlincourt was in a moment enlightened. Do, do, my dear friend! depend upon it you will be in time, or she would not have been so pallid; be off, and Cupid and fortune attend you!" So saying, he dragged Charles home, who prepared to set off on the following morning, leaving pictures, and statues, and all the course of study he had proposed to pursue, to some wight, who had the good luck neither to be in love, nor to have run a wild-goose-chase into foreign parts in search of a remedy for jealousy. Leaving Charles to pursue his journey to England as rapidly as lame horses and contrary winds would permit him, while he railed at both, we return to Julia.

After her conversation with young Arlincourt, respecting Charles, she was more than ever resolved to forget him; but (most provokingly) something was always occurring to bring him to her mind. Either his name was mentioned, or she had plucked a rose from his favourite bush, as it happened to be the finest in the garden; or, in arranging her wardrobe, she met, quite unexpectedly, with his portrait, and as she glanced her moist eye upon it, she thought it impossible that such a noble face and form, could contain an ungenerous mind, and though Arlincourt had said he was gay and merry, she need not believe it, and she thought of Posthumus and Imogen, and made up her mind that he would come back

at last, though, if he did, she meant to be as cold and distant as ever

woman was.

In this mood, she strolled out one fine summer's morning in the garden, with her little charge, who was her constant companion; the child was lovely, and her light curling hair shaded her laughing eyes, which seemed to rival the deep blue of the iris. Julia seated herself in a little arbour, which was overgrown by a luxuriant wood-bine, turning its strong fibres around a delicate jessamine, and seeming to kiss the pure white flowers that peeped from their green re"esses, offering a luscious tribute to the industrious bee. There was scarcely a breeze stirring; the mid-day sun seemed to have silenced all nature, even the gay butterfly that had been flitting away its little span of life amidst the roses, rested as if fatigued with its exertions. Julia felt unusually sad, and her young playmate was wandering about to pluck the prettiest flowers for her "dear mamma," as she now constantly called her protectress. The distant sound of a horse at full gallop was borne on the lazy air; it approached nearer and nearer, and Julia's heart beat, she knew not why. It stopped at the garden gate, which was violently opened, and at the same instant her little playfellow ran towards her, exclaiming loudly, “Dear, dear mamma, here is a gentleman." She started from the arbour, and turning the angle of a walk, encountered Charles. He had caught the child's words, and gazing for an instant on Julia, as he would have pierced into her soul, uttered! (his whole frame trembling with agitation) "Mamma, oh, Arlincourt!" and turning away, rushed from her presence, threw himself on his horse, which he had just quitted with all the animation of hope, and heedless of her voice as she exclaimed "Charles! I entreat you stop and hear me," rode off at full gallop, and in half an hour arrived, to the utter astonishment of his whole family, breathless, and looking as if he had just escaped from Charon's ferry boat. "Dear Charles!" and "Poor Charles!" and "How ill you look!" and "What can have brought you home?" were dinned into his ears by his mother and sisters, until he fairly wished himself on the banks of the Styx. The first greetings over, he pleaded fatigue as the cause of his pallid appearance, and off trotted mamma to the house-keeper, to see for something for her dear boy, and off ran his sisters for something to show him: one however remained, and he took the opportunity to say, with a contortion of countenance intended for a smile, and a preluding exclamation, between a grunt and a groan, "Humph! so Miss Melville is married!"—" Married, Charles? indeed she is not."-" But she is though," said Charles, "and has a child, and an ugly little thing it is too.”— Ugly? it is a perfect beauty; it is not hers, it is the child of her

deceased friend Mrs C

and, if I am any judge, I sncaiɑ eu f', Julia's heart is still with one who does not at all deserve it, from his unkind treatment!" Charles understood her look, started from his seat, rang the bell impetuously, and, without waiting to have it answered, rushed down stairs, nearly upsetting in his progress, his mother, sisters, and the footman, who were hurrying from all parts of the house to see what was the matter; called for his horse, ran to the stable, saddled it himself, threw himself on his back, to the utter astonishment of the whole establishment, from the mistress down to the groom, galloped off, and in a short time was at the feet of Julia, whom he still found in the arbour. The "ugly little thing," who had caused poor Charles such a sudden reversion of feeling, was no longer there. "Dearest Julia," he exclaimed, "forgive me, I entreat you, do but say you still love me, and, trust me, you shall never again have cause to complain of my jealousy; oh, if you but knew what I have suffered during this cruel absence, you would surely pity me. Arlincourt, you were right; she is indeed pale as a marble statue, and the loveliest of beings," he continued, as he gazed on her, "she must, she will forgive me!"

"

During this harangue, Julia had in some degree recovered her self possession, and willing to try him, said, with apparent earnestness, Arlincourt! have you seen him lately? I thought him a delightful young man, so full of vivacity and good humour; and indeed, Charles, if you have had him for a companion you have been fortunate."

Charles started up in actual horror, and exclaimed, "Good heavens! am I again the dupe of my own intolerable impetuosity! is it then for Arlincourt that this cheek is thus pallid, this form thus altered! oh, Julia! how have I been deceived.”

"Do you think it probable, Mr Seymour," replied Julia, with half a smile and half a sigh, "that I should have pined for one who, I had the pleasure to hear, was quite the life' of such a gay place as Paris?"

"You have been most grossly deceived, Julia; that villain Arlincourt has reported falsely of me for his own base purposes; but he shall answer for his conduct-No, Miss Melville, I wandered through Paris with feelings of but 'tis folly to plead thus, where I am despised, betrayed," continued he, turning to depart.— "Stop, Mr Seymour," said Julia, laying her white hand upon his arm. He stopped and fixed his eyes upon her countenance, the pallidness of which was giving way to the delicate hue of the pale pink acacia, "I see, poor Charles," she continued, "that you have not left your evil genius amongst the nymphs of Arcadia, nor bequeathed it to the Dryads of the Tiber, but already, at our very

first meeting, are indulging in a fit of jealousy, your eye in a fine frenzy rolling,' merely because I was so polite as to inquire after your friend. Now if this be done for effect, allow me to assure you it has but a poor one; if reality, you are the most absurd lover ever created; so now, sir, give your evidence, and I will pronounce my verdict accordingly."

There was so much of Julia's accustomed tone and manner in this, that Charles began to think he was still the chosen swain of her affections-in a short time he felt fully convinced of the mat ter; they were soon after married, and lived very happily.

To say that Charles was never jealous again, would be averring too much for human weakness; but whenever he found the demon stealing his hand over him, he thought on all the torture he had before caused himself, and .on investigation of the circumstances, invariably ascertained the fault but lay in his own imagination. Diamond Magazine.

THE ICEBERG.

'Twas night-our anchor'd vessel slept

Out on the glassy sea;

And still as heaven the waters kept,

And golden bright—as he,

The setting sun, went sinking slow
Beneath the eternal wave;

And the ocean seemed a pall to throw
Over the monarch's grave.

There was no motion of the air

To raise the sleeper's tress,

And no wave-building winds were there,

On ocean's loveliness;

But ocean mingled with the sky

With such an equal hue,

That vainly strove the 'wildered eye

To part their gold and blue.

And ne'er a ripple of the sea
Came on our steady gaze,

Save when some timorous fish stole out
To bathe in the woven blaze,--
When, flouting in the light that played
All over the resting main,

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