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comforted, and hoped that she might have overestimated the effect of Miss St. Clair's charms. When alone, Emily held a sad conference with her own heart. How came it that she but now was conscious of an attachment that must have gained a giant strength to have caused such suffering? Why had she not watched and guarded her affections, and not suffered them to be yielded up while she dreamed not of her danger? Alas! she knew not why-she only knew that she was wretched, and the more steadfastly she looked upon the future the more unhappy she became. Even supposing this admiration to be a transient one, might not another soon succeed it, and would not the same agony be again endured? But we must leave Emily tossing upon her restless couch, and follow our hero, who is viewing the doubtful future under a far different aspect. The idol of his imagination has now appeared to him, and can he but win her for his own he asks no higher blessing. Both by looks and words she had distinguished him above his companions; so far, at least, he has no reason to be discouraged, and he is dwelling in blissful anticipation upon the realization of his lifelong dreams. His fancy pictures this fair creature moving day after day in his beloved household circle, dispensing happiness to all, and, like another Eve, beautifying his earthly paradise. Sleep at length steals over him, that he may embody in still lovelier forms the visions of his waking hours.

From this day Harry seems a changed man. Hitherto indifferent to society, he is now foremost in every place of amusement. Emily is still indisposed, and neither Colonel nor Mrs. Wyndham will leave her, but Harry is ever on the wing, either riding or walking with Julia St. Clair or at the frequent entertainments she graces with her presence. Each day's intercourse increases his admiration both for her and her high-bred parents, who, on their part, receive his advances with undisguised satisfaction. At first he fancies a rival in every one that approaches her, but the softer cadence of her voice when addressing him, the brighter smile with which he is welcomed, and the ready ear she lends to his slightest word, soon assure him that he has nothing to fear, and he gives himself up to the delightful conviction that he is beloved by the object of his adoration.

Of course an affair of this kind, carried on so much in public, soon became the theme of every tongue, and Colonel and Mrs. Wyndham were frequently congratulated upon their son's ap. proaching marriage, long before they learned from Harry, who, contrary to his usual openness of character, had said little on the subject, how deeply his feelings were interested. It was not, in fact, until all was arranged between him and the fair lady, that the seal seemed taken from his lips, and he poured out his full soul to his parents and Emily, believing that their joy in his success was equal to his own. Unfortunately, however, the Colonel had taken no fancy either to the young lady nor her parents.

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They were regular highflyers," he said, "with nothing but their great pretensions to keep them afloat. He liked home ways and home people, not those who did nothing but wander about the world and give out that they were great, though no one knew whence their greatness was derived. The daughter might be every thing she seemed, but the mother was too artificial in her manners for him to trust to her smooth words and set speeches. Her husband was evidently under her despotic control, and he thought it a great risk to marry the daughter of a false and overbearing woman."

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'Have you no opinion of your son's penetra. tion, Colonel?" Mrs. Wyndham would reply. "Harry says that he never saw a more beautiful picture of united affection than Mr. St. Clair's family presents. Ilis perceptions are too true about most things to admit the possibility of his being deceived in a matter of such importance as the character of those with whom he is to be so nearly allied."

"A man in love is easily deceived. I have seen more of life than you have, my dear, simply because I look at people with my own eyes, instead of through rose-coloured glasses as you do, and I never see a woman who appears so very soft and gentle that she cannot raise her voice much above a whisper, and whose every word and look betrays a studied forethought of the effect they are to produce, that I do not mistrust her sadly. Half of them are shrews, and the other half obstinate intriguers-I am much mistaken if Mrs. St. Clair is not a little of both."

"I cannot think it," said Mrs. Wyndham. "To me there is something so fascinating in her polished elegance that I must admire her. But, even granting the mother is an artificial character, the daughter may be different; and if, as I often think, the soul imparts a portion of its loveliness to the form it animates, it must be a pure and elevated one that shines through such rare beauty as hers."

"Yet I have seen many unworthy beauties in my day," replied the Colonel smiling, "and you a few also, if my recollection serves me. But we

will not dispute about Miss St. Clair; she is Harry's choice, and I will love her if I can. God grant she makes him as happy as he deserves to be; she is not like Emily though, and I rather suspect Emily fancies her as little as I do."

"Emily knows but little of her. You remember she was taken sick the very evening we first met the St. Clairs, and, except on the two days they dined here, has not seen them since. Even then she was too weak to be down stairs all the time. She thinks Julia very beautiful, and will, I know, love her as the source of Harry's happiness."

"It is but for that happiness that I wish from my soul he had not been so precipitate. He has been so dazzled by Julia St. Clair's beauty and accomplishments, that he has taken every thing else for

THE IDEAL AND THE REAL.

granted. He can know nothing of her real character, and he loves the creature of his own imagination, embodied in her form." So saying, the Colonel left the room, leaving his wife to the uncomfortable reflections to which his very prosaic doubts had given rise.

The four short weeks which were all that Harry's impetuosity suffered to elapse between his introduction to Julia St. Clair and his engagement with her, had been spent very sadly by Emily. Frequent headaches, accompanied by an occasional fever, to which her mental agitation had given rise, formed the excuse for her withdrawing herself altogether from society, and partially from the family circle. Perfect quiet and darkness were, she said, her best restoratives, and with truth; and as her physician did not see that much was amiss, she was allowed to try these welcome remedies. During this one month Emily seemed to have lived an age. Her affections, naturally warm, had been concentrated by the strong ties of duty and gratitude upon those who had taken her, a destitute orphan, from her forsaken home, and cherished her with such tenderness, that she had since that dark hour known sorrow but in name. Towards Harry these feelings had unconsciously assumed another form-one dangerous but beautiful, and she now held stern inquisition to see how she could have so greatly erred. Had she ever thought he loved her? never for a moment, with other than fraternal love. Hers had been a free offering to his many virtues and she felt, even now, proud that it was on one so worthy it had been bestowed. Much heroism is in the world, of which, careless and unconcerned as it is, it takes no notice; but there is perhaps no greater call for heroic effort than that which many a gentle woman has experienced in the need of combatting and conquering a feeling which, in its nature noble and elevating, becomes wrong by circumstances, and because unrequited, dare not be indulged. To this effort Emily now addressed herself, in humble dependence upon a strength higher than her own. Harry would soon be another's, her affection for him would then be sin-a sin from which she prayed in agony of spirit that she might be delivered. Flight was impossible--she could not desert those who had cherished her so fondly now, when she might, in some measure, repay their cares; their son was equally necessary to them, and he would ere long bring his beloved bride to his home; she must witness their mutual love, and learn to find her own lost happiness in theirs. Two months were to pass before this dreaded moment would arrive; during most of the time Harry would be about with the St. Clairs, who were to return immediately to the north, where, among their own friends the marriage would take place. Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair were then to sail again for Europe, taking with them their second daughter. During this interval Emily determined she would strive to regain her mental and bodily strength so far as to enable her to be present at

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the ceremony, and to receive them with cheerfulness on their return.

And Emily kept her word. The struggle was endured and the victory achieved without a suspicion of the truth having crossed the mind of either of her affectionate guardians. What she suffered was only known to Him who gave her strength to bear it, and upon whose altar she laid her gift of a broken and a contrite heart. From this time her life was to be for others, self was immolated, and though she felt that there had passed a glory from the earth," a higher glory was henceforth to beam upon her path, from heaven. True, her eye was less bright, her laugh less gleesome, her cheek less glowing than before; but the high resolve that had settled on her brow gave a dignity to her air that was more attractive -her girlhood was gone, she was now a woman.

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The many cares that pressed upon Colonel and Mrs. Wyndham at this time, prevented their noticing the change; it grew out of her enfeebled health, and when that health was restored, Emily was as actively engaged with the arrangements they were making to receive the bride, as in her brightest and happiest days. All was ready, and they were just about commencing their journey, to be present at the marriage, when a violent fit of the gout so disabled the Colonel that it was impossible for any of them to leave home. One great trial was therefore spared Emily, and Harry had been two weeks a husband before she again saw him.

One wing of the house had been appropriated to the use of the newly married couple. It was furnished with exquisite taste, a piano and harp were placed in their sitting-room, in which also had been arranged Harry's favourite books, and many of his chosen specimens of virtu, and nothing seemed wanting to render it a fitting retreat for the most fastidious and luxurious Sybarite. But Mrs. Harry Wyndham was evidently not entirely satisfied-no word of commendation escaped her lips. Emily had dressed her apartments with the choicest flowers the garden and green-house could produce she did not appear to see them, and on the first evening of her arrival, seemed possessed with but two ideas-the fatigue of her journey and the heat of the weather. Harry was not conscious of this ungraciousness, being entirely occupied in trying to alleviate his wife's discomfort, but the other members of the family felt it keenly, and the Colonel shook his head after they had left the young people, remarking "that it was a bad beginning." Next day the lady was too languid to appear at breakfast, and Harry made the best apology he could for her defection, saying that she was fond of the French custom of taking her coffee in her chamber, and that it was one she generally pursued. A large party was expected at dinner, when matters wore a better aspect. Mrs. Harry Wyndham was more lovely than ever in her bridal array, her husband was radiant with happiness, and both appeared to the greatest ad

vantage. She, all smiles and gentleness, sang and played on the harp in masterly style, and he, brilliant with wit, enchained the attention by his powers of conversation. The party was kept up until late, and all parted in rapture with the beautiful bride. Mrs. Harry Wyndham was in fact a regular exhibitor. When under the excitement of company no one could be more captivating-when at home and with her family, no one could be more disagreeable. Spoiled and flattered from childhood, she had early learned to consider her beauty an endowment that gave her an undoubted superiority, and was only anxious to secure such accomplishments as would display her person to the greatest advantage. Her mother, a worldly, intriguing woman, had decided that this beautiful daughter must make a brilliant match, and from the eligibles that were in the market, and within reach, at the time of her return to her native country, she had selected the heir of Colonel Wyndham's wealth as the most desirable parti. Her minute inquiries concerning his tastes, led to the adoption of the classical costume that so delighted him, and of the sentiments that conciliated his deeper regard. The daughter yielded herself unreservedly to her mother's wishes, and acted her part to admiration. But now that the prize was hers, there was no need for further effortthe goddess stepped from her pedestal, and showed herself in her true colours-a vain, selfish, capricious woman.

Nothing that the tenderest affection could devise was omitted by her husband, his parents, and the anxious Emily, to contribute to Julia's happiness; but, unless she was the centre of an admiring circle, she would ever maintain the same indifferent manner that was so repulsive on her first arrival, and which by degrees spread constraint and discomfort through the once cheerful family. Did her husband wish their solitary hours enlivened by her voice or harp? she was always hoarse or fatigued. Would he try to tempt her by the beauty of the day to ramble with him among his favourite walks? she was incapable of so great an exertion. Did he strive to interest her in his intellectual pursuits, and read aloud to her from some favourite author? she would sometimes fall asleep among the cushions of the sofa, or at others would interrupt him by observations that showed her thoughts were far away, and engaged with the frivolity in which she most delighted.

But this was not all: Julia Wyndham, like most narrow minded women, was fond of power, and was evidently determined to rule her husband and his family with absolute control. This was not, however, quite so easily accomplished as she had expected, and the slightest opposition to her will would produce fits of sullenness which were grievous to be borne. Harry, with little knowledge of female character, beyond that acquired in his own amiable family, was at first quite bewildered by the various phases her uncertain temper assumed;

but soon learning to attribute them to their true cause, he became fully conscious of the misery of his situation. It was like an awakening in his coffin-he was tied for life to a woman without heart, without mind, and he almost feared, without principle-certainly without the principle that led to a right performance of duty. But she was his wife! a sacred name, and one that enjoined sacred responsibilities; it must be his part to stand between her and sorrow; and whatever her indifference to his happiness, to labour to secure hers as best he might. But how wide the contrast between the watchfulness for another's well-being that springs from ardent reciprocal affection and that arising from the colder dictates of duty. What delightful intuition in the one! what conscious effort in the other! Yet though the bliss of the former is immeasurably greater, self-sacrifice, at duty's bidding, brings with it its own reward. Harry Wyndham had been hitherto a dreamer: he now became a man of action. The beautiful ideal of domestic happiness that he had nourished for years, had faded before him, and the hard reality of disappointment pressed sorely upon his sensitive feelings. But it was of no avail to yield to despondency; he must endeavour, if he can, to conceal his unhappiness, and by constant occupation fill the aching void within. His father's health had become infirm, and Harry was active in attending to the duties he was unable to perform. He also rejected entirely the style of reading to which he had formerly been so much devoted, and in his leisure hours pursued a course of serious study calculated to reduce "that forward, delusive faculty," imagination, to the dominion of sterner reason.

Thus, one year from his wedding day, saw our hero fully disenchanted; it also saw him labouring to dissipate the sorrow he saw his unfortunate choice had entailed upon his parents, whose happiness was bound up in his! This was, however,

a difficult task. Colonel and Mrs. Wyndham had strict notions of feminine dignity, and it was a hard trial to witness the efforts made by their daughter to gain the admiration of strangers, while she was so utterly indifferent to pleasing them. No mustachioed foreigner could appear in society, whose exclusive attentions she did not strive to appropriate. She would often invite those most disagreeable to the family, to the Colonel's table, load them with civilities, and hardly bestow a look on their most cherished friends, if they had not the external attractions which alone could win her regards. The Washington season was hardly over, before she would insist upon her husband conducting her to some other mart of vanity, and, if he did not at once comply, her ill temper knew no bounds. She would then either seclude herself entirely from the family, or behave towards them with a cold repulsiveness that showed how deeply she was offended.

One day, after her conduct had been more than usually irritating to her husband, Emily was sit

THE IDEAL AND THE REAL.

ting in a recess of the library when Harry entered, and, not perceiving her, threw himself into a large chair and groaned so heavily, that Emily sprang towards him thinking he had been taken suddenly ill. He started when he saw her, and said,

"It is nothing, Emily-at least nothing that you can relieve," and seeing the deep sympathy expressed in her countenance, he took her hand as he added, " my beloved sister, I have unwittingly betrayed my misery to you-you cannot be ignorant of it, but it is of my own causing, and I alone should suffer. Your pale cheeks and my parents' sadness press sorely upon my spirit, and I have just been thinking it would be best for us all that I should yield to Julia's wishes, and take her abroad for a short time. How hard it is to tear myself from home, God only knows. Will you sound my father on the subject? his health is not what it used to be, and I cannot leave him against his will."

"Do not leave him, Harry," said Emily in tears. "What would he do without you, now that he is so lame and incapable of business? We will make Julia happy here. Oh! if she would only let me, I would devote myself to gaining her love, and be a sister to her as I have been to you."

"You have been a sad sister lately," said Harry with a faint smile. "You never bring your books and drawings to me as you did in former times, when we were both so happy. Do you remember with what faith we looked upon the future? What dreams of happiness and usefulness we then indulged? All faded now and gone, their very memory making the present still more dark -to one of us at least. You, thank heaven, are still happy; but I am miserable."

"Harry, do not talk thus. Is there not a higher worth in duty well performed than in fancy's brightest visions? Are you not a kind husband, a devoted son, an active citizen, a kind friend? Do not both poor and rich around you rise up and call you blessed, and because one dream is unfulfilled, do you count the rest as nothing?"

"You are right, Emily--it was a moment of weakness-I should not despond, for many sources of happiness are still open to me. Contentment, you know Coleridge says, is "next to best," and that I will struggle to attain. In one thing you can aid me, by trying to veil my domestic sorrows from my parents-make them think me blind, deluded--any thing but what I am"-and Harry hastily quitted the room.

Three days after this conversation, Colonel Wyndham was attacked with a violent gout in his stomach, which soon closed his earthly career. By his father's will, Harry now became the possessor of the estate on which he resided, an ample provision was made for the widow and Emily, and to the former was bequeathed a beautiful house lately built in the neighbourhood, to which she could retire, if such was her wish. So tender a husband and father could not fail to be deeply

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mourned, and had Julia Wyndham possessed one particle of feeling, it must have been excited by the distress she witnessed. Mrs. Wyndham was closely confined to her apartment, so that she was spared the trial of seeing her absolute indifference, but Emily saw it all, and wept in bitterness of spirit over her heartlessness.

Julia at once assumed the control of the establishment. She rummaged through all the depositaries of plate, china, and linen, and could not conceal her delight in viewing the contents as her own. New domestic arrangements were introduced, and the old family servants scolded for their stupidity, in not comprehending them immediately. To complete Harry's mortification, Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair and their daughter returned from Europe, within a few weeks of his father's death, and after visiting their sons at college, came immediately to his house with such an array of trunks and boxes, as made it evident they had decided upon a long sojourn. Harry might possibly have prevented his wife entertaining company in the present state of the family, but could exercise no authority over her parents, who, anxious to receive their friends, soon made the house as gay as ever, and Mrs. Wyndham and Emily, in their apartments, over the drawing-room, were continually pained by the sounds of mirth that accorded so ill with their own desolate feelings. They saw by Harry's countenance how deeply this conduct distressed him, and as his wife's defects had ever been a sacred subject to them, they forebore to complain of it, but determined to have their other abode prepared for their immediate reception. Through Emily's active energy this was speedily accomplished, and to Harry's sorrow, these objects of his affection, whose society was now his only solace, were literally driven from his house by the cold-hearted selfishness of his wife. He could not, however, oppose their removal--he saw that it was for the best; and now inured to suffering, acquiesced with calmness, and exerted himself to render their new abode as attractive to them as he could.

Had Mrs. Wyndham never before been repaid for her disinterested kindness to her adopted child, she reaped the full reward of it now. Naturally of a most dependent disposition, and deprived, as she was, of those on whom she had hitherto leaned, Emily must now be her protector, consoler, guide, every thing; and well had nature and experience fitted Emily for the task. She moved in their little household like a being from a higher sphere, whose errand to earth was one of love, and whose dearest ministry was that of consolation. While Julia, a wedded wife, was displaying her beauty and accomplishments to gain the admiration of the world, Emily, of the same age, was devoting her far more extensive talents and acquirements to cheer and refresh the broken spirit of one solitary mourner. She strove to keep from Mrs. Wyndham's knowledge all that would pain her in the conduct of her daugh.

ter-in-law, and her slightest acts of kindness were placed before her in the most favourable light. Had Julia been the sister of her blood, instead of her who had won the heart she would have given worlds to gain, she could not have been more careful of her reputation. If Mrs. Wyndham entered upon the subject of Harry's domestic trials, Emily, with nicest tact, would lead the conversation to other things, or speak of his wife's defects as those for which years and experience would probably bring the remedy. But the expression of sadness that gradually deepened upon her son's once happy face, told the mother a different tale, and her active imagination became morbidly fearful lest Julia's passion for admiration might add public disgrace to secret misery. The downward course is smooth, and there is no knowing how far Julia might have descended, had not her career of vanity been suddenly arrested, and her own self-will brought on her a fearful punishment.

Julia had prevailed upon her indulgent husband to seek out matches to a splendid pair of carriage horses that were appropriated to her use. The newly purchased animals were young, high-spirited, and not yet completely broken to the harness, but Julia's impatience to sport her handsome equipage was such, that Harry interposed his absolute prohibition of her attempting to use the four horses until he thought it perfectly safe, when he would himself accompany her. More than a fortnight passed, and the horses were still pronounced unsafe by Harry, though the coachman and groom said they went quiet as lambs in their last drive. It was a beautiful day, late in June, and Mrs. St. Clair and her daughter, who had been some time with Julia, and were to set out for the north the next day, were to pay a visit about six miles distant, when Julia proposed (as several strangers were at the house of their friend before whom she wished to make a display) that they should turn out their dashing equipage. Mrs. St. Clair at first objected, but on the testimony of the coachman being favourable, gave her conset. Harry was absent from home, and would not return till the next day, he would know nothing of the matter, and the three ladies set off early in the afternoon, in high spirits. The drive to Mrs. L.'s was happily accomplished, the horses behaved perfectly well, were exceedingly admired, and they had proceeded more than a mile on their homeward route, when Mrs. St. Clair became alarmed by the appearance of a threatening cloud, and begged the coachman to drive as fast as possible. The horses were therefore put to their speed, but before they were near home a flash of lightning, followed by severe thunder, so terrified the animals, that they dashed violently forward. The ladies lost their presence of mind and screamed aloud, when a second clap caused the leaders to start aside, which Julia perceiving, and giving all up for lost, jumped out of the open carriage, at the very moment when coming in contact with a bank on the road side, it was over

turned, crushing her beneath its weight. Mrs. and Miss St. Clair were thrown upon the grass, and though bruised were not seriously injured; the servants were severely hurt, and, when some negroes who were passing on their return from the field, raised the body of the shattered carriage, the unhappy Julia was found lifeless beneath it.

*

Two years passed away after the terrible catastrophe, and Harry still dwelt in solitary seclusion in his paternal mansion. It had been Mrs. Wyndham's wish to return to him as soon as Mr. St. Clair's family had removed, but Emily show. ed so great a reluctance to leave their humbler home, that for the first time a suspicion of the truth flashed across the mind of her affectionate guardian. The idea once admitted, a thousand recollections added to its force, and, as Mrs. Wyndham, thus enlightened, reviewed the mournful past, her affection for her adopted child became almost reverence, while she dwelt upon the beautiful consistency of her conduct. Her conviction that it was right to avoid the danger of reviving long crushed though possibly still existing feelings, led her to acquiesce in Emily's wish that they should remain in their present dwelling. Harry was, of course, their daily visitor, but Emily gaining wisdom by experience, had always some indispensable duty that absorbed her closely while he was with them, and resolutely guarded every avenue by which the destroyer of her peace might again effect an entrance. She felt that association with him was now more than ever dangerous, and that the noble, earnest, self-subdued man was even more attractive than the romantic and intellectual youth to whom her young affections had been so freely offered. She thought too, that the years, which had but added to his manly beauty, had robbed her of the freshness of her youth, and left her no graces to supply their place. But Emily at five-and-twenty was, though she knew it not, more lovely than in her early girlhood, for her person, then too slight, had expanded, her manner had acquired a more finished elegance, and her beautiful eye-that index of the soulspoke hers to be the mansion of all pure thoughts and holy affections.

It was a fair summer evening, and Emily, faithful to her plan, had torn herself from the society that she felt, in spite of all her precautions was daily becoming more dear to her, and, having quitted the house through a side door, was indulging in some very melancholy reflections, as she pursued her solitary walk towards a wood at a short distance-"Oh this weakness of the soul," she murmured, "this re-awakening of memories once conquered, and as I fondly thought, utterly subdued. I have striven and prayed against it, and yet, with all my agonizing experience, I am again dwelling on his looks and tones, and long-forbidden feelings rise upon my heart. Oh that he would again leave us! that he would visit the home of the arts he so adores, and return wedded

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