Gone like an atom by a whirlwind driven, THE EMPTY GRAVE, A TRADITION OF BUCKS BY MISS M. L. BEEVOR. "And who hath dug that grave ?"- Cain. Eleanor M- and I had walked about a couple of miles from Marlow, on the Henley road, which passes through the woods or plantations of the old estate of the C- family. Delighted with any thing resembling forest scenery-though indeed the trees thereabouts were but slender, and apparently young-I trod the ground with light brisk step, when suddenly, under the trees, a deep oblong pit or trench attracted my attention and arrested my steps; it was chalky like the soil around, but its sides being now pretty well lined with grass, and its bottom with dried leaves, proved that it had been dug for years, and abandoned. I called Eleanor-" What is this? it looks as if it had been intended for a grave."-" And so it was," replied my friend," and to this day retains the name of the EMPTY GRAVE," During our walk home, Eleanor gave me the following explanatory narrative: "Some years since, when the road we have now gone by was merely a bridle-path through the Rasselas woods, and when the Harleyford grounds, uncleared and untrimmed, were as one vast forest, Jonathan White, his wife, and pretty daughter Marian, lived in the woods, about two miles from the spot now occupied by the empty grave. 'White was a tenant of the then Sir C and being an honest ; industrious man, had amassed some property, of which his daughter was the heiress apparent; consequently, many were the admirers of the forest flower, as she was termed many the suitors she was obliged to dismiss; yet the forest maiden was not cold-hearted, and bright was the glance she bestowed upon Harry Goodrich, who in truth became from her favoured, her betrothed lover. Harry, tradition asserts, was young, handsome, clever, genteel, and amiable; his parents and younger brother, Robert, resided in Marlow; but he chiefly abode with a lawyer at Henley, to whom he was clerk. Harry, who was not to claim Marian White for his bride until he found himself in flourishing business for himself, seized with avidity every opportunity afforded him by leisure hours and holidays, for visiting the Forest Flower, and thus with little variation, passed on, in hope and happiness, days, weeks, months, and years. About a year and half previous to the time when Goodrich expected to become " his own man," a stranger appeared in Marlow, one Gustavus Mervyn, a bold, fierce, but goodlooking man, whose age might be five-and-thirty, whose glowing countenance proclaimed his friendship for the brandykeg, and whose powerful frame and strong-knit muscular arm, alarmed the less physically-gifted to look at them: who or what he was, no one could tell; not a gentleman, certainly, though he strove to assume the dress, manners, voice, and gait of one, but probably a sea-faring man, since no land-lubber it was conjectured, could spend his money so thoughtlessly, and none but a sailor could acquire such countless sums. Mervyn and Robert Goodrich (a youth far different in morals and manners from his worthy brother) ere long formed the closest intimacy; for, while the elder found his new friend plastic as wax, the younger was only too happy that he had met with a companion in evil courses who could and would pay their expense. "Wild Robert was for his brother's sake, admitted to the fireside and hospitable board of Farmer White, but sad was the day when this thoughtless lad introduced as a guest his new friend Mervyn, who despite his rough, uncongenial exterior, bad, or chose to have it supposed he had, both the heart and taste to fall desperately in love with Marian; nor when he learnt that the fair girl would one day possess an ample for tune, was his affection at all diminished, Harry and his Forest Flower, however, secure in faithful and honourable love, laughed openly at Mervyn's advances, and he laughed also, for he affected to bear a bantering with amiable equanimity of spirit. Within a fortnight of the period when young Goodrich would be out of his articles, his prospects were most cheering; Mr. Clenchley, whose business was extensive, had offered to take him into partnership, and his marriage was speedily to ensue; but all things in this world do not always occur as man arranges them. On the evening of Michaelmas Day, Harry Goodrich was expected by the forest family, who kept it as a social festival, and Marian dressed in her neatest, if not her best, anxiously awaited her lover's arrival; seven o'clock struck, he was to have been at the farm by six. "Mr. Clanchley keeps him late to-night," said Mrs. White, less anxious for her tea than for her reputation in regard to certain cakes, for the making and baking of which she had attained celebrity."Don't be fidgetty, Dame," replied the farmer, " and don't frighten yerself my Marian; for remember, on quarter-day Mr. Clenchley may have much business to settle, and find himself forced to keep your sweetheart; besides, Harry has to walk above four miles, which if he's off late must add to the time." Half-past seven arrived, but with it no Harry; the cakes were burnt in the oven, and Mrs. White decided that they could wait for him no longer; tea must be begun. "And where in the world too," cried the dame," are Robert Goodrich and Gusty Mervyn ?"—" Wild chaps!" said the farmer," they're not worth a thought, so eat thy pudding and hold thy tongue.'-But Marian, dear, cheer up! Be sure Harry will come if he can, and if he don't to-night, he will to-morrow.' Poor Marian endeavoured to rally, but after the clock had struck nine, her spirits sunk entirely under a heavy sense of impending evil. It was also evident that her parents had unpleasant apprehensions, however much they strove to conceal them, and the loving girl's resolution was taken; she felt-she was sure, without exactly knowing wherefore, that if she could but quit the house, to go forth into the forest, she should obtain tidings of Harry Goodrich. The family when without company, retired to rest at half-past ten; they did so this evening, and in another hour Marian, well wrapped up, descended from her chamber, unfastened the doors at the back of the house, which were merely bolted and buttoned, and climbing sundry gates, at length got clear off her father's premises, and crept stealthily forward into the woods. It was a lovely moonlight night, one of those pleasant autumnal midnights which, though rather chilly, so clearly show the verdure of the fields, and of the scarcely changing foliage, that we forget "the summer is past and gone." The air was exceedingly fragrant; the mists peculiar to this season veiled the distance; some of the near and prominent masses of the Rasselas woods laid in the sickly light of the moon ; but it was not without a feeling of awe that Marian gazed upon their intermingling patches of intense shadow, and entered their deep recesses. The n:orning of the 30th of September beamed on a scene at the forest farm, of which words can convey but an inadequate idea. The Whites were aroused an hour before their usual early period of rising, by the vociferous demands of a neighbour to see them-" Call up your daughter," said Mr. Grimstone" Poor thing! 'tis little she'll like to hear what I've to tell her." A servant was sent to awake Marian, but not returning, Mrs. White proceeded to her chamber; she was not there, her bed had not been latd upon, and a strict search proved only that she was from home. "Do not be alarmed for your daughter's safety," said farmer Grimstone, when Mrs. White returning informed him that Marian was no where to be found. She is at my house and alive, though far from well; she was found early this morning by some of my labourers, lying in the wood under a tree, and as they thought asleep; but, poor thing, she was in a swoon! A young man was hanging by his neck-cloth from a branch just above her, quite stiff and dead, and that young man was HENRY GOODRICH !". (To be concluded.) GOOD NATURE. Good nature is more agreeable in conversation than wit, and gives a certain air to the countenance, which is more amiable than beauty. It shews virtue in the fairest light, takes off, in some measure, from the deformity of vice, and makes even folly and impertinence supportable. METRICAL SKETCHES. BY M. L. B. THE BENSHEE'S CALL. The Benshee, whose wailing forewarns the "ould" Irish families of the death of one of their line, is supposed to be in general some unfortunate and even guilty ancestress, upon whom after her demise this unpleasant office has devolved. Proud Geraldine! the night-storm wild, Moans heavily, Whilst, like the cry of a tortur'd child, (Shrieks) Scr-ha-a-gh! Hark, Lady! hark! thy forests green, With fitful gush Their clustering matted boughs between, Proud Geraldine! the fatal hour To mountain, dell, Wood, stream, and patrimonial tower, Hark, Lady! hark! I once, e'en here, Of oldest line, This hall was mine, Bestow'd by many a sire and year, And oh! I reign'd as Queeu : |