vations and perplexities. Some repugnant feelings were indeed natural; but for her ultimate happiness she had no longer any fear.

Serenely now could she contemplate the hour of their final separation and her spirit, no longer fettered by mortal solicitude, was prepared to wing its way to fairer worlds.

The meditations of Margaret were of a different character; the promise she had just given had decided her fate; to withdraw it was impossible; to repent in vain; to fulfil it-alas! how painful! Reflection, however, while it awakened a thousand tender recollections, had no power to chill the energy of filial love, and the interview which Mr. Beresford solicited the succeeding day was decisive. Satisfied with her gentle assurance of esteem and gratitude, he attributed all that might appear cold to her retired habits, and the unaffected modesty of her nature; and felt only increased anxiety, to secure and exhibit to the world this "pearl of great price."

In less than two months after this period the marriage took place, and they immediately removed to Devonshire for the benefit of Mrs. Campbell's health. A soft air, and perfect repose of mind, effected a partial restoration; and for some months Margaret indulged the delightful hope of her recovery; but this hope was not to be realised: the malady was alleviated, not subdued, and a slight cold occasioned a renewal and increase of every alarming symptom.

Gradually, and almost by imperceptible degrees, her strength wasted away; but the decay which shattered her earthly frame extended not its ravages to the mind: there all was bright, and calm, and clear.-Sustained by faith, animated by hope, she seemed superior to the pangs of mortal suffering: she rested on the Rock of Ages. To the last moment her heart retained its warm affections, her mind its clearness and vigour; like the setting sun of a summer sky, which sinks amidst brightness and beauty, to rise again in radiance and joy.

CHAPTER VI.

A PROFOUND and solemn impression was left on the mind of Mrs. Beresford by the events we have now detailed.

Death, resistless and unrelenting, had seized upon the dearest objects of her affection. Circumstances had blighted and crushed the secret hope of her heart. To her, therefore, life had lost much of the freshness of its colouring. She felt a deep conviction of the fragility of its blessings, and the intenseness of its woes. But if the touch of affliction had scattered the gay hopes, and quelled the light spirits of youth, it

had imparted a tenderness of sympathy, an activity of benevolence, a real unaffected superiority to the daily trials and petty cares of life, which gave an inexpressible charm to her cha

racter.

Intent only upon promoting the happiness of others, no selfish feelings, disturbed the equanimity of her mind, or checked the flow of her benevolence.

Intellectual superiority was in her so beautifully relieved by unvarying sweetness of temper, that she excited very general admiration in the society to which she was introduced, and inspired an attachment tender, and almost devoted, in the circle of familiar friends among whom she might be said to preside.

The character of Mr. Beresford's mind was inferior to her own; his tone of thought less clear and forcible; his views less lofty and decided.

Margaret could not be insensible to this, nor could she entirely check the recollections that Occasionally obtruded; but these feelings did not for a moment lessen the beautiful consistency of her conduct as a wife. Her influence over the mind of her husband was boundless; but, like the agency of a guardian spirit, it was as delicate and imperceptible as it was effective.

Mr. Fullarton had received the tidings of her marriage with more pain than surprise. The warm admiration expressed by Mr. Beres

ford had prepared him for the event; it had prompted his own abrupt departure from Scotland; and from that moment he had endeavoured to become familiar with the idea.

Still, in spite of himself, a feeling, something like hope, had lingered about his heart, till the letter announcing her marriage was put into his hands.

At that decisive moment, a bitter sense of disappointment pervaded his mind. He struggled to shake it off: he tried to reason away his keen emotions; to persuade himself that he rejoiced in her happy prospects. It would not do: he could only quarrel with the selfishness of his own nature, and pray, with unutterable tenderness, for her happiness.

With the consciousness of such feelings, it was natural that he should withdraw, as much as possible, from any immediate intercourse with the Beresfords.

He wrote a short letter, expressive of the unaffected interest he must always feel in all that concerned them; and, from that time, resisted, with admirable steadiness, the cordial invitations which he repeatedly received from Mr. Beresford.

The intelligence of Mrs. Campbell's death affected him exceedingly. Happily he was too distant to yield to the strong desire it excited of once again seeing Margaret, and he was afterwards reasonable enough to rejoice that the temptation had been spared him.

In the expression and indulgence of sympathy, when both hearts were softened by grief, he was aware that his tenderness might have betrayed itself.

It was not till the fourth year after her marriage, that he ventured upon more than a short hurried visit.

He will not perhaps be forgiven by those who contend for the undecaying nature of real love; but it is certain, that at the end of that period, time and hopelessness had considerably tranquillised his feelings; and that he contemplated Mrs. Beresford, as a wife and mother, with quiet admiration, and with as little envy of her husband as could reasonably be expected. To compensate in some degree for such a deficiency, it must be acknowledged, that he felt a decided indisposition to marriage, and his perception of female charms and attractions, became singularly slow and obtuse.

His friendship with the Beresfords once renewed, continued for many a year to be the charm of his leisure hours; and he was ultimately indebted to it for advantages of a more solid and permanent nature.

The living of Hartley, of which Mr. Mowbray was patron, became, vacant; and through the solicitation of his friends, it was presented to him.

When admiring the pleasant situation of his new dwelling, and making the necessary preliminary arrangements, it is probable that regrets and