answered, that Mrs. Somers was well, and had entrusted her with a letter, which she would deliver to her as soon as her baggage was brought in. "Run-fly, Sylvia, and see if Miss Beverly's things are in. I tremble with eagerness to read the missive of my beloved Louisa," The letter was soon produced, and Sylvia held the light, while her mistress perused the contents of it. speak to your governess. She is very bashful, and you Thus was a child of great promise, and extreme sen "What a horrid cramped hand Louisa writes! I declare I can scarcely make out what she says." "Do you think so?" said Constance. "I admire her sibility, treated by her only parent, while the two who writing very much. She usually writes well." A flush passed over the face of Mrs. Mathews, and she hastily answered-"I am no judge perhaps of good writing: I usually judge a hand by the ease with which one reads it." "Her needed correction were suffered to act as they pleased, Constance felt that she had offended, and was at a loss what to say, when two children burst into the room. The boy was screaming at the top of his voice-Beverly hear how well you understand geography." "Ma-ma-has that 'oman come to make me stay in Miss Louisa sullenly approached her mother. the house, and learn bad lessons? I won't learn-I will "Yes, my dear love, you may, but you can say your lessons also, won't you my son? I know mama's pet, her own dear pet, will be a good child and mind Miss Beverly, won't he?" "No, I won't," screamed the child. "I don't choose to learn, nor to mind nobody but big Jim, when he tells me to come with him and shoot squirrels." "Go away then, you naughty boy. Mama won't have you for her boy. I will send you out to mammy Sue, and tell her to keep you with the little negroes." "But I shan't go, Miss. I'll knock mammy Sue down." So saying, the young hopeful rushed out again. In the meantime, the little girl had drawn close to Constance, and was gazing on her with a mixture of admiration and fear. "Flat." "Flat! my love, you forget-try again." "I say it is flat; for, if it wasn't, we'd all fall off it." "Fie, fie, Louisa! you should remember better. Now tell me where the Mississippi (that great river we sailed down in the steamboat) empties? "In the Pacific Ocean." "Very well said; now come, and give mama a kiss. Now, tell Miss Beverly, what range of mountains that is which crosses Africa." "The Andes," said the child, “the loftiest mountains in the world." "There is a charming child. You will really be quite a prodigy. Go now, with Sylvia, and get an orange for your cleverness." Away ran Miss Louisa, and Constance sat in mute astonishment, at the extent of the mother's ignorance, "Come here, my dear," said she to the child, "I while Mrs. Mathews went on: wish to become acquainted with you." She approached timidly, and raised her large soft eyes to her face. She was about eight years of age, with a fairy-like figure, and a face which promised to be beautiful. Pleased with the softness of Miss Beverly's manner, she was soon won to stand beside her, and answer the questions she put to her. Mrs. Mathews left the room to call her eldest daughter, and the little girl came closer to her new acquaintance, and whispered "Mama has gone for Louisa-pray do not love her so much more than you do me. I should like you to love me." "Louisa is so much like her father, that really my heart glows with unremitting affection for her. Like the tendrils of the vine clasping the oak, she has wound herself around my heart until it would be death to part us. Oh, Miss Beverly, no affection yields so much delight as parental affection! To see the sweet blossoms opening around us, gives brightness to the darkest hours." Constance assented with a smile, hoping that something like natural feeling was concealed beneath all this affectation and folly. Alas, for poor Constance ! condemned to associate with a being so much beneath her in the scale of intellect, she looked forward to a life of "Why should you think so, my dear? If you are wearying duties uncheered by companionship of mind good, I shall love you both alike." "Ah, no-you cannot. I try to be good, but mama loves Loo the best. She never calls her a little pest, or refuses to kiss her." Constance imprinted a kiss on the fair brow, whose brightness was shadowed, even at her age, by the culpable preference of a parent for one child before another. At that moment, Mrs. Mathews returned, leading by the hand a girl of ten-the very counterpart of herself. "I bring you a new claimant on your affections, Miss Beverly. My dear Louisa, hold up your head, and or feeling. She wept bitterly on retiring to rest; but she gradually became more calm as she prayed for support from "Him who heareth the orphan's cry," and resigned herself to his care. The following morning was calm and bright-the sun was just gilding the tree tops, as she stepped out on the gallery and looked around her. It was yet early in autumn, and the trees wore not their "sere and yellow" livery. Allingham manor was one of the finest plantations in the state, and the late proprietor had spared no expense to render it a pleasant residence for "But mother," said Mary, timidly, "you know Col. Maitland laughed at Louisa's mistakes, and told me not to learn to make myself ridiculous.” his family. The house was spacious and airy: in front | learn that charming ode to the Robin Redbreast, which of it was a large reservoir of water, surrounded by the her sister repeated for Col. Maitland the last time he most beautiful shrubbery. China trees, with their was here." bright green leaves and yellow berries, were scattered in groupes over the large yard, beyond which, were the extensive fields, spreading on three sides, as far as the eye could reach, white with the cotton balls, which about a hundred negroes were engaged in gathering, while their merry songs greeted the ear. While leaning against one of the pillars which supported the roof of the gallery, and thinking of her absent friends, Constance felt her dress pulled, and looking down, she saw Mary with a bouquet of beautiful flowers--many of them entirely new to her. "Thank you, my dear. This is a charming bunch of flowers-I must pay you for them with a kiss. As she spoke, she seated herself beside the child on the upper step of the gallery. Mary threw her arms around her, and, exclaiming, "Ah, if you will only love me!" burst into a hysterical passion of tears. "No, Miss, I did not know it. Ridiculous, indeed! I would thank Col. Maitland not to be making you more unmanageable than you already are, by such speeches. I shall tell him of it. Ridiculous, indeed! Come, Miss Beverly-1 hear the bell for breakfast; let us go in." During the time they were at the table, Mrs. Mathews continued to pour forth the same volume of words, and Constance wondered when she found time to eat. The silly conversation of the mother was varied by occasional reproofs to her daughters for any little improprieties; but the son Bud (as she very affection. ately called him,) was allowed to act as he pleased. He reached over the table and helped himself-called to the attendants every moment to bring him what he could not get hold of, and ended by throwing a fork at one who did not move fast enough to please him. "Poor little dear," said Constance, folding her in her arms, 'you must have been strangely neglected by those whose duty it was to love and cherish you. I will love you, indeed, my sweet Mary, if you will be a good child." "Indeed—indeed, I will try. Father loved me, and not check him for the world; it would destroy the germ why should not you?" At that moment, Mrs. Mathews issued from the house. After the usual salutations of the morning, she commenced "So you have been looking around you this morning. I hope you are pleased. I flatter myself that Allingham manor has one of the most demanding prospects in the country, and I consider myself a good judge, as I have travelled entirely over the state of Rhode Island, and through New York and Ohio, besides coming down the Mississippi: I call that being pretty much of a traveller. My poor dear husband was always wishing to travel: he desired to go to Europe. Every body talks of Europe, and wants to go there; but for my part, when I go a travelling, I am determined to be singular; I shall not put my foot in Europe, I shall only go to Italy. That is the land of "beauty and of bloom," as that divine writer, Sir Walter Scott, says. Have you ever read his " Pleasures of Hope?" "What independence! what charming spirit he has!" said the mother, addressing Miss Beverly. "I would of that dignity and independence which the manly character should always possess. My son, I flatter myself, will be a noble fellow." "How am I ever to manage this creature ?" thought the dismayed Constance. "He seems to me beyond the pale of civilization." When she was ready to go into the school-room, she inquired of Mrs. Mathews if her son must be taken in school with the two girls? "Oh, by all means. I will send him in, but you must be kind and affectionate to the dear child. He has never been used to severe measures. I will accompany you to the library, which I have converted into a schoolroom. Here is food for the mind," continued she, as they entered a large room, the walls of which were lined with book cases and maps. She threw open the doors of a case filled with novels and poetry. "Here you will find everything in the literary line. Here are The Forty Thieves, written by the inimitable Scott. I "No, madam," said Constance, I did not know that wonder if he was a native of Turkey-he knew so such a work had been written by him." much about the manners and customs of the Turks. Ah no, I forgot; as you are not or fate to the literary characters of the day, as the French say, I will tell you his history. He was not a Turk, but an Englishman, who kept guard over Napoleon, and wrote his life from his own confessions. Because his name is Scott, he took a fancy to Scotland, and wrote some pretty "Bless me, Miss Beverly, you don't say so. Mrs. Somers told me that you knew everything, and I certainly expected you to be acquainted with the literature of the day. I wish you to form the literary taste of my daughters. Loo is passionately fond of poetry, and already repeats some sweet poems by heart." "I am pleased to hear that she has a taste for read-things about the people. The Cotter's Saturday Night ing, as I shall have less difficulty in teaching her. Your youngest daughter appears to be a very interesting child." "That is what Colonel Maitland says; but for my part I cannot see what anybody can fancy such a dull little animal for. She is always moping about, and never has anything amusing to say, like her sister. Now Loo is as lively as a cricket. Mr. Mathews was very fond of Mary, and called her his little genius; but what she has a genius for, I never could discover. and Tam O'Shanter are his most creditable productions, though for my part I think he is very much overrated. What can be more vulgar than to write about a dirty cottager coming home from his daily labor? There is no fancy--no elegance in such stuff. Talking about poetry, reminds me of a piece given to me last week by a friend. I think it a sweet, pretty effusion-it was written on my performance on the piano. I will show it to you." She took a rose-colored note from a small basket on I could never teach her anything; she would not even the centre table, and opening it, commenced "Ah little did you know the feelings of me, As I stood by the side of your piano-forte." What was to follow this precious morceau, can never be known; for at that moment a terrible noise was heard coming toward them, and Mrs. Mathews escaped from the room, exhorting Constance to be "gentle to the dear little creature." An athletic black entered, bearing Master Hopeful on his back, kicking and screaming with all his might. The negro's face bore evident marks of a conflict with his turbulent burthen. "I tell you, big Jim, put me down, and let me go, or I will put my ten commandments in your face," making an effort, as he spoke, to claw the cheeks of the negro. "No, no, young massa-me no let you go. You cum say you lesson fust. Missus say you mus stay in de school room." So saying, he deposited the boy on a cricket, by the side of Constance. The servant went out, and the child made an effort to rush after him, but was prevented by the key being turned on the outside. Constance suffered him to lie on the floor and kick against the door, until he became exhausted, and fell asleep. She then selected a large book, filled with colored engravings, hoping by degrees to interest him in acquiring the elements of education. It is not my purpose to give an account of the many weary days she spent in bringing her pupils into anything like subjection. Henry showed both good feeling and quickness when they were fairly brought into play. Louisa, in character, as well as person, resembled her mother. Superficial, vain, and fond of display, she thought more of adorning her little person, than of attending to the instructions of her governess. Mary had many faults, but they were those of an ingenuous and high-spirited child, who had been treated with injustice by her parent. Highly gifted she certainly was; she possessed all that precocious talent which is said by the superstitious to be given only to the early doomed; and when one looked into her deep dark eyes, they could not but yield to the belief, that their sad expression betokened the early fate of their interesting possessor. She attached herself entirely to Constance, and in all her rambles, Mary was her constant companion. arisen on his entrance-one moment pale as death, and the next, cheek, neck, and brow in a crimson glow. Maitland was the first to recover; he advanced, and bowing, said with assumed coldness "Will not Miss Beverly recognize an old friend under a new name?" "I did not know-I was not aware that-that"That I had changed my name, you would say. I believe it is not often customary with my sex. You are aware that I went to Scotland to visit my maternal grandfather: by a clause in his will I took his name, when I inherited his estate." There was a pause which was broken by Constance. Putting considerable constraint on her feelings, she endeavored to speak calmly. "I was not informed of your residence in this neighborhood, or I should not have accepted the situation in this family which has brought me here." "Situation! Good Heavens! Con-Miss Beverly! You are not the governess who is engaged by Mrs. Mathews ?" "The same." "What! you! Constance Beverly-the courted-the admired-the accomplished coquette, a governess! How came this to pass?" "By a common reverse. My father died insolvent. I would not be dependant on others, while I possessed the means of procuring my own subsistence; and Miss Beverly in her hour of triumph never felt prouder than now, for she feels that she is independent." "Noble-admirable Constance! Yet, I see that the pride of your nature is not subdued. To that pride I owe-” "Say no more," said Miss Beverly, rising with dignity. "I was not aware until we met, that you had returned from Scotland. Let the past be buried in oblivion by both. We must meet as strangers; I could not bear that our former acquaintance, and all connected with it, should be known to Mrs. Mathews." 'Oh, Constance !" said Maitland, with an impassioned air, why bury the past in oblivion? To me it has been the talisman to preserve my heart from all other impressions. You once said that-yet why recal it to your mind, cold, proud beauty-trifling with the hearts you have won with as little remorse as” "Col. Maitland you forget yourself—I must leave you. Remember that we meet as strangers." And she glided from the room and hurried up stairs. Poor Constance! what a tide of deep emotion was struggling in her heart! "What can be the reason Col. Maitland does not call?" said Mrs. Mathews some weeks after the arrival of our heroine. "I never knew him to stay away so long before. You will find him a man of fine information, Miss Beverly-quite a savan, as the French say." "Who is this Col. Maitland?" thought Constance, for his name was so continually rung in her ears that it was impossible not to think of him. That he was a man of sense and judgment she was certain, from the remarks she had heard quoted, as coming from him. Some superannuated bachelor, thought she, "who wears a wig and takes snuff." We always form our beau | ideal of a person who has been much spoken of to us-age George was placed in the counting-house of the this was Miss Beverly's of Col. Maitland. He at last called. She was sitting alone in the parlor when a servant threw open the door and announced Col. Maitland. Constance looked up: a man who could not have numbered more than twenty-six summers was before her, strikingly handsome, yet strangely awkward; for he stood as if transfixed to the spot. Constance sunk on the seat, from which she had Three years before, she had parted with George Ogilvie almost a plighted bride. He had been summoned to Scotland to see his grandfather, whose heir he was, previous to the old man's death. The father of Ogilvie and Mr. Beverly were friends, and at an early latter to learn the routine of business. His father died, "Where were such dark eyes as hers? VOL. IV-13 As the dark orbs had in their smile A beauty shining through the whole, The radiant expression and brilliant eyes of Miss Beverly, made her the belle of the season. Followed, flattered, almost worshipped, Constance laughed, flirted and danced with every cavalier, though it was only in her home that she really suffered her feelings to come in play. Ogilvie was proud, sensitive and retiring; and it was not until the eve of his departure, that he unfolded his feelings to the being in whose presence he had only lived for months past. Constance-the proudthe admired Constance, listened with a cheek suffused with blushes, and a trembling of the heart which sufficiently informed her of the state of her feelings. Her father would not permit a positive engagement to be formed. He suffered the lovers to correspond, and on the return of Ogilvie, if both continued true to their vows, he was willing that they should be united. They parted, and Constance was to all outward seeming still the same; "yet a change had come o'er the spirit of her dream." Her heart was no longer in the revel, though her eye shone brightest, and her step was lightest, where all was gay and fair to view even when music filled the gay saloon, and the voice of flattery was pouring its honeyed words in her ear, her spirit was on the deep waters with her betrothed-her fancy picturing him to her as dreaming of his absent love. addressed to Maitland, was well calculated to leave the impression on his mind that she considered herself freed from a galling chain, in breaking the engagement she had formed with him. Several letters subsequently came, addressed to her by Maitland, but she did not open them. She had determined to obliterate the past from her memory as far as possible, and every memento she possessed of her absent lover, was either destroyed or returned to him with all the letters he had ever addressed to her. In their envelope, she merely wrote "Let the past be forgotten. You are free. It is useless to address me again, as I have determined to return all letters unopened." A few months afterwards Mr. Beverly died, and his daughter found herself reduced from the station of an envied heiress, to the necessity of using her talents for her own support. In the meantime, the elder Maitland had also died, bequeathing his estate to his grandson, on the condition of his assuming his name. A few days after his death, the young heir received Miss Beverly's answer to the letter, which he now bitterly regretted having written. He accused her of being fickle, cold hearted, and tried to think he was well pleased that such a woman would never be his wife, but it would not do. He remembered the pride of Constance, and attributed her coldness to the right source. His answer was all that the most exacting affection could have required, but it was never read by her. It was not until every trifling gift that he had ever bestowed on her was returned, that he felt the uselessness of endeavoring to rekindle the flame of love from the ashes of a former passion. He returned to his native country, rich in the gifts of fortune, yet without a tie to bind him to the life which her smile had once brightened. He could not bear to visit the city in which Constance resided, and after landing in New York, he proceeded on a tour through the western and southern states. He had been well acquainted with Mr. Mathews some years before his departure from America, and was induced by him to purchase a plantation adjoining his own. There he had been residing a year when he was introduced to the Letters came from Maitland, breathing the most passionate devotion, and Constance read them again and again, and thought, that until absence had proved the depth of her affection, she had not known what love was. The absence of her lover was prolonged from month to month, until a year had elapsed. He then wrote that his grandfather would not consent to part from him, and the old gentleman might linger for years in the state in which he then was. He told Constance that it wrung his heart to give up the only hope that made life desirable; yet, he could not be so ungenerous as to ask her to spend her youth in waiting for the re-reader. turn of a lover, who might be detained from her for years by the imperative claims of duty. Constance was wounded where she was most valnerable. She had never dreamed of any contingency that could influence her to break the engagement which had been formed from the purest motives of affection. She compared the feelings of Maitland with her own, and in her heart she felt that "man's love is of man's life a thing apart," and not worn as hers had been, in the inmost sanctuary of the spirit, until it had become to her as a part of her existence. He was willing to give her up, without leaving her the liberty of choosing between the evil of waiting years for his return, or seeking in newer ties forgetfulness of the dreams which had woven their spells around her soul. Had she loved him less, her pride had not felt the blow so keenly, but the wound was dealt by the hand which should have been raised to shield her. She wrote to him a cold, formal letter. It seemed to her as if an ice-blast had passed over her soul, chilling and desolating it forever; and the language she Had Maitland met Constance in her former sphere, sought for and caressed by all, he would have shunned the renewal of all intercourse, believing that she would have been best pleased by his apparent neglect; but he had seen her now pale and dejected-far from all who had loved and cherished her in her days of prosperity. He observed that her figure had lost much of the elastic buoyancy which once distinguished it, and there was an expression of subdued sorrow in the countenance that spoke to his heart. Was it for him she sorrowed, or only for the station she had lost? He recalled Constance Beverly to his mind all radiant in beauty, health and happiness, as he had last seen her; and as he stood there alone where she had left him, he unconsciously murmured— "Since we were doomed to part, Where once there sat such scorn? Is that step fettered, once so glad and free?" "Oh, Constance-Constance ! never half so dear as | tual Maitland. Without waiting for her answer, Mrs. now: you must-you will be won to listen to me Mathews went on. again." "The Colonel is a fine man, and takes such an interest in all that concerns me and my children. He is their guardian, you know; but that can scarcely account for the deep interest he takes in the children. He was controlled them admirably; but you cannot think how astonished he was when I told him you did not know who wrote the Pleasures of Hope. He said that was very extraordinary for a young lady of your acquirements." Months passed by, and Constance and himself indeed met as strangers. All Maitland's efforts were ineffec-praising their improvement yesterday, and he said you tual to overstep the line which she had drawn between them. His advances were met with such coldness, that at times, he was almost tempted to doubt that she had ever loved him. Yet he saw that when he entered, her pale cheek flushed, and he had detected a tremor in that small, fair hand when he approached, and praised the drawing on which she was occupied. All these signs convinced him that the past was not a forgotten dream. One evening Mrs. Mathews left the room a short time-the children also were absent. It was the only time they had been alone since the morning of their first interview. For an instant the brow of Constance was scarlet, and a dimness came over her vision as she listened to the insinuations which Mrs. Mathews desired to throw out, regarding the admiration of Col. Maitland for herself; but she recovered immediately, and only smiled at the close of the speech. She had long seen that little persuasion would be necessary to induce Mrs. Mathews to throw aside the widow's weeds and become the bride of Maitland, but that such persuasion would ever be offered she had every reason to doubt. It was not without pain that Constance heard Mrs. Mathews go on with her revealings; for in the months of almost daily intercourse, since her arrival in the country, she had in vain endeavored to keep her feelings under her own control. In spite of herself, her heart bounded, when she heard that step for which she had been unconsciously listening, and her eye would light up with a welcome she would fain have concealed. She feared that Mrs. Mathews had penetrated the veil she sought “Constance," said Maitland, "is this fair?-is it generous, thus to trample on my feelings? Do not look incredulous or surprised-you know I love you still." "The love that wanes in absence is not such as I can prize,” she replied, in a low unfaltering voice. "Had we never met again, I had not been thought of but as one with whom it was pleasant to amuse an idle hour." "By Heaven, this is too much! After all I have suffered, to be thus addressed! Oh, Constance, was it nothing to see my aged relative--the only one I knew in the world, raising his palsied hands to me, and begging me to have pity on his age--his grey hairs, and stay with him so long as life was given him? I strug-to throw over her feelings; and the present confidence gled as long as I could against his entreaties. I consulted his physicians--they said he might linger for years-could I do less than free you from the ties that bound you? I fondly hoped that your answer would convey to me the assurance of unchanged love, and tell me that time and absence could not dim your affection. Oh, Constance, how different were your words!" “Yes—they told you that you were also free. Think you that I could have held you by the ties of honor, when I saw that those of affection were already broken? No, sir-cease your endeavors to recal feelings which for my own happiness should be forgotten. Had you loved me as I would be loved, that letter had never been written--your own heart would have taught you to trust in the fidelity of mine." was intended to crush in the bud every hope she might have cherished. "Col. Maitland has not made any prepositions to me yet, but I think his daily visits warrant the expectation of his soon doing so, and my duty to my sweet children would not allow me to refuse so unexceptionable an offer. My dear Mr. Mathews would, I know, be pleased to see our union, could he look down from his blest abode and see what my motives are for marrying a second time.” Constance had no reply to make, and so soon as she could escape, she went to her own room to commune with her own thoughts, but not "to be still;" for what peace could there be for her heart, when she found it so deeply enthralled by a passion which she had made At that moment, Mrs. Mathews returned, and Con- every effort to conquer? Pride had proved but a feeble stance immediately retired. barrier when opposed to the whisperings of affection. "Well, Miss Beverly," said Mrs. Mathews, some Maitland was daily beside her, offering the delicate weeks afterwards, "what do you think of Col. Mait-flattery of unobtrusive attention to all her wishes, and land? You have known him now quite long enough to looking the language which he would not permit his lips form a judgment of his character." "I think he is a gentleman, and a man of great intelligence," said Constance quietly. “Ah, everybody can see that; but don't you think him very handsome? For my part I think he is the handsomest man I ever knew, except my poor dear husband. Don't you think Mr. Mathews was finer looking?" As she spoke, she raised her eyes to a portrait of her husband which hung in the room. Constance could scarcely refrain from laughing, as she looked at the fat jolly Falstaff of a man which the picture represented, and mentally contrasted him with the elegant intellec to utter: yet, when tempted to yield to the suggestions of her heart, the remembrance that he had once voluntarily resigned her, would cross her mind, chilling her again, and enabling her to support her outward show of calmness and indifference. That evening Maitland spent at Allingham manor, and poor Constance felt that the small unmeaning eyes of her hostess were fixed on her with a scrutinizing expression whenever he addressed her. Mary, as usual, was hanging around her; and wishing to play the amiable before Maitland, Mrs. Mathews called to the child "Come here, Mary; Miss Beverly has entirely won |