poured upon his bleeding wounds; religion's sacred influence inspired his soul; and the tears of his repentance were as the dew of heaven upon the parched earth. One bitter pang alone was his-Maria, the lovely angel Maria-came to visit him in his dreary cell; no longer concealing her regard. He learned -alas, too late-he learned the treasure he possessed in this bright maid's affections. She came

to bid him an eternal adieu; to tell him that none should claim a share in that heart, once devoted to him; that, morning-noon-and eve, her prayers should ascend to the throne of mercy, for his pardon; and she bade him look forward with hope to that blessed eternity, when they should meet in a better world-meet, never more to part! While yet she was speaking, the dismal bell struck upon her affrighted ear, and all her resignation in a moment vanished. The pallid hue of death spread over her cheeks; and, uttering a piercing shriek, she sunk lifeless in the arms of Trueman. Barnwell

pressed her cold hand to his lips, and tore himself away lest her returning senses should disarm his resolution.

The concourse of busy spectators, who came to view the scene of horror, stood mute: and the most

profound silence reigned. Barnwell's youth excited their sympathy-his pale countenance, and modest looks, appealed to their hearts—and the unbidden tears streamed down the cheeks even of the most hardened But when Millwood appeared, a murmur of disapprobation began. It was however instantly stifled-and the ready execrations died upon their lips, or ere they found breath to utter them. Millwood, the vile, detested Millwood, the seducer and betrayer of youth, looked so commanding, and so beautiful-that hatred was lost, in secret lamentation that such a creature should have fallen from the paths of virtue !! Barnwell offered her his hand, begged her to kneel with him, and put up a prayer to heaven, for forgiveness of their crimes; but Millwood shuddered, and covered her eyes with her snowy arm. The picture was awfully beautiful—

Barnwell in his sable dress-with his knees bent to the ground, and his eyes raised to heaven, clasping the hand of his fair betrayer-while Millwood stood erect, her white robes floating in the wind, and her bosom heaving with convulsive agony-yet neither daring to kneel, nor even raise her eyes towards that bright heaven which she could never hope to behold, save as a guilty sinner, to hear her dreadful doom, and be shut out for ever. *

*

The feeble pen must drop-its task is done;
Imagination-picture all the rest! *

*

*

MR. Sealand a wealthy merchant, and Sir John Bevil a gentleman of ancient family, were extremely desirous of a union between Miss Sealand and young Bevil. Their dispositions were amiable and their filial obedience were almost proverbial. The treaty of marriage had been closed between the parents, and the young people, by forbearing to refuse, had yielded a kind of consent; yet they were very unhappy, when an unexpected, and mysterious circumstance, communicated to the fathers a portion of that anxiety, which their mistaken regard had imposed upon their children. Sir John Bevil disclosed his uneasiness, and related the circumstance which had given rise to that feeling to his old and faithful servant Humphrey, who had lived with him from his youth, and was considered rather as a friend than a domestic.

near peculiar feeling between them; but the modest dignity of the lady's manner-and her noble and lofty deportment, put to flight every idea of her being a woman of improper character. The nature of the intimacy between them, was therefore a matter requisite to be known, before Mr. Sealand trusted the happiness of his child to the care of a man, whose affections appeared to be already disposed of and he prudently informed Sir John Bevil that he must postpone the intended marriage, until this mystery was cleared up. Sir John was strenuous in defence of his son's honour-Mr. Sealand had no desire to dispute it-yet appearances were certainly against him.

Innumerable difficulties now arose; the parties were perplexed and unhappy ;-a little sincerity might have obviated these difficulties but all were playing the cheat; all deceiving each other-though all from amiable motives; so that if a want of sincerity could under any circumstances be meritorious, it was in the present instance.

Sir John Bevil, whose ideas were somewhat sin. gular, had thought proper to make his son independent of him as soon as he came of age, by securing