of such a thing. But I have no doubt that I could | and after the ordinary civilities of the evening, sed bring her yielding nature to comply, if I were to put to her gently, "Miss Lincoln, will you not walk on the effort in the light of a favor toward me, whom the gallery by moonlight?" she loves as a sister. It might do her good, too, poor thing, if she could only be induced to make the exertion. It shall be as you wish, dear brother; you may depend upon me." A few hours afterward more than ordinary excitement was passing in the mansion. A masquerade was given to the officers-and the scene was gay and picturesque. The main wing was lighted up, and gay with the festivities. The sounds of merriment and laughter were heard. The words, as they were pronounced in a some what tremulous tone, sounded musically in her ear. and taking the arm of the speaker she proceeded with him to the place alluded to. For one or two turns they promenaded in silence. The gentleman seemed strangely agitated. He trie to say something indifferent, but it would not de, and he plunged at once into the subject near his heart. "I thought," he said, hurriedly and timidly, "that I could have waited calmly the answer which I requested in the early part of this evening; but I overrated my own powers of endurance, and I come now to hear my doom from your lips. Speak to me, Georgiana; I have dared to hope that the regard 1 Grace Bartlett had at length yielded to the request of her hostess that she would be present, and had quietly submitted to be attired in a graceful robe of India Muslin, so transparent in its texture as to look like gauze. Her beautiful hair received a new grace from the single white camilla, with its droop-feel for you is not wholly unreturned, and that you ing bud, which gleamed like a star amid those golden tresses, so purely, so freshly beautiful, that it seemed a fit emblem of her it adorned. Georgiana Lincoln appeared a fairy vision of beauty and brightness; the diamonds sparkling among her shining braids, and the graceful folds of her lace robe falling around her like drapery around a Grecian statue. prefer me above some others around you. Is this so, dear girl, or must I teach my heart to forego ail its hopes of happiness, all those blissful feelings of which, until I knew you, I was ignorant. Oh! do not condemn me to diasappointment," he exclaimed, passionately. "Give me at least hope. Georgiana, dearest Georgiana, am I too presumptuous?” of a life depended on her decision. He spoke with strong emotion, and his was a voice, The masqueraders were intent on their amuse- when in deep persuasion, difficult to resist: his arm ment as the two females entered. Then, for a few was still encircling his companion, and she had not moments, all merriment ceased, and murmurs of un-removed it, as she heard that the happiness or misery disguised admiration went round. The Puritan was seated at once by her friend in a recess upon a couch raised a little above the floor, and immediately after Miss Lincoln proceeded to mix among the company. In a moment, a gentleman of elegant figure and handsome face pressed forward, and saluted her with marked empressement. "My dear Miss Lincoln, to-night carries me back to London refinement and fashion-dress-scenery-company-beautyfascination. This evening will be impressed on our English hearts indelibly, to the utter forgetfulness of our rusticated state in these American forests." "Do be grateful, then," the lady answered, "to me for giving you some taste of London and its fashion. Papa is much too solemn for any thing but those great, pompous dinners, which I destest." "But tell me," rejoined her companion, "how did you induce that lovely flower" (and he turned his masked visage toward Grace Bartlett) "to shed its perfume on our scentless hearts?" "By exhausting all that irresistible eloquence of which you speak so highly," she replied; "for I recognize my complimentary acquaintance, Lieut, R." man. "Speak, dearest, but one little word," urged her lover, in a whispered voice of intense suspense. Georgiana did not speak that word, little as it was, but she lifted up her truthful face, and fixed her clear, dark orbs for one brief moment fully upon his, and the next instant that lovely head was bent down, and the rich, mantling blushes hidden on his bosom. "It is enough, my own one," murmured the enraptured suitor, in all the ecstasy of that instant of first accepted love. At length, remembering that they had deserted the drawing-room very unceremoniously, they returned to find the company in some surprise at their absence, but their excuses soon proved satisfactory, and they at once mingled separately amongst the various guests. Shortly after, Charles Lincoln sauntered languidly into the apartment, closely masked. On first entering, he had for a moment fixed an almost startled gaze of admiration upon the Puritan. To a close observer, deep emotion would have been discernible beneath that mask. But a powerful will struggled against the display of it, as, half concealed behind a pillar, he retreated to look more intently, and with "Indeed! Well, she is perfectly lovely, and with a touch of sadness so interesting," said the gentle-out being observed. He wished to discover whether "I'll exert myself to flirt with her." "I am not quite sure you will find that task so easy as you imagine," was the laughing rejoinder. "Very likely," responded Lieut. R. "But in a good cause I am prepared to go great lengths, and as she is very pretty I'll take my chance at any rate." At that moment, another individual approached, or no his sense of vision had deceived him. But no -it must be she whom he beheld-the same grace in the drooping form, but how fragile did it appear; how painfully changed in the character of its loveliness were the faultless features of that face-when the hair, combed carelessly back from her brow, displayed their delicate outlines. Her countenance spoke with truth of the ravages sorrow had occasioned. Lincoln gazed until he had convinced himself, rushed forward and reached the astonished girl: then tearing off his mask, he exclaimed, "Grace! dearest Grace, you live yet, and I find you in my father's halls!" The astonished and bewildered girl gave' one cry, and fell fainting at his feet. CHAPTER XI. Weave we the woof. The thread is spun. It was on a lovely summer's evening, rather more than ten years after the events last recorded, that two persons were sitting in the spacious drawing-room of a noble mansion in Canada, opening on a park. They had, it appeared by the lady's attire, been walking, but as their conversation deepened in interest, the repose of home had again been unconsciously sought. She had thrown aside her bonnet, and as she sat, her face upturned to her male companion, her features disclosed a loveliness that would have irresistibly attracted attention. The repose of her features was so soft and gentle that the eye would have fallen there with the same delight, and turned away with the same regret which it experiences in regard to other things which are found to harmonize with its vision. In her the period of girlhood had merged into the epoch of woman's maturity, when, nearer her prime than her bloom, she unites all the truth and freshness of early youth with those calm and more, finished graces which come not to pass away, but to deepen and endure. But one glance at the sweet Madonna countenance, the unequaled expression of the placid features, the golden hair, shaded now to something of a chestnut, will suffice for her recognition by all those whose interest in Grace Bartlett has sketched her image in The gay, playful child of our first chapter, the timid, shrinking Puritan girl of our after history, was now the modestly dignified, though still retiring, wife of the Governor General of Canada. The pure and holy sentiments of religion which had formerly been spoken timidly, as hardly daring to find expression lest the high-born should mock or pity, were now avowed calmly, unostentatiously as they had been acted upon in the deep trials of her girlhood. Her love for her husband was intense and absorbing, but it came not between herself and heaven. The fruits of her holy life were gentleness and selfdenial, meekness and charity-plainly showing at whose feet she laid the offering of her heart. In the polished circle in which she now moved, she had preserved within her that pure light which, when the sun is growing dim and waxing faint, alone can guide through the dark valley of the shadow of death. The heart of that lovely flower of a Puritan village a heart that had throbbed and quivered at the faintest touch of kindness, and which a silken thread could lead in all other matters, had stood firm where her religion was concerned, and this very firmness had won her husband to her faith. The importance which Frank Winthrop had acquired as the son of Gen. Lincoln, added to his personal merit-under the name of his adopted father, which he always retained, ignorant of his real origin, had attracted the attention of the government. He was soon employed in various situations of responsibility and importance. By the same progression in fortune which first elevated him, another and a later change had brought him in Canada to the rank of Governor General. The conversation between the two had been continued for some time, when the voice of a young child was heard on the stair-case. "Oh, there is my little bird singing," exclaimed Grace Lincoln. She sprang to the door and returned, bearing in her arms a lovely boy, exquisitely fair, with deep blue eyes, and clustering curls of gold. The bright complexion and golden hair were hers, but his features were the miniature likeness of his handsome father at her side. Over them we now drop the curtain, and in so doing, let them take their farewell of the reader. SONNET. BY CAROLINE F. ORNE. HID in the bosom of life-giving earth, With blossomed boughs that charm the gazer's sight. So thou, oh soul, obscure and hidden long, Uncared for and unknown must bide thy time, And like the aspiring seed strike, deep and strong, Roots that shall bear thee upward in thy prime, So firm sustained, thou shalt the worthier be For life's fair flower that all men honor thee. UPS AND DOWNS. CHAPTER I. "I TRUST Mrs. Davidson is at last satisfied." "In what?" "Why, have you not heard the news of the engagement of Maria with Henry Dawson?" No, I have not before. But when did it occur, and are you positive it is so?" "As to the when, sometime within a day or two; and as to the positive, the lady herself is my authority." her side, and her mother and Mrs. Grayson, a fashionable widow of no particular age, and childless, were discussing things as above, in another part of the room, where lights and music added to the witchery which bright eyes and lovely forms make, young Dawson was hanging over his newly betrothed. In the meantime her mother was receiving the congratulations of troops of friends, for Henry Dawson was, in the phrase matrimonial, "the catch of the season." He had long been an orphan-his for "She is certainly very fortunate with her daugh- tune was large, his intellect fair and well culti ters." "So she thinks, at least this time. But I am not clear that the three former connections with Law, Physic and Divinity were exactly to her mind." "Certainly no three men occupy more respectable positions for their age in the community than her three sons-in-law, and as she had no fortune to give with her daughters, she should be thankful." "I imagine few will be inclined to differ from you; but that very want of fortune causes her to be peculiarly alive to its advantages, and hence her delight at her daughter's engagement to young Dawson." "Is he so very rich?" "Not having any marriageable daughters of my own to dispose of, I never asked him for a schedule of his effects. But I supposed you to have been well posted on that point." "Me! Bless you, my dear-I never trouble myself about such matters. Why should you think so?" "Oh, I know not. A mere random remark of mine. I thought I had some faint recollection of his flirtation with Laura last winter, and knowing your prudence, supposed you had made the necessary inquiries." "You are much mistaken. There never was any thing between them. He is music-mad, and used frequently to come to listen to Laura's harp. I suppose he thought it but right therefore to show her some attention in public, and hence the world interpreted into something else. But, I assure you, there was never any thing in it." "I never supposed there was. I always thought Laura was merely amusing herself. But how remarkably well she is looking to-night. Who is that distinguished looking man who is paying her such marked attention?" "That is a Mr. Ernest, who has recently returned from abroad, and has come home a perfect virtuoso, and you know that Laura's taste lies in the same way." "Yes, she certainly admires a mustache, for I notice that of late she encourages no one without that fashionable appendage." Whilst Miss Laura Bridgeman was listening complacently to the remarks of the mustached beau by vated, his person and address good, and his whole appearance decidedly gentlemanly and prepossessing. That he should have "fallen in love," as the phrase goes, with his lively fiancée, none wondered, and save a few anxious mothers, who, like Mrs. Bridge man, had marriageable daughters, all heartily con gratulated him. The family connection of Mrs. Davidson was most respectable; but left a widow, with limited means and a family of young daughters, she had been condemned to much and close economy to maintain appearances and give her daughters an education to fit them for their proper positions in the world. The three eldest were, as we have seen above, respecta bly married, and now it is not to be wondered that she rejoiced that her youngest was to be transferred from the narrow economy of her house to the comforts and luxuries which a wealthy husband could bestow. Did our fair heroine entertain like views? They may have crossed her mind in some of her reveries, but they were but shadows. She had given a young, pure heart with all its rich, unworked mine of virgin gold, without one thought of earthly dross about it. She loved with all the ardent devotion of young love, the handsome, intelligent youth who wooed her with soft words and pleading looks. She loved him for what he was, or what she thought he was, and not for what he had. She knew that his love for her must be most disinterested, for she had naught but herself to give, and she was happy in the feeling of loving and of being beloved. Oh, this love! what a strange power it exercises over the actions and the minds of the human race. What blindness it produces in our mental visionshow it changes defects into beauties, and magnifies ant-hillocks to mountains-what floods of blood and floods of ink it has shed in this world, and is doomed still to shed-how it makes virtue vice and vice virtue-how it lights the torch of discord, and yet throws around the soft and beaming light of harmony -how it makes wise men idiots, and converts brave men into cowards. In a word, how it agitates, distracts, soothes, but generally succeeds best in causing men to stultify themselves, at any rate for a given time. The evening sped joyously on. Few envied, more rejoiced in the apparent future happiness, and, as it was 4 termed, rare good fortune of the bride elect, whose | the disposition is fully unfolded, and she exhibits hercheeks maintained a constant rivalry with the rich self frequently in a new and entirely different light roses of the fragrant boquet, as time and again some from what she was regarded in the days of her girlsly inuendo or more open remark reached her ear. hood. The timid girl becomes self-reliant; for from Her mother received the more direct congratulations being dependent on the views and wishes of those to which were lavished upon her, with a quiet ease, in whom she has been accustomed to look for counsel which she endeavored to veil the entire satisfaction and guidance, she finds herself called upon to act which the prospective nuptials afforded her. Thus and decide for others now dependent on her-this almost all were pleased. The mother, that her ma- gives a vigor to her mind, a firmness to her views, a ternal cares were so soon to cease, and the gay plea- decision to her actions, which, without some such sure-seekers were satisfied that a new and splendid cause for their development, they would in all proestablishment would in another season be opened to bability never have attained. them, and if a feeling of any kind crossed the heart of Laura Bridgeman, that the prize which she once thought within her grasp had fallen to another, she turned to her new admirer, and in the contemplation of his superb mustache forgot, or tried to do so, the vision of the beautiful establishment which had once flitted through her imagination. CHAPTER II. "Things look blue." "Yes; never saw such unpromising appear ances." "The best paper in town was 'done yesterday at 2 per cent. per month," pursued Mr. John Sharp to his brother broker Mr. Growlem, as they cogitated over their morning's correspondence. "My letters throw out some inuendoes about certain houses heretofore considered undoubted," pursued that gentleman, as with a keen glance he peered over his spectacles at his companion. "Hum-don't know. In such cases caution is desirable, and so do n't say much; but if stocks continue to fall as they have done for a few weeks past, shan't consider any man undoubted unless I know him to be short of the whole list, and even then he may be caught." "As how, pray?" suggested his companion. Shift we the scene. A few months have passed -the gay festivities of the winter are over summer now usurps her sway, and nature, decked in her holyday attire, woos to contemplation and quiet enjoyment. The magic words which were to fix for life the destinies of the fair Maria had been spoken; the nuptial benediction pronounced, and in a beautiful villa, a few miles removed from the city, she was passing the first weeks of her bridal life, a loved and loving wife. There are few things in the world more touching than the love of a young, pure wife. The feelings which she entertained for the lover were constrained by a sense of propriety, but now they may pour themselves forth unchecked, in one o'ergushing flood of tenderness. Then she must await his approach, now she may go forth to meet "You always look at the bright side of things." him-then she must check her feelings as they rose, "Certainly I do; especially when the prospect is lest, forsooth, she might be thought forward, indeli- so charming all round as it is now. Thank God I cate. Now she may take the initiative, and her soft am pretty well up. I haven't a contract that has hand may push back the locks from the brow on not security up. My man,' you know, always rewhich she may implant a kiss of pure, almost un-quired it. And as for any stocks I hold, why they earthly love. Now she may watch to gratify those little tastes or fancies which then were passed unnoticed. And never were the gushings of a warm, devoted heart poured forth more tenderly than they were by Maria Dawson for her husband. Nor on his part was the devotion less entire. The villa had been fitted up in every way to gratify her taste and fancy; and between the ride, or the drive, or the wandering about the grounds or in the garden, or music and reading and conversation, the summer passed all too rapidly away, and she almost sighed when the frosts of autumn notified her to prepare to take possession of her luxurious mansion in the city. Marriage seems to be necessary, as a general rule, to the full development of the characters of women. Circumstances of course have a large share in it, but still it seems almost necessary to the full development of the perfect character of woman that she should be seen in her double position of wife and mother. Germs which have lain dormant are then brought into life; new faculties are called into play; "By buying in before delivery day, and then finding his man smashed, gone, and he himself likely to be in the same pleasant position." are all paid for and I may as well hold on for better times, as I don't see how I can better myself by putting them in some fellow's note, who will, in all probability, pay just five cents in the dollar." But "I am a good deal of your way of thinking. if this crash goes on when will the revival come?" "Just as soon as the banks break, and not before." "But how can their breakage benefit the matter? I confess my ignorance." "My dear fellow, considering your name and experience, I consider you very flat this morning. Are you so green as to think I mean them to stop, as you and I would if we could not meet our engagements. By no means. They will do no such vulgar thing as fail-they will merely suspend; and then, you know, as paper is cheap and engraving not very expensive, we shall have money as plenty as dirt; that is, as soon as presidents and cashiers can sign their names to pieces of paper promising to pay-in what? I don't know. Do you? Certainly not in the 'current coin of the realm.' And yet, by the way, these promises will be the current coin. Mark what I a say. He that can hold on until this time will get | she determined to abstain from questioning until he through-plucked, singed, well battered-but still he will get through. Ile that can't must go to the wall, there to be ground between the upper and the nether mill-stone." The brokers parted. It was a time to make the stoutest heart quail. The commercial world was then going through one of those dreadful convulsions which so frequently happen to it, aggravated on this occasion by the most reckless, improvident and profligate expansion of the paper currency known for a century. The consequence was, that the fury of the storm fell upon the heads not of a portion only of the community, but upon the whole. Persons dependent upon the incomes arising from stock investments were suddenly cut off; and all classes, from the laborer deprived of the work which afforded him his daily pittance for the support of his family, upward, felt the blow. Stocks were tumbling down at from one to five per cent. a day; money was not to be had on securities which in ordinary times would have been more than ample, and universal distrust and dismay abounded. was ready to give her his confidence. It had how ever worried her. Between them, since their mu riage, confidence had been entire. They had no secrets from each other, and hence she argued, this could not concern Henry alone or he would have communicated with her; the affairs of some friend which he was not at liberty to disclose even to her must be preying upon him, and she would wait unti the cloud had been removed, or he was ready of his own accord to disclose it to her. He had been standing by a table with his back turned to her for a few minutes, engaged apparently in an attentive examination of something on it, when he turned suddenly to her "Maria," and his voice was wanting in all the softness with which he usually addressed her, and was pitched in the key-note of one who has some desperate communication to make-" Maria, you must nerve yourself for ill news. I am a ruined man," he rather jerked out than said, and as be spoke the strong man sank into a chair by his side. Not one word did she speak. She sat for a mement as one stunned by a sudden blow; then rising, she passed softly to his side, and resting one hand on his shoulder, with the other she drew gently from his face the hands in which he strove to hide it, then stooping down pressed her lips upon his forehead. "Cheer up, dear husband," was her first words. "Poor though we may be in earth's substances, yet in one thing are we still rich-our mutual love. Think not, dearest Henry, that for myself I care for all the glittering baubles around me, so that I still retain your love." And again were those soft lips pressed upon his forehead, and a flood of tears relieved the anguish of his mind. Think him not unmanly because he thus wept. This proud man who thus gave way, was in all pro How fared it in all this commotion with the personages of our story? They had been several years wedded, and heaven seemed to smile most benignantly on their union. Three lovely children were grouped around them. Every comfort, every luxury that wealth could procure were lavished by Henry Dawson on his young wife, whose loveliness appeared, in his eyes at least, to increase with each succeeding year. The girlish beauty had passed away, but the matronly grace and elegance and beauty which had succeeded, were only as yet the first full developments of the lovely bud of promise. Nothing had however occurred to test in any way the young mother's character, and except when occupied with the young family in the nursery at home, she was to all outward appearance the polished, ele-bability one who on the field of strife could with gant woman of the world, one of fortune's spoiled children. The richer qualities of head and heart, if indeed she possessed any, had never yet seen the light. Her husband was proud of her in every way -proud of the fine mind which her rich conversational powers showed; proud of the faultless taste which governed all the arrangements of her drawingrooms and her own personal appearance-but beyond these he knew nothing of her-nor perhaps did she of herself. The world flocked in crowds to her splendid balls, and gave her the tribute of admiration which her personal graces and loveliness demanded as their right. But this was all that the husband of her choice or the world in which she dwelt knew of Maria Dawson. Her full character was not yet developed, the circumstances had not arisen. It was about the time of the conversation that we have recorded above, that Henry Dawson one day returned home rather earlier than was his habit. Maria was in the drawing-room when he entered. She noted that his brow was clouded, but this had been the case for several days; and when, on a former occasion, she had spoken to him of it, he had put her off with what she felt was but a pretext, and curling lip, and flashing eye, and with sword or hat waving wildly o'er his head, have led a band of the most reckless and daring who ever trod a battle-field "to do or die;" could have again, as he had done that morning, met his fellow men with cheek unblanched and eye unwandering, and with a ready smile upon his lip, whilst the vulture was gnawing at his heart. But this conduct of his wife, so pure, so heavenly, so devoted-it was too much for his manhood-it touched the inmost chords of deepest sensibility within him, and the strong man wept. Maria, for a few moments, did not attempt to assuage or interrupt him. She knew that nature was thus affording a relief to his pent-up and restrained feelings, but as soon as the paroxysm began to subside again she leaned over him, and said softly to him "Cheer up, dearest Henry. Be not so cast down, love. The worst cannot be so bad as your imagination paints; or let the worst be as bad as may be, it is light to me compared with your distress. Cheer up then, dearest-remember we have others beside ourselves to care for, and if you allow yourself to be so overcome you will be unable to do aught for them." |