her mother talked of virtue, which Kate was conscious she no longer possessed; and boasted of her reliance on that honor, which, unless her lover was indeed honorable, was now less than a name.

It was in the firm confidence that he was indeed honorable, that poor Kate Kirby directed her steps, that afternoon, towards the shooting-box of Charles Elmwood; yet, as she went, strange doubts of that honor, for the first time, arose in her mind. Oh! how painful is that errand, when we go to ask those we love to do that which they ought to do of their own accord to call for performance, the neglect of which on their part, throws a doubt upon their love; while importunity, on our side, may imply selfishness and mistrust! Kate entered the lodge in tears;-she saw her fate in Charles's besitation ;-she offered no remonstrance-she did not even look a reproach-she only continued to weep. Without redemption of her honor, which it was in his power alone to grant, she resolved never more to stand before her mother. state of shame," her mother had hastily said, "she could no longer be her's!" "In a state of shame," said poor Kate to her lover, "I am yours only. If I am unworthy to be your wife, yet remove me from this place: in shame, I can have no home but of your providing

"In a

A post-chaise was ordered a short note was written to her mother; and, by the close of the next day, Kate Kirby was with Charles Elmwood in Mary-le-bone.

How different in manner, and yet how equally miserable, was the ensuing year passed by Kate Kirby and her unhappy

mother! But I enter not into detail.

It was towards the evening of a dark, wet day, in the November following, that a pale emaciated figure, in black attire, passed along the narrow winding lane, which, with its scattered cottages on either hand, forms the village of Amberstone, Many of the dwellings were, indeed, closed for the night, but here and there a laborer, with a lantern, was coming from his cow-shed or his stye; or a woman, with a child in her arms, was looking out for the return of her husband; or some wench was lifting a neighbour's latch, with a borrowed bucket or basket, and just peeping in, to see what kept Josh or Joe so quiet at home. Betsy Baslett was thus holding the door of Dolly Hanbury's hovel half open, while a stream of

light from the bright fire within, spread forward upon the melancholy figure in black, that slowly moved on, and sobbed aloud as it went.

"La! Doll!" exclaimed Betsy Baslett, "if there ben't Kitty Kirby!-looking for all the world like a ghaist!"

Ghaist, indeed!" said Dame Hanbury, coming to the door; "an' what should bring her from her Lunnen pride and finery, just as the ghaist of her wretched mother is flitting, after a' its sufferings, to a world o' peace and rest?"

The melancholy form in black, hurrying onward, sobbed aloud and bitterly.

Mrs. Kirby was indeed on her death-bed ;-she was a corse upon that bed;-she had sickened at heart; she was not heard to complain ;-she was never seen to weep ;-the name of her daughter never escaped her lips. The fever on her nerves was continual; but she sought neither aid nor advice, and died almost alone! A poor aged woman, who had for some years past subsisted upon a pittance from the parish, and who had been her casual attendant, now sat beside the body. About eight or nine o'clock that evening, this old woman, who had long been thought to be at times unsettled in her mind, alarmed the village with a bewildered story: she said, that a pale ghostly-looking woman, in black, had entered the apartment, and had knelt down by the bedside, weeping most grievously: she added, that she spoke to the person, who instantly stared at her frightfully, and disappear. ed. "I well believe it was Kitty Kirby ;" continued the old woman: an' if she be Kate, Kate is no longer o' this world, and is woefully waur looking for her abiding in any other."

This story, related on the united testimony of Betsy Baslett and Dolly Hanbury, created an alarming sensation throughout the village of Amberstone. Inquiries were made, with anxiety and perturbation; but an impartial observer would probably have noticed, that in every inquiry there was a strong inclination to believe that the ghost of Kitty Kirby had actually been seen; and, as no traces of her having been person. ally in the village were discovered, it was universally admitted that her appearance had been purely spiritual. Such impressions are often made in a country village, upon much slighter testimony.

In the midland and northern counties, it continues to be the

practice to bury the deceased on the third day after death. The church of Amberstone is a small ancient rustic building, somewhat remote from the farms and cottages. On the day when, according to the established custom, the funeral of the unhappy Mrs. Kirby was to take place, almost the whole of the inhabitants of Amberstone assembled at the door of her dwelling, and followed her remains in mournful procession. The clergyman, who resided in the adjoining parish, came across some fields, and took his position before the coffin, as the mourners entered the church-yard. Repeating the commencement of the funeral service without book, he led the way to the porch of the humble edifice. The clerk, who walked nearly at the side of the curate, holding the church key in his hand, stepped forward to unlock the door: it already stood a-jar-he thrust it open, and advanced. This old man, whose straight long white hair has, for many years, given a venerable aspect to the seat he occupies beneath the readingdesk, started suddenly, dropped the key, and exclaimed,— "Bless us all! what is this?" The clergyman broke off abruptly his recitation; and, of the mourners who had entered the church, the females shrieked, and the men stood transfixed with grief and astonishment.

The object, that occasioned this awful and melancholy interruption, was the body of Kate Kirby, prostrate, with her face towards the communion table. She seemed to have been on her knees at the moment of her death, and to have fallen forward, with her hands clasped and extended, in dying. There was in her bosom a small prayer-book, which usually remained in the pew occupied by her mother. A phial, that had contained laudanum, lay on the step of the altar!

THE RECLUSE'S FAREWELL.

Farewell to the scenes where I wander'd in childhood,
Unchasten'd by sorrow, uninjur'd by care,

N.

While joy's cheerful shout, through the depth of the wild wood,

In echoes proclaim'd that contentment was there.

Decay'd is that vision, and broken that spell

Ye scenes of my childhood, for ever farewell!