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"I dare say he is merry enough, with the merrier party in the saloon."

"Do you know," said Beatrice, "I have thought it would be more delightful to give my father our intended present, now, than after-after-"

"After he has given you away, dear Beatrice. Do as you please about it."

"Oh! I will not thank you now," said she. And she kissed my cheek. To be sure, I would have given her every thing, save the fee-simple of my soul, if she had then asked for it. I held a bond for a very large amount, which had been given by her father to mine, as security for which nearly all the property of the debtor was pledged. A release, drawn up with all due formalities, had been prepared and executed; and we had agreed to present it to her father on the day of our wedding. It was in an escritoire on the table beside me, and I drew it out and gave it to her. She placed the parchment in her bosom; and, pressing her hand upon it, said, "It is all yours, nevertheless."

"Ce qui est à toi est à moi.”

"Ce qui est à moi est à nous. But there comes Frederick, at last," said Beatrice, gently withdrawing from me.

Another chill passed over me; and now it struck me more emphatically than before, that it was strange how the name of her best friend should have the effect of one of those charmed words, which, being uttered, will cause paralysis, fever, and other sudden diseases, in certain men, or the animals which are their property. I looked casually forward, in vacancy of thought, and my glance fell on a large mirror of singular perfection, which, in the waning light, seemed to reflect objects with more distinctness than that in which the original images were directly presented to the eye. The picture of Frederick passed over it; and its polished surface became immediately overclouded with a rusty incrustation, through which, smoking with pes

tilential lustre, I thought I saw the dingy yellow star of my vision. Ashamed of such weakness, I half expressed my vexation in spoken words.

"I am getting to be a mere old woman. Frederick, I hope you have committed no deadly sin! They say that a true mirror is spoiled, when it has reflected the image of a contaminated person; and just now, I thought that the large looking-glass was clouded when you passed it. And so it is still, if I see well."

"You do; and the glass looks as if the servants had been keeping holyday," said Frederick, who stood looking earnestly at me. It afterward occurred to me that his colour. changed, and that a tremor passed over him.

"He is getting so superstitious," said Beatrice, "that I am almost afraid of him. I almost believe that he keeps company with ghosts, and that some of his friends may come to see me without knocking."

"MARRIAGE will lay them," said Frederick.

"I hope so!" said Beatrice.

"I know it will," said I. But, while I said it, I felt as if two separate processes of thought were going on in my brain, with inadequate machinery; and I wondered how I did know that I knew it!

"The coach is waiting," said Frederick: "it is later than I had supposed; and I shall take the liberty of doing now what I shall never have the right to do again; of parting you two."

"I must go then," said Beatrice, gliding her hand into mine, while a quick look of singular intelligence passed between her and her cousin.

"No! by the GOD that made and redeemed me!" I exclaimed, starting forward furiously-"not this time! All this has been once before; and, oh! there was a horrible sequel of shameless fraud, and perjury, and infamy-and of idiocy, credulity, and forgiveness! But not again! Every syllable of all this I have heard before. Every sensation I

have felt before. Every image, even to the twirling of that wretch's half-gnawed glove, I have seen before! But whether the eternal river of time has rolled backward, or I have slept and dreamed through a long interval of pain and joy, or nature is to stand still while this drama is played over again, for my indemnity and your confusion—now, miserable swindlers, you shall not go! Traitress, I spit upon you! Liar and coward, take this token of my friendship!"

And I aimed a blow at the vanishing shadow, as my own wife, my dear Aretine, entered with a candle, which she had left the room to seek. She could not have been absent two minutes; and I had not stirred from my position.

"It is a thousand times better as it is," I exclaimed. "But if I were a Mahometan, I could easily believe in the story of the Prophet's pitcher; and as it is, I have entire faith in the tale of a tub, in the Arabian Nights' Entertainments."


Qui vultur jecor intimum pererrat,
Et pectus trahit, intimasque fibras,
Non est quem lepidi vocant poetæ,
Sed cordis mala, livor atque luctus.

On board of one of the ships sent out by Walter Raleigh under the patronage of Queen Elizabeth, to make discoveries along the North American coast, was a passenger of a singular and melancholy aspect, who from the first moment of departure was regarded by all the company with eyes of doubt and suspicion. There was a settled gloom upon his countenance, mingled with an expression that seemed sinister and malign, at the same time that it was timorous; and there was a restlessness and uneasiness in his deportment and gait which it was disagreeable for one who noted him to observe. He would sometimes start when there was neither sound nor sight, nor other cause of agitation. Sometimes he was seen, as darkness was descending over the waters, to conceal himself near the ship's stern, or among ropes and coils of cable; on which occasions he would start and turn pale, as if detected in guilty musings, or would assume a savage aspect, as if he wished to destroy the intruder on his stolen privacy. The horrors of a guilty conscience seemed evidently to possess him. It seemed as

if its workings had given him an unnatural appearance of premature age. The lines of his face and the furrows of his brow were deeply impressed; and a morbid imagination might almost trace, in the dusky red characters of the latter, the thunder-scars of the fallen angels. His hair in some places had turned completely gray. And yet, on the whole, he seemed not to have numbered more than forty years.

He entered the vessel under the general invitation, unknown to any of the ship's company. A rumour was soon current that his assumed name was fictitious, and that he had done some deed which rendered him odious among mankind. His crime was variously surmised, and, among other things, it was whispered that he had been an executioner. There were in that ship many desperadoes, and many who were flying from justice at home for crimes which in any country would have made them infamous. But no man inquired into or cared for his neighbour's character, though notoriously bad. This man alone, convicted by his peculiar and disagreeable physiognomy and manner, was the mark of aversion to all his fellow-voyagers. The awkward attempts which he made, during the first few days of their voyage, to form acquaintances, met with such unpromising reception that he desisted, and became uniformly silent. The women passengers avoided his glance, or looked at him askance, with a mingled expression of curiosity and horror; and at night they stifled the cries of their children by telling them that the Strange Man was coming. At meal-times, a solitary corner became his own by prescription, where his food was given and received in silence and at night he retired to a couch, from the vicinity of which the occupants of the adjacent dormitories had removed; as they said his motions, groans, and cries prevented them from sleeping. The sailors regarded him with a superstitious dislike, as the Jonas of their vessel, and avoided, or coarsely repulsed him, when he drew near them at their work. He frequently overheard their comments

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