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with the dissipations of fashiorithje solety; and was consequently, alive to those. softer emotions of the ficatorwäich the

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by H. N. Moore, author of “MARY MORRIs.” .

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Mrs. Graham's funeral was to take place the third day after her decease. On that mournful day they were sitting round the corpse, Julia habited in the weeds of sorrow, and relatives endeavouring to

nary walks of life. .shot hat. not begioviminister the balm of consolation to her

much in the world—she had not mingled

votaries of pleasure socãrly sacrifice at the shrine of their follies. Her life had been passed in retirement, but not in seclusion. She possessed the requisites of a polished education, had drank of the waters that flow from the pure fountain of poetry, and classic literature had found an admirer in her. Theodore West was her accepted suitcr—her affianced bridegroom. He had wooed with the smiles of the mother, and the heart of Julia was his. By strict inlegrity in his dealings and a close application to business, he had gained an extensive credit, and stood high in the cs. timation of the mercantile community. He was at his business during the hours required; but the time not occupied there, was mostly passed by the side of Julia, and the evening he always devoted to her. Those of my readers that have themselves experienc'd the delights of courtship

sorrowing spirit. Low whisperings passed from one to another, and cautious-, ly silent, was the tread of those that crossed the room as they advanced to the corpse, looking their last upon the earthly remains of her who but a short time before was among them in life. The hour arrived--the undertaker. Julia imprinted another kiss upon the cold lips of her parent and overcome by the intensity of her feelings, she sunk back into Theodore's arms, who was at her side. The white shroud was closed over and around the corpse, the lid screwed down, whilst Julia, weeping, sobbing, was borne to the carriage. Long was the train that followed to the place of interment, and sincere were the tears shed over that grave. The deceased was deposited by the side of her husband, in the churchyard of St. Peters' in Pine street ; and the sermon delivered on the occasion enumerated the virtues of the buried, which were audibly responded to by frequent bursts of sorrow from the breasts of those assembled. A plain marble tomb, with a simple inscrip. tion thereon, marks the spot whereo she

i. appreciate the happinessenjoyed by them.

rests—and there would the feet of Julia

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the enraptured auditors were startled at the sudden conclusion of the tune. “Beautiful!” the wife exclaimed, as turning out of the grove in which they stood to listen, they advaneed into the view of their mansion, upon which the moonlight shone, and saw the figure of a man, who immediately darted into the clustering foliage of some shrubbery at his side, and disappeared. On account of the distance that intervened, it was impossible to distinguish the person. It was singular—who was he?—what did he want there ! “Who can it be?” said Julia, leaning on the arm of her husband as they ap. proached the house. “Indeed, love, I cannot conjecture,” was his affectionate reply, assisting her up the steps as he spoke, for they were now at the door." They entered the house, and shortly afterwards retired for the night. Before asleep though, they heard the strings of a guitar touched, and im

mediately beneath their window a manly

voice, deep-toned, and apparently sorrow

the banks of the river Schuylkill, in the ful, song the words of a popular sentimen

month of July, 1826—a year and more having passed since the wedding and the departure of Byard. The spot that I have reference to is in the neighbourhood of

tak...song. .This of course served to increase tha. wonder öf Julia and her hushand. It was stiange—it was mysterious. Qo ille follāwing morning, Mr. West in

Gray's Ferry. The day had been warm, quired pf the domestics if any of them to pass the social hour of love and contemplation. The moon, the stars, the shining river, and the distant view, were mingled on the sight, whilst the city's hum and the noise of busy thousands assailed the ear. The city itself was seen by them, as the moonlight lay sleeping upon its roofs, its domes, its steeples and its towers. The balcony extended from a level with their chamber, and around the pillars that supported it, the flowery creeper entwined its delicate foliage— the rose the jasmine, and the violet, too, commingling. A paradise—the very place for love! Theodore sat half-reclining, and Julia reposed with her head upon his bosom—his arms encircling her—and | ost the long, the lingering kiss—so pure —which only those that really love can | appreciate. They were really happy Heaven had smiled upon their union; and a new tie was upon the eve of being added to their bliss. But hark' music—soft music—the tones of the flute are again heard At a distance at first, but as il neared, more

but was succeeded by a delightful evening. The moon was up, the innumerable stars shone out, and the breeze from the river was redolent with fruit and flowers. Arm in arm Mr. West and his wife were wandering—over the lawn, by the river, through the grove, and down by the glen, i. the sound of the boatman's horn at intervals was heard, and the whippoorwill's note mingled upon the ear with the dashing of waters. Thus were they wandering so quietly, fondly— and such was the scene around them ; when all at once the music of a flute was wafted to their ears. Both stood still to listen, nor ever had they listend to any thing equal, or in comparison, to the sounds that now floated through the air. its silvery tones would swell till the feelings of the hearers were wrought up to an almost painful extacy, and then, as i aware of its magical influence, would gradually subside into those soft and tremulous notes, sainter and fainter, till

knew the férson. Each answered in the negative; none knew him; they had heard the music, and seen his person but nothing more. Theodore was of necessity absent during the day—in the city attending to his buisiness On his return home the next evening, his wife informed him that a gentleman of handsome exterior had been noticed on the premises by the servants and herself, but was not near enough for her to see his features with any accuracy. Tea was announced, and they sat down to the evening meal—afterwards to the piano—and in the mutual endearments of domestic happiness, they entirely forgot the incident. To be sure, there was nothing alarming—nothing to be apprehended; but it was singular that a man should be loitering about. Rising from the piano, the happy couple left the parlour and retired to the privacy of their own chamber--- where, walking out upon the balcony in front, they seated themselves

distinct was the melody, and it was evi

“How beautiful, howsweetly played”— cried the wife, enraptured, while Theo

nestled like the dove to the caresses of
its mate. . . - -
“Tis beautiful,” said the husband—
"like yourself,” he complimentalily con-
tinued, smoothing back the ringlets from
her brow, and gazing with admiration on
the countenance of her whose guiltless
bosom heaved for him, and him alone.
The music continued—low, like the
whispering under-tone of the human voice,
like the quiet quivering of the aspen leaf,
at first—then dying away till scarcely
audible—and now bursting upon the
startled ear—full—swelling—melodious !
As it ceased, the voice was heard again,
but not accompanied with the guitar as
it was the evening previous. Clear
and distinct its manly tones came upon
the breeze, and Julia listened—intensely
-almost breathless. She gradually rose
from her husband's side and leaned for-
ward over the balcony—anxiously—
eagerly—straining her eyesight to catch
A glimpse of the vocalist. The sound of
voice directed her cyes to the spot,
out he was electually concealed by a

dently the same heard the night previous.

dore fondled her to his breast, where she

cluster of trees, whose spreading branches
intercepted the rays of the moon. The
curiosity, or rather the interest, exited in
her breast, arose to an extraordinary
height—so much so indeed that it began
to surprise her husband. He could not
account for it. There seemed to be more
in her manner than admiration only. Per-
haps she knew who the singer was. It
might be so. If she did, why not tell her
husband. What motives could she have
in concealing it?
The song ceased, and was in a minute
or two afterwards heard receding in the
distance.—Julia listened till the sound was
entirely lost, and, as it was by this time
after midnight, expressed her wish to re-
tire. They did so, and as Theodore laid
his head upon the pillow, with her’s be-
side him, it was not altogether with as
happy a heart as usual. Suspicions was
awakened in his heart. He doubted.
Julia was shortly lost in slumber—the
sweet sleep that nature requires—but he

was awake. Cautiously disengaging him. .

self from her arms, which were around his neck, he rose, and slipping on a loose

undress walked out upon the balcony again

—there to gaze at the heavens and indulge in his thoughts. With eyes upturned, his cheek resting on his hand, over the railing of the balcony was he leaning —sad—sorrowful. An hour passed, and still, he was there;—another—there he was still—his face buried in his hands and his heart subdued with grief. A light foot step was heard behind him— Julia was there. She had missed him from her side, risen from bed, and hurried to the balcony in alarm, where she found him—but in tears—weeping.

“Why is this, Theodore,” she hurriedly asked in a trembling tone. “Why thus expose yourself to the cold night air!” She hung around him—fondly—freely— but he returned not her earress, and the coldness of his manner shot through her heart a pang of inexpressible anguish.-“What does this mean "" she continued. “Why leave your pillow 7 what has discomposed your mind? You are weeping ! alas ! am I the cause 7”

He answered not.

“Your silence implies it—I am the cause—” she exclaimed. “But in what, let me ask? what have I done? Speaklet me know—”

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