From The Athenæum.

you love best," she answered in a low voice, and

A Lost Love. By Ashford Owen. Smith, timidly. Elder, & Co.

If she had been playing a game, she could perhaps have attached him more closely to her; for

"A Lost Love" is a little story full of grace he was too proud, too honorable, not to recoil

and genius. The incidents are slight and
common-such as might be picked up either
in the streets of London, or in the most stag-
nant country town. There is little or nothing
that is highly colored, either in character or
emotion. The story resembles a delicately
finished outline rather than a fully colored
picture :-

It is the heart which magnifies this life,
Making a truth and beauty of its own.

sion

from all idea of catching at her words to free himself. "Georgy," he said, smiling with his lips, but not his eyes, you are mistaken, and need not be afraid of accomplishing my unhappiness; tell me what you know about a letter of Mrs. Everett's, which seems to have made such an impresshe answered, gaining composure as he lost his: upon you." He spoke rather hurriedly, and "I know you fancied that Mrs. Everett had quarrelled with you, because you did not receive a letter which she wrote to you at Bruxelles; and I know how the knowledge that it was a mistake has changed you in spite of yourself; and I know how Mrs. Everett "and she paused.

I

The opening up of the life that lies at the root of the dull, cheerless, uneventful career of the "How Mrs. Everett, what?" he echoed, inadheroine has a deep and touching interest that vertently betraying some curiosity. "How Mrs. would be too painful were it not for the skill Everett cares for you," she said abruptly. "Now, with which the conclusion is so managed as to am going; for I have said what I have wanted leave the reader indifferent to what is called-you will come and see me some day, and tell a "happy ending." After following poor she brought out the words deliberately and clearme that I was right." Her voice trembled, but Georgy through the deep love that made up Georgy, you are mad! This is your doing, her life, we feel that it was " well with her" at not mine." "And I am right to do it,' she said the last; and we leave her without unavailing softly. "I will not own that I am wrong till you pity. We recommend our readers to get the dare tell me that you have never loved Mrs. Evebook for themselves. No outline of the story rett." They had changed places now; and she, in would give them any idea of its beauty; but her self-possession, was stronger for the moment. we give them an extract to encourage them," Tell me, if you do not mind the question, what and to justify our own commendation. Geor- had Mrs. Everett misunderstood you about?" gy has loved James Erskine all her life-she" Only that I had remonstrated with her on an becomes engaged to be married to him, and almost immediately after discovers that he has had, without any fault or disloyalty of his own, an explanation which clears up the misunderstanding that had estranged him from the woman he really loved :—

imprudent acquaintance; and, after an angry letter which I received from her, I never heard again." "And you have loved her for longvery long, I know."

He did not deny the assertion, but stood half inclined to speak, and yet uncertain. "Good bye," said she gravely; and she held out her hand. "No; it is too soon to say good bye." "I "Mr. Erskine," said she abruptly, when break-do not think so; we must say that sooner or later, fast was ended, "will you come-? I mean, I and it had better be now." "No, Georgy, you want to speak to you for a few minutes." "Yes, must let me talk to you again about this; I will I will come wherever you please." come back soon-I must talk to you;" and he left the room.

She walked up stairs to Mrs. Lewis's sittingroom, and he followed her. When they were there, her heart sank, and she was startled at her own rashness; she knew neither what to say nor do.

"Well, what is it?" he asked. She hesitated for a moment; James seemed already gone; and when she had spoken, he, as he stood there, would be lost to her forever.

Georgy sat there, because he had said that he would return; she had a habit of obeying him, and had not yet forgotten it. Mrs. Lewis came in, but she still remained turning over the leaves of some book; reflecting that she would go back to her aunt's, and wishing that she could start that morning. It was a good while before Mr. Erskine returned; and it was not to be wondered "It was about you, not about myself, that at. He had been so surprised at Georgy's sudI wanted to speak. I do not think you are den.words, that he needed a little time to collect very happy; but I am glad that Mrs. Everett's himself. He could not be angry, for all she had letter, which ought to have reached you long ago, said was so perfectly true; and yet many people, has done so now." "What do you mean?" he if they had not availed themselves of her words, asked, stiffly. "I mean that you have had a and pleaded guilty, would have taken an oppomisunderstanding with Mrs. Everett; it has been site refuge in displeasure. He was quite collected cleared up now, I think, and almost too late." when he returned, and never for a moment Georgy,' he said, quickly, " that is not right- flinched from the spirit as well as from the text not fair. I hope that you do not mean to treat of his duty, to the woman whom he had chosen; me often so; it is very early to be jealous." but it was only duty towards her now. He could "No, I am not jealous; but it would be unkind not feel the excitement of self-sacrifice which of me to marry you, for I know who it is that supported her; yet not the less must his be a re

nunciation. He endeavored to dissuade her
from her purpose; and at last said:-
"You did surprise me a little while ago; but
think I can satisfy you now. It is quite true
that I have loved Mrs. Everett very much; but
that is passed now; I trust in you, or I should
not make such a confession. Will you take me
as I am, Georgy ?" he continued, holding out
his hand, and smiling very sweetly. "You are a
little jealous and exacting, are you not? I am
far older than you, and cannot tell you that I
have never loved any one before; I can only
promise to love you now; you will be content
with that, won't you? You may seek far, my
child, before you find such very exclusive love as
you desire."

Once in Mr. Erskine's house, long after his marriage, a fair-haired little girl came running I to her father to beg to go out with him, and to show what her mother had just brought out of her treasure-box and given her. It was a heart and cross of massed turquoise, and as he bent down to see "the beautiful thing," a vision came quickly across him of the room where he had given it, and of a wistful, loving face which looked up at him. It was a sad recollection, and he took the child's hand, and pressed her close to him to dispel it. He was not much changed in appearance; only he smiled seldomer; and his manner was sometimes rather sarcastic, which formerly it never was. He had remembered her, more perhaps than any one knew of; many a timé She had not taken his hand, had not moved he had thought of her as she was that night, and whilst he was speaking; now she got up, and oftener still as he had seen her as she was that leaned against the chimney-piece. "Thank you morning when he saw her for the last time, and -thank you," she said, bending down her head, she had turned quietly away; and her low tone, and speaking through her tears; "I shall always "Yes, James," came back to him; he had never remember what you have just said; you are as heard her voice again, but he remembered it good as you are " and she looked up at him well. Those who knew him said that he had with pride and tenderness. She had forgotten grown older in heart, of late years. He was a herself just then in the thought of his perfections. tender father, and already was looking forward "I used sometimes to ask myself," she went on in thought to what his children might be to him. as if she were talking to herself, "I knew so little It was early, perhaps, for a man still young to of you really, whether it was your goodness which be looking forward so directly to his children. made me care for you, or whether it was only "Here's mamma," said the child, as a quick, that you were ? I know now how good you clear voice called out, "Childy, are you ready?" are; I know that you would make me happy, It was James Erskine's wife. She was still unand I am not exacting; but you see you cannot changed; time and the world had not fretted marry me; you must marry Constance Everett. her, and as the bright winning lady came lightly I know that you will, for she loves you; I am into the room, a sunshiny presence filled it sure of it." "I do not know that she does." Constance, where has this come from? Don't "But I do;" and she told him many words of give it to Consy." "Why, does a tale hang Constance's during the past two days. "Now, thereby?" she said, laughing; "it was amongst are you satisfied at last?" He colored deeply, the things Mrs. Anstruther left me so strangely," and looked terribly disturbed. "Mrs. Anstruther!" he repeated to himself. There is always something convincing in a "Do you remember it?" "Yes, I gave it to man's confusion, which happens so much sel- her." Ah! James,-poor Mrs. Anstruther! I domer than a woman's. His manner changed; often thought how it would have interested me it had been a little stiff before, for he still be- to meet her again. Poor Georgy! it is not good lieved that she had not really given him up; to have such a nature," she said, drawing back and he half admired her, and was half angry with as if the exchange was offered to her, and lookher, for what he thought was perhaps only jeal- ing musingly into the distance. "It may do in ousy. Georgy, it is you who are good, tender, books, or for a great artist, but for hard practice" and thoughtful for me, far beyond what I deserve. "I dare say she was very happy," he said, -Thank you!" he said, kissing both her hands. quickly; how you do run on!" 66 No, she Thank you! he had said it, and had accepted wasn't; I read her when I first saw her, and I her renunciation. "Good bye, James!" "Dear know what a cold, strange woman those who Georgy! shall you always judge and forgive me saw her afterwards thought her; and it was your as you do now?" "Why not? Is it your fault doing," she laughed. "And so you gave her that; that you have met Constance Everett again?. I was it on the day when you picked me up at the am going back to my aunt's in London, and I station? "Yes," he answered, laying his hand trust in you to excuse me to Mrs. Erskine for not on her shoulder, and looking at her lovingly; awaiting her return. "You are going?" "Yes, she noticed neither the touch nor the look just James."

And so she left him. At that moment he suf fered far the most; his position was very painful, as he stood there, remorseful, yet unable in anything to atone to Georgy; and grateful, but not knowing how to express his gratitude.

*

then.

This is very tender and delicate; and will, V we think, send many readers to the story of "A Lost Love."

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77

T

Yet I feel that I must cut him off with a shilling. CURIOUS TESTAMENTARY PAPER OF A NORTHMy executors, too, should be men of good fame PI appoint Edmund Ruffell, of Cockfield by name In his old easy chair, with short pipe and snuff, What matter his whims, he is honest enough; With Samuel Seely, of Alpheton Lion,

The second, my poor aged mother I say.
With whom I have quarrelled on many a day,
For which I've been sorry, and also am still;
I wish to give her a place in
my will.
The third that I mention is my dear little child;
When I think of her, Joseph, I feel almost wild.
Uncle Sam Bigsby, I must think of him too,
Peradventure he will say, that I scarcely can do.
And
poor uncle Gregory, I must leave him a part,
If it is nothing else but the back of the cart.
And for you, my executor, I will do what I can,
For acting towards me like an honest young man.

Now, to my wife I bequeath greater part of my

store;

First thing is the bedstead before the front door;
The next is the chair standing by the fire side,
The fender and irons she cleaned with much pride.
I also bequeath to Lydia, my wife,

A box in the cupboard, a sword, gun, and knife,
And the harmless old pistol without any lock,
Which no man can fire off, for 'tis minus a cock.
The cups and the saucers I leave her also,
And a book called The History of Poor Little Mo,
With the kettle, the boiler, and old frying-pan,
A shovel, a mud-scoop, a pail, and a pan.
And remember, I firmly declare and protest
That my poor aged mother shall have my oak
chest

And the broken whip under it. Do you hear

what I say?

Write all these things down without any delay.
And my dear little child, I must think of her too.
Friend Joseph, I am dying, what shall I do?
I give her my banyan, my cap, and my hose,
My big monkey jacket, my shirt, and my shoes;
And to uncle Sam Bigsby I bequeath my high
boots,

The pickaxe, and mattock, with which I stubbed

There are several good points and useful hints in this document: in the first place it appears the testator did not think of making a will till be felt "very queer," which serves to remind the reader that it is more discreet to attend to a matter of this kind when in health, as few persons can think and act calmly and dispassionately when they feel "very queer." Then the choice of an executor is a matter to be well considered. Here we find one appointed who, on previous occa sions, had proved himself" an honest young man." The fatherly, kind, and affectionate manner in which the testator speaks of his "dear little child," is of a pleasing character. Perhaps it may be said he left her a queer legacy. Granted: but then it must be remembered that a man can bequeath m more than he possesses; as a member of the Society of Friends would say: "Such as I have, I give unto thee." The back of the cart given to "Uncle Gregory," was for a long time used in the cottage for the purpose of a bedstead; and it pos sessed at least one advantage, as those sleeping in it could not very well fall out of bed. The execu tor being somewhat of a sporting character, the "shot-belt, dog, and nets were the most acceptable present that could be offered him. Some in genuity is displayed in drawing up this will, as it contains an inventory of the effects that were in the cottage. G. BLENCOWE

Manningtree.

"VOX POPULI, Vox DEI." Your correspond-of God, is the common voice of the people; yet it ent ascribes to the celebrated John Wesley the is as full of falsehood as commonness. For who dissentient rejoinder once made to that well-sees not that those black-mouthed hounds, upon known proverb "Vox populi, vox Dei:" "No, the mere scent of opinion, as freely spend their it cannot be the voice of God, for it was vox populi mouths in hunting counter, or like Acteon's dogs that cried out." Crucify him, crucify him!" and in chasing an innocent man to death, as if they I have seen it elsewhere ascribed to him. It ap- followed the chase of truth itself, in a fresh scent. pears, however, to have had a much earlier origin, Who observes not that the voice of the people, and Wesley did but quote from Arthur Warwick, yea, of that people that voiced themselves the whose Spare Minutes, or Resolved Meditations and people of God, did prosecute the God of all peoPremeditated Resolutions had reached a sixth edi- ple, with one common voice: "He is worthy to die." tion in 1637. I am unable to give you the exact I will not therefore ambitiously beg their voices reference to the page where the words occur, not for my preferment, nor weigh my worth in that having the volume by me, and having omitted to uneven balance, in which a feather of opinion make a "note" at the time of reading the work. shall be moment enough to turn the scale, and The words, however, are as follows:make a light piece go current, and a current piece seem light." Notes and Queries.

"That the voice of the common people is the voice

From the Times.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.*

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But these threads of poetical recollections are too precious (in our eyes) to be negligently run off the reel; we shall hope to weave DURING a long literary life-the reader them into tapestry yet. The poet who lends who is curious about age may guess at ours by title to this article will certainly find a place referring to our first number-we have had in that record of other days if it be ever com the questionable privilege of knowing some pleted. It was in his later life that we knew poets, and several poetasters. Their most James Montgomery. He was visiting a friend noticeable quality was what John Foster well near London, and our road to the house took Esentitled the sly deceit of self-love.' At all us by the once, perhaps still, celebrated Flower Bahours of the day they were gasping for praise. Pot, where Ella and other lean annuitants For example, the entire conversation of were accustomed to secure a place for Dalston Wordsworth was only an enlarged edition of or Shacklewell,' or some other suburban retreat the parish clerk's Importance of a man to northerly. Pleasant was our first morning's himself. He might not be, as Johnson and talk with The World before the Flood; for, if Goldsmith was, 'irascible as a hornet,' and yet a Scotch squire be called after his estate, why a slight touch was enough to bring out the not a poet after his verses? Montgomery adsting. Very characteristic is the story of a vanced no claim to be a brilliant converser, visitor to Rydal. Wordsworth had been speak- but he had the better qualities of good nature ing of the excessive laudation which Wilson and modesty. He never stood in need, like bestowed on him in Blackwood. 'I am told,' the talker of Highgate, of a friend to punctu said he quite carelessly, 'for I've not seen it, ate his discourse. He stopped it himself. that the extravagant critic of my last work The pun is involuntary. And now, looking affirms the extracts which he gives to be worth back to that distant day, we remember with the price of the magazine. Mrs. Words-affection the gentle words and thoughts of the worth smiled, and the smile brought a frown speaker, which a sweet, serious eye, was a fit to the poet's face and a sterner tone to his mirror to reflect. There was, too, a gay tone voice, as he reproved her by saying, "That in the voice that seemed to give a shine to the was a serious review, Mrs. Wordsworth. O wives of poets, remember the caution of Lord Bacon,It is one of the best bonds in the wife if she think her husband wise.'

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graver themes. We have opened these memoirs of Montgomery, therefore, with unusual hopes, and proceed to gather some information respecting the subject of them.

We might talk of that severer poet whom There is in the county of Antrim, Ireland, lady, who met him at Burke's table, called a village called Ballykennedy, of which the 'the youth with the sour name and the sweet reader probably never heard before, and of countenance;' or of Southey, as he describes which we are not able to give to him any infor himself, wearing an old bonnet of Edith, by mation. It was to this place that a Methodist way of shade over his weak, but lustrous preacher, one John Cennick-a second Buneyes; of Cary-rather an interpreter of a yan in the eyes of his friends-came in 1746; great poet than a poet himself, but always and, joining himself to the Moravians, found agreeable to meet in the old Museum-placid ed a 'settlement' called Grace-hill.' John and courteous, with the air of a Benedictine fresh from Chrysostom; of Campbell, halfsloven and half-fop, running over.with bad wit, and recalling no echo of

Gertrude in her bowers of yore, Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore;

Montgomery, a young laboring man of Ballykennedy, and a child of twelve years at the coming of the missionary, became a convert to the new way, and was received among the brethren. Being appointed a preacher, he travelled through Yorkshire and Germany, and returning to Grace-hill on December 27, 1768, he married Mary Blackley, a sister of the society. The Moravians had only one esor of our valued friend Lisle Bowles-the tablishment in Scotland, and that was at Irkind, simple, generous Parson Adams of vine, a seaport of Ayrshire. Over this little Brembill, and whose marvellous penmanship, flock John Montgomery was made the pastor, in letter and on margin, suggests the inquiry and thither he went, arriving just in time to why poets, in general, should indite so misera- prevent his eldest boy from being an Irishman. table a scrawl? Is it typical of the fine frenzy The poet was born on November 4, 1771. sothat buffets them? He writes a lamentable hand,' old Aubrey complained of Waller, as so bad as the scratching of a hen.'

*Memoirs of the Life and Writings of James Montgomery. By John Holland and James Everett. 2 vols. London, Longman.

Humble as his home was, he escaped the peril which beset a more famous minstrel, the clay cottage in which Burns saw the light having been beaten in by a hurricane when the infant was a few days old. Burns was living, a child of twelve, within a few miles of the Moravian abode. But Montgomery did not long remain