"Come, Ellen," said Emma, with deep emotion, "let us join the company, or we will be observed," and she gently took her arm, and led the unresisting Ellen to a seat in the centre of the room. "Miss Bartwon!" at this moment chimed in a young exquisite, the lengthened locks of whose very ample cranium shone with "Macassar," and whose dialect bordered on the ridiculous, "Miss Bartwon, fawvor the cwompany with the wevy great pleasure of atwending to one of those twanscend wently sublime airs which you quoite rarely condescwend to perform in your magnificwent woice!" lingly rose from her seat, supported by Edmund, who cast no very approving glance toward that quarter of the room whence issued the last request, succeeding his apology. She seated herself, and commenced, "The Light of other Days," and ere she had completed the first stanza, she became visibly agitated-she paused-again commencedher voice faltered-her hand fell from the keys, and she wept! Edmund was instantly at her side. He gently led her to the open recess, where the invigorating breeze played upon her pale brow. When she had revived, the company dispersed-and the friends were alone. Sweet "Ho! ho! ho!" roared out a little urchin, is the communion when kindred spirits meet who, till this moment, had sat very quietly-equally bitter when arrives the parting in a corner, engaged in the agreeable task of moment. testing his organs of mastication upon a huge pile of unshelled nuts. The exquisite looked aghast, as he had just paused to listen for the murmur of approbation which he supposed would take place, as a matter of course, on his giving vent to so astonishing a burst of eloquence, when the little fat, chubby-cheeked fellow gave vent also to his feelings in his own peculiar manner. The child was forthwith ejected, but what it was that so tickled his young fancy, none of the company could divine, as none cared to question him. Be this as it may, they all appeared mightily pleased, save and except the exquisite, who looked very demure, and so many thought the child might have been thinking of him. However, the request was immediately seconded by others in a less ostentatious manner, and Emma rose in compliance, and took her seat at the piano. After lightly passing her taper fingers over the keys, she sang a sweet and popular air. As her clear rich voice gave utterance to the music of the song, her feelings seemed in unison, and she rose from the piano amid a general murmur of delight. "Will Miss Harvey favor the company with one of her choice?" politely asked a young gentleman. Ellen hesitated. The next morning, at an early hour, the Barton family took their departure from the city, and many a lingering look did Emma cast behind, as she reluctantly left the domicile where she had enjoyed so many happy hours. Ellen witnessed their departure, and then retired to the solitude of her chamber, there to indulge in those feelings which no tongue can utter, or heart can feel, save those who have been placed in a situation akin to her's. The 25th of December arrived, and Ellen Harvey became the wife of him she loved so well. Edmund had rented a small, neat house in V street, and caused it to be very genteely furnished. His business affairs, which before his marriage had been in a very prosperous condition, now became doubly so, and far exceeded his most sanguine expectations. He had already made arrangements for "building a house of his own," and one cold, blustering night, himself and Ellen were seated in their little parlour, beside a cheerful coal fire, discussing the probable benefits that would arise therefrom, when a little son of ebony thrust his sable visage into the room, holding in his hand a letter. "What have you there, Sam?" inquired Edmund, mildly. "Lettar!-Missus Stanbey!" "Is it possible that the post can be out to night?" 66 Yes, massa! he be so cold he almos froze brack!" Edmund took the letter, looked at the superscription, and handed it to Ellen. He then gave the boy the sum marked as postage. Invite him in Sam, that he may warm himself. Poor fellow! he must be almost perished." 66 66 Yes, massa! it be too cold for little nigga! ha! ha!" chuckled Sam, as he closed the door. Ellen opened the letter-it was from Emma Barton-she gave it to Edmund, who read aloud: N―, Jan'y 20, 18—. Dear, dear Ellen :-I received yours of the 1st inst., and was gratified to learn that you were "married, and doing well." I regret my not being present at the ceremony-indeed, I nearly cried with vexation, because father promised that I should visit the city a week before Christmas, but could not fulfil the promise on account of urgent business. We have delightful times here-such partiessuch balls and then such company. O! you would be fairly enchanted, if you were to spend a week with us. Now, if you could only pursuade your " dear Edmund" to take a trip up to see us, I should be very happy. There are lots of beaux here-and a young planter, from the South, has just arrived in our little village, who has created quite a sensation-and I must confess he has some very cominendable qualities; besides being handsome and accomplished, he has an immense fortune; he is very particular in his attentions at our house, and I think pretty well of him. My respects to all inquiring friends, and well wishes to your "dear Edmund." Affectionately yours, EMMA BARTON. So delicate and fragile in thy beauty, The earliest blast that touched thee, blighted thee!" In the aristocratic little town of N―, in the northern section of Pennsylvania, stood the mansion of Cornelius Barton, the respected_sire of the light-hearted Emma. "Yes! there is one!" "Do-do recite it!" exclaimed Emma, as she rose from her couch, her beautiful features bright with eagerness. The young gentleman also arose, and with his arm circling her slender waist, and his hand clasped in her's, he gently led the unresisting girl to a rich tapestried window that looked upon a lawn redolent with rare exotics, whose trembling fibres glittered beneath the effulgent radiance of the queen of night. "The subject is well illustrated before us,” he said, "it is the lover describing to her who holds his heart in thraldom, the home to which, could love fulfil its prayers,' he would conduct her: "A deep vale As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, A palace, lifting to eternal summer Its marble walls from out a glossy bower Of coolest foliage, musical with birds, We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder That were not lovers; no ambition save Claudian Donay was a total stranger to the inhabitants of the town of N-, until a few It was night. Within that stately edifice, weeks previous to the occurrence of the foregracefully reclining upon a rich velvet otto-going scene within the mansion of Mr. Barman, was the symmetrical form of the fair girl. Seated beneath the light of a magnificent chandelier, which hung suspended from the centre of the painted ceiling, his arm resting upon the marble surface of a beautiful pier table, and his hand clasping a richly embossed book, was the figure of a young gentleman of commanding appearance, reading ton. None knew his origin or his intentions, save from his own lips. In his manners he was polished and gentlemanly, in person dignified, yet full of grace-in fact, immediately on his arrival he was denominated by the belles of the town "a good-looking fellow." Many were the smiles lavished upon him by the young ladies, and many the kind glances and sociable nods from ambitious mothers. peared unwilling to confide in his wife, and He was decidedly the "lion" of the place it deeply wounded the sensitive mind of the no evening company could be five minutes ingenuous Emma. Could her husband deorganized, ere Mr. Claudian Donay was the ceive her was he aught else than what he subject for discussion, and an inexhaustible appeared-were the interrogations which theme it appeared to be. The young gentle-her feelings prompted, as she dwelt upon his men frowned at this usurpation and monopo- recent conduct. ly, and the young ladies flirted. In the evening Claudian left her, say Matters were in this very unenviable posi-ing he would return in an hour. Emma intion, when Mr. Donay suddenly appeared to be very ardent in his devoirs to Miss Emma Barton, and it soon became whispered abroad that the "rich planter" and Emma were "engaged." Nor were these suppositions incorrect, as in less than two months succeeding Mr. Donay's appearance at N, he led to Hymen's altar the fair Emma, a willing bride. After the performance of the ceremony, and Mr. Barton had settled with his son-inlaw his daughter's dowry, which was no inconsiderable sum, Mr. Donay announced his intention of leaving N- for his "own home in the sunny South." With a light heart, Emma prepared to leave her parental home, for she had never even dreamed of her husband being aught else than what he appeared. Poor, deluded girl, she cared not for the future in the enjoyment of the ideal of her infatuated fancy. After three days journey, they arrived in the city of Baltimore, when Mr. Donay suddenly declared that he was compelled to take up a transient residence in that community, owing to urgent business which he was necessitated to transact. He engaged a room in one of the principal hotels, where Emma received every attention that a young bride could desire. One afternoon, Emma was seated in their apartment, engaged in a favorite volume, when her husband entered, accompanied by a person whom he introduced as a very particular friend. Mr. Donay was very obsequious in his attentions to this individual. Emma wondered whom he could be, and why she had not seen him before, he being so valued an acquaintance. From her first impression, she formed an irresistible antipathy for this person, which it appeared impossible to eradicate. She knew that she had no obvious reason for this predisposition-it was a feeling natural, yet undefinable. She thought she perceived a coarse familiarity in him toward her husband-while Claudian appeared to be laboring under a restraint in his presence. It was evident the stranger had been falsely represented. In a short time he took his leave, in a haughty and sarcastic manner; Emma questioned her husband concerning him, but his answers were altogether unsatisfactory and evasive. This was the first time he had ap quired not his destination, but when he had departed, she sat down to ruminate. While thus absorbed in meditation, a lady entered the apartinent, and softly advancing, gently laid her hand upon her arm. Emma involuntarily started from her unconscious attitude, and gazed vacantly upon the intruder. Her wandering senses failed to recognize in the lady a very intimate acquaintance. 66 Why, Mrs. Donay!" exclaimed the lady, in astonishment, "what has transpired to give rise to that melancholy counterance?" 66 "Nothing, my friend," said Emma, methinks I must have been dreaming." 66 Dreaming, indeed! Mark me! there's oft a prophecy in dreams!' So writes the poet, and who shall him gainsay. But come, Charles sent me to request your presence at a game of whist in our apartment." "Excuse me, Mrs. Ball—Mr. Donay is not at home." "Indeed! Well, then, it is business of some urgent import that forms the cause." Perhaps so!" 66 66 Why, Mrs. Donay, your deal in enigmas, and fear to trust me with your confidence.And yet, 'tis strange!" "What is strange?" "That Mr. Claudian Donay, who has been deemed an example for all good husbands, should so far forget himself as to leave his young bride in solitude." At this moment they were interrupted by loud and apparently angry voices, proceeding from the street door, immediately beneath the chamber window. "I tell you I must have the money!" "Patience! a man can't live on patience. No! you have carried on this game long enough-I must either have the money, or you go-" the words were lost in the dis tance. Emma stood horror-struck-cold drops of perspiration hung upon her marble browher cheek turned to a livid, deathly hue-a convulsive spasm agitated her slight frame, as she wildly exclaimed: "Have I been deceived? Sure it was Claudian's voice. I-his wife-it were impossible that I should mistake it! No! I could not! O, my father, would that I had never left thee!" The chamber door opened, and Claudian His flushed Donay stood within the room. Agitated and bewildered, Mrs. Ball called loudly for assistance. The apartment was immediately thronged with anxious countenances, inquiring the cause of this unusual commotion-but it needed no explanation, the insensible form of Emma, and the intoxicated Claudian, was ample. Again brought to a consciousness of her situation, Emma prepared herself to abide the result of the coming disclosure. There was a settled look of deep, melancholy despair upon her countenance, mingled with a spirit of determination. Her chamber being again vacant, she sat silently brooding over her misfortune. 66 Come, Emma," said Ellen, whilst a tear stole down her cheek, "we may now hope for happier days." "No, Ellen," she replied, calmly, "the bright hours of my existence have passedthe remainder are left me for repentance. Had I early embibed the precepts of my friend, I had indeed been happy." Emma immediately wrote to her father, and made known her situation. Edmund kindly invited her to accompany them to Philadelphia, as her depressed health would not admit of stage travelling-she gratefully accepted the offer, and returned to the city of her birth. But, alas, the familiar scenes of her childhood she had ceased to think of, but Early the ensuing morning, the landlord of the hotel sent up a "notice to quit." Emma quietly received the message, and patiently awaited until her husband should awake from his drunken stupor. Bitter were the reflections that occupied her thoughts. How happy had she been to have taken El-as objects that early glittered upon her path len Harvey's advice! Claudian rose about eight o'clock, and Emma silently laid within his hand the landlord's notice. He glanced at the paper-a scornful expression passed over his features, and without uttering a word, he took up his hat, and left the room. that remained of his beloved child. But her sufferings were short, even as had been her joys, and the grave was soon destined to close upon all her sorrows. The canker-worm of mental disease had destroyed the vitals of her existence, and in the spring-day of her being, she sank a victim to the erroneous and deplored opinion of the happiness of this brief life consisting in the world's wealth. Kensington, 1842. of life, even as the meteor substance of a dream. Daily, nay, hourly, she pined away, notwithstanding the affectionate attentions of the devoted Ellen. The bloom fled from her cheek, and her pale, wan, spectre-like features were but the shadows of her former self. Her father arrived, and with heart-rending anFor full two hours Emma had been anx-guish recognized in that emaciated form, all iously awaiting her husband's return, when, from her chamber window, she perceived a carriage drive rapidly towards the hotel, suddenly halt at the street door, and a lady and gentleman alight. The next moment she heard her own name pronounced by a voice whose sweet, familiar sound had ever been to her a messenger of comfort. Light footsteps were heard ascending the staircasethe chamber door opened-and "the friends" were locked in a fond, affectionate embrace. Happy, indeed, was the meeting of the long estranged Ellen and Emma. Edmund had received information that Emma had taken up a transient residence in Baltimore, and having a desire to visit the "monumental city," he thought this a delightful opportunity, and one which would afford the greatest satisfaction to his affectionate wife. Emma confided all her anxieties and troubles to Ellen, and found in her the same sweet fount of sympathy that had soothed her early sorrows. The day and night passed, and still Mr. Donay was absent. Early the ensuing morning Edmund went out-but soon returned, with a morning newspaper, from which he read aloud: A Good Wife may be known by her readiness to promote the welfare and comfort of her husband, rather than by her many protestations of regard for him. A Poor Wife is all "my dear" and "my love" to her husband, but would'nt sew a button to his coat to keep him from freezing. In this life of disappointment, where our wishes and aims are but steps leading to no real summits, we are soothed only by love, as by some second world; and in the midst of the charnel-house of perishableness, a heart living and beloved, feels the true immortality. |