joining room. Both she and her children affectionately greeted their old friend. But Angela was indeed an altered being; she no longer suffered herself to be carried away thoughtlessly by the impulse of the moment and the influence of surrounding objects. Her hard fate preyed heavily on her mind, and the faculty of reflection, which had been so lately aroused, ever exercised a supreme power over her.

"I wish to consult you on a matter of great importance, reverend pastor," she began, after exchanging a few friendly words with his wife; and have but little time, for much depends on my decision, and all must be done to-day."

Madame Harsens considerately rose to leave the room with her children, after having kindly bid farewell to Angela, and the worthy curate placed a chair for his old pupil beside the cheerful window, sat down opposite her, and waited to hear what she had to say, without any prying curiosity, but with an air of sincere interest.

"Reverend pastor," said Angela, eagerly, "I am in a difficult position, and cannot decide between right and wrong: therefore I pray you consider for me, and then teach me to see what is right."

She then detailed to him with a melancholy precision which proved how deeply she had been affected thereby, the events that had occurred since the day of the proclamation, nor did she conceal from him the insight she had obtained into the true state of affairs, or the manner in which Néess and her aunt had proceeded towards her.

The worthy pastor was greatly surprised by this communication. As Angela seemed much exhausted by the effort of her narration, he begged her to rest for a little while, and employed the time in reflecting seriously on these extraordinary circumstances.

"My daughter," said he, after a pause, which had given both Angela and him leisure for consideration, "it has pleased God to give a strange turn to your humble life, and I think it is very excusable, that, in the midst of so many contradictory claims and demands, you should feel at a loss to decide on your course. Yet do not imagine it is so difficult to distinguish right from wrong. Perhaps you have not sufficiently kept in mind. the eternal truths of the Gospel; for God's holy word, in its beautiful simplicity, would soon have dissipated your uncertainty."

"Does it say then that I must not be divorced from Néess?" said Angela. "Is there no case in which a marriage may be dissolved consistently with what is right?"

"As we cannot say in every case that a marriage has been brought about by the hand of God, there are instances when, consistently with what is right, a marriage may be dissolved, for, like every human action, it is liable to error. If instead of the honourable feeling and hallowed love which should characterise the holy state of matrimony, the wickedness of either of the parties concerned causes wrongs, hatred, and confusion of every sort to arise, such a union is not one appointed by God, but a human error, as distinct as possible from the intention of the Almighty in the institution of this holy ordinance.

Angela was silent. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, and she seemed lost in thought. After a pause the pastor resumed.

"But it was not to ward off earthly sorrows and trials that a divorce has been permitted by our church, though unfortunately it is often sought for views of earthly aggrandisement, or for the gratification of criminal desires. It is only when a marriage is prejudicial to the eternal welfare

of our souls; when we feel ourselves impeded in our course of duty; and when we are unable to lead back our partner in matrimony into the path of virtue, or find he prevents us from aspiring to God, that according to the laws of God and man a divorce is lawful, and free from every imputation of dishonour."

"Néess has done nothing of all this," exclaimed Angela, rising calmly from her seat; 66 and now my aunt must give me up, for I cannot be divorced from him in accordance with God's holy commands!"

The good pastor had almost forgotten, in expressing his opinions on this subject, that there was a case in point on which he was to decide; but Angela's speech recalled this to his mind.

"It is as you say, Angela!" he said, solemnly; " you run no risk of prejudicing your eternal happiness by remaining with your husband, and have no right to give up a man whose passionate attachment to you admits of the hope that your influence may be productive of good. Turn a deaf ear, therefore, to the seductions of your aunt, though I have no doubt she acts with the kindest intentions; remember that it was through no fault of yours, but by the will of God, that you have been suffered to enter a lower sphere than that to which your birth entitled you; direct all your attention to discover what God designs you to effect in this station of life; firmly resolve to do His will, and you will regain your cheerfulness and peace of mind."

"I shall do so," said Angela, in a clear and decided voice. She breathed more freely, and her eye was no longer fixed on the ground, but glanced fearlessly around her.

66 Oh, my kind friend, now I feel at peace with myself once more. It is a sad thing when our relations seek to turn our hearts astray: we naturally cling to them, and would fain believe them in the right. Thus it was with me, yet something within whispered, that if I followed their advice I should not breathe freely again all the days of my life; and now that you have spoken, and convinced me, I feel all is right again, and I am content to bear every trial for God's sake who placed me in this situation. But now I must settle all this, and take leave of my aunt. Then nobody shall ever entice me to leave my house again, and perhaps in time I may grow used to my old mode of life once more, and be contented as I was formerly, and get rid of the secret repugnance I cannot help feeling towards Van der Néess.

"God will bless you if you pray to Him for strength to do His will,” cried Harsens, much affected. "But trust not in your own strength; it is as a reed, which every adverse blast may break. Pray to Him and he will stand by you, and enable you to overcome temptations.”

It was with increased interest and esteem that Harsens saw Angela depart. Her mind was perfectly made up, no shadow of doubt or uneasiness disturbed her peace, and she hurried away to terminate the whole affair at once. Dame Lievers would not for any earthly consideration have missed Angela's retreat, and she fixed her sharp eyes upon her, as if to pierce her very soul. But the good lady's penetration was sadly puzzled by the quiet, cheerful demeanour of Angela, who seemed to have entirely forgotten Dame Lievers' malicious attack, and shook hands with her kindly at parting, saying she would soon return when she was not so busy and could stay a little longer.

But Dame Lievers did not know that we love the whole world, when we have formed a virtuous resolution.

THE SHADOW-SHOWER.

BY THOMAS ROSCOE, ESQ.

And coming events cast their shadows before.-Lochiel's Warning.

1.

The old

It was a truly dreary and foggy-chill November night. town watchman had just sung out the witching hour in that horrid plaintive bass so startling to weak nerves, yet so oddly contrasting with the laugh and the song from the little club-room-a sort of screen-slice from the greater travellers' coffee-room in the Lothar Tavern. It was at Berlin under the ancien régime. The topics were such as may well be conceived, where politics and divinity were caveare to the wise, and a spy might chance to invite you to turn hermit and take your supper in -a cell. What was cut off, however, in solemn civil talk-the destinies of nations, or their own, was perhaps more than made up by additional vigour of imagination, the perfect license of ribaldry and wit, which revenged itself upon authority by finding a safety-valve for its over pentup steam in corrupt morals and taste.

Still there reigned supreme the old hearty love and good-fellowship, at once so honourable and so conspicuous in the middle and better orders of "our fatherland." Add, that nothing draws more warmly and closely the bonds of German brotherhood than a good glass of Hochheimer or Liebo-frauens-milk; and had you seen the blinking old veteran-a veteran in mere fields than one-and a sterling old major of the great Frederick's Royal Guards, his glass in one hand and his huge walking-stick in the other, giving such uncommon emphasis and distinction to the last toast to his queen-the favourite of all hearts, and who melted even the iron one of Napoleon-you would have caught the glorious impulse, and lauded and cheered him with the loudest. There is something so doubly honest and hearty in the cheer of a veteran who has served and deserved well of his country, be he a poor pensioner or jack-tar, a high admiral or commander-in-chief. "Worth makes the man," and among the jovial few there met to celebrate their country's freedom on old Blucher's birthday, not one encored the major's "hurrah” and “Rhine song" so vociferously as a sharp, little old man in a brown riding-coat, that seemed almost to smother him. But it could not hide the genial soul and heart's laugh, the keen sparkling eye, jutting witty front, and those vivacious lips ever on the play, and flashing smiles instinct with double meanings. Born with a genius to preside, and to inspire a soul of mirth into the most lumpish and obstinate human clay, he stood in rich contrast―no! but the perfect antipodes of a tall, gaunt, most ungainly form, that of Baron Dundoff, a third original, who, in point of resolute eccentricity, no less than in argument, would yield to no man. The solemnity he put on when solving the little brown man's jokes and witticisms was quite a standing joke of itself, and when, long after the flash, the heavy report of the distant discovery of the wit was heard

VOL. XVII.

2 E

thundering forth, it seemed to electrify every guest, and then there was another general outburst at his expense.

In one of these social interludes the host entered with a petition from one of those modern troubadours, who, to their skill in bagpipes, conjuring tricks, et hoc genus omne, seek to add to those higher walks of the art which border the upon preternatural and the terrible. "He was an admirable musician," insinuated the host, while he expressed a certain degree of uneasiness at the idea of his going at all beyond what the strictest priest and most cautious constable or spy would be likely to warrant. He looked so extremely serious when thus speaking, that there was another laugh, and it was resolved to admit the musician, as he called himself, without further parley. "There is only one dissentient," cried the little brown man, "the baron, who is so terrified that he cannot speak. Still he is a dumb witness, and his silence shall give consent!"

"Cursed bagpiper!" exclaimed the man of acres, with a grim smile, "he will split our ears, and perhaps make the roof fly from over our heads."

"Well!" replied the Brownie, "you are high enough to look over the walls, and can see what is going on without being seen-you have always the advantage of us.'

"Besides his guitar," pursued the host, "he has with him a large magic lantern."

"Glorious! we shall all be boys again," cried the major.

"He is the coming man'-the man of lights and shadows-he is the one for my money-let him come in."

"Are you mad, major ?" exclaimed the baron, "you, a soldier, to talk of boys and sentimental nonsense. Pray let me go.'

But the conjuror had already made good his entrance, and the grumbling baron seemed at a loss how to get past him to the door. So he sat looking stupid horror in the man's face. This furnished a fresh source of happy hits to the wit, who, winking to the host, bade him remove the lights and secure the door. It was a treat in itself to watch the faces of Boniface and the portly baron when the travelling artist began to ply his trade. The walls began to look alive with the terrific frescoes of the painter's shadowy powers, and the viva voce illustrations were in a style of horrible keeping with the witchery of the hour and the scene. The wit's commentaries were regarded as little less than profane swearing, or rather blasphemy, by the trembling host and his tall guest, who momentarily expected to see the roof fall in or fly away with them. The conjuror felt his power, and, like a proud and daring victor, redoubled the terror of his to them unhallowed art. Suddenly in the magic circle there appeared a mysterious-looking personage, dressed in a funereal suit, with chop-fallen visage, deep wrinkles, and a bald head. He was seated in a chair, his chin well lathered with soap-suds, ready for the operator's hand. Flourishing his razor, stood the evil one in full costume, with all his old conventional attributes in amiable relief-the cloven foot and horns conspicuous at either end. Whetting the instrument was an operation that seemed to deprive the baron of the power even of attempting his escape.

The showman himself appeared to regard the figure with a certain kind of shyness, leaving off his voluble commentary, as if to let the thing speak

for itself. Suddenly the major, breaking the horrid pause, exclaimed in his blunt style,

"Quick march! out with the moral-bah!"

Obedient to the word, the man resumed, in the same monotonous tone, "Here, gentlemen, you behold that reprobate old heretic, Dr. Faustus, the great agitator, who struck up a financial league with another gentleman, who shall be nameless. His hour is on the last stroke. In the likeness of his own valet Sir Beelzebub, approaches, on pretence of shaving him, and takes the opportunity of-ah! it is done! Let us call the next. "Stop, stop!" cried the baron; "lights, lights; let me out-I will see

no more."

Candles were brought in amidst the uproarious merriment of the wit and other members, to the evident relief of host and guest. The showman's Mephistopheles, in the shape of a dancing dog, held the plate in his mouth, the pieces poured in, and making a profusion of bows, the happy impostor of the day "made himself scarce."

"What is the matter with you, baron?" inquired the major; "are you resolving a problem, or have you fallen in love?"

"Verily!" pursued the malicious wit, "he looks uncommonly pale; better take a glass of negus, my dear fellow, and go to bed."

For some seconds the lumpy mass of aristocracy remained quite still; then it began to heave and agitate, and finally to emit a strange kind of wild, gutteral sounds, attended with an awful rumbling, like that of a volcano before it succeeds in venting its pent-up rage.

"You are a set of Atheists and blasphemers. I suspected, but now I know it. Fie upon you, to sit and witness such things. I hardly think I am safe in speaking to you! a plague upon you and your club-was that a crack in the roof? Holy mother and all the saints!"

"It was only the major slapping his boot," interposed the wit; "pray oblige us, and go on."

"Go off, you mean," rejoined the major, "for he is full primed; I hope he will not explode."

"He is going to blow us up, at all events," said the wit; "but let him look to himself. Don't you see the conjuror's shadow waving his magic rod there, just above the baron's head?" at the same time he coolly took a pinch of snuff.

"Where? where? Good lord preserve us!" exclaimed the baron, casting a timid glance round him and above, while the rumbling continued louder than before. At length he contrived to bring forth

"Yes, I say Atheists, if you refuse to believe what I am going to relate; I will disburden my mind of that, and then I will say, Heaven speed you, and leave you to your fate."

"Thank you, thank you," replied the wit; "you could not confer a greater obligation upon your best friends."

The baron pondered, but could not see the force of the sarcasm, which he only arrived at three days afterwards, when he sent his own valetit was that demon-valet which had so horrified him, for he thought he could trace an exact resemblance to his own-to demand an explanation. At present, he only observed

"You are aware that I have just now arrived from Silesia. Listen; and then you can think and say as many impieties as you please. All I