nature. Oh, how fondly did the excellent old man doat on his sweet child; and how passionately was that affection returned. Yet this peerless being, as if to prove the frail humanity of earth's loveliest things, lacked one virtue. Of that spirit of fortitude to contend with the disappointments of life, which, in the midst of suffering, ean bow submissively to an over-ruling Providence, she knew nothing. This, in a disposition particularly sensitive, was certainly more than unfor

tunate.

*

*

So passionate an admirer of female beauty as was Alfred de Lacy was likely soon to be fascinated with Anna Vernon; while the poor girl neglected to keep her heart with all diligence, and her peace became the sacrifice.

'In vain I reminded Alfred of Anna's humble fortune, though respectable family-of his father's ambitious views for an only child.

"It is too late, Louisa," he said, the last time I named it, "Anna, Vernon loves me. I doat on her. As I said over the grave of her heart-broken sister-as I have said to her thousands of times, I repeat to you, May the man who deceives a confiding woman live in misery and die in infamy!' I will sacrifice for Anna Vernon every thing but honour. Louisa Lynam, I appeal to you; did I ever deceive a woman? when I do, may the curse I have invoked be mine."

'Several years passed. Having become the wife of your father a few weeks after this event, I accompanied him to Madras, where he was chaplain to the

regiment on duty there: during this time I lost sight of the Vernons.

'On our return to England De Lacy called upon me. He had never corresponded with us, and it was with great surprise I heard he was married. "Te my old friend, Anna Vernon?" I inquired.

""Oh, no," returned he, "to the Marquis of H's daughter; I was only married last week. Lady Geraldyne will be happy to see you."

I then inquired what had become of Miss Vernon.

He answered carelessly he did not know, and changed the conversation. I looked attentively at him: five years bad completely altered him. I was convinced he

was miserable. At length I saw his wife: she was exactly the reverse of Anna Vernon; but, as she expressed a wish to be friendly with me, I could not be ungrateful, and they came to visit us in Portland Place.

I will now hasten as quickly as possible over the remainder of my narrative I cannot bear to dwell on it. I do not know exactly how it occurred, but I think Lady Geraldyne had a favourite servant, who, owing to some unforeseen calamity, had become an inmate of an asylum for lunatics. Her ladyship particularly requested us to accompany her to visit the unhappy woman, and, with reluctance, we consented. De Lacy was also one of the party. Oh, it is dreadful to witness such scenes, and I could not restrain my tears.

6.66 Louisa,' ," said Alfred, as he witnessed them, "yet these are happier than many who now exist in society."

I turned, and looked upon him; he was deadly pale, when, at this moment, a voice of uncommon sweetness, which sounded from the next room, so attracted the attention of Lady Geraldyne, that she earnestly requested the keeper's permission to enter.

"She is very quiet, now, ma'am," observed the man, opening the door; "she became in this way owing to the death of her father and the treachery of a lover.'

·

We entered the apartment: a beautiful but emaciated form reclined on a rude couch. Long and sunny were the ringlets which hung over her face, as she was tracing some characters on the wall. Our entrance roused her; she turned to look upon us. Oh, heaven! what a shriek of mortal agony escaped those pale lips. I was electrified. I had heard that wild shriek before. It was at the grave of Adah Bellairs. Was it could it be Anna Vernon? Little time was left for conjecture. Insulted heaven would suffer no more. Vengeance to the guilty was, however, followed by mercy to the injured.

Anna Vernon knew De Lacy: she flung her arms

wildly around him. "I have waited long," she franticly exclaimed, "oh, very long, but you have come back at last, and we shall part no more, now!"

The horror-struck De Lacy stood the picture of guilt and despair: he staggered back. The keeper approached to tear the wretched maniac from his armsagain she shrieked, "Alfred de Lacy, May the man who deceives a confiding woman live in misery and die in infamy!' Were not these your last words to me? Oh, God-" she paused, fell forward in strong convulsions, and, when the keeper attempted to raise her, it was found the last struggle was ended-Anna Vernon was no more!

'I know nothing of what followed, as your father bore me insensible from the room. I never saw Alfred De Lacy more. That night week my husband was called upon to attend a coroner's inquest which sat on the body of a suicide; in his pocket was found a letter addressed to Colonel De Lacy: it was as follows:—

666

"My Father,-You have often inquired the reason of my wretched state of spirits. I loved a beautiful woman, whose name, from feelings of delicacy to the living, I forbear to mention, and she was virtuous as beautiful. She was the child of sorrow, and I, oh, God! I deceived her; yet 1 resolved to atone for my guilt; and, for the purpose of asking your permission to marry her, I followed you to France. How noble— how kind was your behaviour at that time. You told me you had little to leave me; but if I could not be happy without Anna to marry her. That evening which made me the happiest of men, oh, how did it change the complexion of my fate-that evening Sir Charles G-introduced me to Marcella de Rosenburg. What begun in flirtation ended in guilt. I became her dupe-I became a gamester-every thing that was infamous. I mortgaged my estate in Devonshire to its full value. Marcella at this time left me to seek another dupe; and at this time I heard from Anna. How earnestly did she implore to see me: she named the death of her father. Good Heaven! the victim of his own crimes could not now fulfil his

engagements. I was compelled to address another, whose noble fortune would repair my exhausted one. I dared not write to poor Anna, and months passed, which, if wretched to her, to me were torture. Oh, conscience, never can thy sting be blunted! At length I received the following communication: Alfred-I have often heard you say, when you used to listen to the sorrows of poor Adah, that the man who deceived a confiding woman should live in misery and die in infamy. You have done all this, but I pardon you: I have heard the whole story of your depravity. I was told of it, and at first-for, oh, it is hard for a woman to think ill of her heart's elected-I did not believe it. But now your silence has confirmed all. God Almighty pardon you! Had you returned to me innocent in heart I would not have shunned poverty with you. No; there were other skies beside those of Europe which might have shone on our humble happiness. After the death of my father I had no tie to England; for poor Charles is happily married in the East Indies. However, this is now idle recapitulation. We are separated for ever. I am leaving England an orphan; deprived, by death, of my parents, and, by his own cruelty, of one who promised to be every thing to me. Adieu; we meet no more. A. V. On receiving this letter I returned to England. No one could, or would, give me the slightest information respecting Anna. Mr. Vernon was dead, and his daughter had left Oh! the misery of my life-peace had fled, and existence was a burden. I was then compelled to fulfil my engagements with Lady Geraldyne-I married her!" [Here followed a few lines so blotted that we could not discover the meaning.] "I have seen her. That Heaven to whom I had so often appealed, in confirmation of my promises to my victim, would suffer no more. I cannot outlive it. The Rectory of now vacant by the death of Dr. Mosely: it is in my gift. I present it to the husband of Louisa Coupland: she knew my Anna. Years have passed in misery, and the awful imprecation I have so often used is about to be accomplished-I shall this night die in infamy."

is

'I have no more to add, Alexander,' concluded Mrs. Coupland. Every thing was kept from the ear of Lady Geraldyne, who only called here on her way to London. Miss Vernon was interred beside her father and sister; and, as we removed immediately to the rectory, I saw that no weeds disfigured the last home of the most beautiful and most unfortunate of women.' D. L. J.

EXTRACTS FROM THE COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF A LITERARY LOUNGER.-NO. II.

A KING AND A LIBERAL.

WHEN the King of Sweden was in France, he was frequently solicited to visit Dr. Franklin, and as often declined. One of the French nobles, who could use a little freedom with his majesty, begged to know why he denied himself a pleasure which no other crowned head in Europe would decline. No man,', said the monarch, 'regards the doctor's scientific accomplishments more than I do; but the king who affects to like an enthusiast for liberty is a hypocrite. I love the doctor as a philosopher, but I hate him as a politician; and nothing shall ever induce me to be in the presence of a man whom my habits and situation oblige me to detest, while it is in my power to avoid it.'

PUNISHMENT.

The Marquis de Beccaria, though so great an advocate for judicial lenity, strongly urges the certainty of punishment, and thinks that the forgiveness of the injured party himself should not interrupt the execution of justice. This may be an act of good-nature and humanity,' he observes, but it is contrary to the good of the public. For although a private citizen may dispense with satisfaction for his private injury, he cannot remove the necessity of public example. The right of punishing belongs not to any individual in particular, but to the society in general, or the sovereign who represents that society; and a man may renounce his own portion of this right, but he cannot give up that of others."