know their worship of the tomb, their pious anxiety in this respect, to explain the touching effusion of gratitude with which Zora threw herself at my feet, and kissed my hands. I could not free myself from her entwining arms; and all the while she whom I had loved was there, under my eyes. But it was necessary to complete this terrible occupation. Zora and the negress brought a large chest, admirably wrought. They prepared within it a couch of spices, and gently deposited upon the rich perfumes all that remained of the loveliest fairy of whom a man could dream at the midnight hour. The following morning, at sunrise, a negro brought two mules before the house of the Moor. The door opened, to allow exit to a large chest, which was placed upon one of the animals. Zora and her mother mounted the other. I followed at some distance, and arrived soon after them, at their country mansion. Concealed amid the bushes, I hearkened long to the cries that rang through the house, a part of the honours rendered to the dead. At three o'clock, the cortegé proceeded to the new place chosen for the sepulture, under a tuft of mastic trees; and, the ceremony over, all retired in silence. As to myself, who have no more to do upon this earth of suffering, who have wrestled against horrible remembrances, and even against remorse, for I killed this young girl; I write these few lines that no one may be deceived as to the cause of my death. I voluntarily leave this world, and trust that no one will grieve on my account. SONG. FLIRTING IN ALEPPO. BY THE AUTHOR OF MEMOIRS OF LADY HESTER STANHOPE." Listen to a silly Turkish story, Written o'er the seas and far away, All to please the fancies of girls who like romances— "Twas a British rover, in Aleppo, Saw a Turkish maiden pass, one day, Veiled, that not a creature could discern a feature- So he fell in love all in a minute, And he made her signs to run away; But the maid her head she shook, and nothing said- Still her sparkling eyes in loving glances, So he still pursued her, and he fondly wooed her- Then he sent a shawl and two gold ear-rings, it "Allah will befriend you, gentle stranger! "Young am I with fifteen summers over; "Maidens are so simple, men so wicked! Should it be to lead my steps astray, Prithee, gentle stranger, have you weighed the danger?".. Fal de ral, etc. "Cruel is the law on two frail lovers : First of all, alive they will you flay; In a sack they'll sew me, in the river throw me". "Much as I adore you" (said the rover), And he left the city; and so ends my ditty- 370 THE SALUTARY LESSON. BY MRS. EDWARD THOMAS. CHAPTER II. (continued). "You were then four years old, and lovely to a degree; but the change in my sister was truly marvellous. She had acquired that angelic expression of countenance which never after left her, that soft benignity of manner, so heavenly, so fascinating, so endearing. "After much entreaty, I prevailed on your mother to accompany me to England. I brought her, yourself, and the devoted widow Owen here, to this very house; and, from that hour to the present, my conduct has never varied in affection. Never have I regretted the sacrifices I have made for you both; never have I grudged my liberality to the poor decrepit creature now basking in the sunshine of my fireside, for she spent her health and strength for you; she wasted her youth and her substance on you and your mother, neglecting everything to console her and nurse you." "What! aunt, what!" at last interrupted the excited and agonized girl, "could old Bridget have upbraided me with my birth? did she know that I was the offspring of shame and sorrow?" "Yes: from the first." "O aunt, aunt! then I am indeed a wretch, a monster of ingratitude, but I did not know it, that must plead my excuse, if any thing can excuse such barbarity. Why I have often charged her with being a burthen to us, called her indolent, taunted her with affecting feebleness to excite your pity; and all, all because she could not move with the alacrity which my unreasonable caprice required,—and yet she kept silent, and yet she refrained from speaking: nay, with angelic patience, bore and forgave my bitter taunts, for often and often when I must have wrung her very soul, would she creep shoeless to my bed side, when she imagined I was asleep, and kiss me and bless me, and then murmur something over me which I could not understand, but which I knew must be a prayer from its fervour, and the tears which fell so hot on my cheek, as she bent intently over me. You can judge of my condition, aunt, by the remorse which has almost made me forget for the moment, the awful history you have just related. Aunt, aunt, who was the villain, I must call father? Why did he not marry his deluded victim if in his power? And why, aunt, could you suffer her to impose so dreadfully upon the world? O aunt! to me such deception appears by far the most culpable part of my mother's conduct, it does indeed, aunt, it was so systematic, so deliberate; I shudder to think what must have been her constant dread of detection !" "I do not attempt to palliate it. I cannot; I never could. But yet I always dared to hope that God would pardon it, for the sincerity your poor mother evinced in her long and lonely life of penitence, her studious and holy anxiety to benefit others, by her own fatal experience, and her desire to save you." "Oh, aunt, how little has her deceit and concealment availed there! My own pride, my own ungovernable pride, remained uncorrected by the example of her piety, her benevolence, her zeal, her humility, never did, never would have effected in me the salutary change, the knowledge of her shame has done, the knowledge that very pride forced from your reluctant lips." "But, aunt, again I ask, Who was the wretch who brought that shame upon her, upon me? Who was the monster I could almost curse ?" "One, my love, who has long since paid the penalty of his numerous crimes, by a self-inflicted death; to which he was actuated by the tortures of that intolerable remorse, which frequently drives the guilty to the commission of more desperate acts of turpitude still; rather, than to the repentance necessary to atone for those already committed." Then, my mother's was an assumed name?" "It was." "And-I then am nameless? O God!" "Poor child! dear Mildred! you have mine, your mother's". "Never, aunt; never will I be called by it, put it to paper,so help me". "Stop! Mildred Belmont, stop! oaths are rash, offensive in the sight of heaven." "Well, aunt, well; answer only one more question, and then all will be finished for me. Answer, then, as if you stood before that heaven you are so fearful of offending. Does any one else does Algernon Seymour-know that I am not the offspring of a virtuous marriage? Does he know?" "He knows all." "He! how long, aunt, how long?" "Ever since your mother's death. She told him the whole. truth the last night he and I sat up with her, relying on the strength of his affection for you to keep it a secret, and committed you to his love." "What! after betraying me herself so? No, no, no. Still I thank him for the faithfulness he has observed in keeping me in ignorance. It would have been my instant death to learn my disgrace from him. "Now, aunt, now I MUST go to my own room." "Do, my child, and may heaven support you! CHAPTER III. MILDRED, as soon as she could recover from the grief and agitation into which the harrowing recital of her aunt had plunged her,—as soon, as she could assuage the choking and blinding tears, the memory of her still beloved, although most guilty mother, occasioned her,-as soon as she could compose ber nerves for such an undertaking, commenced the act of expiation, which her aunt had so emphatically recommended; and, which, she felt herself, was most righteously due to the injured and unoffending Laura; by addressing to her, the following letter: "DEAREST LAURA, "I can almost picture your surprise at receiving a letter from me; and, one penned, too, in the style of tender and sincere repentance which characterizes the present; but I have much to crave your pardon for,-much to hope from your gentle, generous placability of temper, much to atone towards you,-much to appease towards myself, for the pride, the unjust, and oh! in my case, if you knew all, unbecoming pride, which I have on so many pointed occasions, cruelly evinced towards you. But, dear Laura,—but sweet, kind, amiable Laura, I am sincerely grieved for my conduct, believe me, I am; I am now humbled to the dust; and more fit for your pity, than resentment. "If you will, then, forget and forgive the past,—if you will accept this unfeigned apology,-if you will still honour me with a continuance of your friendship; you will, in a great degree, reconcile me to myself,-restore my lost tranquility; and ensure the eternal gratitude and affection of my dear, dear Laurayour most miserable and most contrite friend, "MILDRED." |