of Agnes, who would, by this marriage of her younger sister, become one of the richest heiresses of the county. He had even, in his own mind, elected her future spouse, in the person of a young baronet who had lately been much at the house, and in favour of whose expected addresses (for the proposal had not yet been made the gentleman had gone no farther than attentions) he had determined to exert the paternal authority which had so long lain dormant. surpassing beauty as Jessy of her sparkling | lawyer-phrase he used to boast, "an elder son" prettiness; and, perhaps, as a mere question of appearance and becomingness, there might have been as much coquetry in the severe simplicity of attire and of manner which distinguished one sister, as in the elaborate adornment and innocent showing-off of the other. There was, however, between them exactly such a real and internal difference of taste and of character as the outward show served to indicate. Both were true, gentle, good, and kind; but the elder was as much loftier in mind as in stature, was full of high pursuit and noble purpose; had abandoned drawing, from feeling herself dissatisfied with her own performances, as compared with the works of real artists; reserved her musical talent entirely for her domestic circle, because she put too much of soul into that delicious art to make it a mere amusement; and was only saved from becoming a poetess by her almost exclusive devotion to the very great in poetry to Wordsworth, to Milton, and to Shakspeare. These tastes she very wisely kept to herself; but they gave a higher and firmer tone to her character and manners; and more than one peer, when seated at Mr. Molesworth's hospitable table, has thought with himself how well his beautiful daughter would become a coronet. Marriage, however, seemed little in her thoughts. Once or twice, indeed, her kind father had pressed on her the brilliant establishments that had offered, but her sweet questions, "Are you tired of me? Do you wish me away?" had always gone straight to his heart, and had put aside for the moment the ambition of his nature even for this his favourite child. Of Jessy, with all her youthful attraction, he had always been less proud, perhaps less fond. Besides, her destiny he had long in his own mind considered as decided. Charles Woodford, a poor relation, brought up by his kindness, and recently returned into his family from a great office in London, was the person on whom he had long ago fixed for the husband of his youngest daughter, and for the immediate partner and eventual successor to his great and flourishing business-a choice that seemed fully justified by the excellent conduct and remarkable talents of his orphan cousin, and by the apparently good understanding and mutual affection that subsisted between the young people. This arrangement was the more agreeable to him, as, providing munificently for Jessy, it allowed him the privilege of making, as in But in the affairs of love, as of all others, man is born to disappointment. "L'homme propose, et Dieu dispose," is never truer than in the great matter of matrimony. So found poor Mr. Molesworth, who-Jessy having arrived at the age of eighteen, and Charles at that of two-and-twenty-offered his pretty daughter and the lucrative partnership to his penniless relation, and was petrified with astonishment and indignation to find the connection very respectfully but very firmly declined. The young man was very much distressed and agitated; "he had the highest respect for Miss Jessy; but he could not marry her-he loved another!" And then he poured forth a confidence as unexpected as it was undesired by his incensed patron, who left him in undiminished wrath and increased perplexity. This interview had taken place immediately after breakfast; and when the conference was ended, the provoked father sought his daughters, who, happily unconscious of all that had occurred, were amusing themselves in their splendid conservatory-a scene always as becoming as it is agreeable to youth and beauty. Jessy was flitting about like a butterfly amongst the fragrant orange-trees and the bright geraniums; Agnes standing under a superb fuschia that hung over a large marble basin, her form and attitude, her white dress, and the classical arrangement of her dark hair, giving her the look of some nymph or naiad, a rare relic of Grecian art. Jessy was prattling gaily, as she wandered about, of a concert which they had attended the evening before at the county town: "I hate concerts!" said the pretty little flirt. "To sit bolt upright on a hard bench for four hours, between the same four people, without the possibility of moving or of speaking to anybody, or of anybody's getting to us! Oh! how tiresome it is!" "I saw Sir Edmund trying to slide through the crowd to reach you," said Agnes, a little archly: "his presence would, perhaps, have mitigated the evil. But the barricade was too complete; he was forced to retreat, without accomplishing his object." "Yes, I assure you, he thought it very tiresome; he told me so when we were coming out. And then the music!" pursued Jessy; "the noise that they call music! Sir Edmund says that he likes no music except my guitar, or a flute on the water; and I like none except your playing on the organ, and singing Handel on a Sunday evening, or Charles Woodford's reading Milton and bits of Hamlet." "Do you call that music?" asked Agnes, laughing. "And yet," continued she, "it is most truly so, with his rich Pasta-like voice, and his fine sense of sound; and to you, who do not greatly love poetry for its own sake, it is doubtless a pleasure much resembling in kind that of hearing the most thrilling of melodies on the noblest of instruments. I myself have felt such a gratification in hearing that voice recite the verses of Homer or of Sophocles in the original Greek. Charles Woodford's reading is music." "It is a music which you are neither of you likely to hear again," interrupted Mr. Molesworth, advancing suddenly towards them; "for he has been ungrateful, and I have discarded him." "Did he tell you the name of the lady?" "Yes." "Do you know her?" "Yes." "Is she worthy of him?" "Most worthy." "Has he any hope of gaining her affections? Oh! he must! he must! What woman could refuse him?" "He is determined not to try. The lady whom he loves is above him in every way; and much as he has counteracted my wishes, it is an honourable part of Charles Woodford's conduct that he intends to leave his affection unsuspected by its object." Here ensued a short pause in the dialogue, during which Agnes appeared trying to occupy herself with collecting the blossoms of a Cape jessamine and watering a favourite geranium; but it would not do: the subject was at her heart, and she could not force her mind to indifferent occupations. She returned to her father, who had been anxiously watching her motions and the varying expression of her countenance, and resumed the conversation. "Father! perhaps it is hardly maidenly to Agnes stood as if petrified: "Ungrateful! avow so much, but although you have never oh, father!" "You can't have discarded him, to be sure, papa," said Jessy, always good-natured; "poor Charles! what can he have done?" Refused your hand, child," said the angry parent; "refused to be my partner and son-inlaw, and fallen in love with another lady! What have you to say for him now?" "Why really, papa," replied Jessy, "I'm much more obliged to him for refusing my hand than to you for offering it. I like Charles very well for a cousin, but I should not like such a husband at all; so that if this refusal be the worst that has happened, there's no great harm done." And off the gipsy ran; declaring that "she must put on her habit, for she had promised to ride with Sir Edmund and his sister, and expected them every minute." The father and his favourite daughter remained in the conservatory. "That heart is untouched, however," said Mr. Molesworth, looking after her with a smile. "Untouched by Charles Woodford, undoubtedly," replied Agnes; "but has he really refused my sister?" "Absolutely.” "And does he love another?" "He says so, and I believe him." And with in set words told me your intentions, I have yet seen and known, I can hardly tell how, all that your too kind partiality towards me has designed for your children. You have mistaken me, dearest father, doubly mistaken me; first, in thinking me fit to fill a splendid place in society; next, in imagining that I desired such splendour. You meant to give Jessy and the lucrative partnership to Charles Woodford, and designed me and your large possessions to our wealthy and titled neighbour. some little change of persons these arrangements may still for the most part hold good. Sir Edmund may still be your son-in-law and your heir, for he loves Jessy, and Jessy loves him. Charles Woodford may still be your partner and your adopted son, for nothing has chanced that need diminish your affection or his merit. Marry him to the woman he loves. She must be ambitious indeed, if she be not content with such a destiny. And let me live on with you, dear father, single and unwedded, with no thought but to contribute to your comfort, to cheer and brighten your declining years. Do not let your too great fondness for me stand in the way of their happiness! Make me not so odious to them and to myself, dear father! Let me live always with you, and for you-always your own poor Agnes!" And, blushing at the earnestness with which she had spoken, she bent her head over the marble basin, whose waters reflected the fair image, as if she had really been the Grecian statue to which, whilst he listened, her fond father's fancy had compared her: "Let me live single with you, and marry Charles to the woman whom he loves." "Have you heard the name of the lady in question? Have you formed any guess who she may be?" "Not the slightest. I imagined from what you said that she was a stranger to me. I ever seen her?" Have "Oh, my dear father! Cannot we all live together? I cannot leave you. But poor Charles-surely, father, we may all live together!" And so it was settled; and a very few months proved that love had contrived better for Mr. Molesworth than he had done for himself. Jessy, with her prettiness, and her title, and her fopperies, was the very thing to be vain of -the very thing to visit for a day;-but Agnes, and the cousin whose noble character and splendid talents so well deserved her, made the pride and the happiness of his home. "THE DOUBT OF FUTURE FOES." BY QUEEN ELIZABETH (CIRC. 1569). The doubt of future foes And wit me warns to shun such snares For falsehood now doth flow, And subject faith doth ebb, Which would not be if reason ruled, Or wisdom weaved the web. But clouds of toys untried Do cloak aspiring minds, Which turn to rain of late repent, By course of changed winds. The top of hope supposed The root of ruth will be, And fruitless all their graffed guiles, As shortly ye shall see. Then dazzled eyes with pride, Which great ambition blinds, Shall be unsealed by worthy wights, Whose foresight falsehood finds. The daughter of debate, That eke discord doth sow, Shall reap no gain where former rule Hath taught still peace to grow. No foreign banished wight Shall anchor in this port; Our realm it brooks no stranger's force; Let them elsewhere resort. Our rusty sword with rest Shall first his edge employ, To poll their tops that seek such change, And gape for future joy. AMORET. Dramatist [William Congreve, born at Barnsley, Yorkshire, 1672; died in London, 19th January, 1728. and poet. His poems are forgotten, but his plays still hold an important place in dramatic literature. wrote: The Old Bachelor: The Double Dealer; Love for Love: The Mourning Bride; The Way of the World; &c.] Fair Amoret is gone astray: Pursue and seek her, every lover: I'll tell the signs by which you may The wandering shepherdess discover. Не Coquet and coy at once her air, With skill her eyes dart every glance, Yet change so soon you'd ne'er suspect them; For she'd persuade they wound by chance, Though certain aim and art direct them. She likes herself, yet others hates For that which in herself she prizes; And, while she laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despises. I was disposed of, that is to say, sold to a rich planter, whose name was Smith, and with me the other Englishman, who was my fellowdeserter, that Jack brought to me when we went off from Dunbar. We were now fellow-servants, and it was our lot to be carried up a small river or creek, which falls into Potomac River, about eight miles from the great river. Here we were brought to the plantation, and put in among about fifty servants, as well negroes as others; and being delivered to the head man, or director, or manager of the plantation, he took care to let us know that we must expect to work, and very hard too; for it was for that purpose his master bought servants, and for no other. I told him very submissively that since it was our misfortune to come into such a miserable condition as we were in, we expected no other; only we desired we might be showed our business, and be allowed to learn it gradually, since he might be sure we had not been used to labour; and I added that when he knew particularly by what methods we were brought and betrayed into such a condition, he would perhaps see cause at least to show us that favour, if not more. This I spoke with such a moving tone as gave him curiosity to inquire into the particulars of our story, which I gave him at large, a little more to our advantage too than ordinary. This story, as I hoped it would, did move him to a sort of tenderness; but yet he told us that his master's business must be done, and that he expected we must work as above; that he could not dispense with that upon any account whatever. Accordingly to work we went; and indeed we had three hard things attending us, namely: we worked hard, lodged hard, and fared hard. The first I had been an utter stranger to; the last I could shift well enough with. During this scene of life I had time to reflect on my past hours, and upon what I had done in the world; and though I had no great capacity of making a clear judgment, and very 1 From the Life of Colonel Jack, who began his career as a pickpocket, was kidnapped and carried to America, sold to a planter, and afterwards became a distinguished officer. This sketch of the condition of affairs in the plantations during the last century has somewhat of an historical value. little reflections from conscience, yet it made some impressions upon me, and particularly that I was brought into this miserable condition of a slave by some strange directing power, as a punishment for the wickedness of my younger years; and this thought was increased upon the following occasion:-The master whose service I was now engaged in was a man of substance and figure in the country, and had abundance of servants, as well negroes as English; in all, I think, he had near 200; and among so many, as some grew every year infirm and unable to work, others went off upon their time being expired, and others died; and by these and other accidents the number would diminish if they were not often recruited and filled, and this obliged him to buy more every year. It happened while I was here that a ship arrived from London with several servants, and among the rest was seventeen transported felons, some burned in the hand, others not; eight of whom my master bought for the time specified in the warrant for their transportation respectively, some for a longer, some a shorter term of years. Our master was a great man in the country. and a justice of peace, though he seldom came down to the plantation where I was; yet, as the new servants were brought on shore and delivered at our plantation, his worship came thither in a kind of state to see and receive them. When they were brought before him I was called, among other servants, as a kind of guard, to take them into custody after he had seen them, and carry them to the work. They were brought by a guard of seamen from the ship, and the second-mate of the ship came with them, and delivered them to our master, with the warrant for their transportation, as above. When his worship had read over the warrants, he called them over by their names, one by one; and having let them know, by his reading the warrants over again to each man respectively, that he knew for what offences they were transported, he talked to every one separately very gravely; let them know how much favour they had received in being saved from the gallows, which the law had appointed for their crimes; that they were not sentenced to be transported, but to be hanged; and that transportation was granted them upon their own request and humble petition. Then he laid before them that they ought to look upon the life they were just going to enter upon as just beginning the world again; that if they thought fit to be diligent and sober, they would (after the time they were 185 on it to be no more than being put out apprentice to an honest trade, in which, when he came out of his time, he might be able to set up for himself, and live honestly. Then he told him that while he was a servant he would have no opportunity to be dishonest, so when he came to be for himself he would have no temptation to it; and so, after a great many other kind things said to him and the rest, they were dismissed. rogue, born a thief, and bred up a pickpocket, like myself; for I thought all my master said was spoken to me, and sometimes it came into my head that sure my master was some extraordinary man, and he knew all things that ever I had done in my life. ordered to serve was expired) be encouraged by the constitution of the country to settle and plant for themselves; and that even he himself would be so kind to them that, if he lived to see any of them serve their time faithfully out, it was his custom to assist his servants in order to their settling in that country, according as their behaviour might merit from him; and they would see and know several planters round about them who now were in I was exceedingly moved at this discourse very good circumstances, and who formerly were only his servants, in the same condition of our master's, as anybody would judge I with them, and came from the same place-must be, when it was directed to such a young that is to say, Newgate; and some of them had the mark of it in their hands, but were now very honest men, and lived in very good repute. Among the rest of his new servants he came to a young fellow not above seventeen or eighteen years of age, and his warrant mentions that he was, though a young man, yet an old offender; that he had been several times condemned, but had been respited or pardoned, but still he continued an incorrigible pickpocket; that the crime for which he was now transported was for picking a merchant's pocket-book or letter-case out of his pocket, in which was bills of exchange for a very great sum of money; that he had afterwards received the money upon some of the bills, but that going to a goldsmith in Lombard Street with another bill, and having demanded the money, he was stopped, notice having been given of the loss of them; that he was condemned to die for the felony, and being so well known for an old offender, had certainly died, but the merchant, upon his earnest application, had obtained that he should be transported, on condition that he restored all the rest of his bills, which he had done accordingly. Our master talked a long time to this young fellow; mentioned, with some surprise, that he, so young, should have followed such a wicked trade so long as to obtain the name of an old offender at so young an age; and that he should be styled incorrigible, which is to signify that, notwithstanding his being whipped two or three times, and several times punished by imprisonment, and once burned in the hand, yet nothing would do him any good, He talked but that he was still the same. mighty religiously to this boy, and told him God had not only spared him from the gallows, but had now mercifully delivered him from the opportunity of committing the same sin again, and put it into his power to live an honest life, which perhaps he knew not how to do before; and though some part of his life now might be laborious, yet he ought to look But I was surprised to the last degree when my master, dismissing all the rest of us servants, pointed at me, and speaking to his head clerk, "Here," says he, "bring that young fellow hither to me." I had been near a year in the work, and I had plied it so well that the clerk or head man either flattered me, or did really believe that I behaved very well; but I was terribly frighted to hear myself called out aloud, just as they used to call for such as had done some misdemeanour, and were to be lashed or otherwise corrected. I came in like a malefactor indeed, and thought I looked like one just taken in the fact, and carried before the justice; and indeed when I came in, for I was carried into an inner-room or parlour in the house to him; his discourse to the rest was in a large hall, where he sat in a seat like a lord judge upon the bench, or a petty king upon his throne. When I came in, I say, he ordered his man to withdraw, and I standing half-naked and bare-headed, with my haugh or hoe in my hand (the posture and figure I was in at my work), near the door, he bade me lay down my Then he began to look hoe and come nearer. a little less stern and terrible than I fancied him to look before, or perhaps both his countenance then and before might be, to my imagination, differing from what they really were; for we do not always judge those things by the real temper of the person, but by the measure of our apprehensions. "Hark ye, young man, how old are you?" says my master; and so our dialogue began. Jack. Indeed, sir, I do not know. Mast. What is your name? Jack. They call me Colonel here, but my name is Jack, an't please your worship, |