A keen observer, she had accumulated a large store of
facts, from which to deduce her opinions. In no one
did her nephew, Charles Irvine, place such reliance,
especially on points in which her sex's opinions were
generally sought for. He was staggered by her arguments on the present occasion, and as he thought on the
subject he inclined more to her opinions. But yet he
would not wholly admit the force of the reasoning.
Time passed on. Horace, or rather Doctor Duval, had left the city, according to his determination, and was now settled in a thriving town in one of the Western States. His letters to Esther Marlowe were at first frequent, and filled with hope and glowing pictures of the happiness that was in store for them . His business slowly increased, and he wrote to her that in eighteen months or two years at furthest, he would be able to return to the East, and claim her for his bride. At length his letters became less frequent, and often contained passages which Esther feared were cold, although she tried to persuade herself that they were not. Then came an interval of silence, and then a missive saying that he had been sick, but was now wholly recovered. How the tears fell from Esther's eyes as she read, how she wished that she had known of his danger, and could have flown to his side. Alas ! little was she aware of the change in her lover's affections. He had indeed been sick, and to the kindness of others he had perhaps been indebted for his life. He had learnt to think less of Esther, and more of her who had tended him with such constant care. New scenes, as Mrs. Alton said, had colored his mind- new friendships had struck their roots into his heart, insensibly pushing out the old occupants of the soil. He no longer thought hourly of Esther. He had begun to dream of another face than hers. There was a new voice sweeter to him than that of his affianced bride. Gradually his letters to her became less frequent and more formal. Miss Marlowe at length could shut her eyes no longer to the coldness of his language. Perhaps she noticed it in her reply-perhaps she suffered in silence. We willingly draw a veil over the sad story. It soon came to be known that the long engagement betwixt Doctor Duval and Miss Marlowe was at an end. How the rumor became public no one knew, for the lady herself never alluded to such a thing ; but there needed no other confirmation to it beyond the pale, dejected air and hollow cough of the suffering victim.
"Poor Miss Marlowe," said Charles Irvine to his aunt, " she is failing fast. Consumption, they say, has fastened his tooth of poison on her vitals, but alas ! I fear a broken-heart would be the better name for her disease." "I fear so too," said Mrs. Alton, " do you recollect our conversation some eighteen months ago on Esther and Doctor Duval ?"
"I do," said Irvine, " and I confess I am now a convert to your opinion." While this very conversation was transpiring, the object of it was sitting in an easy chair, propped up by pillows, in the last stage of her fell disease. Every few minutes a racking cough would seize her frame. Her eye was sunken, her voice was feeble, her cheek burned with the fitful hectic of consumption. Her mother and sister sat with tearful eyes gazing on the invalid. A servant entered the room bringing a phial which she laid on the little stand before the sufferer. Her mother, with a trembling hand, took up the phial, and unrolling it from the envelope, turned away to prepare the potion for her daughter. The newspaper, in which the phial had been wrapped, still lay on the stand. A word in the torn envelope attracted the attention of the sufferer, and she took it up. She had scarcely ran her eye over the paragraph which first attracted her notice, when a faint shriek burst from her lips, the paper dropped from her nerveless grasp, and she fell back apparently in a fainting fit. The mother let fall the phial, and sprang to her daughter's side. Alas ! it was only to grasp the hand of the dead. The paper which had fallen from the grasp of the invalid was picked up. It contained the following announcement, under the head of marriages :On Sunday, the 23d inst. by the Rev. James Atwood, Doctor Horace Duval, to Miss Mary Estelle, daughter of John Estelle, Esq. all of this place. This fatal paragraph had driven the last barb into the already bleeding heart of Esther Marlowe. She died a victim to the perfidy of her lover.
THE LOST CHILD . BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
I WANDERED down a sunny glade And ever mused, my love, of thee; My thoughts, like little children, played, As gaily and as guilelessly.
If any chanced to go astray, Moaning in fear of coming harms, Hope brought the wanderer back alway, Safe nestled in her snowy arms. From that soft nest the happy one Looked up at me and calmly smiled ; Its hair shone golden in the sun, And made it seem a heavenly child. Dear Hope's blue eyes smiled mildly down, And blest it with a love so deep, That , like a nursling of her own, It clasped her neck and fell asleep.
