she leant back on the sofa to indulge in a fit of weeping. Long she wept, but finally nature attained the mastery, and like a child, worn out by grief, she sank insensibly to sleep.
The dawn was just beginning to break when Mr. Wallingford, who chanced to be an early riser, passing down the corridor, perceived the door of Mrs. Benton's parlor ajar, with Isabel apparently unconscious on the sofa. Alarmed at the sight, he entered ; but finding that Miss Benton was only asleep, he would have withdrawn, when his eye was attracted by his own name in the unfinished note on the table, and led by an ungovernable curiosity he read as follows :
"It is the will of my unhappy destiny, combined with the desire of my mother. I must never see you again -never more listen to you ; never-but why utter the word? To-morrow I become the wife of Mr. Wallingford ; fly, then, from my sight-it 39is a sacrifice that I appeal to your honor to make" Who can this gentleman be ? Who is this mysterious lover of whom I have never heard ? Alas ! I fondly dreamed, Isabel, that you loved me, but I see now that I have been deceived and that your mother is, perhaps, forcing you into a union you abHis words were cut short by a footfall. It was Henry leaping into the window, and Wallingford looked around. The rivals gazed at each other an instant, nor will we attempt to describe their feelings when they found that they were father and son. Their exclamations of astonishment awoke Isabel, who fainted, while, at the same instant, her mother appeared on the scene. The insensible girl was borne from the room, and then the young man, flinging himself at his father's feet, exclaimed , "My father-my father ! I am innocent, pardon me." " Rise, Sir," said Mr. Wallingford, " I am no longer your father. I am your accuser, and your judge. Why have you come to Saratoga ?" "It was absolutely necessary for me to do so. Honor compelled me to come and see one who is very dear to me." "Very well ; but then you choose to pay your visits to this very dear person at moments that are very equivocal -at three o'clock in the morning, for instance." 66 Father, since you know all, why do you thus question me ? Why thus interrogate me ?" "Because it is my desire to know the most minute details of your love for Miss Isabel Benton." "And wherefore ?" "Because she ought to be my wife, and not yours." 66 Then, Sir, you must know, that it is about six months ago, in a stroll through the Susquehanna county, whither I went as an artist, and under an assumed name, I met this young lady. Why tell the result ? We loved. I did not reveal my real name, for
| I wished to be loved for myself, and not as the son of the rich Mr. Wallingford. She promised to be mine ere parting ; and we were to write to each other. But our letters were intercepted, and deeming she had proved false to me, I resolved to forget her, until last week, when hearing incidentally from a friend here, that she was to be married-though he did not say to whom- my agony drove me hither, to see Isabel, reproach her for her perfidy, and bid her an eternal farewell. Oh ! my father │| had I known all, I would have suffered any thing, rather than have come hither." 66 Henry !" said the father, wiping away a tear, " you have conquered. The love of one like me cannot be such as that a young man feels. The sacrifice will be less to me than to you. Take her, and God bless you." The son fell on his father's shoulder and weeping, would have refused the boon, but Mr. Wallingford was inexorable, nor would he suffer the ceremony to be delayed more than a day- the ample settlement he made on his son fully reconciling Mrs. Benton to the match.
THE BROKEN HEARTED .
BY J. TOMLIN. On! be not broken-hearted, Dear Mary Chevillette ; The fondest hearts are partedSweet Mary Chevillette ! Sweet days again, like flowers That bloom in early May, Will come as softest showers To wash thy grief away!
Have you not seen love falter Amid its pearly way? As flowers are seen to alter, And die in sunny May! Then be not broken-hearted, Dear Mary Chevillette ; For fondest hearts are partedSweet Mary Chevillette ! The spell of love is broken, And wreathed by frozen tears ; And love is not a token Of happy, happy years ! Sweet days again like flowers , That bloom in early May; Will come like softest showers To wash thy grief away!
THE wave which commences in the distance, and swells as it approaches the shore, may be compared to the secret desire of the heart which begins silently and softly, but becomes at last irresistible.
