view,' or distinguish himself as an actor; and he had then no occasion to undertake a strolling excursion with his fellows, being at that time the owner of New Place, and possessed of no small gains.' We have no doubt he remained to superintend his flourishing establishment at the Blackfriars, while Lawrence Fletcher and some of the inferior performers were starring' it in wild Scotland. It has been argued that Shakspeare took his description of Macbeth's castle in Inverness from local observation. We suspect he was no such venturous scene-hunter. A journey of above a hundred miles, either from Perth or Aberdeen (allowing the poet to have been with his fellow-comedians in Scotland), through the wild passes of the Highlands (then with scarce a bridle road), or along the bleak and stormy east coast, was a task both of considerable danger and fatigue. King James sentenced one or two contumacious preachers to banishment in Inverness; but assuredly Shakspeare did not voluntarily travel, in the wet month of October, to that northern region, to take the altitude of a hill, or survey the ruins of a castle. His exquisite description of the scene of Duncan's murder, with its loved mansionry' and 'pleasant seat,' is a mere fancy picture, drawn with consummate skill, to heighten the effect of the deed of blood by the force of contrast. There is nothing in Macbeth of local painting, manners, or superstition, which Shakspeare did not find in his Holinshed, or other books, or could easily conceive in his teeming imagination. In the sonnets of Shakspeare, we have a record of his mind and feelings, at a time when he was in the fulness of his manhood and his fame. It is a painful record, and we would fain believe, with Mr Knight, that many of these heart-stricken effusions are written in a fictitious character. Some of them had been circulated before 1598, in which year Francis Meres, a collector, mentions Shakspeare's 'sugared sonnets among his private friends.' They were not published till 1609, when Thomas Thorpe, a bookseller, gave them to the world with this curious dedication: To the only begetter of these ensuing sonnets, Mr W. H., all happiness, and that eternity promised by our ever-living poet, wisheth the wellwishing adventurer in setting forth.-T. T. Mr Brown considers these sonnets as forming a series of poems, the greater part addressed to some male friend for whom he entertains a passion amounting to idolatry, and the remainder to a female, his mistress, whom he charges with infidelity. They are full of passion and true poetry, but also marred with the conceit and hyperbole so common in that age. The chief interest attaching to them is the curiosity to know what person of the times was the object of Shakspeare's enthusiastic regard? To whom did he unbosom himself in such confiding strains? What man was worthy of such implicit devotion? The self-abasement of the great poet is marvellous: the passion which seems for a time to have been so fatal to his peace, was also destructive of the manliness and integrity of his character. Mr W. H.' is supposed to have been William Herbert, afterwards the Earl of Pembroke, a nobleman of talent, but ill deserving such homage. The only biographical particulars to be deduced from the sonnets are, that their author regretted that his profession was that of an actor, whence his name received a brand;' and that his friend seduced from him his mistress-which offence the poet forgave! The mystery which hangs over these sonnets, their careless and confused arrangement, and the uncertainty as to the person to whom they are addressed, make us glad to forget that in them Shakspeare seems to speak in his own character. We would fain see them wholly, or in part, proved to be the work of some other poet of the age of Elizabeth; and we rejoice to think that there is no evidence that Shakspeare sanctioned their publi cation. 'Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made.'-54th Sonnet. The tendency of all the recent researches and discoveries as to the chronology of Shakspeare's plays, is to show that they were written earlier than was formerly supposed. The Tempest was long considered to be his latest production, and hence it possessed, as Mr Campbell finely said, 'a sort of sacredness;' as if conscious that this was to be his last work, the poet had been inspired to typify himself as a wise, potent, and benevolent magician.' The Tempest, however, as has lately been ascertained, was acted at Whitehall in 1611. Othello and the Twelfth Night were produced before 1602. Macbeth and the Roman plays were not printed till after the death of their author; and we have no information as to their first performance on the stage. Perhaps about the year 1605, or his fortieth year, may be considered the period when his mind had attained its full maturity, and his imagination received most of its wondrous stores of knowledge, drawn from reading and observation. He was then prepared to achieve and he did achieve the greatest efforts of human intellect in the wide realms of poetry. The last mention of his name as an actor occurs under the date of April 1604: and he must have been resident wholly at Stratford before 1613; for in an indenture executed by him on the 10th of March in that year, for the purchase of a dwelling-house in the precinct of the Blackfriars, he is described as 'William Shakspeare of Stratford-uponAvon, in the county of Warwick, gentleman.' He would not have been so designated in a London deed, if he had continued to reside in the metropolis. 'He would find still living at Stratford,' says Mr Hunter, all the families of the better condition whom he had left there-the Combes, Nashes, Reynoldses, Quineys, Sadlers, Lanes, Bishops-who would form for him a social circle, in which he might find more true enjoyment than in the intercourse which he had with the ingenious and the great, or in the triumph of his matchless genius over the envious people by whom he had been surrounded.' He would also occasionally meet his brother poet and friend, Michael Drayton, who was a frequent visitor at Clifford, only a mile from Stratford. The poet's own means were ample, and such as would enable him to practise a liberal hospitality. The income of Shakspeare could not be less than L.1500 per annum of our present money. His fellow-comedians, Alleyn and Burbage, were equally wealthy; so that the gains of a theatrical manager and performer were in those days, under prudent management, superior to those of most ordinary occupations. Genius and prudence have indeed rarely been so combined as in the case of Shakspeare. As an author, he had no idiosyncrasies to mar the even flow of his conceptions, or distort his views of nature; and as a man, he seems to have been distinguishable only by his unaffected cheerfulness and good nature. Our notices respecting the life of Shakspeare would be incomplete without the passage from Ward's Diary, first published in 1839. The Rev. John Ward was vicar of Stratford from 1648 to 1679. He knew nothing personally of the poet; but writing forty-six years after his death, he thus recorded a tradition as to that event: 'I have heard that Mr Shakspeare was a natural wit, without any art at all. He frequented the plays all his younger time, but in his elder days lived at Stratford, and supplied the stage with two plays every year, and for it had an allowance so large, that he spent at the rate of L.1000 a-year, as I have heard. Shakspeare, Drayton, and Ben Jonson, had a merry-meeting, and it seems drank too hard, for Shakspeare died of a fever there contracted.' The art of Shakspeare has been canvassed more fully and wisely since the days of this incurious vicar; but heart. On George's arrival at home, he found that his there may be an adumbration of the truth in the report father had been some hours speechless, though it was of the merry-meeting between the three poets. The evident to his afflicted relations that he retained full will of Shakspeare was begun on February 25, 1615-16, possession of his faculties. With the anxious searching and completed on March 25, 1616. Shakspeare died | look so common to the dying, he gazed now on his wife, on April 23d following. There was time, therefore, to now on his little daughter, and then his eager eye have re-copied the will; and this must have been in- sought the countenance of his son, who, struggling with tended. He describes himself as in perfect health when emotion, made a vigorous effort to conduct himself with the will was made, yet he dies so soon afterwards. This manly fortitude. Replying to the wistful and touching looks as if his sickness and death were sudden, and look fixed on him, George said-'My dear father, gives some countenance to the tradition concerning his will, by the help of God, endeavour to supply your death preserved by Ward.'* place to my mother and sister. I am young and strong. For your sake and theirs, I will devote myself to business, and do not doubt but I shall be able to make them comfortable.' And as the youth uttered these words, in a voice tremulous with grief, he bowed his head, and tears fell thick and fast upon the almost rigid hand he held in his own. The corrections and interlineations in the will seem to prove that it was a first draught, intended, as Mr Hunter supposes, to be re-copied, while the feeble and trembling handwriting of the poet, seen in the signatures of his name, betokens haste no less than the pressure of mortal sickness. The last warning had come, and there was no time for delay 'Some say, the Genius so Cries, Come! to him that instantly must die.' And Shakspeare died on his birthday, and was interred THE BANKRUPT'S SON. A NARRATIVE FOUNDED ON FACTS. But it now became evident that, though George had in part rightly interpreted his father's wishes, something yet remained unexpressed, which disturbed his last moments; for he made violent efforts to speak, and with much difficulty articulated-I wish to say moresomething more.' George stooped to listen, but could only catch the words-Should it ever be in your power -my son, promise me It was agonising to witness his ineffectual efforts to proceed; but just then the truth flashed across his son's mind, and he exclaimed with earnestness- I understand you, dear father; and I do most solemnly promise, that if it should be in my power, I will pay your creditors to the uttermost farthing; and may God prosper me as I fulfil this promise.' A beam of joyful satisfaction illuminated the countenance of Mr Belmont. He grasped the hand of his son, IT sometimes happens that the characters of individuals and appeared to invoke a blessing upon him. The assume a decided form by the intervention of an unex-weight removed from the mind of the sufferer, he pected incident, or the being placed in new and respon- peacefully closed his eyes, and in a few hours George sible situations. Few, indeed, whose lives have been | Belmont was fatherless. marked by uncommon energy and determination, tending to the accomplishment of a definite purpose, but may trace the starting point-the crisis in their history -to some event which, by rousing their dormant faculties, or exciting some hitherto slumbering motive, has given a new turn to their habits, and a new colour to their lives. George Belmont was in his nineteenth year when he received a summons to attend the sick-bed of his father, who, after maintaining a high reputation as a tradesman during the greater portion of his life, had failed in business, and whose constitution, already shaken by cares and disappointments, sunk under the combined evils of poverty and a keen sense of the degradation he believed attendant upon his bankruptcy. George was his eldest child. He had received a liberal education, and been intended for a physician; but his father's difficulties having deprived him of the means of completing his professional studies, he had obtained a situation in the counting-house of an extensive manufacturer in the town of C. Up to this period of his life George had manifested no extraordinary energy or ability, but was regarded by his employer as a steady well-disposed youth, possessing merely business talent sufficient to enable him to discharge his duties in a satisfactory manner. Young Belmont, who was considerably disappointed in not being able to follow the profession he had chosen, and who imagined that he had a distaste for mercantile affairs, contented himself with the bare performance of his prescribed duty, indulging secretly the hope that something might yet turn up more congenial to his wishes. From this dream of the future he was, however, effectually aroused when standing by the bedside of his dying father-a sense of the responsibility attaching to him as eldest child, and only son of a widowed mother, came home to his understanding and to his *Hunter's Illustrations. This sad event proved an epoch in the life of the young man. The affecting scene he had witnessed, the solemn engagement he had entered into, together with his new and heavy responsibilities, combined to endow him with strength of purpose to apply vigorously to business. Though very young, he soon rendered himself useful and even necessary to his employer, who was glad to secure his services by such an increase of salary as, joined to a trifling annuity secured to the widow, enabled the family to live in comfort and maintain a respectable appearance. Shortly after her husband's death, Mrs Belmont removed to C, where she not only had the advantage of her son's society, but was also enabled to place her daughter Emily at a good day school. It is well known that success in any employment naturally begets a fondness for it; and thus it proved with George Belmont, whose activity and devotion to business increased with increasing years. Nor did his prosperity tempt him to swerve even in idea from his intention to pay the debts which so heavily weighed down the spirit of his poor father; but George had yet to learn that there may be opposing motives, which may render the performance of duty distasteful and difficult. This lesson he was taught by painful experience. Amongst Emily's schoolfellows there was one with whom she formed a close intimacy, and from whose society she derived both pleasure and advantage. Anna Burton was about three years older than Emily. Her father was a solicitor, and though not rich, he moved in society to which the Belmonts had not access. Childish intimacy ripened into friendship as the two girls approached womanhood. Through the interest of Mrs Burton, Emily, when in her eighteenth year, obtained a situation as daily governess, which furnished her with the means of independence, and enabled her still to enjoy the society of her mother and brother. The amiable qualities of Miss Burton, her beauty, talents, and, above all, the attention she paid to Mrs intend the necessary preparations for his departure, Belmont and Emily, won the esteem and affection of wisely avoiding all unnecessary and sentimental regrets; George, and inspired him with fresh motives to exer- and whilst both mother and son refrained from explanation. Receiving as much encouragement as a timid tions respecting the principal reason which reconciled and respectful lover can expect so long as his sentiments them to the separation, they fully understood and apremain undeclared, George for a time indulged in bliss-preciated the generosity and delicacy of each other. ful anticipations of future happiness, though without distinctly examining the foundation on which they were placed. A cessation in the visits of Miss Burton first led him into a train of uneasy reflections on this subject, and compelled him to deal faithfully with his own heart, and to investigate his intentions. From his sister, George learned that there was no diminution in Miss Burton's regard for her. On the contrary, Emily declared that she found her increasingly kind and attentive, with this only difference, that she avoided all occasions of intercourse with her brother. It was evident, then, that she was influenced either by coquetry or the wishes of her friends. A little consideration convinced George that the latter was the true reason. And now followed a struggle between duty and inclination-the most severe, perhaps, to which a young man similarly circumstanced can be exposed. From the period of his father's death, young Belmont had observed the most rigid economy, denying himself even the reasonable and proper indulgences suitable to his age, in order to lay by part of his earnings towards the accomplishment of that object which he looked upon as the most sacred and important of his life. Though this pious fund was not yet sufficient to enable him to redeem his pledge, he was master of a sum large enough to place him in a situation to ask the hand of his beloved Anna. Delay might endanger the happiness of his whole life. He could not bear that the woman he loved should labour under the imputation of indulging a preference for one who did not possess the sanction of her parents, or who was regarded by them as an inferior. Besides, it would only be delaying the payment of his father's debts; his intentions would remain the same his exertions receive additional stimulus from Anna's approval and sympathy. With such arguments did George for a time endeavour to persuade himself that he might, without injustice, defer the execution of his long-treasured project; but, finally, a sense of right triumphed, and his renewed determination to redeem his pledge imparted to his agitated and troubled spirit a degree of peace to which he had been for some time a stranger. The affection which George Belmont bore his mother operated as a powerful motive to his perseverance in the path of duty. Her confidence in him was, he knew, unbounded. The hope that he would be the instrument of wiping away the only blot upon the memory of her beloved husband, had hitherto proved the cordial which had sustained and cheered her during the seclusion and privations of her widowhood, imparting to her declining years something of the hopefulness of youth, as she fondly pictured the time when, through the medium of the son, the honour of the father should be fully established, and her children receive the reward of their virtuous exertions and self-denial in the respect of the wise and good. To disappoint these cherished hopes, and betray the trust reposed in him, George felt to be impossible; and he regarded it as most fortunate that, just at this time, he was requested by his employer to undertake a journey to America. The mission about to be intrusted to him was important and confidential. The period of his stay was uncertain; but, on the other hand, the pecuniary advantages it held out were considerable; and it was even hinted that a partnership might prove the result of a satisfactory arrangement of the business. We hope our readers will not condemn George if we confess that he actually sailed for New York without making a single effort to communicate with the object of his affections; and Anna-but we forbear investigating minutely the state of the lady's feelings; it will suffice to say, that, allowing for the due proportion of the self-inflicted torments to which lovers are liable, she believed that she discerned the true state of the case, and, strong in faith, she hoped for the best. We will pass over the eighteen months spent by Mr Belmont in the United States, and introduce him again to our readers at the end of that time, greatly improved both in manner and circumstances. Extensive intercourse with the world, joined to the information he had gained in his travels, had done much to correct the tooretiring and almost bashful demeanour of the clerk, whose sedentary and retired habits had kept him ignorant of the forms of polished society. Having skilfully transacted the business on which he was sent, he had received as the reward of his exertions a small share in the lucrative concern to whose interests he had unremittingly devoted himself for the last ten years; and though but a month had elapsed since his arrival in England, he had had ample time to prove the truth of the proverb-Men will praise thee when thou doest well to thyself.' A month! can it be only a month since my son's return home?' thought Mrs Belmont, as she sat awaiting the return of the young people from an evening party given by George's late employer, for the express purpose of introducing Mr Belmont to a select circle of his friends; and yet how many events seem crowded into that short space. My dear George a servant no longer, but a partner in the most extensive concern in C-; his long-hoarded and hardly-earned savings increased to an amount sufficient to enable him to call together the creditors of his father, and satisfy all their just demands; and my daughter-my modest, affectionate Emily-enabled, by his means, to mix on terms of equality with the society she is fitted to adorn. Surely goodness and mercy have followed me," and my "mourning is turned into rejoicing." As these and similar reflections passed through the mind of the mother, her heart swelled with emotions of gratitude to Him who has styled himself the God of the fatherless and widow. She was aroused by carriage-wheels, and in a few minutes was joined by her children. 66 'Oh, mamma!' exclaimed Emily, as she warmly embraced her, 'you should have been with us this evening to witness your son's triumph. I assure you Mr Belmont has created quite a sensation, and been the lion of the party.' Nay, you do injustice to the successful debut of Miss Belmont,' observed her brother gaily; 'what think you, mother, of our little demure governess setting up for a belle?' 'But, seriously,' pursued the young lady, it has been highly amusing to witness the polite attentions we have both received from persons who lately would have treated us as inferiors. Mr Burton, especially, was extremely cordial, and so pointed in his behaviour to George, that Anna was evidently distressed by it, and I thought her unusually reserved. If I am not mistaken, he gave you a pressing invitation to his house, Mr Belmont?' 'Yes,' replied George, 'I am happy to say he did. And now, mother, if you are not too tired and sleepy, I should be glad to ask your advice on a subject of great importance to me.' When George communicated to his mother the offer he had received, she at once advised him to accept it, adding, that the loss of his society would be more than compensated for by her conviction that both his bodily I understand you, my dear sen, and my advice isand mental health would be benefited by the change. marry. Hitherto your position and circumstances have With cheerful alacrity did this judicious parent super-prescribed silence as your wisest and most honourable course. Now your altered situation and excellent prospects leave you at liberty to urge your suit. I hope and believe you possess the esteem of our dear Anna. You have my cordial approbation and blessing.' Thank you; this is only what I expected from you, dear mother; but I feel far from sanguine as to my success. I think that is, I hope-Anna and I understand each other; but, notwithstanding Mr Burton's apparent cordiality, I apprehend some difficulty respecting the disposal I am about to make of my ready money. You know I cannot marry without funds, and I fear he will neither make me any advance, nor sanction the necessary delay. In that case, what I am to do is the question.' Would it not be advisable to wait until you have met the creditors, and settled the business?' suggested Mrs Belmont. 'Dear mother, no. I cannot consent to keep Anna longer in suspense. I am no stoic, and my experience this night has convinced me that it would be unjust to her to postpone my declaration. No, no; I will seal my fate to-morrow; and if Mr Burton raises objections, Anna will at all events know that I am not to blame.' Having made this magnanimous resolve, George went to bed, but not to sleep. Excited by his recent interview with Miss Burton, whose unaffected delicacy and womanly reserve had charmed and touched him, and agitated by doubts and fears as to the result of his interview with her father, he lay ruminating upon his prospects; and when at last he fell into an uneasy slumber, his dreams were but a continuation of his waking reveries. With a beating heart did our hero knock at the door of Mr Burton's house on the following morning, and request a private audience of that gentleman. On being ushered into the library, George at once explained the object of his visit with the eloquence which true feeling never fails to inspire, urging his long-cherished affection, and touching slightly upon the pain and anxiety he had endured whilst following the course he deemed honourable with his sense of the relative positions of Miss Burton and himself. So far all seemed prosperous. Nothing could exceed the urbanity of Mr Burton, who warmly commended the line of conduct pursued by his young friend, and expressed himself much obliged by it; but when George proceeded to state briefly and simply the obligations which devolved upon him, previous to his settlement in life, he was listened to with constrained politeness. In vain did he pause in his relation for an expression of sympathy or look of approbation. A silent bow was the only token vouchsafed by his auditor. Embarrassed, he scarcely knew why, George found himself at the end of his story with a consciousness that he had utterly failed in making the impression he had desired. After a pause of a few moments, during which Mr Burton appeared waiting in expectation of some further communication, he said, 'You are not so young a man, Mr Belmont, nor so ignorant of the world, as to entertain any romantic notions respecting love in a cottage, I presume; I am therefore at a loss to understand your precise motive in honouring me with this explanation.' With increased confusion George replied that he had hoped for Mr Burton's advice (he had well nigh said assistance). He considered it his duty thus explicitly to state his circumstances previous to making any attempt to ascertain the sentiments of Miss Burton towards himself, a point on which he felt naturally most solicitous; and his prospects being now good, he trusted a little delay would not prove a serious objection. Certainly not,' was Mr Burton's reply; but since you have expressed a wish for my advice, you must allow me to say, that I think the intention you entertain relative to your father's affairs, though it does great credit to your filial feelings, is rather singular, and the obligation more imaginary than real. It is well known that your father's misfortunes were the result of untoward circumstances, and not of any misconduct on his part. He acted throughout in an upright manner, and no blame can possibly attach to his memory. It appears to me unnecessary that you should inconvenience yourself for the sake of doing what neither law nor equity requires of you.' I will not attempt to argue the point with you, sir,' George modestly answered; but I must remind you that I am bound by a voluntary and solemn promise, given at a time when such engagements are deemed most sacred.' 'Well, well,' rejoined Mr Burton, 'there is no need of hurry. Let me recommend you to take time to reconsider the matter. Do nothing in haste, my young friend. A few years cannot affect the spirit of the promise. Allow me to recall your words, I hope a little delay will not prove a serious objection.' Here Mr Burton indulged in a patronising laugh; then rising, he added, 'In the meantime, I shall be happy to introduce you to Miss Burton, with whom you can talk over this weighty affair. The influence of the ladies is, we know, most powerful; and should you decide to make use of the cash for a time, I shall raise no obstacle to your wishes, and regret that my affairs will not admit of my doing more at present.' The mortification and disappointment George had experienced during this conversation were amply atoned for by the cordiality with which Anna sympathised in his views, and strengthened his purposes. Had her father commended his intentions, and offered to find him means of marrying without delay, he could not have had a lighter heart, or more buoyant spirits, than were the results of his explanation with the daughter, in whose affection and constancy he felt unbounded reliance. True, their union must be postponed, and that to an indefinite period; but they should commence life free and unshackled, indebted to their mutual prudence and self-denial for that independence which they only can appreciate who have known the misery arising from a load of debt. About a week after George's interview with Mr Burton, that gentleman, whilst seated at breakfast, glancing over the county newspaper, observed, to his no small surprise, an advertisement addressed to the creditors of the late Mr Belmont, appointing an early day for the examination and discharge of their respective claims. With a mixture of sarcasm and vexation, he commented upon what he styled the quixotic folly of the cool and unimpassioned lover he congratulated his daughter on possessing. To his remarks Anna listened in silence; but the expression of her fine countenance, and her whole demeanour, evinced such perfect contentment, such calm and settled happiness, that the man of the world was abashed, as the conviction flashed across his mind that his child enjoyed a felicity superior in kind, and more lasting in duration, than ever could result from the realisation of the most brilliant schemes of a merely selfish nature. There are moments when the most worldly characters are compelled to believe in the existence of disinterested virtue; and it is seldom such belief reaches the understanding through the medium of the affections, without exercising a beneficial and softening influence. Certain it is, that from this time Mr Burton refrained from any allusions to George's folly; and though he stood aloof from rendering active service to the lovers, he offered no obstacle to Mr Belmont's visits as his daughter's affianced husband. A little more than a year elapsed after Mr Belmont's return from America, before he found himself able to offer a home to his beloved Anna. It would doubtless have required a much longer time, had not her wishes and views been moderate as his own. Who can describe his happiness as he sat by the clear bright fire on his own hearth, his wife by his side, fully alive to the sweet influences of home and domestic enjoyment, heightened by the consciousness that to his own persevering exertions he was indebted for his present position and prospects. The young people had been married only a month, and had that day returned from their wedding tour. The friends assembled to welcome them were departed. The skill and good taste of Emily, who had during their absence arranged their little establishment, had been warmly commended by the bride, who was by no means insensible to the importance of being mistress of a house she could call her own. It was Saturday evening. The morrow must usher them into the little world of which henceforward they should form a part; and there are few young couples, with affection as true and strong as theirs, but regret the termination of the marriage excursion. To mix in general society, give and receive the visits of mere acquaintances, and engage in the every-day business of life, appears, under such circumstances, no inconsiderable sacrifice. So thought our bride and bridegroom, who discussed their future plans, and indulged in past reminiscences on this evening with as much seriousness as if they apprehended it was the last they should spend alone. And now, Anna,' inquired George, tell me candidly, do you not regret advising me to reject the offered loan of my partner, that we might have commenced life with a little more style?' 'No, indeed, I do not.' But, dearest, only consider the remarks your genteel acquaintances will make on the very plain and unpretending furniture, and the smallness of the house.' Fortunately I shall not hear their remarks,' returned she laughing; and if I did, I could assure them that I have more pleasure in knowing that what we possess is truly our own, than all the borrowed style in the world could afford me.' To say nothing of the pleasure your generous heart experiences in the sacrifice you made for my mother,' added her husband with tenderness. 'Oh, George, let that subject never more be mentioned between us. You humble and mortify me by such allusions. I must indeed be selfish to hesitate between the comfort of our dear parent and a silver tea-service, which after all would have been rather out of place here.' Yet your father gave you money for that express purpose, and how can you account to him for its nonappearance? Oh, as to that, I shall preserve a discreet silence. I hardly expect he will inquire into the history of my magnificent dowry.' 'If he should, I will provide you with an answer,' said George, rising and unlocking a small closet placed in a recess, and displaying to the astonished gaze of his bride a handsome collection of plate, consisting of tea and coffee equipage, salver, cake-basket, and candlestick. My dear George, how came you by these expensive articles?' she inquired. Her husband placed a letter in her hand, and gently drawing her to the sofa, sat by her side as she read it. It was from the creditors of the late Mr Belmont, and was dated two months previous to the time of George's marriage. Its purport was to inform him that, wishful to offer him a testimonial of their esteem, they had made a selection of plate, which they trusted would prove acceptable in the interesting circumstances in which they understood him to be placed. To this announcement was subjoined a list of the articles. Various were the emotions of the young wife as she read. Feelings of gratified affection, however, predominated; and, finding no words to express them, a few unbidden tears fell on the letter as she quietly refolded it. Her fond husband kissed them away. 'You do not inquire why I kept this affair a secret,' he remarked. 'I suppose you wished to give me an agreeable surprise?' she replied. 'I did at first; but when your father presented you with money to purchase plate, and you insisted upon applying it to my mother's use, I loved you so dearly for your self-denial, that I almost feared to break the charm by telling you of our riches; so I put it off, that I might the longer admire my wife's superiority to the foibles of her sex.' 'Your wife thanks you; but you overrate my philo sophy if you imagine that I shall not feel pride and pleasure in the possession of this delicate and well-timed present.' Then you will not think it out of place even in our small house, eh, Anna?' 'No, truly; I can think nothing out of place which serves to remind me that your noble and disinterested conduct has gained the esteem and approbation you so well merit.' 'Rather, my dear wife, let this costly gift serve to inspire us with a thankful recollection of the past, that, in all our future struggles between inclination and duty, we may be enabled to exercise the self-control which at this moment so greatly augments our happiness.' With such views and principles, it is almost needless to add that the Belmonts continued a prosperous and happy family. In the course of time Emily married, with the approbation of her mother and brother. In the house of her daughter Mrs Belmont found a comfortable home, and lived many years, surrounded by her children's children, fully realising the truth of the wise man's saying-The just walketh in his integrity; his children are blessed after him.' 'MOLLY DOODLES.' A SKETCH OF IRISH CHARACTER. BY MRS S. C. HALL. I Do not know why the active, quick, intelligent, and most decidedly clean little beggar-woman I remember in my young days was called Doodles. Doodles must have been one of those nicknames which the Irish, from the highest to the lowest, are so fond of bestowing. If ever begging was a principle, rather than a necessity, it was in the case of poor Molly. She could knit, spin, sew, and she would do all these occasionally, and for a brief time; but nothing could induce her to accept payment for labour; and if asked for assistance, she would invariably take huff,' and absent herself altogether for a month or more from those who would have acted as her taskmasters. The Bannow cottagers knew this; and the dwellers on the moor managed to keep Molly Doodles frequently occupied, by leaving a rock of flax' untouched on the wheel, or a stocking just set up' on the needles, or a shirt half made on the table, when she came in sight, knowing full well that the little woman's activity would prevent her sitting quiet. She would enter the cabin with the usual benediction of God save all here'-be immediately invited to take an air of the fire,' or a 'shock of the pipe.' And after she was sufficiently warmed and comforted, she would untie the blue cloak which draped the hump' of sundries-meal, potatoes, a blanket, tea-kettle, and a change of clothes-that were strapped over her shoulders. She would then loosen her pack; and, without any invitation, begin to sing a song. Of course the household crowded round Molly, to listen to her wild and pleasing melody; and after a little time, without breaking off, she would draw to the wheel,' or take up the needles,' or the shirt, and work away. - never putting down what she commenced until it was finished. Her knitting was a sort of magical performance; her thick little fingers flying like lightning-twist, overtwist, over; while the ball rolled until it reeled from unusual activity. Molly's gray restless eyes were as unceasingly employed as her tongue and fingers; yet she bore the amiable character of never fetching or carrying, 'except for good.' She had a purely benevolent mind; seldom begging for herself, but begging boldly for the infirm and helpless of her multitudinous class. Her features were large and coarse; but there was no resisting the wrinkled expression of humour that folded and folded around her mouth. The voice in which she petitioned was soft and musical; and Molly's sad stories were always concluded by a gush of tears. For more than |