of intellect, and you shall lead us to great achievements, said the Duke as he turned from Miss Mitford. The Reverend Mr. Wiseman approached Miss Mitford and bowed. Miss Mitford, Mrs. Rogers' party is much larger than any that I have attended this season. I suppose that your friends heard that you were to be here, said Mr. Wise man. I do not suppose any such thing. I do not suppose that they heard that either of us were to be here. But I do suppose that it was a matter of deeper interest to the charitable and the good, said Miss Mitford. ask of the class will dollar in What was it, Miss Mitford? asked Mr. Wiseman. You know, Mr. Wiseman, that there are two classes of people in the world, the liberal and the selfish. If you public time and money for the good of others, one respond to your call, the other will spend their last frivolous amusements, but will give you nothing. You, Mr. Wiseman, are a preacher of the gospel; if you wish to assist a charitable object do you not feel compelled to start some meeting, some lecture, some exhibition, some opera, or play, to accomplish your object? You do not find the world to give for charity alone to any extent, do you? asked Miss Mitford. I do not; but I do not on that account pronounce the world selfish; it is creditable to our nature that they respond to the calls of charity in any shape in which it may be presented. I know why Mrs. Rogers' friends are here in such large numbers, but your personal friends outnumber them. Among your friends I see many of the most talented, and most charitable; and among hers I see all the most wealthy nobility, said Mr. Wiseman. You know that for years I have had under my charge a girl whom you have heard me call Vic. You know that I have educated her. Her necessities at this moment call for more money than I have in my purse, and I propose to replenish it by performing my play of Rienzi. I have notified my personal friends of this circumstance, and have asked some of them to take parts. The Duke of St. Albans has responded to my call, and I expect Eugenia, Mrs. Opie, Lady Alice Spencer, Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, and Ida Byron and others, to take parts. Vic is a lovely girl, and is talented and will be a beauty. I cannot but feel a strong desire to see her successful; she may yet equal her mother and reflect credit on us all. You will I know assist us. I have not forgotten that you are a minister, but we are doing a good act are we not? asked Miss Mitford. Miss Mitford, can you ask me to perform a part in a play? Amateur you call it, but it is still a play. I am a minister you know, and I cannot do it without severe censure from the world! I should have been pleased to comply with any request, Emily, that was consistent with my sacred calling. But do you think that I could escape the censure of the prying, inquisitive, and faultfinding world? asked Mr. Wiseman. I think nothing about it! It is for your cwn feelings to determine what you shall do. You will oblige me, Mr. Wiseman, by calling me Miss Mitford and not Emily, said Miss Mitford. I beg your pardon, Miss Mitford, but I did think from the confidential nature of our friendship, it might be agreeable to you to be called Emily, said Mr. Wiseman. Mr. Wiseman, ministers are a very peculiar class of men; they should have for wives very pious women, and rather pliable ones too, Now I do not know what you mean, or what you wish me to understand by calling me Emily; but if you think that I shall admit of any advances of a lover in the Rev. Mr. Wiseman, you are very much mistaken, said Miss Mitford. You distress me, I have been deceived No, never, Mr. Wiseman, you have not been deceived, said Miss Mitford. Have I been deceived by my own affections, and have I fallen into this error? asked Mr. Wiseman. That is your own fault if you have. I never deceived you, nor any other person. I will deceive no person in so serious an affair. This decision will affect the happiness of others as well as ourselves. That you have been received at my father's house I admit, your sacred calling should admit you anywhere. That your religious views are agreeable to my parents or myself, I do not admit. There are sentiments entertained by some that are not manfully expressed. Sentiments long professed are sometimes changed. The world is fickle-men change. The mind wanders in the labyrinth of uncertainty, and is constantly proclaiming that new light has burst in upon a doubtful question. Religion is a sentiment beyond all others in importance to me. I believe that my happiness here and hereafter are intimately connected with the professions that I have made, and the friendships that I may form, said Miss Mitford. Miss Mitford you could not have been in doubt as to my feelings. I could not have concealed them. I was no actor. I was an honest worshiper at a shrine that I adored. I did feel that affection was a holy flame, and that lighted here on the altar of love would burn brighter and brighter through all time. That I do love you, that I must ever love you, I have the witness of my own heart. We were children together. The happiest moments of my life were those stolen from home and passed with you. Must I give them up forever? I was not prepared for such a thought. Recall, O Miss Mitford, do recall those words! My life has been a life of sorrow, unrelieved by a single joy. My parents died before their features were fixed on this heart of mine. I had no brother, and no sister's love ever soothed this aching heart! At my uncle's house I was nurtured, and owed to him the education that I hoped would reflect honor on his name. But an error of my life, to which I cannot now allude, drove me from a home most dear to me! I am now alone! I have not a relation in the world that owns me! I have not a friend on whose sympathy I can repose! I had one last hope, a glorious hope, that pointed to happiness. It is gone now! I need not tell you that I was not prepared for this! You knew the strength of that sentiment which ever drew me to your father's house. Our early walks, our noonday rambles, the flowers we gathered-I cannot forget them! Your music, the gay dance, the gardens, the summer-house where we read and conversedmust I never more enjoy them? Your letters, your poems and recitations, those evidences of genius to a responsive heart! Our souls, I thought, were to own a common origin— to live, to die, and to live again, united to Him who knows no change. That this sentiment was reciprocated, I did fondly believe. I can never forget the pleasant hours passed in your society! Say this sentiment was reciprocated once! Then will I charge to fate this unfortunate-may I not say hasty word? O do, Miss Mitford, do recall that one word before I leave you! asked Mr. Wiseman. Mr. Wiseman, I am writing a play-and I have already written one-and I am to perform a part for the benefit of Vic. Now what assurance have you that I may not yet appear upon the stage? asked Miss Mitford. Miss Mitford, you would not go upon the stage to gratify a passion for display! You can show a surpassing genius in more quiet scenes of joyous, happy domestic life. All would love to follow you in virtue's paths. Your father is wealthy, and you the whole world calls talented. Gifts like yours would be better rewarded, and shed a brighter charm over any other life. You cannot think of the stage, said Mr. Wise man. My talents are just such as Providence gave me—but if my father should by any of the accidents that overtake so many lose his fortune, do you think I would not go upon the stage? I would go to-morrow. But I have an apprehension that weighs more deeply on my mind, said Miss Mitford. What is it, Miss Mitford? asked Mr. Wiseman. I have already intimated the nature of it, said Miss Mitford. I do not comprehend you. Do you doubt my affection for you? asked Mr. Wiseman. I believe that you are a Catholic, and that you are deceiving us. I did not intend to use such language, but you are determined to comprehend no other. I do not believe that you are an honest man! I am sorry to be compelled to speak in such a decided manner, but you have drawn the acknow. ledgment from me, said Miss Mitford. Miss Mitford, suppose I should take a part in your play for the benefit of Vic-will it afford you any gratification? asked Mr. Wiseman. Not the least, Mr. Wiseman. I would not permit it on any condition. Our friendship is at an end, and you will oblige me by treating me as you treat all others, said Miss Mitford, and turned toward Mrs. Rogers. On looking near the corner of the room, Miss Mitford discovered General McDonald in conversation with Eugenia, and approached them. What do you think I have said to the General? asked Eugenia. I suppose you have been telling him that you cannot understand our uncouth language. It is not so musical as your Spanish, said Miss Mitford. I have been inviting him to visit Madrid! Madrid, you know, is a lovely place. We have an Italian sky, a tropical sun, and the fruit of all the world. It is the only spot on earth where every thing seems made for enjoyment. The very |