indeed be an acquisition. Can you sing a second, for that is what I have missed so much, since I lost poor Clara?"

Reginald told her he could; and this seemed to gain for him a great increase of importance. "Now that you have the instrument in your hand, you must sing to me first," she continued. But he could not; all the degree of confidence which he had acquired, seemed to leave him at this request. He had only power to tune the instrument, and then resolutely returned it. In vain Lady Elmsdale endeavoured to prevail upon him; at length, pretending to be very angry, she said,

"I see you are dreadfully obstinate, so I suppose I must set you the example.'

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And she sang two or three little airs sweetly, with that clear young voice, so peculiar to herself; so like the carol of the lark, as, in the early day, it wakes all slumbering nature, with its joyous and melodious strain.

When she had finished, again she put the instrument into the young man's hands, and then she insisted, in the most peremptory manner, that he should sing; even stamping with her pretty little foot, in pretended anger, when he still resisted. At last, finding there was no escape, Reginald, with an effort, endeavoured to compose his nervous voice, and commenced a song, composed and adapted to the guitar, by his cousin Alice, to the following sad, though beautiful words.

"Once, and once only, let me speak
Of all that I have felt for years;
You read it not upon my cheek,
You dreamed not of it in my tears.

"And yet I loved thee with a love
That into every feeling came;
I never looked on heaven above,
Without a prayer to bless thy name.
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"There is no shape that pain could take,
No ill that would not welcomed be,
If suffered but for thy dear sake-
But they must be unshared by thee.

"And yet we part!-this very hour!
Ah!-only if my beating heart
Could break for both, there is no power
Could force me with your love to part.

"Farewell, it is the heart's farewellMy summer-shine of love past o'er; Only the pang of death can tell

That of the words-we meet no more!"

CHAPTER IX.

"Amid the golden gifts which Heaven
Has left, like portions of its light on earth,
None has such influence as Music hath."

"Music-oh! how faint-how weak-
Language fades before thy spell!
Why should feeling ever speak,

When thou canst paint her thoughts so well."

WHEN Reginald first began to sing, his voice trembled with nervous trepidation; but as he proceeded, his courage by degrees seemed to be restored; or rather, his natural enthusiasm for music, soon rapt his senses in oblivion to every other idea. The melody of the song was beau

tiful in itself—the words truly touching, and they completely brought back the thoughts of her, whom he had first heard warble the strain to his delighted ear. The notes appeared to take him to the scenes where he had last heard them. He forgot in whose presence he was singing; and instead of hurrying over a verse or two, as he at first intended, he went on, warming with the theme, until every stanza had been concluded. It was only when he had come to the last words, that he began to descend from the clouds, to which fancy had elevated him, and even remembered where he was.

And then again all his confusion returned. He had placed himself in a position, so that his face was averted from Lady Elmsdale whilst he sung; and so completely had he been engrossed by his own feelings, that he entirely lost sight of her, both in reality and in idea. But now that the strain was ended, and the inspiration of the moment vanished, then did he timidly turn