Sivut kuvina

here called a fine autumnal morning. The trees which were so lately clothed in the livery of the Muffulman Prophet, have now assumed a greater varieiy of colouring—while some have had their green coats changed into the fober tint of the cinnamon : and others have taken the tawny bue of the orange. The leaves of many, which like ungracious children, had forsaken their parent ftem, rustled in our path. Of all the vocal inhabitants of the woods, one little bird alone, like the faithful friend, who reserves his fervices for the hour of adversity, fitting on the half-stripped boughs, raised the soft note of consolation to the deserted


Emma, who was our conductress, laid she would take us by the private road, which had been a few years ago made. by Mr. Morley and her father, to faci. litate the intercourse of their families. We foon arrived where the wooden bridge had ftood; but, alas! it was now no longer passable. A few of its planks half floated on the stream-the rest had been carried away by the farmer, 10 make up a breach in the fence. « Ah !!! faid Emma, “could poor Mr. Morley

now see that bridge !-- but do not niertina ! it to my father. I know it would vex liim

• Vol. II.

to hear of it.” We proceeded on another load, and at the distance of a few paces from the house, we met with a second disappointnient. Attempting to open a fmall gate that led to the front door of the houle, a little boy came out to tell us that it had been nailed up, and that we must go through the yard where the cattle were feeding.

Emma begged we might proceed no farther, and we were about to comply with her request, when the wife of the person who now rents the farm came to us. « Ah! how glad Miss Percy will be to see you Miss !” cried fhe. “ I did not think that my fon could have been back from the Dale fo soon.”

« Miss Percy!” said Emma. " What of Miss Percy? When did you hear of her?"

“ Did you not know that the came. diere vesterday?" returned the woman. “ the fent a letter 10 let you know that The inter ded going over to the Dale tonight.”

* Sent a letter! returned Emma. Char6.6 lotte used not to be fo ceremonious.”

- Iodced the is not what she used to be," returned the farmer's wife " She is so melancholy, that I never saw the like. Soon after the came yesterday evening,

she went out to the garden, and, would you believe it? the sight of the potatoes my husband planted in the place my old master used to call his Velvet Walk, and which he used to have mown every week (though the grass was good for nothing, to be sure, but to be swept away as if it had been rubbish) and where he used to fit of an evening in the queer-looking chair, that now, when it is turned upside down, does so well for a hay-rack for the young calves ; would you believe it? her eyes filled with tears at the very fight of it. Now what could make any one cry at the fight of a good crop of potatoes, is more than I can imagine. But, says my husband, don't you see that it is being to very lonely that inakes Miss fo melancholy? So I went to her, and though she said she liked to be lonely, I would not leave her to herself the whole evening.”

“ Your company would be a great relief to her spirits, to be sure,” said Denheigh.

“ Yes, for certain,” returned the good woman; “ though she took on a liitle still. And when she went into the paddock, where the little poney that Mr. Morley used to ride about the farm now runs, la! fee Miss, says I, if there is not your uncle's poney, I dare to say it knows you. Shie held out her hand, and called it by iis :

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name, and, would you believe it? it no {ooner heard her voice, than it came fcampering up.-Poor Mopfy, faid se, as The itroaked its ears, and again the tears came into her eyes. She turned away, but the beast still followed her, neighing, till we came to the gate. She then so begged me to leave her for a few minutes, that I went on the other side of the hedge, and saw her go back to poor Mopsy, and laying her hand upon its head, as it held it out for her to stroak—she burst into tears. Dear heart, says I, Miss, don't take on so; my husband will buy you a furer-footed beast than Mopsy, at any market in the country, for five pounds.

“ Poor Charlotte !” said Emma : “ but why did she expose herself to this torture ?” The good woman stared at Emma, who declined listening to any more of her conversation; but demanding which way her cousin had walked, she hastily requested us to follow.

“ How nicely this gravel walk used to be kept !” said Emma (as we walked along " and see how it is now destroyed. Thele shrubs too, so broken down by the cattle, how the good old Mr. Morley used to delight himself in taking care of them! He is gone ! and, alas ! how quickly are the favourite objects of his at

teption likely to perish !-But the remembrance of his virtues shall not thus fall into oblivion.-No!” continued the lovely moralist: “ the trees he has planted may be cut down by fordid avarice; and the hand of brutish ftupidity may root out the flowers of his garden; but his deeds of benevolence and charity shall be held in everlasting remembrance !”

We were now arrived at the gate of a meadow, which was almost encircled by the stream. A narrow path winded through the plantation of young trees that ornamented its banks.-At the root of one of these trees, I perceived a small bright object glittering in the rays of the fun. I approached it, and found some leaves of ivory, faftened by a silver clafp, which on touching it, flew open, and discovered the hand writing of Miss Percy. " It is " Charlotte's tablets,” cried Emma. " It was in these she used to sketch the eflusions of her fancy, on any subject that occured.-It is still so,” continued she, turning, over the leaves. “ Here is some poetry she cannot think it any breach of faith to read it.” “ Read it then,” said her brother.

She complied, and read as follows

Why, shades of Morley ! will you not impart

Some consolation to my grief-worn mind? 'Mid your delightful scenes, my sinking heart

Had hoped the sweets of wonted peace to find.

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