young lady, on coming of age, was to be relieved from the guardianship of her morose and revenge

ful relation, the lovers desisted from any farther attempts to soften the old man, and patiently waited for the blissful moment which was to confirm the union of their hearts by the connubial tie. But before that ardently expected day arrived, the uncle disappeared with his niece, and my father never could discover whither they went, or what road they had taken. He undertook several journeys, and set many inquiries on foot, through his numerous correspondents, without ever gaining the most distant intelligence of the fugitives. A short time before their departure, my father had taken under his roof a very young female child, named Eliza, who was brought up with me, and whom I used to call my little sister. As we grew up together, my father appeared to love us both with equal affection. At fifteen years of age, he placed me in the counting-house of a great merchant in the nearest seaport town. I had been there several years, when an express brought me word that my father had suddenly been seized with a dangerous illness, and wished me to hasten to him, because he had matters of the utmost importance to reveal to me before his death. I immediately set off on horse

back, and rode with the utmost speed; but, as I had never been home during my clerkship, and had been taken to the sea-port town in a close carriage with my father, I was unacquainted with the road. I therefore stopped at a cross-way, uncertain which turn to take, when a young gentleman came up, on horseback. I asked him which was the right road to my native town; and the wretch, though he came from the very place, which I was anxious to reach, sent me in an opposite direction.

At these words, Edward turned pale. "When did this happen?" said he, dreadfully agitated; "how many years ago?"-" Five," replied the stranger; "it was on the day of the fair, from which the young gentleman was probably returning. I followed the road, into which he directed me, for the length of five or six miles, without making any farther inquiry; but coming, at length, to a turnpike gate, I asked at what distance I was from my native town, and was informed that I had taken the wrong road. I turned about, but my horse began to be fatigued, and it was near midnight before I reached my father's house. Alas! it was too late. My father had just expired, with my name hovering on his lips. After having paid the last honours to his mortal

remains, I diligently examined his papers, but I could not discover any vestige of the secret, which he had thought of so much importance for me to know. I found his affairs in the most perfect order; and, supposing that it might be some private wrong, which he had wished me to repair, I distributed copious alms to the poor.

Eliza, in the mean time, had grown a very accomplished and interesting young person. She was much attached to me. We had always lived in harmony. I therefore resolved to marry her; fondly thinking that by so doing I was perhaps fulfilling the wish of my deceased parent. Eliza had the same thought. But a few days before our hands were to be joined in wedlock, a letter from a town in North America overturned our intended happiness at one blow. It was written by the lady to whom my father had paid his addresses after the death of my mother, and who had been forcibly taken to America by her uncle. My father had actually married her privately during her minority, and Eliza was the offspring of their clandestine marriage. Her mother wrote, that, after having been confined for several years in the most inaccessible parts of Louisiana, where her uncle vainly attempted to marry her to a rich planter, this revengeful relation

had just died, and that, being thus at length restored to liberty, she ardently wished to return to Europe, to spend the remainder of her days in the society of a beloved husband and a darling child. This child, Eliza, the legitimate offspring of my father, and my own sister, had been on the point of being my consort! Our projected union, of course, did not take place. I had strength of mind to yield to this dreadful necessity; but poor Eliza was overpowered by it. Despair, superadded to the reproaches of a timorous conscience, for having been so near committing a great crime, though unconsciously, deprived her of reason; she fell into violent fits of madness, which ceased only whenever I was with her. Yet she no longer knew me, and has not recognised me since; and as my presence alone is able to calm her agitated spirits, I have determined to share this abode of misery with her. It is the only good I can do her; and I will do it until it please the Almighty to recal one or the other from this vale of tears. Her mother is expected

soon; what a scene of distress her arrival will cause! May the inhuman wretch, who wantonly plunged us into this abyss of sorrow, witness the horrors which he has inflicted. On hearing these words, Edward staggered a few steps backwards,

and fell senseless to the ground. When he recovered, he found himself in a bed at the inn; but his wandering looks distinguished none of the individuals who approached him. Towards night, he became delirious. His wife and Anthony did not leave him for a moment. It was long before his fever abated. For several weeks, he fluctuated between life and death. At length, his youth and the strength of his constitution prevailed; his health returned gradually; but peace and tranquillity were for ever banished from his heart.

THE

PORTFOLIO ; OR, WHAT IS IT
TO ME?

YOUNG Theodore was amiable, but extremely indolent: he was never interested in any thing which did not immediately concern himself. "What is it to me?" he would often exclaim, particularly if he were requested to perform any little service for a stranger; "besides, I shall never see this man again, and I have nothing to do with him."

His father, who was a very sensible man, was

Ꭰ