some change after her close confinement here. As soon as you are better, I am going there too." "Why-why did she leave me!" I exclaimed; 'why must I lose her for a moment!" The mother coloured slightly, and smiled, but she made no reply.

66

Three weeks afterwards, I myself found that country air was indispensable to my complete recovery, and set forth upon a little journey in

search of health.

The little hamlet where Agnes was staying was thirty miles from London, and I purposed to make this the end of my journey, seeing all I could by the road. But I soon found it would be best to go there at once, and defer all my sight-seeing till I was returning; for, somehow, I could not enjoy the scenes through which I passed, but was ever longing to get forward.

And when will you be back in London, Agnes?" I asked, as we stood, the evening after my arrival, under the shadow of a large walnut-tree, the pride of the orchard where it stood. Her delicate hand was in mine, and I could not see her eyes, for the long eyelashes hid them, as she looked down on a rose the last of the season which she held in the other hand.

"I cannot tell," she said, softly; "my mother talks of remaining here - for my aunt and uncle are so kind as to wish it-and, you know, I cannot leave my mother!"

Sweet Agnes! she was the most truthful creature on earth, but, in this instance, she deceived herself. She found that it was possible to leave her mother, and she did so six months after, in a white silk mantua, with all fitting appurtenances, and with the style and title of Mrs. Paul Pledgett.

The Lady Ernesta did not always continue in exile. Time gradually softened the animosity of government towards her husband, and, perhaps, in some degree, abated his enthusiasm in a cause in which it would now have been utterly vain. On the death of his father, a few years afterwards, Sir Edward Herbert was allowed to return to England, and enjoy his hereditary title and estates. Lady Herbert lived not only to redeem her jewels, but to wear them at many a birthnight revel and courtly gala, and was universally allowed to be one of the loveliest and most graceful matrons of her day.

To me she always manifested the liveliest gratitude, and was much pleased with the match between her "two benefactors," as she styled Agnes and myself. Nor did her gratitude evaporate in words, for she marked it with many substantial tokens of her favour - amongst others, the large silver wrought caudle-cup, which she presented to us on the christening of our third child—her goddaughter, Ernesta.

THE BETROTHED.

BY CHARLES SWAIN, ESQ.

Had I met thee in thy beauty,

When my
heart and hand were free,
When no other claim'd the duty,
Which my soul would yield to thee;
Had I wooed thee had I won thee

Oh! how blest had been my fate ;
But thy sweetness hath undone me-
I have found thee-but too late!

For to one my vows were plighted,
With a faltering lip and pale;
Hands our cruel sires united ·

Hearts were deem'd of slight avail ! Thus my youth's bright morn o'ershaded, Thus betroth'd to wealth and state, All Love's own sweet prospects faded— I have found thee - but too late!

Like the fawn that finds the fountain,
With the arrow in his breast;
Or like light upon the mountain,

Where the snow must ever rest, Thou hast known me- but forget me! For I feel what ills await.

Oh! 't is madness to have met thee —

To have found thee - but too late!