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fashion, and to chill the glow of generous sentiment, with that cold derisive levity with which he had heard them talk of female virtue ; whenever he came into her presence, she was still surrounded by that mysterious, but impassive charm of virgin purity, in whose hallowed sphere no guilty thought can live.

The sudden arrival of orders for the regiment to repair to the continent, completed the confusion of his mind. He rernained for a short time in a state of the most painful irresolution; he hesitated to communicate the tidings, until the day for marching was at hand; when he gave her the intelligence in the course of an evening ramble.

The idea of parting had never before occurred to her. It broke in at once upon her dream of felicity; she looked upon it as a sudden and insurmountable evil, and wept with the guileless simplicity of a child, He drew her to his bosom and kissed the tears from her soft cheek, nor did he meet with a repulse, for there are moments of mingled sorrow and tenderness, which hallow the caresses of affection. He was naturally impetuous, and the sight of beauty apparently yielding in his arms, the confidence of his power over her, and the dread of losing her for ever, all conspired to overwhelm his better feelings -he ventured to propose that she should leave her home, and be the companion of his fortunes.

He vas quite a novice in seduction, and blushed and faltered at his own baseness; but, so innocent of mind was his intended victim, that she was at first at a loss to comprehend his meaning ;-and why she

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should leave her native village, and the humble roof of her parents? When at last the nature of his proposals flashed upon her pure mind, the effect was withering. She did not weep-she did not break forth into reproaches-she said not a word—but she shrunk back aghast as from a viper, gave him a look of anguish that pierced to his very soul, and clasping her hands in agony, fled, as if for refuge, to her father's cottage.

The officer retired, confounded, humiliated, and repentant. It is uncertain what might have been the result of the conflict of his feelings, had not his thoughts been diverted by the bustle of departure. New scenes, new pleasures, and new companions, soon dissipated his self-reproach, and stifled his tenderness. Yet, amidst the stir of camps, the revelries of garrisons, the array of armies, and even the din of battles, his thoughts would sometimes steal back to the scenes of rural quiet and village simplicity--the white cottage--the footpath along the silver brook and up the hawthorn hedge, and the little village maid loitering along it, leaning on his arm, and listening to him with eyes beaming with unconscious affection.

The shock which the poor girl had received, in the destruction of a! her idea! world, had indeed been cruel. Faintings and hysterics had at first shaken her tender frame, and were succeeded by a settled and pining melancholy. She had beheld from her window the inarch of the departing troops. She had seen her faithless lover borne off, as if in triumph, amidst the sound of drum and trumpet, and the pomp of arms.

She strained a last aching gaze after him, as the morning sun glittered about his figure, and his plume waved in the breeze; he passed away like a bright vision from her sight, and left her all in darkness.

It would be trite to dwell on the particulars of her after-story. It was, like other tales of love, melancholy. She avoided society, and wandered out alone in the walks she had most frequented with her lover. She sought, like the stricken deer, to weep in silence and loneliness, and brood over the barbed sorrow that rankled in her soul. Sometimes she would be seen late of an evening sitting in the porch of the village church; and the milk-maids, returning from the fields, would now and then overhear her, singing some plaintive ditty in the hawthorn walk She became fervent in her devotions at church; and as the old people saw her approach, so wasted away, yet'with a hectic bloom, and that hallowed air which melancholy diffuses round the form, they would make way for her, as for something spiritual, and, looking after her, would shake their heads in gloomy foreboding.

She felt a conviction that she was hastening to the tomb, but looked forward to it as a place of rest. The silver cord that had bound her to existence was loosed, and there seemed to be no more pleasure under the sun.

If ever her gentle bosom had entertained resentment against her lover, it was extinguished. She was incapable of angry passious, and

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in a moment of saddened tenderness she penned him a farewell letter. It was couched in the simplest language, but touching from its very simplicity. She told him that she was dying, and did not conceal from him that his conduct was the cause. She even de picted the sufferings which she had experienced; but concluded with saying, that she could not die in peace, until she had sent him her forgiveness and her blessing.

By degrees her strength declined, and she could no longer leave the cottage. She could only totter to the window, where, propped up in her chair, it was her enjoyment to sit all day and look ont upon the landscape. Still she uttered no complaint, nor imparted to any one the maiady that was preying on her heart. She never even inentioned her lover's name; but would lay her bead on her mother's bosom and weep in silence. Her poor parents hung, in mute anxiety, over this fading blossom of their hopes, still flattering themselves that it might again revive to freshness, and that the bright unearthly bloom which sometimes flushed her cheek, might be the promise of returning health. In this

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she was seated between them one Sunday afternoon; her hands were clasped in their's, the lattice was thrown open, and the soft air that stole in, brought with it the fragrance of the clustering honeysuckle, which her own hands had trained round the window.

Her father had just been reading a chapter in the Bible; it spoke of the vanity of worldly things, and

the joys of heaven; it seemed to have diffused com fort and serenity through her boson. Her eye was fixed on the distant village church—the bell had tolled for the evening service the last villager was lagging into the porch and every thing had sunk into that ballowed stillness peculiar to the day of rest. Her parents were gazing on her with yearning hearts. Sickness and sorrow,

which pass so roughly over come faces, had given to her's the expression of a seraphos. A tear trembled in her soft blue eye.Was she thinking of her faithless lover ?—or were her thoughts wandering to that distant churchyard, into whose bosom she might soon be gathered ?

Suddenly the clang of hoofs was heard—a horseman galloped to the cottage--he dismounted before the window-the poor girl gave a faint exclamation, and sunk back in her chair:- it was her repentant lover! He rushed into the house, anu flew to clasp her to his bosom; but her wasted form-her deathlike countenance—so wan, yet so lovely in its desolationsmote him to the soul, and be threw himself in an agony at her feet. She was too faint to riseshe attempted to extend her trembling hand-her lips moved as if she spoke, but no word was articulated-she looked down upon him with a smile of unutterable tenderness, and closed her eyes for ever!

Such are the particulars which I gathered of this village story. They are but scanty, and I am conscious have but little novelty to recommend them. In the present rage also for strange incident and highseasoned narrative, they may appear trite and insig.

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