The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1855-09-18 00:00:00

!al-8, 'kW.) ,SUPPZIEMENT TO THE LIVERPOOL STANDARD.

or" _
I 14 as IVA %•174hen - she heswas too'
o
, 448.nie L and toalasdnating forlex.
"ter-anOther daughter- sat (me morning
bers,of i/vorke 'When there was -.announced, that
Marlcoree,,,a.,morlikag visitor
.;..:and one never
Itt.tiley _
ome ;at any time—the news-
-IPry. cnot tat:l:dace—a sort of ,feminine : •Paul
ei• ty j:111;„trY eoeiety,:das ! has .not the blessing
Laetechi;,,„""lig---no tdropfping, the acqu2.intance of
"wla,
.1%1:411 'tentacles. There:W-114,a suspicious
1411C14 \ •DodaridgeS little +Lack eyes,
141,, d 4itt °Zed she,:wa& brimming over,with• news,
I'Dotli •-'e information came st the earliest
/4. "Nt/c.°ll ,of the fire r-
elte. "404 asktdheever sympathithig.Mrs.
ori.
:4141 ."1114k aot
;tri '444% vi about tho lire at Farmer Wettern's,,
lied the
_,t4r. lleathcote, and his ,accident ? '
'BBl eußlat d
Net. e getSip,glancing,in_eaningly at
at has itY for it," .46t1 Margaret, quietly.
t‘l thahA'aPPenied f him?"
got. You mast have known—but, no ;
ire th9"ll, he's not quitelkilled—almost."
-1111141,:ibotbh,:e 44), ies started ; and, lo their.inginri—esh,
we'tkiee'tiVe answered with ra long_.story,t e
ii°4ll tell • wkeh, separating truth from fist n,
tell 'lll, ;Air own words.
Been
NI most home from a;country
.ball,
.had
-his eoli,tezeful of all sights,: especially
Aoraelo'YkiPla(te, a house on fire. He spurred
italeale, bat lootule 'INA, and reached it ,with
; Rad .thp'4,te• The house was wrapped
thqu;hytriner's aged mother .was within
; ant! ;,"efeaving her. Heathcote, with
ut llt/144g
until ';,,ll‘ierolls impulse, rushed into the
"" they never thought to see him.
the n dead itile,..:Staggered forward, with his
he~"nd• and fell insensible
. on
f `4et he returned to conse_iousn_esos,
114tir• eh. found to lie •
EtY4l" erushed b fearfully burnt, and one lo
fe,. Y a falling beam. The young,
1Po" 40.14 —Le who; ad danced so merrily
lit, 11181 uefore, and ,charmed all, as was his.
oftL4(teddi!aufakeedtfeohrrosml
fe by the grey morning twt-
-1147 _Uret Les , e•
opt
kind heart. overflowed with
t forbi„,.hearing of this melancholy story
4i:4134 —'le 001 Over. She could not have believed
kthbee such a deed. Her tender con-
t 4 1 It 1163.
.er for having misjudged him, and
bed 4 Instance of his kindly feeling rose
Alb,: et „Which showed he must have a higher
to '4ly glargeter beneath the one in which he
heb4.e4ll. xtetPeaed. There is nothing so sweet_oer_
jecrenki *o,„liatittg as the compassions of a gentl
4,4a' et -41, ,though exercised towards a re-
el? .
ny b, a faithless lover.
47°Itte al_tiths did Philip lay on his lonely and
halttteh I.e" bed, for he had no mother or sister
after °ver him. Some few among those who
-.yr a Ito eh
the . boo armed with him,. sent to inquire
But
g, man,
hilivititerAtt Young for a little time.
Q ; and excitement of the event soon died
a-cotiiNvl tilt. 10mabalneotro_
1116 before the invalid
ooe4 Wll4 closed-up garden of the was
old
he lived, all had forsaken him except
Ob:41(1 souls who sent him a book now
eb-P.; ati-fr of charity. Among these was Mrs.
IN-"? grat-` When at last the young man reco-
• tkl.tilde, or something else warmer still,
epalo 04,,g,tther the first day he left his home.
,liad seen him since the accident—Philip
%),,f:°t bear that his former friends should see changed he was. His beautiful and
c features were scarcely recognisable fouir
dthde
tears left on his face : and his finel
and elastic gait were changed lameness,in3tronlincurea-
-4lt was a fearful shock ; such.
.as
c but a strong mind could hear, But Philip,

through his long and solitary illness, had thought
trench and deeply ; and his external' appearance
a scarcely more changed than his mind.
•vertheless, with all his courage he could not
repress many a bitter pang, as he waited alone in
Mrs. Lester's drawing-room, and caught a glimpse
of himself in the mirror which had so often,
beloretime reflected the graceful figure of the
Handsome Philip Heathcote. When the door
opened and Margaret entered, he could have
.lainalk anywhere from her view.
,A 4. hue, very slight, was in Margaret's usually
.colotxless cheek ; she looked once at the young
man, and then, advancing, took his hand in both
hers„, and said, in a frank, earnest, friendly tone,
thatment to Philip's heart-
- 11_, am very glad indeed to see you here again,
Mr. Heathcote.
;There was no condolence, no allusion to his
illuess; she did not avoid looking at him, but
spoke ,and smiled with true and kindly tact, as if
nothing had happened : so that Philip's dread
and. embarrassment wore off imperceptibly. Once
only, When be was engaged talking to Mrs.
Lester,; he caught Margaret's eye fixed upon his
face, ,with.a deep expression. He thought, though
he was not.sure, that those sweet blue orbs were
moist ,with:tears ; and the young man would have
parted almost with life itself for one tear of
affectionate; pity from Margaret Lester.
He stayecta long time and then went home,
certainly happier than he had often been in the
days of his bloom and gaiety. What Margaret
thought of her,old lover could not be known ;
-she said very little ; but that very night she heard
the old church.rclock strike one before her eyes
fairly closed in slumber.
Heathcote's re-appearance in society
,caused the usual nine days' wonder and excite-
ment, and then .all subsided. He was an altered
man ; his abundant tow of spirits was no more ;
he .could no longer join the dance in which he
had shone brilliantly aforetime ; he was often
silent in company, and the belles who had so
often gazed delightfully on his handsome face,
now passed him by with a slight recognition, or
an audible " Poor fellow—how handsome he was
once 1" Philip had grown wiser through suffer-
ing; but still no one is ever quite insensible to
the loss of personal attractions ; and the "has
been" grated harshly on young Heathcote's feel-
ings for a long time. He gradually withdrew
from society in a great measure, pleading, as
his reason, the ill-health which he really did
labour under ; and at last his visits were entirely
confined to Mrs. Lester's, where he met no altered
looks or obtrusive condolence.
And now we must turn to Margaret. She, too,
was changed ; not outwardly, but in her own
heart. Love, under the guise of pity, had stolen
in there unawares. She had been perfectly in-
different to Philip in his days of triumph ; but
when she saw him pale, feeble, thoughtful, with-
out a single gay jest or sportive compliment to
scatter round; treated with neglect,or elsewounded
by rude pity, Margaret's woman's heart gave way.
She first felt sympathy, then interest, and so went
through the regular gradations, until she loved
Philip Heathcote with her whole soul. He, foolish
man, humbled and self-distrusting as he was,
never saw this ; yet he nourished his affection for
Margaret in his heart's core, never dreaming that
it could ever be returned.
" If she did not care for me in the old days,"
he often thought, " surely it is hopeless to
imagine she could love me now, a poor, sick ugly
fellow like me." And he would look at himself
with disgust ; and turn away from the mirror
with a bitter sigh. Ah ! Philip Heathcote, with
all his talent and brilliancy, still knew little of
the depths of a woman's heart. We have heard

107

of a man who broke the plighted troth of years,
because a heavy affliction—it was deprivation of
hearing—fell upon the lovely girl he was to have
married : and we have also heard others of his
sex justify him in so doing. Such love is not
like woman's, she would only have clung the
closer in his affliction.
Philip, in spite of his conviction of the entire
hopelessness of winning Margaret's heart, still
continued to hover about her unceasingly. He
saw there was at least no other lover in the way,
and that was one comfort. It was months before
his eyes were opened to his error, and how that
clearness of vision- was effected, history sayeth
not. Very few lovers can tell the precise mo-
ment when the blessed truth rushed upon their
hearts, flooding them with delicious joy. To
what hope—to what a new and blissful existence
did Philip awake when he knew that Margaret
loved him ! He counted all he had lost as nothing,
in comparison to the prize which his sufferings
had won for him. Much he wondered at the
change, not knowing that it was due to his altered
character, for men look at the outward form,
while women judge of the heart. But wonder
and doubt were absorbed in intense happiness,
for -Margaret the timid, retiring, but loving
Margaret—was all his own.

Once more the town's talk was of Philip Heath-
cote and Margaret Lester. They were seen
walking together ; one had met them in the
fields ; another, coming home from church ; Mr.
Heathcote was daily at the house ; surely they
must be engaged !—and this once the gossips
were right—they were, indeed, affianced lovers ;
and in due time the old village church beheld them
made husband and wife. A few years passed, and
the old manor-house rang with childish voices
through all its desolate nooks ; and Margaret and
her husband might be seen oftentimes slowly
pacing the dark alleys of the garden, with a
merry troop around therm Hand in hand, Philip
and Margaret were gliding down life's river, nor
feared the coming of middle age, when each year
brought new happiness. Had they altogether
forgotten the days of their youth ? Not quite ;
for once, when they sat watching the sports of
their eldst son, Margaret said, with a mother's
pride and fondness—
"ls not our boy handsome, Philip ?" He will
grow up almost as handsome as —"
"As his father once used to be," interrupted
Mr. Heathcote, with a smile not quite devoid of
bitterness. He was not perfect—the vain man.
Margaret arose, clasped her arms around her
husband's neck, and kissed his white forehead
and still beautiful eyes with intense and wife-
like satisfaction.

"You are always handsome to me, my own
Philip—there is no one like you ; and if I were
foolish once —"

" When you said I was too handsome ?" cried
he happy husband.

" There, do not remember those days ; I did
not love you then."

" And now you do, my sweet Margaret, my
dear wife," said Philip Heathcote ; " and so I do
not care in the least for being as ugly as an old
satyr, since Margaret Lester can never again say
that lam a great deal too handsome for her.'