The northern galaxy. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1844-1848, 1845-07-09

municated the good news 10 his wife, he sat
awaiting her reply; but none came, for the
mothers heart was divided between The fear
for Mary's happiness and the necessity that
something should be done TO provide the
common comforts of life, for her young and
gently -nurtured brother.
You do not speak, said Mr.. Ellice, as he
looked anxiously into her face. 4 Thought
you would rejoice. Surely, at this moment
we should be deeply grateful for such unex-
pecled add
MARY, she answered-'oh what will Ma
ry sayY
1 She will be too happy TO save us all from
ruin. Besides, Mary will be a countess.
Go and seek her, that she may know how
much lies in her power
The mother sighed, arose, left the room,
and in few moments returned with her fair
daughter.
Mary said her father, as she entered, 4
trust that our misiortunes are well nigh
over.-Here is letter wish you 10 read, my
child
1t is from Ernest, she exclaimed-the faint
color radiaiing over her delicate cheeks at
mention of the cherished name.
! Mrs Ellice looked towards her husband,
but he had turned away and in silencethey
awaited the result. In few moments the
| light fed from Mary's eyes, the color from
her face, while her compressed lips showed
the bitterness that was rending her woman's
spirit; but slowly and firmly she read it
through, and returned it to her father Then
did she perceive his eager, anxious gaze, and
her mothers downcast eyes, and all the min
! gled fear and hope in which they awaited
her decision. She remembered that her
word would consign them TO poverty.
My child, said her father, unable TO endure
the suspense, Lord Livingston is somewhat
old for you; but you will be rich, and hope
happy
| AT that moment one OF her little brothers.
entered; it was young Graeme's godchild.
Papa he said, Ernest is very hungry;
may he not have his dinner? He cannot eat
this, he continued, holding forth The scanty
meal that had been provided for him.
Mary stopped and kissed the little fellow
Her resolve was taken; and having sent him
from the room, she advanced toward her father.
ANSWER this for me- she said. THANK
him, father, and say that ~
The words died upon her lips, and she
sank insensible into his arms.
TWAS eight years since the departure of
Ernest Graeme; and Mary having humblv
and earnestly fulfilled the duties that had de-
volved upon her, had been sometime wild
ow; and ifshe was moi happy. she was at
least calmly content-blessed with the re-
membrancc ola life that had hitherto been
devoted TO those she loved-a life over which
goodness and virtue had presided-unsulled
by one evil feeling, untouched by the darker
passions.
Truly, she had suffered, but the bitter herb
OF sorrow had not been TO her devoid of hon
Iy; she had suffered, but in her own pure
and true heart she had found an anGdote.
She possessed the blessed consciousness of
having acted wel-of having ever thought
more of others than of herself and when all
were happy around, it was not in her nature
TO be sad. The rich youthful Dowager-Coun-
tess was ieted and fattered, followed and adj
mired, but she never forgol the old vicaragc,
with its beloved inmates; she swerved not
from the simple, unsuspec:ing innocence and
truth of her good and aiiectionate heart
1t was summers evening, and the young
countess, accompanied by one of her broth
ers, was the centre OF attraction OF gay fete
held at one of those delightful villas that en-
bellish the banks of our beautiful Thames.
The day had been sutry and the gay world
had gladly gone from the dust and heat OF
the crowded city TO hold their revels in this
highly ornamented scene. But Mary, hav-
ing played her part for awhile, turned from
the courtly flattery. and the whispered words
Of love, and wandered forth towards the riv-
er's side. The murmur of the merry voices
grew indistinct-the rushing ofthe mighty wa
tiers hushed on other sounds-and having
reached the termination of sheltered path,
with the moonbeams iliumining its depths,
u ntil they seemed like myriad crystal pala-
ces, lay the whole expanse of woter-the riv-
er of rivers-the old, yet ever young-the
silver Thames. Not breath of air raised
ripple on its surface: nought but the faint
sound OF the distant voices, and the murmur
of the stream, as 1t hurried EDWARDS, broke
the deep silence that reigned around.
A step sounded near. Some one, then,
like herself, had stolen from the gay scene TO
wander alone. Thebranches movedaside-
a shadow trembled on the water; and then,
in low tone, Il voice near whispered her
name.
She turned; beside her, looking earnestly
into her face, stood a tall figure, and one
glance sufficed TO tell that it was Ernest
Graeme she beheld. The color went and
came on Mary's cheek like summer lightning
the lapse of years was forgotten; one
memory long dwelt upon in silence, but fond !
ly cherished. woke in her heart After their |
lOn8 sepdTduoll, illek lldu met once more.
He took both her hands in his, and pressed |
them TO his lips; he started-raised his head !
and the rays the moon, distinct and clear,
fell, rendering distinct as it gliitered in the
light, the magic circle-the wedding ring. |
He did not approach herb he felt it could
scarcely have been otherwise. Besides, the !
news of her marriage had reached him in |
India; but Of her husbands death he knew |
not.
'Mary-Lady Livingston he said, 4
could not resist the temptation to follow you
hither; so many happy and once cherished !
hopes came back, as unobserved | watched |
you in the throng. had once thought, once |
hopcd-but no, such remembrance can be |
but painful now. Yet, have you forgotten |
the evening that we parted p
No-oh! no. she asked, and now, indeed I,
she lett the bitterness of the sacrifice she had |
made. for she had seen him start when his /
lips touched the fatalring. She pressed her |
handupon her brow-her heart beat audi |
bly,. t. ........- .
Mary l-Maryn called some one near
sTruant where are youP