tribe; and it was indeed true that the youth had seen and admired Selina, and that he would gladly have engaged in an amour with her; but it was not true that

ment, overpowered with horror, sunk lifeless on his arm. He raised the reeking blade to deprive her also of life, but a momentary return of af fection held his hand. When the violent storm of passion had subsided, and he was able to look on what he had done, he saw his son dead at his feet, and his wife, his beloved Selina, breathless in his arms. Nor could any attention or art restore her to life; the horror of the scene had taken too powerful an effect on her delicate and feeble frame: she revived but for a mo

he was at all encouraged by Selina, who had, indeed, scarcely noticed that he was in the least at tentive to her. But the suspicions of Narbal, once excited, could not be soon appeased. He was perpetually on the watch, and perpetually fancied that he discovered something to inHis own crease his own torment. life was become wretched, and be rendered Selina's the same, by hment, uttered two or three convulunjust suspicions, and the violence sive sighs, and then expired. of his infuriated passions."

It chanced one evening that Selina and her son Ali left their tent to enjoy the cool of the evening, after the heat of a sultry day. Invited by the shade of a wood which they saw at a distance, they entered it, and soon so lost their way, that they did not find it so easy to get out as to enter it, and were overtaken by the night. Narbal returning at the same time, and finding Selina had walked out, was immediately haunted with his usual jealous suspicions. He went out immediately in quest of her, expecting now to make great discoveries. A fatal chance directed his steps in the way she had taken; and he saw her and Ali near the skirts of the wood. Alive to all the fears with which she had latterly been impressed by his presence, she uttered a slight scream at the sight of him. As he knew the voice well, he was certain it was her; but the darkness of the evening prevented him from immediately recognising his son. His passion and jealousy would not suffer him to doubt that this was her paramour. He instantly advanced, and, furious with rage, plunged his sabre in his breast, and laid him dead at his feet. Selina at the same mo

Narbal stood for a time, changed, as it were, to congealed stone. Dreadful were his feelings. At length, reason forsook the man who had not known to exert it in curbing the vio He became lence of his passions. furiously insane, and in this miserable state survived several years, a wretched example how, by not restraining brutal passions, human, nature may be reduced to the verge of absolute brutality.

THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL.

IN the church-yard of East Bourne I was resting myself on a gravestone, from a walk rather longer than usual. It happened to be about the time when the bell was drawing towards a conclusion, which soon brings the rustic from his white-washed parlour to his pew. There is not in To see life a more picasing scene. the rosy maid on whose cheek sits health, smiling in full meridian, dimpled by the pleasure she enjoys in being attended by a favourite youth, on whose sunburnt forehead

reigns content. Oh happy rustic, ingand though a tear, as a glis-, tening dew-drop, trembles upon its bud, it only adds to its fragrance and. beauty.

HARRIET VERNON;

OR,

pressed a surprise that I had not seen the young lady; he informed me that she was seldom at home, being fond of any society rather than his. She is now,' said he, on a visit to a fa

CHARACTERS FROM REAL LIFE. mily of character and fortune, about

A NOVEL,

In a Series of Letters.

BY A LADY.

(Continued from p. 356.)

LETTER XXVIII.
Mr. Wentworth to Mr. Johnson.

Bengal.

I LOSE no time to inform my dear friend of my safe arrival in this place, after a most expeditious and pleasant voyage. I am perfectly well and in excellent spirits, which, when I have told you my adventures, you will not be surprised to hear. I wrote a few lines to you and colonel Ambrose by the Besborough: but a few days after her sailing a change took place in my affairs of a most wonderful nature, which, not to keep you in suspense, I will now begin to relate.

seven miles from this place. They are fond of her to excess: I cannot disapprove of the acquaintance otherwise than because they are zealous catholics, and have persuaded my daughter to become of their religion.'

The old gentleman seemed pleased with my conversation and company: I felt a respect and concern for him, which induced me to be more than commonly assiduous to please him. I found I could manage his business with great ease; and, in short, every day made me more and more pleased with my situation. I felt a great curiosity to see the daughter, but avoided mentioning her, because I observed the subject was shunned by the father, and evidently gave him pain.

One day, when we were conversing as usual, he looked with uncommon earnestness in my face, and asked me if I had parents living.-I replied, that I had lost them both when young; that I did not remember my father, but did my mother perfectly, as I was fourteen when she died.

'Do you know what her maiden name was?'

I replied, No; I had never heard: nor have I, that I know of, a relation in the world.'

I was received by Mr. Winstansley, the gentleman to whom I was recommended by colonel Ambrose, with great politeness; he is a fine old gentleman turned of seventy, very infirm, and totally incapacitated for business. I have,' said he, 'made my fortune in this place, and although I am an Englishman, I hope,' said he,' 'I am not imam determined to end my days here. pertinent; but you will much oblige I have no connection (and he sighed me if you would favour me with as he spoke) but one daughter, who some account of your mother.' is my care, would I could say she was my comfort!'

I was affected with his words and manner: you are to understand I had been with him three weeks, and was become perfectly acquainted. I exVOL. XXXVIII.

I told him my life would be com. prised in a very few words. My mother seemed to be a woman of virtue and good sense. She gave me as good an education as her circumstances would admit of, and often

3

told me that my success in life must
depend on my own exertions, for
that her own support was only an,
annuity for her life; that I had no
relations, unless a brother of hers,
whom she had disobliged by marry-
ing my father, was living. This she
had no reason to think was the case,
it being twenty years since she had
seen or heard any thing of him, nor
did she know to what part of the
world he went. Her eyes were al-
ways filled with tears when she
spoke on this subject. At her death
I was placed in a inerchant's count-
ing-house by the clergyman of the
parish, in which employment I had
supported myself until now, that I
am five-and-twenty. And this, sir,'
continued I, 'is my short history. But,
perhaps it may give you satisfac-
tion to see the picture of my mother,
which I have in my possession, and
will, if you please, produce.

That will be every thing,' he replied, with much agitation; and which made me at once apprehend what doubtless you also have by this time conjectured.-I. produced the picture, but repented my precipitation, for the moment he cast his eyes on it I thought he would have fainted. I caught him in my arms; it was, indeed, my uncle. Oh! Johnson, conceive the feelings of us both words are wanting to express the scene that followed this dis

covery.

I now in my turn became impafient to learn more particulars, which, as soon as he was sufficiently recovered, he gave me in substance as follows:- The history of my father and mother, your grandfather and grandmother, I will not at present relate; it is of no importance. Suffice it to say, your grandfather died when I was twenty, and your mother, only five years old; she was only my half-sister, for my own mother died when was very young. I was bred to no business, but when my father

died found myself in possession of
five hundred a year, out of which I
was by my father's will to pay my
sister one hundred pounds a year
when she came of age, and to main-
tain and educate her until then.
Her mother had been dead two years.
This trust was to me an acceptable
one. I lived on my estate, and su-
perintended the education of my
young sister: I taught her myself all
I knew, and procured masters to in-
struct her in the accomplishments
I was not capable of teaching her
myself. Sensible, amiable in her
temper, and lovely in her person,
she grew up, every thing that could
charm the heart and ensure the af-
fections of all who knew her. I de-
voted myself entirely to her com-
pany, and found that in her absence
I was unhappy.-At the age of
twenty, after refusing several eligible
offers, she selected a young man of
small fortune as her partner for life.
Accustomed to consult me on all
occasions, she did not in this instance
omit it. I had no objection to the
union, but what arose from the
young man's extravagant turn: I
mentioned this to her; but she, like
other young women, trusted to the
power of her charms and example
to reclaim him in this particular.
To shorten my story-it was agreed
on that the marriage should take
place when she came of age, which
now wanted but three months. In
the mean time, I discovered, with in-
expressible concern and surprise, that
another reason lurked in my breast
to make me averse to the intended
marriage. I found that I loved your
mother too well to permit my wish-
ing to see her united to another.
Shocked at the discovery, I exerted
all my fortitude to endeavour to
overcome this unfortunate attach-
ment. I absented myself from her
society, while she, with the innocent
affection of a sister, would reproach
me with neglect and decreased love.