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often subsequently arranged to the satisfaction of | found Mingo busily engaged in his garden; the both parties, by some trifling gratuity. strokes of his hoe keeping exact time with the Margaret had often found Mingo a valuable notes of a hymn tune, which was sung with a auxiliary in the various little exigencies which nasal twang that the negroes introduce almost inarise in a Virginia household, where so many variably into their vocal exercises, as they evidentheterogeneous affairs must be attended to, audly think it gives a peculiar unction to sacred music. where, from the very nature of the population, The very woods rang with the words, and Marscattered over immense tracts of land, with vil-garet found that they consisted chiefly of valages, or rather country stores, few and far be- riations ad libitum of "Jerusalem My Happy tween, great fertility of expedient is often ne- Home," describing the glories of the New Jerunessary to preserve the credit and comfort of an salem, according to the singer's own ideas of establishment. In these little difficulties the aid splendor and happiness; and these were someof a clever negro, who enlists himself heartily in times so ludicrous that Margaret smiled as she your service, is invaluable; his habits of inces- listened to them. sant talking, and his curiosity about every thing "Good morning, Mingo," said Margaret, as that does not concern him, enable him to acquire she reached the watlin which enclosed his gara store of odd knowledge, which often comes in den. most opportunely in the hour of need. He knows Your servant, Miss Margaret," said Mingo, always where eggs and fowls can be procured-bowing very low, and standing with his hoe suscan suggest where a dish of fish may be had-pended, as if waiting her commands, with an where the earliest strawberries may be gathered expression of countenance that testified his readiin abundance, and, in short, where every sort of ness to obey them, of whatever nature they might miscellaneous article, which the country cau af- be. ford for twenty miles around, can be procured, "Can you undertake a little journey for me and in the quickest possible manner-for he Mingo? It is just a fancy of my own, and I knows all the shortest lines between any given shall certainly remember you for it: I prefer empoints with as unerring certainty as the best math-ploying you to any one else, because you alematician could do. ways do whatever you set about so well and

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But to return from this digression. Margaret quickly.” prepared a small packet, containing two letters, In this little speech, simple as it seemed, Marone of which was addressed to Charles, acquaint-garet showed her knowledge of the negro charing him with her apprehensions concerning Au- acter, as nothing could have been better adaptgustus Vernon: the other to Virginia, entreating ed to put the strongest springs of their nature her not to suffer herself to be drawn into any sort into motion. The air of secresy thrown over of clandestine intercourse, and setting before her the affair was just the thing to gratify the love of all the evil consequences that would result from concealment which belongs to all their tribe, and such a step, dwelling particularly on the grief which they practice for its own sake when no that it would cause her mother. Her apprehen- purpose is to be effected by it. The prospect of sions and warnings were expressed with so much some indefiuite reward, which is infinitely more earnestness, delicacy and affection, that she was alluring to their imaginations than any definite sure, if Virginia was displeased at the first read-promises of compensation, impressed Mingo with ing of her epistle, a re-perusal would convince the idea that he was conferring a favor, and that her that it was dictated by affection, and the strongest regard for her happiness. Margaret enclosed in the packet, a few articles of dress for Virginia, some garden seed for Aunt Mason, an old book for Charles, which he had expressed a desire should be sent to him by the first opportunity, as she thought, should the expedition be discovered, those articles would appear to explain Mingo's expedition satisfactorily, and she was anxious that no one should suspect its real object.

the offer was rather an exchange of presents, than payment for services. The crowning stroke was the compliment at the close of Margaret's speech to Mingo's expedition and fidelity.

Mingo listened with a broad grin of satisfaction and then said, "Any thing as is in my power to do for the family, Miss Margaret, I am ready and willing to do, but not on account of the pay, Miss Margaret-I aint thinking about that. I aint forgot how kind you was to me in my 'flictions last year, and don't begrudge doing anything you want, as I can do."

After an uneasy night, Margaret arose very early in the morning, and throwing a thick shawl Oh, I know that Mingo; you have never around her to protect her from the freshness of failed to oblige me whenever I asked you to do the air, and to conceal her packet, she set out on any thing. Well, what I want you to do is, to her way to Mingo's cabin, that she might deliver set out as soon as you have had your breakfast the packet herself with secret instructions. She for The Rectory,-the place where my brother

Charles lives, you know; when you get there, by a long colloquy; and having bargained for put this packet into his hands, and when he the eggs, she returned hastily to her own apartthinks you have rested sufficiently, he will send ment to read her letter. She drew a long breath you back. I don't want you to overhurry your-after perusing it, as Charles informed her fully of self. And now, do you think that you can find all that had happened-except that he omitted the way?"

to mention that it was owing to himself that Virginia had determined to return the letter of Augustus Vernon and forbid him to hold auy farther communication with her. Virginia only sent a message, saying that her head ached too much

Mingo smiled at the simplicity of Margaret's question. "Find the way! Bless your soul, Miss Margaret, I could find my way anywhere, let alone to Mas Charles' place. I reckon every body I axed could tell me where Mr. Charles to write, that she was much distressed to hear of Selden, son of Mr. James Selden, as lives at Sherwood, lives. But I aint depending on that no how. I have been at that very house in my young days, when I used to be body-servant to my master as is dead and gone. I can be back by day after to morrow night, if you expects to hear anything pertikler from Mas Charles."

"Oh, no, nothing so very particular. You are not so strong as you were when you were a young man, Mingo. But I hope you will be off now as soon as you can get ready."

"I'll be ready in no time, Miss Margaret-I aint as slow as some niggers, I know."

Margaret perceiving his pride was roused, knew that he would now use all possible dispatch and after saying "Good-bye," turned away and walked quickly homewards.

Two days passed off heavily to Margaret. Though her mind was relieved of all anxiety respecting Mrs. Selden, who was now in a rapid state of convalescence, she could not feel easy until she received some intelligence from Virginia. On the third night after Mingo's departure, Margaret was told by one of the servants, that Mingo had brought some eggs to sell, and wanted to see her. She was amused at Mingo's ruse to preserve the secret character of the embassy, and thought the eggs were a suitable quid pro quo for her packet. He looked carefully around when he saw Margaret approaching, and observing there was no one in sight, drew from the basket a letter, saying in a low tone, "This is from Mas Charles."

Margaret eagerly seized the letter, thrust it into the folds of her dress, and replied in the same tone, "You have made excellent haste, Mingo, and you may be sure I shall not forget your trouble. Does Charles look well? Did you see Virginia and Aunt Mason?"

her mother's indisposition, and begged to be informed immediately should it increase, as in this case they would all set out immediately for Sherwood.

Since her worst apprehensions were removed, Margaret determined to communicate the whole matter to Mrs. Selden the next morning. Mrs. Selden was more exasperated than Margaret had ever seen her, at the dishonorable conduct of Augustus; and she could not help feeling much provocation mingled with pity for Virginia. From the account Charles gave of Virginia's indisposition, she concluded immediately that it was mental rather than bodily; and she conjectured from the circumstance of her returning no answer to Margaret's letter, that she was sunk in the imbecility of despondency, and most probably felt towards her family, as if she was rather the injured, than the injuring party. Notwithstanding Charles's delicate forbearance, his mother divined, from her intimate knowledge of the character of her children, that the manner in which Augustus Vernon's letter had been returned, was the act rather of Charles than Virginia.

After expressing her feelings to Margaret, who listened to her mother's condemnation of Virginia with a deprecating glance, and was about to endeavor to extenuate her conduct, Mrs. Selden said:

"It is in vain, Margaret; indeed it is wrong to disguise the truth from ourselves, or from each other. Virginia has shown in this whole affair a weakness of character, a surrender of reason and principle to ill-regulated feelings and imagination, which, while I chiefly pity and deplore, I also blame. It is true, I feel that I deserve myself part of the blame which Virginia's conduct merits: I ought to have exercised more firmness “Oh, Mas Charles looks monstrous well, and and discrimination in her education. I was partly he treated me like I'd been a gentleman; and led into this error by the contrariety of your charMiss Charlotte too looks very well: she sweet-acters; but I ought to have perceived that the ened my coffee herself, and cut off my dinner inculcation of sound principles of action, the inwith her own hands. I never seed Miss Vir- fluence of example, and general superintendence, ginny-they said she was sick; but not much sick, Kitty told me."

Margaret would have asked many more questions, but she was fearful of exciting suspicion

which had so happy an effect on a strong mind and naturally self-relying character, were quite insufficient to mould one so facile, so liable to take the hue of every object it rested upon, and

so indolent as that of Virginia. The same imag-affair has been mortifying and vexatious enough, inative reading that was healthful to your mind, but every thing will work right at last, I am has been poisonous to hers." sure, and when you remember Virginia's youth

"But one great reason that this sort of read- and inexperience, her imaginative turn of ing has been hurtful to Virginia, does not pro- mind and sensibility, you cannot be much surceed from any fault either of hers or yours, moth-prised, mother, nor blame her severely, for sufferer-I mean her surpassing beauty. It was but ing her feelings to be too much interested in Aunatural that such a looking girl, who heard of her gustus Vernon. It is a delusion that will soon loveliness from every one who looked on her, pass away, and”— should identify herself with the creations of ro- Mrs Selden shook her head. "I am doubly mance. Now, mother, no delusion of vanity mortified, not only at the little self-command could have made me fancy that I was a heroine, Virginia has evinced, but that she should be so and even if my looking-glass had not informed deficient in discernment as to love such a ridicume that I was intended for every-day life, the lous coxcomb as Augustus Vernon. But as you whispered comparisons that I often heard made say, time may bring things right, and I shall enbetween Virginia and myself, would have made deavor to exercise a wiser vigilance over her in me sensible that I could never expect to be the future." lady bright of poet or novelist."

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Virginia's rare personal attractions was one of the very circumstances, which ought to have altered my method of education as it related to her. Besides, I have not endeavored sufficiently to counteract the dreamy, indolent state of mind produced by impatience of intellectual labor, and an overweening fondness for imaginative reverie, by requiring Virginia to take a more active part in performing the common duties of the family. In this, too, my dear child, I have been guilty of a double fault, for I have erred not only towards Virginia, but towards yourself, by allowing you to assume so many little troublesome offices, and perform so many of those irksome, little, unappropriated duties, that arise in the management of a household, and which did not devolve with any peculiar propriety upon you." "Do not blame yourself on my account, mother, for I am sure the mode of treatment you have always adopted towards me has been most kind, most judicious, and there are few things for which I thank you more, among the innumerable things for which I have to thank you, than for assisting me to form active and useful habits."

Mrs. Selden smiled on Margaret with an expression of love which touched the inmost heart of her daughter, as she replied, "You are a genuine advocate, Margaret, yet you cannot excuse me entirely to myself: it is true, I have never erred in intention-at least so I think, towards my children, but this is not sufficient-I should have reflected more deeply on the probable consequences of my actions, and observed more closely. You were always so cheerful, so willing, and so able to assist me in every little exigence, that I almost unconsciously allowed you to take more than your due share of the burdens of life, and by this very fault have increased Virginia's indolence and imbecility."

"Virginia has the best heart in the world, and is easily influenced by those she loves. This

TO MARIE.

Love me dearest, love me Marie,
If thou would'st be happy still,
With the same complete affection,
With the heart, and with the will;
With the trustingness, and power
With the meekness and the strength
Thou didst lavish on my childhood,
But my folly lost at length.

Oh! believe me that the surest
Way to happiness and rest,
Is to keep the feelings changeless,
Which a youthful impulse blest;
So the flowers we used to gather,
So the stars we used to love-
Still shall seem to bloom as kindly,
Still shall brightly gleam above.

Go! forsake thy old companion,—
Go! forget his former worth,
Let the vow preserved in Heaven
Be a slighted thing on earth;

F*****.

When thy new form'd friends fall from thee,
Thou shalt think of these again:
Where will be thy Past to cheer thee,
What will be thy Future then?

Separated-separated

By the Lethe stream of change-
From the garden of our childhood-
There wilt thou no longer range;
In the Present, Marie! hear me,
In the moment of thy woe,
Must thou seek the only solace
Which a faithless heart can know.

Grant thy new found friends be constant,
Grant them all, I pray they be-
They may glitter, and be joyous-
Never sympathize with thee-
Living only in thy Present,
Knowing only what thou art,
Ready playmates in thy pleasure-
Not associates for thy heart.

Never Marie, never dearest,

Be thy life divided thus

So shall earth seem always lovely,
And the stars be kind to us.
Still to be serenely happy,
I repeat the truth again—

Should the Present, Past and Future,
Constitute one perfect chain.

For the joy of life is measured
Not by isolated years;

Hope should lend her eagle vision,
Memory should bring her tears—
One harmonious strain of music,
Thenceforth life would be complete,
Every note suggest the other-
Harsh connected with the sweet.
Love me, Marie! love me ever-
Love me all my love is worth-
Let us worship God together,
And together walk the earth-
Then, when we would reckon, dearest,
How much bliss is in our hearts,
We may add to Past and Present
What the hope of Heaven imparts.

AGLAUS.

CANNIE OF CLARE.

A TALE OF OLD READING.

From the period of its consecration, we find the name of Reading Abbey, occurring frequently in all the histories of the times. Parliaments and councils were holden there; legatees received, traitors executed; kings, queens and princes buried in its holy precincts."-Miss Mitford.

Nothing could have been more imposing than the old Gothic abbey. Its immense arches, supported by massive columns, seemed destined to to stand after the Church had wasted beneath the Reformation: to stand, even though its stupendous fretted tiles echoed the responses of the Liturgy, or the long prayers of the Puritan. It was a grand structure. The most antique form of architecture was represented in its low and heavy doorway, where was carved a bunch of reeds converging and plaiting at the top. So also with its low stained windows; so low, in truth, that they almost touched the old graves downward. These old graves too had now become so numerous, that some had one side of their resting places walled with the stone which formed the basement of the abbey!

This, the righteous Henry had founded nearly forty years before the period of which we are to tell, and had dedicated to St. Mary and St. John. And the pious Abbot, who had the good fortune to be entrusted with the execution of the charter framed for it by the King, took delight

VOL. XVI-15

in performing no part thereof rather than that which provided "that, seeing the Abbot of "Radynge hath no revenues but what are in com"mon with his brethren; therefore, whoever by "devise, consent and canonical election shall be "made Abbott, shall not bestow the alms of the "monastery on his lay kindred or any others, "but reserve them for the entertainment of the "poor and the strangers." So it will be judged that none blessed the upright and kind monks and sisters of the monastery, more than the poor and the strangers, for nowhere were they better attended or provided for.

It was a lovely spring evening near the middle of the twelfth century, as the sun was sinking in the west, when the first scene of our tale may be regarded as introduced, with the sounding of the deep-mouthed bell for Vespers at the abbey. It did not seem to be an ordinary occasion. It clearly was not, as the prayer for the "peaceable arrangement and disposition of all things, between his Highness, the King, and all neighboring States," plainly indicated. An engagement between Henry II. and the Welch was momentarily anticipated.

There was one however, who glided across the long dark aisle unperceived, and now knelt on a cushion far back to the left of the choir, and then buried her face, bathed in tears, in her hands.— Finally however the Evening Hymn to the Virgin swelled out from the choir, as holy incense breathed by angels.

I.

"Mother of God!

Whose melancholy brows and drooping eye,
Tell of the thorny path thy feet have trod,

Oh, look upon us from thy throne on high."

Then the fair girl with a face calm as it was beautiful, arose from her kneeling posture and joined with a sweet clear voice in the beautiful stanzas following.

II.

"By that sweet name

The holiest one our hearts have ever known Mother, sweet Mother! lo, thine aid we claim, Mother, sweet Mother, still watch o'er thine own.

III.

"In the dark hour,

When death o'ershadows with his mighty wing, Oh, be thou near us with thy gentle power,

And to our souls the balm of healing bring."

The shadows of night were now falling around the Convent; and closing her mantle about her, she glided out by the wide, dark vestibule, with the soft step of a fairy, and as unperceived as the departing echo of the music. That girl was Cannie of Clare, the beauty of Reading; and

the recollection that her gray haired sire, Roger, | a challenge for single combat to Essex, "for Earl of Clare, was now with his king in danger "having basely and treacherously dropped the of immediate conflict with a desperate neighbor-"royal banner, and fled from the troops, proving ing province, was what affected her so deeply in "himself a coward unworthy his Highness' comher devotions at the Abbey. "mand." Henry with great indignation and pasMany were there who had wooed the lovely sion repelled the charge, and readily accepted heiress; but the two prominent rivals for her the challenge; and a day was appointed by the hand now, were Henry of Essex, and Robert of King himself when the difference should be setMontford. The latter was the one esteemed tled. most favored by the Earl, who had the most un- To Cannie this was a sad blow, confident as bounded influence with his daughter. Henry, of she was of young Henry's fidelity and courage. Essex, however, was regarded as having surely She had just been joining her sisters at the abbey won the heart of Cannie. And perhaps, when in hymns and thanksgiving for the safe restorashe dropped a scalding tear for her father, in the tion of the King and his nobles; and when she monastery, she breathed a prayer for her lover, heard of the royal mandate, that the two rivals for Henry and Robert were both in the King's should hold single combat at but a short distance troops, showing their loyalty to their sovereign, from Reading,* her heart sunk within her; for and endeavoring to obtain the applause of Rog- she was justly apprehensive that Henry's extreme er, the father of her whose hand they sought. youth could not prevail against the superior exThe apprehensions of the pious orders at Read-perience and skill of Robert de Montford. When ing were by no means unfounded. News quickly the day appointed for the rencontre arrived, she came that Henry had just engaged with a powerful excused herself from being one of the host of force in fierce conflict, and had well nigh been spectators who would be present on the exciting completely overthrown. It was also reported occasion on the plea of indisposition. that in all his ranks, none had been bolder than The combat was a most violent one. Montthe sovereign himself, being ever found in the ford being the challenger commenced the attack thickest portion of the skirmish. Little was with great vigor, and Essex for some length of known of Montford during the fight, save that he time was content to ward off his thrusts. At was seen most of the time near Roger; of Es- length angered by some taunting word from sex it was known, that he fought bravely at the Montford, Essex rose upon his horse and returnright hand of his King. The Welch were des-ed the attack with fearful energy. It now beperate, and superior to their antagonists in num-came a moment of the greatest excitement.bers; for, from the condition of the borders at Montford was pale and his eyes glassy. Essex that time, few had families at home to keep them burned with passion, and now obviously had the from war, and they had now come to like it as advantage of his competitor. Just at this instant well. a word of encouragement to Montford, escaped involuntarily the father of Cannie. At this Henry's heart sank within him. He knew that there was nothing now that he could expect in life but a disappointment of his love, such a life he did not desire. The unhappy youth sprang above his saddle and with one blow, almost severing the left arm of Montford, fell to the ground bleeding from many wounds, and apparently lifeless. Montford at the same moment leaped from his horse to take advantage of the youth's fall; but the King sternly rebuked it as "unworthy," and forbade further harm to him. He ordered that the body which every one believed lifeless, should be buried with all military pomp and honor in Reading Abbey. And thither it was carried, at

All at once the nobles of the King's army grew pale, and seemed discouraged, as it was whispered from one to another amongst them, that Henry II. had fallen! A large portion immediately gave way and took to flight; and even Henry of Essex, who had yielded to none in boldness and valor, seeing the scattered troops, dropped the royal banner, (for he was standardbearer to the King) and left the field fully confident of the King's death, and of the impossibility of maintaining with such impaired numbers, a successful contest.

Destruction now threatened them all. Just at that crisis Roger, Earl of Clare, leaped into the hottest midst, and unfurling the royal banner, exclaimed that a reinforcement was there and the King at its head! This was all that saved the small remnant of the army from an universal butchery,

* "Tradition assigns as the place of this combat a beautiful green island nearly surrounded with willows, in the midst of the Thames, to the east of Caversham bridge. A more beautiful spot could not have been desired for

such a combat. It was in sight of the Abbey, and of the

During the entire latter part of the engagement Robert de Montford was not seen; this however was not inquired into or accounted for. So soon, however, as he returned home, he sent dern house."-Stowe.

which the foundation still remains, surmounted by a moremarkable chapel erected in the centre of the bridge, of

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