denly extinguished, shewed, that the inhabitants were fast seeking their repose.

Suddenly, a low, sweet strain of vocal music stole upon the ear;-it gradually rose, and swelled into full cadence, and a female voice, soft, rich, and powerful, predominated in a slow and solemn tune of sacred melody. Atherton started, and looked round; but his half uttered exclamation of surprise was interrupted by the Captain, who softly approached, motioning him to silence.

'Hush,' said he in a whisper, or we shall disturb the family, who are now at their evening worship; it is the custom, here, to begin and close each day with devotional exercises, in which the singing of a psalm is included.'

'And whose voice is that, so full of sweetness and harmony,' asked Atherton.

'It is Miriam Grey's, the fairest maiden of NewEngland,' replied his friend; but had we not better withdraw? I would not, for the world, be discovered loitering beneath the windows.'

Oh no, not yet, hark!" said Atherton, almost breathless with attention; and again he listened, till the last notes died away; and even then lingered, hoping again to hear the voice, or at least to catch a glimpse of the fair musician: but he waited in vain; all continued silent, and, though a faint light shewed the apartment in which the family was assembled, they were screened from observation by a curtain, which hung against the casement. At that moment, too, a favourite dog, who

pupil, and effectually counteracted his own pernicious example.

Young Atherton was naturally grave and reflective, but cheerful and unreserved in the society of those he loved, and susceptible of a depth and ardour of attachment, which could only be appreciated by those who knew him most intimately. Deeply feeling the indifference of his uncle, whose blind partiality to an only son seemed to exclude every other object of regard from his heart; and with few natural ties to interest his affections, they became almost entirely centered in his sister. Miss Atherton regarded her brother with enthusiastic tenderness; she was gay, innocent, and lovely; and, till her seventeenth year, scarcely experienced a pleasure, of which he was not the source, or participator. But, at that time, Atherton began to watch the progress of a still stronger and more engrossing passion; nor was it without many painful efforts, he could reconcile himself to the idea, that, in future, her heart would be devoted to another, and their pursuits and interests no longer united. But he was destined to receive a deeper and more lasting wound. The week previous to that appointed for her marriage, Miss Atherton was seized with a violent disorder, which brought her to an untimely grave, in the spring-tide of life and beauty, when all around her breathed of love and happiness, and the future seemed strewed with thornless and unfading flowers.

The health and spirits of Atherton sunk under

the withering blow; nor was it, till months of wretchedness had passed away, that a new misfortune aroused the dormant energy of his mind. Sir Robert Fenly died suddenly, leaving his affairs in a state of extreme derangement, and his improvidence and dissipation had not only ruined himself, but induced him to borrow freely from the inheritance of his ward, to support his extravagance, and pay the arrears of the gaming table: and though he probably intended to refund it before his nephew became of age, death surprised him, in the midst of his days, with his plan and schemes unaccomplished, and all that remained of a once noble fortune, was an entailed estate, which descended to his son and heir.

These tidings awoke Atherton from his lethargy of grief; stript at once of independence, and, by the hand which ought to have cherished his interests, he felt the necessity of immediate exertion; and the effort happily diverted his mind from the calamity which had long entirely occupied it. Inclination decided him to embrace the profession of arms, and he obtained an Ensign's commission in a regiment of foot, then quartered in the village of in Lancashire.

Atherton there became acquainted with Eleanor Standish, the heiress of an ancient family, whose hereditary estates were watered by the Douglas; and, deeply touched by the charms of her mind and person, he, for the first time, felt the full extent of his uncle's injustice. It was no longer in his power

to offer her an establishment suitable to her rank and expectations; and, too generous to seek her affections, under circumstances which must involve her in difficulties, he withdrew, in doubt and sadness, from her dangerous society.

The pacific reign of James the first, admitted few opportunities for military distinction; and, eager to engage in active duty, and acquire an honourable rank in his profession, Atherton obtained a furlough, and repaired to Holland, then the scene of contention between the disciples of Calvin and Arminius, each of whose followers had resorted to the sword to decide their controversy.

The intrepid bravery of the young Ensign, united with a prudence and judgment beyond his years, procured him the favour of the Prince of Orange, who distinguished him by his personal regard, and rewarded his services by promoting him to the command of a reigment. But amidst the bustle of a camp, Eleanor Standish retained her influence over his imagination, and occupied his thoughts in every moment of repose; for nearly two years he had been self-banished from her presence, and anxiety respecting her often weighed heavily on his spirits he was, therefore rejoiced, when a suspension of hostilities at length permitted him to retire from the field, and return to his native country.

Colonel Atherton, on arriving in England, proceded directly to Lancashire, impatient of a moment's delay, until he reached the residence of Miss Standish. As he rode through the stately avenue,

and looked wistfully at the mansion, which used to be hospitably thrown open to admit the stranger, he was struck by the gloom and silence that surrounded it, and something like a melancholy foreboding damped the ardour of expectation. He knocked long and loudly at the door, before he could make himself heard, and it was, at last, opened by an old domestic, whose countenance was familiar to him, though changed and sorrowful since the days when he had last seen it. His enquiries respecting the family were minute, but though he had fancied himself prepared for the worst, he was inexpressibly shocked by the intelligence he received.

Eleanor Standish had embraced the tenets of the Puritans, and, with some others of her distinguished house, formally renounced the faith and worship of her ancestors. Her father, incensed at her conduct, and unable to effect a change in her newly adopted opinions, which were fixed by the dictates of conscience, banished her from his presence, and bequeathed his whole estate to a distant branch of the family. But a few months of loneliness, succeeded by a mortal illness, softened his heart towards his only child, and, in his last hours, she was again folded in his embrace, and blessed with his forgiveness. The arguments of the interested and prejudiced, however, had persuaded him, that it would be criminal to leave his fortune, at the disposal of one, who would doubtless appropriate it to the use of a sect, which had already set at defi2*

VOL. I.