'What!' exclaimed Sophie; but the merchant restrained her surprise.

Whom your master loves, wooes, and whom if Heaven is propitious (he says this doubtingly and humbly), he will wed. For this atrocious insult there is no punishment great enough. Yet, if any attempt be made upon her, you shall at least be chastised to your heart's content. Be satisfied that I do not jest, and remain quiet.'

'We are all armed, Mr. Seyton,' said the merchant; you had better let us depart quietly.'

'She shall not go,' replied Seyton, foaming with rage. Once more, seize upon her, men; seize upon her for your master, Vivian. Till he comes, I will be obeyed at least.'

He is here!' said Vivian, rushing between Sophie and her adversaries he is here: he overlooks you

Look, slaves, I AM VIVIAN, —

and will punish you. your master! Obey me as you value the liberty which every man on my estate shall have, if he deserves it.'

What he says is true. This is, indeed, Mr. Vivian,' said the merchant; and the Syndic corroborated his tale.

All was quiet in an instant. Yet Sophie Halstein still looked overcome.

"What is this?' inquired the merchant: 'you ought to be rejoiced.'

I am,' she replied. But, Mr. Vivian, you have something to forget. Can you forgive me?'

'I cannot,' answered Vivian, unless with the Palm

Groves, (which from this moment is all your own) you take an incumbrance with it.'

And that is?' said Miss Halstein, inquiringly

'It is myself, Sophie,' replied Vivian, tenderly. 'Prithee, be generous: and think what a way I have wandered from home. Take pity on me, and give me shelter with you at the Palm Groves.'

'We will talk of this hereafter,' said Miss Halstein, gently, and dropping her eyes upon the ground.

'What a strange lover he is,' whispered the Syndic to the merchant.

'That is true enough;' answered the other. Yet, I would wager a grosschen that he succeeds. He is a fine, intrepid, persevering young fellow; and such men seldom fail in anything they set their hearts upon.'

The old merchant was a true prophet. For before three months had elapsed, the pretty Sophie became lawful mistress of the heart and household of Vivian. The Reynestein flourished; but the Palm Groves became their home. In the course of time the blacks on their estates emerged from the condition of bondmen; but remained as cultivators, attracted equally by kind treatment, and an equitable share of the profits of their labors.

After all, the greatest pleasure in the world,' said Vivian one day to his wife, 'is conferring pleasure; and perhaps the greatest pleasure which one can confer, is to give Freedom to one's fellow-man.'

1831.

VICISSITUDES IN A LAWYER'S LIFE.

SOME years ago, a friend of mine was called up to London, as being the representative of a person that had lately died intestate. The deceased had been a barrister of some reputation with his class, but in small practice and, not having during his life been very communicative respecting his affairs, it was thought necessary that my friend (who was his cousin and next to kin) should personally superintend the opening of his desk and papers, and endeavor to ascertain the amount of property to which he had become heir. Being myself somewhat of a man of business, although no lawyer, I accompanied him on these occasions, and assisted him on all others with my friendship and advice. After long and careful investigation, however, we could discover nothing in the shape of money, beyond a sum of £120 stock in the Three per Cents., together with a few sovereigns and some loose silver in his chambers. He had evidently lived, from day to day, on what his profession brought him. There was, indeed, an indifferent law library, which we disposed of for forty or fifty pounds, and a few precedents, (of conveyances, bills and answers in

chancery, and such like things,) which we charitably presented to the clerk; but nothing farther worthy of mention, excepting only the manuscript, of which a copy is given below. This was found lying, with other unimportant papers, in the drawer of his table, and having been tied up with red tape, and written on what the lawyers call draft paper, was at first mistaken by us for a matter of business. Just, however, as my friend was handing over the bundle to the clerk, a few letters which were on the back caught my attention, and, on looking closer, I perceived the words, 'Some account of my life.' Being curious in my reading, (for which, however, I have but little time to spare from my business,) I begged the manuscript from my friend, who was delighted at an opportunity of making some return for my exertions. I had no thoughts of rendering the matter public, as will easily be believed; but a literary acquaintance having run his eye over it, recommended me to print it. He offered, moreover, to 'polish it up,' and 'make it fit for the press;' but (though I listened to his recommendation as to publishing) I determined that it should appear in its natural dress, if it appeared at all. I am one of those who think that the feelings of an individual can be best expressed in his own unstudied language. Independently of this, I was desirous of exhibiting to the world what Mr. Coleridge calls a psychological curiosity,' or, in other words, the autobiography of a lawyer, who, after having dwelt in the midst of forms and tautologies for twenty years, had courage to write like a rational being, and to put down his thoughts in common language. The parallel of the dyer's hand'

(which the great poet, Shakspere, adverts to) does not, as it appears to me, hold good upon all occasions. But I will not detain the reader any longer from the counsellor's manuscript. The following is a verbatim copy of it, made by my own hand, and carefully examined with the original:

THE LAWYER'S STORY.

... Had I followed the example of my fathers, I should now be a farmer of thirty acres, on the banks of a little stream that runs into the Somersetshire Avon. My ancestors had vegetated there for the greater part of a couple of centuries; few of them having ever exceeded, during their lives, the limit of twenty miles from the village church, and all of them having been born and buried there. Even I myself should probably have trod the same quiet and confined course, had not a solitary spark of ambition flamed up in my father's heart, and fired him to do honor to the family name. For we descended origi nally from a noble and very ancient stock; and we never forgot it. "The -s were knighted at the Conquest!" This was the sentence that kept the pride and vanity boiling in our bloods. Like the secret hoard of the miser, it cheered us in our poverty: perhaps it also nourished a vague feeling of honor, and saved us from committing unworthy actions; but this is doubtful. We had passed through eight or ten generations since we could boast of unmixed nobility; and ever since that time we had been mingling our blood, marriage after marriage, with the yeoman's and the peasant's. Our wealth had been dissipated, our