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Ar length the wedding day arrived, and Teresa Cellini became Lady St. John. different was her appearance on this important day from that which should have been presented by a happy bride.

The soft blonde which shaded her face was scarce whiter than the cheeks; her eye was not

sad, but calm, and her voice steady and audible. Sir Edward St. John felt, with rage and mortification, that he had gained a bride, but not a heart. It had been arranged, that immediately after their marriage, they should visit the scenes of Antonio's youth, and Teresa had stipulated that she should never be parted from her beloved father.

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She longed for the country, and its freedomand its pure air. She thought, with tears, of her childhood's home- how much she had enjoyed when there, sallying forth morning's ramble, and exploring some beautiful lane, or through lovely meadows, planted with groups of fine old trees, and dotted with cattle grazing, or quietly gazing at her as she passed them. And then the pretty rustic stiles, and, perhaps, some mansion in the distance two or three hundred years old, with its ivied towers peeping above the embowering woods, and its usual accompaniment, a modest village church rearing its taper spire. Sometimes, also, one of those romantic old mills one so often sees in

England and Wales, and the pretty stream, and the miller's delightful-looking cottage, the garden stored with dahlias and marigolds, and all gay, sweet-smelling flowers.

Such an abode gives one the most perfect idea of peace and contentment; yet, alas! man brings his evil passions even into such scenes, and proves that in his own bosom he carries about the means of happiness, at least peace, or the elements of misery! Then how delicious had she found the fresh morning air, when crossing a heath or breasting a hill, and above all, when rambling or sitting on the sea-shore.

Teresa had become really attached to Mrs. Bently, and the secret grief which evidently weighed upon Jessy's heart had excited her sincerest sympathy. She was far from guessing its real origin, and forebore hinting at it, since her friend appeared so anxious to veil it from observation

Jessy, on her part, grieved bitterly at this parting. She had felt her sorrows soothed by the gentle kindness of Teresa, and her nature

ameliorated and softened by the contemplation of her pure and noble mind. When she embraced Teresa for the last time, and witnessed her departure, she felt as though her good angel were deserting her, and turned away from the sight of the retreating carriage with gloomy forebodings.

In the society of her high-minded friend, Jessy had, at times, felt the delight of virtuous sentiments, and had fancied she might find strength to subdue her unhappy attachment; but now, her love for Sedley returned with double force, and away from Teresa, she was again the tempest-tossed, restless Jessy.

Sir Edward St. John soon began to evince his sense of Teresa's indifference towards him, and she found, with dismay, that she had united herself for life with a man of revengeful and implacable temper, and who excelled in the art of ingeniously tormenting. She felt that earthly joy was not for her, and that life offered but a dreary prospect of duties and cares unrelieved by the companionship of a well-beloved

one. But then she thought of a time when, in a brighter world, she would be rewarded for the fulfilment of those cheerless duties, and the sweet hope of eternal happiness enabled her to dispense with the transitory bliss of earth. She bowed her head meekly, and said with heartfelt resignation, "Lord, thy will be done!"

Teresa found a soothing charm in the varied and glowing beauties which greeted her eye on all sides as they travelled leisurely on.

On the banks of the Arno she felt the sweet spirit of poetry stir in her soul, and her father's quenched flame rekindled in her bosom. With mingled awe and delight she ascended the mighty Apennines, and from their heights gazed on scenes of unspeakable loveliness. The Val D'Arno, the hills clothed with rich verdure, the classical villas, the roaring torrents, the cragged rocks, and the deep blue, cloudless sky, elevated her feelings to rapture. In such moments of excitement the yearning after happiness, even in this fair world, was strong within her; and the contrast between the "might have been," and