took her harp, and with exquisite feeling, sang the following words. Even the gifted author of the lines must have discovered new beauties in his composition had he heard her touching expression of them.

"I heard a song, and it softly fell

On my ear like one of other years;

And I felt my heart to its cadence swell,
And its sweetness drew some ling'ring tears.

O! it made me think on many a one

Who listened once with me to the strain,-
Long, long, from all but memory gone,-
The loved, whom I never may see again.

It made me sad, for it told of days

When my hopes were bright and my heart was young;
When my lips were tuned to joy and praise,
And the freshness of life was in my song,

I listened and wept, yet when it had passed,
So strangely was sweetness mixed with pain,
That though my spirit was overcast,

I asked again for that mournful strain."

Teresa ceased singing, and so deep was the interest she had awakened in all her auditors, that, for some time after her voice and the

vibration of her harp-strings had died away, they remained profoundly silent, forgetting to applaud.

Her singing had even excited a magical power over the heart of Sedley, and now, when he heard her lovely voice once more, after so long an interval, and felt the increased mournfulness of its tone--her coldness-her rejection of him, everything was forgotten, and he was hurrying towards her with ardour, when Mr. Orlando Phipps placed himself suddenly before Teresa, preventing the approach of any other person. Sedley fell back, discouraged, and attempted no more to seek a conference with her.

Teresa saw the movement, and her heart beat high with hope and expectation; but when Mr. Orlando Phipps intruded himself on her notice, and she perceived the retreat of Sedley, she experienced a keen and bitter disappointment, which evinced itself in her laconic replies to the incorrigibly tiresome Orlando.

Thus was another opportunity for explanation lost by a trifling accident, and every hour Teresa

expected to hear the announcement of Sedley's departure from Rossfirth.

The next morning a drive was proposed, and as Sir Herbert Sedley's phaeton came round to the door, Mrs. Alexander said,

"I cannot allow you to go alone, Sir Herbert, neither can I allow you to monopolise any of our beaux ;-perhaps, under these circumstances, you can prevail on one of the young ladies to accompany you."

When Mrs. Alexander commenced speaking, Teresa and Charlotte Beverly were standing together, and she glanced at them as she spoke.

Charlotte Beverly was all smiles and delight at the proposition, not doubting but that Sedley would select her as his companion. But Teresa, though it was of all other things what she would have wished, felt an irresistible impulse which induced her to move from where she was standing, and, going to a distant part of the room, to hide her confusion, she pretended to be looking

for a book.

Sedley felt almost indignant at this marked

A

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avoidance of him, and the colour mounted to his temples as he watched her receding figure; but, quickly rallying, he requested Miss Beverly to give him the pleasure of her company, and she complied immediately with ready cheerfulness. Charlotte had noted Teresa's blushes when Mrs. Alexander spoke; she had also observed Sedley's evident disappointment, and had come to the conclusion that some inexplicable feeling actuated them both; but as she had obtained her wish, and was to be his companion during the drive, she resolved to discard all unpleasant reflections from her mind, and make the best use of her time. She flattered herself that she had already made a considerable progress in Sedley's good opinion, and she trusted much to this drive for strengthening her interest in his heart.

She marked not the suppressed sigh which heaved Sedley's breast as he offered her his arm to conduct her to the carriage, neither did she see the lingering look he cast at Teresa as she entered Mrs. Alexander's barouche, escorted by Gilbert Manners.

The party in Mrs. Alexander's carriage consisted of Teresa, Gilbert Manners, and Catherine Brand; Farquhar was gone to London on business connected with his marriage, and was not expected back for a week.

They took a beautiful drive of twelve miles, and came home by the village of N. The alms-houses at N were then the most dreary looking buildings that can possibly be imagined ;—not even a little slip of garden or patch of grass was there to enliven them.

We can well imagine that poor creatures reduced to seek such an abode would shudder at

the prospect. The mind recoils from contemplating the desolation of the old, helpless, childless, penniless poor-with no human being to watch their declining years, or tenderly support their tottering steps;-no affectionate child, proud to maintain them in ease and comfort, and to cause their dim eyes to beam with love and gratitude; no relative or kind friend to contemplate with reverence, and as sacred, their thin gray locks! And these reflections are