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68 •elegantly developed figure, and very beautiful hair, 1 noticed at a first glance; and the same look showed me that her whole style-was un exceptionable, and that her present position indicated great languor or dejection. Her j little boy was pi ay ingather knee, occasional ly addressing mama, and then running to his nurse, as though impatient of his mother s ab straction. She arose on observing the company assem bling for the evening, and calling her child to her, prepared to leave the apartment. An involuntary murmur of admiration followed her, which was not diminished, when on reaching the staircase, she took up the little fellow, who putting his chubby white arms around her neck, and his ringletted head on her shoulder, said repeatedly, as she toiled up the stairs with him, “darling mama I love my darling mama.” In this little scene and its actors, there was something which riveted my attention and in terest, so 1 turned to a friend less strange than myself to the gossip of the house, and in quired who that lovely lady might be. “She is indeed lovely, poor Mrs. Elton,” said the kind hearted lady. “And why that sigh” I questioned, “and why does she awaken your pity?” “Because she is a sad example of the in sufficiency of all the gifts of fortune to give true happiness. During the five or six years you have been absent from New England, she has come upon the stage of life the ob served of all, and the envy of half the world; therefore she has been criticised, censured, slandered, and l truly believe that now in the very springtime of her life, endowed with every gift of fortune, she is dying of a broken heart, loathing the world, which has betrayed her with a Judas-kiss. When 1 first saw her she was not yet married, but the day was al ready fixed which was to see her united to Mr. Elton. She was known to be the heir ess of great wealth, and her beauty, and the fascination of her brilliant conversation and manner, made her the belle of the season. I nevdr saw her but she was in the gayest spir its imaginable, and her irresistible merry laugh or quick repartee, made her to be the life of every circle she entered. But in this mirth, it occasionally struck me, there was something hollow and mocking—a shadow would flit over her face—a bitter word escape her unawares, or the light of happiness would suddenly leave her large eyes; and all these things told me, that there were hidden thoughts and feelings, which were far from accordant with her usual manner. “In May a gay party assembled at Beech wood, the residence of her idolising father, (her mother had been dead, since she was a child,) and there she was married. I heard of the triumphs of her loveliness and wit in the various cities whose fashionable circles she graced like a wandering star, and at the watering places where they tarried fora time. That winter she spent at Boston, and there I again met her. Her health did not allow of her participation in the festivities of the sea son, but her society was much courted. One evening a gay party of intimate friends had assembled in her rooms at the Tremont, when a messenger riding with furious speed through the streets, bore to her a letter from the house keeper at Beech wood—her father was dying! In an hour’s time she was on her way to him, and the noon of the following day found her at his bed. He died and did not recognize her; she, his bis all in life was stung with remorse, that she had reached the death bed too late! “Such agony as was hers, it was terrible to witness. She would not leave his room even when the corpse had been borne out from be fore her, but refusing to be comforted, she shut herself up there, and gave way to the violence of a grief none could comprehend. In that room after a few months she gave birth to the son you saw with her, and then when her health was reestablished, she sud- a®®ifs aie an ih ii tb aa a v denly returned to the world which mourned its brightest star. Her gaiety was now more reckless than ever, but her hours of depres sion were become evident, and all learned to know her, as one who laughed and danced, and sung and jested to forget the throbbings of an unquiet and aching heart. “At length slanders, long in embryo in envi ous hearts, were circulated, and had their usu al effect on the tone of society around her; friends of her own sex grew colder and more formal in their intercourse with her, while those of the other, who had only dared wor ship at a distance the young wife and mother, became familiar and insolent in the expression of their admiration, She saw this change, and after a while learned its cause. Oh ! the effect this knowledge produced upon her ! 1 heard her once, when, roused by her wrongs, she poured forth a torrent of eloquent but very bitter sarcasm on the world’s false heart. I wished then that her slanderers could have listened to her: I believe they would for once have had some perception of the distance be tween their own little souls, and that of the woman they sought to reduce to their level.” The lady paused a moment, for she had become much excited by her own recital, and I asked her, “ where and what was Mr. El ton —you do not mention him in this de tail “ He has not deserved to be mentioned in the same hour with his wife. They are be ings of different spheres, different natures and souls. ‘ They say’ at one time he grew very jealous of her and threatened a divorce. Ido not know the particulars but I do know she is an innocent, but much wronged and heart broken woman.” Long before tbe narrative was concluded I had become convinced that I already well knew its heroine, so I enquired of my friend : “ Was not Mrs. Elton the beautiful Marian Chadwick, and did not her father’s residence once bear another name ? ” “Yes, you are quite right. She was firsl known as “the heiress of Limvood,” which is, you recollect, one of the finest estates in the country : but she wearied of her oft repeated title and pursuaded her father to change the name of bis seat, simply that she might have the gratification of contradicting the asser tion, by saying 4 am no longer heiress of Lin wood.’ ” I had listened to enough; in a few minutes I was pressed to the weary heart of the dear est friend of my childhood, while she was sobbing out her joy at meeting me, and the whole burthen of her sick heart. She told me, when she had became more composed, that her husband was absent, on an excursion to the White Mountains, and would remain with her but a day or two onhis'return, when he would be off for Nahant, whose greater gaiety would enable his summer to pass more swiftly. She had decided not to accompany him, but to retire to Beechwood for the re mainder of the season. I imparted to her my plans for the summer and begged her to come and rest in my quiet home. To this she gladly acceded, and in a week’s time George Elton had given his con sent to a plan which left him at liberty to pursue his course of pleasure, and my friend and her sweet child were installed in the pleasantest rooms my cottage could boast. There she gradually recovered somewhat of her old cheerfulness, and one day when the conversation had taken a turn which carried us back to our girlhood, Marian gave me a sketch of her life since we had parted, merry hearted girls of twelve and thirteen. She recalled to me many incidents of her school days, related previously in her letters, and then w r ent on to say: “My health became so delicate in the summer of 183 —, that my teachers decided I had better not return to school for a few months. My fond father, desirous of bestow ing every advantage upon me, established me at Portsmouth for the rest of the year, where although I continued to take lessons in riding, music, dancing, &c., 1 came to be considered quite a young lady, and my reputation for wealth having gone abroad 1 was much sought by both ladies and gentlemen. In the course of the winter I became acquainted with Henry Pickens whom I then truly loved, little dreaming he was to be the evil genius of my after life. I think at that time he was worthy of mv love; he has changed greatly since, for then he professed to be governed by prin ciples which were good and noble however weak they showed themselves when severely tested. The only thing which annoyed me were his jests at religion and sometimes his openly expressed contempt for it ; but I could not blame him very much for this, for then 1 was quite ignorent myself of its power and efficacy. Like myself Henry had been motherless from infancy, and his father was as rreligious as it was possible for a man to be, and not forfeit entirely his claim to the title of gentleman. Several other suitors came forward that winter, and. when on the follow 7 - in<r season I returned to Portsmouth a finished young lady, I was readily hailed one of the belles of the aristocratic circles there. I w*as betrothed to Henry before the winter was half gone and we were to be married in May. Meanwhile George Elton had appeared among us, a star of the first magnitude, a “goodfellow” among the gentlemen, and “an Adonis, and a rich one” too, in the eyes of the mammas and their daughters. He was one of a large firm in New York, accustomed to the best society and the eclat of superior fashion followed him. He singled me out as the most eligible young lady in the town and Henry was soon terribly annoyed by the en couragement he fancied I gave him. It was more mischief than coquetry which induced me to act as I did, though, Heaven knows, I dreamed not of the result. “ Henry Pickens was a lieutenant in the na vy, but being possessed of a large property, he had decided to relinquish his profession when he married. He had not yet announced this determination when he was suddenly summoned to join his ship. There had been a slight pique between us the night before, in reference to Elton, and when on calling that morning to inform me of the order he had re ceived, and of his proposed withdrawal, he found I had gone into the country to spend the day with Elton’s aunt, and that that gentleman was my escort, the feelings of the evening revived. He, scrawling on a card a few hurried words of reproach revealing clear ly the bitterness of his heart, proceeded to join his ship, and when he returned from his cruise after an absence of two years he found me the wife of his rival. “ Do not despise me when I tell you I have never loved George Elton with a hundredth part of the intensity a husband might claim from my heart; he could not awaken such love nor could he appreciate, or reciprocate it.— You, who have grown up into womanhood, shielded from all temptation to coquetry by a pure affection which grew with your growth, and who, since your marriage have dwelt in an atmosphere of devoted love, apart from the follies of fashionable life, can have little sympathy, I know, with my wayward course. I. was differently trained. I was not like yourself educated in heart and soul, though I professed to be. I was not fitted for useful ness in any sense of the word, neither to be happy myself nor to make others so. My vocation was to shine, to dazzle and attract admiration, not love. Do not interrupt me, I must finish my recital now; I shall never have courage to allude to it again. “And now 1 must tell you what my husband is : then, as still a good natured fellow, very vain of his person, and showy manners, quite au fait in the conventionalities of polished society, indulgent when I do not interfere with his comfort in any way, and without as much heart and soul in his handsome person as I hope the baby form of my little Charlie holds. I saw at a glance that he was my inferior, and that I never could love as a husband, a man whom 1 could not respect. The error of my life lay in becoming his wife, in promising before God to love and honor him. How fearfully has the soul within me which I then wronged avenged itself on me, in the total wreck of my earthly happiness, and in its own degradation and Joss of vitali ty- “ My father alone discerned the truth and warned me of my fault; but I had my own way as I have always done, and I did not awaken to a sense of my great sin against truth and love, and my own soul, until I looked on the lifeless body’ of him, whose warning then sounded in my ears like the knell of life and happiness—the prophecy of my destiny. At this time I ceased writing to you —for months I had not dcared to unbosom myself to you, to tear away the veil I had drawn over my heart, and when I had done so, I could not in the intensity of my self contempt, write the truth which continually sprung up before me when I contrasted our different destinies. “ With the birth of child came better thoughts. I stiffed my bitterness, or rather I extinguished it for that time with the sweet waters of a mother’s love, and I learned to re gard more tenderly the father of my boy : in deed he never knew my feelings towards him, nor has he mind enough to become sensible of the distance which will ever divide his soul and mine. I believe I have passed in the world for a happy wife, generally* speak ing, at least until tbe one dark cloud rested visibly over my fair fame. “ How calmly I can speak now, of the agony I p&ssed through during those months of doubt and suspicion which followed Henry Pick en’s return. Had he not come, all would have gone well, I should have grow*n les& sensitive, and gradually should have sunk to the level of those about me. I met him again in the very room where I had parted from him, his bethrothed. I hushed my* heart when I saw him approaching me, and greeted him in an unembarrassed and friendly manner. He was evidently surprised at this, but soon took up his part, and in the most skillful manner of attack ; by* playing with my* child, and the most entirely respectful attention to myself I was thrown off my guard, He took advantage of my increasing friendliness to un veil to me the sin lurking in hisheart. Good Heavens! how the revelation startled me, how my eyes were opened to his true character! how 1 loathed where I had loved, how indig nently I spurned his proffered heart and pro tection’ Now’ I found I had been for some time the victim of his boastful falsehoods, and where he could, he bad blighted the good name 1 bore. \ou have heard of George's jealousy; his first impulse was to challenge Pickens; they met and were both slightly wounded, and then regardless of his wound George started off to 8., to consult about a divorce. are wonderingat the calm manner in w’hich I tell this—l was even calmer then . I followed my husband to the city nor did 1 rest tilj 1 had proved to him my innocence, wringing the avowal from the lips of Pickens as I bent over his sick bed. All this I did for my boy. He shall never bear the brand of a mother’s .shame. George was most re morseful ; his heart was really touched, and I believe he loves me now more than ever be fore. And I—l have forced him to believe me innocent—l have made the lying world take back its slanders, and now command it* respect as in happier days its admiration. — Even Henry Pickens shrinks from the public condemnation he has drawn down upon him self. I have tried to be a good wife to George who now even treats me most kindly, and you know I am a devoted mother to my dar ling —but dear friend, lam dying? Do not look so incredulous: see my* attenua ted figure which I have learned so well to die-