without danger; but to the sensitive and inexperienced sisters, they were fraught with peril. Already, their cheerfulness had vanished; the expectation of their new friend's departure hung, like a cloud, upon them. He was but too well calculated to realize the ideas, which their youthful fancies had cherished, of all that was amiable and excellent in man; and, though unconscious of the passion, both were deeply, devotedly, irrevocably attached to one, who, if he should return the affection of either, must doom a faithful and trusting heart to despair. Percy was not a vain man, and he did not even guess the mischief which his protracted sojourn at Riesbach had occasioned. The heir of a noble house, he was too certain that a foreign alliance would be distasteful to his parents, to think of marriage; and, though entertaining tender friendship for each of the baron's fair daughters, his admiration of both was so nicely balanced, that not the slightest preference for one above the other ever arose in his mind. "How would Genevieve enjoy this lovely prospect!" he would say, to Ermance, if, perchance, her sister were absent; and, when alone with Genevieve, if he found one flower more beautiful than the rest, he would lay it aside for Ermance. But, though he was so blind and unconscious, other eyes were open; and idle tongues were busy, in speculating upon the probable consequences of his high favour with two young creatures, who had no mother to warn them against the arts of the libertine sex. Lodowic

Riesbach, the baron's son, a fiery, impetuous young man, returned suddenly to the Odenwold. A day was sufficient to convince him that the peace of one, or both, of his sisters was, irretrievably, wrecked. He questioned the visitor, somewhat roughly, respecting the nature of his intentions. Percy, rather surprised, answered, at first, mildly; but, provoked by the rude soldier's menaces, indignantly refused to give any explanation of his conduct; and, unwilling to disturb the domestic repose of an estimable family, prepared for his immediate departure. He left a grateful and affectionate farewell to his fair friends, in a letter, and took the road to the village.

His path lay through a pine wood, and, in one of the most secluded spots, he found Lodowic. Assailed by gross and irritating language, Percy, for a time, endeavoured to conciliate his enraged companion; his courtesy only excited fresh insult. At last, the word coward smote his ear. He felt that his reluctance to meet the combat had, in some degree, justified the appellation; he seized the offered weapon, and, in a moment, the wild wood rang with the clash of swords. Exasperated beyond all endurance, stung to the very soul, Percy only recovered his self-possession at the instant that his adversary dropped, bleeding, at his feet. He would have given worlds for the recal of the last few minutes, but it was impossible; Lodowic Riesbach lay a corse before him. He called, loudly, for assistance; a few peasants drew near, and, hastily forming

a rude litter, with the boughs of the trees, they raised the body upon their shoulders.

The melancholy procession had not left the wood, ere it was encountered by the bereaved father. It was a fearful spectacle, to see the horror-struck old man gaze upon the stiffening corse of his only son. His white locks stood upright, his limbs shook, and every feature quivered; he wrung his hands in agony, and shrieks burst from his tortured heart. Madness and death seemed struggling in his frame. Again, every muscle was distorted, his fingers were clenched, his glazed eye-balls seemed starting from their sockets. It was the last pang; he staggered, and, falling upon the earth, the wounded spirit fled. But, even more heart-rending was the grief of the orphan sisters. Speechless and aghast, they were stunned by the shock, without being able to comprehend the full extent of their misery. It was their first misfortune, and it overwhelmed them. The author of all their wretchedness dared not offer a single word of consolation. Surrendering himself to the civil authorities, he was detained in confinement, which promised to be of short duration: the threats of Lodowic were sufficient to prove that his antagonist had killed him in self-defence. But such considerations could not bring peace to Percy's mind; life was altogether valueless, in the certainty that he had, irreparably, destroyed the happiness of two innocent beings.

Genevieve and Ermance were aroused from their

mute despair, by the cruel reports which obtained circulation throughout the district. Attacked by slander of the most injurious kind, at the moment when they were suffering an accumulation of evils, they had not fortitude to sustain this new calamity. Stricken to the soul, by the dreadful fate of their father and brother, aggravated, as it was, by the cause,— they were not, entirely, aware of the extent and the hopelessness of their unhappy attachment, until they heard the malicious comments of the neighbourhood. Then it rushed full upon them-they must see the cherished object of their hearts' idolatry no more! Shame and misery would follow their re-union, and what was the world to them! With blighted prospects, ruined hopes, their fair fame tarnished by the breath of calumny, why should they drag forth a miserable existence, when there was a refuge to be found! Alas, these unfortunate sisters possessed not a single friend to soothe their sorrows, and lead them to a better hope. They filled a chalice with the juice of poisonous drugs;-both drank, and died.

Percy Fitzallan, released from his confinement, dejected, and sick at heart, commenced his journey from the Odenwold. Obliged to pass the churchyard, his dream occurred to his mind, and thrilled him with horror. He shut his eyes, but the mental picture was, if possible, more shocking than the reality. He turned a hurried glance to the green sward the grave was full.

EMMA R.

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ.

Q. Flowers, wherefore do ye bloom?
A. We strew thy pathway to the tomb.

Q. Stars, wherefore do ye rise?
A. To light thy spirit to the skies.

Q. Fair moon, why dost thou wane?
A. That I may wax again.

Q. O sun, what makes thy beams so bright? A. The Word that said-" Let there be light."

Q. Time, whither dost thou flee?

A. I travel to eternity.

Q. Eternity, what art thou, say?

A. I was, am, will be ever more, to-day.

Q. Nature, whence sprang thy glorious frame? A. My Maker called me, and I came.

Q. Winds, whence and whither do ye blow? A. Thou must be "born again," to know.