A HOUSE in A-, the fashionable watering-place, was hired for ourseminary; and a promise of two or three pupils was obtained tocommence with. I returned to Horton Lodge about the middle ofJuly, leaving my mother to conclude the bargain for the house, toobtain more pupils, to sell off the furniture of our old abode, andto fit out the new one.

We often pity the poor, because they have no leisure to mourn theirdeparted relatives, and necessity obliges them to labour throughtheir severest afflictions: but is not active employment the bestremedy for overwhelming sorrow - the surest antidote for despair?It may be a rough comforter: it may seem hard to be harassed withthe cares of life when we have no relish for its enjoyments; to begoaded to labour when the heart is ready to break, and the vexedspirit implores for rest only to weep in silence: but is notlabour better than the rest we covet? and are not those petty,tormenting cares less hurtful than a continual brooding over thegreat affliction that oppresses us? Besides, we cannot have cares,and anxieties, and toil, without hope - if it be but the hope offulfilling our joyless task, accomplishing some needful project, orescaping some further annoyance. At any rate, I was glad my motherhad so much employment for every faculty of her action-lovingframe. Our kind neighbours lamented that she, once so exalted inwealth and station, should be reduced to such extremity in her timeof sorrow; but I am persuaded that she would have suffered thriceas much had she been left in affluence, with liberty to remain inthat house, the scene of her early happiness and late affliction,and no stern necessity to prevent her from incessantly broodingover and lamenting her bereavement.

I will not dilate upon the feelings with which I left the oldhouse, the well-known garden, the little village church - thendoubly dear to me, because my father, who, for thirty years, hadtaught and prayed within its walls, lay slumbering now beneath itsflags - and the old bare hills, delightful in their verydesolation, with the narrow vales between, smiling in green woodand sparkling water - the house where I was born, the scene of allmy early associations, the place where throughout life my earthlyaffections had been centred; - and left them to return no more!True, I was going back to Horton Lodge, where, amid many evils, onesource of pleasure yet remained: but it was pleasure mingled withexcessive pain; and my stay, alas! was limited to six weeks. Andeven of that precious time, day after day slipped by and I did notsee him: except at church, I never saw him for a fortnight aftermy return. It seemed a long time to me: and, as I was often outwith my rambling pupil, of course hopes would keep rising, anddisappointments would ensue; and then, I would say to my own heart,'Here is a convincing proof - if you would but have the sense tosee it, or the candour to acknowledge it - that he does not carefor you. If he only thought HALF as much about you as you do abouthim, he would have contrived to meet you many times ere this: youmust know that, by consulting your own feelings. Therefore, havedone with this nonsense: you have no ground for hope: dismiss, atonce, these hurtful thoughts and foolish wishes from your mind, andturn to your own duty, and the dull blank life that lies beforeyou. You might have known such happiness was not for you.'

But I saw him at last. He came suddenly upon me as I was crossinga field in returning from a visit to Nancy Brown, which I had takenthe opportunity of paying while Matilda Murray was riding hermatchless mare. He must have heard of the heavy loss I hadsustained: he expressed no sympathy, offered no condolence: butalmost the first words he uttered were, - 'How is your mother?'And this was no matter-of -course question, for I never told himthat I had a mother: he must have learned the fact from others, ifhe knew it at all; and, besides, there was sincere goodwill, andeven deep, touching, unobtrusive sympathy in the tone and manner ofthe inquiry. I thanked him with due civility, and told him she wasas well as could be expected. 'What will she do?' was the nextquestion. Many would have deemed it an impertinent one, and givenan evasive reply; but such an idea never entered my head, and Igave a brief but plain statement of my mother's plans andprospects.

'Then you will leave this place shortly?' said he.

'Yes, in a month.'

He paused a minute, as if in thought. When he spoke again, I hopedit would be to express his concern at my departure; but it was onlyto say, - 'I should think you will be willing enough to go?'

'Yes - for some things,' I replied.

'For SOME things only - I wonder what should make you regret it?'

I was annoyed at this in some degree; because it embarrassed me: Ihad only one reason for regretting it; and that was a profoundsecret, which he had no business to trouble me about.

'Why,' said I - 'why should you suppose that I dislike the place?'

'You told me so yourself,' was the decisive reply. 'You said, atleast, that you could not live contentedly, without a friend; andthat you had no friend here, and no possibility of making one -and, besides, I know you MUST dislike it.'

'But if you remember rightly, I said, or meant to say, I could notlive contentedly without a friend in the world: I was not sounreasonable as to require one always near me. I think I could behappy in a house full of enemies, if - ' but no; that sentence mustnot be continued - I paused, and hastily added, - 'And, besides, wecannot well leave a place where we have lived for two or threeyears, without some feeling of regret.'

'Will you regret to part with Miss Murray, your sole remainingpupil and companion?'

'I dare say I shall in some degree: it was not without sorrow Iparted with her sister.'

'I can imagine that.'

'Well, Miss Matilda is quite as good - better in one respect.'

'What is that?'

'She's honest.'

'And the other is not?'

'I should not call her DIShonest; but it must be confessed she's alittle artful.'

'ARTFUL is she? - I saw she was giddy and vain - and now,' headded, after a pause, 'I can well believe she was artful too; butso excessively so as to assume an aspect of extreme simplicity andunguarded openness. Yes,' continued he, musingly, 'that accountsfor some little things that puzzled me a trifle before.'

After that, he turned the conversation to more general subjects.He did not leave me till we had nearly reached the park-gates: hehad certainly stepped a little out of his way to accompany me sofar, for he now went back and disappeared down Moss Lane, theentrance of which we had passed some time before. Assuredly I didnot regret this circumstance: if sorrow had any place in my heart,it was that he was gone at last - that he was no longer walking bymy side, and that that short interval of delightful intercourse wasat an end. He had not breathed a word of love, or dropped one hintof tenderness or affection, and yet I had been supremely happy. Tobe near him, to hear him talk as he did talk, and to feel that hethought me worthy to be so spoken to - capable of understanding andduly appreciating such discourse - was enough.

'Yes, Edward Weston, I could indeed be happy in a house full ofenemies, if I had but one friend, who truly, deeply, and faithfullyloved me; and if that friend were you - though we might be farapart - seldom to hear from each other, still more seldom to meet -though toil, and trouble, and vexation might surround me, still -it would be too much happiness for me to dream of! Yet who cantell,' said I within myself, as I proceeded up the park, - 'who cantell what this one month may bring forth? I have lived nearlythree-and-twenty years, and I have suffered much, and tasted littlepleasure yet; is it likely my life all through will be so clouded?Is it not possible that God may hear my prayers, disperse thesegloomy shadows, and grant me some beams of heaven's sunshine yet?Will He entirely deny to me those blessings which are so freelygiven to others, who neither ask them nor acknowledge them whenreceived? May I not still hope and trust? I did hope and trustfor a while: but, alas, alas! the time ebbed away: one weekfollowed another, and, excepting one distant glimpse and twotransient meetings - during which scarcely anything was said -while I was walking with Miss Matilda, I saw nothing of him:except, of course, at church.

And now, the last Sunday was come, and the last service. I wasoften on the point of melting into tears during the sermon - thelast I was to hear from him: the best I should hear from anyone, Iwas well assured. It was over - the congregation were departing;and I must follow. I had then seen him, and heard his voice, too,probably for the last time. In the churchyard, Matilda was pouncedupon by the two Misses Green. They had many inquiries to makeabout her sister, and I know not what besides. I only wished theywould have done, that we might hasten back to Horton Lodge: Ilonged to seek the retirement of my own room, or some sequesterednook in the grounds, that I might deliver myself up to my feelings- to weep my last farewell, and lament my false hopes and vaindelusions. Only this once, and then adieu to fruitless dreaming -thenceforth, only sober, solid, sad reality should occupy my mind.But while I thus resolved, a low voice close beside me said - 'Isuppose you are going this week, Miss Grey?' 'Yes,' I replied. Iwas very much startled; and had I been at all hystericallyinclined, I certainly should have committed myself in some waythen. Thank God, I was not.

'Well,' said Mr. Weston, 'I want to bid you good-bye - it is notlikely I shall see you again before you go.'

'Good-bye, Mr. Weston,' I said. Oh, how I struggled to say itcalmly! I gave him my hand. He retained it a few seconds in his.

'It is possible we may meet again,' said he; 'will it be of anyconsequence to you whether we do or not?'

'Yes, I should be very glad to see you again.'

I COULD say no less. He kindly pressed my hand, and went. Now, Iwas happy again - though more inclined to burst into tears thanever. If I had been forced to speak at that moment, a successionof sobs would have inevitably ensued; and as it was, I could notkeep the water out of my eyes. I walked along with Miss Murray,turning aside my face, and neglecting to notice several successiveremarks, till she bawled out that I was either deaf or stupid; andthen (having recovered my self-possession), as one awakened from afit of abstraction, I suddenly looked up and asked what she hadbeen saying.