( 433 ) 



A TRUE STORY. 



FROM reason and observation we are led to infer that every creature 

 has its share of joy, and is no less certain than his fellow of under- 

 going his allotted portion of sorrow. Such at least is the universal 

 opinion, and it cannot be denied that in hours of the most placid ease 

 or extatic enjoyment, we are not unfrequently awakened from our 

 dream of happiness to the recollection of misfortunes which belong to 

 human nature, and I believe that the cloud which then overshadows 

 our spirit derives as much of its darkness from our sympathy with the 

 woes of others, as from that more selfish feeling which would lead 

 us to pay exclusive regard to our own destiny in the checquered 

 mazes of life. 



I believe that I may say of those who have themselves felt the mi- 

 series known to others by mere description, that their dispositions are 

 softened by misfortune, and that they are rendered more compassionate 

 by the sense of suffering which they have themselves endured. To 

 use the metaphor of an eastern poet, " the sandal tree sheds its per- 

 fume on the axe that wounds it." To these I dedicate my tale. 



The story I am about to relate is one which aroused in my own 

 bosom feelings of the deepest pity and commiseration, and although 

 its catalogue of miseries is not relieved by any pleasurable incidents, 

 as we most of us derive a melancholy gratification from hearing of 

 the griefs of our fellow-men, I am not aware that any excuse is 

 needed for the unvarying gloom in which its details are shrouded. 



In one of those beautiful towns which dot the southern coast of our 

 island, I made some stay in the course of a tour through the western 

 counties of England. It was here that I saw the heroine of my story 

 at one of the annual balls which attract all the fair denizens of the 

 neighbourhood. Adela Mowbray was then in her eighteenth year, 

 her stature was of that middle height which exquisite art has chosen 

 for its beau ideal of feminine beauty, her dark blue eyes were fringed 

 with long and silken eye-lashes, her glossy hair, which vied in black- 

 ness with the plumage of the raven, fell in thickly clustered ringlets 

 upon her shoulders ; the polished forehead, the Grecian mouth, bor- 

 dered as it was with lips of the purest vermillion, added to the exqui- 

 site symmetry which was displayed in the formation of her limbs, 

 were such that having once looked upon their beauty it was not with- 

 out difficulty that the eyes were withdrawn from their gazing. But 

 as she was the most lovely of the many beautiful forms which graced 

 that assembly, so also it was easy to perceive that she was the least 

 happy. Her manner was not without cheerfulness, but it appeared 

 to be the result of a painful effort, and the hectic spot that flushed 

 her pale cheek seemed to tell that an inward melancholy, *' passing 

 show," had taken possession of her heart, and that as the soul was 

 crushed by the weight of sorrow, so the body was soon to follow in 

 the race of destruction. Her appearance, in good sooth, did not be- 

 lie her situation, for death had already laid his icy hand upon her. 

 There was something so uncommon and interesting in the pensive 

 gaiety, if I may use such an expression, of this angelic creature, that 



