of the dead. In the adjacent village, the parish church raised its lofty spire, and beneath the shade of an ancient yew tree, her valued relics were to be deposited in their confined cell; the spot having been chosen by Amelrosa. Accompanied by Mr. Percival and the elderly woman who was with her, Amelrosa followed her beloved Minette, to that calm habitation where sorrow cannot affect the lacerated bosom of woe, or the wicked afflict the good. Here their persecutions cease. The sad and awful ceremony agonized the gentle and tender heart of the feeling mourner, and when she heard the earth thrown on the coffin of the once gay and blooming Minette, deep sobs burst from her agitated breast, and to support her trembling form she was obliged to recline on the woman who attended.

After the interment, Mr. Percival having made the necessary arrangements, took leave of Amelrosa, and departed for his rectory,

rectory, where his presence was required. Amelrosa remained two days longer at the cottage to recover herself, and then set off on horseback to the nearest town, having previously had her portmanteau conveyed there. As she rode onward, her eye caught a view of the village steeple, and her heart throbbed, while the tears ran down her cheeks, at the remembrance of Minette, who lay reposed in the rustic church-yard. A plain tomb-stone, merely inscribed with her name, age, and when she expired, was to be placed over her grave: and continuing to muse on the untimely fate of her lovely friend, Amelrosa inwardly repeated with enthusiasm, two verses from the dirge in Cymbeline, which involuntarily were presented to her memory, and are so well known and extremely beautiful.

When howling winds and beating rain
In tempest shake thy sylvian cell,
Or 'midst the chace, on ev'ry plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell,

Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Belov'd till life can charm no more,

And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead.

Collins

When she arrived at the inn to which her portmanteau had been conveyed, she had the mortification to learn that the only stage that went from that town was already gone, and was necessitated to hire a postchaise to proceed twenty miles farther; but imagine her grief and astonishment, when she alighted, to find her portmanteau which was fastened in front of the carriage, had disappeared. The postillion said he conjectured it had slid off, from the hostler who had corded it on the chaise, not having properly secured it. Amelrosa desired he would immediately drive back, to try if they could recover it; but notwithstanding they returned the whole of the journey, they were quite unsuccessful, and exhausted with vexation and fatigue, she returned disconsolate to the second inn she

had

had stopped at when she discovered her loss. Seven guineas which fortunately she had in her pocket, were now all the money she possessed; the remainder of her little property and valuables, the gifts of Lady Archdale, that in case of exigence she could have sold, being in the portmanteau; having imprudently in the late confusion of her mind, neglected to remove them into the little box, as she was always accustomed to do, but lately she had kept papers in it; and Lady Archdale's picture was likewise there, and by that means saved. Bitterly she wept this additional affliction, and having relieved her bursting heart, reflected that grieving would not restore her loss, and only injure her health, therefore endeavored to regain composure. Ringing the bell, Amelrosa inquired of the waiter, what stages were going to London, and heard with a small gleam of satisfaction, that one would set off in a few minutes with a single passenger only, and eagerly taking her place, she was immediately conducted to it.

Her

Her companion was a lady who possessed a large share of taciturnity, and suffered her to enjoy uninterruptedly, her own melancholy reflections; and saddened by a free indulgence of them, she arrived in town weak and dispirited. Driving directly to Mr. Melville's and inquiring if he was at home, the servant informed her, he was gone into the country to a gentleman who was exceedingly ill, nor did she know when he would return, as the gentleman intended to keep Mr. Melville with him till he was recovered, and was to make him a handsome compensation for his trouble. A friend of Mr. Melville's, a medical man, attended his patients during his absence, and her mistress, the servant added, was likewise in the country, at a little cottage a few miles out of town, which her master had taken chiefly for the health of their children. Amelrosa had now no alternative but to go to an inn or hotel, and accordingly took up her abode for that night at a very respectable inn where the stage

had