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Lionel Seymour was the possessor of an estate adjoining that on which Mr. Ludlow lived. He had been educated partly in England, partly in Germany, and was a young man of considerable talents and information, of amiable dispositions, pleasing manners, and agreeable exterior indeed, generally thought handsome.

The sudden death of his father had recalled him to his native island before he had entirely finished his studies at a German university; and some little difficulty in the arrangement of his affairs had detained him in the West Indies until, unlike the generality of his countrymen, he had lost all wish to leave it-at least, for a permanency. His fortune was good, and his health was good, for he did not disquiet himself by uselessly repining that his lot had been cast in the West Indies, nor in yearnings of the spirit after the beatitude of life in Europe. Albeit a West Indian, he took a lively interest in the happiness and well-being of his and it would have been difficult even for anti-slavery ingenegroes, nuity to have fastened on him the stigma of cruelty. He lived respectable and respected in a country where character is more difficult to preserve than in most other parts of the world, because privacy or concealHe was ment, whether in good deeds or in bad deeds, there is none. what an uncommonly nice young man," and it was a ladies call " young great pity that Helen Ludlow alone was perverse enough to be blind to his merits. Many a damsel was willing to become, at a word, "Mrs. Seymour," and many a mamma set her heart on him for her daughter. But mammas and daughters plotted for him in vain: his thoughts were fixed on Helen Ludlow, and, with the proverbial blindness of love, he sometimes flattered himself that her coldness was but assumed.

Sometimes only, for there were moments when he despaired of succeeding to engage her affections, and when, dejected and unhappy, he would shut himself up for days, avoiding all society, and vainly tasking himself to conquer a passion which solitude was only calculated to increase. Then, restless and wretched, he would rush again into the world, and if Helen but received him with a smile, and gaily bantered him on his love of seclusion, he would deceive himself into the hope that she was relenting towards him, and that her welcome conveyed a warmer feeling than that of mere good will. But Helen cared not for him, she cared for nothing in the island of her birth except her father, for whom she felt all the attachment that can be felt, unaccompanied by respect.

The golden tints of the setting sun were now beginning to fade, and the evening star to shed its clear ray in a long line of light across the sparkling sea. It was that delicious hour, nowhere so much to be enjoyed as in the West Indies, when daylight, not twilight,

Melts beneath the moon away;

it was that time so beautifully described in a charming poem on the West Indies:

Delicious coolness steals upon the land;

The wave, low murmuring, creeps upon the sand;
The air is full of odours, leaf and flower

With winning sweetness greet the evening hour ;

that hour when all nature seems to harmonise; when the serenity of the

air, the gentleness of the refreshing breeze, the purple glow around, lend enchantment to scenes at all times beautiful.

The voice of laughter and of noisy mirth was hushed, and the least imaginative of the party seemed to feel the influence of the hour and the objects around. There was a general wish for music, and Mrs. Temple, having smuggled over her cousin Lionel Seymour's guitar, he was requested to sing. Lionel was an excellent musician, but perhaps he might not have been prevailed on to "show off," as Mr. Fish called it, had not Helen joined warmly in the request. He was about to sing some popular ballad, when Mrs. Temple asked him to indulge them with one of his own compositions, for he was fond of writing verses, and often set them to airs of his own composing. He hesitated for a moment, but could he lose the opportunity of making perhaps a favourable impression on Helen? No; he preluded a few moments, then, leaning against a tree, he sang to one of his own airs the following words:

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Spirit of Love! oh, waft the sigh,

With which thou bid'st my bosom swell,

To her, whose cold, averted eye

Tells she has never known thy spell.
Spirit of Love! at this soft hour-
Thine own sweet hour of witchery-
Subdue her by thy gentle power,
And be that power employed for me!
Spirit! I call thee hither by

Yon star of eve-yon placid moon;
Come from thine airy realms on high,
And grant thine ardent vot'ry's boon!
Whisper to her my soul adores,

That memory cheats her when it tries
To paint all joys left on yon shores
Where the white cliffs of Albion rise.
Tell her that in this sunny isle,

With Nature's lavish beauty clad,
For her might peace and pleasure smile,
Youth's rosy morn once more be glad.

Oh! bid her cast the gloom away
That on her lovely brow I see,
And in thy softest accents pray

For one-but one-bright smile to me!"

Seymour looked with speaking eyes at Helen as he finished his song; and Helen felt confused, overwhelmed. She was touched by the words of his song, by the rich melody of his voice, and by the melancholy of his countenance; but, though touched, she had no "bright smiles" for him. Yet the tear started to her eye, and, rising abruptly, she wandered alone into the narrow walks of the surrounding wilderness.

Seymour hesitated one moment, then handing the guitar to Florence O'Brien, and bespeaking one of her "beautiful Italian ariettes," he left the group to follow Helen along the tangled path she had chosen to

pursue.

The simultaneous disappearance of Helen and her admirer seemed to create no very agreeable reflections in the breast of one individual pre

sent. That individual was a Mr. Thornley, who had been the guest of Mr. Mackenzie for some weeks. Mr. Thornley was an Englishman, who was on a tour through the West India Islands. He had been in the Bahamas, and had brought a letter of introduction to Mr. Mackenzie from a particular friend of his there. A much slighter attestation of his respectability would have been quite sufficient to have secured Mr. Thornley every attention in the island of St. —; indeed, had he come without any introduction at all, his gentlemanly appearance, and his being a stranger, would have recommended him to general hospitality. As it was, Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie carried their guest everywhere, and gave many parties on his account.

This gentleman had seemed much struck with Helen Ludlow, and his society seemed very agreeable to her. The fact of his being an Englishman was a strong recommendation to Helen; he was extremely handsome, which was not against him, and there was something of mystery about him which Helen could not fathom, and which tended to invest him with interest in her eyes.

Thornley became excessively fidgety after the departure of Seymour, and Mrs. Mackenzie, pitying his uneasiness, started up in the midst of one of Florence's most elaborate performances, and loudly proclaimed her intention of seeking the fugitives. Florence, in a pet at the interruption, threw down the guitar, and nobody entreated her to resume it, the party seeming now more inclined to stroll about.

Geraldine Montresor had spent the day very pleasantly; at table she had been placed between Mr. Fanshawe on one side, and a stranger of extremely agreeable manners on the other. This gentleman, Mr. Le Vasseur, held a lucrative office under the government. His family were of French extraction, and had possessed large estates in St. Domingo, from whence, at the destruction of the white inhabitants of that island, Mr. Le Vasseur's father had the good fortune to make his escape. His property in St. Domingo was lost to him, but he had a small plantation in Martinique, and having married a lady belonging to the island of St. —, whose connexions were English, one of his sons, Adolphe Le Vasseur, procured the appointment which he held in that island.

Geraldine had seen Mr. Le Vasseur at two or three balls, but though he had always gazed at her with evident admiration, he was the only man of any standing in society in the room who had not sought an introduction to her. She felt a little piqued at his indifference towards making her acquaintance. She had first observed him at a ball given in honour of her arrival by the bachelors of the island, at which he was present as a guest, not as a subscriber. On that evening, when the gentlemen were crowding round her, Mr. Le Vasseur alone had kept at a distance. His graceful figure had first attracted her attention as he stood leaning against a pillar, gazing intently at herself. Wherever she moved his eye seemed to follow her, and more than once he came so near as to catch the sound of her voice.

He did not dance. She remarked, too, that he spoke to none but married ladies, and of these only the elderly ones. Again she met him at a public ball, and he conducted himself in the same peculiar manner, paying silent homage, but seeking no communication with the object of his apparent admiration. Geraldine had thought a little more about her

distant admirer and his odd behaviour than she would have cared to confess. With the true spirit of a woman, she would rather have made a conquest of him who seemed determined not to be conquered, than have accepted the devoirs of a dozen willing slaves; but at large assemblies she had no chance of making his acquaintance unless he pleased it himself, and at smaller and more select parties, to her surprise, she had never met him.

It was with no small satisfaction, therefore, that she found he made one of Mrs. Orlando Fish's party at the maroon. On this day his indifference towards an introduction seemed to have left him, and he eagerly sought the earliest opportunity of being presénted to her. Geraldine, accustomed as she was to attention, felt much flattered, and exerted herself to be as agreeable as possible. Mr. Le Vasseur seemed enchanted with her; he had eyes or ears for nobody else, and having secured a place by her side, he neither relinquished it during the morning's ramble nor during dinner, and so entirely engrossed her conversation, that she had scarcely time to speak to any one else.

When Mrs. Mackenzie, somewhat rudely, broke up the party, who were doing their duty by Florence O'Brien in solemnly listening to her singing, Le Vasseur was about to secure Geraldine as his partner during the stroll which everybody was preparing to take, but Mr. Fanshawe had "marked her for his own," and coming forward with a sort of glissade, he seized her hand, and drawing her arm through his with a "Permettez-moi," he carried her off with cruel disregard of her evident reluctance to go.

"Mr. Fanshawe," said Mrs. Montresor, with a very gracious air, "do me the favour to show Geraldine the West India strawberry,

The midnight flower

That scorns the eye of vulgar light.

I know she is anxious to see it, and you will find it not very far from this spot."

"West India strawberry!" exclaimed Mr. Fanshawe, arresting his steps; "I did not know-you-a-you-had-a-strawberries in these islands."

"Not such strawberries as you have in England," replied Mrs. Montresor; " we can boast of nothing so good."

"Our West India strawberry is a more dignified-looking plant than your English one; you need not go poking about on the ground in search of it," said Mrs. Mackenzie.

"But, mamma,” remonstrated Geraldine, "you have not deputed the most proper person to show me the night-blooming flower. Mr. Fanshawe, being a stranger, knows the plant no better than myself. We shall be like the blind leading the blind."

"Oh, you cannot mistake it," said Mrs. Montresor; "it is not unlike the prickly pear; and at any rate you will have the amusement of looking for it."

"Prickly pear!" thought the puzzled Fanshawe. can that be ?"

"What the deuce

Mr. Le Vasseur came forward, and was about to speak, probably to offer his services in pointing out the stately flower in question; but Mrs. Montresor, pretending not to observe him, tapped Fanshawe on the

shoulder with her fan, and admonished him and Geraldine to set off at once on their voyage of discovery, for it was getting too late to remain much longer in the open air. Le Vasseur quickly perceived that, however agreeable his company might be to the daughter, it was not agreeable to her mother that she should enjoy it, and he therefore immediately drew back.

"Do you care to see this-a-this-a-stupid strawberry?" demanded Fanshawe of his listless companion, as they walked on according to Mrs. Montresor's bidding.

"Not particularly.'

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"Then, 'pon my soul, I-a-I-a-don't think we need encounter all these horrid bushes," groaned poor Fanshawe, whose ungloved left hand had just come in contact with one of the prickly dry pods of the nickartree.*

"Horrid bushes!" repeated Geraldine, who was a little out of humour at being sacrificed to Mr. Fanshawe. "I think the tropical trees and plants are beautiful. Look at the rich clusters of the sea-side grape,† with its thick broad leaf, and at yon pink cocoa-plum‡-what a delicate colour! yet these grow wild; no art forces them into luxuriance. Stop, let us gather some of these nickars; you have no idea how pretty they are when they are polished."

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Really, I-I-a-can see nothing pretty here, but-a-but your fair self," lisped Mr. Fanshawe, with an insinuating smile.

"I am sorry you have so bad a taste," said Geraldine; "but, seriously, are you pleased with nothing in the West Indies ?"

"Pleased!" ejaculated Fanshawe, with a melancholy look. "It is long-a-long-a-since I have been pleased with anything. Everything about me wearies me-a-sickens me. I wish I could-couldhave no sensations whatever-sleep always." "Indeed! You are very lazily inclined. indifference to everything in England ?"

But did you feel the same

"I am tired of the world," continued the exquisite, without noticing her question" tired of everything-bored by everything. What is life? Ah!" And he fetched a deep sigh.

"Why, you are quite a misanthrope," said Geraldine, who could scarcely refrain from laughing, as she glanced at the unmeaning countenance before her, and bethought her that Fanshawe was repeating, like a parrot, words which he had heard uttered by some more intelligent being.

"To tell you the truth," rejoined he, "I-a-I-a-am blasé with everything quite blasé."

"Every man at all comme il faut is blasé now-a-days," said Mrs. Temple, who, accompanied by Mr. Ludlow, Mr. Mackenzie, and two or three other persons, had approached in time to have the benefit of Fanshawe's last speech. "My dear Geraldine, this is the age of cant."

"I thought cant applied only to affectation or hypocrisy in religious matters," said Geraldine, gladly turning to Mrs. Temple.

"No; it has a much more extensive application. There are religious

* Giulandina Bonducella.

† Coccoloba Uvifera.

Chrysobalanus Icaco.

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