FOR ARLISS'S POCKET MAGAZINE.

-

EUGENIA:

OR,

Virtue's Triumph over Fice.

A NOVEL; IN THE MOST APPROVED STYLE OF NOVEL WRITING. BY THOSE WHO WROTE IT!!!

CHAP. I.

"Love is Heaven, and Heaven is love.”

SO has sung the sweetest, the tenderest of modern poets; he who strung again the harp of the north, so Jong untuned and silent. Too well was the susceptible hosom of the gentle and no less lovely Eugenia convinced of this. It was a fine night in the summer of 17---, the moon shone with more than usual brilliancy, the pretty warblers of the grove had ceased their melody, except perchance was heard the plaintive note of the wakeful nightingale. Along a narrow road wandered slowly homeward the Count de Clair, his bright black eye saw not, at least it marked not, the placid grandeur of the "Queen of Night." Poor Philomela sung her "amorous descant" to an inattentive ear. Onward mechanically moved his youthful and wellshaped limbs; his thoughts were not fixed upon the way, nor upon home, but the enchanting Eugenia. "Oh," said he with a start, at the same instant he fell; he had tumbled over a donkey, which had there taken up its hard bed. The count rose in anger, blood flowed from his "Grecian nose," he put his hand on his sword; it was but a momentary flash. "Sleep on," said he, "sleep on, rough is thy couch, and rugged, but pleasant are thy slumbers; sleep on. Oh, could I do but the same, butHe said no more, but passed by his unintentional enemy with a manly step, and a look of sweet forgiveness. He reached home; in a splendid chamber in the castle of" Ear" he threw him

self on a bed of the softest down; his venerable mother perceived the agitation of her Richard's mind, but she forbore to enquire into the cause. His old and faithful valet marked the blood on his elegant waistcoat: he knew the haughty temper of his lord; he knew it but too well, and he shuddered. "More blood," said he, with a sigh from his heart, for he thought on the valley of"Leave me," said the count, and he never commanded twice. He was alone and thoughtful; a stranger to sleep, the victim of love, and torn by remorse, restless did he lie. He looked at the elegant tapestry with a vacant stare; and "Oh," said he, “Oh, how I do wish it was morning." He started up, for he heard a noise in his chamber--it was the pillow fallen on the floor.

CHAP. II.

encircled by

IN a small cottage in the valley ofstupendous mountains, and embowered by a dark and romantic wood, lived "Edwin of the dale," of parentage obscure, but his breast, like the breast of the gal lant Norval, had been ennobled by the King of Kings." He was known to the world only by his virtues and his sorrows. He had obtained the greatest of human triumphs, he had conquered himself. With a white bason of pure milk, and a wholesome piece of brown bread, Edwin cried not for tea and toast. Excellent young man ! Unsophisticated child of nature and content! Could not thine innocence protect thee from the insults of haughty power? Could not malice and ill-nature spare thee thy frugal fare? His lips, red as the dew-besprinkled "rose of Sharon," just touched the simple bowl, when the hot and headstrong Count de Clair, reeling from his sleepless couch, passed near, and gave it a cruel tip! Adown poor Edwin's clothes flowed his breakfast! A faithful and spotted Newfoundland dog was Edwin's constant friend; alas! the only one he ever knew! "Lob," for that was its name, (it was so called for its sagacity and activity,) Lob, when he saw how harshly his unfortunate master was treated, and the milk spilt upon the ground---licked

it up! Edwin sat him down pensive on the grass, the green grass, interspersed with the fragrant dandelion and the bright and odoriferous daisy. He dwelt not long on his sorrows. With a voice sweetly musical and an air altogether plaintive and interesting, he began singing

"John Gilpin was a citizen," &c.

Eugenia was taking her morning ramble; it chanced she passed that way---she was struck---she stopped--she thought she had never heard any thing half so enchanting. "Is it," said she, involuntarily, "is it a lark? or an angel? or a peacock?" She gazed at Edwin --Edwin gazed at her. “Oh," said the captivated Eugenia, and she put her hand to her heart! “Oh,” said Edwin, and he started from the ground! how unlucky are some accidents!---he split the seam of his breeches! he blushed! Eugenia hastily withdrew!

CHAP. III.

WITH what different sensations do different people often meditate on the same object! Eugenia, Edwin, the Count de Clair, and his attached valet were all thinking on the valley of The Count de Clair remembered it for the bloody deed he had done there on the 5th of November. The hoary Adam had thought on the same night, for he, alas, had been present at the shocking catastrophe, nor had he slept since but he dreamt of murder! Edwin thought on the valley of -✰✰✰✰✰ with, for the first time, a feeling of contempt; he perceived but too keenly what small pretensions the peasant of the dale had for the elegant and accomplished daughter of the rich and powerful Lord Bangabout. Fancy brought her form, her graceful waist, that invi ted the encircling arms, continually before his eyes, Unshackled imagination saw her languid blue eyes, and her yellow shoes; her flaxen hair, and her green ribbons. "Oh," said he, and, with emotion, he thrust his hands--in his pockets! But Edwin, though all unschooled by pedants, and untutored by philosophers,

had learnt to conquer himself: so he sat down on a stone, and began to whistle that pathetic ballad

"Three children sliding on the ice.

Upon a summer's day," &c.

Eugenia, too, thought on the valley of, for there she had left her heart. "Yet," said she, to herself, "I have brought it away with me, if I may judge by its weight, for oh! my heart is heavy!" She sat down on a music stool and wept.

CHAP. IV.

"LADY, you love," said the Count de Clair, to the beautiful Eugenia, at a magnificent entertainment which her father gave. "Yes," said Eugenia, with a blush and a sigh." Nor is the happy object far off," said the count. Eugenia hid her face behind her smart fan; that face which would have laughed to scorn the boasted pencil of a Vandyke. The count began to entertain strong hopes; but Eugenia pointed to thecold beef. The count, (for his haughty temper overcame his politeness-that same haughty temper which had made him shed blood in the valley of -, and kill poor Edwin's-only pig!) the count stamped his foot, and spit in Eugenia's face. "You shall never marry my daughter," said Lord Bangabout, in a rage. "Let her marry me!" said Edwin, who had come dis guised as a fiddler, "Yes," said the father, not minding what he said: but Edwin and Eugenia took it for leave. Thus was virtue triumphant over vice. So well were our youthful couple convinced of that line of the poet's that

"Love is Heaven, and Heaven is love," that in nine month's time they presented the happy Lord Bangabout with two fine little grandsons; a magnificent and expensive fete was given at their christening, when one was named Billy and the other Tommy.

REFLECTIONS, WRITTEN IN A CHURCH YARD.

Concluded from page 282.

WHERE is now that sprightly form which once charmed us by its activity, whose every motion was elegance and gracefulness To what unknown region is fled the lovely lustre of that eye, which we have witnessed beaming with intelligence and pleasure, and thro' which the soul shone in its brightness? It is darkened for ever! It will no more shed abroad it's sweet contagion, or fascinate it's beholders. How silent are the soft notes of that tongue, whose accents have poured balm into the wounded breast, or enlivened by its wit and gaiety the domestic circle, which listened with anxious attention to it's flowing tones! Alas! it will speak no more; it is mute for ever. The ear tho all attention can catch no sound, for the cold hand of death sits heavy upon it, and with his iron sceptre he binds up every faculty.

Again I cast my eyes around on the monuments of death; the trophies he has erected to perpetuate his Couquests. They seem to invite my attention by offer. ing some short sentence for my perusal. I approach and read -They principally inform me of the time at which the inhabitant who rests beneath them entered and quitted this vale of tears, and offer some short panegyric to his memory.

There

The various dates and ages inscribed on them forcibly urge on the attention the utter uncertainty of life. Some descend to the tomb ripe and full of years, whilst others in the bloom of youth, in the pride and prime of life, are cut off in the midst of their days. stands a stone which informs me it's tenant departed this life after arriving at a good old age. The period of his existence had been extended far beyond the date of three score years and ten. He had escaped perils by land and perils by water. Thro' numberless accidents he had arrived in peace at his journey's end; like a shock of corn fully ripe, be was gathered into the harWhilst here, shocking and awful contrast, lies the once beautiful Lucinda, cut off in the bloom of

vest.