Written for the Casket.

REMORSE-A Tale.

One single moment of deliberate thought
And cloudless reason, would have spared me all
This guilt-this agony.-At. Souvenir.

pair of coarse, half-worn shoes; and a torn, faded shawl was all that protected her head and shoulders from the freezing rain.

She stood a moment as if to recover herself; then, with a broad Irish accent, inquired, if I 66 was the doctor himself, that lived here?"

Yes," she replied," it is, and your honour's kindness encourages me to ax you, would be so kind as to come an' see a sick young man at my house."

There is probably no situation in life so im- I replied in the affirmative, and handing her portant as that in which the physician is placed, a chair, desired to know in what I could assist or no profession, the duties of which are so pain- her. She sat down without speaking, and it ful to the feeling, sensitive mind. To linger was evident that she wished to ask some favour, near the bed of sickness, to stand as it were be- but was deterred either from modesty, or fear of tween the living and the dead, to meet the fell a refusal. “This is a wet, disagreeable evendestroyer in his most formidable shape, and ing," said I, at length, breaking a silence which wrest from his remorseless fangs the writhing, had become quite embarassing, "and must be helpless victim-to hear the convulsive sob, the very terrible to those poor creatures who are deagonising shriek of some near and dear friend-prived of fire and shelter." to listen to the feeble cries of a crowd of helpless children, who are soon to be abroad on the unfeeling world, needy and distressed orphans-is painful and trying indeed. But when the mandate from on high has gone forth-when all the various resources of the practitioner fail, and death is about to raise the shout of victory-to listen to the last words, the dying confession of the patient-to hear a recital of some horrid crime which had lain concealed for years in the breast of the perpetrator-is by far the most painful duty which falls to our lot. True, instances of this kind are rare; but that they sometimes do occur is indisputable, as the following plain narrative will show; and although it forms an imperfect story, it may interest those whose tastes are yet unperverted by the feverish, aggerated tone of modern fiction.

"Is he your son?" I inquired.

"No, sir: he's a perfect stranger to me, as I may say, thof he's been with me these four weeks, come next Tuesday. Poor boy!" continued she, sighing, "I think he's seed better times, an' sometimes he seems out of his head, for he'll lay there an' rave an' talk for hours an' hours tegether, thof I tries all what I can to comfort him; an' says I to him, says I, don't take this so hard, who knows but you'll soon be well, and see better times? But it does no good, at all, at all; he only shakes his head, an' looks so pitiex-ful, yer honour, that its enough to break one's heart; an' so, to-night he called me to him, an' says he, my kind Mrs. Miles-that's my name, yer honour-says he, you have been very good to me, but I must soon die. I am sorry that I can't pay you for your trouble, says he, but God will reward you for the care you have taken of the poor stranger; an' to be sure, yer honour, he looked so pale and bad, that as soon as I could call in a couple of neighbour women, I started off, through all the rain, unknowns to him, to see if I could get nothing to help him."

It was on the afternoon of a stormy day in November, 182-, that I was called to visit a patient, who resided in the country some six or eight miles distant. Owing to the disagreeableness of the weather, and the condition of the roads, which were almost impassable, the shade of night had closed round me sometime ere I reached home. Wet and chilled by the driving sleet, I soon divested myself of my overcoat, and seated before a cheerful fire, sunk into that agreeable lethargic state which every person, in a similar Moved by her simple story, I rose, and after situation, has experienced. There is something a few professional inquiries, observed, "that also pleasant in feeling assured of our own com- though the weather was not so pleasant as I fort and safety, while all around is drear and could wish, yet, as the case was probably urdangerous, that we involuntarily shudder at the gent, I would accompany her." And furnishing idea of a change of situation; and as I sat listen-myself with such medicines as I judged necesing to the wind howling fitfully along, and sweep- sary, I resumed my overcoat, and sallied out ing through the aged trees, which threw their with my conductress. gnarled branches fantastically over the roof, and heard the rain patter at times violently against the window, and again sweep with a regular lulling sound along the street, my thoughts naturally wandered abroad on the situation of the many thousands of my fellow creatures who were deprived perhaps of the smallest share of the blessings which I so profusely enjoyed. While musing in this manner, the door of my room suddenly opened, and a tall, middle-aged female entered; her manner evincing the utmost haste, blended with a fear of censure for her boldness. She was poorly clad; her frock, which, when new, might have been called "linsey woolsey," was so coloured by time and chequered with frequent patching, that it would have been a difficult matter to define either its present colour or composition; her feet were cased in a

The storm still raged with unabated violence, and the wind rushed in our faces with a force which was difficult and even dangerous to encounter. After walking along street, my guide turned into an alley, in an obscure part of the city; where the reckless bursts of laughter and horrid imprecations, which proceeded from the numerous tipling houses on either side, formed a dreadful contrast with the fearful rage of the elements without.

At length we reached an old, large, dilapidated building, which, unlike all others in the neighbourhood, was quiet and apparently uninhabited. My guide stopped, and said in a low tone, "this is the place;" and pointing to a scarcely visible light, which gleamed through an upper window, there he lays; follow me, if you please, sir. There, doctor, mind that step;

REMORSE.

so, now give me your hand; here's the stairswalk up, if you please, sir."

Ascending a ruined, creaking staircase, she knocked softly at a door, which was opened by some person inside, and we entered a large gloomy apartment. An old fashioned walnut table stood on the opposite side of the room, on which was placed a small taper, whose pale flame, waved to and fro by the wind which found admission through the patched windows, served only to increase the dreariness of the scene. A small, cracked looking glass, suspended over a • piece of coloured paper; a few prints stained with smoke, and four or five rickety chairs, completed the inventory of moveables. The bed on which the patient lay, stood at the farther end of the room; towards which I immediately advanced, and saw a young man, apparently twenty-four years of age, whose emaciated form and pale, sunken cheek, told, in a language but too intelligible, that he was not destined to continue long in this sphere. He was aleep, but his rest was heavy and disturbed; his pulse beat faintly, and his respiration was short and hurried. Unwilling to disturb him, I turned towards a fire of wet, rotten wood, before which sate two women, conversing with my conductress, in stifled whispers, as if fearful of disturbing the solemn silence which reigned within.

"How long has he been asleep?" I inquired. "About half an hour," was the brief answer. "Will yer honour take a seat," continued my guide, an' warm yourself; this is but a poor place for yer honour to visit, but"

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him; endowed by nature with a pleasing exterior, and a mind which was liberally cultivated and improved, he lived the idol of his acquaintances-the pride and glory of his native village. True, he had his faults; in the social circle he could give and receive a jest, but his ardent soul took fire at the least wilful insult, and nothing but an apology, as public as the offence, could satisfy his roused spirit. But with all his faults, he was a noble youth; even in the dawn of life his exuberant mind exhibited samples of a genius, which, if properly directed, would have led to honour and prosperity. "He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow," Laving lost her affectionate husband before the young Henry was capable of appreciating his worth. She turned her whole attention to the welfare of this lovely pledge of their mutual affections. Intending to devote herself entirely to this delightful task, soon after her husband's death, she removed to a sinall, beautifully situated country seat, about a mile from our village, where she determined to spare no expense to render him capable of performing the duties of the station in life to which he belonged. As he grew up his mind expanded, and his delighted parent saw with pleasure her toil and trouble amply repaid. It was her wish to devote him to the science of medicine; and accordingly, at the age of seventeen, he left home for the first time to attend the lectures in P. Our parting scene is fresh in my mind, nor can ages obliterate the remembrance of it.

Having myself experienced the difficulties and Her speech was interrupted by a deep groan danger which he must necessarily encounter in from the patient. Hastily flinging off my coat, I his new situation, I felt an anxiety for his welrushed to the bed, and beheld a sight which, fare which I could not conceal; and with an though accustomed to scenes of horror, never earnestness which a sense of his danger inspircan be erased from my memory. His cheeked, I cautioned him to guard well against the was no longer pale, but feverish and animated; and he half raised himself in the bed, exclaiming, in a voice which thrilled through me, "Ha! how bloody! away-away! there, (pointing,) there! do you see him? See-see how the blood flows! Oh, God!"

insidious vices of the city. O! he was too young, too pure and innocent, to enter on the busy stage of life. His mind, like the tender exotic, was too fair to live in the vitiated atmosphere of the metropolis, without contamination. I can, even now, see him as he stood on the morning of his departure, about to enter the vehicle which was to bear him away from the delightful scenes of youthful happiness; and can feel the warm presure of his hand, as he uttered the word farewell. We parted in sorrow-such as friends feel when the strong links of affection are torn asunder. And we met-oh! would to God 1 had been spared that meeting. But there were other ties, dearer than those of friendship, which bound him to his home, and rendered his parting from it more painful; there was one whose name mingled in his daily orisons to heaven-one whose graceful form seemed fair as the offspring of another sphere. But she, too, was mortal. When I beheld her last, she was in the bloom of youth and beauty, surrounded by an admiring circle of friends; and believing that she died lamented by all her acquaintances, I almost envied her lot: but I was ignorant of the cause-I knew nothing of what led to the catastrophe. She fell another victim to the perfidy of our sex. Peace to her remains! The sun never shone on a fairer or more unfortunate being.

His voice grew weaker and weaker, and he sunk down in a swoon. Proper restoratives were applied, and in a short time he revived. On raising his head, I discovered a miniature suspended from his neck, which I endeavoured to examine; but he repulsed me, murmuring faintly," No, don't! dont! my life sooner!" His probibition came too late, I had one glimpse, and that was sufficient." Turning an eye of scrutiny on the patient, I was obliged to relinquish my hold, and lean on the bed for support. Oh, who can imagine my feelings when I discovered in that picture the lineaments of one whom I had been taught to love and reverence even as a mother, and in the countenance of the sufferer features of one with whom I had passed many a happy hour, in early life. My God!" I mentally exclaimed, "can it be possible?" I looked again, long and anxiously. There was no delusion; it was indeed the wreck of my long lost friend-'twas all that remained of the gay, accomplished Henry H—. No one ever entered on the stage of public life with prospects more fair and auspicious than he. A warm, honour- Ellen W was the only child of a respectable friend, he was beloved by all who knewable merchant in P, who, by a series of