cation was received by this afflicted father and daughter, from the friend whose happiness or misery had so entirely depended upon them; and though they learned from Watson, (the only informant they had left,) that he had quitted Belmont, and that all the house servants had been discharged, yet they saw the long, long year close over their heads without receiving the smallest tidings from Tremaine himself.

What was almost worse, the sinking state of his daughter, exclusive of the pangs it naturally excited, began to be accompanied with reflections cruel and bitter to the good heart of Evelyn: for, firm as he was to the purpose he thought right, particularly when connected with his religious duty, he began to question whether both himself and Georgina had not dealt too hardly by their friend; and, therefore, whether much of the misery, both as to the past and the future, might not have been avoided.

Forgive him, Heaven, for this! forgive him, all the stoics, and all the critics of the world! When he saw the faded, sunken cheek of such a creature as Georgina had been--saw her struggling with a sorrow that seemed only becoming more and more rooted, yet assuming, or rather striving to assume, a smile to please him, which the ghostly paleness of her countenance seemed to convert into mockery-his heart must have been hard indeed, if it had not sometimes suffered itself to be affected by a weakness of this sort,

Heaven knows it bore its own punishment along with it.

A journey to Belmont itself, by Evelyn, in order to ascertain, if possible, whether its master were again really buried there, or what had been his intentions when he quitted it, proved wholly unavailing. Neither could the servants, left there in charge, nor any one in the neighbourhood, nor Dr. Asgill himself, (the sensible physician who had formerly corresponded with Evelyn concerning Tremaine), give the smallest tidings of his steps. That he had been there for a week, during which he had confined himself to the house, and at length had left the place with post-horses, and entirely unattended-was all they could relate, for it was all they had learned; and Evelyn returned home to his drooping girl, to see her droop still more; and though her mind was supported by her piety, her tender frame was evidently shaken by a struggle too violent for its strength.

Once, and once only, a little gleam seemed to open upon their melancholy. In Oxford, that beautiful Athens-where groves, and gardens, and towers, and cathedrals, and consecrated walks by mead or river, are mingled in delight; where contemplation at leisure prunes her wings, philosophy revels, ambition prepares itself for its career, or retreats after being satiated; in short, in that fairy land of genius and

instruction, so full of all interests, whether of elegant taste or learned lore, Evelyn, in very fondness for the nursing mother of his mind, had kept up an occasional correspondence (if so a letter in a twelvemonth could be called), with one or two of its resident members. One of them, a Mr. Davenport, full fifteen months after Tremaine's flight, wrote to Evelyn as follows:

"I think I never mentioned to you your neighbour Squire, Mr. Tremaine, who you once said had so interested and enlivened your old northern hall. Interested he may, but I should think he never could have enlivened it. At least we are all puzzled about him here, considering his station in the world, the busy, hours of his former life, and his former distinction' both public and private. Here, to be as little distinguished as possible, to be buried in the silence of his rooms, immersed in no one knows what studies (for with scarce any one does he converse), in short, to be a College machine, seems to be the changed lot of this once brilliant and conspicuous character. You never told me of his coming, and we are all strangers to him except the President, whom alone he visits, and with whom alone he converses. To us Fellows he is civil enough, but in his civility he is most melancholy. He reads and walks a great deal, but always alone, and the latter chiefly at

night. No evening but sees him for an hour, or pérhaps two, in Addison's Walk, from which he always retires if any one invade him; which I must say no one is disposed to do: for, considering his rank, fortune, connections, and present vacuity, we look upon him as little more than an illustrious mope."

Evelyn almost let fall this letter when it first came to hand. To read this account of his friend, both surprised and distressed him; but to hear of him at all was overpowering, and from such a place most unlooked-for. Yet to hear was a sort of pleasure of itself, though mingled with regret that he should have left them so long without intelligence. It was evident, however, from Mr. Davenport's style, that he had no thought but that Evelyn knew better than himself both the fact of his retreat, and the cause of it.

Two moments sufficed to take his resolution what to do two days to carry it into effect; for it was no longer a time before Evelyn set out for Oxford in search of his unhappy friend.

During the first days of his absence the feelings of Georgina may easily be conceived. The natural buoyancy of her mind permitted it to be somewhat raised from that dull and listless weariness of spirit, which had taken the place of her charming vivacity. Her lovely beauty seemed almost to revive, and a

real rose nearly took place of the hectic on her cheek. She counted the hours to the first post from Oxford, and the seal of her letter was broken in an agony of mingled emotion. Into what did it subside, if it could be said to subside, when she read that the object of her father's search was not to be found; having, he said, withdrawn himself from Oxford the very day after the date of Mr. Davenport's letter. He had by chance seen this letter in Davenport's hands, and was astonished to find, upon questioning him, that he was the Doctor's old acquaintance and occasional correspondent.

Why Tremaine had withdrawn, neither Davenport nor the President of the College, (to the last of whom he had merely signified his intention), could even guess, much less tell.

From the President, however, Evelyn was able, before he took his leave, to procure some few particulars, as to the life and habits of his eccentric friend, during his monastic seclusion: for such it seemed.

"One would have supposed," said the President, "that these had been the cloisters of the Paraclete, or La Trappe, instead of the rational retirement of a studious man; so much did our friend shun the very little society that presented itself to him; and, in regard to the silence, so nearly did he appear to have taken the vows. Had he been as devout as he