THE arrival of Lord Lindore brought a influx of visitors to Beech Park; and in the unceasing round of amusement that went on Mary found herself completely overlooked.  She therefore gladly took advantage of her insignificance to pay frequent visits to Mrs. Lennox, and easily prevailed with Lady Juliana to allow her to spend a week there occasionally.  In this way the acquaintance soon ripened into the warmest affection on both sides.  The day seemed doubly dark to Mrs. Lennox that was not brightened by Mary’s presence; and Mary felt all the drooping energies of her heart revive in the delight of administering to the happiness of another.

Mrs. Lennox was one of those gentle amiable beings, who engage our affections far more powerfully than many possessed of higher attributes.  Her understanding was not strong—­neither had it been highly cultivated, according to the ideas of the present time; but she had a benevolence of heart and a guileless simplicity of thought that shamed the pride of wit and pomp of learning.  Bereft of all external enjoyments, and destitute of great mental resources, it was retrospection and futurity that gilded the dark evening of her days, and shed their light on the dreary realities of life.  She loved to recall the remembrance of her children—­to tell of their infant beauties, their growing virtues—­and to retrace scenes of past felicity which memory loves to treasure in the heart.

“Oh! none but a mother can tell,” she would exclaim, “the bitterness of those tears which fall from a mother’s eyes.  All other sorrows seem natural, but—­God forgive me!—­surely it is not natural that the old should weep for the young.  Oh! when I saw myself surrounded by my children, little did I think that death was so soon to seal their eyes!  Sorrow mine! and yet me thinks I would rather have suffered all than have stood in the world a lonely being.  Yes, my children revered His power and believed in His name, and, thanks to His mercy, I feel assured they are now angels in heaven!  Here,” taking some papers from a writing-box, “my Louisa speaks to me even from the tomb!  These are the words she wrote but a few hours before her death.  Read them to me; for it is not every voice I can bear to hear uttering her last thoughts.”  Mary read as follows:—­

    FOR EVER GONE.

    For ever gone! oh, chilling sound! 
    That tolls the knell of hope and joy! 
    Potent with torturing pang to wound,
    But not in mercy to destroy.

    For ever gone! what words of grief—­
    Replete with wild mysterious woe! 
    The Christian kneels to seek relief—­
    A Saviour died—–­It is not so.

    For a brief space we sojourn here,
    And life’s rough path we journey o’er;
    Thus was it with the friend so dear,
    That is not lost, but sped before.

    For ever gone! oh, madness wild
    Dwells in that drear and Atheist doom! 
    But death of horror is despoiled,
    When Heaven shines forth beyond the tomb.