ined; and the search left no further doubts of the step
which the young heiress had taken. Her clothes, books, utensils for
drawing, and even the lighter instruments of music, had disappeared.

Chapter XIII.

"--Ay, that way goes the game,
Now I perceive that she hath made compare
Between our statures--"

Midsummer-Night's Dream.

The tide of existence floats downward, and with it go, in their greatest
strength, all those affections that unite families and kindred. We learn
to know our parents in the fullness of their reason, and commonly in the
perfection of their bodily strength. Reverence and respect both mingle
with our love; but the affection, with which we watch the helplessness of
infancy, the interest with which we see the ingenuous and young profiting
by our care, the pride of improvement, and the magic of hope, create an
intensity of sympathy in their favor, that almost equals the identity of
self-love. There is a mysterious and double existence, in the tie that
binds the parent to the child. With a volition and passions of its own,
the latter has power to plant a sting in the bosom of the former, that
shall wound as acutely as the errors which arise from mistakes, almost
from crimes, of its own. But, when the misconduct of the descendant can be
traced to neglect, or to a vicious instruction, then, indeed, even the
pang of a wounded conscience may be added to the sufferings of those who
have gone before. Such, in some measure, was the nature of the pain that
Alderman Van Beverout was condemned to feel, when at leisure to reflect on
the ill-judged measure that had been taken by la belle Barberie.

"She was a pleasant and coaxing minx, Patroon," said the burgher, pacing
the room they occupied, with a quick and heavy step, and speaking
unconsciously of his niece, as of one already beyond the interests of
life; "and as wilful and headstrong as an unbroken colt.--Thou hard-riding
imp! I shall never find a match for the poor disconsolate survivor.--But
the girl had a thousand agreeable and delightful ways with her, that made
her the delight of my old days. She has not done wisely, to desert the
friend and guardian of her youth, ay, even of her childhood, in order to
seek protection from strangers. This is an unhappy world, Mr. Van Staats!
All our calculations come to nought; and it is in the power of fortune to
reverse the most reasonable and wisest of our expectations. A gale of wind