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NORMAN LESLIE.

A TALE OF THE PRESENT TIMES.

"You shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work."

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Geft of Winthrop Wetherber of Bouton

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, By HARPER & BROTHERS,

In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.

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NORMAN LESLIE.

CHAPTER I..

In which, what seemed finished appears to have only commenced.

"How shall we hope for mercy, rendering none?"

SHYLOCK.

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"HUSH!" cried the nurse," he sleeps.' "How has he passed the last four hour s?" whispered the doctor.

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Quiet as an infant. His pain has left him. He fell into a doze after taking the medicine, and has stirred neither hand nor foot since."

They stepped cautiously towards the bed, and gazed upon the features of the poor, unconscious old man, with that silent and steady examination with which the living contemplate the dying or the dead,-awed-horror-struck--plunged in mystic fear and wonder at the vast changes in the fleshly temple, and those far more vast and sublime which have stricken the interior, breaking its lighted altar, and leaving aisles dark and abandoned.

"He's dreadfully fallen away, doctor. His actions lately have been very strange; but he appeared

more settled and sensible before his slumber. Do you think there is any hope?"

The doctor compressed his lips, and shook his head.

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None, nurse, none; the good old man cannot last the day."

"He

"He has lived a pure life," said the nurse. has been a charitable and a religious man, and a kind friend to me." Alice wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. "I shall never get such another."

The physician gave some trivial instructions. "Can you not stay, doctor, and see the end?” asked Alice.

"No, good Alice, my presence can avail him nothing; but there are others less hopeless whom I am bound to see. This poor old man's heart is broken beyond the reach of medicine."

"Hush" said the nurse, as a murmured name broke from the lips of the dying father.

"Rosalie--Rosalie! My child-my child! Save her-do not kill--Leslie-Leslie!" Drops of agony stood on the dreamer's forehead.

Wake him," said the doctor; "this agitation will destroy him.”

With a gentle hand on his skeleton fingers, the honest nurse dispelled the horrid vision.

"Ah! where am I?" said he, with a feeble and repining voice, opening his glassy eyes-which now, from the sunken proportions of his ashy face, appeared strangely large-and rolling them fearfully round, with a vacant stare upon his companions.

"It is I, Mr. Romain-Alice, and the good Doctor Melbourne," said the nurse, carefully wiping his damp forehead with a handkerchief.

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"Oh, true--I was dreaming of my poor daughter." "My good friend," said the doctor, "how are you this morning?"

"Oh-better-thank you-much better," he said, drawing his short breath quickly with nearly every word; "I shall be well soon."

He smiled. What is there so ghastly as the smile of a dying man unconscious of his situation?

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'Alice," he said, peevishly, "what is the reason Rosalie stays-so that—"

His faint breath was exhausted; his heavy eyes closed again; and he sank once more into a doze. "Yes," said the nurse, there it is; the murder of poor, dear Miss Rosalie has broken the old man's heart."

"But you should not say murder, nurse," said the doctor; "it is decided, after an adequate examination, that Miss Romain was not murdered, at least by that unfortunate Norman Leslie."

"Not murdered!" echoed the nurse, in a vehement and sudden whisper. She took the doctor by the lappel of his coat, and led him from the bed to wards an embrasure of the window. "Doctor Melbourne, that wretch, that monster Leslie is her murderer, as sure as the sun is in heaven!-all the world knows it."

"Nay, nurse-nay, this is not right," said the doctor, gravely. "I am sorry to find the people so generally withholding their sanction from the deliberate verdict of a jury. The sufferings of poor Leslie touch my heart."

"Blood for blood !" said the nurse, her generally mild features animated with indignation and merciless revenge.

"But, Mistress Alice, 'judge not, lest ye be judged !"

"Whatever be the truth," said the old woman, solemnly-"and God knows it, and will judge the wicked-Mr. Romain has lived, and will die, with the belief that Norman Leslie killed his daughter, to hide from him and the world the base and cruel

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