much confidence in the integrity of George Kendall that I thought when he discovered what a party he had joined he would recede. But I learned he was appointed to some office, and I treated Mary worse than ever. But at last she escaped from my insolence. The house of Mr. Kendall took fire one night, and was consumed with all the contents. He could not rebuild it without accepting assistance from his neighbors, which, as they had treated him like an enemy, he would not do; and so he and Mary went on a visit to George, and there they have ever since resided."

"Did George never return here?" asked Catharine. "Never," said her aunt. "Yet he cruelly retained this property. I say cruelly, because it led me to believe he intended to return. Many persons wrote to him offering to purchase it, but he replied that it was not to be sold. I therefore concluded that he was conscious he was in the wrong, and only waited a favorable moment to come and throw himself at my feet and retract his political errors. But months and years passed on, and the next election found him still a republican. Indeed, as those political excitements began to subside, I saw that neither party could claim to be infallible, and I felt more reconciled to the course George had pursued, and if he had returned I should have welcomed him. But I could not think of beginning the correspondence either with him or Mary, and seeking a reconciliation, because I feared they would think I was making advances to him-and if he rejected them-O! it would be too humiliating, notwithstanding I knew I had been to blame. They probably thought me inexorable-and so six years rolled away, then I heard George was married!"

I have told you this story that you may be warned against indulging the rancor of party feelings. I do not say ladies should abstain from all political reading or conversation, that they should take no interest in the character or condition of their country. I cannot think, in a land so favored as ours, such indifference and ignorance is excusable in a rational being. But their influence should be exerted to allay, not to excite party animosities: their concern should be for their whole country, not for a party. In their own little circles they may in a quiet manner do much to calm the irritations which public excitements would otherwise mingle with social life; to do this requires some knowledge, but more prudence.

"But you said we were not free," remarked Helen. "None are free who become the slaves of a party," replied aunt Thankful ;"nor will they tolerate freedom of sentiment in others. My meaning was that if George Kendall had been permitted, without persecution, to enjoy his political principles unmolested here, he would never have gone to the South. We shall never be free in spirit while bigotry and intolerance are cherished among us."

The author of the following poem is doubtless aware that prudent people consider it rather hazardous to select a partner for life in the ball room. However, he seems so very sincere in his dream of constancy that we concluded to give his ef fusion a place constancy being one of the cardinal virtues of a true knight.

THE BALL.

AERIAL forms are gliding through the mazes of the dance
Like moonbeams playing fitfully, midst bayonet and lance:
And gentle bosoms undulate, as swells and sinks the lake,
When music's notes, like Southern airs, to graceful motion wake.

There, conscious beauty proudly treads, with majesty of mien,
Claiming the humble homage paid by vassals to their queen:
Here modest loveliness retires from each enraptured gaze,
-Give me the pearl's soft brilliancy, before the diamond's blaze.

And love is wandering anxiously the laughing groups among, Watching for that kind glance which needs no utterance of the tongue,

Or singling, from the glittering crowd of jewels rare, the gem More dear to him than all the wealth of monarch's diadem.

Oh 'tis a joyful sound, to hear-amid the mingled hum
Of merry voices, sighing flute, gay laugh and pealing drum,-
The still, small whisperings of a heart we know is all our own,
To feel the pressure of that hand that clings to ours alone.

And 'tis a joyful sight, to see those melting hazel eyes

In quivering diffidence towards ours, just trembling on the rise,
That look of full acknowledgment-that eloquent appeal-
That blush, which like morn's crimson flush, love's dawning doth
reveal.

But the ball-room-the ball-room!-'Tis desolate and lone,

The splendid pageant's vanished-music-revelers—all are gone. The empty hall is echoing to my solitary tread,

Like the cloistered aisles, beneath whose vaults repose the silent dead.

Yet, still that heart-surrendering look is lingering mid the gloom
Like a sunbeam flitting radiantly around a lowly tomb.
Hope's leaves may wither-all life's flowers may, one by one, decay;
But from my soul, that look of love can never fade away.

D. I. U.

THE MOTHER.

THERE is no state of life in which we aspire to imitation so much as the period when we are just emerging from childhood. We see those around us who are scheming,our energy is aroused, and our plans are laid. At such a crisis as this did I create a world of enjoyment for myself. My parents had removed to a village where I had previously formed some acquaintance. The young people all around me were preparing to leave the village; some for the south, some for the north, others for the eastward. My brothers had all been to the southward, but I had not. of them had come home to pass the summer, and invited me to go back with him, and my parents consented I should go. I had to encounter the dreaded scene of parting. I can never forget it, so full was it of interest-bright were my expectations of the future; but sad was the reality of the present.

We set sail-nothing of interest occurred on our passage. Any one who has undertaken a sea-voyage can easily imagine the dull, monotonous tone of it; such as sca-sickness, occasional bickerings among the passengers, "a sail O!" These trifling occurrences fill up in general a large measure of a listless sea-voyage. Sometimes we are subjected to "bad captains," "bad crew,' ," "bad cooks," "bad accommodations," and bad passengers are not unfrequent : but in the present instance, we were favoured with a fine

captain, an excellent crew, a good cook, and most agreeable passengers. Our passage was a remarkable pleasant one; we encountered no gales, every thing was propitious to our wishes. We only reefed a topsail once, and that was unnecessary, as we only prepared against the fear of a storm. Thus safely were we borne on the bosom of the mighty

waters.

We arrived at New Orleans, and I was received most cordially. Our youth who have visited a southern port know that there is a genuine warmth of feeling peculiar to those who have resided there when they receive a friend just arrived from the north. I believe with most people at the north, that they do in a measure forget the connexions they leave behind, they are so entirely engrossed by the wants and sufferings of those around them,--and there are not a few destitute and suffering. We may deprecate the views which brought them to this state; but there is a common bond between them, a sort of sympathy for them, a melancholy foreboding which makes them reflect that they may be a like wanderer, and distressed in a country which makes them connect themselves with a set of men whom at the north they would shun. For these reasons they are the more strongly affected when they receive a friend just arrived; they can greet them as the companions of a less corrupting climate-the innocent companions of former days. It may be that, from sympathising with the unfortunate, they are at last brought to participate of the same condition. But who can look on a companion who is without a home, perhaps driven from home by misfortunes in business; who has fled thither from the grasp of unfeeling creditors, to seek an existence in a country of diseases and privations; he is far, far away from his loved connexions; he cannot return to them, his creditors would cast him into prison. Who then can look on a frail creature like this and not feel one touch of pity?

I have visited the strangers' burying-place in New Orleans, and my heart sunk in sadness when I read the names of young men who lie there. Some had gone to seek a fortune; others to avoid creditors. But a few months had they been there ere they were swept away in all the pride of their strength. Contagion spread like wildfire, like a deadly desolating torrent; not all the artillery of war could mow

them down with a more destructive aim than did this dreadful contagion. No friend was near to close their eyes; they dropped in the ways, smitten by the hand of death. No funeral had they; but as they were found in the streets, so the grave received them. There too lay the young wife; the tender, delicate female, who had left her home to follow her heart's best love through weal or wo. But she can no longer share the burden of her husband's sorrows-God hath taken what was only lent, and she rests there in the unbroken slumber of death. I can never think of my visit to the strangers' burying-place without calling up many of the sad thoughts which then came over me.

Spring arrived; it was time for me to think of returning; but my friends urged me to stay a little longer, and a little longer, till I protracted my visit to a dangerous period. After the middle of May they told me I should surely die on my passage. The yellow fever was again beginning its desolating course; already many had died of it, and I considered myself as safe to attempt a passage as to remain there at any rate I should die a little nearer home. Only one more vessel would sail for the northward, and I took my passage in her. It was a wretched little schooner-badly found, and under the command of a mean captain; directly the reverse of the one in which I had sailed out. We began to experience gales almost as soon as we launched into the open sea. We were all sick, and it did seem as though death would overtake us every instant.

One day while I was on deck I was surprised to see an aged female creeping up from the steerage. She appeared overcome with extreme debility-no one went near till I came forward to assist her. She accepted my assistance thankfully; but seemed unwilling to give the least trouble. She sat down almost overcome with the exertion she had made to gain the deck. My attention was irresistibly drawn towards her-her countenance betrayed that she had borne her burden of sorrows. She held on to a tattered bible which she seemed to retain in her hand with an uncertain grasp; she could only read a line or two at a time, then she would brush away the tears from her eyes, and resume her reading only by intervals; still at every pause she seemed to gather fresh strength to proceed. Her countenance was alternately agitated by sorrow, and by an evi