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bitter tears of self-condemnation over those ambitious dreams. My father was a soldier, and bore the reputation of a renowned warrior; my eldest brother had early enlisted under his victorious banner; and I, too, became a soldier. Never shall I forget the first battle in which I engaged. It was a midnight assault on the camp of the enemy. No light was in the heavens; a tempest was darkly gathering above us; and the air was so dense and still, that the noise of our horses' hoofs, as they rapidly advanced over the flinty ground, seemed to cleave the burning canopy suspended over our heads. The heat was suffocating, and the weight of our steel accoutrements became almost insupportable. The excitement that had hitherto sustained my spirits began to yield before its oppressive influence. Whither was I going? Perhaps to death. And was I prepared for eternity l—These were questions I had never before asked myself; and conscience could give no satisfactory answer. — Turning from such gloomy thoughts, the home of my youth rushed before me, with all its holy reminiscences, all its sacred and endearing ties. My mother again pressed me to her heart, and blessed me, with streaming eyes; while my fair twin sisters clung sobbing around my neck, unable to say farewell to him whom they might never more behold. Tears sprang to my eyes—a stifling agony was swelling in my throat—I looked up to the heavens, and was in the act of addressing a silent prayer to the Almighty, when a broad sheet of lightning discovered, from the hill we occupied, the white tents of the enemy beneath. The simultaneous crash of thunder was answered by the roar of our musquetry, and the hurras with which our soldiers commenced the attack. What shall paint the scene that followed, or the despair of the half-naked wretches, who had only time to snatch their weapons, and rush to the unequal strife?—Shuddering—loathing the horrid spectacle of carnage—I braced my nerves almost to madmess, that I might be enabled successfully to pass the dreadful trial. I obtained the credit of performing superhuman exploits —I heard my name borne along the tide of battle, and mingled with the shouts of victory. Short, however, was our triumph.

A detachment of six thousand men arrived in the enemy's camp, and turned effectually the uncertain fortunes of the war. Our ranks, unable to sustain their impetuous charge, were instantly broken, and the men precipitately fled. I saw my father fall at my side, while vainly endeavouring to animate his panic-struck troops, and my brother perish at my feet, while striving to defend him. I returned to my home, but the hearth was desolate. The firebrand of destruction had blazed in our halls. My mother, and those fair girls on whom my soul doated, had been dishonoured — murdered —and trampled under foot by the barbarous soldiery. One feeble old woman alone remained to tell the dreadful tale. “And this " I cried, as I stood upon the ruins of Ravenstein, ‘This is the Baal to whom I have bowed the knee—the demon whom I have worshipped '' “Ambition first called me to the profession of arms. My country now demanded my services, and honour obliged me to retain my sword; but I fought like one who feels himself compelled, by stern necessity, to perform acts from which his soul shrinks with abhorrence. “Peace again smiled on the desolated land; the voice of mirth and music resounded in our streets; and the toil-worn soldier returned to mingle in social communion with his fellow-men. But the summons which afforded such joy to the many was unheard—unfelt by me. I had no home—no living tie–no fond heart to rejoice in my return—no kindred spirit to welcome me. Weeds obscured the hearth of my fathers; and the wind echoed sullenly through the blackened walls. War had deprived me of all that sweetens the barren path of life, and left me, a lonely and solitary being, to brave its ills. But hope is ever strong in the breast of youth: like the Phoenix, it springs forth with renewed vigour from its own ashes. Time reconciled me to my situation; my heart formed new ties; and life again wore a pleasing aspect. I united my destiny with that of a lovely, amiable, and highborn woman; my towers rose with renewed splendour from the dust; and years of happiness glided away in the bosom of my tranquil home." (To be concluded in our nert.)

T H E NIGHT ING AL E AND THE ANT. Translated from the Persian Poet, Sadi.

TIME has told, that a nightingale had built his nest on a wide-spreading chenar in the midst of a beautiful garden; and at the foot of the same tree, a poor little ant had taken up its residence, to provide for the days of its frail life. The nightingale fluttered through the garden, night and day, pouring forth his melting strains, and warbling his most fascinating melodies, to his favourite rose. The ant, in the mean time, employed every hour in collecting its stores; and, when so laboriously engaged, observing that the bird of a thousand notes was intoxicated with his own carelessness and music, the little frugal insect suddenly exclaimed—“What is the use of all this twittering and chattering 2 And what will they avail, in the day of hunger, and under the leafless tree ?”

The lovely seasons of the year did indeed soon expire, and were succeeded by the piercing blasts of winter. Thorns were seen in the place of the rose; and the nest of the nightingale was occupied by the raven. The leaves were strewed over the plain; the breath of heaven was become cold and chilly. The clouds poured down water, like fountains; or descended like fleeces on the barren hills.

The nightingale returned from a short wandering, and was confounded at the change. His blooming beloved had disappeared; and he was no longer regaled with the breath of the hyacinth. The liquid notes of the unhappy bird were no more. His sweet rose had withered; the

verdure of his haunts had vanished, and not a berry was left on a shrub, nor a seedling on the ground, to cheer the fainting mourner. In this forlorn state, it occurred to him, that, not long before, he had observed an industrious ant, at the foot of his lofty habitation, gathering a hoard of corn; and the idea struck him, of applying to her in his distress. Thus miserable, thus humbled, the wretched nightingale addressed her thus:– “My respected friend, liberality is the certain indication of a great mind, and the first blessing of prosperity! I have wasted my days in idleness, while you have shewn true wisdom in heaping up a treasure of real happiness Have compassion on my folly, and my want, and assist me for thy virtue's sake!" The ant answered—“Every hour of thy existence has been spent in pleasure, and mine in labour. Thou wastenamoured of a flower all thy youth; while I have been toiling all mine, to provide for the desolation of age. Dost thou not know that every smiling summer is succeeded by the glooms of winter?—and that, to every garden, is attached a wilderness? But, take of my charity; and let dust humble thy heart!" My friends, Sadi tells ye, attend to the moral of the nightingale! Gather your harvests, while it is autumn ! When ye part, conclude that the winter blight may separate ye for ever ! And give to them that need l—and the bird will carry the gifts to Paradise. J. P.

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LINES, WRITTEN AFTER VIEWING THE TOMB OF ABELARD AND ELoISE, IN THE CEMETERY or PERE LA chAISE, AT PARIS. BLEssed dead! blessed dead!—I have seen the shrine Where your fond hearts rest from their mortal woes; And a thousand hearts seemed to throb in mine, When I gazed on the scene of your calm repose !

When mine eyes first beheld the graceful fane That uplifts its head where your ashes sleep,

I said to my soul—“Yet they loved in vain"— And silently bowed down my head to weep.

“Not in vain—not in vain l’’ proud Hope replied; “Though their tide of affection had darkly IllnThough they loved to the death—when those true ones died, The life of the Spirit had but begun.

“Not in vain—not in vain l—This world's bleak clime Is no fitting home for love's heaven-born flower; The exotic droops, 'mid the wilds of Time, To expand its leaves in a brighter hour.

“Be the fears of thy coward soul at rest?
The wealth it YET grasps with a miser's care,

And the treasures that lie in earth's deep breast,
Shall be thine—shall be thine, in a day more


“Thine, thine, shall the hearts be, that now are cold— The hearts that ne'er, living, were cold to thee;— Thine, thine, the commerce of minds, that of old Met the kindred mind in communion free.

“Thine, thine too, the love that is beaming
In the tender smile—and the brimming eye
Thou art gazing upon with sad delight—
Oh, cheer thee! the spirit shall never die!”
L. S. S.

FLORENCE. I well remember her ' that orphan girl, With her large melancholy eyes, that shone, In their dark beauty, like the moon, when first It lights the evening sky! Her cheek was pale, Aye, very pale, no rose-tint colour'd it; Yet she was beautiful, most beautiful!

There was a sad sweet calmness in her smile
That touch'd the gazer's heart.
I saw her first

Upon a woodland knoll; her long fair hair
Hung round her like a silken veil
From India's distant loom ; so fine it was,
So rich in its bright loveliness. The breeze
Play'd midst her tresses, and at times reveal’d
The mild and settl’d sadness of her face;
Her eyes in their deep tenderness were rais'd
To the blue heavens. On her fair brow was

A wreath of flowers. Alas!

gone ! And on their leaves hung heavy drops of dew, As though to mourn their faded loveliness. Those flow’rs were a sad emblem of the fate Of that fair orphan. She, too, died while yet Her spring of life was new ' I mourn'd her not, For she had liv'd till all of happiness was gone; And died of that worst deatn—a broken heart!

their bloom was

She had no parents—none to bid her fear
Those arts, which man too often loves to use t
The orphan trusted, and she was betray'd.
Her lover left her on their bridal morn,
And wedded one, more wealthy, but less fond.-
Then the poor orphan was again alone,
And she had none to pity her, nor cheer.
She never murmur'd ; but each hour her cheek
Grew still more deadly pale; and she would sit
Whole days on her dead mother's grave, and
twine -
The yew in chaplets for her own sad brow.

The time of summer came—the month of June,
The month of roses. But, on the orphan's cheek,
There was no rose-bloom, for her vision'd bliss—
Her dream of happiness—had fled. He false—
What had she now to do with life? She died 1
I led her lover to her grave—his brow
One moment clouded—once—yes, once he sigh'd
The name of Florence, and then turn'd away,
To smile with fondness on his fair young bride.
Oh! what a dream is man's fidelity

B. B. B.

STANZAS. 'Tis vain? 'tis vain talk not to me Of hope revived, of happiness; How distant must that blessing be, That comes to solace my distress :

The pilgrim, journeying o'er the bleak
And desert tracts of Afric's coast,

Fatigued and way-worn, faint and weak, ,
His guide, his path, his compass lost–

If, gaily speeding o'er the sand,
Their proud steeds urged in fleet career,

Some blythe and hardy Arab band
Should on the burning hills appear—

Feels little pleasure when they tell
Of springs beyond that arid plain:

He may not hope to reach the well,
Or greet the palm-trees' shade again!

A scorching sun above him glares,
Around him howls the wilderness—

What are to him the vernal airs
That fan some thicket's cool recess?

Too distant from his aching eyes,
Too distant from his trembling feet,

The fair delusive prospect lies,
And he, indignant, spurns the cheat.

He knows he never more shall taste
The crystal spring's refreshing wave;

He knows that, in that desert waste,
His sinking frame must find a grave?

And thus I feel, when I am told
That I shall be at peace once more.
Yes! when this burning heart is cold,
When life, as well as hope, is o'er:


MAJEstic king of storms around
Thy wan and hoary brow,
A spotless diadem is bound
Of everlasting snow !
Time, which dissolves all earthly things,
O'er thee, in vain, hath wav'd his wings.
The sun, with all his potent beams,
Thaws not thy icy zone—
Lord of ten thousand frozen streams,
That sleep around thy throne—
Whose crystal barriers may defy
The genial warmth of summer's sky.

What human foot shall dare intrude
Beyond the howling waste,
Or view the untrodden solitude
Where thy dark home is plac'd,
In those far realms of death—where light
Shrinks from thy glance, and all is night?

The earth hath felt thy iron tread,
The streams have ceased to flow,
The leaves beneath thy feet lie dead,
And shrill the north winds blow;
Nature lies in her winding sheet
Of dazzling snow and blinding sleet.

Where lately many a gallant prow
Spurn'd back the whitening spray,
A glassy mirror glitters now
Beneath the moon's wan ray:
Full many a fathom deep below
The dark imprison'd waters flow.

How gloriously above thee gleam
The planetary train;
And the pale moon, with clearer beam,
Chequers the frosty plain:
The sparkling diadem of night
Circles thy brows with tenfold light.

I love thee not—yet, when I raise
To heaven my wond'ring eyes,
I feel transported with the blaze
Of beauty in the skies;
And laud the power, that e^en to thee
Hath given such pomp and majesty.

I turn—and shrink before the blast
That sweeps the leafless tree;
Careering on the tempest past
Thy snowy wreaths I see:
But spring will come in beauty forth,
And chase thee to the frozen north.

LINEs. By Captain M*Naghten. LovELY as eastern sunset skies, in mellow radiance glowing; Bright as the last effulgent beam, those glorious tints bestowing; a Pure as the prayer of virgin saints—the last they waft in dying; Mild as the lightest breath of heaven, or love's first timid sighing; Fair as the drooping lily flower, that hangs its head in mourning; Sweet as the modest violet, the sloping bank adorning; More priz'd by me than all the gems this transient world enriching; More tender than the dove's soft note, than magic more bewitching; Artless as slumbering infancy, in some bless'd vision smiling; Fond as the pledging kiss of love, where there is no beguiling; Soft as the tear affection weeps, to soothe misfortune's pillow; Graceful as the unconscious swan, on the pellucid billow; Delicious as the ripen'd grape; attach'd as ivy clinging; Charming as Psyche, when to her bower young Love his flight was winging; Dear as the balmy lips of health, the brow of sickness blessing; Warm as the flush of beauty's cheek, plac'd there by fond caressing:Is she, who sheds elysian joys o'er this terrestrial life, The friend, the love, and—all combin'd in onethe tender wife.

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MoRNING Visiting DREss.

A DREss of Clarence-blue poplin, striped with black, with two deep scalloped flounces round the border, bound with satin. Over this dress is worn a black satin cloak, lined with amber-coloured silk plush. A very large pelerine-cape falls over the back and shoulders, trimmed round the edge with broad black blond, set on rather full. The pattern of this blond is of the richest description. The cloak ties at the throat with a broad, amber ribbon, with very long ends, each terminated by a rosette. A double frill, of white blond, finishes the collar next the throat. A hat of Clarence-blue velvet, of a novel form, turned up on each side, like a riding hat, is ornamented with two white ostrich feathers. One towering over the crown, the other, taking a contrary direction, floats over the brim. Though there is a decided air of fashion about this hat, it has more originality than beauty, and is becoming only to few faces.


A PELissE of stone-coloured gros de Naples, with a very broad bias fold round the border, and down each side of the skirt in front; the bias cut in points at the upper edge. These points are edged round with narrow black velvet. The pelisse fastens down from the waist to the feet, with very full rosettes of the same material as the pelisse. The body is made plain, with a double pelerine-cape, pointed, and bound round with black velvet, to correspond with the bias ornaments on the skirt. The throat is encircled by a double ruff of lace. A bonnet of black velvet is elegantly trimmed with pink ribbon, chequered across in hair-stripes of black, edged with black satin stripes. The strings float loose. The shoes worn with this dress are of black kid, with pearl-grey gaiters. The gloves, Woodstock.


A DREss of amber-coloured crape, with two flounces, scalloped at the edge, bound and headed by rouleaua of satin: the two flounces are double, each row is at some distance from the other, and between them are two rouleaur of satin, set on en serpentime. The body is en gerbe, made low, and a falling tucker of broad blond surrounds the bust. The sleeves are short and full, and are ornamented next the arm with bows of amber-coloured satin ribbon. The hair is arranged in curls and bows; the latter, much elevated, and wholly visible in front: between these are placed Provence roses, and their buds. The bracelets are of Ceylon rubies, set à l'antique, in gold, with necklace and ear-rings to correspond.


A DREss of gros des Indes, of a beautiful, bright Indian red, figured over with a delicate Chinese pattern. Two flounces ornament the border, cut in points, and are edged round with a rare and valuable trimming, formed of the small feathers of different foreign birds, which have the appearance of a fine fur. Green and yellow are the prevailing colours in this trimming. The upper flounce is headed by a row of the same delicate plumage. The body is made low, and a la Circassienne. The sleeves long, white, and transparent, of Japanese gauze, and are confined at the wrists by two bracelets; that next the hand consisting of a broad Hindostan bar of pure gold, clasped by a cameo. A row of large pearls forms the bracelet which surmounts it. There are short, white satin sleeves under these, that are transparent; and a mancheron, formed in points, of the same material as the dress, ornaments the shoulder, trimmed round with feathers to correspond with the flounces. The hair is dressed in full curls

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