"Alice, in the eyes of all sensible people, you have lost your greatest charms! : "Affectation, like the poisonous Upas, defiles all it touches from her reproach nature recoils, and simplicity shrinks affrighted! At first, affectation is content to wind her fanciful wreaths around the exterior of her victim; but the poison therein concealed soon penetrates the inner temple of the heart. The most sacred affections are violated, and made to attest her baneful influence. Truth and love, even religion herself, but issue thence in the garb of mockery! "This is bold and harsh language, my dear Alice (for so in friendship let me ever call you), but yet you must acknowledge its truth. "Alice, renounce at once and for ever the syren who now holds you in such withering bondage: act from the natural impulses of your own pure heart; cast aside the flimsy veil of affectation, and stand forth in your own loveliness! You may yet realize all that beauty of mind and person of which but a short time since you gave the promise. "Others, my dear Miss Welford, may not have the courage to speak to you in the language of truth; yet, whatever you may now think, the time will come when you will acknowledge to your heart that you never possessed a more sincere "FREDERICK WALDO." friend than It would be difficult to describe the feelings of Miss Welford as she finished this letter. Anger, shame, mortification, and wounded self-love stirred her heart by turns; while conscience told her the words traced therein by the hand of one whom her own folly had driven from her, were those of truth -the language of a heart still anxious for her good; that it came more in sorrow than in anger, breathing sentiments of compassion and kindness, rather than of the scorn and contempt she felt she merited. Once more Alice read the letter; then crushing it in her hand, she thrust it into the flames. As it caught the blaze she breathed more freely, for it seemed as if she was destroying a hated witness of her folly; and when all that remained was a black shrivelled mass, she tossed her head proudly, as if in defiance, exclaiming, with flushed cheek and angry brow "Really, how very presuming!-how very impertinent in Frederick Waldo! Lost my charins, indeed! How different is Julius Adolphus-he says nothing can be more récherché than my conversation, nothing more naive than my manner. Really Mr. Waldo is too absurd?" Then casting an admiring look first in the glass, then upon a brilliant which sparkled on her finger (the gift of Bubble), she sank into a blissful meditation. There came at length a letter to Fairdale, autographic of the elegant Bubble! It was addressed to Mr. Welford, making known his love for his fair daughter. There came also another letterthis was for Alice. It was a pattern love-letter, in which, after an ocean of tears were passed over by the fluttering Alice, a volcano of sighs happily surmounted, she came to the word "beware." "Beware of Miss Grant!" wrote Julius Adolphus. The sentence which followed was couched with the dark pen of mystery, but plain palpable evidence twinkled forth that Matilda had sought his love-sought to entrap a heart beating love's own rub-a-dub only for his adored, adorable Alice. The engagement of Miss Welford to the rich southerner was forthwith announced by the delighted parents. Oh, how rustled the silk dress of Mrs. Welford as she passed in and out of the houses of Fairdale, receiving the forced congratulations (as she imagined) of the envious mothers of grown up, unmarried, unspoken for daughters; stately as a ship she sailed over the village green, freighted with immeasurable pride and exultation. And Mr. Welford, on that day which made known the high destiny auspicious fate prepared for his daughter, in a fit of mental abstraction, withdrew his hand from the pocket of his waistcoat, and actually placed a shilling in the hand of a poor woman! But Matilda Grant? Alas! for some hours Matilda went off in strong hysterics at the perfidy of her lover. Then flying to Alice, she upbraided her in the most natural manner for her deceitfulness-for basely, treacherously weaning from her a heart and hand which she vowed were plighted to her, and her alone. But Alice, bearing in mind the letter of Bubble, listened with the most tions, and, as might be expected, the bosom provoking, unbelieving smile, to all these accusafriends parted implacable enemies. Matilda scrupled not to make known to her parents the faithlessness of her quondam lover, and now it was Mrs. Grant's turn to perambulate the village, railing at the "designing Welfords," the "artful Alice," and pitying and despising the motion in Fairdale! What a tempest between the "poor duped friend" of her son. What a combelligerent houses of "Montague and Capulet!" The conduct of Mr. Julius Bubble must be ex plained. He had been smitten with both of these village beauties, and hesitated "which of the two decision should not be made in haste, to be reto choose." Like a prudent man, he resolved his pented of at leisure. It was politic, therefore, to attach both strings fast to his bow, and thus his double engagement. But when he returned to Rhe found the house of "Bubble, Froth, and Bubble," of which he was the junior partner, had burst. His decision was then unhesitatingly made. The delicate hand of Matilda, he was aware, would come to him simply encased in a white kid glove, while that of Alice gleamed on his money-desiring vision like a pearl perdue amid a rich heap of golden guineas.. The month of July was fixed upon in which the happy lovers were to be made one. And now the "note of preparation" sounded far and near. Mantua-makers and milliners were kept busy from morn till night. The stage came in loaded with packages, destined to be cut, clipped, united, an 1 to receive a "local habitation and a name" under the creative powers of the handmaids of fashion. The purse of Mr. Welford seemed inexhaustible. Nothing was spared to render the trousseau of the fair bride worthy her illustrious destiny. But the Grants tossed their heads in high disdain, and vowed they neither would nor could stay in the place to witness such disgraceful proceedings; so they packed up their clothes, and were off to Saratoga, seeking probably a Lethe in the waters. “On Thursday, then, he will be here,” cried Alice, as she placed a highly perfumed letter upon her dressing-table. Then taking a magnificent sprig of pearls, she placed it in the tresses of her dark hair, and stood before the mirror contemplating with much satisfaction its effect. Observe now how she smiles, bows, then courtsies as if she were receiving the homage of some prince-again, with all the hauteur to be observed to the canaille; while the beauteous image in the mirror reflects back to her vain mind the comme il faut air with which all must be performed to produce the sensation she desires. Tired at length of attitudizing, Alice languidly took up a newspaper, and in sympathetic vein, cast her eyes first upon the records of Hymen. A shrill scream aroused Mrs. Welford, who was in an adjoining room. She rushed in, and found Alice pale, nearly fainting, with the paper clasped tightly in her trembling hand. "Oh, mother, mother, read this!" she faltered forth. Scarcely less agitated than her daughter, Mrs. Welford took the paper, and read as follows:— "Married, in New York, by the Rev. Julius Adolphus Bubble, Esq., of R, Vir May the history of Alice Welford prove a warning to those young girls who, in possession of youth and beauty, still strive by artificial manners to augment their charms; while, to those whom nature may not have so richly gifted, may it teach that natural simplicity, ingenuousness of speech, and gentleness of manner, prompted by the warm feelings of the heart, are charms which not even a brighter eye or a more rosy cheek can enhance, or the want thereof diminish. ARCADE'S COMPLIMENT TO ULISSE. FROM METASTASIO'S ACHILLE IN SCIRO, UPON THE VARIOUS COLOURING OF THOUGHT DISPLAYED IN A GREAT MIND. (Translated by Mrs. Colonel Marianna Hartley.) So varied and painted is Heaven, When Sol, darting beams thro' the rain, For no dove to the eye hath more changes, ginia, to Miss Matilda Grant, daughter of T ANSWERS TO MRS. ABDY'S CHARADE. Grant, Esq., of Fairdale." It seems the enraged Grants resolved that the perfidious bridegroom elect should not slip like an empty bubble thus easily through their fingers. They fancied him to be rich, and therefore they determined he should be the husband of their not unwilling daughter. Seeing his name in a list of arrivals at New York, they proceeded without delay from Saratoga to that city, and by dint of threats soon compelled the frightened Bubble to accede to their demands. Alas for Bubble! Wheresoever he turned his eyes, he saw "breach of promise” written in letters of flame, and being unable to meet "damages," the debtor's prison rose dark and gloomy in perspective. And thus Matilda Grant became Mrs. Bubble, each caught in the meshes of the net their own artifice had contrived. LITERATURE. attractive brilliancy of his discourse (beside which all other sounded dull and vapid), marked the grace slightest action imposing, the most ordinary courthat gave distinction to trifles, and made the tesy of value-till the speciousness of exterior refinement has dazzled us into almost doubting the justness of the world's censure; and in our heart we have assoiled him of half the sins society laid to his charge. in Maud's affections, and exhibiting his own too At first, the mere mischief of displacing Balfour generally allowed irresistibleness, induces the unprincipled young man to affect a sentiment, that in the end becomes real, and awakens all the fervour of his cousin's impassioned character; she finds that until now, she has not known the depth, the strength of feeling of which she is capable, and without scruple, almost without regret, she flings off the lightly assumed bonds that should still fetter her to the deceived and injured Balfour; and on the very night of his return to his father's house, and at the very instant when he is about to claim her promise to him, and the fulfilment of his own, and her family's hopes, she, in the most cold and heartless manner, recalls her past assurances, and rejects him. He has followed her to a conservatory, the scene of many a former tête-à-tête; and in the midst of an ardent flow of protestations and delight, is interrupted by the false girl's artificial attempts to exculpate herself from the wayward heartlessness of her past and present conduct. Arthur offered no interruption, and she continued THE GAMBLER'S WIFE. By the Author of "The Young Prima Donna, "The Belle of the Family," "The Old Dower House," &c., &c., 3 vols. (Newby.)-Shall we confess that upon a first introduction to these volumes, and while yet our acquaintance was limited to the opening chapters, we had well nigh pronounced them, "flat, stale, and unprofitable;" but only at first is it that we find a certain jejuneness of expression and incident, and a want of keeping in the portrait of the heroine; who proud, passionate, and self-willed, with the seeds of most indomitable resolution in her composition, is still represented as confessing a secret that the most ordinary strength of mind enables a woman to suppress, confessing an (however desired, yet) unasked-for passion; and afterwards vacillating with regard to it, till she finds ultimately she has made a mistake, and that her past indelicacy has not even the plea of strong affection to extenuate it. When, how ever, this part of the story is got over, one is led on insensibly from page to page, and chapter to chapter, till upon opening the second volume, we found our interest in the story had so kept pace with the action of turning over the leaves, that it was quite impossible to put it down, till we had followed the fortune of the "Gambler's Wife" to the very close. The heroine of the tale, Maud Sutherland, is a spoilt child, beautiful (as all heroines are), but selfish and intractable, as the every-day specimens of such persons. She has a sister May, the very antipode of her own charac- happy childhood, when we were indeed like bro"Drawn together by past associations of our ter-meek, submissive, self-sacrificing, full of love-ther and sister, we foolishly chose to fancy ourliness in disposition and manner; as her elder sis- selves in love; I was indeed most blameable, and ter is fascinating from the force of her great per- blush with shame when I remember my conduct. sonal beauty. Having no brother, Maud Suther-But I have been the first to awake from my dream. land is the presumptive heiress to her father's You must have observed that I have been most estates; and this gives her no little importance in unhappy of late; I felt I had, as it were, drawn her own estimation, as well as in that of numerous unsuccessful suitors during her first season in Lon- you into the snare, and that you had worked up don. A well-born, but poor cousin, Arthur Bal- I knew that the awaking from the delusion would your imagination to believe you really loved me; four, visits them on the return of his regiment from be painful. Is it not therefore more kind in me India, and falls desperately in love with the to arouse you from it at once, than to allow you, haughty Maud, who visibly returns his passion; when too late, when bound by irrevocable ties, to but, discover how much you had been mistaken in your estimate of our mutual attachment. I ought to have said this sooner, both for your sake and that of my parents, who, by my folly, my cowardice, may also have been deceived. Dear Arthur, forgive me." More earnestly might she have craved forgiveness could she adequately have imagined the despair, the agony, with which her cold words had struck upon the heart of her listener, freezing the warm hopes which a moment before beamed so gladly in his heart; and the proud girl might have even trembled had she gazed on his countenance after the first stunning sensation had subsided. Could it be Arthur? t "That idol of deceit, that empty sound, Called honour," forbids him to take advantage of his bonne fortune, till, as we have before said, the lady conceiving his difficulty, throws aside all womanly reserve, and discloses her partiality for him. Nothing can be more in unison with the wishes of her parents, who delightedly agree to the match; and the young man leaves them for a few probationary months, at the end of which he is to return to claim his bride. In the meanwhile the Gambler has appeared on the scene (another cousin), older by some years than Arthur; and in this, as well as in worldly experience, having the advantage of him. The character of this clever, subtle, insinuating, heartless man of the world is well drawn; we recognize it immediately, for every one has met his duplicate in society-has felt the fascination of those frank, easy, cordial manners-listened to the "Truly, he could scarcely be recognized as he now stood; his cheek, before so pale, flushed to the deepest crimson; his lips, from which soft words of love had tremulously proceeded, tightly compressed, his eyes sparkling with indignation. He felt he had been wronged, grievously wronged, humiliated, by her who so calmly, coldly, inflicted the bitter pang; and this thought called forth all his pride, and anger now was his predominant sentiment. His manner of replying to her was unexpected by the proud girl. He knelt not, he prayed not for a remission of his sentence; he dropped the hand, for which a few moments before he had so eloquently sued, which he had so tenderly pressed; be fixed his reproachful eyes full upon her face, and in a voice struggling with deep emotion, said, 'Forgive you, Maud! You have destroyed my hopes-the happiness of my future life; you have trifled with my feelings; cruelly, most cruelly treated me. Mine is not a brother's love. Tell me, and I have a right to ask the question; can you say with truth,' and his gaze was like that of the basilisk, can you, Maud, sincerely declare, that it was the discovery of your sisterly affection for me which alone has influenced your cruel conduct? or was it rather that you have suffered another, treacherously, dishonourably to rob me of that love which once-once your own lips confessed you felt for me?' "For an instant her cheek blanched, and she quailed beneath the words and glance of Arthur; but she soon recovered, and proudly exclaimed, 'I acknowledge not your boasted right to question me in this strain, nor will I reply; enough that I love you not; if you reject the sisterly affection 1 bear you, I can offer you no other.' And she drew from her finger the diamond ring, the token of their plighted love, and held it towards him; but Arthur turned from it with a shudder, and falling from her hand, the little trinket rolled on the ground, and there lay glittering in a corner. 'You are right,' continued Arthur; it is not you, Maud, that I should call to account for this perfidy, but the author of the misery I am now enduring; and he,' and his eyes flashed fire, he, the traitor! must answer to me for the grievous wrong he has done me. Farewell! the blow has been too hard to bear; I am not fit to remain in your presence,' and he turned to depart. "Stay, Arthur; on your peril, leave me not; remain, I command you,' Maud exclaimed, her pride and composure at once vanishing, and her cheek turning pale as death. • What are you about to do?' "He turned again sadly towards her, and paused for one instant, whilst with distended eyes she gazed upon him. Tell me then, Maud, or I must ask him the question, do you love Harry Percy?' Leave me, leave me; how dare you insult me! Is this your love?' she cried, her eyes, appearing larger and larger, and passionate emotion shaking her light frame. 'What matters it to you whom I love? But presume not to make use of my name to justify your impotent rage-your mad jealousy! Would you threaten me-terrify me into loving you? But it will not avail."" As usual, one evil leads quickly to another; the dismissal of her first love is but a preparatory step to her elopement with Harry Percy, who, having been refused by her father, proposes this alternative, calculating that the strong affection her parents bear their spoilt child will render them | indifferent to the disobedience and disgrace of the act. The discovery of her flight proves such a shock to her mother (already in a very fragile state of health), that she sinks beneath it. In her mental agony a blood-vessel is ruptured, and the fugitive girl returns to find her dying. The late remorse, the suddenly broken spirit, the penitence and misery of the unhappy girl, are well depicted. In his indignant grief, her father refuses to forgive her, passionately denounces her as the murderess of her mother, and is hardly persuaded in mercy to soften the heavy accusation, and say he pardons her, when she is going forth motherless and disinherited by her own impetuous act. The scene in the dying mother's room is full of deep pathos. Instead of setting off for the continent immediately after their marriage at Gretna, as her husband proposes, Maud insists on returning to her father's house, in order to receive (as she fancies) the quickly to be accorded forgiveness of her parents. Leaving her husband to await her summons, she proceeds from a retired part of the grounds to the house, and thence, without being perceived by the servants, to the room of her mother, whom she sees supported by her father; while her sister May kneels beside the bed, and the clergyman-good old Mr. Merton--is engaged in reading the service for the dying. The miserable Maud creeps within the room, unnoticed by the sad group. "Once more, however, a voice of sorrow recalled her thoughts to earth; she raised her hand, and pressed it over the head of the heart broken May, who, in a tone of bitter grief, murmured, 'Bless me, mother; oh, mother, bless your child !' "A wandering, searching look of inquiry, gleamed for an instant on the mother's face; an expression, as if some painful, worldly care for a moment weighed down her spirit, as she felt the shining hair of her daughter, and a look almost of agony clouded her before placid brow. But then, again, a ray from above seemed to illumine it, and her lips moved, as if in prayer for forgiveness; again May's supplicating voice called her back to earth. My good May,' she fondly murmured, and she poured upon the head of the weeping girl, in faint, but earnest accents, a blessing as full, as tender as ever fell from a mother's lips. She paused; her eyes closed, and as her husband raised her in his arms, he thought they were never again to open in this world—that all was over! But what sound was it that suddenly broke the awful stillness of that moment, and recalled to earth the fast departing spirit? It was a thrilling, heart-rending, agonizing cry, which those who heard it, never, never forgot. It was the cry of anguish, bitteroh, how bitter!—of Maud, as she lifted up her voice, and cried, Bless me, bless me, also, oli, my mother! There was one bright look of eager joy on that mother's face, a gleam of reviving life, as feebly she extended her failing, trembling arms towards the wretched girl, from whose lips the passionate cry had issued. Maud, oh, Maud!' she faintly murmured, and Maud was in her arms. "There was an instant's reverential hush, as if the mourner's woe was soothed by the soft fluttering of the angel's wings that bore the soul of their loved one above, and they gazed, seeking to Church of England among many most excellent Christian people. trace its heavenward flight. All appeared calm | but one-the child upon whom the last look of earthly love had been bestowed by the departed. We hold it a duty to invite all to the perusal of She looked for a moment wildly around her, then a small volume which has evidently cost much clasped her hands convulsively over her head, tore time, research, and deep reflection to the author. with frantic grief her hair, and, with a fearful shriek, Unhappily, religious subjects are but too much which recalled her fellow-mourners to a full sense laid aside in this day of book-making, and it is no of their bitter sorrow, fell on the lifeless body of small praise, we conceive, to give a religious her mother, almost as breathless, cold, and inani-writer, to say that a great and comprehensive mate." This sudden and awful blow is not without its effect on the stricken spirit of the unblessed wife, and her self-accusation and late remorse are touchingly depicted. Doubly alienated from friends and home, she accompanies her bankrupt husband to the continent, and henceforth her character is a contemplation of perfect beauty-her trust, her endurance, her uncomplainingness and clinging love, are all effectively exhibited; and the indig nation with which she provoked us as a proud and spoiled girl, merges into tenderness and admiration of her as a wife. We follow her from place to place, from trial to trial (each leaving her more pure and loveable than the last), with absorbing and tearful interest, until the affection that has proved the sole redeeming point in her husband's character, that has continually blinded us to his errors, and made them seem venal indeed to her, falls off, and she wakes to find the object of her self-sacrifice and heart-worship a deceit, receiving her love as a right, forsaking her at will, and bestowing on a coarse, intriguing woman those attentions and endearments that she has flattered herself had never been estranged from her. Bitterly does she prove that "sin is its own avenger;" but it is beyond our limits to follow the story to its close. Life is loveless indeed when she discovers her husbai.d's infidelity. A flash of her former pride returns, and she insists on separating from him. An asylum has been offered her in her father's house, and there, childless, and in heart a widow, she returns. For the way in which they meet again, we refer the reader to the book; merely observing that May becomes the wife of Arthur Balfour, and that Harry Percy lives to repent the error of his ways; though we think there would have been better taste shown if he had exhibited it less publicly. We doubt not that the adage "the greater the saint the greater the sinner," may hold good reversed; but the idea of finding the roué transformed into an itinerant preacher, is almost too startling an antithesis. REGENERATION; WHAT IS IT? &c.-By the Rev. Richard Beadon Bradley, &c., &c., author of the " Portion of Jezreel," &c., &c. (G. C. Caines, Hulkin-street.)—In such a day as the present, when the church appears rent with divisions, and schism shows her hydra-head, and proclaims her name to be Legion, we hait the fact of a minister of the Church of England coming forward to heal the breaches religious controversy never fails to create; and to make the Christian attempt of harmonizing conflicting opinions upon a serious and vital doctrine, which, from the hitherto mistaken view some have taken of our baptismal service, has caused so much secession from the subject has been considered with power and perspicuity, and condensed within the compass of forty duodecimo pages. PUNCH'S POCKET BOOK for 1845. What is the use of noticing "Punch's Pocket Book?" every body has got it, or is going to buy it-so that it is only the last we can instruct, assuring them they have a racy treat before them, from the same pens which in the welcome weekly sheet have ever the merry tling at folly, and the wounding shaft for selfishness and vice-immortal Punch! that has the privilege of the ancient jesters-who were the wisest men in company-and speaks the truths which graver heads dare only think. The frontispiece, from the pencil of the clever Leech, is entitled, "Farming for ladies;" and rich in humour it is-parasols and hay-making-pigs and eau-de-Cologne. The other illustrations are equally humourous, and the contributions in prose and verse most witty and amusing-especially the letter of "The Oxford Reading-man to his Chum," "Eccentricities of Genius," and the "Evenings at Ramsgate:" from the last we make a short extract. We ought to add, that Punch supplies his friends with all the grave information and blank paper of a serious pocket book. "The opening bars of a popular air A beautiful ballad of feeling and grace- A platform they term it—a maiden there sits, They threaten to break all the keys into bits. She dreams she is dwelling in marble halls, But carried away by the words she is saying, But there is one amongst the crowd He bellows out a wild "encore!" His words are answered by a shout FULCHER'S LADIES' MEMORANDUM-BOOK AND POETICAL MISCELLANY for 1845. (Fulcher, Sudbury; Longman, London.)-This pocket-book contains some beautiful engravings and an admirable selection of poetry. It would be worth purchasing, if only because there is extracted into it Hood's "Bridge of Sighs;" that is to say, by all |