will come back to the trees and the flowers-the birds will sing and the deer cry, as I have loved to hear them waking at morning; so the morning will come back to me, but not here. I fearedbut I said His will be done. And now my bed will be on the earth of my own country, and the birds will sing over me, where they have sung to my father and my mother, and the flowers will grow on my grave where I gathered them to my bridal.".

Lodoiska covered her face with her hands, and there was a long deep pause in which none could speak. The Princess took the hand of her daughter, and laying it in that of Ladislaus-"My daughter-my son!" said she, gently. "Do not grieve for me when I am gone. Be you a defender to her. Be you, my child, a support to him, in sickness, in danger-if God will, on the field of battle, on the bed of death."

Lodoiska bent her face on her mother's lap, and could not conceal her sobs. "Do not weep, my daughter," said the Princess. "God will take me away from the day of trouble, when I should be but helpless to my country and those I love. But I shall see you. I shall be near you. You will come

to me when God has given peace to Poland."

She still held their hands in hers, and leaning back on the pillow, for some moments lay still, almost breathless. At length she lifted her head, and stretched out her hands as if she would rise. Her women supported her on either sideshe arose slowly, and spreading her thin white arms, for a moment she stood in the twilight like the veiled shadow of Samuel. Ladislaus and Lodoiska fell on their knees. "The mantle of the prophet!" she said, in a low voice—“The mantle which struck the waters-cover you in danger! The hands which held up the rod of victory over the battle of Amalek, hold up the arms of Poland! The wings of the eagles of God be over the heads of my children-of my country!"*

Her hands fell slowly on their heads -her face bent down-she sunk into the seat-for a moment her hands rested on their brows-she moved them from one to the other-her head sunk back upon the pillow-her eyes closed gently. My God! my child! my country!" she whispered. A light sigh, a faint smile, past upon her lips. Her spirit was with Stanislaus and Sobieski !

S. S.

"By Heaven, that Lady Marcia Merioneth is a divine creature!" said De Lacy, as he followed the fascinating fashionable with his eye, through the spacious ball-room.

"Mortal, mere mortal, rely on it," said his friend Sydenham, "as you will soon perceive, when a London season has worn a little of the gilt of delusion from the gingerbread of novelty."

"Talk not of gilt," cried De Lacy, with increased enthusiasm, "all there is sterling ore. Look at her, Sydenham, there is no shadow of design, no shade of deceit in her; her step is one of lighthearted hilarity, not of premeditated effect. Her laugh is that very esprit du cœur which alone can make a laugh graceful: there is enchantment even in the little, playful, tossing to-and-fro of her long, untortured tresses; and the very flowers which adorn them, seem to have been strown there by the light fingers of the graces, or buried among them by the hand of Love himself. Look at

her smile-her-"

"Stare," said his friend, concluding the sentence for him; "for, by mine inheritance, she has a stare which might excite the envy of a belle of three years standing, who has to look down reminiscent inquiries and long memories."

"Pshaw! you are splenetic," peevishly interposed De Lacy.

"And you are-mad," coolly rejoined his friend. "But I conjure you, nevertheless, De Lacy, to have one lucid interval for your own sake. Remember that although Lady Marcia is a mere débutante on the stage of the great world of fashion, she is still hacknied in that of the boudoir, the société de famille, the courtly circle of a high country residence. What is the meaning of all this? Mere tact. Lady Marcia's manoeuvring mother has given her pretty daughter all the oblique opportunities of an establishment which such scenes afford, before she has fairly set her afloat on the sea of fashionable life; and now she comes out, unsophisticated, inexperienced, new-without, of course, an idea of the 'finery' of exclusive society to try if innocent unconsciousness will produce the desired effect."

"Sydenham," indignantly exclaimed his companion, "I can scarcely recog nise your limning in the illiberal esquisse with which you have been pleased to favour me, without a shudder. I am convinced that it is inapplicable as well as ungenerous. Lady Marcia is not what you have described; the dew is yet unshaken from the blos

som-the down is still softening the surface of the fruit-the freshness of genuine nature hangs about her like a vestment."

"And becomes her even as these raptures become Gerald De Lacy," said Sydenham, severely; "but I have done. When you can thus forget Miss Melville, to rave about a mere London belle, words will scarcely avail you."

"You are sarcastic, Mr. Sydenham," exclaimed the excited admirer of Lady Marcia, "but your sarcasm is powerless with me. My engagement, of which you so obligingly remind me, cannot fetter my senses. At this moment a movement in the company separated them, and Sydenham joined a passing group.

De Lacy left the gay mansion, but the image of Lady Marcia followed him even to his home: and he dreamt of nutbrown hair, hazel eyes, and dancing, till the morning. He dressed himself slowly, and more carelessly than usual, and, to the astonishment of his groom, took two entire turns in the park, in his cabriolet, ere he drove to the residence of Miss Melville.

Caroline Melville was a gentle, amiable girl, with a face which could not be called handsome, and yet one which no one would have ventured to pronounce otherwise. Her smile was pre-eminently beautiful-it would have saved even a plain face, and it rendered hers attractive in the highest degree; her form was perfection, and her whole person at once striking and attractive, though there was no tinge of tact or showiness about her. Caroline had a married sister who was a finished beauty, and whose fine face and noble form had elevated her to the peerage, and she had been accustomed, from her childhood, to hear the praises of her sister, mingled with sundry lamentations on her own deficiency in beauty; and this had, perhaps, rendered her more insensible than she might otherwise have been, to her own peculiar powers of pleasing. Her bright eyes sparkled as De Lacy entered the apartment in which she was seated.

"You are a truant, Gerald," she said, gently; "that time-piece tells me that you are just one half-hour later than usual."

"The eternal smile!" muttered De Lacy to himself; "she could have done

no more than smile, if I had been the half-hour earlier-she has no soul. Caroline, you will never be a fashionist," he uttered aloud, as he took her offered hand, "if you number half-hours, and count out time like visiting tickets."

"I do not wish to teach fashion to my heart, Gerald," said Caroline, blushing deeply;" and I am sure I could not, even if I wished it."

"And am I really half an hour later to-day? 'Tis unlucky, sure enough; because, unfortunately, I have an engagement at four:" and De Lacy drew out his watch. Had he looked at Miss Melville at that moment, the "eternal smile" at least would not have offended him.

"And do you not return to dine with us, Gerald?”

sure

"Dine with you, Caroline? Yes.That is-no. Very unlucky, enough; but I dine at the guards' mess. Ay? no, no; 'tis to-morrow I dine at the mess, and to-day with. What a horrid bore it is ; but one looks so cursed silly always to refuse-one gets so terribly quizzed-so tormented you know, Caroline, 'tis better to conform a little."

Miss Melville made no reply. That De Lacy was embarrassed by some secret feeling was painfully evident; and he had until now been too devoted a lover for her to be able to conceal from herself that in whatever it originated, it had been productive of coldness towards her. Naturally timid, she shrank alike from expostulation and reproach; but never since she had known De Lacy had she spent two hours in his society so miserably as those which this day had brought her. By intervals, Gerald was still all the lover-as fond, as tender, and as assiduous as ever; but just as Caroline rallied her saddened spirits, and gave herself up once more to confidence and joy, the abstraction of De Lacy would return to chill her affectionate feelings. At length the hour of his alleged appointment arrived, and then he loitered some ten minutes longer, patted Caroline's lap-dog, and teased her linnet, cursed his engagement, and left her.

De Lacy drove listlessly through the crowded streets, until he was aroused from his reverie by locking one of his wheels in that of a passing cabriolet, whose driver was as careless as himself: the first impulse of each gentleman was

naturally to "row" his groom, for not reminding him that he was either blind or bewildered, and the second to extricate himself, which was effected with very little difficulty. The two gentlemen then bent forward to offer a mutual apology, and De Lacy discovered in the driver of the second vehicle, his hairbrained cousin, Pennington Lester. "Ha! Pen.!-is it you to whom I am indebted for this kindly encounter? Whither are you bound?"

"I was flying on the wings of love, till you plucked out one of the feathers, as though the little god had not showered goose-quills enough upon yourself for the last ten months, without obliging you to interfere with your friend and kinsman, Pennington Lester, in his first flight."

"Lester in love!" cried his cousin, mirthfully; "the Lord Mayor in the fleet!-No, no, my gay coz.

"Nay, by mine halidome, 'tis even so." "And who is the fair she, most potent knight?"

"The star which has just burst on our cloudy horizon-Lady Marcia Merioneth-I attend her levee this morning."

"Drive on," said De Lacy; "I'll owe an introduction to you:" and full of a feeling at whose analysis he would have blushed, he followed fast on the track of his rapid guide; and then, flinging the reins to his groom, entered the house of the Countess of Dashabigh with his cousin.

A gay group were assembled in the drawing-room, and the Lady Marcia threaded her way through them to greet Pennington. Oh! Mr. Lester, I am so glad you are come; here are all the gentlemen discussing a point which no man in town can decide but yourselfand here are at least a score of them criticising Lablache-and mamma absolutely setting her face against the concert to-morrow evening-and fiveand-twenty other things for you to arrange, and-Lord Faverby, do pray make that odious parroquet more quiet, and drive Flirt off Hogarth; how tiresome she is! Mr. Belmont, I'll trouble you for my feather-fan, yonder it lies, on the ottoman at the top of the room-thank you-now, Mr. Lester, do go, and convince mamma that we must positively attend the concert.”

"First allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr. De Lacy;" said Pennington, in his best manner.

"Oh! the caged lion!" cried Lady Marcia, as she curtsied slightly, in acknowledgment of Gerald's salutation; "I have heard of you, Mr. De Lacyyou went in last season, did you not?— fell in love and turned hermit-I remember it perfectly; it was a very good story."

De Lacy felt half inclined to blush, though his better reason told him that the blush would have been better suited to the cheek of Lady Marcia; but the fair fashionable had no time to blush, and still less inclination. "And so you really are épris, Mr. De Lacy?well, I am delighted to hear it, for they tell me that a man in love is quite a curiosity in these days, and I adore curiosities!-You must excuse me if I seem at all odd, for I dare to say I shall know better in a month or two."

Of course De Lacy retorted by an assurance that any change would be rather to be deplored than wished.

"What thought the Lady Marcia of il Signor Jeronimo Sabetti, last evening?" asked a gentleman, who had until that moment been silently turning over the leaves of a splendidly illustrated edition of Faust.

"Oh! beau à merveille!" exclaimed the lady; "interestingly languid, and elegantly bilious; taking to a degree."

"You are cruel to your countrymen, Lady Marcia," said Pennington Lester, "in thus complimenting a foreigner."

"Not a whit," exclaimed the fair daughter of the Countess of Dashabigh ; "it is quite a distinct style from yours, Mr. Lester-I should as soon think a plaudit on some belle of the court of Queen Elizabeth an ill compliment to a reigning beauty."

"On your knees, Lester!" cried Lord Faverby, "and induce Lady Marcia to declare herself serious, and you are the happiest man in England.”

Faverby," said the countess, languidly, putting her French poodle carefully on a satin cushion, and joining the group; "you forget what a child she is, and that you will make her vain."

"No, no, mamma," said Lady Marcia, with a pretty pout, and glancing archly at Lester, his lordship is quite safe; he will never make me vain-now

"What a pity it is," said the lady, as she turned towards a table covered with drawings and prints,-"what a great pity it is that you are affiance."

"And wherefore?" asked De Lacy, following her.

"Nay, that is such a strange, unanswerable question-it is so much trouble to reply to such matter-of-fact, oldfashioned queries.”

"But suppose my engagement were mere report?" murmured De Lacy.

Lady Marcia turned on him a keen, inquiring look, which accorded but ill with her asssumed character, and then answered below her breath, "Why, then I might perhaps like you betternothing more."

Something swept hurriedly over De Lacy's heart, and for a moment he did not raise his eyes, but the lady was already expatiating on the merits of a chalk drawing, which Lord Taverby had just taken from a porte-feuille.

"Is not that a Psyche?" asked Mr. Belmont.

"It is," replied Honeywood Gordon, a gay young guardsman; "and but that the eye is too heavy and languid, I should think that Lady Marcia had sat to the artist."

"It is at least no compliment," said Lord Taverby, for there is a want of grace in the draping, and a crudity in the expression, which destroy the beauty of the countenance."

"It wants life," pursued De Lacy, "expression, and-if I may be permitted so to say-passion."

The lady looked towards him, and smiled, but she was silent.

"I have gained your suit, Lady Marcia," said Pennington Lester, hastily approaching her, and I am to have the honour of appearing in your train at the concert to-morrow evening."

"You are invaluable as a coadjutor, Lester, and to prove my sense of your

services, I shall henceforth extend my favour in your family, and feel happy to number among my friends your sentimental cousin, whom you have just presented to me--and to see him here, with all his fetters about him; and do you know, I consider that pure Christian charity, Mr. De Lacy, for one is generally scared at the bare idea of a man hung in chains."

My chains are not yet rivetted," said De Lacy, in a subdued voice, as he made his parting bow.

"We shall meet you in the rooms, shall we not, Lester?" asked the countess. "Oh! yes, yes, true; you accompany us; and Mr. De Lacy, will you sup with us? We shall return home quietly-not a soul but friends," and Gerald departed.

"Fine spirited girl that! eh, De Lacy? -a dasher!" said Lester, as he sprang into his cabriolet. "What, you're off to dine at Melville's, I suppose; tame work, coz.; mais c'est votre affaire-au revoir," and away rolled the thoughtless relative of De Lacy.

On his arrival at home, a note was presented to Gerald; it was from Miss Melville: the sudden illness of a near relation had obliged her to leave town hastily. She trusted that he would not impute to coldness the circumstance of her having commenced her journey without seeing him; she had delayed her departure until the last moment in that hope, but had been disappointed, and his servants could give no intelligence of him. The letter was mild, gentle, and affectionate, but wounded feeling nevertheless betrayed itself. For a moment De Lacy stood with the open letter in his hand, self-convicted and regretful; but ere long this changed into indignation and anger. She had absolutely left town without seeing himhad even made a merit of delaying her journey for a few hours on his account. "She is fond of counting time as it passes!" he muttered to himself, as he tore the note into shreds, and threw them about the room. Then came a new feeling, sudden and welcome: for a whole week he might spend hours with Lady Marcia, without being accused of neglect by Caroline! Poor Caroline! she had never in her life addressed a reproach to him; she would not have uttered one for the world; but De Lacy remembered