couch sat her father, with his face buried in his palms.

It was a lovely hour, the cloudless blue of the sky melted towards the west into rich amber, and that again into burning gold, as it neared the verge of the horizon. The sun was setting magnificently; and beautiful, most beautiful, were the various shades of purple and red, from the lightest to the darkest dye, that beamed around his throne. Tree and flower were in their brightest bloom, and the newly mown hay added perfume to the faint air that stole in through the casement. There had been silence in the room for some moments past, but at length Lucy spoke in a low clear tone"I am glad," she said, "that this evening is so lovely-so very lovely, for I feel it is the last that I shall spend upon earth. Nay, my dear father, do not gaze at me with that sad despairing look. Frank, dearest Frank, do not weep. Shall we not all meet hereafter in a world of eternal joy? I have long thought upon death, and I now regard it but as a short separation from those beloved ones that I leave upon earth."

"Lucy, my dearest child," interrupted her father, "you will exhaust yourself by speaking," and his voice quivered with emotion.

"No," replied Lucy, "I feel myself stronger than usual, but it is only the bright flash ere the lamp expires. Frank," she continued, turning towards her lover, who sat weeping bitterly beside her; "Frank, I may now say, without blushing, that I have loved you, and do love you stilldeeply, truly. I know that your affection for me is sincere. By all the happy hours we have spent together, by the memory of her whose heart has been ever yours, I conjure you, be a son to my aged father. I know that you will not forsake him, Frank; cherish him in his desolate old age, love him as you would your own parent. Ob! my dear, dear father," she cried, springing suddenly up with unnatural strength, and clasping her arms round his neck; "oh! my own dear father, do not grieve for me; you will still have a child, though I am gone. Where are you, Frank? I cannot see you. We shall meet- "" but ere she could complete the sentence, her head dropped upon her father's breast, the white lids closed over her eyes, and Lucy Jessering was dead.

Reader, art thou a parent? Hast thou ever lost a child as dear, aye, far dearer unto thee than the breath of life-thy best beloved-thy loveliest one? Hast thou watched for long hours beside that dear one's bed of sickness, with that mixture of agony, suspense, hope, and despair that wears the very heart? Hast thou seen the bloom of health fade from that young cheek-the brightness from that eye-the smile of innocent gaiety from the lip the lightness and fleetness from the step? Hast thou seen that being dead? If thou hast, thou mayest well judge what heart-rending grief Lucy's now desolate father at that moment endured. He did not shed a tear, or breathe a sigh; but "the iron had entered into his soul." Frank's grief was more passionate, but the sequel will tell whether or not it was more sincere. All who had been acquainted with Lucy, even those, who had only seen her or, known

her by report, sorrowed for her melancholy death. Mr. Jessering's aged housekeeper was inconsolable. "How shall I live," she would say, "" without my sweet young lady's kind words, without her gentle ways and bright smiles? And, to be sure, to think of her being taken away, and she just going to be married-not that Mr. Frank Melton was ever a favourite of mine, but then Miss Lucy loved him so dearly. And her poor old father, too! Well, well, God does all things for the best."

After his daughter's death, Mr. Jessering never raised his head; the old man's heart was broken; he became moody and reserved, wasted to a mere shadow, and scarcely ever uttered a word. The only occupation which appeared to interest him in the slightest degree was gazing on a miniature of his lost child, and caressing her little tame canary. Frank visited him frequently, but it was said that he did not pay him such kindness and attention as he might have done. One day, about a month after Lucy's decease, the old housekeeper tapped at her master's dressing-room door, and told him that dinner was ready; but receiving no answer to her repeated summons, she opened the door and entered. There sat the old man-his head and arms resting on the table before him, and Lucy's miniature clasped in his hands. He was dead. Seven months after, Frank Melton was married!

S. J. G.

TO MY GENTLE FRIEND.
They do not call you beautiful,

They say you are not fair!
They have not looked within your eyes,
Nor touched your silken hair.

They have not thrill'd beneath your tones,
Nor noted your sweet smile;
The mourner's face reflects its light,
Nor bleeds his heart the while.

They do not heed your quiv'ring lips,
The tremulous low sigh,
When thro' the eloquence of one
The oppressed lift a cry!

They have not seen your flashing eye,
When deeds of wrong are told;
Its speech is like the trumpet note
To animate the bold!

And oh! when those you love have erred,
And men are prompt to blame,
They have not seen your falling lid,
And deepening blush of shame.
They have not gazed upon your brow,

And read high language there;
The noble thought, the purpose great,
'Tis this that makes you fair.

A thousand flitting glories come,
To visit your pale face;
Our souls confess you beautiful,
And full of winning grace!

MATILDA L. DAVIS.

"Oh, no; don't think it for a moment," replied her friend, laughing. "But the truth is, Bessie, Alice has changed. You must know she has but lately returned from a winter in the city, and in lieu of our favourite Alice, the unsophisticated village girl, has brought us back only the fine affected city lady."

"Is it so? Well, I wish the fine lady back again, amid the purlieus of fashionable folly; for I am sure she is perfectly ridiculous here-besides, no well-bred city lady but would despise as much as we do such airs and affected graces." "You are right. Alice certainly shows great want of sense by her present absurd behaviour. Ah me! I fear she is utterly spoiled."

"For my part, I do not consider her either 'spoiled' or ridiculous,"" interrupted Matilda Grant, who had not before spoken. "I think her more lovely than ever."

"I am glad you do, Matilda," replied Bessie. "But look, is not that Alice? Yes, I am sure it is; but how different from the light springing step with which she used to meet us!"

At this moment Alice Welford approached, and was about to pass the party of young girls with merely a most graceful courtesy and bow, when Bessie Waldo, laying her hand on her arm, cried

"Do stop a moment, dear Alice! it is so long since we have met. Come, join us in a walk to one of our old favourite haunts."

"I thank you extremely, Miss Waldo," replied Alice, in a soft, lisping voice, "extremely; but you must excuse me. A long walk would really agitate my nerves too sensibly; and the sunbeams are horribly excruciating."

Then gracefully bowing, and drawing her green veil with a slight shudder over her face, Alice passed on.

The sylvan village of Fairdale, with its neat white cottages peeping forth from clustering roses and honey-suckles, its pretty church embowered in a grove of willows, and its nicely gravelled walks shaded by lofty elms, was perhaps one of the sweetest spots where a lover of nature might pause on his journey through life, and there, far from the turmoil of the busy world, pass his days in peaceful seclusion and happiness.

It seems therefore almost profanation to speak of money in connexion with so blissful a retreat; but everywhere, from the time when “ Adam delved and Eve span," the love of riches will creep amid the most lovely scenes, even as sin within the holy precincts of paradise.

Mr. Welford (the father of Alice) was the most wealthy man in Fairdale. He had held a lucky ticket in the lottery of life, and having constantly borne in mind the thrifty maxim, 66 a penny saved is a penny gained," could now count his thousands and tens of thousands. He was also an upright, honest man-never known to grind the poor, or distress the widow and fatherless; while on the other hand, it might perhaps be said, neither was he ever known to expend aught in charity, or help to smoothe the path of life for the forlorn and destitute.

Somewhat late in life, he had united himself to a lady of nearly his own age, and who perhaps might be said to excel even her husband in the careful hoarding of pounds, shillings, and pence. She was very ambitious-fond of dress, and of making a display; for which indulgences light dinners and an empty larder were often made to bring up all arrears. As Alice, their only child, grew up, the purse of the proud and happy father was never denied; for it was the aim and ambition of both parents that their daughter should not only be the best-educated girl in the village, but that her dress should always excel in richness those of her young companions. It was almost a miracle that Alice should have grown up to womanhood unspoiled by such lavish indulgence.

She was, indeed, a lovely girl. Her complexion was radiant with health and happiness, and if by some the rose might be thought too predominant, her beautifully formed neck and hands were as white as falling snow flakes. Her eyes were large, of a soft and lustrous black, shaded by the most beautiful eye-lashes, and arched with the bow of love. Her nose was petite and perfect, and her lips like the inner leaf of the rose. She was of middling height, delicately proportioned, with a foot of fairy mould. The mind of the fair Alice was not, it is true, as richly gifted; still ber talents were by no means below mediocrity, while her temper and disposition were naturally amiable.

In infancy and in childhood she was so bright and joyous, so winning in her artless endearments, that every eye fell on her with delight; and as that period arrived when, bidding a joyful farewell to all school discipline, she tripped lightly forth to commence the journey of life-to her imagination a beauteous garden, where the hand of pleasure was ever strewing thornless roses, gemmed with the bright dew of happiness-there was one general tribute of admiration. Without a feeling of envy, her young companions stepped aside to yield place to the brilliant queen of their little coterie; the brightest flower of as beautiful a garland as ever came fresh and glowing from the hands of nature; for in Fairdale, one would think the fairies, as in olden time, had touched each blushing maiden with their wand, such wealth was there of beauty.

Frederick and Bessie Waldo were the children

of a wealthy landed proprietor in the neighbourhood of Fairdale, between whom and the parents of Alice there had always existed the warmest friendship-a bond which seemed to unite even more closely the hearts of their children. In childhood they were inseparable, and until Frederick left for college, scarcely a day passed that the three friends did not meet. Frederick was a young man of promising talents, enthusiastic in his attachments, generous and noble in his feelings. He would not, it is true, have been considered the beau ideal of manly beauty, yet there was a charm in his frank ingenuous countenance, which drew all hearts in his favour.

:

Although some years older than Alice, Frederick deemed it no reason why he should not continue to love the beautiful girl; as to falling in love, he never did -he had adored her with his whole heart and soul from the time she first lisped his name. Nor was he by any means the only one fascinated and made captive by her charms. There was not a youth in the village but felt suicidal if she but smiled upon another; and many were the lines, now lost to fame, penned by some "mute inglorious Milton," which were inspired by her beauty.

At each vacation, how gladly did Frederick hasten to Fairdale, sure of always meeting a joy ful welcome from Alice! He witnessed with delight the gradual development of her mind and person-in his eye she was perfection. No one touched the piano with such skill; there was no voice so sweet. No pencil but that of Alice could have given that living glow to the landscape; and her writing--ab ! surely some elfin sprite must have guided her little hand!

Upon leaving college, Frederick commenced the study of medicine in Philadelphia. There, day after day, night after night, did the young student toil on in unceasing study, to make for himself a reputation and a name worthy his beloved Alice; for not until then, he resolved, would he offer either heart or hand to her acceptance.

But in the meanwhile, o'er the heaven of Alice Welford's beauty a cloud was rising-a mere speck at first, yet ever increasing, until it overshadowed her whole lovely person! It was at first difficult to tell why she was less pleasing-for less pleasing she certainly was. Her companions looked from one to the other, and silently wondered; for so well did they all love her, that each one strove to conceal her thoughts within her own bosom. About this time Alice was invited to pass a few months in the city, and upon her return affectation stood forth too palpable to be longer mistaken! She was now suddenly distressed by fogs and moonlight. She took to sighs and sentiment, and in that vein her eyes were set, deep-rolling, tearful. Her voice was now so fine, "no sound could live 'twixt it and silence," and if she smiled (for now away with laughter), it was with manner constrained and sickly. A beautiful mouth too had Alice, and beautifully white were the little teeth within; yet somehow or other "the pink portico with an ivory door" was guarded by a strange fanciful porter! Her manners and conversation partook also of the same unnatural change.

Mrs. Welford, deceived and blinded by her maternal love, saw only the most graceful refinement in her daughter; while Mr. Welford, good man, although he was at first somewhat puzzled, and was heard once or twice to utter an impatient "pish!" at length concluded these new-fangled airs were all right, so settled himself contentedly down to his day-book and ledger.

Although many of her most intimate friends now shunned the society of Alice, there were some who not only fancied they admired, but who also strove to imitate her every word and motion. Among these Matilda Grant shone conspicuously; and nature having innocently placed a languishing blue eye in her little head of light flaxen ringlets, and given a gentle lisp to her tongue, the mantle of affectation fell not ungracefully around her white dimpled shoulders.

Could these young ladies but have seen themselves as others saw them, how little would their self-love have been flattered! for nowhere does affectation appear more odious than when she comes with mincing step and languishing simper amid the homely scenes of country life.

"God made the country, and man made the town," are words which fell from the pen of the inspired Cowper. It is in the gay thoroughfare of the city, therefore, in the glitter of the ballroom, in the brilliant saloon, or amid the artificial allurements of fashionable life, that affectation may be tolerated, although she is everywhere to be despised. But let her shun the country-the very school of nature, where grace may be learned even from the tall grass as it meets the kiss of the summer wind, and where the little blue violet, and the spotless lily of the valley, teach lessons of modesty and purity. Music!-can the opera send forth sweeter notes than morn and eve meet your ear from yonder grove? Hark to the robin, and the merry bob-o'-link, or to the lark trilling her hymn of praise far up in the azure vault of heaven! The silvery rill, too, as it leaps and dances over its pebbly bed, will teach you cheerfulness, and bright-eyed health and exercise transfer to your cheek the lovely tints of the rose.

Nearly a year of arduous study was passed by Frederick Waldo ere he again visited Fairdale; but now, with love, hope, and joy glowing at his heart, he once more pressed the green sward of his native village.

As soon as the affectionate greetings of kindred were interchanged, he flew to the residence of Mr. Welford, where he was received with the most cordial kindness. The natural feelings of Alice triumphed for a while over all affectation, and with a blush as of old, and a sparkling eye, she extended her hand to meet the warm pressure of her early friend. For that evening Alice was herself-or if perchance some few of her newly acquired graces shone forth, they were eclipsed in the eyes of her lover by her more artless manner, and he left her presence intoxicated with love and happiness.

But when the next morning Frederick saw Alice, she was languidly reclining upon a sofa, apparently too much absorbed in reading to notice his ap

"Oh! no calamity to myself—but think of the sufferings of the poor wretched Sophie! Ah, is it not enough to rend the heart! But you must have read "Sophie?" "

"I confess I have not," replied Frederick, smiling. "But come, I cannot allow fictitious woes to prevent us from enjoying this fine morning. Bessie and I have planned a little excursion on horseback (ever your delight, I remember), and I have called to ask you to accompany us." "Really, you are very kind, Mr. Waldo," replied Alice; "but nothing could tempt me to leave this charming book."

"Indeed!" answered Frederick, evidently piqued by her refusal; "I flattered myself the society of a long absent friend might be of more value to you. But come, Alice," resuming all his wonted frankness of manner," do lay aside your book. Recollect, for nearly a year I have been pent within the walls of a city, and now feel as if released from a galling bondage. I wish to enjoy every moment of nature and of you, my dear friend."

"Oh! pray take your ride-do, I beseech of you," she replied, laying her hand on his arm, and pushing him gently from her. "Do go; but pray leave me to my delightfully absorbing Sophie !"

"Alice!"

"I believe I am very nervous this morning," she added, as she felt that look of wounded affection fixed upon her; then rising, and slightly blushing, she walked to the window.

“Since, then, you refuse me the happiness of your society, you will at least favour me with music-one song, Alice," said Frederick.

"How can you ask me to sing in the morning? It really is so outré, so désagréable, as the French say; but since you wish it, I will play a favourite air of Matilda Grant's: Have you seen sweet Matilda? the loveliest creature! Yet I must say, to attempt eliciting harmony at such an unseasonable hour, does not coincide with my taste.”

"Then pray, Miss Welford, do not disturb yourself on my account," replied Frederick, and coldly bowing, he left the room.

As might be expected, there was no riding that day. Frederick felt deeply hurt by the conduct of Alice; it was so strange, so unlike herself. For the whole day he remained moody and silent, but at length, with all the generosity of true love, he accused himself of being unjust to Alice. "It was selfish in me," thought he, "to expect her to leave a story in which she was so much interested merely for a ride, which she can enjoy any day; and as to music, why truly it does seem out of place in the morning. I wonder how I could be so absurd as to feel so much offended." And thus

laying "the flattering unction to his soul," he was soon by the side of Alice.

"It is evening, Alice, the hour for music. You will now sing to me."

"Oh yes, with pleasure," she replied; and then seating herself with the most studied gracefulness at the piano, arranging her profusion of long ringlets, with many other pretty little airs, she turned in a languishing manner to Frederick, and inquired in a soft voice what song he would prefer. A favourite air from La Sonnambula was named, with which Alice had often charmed his ear.

Running her fingers lightly over the keys, the really fine voice of Alice commenced "Still so gently o'er me stealing." Poor Frederick looked and listened with strangely commingled feelings of pleasure and disgust. It was surely Alice-it was her bird-like voice which fell on his ear! yet so distorted, perverted by theatrical tone and manner, that he could hardly trust his senses.

"Oh sweet! bewitching! heavenly!" cried Matilda Grant, clasping her hands, and rolling her pretty eyes in ecstasy.

66

Frederick merely bowed his thanks, and then named a simple Scotch air; but here, alas! the most beautiful song of Burns was worse confounded" with affected simplicity; and after many vain attempts to elicit some chord which might vibrate to his heart as in other days, Frederick turned sorrowfully away, and soon after took leave, more unhappy than he had ever felt before, and perhaps less in love!

Frederick remained a week in Fairdale. He saw Miss Welford but seldom, yet each time they did meet served only to disenchant him the more; and when he returned to Philadelphia, to pursue those studies which for her sake had been so sweet, life to the young student seemed disrobed of half its charms.

Room now for the elegant Julius Adolphus Bubble! Step aside, oh all ye village swains, ye home-spun youths! Doff now your caps in humble submission, and come not "betwixt the wind and his nobility."

Matilda Grant had a brother; this brother had a friend, and that friend was Julius Adolphus Bubble. He came from the far" sunny south," to inhale the cool breezes of a northern clime-to rusticate in the native village of his friend. Ah! favoured Fairdale, to receive beneath your rural shades this specimen exquisite-the inimitable Bubble! In the words of Carlyle, he may be best described.

Elegant vacuum! serenely looking down upon all plenums and entities! The doom of fate was— "Be thou a dandy! Have thy eye-glasses, operaglasses-thy Long Acre cabs, with white-breeched tiger-thy yawning impassitives, pococurantisms -fix thyself in dandyhood undeliverable. It is thy doom."

And a doom which was met with wonderful resignation by the nature-befitted Julius.

When first he met the soft blue eyes of Matilda, he swore she was "an angel !" When he encountered the bewitching languor of Alice Welford's dark rolling orbs, he laid his hand where his heart

should have been, and vowed upon his honour she was "dee-vine." In the words of the song, he might have said

"How happy could I be with either,
Were t'other dear charmer away."

was

held their hearts transfixed, waiting to shake them off upon the altar of hymen.

And thus these two imprudent, deluded girls, fell readily into the snare prepared by the artful Bubble.

During the Winter, Frederick Waldo came again to Fairdale. It is needless to say what were the motives which incited him away from his arduous studies, and brought him once more into the presence of Miss Welford.

face."

Time flew all too swift for the trio. On he sped, (heartless old fellow!) careless that he was fast bringing round the fiat of separation.

There was riding, and boating, and pic-nic-ing in Fairdale. There was music by moonlight, and soft sighs, and soul-subduing looks "called up," out-doing even Mrs. Pentweazle. But at length "the robin and the wren had flown," and the autumn breeze blew chilly around the delicate form of Bubble, whistling a mournful requiem to pleasure through those magnifique whiskers-and so with the summer birds the elegant Julius took wing-sic transit gloria mundi!—leaving behind him not only two engaged hearts, but, alas! two engaged hands.

This modern Lothario had sworn love and constancy to both fair friends. He had wept at the feet of Alice until she whispered of hope; and then, as he received her blushing assent to be his, he won from her the promise that not even her bosom friend, Matilda, should be allowed to share her happiness. For a while, strict secrecy must be observed; it was very important for his safety that this engagement should not be known at the south, hinted of a "rich heiress" pining in green and yellow melancholy for the love of him, "jealousy," "midnight dagger," &c., until Alice, turning pale as if she already saw the form of her lover laid prostrate by the assassin, gave the promise he required.

He then fell upon his knees before Matilda, swore by all the stars he loved but her alone, and that if she proved unkind—

"From a window his body should dangle! Or a bullet should whiz through his brain!! Or the fishes his carcass should mangle!!!" But Matilda had no wish to be unkind to her desperate lover. She bent gently over him, and softly murmured forth her love. Then rising to his feet, Bubble beat his breast and his brow, calling himself a wretch to have thus obtained her love, when there were reasons-weighty reasonsthat she must be his affianced bride in secrecy, secrecy! Not even Alice must know that Cupid

toward her. He only was in the wrong. He had confined himself so closely to his books, shunning

all society, that he had become a perfect misanrich! Doubtless she was the same as other young thrope! Alice was young-she was beautiful, and girls, flattered and indulged as she had been, only been so fastidious? Thus the lover strove to reaa thousand times more beautiful! Why bad he son, while at the same time flitting before his mental vision came the Alice he had known in early life, seeming to reproach him for even palliating the follies of the affected Miss Welford. determined to look upon Alice with a less-jaunTo Fairdale then came Frederick once more, diced eye. But, alas! he was doomed to have his fond flattering hopes dispelled, and his worse fears more than realized. The "last link was broken," and for ever! His love changed to pity it was possible that Alice could ever have been the and contempt, and he now almost wondered how object of his love.

Before leaving Fairdale, Frederick addressed her the following letter:

"Pardon me, my dear Miss Welford, if I take should the perusal of these lines intrude upon a the privilege of an old friend to address you; and portion of your time, may the interest I feel for you plead my excuse. They come from one who and although those bright gems of feeling which lit once adored you-yes, fondly, truly loved you; up the dark passages of my life are now and forever extinguished, still the friendship, the sincere fulfilment of what I consider my duty, although I regard I must ever feel for you, prompts me to the an aware, by so doing, I may draw upon myself your lasting displeasure.

"There was a time, my dear friend, when your charms of manner and winning artlessness were not surpassed even by your unparalleled beauty; and pardon me, Alice, if I add, that thereon was based your greatest attraction; for although the eye may still sparkle, the cheek outvie the rose in beauty, the form equal in gracefulness the Medician Venus, and the voice still pour forth sounds sweet as the heaven-drawn notes of the Eolian harp, yet, if over all these charms affectation casts her transforming influence, where is their power to delight? Alas! when ingenuousness and sim