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Mariette had taken the pieces of the pitcher into her own little room, and treasured them, and it seemed as though the Eden which the jug could no longer display, had taken up its place in her bosom.

When the appointed Monday morning came, Mother Manon said to her daughter, "Dress yourself in your best, and take this myrtle crown to Father Jerome, he wants it for a bride." So Mariette put on her Sunday robe, took the crown without any misgiving, and went towards the Priest's house.

On the way she met Colin, who greeted her kindly, but timidly; and when she told him where she was carrying the myrtle crown, he said he was going the same way, for that he had the tithe-money to pay the Pastor. And as they walked together, Colin took her hand, though they both trembled as though they had been two criminals.

"Have you at last forgiven me," whispered Colin. "Ah! Mariette, what have I done, that you should set yourself so against me?"

But she only said, "Be easy Colin, you shall have the ribbon again, and I will always value the broken pitcher. But, tell me, was it really from you?"

"Can you yet doubt it, dear Mariette. Ah! if I might but give you every thing! Will you now be friends with me?"

She gave him no answer, but just as they entered the pastor's door, she gave him a glance, and whispered "Dearest Colin." Just as he, overjoyed, kissed her hand, a door opened, and Father Jerome's venerable figure stood before them. The young people seemed as though awaking from a dream, and tremblingly held fast by one another, but whether from the agitation of the kiss, or the sudden appearance of the Priest, I am sure I cannot tell.

Then Mariette gave the Pastor the myrtle wreath. He put it on her head, and said solemnly, "My children, love one another;" and began speaking earnestly to the listening maiden, on the propriety of her loving Colin; for the old man, from his deafness, had either not well heard the name of the bridegroom, or, from old recollections, thought Colin must be the one.

Then Mariette's feelings broke forth, and weeping she sobbed forth, "I have loved Colin a long while, but he has always hated me!"

"Hated you, Mariette!" exclaimed Colin; "my whole soul has been wrapped up in you ever since you came to La Napoule; but how could I hope you would return my love, when you might have chosen any one in the whole village?"

"Then why did you always avoid me, Colin? and choose my com. panions always in preference?"

"Oh! Mariette, I was always in fear and trembling when I saw you; I could never summon up.courage to speak to you or be near you, and yet, if I was not near you, I was miserable."

As they thus rapidly spoke together, the good priest thought they were quarrelling, and kindly drawing them towards him, and towards one another, said entreatingly, "My children, love one another!"

Mariette sank on Colin's bosom, and he, throwing his arms round her, kissed her with a kiss of the truest affection. They forgot the priest, the whole world, and were quite entranced in each other. So pre-occupied were they, that they followed the delighted old priest into the church, without even knowing where they were going.

""Mariette !" said Colin.

"Colin!" said Mariette.

There were already some worshippers in the church, who, with dumb astonishment, became witnesses of Mariette's marriage. Many went out before the end of the ceremony, in order to spread the intelligence through the village, that Colin and Mariette were married.

He

Father Jerome was charmed that all had passed off so well, and that he had met with so much less opposition than he had expected. took the newly-married couple back into the Rectory with him.

END OF THIS EVENTFUL HISTORY.

There came Mother Manon, breathless. She had been waiting for the proper bridegroom; but it was no use, he did not come. At last, she got so anxious, that she went herself to Herr Hautmarten's. But there she learnt something quite new. The High Bailiff had come himself, examined Herr Hautmarten's proceedings, and not finding them very satisfactory, had carried him off to Grasse.

"Ah! that's some of Colin's mischief again," thought she; and away she went to the Rectory to beg Father Jerome to excuse putting off the ceremony. But out came the good priest, smiling, pleased and proud of his handywork, and leading the newly married couple by the hand.

astonishment, when she But Colin had at last

Now Mother Manon really was dumb with began to comprehend what had happened. recovered his power of speech, and explained all about his love, the broken pitcher, and the Justice's falsehood, and how he had made his complaint before the High Bailiff, at Grasse. Then he begged for her blessing on them both, as she might well see that Mariette had been guilty of no fault.

Father Jerome, who, for a long time, could not be made to understand how he had married the wrong persons, raised his hands to Heaven, and said, reverently, "Wonderful indeed are the ways of Providence!" Colin and Mariette kissed his hand; and, at last, Mother Manon, out of actual fear and wonder, gave the young people her blessing, remarking, at the same time, that her head turned round, and she hardly knew what she did.

But, however, she was delighted with her unexpected Son-in-law, when she found how rich he was, and how badly Herr Hautmarten, of the great nose, fared at Grasse.

The Broken Pitcher was thenceforth considered as a treasure in the family, in whose possession it may be seen at the present day.

2. LOOSE LEAVES FROM THE COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF A RHYMER.

I.

Hei mihi difficile est imitari gaudia falsa
Difficile est tristi fingere mente jocum.

THERE is a smile which on the cheek
A summer sunshine seems to wear,

That gaily tries of joy to speak,

Though inward thorns the bosom tear;

Which brightly sparkles in the eye,

And fain would tell of peace and rest,
Yet scarce can hide the bursting sigh
That throbs within the aching breast.

Thus on the mossy leaf at night,

The glow-worm sheds his sparkling ray;
And who would think that insect bright
Made of the mossy leaf his prey?

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It is not long-not very long-some few short years ago,
When in that freshness of the heart which only children know,
With bounding step, and sparkling eye, with laughter and with mirth,
I loved to greet the merry morn that gave my being birth;
A birth-day then was welcome, and it always did appear—
When every day was happy-still the happiest in the year.

As children by the streamlet's side, will, in their merry play,
Oft laughing leap from stone to stone, across the watery way;
So, even so, when birth-days came, in youth's delicious prime,
I laughed, and deemed them stepping-stones across the stream of time;
Which helped us onward to the fields, where fame's fair flow'rets grew,
And manhood decked his brows with wreaths of amaranthian hue.

And though those dreams, those birth-day dreams, have all too swiftly flown,

And life with its real trials now has claimed me for its own,
Still can the sweet remembrance of those sunny days of bliss
A father's kind approving smile, a mother's gentle kiss,
The sister's words of greeting, and the little gifts of love,
Like green spots in the desert, to my lonely spirit prove.

And thou art now what I was once, a young and joyous thing;
A birth-day can around thee still a sweet enchantment fling:
Thou hast not worn, as I have worn, the cypress-crown of care;
Thou hast not felt, as I have felt, the void of things that were;
But lightsome is thy footstep, and elastic is thy youth,
And thy garlands all are tissued with the holy dyes of truth.

And may'st thou ever fondly keep from idle fancies free
The brightest jewel of thy heart, thy girlhood's gladsome glee.
Be merry!--oh, be merry still! but let your mirth be wise,
For youth is but a passing guest, and pleasure swiftly dies;
Deem life's true gifts the memory of days in goodness spent,
Pure feelings of affection, and a spirit of content.

May day improve on day with thee, and year improve on year,
And find thee free from vain regrets, inquietude, and fear;
That when a Birth-day morning comes, in deep and dirge-like tone,
It ne'er may toll o'er hours mispent, or early feelings flown,
But find thee fresh and blooming as the floweret of the wild,
With a heart as redolent of hope, as when thou wast a child.

So may the spring-time of thy youth serenely float along,
Bright as the garland on thy brow, free as thy own glad song;
And, wouldst thou rear a flower which shall bloom unto the last,
And smile through wind and weather, when all other flowers are past,
Watch well the germs of household love, and thou shalt surely see
Misfortune has no force against a love-knit family.

W. A. C.

(U. C.)

ART. VI.-LAW OF OATHS.

Affirmation Bill. Debate in the House of Lords, on Lord Denman's motion for the second reading of his Affirmation Bill. Monday, June 27th, 1842.

THE fact, that an effort has been made in the House of Lords, to bring in a Bill for enabling persons who, on religious grounds, object to taking oaths, to use an affirmation instead; and that a Committee has been appointed, to consider the propriety of making a change in the law for that purpose, calls upon all the professed friends of religious liberty, for a declaration of their views, as to the course which enlightened justice would dictate. And, as Members of a University, whose distinguishing feature it is, to deal out her rewards for the cultivation of Literature and Science, without exacting the profession of adherence to a particular Church or Creed, as a passport to secular honours, we feel that it becomes our duty to offer a few observations on such a subject.

The important question as to the duty of individuals placed in circumstances where an oath is required of them—whether truth be on the side of those who believe that they may, without infringing on any higher law, take oaths in compliance with the usages of a political community, or of those who feel bound to abstain on all occasions from

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