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doubt the creed that had been hers from in- to tear away the dark shroud of remorse, laid fancy. It had not strength to hold my father on his soul so long! There rose but this be back in his temptation to the world's mam-fore the heart of Henry Warren, as he rushed mon-worship; and how should my weak spirit from the room, calling for his carriage as he be strong when the time of trial should come? went, heedless of the servants' astounded flight I turned to my good nurse, Norah Connor, (she | in obedience to his order. A few minutes, and to whose guardianship you had left me from my they were dashing through the streets towards mother's death); from her lips I learnt that the the hospital described by the dying woman. power to lead you, my father, into a safer path To rush in, unannounced, upon the startled was mine; from her I learnt, that for my sake, | officials, with the name of Kate Warren, telling to load me with wealth and luxury, you were the tale his quivering lips refused to frame, was giving up home and happiness, and it might be the work of a moment. As it were to a stricken hereafter. I knelt in her faith, and prayed for ear, they returned the reply, that some friend of strength to restore you, my father, to holier the sufferer had found her out, and had carried thoughts and a chastened spirit by this step. her away, though dying, some days since they Oh! do not seek me, father, to move me to re- believed to a village called Fairoaks, for burial. pentance of it! I go to no scene of earthly Rushing from the spot, with the cry, "Onenjoyment. I have said to a new creed, "Thy horses on to Essex!" Henry Warren sank back people shall be my people;" and I go to the in his luxurious carriage, and he was rolled on home it offers those who are weary of the world, towards the goal of his last hope, and wept pasas to a place of safety-with me my nurse, my sionately in his solitary misery. Oh! there was second mother. Believing that your child is retribution for that past history of desertion, in happy, and humbly pressing on in the quiet the pangs sent to the gazer's heart, as each old path of prayer and works of charity towards a familiar object struck his sight, on the road still holier home, you will turn from the false leading to his home of early days! As he world, my father, and gather into your heart neared it, a weight seemed on his brain, tracing again all kindly feelings, and at the last be led the way with dark shadows; and the hoarse to say, even of our parting, It was in mercy.' cries for speed that broke on the driver's ear as I would have said all this, with tears and plead-they flew by stone and post, telling the distance, ing, on your breast, my father; but I knew how weak was yet my faith, and durst not trust myself to say what I can write-Farewell for ever. What your child asked of you before, deny her not now, in absence! The enclosed can give you one to fill my place even now, at the first moment of your solitude; it is from a sister, who--." But the concluding words were dim to the reader's eyes.

With that bitter revelation of the misery that had fallen on him, of the consciousness that from the faith of his fathers his own hand had aided in turning back his lost child, in casting away his last-left blessing on earth, the heart of the gazer upon the faintly-traced paper, which had fallen at his feet unnoticed, echoed but that one word, a Sister,' bursting from his quivering lips-opening to his sight the past, as but yesterday, in its sudden memories.

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Through the means of your child, Henry," said the missive, "I trust to these feeble lines reaching you; for she, they say, has a soul akin to sorrow and poverty; and I am poor, destitute, dying. Think not I say in bitterness, is the past still remembered? Henry-brother-surrounded by strangers, I am dying in a hospital in this great desert city. Come to me-if but to receive the blessing and forgiveness I bear from our lost parent; if to soothe the last wretchedness of your stricken sister-God bless you doubly! "KATE."

With that last word burst the torrent of the reader's agony from his lips, in a bitter cry. As he had read, the present, the past of toil and triumph, all had become as a dream, as to his home again he turned, even from the misery that had fallen on his roof so lately. The blessing-the mother's blessing-that had power

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were burdened with an agony that spoke more truly still of the working of the spell of avengement. One by one burst the well-remembered spots on the gazer's blinded sight the ivied church, the water-mill, the path through the meadow, where he had hurried on to his fate years back, with a distant glimpse of a lowroofed, leaf-hidden cottage. To reach it they had to pass the little gate of the green churchyard, and, through the whirl of the flying vehicle, one sound alone struck on the ear of Henry Warren-the solemn, feeble tone of the old bell pealing the chime of death. It told all. With that sound alone for his guide, the merchant bounded from his carriage, and rushed through the wicket, tottering as if with infirm age as he neared the group about to fulfil the sad offices of interment. They were strange faces that turned to note the intruder; but they were unheeded by the desolate man, struggling for wards to gaze upon the yet unlowered coffin. A cluster of flowers lay upon it, scattered by some loving hand in farewell, and as emblem of the purity and beauty of the parted soul. Ere the mourners could prevent it, the hand of the kneeling stranger had torn the buds from above the simple plate, designating the dead resting within, and disclosed the brief inscription, "Kate Warren ;" and, with that sight, he lay at their feet, still grasping the flowers, senseless as the cold clay beside him.

It was in the clear light of morning that Henry Warren awoke to consciousness. In that clear light he gazed upon a picture that hushed his heart's pulse for a moment by its

startling mystery. The bed, its snowy hangings; and beyond, the old cabinet; on it the little bible, the gift of Kate-of the dead! No! no! The Dreamer started up, to gaze the better on the scene; while, at that evidence of his young sister, a wild cry broke from his lips. It was answered by a hurrying step; the threshold was crossed by a young form, radiant in simple, guileless loveliness. A fair face approached the bed, and a soft clasp enclosed the extended

hands!

"Ah! Kate has played traitor, then, and told you."

"Kate! Nay, sir. I speak of the kind offer made us last night in your letter, to get me employment with a

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What, then, you did'nt know that we had settled. God bless me! The world's a good world enough, but given to ; well, and I was fool enough to believe them when they said it, too! Your hand, my lad! I believed ill of "I would be first, Harry, with the day's ren's son would be too proud to support his you, and am sorry for it: they told me Warblessing-I would not even let our dear mother mother and sister by hard work; and I-well, be before me! She is waiting to give you hers; forgive me," added the kind old man, as he but we would not wake you, for we heard you marked the blood mount to his hearer's brow at moaning and disturbed all night in your sleep; the words; " and so it was for getting you into and it is late-the bell is ringing for church-old Grimshaw's house as apprentice, that you listen!" But, as its sound still rang on the were thanking me, eh? Why, you see, we brother's ear, as he bent aside his face among settled all that before you came. You can't go, the pillows. and strove to awake to the belief that my lad! Hold up your head! We thought the past of such dread bitterness had been but that, as it seems you are home-sick, and can't a dream-he could not lift his bowed spirit to be happy-eh, Harry!-without mother's care that dear sister's holy greeting. "Our kind and Kate's merry laugh, when your day's work friend Mr. Blunt is breakfasting with us, is over; we thought-that is, I proposed that, Harry," added Kate, as she softly turned instead of being in Grimshaw's shop day and away, from fear of disturbing what she believed night, you should start with me. My wag of a to be her brother's heart-communion upon the son is determined to go out of the office, and see advent of the holy morning-" Come to us in the world, as he calls it. It's no use opposing time for prayers.' And the light step, glided such folly; it will bring its own profit, and out of hearing. But in the dreamer's heart small enough that will be. But, as I was saywas there communion with the bowed soul-asing, you shall fill his place. I shall want some one to trust to in his stead, and, when I am too old to distinguish pounds from pence, to do it for me. And as we can drive home together, with old Hector, after our day's work, and let you have your evenings with your mother -eh, Harry? Why I thought the plan would suit."

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recollection came that that vision had been one

of mercy? The head buried in the clasped hands-the hot tears, starting from between the clenched fingers-the broken words of selfhumiliation, trembling from the quivering lips,

were answer.

There was light, new in its brilliancy, in the breast of the widow's son, as he passed Suit! There was no power of utterance on from the chamber where he had been face to face with the vision of a lifetime. Another the lips of Henry Warren, as the full meaning moment and he was upon the hearth-stone of of that offer of his establishment broke on his the little parlour, in his mother's arms. Then, mind. In the yet vivid memory of that dreamthen indeed, came consciousness of the blessed-past of deception and retribution, he asked of "Had he deserved this ness of that reality of home-love! Then crowded his heart, in answer, For had there not been the reality of on the mind of Henry Warren that past of fear- good?" ful darkness. He had lived, in that dream of a proud and selfish spirit in his breast, with trial, through youth, manhood, to the verge of which but lightly had weighed the home-love so age; and the snow of bitter experience was left mighty now? There was enough of kindly tact alone of all that fleeted vision, still within his in the old man's mind to feel that, in the silent breast, calming the hot tide of passion, that it pressure of the youth's hand lay sufficient of should rush on never again in tempest-strength, thankfulness in reply; for Henry had hurried strewn with the wreck of hopes. With that from the room with that silent acknowledgment, and the little group had again drawn round yearned-for blessing in his ear at last, it was the hearth. little wonder that the youth heard not the greeting of the old friend of the family, who stood looking on the scene with a moistened eye, which he affected to hide among the benevolent smiles lighting up his face. "Have you no hand to spare me, my boy?" No hand! Gratefully at that moment could the widow's son have fallen on his shoulder, and given vent to the tears stifling him by suppression.

"Ah! dear sir!" The words came at last, hurried and broken." How can I thank you for this goodness? That through you we shall be yet all together in the old home!"

"He is thinking of his father, poor lad," said Mr. Blunt, in excuse for the moisture gathering in his own eyes.

"He is but too full of gratitude for speech," said the widow, brushing the tears from her faded cheek.

Kate said not, she had divined more truly. The sister's glance at the averted face, aided by the recollection of that morning's waking dream, told her that her brother had left them, the better to stand in self-examination and penitence for the past night's bitter pride of soul. And

Hadst thou been true, I would have shared with

thee

E'en the world's scorn, its chilling penury.
But now, though Wealth and Fame have crowned
I shrink from union with such as thou!
thy brow,

she was right. It was only alone that Henry, Ah! sighs and smiles! they are but idle all, Warren could kneel in full acknowledgment of Our banished confidences to recall. all, and say of that "lesson of life" which had Those bright, but fragile flowrets of our youth, turned the current of his passions into purer Bloom but beneath the sunny sky of Truth. and holier channels, "It was brought in mercy." There was an earnestness in that silent pleading, which gave token that the "lesson" would be blessed to the learner. Alas! the few are those to whom is granted this boon in life's reality! The many read but the future when it opens darkly before them. There are some who, by careful self-examination, and daily earnest prayer, are so framed to wisdom, that, as in a vision, they can look beyond the present of their acts, and trace their after-workings. There are many, alas! in contrast, who, wanting such guiding light, see not the rock till at its edge, when there is not time to be saved. Alas! too late for return, like the withered flower of the field.

66 Many a one can look far back on some sweet brook

That fed their soul-bloom, fresh and pure and
shining;

And many a one will say, some painted vase of clay
Has held their spirit, like the lily, pining."

My dream is past; the glitt'ring spell is o'er
That bound my ardent spirit: never more
My thoughts on thee with tenderness shall dwell,
For now we both are changed.-Farewell! farewell!

VIOLA.

North Grove, Tunbridge Wells, Sept. 1, 1849.

"MY PRETTY ROSE."

[Stanzas suggested on finding a crushed Rosebud which, a few moments previously, a Gentlemen had presented, in all its pristine freshness, to a Lady Friend.)

BY F. LOUIS JAQUEROD.

L'ABANDONNÉ.

Too late thou comest, for my heart has grown
As cold and careless, false one, as thine own.
Think not again I will its peace betray,
Or give its love to thee-to cast away!

Thou hadst it once: too well do I recall
The time when thou, unshared, possessed it all-
When my fond heart reposed itself on thine;
Deeming-how falsely it was Honour's shrine.

I thought that when we parted thou wouldst keep
Affection's sacred glow unchanged and deep.
And when I mourned o'er our divided lot,
I little dreamt how soon I was forgot!

I little deemed that, when I knelt in prayer,
Invoking for thee Heaven's protecting care,
Thou, too, wert kneeling at another's shrine,
Offering those vows I fondly thought were mine.

I will not say how bitterly I wept,
When first the knowledge of thy falsehood crept
With anguish o'er my soul; nor let thee see
One trace of weakness on my cheek for thee.

Deny it not too well I know the fate
Of her whose heart thou hast made desolate !
And now thou comest back again to me,
As if I could forget thy perfidy!

Thou askest me to be thy slave in vain :

Too rudely hast thou cleft Love's cord in twain:
And all in vain thou seekest to beguile
Me from my stern resolve by sigh or smile.

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Frail thing of Life! my fairest rose, thou'st surely been abus'd!

Thy tender stalk all broken, thy fibres sadly bruis'd, I chose thee as an offering for Friendship's hallow'd shrine,

Nor fain had dreamt 'twere but a shade that seem'd a form divine.

True friendship would have sav'd thee, and thy tender leaflets borne

From the secret crush of Envy-all lovely, though forlorn!

Had'st thou the offspring been of Art instead of Nature's own,

A dearer prize, in truth, wert thou, and kinder care hadst known,

My pretty Rose!

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MAY.

Hail! smiling Spirit of Spring!
Who comes our hearts to glad
In May's rejoicing month,

With flowers and verdure clad.
Like fairy good, in pantomime,
Thou chasest care away;
And Winter sad, like spirit bad,
Is forced to own thy sway.

Thy temples are the flowers

Which blossom in thy light;
And countless are thy followers
Who glory at the sight.
Thy harbinger-the Cuckoo-
Is heard both far and near
At break of day, at ev'ning grey,
To sing thy welcome here.

O'er hill and valley, wood and field,
Thy handiwork is seen;

The whole, so lately brown and dead,
Is clothed in brilliant green.
With voices loud we'll raise thee up,
And songs of triumph sing:
And ev'ry year we'll greet thee here,
Bright Spirit of the Spring!

MARTIN KING.

SONG. MY MOUNTAIN COT. BY ROBERT H. BROWN, ESQ. I've dwelt amidst the city's throng, I've revell'd in the gay saloon; I've shared the dance and joined the song, And thought earth had no greater boon: But then I did not know how great

Contentment reigned around this spot, Or I had left the halls of state

To dwell within my Mountain Cot.

Let others boast of wealth and power,
And luxuries that both afford:
Give me my pleasant lattice-bower,
My lowly roof and humble board.
I covet not the rich man's wealth;
I envy not the great man's lot;
Contented here, in peace and health,
I dwell within my Mountain Cot.

But should I roam through distant lands,
Some vain enjoyment to pursue,
Where classic imageries expand

Before the mind's reflective view,
E'en they must lose their native charm;
For earth hath now no favour'd spot,
No scenes so fair, no skies so warm,
As smile upon my Mountain Cot.

BE BRAVE.-Oh! cast down, above all, that vile spirit of subjection, whether from cowardice or from weakness of will. Whatever a man may be, let him but be brave and firm, able to walk by his own guidance, able to hold his own, able to defend his place and honour, able to stand up before the gods, and among men, the equal of the highest for dignity and courage! All cannot be of like nature in intellect, but all can be men, all can be brave, all can be self-sustaining if they will.

MISS LYNN'S "Amymone."

SPECULATIONS FROM MY WINDOW.

I am sitting once more, invalided, at my chamber window, which commands the most genteel approach to this great city of manufacture and commerce. My eye was attracted by the figure of a middle-aged gentleman, rather shabbily attired, who once possessed, it is said, a handsome fortune inherited from his father-a plain, hard-working man, who accumulated it in honest trade, only to be squandered away in turn by his only son. This son, now reduced to poverty, is glad to occupy an humble stool in the countinghouse of one whom once he assuredly would not have considered worthy of the honour of his acquaintance. At the same moment that he is passing along, a dashing equipage, drawn by a pair of most splendid bays, drives out of the court-yard of a fine mansion. The carriage is filled with elegant and fashionably dressed ladies; and there canters out behind them, mounted on a superb blood-horse, a gentleman in the prime of life. This gentleman is the master of the equipage, and of the fine mansion whose portals are thronged by liveried domestics, and the walls of whose splendidly furnished rooms are adorned with costly paintings, and where all the luxuries and exquisite requisites of style and comfort that wealth can command are accumulated. This wealthy and highly respected man was once an humble porter, and has arrived at his present pitch of fortune by a youth of patient endurance, careful saving, and honest exertion. What a contrast to the reduced unfortunate passing by, to whom he nods kindly a recognition which the other returns by humbly raising his hat from his head; and I cannot but marvel at the strange and striking vicissitudes of fortune, which constantly present themselves to the notice, in this grand emporium of manual labour and mental speculation.

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scientific skill with which he has more than once laid prostrate the afflicting disease which occasionally oppresses me, and for the no less admirable tact and patient kindness with which he so well knows how to cheer and raise the drooping spirits of the desponding sufferer. An admirable trait in a medical man this, and one perhaps not sufficiently attended to by the faculty; indeed, considering that it is the emanation of a feeling heart and a kind disposition, it is not to be wondered at that it should be neglected by those who either possess not the requisite patience and sweetness of disposition which it requires, or who, rendered callous by the daily, hourly peevishness and impatience of most patients, consider it not a requisite part of their duty.

I remember, when a boy, being attended by a very skilful and highly respected medical man, but whose demeanour was so grave that he almost frightened me out of my little life. He was a tall man, of a very stiff, upright figure; wore his hair powdered and brushed right off his forehead; was very sparing of his words; always wore intense black, and never gave his opinion; but would fix his great, awful-looking eyes on me, saying what little he did say in a voice of such sepulchral solemnity that he invariably left me with the firm conviction on my little mind, that I had not many hours to livethat I might possibly survive the night, but must inevitably give up the ghost early in the morning.

This medical friend, on the contrary, enters the room with such a cheering smile, and animated assurance of affording relief, that one invariably exclaims, on his taking leave, “I feel unaccountably better! I don't know how it is, but better I certainly am!"

Assuredly we cannot be too deeply grateful If you inquire the history of hundreds, nay of to this admirable class of men, or estimate too thousands here, who glide past in glittering cha- highly the skill which shortens those hours of riots, the same answer will be returned, " They fearful bodily pain, and of no less fearful mental rose from nothing;" this nothing really imply-suffering, which would otherwise, in innumerable ing-by a youth of diligent industry, and careful expenditure. And it is gratifying to reflect, that in this favoured country, of all others, an humble parentage, and even dearth of money, form no bar to the desirable attainment of comfortable competence, or even of wealth, station, and splendour, to those who, fixing their eyes steadfastly on the top of the ladder, move their feet cautiously and prudently; removing carefully with their hands every impediment which obstructs their ascent, till they finally attain the blessed and honourably-won standing-board of fortune.

There now pass by, one on either side the road, two gentlemen belonging to the noble science of physic. The one is nearly a stranger to me to the other I am infinitely indebted for the

cases, become altogether hopeless and intolera ble. And yet, how frequently we find it quite the reverse! how frequently has it been remarked, that the medical man is the worst remunerated of any, in any profession! Even they who have experienced, and have even appreciated their decided skill in the dark hour of need, too frequently forget it when the time of suffering is past, and consider that any time will suffice to pay the hard-earned money, bought at the price of want of rest and timely nourishment, by exposure to all weather, anxiety of mind, and the disregarded chance of illness from constant colds caught by exposure to night air, and of contagion from putrid fevers, and fearful diseases of every description.

Thousands, it is true, dash along in glittering

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