alluded to the past, but it sometimes appeared as if he were trying to atone for it. Edith was quiet, gentle, and obedient. They were said to be the happiest couple in the world. The Italians have a proverb, "Ciò che luce non è sempre oro”—“That which shines is not always gold;" or, as we English express it, “All is not gold that glitters." FRIENDSHIP. The old, the young, the sick, and the infirm— In affluence worshipped, but a thing unknown; How soon these slink away, as doth a thief, by stealth! With song and merriment and harmless jest, Sorrow is Knowledge. Yet not they who feel In the world's combat snatch the glitt'ring steel Being with being, thought with thought to blend, And in that breast to feel Love-Friendship has no end! To suffer is to know. Not they who bear To feel the fluttering pulse, the feeble breath Smiles from those lips-rich payment! And in- Of sickness, see the wonted hue they woreThis this has friendship done-could Love itself do more? Without thee, FRIENDSHIP, joy at best were woe, Sickness were torture, and the heart-ache then Would be hell's torment! Whither should we go, With none to love us, none to guide? Would men Not curse their own existence? Up! and when Need calls for Friendship-as it must-then lend Aid as thou wouldst receive it, and not pen Thy spirit's good in apathy; but blend It with His name who first call'd, named Himself-a FRIEND! WILLIAM HENRY FISK. TO F. M. S. I love to trace familiar things And o'er the horizon of the heart Throw memory's sunlight gleam, To wake the sounds which erst have charmed, But oh! I cannot brook the thought Then, lady fair, I'll wake my lyre To pay my tribute strain, And welcome thee, "the long lost one," And fondly wish thee health and peace, "To be beloved," that is thy lot, I cannot look on thee as one Then wake thy lyre's familiar tones Proclaim thy gifts divine. And when thine eye perchance may fall How other hearts have prized the gift. W. M. KIRKHOUSE. "And you would be right. Indeed, Kate," continued Miss Woodford, "we have advised you for the best. Love is not necessary for happiness; and the calm regard and friendship you feel for Mr. Melville (for you have only fancied you dislike him since he has appeared in the character of a suitor, while before you were really attached to him), will prove a far more durable means of happiness, than that passionate affection which girls fancy a necessary feeling towards their future husband. Yes, my dear, dear girl, I am quite sure you will never repent it if you marry him." "But you know-you know I love another," murmured Kate, in a voice almost inaudible through her tears. "You believe, you fancy you do; but how do you know he still cares for you? You are throwing away, are wasting your affections on one unworthy of them," said Emily Woodford. "If he loved you, do you suppose he would have allowed so long a time to elapse without seeing you, and seeking some explanation? Instead of which, he appears to have purposely avoided you; does such conduct betoken love?" Miss Woodford paused, and Kate hid her face for a moment in the cushion of the sofa, and then gasped out, almost writhing with anguish, 66 Oh, Emily, you are too, too cruel!" "I seem so, dearest; but ask yourself seriously if I am not right. Think of your mother, Kate; of your brothers and sisters, poor children! whose fate depends so much on your conductremember-" "I know all-I think of it all-I remember all," interrupted the unhappy girl; "if I did not, think you I could consent to become the wife of one I detest? Do you think if my mother, my gentle, suffering, idolized mother, had not with tears in her eyes implored me to accept Melville's hand, and had not even owned she believed it would prolong her life were I to do so, think you I ever, ever could have so GOWER. degraded myself as to bind myself to one man, when my every pulse is throbbing with wild, passionate love for another? Could I," continued Kate, with increasing vehemence-" could I, when the images of my mother and her little children were conjured up before my eyes, in poverty and dependence-could I refuse to assist them, to render them happy, to give them a home, when it was in my power to do so-could I, Emily? Alas! alas! no. But I deserve it all," she passionately exclaimed; "I deserve it all! Oh, I am rightly punished! I was proud, I was wayward, I wanted to bring him to my feet: I wanted to show it was a favour to be loved by me; and he, too, was proud, and left me, and we have never met since! Oh, Emily, Emily, God help me!" and Kate ceased speaking, exhausted by the violence of her emotion, and began hurriedly to pace the little drawingMiss Woodford was thoroughly perplexed; she knew not what to say to her friend, whose unusual excitement almost terrified her. It was too late, she reflected, to break off her engagement; besides, the thought of Kate's invalid mother flashed across her mind, and she knew such a sudden disappointment would most likely be a death-blow; but yet, surely it was not right that Kate Gower should be allowed to contract a marriage evidently so abhorrent to her feelings. Poor Emily! she was sadly puzzled; and as she thought of her own happy engagement and handsome lover, she sighed deeply. She could not, however, decide on any plan of conduct, and resolved, at last, to let matters take their own course. It was a passiveness she bitterly repented when it was too late. room. Mrs. Gower was the widow of a major in the army, who had died, leaving her with four children and heavy debts, two years before the opening of this narrative. It was a hard struggle for five human creatures, of refined tastes and habits, to live upon the scanty pittance allowed them by government; so no wonder that when George Melville, young, rich, and good-looking, fell in love with and proposed to her eldest and favourite daughter, Kate, the widow, unaware of her previous attachment, urged and entreated her to accept his proffered hand. We have seen from the conversation recorded above, that Kate, moved by the tears of a mother she dearly loved, and aware of the immense advantage which would accrue to her family by her marriage (for Mr. Melville had promised to provide them with a home), consented, and a few days only were now wanting to that fixed for the wedding. Alas for a woman who marries a man she cannot love! and doubly alas for her whose affections are already bestowed on another! Oh, mothers, loving and kind and unselfish and affectionate though ye may be, beware lest for the fancied advantage of your children you sacrifice their every chance of happiness. The husband may be kind, and generous, and loving, and constant; but if the wife love him not, how, how can she be happy? And it is on her whole life that the deep gloom of despair will be cast; not for days, nor weeks, nor months, nor even years, but for ever-for her whole life, with no hope for relief but in the grave; and her one despairing cry will be ever ascending to heaven-" Let me die, Lord! let me die! I only ask for death!" Poor sad one, God help thee! Kate Gower's wedding-day had arrived, and never had she looked more beautiful. A strange light burnt in dark brilliant eyes, and a bright flush on her cheek deceived the numerous spectators into a belief that she was marvellously happy. Mrs. Gower's heart dilated with joy as she gazed on her lovely daughter, who, with the bridal wreath on her brow. and the lace veil falling on the ground around her, knelt at the altar and pronounced her marriage wow, to “love, honour, and obey" her husband. What mockery! what hollowness! Poor unhappy Kate! But so well did she sustain the part she had imposed on herself, that not even her bridemaid, Emily Woodford, far less did her happy mother, suspect for one moment the fearful sacrifice she was making. She was so perfectly calm, even smiling, that Emily believed her quite reconciled to her fate; and many would have laughed at the idea of its being otherwise. What! with a handsome, doting, fine-tempered husband, not happy? Why, what would the girl have?-aye, what indeed? Four months had passed away since Kate Gower had become Kate Melville, and still her husband loved her with almost the passionate ardour of his first devotion. True, the thought sometimes flashed across his mind that the feeling was not reciprocal, that Kate even shrank from his caresses; but he soon persuaded himself, that to a natural quietness of matter must be attributed her apparent coldness; and fortunately he had never known her otherwise, for their acquaintance had commenced but a few months after her father's death, when the irreparable loss of a kind and indulgent parent had subdued, for the time, every trace of her natural gaiety and sparkling spirits; no marvel, as it ripened, and as the prospect of becoming the wife of one she could not love, stood ever before her-no marvel that they did not return, and that to Melville she had even appeared both undemonstrative and reserved. We will not stay to tell how different she had been, when overflowing with the happiness of loving and being beloved; every flower in the field, every star in the sky, every action in the day, had been a source of heartfelt joy, and pure, simple mirth. Vivian Howick and Kate had met in Malta, while her father's regiment was stationed there, and soon congeniality of tastes and similarity of feelings had taught the young people first friendship, then love. The day before that on which Vivian had decided to ask Major Gower's ap probation of their engagement, a foolish misunderstanding arose between the lovers, and Kate, indignant at being for once suspected of levity, exclaimed, in answer to some gentle reproach from Vivian: Mr. Howick, you are assuming a husband's authority a little too soon; I have no wish to lose my liberty at sixteen, and if you cannot trust me, if you have no faith in me, let us part-it will be better-let us part!" Before she could retract her words she was alone; Vivian had sprung up, passed through the open French window, and was gone. Poor Kate! she had never seen him since; and yet almost before the words had passed her lips she bitterly repented them. A few days after, she heard that Mr. Howick had left for England, and soon her father's regiment was also summoned there, previous to embarking for India. Major Gower died a fortnight after their arrival in London; and since then Kate had never even heard the name of Vivian Howick mentioned. How often it hung upon her lips, and how often it brought a passionate flood of agonizing tears to her eyes, we care not now to tell; there are some feelings in a woman's heart that should be sacred even to sympathy. Vivian Howick stayed but a few weeks in England, when, having obtained an appointment as secretary to the embassy, he set out for "Kate, dearest, it is ten o'clock; had better begin to dress?" you not "Certainly, if you wish it ;" and Melville was left alone in the large dining-room of his mansion in Grosvenor Square. Half an hour had passed when Kate rejoined her husband. She was looking very lovely, and he could not resist pressing her to his heart, as he murmured some lover-like compliment on her surpassing beauty; and then, for the first time, he marked her expression of shrinking scorn, as even the faint colour that usually tinged her cheek fled from her face, and a feeling of distrust and disappointment, almost of anger, arose in his heart. He hastily withdrew his arm, and, opening the door of the apartment, motioned her forward. In another moment they were in the carriage, on the way to Lady · -'s. A murmur of admiration arose from the group hanging about the entrance of the ballroom as Kate entered it, leaning on the arm of her husband; and in truth she was looking gloriously beautiful; a smile had rarely dwelt on her lips since her marriage, but her classical beauty had perhaps rather gained than lost by its additional severity; and the pure simplicity of her white dress, and the large lilies in her dark hair, were well chosen to show off to the most remarkable advantage the singular beauty of her face and form. But Melville, usually so proud of the admiration she excited, was this evening gloomy and irritable; and though he authoritatively insisted on her dancing, he watched her throughout with an earnest attention, which too plainly showed how the trust he had felt in her had vanished from his heart. "What do you think of Miss D'Arcy; it is D her first appearance this season?" said Lord Fitz Mordant to Kate, during the pauses of a quadrille. "Which do you mean-where is she?" enquired Kate. "Coward!" exclaimed Vivian, as he sprang up; and almost before the word had passed his lips, Melville was laid prostrate on the ground, a crimson stream flowing from his head, which had come violently in contact with the sharp "That girl in blue, sitting near the door- corner of a marble consol. The conservatory there, now she is standing up-do you see? Is was soon filled by an inquiring crowd, for the she not pretty? But, good Heavens! Mrs. Mel- noise of his fall, and Kate's piercing shriek as ville, what is the matter?" exclaimed Fitz Mor- she sank back senseless on the sofa, had penedaunt, as Kate's eye, following his directions, trated even to the ball-room. A pretended acciglanced first on Miss D'Arcy, and then rested dent accounted for the affair; and as Melville on an elegant man leaning against the wall near corroborated the story when he recovered, her. "Are you ill?" continued he; "allow Vivian was permitted to leave unmolested, and me to find you a seat, an ice?" and the good- Kate was placed apparently lifeless in the carnatured young man, really alarmed by her fear- riage by her husband, who threw himself beside ful paleness and convulsive respiration, elbowed her, as in a faint voice he peremptorily gave the his way through the crowd, and repeating a word of command, "Home!" thousand offers of assistance, conducted her into the conservatory, where Kate, sinking into a chair, and striving vainly to thank him, at last motioned him away. With true delicacy of feeling, the young viscount obeyed the gesture and left her alone. With her two hands pressed against her throbbing forehead, Kate tried to calm herself; but the task was impossible, and she fell back powerless and almost senseless in her chair. It was, indeed, Vivian Howick she had seen-Vivian, whom she still loved wildly, devotedly, and now, God help her! criminally. And the sound of the music in the ball-room came faintly on her ear; and, oh, how it jarred on her strained feelings! Poor, poor Kate! Many minutes passed thus, and Kate was still leaning back in her chair, her face hidden in her hands, when a footstep close to her made her glance up. In another moment, acting on a passionate impulse, she flung herself towards Vivian, who was passing before her, and with a low cry burst into tears. A hostile meeting was the consequence, and next morning Vivian was waited upon by a certain ferocious-looking gentleman, answering to the cognomen of Captain Lutestring, who " exceedingly regretted being obliged to call relative to certain matters connected with his respected friend, Mr. Melville." All arrangements were speedily made-the meeting took place, and when Kate partially recovered from a long and dangerous illness, it was only to learn that her husband had slain one whom she had worshipped in her girlhood with an almost idolatrous passion, and whom she still loved but too well! We dare not dwell on the scenes that followed; the grave soon gave rest to the tried and erring spirit; her fate a warning and a lesson. Melville lived many years of a sad and sorrowing life; he was almost as much sinned against as sinning; and God grant that his one crime may be atoned for by his grief and remorse. Emily Woodford had married a few weeks after Kate, and but one shadow was thrown on Kate, Kate!" and he guided her to a sofa, her life of sunshine-that was the consciousness, where she sat, sobbing as if her heart would that had she possessed sufficient moral courage break, and he bending down to her, with an to interpose, when she saw how hateful her marexpression of love and pity, and stern heart-riage was to Kate, two lives would have been rending grief! 66 Oh, Vivian! Vivian! do speak to me, do have mercy on me, do forgive me! Oh, Vivian!" "Kate," he whispered, "I forgive all; but, oh, you have broken two hearts, you have shattered all the happiness of two existences. God help us, Kate!" "But why, why did you never seek me since? why never even come near me?" asked Kate, amid her tears. "I have only just returned from abroad, where I went a month after I parted from youyou remember when ?" "Vivian, have pity!" At this moment a figure stood suddenly before them, and Kate was roused to a full sense of her error by seeing her husband, with flashing eyes, gazing upon her. Mercy, mercy!" she gasped out: and at the same moment, seeing Melville's hand raised, preparatory to striking Howick, she threw herself forward, and the blow fell heavily on her shoulder. saved to happiness and peace! It was a gloomy THE PARTING YEAR. And so thou leav'st me, Friend, without one smile, Of the grave wrongs against thy Sister band! And my pale lips forget their mocking smile! But soon a purer joy this heart shall know- THE FLOWER-SPIES. BY CALDER CAMPBELL. When Earth takes darkness for its robe, Then, too, the hidden Life, that dwelleth For that they have no speech more loud The nightingale hath sung its tune, On bank and stream, where one might deem In Life's redundant story- Met, flower-like, 'mid the dews: their voices But Angels heard them as they pass'd, "Now tell me, tell me, Sister mine," Said the spicy breath of the JESSAMINE, "What hast thou seen since last we met, Thy mirth to move or thine eyes to wet ? Liv'st thou still by the cottage wall From which thy blossoms flash and fall, Till air and earth seem all made up Of the hue and scent of the red rose-cup? Where the young May-queen her leisure spendeth Amongst the flowers on which she tendeth, Loving thee the most and best For his sake who planted thee 'midst the rest?" "Sister, sweet," the RosE replied, She hath wedded her lover, from France come over; And what wouldst thou have me now discover? Oh, a happy thing is true love, I wis! For at the lattice, as I peep'd in, I saw the bridegroom kiss the bride Are faint to the roses that flush'd her face, I have no other tale to tell, But of the daily love I see Whose waters gush o'er the brim with glee!" "Alas! sigh'd the starry Jessamine, I wish I could tell a tale like thine: But there hath pass'd within the week That which upon my leaves will throw Whose memory I can ne'er forego! Why cometh not that brother dear That tells her he is lurking near The garden's southern wall? A form steals in to my lady's bower, And kneels at her feet with words most meet To move forsaken bosoms! No brother's arm is round her waist, The passionate vow, that draws to her brow O'er the forehead their blooms are wreathing: But other eyes than mine had view'd The partner of her solitude; And tongues there were to tell such words Of sleep, that bound the Baron where I saw him spring upon them there I saw the conflict 'twixt them twain- Of him who never can recover My twining tendrils, dash'd with gore, "There's more of sin and pain on earth," Are falsehood, hate, and pride! Sees shapes that belong to the ghostly dead. To cover the crumbling bench below; |