THE LAST LAY OF THE MINSTREL.

BY MRS. C. BARON-WILSON.

THE treasured ones of earth are flown,
Those whom my soul held dear;
Like autumn's leaf-deserted, lone,
I linger sadly here:

I've seen the gifted of my day
Pass slowly, one by one,
To mingle with their parent clay,
Wherefore am I not gone?

I look around,-no answering smile,
No kindred heart I meet,
My pilgrim wand'rings to beguile,
My weary way to cheat;

Another race,- -a newer scene,
Rise to my sick'ning view;

And Memory's haunts alone are green,
Where life's bright summer flew.

For me, there's now no sunny spot,
Save what the past can give ;—
Of days too blest to be forgot,
Which in remembrance live!
Yet why repine? all things decay,
When life's bright flush is past,
As the sun shines, with fainter ray,
By autumn clouds o'ercast.

And younger lips will sing of love,
And young hands strike the lyre;
My feeble pulses coldly move,

Nor throb with answering fire;
Like Phoenix from its parent-tomb,

Will other bards arise;

And other flowers will blush to bloom,

Neath summer's genial skies.

Thus, though the gifted ones are flown,
Who to my soul were dear;-
And though I linger sad and lone,
Like leaf in autumn sear;

There yet shall bloom some sunny spot,
A verdure to supply ;-
Springing, like the Forget-Me-Not,*
From source that cannot die !

The flower "Forget-Me-Not," is said to spring up without culture from graves.

A REMINISCENCE OF BADEN BADEN.

BY CHARLES HERVEY, ESQ.

THE season of 1840 at Baden Baden, was one of the most brilliant on record: independent of the regular soirées three times a-week in the Salle des Réunions, and the Saturday ball in the Grande Salle, scarce a day passed without some pic-nic or fete champêtre at the Jagd Haus, or La Favorite, from whence the gay parties returned to while away the evening with a dance, or charades, and occasionally tableaux vivants, which were usually got up at the house of the Russian Princess, Lobanoff.

Early in July, a young Frenchman was noticed among the regular loungers who assembled before the Conversation Haus at the fashionable promenade hour: the singularity of his dress, and the profusion of dark hair, which he had suffered to grow to an extreme length, added to his pale and melancholy countenance, made him a conspicuous figure amid the motley throng who crowded round the play-tables. He seldom spoke more than a passing observation to any one; he would stand for hours watching the game, his eye restlessly glancing from one player to another, but as yet no one had ever seen him throw down his stake.

As might naturally be expected, his strange demeanour became the common talk of the frequenters of the roulette, and many conjectures were hazarded as to his history. Some avowed their belief that he was a Carlist emissary; others that he was in the employ of Russia; while a few, nearer the truth than the rest, had a vague idea of having seen his name

affixed to some landscapes at the annual exhibition in the Louvre.

His real story may be thus briefly sketched:

Adolphe de was the son of a veteran officer, who had fought with Dumouriez and Napoleon, and had met his death in the fearful struggle at Leipsic: his sole legacy to his son was his untarnished honour and a few hundred francs. His mother survived her husband long enough to see Adolphe provided for by a generous relation, who, himself a painter of no mean excellence, was both able and willing to bestow instruction on his orphan protégé. Nor did he labour in vain : from his earliest youth his pupil displayed a precocity of genius which every succeeding year tended more and more to develope; until, at the age of twenty-nine, his talent for landscape painting being well known, he received a commission from the French government to undertake a professional journey through Switzerland and Italy,—a sum of ten thousand francs being at the same time given him to defray his expenses. This was in the spring of 1840, and on his arrival at Strasburgh, he deferred proceeding direct to Basle, for the sake of a few days at Baden Baden. Some months, however, previous to his leaving Paris, chance had thrown him into the society of a Russian countess of good family, with one daughter, whose affections, unknown to her mother, the young artist had secretly gained. Their interviews were at length discovered, and a renewal of their intercourse strictly forbidden by Madame : this decided Adolphe to accept the offer of the government, in the hope that change of scene might obliterate from his heart the image of his beloved.

What was his surprise on reaching Baden, to find that she, from whom he had so anxiously fled, had already been there some weeks!-nay, from his window he could watch her,

looking, to his impassioned eye, more beautiful than ever, as, followed by a throng of admirers, she accompanied her mother to the promenade. The sight maddened him; he resolved to brave one more trial, and once more sue openly for her hand. His application for admittance was refused, and his passing salutions, on every subsequent occasion, unnoticed. Still he lingered day after day, without the power to tear himself away from even the miserable gratification of seeing her environed by strangers, for he imagined that she still thought of him. Thus time passed, until a month had elapsed since his arrival; and now it was that he began to frequent the gambling-table, though as yet only as a spectator.

At one period of the season of 1840, crowds were attracted to the rouge et noir by the high play of a Frenchman, nearly related to the wealthy D. I have seen him stake a thousand louis thrice consecutively, and gain each time; and yet he was not a cool or skilful player, for he seldom left off a winner. Once, and once only to my knowledge, he had the strength of mind to quit the table before the chances turned against him; but the spell was upon him, and the next day saw him again in his accustomed seat, his feverish eye intently watching the pile of gold he had heaped on the red: the fatal words, rouge paye, were pronounced, and his entire winnings were in an instant swept away.

Adolphe was at his elbow, gazing with almost as much interest as Dhimself on the cards, as they were turned up; and when the unfortunate loser abruptly forsook his seat in despair, the young artist, with a trembling hand, threw down a napoleon on the black, and won.

A week after this, strolling into the play-room, I beheld Adolphe, flushed with excitement, seated at the table: a look sufficed to show that he had lost considerably, though to conceal his agitation he bent down his head as if to examine