person whom I recognized as having been a looker on while we were playing. He came from Morton, who demanded an immediate apology, or a meeting as soon as possible. An apology I would not give, and in the desperation of the moment, gave the conduct of the whole business to Finley as my friend, and retired—not to sleep, but to pass the night in a state of mind never to be understood or conceived of by one who has not been in the same situation. I attempted to write to my father, but I could not compose my mind, and at last laid down my pen in despair, and throwing myself upon my couch gave up to a hysterical flood of tears, from which I insensibly sunk into an uneasy insensibility which could hardly be called sleep. I was roused from this by Finley, and started up with a horrid and vague sense of evil, but for a time could not fix my mind sufficiently to recall the circumstances of the past evening.

"Come Harley," said he, "I have arranged everything for a speedy termination of this affair.”

66 Come, come, arouse. The coach is in waiting to take us upon the ground, and here is my case of pistols."

"Pistols! Ah, now I remember. Well I am ready. O Finley, Finley! you know not what feeling I have. How will my father bear this news? But there is a strange fatality, which leads me on in spite of myself."

I took up one of the pistols, and the touch of the cold steel sent a shuddering thrill through my frame. I then seized a glass and swallowed a large draught of brandy,—unmixed with water,—I scarcely tasted it, so great was desperation in which I was plunged. I now gave myself mechanically into

the hands of Finley. All was like a dream. I have only an indistinct recollection of the cold and misty morning air,— the whirling of the coach, the dimly seen figures of Morton, his second and a surgeon, when we arrived on the ground. We took our positions, and the instruments of death were placed in our hands. All was hurried. "Are you ready? fire! one-two-three"-and the discharge of our pistols was almost simultaneous. Morton sprang into the air and fell upon the damp earth!!

*

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*

Then came the thought that I was a murderer! I was hurried into the coach by Finley, and fled, as though pursued by demons. What transpired for several weeks I know not. The excitement of the scenes through which I had passed was such, that a fever of the brain was induced, and when I awoke from the delirium it produced, I found myself in the cabin of a vessel and tossing upon the ocean. My passage to Liverpool had been secured by Finley, and I had been tended by the kind-hearted sailors. I will not dwell upon this part of my story.

Suffice it to say, I recovered, and on reaching our destination, I was soon lost to the world in the depths of a populous city. I could now recount the various plans I adopted in order to support life, and what low and menial labors I was driven to; but I forbear.

I have wandered over the world an outcast from society, and have sought to drown memory by a thousand ways, but never-never, can I obliterate from my mind the conviction, that, in the eye of God, I am a murderer. I feel convinced that the misfortunes and miseries of my life are mainly attributable to my passion for play. Every one thinks that

he has strength of mind enough to preserve himself from excess. So I thought; but how much was I mistaken. I not only ruined myself but was the cause of the ruin of a kind father, whose property was seized, when the deception which I had used was discovered, and he, obliged to labor in his old age to support life.

Let the young man take warning from my fatal course and avoid the first step, and let him remember, too, "That a man cannot gamble, and be honest."

C. K. G.

THE INPANY.

BY

AGNES

STRICKLAND.

I SAW an infant-health and joy and light
Bloomed on its cheek, and sparkled in its eye;
And its fond mother stood delighted by,
To see its morn of being dawn so bright.
Again I saw it, when the withering blight
Of pale disease had fallen, moaning lie

On that sad mother's breast-stern death was nigh,
And Life's young wings were fluttering for their flight.
Last, I beheld it stretched upon the bier,
Like a fair flower untimely snatched away,
Calm and unconscious of its mother's tear,
Which on its placid cheek unheeded lay;
But on its lip the unearthly smile expressed,-
"Oh! happy child! untried, and early blest!"

HELEY.

THY bright morning sun,

Is rising in its beauty; and the rays
Thrown from its depths, as from an urn of fire,
Are richly clustering round thee; how thy path
Doth glitter in the gay and golden sheen

O'er mount and blooming vale before thee shed!
And how the glories of maturer years,
Seem to await thy light and bounding tread!

A coronal more rare than gems or gold,

Of living excellence they've made for thee, Wreathed in the blaze of mind's enduring heaven, With stars of never fading lustre blent,

And wearing as a circlet the stern bands

Of virtue-firm, inflexible and pure;

And thou may'st win and wear it in its pride.

Summer hues

Are glowing in their lustre and their love
On thy glad countenance, so rich in smiles;
Thou art the flower that the healthful spring
Hath strengthened into beauty as it passed,
And the fair dyes that paint thy lovely cheeks
Are less in value to thee, than the stores
Thy mind hath gathered and may gather yet,
Ere the more brilliant light of womanhood,
May flash their splendors on thy snowy brow