coincidence, Tracy Staunton managed to be about the same time, entirely by chance of course. With the wilfulness of one who knows her own power, or fancies it stronger than it really is, she used sometimes to keep him waiting hour after hour, just to try his patience; and we have often amused ourselves by watching him, as he paced up and down, biting the end of his cane, or switching off the heads of young plants with it, by way of venting his rage. But when she came at last, smiling so sweetly, and hoping, with a half mischievous, half deprecating glance, that she had not kept him long, who could find it in their hearts to be angry with her? Not Tracy Staunton, and she knew it full well. On one of these occasions, however, as the impatient lover was employing himself in watching the gambols of a group of nurse-maids and children, and wondering how much longer she would have the conscience to keep him waiting, he chanced to observe a young girl sitting upon one of the seats reading, while a little boy lay at her feet making daisy-chains, which he held up every moment for her to admire. Tracy caught the radiant expression of her eyes as she lifted them from the page to smile with patient sweetness on her noisy little brother, and his heart was touched-the fit came over him. Our "Susceptible Young Gentleman" is seldom troubled with diffidence: in a few moments he was seated by the fair stranger, and talking gaily to the little boy, who replied to him with the innocent confidence of childhood: how convenient children are in such cases! The young lady was of a simple and affectionate disposition, and perhaps the notice he took of her pet brother pleased her; at any rate, Staunton said nothing which would have frightened away the most timid, and after a time she began to answer him very naturally, blushing at the sound of her own voice, and going on from one subject to another, he was in the very act of making himself most particularly agreeable, when a female form that had long been hovering about unperceived by him, swept haughtily past the seat aud appeared no more; the "Susceptible Young Gentleman" never missed her. This incident is calculated to teach a very important lessonladies should never keep their lovers waiting too long, for they cannot possibly tell what may happen in the interval. A few weeks afterwards the fair girl sat with her little brother on the same seat, but the book was closed, and the boy sought to catch her wandering glance in vain-Tracy Staunton came not again. We met the "Susceptible Young Gentleman" few days since at a large ball, where, as our object was more to be a looker-on than a partaker in the amusements of the evening, we arrived most unfashionably early. Tracy Staunton was there however, before us, dressed with scrupulous care and elegance, so that the most fastidious connoisseur in male attire could not have detected a single fault, and holding in his hand an exquisite bouquet of flowers, arranged so as to speak their own most sweet and eloquent language. He told me it was intended for his ladye love, who would be there in the course of the evening, but he feared not until late, as she had a previous engagement to fulfil. We wandered together through the brilliantly illuminated rooms whose delicately chalked floors always remind us of the first glorious imaginings of our youth, the brightness and purity of which are so soon destined to be sullied or effaced. Piesently the ball-room began to fill, and in good truth a man must have a heart of stone to resist the allurements of the fair dancers all dressed and looking their best in most amiable and beautiful rivalry. It was too much for the faith of the "Susceptible Young Gentleman," the temptation was greater than he could bear; his glance wandered restlessly over the young faces that surrounded him, he fidgetted with his chain, and smelt to his flowers, until at length rising suddenly up from the couch on which he had flung himself, he approached one of the fairest of that little group, and very fair and beautiful she was. We were not near enough to hear what he first said to her, but she lifted up her merry eyes to his face and smiled upon him most bewitchingly. They withdrew a little apart and conversed together in whispers, until we presently saw the flowers transferred to the bosom of his partner, who received them with a slight blush and a laughing request for him to explain their meaning, which we have reason to believe he did most eloquently, and then they danced together repeatedly in defiance of the strict rules of etiquette. His former love came late as he had anticipated, and startled a little when her glance rested on his animated countenance. He advanced immediately towards her, and inquired after her health and that of her friends with the most exact and scrupulous politeness: but the girl felt the change; she gave the answer which custom enjoins, and moved hastily on; she saw plainly that her reign was over, and the "Susceptible Young Gentleman," whose wandering fancy she had proudly and vainly thought to enchain for ever, was in love again. We fancied that the mirthful little beauty who occasioned all this mischief was a friend of the forsaken one, by the deprecating glance which she exchanged with her, as much as to say, "How can I help it if he will admire me?" But her triumph is a short-lived one, and will only last until he discovers a brighter pair of eyes than her own, which, we confess, we think will be a task of no little difficulty. In conclusion, we would most particularly warn our fair friends against this class of young gentlemen, whose attentions, which are always marked, only serve to keep back more worthy aspirants and subject them in the end to mortification and contempt. To very young minds they are peculiarly dangerous, and the effects of an early disappointment may be felt during long life. If you ask what is love, ask what is good? - what is God?" says Shelly; and it is so, but there is a vast difference between a real and a fictitious passion; between that which serves to amuse and trifle away an idle hour, and that which is to give the tone and colouring to our future lives. It is natural to yield up our affections to those who seek them, or appear to do so, but it is a difficult, and sometimes an impossible task, to recal the precious gift at once and for ever! A thousand remembrances will obtrude themselves, and a cloud will be found to have passed over the sunlight and freshness of our existence. We have been somewhat particular in describing the principal characteristics of this dangerous species of animal, in order that our gentle readers may be able to know them in future wherever it may be their fate to meet with such, as all attempts to tame or alter their natures are vain, however we may at times flatter ourselves to the contrary. The "Susceptible Young Gentleman" is incorrigible; he bears within him the very germ of change, and may aptly be compared to a kind of Irish fairy, which it is said may be met with in the fields at dusk, and which as long as you keep your eye upon him is fixed, and in your power, but the moment you look away he vanishes. We would most earnestly recommend such of our gentle readers as cannot safely laugh at, carefully to avoid the "Susceptible Young Gentleman." THE LAST FLOWER. (AN ALLEGORY.) Literally translated from the French of Mme. Guinard into English verse. BY DIEWN, THE WELSH BARD. Thyself unfold; Ray of my eclips'd star, the last, Last gem of the broken casket, Last perfum❜d breeze, undying yet, Last sweet bird of the covey flown, Fly not away; Last branch of Hope, and life, I own, Be mine for aye! Like a sweet day in Autumn brown, Rejoice we now ; Dry up my tears, reclasp my crown, My pride be thou! But no, my pride's for ever gone! Charm of all eyes, Where are they, I doted Heaven replies! upon ? Two bright gems from my house have gone, To Heav'n away! I weep in seeing thee, dear one, Smile just as they! THE KING OF SAXONY.-A party of foreign botanists, while lately making their researches in the Reisenberg, were joined by a person who was a stranger to them, but whose manners denoted him to be of some distinction, and who was attended by two other gentlemen. He shewed great knowledge of the natural sciences in general, and of botany in particular, and the party were so much delighted with his conversation that, at his request, they accompanied him to his residence in the mountains, and passed the evening. Next day the party came to thank him for his politeness, and requested to be informed who it was to whom they were under obligations for his hospitality. Their host replied, with a smile, "I am a mineralogist and a botanist, and am called King of Saxony." LINES BY MRS. BERNARD L'OSTE. Heard ye not a stifled groan? Of INSOLENCE, he calmly bears, Of the proud taunts of cold DISDAIN. With Grief's low plaint, and Sorrow's sobs, And grieves that WORTH must pangs endure, But see! at PITY's sorrowing As when from dark clouds lowering, A sudden sunbeam breaks, It quickly cleaves the vapourous air, So hath HUMANITY come forth, She seeks that suffering man of worth, By tears-not tears of want and care- Learning is too often a knowledge of words and an ignorance of things; a mere act of memory, which may be exercised without common sense. Melancholy may sometimes be termed ingratitude to Heaven. AN OLD MAN'S TALE. BY THE HONORABLE JOHN BARHAM. "Come around me, my children-I am dying! This heart that has throbbed with feelings of no common nature will beat no more! I shall lie in the grave-1 shall be forgotten-the name of Edward Bell will be heard no more! But listenin my desk you will find a paper; I have written it for you-I began it when I was scarcely nineteen, and now that I am more than seventy, I have finished and revised it-I have arranged it in the form of a tale. It is a tale of true and stirring facts, and to you I doubt not it will be of deep interest. God bless you, dear ones-all my sins I trust have been forgiven, and I hope to meet you all above." flowing ringlets and thy sparkling eyes. Oh! and besought my protectors to allow him to take me as a valet; he lodged in the neighbourhood, and visited me several times. Nora was at this time two years older than myself; she was the daughter of a French Comte, and the beautiful but lowly born, and unfortunate sister of my protector; she had lived with her uncle the same time as I had, for the same relentless war had swept away our parents. She was wont to call me brother, and as a brother she loved me; would I had only loved her as a sister. Lord Reginald Aubrey loved my Nora, and he married her. When the lovely peasant girl became Lady Aubrey, the first seal of sorrow was imprinted on my soul; but I It was a dull and stormy winter's evening, and was still to live with them, still to drink of the cup round the fire of a pleasant sitting-room, in a small of joy so shortly to be dashed for ever from my farm-house, situated in a remote part of America, lips. Lady Aubrey died one year after her marwere gathered a merry group of children, crowd-riage, leaving an infant son of three hours old. ing round a man still young and handsome; a Nora! Nora! I call for thee, but who answers? beautiful woman sits beside him in the prime of life, and several young people finish the family circle. "Now do, dear father," cried a fine boy of about fifteen years of age, "do read us the tale your grandfather wrote of himself; you have long promised us to do so, and surely there is no night so fitted for it as this, for we are all here, even to bright-eyed little Corah. Come, Father." "Edward," replied his father, "I have no objection to comply with your request, but remember, my dear boy, it may not interest or amuse you.” "Oh, never fear, dear uncle," said a lovely girl, coming from the side of her aunt, "do read it." I was born on the field of battle; my father was a soldier—a serjeant in the —regiment, and my mother gave birth to her first and only child, myself, in the dreadful wreck of human beings after the battle of -; my first bed was the bloody bosom of my murdered father, and my first clothing was a tattered and blood-stained banner. Thus was I born, and cradled, and nurtured amidst the war of the elements; for mighty was the storm that ushered in "the day after the battle," and the home of my birth. I lived with a poor family, on the borders of the plain on which the battle had been fought, till I was sixteen; they had no children, but one orphan piece of their's lived with them. Nora, oh beautiful Nora-still my heart cherishes thy lovely image-thy soft After Lady Aubrey's death I felt I could no longer remain with her husband. I fled as a thief would; and was I not a thief? Yes. I stole from Lord Aubrey the thing he most valued in the world-it was a fearful crime-his infant son, the child of my adored Nora. I took my passage in a merchantman bound for America, and I took the babe with me; I called him Norris Bell, and hired a nurse from England for him. low I loved that child! how I adored him! He was to me as his mother had been-he called me uncle, and I was his uncle-was not Nora my sister? I was scarcely twenty when I landed on the shores of America, with my infant in my arms and wealth in my pocket; but friends, friends, I had no friends, and I was wretched-as I gazed on the treasure I had stolen-that beauteous boy; now my heart throbbed with a wild fear that I should lose him. In the merchantman that I had taken my passage in there was an Irish officer, a widower with a lovely daughter. Eveleen O'Maley was the loveliest English girl I have ever seen. My Nora was dark, and her hair was black, and her eye piercing; Eveleen was tall, but slight, dark auburn ringlets and bright blue eyes. But what was beauty to me now? Nora was in the silent grave. Major O'Maley died on the passage out, and when Eveleen touched the shores of America she was an orphan, and pennyless. I know not why-God knows I did not love her, for the heart loves but once, and I had loved, madly, and once-but the misery of the poor girl touched my heart, and I offered her a home with me and my child. We were married at New York, and we took one journey together into the deep silence of American wilds. I made my home in a retired village, I grew rich, and I was happy. My Norris was a lovely boy, and my Eveleen loved me and I loved her, my dear wife-I had a little daughter of my own; hut Norris was my idol, and I am sure Eveleen loved and tended him with as affectionate care as she ever did her own daughter. But my joy was not to last long. One winter I left my home for New York, I took Norris with me, but I left my wife and her infant at home. When I returned I found the hamlet in ruins, my wife and my child stolen by the Indians. Then-and then for the first time—I pictured to myself the agony of Lord Reginald, when his cherished wife was laid in the tomb and his infant stolen. I vowed eternal war with the bloody native race, and I swore on | my desolated home never to stay the sword; it was a fearful oath-faithfully I kept it. Norris stood beside me, his hands clasped and his eyes streaming with tears; and when I raised his right hand to heaven, and made him swear like me, he cried aloud "On men and on boys, on youth and age, I will let my vengeance fall; but never shall the hand of Norris Bell be lifted against a woman or a child." I half repented my vow, but when I thought of Eveleen, I longed to make the wretches feel the misery I felt then. I searched the country for my wife, and the blood of many a dark-skinned man flowed forth; I battled with them, I hated them; and with my Norris by my side I have watched for hours for a solitary Indian, and murdered him. One day Norris and I, with several other injured fathers, brothers, and sons, like ourselves, encountered a party of Indians rather smaller than ourselves, and encumbered by women and children; we fought and conquered. Heaps of slaughtered wretches lay at our feet, and Norris's hand was foremost in the fight; I found, sitting apart, moaning over a dead Indian, a lovely, darkhaired woman; I raised my sword, and she fell at my feet shrieking for mercy. I felt a momentary pity, when some demon near me whispered the name of " Eveleen," and I clove the skull of the Indian girl in twain. God pardon all my crimes, there is a weight of blood upon my soul! Scarcely had I done the bloody deed when Norris came to me "Uncle!" he said, we must part." "Part!" I exclaimed, "part with you-it is impossible." adored child-go; I shall soon be in the grave, but if I should live to return to England with Eveleen and my daughter, should I ever find them, promise me, Norris, that when your father is gathered to his ancestors, and you are Lord Aubrey, you will not refuse to see me, to speak to me, when after long years of pain and suffering, and by tears, bitter tears, I shall have atoned for the deed that has brought me so fearful a punishment." "I go now, uncle," said Norris, "to a home, I trust of happiness; that home shall never be shut against you-never! And now, uncle, give me but one token to prove I am my father's son." I gave him several, and he left me. I did not then know that pain and suffering, and tears (however great) cannot atone for sin-" 'tis the blood of Christ alone that cleanseth from all sin." tribe of Indians, who I suspected knew the fate of I left that part of the country in pursuit of a Eveleen and her infant; I dogged their steps, and in the disguise of an Indian magician, entered their camps. I took up my abode in the wigwam Aliande. Her person was lovely in the extreme, of an old chief; he had a fair young daughter, and her sweet winning ways would have induced all who saw her to love her. She had plighted her troth to a young Indian of another tribe, Casa was his appellation, or serpent-eyed, as he was sought me one evening as I sat on the edge of a named by the French settlers. The young Aliande boundless prairie-the sun sinking slowly behind its high ridges-the ground behind me occupied by the wigwams of the Indians, under the shade of a large group of trees; a fountain of clear water was springing beside a lovely palm tree, and several beautiful Indian girls stood with vases on their heads, coquetting with a handsome man, Aliande came softly to me, and kneeling at my the chief of the tribe; it was a pretty picture. feet, she said "Kula (such was my Indian name), Kula! "Not so, uncle. I must leave you-you have debased yourself-your nature, by the unmanly act you have committed. I can no longer love-my father loves not Casa, my betrothed; he first no longer reverence or esteem you. Uncle, fare well." "Norris!" I cried wildly, "Norris, my son, my more than son-my only beloved, my solitary treasure, wilt thou leave me alone? Oh! Norris, say not so; we cannot, will not part." "I have told you my decision," he answered. "Let me go; I can never forget you; you have been my protector." 66 'Aye!" I cried, "and is it for this, ungrateful boy, I have reared thee-toiled for thee-left my native land for the mad love I bore thy mother, and for her sake thee? Is it for this I have loved, aye, adored thee-for this I lived? Oh! Norris, Norris, by the care I have taken of thee-by the love I have loved thee with-desert me not, Norris! I clasped him in my arms, I sank upon my knees-he would not hear me. Great was my crime, but greater was my punishment." hard, he said he would abide by the decision of forbade my union with him, and when I pleaded it will be the great magician Kula. I swore it by our Gods band, if thou bring me word if there be not a "Bring me to her, Aliande." for if my father discovers this, thou and I are "Then follow me, Kula; but hold thy peace, lost. She led me through a deep woody dell till door by a spring-lock, and I stood in the presence we came to a solitary wigwam; she opened the of-Eveleen! She whispered to me that she would stand without to guard against intruders, and I rushed up to my wife, and saying " Eveleen!" I clasped her to my heart.” "Dearest," she cried, " you are come to deliver me; again we shall dwell happily together with dear Norris." "Do not speak of Norris, | VERSES ADDRESSED TO A SLEEPING will break a heart already withered I turned pale. Eveleen, or or you to the core." "Is he dead?" she cried. "Tell me that, Edward." "He is returned to England. Let us not speak of him, love." At this instant Aliande returned to say that her father was approaching, bidding me escape quickly. I obeyed her, but made up my mind how to act. During the day Aliande's father asked me to tell him whether Casa should be his child's husband. I told him "yes," but that his daughter's fate was bound up in that of a white woman, a prisoner in their tribe; that till she was released Aliande would pine away and die. "She shall be set free this night," he cried. Yes," I answered, "aud as I have sojourned a long time with your tribe, I am about to journey northwards, and will myself conduct her away, for while she remains near thy home thy daughter's life is not safe." "It shall be so," he exclaimed; "thou and her shall depart before sunset." So I escaped-I and my Eveleen, and her little When early blossoms deck the spring, Down in some verdant dell I'll stray, I'll twine a wreath, a myrtle wreath, The lily pure, whose fragrant breath W. T. INFANT. (FROM THE FRENCH.) Beauteous, blameless, happy Child! Let me, almost envying thee, Pray that peace, so pure and mild, Thine throughout thy life may be. Sweet and airy dreams caress theeHovering friends of balmy sleep! Dreams, that while her spells possess thee, Every sense in pleasure steep. Ah! thou wak'st-thy Father sees thee, Kissing now thy rosy charms; On thy Mother's breast he lays thee, Both enfold thee in their arms. Growing hope of hearts united! Still that smile prophetic wear! Still, with kindred smiles delighted, Soothe each fond parental care. No regrets-no vain desires Haunt thy free and artless mind; Every where thine eye admires Pleasures new and unconfined. Picture of the only age Link'd to days with perils rife, WILLIAM BALL. |