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alluded to the past, but it sometimes appeared / Without thee, FRIENDSHIP, joy at best were as if he were trying to atone for it. Edith was

woe, quiet, gentle, and obedient. They were said to

Sickness were torture, and the heart-ache then be the happiest couple in the world.

Would be hell's torment! Whither should we go, The Italians have a proverb, “ Ciò che luce non

With none to love us, none to guide ? Would

men è sempre oro"-"That which shines is not always

Not curse their owa existence ? Up! and when gold;" or, as we English express it, “All is not

Need calls for Friendship--as it must-then lend gold that glitters.”

Aid as thou wouldst receive it, and not pen

Thy spirit's good in apathy; but blend
FRIENDSHIP.

It with His name who first call'd, named

Himself-a FRIEND!
The old, the young, the sick, and the infirm-

WILLIAM HENRY FISK.
Want, penury, misfortune, woe, and care,
And thoughtless affluence for a longer term,
All needy pilgrims, of thy bounty share;
And by the death-bed thou art cherish’d, there
When life, low ebbing, verges on decay-

TO F. M. S. When the world's glory, with its mimic glare,

I love to trace familiar things Fades into dimness, till it dies away,

In fancy's tinsel dream, In the all-cloudless sun of an eternal day!

And o'er the horizon of the heart In affluence worshipped, but a thing unknown;

Throw memory's sunlight gleam, For well to know, we first must feel thy need :

To wake the sounds which erst have charmed, In the heart's furrows thou art deepest sown;

Recall each pleasing tone, And the great Nile of Sorrow o'er thy seed

But oh! I cannot brook the thought
Must inundate to fructify: they breed

To mourn the gifted gone.
But parasites around them, who by wealth
Win seeming zealots of thy gentle creed ;

Then, lady fair, I'll wake my lyre
For, fortune gone, ease blasted, ruined health,

To pay my tribute strain, How soon these slink away, as doth a thief, by stealth!

And welcome thee, “ the long lost one,"

Back to our home again, With song and merriment and harmless jest,

And fondly wish thee health and peace, With joy and laughter, thou art ever dear :

With all the world can give, 'Tis Friendship gives to each a keener zest,

And by the bright example set
And life seems one long noon-tide : all is clear,

Teach others how to live.
Joyous, and glad, and fresh, nor doth appear
A care to cloud its plenitude: we sail

“ To be beloved,” that is thy lot, Out on a sea of gladness, and we steer

As every line must tell, On with the stream, propelling with the gale

Affection's mutual sweets you share Our little barque of hopes--why must they fail ?

With those you love so well;

And oh! within your breast there glows Sorrow is Knowledge. Yet not they who feel

The heaven-born hallowed flame, Bodily anguish, but the few who dare

God's richest guerdon-mighty mind!
In the world's combat snatch the glittring steel

To halo thy fair name.
Ambition offers, and a way prepare
Into futurity-who strive to wear

I cannot look on thee as one
The laurel of men's memories, nor bend

Whose home is here below; To disappointment! O for one to share

Thou hast those pure imaginings Being with being, thought with thought to blend, Which Genius' children know : And in that breast to feel Love-Friendship has no But oh! be thine a happier lot end!

Than theirs too sadly seems, To suffer is to know. Not they who bear

Creatures of light too bright for earth
Bodily sickness, but the keener pain

To realize their dreams.
Of the heart's disappointment—they who wear
That blight within their bosoms worse than rain

Then wake thy lye's familiar toues
Of plagues on Egypt. 'Tis to know the bane

To gladden young hearts now,

And they shall twine the laurel wreath
Of hopes all ruined, truth and trust destroyed
To tread on the heart's ashes, and to drain

To garland thy fair brow.
Affection's home into an empty void,

Let Feeling's rich expressive tones When not a Seraph's love with surfeit could have

Breathe fervour in each line,

While thoughts that breathe and words cloyed.

that burn To feel the fluttering pulse, the feeble breath

Proclaim thy gifts divine.
That scarcely stirs a feather ; by the bed
To sit and hear almost the approach of Death ; •

And when thine eye perchance may fall
To smooth the pillow, ease the aching head,

On this attempt to tell Supply the little wants—with gentle tread

How other hearts have prized the gift. Going and coming, and at last to draw

Which you have used so well, Smiles from those lips-rich payment! And in Oh! may I ask a passing thought, stead

When passion's pow’rs arise, Of sickness, see the wonted hue they wore

And my one prayer shall ever be, This—this has friendship done-could Love itself do

To meet thee in the skies. more?

Brighton.

W. M. KIRKHOUSE.

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K A TE GO W E R.

--

“ My darling Kate, do not look so sad; after degraded myself as to bind myself to one man, all, I have no doubt you will be very happy, and when my every pulse is throbbing with wild, pasa fortnight or three weeks after you are married sionate love for another? Could T," continued I shall hear you say there was never in the world | Kate, with increasing vehemence—“ could I, half so nice a man or good a husband as George when the images of my mother and her little Melville!"

children were conjured up before my eyes, in “Oh, Emily, Emily, I cannot think so; the poverty and dependence-could I refuse to assist very sound of his name makes me shudder!" them, to render them happy, to give them a was the passionate reply to Miss Woodford's home, when it was in my power to do so-could words of encouragement; and the speaker bu- I, Emily? Alas! alas! no. But I deserve it ried her face in the bosom of her friend, and all,” she passionately exclaimed; “I deserve it burst into tears.

all! Oh, I am rightly punished! I was proud, “My dear girl, this will never do; it is not I was wayward, I wanted to bring him to my now too late, if you repent your determination, feet: I wanted to show it was a favour to be to break off your engagement with Mr. Melville. loved by me; and he, too, was proud, and left Do you regret what you have done?”

me, and we have never met since! Oh, Emily, “I should do it again under the saine circum- Emily, God help me !” and Kate ceased speakstances,” answered Kate Gower, after a moment's ing, exhausted by the violence of her emotion, pause.

and began hurriedly to pace the little drawing. “And you would be right. Indeed, Kate," con- room. Miss Woodford was thoroughly per: tinued Miss Woodford, "we have advised you plexed; she knew not what to say to her friend, for the best. Love is not necessary for happi- whose unusual excitement almost terrified her. ness; and the calm regard and friendship you | It was too late, she reflected, to break off her enfeel for Mr. Melville (for you have only fancied gagement; besides, the thought of Kate's inyou dislike him since he has appeared in the cha- valid mother flashed across her mind, and she racter of a suitor, while before you were really | knew such a sudden disappointment would most attached to him), will prove a far more durable likely be a death-blow; but yet, surely it was means of happiness, than that passionate affec- | not right that Kate Gower should be allowed to tion which girls fancy a necessary feeling towards contract a marriage evidently so abhorrent to her their future husband. Yes, my dear, dear girl, feelings. Poor Emily ! she was sadly puzzled; I am quite sure you will never repent it if you and as she thought of her own happy engagemarry him.”

ment and handsome lover, she sighed deepis; “ But you know-you know I love another,” She could not, however, decide on any plano murmured Kate, in a voice almost inaudible conduct, and resolved, at last, to let matters take through her tears.

their own course. It was a passiveness she “ You believe, you fancy you do ; but how do bitterly repented when it was too late. . you know he still cares for you? You are throw- Mrs. Gower was the widow of a major in ing away, are wasting your affections on one army, who had died, leaving her with four chi unworthy of them,” said Emily Woodford. “If dren and heavy debts, two years before the openhe loved you, do you suppose he would have ing of this narrative. It was a hard struggle tu allowed so long a time to elapse without seeing | five human creatures, of refined tastes and na you, and seeking some explanation ? Instead of to live upon the scanty pittance allowed to which, he appears to have purposely avoided you; government; so no wonder that when does such conduct betoken love?"

Melville, young, rich, and good-looking, tel. Miss Woodford paused, and Kate hid her face love with and proposed to her eldest an for a moment in the cushion of the sofa, and then vourite daughter, Kate, the widow, una gasped out, almost writhing with anguish,

her previous attachment, urged and entrealu “Oh, Emily, you are too, too cruel !”

her to accept his proffered hand. We “I seem so, dearest; but ask yourself seri- | seen from the conversation recorded a ously if I am not right. Think of your mother, Kate, moved by the tears of a mother s Kate; of your brothers and sisters, poor children ! | loved, and aware of the immense whose fate depends so much on your conduct which would accrue to her family by hes remember_"

riage (for Mr. Melville had promised to pro “I know all-I think of it all—I remember them with a home), consented, and all,interrupted the unhappy girl; “if I did only were now wanting to that fixes not, think you I could consent to become the wedding. wife of one I detest? Do you think if my mo- | Alas for a woman who marries ther, my gentle, suffering, idolized mother, had cannot love! and doubly alas for not with tears in her eyes implored me to accept | affections are already bestowed on a Melville's hand, and had not even owned she mothers, loving and kind and unse believed it would prolong her life were I to fectionate though ye may be, beware do so, think you I ever, ever could have so fancied advantage of your children

ion recorded above, that cars of a mother she dearly

consented, and a few days

ho marries a man she

y alas for her whose owed on another! Oh, ad and unselfish and al

; beware lest for the r children you sacrifice

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their every chance of happiness. The husband , probation of their engagement, a foolish misunmay be kind, and generous, and loving, and con- derstanding arose between the lovers, and late, stant; but if the wife love him not, how, how can indignant at being for once suspected of levity, she be happy? And it is on her whole life that exclaimed, in answer to some gentle reproach the deep gloom of despair will be cast; not from Vivian : “ Mr. Howick, you are assuming for days, nor weeks, nor months, nor even years, I a husband's authority a little too soon; I have no but for ever-for her whole life, with no hope wish to lose my liberty at sixteen, and if you for relief but in the grave; and her one despair cannot trust me, if you have no faith in me, let ing cry will be ever ascending to heaven-" Let us part-it will be better--let us part !” Before me die, Lord ! let me die! I only ask for death!” | she could retract her words she was alone; Poor sad one, God help thee!

Vivian had sprung up, passed through the open

French window, and was gone. Poor Kate! she Kate Gower's wedding-day had arrived, and had never seen him since; and yet almost before never had she looked more beautiful. A strange the words had passed her lips she bitterly relight burnt in dark brilliant eyes, and a bright | pented them. A few days after, she heard that flush on her cheek deceived the numerous Mr. Howick had left for England, and soon her spectators into a belief that she was mar- father's regiment was also summoned there, vellously happy. Mrs. Gower's heart dilated previous to embarking for India. Major Gower with joy as she gazed on her lovely daughter, died a fortnight after their arrival in London ; who, with the bridal wreath on her brow. and and since then Kate had never even heard the the lace veil falling on the ground around her, name of Vivian Howick mentioned. How often knelt at the altar and pronounced her marriage it hung upon her lips, and how often it brought vow, to “ love, honour, and obey” her husband. a passionate flood of agonizing tears to her eyes, What mockery! what hollowness! Poor un- we care not now to tell; there are some feelings happy Kate! But so well did she sustain the in a woman's heart that should be sacred even part she had imposed on herself, that not even to sympathy. Vivian Howick stayed but a few her bridemaid, Emily Woodford, far less did her weeks in England, when, having obtained an happy mother, suspect for one moment the appointment as secretary to the embassy, fearful sacrifice she was making. She was so he set out for perfectly calm, even smiling, that Emily believed | her quite reconciled to her fate ; and many “ Kate, dearest, it is ten o'clock; had you not would have laughed at the idea of its being better begin to dress ?” otherwise. What! with a handsome, doting, “Certainly, if you wish it;" and Melville was fine-tempered husband, not happy? Why, I left alone in the large dining-room of his manwhat would the girl have ?-aye, what indeed: sion in Grosvenor Square. Half an hour had

passed when Kate rejoined her husband. She Four months had passed away since Kate Gower was looking very lovely, and he could not resist had become Kate Melville, and still her husband pressing her to his heart, as he murmured some loved her with almost the passionate ardour of lover-like compliment on her surpassing beauty; his first devotion. True, the thought sometimes and then, for the first time, he marked her exflashed across his mind that the fecling was not pression of shrinking scorn, as even the faint reciprocal, that Kate even shrank from his ca- colour that usually tinged her cheek fled from resses; but he soon persuaded himself, that to her face, and a feeling of distrust and disapa natural quietness of matter must be attributed pointment, almost of anger, arose in his heart. her apparent coldness; and fortunately he had | He hastily withdrew his arm, and, opening the never known her otherwise, for their acquaint-| door of the apartment, motioned her forward. ance had commenced but a few months after her In another moment they were in the carriage, on father's death, when the irreparable loss of a the way to Lady - 's. kind and indulgent parent had subdued, for the A murmur of admiration arose from the time, every trace of her natural gaiety and group hanging about the entrance of the ballsparkling spirits ; no marvel, as it ripened, and room as Kate entered it, leaning on the arm of as the prospect of becoming the wife of one she her husband; and in truth she was looking glocould not love, stood ever before her-no marvel riously beautiful; a smile had rarely dwelt on that they did not return, and that to Melville her lips since her marriage, but her classical she had even appeared both undemonstrative | beauty had perhaps rather gained than lost by and reserved. We will not stay to tell how its additional severity; and the pure simplicity different she had been, when overflowing with of her white dress, and the large lilies in her the happiness of loving and being beloved; every dark hair, were well chosen to show off to the flower in the field, every star in the sky, every most remarkable advantage the singular beauty action in the day, had been a source of heartfelt of her face and form. But Melville, usually so joy, and pure, simple mirth.

proud of the admiration she excited, was this Vivian Howick and Kate had met in Malta, evening gloomy and irritable; and though he while her father's regiment was stationed there, I authoritatively insisted on her dancing, he and soon congeniality of tastes and similarity of watched her throughout with an earnest attenfeelings had taught the young people first friend- tion, which too plainly showed how the trust he ship, then love. The day before that on which had felt in her had vanished from his heart. Vivian had decided to ask Major Gower's ap- “What do you think of Miss D'Arcy; it is her first appearance this season?” said Lord “Coward !” exclaimed Vivian, as he sprang Fitz Mordant to Kate, during the pauses of a up; and almost before the word had passed his quadrille.

lips, Melville was laid prostrate on the ground, “Which do you mean - where is she?” en a crimson stream flowing from his head, which quired Kate.

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 lleavens! 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 car. natured 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 be peremptorily gave the his way through the crowd, and repeating a word of coinmand,“ Home !" thousand offers of assistance, conducted her into A hostile meeting was the consequence, and the conservatory, where Kate, sinking into a chair, next morning Vivian was waited upon by a cerand striving vainly to thank him, at last mo- tain ferocious-looking gentleman, answering to tioned him away. With true delicacy of feeling, the cognomen of Captain Lutestring, who “es. the young viscount obeyed the gesture and left ceedingly regretted being obliged to call relative her alone.

to certain matters connected with his respected With her two hands pressed against her throb- friend, Mr. Melville." All arrangements sent bing forehead, Kate tried to calm herself; but speedily made-the meeting took place, and the task was impossible, and she fell back power-when Kate partially recovered from a long and less and almost senseless in her chair. It was, dangerous illness, it was only to learn that her indeed, Vivian Howick she had seen-Vivian, husband had slain one whom she had worshipped whom she still loved wildly, devotedly, and now, I in her girlhood with an almost idolatrous passion, God help her! criminally........

and whom she still loved but too well! And the sound of the music in the ball-room We dare not dwell on the scenes that fol. came faintly on her ear; and, oh, how it jarred | lowed ; the grave soon gave rest to the tried on her strained feelings ! Poor, poor Kate! and erring spirit; her fate a warning and a

Many minutes passed thus, and Kate was still | lesson. leaning back in her chair, her face hidden in her Melville lived many years of a sad and sot. hands, when a footstep close to her made her rowing life; he was almost as much sinned against glance up. In another moment, acting on a | as sinning; and God grant that his one crime may passionate impulse, she flung herself towards | be atoned for by his grief and remorse. Vivian, who was passing before her, and with a Emily Woodford had married a few weeks low cry burst into tears.

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 mar. expression of love and pity, and stern heart- riage was to Kate, two lives would have beco rending grief!

saved to happiness and peace! It was a gloomy “Oh, Vivian! Vivian! do speak to me, do reflection, and often did her tears bitterly fall have mercy on me, do forgive me! Oh, Vivian !" over the grave of her early friend. Our take

“Kate," he whispered, " I forgive all; but, I points its own moral-may it be a profitable oh, you have broken two hearts, you have shat- warning!

S, A. tered 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,

THE PARTING YEAR. amid her tears.

And so thou leay'st me, Friend, without one smil, "I have only just returned from abroad, | That I may say at parting thou wert fair! where I went a month after I parted from you— With no false dreams wilt thou again beguile, you remember when?"

Although I trace thy influence everywhere. “ Vivian, have pity !" .....,

Oh! mournful Friend! oh, bitter Monitress At this moment a figure stood suddenly be Of the grave wrongs against thy Sister band ! fore them, and Kate was roused to a full sense

Thoughts of thy Youth upon me sadly press, of her error by seeing her husband, with flashing

And like a group of spectres, hand in hand

Doth rise each buried memory. For awhile eyes, gazing upon her. “Mercy, mercy!" she gasped out: and at the Ar

My head upon my weary breast falls low,

And my pale lips forget their mocking smile! same moment, seeing Melville's hand raised,

But soon a purer joy this heart shall knowpreparatory to striking Howick, she threw her- The Evening is more welcome than the Noon: self forward, and the blow fell heavily on her Peace, rest, belong to Night; and then-the Dan shoulder.

breaks soon.

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THE FLOWER-SPIES.

BY CALDER CAMPBELL.
When Earth takes darkness for its robe,
And Night descends on half the globe-
When doors are locked on easy sleepers,
Whilst Want without wakes many weepers--
When graves give up their shrouded guests
To roam, in long-devoted quests,
Life-oaths now punished by death-acts,
The penalty of sinful facts:
Then, too, the hidden Life, that dwelleth
In every bush and tree that swelleth
In budding green beneath the skies,
Quitteth the bark wherein it lies,
And findeth voice to speak its sense
Of feelings, not the less intense
For that they have no speech more loud
Than perfumed sigh on summer cloud !
It is a night of gentle June;
The nightingale hath sung its tune,
And brightly down the crescent moon

Pour floods of golden glory
On bank and stream, where one might deem
Night was a long and lovely dream

In Life's redundant story-
A dream of love and peace (ah me!
Can Peace and Love together be ?)--
A dream of quiet joy, for there
Three Spirits, ever young and fair,
Met, flower-like, 'mid the dews: their voices

The separate odours from them cast-
No human ear that sound rejoices;

But Angels heard them as they pass'd,
And thus the words fell on their ears-
A inusic swelling through long years,

And full of life's eternal tears :
« Now tell me, tell me, Sister mine,"

Said the spicy breath of the JESSAMINE, 66 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 ?”

" 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 iny leaves will throw A fearful stain, a sanguine streak,

Whose memory I can ne'er forego! 0, ever at morn the Baron rides forth

To hunt the hare on the lea;
And then glides out his lady bright,

Her brother dear to see.
Why cometh not that brother dear

To see her in her hall ?
Why watcheth she, in doubt and fear,

To list th'whistled call,
That tells her he is lurking near

The garden's southern wall ?
And ever at eve, when the Baron, tired

With the sports of field and heath,
Seeketh the sleep, whose fetters keep

Their captive fast as death,
A form steals in to my lady's bower,

Brushing my milky blossoms,
And kneels at her feet with words most meet

To move forsaken bosoms!
No brother's arm is round her waist,

No brother's lips are breathing
The passionate vow, that draws to her brow
A flush like that which thy blossoms throw

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
As swiftly broke the silken cords

Of sleep, that bound the Baron where He ne'er shall rest in peace again!

I saw him spring upon them thereI saw the conflict 'twixt them twain

I saw the traitor friend, the lover, (No brother he!) fall by the sword

Of him who never can recover
The death-stroke dealt by that false lord !

My green leaves now are green no more;
Red gouttes now stain each snowy bud,

My twining tendrils, dash'd with gore,
Send forth the sickly smell of blood;

And out my spirit roves to sue,
For freshness from the cleansing dew!"

" Sister, sweet," the Rose replied,

Our fair May-queen hath become a bride :
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
A hundred times, from brow to chin,

And she never once refused a kiss!
Yet the reddest bud my boughs that stud

Are faint to the roses that flush'd her face,
As she laid on his breast her head to rest,

Like a babe that hath found again its place
At its mother's side, whence, gone astray,

It hath wander'd all the day.
I have no other tale to tell,

But of the daily love I see
Between two wedded hearts, where dwell

Truth, fervour, gentle purity;
Both full of joy, as a sparkling well,

Whose waters gush o'er the brim with glee !!!

" There's more of sin and pain on earth,"

The HONEYSUCKLE cried,
“ Than innocence, or health, or worth,

Or love, or aught beside
That giveth joy ! Life's dire alloy

Are falsehood, hate, and pride!
Thou knowest the arbour by the hall,
Round which, when the shadows of even fall,
The laten’d hind, by fear misled,
Sees shapes that belong to the ghostly dead.
My twining limbs, that long were taught

To cling about that tranquil bower, Neglected now, unpruned, unsought,

Are rich with Nature's choicest dower Of leaves and blossoms, that o'er all Fling out a sweet and sunny pall,

To cover the crumbling bench below; Where oft in by-gone days would come

Lovers, with smiles on lip and brow, To talk and sit 'neath the starry dome.

Oh, nearly a year hath sped since there

A hunter bold, and a damsel fair, Minding nor ghost nor goblin grey, When the nightingales sang in their leafy home,

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