again I felt the slender thread of my mother's life depended on my getting a supply. Again, trembling and miserable, I implored the charity of my husband.

"I am content,” he said, " to do what you ask, to do more than you ask; but remember the price you pay— either give up your parents and your family, whose rapacity and crimes deserve no mercy, or we part for ever. You shall have a proper allowance; you can maintain all your family on it if you please; but their names must never be mentioned to me again. Choose between us, Fanny-you never see them more, or we part for ever."

Did I do right—I cannot tell—misery is the resultmisery frightful, endless, unredeemed. My mother was dearer to me than all the world-my heart revolted from my husband's selfishness. I did not reply-I rushed to my room, and that night in a sort of delirium of grief and horror, at my being asked never again to see my mother, I set out for Margate-such was my reply to my husband.

Three years have passed since then; for these three I preserved my mother, and during all this time I was grateful to heaven for being permitted to do my duty by her, and though I wept over the alienation of my cruel husband, I did not repent. But she, my angelic support, is no more. My father survived my mother but two months; remorse for all he had done, and made me suffer, cut short his life. His family by his first wife are gathered round me, they importune, they rob, they destroy me. Last week I wrote to Lord Reginald. I communicated the death of my parents; I represented that my position was altered; that my duties did not now clash; and that if he still cared for his unhappy wife all

might be well. Yesterday his answer came.-It was too ate, he said;-I had myself torn asunder the ties that united us, they never could be knit together again.

By the same post came a letter from Susan. She is happy. Cooper, profiting by the frightful lesson he incurred, awakened to a manly sense of the duties of life, is thoroughly reformed. He is industrious, prosperous, and respectable. Susan asks me to join her. I am resolved to go. Oh! my native village, and recollections of my youth to which I sacrificed so much, where are ye now? tainted by pestilence, envenomed by serpents' stings, I long to close my eyes on every scene I have ever viewed. Let me seek a strange land, a land where a grave will soon be opened for me. I feel that I cannot live long-I desire to die. I am told that Lord Reginald loves another, a highborn girl; that he openly curses our union as the obstacle to his happiness. The memory of this will poison the oblivion I go to seek in a distant land. He will be free. Soon will the hand he once so fondly took in his and made his own, which, now flung away, trembles with misery as it traces these lines, moulder in its last decay.

A RIDDLE.

BY THEODORE HOOK, ESQ.

ON flutt'ring wings I early rose
In no exalted flight;

The lily in the shade that blows,
Not purer or more white.

At eve or morn 'twas pleasant sport,
Adown the stream to glide;

I helped my mother to support,
And never left her side.

A reckless man, who sealed my doom,
Resolved a prize to win,

Dragged me remorseless from my home,
And stripped me to the skin.

He cropped my hair, that skin he flayed,
And then, his ends to seek,
He slit my tongue, because he said,

He thus could make me speak.

'Twas done-my name and nature changed,

For love of hateful gold,

With many victims bound and ranged,

To slavery I was sold.

I'm slave to any man, or all,

Yet do not toil for pelf,

And, though I'm ready at the call,

I cannot work myself.

A RIDDLE.

Still I in ev'ry language write

To ev'ry foreign land;

But yet, which may surprise you quite,
Not one I understand.

Your tears and smiles I can excite
Your inmost thoughts revealing,
Can give you sorrow or delight;
And yet, I have no feeling.

I can dispense the royal grace,
Can make a man, or mar;
Confer a pension or a place-
A halter, or a star.

The poet's verse, the doctor's draught,
Without my aid were failing;

Th' historian's page, the lawyer's craft,
Would all be unavailing.

Indeed had man not changed my lot,
And claimed me for his own,
Shakspeare and Milton, Pope and Scott,
Perhaps had died unknown.

Wide spread abroad you'll find my fame, In ev'ry shape and manner;

America respects my name,

'Tis blazoned on her banner.

On silver beds with lords I rest,

On wood with poor and wise men ;

I clasp the tax-collector's breast,

And walk with the exciseman.

The dapper clerk, with office pay,
Who deaf to claims can be,

Although he drives me half the day,
Still lends his ear to me.

I'm growing old and fate doth frown,
And altered is my station;

I'm cut by friends who wear me down
By many an operation.

My mouth groes black, my lips are furred,
I never can get better ;

I scarcely can express a word,
And hardly make a letter.

Long persecutions I have seen,
But this I must avow;

I think I never yet have been
So badly used as Now.

SONG.

BY THE LADY E. S. WORTLEY.

OH! but there is a pain too supremely surpassing
All dreams we have formed, and all ills we have feared;
When suspicion still after suspicion amassing,

At length the dread truth to our sad eyes shines cleared

When we cry in the burst of our anguish and sorrow,
"All my joy was a dream, and the dream now is o'er ;"
We shun yesterday's mem'ry, yet shrink from to-morrow,
And past, present, future, lie wrecked on one shore!