officer, young enough to be her son; to accompany him to St. Petersburgh, and to abandon me in Paris; she said I might go and live en pension. You know, too, how by blessed chance my dear uncle found me out; and now you may know what have been my feelings since I have been here. I listen to love tales, when my heart was yearning for the dead!-Why, on that very evening when Lord Calder sat talking in the ante-room about some charm which should command dreams, when Alicia interrupted us, you may remember, I was thinking, in the superstition of my misery, of the possibility.... for though I have prayed and longed, and implored Heaven but to grant that one prayer, and let me look upon him again, if only in my sleep, I never dreamed of him till last night.-I could not have spoken of him if I had not seen him-if he had not promised me ..... I could not have told you my tale. And now, dearest, dry your eyes. You must go down-nay, indeed you must, or my aunt will be displeased. I have told you all, for my own relief, and not to distress you; and you must think of me, when I am gone, hopefully and cheerfully.-Nay, I will say no more, then; but, indeed, I had better-I would rather be left for awhile; I have wearied myself with talking. Good night, my love, Heaven bless you, and send you a happy new year!"

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Towards midnight the faithful girl, whose heart had never left her cousin's side for a moment, stole up to her chamber, heedless of the sneers of her mother and sister, who felt reproached by her affection for their inmate, and were provoked by the sight of her splendid ornaments to insinuate that "Lucy knew what she was about"-" no bad

thing to humour a hypochondriac who had a jewel box at her elbow-for those who could stoop to it”—and the like.

Helen was still seated in the easy chair, just as Lucy had left her; for her attendant was sharing in the festivities of the evening, and at her last visit had been dismissed with an injunction not to come again till after midnight. But a glance assured the trembling and apprehensive girl, that the stillness of the invalid was not the quiet of sleep.-The weary one was, indeed, at rest for ever, with a smile on her face, that told of a tranquil and joyful departure. In her hand (and she was buried thus) was found a small miniature of a young officer, the face full of life, spirit, and beauty; at the back of this miniature were two locks of hair and a faded myrtle leaf, and the words, traced in silver

"Frederick Ancram to Helen Lagarde,

"given to her on his and her
"twenty-first birth-day."

LINES

ADDRESSED TO A FAIR WHIG WHO ACCUSED HIM OF TORYISM.

BY LORD ASHTOWN.

YEs! I confess myself a Tory,

While Beauty rules by right divine ;
Submission is my pride and glory,
Command is yours-obedience mine.

Royal prerogatives belong

To all your sex-I'll tell you why-
The young and fair can do no wrong,
The old and ugly never die!

POLISH MARTIAL HYMN.

BY LADY CHARLOTTE ST. MAUR.

THE standard's raised, the sword is drawn,
And fix'd the Polish spear;

Our bands are met, our chiefs are sworn,
And what have we to fear!

Our fiery steeds are tightly rein'd,
And snorting, paw the ground;
With hoof of speed to scour the plain,
They wait the trumpet's sound.

Ere long its thrilling blast shall blow,

Though countless hosts in proud array,

'Gainst freedom's sons advance,

Yet vict❜ry still may crown the day,
And gild the Polish lance!

Henceforth, united let us be,

Though weal or woe betide; For links of honour bind the free, Whom fate can ne'er divide.

And should the soldier's bloody tomb

Await us marshall'd here,

Fond, faithful hearts shall mourn our d. cm, Then what have we to fear!

THE BRIDE.

BY MRS. ABDY.

WE miss her from these halls of mirth,
Her home is by a calmer hearth,
And gold and gems no longer grace
The loveliest daughter of her race;
She dwells in a secluded spot,
And her vain kindred name her not,
Save to deplore in baffled pride,
The fortunes of the exiled Bride.

The exquisite and tutored song,
That once entranced this radiant throng,
She murmurs now in woodland bowers,
Amid the stars, and trees, and flowers:
Yet one shall bless those syren lays,
And in those dark eyes warmly gaze,
And joyously the hours shall glide
O'er the fond lover and his bride.

Fair girl, rest calmly in thy bliss,

Thou wert not formed for scenes like this,

For feverish hopes, and jealous fears, And heartless smiles, and hidden tears: Thy gay companions mourn thy doom, Think on their fading smiles and bloom, Their feelings worn, and spirits tried, weep for them-young happy bride.

And

Far from the world's deceitful maze,
Thine are calm nights, and peaceful days,
And friendship's smile, and love's caress
Hallow thy household happiness;

Then in thy guarded home remain,
We would not wish thee here again,
And ever may good angels guide
Thy ways in safety-gentle Bride.

SONNET.

BY WM. HENRY BROOKFIELD.

We meet at morning, while the laughing light
Of youth is o'er us; e'en from life's alloy
Breeding perforce, like rock-born flowers, a joy ;
-Making its dew of tears that mirth more bright.
Anon we part; but ere the gathering night

Of years, if in the vale again we meet,
Shall we unsmilingly each other greet,
Whose hearts in natural tenderness are dight?
For me, though silver age sit on my brow,
He shall rise up to hear in after time
Thy well remember'd voice in music flow,

As now it blendeth with the breezy prime ;
Dim twilight as the purpled east shall glow,

And curfew sad like pleasant matins chime.