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to be so furiously assailed in anno Domini one, before I was kind enough to take you under my protection. There is the bell, is it not? I wonder who will honour us with a call."

A lady and a gentleman entered the room a minute after.

"Miss Leslie!-this is an unexpected pleasure," said Mrs. Campbell, rising to meet her. "Mr. Leslie, I am most happy to see you."

Dr. Vernon took Sophy's cloak, and hung it on Mr. Campbell, who was shaking hands with Edward. "My dear Vernon, I am not a chair," said he, turning round. Dr. Vernon stammered something about not seeing, and seated himself precipitately. "Well, well, my dear fellow, you needn't knock yourself down for it," continued Mr. Campbell, with great gravity; there is no "What a wretch!" said Sophy. He deharm done. Miss Leslie will excuse your put-served the visitation of a cauchemar all night." ting her mantelet to such an ignominious use, I suppose; it only rests with Maria to pardon you for taking me for a hat-stand!"

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Dr. Vernon was too much confused to speak for some time after they were all seated; but Maria's kindness soon put him at his ease. It was an extraordinary occasion that, on which you lost your self-possession, my good Dr. Vernon. You must have been travelling fast to the antipodes then, or deep in the imaginary dissection -of somebody's heart!

No one spoke of the late ball; but Sophy mentioned it with such a pretty blush, that Dr. Vernon choked himself with the cup of tea he had just taken from the servant. "Maria, your tea is uncomfortably hot," said her husband, with a sly look at the Doctor's face. Miss Leslie, let me give you one of these mérinques."

ter worse, when Ring's apology was heard, a burst of laughter succeeded it. Miss Iverson was not pleased at being in such near proximity to the object of ridicule, and when the ladies were leaving, overheard Ring's fervent ejaculation of thank heaven, they are going.' 'Yes,' said she, turning round to him with a sarcastic look, now Ring for supper!'"

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"Mérinques put me in mind of Mrs. Camington's ball," said Edward. "If you recollect, there was a high pyramid of them in the middle of the supper table. Mr. Ring, who is a gourmand of the first order, was knocking it furiously down, as he saw the ices melting in the ladies' mouths, hoping, as he elegantly expressed himself, to send them off, as soon as he could, by a hurried distribution of their favourite cake. 'How long they do stay!' he exclaimed to me, with an air of despair. I never saw such appetites in my life! And look at the meats here! Every one of them done to cinders! My dear fellow,' he continued, looking miserable all the time, can you believe it? In trying, as I always do, to put by a few choice morceaux for my own benefit, I got hold of a piece of venison just now, which really looked beautiful. In cutting it to test its excellence, I found it cookedcooked as brown as that,' and he laid his hand on the fruit napkin as he thought, but really upon Miss Iverson's white fingers! Now, the doyley was a dark brown one; and in his eagerness, Ring's voice had risen to a pitch loud enough for all those immediately around to hear him; and as they caught his concluding words 'brown as that,' and saw his hand laid upon his fair neighbour's, they looked at one-another in amazement. Miss Iverson lifted her hand in haughty displeasure; and, as if to make the mat

"How was his appetite affected by his awkward mistake?" said Mrs. Campbell, laughing. "He "Visibly increased," replied Edward. managed to consume the piece of venison he had calumniated, and told me, in tones of the bitterest disappointment, that the dinde desossée had disappeared before the voraciousness of the ladies."

"An ounce of arit, I pray you, fair ladies! after Mr. Ring's vulgarity," said Mr. Campbell. "Miss Leslie, one song before you go. Do not call for your cloak yet.'

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Sophy went to the piano, and sang that sweetest of little songs, "Buona notte amato bene."

After she had finished, she heard a voice echoing the words

"Tu ben sai, tu ben sai, que questo core, Per te prova, per te prova, gran pena;" and turning around, she met young Vernon's eyes fixed upon her with an expression of deep admiration. She blushed deeply, and went hastily to the end of the room where the rest had remained while she sang.

Dr. Vernon folded her cloak around her slight form, but said nothing more during her conversation with Maria before leaving. Her "good evening" to him was uttered in a lower tone than to Mr. and Mrs. Campbell. He alone remarked it, and a thrill of joy went to his heart, as he gratefully hailed this first sign of the beautiful girl's attachment. Sophy's agitation had caused her voice to falter. She unconsciously made the difference, and was not aware of having done so. Dr. Vernon had penetration enough to discover this, but her emotion was all to him. Oh, Doctor! a pretty fellow you were that night, as you stepped into the gutters, and knocked your head against the lamp-post!

No wonder that Sophy sang merrily as a bird all the next day. Her eye was brighter than usual, her cheek a little more flushed, and at every ring of the bell she started up like a frightened deer. Her heart beat at the thought of" tu ben sai," and the colour would steal over her fair brow at mention of one cabalistical name.

Dr. Vernon's visits became very frequent about this time. There was always something forgotten or something to be remembered. A book for Ellen, flowers for Mrs. Leslie, or else Mr. Leslie's rheumatism made him uneasy. He pleased everybody, and tried hard to please Sophy. And so he did; how well he succeeded, the reader may learn by the following occurrence and conversation ;

The One-Horse Carriage.

One morning Sophy was singing in the back parlour. The song was a favourite one, "Tu ben sai," and she was so much occupied with putting the proper expression into it, that she did not hear the door slide back as a person entered the room: he (it was a gentleman, best reader) glided noiselessly up to the piano, and as she finished playing, caught the little white hand in his own.

Sophy was excessively alarmed, and forgot to say, as every proper heroine would have done, "Release me, sir!" So Dr. Vernon hurried on with what he had to say.

"Would you be angry, Miss Leslie, if I were to repeat those words in plain English, and ask you to believe me?"

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But, mamma," said George, who was fond of arguing the point, suppose now that sister Ellen does not want to cough or clear her throat? People do that when they have a cold, don't they?"

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as though her heart was not busied with a thousand plans of happiness for her beautiful child.

"Pshaw, child!" said his mother, laughing, "let your sister go, and do not ask foolish questions."

Ellen ran off, resolving to make as much noise as she could, so she threw down the music-stand on her way. This acted very successfully, for Dr. Vernon rushed out to know if she had hurt herself, and she delivered her message while she stooped to pick up the loose leaves of music that lay scattered on the carpet.

Sophy blushed a great deal during dinner, and ate very little, of course-cela va sans dire. The Doctor asked Ellen to take wine with him, and, when the glasses were filled, forgot it! Ellen turned to her father with an arch look, and bowed her head, while George was seized with such a fit of giggling that his mother sent him away from the table. Sophy sat impatient and nervous, watching the removal of the cloth with eager delight. She thought her father longer than ever in carving that day, and when at length the nut-cracking went its merry round, she breathed a sigh of thankfulness. Her mother saw it all, but was too good a Metternich to betray by a glance that her daughter's secret was already known; so she calmly went through her usual routine of peeling oranges for her husband, sprinkled them with powdered sugar, then poured the coffee into the tiny cups before her,

And last and Sophy thought she never should be able to wait for it-Mrs. Leslie rose, and her daughters followed. Before a quarter of an hour Sophy's full heart poured itself out upon her mother's bosom, and with a look of joyful triumph Mrs. Leslie kissed her daughter's blushing cheek.

I could not hear what Sophy answered, she spoke so low, but I conclude it was to the gentleman's satisfaction, as he led her to the sofa, retained her hand, and sat there the whole morning without seeing that each one of the family came successively and popped their heads in through the door, then popped them back again as quickly without saying a word!

Mrs. Leslie bestowed on Ellen the honour-power. able but very awkward office of calling them to dinner; for lo! the clock struck four, and like some prince and princess in the Arabian Nights, the lovers remained as if spell-bound!

"Make them aware of your coming, my love, by clearing your throat or coughing in the front parlour. Your unexpected presence would be very mal-à-propos."

Meanwhile her lover had requested, and obtained a private audience down stairs in Mr. Leslie's study. He at once stated his errand, and his hopes that Sophy's fair hand would not be refused to him; mentioned his high respect for the family, touched upon his prospects in life with charming diffidence, and wound up with a passionate declaration of his love, and an appeal to Mr. Leslie's kindness and clemency.

The father listened gravely and in silence, but towards the end of the lover's speech smiled a little, and then looked up with a look by no means discouraging. The Doctor's eyes squared with anxiety, and he listened with forty hearing

"I do not exactly see what else is to be done, my young friend, but to give consent. You win Sophy's heart, then come to me for her hand, and even if I did not like and esteem you, which I really do, I could not stand in the way of my child's happiness. She is Vernon; yours, I need not say, make her happy.'

Dear reader, I leave you to imagine the lovers' transports, and his grateful acknowledgments to the father of his Sophy. Moreover, I will tax your imagination still further, and ask you to pass over the mere relation of the evening that followed, at which time the hours flew on golden wings, and everything wore the one bright hue of happy love.

Mrs. Leslie was too busy now to think of anything besides the trousseau; it is sufficient to say that it was perfect in every respect. To Ellen's clever hands was left the tying of each pacquet with blue and white ribbon, and Monsieur Praline was directed to make the bridecake a chef d'œuvre of culinary art.

The only drawback to Mrs. Leslie's happiness was Sophy's insisting on having her bridal dress as simple as possible. She resisted all the broderies, the Brussels and blonde lace, displayed before her by the obliging mantua-maker.

"Let my dress be perfectly plain, dear mother; recollect that a costly one is more than I would wish to wear, under our present circumstances. Besides, a morning-dress need never be like an evening toilette; I shall be obliged to change it almost immediately afterafter the ceremony;" and Sophy blushed deeply as she uttered the awful word:" and it will be so much trouble off your hands."

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Well, be it so, then, Sophy," said her mother, with a half sigh, as she gave up; "brides elect are always to be obeyed. But I depend on the Doctor's corbeille for something splendid."

The corbeille came, and Anna rushed up to

Sophy's room- "Oh, Miss Sophy! the corbean's come; everybody is waiting to see it opened. They are all down in the library, ma'am. Miss Ellen! the corbean's come."

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Everything favoured Mrs. Leslie's wish for magnificence. The veil was of Brussels, and the monchou woven by fairy hands, with "Sophy" flourishing in the corner of an unexceptionable bouquet. There were presents for Mrs. Leslie and Ellen, and according to the former's unquestionable authority, everything was 'perfectly à la Française." She was in raptures, and now more than ever anxious for asking the whole world to Sophy's wedding. "It was such a selfish shame," she repeated, to keep all their happiness to themselves-to hide so many lovely things from the eyes of their friends."

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"And what friends have we, dear mother," said Sophy, with moistened eyes, "who could -nay, who would participate in our present feelings? Curiosity would bring them to see the bride and her behaviour, while envy would sneer at any emotion we might betray. No exhibition of our domestic joys or troubles for me; let every thought be free and holy at such a time, and let us be the world forgetting, by the world forgot' when such a solemn change is on my destiny.

""

The arrival of Dr. Vernon's father and sister was to determine the day Sophy now began to think of with fear and trembling. The awful responsibility of another's happiness was upon her. Faults to be corrected on her side-to be borne with from him; failings of which she knew nothing as yet; a difference of opinions, sometimes of tastes, by which each might one day inadvertently wound the other; all these things Sophy dwelt upon with deep anxiety as she thought of the future.

To her mother she could not apply for advice; her ideas of woman's vocation were as widely opposite to those of her daughter's intended husband as the antipodes, and Sophy knew it, but felt that no one else could possess the confidence of fears, at which Mrs. Leslie would smile and jest. She resolved upon one course an open avowal of her faults to her lover, a tacit call upon him for the same sincerity; and thus, by a mutual understanding, clear their path of thorns, which lay hid amid the flowers that bloomed now upon the romance of plighted love, and its willing blindness.

With beating heart and quivering lip Sophy prepared herself for the task. But, gathering courage, as her lover's eyes bent tenderly upon her own, she laid the foundation of that happiness she ever after enjoyed the reward of her candour.

"Dearest, best beloved," said her grateful companion, "faults thus confessed become virtues through the trial such noble conduct has endured. If ever one fear of our future has crossed my mind during the last happy weeks, it was for yours, not for mine. I feared the effect of a discovery of my many faults of disposition and temper might have upon your gentle, unsuspecting nature. Learn them from

me, my own love; let me follow your generous example, and confess them to you who hold the happiness of my whole life in your hands," and he kissed both the fair ones he held in his.

Best reader! Sophy was indulgent, and certain that he exaggerated in his recital. The more severe he was upon himself, the more ready was she to palliate, and she ran up the stairs when he was gone, with a light step and a lighter heart, to give vent to her joy by a burst of tears, like an April shower, over her present peace of mind. She knelt, and breathed a prayer of thankfulness to Him who seeth into every breast and watcheth over all, even to the sparrow falling on the ground.

The wedding was strictly private. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell were present, and, at Edward's request, Julia Livingston acted as bridemaid with Miss Vernon. A dejeuner à la fourchette, which Mrs. Leslie determined should atone for the simplicity of the bride's dress, awaited the guests, and Monsieur Praline's bride-cake was as magnificent as bouquets, wreaths of icing, and little Cupids volant, could make it. The ring fell to Julia, who received it with a blush and a smile, prophetic of another wedding in the same family.

The bride was pale, but lovely as an angel; and when she retired to change her dress, Mr. Vernon turned to his son with moistened eyes, and clasped his hand with an affectionate congratulation on his happiness.

Sophy wept upon her mother's bosom when she reached her room, and murmured her gratitude for the affection ever bestowed on her from infancy till now. "I leave you, dearest mother; I belong to another," she said, looking up through her tears; "but never, never can I love you less than I do. No new tie can sever us, my mother; no separation can ever make me forget what I owe you."

Her mother could only weep, and bless the child that clung to her; and the newly-made husband grew somewhat impatient, while his fair bride was bathing her red eyes in rose water up-stairs.

A graceful leave of each and all, and Mrs. Vernon stepped into the beautiful equipage that waited before the door. And now they are gone! Her husband sits beside her, his hand clasping hers, and his voice speaking words of love, as she brushes away her tears. Soon smiles were dancing on the bride's lovely face, and ere they reached Mr. Vernon's country seat, where they passed the honey-moon, the happy husband had heard the allegory of "Pride and Vanity," and the history of the old aversion to "the onehorse carriage."

Hast Thou Earth's Gifts.

THE FAREWELL OF A CONSUMPTIVE INVALID TO SHANKLIN CHINE.

Farewell for ever!

Sweet little valley, with thy lonely cot,
Smiling like Innocence upon the main !
Thou art a place that may not be forgot!
Others may visit thee, but I again
Shall see thee never!

Sweet lonely glen!

The stream, that through thy wilderness doth lave,
Washing the pebbles of thy flowery shore,
Doth hurry onwards to the boundless wave;
That passing stream shall visit thee no more,
Nor I again!

And thou, loved one!

That from thy rocky balcony above

Didst smile upon my kneeling figure, know Thou hadst a spell that bound my heart in love; Thou wert the gem, that lent the vale its glow! Thou wert its sun!

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The foe our land has wasted,
The olive-tree is fell'd;
We bitter draughts have tasted
Which to us darkly swell'd.

And Jordan's stream is drying Beneath the Sun's fierce glow; And Israel, faint and dying,

Have reach'd the height of woe!

Our sanctuaries are ashes, Our Temple is no more; And many a wild wave dashes Between us and the shore!

HAST THOU EARTH'S GIFTS?

BY ROSE ACTON.

Hast thou Earth's Gifts
Flung round thy path?
Hath thy smile warmth
As Childhood's smile hath?
Those round thy hearth,
Still do they vie
With Love's wiles, to win
A glance from thine eye?
Deem'st thou that smiles
Never can change,
And that the loved
Will seek not to range?
Care over Mirth

Soon casteth her pall;
And the loved, like the leaves,
Will wither and fall!
Humble thine heart
When Joy is thine own,
For thought that with Woe
Thou may'st yet be alone.
So shall the "Dark days"
Find in thy breast
A light brightly burning-
To God leave the rest.

Hast thou to drain

The World's cup of Care?
Hast thou a hearth,
And solitude there?
Hast thou in trust
Bound to thine heart
One in whose dreams
Truth hath no part?
Deem'st thou that Peace
Is not for thee?
Doubt'st thou the hope
Thy Faith cannot see?
The dregs of thy cup
Yet sweeten'd may prove ;
The Trusted and True
Return thee thy love.
Think in thine heart,
Though stormy to-day,
To-morrow may see
The cloud pass away:
Thus shall the Future
Find in thy breast
Faith's light brightly burning-

To God leave the rest!

4.5

A PAIR AND A MATCH.

BY A. S.

Courteous Reader!-you who are, according to the ungallant Lindley Murray, of the "superior" gender-have you the honour to hold a commission in H. M.'s service? and have you had the experience of country quarters? If you be of the gentler sex, have you ever had a brother, or a cousin, or some such privileged correspondent, who wrote you interminable letters on its disadvantages?

He would surely dilate therein on libraries without books, and news-rooms with old papers; and what is worse, on tradespeople with such inordinate development of the organ of caution, and such a proportionate depression of that of benevolence, that their natural propensity seemed to consist in refusing long credit, and the opposition of hostile denial when demanded. Where can the patriotism of the people be? There was a time when an epaulette was a passport to the best dinner in the best houses; when a sabre-cut made a man's fortune, by enlisting in his favour the hearts, and giving him an interest for the hand, of the prettiest women in the country. Thank Heaven! I was young at the beginning of this century; for it would have broken my heart and soldiers possessed such things then, as you shall presently see-to feel the discount to which the redcoats have fallen now-a-days. We now see our places filled by the trader and money-getting man, handing down the dainty daughters of scions of our nobility; while in time even their pure hearts became incrusted with the universal love of gold. Oh! days of gold-lace, hard cash, gentle-hearted daughters, and liberally-disposed parents, whither are ye fled?

There was not a happier or a merrier corps in H. M.'s service than our gallant -th. We had returned to England after settling our troublesome neighbours, and were beginning to enjoy peace, and the assurance of its continuance, when we were ordered to the most dismal of country quarters, and for the first time the tranquillity of our once amicable corps became disturbed by the invasion of an enemy we were totally unprepared to meet.

Every regiment has its favourite, and ours was the youngest sub in the corps-Harry Fitzmaurice, or, as he was familiarly called, "Fitz;" the handsomest, merriest, and besthearted son of Erin, who did what he liked with us all, from the old colonel down to the weatherbeaten sergeant who had grown grey in the service. Fitz had one misfortune: he was the youngest of seven sons, whose patrimony lay in the bogs ofshire. He had more beauty than land, more debts than cash, and more wit and good humour than either. To be sure he had a distant cousin, who had promised to

| bequeath him her silver snuff-box, and a pint cup of the same precious metal; and these he facetiously called "great expectations," and "an interest in the lady's plate;" but beyond this, till some unforeseen good fortune should give him promotion, a sub he was likely to remain. But no matter, he was the life of the mess, and more sought after than any man there.

Things went on quietly enough. We amused ourselves as well as our means allowed; but in spite of all, ennui began to show her lengthened visage among us, when the enemy came down in the form of the fair niece of the testy old squire of Ravenswood-Marguerite Mostyn, who, in addition to her other charms, held ten thousand pounds at her own disposal. You might have found many a more faultless beauty than our belle Marguerite, but you might seek in vain for her bewildering eyes and sunny smile, for they belonged exclusively to herself; and then her voice-you never heard her warble the melodies of the Emerald Isle! Ah! well; these were the weapons with which this young enemy of peace conquered our gallant -th. Strange and true it is, that she came down upon us like "a wolf on the fold," and did more mischief than our Peninsular campaign.

Our colonel, who had ever been the most consistent and kind of governors, became morose and capricious; he threatened to turn rigid disciplinarian, and even went so far as to vent his ill-humour upon "the favourite." The major, who had despised the inclination to foppery in our friend Fitz, was metamorphosed into a dandy; while Fitz himself grew melancholy, sang the most pathetic ditties ever chimed from the harp of Erin, and was known to fly to solitude, and pensively solace himself with a cigar! Nor were these the only worshippers at the shrine of beauty; some were suing for the sake of her beaux yeux, and some from the whispered praise of the "beaux yeux de sa cassette." As a portionless damsel she would have been a beauty; but with so fair a setting, who shall gainsay that she was a gem of the first water?

The colonel set about winning the lady in the most approved mode of military tactics, by gaining allies in the person of the testy old squire and his prosy sister-in-law, both of whom had the tendency to button-hole dialogue, which is kept up by one person, himself replying to the question he propounds for your edification. And the colonel having begun to humour the squire in listening to his thrice-told tales of perils from "flood and field," he was ever afterwards a chosen victim for the infliction.

It was about this time that our colonel, who was formerly the best-natured fellow in the world, began to abuse Fitz, whom he designated

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