Itu" ~s I .1 ( • ; V I. 4 1 1 6 • RN , A A .k gantUß ltrikulpatnr—OciatotrZi to Orticrat Nittaltirmr, aYsticrtiotitz, Volttim, Ettcratttrr, Stioratttp, 3rto, _Fzeicr, tiro, ,larfttait urr, 2mtit cmcnt, kr. lz:c„ szr®o THEODORE H, CREMER, ~~~~Se`io The "Snottes.i." will be published every Wed ..stesday morniwT, at 82 00 a year, if paid in advance, :dand if not paid Within six months, $2 50. No subscription received for a shorter period than 'iii months, nor any paper discontinued till all ar• roarages are paid. Advertisements abtexceeding one square, will he tinserted three times for $1 00, and for every subs°. , luent insertion 25 cents. i no definite orders are given as to the time an adverii4einent is to he continu- Lad, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged ac , oordingly. 70 Ts::.. "To chair the languid hoofs of solitude, He oft invites her to the Muses lote." rloren cc Vanb. FIT PHILIP P. COOKE, OF WINCRESTER, ►J. I loved thee long and dearly, Florence Vane My life's bright dream and early Huth come again. I renew in my fond vision My heart's dear pain— My hopes and thy derision, Florence Vane. The ruin lone end hoary, The ruin old 'Where thou didet hark my story, At even told— That spot—the hues Elysian Of sky and plain 'I treasure in my vision, Florence Vane. Thou met lovelier than themes In thrir prime; 'Thy voice excelled the clove Of nweetest rhyme: Thy heart won an a river Without a main-- Would I had loved the:tot-ever, Florence Vane. 'But fairest, colliest, wonder, Thy glorious clay Lieth the green sod under, Alas the day And it boots not to remember Thy disdain, To quicken love's pale ember, Florence Vane. The lake of the . valley By run¢ graves weep; 'The pan.ies love to dolly Where mildew: sleep— May their doom. in beauty vieing, Never wan , Where thine earthly part is lying, Plnrenco Vane. The Last Wend, 'Tis past the chain is broken That once has sternly bound ma, At length the words me spoken, And freedom is around me. 'Twos thine to give the look That told our love was past, 'Twos 'nine to scorn and speak That word which was our last. The halls of beauty still May see thy graceful form; For me, there may be sadness, 'rho whirlwind and the storm; But I would not change that lot, However cold it he, To banquet in the halls of light, With ono so false as thee. Thy smile may freely fall, As oft it fell before, On other hearts than mine— I prize its light no niers. Thy lips again May speak The tale you used to tell, But I believe it not noir, But breathe a cold farewell. If thou host ever prized trenaure of my fame; If thou hart ever wished to bear Whe same unstained name, Banish the thouttht at once laiirom thy breast for ever , If thou dust hope a change may come, Believe me, it shall never. But still I wish thee well, If truth dwells in thy heart, Oh share it with another, Who seeks the poisoned dart. I would not link my fate To one so false us thee ; For truth, and purity. and lone, Alone are prized by me. Cold as my words may seem, "fis left for time to tell How firmly braced my spirit is, To breathe this lost farewell In the glitter of the banquet, In the hour of beauty's fame. Forget, if e'er thou eani4 foreet Filet thou host beard my name, Prom the Arabic, The Parting. The boatmen shout, 'tie time to part, Wo can no longer stay ; 'Twos then Maimana taught my bean, How much a glance could say. With trembling steps, to me she came, ' Farewell.' she would have cried, But ere her lips the word could frame, In half-formed sounds it died. Then bonding down, with looks of love, Her arms she round me flung, And as the gale hangs en the grove, Upon my breast she hung. :r'`' My willing arms embraced the maid, IMy heart with ruptures beat; While she but wept the more, and said, Would w• had never nest.' Mi~~3:~LAN~JV~. From The Knickerbocker. A NIGHT ADVENTURE IN CUBA. “With the rough blast heaves the billow, In the light air waves the willow; Every thing of mooving kind Varies with the veering wind ; What have I to do with thee, Dull, unjoyous constancy 7” [Joannah Raffle. ' , Up! thy charmed armor don, 'Moult need it ere the night he gone." [Drake. tDULCE, will you go to tho masquerade ball to night said Ito my lesser-half. on a bright even ing. during the gayest part of the carnival sea- No, my amor,' answered she, lam ill this evening: don't go out to-night, but stay by my side, and let your cheering presence save a doc tor's fee.' Madame, you know that I had made up my mind to go out in my new cahellero's dress; you are not very ill; and I shall be dull company for you, if disappointment holds a berth in my mind. You had better consent to my going; I will return early,' Do as you please, sir,' she responded, pouting ly; 'but if you neglect me thus in the first year of our marriage, how shall Ibe treated when Time's shadow shall darken my brow and dim the light of my eyes; when my spirits shall droop and my beauty fade before the wintry frosts of age?' To shorten my cart, reader, I rigged myself and went to the bail, my heart beating a conscience tattoo against he casing all the way; for well I marked the soft reproach which my wife's full dark eye spoke when I left her side. Having arrived et the ball room, I mingled with the gay markers, listened to the'rausie, and in the sparkling wine glass sought for excitement; yet the perpetual drum-stick of conscience kept thump ing against the parchment-head of rertection, and I could not feel happy. Dressed as attractively as possible, I sought and danced with the fairest maid ens in the throng; yet still, Thought, that nettle in life's garden, kept Joy in a distant oiling, and Pleas ure far in my woke. I svas about to give up the chase for enjoyment, and had dutifully made tip my mind to return home and moor myself alongside of m j little wife, when a fair band was laid gently upon my arm, and a tremulous, musical voice asked me, in a whisper, to retire a littler from the crowd. The hand was deli cate. and seemed smaller even than my wife's; end the taper fingers were encircled by rings of rare value, such as could only he worn by the rich and the titled. The lady was closely veiled in black; yeti caught one glimpse of eye-light through the thick crape. In the blackness of a night storm I have seen the.tiouds for n moment open and permit a star to glance with superhuman brightness, down on the agitated ocean ; and even so fell that glance on me. The voice was one of those which, when it falls upon the ear, vibrates olong every nerve until it reaches the heart-strings, where it echoes and re-echoes, till Memory catches the tune,' and too trnely for it err r to past off from her grasp. I followed the stranger's invitation ;and as I gazed on the fairy form which flitted before toe, I forgot my little invalid at home. The 'mask' was but little if any lerget than my wife, yet there was a fullness and elegance of figure, a grace and volup tuousness of motion in the former, which I had never observed in the latter. My wife had beauti fully soft glos s y curls of jet, but they never could compare with the black tresses of twining silk, which hung nearly to the feet of my stange charmer,- When we had got clear of the throng she again spoke : Are you a gentlemen I—one on whom a lady may in all honor depend?' I answered, that to the best of toy knowledge and belief I was, and thought I might be depended upon. Would you risk your own life, or destroy that of another, for a lady, if her honor required, and her lone would reward the sell' 'For one so fair, so angelic as yourself, I would risk snore than life!' A shudder seemed to pass through her form—her little feet stamped tho tasselated floor impatiently ; her fingers were clasped together until they were bloodless, as she continued: Have you ever loved?' .1' may have felt a school-boy's passion,' I replied with assumed indill'erer.ce. • Then you are not married ?' I have been,' was my reply. Even so deceitful is man ; even no is woman often lost; for while ho pours fourth his flattering talc, she listens i listening she loves ; loving, she is lost. Again she showed marks of impatience and ex citement, as it some great trouble rested on her mind. This I pressed her to reveal to me. offering every aid in my power to defend her, or even to avenge past wrong. I besought her to have con fidence in my affection, newfleged though it was, and to test its strength, even as she might direct.— She faltered, hesitated for a moment, and then, re questing me to await her return, hastily left the ball-room. Now,' thought I, hero is a scrape for a sober married man to get into! Perhaps she may 1w some beautiful siren, who, knowing my weakness, where the fair sea is einwerrteri, has had a tree to =Uvy.' , 2zUQuati•upm c , upcsi..o inveigle and rob, perhaps murder me! Shall await her return/—or shall I Ily the danger! But lam armed—why should I fear!' I began also to think of my poor invalid wife: and these thoughts coupled with my fear of betrayal, by the aid of a little indre solitude, would have conquitrefl me, and sent me home, but, at this critical moment, the mask' returned. bearing in her hands a heavy :deck veil. She beckoned me to follow her into a neigh boring street, where iii a moment, we stood beside a close curtained volante, into which she sprang, I following her. Site immediately enveloped my head in the veil which she had brought, cautioning me on my life not to attempt to remove it, unless at her reqttesEt The carriage started off at speed ihdoed, the driver seemed to be urging his horsed to a rapid gallop. Our road Wild long; for even et this speed we must have ridden for two hours, snine of the time over rough, rock roads, and then along smooth ways, when at last the panting animals were brought to a stand, Immediately thereafter I heard a creaking hoiso, as it a portcullis were suddenly raised or some old gate swung back on its unoiled hinges. Speak not a word, whatever you may hear; at tempt not to raise the veil or your life and mine may he the forfeit!' whispered my fair guide: and while she spoke, I felt that she trembled from head to foot. Her hand was cold as ice, and her impetuous voice stifled and husky. Before we advanced from the carriage, site also made me vow by all the saints in heaven, never to reveal what I might do of ace, in that night's adventure. Shethen led me cautiously on, apparently through a large garden, for the cool night breeze bore the perfume of orange, citron, pink lemon, and spice blossoms to my cheek. We soon arrived at anoth er door, which creaked rustily as it opened before ua; and then our way seemed up a winding atone stair-case, through a passage so still. so solemnly silent that it even echoed the light foot-fall of my companion, while my own heavy tread rang, like groans in a cavern, through the still damp air. Until now, the lady had not spoken since we had stepped from the volatile ; but as we arrived at the top of the stairs, and passed into a warmer atmos phere, she whispered that the hour to test my cour age and love had arrived. We stepped across a eon carpet, and she rented me on a yielding cushion. I could see nothing through the thick veil which she had thrown over my fare, yet a kind of bluishness in the darkness before me convinced me that I was in alighted room. No sound could I hear, save the surpressed breathing of my trembl ing compel:ion, and the beating of any own heart. After remaining for a moment on the ottoman, which shook from hor nervousness, she again ad dressed me: You are armed with pistol and dagger ?' 'lsm; said I, inwardly praying that I might have no occasion to use them. You will please give me those weapons,' said , Ah !' thought I, 1 I am betrayed ; and she asks my weapons of defence, that I may be made an easier prey ! Let me ask, said I, your reasons for this strange request V A true lover never asks for reasons from one in whom he confides,' answered the 'mask,' adding, The business I have in hand for you has need of courage, calmness and prudence ; but your weapons could avail you nothing. They will not be requir- r Which is he, Charley, which is he v said Flcr ed. She shuddered as she spoke, adding quickly ence Aston, as springing to the aide of her cousin, ,Such as they have already done too much !' I she eagerly made the interrogatory. What—that She paused a moment, and seemed to he school- I proud, stern, dark man I I'll never misery him,' ing herself to some dreadful task. Again she ad- said the bright lady, very decidedly; and with a dressed me: look of determination on her child-like face she I have a tale to tell yob, sir: no, not a tale, hut walked on. some questions to ask. Had you art only sister, Really, node,' returned her cousin, laughingly one who was young, fair, innocent, and ignorant of i detaining her, you form your resolution upon the world's wickedness, and thus unprepared to cope slight premises indeed. Besides, you have nothing with vile art and sinfulness; and should she meet! to do with the matter. It is Mr. John Denham, with one who was in Appearance all full of nobleness, who has the honor to be your grandfather, my purity, generosity. and true manliness; and, in her sweet coz, who is the arbiter on this important goes own ftill-heartedness, should she love him only as I tion of whetheryou will or hot. So do not walk off woman in nature's simplicity con love; and should ' so fast, I pray you, Miss Florence Aston,as it is not he take foul advantage of her affection for him, interesting or polite, but stay and be introduced to work her ruin, and having succeeded, then scornfully : Mr. Stanley.' leave her without reparation, an outcast from even Ido not desire to,' said Florence, almost weep his bosom ; a dark thing upon the world; unwil- lag in her vexation. you think that grandfa ling to live, unprepared to die; and should she, in Cher really 111.11 S to marry ma to his ward—this the hour when he splifned her, a dishonored thing, I cross di s a greea bl e M r . Stanley, Charles?' front, his feet; even when she was pleading for the • Most certainly I do.' gravely returned her coo love and protection of one who with (hellish art sin, regarding her with a mirthful, malicious en had wrought her ruin ; shrmld she in that dire mo- pression. meat of crowded miseries, strike a poinard to his I Do you think it will make him very angry if I heart I do not, Charley ?' interrogated she. She would nobly do her duty !' cried I, excited 'Ay, verily, that I do,' continued her tormentor. to madness by the painful picture. ' He was very angry with me once, returned Would you aid her in removing all the proof of Florence, and Ciere wee a faint indication of smiles. crime?' continued the mask;'' would you assist You know Aunt Morrison, so still; so proper, so that poor girl to place beneath the dark earth ail tiresome? tShe come to make us a visit, and grand that was earthly of her defiler?' father desired me to behave my prettiest end be .1 would! If thou art she, lend on. I rim rca- proper too. But you you know, Charley, that is sly ; ay, ready tis do more ! Would that ray hand one of the impossibilities; I could not do it, and instead of thine had sent the recreant soul to its ' gradfether really quite scolded me about it.--but he hissing home! I love thee now better than tic- broke down in the midst of his harangue, for I made fore, True, thou hest been dishonored but thou what the children call a face,' the fac-simile of art avenged.' Aunt Morrison's grim, starched visage, and he Ile not hasty, sir, said she, let me sketch you laughed till he cried.' one other picture, before I call on you for action.— 'Miss Florence Aston,' interrupted her grandfa- Again I will suppose you have an only sister, I ther, in his sternest, most dignified tone; permit will suppose her, with your full knowledge and con- me to present you to my ward and much esteemed sent, to have given her affections and her hand to friend, Mr. Stanley.' one whom you believe to be noble, manly and in And Florence, to her no small chagrin, was every way calculated to make her know the true obliged to walk between them in a very serious and bliss of existence. She loves him even over the I proper manner to the house. To be sure there i'oundo of this world's adoration a watches for his I were a number Of spelegies to lie mado for her.•— Smile as the flower beaten down Ity.thh rain waits for the Minsk= ; sighs and droops when the clouds df Barrow cast their shadows over him ; Joys when his hopes brighten ; ministers to every comfort, and seems a being as closely bound to hiM as light is to the diamond. Suppose that he to Whom you hove entrusted her, the inertnost heat-jewel of yourself; the fright corner of you domestic fire-mde ; (=- guile that he should grow cold and unmindful of her peace; that his love for her should fade that her smile should fall upon him, cold as torch-light on a funeral pall ; that her voice should no longer he music to his car; that he should seek for other Smiles and give to other ears the words which were alone her due; when you saw her drobping, fading, dying, bbnenth the shadoiv of•his neglect, what would you do ?' 'Slay him ! by she Hand which made me ! I would slay him like a dog that had bitten or a ser pent that had stung me I' Even as I spoke, I thought of my own deserted wife, and Conscience took a pull at the halliards' of my heart, and wrung it to the very core. I felt as if I could have given a world, had it bean mine to give, if I could be placed alonside the couch of my lonely bride, and I vowed in my soul never to grieve her again, should I return unharmed from the dreadful scenes of that night. 'Lady,' said I, if your first tale be, as I feel it is true; if yeti have slain him who wrought your ruin, and have chosen me to aid you in your dreadful task, I pray you to hasten the deed. Let there be no delay.' Then follow me !' edid she, 'you need not fol low far,' She led me on a few steps, into what I supposed to he another room ; here she bado me to pause, and calm myself. I Must acknowledge that I felt greatly agitated ; but mustering all my self-posses and presence of mind, I prepared to cast aside the veil at her bidding and determined not to shrink from the horrible duty before me. She lifted the veil from my head. A blaze of light forced me to close my eyes ; and then I dared not open them. Imagination painted e scene before me which I feared to gaze upon. At last shame un closed my eye lids, and I gazed around . . . Surprise almost stunned me. It could not be !---Net so it was! I Mood with in my own bed-room! The stranger raised her mask. My wife's large black eyes looked sorrow fully out upon me, the cost the long treeses of glossy hair from her head ; and then appeared her own soft curling ringlets playing about her neck. She had fallen upon this plan to punish me for seeking pleasure at a time when she by reason of sickness and suffering, could not enjoy it with rite. She had indeed taught me a !cation of Conjugal fidelity. My own +Monte had driven the at full speed over half the city ! I had been led through at bark Otte and had traversed a part of my house which I had never before entered; and all through the contri vance of my witch of a wtfe ! Borrowed jewels had disguised her hands ; she had spoken in an al tered voice beneath her mask ; and I had actually fallen in love with my own wife! What a fix for a married man to be in t From the Neu, York Mirror, CAPRICE, or Florence Aston. WYMMIC Mr. Stanley'abbw was not what it Should have been to the spoiled, petted beauty. It was not an ad miringbow, it Was not a particuliirly deferential bow, nor by any manner of means a modest, diffident bow. Therefore was Mimi Aston whohad been approached as a divinity, admired, beloved, won dered at—surprised and mortified. His bow was the essence of indifference and nonchalante; he might have inclined thus to a spinster-aunt, or a portly old uncle,—but to this charming young lady. this pretty Florence, it was positively insulting:— That she who had been loved by all tfie world, al though she had condescended to love nothing but her birds, flowers, and her grandfather, and looked at so colilly , by this man, it was surprising: 111 never marry him, Charley, she reiterated, as she bid that gentleman good night.' t - et will not grandfather be enraged either; he shall relin quish me, not I him.' Her cousin opened his eyes in assumed doubt, wonderment, and admiration; and with a smile of triumph she disappeared. Florence Aston, so fearless, so light, eo'agill;•he came suddenly very cowardly, and very trouble. some. Little could Mr. Slimly profit by fine views and charming excursions. Miss Aston's horse be hayed as did never horse before, and Miss Aston's self declared she noald positively swoon or die in her extreme terror. Therefore was the cavalier obliged to quiet the one and soothe the other, neither of which being , very successful tasks. When they walked ; infinite were the number of Florence's ~t! icate fatigues and nervous dilemmas;capricious and fantastical, everything unlike herself. Yet did she by most admirable generalship cause all these fan tasies to afflict and annoy but one individual.— Really her grandlitther's word had a stock a patience far exceeding Job's much boasted corttmotlitY ; yet, etrange to tell, his gentle, quiet manner, did not mollify his tormentors. There was a touch of sarcasm about it, there was an understanding, half humorous expression in his eye—indeed, such an inexplicable thing is a woman's imagination when once upon the alert--Florence translated it at length into contempt. Aftef a long ride the bright lady would not canter up the avenue as of yore; and, wild with the exhilarating exercise, fling herself into her grandfather's arms. No ! she rode gravely, decorously, nay, almost sadly up; her large full eyes cast down, and not a glimpse of a smile around the lovely mouth. What could Mr. Stanley talk about? He did not flatter or make tender speeches? Most certainly not. 'This will never do, Charley,' she said one even ing to her cousin, lifter despatching Mr. Stanly for a missing glove to one apartment, a fon to another, and, lastly, to pluck a bouquet in the moonlight, from all which expiditions he returned in the most amiable humor. 4 Thirt will never do, there is no tiring him out; he is on old campaigner. 1 must change my tactics.' The cousin looked incredulous. Ah ! ytin will see,' she returned to the glance. er have two or three plans in prospective; victory shall, must tar mine;—for 1 never will marry this man, Charley.' The next day there was a drive; and Mr. Shanty it appeared, whd had been chained to Miss Vlor ence's apron-string, was now as free as air. She was for the buggy, and a toto-a-tete with cousin. Her grandfather appeared ipclined to remonstrate, but She laughingly seized the reins, and with flash , ing eyes, and lreigthened color, drove through the gates. Absolutely she declined dancing with Mr. Stanley twice that evening, and danced each and every time with her cousin. She would not sing a certain song for the first gentleman. yet performed it afterwards with all the spirit and effect in the world, for the last. Moonlight strolls and morning rambles, all were tried without the least effect.— Stanley was not to be moved by caprice or diem: ted with jealousy. Secure in his nonchalance, be remained invulnerable. • What can I do. fur I will never marry that man, Charley?' exclaimed the beauty at the end of a fortnight, with n despairing face. There's Anna —Anna can make a stone love her; will she not him--al', Charley ?' she asked with a smile. Florence's last plan appeared in a fair way of success. Miss Anna Denison was a very charming young lady, of the genus--flirt; and Mt. Stanly heroine, apparently, her most devoted admirer. If Florence had coquetted till she was weary, with her cousin, little would Mr. Stanley have heeded , , if ' I she had broken her neck though the prances of her 1 Rosinante, he would have been all unconscious.-- Miss Anton did not appear as elated as a young lady should, who had lured from the pursuit an unwel come lover. She grew melancholy, lost her laugh- I ter, her smiles, and her bloom, and began to Irate, very desperately, Miss Anna Denison. It was as touishing how sharp-sighted she became to that In dy's defects. Miss Denison had the most beautiful little hand in the world. and the darkest, most lux uriant hair; and she would draw one over the other with a pretty affectation of weariness. Flor ence looked dopers, while Mr. Stanley looked ad miration. Miss Deniaon had a petite fairy-like figure, and would dance wild Spanish dances, will' mariners, in a manner most bewitching to behold. As the little feet lightly and airily descended, and th. , graceful, etherial creature had sank, in utter weal i ness, on a tabouret which Mr. Stanley had placed. Florence turned with a look of disgust to her cou sin, and protested that she abhorred such display. Florie, my bird of beauty, my starling, my pet, I have not heard the sound of your voice to-day; what is the matter, my child 1' Thus said Mr. Denhatir, one sunny afternoon, to his pretty grand. .C.0.:E.). daughter, who was sitting alone on the piazza, per haps watching the shadows on the grass, certainly in much melancholy /nosing. What le it, &areal?' lierepeated: You need not marry Mr; Stanley—eh, jewel?' Florence , did not speak ; the rich color mounted to her cheek, and the largo,•-clerk eye, spoke va nities. Vou shall not marry him,' 'he continued coax ingly, nod he is coming to.day to tell you go.' Before the bright lady bad time to ask the mean ing of this peculiar announcement, Mr: Denham had taken himself off with a celerity and conside ration most unusuol in a gentleman of his age, and Stunly was at her side. What your grandfiither has OM you is indeed so, Miss Mimi' lie saint in his most dignified (Florence thought, crosses!) manner. 'The days for forcing young ladies into disagreeable matches are over. You are your own mistress, and eau make your own decision: Do you choose to marry me or not r Florence was convulsed with a variety of emo— ticins, indignation being predominant only a polite get-oIT, thought she. 'I do not,' returned. the beauty, in a clear, dim, tinct tone, Mr. Stanley hewed andieft her. Why did Flor ence, an his last foot-step 4 dgid away, fling those curlo•on her lap?' why did she sob ! why did she , peep?' Pr.dfoilier's pet did not make her appear /Imre at tea thee evening, in spite of her release.--. She had a head'ache.' She could not hid Miss Denison goodbye. 'She was sick.' The first person she encountered its the morning was Mr. &an ley. ''Good bye,' lie said, extending his hand, lam • I supposed:. of course, you would have left yes. teetlay, with Miss Denison,' returned Florence. Why?' said he cooly. What a cruel question, thought poor Florence. She could not lift her eyes.—they were filled with tears, and she felt that her cheeks were glowing. Why he continued, in the same ironical tone did you suppose me , it lover of the lady's! How could I vow fealty to two fair dames St once," ho added sportingly. If you will condescend to re member, M iss Florence, I was your lover till you dismissed me so unceremoniously, last evening.' • I do not remember any finch thing,' said Flor ence, with a touch of her former spirit ; that you intended to marry me, I admit—that you loved me --neven f Really,' he said, my some-time benefited, we most understand this matter better. I had nothing to do but to be presented, disliked, rejected—and now I mast deport and forget—if I can.' Hie tone was sad. Florence became egita Goad bye,' he repeated, after a moment's pause and held out his hand. Ilia companion was blind, however, and did not tee it. She was leaning over her plants, and picking a had to pieces. She stole a glance at his face, and her own crimsoned. 'Mos/ you go, Stanley 1' she said at length tim- Who could resist theme eyes? The carriage drove to the door, and how often, infinite, were the halloos' after its proposed occupant, but Mr. Stan• ley was wandering deep in the woods with Florence Aston. Florence might have sat that evening for the personification of Euphrosyne, Spring, Morn ing—everything redolent, of youth, hope, life, beau ty, happiness. On eye, check, lip, the sunshine danced. Her head rested on her grandfathe's knee, and the old man bent over her, enraptured. "he whispered, Pieria, will Mr. Stanley'. departure return your smiles; how delighted I am that I sent him off It would have been a shame to have married you, darling.' Grandfather' said Florence, in charming confu sion ; 1 knew that your heart was set on the match so I conquered my aversion—and--and—' Mr. Stanley appeared just then in propria-persone.— Mr. Denham (the wise old man) understood it all, and spored Miss Florence's blushea. .1 !rally think after all, that I chill scary this man, Charley,' she whispered as she bid her cousin good-night. OCCUPATION.-A gentleman overheard a porter wishing he had five hundred pounde,and thereupon told him that ho would gtvo him five hundred pounds if he would tell him the uses he would ap ply it to. The porter declared that he would in ebtotly leave off work and enjoy himself, describing the meals he would have of boiled beef and greens fur dinner, and a Welch rabbit for supper. After some discussion the gentleman told hint that his time would hang heavily upon his hands, as ho would have nothing to do but eat and drink and walk about. The porter agreed to it, and at last concluded that he was better without tho five hun dred pounds, and, by merely following his occupa tion, could do all that riches would enable him to do, nod employ his time agreeably into the bargain agreeably enough according to his own taste. Tho story contains n moral whirls most of those on the ravenous hunt after riches may well apply to them selves. All the world ie anxious "•to make a for- tune and retire." After spending a life in acquir i nig the fortune, thew who are successful find at last that fortune-making, and nut fortune-enjoying, is the only thing for which they have a nest; and they might have enjoyed all they have a taste for, I just ag wall without tit* fdrtune it with it,
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