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,