rescued from a hopeless ignorance, who, in their turn, we trust will diffuse the seeds of benevolence, which shall spring up again in other bosoms, sure to be multiplied in the same way forever.
___
LINES.
And must we part?—well, let it be,
'Tis better thus, oh yes, believe me;
For though I still was true to thee,
Thou, faithless maiden, would'st deceive me.
Take back this written pledge of love,
No more I'll to my bosom fold it;
The ring you gave your faith to prove,
I can't return—because I've sold it!
I will not ask thee to restore
Each gage d'amour, or lover's token,
Which I had given thee before
The links between us had been broken.
They were not much, but oh! that broach,
If for my sake thou'st deign'd to save it,
For that, at least, I must encroach—
It wasn't mine, although I gave it.
The gem that in my breast I wore,
That once belonged unto your mother,
Which, when you gave to me, I swore,
For life I'd love you and no other.
Can you forget that cheerful morn,
When in my breast thou first didst stick it?—
I can't restore it—it's in pawn,
But, base deceiver, that's the ticket.
Oh, take back all, I cannot bear
These proofs of love—-they seem to mock it;
There, false one, take your lock of hair—
Nay, do not ask me for the locket.
Insidious girl! that wily tear
Is useless now, that all is ended;
There is thy curl—nay, do not sneer,
The locket's—somewhere—being mended.
The dressing-case you lately gave
Was fit, I know, for Bagdad's caliph;
I used it only once to shave
When it was taken by the bailiff.
Than thou didst give I bring back less,
But hear the truth without more dodging
The landlord's been with a distress,
And positively cleared my lodging.
_______
FLOWERS.—How much of the poetry of life springs from flowers. How delicate a pleasure is it to twine the orange blossom or japonica for the bride—to arrange a bouquet for the invalid—to throw simple flowers into the lap of childhood—and to pull rose buds for the girl of whom they are the emblem.
GOSSIP AT A VILLAGE QUILTING.
BY LYDIA JANE PIERSON.
"How beautiful! How mournfully beautiful," said a fair young girl looking from a window along the quiet street. All eyes followed the direction of hers, and rested on an approaching chaise drawn by a grave sleek looking animal, who even seemed to tread lightly as if in consideration of those to whose comfort he was contributing. They were indeed a lovely couple, yet both were evidently invalids, for although it was a mild warm day in the early autumn, and the calash top of the chaise was thrown back for the benefit of the sun and air, the gentleman was wrapped in a cloak, and a heavy shawl muffled the person of the slender girl. He was a tall fine figure and his features were regularly handsome; his dark locks lay upon his temples like raven's plumes thrown upon a snow wreath, and his large black eyes sparkled as with the reflected light of glorious immortality. His companion sat beside him like a beautiful statue of delicately blue veined marble. Her soft brown hair lay in light natural ringlets on her neck and shoulders, and her azure eyes seemed overflowing with the tender sensibilities as she conversed with him beside her, and ever as she smiled, the bright rose spot on his cheeks flushed brighter, but her face was pale as the white lily.
"Poor young creatures!" sighed a bride of a few weeks when they had fairly passed. "They were to have been married on the same day that united me to Charles, but now their marriage ceremony will be the burial service. 'Tis sad that they should die so soon, with love and happiness in full bloom before them, and they so worthy of life's dearest joys, so beautiful, and good.”
"They were always good and beautiful, I have known them from their infancy," observed a fine looking matron who was busily "laying out" the quilt. "I always thought that theirs would be no common lot. They were always together. He was a fine tall boy of his age, and she was sprightly as a fawn, and musical as a wild bird. How often have I heard her sweet songs ringing from rock to rock along the river. They knew the sunny knolls where the earliest violets blossomed, and the sheltered dells in which the last daisies lingered. They never disturbed the bird's nests, but he would climb the tallest trees to get for her a handful of nuts, or a cluster of early ripe grapes.
"They loved every thing that was beautiful, and when weary of climbing the hills, or rambling in the forests, they would sit down in some pretty favorite spot, and while he read aloud, for he always carried some book with him, she would ply her needle at some fancy work, or sketch in a little blank book the surrounding scenery. Some of those wild sketches are wonderfully natural. And then he would coax her to sing some
