love cannot be concealed. The sigh which stole from her bosom-the flush that suffused her cheek-the swimming softness of her eyes, as they glided almost unconsciously on William-the confusion and eloquent silence which prevailed, spoke volumes. By such tokens Mr. Melville discovered his daughter's feelings; and his sullen temper, like a volcano which had long been at rest, broke forth with redoubled fury. He forbade Leslie his house, and threatened Elizabeth with his perpetual displeasure if she ever saw him more. The command went like lightning to her heart; it was the first time she had ever felt calamity. The fabric of bliss she had sc fondly reared fell in an instant to the ground; her visions of happiness floated away like a summer cloud, and she found herself overwhelmed with unutterable despair.

This was a sad blow to the fond-hearted girl, but perhaps it might have been borne, had not another event shortly after occurred to complete her misfortunes. This was the unavoidable departure of William for Jamaica, to look after his affairs, which had been unfortunately impaired in that island. While he remained at home, hope had not entirely forsakeu her. She conceived, although she knew not upon what grounds, that they might yet be brought together; and at any rate, enjoyed the satisfaction of thinking that she still inhabited the same country, and was never far away from her lover. But this last event gave the finishing stroke to all her prospects; and from that moment when they bade adieu on the banks of the Evan, happiness departed from her bosom. She had wrought up her mind to a pitch of unusual firmness at this meeting, and she had gone through with apparent energy. When, however, the extraordinary excitement had worn away, and the mind subsided into its usual channel, it became unable to sustain the slow and sure workings of the settled grief which followed. The poison of care was strewed over her spirit, and destroyed it utterly. Nor was there any quarter to which she could fly for consolation. Hope, the star to which the wretched ever turn, shed no ray upon her.

When the waters of life are withdrawn, the flower soon perishes, and the body does not long survive the ravages of a broken heart. So it was with Elizabeth; she had drained the bitter cup of affliction, and its baneful influence was

soon manifest. The bright sparkling of her eyes disappeared; they became dim, heavy, and anxious. Her complexion faded into a pallid hue, and her cheeks became wan and sunken. The symmetry of her form, and that exquisite proportion which delighted all eyes, began to be lost. Instead of the firm, yet brisk and airy step which attended all her movements, she trembled at every pace, and degenerated into a mere shadow of what she had been. Cough, the heavy eye, the hectic flush, and the blanched lip, succeeded in their turns. In a very short period of time the once beautiful Elizabeth Melville showed all the appalling signs of a fatal consumption.

Her bodily malady was visible to all her father alone knew the cause, and felt remorse for his harshness, His repentance was too late: destruction had done its worst. He longed with intense anxiety for the return of Leslie to arrest its progress. He did at length arrive, after an absence of twelve months, but his approach could not snatch his mistress from the grave which was opening to receive her.

When Elizabeth was warned of this event, she fainted away. Then a flush rose upon her pale countenance like a beam in the valley of death-a smile crossed her lips, and her heart palpitated with a transient rapture. For a moment she was happy; but when she contemplated her emaciated form-the ravages which illness had made there, and the short path that lay between her and Eternity, her happiness as speedily departed. But what were William's feelings on beholding this sad spectacle! In the pride of youthful beauty, an angel of loveliness he had left her, but he found her a shadow disrobed of all her charms, save that immortal beauty inspired by religion and love, over which disease has no command. His heart was blasted at the sight; his eyes swam with a sudden giddiness. He fell insensibly at her feet, and dreamed that what he beheld was only a vision : but he awoke to find it a sad reality. Elizabeth stretched forth her hand to him.

"Do not weep for me, William; I shall leave you only for a season. I am going to a country where the bride shall not mourn the absence of the bridegroom, nor the bridegroom

the departure of the bride. Farewell, dearest, best-beloved! Think often on Elizabeth Melville when she is away, Think how she lived and died for you; but mourn her not, for she is happy."

The unfortunate young man could only sob in a burst of agony he seemed more overcome with emotion than his dying mistress. He pressed her slender hand to his lips, and bedewed it with tears, At last, the irrepressible tide of affection found vent in words. "Eliza," said he, "you remember the banks of the Evan, where you vowed to be mine, and where you told me that this ring was to be the token which should make us one. I now claim your promise, and before we are separated on earth, let it be fulfilled at the hands of the man of God." As she looked at the ring, her eyes sparkled with unusual vivacity; but when she remembered the time, the place, and the occasion at which it was first offered her, she wept bitterly. William placed it on her finger, kissed her, and said, "You are mine-mine for ever." But as she turned down her hand, the ring fell off; the emaciated finger could not fill up its small circle. Elizabeth observed this, and shook her head; William remarked it also, and called to his recollection how lovely and full of health she was a year before-how frail now and worn out, when the ring which then fitted well dropped from her finger.

The friends of both tried to dissuade them from the melancholy union which they contemplated, but their minds were made up, and they were married by the parish minister. It was a sad sight to witness the pale consumptive form of Elizabeth robed in the bridal garments; but whoever looked on the pensive melancholy of that still lovely face, could see an expression more than earthly, and a spirit of hope and virtue that aspired beyond the tomb. An evanescent flush came across her countenance as she joined hands with her lover; it was the last she ever wore. She died eight days after the marriage-nor did William Leslie long survive her; for under a cloud of the deepest sorrow, he went out again to the West Indies, and fell a victim to the yellow fever, three weeks after his arrival.

BY J. H. MIFFLIN.

Oh! do not mock the pencil's power,
Nor bid the artist feebly trace
An image of ethereal grace,
A shade of thy celestial face,
Still varying-lovelier every hour!
Deep in the holy haunted cell

Of poet's thought, and painter's mind
Beings that leave the day behind,
From vulgar gaze for ever shrined,
In soft mysterious twilight dwell.

Their beauties language fails to catch!

Their forms that float like clouds in heaven, Or play like waves in rays of even, O'er pebbly shores by breezes driven, No pencil'd hues, nor shapes can match. But thou whose look has loftier beam, Whose lips seem warbling in repose Thy form with softer movement flows, With more seraphic radiance glows, Than those that bless the poet's dream.

!

Thou with bright beings of the mind
Must pass away; perplex'd and grieved,
The thought half deems the sense deceived,
By things unreal-yet believed,
Too beautiful to be defined !

Yet, no; though painting dimly shew
As misty mirror, charms like thine,
'Twill bear an image more divine

Than brightest forms that round us shine,
In pride of living beauty's glow!

Then bid the pencil's art endeavour
To fix the evanescent ray.

That loves upon thy face to play-
Reflection of a lovelier day,
That lost with thee, were lost for ever!

To the painter it alone is given,

Sweet visitant from brighter spheres!
To place the charms for future years,
Beyond the blight of time and tears,
o lift to hopes with looks of heaven!

LOVE TOKENS.

It was the custom in England, in olden tyme, as the ancient chronicles have it, for enamoured maydes, and gentil-women, to give to their favorite swains, as tokens of their love, little handkerchiefs, about three or four inches square, wrought round about, often in embroidery, with a button or tassel at each corner, and a little one in the centre. The finest of these favors were edged with narrow gold lace or twist; and then, being folded up in four cross folds, so that the middle might be seen, they were worn by the accepted lovers in their hats, or at the breast. These favors became at last so much in vogue, that they were sold ready made in the shops in "Elizabeth's time, from sixpence to sixteen pence a piece. Tokens were also given by the gentlemen, and accepted by their mistresses, thus described in an old comedy of the time: Given earrings we will wear, Bracelets of our lover's hair; Which they on our arms shall twist, (With our names carved) on our wrists.