IMPORTANT EVENTS IN THE LIFE OF A WRITTEN BY HERSELF, AND COMMUNICATED BY A FRIEND. The million flit as gay As if created only like the fly, That spreads his motley wings in the eye of noon, Cowper. The years which I passed in the nursery and the schoolroom are unworthy of mention, because a young lady's life can only be said to begin when she is introduced into society. Mine did not commence until I was full seventeen; for I had left school a quarter of a year before I came out at the Race Ball. If I live a hundred years, I shall never forget that night; it was the happiest of my life. For the first time, I had artificial flowers in my hair; and, though I have had handsomer dresses since, I don't believe I ever looked so well in them as I did that night in a plain book muslin over a white satin slip. The ball itself, too, was more delightful than any I have since attended; why, I never could make out, for none of my partners were very nice ones, and I did not perceive that any one admired me; to be sure, neither of these circumstances vexed me. Both frock and flowers have long since been worn out, but I keep them still, because they remind me how happy I was when they were new. When I first went into company, I was a little abashed at not being able to keep up a conversation with as much spirit as other young ladies, who, having had the advantage of finishing their education sooner, were acquainted with many things of which I was shamefully ignorant. By the end of my first winter I was, however, so much improved, that I could converse on any topic, in a manner that led no one to suspect I had been kept at school for more than seven years. Though immediately on coming home I discontinued all my studies except music and dancing, I never worked half so hard whilst at Mrs. Le Grande's establishment. There was so much shopping to be done, so many calls to be made, and such continual alterations wanted in my dresses, in order to keep up with the fashion, and be at the same time economi cal, that until I got into the way of it, I was almost fagged to death. In the course of time the novelty of this way of life wore off, and I began to grow tired of going over and over again to the same places, meeting the same people, hearing the same things, and, above all, of wearing the same dresses. There was no satisfaction either in living in a crowd of acquaintances,—and, as Captain B. beautifully expressed it, as we were promenading one evening at a brilliant assembly, I sighed for "the intercourse of the heart." He was an enchanting creature; drew, sung, danced, and made verses professionally well; always dressed three times a day, and had been slightly wounded at Waterloo. He introduced me to his sister; and, from that moment till he left to join his regiment abroad, she was my dearest, best, and most valued friend. After his departure a gradual shyness ensued, why, or how, I could never distinctly ascertain, but I do not think the fault was on my side. I was not much more fortunate in my next friendship. Matilda was a year younger than myself, but just my size; she was a sweet, natural, confiding creature, and for a long time we never had two opinions on any subject, or a thought that we did not share in common. We always dressed our heads alike, sat together at parties, wore each other's hair in a locket, and corresponded, though we lived in the same street. We were inseparables, till she received an offer. I did not think it any thing to be proud of; but to be sure it was her first; and she was soon too much engrossed by wedding preparations to have any leisure for friendship. I was her bridesmaid, but we were never intimate afterwards. These disappointments gave me such an insight into the deceitfulness of the human heart, and the vanity of the world, that I am determined to depend for the future on myself. and seek for happiness in intellectual resources. About that time I set up an Album. It was so splendidly bound that many persons thought it a sufficient gratification to look at the outside only. It is a very bad plan, however, to have albums bound before they are filled; by the time mine had travelled to all my friends for contributions, the morocco and gilding were so tarnished that I had no pleasure in shewing the book. I was shockingly vexed, too, to see its white glossy pages so shamefully scrawled over the poetry did not signify much, because no one read it; but EVENTS IN THE LIFE OF A YOUNG LADY. 333 93 every body observed the bad writing. I had, nevertheless, the pleasure of knowing that the book contained three gems; a sonnet, an elegy, and a serenade, all original; and the contribution of a young gentleman who was about to publish. Amongst the important events of my life, I must not omit to mention a visit to London, and a journey to the Lakes. I name them together, because I scarcely know which was most delightful. I was enchanted with the Opera and Vauxhall, and so I was with the sublime solitudes of the North, and if shopping all morning, and driving to two or more parties every evening, was real enjoyment, a moonlight sail on Windermere, with French horns and a cold collation, was truly agreeable. Both visits were highly beneficial, though, of course, in a different way. In London I gained a valuable insight into fashionable dress and deportment; while my rural excursion greatly enlarged my mind, and gave me that taste for the beauties of nature which I hope ever to preserve. Soon after my return from London (solely with a view to my own instruction and amusement) I began to keep a kind of biographical diary, in which I regularly noted down engagements, observations on dress, good resolutions, &c. &c. have found it very useful, on a birth-day or other stated period, to review these memorandums of the most interesting occurrences of the past year. I recommend all young ladies to follow my example; and, to put them in the way of keeping such a diary, I subjoin a copy of the last page of my own. "To-day I am twenty-one ;-received a beautiful gold scent box from my uncle, but begin to think it childish to mention my birth-day. According to my annual custom I have looked over my diary of the past year, and shall, as usual, sum up the principal occurrences from April 1, 1823, to April 1, 1824. "New Dresses. Three morning-two dinner-and four evening ones. Conquests. At the Y- Archery Meeting and at the Z- Institution for the Encouragement of the Arts. Offers. Useful Occupations. Kept up nine correspondences-learnt by heart all Moore's Melodies, and part of the Corsair-read every good novel-japanned a pair of hand screens-worked three flounces for a morning gown, and painted a trimming for a ball-frock, besides making a card-purse, and a pair of head bracelets. Acquisitions. Set of mock pearl ornaments, scarcely to be known from real ones-several new acquaintances, who merit the name of friends all charming characters-the new set of quadrillesmany songs-and the art of making artificial flowers.— Parties. Number unknown-having neglected to set them down regularly; but reckoning all kinds, set, and friendly, certainly not fewer than four a week, besides company in the house. Every thing considered, I think I have no reason to be dissatisfied with the past year; if I have had much pleasure I have endeavoured to be industrious. Nevertheless, I mean to devote some attention to more serious pursuits; as I consider it the duty of every young woman, who is twentyone, to prepare herself, at all events, for the important office of a wife, and mistress of an establishment. I am determined to learn all kinds of fancy confectionery; for nothing gives eclat to a party like an elegant super-table. I shall take to mob-caps in a morning, and whenever I go out have a little knitting, or work of that kind in my reticule. I shall also read, with great attention, Gregory's Advice to his Daughters, particularly that part which speaks of the duties of the married life,—and, now and then, I purpose to look into a religious novel." THE LAST LEAF OF THE FOREST. A FRAGMENT. J. It was the end of autumn, and my foot rustled among the dead leaves that strewed the path. I cast my eyes up to an aged oak, that stretched it giant limbs in many a fantastic form high over my head. It was the lord of the forest. I looked at it again, and again; one leaf still remained on one sole hanging branch; it struggled in vain to get free. A fresher gust of wind came up the valley-the tiny footstalk gave way-it separated from the branch-and the last leaf of the forest fell at my feet I gazed at it half sorrowfully; it was not like its companions that lay near; no, it was stil! fresh as the greenest leaf in spring. The brown tints of autumn had not yet mellowed its vivid coloring; it seemed as if cut off in its prime; different, far different, from those faded trophies of summer which lay around me. Unconsciously, I fell into a train of thought that was sad, even to mournfulness. I took the leaf in my hand, and exclaimed aloud, "Too true a simile, the last flower of the castle, and the last leaf of the forest, have both departed in vernal freshness, alike blooming, and lovely." I had now reached an open part of the forest, which commanded an extensive prospect over the valley; a dim and indistinct object met my view; it wound round a little wooded promontory, and again I plainly saw it. Too well I knew what the sad procession was; the plumes of white feathers danced in the beams of the morning sun, as if in mockery of the sombre object that bore them. It was the hearse that conveyed the relics of Ellen, the last flower of the castle, to her long home. The only remaining child of a numerous family was regarded by her doating parents with no ordinary affection; but that fell disease, consumption, came-it breathed on Ellen's face-and the last blossom was gathered to her fathers. The sad procession arrived at the church. I joined the train of mourners a few moments pause ensued broken only by the sobs of the wretched father. The solemn and impressive service commenced-the corpse was lowered into the tomb-I was near it-the leaf fell from my hand-the earth rattled on the coffin-the last flower of the castle, and the last leaf of the forest, reposed in the same grave. CO-E RL, DEVON. * * * * J. J. STANZAS. The dark weed looks over our desolate home, The chill drop that falls from its cold clammy wreath, |