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full account of the nature of Miss P-'s illness. He received the intelligence of the favourable change that had occurred, with evident, though silent ecstacy. After much inward doubt and hesitation, I thought I might venture to tell him of the parting—the twice repeated request she had made. The intelligence blanched his already pallid cheek to a whiter hue, and he trembled violently. *Did you tell her I was in town? Did she recollect me?” --“No one has breathed your name to her!” I replied. * * * “Well, Doctor—if, on the whole, you think so—that it would be safe,” said N—, after we had talked much on the matter—“I will step over and see her; but—it looks very—very strange!” “Whatever whim may actuate her, I think it better, on the whole, to gratify her. Your refusal may be attended with infinitely worse effects than an interview. However, you shall hear from me again. I will see if she continues in the same mind; and, if so, I will step over and tell you.” I took my leave. A few moments before stepping down to dinner, I sat beside Miss P-, making my usual enquiries; o was gratified to find that her progress, though slow, seemed sure. I was going to kiss her, before leaving, when, with similar emphasis to that she had previously displayed, she again said— “Remember! N— must be here to-night!” I was confounded. What could be the meaning of this mysterious pertinacity? I felt distracted with doubt, and dissatisfied with myself for what I had told to N–. I felt answerable for whatever ill effects might ensue; and yet, what could I do? r It was evening—a mild, though lustrous, July evening. The skies were all blue and white, save where the retiring sun-light produced a
She sighed and shook her head. . . . . It had been arranged that Dr. D—should accompany Mr. N– to my house, and conduct him up stairs, after strongly enjoining on him the necessity there was for controlling his feelings, and displaying as little emotion as possible. My heart leaped into my mouth—as the saying is— when I heard the expected knock at the door. “N— is come at last!” said I, in a gentle tone, looking earnestly at her, to see if she was agitated. It was not the case. She sighed, but evinced no trepidation. - i “Shall he be shown in at once?” I enquired. “No-wait a few moments,” replied the extraordinary girl, and seemed lost in thought for about a minute. “Now !” she exclaimed; and I sent down the nurse, herself pale and tremblin with apprehension, to request the attendance &f Dr. D— and Mr. N--. As they were heard slowly approaching the room, I looked anxiously at my patient, and kept my fingers at her pulse. There was not a symptom of flutter or agitation. At length the door was opened, and Dr. D— slowly entered, with N— upon his arm. As soon as his pale, trem. bling figure was visible, a calm and heavenly smile beamed upon the countenance of Miss P—. It was full of ineffable loveliness!. She stretched out her right arm: he pressed it to his lips, without uttering a word. . . . . My eyes were riveted on the features of Miss P—. Either they deceived me, or I saw a strange alteration—as is a cloud were stealing over her face. I was right!—We all observed her colour fading rapidly. Irose from my..chair; Dr. D— also came nearer, thinking she was on the verge of fainting. Her eye was fixed upon the flushed features of her lover, and gleamed with radiance. She gently elevated both her arms towards him, and he leaned over her. > “PREPARE!” she exclaimed, in a low thrilling tone;—her features became paler and paler—her arms fell. She had spoken—she had breathed her last. She was dead! ...- o: Within twelve months poor N– followed her; and to the period of his death, no otherword or thought seemed to occupy his mind but the momentous warning which issued from the expiring lips of Agnes P-, PREPARE! . I have no mystery to solve, no denouement to make. I tell the facts as they occurred; and hope they may not be told in vain! ...; •-so- r OUR complexion is such, that we are p with enjoyment, and stimulated with hope;
we become less sensible to a long poss ##". nefit, from the very circumstance that it is come habitual.–Specious, untried, ambiguous prospects of new advantage recommend themselves to the spirit of adventure, which more or less prevails in every mind. From this temper, men, and factions, and nations, too, have sacri
ficed the good of which they have been in assur • * * * * * * : * ' ',” “ oro " ...". **. * * * * * * * * *
possession, in favour of wild and irrational ex
pectations. . . . . . . . . , ,
A TRAGICAL STORY, CHAales had been absents two days. Poor Julia had been wishing and wishing for him. His well known step sounded in the entry; the door opened, and she met him with a heightened colour in her cheek, and her blue eyes flashing from beneath their long lashes with sparkles of unwonted pleasure. Shall I mention particulars? It is scarcely necessary. He who cannot imagine how a warm hearted young wife, in the honey moon, would meet her idol, after an absence of two whole days, is no reader for me. “Oh!” she exclaimed, after the first transport had a little subsided, “I am glad you have returned, dear, dear Charles I was afraid you might not come—that you were sick, or some accident had occurred. But here you are. And now have you had a pleasant time P and how do they all do? and whom did you see ? and—” Charles stopped her mouth. *Yes, here I am, safe and sound, and full of news; but you huddle question upon question with such volubility that I shall never get a chance to answer them, and your mouth here wide open to ask I don't know how many more.” “Well, then,” answered she, flinging herself into an attitude of attention, and folding her arms like a judge upon a bench—“there—I am dumb,
and ready to listen to the news; I won't speak
another word till you have done.” And, with considerable apparent difficulty, she closed her lips. -: “Now then,” said Charles, “mark me.” “I will,” said Julia. “Well, then,” continued her husband, laughing, “in the first place, they are all well; in the next, I have had a very pleasant time; and, lastly, I have seen old Mr. Peterson, and aunt Sarah, and Mr. and Mrs. Wanderdyke, and little Bob, Henry, and Maria. “And this,” inquired Julia, “is the news that you are to tell? and these are all you saw?” “Oh, no!” replied Charles, mysteriously; “far from it, Julia. I have met one more—one most beautiful, bewitching, being more—the very counterpart of Venus. Such complexion—such ringlets, long and glossy—and cheeks—roses and lilies are nothing to them . There is nothing in all nature sweeter than her lips, and her eyes are bright dangers no man should rashly encounter. They were soft, melting, liquid, heavenly blue—
full of the light of intellect, and tremulous every beam of them with a tenderness that makes the
heart ache.” “You are only jesting with me,” said Julia, endeavouring, but in vain, to check the change that came over her face, as the shadow of the cloud flits across a stream. “This is some stupid Dutch beauty, and you can scarcely describe her without laughing. Come, now, tell the truth.” “You may believeifornot, just as you please,” said Charles; “but I assure you the whole account is as true, as the enjoyment of it was enrapturing, and the memory is delicious.” *Julia was sensitive and artless. She loved her husband with that deep tenderness which knew
contents tremble and overflow, when shaken ever so lightly. There was, therefore, in these enthusiastic praises of another, something strange and even cruel. Still she could not boieve that he was serious; and forcing a smile, and struggling to keep down her rising emotion, she listened to him in silence as he rattled on. “Our meeting was marked with uncommon interest. Old Mr. Peterson introduced me to her, after having previously hinted that, before I was married, she had regarded me with more than common complacency.” “Charles l—” “Well, we met. I addressed her by name; she said nothing—but oh! those eyes of hers were fixed on me with a gaze that reached into the innermost recesses of my heart, and seemed to touch all those chords of feeling which nature had strung for joy. Wherever I went, I found her eyes still turned towards me, and an arch smile just played around her saucy lips, and spoke all the fine fancies and half hidden meanings that woman will often look, but not always trust to the clumsy vehicle of words. I could restrain myself no longer—but, forgetting all but those heavenly lips, I approached and—” Poor Julia—she thought she heard the knell of her young dreams. The hue of her cheek, and the sparkle of her azure eye, were gone, long before; and as he painted, in such glowing colours, the picture of his feelings, her lip quivered, and tears swelled up and dimmed the blue light of eyes beautiful as day. “I will never speak to you again, Charles,” sobbed she, “if this be true.” “It is true,” he exclaimed, “only not half like the reality. It was your own ProTURE, my sweet girl, that I kissed again and again.” *. She looked at him a moment, and buried her wet eyes in his bosom. As she lifted her head, and, shaking back the clustering ringlets that fell around her brow, displayed her face smiling through tears, his arm softly found its way around her waist, and—but I am at the end of my sheet.
This valuable product, first made known by La Condamine, in 1736, is the juice of several species of trees growing in South America. It flows from the trees as a milky fluid, which soon hardens upon exposure to the air. Various attempts have been made to transport it to Europe in its fluid state, without success. Its application to the arts is various, but, until recently, no advantage has been taken of one of its most remarkable properties, its elasticity. Two ingenious chemists of Paris, Messrs. Ratteir, and Guibal, by an entirely new solvent and a very delicate process, have succeeded in spinning it into threads of various sizes. This is subsequently woven into suspenders, garters, surgical bandages, for ruptures, fractured or dislocated limbs,
. . . INSCRIPTION FOR A. WOODe
STANZAS, Wr parted—when the western breezé Blew freshly o'er the main, But then I thought those quiet seas Would bring thee back again– That hope, to each affection warm Was, like the rainbow on the storm, A sacred promise given— . . . . That when the gathered clouds that cast A shadow o'er my fate had pass'd, All would be bright at even.
But the lone evening hour has come-
They say that in a distant clime, Beyond the mountain wave, - In youth and beauty's glorious prime --~~ They laid thee in the grave— , That strangers heard thy latest sigh— That strangers closed thy dying eye— Received thy last request— That thy bright spirit, o'er the storm Of trial soared—and thy loved form Went peacefully to rest.
Well, my light bark is on the stream-