sorrow reflects, but happiness never. The evening before that I fixed for the ceremony, the friends of both families were invited to a little fete which was to follow signing the contract. Every thing is an omen to a lover: Amelie was not, as usual, the first in the room, but did not make her appearance till all were assembled, and then accompanied by her aunt, who remained by her side. She looked pale, the tears stood in her eyes, and once or twice I thought she seemed anxious to speak to me; while at the same time her aunt's eye kept watching every motion, though done with so slight an effort as scarcely to be perceptible. Yet still throughout the whole evening I could not, even for a moment, speak to her uninterruptedly. In vain, reason combated the chimeras of imagination. I was placed at a cardtable, where my position was such as to preclude my seeing her, and there surrounded by the chief branches of each family, with whom good manners forced me to remain till the party broke up, which it did at half-past eleven. On inquiring for Amelie, I was told, that being slightly indisposed she had retired to her bed. A prey to anxiety, the more torturing from its uncertainty, I left the house, and, lingering as I passed under the windows of Amelie, I heard plaintive, inarticulate sounds. I knew Amelie's voice; I distinguished that of a man, and also her aunt's. Two men, accosting me abruptly, told me to go on my way. I recognised them as domestics to the young prince, son to our reigning sovereign. A little farther on stood his equipage. I could no longer doubt my misery-Amelie had been sacrificed by an ambitious woman. Amelie could not be guilty, but her aunt had already made her criminal. I spoke to no one; but, after wandering all night wildly through the streets, at break of day of my wedding-day-I purchased a travelling chaise, ordered horses, and told the postillions "the frontiers of France." I threw myself into it, and left country, home, hope, and happiness behind me for ever. It was nearly two years before I heard of my family, when I met by chance an old fellow student of Gottingen. He was going to my city, and took charge of a letter for my father. His answer informed me of all that had happened. The morning of the day which was to have made me so happy, every search was made after me every conjecture was exhausted as to the probable cause of such unaccounta

1

ble conduct. Amelie's aunt was above all loud in her reproaches. Under the pretence of ill health she then took her niece to a country house, where the frequent visits of the prince soon made her disgrace but too public. One of the prince's courtiers, a few months after, bargained for his own dishonour in marrying her. She is now Baronne * * * and after remorse, wbich at first injured her health and beauty, she became accustomed to her disgraced and dissipated life. I could not bear to see her now the guilty mistress of a man she cannot love, the degraded wife of a man whom she must despise. I have one memorial of past happiness-it is her picture; not copied from her own beautiful face, but from a saint of Corregio's, whose likeness is so perfect as even to satisfy me. It seems to me identified with purity and loveliness, and in gazing on it, Amelie appears to me in all the beauty and innocence of her youth. It is an illusion, but it is the only charm of a life which may have length of years, but has no future.

OURIKA; OR THE BLACK NUN. (From the French of the Durhess de Duras.)

(Continued from page 125.)

TOWARDS the end of the year 1725, the reign of terror being at an end, friends began to seek each other out, and the scattered remains of Madame de B.'s society rallied round her. With chagrin I beheld the circle of her friends increase; for the station I held in the world was so equivocal, that the more society returned to its natural order, the more I felt myself excluded from it. Every time that strangers came to visit us, I underwent fresh misery. The expression of surprise mingled with disdain that I observed upon their countenances when they first beheld me, put me to confusion. I was sure to become the subject, an aparte in the window seat, or of a whisper in a corner, that it be explained how a negress came to be admitted as an inmate in Madame de B.'s society. I used to suffer martyrdom during these explanations. I longed. to be transported back to my barbarous country and its savage inhabitants, whom I should fear less than this cruel world, that made me responsible for its own evils. The recollection of a dis

dainful look would remain upon me for whole days, appear to me in my dreams, flit before me under the likeness of my own image. Alas! such were the chimeras that I suffered to disturb me. Thou, my God! hadst not yet taught me to dispel these phantoms: I knew. not that repose was to be found in Thee!

"I then sought for shelter in the heart of Charles. I was proud of his virtues, and still prouder of his friendship. I admired him as the most perfect being that I knew upon earth. I once thought that I felt for him the most tender love of a sister; but now, worn by grief, it seemed as if I had grown old, and my tenderness was become that of a mother. Indeed a mother only could feel the same passionate desire for his success, and anxiety for his welfare through life. I would willingly have given up my existence to save him from a moment's pain. I saw the impression he made upon others long before he did. He was happy enough neither to think or care about it. This was natural, for he had nothing to fear,-nothing to give him that habitual uneasiness I felt about the opinion of others. His fate was all harmony; mine was all discord.

"One morning an old friend called upon Madame de B., confidentially entrusted with a proposal of marriage for Charles. Mdlle. de Themfines had suddenly become a rich heiress in the most distressing manner. Excepting her great aunt, her whole family had perished on the scaffold in one day. This lady (having reached her eighteenth year,) as sole guardian of her niece, was exceedingly anxious to have her married, lest her own death should leave her without a single protector. Anais de Themines, besides possessing the advantages of birth, wealth, and education, was beautiful as an angel.

It was

impossible that Madame de B. should hesitate: she spoke to her son, who (though he at first showed some reluctance at marrying so early) expressed a desire to see Mdlle. de Themines. The interview took place, and his reluctance vanished. Anais was formed to please him. She appeared so unconscious of her charms, and possessed modesty so unassuming and quiet, that she could not fail endearing herself to him. He was allowed to visit at her aunt's, and soon became passionately in love with her. I knew the progress of his feelings, and longed to behold this lovely creature, to whom his happi

ness was soon to be entrusted. She came one morning to St. Germains. Charles had spoken of me to her, and I had no contemptuous scrutiny to undergo. She appeared to me an angel of goodness. I assured her that Charles would make her happy, and that his discretion was so much above his years, that she need have no apprehensions on account of his youth. She questioned me much about him, for she knew that we had been friends from infancy; and I was so delighted at having an oppor tunity of extolling his many virtues, that I could have talked for ever.

"Some weeks passed before the marriage took place, and for the settlement of business, Charles spent most part of that time at Madame de Themin es, sometimes remaining two or three days at a time in Paris. His absence pained me: I felt vexed at losing him, and vexed with myself for preferring my own happiness to his. I had never done so before. The days that he returned home were holidays for me. Then he would tell me how he had passed his time, what progress he had made in the affections of his mistress, and rejoice with me at the success he had met with. Once he began (describing to me the manner he intended to live with her:) 'I will obtain her confidence,' said he,

and give her mine: All my thoughts shall be open to her-every secret impulse of my heart will I tell her; in short, I wish there to be the same mutual trust and confidence between us, as between you and me, Ourika. The same confidence! How this pained me. I recollected that he knew not the only secret I ever had, and determined never to let him know it.

"By degrees, his absence became longer and more frequent, until at last he used to come to St. Germains for a few minutes at a time, (generally on horseback, to save time on the road,) and always returning to Paris the same afternoon; so that we completely lost his company of an evening, Madame de B. used to joke him for having deserted us; would I could have done so too! One morning, as we were walking in the forest, I perceived him coming full gallop at a distance. He had been absent nearly the whole week as he approached us, he jumped from his horse, and began walking with us. After a few minutes general conversation, we remained behind, and began conversing as in former times. I remarked it. In former times! cried

he, had I ever any thing to say in former times? I have only began to exist since I have known my Anais? Ah, Ourika, I never can express to you what I feel to her. Sometimes it seems to me as if my whole soul were passing into her's. When she looks at me, I can no longer breathe. If she blushes, I long to throw myself in adoration at her feet; and when I think that I am to become the protector of this angel, and that she trusts her. happiness, her life, her fate to me, ah! how proud am I of my own. I shall replace the parents she has lost, but I shall likewise be her husband her lover! Her first affections will be mine. Our hearts will flow into each other, and our lives mingled into one; nor, during their whole current, shall she have to say that I have given her an hour's pain.

"How rapturous are my feelings, Ourika, when I reflect that she will be the mother of my children, and that they will owe their life to my Anais! Ah, they will be beautiful and good as she is! Tell me, merciful heaven! what have I done to deserve such happiness.' "Oh! what a different question was I then addressing there. had listened

to his passionate discourse with the most unaccountable sensations. Thou knowest, O Lord! that I envied not his happiness; bnt why gavest thou life to Ourika? Why did she not perish on board the slave ship she was snatched from, or ou the bosom of her mother? A little African sand would have covered her infant body, and light would have been the burthen. Why was Ourika condemned to live? To live alone! Ever and for ever alone? Never to be loved! Oh! my God, do not permit it! Take thy poor Ourika from hence! No creature wants her-must she linger desolate through life!

"This heart-rending thought seized me with more violence than it ever had. I felt my knees sinking under me-my eyes closed, and I thought that I was dying.'

"At these words the poor nun's agitation increased, Her voice faltered, and a few tears ran down her withered cheeks. I besought her to suspend her narration, but she refused. Do not heed me,' said she, grief has no hold over my heart now: it has been rooted out of it. God has taken pity on me, and has saved me from the abyss I had fallen into, for want of knowing and of loving him. Remember that I am happy now; but alas! how miserable I was

then. Until the moment I have just been speaking of, I had borne with my grief; it had undermined my health, but

still preserved a kind of power over my reason. Like a worm in fruit, it eat through my very heart, while all seemed full of life without. I liked conversation, discussion animated me, I had even the gaiety of repartee. In short, until then, my strength had surpassed my sorrow, but I felt that my sorrow would now surpass my strength.

"Charles carried me home in his arms. Succour was promptly administered to me, and I returned to my senses. I found Madame de B. by my bed-side and Charles holding one of my hands.. They had both attended me, and the sight of their anxious sorrowful countenances penetrated my very soul. I felt life flow again. My tears began to rise; Madame de B. gently wiped them away. She said not a word did not ask a question, while Charles overwhelmed me with a thousand. I know hot what I answered. I attributed my indisposition to the heat and fatigue. He believed it, and all my bitter feelings returned on perceiving that he did. I immediately ceased weeping. How easy is it, thought I, to deceive those whose interest lies not with you. I withdrew my hand, which he was holding, and strove to assume a tranquil air. "Charles left us, as usual, at five o'clock. I felt hurt at his doing so. I would have wished him to be uneasy about me: indeed, I was suffering greatly! He would still have gone to his Anais, for I should have insisted on it, but he would have owed the pleasure of his evening to me, and that might have consoled me. I carefully hid this sensation from him. Delicate feelings have a sort of chastity about them. They should be guessed, or they are thrown away. There must be sympathy on both sides

"Scarcely had Charles left us than I was seized with a violent fever, which augmented the two following days. Madame de B. watched me with her usual tenderness She was distracted at the state I was in, and at the impossibility of removing me to Paris, whith r the celebration of her sou's marriage obliged her to go the next day.

My physician answered for my life if I remained at St. Germains, and she at last consented to leave me. The excessive tenderness she showed on parting with me, calmed me for an inStant; but after her departure, the real

and complete loneliness I was left in for the first time, threw me into despair. The vision was realized that my imagination had so long dwelt upon-I was dying far away from those I loved. The sound of my lamentations reached not their ear-alas, it would but have disturbed their joy. I fancied them given up to the most ecstatic bliss. whilst I lay pining on my sick bed. They were all I cared for in the world, but they wanted not my care. I had but them

through life, yet I was not wanted by them. The frightful conviction of the uselessness of my existence made me sick of it. It was a pang not to be endured, and sincerely I prayed that I might die of my illness. I neither spoke or gave any sign of life. The only distinct idea I could express in my mind was-I wish I could die. Then at other times I became excessively agitated. All that had passed in my last conversation with Charles rushed into my mind. I saw him lost in the ocean of delight he had pictured to me, whilst I was abandoned to a death as solitary as my life. This produced a kind of irritation more painful to endure than grief. I increased it by filling my brain with chimeras. I fancied Charles com-. ing to St. Germains, being told that I was dead, and being made miserable by my death.

Can it be believed?-The idea of grieving him rejoiced me. It would be a revenge-Revenge? for what? for his goodness-for his having been the protecting angel of my life! Such guilty thoughts were soon replaced by horror at having conceived them. My grief I thought no crime, but thus giving way to it might lead to one: then I tried to collect my inward strength, that it might fight against this irritation; but even that I sought not where I should have found it. I was ashamed of my ingratitude. Oh! let me die, I exclaimed, but let no wicked assions enter my heart. Ourika is a portionless orphan, but innocence is yet her's-Let her not tarnish it by ingratitude. She will pass away like a shadow upon earth, but in her grave she will at least rest in peace. Her friends are all happy-then let Ourika be so, and die as the leaves fall in autumn! fell into a state of languor when this dangerous fever left me. Madame de B. continued to reside at St. Germains after Charles's marriage. He often visited her, accompanied by his Anaisnever without her. I always suffered more when they were present. I know

I

not whether the image of their happiness made me feel my misfortune more acutely, or that the sight of Charles renewed my remembrance of our old friendship, which I sought to find what it once was, but could not. Yet he always spoke to me just as before-it resembled the friendship he used to show me as the artificial flower does the natural one. It was the same, except that it had neither life nor perfume.

Charles attributed the change in my temper to the weakness of my constitution. I believe that Madame de B. knew more of its real cause. Sho guessed my secret, and was sensibly affected by it.

"Anais gave hopes of increasing her family, and we returned to Paris. My languor increased daily. The spectac.e of domestic happiness, so peaceful-of family bonds, so endearing-of love, so passionate, and yet so tender-was misery to a poor wretch who, was doomed to live in no other bonds but those of dependence and pity.

Days and months passed on thus. I took no share in conversation. My talents were neglected. The only books I could endure were those in which a feeble picture of my own sufferings was traced. I fed upon these poisons-I feasted on my tears, and remained shut up in my room whole hours, giving way to them.

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"The birth of a son completed the measure of Charles's happiness. He came, his heart overflowing with joy,' to give me the news, and I recognised in the expressions of his delight some of the accents of his former confidence. It was the voice of the friend that I had lost, and brought painful remembrances back with it. The child of Anais was as beautiful as herself. Every body felt moved at the sight of this tender young mother and her sweet infant. I' alone beheld them with bitter envy, What had I done that I should have been brought to this land of exile? Why was I not left to follow my destiny? Well, if I had been the negro slave of some rich planter, sold to cultivate his land, and exposed all day to the burning heat of the sun, still, when evening came, and my toils were over, I should have found repose in my humble cottage; I should have a sharer in them, a companion through life, and children of my

own colour to call me mother! They would have pressed their infant lips upon my cheek without disgust, and lain their little heads to sleep upon my

bosom. Why am I never to experience the only affection my heart was made for? Oh, my God! take me, I beseech Thee, from this world-I cannot, cannot endure life any longer!

VARIETIES.

ANECDOTE REGARDING A DISCONSOLATE WIDOW.

"So mourned the dame of Ephesus her love."

A lady not many years ago, who had lost her husband, was so greatly afflicted, that she not only expressed herself in words of the deepest toned sorrow, but could not bear any thing to appear about her house that was not declaratory of her uncommon concern,— all was sable. The carpets were black, the curtains were black,-a black cloth covered every table,—she ordered a black spinning-wheel, and would only spin black wool, and the direst widow's weeds clothed her person: make use of Pope's language, in his translation of the Iliad, she was inconsolable, never to know comfort again"Griefs always green, a household full of tears,

And liveries of black for length of years."

to

Not satisfied with this outward display

of sorrow, she vowed that she never would receive the addresses of any man in future, and she summoned her neighbours and relations to be witnesses of her solemn asseveration. They obeyed the summons; and, when arrived, endeavoured to dissuade her from entering into rash resolves; but she appeared deaf to all entreaty, and, kneeling down before them, imprecated the most severe curses upon her head should she ever marry again; but, pausing for a moment before she rose, as if alarmed at what she had done, to the astonishment of her auditors, she added this saving clause, "unless she should change her mind," and which she uttered in a low tone of voice. She did change her mind, and the widow's garments were thrown away in a short time; and, to apply the words of Hamlet, "the funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables." The sudden torrent is soon over; and such strong ebullitions of grief are soon dissipated, and leave "not a rack behind.”

--ANECDOTE.

Cordus the physician, who was accustomed to receive his fees only at the termination of his patient's disease, describes in a facetious epigram, the practitioner at three different times, in three different characters.

Tres medicus facies habet, unam quandorogatur

Angelicam: mox est cum juvat, ipse Deus :

Post ubi curato, poscit sua præmia morbo,

Horridus apparuit, terribilisque sathan.

Three faces wears the doctor; when first sought,

An angel's-and a god's the cure half wrought;

But when that cure complete, he seeks his fee,

The devil looks less terrible than he.

The epigram of Cordus is illustrated by the following conversation which passed between Bouvart and a French Marquis, whom he had attended during a long and severe illness. As he entered the chamber, on a certain occasion, he was thus saluted by his patient: "Good day to you, Mr. Bouvart, I feel quite in spirits and think my fever has left me.

“I am sure of it," replied the doctor, "the very first expression you used convinced me of it."" Pray explain yourself."-"Nothing more easy. In the first days of your illness, when your life was in danger, I was your dearest friend; as you began to get better, I was your good Bouvart; and now I am Mr. Bouvart: depend upon it you are quite recovered."-The Lancet.

THE SCORPION.

The Algerines frequently amuse themselves by a curious kind of warfare, which is created by shutting up a scorpion and a rat together in a close cage, when a terrible contest ensues, which has been sometimes known to continue for above an hour. It generally ends by the death of the scorpion first, and that of the rat in violent convulsions soon after. It is also a favourite diversion with the Moors, to surround a scorpion with a circle of straw, to which fire is applied. After making several attempts to pass the flames, it turns on itself, and thus becomes its own executioner.