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books on the shelves above them. This anything new for Frank to take Agnes' done, she closed an old-fashioned piano, place by the side of her sister-it was as which nearly filled one side of the room, much his seat as the oaken library chair and giving one finishing touch to the roses, had been in other years; and the happy which had been newly placed in some vases smile of the blind girl possessed as strong upon the tables, and another to the cushions a power of attraction to him now, as her of a low couch, which stood beside the bright eyes and sunny glances in the days window, with a smile of satisfaction light- of her early girlhood. ing up her thoughtful face, Agnes left the “ The evening is very lovely Frank, is it room, and in a few minutes had crossed the not? I remember what glorious sunsets park, and was threading her way along the we used to enjoy together before you went winding path leading through the hazel to India, and to my dreamy_fancy they are copse, which skirted the end of the Rec- clear and bright as ever. I shall scarcely tory garden: then, passing over the rustic be able to realize these scenes when I bridge, which had been lately thrown across leave this dear old home for another." the brook, she was soon standing among “We shall, I trust, spend many such the galaxy of blossoms which surrounded rare sunsets together, my own May; and her peaceful home.
you will soon learn to realize them as fully For a moment her shadow darkened the in the “ Lady's Room," at Dahlwell Park, little vine-wreathed casement of the sitting- as in this more familiar one. I left Agnes room; that moment was sufficient to satisfy busy among the books and flowers, and Agnes that May was not awaiting her re- everything is arranged so exactly after the turn with her usual impatience ; so, enter- model of this room, that my sweet wife ing the house, she passed quietly along the will scarcely know that she has left her old passages, and up the broad oaken stair- home for another," case to her own chamber, where a young So these lovers spoke on, till the golden woman sat sewing busily, in the midst of sunset faded to a rosaic tint, the harbinger such a suspicious confusion of white silk of its eastern splendour. And this red and lace, white ribbon and roses, that one evening light promised no more for the would have declared, but for the silence of morrow than was richly fulfilled. There those village authorities who are always was never a brighter morning known in the first to hear and talk of such events, Dahlwell, than that which made May that there was to be a wedding at Dahlwell Leslie the wife of Frank Leonard; and Rectory before many more suns had shone often in after years, when her husband sat upon its blossoming flowers, and fair and watched the unchanged sweetness of young mistresses.
her smile, or listened to the clear, joyous While Agnes took up a piece of the tones of her loving voice, he would draw white ribbon, and began to twist it into her yet closer to his heart, and bless the sundry bows and knots, till it assumed the memory of that day when he won this true appearance of that familiar bridal append- wife ; to be, in all her hopeful strength of age-a favour, the shadows of the quivering will and action, the best and brightest sunleaves lay on the Indian matting before the shine of his life. couch down stairs, where, scarcely a year before, May Leslie wept to think of Frank Leonard's return; but where she now sat looking so serenely happy that one would Welsh HANDBILL.--We have seen many have thought no tear had ever fallen on specimens of the ludicrous produced by misthose fair cheeks, where the long lashes spelling, but the following genuine ap. lay in such soft repose. It was a womanly nouncement of lost sheep exceeds anything instinct which made her drop those dark we ever read :-"Lost soposed to be astrayed fringes yet closer over her eyes ; she felt out of the near Cross y Cylog of William that the deep, earnest gaze of her compa- Morgan 19 ship in which was two rams and nion was rivetted upon her, and this was, one black you; also a very remarkall you perhaps, the reason why the blushes came that ass her hed a one side as if her reck was and went so rapidly with the smiles which disgoint short tails and to or three a slit in dimpled her sweet face. Not that it was the left year of um all."
E. P. R. And soon, perhaps, no traces will appear
Of all that flourish'd once so proudly there;
Yet while my pulses throb, my heart will tell
Home of my Childhood !--that I love thee well. HOME of my early Childhood ! scene of all The joys, the woes, that infancy befall,
The shades of evening gather slowly round, How shall my trembling pen find power to tell And twilight thickens o'er the darken'd ground; The grief express'd in that fond word-Farewell! Night's sombre mantle, like a fun'ral pall, Oh! can I quit those haunts, to mem'ry dear, Will soon in sadness o'er the landscape fall; Without the last fond tribute of a tear?
E'en while I turn to look one fond adieu, Can I forget the many joyous hours
Her envious hand has snatch'd it from my view. That fled on rapid wing beneath thy bow'rs? But oh! no darkness, absence, nor decay, Can I look back upon those days gone by,
Can from my mem'ry chase the scene away, Without the heart-felt homage of a sigh?
Nor soothe the sorrows that my bosom swell, Oh, no! though never more my eyes may dwell While to my Childhood's Home I bid a last On those old halls they long have lov'd so well,
E. G. H. Though distant climes my future dwelling be, Home of my Childhood! I'll remember thee. Thy mantled walls are hastening to decay,
THE LITTLE PET PLANT. Beneath the stern Destroyer's ruthless sway; No cheerful sound of song or childish mirth A FLORIST a sweet little blossom espied, Now echoes blithely round thy sombre hearth; Which bloom'd by its ancestors, by the road-side; The feet of strangers now at freedom roam
Its sweetness was simple, its colours were few, Within the dwelling that was once my home; Yet the blossom look'd fair on the spot where it And ere a few short years their course have run,
grew. The work of fell destruction will be done,
The florist beheld it, and cried_“I'll enchant And nought but ruin'd walls remain to tell The botanical world with this sweet little plant; Where rose the mansion that I lov'd so well : Its leaves shall be shelter'd and carefully nursed; But ever present, ever dear to me,
It shall charm the whole world, though I met with Must, e'en in ruins, that loved mansion be:
it firstWhile the sad words my mem'ry's tablets fill,
Under a hedge.” Home of my Childhood! yes, I love thee still.
He carried it home to his hot-house with care, The shrubs and flowers that bloom'd in fragrance And he said—“Though the rarest exotics are round,
there, Now trail neglected on the moss-grown ground; My little pet plant, when I've nourish'd its stem, The spreading vine, that once with clusters smiled, In tint and in fragrance shall imitate them; Hangs loosely now, all desolate and wild ;
And none shall suspect from the road-side it The glittring stream that babbled on its way, Gladly reflecting each adorning ray,
Rodium Sidus I'll call it-a capital name; Now murmurs on its darken'd course, and laves While botanists look through their glasses, and A tangled mass of brushwood with its waves.
view The ancient oaks-those venerable trees,
Its beauties, they'll never suspect that it grewThat softly answer'd every passing breeze,
Under a hedge." Are prostrate now-the woodman's sturdy blow Has laid the monarchs of the forest low.
The little pet plant, when it shook off the dirt The leafy bowers, where oft in childish play Of its own native ditch, soon began to be pert, On mossy banks, we pass'd the summer's day, And toss'd its small head, for perceiving that And in the twilight of the verdant shade Our rural feast was joyously display'd;
But exotics were round it, it thought itself one. While careless laughter echo'd widely round, As a wild flower, all would have own'd it was fair, As flowers were cul'', aud fragrant wreaths were And praised it, though gaudier blossoms were wound
there; Those bowers, ir 'eed, may still their shadows fling But when it assumes hot-house airs, we see thro' O'er banks best gled with the flow'rs of spring : The forced tint of its leaves, and suspect that it New forms of youth inay on those banks recline,
grewAnd other hands the gaudy chaplet twine;
Under a hedge. But unto strangers thou canst never be Home of my Childhood !-what thou art to me. Why does my sadden'd fancy love to trace
In the by-ways of life, oh! how many there are The faded splendour of that long-loved place? Who, being born under some fortunate star, What boots it now to tell of times gone by
Assisted by beauty or talents, grow rich,
And bloom in a hot-house instead of a ditch. of feudal pride, or gorgeous panoply? Why does the blazon'd 'scutcheon still remain And whilst they disdain not their own simple To speak of that which ne'er will be again?
stem, The sculptured stone-the old armorial shield, The honours they grasp may gain honour for With many a quaint device upon its field,
them; Still stands in hoary sadness, to relate
But when, like the pet plant, such people grow Its ancient master's dignity and state.
pert, But pass'd is all this greatness; other hands
We discover their origin lay in the dirtHave grasp'd possession of my father's lands,
Under a hedge!