rapidly into the position of a mere underling, and she summoned her powers of resistance accordingly. The necessity for their exertion was superseded by a very unexpected event; the heir-apparent of this family found Letitia quite worthy of sustaining its honours, and most resolutely offered them to her acceptance. Tears -menaces-insults-abuse-most vulgar abuse-were terminated by her calm, but decisive rejection of the young man. Now that power of refusal gratified the pride of Letitia! It seemed to discharge at once the load of unmerited contumely, under which, even her noble heart had quailed. It was not the sacrifice of attachment to pride: I believe the very name this unhappy youth bore, would, in itself, have been an antidote to love; Letitia would as soon have associated the idea of sweetness with verjuice, as of affection with a Vincent. The rejection was repeated;—the Vincents were enraged beyond all decency:-the culprit withdrew. If you are interested enough to be curious after the fate of Letitia,—she married subsequently a man worthy of her, who had known and valued her in her prosperous days, and loved her for the trials she had passed, and whom she loved that he did pity them.

"This is but one instance of the miseries of the depen.. dent. I could give you fifty. Would this be judicious? If you are wise, you will prepare yourself for the encounter, without inspecting them too closely. The life of a governess cannot, in its nature, be one of pleasure ;—

it is susceptible of alleviation—the burden may be lightened, but it cannot be removed. Happily, there is the power of changing; and that unquenchable spirit of human hope, which looks always for better things. Every body has evils to endure, and injuries to sustain, and indignities to oppose. Fortitude is a necessary virtue in all ;-in a governess, as indispensible as talent, temper, patience, principle, politeness, meekness, modesty-shall I go on?" No!

SONNET.

BY JOHN CLARE.

Now summer cometh, I with staff in hand,
Will hie me to the sabbath of her joys,—
To heathy spots, and the unbroken land
Of woodland heritage, unknown to noise
And toil-save that a playful band
Of dancing insects, that well understand
The sweets of life, and with attuned voice,
Sing in sweet concert to the pleasant May :-
There by a little bush I'll listening rest,

To hear the nightingale a lover's lay

Chaunt by his mate, who builds her careless nest
Of oaken leaves, on thorn stumps mossed and grey;

Feeling with them, I too am truly blest,

By making sabbaths of each common day!

BEAUTIFUL stream, deem not thy child ingrate

That she can say 'Farewell' without a tear,
While thus forsaking thee. My dear life's source!
Wilt thou forgive that, kindly though it be,

I feel thy breast too cold, and long to rest
Upon a warmer heart, and press my lips

To the red glow of life? Wilt thou forget
Thine Undine's falsehood now, and only think
Of her true constancy, and love of years
To thee, her gentle sire ?-Thy murmurings
Are as the cushat's, when her idle mate
Returns to ask forgiveness; some reproach,
But more, much more of tenderness. Yes, yes,
I hear thy pardoning accents-thy Undine
Is blessed of thee, dear father. I could weep,
But am too happy; and I will not mock
Thy real sorrow with the shew of mine:
My parent stream, farewell!

Hark, whence this noise ?

It is the River rising in his wrath,

Mine old rough uncle, he comes here to chide,

I will endure his anger-'tis the last

I shall encounter of his harsh reproach;

He comes.

Enter KUHLEbern.

KUHLEBERN.

Ah, recreant! art thou not afraid

My waters should o'erwhelm thy little throne,
And sweep thy bubbling, idle stream away
Into my bosom's darkness? Fie, thou most
Degenerate spirit!—can this sound, which now
The busy Wind hath whispered to my waves,
Be sooth,—that thou, a fair immortal spirit
Of our pure element, dost seek in love

A thing of the gross earth? Star of the Sea !
If thou dost place thy radiance on the breast
Of dull mortality, it will not be

Thy resting place, but grave;-its thick, fat air
Will quickly quench thy light, and thou wilt be
Thenceforth a living darkness! Beautiful child—
I pray thee, give the gossip Wind the lie,
And say, It is not so.

UNDINE.

Nay, gentle uncle,

For that would not be sooth. I love, indeed;

And him I love, will wed.

KUHLEBERN.

But say he is not

A compound of vile clay-one of those things
That feed, and sleep, and propagate their kind—
Despair, die, rot, and from corruption take
New forms so hideous for another life,

That their own wretched brethren of the dust
Shrink loathing from their touch. I pray thee, say
It is not one of these.

UNDINE.

It is a son

Of this fair earth I love.

KUHLEBERN.

No, no, I tell thee,

Thou can'st do nought so monstrous; thy bright eye

Hath rested on some spirit, some airy thing,