LACK! my sweet ladies! your anguish I see ;
10! dry up that tear-did vou shed it for me?
D'ye miss the carnation that bloom'd on my


The ringlet that play'd on my temple so sleek'? The blue-bell that flourish'd so fair in my eye, And dimples where raptures and innocence lie? Fear pot-though my fond heart now flutters and burns. All these will return when my lover returns! For you know I've a lover, but far, far away; Vast seas roll between us, and wild tempests sway; Alone in the wilderness thoughtful he roves, Or plucks the gilt citron in India's gay groves ; 0! spare him, ye tygers that crouch in the shade, Ye serpents, that hiss in the untrodden glade: He ne'er will prove faithless, where ever he be, His affections are fix'd-he has fix'd them on me. Then why did he wander, and leave me behind ? Inconstant and fickle, as ocean or wind! Indeed it was cruel to cause me to mourn Why-why should my parents forbid his return ? But, softly!-his promise he'll never forget, When he bid me farewell in the garden so sweet: Yes! yes! he'll return. and he'll make me his queen, With a garland of myrtle, and jessamine green! 0, dear! I'm so pale that you know me not now, The roses are faded that wav'd on my brow, While the lily alone on my cheek is display'd, And my heart sinks adown, with its sorrows o’erweigh'd : But ab! I forgot !-Did you ask me my name? P've chang'd it'tis Lovely-ow call me the samePoor Lovely! mind that-in the moment of glee, And check your gay pastimes to think upon me: Yet when shall I see your sweet faces again, Your Lovely will shortly be rid of her pain ; Again the carnation shall bloom on her cheek, The ringlet shall play on her temple so sleek, The blae-beli shall flourish afresh in her eye, Which tears of young Rapture shall amply supply; And tho' her fond bosom now flutters and burns. You'll all wish her joy when her Lover returus!


His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart;

His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.' Shakspeare. su AIR Evaline was the only daugbter of respec

table parents. Engagements in an extensive business kept her father much from bome; and her mother was of a weakly and delicate constitution. Evaline was their all; and their affection for her knew no bounds. She was, therefore, brought up with every in

dulgence which this excess of fondness could

V draw forth. She early contracted an intimate friendship with Agnes, the daughter of a widow lady, who had been left with a numerous family, and lived in the immediate neighbourhood. Agnes was edu. cated with ideas very different from those of her friend, being, of necessity and from principle, taught the profitable lessous of industry, and frugal economy, and to consider health and intellectual powers as given for higher pur. poses than the amusement of the possessor. The mis. spending of time, and the misapplication of these precious endowments, were impressed upon her mind as being a sources of never failing unhappiness and calamity to the infatuated abusers of such inestimable blessings. As she bad learned from experience, that useful employment constitutes pleasure, and is pregnant with advantage, it pre. vented time from appearing tedious; and ennui was only known to her by name.

The two friends were nearly of an age, and happened to be married about the same time. Agnes was united to a deserving man, whose dispositions exactly coincided with her owo. They had not wealth, but enjoyed a competency, and were contented and happy. Evaline became ihe wife of a worthy man, possessed of an ample fortune. He was enamoured of her beauty, which in a great measure blinded him to her foibles, although these were but too obvious to others. Her conduct after marriage, bow. ever, proved so glaring, that his eyes, though reluctantly, were at last opened. Dress, equipage, and visiting, engrossed all her thoughts and attention. Her disappointed husband fondly cherished the expectation, that time and reflection might bring round a reform; but in this he

found himself greatly mistaken. lo due time she brought him a son. He now boped that the career of folly would be at an end, and flattered himself that her attention would naturally be turned to so interesting an object. But no change in the lady's conduct took place. She soon informed hin, that a nurse must be provided for the child, because she would uudergo neither the fatigue nor the confinement which the discharge of that duty required. He ventured to expostulate, but was upbraided with unfeeling disregard of her happiness.

She next became the parent of a lovely daughter, with. out being diverted from her injurious propensities by a concerns for her tender charge. Matters daily grew worse; and, although she saw her husband unhappy, she did not wisb to consider herself the cause. As she could pot endure the want of company, she became less select in her choice, and more extravagant in her follies, until the tongue of censure at lengih began to exaggerate them into enormous crimes. Her husband could no longer remain silent; and, as she did not choose to be admonished, a very unpleasant altercation took place. In the course of this, she branded him with want of affection, and questioned his ever having entertained for her the regard which he professed. She supposed his motives from the beginning were mercenary; and that now, having obtained ber fortune, he began to discover his dislike of her person. She had, however, been always accustomed to gratify and follow her own inclinations, and had never, even when a child, met with either check or remonstrance from those who had a much better title to apply them, had they thought such interference necessary. She concluded with adding, that he might spare himself the pain and trouble of expressing them, as she was not disposed either to listen to his dictates, or attend to his admonitions. To the last part of her speech he made no reply, but throughout the remainder of the day appeared thoughtful and reserved; and when he addressed her, it was with a studied civility which she could not help féel. ing. Next morning he ordered his horse; and having put a paper into her hand, containing a reply to her

arges, and adding a sum to the portion he received as her fortupe, exhorting her to retire to her parents, leave him the care of the children, and that she would take her departure before bis return, and telling her that he would not return untilthe following day, hemountedand rode off.

Evaline was thunderstruck. She had no idea of matters being brought to such a crisis. While she could not repress a sensation of conscious shame, she at the same time knew not how to act, as it would be so humiliating to make the matter known to any of her fashionable acquaintances. She now thought of Agnes, who, since her marriage, had been by her forgotten and neglected. She instantly set out to call upon her early friend, and found her busily engaged in the management of her family, with a lovely child in her arms and another at her knee, Agnes received her with unaffected kindness; and after repeated efforts, learned from her the object of her visit, and was permitted to read the letter. This being done, she remained silent until her friend, having urged her to speak freely, begged her counsel and advice. My dear Eva. line,' said Agnes, hesitatingly, 'then, I must say I think you are to be blamed, very much to be blamed. Well ihen,' replied Evaline in faltering accents, allowing that to be the case, what would you advise me to do?" "Just,' answered Agnes, the only thing you can do to re-establish yourself in the regard of your husband, and in the esteem of the world, and to secure your own happiness and honour';-you ought to receive your husband on bis return, with every mark of penitence and submission. You ought to make a thousand concessions, though he do not require them. But you must first resolve firmly within yourself, that your future life shall be devoted to make aton

im for the errors of the past.' But do you think,'replied Evaline, with tears streaming from her eyes,' that he can receive me with forgivevess, or love me as formerly? Yes,' said Agnes, I think he will. His affection seems to be still within your reach ; hut one step farther Inight put it for ever out of your power. Do bat read that letter dispassionately, and see what an affectionate husband you have rendered unhappy.

Evaline was silent, and appeared much humbled. She took an affectionate leave of Agnes, and returned home, secluding herself to ponder over the past, and to prepare ber mind for future conduct. Upon a serious retrospect, she felt extremely dissatisfied. The longer she considered her own imprudences, an increasing respect for her husband gradually arose in her mind, and she now anxiously longed for an opportunity of making those concessions to which she at first felt so much reluctance. Her husband returned, and before the repentant Evaline had completed an acknowledgement of her errors, she was inclosed in an embrace of forgiveness and love. She has now become as remarkable for conjugal affection, maternal solicitude, and every social virtue, as she had formerly been for levity and extravagance. Agnes is her confidaute and counsellor. She is a tender mother, and a dutiful wife. Her husband is known in the gates, her children arise up and call her blessed; her husband also; and he praiseth her.'-And in the words of the elegant Thomson

“They flourish now in mutual bliss, and rear
A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves
And good, the grace of all the country round.'


THERE is a mystic thread of life,

So dearly wreathed with mine alone;
That destinity's relentless knife,

At once must sever both, or none.
There is a form, on which these eyes,

Have often gazed with fond delight-
By day—that form their joy supplies,

And dreams restore it thro' the night.
There is a voice, whose tones inspire

Such thrills of rapture in my breast;
I would not hear a seraph choir,

Unless that voice could join the rest.
There is a face, whose blushes tell,

Affection's tale upon the cheek
But pallid at one fond farewell,

Proclaim more love than words can speak.
There is a lip, which mine hath prest,

And none had ever prest before;
These beautiful Stapzas are said to have been addressed by Lord Byron to his
Lady, a few months before their separation,

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