evident that he did not expect to find me there, for he began a conversation of almost half an hour with her, before either noticed me. O Heaven! how beautiful she appeared that night! Description would never do her justice, and therefore I hasten to the crisis.

While their conversation was going on, I lashed my own spirit even to madness. I construed almost every word or glance into an expression of love. I imagined myself at times to be the subject of their conference; and as some young gallant would glance first at Viola and then at myself, I felt as if all the world could read both their, and my thoughts.

At length, her soft eye rested upon me. It carried with it a thrill to my heart, and for a moment I felt a better spirit taking possession of my bosom. A slight blush overspread her fair countenance, when she saw me, and I directly construed it into a proof of conscious guilt. She arose almost immediately, and approached me. But a few words were exchanged between us, when I left her, and walked out into a garden - adjoining the house, where we had formerly spent many a happy hour together. Heaven alone knows what were my feelings; I shall not undertake to describe them.

I had not been there long, however, before I heard a light step approaching, and Viola stood by my side. The fiend was in my bosom, and I spoke not to her. She attempted to address me, but sobs choked her utterance. Oh! when I look back to that moment, my heart is ready to burst. "Herbert," she said, it was an angel's voice, but I did not answer,-" Dear Herbert!" and she laid her hand upon my arm. O God! O God! thou knowest how deeply, how madly I loved her. Thou knowest how fearfully my spirit struggled within my bosom,—with what a thrill of delight I could have clasped her to my heart; but no! my destiny forbade it!

I rushed distractedly from her side, and heard her fall to the earth; but I stopped not. I had not proceeded far, however, before I saw, by the light of a few lamps suspended in the garden, a form coming around by a different path, apparently from the spot in which I had been speaking with Viola, to meet me. A dark suspicion crossed my mind. Yes, there was one who had followed us into the garden, who had heard all. I soon ascertained him to be De L'Orme, and rushed up to him. "Villain!" he cried, "you shall pay dearly for this." I quailed beneath his lofty glance, as the light of a near lamp fell upon his countenance. "Villain," he cried. I never knew that I was a coward before; but then I trembled beneath his grasp. My spirit, however, could not brook it long, and, with a bitter taunt at his having pried into the secrets of others, I endeavored to hurl him from my path; but the hand of a giant was upon my shoulder. But a few words

passed between us, and we understood each other perfectly. He went hastily to the house, and soon returned with a pair of small swords. We had often in former days fenced together for amusement; now, we were to fence for our lives-O, how different!

By the light of a single lamp we began. I soon saw that the contest would be desperate. I knew that if De L'Orme could love, he could also hate. I felt that he was seeking my life, and yet I endeavored to keep on the defensive for some time, as I knew that I was the better fencer of the two, and cared not about injuring him. But his lunges soon became so fierce and rapid, that I could restrain myself no longer; and in the heat of the contest, by some good, or rather by some cursed fortune, my weapon entered his side.

I waited not to see whether he was dead. I rushed home, as if all the fiends of hell were after me; and it was well for me that the darkness concealed my flight. Oh! the awful, terrible night that followed that scene!

"Mother, bless me!" I shouted, as soon as I reached home, "for to-morrow's sun will see me far from here."

"Are you crazy, Herbert?" she inquired.

"Oh! mother, you do not know, you do not know”— "What, my son? what has happened to you ?""

She cast upon me one of those long, loving glances, which had frequently before softened me to tears, when under the influence of strong passion. I burst into an agony of grief. It was, however, but for a moment. The next hour found me far from V.

As I was

The world was now before me, and it was with a strange, unaccountable emotion of delight that I felt myself free from all the restraints of friendship and love. I knew that it could not last long. I knew that there would be an awful revulsion in my feelings, that a calm would follow the storm, when I should have time to reason upon my conduct, and I dreaded it. I endeavored to crush thought, but the effort was vain. tossing upon the ocean, with nothing but the sky above and the waters around me, I could not subdue the traitor yearnings for former pleasures and hours, which would arise in my bosom; and at times, the recollection of the fearful contest with my friend, would come back, and a cold shudder would creep over my frame, as I felt the steel again quivering in his side, and saw him sink bleeding to the earth.

Often had I longed to gaze upon the blue sky of Italy, and dance among the bright isles of the Egean. My wish was gratified, but there was no resting place for me on the face of the earth. I was ever flying from myself and my own thoughts. Europe I soon traversed, and then buried myself in the midst of

Asia; while the best years of my life were passing forever away. Discontent and dissatisfaction with the world and mankind pursued me wherever I went, and nourished the flame that was consuming me.

*

*

*

At length I stood upon the shores of my own country. I intended to visit my native place, and see, unknown, my former friends, and then return to spend the remainder of my life among the roving clans of Asia or Africa. Many an upbraiding had I felt, for having left alone my widowed mother, and I was about endeavoring to calm the throes of a conscience diseased almost to death. As I was passing through a large town, I chanced to take up a paper, and saw the name of De L'Orme, in capital letters, as acting a distinguished part in our Congress halls. "So then he has married Viola, doubtless, and his triumph has been complete." Such was my first thought; but my second was far different. "Thank God! thank God!" I cried, "that I am innocent of his blood! Thank God, that he may be happy, though I am miserable!"

I hastened to the home of my early years. With fear and trembling, I inquired for my aged mother. I heard that she had long since sunk into the tomb. I brushed the hot tears from my eyes, as I leaned over the spot upon which she was reposing. All her kindness, all her love, rushed back upon my heart, and filled it almost to bursting. How had I repaid her for watching over my infancy,for her undying affection, when all the world despised me! I had deserted her; I had left her to die alone and unbefriended!

I rose from my knees, and, buried in harassing thought, began to move slowly along the grave-yard. I saw, here and there, the names of persons whom I had formerly seen and known; but, great Heaven! could it be so?-could that be the name of Viola Swhich I saw engraved in full upon a tombstone near me? I stood as if stunned by a fearful and unexpected blow. I did not weep; my heart was too full. There, in enduring words, was written her destiny and my cruelty: "She died of a broken heart!" and a little below,- "This monument is erected to her memory by one who loved her for herself. O God! had I loved her for herself? * * *

To-morrow's sun lights me forever from my home and my country. Alas! it cannot light me from myself and my fate!

THE ROSE AND THE LILY.

'Sed omnes una manet nox,

Et calcanda semel via leti.'-Horatius.

'One night awaits all beings of mortal breath,
And all must tread the darkling paths of death!'

A VIRGIN white rose opened fresh to the morning,
Whose cheek not a blush tinged of shame or of pride,
But diamond dew-drops the blossom adorning,

Its innocent leaves in their folds seemed to hide;
And softly in whispers the wind kissed its breast,
As burst the glad sun from the slumbering east.

By its side grew a lily, so meekly and palely,

It looked like the child of disconsolate grief;
And clasping its sister-how fondly, yet frailly!
Seemed mourning their love and existence so brief:
Thus flourished in beauty that lonely pair,

No garden e'er boasted of flowers more fair.

But soon the bright face of the morn was o'erclouded,
Its brow gathered darkly a lowering frown,

And a tempest of hail in its dark mantle shrouded

The bloom of that garden in vengeance trode down:
Full quickly passed on the fell demon of wrath;
But where were the frail forms he met in his path!

Their delicate stems to the cold earth were stooping,

That leaned on each other in mutual trust,

And crushed were their heads, on the ground lowly drooping,
Their radiant jewels all rolled in the dust!

In vain breathed the wind, and the sun shone in vain ;
They ne'er might awake from their slumbers again!

O thus have we seen, with a soft radiance shining,
Two sisters, so fair, and so fond in their love,
That the graces of body and spirit combining,

Their souls seemed to claim for the temple above!
As the rose they were fresh, as the lily were frail,
As fitted to perish, if storms should assail!

These visions of morning, the brightest and sweetest,
Soon faded like forms that appear in our sleep;

For joys that are dearest are ever the fleetest,

And leave the lone heart but to watch and to weep!
Death struck the pale flowers to earth with a blow,
And laid them in silence and darkness below!

Love bent o'er the grave, where the loved ones were lying,
And dropt the fast tear at their sorrowful doom;
And Memory near the dark willow sat sighing,

Whilst briefly recording their names on the tomb :
In vain was the sigh breathed--the tear shed in vain ;
They ne'er might awake from their slumbers again!

O why must the lovely and beautiful perish-

Go down to the grave in the bloom of their years;
And hopes, that the heart the most fondly doth cherish,
All vanish so quickly in sorrow and tears!

Go, mourner, and cease when the answer is given,
The lovely and beautiful flourish in heaven!

?

THE CULTURE OF THE SOCIAL AFFECTIONS..

It was the dictate of an unerring Wisdom-"It is not good that man should be alone.” He had been endowed with faculties so lofty as to be but the reflection of the attributes of God. The heavens had been garnished with beauty to feast his vision. The earth was replete with life and verdure for the gratification of every desire. Each rustling leaf, each gliding stream, each whistling wind, whispered in his enchanted ear of happiness. And oft the still, small voice of God, broke in upon his dreams of bliss, to tell him of the wonders of his own infinite perfections. Yet was he solitary. There was no heart to beat in grateful unison with his, no ear to listen to his every note of joy,-no tongue to respond to his high aspirings after holiness. The silent gaze which he cast upon the beautiful creation, reflected back in touching eloquence the heaven-born sentiment"It is not good for man to be alone." The investigation of a truth, boasting so exalted a birth and so illustrious an adoption, presents a field for the profoundest contemplation. We would attempt to delineate its bolder outlines.

By the phrase, social affections, we would designate that benevolent regard for the welfare of men, and that complacent delight in their virtues, which is elicited by social intercourse; and by their cultivation, we intend that training which fits them for powerful, spontaneous, intelligent action. With this simple explanation of the nature of our subject, we pass on to the discussion of the more evident advantages which flow from such a culture of these affections.

The happiness which the very exercise of these feelings affords their possessor, merits our earliest consideration. There is a pleas