abroad, and her first visit was to the Misses B Charles was reading to them as she entered the room, and upon perceiving her, manifested so visible a confusion, as to call forth a remark; he attributed it to the pleasing surprise of her unexpected appearance, and continued, during her stay, to be one of the most cheerful of the party; At night when he retired to rest, he endeavoured to satisfy his own mind as to the reasons for his sudden confusion; he had frequently seen her before; indeed, scarcely a day passed in which they did not meet; why, then, should he start at her appearance? his thoughts kept him awake until a late hour, and all night long he was dreaming of Eliza Maitland-the object, as his heart now told him, of his dearest hopes and affections

-he saw her in the vagaries of slumber -he was seated with her in her little arbour-he breathed into her ear his tale of love; the smile of affection dimpled her cheek, and she blushed a consent to his ardent vows. Then she was torn from his embrace, and carried he knew not whither; and he was left comfortless and alone. When he awoke in the morning, the wanderings of his imagination were recalled to his memory, and Eliza was again the object of his waking dreams. He was now eighteen years of age, in a few more years he would be allowed to judge and to act for himself; and the probability of her one day becoming his wife crossed his brain. The idea seemed to infuse new vigour into his frame, and he was again cheerful and contented.

One day as he was walking with Eliza, accompanied by his sisters, who had rambled a few paces forward, he was complimenting her on her healthy appearance, so much more so than he had observed since her illness.

Ah! Eliza,' added he, 1 feared we should have lost you.'

I should have regretted leaving this world for little else but the company of my parents, your sisters, and yourself;' replied the ingenuous girl.

And should you, Eliza, have regret ted me? could you at such an hour think on one so slightly connected with you as I am?' was the hasty language of his answer.

Charles' heart was upon his lips, and had it not been for Eliza answering to the call of her friends, he would certainly have avowed his love, and assured her that she was dearer to him than a sister.

He now gave himself up entirely to the enjoyment of his passion; he was assured that he possessed an interest in the heart, upon which all his hopes were fixed; he was composed, he was happy.

The rose blooms in beauty, and sheds forth a delicious perfume; but a sudden blight will wither it on its stem! How often is the morning bright and cheerful, but to precede a day of storms and gloom! And such are the hopes of man; budding in beauty, but blighted by the chill winds of misfortune. To such a fate were doomed the brightest hopes of Charles; the hopes upon which expectation founded her only chance of happiness. Although Eliza was considered to be quickly recovering, yet she was far from enjoying health; disease had made such ravages upon her constitution, as required a length of time to repair: a return of the disorder, a few weeks after it was supposed to have been entirely removed, carried her off so suddenly, that the news of her decease came as an electric shock to the family of the B- S. Charles was hurt, deeply hurt: he wept not, but he felt that his peace of mind was gone; it seemed to him for ever.

From this period, he became gradually more and more gloomy, and fond of solitude: he no longer found pleasure in his customary amusements, or in the bustling charms of society: he felt, as it were, left alone in the midst of friends and relations; he felt something wanting, which the world could not supply. He was never heard to speak of Eliza; but whenever her name was mentioned in his hearing, he would sigh, and retire to indulge his grief apart from observation. One of his young companions, unguardedly observing to him, that he seemed very fond of her; he replied, I was indeed fond of her; I doated on her beyond description.There are many girls of my acquaintance, whom I cordially esteem, and whom I could dearly love; but I feel convinced, that I can never love any other, as I loved Eliza Maitland.'

t

I covet not the costliest gem
That proudest monarch ever wore;
I envy not his diadem

Of precious stones and glittering ore.
Full oft it binds an aching head.
Encircling doubt, and care, and dread.
I long not for the warrior's wreath,
The blood-stain'd laurels round his
brow

Tells a sad tale from every leaf

Of dire distress and weeping woe. O'er heaps of dead he wins his name, And sails through seas of blood to fame.

The wealthy merchant's golden crown,
The lover's rosy coronet,
The proud patrician's high renown,

Are joys I never sigh'd for yet.
Riches are dust, and love's a toy,
Mere pride of birth is futile joy.

The painter's art, the sculptor's skill,
The poet's lyre almost divine;
Their honors with a ready will

For brighter glories I'd resign.
Oblivion marks them for his prey,
On Time's dark stream they float away.
The patriot whose noble heart

Beats only for his country's good, Who, in her cause, would freely part With worldly wealth and precious blood,

His name rever'd in ev'ry clime,
Mocks at the ravages of Time.

From age to age, from sire to son,

His glorious deeds are handed down, And as the wings of time wave on,

Fresh honours grace his civic crown. Who would not gaudier wreaths despise For such a bright immortal prize! ANSETTE.

Varieties.

THE SECRET BANDIT.

A Danish Story."

There lived formerly in Denmark a wealthy noble, who had an only child, a fair daughter. The maiden lacked not suitors, both for her beauty and amiable qualities, and for the land she would one day inherit; and among them all she selected one who was dstinguished by his handsome person and gallant bearing, nor less so for his apparent riches, although he was a stranger in those parts, and no one could tell where lay his possessions, or whence he came. In short, the day was fixed for their betrothment, upon which occasion a mag

nificent entertainment was to be given by the nobleman. It chanced, however, that on the preceding eve the maiden walked out, unaccompanied by any attendant; and ere she was aware of the distance she had wandered, had lost her self in a deep wood. At length meeting with what seemed to be a path, she pursued the track, but found that it conducted to a dismal cavern, that extended for some way beneath the ground. Struck with wonder at its romantic appearance, she determined to explore it; and advancing onwards, soon discovered a spacious vault that had every ap pearance of being inhabited, and that, too, not by a hermit or religious recluse, but by one who had a taste for wealth and luxury. She next proceeded into an inner chamber, where she saw a shining heap of gold and silver, which, on examination, she found to consist of richly chased goblets and costly vessels and gold coin. Continuing her search, she came to a third chamber, where to her exceeding dismay and horror, she beheld the remains of human carcasses, dead men's bones, and hideous skulls. She was now certain that she was in a retreat of robbers and murderers, and was about to make her escape as quickly as possible, when the sound of approaching footsteps warned her to conceal herself instantly behind a kind of projecting pillar at the end of this chamber of death. Hardly had she screened herself before a robber entered bearing in his arms the dead body of a lady richly attired, from which he began to strip the jewels and ornaments. While the barbarian was thus employed, the maiden caught a glimpse of his features, and a cry of horror nearly escaped her Jips, as she discovered them to be those of her lover. He had now plundered the body of all but a very beautiful ring, when in his impatience to get it, he cut off the finger with his sword, but with such violence that it flew to some distance, very near the spot where the maiden was concealed. Fortunately, however, he did not stay to search for it, but having heard a signal from with out, hurried away to rejoin his com rades. For some minutes the maiden stood rooted to the spot, with horror at what she had witnessed, and dread for her own fate; at length hearing no noise whatever, she ventured from her hiding place, and soon after stole out of the cavern, having first picked up the finger that had been cut off, and suc

ceeded in finding her way home, where she found her father awaiting her return in the greatest anxiety. She excused herself by saying that she had wandered much farther than she intended, but mentioned not a word of the cavern, or the scene she had witnessed in it. On the following day the bridegroom arrived at the castle, attended by several companions, all splendidly attired, and the lady welcomed him as be. fitted one who was to be her future lord. As they afterwards sat at the festal board, and the goblet passed round, each guest recited some legend or wondrous cale. At length it came to the lady's turn to be a narrator; whereupon she began to relate the adventures of a damsel, who, having lost herself in a forest, took shelter in a cave that was used by banditti for concealing their booty.

The bridegroom listened with the utmost anxiety. Within this cave,' continued she, were many chambers, one of which was filled with heaps of gold and silver; in another were hands and legs and other remains of dead bo dies.' The bridegroom could scarcely conceal his agitation; yet seemed to leud an ear of unconcerned attention to the story, which proceeded to state how the damsel was surprised by the return of the robbers; how she concealed herself, and the shocking scene she beheld. Ha! a pleasant tale, truly,' exclaimed he, when the lady had finished; yet, methinks, better for an old crone's fireside, than a banquet like ours. I have reason to believe, however, rejoined the damsel,' that it is not a mere gossip's legend, but a fact.' "A fact!' exclaimed several of the guests. "Yes, one does not care to vouch for the truth of stories of the kind in general, but I am inclined to believe this, because 'tis indeed a very odd circumstance, I happen to have the very finger and ring that the robber cut off. What now followed may be easily conjectured.. He who had entered the castle as a welcome guest, was detained with his comrades as prisoners, and shortly after delivered up to the arm of justice. As for the lady, she thanked Heaven for having rescued her in the first place from imminent peril, and in the next from a union with a guilty assassin.

Published by Cowie & Strange, 60, Paternoster Row, and 24, Fetter Lane.

There is an old story which I have often heard related, about a great laird of Cassway, in an outer corner of Dumfries-shire, of the name of Beattie, and his two sons; the second son, Francis, fell desperately in love with a remarkbly beautiful girl, the eldest daughter tof Henry Scott of Drumfielding, a genleman, but still only a retainer, and far beneath Beattie of Cassway, both in wealth and influence. Francis was a scholar newly returned from the university-was tall, handsome, of a pale complexion, and gentlemanly appearance, while Thomas, the eldest son, was fair, ruddy, and stout made, a perfect picture of health and good-humour, a sports man, a warrior, and a jovial blade.

Now, though Thomas, or the young

laird, as he was called, had only spoke once to Ellen Scott in his life, at which time he chucked her below the chin, and bid the deil take him if ever he saw as bonny a face in his whole born' days; yet, for all that, Ellen loved him. It could not be said that she was in love with him, for a maiden's heart must be won before it is given' absolutely away; but hers gave him the preference to any other young man.

Such was the state of affairs when Francis came home, and fell desperately in love with Ellen Scott; and was so much delighted with her, that he asked and obtained her father's permission to pay his addresses to her.

Henry Scott, of Drumfielding, the father of Ellen, was a widower, with six'

daughters, over whom presided Mrs. Jane Jerdan, their maternal aunt, a right old maid, with fashions and ideas even more antiquated than herself, who could not bear the idea of Ellen's marriage with a younger brother, especially when she considered the fair chance she had of wedding the young laird, Tom Beattie.

In a few days, Henry of Drumfielding was called out to attend his chief on some expedition; on which Mrs. Jane, not caring to trust her message to any other person, went over to Cassway, and invited the young laird to see her niece, quite convinced that her charms and endowments would at once enslave the elder brother as they had done the younger. Tom Beattie was delighted at finding such a good back friend as Mrs. Jane, for he had for a twelvemonth had designs upon Ellen Scott; he had scarcely considered of what nature, but was quite convinced of the necessity of some love affair between the beauty and himself, and it was only sheer want of leisure that had prevented him from putting it in execution.

Thomas Beattie was true to his appointment, as may be supposed, and Mrs. Jane having her niece rigged out in eminent style, he was perfectly charmed with her; and really it cannot be denied that Ellen was as much delighted with him. She was young, gay, and frolicsome, and Tom had no sooner met with her, even in her aunt's presence, than he began a flattering her, and from that to toying and romping with her; so that Ellen never spent a more joyous and happy afternoon, or knew before what it was to be in a presence that delighted her. True, he never mentioned the word marriage, though Mrs. Jane gave him plenty of opportunities, but Ellen liked his company a great deal the better. It had always proved a chilling, damping sort of term, that, to her; and in the buoyancy of youth. ful spirits, innocence and gaiety, she liked better that it should be set aside for the present; and never two lovers came better on than Tom Beattie of Cassway and the beautiful Ellen of Drumfielding.

There were two beds in the room with running doors, all of which stood delightfully open, in order to show the beautiful coverlets within; and as Ellen had become very teasing, Mrs. Jane ventured to remind the laird of the above

circumstances, adding, that she deemed the wild gilly well deserved to feel the metal of a gentleman's beard, as none of her former lovers had been blessed with such a privilege, The laird took the hint, and tried, at a gentle wrestle, to place Ellen on the stock of one of the beds, but he could not, without being more rude, than, even in that rude age, good manners allowed; and in this gentle exercise were the two engaged, altogether by themselves, when the room-door opened, and in popped Francis Beattie! Ellen's face was flushed with laughter and animated exertion, and when she saw her devoted lover at her side, she blushed still deeper, and her glee was damped in a moment. She looked rather like a condemned criminal, or at least a guilty creature, than what she really was,-a being over whose mind the cloud of guilt had never cast its shadow.

Francis loved her above all things on earth or in heaven, and the moment he saw her standing abashed, and extricating herself gently from the hands of his brother, his spirit was moved to jealousy-to maddening and uncontrollable jealousy. His ears rang, his hair stood on end, and the contour of his face became like a bent bow. He walked up to his brother with his hand on his hilt, and almost inarticulately addressed him thus, while his teeth ground together like a horse-rattle:

Pray, sir, may I ask you of your intentions, and of what you are seeking here?'

'I know not, Frank, what right you have to ask any such questions; but you will allow that I have a right to ask of you what the devil you are seek ing here at present, seeing you come so very inopportunely.'

'Do you know what you are doing, sir, and what you have done, or what you have attempted?That maiden, sir, is my maidenmy beloved and betrothed maidendearer to me than life and all its enjoyments; and ere you touch that dear maiden with a foul finger, sir, you shall sooner touch my heart's blood! Dare you put it to the issue of the sword this moment?'

'Come now, dear Francis, don't fall on to act the fool and the madman both at a time, for this maiden is not your maiden, nor ever will be either your maiden or your wife; and rather than