Will you accept this beautiful book,

and will you permit me to say a word of the errand which I trust it to fulfil, in its happy privilege of remaining near you?

It is a charming custom, with persons of taste in Europe, to have, among the articles of furniture in a drawing-room, a painter's easel, or movable picture-stand, which occupies the spot where the light falls brightest, and whereon is placed, from day to day, some admired object—as a landscape taken temporarily from its place on the wall, or a friend's portrait, or a favorite engraving-any beautiful object of art, in short, which it may be desirable, from pleasant associations or a preference of attention, to look upon more familiarly.

2

A wife places upon the easel, near the window, the portrait of her husband; the mother, that of her boy; the betrothed maid the crayon sketch of her lover, or her own pencil-drawing of the romantic spot where they first met—some memorial which readily catches the eye, and which aids the memory, silently and untiringly, in portraying what it wishes to recall.

In the memory-parlor of friendship or love, this article of furniture, the viewless easel of remembrance, is never wanting. It stands upon the sunniest spot within the window of the soul, and its sustaining ledge is graced with the associations which recall the absent, and, particularly with the recurring thought of any object which has been given as a mark of interest or affec tion. To furnish the sweet burthen of this beloved easel of remembrance, is, indeed, the aim of every token thus presented.

But there is a choice in the associations with which we wish to be remembered, and the refined man must of course desire that objects of the higher order of taste and sentiment should be those which bring him to mind when absent. In the beautiful fancies of the artist, and in the finer language of poetry and romance, exists the true level on which the heart places its memorials, and to which it instinctively rises, for its pleasant interchanges of affection. It is to the imagination and taste of the beloved one-not to the every-day need, or ordinary conve nience, that the elevated mind offers its gift.

Take, then, this beautiful book, rich with the productions of the pencil of genius, and with the bright imaginations of the poet and the novelist, and let it minister to the qualities in your mind and heart which make you beloved by those who know you your appreciation of the good and heroic, of the beautiful and the true. And (if there is room upon the easel of memory, when the light of reverie is shining in) let the thought of this simple offering sometimes grace it, and recall to you the wishes with which it is offered, by

Yours very sincerely,

THE

LADIES' SOUVENIR.

THE LAST APPEAL

BY N. P. WILLIS.

DOES she know her own heart? Is she sure that she will ever be better loved? Should she persist in rejecting him now, as it looks likely that she will, may he not say to her prophetically, in the words of the poetess:

"When thou hast met with careless hearts, and cold,

Hearts that young love may touch but never hold-
Not faithful as the loved and left of old-

Remember me, remember me!"

Of all things unaccountable, a woman's heart, when first sought, is often the greatest mystery. The lover in the picture before us, is, to the eye of the looker-on, a most suitable object for her affections. He is handsome, ardent, vehement in his expressions of devotion. He has pushed his suit in every possible way before