done so," he said, "he prayed, he trusted in the Lord, yea, he professed it would be to him even as another crowning mercy,' if his honourable and worthy friends had done the very same."

Saying this, he arose from his seat, with all the air, certainly, of a man who had eaten his fill, and bowing to the company with formal politeness, left the chamber. A heaving and trembling of the shoulders was observed in Oliver as he turned to retire, caused indeed, by the strong convulsion of internal laughter; so keenly did he relish this gigantic practical joke.

When the first pause of surprise was over, Captain Gilbert Pearson ventured to suggest, that, "such being the humour of his Excellency, they should all dutifully endeavour to imitate the same, after their humble measure." So, acting upon this hint, they speedily turned the unwieldy oaken supper-table legs uppermost, overthrew all the chairs and settles, hurled the trenchers, (for they had not been removed,) into the fire, and cut and slashed the curtains and arras with their rapiers and show-swords; in order that the most fastidious taste might not complain, of a forgetfulness of that variety which, in popular opinion, you know, is accounted so pleasing.

This duty performed, the assembly forthwith broke up, with mutual congratulations; every man preparing to return to his own home in the greatest order, ceremony, and decorum.

Perhaps the only good that came of this wild prank of Cromwell's, was the marriage that took place very shortly afterwards, between Mistress Blanche Dorrimer and Master Nehemiah Hetley.

The attentive reader will remind us, that, by her own agreement, Mistress Blanche was pledged to wed Nehemiah on the following morning; but, although such a step would not have been too sudden for the affectionate desires of the pair, and although, (as luck would have it,) Hetley had been enabled to keep his promise with his sweetheart, without the least trouble on his own part; that prudent young lady first weighed circumstances and propriety, and preferred waiting until every necessary arrangement had been made in due course.

At length, when the new dresses and furniture were bought and paid for, and a neat little house secured in the village of Charing, they married; and feeling sure, (in the first days of their union,) that theirs was to be an exception to the common lot-for that their raptures of young, virtuous love would never sober down into quiet esteem, nor their estimate of a condition, entirely new to them, differ in any wise, from what it then was; they eventually counted it a great blessing indeed, to be able to say, (after twenty years' experience of each other's society,) that they had been, upon the whole, not much more happy or more miserable, than the generality of the world.

It only now remains for us to add, that Captain Edward Trevannion died a few months afterwards; being accidentally stabbed in a nightbrawl, about a female of indifferent reputation.

A FEW WORDS FOR THE WORLD. BY A. M. PAYNE,
(ADDRESSED TO A YOUTHFUL MISANTHROPE.)

OH, why, young Cynic, doth thy morbid mind,
Disgusted, from the world's vast beauties turn?
Obey the mandate, "seek, and thou shalt find;"
Enlarge thy sympathies, and thou wilt learn,
That the creation which thou now dost spurn,
Contains much beauty. Ev'ry flow'r and tree,
Upbraids thy thankless soul, austere and stern,
For ev'ry acorn, ev'ry bud should be

Proof that this world of God's is good enough for thee.
Tho' pallid care, who ever threatens all,

Has not, indulgent, pass'd thy dwelling by;
Shall sorrow therefore all thy heart enthrall,

And coldly deaden ev'ry social tie

That binds thee to thy kind? Shall friendship die Because one hallow'd soul has soar'd above?

Are there no amiable kindred nigh,

The better feelings of thy mind to move?

No hearts that still deserve respect, esteem, and love?
What, tho' there live a miserable few,

Full of the lust of wealth, and pride of birth--
Who ne'er soft sympathy's endearments knew—
Dwell there not nobler spirits upon earth?

Warm hearts, that ever bleed for pining worth,
That shed on all they know an influence kind;--
That love to see, round ev'ry humble heart,
Peace, love, and plenty reigning unconfined,
And mis'ry shrinking low before the might of mind!
Go, wander thro' the widely-spreading shade—
The soft, green twilight of yon verdant wood;
And, in that calm retreat, for mortals made

By Him whose only thought is mortal's good;—
There to the stalwart trees, who have withstood
The roughest storms of ages, tell thy tale,

Their sturdy health shall mock thy churlish mood Lo! they life's tempest's bear, with vigor hale,

;

And catch the freshening rains that mingle with the gale.
Go, seek the graceful lily that bedecks,

Luxuriant, yon glassy river's side:

Mark how the blossoms bend their slender necks,
When warring winds and waters o'er them glide:
And how, uplooking with a modest pride,

They to the re-appearing sunshine spread

The beauties which the storm had vainly tried,

They meekly bent before its fury dread,

And o'er the oppressing air their sweetest odour shed.

TO MEMORY.

MEM'RY, I hate thee; since in thee I find
A constant prompter whisp'ring to the mind:
One who destroys all thoughts of brighter days,
And ev'ry trust in future peace allays.

You speak of seasons ne'er to bloom again,
And times of which no vestiges remain;
You long-lost images of friends restore,
But to remind that they are now no more.
Hope is a victim placed within thy power,
Which you dispel at any passing hour,
And oft prevent it solace from affording,
By some old tale of misery recording.
Some would extol thee; vaunting in the past,
The mould of dark futurity is cast;

But of this number have we e'er discern'd
One really better from what thus he learn'd?
The old look back and sigh, as former years
Bring to their minds some hidden cause for tears;
For retrospection finds us all to blame,
And feel for bygone follies, present shame.
So, mem'ry, leave me; you no pleasure bring,
But has some latent, some heart-rending sting;
Sure, still so courted, you can ne'er repine
To lose a vot'ry in a breast like mine.

M. R. D.

LINES.

OH! think it not strange that thus early is faded
The smile which once sported so wild o'er my brow;
Or that care hath this poor aching bosom invaded,
And driven sweet peace far away from me now.
"Tis true, of the gayest I once was most gay-
Yes, life was at that time a pleasure, a toy ;
But, alas! those sweet hours, too happy to stay,
Have fled, and bereft me of every joy.

I then had the cheering delusions of hope,

And fancy's young dream made futurity glow
In colours so faultless, each morn, as it broke,
But seem'd some new blessing on me to bestow.
But chilling neglect, unrequited affection,
Soon turn us from mirth to the darkest despair;
And such is the cause of my sudden dejection,

No future the pangs of the past can repair.

ROSINA.

NOURKA, THE SLAVE.

FROM THE PAPERS OF DOCTOR TROPIC.

I WAS invited to spend a few weeks at a friend's penn (country seat), partly to give my opinion on the state of his daughter's health, who, for some time past, had at intervals been seized with slight convulsive attacks, which caused great uneasiness in her family.

Though born in the island, the young lady had been educated in England, from which country she had not many months arrived; and her relatives thought the West Indian climate did not agree with her constitution, though the estate was situated in the mountains, and in the most temperate and healthy part of the island.

When I arrived, I was introduced to as fair a girl as any one would wish to see, with a pair of laughing, clear, blue eyes, that denoted loveliness, health, and freedom from cares.

The hilarity of her manners, her looks, the sportiveness with which, on our first introduction, she exclaimed :-" Well, dear doctor, I suppose you have come to see me in my shroud?”. The blushes and

smiles with which she received my reply of:-" Not so, my sweet young lady, for I have come to admire you in your bridal dress.". She did not show the slightest symptoms of that lassitude and debility with which I was told she had been lately frequently seized.

For many days Emily was all gaiety, laughing, joking, and partaking of all the few amusements which a West Indian country life affords with cheerfulness and alacrity. Always ready, the first to begin, the last to leave off, teasing her lover, for she was soon going to be married, and passing jokes on his disappointed and downcast looks, whenever she chose me, or some other visitor, as a partner for a drive or dance; yet, all this was done with such grace and sweetness, that her intended could not be out of temper.

Perceiving all these symptoms of apparent good health, I do not take to question her too closely; for it sometimes happens that the thought of being considered ill, will make you so. I merely sought a casual opportunity, to put a question or two, as to her general state of health.

"All of us, doctor," she replied, "are at times subject to slight mental and bodily attacks.-You know I am a giddy girl, and must not wonder, if I have an occasional tumble."

Several weeks passed. I had already made arrangements to leave the locality, promising to return in time for the wedding.

One evening, in leading my young friend to a seat, I felt her hand tremble; and, looking at her, perceived a slight convulsive motion in the face; for a second, or two, she was as cold as marble. I felt her pulse; it was beating with irregular quickness.

"You are unwell, dear Miss Emily?" I asked.

"No, Doctor:-it has passed off; it was but momentary."

"Have you taken any refreshments, whilst you were heated?" I inquired.

"Only a glass of cool drink, Doctor," she replied; "but I had not begun to dance, when I took it."

"Are you often subject to such attacks?" I asked, intending to question her, and obtain particulars.

"Hush, Doctor; Charles is jealous already. Observe him. I must make him a little more angry, this evening, before I honour him with my fair hand for the dance; so I invite you, again, for my partner."

We rejoined the dancers, and my lovely partner was in high spirits. Notwithstanding this, I was not satisfied: I began to suspect there was some organic disease forming. I plied her with questions. She confessed it was not the first time she had felt similar symptoms, and she thought they came oftener, promised to be a good girl, and answer, the next morning, if I wished it, all I desired to be informed of. She soon made it up with her dear Charles, and began dancing with him in her usual style.

I could not sleep soundly that night; the weather was more oppressive than usual; I threw up the lattice, at the risk of admitting musquitoes. Shortly after, I thought I heard whispering. I listened: the persons were coming towards the house. I heard a man say,— whom I soon recognised as Jacob, the personal attendant on Charles:

"Massa Charles, him be glad if Missy Emily get well; for den him be married, same as you and me, Nourka!"

"Are 'em surtun Missy took what I gib you for her?" enquired a female.

"Quite surtun,-sure, Nourka," replied Jacob.

The female here spoke so low, that I could only hear some detached sentences; and though I listened with all possible attention, I could only catch:

"You hab.-Massa Charles know it.--Me not want.-It so subrise im, Jacob.-Miss Emily, her soon be quite well." As she spoke the last words, the girl sighed heavily.

"Gib me a keess afore you go, Nourka?" asked the negro.

"When we be married afer Massa Charles, Jacob," answered the girl, who gently laughed.

"De same time, de same day, massa be married, we be too," said Jacob.

"De same time?—Yes, Jacob, yes.-Now I must be away," rejoined Nourka.

"No keess me afore you go?" asked her sweetheart, Jacob.

"You no remember your promes, Jacob?" asked the girl. "How you like, afer: but no afore!" She laughed again.

I closed the lattice. I could not make out their meaning. It was evident Emily had taken something. I determined to scold her for so doing. As to the unusual coyness of the girl, I considered she had espied me, and was endeavouring to copy the white slavies. It was such a usual thing for the negroes to bring trifling presents of fruit, and such simples, to those they are attached to, and Emily,