truly, there is nothing more fatal than the act of a misjudging ally, which, like a mistake in medicine, is apt to kill the unhappy patient it was intended to cure.

This lesson was taught, in a remarkable manner, to the innocent Zerlina, a peasant; to conceive which, you must suppose her to have gone, by permission, into the garden of the Countess of Marizzo, near the Arno, one beautiful morning of June. It was a spacious pleasure ground, excellently disposed, and adorned with the choicest specimens of shrubs and trees, being bounded, on all sides, by hedge-rows of laurels and myrtles, and such sombre evergreens, and in the midst was a pretty verdant lawn with a sun-dial. The numberless plants that belong to that bountiful season were then in full flower, and the delicate fragrance of the orange blossoms perfumed the universal air. The thrushes were singing merrily in the copses; and the bees, that cannot stir without music, made a joyous humming with their wings. All things were vigorous and cheerful, except one, a poor owl, that had been hurt by a bolt from a cross bow, and so had been unable, by daylight, to regain its accustomed hermitage, but sheltered itself under a row of laurel trees and hollies, that afforded a delicious shade in the noon-tide sun. There, shunning and shunned by all, as it is the lot of the unfortunate, be languished over his wound, till a flight of pert sparrows espying him, he was soon forced to endure a thousand twittings, as well as buffets, from that insolent race.

The noise of these chatterers attracting the attention of Zerlina, she crossed over to the spot, and, lo! there crouched the poor bewildered owl, blinking with his large bedazzled eyes, and nodding as if with giddiness from his buffetings,

and the blaze of unusual light. The tender girl, being very gentle and compassionate by nature, was no way repelled by its ugliness, but thinking only of its sufferings, took up the feathered wretch in her arms, and endeavoured to revive it by placing it on her bosom. There, nursing it with an abundance of pity and concern, she carried it to the grass-plat, and, being ignorant of its habits, laid out the poor, drooping bird, as her own lively spirits prompted her, in the glowing sunshine; for she felt in her own heart at that moment, the kind and cheerful influence of the genial sun. Then withdrawing a little way, and leaning against the dial, she awaited the grateful change, which she hoped to behold in the creature's looks; whereas, the tormented owl being grievously dazzled, and annoyed more than ever, hopped off again, with many piteous efforts, to the shady evergreens.

Notwithstanding, believing that this shyness was only because of its natural wildness, or fear, she brought it back again to the lawn, and then, running into the house for some crumbs, to feed it withal, the poor old owl, in the meantime, crawled partly back, as before, to its friendly shelter of holly.

The simple girl found it, therefore, with much wonder, again retiring towards those gloomy bushes. Why, what a wilful creature is this, she thought, that is so loth to be comforted. No sooner have I placed it in the warm, cheerful sunshine, which enlivens all its fellow birds to chirp and sing, than it goes back, and mopes under the most dismal

corners.

I bave known many human persons to have those peevish fits, and to reject kindness as perversely; but who would look for such unnatural humours in a simple bird?

Wherewith, taking the monkish

fowl from its dull leafy cloisters, she disposed him once more on the sunny lawn, where it made still fresh attempts to get away from the overpainful radiance, but was now become too feeble and ill to remove. Zerlina, therefore, began to believe that it was reconciled to its situation; but she had hardly cherished this fancy, when a dismal film came suddenly over its large round eyes, and then, falling upon its back, after one or two slow gasps of its beak, and a few twitches of its aged claws, the poor martyr of kindness expired before her sight. It cost her a few tears to witness the tragical issue of her endeavours; but she was still more grieved afterwards, when she was told of the cruelty of her unskilful treatmeut; and the poor owl, with its melancholy death, were the frequent subject of her meditations.

In the year after this occurrence, it happened that the Countess of Marezzo was in want of a young female attendant, and being much struck with the modesty and lively temper of Zerlina, she requested her parents to let her live with her.The poor people, having a numerous family to provide for, agreed very cheerfully to the proposal, and Zerlina was carried by her benefactress to Rome.

Her good conduct confirming the prepossessions of the Countess, the latter showed her many marks of her favour and regard, not only furnishing her handsomely with apparel, but taking her as a companion, on her visits, to the most rich and noble families, so that Zerlina was thus introduced to much gaiety and splendour. Her heart, notwithstanding, ached often times under her silken dresses, for, in spite of the favour of the Countess, she met with many slights from the proud and wealthy, on account of her humble origin, as well as much envy and malice from persous of her own con

dition. She fell, therefore, into a deep melancholy, and being interrogated by the Countess, she declared, that she pined for her former humble, but happy, estate; and begged, with all humility, that she might return to her native village.

The Countess being much surprized as well as grieved, at this confession, inquired if she had ever given her cause to repent of her protection; to which Zerlina replied with many grateful tears, but still avowing the ardour of her wishes.

'Let me return,' said she, to my homely life,-this oppressive splendour dazzles and bewilders me. I feel, by a thousand humiliating misgivings and disgraces, that it is foreign to my nature; my defect of birth and manners making me shrink continually within myself, whilst those, who were born for its blaze, perceive, readily, that I belong to an obscure race, and taunt me with jests and indignities for intruding on their sphere. Those also, who should be my equals, are quite as bitter against me for overstepping their station, so that my life is thus a round of perpetual mortifications and uneasiness. Pray, therefore, absolve me of ingratitude, if I long to return to my native and proper shades, with their appointed habits. I am dying, like the poor owl, for lack of my natural obscurity.'

The curiosity of the Countess being awakened by the last expression, Zerlina related to her the story of that unfortunate bird, and applied it, with a very touching commentary, to her own condition; so that the Countess was affected even to the shedding of tears. She immediately comprehended the moral, and carrying back Zerlina to her native village, she bestowed her future favours so judiciously, that, instead of being a misfortune, it secured the complete happiness of the pretty peasant.

again.

But to fond lovers, nothing can repay The hours of bliss from which they haste away;

For ah! the love-fraught breast alone can feel

The meaning of a lover's fare thee well:
Oh! from the dearest object of the heart,
E'en for a week-a day-an hour, to part,
To misery, beyond my pen to tell,
Altho' I feel the pangs of fare thee well;
No scenes of joy or mirth can e'er remove
From lovers minds, the object of their
love;

Their hearts are vacant, and the lab'ring mind

Reverts to one fond object left behind. Thus 'tis with me-these are the pangs I feel,

As from thy lips falls, Albert-fare thee

well!

Tho' midst the tumult of a crowd I move, Still must I think on thee, my soul, my love!

My mind reverting to one object dear, Tho' 'tis a chaos, still 'tis full of care: Had I the glittering treasures of Peru, I'd leave them all, my Emily, for you! E'en were I seated on the richest throne, Yet without thee, dear love, were I alone;

Tho' I were flatter'd by the rich and great, Who bow submissive at a monarch's feet, I'd leave such gilded pomp and pride for thee,

For where thou art there would I ever be, That I with thee might wander thro' the grove,

Chanting the songs of freedom and of love;
Contentedly I'd share the meanest cot,
Nor sigh, nor envy kings and princes' lot:
Wert thou a saint, still would I foremost
shine,

A willing devotee at thy fair shrine.
But we must part;-ah! may the Powers
above

Guard thee, my Emily, my life-my love: May guardian angels make thy peace their

care,

And save thee, Emily, from ev'ry snare; That when returning, I may haste to thee, And claim my long desir'd felicity;

With joy and pride then clasp thee to my heart,

Claim thee my bride, never again to part: But should that enemy, our direst foe, Should the grim tyrant, Death, have laid thee low,

Yet will I hope to join thy soul above, And dwell through countless ages with my love;

Hope there again to meet, and spend with thee,

Eternity in immortality.

W. H. Freeman.

ENIGMA.

From rosy lips we issue forth,
From east to west, from south to north,
Unseen, unfelt, by night, by day;
Abroad we take our airy way.
We fasten love, we kindle strife,
The bitter and the sweet of life.
Piercing and sharp, we wound like steel :
Now smooth as oil, those wounds we

heal.

Not strings of pearl are valued more,
Nor gems enchased in golden ore?
Yet thousands of us, every day,
Worthless and vile, are thrown away.
Ye wise! secure with bars of brass
The double doors thro' which we pass-
For, once escaped, back to our cell
No art of man can us compel.

Ans.-Words.

Why, O my father, would they not play with me? Is it because we are not so happy as they? Is it because I groan sometimes even as thou groanest?'

Then Cain stopped, and stifling his groans, he sank to the earth, and the child Enos stood in the darkness beside him; and Cain lifted up his voice and cried bitterly, and said, 'The mighty one that persecuteth me is on this side and on that; he pursueth my soul like the wind, like the sand-blast he passeth through me; he is around me even as the air; O that I might be utterly no more! I desire to dieyea, the things that never had life, neither move they upon the earth -behold they seem precious to mine eyes. O that a man might live without the breath of his nostrils, so I might abide in darkness and blackness, and an empty space! Yea, I would lie down, I would not rise, neither would I stir my limbs till I became as the rock in the den of the lion, on which the young lion resteth his head whilst he sleepeth. For the torrent that roareth far off hath a voice; and the clouds in heaven look terribly on me; the Mighty One who is against me speaketh in the wind of the cedar grove; and in silence am I dried up.'

Then Enos spake to his fatherArise my father, arise, we are but a little way from the place where I found the cake and the pitcher;' and Cain said, 'How knowest thou?' and the child answered-' Behold, the bare rocks are a few of thy strides distant from the forest; and while even now thou wert lifting up thy voice, I heard the echo.'

Then the child took hold of his father, as if he would raise him, and Cain being faint and feeble, rose slowly on his knees and pressed himself against the trunk of a fir,

and stood upright and followed the child. The path was dark till within three strides' length of its termination, when it turned suddenly; the thick black trees formed a low arch, and the moonlight appeared for a moment like a dazzling portal. Enos ran before and stood in the open air; and when Cain, his father, emerged from the darkness the child was affrighted, for the mighty limbs of Cain were wasted as by fire; his hair was black, and matted into loathly curls, and his countenance was dark and wild, and told in a strange and terrible language of agonies that had been, and were, and were still to continue to be.

The scene around was desolate ; as far as the eye could reach, it was desolate; the bare rocks faced each other, and left a long and wild interval of their white sand.— You might wander on, and look round and round, and peep into the crevices of the rocks, and discover nothing that acknowledged the influence of the seasons. There was

no spring, no summer, no autumn, and the winter's snow that would have been lovely, fell not on these hot rocks and burning sands. Never morning lark had poised himself over this desert; but the huge serpent often hissed there beneath the talons of the vulture, and the vulture screamed, his wings imprisoned within the coils of the serpent. The pointed and shattered summits of the ridges of the rocks made a rude mimicry of human concerns, and seemed to prophecy mutely of things that then were not; steeples, and battlements, and ships with naked masts. As far from the wood as a boy might sling a pebble of the brook, there was one rock by itself at a small distance from the main ridge. It had been precipitated there perhaps by the terrible groan