the mist of the night, settling upon the bosom of the river, hid the placid stream, or rolled heavily off towards the opening of a distant interval. And such, thought 1, as I checked my horse to contemplate the scene, such is my course-darkened now and solitary; but beyond me, and beyond this life, are scenes of happiness lit up, like that hill, with the rays of hope and promise; yet between me and those enjoyments lies a fearful passage, darkened by the mists which the night of ignorance has caused to settle upon it, deep and dangerous as my errings have made it. A train of reflections was following-reflections such as one who had sat for months in the contemplations of near approaching decay, may be supposed to indulge, when my eye, dropping from the sun-lit eminence above, rested upon an object at the distance of a few yards from us between the road and the river. A slight breeze dissipated the mist from the spot, and I discover-river, and exposed to the morning and evening ed a female, apparently lifeless, stretched on the ground.

Alighting from my horse, I approached within a few feet of the woman, when she raised her head suddenly from the little eminence upon which it had rested, and showed a face that had once been beautiful, marred by continual sorrow, and inflamed by recent indulgence of grief.

A stranger and a widow, unused to depend upon herself, she at first almost sunk beneath the afflictive stroke of Providence; but the claims of five children called a mother to a sense of her duties. She exerted herself, but still found that the little remaining of her limited store was daily wasting, "and," said she, “1 knew not the power that would give the prolific blessing to the last measure of meal in my barrel, or that could bid me still pour out abundance from a widow's exhausted cruse. To protract life then, scarcely able to save it, I left the city and took yonder miserable hut, that had been deserted by a family of blacks. Here with rigid economy and unsparing labour, I might have raised my children, imparting to them the rudiments of an useful education, but your climate, at best unfriendly to health, and rendered still more deleterious by our congruity to the moisture, proved too powerful for my children. The eldest wasted away with racking chills or almost shrivelled by burning fevers, expired in my arms, with a blessing upon me mingled with his last accents. We laid him here in the grave, and when the dirt was heaped over him, I returned to renew my watchings with the next.

"Death was busy with my household; in three months four of my children were brought to this With a hasty apology for what might appear spot. And perhaps the last would have been an impertinent intrusion, and proffering what with them, but for a change of the atmosphere aid I could bestow, if any should be needed, I that checked the progress of disease. How withdrew a few yards; but whether the lady felt strong is a mother's love! All the affection that there was something in her appearance and which had diffused itself over my four children, situation that required explanation, or whether had centred with deep intensity upon him that my wasted, consumptive form, and hollowed sal-had been spared, my youngest boy. Let a molow cheek forbade a thought of intrusion, and in-ther indulge her fondness. He was beautiful; vited confidence, I cannot tell-she hastily ad- poverty had not crushed his spirits; and, knowjusted her hair and dress, and beckoned me with ing little of other joys, he had moulded even his the solemnity of grief to approach. With those childish sports to my wishes. How often, as I feelings that affliction ever excites, I complied threw back the clustering curls, to impress upon with the intimation, and soon discovered that 1 his polished forehead a mother's kiss, has my was in the company of one for whom education heart ached at the thought that we must sepaand affection had done much, but deep and last- rate; that before long I must be with those dear ing sorrow more. I respectfully tendered anew ones that had gone, and then who would watch to the female whatever assistance her circum-over my Albert. The cold charities of public stances might demand and mine would allow. "I am alone," she said, "in the world, and the little that nature requires is easily obtained. All that life had valuable, has been taken from me; and death which to some is a dreadful consideration, I contemplate with pleasing satisfaction while I wait it with resigned patience. Not my afflictions, but their consequences, have prepared me for that event; and I look with pleasure to the rapidly approaching time when I shall lie beneath the hillock from which I have now risen, and none shall be able to call me back to the bitterness of my earthly lot. All that was dear to me in life is there, and where my earthly treasures are deposited, there my heart is also." I learned from the lady, that her husband had left England with a view of establishing himself in this country; and, after residing in Philadelphia a few months he sent to her a letter, acquainting her with his prospects of business, directing her to dispose of whatever property she had, and to come with the children to him. She complied with his request, and arrived in America ten days after the death of her husband.

provision, meted out to him among a squalid race, cradled in misery, and nurtured in crime; what were these to one-poor, poor indeed, but endowed with an appetency for good, and taught to love virtue, not for its reward, but for its existence?

"It is now three weeks since, finding some necessity to visit the seat of our opulent neighbour, I left my Albert in care of the house, with especial charge to guard the little enclosure. My errand was unusually fortunate: and as 1 hastened home I thought of the delight that my child would evince on contemplating an acquisition, which by the kindness of a lady, I had made. I thought of the smile that was to play over his features, as he should come bounding along the pathway to greet my return, and aid me in carrying my well stowed bundle.

"I approached the house, but Albert did not appear. I looked when he should spring from behind a tree to surprise me, and even conned the little monition which I should give him for the rudeness that yet could not offend. He was perhaps studying his lesson, and did not think of

THE MOTHER.

103 my returning; for children forget often, very and her oldest son left that country for India, often, when a parent's heart yearns most for more than twelve years since, and though certhem. Agitated with undefinable fears, I hast-tain intelligence of their death had not been reened forward, and when within a few paces of ceived, still there was not a doubt that they had the house, I discovered my lamb sitting and lean- fallen victims to disease incident to the interior ing against the trunk of a large tree. For the of Hindostan. moment the blood curdled at my heart, and thoughts, thick coming and fearful passed my mind with a rapidity that none but a parent, an afflicted and suffering parent, can know." The woman paused, and laying her hand on my arm, said inquiringly-" You are a father?"

I bowed assent.

"And have mourned the loss of a child?" again she asked.

The tear that smote her hand, as it still rested on my arm, told her that I could sympathise with

her.

"I may then proceed, for only to a parent may a parent tell her woes. But still you cannot know it all. No, a mother only, only a mother may drink of that cup! Oh! how a mother loves her boy-and that one, one spared from all--I have held him to my bosom in moments of deep feeling, when sorrow, poverty and despair have chilled every current from the heart. I have pressed my Albert there, and, one by one, the remembrance of those fled away, a smile lighted up my countenance, and the blood gushed through my veins with the elastic play of youth. "But let me not weary you-I stepped towards the child---he was asleep. I gazed with a mother's fondness, and with a mother's pride. The sun was pouring his setting beams upon his face, and the wind scattered the curls of that hair that lay in such profusion on his shoulders. I kneeled to kiss and bless the boy, and thanked God that he was spared me.

When I turned to leave the scene of affliction that I had witnessed, the mist of the morning had passed away from the river, and the whole width of the stream lay before me, glistening in silvery whiteness with the rays of the rising sun. Half an hour before, absorbed in my feelings, I had likened the river and its dark folds of mist, to death; does not sympathy in the woes of others diminish the burden of our own affliction, and tend to chase even darkness and fears from that passage which all must tread!

A few days subsequent to the interview which I have described, an advertisement in the public papers called for information relative to a family, the description of which answered in many particulars to that of the afflicted mother. I called at the "Mansion House" for the adver tiser, and found in a young and interesting stranger, the son who was supposed to have died in India. I acquainted him in haste, with the situation of his family, and could scarce restrain him from setting out immediately to find his parent. I knew too well the state of her health to allow such rashness.

As he approached the abode of his mother, I proposed alighting first, and preparing her in some measure for the interview. When we arrived at the opening in the bushes through which I had first discovered her, kneeling beside the unsodded grave, I urged my companion to pass on. The noise of our horses disturbed her; she raised her head and a smile of recognition rested upon her face as she rose to meet me.

"Still," said she, "still, like Rachel mourning for my children, refusing to be comforted."

"Yet madam," said I," there may be comfort; the survivors may, by kindness and sympathy, teach you, if not to mourn the loss for the dead, at least to live for the living."

"There is no such hope," said she, "I can say with the afflicted one of old---Lover and friend thou hast put far from me, and mine acquaint

"That night Albert awoke with a hoarseness, and other indications of a cold, caught probably while sleeping in the open air. I resorted to the usual applications, but in vain. The next day saw him worse, and the medical adviser, who vísited him on the third day, expressed serious apprehensions. Let me hasten to a close. The night succeeding, as I sat with my Albert on my knees, I noticed that the filmy whiteness which had rested on his eyes during the day, had passed off; they were brilliant beyond the bright-ance into darkness." ness of health. I knew the approaches of death too well to be deceived, yet I gazed with agonizing intensity. The lamp poured a pale light upon his visage, over which the hectic flush was passing. Mother, dear mother,' died away half articulated by the angel: a slight convulsion distorted his lip, and---I was left alone.When the physician came the next morning, he found me sitting in my chair, and Albert on my knees.

"They buried him here---here with all my flock---all in one grave---over which I kneel so often that not one blade of grass springs above them-nor must it-the earth will soon be removed for me; and when I sleep with my babes, the grass will grow over us ;---for there will be none, no, not one, to shed a tear upon our resting place---for I am alone---all, all alone."

When the paroxysm of passion had passed off, I asked whether she had not relations in England. She replied in the negative. A brother

"But you mentioned a son in India." "I mentioned him as dead," said she. "But, madam," I replied, "I have reason to believe, nay to know, that he did not die at the time to which you refer."

"Does he live now? Is he alive?" asked the mother with haste.

"The young man who accompanies me has seen your son, and can give certain information of his welfare. Shall I call him hither, or will you see him at the house?"

"Here, even here; my home is on the grave of my children."

I stepped to the road, and beckoned to the young man. He approached the grave in some haste.

"You have seen my son, you know him--you can tell me, his mother, of his welfare?"

The youth lifted his dark eye, swimming with tears, and vainly attempted to reply. He scarcely articulated his name and the mother and the son

rushed into each other's arms, and knelt down into a convulsive embrace upon the grave, the altar of her morning sacrifice.

When the son attempted to rise, his mother fell from his arms pale and lifeless! The gush of pleasure had been too strong, she had breathed her last blessing upon the bosom of her son: and now lay unconscious of joys or sorrows.

The son, in a few weeks, returned to India. The mother is buried with her child upon the banks of the Schuylkill; and many young readers will perhaps lengthen their morning walk in the coming summer, to see whether there is a rose upon the bush that I have placed at the head of the grave.

From the New York Mirror.
TO A MUSICAL BOX.
By Miss Fanny Kemble.

Poor little sprite! in that dark. narrow cell,

Caged, by the law of man's resistless might;
With thy sweet, liquid notes, by some strong spell,
Compelled to minister to his delight!
Whence-what art thou?—Art thou a fairy wight,
Caught sleeping in some lily's snowy bell,
Where thou hadst crept, to rock in the moonlight,
And drink the starry dew drops as they fell?
Say, dost thou think, sometimes when thou art singing,
Of thy wild haunt upon the mountain's brow,
Where thou wert once to list the death-bells ringing,
And sail upon the sunset's amber glow?
When thou art weary of thy oft-told theme,
Say, dost thou think of the clear, pebbly stream,
Upon whose mossy brink thy fellows play,
Dancing in circles by the moon's soft beam,
Hiding in blossoms from the sun's fierce gleam,

Whilst thou, in darkness, sing'st thy life away?
And canst thou feel when the spring time returns,
Filling the earth with fragrance and with glee;
When in the wide creation nothing mourns,

Of all that lives, save that which is not free!
Oh, if thou canst, and we could hear thy prayer,
How would thy little voice, beseeching cry
For one short draught of the fresh morning air,
For one short glimpse of the clear, azure sky!
Perchance thou sing'st in hopes thou shalt be free?
Sweetly and patiently thy task fulfilling;
While thy sad thoughts are wandering with the bee,
To every bud, with honey dew distilling.
That hope in vain: for even couldst thou wing
Thy homeward flight back to the greenwood gay;
Thoud'st be a shunn'd and a forsaken thing,
'Mongst the companions of thy happier day.
For fairy elves, like many other creatures,
Bear fleeting memories, that come and go;
Nor can they oft recall familiar features,

By absence touched, or clouded o'er with wo.
Then, rest content with sorrow; for there be
Many, who must that lesson learn with thee;
And still thy wild notes warble cheerfully.
Till, when thy tiny voice begins to fail,
For thy lost bliss, sing but one parting wail,

Poor little sprite, and then sleep silently.

As the prickliest leaves are the driest, so the pertest lows are generally the most barren.

Written for the Casket.

THE SISTERS.

"And she will be his bride;
At the altar he'll give her
The love that was too pure

For a heartless deceiver.
The world may think me gay,
For my feelings I smother.
Oh! thou hast been the cause

Of this anguish, my Mother."

The room was small, but the spiendid and almost oriental style of magnificence with which it was furnished, left not a doubt that it was the boudoir of some favourite of fortune: the carpet so thick and soft, that the heavy tread of the mailed warrior could not be distinguished from the soft fairy tread of beauty; the low and velvet covered couches, the large mirrors, the splendid pictures, whose style bespoke them from no less masters than Titian or Claude; the marble tables, the rich curtains, all spoke of wealth, taste and elegance. But with this splendour there was a certain something, which told the inmate was careless or indifferent to it all. On a small centre table of the purest Italian marble, stood a rich porcelain vase filled with rare exotics; but they languished and looked nearly witheredbooks and engravings strewed the table, but they too lay untouched and unopened-a guitar and a harp stood near, but several of the strings of both were broken. On a beautifully arranged toilet table lay a casket of rich and sparkling gems-the casket was half upset, and many of the trinkets laid strewed about in confusion. Turn now from this minutia, and look at the inhabitant of this apartment, and tell me if happiness dwells with wealth and splendour. On a low crimson Ottoman reclined a fair being who might have been thought to be as inanimate as the objects around her, except for the low passionate sob that at times burst from her bosom, as if her very heart were breaking; she was even in her sorrow an exquisitely beautiful creature: her fairy and perfect form; the infant-like delicacy and purity of her complexion; her head of Grecian like dignity; the profusion of dark curls, which shadowed without concealing the intellectual loveliness of her pale face, all bespoke her lovely; she had apparently but just returned from a ball or party, if one could judge by the ele gance and costliness of her dress, which was of white silvered crape, confined at the wrists and waist by bracelets and a girdle of pearls, with a rich twisted necklace and pendants of the same; a pearl bandeau, in which was fastened a plume of white feathers, lay on the floor as if dropped from the head by accident.

"Yes," she exclaimed in a low broken voice, "she will be his bride, and I-what am I-a poor despised creature, looked on with indifference, perhaps with hate, by the being I feel I yet adore -he will be happy while I am miserable; but I deserve it all. Oh, that I could die and be at peace," again she wept bitterly. A low tap was heard at the door, and before she had time to refuse admittance, a fairy form glided into the fel-room, and in a moment was locked in her arms.

"My own sister," "dearest Helen," was all that

was uttered by either for some moments; at midnight dreams-I sighed at our close confinelength the visitor rose up from her fervent em- ment to studies, our simple recreations, and our brace and seated herself on a low stool, at the country situation--I wanted to visit the gay balls, side of the couch, while her sister, (for such she parties, theatres, &c. which I had so often read was) as if overcome again, sunk back in her re- of: and more than all this, I earnestly wished to clining position, and gave vent to a fresh burst of love and to be beloved. With all these thoughts tears, still clasping the hand of the fair intruder thronging in my young heart, can even you wonin her own. "Tell me, my own Helen, what ails der that my tears were soon vanished. You know you—is this my welcome, after months of sepa- that I arrived safely at my mother's splendid tion:-am I instead of meeting with your own mansion, and she received me with a mixture of gladsome smiles to be greeted with tears. Tell affection and gratified pride, and prophesied I me," she continued, throwing herself on her would make a brilliant match.' I was introduced knees, and pressing her lips to the pale cold to the gay world, and entered with pleasure into forehead, "what can possibly ail you: are you its extravagancies and follies. I was styled beausick; you cannot be unhappy, surely, or your tiful, known to be wealthy, and was therefore own Cecile would long ere this have known of followed by many admirers, but my heart remainyour griefs and flew to soothe them: if you are ed untouched. Even then, my sister, my heart ill, cheer up and smile upon me, and your own would oft times pine for your society, and I would sister shall be your faithful nurse. With so kind wish myself back, a simple happy school girl. So a husband, and all else your heart can desire, true it is, that pleasures, however delightful in you must be happy." "Happy," murmured the imagination, lose much from constant repetition. lady, while her very frame seemed shook with I wished for someting to love and to be loved. My the agony those words called up, "happy-never mother was kind and 1 respected her; but her in this world-my happy days are over, Cecile." manners were not calculated to gain her chilShe seemed quite overcome, and Cecile forbore dren's love, and consequently she was not my to answer her, lest she should renew sorrows confidant. Unhappy situation when a daughter which she wished to alleviate: she at length in- may not confide in a mother. Who so suitable a sensibly sunk into a light slumber, whilst the friend, a guide, an adviser as a mother. You young and beautiful being, who seemed by her may remember our sweet friend, Rosa Evelyn, bright and radient face never to have known who was married shortly after I left schcol, and sorrow, bent over her with the anxiety of a fond for whom I was bridesmaid; it was at her happy mother, watching her sleeping infant, afraid to home that I first met her cousin, Eugene Evelyn, move lest she should disturb the sleeper. She that I first knew what love was." A long silence continued in her kneeling posture, watching the followed these words, as if they called up scenes countenance of her sister. "And I thought she too painfully pleasing for memory to dwell upon. was happy-no, she is not," thought the gentle "Enough, my sister, to say I was beloved and girl, as she gazed in painful silence upon the al- loved devotedly; a few happy months flew round, fered features of Helen. Her moans and inarticu- and then I was awoke from my dream of blisslate murmurs sometimes escaped from her as if my mother was petrified and enraged at the her sleep were far from peaceful; at length, after idea of an alliance destitute of all that she a deeper moan, she opened her languid blue eyes, thought made an alliance desirable; that is, and they fell upon her gentle nurse, "my sister," wealth and rank. She forbade my again seeing she exclaimed with a mournful smile, "how good Eugene. Fear not duty led me to obey her; for you are thus to watch over me; but will you not ob, how will you believe me when I tell you, that retire, it is late, and I in my selfishness had for- knowing my fortune to depend entirely upon my gotten that you have walked far, and must feel mother, I dared not, much as I loved, encounter fatigued." "No, no, my sister, I cannot sleep; privations and want of luxuries. In short, I wherefore then leave you. I am miserable, for dreaded poverty (or an approach to it) as one of you are so: let me know what is the cause of the greatest evils in life. I received from my your unhappiness, and if I cannot relieve, at lover many letters breathing affection and tenleast your Cecile can weep with you." Helen had derness, and conjuring me to fly with him.' 'If,' risen at the close of her sister's remark, and for he said in one of his letters, 'if, dearest Helen, a minute paced the room with quick and hurried your mother's refusal was grounded on the idea tread, as if to escape some painful recollection: that I was vicious or dissipated, I would not urge at length seating herself by a low window, where you to flight; I would strive to convince her of the moon poured her silver rays upon her face, her error and gain her esteem: but no, she would she said, "The task is a painful one, but to you sacrifice the peace, the happiness of her daughI have long wished to speak freely-yes, it will ter, of me, for what-because I possess not console me to know there is one to sympathize wealth. I ask not your fortune: I have compewith me." She pressed her hand forcibly to her tence, and if faithful love and constant endeahead, as if to still the throbbing temples, and with vour, on my part, to make you happy, can make a low faltering voice commenced, "You know I up for the luxuries, the splendour of your home, am your senior, by several years-you know, then consent, my own love, to unite your fate to too, how dearly we have loved, and how bitter mine.' And yet, even after I had read these were the tears we shed when I was sent for home precious lines, I became another's—yes, turn from school, and obliged to be parted from you: not away, sweet sister; relax not the grasp of all this you know; but you know not, that dearly those dear hands, I feel too deeply my own as I loved you, my sorrow was evanescent. 1 unworthiness, to bear even your unintentional was going into that gay world, into whose scenes marks of sorrow. Wrought upon by my habitual I had so often entered in my waking as well as fear and respect of my mother-won upon (I

blush to own it) by the splendid presents, the | of the lady. He asked me if he should call my house, the equipage of Sir William Ethrington, carriage; I gladly assented, and taking his offerI consented, in an evil hour, to become his bride; ed arm was led, more dead than alive, to the and now," she added, breathing lowly, as if the door. As he lifted me in the carriage he pressed breath came from the very recess of her heart, my hand, 'You have my forgiveness, Helen, I am "now comes the heart-breaking scene:-1 had happy; would that you were so too.' 'Never, heard that Eugene had been informed of my con- oh! never, shall I be happy again, Eugene; my duct and my marriage; that he felt that his love heart is breaking.' He gave me a thrilling look had been thrown away upon an unworthy object, of pity: even yet I see it!-pressed my hand to and consequently he felt for me an utter con- his lips and closed the door. All else is a blank tempt: so, at least, I was told. It has now been to me until I found myself here." She ceased near a twelvemonth since my marriage, when, and leaned her burning brow on the marble slab, partly to gratify my husband, and partly to chase as if to cool it, while her young sister wept withaway gloomy feelings, I consented to go to a out restraint. "I have wearied you almost to large party this evening at Lady Ranehath's.- death, my own sweet Cecile, let us both kneel Sir William was forced to leave me at the door, now in earnest prayer, even as when we were as he was engaged elsewhere. I entered the children together, and then let us seek a little brilliant apartments, blazing with lights and rest." The two fair sisters knelt down; the one beauty; I had hardly reached my seat, when my in her single innocence, the other in her deep eye fell upon-Eugene Evelyn; not as I had once unhappiness, and remained long in fervent holy heard of him, pale and dejected, but looking as prayer. When they arose, though their eyes when I first saw him, radient with smiles and were still filled with tears, there was a holy sehealth. On his arm leaned a beautiful delicate renity visible in the features of both, lovely to girl, whom, however, at that time, 1 scarcely ob- behold. They together laid down to court a litserved, being so entirely taken up with watching tle repose. Tired nature at length sunk exEugene. He did not see me, but continued in hausted, and it was late in the day ere Cecile earnest conversation with the lady. As I stood awoke, and recalled to recollection the painful in a deep recess, I could, unobserved by any, scenes of the last night. She arose gently and watch his ever-varying countenance: and oh, stood by her sister's side. "How lovely, how anhow bitter were my feelings at that moment.gelic she looks! and what a sweet smile beams My musical powers, which your fond affection used to magnify into something extraordinary, were, even in the gay world, in requisition; and accordingly I was soon surrounded by many urging me to play and sing. It was in vain that I pleaded indisposition, and with a heavy heart I at length consented to be led into the musicroom, hoping that I was not perceived by Eugene. Feeling in a dull mood, I pitched upon the first song that was handed me; it was a low, melancholy tune, and seemed suited to my feel-Cecile went to take a last look at the lovely reings. It ended with the following verse:

"Give me, of cold oblivion's wave,

A draught, in sorrow's chalice sad;
My hopes are slumbering in the grave:

on her features. I cannot wake her-sleep on, sweet sister; be at least happy in your dreams." So saying, she stooped over her and pressed her rosy lips to the pale forehead of a corpse.

When Cecile was recovered from a long, deep swoon, she found that she had not been deceived. Helen's gentle frame had sunk under the pressure of misery; and though she mourned for her sister, she could not but rejoice that her unhappiness was at an end. It was midnight, when

mains of her beloved sister, beautiful even in death. She reposed upon that couch from whence she was to be conveyed to the dark and silent tomb! Her large blue eyes were closed, and the long, dark lash lay on her fair cheeks; a striking Past are the dreams which once could glad!" contrast; a sweet smile yet played round her lips, which even death had not robbed of their coralMuch agitated after singing, I arose and was like hue-she looked as placid as a sleeping inat length permitted to move away, while a lady fant. She was buried with pomp and splendour, took my place at the piano. 'How handsome and the only tears shed for her in real sorrow, Mr. Evelyn looks,' said a voice near me. I in- were by Cecile and Eugene, who attended her voluntary looked up and encountered the earn- funeral. As for her husband, he had always adest look of Eugene-he bowed and I immediately mired her, but love with him had no existence. turned my eyes away; but a conversation that He considered a wife as a necessary appendage, happened near me, attracted my sole attention. and had chosen out a beautiful one, only beIt was about him who alone I loved. After speak-cause she was the fashion, and was sought by ing for some time highly in his praise, one of the ladies remarked, 'do you know that it is a positive fact, that he is engaged to be married to the lady he is with? Yes, I heard that she was to be the bride, the blessed bride of my own Eugene. I fainted, and when I recovered it was to find myself supported by him, whilst the fair girl, whom I had seen with him, was gently bathing my burning brow. Oh! happy, too happy moment-would that I had died even then; but no, such a blessed lot was not mine. When he found I had recovered, he resigned me to the arms of Lady Mary Clinton, which I heard as the name

others.

Eugene was in a few months happily married to Lady Mary Clinton, and their first girl was by Lady Mary's request, named after the unfortu nate Helen. Cecile also married a man in every way deserving of her; and unlike her sister, looked only for virtue and goodness in her choice, and consequently enjoyed much happiness. But it was long ere she ceased to think of and regret the mournful lot of one who was led away by the luxuries and vanities of this life from peace and happiness. ADELE.