lady every way worthy of your regard, jing down her cheeks, till they came to the whom, as I have often told you, I selected carriage, where I was awaiting them. In in your childhood as a suitable person for a moment we were in, and off upon a we were in, your wife. I trust, my dear son, you will gallop.

see the propriety of submitting your own Never was Mary Ivon so beautiful, as judgment to mine in this matter, and when when she stood in that low room, with her you meet the lady, who, I understand, is hand clasped in Tom's, giving her assent uncommonly beautiful, I doubt not you to the holy marriage vows, Tom, too, will approve my course in keeping you looked handsome and happy, but there unacquainted with each other, until the was a determined expression in his counproper time arrived for your intimacy to tenance, which showed he was conscious commence. I shall write to you soon he was taking a bold step. I could not mere particularly, etc." but look on him with pity, mingled with

"Now, Peter, what do you think I have admiration, when I thought that the mowritten in reply! listen... ment that perfected his happiness, made

Dutiful Father--Your very gratifying him pennyless. I have acquired an avaletter was received in due time, and I have ricious habit, in my lonely bachelor state, the pleasure of informing you in reply, which, I fear, would never permit me to that before you receive this I shall be mar- make such a sacrifice, ried. It grieves me much to thwart your wishes, but so the fates have decreed, and ao it must be,

Your respectful son, Tom." "But, Tom, your letter is bottom upwards, you have mistaken the direction," eried I in amazement...

Old Mr. Ivon went to the hotel in street, in compliance with the request contained in the note, which I had taken the pardonable liberty to send him, in the name of his friend Comfort Stubbs. But, alas! no Comfort Stubbs was there. Af ter waiting about half an hour, and swear"So I have, Peter. Can't help it. He ing at his friend's stupidity, never suspectis certainly more dutiful than I, but that ing the hoax, the old gentleman went is not the thing. To-night I shall want growling back to his house. Everything your assistance. Will you be at corner, with the carriage at eight?" "Precisely, Tom:""

was still and quiet. "Mary Ivon," cried the old man, as he entered the door,"Mary, Ivon." No answer came, and "One thing more. We must contrive again Mary 1von" resounded through to have old Mr. Ivon absent from home the house, and the empty apartments this evening, if only for ten minutes. Can echoed "Mary Ivon." The old man grew you inveigle him away?" sick at heart. The truth flashed on his I have it, Tom! Make yourself easy mind in a moment-his daughter had and leave all with me."

to

CHAPTER V.

eloped!

Tom's fortune was still triumphant. He

Mary, give me my staff, I must walk had run away with the lady, to whom from street to-night, late as it is. What childhood he had been betrothed, and thus can Comfort Stubbs want of me at this terminates our romance. He had never hour? Keep the door locked till I return, seen Mary before, and though Mr. Ivon Mary that note will tell you where I am had seen Tom when à boy, his features going" and the old gentleman was soon were so altered that he did not recognize out of sight.: him. Tom's father, immediately on the "Now is the time," whispered Tom, in receipt of his letter, started post-haste to a trembling voice. The carriage is communicate the melancholy intelligence waiting.".. to his friend. He arrived just as old Mr. 1 cannot, I cannot. Ivon had discovered his daughters escape. But it is too late now to repent," said and while they were, lamenting together Tom, and he almost dragged her into the the ruin of their long continued plans, who street. The fresh air gave her new.strength, under the broad heaven should enter, but and she put her arm in his, and walked Tom and his wife! I shall not attemp trembling on, the tears all the time stream-to describe the scene which ensued.

need not say that the disobedient children] My good-what's that? Is't good that I were forgiven.

CHAPTER VI.

shall die?:

Is 't good that I should pine, and waste

away,

And shrink, within my natural compass,

I have just returned from a re-enact- and,

ment of Tom's wedding. It is difficult in melancholy idlesse, haunt the nest Where my white dove lies guarded? Mother. Patience nay

to say which were happiest, the parents, or the children. Mary's unspeakable eyes were no longer dimmed with tears, and the perfect happiness which their mirthful I smile bespoke, was a joy to behold. wish all skeptics on the subject of love could have seen her. She was indeed ar gumentum ad hominem. As for Tom he looked solemn. He was always afraid of sudden changes, and heshuddered when he thought what a game his destiny had play

ed him.

"Peter,"

said he, how can I tell

said I,
" said I," and

what's to come next?”.
"Paternity,, I suppose,"
posterity of course."
"But Peter, look! how unspeakably
beautiful! will not my good luck tem't you
to marry???

"Yes when I can find another Mary Ivon, who will save me the trouble of asking consent."

THE BROKEN HEART.

FROM CORNWALL'S 'DRAMATIC SCENES.'

Jeron. Until I die, good mother? I shall die,

(Mark me, and think my words a prophecy)

Before you, day by day. My head feels
light:

But then my heart's gone, so it matters not.
Sylvestra, sweet Sylvestra!
Mother, Name her not.

O! she's the cause of all our sorrow-all.
you must not think of her now,

Jeron. No? not now!

Mother. No; for she's married:
Jeron. Ha, ha, ha! good mother.
Shame! at your time to jest,
Mother. I told you this.

Before: she's married-married-mar-
ried.

Jeron. Pshaw.! I know it:
Am I not-broken hearted?,
Mother. O sweet heavens.
Jeronýmo!

Jeron, Well.

Mother. Why do you talk thus So strangely, dear, to me? My own boy think

On me, sweet.

THIS sketch is founded upon a tale of Boccació. Jeron. Surely; for you thought of me, The story is this:-Jeronymo was sent from Italy to Paris, in order to complete his studies. He was Even in absence: therefore I'll be grateful, detained there two years, his mother being fearful And do you a good turn, mother-pray: lest he should marry a poor and beautiful girl, (Sil- believe t vestra,) with whom he had been brought up from his

infancy. During his absence, his mother contrived I'll make you heir of all my father's lands, to have Sylvestra married. He returned, and, after Chattels, and gold, and floating argosies, wandering about her dwelling, succeeded in getting With not a widow or child to share 'em into her chamber, conversed with her, (her husband being asleep,) and at last died on the bed before her.

SCENE IA Room..

JERONYMO. HIS MOTHER.

Mother. Pr'ythee, take comfort, child;
why, how you look-

Speak, dear Jeronymo!
Jeron. You have done this..
Mother. 'Twas for your good.
Jeron. O mother, mother; you
Have broke the fondest heart in Italy.

with you

Here's gratitude. I'll swear 't: By noisy
Jove,

Red Mars, and bearded Saturm
Mother. Pr'ythee, cease.

Jeron. O you're grown modest since
my father died,

And will not court the gods. By Venus,

then

(You'll like her, for she cheated all the
world,)

Or Juno, radiant Juno:, she took note
Of great Jove's pranks when absent; and,
you know

Strangled the innocent passion, love, at Fair as the god Apollo: but he died; And how he feared (do you remember

times,

And married poor damsels happiness--as you did

By

Mother. Do not talk thus. O if not for

Jeran: O to see you weep,

that?)

Lest I should sink, and leave no name be-
-hind me:

No child who might inherit and transmit
Our noble name to far posterity;
Do you remember this, good mother? I
Am the last scion of a gracious tree,,
And you-ay, you have struck me to the
root,

And withered all my branches. Now,
farewell.

Sylvestra-Mighty mother, you have broke

Your wand at last.

Mother Farewell, farewell.
Jeròn. Farewell.

Yet stay. Ah! mother, bless you. [Exeunt.]

SCENE II Sylvestra's chamber.

JERONYMOJ, SYLVESTRA.

Jeron. So all is hushed at last. Hist!!
There she lies,

Who should have been my own: Sylves
tra No;

She sleeps; and from her parted lips there

comes.

A fragrance, such as April mornings draw
From the awakening flowers. There lies

her arm,

Although your husband died, so long ago. Stretched out like marble on the quilted lid,

Mother. I do not weep for him.
Jeron. Not weep for him?"
Then shame seal up your mouth. Was he
nof kinde

And good?. you. told me so and yet you
weep not:

Weep you for widowhood? O! you may

gain Another husband yet,

Mother. I do not wish

I cannot match the last

Jeron. You cannot, madam::

And motionless. What if she lives not?--O!
How beautiful she is! How far beyond
Those bright creations, which the fabling
Greeks

Placed on their white Olympus. That
great queen,

Before whose eye Jove's starry armies shrank

To darkness, and the wide and billowy

seas

Grew tranquil was a spotted leper to her
And never in such pure divinity

No, though you gaze when Hesper comes, Could sway the wanton blood as she did. until

Hark!

The last star sinks below the western hea-She murmurs like a cradled child. How

85

Sylvestra, fair Sylvestra! know me now:The loveliest girl that ever tied her hair
Not now? and is my very voice so changed Across a sunny brow of Italy.

By wretchedness, that you-you know me I still remember how your delicate foot
Tripped on the lawn at vintage time, and
how,

Alas!

not?

Sylv, Begone. I'll wake my husband if When others asked you, you would only

You tread a step: begone.

Jeron. Jeronymo.

Sylv. Ha! speak.

Jeron. Jeronymo.

Sylv. O!

Jeron. Hide your eyes:

give

Your hand to me.

Sylv. Alas! Jeronymo.

Jeron. Ay, that's the name; you had forgot.

Sylv. Q! no.

Ay, hide them, married woman! lest you Can I forget the many hours we've spent,

When care had scarce begun to trouble us?
How we were wont on autumn nights to

stray,

Counting the clouds that passed across the

moon

Jeron. Go on.

Sylv. And figuring many a shape gro

tesque; Camels and caravans, and mighty beasts, Hot prancing steeds, and warriors plumed and helmed,

1

All in the blue sky floating.

Jeron. What is this?

Sylv. I thought you liked to hear of it,
Jeron. I do.

Sylv: Then wherefore look so sadly?
Jeron. Fair Sylvestra,
Can I do aught to comfort you?
Sylv. 'Away;

You do forget yourself.

Jeron. Not so: Can I.
Do aught to serve you? Speak! my
is short,

For death has touched me.

Sylv. Now you're jesting.
Jeron. Girl! .

time ང"འ་།། མི

Now I am dying. O, I feel my blood
Ebb slowly; and before the morning sun
Visits your chamber through those trail-
ing vines,

I shall lie here, here in your chamber,
dead,.

Dead, dead, dead, dead: Nay, shrink not.
Sylv. Pr'ythee go.

You fright me.

Jeron. Yet I'd not do so, Sylvestra; I will but tell you, you have used me harshly,

I

(That is not much,) and die; nay, fear me

not.

would not chill, with this decaying touch, That bosom.where the blue veins wander round,