idea gave her a new channel for grief. "And will you still prize Adêle, when love for you has left her nothing else to offer you?-will you abandon her, when hope deferred has faded all but her love? That day, Eugene! I could not live to see. Death is dreadful-oh, how dreadful!—at any time; but it seems cruel, indeed, that the bird just learning to trust its wing-whose music makes early and joyous worship to the sun, should be seized and devoured by the vulture!" She paused, from deep emotion, and folded her hand upon her heart;-"the vulture is here,-beginning its work of death; your love only can save me!"

Eugene strained her to his bosom, but he could not speak; he could not, even to himself, give a name to the sum of his sensations, he felt only their depth and power. It was so new to him to feel that another's weal depended on his own,-a woman's !—that the fate of one so dear was in his hands. It was something he had dreamed of-something he had deemed too delicious ever to be realized to him-a dove of promise seen only in the far distance. Yet the boon was his; and joy, at least, formed no part of the conflicting passions, whose intensity now deprived him of speech-almost of being. His feelings became more definite, when their servant entered the room, with his father's sword in its sheath, and these few lines written hastily, with a pencil,"Till three o'clock, I shall pass the hours in prayer. Read then-but not till then-the words which I have engraved on the blade of my sword. I give it

to you;-let it descend to your children's children. It, once, belonged to Napoleon, and it must never grace a dastard's hand, it would shiver in his grasp. The blessing of a father rest upon you!”—“ I will never disgrace the gift, nor the giver!" said Eugene, solemnly; then striving at a gayer tone, continued, "though I would so much rather love a fairer bride." Adêle's lip refused to put on an answering smile; it would have mocked, too sadly, her heart's desolation. "Let us pray," said she, "with your father;—we, also, have much need of comfort."

They knelt down, and prayed in silence. They were immediately opposite a window that let down into a church-yard. A bright, full moon showed the grey turrets of what had once been a monastery, in strong relief-broad light, beautifully contrasting depth of shadow, touching the brows and the outline of the figures of these young enthusiasts, with a light immediately from heaven! Their hands clasped in each other, their eyes raised to their God, no thought of self in the breast of either,-in that light, and pure as the love and devotion that filled their being,-why did not some angel, wandering here on an errand of love, bear them gently into immortality, ere yet falsehood, and blight, and wrong, could destroy innocence and beauty that seemed so well to fit them for a purer dwelling!

While yet praying, the heavy bell of the church chimed the hour.-The sound was borne, sadly, along the breeze. It was already three o'clock,-and Eu

gene remembered his father's injunction, to examine, at that hour, what he had inscribed on the blade of his sword. He rose and drew it from its sheath. Adêle bent over him. The words were distinctly legible," Eugene is no longer a Conscript!-He is the only son of a widow !" A conviction of the truth flashed upon his mind, wholly unmixed with doubt or hope. The dull heavy weight-the certainty-that he should be too late, chained his feet to the earth, for a few seconds. He, then, rushed to his father's chamber:-Paul was quite cold-he had died by his own hand!

INSCRIPTION

FOR A TABLET AT BANAVIE, ON THE CALEDONIAN

CANAL.

BY ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. POET LAUREATE.

WHERE these capacious basins, by the laws
Of the subjacent element, receive

The ship, descending or upraised, eight times
From stage to stage, with unfelt agency,
Translated,—fitliest may the marble here
Record the Architect's immortal name !
Telford it was, by whose presiding mind

The whole great work was planned and perfected!—
Telford,-who, o'er the vale of Cambrian Dee,
Aloft in air, at giddy height upborne,

Carried his navigable road; and hung
High o'er Menäi's straits the bending bridge !
Structures of more ambitious enterprise
Than minstrels, in the age of old romance,
To their own Merlin's magic lore ascribed.
Nor hath he for his native land performed
Less, in this proud design; and where his piers,
Around her coast, from many a fisher's creek,
Unsheltered else, and many an ample port,

Repel the assailing storm ;-and where his roads, In beautiful and sinuous line far seen,

Wind with the vale, and win the long ascent,

-Now o'er the deep morass sustained,—and now, Across ravine, or glen, or estuary,

Opening a passage through the wilds subdued!

PERSIAN SONG.

IT reigns-the burning noon of night!
The wine is poured-the harem train,
With eyes that bathe in liquid light,
Demand the minstrel's slumbering strain!

How bright the theme those eyes inspire !-
What kindling raptures grace the song,
When beauty wakes the breathing lyre,
And passion sighs its chords along!

O'er the wide west the solar beam
A deep, dissolving glory throws !—
But, in the goblet's crystal gleam,

With darker fires the ruby glows!

Fount of the soul-the goblet, bring!
Fill high the cup with rosy wine;