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RELIGIOUS CAMP MEETING IN AMERICA. THE line of tents is pitched; and the religious city grows up in a few hours under the trees, beside the stream. Lamps are hung in lines among the branches; and the effect of their glare upon the surrounding forest is as of magic. The scenery of the most brilliant theatre in the world is a painting only for children compared with it. Meantime the multitudes, with the highest excitement of social feeling, added to the general enthusiasm of expectation, pass from tent to tent, and interchange apostolic greetings and embraces, and talk of the coming solemnities. Their coffee and tea are prepared, and their supper is finished. By this time the moon, for they take thought to appoint the meeting at the proper time of the moon, begins to shew its disk above the dark summits of the mountains; and a few stars are seen glimmering through the intervals of the branches. The whole constitutes a temple worthy of the grandeur of God. An old man, in a dress of the quaintest simplicity, ascends a platform, wipes the dust from his spectacles, and in a voice of suppressed emotion, gives out the hymn, of which the whole assembled multitude can recite the words, and an air in which every voice can join. We should deem poorly of the heart that would not thrill, as the song is heard, like the "sound of many waters," echoing among the hills and mountains. Such are the scenes, the associations, and such the influence of external things upon a nature so "fearfully and wonderfully" constituted as ours, that little effort is necessary on such a theme as religion, urged at such a place, under such circumstances, to fill the heart and the eyes. The hoary orator talks of God, of eternity, a judgment to come, and all that is impressive beyond. He speaks of his "experiences," his toils and travels, his persecutions and welcomes, and how many he has seen in hope, in peace, and triumph, gathered to their fathers; and when he speaks of the short space that remains to him, his only regret is, that he can no more proclaim, in the silence of death, the mercies of his crucified Redeemer.

There is no need of the studied trick of oratory to produce in such a place the deepest movements of the heart. No wonder, as the speaker pauses to dash the gathering moisture from his own eye, that his audience are dissolved in tears, or uttering the exclamations of penitence. Nor is it cause for admiration that many, who poised themselves on an estimation of higher intellect and a nobler insensibility than the crowd, catch the infectious feeling, and become women and children in their turn; and though they "came to mock, remain to pray."

THE MINISTRY IN THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

THERE are stationary preachers in the towns, particularly in Ohio. But in the rural congregations through the western country beyond Ohio, it is seldom that a minister is stationary for more than two months. A ministry of a year in one place may be considered beyond the common duration. Nine-tenths of the religious instruction of the country is given by people who itinerate, and who are, with very few exceptions, notwithstanding all that has been said to the contrary, men of great zeal and sanctity. These earnest men, who have little to expect from pecuniary support, and less from the prescribed reverence and influence which can only appertain to a stated ministry, find, at once, that every thing depends upon the cultivation of popular talents. Zeal for the great cause, mixed, perhaps im. perceptibly, with a spice of earthly ambition, and the latent emulation and pride of our natures, and other motives, which unconsciously influence, more or less, the most sincere and the most disinterested, the desire of distinction among their contemporaries and their brethern, and a reaching struggle for the fascination of popularity, goad them on to study all the means and arts of winning the people. Travelling from month to month through dark forests, with such ample time and range for deep thought, as they amble slowly on horseback along their peregrinations, the men naturally acquire a pensive and romantic turn of thought and expression, as we think favourable to eloquence. Hence, the preaching is of a highly popular cast, and its first aim is to excite the feelings. Hence, too, excitements, or in religious parlance, "awakening," are com

mon in all this region. Living remote, and consigned, the
greater part of the time, to the musing loneliness of their
condition in the square clearing of the forest, or the prairie;
when they congregate on these exciting occasions, society
itself is a novelty and an excitement. The people are na-
turally more sensitive and enthusiastic than in the older
countries. A man of rude, boisterous, but native eloquence,
rises among these children of the forest and simple nature,
with his voice pitched upon the tones, and his utterance
thrilling with that awful theme, to which each string of the
human heart everywhere responds; and while the woods
echo his vehement declamations, his audience is alternate-
ly dissolved in tears, awed to profound feeling, or falling
in spasms. This country opens a boundless theatre for
strong, earnest, and unlettered eloquence; and the preacher
seldom has extensive influence, or usefulness, who does not
possess some touch of this power.-Flint's History of the
Mississippi Valley.

RANDOM RECORDS OF RETURNS TO PARLIAMENT.
The HOUSE of COMMONS once reformed,
I hope will be kept clean:

And sure this won't be very hard,

Its brace of BROUGHAMS between.
The House has lost poor SADLER, with
His twang so methodistical;
But it has gained JACK GULLY, with

His arguments so-phistical!
Why COBBETT for two places stood,
Surprise need not awaken:
He got elected for Old-ham,

And so has sav'd his bacon!
This session will be very fierce,

May be pronounced before;
One borough is for Hasting WARRE,
And one Devizes GORE!
The rage of the Aristocrats

Will certainly wax hotter,
To find their benches filled with CLAY,
With WEDGEWOOD, and a POTTER.
Though Petersfield LE-FEVRE'S sent,
I hope 'twill be but partial:
The Dutch will tremble when they hear
That Leeds returned a MARSHAL!
Alas! I fear that the debates

Will open cease to be:
At least, whatever questions may
Be under LocKE and KEY.
St. Ives (of course in schedule B)

Has chosen Mr. HALSE:

While Brighton confidently trusts

That FAITHFUL can't prove false!
Fearless the ROEBUCK sent from Bath,
May raise his noble front;
For Preston wisely has resolved

That there shall be no HUNT!
The Commons is a public-house:

The reason why, perhaps,

We meet with WHITEBREAD, BURTON, and
With PHILPOTTS and with TAPPS!
The house a perfect Pharisee

Is growing, I'm afraid;
'Tis true enough that it has NEELD,
But, query, has it PRAED?
How pleasant must the landscape be

Which HILL and TOWER have part in;
And where, while here a HERON soars,
There swiftly skims a MARTIN !
Long WELLESLEY has not re-appeared
(Perhaps because of sickness;)
But what the house has lost in length,

Has been made up in THICKNESSE!
To compliment our sailor King,

How zealous are the Whigs:
Besides some first-rates, there's a Hor,
A COLLIER, and a BRIGGS!
Oh! what a motley mass of men
From these elections spring!
Upon the self-same bench there sit
A CARTER and a KING!

ELEMENTS OF THOUGHT.

VALUE OF LITERARY MEN.

As there is no country where money and gentility are so extravagantly valued, so is there none where talent and science are so ridiculously underrated as in England. In France, in Russia, in most of the states of Germany, (with the exception of these Islands)we may say throughout the whole of civilized Europe a man of genius, a man of knowledge, is a recognised power.

a commonly interesting study, must not be distracted in his
pursuit.
I can scarce picture to myself
a happier being than he who, with single aim and steady -
purpose, pursues some chosen study till its difficulties be
come his toys, and his inventive genius forms them into a
new structure, inscribing upon it the indelible characters of
his future name. Is the superficial gossiping of what is -
falsely called general knowledge, to be compared with this?
And if this same general knowledge be of so little worth,
why exhort mechanics to attain it, who have only and bare-
ly time for what is useful?

It becomes necessary, then, if a mechanic would derive benefit from his studies, that they should be directed to a subject somewhat abstract or particular. But will he be able to bestow upon it the undivided, undistracted attention required to ensure success? When he arrives at the most interesting and important point, when he may be said to be fluttering with eagerness, and his heart beats as though he beheld a first-love, his time of leisure is expired, and he must either neglect his employment, which is life to his body, or dash aside the gay vision which is life to his soul. But we will even suppose him to have sufficient ability and courage to set aside or resume his studies at will, without pain and without loss; there will yet be a mighty barrier to pass, unconnected with either his moral ability or conWhen he has arrived at the extent of his little li

The highest honours are awarded-the most distinguished courtesies are paid him. To be even attached to the clique of men of letters, is a rank, a passport into all society —a title which is claimed with a certain degree of pride and assurance. Here, to call a man an author, is to treat him with disrespect. He can have no other claim to distinction if he does not ostentatiously put it forth. Horace Walpole exulted in the idea that he was an Honourable; and Gibbon prided himself on being a country gentleman. We ourselves remember a distinguished, and even talented fine lady, calling Washington Irving "the man who writes the books." Graceful affectation! What is the class ris-rage.

ing, and that must rise? What is that class which, as our people become a reading people, will be invested with the popular authority? Before whom, and before what, does the bloated arrogance of a purse-proud, pampered aristocracy quail and shrink into utter nothingness at the pre-labours, useful no more, and therefore no longer interesting, sent moment? Lo! there is the Press! The press the thousand-tongued-the Briarean-armed press! Every advance which fashionable indolence ventures to make towards literary activity, is a sign that the man of letters is advancing upon my lord.

brary, want spreads a dreary void before him, and he feels its dismal chill just at the point of time when he has ob. tained a knowledge of his own ignorance. The book apon which his desires aud studies hinge is valuable, and out of reach of his purse-it is scarce, and locked up beyond the reach of his interest. How wistfully he looks upon his because they cannot be brought to a conclusion! And does his ethereal soul condescend to look wistfully, too, upon the station of those above him, and upon the glittering ore that might fill up that same dreary void. Oh! how he feels the depth, the keenness of his curse! Who shall pourtray a want like this? Come, ye poets, with your vivid personifications, depict me the poor student's want! Want of interest, want of purse, want of friends, want of hope to want which is to starve."

A new chivalry is in the field. The nobility of knowledge must become the aristocracy of the epoch. The beautiful theory of St. Simon-for so far, if so far only, is it beautiful-that to the superiority of the mind, which ele- "The child, in his innocent thirst for knowledge, has vates and poetizes power, power should and ought to be asked some question out of the line of duty, because reachconferred—is not yet ripe for realization; but, if we knowing beyond the bounds of ignorance. For this he is singled anything of the future, we know that the two great axioms on which society will work out its new changes are, the diffusion of power with the diffusion of intelligence-the diffusion of property with the diffusion of power,

out for punishment for example; and he meets it as a freeborn child of nature should do, partly with astonishment and partly with scorn. Compare the red glare of the master with the diamond eye of the scholar, as the former raises his brawny arm in the impotent attempt to quench a liv ing soul. Can you doubt the proof of nobility before you, or question for a moment which is the free and which the slave? The spirit of God is said to have brooded upon the darkness and the deep. Methinks I see the spirit of op face of the waters, when a living creation sprang from the pression brooding over that living creation, to darken what it cannot extinguish, to debase what it cannot destroy.”

LITERATURE IN ENGLAND.—In England, literary men, as a body, have few feelings in common with the great mass of the people. Our literature has been and still is essentially aristocratic; they who write seek their chief applause from aristocratic circles, and derive from thence their chief reward; and so long as a low ambition shall influence their minds, so long will they prove the mere servants of a dominant class. But if, in place of money, a fleeting «Your boy carries the alteration in his very looks. That reputation, and an admittance to fashionable circles, the bright inquisitive eye which was so often turned up to elevated and honest desire of being a nation's instructors, a yours is now become vacant, and almost soulless; that ear, hope of raising a popular literature, a literature spreading once open to your gentlest admonition, is now stupified by its wide and paramount and beneficial influence among the harsh, unmeaning threats; that head, once erect in its in. nocent, unconscious liberty, is now inclined to the abasing whole people, had been the ruling spring of action, and the curve of real or pretended submission. His feelings are conscious worth of having contributed to such werk had changed, his desires and pleasures are inverted. They were been their sole expected reward, then would the literary formerly to his lessons, they are now from them. Fear has men of England have taken their fit station among the li- assumed the place of hope, and sadness that of joy. Whea terary bodies of Europe, and would no longer have been rank-you see the force of habit growing on your boy, and the ed with the footboys and servile hirelings of an arrogant noblesse.-Westminster Review.

EDUCATION OF THE PEOPLE.

if at once to shew you what it was become, and to reproach cowering eye of your soul's darling turned to you, too, as you with having made it so-oh! it would pierce your heart too much! I do not know the enemy 1 would curse with such a look from his child."

"Knowledge to be useful must be particular: there must[The above is from an essay written by Samuel Downing, be a butt, and he who would pursue a difficult, or even

a cabinet-maker in London.]

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THE ROSE IN JANUARY.-A GERMAN TALE. watch INTRODUCTION. **

I HAD the good fortune to become acquainted in his old age with the celebrated Wieland, and to be often admitted to his table. It was there that, animated by a flask of Rhenish, he loved to recount the anecdotes of his youth, and with a gaiety and naïveté which rendered them extremely interesting. His agehis learning-his celebrity-no longer threw us to a distance, and we laughed with him as joyously as he himself laughed in relating the little adventure which I now attempt to relate. It had a chief influence on his life, and it was that which he was fondest of retracing, and retraced with most poignancy. I can well remember his very words; but there are still wanting the expression of his fine countenance his hair white as snow, gracefully curling round his head his blue eyes, somewhat faded by years, yet still announcing his genius and depth of thought his brow touched with the lines of reflection, but open, elevated, and of a distinguished character; his smile full of benevolence and candour. "I was handsome enough," he used sometimes to say to us and no one who looked at him could doubt it; but I was not amiable, for a savant rarely is," he would add laughingly, and this every one doubted; so to prove it, he recounted the little history that follows.

"I was not quite thirty," said he to us, "when I obtained the chair of philosophical professor in this college in the most flattering manner: I need not tell you that my einour propre was gratified by a distinction rare enough at my age. I certainly had worked for it formerly; but at the moment it came to me, another species of philosophy ecrupied me much more deeply, and I would have given Liore to know what passed in one heart, than to have had power to analyze those of all mankind. I was passionately in love and you all know, I hope, that when love takes possession of a young head, adieu to every thing else; there is no room for any other thought. My table was covered with folios of all colours, quires of paper of all sizes, journals of all species, catalogues of books, in short, of all that one finds on a professor's table; but of the whole circle of science I had for some time studied only the article Rose, whether in the Encyclopedia, the botanical books, or all the gardeners' calendars that I could meet with; you shall learn presently what led me to this study, and why it was that y window was always open, even during the coldest days. All this was connected with the passion by which I was possessed, 'and which was become my sole and continual thought. I could not well say at this moment how my lectures and courses got on, but this I know, that more than once I have said Amelia,' instead of philosophy.' "It was the name of my beauty-in fact, of the beauty of the University, Mademoiselle de Belmont. Her father, a distinguished officer, had died on the field of battle. She excupied with her mother a large and handsome house in the street in which I lived, on the same side, and a few doors distant. This mother, wise and prudent, obliged by circumstances to inhabit a city filled with young students from all parts, and having so charming a daughter, never fered her a moment from her sight either in or out of doors. But the good lady passionately loved company and cards; and to reconcile her tastes with her duties, she carried Amelia with her to all the assemblies of dowagers, professors' wives, canonesses, &c. &c., where the poor girl canuyed herself to death with hemming or knitting beside her mother's card-table. But you ought to have been inmed, that no student, indeed no man under fifty, was admitted. I had then but little chance of conveying my sentiments to Amelia. I am sure, however, that any other than myself would have discovered this chance, but I was Perfect novice in gallantry; and, until the moment when imbibed this passion from Amelia's, beautiful dark eyes, ine having been always fixed upon volumes of Latin, ek, Hebrew, Chaldaic, &c. &c, understood nothing at of the language of the heart. It was at an old lady's,

14

to whom I was introduced, that I became acquainted with Amelia; my destiny led me to her house on the evening of her assembly; she received me; I saw Mademoiselle de Belmont, and from that instant her image was engraven in lines of fire on my heart. The mother frowned at the sight of a well-looking young man; but my timid, grave, and perhaps somewhat pedantic air, re-assured her. There were a few other young persons-daughters and nieces of the lady of the mansion; it was summer-they obtained permission to walk in the garden, under the windows of the saloon, and the eyes of their mammas. I followed them; and, without daring to address a word to my fair one, caught each that fell from her lips.

"Her conversation appeared to me as charming as her person; she spoke on different subjects with intelligence above her years. In making some pleasant remarks on the defects of men in general, she observed, that what she most dreaded was violence of temper. Naturally of a calm disposition, I was wishing to boast of it; but not having the courage, I at last entered into her idea, and said so much against passion, that I could not well be suspected of an inclination to it. I was recompensed by an approving smile; it emboldened me, and I began to talk much better than I thought myself capable of doing before so many handsome women. She appeared to listen with pleasure; but when they came to the chapter of fashions, I had no more to say it was an unknown language; neither did she appear versed in it, Then succeeded observations on the flowers in the garden; I knew little more of this than of the fashions, but I might likewise have my particular taste; and to decide, I waited to learn that of Amelia: she declared for the Rose, and grew animated in the eulogy of her chosen flower. From that moment, it became for ine the queen of flowers. Amelia,' said a pretty, little, laugh ing Espiègle, how many of your favourites are condemn. ed to death this winter? Not one,' replied she; ' I renounce them-their education is too troublesome, and toa ungrateful a task, and I begin to think I know nothing about it.'

"I assumed sufficient resolution to ask the explanation of this question and answer: she gave it to me. You have just learned that I am passionately fond of Roses ; it is an hereditary taste; my mother is still fonder of them than I am. Since I was able to think of any thing, I have had the greatest wish to offer her a Rose-tree in blow (as a new year's gift) on the first of January. I have never succeeded. Every year I have put a quantity of rose-trees into vases; the greater number perished; and I have never been able to offer one rose to my mother.' So little did I know of the culture of flowers, as to be perfectly ignorant that it was possible to have roses in winter; but from the moment I understood that it might be, without a miracle, and that incessant attention only was necessary, I promised myself, that this year the first of January should not pass without Amelia's offering her mother a rose-tree in blow. We returned to the saloon; so close was I on the watch, that I heard her ask my name in a whisper. Her companion answered, I know him only by reputation; they say he is an author; and so learned, that he is already a profes sor.' I should never have guessed it,' said Amelia; he seems neither vain nor pedantic.' How thankful was I for this reputation. Next morning I went to a gardener, and ordered fifty rose-trees, of different months, to be put in vascs. It must be singular ill fortune,' thought I, if, among this number, one at least does not flower. On leaving the gardener I went to my bookseller's, purchased some works on flowers, and returned home full of hope. I intended to accompany my rose-tree with a fine letter, in which I should request to be permitted to visit Madame de Belmont, in order to teach her daughter the art of having roses in winter; the agreeable lesson, and the charming scholar, were to me much pleasanter themes than those of my philosophical lectures. I built on all this the prettiest romance possible; my milk-pail had not yet got on so far as Perette's; she held it on her head; and my rose was not yet transplanted into its vase; but I saw it all in blow. In the meantime, I was happy only in imagination; I no

longer saw Amelia; they ceased to invite me to the dowager parties, and she was not allowed to mix in those of young people. I must then be restricted, until my introducer was in a state of presentation, to seeing her every evening pass by with her mother, as they went to their parties. Happily for me, Madame de Belmont was such a coward in a carriage, that she preferred walking when it was possible. I knew the hour at which they were in the habit of leaving home; I learned to distinguish the sound of the bell of their gate, from that of all the others of the quarter; my window on the ground floor was always open; at the moment I heard their gate unclose, I snatched up some volume, which was often turned upside down, stationed myself at the window, as if profoundly occupied with my study, and thus almost every day saw for an instant the lovely girl, and this instant was sufficient to attach me to her still more deeply. The elegant simplicity of her dress; her rich, dark hair, wreathed round her head, and falling in ringlets on her forehead; her slight and graceful figure her step at once light and commanding the fairy foot that the care of guarding the snowy robe rendered visible, inflamed my admiration; while her dignified and composed manner, her attention to her mother, and the affabilty with which she saluted her inferiors, touched my heart yet more. I began too, to fancy, that, limited as were my opportunities of attracting her notice, I was not entirely indifferent to her. For example, on leaving home, she usually crossed to the opposite side of the street; for had she passed close to my windows, she guessed, that, intently occupied as I chose to appear, I could not well raise my eyes from my book; then as she came near my house, there was always something to say, in rather a louder tone, as Take care, mamma; lean heavier on me; do you feel cold?' I then raised my eyes, looked at her, saluted her, and generally encountered the transient glance of my divinity, who, with a blush, lowered her eyes, and returned my salute. The mother, all enveloped in cloaks and hoods, saw nothing. I saw every thing-and surrendered my heart. A slight circumstance augmented my hopes. I had published An Abridgement of Practical Philosophy.' It was an extract from my course of lectures--was successful, and the edition was sold. My bookseller, aware that I had some copies remaining, came to beg one for a customer of his, who was extremely anxious to get it; and he named Mademoiselle Amelia de Belmont. I actually blushed with pleasure; to conceal my embarrasment, I laughingly inquired, what could a girl of her age want with so serious a work? To read it, sir,-doubtless;' replied the bookseller; Mademoiselle Amelia does not resemble the generality of young ladies; she prefers useful to amusing books.' He then mentioned the names of several that he had lately sent to her; and they gave me a high opinion of her taste. From her impatience for your book,' added he, I can answer for it, that it will be perused with great pleasure: more than ten messages have been sent; at last, I promised it for to-morrow, and I beg of you to enable me to keep my word.' I thrilled with joy, as I gave him the volumes, at the idea that Amelia would read and approve of my sentiments, and that she would learn to know me.

6

"October arrived, and with it my fifty vases of rosetrees; for which, of course, they made me pay what they chose; and I was as delighted to count them in my room, as a miser would his sacks of gold. They all looked rather languishing, but then it was because they had not yet reconciled themselves to the new earth. I read all that was ever written on the culture of roses, with much more attention than I had formerly read my old philosopers; and I ended as wise I began. I perceived that this science, like all others, has no fixed rules, and that each vaunts his system, and believes it the best. One of my gardener authors would have the rose-trees, as much as possible in the open air; another recommended their being kept close shut up; one ordered constant watering; another absolutely forbade it. It is thus with the education of man,' said I, closing the volumes in vexation. Always in extremes always for exclusive systems-let us try the medium between these opposite opinions.' I established a good thermometer in

my room; and, according to its indications, I put ther outside the windows, or took them in; you may guess that fifty vases, to which I gave this exercise three or four times a day, according to the variations of the atmosphere, di not leave me much idle time; and this was the occupation of a professor of philosophy! Ah! well might they have taken his chair from him, and sent him back to school; te school, a thousand times more childish than the young s of those pupils to whom I hurried over the customary retine of philosophical lessons; my whole mind was fixed on Amelia and my rose-trees.

"The death of the greater number of my eleves, lowever, soon lightened my labour; more than half of the never struck root. I flung them into the fire: a four part of those that remained, after unfolding some li leaves, stopped there. Several assumed a blackish yell tint, and gave me hope of beautifying; some flourished sur prisingly, but only in leaves; others, to my great joy, ww covered with buds; but in a few days they always got th little yellow circle which the gardeners call the collar, and which is to them a mortal malady-their stalks twistedthey drooped-and finally fell, one after the other, to th earth-not a single bud remaining on my poor trees. Th withered my hopes; and the more care I took of my inva lids-the more I hawked them from window to wind›, the worse they grew. At last, one of them, and but o promised to reward my trouble-thickly covered leaves, it formed a handsome bush, from the middle which sprang out a fine, vigorous branch crowned with si beautiful buds that got no collar-grew, enlarged, and ever discovered, through their calices, a slight rose tint. Ther were still six long weeks before the new year; and, certaisly, four, at least, of my precious buds would be blown by that time. Behold me now recompensed for all my pane hope re-entered my heart, and every moment I looked my beauteous introducer with complacency.

"On the 27th of November, a day which I can never for get, the sun rose in all its brilliance; I thanked Heaves and hastened to place my rose-tree, and such of his panions as yet survived, on a peristyle in the court. have already mentioned that I lodged on the ground floor. I watered them, and went, as usual, to give my philosop cal lecture. I then dined-drank to the health of my rost, and returned to take my station in my window, with quicker throbbing of the heart.

"Amelia's mother had been slightly indisposed; fr eight days she had not left the house, and consequently 1 had not seen my fair one. On the first morning I had served the physician going in; uneasy for her, I contr to cross his way, questioned him, and was comforted. afterwards learned that the old lady had recovered, and to make her appearance abroad on this day at a grand gali given by a Baroness, who lived at the end of the street. was then certain to see Amelia pass by, and eight days privation had enhanced that thought; I am sure Mada de Belmont did not look to this party with as much patience as I did. She was always one of the first; it scarcely struck five, when I heard the bell of her gate. took up a book,-there was I at my post, and presently saw Amelia appear, dazzling with dress and beauty, as gave her arm to her mother; never yet had the brillia of her figure so struck me; this time there was no ocea for her to speak to catch my eyes; they were fixed on but hers were bent down: however, she guessed that I there, for she passed slowly to prolong my happiness, followed her with my gaze, until she entered the hou then only she turned her head for a second; the door shut, and she disappeared, but remained present to my h I could neither close my window, nor cease to look at Baroness's hotel, as if I could see Amelia through the wall I remained there till all objects were fading into obscur the approach of night, and the frostiness of the brought to my recollection that the rose-tree was still on ti peristyle; never had it been so precious to me; I hasten to it; and scarcely was I in the anti-chamber, when I hea a singular noise, like that of an animal browsing, and tim ling its bells. I trembled, I flew, and I had the grief to

a sheep quietly fixed beside my rose-trees, of which it was making its evening repast with no slight avidity.

"I caught up the first thing in my way; it was a heavy tane; I wished to drive away the gluttonous beast; alas! it was too late; he had just bitten off the beautiful branch of buds, he swallowed them one after another; and, in spite of the gloom, I could see, half out of his mouth, the finest of them all, which in a moment was champed like the rest. I was neither ill-tempered nor violent; but at this sight I was no longer master of myself. Without well knowing what I did, I discharged a blow of my cane on the animal, and stretched it at my feet. No sooner did I perceive it motionless, than I repented of having killed a creature unconscious of the mischief it had done; was this worthy of the professor of philosophy, the adorer of the gentle Amelia; But thus to eat up my rose-tree, my only hope to get admittance to her! When I thought on its annihilation, I could not consider myself so culpable. However, the night darkened; I heard the old servant crossing the lower passage, and I called her. Catherine,' said I bring your light; there is mischief here, you left the stable door open, (that of the court was also unclosed,) one of your sheep has been browsing on my rose-trees, and I have punished it."

"She soon came with the lanthorn in her hand. It is got one of our sheep,' said she; I have just come from them, the stable gate is shut, and they are all within. Oh, blessed saints! blessed saints! What do I see !'.. claimed she when near, it is the pet sheep of our neighfour Mademoiselle Amelia de Belmont. Poor Robin! what bad luck brought you here? Oh! how sorry she will I nearly dropt down beside Robin. Of Mademoiselle Anelia said I, în a trembling voice, has she actually a sheep? Oh! good Lord! no, she has none at this moment-but that which lies there with its four legs up in the air; she loved it as herself; see the collar that she worked for it with her own hands.' I bent to look at it. It was of red leather, ornamented with little bells, and she nd embroidered on it in gold thread- Robin belongs to Amelia de Belmont; she loves him, and begs that he may restored to her.'What will she think of the barbarian who killed him in a fit of passion; the vice that she most letests; she is right, it has been fatal to her. Yet if he should be only stunned by the blow: Catherine! run, ask for some æther, or Eau de Vie, or hartshorn,-run, CatheFine, run."

* Catherine set off; I tried to make it open his mouth; my rose-bud was still between its hermetically-sealed teeth; perhaps the collar pressed it; in fact the throat was swelled. I got it off with difficulty, something fell from it at my feet, which I mechanically took up and put into my pocket without looking at it, so much was I absorbed in anxiety for the resuscitation. I rubbed him with all my strength; I grew more and more impatient for the return of CatheTine. She came with a small phial in her hand, calling out in her usual manner, Here, sir, here's the medicine. I hever opened my mouth about it to Mademoiselle Amelia ; 1 pity her enough without that.'

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What is all this, Catherine? where have you seen Mademoiselle Amelia? and what is her affliction, if she does not know of her favourite's death?' Oh, sir, this is à terrible day for the poor young lady. She was at the end of the street searching for a ring which she had lost, and it was no trifle, but the ring that her dead father had got as a present from the Emperor, and worth, they say, more ducats than I have hairs on my head. Her mother lent it to her to-day for the party; she has lost it, she knows neither how nor where, and never missed it till she drew off her glove at supper. And, poor soul! the glove was on again in a minute, for fear it should be seen that the ring was wantlag, and she slipped out to search for it all along the street, bat she has found nothing.'

"It struck me, that the substance that had fallen from the sheep's collar had the form of a ring; could possibly I looked at it: and, judge of my joy, it was Madame de Belmont's ring, and really very beautiful and costly. A secret presentiment whispered to me that this was a better

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means of presentation than the rose-tree. I pressed the precious ring to my heart, and to my lips; assured myself that the sheep was really dead; and, leaving him stretched near the devastated rose-trees, I ran into the street, dismissed those who were seeking in vain, and stationed myself at my door to await the return of my neighbours. I saw from a distance the flambeaux that preceded them, quickly distinguished their voices, and comprehended by them that Amelia had confessed her misfortune. The mother scolded bitterly; the daughter wept, and said, Perhaps it may be found.' Oh, yes, perhaps,' replied the mother with irritation, it is too rich a prize to him who finds it; the Emperor gave it to your deceased father on the field when he saved his life; he set more value on it than on all that he possessed besides, and now you have thus flung it away; but the fault is mine for having trusted you with it. For some time back you have seemed quite bewildered.' I heard all this as I followed at some paces behind them; they reached home, and I had the cruelty to prolong, for some moments more, Amelia's mortification. I intended that the treasure should procure me the entrée of their dwelling, and I waited till they had got up stairs. I then had myself announced as the bearer of good news; I was introduced, and respectfully presented the ring to Madame de Belmont; and how delighted seemed Amelia! and how beautifully she brightened in her joy, not alone that the ring was found, but that I was the finder. She cast herself on her mother's bosom, and turning on me her eyes, humid with tears, though beaming with pleasure, she clasped her hands, exclaiming, Oh, sir, what obligation, what gratitude do we not owe to you!"

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"Ah Mademoiselle!' returned 1, you know not to whom you address the term gratitude.' To one who has conferred on me a great pleasure,' said she. To one who has caused you a serious pain, to the killer of Robin.' "You, sir?--I cannot credit it-why should you do so? you are not cruel.'

"No, but I am so unfortunate. It was in opening his collar, which I have also brought to you, that your ring fell on the ground-you promised a great recompense to him who should find it. I dare to solicit that recompense; grant me my pardon for Robin's death."

"And I, sir, I thank you for it,' exclaimed the mother; I never could endure that animal; it took up Amelia's entire time, and wearied me out of all patience with its bleating; if you had not killed it, Heaven knows where it might have carried my diamond. But how did it get entangled in the collar? Amelia, pray explain all this.' "Amelia's heart was agitated; she was as much grieved that it was I who had killed Robin, as that he was deadPoor Robin,' said she, drying a tear, he was rather too fond of running out; before leaving home I had put on his collar, that he might not be lost-he had always been brought back to me. The ring must have slipped under his collar. I hastily drew on my glove, and never missed it till I was at supper.'

"What good luck it was that he went straight to this gentleman's,' observed the mother.

"Yes-for you, said Amelia; he was cruelly receivedwas it such a crime, sir, to enter your door?'

"It was night," I replied; I could not distinguish the collar, and I learned, when too late, that the animal belonged to you.',

"Thank Heaven, then, you did not know it!' cried the mother, or where would have been my ring?

"It is necessary at least,' said Amelia, with emotion, that I should learn how my favourite could have so cruelly chagrined you.'

"Oh, Mademoiselle, he had devoured my hope, my hope, my happiness, a superb rose-tree about to blow, that I had been long watching, and intended to present-to-to -a person on New Year's Day.' Amelia smiled, blushed, extended her lovely hand towards me, and murmuredAll is pardoned.' If it had eaten up a rose-tree about to blow,' cried out Madame de Belmont, it deserved a thousand deaths. I would give twenty sheep for a rose-tree in blow.' And I am much mistaken,' said Amelia, with the

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