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lessly followed Amy whenever Herbert ap- from the avowal that at times my courage proached her; and a chill sensation crept failed: there were moments when the effort through me as I saw him pay her those of concealment seemed too great for me, nameless attentions which bespeak the ex- when I longed to lay my burden down at istence of love. Amy's manner of receiving their feet and die. My hope in life, or them proved to me how well she appreciat-aught it could bring me, was dead. Amy ed Herbert's noble qualities of mind and no longer required me; she had found in heart; I saw that they already loved, and Herbert a friend and guide whose love was my reason told me they were worthy of each more to her than mine; and though she other. Suddenly the truth was revealed; would indignantly have spurned the idea, I discovered in the same moment that I too yet I felt that my work was done. I have loved, and that he whose priceless heart I lived to see that this was but a morbid, would have died to win, already loved ano- selfish feeling. The work of life to one ther that other, my own sister Amy. In earnestly resolved to do his duty can never the stillness of the night did my soul vent end; and at this moment while I write, its bitter anguish the first wild burst of though age has dimmed my sight, and left grief had subsided, the tumult of feelings me helpless and alone as far as the sevetoo fearful to be dwelt on had been appeas-rance of earthly ties can leave us so, yet do ed, and my father's voice again, in the deep I wait in patient hope of still further usesilence of that midnight hour, sounded in fulness to my fellow-creatures. God spares my ears, "Live for your sister; study her the withered tree with wise design; let us happiness before your own." Alas! alas! not mar it by our selfish murmurings. the moment was come in which I could only insure her happiness by the sacrifice of my dearest earthly hopes. "Yes, father!" I exclaimed, "with God's help I will redeem my pledge ;" and falling on my knees, I poured forth my soul in prayer and supplication for wisdom and strength to fulfil the arduous task imposed upon me.

In a few months Amy and Herbert were betrothed. From the moment in which I first became aware of their mutual attachment, I never wished it otherwise. I labored to promote their happiness; I listened to the outpourings of these two hearts devoted to each other; I strove to awaken in Amy's sanguine nature a due sense of the cares and responsibilities she was taking upon herself; taught her to per

beneath the reserve of Herbert's nature; tutored my mind once more to listen to her praises from his lips without a shudder; and learned, after many struggles, to live for them alone.

With renewed powers I now began to survey the position I held. One comfort I had that no one ever suspected the love Iceive the finer shades of beauty which lay had cherished in secret: it must be my first object so to control my feelings, that none might ever guess the sacrifice I must make. I trembled to think of the watchfulness it would require to veil my heart's secret from Amy-from her who had ever read my soul, At length the day arrived on which I and from whom no thought had been con- was to give up all claim to Amy, and resign cealed. I foresaw that I should become the her to a husband's care. The habit of selfconfidante of both parties, and I nerved my-command had, by hourly practice, become self for the task. If I could once see them so strong, that I did not flinch even at this happily united, I thought I should then most trying time., The wedding was to have rest; but how to meet the suffering take place from the house of our beloved which lay between this time and that which friend Mrs. Wentworth, who in this, as in would see the sacrifice accomplished! all former events of our lives, acted a moAmidst such reflections I passed the night; ther's part to us. The morning of the the morning with its cold grey light dawned important day dawned brightly. I assisted in the east; the time for action was ap-my beautiful Amy to array herself in her proaching. I could not feign illness, for simple bridal attire, and led her down to what illness would have kept my faithful her expecting friends. My heart was proud Amy from my side? and it was her search-of my lovely sister; and happy in her joy, ing glance I now shrank from encountering. I forgot myself. I placed her hand in HerSweet, innocent, guileless Amy! Happy bert's, and with a firm voice said, "Herin the first consciousness of being loved, bert, I give to your charge my dearest she was less alive to any change in me than earthly treasure; love and cherish her, as she would otherwise have been; and thus II have done." The ceremony was performwas spared many a pang. I do not shrinked by our kind friend Mr. Wentworth, and

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we returned to the parsonage to breakfast. I separate the hearts that truly love. There While I could look on Amy's happy beam- is a world beyond the tomb where my being face, it was easy to bear up; but the loved ones wait for me; there I shall rejoin time of separation came. I saw them de- the spirits that are gone before mepart, and watched the carriage that bore parents, sister, brothers, adopted children them away with apparent calmness. When of my love, friends-I shall see you all! it was out of sight, I hurried to my own And now, while I linger here, the thought room; but ere I reached the door, fell that the secret of my heart was faithfully heavily to the ground. kept, my pledge to my father redeemed, and Amy's happiness secured, will gladden my few remaining days. Let those who would be happy themselves, learn that the only means of attaining their end is to devote themselves heart and soul, without the smallest reservation for the idol self, to the welfare and happiness of others.

Months passed, and still Mrs. Wentworth devised new excuses for keeping me near her. But my pupils had waited for me: Sir William and Lady Monkton, with a kindness unparalleled, refused to fill up my place; and at length I returned to their hospitable house, and resumed my former duties. Herbert and Amy had pleaded eloquently that I should live with them; but this I firmly, though gently resisted. It was a source of heartfelt joy to think of them, to visit them occasionally; but hourly to have witnessed their domestic happiness, would as yet have been a martyrdom. I continued to live for many years at Monkstown, until the marriage of my two pupils left me no pretext for a longer residence there. Lady Monkton's sufferings had ended in a calm and peaceful death soon after my return from Amy's wedding; and though Sir William would have placed me at the head of his house, and given me the honorable title of his wife, my heart too decidedly rejected the thought of marriage to allow me to hesitate for a moment. I declined his proposal, but retained his friendship.

WALKER'S EFFLUVIA TRAP.-An apparatus, or, as it is called, a trap, has been registered by Mr. J. Walker, of 48, Shoe-lane, for preventing the effluvia of drains from rising and infecting the air. The inthe Society of Arts, and a model of it can be examined at his residence. It is intended to be placed over gratings, and its advantages are that its action cannot be affected by stones or rubbish passing through the grating; that it can scarcely be put out of repair; that it cannot be stopped by ice, and that it will prevent the effluvia from the drain as well as from the sewer. There is a chamber or receptacle for water, and chains or links, &c., by which the perit of its contents and restore it to its proper position son to whose managemenl it is intrusted, can empty for acting as required. Now that the health of towns has become so interesting a subject for inquiry, it will be of consequence to investigate the adoption. It is simple in its construction, and apclaims of this invention and similar ones for public

ventor obtained a silver medal for his invention from

pears very efficacious.

gone over her husband and killed him. This dream she had told him, and seemed to feel that it would

Amy had four lovely children; and conscious of my own strength, I now gladly dent, with which a very curious circumstance is FATAL FULFILMENT OF A DREAM.--A fatal acciconsented to become the inmate of their connected, occurred near Frome on Thursday last. home. Years had changed my feelings; It appears that the wife of a man named Gibbs, Herbert was to me no more than the hus-carter to Mr. Parrett, of Downhead, had dreamed band of my beloved Amy-my own kind that, while engaged in his work, the wagon had brother. Their children became my own in heart; I loved them, and devoted my-be fulfilled, and they were both very low-spirited in self to their education with an energy I had thought lost to me for ever. People often wondered why Miss Jerningham never married, and prophesied that I should yet renounce my self-imposed duties as maiden aunt; but time rolled on, and found me at my post, still zealously and happily employed.

consequence. Having to go to Bath, the wife persuaded her husband to take their eldest daughter with him for the sake of company, which he did. Nothing particular occurred during the journey thither, and they had returned as far as Amperdown, at about seven o'clock in the evening, when the horses started off, and Gibbs attempted to jump out to stop them, but his smock frock-caught be hind, and in liberating himself he pitched head foremost, and, the wheels passing over him, caused a melancholy and literal fulfilment of the wife's dream. The poor fellow lived a few hours after the accident, but did not speak. The misfortune, sad as it was, did not end here. The daughter, seeing her father fall, jumped out to his assistance, but fell, and the wheels passing over her, she was killed on the spot. A widow and eight young children are thus left to the care of a merciful Providence.-Bath

God has lengthened my days beyond the usual span allotted to man. I have survived all my race; I have wept over the graves of the young and the old, as they one by one fell from my side. Some were taken in full maturity; others dropped like blossoms from the tree. But death cannot | Chronicle.

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From Chambers's Journal.
GROWING OLD TOGETHER.

You have promised that through life
We shall journey heart-united,
Husband fond, and faithful wife,

And I trust the vow thus plighted:
Hand in hand, and side by side,

Through life's storms and sunny weather,
We will our one fortune bide,
And at last grow old together.

What if Time's unsparing wing
Of some pleasures has bereft us?
Let us not by murmuring

Lose the many that are left us.
What though youth and bloom depart,
Swift as birds of lightest feather?
Why repine with feeble heart?

Shall we not grow old together?

Few indeed have been our years,

Yet enough our hearts to bind, love; And to show how many tears

In life's brightest cup we find, love! Since in our united youth,

We twain sported on the heather, Dearest! it is meet, in truth,

That we should grow old together!

From Howitt's Journal.

SONNET.

BY ANNE C. LYNCH, OF NEW YORK.

OH thou who once on earth, beneath the weight
Of our mortality didst live and move,
The incarnation of profoundest love;
Who on the Cross that love didst consummate,
Whose deep and ample fulness could embrace
The poorest, meanest of our fallen race,
How shall we e'er that boundless debt repay?
By long loud prayers in gorgeous temples said?
By rich oblations on thine altars laid?
Ah no! not thus thou didst appoint the way;
When thou wast bowed our human woe beneath,
Then as a legacy thou didst bequeath
Earth's sorrowing children to our ministry;
And as we do to them, we do to thee.

From Sharpe's Magazine.

THE DEAF GIRL.

ANNE A. FREMONT.

He speaks to them God's word, For all are fix'd in mute attention now,

And not a lip is stirr'd,

But joy sits smiling on each gentle brow,
And o'er each cheek has stol'n a brighter hue-
Oh! that I could but hear those glad words too.

A mournful fate is mine;

To live in this fair world, to see, to feel
How all things are divine-

A deathless and pervading spirit steals
Throughout all Nature-a deep soul, a voice-
But I can never hear earth's things rejoice.

And when young children bring
Bright buds and flowers from the sunny dell,
Where the cool fountains spring,

And of their wand'rings in the green woods tell,
I try upon their brow each word to trace-
I can but know them by the speaking face.
I bow my head down low,
E'en to the beautiful and quiv'ring lip,
With a vain hope: ah, no!

The rock hears not the sunny waters drip.
I turn away heart-sick with grief to sigh-
Unheard by me the joyful melody.

My mother bends to speak,

I see her moving lip, I feel her breath

Come warm against my cheek

How yearns my soul, but all is still as death;
With moist uplifted eye she turns away-
Alas! I cannot even hear her pray.

from Hogg's Weekly Instructor.

LOOK AT THE BRIGHT SIDE.

Look at the bright side! The sun's golden rays All nature illumines and the heart of man cheer

eth;

Why wilt thou turn so perversely to gaze

On that dark cloud which now in the distance appeareth?

Look at the bright side! Recount all thy joys; Speak of the mercies which richly surround thee; Muse not for ever on that which annoys;

Shut not thine eyes to the beauties around thee. Look at the bright side! Mankind, it is true,

Have their failings, nor should they be spoken of lightly;

But why on their faults concentrate thy view, Forgetting their virtues which shine forth so brightly?

Look at the bright side! And it shall impart Sweet peace and contentment, and grateful emotion,

Reflecting its own brilliant lines on thy heart,

As the sun-beams that mirror themselves in the ocean.

Look at the bright side!-nor yield to despair :

If some friends forsake, yet others still love thee; And when the world seems mournful colors to wear, Oh, look from the dark earth to heaven above thee.

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From Sharpe's Magazine.

THE OLD CLERK'S SOLILOQUY.

W. BRAILSFORD.

AMEN," said the clerk, as he closed his book, With a heavy sigh and groan,

"In Nature's sweet pages I'll try to look

For feelings like my own.

The mavis sings to his young on the bough,
The linnet to its gentle mate I trow,
But I seem alone.

"Ah! dear my child, in the merry greenwood Thy form was fair to see;

Full many a prayer in its solitude
Have I offered up for thee.

Full many a prayer, for thou wert so young,
Such a halo of beauty o'er thee hung-
Yet, 'tis all-all vanity!

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"Sweet music have these aged oaks, sweet lays Are filling earth and air;

Sweet meetings in these pleasant leafy ways,
Sweet thoughts for love to share.
Ah! all too beautiful, ye flowers that seem
As mocking to my sense as some new dream
That wakes me to my care.

"Unclasp, old book, I may not see those trees; I may not list again

The rich-toned melodies that swell the breeze,
For aye it gives me pain.
Still, all is vanity, the Preacher saith,
Even that gentle life, that saint-like death,-
The grave where she is lain."

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