papers as he wrote them; and Delphine, as she knelt on the ground bathing his face, and head, and hands, with vinegar, saw him gradually revive. But to remain in that saloon would be instant death to him, and with much difficulty Delphine removed him to the antechamber, the doors of which "I canwere very near the place where he was then lying.

not go farther," said he, feebly, as she closed the door upon the horrid room where she had found him; and when Delphine looked in his face, she saw that he could not indeed be moved farther. A sudden change had taken place within the last minute. "He does not even know me," said she, as he looked up in her face, and smiled vacantly. He closed his eyes, and remained for some minutes in a heavy sleep. He awoke, and with difficulty raising his hand, he drew forth from his bosom a small golden crucifix,—he kissed it fervently. The little nosegay of lavender and vervain had fallen to the ground. He fixed his eyes upon the withered flowers, and said, feebly, "Give it me-let me smell it, she said it might refresh me. Tell her tell my sweet sister, that my heart was refreshed even at this awful hour, when I thought of Who-who are you?" he cried, lifting up his head; but ere he could look at her again, his memory was gone. He now fell into a gentle doze, and Delphine felt a calmness steal over her as she hung gazing upon his still handsome but altered countenance; altered it was indeed,-the last few hours had done the work of years. He spoke once as he slept, and Delphine thought she heard the words, "happy, how happy." He awoke, repeating them; but he never spoke again.

The plague ceased soon after the death of Guyon: he had discovered and fully explained the mysterious character of the disease; and the efforts of the medical men were blessed with complete success.

TO A MISER.

Is there a die so grossly black,
And amply adequate,

To paint the wretched miser's soul

In its disgraceful state?

Has language-words so harsh that can
His guilt vociferate?

A renegade to sympathy!
A sordid slave to vice!
A cypher to society!

A dread to starving mice!
A despot vile in his retreat!
A potentate of ice!

His haggard eyes protect his wealth,
With piercing looks of fear,
The slightest sound of air that moves
Affrights his watchful ear;

An emblem meet of holy writ,

"He flies when no one's near."

Mean to himself, and basely mean
To every one beside,

His iron chest, with hundred locks,
Is his detested pride;

The starving wretch may sue in vain
To him for help denied.

In a dark cave beneath the earth,
He wastes his life away,
In counting o'er his ill-got wealth,
With scarcely sleep's delay;

He knows no friends, himself unknown,
He cares not, nor do they.

Open your inward eyes, thou fool,
With speed pursue the way,
Where riches uncorrupt do lie
In everlasting day,

For death is hov'ring at your heels,
Whispering your decay.

Let charity, and pity mild,

From your stern breast have birth, And let your coffers' groaning sides Emit their real worth;

For know, t'attain at heav'nly wealth, You must be poor on earth.

He heeds not, no,-well be it so,
He'll find no angel near

To help, when comes his dreaded foe
To finish his career.

The destinies proclaim with woe

His iron chest a bier.

.THEY ARE NOW IN HEAVEN.

BY REGINALD AUGUSTINE.

E. R. G.

Oh, they are now in heaven-the lips that laugh'd in holy

light,

The ringlets pure as vernal flow'rs, the eyes that witch'd our

sight.

The music of their streams is hush'd, their summer trees are

riven,

But a hope hath sanctified their graves-oh, they are now in heaven!

Oh, they are now in heaven-but why should we thus lonely

be,

When golden clouds are hung like isles amid a crystal sea, When butterflies, on rainbow wings, in song and sunshine

roam

Why are their hearts thus far away from our forsaken home?

Our sister spoke of other lands, more beauteous than we

tread;

Where spirit lyres, with syren tone, their melody shall shed; And sweeter lips than childhood knew, shall unto us be given !

Oh for the pinions of the dove, to find that glorious heaven!

We'll welcome the celestial hour, when death shall dim our

hair,

And make our widow'd hearts unite with our lov'd sisters there :

And when our hearths are quench'd and lone-our tombs by tempests riven,

The wanderer shall breathe o'er our dust-" Oh, they are now in heaven!"

FIRE-SIDE PLEASURES,

THROUGH THE PERIOD OF A DECEMBER DAY.

The first sensations of which you are conscious, on awaking, is, that it is a bitter cold morning ;" and with an anxious look at the frosted panes, and a glance at the empty grate, you flatter yourself, that by dressing very expeditiously indeed, you may yet indulge, for another half-hour, in the enjoyment of your comfortable dormitory! but time flies quickly with the happy; and when you are really risen, you find that a full hour of the day is passed, which no after exertion can absolutely recover. At length, quite dressed, and half frozen, you descend to the breakfast parlour, and with all the impatience of long-repressed desire, rush, shivering and open-handed, to the bright, sparkling, happy-looking fire-side. The first greeting of this loved object is not, however, quite so kind as might be wished; for, in a few moments, you begin to feel the effects of the sudden transition, in a tingling sensation about the extremities of your swelling fingers, till, as if by a torpedo shock, you find your power over them gone; while the exquisite pain, conquering all ideas of dignity, sends you dangling them, and dancing in agony round the room.

The meal, however, is at last got through, and you adjourn to the library; but the wind is due east, and, owing to an architectural obstacle, which no art or expense can remove, the smoke, at such seasons, always returns into the apartment with ten-fold vigor. By leaving the door or windows open, and sitting, to prevent absolute suffocation, with a handker chief to the mouth and nostrils, you find yourself in a delightful disposition to rove into the regions of fancy or fiction; but suddenly, a gust of soot, enveloping the room in Stygian darkness, drives you from this blissful abode, to seek for comfort in a purer sphere.

But these are minor evils; it is at the dinner party-that rallying-point and brilliant focus of life-it is here only, that all the comforts of a fire-side are to be felt without alloy; and you, therefore, console yourself with anticipating, that the entertainment at your friend B's will amply compensate for the morning's little troubles. We pass over the routine of compliments usual on the assembling of such parties; the

1

several observations on the barometer, thermometer, and other accurate and useful instruments, from the comparison of whose appearances, it is at length about to be inferred, that it is really colder to-day than it was yesterday; but, owing to the tenacity of our sceptical gentlemen, dinner is announced before the point is fully settled; and you follow to the dining parlour. Here the servant has been particularly instructed to make the room comfortable; and your fellowguests, congratulating each other on being so well defended from the weather, pass along to their seats, exchanging reciprocal compliments. You prepare to follow the example, but are arrested by the soft voice of your fair hostess, who, observing, with a smile of considerable attention, "she knows Mr. A is fond of the fire," points to a chair, the back of which is just eighteen inches from the red hot bars. You eye the glowing station, which, to your alarmed imagination, appears scarcely ten degrees cooler than the mouth of a glass maker's furnace, and intimate your wish to decline; but your disinclination is imputed to modesty, your reluctance to amiable self-denial; till, becoming conscious the negociation is extending beyond the bound politeness allows, you yield to the intended kindness, and make your way to the seat of sacrifice, with Roman resolution. For the first few minutes, the heat, however, is not disagreeable, nay, you even begin to chuckle with secret satisfaction, upon noticing at the farther end of the room some incipient tints of red, blue, indigo, &c. already overspreading, in prismatic regularity, the nasal feature of a pale-looking gentleman, seated nearest the door; but scarcely are the covers removed, when a general suffusion of the whole frame, approaching to suffocation, violent throbbing of the temples, and a feeling down the back, as if the spinal marrow were really beginning to dissolve, at once overwhelms you; and all your thoughts are henceforth devoted to the possibility of escape. At length, after sundry rueful looks over your shoulder, to mark the progress of the enemy, the cause of your distress is noticed; and the only screen being already engrossed by a rheumatic dowager, the servant accommodates you, by bringing from the hall, and spreading over the back of your chair, a nice damp great coat. Here, sweltering in vapours, that rise on every side, you sit in foreboding apprehension, cursing your own affability, the kind considera