At the end of one of the walks, fixed against the wall, was a Jong stick with a narrow strip of white linen attached to the up, per end of it. A young female of prepossessing appearance was walking up and down before it, and every time she passed, she gave an anxious look at the little vane as it flattered in the wind, My conductress, seeing that I looked for an explanation, related to me the history, brief as melancholy, of the young person, She had been woord and won by a lieutenant of a man-of-war, But the match was disapproved of by her relatives, who used their utmost endeavours to break it off. When every effort failed to swerve her from her determination, the parents' consent was reluc tantly given. At the important period the ship in which he was fated, was ordered off to a foreign station, at a week's notice, and being unable to procure his discharge he was compelled to defer the marriage until his return. At the end of three years news caine of his arrival in the chamel, and the faithful, happy girl counted the hours as they flew. But her joy was soon damped; strong easterly winds kept the ship troi ber destination, and after beating about for many days she was driven upon the Irish coast, in a heavy gale, and every soul on board perished. The fatal news was concealed from the poor girl as long as possible; when it was told the shock proved too great for her anxious and sensitive mind, and Bedlam was the consequence. She however lived on in a comparitively happy state, still holding the belief that her lover was beating about the mouth of the channel, and hee, ng an unceasing watch upon her tiny weathercock to note any change in the wind.

In another corner of the garden, under the shade of a fine lavender tree, was seated a female in a loose white robe, Her long auburn hair was hanging carelessly round her with a few flowers woven amongst it. On one side of her was a low mound of earth, besprinkled with daisies, and surmounted by a small wooden cross. The young creature was too deeply engaged gazing at the rude cross and the wild flowers, to notice our approach, and when, after standing a while by her side, she did perceive us, it was with a long and vacant stare, as though in a trance.-She had married early and well, and lived for a year or two in afflu ent happiness. Of a highly excitable and sensitive disposition, her passions, whether of good or of evil, carried her along far from the paths of reason, and brooked not control. In the present instance the full tide of her feverish, womanly affections swept her heart in its mighty course, towards one only object, her husband. In him, and on him her cherished all of happiness was placed, to the exclusion of every other object, every other duty. He was her mind's duty, her heart's idol; and while she lived and loved in his presence alone, she seemed to wish to think of nought else, whether of this world or the next. Her deep passion grew deeper with ume, and made her neglect first her friends, then her only child, and lastly her God. The voice of religion was drowned in the ravings of an inordinate affection. But a lear

fal punishment was at hand. Her child sickened and died. She headed it not, and clung the closer to her husband. At last he was seized with fever and it was only then that some faint idea of her real condition gleamed upon her. Still her whole mind was absorbed in him alone. It is true she prayed for his recovery, but in a wild and fearfel manner, without faith, and therefore without hope. He died, and with him perished her reason. She was very inoffensive in her madness which took rather a childish turn. Her chief delight appeared to be sitting and watching the flowers that grew upon the little mound which she called his grave, whilst she would at broken intervals chant some soft love-ditty which he had been fond of in happy, bye-gone days. There were times, however, wlien reason partly returned, and she would then sit, weeping and praying for hours together. She was in such a mood when we visited her, and upon my guide asking what she was about she burst into tears and pointed to the flowers and the cross. Then suddenly drying her eves she took my hand in hers and asked had I ever loved. "Mind" she added, "should you ever have a young and · beautiful wife, let her not carry away your senses, lest you should in leaving all for her, lose all in her. I loved thus once:-but I'm punished for it, and have now only this little cross and these few daisies to look at and love. I sometimes look at the pretty flowers so long that I fancy I see his features in them: and then they will change, and the flowers stare and grin at me like fiends and devils-so horribly-as if in mockery. And vet I gaze on, hoping once more to see his beautiful face. And then at night, while I am asleep and dreaming, little angels come and weep over the grave to frighten away the devils, and in the morning I find their tears glittering like pearls and diamonds, in the daisies, cups, and then I can't help crying, and my tears are mixed with theirs."

Leaving the poor widow we passed several groups of females amusing themselves in a variety of ways, and of whose mournful histories my conductress gave me some particulars One rather elderly lady, was of french extraction and had been bereft of reason on hearing of her parents' death by the guillotine. Another, almost a child, had become idiotic through a fright received from some joke played upon her by her school-fellows. Several bad lost their reason during violent fevers, and there were others who had been seized with a melancholy madness from disappointed love.

In a sequestered nook of the garden where there was not a flower or a shrub to be seen, and where even the trees had an unhealthy look from the poorness of the soil, sat a young girl of rather interesting appearance, whose features bore marks of deep and settled melancholy. Her hands were folded across her bosom, and her eyes were rivetted upon the ground. We stood by her side for some minutes, but finding ourselves unnoticed, passed on. Born of good family, she had been brought up in the lap of luxury and guity, and had received a first-rate education, of which how ever, as is but too frequently the case, religion formed no portion.

And when at an early age she lost both her parents, she found herself without comfort and consolation, in the charge of guardians as austere and bigoted as her parents had been frivolous and irreligious. Rigorous followers of Calvin, they viewed with pious horror the state of their ward's mind, and from the day she came into their house, bowed down as the young thing was by her recent sorrows, she was assailed by long and gloomy orations. They taught her that religion was a fearful, annihilatory creed, that the Deity was a revengeful and alnost relentless being, and that Christ was the Redeemer of a favored few selected from all eternity. Day after day were these dark tenets instilled into her tender, unsuspecting heart: it is not to be wondered at that the girl was seized with a spiritual dread, and that her state of excitement from sorrow and fear, threw her into a fever. For weeks the poor child raved of a dark eternity, of fearful spirits and of never-ending torments: no hope lit up her pale hectic features,―no smile played upon her parched lips, and she seemed sinking rapidly into her grave. But it was not so. A strong constitution carried her through all her bodily sufferings, and at length the lever left her, though her mind's health was gone past recovery. A victim to bigotry, returning health tound her a maniae of the worst, because most incurable, description, silent and gloomy. She conversed with no one, took no exercise and seemed absorbed in the contemplation of some terrible thing. Whilst those around her sported and laughed, forgetting their madness, she was buried deep in the horrors of her condition, without one glimmering of light to cheer the darkness within. Surely the murderers of the mind bave as tearful a thing to answer for, as the slayers of the body.

Returning towards the building by another way, my friend pointed out to nie a patient sitting on the edge of a little plot of grass, and amusing herself by heaping up the round pebbles on the path. She was more than ordinarily pretty, and there was a bright flash in her large, dark eye, and a wildness in her manner which indicated a gifted and sensitive mind. It was one of those but too common tales of sorrow. She added another to the long list of the victims of man's deceit and vileness. Possessed of a warm heart, she had in her early days given her affections to one who was utterly unworthy of them. When her disgrace was known, ahhongh the youngest and favorite child, her proud parents shut their hearts and their doors against her. They saw only her fault, and heeded not the frailty of their common nature. The family was respectable, and they thought it more consistent with their standing that she should wander through the streets, a houseless, friendless fugitive, than defile their hearth with her presence. Scorned and shunned by friends, as an unclean thing, the poor girl took shelter beneath the roof of an old servant of the family. Undaunted by her helpless condition, and determined not to be a barthen to her humble friend, she sought, when well, employment as a daily teacher of music and drawing. It was a cold and cheerJess task; almost trodden under foot by those who bought her

services for a few shillings a month: living on the coarsest fare, and clad in the most humble manner, she repined not, but only thought of how much bread she had earned, of how much more toil she would endure for independance, and of what the future had in store for her. Her's was truly a life of pain and penance, and oh! if sufferings and privations cheerfully and meekly endured, ever brought down forgiving smiles from Heaven, surely her humble couch must have been watched over by angels of love and pity! But if spirits of peace wept over her sorrows and repentance, man, pharisaical, heartiess man, had not one cold tear for ber. Her relatives saw her strength fail and her health decline, but there was no shadow of relenting. Vice forsooth, must not be encouraged, and while her known deceiver was received into the best circles, she, the woman and the weak victim, was spat upon and loathed as a vile creature.

She had sisters, young and beautiful as herself; sisters that should have wiped away her tears, bent over her sorrowful couch and smiled away a part, at least, of her woe. But they were not near her. Oh, no, they must not be so much as seen with her, or their charac ters would be lost for ever. She had brothers too, young men that passed well with the world. One went regularly to church, and as he knelt devoutly on bis velvet cushion, lifted up his eyes, and thanked his God that he was not 80 vile as his sister; the other, once a rone, thought as little of her, for the subject reminded him too strongly of his own gay life; her name was a repro ich to him. Happily for her, we may say, privations and sorrows proved too much for her, and after a lingering illness she was transferred from Saint George's to Bethlehem Hospital,

(To be continued.)

K9

Thou who hadst nothing in thy bright career
Equal to thy good fortune, save the day
Of thine adversity, thou didst appear

A god-like man, and lo, the mountains they
Did bow their heads to thee, and made a way
Of triumph for thy footsteps. At thy word,
Thy simple wish, the elements obey,

The rain doth cease, the wind no more is heard,
And all goes fair for thee, thy fêtes were never defer'd.*

3

The sun announced thee on it's radiant car,

And Europe feared thee while her sous admired,
One glance from thee, one wish which none could mar,
Went shaking though the world, it's centre fired,
Where thy chaotic breath 'ere it expired,
Belched forth its iron laws. Thine image too,

Mocked the rich spoils of monarchs, and attired
In them while borne up by thy warrior crew,

With thy wild exploits thou didst make Heaven ring anew.

4

Men of all sects, for they were brothers born,

Upon their rival altars hit a flame,

And jomed their prayers for thee at night and morn.
Preserve," said they "the conqueror to whose name
"Thaber is linked for ever, and who came

"A hero from the Tiber's sunny shore."

And to thy glory be it, to thy fame,

They added this, "O!God thy blessings pour "On him who rules a people free for evermore.'

* This is in allusion to the singularly fine weather which always attended his fete days and festivals, even in the midst of the winter months.-ED. C. M.