CHAPTER V.- WHO MR LASSAR WAS.

'Pardon my troubling you, Mrs Morey. I just wished to have your opinion respecting my jewelry. Which shall I wear, the topaz or these emeralds set in pearls?' Danvers.

The emeralds and pearls would be my choice. beautiful.'

said Mrs.

They are

Mr Danvers insisted that I should have a set of diamonds but I thought them too extravagant. He said so much that I was obliged to take this ring. Do you not think the stone a rich one?'

6

Very. Yes, it is a real diamond, and elegantly set.'

'I am glad it suits your taste, because Mr Danvers thinks so highly of your judgment. He says that when you wore ornaments they were always superb. I should think you would sometimes wear them now.'

'I sold my ornaments during my husband's long illness,' said Mrs Morey, in a quiet tone.

'Dear me I forgot. Well, you are so good that you do not need such flimsy things. But my husband is never happy unless I make a show. And really, this dinner party is a formidable affair; and then we must attend the Soirié at Mrs A.'s. It is too much. I am half inclined not to go this evening; you must know I have a penchant to learn who Mr Lassar is; and this evening he promised his history, or perhaps he told it you this morning?"

Mrs Morey had so long and strictly governed her own feelings, that neither the evident intention of mortifying and vexing her, displayed by Mrs Danvers, while displaying her jewelry, nor the last ill-bred remark, had any effect on her mild face, except that of raising a half smile.

'Well,' continued Mrs Danvers, who is he?'

'He has not yet told me; I expect that pleasure this evening.'

'It will be a pleasure. Why, he must be some nobleman. And he cannot be an exile, for they are always poor. And you know he has always dressed like a lord; and then his rooms are so richly furnished. He must be either a Baron or a Bandit, as I often tell my husband; and so fond as he is of your children, I should have thought you would have found out who he was six months ago. How I wish I knew!'

'I have never felt any solicitude on the subject. He came highly recommended; he has ever sustained the character given him; and more he has been a friend as well as a boarder.'

-

'Do you know he is soon going away.'

- 'I had no thought of the kind. When?
'I was told to-day-it is a great secret
that he had purchased that splendid house in
door to Mrs A.'s.'

'Is he intending to occupy it?'
'I guess so-though perhaps not.

it for his sister

him name her?'

Where?' but I was told street, next

He said he purchased but who can she be? Have you ever heard

'No-I thought he had no relations.'

'I presume he has not. It was only a ruse - and he will live there himself. Mrs A. sent him a card, for her party she is dying to be acquainted with him; but it seems he does not intend to go. Ah, you and Louisa are the magnets for him. I shouldn't wonder if he was intending to propose for Louisa this evening, and so as a preparatory, will tell you who he is. How I wish I knew!'

In the parlor of the Moreys, though it was only half-past nine, there reigned the hush of midnight. The tea-things had long been removed. The little boys, Richard and Edward, had had their games, and sports, in which Mr Lassar had participated with all the glee of a child; Louisa had sung and played her father's favorite songs, and, accompanied by Mr Lassar's flute, performed the plaintive airs her mother loved best; the little boys had retired, the piano was shut; and gathered closely around the centre table, the remaining members of the family group were waiting in the hush of mute attention, the expected history of Mr Lassar. Hark! ring! ring!bustle, bustle. Who can it be? Who but Mrs and Mr Danvers.

'You see we are returned to spend the evening with you, My dear Mrs Morey,' said the lady, as she uncloaked, unbonneted, and threw herself languidly on the sofa. 'I told Mr Danvers that one party at a time was as much as my nerves would bear. Don't let us interrupt you, Mr Lassar. I assure you we shall esteem it the greatest of favors to hear your communication. Mrs Morey could not feel more interested in the events of your life than I do.'

'The events of my life, madam,' said Mr L. have been so varied that a long story might be told; but to gratify you, I will come to the result, at once. -Let me just run over the index. — At_twenty, I was, by my father's death and the insolvency of his estate, thrown on the world-went to India, to seek my fortune after many hardships, sufferings, and struggles, became interpreter and factor to a Persian merchant -and finally at his death succeeded to his business and property.'

'But your sister;' said Mrs Danvers eagerly. 'All in good time. Mrs Morey, had you ever a brother in India'? His voice trembled.

Yes; Edward Edward Erskine.

of him?'

Edward Erskine. What do you know

'Isabel, dear Isabel - I am Edward Erskine!'

They will cut Mrs A. that is certain,' said Mrs Danvers to her husband.

"They'll cut us, too, my dear.'

'But I am sure I have always esteemed Mrs Morey — and how could I know she was Mr Lassar's sister?'

'True, how could you know she would ever be able to give another party? Well, money is much more fashionable than merit they will now have friends enough.'

And they will live in that splendid house, and Miss Lamson is to reside with them. How strangely things happen! It has been a happy New Year to the Moreys.'

LINES FROM THE ENEID.

BOOK V. LINE 214.

As when the startled dove, in sudden flight,
From the thick covert plies her hasty flight; -
When upward first she springs, the woods resound
With fluttering wings then soaring from the bound,
On moveless pinions, in the light of day,
Through the wide air she cleaves her liquid way.

E. F. E.

CHANGE.

WRITTEN FOR JANUARY.

4

VOL. VII.

A blight and a change shall pass o'er them.'

Go, gaze on that brow so smooth and fair,

And read the thoughts that are sleeping there;
They're bright, they 're bright, 't is a vision of joy,
Without a trial or care to annoy ;

'Tis a gleam of hope, Oh, will it be lost?

'T is a dream of love, Oh, will it be crost?
But gaze again on that chilly brow,
And what are the thoughts thou readest now?
They're sad, they're sad, for a change has come,
And the heart is estranged from its early home;
And the vision of hope, with its witching ray,
Like the tints of the rainbow, has faded away:
And that sadden'd eye, with its deepening shade,
Shall whisper the truth, that beauty must fade.'

See'st thou that child, with its careless glee,
And his ringing laughter, wild and free,
With his brow half hid in the clustering hair,
Dost thou dream death's hand, is lurking there?
But come with me where the yew trees wave,
And pause awhile, at yon new made grave;
Dost thou hear that mother with anguish wild,
Calling aloud on the name of her child?
Dost thou mark her deep, heart-rending grief,
To which naught on earth can bring relief?
But He who watches the sparrow's flight,
Shall shed o'er her soul a holy light.

Now turn thy gaze on that high-born youth,
Whose noble heart is the seat of truth;
And mark that eye of lightning's gleam,
Now kindled with intellect's brilliant beam,
Now turning with high and conscious pride,
On the fair, young being, he calls his bride :
While the lofty bearing of that high soul,
Seems beyond the dominion of grief's control.
Yet turn again, what see'st thou there,
But the furrow'd brow and the hoary hair,

And the tottering step of an aged man,
Whose years seem run to their latest span :
Can this be him whose youthful prime,

Seem'd exempt from the blight and change of time?
And where is she with the winning wile,

Who gilded life's morning with lightsome smile?

A cloud came over her brilliant day,

And she passed from the joys of earth away.

And he who so wildly strove to save,

Already his foot trembles over the grave,
While he longs with a high and holy love,

To join her spirit in bliss above;

But life's weary pilgrimage soon will be o'er,

And the places which knew him, shall know him no more.

There comes o'er all a mighty change,

And naught can escape its searching range.

It comes in the hush of the midnight hour,
And blights each bud, and each folded flower;
It comes with a high and out-stretched hand,
And sweeps its victims, from sea and land;
From the prince, to the vassal who bows the knee,

All, all must submit to the stern decree :

And the courtly robe and the jeweled crown,

Must be laid alike, in silence down;

And the vaulted dome and the stately hall,

With the peasant's cot, must moulder, must fall.

Then bask ye awhile in the sunny ray,
And gather the sweets, while yet you may,
And pluck each bud and each dew-gemm'd flower,
To twine in garlands around your bower,

For there comes a change and a day of gloom,
Which shall blight the buds, in their opening bloom,
And they'll pass away to their early graves,

Like the moonlit beam on the ocean waves.

Roseville Cottage.

AUGUSTA.