His image!-oh, and it is sinful now! He dare not love! I dare not love him more! "I thought was but our friendship, as of old, 66 Long years since. And 'tis all for me he mourns!Hopeless!-oh, wherefore have I heard his secret, "And wherefore have I found my own?" MAL. Your grandsire bids me see you, Madeleine; MAL. I never wished to see you more. If we had parted-when we parted last In kindness, I would never more have sought But when you asked my hand, I-I-believe me, 'Twas from no change, no want of true affection "Twas from-'twas will you take my hand now, Madeleine? MADE. Are you about to leave us? MAL. Yes, I go Where I shall see you never-never more: MADE. Malcolm! MAL. Pray you, Let me but say farewell-but do not speak- But now, I would not hear your voice, nor see MADE. You will not see me smile again! When I was leaving Laichmont, how we walked To the Green Den, and how you stooped and gathered MADE. Yes! MAL. Here it is! I've had it near my heart Since then and both are withered. Madeleine, I asked you not to speak, but I am changeful; I'd hear your voice again, for the last time! "How constantly my thoughts shall rest on you? "Ah, Madeleine! when we used-long, long ago— "To look up to the moon, as we do now, "It was with happier eyes. I little knew "What memories of grief I gathered then, "To feed on in my heart for evermore;" And now!-God's blessing be around you ever! The blessing of a heart that-fare-you-well! (crosses L.) MADE. Malcolm! you leave me, it is come at last; See! I can bear our parting: thus is broke The chain that linked us from our infancy. And here it is the last time we shall meet On this cold earth-though we shall meet again There, where the stars are shining calm and clear !— And we are dead to one another, Malcolm ! Take with you to your solitude, the thought That I-oh, pardon, Heav'n! if it is sin Have never loved but you-love only you! MAL. What! heard I right? You loved me? love me? This is too much to bear. My fondest hopes As of some higher nature, till the veil Fell from my heart, and-when the vow was spoken, "Oh, but to dare to love! though without hope!— Dearest-I know not what I say-once more MADE. Malcolm! now let us part-as suits us bo Go: be you happy!—you cannot be happy— I bear my sorrow meekly. On your hand I place my lips-1 bless you-and farewell! [Exeunt, MADELEINE, R.; MALCOLM, L. THE BELLE OF THE BALL. PRAED. [For one who has a taste and talent for genteel comedy, this piece furnishes a most excellent opportu ity for the display of such taste and talent. It is one of the most elegant specimens of playful satire in the language. It should be spoken in a fine, free, offhand style. Though some feeling should be manifested where reference is made to the tender passion.] YEARS, years ago, ere yet my dreams I fell in love with Laura Lilly. I saw her at the county ball, There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle Of hands across and down the middle, Hers was the subtlest spell by far Of all that sets young hearts romancing She was our queen, our rose, our star, And then she danced-oh, heaven, her dancing. Dark was her hair, her hand was white, Her eyes were full of liquid light; Shot right and left a score of arrows. And wondered where she'd left her sparrows. She talked of politics and prayers, Of Southey's prose and Wordsworth's sonnets, Of danglers or of dancing bears, Of battles or the last new bonnets; If those red lips had quoted Locke, I might have thought they murmured Little. Through sunny May, through sultry June, I wrote them to the Sunday Journal. She was the daughter of a dean,- And lord-lieutenant of the county. But titles and the three per-cents And mortgages, and great relations, As Baron Rothschild for the Muses. She sketched the vale, the wood, the beach, Young blossom in her boudoir fading: She touched the organ: I could stand For hours and hours to blow the bellows. She kept an Album, too, at home, Well filled with all an Album's gloriesPaintings of butterflies and Rome, Patterns for trimmings, Persian stories, Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo, Fierce odes to famine and to slaughter, And autographs of Prince Leeboo, And she was worshipped, flattered, bored; Her steps were watched, her dress was noted; Her poodle-dog was quite adored; Her sayings were extremely quoted. She smiled on many just for fun,- Her heart had thoughts of for a minute. In phrase which was divinely moulded; How sweetly all her notes were folded. Our love was like most other loves,— And "Fly Not Yet " upon the river. Some hopes of dying broken-hearted; The usual vows,-and then we parted. We parted-months and years rolled by; Our meeting was all mirth and laughter! For in my heart's most secret cell There had been many other lodgers; For she was not the ball-room's belle, WILD HORSES. FLINT. [This animated and very forcible description of one of the most peculiar and sublime spectacles to be seen on our great South-Western prairies, can be made very telling by bold, rapid declamatiou. Meantime the piece is as instructive as it is vivid.] THE day before we came in view of the Rocky Mountains, I saw in the greatest perfection that impressive, and, |