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his ear. The Alcaldé bowed, looked confused for a moment, and ended by pronouncing a fervent blessing on the heads of both.

The truth was, a near relative of Hernandez had died very opportunely, leaving him heir to the whole of his large property. He immediately consulted the priest, who thinking it wrong to offend and thereby lose so wealthy a member of his church, consented to marry them privately, and make their peace with the Alcaldé.

He had, therefore, actually married them an hour before he came to the house, at his own private chapel, before competent witnesses, to prove the legality of the act.

Don Juan, determined not to be outdone in finesse, and dressed in sky-blue silk for nothing, stepped up to the little Panchita, and solicited her hand for life. She cast a glance at her parents, and meeting an approving nod, fondly placed her hand in that of Don Juan, and was led triumphantly to the altar. Don Juan gave up serenading, and settled down into a sober married man. He was often heard to say that he never regretted the change, as his little wife was always very dutiful, and obeyed him implicitly, which he could never have expected from the high-spirited Rubia.

Alvarez and Helena continued, through a long life, to love each other as fondly as the day they were united. Their difference in religion never created discord between them, as each esteemed the other's firmness on a point where the salvation of the soul was concerned. They never doubted that they should meet in Heaven, if they fulfilled their duty conscientiously in this world, and depended upon Christ for salvation, because one was a Catholic and the other a Protestant.

Hernandez and Rubia were a pattern of conjugal love, and often laughed over the adventures of the Serenade. Brooklyn, L. 1.



A few weeks since, my office door was thrown open, and a beautiful woman entered, whose face I could not recall, and yet there was something that reminded me of by-gone days. A pensive expression indicated, young as she was, that her life had been marked by sorrow. Immediately advancing with a graceful air, she offered me a note much worn by time, and asked me if that was my hand-writing. I at once recognized it as having been written by myself twenty-two years since, on an occasion of the deepest interest, when I was young in years,

and buoyant with hope. The note was in answer to one I had received from an amiable and accomplished man-my bosom friend-one to whom I was devotedly attached, and who had himself just entered on that dearest of all earthly connexions-the wedded state. His wife was a young and lovely woman, doatingly fond of him, and apprehension for his safety was the cause of the writing of this note. We had both received an invitation to attend a large Wine Party, on 'New Year's Eve,' given by a mutual friend, at a hotel in the place. My friend, Frederick Lennox, always fond of such convivial parties, and one of those joyous dispositions that add so much to the general hilarity at such a time, was delighted with the idea. But his wife was deeply impressed with a presentiment of evil. She strongly urged Frederick not to attend, but finally gave her consent on condition that I would be responsible for his return before 12 o'clock, as will appear from his note, of which the following is a copy:

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A short time before the appointed hour of seven, I called for my friend at his lodgings. Louisa was pale, and had evidently been weeping. She met me with bland courtesy, and extending her hand, said with a smile, "Dear B., to you I commit my earthly treasure! Let nothing deprive me of it. Alas! I tremble for him. A dreadful foreboding oppresses me.. My fears that we shall never meet again, overpower me; those fears cannot be subdued!" We both laughed at her superstitious ideas, as we called them, and left that fair young wife to watch for his safe return.

Louisa threw herself upon her knees, and implored the protection of that Almighty Being, in whose sight the humblest are not forgotten. She prayed long and earnestly for her husband; him to whom she had plighted her young heart with all its warm affections-its holy aspirations; to whom she looked with the fond confidence which a young wife always feels for him to whom she has entrusted her earthly destiny, perhaps even her immortal happiness! She arose refreshed in mind; the horrid incubus which weighed upon her heart, like some infernal spell, driving it almost to madness, was gone. She could look upward, and exclaim with pious resignation. Thy will, O Heavenly Father, not mine, be done."


I must now return to our party,-the "Wine Party," as it was called. A merry set was there. The Jocound laugh rang loudly,—brimming bumpers and gleeful toasts added to the gaiety of the hour. One would have thought the Goddess of Mirth had left her high seat in the Empyrean to dwell awhile with mortals. There were shouts, and laughter, and merry songs; even those who had never sung before, now threw off all restraint, and joined voices and hands in merry roundelays—making the whole neighbourhood resound with joyful tones, tones that were long afterwards remembered with a shudder, whenever that night was thought of.

The pointer of the old clock which stood in the room, was fast verging to the hour of twelve. As yet, all had been harmony, and I smiled to think how Louisa would look when I restored her husband as unharmed, as when she placed him under my protection. Oh! that I could have done so? Then I should not have to reproach myself as an accessary cause of sorrow to that young trusting heart, who lived in the smiles of her husband-then I should not have witnessed, as I did, the rupture of the most sacred of all earthly ties, and the beautiful woman of twenty, bowed down by premature sorrow, carried to that bourne from whence no traveller returns. But I must not anticipate in my mournful tale. The catastrophe will speak for itself.

All, as I have said, was joy and harmony. The spirits of the company had become exhilarated by the quantity of wine they had drunk. Some trivial subject was introduced, on which my friend Lennox and a Mr. Carter disagreed; at any other time a matter so insignificant might have been amicably adjusted. But their passions were now soon kindled. In an angry moment, Frederick gave his opponent the lie! when Carter deliberately drew a pistol, and pointing it at the head of my friend, before any

one could arrest his arm, he fired-and the brains of my murdered friend was scattered among us!

An awful, an indiscribable silence prevailed for some moments, succeeded by a cry of horror, which rang through the room, as we felt the warm life blood sprinkling our persons. All was consternation. In that moment of agony, the beautiful face of Louisa came vividly before me with the same beseeching look, as when she placed her Frederick in my care. Where was he now lying a mangled corpse on the bloodspattered floor, every trace of manly beauty fled!-I was paralysed by the event. I could not realize that he, who but a few moments previous, was warm with the breath of life,-whose melodious voice was even then ringing in my ear,-lay before me chilled and dead! Who was to break this awful truth to his wife? Alas! not me. Not for worlds could I have breathed it to that young widowed bride. None were willing to do so-the dreadful shock had brought us all to our senses, and we saw with dismay, the precipice on which we stood.

The murderer, who at first, stood in wild amazement at the event, had disappeared amid the confusion. At length, we became sufficiently restored to our senses to know, that the lifeless body of our friend must be carried home. Alas! how different a return from what I had expected. As we approached the house, I looked up at the window of Louisa's room—a pale face was peering through the blinds,—then a hasty step was heard on the stairs. I waited for no more. I could not meet her, and begging my friends to break the sad event to her as gently as possible, I rushed to my own lodgings, where I spent a wretched night in endeavouring to summon resolution to see the widowed Louisa.

I called at an early hour in the morning. The poor girl looked as if long weary years had passed since last I saw her. There was a wildness about her eyes, which alarmed me for her reason. Her face was as white as Parian marble-not a hue of colour in cheek or lip. I extended my hand to her in silence. She sank fainting in my arms! All that I could say, I said to compose her; but alas! what was that, what could reconcile a young and loving wife to such a death for the beloved one. She at last appreciated how deeply I sympathised with her, which had the salutary effect in drawing a copious flood of tears-the first she had shedher o'er charged heart was relieved. A silent melancholy succeeded;—I withdrew. From that time Louisa was a changed being. I never again heard the ringing laugh whose merry peals had so often gladdened my heart.

A few weeks after this dreadful occurrence, Louisa gave birth to a daughter, and from that period her health rapidly declined-yet she struggled with christian bravery against her sorrows, and often wished to live for her infant's sake, but God in his infinite mercy and wisdom, ordained otherwise. Day by day, like some fair flower nipped by an early frost, she faded away, and a few months after the death of her dear husband, there was a fresh mound by his side. Louisa was sleeping with him!

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There were no near connexions to take charge of the infant, and none were willing to assume the responsibility without reward. Thus the poor little being, ushered into a world of suffering, stood a fair chance of leaving it, did not some one step forward to aid the unconscious sufferer. Applications were made in vain to several opulent persons; all had other claims upon them. At length, wearied and dispirited, I determined to place the child at board on my own account. This I could not afford to do, as in consequence of my attendance upon the invalid Louisa, I had lost a situation which was giving me a handsome support, and consequently was myself thrown without resources upon a cold unfeeling world. I considered the duty imperative, however, and engaged Mrs. to take charge of the child. I gave her nearly all the ready money I had, and with a trifling sum only in my pocket, I left, to make my way in the arena of a great metropolis, promising to send, at stated times, such provision for the support of the little Matilda as I could spare from my own funds.

For years I aided her in this way; but at length, circumstances compelled me again to seek my fortune in a distant part of the country. A series of misfortunes prevented my doing anything further. Thus I lost all trace of the delicate little being who had sprung up and bloomed with unearthly beauty. The last I heard from her was that she had been taken as governess in a private family, where, by her amiable disposition, and fine talents, she had won many friends.

Years passed on, I became prosperous in business, and had a family of my own growing up around me. One morning, as I was walking along one of the crowded wharves of our emporium, I was accosted by some one at my side. On turning round, I beheld a wretched being, covered with rags, his face bloated-his eyes a fiery red—his voice hollow and sepulchural. He evidently was on the verge of that horrid disease, Delerium Tremens, and his palsied hand shook like an aspen leaf, as he endeavoured to support himself with his cane.

"Ah! then, he exclaimed, "I must indeed be sadly altered, when even you, who have such good cause, do not remember me. Have you entirely forgotten the miserable Carter?" Surprised, I asked myself, could this depraved mortal be the once gentlemanly Carter? Was it possible that he had become so utterly changed? He said he was a wretched, broken-hearted man-that ever since that awful event in which he had periled his soul, his brain had been on fire, the form of the murdered Lennox was ever before him; sleeping or waking, the same distinct though shadowy being pursued him, threatening vengeance, "and he will have it B- ; I cannot long survive this mental agony."

"There!" he exclaimed, his wild fiery eye glaring horridly upon me, "Do you not see him? oh! save me, save me! he is coming, with his clothes all burning as on that dreadful night. Do not leave me!" he added imploringly, (for in his agony, he had clenched me with such savage fury, that I endeavoured to withdraw myself from him,) "Oh! do not leave me! save me from that fiery furnace!" I did all I could to calm him, but he shook his head, and said it was useless. "Mark me!" he exclaimed with sudden fury, "I know my doom! and have known it for years. In the gentle whispering of spring, I hear it; in the summer, when the soft breeze is fanning beauty's cheek, enriching the colour and perfuming the breath, it comes to me with desolation; and like the scorching sirocco, burns into my very brain. In the autumn, when nature puts on her richest garments, gladdening the hearts of all, and reflecting its charm deep into the soul, I hear the voice of the thunderer shrieking from every quivering leaf, "THOU ART DOOMED!"

In winter, when the whole earth is glistening with frosty network, and every tree and shrub, and bending twig, is gleaming with heaven's own diamonds, I behold a thousand fiery eyes, darting into my inmost soul; at one moment, freezing me with horror, and the next, burning me with red hot coals-but in all,all! I hear the cry, 66 THOU ART DOOMED ?" Yes," he continued, with increasing frenzy, "I shall be burned like the unprepared soul which my rash hand ushered into eternity. The flames that then enwreathed his body, are flying towards me. See them darting from above! issuing like motes from beneath, they assume the form of fiery serpents, and are coiling around me-save me, oh! save me !" and the wretched man wreathed in agony.

I disengaged myself from him, and the crowd that gathered around, and in horror fled homeward. A few days afterward, I read in a morn

ing paper an account of the bursting of the boiler of the steamboat Helen McGregor, on the Ohio, and among the mangled bodies were found the mutilated remains of the accomplished Carter!

Sometime after, strolling through Broadway, I encountered a gentleman, whom I recognized as Mr. W, the person who had dismissed me from his employ, for giving assistance to the unfortunate Louisa, stating, as a reason, that too much of my time was spent there. He begged me to forgive him-acknowledged his injustice, and attributed his insensibility to excess in wine drinking. His pardon was of course, readily conceded. He then informed me that soon after I left his store, his goods were consumed by fire, and he was left entirely destitute, as he was not insured. He added, that he thought this a judgement of the ALmighty for his life of dissipation, and hardness of heart-but that he had joined a Temperance Society, and was now a clerk in the Custom House.

In conclusion-the beautiful woman who entered my rooms, was Matilda. She had married a wealthy planter at the South, and was now on her wedding tour. At the Astor House, she happened to see one of my business cards, and without delay sought me. The meeting and its effect upon my mind, as well as that of my fair visitor, can better be conceived than described. Suffice it to say, that the engaging Matilda is now rapaid for the sufferings of her childhood, by the affluence and contentment which she now possesses. She looks to an idolizing temperance' husband for her greatest praise, and in his commendation she finds her earthly hopes of happiness fulfilled.


The flowers of Paradise are sought,

The seraph garland given,

And the earthly brow where it fadeth not,


That brow 'twill deck in heaven

Mine, mine the prize,”—proud Valor cries
And doffed his nodding plume,

And the awed world, with eager eyes,
O'er his laurels saw it bloom.

There fell a drop on its brightest leaf,

The hue of blood it wears

There fell a dew-'twas the mourner's grief-
It withered 'neath her tears.

Go, warrior, claim the wreath of Fame;
But this may not be thine
The jocund pleasure lightly came—
"Around me your garland twine!"
And a glow as bright as morning gleams
On the blended blossoms played,

And then, like hues of sunset, streams,
Alternate light and shade.

A moment-glow and hue are past,
The garland droops in death!
So fades the flower beneath the blast
Of the Siroc's withering breath.
Next Wealth advanced, with lordly air,
And spread his shining gold;

Then glanced his eye on the garland fair,
And asked if it could be sold:

And he proffered pearls might deck a throne,
And gems of costly dyes,

And deemed the hallowed wreath his own, And sought to seize the prize.

It shrunk like ashes in his clasp !

Yet he showed nor shame, nor pain;
But gathered his gold with firmer grasp,
And counted it o'er again.

Then a sound like the myrtle's sigh is heard,
When its leaves, the soft wind stirs ;
And Beauty, led by Youth, appeared,-
O, the garland must be hers!
And on her fair white brow it beamed,
A stainless coronal:
Till her idle vanity hath dreamed
Each gazer is her thrall.
And she hears her mirror call her fair,

And her heart with pride doth swell;
But while her face claimed all her care,
A blight on the garland fell!

Then Learning laid his volume down,
On his lip was a lofty smile,

And his glance with the lightning's brilliance shone,

For the meed will reward his toil. Genius, aye, the dream is thine

To win all glorious things;

Yet oft on thy mind, in its flights divine,
There fall deep shadowings:

And then doth the syren world prevail,

To lure thee from the skies; For this the garland waxeth pale,

Thou can st not wear the prize.

But now, her meek eye raised to heaven,
And bathed in the contrite tear,
As she had erred, and been forgiven,
Sweet Piety drew near;

Her humble heart no claim preferred;

Already was she blest;

For in her hand was the Holy Word,
Its precepts on her breast-
O, bind the garland round her brow-

And fanned by the breath of prayer,
Like Hope, the buds are glowing now,-
As Love, the blossoms fair!


Beauty and the Seasons;-Latest Fashions.


Thyrza, thy face is like the Spring,
Fresh, beautiful, and fair;
"Tis Nature's brightest offering-
All loveliness is there !

Like Summer, is sweet Thryza's love,
To me so warm and pure ;
And like its sky, so bright above-

No shadow to obscure.

Her passion, like the Autumn, when

Its mellow tints are glowing At evenings repose, and then

'Tis sweet to overflowing! But Winter, cold!-in Thyrza, no Similitude is found,

Save in the Heaven descended snow, That's drifted on the ground!

LATEST PARIS FASHIONS, Selected from the French and English Monthlies, brought by the Steamer Acadia. HATS.-The only alteration in hats is that the crown inclines a little more forward, and the brims spread out more on the temples, to show as much of the hair as possible.

Drawn Capotes are very fashionable, composed of shot Gros de Naples of the many and varied colours for the Spring, ornamented with rows of notched ribbon, arranged over each drawing. The strings are composed of the same material, edged with the ribbon. Hats and capotes are now composed of citron and white, pink and white, lilac and pink, and striped crape; of these, both the stripes and the grounds are very delicate. Many very elegant dress hats are composed of China crape, trimmed with ribbons of gauze tulle, the satin edges of which are shaded.

The leading portion of hats introduced this month, do not descend so low on the cheeks as those of some months past; they either have bavolets or are turned up behind; the crowns also incline more forward. The most surprising alteration in the ornaments of hats which has taken place for some time is that of transposing the drooping flower or bouquet to an upright position.

CAPS.-The pretty little Venetian caps will now be adopted for the evening. They are composed of gymped blond, and embellished with a garland of primroses, which are now quire the rage; they are formed short at the ears, with a pompon of ribbon, though some have a simple flower placed on each side of the temples, finishing with a bow of ribbon, which floats over the back of the neck.

HEAD DRESSES.-Among the numerous and


fashionable coiffures of the day, the following are the most splendid. The Medicis toque, composed of brilliants, attaching bouquets of the most beautiful feathers. And the capuce of Jeanne Grey, composed of velvet with rows of pearl, in the form of a demi-circle, showing the face, and descending on both sides just below the hair.

WALKING DRESSES.-As I hinted to you in one of my last, dresses continue to be made in the most simple style, yet with great regard to pure elegance. There appears to be a decided preference to the corsage Amazone, no doubt in consequence of the splendid embroidery which is seen most to advantage on this corsage.— The sleeves are tight, and the pelerine or cape, which is of full size, is embroidered, edged with gympe and lace fringe; the colour corresponds with that of the material of the dress. Another very pretty style of walking or morning dress, is composed of taffetas glacé, with a trimming of four or five flounces of lace, or three or four rows of broad fringe.

EVENING DRESSES.-Blue Pekin d' Orient is a favourite material for evening toilette; to these dresses the skirt is made open on both sides, allowing an under white satin figured skirt to be seen; the outer skirt is bordered with an English lace, put on plain, which runs round the back of the dress; the body and sleeves are also surrounded with the same sort of lace. Bows of ribbon are placed at distances, attaching the opening at the side, the dress is then edged all round with a silver twist. Many dresses are composed of velour épinglé worn over a satin skirt opening on each side; crape and other dresses of numerous materials partake of the same style and order.

PELISSES.-The most fashionable style of pelisses is that composed of poult de soie, embroidered down each side of the front; at the bottom of the sleeves and round the pelerine this pelisse is open at the sides, falling back to show a skirt of the same colour underneath, the effect of which is extremely graceful. The pelisse styles of dress are now much in vogue, and the pelisses of various kinds are fast replacing shawls, &c.

BALL DRESSES.-The newest, and by far the most elegant ball dresses out of a great many, is composed of crêpe, in the form of a tunique, and open at the sides, attached with a row of variegated carnations, placed zig-zag upon the sides of the skirt. This style of dress is free from confused ornaments, yet elegantly chaste,

LACE PELERINES-Are made open in front and with three falls, and fastened round the neck with a bow or tuft of ribbon.

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