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support me under the varied conflicts of this life." To this sincere avowal of his feelings Maria yielded her entire acquiescence. In the smile which mingled with her confession, the faint resistance with which she suffered him to clasp ber to his bosom, in a lover's innocent, though ardent embrace-in the expressive charms of her lovely countenance,-in all these pleasing intimations, Frederick easily read her gratified acceptance of his vows.

Oh, who the exquisite delight can tell,
The joy such mutual confidence imparts;
Or who can paint the charm unspeakable,
Which links in tender bonds two faithful hearts ?

The remaining part of the day' was spent in a re-iteration of their attachment; and every adventitious circumstance conspired to aid the fascination on both sides. At the dance, by the harp, in company, and in hilarity, their delight was most exquisite, and seemed by its force and attraction severely to embitter the hour of parting, and to cement them more closely to each other.

Time passes swiftly with the happy—the clouds seemed to break for day, when at length they were separated. Frederick repaired to his home ; Maria to her chamber; but both sought repose in vain. Maria, quite happy in the idea of her present engagement, sat very like a miser, to count, to ruminate over her store of happiness, and to luxuriate in her wealth of bliss.

Enough has heaven ordaind of good below,
To tempt our tarriance in this lov'd retreat;
Enough has heaven design'd of ill below,

To make us languish for a happier seat. Maria, whilst she was thus happy, could not help picturing to her agitated imagination the mighty ocean, its dangers and its terrors. She thought he was struggling with contending elements, and fancied that he might never return. She became discomposed and restless; but resolved to raise up her mind with the hope of frequently hearing froin her lover, and to reflect upon the proceedings of this evening as one most dear in tender associations.

- Frederick, although he had secured (as he thought the fair object of his love, was far from being tranquil. The extent of his commission, the uncertain duration of his absence, and the fatigues to which he might be erposed, precluded the refreshment of sleep, which the activities of the day, and the exhaustion of nature, demanded.

The day appeared, and found him uprefreshed. There was no alternative. This was the morning of his departure. The boat on the beach was waiting his arrival ; the sails were ready to be unfurled, and every preparation was finished. The kiss from his mother seemed to linger on his lips; he sighed, and thought of his Maria, and very reluctantly obeyed the wish of the captain, that no time might be lost. The boat moved off, and with it the tears and sighs of Frederick.

There's something awful in the word adieu,
When breath'd to those we love so true.

Frederick, in the vessel, found himself dull and lonely. He felt himself among strangers; and he dissipated the monotonous insipidity and gloom

of the voyage, by writing letters and poetical essays, dedicated to his dear Maria.

When distant far from those we love,

Is there a charm the heart can fetter?
When months roll on, and still we rove,
Is there a cure ?

O yes--a Letter.

At the expiration of three months, two packets were received, one 'addressed to Maria, and the other to his father. The former contained his mental exercises, and spoke of unalienated affection, unmoved fidelity, and the intensity of his love. Yes, my dear, (said he, in one of his letters), the vivid pleasure that I often realize on reviewing the pleasing scenes and interviews we had together, whilst in my native country—when

I did look
Into thine eyes and on thy cheek, and took
A draught of love ; for the thought did ever cull
Some fancied charm, thou wast so beautiful-

is more sweetly felt than described; and should we never see each other on this side of the undrawn veil of eternity, may it be our happiness ultimately to experience the full fruition of eternal joy in heaven!

• Adieu, adieu!

• FREDERICK."

The communications to his father were limited chiefly to business and purchases.

Most of what Frederick had written accorded exactly with the wishes of the old gentleman; but, contrary to his son's wishes, he replied by giving renewed directions, and requested that he would prolong his stay for a considerable time, in order to carry more effectually his schemes into execution, and more particularly to consolidate his foreign property. Maria inclosed her answer, and some presents to her lover, in the same packet.

Frederick had waited, in anxious expectation, the arrival of a parcel from England; and, as he was sitting solitary at breakfast one morning, the above packet was presented. It seemed to infuse new life into his veins. He impatiently tore open the seal, and was glad to hear that Maria was well, quite well. She also sent him several little articles, which she wished him to view as pledges of her supreme regard : they consisted chiefly of a box, beautifully painted and decorated on the exterior, and a portrait of herself, taken since his departure, and inclosed in a silver case, the production of her own ingenuity, and made by her own fair hands. of love for a time made him happy. But when he read his father's letter, he was mortified to find him unyielding to the idea of his return. He loved his native country, and still more the dear object that inhabited it. Maria was indeed the illumined polar star, to which all his thoughts, all his wishes pointed ; and to continue in exile for six years without seeing her, which his father seemed to require, was more than he could bear.

Months rolled on in this manner; and Frederiek attended to business with reluctance-with less diligence. Intense thought preyed upon his spirits : it paralysed his exertions; and, together with the inclemency of the climate, and the influence of separation from friends, he gradually declined into a consumption. The complaint baffled the aid of medicine; and he at 28,-Fourth Edit.

2 F

These proofs

VOL. I.

third year.

length fell a victim to disease, when he bad scarcely completed his twenty

Not long before his demise, he addressed a laconie letter to Maria ; it was as follows:

• MY DEAR MARIA, • You will be surprised and grieved when you read the contents of this. It is written with a hand trembling in death ; its writer may, before it reaches you, be an inhabitant of the grave. My affliction and disorder have entirely frustrated the efforts of the faculty: my person is quite reduced, exhausted, and emaciated: I feel one regret—that my pillow has not been soothed, my mind comforted, by having you daily at my bed-side. I think I should have died more serenely, when perceiving your smiles still attending

I wish I could write more -I am worn out by this exertion—my love only moves the pen. When you are able to sustain the trial, communicate the particulars of this to my parents; and believe me, I am your's, and your's alone, even in the ranks of death.'

• FREDERICK,

me.

The intelligence of his melancholy fate excited the keenest regret. His mother felt the loss severely and tenderly; his father regretted the inflexibility of his own mind. But Maria was most acutely pained; nothing was comparable to her distress. She had centred all ideas of happiness on Frederick-in him she seemed to live, and move, and have her being. It is no wonder, that she suffered so much-nothing in fact, after this doleful letter reached her, could alleviate her sufferings. She fell into a kind of mental despair, and sometimes into a paroxysm of anguish. For months, she was delicious. At the returns of her lucid moments, when she partially recovered her physical animation, she would walk over the frequented paths that she had previously trodden with her Frederick, and she would recall to her memory his manly, yet affectionate image, and trace, in her agitated imagination, the lineaments of his countenance, his smile, his pleasing ac cents, and his tenderness.

We cannot boast the descriptive talents of some of our contemporaries, or we might here enter into all the feelings, sensibilities, and changes, that Maria endured, while she passed through the varied gradations of a decline; but, as this might not be sufficiently interesting to our readers, we must elose this sketch by adding, that the thought that Frederick had remained faithful to his vows brought to her mind habitual consolation. Society af forded her no solace; it conveyed to her none of the delightful associations that are more sweetly felt, more tenderly realized, in other cases than de scription can pourtray. A continued and insuperable langour preyed upon her spirits. Subsequently, however, amidst the darkness and dreariness of a sick chamber, she learned to derive her only comfort from the river that maketh glad the city of God.--Here she was encouraged by hopehere she was supremely blessed—and after experiencing the sufficiency of this blessedness, she passed the vale of death, cheered amidst it gloom with the consolations which are afforded by vital christianity to its faithful professors.

Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhal'd, and went to heaven.

Numbers followed her remains to the grave. They regretted they could not restore life to a creature so lovely. Her monument has frequently witnessed a silent meditation similar to the following: Ah, she is gone! She who was like the stately cedar-tall and majestic; putting forth her tender branches, and blooming divinely fair, the most fragrant Rower' of intellectual excellence. But the rough and pruning hand of death nipped the early bloom, blighted the tender shoot, and hurled the lovely plant from its proud pre-eminence; or (should it not rather be said ?) transplanted it from the ungenial clime of the present world to the garden of God, to bloom with unfading beauty, and, under the more genial influence of eternal sun, mature the golden tree.

W. C. W.

ADDRESS TO A SNOW-DROP.

No sorrow sore can touch thy heart,
O'er forms like thine no woes prevail ;
Why then reclines thy beauteous head,

And why art thou so pale ?
Alas! I err, and thou may'st feel
The griefs, which human bosoms know :
To fancy's eye indeed thou seem'st

To sip the dew of woe.
I fondly thought (who did not think ?)
That sorrow was unknown to thee.
Yet why? who knows not that this world

Is full of misery?
Fain would I know thy cause of grief;
Fain would I hear thy heavy tale :
No common anguish wrings thy soul,

Thou art so wondrous pale!
Perhaps thou hadst some fav’rite flow'r,
That grew enamoured at thy side, -
Swept by the chilling winds, it drooped,

It withered, and if died.
Attracted by some gaudier flower,
Perhaps it scorned thy modest state,
Flew to some blossoms of high birth,

And left thee desolate.
If it be thus, thou well mayst mourn:
I know what pangs thy heart assail ;
Severer woe thou need'st not fear,

I wonder not thou’rt pale.
Long have I steeped my couch in tears,
And still I find no end of grief;
Poor flow'r, deserted as we are,

'Tis death must bring relief.
And there I envy thee; for thou
Wilt finish soon thy sad career,
While I, perhaps, may linger on,

Through many a tedious year.
Oh! Mary, if these hapless lines
Should catch by chance thy careless eye,
Thou'lt learn I cannot cease to love,
Though, Mary, I can die !

length fell a victim to disease, when he had scarcely completed his twenty

third year.

Not long before his demise, he addressed a laconic letter to Maria; it was as follows:

• MY DEAR MARÍA, • You will be surprised and grieved when you read the contents of this. It is written with a hand trembling in death ; its writer may, before it reaches you, be an inhabitant of the grave. My affliction and disorder have entirely frustrated the efforts of the faculty: my person is quite reduced, exhausted, and emaciated: I feel one regret—that my pillow has not been soothed, my mind comforted, by having you daily at my bed-side. I think I should have died more serenely, when perceiving your smiles still attending me.

I wish I could write more- I am worn out by this exertion—my love only moves the pen. When you are able to sustain the trial, communicate the particulars of this to my parents; and believe me, I am your's, and your’s alone, even in the ranks of death.'

FREDERICK,

6

The intelligence of his melancholy fate excited the keenest regret. His mother felt the loss severely and tenderly; his father regretted the inflexibility of his own mind. But Maria was most acutely pained; nothing was comparable to her distress. She had centred all ideas of happiness on Frederick-in him she seemed to live, and move, and have her being.' It is no wonder, that she suffered so much--nothing in fact, after this doleful letter reached her, could alleviate her sufferings. Sh fell into a kind of mental despair, and sometimes into a paroxysm of anguish. For months, she was delirious. At the retums of her lucid moments, when she partially recovered her physical animation, she would walk over the frequented paths that she had previously, trodden with her Frederick, and she would recall to her memory his manly, yet affectionate image, and trace, in her agitated imagination, the lineaments of his countenance, his smile, his pleasing accents, and his tenderness.

We cannot boast the descriptive talents of some of our contemporaries, or we might here enter into all the feelings, sensibilities, and changes, that Maria endured, while she passed through the varied gradations of a decline; but, as this might not be sufficiently interesting to our readers, we must elose this sketch by adding, that the thought that Frederick had remained faithful to his vows brought to her mind habitual consolation. Society afforded her no solace; it conveyed to her none of the delightful associations that are more sweetly felt, more tenderly realized, in other cases than description can pourtray. A continued and insuperable langour preyed upon her spirits. Subsequently, however, amidst the darkness and dreariness of a sick chamber, she learned to derive her only comfort from the river that maketh glad the city of God.-Here she was encouraged by hopehere she was supremely blessed—and after experiencing the sufficiency of this blessedness, she passed the vale of death, cheered amidst it gloom with the consolations which are afforded by vital christianity to its faithful professors.

Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhal’d, and went to heaven.

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