parties to repeat my visit as often as I could, and to let them see as much of me as possible. I returned them my warmest thanks for their kindness, but named no day for my return, and wished them good night.

I have not been there since. I called, indeed, once, and Charles called on me, but I have been little in London during the last season, and they have been much in the country. I could not have equitably maintained an intimacy with them, for I felt neutrality would be quite out of the question: thus, although the recurrence of my old friendship with Charles Franklin has been productive of no very satisfactory results as relate to ourselves personally, it has given me an additional light in my path through the world, and now, whenever I see a picture of perfect happiness presented to my eyes, affection on one side and devotion on the other, assiduity met by kindness, and solicitude repaid with smiles, instead of feeling my heart glow with rapture at the beautiful scene before me, I instantly recollect that I once travelled to London in the BRIGHTON COACH.

THE BRIDAL DIRGE.

THE bride is dead! The bride is dead!
Cold and frail, and fair she lieth:
Wrapp'd is she in sullen lead;
And a flower is at her head;

And the breeze above her sigheth,
Thorough night and thorough day,
"Fled away!-Fled away!"

Once, but what can that avail,—
Once, she wore within her bosom
Pity, which did never fail,
A hue that dash'd the lily pale;

And upon her cheek a blossom,
Such as yet was never known :-
All is past and overthrown!

Mourn the sweetest bride is dead,

And her knight is sick with sorrow,
That her bloom is "lapp'd in lead :"
Yet he hopeth, fancy-fed,

He may kiss his love to-morrow.
But the breezes-what say they ?-
"Fled away!-Fled away!"

BARRY CORNWALL

THE RAPIDS.*

Oh coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love!

As You Like It.

MIDNIGHT on board a steam boat, a full moon, and a soft panorama of the shores of the St Lawrence gliding by like a vision! I thus assume the dramatic prerogative of introducing my readers at once to the scene of my story, and with the same time-saving privilege I introduce my dramatis persona, a gentleman and lady promenading the deck with the slow step so natural on a summer's night, when your company is agreeable.

The lady leaned familiarly on the arm of her companion as they walked to and fro, sometimes looking at the moon, and sometimes at her pretty feet, as they stole out, one after the other, into the moonlight. She was a tall, queenly person, somewhat embonpoint, but extremely graceful. Her eye was of a dark blue, shaded with lashes of remarkable length, and her features, though irregular, were expressive of great vivacity, and more than ordinary talent. She wore her hair, which was of a deep chestnut, in the Madonna style, simply parted, and her dress, throughout, had the chaste elegance of good taste-the tournure of fashion without its extravagance.

Her companion was a tall, well formed young man, very handsome, with a frank and prepossessing expression of countenance, and the fine freedom of step and air, which characterize the well bred gentleman. He was dressed fashionably, but plainly, and wore whiskers, in compliance with the prevailing mania. tone was one of rare depth and melody; and as he bent slightly and gracefully to the lady's ear, its low, rich tenderness had the irresistible fascination, for which the human voice is sometimes so remarkable.

His

It was a beautiful night. The light lay sleeping on the St Lawrence like a white mist. The boat, on whose deck our acquaintances were promenading, was threading the serpentine channel of the • Thousand Isles,' more like winding through a wilderness than following the passage of a great river. The many thousand islands clustered in this part of the St Lawrence seem to realize the mad girl's dream when she visited the stars, and found them '--only green islands, sown thick in the sky.'

* From

The Legendary, consisting of Original Pieces, principally illustrative of American History, Scenery, and Manners. Edited by N. P. Willis. Boston, 1828.' vol. I.

Nothing can be more like fairy land than sailing among them on a summer's evening. They vary in size, from a quarter of a mile in circumference, to a spot just large enough for one solitary tree, and are at different distances, from a bowshot to a gallant leap from each other. The universal formation is a rock of horizontal stratum, and the river, though spread into a lake by innumerable divisions, is almost embowered by the luxuriant vegetation which covers them. There is everywhere sufficient depth for the boat to run directly alongside, and with the rapidity and quietness of her motion, and the near neighbourhood of the trees, which may almost be touched, the illusion of aerial carriage over land, is, at first, almost perfect. The passage through the more intricate parts of the channel, is, if possible, still more beautiful. You shoot into narrow passes where you could spring on shore on either side, catching, as you advance, hasty views to the right and left, through long vistas of islands; or, running round a projecting point of rock or woodland, open into an apparent lake, and darting rapidly across, seem running right on shore as you enter a narrow strait in pursuit of the covert channel.

It is the finest ground in the world for the magic of moonlight.' The water is clear, and, on the night we speak of, was a perfect mirror. Every star was repeated. The foliage of the islands was softened into indistinctness, and they lay in the water, with their well-defined shadows hanging darkly beneath them, as distinctly as clouds in the sky, and apparently as moveable. In more terrestrial company than the lady Viola's, our hero might have fancied himself in the regions of upper air; but as he leant over the tafferel, and listened to the sweetest voice that ever melted into moonlight, and watched the shadows of the dipping trees as the approach of the boat broke them one by one, he would have thought twice before he had said that he was sailing on a fresh water river, in the good steam boat Queenston.

Miss Viola Clay and Mr Frank Gresham, the hero and heroine of this true story, I should have told you before, were cousins. They had met lately after a separation of many years, and as the lady had in the meantime become the proudest woman in the world, and the gentleman had been abroad and wore whiskers, and had, besides, a cousin's carte blanche for his visits, there was reason to believe they would become very well acquainted.

Frank had been at home but a few months when he was invited to join the party with which he was now making the fashionable tour. He had seen Viola every day since his return, and had more to say to her than to all the rest of his relatives together. He would sit for hours with her in the deep recesses of the windows,

telling his adventures when abroad. At least, it was so presumed, as he talked all the time, and she was profoundly attentive. It was thought, too, he must have seen some affecting sights, for now and then his descriptions made her sigh audibly, and once the colour was observed to mount to her very temples-doubtless from strong sympathy with some touching distress.

Frank joined the party for the tour, and had, at the time we speak of, been several weeks in their company. They had spent nearly a month among the Lakes, and were now descending by their grand outlet to Montreal. Many a long walk had been taken, and many a romantic scene had been gazed upon during their absence, and the lady had, many a time, wandered away with her cousin, doubtless for the want of a more agreeable companion. She was indefatigable in seeing the celebrated places from every point, and made excursions which the gouty feet of her father, or the etiquette of a stranger's attendance would have forbidden. In these cases Frank's company was evidently a convenience; and over hill and dale, through glen and cavern, he had borne her delicate arm by the precious privilege of cousinship.

There's nothing like a cousin. It is the sweetest relation in human nature. There is no excitement in loving your sister, and courting a lady in the face of a strange family requires the nerve of a martyr; but your dear familiar cousin, with her provoking maidenly reserve, and her bewitching freedoms, and the romping frolics, and the stolen tenderness over the skein of silk that will get tangled --and then the long rides which nobody talks about, and the long tete-a-tetes which are nobody's business, and the long letters of which nobody pays the postage-no, there is nothing like a cousin -a young, gay, beautiful witch of a cousin!

Till within a few days Frank had enjoyed a monopoly of the lady Viola's condescensions; but their party had been increased lately by a young gentleman who introduced himself to papa as the son of an old friend, and proceeded immediately to a degree of especial attention which relieved our hero exceedingly of his duties.

Mr Erastus Van Pelt was a tall, thin person, with an aquiline nose, and a forehead that retreated till it was lost in the distance. It was evident at the first glance that he was high ton. The authenticity of his style, even on board a steam boat, distanced imitation immeasurably. The angle of his bow had been an insoluble problem from his debut at the dancing school till the present moment, and his quizzing glass was thrown up to his eye with a grace that would have put Brummel to the blush. From the square toe of his pump to the loop of his gold chain he was a perfect wonder. Every body smiled on Mr Erastus Van Pelt.

6

This accomplished gentleman looked with an evil eye on our hero. He had the magnanimity not to cut him outright, as he was the lady's cousin; but tolerated him on the first day with a cold civility, which he intended should amount to a cut on the second. Frank thought him thus far very amusing; but when he came frequently in the way of his attentions to his cousin, and once or twice raised his glass at his remarks, with the uncomprehending Sir!' he was observed to stroke his black whiskers with a very ominous impatience. Further acquaintance by no means mended the matter, and Frank's brow grew more and more cloudy. He had already alarmed Mr Van Pelt with a glance of his eye that could not be mistaken, and anticipated his cut direct' by at least some hours, when the lady Viola took him aside and bound over his thumb and finger to keep the peace towards the invisible waist of his adversary.

A morning or two after this precaution, the boat was bending in toward a small village which terminates the safe navigation above the rapids of the Split Rock. Coaches were waiting on shore, to convey passengers to the next still water, and the mixed population of the little village, attracted by the arrival, was gathered in a picturesque group on the landing. There was the Italian-looking Canadian with his clear olive complexion and open neck, his hat slouched carelessly, and the indispensable red sash hanging from his waist; and the still, statue-like Indian with the incongruous blanket and belt, hat and moccassin costume of the border, and the tall, inquisitive-looking Vermontese-all mingled together like the figures of a painter's study.

Miss Clay sat on the deck, surrounded by her party. Frank, at a little distance, stood looking into the water with the grave intentness of a statue, and Mr Van Pelt levelled his glass at the horrid creatures' on shore, and expressed his elegant abhorrence of their sauvagerie in a fine spun falsetto. As its last thin tone melted, he turned and spoke to the lady with an air evidently more familiar than her dignity for the few first days seemed to have warranted. There was an expression of ill concealed triumph in his look, and an uncompromised turning of his back on our penseroso, which indicated an advance in relative importance; and though Miss Clay went on with the destruction of her card of distances just as if there was nobody in the world but herself, the conversation was well sustained till the last musical superlative was curtailed by the whiz of the escape valve.

As the boat touched the pier, Frank awoke from his reverie, and announced his intention of taking a boat down the rapids. Viola objected to it at first as a dangerous experiment; but when