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" Oh ! the wretch," said Emma laughingly, " and he thinks himself so irresistible that he can win a lady at once."

“ And he tells me he will propose for you in a month, and that his success is certain," said her lover with mock solemnity, and then both, looking a moment into each others faces, burst into a merry laugh, which lasted for some minutes.

" A thought strikes me," said Emma, at length, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and then she recounted to her lover a plan which she had formed, which only increased their laughter. What the plan was that so pleased Emma and Lawrey will appear in due time.

The attentions of Mr. Henry Gowen to the fair Emma Wharton, soon became the theme of conversation, and many an opinion was hazarded as to whether the attachment was reciprocal. Of the sentiments of the gentleman there could apparently be no doubt, since his attentions were constant and minute ; but the conduct of Emma was not so easily unriddled, since, although she did not reject the attentions of her new lover, she could hardly be said to encourage them. The gossipers, however, came at length to the conclusion that "it was to be a match," and that the deportment of the lady was to be attributed wholly to coyness. A fortnight, meantime, had elapsed since the conversation betwixt Lawrey and Emma, when Mr. Henry Gowen again met Lawrey in the street. "Deuced fine girl, Lawrey, is that Miss Wharton," said Mr. Henry Gowen, " I was never so deeply in love in my life." "With her fortune, you mean," drily said Lawrey. No, faith, with herself-I confess, betwixt you and I, it was her money that first induced me to pay attention to her, but I'm afraid I'm more deeply interested in her than would be prudent, if there was any danger of a refusal." "So you think your success is certain." " Why, yes, I may say so- I fancy there is little doubt. Emma is a little coy, to be sure, but, aside from that, every symptom is favorable ! Ah! but here comes the angel herself-good bye- don't you wish you were as happy as I am." " A precious rascal !" said Lawrey to himself, as he bowed to Emma, and exchanged with her a meaning smile. Mr. Henry Gowen hastened to join the side of Emma, and accompanied her home. Soliciting a few minutes tête-a-tête with her he entered the parlor and took his seat by her side. Then, in a set speech which he had duly composed and committed to memory for the occasion, he tendered to Miss Wharton his heart, hand, and fortune. Emma heard him out gravely and then replied, "I certainly ought to feel honored by your proposal, sir, but as I attribute it wholly to my fortune and not to

myself, I cannot be so highly flattered as I should under other circumstances. Excuse me for declining your proposal," she said, rising, " and take a word of counsel. Never go again to the Surrogate's Office to learn a lady's wealth.' Good morning, sir.”These words, without the tone in which they were pronounced, would have been sufficient to discomfit even a greater coxcomb than Mr. Henry Gowen. He felt as if he could have wished the floor to open and swallow him from the scornful look of Miss Wharton. Seizing his hat he hurried to the door, and before night was on his way to the Springs. A merry laugh had Emma and her lover that evening over the discomfited fortune-hunter. And when, a few months later, Mr. Henry Gowen saw their marriage in the newspaper, and recollected that he had made a confidant of Charles Lawrey, he wisely concluded that even the Springs would not save him from ridicule, and sailed at once for Europe.

WHEN LAST WE MET. BY EDWARD J. PORTER. THE dewy flowers had wept O'er zephyr's soft adieu ; Each sigh of sweetness slept Within the violet's blue ; The rose, for whose sweet breath The bulbul wove a wreath Of melody, as sweet As soaring spirits meet Upon their heavenward way, Hung drooped upon its spray, When last we met. And oh, the air was calm ; The lake unruffled lay :The moon seemed breathing balm, For all beneath her ray, And yet lone spirits sighedThough heaven and earth seemed dyed In hues, that well might bless Those dreams of loveliness, Glimpses of Paradise, That gladden Peris' eyesWhen last we met.

Yet, though that hour has wreathed Dark flowers o'er memory's stream ; And though no more he breathed O'er my lone spirit's dream, Those whispered tones so sweet, So gentle, yet so fleet ; Though sorrow dash the cup, Still let me conjure up From memory's hallowed wave, The joys those moments gave, When last we met.