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from the conscious and blushing little angel at my side. I was just about to pop the question itself, when the coach stopped, and the driver descended and opened the door. My charmer rose. I was taken all aback. "Do you get out here ?" said I in surprise. " Yes !" said she, " I see Mr. Powell is waiting for me." "Mr. Powell," said I, for that was the name of a friend of mine who lived up this very lane, not half a mile from the turnpike, " do you then live with him ? Perhaps you're a relative ? Strange," I muttered to myself, "I never heard him speak of this charming creature." Before I could answer, Powell approached, and while he hailed me, my fellow passenger sprang to the ground as if by magic, and the next minute was in my friend's vehicle. 66 For heaven's sake," said I, half mad that the hearty grip of Powell prevented me from hastening to his ward's assistance, " who is that angel ? Is she a relative, a ward, or what ? I'm dying for love of her !" Powell burst into a laugh, and laughed on until the tears came into his eyes. Confound the fellow what did he mean ? I began to look angry. " Come, my dear boy," he said, " don't get into a passion, but consider how odd it is that you of all men should fall in love with my cook !". I never make acquaintances in a stage-coach now, until I have exchanged cards.

SHE'S DYING NOW. BY MRS. J. W. MERCUR. SHE's dying now, bring hence fresh stores, And strew the room with pearly flowers, Bring hence each gold enamell'd vase, And fill them with bright flow'rs to grace This room where death's still tread has come To bear afar our cherish'd one. Bring rare exotics, let them stand Upon that high wrought burnish'd stand, And let the scenes that she has traced Be hung above each brilliant vase, And let rich broider'd work be flung In all its wealth her couch upon.

And all that's rare that art hath made, And trophies of the ocean's wave ; And gems from many a dark rich mine, Gems which like sunlight gleam and shine, Bring hence ! and let their brightness shed A lustre o'er the dying bed. Bring hence her braids of orient pearls And twine them with her flowing curls, And let the gems she used to wear Gleam once again like starlight there ;

And let her queenly brow once more Be deck'd with brightness as before. Bring hence her books, rare books, where thought With loftiest themes of earth are fraught, And lay them ere her eyes grow dim The circle of this room within ; But lay the holy one full nigh, There, fain she'd rest her waning eye. Bring music, let its strains most clear, Like balm fall on her dying ear ; Bring music that will buoy her up, To calmly drink the bitter cup ; And when life's feeble chord is riven, Oh, may it waft her unto Heaven.

And all she prized when health's bright stream Flowed quickly through each circling vein , Bring quickly hence, and with them blend The recent gifts from many a friend, Gifts by affection's promptings given To one thus rarely mark'd for Heaven. Then light the tapers, let them shed A silvery lustre o'er her bed, And let them blend with scenes around The semblance of enchanted ground ; But quickly, calmly, lightly tread Around our loved one's dying bed. They 're here- all here- rich stores are brought, The room is fill'd with all ye sought, While yet her eyes, though waxing dim, May gaze upon the scene within , While yet her lips their blessings send To many a dear and cherish'd friend. Now I can calmly let her die, Such scenes as these she 'll greet on high, Where music's ever glorious strains From seraph voices ever reigns, Where naught will fade nor cease to be In time nor through eternity.

Where friends will welcome her on high With joy which naught on earth can vie, Where friends will clasp her radiant form That pass'd from earth in youth's bright morn , Where she will bask in Heaven's bright rays, And sing with joy her Maker's praise. But she has gone- her spirit fled, Our loved is number'd with the dead, Yes ! dim has grown her sparkling eye , And gone the pulse that beat so high ; Her spirit it from earth is riven, To waft unto its native Heaven.

ETERNITY is a vast and trackless ocean- a widespread expanse without limit and without shore-a sea upon which has never yet floated the hitherward voyager, and upon which we shall have ourselves ere long to embark !