patch is meant for a part of the rock literally hidden by a tuft of harebells: now I think of it, here are some lines on the harebell, my favourite flower. Florella, will you read them aloud? No, give them to me, I will read them myself.

With drooping bells of clearest blue,
Thou didst attract my childish view,
Almost resembling

The azure butterflies that flew

Where on the heath thy blossoms grew,
So lightly trembling.

Where feathery fern and golden broom
Increase the sand-rock cavern's gloom,
I've seen thee tangled,

'Mid tufts of purple heather bloom,
By vain Arachne's treacherous loom,
With dew-drops spangled.

'Mid ruins crumbling to decay,

Thy flowers their heavenly hues display,

Still freshly springing,

Where pride and pomp have past away,

On mossy tomb, and turret gray,

Like friendship clinging.

When glow-worm lamps illume the scene; And silvery daisies dot the green,

Thy flowers revealing,

Perchance to soothe the fairy queen,
With faint sweet tones on night serene,
Thy soft bells pealing.-

But most I love thine azure braid,
When softer flowers are all decay'd,

And thou appearest,

Stealing beneath the hedge-row shade,
Like joys that linger as they fade,
Whose last are dearest.

Thou art the flower of memory;
The pensive soul récals in thee
The year's past pleasures;
And, led by kindred thought, will flee,
Till, back to careless infancy,

The path she measures.

Beneath autumnal breezes bleak,
So faintly fair, so sadly meek,

I've seen thee bending,

Pale as the pale blue veins, that streak
Consumption's thin, transparent cheek,
With death-hues blending.

Thou shalt be sorrow's love and mine;
The violet and the eglantine

With spring are banish'd.

In summer's beam the roses shine,
But I of thee my wreath will twine,
When these are vanish'd.

"How do you like these fanciful verses? fanciful enough! are they not?"-"They are very pretty, my dear Duncan," replied Mrs. F. and she tried to check the sigh that was, however, audible. "I don't know what is the matter with you all," said Duncan, looking round at them; 66 you are ill, dear mother: I am sure you are, for you look very pale; you are ill," he continued in the tenderest voice," and here have I been teasing you with my follies." "I am not quite well," she answered, as he affectionately kissed her, and then sat down sadly, and quietly, holding his mother's hand; his eyes seemed fixed on the ground, but he saw nothing, for they were dimmed by tears. "How is my father, my dear father?" he asked, starting up quickly : “ I did not forget him, but I hardly have had time to miss him; I suppose he is not come home from the counting-house yet." Florella whispered to Jeanie: "I can't bear to tell him to-night, when

5

fraid my dear father is unwell. He is ill, , and that is the reason you are so melan"Your father was quite well,”—“ was vell," he interrupted," was! where is he "My dear con, he was obliged a few days o sail for America; for the house in which artner there, was, we heard, on the brink : his presence was required immediately; was obliged to go. I am uneasy, for I know

the house in this country can go on as it when he is absent. But you are returned and I feel already lightened of half my

an experienced the bitter disappointment the indulgence of the thoughtless happiove mentioned often produces: he had forto think to himself, as he returned home, aps some one may be ill, or dead." He ted on the health and happiness of every ual: his mind was not prepared; and the d surprise that fell on him so suddenly, state of his father's affairs, rendered him ew hours quite unhappy. He had left ily in the enjoyment of every comfort: he hem mournful, and anxious, and reduced imstances. It was only for a few hours

very Religious: had he been asked, he would have said that he was far, very far, from being half religious enough. He had also an enthusiastic disposition. Before they retired for the night, he had reasoned away, with the best reasoning, many of the fears, which made his family so melancholy. "Let us trust in God, and all will do well," he said; "not place a half trust in him, but give up as a free-will offering, health, riches, and present happiness to him. It is the Lord; let him do with us as seemeth best, no one will ever have cause to repent of the treatment he has received at the Lord's hand."

"How much happier we all are," said Jeanie, to her sisters, when they were undressing that night, "now Duncan is here; he always keeps mama in good spirits; he puts me in mind of the harebells he spoke of to night; he is, like them, all gaiety and slightness to the view, while his mind is like the rock concealed by their lovely blossoms." "Jeanie is quite poetical in her illustrations," said Florella, " and quite true in them too: his mind is rendered like that rock, by