"But I long to buem.

"But I long to know now! do tell me, grandfather!" "No, no; it is nine o'clock."

"Please, Sir!-I shall sleep so much sounder to-night." "Ask your grandmother, you young rogue

I glanced at her. A bright smile was on her withered countenance. She did not speak, but I knew that my aged grandsire was the identical Harry, and his white-haired partner no other than the Mary he had loved.

ALPHONSO AND LEONORA.

NAY, smile not on me! I have borne
Indifference and repulse from thee;
With my heart sickening I have worn
A brow, as thine oy cold one, free,
My tone has been as gay as thine,
Ever thine own light mirth repeating,
Though in this burning brain of mine,
A throb, the while, like death, was beating.
My spirit did not shrink or swerve--
Thy look, I thank thee, froze the nerve.
But now again, as when I met
And loved thee in my happier days,
A smile upon thy bright lip plays,
And kindness in thine eye is set,
And this I cannot bear !·

It melts the manhood from my pride,

It brings me closer to thy side,

Bewilders, charms me there

There, were my brightest hope was crush'd and
died.

Oh! if thou couldst but know the deep
Of love, that hope has nursed for years,
How in the heart's far chambers sleep
Its hoarded thoughts, its trembling fears-
Treasure that love has brooded o'er,
Till life, than this, has nothing more-
And couldst thou-but 'tis vain!

I will not, can not tell thee how

That hoard consumes its coffer now;

1 may nor think of pain,

That sickens in the heart, and maddens in the

brain.

No, smile not on me! pass me by,

Coldly, and with a careless mien;

"Twill pierce my heart and fill mine eye,

But I shall be, as I have been,

Quiet in my despair!

'Tis better than the throbbing fever

That else were in my brain for ever,

And easier to bear.

I'll not upbraid the coldest look

The bitterest word thou hast, in my sad pride I'll

SCENES.

FROM AN UNPUBLISHED NOVEL.

"The love or hatred of brothers and sisters is more intense than the love or hatred existing between any other persons of the same sexes. Probably nothing so frequently causes divisions between those whom nature has blessed with the holy relationship of brother and sister, perhaps that it may be the depository of pure affection, as an unequal distribution of the affection of parents. H. MORE.

"ACHILLE !"

The young aspirant started from the contemplation of scenes of triumph and empire, carnage and blood-the last too soon to be realized-and beheld his father standing by his side, who had entered the library, and approached him unperceived. Seating himself in the recess of the window, he motioned his son to a chair, placed opposite to his own. The bearing of the veteran exile was at all times in the highest degree digni fied and imposing. His was the brow, eye, and presence to command respect and receive homage.

The affection of Achille toward his father was not unmingled with sentiments of fear. But he was the only being before whom the proud eye of the boy quailed.

That his father loved him, he had never doubted. He knew that he was proud of him, his noble, fearless boy," as he would term him, while parting his dark clustering locks from his handsome forehead, after he had performed some daring feat of boyhood. But when he spoke to Henri, the gratified and proud expression of his eyes softened under the influence of a milder feeling, and his smile would fade into a sweet but melancholy expression; nor would Achille have exchanged his inspiring language to him, "his darling boy!" for the kind tone, and manner he involuntarily assumed when he would say, "Henri, my beloved child, come and amuse me with your prattle!"—nor would the tearful eye, as he gazed down into the upturned face of the amiable boy, have pleased his wild spirit like the enkindling glance of that admiring eye, when turned upon him in paternal pride. Achille translated his glance of pride into an expression of love, and sympathized with one so evidently regarded with an air of sorrow, if not pity, as his brother. If he gave the subject a moments' reflection, it resulted in the flattering conviction that he himself was the favourite son.

But on the morning which introduces him to our notice, he had to learn too painfully, that Henri was the favourite child