"Come in my girls, come in, Jaques never yet closed his door against man, surely then it will ever be open to children like thee. I was once a child myself and I have known what misfortune is, for my early years never knew aught else."

I thought the woodcutter drew his hand across his eyes to wipe away some tears that had started on them. His attention, however, to the little pair soon filled his mind with other feelings than sorrow, he seated them near the fire, supplied them with cake and wine, as long as they chose to eat and drink, and if ever a charitable office made a man happy, Jaques seemed so now.

"And now my girls I should like to know what brought you here in this unprotected condition. Harsh indeed must be that heart that could send you forth on such a night as this, however urgent the occasion might be. I presume by your basket you were going to market, your mother perhaps wanted provision."

The word mother drew a sigh from the eldest girl. Perhaps," said I, you have no mother." Alas, sir, I have neither father nor mother, we are poor friendless orphans.'

"Indeed," said Jaques, "with whom do you live then. They must be unfeeling indeed, who could send you out on such a stormy day as this has been. I thought it was no parent. As the storm continues to rage with such fury, I must contrive to accommodate you here to night. So my good girls as 1 shall act a father's part by you to night, perhaps you will have no objection to be dutiful children, and recount to me who your parents were, and who your protectors are."

After the lapse of a few moments, during which she wiped the starting tear from her eye, the eldest commenced her narrative thus. 66 My name is Marie Cornillot; who my father or mother were I never knew, and I derive my name from my early protector, not from my parent. Pierre Cornillot and his wife were the kindest couple that ever lived, and till they were on their death bed I always considered myself their child. About five months since they caught a fever of which both died, within a day of each other. Before that fatal event, Pierre called me to his bedside and divulged the secret of my birth. I then found that about thirteen years since, a female decently clad asked shelter,

one bleak autumn night, at Pierre's cottage, and that before morning she gave birth to myself. Want of proper attendance caused her death in a few hours, and the hospitable Pierre and his wife had not only to bury their guest, but to protect the infant orphan. This they did with the greatest kindness, and I never felt ought but parental fondness from them. Grief for their fate checked, for a time, the anguish I have since felt to know who my mother was; but, of this, my protectors were as ignorant as myself. Madame Cornillot died some hours before her husband; not, however, until she had exhorted a distant relative to succour and to protect myself, and their only child, the little Eloise whom your charity has now sheltered."

"I need not tire you with a recital of the tears shed by Pierre and his wife as well as by the little Eloise and myself, when death was on the point of severing us for ever in this world. Directly after that fatal event, Blaissot, the driver of a diligence, and a distant cousin to Pierre, took possession of the little property bequeathed him, and removed us to his own house. We soon found how great a loss we had sustained, for Blaissot is both a drunkard and a brute; from whom the blow generally comes before the word. As, however, fate has destined us to be placed under him, it may be wrong for me to revile my future protector. I obey him in every thing as far as I can, and I pray to the Virgin that his heart may yet learn to pity the unfortunate, and forgive the unintentional errors of youth."

Here the little narrator ceased. Jaques, as well as myself, had evidently been much interested by the recital, and after a pause my host said, "I commend you much for the feeling that prevents your further mentioning the censurable conduct of Blaissot. You have not, however, told me how you came benighted so far from home as you now are."

Why," continued Marie," Blaissot came home intoxicated this morning, and insisted on our going to a market some miles distant to dispose of some stockings we had been knitting—a task we always pursue to fill up our leisure timemoney he wanted, and money he would have, he said. We went, and having disposed of our little stock, were returning homewards, when happening on the way to look in my basket I found the money was gone, whether it had been

stolen, or lost, I know not. To return without it we dared not do, so we turned back in the hope that we might have dropt it on the road, and should find it. It was, however, a fruitless search, and with heavy hearts we again pursued our way home, when the storm arose, and between the fear of meeting Blaissot, and the terror we felt at the thunder and lightning, we lost our way, and wandering, we knew not whither, were attracted to your cot by the light from its casement. Poor Eloise-whom I see has fallen asleep, and forgot all her troubles-was sadly frightened in crossing the heath, and to add to our calamity a sudden gust of wind carried away her bonnet, which in an instant was lost beyond all recovery. I sheltered her as well as I could with my cloak, but the storm raged so violently that we almost despaired of our lives, until your cottage animated us with new hopes. How we shall now dare to go home I know not; for as Blaissot is extremely passionate, the loss of our money and the bonnet, may incense him so far as almost to kill us."

"The money," said I, "shall be no consideration, I will make up that, and Jaques, perhaps, you will accompany them home in the morning, and explain to their brutal guardian the circumstances of the night. When he learns what they have gone through he must he savage indeed if he can be in any way incensed against them. By day-light I must pursue my way, or I would take charge of them myself."

Jaques promised he would faithfully perform his duty-I felt conscious that he would, and we all retired to rest.

By day-break I was at the cottage door, to bid adieu to its hospitable inmate for ever.-He again promised me to use every exertion in favor of the two orphans, and having given them enough to supply their deficiency, I left him with a consciousness that my little bounty was left in the hands of honesty.

TENACITY OF AN HOUR.

'Tis a fine thought of Seneca,
Though thousands it perplex'd ;
To spend the hour in such a way
As not to hurt the next.'

P.

THE RUINED CITY.

The days of old, though time has reft
The dazzling splendor which they cast;
Yet many a remnant still is left

To shadow forth the past.
The warlike deed, the classic
page,
The lyric torrent strong and free,
Are lingering o'er the gloom of age
Like moonlight on the sea.

A thousand years have roll'd along,
And blasted empires in their pride;
And witness'd scenes of crime and wrong,
Till men by nations died.

A thousand summer suns have shone,
Till earth grew bright before their sway,
Since thou, untenanted, and lone,

Wert render'd to decay.

The moss tuft, and the ivy wreath,
For ages clad thy fallen mould,

And gladden'd in the spring's soft breath;
But they grew wan and old.

Now, desolation hath denied

That even these shall veil their gloom :

And nature's mantling beauty died

In token of thy doom.

Alas, for the far years, when clad

With the bright vesture of thy prime, Thy proud towers made each warrior glad, Who hailed thy sunny clime.

Alas, for the fond hope, and dream,

And all that won thy children's trust,
God cursed-and none may now redeem,
Pale city of the dust!

How the dim visions throng the soul,
When twilight broods upon thy waste ;
The clouds of woe from o'er thee roll,
And glory seems replaced.