"But 'faith! he is not light of heart:

And he, who most misfortune's scourge hath felt,
Will tell you laughter is the child of misery."

It will be long, however, very long, before the poignant sorrows of wounded affection totally lose their sting. Some trivial circumstance is constantly occurring, to push the barb deeper and deeper into the lacerated heart, till, habituated to the pain, it eventually shrinks not from the infliction;

"For ever and anon of griefs subdu'd,

There comes a token, like a scorpion's sting,

Scarce seen,

but with fresh bitterness imbu'd;

And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever it may be a sound

A tone of music-summer's eve-or spring

A flower-the wind-the ocean, which shall wound,
Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound;

And how, and why, we know not, nor can trace

Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind,

But feel the shock renew'd; nor can efface

The blight and blackening which it leaves behind,
Which out of things familiar, undesign'd,

When least we dream of such, calls up to view

The spectres, whom no exorcism can bind

The cold—the changed—perchance the dead—anew—

The mourn'd-the lov'd-the lost-too many! yet how few!"

Alfred was roused from his reverie by his young acquaintance, who exclaimed, as the lovely countess concluded her song -"By Heaven, Burton! what an angelic creature lady Wis! Did you hear that song?"

"Did I hear that song!" mechanically repeated Alfred, laying a strong emphasis upon the I; " where, think you, have been my ears? But it is not the first time I have heard it."

"Oh, then you know the countess ?"

"I have some slight knowledge of lady W;" and Alfred smiled bitterly as he spoke the words.

His volatile companion rejoined "Egad! I remember now; old Poppleton told me you formerly lived in the family, or with the family, or something, and that you were near neighbours in Taffyland. Come, you must introduce. me to this Welsh divinity;" and before Alfred could remonstrate-if he had wished to do so he found himself, with his companion, in one of the larger rooms, in

the midst of the company. His eye wandered rapidly over the room, but the wellknown figure of Alice Denby nowhere met his gaze. Disengaging himself and his companion from the crowd, they sought another apartment, not so crowded as the last, and at one end sat the countess of W in conversation with an elderly lady. Alfred's heart beat violently, as he approached to introduce his friend, and he felt the blood rushing swiftly to his temples.

The countess rose, and held out her hand to him." It is a long while since we have seen you, Mr. Burton. I hear you are about to leave England.”

A

"Your ladyship has heard right; my departure is fixed for next Tuesday." "Indeed! so soon-so very soon." slight drawing-in of the breath, with a gentle compression of the under lip, was the only symptom which evinced the uneasiness Alice experienced at these tidings. She immediately regained her constrained composure, and, feeling for their mutual

situation, which was upon the point of becoming very embarrassing, she, with all a woman's ingenious readiness, solicited Alfred to escort the lady with whom she had been conversing, home-" It is too far for you to go by yourself, my dear lady Wentworth," said Alice, as the old lady was objecting to the trouble it would give Alfred, "and I am sure Mr. Burton will have great pleasure in attending you."

Alfred, glad to escape, yet unwilling to leave-perhaps for ever-his still-loved Alice, immediately gave directions for lady Wentworth's carriage; and then returned to his charge. Alice was still with her, and as she placed her hand in Alfred's, he felt it tremble. He grasped it gently, and whispering his sorrowful adieu, left her to shine supreme in loveliness amid the glittering throng of fashion, while he pursued, in loneliness and gloom, his weary way to the shores of Ind.

The eventful Tuesday came, and he left London for Portsmouth, there to embark

on board the Company's ship Hope, for Calcutta. He knew that he had seen Alice for the last time, and he felt almost careless as to his future destiny. But love for his dear mother, who had sympathized in all his affliction, still excited him to exertion; and he resolved to bear up against his fate, and to cast away the sorrows of his earlier existence: so he quitted the shores of his native land, exclaiming, with the poet

"Be hush'd, my dark spirit, for wisdom condemns,

When the faint and the feeble deplore;

Be strong as the rock of the ocean, that stems

A thousand wild waves on the shore.

Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,
May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate;

Yea, even the name I have worshipp'd in vain,
Shall awake not the sigh of deep sorrow again-
To bear is to conquer our fate !"

To those who have mingled much with the Welsh, and participated in their customary festivals and merry-makings, the mirthful frolics of All Saints Eve must be a source of pleasing remembrance. Among the secluded hills of North Wales especi