of ink. But my mind was far from being satisfied with the explanation; and I prayed unceasingly for a break-up of the weather, in order that I might have an opportunity of submitting my dearly-beloved wife to the test of a shower of rain.

But it was mid-summer, and an obstinate drought daily gave new signs of a determination to continue its dryness. During my literary career, however, I had acquired a habit of abandoning myself to my feelings whenever a passage of uncommon pathos or tenderness wrought itself out in my mind, and this, added to the natural sensibility of my temperament, gave me such mastery over my lachrymatory apparatus, that I could always, without difficulty, produce a torrent of tears at will. These ebullitions of feeling used to please my wife; for the pride of females is ever elated by such exhibitions of masculine weakness; and so, one evening, determined at all hazards to know the worst, I addressed myself to her as follows:

O partner of my joys and toils, dearly-beloved and only object of: my affections, without whom my dreary days would resemble nothing so much as a detachment of nightmares, defiling through a Vale of Tears! Sun of my existence! by whose genial rays the latent ideas of this poor brain are developed, and fructify into useful productiveness - when I reflect on what I might have been but for the providential discovery of thy sympathy, and upon what I am by the grace of thy remarkable and cheering support, the wholesome tears well copiously from their heart-stirred cistern, and thus, thus, do I shed o'er thee the glad raindrops of my earnest gratitude!'

And, as the cataract of hot tears descended upon my wife, a visible change came over her. Feather after feather blotted forth in their original rustiness, until, after a few minutes' application of my decomposing process, I found myself weeping over a plain, unwhitewashed, ordinary, disenchanted hen black-bird.

What could I do? what could I say? Reproaches would have been worse than useless.

From depositions which I subsequently obtained, in connection with my celebrated divorce case, it appeared that the fraud of which I had thus become the victim, was effected by means of a sufficiently simple chemical process. The wretched creature, of whom I was the dupe, had stealthily followed the foot-steps of a vender of that mystic fluid mendaciously palmed off upon viridescent Londoners as milk; a brief immersion in å vessel of which, during the temporary absence of the proprietor, produced an effect more delicate than that of the most elaborated Parian; and doubtless, her mysterious retirements were employed upon the subsequent re-touchings necessary to keep up the deception.

My dream was broken. Eclipsed by British chalk was the plaster of my native Paris!

DETERMINED to quit the scene of my disgrace, and, abandoning the career of letters, to seek some boundless desert, unfanned by the wing of female duplicity, there to await in philosophic solitude the allotted close of my hapless career, I launched myself into the air, and the

wind, which is the chance of birds, carried me once more to the wood of Mortfontaine.

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Every body was asleep there; every body except the Nightingale, who still chanted his solitary nocturnal ode, pouring forth, upon the distilled fragrance of the forest-night, his gratitude to the Being who had made him so much greater a lyrist than the laureates of the race of men; and so freely did he impart his confidences to the listening solitude, that I could not refrain from approaching and thus addressing him:

Happy vocalist! persevering volunteer of songs to which there is never a lack of listeners! well may you waken the night-echoes with your liquid melody! for you are blessed in the possession of a charming wife, and an interesting brood of fledgelings. You have a warm nest, pleasant companions, the cheerful moon-light, and no politics. Beside you, Rubini and Rossini sink into insignificance, for you surpass the one in execution, and anticipate the strains of the other. I, too, have sung, laboriously; but with what a different result! Pray, Sir, can I prevail upon you to impart your secret?'

Certainly,' said the Nightingale, but it is n't what you seem to suspect. My wife, whom you talk about, is a perfect nuisance, and I hate her. I love the Rose the Rose! Saadi the Persian has mentioned the circumstance. 'Tis for her that my throat-pipe trembles the live-long night; but she sleeps and hears me not. Even now, while I whisper, there slumbers within her closed calyx an ancient and grizzly Beetle; and, at dawn, when, heart-sick and weary, I seek my rest, then will she unfold her charms, and a Bee will feed upon her heart.'

THE CHILD WIFE.

· RECENTLY perusing that affecting chapter in 'DAVID COPPERFIELD' which describes the death of DORA, I discovered the following impromptu paraphrase,' written upon the margin Should you conceive it worthy of publication, it is at your service.' NOTE TO THE FDITOR.

AMONG the changing pictures
That throng his heart of mine,
Is one of thee,ay child-wife,
That seemeth half-divine.

All noiselessly thou 'rt stealing
Like sun-shine through the gloom,
And to my presence gliding,

In all thine early bloom.

Thou wert a frail, sweet blossom,
That opened by my side,
And only bloomed the brighter
When all was dark beside.
There seems a living presence
This moment in my room,

And the light of thy still beauty
Beams o'er me, from the tomb.

My own, my darling DORA!
Thy memory is to me

A guiding-star above Life's path -
A beacon o'er its sea:
And, by that low, fond blessing,
That last dear smile of thine,
I know that I shall meet thee
In Heaven, to clasp thee mine.

VOL. XLIII.

то м Y OLD COAT

THE time, though very, very long approaching,
Has surely, steadily, been coming on,
Like a full tide, resistlessly encroaching

Upon the days when thou wert 'quite the ton.'
Old coat! thou 'rt dear, e'en from association

With those who were my friends in other days:
Some have been faithful through much tribulation;
And some have ta'en offence, and gone their ways.

But thou hast e'er been true, through sun and shadow,
Through summer's heat, and winter's nipping cold:
A friend devoted as I ever had; oh!

Many friends thou shamést, garment old!

I well remember where and when I bought thee;
The very morning—yes, and e'en thy price;
And how, in all sincerity, I thought thee
Worthy a king to wear-so neat and nice!

FLOOD AND FOG.

HAVING read much about the fossil remains on the bay-shore of Cumberland county, Nova-Scotia, I conceived a strong desire to visit the place for the sake of procuring some specimens. I went from SaintJohn to Dorchester, where my old friend, Budd, was engaged in the lofty practice of medicine; and, after much trouble, managed to overcome his constitutional laziness, and induce him to accompany me.

We hired a small sloop, and left the village on our scientific excursion; and in a short time crossed the swift current at the mouth of the river Petit Codiac. Here the tides are higher than in of the world; rising seventy feet, and sometimes more.

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any other part

'That is a wonderful river,' said Budd to me, after we had escaped an eddy; a wonderful river. It is fifty miles long, and at low tide you will find it almost entirely empty; a muddy channel alone marking the spot where the waters rolled. It is worthy of a visit, on account of the striking phenomena connected with it. When the tide rises, the waters of the bay roll in, with a long series of successive waves, forming a flood six feet in height through the whole course of the river. There is a noise like thunder, and a sublime confusion of chaotic foam and eddies, as the great reflux takes place. And when the tide is falling, as now, nothing can withstand the fury of its current. It flows swiftly along, carrying every thing in its course, far out into the bay.'

'It is, then, a really remarkable river,' I replied. 'I had no idea that such was the case. I should not soon forget a sight like the one you mentioned, were I once a witness of it.'

Forget it!' cried Budd, 'no; and if you were so unfortunate as once to be at the mercy of that flood, the name of Petit Codiac would for ever be a name of horror! It was so with me; for down that furious tide I once was borne helplessly, and out into the sea. are at leisure, I will tell you about it. It may interest you.' 'By all means, tell it.'

As we

the river,

No

'On one of my visits to the Bend, a settlement not far up I went on board a schooner, to see about a passage to St. John. one being on board, I walked about for a time, and at length a boyish desire seized me to get into the boat, and sit there. It was a whim, and I acted upon it most thoughtlessly. The boat was a little, round, cockleshell of a thing, and I intended to rock it from side to side for amusement. You know I sometimes have these foolish fits.

The tide, at that time, was ebbing, and the stream was running very strongly down the river. The boat, being acted upon by the current, was pushed as far from the vessel as the rope would permit. At first I amused myself by rocking it, and afterward, for the sake of variety, I began to pull the boat close up under the stern of the schooner, letting the tide jerk it away. So thoughtless and careless was I, that I did not notice whether the rope was fastened tightly or loosely. I kept up this intellectual amusement for some time, enjoying it the more as the current grew stronger, and thinking of my boyish experience in

this line, and many similar pleasures of my early life. At length I concluded to stop; and commenced tugging strongly at the rope, for the sake of coming close to the schooner. The boat pulled very hard. Finding that the current was stronger than I supposed, I thoughtlessly gave a quick and energetic jerk

'I fell violently back, and in a moment felt myself hurried away by some sudden and irresistible power. I sprang up in affright. The rope had loosened, the boat was floating away, and I was at the mercy of the river. The shore seemed flying from me, and gradually I was approaching the centre of the current. It was running with terrific speed, so that, if I were once drawn into it, nothing could save me. All this in one moment flashed upon my sight, as I took a hurried glance around. I looked at the boat no oars were there! I was alone, and no means were near of escaping from destruction. The only hope left me was the faint one of being carried to some island or promontory, and of meeting with a vessel. But the swiftness of the tide rendered the former hope weak indeed, and would prevent assistance being rendered me by any vessel with which I might meet. It was also late, the sun was setting, and before long it would be dark.

You can readily imagine how I must have felt, as these thoughts rushed through my mind; how terrified, how despairing! Already, the fragile boat was turned every way by the eddies and whirlpools: now it drifted stern-foremost, now it righted itself, and again it would be carried along sideways. What can save me in this boat?' I thought; 'how can it be kept from destruction?' I was almost wild; yet I endeavored to calm myself, and think upon some method of action. Yet what could I do? I tried to keep the boat from the current, by frantically rowing with my hands. I pushed the water with all my force, in order to change the direction of the boat. I might as well have tried to stop the tide itself, which, with a low roar, now sounded directly before me. Nothing could keep me from it. I was borne helplessly into it, the boat ceased its whirlings, and straight ahead was carried down the river!

'I sat down in the stern with feelings of darkest despair, and burying my face in my hands, wept bitterly. Then I roused myself: the boat struck something, and looking up, I saw a large piece of timber. If it had been a small piece, I might have used it, but this was of no value, and like the boat, it was carried on. I felt, for the moment, a wild sort of sympathy for the insensible wood- like me, at the mercy of the waves; and I watched it until it was out of sight.

'A projection of land appeared, far down the river. This gave me a faint hope that I might be carried there. On I came, nearer and nearer; but, on coming close to it, the boat was for an instant carried forward by its impetus, and then, sharply turning, was again in the current. An island, too, soon after came in sight, and brought a melancholy smile upon my face, and forced a bitter laugh as I was hurried by. I was hopeless. I was also much calmer than before. I do not know how it is with other people, but when I have no hope, I resign myself completely to my fate. After the first feeling of horror has passed away, I am stern and fortified by despair. With me, it is a