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Whose flakes in swarms forsake the

trees, And strew, like butterflies, the breeze, Yes! Spring givee holiday to earth, To keep the day of Anna's birth. 0! happy night! - make haste! good

sun, 'Tis surely time thy course were run. How happy, happy will we be! My eyes can scarcely wait to see Herself, so sweet, so sweetly crowned, And I so proud to lead her round !

May 10th. Alas! it was no happy night, Though Anna never shone so bright; Though my own wreath adorned her

hair, And all our friends were gathered there : Her cousin came the fête to see — To walk with him, she quitted me; And I, too hurt my pangs to hide, Retired in sullen mood aside ; At length she sought, and touched me

quite; With asking, 'Why so sad to-night ?' Without reply, I broke away, And gloomed the sleepless hours till day.

Thank Heaven! some pride is left me still!
I'd be the last to thwart her will;
But if my labor thus be vain,
Let others bring her flowers again:
I am resolved to let her see
She cannot trifle thus with me.

May 11th.
Oh! she's the dearest, gentlest heart,
That soothes where'er she finds a smart:
She is too good, and I was blind
To deem her any thing but kind.

I sat alone, the dupe of care,
And ere I dreamed she could be nigh,

I felt her fingers in my hair,
And turning, met that gentle eye;
So meek, so sorrowing, ah! and red,
From scalding tears that she had shed.
Ere one imploring word she spake,
My sun-touched clouds began to break;
My heart leaped up; I felt

, I knew Through all my doubts, she must be true: She said that she had given me pain, And begged we might be friends again : That mine, when offered, she would

choose, Yet others' aid could not refuse; That soon she leaves us, and her heart In anger could not bear to part;. For 1, through our long friendship past, Had been all kindness to the last. I checked her; I no more could bear, After my own ungenerous fear, And prayed forgiveness ; mine the shame, As mine alone was all the blame. ’T was now, and not till now, again Gushed from her eyes the April rain, Then on my breast her head she threw, While I, half child, was sobbing too. But soon the freshening shower was done, And soon once more appeared the sun. No sweeter lears o'errun the eyes, Than what from healing quarrels rise: Where each is generously grieved For harms the other has received ; Where each denies the other's blame, And claims desert of all the shame; And all reproaches rashly said, Fall back upon the utterer's head.

May 14th. TO-MORROW Anna bids farewell,

And quits the home she loved so long: My lips no courage have to tell

What I have striven to say in song: When parting she beside me stands, I'll slip the verses in her hands.

It was unkind -- ungenerous,
Without a cause, to serve me thus :
And ah! of late, I know not why,
She shuns me, and is grown so shy.
Now hand in hand no more we walk,
Nor is she now so free to talk :
Nor on my knee sits as before;
She says she is a child no more:
And then what moves me more than

this,
She scarce will yield the morning kiss :
But shrinks confused -- or rather I,
Abashed and burning, dare not try:
A feeling mixed of awe and shame
Restrains my step, and thrills my frame;
Withheld by bonds I cannot break,
Still longing, yet afraid to take.
And so, last night, when I drew nigh,
I could not speak when all were by.
So waited till she was alone,
And then - so silly am I grown-
I wavered still, so long, that he
Led off at last the prize from me.
What right had he to step between,
And rob me of my promised queen?
Did he the gathered wild-flowers find?
Did he the birth-day chaplet bind ?
And she too willing seemed, I thought,
Though oft ber turning eyes I caught;
Yes, yes; the dullest eye may see
Her thought no longer dwells on me!

TO ANNA.

When some pet bird escapes the cage, And wings once more the heavenly

plain, We grieve, yet soon our pangs assuage,

To know 't is with its mates again.

I've read, yet doubted all the while, "The female heart is prone to guile;' Alas! that I such proof should find! 'T is false and fickle as the wind.

Soon will she leave us; and each day That sped the time, has pained my heart;

But now I wish not før her stay -
It matters not how soon we part.
If others she prefer to me,
I am content - so let it be!

II.

So ANNA, since, the will divine

To all thy dear ones gives thee free; We'll pay our peace to purchase thine,

Since robbing us, enriches thee.

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When roaming o'er the marshy field, Through tangled brake and treacherous

slongh, We start, that spot so foul should yield,

Chaste blossom! such a balm as thou. Such lavish fragrance there we meet, That all the dismal waste is sweet.

II.

Farewell!-- they claim thee now, and we

With struggling smiles and tears obey: Flee to their longing bosoms, flee! We weep, yet would not bid thee stay.

May 18th. Three long, three bitter days, are gone Since she departed, and alone I've dragged the hours, with fever tost, Alarmed to find how much I've lost. And though not far her dwelling place, I've dared but once to seek her face; And then I paced the pavement o'er A coward hour, before her door. I long to see, yet keep away,

And sigh for bliss I dare not seek : I think I have so much to say,

Yet, when I meet her, cannot speak. I feel uneasy joy when nigh,

When absent, more uneasy pain : What moves me so to burn, to sigh ? Why starts my pulse, and rings my

brain ?

It must be! - yes! I feel, I feel

This is the love that poets sing, The bee, whose honey if we steal, 'Tis surely followed by his sting.

June 2d. O! BLOOMING June! thou hast in truth

White lily hands, and cheeks of rose; And sky-blue eyes of cloudless youth,

And voice with tones of birds that flows. I've been all day upon the wing;

I could not rest ai home, for thought : And see! the very wealth of spring

In my flower-hunting have I caught. And oft arrested have I stood,

My pet wood-robin's notes to hear; So ringing in the hollow wood,

Though few so futy and so clear : And streaming from the meadow bush, Bob-Linkum's merry soul would gush : I laid me 'neath a birchen tree,

And carved her name with rare design; Then razed it, lest strange eyes might see,

And know the foolish work was mine.

So in the dreary path of life,

Through clogging toil and thorny care, Love rears his blossom o'er the strife,

Like thine, to cheer the wanderer there, Which pours such incense round the spon, His pains, his cares, are all forgot.

June 3d. I Met her walking, and alone! Rapid my pulse, and hoarse my tone; No wordy interview was ours : At length, confused, I talked of flowers; Mine on my breast lay hid with care: Long, long I strove; I fumbled there, To draw the fragrant offering thence, But vain my strife, my confidence: I left her sinless of the deed, Resolved this night I would succeed.

June 4th. O silly me! - last night I went, With nerves wrought up - decided, bent, No more to play the part of dunce, But give the flower to her at once : And need there was that haste were

made, Before so frail a gift should fade. But all my resolutions melt, Whene'er her glowing face is felt : I climbed the steps with courage strong, Then softly peeped ; O were ye wrong, Intruding eyes, io gaze ?- and there! Alone and reading, but so fair, With drooping head upon her hand, She sat: ah! where was my command? One trembling moment I remained,

Then Aed, and sat me 'neath a tree, To watch the dwelling that contained The charm I could not, dared not see.

June 6th. Go! go! sweet faded flower,

All withered as thou art ;
In vain for many an anxious hour,
I've striven against a cruel power,

To place thee near her heart :
I dreamed that honored thou wouldst lie
Upon a sweeter bed to die;

But now unblest thou must depart;
Away thy dying leaves I cast,
Still sweetly breathing to the last !

Look at my game!- azalea blows,

The white to smell, the pink to see; Green tulip-flowers, whose chalice shows

Like mellow fruit upon the tree: Pale sweet-briar, dog.wood blossoms

white, With strange side-saddle flowers; and

here, The choicest, dearest to my sight,

The first magnolia of the year.

TO BE CONTINUED.

TIME'S VISTA.

Sweet is it to the soul, as life decays,
To mark the cloudless skies of other days;
Time's magic pencil o'er the softened view
Sheds a meek twilight and a lovelier hue,
And e'en confers a 'melancholy grace'
On sadder scenes, and smooths each rougher trace.
Then fresher flowers bloomed sweet along the vale,
And softer music breathed in every gale;
And cooler shades and fairer bowers arose,
Loved till the evening eye of life shall close :
Each scene reflects the home-felt joys of youth,
And gives each image with a mirror's truth.

D.

'A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY.'

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK.

In the course of a voyage from England, I once fell in with a convoy of merchant ships, bound for the West Indies. The weather was uncommonly bland; and the ships vied with each other in spreading sail to catch a light, favoring breeze, until their hulls were almost hidden beneath a cloud of canvass. The breeze went down with the sun, and his last yellow rays shone upon a thousand sails, idly flapping against the masts.

I exulted in the beauty of the scene, and augured a prosperous voyage; but the veteran master of the ship shook his head, and pronounced this halcyon calm a 'weather-breeder. And so it proved. A storm burst forth in the night; the sea roared and raged; and when the day broke, I beheld the late gallant convoy scattered in every direction; some dismasted, others scudding under bare poles, and many firing signals of distress.

I have since been occasionally reminded of this scene, by those calm, sunny seasons in the commercial world, which are known by the name of times of unexampled prosperity. They are the sure weather-breeders of traffic. Every now and then the world is visited by one of these delusive seasons, when the credit system,' as it is called, expands to full luxuriance : every body trusts every body; a bad' debt is a thing unheard of; the broad way to certain and sudden wealth lies plain and open; and men are tempted to dash forward boldly, from the facility of borrowing.

Promissory notes, interchanged between scheming individuals, are liberally discounted at the banks, which become so many mints to coin words into cash ; and as the supply of words is inexhaustible, it may readily be supposed what a vast amount of promissory capital is soon in circulation. Every one now talks in thousands; nothing is heard but gigantic operations in trade; great purchases and sales of real property, and immense sums made at every transfer. All, to be sure, as yet exists in promise ; but the believer in promises calculates the

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VOL. XV.

aggregate as solid capital, and falls back in amazement at the amount of public wealth, the unexampled state of public prosperity!

Now is the time for speculative and dreaming or designing men. They relate their dreams and projects to the ignorant and credulous, dazzle them with golden visions, and set them madding after shadows. The example of one stimulates another ; speculation rises on speculation; bubble rises on bubble; every one helps with his breath to swell the windy superstructure, and admires and wonders at the magnitude of the inflation he has contributed to produce.

Speculation is the romance of trade, and casts contempt upon all its sober realities. It renders the stock-jobber a magician, and the exchange a region of enchantment. It elevates the merchant into a kind of knight errant, or rather a commercial Quixotte. The slow but sure gains of snug per centage become despicable in his eyes : no

operation' is thought worthy of attention, that does not double or treble the investment. No business is worth following, that does not promise an immediate fortune. As he sits musing over his ledger, with pen behind bis

ear,

he is like La Mancha's hero in his study, dreaming over his books of chivalry. His dusty counting-house fades before his eyes, or changes into a Spanish mine: he gropes after diamonds, or dives after pearls. The subterranean garden of Aladdin is nothing to the realms of wealth that break upon bis imagination.

Could this delusion always last, the life of a merchant would indeed be a golden dream ; but it is as short as it is brilliant. Let but a doubt enter, and the season of unexampled prosperity' is at end. The coinage of words is suddenly curtailed; the promissory capital begins to vanish into smoke; a panic succeeds, and the whole superstructure, built upon credit, and reared by speculation, crumbles to the ground, leaving scarce a wreck behind:

'It is such stuff as dreams are made of.'

When a man of business, therefore, hears on every side rumors of fortunes suddenly acquired; when he finds banks liberal, and brokers busy; when he sees adventurers flush of paper capital, and full of scheme and enterprise; when he perceives a greater disposition to buy than to sell ; when trade overflows its accustomed channels, and deluges the country; when he hears of new regions of commercial adventure ; of distant marts and distant mines, swallowing merchandise and disgorging gold; when he finds joint stock companies of all kinds forming; rail-roads, canals, and locomotive engines, springing up on every side ; when idlers suddenly become men of business, and dash into the game of commerce as they would into the hazards of the faro table; when he beholds the streets glittering with new equipages, palaces conjured up by the magic of speculation; tradesmen fushed with sudden success, and vying with each other in ostentatious expense; in a word, when he hears the whole community joining in the theme of unexampled prosperity,' let him look upon the whole as a 'weather-breeder,' and prepare for the impending storm.

The foregoing remarks are intended merely as a prelude to a Dar.

rative I am about to lay before the public, of one of the most memorable instances of the infatuation of gain, to be found in the whole history of commerce. I allude to the famous Mississippi bubble. It is a matter that has passed into a proverb, and become a phrase in every one's mouth, yet of which not one merchant in ten has probably a distinct idea. I have therefore thought that an authentic account of it would be interesting and salutary, at the present moment, when we are suffering under the effects of a severe access of the credit system, and just recovering from one of its ruinous delusions.

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Before entering into the story of this famous chimera, it is proper to give a few particulars concerning the individual who engendered it. John Law was born in Edinburgh, in 1671. His father, William Law, was a rich goldsmith, and left his son an estate of considerable value, called Lauriston, situated about four miles from Edinburgh. Goldsmiths, in those days, acted occasionally as bankers, and his father's operations, under this character, may have originally turned the thoughts of the youth to the science of calculation, in which he became an adept; so that at an early age be excelled in playing at all games of combination.

In 1694, he appeared in London, where a handsome person, and an easy and insinuating address, gained him currency in the first circles, and the nick-name of · Beau Law. The same personal advantages gave him success in the world of gallantry, until he became involved in a quarrel with Beau Wilson, his rival in fashion, whom he killed in a duel, and then fled to France, to avoid prosecution.

He returned to Edinburgh in 1700, and remained there several years; during which time he first broached his great credit system, offering to supply the deficiency of coin by the establishment of a bank, which, according to his views, might emit a paper currency equivalent to the whole landed estate of the kingdom.

His scheme excited great astonishment in Edinburgh ; but, though the government was not sufficiently advanced in financial knowledge to detect the fallacies upon which it was founded, Scottish caution and suspicion served in place of wisdom, and the project was rejected. Law met with no better success with the English parliament; and the fatal affair of the death of Wilson still hanging over him, for which he had never been able to procure a pardon, he again went to France.

The financial affairs of France were at this time in a deplorable condition. The wars, the pomp, and profusion, of Louis XIV., and bis religious persecutions of whole classes of the most industrious of his subjects, had exhausted his treasury, and overwhelmed the nation with debt. The old monarch clung to his selfish magnificence, and could not be induced to diminish bis enormous expenditure ; and his minister of finance was driven to his wits' end to devise all kinds of disastrous expedients to keep up the royal state, and to extricate the nation from its embarrassments.

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