Ire any

dur

21

Ve

_ its voluminous skirt spreading wide around her, and its

RS ee AP. ACN TC

forehead, and then dashed out of the door ina very | theatrical agony indeed,

fsabella Ellison was sitting in as pretty a boudoir as any little lady might desire to own—whether she herself belonged to court or commoner. Old Ellison had al ways been a profusely indulgent father, and bis daugh- ter in her own luxuriant little chamber was surrounded by many a mark of his open hand. Her bub! cabinet, her rich mosaic table, her silk couches and hangings, snd her velvet-like carpet, besides innumerable costly books, and a few highly-finished piotures in gorgeous frames, and Dresden vases full either of perfumes or flowers, being all so many proofs of his unsparing ex- penditure. _ And here sat Isabella threading pearls on the even- ing after her devoted lover's interview with her inexor- able father. As yet she was ignorant how exceeding unkind and unfeeling her papa had behaved, and she was consequently as good tempered as young girls ge- nerally are who have everything in the world to please them. Isabella Ellison looked very pretty as she sat on her crimson silk couch, and there were two reasons for this ; in the first place, nature had turned her out of her manufactory a well-executed piece of workmanship, very well finished, that is, painted, enamelled, and em- bellished, and polished, as the great artist alone knows how to manage, having an exclusive patent for such works, and carefully keeping the whole process secret : and in the second, being very prettily and tastefully dressed; in fact, Isabella was attired for a party, and her white satin robe, with its long pointed bodice, and

elbow sleeves with their blond falls, served to set off both her form and face, and as she stooped with her glossy ringlets over her lady-like labour, she looked al- most as pretty a3 her own picture—which is a very rare thing for a lady to look,

‘I wonder,’ thought Isabella, ‘if he will be there to- night. If he is, | won’t dance with anybody else—that I’m determined. I wonder how I look ; but white satin is 80 becoming in the complexion [ shouldn't like to be ugly, that must be so very disagreeable. If I were ugly, | would never look into a glass. It must be dis- agreeable to look ina glass if you are ill-looking. If { were so, [ think I should turn Catholic, and go intoa nunnery-—that would be the best thing, because no one would see you. Yet after all, the dress is very be- coming if people are only handsome. When I go toa masquerade I will be dressed like aman; but papa does not like masquerades—that isso odd of papa, to be prejudiced, I hope I shall never be prejudiced—it is so narrow minded. Lieutenant Lincoln is not at all preju- diced—and then he isso handsome. He looks quite dive in his regimentals. [looked about everywhere ior him to day, but I could not find him; and when I got nearly home | made them turn back, and drive all the way to Piccadilly, and pretended to have forgot something, thinking that perhaps one might find him somewhere, but we did not, though I looked at every- body all the way, and held the check-string in my hand. I put on my new hat, with feathers too—the milliner’s girl said that I looked well in it, and [ suppose I did, for I saw two or three gentlemen stand still to look at me every time I gotin and out. I wish I had met him, but I dare say I will to night.’

Such was a little sample, a sort of shred of the lady’s thoughts, as they meandered on her during her pear!- threading employment, and it was at this fraction that old Ellison sauntered in from his wine.

‘What doing, Isabella, asked the merchant.

‘© papa, only turning my necklace into a bandeau for my hair.’

‘ What, too poor to buy one?”

‘La, papa! I can’t make money go farther than it will ?

‘A truism, my dear—but do you make it go as far as it will?

THE EXAMINER.

CW a OER

A Nt tanger

your discretion, Instead of watching you, I trust you.’ Isabella blushed, face, and neck, and all.

‘Of course you have too much good sense to encou- rage any of the idle lounging, penniless young men who hang about you in society. Ofcourse I may fully trust you in that respect.’

‘There are dozens whomI never wish to see again,” said Isabella.

‘ But there is one whom you do wish to see again?— "Tis of no use reckoning by dozens,’

Isabella blushed more deeply than before, and hung over her pearls.

‘lL beg your pardon, Isabella, said the merchant; ‘1 really beg your pardon. Indeed 1 meant nothing seri- ous, Inever have put any constraint upon yon, because [ rely entirely upon your good sense and right feeling. [ should never suspect you, my dear, of forming any silly girl-like attachment like a silly boarding-school miss. Oh, no! Ha! ha! ha! Only think, my dear, how perfectly ridiculous to suppose you, who looked so pret- ty dressed in white satin and stringy pearls—to see you, I say, ina cotton gown, and boiling potatoes.— Ha! ha! ha?

_ Isabella looked as if she did not atall enter into the jest.

‘Well my dear, and so you find that you can’t do with Jess thana hundred and fifty pounds a year for your own little personal expenses. Well then, I sup- pose you must have it. I like to see you with lady-like tastes, and I don’t like to see you obliged to fudge fora few pearls. Really you look like a perfect Dulcinea as you sit there stringing those pretty globules. Ah, by- the-bye, I thought I had something to say to you, but it was so trifling that] had almost forgotten it. How- ever, it will serve to make you laugh. Ha! ha! ha!— Only think, Isabella, I have had an offer for you from one of those poor shabby fellows that I have been warn- ing you against. Yes, indeed, you may well look amazed—from a poor feilow thatcan hardly afford to pay the tax fora cab, much less to keep one. Really it is too laughable. Ha! ha! ha!

Isabella hid her face; she did notat all see what there was to laugh at.

‘Well my dear, I would not baulk you of a jest, or else I don’t think I should have remembered to have told you, and as it was I nearly forgot. But don’t tell anybody. People might fancy that you had encouraged him—and such proposals as these are rather discredita- ble than otherwise. But, I see you want to fiinish your pearls, so I won’t hinder you, Good bye, dear. Pleas- ant evening to you.’

‘But, who was it, papa?’ Isabella mustered up the courage to ask,

‘Who was it,’ repeated the merchant as he half turn- ed round atthe door, * Who was it? ah, let me see !— which of those danglers was it that had the impudence? It was a red-coated fellow, whose whole income, every farthing of it, is not quite as much as your own little personal allowance, my dear. Only think ofa man’s selfishnes and folly in supposing that vou would degrade yourself into the condition of a beggar to hu- ‘mour his presumption—a little mean income that would not pay the item of sundries in our kitchen alone, and that you say that you could not possibly do without for your own private little bills, my dear. By-the-bye, I will just give you a quarter in advance—f dare say that you can’t do without it—and don’t bore your eyes over those pearls any longer, Isabella. You are getting quite flushed with fatigue. I will send you in two or three bandeaux, that you may choose. But you asked me for this poor fellow’s name--his name,—ha! ha! ha! —Ithinkif | were charitable I should not expose his folly even to you, my dear. Why, let me see. Yes it was,—yes, my dear, the poor presumptuous simpleton that thought you might dress ina printed gown, and live in a jodging of some twelve shillings a week, and do your own cooking, and look after your own washing

‘Papa, you really don’t know whata great many things I have to do with my money.’ ‘But, dear, | gave you your quarterly allowance only

last week.’ ‘ Yes, but then I had to pay Howell and James’s, and

my milliner, and for all my gloves, and then I wanted some lace.’ ;

‘ Notone of which things you could do without eo

‘La, papa, how could I! As it was, I had to go with- out a great many things that $ wanted.’

‘Then [ suppose you could spend an allowance as large again.’ '

‘O, papa, if you really would be so kind! I was thinking of asking you, only [ did not like.’

«But are you sure, Isabella, that you can’t do with- | _

out it ?”

‘] really don’t know how, papa. 1 have such lots of terrible bills to pay.’

‘You havea hundred a year.’

‘Yes, papa—but whatis it? Really it goes before § know where I am.”

‘Do you think you could manage with a hundred and fly?

“O, papa, that would be so kind” i :

‘ But are you sure that you cannot do with less ?

‘Dear papa, [ have tried, and I cannot find the way how. | | ‘But before you decide upon this; I have something else to say to you.’

* What is it, papa ”

'—though I am almost angry with him, yet I cannot help laughing at him—ha! ha! ha!—was no less—but ‘don’t think too hardly of him—it was Lieutenant Lin- icoln,’

| The merchant clapped the door after him with a ‘laugh that most probably prevented him from hearing

$3

nature, and its possible issue. 1, as is usual in dreams (where, of necessity, we make ourselves central to every movement,) had the power, and yet had not the power to decide it. I had the power, if I could raise myself, to will it; and yet again had not the power, for the weight of twenty Atlantes was upon me, or the oppres- sion of inexpiable guilt. ‘Deeper than ever plummet sounded, I lay inactive.—Then, like a chorus, the pas- s.on deepened.—Some greater interest was at stake ; some mightier cause than ever yet the sword had pleaded or trumpet had proclaimed. Then came sudden alarms, hurrying to and fro; trepidations of innumerable fugi- tives, [ know not whether from the good cause or the bad; darkness and lights; tempest and human faces; and at last, with the sense that all was lost, female forms, and the features that were worth all the world to me, and bnt a moment allowed—and claped hands, and heart-breaking partings, and then—everlasting fare- wells! and witha sigh, such as the caves of hell sighed when the incestuous mother uttered the abhored name of death, the sound was reverberated—everlasting fare- wells! and again, and yet again reverberated—ever- lasting farewells!

And I awoke in stroggles, and cried aloud—* will sleep no more !"—De Quincey.

Manoracture or Gas From Warer.—We were much pleased, says the Mining Journal, with a descrip- tive lecture at the Polytechnic Institution, accompanied by a working model of a new hydro-carbon gas appara- tus, patented by Mr. Stephen White, for the manufac- ture of gas from water and common tar, or resin, &c. The apparatus consists of three retorts placed ina stove. two of which are filled with charcoal and thin pieces of iron, and the other with iron chains, hanging froma centre bar. The first'two retorts are for the decompo- sition of water, which is regularly supplied by means of a syphon pipe, through and into the centre of the retort; the water, in passing through the heated material, be- comes converted into pure hydrogen and proxide of car- bon. It then passes into the third retort, to receive its dose of bi-carburet of hydrogen, which is prepared from common tar, resin, or similar substances, passing, or dropping, off the red hot chain, from a syphon tube, which regulates its supply. This causes the tar of melted resin to throw of an abundance of bi-carburet or hydrogen gas, The gasses being mixed in this manner are immediately conveyed into the gasometer for use, without any purifying vessels whatever, none being re- quired. The great advantages arising from this inven tion appear to be the sinall, simple and cheap apparatus required, and the beautiful, clear and bright light pro- duced, surpassing the ordinary coal gas; also, its per- fect purity, being free from any nuisance in its manu- facture, and, above all, so pure and innoxious, that it may be burnt in any private room, without the least ijl effects or smoke resulting from it. The apparatus may be used, and the gas made, in any private mansions, churches or manufactories, and on any scale, from 5 to 1.000 lights or more, as wel) as for cities and towns. This gas can be made and supplied at a price consider- ably less than that of coal ges. Thus we see accom- plished the foretelling of that eminent chemist and phi- losopher, the late Sir Humphrey Davy, “that at some future time gas would be generated from water for. zeneral purposes, surpassing coal gas ia brilliancy and purity.

Astronomy.—Contemplated as one grand whiole, astronomy is the most beautiful monument of the human mind, the noblest reeord of its intelligence. Seduced by the illusions of the senses, and of self-love, man con- sidered himself, for a long time, as the eentre of the motion of the celestial budies, and his pride was justly punished by the vain terrors they inspired. The labor: of many ages has at length withdrawn the veil which covered the system. Man appears upon a small planet, almost imperceptible in the vast extent of the solar sys- tem, itself only an insensible point in the immensity of space. The sublime results to which this discovery has led may console him for the limited space assigned his in the universe. Let us carefully preserve, and even augment, the number of these sublime discoveries, which form the delight of thinking beings. They have

‘some musical sobs from Isabella, and seeing the extra- vagance of her scattering all her pretty pearls on the

‘rendered important services to navigation and astrone-

my; but their great benefit has been the having dissi«

floor in anagony of—something. * * 7 *

[To be concluded next week. ]

——unsauaa,__

Dream or tHE Orprum Earer.—The dream com- menced with a music which now { often hear in dreams —a music of preparation and of awakening suspense ; a music like the opening of the Coronation Anthem, and which, like that, gave the feeling ef a vast, march—of infinite cavalcades filing off—and the tread of innumer- able armies. The morning was come of & mighty day —a day of crisis and of final hope for human nature, then suffering some mysterious eclipses, and labouring in some dread extremity. Somewhere, | know not where—somehow, I know not how—by some beings, { know not whom—a battle, a strife, an agony was con- ducting—was envolving like a great drama or piece of music ; with which my sympathy was the more insup-

\Kou know, Isabella, that I put great confidence in

‘pated the alarms eccasioned by extraordinary celestia! | phenomena, and destroyed the errors springing from the ‘ignorance of our true relation with nature; errors so much the more fatal as social order can only rest on the basis of these relations. Truth, Justice; these are ite immutable Jaws. Far from us be the dangerous maxim, that it is sometimes useful to mislead, to enslave, and to deceive mankind, to ensure their happiness. Cruel experience has at all times proved, that with impunity these sacred laws can never be infringed.

AprEARANCES AT Niagara Faris.—The Rocheste Democrat says:—“ Business at the Falls is beeominy of more importance than heretofore. The unlimited water power is beginning to be made of service in vars- ous branches of manufacture. In less than one year, the number of mechanies has increased nearly two hus- dred. A magnificent hotel is soon to be commenced on the site now occupied by the superstructure of the one commenced over ten years since. It wil! front on the two streets, being 330 feet on one, and 300 fret ox, the other. The dining room isto be 150 by SO fer:

portable from my confusion as to its place, its cause, its and 20 feet high; the parlors G4 by 16 feet, and the _ :

es . teeta.

RR crane sient:

| |