Established 1823.

F ern Leaves from Fanny's Bordello.

THE STIIAY LAMB. _

I was walking through the streets yesterday, chilled outwardly and inwardly, as one is a t to be, by the first approach of winter, souiewhst out of uinour with mypclf, and indisposed to be pleased with others, wlion Inoticed before me, on foot, a party of emigrants in it very destitute condition. One of the women was tottering under the weight ofa hugs chest she carried upon her head ; most of them were ragged, and all travel-stainod_and careworn. Bringin up the rear, with uncertain, faltering ate s, some- what be ind the rest of the party, was is little gir of eight

cars, bonnetless, barefootod and barelegged, her scanty

ock barely reiiching to her little purple knees. her tangled brown hair the sport of the wi_nds: _ wearily, as if she had neither aim_ nor obyect ip moving on ; showing neither wonder nor childish curiosity at the new sights and scenes before her. It seemed to boa matter of indifference to the rest of the party whether she kept pace with them or not. My heart ached for, her, she looked so friendlcss, so prematurely piireworn. ii lint should be her future fate in this great city of snares and temptations! Who should take her h the hand‘! Ali, look! the_(.uood Shepherd watches over t ie stray lamb ! I hear a shriek of joy. A well-dressed woman before me sees her_; with the spring of an antelope she seizes her, prasseslicr lips to those little chilled limbs, then holds her at arms length. pushes buck the hair from her forehead, strains her again to her breast, while tears of gratitude fall like rain from her eyes ; then lifts her far above her liend, as if to say, “ 0 God,I thank thee !”

What can this utominie mean‘! for not a word have they spoken, amidnall these iiobs and caresses. “ Wliat does thismeanl” said I to it bystander. ‘: Oh, and it s a child come over from the‘ old counthry, um am, to find her mother ; and sure, she‘: ust met her in the _street, and the, hearts of ‘cm are most reakin with the Joy, you see. “ God be thanked!" said I, as wept too; “ the dove has found the ark, the lamb its fold‘. Let the chill wind blew, she will heed it not! The little weary head shall be

illowed sweetly to-ni ht on that loving breast; the chilled isibs be warmed and c othcd ; the desolate little heart shall beat quick with love and hope!" And there I left them. still caressing, still weeping. unconscious of the crowd that had gathered about them, forgetting the weary years of the t, pressing a lifetime of happiness into the Joy of those lissful moments. _

"Take heed that e despise not one of these little ones, for I say unto you t at in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father."

L!) N A MAY.

Such a gloomy room as it was! You may sometimes have seen one just like it. The walls were dingy, the windows small, the furniture scant and shabby. n one corner was a small bed, and on it a be of about nine years so llld, so emaciated, that, us no is there with an ion las es sweeping his is check, you could scarce tell if he were living. At the cot of the bed sat a lady, whose locks, sorrow, not time, had silvered. Her hands were clasped hopelessly in her lap, and her lips moved as if in silent

rs or. P “,Gocd morning, Mrs. May,” said the doctor, as he laid aside his gold-headed cane, very pompouslv. “ I have but a minute to spare. General _Clny has another attack of the at, and can't get along without me. IIow’s the boy!” and he glanced carelessly at the bed.

" He seems more than usually feeble," said the mother dcjectcdly, as the doctor.examined_ his pulse. . _

" Well all_he wants is something stronfthenipg, in the yvayof nourishment, tp set him op It'll: _lll:0d and Jellies, Mrs. May—-that s the thing or in t at in o it. Good morning, nis.'ain.” _

" Wine on jellies !" said the poor widow 3 and the tears started to her eyes, for she remembered sunnicr days, when those now unattainable luxuries were sent away untzi_sted from her well-furnished table, rejected by a_ capricious appetite; and she rose, and laid her hand lovingly on the little sull‘.irer‘s head, and prisoned the warm tears beneath her closed eyelids. _

Little Charley was blind. Ila had never seen the face that was bending over him, but he _kn_ew by the tone of her voice whether s_ c was glad or rievin ; and there was it heart-quiver in it now, as she said, “ _ear, patient boy !.” that made his little heart beat faster; and he i-eased h_is

o ll s to her hand, as if he would convey a 1 he felt in that kiss ; fcr,lcvc and sorrow had taught Charley a lesson ——mon of his seniors were more slow to learn—to endure silently, rathpr than add to the sorrow of a heart so tried and icf-stricken. And so, through those tedious days, and ong, wearisome nights, the little suferer uttered no word of complaint, though the outer and inner world was all darkness to him. ' _ _ _ _

Gcntl , noisclessly, ayoun ,. fair girl glided into the rooui. he passed to the be side; then, stooping so low that her raven ringlcts floated on the pillow, she lightly pressed her dcwy lips to the blind_ boy's orchead.

" That's your kiss, Lena,” said he tcudcrl . “ I’m so lad you are come !” and he threw his wast arms about or neck. “ Put your face down here —close, Lena, close.

The doctor has been herc,and mamma thought inc sleeping: but I heard all. He said I must have wine and jellies to make me well; and dear mamnia so poor, too! Oh, you should have heard her sigh so heavily! And, Lona, though I cannot see, I was sure her eyes were brimming, for her "voice had tears in it. Now, Iena, I want you to tell her not to ‘grieve, been so Charley s goin to heaven. dreams about it last night, Lena. I wasn t a blind boy any longer ; and I saw such glorious things !”

H Don't, don't, Charley !" said the young “ Take your arms from _my neck. You shal live, Charley; you phall have cyerything you need. ‘t me go, now, share s a darling! ’ and she tied on her little bonnet, and passed through the dark, narrow court, and gained the C

‘if, i

trcet.

Wine and jellies! yes, Charley must have them; but how! Her little purse was quite empty and the doctor‘! bill was s psrhct nightmare to think 0 . Oh, how many tables were loaded with the luxuries that were strength, health, life to poor Charley! and she walked on despair- ingly. lie bright blue sky sssiucd to mock her-—ths well- clad forms an happy Loss to taunt her. Oh ! throbbed there on the wide earth one heart of pity! Poor Lena! sxcltsmsnt lens a deeper glow to liar cheek, and a brighter lustre to her sys; an the cold wind blew her long trcsscs wldly about. One could scarce ass a lcvslisr face than Issfisfisn—so lloflovs,sc full ofsorrow.

At least so thought Ernest Clay; for he stopped and looked , and looked a in. Itwas ths slibodi artist drsauis. " must sketch it," said he Slss r~—that is svldsnt h-cm her dress;

at one may see in the holy sa- Aud low and musical was the voics meat to Inna. Ills tons was rss t- srdsstl ulanasssdhcr. and sits vsllstnfsr syn with their lsag Isskss wifisst rsplyisg.

Cliiirlottetown, Prince Edward island, Tlllll'S(ltl_V, February 9, 1854.

“ If your time is precious, you shall be well paid ; it will not take you long. Will money be any object to you ."

“Oh, yes. yes !” said Lennrdcspair giving her courage. “ 0 air, I have a brother, sick, dying for necessaries beyond our rcauh ! Give me some wine to keep him from sinking- now, if Ycaso, air !’’—and she blushed at her own earneslness—"' then I will come to you to-mcrrow. My name is Lena May,”

“ Dear, dcar mother !-—n-inc for Charley, and more when this is gone.”

*1 Lena !" said her mother, alarmed at her wild, excited manner.

“ An artist, mother, gave me this,ifI would let him make a sketch of mi.-. Dcnr Charley !"—-and she held the tempt- ing luxury to his fever- arched lip-—-“ drink, Charley. Now you’ll be strong and we l,aiid all for this foolish face I" and she liiughcd hysterically : than her hands fell at her side, her head dropped: the excitement was too much for her-she liad fainted.

“ There, that will do : thank you ! Now turn your head a trifle to the left, so :" and the young artist's eyo brightened as his hand moved over the canvas. In truth, it were hard to find at lovclier model. That full dark eye and Grecian

rolile, that wealth ol'rnven hair, those diinpled shoulders!

es, Lena was the realisation of all his artist dreams ; an then she was so pure, so inncccn Pructised tlatterer as he was professionally, praise seemed out of place now—it died upon his lip. He had transferred many a lovely face to canvas, but never one so holy in its expression.

And little Charley day by day grow stronger; and rare flowers lay upon his bed; and to inhaled their fragrance, and passed his slender fingers over them cnressingly, asi their beauty could be conveyed by the touch. And then he would listen for Lena's light footstep, and ask her, on her return, it thousand questions about the picture, and sigh as he said, “ I can never know, dear sister, i it is like on ;" and then he would say, “ You will not love this artist better than me, Lena 2" and then Lena would blush. and say, “ No, you foolish boy!”

“ Well, Lena,” said Ernest, “ your picture will be finished -day. uppose you are quite glad it is over wit i " “ Charley misses me so much !' was lovc‘s quick evasion. “ There are still many comforts you would get for Cliar— lcy, were you able, Lena!" " Oh, yes, yes !" said the youn girl eagerly, “ And your mother, she is too e icate to toil so unremit- tin l .1” “sizes,” said Lena dejectcdly. _ “ Dear, good, lovely Lena! they shall both have such a happy home. only say you will be mine l" ear reader, you should have peeped into that artist's home. You should have seen the proud, happy husband. You should have seen with what a sweet grace the little child-wife rformcd her duty as its mistress. You should have seen Iiarley with his birds and his flowers, and heard his merry laugh, as he said to his mother, that -' if he was blind always now that En-on would steal away our

THOUGHTS BORN OF A OARESS.

“ Oh, what a nice place to cry!” said a laughin little girl. as she nestled her head lovinglyon her mother's roast.

The words were spoken playful-y, and the little fairy was all unconcious how much meaning in id in them; but they brought tears to my s cc, for I looked forward to the time when care and trial s ould throw their shadows over that laughing face—whcn adversity sboiild overpower- when summer friends should fall of like autumn leaves before the rough blasts of misfortune-when the faithful breast she leaned upon should be no lou warm with love ~fe——whcn, in all the wide earth, t ere should be for that little one “ no nice place to cry." I shield the motherless! A father may be left—kind, aflectuoiinte. considerate, pcrha —but ii. man's affections form but a small fraction of his existence. llis thoughts are far away, even while his child clambers on his knee-— the distant ship with its rich freight, the state of the money- uiarkct, the fluctuations of tra c, the oflcc, the shop, the bench ; and he answers at random the little lispin immor- tal, and gives the child a toy. and s . c little, sensitive heart has borne its childish griefs through the day unshared. She don't understand the reason for anything, and nobody stops to tell her. Nurse “ don't now," the cook is “ busy," and so she wanders restlessly about poor maiuiua‘s em ty room. Something is wanting. Ah, there, is no “ nice p nce to cry!"

Childhood pisses; blooming maidenhead comes on; lovers woo; the mother's quic instinct, timely word of caution, and omnipresent watchfulncss, are not there. She gives her heart, with all its earning, sympathies, into unworth keeping. A fleeting oneymoon, then the drawn- ing of a orig day of misery; woarisoiiic days of sickness; the feeble mean of the first-born ; no mother's arm in which toplace,witli girlish pride, the little wa‘ling stranger; lover and friend afar ; no “ nicelplay to cry !”

.l‘ha k God !—not unheard Him who “ wi eth all tears away" goctli up that trouh ed heart-plitint roin tho despairing lips of the uiotherlesa!

..Z__

A CHAPTER ON LITERARY WOMEN

" Well, Colonel, what cngrossns your thoughts so ontire'y this morning! The last new fashion for vests, the price of Macassiir oil, or the niistit of your last pair of primrose kids! Make a ‘ clean breast’ of it."

“Lame, Minnie, don't be satirical. I've a perfect horror of satirical women. There's no such things as repose in their resciicc. One needs to be always on the defensive, srmotI)at all points; and then, like as not, some arrow will

ierce the joints of his armour. Be amiable, Minnie, and istcn to me. I want awife.”

“ You! it man of your resources ! Clubs, cigars, fasf horses, 0 eras, concerts. theatres, billiard-rooms! Can't account or it," said the merciless Minnie. “ Had a pre- iuonitory sympton ol'a crow's foot or a grey hair! Has old Time begun to step on your bachelor toes!” and she rcvelled her eye-glass at his this figure.

The Colonel took up a book with a ve i much as to say, Have it out, fair lady, an IV of our stilts I'll talk reason to you. lint Minnie lied no idea of getting ol her stilts: so she coded, “ Want it wife, do you. I don't see but our

ttons, and strings, and straps are all tip-top. our laundrcss attends to ur wardrobe, your hotel ls vwailrs to your appetite, you've nice snug quarters at the——-House,

lcnty of ‘ Ilne follows’ to drop in upon you, and what in

s name of the s do you want ofa ' wife!’ And ifit is a necessity that it is not Epostponabls, what description of a ronstring does your igh Mightinsss desire! l‘vc an lac you've only to nains the thin , and tlisrs’d be a perfect crowd of applicantr for the sites on. Come, bsstir your- sslf, Sir 0rasls,opcu your mouth, and trot out your ideal ."

" Well tlisn, negatively I don't want a htsrary woiasn. I should dssirs my wife's ts and feelings to centre in ls--tubs sunset is the tile klagdcn wlisrsirsiga

9 5 Do

C 2

'ured air,as on you get

supremo-—-to have the capacity to appreciate me, but ‘not brilliiincv enough to cutshine inc,-or to attract ‘out- siders.’ "

“ I like that. because it is so unselfish,” said Minnie, with mock liuaiilit . “ Go on."

“ You see, Minnie, these literar women live on public adniiration—glory in seeing tllQlIlfil.‘{\'L‘.'! in print. Just fancy iny_\vifo‘s lienrt turned inside-nut to thousands of eyes besides mine for dissection. Fancy her quickening ten thousand sti-.ingo pulses with ‘ thoughts that breathe and words that burii.' FztllCy inc wallaing iiieekly by her side, known onlv as Mr. Somebody, that the hiloiitcd Miss-—n-— condcsccndcd to nirirry! llori-ibla: ! Minnie, I tell vou. literary women are it sort of nondci-icript monsters; nothing feminine about them. They are as ainbiticus as Lucifer; else, why do they \vi‘ito'!"

“ Because they can’t help it," said Minnie, with a flash- ing eyc. 0‘ Why does it bird carol! There is that in such a soul that will not be ent up—tliat must find voice and ex- pression ; a lic:ivi-ii-kindled spark that is unquenchable ; an earnest, soaring spirit, whose wings cannot be earth-clipped. These very qualities fit it to appreciate, with a zest none also may know. the strong, (lee love of it kindred human heart. Reverence, respect, in cod, such it soul claims and exacts ; but think you it will be satisfied with that! No! It cravcs the very treasure you would wrest from it, Love ! That there are vain and ambitious female writers, is true ; but pass no sweeping condoinnntion ; there are literary women who have none the less deserved the holy names of wife and mother, because God has granted to them the power ofoxpressing the same tide ofeniotions that sweep, per- chance, over the soul of another, whose lips have never been touched ‘ with a coal from the altar.’ "

“Good moriiin , Colonel,” said Minnie: “how did you like the lady to W iom I introduced you last evening 1”

“ Like her! I don't like her at all-I love her! She took me by storm! Minnie, that woman must be Mrs. Colonel Van Zandt. She‘s my ideal ofa wife embodied."

“I thonrlit she'd suit you,” said Minnie, not trusting herself to look up. “ he's very attractive; but are you sure you can secure her!"

“ Well, I flatter myself," said the Colonel, glancing at an o posito mirror, "I shall at least, ‘die making an effort,’ before I take No for an answer. Charming woman ! femi- nine from her slioc-lacings to the tips of her eyebrows; no blue-stockings peeping from under the graceful folds of her silken robe. Vhat a charmed life it man might lead with her! Iler fingers never dabbled with ink, thunk Ilcavcn! She must be Mrs. Colonel Van Zandt, Minnie !"

She was “ Mrs. Colonel Van Zzindt." A week after their marriage, Minnie came in looking unccinmonly wicked and miscliievous. “ What a turtle-dove scene I" said she, as she stood at the door. " Do on know I never pccp into Para- disc that I don’t feel a Lucifcrish desire to raise a iniitin among the celcstialsl And apropos of that, you recollect ‘ .-lbelard,’ Colonel ; and the beautiful ‘ Zeluka. by the same anonymous writer ; and those little essays by the same hand, that you Il0lll‘I.Il'(I up so long! ' l 'vc discovered the nuiliur—u ftcr ii persevcring investigation among the knowinrv ones—the anonymous author, with the signature of‘lleloiso.q You have our matrimonial arm roun her this minute! May I he kissed if you haven't !" and she threw herself on the sofa in ii pnroxysm of mirth. “ C Colonel! ‘ marry a woman who has just sense enough to appreciate you, and not brilliancy enough to attract outsiders ! Fanc my wife quiekening ten thousand strange pulses with thoughts that breathe and words that burn ! Fancy me walking meckly by her side, known only as the Mr. Soincbody the talented ' condescended to marry !' I declare I'm sorry for you, Colonel ; you have my everlasting s'yi’npathy ; you look

already liken. iii-on ‘ transported for life '

“ Laugh away, Minnie! You might have played me a worse trick ; for instance, bad you married inc yourself. ‘ Heloise’ or Amy, ’tis all one to me, so ion asl can cal her wife I'm quite happy encugli to be willingyoii should enjoy your triumph ; and quite willing to subscribe, on my knees, to your creed, that at women may be literary, and yet feminine and l0\'C(l.l.)lL‘2 content to find her greatest happiness in the charmed circle of Ilomc."

—-

DARK DAYS.

" D ing! Ilow can you ever struggle throu h the world IIIOXIBI Who will cure for you, Janie, when am deadl"

" [love you rooms to let 1'’ said a. lady in sable to a hard- featured person.

“Rooms! Why, yes, we have rooms,‘ surveying Mrs. Grey very deliberately. “ You are a widow, I su ose! 'I‘hou'ght so by the length of your veil. Been in the city long. Ilow ion has our husband been dead! What was the matter of him! iikc in sewing or anything! Got any reference! Ilow old is that child ofyours!"

“I hardly think the situation wi 1 salt," said Mrs. Grey faintly, as she rose to go.

H l)on’t cr , maiumu," said Chiirlcy, as they gained the street. " li on't God take care of us!"

“Put another stick of wood on the fire, Charley; my fingers are quite benumbed, and I've a long wliilo to work sct.’I

“ 'l‘licre's not even a chip left," said the boy mournfully. rubbing his little purple hands. " It scents as though should never grow a big maxi, so that I ctuld help you !”

" llist! there's ii. ra i.“

" Work done .1" sai a rough voice ; “'cause, ifyou ain't up to the mark, you can't have any more. ' No fire, and cold fingers!’ Same old story. Business is business; I've no time to talk about your affairs. Women never nan look at U. thing in a commercial ‘int of view. What I want to

. P . know is in a nutshell. Is them shirts done or not, young .

woman!"

-‘Indeed, there is only one finished, though I have done my host," said Mrs. ‘re .

u Well, hand it plong; you won't get any more. And sit up to-night and finish the rest : d’yc earl '

“ Have you vcsts that you wish embroidered, sir I"

" Y-c-s, ’ said the gentlemen (I) addressed, casting is look of admiration at Mrs. Grey. . “ llere, ames, run out with this money to the bunk. Wish it for yourself, madam!“ said he blandly. " ossihlo! Pity to spoil those blue eyes over such driidgcr ."