"No." She drawled out the word very slowly; it was certainly any thing but a monosyllable.-" I believe he is a most amiable man, and very kind to her; but then, Mr. -, only think of the contrast between her and her sister, Mrs. Jermyn, who has as handsome an establishment as any in the beau-monde ;—hers, indeed, was something like a match."-She pronounced the concluding words with considerable emphasis, as she turned to Lady James for her ready approval.

I had already perceived that the two ladies formed no exception to the generally-admitted opinion of the omnipotence of money;-had I not, however, made the discovery, Mrs. Lowton's over-hasty reply to my inquiry after poor Alicia's residence, would speedily have satisfied me on that point.

-

“Park Street,—Mrs. Jer-? Alicia, did you say?— oh! truly-really, Mr. —, I don't exactly know,--somewhere, I believe, in the environs, but I cannot be certain,— perhaps I can ascertain.”

I begged that she would not, on any account, give herself the trouble. I was about to proceed to pay my respects to Mrs. Jermyn, who, no doubt, would be able to direct me;and, with as much speed as was consistent with good breeding, I took my leave.

It may readily be imagined that my ruminations, as I walked along, were somewhat varied in their character. The false estimate of happiness, so universally existing,—the court paid to wealth,-the neglect attendant, even on the approach to poverty. I determined, however, to suspend any decision on the comparative happiness of my two friends; the grandeur of the wealthy Mrs. Jermyn,-or the privations of the poor Alicia,-until I had judged of them from my own observation.

It was after two o'clock when I arrived at Mrs. Jermyn's residence. It was a large noble-looking mansion; and I

I had known ;-the but it is needless to

was shewn into a most superb drawing-room, whose whole arrangement seemed rather designed with a view to suggest uses, than as the actual provision for wants already existing; so, at least, it appeared to my untutored fancy; and I had ample opportunity for its exercise, as Mrs. Jermyn did not make her entré for above half an hour. When she did appear, how shocked, how sadly grieved was I, to look upon her. She was but the spectre of her blooming girl I had left, was nowparticularise,--she had become the slave of fashion; she had sacrificed herself at its ruthless altar. There was nothing,nothing that even my memory, vivid as it was in its remembrance of her, could rest upon of Emma Vernon ; — for, changed as was her appearance, her manners were even more altered. She received me with all the elegance, indeed, of the most finished politeness,-the most fastidious etiquette could not have pointed out a single fault; but there was no heart in it,-it was as dead and cold as was herself to every feeling save the all-engrossing one of fashion,nay, the very allusion to former years was annoying to her. She seemed--or at least she wished to seem-to have forgotten them all.

I could not bear to witness such a wreck of feeling,-I dared not farther trust myself to allude to our former intimacy; and I attempted a few less exciting questions, although the attempt was answered with no better satisfaction. I inquired after her sister; but she knew little of her proceedings;—of her children;-but they were such plagues, she never permitted them to come down, they were best in their nursery. I asked after her husband; but she knew not whither he had gone, or when he would return, she seemed to have little interest in aught concerning him; -to care, indeed, for nothing,-to feel for nobody. I was oppressed with bitter regret,—I looked earnestly at her in sorrowing silence. She started at the sudden pause

-her eyes for a moment met mine; but they shrunk from my gaze, and one deep, unconscious sigh, told me too surely, the desolation that rioted within.

I hurried from her;-my heart was too full, and my feelings were still but too imperfectly under my control to risk their further excitement.

"And is this the envied lot, which the world boasts of as its chiefest good?-Is this cold insensibility to every better feeling,-is it-can it be called happiness? 'Tis a base prostitution of language to term it such, to call it aught but misery and despair,-it is, indeed!" But I checked the current of my painful reflections as I approached the residence of the poor, neglected Alicia.

Her house was, indeed, a contrast to that of her sister;— it was but a mere cottage; and instead of the splendid footman who had there announced me, a woman-servant opened the door. But there was an air of comfort, which more than pleased me; there seemed a peacefulness around it,—an elegance and refinement about its arrangement, that delighted me, and my first feelings were those almost of envy, that it was not mine. And then too, her reception, there was a greater contrast there;-it was my own dear sister—the same warm-hearted Alicia, that welcomed me,-the same mild, gentle spirit I had known in earlier times. She asked anxiously after my past welfare,-listened with interest to the account of my proceedings,-heard with pleasure of my present comfort,-and when I alluded to her marriage, the glistening eye, and smiling acknowledgment of her looks, convinced me of her happiness, more than her words. She had, as she assured me, every blessing her heart desired,— it was true, indeed, that their income was only small, but then, their wishes were also small; and they were too happy in each other's affection and too well satisfied with that happiness, to desire more.

"I like, my dear," she added, with smiling cheerfulness, "to be happy in my own way. Poor Emma indeed," -a sigh accompanied the name,—" fancies that happiness is alone to be met with in wealth and fashion, and truly do I hope she finds it there: you know she was always ambitious; but for myself, I am sure that my aspirations are after quietness and retirement. I might have been as rich and as gay as Emma, had I wished it; but I did not wish it. I preferred comparative insignificance, with the man I loved, and in whose everlasting affection I could confide without a fear, to all the false gifts of fortune; nor am I disappointed in the result."

I had already spent a delightful hour in her society, when an engagement called me away; and with a promise of soon repeating my visit, to be introduced to her husband, and again talk over the remembrances of the past, I took my leave, full of gratified and happy feelings.

Oh, world, world!"-such was my exclamation, as I turned for a parting peep at the little paradise I was quitting, —“thou false idol,—thou deceiving desolation! alas! how do thy votaries, for a meretricious bauble, cast away a real treasure, and then seek to gild over the base cheat, with the tinsel of feigned enjoyment! Rightly dost thou punish them; -thou robbest them, one by one, of every native feeling, and givest them-what dost thou give them in return?-A heart of insensibility--a mere mockery of happiness!"

Perhaps, I was somewhat over-caustic in my philippic,— excited too far by deep and present emotions, and had I waited the soothing effects of the good dinner to which I was hastening, I might perhaps have viewed that same world with a more indulgent feeling. But I like pure, unadulterated emotions—they come warm and free from the heart; and though they may, occasionally, be a little too fervid, they seldom deceive us,-not unfrequently prove our best and truest monitors.

Happiness, most certainly, is in opinion; and not unlikely in spite of all that has been said, or that may be said to the contrary, each individual will decide according to his own experience; but heaven preserve me from the happiness of Fashion!

THE SKELETON DANCE.

From the German of Goethe.

THE warder looked out at the mid-hour of night
Where the grave-hills all silently lay;
The moon-beams above gave so brilliant a light,
That the church-yard was clear as by day :
First one, then another, to open began;
Here came out a woman--there came out a man,
Each clad in a shroud long and white.

And then, for amusement,-perchance it was cold—
In a circle they seem'd to advance;

The

poor and the rich, and the young and the old, But the grave-clothes impeded the dance:

[bare,

And as no person thought about modesty there,
They flung off their garments, and stripped themselves

And a shroud lay on each heap of mould.

They kicked up their heels, and they rattled their bones, And the horrible din that they made,

Went clickety-clackety-just like the tones

Of a castanet noisily played:

And the warder he laughed, as he witnessed the cheer,
And he heard the Betrayer speak soft in his ear,—

"Go and steal away one of their shrouds."