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"I had hoped that our parting was more distant, my Emmeline," said the old man with a smile; "but I will not be selfish ;" a tear glistened in the smile as he continued, "had I sought, throughout the world, a husband for my daughter, I may proudly say, that on Morven Fitzgerald would have fallen my choice!"

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THE TRIBUTE MONEY.

I. HILL.

SEE, how devoid of selfishness He stands,
Divinely prescient of all stratagem,
And yet rebuking not his cunning foes.
Learn, ye Ambitious, from his brief reply,
Ere ye command respect, to pay it justly.
How simple is true Wisdom! it defeats,
Disarms the crafty, caught in their own net.
How politic, beyond all laboured art,

Is Candour-doubly so, to Meekness wed!

F

There is no tome from which so many a truth
Of more than vital price is to be gained—
Into a few plain words concentrated—
As this affecting volume. Here, at once,

Conviction, comfort shine, a star-lit Heaven!

Each but a point, and yet a saving guide!

Take tribute of me, Monarch of my earth!
My sole wealth bears thine Image. My heart's King,
Thy superscription stamps mine humble talent,
And, therefore, is it rendered unto thee.

But set Thy name, my Father, on this soul,
That it may be harmlessly useful here;

And when 'tis rendered back-sullied, defaced-
Do Thou restore its purity and brightness,

To share the radiance of Thy throne above!

WAR SCENES.

BY SIR AUBREY DE VERE HUNT, BART.

-I PASSED

The gate of a temple: it was thronged with maidens, Worn out with famine doubtless-but still lovely! And there they sat, and sang, and wept, and told Sad stories, and wept again. I saw,

In an open hall, an old man of four-score

By his daughter fed on their last loaf-their last!
Aye, o'er that meal, he bless'd her, and held up
His aged hands, and wished her length of days,
And health, and happiness-thus on the edge
Of a sure grave! I turned away mine eyes,
And, in a corner, saw a young man steal

The cool spring draught from his faint, dying mother,
And drink! Thus misery deforms our nature!

*

We soldiers

Have but hard hearts at best; yet there was one

That moved my pity deeply-a poor female ;-
Famine had preyed upon her, and it seemed
As if some grief had left her desolate :
She had a baby in her arms, and moved
Slow, with unsteady step, her head declining;
She heard me as she passed, and languidly
Stopped, and, all trembling, turned aside to gaze.
Oh! what a look she gave then! her dim eyes
Sunk in their livid chambers, and half hid
'Neath the incumbent lids, were fixed on me,
With most intense, painful anxiety;

Tears started, and she turned unto her child,
Kissed it, and wept ;-then turned to me again,
And seemed with her disparted lips to drink

E'en the last word I uttered. There was about her
An air that shew'd she had been beautiful,

And knew it, and a something that denoted
Station and breeding; and she still was youthful;
But nature vainly wars with sickness: thus
Want had anticipated time;-the sear

Of sallow winter had crept upon her roses,

And hunger made her soft cheek hollow and wan.

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Despair and sensibility soon sever—

Squalid had grown her dress-her breast was bare, That infant's fount of life and only pillow:

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