She even claspt my hand in her's, and said, "O Charles! is he very, very miserable ?" "He is, ma'am," says I; "very miserable indeed--nobody, upon my honor, could be miserablerer." On hearing this pethetic remark, her mind was made up at onst: and sitting down to her eskrewtaw, she immediantly ableaged master with an answer.

Here it is in black and white: "My prisoned bird shall pine no more, but fly home to its nest in these arms! Adored Algernon, I will meet thee to-morrow, at the same place, at the same hour.

Then, then, it will be impossible for aught but death to divide us.
"M.

G." This kind of flumry style comes, you see, of reading novvles, and cultivating littery purshuits in a small way.

How much better is it to be puffickly ignorant of the hart of writing, and to trust to the writing of the heart.