ocean, and had won his way to fame by observing the wonders of animal life, which are nourished in its depths. He remembered his youth of poverty, the sullen rejection which his first claims for advancement had received; and all the vicissitudes of action and of suffering, through which he had been led to the highest distinctions in science. The son of the Wirtemburg soldier, too weak in bodily health to embrace the profession of his father, had found his way into the secrets of nature, and revealed to an admiring world the novelties, which his sagacity and power of comparison had discovered. The man, who in his own country had been refused the means of becoming the village pastor of an ignorant peasantry, had charmed the most polished circles of Paris by the clearness of his descriptions, as he had commanded the attention of the Deputies of France by the grace and fluency of his elocution. And now he was calmly predicting his departure. His respiration became rapid. Raising his head, he suffered it to fall, as if in meditation. His soul had passed to its Creator without a struggle. "Those who entered afterwards, would have thought that the noble old man, seated in his arm-chair by the fire-place, was asleep; and would have walked softly across the room for fear of disturbing him." Heaven had but "recalled his own.' "

The death of Haller, the great predecessor of Cuvier, was not more tranquil. His declining years were spent among the mountains of his own favourite Switzerland; and when the hour of death approached, he watched like a philosopher the ebbing of life, and observed the beating of his pulse till the power of sensation was gone.

A tranquil death is alone suited to the man of science, to the scholar. He should cultivate letters to the last moment of his life; he should resign all public honours, as calmly as one would take off a domino on returning from a mask. He should listen to the signal for his departure, not with exultation, and not with indifference. He should respect the dread solemnity of the change, and repose in hope on the bosom of death.He should pass, without boldness and without fear, from the struggles of inquiry to the certainty of knowledge; from a world of doubt to a world of truth.

THE LOST DIAMOND.
[Continued from our last.]

CORDELIA, whose excellent constitution had never been impaired by disease, and which, on the present occasion, vigorously and successfully resisted its attacks, was, in less than a week, convalescent.

Among the first who called on her to congratulate her upon returning health, was

Miss Eldron. During her first interview, she managed to break down all the barriers of restraint, and place herself upon the most familiar footing. After this, her calls, which were daily, were frequently lengthened to visits, and then so assiduous and active was she in her attention to the invalid, as nearly to supersede the necessity of a nurse. Cordelia's gratitude and admiration were unbounded, and if she repined at her own fate, in being doomed to love without hope, she could not blame the object of that love for being, as she imagined, devoted to one in whom she believed centred every quality, either good or attractive. She was soon able to leave her chamber, walk in the garden and adjacent grounds, and had once or twice yielded to the urgent entreaties of Miss Eldron, to spend a social afternoon with her, when, one morning, as she sat alone by the parlour-window, she saw Morley approaching on horseback. He had called several times, but Miss Eldron had always happened to be present. When she heard his step on the threshold, the colour deepened on her cheek, her hand became icy cold, and she trembled with irrepressible emotion. A few commonplace remarks having been disposed of, he observed that he had long been seeking an opportunity to converse with her.

"After much inquiry," said he, "I found that the name of the gentleman and lady, in whose company I first saw you, was Allison, and you, I was told, must be their daughter. I expected to meet you at Mrs. Forrester's, but what was my surprise-I might add, consternation when I found that, instead of Miss Allison, I beheld Cordelia Ruthven-her whom I had a few days previously so deliberately released from an engagement, which, but for my unhappy mistake respecting your name, it would have been the first wish of my heart to fulfil. Yet, I rejoiced, that I did write after I ascertained that your heart was already in the possession of another, when you received my letter."

"Who could possibly have told you?" Cordelia began in reply; but she stopped abruptly, for she beheld Miss Eldron standing within the door, who, as was her custom, had entered without ceremony. Cordelia cast at her a hurried glance, to detect, if possible, by her countenance, whether she had heard any part of what Morley had said, but she betrayed no consciousness either by look

going. Come, get your bonnet, I have come on purpose to take you to ride."

Cordelia, who hoped that Morley would remain after Miss Eldron had taken leave, and resume the conversation, which her entrance had so abruptly terminated, declined her invitation. But her determination not to leave them together, was not to be baffled, and appealing to Morley, whether air and exercise were not necessary for the confirmation of her health, she, at the same time, laughingly challenged him to be their escort. He, of course, could not do otherwise than assent, and Cordelia, though reluctantly, decided on going.

"I shall come myself to take you to Miss Finlay's, to-morrow evening," said Miss Eldron, when the carriage stopped to leave Cordelia, "and remember, I shall listen to

no excuse."

Cordelia had just completed her toilet, in order to attend the party, when Miss Eldron, true to her appointment, with her accustomed familiarity, entered the apartment.

"Your dress is very pretty," said Miss Eldron, surveying her, "but rather too plain, when we consider that Miss Finlay's party is to be so select."

"You know," said Cordelia, while the colour on her cheek became a little deeper, "that I have not the means of dressing splendidly."

"But that is no reason why you should not wear your beautiful pearl necklace; it would be peculiarly becoming now, as your complexion is purer and more delicate than before your illness."

Saying thus, she opened a small ivory box, which, she knew, did not contain the necklace, and the diamond pin, which she had eagerly desired to see, since she had heard it described by Morley, was displayed to her view.

"What a magnificent diamond!" exclaimed she. "Why did you never show it to me?"

"It is not mine," replied Cordelia; and, in a few words, she explained to her under what circumstances it had been entrusted to her care.

"No matter, if it is not yours," replied Miss Eldron; "nobody will know that it does not belong to you. See, Miss Allison," to Annette, who at that moment entered, "how beautiful it looks, sparkling amid the snowy folds of this muslin. It resembles a brilliant star, looking through a fleecy cloud."

Annette assented to her remark, but Cordelia remained firm in her refusal to wear it, and returned it to the casket.

"Permit me," said Miss Eldron, "to look at it once more. I never before saw a brilliant that could be at all compared with it. It is pellucid as the morning dew-drop. Here, let me fasten it in its appropriate place, that

you can yourself judge of its effect. There! will you not confess that it is a most beautiful ornament?"

"Certainly," replied Cordelia; "and, if-" "I shall listen to no ifs," interrupting her. "This single diamond is in such perfect keeping with the simplicity of your dress." As she spoke, she looked at her watch.

"What is the time ?" inquired Annette. "Late! I meant to have been at Miss Finlay's before now. I hate going late to a ball or a party: it looks like affectation. Now, as you love me, as the play says," turning to Cordelia, "let that diamond alone, and put on your shawl and bonnet. I cannot wait another minute."

When arrived at Miss Finlay's, they were almost immediately joined by Morley; and, Cordelia, with a painful confusion, which she could not disguise, perceived him intently examining the diamond pin, with, as she imagined, a look of stern disapprobation. "He thinks me extravagant," was her first thought; but, directly, it occurred to her, that he had doubtless seen it before, and now remembered it. A look, full of meaning, as Miss Eldron's eye, for a moment, encoun tered Morley's, and told him that their conversation, relative to the diamond, was present to her mind; while she, in her turn, sensible of the effect that was produced upon him by Cordelia's wearing it, might have said, with lago,"Work on,

My medicine, work!"

Except at Mrs. Forrester's, Cordelia had never spent an evening so unpleasantly. The costly diamond drew upon her all eyes, and several of the younger girls, whose curiosity got the better of their delicacy, increased her embarrassment, by asking questions about it.

Much to her relief, Miss Eldron was amongst the first to withdraw. Cordelia accompanied her to her carriage without speaking; and she felt that that there was reproach in her silence, which might have occasioned her some uneasiness, had not this feeling been absorbed in what, to her, was of deeper import.

When they stopped at Mr. Allison's, "Good night, my dear Cordelia," said she. "Your judgment was best about wearing the diamond. Forgive me, and forget that you have worn it. It will be forgotten by everybody else by to-morrow.'

Cordelia was touched by her apparent sympathy, and, returning the pressure of her hand, and her "Good night," she stepped from the earriage, and entered the pathway that led to the house.

The coach rolled rapidly along, and, in a few minutes more, Miss Eldron was at home. The lamp, at the top of the arched gateway, threw a strong light upon the carriage, and when the coachman threw open the door,

she beheld something sparkle brightly at her feet. Taking it up, a single glance told her that it was the diamond belonging to the pin which Cordelia had worn, and which had fallen from the setting. It was, as has already been remarked, of great antiquity, and had not always laid in a box, as during the last few years; and, as the costliest jewels are said the quickest to wear their settings, this, unperceived by Cordelia, had become loose. Miss Eldron, when she examined it so minutely, did perceive it, and a vague, half-formed wish, which she shrank from presenting before her mind in a distinct and palpable form, pointed to an issue similar to what had now taken place.

With the gem closely clasped in the white and beautifully formed hand, which Morley had so often beheld with admiration wander over the strings of the guitar, or the keys of the piano, stealing their sweetest music, she hastened to her chamber, that she might assure herself that she was not mistaken-that it was, really, the diamond. For a short time she stood irresolute, whether to retain it, or to restore it to Cordelia. Her wearing an ornament, so solemnly entrusted to her keeping, which did not belong to her, had, Miss Eldron knew, lowered her in the opinion of Morley; but the impression might prove only of transient duration, while its loss, which would give a trumpet-tongue to her apparent vanity and imprudence, would, she hoped, produce an effect not to be easily obliterated. The principle of moral rectitude was too feeble to repel the temptation which assailed her under a form that seemed to promise the promotion of the proudest and most absorbing wish of her heart. She deposited the box, in which she had enclosed it, in a drawer, that she carefully locked, and before she slept, she not only brought her mind to yield to its evil suggestions, but in a great measure succeeded in silencing the upbraidings of conscience, by resolving to indemnify Cordelia for the loss of the diamond, under an appearance of syınpathy and disinterested benevolence.

The first thing that Cordelia thought of doing, after entering the house, was to remove the ornament, which had occasioned her so much vexation during the evening. What was her consternation and distress, when she found the diamond was gone! Mr. Allison immediately proposed to go himself to Miss Finlay's, unwilling to entrust so important an errand to a servant, to see if it had not been dropped in some of the rooms, although Cordelia felt sure that she saw it, when she put on her shawl. The period of his absence was spent, by her, in a state of the most anxious suspense, despite the efforts of Mrs. Allison and Annette, who deeply sympathised with her, to inspire her with the hope that it might be found. In

something less than an hour, Mr. Allison returned. They saw, by his looks, that he had been unsuccessful. Every part of the house open to the company, the door-steps, the path leading to the house, which was hard and smooth, had, he informed them, undergone a thorough search. The path leading to their own house was now subjected to a similar scrutiny, with, of course, similar success. Miss Eldron's carriage was next thought of, but it was now so late, that the family had undoubtedly retired to rest, which would oblige them to defer the inspection of that until morning. At an early hour, Mr. Allison called at Mr. Eldron's, and, informing them of Cordelia's misfortune, leave was readily accorded him to search the carriage.

The moment Miss Eldron rose from the breakfast-table, she prepared to call on Cordelia. After expressing much regret and sympathy, on account of her losing the diamond, she took Cordelia aside.

"I know not," said she, "the exact value of the lost diamend, but this purse must contain a sum sufficient to replace it, and I beg of you, in the name of the friendship which unites us, but, more on account of my having myself been the innocent cause of your misfortune, to accept it."

Her apparent generosity affected Cordelia to tears, but she firmly rejected her offer. She had already resolved what course to pursue. The money left her by her mother, exclusive of her annuity, would, she hoped, replace the diamond, if one of equal size and beauty could be obtained.

Miss Eldron, when she found that Cordelia would not accept the money as a gift, entreated her to receive it as a loan, to be repaid whenever convenient. This proposition being as resolutely refused as the other, Miss Eldron departed, though not without first censuring Cordelia for being so unwilling to receive a favour.

As soon as she was gone, Cordelia consulted Mr. and Mrs. Allison, relative to the plan she had formed of replacing the diamond, which, as it seemed the only one practicable, that would not compromise her independence, which she was fully determined on not doing, received their concurrence. Mr. Allison, at Cordelia's request, promised to attend to the business, as soon as he had made the necessary arrangements for leaving home.

Many people, as Miss Eldron had anticipated, made themselves busy in signifying Cordelia's apparent vanity and indiscretion. Morley, in whose estimation she had certainly suffered, forbore, from motives of delicacy, to call on her, which afforded him leisure the more frequently to visit Miss Eldron, who, every day, became more and more sanguine that he would ultimately

yield himself a victim to her charms.

One day, when he was present, as she was accompanying one of her most beautiful and impassioned songs with the guitar, one of the strings suddenly, broke. She rang the bell, and a girl appeared at the door.

"Janet," she said, taking a key from her reticule, "go to my room, and unlock the upper drawer of my writing-desk, where you will find a box containing some guitarstrings. Bring the box to me."

The girl took the key and left the room. Miss Eldron's usual vivacity seemed to have forsaken her, and she sat silent and thoughtful. Morley involuntarily took her hand, and the language of love was upon his lips. At this interesting crisis Janet returned. Agitated and confused, Miss Eldron took the box without examining it, and, precipitately opening it, a large, superb diamond fell upon the carpet. A single look at Morley, as he took it up and returned it to her, convinced her that he knew it was the one Cordelia had lost. Neither of them uttered a word, and it would have been difficult to have told which was the palest. Morley approached the door and opened it. "Stay, one moment," said she. "I demand of you to withhold passing your judgment relative to what you have now seen, till you receive from me a written explanation."

"Let it be a speedy one, then," he replied, "for the time will pass heavily till I am assured that you are as blameless as I wish you."

"Blameless! No, you will find me most guilty. I only wish to convince you, that I had no desire to possess the worthless bauble, for its own sake."

For a moment she stood silent, and the blood suddenly rushed to her cheek and brow. She then said, "Mr. Morley, you will never see me again. I shall leave this place, to return no more. Farewell, and may you be happy with her whom I have wronged, and who deserves your love and esteem, of both of which I have laboured to deprive her. Her heart is yours."

Having said thus, without waiting for a reply, she opened a door, opposite to the one where he stood, and left the room.

After

The next morning he received from her a note, accompanied by the diamond. briefly stating the manner of her finding it, and the motives which impelled her to secrete it, she requested him to return it to Cordelia, and make the requisite explanation.

it appeared to him that he had been subject to a species of infatuation with regard to Miss Eldron, and that every thing appertaining to ber had been seen through an indistinct and bewildering medium; but now, as the premature vanishing of the fumes and smoke, that rise from the censer of the sorceress, may betray the secrets of her art, so, many things, which had assumed a false aspect, revealed themselves clearly to his perception, bereft of all that he had thought lovely and attractive. The deep love, which had filled his heart for Cordelia, and which he, at first, on account of her supposed indifference to him, and, subsequently, from her imaginary unworthiness, he had sought to stifle, as he recalled the expression of Miss Eldron, "Her heart is yours," revived with all its original fervour. He had not called on her since the loss of the diamond; and, now, with that and Miss Eldron's note, at the approach of evening, he bent his steps towards the dwelling of Mr. Allison.

The moon, which had not yet parted with her graceful crescent form, hovered above the western horizon, still glowing with the golden radiance of an unclouded sunset. To shorten the distance, he availed himself of a foot-path, communicating with the grounds of Mr. Allison, which accommodated itself to the course of a rivulet. A narrow grove, composed mostly of elms, skirted the westerly side of this path, and, the moonbeams, stealing through their light and graceful foliage, had an effect far more beautiful than when they fell upon the landscape in full and unbroken splendour. In many places, amid the wavering shadows of the trees, thrown across the stream, a ripple here and there would sparkle with intense brilliancy; while, close beside, poured through an opening in the grove, a broad mass of light, undimmed by the shade of a single leaf, was spread out upon its waters like a bright banner upon the breeze.

Morley's thoughts reverted to Miss Eldron, but her appropriate place was in the splendid boudoir and the stately hall, rather than in a serene and beautiful moonlight scene like this. He stayed his footsteps, for he thought he heard the murmur of voices mingle with the breeze. It was no illusion: an abrupt turn in the river revealed whence the sound proceeded. On a large rock that jutted far into the stream, stood Cordelia and Annette. The straw hat of the former, loosely tied, fell back, so as to reveal her white brow, its unsullied purity forming a vivid contrast to the dark hair, wreathed by nature into curls, by which it was shaded.

"No, Annette," said Cordelia, the tones of her voice in the evening stillness distinctly reaching the ear of Morley, "I cannot remain with you longer than while your father arranges this unfortunate business. My

annuity will place me above want, though it will not afford me my customary indulgences. I will return to my native place, where cluster many memories, some of them painful, yet all dear. It will be enough to hear that Miss Eldron is the wife of Morley. I cannot remain-and-"

Ere she had time to finish the sentence, Morley was at her side. Annette, thinking that her presence, if desired, was not necessary, quietly stepping from the rock into the path, was probably home before she was missed.

"Miss Eldron will never be mine," said he;" and, may I dare to hope, after what I have now unintentionally overheard, that you will consent to renew the engagement of our childhood?"

"There is in your mind a blot upon my name," she replied, "and until that be removed, I am too proud to renew it. Until I can hold the highest place in your esteem, we must henceforth be to each other as strangers."

2

"If that be all, I have a talisman here, I trust," said he, producing the diamond, "whose virtues will have the power to break the charm of the evil genius who has so long presided."

All the sorrows and solicitude of the past were atoned for in the satisfactory explanation that ensued; and as they slowly pursued their way to Mr. Allison's, Morley drew from Cordelia a confession of the interest he had excited in her bosom when they met as strangers in the stage-coach, as well as a promise that she would be his, before the expiration of many weeks.

FOREST MUSIC. BY MISS GOULD.

THERE's a sad loneliness about my heart,-
A deep, deep solitude the spirit feels
Amid this multitude. The things of art
Pall on the senses-from its pageantry,
Loathing, my eye turns off; and my ear shrinks
From the harsh dissonance that fills the air.

My soul is growing sick-I will away,
And gather balm from a sweet forest walk!
There, as the breezes through the branches sweep,
Is heard aerial minstrelsy, like harps
Untouched, unseen, that on the spirit's ear
Pour out their numbers till they lull to peace
The tumult of the bosom. There's a voice
Of music in the rustling of the leaves;

And the green boughs are hung with living lutes,
Whose strings will only vibrate to his hand
Who made them, while they sound his untaught
praise!

The whole wild wood is one vast instrument
Of thousand, thousand keys; and all its notes
Come in sweet harmony, while nature plays
To celebrate the presence of her God!

A Jew was observed recently noticing very intently a prodigious fine ham. "What are you saying to that ham, Master Jacobs?""I was saying to it, thou almost persuadest me to be a christian."

"Thou art false to me," as the man said to the plank, which let him down into the water, as he was stepping into a steam-boat. "Come over the moonlight sea," as the smuggler said to sundry casks of hollands.

“That's smart," as the boy said when the schoolmaster administered the cane to him.

"A little more strength in your tea and not so much in your butter," as the lady boarder said to her landlady.

A Good Story, but Tough.-An American paper relates the following account of the finding of a toad:-Mr. Phineas Davis was quarrying thick, heavy dimension stone for the piers at Oswego, on land owned by P. Gaige, Esq., and in lifting the third tier, or layer, from the top, he found a large-sized toad, encased in a little hole on the surface of the layer beneath. The hollow was not sufficiently deep to admit of any exercise by the animal, as he was apparently flattened very much when first discovered. He, however, soon straightened up "on all fours," and hopped off as any toad would when disturbed, to the great amusement of the quarrymen, among whom was an Irishman, who fell at him with a stick, and broke one of his legs. The old fellow, however, remained in the vicinity, hobbling about as well as he could on three legs for a day or two. bed in the rock, where he had napped so long, has been seen by many of the villagers, and there is no doubt but that he squatted there before the five feet of lime rock over him was formed. I remarked that the two layers were so nearly united as to appear grown together all round him, and had to be separated by wedges. The layers are about 20 inches thick, and without any opening seams, the stone all having to be stripped off by wedges. In the same cavity of bed with him was a small toad about the size of a walnut,

His

A physician enjoying an extensive practice in a Western county, advertises that he has removed from his old residence to a new house within a few doors of the church-yard, and expresses a hope that his removal will prove an accommodation to many of his patients.

"I'm in for a duck," as the man said ven he fell into the river.

"Don't be so taking," as the thief said when the officer arrested him.

There are three things that affect a man's spirits a dull day-an empty pocket-and being in love.