house I met an old woman coming from it. I asked her what he had told her; the only answer I obtained was these lines, which I have never forgotten:

The Future we would fain unfold

He of the Past alone, has told :-
The joys of youth are fleeting fast-

None come to age but from the Past.

I did not seek the oracle, but applied this advice to my own circumstances. I renounced the

hope of happiness; I am still interested in the happiness of others, and I am sometimes consoled by it; but I wait with impatience for the close of life."

Aglaé had listened to the old woman with a lively interest that made her share in all her emotions. Her governess, who had surprised her with her eyes full of tears, could have wished that the picture had not been drawn so strongly; but she determined to tell her in their next conversation, that the misfortune of this old woman was that of all women of unregulated sensibility; and that the day is not lost which teaches us that

to them love is very far from fulfilling its promise; for it is not so easy for men to love as to please. Aglaé reflected upon all this, and promised herself the pleasure of seeing this interesting old woman often, and of making her repeat the story which had affected her so deeply. But her expectations were disappointed; the story was always the same. Aglaé perceived that it was impossible to speak long of one's self without being tedious. She had expected to love this old woman more every day, and every day she listened to her with less interest. Nothing could distract her attention from herself; morality, the country, ambition, everything recalled the image of her lover. If a noble action was mentioned, he would have performed it; if a simple thing was pointed out, he would have improved it; still she was the most interesting of all the old women; for her reminiscences were of the heart. Aglaé went to see her with pleasure, was soon tired of staying, and yet quitted her with pain. But she often did leave her before the sun had marked the hour for her return. The old woman would

bid her adieu with sadness, but without complaining. Aglaé would return slowly, dissatisfied with herself, reproaching herself for her unkindness and want of power to make sacrifices. The next day, after her studies were completed, she would fly to her old friend. One would have thought, by her haste, that she could not arrive soon enough; and enjoying in anticipation the pleasure her eagerness would give, she accustomed herself by degrees to be disinterested, to believe herself necessary to the happiness of another-that first and sweetest of illusions. She even returned to the others who had seemed to her formerly so ridiculous; she no longer felt a cruel pleasure in laughing at them, and rallying their follies; she still humored their faults, but as we console an invalid who has no resources in himself. Yet their extreme credulity made her fear for herself. "Reassure me,' she one day said to her governess, “I do not ask for praise, but I need encouragement. Am I young? Have you given me the means of being charming? Am I not, like these women, still in blindness?"

At these words the fairy appeared."Be tranquil, my Aglaé," said she; "you are what you were when I brought you to this island; I could add nothing to your beauty. I was not permitted to correct you without some effort on your part. I have showed you at once all the faults which time and the wish for praise would have given you; they have cured you of vanity, which in women makes youth guilty, and old age so ridiculous. This is gaining more than I had promised you. I shall now restore you to your kingdom; but before I leave you, I wish, like a good mother, to reward you for your efforts;—what do you desire?" Aglaé entreated her to restore her old friend to youth. But the old woman refused this favor, unless her lover could partake it. "I do not desire to live," she said, "I do not ask you for years; only restore to me the days of my happiness, and let me die when my husband shall cease to love me." The fairy granted her wishes, restored her youth, her husband, her pleasures, and her

Then she restored Aglaé to her mother, who, still blinded, believed that she was perfect, and did not doubt that she had employed all the time she had not seen her lose. She left her crown to her daughter, who passed the rest of her life in doubting herself and excusing others.

EVERGREENS.

BY PINCKNEY.

WHEN Summer's sunny hues adorn
Sky, forest, hill, and meadow,

The foliage of the evergreens
In contrast seems a shadow.

But when the tints of autumn have

Their sober reign asserted,

The landscape that cold shadow shows

Into a light converted.

Thus thoughts that frown upon our mirth

Will smile upon our sorrow,

And many dark fears of today

Will be bright hopes tomorrow.