Ah, me! how little could I deem
They were but visions of a dream,
Those brightly-speeding, blissful hours,
Those sun-lit waves of life's swift stream!

They were like rainbow tints that die,
And fade in dim air, silently.

There came a storm-I knew thee false;

I saw the hand that once was mine
Clasp'd in another's-and the eyes
That once for me alone might shine,
Beam with a bashful tenderness
On him who woo'd thy fickleness.

Oh! how dark thoughts came crowding then,
And stern, revengeful purpose sprung,

To steep my sword in his young blood,
And wring the heart that mine had wrung!
The clouds have pass'd,—I leave thee free-
Go! in thy false and heartless glee.

Go! and be happy if thou canst !
Go! and forget how once we loved!
Give to another those false vows

Which once my soul to rapture moved;
Those vows, whose music was to me
E'en as the voice of melody!

Thou art not joyous-for the smiles
That brighten all thy smooth, fair brow,
Beam but as sparkling sea-wave foam,

O'er silent, gloomy caves, below.

I would thou mightest be again

As once thou wert-as pure from stain.

Yes! I forgive thee; for the heart
That once loved truly, loveth on
Through grief, decay, nay cruel scorn,

E'en till earth's weary toil be done.

Thou wert my first, my soul's first friend,

And dear thou must be to the end.

"In China the voracity of the people obtrudes itself continually; every object of industry or occupation see ms to have so direct a tendency to the appeasing of appetite, that it becomes rather a disgusting contemplation. The rich and elevated are decided epicures; the middle and lower classes as decided sensualists. The tastes of the one are scarcely restrained by the extent of their revenues; the voracity of the other is unchecked by the most nauseous species of food. These gastronomers being the most omnivorous people in the world, there is not an animal or a plant that can be procured by art or industry, and eaten without risk of life, that is not pressed into their service. They highly prize the flesh of wild horses; and deem dogs, cats, the larvae of the sphinx-moth, bears' paws, and the feet of other animals, brought from Tartary, Cambodia, and Siam, delicious. At the banquets of the mandarins, edible birds' nests are held in high estimation, and are occasionally made into a soup."

BY THE HON. MRS. NORTON.

EMIGRATE, Pussy! and come to Old England,-
Here, we are kind to our Cats and our Dogs;
Laws to protect them are made very strictly,
Cruelty punish'd to insects and frogs!

Come, for we kill only beef, veal, and mutton,—
Dogs are our friends, and you, Pussy, our care;
Though we have battues for shooting at rabbits,
And course down your poor little cousin, the hare.

Come, the sly fox who was earth'd in the valley,

Cunning and shapely hath sped on his way,—
With hounds and with horses and men we pursue him,

And seldom indeed does the fox win the day!

Come, the rough otter is down by the water,

Panting and weary and bleeding he lies,

The spear of the hunter hath sharply gone through him,. And dogs raise a chorus of terrible cries.

Come, the proud red-deer is slain on the mountain,—
The weazel is nail'd, with the mole, on the door ;-
And the smart little terriers playfully worry

The rats as they scamper across the barn-floor.

Duck-hunts may sometimes our moments enliven,
Badger-hunts yield us most excellent sport,-
But, though our mercy is rather a puzzle,
Believe me, you've nothing to fear of the sort.

You shall sit safe by the side of the fire,
While the good Spinster prepares for her tea,-
Lapping up milk in the real china saucer,
Which held her deteriorated Bohea!

You shall bask warm in the bright cottage-window,
The children alternately teaze you and pat,-
And the ladies who stop at the door in their carriage,
Shall notice the beautiful tortoise-shell cat!

You shall walk free into Buckingham Palace,-
Roam o'er the leads of the nobleman's roof,-
Vexing the ears of the slumbering nation,
Whose pity seems made for your special behoof.

Come! and when diet of milk, meat, and butter,
Is scarcely sufficient to spare you a part,—
We'll kill our old racers, and hackney-coach horses,
And bring their chopp'd bodies about in a cart,—

Selling for pennies, and selling for farthings,
What the good purchasers happen to need;
Come! for the animal slaughter'd in China,
Here, upon others, is destined to feed!