s at all.

Jack Tier, still known by that name, lives in the family of Capt.
Mulford. She is fast losing the tan on her face and hands, and every
day is improving in appearance. She now habitually wears her proper
attire, and is dropping gradually into the feelings and habits of her
sex. She never can become what she once was, any more than the
blackamoor can become white, or the leopard change his spots; but she
is no longer revolting. She has left off chewing and smoking, having
found a refuge in snuff. Her hair is permitted to grow, and is already
turned up with a comb, though constantly concealed beneath a cap. The
heart of Jack, alone, seems unaltered. The strange, tiger-like
affection that she bore for Spike, during twenty years of abandonment,
has disappeared in regrets for his end. It is succeeded by a most
sincere attachment for Rose, in which the little boy, since his
appearance on the scene, is becoming a large participator. This child
Jack is beginning to love intensely; and the doubloons, well invested,
placing her above the feeling of dependence, she is likely to end her
life, once so errant and disturbed, in tranquillity and a home-like
happiness.

THE BELLE.

BY MARY L. LAWSON.

She stands before the mirror--she is fair,
And soft the light within her beaming eyes,
But unshed tears are slowly gathering there,
Like passing clouds that float o'er summer skies;
Her cheek is wan, as blanched by thoughts of pain,
And on her snowy brow a shadow sleeps:
Are such surpassing gifts bestowed in vain?--
The pale, sad beauty turns aside and weeps!

Long, long in anguish flows the burning tide--
Dark storms of feeling sweep across her breast--
In loneliness there needs no mask of pride--
To nerve the soul, and veil the heart's unrest,
Amid the crowd her glances brightly beam,
Her smiles with undimmed lustre sweetly shine:
The haunting visions of life's fevered dream
The cold and careless seek not to divine.

Night after night unheeded glides away
'Mid mirth and music, flattery's whispered tone,
Her dreary penance--ever to be gay,
Yet longing, oh! how oft--to be alone;
But when all other hearts seek needful rest,
And heavy sleep the saddest eyelids close,
Her dreams are those the wretched only know,
As memory o'er her soul its shadow's throw.

Friends that had shared her girlhood's happier day,
And forms now mingling with the dust arise,
The early loved recalled with pe