Upbraid Me Not.

For hope is dead , and faith has vanish'd , And memory ' s lost its mystic key , Parted is all of warmer feeling , Forgotten the glad harmony . The fairy dreams of other hours

Have ceased to master or beguile , The lingering gleams of glad affection Seem deserting me the while . For colder counsels and emotions , Have to assert a calmer sway , And as Time finds me so it leaves me , Alike unmoved , unharmed to-day .

If fancies once I dearly cherished Have left me now beyond recall , Remember 'twas thy loudly Fiat Which bade them wither one and all . No doubt 'twas better thus it happen'd That this our mutual lot should be

, But 'twas thy will that separation Should come for aye , 'twixt thee and me . Therefore , upbraid me not , I ask thee , If ancient clays have fleeted by ,

If hapjiy friendship hourly colder Makes powerless the old witchery . In the dim past we ' ve stray'd togetlier , When time was fresh and trust was true , But now , alas ! its plaintive hours Have bid to golden dreams adieu ! NEMO .

The Adventures Of Don Pasquale.

THE ADVENTURES OF DON PASQUALE .

BY THE AUTHOR OP THE " OLD , OLD STORY . " CHAPTER III . " And there , in letters sharp and clear , You read—0 , irony austere !—• 'Though lost to sight , to memory dear' !"

AUSTIN DOBSON . IF Paesiello ' s behaviour in respect to his " young woman , " as Jowler always will have it—feebly depicted in my last chapter , —may seem to some of my readers somewhat unfeeling , yet all must admit , I venture to think , that it was very

philosophical ; and where sentiment and philosophy clash , as they often do in the battle of life , though I have a great " penchant " for sentiment , I yet , Cato-like , sternly always vote for philosophy 1 Paesiello accordingly consoled himself

by packing up . We easily console ourselves when we are young ; and , besides , there is always something of interest and excitement in the act of packing up itself . Paesiello had a famous and faithful servant , called Antonio , to whom he

confided his worries and his dressing case ; his loves and his antipathies ; his fears and his frolics ; his sentiment and his jihilosophy . Antonio was a bit of a wag—a good deal of a character , in his way , as will be seen in the progress

of this authentic narrative , and often covered a little bit of semi-villainy with a good story—and even a quiet attempt at deliberate roguery with a veritable joke . But he had some , nay , many , great qualities , and , like to Figaro , it might be said of him that , " his virtues were his own , his vices were those of his elders and his betters !"

And then , in that happy time , Paesiello had a friend—Don Balthazar , grave and sententious , polished and prosy , full of " ancient saws and modern instances , " a man of weight and appetite , and much common sense 1

It is true that he was a little older than Paesiello , but then he possessed that experience which the other lacked , and he could speak with all that dogmatic authority , and that clear , distinct expression , which are so good for jmjipies and for

colts 1 At last , tho packing-up was finished , and Paesiello and Don Balthazar—with Antonio elate on the rumble , ( for he had left Mrs . Antonio safe behind , )—started in Ms beautiful new travelling carriage ( it

, was before railways , ) and four horses , for Venice , the Bridge of Sighs , the Rialto , the Gondoliers , and the Lion of St . Mark . j Oh 1 hajipy morn of youth ! may no dark clouds obscure the brightness of thy after hours ; may no "Tornado"

overthrow that fairy building which now rises up before thee , in grace and beauty supreme ! Yes , I repeat , it was with a grancl feeling of independence and of emanci-