accused him, and only remembered how happy she was to be beloved by him. Ludvig could not have arrived more opportunely. She reproaches him playfully for being so late, scolds him for keeping her waiting so long, but soon allows herself to be appeased. She tells him how industrious she has been, shows him the newly-finished bonnet, and does not omit to try it on before him-for she must have his opinion to confirm her own. Perhaps all this may be called coquetry: well, allowing it to be coquetry, there is no guile or deceit in it. Poor Ludvig is over head and ears in love, therefore he is charmed with Lisette, with the bonnet, with everything. His warm feelings find expression in compliments such as Lisette is not accustomed to hear from him, and she naturally thinks him more than usually agreeable. They chat about their first acquaintance, the simple incidents of their love-history, and " Do you remember when ?”. "Do you recollect that time?" these phrases, so often introduced into the colloquies of lovers, pass and repass from their lips; they dwell, not only on their past reminiscences, but on their future hopes, and above all, on their mutual affection, that theme which never seems to become wearisome, and the variations to which appear to be endless. Lisette then relates her day-dreams, and her castles in the air-at least a part of them, as much as she thinks Ludvig can bear to hear, but even that part seems to displease him, for an ominous shake of his head, as he listens to her, does not escape her observation.

"Good Heavens!" she exclaims, "how have I sinned now? What does that grave look portend? It is really very tiresome. Two minutes ago you were so lively and so good-humoured. Is there any harm in my building castles in the air to amuse my leisure moments, and laying plans in fancy which I know can never come to pass?"

"And how can you be so hasty, and seem so vexed about nothing? I am not at all displeased, my dear girl. I do not deny that these dreams of yours are quite innocent; but I do say this, that if your head be filled with all these romantic schemes and ideas, and you encourage yourself in cherishing them, by-and-by you will be so led away by the vagaries of your own imagination, that you will be discontented with the humble lot which, alas! I have but the means of offering you."

"Oh! you have no need to entertain such a fear. Am I not happy in the thought that the time may come when we shall share each other's destiny? or have I ever regretted that my fate is to be united to yours? What care I for wealth, or for all those fictions which it pleases the world to call good fortune? It is your affection alone which can make me rich; without that--I should value nothing."

Who could withstand such words from the beautiful mouth of a charming young girl? Ludvig has already in his own mind owned he was wrong, and now he hastens to beg a thousand pardons. He presses her to his heart, and is about to assure her of his entire confidence in her— when he suddenly perceives the costly shawl that is lying, half folded, on the table, and the words die away upon his lips. Suspicion has darted across his mind. "Where could that expensive shawl have come from ?" he asks himself. "She could not afford to buy it. Does she receive presents from any one but me? Can she be faithless-false ?" His easily aroused jealousy speedily got the better of him, and her guilt was no longer to be doubted.

Lisette had not in the slightest degree observed this sudden change;

she permitted her head to rest affectionately on his shoulder-but he quickly disengaged himself, and pushed her coldly from him. "What is the matter, Ludvig?" she asked, in much surprise. you out of humour again? What is wrong now?"

"Are

"Oh! nothing, nothing! at least nothing of consequence enough for you to care about."

"What can you mean? Am I not privileged to share your sorrows and annoyances, whether they are great or small? You know you are sure of my sympathy; why, then, should you conceal anything from me? But you have no longer any confidence in me; you love me no longer as you used to do, or you would not treat me thus."

"These reproaches come well from your lips indeed, Miss Lisette. Certainly you have much to complain of.”

Lisette became angry, for she knew that she was innocent of all evil. Had she not, a few minutes before, vowed not to go so often to the window, when the handsome hussar officer passed? And had she not recently, in fancy, discarded all her suitors, determining to admit and to listen only to Ludvig? And now to be treated so by him! Was her fidelity to be thus rewarded? "Fie, Ludvig!" she exclaimed, with some vehemence. "You are too tyrannical; you have often been hasty, irritable, nay, unkind to me; but I have borne it all patiently, for I knew your unreasonable jealousy; but you are too sharp with me-too cruelly sharp I have not deserved this from you, and I will not put up with it." "Well said! You speak out, at any rate. You won't put up with it,' Lisette? Of course you have no need to put up with me any longer. There are plenty, I know, who will flatter you, and make a fool of you; but you will not find one who loves you as sincerely as I do."

"And why not, pray? Perhaps I may though.'

"What do you say, Lisette? Ah! now I see I have been mistaken in you. Farewell! You shall never behold me more. I will not stand in the way of your good fortune. My presence shall never again irritate you for a moment.

Farewell!"

He rushed from the room, and Lisette had already the handle of the door in her hand, intending to run after him and call him back; but she stopped a moment to reflect. "No!" she exclaimed to herself, "I will not afford him such a triumph. Let him go! Is he not clearly in the wrong; and must I invariably give in? No; this time he shall wait awhile."

Lisette is very angry; she paces up and down her room, without so much as casting one look down towards the street to see where he is going. "It is quite unbearable," she cries. He teazes me out of my life with his ridiculous jealousy. It is a proof of his love, he says... Ah, dear! I am sure I would much rather dispense with such lovetokens." Lisette throws herself into the easy-chair, and commences humming an opera air. Then she begins to rack her brains to discover what on earth could have caused Ludvig's sudden transition from goodhumour to anger and jealousy; but she vainly tries to find a reason for his strange conduct. "I will think no more about him! He does not deserve the affection I waste upon him, nor that I should take his folly so much to heart. Is this love? Not the slightest indulgence will he permit to me; he cannot endure that I should be happy even in dreams! It is my only, only comfort, and he shall not deprive me of it." So say

ing, she lets herself fall back in her lounging-chair; at that moment she feels a kind of perverse satisfaction in doing what Ludvig disapproved of. The force of habit is strong, and she soon falls into her day-dreams again. She fancies she has dismissed all her admirers, and now stands alone in the world. She invests herself with astonishing talents; no longer wastes her energies in making bonnets and taking in sewing. She has had first-rate masters for every accomplishment under heaven, and every possible branch of education, from moral philosophy down to -hair-dressing. She dances like Vestris-sings like Catalani-and plays like Moschelles. With youth, beauty, and shining talents, she is received into the highest society, and the mystery which hangs over her early days but adds a piquancy to the charm of her numerous fascinations; for the great world, so monotonous in itself, loves the excitement of curiosity. She soon becomes the cynosure of fashion, adored by all the gentlemen -envied by all the ladies. Still she is not satisfied with mere drawingroom admiration. She will go upon the stage. She comes out in an opera of Scribe, composed by Auber, and arranged by Heiberg. The theatre rings with applause; bouquets are showered at her feet; the bright stars of Copenhagen-Madame H., and Mademoiselle W.-have, at length, found a rival, and to this rival a large salary is offered by the manager of the theatre. She has scarcely finished reading his highly complimentary letter when another is brought to her. In haste she opens it, and, casting her eye on the signature, she sees "Sigismond Frederick, Count of R." She starts with surprise; the young, the rich, the distinguished count, assuring her that he cannot live without her, offers her his heart, his fortune, and his hand! But, just then, amidst the glow of her gratified vanity and ambition, a small voice whispers the name of— Ludvig. He has been rough and rude to her; he left her in anger; he deserves no remembrance from her; yet-her heart yearns towards him -she feels that she can forgive and forget; that she can repay good for evil, and can sacrifice everything for him she loves.

Poor Lisette passes into a state of great excitement between the phantasms of her imagination and the real feelings of her soul; she actually rises to answer the visionary letter, and she writes as follows:

"NOBLE COUNT,-I should be very ungrateful if I did not highly value the honour which you have conferred upon me, in condescending to make me the offer which I had not the slightest claim to expect. I will not repay your goodness by any want of candour, and am, therefore, obliged to confess to you that that heart for which you ask is no longer free; and that love with which you would honour me I am unable to return as it deserves. From my earliest youth I have been attached to a poor artist; he was my first love, and will be my last. I will venture to indulge the hope that you will receive this open admission as a proof of sincere regard and high esteem for you, which forbid me to accept the happy fortune that destiny, doubtless, reserves for one more worthy of it than myself."

my

Lisette was mightily pleased with this billet, which she considered a chef d'œuvre of the romantico-literary style. She had conned it over several times, and was about to fold and seal it, when the striking of a reighbouring clock awoke her to the realities of life, reminded her that she had some work to finish, and at once demolished all her castles in the air.

The horn ink-stand is put away, the letter is left lying forgotten amidst the shreds of silk; and the scissors and the needles are once more in full activity. In the meantime Ludvig has returned, and stands by Lisette's side, in a repentant mood. He has come back to try to obtain some explanation about the unfortunate shawl, and to throw himself at her feet, and beg her forgiveness that he had again offended her by his suspicions. But Lisette is angry, and she will scarcely take the least notice of him. She does not, however, hold out long, her naturally kind heart soon becomes softened, she sets his mind at ease by enlightening him on the affair of the shawl; but, very properly, takes him well to task. Ludvig is in the seventh heavens. He blames himself severely, calls Lisette by all the tender names that language can suggest; he swears never more to torment her by his suspicions and jealousy, and seizes her hands to kiss them, in ratification of his vow, but, at that moment, he espies some stains of ink on her delicate fingers. "You have been writing! To whom were you writing?" he abruptly asks, in a hoarse voice, while his countenance gradually darkens. Lisette colours, and looks perplexed. She is unwilling to confess that she has again been building castles in the air, knowing, as she does, that he has an objection to them; she stammers, and is at a loss for an answer.

Her embarrassment adds fuel to the flames; the demon of jealousy is again at work in Ludvig's mind, he utters not a syllable, but darting at her a glance that, if looks could kill, would have annihilated her on the spot, he seizes his hat, and is about to leave her. Lisette is in the greatest consternation. She tries to detain him. "Ludvig-dear Ludvig!

-I have can you forgive

. . . . ?”

"What have you done? What am I called on to forgive? you false, deceitful one!" he cries, passionately interrupting her, while he endea vours to break away from her.

"Oh, do not be so violent, Ludvig! I have been amusing myself with my dreams again. I have again been building castles in the air. Forgive me this once more! There is what I have been writing."

She hands him the letter, and, as he reads it, his stormy brow clears, and his features relax. "From my earliest youth I have been attached to a poor artist, he was my first love, and will be my last." These words, which he reads, and re-reads several times, quickly appease his wrath. "And this is what you were writing!" he exclaims, in a tone of joy. "Oh! I am so happy! Now I cast suspicion to the winds; from this time, henceforth, I bid adieu to all jealousy." In the delight of the moment he communicates to Lisette what had before been hovering on his lips, the unexpected good fortune which had fallen to his share. An uncle, whom he had never seen, had bequeathed him a little fortune, which was large enough to place them in easy circumstances. Lisette is in raptures, and, mingling their joy, they lay plans together for their future life. It is not Lisette alone who now builds castles in the air, for Ludvig joins her in this pleasing occupation with all his might; and yon humble garret becomes, at that moment, a heaven of love and happiness.

Jan.-VOL. XCVII. NO. CCCLXXXV.

NEW YORK-ITS HOTELS, WATERWORKS, AND THINGS IN GENERAL.

BY J. W. HENGISTON, ESQ.

NEW YORK has been so often described as to its general features that one is afraid to say another word about the matter; but descriptions never do convey any positive idea; for instance, its bay, its two great rivers the lowland each side, itself the peninsula between, with its forests of ships, masts, and steam funnels on either side-writers have compared the whole to the Bay of Naples! others to Liverpool-" Very like a whale !"-no, it is like nothing on earth but itself. While in the

city itself immense changes have taken place these last twenty years— and go on changing. But we are hauling into the slip of the mailsteamers (our Cunard line are compelled, for want of room, to lay over at Jersey City wharves, on the opposite side of the river).

Our joy at arriving is already damped by the rain; by the confusion and crowd we form, with our trunks on the quarter-deck; knocked about and "not cared for" by either captain, mates, or crew, who are "yo-yoing" at hawsers and ropes lugging her alongside the slip or planked wharf-which, on each side of the city, run in hundreds out like the teeth of a comb-(each two hundred yards long and forty or fifty broad). On this slip appears, to our further dismay, an immense crowd of eager people ready to board us, perhaps divide the spoils of luggage-just undergoing the ordeal of the Custom-house officials-who I find not at all "mild"—but more minute, troublesome, and vexatious, than at our own Custom-houses-they even broke open some of the small packages and boxes which could not be opened by key, or by the owner quick enough, and insisted on looking into our writing-desks and portfolios. My fellow "cal-lated" that he "liked to see all," as he tumbled all my things about-in the rain! Oh, Captain F-, why did not you warn us? Why vouch for the urbanities of Custom-house sharks? Well, they took nothing-for there was nothing to take, except one's patience! and I was going to expatiate on the beauties of the tug and ferry steamers the forests of masts and steamers' funnels-or the coasting and river sloops and schooners laden with all kinds of notions, including hay, oysters, pumpkins, and staves-on the numbers of ships clearing out and in-on the whole waters in face of the city being alive with white sails, and steam-boats rushing in all directions-on the low Jersey shores to the left as we advanced-and the gentle rise of the long island side to the right-with its suburb city of Brooklyn of 110,000 citizens of the Battery Point and green, and its trees, which divides the East and Hudson river forests of masts aforesaid-forming the mighty stir of this New World! But no, I must attend to more pressing concerns, and get on shore out of this pelting rain as fast as I can-and not a bit glad or overjoyed at having got across the Atlantic in twelve days and a half--twice before now has it kept me a whole month-but nobody is ever grateful for anything! The rain and the Custom-house jack-in-office had quite upset my equanimity; and now we are fast-the gang-board and the deck invaded by the crowd; the confusion becomes unspeakable; trunks, packages, ropes, ladies and their husbands, children, nurses, officers, porters, touters, searchers, all mix up in an uproar enough to confound and