"Thus have I sought to grace a serious lay And prove too weak for so divine a theme, Let Charity forgive me a mistake, That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make; And spare the poet for his subject's sake." ᏙᎪ Ꭱ Ꭺ ; OR, THE CHILD OF ADOPTION. 1. Bome Scenes. "Hither turn : Thy graceful footsteps: hither, gentle maid, The cheek fair-blooming, and the rosy lips, Where winning smiles and pleasures sweet as love, "VARA, VARA !-where is the child! Vara, Vara!" and the name echoed along the shore till it was lost in the voices of the winds and of the waves which murmured around the beautiful island. Come this way, friend; stop not to admire the stately cocoa-nut that waves its feather-like top above you; follow this purling rivulet, and now clamber these moss-grown rocks, see how they are piled in huge and broken masses, stretching out into the bosom of the lake-like waters which encircle this Pacific island, and separates it from yon girdling reef that rears its ragged breast against the billows of the surging ocean. Approach the extreme point carefully, for the footing is treacherous, and look down, and there some fifteen feet below you behold the little Vara! She sits at the foot of the rock, peering over into placid waters, which reflect her sweet childish face; the deep blue eyes look up to you from the azure depths, and the floating brown curls seem to twine about the coral flowers that bloom upon the B bottom of the lake. And now that she catches a glimpse in the liquid mirror of yonder bird, she turns upward her face to watch its flight, and such a face as is seldom seen in childhood, and never in later years. The tracery of the veins in the temples through the transparent skin; the gentlest bloom that lies upon the cheek, and comes and goes with every emotion; the mouth-yet untouched by care, unmellowed into the beauty of riper years, unsealed by the habit of decision-the mouth of a child that can either pout or smile amid the dimples on the cheek; together with the classic outlines of the face-blend in the beauty of that countenance. But of all the features in Vara's face, the eyes are most remarkable. From their silent depths shoot gleams of thought beyond her years, and, it would seem, the shaded lashes drooped of purpose, to close from vulgar sight a world of feeling. The dress of little Vara is fanciful and fairy-like. A sleeveless skirt of white cambric, slightly gathered about the waist, reaches to the knees, and is most delicately embroidered about the neck and hem, in imitation of the pea-green sea-weed. Cambric pantalets, similarly embroidered, fall about the high prunella boots, which, clumsy as they are, are a needful protection to the tiny foot that wanders so recklessly over the rough rocks. Little Vara-to return to our story-was too busy to heed the voice that called her. The bottom of the lagoon was covered with corals of every shape and colour, growing in the richest profusion and distinctly visible through the pellucid water, presenting the appearance of a flower-garden blooming with tropical luxuriance, through which you could trace intersecting walks laid out in shrubbery, terminating in pretty bowers, curiously wrought, of the tortuous branches of the madrepore, while, to add to the fantastic effect, the zebra fish and fish of every size and hue gambolled about; now hiding under the wide-spreading leaves of some pigmy plantain, and then darting in and out, chasing each other about the crooked trunk of some twisted bananas. Little Vara's fancy was busy, discovering resemblances to all sorts of flowers, and fruits, and trees, while her tongue chided the fish, as they hid some pretty piece of coral |