The page returning to the King with this answer, met the Duc de Beauvilliers upon the stairs, who asked him where he had been, and what he had in his hand. The page, confused at the questions of the Duke, to whom all the Court paid as much deference as to the King himself, ingenuously confessed the whole of the secret intrigue, and gave into his hands the letter of the fair Gascón. The Duke having read it, was very angry with the page for executing such a commission. He went immediately to the King's chamber, and gave the billet himself; at the same time apprising his Majesty of the ill-consequences which such adventures would draw upon a prince, advanced to the throne, where wisdom ought to reign, as well as the Sovereign. Thus terminated his Majesty's gallantry.

WOMAN.

Oh! woman! woman! thou art form'd to bless
The heart of restless man, to chase his care,

And charm existence by thy loveliness :

Bright as the sunbeam, as the morning fair,

If but thy foot fall on a wilderness,

Flowers spring and shed their roseate blossoms there,

Shrouding the thorns that in thy pathway rise,

And scattering, o'er it, hues of Paradise.

Thy voice of love is music to the ear,

Soothing and soft, and gentle, as a stream

That strays 'mid summer flowers; thy glittering tear

Is mutely eloquent; thy smile, a beam

Of light ineffable, so sweet, so dear,

It wakes the heart from sorrow's darkest dream
Shedding a hallowed lustre o'er our fate,
And, when it beams, we are not desolate.

Oh! no! when woman smiles, we feel a charm,
Thrown bright around us, binding us to earth;
Her tender accents breathing forth the balm
Of pure affection, give to transport birth;
Then life's wide sea is billowless and calm.
Oh! lovely woman! thy consummate worth
Is far above thy frailty-far above

All earthly praise-THOU ART THE LIGHT of love.

;

MISS AMBROSE.

Lord Chesterfield's vice-regal administration in Ireland was eminently distinguished, beyond that of any vice-roy who had preceded him. As a judge of learning, and its patron, his levees were always attended by men of letters; nor did his wit and engaging manner less ensure the attendance of the fair sex; and the drawing-rooms of the Castle were enlivened with a constellation of beauties.

Miss Ambrose was universally allowed to be the brightest star in that brilliant constellation. She was a Roman Catholic, and a descendant of one of the most ancient families in the kingdom. Her charms and vivacity (which were always adorned by modesty and prudence) furnished his Lordship with many opportunities of complimenting both. On the 1st day of July, the Protestant party in Ireland wore Orange lilies, in commemoration of the battle of the Boyne, which was fought on that day, and which was annually celebrated by a grand gala at Court. On one of these occasions, Miss Ambrose appeared with an Orange lily in her bosom, which immediately caught the all-observing eye of the vice-roy, and called forth from him the following extemporary lines :—

Say, lovely traitor, where's the jest
Of wearing Orange on thy breast;
When that same breast, uncover'd, shews
The whiteness of the rebel Rose?"

A few days afterwards, a delegation from the ancient town of Drogheda waited on his Lordship, with the freedom of their corporation in a gold box. Miss Ambrose, happening to be present, as the box was of the finest workmanship, jocosely requested his Lordship to give it to her. "Madam," said he,

you have already too much of my freedom." In allusion to the power of her beauty, Lord Chesterfield said, that she was the only dangerous Papist in Ireland.

Encircled by a crowd of admirers, in the hey-day of her bloom, she had the good sense to prefer the hand of a plain worthy baronet (Sir Roger Palmer,) to all the wealth and grandeur, which her charms could have commanded. The marriage of this lady was announced in one of the Dublin prints in these words:

"The celebrated Miss Ambrose, of this kingdom, has, to the much envied happiness of one, and to the grief of thousands, abdicated her maiden empire of beauty, and retreated to the Temple of Hymen."

THE MAIDEN BLUSH.

BY HERRICK.

So look the mornings, when the sun
Paints them with fresh vermillion :
So cherries blush and kathern pears,
And apricots, in youthful years:
So corals look more lovely red,
And rubies lately polished :

So purest diaper doth shine,
Stain'd by the beams of claret wine :
As Julia looks when she doth dress
Her either cheek with bashfulness.

The hour is come-the cherish'd hour,
When, from the busy world set free,
I seek, at length, my lonely bower,
And muse, in silent thought, on thee.

And oh! how sweet to know that still,
Tho' sever'd from thee widely far,
Our minds the self-same thought can fill,
Our eyes yet seek the self-same star.

Compulsion, from its destined course,
The magnet may awhile detain ;
But, when no more withheld by force,
It trembles to its north again.

Thus, though the idle world may hold My fetter'd thoughts awhile from thee, To thee they spring, when uncontroll'd, In all the warmth of liberty.