influences of the bath, we were greeted by a number of distinguished citizens, who, were invited to meet us, as eminent Romans upon our journey through Syria. Under such _favorable auspices_ though wholly undeserved as they respect your friend Servilius, it was not long ere we cemented a friendship. “Highly welcome!” exclaimed Mobilius, (for this was his title,) upon his first acquaintance, for on such good terms did he seem to be with himself and those around him. “Highly welcome to Baalbec, but this you will not find a very Christian spot, while these priests of Heliopolitan Jove are so numerous: Is it true,” he continued in the same breath, “and you must bring the latest news, that Constantine intends to close our temples, and convert them into others, for the observance of the rites of this new sect called Christians?” “There was such a rumor my friend,” replied Lactantius, “but of its truth I cannot speak, would it were correct.” At this, his eye flashed and I plainly saw, he was a true convert to the worship of the sun. “You would not speak thus,” he said, “had you ever witnessed the splendid ceremonies of our religion,” and whispering to him as if bestowing a peculiar mark of confidence, “you shall if you wish from a secret undiscoverable nook, see all,” and darting a quick enquiring glance, he added in the same low whisper, though distinct enough to be heard by me, “you may be a convert.” “I will behold the spectacle,” was Lactantius’ brief reply. I doubted not but that this great warrior in a self denying cause, had in this ready compliance, some wise purpose, possibly, to persuade this youthful votary of the danger of his faith, or to convert him to his own: and such I believed was partly Mobilius’ design, so I felt there would be no difficulty in securing a share of this undiscoverable nook, for I was eager to witness these strange ceremonies. But I have exhausted my parchment, and I fear your patience, so I shall reserve my account until the next epistle, which I hope may find you as I trust this does in continued prosperity and health. Farewell. Philadelphia, December, 1840. * * * * * THINE—ONLY THINE. BY MRS. CATHARINE H. W. ESLING. Thine—only thine, The bland winds whisper it at every breath, And thou art mine— Mine thro’ all changes—mine alone till death. Years will pass by, And write their records upon either’s brow, Will dim the eye, But alter not one heart pulse beating now. Changes will come, And the light foot, less lightly tread the ground, The gentle hum Of voices, will have lost their softest sound. And clinging ties Will be dissever’d—from the household band Some may arise To the bright mansions in the “Happy Land.”