Here first she taught me how to love, And dream of woman’s eyes; Here first I turned from things above, To passion’s paradise. There came an hour when we should part— How dark that hour to me— She dwells a picture in my heart, My lost, loved Linolee. We laid her in a summer tomb, And wept that spirit fled, Where honeysuckle blossoms bloom, The lily hangs its head; And at the midnight’s dreary hour, They watch by that sweet earth, And weep for her, a sister flower, Who loved them from their birth. * * * * * CORA NEILL, OR LOVE’S OBSTACLES. BY ENNA DUVAL. “Bravo! bravo!” exclaimed the delighted Mons. Lunoyer. “Beautiful! exquisitely graceful!” repeated the young ladies that filled the dancing room, as Therese Wilson, a fine looking girl of fourteen or fifteen, went through a fashionable dance with Harry Belton, a handsome youth near the same age. It was the “practicing afternoon” of the young ladies belonging to Madame Chalon’s fashionable boarding-school—and a pretty sight was Mons. Lunoyer’s rooms on those afternoons. Stylish-looking girls of all ages, from the dainty little miss, just lisping her French phrases, up to the dashing school-belle, just on the eve of making her entrée into “_society_,” panting for the heart-conquests her imagination pictured forth in her future. And right lucky were those youths, who, having sisters, or sweet pets of cousins at the school, were permitted by Madame Chalon to take part in these practicings—a privilege which caused many an envious thought to their less favored school-fellows. At the close of the dance the beautiful Therese approached her young companions, with cheeks glowing, and young heart beating high with gratified pride. What more could her girlish ambition desire? Harry Belton, the favorite beau of the school, stood by her, fanning her, and saying a thousand pretty things, while the young ladies, her class-mates, looked on. The dance had been performed with grace and beauty; and every one in the room expressed aloud their admiration. “See, Therese,” said a little girl, anxious to attract the attention of the envied school-belle, “see what wonders your lovely dancing has performed; the little cry-baby creole, Cora Neill, has quite forgotten her tears; and her nurse, Rita, will tell you she has done nothing but weep since she left her father’s plantation up to this moment.”