When the reason was asked, Emma said “she felt she never could be happy with him;” and her mother intimated that his temper was a stern, unpleasant one. “And I always should have been afraid of him,” said Emma to Alice, beginning to draw consolation as soon as she could from the first source that occurred to her. “He thought so much of trifles that I know that I should always have been in trouble, and horribly afraid of him.” Alice sighed, for she believed so too. She had once hoped much from the influence of Dashwood’s superior character over her; but she now saw how fallacious those hopes would have been. Emma, she felt, was incorrigible, for she had no perception even yet of her fault. Dashwood had been right—“the truth was not in her.” * * * * * ELVA. BY EDWARD POLLOCK. Old Elva’s walls are leveled with the earth, And weeds are green where glowed the blazing hearth; The stately trees that once the roof topped o’er, Now shed their brown leaves on the broken floor: Where bloomed the rose and lily, browse the deer; And springs the oak the cherished fruit tree near; Where once were arbors, now, through thickest brake, Slow winds, in many a fold, the glancing snake. Time, tempest, violence, and dull decay, Have worn at length the latest marks away; One tower alone stands grimly where it stood, Gray, torn, dismantled, frowning o’er the flood, The dreariest mark those mournful ruins bear, That human forms have been—but are not there. Yet, Elva! once with thee it was not so: Ere ruthless hearts and hands had wrought thee wo, Thy long dim halls with happiness were rife, And glad hearts to thy solitudes gave life. And though nor gladsome voice, nor glancing oar, Now stir the echoes on thy lake’s green shore, That lake hath borne full oft the bark where sate Forms warm with love, and hearts with hope elate, And young bright eyes have bent with starry gleam Above the mazy windings of thy stream. From the dark turret, where the sweet bells swung, All winged with joy the wedding peals have rung, While Mirth, with kindling glance and rosy smile, Kissed each young cheek and blessed each heart the while, And Song sat, silver-tongued, and filled with sound Those echoing walls, now sadly scattered round! Oh list the lowly and the simple lay The minstrel sings of Elva’s earlier day. I.