Immediately after she concluded this interesting epistle, she poured out her heart in praise to God for preserving and reclaiming him for whom she had so often wept and prayed, and whom she had loved with unaltered fervor. She then hastened to communicate the glad tidings to her mother and Miss Medway, and to despatch a servant to the village to bring to Roseville the still dear Drayton. He came. Again he beheld the being he so long had loved. Again he saw William, and exercised his former influence--but in a holier channel. You can imagine the scene--the mutual relations--the ensuing courtship, and the result. Yes, my friend, Lavinia is the wife of Drayton. His large fortune is now useful in acts of pious benevolence and zeal. His fine talents are employed in dispensing good; his fascinating manners in winning others to admire that which made him what he is. William Loraine is snatched from ruin. His amiable mother is again blessed with duteous and devoted children. And whence the mighty change? In this simple narrative stands forth in glowing colors the truth of that maxim, that the influence of the female sex is great, when enlisted either on the side of virtue or of vice. Had Lavinia been less prudent and pious, how great would have been the contrast; and amidst all the blessings that have attended her through life, none diffuse such thrills of rapture through her grateful, peaceful heart, as when reflecting on the history of him, to whom is not inaptly applied the title of "The Reclaimed." The evening was far spent. My friend and myself bade each other adieu, to return to our respective homes--but not without his promising at some future day to inform me of the history of that young lady, to whose eventful life he had briefly hinted. Ruminating on the moral of the narrative, I could but deplore that the fair sex of our state did not more nearly resemble Lavinia--refuse to unite their destinies with the slaves of dissipated pleasure, and thereby reclaim from vice thousands of her victims. PAULINA. For the Southern Literary Messenger. THIS OCEAN. I've stood and watch'd the inconstant Ocean's wave, Till it within my mind has grown to life, And when the hoarse, loud storm did wildly rave, I've loved the dashing, boisterous, foaming strife; And when the angry tempest died away, I've gazed upon its bright unruffled breast, Till my responsive soul in quiet lay, Just like the scene it view'd--so calm--so blest. Wide Ocean! I have mark'd thy silvery sheen, And when the dark cloud frown'd upon thy face, I've felt my soul expanding with the scene, And glowing with thy bright enchanting grace; But when I think that thy proud billows heave Between ten thousand hearts that once have twined, And still to their lost friends would fondly cleave, A pensive sadness steals upon my mind.