might have been hers, and all the proud aspirations, the promised felicity of him, the betrothed of her heart,--you would never again breathe one sigh, or one wish,--or weaken one chord of pure affection, for all that wealth and fashion can promise or bestow. A few days after this interview, she left this world of trouble,--and the papers of the day, announced in the usual manner,--Died, on the ---- instant, of a "pulmonary complaint," Mrs. Simson, wife of Mr. ---- Simson; and who thought otherwise? who of all that surrounded her, could deem she had a _heart_ to _break_? Thus she passed away; and the world, busied with its own little and great schemes, soon ceased to remember that she had ever lived, or loved, or died. With Isabella ends our tale. And it is only necessary in conclusion to say, that George never knew how fully and fearfully she had atoned for her fatal error. Before I had an opportunity of communicating to him my last painful interview with her,--and her prayers for his happiness and forgiveness, he had fallen in the struggle of South America for liberty and independence. Mrs. Barclay is still alive, and so is Mr. Simson, though now some ten years older than when he led Isabella a victim to the altar. I presume he is still in the market; he is ten years older, he is ten years richer, and thus doubly desirable to those mothers who _love_ their daughters, and wish to have them _well married_. I have endeavored to be as brief as possible, but my letter has extended itself too long, and yet I fear it is too short to make that impression I could wish. I cannot but hope, however, that Isabella's fate will awaken in your breast, as it did in mine, those reflections that will lead you justly to appreciate how false and empty are the world's opinions, when compared with the conscientious dictates of our own calm and unbiassed judgment,--and determine you to choose that life whence rises and flows the streams of all our earthly happiness. If I have failed, and that flower which now blooms so fair and fragrant by the banks of Powhatan, should be plucked by a hand insensible to its sweets, to ornament some princely hall, and wither amid all its splendor, then you may recollect the warning voice, and think of one, though humble, who would have sacrificed every other hope of happiness to cherish that flower--you may then remember---- B----. For the Southern Literary Messenger. SKETCH OF VIRGINIA SCENERY. The following Sketch of Virginia Scenery is sent with the hope the author will excuse the liberty taken, as it was written without the slightest idea of its being ever published, by a traveller through some of the scenes of Western Virginia:--