Fancy now no more shall borrow Beams of beauty from the skies; Hope no more, to soothe my sorrow, Whisper, “brighter suns shall rise.” Yet one thought my soul shall cherish, For the word of God is sure, And the heavens and earth shall perish, But his mercy shall endure. THE TWO SISTERS. BY MADAME JULIE DELAFAYE-BRÉHIER. [Translated from the French.] ... On a peu de temps à l'être (belle,) Et de temps à ne l'être plus! _Madame Deshoulières_. In a parlor furnished with much taste, and from the half-opened windows of which were seen the winding walks, and “alleys green,” of a park, filled with magnificent and shady trees, two young ladies were employing themselves in those delicate works, which have become the portion of our sex, and which, whilst they appear to occupy the fingers only, serve also to divert the mind in a pleasant manner, and even to give a greater facility to the current of thought. One of the females, either by chance or design, had placed herself opposite a mirror, where she could not lift her eyes from her work, without seeing herself reflected therein, adorned in all the brightness of a beauty of seventeen years, who might have served as a model to the sculptor, as a study to the painter. A rich profusion of black hair, in the tasteful adjustment of which, Art had so nicely seconded the gift of Nature, that it was scarcely possible to say to which its elegance was owing, set off the snowy whiteness of the neck and face; and I would add, (if I may once more be permitted to avail myself of the superannuated comparison,) that the freshest rose could alone compare its beauty with the carnation of her cheek and lip; to these charms were added, a form of the most graceful proportions; and, all that the youthful may borrow, with discernment, from the art of the toilette, had been employed to increase, still farther, beauty already so attractive.