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SONG. BY ALEXANDER A, IRVINE.

I saw her glide before me, ‘Tho wonder of a dream—

A flower gently waving Upon a flowing atream—

Her ev'ry step waa music, She foaed by my sight

A etar in azure sl A atar alone at night!

Her snowy sleeve was open, ‘The white arm partly bare, a 8 No lily lawn of Decean Waa ever balf 0 fair. At ev'ry wanton zephiyt ‘ The sleeve would coyly close, As leaflets shut al even ‘Around the trembling rose.

Her cheek—to’ what compare it! ‘The pink in ocean sheil—+ Her hips—two violets budding Within a virgin dell; ‘Mer yoice—the silver music ‘Of ‘summer gurgling rille, Or bells at even chiming Across the distant hills.

Around her enowy shoulders, ‘Phe golden tresses stray— = Hor dewy eyes off azure Fiplift the soul away, Within their placid earfece A heav'aly glory lice— ‘Oh! T have scen unknowing ‘An angel from the skies.

THE WANDERING THOUGHT.

BY EDWARD J, PURTRR,

Tax: golden sunlight rests upon thy wings,

‘As on the borders of a cloud at even,

Bright, chainless wanderer! and the wreatlis of heaven Fireathe all their raptures, their illuminings; To lave the soul that sent thee brightly forth

‘To gather all of bliss that wakens.there,

‘While hues that unly heavenly regions wear Around thee glisten, joyous in their mirth: — 1 would not sammon back to scenes less bright, ‘The countless yaryings of thy wayward fight! Float on, flat on, like a glad dream of bliss;

‘And win thy chaplets from those spheres above,

‘Whose hues in radiance gleam, in tight and love Unknown to orbs 20 pascionlcss as this.

.

GRAY'S FERRY, WITH THE OLD TLOATING BRIDGE.

_ BY PERCIE WU. BELTON.

‘Avas for bye-gone days! The march of improvement is removing, one by one, all the old haunts whither we were wont to resort, and soon there will be no link left to connect us with the past. The destroyer’s hand hae been at work in the home of our childhood. The trees beneath which we played; the old wooden bridge over the stream ; the arbor of trellis work in the garden; the orchard; the shady lane; the antique mill; even the houso in which we were barn, all, all have passed away and are not. But auch is the order of Providence ia this world !

Among the relics is our forefathers which are still left to us, the old Inn at Gray’s Ferry is peculiarly interest ing. The croction dates back beyond tho Revolutionary tim nd even the grcen-house bolongs to the last cen- tury. Here, when our grand sirea wore queues, and their wives sported hoops and high heeled shoes, the denizens of Philadelphia were wont to resort, and many a wintry evening haé this primitive inn reyoundod with mirth and festivity, sure accompaniments of an old fashioned sleighing patty. But these days have gone forever. Of ali the curiosities of the place the old inn alone stands. The floating bridge has disappeared ; the gardens havo been neglected; a moder hotel crowns the rock to the leit; and-only a few aged trees, white with tha mementoes of the past, tell of the former ines: of the place.

The accompanying view is executed from an original pictore, representing the ferry and bridge as they stood, in 1828, ere even a thought of the present improvements had becn entertained. ‘Tho place had then « romantic beauty which it has since fost, The old floating bridge, moreover, was a curiosity. Excepting @ moilern floor ing, it was identically the same structure which the British threw across the Schuylkill river, at Market stroet, when they were in possesion of Philadelphia, At the ferry itself, tho enemy established an outpost, and many are the tales told of the ruthless deeds committed by the soldiery. Some of these have come down to our day, and, at fitting time, we may white away an hour by narrating one or more of them.

The new hotel, erected on the hill to the ‘et of the picture, on the site where a private mansion once stood, has become, of late, as popular as its more humble rival was in the olden time. The now mil-road bridge, over which the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltimore rail- roall is catried, crowes the Schuylkill at this point, the western abutment resting on the cliffs that here frown over the river. ‘The scenery, in the vicinity, is lovely and interesting.

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 The danger is your own boat, for it is not given to every man to do like my gigantic friend, Captain Heldt, and swim ashore and crawl up the beach, with three ribs broken, and his legs temporarily paralysed, by having a heavy surf-boat hurled by a wave on to his back, while engaged in an independent venture to reach the shore, after a catastrophe on the outer breakers. And let me add that when you are advised in a yell to jump into the surf by the black bo'sn of the windward coast, or the equally black Padrone of the S.W. Coast, do so "one time." Never mind those sharks, but mind and jump out on the windward side of the boat, the side that the surf is breaking against, the side that looks the worst, for by this means you may keep clear of the boat. I do not advise you to take a white man's advice as to jumping until you have gone through his genealogy and ascertained that beyond doubt he is a direct descendant of George Washington. There was a nice young doctor once on a S.W. Coast boat, who did not pursue this plan, and did not know that in this nineteenth century it is every man's duty to keep his powers of belief for religious purposes; so this doctor frittered his powers away on old coasters and sea-captains, most excellent people, but supremely human. I am one myself now, so I speak with authority; only the information we lavish on the new-comer is often too strong for him, and it was so in this doctor's case. They had told him about the surf; how you had to jump and swim the last breakers of it as soon as you heard the shout, and so on; so when going ashore at Batanga, the gallant boat-boys gave the rousing war-yell with which it is their custom to greet their enemy, "with that stern joy a warrior feels," over the side the doctor went like a shot, to the horror of the remorse-smitten sea-captain, who was in the boat. He got through all right, however. Now and again, I own, the new-comer scores. There was one who came out for the Government to Accra, where the surf is notorious. The boat got upset in the first line of breakers, and there was as bad a surf on that day as Accra ever rose. When he got ashore, the old coasters thought he would be impressed and terrified; but no. He just remarked it was lucky he had such a

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enough to read it. It said, that by her father's influence, he had been sent on board of a vessel, which took him to the Havanna, where he was appointed to a regiment. He had petitioned in vain for leave to return to Spain, and even for his discharge from the service. Both had been refused. Unable to live without her, he had, at last, sacrificed everything, even his honor, to see her again. He had deserted, to find her on his arrival in Spain buried in a convent. He told her that it was impossible that God would accept of vows which force and fear alone had extorted from her-they could not be considered as binding. He conjured her, if she still loved him, to fly with him to a foreign land ; to repay the sacrifice he had made for her with a similar sacrifice ; and, then, they would pass the rest of their days in retirement, in peace, and happiness. "He promised happiness, when nothing could exceed the wretchedness of her existence-when she felt that even death itself would be unable to erase him from her heart. Was it possible that she could refuse ? "I assisted them in their flight, which was effected with the greater facility, as not the slightest suspicion was entertained of such an attempt being in contemplation. The anxiety of avoiding pursuit made them take to the mountains. Being unprovided with a guide, they lost their way, and wandered until the horse that bore them, fell exhausted. They proceeded on foot, and having at last met with a shepherd, they persuaded him to guide them. They pursued their weary journey, and after walking all day and night, their eyes were gladdened by the sight of the French frontier. A few minutes more, and they would be safe ! At this moment, they perceived with horror a detachment of troops, that had been despatched in their pursuit, upon the discovery of Amelia's escape being make known in the convent. They still strove to go on, straining every nerve ; but their wearied limbs tottered beneath them. The troops came up, overlook, and surrounded them. Amelia's lover, driven to madness by this disappointment, began to use his weapons furiously in her defence, but a bullet laid him dead at her feet. She then lost all recollection. Upon recovering her senses, Amelia found herself again in the convent. Before she could collect hər thoughts, and awaken from the confusion of what she imagined but a horrid and indistinct dream, she was summoned before the tribunal, assembled with conformity with the rules of the Order, to try and condemn her on a charge of sacrilegiously breaking her vows and profanating the sanctity ofthe convent." Fatigued by the exertion she had undergone, my narrator fell back upon her chair, and it was in a voice almost indistinct from its weakness, that she added, 66 You guess her doom ?" 61 Perhaps," suggested, I "the poor girl was confined to a comfortless cell ?"

A ghastly smile came over the features of the old lady ; a smile in which there was something horrible and painful to see. She again sat erect in her chair, placed her head on my shoulder, and approaching her face to my ear, she said, in a low, hissing whisper, which thrilled me to the heart, and made me shudder, "she was built up in the cavity of a wall, and left THERE to die."

TO A CHILD, DURING SICKNESS. SLEEP breathless at last from out thee, My little, patient boy ; And balmly rest about thee Smooths off the day's annoy. 1 sit me down, and think Of all thy winning ways ; Yet almost wish, with sudden shrink, That I had less to praise. Thy sidelong pillow'd meekness, Thy thanks to all that aid, Thy heart, in pain and weakness, Of fancied faults afraid ; The little trembling hand That wipes thy quiet tears, These, these are things that may demand Dread memories for years.

Sorrows I've had, severe ones I will not think of now ; And calmly ' midst my dear ones, Have wasted with dry brow : But when thy fingers press , And pat my stooping head, I cannot bear the gentleness.The tears are in their bed. Ah! firstborn of thy mother, When life and hope were new ; Kind playmate of thy brother, Thy sister, father, too : My light where'er I go, My bird when prison bound, -My hand in hand companion,-no, My prayers shall hold thee round. To say, "He has departed ," 66 His voice," his face,"-" is gone ;" To feel impatient-hearted, Yet feel we must bear on : Ah, I could not endure To whisper of such wo, Unless I felt this sleep insure That it will not be so.

Yes, still he's fix'd, and sleeping ! This silence too the whileIts very hush and creeping Seem whispering us a smile Something divine and dim Seems going by one's ear, Like parting wings of cherubim, Who say, 66 We've finished here." -L. HUNT.


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SLEEVES are now being entirely made in the style of the reign Louis 14th, and such as were worn by Jean, Bart, and Villeroy, descending loose to the elbow, and having an under one of muslin or lace underneath. Les Manches Diana de Poictiers are also much in vogue, being considered the most graceful and useful things possible ; they are very pretty when worn with dresses having short sleeves, showing the dress underneath.

COIFFURE. The hair being now generally worn in long light ringlets in the front, nothing is more beautiful than to see them relieved either on one or both sides, with a lovely natural flower of a hue suitable to the complexion ofthe fair wearer. Les couronnes cérés are also very becoming ; for full dress jewels are generally intermixed with the flowers. The most charming description of coiffure now worn is that called Rosine; it consists of a multitude of narrow ribbon streamers falling on one side over the neck, and on the other forming a charming panache, which is attached to the back hair or plait. This coiffure, when not worn in full dress, may be rendered still prettier and more negligée, by a pretty lace, either black or white, being added to it. PROMENADE DRESSES.-The following may be considered as those most generally worn. Dresses ofpoult de soie, one in grey shaded groseille ; the skirt trimmed in the front with a double black lace, put on perfectly plain, and attached with six bows of ribbon of the same color as the dress ; body high and sitting close to the figure ; the waist a rounded point. An elegant Cardinal pelerine is worn over, trimmed carelessly with black lace, put on plain; sleeves, pagodes, half-long, and edged with a black lace, forming a division to the coquettish-looking sleeves underneath of batiste bouillonées, with embroidered inlet between ; the others in sea-green silk, are made in the style called à la Medicis, the skirt being perfectly plain ; corsage in a point, formed of three rows of fullings, separated with folds of the same material ; the folds on the shoulder forming a jockey over the sleeves, which are guaged flat and cut on the bias ; and, lastly, those in Pekin silk,glacée grey and green, trimmed en tablier with a bordering of soutache, forming a double festoon, corsage high andin three divisions, ornamented also with soutache reaching from the shoulder to the point of the waist. ROBES DE CHAMBRE are now being generally worn, composed of a foulard, white mousseline de laine, or in cachemire frongé, the skirt of some being trimmed with nœuds of ribbon, or three rows of buttons ; corsage and sleeves plain, with a double pelerine. Others have the skirt showing an under jupe beautifully embroidered ; sleeves à la religieuses worn over a thin cambric sleeve, trimmed with Valenciennes : the latter costume is by far the prettiest and most fanciful. A few of the most recherché description are made of unbleached cambric, ornamented with facings of the same, figured and trimmed with elegant fringe or an embroidery in soutache.

SCARFS. Some of our élégantes preferring the scarf to the ugly cardinals, or, still deeper camails, wear them of a lighter tissue, with arabesques and palms, figuring upon them. Scarfs of Ombre silks of the most delicate and charming hue, with open-work of gymp, and trimmings of deep lace are also worn with great effect.

A DIRGE. Now is done thy long day's work ; Fold thy palms across thy breast, Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. Let them rave. Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Thee nor carketh care nor slander ; Nothing but the small cold worm Fretteth thine enshrouded form. Let them rave. Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave.

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ; Chaunteth not the brooding bee Sweeter tones than calumny? Let them rave. Thou wilt never raise thine head From the green that folds thy grave, Let them rave, Crocodiles wept tears for thee ; The woodbine and eglatere Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. Let them rave. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Round thee blow, self-pleached deep, Bramble-roses, faint and pale, And long purples of the dale. Let them rave. These in every shower creep Through the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. The gold-eyed kingcups fine ; The frail bluebell peereth over Rare broidry of the purple clover. Let them rave. Kings have no such couch as thine, As the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. Wild words wander here and there ; God's great gift of speech abused Makes thy memory confusedBut let them rave. The balm-cricket carols clear In the green that folds thy grave. TENNYSON. Let them rave.


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force upon her. He seemed wretched with despair, and implored her with all the deep and restless eloquence of true affection to comply with his wishes, and he would then ever love her, truly and fondly ;-saying, also, that he had in his power every means of happiness, without the assistance ofthose which her guardian might unjustly withhold from her. And he concluded by requesting that if she consented to his dearest desires, to postpone with some plausible excuse the dreaded ceremony for a day, and he would be at her window on the succeeding night, ready to convey her with all possible speed to where the holy sacredóte should be in waiting to unite them forever.

After he was gone she returned and read and re-read those sweet lines, which seemed to her like a reprieve from a doom worse than even death itself, until every letter was engraven upon her memory- never to be effaced ; and then she folded it upon her heart and held it there, while she dreamed all that blissful night of love again and her dear " Velasco."

The next day an unfortunate accident, as it was understood, delayed the arrival of Senor Lopez's expected guest ; for which occurrence Dona Constanza felt duly thankful, while she made secret preparation for her intended flight. She did not feel any regret at the step she was taking, for she was bound by no ties to Senor Lopez, and he had ever been to her a cold-hearted and selfish oppressor. It was the climax of this course of conduct that now drove her forth, to find a protector in one who loved her, and to seek a refuge from bitter oppression ; but as the evening approached, she felt nervous and sick at heart through doubt and anxiety. She had, however, a trusting confidence in the honor of Velasco, for every gesture and every word of his which she had read or listened to, bore the impress of love and sincerity. True, her acquaintance with him was very slight ; but she was rendered desperate through love and constraint, and therefore proceeded to an extremity, which under other circumstances she would have hesitated in doing. While awaiting the arrival of " Velasco," she labored under the most gloomy forebodings, and half repented her hasty promise ; but then as she thought of her hopeless situation, an occasional shudder would thrill over her frame, and renew again her failing resolution. It was about nine o'clock in the evening, that she heard the whispered signal underneath her window, while her heart seemed ready to leap from her throat with trepidation. Summoning up, however, the little energy she could command at the moment, she stepped timidly forth over the balcony, and thence descended into her lover's arms, who quickly placed her on the boat in waiting, and pushed from the shore. He seated himself by her side and pressed her to his heart without speaking, while they were rowed swiftly toward the Villa in

whose suburbs her guardian's residence was situated ; but had not proceeded far ere lights were seen and voices heard in pursuit, and they knew their flight had been discovered. Too frightened to speak, Constanza clung closer to her lover, as if to implore his protection ; but he merely smiled, in derision of their danger, and bade her fear nothing, for all would yet be well. They were too far advanced to be immediately overtaken, and thus reached the church in safety, where the reverend priest was in waiting to perform the nuptial rite. He commenced in haste, well knowing the urgency of the case ; but the ceremony was soon interrupted by the stentorian voice of Senor Lopez, echoing in thunder to the lofty dome of the church, and reverberating amid those deserted aisles, as he shouted, "Hold ! on your life, holy father ! and beware how you profane thus your sacred office !" Then, drawing his sword, advanced to confront the bold abducter of his ward, who stood calm and unmoved, supporting her fainting form ; but paused in utter amazement as he recognized his features, exclaiming, "Good God, Don Emanuel ! Is it possible that you have resorted to such ignoble means to win your lady ?" "It is, Senor," replied Don Emanuel, smiling, "for I despaired of winning her otherwise. You know that she refused the proposal made through her guardian ; therefore, I deemed it proper to gain my desires in the best manner possible. She is mine now, by her own free will ; and I love her none the less, for thus proving to me the faith of her affection." "Well, as you have won the perverse maiden against her desires, even though with her own free consent, the ceremony may proceed ; and I wish my dear ward much pleasure, in thus having her own way in this important matter." The parties were married ; and then of course came an explanation ofthe mystery to Dona Constanza. Don Emanuel de Velasco, having seen her, as before stated, was immediately captivated with her beauty and sweetness ; but being imperatively called away to Madrid, he was obliged to submit by letter, a proposal for addressing her, to Senor Lopez, who closed at once with his desires ; and unexpectedly, even went so far as to fix upon a day for the marriage, which he seemed to think, without doubt, would follow in a very short period. This surprised, while it gave him much pleasure, and he joyfully acquiesced in the arrangement ; but when he understood that she firmly opposed the union, shrewdly deeming that she might be ignorant of his latter title, and encouraged by her seeming gratification at the previous manifestation of his love, he resolved to win her, if possible, under that name alone ; and thereby assure himself not only of her free will, but of her affection for him also. The good priest was his only confidant,


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72 father would never forgive me—but, hut, indeed this marriage will kill me.”

“I am nute” interposed the maiden, “I would never submit to it, when this young prince loves you so de- volediy, and you tove bite in returs. Have you seen hiun of Jate?”

“1 caught a glimpse of him as he rode under my lat- tice four moons ago, when he was on a visit here—you know I could see him in no other way. How nobly— like the descendant of a hundred kings as he is—he bestrode his courser, Ah! would I could sce him in this dilemraa.”

“And what would you say if you could hear from him? Soe,” continued the maiden, looking cautiously around, to satisfy herself thut no one was within sight or hearing. “I have a mission for you, written in his own hand, It has cost me a world of troublo to convey to you, and this is the second day I have waited for the opportunity.”

‘The princess blushed to the bosom as whe took the richly adorned missive and read the following:

“Do you love me yet? Then can you become a sacrifice? I am poor, but I am the descendant of kin} [fyou will give up pomp, wealth, and power for my moun- tain home, I will find nicans to rescue you from your fate, Af you are silent I shalt know you still love me anul are willing to be mine.”

The color went and came in the princess’ check, and her bosom heaved with tumultuous emotions, as she read this tetter. Conceuling it in her bosom, she leaned her head on her hand and gave herself up to thought- In that crisis how her heart alternated between affection for her father and love for Hyder! But love triumphed and when she raised her head it was to tell her com- panion that there wus no reply to send,

«Allah be praised!” said the maiden, “now I shall see you happy.”

Mcontime the prepurations for the ouptials of the princess went on, and were eventually brought to a cloce. Day after day, relying on her lover's promise to save ber, Zelona looked for his interposition, though she know not in what way it would appear; butell in vain. Hope at length gave out, and she spent her hours in tears.

Tt was a bright summer morning when the bridal cavalcade set forth for the capital of the intended hus band of the princess, but though every thing around her was gay—thongh birds seng merrily from every branch, and joyous strains of music floated on the balmy aie~ her heart was filled with sadness and despair. At most two days journey would bring her to the capital of her lord, From Hyder she had received no intelligence, ant who knew but what he might be dead, or have deserted her. Biter were the tears she wept as she Inuried herself in her siiken couch, for death seemed pre-

LADY'S

ferable to a union with her destined husband. When the cavalcade stopped for the night, she wept herself to sleep, But suddenly she was aroused from slumber by a wild confusion in the camp, and sitting up in her couch and listening, she heard shouts, and shots, the charge of spahis, and the clash of sword-blades. These noises, at first distant, ropidly neared the rich pavilion in which she iay, and as they approached, what was her joy to recoguise, over all the tumult, the war-ery of Hyder. Hiastily ordering her affrighted slaves to robo her, she awaited, with a beating beart, the termination of the contest. Nor did she wait long. Directly a wild huzza rose up at the very door of her pavilion, and im- mediately she heard her {over’s voice without, Rushing to the outer apartment of the tent she fell into Hyder’s arms as he entered it, flushed with victory.

“Oh!” she said, “why did you delay eo long? I almost feared I should never see you again.”

«T came as soon as I thought I could ensure success, dearest,” he replied, kissing her beautiful brow, “have lain in wait for the Inst fortnight, watching for this day. But there is no tine to lose. On the first alarm a thou- sand spahis will spring into the saildle to pursue us, I have brought two fleet Arabians, who will cary us to our native mountains ere « socond sun sball rise. Mount, sweet one, and away with me.”

She mounted at the word, and ere two days the fugi- tives reached the wild and impassable mountain recesses in which the young prince had his home. Pursuit was found to be useless, Long and happily they lived together. At first the Rajah contemplated sending an army to recover his daughter, but just when all was prepared he fell sick, and hetter thoughts rose in his bosom. When ho recovered he sent for his children and adopted Hyder as the heir to his throne. And men, in that bright lend, stil! talk of the blissful reign of Zolona and her lord.

REMEMBRANCE.

I snaut look back, when on the mainy— Back ta my nativo isle, And almoet think I hear again "Thy voice, and view thy smile. But many days may pase away Ere I again shall sce Amid the young, the fair, the gay,— ‘Que whn resembles thee. ‘Yet when the pensive thought shall dwell On some ideal maid, Whom tancy’s pencil pictured well, Aud touched with softest shade: "The imaged form J shull survey, Aud, pausing at the view, Recall thy gentle smile, and say,

“Oh, such a maid I knew!” BOWLES. �


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possession of whose heart my happiness, hath proved herself so utterly faithless !"

Lord Percy paused. From a small golden case, appended to his neck, he unclasped a miniature, and held it up so that the moonbeams might fall brightly upon it. It was the delineation of a very lovely face. The small, feminine head was thrown back somewhat disdainfully, and the proud chiselling of the delicate features told that she was one of England's aristocracy. A few bright curls lay lovingly on her fair cheek, and the whole picture breathed forth the spirit of beauty and stateliness.

As the young man gazed thereon, there came an unwonted glistening of the eye, and presently a large tear slowly forced its way down his pale cheek : " Fie on me !" he exclaimed, " I am grown a very woman in weakness ! —and yet, and yet I did so love thee, Madeline. I did so fondly treasure every kind word, every gentle action-and I proudly claimed thee my affianced bride. Heaven help thee, and forgive thee, faithless !-and even now, while in the deep forest I linger thus alone, where dost thou roam, Madeline ? Perchance in the lighted hall, amidst music and festivity, thou passest along smiling and glorying in thy beauty-a wondrous creature of loveliness. Are there no seasons of compunction, no moments of regret to shadow for an instant thy being's sky ? —or art thou forever a thoughtless and a heartless coquette, Madeline ?"

He covered his face with his hands and leaned heavily forward. Since the one dreadful hour of their parting he had cloaked his feeling with his pride, and his voice had been as clear, his step as firm, and his spirit as reckless as ever ; but there are moments when agony must vent itself, and suffering can remain pent up no longer. And such a moment had come to him now. Bitter and scalding drops fell slowly between his burning fingers, and his frame heaved with uncontrollable emotion. As scene by scene of happiness contrasted with misery, of the sunshine and the midnight, came home to this mind, more terrible grew the conflict. What were all past madness and sorrow- what were they to this ? It was a season of bitter and overwhelming agony, and yet it past. Gradually the dark clouds rolled from his spirit, and a calm, an unnatural calm, seemed to succeed them- the stillness of despair. Once more he drew his hands away from his face, and raised it to the placid moonlight. A moment may suffice to alter the whole current of the feelings, and leave the dreadful impress of the Sirocco upon the face. How fearfully changed was his. Madness and terrible agony- the whirlwind and the storm- had done their work of ravage well. An hour passed on. The weariness following the unwonted turmoil of mind, together with the incessant activity of a soldier's life, weighed down his eyelids, and

he leaned back against the projecting rock, and sank for awhile into a heavy slumber. The torturing images of his waking thoughts did not, at first, molest his dreams. Many a smile broke like sunshine upon his young lip, many a half-murmured sentence of fondness and joy attested a return of his long absent pleasant fancies. Thus ran his dreams : He was in a fine old park, the green and sloping grounds of his beloved Alnwick, and the sun of a bright day gleamed here and there, among the verdant shade, as the thick concave of green above was pierced by his effulgent rays. The perfume of many delicate and fragrant flowers was on the air, and birds of glorious plumage were trilling around him their most delicious notes. And there, in the gardens of his own home, Lord Percy roamed again, supporting on his arm that parent, who was the object of so many waking thoughts. No sorrow, no blight seemed to have visited him there, and life, to him, was full of joyful hope and gladness, Again- and he was in the presence of two fair girls, one his own dear sister, and the other his affianced bride. The name of Madeline was fondly breathed, and he bent his head to press the hand he held in his ; but when he looked again around him they were there alone, and she wore a haughty and careless look, and spoke words of cutting and bitter irony. And they parted ; she with a cold undimmed eye, and he in the fiery vehemence of passion and disappointment. The peaceful and quiet tenor of his dreams was gone. And now he stood under the vaulted roof of an old courtyard, caparisoned as for a hasty march. His steed was pawing by his side, his followers, with doffed caps, stood silently waiting his commands. And sorrowing kindred and friends were around him-the stateliest of England's nobility. His own white plume hung heavy on his brow, and none might know but him the stern sorrow of his own bosom ; yet, like his valorous and impetuous ancestor, with a cheering word and a gay farewell, all mockery as they were, he vaulted to his saddle, and away from his father's halls he sped. Then followed dim and indistinct visions of the deep blue sea, and a full-manned frigate ; of landing on a strange shore ; of midnight marches ; of bloody battles and burning villages ; the agonized look of many a childless mother, and many a fatherless child. Weeks, months, seemed to have elapsed, and he had almost forgotten those parting scenes amidst the increasing confusion of his vision. At last, as if by magic, the mist swept from before his eyes, and he was riding at the head of an armed band toward a scene of sanguinary conflict. It was in the full broad glare of noonday, and a gentle stream lay basking in the sun's rays. Around the forests, mighty and old , stretched their umbrageous foliage, and in an opening with a broad-swelling lawn before it, rose the walls of an


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THE BARON'S KNELL.

BY J. H. DANA.

In the old town of Rudenberg there stands a square, massive, stone tower, green with moss, and shattered by centuries. The superstructure, according to tradition, was the work of the EVIL ONE ; and there is that in its gloomy old walls, the deep embrasures of the windows, and the scarred and blackened appearance of the building, which would seem to corroborate the legend. In this tower hangs a bell, of strange uncouth shape, but immoveably fixed in masonry, so that no living mortal has heard it toll. The tradition goes, that bell and tower had the same origin, in the bargain of some erring soul ; but with whom the subtle enemy made the compact is not so certain. Some assert that it was an Eastern Magi, skilled in all the learning of the Chaldees. Others say that it was a fair-haired lady from beyond the seas, one whose queenly port and dazzling beauty seemed almost supernatural. And others again say that the old tower was the residence of a bearded warrior who had fought in the Holy Land, and who brought back with him a train of Saracen servants, dressed with barbarous magnificence, and speaking in an uncouth tongue. But all agree in one thing. The first possessor of the place attained unbounded opulence, but died miserably after every descendant in the direct line had perished by violence. And strangest of all, the wizard bell tolled at every death, as if rung by invisible hands. But from the day when the last of the race perished, no mortal ear has heard the knell.

It was from a student at Leyden that I first received the true version of the legend. We had been sitting over a stoup of wine all the evening, leisurely smoking our meerschaums, until at length we fell mutually into a reverie which lasted a full hour. The room where we sat was one of those large old rambling apartments found in antique buildings, with grotesquely carved cornices, and ample fire-places surrounded with dragon heads. The fire had been suffered to burn low, so that at length the chamber was left in comparative darkness. Now and then a falling brand would cause the flames to leap fitfully up, making strange shadows on the wall ; while ever and anon the sullen gusts without rattled the old casements, and wailed mournfully around the house. Suddenly the bell of the cathedral began to toll, and as the measured sound came booming across the night, we started involuntarily.

" Have you ever been at Rudenberg ?" said my companion. "Yes !" I replied, " and from your words, you were thinking ofthe strange old tower, with its bell." "I was," he answered, lowering his voice, "have you ever heard the legend ?"

I told him the versions that had been given me, but he shook his head. "They are none of them right. I believe one of my ancestors was present at the catastrophe, and so the true tradition has come down in our family. We rarely mention it, Gott gebe uns Gnade ; but you are a foreigner, and I will waive our secrecy for once. "The real builder of that tower," he continued, drawing his chair close to mine, and speaking in a low, but distinct tone, " was a needy Baron of the palatinate, who suddenly rose to great power and opulence. The superstructure was built by torch light, and with almost incredible rapidity. But the greatest mystery attended the hanging of this strange bell, for no mortal eye, it is said, witnessed the act. The bell was found one morning swinging high up in the old tower ; but, for many a long year, no one heard its voice. When the bells of the churches chimed out at wedding and christening, it remained silent. Other bells might toll at funerals, but not so it. While every steeple and tower in the palatinate rang inerrily at victory, the iron tongue of that unknown bell spoke not. Men came finally to look on it with strange awe. At length the townsfolk heard a wild toll at midnight, and their blood curdled at the sound, so unlike all others was its unearthly tone. There was that in the voice of the mysterious bell, as if the insensate metal struggled to reveal some untold horror. Men shuddered as they listened, mothers hugged their babes to their bosoms, and maidens rose from bed and knelt before the crucifix until the fearful tolling ceased. That night few slept in Rudenberg. When morning dawned, the citizens learnt that, at midnight, just when the bell began to toll, the beautiful young daughter of the Baron had died, it was feared, by poison, administered by some unknown hand. And the bell had tolled at her death, but by whom the knell was wrung, no man could tell. " From that day, it was noticed, that a dark shade settled on the brow of the Baron. Meantime his possessions continued to increase, and while others lost, he gained. Whatever enterprize he undertook was sure to succeed . But child after child perished violently, and at every death that mysterious bell was tolled by unknown hands. These things induced strange suspicions among the townsfolk. They called to mind the poverty from which the Baron had sprung, they remembered the singular rapidity with which the tower had been built, and they thought upon that fearful night when the mysterious bell broke its long silence, and tolled at the death of his child . Whispers, at first scarcely breathed, but finally given utterance to even in the market-place, charged him with having entered into a bargain with the Evil One ; and it was said that wealth and power was to be the portion of the Baron, but that one by one he was to lose his children as the forfeit, and that the


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 came straight on and passed them, and they saw it disappear in the distance. My informant laughed at himself, and very wisely said, "One has not got to believe those things here, one has in Apollonia."

To the surf and its spirits the sea-board-dwelling Tschwis bring women who have had children and widows, both after a period of eight days from the birth of the child, or the death of the husband.

A widow remains in the house until this period has elapsed, neglecting her person, eating little food, and sitting on the bare floor in the attitude of mourning. On the Gold Coast they bury very quickly, as they are always telling you, usually on the day after death, rarely later than the third day, even among the natives; and the spirit, or Srah, of the dead man is supposed to hang about his wives and his house until the ceremony of purification is carried out. This is done, needless to say, with uproar. The relations of each wife go to her house with musical instruments—I mean tom-toms and that sort of thing—and they take a quantity of mint, which grows wild in this country, with them. This mint they burn, some of it in the house, the rest they place upon pans of live coals and carry round the widow as she goes in their midst down to the surf, her relatives singing aloud to the Srah of the departed husband, telling him that now he is dead and has done with the lady he must leave her. This singing serves to warn all the women who are not relations to get out of the way, which of course they always carefully do, because if they were to see the widow their own husbands would die within the year.

When the party has arrived at the shore, they strip every rag off the widow, and throw it into the surf; and a thoughtful female relative having brought a suit of dark blue baft with her for the occasion, the widow is clothed in this and returns home, where a suitable festival is held, after which she may marry again; but if she were to marry before this ceremony, the Srah of the husband would play the mischief with husband number two or three, and so on, as the case might be.

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sneer had passed from his lips, and he guzed fearfully around, as if hoping that his ears deceived him, yet dreading the contrary; but whef that unearthly sound penetrated, a second time, into the hall, and he saw, by the faces of the guests, that they tuo heard the knell, his comitenance hecume ghastly as that of a corse, and he clung to the table to support his tottering knees, And as the iron voice rung out again across the night, he uttered an agonizing ery, gasped for breath, and sinking down utterly into his seat, with the wine cup still in his hand, fell over at the twelfth stroke, dead on the floor. At the same manent the wind eddied through the casc~ ments, and the.ceneers expired. ‘Then mortal fear seized on the guests, and springing from the board, end elimb- ing ond straggling over each other, they urried wildly from that fatal festal hell, As they rushed into the air, the room burst into flames. Bot they dared not, look bebind, With wilder affright they fied, while, at every step, came, horne after theih on the breeze, the tolling of that fearful bell. It pulsicd their hearts, it emote their knees with weaknesy, it almost took from them their breath. At every stroke of that knell some long forgot- ten crime rose up to their memories. They paused not until they clasped, in supplicating agony, the rails be- neath the high altar of the Cathesteal.

« All night that bell, rang by unknown hands, tolled ‘on, curdling the blood of the listeners ; and ail night the- shuddering guests prayed und knelt before the crucifix. When morning dawned, the bishop, preceded by the relics, and followed by his priests, entered the still smo- King hall, They found the body of the Baron charred, blackened and inutilated ; the face only was untouched

by fire. But on that countenance rested on expression ; of fieres end ulter agony, such as hsunted the dreams of |

those who suw it to the grave. From that fearful night the Baron’s bell has never been known to toll, nor could ‘a thousand men move it in its bed of solid masonry.”

ENCHANTMENT.

RY EDWARD J. PORTER.

No master of the hidden spell has twined > His trembling, mystic wreaths around my brow, Whose leaflets aparkied *ucath the moonlight glow, With the bright. fearful dower ‘twas their’s to bind No sister wierd, in her wild raving hour Of inspiration, deeply breatlied upon, — ‘When first her gleams of light from heaven are won— "This lonely xoul, her words of hushing power; And yet above, around my spirit lies ‘A sparkling chain I may wot e'er remove, ‘Twined, gentle one! by those soft gleaming eyes, ‘And riveted by gentler smiles of love From thy fair checks; but ob. ‘tis blise to pine In chains 30 sweet, 80 exquisite as thine!

LADY'S

HERBERT MORDAUNT.

BY GEORGE BATDR.

Skill, or prndence in availing ourselves of our paturat

talents and advantages, will compel favor and patronage, ‘even where it is held trom prejudice or ignorance. = Scott's Autigvary.

« Wouz, Hethert, I have seen Mr, Baldwin this morn- ing,.and he seys that one of his students has lately qualified, and he shall expect you in a few days to supply the vacancy,” soid Ms. Mordaunt, one of the most opulent citizens of New York to his yon, a young: § summer hat on hie hand with an air of negligence, that evineed how utterly indifferent he was, to the princely ! display of wealth around him,
 * man about twenty years of age, who sat twirling « Hight

«If such are his expectations, I must say that be will” Ve sally disappointed,” said Herbert Mordaunt,

« You will have a delightful time of it, es there will be five students besides yourself, all of them sons of the i-wealthiest men in the city,” pursued Mr. Mozdaunt, seemingly inattentive to the reply of bis sun. _

«T doubt not, that I should find their companionship highly agreeable, neverthclexs I must debar myself of that pleasure; for (although it sorely aflicts me to thwart your wishes) a professional man I can never be!”

«Why, what particular objections can you have, to being esteemed one of so numerous and respectable a cluss of men—a class for whom your brother Felix there, } vchom the ladies already begin to recognise as Dr. Mor- daunt, has ever shown such a decided preference?” said Mr. Mordaunt, pointing to a sofa, on the side of which rested an extremely delicate hand, which an observer could acurcely have failed mistaking for that of one of the gentler sex, had not a side-long glance at the per= son's stolid features, as he lay supine on the elastic couch, proved him to bave been the beau ideal of a whiskered dandy. a 4

“imply because my culling leads me another way,” replied Herbert Mordaunt, :

«Phen it is not on account of any prejudice againat the profession ?”

«No, sir! for had I a turn that way, I would not heai- tate to study a profession.” "

“Ab, well! doubtless then you will waive this frivo- lous objection in consideration of a life of ease, and a yearly income of five thousand dollars—come, that's a temptation not easily to be got over—only reflect on it now, five thousand a year.” ,

«Never !” said Herbert Mordaunt firmly, yet respect fully ; “for waa I to engage in a profession from which I could derive no pleasure, I showld become, instead of ‘a useful member, a drone to that community, in which an all-wise Providence has allotted us our respective

stations,”

�


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the expiration of six months, he far excelled every apprentice in the shop, and yielded the palm to the journeymen only in the nicest and more difficult branches of the trade. Stimulated by his extraordinary advancement, which far exceeded what his most sanguine hopes had led him to anticipate, he now applied himself with renewed ardor, and at the end of a twelvemonth was accounted the best workman in the shop.

Daley's work now began to acquire a much higher repute than it heretofore ever had, and ere another six months rolled round, was sought after with avidity by the whole city. Orders without number for sideboards , scrutoires, ottomans, sofas, and numerous other etceteras of a similar nature, poured into the shop. To meet this flood of custom, all Herbert Mordaunt's energy was called into active operation ; and from early dawn till long after the whole city had sank to repose at night, he sedulously toiled at his bench. Nothing that skill or assiduity could accomplish, was left undone. These disinterested exertions to advantage his welfare, did not pass unheeded by the kind-hearted Mr. Daley, for when two years had passed away, he generously released Herbert Mordaunt from the remainder of his apprenticeship, and offered to take him in as a partner ; but this he declined, proposing to retire to one of the flourishing inland towns in that state, where he set up business on his own footing.

In the populous town which he had pitched upon, as the place of his future abode, Herbert Mordaunt's honest countenance and frank manners won the good-will of the public, and he had soon work sufficient in his shop to keep him steadily engaged. Every mouth was loud in praise of the extraordinary young artificer ; the men spoke of his exemplary habits and close application to business, and the ladies ( who are invariably more zealous than the other sex, in whatever they undertake) vowed they would each order a toilet, a workstand, or some such article, were it but for the sake of getting a look at his handsome face-whilst his exquisite workmanship was a source of admiration for all.

In a little time his custom increased so rapidly that he was forced to employ several journeymen to assist him in his labors, and even then it was with much difficulty he could satisfy the eager demand of the people for his work. The second year, the fame of his skill having been trumpeted abroad, he did a still more extensive business ; and was now acknowledged by all to be decidedly the most steady, diligent, and skilful mechanic in the town, and one not likely to squander the fortune which he was evidently realising. It was the third year after Herbert Mordaunt had left his native city, to seek a home among strangers, that Mr. Allenwood, one among the most respectable men in the town, called at his shop to purchase a workstand for his niece, a sweet auburn-haired girl, who leant fondly upon his arm. No sooner had Herbert Mordaunt encountered the mild glance of the latter, than the quenchless fire of love was kindled within his bosom. Yes, reader, Herbert Mordaunt was fascinated with the playful smile and damask cheek of a girl, whom he had then, for the first time seen. His heart thrilled with emotions hitherto unknown to it, as he stole timid glances at her countenance, in the artless expression of which, innocence and intelligence seemed struggling for the mastery. It seemed as if he could not sufficiently admire her bright laughing eyes, and he was convinced, as he watched her graceful attitudes, as she stood admiring the elegance of the different objects around her, that he had never beheld half so perfect a form as that of the beautiful and accomplished Theresa Allenwood. Before leaving the shop Mr. Allenwood, whose keen perception could detect under the garb of a mechanic, the bearing of a gentleman, gave Herbert Mordaunt a kind and pressing invitation to visit him, which he assured him he would not fail to do.. A few days afterward he accordingly called upon Mr. Allenwood, who occupied a neat yet small dwelling on the suburbs of the town ; for his income-although it yielded a plain and very comfortable support for himself and niece, enabling them to dress in a style beseeming the high station which they filled in society- was too limited to admit of his taking a larger and more elegant house. Mr. Allenwood he found to be a strong-minded, jovial old bachelor, who had read much, travelled much, and was possessed of a thorough practical knowledge of men and their ways, which he had gained by a long intercourse with the world. When courteously questioned during his visit by Mr. Allenwood respecting his birth-place and family, Herbert Mordaunt-aware that an attempt at concealment would but create embarrassment on his part, and probably beget unfavorable suspicions in the mind of Mr. Allenwood -frankly revealed the estrangement that existed between his parents and himself, with the circumstances attending it ; and was happy to learn that the course he had pursued was highly approved of by him. He also flattered himself by the kindling of Teresa Allenwood's dark and voluptuous eyes, that if she was less forward in expressing it, she was by no means less warm in her approbation thereof than her uncle. Before two weeks had elapsed, Herbert Mordaunt again called upon Mr. Allenwood, at whose house he became in course of time a constant visiter. The more he knew of Teresa Allenwood, the higher he learnt to appreciate her amiable qualities ; every succeeding visit served to bring to light some new and valuable trait in her character, which on the previous one he had judged faultless. The frequency of his visits at length removed, as it were, the screen of reserve- through which her


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 good day for landing, "for he'd only had to swim the last fifty yards."

And finally, as the preacher says, remember it is highly advisable to have your conscience clear, at any rate regarding your past treatment of your Kru or Accra boat-boys, before you trust yourself to them to take you through a surf. There was a bad man once on the Gold Coast who had ill-used his men and when they took him out through the surf to go aboard the ship that was to take him home, there was the usual catastrophe, which no one thought much of, only saying "It was hard on B. just as he was going home," until the body of B. came ashore, and then, in the clothes, were found three iron shark hooks, with lots of line attached, wherewith the men had held B. back from shore, and played him like a fish, until the surf beat the life out of him.

Forgive this digression on surf, but a coaster cannot help going on like this as soon as his pet enemy is mentioned, and I humbly return to African apparitions. There is one thing about the surf that I do not understand, and that is why witches always walk stark naked along the beach by it at night, and eat sea crabs the while. That such is a confirmed habit of theirs is certain; and they tell me that while doing this the witches emit a bright light, and also that there is a certain medicine, which, if you have it with you, you can throw over the witch, and then he, or she, will remain blazing until morning time, running to and fro, crying out wildly, in front of the white, breaking, thundering surf wall, and when the dawn comes the fire burns the witch right up, leaving only a grey ash—and palaver set in this world and the next for that witch.

A highly-esteemned native minister told me when I was at Cape Coast last, that a fortnight before, he had been away in the Apollonia district on mission work. One evening he and a friend were walking along the beach and the night was dark, so that you could see only the surf. It is never too dark to see that, it seems to have light in itself. They saw a flame coming towards them, and after a moment's doubt they knew it was a witch, and feeling frightened, hid themselves among the bushes that edge the sandy shore. As they watched, it


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For the first two years after he had turned Herbert Mordaunt from his house, his affairs had gone on prosperously, and his son Felix was all that his heart could have wished him. His brilliant talents were a theme of conversation for more than one fireside-circle, and he was generally looked upon by all as a young man destined, at some future day, to fill a lofty station in the world ; but alas ! the germ of self-will had been too early engrafted in the young sapling for it ever to become a stately monarch of the forest ! At the end of two years strange and painful rumors of his profligacy and dissipated habits began to be afloat, and his repeated demands for money served to confirm them. Mr. Mordaunt took him to task, and censured him for his conduct- not with the sternness of decision and severe tone of authority which it behoves a parent to assume, when reprimanding a child for misconduct, but in a lenient manner that tended rather to hasten than to check his progress along the high-road to ruin. The tone of popular sentiment was now changed, and Dr. Mordaunt was no longer spoken of as the young man of splendid capacity and great promise, but as the abandoned profligate, the frequenter of tippling-houses, and the companion of vicious and unprincipled gamblers ! His former comrades now shunned him as they would a viper, but he heeded it not ; for vice and debauchery had blunted the keen edge of pride- he was completely dead to all sense of shame and honor-every generous and noble impulse was paralysed within him. His demands for money, to squander in scenes of vice and reckless dissipation, became at length so frequent and for such heavy amounts, that Mr. Mordaunt was awakened to an alarming consciousness of the rapidity with which his fortune was being reduced, and forced, though reluctantly, to deny him all further supplies. The parents were now to experience a severe retribution for the forbearance they had exercised in the tutoring of their child ! for when Dr. Mordaunt felt the restraint imposed upon his licentious passions which hitherto had been permitted to pursue their wild and reckless race unchecked, he immediately forged a check, and drew every dollar of the old man's fortune from the bank, in which he had deposited it. The same evening he embarked for England, but the packet ship in which he had taken passage was never heard of. She must have foundered at sea, and every soul on board perished !

Being deprived of their favorite child, Mr. and Mrs. Mordaunt were struck with a sudden consciousness of their cruel treatment to their younger son, and would have sought him out and asked his forgiveness ; but they knew not where to find him, for the postmaster whom Mr. Mordaunt had directed always to return his son's letters, as soon as they arrived, had left the city, and gone he knew not whither. Abandoning all hope of ever again beholding their discarded son, they took a

room in an obscure part of the city, where they continued for some months to eke out a miserable existence , subsisting upon the pittance that remained to them from the sale of their splendid house and furniture, which their necessities had compelled them to dispose of under the hammer. Oppressed by grief and misfortune , Mrs. Mordaunt in a short time sank into the grave, penitently imploring the forgiveness of Heaven for her unnatural conduct toward her son.

After the death of his wife, Mr. Mordaunt was forced either to beg for a support or to become an inmate of the alms-house ; but too proud to receive charity at the hands of those whom he had once considered his inferiors, and too prejudiced to become the latter, he left the scene of his former glory, and with the aid of a few dollars which he had scraped together, reached the town where Herbert Mordaunt resided. Having arrived the evening before, he had that morning set out fully determined to attempt the lowly employment of a mendicant as the means of gaining a livelihood ; and fortunately the first door at which he had summoned resolution enough to stop was that of the child whom he had renounced. Having concluded his narrative, the old man again gave vent to the overpowering tumult of his feelings in a violent flood of tears. Herbert Mordaunt detained his father with him during the remainder of his life ; and no one to have seen him administering to his wants, and endeavoring by every possible care and tenderness to soften the winter of his days, would have supposed that he had once been driven from that father's door, a friendless outcast on the world.  LINES TO THE EVENING STAR.

ILLUMIN'D Star-bright diamond of the skies, That lingerest yet beyond the twilight gray; How oft to thee I turn my longing eyes, And think of her I love, far, far away.

On thee my eyes with chastened pleasure rest While burning thoughts course swiftly through my mind ; While hopes and fears alternate rule my breast, Or Fancy's golden chain my soul doth bind.

And while with longing, ling'ring, anxious gaze, My ardent look, bright star, I fix on thee; Doth she I love unto thy trembling blaze, Turn her fair eyes and give one thought to me?

Oh, could my heart be opened to her mind, Could she behold her image there enshrined ; Or could she know with what devotion true Her form is ever treasured in my mind.

Methinks my constancy her heart would move, My suit with kindness she perhaps would hear ; And if she could not bless me with her love, Would to my memory give, at least, a tear. T. S. C.


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 Alas! how often is the idea of a Supreme Being brought first before the minds of children, when they are under chastisement for having done wrong! How many are told then, and then only, that there is an All-seeing eye upon them, detecting their falsehoods, and discovering their secret sins! while those sweet moments of familiar intercourse, when the dew of affection lies fresh upon the soul, and hope springs forth in the bright sunshine of happiness — how often are such moments neglected, or occupied only with mean and trivial things! Yet why, when we are so ready in the management of children, to bring to our aid the terrors of a God of justice — why are we not equally ready to make use of the attractiveness of a God of love?

I am aware that parents whose own minds are under the influence of religious feeling, in the course of their religious instruction, but especially when they explain to their children the scheme of man's redemption through the Savior's sacrifice of himself, dwell much upon the kindness and the mercy of Him who so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son to save sinners. But children generally receive many impressions with regard to the Supreme Being, long before they can be made to enter into this view of his character; and it is chiefly as relates to their earliest impressions — to those just views which are to fill and occupy the mind to the exclusion of all others, that I would urge upon mothers the importance of directing their attention to tnis subject.

I am convinced that nothing need be lost — nay, rather that much may be gained, by associating feelings of happiness with the first impressions which a child receives of a supreme and superintending power. I am convinced of this, because there is no faculty of the soul capable of producing enjoyment by its exercise upon the things of time, which is not also capable of enhancing that enjoyment a thousand-fold, by its exercise upon the things of eternity. When we speak of affection, it is something certainly to feel bound to those we love, even for the brief term of our existence upon earth; but it is nothing in comparison with that bond of unbroken and unending union which will hold together the one great family of the redeemed in heaven. When we speak of admiration, it is something to

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she leant back on the sofa to indulge in a fit of weeping. Long she wept, but finally nature attained the mastery, and like a child, worn out by grief, she sank insensibly to sleep.

The dawn was just beginning to break when Mr. Wallingford, who chanced to be an early riser, passing down the corridor, perceived the door of Mrs. Benton's parlor ajar, with Isabel apparently unconscious on the sofa. Alarmed at the sight, he entered ; but finding that Miss Benton was only asleep, he would have withdrawn, when his eye was attracted by his own name in the unfinished note on the table, and led by an ungovernable curiosity he read as follows :

"It is the will of my unhappy destiny, combined with the desire of my mother. I must never see you again -never more listen to you ; never-but why utter the word? To-morrow I become the wife of Mr. Wallingford ; fly, then, from my sight-it 39is a sacrifice that I appeal to your honor to make" Who can this gentleman be ? Who is this mysterious lover of whom I have never heard ? Alas ! I fondly dreamed, Isabel, that you loved me, but I see now that I have been deceived and that your mother is, perhaps, forcing you into a union you abHis words were cut short by a footfall. It was Henry leaping into the window, and Wallingford looked around. The rivals gazed at each other an instant, nor will we attempt to describe their feelings when they found that they were father and son. Their exclamations of astonishment awoke Isabel, who fainted, while, at the same instant, her mother appeared on the scene. The insensible girl was borne from the room, and then the young man, flinging himself at his father's feet, exclaimed , "My father-my father ! I am innocent, pardon me." " Rise, Sir," said Mr. Wallingford, " I am no longer your father. I am your accuser, and your judge. Why have you come to Saratoga ?" "It was absolutely necessary for me to do so. Honor compelled me to come and see one who is very dear to me." "Very well ; but then you choose to pay your visits to this very dear person at moments that are very equivocal -at three o'clock in the morning, for instance." 66 Father, since you know all, why do you thus question me ? Why thus interrogate me ?" "Because it is my desire to know the most minute details of your love for Miss Isabel Benton." "And wherefore ?" "Because she ought to be my wife, and not yours." 66 Then, Sir, you must know, that it is about six months ago, in a stroll through the Susquehanna county, whither I went as an artist, and under an assumed name, I met this young lady. Why tell the result ? We loved. I did not reveal my real name, for

the rich Mr. Wallingford. She promised to be mine ere parting ; and we were to write to each other. But our letters were intercepted, and deeming she had proved false to me, I resolved to forget her, until last week, when hearing incidentally from a friend here, that she was to be married-though he did not say to whom- my agony drove me hither, to see Isabel, reproach her for her perfidy, and bid her an eternal farewell. Oh ! my father │| had I known all, I would have suffered any thing, rather than have come hither." 66 Henry !" said the father, wiping away a tear, " you have conquered. The love of one like me cannot be such as that a young man feels. The sacrifice will be less to me than to you. Take her, and God bless you." The son fell on his father's shoulder and weeping, would have refused the boon, but Mr. Wallingford was inexorable, nor would he suffer the ceremony to be delayed more than a day- the ample settlement he made on his son fully reconciling Mrs. Benton to the match.
 * I wished to be loved for myself, and not as the son of

THE BROKEN HEARTED.

BY J. TOMLIN. On! be not broken-hearted, Dear Mary Chevillette ; The fondest hearts are partedSweet Mary Chevillette ! Sweet days again, like flowers That bloom in early May, Will come as softest showers To wash thy grief away!

Have you not seen love falter Amid its pearly way? As flowers are seen to alter, And die in sunny May! Then be not broken-hearted, Dear Mary Chevillette ; For fondest hearts are partedSweet Mary Chevillette ! The spell of love is broken, And wreathed by frozen tears ; And love is not a token Of happy, happy years ! Sweet days again like flowers , That bloom in early May; Will come like softest showers To wash thy grief away!

THE wave which commences in the distance, and swells as it approaches the shore, may be compared to the secret desire of the heart which begins silently and softly, but becomes at last irresistible.


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Told the Christian reader in the beginning of the chapter which preceded my uncle Toby's apologetical oration,—though in a different trope from what I shall make use of now, That the peace of Utrecht was within an ace of creating the same shyness betwixt my uncle Toby and his hobby-horse, as it did betwixt the queen and the rest of the confederating powers.

There is an indignant way in which a man sometimes dismounts his horse, which as good as says to him, "I'll go afoot, Sir, all the days of my life, before I would ride a single mile upon your back again." Now my uncle Toby could not be said to dismount his horse in this manner; for in strictness of language, he could not be said to dis-


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would take apartments at "the Lion." In concluding her harangue (the substance of which, we beg her pardon for giving in our own words, as being more concise) as to what Mr. Smithe said, and what Mrs. Smithe wore -as to how the Misses Smithe were quite handsome as to how young Mr. Smithe was no better looking, nor quite so good as her Joe -as to the little girl being ten years old, or thereabouts-as to their bringing nine trunks and chests, but mostly chests- and as to their eating breakfast now in the " Paul and Virginia room," (a designation it took from the paper on its walls) Mrs. Thomas started from her seat, but stopping half way between it and the door, with one arm a-kimbo, she exclaimed,

"There's that bell again. Jane must have forgotten them dough-nuts, or else the mince-pie. I do say, folks little knows what an undergoment ' tis to keep tavern, says I, to Mr. Thomas last evening, says I, no it wasn't, says he to me, says he, I'm so tired that my bones ache to such a dgree, says I, so do mine- and this morning I had a master kind of an aspen trembling-I couldn't get no better of it till I ate my breakfast. Them buckwheats was nice, wasn't they, Miss Branch ? I made them with patent yeast- Mr. Thomas says to me, says he, " Lucy they be despite nice' -there's that bell again -now I must go and tell Miss Smithe to eat hearty !" Away she went " on hospitable thoughts intent." Their wishes were heard with attention, their wants cheerfully and abundantly supplied ; for it was not our good landlady's fault or virtue, to be economical in feeding herself or her boarders, and they parted mutually pleased ; they with her open-handed, free-hearted bountifulness ; and she with the inward feeling of " what a comfort ' tis to get up victuals for English folks, they relished them so amazing." While they were discussing their breakfast, Mrs. Thomas just slipped into the other lady-boarders rooms, and in less than an hour had no less than four able fellow laborers in her mission, their common object being to enlighten the little town of Laurelville, as to the arrival of the English family. Let me be employed in the same benevolent manner, and give all the information relative to the Smithes', which was current among the villagers at the time of their arrival.

Two weeks previous to that event, the stage had brought and left a man stout and portly-dressed in garments, not made exactly after the fashion of those worn in Laurelville, and wrapped in such a quantity of overcoats, cloaks, comforters and tippets, that who was he ? was an undecided query in the minds of the bystanders. Mr. Thomas, as he took his carpet bag into the house, gained all the information that a card attached to it could give, " I. Smithe, Birmingham, England." It was sufficient for himself and his friends, to whom it was immediately communicated for the present. The traveller entered, looked round, called for a glass of brandy,

with the usual English oath, so well known on the European continent, and the knowledge of which is so rapidly increasing in our own, drew nearer the fire, warmed his feet, and then remarked with the air and importance of one who speaks truth, that " it was a clever day." His being an Englishman, had so overpowered our worthy host that his only reply was, “ well, I guess it is"-and he then threw another arm full of wood on the already heaped fire. This, with a second glass of brandy, seemed to warm the gentleman, for he proceeded to take a sock, a leggin, an over-stocking, first from one moiety of his understanding, then the otherthen divesting his outer man of all superfluous clothing, he stood before them a stout, ruddy little Englishman, dressed in a blue coat and short clothes, a yellow vest, a red silk neckerchief, white long stockings, and shoes with shining buckles. The same benign influence which had exhibited itself externally, seemed to have touched the springs of intellectuality : Vermonters and Yankees, in their thirst for knowledge, and their skill in acquiring it--but these were lost upon our traveller, who was as ready to talk under the potent influence of brandy and warmth united, as those around him were to hear. He told them he was an Englishman- that they knew before that his name was Smithe- that they knew too, only the long i was a novelty-that he formerly lived in Birmingham- did they know that ? Ah! that tale-telling card, that he had for the last year been living in Canada, and had sent his daughters to the States to school ; they had become acquainted with a widow Holladay, who owned a farm about half a mile west of Laurelville, she wished to sell it, and he had come to give it a look. He did give it a look, an approving one, and in less than three days, the fact of the Englishman having bought the Holladay farm for three thousand five hundred dollars, house and all, was generally established. He then disappeared, and the excitement of his coming was dying away, when his re-appearance, with his family, kindled up a new flame from its smouldering ashes, and sent the incense of gossip into every family. Any new family coming into a small town is a circumstance, an event, an epoch, but an English family, real "living, live" English, with a rich old man for its head, (he must be rich, or he would have considered longer before he bought the farm ; your Vermonters never change three thousand five hundred dollars for any thing, without a six months considering. ) a nice elderly lady, for the elderly ladies to visit and drink tea with-with grown up daughters for the young men to fiirt with- with a grown up young man for the girls to fall in love with, and a little girl for all to pet and fondle, and be the stepping-stone to an acquaintance with the others-it would have been unnatural had not the people of Laurelville congratulated themselves and each other on this accession to their society. The


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she had fainted. This delay gave sufficient time for the whole group to be scanned, criticised and admired by the lookers on. Even worthy Mr. Lovegood was long in arranging his hymn-book and bible satisfactorily that morning. The prayers, hymns and sermon might all have been omitted, for the " English family" was a text which had sufficient division naturally arising from the subject, to engross the attention of all. We never heard of any improvement made of the subject, except that of old aunt Betty Larkin's, who thought " it was as good as a sarment on Vanity to see all them rattle-traps and fol-de-rols the English folks wore."

Before the next Sabbath they were safely fixed in their own house, and had received the welcomes of most of their townsmen and townswomen personally. Mrs. Smithe was ascertained to be a very genteel lady—true, she was dressed in a calico short gown and maroon colored flannel petticoat, when Mrs. Burbanks called, but it must be English full dress, for at the same time she had a velvet turban, trimmed with yellow lace upon her head-her little grey curls peeping out from its front and sides, greatly augmenting the effect of her blowsy face, and little inquisitive nose ! The Miss Smithes' were pronounced " lovely" by the ladies, and "slick" by the men- social, pleasant girls they were, but models of would-be fine ladies- slouching and careless in their morning attire, with soiled caps covering multitudes of little imprisoned curls-in the afternoon be-ruffled and be-curled ready for visitors. Miss Harriet, the eldest, was sentimental and poetical-she went into raptures over the wild, mountainous scenery of Vermont, and in the next breath spoke of her dear native land, and early friends. Miss Caroline was more desirous of pleasing, and if the truth must be told, had set her heart too firmly upon making a settlement in the new country to remember much of that of her birth- she was the more agreeable of the two. Young Mr. Smithe was never seen, and might more often be found in the kitchen than parlor, still more often in the stable than either. The old gentleman was jolly and friendly as any one could desire, had a word for every body, patronised all the merchants and grocers- bought all the spare stock of the farmers without asking the prices until it was his-and all their extra corn and potatoes. From the old man to the little girl, whom Miss Prim extolled as a pattern of perfection, and asserted boldly that 66 she was the sweetest child- English hair did curl so lovely"-the English family were the fashion. The editor of the "Laurelville Green Mountain Banner" felicitated himself and his readers in a congratulatory paragraph upon the arrival of distinguished strangers from the Motherland-the merchants had British calicoes, and cottons, and Manchester and Birmingham sheetings and shirtings upon their counters. Mr. Lovegood preached a

sermon apologising for the coming over of the Puritans, and the American struggle for liberty. School- master Jones delivered a lecture before the " young men's and women's lyceum," on England and her prospects. The shoe-maker, Mr. Pegg, advertised " English ties and buskins for ladies." Shaver, the barber, who eked out his income by appropriating one window of his little shop on the corner to the exhibition of confectionary, tapes, and black-ball for sale, went to the expense of a sheet of paste-board to make a special sign for " English walnuts." The Harmony Band learned to play " God save the King." The " Female Education Society" was changed in name and object—and was known as "the society for the amelioration of the condition of factory children in Great Britain." The English or rather Smithe mode of dress was adopted generally. Turkies and chickens became "pheasants," and poultry yards " preserves." H's went out of fashion in the right places, and were added where they did not belong -'ot ' am and heggs became a fashionable dish to speak of as it gave one an opportunity of practising the (h !) out. Under the Smithe dynasty, Holladay farm became Smithe Park- its stone walls and root fences were demolished—the rows of maples were cut down, and little clumps of oak and elm substituted-the straight Iwalk to the front door was made to wind and double itself—the little pond, where the cows had been watered for years, was converted into an ornamented lake, and called by Miss Harriet " Ulstan water"-the grinning knocker, which in the Holladay times had lost its fearful expression in its lustre, was taken down, and a bell pull substituted. What the Smithe's termed their " coat of h-arms" was placed over the front-door-a picture of two nondescript animals facing each other-some crooked lines and one straight one-it passed the comprehension of the inhabitants of Laurelville, nor was it made more clear by John Brown's kindly but condescending explanation that it was " a couchant and a rampant." Within doors as many alterations had been made before the spring-English carpets, English chairs and tables, an English sofa, and the wonder of the inhabitants of Laurelville, an English piano, for the Miss Smithes' were musical, were its furniture- English prints, books, and some little china toys, were its ornaments. The beautiful month of May brought with it one more change-the hiring of a young man to preach (in the room, made vacant by the Baptists building a new church or barn, ) and to read prayers with a black silk gown and white bands on-this was effected by the united exertions of Mr. Smithe and John Brown's eloquence. The attraction proved sufficient to collect a comfortably large congregation-for the girls went to see the young and handsome minister, and the young men went to see the girls.

All these changes, we repeat, had not been made in a


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 dismount his horse at all—his horse rather flung him—and somewhat viciously, which made my uncle Toby take it ten times more unkindly. Let this matter be settled by state jockies as they like.—It created I say, a sort of shyness betwixt my uncle Toby and his hobby-horse.—He had no occasion for him from the month of March to November, which was the summer after the articles were signed, except it was not and then to take a short ride out, just to see that the fortifications and harbour of Dunkirk were demolished, according to stipulation.

The French were so backwards all that summer in setting about that affair, and Monsieur Tugghe, the deputy from the magistrates of Dunkirk, presented so many affecting petitions to the queen,—beseeching her majesty to cause only her thunderbolts to fall upon the martial works, which


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90 an under-scullion in their Majesties royal house-hold, who, unfortunately for their union, was obliged to take a journey to one of the colonies in the South Seas, where he is still rusticating.

The little church and congregation is scattered; Bucephalus and Mazeppa have passed into Mr. Thomas' hands, and are found to answer to their former names of Tom and Bill quite as well as before their acquaintance with English society. The people of Laurelville are almost satisfied with what they have said of the Smithes, and have nearly ceased to scandalise them-and Mr. Simpson passed Mrs. Pegg the other week, bowed politely to her, and when out of hearing, sung to a lively air "Sic a wife as Willie has, I wad nac gie a button for her." ROSALIE.

BY H. J. VERNON. I SAW thee mid beauty, But none were so bright I heard thee with music, No voice was so light It was but a moment, I saw thee float by A light moving onward Far down the blue sky.

And each had a seeming In look and in tone, Alas ! for that coldness It was not our own. And gaily we parted, As gaily we met— That meeting and parting Oh! can we forget? In visions I see thee, Like light on a stream Thou seemest unto me A star or a dream Thy smile and thy whisper Yet thrill in my brain, Oh! when shall I meet thec, Bright stranger again? DREAMING AND WAKING. I DREAMT a green and golden earth. A still renew'd, immortal birth, But 'mid that world so fairly beaming, I knew with grief, that I was dreaming. That grief awoke me, and I found A lovelier vision spread around, And, sweeter than my slumber's flowers, Bedeck'd this common world of ours. STERLING. THE YOUNG MEMBER.

BY MRS. M. V. SPENCER.

CHAPTER I.

IT was a cloudless summer night. A light breeze rustled the leaves, with a low musical sound that disposed the mind to dreamy reveries. The moon was high in heaven, sailing on through the undimmed ether, silvering hill, plain' and tree top with her effulgence, and trailing a long line of light across the dark waters of the river that rippled at the feet of two individuals, who, yet in the first blush of youth and beauty, sat on a rude bench under a giant oak on the very verge of the pebbly shore. One was a lady who might have numbered eighteen summers, though she had the easy grace and assured air of a woman of twenty-five. Beautiful both in face and form, the sole child of a very wealthy man, and possessing a vivacity and intellect to which few of her sex could lay claim, Kate Eldrington had been early welcomed into society, so that, at an age when others were still at school, she was the favorite belle of the season. But with all her loveliness her character was radically defective. Flattered from her childhood up, and accustomed to have her every wish acceded to, she learned at length to act as if her own gratification was to be sought at the expense of every one with whom she was thrown into contact, and became accordingly selfish and wilful as well as vain, thoughtless, envious and deceitful. But though such was the real character of Miss Eldrington, few, except the members of her family, were aware of it. Her queenly style of beauty, her finished manners, her exquisite tact in conversation, and the taste and art with which she dressed, rendered her the theme of continual admiration; and wherever she appeared, she was surrounded by admirers. Living thus in a constant atmosphere of flattery, and delighted with herself and all around her, she had little temptation to betray her bad qualities; and if, at rare intervals, she felt envious of any one, it just sufficed to add a double spice to her wit. Kate Eldrington was, therefore, a prize for which none felt themselves too lofty to strive.

The other individual was a young man who might have been two years older than Miss Eldrington, but it needed only a glance to reveal that in manners and feelings he was still a boy, though a high-souled, and romantic one. Edward Howell was also an only child, but unlike Kate, he had been left an orphan in infancy. His father had died enormously rich, and the whole of his vast fortune having accumulated for nearly twenty years was now grown to an almost incredible size, rendering the son one of the wealthiest millionaires in the country. But the young heir was not more gifted by fortune, than endowed in mind. Hitherto nothing had


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 a state of mourning for several months, and a selection of them, a quantity of slaves, and one or two free men are killed to escort the dead man to Srahmandazi; and as well as these, and in order to provide him with merchandise to keep up his house and state in the under-world, quantities of gold dust, rolls of rich velvets, silks, satins, &c., are thrown into the grave.

Among the dwellers in Cameroon, when you are across the Bantu border-line, velvets, &c., are buried with a big man or woman; but I am told it is only done for the glorification of his living relatives, so that the world may say, "So and so must be rich, look what a lot of trade he threw away at that funeral of his wife," or his father, or his son, as the case may be; but I doubt whether this is the true explanation. If it is, I should recommend my German friends, if they wish to intervene, to introduce the income tax into Cameroon—that would eliminate this custom.

The Tschwis hold that there is a definite earthly existence belonging to each soul of a human kind. Let us say, for example, a soul has a thirty years' bodily existence belonging to it. Well, suppose that soul's body gets killed off at twenty-five, its remaining five years it has to spend, if it is left alone, in knocking about its old haunts, homes, and wives. In this state it is called a Sisa, and is a nuisance. It will cause sickness. It will throw stones. It will pull off roofs, and it will play the very mischief with its wives' subsequent husbands, all because, not having reached its full term of life, it has not learnt its way down the dark and difficult path to Srahmandazi, the entrance to which, is across the Volta River to the N.E. This knowledge of the path to Srahmandazi is a thing that grows gradually on a man's immortal soul (the other three souls are not immortal), and naturally not having been allowed to complete his life, his knowledge is imperfect. A man's soul, however, can be taught the way, if necessary, in the funeral "custom" made by his relatives and the priests; but in a case of an incompletelifeonearthsoul, as a German would say, when it does arrive in the land of Insrah (pl.) it is in a weak and feeble state from the difficulties of its journey, whereas a soul that has lived out its allotted span of life goes


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 might have incurred her displeasure,—but to spare—to spare the mole, for the mole's sake; which, in its naked situation, could be no more than an object of pity—and the queen (who was but a woman) being of a pitiful disposition,—and her ministers also, they not wishing in their hearts to have the town dismantled, for these private reasons, ********************

************************* ; so that the whole went heavily on with my uncle Toby; insomuch, that it was not within three full months, after he and the corporal had constructed the town, and put it in a condition to be destroyed, that the several commandants, commissaries, deputies, negotiators, and intendants, would permit


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 We should take care, then, that in the enjoyments of children, there is blended a reference to the principles of true taste; and, as in all things relating to the training of youth, we ought to act upon the plan of excluding what is objectionable, by filling up the space with what is good; so we ought to begin early to cultivate a just estimate of what is really worthy of admiration. How few persons think of this, who live in great cities, and take their children to see all the passing shows of the day, in preference to those objects of deep and lasting interest from which a true interest might be formed! How many, too, on taking their children for the first time to London, fly here and there in pursuit of sights which will be forgotten in a month, and never spare a quiet half hour for Westminster Abbey, or for any of those exhibitions of sculpture and painting, where they may both think and feel — where they may drink from the fountain of beauty, and be still.

I do not mean to say that children at a very early age would derive any benefit from such objects of attraction. It would be a waste of effort to attempt to introduce to their minds any conception of beauty, as an abstract idea. But there is a time when a sense of the beautiful, the harmonious, and the sublime, begins to dawn upon the soul; and the mother, if she has any poetry in her own nature, knows well how to discern the commencement of this new existence, for I can call it nothing less.

One of the symptoms of this change, is a habit of deep thought. I have thus far spoken of individual happiness chiefly in its character of cheerfulness and joy; but we all know that there is, beyond this, a happiness more profound, and that all deep happiness is still. Children vary much in their capability for this feeling. Some begin at a very early age to creep quietly to the mother's side, and to lead her out into converse upon deep and interesting themes; and it is then, above all other times, that the mother ought to bear upon her heart a sense of that higher, deeper, more absorbing happiness, which is derived from the contemplation of a Supreme Being, in connexion with his love for all the families of earth, his care of the helpless, and his merciful designs for the redemption and the eternal salvation of all

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 him to set about it.—Fatal interval of inactivity!

The corporal was for beginning the demolition, by making a breach in the ramparts, or main fortifications of the town—No,—that will never do, corporal, said my uncle Toby, for in going that way to work with the town, the English garrison will not be safe in it an hour; because if the French are treacherous—They are as treacherous as devils, an' please your honour, said the corporal—It gives me concern always when I hear it, Trim, said my uncle Toby,—for they don't want personal bravery; and if a breach is made in the ramparts, they may enter it, and make themselves masters of the place when they please:—Let them enter it, said the corporal, lifting up his pioneer's spade in both his hands, as if he was going to lay about him with it,—let them enter, an' please your honour, if


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94 —and by his halidome! he will carve out a station for himself to which these cringing hounds never dared to lift their eyes. I feel the victory at  hand!" and he strode proudly to and fro under the uncontrollable excitement of the moment. What stirs a proud man more than the insults of inferiors!

At length, he paused and threw up the window, hoping that the cool night air might fan his fevered brow. Calmly and sweetly, the moon was flooding that solitary city with her silvery light, dimming with her unclouded brilliance the stars that gemmed the azure canopy of heaven. Not a sound broke on the air. The angel of peace and purity seemed to hover over the scene. The student gazed long at the quiet prospect, and as he gazed, his feelings grew calmer, and he mused with himself.

"What crime and innocence," he said, "what hope and despair, what poverty, sickness, and death throng in this mighty but now sleeping city! How many wretched beings lie on their fevered beds—how many famished families look to the sickly artizan for bread—how many widowed mothers are even now toiling at the morning lamp to earn a scanty subsistence for their starving little ones. Oh God! Who can tell the misery that lies hidden in the lanes and courts, ay, and in the palaces of this mighty town—and yet yon calm moon sails placidly on, as if all was joy, health, and long life beneath?"

As the student mused, a calmer mood came over him. Gradually, the lofty fire faded from his eye; his brow settled into its usual placid expression, and the storm of passion died away in his breast. Closing the window, he sought his couch with a melancholy smile. And thus, night after night, he toiled. But the end was near!

(TO BE CONCLUDED.)

___

TO A LADY

A SONG. I love you, lady, yet I feel My heart should not its love declare; Then teach, oh! teach me to conceal The ray of passion lingers there. But tell me, can the streams that shed Their sun-reflected tribute free, Turn from their wanted course and wed Their waters to an inland sea?

Go ask the leaping mountain rill. To stay its flight and still its tone; Or bid Vesuvius' fount to chill. It's burning lava into stone. As well as to ask the vestal moon To quench her light in yonder sky, For ladies, they'll obey as soon As I can yield affection's tie. H. H. C. THE ROSE

By D. Everett Rose Loved daughter of the laughing May! The light of all that's pure is thine. The rosy beams that wake up the day, Upon your cheeks, velvet shines. Thy beauty paints the evening skies, It mingles with the rainbow's dies, In love's own light, its blushes speak. on the ruby lip and vermeil cheek.

No wooing zephyrs ever stray'd To whisper love or steal a kiss, Or dancing Sunbeam ever play'd Upon a sweeter flower than this. The night fays o'er thy bosom strew The sparkles of the nectar dew, And on their shrine, the pearls have slept. Like tears, the dying stars have wept.

Many pouting lips have flushed. In rival beauty by your side; Many a maiden's cheek has blushed. In vain to match your crimson pride. The pink may boast its varied hue, The violet is azure blue. The lily claimed the snow as its own; But still, thou reign'st undimm'd alone.

Thou hast the tale of love express'd. In words, the falt's tongue forbore. And answ'ring from the heart confess'd, What eye and cheek had told before. Young hearts have whispered to your ears. The secret of their hopes and fears: When nestled in a gentle breast, Thou had'st thy tender folds carest.

Ah! anxious hope long watch has kept, Despairingly beneath your cover; While a fond heart sigh'd and a bright eye wept The absence of a faithless lover. And many a vow of love is made, And a fond heart pledged beneath your shade; While friendly moonbeams light your bower, And glide too soon into the stolen hour.

I love you, emblem of my youth! Thou bring'st to mind fond memories; When fancy wore the garb of truth, And love made the earth a paradise. But as those dreaming hours have fled, Before the light-stern truth has shed, So will your fleeting beauty fade. And join the wreck that time has made. Truth is to be sought only through slow and painful progress. Error is in its nature flippant and compendious; it hops with airy and fastidious levity over proofs and arguments and perches upon assertion, which it calls conclusion.