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 Henry Ford would have his business an epitome of society in general. He wants a cross-section through the mass of his employees to reveal the same composition as would a cross-section through the mass of society. If in the latter we see the blind, the lame, the consumptive and all sorts of defectives ranged with the sound, the personnel of a properly organized industry should present a similar structure. And the day that it comes to pass, that day will society “ipso facto” be freed from its burden of dead weight and the problem of want will be solved by the suppression of unproductiveness.

The practical demonstration of this was so overwhelming that the idea is making headway and will conquer the world some day.

Complete victory over misery, however, will not depend on this alone but on other readjustments between industry and the general welfare of the community, the which Ford ably expounds in his book and which he has shown to be possible by carrying them out in his gigantic plant.

Pity it is that we in Brazil live stuck in a mire of last-century ideas, rancid and mouldy ideas translated from the French. In spite of the amazing advance of the United States, an advance that has placed them in the forefront of the modern world as the fashioners of Humanity’s to-morrow, we here continue marking time, continue in our inveterate chewing of the cud. Camel-like, we ruminate 18


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 of your links, and compel every reasonable mind to doubt as to the reality of your succession. Even a doubt on such a point is fatal to all the claims of your Church."

Yet you, Sir, can have no "doubt upon this point;" and still you are raising a doubt in the minds of the ignorant and unwary; and countenancing the only pretext of the Church of Rome to deny us the character of a true Church. Your jest again imposed hard laws upon you.

Again; a lay writer in the tracts had said,

Now this statement is made, not to exalt the priesthood, (although, if we duly "magnified our office," it were to be hoped, that it would be exercised more earnestly,) but to meet the common-place objection to the transmission of orders by a regular unbroken succession from the Apostles, viz., that some of the bishops, through whom they were transmitted, may have been imholy men. Now the case of the "proper sacraments" does illustrate this; for since we hold that "the effect of Christ's ordinance is not taken away by the wickedness of evil men," even though they "have chief authority in the ministration of the word and sacraments," forasmuch as "the sacraments be effectual, because of Christ's institution and promise, although they be ministered by evil men," (Art. xxvi.), we cannot consistently object, à priori, to the grace of ordination being conveyed down, by virtue of our Lord's institution, even through the hands of evil men. In the words of the layman, (shortly following your extract,) p. 10.

"He who receives unworthily, or in an improper state of mind, either ordination or consecration, may probably receive to his own soul no saving health from the hallowed rite; but while we admit, as we do, the validity of sacraments administered by a priest thus unworthily ordained, we cannot consistently deny that of ordination, in any of its grades, when bestowed by a bishop as unworthily consecrated. The very question of

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 old theological ideas dating from the year 1000, from the days of the Plague, the period of Papal excommunication, etc. We pay no heed to the forward march of things – none at all to the forward march of ideas.

This Mr. Ford, for example, who in little more than twenty years rose from the position of workman to that of the greatest industrial magnate of all times – this man, whose industry alone produces double what the whole of Brazil produces, whence his greatness? From his ideas. From a few new ideas. From the conviction that the past has only one thing to offer us: LESSONS. From contempt for routine. From a personal examination of everything. From a central principle to which everything else is closely related, and that is: Work with Intelligence and Foresight.

It is books like his that should go from hand to hand among the people – whether man or master – instead of Escrich, Hebrew history, worm-eaten rubbish.

The world exists. Life is a reality. The brain is a force. The test is everything. But dry-rot, the Middle Ages, the fixed idea, the time-honoured fiction, the skull with Eucharist wafers instead of gray matter inside it – this is death, and death of the worst kind – that with which we fool ourselves, thinking it to be life. 19


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 worth, indeed, with relation to such matters is absurd. Who is worthy? Who is a fit dispenser of the gifts of the Holy Spirit? What, are, after all, the petty differences between sinner and sinner, when viewed in relation to Him, whose eyes are too pure to behold iniquity, and who charges His very angels with folly?"

This would have been the question to be considered, had you been in earnest; but it was an earnest question, and so afforded no room for pleasantry. You turn aside, then, to lay hold of the expression, "our definition of a sacrament," and make the Pope to say, (p. 13.):

Yet since the "layman" distinguished "orders" from the "proper sacraments," it was an ill pleasantry, which would represent him, as wishing to include them therein, although you need not have gone as far as Rome for a definition which would have included them. St. Augustine's definition of a sacrament, (with which Calvin wishes to show that his own agrees, Instit. iv. 14. I.) had sufficed: "a visible sign of a sacred thing," or "a visible form of invisible grace." The word "sacrament" has namely, (as every one knows,) a larger use, although the "two proper sacraments " have always had their distinct reverence, as not conveying grace only, but directly uniting men with their Redeemer. In this larger sense, however, even foreign reformers have not scrupled to call ordination not merely "a rite, partaking in a high degree of the sacramental character," but "a sacrament." Thus even Calvin says (Instit. iv. 14. 20.):

And again (iv. 19. 31.):

There remaineth imposition of hands, which, as in true and lawful

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 ordinations, I allow to be a sacrament, so I deny that it has any place in this farce, (those of Rome,) wherein they neither obey Christ's command, nor regard the end, to which the promise ought to lead us."

And Melanchthon (Apolog. Confess. de numero et usii sacram.):

And again (Loci, de numero sacram.):

We do not, however, need such authorities; we would rather refer you to the wisdom of our English writers, as Hooker, who speaketh of things as being "as sacraments," or Archbishop Wake, who objects not to its being called "a kind of Particular Sacrament"

But before you repeat your jest, allow me one earnest question; When one is set apart for the ministry, and the bishop pronounces over him the words,

"Receive the Holy Ghost for the office and work of a priest in the

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text: The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 4/Number 26/Italy, 1859


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488 a broad and thin spoon-shaped stigmatic lamina which usually curves over the stamens. Capsule globular or ovoid, included in the persistent calyx, loculicidally 2-valved; valves entire, separating from a central placentiferous axis. Seeds small, ovoid.

1. G. elatinoides, ''Benth. in Hook. f. Fl. Nov. Zel.'' i. 189.—A small creeping intricately branched moss-like plant, forming dense matted patches 2–6 in. across or more; stems slender, rooting at the nodes, rarely suberect at the tips. Leaves opposite, ⅛–¼ in. long, linear-spathulate or linear-obovate, obtuse, gradually narrowed into a petiole equalling the blade. Peduncle at first shorter than the leaves, but often elongating after flowering. Flowers minute, $1⁄10$–$1⁄8$ in. diam., white. Calyx with 4 short obtuse lobes. Corolla-tube shorter than the calyx; lobes rounded, obtuse, fringed with minute cilia. Stamens 4, included. Style short; stigma very large, spoon-shaped, irritable. Capsule small, ovoid-globose.—''Hook. f. Handb. N.Z. Fl. 203; Benth. Fl. Austral.'' iv. 502. Tricholoma elatinoides, ''Benth. in D.C. Prodr.'' x. 426. Lobelia submersa, ''A. Cunn. Precur.'' n. 424.

2. G. submersum, Petrie in Trans. N.Z. Inst. xxiii. (1891) 401.—A minute very slender intricately branched plant, forming small but dense matted patches; stems creeping and rooting at the nodes. Leaves opposite or fascicled, $1⁄12$–$1⁄5$ in. long, linear or narrow linear-spathulate, quite entire, gradually narrowed into a petiole equalling the blade or rather shorter than it. Peduncles slender, axillary, about as long as the leaves. Flowers very minute, $1⁄20$ in diam. Calyx obtusely 3-lobed. Corolla small, not much longer than the calyx; lobes short, rounded. Stamens 2, included. Capsule not exceeding the calyx, globose, $1⁄10$ in. diam.


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Author:Raymond Augustine McGowan

Works

 * Bolshevism in Russia and America (1920)
 * A Catechism of the Social Question (1921)
 * Europe and the United States (1931)
 * Toward Social Justice (1933)
 * Catholic Work in the United States for Social Justice (1936)
 * The Church and Reconstruction in Puerto Rico (1936)
 * An Introduction to Mexico (1936)
 * Woman and Industry (1937)
 * New Guilds (1937)

title: Author:Raymond Augustine McGowan


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Limosella.]

Small tufted creeping glabrous marsh or aquatic plants. Leaves opposite or fascicled at the nodes, rarely alternate on barren shoots, long-petioled, linear or spathulate, quite entire. Flowers minute, axillary, solitary. Calyx campanulate, 5-toothed or -lobed. Corolla campanulate or almost rotate; tube short; lobes 5, nearly equal. Stamens 4; filaments filiform; anther-cells confluent. Ovary 2-celled at the base; style short; stigma clavate or subcapitate. Capsule obscurely dehiscent or septicidally 2-valved; valves thin, membranous. Seeds numerous, small, ovoid, transversely rugulose.

1. L. tenuifolia, Nutt. Gen. N. Amer. ii. 43.—Annual or perennial, creeping and tufted, often forming patches 1–2 in. diam. or more. Leaves densely fascicled, ½–1½ in. long, rarely more, narrow-linear or linear-subulate, often with little or no distinction between petiole and blade, but sometimes dilated towards the tip and becoming narrow linear-spathulate. Flowers minute, $1⁄12$ in. diam., axillary, on very short pedicels. Calyx 5-toothed. Corolla rather longer than the calyx; lobes ovate-oblong. Capsule ovoid-globose, exceeding the calyx when mature.—L. australis, ''R. Br. Prodr.'' 443. L. aquatica var. tenuifolia, ''Hook. f. Fl. Nov. Zel. i. 190; Handb. N.Z. Fl.'' 204. L. ciliata. Col. in Trans. N.Z. Inst. xxi. (1889) 96.

2. L. Curdieana, ''F. Muell. Fragm. Phyt. Austral.'' ix. 166.—A perennial herb with tufts of radical leaves, emitting short thick stolons terminating in other tufts, glabrous in all its parts. Leaves numerous; petiole 2–4 in. long or more, filiform, terete, dilated towards the base; blade ¼–¾ in. long, ovate or ovate-oblong, obtuse, suddenly contracted into the petiole, rather thin; main veins 3–5, parallel, with reticulating veinlets between. Flowers crowded at the bases of the petioles, sessile, minute. Calyx $1⁄10$ in. long or less, tipped with 5 minute teeth. Corolla altogether included in the


text: Bruce's Address (chapbook)/Blithe Was She


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The crowd shrunk back. Cshonin raised up the beautiful Christian. He supplicated her to be seated. He removed from his head the red bonnet; and he flung to a distance from him on the floor the dreadful wenpons which seemed to excite the fears of the maiden. He did his utmost to inspire her with counnge, He did 80 by his words, and by his emiles; and he at length thus spoke to her, with an emotion that was marked by his trembling fips—

“ Whoever you are, do not feel tho vlightest fear, but eign to answer me.”

“To whom shall I give an answer? Ys it to an enemy 2”

«No—but to a citizen, a patriot,and an honest man.”

“ Well, then, what is your will?”

“E wich to know what you were doing thore.”

“I was praying to God for you ; for all.”

“Forus?

“ Yes, for the murderers of my father.”

“Then, who are you?”

“Tam the daughter of an aristocrat, Iam Lucille de Matortie,”

‘To bear such a name was at that poriod a most awful crime; and it imposed upon the Commissary of the people the performance of a dreadful duty; but it was one that, in despite of the promptings of his heart, be must discharge. The crowd collected in the chateau yelted forth “down with the female aristocrat ;” and Cabonia was compalled to order our heroine, and who was already his proteg/e,.to rixe in haste, and take her place even in tho midst of her enemies; to obey what was called “the law,” and to follow him.

“Farewell! wo shall mect in another and a better world,” said Mademoiselle de Malortie, as her hand war kissed by her old and faithful servant.

“Angel of Heaven!” stommered forth the old man, as ho knelt at the feet of Cabonis ; « where is she going? Where are you bringing her?”.

“To death!” exclaimed a voice in the crowd.

“To martyrdom,” remarked (he maiden,

“To liberty,” murmured the Commissary of the people.

In a few hours afterward, Mademissle de Malortie was a prisoner in the Castle of Ha; and on the evening of that day, the jailor of the prison was dismissed, no one could tell why or wherefore. The jailor was an old man, and he was replaced by a man’who was young, and whose very name was a terror to the aristocrat—in short, by an inexorable patriot whose courage, resolution, and popular influence were unquestionable. ‘This new jailor wote the scarf of a Commissary of the people, and he was called John Francis Cabonie.

A very great surprise awaited Louise de Malortie the next morning; for, in the place of the old and sulky jailor, that the day before visited ber, she saw her cell

bt

door opened by the man of the people, who had the goodness to sinilo upon, to encourage, and defend her, in the great hall of her father’s chateau, Cabonis hum- bly and respectfully took her hand and led her quickly through all the detours of @ dull and frightful labyrinth, where nought could be heard but the dolorous echo of groane, of sighs, arid of wailing, *'They thus proceeded for a considerable time. At length the mysterious guide camo to a door that was low, thick, and plated over with iron; he pushed with his foot, and the fair prisoner found herself in a room, the very aspect of which elicited from her a cry of gratitude, surprise, and joy. It was @cham- ber in which there was pure air; there was light, there were flowers. An odoriferous brecze filled the air; and the sunbeams came in a long spiral of tuminous atoms; while wall-flowers pushed their way through the gra- tings of the window. Lucille ascended a fow ateps that led to the window—she plucked a flower and presented it to her joitor, and us she did ao, she ssid with a sad smile—

“I am—I am surely indebted to you alone for the kindness of providing me with this charming room— my last pleasant abode in this world, A day more— pethaps not an hour—and I shall have coased to exist. Accept then, Sir, this flower; it is all that I now possess —and keep it as @ remembrance of your unhappy pri- soner.”

“<T swear to you that it sball always Le kept by me,” cried the intractable republican; “but,” he added, in a low voice, “have you any thing to ask of me, any thing to inquire from me 1”

«© Yeo—but first I havo a queetion to ask of you. Do you think Ihave long to live."

“T hope so.”

“Then I ask you to procure for me # prayer-book, some of my dressea from the chateau, and some books,”

«T will go to the village myself to-night, and you shall he in possession of thore things in the morning.”

“That is not all; but, indeed, I am ashamed thus to jntrude upon your kindaose—I would also wish for pen, ink and paper.”

“You shall have them—slthough by doing these! things I jeopardize my repulation, my honor, and per- haps my life—but whet matter, Speak, order, com- mand—say to your bumble servant, ‘stand up,’ and I tise—‘kneol down,’ and I shall bend before you—‘obey,” and I do your bidding; ‘dio, if it be necessary, and I will die—Farowell !”

‘The jailor went, or rather rushed out of the chamber. Hee closed the door with violence behind him, and for an entire week was absent. A turnkey, in whom he could confide, executed the commands of the lady, ond came each day to receive her orders, the slightest one of which, in tho eyen of his master, was equivalent to (he irrevo- cable commandment of a law. �


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490 calyx, shortly 5-lobed. Stamens 4, inserted on the corolla-tube. Style short; stigma capitate. Capsule included within the persistent calyx, $1⁄10$–$1⁄8$ in. diam., globose, rupturing irregularly. Seeds very numerous; testa reticulated.

Herbs or shrubs, rarely small trees. Leaves opposite or rarely the cauline alternate, often connate at the base, large or small and scale-like, spreading or appressed, often closely quadrifariously imbricate. Flowers in bracteate axillary or terminal racemes, more rarely in spikes or panicles or corymbs, sometimes solitary in the axils of the leaves or terminal. Calyx usually 4-partite, rarely 3- or 5-partite. Corolla-tube longer or shorter than the calyx, sometimes very short; limb spreading, usually 4-lobed, sometimes 5-lobed, seldom 3- or 6-lobed; lobes unequal or rarely equal, imbricate in the bud, the lateral ones or one of them outside. Stamens 2, very rarely 4 or 5; filaments long or short, inserted on the corollatube; anther-cells diverging or parallel, confluent at the tip. Ovary small, 2-celled; style slender; ovules few or many in each cell. Capsule 2-celled, compressed or turgid, grooved on each side, either septicidally dehiscent with the placentas separating, or loculicidal with the valves remaining attached to the undivided placental column or separating from it. Seeds few or many, ovate or orbicular, compressed, attached by the inner flat surface.

A genus of nearly 200 species, most abundant in New Zealand and in the temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere, rare and almost absent in the tropics. In New Zealand it is by far the largest genus of flowering-plants, and in montane or subalpine districts forms a conspicuous portion of the vegetation. Many of the species are singularly beautiful in form, foliage, and flower; and from that reason, and from the ease with which they can be cultivated, a considerable number have become well established in gardens throughout the colony and in Europe. Of the 84 species admitted in this book, all but three are endemic. These are V. elliptica, which is found in the Falkland Islands, Fuegia, and South Chili; V. plebeia, which is not uncommon in east Australia; and V. Anagallis, which has a wide distribution in the north temperate zone. But the last is probably an introduction. The distribution of the species within the colony is peculiar. Fourteen are confined to the North Island, and no less than 55 to the South Island, while only 11 species are found in both Islands. Three are endemic in the Chatham Islands, and one in the Auckland and Campbell Islands. Of the 84 species, 49 are purely montane or alpine, not one of them descending below 1000 ft. altitude; 13 are both lowland and montane; 12 are purely lowland, but do not evince any special predilection for the seacoast; while 10 are never seen far from the sea.


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. asked to grant the interview, and the single-minded man did not foresee any other consequence from the interview; than that it would be the means of soothing the sadness and solitude of the lady ; and consequently, one night, thanks to the blind devotion of the lover, there met in the small cell we have already described, a gentleman remarkable for his beauty and an exquisitely lovely young maiden.

Truth must be told. From the very first interview the presence of the honest jailor spoiled the conversation. Gallantry, before him, talked politics ; inclination spoke of flying from France ; and the eyes alone told of-love.

Prisoners have a great deal of patience ; and therefore M. de Castera, encouraged by the weakness of Cabonis, determined to see and speak to Mademoiselle de Malortie without witnesses, without annoyances, without a jailor. The genius of a prison is a wonderful magician, and when he falls in love he is an unconquerable power. Thus it was with M. de Castera, who was one evening able to obtain admission to the cell of the lady. It was not more than an hour afterward that M. de Castera had ceased to address her as Mademoiselle de Malortie ; but called her " Lucille"-" his own Lucille." She had answered to that name ; she had smiled on him ; she sighed, and then leaning her head upon her hand, she, from excess of happiness, wept. She was weeping, when the bolts of the door were shaken, the wicket opened with a crash, and the jailor appeared upon the threshold, actually motionless from rage ; and then, fixing his eyes upon the gentleman, he said, in a tone of voice that struck terror into the hearts of those who heard him

"Aristocrat, you are a villain ! Answer, and answer quickly, what brings you here ?" “ You see, my dear Sir, how I am employed,” replied M. de Castera, " I have come to express my love for one who loves me in return. Monsieur Cabonis, I present to you Madame, the Marchioness de Castera." “Aye, aye ; but when do the nuptials take place, Monsieur le Marquis ?" "To-morrow, provided that Heaven sends us a priest, or liberty." "To-morrow ! To-morrow there is for you and for her -the guillotine !" At that terrible word Mademoiselle de Malortie trembled with fear. She approached Cabonis ; she took his hand and clasped it in both of hers. She besought of him to listen to her, and she spoke thus :-"I remember to have found in you a protector and a true friend, and therefore will I confide in you." The jailor bent down his head in grief. "Monsieur Cabonis," the young girl continued, " if you still love me I have a favor to ask of you. Pardon me." The jailor looked on her, but evidently not in anger.

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" My friend," she proceeded to say, " I am going to make my confession to you. I shall do so in a very few words, and it will be as one heart speaking to another. You, too, shall be my judge." The jailor began to smile. "I owe to the generous, kindly care that you have had of me, and your desire to amuse me in my solitude, the first and the last poetical billet that I had from de Castera. Is not that true, Cabonis ?" "Yes." "I owe to your devotion to your poor prisoner, the honor of having received, in the solitude of my prison, M. de Castera ; whom you yourself have brought here, not once, but twenty, aye, a hundred, times. Is not that true ?" "Yes, and it was wrong in me to do so." "Alas, my dear, kind, good, honest-hearted friend, you alone are the guilty one among us. I received your pupil eagerly, and I saw him a second time with pleasure. You it is who have shown him the way to my cell, and he has presumed to come and visit me without you. You have chaunted my praises so loudly, that you put it into M. de Castera's head to fall in love with me; and you suggested to my mind that-- I do not well know how to express it--not to hate him ; and now, but an instant— a minute--since, this nobleman has come to offer me his hand, and I have accepted it. He has offered to share the future with me, and I am ready to share it. He has promised me happiness, and I hope for it. This is our entire crime, and for this you would invoke, as a fitting punishment-the guillotine ! Well, be it so." "The executioner will never be here in time for you, lady," answered the now relenting jailor. " The executioner will perhaps be here to-morrow ; but you shall escape this very night." "This night !" " Yes ! and follow me. Quick, quick ! Here is a disguise for your person, money for your pocket, and a passport to the frontier. I have hastened to you to save you this night, and I do save you. But, lady, do you in turn pardon me, when you see me thus trembling, thus weeping before you, like a child-like a fool, as I am. It seems to me that I look upon you, that I speak to you, and that I admire you --for the last time. Adieu, then ; and when you have nothing better to do, think on the jailor of the fortress of Hâ.” The next day M. de Castera and Mademoiselle de Malortie had travelled a considerable distance from their prison. Three days afterward they had crossed the Spanish frontier, and Cabonis was ready to die of joy, upon hearing the happy tidings of their safe arrival in another country. The escape of the prisoners continued, however, unknown to every one. Both morning and evening the


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shouted till doomsday, had not a passenger seen me and stopped the deaf old sinner. Out of breath, wet to the skin, covered with mud from head to foot, and not in the best humor from the loss of my breakfast, I mounted into the coach ; but the instant I placed my foot inside the vehicle all my sulkiness vanished, for there sat-the only passenger beside myself-one of the loveliest angels that ever blessed an old ricketty coach, or warmed the soul of a sour, breakfastless bachelor with her presence.

Did you ever fall in love ? Of course. And the lady was the loveliest of her sex ? To be sure. Then this stage-coach beauty was twice as handsome as your sweetheart ; and if, after this, you don't think my fellow passenger a cherub, then I give up all hope of making you appreciate her. Such eyes, such teeth, and then such lips !—egad, it almost makes me crazy to think of them. I put myself down for the luckiest dog in the world. She was dressed in a plain straw cottage bonnet with a green veil-" just such a costume," said I, 66 as a real lady wears when travelling"--and then she gave me such a sweet but half roguish smile as I tumbled into the coach in the plight I have described, that I knew her at once to be a paragon in the way of education, taste, fortune, and all that ; and I resolved- what knowing one wouldn't ? —to make the agreeable off hand, for there's nothing like meeting an heiress in a stagecoach, where she thinks she's unknown, and dreams that every attention paid to her springs from pure love -ahem !--on your part.

I was in clover. What cared I for the rain. Splash -splash- splash, aye ! rain away there like blazeswho cares ? One doesn't get tête-a-tête with a pretty girl every day of the week- so I determined to make the most of it. The storm without might rair and rustle Tom didna mind the storm a whistle."

And, faith, what with a few sly compliments, and my extraordinary good looks, I soon got as cozy with my unknown beauty, and she with me, as if we had been acquainted since the days of Noah. We talked of the wedding, for she too had been there-of the sceneryof the rain--and of whatever came uppermost ; and there was such a charming frankness in all she said that I really thought her the most winning little witch I had ever seen, and I verily believe if the floor had been softer or I had known the accurate number of houses to which I would be tenant in curtesy, I should have gone down on my knees to her at once. I hate shewing one's learning off in public, so I avoided any thing like literature, though I saw by the intelligent eyes of my charmer that she had a soul alive to all the finer sensibilities of nature. At length we got on the subject of house-keeping. Now, if there's any thing I hate it's

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a woman that can't keep house, and I trembled at every word lest my angel should confess her ignorance of these matters. Shade of Apicus ! how my heart leaped when she told me that hardly a day passed in which she didn't make bread, or pies, or sponge-cake, or some other of those shim-shaws that delight the heart of man ; and when, in expatiating on such delicacies, she rose to a pitch of eloquence that I never heard surpassed, I couldn't resist my feelings, but snatched her hand to my lips and kissed it. Yes ! I felt that she was destined to be mine ; for if there's any thing a wife ought to know it's this. I come of a race of eaters. My grandfather has lunched on half a dozen rabbits, and died at last of a surfeit produced by eating two young pigs. My father can break his fast on a brace of capons, or devour a pair of turkeys without having to pick his teeth ; and the way a brother of mine can tuck in the hundreds of pickled oysters and dishes of chicken salad, does credit to the family. My own exploits in this line modesty forbids me to mention. No wonder I loved this rosy little beauty who could get up such a choice fry, and bake such delicious cakes. Ah ! what a life of domestic happiness rose before my vision, when I pictured myself returning home from court at night, to meet a beefsteak ready boiled, or a bowl of the richest turtle soup, served up by the fair hand of the angel at my side. I resolved, if there was virtue in a pair of whiskers, in an eloquent tongue, or in my new blue coat, to win this seraph of pie-bakers. There's no place like a stage-coach for making love. It comes natural ! You do it, egad, in a sort of easy, dont-care-for-any-thing style, that you can't, for the life of you, assume in any other place. What betwixt sitting on the same seat to talk more conveniently, and putting your arm around her waist to keep her from jolting off, you soon get to be wonderfully cozy, and-ten to one--if you don't catch yourself squeezing her hand, or varying the entertainments in some other way, before you're aware of it. For my part, as I have said, I was ready to surrender at discretion, and I already fancied myself lightening the dear creature beside me of the troublesome duty of collecting the rents of her various fine houses. I was charmed to think of the progress I had made in her affections. What a delicately rosy cheek it was that I just then slyly kissed, she blushing the deeper at my warmth ! And then her saucy, pouting lips ; and her figure, just the very size for a man who hated your thin, weasel-shaped young misses as he hated epidemics. Ah ! what a wife she would make ! How I thanked my stars that I had hitherto set my face like a flint against every temptation to marry--for now my firmness was to be rewarded by this beauty and heiress dropping into my mouth. And then I preached to myself a mental homily on the shortsightedness of man, as I ventured to steal another kiss


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WINNING A COUSIN;

OR, A SECRET OF FORTUNE TELIGNO-

BY A.W. NONEY.

CHAPTER I.

“There are more things in heaven and earth ‘Than are dreamt of in your philusophy.”

“Ox, Isabel, do fook «1 this besutifal bouquet!" exclaimed a gay young lady, running into the parlor where her cousin wan scated— suich a eweet little one! I wish Eknew who sent it to met

Some of your admirers, very likely,” returned the more ataid Isabel, “and you get ail the pretty presents,” she continued, affecting to pout at the idea, But the ‘other was too much engrossed with her bouquet to nolice this playful jealousy.

“This rove is, splendid !” said she, turning up the petals with her taper white fingers, and inhaling ite delicious fragrance—* isn't it perfectly lovely, coz? And how tastefully all ore arranged! Oh, I do wish I

 * knew who sent it to me!”

Had Sareh Williams chanced to notice the embar- vaseed air of Isahel’s brother, who was sitting on tho sofa at the moment, to appearance particutarly engaged in studying the variegated figures of a Saxony carpet, she might have conjectured with her aex’s intuitive shrewdness sufficient for her own satisfaction on the subject, without having occasion to push the enquiry farther. But in the haste to show Isabel her flowers, she did not observe that there was sny other person in the room, and therefore continued in her extravagant admiration and expressions of wonder, with all the buoyant gaicty of a light and carelesa heart, and partly in the roguish design of teusing her amiable cousin with the tantalizing right.

“Ian’t it Deautiful 2” she continued, “emeli of it, dear, it is so fragrant!”

«T would not be in such an ecatucy with it, Sande,” usid Isabel, gravely pushing the bouquet to one side, «People will imagine you never had the present of a preity bunch of flowers before.”

“Nor have I ever received such @ lovely one, I am sure,” she returned gaily—« why how curiously it i “made up! It must be a love-letier, certainly! Now if, T oniy knew the language of flowers! How provoking! Tan't it, coz 1”

“Yes, But perhaps Frederick will read it to you,” replied Isabel, “he understands their language.”

“Oh, do, cousin Frederick, if you please,” she ox claimed, turning suddenly around, causing him to start, up and stammer—" yes—no~I don’t wulerstend—that

is*—_ “Qh, don't ba frightenod, wir, suid she, bursting into Vou, 18

OF FASHION

37 never hear of a young lady's receiving a fowery love- Jetter before 2” -
 * @ laugh at his confusion, it won't bite you! Did you

« Yes, certainly-I have,” he answered, recovering his fuculties, “I only meant to say that [ do know the meaning of sone flowers; but I would not presume to read a young lady's correspondence.”

“Suppose she caunot read it Lerrelf, ax T have heard ‘of being the case with even vulgar foolseap blotted with ink, and she wishes you {o read it to her; you would not be so ungallant as to refuse ?””

“By no means; especially when my pretly cousin asks me,” said he, smiling as a slight blush rose on her cheek at the last sentence,

«Well, then, Mr. Flatterer, what does this one say 7” she asked with affected scriousness, turning out. the leaves of a beautiful little tulip.

 * Tlave you™.

« What do you say, sii

“It iutimates @ declaration of love, Saade,” interposed Isabel, knowing that her brother meant more than his manner indicated.

“Ob, I knew that before,” said she, wilt haughty toas of her head.

“Nay, then, Miss Pertness, you do not need my assistance,” returned Frederick, a little foarful be might unwisely betray himself before the proper period for a certain disclosure he had to mako.

“But the qulip is the only one that I know the meaning of, I assure you, and I had forgotten even that. So you will please to prococd; Que signifie lee auires ? as we say in New Orleans.”

“Taken as a whole, cousin, the bouquet declares a sooret, yet undying passion for you,” said the interpreter, bending his dark eyes upon her own with o thrilling expression, which eaused her to blush deeply, although she affected not to notice him. *

But flowers are embleiatical of a passion which, will soon decay, notwithstanding, Don't you think sot”

“They are like the heart’s deep and best feelings, which, if they ate not cherished must wither,” an- swered Frederick, with # suppressed sigh.

“You don't say #0! how melancholy, to be sure!” returned Sarak jeeringly, “ Butif the gentleman's love i as oweet as his message is fragrant, ho must be a dear little fellow.”

“And isn’t [ove ever swect? Remember how the poets describe the passion—¢ redolent with bliss’ —* per- fumed with sighs'—' honey-dew kisses’ ”—

“That's quite wulficient, sirs sweet enough in all conscience !””

«Sweets to the sweet, you know, cousin Saade.”

«Husb, you simpleton! Here, you shall have a rose to pay for your gallantry. But, do you remember,”

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. WORLD OF FASHION. her future destiny ; adding " I never tells any body's fortin' when there's any body else in the room besides him who tells me."

This speech served to increase their apprehensions, and the same contest as before arose between them, when the woman rather impatiently interrupted it.

"Never you be afeard, young ladies, he will not let you see him, and he never hurts any body. You'll only hear us talking ; so cum along one of ye !"

Go, Isabel," whispered Sarah, "you go first and then I will go."

"No, my dear cousin," returned the other, " I think you ought to go first, for you wish to hear your fortune more than I do mine." " But then I expected she would tell us both together," said Sarah, when the old woman manifested her increasing impatience by exclaiming, "don't be afeard, Miss, nobody 'll hurt ye !" "Go, coz !" said Isabel again ; "you coaxed me to come up here, and now I think you ought, certainly, to have your's told first ; besides I don't care for my part whether I have mine told at all, without you have a good one." Thus constrained, Sarah rose to go, when the sybil holding out her shrivelled hand, intimated that her fee was fifty cents, to be paid in advance, and then led the way into the other apartment. The room into which they entered had been purposely darkened by some articles of wearing apparel hung over the only window in it, and on the table in the centre was placed a small iron kettle, out of which arose a pale blue smoke, filling the room with a strong sulphurous scent, and occasionally emitting a broad lurid flame, glaring fitfully upon the ceiling, and rendering the prevailing darkness doubly hideous. After going through a kind of incantation, the sybil approached Sarah, and requested that she would remove her veil. 66 Now," she continued, as it was reluctantly thrown aside, " would ye like to know what's to cum, or what's bin, Miss ?" "The future," whispered Sarah, too frightened to speak aloud. " Yes, that's what all young ladies want to know ; and I needn't av axed the question. You want to find out when you'll git married, and who's agoin' to be your husband, I spose. Well, Miss Sarah Williams, I'll tell ye all about it in a few minutes." Sarah could not speak to answer her question, for she was frightened and confounded that the old woman should know her name without even making an enquiry ; but tremblingly watched her every motion, as she went to the iron dish, and then followed a confused muttering as of two voices, for the space of nearly five minutes. At length the old woman returning, commenced her prophecy by saying " you'll git married, Miss, before

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this year's out, and at your uncle's house, mind. I musn't tell your husband's name, but he is a tall young gentleman, with black hair, and dark eyes, high forrard, and very rich. He loves you dearly, and you love him more than you tell on ; and you will live very happy together, cos he will make a very loving husband. You will have three children-two girls and one boy, and your husband will die first, and you”————— "Stop ! -stop ! -good woman !" cried Sarah, half frightened out of her wits at the old woman's words, and the solemn and unearthly tone in which she delivered them, " I have heard enough ; I do not wish to hear any thing farther. I do not desire to learn when I am to die, because it will make me unhappy. I will go now, if you please." 66 Darter," she returned slowly and sternly, " you've begun to hear your fortin' and you must hear it all ! you shouldn't have come if you were afeard. Your husband will die first, and as I said before, and you will also die a little while arter, cos you'll take his death so much at heart-and all before you're forty years old. There, that's all, " saying this she took her hand and led her back, nearly fainting, into the room from whence they came. Isabel, who sat anxiously awaiting their re-appearance, seeing her cousin's pale features and agitated manner, refused to have her own fortune told, in spite of old Margaret's assurances that there was " nothing to be afeard of," and Sarah was nothing loath to leave the house as quickly as possible. On their way home Isabel was all curiosity to know what the " old witch" told her cousin, and Sarah, with some reluctance, related in strict confidence, all that had been said. 66'Why, it's Frederick-my brother !" she exclaimed with astonishment at the co-incidence, and then burst into a loud laugh at her accuracy of description, and at the idea that he should be the one foretold by old Margaret. Though Isabel could not but believe that the old hag possessed the power of foretelling occurrences, yet it appeared singular she should have described one so as to be recognized. Had it been an indistinct description of some dark and mysterious stranger, it would have been more in accordance with her ideas of

fortune-telling. With Sarah, however, the reality of all she had listened to was forcibly impressed upon her mind ; every word sunk into her heart, carrying conviction along with it. She felt it impossible to doubt even the slightest portion of the information received, and she was fairly overcome with astonishment. " How," thought she, "could a total stranger have learned my name thus readily, except by supernatural means ! How could she have known that a gentleman, answering the description of my cousin, was in love with me ? And


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. “ I did, cousin, and in the hope that it might intimate to you, what I had not then the confidence to tell with words that I love you. Hear me, dear Sarah," he continued imploringly, " do not scorn me-for if you knew how deeply I love you, you would not treat me thus. You turn away- then I may not hope," he said despairingly. As he thus spoke, the witch's prophecy recurred to her mind, and the singularity of the circumstance, induced her, despite her responsive feelings, to smile.

Frederick started up angry and excited at her heartlessness, as he deemed such extraordinary levity of conduct, and said bitterly, " Can I believe my senses, Miss Williams ! I little deemed my sweet and gentle cousin would ever treat me thus, even though she may not have the same feelings toward me, which I profess and bear toward her. But I am answered, and henceforth all the bright hopes of love and happiness which I have so long and fondly cherished, are thus carelessly crushed, even without their cold hearted object feeling how much I would have loved her, and how deep is the despair to which she has doomed my poor heart."

" Pardon me, Frederick," said she, recovering her seriousness at his words, "that I was unable to command myself. I did not mean to offend, I assure you. And now, therefore, from this very unfortunate circumstance, I am induced to confess to you, what I still should have hesitated in saying, had I been able to have maintained a proper decorum, as you told me of your affection-that I am not as you imagine indifferent to it. Yet, you must not urge me farther." " And why not, dearest will you not love me ? Will you not marry me ?" "It may not be, Frederick, your parents and sister would disapprove of it, and deem me no more than a fortune-hunter." "Do not speak thus, dear Sarah," he interrupted, 66 they as earnestly desire our union, as I do myself. Do not offer any such trivial objections ; but say that you will become, my wife. Oh ! then I, and all of us shall be truly happy." Sarah, would not, or could not reply, for she deemed it insincere and useless to offer farther opposition. Ere they parted, Frederick had imprinted the kiss of an affianced lover on her lips.

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angry, Saade." "I acknowledge that I did ; but I could not help it, certainly. You will be surprised to know the cause of my laughing, and you would have laughed, too, had you known that we were to be married, and that I knew it at the time. There you were on your knees, half dead with doubt and anxiety-looking as woe-begone as a criminal at the bar, when if you had been aware what an old fortune-teller told me a few days before, you might have saved yourself all that trouble to obtain my consent.” "Yes, I might have saved myself all my misery and anxiety, if I had suspected that was what you were so pleased about," returned the husband, vexed at the idea of having been himself the cause of all the anguish he had experienced at the time, while he had the power of turning the tables upon her ; but," thought he, "better late than never, and I will have my revenge even now." He commenced in a grave tone, 66 Why, my dear, I did not believe you were superstitious ?" "Nor am I," she replied, " but the old woman told me my name when I first went into her room, without either of us mentioning a word, and then she told me other things that were true, and that I should be married within the year, and also described you so plainly, that I was forced to believe her." " And who do you think, my dear, told the old witch all this ?" "I don't know, surely, but I suppose it was her familiar, as I heard them talking together." " That familiar, Saade, was neither more no less than your present husband. What do you think of that, my dear ? I overheard you talking about your intended visit to old Margaret, one day, and I immediately called upon her myself to give her timely notice of the honor. I bribed her pretty well, and requested that she would favor you with an especial good fortune, and even dictated the supreme happiness, which it was my particular wish you might realize. Was it any wonder then, that she should be able to describe your future husband so accurately, eh ? Whose turn is it to laugh now ? Am I not the fortune-teller, of a verity ? say my sweet cozened ?" “ Oh you ! ! ! if I had but suspected ! -how I should 66 I have often thought on the ridiculous figure you have hated you." "Never mind, my dear, it's all past now ; and she cut while popping the question to me," said Mrs. Frederick Somers to her husband, one evening about might have conjured a worse fortune for you, had I six months after their marriage. 66 You remember my not prepared one for the occasion. You ought to be grateful, to be sure, for my consideration - don't you laughing, do you not, Frederick ?" "Yes, I remember it very well," replied the husband, think so ?" " and also how excited I was at it. You have not " On one condition, I will. That you do not breathe entirely forgotten that, either, I imagine, for you must a word of it to Isabel."
 * confess that you gave me provocation enough to be very


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THE NUN’S DOOM.

BY H. SYMMER.

Near the town of Aspeitia, in the romantic land of Spain, stands a large, syuure, dark-looking house with nothing to relieve the barronness of tho high walls, but few boles with gratings, and which bear the appear- ance rather of loopholes than of windows. It is ecarce strong enough to be @ prison; nor does it resemble a convent, from the absence of a steeple. ‘The superstrac- ture, which is in reality, however, a nunnery, crowns an eminence at the entrance of the town. There is some- thing wa gloomy about the tower—something #0 full of vague and awful mystery that I shuddered involuntarily when I beheld it: and when, some time afterward I came to learn one of the deeds which those gloomy walle had witnessed I was almost tempted to’ believe in superna- tural influences, #0 vague and chill had been the emotion of horror which I felt on beholding that antique building for the firat time.

‘The story was related to mo by an old lady, who, in her youth, had been an inmate of thia convent for many years, Never shall I forget the tone and gesture with which she spoke as follows :—

«There was a lady in our convent, who, during the two years that had elapsed since her arrival, had scarcely exchanged a word with any of the other nuns. She remained constantly secluded in her cell, excepting when summoned by the tolling of the béll to join in tho devotions of the community in the choir. She was shunned and avoided by most of the nuns, who gene- ally supposrd that some terrible crime oppressed her conscience ; for a eal and gloomy despair sat upon her pele brow, and gave a wild yet melancholy expression to her beautiful and dignified features. Mer figuro was lofty and noble, but emaciated with suffering. Her prayers and religious dutics were repeated and per- formed with usual fervor.

“ Often had I remarked, wilh fectings of cornmissera- tion, her wasted form thrown into an attitude of humble and earnest supplication ; her pale though beautiful fea tures formed into an oxpression of tho most poignant grief; ber eyes raised to Heaven, and dimined by burn- ing tears. ‘Thus she would long remain, with her arms crossed upon her breast, and motionless as a statue, with the exception of a convulsive quivering of her lips. Suddenly she would throw henwif upon the ground in & paroxysm of despair, and sob aloud, pronouncing some inarticulate words, as if complaining of her total incspa- city to quell the fearful tempest raised within her breast by the conflict of apposed and unconquerable feelings. Again would she strive lo ruive ber heart to God; but in vain. She found no relief jn prayer; and, in her utter hopelessness, finding that even ‘Religion’ could not

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mitigate her tormenta, she would fall exhaueted, and tie extended on the ground, deep sighs rending ber bosom, and invoking death to put an end to ber miserable sud wretched existence.

“Compassionating her sufferings, I essayed to offer her some consolation. She was moved by the sincere expression of my pity, and perceived that I also was unfortunate, The similerity of our feelings and mis fortunes instinctively drew us toward each other, and I gon geined her friendship, and leamt the cause of her grief

« Her name waa Amelia; she was the daughter of the Count of B——~. Her crime had been the forming of a strong attachment toward a young officer in the army —a man of strict honor and principle, but whose family and prospects were unfortunately beneath the notice of the proud Count of B—, who would have thought himself disgraced by such an alliance, He forbid hie dauglter to speak to her lover, or even to think of him; she entreated; he stemly repeated his commands and left her; he waa disobeyed; the enraged Count brought her to the convent, and forced her to take the veil, threatening, if she refused, to cause the officcr to be assassinated, This had determined her, and she saved hor tover's lifo at the wacrifice of her liberty and ber happiness. For two long years she had struggled inef- fectually to forget, and to offer to the God, to whom she had consccrated her existence, a heart pure and free from all worldly affections and regret. Bat, alas! never could she succeed in erasing from her heart the fond memory of her lovers which, notwithstanding all her efforts to the contrary, continued to hold entire poares- sion of her soul. His image haunted and pureued her every where, It was in vain for her to seek consolation in prayer; her thoughts would still wander away from ber God, and dwell upon her tover, And this constant conflict between love and religion—the fond recollections of the past lost to her for ever, and the torments to which she imagined herself to be doomed for the fature—was the canker which wore and wosted her form, and with ered strongth, whilst the hurning fever within her breast raged on unabated.

“Months flew, and time but increased her suffering all hope had long deserted her. One day, whe had mained otone in the choir, afier the termination of the evening prayers; she was, as usual, imploring for mercy and relicf. Her moditation was interrupied by her heating her name pronounced distinetly, though in « whisper. She listened, and heard it aguin; she started, roce, looked down into the church, and remeined thrilled with emotion; supported by a pillar, to which she clung, for she recognised, by the last gleam of twilight—Yes— she could not de mistaken—she recognised her lover, Fearful of detection, ho threw a letter into the choir, over the lalticework, and disappeared. She war weak

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VELASCO, OR THE ELOPEMENT. BY A. W. NONEY.

"Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.". DONA Constanza de Tolosa sat by the window of her apartment gazing upon a rich and lovely landscape, whose summer verdure, slightly tinged with the golden bloom of early autumn, was then sweetly glowing in the mellow radiance of the moon. She held in her hand a beautiful half-blown rose that had been thrown unobserved into the room, upon one of the leaves of which was written the laconic communication-" Le amo de corazón― VELASCO !" Over this she had long wondered without having the slightest idea whence it came, or for what purpose it might be intended, except to excite her wonder, as she was unacquainted with the name of 66'Velasco," and also unconscious of having ever attracted the admiration of a stranger. But her eyes were now tracing the course of the gracefully winding Tagus whose tranquil waters, glittering like molten silver, flowed within a few yards from beneath the casement, thence brightly onward amidst groves and vineyards until lost to her view in the distance ; yet her thoughts were wandering back through the green vista of girlhood to those sunny hours when she, a gladsome child, roamed in careless gayety along its fertile banks, plucking bright flowers to wreath in her dear mother's hair, and dreaming of naught save the future joys that were in store for her. She was happy then, aye, truly so ! She felt the reality now of those blissful scenes which had seemed only glimpses of happier days to come ; for since then she had strown the last flowers she could bear to pluck thence over that dear mother's grave ; and there was now neither parent or kin left in the wide world to love her. Shefelt that her fate was lonely and friendless, even though she remained the sole heiress of a proud and wealthy house, and was also possessed of beauty and attractions that might readily have enabled her to rank peerless above the loveliest maidens of Spain's sunny clime. Yet these were as nothing-for they yielded her no pleasure ; while they were as dross compared to the wealth of affection pent up within her pure bosom, and yearning to gush forth in one clear stream of rapture at the feet of some beloved object. Placed, while yet a child at her mother's death, under the care of Senor Lopez, a stern guardian, she had been kept as it were, a lovely flower to deck his own alcová with the watchful jealousy of a lynx-eyed Argus ; who seemed ever fearful that the world might rob him of his treasure-the interest of her estate, his fee in guardianship. He had kept her almost estranged from society, with little more freedom than the privilege of gazing, as

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now, from the windows of her dreary prison-house upon the bright scenes around, from whose enjoyments she was tyrannically shut out ; but when nearly placed by her years above this surveillance, he was fain to relax somewhat the vigilance with which he had hitherto guarded her from the snares and temptations of the world; and she at times ventured forth, like a bird from its cage, to taste the sweets of liberty, though ever accompanied in her wanderings, that she might not even then be free from restraint. While thus enwrapt with saddened reflections of the past, joined with doubtful anticipations of the future, the tones of a guitar, playing a light and happy air, reached her ears, and attracted her attention. Turning in the direction whence they proceeded, she observed a small pinnace sailing gently down the stream, passing as she supposed from the villa above. To her extreme surprise, when arriving opposite her window, it turned in toward the shore, while its occupant observing her arose and bowed-then touched a few notes on his instrument and sang the following :A wand'rer return'd to my home once again ; In my own native valleys so dear, I've found a rich treasure I sought for in vain, Through all the wide world save my beautiful Spain, Unconscious the jewei was here ; By the banks of her sweet flowing streamAnd pure as its wave's limpid gleam. I've roved from the West to India's bright shore, From North to the South ever free ; But ne'er had I seen when my travels were o'er, As I turn'd to my home to wander no more, A maiden so lovely as thee ; Thou brightest of earth's fairest daughtersA queen by my own Tagus' waters. I've gazed on the charms of the " Maids of Cashmere," And glanced in their " love-lighted" eyes ; Yet their light ne 'er shone with a magic so dear, Nor their beauty so sweet as thine doth appear, Thou flower of my own native skies ;— Freshly blooming in fragrance and pride, By the margin of Tagus' clear tide. I love thee! I love thee ! with heart and with soul! And passion as ardent as free! Which aye may endure without check or control, Ever changelessly true while Tagus shall roll, Its bright swelling waves to the sea. Ah! tell me not in vain do I woo ! And bid me, sweet angel, adieu ! The Dona listened with delightful astonishment to the words of the song, deeming them very flattering, though perhaps a little extravagant. His voice had a manly sweetness in it that captivated her ear ; while the graceful dignity of his bearing gave assurance that he was of a superior order to the common-place caballeros whom she usually saw passing and repassing up and down the river ; and the fervent air and tone with which he sang, caused an undefinable sensation to arise within the breast, while her warm heart increased its pulsations, as if thrilling under some rapturous excitement. He had scarcely finished, however, when she was


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. had been casually mentioned once or twice in her hear ing as a gentleman of high rank in Madrid, but who had spent of late some years abroad. He might be old and ugly for all she knew to the contrary ; and his very name sounded as if it belonged to a cross and stupid old bachelor.

"What care I for his state and importance ?" she exclaimed, pettishly, as these words recurred to her mind, " I could not love him if he were made of gold and jewels !" Nor could she have loved him while her heart was pre-occupied by the graceful image of another-that of her mysterious serenader ; whom, however, she had not seen since that eventful evening of his first appearance. This seemed very strange to her, as she nightly watched eager and anxiously hour after hour for his dearly anticipated reappearance ; but in vain. She felt it indeed singular, yet she could not believe that such a noble looking gentleman would play falsely merely to deceive a simple maiden- kindling an undying flame in her bosom, and then vanishing as mysteriously as he came, leaving it to rage and consume her heart unheeded. Some accident must full surely have befallen him, or he would have sought an interview with her long before ;and she wept with deep anguish at the thought. But whether " Velasco" came or not, she was fully resolved to oppose her tyrannical guardian's plan, even though the laws of her country might leave her no alternative between a compliance with his wishes and a living burial within a convent's walls, if he chose to enforce her marriage before she was free from his control. She rightly deemed that he had sinister views in thus contracting her without her own consent, and to an utter stranger ; for he shrewdly inferred that the magnificent Don, from the immensity of his own wealth, would be more than likely to overlook some few discrepancies which had occurred in the management of his ward's estate, either through negligence or design on his part. However, he said nothing further to her upon the subject, knowing that it would but increase the evident antipathy she felt towards the match ; while the Don himself could perhaps better second his efforts, when he arrived, by the splendor and pomp of his state - and a very little gentle enforcement, if the necessity of the case should strongly demand such proceeding. Yet he deemed it proper to inform him that his ward manifested a slight reluctance in agreeing to such a sudden proposition, from being doubtless a little piqued that he had not addressed her at the first. Still that gentleman's reply expressed no discouragement ; but rather increased ardor, as if her maiden spirit raised her worth in his estimation, and he was therefore resolved to win her if possible.

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that the Dona sat in her chamber with her spirits weighed down by the most gloomy reflections. She had given up all hope of ever seeing " Velasco" again ; and yet she could not banish from her heart the lasting impression that his manly beauty, assisted by the romance attached to his actions-had made upon it. In the fervid clime of Spain love does not require years of sunshine and showers to arrive at maturity. It is there in her verdant fields, amidst orange groves and rosy bowers, a flower of magic growth, and requires neither care or attendance ; but springs at once into bloom, seeking its own nourishment of the soil from whence it takes its life. From sad imaginings with regard to the stranger who was the object of her affections, her thoughts reverted with loathing to the still stranger person, who was equally the object of her abhorrence ; and with whom her guardian would heartlessly force her to wed, if she did not take some decided step to thwart his purpose. Though she had not yet determined upon any definite plan of proceeding, she was fully resolved that the haughty Don should not even see her when he did arrive, and he might return again to Madrid, if he chose, as wise as he came, and quite as empty, for all he was likely to gain of her. While thus sitting and revolving in her mind the woes that afflicted her soul, she heard, as she imagined, the same tinkling notes which had sounded so sweet to her enraptured ears upon the night when " Velasco" sung to her of his admiration and love. Rushing to the window to assure herself, she saw him floating gently by; and, carried away with the enthusiastic transport of her feelings she waved her hand toward him in greeting, kissed his in return, and then, signifying by a gesture that they might not speak through fear of being overheard, he approached toward the shore, and tossed a letter attached to a pebble, into her apartment. Catching it eagerly up, she read by the light of a taper its contents ; and then, with an almost overpowering feeling of joy, she returned to the window and waved him her unhesitating consent to the proposition contained within ; while he passed silently away, wafting kisses toward her until lost to view in the obscurity of night. The letter was signed the same as his previous message to her, with the simple word Velasco !" but its contents informed her that he was a gentleman of birth and station in life ; and that having accidentally seen her one day in the villa, he had from that moment loved her with devoted ardor : yet he had been compelled to leave for Madrid at an early hour the next morning, and it was not then possible to seek an interview other than the serenade to which she listened one evening a few weeks previous. And now he deemed it too late It was on the evening previous to the day when the for such unless she would consent to fly with him and presumptuous suitor to her hand was expected to arrive, thus avoid the union which her guardian wished to
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the natural products of the country are in such profusion as to render the Territory a desirable place of abode.

For persons desirous of emigrating to Washington Territory, the routes either by land or water can be selected. By water, the most expeditious is to cross the Isthmus of Panama, and proceed to San Francisco, where passage can be obtained for the Columbia River direct, either in the regular mail steamers, or by the numerous sailing vessels constantly plying between the two ports, or by sailing vessels bound either to Shoal-water Bay, or any of the numerous ports on Fuca Straits, or the other waters bounding the northwest section of the Territory.

The overland route would be to take any of the old and approved roads till the Columbia is reached at Fort Walla Walla, and from thence the military road can be taken either to Fort Steilacoom or Olympia, the seat of government, or the various settlements about Puget Sound. The Territory only needs men and capital to insure its being one of the most thrifty of our possessions, and when its value is more generally appreciated, we may expect to see as rapid an increase in the population as ever California, had in its palmiest days.


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while he trusted to have accomplished his design undis- covered.

It is needless, perhaps, to mention that the result of the elopement was gratifying to all the parties concerned, as it united Dona Constanza to her “ Velasco,” as well as to her guardian's “Don Emanuel;” and she had never reason to repent the hasty step, which, to appear. ance, was forced upon her.

THE FADED FLOWER. 2 EDWIN EDDISON,

A cutep wopt o'er a grave? Ite father’s corpse lay there; His beauteous form wan bont In ead and silent prayer. ‘A cypresa gently waved Its leaves o'er ite bow'd head: He did not hear their sound; Ha thoughts were with the dead,

On that loved spot each morn, - Breathing his soul in prayer, He pleaded Heaven's high King

To join his paront there.

‘Hix suppliant prayer was heard; He faded fast away:

Alan! s0 sweet a flower Had bloom'd but to decay.

Another cypress weeps Above that hallow'd bed;

And son with father sleeps Amidst the lonely dead!

MEMORY.

BY MRS. G. NORMAN,

‘Tae day will come when Memory lingers Sadly o'er her swoctest dream,

Weaving for aye, with fairy fingers, Semblance of joys that once have been}

And in our age we fain would see

In that vain decam, reality.

Whito waiting for that sober time, ‘With pleasure’s tempting path before us,

Gaily pass on, aor fear the ille Fast-flecting ‘Time may scatter o'er us;

But lay up Memory's joyous store

‘To glad Uie heart when young no more.

Tunssoxvrton.—In malters of great concer, and which must be done, there is no surer argument of a weak mind than iresoluttion ; to be undetermined where

the case is so plain, and the necessity so urgent.

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THE EASTERN PRINCESS.

BY MRS. AXWR yond,

Tx Princess Zelona was the most beautiful of her sex. Sho was gay as 8 bird, agile as the antelope, and tender as the dove. Her voice was like that of the bulbut, and her oyes were brighter than the stars that light the throne of the angel Amiram. She was the only daughter of a prince, who found s pleasure in gratifying her highest wishes. Her harem was ccle- brated throughout alf the east. The most beautiful gitls sang to her, incense of the costliest kind perfumed her room, the finest mustins of Decean wrapped her delicate form, and every luxury which weelth could purchase or whim suggest was collected sround her. Yet she was not happy. Amid all this magnificence she pined away, so that the lustre of her eye duily grew more dita, and the rose on her cheek faded, The Princess Zelona was to be mattied to # prince whom she hated, when ber heart wos given to another. Her destined lord was an old Rajah of immense possessions, and though her father gratified her wishes in every other respect, on this point he was inexorable, and therefore her sadness. Deeming that her dejection would soon pass away when the was a bride, the parent paid little attention to her grief, but hastened the preparations for her nuptials.

Sho sat in her bower one day, surrounded by her slaves, who each tried in turn but useleasly to assuage her sadness, In vain they sang and played to her, in vain the sound of @ coal fountain plashed on her ear, in vain they trove to entertain her with tales of love and romanee, in vain she gazed out over the bright lake that stretched beneath her apartment, and in vain she sought consolation in that neverfailing resource, hor agate- mounted hookah, she found no relief for her dejection ; 80, at length, dismissing all her attendants but one, who had been with her from childhood, she threw herself back on her cushion, and bid the other sing her an old song which they had known years before when both were young, and she was happy.

“Ah!” sighed the princess, “ how ofien have I heard Hyder sing that song in the green mountains where we were brought up together. Alas! that my father har taken mo thence and brought me here to all this state and grandeur, which E despise since I cannot share it with Hyder.”

“And why not fly from this heteful union?” timidly interposed her companion, “I have heard of such things froma the story-tellers whom we used to bear, before your father had wou this mighty kingdom, and when he was only a poor prince among the hills, such as Hyder is now.” :

« Fly!” said the princess, in astonishment, “oh! my

�


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LORD PERCY'S DREAM.

A STORY OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

It was a lovely summer evening. Darkness had crept almost imperceptibly over the earth. The moon was up in all her full robed glory, and the burning stars of heaven glittered like a coronet of countless jewels on the dark brow of night. There was not one cloudlet to dim the lustrous expanse of ether. Below it lay the beautiful landscape- beautiful in its calm repose, and in its strong contrast of silver light and darkest shade. On the river- the noble and broad swelling river-the moon's lustre was given back in one wide sheet of liquid glory, and as the stream faded away toward the thickly-wooded shore, the sound of the shadowed ripples dashing in mimic frolic against the pebbly bank, stole with the softening influence of music upon the soul. Save this, there was no sound upon the air, no wind to stir the myriads of forest leaves, or to bear away the sweet perfume of the fresh, wild flowers. It was a glorious night, yet one, that with no passing sound upon the air, nothing by which the gazer might be led to identify the place—had rather a tendency of abstracting thought, of luring it away from these still, calm scenes to others, either of reality or imagination.. And there was one, whose eyes were fixed upon the moonlight glories of the landscape, as if perchance to read some portion of his own fate from its illuminated page. From the wild turmoil of the camp, from the jarring discord of the soldiery, from the neigh of steeds, and the heavy tread of the sentry, he had stolen away to the borders of that mighty forest, beside the banks of that gently murmuring river. Where a moss-covered rock threw out its jutting points here and there, presenting a rude seat of nature's own formation, with a velvet cushion to recline upon, and an emerald carpet of the softest texture, he had thrown himself wearily. With his hand upon his forehead and his hair thrown back, damp and dishevelled, he gazed upon the quiet moon. And little recked she, as she sailed onward in the deep sapphire heaven, that he, whose beaming eyes feasted upon her loveliness, was the proud scion of a most mighty lineage, the descendant of a long line of stately ancestry. Little recked she of the many anxious prayers sent up to Heaven on his account ; of the fond mother who wept in deep bitterness, of the fair young sister whose tears commingled, and of the many noble friends whose heartfelt solicitude was enlisted for his welfare. The blood of a Percy coursed in the youthful veins of him who sat there alone in the stilly night, an heir to the proud Dukedom of Northumberland. And never gazed the moon upon a fairer temple, on one more fitting to enshrine a high-born soul. There VOL. II.- 10

was a majesty of thought, an elevated tone of feeling dwelling upon the broad, fair forehead, and the curving fringes of the eyelash lay back upon it, disclosing the depths of soul they sometimes hid, the touching melancholy of those dark blue orbs. His cheek was pale now, very pale, contrasting forcibly with the wet and clustering hair that fell around it in its raven hue. There was a haughty splendor in the full curving upper lip, in the slightly dilating nostril : there was character stamped upon the mouth. This feature, the most expressive of the human face, seemed slightly inconsistent with the eyes and forehead. The upper lip, separate from its fellow, might appear to accord with these ; but the union of both expressed forcibly that the reckless love of daring, the untamed wildness of the boy, had scarce given place to the more dignified demeanor of the man. His form, though slight, was accurately and beautifully proportioned, extending to the medium height, and displaying symptoms of nerve and activity almost beyond his years. The general disposition of the man might have been that of the frank, merry-hearted soldier, but sorrow and diappointment had given a deeptoned sadness to his expressive eyes, and touched with premature hand the manly beauty of his snowy brow. Lord Percy's thoughts dwelt not with the landscape before him, but the influence of that scene had carried him afar into his own land ; the country of his love, his beautiful England. Before his vision, high rose the stately turrets of Alnwick Castle, its battlemented towers, its winding galleries and proud old halls, its fountains, its sculpture and its paintings. And even as he thought of these holy and pure emotions, the fond endearments of home, the many blissful hours of childhood— thrilled with a powerful spell around his heart. Then came the memory of that mother, that loved and revered one, the brightest star in his boyhood's heaven, the soothing angel of his after griefs, his beautiful and stately mother. Oh ! for one look upon her face, one kiss from her fond lips, one blessing on his head- how much would he have given ? A stranger in a strange land, a soldier in the wars of his country-just wars as he had once considered them, but oppressive as he could not but confess them now. 66 Mother," he murmured, " I was wrong, my mother : I was fearfully mistaken. Self-willed and passionate and arrogant, I disdained your advice, I scorned your council -God forgive me, I see it all now, mother. There was a wild thirst for glory, a maddening desire for fame, for the empty and profitless renown of a conqueror ; and for these, my mother, I have become a shedder of human blood, an oppressor of the deeply injured. Think of me, mother, pray for me- in the dim watches of the night, and in the bright noonday— my best and truest friend, and dearest-yes dearest, now that she, whose love was my glory, and the fancied


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humble house of worship. It was a simple scene, yet with its waving fields of corn and fresh-mown meadows, a lovely one ; yet, why it was, that as the dreamer gazed for the first time upon it, a strange thrill, a shuddering emotion, such as he had never before experienced, seemed to agitate him, as by an overwhelming impulse he was carried swiftly onward into the very heart of the battle, Amidst the flash and the smoke and the thundering volley of artillery, where the boldest might shudder and turn back, with a reckless disregard of consequences , he felt himself pre-eminent amidst the foremost, while the air resounded with the groan, the shrill death cry and the maddening shriek. There was horror too in his own heart, for his steps were marked with the bodies of the slain, and the sward grass below grew crimson with human gore. And on that river, that once gentle and lucid stream, floated an empurpled current, deep-dyed with the life blood of American patriots and British soldiery. Yet onward, with a brain on fire, and a heart maddened within him, under the influence of that strange spell, onward he sped. Suddenly he felt a faintness and a dizziness overpower him. Something had pierced him like cold steel, and glancing downward he saw his own blood gushing in a warm stream from his side.. He reeled in his saddle and fell heavily to the ground. And there he lay, uncared for, unthought of, amidst the general conflict ; a dying man. The terrible agony of spirit- the deathwound pains- the rushing world of thought-the suspense, the uncertainty of the future-the lingering hope -the murmured prayer for grace-the desolation, the anguish of the present. He felt them all, as he lay upon the red, wet earth, with many a dying fellow soldier beside him. Strange chills crept over him, and short and gaspingly came his breath, until, as with a convulsive effort, he half rose from the ground, and the dreamer awoke from that horrible trance. He had thrown himself forward, his head bent partly beneath his shoulders, and lay prone to the earth. Lord Percy rose a changed man : "It was a warning," he murmured, " I know it to be such. God aid me and forgive me! One of my princely race, a descendant of the immortal Hotspur, to fall thus, unwept for, in a strange land !" And as night after night that maddening dream tortured his sleep, the conviction grew strong with him, the possibility became a certainty-and despite the remonstrances of his brother officers, calmly and manfully he awaited the approach of death. "It is in vain," he said, " it is in vain, and as I have felt for you a sincere friendship, I will bequeath you all some token whereby to remember one of the Percys." And, in conformity with his words, he bestowed his horse upon one, his pistols upon another-and every article of his wardrobe, except his soldier's cloak, which

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he requested might be wrapt around him for the burial. It was a strange thing, and it startled all, that one so young and with such glorious prospects, should look on death so passively, should anticipate it without a shudder. Alas ! for him the grave had lost its terrors, and life at best was but a weary state of probation. On the eleventh day of September, 1777, was achieved a famous victory by the British, on the banks of the Brandywine. Lord Cornwallis drew away his forces in triumph, although many of his best and ablest officers around him, was the youthful heir of Northumberland, beautiful even in death. They buried him-the princely born, as his dying lips desired, with the miniature of his false lady resting upon his heart. And marvellous it was, that on that very morning, he had recognized the scene of conflict as the one so often visited in his dreams, although in reality a new and strange landscape. And even now, though years have rolled onward like waves upon the broad sea of time, those who visit the battle ground of Brandywine, may still hear from the lips of a hoary-haired old man, the fate of Lord Percy, and view a grass-grown hillock, thickly studded with the beautiful Brandywine " Forget me not," which, he will tell you, marks his final resting-lace. J-
 * lay slain. And amidst them all, with his soldier's cloak

TWILIGHT.

THE soft and lovely twilight hour It hath a sad and holy power , When faintly on the arch of heaven Is seen the first pale star of even, When silence reigns on all around Unbroken by one jarring sound : So calm the hour it seems to be From life's unceasing turmoil free. Methinks that man ne'er dreamed a crime At this most holy quiet time, No evil feelings dare intrude On twilight's sacred solitude. For by its soothing influence brought, There comes a train of pensive thought That seems the soul to elevate Above its sordid earthly state. As softly break the morning's rays Let mem'ries come of other days ; Once more in fancy round us stand The loved and lost, a cherished band. And once again we fondly trace The features of each well-known face, And to our sad eyes spring the tears For buried hopes of by-gone years. The twilight is an hour of peace, When toil, and strife, and turmoil cease ; A time to holy feelings given, When the rapt soul communes with heaven. MARIE.

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. tolling of this unknown bell was to warn each victim that the hour had come. At length these rumors reached the ears of the Baron. He listened to them without any reply except a sneer, but those who saw that sneer shuddered when they spoke of it to their dying day.

" Years passed, and castle after castle was added to the domains of the Baron ; but at every new acquisition another of his once fair family of children died. One was drowned ; another was killed while hunting ; a third perished by the hand of an assassin ; and the fourth, and last, fell in a sudden fray ; but though he died in a foreign country, and the news of his death did not reach the townsfolk for a week, they knew, by the tolling of the mysterious bell, that the last of the Baron's race was no more. The whispers of the citizens now became louder than ever. The Baron's wife had long since died, and it was said that his turn would arrive next. When they came to look back at the deaths of his progeny, they found that, by some strange coincidence, one of his children had perished on the same day, of the same month of each succeeding year ; and it was predicted that, at the next anniversary, the Baron himself would die. But the stern old noble only scoffed at these whispers, and, as the day drew nigh, resolved to shew his scorn of the danger, by holding high festival in his castle. He caused, moreover, the bell, whose tolling had first produced these rumors, to be imbedded in solid masonry, as you see it now. so that no one could ring it. Then he made ready his feast. " You must not suppose that every one shrunk, like the honest townsfolk, from the Baron's society. There were enough bold, bad men who laughed at what they called idle rumors, and were ever ready to pledge him in the wine cup, or follow him to the chase. Yet each of these men had some stigma attached to his name. One had plundered widows and orphans, a second had ravaged defenceless maidens, another was said to be a parricide, a fourth was suspected of sacrilege, a fifth had murdered his bride, and others had committed other acts, abhorred alike by God and man. On the countenance of each was written that at which holy eremites crossed themselves and prayed. And these men now gathered to the festival of their chief, mocking at the rumors that daily gained strength. " The hall where the festival was held was a wide apartment, with walls so gloomy, and casements so deep, that the cheerful beams of the sun rarely found entrance within, or only played in sickly radiance on the damp, stone floor. But though such was the usual aspect of the room it was different now. Lights blazed in fifty places from the walls. A table, covered with the richest plate, stretched down the ample hall. Never indeed had the palatinate beheld such an array of wealth, magnificence and profusion. Here was a rarely carved goblet from Italy, and there a Venice glass of unrivalled

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beauty ; golden urns and dishes glittered along the board ; and the drinking cups of the guests flashed with jewels. Every viand that taste could suggest, or skill prepare, was arranged for the feast, while the richest and costliest wines blushed in golden ewers at hand. Servants, magnificently attired, moved noiselessly over the floor ; incense rose up from tripods burning at intervals along the walls ; and strains of music, from unseen performers, floated around, and dissolved the listeners into ecstacy. Well might the guests, thus surrounded by all that could delight the senses, scoff at the fears of the people, and deem themselves safe from harm. But ever and anon, as the wandering eye of a guest lit on the cold, damp wall, by some strange whim left bare of tapestry, he would shudder involuntarily, as if foreboding ill. These feelings, however, were rare, and did not interrupt the evening's hilarity. As the hours passed on, and the guests quaffed deeper of the glowing wine, their jests and songs and gaiety increased, until the hall rang with merriment. Many a wild deed was then related, at which good men would have turned pale, but which was hailed now with shouts ; many a ribald song was sung, convulsing the listeners with unholy mirth. And thus hour after hour passed, while still the lights burned on the wall, the incense exhaled from the censers, and the music of the unseen performers filled the air. Midnight had come, when, with a scornful sneer, and then a gay mocking laugh, the Baron arose and spoke, " Fill high your goblets,' he said, ' fill to the brim,' and as he spoke he poured forth a bumper of the rich, red wine, while each guest followed his example. We will be merry to-night, brave sirs, in spite of the idle rumors of superstitious fools, and the lying prophecies of canting priests. Ho ! midnight of the day, on which they said my race was to perish, has come, and yet here I stand, the last of that lineage, to mock at such fears. the old bell can disturb our revellings. Better wine than this never crossed lip, nor ever did gayer company meet at festal board. Lo ! give us a triumphal song, a gay and exulting strain. Now, fair guests, join hands, and drink, one and all, my toast, Confusion to the foul fiend.' Quaff—quaff.” " And they quaffed the wine, and, amid strains of triumphal music, with linked hands, they shouted back the toast. But ere the huzza ceased, the slow, measured tolling of a bell filled the apartment, and, as the revellers their throats, for well they knew that fearful sound. The music stopped in terror, and a dead silence reigned throughout the hall. Again and again the toll of that bell clanged awfully across the night, and the lights waved to and fro, as if flared by gusts of air. Each man drew closer to his neighbor, and all gazed in wild affright at their host. At the first toll of the bell, the exulting
 * We will be merry to-night, gallants, and see whether
 * listened, their cheeks blanched, and their voices died in


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. " And pray what may be this vocation, for which you would exchange a professional life, and the many advantages attendant upon it ?" asked Mr. Mordaunt.

"The cabinet-making business, for which you must be aware I have ever, even from childhood, evinced a considerable talent."

"Great God ! and shall it be said that a child of mine is a mechanic ? that one of my family earns a livelihood by the sweat of his brow ? No- no ! sooner would I see him hugged in the cold embrace of death !"

" What ! a mechanic, Herbert ? oh ! fie, fie for shame !" shrieked the horror-stricken Mrs. Mordaunt- whilst the lip of the supercilious student of medicine, curled with a bitter sneer of contempt. "Why this inveteracy against the mechanics, father ? Is it not among them we find the brightest gems of society ? Are they not the pillars, on which rests that magnificent edifice—our Republic ?" said Herbert Mordaunt, who seemed less likely to yield to the united efforts of his parents, to banish from his mind the idea of becoming a mechanic, than resolutely to combat them. "Marry, you are truly eloquent in praise of these ignorant and unpolished beings-a class with whom no one of standing should associate, and whose ranks, give the penetentiary but its due, would be reduced to one half their number." A flush of indignation passed over the countenance of Herbert Mordaunt, and his eyes sparkled with more than their wonted brilliancy ; but he suppressed the tart reply that rose to his lips, and said in a deferential tone" The trades, I expect, like the professions, are not without their unprincipled members ; but I shall endeavor to avoid these, and keep company with the more honest ones." "Ah! Herbert ! little did I imagine when I was expending hundreds, aye, thousands in educating you, that I should be thus recompensed." an aware, father, that there is a heavy debt due "I am you on that score, and sincerely hope (however improbable it may at present seem) that circumstances will enable me at some future period to discharge it." 66 Come, come, Herbert ! do away with this foolish idea of yours, and go down to Mr. Baldwin's this evening, and inform him that you will be prepared in a week or ten days, at farthest, to commence your studiesotherwise I shall be compelled to annul my will, (which you know I have by me,) and cut you off without a dollar," said Mr. Mordaunt, who thought his son's reply savoured somewhat of relenting. " Touching a professional life it is needless for me to speak, as you already know my mind on that point, and as to your fortune I ask not a farthing of it ; for I am convinced, if I have not overrated my abilities, that I shall be able to maintain myself in competent independence."

"And you still persist in the determination of becoming a cabinet-maker ?" 66"Yes, sir." The violent passions which had been long gathering within, now burst forth with the uncurbed vehemence of a tornado, and striking the centre-table with a force that threatened to shiver it to fragments, Mr. Mordaunt exclaimed"Then, by heavens ! you shall seek a home elsewhere, for I henceforward renounce you-Begone, and forget that you have a parent in existence !" Too thoroughly acquainted with his father's fiery temperament, not to know that further delay would but engender harsher words, and excite to a higher pitch his ungovernable rage, Herbert Mordaunt rose from his seat and advanced to receive the parting embrace of Mrs. Mordaunt ; but she- she who had watched over his infancy with all the tender solicitude which a mother can possibly feel for her offspring- allowing the false pride of the world to gain the mastery over maternal feelings, waved him off, and pointed significantly to the door. Finding now the entire household highly incensed against him, because of the resolution he had formed to follow a vocation, for which he felt an inward conviction, he possessed a fine natural talent, Herbert Mordaunt dashed away the tear that glistened on his eye-lash, and left his father's home in silence and in sorrow. Notwithstanding he had been cradled in the lap of affluence, Herbert Mordaunt happily had not imbibed those little prejudices, which parents of the wealthier order by ridiculing the awkward manner and inaccuracy of speech of the poorer class, under color of training their children in the rules of gentility-but too often manage to instil into their minds, and which eventually imbitter their feelings, and bring them to look with aversion upon a mechanic, however meritorious he might be. Thrown on his own resources, to shape a course for himself through the world, Herbert Mordaunt no sooner found himself in the street, than he bent his steps toward Mr. Daley's, a skilful cabinet-maker, in whose shop his latent genius had first developed itself, when, while yet a mere child, he was in the habit of stealing off from his comrades, to bend with all the intenseness of soul over such articles as the good-natured journeymen would place in his hands, to quiet his importunities, and reward his seeming industry. Arrived at Mr. Daley's, he engaged to serve a three-years' apprenticeship under him, and in accordance with that worthy gentleman's wishes, immediately entered upon the duties of his occupation. Thus in the space of a few hours was Herbert Mordaunt transformed from a dashing young gallant, apparelled in the height of the fashion, to a cabinet-maker's sober apprentice, decked in the coarse habiliments of the laboring class. So rapid was Herbert Mordaunt's progress, that at


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. attractions had partially shone-from before her ; and she stood forth a blushing, merry-hearted maiden, free from all ill-timed prudery, and with great good- nature, a well cultivated mind, and rich vein of wit, which she was ever ready to apply to a good effect. He was now on terms of great intimacy with her ; he read with her, and accompanied her on the piano with his rich, manly voice ; and often when Mr. Allenwood was confined to his room with an attack of the gout, a complaint with which he was much afflicted, would call for her on Sundays, and attend her to church. It was on one of these occasions that he poured into her ear his eager tale of love, and wrung from her the acknowledgment that his passion was ardently returned. A few weeks afterward, with the consent of Mr. Allenwood, they were united.

It was about two years after his marriage that Herbert Mordaunt was seated in a comfortably, and even elegantly furnished room of a private dwelling, situated in the most fashionable part of the town. Opposite him sat his happy Teresa, blooming as ever, but somewhat more staid and matronly ; whilst between them on the carpet, lay a lovely chesnut-haired child, which alternately caressed a pet kitten that it hugged closely in its arms, and held up its plump little hands to shield its fair brow from the heat of the fire that blazed cheerfully in the grate ; for it was a chill November day, and the wintry wind howled around the corners of the house, and down the chimney-flue. "Yes, dear ! to-morrow we will start for New York, and once there we will not leave till we have brought about the long-desired reconciliation between you and your parents," said Mrs. Mordaunt, resuming the conversation which had been broken off to observe the playful mood of the child. " You appear very sanguine, Teresa, but I very much fear that our dearest hopes will be dashed to the ground--that we shall find them inexorable; for once during my apprenticeship I called at their door, but was refused admission ; and since my residence here I have repeatedly written to them, but each time have my letters been returned unopened," replied Herbert Mordaunt. Surely when they come to hear how well you have prospered at your trade, and once set eyes on our dear little Charley, whom we have called after your father, and whose smiling face will plead eloquently in your behalf, surely then they will not- they cannot refuse to receive you again into favor," said the artless Mrs. Mordaunt. "I sincerely hope it may be so, Teresa, but nevertheless I have my misgivings." "Your mother, at least, whose enviable disposition I have so often heard you speak of in such commendatory terms, would receive you with open arms after so long an absence." VOL. II.- 11

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"She was actuated by the impulse of the moment, and very likely would gladly welcome me back ; but my father is of too proud and stubborn a nature easily to retract when once he has- " They were here interrupted by a black waiter, who made his entrance saying-" Massa ! berry old gemmen at de door supplicate de ains." " Eh ? Bob ! a gentleman beggar ?" enquired Herbert Mordaunt, aware of his waiter's usual antipathy to that class of people. "Sartin, Sir ! he be not one o' de wulgar class o' beggin fokes !" "Well, Bob ! show him into the front-room, and let him know that I will attend him in a few minutes ; for his wants must be very urgent to drive him abroad in such weather as this." 66 Yes, Massa !" said Bob, leaving the room to do his master's bidding. After brushing his hair, and adjusting his cravat, Herbert Mordaunt proceeded to the front room, which he had no sooner entered, than exclaiming “ Oh, God ! it is my father !" he sprang forward and caught the old man in his arms ; and both father and son losing the power of utterance in the joy of the meeting, stood silently locked in each other's embrace. As soon as the first burst of feelings had subsided, Mr. Mordaunt extended his hand to his son, said " Farewell ! my boy, my much injured boy ; for the father that dealt so harshly with you, now suffers his just punishment, and must go sorrowing on his way till the brief space, which intervenes between him and the grave, shall have been completed !" "Oh ! no- no, father, this can never be ! you must not leave us ! stay with us and all that comforts or attention can do, you shall have," said Herbert Mordaunt ; and he was warmly seconded by the tears and entreaties of Mrs. Mordaunt, whom the unusual noise and sudden exclamation of her husband had now brought into the room. 66 Well, Herbert ! if you and this kind, forgiving angel," drawing Mrs. Mordaunt, who held him by the hand, to his bosom, "will have it so, then I must tarry with you ; but little did I expect that the child whom I turned from my door on account of his determination of being a mechanic, would become the stay and consoler of my old age, whilst my professional son, whom I pampered with high notions of family dignity, and whose every wish I indulged, reduced me to beggary !" said Mr. Mordaunt, and the big drops coursed down his cheeks, on which time and care had made sad impressions. As soon as Mr. Mordaunt had regained sufficient selfcommand, and was snugly seated by the fire, with little Charley on his knee, he related the history of his misfortunes, which was briefly as follows :-