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knew by those agonising tears that my folly had met its own punishment, and I fainted away again.

I will not tire you with the account of my long recovery. It was only when I was convalescent that my mother put a letter in my hand, whose every word is engraven on my memory. It was from Albert. By the date I knew that it was written on the night of that fatal ball. The note had neither address nor signature. " Farewell," it said, " and forever. I see that I have been deceived ; but-oh ! Mary-that it should have been by you. Never more can I love you, since I cannot longer confide in your truth. Farewell !”

How many tears I shed over that little fragment of paper it avails not to say. I felt that it cut me off from hope ; and I knew that my own folly had brought on this punishment. This aggravated my grief, and long kept me on the borders of the grave. I learned that Albert, having been brought unexpectedly near our village by business, had determined to surprise me by a visit. He had stopped at the house, but hearing that I was at the ball, he had ridden over for me, as he had but a single day to spend at our house. Bitter! bitter ! was that visit to me. And yet my deceit merited such punishment. I never saw Albert after that fatal night. He returned to the distant city of P, and thenceforth I was cured of my vanity. I trust this trial changed me, and made me a different being. And now you know, dear Carry, why I am an old maid, and why a shade of sorrow will often steal over mc. Oh ! take lesson by me, and discard vanity.

My aunt Mary ceased, and as she turned away, I saw her wipe a tear from her eye. The snows of fifty years had not quenched the feelings of her heart ; nor could the lessons of religion wholly remove her sorrow. Often, during her narration; had her voice faltered with emotion From that day I loved my aunt Mary more than ever ; and from that day, I too, I trust, was a better woman. Cincinnati, 1842.

THE ICE SHIP.

Now weeks on weeks, and months have flown, And still her snowy sails are spread ; But now she 's on the sea alone, Where never keel before was sped. Then out from jewel'd grot and cave, Came servants of the frosty king, Leaping and dancing o'er the wave ; Like children wildly wantoning. They sported round the vessel's prow, As if to coax her into play ; And, laughing all the time, they threw O'er bow and stern large showers of spray, And then they pelted her with gems, And scatter'd wreaths upon her deck ; On mast and yard hung diamonds Composed of jewels without speck.

Then round her side they fasten'd strings, Long strings of diamonds, pure and bright, And rows of that fair stone that flings Out from its heart a sea-green light. Heap after heap they threw and piled, "Till all became one glittering sheet ; And the good ship as though beguil'd By their fond witch'ry, grew less fleet.

And sluggishly she lagged along ; Then laugh'd the frost king's imps jocund, And in their ice bands, bright and strong, The goodly ship they firmly bound. They fann'd the green sea with their wings, And with their breath they cooled the waves, And all around grew fairy things, Castles and cities, vales and caves. All bright and wondrous things were they, A mammoth jewel every one ; And in the midst that chain'd ship lay Glittering in the cold, cold sun. And then the sailors where they stood They seized, and with their icy breath They bound their eyes and chill'd their blood, And left them fast asleep in death.

There lies that ship, she and her crew, Fast prison'd in that frozen sea, And on her deck the winter through The frost imps keep their revelry, And each poor sailor is a light To gild that frozen banquet hall, Each standing on the deck upright, A ghastly, glittering icicle.

BY EDWARD YOUNG. A SHIP flew o'er the waters blue, Bound for the distant Arctic sea ; The breeze was fair, and aye her crew, Sang "yeo heave oh !" right cheerily. On, on she sped, day after day, And still the pleasant breeze prevail'd ; And oft, upon the watery way, A sister ship she pass'd and hail'd.

Reflecting back the arrowy lights Along the northern skies that play ; Like diamonds that shoot forth at night The beams that they have caught by day. There must she lie ; in vain the sun Of summer strives to thaw her chain, For ere one half the work is done The frost imps forge new links again. Southport, W. T.


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Rh a one, and he alone knows how this quality came to be in me. No man has the right to call himself a fool, but I may say that I then presented the perfect semblance of one. I was facetious without humour and serious without conviction. Every Sunday I would speak to my rural parishioners about the other world in the tone of one who has been behind the scenes, or I would explain to them the errors of the Pelagians, or I would warn them against hurrying from one dissipation to another. Every Tuesday I gave what I called "straight talks to my lads"—talks which led straight past anything awkward. And every Thursday I addressed the Mothers' Union on the duties of wives or widows, and gave them practical hints on the management of a family of ten.

I took myself in, and for a time I certainly took in Emily. I have never known a girl attend so carefully to my sermons, or laugh so heartily at my jokes. It is no wonder that I became engaged. She has made an excellent wife, freely correcting her husband's absurdities, but allowing no one else to breathe a word against them; able to talk about the sub-conscious self in the drawing-room, and yet have an ear for the children crying in the nursery,

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Rh or the plates breaking in the scullery. An excellent wife—better than I ever imagined. But she has not married me.

Had we stopped indoors that afternoon nothing would have happened. It was all owing to Emily's mother, who insisted on our tea-ing out. Opposite the village, across the stream, was a small chalk down, crowned by a beech copse, and a few Roman earth-works. (I lectured very vividly on those earthworks: they have since proved to be Saxon). Hither did I drag up a tea-basket and a heavy rug for Emily's mother, while Emily and a little friend went on in front. The little friend—who has played all through a much less important part than he supposes—was a pleasant youth, full of intelligence and poetry, especially of what he called the poetry of earth. He longed to wrest earth's secret from her, and I have seen him press his face passionately into the grass, even when he has believed himself to be alone. Emily was at that time full of vague aspirations, and, though I should have preferred them all to centre in me, yet it seemed unreasonable to deny her such other opportunities for self-culture as the neighbourhood provided.

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"Your servant, ladies—your servant, I say. But may be you don't know who I am no more than the stupid waiter at the Golden Cross ; although there's not a ragged boy in Patrick-street that couldn't tell that my name is Corney O'Donaghue, of Drisheen Park. Now then, as you know myself in person, might I be so bould as to be after askin' which of the two of you is Miss Maria Garnett ?" " It is I, sir," answered the inimitable actress, lowly bending my head. " I perceive that you never honor Covent Garden with your presence." " There never was a truer word said by your purty lips, my dear. The dickens a garden or orchard I ever was in all London - because why, I'm only this very day landed from Cork city." "Oh ! he is an Irish poet," whispered Miss Garnett to her friend. " But do you see me now," continued Mr. O'Donaghue, as he clapped his enormous fist on the gilded back of a chair ; " do you see me now, Miss ; when I am at home in Drisheen Park, it's my fashion to ask a stranger to sit down at all events, and may be, too, to ask him if he has a mouth upon him; but it is not the custom here, I see, and so as I am completely knocked up, and bothered, I'll take the liberty of taking a chair, though I was never offered one." " He is a creditor," remarked Miss Archer. 66 Now, I'll be bound you want to know what brought | me all the wayto London," continued the visiter ; " why, then, the long and short of it is this-I have two sons, two as fine-looking boys as ever made the praties vanish out of a dish. Well, now, just listen to me, one of these follows the occupation of his father." " You are a grocer, sir, I presume." " I'm an Irish gentleman, ma'am, and one of my ancestors was the King of the Barony of Whackawaynacroostha, in the good old times ; and as for myself and my eldest son, we can tell the difference between a pig's head and its crubeen, without twice looking at it. But that's not the matter that has brought me here at all, at all. It is in the regard of my second son, that I have come to London. I sent him here about a year ago, to be learning the law and good manners (and the never a worse school I'm thinking he could come to for that same) and the fact is I want to make him a counsellor." "That must be a very fine situation in life, I suppose, sir, especially for a gentleman from the city of Cork." "Not a doubt of it ; but now, what is the fact, the deuce a counsellor ever he'll be, and all by raison of you. You have turned his brain, that is what you have, Miss Garnett. He is dying in love for you, the omathaun !" 66 Indeed ! and is he handsome ?" " Handsome !-there's not the like of him between this and the Mardyke ; but what's the use of his being a beauty, when he neither can eat, sleep, nor drink a

tumbler of punch. Did you ever know of an Irishman refusing his liquor before now ? Well now- what's brought me here is to tell you, that you must not be letting my son fall in love with you, and what's more, I desire that you'll never let him inside the door ; for if you do I'll swear the peace against you." " Oh ! dear ! how very frightful !" "I really beg your pardon, Miss, for speaking so mighty cross to you. And, in truth, when I look at you, its little I can blame my poor son for falling in love with your purty face. By dad ! if I was only nineteen, I don't think I could help doing that same myself." 66 Sir, you are too flattering." Why then, now, Miss Garnett dear, or, considering your bright eyes, Miss Diamond, only just remember that he's barely anything more than a hobbledehoy, and if he continues to be desperately in love with you, he'll never think of his studies, never be made a counsellor, and perhaps never have the slightest chance of rising to be a chief justice, or lord chancellor, or an assistant barrister." "But is he really disposed to go to the bar?" "Whew ! why he's cut out for it. Did you ever hear of an Irishman that wasn't fit for everything, from a secretary of state to a common policeman ? Sure, there's not a mother's son of us that's not born a genius ; and as to being disposed for the bar, sure, we 're all disposed for it, we have such a power of prate." "Then, Sir, I am much obliged to you for putting me on my guard against your son. I never could endure a lawyer, nor a law student either. But, may I ask you, what is your son's name ?" "My son's name, Miss, is the same as his father's ; and I could tell you you could get some money for it, if you had it on a stamp, at the fair of Doneraile. My son's name is 6 Cornelius."" 66 Cornelius ! Is it Cornelius ? Then, my dear Sir, read this letter. Is that your son's writing ?" "That is his hand and mark, as sure as that Cork stands on the river Lee !" Well then, Sir, only think that this fool of a son of yours tells me, in this billet doux, that he intends coming here to shoot himself under my very window." (6 Oh, Lord ! is it to blow his beautiful brains out ?" "Do not be too much alarmed. I shall take care he does not hurt himself." " Ah ! then do, like a little darling. Only think, that the lives of all the O'Donoughues are in your hands ; for if he attempts o shoot himself, then I may never go home, but I'll kick the life out of him, and be hanged for the murder of young Corney. Pray, Miss, don't let him shoot himself!" 66" Never fear ; and in order that I may begin the task of preserving him, I shall grant him the interview he


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Rh of any eminence, to exclaim facetiously "And who will stand on either hand and keep the bridge with me?" at the same moment violently agitating my arms or casting my wide-awake at an imaginary foe. Emily and the friend received my sally as usual, nor could I detect any insincerity in their mirth. Yet I was convinced that some one was present who did not think I had been funny, and any public speaker will understand my growing uneasiness.

I was somewhat cheered by Emily's mother, who puffed up exclaiming, "Kind Harry, to carry the things! What should we do without you, even now! Oh, what a view! Can you see the dear Cathedral? No. Too hazy. Now I'm going to sit right on the rug." She smiled mysteriously. "The downs in September, you know."

We gave some perfunctory admiration to the landscape, which is indeed only beautiful to those who admire land, and to them perhaps the most beautiful in England. For here is the body of the great chalk spider who straddles over our island—whose legs are the south downs and the north downs and the Chilterns, and the tips of whose toes poke out at Cromer and Dover. He is a clean creature, who grows as


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Rh few trees as he can, and those few in tidy clumps, and he loves to be tickled by quickly flowing streams. He is pimpled all over with earthworks, for from the beginning of time men have fought for the privilege of standing on him, and the oldest of our temples is built upon his back.

But in those days I liked my country snug and pretty, full of gentlemen's residences and shady bowers and people who touch their hats. The great sombre expanses on which one may walk for miles and hardly shift a landmark or meet a genteel person were still intolerable to me. I turned away as soon as propriety allowed and said "And may I now prepare the cup that cheers?"

Emily's mother replied: "Kind man, to help me. I always do say that tea out is worth the extra effort. I wish we led simpler lives." We agreed with her. I spread out the food. "Won't the kettle stand? Oh, but make it stand." I did so. There was a little cry, faint but distinct, as of something in pain.

"How silent it all is up here!" said Emily.

I dropped a lighted match on the grass, and again I heard the little cry.

"What is that?" I asked.


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Rh "I only said it was so silent," said Emily.

"Silent, indeed," echoed the little friend.

Silent! the place was full of noises. If the match had fallen in a drawing-room it could not have been worse, and the loudest noise came from beside Emily herself. I had exactly the sensation of going to a great party, of waiting to be announced in the echoing hall, where I could hear the voices of the guests, but could not yet see their faces. It is a nervous moment for a self-conscious man, especially if all the voices should be strange to him, and he has never met his host.

"My dear Harry!" said the elder lady, "never mind about that match. That'll smoulder away and harm no one. Tea-ee-ee! I always say—and you will find Emily the same—that as the magic hour of five approaches, no matter how good a lunch, one begins to feel a sort of"

Now the Faun is of the kind who capers upon the Neo-Attic reliefs, and if you do not notice his ears or see his tail, you take him for a man and are horrified.

"Bathing!" I cried wildly. "Such a thing for our village lads, but I quite agree—more supervision—I blame myself. Go away, bad boy, go away!"


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"Fame, renown, and glory, are three hypocrites, and I never ask them home with me. When I go to the play-house they seem to accompany me ; they flatter, they caress, and they applaud me ; but when I return to my dressing-room I bid them good night ; they go to sleep, and so do I. That, Sir, is my pride-but will you take a pinch of snuff?”

" Oh, Tom Moore ! Tom Moore !" murmured the distracted lover. " Only fancy the idol that you have immortalized as the perfection of beauty, snuffing up handsful of filthy black rappee." "And now, Mr. Cornelius, answer me truly and frankly. Do you still intend to shoot yourself on my account ?"

"No, Miss Garnett. No, no. Heaven forbid !"

"That is said like a sensible little man, as I am sure you are. To die for love is the most preposterous thing possible. Only fancy, a barber in the next street hung himself last week for love of my servant girl, Sally, and she has horrid bad teeth. But now pledge me your honor, and the honor of your highly respectable father and his interesting family, that you will live."

"I give you my own honor, and the honor of my father, and the honor of all the O'Donoughues, that I will live as long as I can. And this, at all events, you may rely upon, that I will never again think of shooting myself for an actress ." "Good bye, then, Mr. Cornelius. I mean never to forget you ; and should I ever be engaged in a lawsuit, you may depend on it, I shall retain you as my leading counsel." Miss Garnett rose and curtseyed to the enamored swain, and Sally showed him to the door, inside of which he was resolved never again to enter. His love was perfectly cured. He returned to his father, who, a few years afterward, had the happiness of seeing his son as "Counsellor" O'Donoughue, and giving to his clients at the assizes, the benefit of his legal knowledge : though, I am sorry to add, it could not prevent the majority of them from being transported beyond the seas for the period of their natural lives.

THE MEDICEAN VENUS. WOMAN divine ! fair child of Grecian seas, Whose sunny billows gird the Cyclades ; Within all modest, wanting outward dress, Thou fillest this new time with loveliness, And seem'st with head half turned and earnest soul, To hear afar thy natal waters roll. Young joy of human hearts ! the earth to me Is fairer now, because containing thee. STERLING.

EDUCATION OF WOMAN. WE are sick of the cant about blue-stocking women -as if a woman was any the worse for being intellectual ! No one who understands the true position of the sex, and the influence that it exerts upon society, can join in this insane cry against the education of her who is destined to be a companion to ourselves and a mother to our children. What is the true position of woman ? Is she a slave or an equal ? Is she a mere toy or a rational companion ? Who will, at this day, deny her the possession of qualities, which, although somewhat different from those of the other sex, fit her in every respect to be his help-mate and adviser ? The age of barbarism has past, and with it the notion that woman was fit only to be the slave of man. The more refined sensuality of the East, which regards her merely as a toy for the amusement of the stronger sex, finds no advocate in this enlightened epoch, amid a Christian people. Woman is now regarded as the equal, in every respect, of man -entitled to the same rights, fitted to share his anxieties, capable of being his confidant and adviser in all the business of life. But although the equality of woman is admitted on all hands, it does not follow that her sphere is the same as that of man. The citizens of the same commonwealth all possess equal rights, but they do not all live by the same occupation, nor would it be for the good of the community that they should. So the two sexes have distinct duties to perform. Woman is destined for the quieter, man for the more noisy acts of life. The province of the one is to cheer our fireside, to educate our children, to regulate our household economy : the business of the other is to toil for the livelihood of those dear beings whom he has left at home, and to protect them against the thousand evils of the world. God has appointed to each a sphere, and bestowed on each peculiar qualities of mind and heart to fit them for their duty. The tenderness of soul, the patient endurance of suffering, the thousand graces of mind and manner which particularly distinguish the female sex are not more adapted to the sphere of woman as a wife and mother, than the clearer intellect, firmer resolve, and greater physical powers are to the sterner offices of life which the man is called on to fulfil. Each of these spheres has its peculiar rights as well as its peculiar duties, the exclusive enjoyment of which by no means derogates from the equality of the sexes. Ifit is improper for a husband to interfere with the sphere of his wife, so also is it unseemly for her to intrude on the province of the husband. It is no more the business of woman to lead our armies, to vote at the ballot-box, or to wrangle on a public rostrum, than it is for a man to darn


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Rh "What will he think of next!" said Emily, while the creature beside her stood up and beckoned to me. I advanced struggling and gesticulating with tiny steps and horrified cries, exorcising the apparition with my hat. Not otherwise had I advanced the day before, when Emily's nieces showed me their guinea pigs. And by no less hearty laughter was I greeted now. Until the strange fingers closed upon me, I still thought that here was one of my parishioners and did not cease to exclaim, "Let me go, naughty boy, let go!" And Emily's mother, believing herself to have detected the joke, replied, "Well I must confess they are naughty boys and reach one even on the rug: the downs in September, as I said before."

Here I caught sight of the tail, uttered a wild shriek and fled into the beech copse behind.

"Harry would have been a born actor," said Emily's mother as I left them.

I realized that a great crisis in my life was approaching, and that if I failed in it I might permanently lose my self-esteem. Already in the wood I was troubled by a multitude of voices—the voices of the hill beneath me, of the trees over my head, of the very insects in


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Rh the bark of the tree. I could even hear the stream licking little pieces out of the meadows, and the meadows dreamily protesting. Above the din—which is no louder than the flight of a bee—rose the Faun's voice saying, "Dear priest, be placid, be placid: why are you frightened?"

"I am not frightened," said I—and indeed I was not. "But I am grieved: you have disgraced me in the presence of ladies."

"No one else has seen me," he said, smiling idly. "The women have tight boots and the man has long hair. Those kinds never see. For years I have only spoken to children, and they lose sight of me as soon as they grow up. But you will not be able to lose sight of me, and until you die you will be my friend. Now I begin to make you happy: lie upon your back or run races, or climb trees, or shall I get you blackberries, or harebells, or wives"

In a terrible voice I said to him, "Get thee behind me!" He got behind me. "Once for all," I continued, "let me tell you that it is vain to tempt one whose happiness consists in giving happiness to others."

"I cannot understand you," he said ruefully. "What is to tempt?"


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Rh "Poor woodland creature!" said I, turning round. "How could you understand? It was idle of me to chide you. It is not in your little nature to comprehend a life of self-denial. Ah! if only I could reach you!"

"You have reached him," said the hill.

"If only I could touch you!"

"You have touched him," said the hill.

"But I will never leave you," burst out the Faun. "I will sweep out your shrine for you, I will accompany you to the meetings of matrons. I will enrich you at the bazaars."

I shook my head. "For these things I care not at all. And indeed I was minded to reject your offer of service altogether. There I was wrong. You shall help me—you shall help me to make others happy."

"Dear priest, what a curious life! People whom I have never seen—people who cannot see me—why should I make them happy?"

"My poor lad—perhaps in time you will learn why. Now begone: commence. On this very hill sits a young lady for whom I have a high regard. Commence with her. Aha! your face falls. I thought as much. You cannot do anything. Here is the conclusion of the whole matter!"


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Rh "I can make her happy," he replied, "if you order me; and when I have done so, perhaps you will trust me more."

Emily's mother had started home, but Emily and the little friend still sat beside the tea-things—she in her white piqué dress and biscuit straw, he in his rough but well-cut summer suit. The great pagan figure of the Faun towered insolently above them.

The friend was saying, "And have you never felt the appalling loneliness of a crowd?"

"All that," replied Emily, "have I felt, and very much more"

Then the Faun laid his hands upon them. They, who had only intended a little cultured flirtation, resisted him as long as they could, but were gradually urged into each other's arms, and embraced with passion.

"Miscreant!" I shouted, bursting from the wood. "You have betrayed me."

"I know it: I care not," cried the little friend. "Stand aside. You are in the presence of that which you do not understand. In the great solitude we have found ourselves at last."

"Remove your accursed hands!" I shrieked to the Faun.


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body ; tight sleeves, and large pelerine or cape finishes this perfect morning costume ; the cape being either spotted all over or embroidered, edged with gympe and lace fringe, the color assorted to that of the tissue or material of the dress. Another style of dress considered very becoming for promenades is made in taffetas glacé, trimmed with four flounces of lace, or four rows of very broad fringe. There is no doubt that the most favorite material for walking dresses will be the moires glacées | unies, and those à raies Indostanes.

BALL DRESSES are still being made a double jupe. Two dresses we have just seen, which we can cite as being very pretty and new, being made in the form of tuniques, composed of crépe, and open at the sides. One of them was attached with a row of carnations of variegated colors, placed zigzag upon the sides of the jupe ; the other dress being ornamented à coté, with a white corkscrew trimming, caught at distances with cameos of coral ; the draperies of the body attached also with cameos, in the style of the ancient Romans. Another rich description of dress is now being made of white satin, trimmed with two rows of gold heading round the bottom of the skirt ; the tunique that is worn over is of tulle, descending as far as the top of the second heading on the under jupe. This tunique is rounded in the front, and attached to the under dress with nœuds of gold cord ; the corsage ornamented with folds, edged with a heading forming a cape over the back and shoulders. The waist a rounded point, encircled with a rich cordelière ; the sleeves very short, rounded at the back of the arm, and caught up in the front, bordered also with a gold heading. CAPS are still being worn for demi-costume. One of the most simple and elegant isthat called à la Gertrude : it is of white tulle, the crown very small, the form much resembling the cap of a French peasant; the butterfly ears descending on cach side very low, and the whole entirely edged with a very small full ruche, supported at each end with a tuft of Parma violets. Then we have a delightful morning cap in muslin, lined with pink or blue gauze, and trimmed with English or Mechlin lace, interspersed with little pompons of ribbon. We have also remarked among others, some charming little caps in lace, trimmed round the crown with a garland of small roses, and small velvet bows interspersed with lace. For an evening nothing can be prettier than the little Venetian caps, the foundation open, and made of gymped blonde, trimmed with a garland of primroses. Also caps à la jardinière ; these are formed short at the ears, with a pompon of ribbon, or a single flower placed on each side of the temples, and having a bow of ribbon with long ends floating over the back of the throat. This little coiffure is generally made in blonde or English point lace. Les fanchons : this is a little fantasie made

in black or white lace, arranged in a graceful form, so as to be worn with the combs named after the Empress Josephine, and which are now so much the fashion ; these combs are made in frosted gold, and sometimes ornamented with cameos. SCARFS.-We can assure our fair readers that scarfs will be much worn this summer ; we have already been favored with a sight of one or two of the newest style. One of them was composed of bouillons or fullings in poult de soie glacé, continuing the whole length of the scarf, each one being about three fingers wide, and separated by rows of open work gympe about the width of two fingers. The whole of the scarf is lined with a deep color, which can be seen through the open part of the gympe, the edge decorated with a well-assorted fringe. This scarf forms a pelerine behind, and is fulled in the front, falling back in two large ends, and descending low beyond the knee. Another was made à la pelerine unie, but rounded, and the ends bouillonnées horizontally crossed with open work gympe, allowing here and there the lining to be seen. Lastly, we must mention a mantelet, fulled in the shape of a high cardinal pelerine, headed by a collar mousquetaire, style of Louis XIII. put on plain, and rounded so as to form the shape.

SONNETS. BY CHARLES LAMB. WAS it some sweet device of faery That mocked my steps with many a lonely glade, And fancied wanderings with a fair-hair'd maid? Have these things been ? or what rare witchery, Impregning with delights the charmed air, Enlighted up the semblance of a smile In those fine eyes ? methought they spake the while Soft soothing things, which might enforce despair To drop the murdering knife, and let go by His foul resolve. And docs the lonely glade Still court the footsteps of the fair-hair'd maid? Still in her locks the gales of summer sigh? While I forlorn do wander reckless where, And ' mid my wanderings meet no Anna there. Methinks how dainty sweet it were, reclin'd Beneath the vast out-stretching branches high Of some old wood, in careless sort to lie, Nor of the busier scenes we left behind Aught envying. And, O Anna ! mild-eyed maid ! Beloved ! I were well content to play With thy free tresses all a summer's day, Losing the time beneath the greenwood shade. Or we might sit and tell some tender tale of faithful vows repaid by cruel scorn, A tale of true love, or of friend forgot ; And I would teach thee, lady, how to rail In gentle sort, on those who practise not Or love or pity, though of woman born.


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Rh He obeyed and the little friend continued more calmly: "It is idle to chide. What should you know, poor clerical creature, of the mystery of love of the eternal man and the eternal woman, of the self-effectuation of a soul?"

"That is true," said Emily angrily. "Harry, you would never have made me happy. I shall treat you as a friend, but how could I give myself to a man who makes such silly jokes? When you played the buffoon at tea, your hour was sealed. I must be treated seriously: I must see infinities broadening around me as I rise. You may not approve of it, but so I am. In the great solitude I have found myself at last."

"Wretched girl!" I cried. "Great solitude! O pair of helpless puppets"

The little friend began to lead Emily away, but I heard her whisper to him: "Dear, we can't possibly leave the basket for Harry after this: and mother's rug; do you mind having that in the other hand?"

So they departed and I flung myself upon the ground with every appearance of despair.

"Does he cry?" said the Faun.

"He does not cry," answered the hill. "His eyes are as dry as pebbles."

My tormentor made me look at him. "I see


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Rh happiness at the bottom of your heart," said he.

"I trust I have my secret springs," I answered stiffly. And then I prepared a scathing denunciation, but of all the words I might have said, I only said one and it began with "D."

He gave a joyful cry, "Oh, now you really belong to us. To the end of your life you will swear when you are cross and laugh when you are happy. Now laugh!"

There was a great silence. All nature stood waiting, while a curate tried to conceal his thoughts not only from nature but from himself. I thought of my injured pride, of my baffled unselfishness, of Emily, whom I was losing through no fault of her own, of the little friend, who just then slipped beneath the heavy tea basket, and that decided me, and I laughed.

That evening, for the first time, I heard the chalk downs singing to each other across the valleys, as they often do when the air is quiet and they have had a comfortable day. From my study window I could see the sunlit figure of the Faun, sitting before the beech copse as a man sits before his house. And as night came on I knew for certain that not only was he asleep, but that the hills and woods were asleep


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"How glad I feel," said the little fellow after a pause, " that every day brings us nearer to home. I could almost worship this breeze, Sir, if it would only blow all the way. Oh ! it will be so sweet when we reach Norfolk once more. I wonder if father and mother and Fanny will be there to meet me, I should think they would- don't you, Sir ?" and thus he continued, dwelling in his own boyish way, upon the happiness which was now only a few months distant, until the night had waned far into its middle hour, and the deserted decks warned us it was time to go below. Poor boy, the bright visions that smiled on his cheek that night, were soon to give place to a sad reality. He never lived to see them fulfilled. But I anticipate.

We reached the Phillipine islands, passed the straits, and at last entered the Bay of Bengal. We were all heartily tired of a close confinement on ship-board, and resolved to run up the bay and visit a few of the chief stations of the coast. It was a glorious day when we first caught sight of Madras rising above the distant ocean like a narrow streak of silver, as the sun-light fell full upon its white walls and minarets, while the waves now hid it from our sight, and now again discovered it flashing brightly in the distance. As we stood on with the wind nearly on our quarter, the snowy city rose rapidly before us, until we could plainly discern the long, low beach of white sand, crowned with the walls of the fort above and the tremendous surf, rolling and thundering in ahead. It was a beautiful sight. The sky was clear and cloudless, the horizon had not a mist upon it, a golden light flooded every thing around, while the snowy walls of the eastern city rising beautifully into the blue heavens, and glittering with the beams that danced upon their pure white surface, reminded us of the temples of Athens, the sunny skies of Greece, and the old classic fanes that flashed in their whiteness on every song-crowned hill. The whole crew leant over the side or filled the rigging, gazing on the splendid spectacle, and as we lay off and on, keeping away from the fearful surf that makes the city almost unapproachable from sea, you could hear nothing but expressions of delight from all on board. Every heart beat high with pleasure- and it was no difficult matter to obtain permission to land. A party of the officers, among whom were Broughton and myself, resolved on making an excursion into the town.

Give way, my lads, with a will boys- pull," said the lieutenant of our boat, as we dashed over the long, dark green waves, and leaving a whirl of waters behind us rapidly neared the land, "we'll soon be up with the surf -give way."

I should have mentioned that there is no port for vessels within twenty miles of St. George's Fort, and as our frigate would be compelled to stretch out and in until our return,we had but little time for our adventure.

We had intended, when we started, leaving the boats outside the surf, and landing in the flats which are used for passing the breakers, and which being sewed together and without keels, are admirably fitted to resist the jerking of the surf, and can, with great difficulty, be overturned. But when we neared the shore we saw that none of these native boats were at hand, and as we had but little time to lose, we lay upon our oars just outside the breakers and called a council to determine what to do. "What say you, Seyton, to making a dash and passing it at once, it will be something to talk of, eh ?" I shook my head in disapprobation as I pointed to the huge billows that raced by us, and curling over a cable's length ahead, broke with a noise like thunder on the beach, while the shivered wave foamed and boiled in the wild vortex below. "Give way, my sea-dogs, away !" shouted the third lieutenant, coming up abreast in gallant style, " shall we dash in, Mr. Tiller ?" "It looks like a venture where one cast is death and the other a ducking-but what say you, Broughton ?" " Oh, Sir," said the little fellow, his eye kindling as he spoke, "they say that an English man-of-war's boat passed it a few years ago,—and I'm sure we can do it too. Besides, Sir, we can try it with one boat firstwhy it isn't such a high surf after all, and look there, Sir, they're watching us from the fort," and true enough the officers ofthe garrison were quizzing us already with their glasses. I still, however, objected. I felt a strange kind of presentiment that some dreadful accident would occur if we ventured in the surf, and I dwelt earnestly upon the possible danger and real folly of such a course. A half an hour at most would bring out the flat bottomed boats of the natives, and meanwhile we could ride in safety on the edge of the boiling whirlpool. But it was in vain. The national pride of our men had been touched, and the lieutenant seeing it, wavered no longer, but shouting the order to give way,-our crew broke forth into a cheer, and then rapidly dashed up to the gigantic breakers. The aspect of the surf as we approached it was really terrible. The enormous billows rolled in one after another, rising up like monsters to the sky, pausing. a moment with their white crests combing before they descended, and then hurling their mass of waters down into the abyss below, with the noise as of some mighty cataract. The very earth seemed to tremble beneath the shock. Far along the coast the waves were running in, curling, breaking and foaming into the gulf beneath, and tossing their snowy spray wildly up from the vortex, while the ceaseless thunder of this eternal worship rose up continually to its great author on high.


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Rh also. The stream, of course, never slept, any more than it ever freezes. Indeed, the hour of darkness is really the hour of water, which has been somewhat stifled all day by the great pulsings of the land. That is why you can feel it and hear it from a greater distance in the night, and why a bath after sundown is most wonderful.

The joy of that first evening is still clear in my memory, in spite of all the happy years that have followed. I remember it when I ascend my pulpit—I have a living now—and look down upon the best people sitting beneath me pew after pew, generous and contented, upon the worse people, crowded in the aisles, upon the whiskered tenors of the choir, and the high-browed curates and the church-wardens fingering their bags, and the supercilious vergers who turn late comers from the door. I remember it also when I sit in my comfortable bachelor rectory, amidst the carpet slippers that good young ladies have worked for me, and the oak brackets that have been carved for me by good young men; amidst my phalanx of presentation teapots and my illuminated testimonials and all the other offerings of people who believe that I have given them a helping


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in as he dare, was sailing to and fro waiting for the tide to sweep us out.

" I'm going, Seyton, I cannot stand it any longer- Oh ! my poor mother and sister-God forgive me my sins," faintly said little Harry.

"Hold on a minute for Heaven's sake !" I cried, for I was already within a yard or two of the sinking boy.

"Hold on," thundered the lieutenant from the boat, "we'll be there if we die for it-give way lads, for a life, hurrah !"

But the poor little fellow had held on till nature was completely worn out, and casting a wild look on all around, he faintly ejaculated, " my mother, sister-oh, my God !" and then with a convulsive jerk of his arms sank like lead into the waters. The next moment I would have been by his side. "Give way, give way, give way," roared the lieutenant wildly as he waved on his men. " Come on, for God's sake, come on," I shouted as I dived. But alas ! my search was unsuccessful, and when I rose to the surface, I was far away from the spot where Broughton had disappeared, and nearing with frightful rapidity the monster on the edge of the surf, who was already poising his huge body to turn upon his prey. The boat was struggling in the surf a few fathoms off, but it was yet too distant to promise any effective aid. I looked hurriedly and with agony around, but no other help was nigh. Never shall I forget the emotions of that instant. A cold, dead, sickening sensation came across my heart, my brain reeled, my joints grew weak, and my arms seemed to refuse their duty, as I felt that the most gigantic exertions did not increase the rapidly lessening space between me and the ferocious monster. I could see his vast fins appearing and disappearing just ahead of me, and almost feel the lashing of his huge tail as it beat impatiently against the waters. He was now nearly at my side. I made one last, desperate, but vain effort to buffet the current, and giving up my hopes of this world and all I loved, I breathed a silent prayer for mercy to God, and shut my eyes upon the terrible enemy before me. A moment that seemed years ensued, a moment of torture more horrid than I ever had conceived, when a loud, sharp cry rung out just behind me, and at the same instant a coil of rope fell beside me as a voice called out in broken English, "Hold on !" and clutching the cord mechanically, I felt myself drawn rapidly in among the breakers, while the enormous monster perceiving he was about to be disappointed of his prey, struck the waves wildly with his tail, and dashed like lightning after me. " In with him, hand over hand," shouted a voice in the boat which had so opportunely arrived, and whirled along with inconceivable rapidity, I felt myself jerked into one of the flat-bottomed boats common on the coast

almost as soon as I had grasped the rope. At the same instant a thundering cheer rung from the crew outside the surf-but forgetful of every thing but my wonderful preservation, I fell down on my knees and thanked God that I was alive. When again I looked around, I saw we were riding in upon the surf, and, that the huge monster disappointed of his prey, had suddenly sheered out to sea as we entered the foam of the breakers. We were soon landed safe upon the coast, and I had then time to learn the manner of my deliverance. We had happily been seen, and a boat had put off to rescue us, which had already taken up several of our crew, when they discovered me struggling against the current, and had come at once to my aid, and had I not been so much engaged in endeavoring to save poor Harry, I would have noticed their approach sooner. As it was, only four of our crew were lost. Poor Harry, thank God! was washed on shore that same afternoon, and there was not a dry eye in the ship when they heard of his untimely end. Few of us that would not, at that moment, have died to bring him back to life. Even the old quarter-master wept over his little grave ; and the good chaplain, as he read the service with a faltering voice, watered the grave with his tears. Poor little fellow, they laid him there in his narrow home, far from his land and those he loved, and he too so young that he was fitter to be by his mother's side than buffeting the fearful surf.

WORDS FOR MUSIC. BY WILLIAM WALLACE. OH ! sing to me ! sing to me, love, as of old ; Oh! thus sing the dear song of those years, When the form that we cherished so warmly, was cold In the grave which we wet with our tears. Let the music be sad, like the anthems that sweep From the wind through the funeral leaves As they tremulous hung o'er her beautiful sleep In the light of the lone autumn eves. Dost remember how often her blue-beaming eyes Would so tenderly gaze upon you, And the blue-girded orbs of the glorious skies Were all rival-like looking down, too ? While her low pleasant love-words were heard in the night, Like the whispers of summer-time rillsNow shining afar, and now hid from our sight 'Mid the shade of their wood-covered hills. Like a lute-uttered tone, ah ! too sweet for this earth ; Like a rainbow that sparkles on day But to fade in the moment that ushered its birthOh! thus has she faded away. Then sing to me ! sing to me, love, as of old ; Yes! keep singing the song of those years When the form which we cherished so warmly was cold In the grave that we wet with our tears.


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and charming daughter, and his reputed wealth, (for it will have its attractions) it is but natural that he should be burthened with attentions. Louisa soon obtained the name of " Lily of the South." There were several young men from the South, then students at Yale, and among them was George Leonard, the handsomest and most talented young man in College. Louisa had not seen him since he was a mere stripling, and scarcely had she renewed her acquaintance with him, ere he won her admiration. George was an uncommonly interesting young man, he was handsome, polite, and genteel in his manners, and highly gifted with that talent of displaying to advantage in conversation, all the knowledge he had acquired.

"Oh," thought Louisa, when he would depart from her presence, "what a melodious voice, what a handsome face ! surely George has produced a sensation in me I have never before felt ; how interesting and intelligent he is-I think father had best leave me at school while he visits England."

The commencement was soon to take place, and Colonel Sanford remained to witness the examination of the students. George Leonard had always stood first in his class, and how Louisa's heart exulted, how her bright eyes sparkled with joy, when she learned that the first honors of the institution were awarded to him. Her father now began to observe that she took an unusual degree of interest in young Leonard, and would often warn her not to lose her heart before she became better acquainted with his general character and disposition. But it was too late to warn her, for George had already disclosed his passion to her, and though she had not told him in words, but " those looks that tell more loud than words," had betrayed her, and he felt assured that his feeling was reciprocated. Colonel Sanford, having arranged matters for his departure, with an aching heart took an affectionate leave of his daughter, with much weeping from her, and a secret regret that she had consented to a separation from her beloved parent. When George Leonard left home it was the intention of his parents for him to remain at New Haven until he completed the study of law ; but a few weeks after the departure of Colonel Sanford he received a letter from his father, then a merchant in Augusta, informing him that his house had failed, and his pecuniary circumstances would not admit of his keeping his son from home, and also advising him to return and pursue his studies, as it would be less expensive to him. George returned, but not without obtaining the consent of Louisa to their union, when she completed her education, provided her father acquiesced. Louisa felt assured that her father would not oppose her wish, as he was always eager to gratify her in every thing. "How can he," thought she, " oppose my union to

a man of George's acknowledged talents, I doubt not before the lapse of many years, his name will be upon the tongues of millions, halls will resound with his eloquence, and many will feel honored to look upon his handsome face." With how much pride was her love mingled ; how her heart swelled with exultation at the thought of becoming the wife of such a man, as she imagined George Leonard was destined to become. Shortly after George's arrival at his native town, his father removed to a small town in the newly settled part of the State, and commenced business on a smaller scale. George was spoiled by the flattery of his friends, and like many young men who have honors confered on them, he concluded that he had arrived at the acmé of perfection, and being, too, elated at the prospect of marrying the daughter of a man so opulent as Colonel Sanford, he entirely abandoned the idea of learning a profession. Having no honorable employment, and as it is natural for us to be engaged in some way, he was gradually becoming familiar with all the vices of the day ; and before the expiration of one year he had become an adept in gambling, and its accompaniment, drunkenness, and had actually grown old in vice. His father being now in reduced circumstances, was unable to furnish him with the money requisite for his course of life ; and that young man, but a short time since, the pride and hope of his family and friends, had become so debased, so destitute of all honor, as to draw large sums from various houses in the city, alleging that he would refund them after the consummation of his marriage. He did not neglect, in the mean time, to write often to Louisa, pretending he was making rapid strides in his studies. I might here pause and descant on the beauties of virtue and the deformity of vice, but my object is " to point a moral," not " adorn a tale," and I will leave that for the reader. Time rolled on with Louisa without any occurrence worthy of notice. The ensuing autumn her father returned, and took her home ; she, of course, during their journey, acquainted him with all that had transpired between herself and George Leonard. When they reached Augusta, George was the first on the wharf to welcome their arrival, and accompany them to their residence, which was only a few miles from the city. He soon unbosomed himself, begging his consent to their union. Colonel Sanford was a man of calmness and reflection, and withheld a final answer until he visited town, and learned something of George's private character. Of this, he did not receive correct information, it being generally known to George's acquaintance that he was betrothed to Louisa Sanford, they of course concealed from her father all his irregularities, and gave to him a character he did not deserve. Many who felt attached to him for his social qualities, secretly wished that marriage would produce a reformation in him. Colonel Sanford would not


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discovered him sitting by a table, with his head leaning on his hand. She approached him, and putting her arms affectionately around him, inquired if any thing unusual had occurred, and why he had remained so long from her ; but he made no reply.

George, dearest George, have I ever done aught to displease you ? Come to our chamber, for it is very lonely without you-will you not notice your wife who loves you so dearly ?" He sarcastically reiterated " loves. ' "Yes," she continued, " though you are deaf to my entreaties, and leave me night after night alone and wretched, though you have lost all respect for yourself and love for me, still I love you with that same deep and fervent love as when I first called you husband. Dearest husband leave off these dreadful habits, for I feel there is yet much happiness in store for us."

Leonard, like all drunken husbands, construed all his wife said into a reproach on his evil ways ; he was highly excited, and in his violent fits of drunkenness often spoke to her in the most harsh manner ; he arose from his seat, and commanded her abruptly to leave his presence. Poor Louisa, almost heart-broken, slowly retraced her steps to her solitary chamber, not to sleep , but to give vent to her feelings. Next morning, at the dawn of day, she heard him call his servant, and order him to pack his trunk. She immediately entered the room, and inquired if he were going to leave home ; he replied, " yes !"

"Will you not let me go with you, dear husband ?" He told her she could not go with him, that he was going to Savannah. He ordered his servant to take his baggage to the boat, and arose to leave the house. His wife clung to him and wept, imploring him to tell her what had occurred, for she saw something unusual in his looks.

Dearest George," she cried, " will you not give me a parting kiss ?" But in sullen silence he pushed her from him, and hastened from the house. Louisa paced the room in the greatest agitation, conjecturing what could take him from home, and why he left her so abruptly. Her faithful waiting-maid entered the room, and tried in all the simplicity of her soul, to console her mistress ; she told Louisa that her master had left a letter on the table. Louisa ran to the table, on which were placed writing materials, and found a sealed letter ; it was not for her, but was directed to one of his most intimate friends. Hoping to find something in it connected with the strange conduct of her husband, she opened and read it ; the whole mystery was revealed to her. He disclosed the whole course of his life, from the time he left College, reproached himself for neglecting his amiable and excellent wife-he had been faithless to her-he was wholly unworthy of her-he was going he neither knew, nor cared, whither- he would rather die than that Colonel Sanford should look upon him again

he had sunk so deep in infamy it was impossible for him to reform, and he hoped his wife would return to There were many things in it which I forbear to relate. Accompanying this letter was a sheet, on which was written a transfer of his house and all his servants to a banker, from whom he had borrowed large sums of money. Louisa could bear no more, she wrung her hands in despair. " Oh ! am I never more to see his face, am I thus cast off by him I love so devotedly ? Though he has abandoned himself to every vice, still, still my heart clings to him ! Oh, George, my dear husband, come back to me, and I will forgive you for all you have done, and forget that you have been what you are. I cannot endure this miserable life ! Back, back thou rising thought !-Spirit of my sainted mother look down in compassion on your miserable child ! Oh, my father, would to God you were with me !" Louisa ceased her raving, dried her tears, and seizing a pen, she hastily wrote a few lines, and giving them to her faithful maid, ordered her to send a servant to deliver it to his master if he could find him in town. Scarcely had she left the room to attend to her mistress's commands, before she heard the report of a pistol and a scream ; she hastily returned and found Louisa on the floor, with a pistol clenched in her hand. The servants soon alarmed the neighbors with their cries ; and living next door to Mrs. Leonard, and being much attached to her, for her many amiable qualities, I hastened to the house ; and there, oh, horrid sight ! lay Louisa, the once beautiful, light-hearted and happy girl, all pale and bleeding. . I put my hand to her heart—it had ceased to beat-I gazed upon her beautiful face--but that told " The change whose pulseless hues reveal The place where death had set its seal." The ball had entered her temple, and killed her as quick as thought. And thus ended the lovely, and the beautiful, the pride, the idol of her fond parent, and the admiration of all who knew her ; and three years had produced this mighty change ! Her father was sent for immediately, and reached the house of his dear, unfortunate daughter just as the church-bell was tolling for her funeral. Poor man, words are inadequate to describe his feelings ; he sank under the blow, and soon followed his daughter to the tomb. Leonard, the miserable husband and bloated drunkard, was in town, and received his wife's letter, and intelligence of her horrid end at the same time ; it produced but little effect on him at the time, for he had drunk until he was almost callous to every thing. Such, reader, are some of the dreadful effects of drinking. If man would be beloved and respected, and do his duty toward his fellow creatures, let him spurn the poisonous cup ; no one can tell the good it does, but the evils would fill volumes. How
 * her father, and forget a creature so worthless as himself.


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the exception, and I believe you lawyers say that ' the exception proves the rule.' "

" Really you do not stint yourself in praising your sex."

"Now don't be unfair. Hear me out before you condemn me."

Well."

" I said that a long separation betwixt persons engaged to each other is apt to result in breaking off the match, because the gentleman becomes either indifferent or unfaithful. I am afraid you have not noticed facts, or you would not condemn my opinion so quickly. I can now look around the circle of my acquaintance and call to mind at least a dozen instances, in which these protracted engagements, combined with a long separation betwixt the parties, have ended unfortunately, I see by your looks that you also, although younger than I am, can recollect instances of a like character. I confess I am not surprised at this result, although I deplore it. In the cases to which I have alluded, the parties have usually been engaged while quite young, perhaps before they were capable of that study of each others character which ought always to precede a contract of so high and solemn a character as this. When, therefore, they grow older, and learn to know human nature better, they cannot fail to see faults in those they love to which they were at first blinded. This does not always happen I grant, for often the illusion of passion keeps us ignorant for years of the defects in the character of the beloved object ; but the scales often do drop off, especially in the case of the gentleman, or when the parties come to be separated for any length of time. I say in the case of the gentleman, because your sex unite more intellect with your love than our sex does. With us the passion is all heart, with you the head is at least prime minister. You analyze character more, you are apt to become hypercritical. When removed from the immediate influence of her you love, your affection insensibly cools. It does this from the very nature of your characters, and from your habits of life. With a woman fidelity is every thing. Putting aside coquettes- who are not true women- is there not more fickleness naturally in your sex than in our own ? But apart from this, our different habits of life make a wide difference in the character of our love. You live in the bustle and excitement of active existence - domestic happiness is the relaxation of your evening hours- the bye-play of your life. But with us our home is every thing, the centre around which all our feelings and thoughts revolve. We have but one engrossing passion-love : you have a dozen which divide with it the empire of the heart. Wealth, pleasure, ambition ! these are but a few of the passions that absorb the energies of men ; but with us love is every thing. If we surrender our hearts to one of your sex, we have no rival feeling in our bosoms to disturb our thoughts from the adored object. At morning and at night, through every hour of the day, his image is constantly before us as we sit at our indoor, quiet occupations, until at length to think of him we love grows necessary to our very being. Our love becomes a part of ourself, its roots striking daily deeper and deeper into our hearts. If we are disappointed in love, our health gives way, because we brood helplessly on our sorrows : and an intimate connexion exists betwixt the mind and the body. The true secret why so many of our sex, and so few of yours die of broken-hearts, is that in our case there is, from the solitude of our daily life, so little to divert our attention from our disappointment, while in your case numerous other passions step in and prevent your thoughts from dwelling on the shipwreck of your hopes. A woman's life is spent in comparative solitude, in holding communion with her own heart. A man soon learns to forget disappointments and griefs of every nature in the exciting contests of business or ambition. To apply these principles to the case of Dr. Duval. He will at first, after his separation from Miss Marlowe, imagine that he loves her dearer than ever, but by-and-bye new occupations will insensibly divert his mind from the contemplation of his betrothed, and then new persons will cross his path, in whom quite as insensibly he will learn to take an interest-and so in the end, he will find himself brought to think so little of Miss Marlowe, that he will gladly surrender her for some newer intimate. And all this will be brought about so insensibly to himself, that he will be totally ignorant of the ten thousand immeasurably fine links in the chain which led to this result. I have seen this case so often, and it is so natural a consequence of the active life led by your sex, that I fear for the future happiness of Miss Marlowe. But yet —as I said before- Dr. Duval may prove an exception to the general rule."

"And these are the reasons why you always oppose long courtships ?"

66 They are. Often a long courtship is a benefit rather than an injury, but I fear in general the reverse is the case.22 "Well, I scarcely know what to say. You certainly have argued your opinions in a clear and masterly style. But I'm afraid my vanity in my sex will not suffer me to adopt your conclusions. But here we are at your door, and I find the time has come for me to fulfil an engagement." "Good bye then ; but don't forget, if we live to see the end of this betrothal, to come to me and tell me what you then think of long courtships." Mrs. Alton was one of the most sensible women in the city. She had a tinge of romance in her disposition, but she never suffered this to interfere with her plain, common sense views of the duties and situations of life.


text:
Author:Samuel Loveman

Works

 * Poems (1911)
 * The Hermaphrodite (1926)
 * "Hubert Crackanthorpe: A Realist of the Nineties" in The Recluse (1927)

title: Author:Samuel Loveman


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174 THE POLISH OFFICER. BY J, THORNTON,

It was a plained and time-worn manuscript which my friend brought out from his scrutoire, We drew one chairs closer to the Gre, when he opened the manu- seript and read.

It was in the over memorable and valiant attempt that Poland made to maintain ite independence against tyranny which miseil in the heart of every honest Pole, an indignant feeling toward his oppressors, and caused rebellion to raukle in his bosom und seek redress—it is of thet period I am now writing when man, rising from his bed of rest, feels himself still laboring under a burden too grievous to he borne. Before 1 proceed farther, it will be necessary to give @ brief outline of my boyish days,

‘When it was thought fit by a kind and indulgent parent, that my mind could bear the study of a boarding- school, I was sent from home, at a distance of ninety miles, where, from my first introduction, I found an acyuaintance with # fellow-boarder, and there soon ap- peared that congeniality of feeling and sentiment which promised to ensure us mutual happiness and comfort— we may well say “ We lived and loved together?” 1 never kept a secret from him but once, and he was the same os true and just to‘me. Time flies and discovers secrets, T had now completed my nincteenth year, and as revolts were daily occurring against Russian tyranny, and my father suffering under it personally, he procured me a commission to join the regiment immediataly, which was then lying at Warsaw. Iwas forced to go and leave may old companion, and one with whom, when the daily dutics were ended, I spent many moments; she whom T cherished at my heart with a bosom full of doubts, and hopes, and fears. I now revealed to her my ardent love, and found I was only echoing her own sentiments regarding myself, for me, and ine only, she said she loved and lived.

On my return bome to my companion, I told him of the only secret I had ever retained; and having paid great attention to my. relation, he burst into a food of tears, J was surprised at thie strange conduct, but soon found out the cause from his incoherent expressions. I was agonizad to see my companion suffering under cir- cumstances so painful—he, who when I was a youth, a stranger, and far from home, became to me @ brother and a friend, 1 hostened to Annette, and told her of this strango affair, when che, with that prompt alacrity which is characteristic of our Polish ladice, particularly in such affairs, complied with my earnest entreaties (and to provent the addresses of Nowistchy in my absence)

THE LADY'S

consented, with the permission of hgr purents, to become my wile.

‘On my return home, I found my companion still in the same excited state as 1 had left him. 1 gave him a slight hint of what had happened, which he seemed perfectly to understand. He in a few minutes aroused bimself from tho stupor and summoned up resolution to inguire when I should Ie: 1 told him on the morrow. He said, “I shall accompany you to whatever place or in whatever circumstances you may be.”

“Qh, Annettc! Farewell at last must come. Adieu! may Heaven guard ant protect you! Farewell—Fete- well!” Those who have really loved almost to idolatry, can only picture the feelings al our separation. We proceeded in silence, each buried in his own respective meditations, Nowislchy on a sudden exclaimed,

“Should Fate decree no return to your Annette, I will be to hera friend, a brother, or a husbund;” to which T cordially assented, after which conversation he appeared to resume his former wonted cheerfulness. Oh! Annette, bebold me dnly exercised in warlike duties, preparing for an engagement, perhaps never more to see you. The Russians are advancing. It was midnight,and now and then the distant peal of cannon could be beard rolling through the silence of the night; louder grew the soun and louder, till at last the warlike peal “to arms,” roused tus from our suspense. 1 recommended myeelf to God with a short and earnest prayer for my wife,

I was now prepared to meet the enemy. I sought Nowistchy, and found him in a deep thought; quite unconscious of what waa passing around till T aroused bie from his stupor. We embraced each other, and again repeated the promise respecting Annette. Now roara the cannon, and louder yet—* yea louder than the bolts of heaven”—ali confusion, man falls upon man. Oh, war! thou ignis fatuua, that drives desolation to the door of the rich, destruction and despair to that of the poor. The combat thickens, and fighting for our independence, with bravery doubly armed by a good cauae, this engagement was declared in our favor.

‘The conflict over, T sought my companion, and found him partly covered with the bodies of the slain, but breathing; having carricd him with ail speed to the hospital, the surgeon found he had only swooned from loss of blood, and had received no mortal injury; and after due attention and some restoratives he soon reco- vered. Immediately after the engagement, I wax ordered to a distant part of Poland, where the Russiana hed been committing their horrible deeds of war. Nowistchy, being on the sick tist was forced to remain; we were for the first time parted from our youth, and having embraced me and thanked me for his preservation of life, he once more repeated the promise, of “remember ing Annette.”

Thad been now marching from place to place, and

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and to prevent the opportunity of our meeting, he deserted his native country. Fate still decreed that he should not pass in the ease and luxury of a quiet mind, for he seemed as if he had been haunted by me more like an evil genius than a human being, to remedy which he planned all those ills, and endeavored to have me banished the kingdom. The Emperor, after due deliberation, restored me my long lost wife; and, as a recompence for my misfortunes, he has returned me to my native land, with a sufficient annuity to spend my days in ease and happiness, which we now enjoy, and of which we have been so long deprived. Never does night unfold its sable curtains, but our hearty orisons are poured forth for health and happiness for him who has been so kind, and our humble thanks to the Giver of all Good

By fairy hands its towers were raised From out the cold and sluggish tide, And voiceless forms their revels kept Within its chambers cold and wide. The flashing light of polar skies For ages on its grandeur gleamed ; In silence on its pillars fell, And through its gothic casements streamed. A thousand days, a thousand years In cold sublimity it stood ; A thousand storms its turrets shook, And lashed its base in angry mood. "Till from the silent frozen zone, The endless winter of the north ; A fairy fabric, vast and rude, It broke its way and floated forth! And still as e'er, it saileth on, A silver castle on the sea ; No landmark marks its onward course As o'er the waves it saileth free.

THE ICE BERG. BY M. RUSSELL THAYER. LOOK out! Look out ! and see A castle on the deep ; A floating castle high and strong, With buttress huge and bastion steep. No warder treads its silent tower, No guard keeps watch below ; No voice within its lofty halls, Save the Ocean's ceaseless flow. Its walls are high, its walls are strong, While arch on arch lies piled on high ; Its awful gate is open flung, But no victor draweth nigh!

In tropic climes its turrets rise As fair as ' neath the arctic sky, And fragrant winds around it play, And through its ruined arches sigh. Oh, we unto the hapless ship That in its swift and gallant flight ; The castle of the ocean met, In the still and voiceless night !

No warning broke from out its walls, No beacon from its portals shone ; The struggling ship with terror reeled, Then plunged and sank in depths unknown! The ' ll dream no more ! They'll dream no more Of singing lark and woodbine bower ; In sea-green caves they slumber now To wake, to weep, to dream no more !

No trumpet shakes its vaulted roof, No banner to the breeze is flung ; No prancing steeds within its court, No steel-clad men its aisles among. No minstrel's harp beneath the tower Breathes forth its wild and plaintive notes ; No minstrel's voice upon the air In soft and varied numbers floats. No clambering vines steal o'er the tower, Or wreath their arms around its walls ; The sea-weed clings unto its base, And from each arch in clusters falls. No cagle buildeth here his nest, And plumes his wings for distant shores ; The sea-bird screameth ' round its base, Then high above its ramparts soars. No mortal reared its giant walls Above the deep and rolling tide ; No cunning builder laid its stones Or reared its portals huge and wide.

IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING. BY WORDSWORTH. IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; The gentleness of heaven is on the sea ; Listen !-the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder -everlastingly. Dear child ! dear girl ! that walkest with me here, If thou appear'st untouch'd by solemn thought, Thy nature is not, therefore, less divine ; Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, And worship'st at the temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.


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after indulging in libations that were too abundant, pro- mised him, on his word of honor, the hand of Clara.

“There are more words than one to be said to that,” was murmured in his ear by a low voice.

The Colonel, as much surprised as he was irritated, ‘turned round to the side from which he thonght be heard these words uttered, but he only saw behind his arm- chuir the moveleas face of his old servant, John. Now, though this domestic waa in the enjoyment of all the privileges that attach to an old, devoted, long-tried faithful servant, still it never for an instant entered into the mind of Sir Frederick that the audacious interruption could have come from him.

euAPTER if.

Tim next morning, whon the Baronet recalled to mind the imprudent promixe that he had given, he experienced an involuntary sinking of the heart; for, although he had reared his daughter in those absolute idens of obedience that made him coinplete master of her will, s(ill he could not but admit to bimself, that he was conscious vf the mutual affection entertained by “Clara and Richard Clark for each other. Yet he bad no idea that their feelings had deepened into a profound passion—besides, his word of honor was pledged, and for s man like him, an inevitable engagement bad been entered into, of which no considertion could prevent the accomplishment,

Filled with those thoughts, he sought out Clara, and found her seated in the garden bencath a fittle bower that wae raised as a boundaryemark between the two adjoiaing estates. Who could picture her afftight and despair when the Baronet apprised her of his projects with regard to her. Clara remained for a few moments utterly duimb—quite unable to move—and then—grasp- ing the hands of the old man, she saitl,

“Ah! let me but think that this is only a terrible trial to which you would expose, and thereby test, my filial obedience, Never—oh! no—never could you think of binding up the destiny of your only child, with that of a man she could not love. And then, father, you know well-—very well, that I do not love

"Sir Charles, My heart belongs to Richard Clark, and never can be transferred to another. Besides, who is this man that you have chosen as my husband? You scarcely know him—you never heard of him. He pre- sents himself in your house without being known to you. Two months ago you had never heard of him; and yet an instant suffices to make hin master of your confidence, and of all your atfections—and you—you fling into hie arme your child, your poor chikl; you do this without resolution, without fear—without even the certainty that you may not bind one whose life is pure as her blood to one, who———

«Silence, Clara; I tell you to be silent,

Remember

THE LADY'S

that you are my daughter, and that to my will you ought always to le obedient.”

«Alaat is it not you that have forgot thal you are my father? Force me not to this marriage; 1 ask—heseech you on my knees,”

Sir Charles ‘tore himself away from Clara, with a look in which an attentive obyorver might discover, perhaps, as much of compassion ax of severity. ‘Then ‘he said ina stern tone of voice, which betrayed how much bis resolution cost to himself—

“You shall obey me, Clara.”

Hearing these words, the poor gitt covered her face with hee hands, and burst into tears; she felt thut there was to be no happiness for her in this world, and she cried out—

“Heaven have pity on me, for my father atendons me”?

Sir Frederick became pale with emotion; for it was the frst time in his life that a harsh or menacing word disturbed the aweet sentiment of cordial fecling that united him to his daughter. Eighteen yeara bad passed over their affection, and had clothed it with character of sanctity, that was now, pethaps, about to disappear forever. Sir Frederick felt this; and feeling it, ho was about to faint lo the earth. He hurried out of her sight, in order that he might conquer the desire that he expe- rienced to throw his arms around the neck of Clara, aud to say, “I ebali be perjurcd, but thou must be made happy.”

Searcely, however, hai be disappeared, when a young man burst from behind a clump of trees, where be had kept himself concealed during this discourse,

“Weep no more, Clara,” he exclaimed, “you shall never be the wife of Sir Chartes Luttrell. There remains ‘one way of preventing it, and I mean to employ it.”

Clara raised her eyes that were swimming in tears toward her lover, and contemplated him with allright,

“That ie that you would kill Sir Charles or die your- self? Oh, horrible!—a duel! But no, Richard; for suppose you were to be victorione in’ eo detestable an affair, still your very victory would be an insurmountable barrier between us.”

“What, then, is to be done? What is to be done?” cried Richard Clark, in a tone of the bitterest despair.

« Wait,” said a voice behind them.

The two young pertona trembled, end at the same moment turning round, they beheld: before them the old servant, John—Sir Frederick’s man, who had approached them noisclessly, and had listened to them without being hirnself’ seen,

"There are words which at times, according to the accent in which they are pronounced, bring conviction along with them, ‘The firm and assured tone with which John had uttered the single word “ Wait,” had dceply struck both Richord and Clara. They neser

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circumstance, too, attracted my attention. Little experienced, doubtless, in the horrid office of a headsman, he had wounded himself very severely. The axe, in falling upon the head of the King, had wounded the left hand of his executioner. What shall I say to you ? Providence had so willed it, that I should meet that monster once more, and that my eyes should be able to penetrate the new mask by which he has sought to conceal not only his face, but his very life-that under the appearance of an ardent loyalist, and as the protegé of Lord Shaftesbury, I should meet again the assassin of Whitehallthe executioner of the King of England. " You grow pale, Sir," he said, turning to Sir Charles Luttrell, "and you have a right to do so-for the man who shrunk not at the commission of a horrible crime-he who became the courtier of the son, after he had been the murderer of the father- that man that God has been pleased to mark with an ineffable brand, in order that sooner or later punishment might overtake, that man is-yourself; and as tothe proof-" John flung himself upon Sir Charles, who was petrified with horror and fear-he seized the left hand of the wretch, and pointing to a long scar, which seemed almost to divide it, he exclaimed"Here it is !"

almost affianced bride -then casting his eyes to the carth for a moment, he replied66 Father, do not consent to do any such thing." The Colonel stamped with rage, and then in an angry voice exclaimed"What means this ridiculous puerile obstinacy ?" "It proceeds from a source at once sacred and for ever to • be respected," was the reply of Mr. Clark. " A son cannot, without being guilty of a crime, declare himself the partisan of his father's enemy." Sir Frederick heard these words with astonishment, and said, "Then who and what are you ?" "I am now known," was the answer, " merely as Mister Clark, a plain country gentleman ; but a few years ago, I was known as- Richard Cromwell."* " Oh ! now, indeed, I understand you," said the old Cavalier, greatly moved at this aspect of modest grandeur, and at the sight of a man who had preferred mediocrity to power-repose to fame ; and who had voluntarily abandoned the pomp of Windsor for the solitary vale of Cheshunt-" I honor the pious sentiment that has dictated your refusal-and the most zealous servant of Charles the Second accepts, without hesitation as a son-in-law, the grandson of Oliver CromF. well."

CHAPTER IV. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE. TAKEN thus completely unawares, struck to the earth by the simple words of the old servant, which came upon him as the echo of the Divine command, Sir Charles Lutttrell lost at once his coolness and his courage. Seeing in an instant, too, that a strict examination into his past life would speedily expose the dreadful part he had acted in 1649, this man, whose real name was Stoup, and who at a subsequent period was Colonel of a Swiss Regiment in France, taking advantage of the general horror and astonishment that pervaded the company, fled from the house before his indignant host thought of giving orders for his arrest. When Sir Frederick had recovered a little from the emotion and agitation, consequent on the preceding scene, he shook hands first with his old servant, who had saved him from never-ceasing misery, and then turning to his old neighbor, he exclaimed66 My word is now secure. I have had a terrible lesson-and it is for you now to make certain the happiness of our two children. I impose but one condition- it is that you will consent to drink his Majesty's health." "Oh! do consent, Sir," said the poor Clara trembling. The person thus addressed turned toward his son, and observed" Do you speak, Richard-what ought I to do ?" The young man cast a look of affection upon his

How warm this woodland wild recesses ! Love surely hath been breathing here. And this sweet bed of heath, my dear! Swells up, then sinks with fain caress, As if to have you yet more near. Eight springs have flown, since last I lay On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills, Where quiet sounds from hidden rills Float here and there, like things astray, And high o'er head the skylark shrills. No voice as yet had made the air Be music with your name ; yet why That asking look ? that yearning sigh? That sense of promise every where ? Beloved! flew your spirit by? As when a mother doth explore The rose-mark on her long-lost child, I met, I loved you, maiden mild! And whom I long had loved beforeSo deeply had I been beguiled. You stood before me like a thought, A dream remember'd in a dream. But when those meek eyes first did seem To tell me, Love within you wroughtO Greta, dear domestic stream ! Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep, Has not Love's whisper evermore Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar ? Sole voice, when other voices sleep, Dear under-song in Clamour's hour.-COLERIDGE.


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Jove.” “But no,” said another, “that cannot be; for ‘whte would not be too proud to have the good end beautiful Miss Kate?” But that young girl waa not far from the truth, Kale Llewellyn had bestowed all the ardor and affection of her young heart on one who hed never breathed « word of love to her. A. young noldier, whose merits bore a name of unblemished honor, fand e character which promised to rank isn amang the fgroat ones of the aos his fouls, the poverty of e younger ae But, toa tnind auch as Kate's, there was a sym pathy in this high-born spirit, ‘and the noble bearing of this graceful form, which bespoke & frank and open hneart; and though their acquaintance had been short, the impression of this, her first Tove, was instis She felt loved her, and what happiness it was, when a Tetter, breathing all the honor of bis bielt principles, and. all the diffidence of his unobtrusive nature, came to ber Another, craving permission to address Ter daughter! Bur how great the triat when, the first excitement over, her mother represented to her, what het own heart acknowledged to her as too true, the madness of uniting herself to one on whom she would entail a poverty bith- erto unknown to him and to her. To him! that was the deciding point; and with the pelfeacrifice which ‘soman’s Tove only knows, and = senso of Silisl obo- Fience, she dovired a refusal to he returned s and ‘nothing reached the ears of tbat beloved one, until the name of Eaward Dalrymple appeared in the list of departures for the Peninsular.

From that hour, the sadness that lad heen gradually growing upon het increased; and all the proffered wealth ‘and titles that crowded to her feet caused not for mo- ment one thought (reasonable to the younger s9n- All notiecd the change, but Mrs, Jlewellyn less than eny 5 for Kate's struggles to appear the same to her mother had deceived her. In the gay world she was act down fan a regular flirts too great a eoquette to marry. «But if she did not mind she would die an old maid.” To Emily Melville only bad Kate confided her secret; and her confidence was repaid with a fiiendsbip 9s devoted, as faithful, as her fond heart could wish,

One summer's evening the two friends were enjoying the beautiés of the scenery. Kate was more cheerful than she had been for some time, aud Emily hoped from her Jong silence on tho past, that time had effected 0 aalotary change. And, oh! how thankful she was! for she knew that which she had long wished to commoni- cate; but feared to do 30, dreading the effect it might produce.

"Now che thought was a good opportunity ; and putting

her arm round Kate’s neck, she ssid,

‘eHow glad I am, dear Kate, thot you scom to have got over the recollection of the celebrated Lientenant; For 1 beard the other day that he bas gained e wife a8 well ax laurels in Spain.” $

But what were her feelings when Kate, starting up, throw berielf upon her knecs, and clusping her bends in agony, gasped out, =

1 Bios, bless hia, and rnake him happy! God's will be donc!” and in another instant she lay senseless on the ground.

"Phey were far from the house, and Emily was hesi- tating what to do, when Kate recovered, and faltered out,

Tam better now, dearest, Icon walk home,” and she added, grasping Enuily’s arm, * Never breathe this ve monial being, my dearest friend, Tt io all over now!”

The guy halls of Glyndervin looked desolute and gloomy. ‘The servants wondered about the house with eclows stops, whiapering to each other with eounte vances of woe, Silence dwelt there undisturbed, eave by the subbing answers of some weeping maid to the ious inguiries of the many poor, and aged, and in- firm, who hosbanded their feebleness to come and inquire for tbe invalid, who there Juid in all the agonies of & raging fever—their own beloved Miss Kate.

"There, in a room darkened with curtains end rich stuffs, whose massive draperies seemed to mock the frailty of human nature, ley the ettenaated form ofa fair girl, pale as marble, motionless as a statoe; Bot breath disturbed the atiliness of thono pallid lipes ne sign of life was een in the heavings of the bosom; wil Teaoted, if not doath itself, nearer approach to it than sleep. It was indeed, the enxions, nervous, terrible crisis of a fever. The only outward proof that Death did not dwell in that chamber was the countenances of the group which surrounded the bed. On one side the doctor kept bie attentive watch, his hand gently pressing the seat of Jife, his ear bent with profound ettention 10 the mouth of his patient, With eyes uptumed to heaven, and hands clasped in earnest supplication, knelt a white-haited okd man, the venerable purish priest, Be side him also-knelt a lovely girl, whose dork eyes were fixed ap by fascination, on the face of her who lay 9° till, and nearest to the insalid, clasping her Srogile hand, there half lay upon the bed, half knelt upon the ground, the woestricken figure of a despoiring mother ! ‘What mpeechtess agony was depicted on thet counter paneo? Oh! would it e'er know peace again! Hour ater hour thot group remained unmoved and motionless waiting the moment that human wisdom wad assigned we the one which would restore to fife that being they Joved eo fondly, or bear her to another warld,and to her kindred spirits.

"Phe time arrived. Ob! what untold agony wos there accumulated! But hush! the dread stillness is broken hy a song, swoet, musical, which seems to Sill the sir with its melody. Can it be an engel’s voice, calling to
 * sheie ow sister to come and dvvell with ber? or is it
 * the voice of merey, that grants to earth a continuance of

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family. Kate's love for Edward ; the principles which had induced her to conceal that love from her mother ; the unfounded report of Edward's marriage, and his devoted affection for Kate.

With what wonder did she listen to his tale ! with what eagerness she seemed to drink in every word he said ! and when at last he told her that the stranger who then knelt beside her daughter's couch, was that same Edward, her countenance suddenly brightened, and she exclaimed, clasping his hand,

66 Then, my dear boy, there is hope !"

That despairing mother too returned to the couch with a smile upon her face ; and when she saw the agonizing suspense, the deep devotion depicted on the countenance of him, that now stood somewhat apart as though feeling himself an intruder, she thought the heart and feelings written on that brow worth almost all her child had suffered. But again her thoughts were bent upon her daughter, who was showing signs of returning life ; and as she gradually raised herself from her reclining position, she turned to Emily and whispered,

"Is he there still ?"

But her mother heard the question, and answered,

"Yes, dearest !"

As if surprised at hearing him alluded to by her mother, she almost started up, and rubbing her eyes as though to awake herself, and looking round, not seeing him she sought, for he stood behind her, she sunkdown again, and muttered, "I thought it was a dream." "Not a dream, my sweet child. See, he is here." Again she opened her eyes, and looking around at each and all of the anxious faces that stood around her, an exclamation of joy burst from her lips as her brother clasped her in his arms, and muttered, "God bless you and him !” and a look so full of happiness and peace, lit up her lovely face, that with one accord those around now fell upon their knees, and with hands clasped and eyes upturned to Heaven, breathed forth a prayer of peace and gratitude to Him who had wrought so blessed a change. But now Edward Dalrymple, although the expression of woe had given place to one of happiness, still continued apart, seemingly fearful, and uncertain how to act. But all eyes were fixed upon him, and Mrs. Llewellyn with tearful eyes went up to him, and with a tremulous voice said, " The cause of the sorrow that has so long darkened this house has been, for the first time, revealed to me this evening ; and I believe I need no apology if, in welcoming you as the messenger of returning happiness, I now lead you to that couch, and place in your hand that of one, who having found no heart on earth to match her own save yours, had well nigh sought her kindred spirits in the world above. But now, with the blessing of God, she may live to

her happiness ; and, oh ! may the fervent blessing of a grateful mother rest on your heads, my children ; and may the joy you feel on earth, be only equalled by the bliss that shall repay you in another world, for a life spent in holiness and peace !" Ere her blessing was completed, Kate was clasped to that breast, which had only beat for glory and for her. In three months, Glyndervin was resounding with preparations for the wedding ; and was it not worth all she had suffered, when joyous faces and fervent blessings lined her path to the altar of her parish church, where, with all the solemnity befitting the occasion, and all the timidity of a gentle girl, she plighted her vows to the noble Sir Edward Dalrymple, the hero of a hundred fights ; and when she returned, at the expiration of the honeymoon, to be present at the marriage of her brother and Emily Melville, no one would have thought the spring time of her life had been o'ershadowed by so dark a cloud.
 * rejoice in the love of him in whom she so rightly placed

THE WIDOWED MOTHER. BESIDE her babe, who sweetly slept, A widow'd mother sat and wept O'er years of love gone by; And as the sobs thick-gathering came, She murmur'd her dead husband's name 'Mid that sad lullaby. Well might that lullaby be sad, For not one single friend she had On this cold-hearted earth ; The sea will not give back its prey,And he was wrapt in foreign clay Who gave the orphan birth. Steadfastly as a star doth look Upon a little murmuring brook, She gazed upon the bosom And fair brow of her sleeping son ;" Oh merciful Heaven ! when I am gone, Thine is this earthly blossom !" While thus she sat-a sunbeam broke Into the room ;-the babe awoke, And from his cradle smiled ! Ah me ! what kindling smiles met there, I know not whether was more fair The mother or her child : With joy fresh sprung from short alarms, The smiler stretched his rosy arms, And to her bosom leapt ; All tears at once were swept away, And, said a face as bright as day, ..'Forgive me—that I wept !" Sufferings there are from Nature sprung, Ear hath not heard, nor Poet's tongue May venture to declare ; But this as Holy Writ is sure, " The grief she bids us here endure, WILSON. She can herself repair!"


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 Updates from the East Palestine Train Derailment Emergency Response

EAST PALESTINE, Ohio (October 19, 2023)

 * EPA ordered Norfolk Southern to conduct additional cleanup and sheen investigations focused on oily sheens and sediments in Sulphur Run and Leslie Run creeks in East Palestine, Ohio, and surrounding areas. This order under EPA’s Clean Water Act authority will build on the assessment and cleanup work already conducted in the creeks over the last several months and represents a progression of response actions at the site based on data collected and analyzed. Work done under this order will determine if more cleanup is necessary to ensure any potential long-term impacts are addressed. For more information: Clean Water Act Administrative Order and Directives.
 * EPA Administrator Regan visited East Palestine on Monday, October 16 to meet with local officials and do a site visit. The Administrator also conducted a round table with East Palestine high school students.
 * In East Palestine Park, confirmatory soil sampling is underway. Although areas at and near East Palestine Park are being assessed, there has been no evidence of contamination in that area, other than known contamination in creek sediments. A previous assessment of East Palestine Park conducted in March did not show any contamination above background levels for derailment-related chemicals.
 * Initial sediment sampling in Leslie Run and Sulphur Run has been completed and results are under review. As many in the community have observed, some of the sediments in Sulphur and Leslie Runs can produce a sheen when agitated. The extent of sediment contamination from the derailment is being evaluated and is expected to lead to additional investigation and cleanup. Some cleanup work has been performed in the creeks, but residents should avoid them and “keep out” signs will remain to deter use.
 * The deadline for new requests for indoor cleaning of eligible homes and businesses has passed. To date, 120 pre-cleaning interviews have been scheduled, 104 have been completed and 65 structures have been cleaned.
 * The on-site wastewater treatment plant is operating; non-hazardous treated wastewater continues to be shipped off-site for disposal at EPA-approved facilities.
 * The biweekly edition of the East Palestine Train Derailment Response newsletter was printed on October 17. All editions of the newsletter to date are available on the EPA website.

Response by the Numbers (as of October 19, 2023)
 * 165,709 tons (estimated) of solid waste shipped.
 * 35,680,475 gallons (estimated) of wastewater shipped.
 * 65 structures have been cleaned.

What to Expect Next Week

At the derailment site:

 * On October 23, EPA anticipates East Taggart Street will reopen to the public with safety controls in place, including signage, reduced speed, and flaggers.