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 code of law, founded on principles of true but merciless justice. It is not often employed, because of the difficulty and the danger to the individual who appeals to it, should that individual be unbacked by power, but nevertheless the code exists.

The African is particularly hard on theft; he by no means "compounds for sins he is inclined to by damning those he has no mind to," for theft is a thing he revels in.

Persons are tried for theft on circumstantial evidence, direct testimony, and ordeal. Laws relating to mortgage are practically the same among Negroes and Bantu and Europeans. Torts are not recognised; unless the following case from Cameroon points to a vague realisation of them. A. let his canoe out to B., in good order, so that B. could go up river, and fetch down some trade. B. did not go himself, but let C., who was not his slave, but another free man who also wanted to go up for trade, have the canoe on the understanding that in payment for the loan of the said canoe C. should bring down B's. trade.

A. was not told about this arrangement at all. B. says A. was, only A. was so blind drunk at the time he did not understand. Well, up river C. goes in the canoe, and fetches up on a floating stump in the river, and staves a hole you could put your head in, in the bow of the said canoe. C. returns it to B. in this condition. B. returns it to A. in this condition. A. sues B. before native chief, saying he lent his canoe to B. on the understanding, always implied in African loans, that it was to be returned in the same state as when lent, fair wear and tear alone expected. B. tries first to get C. to pay for the canoe, and for the rent of the canoe on top, as a compensation for the delay in bringing down his, B's. trade. C. calls B. the illegitimate offspring of a green house-lizard, and pleads further that the floating log was a force majeure—an act of God, and denies liability on all counts. B. then pleads this as his own defence in the case of A. and B. (authorities cited in support of this view); he also pleads he is not liable, because C. is a free man, and not his slave.

The case went on for a week; the judge was drunk for five days in his attempt to get his head clear. The decision


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 finally was that B. was to pay A. full compensation. B. v. C. is still pending.

The laws against adultery are, theoretically, exceedingly severe. The punishment is death, and this is sometimes carried out. The other day King Bell in Cameroon flogged one of his wives to death, and the German Government have deposed and deported him, for you cannot do that sort of thing with impunity within a stone's throw of a Government head-quarters. But as a general rule all along the Coast the death penalty for murder or adultery is commuted to a fine, or you can send a substitute to be killed for you, if you are rich. This is frequently done, because it is cheaper, if you have a seedy slave, to give him to be killed in your stead than to pay a fine which is often enormous.

The adultery itself is often only a matter of laying your hand, even in self-defence from a virago, on a woman—or brushing against her in the path. These accusations of adultery are, next to witchcraft, the great social danger to the West Coast native, and they are often made merely from motives of extortion or spite, and without an atom of truth in them.

It is customary for a chief to put his wives frequently to ordeal on this point, and this is almost always done after there has been a big devil-making, or a dance, which his family have been gracing with their presence. The usual method of applying the ordeal is by boiling palm-oil—a pot is nearly filled with the oil, which is brought to the boil over a fire; when it is seething, the woman to be tried is brought out in front of it. She first dips her hands into water, and then has administered to her the M'biam oath saying or having said for her that long elaborate formula, in a form adjusted to meet the case. Then she plunges her hand into the boiling oil for an instant, and shakes the oil off with all possible rapidity, and the next woman comes forward and goes through the same performance, and so on. Next day, the hands of the women are examined, and those found blistered are adjudged guilty, and punished. In order to escape heavy punishment the woman will accuse some man of having hustled against her, or sat down on a bench beside her, and so on, and the accused man

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 has to pay up. If he does not, in the Calabar district, Egbo will come and "eat the adultery," and there won't be much of that man's earthly goods left. Sometimes the accusation is volunteered by the woman, and frequently the husband and wife conspire together and cook up a case against a man for the sake of getting the damages. There is nothing that ensures a man an unblemished character in West Africa, save the possession of sufficient power to make it risky work for people to cast slurs on it.

The ownership of children is a great source of palaver. The law among Negroes and Bantus is that the children of a free woman belong to her. In the case of tribes believing in the high importance of uncles considerable powers are vested in that relative, while in other tribes certain powers are vested in the father.

The children of slave wives are the only children the father has absolute power over if he is the legal owner of the slave woman. If, as is frequently the case, a free man marries a slave woman who belongs to another man, all her children are the absolute property of her owner, not her husband; and the owner of the woman can take them and sell them, or do whatsoever he chooses with them, unless the free man father redeems them, as he usually does, although the woman may still remain the absolute property of the owner, recallable by him at any time.

This law is the cause of the most brain-spraining palavers that come before the white authorities. There is naturally no statute of limitations in West Africa, because the African does not care a row of pins about time. The wily A. will let his slave woman live with B. without claiming the redemption fees as they become due—letting them stand over, as it were, at compound interest. All the male as well as the female children of the first generation are A.'s property, and all the female children of these children are his property even unto the second and third generation and away into eternity. A. may die before he puts in his claim, in which case the ownership passes on into the hands of his heir or assignees, who may foreclose at once, on entering into heir heritage, or may again let things accumulate for their


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 heirs. Anyhow, sooner or later the foreclosure comes and then there is trouble. X., Y., Z., &c., free men, have married some of the original A.'s slave woman's descendants. They have either bought them right out, or kept on conscientiously redeeming children of theirs as they arrived. Of course A., or his heirs, contend that X., Y., Z., &c. have been wasting time and money by so doing, because the people X., Y., Z. have paid the money to had no legal title to the women. Of course X., Y., Z. contend that their particular woman, or her ancestress, was duly redeemed from the legal owner.

Remember there is no documentary evidence available, and squads of equally reliable and oldest inhabitants are swearing hard-all both ways. Just realise this, and that your Government says that whenever native law is not blood-stained it must be supported, and you may be able to realise the giddy mazes of a native palaver, which if you continuously attempt to follow with the determination that justice shall be duly administered, will for certain lay you low with an attack of fever.

The law of ownership is not all in favour of the owner, masters being responsible for damage done by their slaves, and this law falls very heavily and expensively on the owner of a bad slave. Indeed, when one lives out here and sees the surrounding conditions of this state of culture, the conviction grows on you that, morally speaking, the African is far from being the brutal fiend he is often painted, a creature that loves cruelty and blood for their own sake. The African does not; and though his culture does not contain our institutions, lunatic asylums, prisons, workhouses, hospitals, &c., he has to deal with the same classes of people who require these things So with them he deals by means of his equivalent institutions, slavery, the lash, and death. You have just as much right, my logical friend, to call the West Coast Chief hard names for his habit of using brass bars, heads of tobacco, and so on, in place of sixpenny pieces, as you have to abuse him for clubbing an inveterate thief. It's deplorably low of him, I own, but by what alternative plan of government his can be replaced I do not quite see, under existing conditions. In religious affairs, the affairs which lead him into the majority of his


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 iniquities, his real sin consists in believing too much. In his witchcraft, the sin is the same. Toleration means indifference, I believe, among all men. The African is not indifferent on the subject of witchcraft, and I do not see how one can expect him to be. Put yourself in his place and imagine you have got hold of a man or woman who has been placing a live crocodile or a catawumpus of some kind into your own or a valued relative's, or fellow-townsman's inside, so that it may eat up valuable viscera, and cause you or your friend suffering and death. How would you feel? A little like lynching your captive, I fancy.

I confess that the more I know of the West Coast Africans the more I like them. I own I think them fools of the first water for their power of believing in things; but I fancy I have analogous feelings towards even my fellow-countrymen when they go and violently believe in something that I cannot quite swallow.


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474

Twining or prostrate herbs, rarely suberect. Leaves alternate, entire or lobed or divided. Flowers usually large and handsome, axillary, solitary or cymose. Sepals broad or narrow, equal or unequal, erect in fruit or rarely spreading. Corolla campanulate or funnel-shaped; tube long or short; limb entire or 5-angled, more rarely slightly 5-lobed. Stamens included or exserted, often unequal; filaments filiform or dilated at the base; anthers oblong or linear, ultimately twisted or straight. Ovary 2-celled, 4-ovuled, rarely 4-celled and 4-ovuled or 3-celled and 6-ovuled; style filiform; stigma entire and capitate, or shortly 2-lobed with globular lobes. Capsule globose or ovoid, 4- or rarely 2–3-valved. Seeds as many as the ovules or fewer, glabrous or pubescent.

1. I. palmata, ''Forsk. Fl. Egypt. Arab.'' 43.—A slender glabrous twiner; stems many feet in length, the old ones more or less tuberculate. Leaves 1–3 in. diam., digitately divided almost to the base; lobes 5–7, lanceolate or elliptic-lanceolate, obtuse or subacute, entire or the outer ones irregularly lobed, rather membranous. Peduncles erect, 1–2 in. long, 1–3-flowered. Sepals ¼–⅓ in. long, ovate, obtuse or subacute. Corolla large, 2–3 in. diam., pale-purple with a darker centre. Capsule nearly ½ in. diam., ovoid-globose, glabrous, 2-celled. Seeds 2–4, villous.—''Benth. Fl. Austral.'' iv. 415. I. pendula, ''R. Br. Prodr. 486; A. Cunn. Precur. n. 396; Raoul, Choix, 44; Hook. f. Fl. Nov. Zel.'' i. 184. I. tuberculata, ''Rœm. and Schultes Syst.'' iv. 208; ''Hook. f. Handb. N.Z. Fl.'' 199.

2. I. biloba, ''Forsk. Fl. Egypt. Arab.'' 44.—Perfectly glabrous; stems prostrate or trailing, sometimes 40 ft. long. Leaves on petioles 1–4 in. long; blade often broader than long, 1–4 in. across, orbicular or broadly obovate or oblong, emarginate or shortly and obtusely 2-lobed, thick and fleshy, prominently veined. Peduncles


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 This larger group’s role was “to read and study the early drafts of the text of the Urantia Papers, discuss their content, and submit questions about the subject matter.” Id. at 88. At the end of this complex and arduous process 196 separate papers were procured and became known as the “Urantia Papers.”

Although neither party knows the exact date when the 196 distinct “Urantia Papers” were compiled and became The URANTIAUrantia [sic] Book, it is generally believed to have occurred in the mid-1930’s1930s [sic]. From that time onward Dr. Sadler and other people who were interested in the messages of The URANTIAUrantia [sic] Book would meet at his home and discuss the book. In 1950 the Urantia Foundation was created by an instrument of trust with an objective of educating the peoples of the world in an attempt to increase and enhance their comfort, happiness, and well being. The foundation was created by and initially included many of the original followers of Dr. Sadler. In 1955 the Urantia Foundation published The URANTIAUrantia [sic] Book and, shortly thereafter, registered its copyright claim with the Copyright Office, as required by federal law. See 17 U.S.C. §§ 10, 11 and 13 (1976). On the application for registration the Urantia Foundation claimed it was the sole author of the book. (Pl.’s Compl. Ex. A at 2.) In 1983 the Urantia Foundation applied for and obtained a renewal in the copyright to The URANTIAUrantia [sic] Book, claiming to be the “[p]roprietor of copyright in a work made for hire.” (Pl.’s Compl. Ex. B.)

On February 27, 1991, the Urantia Founflation filed a complaint against the defendant, alleging that she had “copied the text of The URANTIA Book … and … distributed [it] … throughout the United States.” (Pl.’s Compl. at ¶13.) Thereafter, the defendant filed her answer in which she “admits copying the text of The Urantia Book … and admits distributing [it] … throughout the United States.” ((Revised) Def.’s Substitute 2nd Am. Answer and Countercl. at ¶13.) The defendant contends, however, that “[t]he renewal copyright for The Urantia Book was not properly obtained.” Id. at ¶92.

The standard applied to a motion for partial summary judgment is identical to the standard applied to adjudicate a case fully by summary judgment. The motion shall be granted when, viewing the facts and reasonable inferences in the light most favorable to the nonmoving party, “there is no genuine issue as to any material fact and … the moving party is entitled to a judgment as a matter of law.” Fed.R.Civ.P. 56(c); Calnetics Corp. v. Volkswagen of Am., Inc., 532 F.2d 674, 683 n. 11 (9th Cir.), ''cert. denied'', 429 U.S. 940, 97 S.Ct. 355, 50 L.Ed.2d 309 (1976). A genuine issue of material fact exists when there is sufficient evidence favoring the nonmoving party for a jury to return a verdict for that party. Anderson v. Liberty Lobby, Inc., 477 U.S. 242, 249, 106 S.Ct. 2505, 2510–11, 91 L.Ed.2d 202 (1986) (citing First Nat. Bank of Arizona v. Cities Serv. Co., 391 U.S. 253, 88 S.Ct. 1575, 20 L.Ed.2d 569 (1968)). If the moving party meets the initial burden of establishing the nonexistence of a genuine issue, then the burden shifts to the opposing party to produce evidence of the existence of a genuine issue for trial. Celotex Corp. v. Catrett, 477 U.S. 317, 106 S.Ct. 2548, 91 L.Ed.2d 265 (1986). “If the evidence is merely colorable or is not significantly probative, summary judgment may be granted.” Anderson, 477 U.S. at 249–50, 106 S.Ct. at 2510–11 (citations omitted).

To prevail on the claim of copyright infringement the Urantia Foundation must prove both ownership of a valid copyright and “copying” by the defendant of the protected components of the copyrighted material. Data East USA, Inc. v. Epyx, Inc., 862 F.2d 204, 206 (9th Cir.1988) (citing


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much some of the African's mental attributes get under-rated, I am sure there are others of them for which he gets more credit than he deserves. One of these is his imagination. It strikes the new-comer with awe, and frequently fills him with rage, when he first meets it; but as he matures and gets used to the African, he sees the string. For the African fancy is not the "aërial fancy flying free," mentioned by our poets, but merely the aërial of the theatre suspended by a wire or cord. The wire that supports the African's fancy may be a very thin, small fact indeed, or in some cases merely his incapacity to distinguish between animate and inanimate objects, which give rise to his idea that everything is possessed of a soul. Everything has a soul to him, and to make confusion worse confounded, he usually believes in the existence of matter apart from its soul. But there is little he won't believe in, if it comes to that; and I have a feeling of thankfulness that Buddhism, Theosophy, and above all Atheism, which chases its tail and proves that nothing can be proved, have not yet been given the African to believe in. He would believe the whole lot if he had the chance, and his mind is in a pretty muddle as it is. I dare say I speak with irritation, but I have suffered much from the African's mind muddle.


text: Travels in West Africa, Congo Français, Corisco and Cameroons/Chapter 19


text: Travels in West Africa, Congo Français, Corisco and Cameroons/Chapter 20


text: Travels in West Africa, Congo Français, Corisco and Cameroons/Chapter 21


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2 are mostly trimmed with folds, and brandebourgs are made high and open. Ball dresses are still decorated with flowers of every form and description; this style of trimming continues to increase in favor as the summer advances; and the skirts of these dresses are mostly made of double jupe.

A very new and becoming style of dress has just been shown us by one of our great Modistes and is likely to be very much worn this summer, particularly when made in white; it is trimmed with broad folds or tucks, divided by rows of rich lace inlets, attached en point de revière. Sleeves à bouillons, in the same style, or, what is still prettier, with volants of lace running in the form of a corkscrew around the sleeve and reaching from the shoulder to the wrist, forming a manchette to the hand. The corsage à l'enfant is also decorated with lace.

BONNETS. The petit bonnets, made open to shew the face and thrown far backward, falling almost upon the neck behind, have had their day and given place, in the fashionable world, to a style of quite the opposite character. The bonnets are now made posée, so as to shade the countenance, and slightly raised up behind; we have seen some capotes made in this form, ofpou de soie blanc rose, or blue, and trimmed with flowers; also in sewn pailles d'Italie, lined with glacé silk shaded rose or blue, with trimmings of handsome shaded ribbons and flowers. Capotes of paille de riz are also extremely becoming; we have seen them lined with verdant green, with a bouquet of feathers shaded green and white, and also in cerise or straw color. Nothing is worn for morning costume but these styles of capotes. In Paris, fashionable bonnets are made transparent; they are mostly covered with a snowy tulle, or crêpe basiné, and ornamented with a Russian bouquet, composed of a cluster of flowers, and decorated under the brim with small detached flowers without leaves, having a very light and novel effect. The favorite colors are pale pink or blue for afternoon dresses, but in the morning, a beautiful mixture of citron and lilac Some are made of grey taffeta glacé, green, blue, or white, and ornamented with marabout frisés. Amidst the most favorite flowers we must not omit mentioning the jasmin d'Espagne, the jacinthe, the eglantine, and the camillas, branches of the lilac and the acacia, mixed with leaves. LA CAPOTE ISABEL is intended for full dress costume, being mostly composed of the lightest materials, such as gauze or lace; some are made in crepe, pink or blue, and ornamented with marabouts, pink and white, or blue and white, having a small tulle veil attached gracefully on the exterior; there is a magic in putting on this latter ornament which evinces the skill of the artist. It is arranged and fastened in the interior of the brim and near the face. It then turns gracefully over the exterior and falls on one side, where it is attached with an agraffe, or tuft of ribbons. The pale pink shewing through the net veil throws a shade or blush over the countenance, which is extremely becoming.

HEAD DRESSES are made in light textures, such as gauze, ribbon, flowers, and blonde ; the more careless they are made to appear, the more becoming they are considered ; those that are composed of blonde and flowers are generally in the form of a single round caul, from which depends a volant of lace or blonde, elevated on one side with a bouquet of three roses, cach shaded differently, and on the lower side with a nœud of green ribbon, having two long ends streaming from it ; others are made with fullings of gauze, variegated with very light roses, forming a kind of wreath round the crown of the head ; those that are made of ribbon are in the form of a coronet, and composed of two wellassorted colors, and having two long ends falling in a kind of lappet on each side ; this style of head-dress allows of the whole of the back hair being seen, and which is mostly decorated with a Josephine comb. For full dress, marabouts interspersed with glovina pins will be much worn, forming a perfect coiffure. In Paris, headdresses are worn of every description, from a simple rose to a gorgeous turban. The younger élegantes, indeed, retain their preference for flowers, which are being carried to the greatest perfection. Chaplets of roses, wreaths, and tufts of Parma violets, small Greek cauls made of pearls, encasing the back of the head and falling in low tassels of the same on each side, are very becoming when contrasted with dark hair; then there is that becoming coiffure, in the form of a berêt, composed of a twist of pale pink areophane and pearls, the ends falling low on one side with fringes of pearls, and shewing the back hair in all its beauty.

GLOVES.-Nothing can be prettier than the manner of trimming gloves at the present time; those intended for ball costume are generally ornamented with pearls, coral, and white bugle trimming, terminated with tassels; the white bugles, in particular, have a very splendid effect at candlelight. But the greatest novelty for summer and the prettiest trimming for colored gloves, or the mittens (which are so much the present fashion) is the Algerine trimmings, which, without any pretension, are yet so becoming to the arms, the velvet forming such a decided contrast to the skin, the color sometimes varying, being sometimes grenat or green; the back, however, has the best effect.

MOUCHOIRS.- At no period can we recall these useful appendages being in greater perfection than those of the present day. We have now mouchoirs for the morning, worked all round simply and in various colors; then there is the mouchoir for pro menade, splendidly worked. Lastly, there is the mouchoir for mourning, plainly ornamented with a dark border.


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4 THE SIBYL'S PROPHECY

BY MRS. SARAH H. HAYS

Slowly, in one unclouded blaze of liquid fire, the summer sun was sinking behind the green-robed hills of Austria, while his parting rays lingered amid the gorgeous scenery and shed a flood of "living light" upon the massive walls of Castle Alverstein—walls that, in their frowning strength, seemed gloomily to defy the storms of ages. Two girls, both young and beautiful, were gazing at the prospect. The elder, by her queenly bearing, might have been known to be the possessor of this fair domain.

"My sweet Eva," cried the younger lady, in a voice whose tones of youthfulness proclaimed that on her young and guileless heart the wing of care had never thrown one darkening shade. My sweet Eva, come and with me enjoy this scene of enchantment."

"Scenarios of Enchantment," returned her companion with a mournful smile. "Scenarios of Enchantment possess no charms for me; the laughing eye of happy youth can fling its own hue of gladness over the gloomiest prospect; but to the stony gaze of cold despair, a land glorious as a Musselman's dream of Paradise could present no beauty to admire."

"You speak of despair and smile so mournfully," said Lina, her own playful face assuming an expression of sadness, "that I could weep, although I knew not why. Even within the convent walls, where together we bent over the classic page and explored the hidden mysteries of science, when first you clasped me to your heart and called me friend, I noticed the cold abstracted gaze with which those eyes so formed to beam with love and hope rested on every object, and the quivering look of heartfelt anguish lingering around a lip moulded to wreath with naught but smiles of gladness. And yet, young, beautiful, high-born, and independent, what has earth to bestow with which you are not gifted?"

"A draught from the dark wave of Lethe's fabled stream.' Oh! Lina, dear and best, could I drown all recollection of the past, fling aside exalted rank, and with tomorrow's dawn begin a new state of existence? Even as a bond woman, I might yet be happy."

"Friend of my love," cried Lina, kneeling beside her and winding her snowy arms around the neck of Eva. " Friend of my love, reveal to me the horrid mystery; oh, without reserve, repose your sorrows on the sympathizing bosom of your earliest friend."

Hear me,” cried Eva, raising her head and motioning the weeping girl to a seat by her side. "Hear me, then, and you are the first, except for the proud race of Alverstein, who has listened to the tale. On such a night as this, in years gone by, the lady of Alverstein reclined upon her luxurious chair within this very balcony. Her eyes were fixed upon the extent of country stretched around, redolent with the beauty of summer, and with all the pride of conscious power, she mused upon the honors of her princely house. Twilight darkened slowly around her, but unmindful of the lateness of the hour and enamored of the dreamy loveliness of the scene before her, she lingered until the sound of approaching footsteps awaking her from her reverie aroused her to a consciousness of the loneliness of her situation. Turning with the quickness of thought, she encountered a pair of glowing eyes, whose snaky glare, striking a chill of terror in her heart, sunk her powerless on the seat from which she had arisen. Waving her arm with a gesture of command, a gaunt and spectrelike figure before her sang, or rather chaunted the following words in a low and sadly solemn voice: Lady of Lordly Alverstein, In velvet robes and jewels, sheen Sibyl to your haughty face. Predicts the downfall of your race! The lord of Alverstein shall die. Where none shall close his glazing eye; The heir of all this wide domain Shall fall upon the ensanguined plain, In foreign land, he shall yield his breath. Nor friend nor foe, near death! His heir within the stormy wave Shall find a cold, unhallowed grave; His orphan flow's tender bloom Shall sleep within an early tomb; The future is dim. I truly trace A daughter ends the lordly race. "The red glare of the rising moon cast a flood of crimson radiance around as she concluded, revealing to the awe-struck lady the fiend-like appearance of the unearthly being before her. A shrick, which ran fearfully upon the ears of the startled domestics, burst from her lips, and rushing to her assistance, they found her motionless upon the stony floor. The rays of the morning sun gleamed through the casement of her chamber, and consciousness returned to the bewildered faculties of the unfortunate lady. When starting wildly from her couch, she dispatched a courier for the Lord of Alverstein, absent on a hunting expedition, and with a frenzied gesture of command, bade her attendants explore every recess in the wide grounds and bring before her any intruder lurking therein. But vainly they searched each nook and bushy dell,' the warning Sibyl had disappeared, and forever. Loud and long, as many days rolled around, did the deep wail of woe echo within these massive walls. From the sports of hunting, in which he had engaged with all the ardor of youth, the Lord of Alverstein never returned. His mangled form, together with the crushed body of his fallen steed, had been found at the foot of the rocky precipice, surrounded by weeping comrades, by the courier of his lady. With a cry of agony, the despairing woman recalled the prophecy written in characters of fire upon her soul.


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6 KATE BENTLEY. BY ELLEN ASHTON

"Why do you flirt with Alfred?" said Emma Glendroy to her beautiful friend as they sat one afternoon at the house of the former.

"What a question!" replied her companion, "and how on earth could it have come into your head?"Here we have sat for half an hour, without a word being spoken, and just when I thought you were lost in abstraction, you look up and ask me why I flirt with Alfred," and Kate Bentley laughed merrily.

"But that is not answering my question. Why do you flirt with Mr. Townsend?"

"Oh! Since you will have an answer, it's because I like to tease the dear man. What's the use of being young and called pretty without one worrying about the beauty?"

"But surely, Kate, you would not thus treat the man you intend to marry?"

"And who, my dear little preacher, said I was going to marry Mr. Townsend?"Surely I never said so.

"No, Kate, I admit that; but then you know you think more of him than of anyone else—for that you can't conceal from one who knows you as intimately as I do."

"Pshaw! But suppose I do. What then? Can't one torment a man before marriage?—we all have to be teased enough after it. I take my revenge beforehand, and even if I loved Mr. Townsend, I should plague him wofully before I consented to having him. But what have you seen in my conduct toward the gentleman that induces you to say I flirt with him?"

"Listen to me, Kate," said her companion. "Everybody knows that Alfred loves you—his attentions are so marked that they cannot be mistaken—and your friends give you the credit to believe that you feel his worth." Kate looked laughingly at her companion, who paused and added, "At least do not despise him. You certainly, at times, give him encouragement, such as no lady ought to bestow on a gentleman she would not be willing to marry. But, at other times, you are as cold as an icicle. Again, you smile at him, and then you flirt with others. Now, as you know that Mr. Townsend is serious, you ought, if you intend to marry him, at once to cease torturing him; but if you find you cannot love him, then it becomes your duty to shew him, with all maidenly reserve, but still in a decided manner, that his suit is hopeless. Condemn him, dear Kate, at once to despair, or else scorn further trifling with the man you love. But to smile on him today only to frown on him tomorrow is to disguise it as you will—the part of a heartless flirt."

Kate's color had come and gone more than once during this plain address, and her companion had trembled at every word lest she should give offense by what she felt bound to utter. But when Miss Glendroy had finished, Kate remained a moment silent, and then, rising up, she said, with a merry laugh,

Well, however, you deserve a medal. Really, you preach better than nine-tenths of the modest young men one hears in a pulpit. Surely Aunt Mary must be right in saying that you lost your heart to the handsome young minister at the Springs last year, and I suppose you are practicing on your friends in the way of exhortation in order to be au fait at the business when you become the Rev. Mrs. Newall and have to hold forth monthly to the Sunday School. Isn't it so, my pretty  preacher?"and Kate put both her hands on Emma's brow and looked into her eyes until the fair girl blushed in spite of herself. The conversation was not resumed, for the tide had been turned, and Miss Glendroy's well-meaning expostulation was, as she thought, forgotten.

But it was not so. Kate Bentley, although a gay, wilful creature, had a good heart, and her companion's strictures made an impression on her that she was not willing to admit. Kate's character was a striking one. Pride was one of her dominant faults. She had, moreover, a constant flow of spirits and was young, beautiful, and witty. She was courted and caressed by all. She was naturally, therefore, willful, and perhaps too much given to what she had thoughtlessly considered innocent flirtations.

A few days after this conversation, a ball occurred, whose projected magnificence had been the theme of conversation for several weeks. Kate was the belle of the night. Never had her wit seemed more sprightly or her beauty more dazzling. Admiration attended to her every movement. In spite of the resolutions she had formed, after parting ways with Emma Glendroy, she gave way to her old habit of flirtation, not only dancing with every suitor for that honor but also showering her smiles freely around. Her lover saw this with renewed pain, for although he worshipped Kate almost to idolatry, he was not blind to her faults. He knew she had many good qualities, and he trusted that time would teach her the folly of her errors. But, on this evening, he almost despaired. He saw her practicing all the arts of coquetry merely for the gratification of the passing hour, smiling on those to whom she would not deign a look, endeavoring to lure admirers to her shrine only so that she might make a sport of their devotion. Townsend could not restrain himself, when he accompanied her homeward, from expressing how deeply his feelings had been hurt. From Kate's conduct toward him, especially during the last few days, he was led to believe that he was not wholly indifferent to her, and


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8 is to be bridesmaid to Emma, and I cannot pay you a higher compliment than to assign you Kate as a partner."

Alfred could not refuse, after having accepted the invitation, and besides, since his friend seemed ignorant of his former love for Kate, he determined to do nothing that might betray him. He felt too by the flutter of his heart that his love for Kate was not wholly eradicated, and he asked himself " if she is really so changed may we not yet be happy ?" Nor will we deny that the fancy, that his abrupt departure may have had some influence in bringing about this reformation, rose up before his mind.

"I have brought you a new beau, Kate," said Emma's betrothed, as he entered the room where the two girls were sitting, " or rather an old one, come to life. Moreover, I have asked him to be your partner at my wedding -have I done right ?"

" Oh ! yes," said Kate smiling, and little expecting the answer, she added, " but who is he ?"

"As noble a fellow as ever breathed. You know him well, Emma-Alfred Townsend."

The blood rushed to Kate's very brow, and she felt her senses reeling ; but making a powerful effort to command her feelings, she rose and would have left the room.

" Are you ill, Kate ?" said Emma's unthinking lover, but at a glance from his affianced bride he was suddenly silent. Kate rushed from the room followed by Miss Glendroy, and as soon as the door was closed, the overwrought girl fell weeping into her friend's arms.

The next day Alfred, who had learnt all, was at Kate's feet begging forgiveness for the past ; but the sweet girl took all the blame on herself, and said it was she who ought to be penitent.

Let us forget the past then, dearest," said he, " and look only to the future."

And Kate answered, smiling through her tears ! THE DYING MOTHER.

BY WILLIAM WALLACE.

NIGHT with her myriad eyes and azure wing Sat in her spheréd hall : and silence laid Her finger on the world's great pulse. The winds Had closed their pallid lips, and Nature seemed Like one who breathless waits beside a shrine For some most holy rite.

Upon a couch She lay her mild blue eyes were upward turned, And on their lashes shone the light of tears. Wasted, yet lovely as a star when pale With its o'er-watching through the stormy dark ! Like it the Mother, too, for such the one Was passing silently to heaven : and thus Her spirit gave its feelings utterance Ere she had left the world.

Leave! leave me not !-for only thou Remain'st of all I knew, And oh! my very heart would break To lose the last one, too. I cannot-cannot speak that word It dies upon my lips unheard— Though thou hast said "adieu!" Last blossom lingering on the tree Which witheringly has waved for thee!

My feet are on the grave with her Who left the parent bough, And soon I'll lay beside that leaf A mother's aching brow : -I would not make thee tarry long : Ah! soon thou might'st have joined the throng Where thou art struggling now: These withered cheeks-these locks of gray Tell that I, too, must pass away.

Tears ! tears ! ' t is well to weep, but not From eyes alone they start These drops-these burning drops have had Their fountain in the heart. Yes, I have wept ! of all bereft By even thee thus lonely left And doomed, for aye, to part Oh ! say, why should not tears be shed When thinking of the lost and dead ?

The Dead! how oft thus beauteous forms Are floating in the light Of yon pale moon whene'er she walks The shadowy halls of night! I see them now! Their gentle eyes Speaking of Love and Paradise, As if it lay in sight : And I can hear their voices say "O'er wearied ! come, oh! come away!"

Yes! I will come ! I feel my life Fast wearing to its close, And soon the flowers above her grave Shall guard my own repose. A mother's blessing on thee, boy! May thou know all a parent's joy, But nothing of her woes! I feel! I feel the deathly spell : Now can thy mother say, "farewell !"

Her blue eyes closed, and thus her spirit fled Within the music of its own sad thoughts, Which even in death were with her reckless boy, Wandering afar in unknown climes, whom now She pictured by her side and then away. Well hath the minstrel saug a mother's love ! It is a stream of beauty, where the stars That light the inner heaven, by seraphs watched, But all too holy for an impure sense, Are mirrored : yes, a stream of gentle tone, Soft as the whispered hymn of fading eve, Ere she has put her crown of sunset off; But yet hath it a force and majesty The torrent of the North may never claim.


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, 562 F.2d 1157, 1162 (9th Cir.1977)). The defendant’s admission as to copying the text of The URANTIAUrantia [sic] Book allows me to focus solely on the validity of the plaintiff’s copyright.

The plaintiff claims that “[t]he Contact Commission and Foundation’s exclusive possession of the unpublished manuscripts and the Foundation’s subsequent publication creates a presumption that the copyright was transferred with the manuscript.” (Pl.’s Mem. of Law in Opp’n to Def’s Mot. for Partial Summ.J. as to Pl.’s Claim for Copyright Infringement at 4 n. 3.) [hereinafter Pl.’s Br.] (emphasis added). I find at least three weaknesses in the plaintiff’s argument. First, I disagree with the plaintiff’s assertion that the Contact Commission and the Urantia Foundation had exclusive possession of the unpublished manuscripts. “The URANTIA Foundation admits and states that … the text of at least some of the Papers contained in The URANTIA Book was first set forth in … handwritten form by a human patient of Dr. William Sadler.” (Pl.’s Admis. at 15.) Although the means by which Dr. Sadler obtained those papers is far from clear, it cannot be denied that it was the patient who initially had exclusive possession of at least some of the papers.

Second, the plaintiff’s use of the word “presumption” is inaccurate. “A presumption is a rule of law, statutory or judicial, by which finding of a basic fact gives rise to existence of presumed fact, until presumption is rebutted.” Black’s Law Dictionary 1067 (5th ed. 1979) (citation omitted). I do not read the cases cited by the plaintiff to require a presumption of copyright transfer upon the showing of mere possession of a manuscript. See, e.g., Gerlach-Barklow Co. v. Morris & Bendien, Inc., 23 F.2d 159, 161 (2d Cir.1927) (“Plaintiff must next prove that he is the ‘proprietor’ of the painting.”) (emphasis added); Houghton Mifflin Co. v. Stackpole Sons, Inc., 104 F.2d 306, 311 (2d Cir.) (“[P]ossession of the manuscript … is evidence of ownership.”) (emphasis added), ''cert. denied'', 308 U.S. 597, 60 S.Ct. 131, 84 L.Ed. 499 (1939); Freudenthal v. Hebrew Pub. Co., 44 F.Supp. 754, 755 (S.D.N.Y.1942) (same); see also 3 Melville B. Nimmer & David Nimmer, Nimmer on Copyright § 10.09[B], at 10-78 (1994) (explaining author’s “absolute and unconditional sale of the material object carried with it an implied assignment of the common law copyright therein”) (emphasis added) [hereinafter Nimmer ].

Third, each of the cases cited by the plaintiff is easily distinguished from the instant case. In the cases relied upon by the plaintiff there was ample evidence other than the mere possession of the work to support the conclusion that the publisher acquired the work through a proper transfer from the author. Usually, the evidence included a certificate of registration for the original copyright which, by law, was considered prima facie evidence of the facts stated therein. However, there was often other evidence. See, e.g., Houghton Mifflin Co. v. Stackpole Sons, Inc., 113 F.2d 627, 628 (2d Cir.1940) (holding copyright to Mein Kampf properly transferred to publisher “considering the author’s power and position in Germany … it would be unreasonable to suppose that anyone would have been allowed to [make unauthorized use of it]”); Ripley v. Findlay Galleries, Inc., 155 F.2d 955, 958 (7th Cir.) (“It, therefore, seems inescapable that the proper construction to be placed upon these two letters is that Findlay was authorized by plaintiff to sell any of the paintings … and to pass complete title thereto without reservation.”), ''cert. denied'', 329 U.S. 775, 67 S.Ct. 194, 91 L.Ed. 666 (1946).

The plaintiff encourages the court to give the renewal registration certificate “prima facie evidentiary value and find that the certificates constitute prima facie evidence of the validity of the Foundation’s copyright,


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10 I pity her! I doubt not the strength or fervor of her affection. My heart is unchanged toward her. She may, I trust, be happy—with another—for, though it racks my bein and wither my beart forever, I will not ask it to be mine’ Rosalie is dear to me—but Fame is dearer still! Love has been the epitome of the past; Anbition shall be the history of the future."

A light footstep sounded neat to him—a soft hand was gently laid upon his arm—and the sweet voice of her, whom he had once loved deeply and passionately, started him from his reverie.

“You here, Clement?—I know not why it was, but I hope not to find you at our testing place. Nay! chide me not,” she continued, half playfully and half in earnest, as she put her hand to his lips—a strange fear has seized me today. I have feared that our health was soon to be clouded for ever."

Rosalie has ceased to love me.”

“Oh, no!—her love ends only with her life!”

“She doubts me, then?”

“She cannot!— She sees you, and forgetting all, is happy.

Before those who love, there should be nothing to forget. You confide in me, or your heart is no longer  mine."He spoke harshly and bitterly.

“Unsay those words—in merey, unsay them! Pain me, not a denial. You wrong me much—indeed, you wrong me—I could never prove faithless to the one I love!”

“And yet your hand trembles in my own—your eye regards not mine—you shudder as I look upon you!

Speak harshly to me, Clement. If I shudder, it is only when you frown on me. I have not sought to give offense in look, word, or tone; I cherish no thought of fear for you. Tambat is a weak, timid girl; no wonder I should sometimes give way to the vague forebodings my imagination will, in spite of my better judgment, often conjure. They have all vanished now in the sunlight of your presence, and if you but smile on me, task no other joy—know no other hay piness! Rosalie loves not idly—she is all, aff your own f*—and the warm-hearted, high-souled maiden, in her unselfish abandonment to the love she hore for him who would have vexed and slighted her, threw herself into his arms, and sobbed long und loudly.

For one moment, Clement Lee was the lover. Large, hurning tears dimmed his eye; his bosom theobbed madly and wildly; ax he felt that warm, confiding heart, heating aguinst his own; and, while he pressed her fondly to his breast, he murmured in those accents she dearly loved to hear—Rosalie—I kwe thee!” That answering emotion was but evanescent. His whole soul was bent on one object, and he hesitated not to thrust aside everything that interfered with its attainment. His mind was wrought up to the determination of taking one decided step, and he fattered not in his resolve. A shadow passed over his countenanee—his lips were joined firmly “together—and ‘ke was again the cold, scheming, ambitious man, ready to venture alt on the high stake for which he played.

But for the tender one whe hung on his neck—she knew not that he had already changed toward her—she had only heard those glad words that spoke peace to her throbbing heart and those awe-inspiring tones of affection to which she bad listened with so much rapture in hours that were past; and with a brow of light and a check tinged with the rich vermil of her mantling blush, she raised those sofi, gazclle-like eyes, glistening with tears, all too folly trusting that the smile of joy would once more greet and bless her. That smile rewarded not her devotion; a withering frown fell darkly upon her and sent back the wart lifeblood chilled to her heart. Her check was blanched to a deadly whiteness; her frame trembled like a young aspen; and her voice was choked and hollow as she wildly uttered:

Clement, you are ill! You look strangely! Your hand is cold, and your low is hot and feverish! My heart tells me you are ill—forgivo mo that I spake unkindly—tet_mo bo your physician—I will, heaven knows E will, gladly minister to you."

“I know you would—but it is useless. My illness was only momentary, and I am calmer and firmer now! He took her hand in his as he conchided, with a strange and unwonted energy, and in a broken and burried tone, "Rosalic—dost thou love me?”

“And can you doubt it?” She spoke warmly and enthusiastically. "Have I not often told you fondly and sincerely that I love you? I have kept nothing lacking from you; I have given you my heart wholly and forever—over that heart yours’ is no divided empire'—I live and breathe but in your presence. With you, I am most happy—as from you, I mean miserable. My love is not of hasty growth—it has been foster care for years. It is a part of my nature, and I could not live without it! No vestal ever cherished with more unending devotion the fires that glowed in the temple of her worship than have 1, the flame that burns so brightly and sa intensely on the altar of my heart: the Hindoo maiden sony, it is trac, watch long, and well the laperlight of love and hope, as her incense-freighted bark is horned down the waters of the Ganges; but her Jove is clouded with the dark riles of superstition—inine bas a more sacred, a more hallowed origin! It springs from the purest and holiest impulses of a woman's character, and it brings her nearer to life, light, happiness, and heaven!

Tell me not to do this!” He passionately uttered, “I cannot hear it. There is madness in the thought that such love should ever be met with disappointment. Say only that.

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12 were Jarge and Instrous, and the veined lids partially closed over them, as if to shut out their unearthly beauty. Her form was strangely attenuated; and no one would have readily reengnized there, the fair pro- portions which had charmed so muny eyes, and won so many hearts in the hopin hours that hid siniled on Rosulie Herbert.

Five years had gone by sine she hail parted from Gleneat Lee—five years, in which-hed been eoncen- (rated to her, the misery and woe of nges. For a time she had proudly nd nobly endeavored to hear up against hor fate, It was fruitless all. Her love had grown with her growth, and huil become too deeply rooted ever to he eradicated. Tt was a part—nay, the Leifer part of her existence—life had no charms without it.

“Pierced, they might digjoin tems Bat portect, ncver P”

She saw her hopes prostrated, her affections crushed, and the fond desires of her heart blighted at once and forever. Danger, caro, trouble, penury and misfortune, she could have borne; the world might have mocked at her truth, and sneered at her devotion; no matter, they would have been “like the idle wind which whe regarded not.” She would have fell ainply repaid for uny sutler- ing, any reproach, if the star of love but rested aver and lighted her path, No obstacles would have dismayed —no dangers daunted her, had she ouly been awsured that there was one being in the wide world who uppre- cisted and returned het affection. But be on whom she had teusted with such firm and implicit reliance, had deserted her, Disappointment, bitter, unyielding disappointinent, was ber portion. ‘The future, once all joy and sunshine, presented but @ dark and gloomy vinta. ‘she had nothing lefl to live for—nothing to hope (or— one thing, and one alone, to die for—und that enbiraced her all of felicity, both here and hereafter—for it was Peace!

"Clara~cister!” her voice was low and plaintive a9 that of the dying zophyr, and tho person whom she niddreasod, a young and beautiful, though care-worn female, sprang hastily from the embrasvre of the window in which sho had been seated—~#T eannot~I dare not sleop. ‘These wild dreama haunt my fancy, and die turk any mind. Grim monsters startup ever und anon before me; and tall, sheeted spectroa point their long, hony fingers at me in scom! Oh! it is horrible— drondfal—that fearful shudder !”

« Rosalio™” ;

& Who calls ‘Rosalie?”—it is a forbidden word.”

“Say not cof—Do we not all love you dearly” and the speaker bent over her sister’s form, and im- printed a wana kine on her pale cheek— You know not how glatly we woukl see you once muro well and happy ?”

LADY’S

“T do know it-I feel it !—but I fear me I shall never live to requite your kindness! Do I speak wildly? My brain js hot—scorehing hot—and my throat ie parched with thirat!”.

« Drink of this goblet—it will revive you. You need rest—compore youself!”

sThe letter, Clara !—has it been sent 1”

“Tt hos!”

“ And is there no answer?”

“The messenger bas not returned. Clement Lec has been successful in the canvusx—and hie is to address his fellow-citizens this evening ; perhaps he—”

“No! no! He cannot refuse me—it is a last request —I have told him #0, He knows that [ am dying, and he wil} come—I am aure he will !”

“Talk not of dying, Roxalié, we cannot. part with you!”

“ Why should I wort it ia but truth! Like the fower plucked from ita pareut stem, and deprived of the quickening influence of sunlight and shower, I am fast fading away. The hand of death is on me, I feel it here J” she pressed her hand emphatically to her heart.

“Oh, no! You are better—much better now—the bloomn nguin freshens on your cheek!” *

“Ab! you must not deceive me!” she said, raising

her head faintly, and surveying her reflected image in the piec-glass before her. “Lis the startling premoni- tion, of the fast change—the seal of the destroyer! Gaily he decks his victims for the sacrifice—ha! this is the | «bloom’ of the grave!” @ Overpowcred with the effort, she sak back into the arms of her sister, and for a few moments lay motionless ani senseless 0a a atatue, Suddenly her eyes were opened—she missed some one, and murmured softly,

“My mother? where is she?”

“fore, Rosalie!” paid the mother, as she entered the room. “Cheer up, love! here is a message for you; Clement Lee is engaged with Ms friends to-night, he will call to-morrow.”

“A ‘message ? then indeed he has forgotten me! ‘to-morrow 7 that will bo too late! Be still, still, my poor heart!” she exclaimed. “I could hear all—all— hut this! to know he would not see me, even now ! Do not weep, my mother! Come near me, speak to me, pray for me!”

‘Thos entreated, she knelt heside her child, and though the sobs she conld not supprese, uhnost impeded her speech, she poured forth at the throne of grace, the petition of a heart overflowing with gratitude, yet rent by the keenest and most poignant anguish, She hud just concluded as the words—" mather—sister—Clement —Hreaven !” came faintly articulated from the lips of Rosalie. A feeble smile lighted up the countenance of the dying girl—her eyes sparkled witha supernatural
 * —a gentle tremor stole over her frame—and,

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 The African's want of making it clear in his language whether he is referring to an animate or inanimate thing, has landed me in many a dilemma, and his foolishness in not having a male and female gender in his languages amounts to a nuisance, and has nearly, at one fell swoop, turned my hairs gray, and brought them in sorrow to the grave. For example, I am a most lady-like old person and yet get constantly called "Sir." I hasten to assure you I never even wear a masculine collar and tie, and as for encasing the more earthward extremities of my anatomy in—you know what I mean well, I would rather perish on a public scaffold. The other day, circumstances having got beyond my control during the afternoon, I arrived in the evening in a saturated condition at a white settlement, and wishing to get accommodation for myself and my men, I made my way to the factory of a firm from whose representatives I have always received great and most courteous help. The agent in charge was not at home, and his steward-boy said, "Massa live for Mr. B.'s house." "Go tell him I live for come from," &c., said I, and "I fit for want place for my men." I had nothing to write on, or with, and I thought the steward-boy could carry this little message to its destination without dropping any of it, as Mr. B.'s house was close by; but I was wrong. Off he went, and soon returned with the note I here give a copy of:—

"DEAR OLD MAN,

Had there been any smelling salts or sal volatile in this subdivision of the Ethiopian region I should have forthwith fainted on reading this, but I well knew there was not, so I blushed until the steam from my soaking clothes (for I truly was "in a deuce of a mess") went up in a cloud and then, just as I was, I went "across" and appeared before the author of that awful note. When he came round, he said it had taken


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14 OUR FATHERS, WHERE ARE THEY.

THE OLD FORGE,

NY w. J. VERNON.

AN INNUAN TRADITION.

We are daily growing older, HY D. M. BEWOOD, And our fiuthers, where are they? — Underneath the graasy hillocks, fT eannot fram my heart root out

in the church-yard, old and gray, Wherr the elms above are waving, in their qniet beds they lie, With the cold earth vi their bosoms, And their facea to the sky.

In the hoary mountain passes Where for siberty they fell, In the dit and mystic foreal, es Tu the quiet rural dell, Or wherever thoy have fallen Av rimir pilgrim way they trod, With their sabres for the foeman, And their hearts upon their Gad.

In the churches ald of England, Where the cchoes now are woke That aruse upun tie stillness When the holy martyrs spoke, Where the Sabbath chimes are ringing From each minster gray and grand, Or eacl! hill, in ev'ry valley Of our father’s FATEERLAND,

By the frozen shores of Sweden, By the blnshing hills of Frauce, ‘By the méorlaud and the mountain Over Scotland's brown expanse, By the walls of aiden Carthage, By the suuny isles of Greece, _ By the sulemn tombs of Egypt, Sleep our fathers, sleep in peace! °

Oh? the ages that have vanished,

Since the murdered Abc! died, ‘ Gv’ry age has seen its millions

Buried by the victiin’s side, © Oh! the kingdoms pane forever,

And the tribes that are no more— Nota dirge to them remaineui

Save the surf upon the shore.

Vet the earth amid these changes Is the saine as on the morn When the angels sung together, And the morning stars were born; in its beauty still as youthful 1t is smiling 10 the sky,— For a type of the Rrmnnat, Aa the face of Geo on high?

Srexxess.—Sickness is a guide and an instructor: it has heen mercifully erdaimed xs a preparation for what ix to follew iu its sleps; it fratzs the heart for the tomb, °

The lave that rings ilsu,and J must die!” Bayan.

Ts the neighborhved of the quict village of Unionville, Massachusetts, is one of the loveliest liltte nooks that is to be fuund in the wide world. Any one who has ever visited “I'he Old Forge," will al once agree with me in this assertion; and I would advise any one who has not to betake himself to same ane of the depots of the Boston aud Albany Railroad, whence the cars will place him directly on the spot without any farther trouble of his own. It is, perhaps, as worthy of being visited as most of the modern resorts of those who find themselves, during the summer mouths, with money ia their pockets, and nothing te de but get rid of it. The quiet Joveli- ness of the place, and—save the warbling of the birds, and the perpetual voice of the waterfall—the deep silence that reigns there, ate its principal charms. For houre buve I gat, ejther alone, or with a single Seiend, on some moss-covered rock, shaded by the maple and the ash tree, fearing to break, even hy a word, ihe spell that aeemed thrown around me. And when I grew weary, | or rather when the time came that I must leave, for one could never weary of being there, 1 would turn away, atil] wrapt in the same decp fecling of awe and medila- tion, as if the Spirit of Solitude bad chosen this for her retreat, and cxercised @ mystic influence over every one that intruded himself into her haunts.

But [ have not yct described the place, and even now my pen shrinks from the task, from the consciousnesa of its utter inability to perform it.

There is a little stream (whether it has a name I know not) that rises I cannot tell where, but ic flows into the Merrimac, and thence mingles ils waters with the sea. It is a most beautiful river, as all others are that I have ever seen, for water, running, dashing, foam- ing water iz always beautiful, But thie ane is superia- tively so, and the superb granite arches that have, here and there, been thrown across its winding channei, for the accommodation of the Railroad cars, have rather added to, than diminished, its eftect. But the Old Forge is the place of all others; for if rocks, ond trees, and flowers and water, can be so disposed as to give pleasure to the eye, such is their arrangement here. On either side, that most majestic of all trees, the forest elm, dips its reots into the sparkling stream, and many even hang down their branches, and lave them in its cool depths. So thickly are the rocka scattered across ihe channel, that it is diflicult for the waler to find its wuy through, and it dushea over one, glides swiftly by


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16

Her people at last saw the melancholy change, and again the warriors went forth to battle, and brought back a prisoner from their enemies, who should supply the place of Arhongo. Such was their custom, but Loisma could not bear the thought, and when at last a consent was wrung from her, she resolved within herself never to pollute the pure, the only love she had ever known. So when the day came on which she was to become the bride of one she knew not, she went early in the morning to the spot where she had so often mused. Strange, but she seemed happy again, far happier than ever since Arhongo's death. The music of the birds sounded as sweetly to her ear ; the flowers had colors as bright and delicate ; and the whole earth appeared as lovely as ever before ; and it would seem that she had resigned herself to her lot, and became cheerful again, for she sang one of her old songs with a sweet but plaintive voice, and when it was finished, she offered up a prayer to the Great Spirit, and then threw herself from the tallest rock into the deep, dark pool below.

They sought her for a bride, but found her not. It was long before the truth flashed on them, for her feelings could not be comprehended by her people. No monument was raised to her memory, but I have often sat on the rock where she last sat, silently admiring her heroism, and her devotion to her first and only love. And I would that it might no longer be called the Old Forge, for that name seems to profane the place ; but that even at this late day, there might be substituted for it the simple title of Loisma's Tomb.

THE TWO MIRRORS.

THERE is a silent pool, whose glass Reflects the lines of earth and sky; The hues of heaven along it pass, And all the verdant forestry. And in that shining downward view, Each cloud, and leaf, and little flower, Grows ' mid a watery sphere anew, And doubly lives the summer hour. Beside the brink, a lovely maid, Against a furrowed stem is leaning To watch the painted light and shade That give the mirror form and meaning. Her shape and check, her eyes and hair Have caught the splendor floating round ; She in herself embodies there All life that fills sky, lake, and ground. And while her looks the crystal meets, Her own fair image seems to rise; And, glass-like, too, her heart repeats The world that there in vision lies.-STERLING.

THE LOST SHIP. BY HARRY DANFORTH. "HARK !" said a young man to a group, of which he formed a part, sitting around the cheery fire of an inn, and momently drowning, in gay sallies and boisterous mirth, the noise of the gale outside-" hark ! was not that a gun ?" Every voice in the company ceased speaking at once, and every ear was turned in eager enquiry toward the window. The roar of the neighboring surf, and the wild tumult of the tempest, as it whistled and shrieked without, broke distinctly on the hearing, but for more than a minute, during which all listened intently, nothing else was heard. "It was but fancy, Jack," said one of the group, “ you— The speaker stopped short, for, at that instant, the deep boom of a cannon out at sea, sounded distinctly and fearfully across the night, so that the hearers started and gazed into each other's faces, as men might gaze if they could listen to a voice from the dead. Neither the pen of the novelist, nor the pencil of the painter, could do justice to that look of horror. The silence lasted for a full minute, and was at length broken by the first speaker. " There is a ship on the coast-hark ! a third gun, and it sounds nearer than the last." "And the wind is right on shore, and blowing a hurricane," said another. "God help them !-but let us hurry to the coast, and see if we can do any thing for them," ejaculated the first speaker. With one consent the party moved toward the door, first, however, calling to the landlord to bring lanterns and ropes in case the latter might be needed. As the door was opened, a gust of wind eddied into the room, flaring the candles in their sconces, and whistling keenly around the corners of the apartment. When the adventurers stepped outside they were almost borne down, for a moment, by the intensity of the gale, which, sweeping unchecked across the plain that lay betwixt the inn and the beach, burst on the house with almost incredible fury. It was snowing violently, and the flakes hissing and spinning in the hurricane, almost blinded the eyes of the adventurers ; but drawing their shaggy coats around them, the compassionate travellers bent their heads against the wind, and hurried to the coast, their pace increasing momently as the solemn booming of that signal gun rose more and more distinctly on the night. The shore to which they turned their steps was a high, bold rocky coast, against which the surf was now beating with a violence that shook the cliff's to their


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stood on the forecastle of the wreck. Minute after minute elapsed, and still the spectators gazed curiously into the darkness, but, as the moments slipped away, hope grew fainter, until at length it ceased altogether. At length one spoke.

"There is not a soul left alive. Nor does there seem to be any one on the stern of the vessel. I fear the sufferer below is the sole survivor. Can nothing be done to rescue her ?"

For several minutes there was no reply ; but each person gazed into his neighbor's face with a sad, hopeless look that told too plainly what was thought. Many shook their heads, and several turned away as if longer delay at the spot was useless. But, when the silence had reigned for some time, the young man who, in the inn, had been the first to hear the signal gun, stepped out and said, "The only hope is in descending to her aid. I will try it with a rope-so help me God !" " It were madness," said one. "You will never live to get half way down," said another. "I cannot die in a holier cause," answered the young man. "Nobly spoken, my son," said the pastor, " and may God be with you in your attempt. He who guided the children of Israel through the desert, and maintained the holy martyrs amid the fires of persecution will not desert us in this extremity." The words of the venerable man had an invigorating effect on the listeners, and infused new hope into their bosoms. The tackle was speedily rigged, the fire was replenished, and then the adventurer stood on the edge of the cliff awaiting a lull in the gale. The attempt now to be made was one of the most perilous nature, and certain death would be sure to overtake the adventurer, if his nerve should fail him, or his path become immersed in darkness during his descent. The side of the precipice was nearly perpendicular, but it shelved in perhaps a few yards in its descent, while its surface was broken every where with fissures and jutting crags, against the latter of which a person descending its side with a rope would run a constant peril of being flung by the violence of the gale, oscillating the rope to and fro. The only possible means by which the foot of the precipice could be reached would be by the aid of a pole, used with a quick eye and steady nerve, to fend off the adventurer from the side of the cliff. Even in the day-time and during a calm the descent would have been an exploit that few persons would have coveted ; but with a violent wind beating against the face of the cliff, and whirling in eddies around the broken surface, the attempt was productive almost certainly of death, and only to be justified by the extreme necessity of the present occasion. Added to all this

peril, however, was that of darkness, for although the fire on the edge of the cliff was vigorously maintained, the light of the flames shot out horizontally, or at least diagonally downward, so that the face of the precipice was only illumined by fitful gleams, and never wholly removed from shadow. How could a person descending the face of the cliff in this comparative darkness, guard himself with any certainty against the numerous jutting fragments of the rock ? -or how could he, even if he should effect his own descent, ascend again to the edge of the cliff above with another person ? At length it was arranged that the young adventurer should descend at once by means of a rope, girt around his body, and made fast above, while another rope should accompany him down. Then if he reached the foot of the precipice in safety, cloaks and blankets would be lowered to him in order that the sufferer might be protected, as much as possible, against the chilling blasts. When morning dawned, or earlier if the gale abated, an attempt was to be made to raise the sufferer to the top of the cliff by means of a chair and whip. Every thing having been arranged, the daring adventurer seized a favorable opportunity during a lull of the gale, and commenced his descent. The light ofthe fire as it shivered on the dark face of the precipice, and the wild whirlpool of foam below gave an omninous character to all around him ; but his heart was a stranger to fear, and skilfully avoiding the jutting angles of the rock, he reached at length the foot of the cliff, and with a light bound springing over an intermediate chasm, stood by the side of the fugitive from the wreck. We shall not attempt to describe her emotions during the dizzy descent of the young man, nor the glad cry of joy with which she saw him landed on the rock to which she clung. She would have thrown herself at his feet, but he would not permit it. Raising her up, he said, "To God alone are our thanks due : let us pray to him that we may escape the peril which yet surrounds us, for I cannot conceal from you that the danger is still imminent, and I scarcely know how we can reach the top of the cliff. But droop not, for I have come to save you or die with you !" The fugitive raised her grateful eyes to the young man, and he then saw, for the first time, that she was a young girl, apparently about seventeen, and of unusual loveliness. Even now, with her dress all drenched with spray, and the salt foam intermingled with the tresses of her dishevelled hair, her beauty was so startling that the young adventurer could scarcely repress an exclamation of rapturous admiration, and he felt that he could dare the same danger a thousand times, to win another such grateful glance from the dark eyes of the lovely stranger. But the exposed situation of the rock on which they stood-for every wave dashed the cold spray over them ―soon recalled him to the necessity of providing a place


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THE SONG WRITERS OF AMERICA.

POESY is the daughter of the gods. The divinest faculty ofman is the gift of song. Ifthere is any thing that links us to the angels it is our longing for supernal beauty-a longing which we seek to gratify in music, in painting, in earthly loveliness, but most of all in poetry. To appease this wild thirst for things brighter than are afforded by our present state of existence, we invest mortal beings with the attributes of the celestial world, surrounding them with a beauty which is a part of the cherubims, and dignifying them with a purity that blooms only by the rivers of Paradise. To the eye of the poet the commonest things of life have a loveliness greater than the loveliest things of earth to the eye of the uninspired. His own glorious spirit bathes every thing he looks upon in an effulgence like that which the archangel's countenance sheds around whatever he beholds. There is not a leaf that rustles in the wood, nor a wave that sparkles in the sun, nor a bird that sings in the thicket, nor a flower that lifts its face to the summer sky and smiles, but is not to the poet more beautiful than the most glorious visions are to the mere " hewer of wood and drawer of water" of earth. A ripple, a dew-drop, the tinkle of a waterfall, the song of a child at play in the woods, a star, a passing bird, whatever there is of this world to gladden the heart of man with glimpses ofsupernal beauty, stirs ten thousand fine chords in the bosom of the poet, and makes all time tremulous with a strain that vibrates throughout nature, and for aught we know, may reach into eternity itself. He, who has the faculty of song, carries with him a safeguard against the ills of this life. He has wings given to him to soar above all that is mean in earth, and, it is his own fault if ever he soils his plumage, or fails to drink, far up in the illimitable ether, the dew wept by the stars. God made man for immortality, and though he has allotted us our first home here, it is only that we may deserve our heritage by spurning the dross of earth and winging our way above. And Poesy is our mistress to bid us fix our eyes on heaven, and plume ourselves for the flight.

Where are the poets of old ? Their mortal bodies sleep by the shores of Greece, on the hills of Italy, in the quiet minsters of our fatherland ; but their souls are still with us, in those immortal works, which they have left behind. Hear you not the blind old man of Scio, as he was heard of yore in the cities of Greece, speaking in the self same tones as when he thrilled the sons of acides with their ancestors' deeds ? Underneath the his loved foliage have we sat for hours with the Bard of Mantua, listening to the silver melody of his pipe, as he recited the sacking of Illium, or lamented over the melancholy love of Dido. Oh ! have you not heard Petrarch sing of Laura ? Have you not felt with Dante the

shaggy sides of Lucifer ? You have walked with Milton hand in hand along the flowery banks of Eden, or gazed breathlessly down into the lake of fire where writhed Satan and his hosts. With Rosalind we have roamed the forest of Ardennes. We have seen the unspotted Imogen asleep in her chamber which her holy breath perfumed. We have heard the midnight terrors of Richard, have seen the horror-struck Macbeth, have spoken as Hamlet spoke with a visitant from the tomb. We have soared with Ariel to the skies. And with the blind old man we have heard the harps before the eternal throne, and seen the gleaming of the white wings of angels, and the robes of the redeemed : and long ages after we are dead the world will still hear the divine music of the poets, and catch glimpses of Paradise from the calm, ineffable faces of these prophets of God. Poesy comes from the skies and is eternal. The song-writer is as much a poet as the composer of an epic, and, in his peculiar department, may evince an equal genius. The nobility of sentiment, the beauty of the imagery, the finish and purity of the style which constitute the merits of the epic are essential to the song ; and the true poet will infuse them into the lyric as fully and triumphantly as into a longer poem. Genius bathes whatever it touches with glory. It matters not whether Apollo sweeps his own celestial lyre, or touches the rude fibres of the shell on the sea-shore ; he brings music alike from either ; for it is the fingers of the god and not the instrument in which the harmony resides. In judging of a song, therefore, we must not abate one whit the rigid canons by which we judge an epic : indeed if either requires the higher polish it is the song, just as in painting, the lines of a miniature ought to be more exquisitely pencilled than those of a full length portrait. The great old masters have left us nothing which is not as elaborately finished in its detail as it is simple in its general effect. The song-writers of our country are but little, if at all inferior to those of England. We have no Shakspeare, nor Milton, nor Spencer ; but we have our Herrick and our Waller. We number among our sons many who have asserted for themselves a high station in the sacerdotal throng, and who have waited at the altar in robes only less resplendent than those of the high priests of Poesy. Noble and worthy are these children of our common country, and long shall they be held in remembrance among us. To some have been given the highest powers of song, and sweetly have they sung far up and out of sight in heaven. On others a less beatific inspiration has descended, and they have warbled their lays along the hedge-rows, and by the sedgy margins of streams. But all have had more or less of the divine faculty, have given us brighter or dimmer glimpses of Paradise, have lifted our souls above the littlenesses and sorrows ofthis world, and thrilled it with celestial sights


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and would fain have a momentary relief by gazing on something less splendid.

SERENADE.

LOOK out upon the stars, my love, And shame them with thine eyes, On which, than on the lights above, There hang more destinies. Nights beauty is the harmony Of blending shades and light ; Then, lady, up,-look out, and be A sister to the night !Sleep not !--thine image wakes for aye Within my watching breast : Sleep not !-from her soft sleep should fly, Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay With looks, whose brightness well might make Of darker nights a day. In direct contrast to Pinkney, let us take up Charles Fenno Hoffman. This gentleman has written many fine songs, and seems to have written them much as Pinkney wrote his, for both writers evince artistic skill to a high degree in their lyrics. But Pinkney has soared to a height to which Hoffman has yet to aspire. The former has nearly, some would say altogether attained that point in at where art seems nature ; and accordingly, united to much ornateness in detail, we have as the general effect, in Pinkney's songs, a chaste and severe simplicity. As Démosthenes was to other orators so is Pinkney to other song writers. Hoffman, on the contrary, betrays his art in every line ; and although there is a freedom in his songs as if they were written con amore, yet that freedom walks in jewelled apparel, and regulates her steps according to the last lesson of the dancing master. There is no such thing as simplicity in Hoffman's songs. They are all " sparkling and bright" as the wine he loves to commemorate, or the bright eyes it is his delight to extol. He resembles Moore in many things, but we question if he produces his songs with the labor and time of his master. Hoffman has caught his style from reading the " Irish Melodies," rather than the songs of Herrick, and he writes unconsciously after the more bastard style of the former. There is too much obtrusive epigrammatic turn, too much mock sentiment, too much of what we should call balderdash about the songs of Hoffman. Yet he has written many fine lyrics. In some of his better moments he has soared to the atmosphere of Waller, but he has soon returned with drooping and wearywing. We like best those of his lyrics which relate to war and wine- in his songs to the other sex he speaks after too mincing a fashion. But for the songs. And first we will give one of his gayest. SPARKLING AND BRIGHT. SPARKLING and bright in liquid light Does the wine our goblets gleam in, With hue as red as the rosy bed Which a bee would choose to dream in.

Then fill to-night with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles tbat swim on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips while meeting. O! if Mirth might arrest the flight Of Time through Life's dominions, We here a while would now beguile The graybeard of his pinions, To drink to-night with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips while meeting. But since delight can't tempt the wight, Nor fond regret delay him, Nor Love himself can hold the elf, Nor sober Friendship stay him, We'll drink to -night with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips while meeting. After a song on wine what is more appropriate than one on war; and here is " The Myrtle and Steel." THE MYRTLE AND STEEL.

ONE bumper yet, gallants, at parting, One toast ere we arm for the fight ; Fill round, each to her he loves dearest"Tis the last he may pledge her, to-night. Think of those who of old at the banquet Did their weapons in garlands conceal, The patriot heroes who hallowed The entwining of myrtle and steel ! Then hey for the myrtle and steel, Then ho for the myrtle and steel, Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid, Fill round to the myrtle and steel ! "Tis in moments like this, when each bosom With its highest-toned feeling is warm, Like the music that's said from the ocean To rise ere the gathering storm, That her image around us should hover, Whose name, though our lips ne'er reveal, We may breathe mid the foam of a bumper, As we drink to the myrtle and steel. Then hey for the myrtle and steel, Then ho for the myrtle and steel, Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid, Fill round to the myrtle and steel ! Now mount, for our bugle is ringing To marshal the host for the fray, Where proudly our banner is flinging Its folds o'er the battle-array ; Ye gallants-one moment-remember, When your sabres the death-blow would deal, That MERCY wears her shape who's cherish'd By lads of the myrtle and steel. Then hey for the myrtle and steel, Then ho for the myrtle and steel, Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid, Fill round to the myrtle and steel ! We were about to pass on, but we will give one more; and let it be " Rosalie Clare"-a friend beside us insisting that it is one of the finest of Hoffman's songs. It sounds to us too much a la Lochinvar. ROSALIE CLARE. WHO Owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair, Who questions the beauty of ROSALIE CLARE ? Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field, And, though harness'd in proof, he must perish or yield ; For no gallant can splinter, no charger may dare The lance that is couch'd for young ROSALIE Clare.

1


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 seven years' growth out of him, and was intensely apologetic. I remarked it had very nearly taken thirty years' growth out of me, and he said the steward boy had merely informed him that "White man live for come from X, a place where he knew there was another factory belonging to his firm, and he naturally thought it was the agent from X who had come across. He offered to commit suicide, and kill the boy; but I thought that, under the circumstances, I had no right to avail myself of the first part of his offer, and as my chief pride in West Africa is that I have never raised hand nor caused hand to be raised against a native, I did not like to have the boy killed. So after seeing my men safe for the night I settled down and had supper.

You rarely, indeed I believe never, find an African with a gift for picturesque descriptions of scenery. The nearest approach to it I ever got was from my cook when we were on Mungo mah Lobeh. He proudly boasted he had been on a mountain, up Cameroon River, with a German officer, and on that mountain, "If you fall down one side you die, if you fall down other side you die."

Graphic and vivid descriptions of incidents you often get, but it is not Art. The effect is produced entirely by a bald brutality of statement, the African having no artistic reticence whatsoever. One fine touch, however, which does not come in under this class was told me by my lamented friend Mr. Harris of Calabar. Some years ago he had out a consignment of Dutch clocks with hanging weights, as is natural to the Dutch clock. They were immensely popular among the chiefs, and were soon disposed of save one, which had seen trouble on the voyage out and lost one of its weights. Mr. Harris, who was a man of great energy and resource, melted up some metal spoons and made a new weight and hung it on the clock. The day he finished this a chief came in, anxious for a Dutch clock, and Mr. Harris forthwith sold him the repaired one. About a week elapsed, and then the chief turned up at the factory again with a rueful countenance, followed by a boy carrying something swathed in a cloth. It was the clock.

"You do me bad too much, Mr. Harris," said the chief.


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That moss-cover'd vessel I hail as a treasure, B For often at noon, when return'd from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing, How quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell, Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-cover'd bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ; Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though fill'd with the nectar that JUPITER sips. And now, far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well. The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-cover'd bucket which hangs in his well.

F. W. Thomas is better known as a novelist than as a song-writer ; but if success is any guarantee of merit, the experiment he has made in the latter department would warrant farther essays. His song ""Tis said that Absence conquers Love," was pronounced by the publisher the most popular lyric he had ever issued . Thomas has since written other songs, but their success has not as yet been so decisive . After all, the sentiment of this favorite lyric has been the true secret of its popularity. 'TIS SAID THAT ABSENCE CONQUERS LOVE. "Tis said that absence conquers love ! But, O! believe it not ; I've tried, alas ! its power to prove, But thou art not forgot. Lady, though fate has bid us part, Yet still thou art as dear, As fix'd in this devoted heart As when I clasp'd thee here. I plunge into the busy crowd, And smile to hear thy name; And yet, as if I thought aloud, They know me still the same. And when the wine-cup passes round, I toast some other fair,But when I ask my heart the sound, Thy name is echo'd there. And when some other name I learn, And try to whisper love. Still will my heart to thee return , Like the returning dove. In vain! I never can forget, And would not be forgot; For I must bear the same regret, Whate'er may be my lot. E'en as the wounded bird will seek Its favorite bower to die, So, lady, I would hear thee speak, And yield my parting sigh. "Tis said that absence conquers love ! But, O, believe it not ; I've tried, alas ! its power to prove, But thou art not forgot.

THE MINSTREL RETURNED FROM THE WAR. THE minstrel return'd from the war, With spirits as buoyant as air, And thus on his tuneful guitar, He sung in the bower of his fair, " The noise of the battle is over ; The bugle no more calls to arms, A soldier no more, but a lover, I bend to the power ofthy charms, Oh! lady, fair lady, I'm thine ; I bend to the magic of beauty ; Tho' the banner and helmet are mine, Yet love calls the soldier to duty." The minstrel his suit warmly pressed ; She blush'd, sighed and hung down her head ; Till conquer'd, she fell on his breast, And thus to the happy youth said : 66 The bugle shall part us, love, never ; My bosom thy pillow shall be, Till death tears thee from me forever ; Still faithful, I'll perish with thee, Sweet lady, fair lady, I'm thine, I bend to the magic of beauty ; Tho' the banner and helmet are mine, Yet love calls the soldier to duty." But fame called the youth to the field ; His banner waved high o'er his head ; He gave his guitar for a shield, And soon he lay low with the dead ; While she, o'er her young hero bending, Received his expiring adieu ; " I die whilst my country defending, But I die to my lady love true." 66"Oh, death!" then she cried, " I am thine ; I tear off the roses of beauty ; The grave of my hero is mine, For he died true to love and to duty !"

Hill's " Leila" is a very beautiful song, but it has an unfortunate resemblance to Pinkney's " Health” —an instance, to speak in a paradox, of the strength or weakness of Mr. Hill's memory, we care not which. Were it not for this plagiarism we should speak in terms of unqualified praise of " Leila.". LEILA . When first you look upon her face You little note beside The timidness which still betrays The beautics it would hide ; But, one by one, they look out from Her blushes and her eyes : And still the last the loveliest, Like stars from twilight skies. And thoughts go sporting thro' her mind, Like children among flowers : And deeds of gentle goodness are The measure of her hours. In soul or face she bears no trace Of one from Eden driven, But like the rainbow, seems tho' born Of Earth, a part of Heaven.

So thickly do the songs of our poets crowd on us that we are almost dazzled by the continuous splendor of the Hewitt is a favorite song-writer, and his " Minstrel's sight. Our soul dissolves beneath the unceasing music Return from the War," which is generally attributed to of their lyrics. We must give up the task, although a foreign source, is certainly a fine lyric. Notwithstand- many fine songs remain yet behind. But these we C. must defer to another occasion. ing it is so extensively known we give it here.


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garments of the elder lady and the boy. The two latter, however, were far more warmly clad than the girl, although- God knows ! -none of them were sufficiently protected from the keen, biting blasts, that whirling around the rickety tenement, found an entrance through every cranny, and eddied the fading fire to and fro.

"Have you not done yet, Alice ?" said the elder lady, in a sad tone, " you surely cannot work longer by this light without injuring your eyes, and if they are spoiled our last resource is gone."

"Fear not, mother," said the daughter in a cheerful voice, but without looking up from her needle, " I will take care not to hurt my sight. A few stitches and it will be done."

The mother heaved a gentle sigh, and a tear stole quietly down her cheek. She did not wipe it away lest her daughter might see the gesture ; but the crystal drop fell on the cheek of the boy who knelt at his parent's feet. " Oh ! mother," he said, " what would I not give if I was a man ; for then you and Alice would not have to work this way ; but I would support you. How many years, mother, will it be before I shall be a man ?" The mother's heart was full, and the agitation of the sister, as the boy thus spoke, might be seen from the nervous velocity with which she plied the needle. But neither could trust themselves to speak. The boy saw all this, and did not press the question, although for a minute he looked curiously from one to the other. At length, however, he spoke again. "I hope I shall be a man soon, for then I will get rich, and you and Alice, mother, shall live with me in a nice house in the country like the one we used to live in- you remember it, don't you, dear mother ? oh ! it was so beautiful. How I used to chase the butterflies over the green fields, and fish in the creek, or hunt wild flowers in the wood for sister's hair-were we not all happy, then ?, Don't cry, mother," for, by this time, the tears of the parent were falling thick and fast, "for some of these days I will get rich, and we will go back to the old place again." That little family, as the words of the prattler indicated, had once seen better days. The father of it had been a prosperous merchant, and the world rightly reputed him to be rich. Mr. Beckett lived in a style commensurate with his wealth. He had a town and country-house, kept his carriage, and indulged himself and family in all the elegances, nay, luxuries of life ; and a more happy family did not exist for each other in all this wide country. But at length there came one of those convulsions in the commercial world which periodically appear, producing a devastation which is looked upon afterward, as we would look on the path of a hurricane, when ruin has followed it on every hand. Mr. Beckett was one of the first victims to the storm.

Several extensive houses, which were debtors to him for a large amount, failed, and in their ruin dragged him down with them. The blow killed him. Unable to behold the utter loss of his fortune, to contemplate the poverty to which his darling wife and children were reduced, he pined away, suffering his misfortunes to brood on his spirit, until finally he took sick and died. His poor wife nearly sank under the loss of her husband, although she had borne the loss of fortune with christian resignation. In these trying circumstances utter ruin would indeed have overtaken the little family had it not been for the exertions of the daughter, who displayed an energy which was above her years. She attended to the closing of her father's affairs and nursed her mother through a long illness, as if she had been accustomed to these things from childhood, instead of being the offspring of luxury. When her father's estate was settled, a bare pittance of five hundred dollars was paid to her. On this paltry sum, with the aid of her needle, she managed to support the family for two years, during which her mother was ill for most of the time. But their means had at length failed, and although Alice had foreseen this with a heavy heart, yet she had endeavored to keep up and still maintained a cheerful aspect. On this evening they had consumed their last loaf of bread. Their fuel too was nearly gone. They had no means of replenishing either, until Alice had finished and been paid for the fine piece of fancy needle work on which she had been working. At length she rose up. "There it is done," she said, " and now I will run home with it. In an hour I will be back." "What through the storm, my child ?" said the mother. "" Yes ! but it snows very little now, and besides I promised to have the work done by to-night." The mother looked on her child and sighed, but made no farther answer ; and Alice, putting on her bonnet and wrapping a thin shawl around her-for alas ! she had no cloak- started forth into the storm. Her brother would have accompanied her, but she would not suffer him to leave her invalid mother. CHAPTER III .. THE wind roared wildly around the rich mansion of Mrs. Templeton, as she and her nephew Edward Moreton sat talking by the drawing room fire. The sofa had been wheeled in front of the grate, and the whole apartment had that air of comfort which is so peculiarly appreciable on a tempestuous winter night. As the aunt and her nephew sat listening to the shrill whistle of the gale as it swept down the street, and then heard the low roar of the massy grate glowing with its load of coal, their situation and feelings were in striking contrast with those of the little group we have just left shivering over their scanty fire. 66 Why, Edmund," said the aunt, continuing their