GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE. 

VOL. XXXII. PHILADELPHIA, APRIL, 1848. NO. 4. 

JACOB JONES. 

OR THE MAN WHO COULDN'T GET ALONG IN THE WORLD. 

BY T. S. ARTHUR. 

Jacob Jones was clerk in a commission store at a salary of fivehundred dollars a year. He was just twenty-two, and had been receivingthis salary for two years. Jacob had no one to care for but himself;but, somehow or other, it happened that he did not lay up any money, but, instead, usually had from fifty to one hundred dollars standingagainst him on the books of his tailors. 

"How much money have you laid by, Jacob?" said one day the merchantwho employed him. This question came upon Jacob rather suddenly; andcoming from the source that it did, was not an agreeable one--for themerchant was a very careful and economical man. 

"I havn't laid by any thing yet, " replied Jacob, with a slight air ofembarrassment. 

"You havn't!" said the merchant, in surprise. "Why what have you donewith your money?"

"I've spent it, somehow or other. "

"It must have been somehow or other, I should think, or somehow else, "returned the employer, half seriously, and half playfully. "Butreally, Jacob, you are a very thoughtless young man to waste yourmoney. "

"I don't think I _waste_ my money, " said Jacob. 

"What, then, have you done with it?" asked the merchant. 

"It costs me the whole amount of my salary to live. "

The merchant shook his head. 

Then you live extravagantly for a young man of your age and condition. How much do you pay for boarding?"

"Four dollars a week. "

"Too much by from fifty cents to a dollar. But, even paying that sum, four more dollars per week ought to meet fully all your otherexpenses, and leave you what would amount to nearly one hundreddollars per annum to lay by. I saved nearly two hundred dollars a yearon a salary no larger than you receive. "

"I should like very much to know how you did it. I can't save a cent;in fact, I hardly ever have ten dollars in my pocket. "

"Where does your money go, Jacob? In what way do you spend a hundreddollars a year more than is necessary?"

"They are spent, I know; and that is pretty much all I can tell aboutit, " replied Jacob. 

"You can certainly tell by your private account book. "

"I don't keep any private account, sir. "

"You don't?" in surprise. 

"No, sir. What's the use? My salary is five hundred dollars a year, and wouldn't be any more nor less if I kept an account of every halfcent of it. "

"Humph!"

The merchant said no more. His mind was made up about his clerk. Thefact that he spent five hundred dollars a year, and kept noprivate account, was enough for him. 

"He'll never be any good to himself nor anybody else. Spend his wholesalary--humph! Keep no private account--humph!"

This was the opinion held of Jacob Jones by his employer from thatday. The reason why he had inquired as to how much money he had saved, was this. He had a nephew, a poor young man, who, like Jacob, was aclerk, and showed a good deal of ability for business. His salary wasrather more than what Jacob received, and, like Jacob, he spent itall; but not on himself. He supported, mainly, his mother and ayounger brother and sister. A good chance for a small, but safebeginning, was seen by the uncle, which would require only about athousand dollars as an investment. In his opinion it would be justthe thing for Jacob and the nephew. Supposing that Jacob had four orfive hundred dollars laid by, it was his intention, if he approved ofthe thing, to furnish his nephew with a like sum, in order to join himand enter into business. But the acknowledgment of Jacob that he hadnot saved a dollar, and that he kept no private account, settled thematter in the merchant's mind, as far as he was concerned. 

About a month afterward, Jacob met his employer's nephew, who said, "I am going into business. "

"You are?"

"Yes. "

"What are you going to do?"

"Open a commission store. "

"Ah! Can you get any good consignments?"

"I am to have the agency for a new mill, which has just commencedoperations, beside consignments of goods from several small concernsat the East. "

"You will have to make advances. "

"To no great extent. My uncle has secured the agency of the new millhere without any advance being required, and eight hundred or athousand dollars will be as much as I shall need to secure as manygoods as I can sell from the other establishments of which I speak. "

"But where will the eight hundred or a thousand come from?"

"My uncle has placed a thousand dollars at my disposal. Indeed, thewhole thing is the result of his recommendation. "

"Your uncle! You are a lucky dog. I wish I had a rich uncle. But thereis no such good fortune for me. "

This was the conclusion of Jacob Jones, who made himself quite unhappyfor some weeks, brooding over the matter. He never once dreamed of thereal cause of his not having had an equal share in his young friend'sgood fortune. He had not the most distant idea that his employer feltnearly as much regard for him as for his nephew, and would havepromoted his interests as quickly, if he had felt justified in doingso. 

"It's my luck, I suppose, " was the final conclusion of his mind; "andit's no use to cry about it. Any how, it isn't every man with a richuncle, and a thousand dollars advanced, who succeeds in business, norevery man who starts without capital that is unsuccessful. Iunderstand as much about business as the old man's nephew, any day;and can get consignments as well as he can. "

Three or four months after this, Jacob notified the merchant that hewas going to start for himself, and asked his interest as far as hecould give it, without interfering with his own business. His employerdid not speak very encouragingly about the matter, which offendedJacob. 

"He's afraid I'll injure his nephew, " he said to himself. "But heneedn't be uneasy--the world is wide enough for us all, the oldhunks!"

Jacob borrowed a couple of hundred dollars, took a store at fivehundred dollars a year rent, and employed a clerk and porter. He thensent his circulars to a number of manufactories at the East, announcing the fact of his having opened a new commission house, andsoliciting consignments. His next move was, to leave hisboarding-house, where he had been paying four dollars a week, and takelodgings at a hotel at seven dollars a week. 

Notwithstanding Jacob went regularly to the post office twice everyday, few letters came to hand, and but few of them contained bills oflading and invoices. The result of the first year's business was anincome from commission on sales of seven hundred dollars. Against thiswere the items of one thousand dollars for personal expenses, fivehundred dollars for store-rent, seven hundred dollars for clerk andporter, and for petty and contingent expenses, two hundred dollars;leaving the uncomfortable deficit of seventeen hundred dollars, whichstood against him in the form of bills payable for sales effected, andsmall notes of accommodation borrowed from his friends. 

The result of the first year's business of his old employer's nephewwas very different. The gross profits were three thousand dollars, andthe expenses as follows: personal expense, seven hundred dollars--justwhat the young man's salary had previously been, and out of which hesupported his mother and her family--store-rent, three hundreddollars; porter, two hundred and fifty, petty expenses one hundreddollars--in all, thirteen hundred and fifty dollars, leaving a netprofit of sixteen hundred and fifty dollars. It will be seen that hedid not go to the expense of a clerk during the first year. Hepreferred working a little harder, and keeping his own books, by whichan important saving was effected. 

At the end of the second year, notwithstanding Jacob Jones' businessmore than doubled itself, he was compelled to wind up, and foundhimself twenty-five hundred dollars worse than nothing. Several of hisunpaid bills to eastern houses were placed in suit, and as he lived ina state where imprisonment for debt still existed, he was compelled togo through the forms required by the insolvent laws, to keep clear ofdurance vile. 

At the very period when he was driven under by adverse gales, hisyoung friend, who had gone into business about the same time, foundhimself under the necessity of employing a clerk. He offered Jones asalary of four hundred dollars, the most he believed himself yetjustified in paying. This was accepted, and Jacob found himself oncemore standing upon _terra firma_, although the portion upon which hisfeet rested was very small, still it was _terra firma_--and that wassomething. 

The real causes of his ill success never for a moment occurred to themind of Jacob. He considered himself an "unlucky dog. "

"Every thing that some people touch turns to money, " he wouldsometimes say. "But I wasn't born under a lucky star. "

Instead of rigidly bringing down his expenses, as he ought to havedone, to four hundred dollars, if he had had to live in a garret andcook his own food, Jacob went back to his old boarding-house, andpaid four dollars a week. All his other expenses required at leasteight dollars more to meet them. He was perfectly aware that he wasliving beyond his income--the exact excess he did not stop toascertain--but he expected an increase of salary before long, as amatter of course, either in his present situation or in a new one. Butno increase took place for two years, and then he was between threeand four hundred dollars in debt to tailors, boot-makers, hislandlady, and to sundry friends, to whom he applied for small sums ofmoney in cases of emergency. 

One day about this time, two men were conversing together quiteearnestly, as they walked leisurely along one of the principal streetsof the city where Jacob resided. One was past the prime of life, andthe other about twenty-two. They were father and son, and the subjectof conversation related to the wish of the latter to enter intobusiness. The father did not think the young man was possessed ofsufficient knowledge of business, or experience, and was, therefore, desirous of associating some one with him who could make up thesedeficiencies. If he could find just the person that pleased him, hewas ready to advance capital and credit to an amount somewhere withinthe neighborhood of twenty thousand dollars. For some months he hadbeen thinking of Jacob, who was a first-rate salesman, had a goodaddress, and was believed by him to possess business habits eminentlyconducive to success. The fact that he had once failed, was somethingof a drawback in his mind, but he had asked Jacob the reason of hisill-success, which was so plausibly explained, that he considered theyoung man as simply unfortunate in not having capital, and nothingelse. 

"I think Mr. Jones just the right man for you, " the father said, asthey walked along. 

"I don't know of any one with whom I had rather form a businessconnection. He is a man of good address, business habits, and, as faras I know, good principles. "

"Suppose you mention the subject to him this afternoon. "

This was agreed to. The two men then entered the shop of a fashionabletailor, for the purpose of ordering some clothes. While there, a man, having the appearance of a collector, came in, and drew the tailoraside. Their conversation was brief but earnest, and concluded by thetailor's saying, so loud that he could be heard by all who werestanding near, "It's no use to waste your time with him any longer. Just hand overthe account to Simpson, and let him take care of it. "

The collector turned away, and the tailor came back to his customers. 

"It is too bad, " he said, "the way some of these young fellows doserve us. I have now several thousand dollars on my books againstclerks who receive salaries large enough to support them handsomely, and I can't collect a dollar of it. There is Jacob Jones, whoseaccount I have just ordered to be placed in the hands of a lawyer, heowes me nearly two hundred dollars, and I can't get a cent out ofhim. I call him little better than a scamp. "

The father and son exchanged glances of significance, but saidnothing. The fate of Jacob Jones was sealed. 

"If that is the case, " said the father, as they stepped into thestreet, "the less we have to do with him the better. "

To this the son assented. Another more prudent young man was selected, whose fortune was made. 

"When Jacob received lawyer Simpson's note, threatening a suit if thetailor's bill were not paid, he was greatly disturbed. 

"Am I not the most unfortunate man in the world?" he said to himself, by way of consolation. "After having paid him so much money, to beserved like this. It is too bad. But this is the way of the world. Leta poor devil once get a little under the weather, and every one musthave a kick at him. "

In this dilemma poor Jacob had to call upon the tailor and beg him forfurther time. This was humiliating, especially as the tailor wasconsiderably out of humor, and disposed to be hard with him. A threatto apply for the benefit of the insolvent law again, if a suit waspressed to an issue, finally induced the tailor to waive legalproceedings for the present, and Jacob had the immediate terrors ofthe law taken from before his eyes. 

This event set Jacob to thinking and calculating, what he had neverbefore deemed necessary in his private affairs. The result did notmake him feel any happier. To his astonishment he ascertained that heowed more than the whole of his next year's salary would pay, whilethat was not in itself sufficient to meet his current expenses. 

For some weeks after this discovery of the real state of his affairs, Jacob was very unhappy. He applied for an increase of salary, andobtained the addition of one hundred dollars per annum. This wassomething, which was about all that could be said. If he could live onfour hundred dollars a year, which he had never yet been able to do, the addition to his salary would not pay his tailor's bill within twoyears; and what was he to do with boot-maker, landlady, and others?

It happened about this time that a clerk in the bank where his oldemployer was a director, died. His salary had been one thousanddollars. For the vacant place Jacob made immediate application, andwas so fortunate as to secure it. 

Under other circumstances, Jacob would have refused a salary offifteen hundred dollars in a bank against five hundred in acounting-room, and for the reason that a bank, or office clerk, haslittle or no hope beyond his salary all his life, while acounting-house clerk, if he have any aptness for trade, stands a fairchance of getting into business sooner or later, and making hisfortune as a merchant. But a debt of four hundred dollars hanging overhis head, was an argument in favor of a clerkship in the bank, at asalary of a thousand dollars a year, not to be resisted. 

"I'll keep it until I get even with the world again, " he consoledhimself by saying, "and then I'll go back into a counting-room. I'vean ambition above being a bank clerk all my life. "

Painful experience had made Jacob a little wiser. For the first timein his life he commenced keeping an account of his personal expenses. This acted as a salutary check upon his bad habit of spending moneyfor every little thing that happened to strike his fancy, and enabledhim to clear off his whole debt within the first year. Unwisely, however, he had, during this time, promised to pay some old debts, from which the law had released him. The persons holding these claims, finding him in the receipt of a higher salary, made an appeal to hishonor, which, like an honest, but not a prudent man, he responded toby a promise of payment as soon as it was in his power. But littletime elapsed after these promises were made, before he found himselfin the hands of constables and magistrates, and was only saved fromimprisonment by getting friends to go his bail for six and ninemonths. In order to secure them, he had to give an order in advancefor his salary. To get these burdens off of his shoulders, it tooktwelve months longer, and then he was nearly thirty years of age. 

"Thirty years old!" he said, to himself on his thirtieth birth-day. "Can it be possible? Long before this I ought to have been doing aflourishing business, and here I am, nothing but a bank clerk, withthe prospect of never rising a step higher as long as I live. I don'tknow how it is that some people get along so well in the world. I amsure I am as industrious, and can do business as well as any man; buthere I am still at the point from which I started twenty years ago. Ican't understand it. I'm afraid there's more in luck than I'm willingto believe. "

From this time Jacob set himself to work to obtain a situation in somestore or counting-room, and finally, after looking about for nearly ayear, was fortunate enough to obtain a good place, as book-keeper andsalesman, with a wholesale grocer and commission merchant. Sevenhundred dollars was to be his salary. His friends called him a foolfor giving up an easy place at one thousand a year, for a hard one atseven hundred. But the act was a much wiser one than many others ofhis life. 

Instead of saving money during the third year of his receipt of onethousand dollars, he spent the whole of his salary, without paying offa single old debt. His private account-keeping had continued through ayear and a half. After that it was abandoned. Had it been continued, it might have saved him three or four hundred dollars, which were nowall gone, and nothing to show for them. Poor Jacob! experience did notmake him much wiser. 

Two years passed, and at least half a dozen young men here and therearound our friend Jacob, went into business, either as partners insome old houses, or under the auspices of relatives or interestedfriends. But there appeared no opening for him. He did not know, thatmany times during that period, he had been the subject of conversationbetween parties, one or both of which were looking out for a man ofthorough business qualifications against which capital would beplaced; nor the fact, that either his first failure, his improvidence, or something else personal to himself, had caused him to be set asidefor some other one not near so capable. 

He was lamenting his ill-luck one day, when a young man with whom hewas very well acquainted, and who was clerk in a neighboring store, called in and said that he wanted to have some talk with him about amatter of interest to both. 

"First of all, Mr. Jones, " said the young man, after they were alone, "how much capital could you raise by a strong effort?"

"I am sure I don't know, " replied Jacob, not in a very cheerful tone. "I never was lucky in having friends ready to assist me. "

"Well! perhaps there will be no need of that. You have had a goodsalary for four or five years--how much have you saved? Enough, probably, to answer every purpose--that is, if you are willing to joinme in taking advantage of one of the best openings for business thathas offered for a long time. I have a thousand dollars in the savingsbank. You have as much, or more, I presume?"

"I am sorry to say I have not, " was poor Jacob's reply, in adesponding voice. "I was unfortunate in business some years ago, andmy old debts have drained away from me every dollar I could earn. "

"Indeed! that is very unfortunate. I was in hopes you could furnish athousand dollars. "

"I might borrow it, perhaps, if the chance is a very good one. "

"Well, if you could do that, it would be as well, I suppose, " returnedthe young man. "But you must see about it immediately. If you cannotjoin me at once, I must find some one who will, for the chance is toogood to be lost. "

Jacob got a full statement of the business proposed, its nature andprospects, and then laid the matter before the three merchants withwhom he had at different times lived in the capacity of clerk, andbegged them to advance him the required capital. The subject was takenup by them and seriously considered. They all liked Jacob, and feltwilling to promote his interests, but had little or no confidence inhis ultimate success, on account of his want of economy in personalmatters. It was very justly remarked by one of them, that this want ofeconomy, and the judicious use of money in personal matters, would gowith him in business, and mar all his prospects. Still, as they hadgreat confidence in the other man, they agreed to advance, jointly, the sum needed. 

In the meantime, the young man who had made the proposition to Jacob, when he learned that he had once failed in business, was still indebt, and liable to have claims pushed against him, (this he inferredfrom Jacob's having stretched the truth, by saying that his old debtsdrained away from him every dollar, when the fact was he was freedfrom them by the provisions of the insolvent law of the state, ) cameto the conclusion that a business connection with him was a thing tobe avoided rather than sought after. He accordingly turned histhoughts in another quarter, and when Jones called to inform him thathe had raised the capital needed, he was coolly told that it was toolate, he having an hour before closed a partnership arrangement withanother person, under the belief that Jones could not advance themoney required. 

This was a bitter disappointment, and soured the mind of Jacob againsthis fellow man, and against the fates also, which he alledged were allcombined against him. His own share in the matter was a thingundreamed of. He believed himself far better qualified for businessthan the one who had been preferred before him, and he had thethousand dollars to advance. It must be his luck that was against him, nothing else; he could come to no other conclusion. Other people couldget along in the world, but he couldn't. That was the great mystery ofhis life. 

For two years Jacob had been waiting to get married. He had not wishedto take this step before entering into business, and having a fairprospect before him. But years were creeping on him apace, and thefair object of his affections seemed weary of delay. 

"It is no use to wait any longer, " he said, after this dashing of hiscup to the earth. "Luck is against me. I shall never be any thing buta poor devil of a clerk. If Clara is willing to share my humble lot, we might as well be married first as last. "

Clara was not unwilling, and Jacob Jones entered into the estateconnubial, and took upon him the cares of a family, with a salary ofseven hundred dollars a year to sustain the new relation. Instead oftaking cheap boarding, or renting a couple of rooms, and commencinghousekeeping in a small way, Jacob saw but one course before him, andthat was to rent a genteel house, go in debt for genteel furniture, and keep two servants. Two years was the longest that he could bear upunder this state of things, when he was sold out by the sheriff, andforced "to go through the mill again, " as taking the benefit of theinsolvent law was facetiously called. 

"Poor fellow! he has a hard time of it. I wonder why it is that hegets along so badly. He is an industrious man, and regular in hishabits. It is strange. But some men seem born to ill-luck. "

So said some of his pitying friends. Others understood the matterbetter. 

Ten years have passed, and Jacob is still a clerk, but not in a store. Hopeless of getting into business, he applied for a vacancy thatoccurred in an insurance company, and received the appointment, whichhe still holds, at a salary of twelve hundred dollars a year. Afterbeing sold out three times by the sheriff, and having the deepmortification of seeing her husband brought down to the humiliatingnecessity of applying as often for the benefit of the insolvent law, Mrs. Jones took affairs, by consent of her husband, into her ownhands, and managed them with such prudence and economy that, notwithstanding they have five children, the expenses, all told, arenot over eight hundred dollars a year, and half of the surplus, fourhundred dollars, is appropriated to the liquidation of debtscontracted since their marriage, and the other half deposited in thesavings' bank, as a fund for the education of their children in thehigher branches, when they reach a more advanced age. 

To this day it is a matter of wonder to Jacob Jones why he could neverget along in the world like some people; and he has come to thesettled conviction that it is his "luck. "

THE DARLING. 

BY BLANCHE BENNAIRDE. 

 When first we saw her face, so dimpled o'er With smiles of sweetest charm, we said within Our inmost heart, that ne'er on earth before Had so much passing beauty ever been: So full of sweetest grace, so fair to see-- This treasure bright our babe in infancy. 

 Like blush of roses was the tint of health O'erspread her lovely cheeks; and they might vie In beauty with the fairest flower--nor wealth, Though told in countless millions, e'er could buy The radiance of this gem, than aught more bright Which lies in hidden mine, or saw the light. 

 The dawn of life was fair; so was its morn; For with each day new beauties met our view, And well we deemed that she, the dear first-born, Might early fade, like flowers that earth bestrew With all their cherished beauty, leaving naught But faded leaves where once their forms were sought. 

 She smiled upon us, and her spirit fled To taste the pleasures of that fairer land, Where angels ever dwell--she is not dead; But there with them her beauteous form doth stand, Arrayed in flowing light, before the throne Of Him whose name is Love--the Holy One. 

 She was our choicest bud, our precious flower; But now she blooms in that celestial place, Where naught can spoil the pleasure of an hour, Nor from its beauty one bright line efface-- Where all is one perpetual scene of bliss, Unmixed with sin; all perfect happiness. 

 The darling then is safe, secure from ill; Why should we mourn that she hath left this earth, When in that brighter land she bloometh still, A flower more perfect, of celestial birth? Let us submit, and own His righteous care Who doeth well; striving to meet her there. 

BATTLE OF FORT MOULTRIE. [1]

BY CHARLES J. PETERSON. 

When the news of the battle of Lexington reached Charleston, SouthCarolina rose in commotion. The provincial Congress, which hadadjourned, immediately re-assembled. Two regiments of foot and one ofhorse were ordered to be raised; measures were taken to procurepowder; and every preparation made for the war which was now seen tobe inevitable. A danger of a vital character speedily threatened thecolony. This was its invasion by the British; a project which had longbeen entertained by the royal generals. To provide in time fordefeating it, Congress had dispatched General Lee to the South. It wasnot until the beginning of the summer of 1776, however, that theenemy's armament set sail from New York, consisting of a large fleetof transports with a competent land force, commanded by Sir HenryClinton, and attended by a squadron of nine men-of-war, led by SirPeter Parker. On the arrival of this expedition off the coast, all wasterror and confusion among the South Carolinians. Energetic measureswere, however, adopted to repel the attack. 

To defend their capital the inhabitants constructed on Sullivan'sIsland, near the entrance of their harbor, and about four miles fromthe city, a rude fort of palmetto logs, the command of which was givento Col. Moultrie. Never, perhaps, was a more inartificial defencerelied on in so great an emergency. The form of the fort was square, with a bastion at each angle; it was built of logs based on each otherin parallel rows, at a distance of sixteen feet. Other logs were boundtogether at frequent intervals with timber dove-tailed and bolted intothem. The spaces between were filled up with sand. The merlons werefaced with palmetto logs. All the industry of the Carolinians, however, was insufficient to complete the fort in time; and when theBritish fleet entered the harbor, the defences were little more than asingle front facing the water. The whole force of Col. Moultrie wasfour hundred and thirty-five, rank and file; his armament consisted ofnine French twenty-sixes, fourteen English eighteens, nine twelve andseven nine pounders. Finding the fort could be easily enfiladed, Gen. Lee advised abandoning it; but the governor refused, telling Moultrieto keep his post, until he himself ordered the retreat. Moultrie, onhis part, required no urging to adopt this more heroic course. Aspectator happening to say, that in half an hour the enemy would knockthe fort to pieces. "Then, " replied Moultrie, undauntedly, "we willlie behind the ruins, and prevent their men from landing. " Lee withmany fears left the island, and repairing to his camp on the mainland, prepared to cover the retreat of the garrison, which heconsidered inevitable. 

[Footnote 1: From a work now in press, and shortly to be published, entitled "_The Military Heroes of the United States. By C. J. Peterson. 2 vols. 8vo. 500 pp. _"]

There was, perhaps, more of bravado than of sound military policy inattacking this fort at all, since the English fleet might easily haverun the gauntlet of it, as was done a few years later. But FortMoultrie was destined to be to the navy what Bunker Hill had been tothe army. It was in consequence of excess of scorn for his enemy, thatSir Peter Parker, disdaining to leave such a place in his rear, resolved on its total demolition. He had no doubt but that, in an hourat the utmost, he could make the unpracticed Carolinians glad to suefor peace on any terms. Accordingly on the 28th of June, 1776, heentered the harbor, in all the parade of his proud ships, nine innumber, and drawing up abreast the fort, let go his anchors withsprings upon his cables, and began a furious cannonade. Meanwhileterror reigned in Charleston. As the sound of the first gun wentbooming over the waters toward the town, the trembling inhabitants whohad been crowding the wharves and lining the house-tops since earlymorning, turned pale with ominous forebodings. Nor were the feelingsof the defenders of the fort less anxious. Looking off, over the lowisland intervening between them and the city, they could see thegleaming walls of their distant homes; and their imaginations conjuredup the picture of those dear habitations given to the flames, asanother Charlestown had been, a twelve-month before, and the stilldearer wives that inhabited them, cast houseless upon the world. Asthey turned from this spectacle, and watched the haughty approach ofthe enemy, at every motion betraying confidence of success, their eyeskindled with indignant feelings, and they silently swore to make goodthe words of their leader, by perishing, if need were, under the ruinsof the fort. 

One by one the British men-of-war gallantly approached the stationsassigned them, Sir Peter Parker, in the Bristol, leading the van. TheExperiment, another fifty gun ship, came close after, and both droppedtheir anchors in succession directly abreast the fort. The otherfrigates followed, and ranged themselves as supports. The remainingvessels were still working up to their stations, when the first gunwas fired, and instantly the battle begun. The quantity of powder onthe island being small, five thousand pounds in all, there was anabsolute necessity that there should be no waste. Accordingly, thefield-officers pointed the pieces in person, and the words "look tothe commodore--look to the two-deckers!" passed along the line. Theconflict soon grew terrific. The balls whistled above the heads ofthe defenders, and bombs fell thick and fast within the fort; yet, inthe excitement of the moment, the men seemed totally unconscious ofdanger. Occasionally a shot from one of their cannon, striking thehull of the flag-ship, would send the splinters flying into the air;and then a loud huzza would burst from those who worked the guns; but, except in instances like this, the patriots fought in stern and solemnsilence. Once, when it was seen that the three men-of-war working upto join the conflict, had become entangled among the shoals, and wouldnot probably be enabled to join in the fight, a general and prolongedcheer went down the line, and taken up a second and third time, rose, like an exulting strain, over all the uproar of the strife. 

The incessant cannonade soon darkened the prospect, the smoke lyingpacked along the surface of the water; while a thousand fiery tongues, as from some hundred-headed monster, shot out incessantly, and lickingthe air a moment, were gone forever. Occasionally this thick, cloudyveil concealed all but the spars of the enemy from sight, and then thetall masts seemed rising, by some potent spell, out of nothing;occasionally the terrific explosions would rend and tear asunder thecurtain, and, for an instant, the black hulls would loom outthreateningly, and then disappear. The roar of three hundred gunsshook the island and fort unremittingly: the water that washed thesand-beach, gasped with a quick ebb and flow, under the concussions. Higher and higher, the sun mounted to the zenith, yet still the battlecontinued. The heat was excessive; but casting aside their coats, themen breathed themselves a minute, and returned to the fight. The citywas now hidden from view, by low banks of smoke, which extending rightand left along the water, bounded the horizon on two sides. Yet thedefenders of the fort still thought of the thousands anxiouslywatching them from Charleston, or of the wives and mothers, tremblingat every explosion for the lives of those they loved. One of theirnumber soon fell mortally wounded. Gasping and in agony, he wascarried by. "Do not give up, " he had still strength to say; "you arefighting for liberty and country. " Who that heard these words couldthink of surrender?

Noon came and went, yet still the awful struggle continued. Suddenly ashot struck the flag-staff, and the banner, which had waved in thatlurid atmosphere all day, fell on the beach outside the fort. For amoment there was a pause, as if at a presage of disaster. Then agrenadier, the brave and immortal Serjeant Jasper, sprang upon theparapet, leaped down to the beach, and passing along nearly the wholefront of the fort, exposed to the full fire of the enemy, deliberatelycut off the bunting from the shattered mast, called for a sponge staffto be thrown to him, and tying the flag to this, clambered up theramparts and replaced the banner, amid the cheers of his companions. Far away, in the city, there had been those who saw, through theirtelescopes, the fall of that flag; and, as the news went around, achill of horror froze every heart, for it was thought the place hadsurrendered. But soon a slight staff was seen uplifted at one of theangles: it bore, clinging to it, something like bunting: the breezestruck it, the bundle unrolled, it was the flag of America! Hopedanced again through every heart. Some burst into tears; some laughedhysterically; some gave way to outcries and huzzas of delight. As thehours wore on, however, new causes for apprehension arose. The fire ofthe fort was perceived to slacken. Could it be that its bravedefenders, after such a glorious struggle, had at last given in? Againhope yielded to doubt, almost to despair; the feeling was the moreterrible from the late exhilaration. Already, in fancy, the enemy wasseen approaching the city. Wives began trembling for their husbands, who had rendered themselves conspicuous on the patriotic side: mothersclasped their infants, whose sires, they thought, had perished in thefight, and, in silent agony, prayed God to protect the fatherless. Thus passed an hour of the wildest anxiety and alarm. At lastintelligence was brought that the fire had slackened only for want ofpowder; that a supply had since been secured; and that the cannonadewould soon be resumed. In a short time these predictions wereverified, and the air again shook with distant concussions. Thus theafternoon passed. Sunset approached, yet the fight raged. Slowly thegreat luminary of day sank in the west, and twilight, cold and calm, threw its shadows across the waters; yet still the fight raged. Thestars came out, twinkling sharp and clear, in that half tropical sky:yet still the fight raged. The hum of the day had now subsided, andthe cicada was heard trilling its note on the night-air: all was quietand serene in the city: yet still the fight raged. The dull, heavyreports of the distant artillery boomed louder across the water, andthe dark curtain of smoke that nearly concealed the ships and fort, grew luminous with incessant flashes. The fight still raged. At lastthe frequency of the discharges perceptibly lessened, and gradually, toward ten o'clock, ceased altogether. The ships of the enemy were nowseen moving from their position, and making their way slowly, as ifcrippled and weary, out of the harbor: and, at that sight, most of thepopulation, losing their anxiety, returned to their dwellings; thoughcrowds still lined some of the wharves, waiting for authenticmessengers from the fight, and peering into the gathering gloom, todetect the approach of the first boat. 

The loss of the enemy had been excessive. The flag-ship, the Bristol, had forty-four men killed, and thirty wounded: the Experiment, anotherfifty gun ship, fifty-seven killed, and thirty wounded. All the shipswere much cut up: the two-deckers terribly so; and one of thefrigates, the Acteon, running aground, was burnt. The last shot firedfrom the fort entered the cabin of Sir Peter Parker's ship, cut downtwo young officers who were drinking there, and passing forward, killed three sailors on the main-deck, then passed out and burieditself in the sea. The loss on the American side was inconsiderable:twelve killed, and about twenty-five wounded. During the battle, theearnest zeal of the men was occasionally relieved by moments ofmerriment. A coat, having been thrown on the top of one of themerlons, was caught by a shot, and lodged in a tree, at which sight ageneral peal of laughter was heard. Moultrie sat coolly smoking hispipe during the conflict, occasionally taking it from his mouth toissue an order. Once, while the battle was in progress, General Leecame off to the island, but, finding every thing so prosperous, soonreturned to his camp. The supply of powder which was obtained duringthe battle, and which enabled the patriots to resume the fight, wasprocured, part from a schooner in the harbor, part from the city. Unbounded enthusiasm, on the side of the inhabitants, hailed thegallant defenders of the fort after the victory: Moultrie received thethanks of Congress, was elevated to the rank of brigadier-general, andwas honored by having the post he had defended called after his name. A stand of colors was presented, by Mrs. Elliott, to the men of hisregiment, with the belief, she said, "that they would stand by them, as long as they could wave in the air of liberty. " It was in guardingthese colors, and perhaps in the recollection of her words, that thebrave Serjeant Jasper lost his life, subsequently, at the siege ofSavannah. 

THE POET'S LOVE. 

BY HENRY B. HIRST. 

[THE POET COMMUNETH WITH HIS SOUL. ]

 "Thou hast a heart, " my spirit said; "Seek out a kindred one, and wed: So passes grief, comes joy instead. "

 "True, Soul, I have, " I quick replied; "But in this weary world and wide That other hath my search defied. "

 "Poet, thou hast an eye to see; Thou knowest all things as they be; The spheres are open books to thee. 

 "Thou art a missioned creature, sent To preach of beauty--teach content: In life's Sahara pitch thy tent!

 "It is not good to be alone-- Not fit for any living one-- There's nothing single save the sun. 

 "Beasts, fishes, birds--yea, atoms mate, Acknowledging an ordered fate: What dost thou in a single state?"

 "O, Soul!" I bitterly replied, For I was full of haughty pride, "Would in my birth that I had died!

 "I feel what thou hast said is truth; But I am past the bloom of youth, And Beauty's eye has lost its ruth. 

 "I languish for some gentle heart To throb with mine, devoid of art, Perfect and pure in every part--

 "Some innocent heart whose pulse's tone Should beat in echo of mine own, Where I might reign and reign alone. "

 "All this, and more, thy love might win, " My spirit urged, "poor Child of Sin, That sickenest in this rude world's din. 

 "Love is a way-side plant: go forth And pluck--love has no thorns for worth-- The blossom from its place of birth. 

 "Perchance, on thee may Beauty's queen, And Fortune's, look, with smiling mien-- With eyes, whose lids hold love between. "

 "Spirit, I am of little worth, " Said I--"an erring child of earth: Yet fain would own a happy hearth. 

 "Mere beauty, though it drowns my soul With sunshine, may not be my goal; And love despises gold's control. 

 "Better the riches of the mind-- A spirit toward the spheres inclined-- A heart that veers not with the wind. 

 "She might be beautiful, and gold Might clasp her in its ruddy fold-- Have lands and tenements to hold:

 "She might be poor--it were the same If lofty, or of lowly name, If famous, or unknown to fame:

 "But she must feel the brotherhood I feel for man--the love of good;-- Life is at best an interlude, "And we must act our parts so here, That, when we reach a loftier sphere, Our memories shall not shed a tear. 

 "With such a one, if fair or brown-- Gracing a cottage, or a throne-- Soul, I could live and love unknown!

 "Yes, gazing upward in her eye, Scan what was passing in its sky, And swoon, and dream, and, dreaming, die. "

 "There is none such, " my spirit sighed. "Seek glory: woo her for thy bride. And perish, and be deified!"

 "Why, Soul, " I said, "the thought of fame, Of winning an exalted name, Might woo me, but my heart would blame

 "The coldness that compelled me forth. No: somewhere on this lower earth The angel that I seek has birth. 

 "If not, I will so worship here Her type, that I shall joy, not _fear_-- To meet her in her holier sphere. "

MARY WARNER. 

OR THE HEAD AND THE HEART. 

BY MRS. E. L. B. COWDERY. 

"What a happy girl is Mary Warner, " said an elderly lady, as a brightlaughing girl turned into another room. 

"And so exceedingly lively and cheerful, for one of her years, "rejoined another. 

"Years! How old is she?"

"About twenty-four, " said a third, who had hitherto been silent, "andyet no one, to see her, would think it. "

So thought the world, who in their most scrutinizing glance coulddetect no indication of care or gloom, in this, the object of theirobservations, who was one of those bright, intelligent beings, everready for conversation, and whose sallies of wit, never failed toexcite the attention of those around her. "Little did they know of myaching heart, " said Mary, that evening, to one in whom she hadconfided much of her former history; for years had passed since shehad left the grave of her mother, and her native home, on "NewEngland's rocky shore, " to wander forth with her father to the westernwilds. "Little did they know of the bitterness of soul I felt whilemaking merriment for them. "

"How can you so control your feelings, while endeavoring to concealthem, with such an excess of gayety?" eagerly inquired Ella. 

"Ah! that is the work of time and necessity. Time has schooled myheart to hide behind the covering I might think best to wear. Were myhistory known, my name would be the theme of every tongue, thederision of the stoical, the pity of the simple, and exposed to theridicule of a heartless and unfeeling world. The head must dictate andgovern my actions, all else submitting. Yet nothing can equal thewretchedness of trying to conceal with smiles the bitter struggles ofa wounded spirit, whose every hope hath perished. Eye may not piercethrough the laughing cover, or ear catch the breathing of a sigh. Evensympathy seems like those cold blasts of a November night, seeking thehidden recess only to chill its peace forever. "

"But do you not, " said Ella, "enjoy something of that mirth which youinspire in others?"

"Sometimes the excitement is sufficient to make me forget, for amoment, the past, but then it is followed by such a depression thatthe feeble clay well nigh sinks beneath it. Misery pays her tribute toall my revelry. "

"Then never will I again wish for Mary Warner's light and joyous air, "said Ella, her cheek flushed with agitation, for being one of thosesober ones, whose words were ever the thoughts of her heart, she hadoften wished for Mary's power to charm. 

Weeks and months had rolled away, until they had numbered years. Thefriends had parted. Ella's calm face still cheered the domesticfireside, and Mary was gliding in crowded halls, the gayest of thegay. No voice more musical than hers, or tones more sprightly; shemoved as a creature of enchantment, her image fastening upon the mindsand memories of all. But Ella was not forgotten or neglected; theyoften corresponded. Mary's letters told but too truly how much thosescenes were enjoyed by her. In answer to an invitation to come andspend the summer in the retirement of Ella's home, she says, "Even inthis giddy place my heart is full to bursting; should I allow myselfmore time for meditation it would surely break, and pour forth itslava streams on the thirsty dust of human pride. In the dark, cheerless hour of midnight, my burning, throbbing brain still keepsits restless beating, scarce bestowing the poor refreshment of afeverish dream to strengthen the earthly tenement. My health isfailing; there will soon be nothing left for me but the drifts ofthought and memory, which gather around a weary past and blightedfuture. "

It was in vain that Ella tried to place on parchment words of soothingand consolation--to draw her thoughts from lingering around the ruinedwreck of her affections, and direct them to the "hope set before" her, of obtaining through the merits of the Savior a home "where the wickedcease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. " Every letter shereceived came burthened with its own weight of wo. 

The summer passed--its roses bloomed and died. Another autumn came andwhistled by; but ere the winter's snow had melted, there were anxiousthoughts concerning Mary Warner. Never before had so long a timeelapsed without a letter from her to Ella. The first crocuses ofspring had just begun to smile when a letter came, written by astranger's hand! It told of Mary's being sick even unto death, andbegged of Ella, as she loved her friend, to come and remain with herwhile yet life's taper burned. It was a fearful summons thus to breakthe suspending spell. That evening saw Ella sitting in the cabin ofone of those large steamers which ply the western waters, anxiouslywending her way to a retired yet pleasant village near the Ohio, forMary's sadly declining health could no more mingle in the excitementof the city, and she had retreated to this lonely place to lay downher shattered frame in peace. The night of the second day brought Ellato the place of destination. She entered the house where Mary was, almost unconscious of the manner in which she introduced herself asMary Warner's friend. That was enough; an elderly lady clasped herhand and bade her welcome. "Oh!" said she, "'tis a strange sight to bein her sick room. Poor thing! she is nearly gone, and still so lively;and, too, this morning when I went in, I know she had been weeping. "

"Did she ever mention me?" said Ella. 

"Last night she said if you would come, that she could die contented. "

"Then lead me to her quickly. "

They silently bent their steps to the sick chamber, and coming to thedoor, both made an involuntary pause. 

"She is sleeping, " said the old lady, softly; but Ella was too muchstruck to make reply. She was thinking of the dreadful changes whichhad come over that frail being since last they met. Worn down to askeleton, her lips compressed, as if in agony, her dark hair thrownback upon her shoulders, while her cheeks were pale as the marble sosoon to be raised in her memory, which, with the glimmering of thelights, served to make it a too dismal scene. Staggering forward to achair, she sat down quickly, but in the agitation there was a slightnoise--it awakened the sleeper; a moment passed--they were in eachothers arms. When the first wild burst of joy had passed away, Maryspoke. 

"Sit down here, Ella--I want to be alone with you; I feared that Imight die before you came;" a convulsive shuddering passing over her, as she spoke of death. "I want to give you my history. 'T is? a darkpicture, and yet it has all been mine. "

"But are you not too weak and agitated?" asked the warm-heartedfriend. 

"Oh, no! that sweet, quiet sleep has so refreshed me, that I feelalmost like another being--and I shall be very brief. But to my story. You recollect my having often told you that I never set my heart on anearthly object but I was doomed to bear a bitter disappointment. Thatwary, stubborn rock, encircled by the whirl of youthful andenthusiastic feeling, which, in life's earlier years, drew within itscircled waves my frail bark of love and hope, then cast it forth--awreck forever. 

"In the village in which I was raised, lived one who shared with methe sports of childhood; and as we grew older, partook of therecreations and amusements of the young together. There was a strangesimilarity in our tastes and dispositions; and we consequently spentmuch of our time in each others society. There were those whosometimes smiled to see a young and sunny-haired youth so constantlywith the sensitive, shrinking Mary Warner; but then they knew we wereplaymates from childhood, and thought no more. Mother was dead, and Iwas under the guidance of my remaining parent, an only child--anidolized and favored one; and in my sixteenth year, claimed as thebride of Samuel Wayland. Parental judgment frowned, and called itfolly. What could I do? Our faith had long been plighted, but filialrespect demanded that should be laid aside; yet what was I to find inthe future, that would ever repay for the love so vainly wasted. Itwas all a blank. I nerved my heart for our last meeting--but thestrings were fibrous, and they broke. 

"'I shall go to the West, and then you must forget me, ' said I, whenwe came to part. 

"'Never, Mary, will you, can you be forgotten!'

"We parted there, forever. He is still living, a lone wanderer on theearth; we have never had any communications; but there is a unity offeeling, a oneness of spirit, that at times make me feel as if we werescarcely separated. I enjoy a pleasure in thinking of his memory, aconfidence that would trust him any where in this wide world; and Inow believe that wherever he is, his heart is still true to me. As forme, I have hurried through life like a 'storm-stricken bird, ' no restfrom the busy scenes in which I mingled. Since then, there have beenproposals in which honor, wealth, and distinction were connected; andonce I had well nigh sold myself for interest, and to please myfather. We were promised, and I was congratulated on my happyprospects; but, alas! alas, for me; the more memory reverted to thepast, my feelings revolted from the present. I sometimes used to standwhere I could see him pass in the street, and exclaim 'oh, heaven! canI marry that man! can I stand before God's altar, and promise to loveand honor him, when I abhor his presence. ' Time was hasting; one nightI went down into the study; father was sitting there. 

"'Well, Mary, ' said he, 'I suppose you will leave us soon. '

"That was enough for my pent-up feelings to break forth. 'I supposeso, ' said I, 'but, oh! father, I would rather see my grave opento-morrow, than to think of uniting my destiny with that man. My verysoul detests him. "

"Mary, sit down now, and write a letter to Mr. M----, that you cannotkeep your promise, and the reason why. Far would it be from me toplace in the hands of my only daughter, the cup of misery unmixed. Myjudgment and your feelings differ. '

"It was late that night when I sealed the fated letter for M----; butI retired and slept easy, there was a burden removed which hadwell-nigh crushed me. What I have experienced since, words may nevertell; the young have deemed me impenetrable to the naturalsusceptibilities of our natures, while the old have called metrifling. But, Ella, depend upon it, a heart once truly given, cannever be bestowed again. I have erred in trying to conceal my historyin the manner I have. Instead of placing my dependance on the goodnessof the Most High, and seeking for that balm which heals the woundedspirit, and acquiring a calmness of mind which would render me in ameasure happy, I plunged into the vortex of worldly pleasure. But itis all over now; they say I have the consumption, and pity me, tothink one so joyous should have to die. To-day has been spent mostlyin meditation; and I have tried to pray that my Savior would give megrace for a dying hour; and, Ella, will you kneel at my bedside andpray as you used to, when a young, trembling girl?"

"Yes, I will pray for you again, " said Ella; "but take this cordial torevive your exhausted frame. "

As the friend raised the refreshing draught, she marked such a changein Mary's countenance, that her heart quailed at the thought of theterrible vigil she was keeping, in the silence of night, alone. Shekneeled by the sick, and offered up her prayer with an energy unknownto her before, such a one as a heart strong in faith, and nerved bylove and fear alone could dictate; a pleading, borne on high by theangel of might, for the strengthening of the immortal soul inprison-clay before her. There was a sigh and a groan; she rose hastilyand bent over the couch--there was a gasping for breath, and all wasstill. Ella's desolate shriek of anguish first told the tale, thatMary was dead. 

Thus passed again to the Giver, a mind entrusted with high powers, anduncontrolled affections, who, in the waywardness of youth, castunreservedly at the shrine of idolatrous love, her all of earthlyhopes, then wandered forth with naught but their ashes, in thetreasured urn of past remembrance, seeking to cover that with themantle of the world's glittering folly. 

TO THE AUTHOR OF "THE RAVEN. "

BY MISS HARRIET B. WINSLOW. 

 Leave us not so dark uncertain! lift again the fallen curtain! Let us once again the mysteries of that haunted room explore-- Hear once more that friend infernal--that grim visiter nocturnal! Earnestly we long to learn all that befalls that bird of yore: Oh, then, tell us something more!

 Doth his shade thy floor still darken? dost thou still, despairing, hearken To that deep sepulchral utterance like the oracles of yore? In the same place is he sitting? Does he give no sign of quitting? Is he conscious or unwitting when he answers "Nevermore?" Tell me truly, I implore!

 Knows he not the littlenesses of our nature--its distresses? Knows he never need of slumber, fainting forces to restore? Stoops he not to eating--drinking? Is he never caught in winking When his demon eyes are sinking deep into thy bosom's core? Tell me this, if nothing more!

 Is he, after all, so evil? Is it fair to call him "devil?" Did he not give friendly answer when thy speech friend's meaning bore? When thy sad tones were revealing all the loneness o'er thee stealing, Did he not, with fellow-feeling, vow to leave thee nevermore? Keeps he not that oath he swore?

 He, too, may be inly praying--vainly, earnestly essaying To forget some matchless mate, beloved yet lost for evermore. He hath donned a suit of mourning, and, all earthly comfort scorning, Broods alone from night till morning. By thy memories Lenore, Oh, renounce him nevermore. 

 Though he be a sable brother, treat him kindly as another! Ah, perhaps the world has scorned him for that luckless hue he wore, No such narrow prejudices can _he_ know whom Love possesses-- Whom one spark of Freedom blesses. Do not spurn him from thy door Lest Love enter nevermore!

 Not a bird of evil presage, happily he brings some message From that much-mourned matchless maiden--from that loved and lost Lenore. In a pilgrim's garb disguisèd, angels are but seldom prizèd: Of this fact at length advisèd, were it strange if he forswore The false world for evermore?

 Oh, thou ill-starred midnight ranger! dark, forlorn, mysterious stranger! Wildered wanderer from the eternal lightning on Time's stormy shore! Tell us of that world of wonder--of that famed unfading "Yonder!" Rend--oh rend the veil asunder! Let our doubts and fears be o'er! Doth he answer--"Nevermore?"

SONG OF THE ELVES. 

BY ANNA BLACKWELL. 

 When the moon is high o'er the ruined tower, When the night-bird sings in her lonely bower, When beetle and cricket and bat are awake, And the will-o'-the-wisp is at play in the brake, Oh then do we gather, all frolic and glee, We gay little elfins, beneath the old tree! And brightly we hover on silvery wing, And dip our small cups in the whispering spring, While the night-wind lifts lightly our shining hair, And music and fragrance are on the air! Oh who is so merry, so happy as we, We gay little elfins, beneath the old tree?

THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 

BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 

 We sat within the farm-house old, Whose windows looking o'er the bay, Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold, An easy entrance, night and day. 

 Not far away we saw the port, -- The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, -- The light-house, --the dismantled fort, -- The wooden houses, quaint and brown. 

 We sat and talked until the night Descending filled the little room; Our faces faded from the sight, Our voices only broke the gloom. 

 We spake of many a vanished scene, Of what we once had thought and said, Of what had been, and might have been, And who was changed, and who was dead. 

 And all that fills the hearts of friends, When first they feel, with secret pain, Their lives thenceforth have separate ends, And never can be one again. 

 The first slight swerving of the heart, That words are powerless to express, And leave it still unsaid in part, Or say it in too great excess. 

 The very tones in which we spake Had something strange, I could but mark; The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. 

 Oft died the words upon our lips, As suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships, The flames would leap, and then expire. 

 And, as their splendor flashed and failed, We thought of wrecks upon the main, -- Of ships dismasted, that were hailed, And sent no answer back again. 

 The windows rattling in their frames, The ocean, roaring up the beach-- The gusty blast--the bickering flames-- All mingled vaguely in our speech;

 Until they made themselves a part Of fancies floating through the brain-- The long lost ventures of the heart, That send no answers back again. 

 O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned! They were indeed too much akin-- The drift-wood fire without that burned, The thoughts that burned and glowed within. 

SONG FOR A SABBATH MORNING. 

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. 

 Arise ye nations, with rejoicing rise, And tell your gladness to the listening skies; Come out forgetful of the week's turmoil, From halls of mirth and iron gates of toil; Come forth, come forth, and let your joy increase Till one loud pæan hails the day of peace. Sing trembling age, ye youths and maidens sing; Ring ye sweet chimes, from every belfry ring; Pour the grand anthem till it soars and swells And heaven seems full of great celestial bells! Behold the Morn from orient chambers glide, With shining footsteps, like a radiant bride; The gladdened brooks proclaim her on the hills And every grove with choral welcome thrills. Rise ye sweet maidens, strew her path with flowers, With sacred lilies from your virgin bowers; Go youths and meet her with your olive boughs, Go age and greet her with your holiest vows;-- See where she comes, her hands upon her breast The sainted Sabbath comes, smiling the world to rest. 

CITY LIFE. 

BY CHARLES W. BAIRD. 

 Forgive me, Lord, that I so long have dwelt In noisome cities, whence Thy sacred works Are ever banished from my sight; where lurks Each baleful passion man has ever felt. Here human skill is shown in shutting out All sight and thought of things that God hath made; Lest He should share the constant homage paid To Mammon, in the hearts of men devout. O, it was fit that he[2] upon whose head Weighed his own brother's blood, and God's dread curse, Should build a city, when he trembling fled Far from his Maker's face. And which was worse, The murder--or departing far from Thee? Great God! impute not either sin to me!

[Footnote 2: Cain. --Genesis iv. 17. ]

THE CRUISE OF THE GENTILE. 

BY FRANK BYRNE. 

(_Concluded from page_ 147. )

CHAPTER V. 

_In which there is a Storm, a Wreck, and a Mutiny. _

When I came on deck the next morning, I found that the mate'sprediction had proved true. A norther, as it is called in the Gulf, was blowing great guns, and the ship, heading westward, was rolling inthe trough of the tremendous sea almost yard-arm under, with onlyclose-reefed top-sails and storm foretopmast-staysail set. We wallowedalong in this manner all day, for we were lying our course, and theskipper was in a hurry to bring our protracted voyage to an end. Wemade much more leeway than we reckoned, however, for just at sunsetthe high mountains of Cuba were to be seen faintly looming up on thesouthern horizon. 

"Brace up, there, " ordered Captain Smith, when this fact wasannounced. "Luff, my man, luff, and keep her as near it as you may. "

The old ship came up on the wind, presenting her front most gallantlyto the angry waves, which came on as high as the fore-yard, threatening to engulf her in the watery abyss. We took in all ourtop-sails but the main, and with that, a reefed fore-sail andforetopmast-staysail set, the old ship shook her feathers, andprepared herself for an all-night job of clawing off an iron-boundlee-shore. 

The hatches were battened down, the fore-scuttle and companion closed, and all the crew collected aft on deck and lashed themselves to somesubstantial object, to save themselves from being washed over-board bythe immense seas which constantly broke over our bows, and deluged ourdecks. The night closed down darker than pitch, and the wind increasedin violence. I have scarcely ever seen so dismal a night. Except whenat intervals a blinding flash of lightning illumined the whole heavensand the broad expanse of raging ocean, we could distinguish nothing ata yard's distance, save the glimmer of the phosphorescent binaclelight, and the gleam which flashed from the culmination of the hugeseas ahead of us, resembling an extended cloud of dull fire suspendedin the air, and blown toward us, till, with a noise like thunder, asit dashed against the bows, it vanished, and another misty fire was tobe seen as if rising out of some dark gulf. At midnight it blew ahurricane; the wind cut off the tops of the waves, and the air wasfull of spray and salt, driving like sleet or snow before the wintrystorm. I had ensconced myself under the lee of the bulwarks, among aknot of select weather-beaten tars, and notwithstanding the danger wewere in, I could not help being somewhat amused at theirconversation. 

"Jack, " said Teddy, an Irish sailor, to the ship's oracle, old JackReeves, "do you think the sticks will howld?"

"If they don't, " growled Jack, "you'll be in h--l before morning. "

"Och, Jasus!" was the only reply to this consolatory remark--and therewas an uneasy nestling throughout the whole circle. 

"Well, Frank, " said old Jack to me, after a most terrific gust, duringwhich every man held his breath to listen whether there might not be asnapping of the spars, "well, Frank, what do you think of that?"

"Why, I think I never saw it blow so hard before, " I replied. "'Tisn'ta very comfortable berth, this of ours, with a lee-shore not thirtymiles off, and a hurricane blowing. "

"No danger at all, Frank, if them spars only stay by us--and I guessthey will. They're good sticks, and Mr. Brewster is too good aboatswain not to have 'em well supported. The old Gentile is adreadful critter for eatin' to windward in any weather that God eversent; but I hope you don't call this blowin' hard, do you? Why, I'veseen it blow so that two men, one on each side of the skipper, couldn't keep his hair on his head, and they had to get the cabin-boyto tail on to the cue behind, and take a turn round a belaying-pin. "

"An' that nothin' to a time I had in a brig off Hatteras, " observedTeddy, who had somewhat recovered his composure; "we had to cut awayboth masts, you persave, and to scud under a scupper nail driv intothe deck, wid a man ready to drive it further as the wind freshened. "

"Wasn't that the time, Teddy, " asked another, "When that big seawashed off the buttons on your jacket?"

"Faix, you may well say that; and a nigger we had on board turnedwhite by reason of the scare he was in. "

"Wal, now, " interposed Ichabod Green, "Teddy, that's a lie; it's aginall reason. "

"Pooh! you green-horn!" said Jack Reeves, "that's nothing to a yarn Ican spin. You see that when I was quite a boy, I was in a Dutchman-o'-war for a year and thirteen months; and one day in the IndianOcean, it came on to blow like blazes. It blowed for three days andnights, and the skipper called a council of officers to know what todo. So, when they'd smoked up all their baccy, they concluded toshorten sail, and the bo'sn came down to rouse out the crew. Heondertook to whistle, but it made such an onnateral screech, that thechaplain thought old Davy had come aboard; and he told the skipper heguessed he'd take his trick at prayin'. 'Why, ' says the skipper, 'we've got on well enough without, ever since we left the Hague, hadn't we better omit it now?' ''Taint possible, ' says the parson. Nowyou all know you can't larn seamanship to a parson or passenger--andthe bloody fool knelt down with his face to wind'ard. 'Hillo!' saysthe skipper, 'you'd better fill away, and come round afore the wind, hadn't you?' 'Mynheer captain, ' says the parson, 'you're a dreadfulgood seaman, but you don't know no more about religious matters than ahorse. ' 'That's true, ' answered the skipper; 'so suit yourself, andlet fly as soon as you feel the spirit move, bekase that main-sailwants reefin' awfully. ' Well, the parson shuts his eyes, takes thepipe out of his mouth, and gets under-weigh; but, onluckily, the firstword of the prayer was a Dutch one, as long as the maintop-bowline, and as crooked as a monkey's tail, and the wind ketchen in the kinksof it, rams it straight back into his throat, and kills him as dead asa herrin'. 'Blixem!' says the skipper, 'there'll be brandy enough forthe voyage now. '"

"Sail, ho-o-o!" shouted a dozen voices, as a vivid flash of lightningshowed us the form of a small schooner riding upon the crest of awave, not two cables length ahead. 

"Hard-a-lee!" shouted the skipper. "My God! make her luff, or we shallbe into them. "

Slowly the ship obeyed her helm, and came up on the wind, trembling toher keel, as the canvas, relieved from the strain, fluttered andthrashed against the mast with immense violence, and a noise moredeafening than thunder, while the great seas dashed against the bows, now in full front toward them, with the force and shock of huge rocksprojected from a catapult, and the wind shrieked and howled throughthe rigging as if the spirits of the deep were rejoicing over ourdreadful situation. 

Again the fiery flash shot suddenly athwart the sky. 

Good God! the schooner, her deck and lower rigging black with humanbeings, lay broadside to, scarcely ten rods from before our bows. Acry of horror mingled with the rattling thunder and the howl of thestorm. I felt my blood curdle in my veins, and an oppression like thenightmare obstructed my voice. 

The schooner sunk in the trough, and, as the lightning paled, disappeared from sight. The next moment our huge ship, with a headlongpitch, was precipitated upon her. One crash of riven timbers, and ayell of despairing agony, and all was over; the ship fell off from thewind, and we were again driving madly forward into the almost palpabledarkness, tearing through the mountain seas. 

"Rig the pumps and try them, " cried Captain Smith, in a hoarse voice, "we may have started a plank by the shock. "

To the great joy of all, the ship was found to make no more water thanusual. All hands soon settled down quietly again, wondering what therun-down schooner could have been, and pitying her unfortunate crew, when a faint shout from the forecastle was heard in a lull of thestorm. 

"Lord save us! what can that be?" exclaimed a dozen of the crew in abreath. 

"_In nomine Pathris_--" began Teddy, crossing himself in a fright. 

"Silence there!" cried the skipper; "Mr. Stewart, can it be one of theschooner's crew, who has saved himself by the bowsprit rigging?"

"Plaze yer honor, " said Teddy, "it's more likely it's one of theirghosts. "

"Silence, I tell you! who gave you liberty to tell your opinion. Mr. Brewster, hail 'em, whoever they be. "

"Folk'stle, ahoy!" sung out the second mate; "who's there?"

"Help! help! for God's sake!" faintly answered the mysterious voice. 

"Go forward, there, two hands, " ordered the captain; "'t is one of theschooner's crew. "

After a moment's hesitation, the second mate and Jack Reeves startedon this mission of mercy, and were soon followed by nearly all thecrew. Upon reaching the forecastle we found the body of a man lyingacross the heel of the bowsprit, jammed against the windlass pawl. Theinsensible form was lifted from its resting place, and, by thecaptain's order, finally deposited in the cabin on the transom. Theskipper, steward, and myself, remained below to try and resuscitatethe apparently lifeless body. The means we used were effectual; andthe wrecked seaman opened his eyes, and finally sat up. 

"I must go on deck now, " said the captain. "Stay below, Frank, andhelp the steward undress him, and put him into a berth. "

Our benevolent darky had by this time concocted a glass of brandygrog, very stiff, but, alas! not hot, which I handed to the object ofour care, who, after drinking it, seemed much better; and we thenproceeded to help him strip. I noticed that his clothes were verycoarse, and parti-colored; there were also marks of fetters on hisancles, and his back was scarred by the lash. I conjectured from thesecircumstances that our new shipmate was not of the most immaculatepurity of character, and after I had got him into a berth, between twowarm woollen blankets, I made free to ask him a few questions, notonly about himself, but also about his vessel. I could get no replybut in Spanish, as I took his lingo to be, though, from his hailingfor help in English, I knew that he must understand that language. When I went upon deck I reported myself to the officers, who concludedto defer any examination until morning. The gale began to abate aboutmidnight, and at nine o'clock in the morning it had so far subsidedthat the cabin mess, leaving Mr. Brewster in charge of the deck, wentbelow to get breakfast. 

"The swell is tremendous, " said the skipper, as we were endeavoring toget seated around the table. "I think I never saw a much heavier seain any part of the world. Look out, there!"

But the caution was given too late; the ship had risen on an enormouswave as the skipper had spoken, and when she plunged, the stewardpitched headlong over the cabin table, closely followed by the thirdmate, who had grasped his camp-stool for support, and still clungpertinaciously to it. The ship righted, leaving Langley's corpusextended at full length among a wreck of broken crockery. 

"Well, Mr. Langley, " said the skipper, "I hope you enjoy yourbreakfast. "

"Bill, " added the mate, as Langley gathered himself up, "as you've gotthrough your breakfast so expeditiously, hadn't you better go on deckand let Mr. Brewster come down?"

"Beg your pardon, sir; but don't you see I'm laid on the table--therecan be no action about me at present. "

"Well, sit down and try to preserve your gravity. I hope to see nomore such flights of nonsense at this table. "

"Steward, " asked the skipper, after we had nearly finished our meal, "how is your patient this morning?"

"It's enough to make any body out of patience, sar, to fall ober decabin table. So tan't werry first rate. "

"No, so I perceive; but I mean, how's the man who came on board uslast night?"

"Oh, dat's him--excuse me, sar. Well, sar, he's quite smart dismornin'. "

"Fetch him out here, I wish to ask him some questions; give him ashirt and trowsers of mine, and fetch him out. "

The steward soon made his appearance again, in company with thestranger, who, now dressed clean, looked to be a stout, powerful man, apparently about thirty-five; but his long, tangled, black hair andwhiskers so concealed his features, that their expression could not bediscerned. He bowed as he entered the cabin, and in good Englishthanked the captain for his care. 

"Sit down upon the stool yonder, " said the skipper, "and tell us thename and nation of your vessel, and by what miracle you escaped; andafterward you shall have some breakfast. "

"The name of the vessel, señor, was the San Diego, the _guarda-costa_upon this station. I was on deck when your ship was first seen, and Iclimbed half way up the main shrouds to look out for you, by thecaptain's order. When you struck us, I found myself entangled in yourjib-boom rigging, and held on, though much bruised, and half-drownedby the seas which ducked me every minute, until I succeeded in layingin upon your forecastle. I had had time to notice your rig, and knewyou to be an American. "

"How many were your crew?" asked the mate. 

The sailor started, and for a moment eyed the querist closely. "Oh!señor, only about fifty souls in all. "

"Good God!" cried the captain, "fifty lives lost--fifty souls sentinto eternity with scarcely a moment's warning!"

"Don't regret it, captain, " said the sailor, bitterly, "many of themwere only convicts; the government will be much obliged to you. "

"Were you a convict?" asked the mate. 

"I was, señor, as my dress and appearance would have told you, even ifI had been disposed to lie. I was drafted from the Matanzas chain-gangto the guarda-costa some six month ago. "

"The Matanzas chain-gang!" cried the mate, eagerly, "pray, my goodfellow, do you know a convict by the name of Pedro Garcia?"

The man rose to his feet--"Why, señor, do you?" he inquired. 

"I do, indeed, " answered Mr. Stewart, impatiently; "but tellme--answer my question, sir. "

The convict brushed back his long hair. "I was once called Don PedroGarcia, " said he; "tell me, " he added, as all four of us roseinvoluntarily at this startling announcement, "with whom do I speak?"

"Good God!" cried the mate, making one jump for the convict felon, andthrowing his arms around him, "I'm Ben Stewart, alive and well. "

Very unluckily, at this moment the ship gave a violent lurch, and thetwo fell, and, locked in each others embrace, rolled over to leeward;the skipper, who was unguarded in his astonishment, followed Langley'sformer wake over the table, which, yielding to the impulse, fetchedaway, capsized, and with the captain, also rolled away to leeward; thesteward, as in duty bound, ran to his superior's help. 

At this juncture, Brewster, hearing the unusual row, poked his headthrough the skylight slide, and demanded--"What's the matter? Mutiny!by G----d!" he shouted, catching sight of the prostrate forms of hisfellow officers, struggling, as he thought, in the respective graspsof the rescued convict and the steward. Off went the scuttle, and downcame the valiant Brewster square in the midst of the crockery, followed by three or four of his watch, stumbling over the bodies ofthe overthrown quartette. Langley and myself climbed into a berth andlooked on. 

"It's the steward, " shouted the mischievous third mate, whose love offun could not be controled by fear of consequences; "he tried to stabthe captain with the carving-knife. "

The scene now became exciting; the cry of mutiny was heard all overthe vessel; and the skipper and mate hearing it, very naturallyconcluding that the mutineers were those who had so unceremoniouslyinvaded the cabin, turned furiously upon them, and called loudly forassistance to us in the berth; but we were enjoying the fun too muchto even speak and explain. 

"Are ye kilt, cap'n?" asked Teddy, who had pushed his way to hisbeloved commander. 

"No, you d----d mutinous scoundrel!" replied the enraged skipper, planting a tremendous blow between the eyes of the anxiousinterrogator; "take that!" and the Irishman rolled upon deck. In themeantime, Mr. Brewster, who had taken an especial spite against theconvict, grabbed him by the throat. Pedro returned the compliment by ablow in the stomach, and Stewart aided the defeat of his colleague bytaking him by the shoulders and dragging him off. Transported beyondreason by the pain of the blow he had received, and what he supposedto be the black ingratitude of Mr. Stewart, Brewster gave a scream ofrage and clinched in with the mate with all his force. 

It was fast getting to be past a joke. 

"Come, Langley, " said I, "let's put a stop to this--somebody will bekilled. "

"Sure enough! but how are we going to do it? Oh! here are the mate'spistols; draw the charges, Frank, and you take one and I the other, and we'll soon proclaim peace. "

"They're not loaded, " said I, after trying them with the ramrod. 

"All right, then--follow me. "

"We jumped down from our roost, leveled our pistols at the crowd, andthreatened to fire if hostilities should not instantly cease on bothsides. 

"Langley, hand me those pistols, " cried the frenzied skipper, who wasthe more angry because nobody would fight with him. 

"Please, sir, I can't; I daren't trust myself without 'em. Disperse, ye rebels! lay down your arms and disperse--die, base and perjuredvillain, " shouted Langley, holding the muzzle of his pistol toBrewster's ear, while I, by poking my shooting-iron in everybody'sface, obtained partial order. After a deal of difficulty the mutinywas explained; and the crestfallen Brewster withdrew his forces, followed by the mate, who conciliated his irate colleague, and gavehim an inkling as to the real name and character of the rescuedconvict. 

After the steward had cleared away the wreck of the breakfast things, a conclave of the cabin-mess was called, to which the black stewardwas _ex officio_ and _ex necessitate_ admitted; and it was determined, after much debate, that the voyage should be continued, and thatduring our stay in Matanzas my cousin Pedro should remain hidden onboard. The next mooted point was whether to conceal the matter fromthe crew, and decided in the negative; so the men were called aft, andthe truth briefly stated to them. One and all swore to be faithful anddiscreet--and so they proved. With one or two exceptions our crew wereYankees, and of a far higher grade than the crews of merchantmengenerally. 

During these proceedings the gale had rapidly abated, and at noon wefound ourselves rolling and pitching in a heavy sea, the sun shiningbrightly over our heads, and not a breath of air stirring. Theskipper, mate, and Cousin Pedro were closeted together in the cabinduring the afternoon, while the second and third mates, and ship'scousin, compared notes sitting under the awning on the booby-hatch. Ienlightened Brewster more fully as to Mr. Stewart's former adventuresin Cuba; and we finally concluded that our running down the Spanishguarda-costa was the most lucky thing in the world. 

"Half my plan is now accomplished to hand, " said I; "we must now getmy Cousin Clara out of the nunnery. "

"You hadn't better try that, Frank, " interposed Mr. Brewster, "because, for two reasons; in the first place, them Catholics are poorbenighted heathen, and she wouldn't get out if she could--for she isa veiled nun; and the next place you'd get your neck into a certainmachine called a _garrote_, or else make your cousin's place good inthe chain-gang. "

"Nevertheless, I shall try; and if she only is willing to run away, there can some plan be contrived, I know. "

"And my part shall be to run old Alvarez through the body, if thedevil hasn't taken him already, " added Mr. William Langley. 

"Boys will be boys, that's a fact, call 'em what you're a mind to, "observed Mr. Brewster, very sapiently stroking his big red whiskers. 

The calm continued, and by evening the swell had in a great degreegone down. In the first dog-watch, my Cousin Pedro, sitting upon thecompanion, gave us an account of his long imprisonment. He had, as thereader already knows, been sentenced for the murder of the Count ----, and had toiled and slaved in the streets of Matanzas, till drafted, with many others, on board of the guarda-costa. He knew of Clara'sfate, and had been undeceived by my father in the belief of Mr. Stewart's death. 

Langley and I stood the middle watch again that night. An easterlybreeze, gentle, but steady, blew most of the night; and when we wentbelow, and eight bells struck, the moon was silvering the lofty peakof the Pan of Matanzas, which lay far away on our larboard bow. 

CHAPTER VI. 

_The Gentile arrives at Matanzas. _

I was waked in the morning by Mr. Stewart, who shook me by theshoulders, crying, "Come, Frank, turn out; it's seven bells, so rouseand bite; breakfast is almost ready, and a glorious prospect fromdeck. "

I turned out incontinently at this summons, slipped on my trowsers, ran up the companion-way, dipped my head in a bucket of water, by wayof performing my morning ablutions, and then made my way aft again tojoin the circle on the quarter-deck. The watch had just finishedwashing down the decks, and were engaged in laying up the rigging onthe belaying-pins; the boys were stowing away the detested holy-stoneunder the chocks of the long-boat; the watch below were performingtheir brief morning ablutions upon the forecastle; the steward wasbringing aft the cabin breakfast, sadly incommoded by the mischievousRover, who, wet as a sponge, capered about the deck, shaking himselfagainst everybody who came in his way, and now seemed fully determinedto dive between the lower spars of the unfortunate darkey; theofficers were standing by my side, breathing the cool morning air, looking out upon the beautiful scene around us, and getting anappetite for breakfast. 

The ship lay about a league from the land, almost abreast the entranceof Matanzas bay; the land wind blew gently, bearing to us thedelicious perfumes of orange and coffee-blossoms, and crowds ofvessels were coming from the bay, taking advantage of it to gain anoffing before the setting in of the sea-breeze. Half a mile from us abrig lay motionless upon the water, her yards swarming with menloosing the sails, which in a moment fell together with a precisionthat would have plainly told a sailor that the brig was a man-of-war, even without taking notice of the delicate white ribbon painted uponher side, pierced by a half-dozen ports, from which protruded as manysaucy-looking guns, their red tompions contrasting prettily with theaforesaid white line and the black sides of the vessel. A flag hungnegligently down from her gaff end, and, as a puff of wind strongerthan the rest blew out its crimson folds, we saw emblazoned thereonthe cross of St. George and merry England. The brig was the Britishcruiser on this station. To the northward stretched the broad blueexpanse of the sea we had so recently sailed on, looking to be asquiet and peaceful as if there were no such things as hurricanes andangry waves, and dotted here and there by the glistening sails ofinward bound vessels. Far away to the westward a long black wreath ofsmoke, following in the wake of a small speck on the water, announcedthe approach of the Havana steam packet; and close in, hugging theshore, glided a solitary American barque, apparently bound to Havanato finish her freight, her white sails gleaming in the sun. The landseemed strangely beautiful to our sea-going eyes; and we were nevertired with gazing at the tall, graceful palms, sheltering with theirgrateful shade white villas, situate in the midst of fertile fields ofsugar-cane, and surrounded by little hamlets of white-washed slavehuts. The overhanging haze of the distant city could be seen risingbeyond the intervening hills, and the back-ground of the picture wasformed by a range of blue conical peaks, amidst which towered inmajesty the flat summit of the celebrated Pan of Matanzas. 

"And I am once more in the West Indies!" murmured Mr. Stewart, halfunconsciously. "How much has happened since my eyes first looked uponthis landscape!"

"True enough!" added Pedro, sighing. 

"Breakfas' gettin' cold, Cap'n Smiff, " cried the steward, petulently, poking his head up the companion. 

"Ay, ay, " returned the skipper; "come, gentlemen, don't get into thedumps this fine morning; you ought to be rejoiced that you have foundeach other. Let's go below and take breakfast, and after that, DonPedro, we must stow you in the run until after the officers haveboarded us. "

Breakfast being dispatched, all hands went busily to work preparingthe ship for port. Our bends had been blacked in the two days of fairweather we had had off the Bahamas; and as our ship was a large, handsome, packet-built craft of seven hundred tons, we reckoned uponcutting a great swell among the brigs, barques, and small shipsusually engaged in the sugar-freighting business. The brass of thecapstan, wheel and ladder stanchions, were brightly polished by thesteward and boys; fair leaders, Scotchmen and chaffing-gear taken off;ensign, signal and burgee-halyards rove; the accommodationladder gotover the side; the anchor got ready, and the chain roused up from thelocker. At ten o'clock we took the sea breeze and a pilot, passedPoint Yerikos, and cracked gallantly up the bay with ensign, numbers, and private signal flying. Another point was turned, and the beautifulcity came in view at the distance of a league, more than half theintervening space of water covered by ships of every nation, size, andrig, lying at anchor, from the huge British line-of-battle ship downto the graceful native felucca with latteen sails. 

"Pilot, " said Captain Smith, "if you will give us a first-rate berth, as near to the town as a ship of our size can load, I'll give you fivedollars beside your fee. "

"You shall have de ver fine berth, señor el capitaine. I will anchoryou under de castle yonder; ver deep water, tree, four fathoms, andonly one mile and more from the end of the mole. "

The skipper exchanged glances with his mate. 

"Their old berth, " whispered Langley, sticking his elbow into my side. 

We rapidly approached the castle, and the busy fleet at its foot; sailafter sail was clewed up--the pilot's orders grew frequent andloud--the jib came fluttering down the stay--the anchor plunged intothe water--the chain rattled swiftly through the hawsehole--we swunground with the tide, broadside to the fort, and "The voyage of theship Gentile, Captain James Smith, commander, from Valetta towardMatanzas, " as inscribed in the mate's log-book, was at an end. 

The pilot was dismissed--our sails furled--the royal andtopgallant-yards sent down--the lower and topsail-yards squared withnautical and mathematical precision--our fair-weather lofty poles, surmounted by gilt balls, sent up--awnings were spread completely overthe deck--our crack accommodation-stairs got over the side--theswinging-boom rigged out--the boats lowered and fastened thereto--thedecks swept clean, and the rigging laid up--and, by the time thecustom-house boat boarded us, we were in complete harbor-trim, ship-shape and Bristol fashion; and the Spanish officers complimentedthe fine appearance of the vessel until the worthy skipper was greatlypleased. 

An account was given of the running down of the San Diego, and of themiraculous escape of one of her crew, who, the skipper said, died thenext day of his bruises. A name for this unfortunate man had beenfurnished by Pedro; and in our excess of caution, this was given tothe officers as the name rendered by the survivor. The officers lookedgrave for a moment, but finally said that it was the act of God, andinevitable; and that as the crew had been principally convicts, it wasnot so much matter; and after drinking two or three bottles of wine, and taking bonds of the captain for the good behavior of our darkies, they departed. 

CHAPTER VII. 

_Third Mate and Ship's Cousin go ashore on liberty. _

Many shipmasters and owners will remember how very dull were freightsfor Europe, at Cuba, in the spring and summer of 1839; and CaptainSmith had been in Matanzas but a day or two when he became convincedof the unwelcome truth. We lay day after day sweltering in the sun, until nearly a week had passed, and there was as yet no freightengaged. As our orders were to lay four weeks waiting, unless weshould be loaded and ready to sail before that time had elapsed, Langley and I determined that, as I had plenty of money, we would bega week's liberty of the skipper in this time of idleness, and take acruise ashore; and we had secretly resolved that in some manner, notyet discovered, we would effect the escape of my Cousin Clara--Langleyalso, in full intention to take the life of Don Carlos Alvarez, shouldhe run athwart his hawse. Mr. Stowe had been on board during the firstday or two after our arrival, and had given us both pressinginvitations to spend a week at his house, and to renew ouracquaintance with the girls. So the Saturday night after our arrival, Langley and I preferred our petition to the skipper at thesupper-table. 

"Why, boys, " said our good-natured captain, "if I thought you wouldn'tget into some confounded scrape, I'd as lief spare you awhile as not;we've nothing to do aboard ship, so--"

"Beg your pardon, Captain Smith, " interrupted Mr. Brewster, who hadbeen on bad terms with my friend William for a day or two; "I beg yourpardon, sir, but there can be plenty of work to do. It's a slick timeto refit the rigging. "

"Why, Mr. Brewster, " said the captain, "our rigging was thoroughlyrefitted at Valetta. "

"Yes, sir, I know that, sir, " persisted Brewster, "but we had a roughtrip from there, sir; that last blow we had gin' our standin' riggin'a devil of a strainin', sir. "

"Oh! well, Mr. Brewster, " replied the skipper, "it'll take but a dayor two to set up our shrouds, and I'm afraid we shall have plenty oftime for that. "

"Very well, Captain Smith, " resumed the second mate, "it is nothing tome, sir. I'd as lief they'd be ashore all the time, sir, but beforeyou give Mr. Langley leave, I'd just wish to enter a complaint againsthim, sir. I shouldn't thought of saying nothin' about it, only to seehim coming and asking for liberty so bloody bold, just as if hereckoned he desarved it, makes me feel a leetle riley, sir. He wasguilty of using disrespectable language to his superior officer, tome, sir, and upon the quarter-deck, too, sir, d----n him. You see, that night afore last, in his anchor-watch, it was rather warm in mystate-room, so I went between decks to walk and cool off a little, andI heard Bill sitting on the booby-hatch and a spoutin' poetry tohis-self. Well, I just walks up the ladder, pokes my head through theslide and hails him; but instead of answering me in a proper manner, what does he do but jumps off the hatch and square off in this manner, as if he was agoin' to claw me in the face, and he sings out--'Are youa goose or a gobbler, d----n you?' I didn't want to pick a fussbefore the rest of the watch, or by the holy Paul I'd a taught him thedifference between his officer and a barn-yard fowl in a series of onelesson--blast his etarnal picter!"

"Mr. Langley, " said the skipper, "what have you to say for yourself?Such language upon the quarter-deck to your superior officer is veryimpertinent. "

"If you'll allow me, " replied the accused, "I think I can give aversion of the story which will sound a little different. You see, thesecond mate wears a night-cap, to keep the cockroaches or bugs out ofhis ears--"

"That's a lie, " roared Brewster. "I wears it because I've got acatarrh, which I ketched by doing my duty in all weathers, long aforeyou ever dipped your fingers in pitch, you lazy son of a gun. "

"Silence!" cried Captain Smith, suppressing a laugh. "Mr. Langley, never mind the night-cap, but go on with your story. "

"Well, " resumed the third mate, "he does wear one, any how, and nightbefore last I sat on the hatch, as he says, reading Shakspeare in themoonlight, and when the second mate's night-capped head rose throughthe slide, he looked so very spectral that I couldn't forbear hailinghim with--'Art thou a ghost or goblin damned?' which he persists inrendering his own fashion. I'm sure I didn't intend to liken him to abarn-yard fowl of any kind; I should rather have gone into the stablein search of comparisons. "

To the great chagrin and astonishment of Mr. Brewster, all hands of usburst into a roar of laughter; but Langley, by the skipper's advice, finally begged pardon, and peace and amity were restored. Brewsterwithdrew his objections, and the skipper granted us a week's liberty. 

The next day, after dinner, the yawl was brought to the side andmanned, and my chum and I prepared for our departure. 

"Remember, " quoth my cousin Pedro, as I bade him good-bye, in themate's state-room, where, from extreme caution, he generally lay_perdu_, "remember to see Clara; tell her who you are, and bring usword from her. "

"Yes, " added the mate, "tell her of Pedro's escape, but do notundeceive her as to the belief of my death--that's too late now. Godbless the dear girl!" and the voice of the usually stout-heartedseaman trembled as he spoke. 

"Good-bye, Frank; good-bye, Bill, " said Mr. Brewster, as we came ondeck again, and shaking hands with us; "kiss all the girls for me, andbring off some good cigars the first time you come on board. Thesed----d bumboatmen don't have the best quality. "

"Keep out of all manner of scrapes. " added the captain, by way ofclimax. "However, I shall see you or hear of you every day, either atthe house or counting-room. "

"Ay, ay; yes, sir; oh! certainly; of course, sir; good-bye, shipmates;good-bye, sir;" shouted we, right and left, in reply to the diverscharges, injunctions and parting salutations, as the boat pushed off. 

"Now let fall, my men, give way, " continued Bill. "By lightning!Frank, _pre_haps we wont have a spree!"

The ship's cousin replied only by an expressive pantomime. 

Two Bowery clerks, driving a fast trotting-horse up the Third Avenue, may, in a measure, realize the feeling of intense pleasure which weexperienced at this time. 

Away we went in crack style, till, as we neared the mole, Langley gavethe order "unrow;" six oar-blades instantly glittered in the sun, thebow-man seized his boat-hook, and our stout crew forced our waythrough the jam of ship and shore-boats to the landing stairs, salutedby a volley of oaths and interjections, selected with no great carefrom the vocabularies of almost every European and African language. 

There is no place in the world which will seem, at first sight, morestrange and foreign to a home-bred New Englander than the mole atMatanzas. It attracted even our eyes, which had last looked upon thepicturesque groups in the streets and upon the quay of Valetta. Sundayis a holiday in Cuba, and a motley crowd had assembled under the coverof the immense shed which is built on the mole. Upon a pile ofsugar-boxes near us were seated a group of Dutch sailors, gravelysmoking, and sagely keeping silent, in striking contrast with a knotof Frenchmen, who were all talking at once and gesticulating likemadmen. Here stalked a grave Austrian from Trieste, and yonder alaughing, lively Greek promenaded arm-in-arm with a Maltese. Hamburghers and Danes, Swedes and Russians, John Bulls by scores, Paddies without number, Neapolitans, Sicilians and Mexicans, all werethere, each with fellows and some one to talk to. A group ofemigrants, just landed from the Canary Islands, were keeping watchover their goods, and were looking with great interest and manyearnest remarks upon this first appearance of their new home. Not farfrom them a collection of newly imported African negroes, naked, savea strip of cloth about their loins, were rivaling in volubility andextravagance of gesture even the Frenchmen. Native islanders, from themountains, in picturesque, brigand-like dresses, with long knivesstuck jauntily in their girdles, gazed with stupid wonder at the crowdof foreigners. Soldiers from the barracks, with most ferocious lookingwhiskers and mustaches, very humbly offered for sale little bunches ofpaper cigaritos. Black fruit women, whose whole dress consisted of asingle petticoat of most laconic Fanny Ellslerish brevity, invited thepasser by, in terms of the most affectionate endearment, to purchasetheir oranges, melons, and bananas. Young Spanish bloods, withshirt-bosoms bellying out like a maintop-sail in a gale, stalked alongwith great consequence, quizzing the strangers. Children, even of tenyears of age, and of both sexes and all colors, naked as Job when hecame into the world, excited the attention of no one but greenhornslike myself. Down East molasses drogher skippers, who, notwithstandingthe climate, clothed themselves in their go-ashore long-napped blackbeaver hats, stiff, coarse broadcloth coats, thick, high bombazinestocks and cowhide boots, landed from their two-oared unpainted yawls, and ascended the stairs with the air of an admiral of the blue. Uniforms of Spanish, American, French and English navy officers werethickly scattered amidst the crowd, and here and there, making foritself a clear channel wherever it went, rolled the stalwart form ofthe Yankee tar. 

"This is a regular-built tower of Babel, " said Langley, at last, "butcome, let's work out of 'em. "

After some difficulty we gained the street, and our first move was toa _pulperia_, where I treated our boat's crew, and bought as manybananas, oranges and cigars as they could take down to the boat, tosend to my shipmates aboard. The second was to charter a volante, inwhich we got under weigh for Mr. Stowe's house, which was situatedabout a half a mile from the mole, in a retired street runningparallel with the Cabanas river, surrounded by a large garden, at thefoot of which was a summer-house, overhanging the river, to which leda flight of steps. Upon our arrival we alighted from our vehicle, paidour driver and rang the gate-bell. A gray-headed negro gave usadmission and conducted us to the house, where we were met by ourhost. 

"Ah! my dear boys, " he cried, "I am delighted to see you, and so willbe Mrs. Stowe and the girls. They associate with the natives but verylittle, and old friends like you will be a godsend. "

Half an hour afterward Langley and I were as much at home as could be, laughing and chatting with Mary and Ellen Stowe. Mary was a tall, handsome brunette of eighteen, and my chum had always preferred her toher sister, but my predilections were in favor of the gentle Ellen. While we were children the elders often predicted that when we grew upthere would be a wedding some day, but her father had carried her withhim when he moved from Boston to the West Indies, and there seemed anend to our intimacy. She was two years younger than I, andconsequently, at the time I saw her in Matanzas, about sixteen. I wishI could describe her--perhaps I may be able to give you some idea ofher. She was of the middle height, and bade fair to be exquisitelyformed; her face was intellectual, a tolerably high forehead, straightnose, a small mouth with pretty rosy lips, white, even teeth, smalland thorough bred hands and feet, and her eyes, which I have purposelyleft to the last, are, notwithstanding Mr. Stewart's encomiasticaccount of the dark orbs of the Creole girls, I think, the mostbeautiful in the world; they are large, dark-blue and loving, and whenshe looks up at you, even if you are the most wicked man in the world, it will calm your thoughts and make you still and quiet. Dear reader, imagine Ellen very beautiful, and take my word for it that your fancywill not deceive you. Ellen and I resumed our former friendship almostimmediately, and after dinner we walked into the garden to talk overauld lang syne. 

"Do you remember, Ellen, " said I, "how we both cried when I bade yougood-bye?"

"Did _I_?" asked Ellen, mischievously. 

"Yes, you little sinner, much more than I did, because I was fourteenand had the dignity of manhood to support. "

"Well, " said Ellen, "I think I do remember something about it. "

"Is it possible! and does your memory serve you still farther; yousaid that if I would ever come to see you, you would never refuse tokiss me again. "

"Why, Frank Byrne, what a fertile invention you have got. "

"Not so, " I replied, "only an excellent memory, come, now, own thetruth, didn't you promise me so?"

"But, Frank, I was a little girl then, and my contracts were not validyou know; however, if--"

"If what?" demanded I, perceiving that she blushed and hesitated. 

"Why, if _you_ wish to kiss _me_, I don't know that I should object agreat deal. "

Of course I did no such thing. 

"Why, Ellen, " I said in a few moments, "you've grown very prudish;where did you learn to be?"

"Oh! I don't know, " she replied, "unless it was among the nuns. "

"The nuns!" I repeated, my thought taking a new turn. "

"Ay, the nuns, my lad, the nuns, " cried Ellen, laughing immoderatelyat my abstracted look. 

"At what convent?" I asked. 

"The Ursuline. I went to school there immediately after our arrival, and, Frank, only think! my particular preceptress, Sister Agatha, father says is your own cousin. She understood English so much betterthan any of the rest that I was put under her immediate care. "

I was peculiarly interested in this piece of information, as thereader may suppose. I questioned Ellen closely, and finally told herthe story of the loves and misfortunes of Mr. Stewart and Clara. Thetears stood in the beautiful eyes of my auditor as I finished. "Langley and I have a plan for her escape, " I added. 

"Oh! Frank, she would not escape; she has taken the veil; she will notbreak her vow. "

"Yes she will, when she hears that her brother is free and Stewart isalive. "

"Well, " said Ellen, "I know what I would do in her place, but what isyour plan? In case she is willing to escape how do you propose tomanage?"

"That's the difficulty; don't the nuns ever come out of the convent?"

"Never alone; always by twos. Sister Agatha is a great saint, and hasa deal of liberty, but she is always in company. "

"Well, well, " said I, "we shall have to scale the walls then. "

"Pooh! you are as romantic as William. "

"Well, Miss Wisdom, wont you suggest something?"

"Certainly. Frank, " replied Ellen. "Sister Agatha always took quite aliking for me, because I was her scholar I suppose, and an American, and she and the Superior, who is a very good-natured person, cameimmediately to see me, when I was sick last summer, and afterwardcalled very often. Now, if papa is willing, when your ship is ready tosail I'll fall sick again and send for Sister Agatha, who will be sureto come with some one else, but she can slip out through the courtafter awhile, and down the garden-walk here to the river, and go intoyour boat, which shall be waiting, and then you can take her off tothe ship. "

"That is a capital plan, dear Ellen, " said I, "but there is one grandobjection to it. "

"What is that, Frank?"

"You would get into trouble by it. "

"Oh, no! I think not; but yonder comes papa with mother, and Williamis saying fine things to Mary, behind them. "

"Ah, Frank!" cried Mr. Stowe, as we made our appearance, "we werelooking for you. I did not know but that you had run away with Ellen. "

"No, " said I, "not yet; but we were contriving the best plan to runaway with a nun. "

"Hush! you fool!" whispered Langley, pinching my arm. 

"Go to thunder!" was the reply, "I know what I'm about. " I thenrelated to Mr. Stowe the story the reader well knows, and which Ifound Mr. Stowe knew very well also, and finally disclosed Ellen'svery excellent plan for the deliverance of my cousin. 

"If, " said Mr. Stowe, in reply, when I had finished, "if you can getsister Agatha's consent to elope at the proper time, Ellen may fallsick if she pleases. I may be suspected in having a hand in thematter; but if the affair is properly managed, they can do no morethan suspect, and that I care nothing about, as I'm going to move backto Boston in the spring. But the grand difficulty you will find to bein persuading Sister Agatha to break her vow. "

"Let me alone for that, " replied I, "if I can only have an interviewwith her. "

"That is easily done, " said Mary Stowe, "the nuns are allowed to seetheir friends at the grate. "

"And I will go with you to the convent to-morrow, and engage thesuperior's attention while you talk with your cousin, " added herfather. 

In the evening Langley and I held a council of war, wherein it wasdecided, _nem. Con_. , that our plot was in a fair way to beaccomplished. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

_The Visit at the Convent. _

The next day Mr. Stowe and myself set out for the convent in thatgentleman's carriage. Upon our arriving there we were shown into aspacious parlor, at one end of which was a larger grated window, opening into a smaller room. In a few moments the Lady Superiorentered. She was a tall, handsome woman, and surprised my Protestantprejudices by receiving us very cordially, and immediately engagingwith Mr. Stowe in a very lively, animated conversation in Spanish. Suddenly she turned toward me, "My good friend, Señor Stowe, says that you wish to see Sister Agatha, who was your cousin. "

"Yes, señora. "

"Well, the señor and myself are going to the school-room, and I willsend her to you; but you must not make love to your cousin--she isvery pretty, and you Americans have very sad morals;" and so saying, the lively superior led the way to the school-room, followed by Mr. Stowe. 

After they had retired I went up to the grate, and waited severalminutes, until at last a door of the inner room opened, and a nunentered. Her face bore the traces of deep melancholy; butnotwithstanding that, and the unbecoming dress which half concealedher form, I thought I had never seen a woman so lovely, so completelybeautiful. I stood in mute wonder and admiration. 

"Did you wish to see me, señor?" asked the nun, in a low, soft voice. 

"I did, madam, " I replied. "If you are Clara Garcia, allow me tointroduce myself as your cousin, Frank Byrne. "

"_Madre di Dios!_" cried the nun, her face lighting up with a smile ofastonished delight, "can it be possible! How did you come here?"

"In one of my father's ships, " I replied. "I am a seaman on board ofher. "

"What, the Cabot?" asked Sister Agatha, suddenly, with a color in hercheeks. 

"No, a new ship--the Gentile. "

The nun made many inquiries about my father and mother, and hercousins in Boston; and we chatted away quite merrily for some minutes. 

"You seem to take an interest in the world, after all, " said I, striving to lead the conversation so that I might introduce the matterwhich was my business. 

"Not much, generally, " sighed Sister Agatha. "I sometimes think ofpast times with regret, but I am for the most part very happy. "

This was a stumper. I determined to see if all this composure wasreal. 

"Can any one hear us?" I whispered. 

"No, " answered the nun, opening her great eyes. 

"Well, then, I've a great deal to tell you. Let me ask you, in thefirst place, if you know where your brother Pedro is. "

I was frightened at the expression which my cousin's face assumed. "Yes!" she said, in a hoarse voice, "he is in the _Guarda-Costa_. MyGod! Frank! I saw him a year ago in the streets, toiling as ascavenger. "

I saw that there was yet deep feeling under the cold, melancholyexterior. I had but little time to work, and hastened to proceed. 

"Cousin Clara, " I resumed, "you are mistaken; your brother has escapedfrom confinement, and is now on board my ship, the Gentile. "

"Thank God!" cried the nun, clasping her hands, "now am I willing todie. "

"And further, " said I, immediately continuing my revelations, "can yourepress your feelings?"

"What more can you have to tell me?" whispered Sister Agatha. "Go on, I am not so nearly stone as I thought myself; but I can hear withoutany dangerous outbreak of emotion whatever you have to say. "

"Well, " I resumed, "you were mistaken about Mr. Stewart's death--"

I had been too abrupt. The nun turned deadly pale, and clung to thebars of the grate for support; but the emotion was momentary. "Go on, "said she, in a hoarse whisper. 

"Can you bear it?" I asked, anxiously. 

"Yes, no matter what it may be. "

"Command yourself, then; Mr. Stewart is not only alive, but well; heloves you yet most ardently, but without hope; he is now on board ofthe Gentile, he and Pedro--not three miles from you. "

While thus by piecemeal I doled out my information, I watched theeffect on my auditor. There was no more fainting. Her lips parted, anddisplayed her white teeth firmly set against each other, and herlittle hands grasped the bars of the grate convulsively. 

Quickly and concisely I stated my plan for her escape; but still shemaintained the same attitude; she did not even seem to hear me. 

"Clara, do you consent?" I cried, in despair, for I heard the steps ofthe Superior and Mr. Stowe. 

Suddenly she extended her hand through the grate and grasped mine. "Ido, " she said, "if I'm damned for it. "

"Right, then; you shall be warned in time. Go now, for your featuresare any thing but calm. "

The nun vanished as the Superior entered. 

"I have been taking advantage of your confidence, señora, " said I; "Ihave been trying to persuade my cousin that she is discontented andunhappy, but without success. "

"Ah! no fear of that, señor, " cried the lady, with a smile, while Mr. Stowe stood aghast; "girls who have been disappointed in love makegood nuns. "

"Then you will dare to trust me to see her again. I promised that Iwould call once more before I sail, with your permission. "

"_Si, Señor_, whenever you please. "

After partaking of some very fine fruit and wine, we took our leavewith many thanks. 

"Well, Frank, how you startled me, " said Mr. Stowe, as we drove off. "You told the truth, I suppose; but the truth is not to be told at alltimes. "

"Oh!" said I, "I only told half the truth--"

"Is it possible that Sister Agatha consents to escape?"

"She has promised to do so, " I replied. 

Mr. Stowe expressed so much surprise that I found that he had had nofaith in my success--but the good gentleman was now overjoyed. "Capital, Frank!" said he, "you would make a splendid diplomatist. Nowwhat do you say to going directly aboard ship and telling your tidingsto the officers and Pedro? We will take a boat at the mole and getaboard in time for dinner. "

"Agreed; how happy we shall make Mr. Stewart and Don Pedro. "

Mr. Stowe prophesied correctly. The officers of the Gentile were atdinner in the cabin when we suddenly burst upon them. I need not saythat all hands were no less surprised than delighted at theintelligence we had to communicate. I thought my hands would be wrungoff, so severely were they shaken. 

After dinner Mr. Stowe and myself returned on shore, and in a familyconclave there also stated the result of our visit to the convent. 

CHAPTER IX. 

_Yellow Fever and Love-making. _

The succeeding three days passed most happily with me. I grew more andmore in love with Ellen. We visited all the places of note in theneighborhood of the town, and were even projecting an excursion toHavana in the steamboat, when an event occurred that came very nearsending me on a much longer voyage. One afternoon, while waiting forCaptain Smith with Langley at the United States Café, I was suddenlytaken with a distracting pain through my temples, though justpreviously I had felt as well as ever in my life. The agony increased, and Langley, to whom I complained, began to be frightened, whenluckily Captain Smith arrived, who, upon looking at me, and hearingLangley's account of the matter, immediately called a volante, put meaboard, and drove to Mr. Stowe's house. During the ride I grew worseand worse every moment; the jolting of the carriage almost killed me, and by the time we had arrived at our destination I was nearly crazy. I just remember of being lifted out of the volante, and of seeing thepale, anxious face of Ellen somewhere--and I knew no more of thematter until some sixty hours afterward, one fine morning, when I allat once opened my eyes, and found myself flat on my back, weak as acat, and my head done up in plaintain-leaves and wet towels. I heardlow conversation and the rattle of dice, and casting my eyes towardthe verandah, from whence the noise proceeded, I perceived Langley andMary Stowe very composedly engaged in a game of backgammon. Ellen satby the jalousie, just within the room, looking very pale, and with abook in her hand, which I judged by the appearance to be aprayer-book. I felt very weak, but perfectly happy, and not beingdisposed to talk, lay entirely still, enjoying the delicious languorwhich I felt, and the cool breeze which entered freely from theblinded windows, and listened to the conversation of my friends. 

"Come, come, Ellen, " said Mary, looking up from the board, "don't lookso wobegone--'t is your throw, William--Frank is doing well enoughnow. The doctor says that when he wakes he will be entirely out ofdanger, and free from pain. Psha! Will, you take me up. I don't see, my dear, why you should take so much more interest than any oneelse--is it not ridiculous, William?"

"Perfectly so, " replied Langley--"double sixes, by the Lord!--two of'em, three, four. Now Frank is my shipmate, and, in the main, atolerable decent fellow; but he isn't worth shedding so many tearsabout. "

"Why, William!" exclaimed Ellen, "you know that you cried like a babyyourself night before last, when he was so very sick. "

"Ahem! so I did; but I was so vexed to see our pleasant party toHavana was broken up. Frank was very ill-natured to fall sick just atthat time--I'll flog him for it when he gets well. "

"You can't do it, Bill Langley, " cried I, as loudly as possible, forthe first time taking a part in the conversation. 

The trio started to their feet at this unexpected display of mycolloquial powers; down went backgammon-board, men, dice, prayer-book, and all upon the floor. 

"Hillo! Frank!" cried Langley, ranging alongside the bed, "how do youfind yourself by this time, my little dear?"

"Perfectly well, only very weak. "

"Does your head ache now, Frank?" asked Mary, laying her soft handupon my forehead. 

"Not a bit, only I've got most confounded sore hair. "

"Eh! my lad, they talked of leaving you no hair at all, " cried Bill, "they thought one spell of shaving your head. Egad! you'd have lookedlike a bald eagle!"

"Why, what has been the matter with me?" I asked. 

"Matter with you! why, man, you have had the yellowest kind of afever. Touch and go, it was; but you're worth ten dead men thismorning. "

Ellen during this conversation had left the room, and now returnedwith her father and the physician, who had called with Captain Smith. I was pronounced in a fair way of speedy recovery. Everybody was veryglad, but I noticed that Ellen said nothing; indeed, instead of beingoverjoyed like my good skipper or Langley, she had to wipe the tearsfrom her eyes. 

"Frank, " said Langley, when I was finally left alone with that worthygentleman, "how little Nell did pipe her eye the other night, when wewere all so fearful you were going to slip your wind; and just betweenyou and I and the main-mast, I'm walking into her sister's youngaffections just as the monkey went up the back-stay, hand over hand. _Pre_haps she aint a darling. I've been writing a piece of poetryabout her, don't you want to hear it?"

"Oh! be off with your nonsense--I wish to go to sleep. "

"Well, go to sleep, and be--cured, you unfeeling wretch;" and Mr. Langley, in a huff, walked out on the verandah, and began to smoke. 

Under the kind care of my good friends I grew rapidly better, and atthe end of a week was entirely well; but still I enjoyed the societyof Ellen so much, that whenever the skipper called upon me, I feignedmyself too weak to go to my duty, and pleaded that Langley might stayashore to take care of me. Captain Smith, though not deceived by thisartifice, granted us liberty from day to day; and Bill and I were thetwo happiest fellows in the world. But there is an end to every thing. One day while sitting in the back verandah with Ellen, her father andmother, in rushed the skipper, in great glee, rubbing his hands. 

"Good morning, all hands!" cried he. "How are you, Frank?"

"Oh! I'm not quite so well this morning, " I replied, telling abouncer. 

"Well, sir, I've got some news that'll do you as much good as thewhole stock in trade of an apothecary taken at one dose. Let's see, to-day is Wednesday, and Friday evening, if good weather for ourlittle plans to work, we shall sail for Boston. "

"For Boston!" cried everybody. 

"Yes, for Boston! You see, Stowe, Mr. Byrne has heard how dullfreights are here, and I have just got a letter from him by Gidding's, of the Duxbury, just arrived, in which he says--or I'll read thatpart--hum--let's see--oh--'if you have not already engaged a freight, you will immediately sail for Boston. I have an excellent opportunityto charter the Gentile for a China voyage; and I suppose you had aslief go to India again as to Russia. ' Bless me if I hadn't! So, mydear fellow, if any of those higgling shippers apply to you, tell 'emto go to the devil with their ha'penny freights. Come, ride downstreet with me; Gidding's has some letters for you. Good morning, MissEllen! Morning, Frank! get well mighty fast, for we must use you alittle, you know; and see Langley, and tell him to go aboardimmediately after dinner. "

"Ay, ay, sir. Come, Ellen, let's walk into the garden and find Williamand Mary. "

We were very soon in the garden, sauntering along a little alleyshaded by orange trees. 

"It seems to me, " said Ellen, half pouting, "that you are mightilypleased about sailing next Friday, instead of staying in Matanzas aweek longer. "

"Why, yes, " I replied, "I must say that I am glad to go home, after anabsence of eighteen months. "

"I wish I was going to dear old Boston, " added Ellen, sighing. 

"You are to go this fall, you know. "

"Maybe so; but then, Frank, you will not be there, will you?"

"Why, no, " I replied, "not if I go with the ship to India; but whatdifference will that make?"

Ellen made no answer, and I began to feel rather queer, andmarvelously inclined to make love. I had always liked Ellen very much, and lately better than ever, but, being a novice in such matters, Iwas in doubt whether my predilection was really _bona fide_ love ornot; it didn't seem like the love I had read about in novels; and yetI felt very miserable at the idea of Ellen's loving anybody else. Iwas in a desperate quandary. 

"Well, " said Ellen, after the lapse of a quarter of an hour, "praywhat can be the subject of your thoughts?"

I am frank by nature as well as by name; and so, turning to my fairinquisitor, I said, "you know, Ellen, that I am very young yet. "

"Yes, Frank. "

"And that people at my age very often do not know their own minds. "

"Yes, Frank. "

"Well, Ellen, I think _now_ that I love you very dearly; and if I werefive years older, and felt as I now do, and you were willing, I wouldmarry you right away; but I am young, and may be deceived, and so maydeceive you. Now, Ellen, if I should ask you if you loved me, wouldyou tell me?"

"Yes, Frank, " said Ellen, very faintly. 

"And do you?" I asked; and, like Brutus, paused for a reply. 

"Yes, Frank, I like you very much. "

"Is that all? _Like_, is a very cold word. Do you love me?"

"Yes, Frank, " whispered Ellen, leaning her forehead against myshoulder. "I _think_ I do; _you_ wouldn't say any more than that. "

"That is all I wish you to say, my dear little girl, " I replied, kissing her white neck and shoulders; "now then, listen. I shallreturn from India in about two years time, if then we are both of thesame mind as now, we will begin to talk about the wedding-day. What doyou say to that?"

"Yes, dear Frank. "

"Thank you, dearest; now look up one minute. "

The reader, if he pleases, may supply in this place a fewinterjectional kisses from his imagination. 

With my arm around Ellen's slender waist, we walked down the shadyalleys of the garden in search of Langley and Mary, but for a whilewere unsuccessful; at last I caught a sight of Mary's white dress in adistant arbor. We approached the bower unperceived by its occupants, and were upon the point of entering, but we luckily discovered in timethat we should be altogether _de trop_. Langley was on his kneesbefore the coquettish Mary, making love in his most grandiloquentstyle. 

"Most adorable creature, " quoth my romantic shipmate, thumping hisright side, "you lacerate my heart by your obdurate cruelty!"

"Get up off your knees, you foolish boy, " answered the mischievousgirl; "you will certainly stain the knees of your white trowsers. "

"Oh! divine goddess! hear me!" persisted my chum, magnanimouslydisregarding the welfare of his unwhisperables in the present crisis. 

"You idolatrous sailor remember the first commandment. "

"The devil fly away with the first commandment!" cried poor Langley, sorely vexed. "Most lovely of human beings, " he continued with a deepgroan, which he intended to be a pathetic sigh, "my heart is on fire. "

"May be you've got the fever, William, " suggested Mary; "are you in_much_ pain?"

"Yes, great pain, " said Bill, with another heart-rending groan. 

"Well, then, rise, I insist--Lord! if anybody should catch us in thispredicament!"

"Hadn't we better go away?" whispered Ellen, blushing for her sister'ssake. 

"No, no, " I replied, "let's stay and see the fun. "

"Not till I persuade you to relent, " replied Langley to Mary'soft-repeated request. 

"Yes you will. Get up off your knees immediately, or I vow I'll boxyour ears. "

"Strike!" cried Langley, with a theatrical air and tone, at the sametime unbuttoning his vest, "strike! and wound the heart which beatsfor you alone!"

_Slap_--came Mary's delicate hand across the cheek of her disconsolatelover, with a force which brought an involuntary "ouch!" from hislips. "Get up, I say!" _Whack_--_slap_--came two more blows, first onone side of his head and then on the other. 

"By G----d! madam!" sputtered Langley, rising in a rage, "I wish youwere a man for half a minute. "

"Why, " said Mary, "in that case you couldn't make love to me with anysort of propriety. Hold, hold, Willy, dear! don't go off angry; sitdown here, I insist; nay, now, I'll box your ears again if you don'tobey me; there, you'll feel perfectly cool in a moment. For shame!Bill, to get angry at a love-tap from a lady!"

"Love-tap, indeed, " muttered Langley, rubbing his cheek. "See whereyour confounded ring scratched my face. "

"Did it? Oh! I'm so sorry!" said Mary. "Hold here, while I kiss theplace to make it well; there now, don't it feel much better? See! I'vegot my lips all blood, haven't I? Shall I wipe it off with myhandkerchief, or--"

Langley took the hint and kissed the rich ripe lips of his lovelycompanion, red with nothing but her own warm blood. 

"By Jupiter!" cried my shipmate, "Mary, you are the strangest girl Iever saw. One minute I think you love me, the next that you carenothing at all for me; one minute the most teasing little devil, andthe next the dearest creature in all the world. "

"What am I now?" asked Mary. 

"You are the most angelic, adorable--"

"Take care, sir, " cried Mary, shaking her finger; "don't have arelapse, or you'll catch it again. "

"Well, what shall I say then?" demanded poor Bill, in despair; "youare as hard to please as the skipper of a mud-scow. "

"Talk sensibly if you wish, but don't indulge in such lofty flights, unless you have a mind to soar out of hearing. Now, then, Will, whatwere you about to say?"

"This, " said my shipmate, taking the hand of his charming companion, and speaking like a frank, manly fellow, as he really was, "this, dearMary, that I love you heartily and truly, and have loved you eversince we were children. At present I am a poor seaman, but I hope in afew years to rise in my profession, till I am able to support a wifein the style to which you have been accustomed, if then you will giveme your hand I shall be more happy than I can express. Now, don'ttease me any longer, but tell me if I have any chance. "

Mary's coquettish air was gone. While Langley had been speaking herface became suffused with a charming blush, which extended even to herheaving bosom, and when he finished she raised her eyes, bright andtearful, to his. "William, " said she, "you have spoken candidly, without doubt, and deserve a candid answer. If when you become themate of a ship you are willing to be burthened with me for a wife, dear Will, you can doubtless have me by asking papa. "

"Come, Ellen, " said I, "let's go now. "

CHAPTER X. 

_The Gentile loses her fore-topsail. _

The hours flew like lightning until Friday arrived. I went to theconvent in the morning, and in an interview with Sister Agathainformed her that in the evening she would probably be called to thesick bed of Ellen. Mr. Stowe bade us good-bye and sailed in the Havanasteamboat at noon, that his presence at the catastrophe might notseem suspicious. At sunset I bade farewell to dear little Ellen, whowas indeed as pale as death, and in an hour afterward was on board theship, where I found every thing in readiness for a hasty departure, the top-sails, jib and spanker were loosed, the anchor at the bows, and its place supplied by a small kedge, attached to the ship by ahawser, easily cut in case of need; the awnings were struck, and thedecks covered with rigging and sails. The boat's crew who were to goon the expedition of the evening had already been selected, and werein high spirits at the probable danger, romance and novelty of theaffair. 

"By thunder! Frank, " said Jack Reeves, shaking my hand furiously whenI appeared on the forecastle, "you're a trump and no mistake. "

"Arrah! now, Masther Frank, how yaller it is ye're lookin'; but it'syou that's the boy to get the weather gage of Yaller Jack, let alonethe nuns; wont we have a thumping time this night?"

"Why, Teddy, are you going with us? You are the last man I should havethought to enlist in an expedition of this kind!"

"Ay, ay, Masther Frank, its rather agen my conscience, to be sure; butit's the skipper's orders, and I alwus goes by that maxum, ''beyorders if you break owners. '"

"Then the skipper has ordered you to go--"

"Of coorse; in the first place he says that he'll send no man intodanger widout tellin' him of it, the jewel, and then he just statedthe case, and sez he, 'which of yees will go, b'ys?' an' wid that uzall stipt for'ard. 'What, ' sez the owld man, sez he, 'Teddy, I thoughtyou was a Catholic!' 'Faix! an' I am that, yer honor, ' sez I, makin' abig sign of the cross, 'long life to the Pope and the clargy!' 'It's anun we're goin' to abductionize to-night, ' sez he, 'I thought youunderstood that. ' 'I know that, yer honor, ' sez I, 'but if you willjist plaze to order me to go, I can't help meself, and so your ownsowl will be damned, beggin' yer honor's pardon, ' sez I, 'and notmine. ' The officers all laughed, and the owld man, sez he, 'Teddy, you're quite ingenuous!' 'Thank yer honor, ' sez I, 'but I'll cottonto Ichabod Green in that line, since he invinted the new spun-yarnmill. '"

Soon after sundown the land wind from the south set in smartly, and byeight o'clock we were not a little fearful lest our kedge might drag. The captain's gig was brought to the stairs, and the party chosen forthe expedition took their places, the first mate and ship's cousin andsix stout seamen, well armed. Stewart was very nervous and silent; theonly remark he made after we left the ship was when we swept by theend of the mole. 

It was just nine o'clock when we hauled into the shade of thesummer-house and its vines at the foot of Mr. Stowe's garden. I wascommissioned to go to the house while the rest staid by the boat. Onthe stairs of the back verandah I met Mary Stowe. 

"Is it you, Frank?" she asked. 

"Ay, ay; is Cousin Clara here?"

"Oh, yes! in Ellen's room, and the Superior is in the parlor withmother. Ellen has been terribly sick, but she was well enough towhisper just now, 'Give Frank my best love. '"

"Here, Mary, " said I, "give her this kiss a thousand times. "

"Oh, heavens! what a pretty one! But I must go and send Sister Agathato you; we've got a hard part to act when her flight is discovered. Isay, Frank, give Langley my love; don't wonder at it now, adieu! I'llsee you in two years. "

"I waited impatiently for two minutes, which seemed two hours; at lastI heard a light step on the stairs, and in a moment more held therunaway nun in my arms. 

"Courage!" said I, "you are safe. "

Throwing a cloak over her, we hastily ran down the orange-walk. Icould not suppress a sigh as I passed the place where Ellen had toldme that she thought she loved me. In a moment we reached the boat;Stewart stood upon the shore to receive us, caught the fainting formof Cousin Clara in his arms, and bore her apparently lifeless to thestern-sheets; the men shipped their oars, and I seized therudder-lines, and gave the word of command. 

"Push off--let fall--give way--and now pull for your lives. "

The boat shot like lightning down the narrow river to its mouth, thenacross the broad bay, glittering in the first rays of the just risenmoon. The band was playing as we rapidly shot past the barracks. 

I sat near the lovers in the stern-sheets, and heard Stewart whisper, "Dearest, do you remember that old Castilian air?" The answer wasinaudible, but from the long kiss that Stewart pressed upon the lipswhich replied to him, I judged that the reply was in the affirmative. At last the ship was reached, and the passengers of the boat weresafely transferred to the broad, firm deck of the old Gentile. 

The reader will excuse my describing the scene which ensued, for, as Ihave before said, and as the reader has probably assented, descriptionis not my forte; beside, I am in a devil of a hurry to get the shipunder weigh, or all will be lost. 

The hawser was cut, and we wore round under our jib; the top-sailswere hoisted and filled out before the breeze, and we began our voyagetoward home. Sail after sail was set, and the noble old ship dancedmerrily and swiftly along, leaving the scene of my cousin's sufferingfar astern; and, alas! every moment adding to the distance betweenEllen and me. The lights of the distant city, shining through the mazyrigging of the shipping before it, grew dimmer and more faint, andfinally, entirely disappeared; the wide ocean was before us. 

The next morning we were seventy miles from the nearest land of Cuba;and ten days afterward the marine lists of the Boston papers announcedthe arrival of the ship Gentile, Smith, from Matanzas. 

CHAPTER XI. 

_In which the fullness of the Gentiles is accomplished. _

Great was the joy of my father and mother, and good little sisters, atthe unexpected appearance of Cousins Pedro and Clara. The money of theformer, it may be recollected, had been brought to Boston in theCabot, and placed in my father's hands, and though Pedro could not becalled a rich man, still the sum now paid him by his uncle was veryhandsome. This, by advice, was invested in an India venture to send bythe Gentile; and my Cousin Pedro, in consequence of this and myfather's recommendation, was appointed supercargo of that ship by Mr. Selden, the merchant who had chartered her. 

Captain Smith was removed to a new and larger vessel; and theGentile's list of officers, when she cleared for Canton, stood thus, Benjamin Stewart, master; Pedro Garcia, supercargo; Micah Brewster, 1st officer; William Langley, 2nd do. ; Frank Byrne, 3rd do. JackReeves was also in the forecastle, but Teddy staid by his old skipper. 

It was a very pleasant day when we sailed from the end of Long Wharf;but we had got nearly under weigh before Captain Stewart came onboard. 

"That's always the way with these new married skippers, " growled thepilot, as he gave orders to hoist the maintop-sail. 

 * * * * *

About a month ago, the senior partner of the firm of Byrne & Co. Washeard to say, that he had in his employ three sea captains who hadeach one wooed his wife in broad daylight, in a garden of the city ofMatanzas. 

ILENOVAR. 

FROM A STORY OF PALENQUE. 

A FRAGMENT. 

BY WM. GILMORE SIMMS, AUTHOR OF "THE YEMASSEE, " "RICHARD HURDIS, " ETC. 

 Weary, but now no longer girt by foes, He darkly stood beside that sullen wave, Watching the sluggish waters, whose repose Imaged the gloomy shadows in his heart; Vultures, that, in the greed of appetite, Still sating blind their passionate delight, Lose all the wing for flight, And, brooding deafly o'er the prey they tear, Hear never the low voice that cries, "depart, Lest with your surfeit you partake the snare!" Thus fixed by brooding and rapacious thought, Stood the dark chieftain by the gloomy stream, When, suddenly, his ear A far off murmur caught, Low, deep, impending, as of trooping winds, Up from his father's grave, That ever still some fearful echoes gave, Such as had lately warned him in his dream, Of all that he had lost--of all he still might save! Well knew he of the sacrilege that made That sacred vault, where thrice two hundred kings Were in their royal pomp and purple laid, Refuge for meanest things;-- Well knew he of the horrid midnight rite, And the foul orgies, and the treacherous spell, By those dread magians nightly practiced there; And who the destined victim of their art;-- But, as he feels the sacred amulet That clips his neck and trembles at his breast-- As once did she who gave it--he hath set His resolute spirit to its work, and well His great soul answers to the threatning dread, Those voices from the mansions of the dead! Upon the earth, like stone, He crouched in silence; and his keen ear, prone, Kissed the cold ground in watchfulness, not fear! But soon he rose in fright, For, as the sounds grew near, He feels the accents never were of earth: They have a wilder birth Than in the council of his enemies, And he, the man, who, having but one life, Hath risked a thousand in unequal strife, Now, in the night and silence, sudden finds A terror, at whose touch his manhood flies. The blood grows cold and freezes in his veins, His heart sinks, and upon his lips the breath Curdles, as if in death! Vainly he strives in flight, His trembling knees deny--his strength is gone! As one who, in the depth of the dark night, Groping through chambered ruins, lays his hands On cold and clammy bones, and glutinous brains, The murdered man's remains-- Thus rooted to the dread spot stood the chief, When, from the tomb of ages, came the sound, As of a strong man's grief; His heart denied its blood--his brain spun round-- He sank upon the ground!

 'Twas but an instant to the dust he clung; The murmurs grew about him like a cloud-- He breathed an atmosphere of spirit-voices, Most sighing sad, but with a sound between, As of one born to hope that still rejoices, In a sweet foreign tongue, That seemed exulting, starting from its shroud, To a new rapture for the first time seen! This better voice, as with a crowning spell, On the chief's spirit fell; Up starting from the earth, he cried aloud: "Ah! thou art there, and well! I thank thee, thou sweet life, that unto me Art life no longer--thou hast brought me life, Such as shall make thy murderers dread the strife. But for thy ear a gentler speech be mine, And I will wait until the terrible hour Hath past, and I may wholly then be thine! Now am I sworn unto a wilder power, But none so clear, or precious, sweetest flower, That ever, when Palenque possessed her tower And white-robed priesthood, wert of all thy race Most queenly, and the soul of truth and grace;-- Blossom of beauty, that I could not keep, And know not to resign-- I would, but cannot weep! These are not tears, my father, but hot blood That fills the warrior's eyes; For every drop that falls, a mighty flood Our foemen's hearts shall yield us, when the dawn Begins of that last day Whose red light ushers in the fatal fray, Such as shall bring us back old victories, Or of the empire, evermore withdrawn. Shall make a realm of silence and of gloom, Where all may read the doom, But none shall dream the horrid history! I do not weep--I do not shrink--I cry For the fierce strife and vengeance! Taught by thee, No other thought I see! My hope is strong within, my limbs are free. My arms would strike the foe--my feet would fly, Where now he rides triumphant in his sway-- And though within my soul a sorrow deep Makes thought a horror haunting memory, I do not, will not weep!"

 Then swore he--and he called the tree whose growth Of past and solemn centuries made it wear An ancient, god-like air, To register his deep and passionate oath. Hate to the last he swore--a wild revenge, Such as no chance can change, Vowed he before those during witnesses, Rocks, waters and old trees. And, in that midnight hour, No sound from nature broke, No sound save that he spoke, No sound from spirits hushed and listening nigh! His was an oath of power-- A prince's pledge for vengeance to his race-- To twice two hundred years of royalty-- That still the unbroken sceptre should have sway, While yet one subject warrior might obey, Or one great soul avenge a realm's disgrace! It was the pledge of vengeance, for long years, Borne by his trampled people as a dower Of bitterness and tears;-- Homes rifled, hopes defeated, feelings torn By a fierce conqueror's scorn; The national gods o'erthrown--treasure and blood, Once boundless as the flood, That 'neath his fixed and unforgiving eye Crept onward silently; Scattered and squandered wantonly, by bands, Leaguered in shame, the scum of foreign lands, Sent forth to lengthen out their infamy, With the wild banquet of a pampered mood. 

 Even as he swore, his eye Grew kindled with a fierce and flaming blight, Red-lowering like the sky, When, heralding the tempest in his might, The muttering clouds march forth and form on high. With sable banners and grim majesty. Beneath his frowning brow a shaft of fire, That told the lurking ire, Shot ever forth, outflashing through the gloom It could not well illume, Making the swarthy cheeks on which it fell Seem trenched with scarrèd lines of hate and hell. Then heaved his breast with all the deep delight The warrior finds in promise of the fight, Who seeks for vengeance in his victory. For, in the sudden silence in the air, He knew how gracious was the audience there: He heard the wings unfolding at the close, And the soft voice that cheered him once before Now into utterance rose: One whispered word, One parting tone, And then a fragrant flight of wings was heard And she was gone, was gone-- Yet was he not alone! not all alone!

 Thus, having sworn--the old and witnessing tree Bent down, and in his branches registered Each dark and passionate word; And on the rocks, trenched in their shapeless sides, The terrible oath abides; And the dark waters, muttering to their waves, Bore to their secret mansions and dim caves The low of death they heard. Thus were the dead appeased--the listening dead-- For, as the warrior paused, a cold breath came, Wrapping with ice his frame, A cold hand pressing on his heart and head; Entranced and motionless, Upon the earth he lies, While a dread picture of the land's distress Rose up before his eyes. First came old Hilluah's shadow, with the ring About his brow, the sceptre in his hand, Ensigns of glorious and supreme command, Proofs of the conqueror, honored in the king. "Ilenovar! Ilenovar!" he cried: Vainly the chief replied;-- He strove to rise for homage, but in vain-- The deathlike spell was on him like a chain, And his clogged tongue, that still he strove to teach, Denied all answering speech! The monarch bade him mark The clotted blood that, dark, Distained his royal bosom, and that found Its way, still issuing, from a mortal wound, Ghastly and gaping wide, upon his throat! The shadow passed--another took his place, Of the same royal race; The noble Yumuri, the only son Of the old monarch, heir to his high throne, Cut off by cunning in his youthful pride; There was the murderer's gash, and the red tide Still pouring from his side; And round his neck the mark of bloody hands, That strangled the brave sufferer while he strove Against their clashing brands. Not with unmoistened eyes did the chief note His noble cousin, precious to his love, Brother of one more precious to his thought, With whom and her, three happy hearts in one, He grew together in their joys and fears-- And not till sundered knew the taste of tears; Salt, bitter tears, but shed by one alone, Him the survivor, the avenger--he Who vainly shades his eyes that still must see! Long troops came after of his slaughtered race, Each in his habit, even as he died: The big sweat trickled down the warrior's face, Yet could he move no limb, in that deep trance, Nor turn away his glance!

 They melt again to cloud--at last they fade; He breathes, that sad spectator, --they are gone; He sighs with sweet relief; but lo! anon, A deeper spell enfolds him, as a maid, Graceful as evening light, and with an eye Intelligent with beauty, like the sky, And wooing as the shade, Bends o'er him silently! With one sweet hand she lifts the streaming hair, That o'er her shoulders droops so gracefully, While with the other she directs his gaze, All desperate with amaze, Yet with a strange delight, through all his fear! What sees he there? Buried within her bosom doth his eye The deadly steel descry; The blood stream clotted round it--the sweet life Shed by the cruel knife!-- The keen blade guided to the pure white breast, By its own kindred hand, declares the rest! Smiling upon the deed, she smiles on him, And in that smile the lovely shape grows dim. 

 His trance is gone--his heart Hath no more fear! in one wild start He bursts the spell that bound him, with a cry That rings in the far sky; He does not fear to rouse his enemy! The hollow rocks reply; He shouts, and wildly, with a desperate voice, As if he did rejoice That death had done his worst; And in his very desperation blessed, He felt that life could never more be cursed; And from its gross remains he still might wrest A something, not a joy, but needful to his breast! His hope is in the thought that he shall gain Sweet vengeance for the slain-- For her, the sole, the one More dear to him than daylight or the sun, That perished to be pure! No more! no more! Hath that stern mourner language! But the vow, Late breathed before those spectre witnesses, His secret spirit mutters o'er and o'er, As 't were the very life of him and his-- Dear to his memory, needful to him now! A moment and his right hand grasped his brow-- Then, bending to the waters, his canoe, Like some etherial thing that mocks the view, Glides silent from the shore. 

THE LAST OF HIS RACE. 

BY S. DRYDEN PHELPS. 

 'Twas to a dark and solitary glen, Amid New England's scenery wild and bold, A lonely spot scarce visited by men, Where high the frowning hills their summits hold, And stand, the storm-beat battlements of old-- Returned at evening from the fruitless chase, Weary and sad, and pierced with autumn's cold And laid him mournful in his rocky place, The grief-worn warrior chief--last of his once proud race. 

 He wrapt his mantle round his manly form, And sighed as on his cavern floor he lay; His bosom heaved with passion's varying storm, While he to melancholy thoughts gave way, And mused on deeds of many a by-gone day. Scenes of the past before his vision rose-- The fearless clans o'er whom he once held sway, The bloody battle-field and vanquished foes, His wide extended rule, which few had dared oppose. 

 He sees again his glad and peaceful home, His warlike sons and cherished daughters dear; Together o'er his hunting-grounds they roam, Together they their honored sire revere; But trickles down his cheek the burning tear, As fades the spectral vision from his eye: Low at his shrine he bows with listening ear, And up to the Great Spirit sends a cry, To bear him to his rest, and bid his sorrows die. 

 Tired of the lonely world he longs to go And join his kindred and the warrior band, Where fruits for him in rich luxuriance grow, Nor comes the pale-face to that spirit-land: Ere he departs for aye, he fain would stand Again upon his favorite rock and gaze O'er the wide realm where once he held command, Where oft he hunted in his younger days, Where, in the joyful dance, he sang victorious lays. 

 Up the bold height with trembling step he passed, And gained the fearful eminence he sought; As on surrounding scenes his eye was cast, His troubled spirit racked with frenzied thought, And urged by ruin on his empire brought, He uttered curses on the pale-faced throng, With whom in vain his scattered warriors fought And on the sighing breeze that swept along, He poured the fiery words that filled his vengeful song:

 Fair home of the red man! my lingering gaze On thy ruin now rests, like the sun's fading rays; 'Tis the last that I give--like the dim orb of day, My life shall go down, and my spirit away. 

 Loved home of the red man! I leave thee with pain, The place where my kindred, my brothers were slain; The graves of my fathers, whose wigwams were here; The land where I hunted the swift-bounding deer. 

 No longer these hills and these valleys I roam, No more are these mountains and forests my home, No more, on the face of the beautiful tide, Shall the red man's canoe in tranquillity glide. 

 The pale-face hath conquered--we faded away, Like mist on the hills in the sun's burning ray, Like the leaves of the forest our warriors have perished; Our homes have been sacked by the stranger we cherished. 

 May the Great Spirit come in his terrible might, And pour on the white man his mildew and blight May his fruits be destroyed by the tempest and hail, And the fire-bolts of heaven his dwellings assail. 

 May the beasts of the mountain his children devour, And the pestilence seize him with death-dealing power; May his warriors all perish and he in his gloom, Like the hosts of the red men, be swept to the tomb. 

 Scarce had the wild notes of the chieftain's song Died mournful on the evening breeze away, Ere down the precipice he plunged along Mid ragged cliffs that in his passage lay: All torn and mangled by the fearful fray, Naught save the echo of his fall arose. The winds that still around that summit play, The sporting rill that far beneath it flows, Chant, where the Indian fell, their requiem o'er his woes. 

DECAY AND ROME. 

 Methinks I see, within yon wasted hall, O'erhung with tapestry of ivy green, The grim old king Decay, who rules the scene, Throned on a crumbling column by the wall, Beneath a ruined arch of ancient fame, Mocking the desolation round about, Blotting with his effacing fingers out The inscription, razing off its hero's name-- And lo! the ancient mistress of the globe, With claspèd hands, a statue of despair, Sits abject at his feet, in fetters bound-- A thousand rents in her imperial robe, Swordless and sceptreless, her golden hair Dishevelled in the dust, for ages gathering round! R. H. S. 

THE LITTLE CAP-MAKER. 

OR LOVE'S MASQUERADE. 

BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER. 

PART I. 

Fair Ursula sits alone in an apartment which seems fitted up for thereception of some goddess. She is not weeping, but her dark eyes arehumid with tears. An air of melancholy rests on her young face, like ashadow on a rose-leaf, while her little hands are folded despairinglyon her lap. The hem of her snowy robe sweeps the rich surface of thecarpet, from out which one dainty little foot, in its fairy slipper ofblack satin, peeps forth, wantonly crushing the beautiful bouquetwhich has fallen from the hands of the unhappy fair one. 

Every thing in this inviting apartment is arranged with the mostexquisite taste and elegance. On tables of unique pattern arescattered the most costly gems of art and _vertu_--choice paintingsadorn the walls--flowers, rare and beautiful, lift their heads proudlyabove the works of art which surround them, and in splendid Chinesecages, birds of gorgeous plumage have learned to caress the rosy lipsof their young mistress, or perch triumphantly on her snowy finger. Here are books, too, and music--a harp--a piano--while through a halfopen door leading from a little recess over which a _multaflora_ istaught to twine its graceful tendrils, a glimpse may be caught of rosysilken hangings shading the couch where the queen of this little realmnightly sinks to her innocent slumbers. 

Eighteen summers have scarce kissed the brow of the fair maid, andalready the canker worm of sorrow is preying upon her heart-strings. Poor thing, so young and yet so sad! What can have caused thissadness! Perhaps she loves one whose heart throbs not with answeringkindness--perhaps loves one faithless to her beauty, or loves wherecruel fate has interposed the barrier of a parent's frown!

No--her heart is as free and unfettered as the wind. 

Ah! then perhaps her bosom friend, the chosen companion of hergirlhood has proved unkind--some delightful project of pleasureperhaps frustrated, or, I dare say she has found herself eclipsed atMadame Raynor's _soirée_ by some more brilliant belle--no, no, none ofthese surmises are true, plausible as they appear! Then what is it?Perhaps--but you will never guess, and you will laugh incredulouslywhen I tell you that poor, poor dear darling Ursula weepsbecause--because--

_She is an heiress!_

That is it--yes, weeps because she is the uncontrolled mistress of onehundred thousand dollars in houses, lands and gold, bright gold!

Poor little dear--looking upon fortune as a serious misfortune, andeven envying those whose daily toil can alone bring them thenecessaries of life; for, have they friends--they are truefriends--there is no selfishness in the bond which unites them--whileshe, unhappy child that she is, owes to her rank and riches herthousand friends and the crowd of satellites worshiping before her!What a foolish notion to enter her little head! True, it is foolish. Lovers, too, in plenty sigh at her feet, and in the soft moonlight theair is tremulous with sighs and music, as from beneath her windowsteals the soft serenade. But Ursula curls her lip disdainfully, andorders her maid to shut out the sweet sounds. Ever that hateful goldcomes between her and her lovers, and then she wishes her lot washumble, that she might be loved for herself alone!

Do you wish a portrait of the unhappy little heiress? Behold her then:

A perfect little sylph, resting on the tiniest of feet, with hands socharming that you would feel an almost irresistible desire to foldthem caressingly within your own--the rich complexion of a brunettewith the bloom of Hebe on her cheek--her hair like burnished jet--eyeslarge, lustrous and black--but (alas that there should be a _but_!)poor Ursula had an unfortunate cast in her left eye--in others wordsshe squinted--yes, absolutely squinted!

Dear, dear what a pity!

Yet stop, don't judge the little heiress too hastily, for after all itwas not a bad squint--indeed, if you knew her, you would say it wasreally a becoming squint, such a roguish, knowing look did it giveher! Nevertheless, it was a squint, and poor Ursula, notwithstandingthe bewitching form and features her mirror threw back, fancied this adeformity which cast aside all her graces. And here again the _gold_jaundiced her imagination and whispered, "were it not for _me_ what ahorrible squint you would have in the straight forward eyes of theworld!"

When her parents died Ursula Lovel was but an infant, yet as tenderand affectionate as parents had been the good uncle and aunt to whoselove and guardianship she was bequeathed. They had no children, andgladly took the little orphan to their bosoms with pity and love--andUrsula required all their watchful care, for she was ever a feeblechild, giving no indications of that sprightly beauty and perfecthealth she now exhibited. Then indeed the squint was truly adeformity, for her thin, sallow countenance only made it far moreconspicuous. 

People should be more guarded what they say before children. One goodold lady by a careless remark instilled into the mind of littleUrsula a jealousy and distrust, which, but for the good sense matureryears brought to bear against such early impressions, would haverendered her unhappy for life. Propped up by pillows, she sat at asmall table amusing herself by building little card houses, and thenseeing them tumble down with all the kings and queens of her littlecity, when she heard her name mentioned in accents of pity by an oldlady who had come to pay her aunt a morning visit. 

"She is very plain--is not she? What a great misfortune that herfather should have left her so much money! Poor thing, it will onlyprove a curse to her, for if she lives she will doubtless become theprey of some fortune-hunter. "

Now what was meant by "fortune-hunter"--whether some giant or horridogress--the little girl could not tell, but that it was some dreadfulthing waiting to devour her because she had money, haunted her mindcontinually. She was a child of fine capacity, and at school generallyranked the highest in her class--how many times her envious mateswould say: "Well, well, it is a fine thing to be rich--it is yourmoney, Miss Lovel, makes you so much favored--our teachers are bothdeaf and blind to your foibles!" What wonder, then, poor Ursula beganto distrust herself, and to impugn the kindness of her teachers andfriends, who really loved her for her sweet disposition, and wereproud of her scholarship. 

But don't think that she has been hugging such unhappy thoughts to herbosom ever since, because you have just found her lamenting that sheis an heiress!

You shall hear. As childhood passed, health bloomed on her cheek, andshed its invigorating influence over the mind, and it was only whensomething occurred to arouse the suspicion of early childhood that sheindulged in such feelings. She was intelligent and accomplished. Sanglike a bird, painted to nature, and danced like a fairy. But there wassomething more than all this which contributed to her happiness--itwas the power of doing good--a power which she possessed, and, throughthe judgment of her aunt, practiced. This excellent woman had taughther that money was not given her to be all lavished on self--that itwas her duty, and ought to be her delight, to loose her purse-stringsto the cries of the poor, and to scatter its glittering contentsthrough the homes of the needy. And this did Ursula do--and wasrewarded by the blessing of those she had relieved, and the happyconsciousness of having mitigated the sorrows of her fellow mortals. 

But now this particular evening when you have seen little Ursuladrooping under the weight of gold which Fortune it appears has sothanklessly showered upon her, she has met with an adventure whichbrings before her with all its tenacity the impression so earlyengendered. And now, as she sits there so sad and sorrowful, she issighing to be loved for herself alone, and wishes her lot had beenhumble, that she might trust to professions, and not be foreverreminded of that wealth which she fears will always mask the sincerityof those around her. 

Silly little girl! She would even exchange all the elegancies andluxuries of life to feed on love and roses!

This unlucky evening she had shone as the most brilliant belle in thecrowded assemblage of the fair and fashionable whom Madam Raynor hadgathered into her splendid rooms. Tired at length with the gay scenearound her, she had strolled off alone into the conservatory, andleaning against a pillar watched from a distance the giddy whirl ofthe waltz--the waving of feathers, the flashing of jewels, and theflitting of airy forms through those magnificent apartments. A fewmoments before she left the crowd, she had observed a stranger of verydashing air attentively regarding her, and then joining a friend ofhers appeared to request an introduction. But young Allan was justabout to join the dance, and ere it was finished Ursula had stolenaway. 

While engaged as before described, she observed the same gentlemanleaning on the arm of Allan strolling toward the conservatory. Concealed by the shadow of a large orange-tree, they passed herunobserved--they then paused in their walk, when Ursula suddenly heardher own name mentioned, and then the following conversationunavoidably fell on her ear:

"Why she squints, Allan!"

"Well, what of that--those that know her best never think of it. "

"Pardon me, I consider it a very great defect, and slight as thisblemish appears in Miss Lovel, her money could never blind me to thefact if I knew her ever so well. "

"I do not mean to imply, " answered Allan, "that being an heiressrenders the blemish imperceptible--no, it is her truly amiabledisposition, her goodness, and engaging manners which makes her sobeautiful to her friends. "

"O, a pattern woman!" cried the other, "worse yet!"

"What do you mean by a pattern woman?"

"Why, one of those shockingly amiable, running round into dark alleys, charity-dispensing beings--patting white-headed beggar boys, andkissing dirt-begrimed babies--who speak in soft, lisping tones of dutyand benevolence--read the Bible to sick paupers, go to sewing meetingsand work on flannel--and--"

"There, that will do, Fifield, " interrupted Allan, "making someallowance, you have drawn Miss Lovel's character to the life. Shall Iintroduce you?"

"O certainly, a cool hundred thousand outweighs all my objectionsagainst pattern women--I could swallow a sermon every morning with thebest grace in the world, and even were she as ugly as Hecate, I couldworship at her feet, and wear the yoke for the sake of the goldentrappings!"

The young men now passed on, leaving poor Ursula wounded to the quickby the heartless remarks of the fortune-hunter. She did not join thegay assembly again, but requesting a servant to call her carriage, immediately returned home. Now can you wonder at the cloud on herbrow?

But see, even while we are looking at her, it is clearing away--likea sunbeam, out peeps a smile from each corner of her rosy mouth, andhark! you may almost hear her merry laugh as clapping her bands sheexclaims--

"Yes, yes, I'll do it! What a capital idea--excellent, excellent!"Then rising and bounding lightly to the inner door she threw it wide, saying--

"Here, Hetty, I have something to tell you--come quick. "

And at the summons a pretty young girl, seemingly about her own age, made her appearance from the chamber. 

"There, Hetty, I am better now, " said Ursula, "how silly I am to letthe remarks of such a person have power to move me! But I have such agrand project to tell you--come, while you are platting my hair, and, in the words of that same amiable youth, taking off all these_trappings_, I will let you into my secret. "

Hetty took the comb and thridded it through the long tresses of heryoung lady, which, released from the silver arrow so gracefullylooping them on the top of her head, now fell around her nearly to thefloor. 

"Hetty, " exclaimed Ursula, suddenly throwing back her head and lookingarchly at the girl, "Hetty, do you want to see your mother?"

"O, Miss Ursula, " cried Hetty, the tears springing to her eyes, "indeed, indeed I do!"

"Very well, I promise you then that in less than a week you shall bein her arms. "

"O, my dear Miss Ursula, do you really mean so?" said Hetty, bendingover and kissing the glowing cheek of her mistress. 

"Yes, I really mean so--but dear, dear, you have run that hair-pinalmost into my brain--never mind--only be quiet now--there, sit down, and I will tell you all about it. " There was a roguish expression onUrsula's face as she continued: "Yes, you shall go home, and what'smore, Hetty, I am going with you, and mean to live with you allsummer, perhaps longer. "

"Why, Miss Ursula!"

"Yes I do. And now you must assist me--you must promise me not toreveal to any one, not even to your mother, that I am the rich ladywith whom you live. Remember I am a poor girl--poor as yourself--afriend of yours come into the country for--for her health--ha, ha, ha, Hetty, look at me--you must contrive to make me look paler, or shallthis be a _hectic_?"

"But, Miss Ursula--it will never do--you who have always had everything so beautiful around you--you can never live in our humble way!"

"Try me, try me, Hetty--for I am determined to lest my own individualmerits, and see how far they may gain me the love and esteem of otherswhen unsupported by the claims of wealth. Let me see, Hetty, I musthave some employment aside from helping you to milk the cows and feedthe pigs. Ah, I have it!" she cried, springing up and turning apirouette--"listen--I will be a _milliner_! you know, aunt thinks Ihave a great knack at cap-making--O excellent idea--I will turnmilliner for all the farmer's wives and daughters far and near. " Andcatching up her embroidered mouchoir she began folding it into aturban, and then placing it gracefully on her little head, she turnedto the laughing girl: "See there now--is not it exquisite--why my capsand turbans will turn the heads of all the swains in the village. Youshall have one first, Hetty--you shall set _your_ cap, and heigh-hofor a husband!"

"But your uncle and aunt, Miss Ursula?"

"O, I shall tell them candidly my project. They will laugh at me, Iknow, and try, perhaps, to dissuade me; but, after all, they will letme do as I please. "

_Twelve_! chimed a beautiful Cupid running off with Time, which, exquisitely wrought in gold and pearl, stood on the dressing-table. 

In a few moments Hetty had drawn the rose-colored curtains around thecouch of her young mistress, and left her to dreams as rosy. 

PART II. 

And now will you follow me to another scene--an apartment morespacious, and even more elegant, than the one we have just left, savethat it savors more of the "sterner sex. " For instance, we may see abrace of pistols, superbly mounted, crossed over the mantel-piece--aflute upon the table--a rifle leaning against the wall, and, Ideclare, fishing-tackle thrown carelessly down, all among thosedelicate knackeries so beautifully arranged on yonder marbleslab--just like the men!

Reclining upon a sofa of crimson satin, wrought with gold thread, wrapped in an elegant dressing-robe, with his feet thrust intoembroidered slippers, is a young man of very pleasing exterior, whomwe should judge to be about five-and-twenty. The long, slender fingersof one hand are half buried in the rich mass of dark-brown hair whichwaves over his temples, the other, hanging over the back of the sofa, seems to partake of the disturbance of its master, for it beats andthrums the silken covering most unmercifully. See how he knits hisfine brow, and now waves his arm menacingly in the air--what can bethe matter!

Ah! you will laugh again when I tell you here is another discontentedheir of wealth. 

There! now he suddenly starts up as if distracted. "_Yelp_, _yelp_!"Ah! poor Fido! although your master seems evidently out of humor, hewould not have kicked your beautiful spotted coat had he seen you!There, he caresses you--so fold back your long ears, and wag your tailcomplacently, while we hear what this impatient youth has to say, ashe strides so rapidly hither and thither. 

"Well, no doubt wealth is a very fine thing, if the world would letone enjoy it peaceably; but to be thus forever dined, and teaed, andcourted, and flattered, and smiled at, and bowed at, and winked at, when, if it were not for my fortune, I very much doubt whether one ofthese, my exceeding good friends, would give me a dinner to save mefrom starvation. Why I had rather be the veriest boor that holds aplough, or a cobbler at his last, than to be, as Shakspeare says, 'thething I am. ' I am heartily sick of it, and could almost turn my backupon the world, and lead a hermit's life. To be always a mark formanaging mothers, with great grown-up daughters; aimed at, like atarget, by scores of black, grey, and blue eyes; to be forever forcedto waltz with this one, and sing with another--and, ere I know it, find myself entrapped into a close _tête-à-tête_ with a third. I wishI _was_ married; then one-half at least of my troubles would beover--for I should shake off this swarm of female fortune-hunters!_Married_! ah! I wish I was! But where can I find one who will love mefor myself alone, and not for the standing my wealth would give her?_Married_! ah! how delightful to come home and find a dear little wifewaiting with open arms to welcome me, and the rosiest and sweetest oflips coaxingly pressed to mine; all my cares forgotten, all myvexations subdued by her soothing caresses and tender words. And thenhow enchanting as she warbles like a linnet for my ear alone; howenchanting to lean her bewitching little head on my shoulder, andinhale the balmy fragrance of her breath. O! I wish I was married!"

And now, so enraptured does this reasonable youth seem with thepicture he has sketched, that not having any thing else, you see, tohug, he throws his arms most lovingly around himself. There, now hefrowns again, and--hark what more he has to say. 

"In fact, I am not sure I have a real friend in the world, for, gild afool or a monkey, and mark what a troop of flatterers fawn around andfollow admiringly at his heels! And as for choosing a wife, why, wereI toothless, one-eyed, or deaf as a post, the magic of gold wouldtransform me into an Adonis!"

Now stopping before a full-length mirror, he appears to consolehimself for such suppositions, by very complacently regarding histruly elegant figure and classic countenance. 

A tap at the door, and an arch face, already shaded by the night-coif, peeps in. 

"What, not yet gone to bed, brother--why what are you studying, to beup so late?"

"Studying human nature, Helen--a book with great pretensions toexcellence, but--"

"Hush, hush, Frank! not a word more, " exclaimed Helen, placing herlittle hand over his mouth, "not a word more--you read with defectivevision! I proclaim the book of human nature to be charming, every pageteeming with interest, every line traced by the hand divine, a lessonfor a lifetime. Ah! Frank, remove the film of distrust from your eyes, and read this book as it ought to be read, therein you will findtruth, goodness, and beauty!"

"Would I could think as you do, Helen. I tell you candidly, I am sickof the world as I find it, and would gladly give all my wealth andexpectations to be sure there was one heart that truly loved me--lovedme for myself alone. "

"A very pretty theory, indeed! Well, you must get married, Frank; Isee no other way to cure you--then you will have a dear little book ofyour own to study--a choice edition of human nature, traced by thefeather of Cupid. "

"Ah! the very thing I was thinking of; but tell me, Helen, where canI find that same beautiful work?"

"Where you please, brother--there is no danger that you can sue invain; there is sweet Anna De Kay, roguish little Laura C----, thepensive Sarah--"

"O! don't mention them--pray don't name any more of these citybelles!"

"Well, Frank, human nature is most lovely in the simplicity of countrylife--you must seek some village maid to grace the name of Leland. "

"Helen, " says Frank, taking her hand, and looking into the large blueeyes sparkling so mirthfully, "Helen, I tell you if I could find anamiable girl, brought up in all the beautiful simplicity of thecountry, no matter how unskillful in the world's ways--one who, ignorant of my wealth and standing, would unite her fate to mine forbetter or for worse--then, Helen, I could fall at her feet, andworship her as the star of my life and love. "

"Pray, remember, my sentimental brother, ere you squeeze my hand sodevoutly, that I am not your artless country maid, " exclaimed Helen, laughing; then, after a moment's pause, she cries, gayly, "ah! I haveit, Frank; you must masquerade a little, that's all--win your brideunder false colors, as a sailor would say. "

"Helen, you witch, you darling sister, " says Frank, kissing her, "Iwill do it--yes, to-morrow I will set forth, like Coelebs, in search ofa wife! Now you must help me farther with your lively imagination; youmust choose me a profession to masquerade under. I must, of course, for the attainment of my object, sport the character of a poorgentleman, struggling with honest poverty to gain a livelihood. Come, what shall I be--school-master--singing-master--drawing-master--or--"

"O, the last, by all means!" interrupted Helen. "You will have such afine opportunity of developing the tastes of your fair scholars--ha!ha! ha! Frank, methinks I already see thee helping some blushingmilk-maid, with her pail, or, perhaps, leaning against a rail-fence, sketching her, as with bare feet and scanty skirt, she trips throughthe morning dew to feed her feathery brood. "

"Well, you may laugh as much as you please, " replies Frank, nothingdaunted, "I am firm in my determination. "

"And when, most romantic Coelebs, do you set forth?"

"To-morrow, or next day at furthest. We will talk this over again inthe morning, it is too late now--so good night, dear Helen, andpleasant dreams!"

"Good night. Frank!" and gayly kissing her hand, Helen trips out ofthe room. 

Frank Leland laid his head upon his pillow within the walls of a largebrick mansion, where the hum of city life penetrated, even through thethick plate-glass and rich window-hangings. But a miracle; no soonerdid soft sleep seal his eye-lids, than he found himself in Arcadianscenes--shepherdesses tripped gracefully before him with their flocks;beautiful maidens led him through flowery fields and shady groves;and the little birds _up_ in the trees, and the little romantic fishes_down_ in the brooks, all sang of love and happiness. 

PART III. 

Sit down with me under this spreading tree, and let us view thecharming scene which surrounds us. O, never mind the cows, this istheir pasture-ground; and see, mid-leg the brook yonder, just releasedfrom plough, stands the patient ox. Ah! the ducks and geese seem todispute his right. Observe how they shake their wings, as if indefiance, and dip their beautiful crests within the sparkling ripples;now, how proudly they plume their feathers, and float with head erectso gracefully down the silver stream. Do you see yonder oldfarm-house, so old that it seems bending under the weight of years?Look at its low, brown eaves, its little narrow windows, half-hiddenby ivy and honey-suckle; see the old-fashioned double door, and theporch, with its well-worn seats. Do you see the swallows skimmingaround the chimney; and don't you hear the hum of the bees--there, under that old elm you may see their hives, filled, too, with luscioushoney. There is the well, with its old sweep, and the "moss-coveredbucket, " too; and look at the corn-crib, and the old barn--and what anoisy set of fowls around it, cackling, clucking and crowing, as ifthey owned the soil; and how the pigs are scampering through theclover-field; ah! the little wretches, they have stolen a march, orrather a caper; at them, old Jowler, at them, my fine fellow, you willsoon turn them back to their pen, obstinate as they are. 

Do you not admire those venerable trees which seem to shelter the oldhouse from the rude assaults of the tempest, and to keep out the glareof the sun-beams from its chambers. Through what a thicket ofcurrant-bushes, and rose-bushes, and lilacs, and snow-balls, the pathwinds from the porch to the little gate--is it not a most charmingspot? Now look over the brow of the hill--there, you can see the spireof the village church; and if you will walk a few paces further toyonder green knoll, you will see a cluster of pretty dwellings, andcomfortable farm-houses, scattered through the valley. 

"Hark! don't you hear a merry laugh? so merry and joyous that it canonly proceed, I am sure, from a happy heart. Keep still--for herecomes two laughing country-girls--no, as I live, one of them is--no, it can't be--yes, it is, the rich young heiress, Ursula Lovel! quick, draw behind the tree, and let us hear what she says. 

"And so, Hetty, your mother thinks I am the most awkward child sheever saw, and wonders where I was brought up, not to know how to kneadbread, and churn, and milk;" and again that merry laugh goes ringingthrough the air. 

"Yes, Miss Ursula; and she wishes--I declare I can hardly keep fromlaughing--she wishes you would stick to your cap-making, and notattempt to bake again, for you burned up three loaves. "

"Yes, and burned my fingers, too. Well, it is too bad; let me see, yesterday I let a pan of milk fall on the old cat, and fed the henswith beans, and old Jowler with meal and water; then, this morning Ibeat the eggs and put them into the bread, and the yeast into thepumpkin-pies. Too bad! too bad! Why at this rate, Hetty, I shall costyour good old parents a fortune!"

"Never mind, Miss Ursula, for mother says, and so does father, thatyou are the dearest, prettiest, and best girl they ever knew; and theyalready love you almost as well as they do me--only they feel sorryfor you; and mother says if you could not make caps, she don't knowwhat _would_ become of you, you are so dreadful shiftless. "

Ursula clapped her hands and fairly danced with mirth. 

"After all, Hetty, your good mother is right. Let my fortune takewings, and with all my accomplishments to aid me, I feel I should beilly prepared for the reverse. Now if your mother would only havepatience to instruct me a little--suffer me to spoil several batchesof bread--(the pigs would like it, you know, )--burn up a few pounds ofcake, and waste a quart or two of her rich cream, I declare, I think Ishould learn to be a nice little farmer's maid. What pleases you, Hetty--what are you smiling at?"

"Nothing, only farmer Smith's oldest son is coming to see you--_acourting_, Miss Ursula; and Esquire Tompkins told father he hoped tosee you before long the mistress of his beautiful new house; for hedid not think he should disgrace himself by marrying such a girl asyou, even if you was only a milliner. "

"Why the dear old soul! Come, my false impressions begin to wear away. I find I can be loved without the glitter of gold about me. Now let usgo back to the house, for I have that cap to finish for Mrs. Jones;and mind, Hetty, you don't call me _Miss_ Ursula again, in thepresence of your mother; and don't look so distressed when she chidesme--it is all for my good, you know. "

Now, there they go into the old farm-house, and at the window you maysee the demure face of Ursula, listening to the good dame, who, withsnowy cap, and spectacles, seems to be giving her a lecture, while thehands of the little milliner are busily trimming a cap placed on theblock before her. 

Over the brow of the hill, and down into the gentle sloping meadow, ayouth comes walking leisurely. He has a portfolio under his arm, and aslight walking-stick in his hand, while the cool linen blouse andlarge straw hat shading him from the sun, bespeak an air of comfortreally quite refreshing this warm summer day. 

What! don't you know him! Ah, yes--I see you recollect Frank Leland, our modern Coelebs. 

He seems struck by the appearance of the old farm-house; its reposeis, no doubt, delightful to him; and now, choosing a favorableposition within the shade of a fine old tree, opens his portfolio, andcommences to sketch the charmingly rural scene. And, indeed, so intentis he upon his task that the sun has already sunk behind the trees, and gentle twilight steals on with her starry train ere he rests fromhis employment. Then the old farmer comes out on the porch to takehis evening pipe; and the good dame sits by his side with herknitting, and the sweet voice of Ursula warbles a simple ballad toplease the ears of the aged pair. The young man bares his brow to thedelicious breath of evening, and carefully placing his sketch withinthe portfolio, saunters on toward the little gate. And now Ursulahushes her song, and the old man advances with friendly greeting, "Walk in, stranger--walk in. I should think you might be the young manI heard tell of to-day in the village--a teacher of something--Iforget the name. "

"A teacher of drawing, " said Leland, smiling, as he took a seat on thebench by the side of the old man. 

"Drawing, _eh_! And what may that be, young sir--some new-fanglednotion, I'll be bound. "

"This may, perhaps, explain better than I can tell you, " repliedLeland, placing the sketch he had just taken in the hand of the oldman. 

"Why, wife--why, bless my soul! why, if I should not think this wasour old house! Why, stranger, if ever I see any thing so like in myborn days!"

"Goody gracious preserve me, if it an't, sure enough!" said the dame, putting on her spectacles, and eagerly looking over the old man'sshoulder. "My stars and garters, Hetty, look here--for all the worldjust like it--did you ever!"

The more practiced eye of Ursula detected at once a master-hand in thesketch before her; and looking admiringly upon it, she could notrefrain from exclaiming, "How beautiful!" while Hetty gazed withsilent wonder upon the stranger who by the magic of his pencil thusportrayed the home of her childhood. 

The contents of the portfolio were now spread out upon the grass, andour masquerading _millionaire_ was greatly amused at the _naiveté_ theold people displayed, and not a little flattered by the pleasure withwhich _one_ at least of the young girls appeared to look over hiscollection. 

"Am I mistaken, " said he, at length, "in thinking I heard singing, asI came over the meadow?"

"Well, I reckon not, " said the old lady, "come, 'Sula, child, go onwith your song--maybe the young man would like to hear you; it was OldRobin Gray she was singing. "

Ursula was at length prevailed on to repeat the ballad, which she didin a style so simple and unaffected, that, ere she had finished, theyoung artist had made up his mind, that listening to a sweet voice bymoonlight, beneath a wide-spreading elm, with the stars peeping downbetween the dancing leaves, and the soft evening breeze fanning histemples, was far more delightful, than to recline in hissoft-cushioned box at the Opera, listening even to the delicious notesof a Pico, with bright jewels, and still brighter eyes flashing aroundhim, and his cheek kissed by the inconstant air wafted from thecoquettish fan in the hands of smiling beauty. And, moreover, that thebook of human nature, to be studied in the country, certainly openedvery beautifully. 

The evening passed off pleasantly. Leland confided to the old man hispoverty, and desire to obtain scholars in his art sufficient toenable him to pay his board while in the village; that he had beenemployed by several gentlemen to sketch scenes from nature, and thathaving heard much of the beautiful views in the neighborhood, he hadbeen induced to visit the village. 

But the old man thought he had much better turn farmer, and offered tohire him for eight dollars a month, as he needed a hand in hayingtime. This offer, however, the young man could not accept, being, ashe said, already engaged to complete the drawings. Then the old mantold how his fathers had lived there before him, and how by hard laborhe had been able to keep the old homestead his own; and that hisdaughter, Hetty, had been living with a great heiress, who was veryfond of her, and who had given her leave to spend the summer at home;and how she had come, and brought a poor girl with her, who made caps, and such gim-cracks, and that (in a whisper) his old woman thought shehad never had any bringing-up, poor thing!"

When Leland returned to his lodgings, in the village, he thought overhis evening adventure with great pleasure. The simplicity of the oldpeople charmed him; Hetty he thought a modest, pretty girl; but it wasthe little cap-maker who somehow or other dwelt most forcibly in hismind. 

"She is certainly quite handsome, notwithstanding she is a little, avery little, cross-eyed--it is a pity!" And Leland leaned out thewindow, and whistled "Auld Robin Gray. " "How pathetically she warbledthe line, But she looked in my face 'til my heart was like to break;"

and Leland threw off one slipper, and stopped to hum it over again. "Her voice only wants a little cultivation"--off goes the otherslipper, and out goes the head into the moonlight, and in it comesagain. "Well, I must teach her to draw--her own patterns, at any rate. Pleasant old couple; the idea of hiring _me_ for eight dollars amonth--capital!" and in a fit of laughter he threw himself upon thebed. "What a roguish pair of eyes, after all, the little cap-makerhas!"

Again the dreams of our hero were all Arcadian, and every shepherdesswas a little cross-eyed, and warbled "Auld Robin Gray. "

In the bright moonlight, which, glancing through the flickeringleaves, streams across the chamber-floor, filling it with her softenedradiance, sits Ursula. But why so pensive; is it the influence of thehour, I wonder--has the gentle moon thus power to sadden her, or--

"Hetty, he has a very fine countenance. "

There, you see her pensiveness has found a voice. 

"Who, Miss Ursula?"

"Why, this young stranger. He has a fine figure, too; and his mannersare certainly quite refined. "

"Yes, and what pretty pictures he makes. "

"True, Hetty, very pretty; he certainly has a genius for the art. " Along silence. "What a pity he is poor. "

"What's a pity, Miss Ursula?" cries Hetty, half asleep. 

"O, nothing, nothing--go to sleep, Hetty. "

But Ursula still sits in the moonlight, and thinks of the handsomeyoung artist. Her generous little heart has already smoothed his pathto eminence. Yes, she resolves if, upon acquaintance, he proves asworthy as he appears--and does she doubt it--not she--that neithermoney nor patronage shall be wanting to his success. Generous littlecap-maker! And when at length she sought her couch, young Love, underthe harmless guise of honest Benevolence, perched himself at herpillow. 

PART IV. 

And now, every morning sees Leland taking his way to the farm-house;and the villagers, good people, have made up their minds that theremust be some very pretty scenes in that neighborhood. 

And so there are, very fine scenes; for, reclining under the shadytrees, the young artist may be seen, with crayons in hand, the littlecap-maker in his eye, as, seated on a little bench, she busily pliesher needle, and sings for his entertainment, meanwhile, some rusticballad. Sometimes, forgetting herself, she executes a brilliant_roulade_; and when Leland starts, astonished, and expresses hisdelight, she blushes deeply, and says she _once_ went to the theatre. 

And the old dame wonders what on earth they can find to talk about dayafter day, "a sittin' under trees, " and tells Hetty to mind her work, and not take up any such silly ways. And the old man thinks a hale, hearty fellow like that, had better lend a hand to the plough, and notsit there spoiling so much white paper; and Hetty roguishly watchesher young mistress, and smiles slily, and thinks there will be awedding before long. 

Ah! happy, satisfied Leland!

For he has won the heart of the charming little cap-maker. He, thepoor, unpretending artist, he has won her away from the rich Esquire, who came rolling down in his carriage to woo her; and from the paleyoung doctor, who knelt tremblingly before her; and from the honestfarmer, who swore he loved her better than his cattle. He, withoutfortune, without friends, has won her. She loves him, and throughpoverty and hardship will share his fate. And then, when bearing heroff a happy bride, he thought how she would blush and tremble withsurprise and sweet timidity when he should reveal his rank, and placeher in that sphere she was born to grace--what rapturous visionsdanced through his brain!

And no less rapturous were the thoughts of Ursula. She was nowbeloved, truly loved for herself alone--she, a poor, friendless girl. No money had shed its enticements around her--there was nothing togain but an innocent heart, and a portionless hand; and yet thegifted, but poor artist, who might, by the rank of genius, haveaspired to the favor of any high-born lady; he has chosen her to sharehis fate and fortunes. How her heart throbs, when she thinks of thewealth her hand will confer upon him--of the pride with which sheshall see him adorning that station for which he is so eminentlyqualified. 

Ah! after all, what happiness to be an heiress!

Three months flew by, and brings us to the night before the wedding. The lovers are alone, and, for lovers, extremely taciturn--for theirthoughts are doubtless far into the bright future, o'er which no cloudis floating. The countenance of Ursula beams with happiness, yet hermanner is somewhat abstracted--she is evidently agitated. At lengthLeland speaks, "Dearest Ursula, it seems to me that no wealth could contribute to ourhappiness; we have youth, health, strength, and loving hearts to bearus on our life-journey, as hand-in-hand we meet its pains andpleasures. Ah! I can already fancy our pleasant fireside. No one'scaps will find so ready a sale as yours, dear Ursula; and my pencil, too, will be inspired to greater effort by your praise. " And Lelandturned aside to conceal the smile which played round his mouth at thedeception he was practicing. "But what is the matter, Ursula--whatagitates you thus; you surely do not repent your promise, belovedone!"

"O, no, no, dear Frank! but I have something to tell you, which, perhaps, may forfeit me your love. "

"Good heavens, Ursula! what mean you! tears, too--speak, speak, whatis it! is not your heart mine, or have you loved another more truly!"

"No! O, no! and yet, Frank, I am not what I seem--I have deceived you. You think me but a poor, friendless girl, dependent upon my needle formy maintenance, when, in fact, O, Frank, how shall I say it, I am--

"Speak, dearest!"

"I am an heiress. "

Frank sprang to his feet in amazement. 

"You--you--dear, artless girl that you are--you an heiress! It can'tbe--it is impossible! and--what a pity!" he adds, aside, as one halfhis airy castle fell to the ground. 

"Now, sit down, Frank, and when you have heard my story, and mymotives for doing as I have done, you will, I trust, pardon theduplicity I have been guilty of toward you. "

And before she had finished her recital Frank's plans were formed; so, falling at her feet, he poured out his acknowledgments for hercondescension in honoring with her hand one so far beneath her, andhad the satisfaction--cunning dog--of having a pair of white armsthrown around his neck, and a sweet kiss, from sweeter lips, pressedupon his brow, as the generous girl assured him that were her fortuneten thousand times doubled, she should consider all as dross comparedwith his love. 

"Well, I am fairly caught, " quoth Frank, in the privacy of hisapartment, "for I swore I never would marry an heiress. That was arash oath--let it pass. But what a pity dear Ursula has money. I wishto my soul her father had not left her a cent--why could not he haveendowed a hospital. She is a dear, noble girl, willing to bestow itall upon one whom she believes struggling with poverty; never mind, Ishall get the laugh on her yet. "

At an early hour the following morning the venerable village pastorpronounced the nuptial benediction; and with the hearty good wishes ofthe old farmer and the dame, and followed by the loving eyes of Hetty, the new married pair bade farewell to the spot consecrated to so manyhappy hours. 

A ride of a few miles brought them to the steamboat; and just as therays of the setting sun gilded the spires and roofs of the city, theboat touched the wharf. 

And now Frank's heart beat almost audibly, as he thought how rapidlythe moment was approaching when, throwing off all disguise, he shouldlead his lovely bride to his own princely dwelling. 

And Ursula, too, had never looked so beautiful--had never felt soproud and happy; proud to present her husband to her good uncle andaunt, who were waiting to welcome them; happy that her beloved Frankwould no longer have to plod on life's dull round in poverty andloneliness. 

It certainly was happiness to be an heiress. 

"Ursula, " said Frank, as the carriage rolled rapidly over thepavements, "will you do me a favor?"

"Most certainly, dear Frank--what is it?"

"My sister, poor girl, " replied Leland, in some embarrassment, "resides on the route to _your_ residence; will you alight there justfor one moment, that I may have the happiness of bringing together thetwo dearest objects of my heart?"

"Order the carriage to stop when you please, Frank--I, too, amimpatient to embrace your sister, " replied the blushing Ursula. 

The carriage soon turned into a fashionable street, even at that earlyhour brilliant with gas lights. Elegant equipages rolled past; alreadylights streamed, and music sounded from many splendid dwellings. Soonthe carriage drew up before one even more splendid--the steps were letdown--the door thrown wide by a servant in livery, and, with mingledpride and tenderness irradiating his fine countenance, and meetingwith a smile her perplexed and wondering glance, Frank led his fairbride into a spacious and beautiful apartment, taste and elegancepervading all its arrangements. A young girl sprang from the sofa, andcame tripping to meet them. 

"My sister Helen, dearest Ursula. Helen, embrace your sister, andwelcome her to the home she is henceforth to grace. "

Then leading the agitated girl to a seat, he threw himself on hisknees before her, saying, "Pardon, pardon, my dearest wife! I, too, had my secret. No poorartist sought your love--I, too, am the heir of wealth; I, too, soughtto be loved for myself alone. Say that you forgive me, dear one. "

Ursula could not speak, but wept her joy and happiness on his bosom. 

Helen laughs merrily, yet slily wipes a tear from her eye, thenkissing them both, she says, "What think you now of the great book of human nature you went forthto study, you discontented ones? You favorites of fortune! ingratesthat you have been--you foolish pair of lovers! Listen dear brother. As the rich Frank Leland you possessed the same attributes of goodnessas did Frank Leland the poor artist; and you, dear sister, were noless lovely and amiable as the heiress of wealth, than as Ursula thelittle cap-maker. See you not, then, that true merit, whether it gildsthe brow of the rich man or radiates around the poor man's path, willfind its way to every pure and virtuous mind. Henceforth, you dearones, look at human nature with more friendly eyes, and forget in theexcellencies of the _many_, the errors of the _few_. "

NO, NOT FORGOTTEN. 

BY EARLE S. GOODRICH. 

 For Nature gives a common lot, To live, to love, to be forgot. CONE. 

 No, not forgotten; there are memories clinging Round every breast that beats to hope and fear In this drear world, until the death's knell, ringing, Chimes with heart-moanings o'er the solemn bier; Then come love's pilgrims to the sad shrine, bringing The choicest offering of the heart--a tear. 

 No, not forgotten; else bowed down with anguish Were the brave hearts that mingle in the strife. Patriot and Christian in their toil would languish-- Truth lie down-trodden--Error, then, stalk rife Over the body she at last could vanquish-- So fond remembrance ceased along with life. 

 No, not forgotten; else the faithful beating Of heart to genial heart, that beat again, Were turned to throbbings; and each pulse repeating But the sad echoings of pain to pain. And the blest rapture of the longed for meeting, Then be unsought, or would be sought in vain. 

 No, not forgotten; for though fame may fail thee, And love's fond beamings change to glance of scorn-- Though those once trusted now may harsh assail thee-- Thy friend of yesterday, thy foe this morn-- There is, who holds thee dear--do not bewail thee If His blest Book of Life thy name adorn. 

[Illustration: Sir W. C. Rofs J. B. Adams

PAULINE GREY

_The Only Daughter_

Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine]

PAULINE GREY. 

OR THE ONLY DAUGHTER. 

BY F. E. F. , AUTHOR OF "AARON'S ROD, " "TELLING SECRETS, " ETC. 

[WITH AN ENGRAVING. ]

CHAPTER I. 

"Give her what she wants, " said Mr. Grey impatiently. "How can you letthe child cry so?"

"But, my dear, " expostulated his wife, "I am afraid it will hurt her. "

"Nonsense!" replied Mr. Grey, "it hurts her more to scream so. Here, my princess royal, " he continued, "take that, and keep quiet, do"--butPauline's spirit was not to be so easily appeased as the impatientfather imagined, for imperiously spurning with her tiny foot theproffered gift, she screamed more indignantly than when it had firstbeen refused. 

"Hey day, Pauline, " said Mr. Grey angrily. 

"My darling, " interrupted Mrs. Grey, hastily addressing the child, "let mamma peel it and put some sugar on it. Come Pauline, " she said, as she stooped to pick up the orange. 

Pauline's cries subsided for a moment, as apparently taking the matterin consideration, or else, perhaps only holding her breath for a freshburst, while the tears hung in heavy drops on her long black lashes, and her large eyes still sparkled with excitement. 

"Let mamma peel it nicely, " continued Mrs. Grey. "Come, and we'll goand get some sugar. "

"Yes, yes, do, " said Mr. Grey impatiently. "Now go, Pauline, with yourmother;" to which the little lady consented, and, tears still upon herblooming cheeks, she withdrew with her mother, leaving Mr. Grey to thequiet possession of the parlor and tranquil enjoyment of his book. 

And thus it was generally with Pauline. What she was refused at first, she was coaxed to take at last, and between the indulgence of hermother and the impatience of her father, she seldom or never failed tohave what she wanted. 

A passionate determination to have her own way marked her characterperhaps rather more strongly than that of most spoiled children, fornature had endowed her with a strong will, which education hadfostered, as it almost seemed, with sedulous care. For the fact wasMrs. Grey dreaded a contest with Pauline; she screamed so, and Mr. Grey got so angry, sometimes with her, and sometimes with the child, and altogether it was such a time, that she soon begun to think it wasbetter not to thwart Pauline, which certainly was true; for everycontest ended in a fresh victory on the part of Pauline, and the utterdiscomfiture of Mrs. Grey, and the vexation of Mr. Grey, who, morevexed at the contest than the defeat, usually said, "Pshaw! you don'tknow how to manage that child. " Thus Pauline, an only child, beautiful, gifted and willful, idolized by both parents, soon ruledthe household. 

"I'll not go to that school any more, " said Pauline indignantly, asshe tossed her books down, the second day of her first schoolexperience. 

"Why not, my love?" asked her mother anxiously. 

"I don't like that Miss Cutter, " said Pauline, her large black eyesdilating as she spoke, and flashing with excitement. 

"You don't like Miss Cutter, " repeated Mrs. Grey. "Why don't you likeMiss Cutter, Pauline?"

"She put me on a high bench and said 'chut' to me, " replied Pauline. "Nobody shall say 'chut' to me, and I wont go there again. "

"You'll go there if your mother says so, Pauline, " said her father. But Pauline knew better than that, and so did Mr. Grey for thatmatter; but Mrs. Grey said, "well, we'll see about it, Pauline. Now goand be dressed for dinner. "

"I wont go again, " said Pauline with determination, as she left theroom. 

"I'm sorry, " said Mrs. Grey anxiously, as the child left the room, "that Pauline has taken a dislike to Miss Cutter. It was injudiciousin her to commence her school discipline so rigorously at once. "

"Just like those people, " said Mr. Grey, testily; "they have nojudgment--dressed in a little brief authority they make the most ofit. "

"Pauline is such a peculiar child, " continued Mrs. Grey, (for allpeople think their children "peculiar, " unless they have half a dozenof them, and then they know better). "Pauline is such a peculiar childthat I dislike driving her against her feelings. I am very sorry forthis, " she added, looking much perplexed and embarrassed. "I don'tknow what to do. "

Fortunately Pauline had a little cold the next day, or Mrs. Greyimagined she had, and so the question of school was dodged for a dayor two, during which, however, Pauline continued firm in herdetermination of not returning. 

By the time she had recovered past all possibility of thinking she wasnot quite as well as usual, Mrs. Grey had reasoned herself intothinking, and talked Mr. Grey into believing, that there was so muchthat was injurious in the present mode of school education, that uponthe whole she would prefer keeping Pauline at home. A governess, underher own eye, would do her greater justice and bring her on faster;and, above all, she would escape the contamination of indiscriminatecontact with children of whose tempers and characters Mrs. Grey knewnothing. 

She need not have said half as much to convince Mr. Grey, for he wastired out with the subject, and ready to yield before she was onethird through; but she was talking as much to satisfy herself thatwhat she did was the result of mature reflection, and not to gratify, or rather pacify Pauline, as to convince Mr. Grey. Whether she wasable to attain this point is somewhat doubtful, although the capacitypeople have for self deception is amazing. And to what perfection Mrs. Grey may have reached in the happy art, we are not able exactly tosay. 

But the governess was engaged, (a day governess, for neither Mr. Greynor Pauline could have borne the constant presence of even sonecessary an evil, ) and under her tuition Pauline made rapid progressin her studies. Miss Burton soon finding that the moral education ofher little pupil was quite beyond her reach, Mrs. Grey generallyevading any disputed point between them, and gently waiving whatauthority should have settled, very wisely confined herself to thetask Mrs. Grey set before her, which was to give Pauline as muchinstruction and as little contradiction as could be combined. 

But spite of some drawbacks Pauline made wonderful progress. She was, in fact, a child of uncommon abilities, and every thing she appliedherself to, she mastered almost at once. Her understanding rapidlydeveloped, and springing into girlhood while others are yet lookedupon almost as children, she was a daughter any parents might justlybe proud of. She was singularly beautiful, too, and no eye could restupon her girlish form and speaking face, her brilliant eye and glowingcheek, other than with delight. That Mr. And Mrs. Grey watched herwith looks of something hardly short of adoration, is scarce to bewondered at. She was so animated, so joyous, so radiant with youth, health and beauty. There seemed such affluence of all life's bestgifts, which she scattered so lavishly around her, that the very airseemed to grow brighter from her presence, and no one who came withinthe sphere of her influence, could escape the spell of her joyouspower. 

To say that as her mind and person developed, she quite outgrew thefaults of her childhood, would be rather hazardous. 'T is true, she nolonger stamped her little foot and burst into passionate tears, aswhen we first made her acquaintance, but she bent her pretty darkbrows, and said, "I must, " in a tone that Mrs. Grey knew meant, "Iwill. "

But then who thought of disputing her wishes? Were they not themain-spring of the whole concern? What else did father or mother livefor? Were not her wishes their wishes, her pleasures their pleasures?Was not she their idol--their all?

If she would only wrap up warmer, and put thicker shoes on thoselittle feet, Mrs. Grey would have asked nothing more. But she wasslight, and coughed sometimes, and then Mr. Grey said she should nothave _allowed_ Pauline to go out in those thin shoes, and charged hernot to permit it another time--but never interfered himself--thusthrowing all the responsibility, or rather impossibility, of makingPauline mind, upon his wife, who indeed always got all Pauline'sscoldings; for though Mr. Grey might find fault when Pauline wasabsent, one bright smile and brilliant glance from Pauline present, was sure to dispel his displeasure. 

So Pauline had now reached her seventeenth year, beautiful, gifted, high-spirited and generous-hearted. And if willful--why, even thatseemed to give a _prononcé_ shade to her character, that ratherheightened the brilliancy of its tone. 

"You are going to Cecelia Howard's wedding I suppose, Mrs. Grey, " saidMrs. Graham. 

"Of course. She is a niece of my husband's, you know. "

"Yes. And Pauline is to be bridemaid, I understand, " continued thelady. 

"Well--I don't know about that, " replied Mrs. Grey, hesitatingly. 

"But _I_ do, " said Pauline in her pretty willful way. "I told Ceceliathat she might depend on me. "

Mrs. Grey looked at her daughter without speaking, though she couldnot but smile at her animated face, while Mrs. Graham said, "Oh yes, why not, Mrs. Grey?"

"Pauline is rather young, " continued Mrs. Grey, "for such things. "

"True, " replied the other, "if it were not in the connection. Butfamily gayety is quite different. "

"Of course, " said Mrs. Grey, "if it were not for that, I should notthink of it. "

"Well, but I am going, mamma, " said Pauline, "So you may make up yourmind to that. " And Mrs. Grey felt that she might as well at once. Soafter a little more talk about it, and Mr. Grey's saying, "Why, certainly, I see no objection to it--and as your cousin wishes it, Pauline--if your mother is willing, I am, " it was settled. 

How beautiful Pauline looked when she came down stairs and presentedherself before her delighted father, dressed for the wedding. It wasthe first time he had ever seen her in full dress; her white neck andround arms uncovered, her rich dark hair looking darker and moresatinny for the wreath of pale, soft, delicate roses that boundit--even the little foot seeming more fairy-like in the small whitesatin slipper that inclosed it. If her father was accustomed to thinkher peerless in the plain, high-necked merino dress in which heusually saw her, what did he think of her now, when full dressed, orrather undressed, as she stood before him, brilliant in the glow ofexcitement, and fairer and fresher than even the flowers she wore?

He looked at her speechless, and when she said, "Father, how do you like me?" could only kiss her fair forehead insilence. 

There was a reception after the wedding, and the beauty of the youngbridemaid excited no small degree of sensation; for Pauline, havingbeen brought up at home, was little known by the young people of herown age, and so took society rather by surprise. 

"Mrs. Grey, " said Mrs. Livingston, "the bride has named Thursdayevening for me. You will do me the favor, therefore, I hope, ofconsidering yourself and your daughter engaged for that evening. "

"Not Pauline, my dear madam, " said Mrs. Grey. "She does not go outthis winter. She is so young that I hesitated much even letting heract as bridemaid this evening. "

"Oh, my dear Mrs. Grey, " said Mrs. Livingston, much disappointed, "pray reverse your decision--surely for the bridal parties at least. Ishall be so disappointed, for, " with a smile, "I quite counted on thepresence of your beautiful daughter for the brilliancy of my party;"and Pauline approaching just then, she said, "Pray, Miss Pauline, joinyour petitions to mine--I do so want you to come to my party for thebride. "

"Why, mamma, of course, " said Pauline. "The bridemaids must attend thebride to the parties given for her--Cecelia says so. "

"But, my love, " said her mother, "you know I told Cecelia when Iconsented to your being bridemaid, that you were not going out. "

"Not generally--no; but just to the bridal parties, mamma. Oh, Imust"--and there was the little ominous bend of the brows at the words"I must, " when Mr. Grey coming up, her mother, glad in her turn tothrow the responsibility on him, said, "Well, ask your father; see what he says. "

"What is it, Pauline?" said Mr. Grey, smiling assent before she hadspoken. 

"May I not, papa, attend the bridal parties with the rest of thebridemaids, " she said, half pouting. "Cecelia says it will spoil thebridal cotillion if I am absent; and then--oh, papa, I must, " shecontinued, in a tone of such earnest entreaty, entreaty that seemed toadmit of no refusal, that he smiled as he said, "Well, if you _must_, I suppose you must. "

"Then I may, papa!" she exclaimed, her dark eyes dilating in theirpeculiar way when any thing particularly delighted or excited her. "Now, mamma!" turning triumphantly to her mother, "papa says I may. Yes, Mrs. Livingston, mamma _will_ come, and I too--hey, mamma!" andMrs. Grey smiled her assent--and she and Pauline were in for the restof the wedding gayeties. 

_Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute. _ Party followed party, andMrs. Grey forgot to ask, or Pauline to care, whether they were bridalparties or not, for Pauline was fairly launched. And what a sensationshe excited--so young--so brilliant--so beautiful. Mr. Grey, too, aman of handsome fortune, and Pauline an only daughter. There's a sortof charm in that, too, to young men's imaginations. It seems to make agirl more like a rare exotic, something of which there are few of thekind. And Pauline was a belle of the most decided stamp; and Mr. AndMrs. Grey's heads were more turned than was hers by the admiration sheexcited. 

CHAPTER II. 

People may talk about young girls' heads being turned, but for mypart, I think there are no heads so easily turned as old ones. Vanity, when it is fresh, like wine, is not as strong and intoxicatingas when it grows old. 

Pauline enjoyed her triumphs like a girl, in all the effervescence ofyouthful spirits, thinking less of her beauty and more of her pleasurethan her mother, who sat and followed her with her eyes, watchingevery movement, and absorbed almost to the exclusion of every otherperception, in the surpassing loveliness of her daughter, and theadmiration that flashed from every eye that turned upon her. And letnot wise ones say that this was folly, and Mrs. Grey a weak woman foryielding to it, for it is human nature, which is too strong to beruled by saws, be they ever so wise. The heart will spring to beauty, be it where it may, and no human being alive to poetry, can view God'sfairest creation in its full perfection, and not feel a throb ofpleasure. It is not wisdom, but an absence of ideality, of taste, ofthe highest of perceptions, the love of the beautiful, that can letany one look unmoved upon a young and beautiful woman. Who would notblush for themselves, and deny that they had walked through the hallsof the Vatican without delight? And will the same person rave aboutthe sculptured marble, and yet gaze coldly on the living, breathingmodel? No! and if it is high treason not to worship the one, it isfalse to human nature not to love the other; and the man, woman, orchild, who affects to under-value beauty, only proclaims the want intheir own mental constitution. To be without an eye for beauty, is asto be without an ear for music, to be wanting in the refinement of thehigher and more delicate organization of our nature. 

Mr. Grey was not a man who usually took much pleasure in society, buthis grave face lighted up as with a glance of sunshine, when he caughta glimpse of his beautiful child, as the crowd opened from time totime on the dancers in the thronged rooms, where, night after night, he was now condemned to pass his evenings; and when he approached herto tell her that the carriage was waiting, and her mother had sent tosummon her to her side, he could not restrain his smiles when theyoung men crowded round to remind Pauline, one of a waltz, another ofa polka, and pleading with Mr. Grey for more engagements than shecould have fulfilled if they had staid all night; and his paternalpride had its share of gratification in the homage that even hispresence could scarcely restrain. 

Among the group of idlers ever hovering round Pauline, was one whoscarcely left her side, a Mr. Wentworth, a young man, and rather goodlooking. He seemed mightily taken with Pauline, and she smiled herbrightest when she turned to him--but that she did when any one spoketo her--for she was in such a gale of spirits, she smiled on all whocrossed her path. 

"Who is that young gentleman dancing with your daughter, Mrs. Grey?"asked a lady. 

"I don't know any thing about him but his name, which is Wentworth, "replied Mrs. Grey. "Mrs. Henderson introduced him to me at her ownhouse, and I introduced him to Pauline. That's all I know about him. "

"Then I should say, " replied the other, smiling, "that it was time youknew something more, for he has evidently lost his heart to yourdaughter. "

"Oh, I don't know that, " replied Mrs. Grey, smiling in her turn, butcarelessly, as if it was not a matter of much consequence if Paulinedid break a few hearts more or less. 

"There's no doubt about his admiration, " continued the lady; "so Iwarn you in time, Mrs. Grey. "

Mrs. Grey only smiled again. She did not think the warning worth much. Mr. Wentworth might be in love with Pauline--she dared say hewas--indeed, she had no doubt of it. But what then? She could not beresponsible for all the young men who fell in love with Pauline. Itwas very natural; and, to tell the honest truth, it rather pleasedMrs. Grey to see it. Not that she had the most distant idea thatPauline could ever feel any interest in any of the young men she withsuch quiet complacency thought hopelessly in love with her; but poorhuman nature is never weaker than on such subjects, and mothers lookon amused, and may be, indignant with other mothers for allowing suchthings, till it comes to their turn, and then maternal vanity speakslouder than worldly wisdom, or any thing else; and so Mrs. Grey sawMr. Wentworth's devotions with a quiet smile, and never thought itworth while to ask any questions about him. "He would not do, " she sawthat at a glance. As to what would, or who would, she had not yet madeup her mind; but as Mr. Wentworth's pretensions did not seem of anydecided stamp at all, she never thought there was any possibility ofhis being dangerous. 

"I wonder Mrs. Grey allows that young Wentworth to be so attentive toher daughter, " Mrs. Remson said. "He's a dissipated young man, theysay. "

"I am sorry to see that wild fellow, Wentworth, so much with thatyoung beauty, Miss Grey, " said another. 

"Yes, I am surprised at her parents encouraging it, " said a third, "for they must see it. "

"What kind of a young man is he?" asked Mrs. Graham. 

"One that I should be sorry to see attentive to a daughter of mine, "replied a gentleman; but none of this reached Mrs. Grey's ears. No onetold her Mr. Wentworth was wild or dissipated. He was too attentive, and they might get themselves in trouble, and be obliged to giveauthority, &c. , for what they said--and what authority had they? arumor--a vague report--an impression. Who knew, or ever knows, anything more positive about a young man, except, indeed, young men--andthey don't choose to tell. 

And so the thing went on, and people talked, and wondered, and foundfault, and everybody but Mr. And Mrs. Grey, whom it most concerned, knew a great deal; and they, though they had eyes, saw not; and earshad they, but heard not; and understandings, and heeded not--deaf andblind, as parents always are, until too late. 

The thunderbolt fell at last, however. Mr. Wentworth, in form, askedMr. Grey's consent to address Pauline, which Mr. Grey very decidedlyrefused, looking upon the young man as very presumptuous even to askit; whereupon Mr. Wentworth informed the father that he was authorizedby his daughter to address him on the subject, and her happiness beinginvolved as well as his own, he trusted Mr. Grey would re-consider hisproposal, and incline more favorably to his suit. 

Amazement was Mr. Grey's only feeling on first hearing thisannouncement. He could scarcely believe his ears, much less take inthe subject-matter in all its bearings. 

Again, however, he refused his consent, and forbade Mr. Wentworth tothink of his daughter. 

He immediately communicated the conversation to his wife, who was notless surprised than himself, but who relieved him excessively bysaying at once that there must be some misunderstanding on the youngman's part, for Pauline, she knew, took no interest in him whatever. That is, Mrs. Grey took it for granted that Pauline must see him withher eyes, and did not hesitate to answer for the fact. 

She went at once to Pauline's room, where she found her lying on thesofa, a book open in her hand, but evidently lost in a world of dreamyand pleasant revery. With very little circumlocution, for Mrs. Greywas too much excited to choose her words carefully, she repeated toPauline her conversation with her father; whereupon Pauline rose, andsitting up, her color changing, but her eye clear and bright, said, "Surely, mother, you knew it all. "

"Knew what, Pauline?"

"That Mr. Wentworth was attached to me, and that I--I--"

"Surely, Pauline, " exclaimed Mrs. Grey, hastily, "you are notinterested in him. "

"Yes, " answered Pauline, roused by her mother's tone and manner tosomething of her old spirit, and looking at her fully and clearly, alldiffidence having now vanished in the opposition she saw before her, "I am--I love him, love him with my whole soul. "

"Pauline, my child, are you mad!" almost shrieked Mrs. Grey, shockedalmost past the power of endurance by her daughter's tones and words. 

"_I_ am not mad, no mother, " said Pauline, with an emphasis, as if shethought her mother might be. "And why do you speak thus to me? Youintroduced Mr. Wentworth yourself to me; you first invited himhere--and why, mother, do you affect this surprise now?" and Pauline'scolor deepened, and her voice quivered as she thought, with a sense ofher mother's inconsistency and injustice. 

"_I_ introduced him to you, Pauline! Yes, I believe I did--but what ofthat? Do you suppose--no, Pauline, you are a girl of too much sense tosuppose that I must be willing you should marry every man I introduceor invite to the house. "

"What are your objections to Mr. Wentworth?" asked Pauline, firmly. 

"My objections, Pauline! My child, you drive me almost mad!" said Mrs. Grey, her daughter's manner forcing on her more and more theconviction of the earnestness of her present fancy--for Mrs. Greycould not think it more. "Why, Pauline, I have every objection to him. What pretensions has he that should entitle him to dream of you, Pauline? You, my child, with your talents and beauty, andacquirements, are not surely going to throw yourself away upon thisyoung man, who is every way inferior to you. "

"Mother, " said Pauline, with energy, "you don't know him. "

Mrs. Grey was silenced. She did not know him. There was that in hiscountenance, air, and manner, although what might be called rather ahandsome young man, that is unmistakable to a practiced eye--traces ofa common mind, a something that had satisfied Mrs. Grey "he would notdo, " when she had dismissed him from her mind. But what had she to sayto Pauline now?

She talked of her disappointment--of her hopes--her expectations; butPauline said she was not ambitious, and wanted none of these things. 

Mrs. Grey was in despair. Pauline grew more and more resolute. Her eyeflashed, and her color rose, and the brow was bent, as when she was achild. She and her mother talked long, and even warmly; and Mrs. Greyreturned to her husband, leaving Pauline in a state of greatexcitement. 

Mr. Grey was much disturbed by what his wife told him; but still, though agitated, he was not as distressed as she was. The thing mustnot and should not be--there he was firm--though he was pained, exceedingly pained, that Pauline should be unhappy about it. 

He looked upon her grief as of course a temporary feeling, but still, even for her temporary sorrow he grieved exceedingly. 

He wrote that evening to Mr. Wentworth, desiring him to discontinuehis visits, as he could not sanction his attachment, nor consent to acontinuance of his attentions. 

The letter was dispatched, and both parents felt better for the step. They considered the thing as finally at an end; and though Paulinemight rebel a little at not having been consulted; yet it was done, and they seemed to think it could not be undone. 

Much they knew about the matter. A letter from the young lover toPauline herself, blew all these wise conclusions to the four winds ofheaven. 

She protested--and with some show of reason--that her father andmother had no right to dismiss Mr. Wentworth in this summary way; thatthey had encouraged--certainly permitted his attentions; that hermother had introduced him herself--for she harped upon thatstring--and she poured forth such a torrent of words and tears at thesame time, that Mr. Grey finally said, "Well, Pauline, to satisfy you, I will make inquiries relative to Mr. Wentworth's character and standing, and should the report befavorable, and your attachment lasting, I do not know that we shouldhave any right to refuse our consent, although it's not a match, mychild, that we can like. But on the other hand, Pauline, should I findhim unworthy of you, as I am inclined to believe he is, you, on yourpart, must submit to what is inevitable, for I never will give myconsent to your marrying a man whose character is not irreproachable. "

Partially appeased, Pauline retired to her room, where Mrs. Grey spentthe rest of the day in trying to convince Pauline that even if Mr. Wentworth were respectable in point of character, he was not in mind, manner, or appearance, at all her equal. That, in fact, he was a verycommon sort of a person, which was the truth; but strange though thefact might be, and there was no more accounting for it than denyingit, Pauline was desperately in love with this very same very commonyoung man; and talk as Mrs. Grey would, she could not change herfeelings, or make her see him with her eyes. 

She could only wait the result of Mr. Grey's investigations; and mostdevoutly she hoped they might prove unfavorable. The idea of his beingrespectable enough for them to be forced to a consent, drove heralmost wild. Was this, then, to be the end of all her visions for herbeautiful Pauline!

She could only trust to his being a scamp as her only hope of escape. 

 [_Conclusion in our next. _

THE SAILOR-LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. 

BY R. H. BACON. 

 When as our good ship courts the gale, To swim once more the ocean, The lessening land wakes in my heart A sad but sweet emotion: For, though I love the broad blue sea, My heart's still true to thee, my love, My heart's still true to thee!

 And when, far out upon the main, We plough the midnight billow, I gaze upon the stars, that shine And smile above thy pillow. And though far out upon the sea, My heart's still true to thee, my love, My heart's still true to thee!

 But when as homeward bound we speed, The swift sea-bird outflying, With throbbing heart I watch the land, Its blue hills far descrying; Impatient, now, to leave the sea. And fold thee to my heart, my love! My heart's still true to thee!

THE PORTRAIT OF GEN. SCOTT. 

This plate is believed to be one of the most admirable and faithfulspecimens of portraiture ever presented, through the press, to thepublic. We know that it is derived from sources to be relied upon; andthe reputation of the eminent artist who has executed it is evidencethat, with such ample materials, his task could not have been illyperformed. 

The events connected with the present war have excited so high adegree of interest in the life and character of Gen. Scott, that thecountry has been flooded with biographies good, bad, and indifferent. It would not, therefore, be desirable that we should enter into adetailed account of the events of a public career long and eventful, and every result of which has been honorable to the country. 

Gen. Scott was born in 1786, in Virginia. He was educated, for a time, at William and Mary College, and pursued the study of the law, untilmilitary propensities separated him from his profession. In 1808, Jefferson appointed him a captain in the army of the United States; in1812 he received the commission of lieutenant-colonel, and took poston the Canada frontier. In October of that year he greatlydistinguished himself in the battle of Queenstown Heights. His couragewas manifested by the most extraordinary daring throughout the entireand unequal contest; but his small force was compelled to surrenderwith the honors of war. The whole affair reflected credit upon hisdiminutive force, and upon the young hero who led them. Hisimprisonment was not without dangers that afforded opportunities ofdisplaying his lofty courage and chivalrous humanity. 

Having been exchanged in May, 1813, he rejoined the army on thefrontier as adjutant-general. He led the advanced guard, or forlornhope, at the capture of Fort George, displaying extraordinarygallantry, and, though wounded, was the first to enter, and raise theAmerican flag. His conduct upon this occasion elicited the highestpraise. In July of the same year, Scott was promoted to the command ofa double regiment. He was actively engaged in all the subsequentefforts of that and the following campaign, and in the intervals ofservice, was employed in instructing the officers in their duties, andin drilling the recruits. His eminent services secured him, in March, 1814, the rank of brigadier general--and he joined General Brown, thenmarching to the Niagara frontier. On the 3d of July, Scott leading thevan, the Americans crossed the river, and captured Fort Erie. On the4th he moved toward Chippewa, in advance of the army, driving theBritish before him. The 5th witnessed the severe and well-contestedbattle of Chippewa. This battle was fought within hearing of the roarof Niagara, silenced for a time, as was the earthquake at Cannæ, bythe stormier passions of human conflict. It was a contest betweendivided brethren of the same gallant race; the advantages in thebattle were all against our country; the glories in the result wereall with her. Circumstances rendered, in the absence of Gen. Brown, Scott, the hero of the field; and profound has been and is thegratitude that rewards him. 

The 25th of the same month witnessed the still more memorable conflictof Niagara. It is not our purpose to describe the battle; suffice itto say that it was a contest between warriors worthy of each other'ssteel. Each army, and the flower of the British veterans were present, struggled for many hours, and foremost in every daring was found Gen. Scott. We need not tell the American reader that we triumphed; butScott, though upon the field throughout the fight, and then, asalways, in advance, had two horses killed under him, was wounded inthe side, and at length disabled by a musket-ball through theshoulder. After a doubtful and tedious illness he recovered. Hereceived from Congress, from the state legislatures, and from thepeople, the amplest evidences of gratitude and admiration. 

After the close of the war, Gen. Scott visited Europe, by order ofgovernment, upon public business; and on his return took command ofthe seaboard. From this time till the Black Hawk War nothing of publicinterest occurred to demand his services. He embarked with a thousandtroops to participate in that war, in July of 1832; but his operationswere checked by the cholera. The pestilence smote his army, and he didnot reach the field before the war was closed. During the prevalenceof the pestilence he performed in his army every duty among the sickthat could be expected from a brave, humane, and good man, winning, and worthy the title, of the warrior of humanity. He afterward actedprominently in effecting the pacification of the warring tribes of theNorth West, and received the official commendation of Secretary Cass. 

Gen. Scott was ordered the same year to the Southern Department; andduring the nullification excitement, is said to have acted, under hisorders, with great energy and prudence. In 1836 he was ordered toFlorida, to command the army engaged against the Creeks and Seminoles. He spared no effort, and manifested much of enterprise and energy; butcircumstances, which no skill could have surmounted, rendered hisexertions ineffectual. His failure was made the subject of inquiry bycourt martial, and he was by the court not merely acquitted, butapplauded. In 1837, he was ordered to the northern frontier, to meetand avert the evil effects of the Canadian rebellion. It is admitted, that his efforts were vigorous, wise, and successful, and manifestedgreat energy and prudence. In 1838, Gen. Scott was intrusted by thegovernment with the removal to the West of the Cherokees. This dutywas performed with great humanity and ability, and elicited strongexpressions of gratitude from them, and of praise from the country. 

From this duty, completed, he was called to the northern frontier. Hiscourse there was conciliatory and wise; and doubtless had someeffect to prevent a conflict with Great Britain. 

[Illustration: _ENGRAVED BY T. B. WELCH PHILA^A FOR GRAHAM'SMAGAZINE FROM A DAGUERROTYPE BY M. A. ROOT. _]

On the commencement of the Mexican war, circumstances preventedGeneral Scott from assuming the immediate command of the invadingforce. He was subsequently ordered to the seat of the war; and after aseries of operations, admitted to be the most brilliant in point ofscience known to modern warfare, he won what were supposed to beimpregnable, the castle and the town of Vera Cruz. This triumph wasannounced on the 29th of March. The siege occupied fifteen days, andwas attended with little loss on the side of the Americans. On the17th of April, Scott, advancing upon Mexico, issued an order for theattack of Cerro Gordo--in which every event that was ordered andforeseen seems now to be prophecy; and on the next day he carried thatThermopylæ of Mexico. The battle was one of the most brilliant in theAmerican annals. The orders of Scott, previously given, secure theglory of the triumph for himself and his army. 

On the 19th, Jalapa was occupied, and on the 22d Perote. In thesetriumphs the army acquired great quantities of munitions. The city ofPuebla was occupied on the 15th of May: Ten thousand prisoners, sevenhundred cannon, ten thousand stand of arms, and thirty thousand shellsand shot were, in the course of these operations, the fruits ofAmerican skill and valor. But even these achievements were thrown intothe shade by the glorious triumphs in the vicinity of Mexico. Thebloody contests at the intrenchments of Contreras, the fortificationsof Cherubusco and the castle of Chapultepec, and finally the captureof Mexico, are of so recent occurrence, and so familiar in all theirdetails to the public, that we do not deem it necessary to narratethem. Cut off for fifty days from all communications with Vera Cruz, the veteran Scott won, with his feeble and greatly diminished force, and against defenses deemed impregnable, triumphs that have thrownimmortal glory around the arms of his country. 

Thus segregated, shut out from the hope of home as completely as werethe soldiers of Cortez when he burned his ships, this little bandadvanced to dangers such as were never before encountered andovercome. Science guided and protected the daring invasion; and trueAmerican hearts, at every bristling danger, supported it, with anardent courage and a calm fortitude scarcely equaled in the wars ofnations. On the 15th of August, General Scott, by a masterly movement, turned the strong works of the Penon and Mexicalzingo, on which theenemy had labored and relied. On the 17th the spires of Mexico were insight. The attack upon Contreras took place. It was one of the mostbrilliant achievements of the American arms. San Antonio was alsocarried; and San Pablo assailed, and, after a contest of two hours, won. In this battle the general added another to his former scars, being wounded in the leg. The terrible conflict of Cherubuscosucceeded; and again American valor proved invincible. This placed ourforce at the gates of Mexico. The contest was one against four, thefour having every advantage that military science and superiority ofposition could confer. Having overcome every enemy that dared todispute his path, he spared the city of Mexico. The entire campaign ismost honorable to the American character and to the reputation of himwho led it. The impetuosity of his campaigns in the war of 1812 seemedmingled with and subdued by the results of a profound study of thescience of war, in this contest. He dared boldly, and executedcautiously, courageously and successfully. Erring in nothing, andfailing in nothing, he encountered dangers, and passed through scenesthat belong to romance, but which his iron intellect rendered asubstantial reality. 

O, SCORN NOT THY BROTHER. 

BY E. CURTISS HINE. 

 O, scorn not thy brother, Though poor he may be, He's bound to another And bright world with thee. Should sorrow assail him, Give heed to his sighs, Should strength ever fail him, O, help him to rise!

 The pathway we're roaming, Mid flow'rets may lie, But soon will life's gloaming, Come dark'ning our sky. Then seek not to smother Kind feelings in thee, And scorn not thy brother, Though poor he may be!

 Go, cheer those who languish Their dead hopes among. In whose hearts stern anguish The harp hath unstrung! They'll soon in another Bright land roam with thee, So scorn not thy brother, Though poor he may be!

BEN BOLT. 

THE WORDS AND MELODY BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. 

ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE, AND CORDIALLY DEDICATED TO

CHARLES BENJAMIN BOLT, ESQ. 

COPYRIGHTED BY GEORGE WILLIG, NO. 171 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA. 

=Andante con espressione. =

[Illustration: 2 sheets of musical notation]

Don't you re-mem-ber sweet Al-ice, Ben Bolt--Sweet Al-ice whose hair was so brown--Who wept with de-light when you gave her a smile, And trem-bled with fear at your frown?In the old church yard in the val-ley, Ben Bolt, In a cor-ner ob-scure and a-lone, They have fit-ted a slab of the gran-ite so gray;And Al-ice lies un-der the stone. 

II. 

 Under the Hickory tree, Ben Bolt, Which stood at the foot of the hill, Together we've lain in the noonday shade, And listened to Appleton's mill. The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt, The rafters have tumbled in, And a quiet which crawls round the walls as you gaze, Has followed the olden din. 

III. 

 Do you mind the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt, At the edge of the pathless wood, And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs, Which nigh by the door step stood? The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt, The tree you would seek in vain; And where once the lords of the forest waved, Grow grass and the golden grain. 

IV. 

 And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt, With the master so cruel and grim, And the shaded nook in the running brook, Where the children went to swim? Grass grows on the master's grave, Ben Bolt, The spring of the brook is dry, And of all the boys that were school-mates then, There are only you and I. 

V. 

 There is change in the things that I loved, Ben Bolt, They have changed from the old to the new; But I feel in the core of my spirit the truth, There never was change in you. Twelvemonths twenty have past, Ben Bolt, Since first we were friends, yet I hail Thy presence a blessing, thy friendship a truth-- Ben Bolt, of the salt-sea gale. 

THE SPIRIT OF SONG. 

BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY. 

 Eternal Fame! thy great rewards, Throughout all time, shall be The right of those old master-bards Of Greece and Italy; And of fair Albion's favored isle, Where Poesy's celestial smile Hath shone for ages, gilding bright Her rocky cliffs, and ancient towers, And cheering this new world of ours With a reflected light. 

 Yet, though there be no path untrod By that immortal race-- Who walked with Nature, as with God, And saw her, face to face-- No living truth by them unsung-- No thought that hath not found a tongue In some strong lyre of olden time; Must every tuneful lute be still That may not give a world the thrill Of their great harp sublime?

 Oh, not while beating hearts rejoice In Music's simplest tone, And hear in Nature's every voice An echo to their own! Not till these scorn the little rill That runs rejoicing from the hill, Or the soft, melancholy glide Of some deep stream, through glen and glade, Because 'tis not the thunder made By ocean's heaving tide!

 The hallowed lilies of the field In glory are arrayed, And timid, blue-eyed violets yield Their fragrance to the shade; Nor do the way-side flowers conceal Those modest charms that sometimes steal Upon the weary traveler's eyes Like angels, spreading for his feet A carpet, filled with odors sweet, And decked with heavenly dyes. 

 Thus let the affluent Soul of Song-- That all with flowers adorns-- Strew life's uneven path along, And hide its thousand thorns: Oh, many a sad and weary heart, That treads a noiseless way apart, Has blessed the humble poet's name, For fellowship, refined and free, In meek wild-flowers of poesy, That asked no higher fame!

 And pleasant as the water-fall To one by deserts bound-- Making the air all musical With cool, inviting sound-- Is oft some unpretending strain Of rural song, to him whose brain Is fevered in the sordid strife That Avarice breeds 'twixt man and man, While moving on, in caravan, Across the sands of Life. 

 Yet, not for these alone he sings; The poet's breast is stirred As by the spirit that takes wings And carols in the bird! He thinks not of a future name, Nor whence his inspiration came Nor whither goes his warbled song; As Joy itself delights in joy-- His soul finds life in its employ, And grows by utterance strong. 

A PARTING. 

(AN EXTRACT. )

BY HENRY S. HAGERT. 

 And now, farewell--and if the warm tear start Unbidden to your eye, oh! do not blush To own it, for it speaks the gen'rous heart, Full to o'erflowing with the fervent gush Of its sweet waters. Hark! I hear the rush Of many feet, and dark-browed Mem'ry brings Her tales of by-gone pleasure but to crush The reed already bending--now, there sings The syren voice of Hope--her of the rainbow wings. 

 Ah! well-a-day! Ceased is the witching strain-- Fled are they all--and back the senses turn To this dark hour of anguish and of pain-- Of rending heart-chords--agony too stern For words to picture it--of thoughts that burn And wither up the heart. I need not tell What now I feel, or if my bosom yearn With love for you at parting--there's a spell To conjure up despair in that wild word--Farewell

REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. 

 _Historical and Select Memoirs of the Empress Josephine, (Marie Rose Tacher de la Pagerie, ) First Wife of Napoleon Bonaparte. By M'lle. M. A. Le Normand, Authoress "Des Souvenirs Prophetiques, " &c. Translated from the French by Jacob M. Howard, Esq. Philada. : Carey & Hart. _

The larger portion of this work is made up of the account given byJosephine herself of the events of her life; and that part contributedby M'lle. Le Normand, completes a biography of the gifted, thefortunate and unfortunate queen of Napoleon. The Memoirs of Josephinesparkle with French sprightliness, and abound with French sentiment. Her style is eminently graceful, and the turn of thought such as wewould expect from the most accomplished and fascinating woman of hertimes. The narrative is neither very copious nor very regular; but allthat is told is of the deepest interest. It abounds in domesticanecdotes of the great usurper, and reports conversations between himand his wife, in which, by the way, her speeches rival, in prolixity, those given us by Livy. Many of her views of Bonaparte and herself arenovel and striking, and calculated, if relied upon, to change opinionsnow generally entertained as truths. In relation to herself, her toneis one of almost unvarying self-eulogium; and the amiable andexcellent qualities which she is known to have possessed need nobetter chronicler. She was of the opinion that her abilities andservices, which were eminent and various, secured Napoleon'sadvancement at every step of his rapid career from obscurity to theimperial throne; and that the loss of her influence and counsels wasthe necessary harbinger of his downfall. 

For the movements that secured him the First Consulship, she claimsalmost exclusive credit. That she was an artful politician, and used, with great effect, the graces of mind, manner, and person, with whichshe was singularly endowed, to promote the interests of her husband, is certain; but it may be doubted whether his mighty genius everleaned for support upon the political skill and counsel of awoman--even though that woman were Josephine. She, like her wonderfulhusband, seems to have cherished a superstitious reliance upondestiny--a weakness singularly inconsistent with their generalcharacter. The story of the early prediction that she would become aqueen is given with an amusing simplicity and earnestness. Theprophecy is as follows:

"You will be married to a man of a fair complexion, destined to be thehusband of another of your family. The young lady whose place you arecalled to fill, will not live long. A young Creole, whom you love, does not cease to think of you; you will never marry him, and willmake vain attempts to save his life; but his end will be unhappy. Yourstar promises you two marriages. Your first husband will be a man bornin Martinique, but he will reside in Europe and wear a sword; he willenjoy some moments of good fortune. A sad legal proceeding willseparate you from him, and after many great troubles, which are tobefall the kingdom of the _Franks_, he will perish tragically, andleave you a widow with two helpless children. Your second husband willbe of an olive complexion, of European birth; without fortune, yet hewill become famous; he will fill the world with his glory, and willsubject a great many nations to his power. You will then become an_eminent woman_, and possess a supreme dignity; but many people willforget your kindnesses. After having astonished the world, _you willdie miserable_. The country in which what I foretell must happen, forms a part of _Celtic Gaul_; and more than once, in the midst ofyour prosperity, you will regret the happy and peaceful life you ledin the colony. At the moment you shall quit it, (_but not forever_, ) aprodigy will appear in the air;--this will be the first harbinger ofyour astonishing destiny. "

Any fortune-teller might tell, and no doubt, if she thought it wouldflatter, would tell, a beautiful young girl that her destiny was to bea queen; but there is in this prediction a minuteness of detail, thatcannot be accounted for on the ground of accidental coincidence. It isa brief history of her life. Unless we are prepared to believe that anignorant old mulatto woman was gifted by divine Providence withsupernatural power, constituted a second Witch of Endor, and able by"examining the ball of Josephine's left thumb with great attention, "to discover the minute particulars of her future life, we mustdiscredit the absurdity. A prediction believed sometimes effects itsown fulfillment; and Josephine, whose ambition seems to have been mostardent, may have been inspired with romantic hopes by the foolishpromise of an ignorant impostor, that she would rise to greateminence, and have been stimulated to greater exertions to realizethose hopes. This may have urged her to intimacy with the corrupt andimmoral Directory, with whom a beautiful and accomplished woman couldnot fail to be a favorite; may have secured her marriage to a veryyoung and ardent man, who all believed must rise to eminence; and mayhave even induced her to excite her husband to the policy whichsecured a crown. But to believe that a prediction, giving all theleading events of the lives of several different persons, and thosepersons actors in scenes so wonderful, would be a folly equally weakand blasphemous. The same superstition is frequently betrayed in thesevolumes; and we have as many dreams and portents as ever disturbed thesleeping and waking hours of the wife of the first Napoleon, Caliphurnia. 

The pages of these memoirs afford us the harshest and most repulsiveviews of Napoleon's character that we have yet seen. His affectionateconsort was undoubtedly discerning, and used her keenness ofperception with proper diligence to discover all her husband's faults. We have never shared in the excessive and extraordinary admirationwith which the character of this man-hater and earth-spoiler isregarded in this land of liberty; but it seems to us that theportraiture before us would be deemed unjust coming from his foes, andis at least singular when traced by the hand of the affectionate andgentle Josephine. The praise awarded him is cold, formal and stinted;but the censure is interjected among her details with a freedom thatwe could not have anticipated. That she should have resented hisheartless repudiation of the companion of all his struggles andfortunes, is natural, and perhaps just; but that she should haverevenged the wrong, if indeed that be the motive, by depreciating himseems out of character with the Josephine of our imaginations. Shedescribes him as vain, cruel, often weak, and at times abjectlycowardly. She dwells with great fullness upon his crimes, and passesrapidly and coldly over the many great and good things he achieved forFrance. In some instances positive misrepresentations are resortedto, calculated to blacken his character. Thus, in relation to thedisaster at the bridge on the Elster, she says:

"I likewise learned that my husband has passed the only bridge bywhich he could make good his retreat; but in order to prevent pursuitby the foreign army, he had ordered it to be blown up at the verymoment it was covered with thousands of Frenchmen, who wereendeavoring to fly. By means of this _murderous manoeuvre_ he abandoneda part of his army on the bank of the stream. "

Now this is a most inhuman calumny, and one that sounds strangelycoming from a French woman, and that woman the wife of the unfortunateNapoleon. Bonaparte's strongest and ablest decryer, Alison, admitsthat the destruction of the bridge was an accident, resulting from themistake of a corporal, who supposed the retreating French upon thebridge were the pursuing allies, and fired the train. It is seldomthat we expect to find extraordinary instances of conjugal affectionupon thrones; and we are strongly disposed to believe that the love ofJosephine for her husband has been exaggerated. According to her ownaccount, she had many previous draughts made upon her capital stock oflove; and she describes her marriage with Napoleon as one induced bythe representations of Barras and Mad. Tallien of the advantages to bederived from it. She thus characterizes her feelings toward Bonapartejust before marriage. "I discovered in him a tone of assurance andexaggerated pretension, which injured him greatly in my estimation. The more I studied his character, the more I discovered the odditiesfor which I was at a loss to account; and at length he inspired mewith so much aversion that I ceased to frequent the house of Mad. Chat*** Ren***, where he spent his evenings. " Notwithstanding theexcessive affection professed, a large portion of the period of theirconnection seems to have been embroiled and troubled. Yet there can beno doubt that she devoted herself assiduously and faithfully to thepromotion and protection of the greatness which she shared; and, atthe close of her career, though she caressed his conquerors, she dieduttering the warmest expressions of affection for him, even in thepresence of his foe. The death-scene, as described by M'lle. LeNormand, is truly touching. Her last tears fell upon the portrait ofNapoleon. 

The whole story is full of romance, and will be read with greatinterest. The translator has performed his task with eminent ability;and the volumes are printed in a style highly creditable to thepublishers. 

 _Memoir of Sarah B. Judson, Member of the American Mission to Burmah. By "Fanny Forester. " New York: L. Colby & Co. _

It cannot be necessary for us to recommend to the readers of Graham'sMagazine any work from the pen of the fascinating "Fanny Forester. "Her literary history is associated in their minds with the mostagreeable recollections of a female writer, among the sweetest, themost brilliant, the most charming of the many whom our country hasproduced. They will remember her, too, in that most eventful scene andsurprising change of her life, in which the popular authoress wassuddenly, and voluntarily, transformed into the humble missionary;sacrificing, from a sense of Christian duty, all the pride andallurements of literary distinction, along with friends, home, thesafety and happiness of civilized society, that she might take up thecross, and carry it, an offering of salvation, to the benightedHeathen of Asia, even in the depths of their own far and pestilentialclimates. 

The missionary appears again as on authoress; but it is in the lowlyattitude of a biographer commemorating the virtues of a departedsister and predecessor in the same field of Christian devotion--thedevoted and sainted woman whose places "Fanny Forester" herself nowoccupies as a wife and missionary, performing the same duties, exposedto the same trials and sufferings, in the same distant and perilousregions of Asia. The subject and the writer are thus united--we mightsay identified--as parts of the same attractive theme, and co-actorsin the same sacred drama. Under such circumstances, the Memoir of Mrs. Judson could not be otherwise than profoundly interesting; and it willprove so, not only to all those who admire the authoress, but to allwho love the cause to which she has dedicated her talents, her life, her fame. It is, indeed, a beautiful, a deeply engaging, an affectingvolume, uniting a kind of romantic character, derived from the scenesand perils it describes, with the deeper interest of a record of theevangelization of the heathen. It is peculiarly adapted, too, to thereading of people of the world, whose hearts have not yet been warmed, or whose minds have not been instructed, on the subject of Christianmissions. They cannot take it up without reading it; they cannot readit without rising better informed, and with better dispositions thanbefore, in regard to the great cause which boasts--or hasboasted--such servants as Mrs. Judson and "Fanny Forester. "

 _The History of a Penitent. A Guide for the Inquiring, in a Commentary on the One Hundred and Thirtieth Psalm. By George W. Bethune, D. D. , Minister of the Third Reformed Dutch Church, Philadelphia. Henry Perkins, 142 Chestnut Street. _

This work, which is beautifully dedicated to Dr. Alexander, is writtenwith much of the characteristic force and fervor of its author, andwith more than his ordinary research and elaboration. He informs usthat his purpose has been to help the inquiring soul and youngChristian with counsel taken immediately from the unerring word: hehas therefore studied conformity to scripture, rather than novelty ofthought, and plainness more than grace of style. Yet there is in thisvolume much of the author's usual boldness of originality and peculiarfelicity of expression. Our readers have been made acquainted with thehigh merits of Dr. Bethune as a poet, by his contributions to"Graham;" but highly as we appreciate his verse, there is adirectness, an originality, an old-fashioned power in his prose whichwe prefer, and which we think place him in the first class of Americanwriters. On subjects like that treated in the volume before us, hiswhole heart and mind seem to be poured into his pages; and in theirperusal we doubt whether most to admire the divine or the rhetorician. 

 _Keble's Christian Year: Thoughts in Verse for the Sundays and Holidays throughout the Year. Philadelphia: Geo. S. Appleton. 148 Chestnut Street. _

This beautiful volume is printed from the thirty-first London edition. Its merits are so well and universally known and appreciated that toreview it would, to our readers, be tedious as a twice told tale. Suffice it to say, that its object is to bring the thoughts andfeelings of worshipers into more entire unison with those recommendedand exemplified in the Prayer Book. The poetry of this volume is ofteneven worthy the exalted subjects of which it treats, and is neverunworthy them. Its extraordinary popularity is the best evidence ofits merit; for poetry is never generally and permanently popularwithout real merit. 

Transcriber's Note:

1. Page 195--removed extra quote at end of paragraph 'boot-maker, landlady, and others?'

2. Page 195--removed repeated word 'five'

3. Page 198--changed comma to period at end of sentence 'knock the fort to pieces'

4. Page 200--corrected typo 'litle' to 'little' in stanza beginning '"Spirit, I am of litle worth, "

5. Page 203--added missing end quote at end of poem

6. Page 205--removed extraneous double quote mark from sentence '"Pooh! you green-horn!" said Jack Reeves, '

7. Page 206--added missing single quote in sentence '... Answered the skipper; so suit yourself'

8. Page 213--changed punctuation at end of sentence '... Now I am willing to die. , ' to period + double quote

9. Page 213--added missing double quote at end of sentence '... Before I sail, with your permission. '

10. Page 213--added missing double quote in sentence '... As we drove off. You told the truth... '

11. Page 215--changed comma to period at end of sentence 'Yes, dear Frank, "'

12. Page 215--added missing double quote to sentence '... Thumping his right side, you lacerate my heart... '

13. Page 216--added missing double quote at end of sentence '... You are the most angelic, adorable--'

14. Page 220--corrected typo 'vison' to 'vision' in line 'Scenes of the past before his vison'

15. Page 221--corrected comma to period at end of sentence '... Humid with tears, '

16. Page 227--removed extra quote at start of sentence 'Ah! happy, satisfied Leland!'

17. Page 228--added missing quote at end of article

18. Page 229--added missing right bracket to sentence '... And then they know better. '

19. Page 231--corrected typo "lanched" to "launched" in sentence '... For Pauline was fairly lanched. '

20. Page 240--corrected typo "Chistian" to "Christian" in title block of article