hild in it for years and years;-full of rooms and furniture and black people, and nowhere the shout and cry of a baby. There was

ope, and that she might have just as well bought in New York after she got home; and he putting up books and taking them dow

aptize them, body and soul, and keep them to make music in their silent halls, and, when their time comes, have something worth to render up to the child-loving Christ? Especially, why didn't two such affectio

ned down, something, and then something else; but she never guessed a baby. Yet there it lay, with eyes wide open,-a perfect baby, nobly planned;-a year old or more; and no more afraid of the Colonel than if it had been in society ten years. The little girl sprang forward towards him, laughing, and by doing so won his heart at once. Mrs. Lunt found credentials i

d her healthy glee. She toddled over everything without restraint; tumbled over Chinese tea-poys and Japan

her story, which was rather a strange one, to the Colonel, and they made an arrangement with her to come and take care of the child. It was planned between them that Percy (her name is Amy Percival) should personate the only child of a deceased brother of the Colonel, and be adopted by him as his own daughter. Thenceforward the poor pale Madame Guyot took

ashing them,-"And then, you know, they don't forget. Winders, there 't is." And the Colonel approved of learning geography by going to the places themselves, and especially of learning the languages on the spot. This, he contended, w

ng they were not more refined and agreeable. She was herself a great attraction there, and, the Colonel said, had many admirers. Among the guests was an English family that took great notice of her, and made many advan

ood, with a simplicity and a self-reliance that mark a true gentleman; while Mrs. Lunt is

cousin of the Colonel's, a New-Yorker, and a graduate of Oxford. His father had sent him to England to be finished

to state the facts relative to Percy's birth, he foresaw distinctly only a mortifying relinquishment of the alliance. Charles was, in fact, on his mother's side, second

t by asking his relative, the Earl, to make proposals for him. He was of age, with

nnection; but finding this mortifying and mysterious to both the gentlemen, he ended by a

onel, "the poor woman would give me no clew to him,-but

to you, Charles?" said the Earl

either trace or claim her; and, if he should even, and all should come ou

the Colonel had

rl, who took the interest of a father in Charles, "is

he young man left the room to go to his confident wooing, for there was n

proceeding, Colonel, in this matter. You might

Colonel; "we never can tell what may happen, and I wouldn't be such a swind

t he could have been supposed for a moment to do otherwise than he had done. To his surprise the Earl turned very red, a

father!" said the

ature to express much, but it was plain that the pas

nel Lunt, "and I don't know how I knew it; but it wa

eeing my beautiful child,-at seeing how lovely in mind and person she is, and at being unable to call her my own! I was well punished the first hour after I met you. But my next

t I respected her too much to ask anything which she did not herself choose to reveal. I think she was one of the loveliest and most superior women I ever saw, though,

ns, name, title, everything, to the winds, that I might take Amy Percival to my heart and hold her there legally! How I have envied the Americans, who care nothing for antecedents, to whom birth and social position are literally nothing,-often not even fortunate accidents! How many times I have read your papers, and imagined myself thrown on my own resources only, like so many of your successful men, and making my own way among you, taking my Amy with me and giving her a respectable and happy home! But these social cobwebs by which we poor flies are caught and held,

w questi

d he desired to give Percy the same share of his property that his other two daughters would receive on their marriage, but that he could not openly do this without exciting remarks and provoking unpleasant feelings. Colonel Lunt cons

y reason for telling you. I have my doubts, after all, about the first marriage. There are the certificate and all the papers safe in my desk. Earls may die, and worms may eat them,-and so with their sons and daughters. It

curiosity to look at Percy Lunt again, surrounded with this new halo, th

ch a young spirit so blanched,-so utterly unelastic. If she could receive tidings of his death, she would reconcile herself to the inevitable; but this wearing, gnawing pain, this g

tters from Rober

were safe. It must have been a dreadful battle!

ill hear v

e his hands very full. He will write a

He had not yet received a scratch, and he had been in

den knock at the door startled us. The old knocker thumped again and again. The servant hurried to the door, and a moment after a man rushed

e all sprang up at his entrance, of course, but I hadn't a th

ike a brick! He took no notice of us whatever, only kept kissing Percy over and over, till her face, which w

her hands, the joyful light from her eyes streaming silently into his. O, it was fair to see,-this might of human love,-this mystery

w with General Banks, and service at last for the North. It was a wild, strange story of suffering, hardships, and wonderful escapes. Colonel Lunt said he never should have known the man, nor guessed at him, but for his eyes, he was so altered in every way,-so rough and strong-looking, with his c

st likely still in London. You know our plan was to travel together for some months, and I could not guess where you might be, if indeed you were alive. After the battle the other day, I went into one of the improvised hospitals to look after some brave fellows of mine, when one of the nurses asked me for directions as to the burial of some men who had just been brought in. They had offi

ach other. But we dared

carcely knew any of the officers. But I saw by the photograph where you were, at least the name on the back was a guide. It was Barton, Mass.,

w he looked?" Mrs. Lunt as

ing, with dark, curling hair, and his regular features were smiling and peaceful. They mostly look

all, leading on his men. He was so tall, and he was such a shining mark for death! But I knew that no din of cannon or roar of battle

earing thy way through so many bleeding hearts! O te

E HEM

r in their own immediate vicinity. We little suspect, when we walk in the woods, whose privacy we are intruding upon,-what rare and elegant visitants from Mexico, from

d not know lived there, and which were not put out when Spaulding, whistling, drove his team through their lower halls. They did not go into soc

I have observed that it does sometimes annoy them when Spaulding's cart rumbles through th

usually attracts the same birds; difference in altitude being equivalent to the difference in latitude. A given height above the sea level under the parallel of 30° may have the same climate as places under that of 35°, and similar Flora and Fauna. At the head-waters of the Delaware, where I write, the latitude is that of Boston, but the region has a much greater elevation, and hence a climate that compares better with the northern part of the State and of New England. Half a day's drive to the southeast brings me down into quite a different temperature, with an older geological formation, diffe

it has never been broken, their energies never paralyzed. Not many years ago a public highway passed through them, but it was at no time a tolerable road; trees fell across it, mud

and lichens. The soil is marrowy and full of innumerable forests. Standing in these fragrant aisles, I feel the stren

be had. In spring the farmer repairs to their bordering of maples to make sugar; in July and August women and boys from all the country about p

reap my harvest,-pursuing a sweet more delectable than sugar, fruit more s

now a bird till I have heard its voice; then I come nearer it at once, and it possesses a human interest to me. I have met the Gray-cheeked Thrush (Turdus alici?) in the woods, and held him in my hand; still I do not know him. The silence of the

oon or after, in the deep forest or in the village grove,-when it is too hot for the thrushes or too cold and windy for the warblers,-it is never out of time or place for this little minstrel to indulge his cheerful strain. In the deep wilds of the Adirondac, where few birds are seen and fewer heard, his note was almost constantly in my ear. Always busy, making it a point never to suspend for one moment his occupation to indulge his musical taste, his lay is that of industry and contentment. There is nothing plaintive or especially musical i

ame cheerful strain, but the latter more continuously and rapidly. The Red-Eye is a larger, slimmer bird, with a faint bluish crown, and a light line over the eye. His movements are peculiar. You may see him hopping among the limbs, exploring the under side of the leaves, peering to the ri

breeds here, and is not esteemed a snowbird at all, as he disappears at the near approach of winter, and returns again in spring, like the Song-Sparrow, and is not in any way associ

te of its nest is usually some low bank by the roadside near a wood. In a slight excavation, with a partially concealed entrance, the exquisite stru

fairly within the old hemlocks, and in one of the most primitive, undisturbed nooks. In the deep moss I tread as with muffled feet, and the pupils of my eyes dilate in t

, from its gushing lyrical character; but you must needs look sharp to see the little minstrel, especially while in the act of singing. He is nearly the color of the ground and the leaves; he never ascends the tall trees, but keeps low, flitting from stump to stump and from root to root, dodging in and out of his hiding-places, and watching all intruders with a suspicious eye. He has a very perk, almost comical look. H

and his dimly speckled breast, that it is a Thrush. Presently he utters a few soft, mellow, flute-like notes, one of the most simple expressions of melody to be heard, and scuds away, and I see it is the Veery or Wilson's Thrush. He is the least of the Thrushes in size, being about that of the common Bluebird, and he may be distinguished from his relatives by the dimness of the spots upon his breast. T

and is worth half a dozen in the bush, even for ornithological purposes; and no sure and rapid progress can be made in the study without taking life, without procuring specimens. This bird is a Warbler, plainly enough, from his habits and manner; but what kind of Warbler? Look on him and name him: a deep orange or flame-colored throat and breast; the same color showing also in a line over the eye and in his crown; back variegated black and white. The female is less marked and brilliant.

exclaim, "How beautiful!" So tiny and elegant, the smallest of the Warblers; a delicate blue back, with a slight bronze-colored triangular spot between the shoulders; upper mandible black; lower mandible yellow as gold; throat yellow, becoming a dark bronze on the breast. Blue Yellow-Back he is called, though the yellow is much nearer a bronze. He is remarkably delicate and beautiful,-the handso

a divine accompaniment. This song appeals to the sentiment of the beautiful in me, and suggests a serene religious beatitude as no other sound in nature does. It is perhaps more of an evening than a morning hymn, though I hear it at all hours of the day. It is very simple, and I can hardly tell the secret of its charm. "O spheral, spheral!" he seems to say; "O holy, holy! O clear away, clear away! O clear up, clear up!" interspersed with the finest trills and the most delicate preludes. It is not a proud, gorgeous strain, like the Tanager's or the Grosbe

Veery. Shooting one from a tree, I have observed another take up the strain from almost the identical perch in less than ten minutes afterward. Later in the day, when I had penetrated the heart of the old Barkpeeling, I came suddenly upon one singing from a lo

of the Hermit with great beauty and correctness, coolly ascribes it to the Veery! The new Cyclop?dia, fresh from the study of Audubon, says the Hermit's song consists of a single plaintive note, and that the Veery's resembles that of the Wood-Thrush! These observations deserve to be preserved with that of the author of "Out-door Papers," who tells

that of a little dog,-it is so sharply cut and defined! A dog's track is coarse and clumsy beside it. There is as much wildness in the track of an animal as in its voice. Is a deer's track like a sheep's or a goat's? What winged-footed fleetness and agility may be inferred from the sharp, braided track of the gray squirrel upon t

, always quarrelling with their neighbors and with one another, no birds are so little calculated to excite pleasurable emotions in the beholder, or to become objects of human interest and affection. The King-Bird is the best-dressed member of the family, but he is a braggart; and, though always snubbing his neighbors, is an arrant coward, and shows the white feather at the slightest display of pluck in his antagonist. I have seen him turn tail to a Swallow, and have known the little Pewee in question to whip him beautifully. From the Great

a ledge near the top of a mountain in a singularly desolate locality, my eye rested upon one of these structures, looking precisely as if it grew there, so in keeping was it with the mossy character of the rock; and I have had a growing affection for the bird ever since. The rock seemed to love the nest and to claim it as its own.

ccupied air, jerking his head like a hen or a partridge, now hurrying, now slackening his pace, that I pause to observe him. If I sit down, he pauses to observe me, and extends his pretty ramblings on all sides, apparently very much engrossed with his own affairs, but never los

serves for some nymph whom he meets in the air. Mounting by easy flights to the top of the tallest tree, he launches into the air with a sort of suspended, hovering flight, like certain of the Finches, and bursts into a perfect ecstasy of song,-clear, ringing, copious, rivalling the Goldfinch's in vivacity, and the Linnet's in melody. This strain is one of the rarest bits of bird-melody to be heard. Over the woods, hid from view, the ecstatic singer warbles his finest strain. In this song you instantly detect his relationship to the Water-Wagtail (Sciurus Noveboracensis),-erroneously called Water-Thrush,-whose song is likewise a sudden burst, full and ringing, and with a tone of youthful joyousness in it, as if the bird had just had some unexpected good

now and then on the way to admire a small, solitary white flower which rises above the moss, with radical, heart-shaped leaves, and a blossom precisely like the l

int pink flowers and exhaling the breath of a May orchard,-that it looks too costly a couch for such an idler, I recline to note what transpires. The sun is just past the meridian, and the afternoon chorus is not yet in full tune. Most birds

hers; while, soaring above all, a little withdrawn and alone, rises the divine soprano of the Hermit. That richly modulated warble proceeding from the top of yonder birch, and which unpractised ears would mistake for the voice of the Scarlet Tanager, comes from that rare visitant, the Rose-breasted Grosbeak. It is a strong, vivacious strain, a bright noonday song, full of health and assurance, indicating fine talents in the performer, but not genius. As I come up under the tree he casts his eye down at me, but cont

r the high, remote woods, even going quite to the mountain's top. Indeed, the event of my last visit to the mountain was meeting one of these brilliant creatures near the summit, in full song. The breeze carried the notes far and wide. He seemed to enjoy the elevation, and I imagined his song had more scope and freedom than usual. When he had flown far down the mountain-side, the breeze still brought me his finest

strain to be heard in these woods. It is quite destitute of the trills and the liquid, silvery, bubbling notes that characterize the Wren's; but there runs through it a round, richly modulated whistle, very sweet and very pleasing. The call of the Robin is brought in at a certain point with marked effect, and, throughout, the variety is so great and the strain so rapid that the impression is as of tw

round, yet here is the nest, made chiefly of dry grass, set in a slight excavation in the bank, not two feet from the water, and looking a little perilous to anything but ducklings or sandpipers. There are two young birds and one little specked egg, just pipped. But how is this? what mystery is here? One nestling is much larger than the other, monopolizes most of the nest, and lifts its open mouth far above that of its companion, though obviously both are of the same age, not more than a day o

are quite frequent. In Europe the parallel case is that of the Cuckoo, and occasionally our own Cuckoo imposes upon a Robin or a Thrush in the same manner. The Cow-Bunting seems to have no conscience about the matter, and, so far as I have observed, invariably selects the nest of a bird smaller than itsel

anner; and the other day, in a tall tree in the woods, I discovered the Black-throated Green-backed Warbler devoting itself to this dusky, overgr

egg is to be deposited, and exercises a sort of guardianship over it afterward, lingering i

ertain parts of the Canary's, though quite broken and incomplete; the bird the while hopping amid th

somewhat slender, his back of a bluish lead-color becoming nearly black on his crown; the under part of his body, from his throat down,

bler pauses a moment and hastens away; the Maryland Yellow-Throat peeps shyly from the lower bushes and utters his "Fip! fip!" in sympathy; the Wood-Pewee comes straight to the tree overhead, and the Red-eyed Vireo lingers and lingers, eying me with a curious, innocent look, evidently much

hin two paces of her, when she flutters away as at first. In the brief interval the remaining egg has hatched, and the two little nestlings lift their heads without being jostled or overreached by any strange bedfellow. A week afte

logs, or forcing my way through a network of briers and hazel; now entering a perfect bower of wild-cherry, beech, and soft-maple; no

iers, and hear this wild-hen of the woods call together her brood. Have you observed at what an early age the Partridge flies? Nature seems to concentrate her energies on the wing, making the safety of the bird a p

The other day, by a brook, I came suddenly upon a young Sandpiper, a most beautiful creature, enveloped in a soft gray down, swift and nimble, and apparently a week

ning love! It is the voice of the mother hen. Presently a faint, timid "Yeap!" which almost eludes the ear, is heard in various directions,-the young responding. As no danger seems near, the cooing of the parent bird

something, as if suffering from some neglect of Nature. And then he is such a splendid success, so hardy and vigorous. I think he enjoys the cold and the snow. His wings seem to rustle with more fervency in midwinter. If the snow falls very fast, and promises a heavy storm, he wi

? It is the next thing to catching a weasel asleep, though by much caution and tact it may be done. He does not hug the log, but stands very erect, expands his ruff, gives two introductory blows, pauses half a second, and then resumes, striking faster and faster till the sound becomes a continuous, unbroken whir, the whole lasting less than half a minute. The tips of his wings barely brush the log, so that the sound is produced rather by the force of the blows upon the air and upon his own body as in flying. One log will be used for many

Maryland Yellow-Throat. Presently the singer hops up on a dry twig, and gives me a good view. Lead-colored head and neck, becoming nearly black on the breast; clear olive-green back, and yellow belly. From his

blers, to which it belongs. It is very shy and wary, flying but a few feet at a time, and studiously concealing itself from your view. I discover but one pair here. The female has food in her beak, but carefully avoids betraying the locality of her nest.

never seen his nest or known any naturalist who had. Last year I found the nest of one in an uplying beech-wood, in a low bush near the roadside, where cows passed and browsed daily. Things went on smoothly till the Cow-Bunting stole her egg into it, when other mishaps followed, and the

ery plain and simple, but remarkably pure and tender, and might be indicated by straight lines, thus, -- --\/--; the first two marks representing two sweet, silvery notes, in the same pitch of voice, and quite

ning upon the dry leaves at once. Audubon says he has never heard his love-song; but this is all the love-song he has, and he is evidently a very plain hero with his little brown mistress. He is not the bird you would send to the princess to "cheep and twitter twenty million loves"; she would go to sleep while he was piping. He assumes few attitudes, and is not a bold and striki

It is unquestionably the finest bird-song to be heard. Few insect strains will compare with it in this

Red-eyed Vireo's, is that of the Solitary Warbling Vireo,-a bird slightly larger, much rarer, and with a louder, less cheerful and happy st

he great purple orchis in bloom, and where the foot of man or beast seems never to have trod, I linger long, contemplating the wonderful display of lichens and mosses that overrun both the smaller and the larger growths. Every bush and branch and sprig is dressed up in the most rich and fantastic of liveries; and, crowning all

the sweetest, ripest hour of the day. And as the Hermit's evening hymn goes up from the deep solitude below me, I expe

TNO

Decemb

F WALTER SA

T I

CLU

it off an Old Tree," he says, through his medium, Pericles, who is giving advice to Alcibiades: "Every time we pronounce a word different from another, we show our disapprobation of his manner, and accuse him of rusticity. In all common things we must do as others do. It is more barbarous to undermine the stability of a language than of an edifice that hath stood as long. This is done by the introduction of changes. Write as others do, but only as the best of others; and, if one eloquent man forty or fifty years ago spoke and wrote differently from the generality of the present, follow him, though alone, rather than the many. But in pronunciation we are not indulged in this latitude of choice; we must pronounce as those do who favor us with their audience." Landor only claimed to write as th

ominiously blotted out; exclaim is written exclame; a d is put over the obliterated a in steady; t is substituted t is substituted for the second s in confessed and kindred words; straightway is shorn of gh; pontiff is allowed but one f. Landor spells honor in what we call the modern way, without the u; and the r and e in sceptre change p

rned with gold h

me; at home he

with Lucia,

soon, soon, th

granted, for t

rcy and deli

f the pret. and partic. of lay is laid, of say, said

which are a burlesque on Wordswor

might have

en her

iderate, bro

in each

when they are wanted; all which come when they are not wanted should be dismissed." Tooke, in the same conversation, cites Cicero as one who, not contented with new spellings, created new words; but Tooke further declares, that "only one valuable word has been received into our language since my birth,

ent of etymology may read the criticisms of so able a man. Dean Trench is taken to task for a misuse of every where in making two words of it. Landor puts the question, "Is the Dean ignorant that everywhere is one word, and where is no substantive?" Trench asserts that caprice is from capra, "a goat," whereupon his critic says, "No,-then it would be capracious. It is from caper-capere

quity." Making use of the expression "redolent of scorn" in connection with words that formerly expressed sacred functions and offices, Landor adds: "Gray is highly poetical in his 'redolent of joy and youth.' The word is now vilely misused daily." "By and bye," write

ès Marias," and others, known to but few readers now, Landor spoke in high commendation, and this praise will be welcome to those friends of "Phazma" still living, and still loving the memory of him who died early, and found, as he wished, an ocean grave. With "The Culprit Fay" came a scrap of paper on which was written: "The Culprit Fay is rich in imagination,-few poems more so

erstand it. It is beyond me." He had little mercy to bestow upon transcendentalists, though he praised Emerson one day,-a marvellous proof of high regard when it is considered how he detested the school to which Emerson belongs. "Emerson called on me when he was in Florence many years ago, and a very agreeable visit I had from him. He is a very clever man, and might b

hink of it? I don't think of it. I don't want to be bothered with it. The book has driven all the breath out of my body. I am lame with galloping. I've been on a gallop from the beginning to the end. Never did I have so hard and long a ride. But what else to expect when mounted on a nightmare! It may be very fine. I dare say it is, but Giallo and I prefer our ease to being bat

deration do you go to bed,-you retire." Much of this I could not gainsay, for only a few days previously I had been severely frowned upon for making inquiries about a broken leg. "My dear," said Landor to a young American girl who had been speaking of th

the most recent geniuses, will honor and thank Landor for having practically enforced his own refreshing theory. There are certain modern books of positive value which the reader closes with a sense of utter exhaustion. The meaning is discovered, but at too great an outlay of vitality. To render simple things complex, is to fly in the face of Nature; and after such mental "gymnastics," we turn with relief to Landor. "The greater part of those who are most ambitious of style are unaware of all its value. Thought does not separate man from the brutes; for the brutes think: but man alone thinks beyond the moment and beyond himself. Speech does not separate them; for speech is common to all, perhaps more or less articulate, and conveyed a

mostly an imperfect and unfaithful copy." This confession emanates from one who is claimed as a university rather than a universal man. Landor remained but two years at Oxford, and, though deeply interested in the classics, never contended for a Latin prize. Speaking of this one day, he said: "I once wrote some Latin verses for a fellow of my college who, being in great trouble, came to me for aid. What was hard work to him was pastime to me, and it ended in my composing the entire poem. At the time the fellow was very gratefu

ericles and Aspasia," and the finest of his "Imaginary Conversations," were the flowering of half a century of thought. There are few readers who do not prefer Landor's prose to his verse, for in the former he does not aim at the dramatic: the passion peculiar to verse is not congenial to his genius. He sympathizes most fully with men and women

e must be some to keep others off you, and some to prolong for you the ball's rebound.... Do not, however, be ambitious of an early fame: such is apt to shrivel and to drop under the tree." The poetical dictum, "Whom the gods love, die young," has worked untold mischief, having created a morbid dislike to a fine physique, on the theory that great minds are antagonistic to noble bodies. There never was error so fatal: the larger the brain, the larger should be the reservoir from which to draw vitality. Were Seneca alive now, he would write no such letter as he once wrote to Lucilius, protesting against the ridiculous devotion of his countrymen to physical gymnastics. "To be wise is to be well,

s muse lives in the past and breathes ether rather than air. "De Vere is charming both as man and as poet," said Landor enthusiastically, rising as he spoke and leaving the room to return immediately with a small volu

her o'er the br

Angel missi

en beneath in

murmuring silv

waves a

ghts which, ere

ough her lids a

the curd

e shades the wat

nly by the unf

hills, with da

purple mountain

ch self-folded

mbrage of yon

e-gleam! '

s flight with the

! still forward

continued Landor, "is the no

aster of the

ery car, himse

of immeasu

oulder hung hi

eeds, the eastern

ager eye and

le both hands th

aft pursued th

ned that godli

neck an eve

istening; while

w-string, that t

w-drop; while ea

tening like t

this lin

rong, volumin

le is the terminat

her soul as

Vesta's fan

she as the w

one Dian a

ut hope they

Imposs

tiful lines from

streams that

byrinthine

like Sha

ueen of Love, a

ubt in Bacchic wr

ath, that he old

rs' knots, and

e sun go

is, too, from the same poem,-'

otions of her t

of slaves, relu

compelled; not

lastic in i

lently

you to have this. It will be none the less valuable b

Mr. La

I cannot lay up such treasures in heaven, you know,-saving of course in my memory,-and De Vere had r

ion, and if I here transcribe a few of his favorite poems, it will be w

ng so exquisite," wrote Lando

ck my heart

t 't is wort

iler, hal

ed: your ow

your redd'n

those two b

p your pe

entary l

n long and

gh the mo

dropt it o

d you canno

rt I want,

und and mus

e then fro

e, sweet,-b

om you:-we

ouble, lov

akes an old

ung heart

med that it was "finer t

hands against

evelled her

rt brightene

t clouds par

my spirit we

poured throug

sang a loud,

r as alof

er curving

ill the heave

h strain, on

ed in a s

sings 'she do

say she ne'

beauty s

while on m

ht charm the mo

e's herald

bit of melody is written, "Nev

heart must ever

happy bondage

g. At first

untenance, fo

es her most of

her voice grew

mbush sweet, ho

es abroad,-a ra

ds were someti

palm to palm t

blushes rising

ith that ae

the sight!-I

alling fountai

rca equals this?" he

who kiss thee,

air upon thy

ky is bluer an

thanksgivings

to whom thy s

y on whom thy

ey for whom thy

ety so oft h

n regrets and

riend, am lone

etimes on tha

ght of those c

ent on my ch

ntle beam from

's, but better, i

ou have given y

ot, but lend

ofttimes ask

restore it:

till bestow

sk thee for

for daily br

r, naught of r

ow is mine shal

e deserved it

ush is mine,-

id in that be

d condemn not

ee alone, and

e him," is Landor's prefac

ing, if flowers cou

the Muse wer

would make thee

songs forget

wers would but co

and might have

bent, imploring

r beauty by

what gifts shal

ing, what treasur

ll her floral tra

ets and old so

is naught, from

y's complacen

ignation, particularly in his remarks on the poem of

und ordained th

ng, wake me, for t

t critic, who had no desire to meet

mark, "Better without these." Twice or thrice Landor finds fault with a word. H

ioned, Landor very eagerly proposed tha

Landor, you who are so noble a Latinist can never hav

, laughing at the idea of beginning to teach in his extr

t very tired of

You say you have a grammar; then I'll brin

rance with a time-worn Virgil under his arm,-a Virgil that in 1809 was the property, accordi

arrangement. Don't you, Giallo?" And the wise dog wagged his sympathetic tail, jumped up on his master's knees, and put

r. He was very patient, and never found fault with me, but his criticisms on my Latin grammar were frequent and severe. "It is strange," he would mutter, "that men cannot d

ian language was but bastard Latin. The master, however, would not listen to such heresy, and declared that, with the exception of the Fren

ation, for there were a ponderous Latin Dictionary in Landor's handwriting, a curious old Italian and French Dictionary of 1692,-published at Paris, "per uso del Serenissimo Delfino,"-a Greek Grammar, and a delightfully rare and musty old Latin Grammar by Emmanuel Alvarus, the Jesuit, carefully annotated by Landor. Then, too, there was a valuable edition, in two volumes, of

th infinite gusto, as though they reflected upon him the light of other days. No voice could be better adapted to the reading of Latin than that of Landor, who uttered the words with a certain majestic flow, and sounding, cataract-like falls and plunges of music. Occasionally he would touch upon the subject of Greek. "I wonder whether I've forgotten all my Greek," he said one day. "It is so long since I have written a word of it that I doubt if

inexhaustible reservoir of reminiscences. Nor had Landor reason to complain of his memory in so far as the dim past was concerned; for, one morning, reference having been made to Monk Lewis's poem of "Alonzo the Brave and the Fair I

on, he replied, "Ah, by that time I shall have gone farther and fared worse!" Sometimes, when we were all in a particularly merry mood, Landor w

to certain rules in my L

fain know, y

nt not, lea

er and caressed his hand. "Why, Giallo

olish wh

l that have

ely orthodox friends, who were extremely anxious that he should join the Church in order to

w off this

all on you,

nk that I

mpkins, wi

you, char

me, but not

!" I replied, laughingly. "It i

you were

e in the w

ready

hers. In his paper on "Popery, British and Foreign," Landor freely expresses himself. "The people, by their own efforts, will sweep away the gross inequalities now obstructing the church-path,-will sweep away from amidst the habitations of the industrious the moral cemeteries, the noisome markets around the house of God, whatever be the selfish interests that stubbornly resist the operation.... It would grieve me to foresee a day when our cathedrals and our churches shall be demolished or desec

r passed one of the preti that he did not open his batteries, pouring grape and canister of sarcasm and indignation on the retreating enemy,-"rascally beetles," "human vampires," "Satan's imps." "Italy never c

his world," I said, on another occasion. "Erysi

for some time, but depend upon it they are legs that wi

n the Cardinals Micara and Lambruschini prior to this election, in which the former remarked: "If the powers of darkness preside over the election, you'll be Pope; if the people had a voice, I'm the man; but if Heaven has a finger in the business, 't will be Ferretti!" Apropos of Popes, Landor writes: "If the Popes are the servants of God, it must be conf

rs living in such a grand house as the Vatican. Ah, they are jolly fishermen!-Landor, Landor! how can you be so wicked?" he said, checking himself with mock seriousness; "Giallo does not approve of such le

having his likeness taken either by man or the sun. Not long before the artist's visit, Mr. Browning had persuaded him to sit for his photograph, but no less a person could have induced the old man to mount the numberless steps which seem to be a necessary condition of pho

mber the young artist wh

ice fellow he

tly taken wi

quite sure he was not

elf enthusiastically about your beard. He

ans

sketch of you, Mr. Landor? He i

think he said drawing) "once when I was visiting Gore House,-a very good thing it was too,-and there is a bust executed by Gibson when I was in Rome. These are quite sufficient. I have often bee

you had your photo

ng, who has been so exceedingly kind and

t does not concern the public in the least. My friend w

ting is for

ave something of

. Well, I'll tell you what I will do. Your friend may come, provide

ll do with

after a pause. "I must be

you will spoil the picture. You won't

weather is getting to be very warm, and a heavy beard i

beard until the picture is completed. You will not be obliged

I suppose I

amicably arranged, to ou

arm-chair, with his back to the window that the light might fall on the top of his head and form a sort of glory, Landor looked ev

ld foot had ever been good-looking? Yet they say it was once. When I was i

king you might be now, if you would get a ne

re quite good enough. They are all-sufficient for this world, and in the

ndor, you really oug

ave it made over. Napier gave it to me," (I think

look like a lion," I

ier was dining with me, he threw himself back in his chair, exclaiming, with a hearty

, Mr. Landor. The lion

a beast after all,"

chivalric tribute: "An illustrious man ordered it to be inscribed on his monument, that he was the friend of Sir Philip Sidney; an obscurer one can but leave this brief memorial, that he was the friend of Sir William Napier."

, rising, he would say by way of conclusion to the day's work, "Now it is time for a little refreshment." After talking awhile lo

ive you these flowers if you will give me a song!" I was only too happy to comply, thinking the flowers very cheaply purchased. While I sang Italian cavatinas, Landor remained away from the piano, pleased, but not satisfied. At their conclusion he used to exclaim, "Now for an English ballad!" and would seat himself beside the piano, saying, "I must get nearer to hear the words. These old deaf ears treat me shabbily!" "Kathleen Mavourneen," Schubert's "Ave Maria," and "Within a Mile of Edinboro' Town," were great favorites w

ght's honored guest, gracefully thanked him for his defence of old songs, and, opening the "Last Fruit," read in his clear, manly voice the following passages from the Idyls of Theocritus: "We often hear that such or such a thing 'is not worth an old song.' Alas! ho

gratified author. "You always fi

y Robert Browning to Walter Savage Landor. It was loyal homage rendered by

allo? In fact Padrone is a fool if we may believe what folks say. Once, while walking near my villa at Fiesole, I overheard quite a flattering remark about myself, made by one contadino to another. My beloved countrymen had evidently been the subject of conversation, and, as the two fellows approached my grounds, one of them pointed

klin presented himself before Louis, he was most cavalierly treated by the king, whereupon Lord Auckland took it upon himself to make impertinent speeches, and, notwithstanding Franklin's habitually courteous manners, sneered at his appearing in court dress. Upon Franklin's return home, he was met by --, who, being much attached to him,-a bit of a republican, too,-was

er-party. We sat next each other, and had a most agreeable conversation. Finally Mr. Webster aske

nversed with Mrs. Jordan, "and a most handsome and agreeable woman she was; but that scoundrel, William IV., treated her shamefully. He even went

n Baroness attempted to induce me to learn her language, and read aloud German poetry for my benefit; but the noise was intolerable to me. It sounded like a great wagon banging over a pavement of boulders. It was very ungrateful in me not to learn, for my fair teacher paid me many pretty compliments. Yes, Giallo, Padrone has had pleasant things said to him in his day. But

"-and, leaving the room for a moment, returned with a small writing-desk, looking as old as himself. "Now I want you to look at something I have he

al must have been e

h a sigh, leaning back in his chair

d why she inspired yo

h she cared for my poetry! It couldn't be said that she l

ve of his verses marked "Miscellaneous" are

comes in

dream when

far from

were so! t

ndeed amon

orever dre

Idyls," also,

DEATH OF

rust my pen,

feel a porti

redulous that

es have uttered

ack again on d

ld I yours mig

everance was, b

ids one hour of

e had wings and might escape, if not well guarded. "There!" he said, holding up a pen-wiper made of red and gold stuff in the shape of a bell with an ivory handle,-"that pen-wiper was given to me by --, Rose's

Mr. La

ld is already engaged, and I know you'll take good care of my keepsake.

d in the same old paper, it lies in another de

inspired of old by the Persian rose, warbled not more harmoniously its praise than you do that of the English Rose, whom posterity will know through your beautiful verses." Many and m

d after having exhausted his own small stock and my still smaller one. "Shakespe

to Vieusseux's Li

n to-morrow. And now what shall I read? When Mr. Anthony Trollope was here, he called on me with his brothe

ed honesty of purpose and truth to nature. He next read Hood's works, and when this writer's poems were returne

of a

y Dau

ld emb

art is

Poets a

For

nza of Inez i

ich heads the

Shirt' Strange

ill never wa

ill wear o

has a heart

set in, and when I left Florence he was still in power. I cannot but think that a

t had been proposed that we should turn back when only half-way up the hill. "Ah, go a little farther," Landor said nervously; "I should like to see my villa." Of course his wish was our pleasure, and so the drive was continued. Landor sat immovable, with head turned in the direction of the Villa Gherardesca. At first sight of it he gave a sudden start, and genuine tears filled his eyes and coursed down his cheeks. "There's where I lived," he said, breaking a long silence and pointing to his old estate. Still we mounted the hill, and when at a turn in the road the villa stood out before us clearly and d

himself, "I've made a capital bargain. I've long wanted these paintings, but the man asked more than I could give. To-day he relented. They are very clever, and I shall have them framed." Alas! they were not clever, and Landor in his last days had queer notions concerning art. That he was excessively fond of pictures is undoubtedly true; he surro

t another, "The Restless Old Man," and once, "Your Beardless Old Friend." This was after the painting of his portrait, when he had himself shorn of half his patriarchal grandeur

eards, Mr. Landor, for then there would be no shaving. W

ill have no difficulty on that score. Now I'll wager, were I a young man,

ave not dared to ask for it. May I cut off a few stray h

cut off the longest curl of his snow-white beard, enclosed it in an envelope with a Greek superscription, and, presenting it,

owing, as it does, the generosity of his nature at

of my time and trouble, and are now more complete, than anything you have favored me by reading. I hope you will be pleased. I care less about others.... I hope you will get somethi

truly

S.

se desired by their author. Though my copies differ somewhat from the printed ones, it is natural to conclude that Landor most approved of what was last submit

Homer, to represent him as talking so familiarly. He must often have don

ation of Homer and Laertes, in which for the first time Greek domestic manne

ever to pass beyond the medi?val? At our own doors we listen to the affecting 'Song of the

historian parts them far asunder. Homer may or may not have been the contemporary of

ore drives, with Walter Savage Landor. Summoned suddenly to America, we

well as his old? Ah me! ah me! what will become of Giallo and me? And America in the condition that it is too! But this is not the

should drive with Landor the evening previous to our depa

the day I was to expect your visit? At all events you

or not

the qu

one half-hour,-but tea wil

ing, and felt no bad effect.

rs affect

S.

ce. I tried to say merry things and look forward a few years to another meeting, but the old man shook his head sadly, saying: "I shall never see you again. I cannot live thro

tering with an empty purse towards his ninth decade, could count his Florentine friends

ough he wondered what it all meant, we turned to Landor, who entered the front room dragging an immense album after him. It was the same that he had bought years before of Barker, the English artist, for fi

g with that big book? You will surely in

for you, and you must ta

iver. Stopping him at the door, I endeavored to dissuade him from giving away so valuable an album; an

n the carriage, deaf to our entreaties, and obstinately refusing assistance. "Now I am sure that you will have the album," he continued, after we were all seated in the carriage. "A

me. "May God bless you!" murmured the lonely old man,

not entirely sever the friendly link, however, for soon

t 28,

lantic, and before you receive the scribble now before you, half your

ountess, who tells me that she shall return to Florence on Saturday, and invites me to accompany her there. But I abhor a

ber days, and-and-all my money! The landlord will not allow one shilling toward the expense, which will make his lower rooms lighter and healthier. To him the advantage will be per

e 'Philip Augustus.' In the thirty-eighth chapter is this sentence: 'O Isidore! 't is not the present, I believe, that ever makes our misery; 't is its contrast with the past; 't is the loss of some hope, or the crushing of some joy; the disappointment of expectation, or the regre

e. We must have war with him before a twelvemonth is over. He will also make disturbances in Louisiana, claiming it on the dolorous cry of France for her lost children. They will invite him, as the poor Savoyards were

ired? My wrist

ffectio

S.

a slip of paper, on wh

GI

st of a fai

read it in

me to mount

ehind me al

ll never

sails acro

thou ever

te feet agai

pposite Pa

mber,

ary 15

cknowledged the right of the Southern to hold slaves, and had even been so iniquit

e should be free af

ported, or sold, or separa

of land should be granted i

ll not permit their commerce with the Southern States to be interrupted much longer. It has caused gre

ances. Mine will not allow me to hope for many more months of life, b

. Lan

ary,

aster of another. But Washington had slaves, so had the President his successor. If your government had been contented to decree that no slave henceforth should be imported, none sold, none disunited from his family, your Northern cause would be more popular in England and throughout Europe than it is. You are about to see detached from the Union a third of the white population. Is it not better that the blacks should be contented slaves than exasper

inter. My darling dog, Giallo, will find a fond protectress in --.... P

ithful o

. Lan

mber 1

o right to violate the Constitution. Slavery was lawful, execrable as it is.... Congres

er fifteen years sh

o be impor

and and wif

der twelve comp

p; and children of both sexe

, he went on board a vessel bound to New York. He was amazed at the opulence and splendor of that city, and at the inadequate civilization of the inhabitants. He dined at a public table, at a principal inn. The dinner was plent

between the people of New York and those of Baltimore, whom he represented as higher-bred. He met there a slaveholder of New Orleans, with whom at first he was disinclined to converse, but whom presently he found liberal and humane, and who assured him that his slaves were contented, hap

oon be independent both of America and England. Your people should be satisfied with a civil war of ten or twelve years: they wi

ctionate o

. Lan

, his sympathy going out most unreservedly to the North. Living in the dark, he saw no more clearly than the majority of Europeans, and a not small minority of our own people. Interesting as is everything that so celebrated an author as Landor writes, these extracts, so unfavorable to our cause and to his intellect, would never have been published had not English reviewers thoroughly ventilated his opinions on the American war. Their insertion, consequently, in no way exposes

han!-for frie

, take now

st steamer sh

I to hear

our ensign o

they suffer

ong. The bra

f Freedom

d Falsehood so

the "Atlantic Ruler" is apostrophized on the sup

y son of

weary, hoi

glebes and

ough and lig

home ye n

your sons shal

my groves, you

that demons

ok up! the

nd behold your P

the full possessio

rent, in fact, to all outward things. He used to sit and read, or, at all events, hold a book in his hand, and would sometimes write and sometimes give way to passion. "It was the swell of the sea after the storm, before the final calm," wrote a friend in Florence. Landor did not become physically deafer, but the mind grew more and more insensible to external impressions, and at last his housekeeper was forced to write down every question she was called upon to ask him. Few crossed the threshold of his door sav

ilson, and insisted upon having the room lighted and the windows thrown open. He then asked for pen, ink, and paper, and the date of the day. Being told that it was the dawn of the 1st of May, he wrote a few lines of poetry upon it; t

he supposed, an eternal farewell to Italy, he wrote sadly

, (what have I

ge, but unop

hy soft clime

ones in the M

ever cherisht

ds thou hast so

promise this, a

nd of thinkin

hath ceast, whe

aspiration,

ht were unimp

ucted by the

heered corrup

Nature shed

o our chamber

alter Savage Landor. It is glorified dust with which his mingles. Near by, the birds sing their sweetest over the grave of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Not far off, an American pine watches vigilantly whil

! has your ver

lor and Suba

ps well. His genius needs no eulogy: good wine needs no bush. Time, that hides the many in oblivion, can but add to the warmth and mellown

upon

places and

many years;

djusted by I

ated to a c

magnitude ar

m will be well lighted, the guests few and

SHIP OF H

the outer

wn's gold

ash of a sea

of slan

s watch from

worn eld

f what was

ing up

ea-fog, fro

il and f

d fisher gree

d-harbor

keel shall

a sail

d white, the

the dusk

headland's br

ds the is

breeze can

of tid

ll walk the

her date

hts sit in F

d her oa

doom of baf

sea-ghost

hee in the h

er and

on thy si

y helm

ath the sou

s thee fro

comes the

the bree

e nears the

ts again

sail, nor t

r of vee

he drives to

the wind

Harpswell N

ng guide

her the la

hy tower

harbor-boa

the pi

l reef her s

her anc

old wives, wi

-head hin

ick-beds wh

ophecie

amid yon b

e its door

here the Dea

al boat

ck and from

and and

ed cove and

e the fune

t with the b

ers at he

all go the

l no mor

ll sigh, an

ones pale

y over s

he ghos

that its sai

s tender

he Angel

s the Shi

OR J

II

ter letters had hinted, in a roundabout manner, that Adèle's family misfortunes were not looking so badly as they once did,-that the poor girl (she believed) felt tenderly still toward her old playmate,-and that Mr. Maverick was, beyond all question, a gentleman of very ea

lifted or borne with her had not her religious squeamishness forbidden. He tr

heroes on the Catechism," he thought,

n (so he calls them) asserting themselves with a fiery heat; and most of all he is astounded by the artfully arranged religious drapery with which this poor woman-as it appears to him-seeks to cover her short-comings. He had brought away from the atmosphere of the old cathedrals a certain quickened religious sentiment, by the aid of which he had grown into a respect, not only for the Romish faith, but

ould not shake off the influence of something attractive and winning in the manner of Madam Maverick. In her step and in her lithe figure he saw the step and figure of Adèle. All her orisons and aves, which she failed not to murmur each morning and evening, were reminders of the earnest faith of her poor child. It is impossible to treat her with disr

would not have thought that. They love the vanities of the world then,"-and her eye flashed over the well-appointed dress of Reuben, who felt half an inclination to hide, i

, dégagé manner, which, to tell truth, he put on to co

eenly. "Describe her to me, if

th declared itself by degrees; and his admiration and his tenderness gave such warm color to his language as it might have shown if her little glo

a stranger, Monsieur, how my own child is looking? Culpa mea! culpa mea!" and she

, amazed at the depth of her emo

and our prayers pagan prayers; my husband has told me, and that she, Adèle, is taught thus, and that the Bon Dieu has forsaken our

daughter would have charity for any

for failings,-yes, I ask it; but for my fait

eal," thou

iration, "what is it you believe there? What is the horror against which your Ne

ve given to the same, but yet inveighing in good set terms against the vain ceremonials, the idolatries, the mummeries, the confessional, the empty absolution; and summing up al

Maverick. "What else? What

y sight of her serene, unfaltering devotion is

murs of the Guadalquivir; to the left, a broad sweep of burnished sea, on which, late into the night, the moon pours a stream of molten silver, that comes rocking and widening toward him, and vanishes in the shadow of the ship. The cruise has been a splendid venture for him,-twenty-five thousand at t

lhouse. Half concealed as he chances to be in the shadow of the rigging, he sees her fall upon her knees, and,

at,-afloat. Whither bound? Yearning still for a belief on which he may repose. And he bethinks himself,-does it lie somewhere under the harsh and dogmatic utterances of the Ashfield pulpit? At the thought, he recalls the weary iteration of cumbersome formulas, that passed through his brain like leaden plummets, and the swift la

a priest in the confessional-stall leers at him with mockery: and yet the golden letters of the great dome gleam again with the blazing legend,

riste, r

vero sa

al, why may not the same lips declare it under the cathedr

X

lands of Tarifa and Spartel have sunk under the eastern horizon, the vessel is kept every day upon her course,-her top-gallant and studding sails all distent with the wind blowing freely from over Biscay. After this come light, baffling, wes

his he detailed to her with a particularity and a warmth (himself unconscious of the warmth) which brought the childish associations of her daughter fresh to the mind of poor Madam Maverick. No wonder that she gave a willing ear! no wonder that the glow of his language kindled her sympathy! Nor with such a li

at a hint from her,-which he shrewdly counts Jesuitical,-his thought is turned in the direction of his religious experiences, he has his axioms, his common-sense formulas, his irreproac

with Father Ambrose!" says Ma

with rosy cheeks and full of humor. By Jove! there go the beads again!" (He says this latter to himself, however,

her life; wondering perhaps, too, how his own heathenism could have grown up under the roof of a parsonage. I

dred miles to the eastward of George's Shoal. Under an easy offshore wind the ship is beating westward. But the clouds hang low, and there is no opportunity for determining position. At last, one evening, there is a little lift, and, for a moment only, a bright light blazes over the starboard bow. The captain counts it a light upon o

ht, Mr. Yardley?" says the c

f a look. If it should be Fire Isl

thoughtfully. "Put a man in the chain

aid Reuben, who stood smoking leisurely near the wheel

the chains came chanting full

e captain, "Jersey shore or any other. Le

hat sounded like the beat of surf; at which the mate s

aptain, there 's something very like the

ful," said the mate, "and I 'm afeard there's mischief brewing yonder." He pointed as he spoke a lit

shouts again the

ugh his anxiety. "There 's not a moment to lose, Yardley; see all re

tting across the waist of the ship, and heard distinctly the coils flung down with a clang upon the wet decks. There was something weird and ghostly

y there?" say

r," respond

m a-lee, my m

own it

g, cumbrous yard groans upon its bearings; there is a great whizzing of the cordage through the blocks; but, in th

The fore-yards are brought round by the run and the mizzen, but the lig

euben has continued smoking upon the quarter-deck; a landsman under a light wind, and with a light sea, hardly estimates at their true worth such intimations as had been given of the near breaking of the surf, and of the shoaling water. Even the touch upon bottom, of which the

e's no wind," sa

nd he took the lantern from the companion-way that he might see the drift of the smoke. For a moment it lifte

aid, "Mr. Yardley, clew up, fore and aft,-clew up eve

Island beach by the soundings; with calm weather, and a kedge, we might work her off

can anchor,

'easter turns out the gale it promises, the bes

the boats, then?" asked R

It's bad landing under such a pounding of the surf, with daylight; in t

ated it at a distance, toward which easy and gradual approac

afloat. But the darkness! Yes, the darkness was complete, (hardly a sight even of the topmen who were aloft-as in the sunniest of weather-stowing the canvas,) and

f the rising gale strikes her full abeam, giving her a great list to shore. It is in vain the masts are cut away, and the rigging d

in a wild flutter of anxiety, asking eager questions; (Reuben alone can understand them or answer them;) but as the southeaster grows, as it does, into a fur

more in these arms, I would say

h his calmness there was an unrest, hungering for repose,-the repose of a fixed belief. If even then the breaking waves had whelmed him in their mad career, he would have made no wailing outcry, but wou

A third, with infinite pains, is dropped into the yeast. It is hard to tell who gives the orders. But, once afloat, there is a rush upon it, and away it goes,-overcrowded, and w

g; three cling by the wreck; the rest-save only Madam Maverick and

es some one; "jump q

ore she can rebel or resist, has dropped her over the rail. The men grapple her and d

ust surely become, when years have sobered her and her buoyant faith has ripened into calm. And from that momentary glance of the serene countenance, and that flashing associated memory of Adèle, a subtile, mystic influence is born in him, by which he seems suddenly transfused with the same trustful serenity which just now he gazed upon with wonder. If indeed the poor lady is already lost,-he thinks it for a moment,-her spirit has fanned and cheered him as it passed. Once more,

, which just seemed losing itself in some infinite flow beyond. Life is, after all, so sweet! The boatswain forward labors desperately to retur

k, which had remained fixed in the fury of the wind, lifts again under the great swell of the sea, and is dashed anew and anew upo

tting it loose, makes himself fast to it. He overhears the boatswain say, yonder by the

At last a flash of lurid light from the dim shore-line,-a great boom of sound, and a line goes spinning out like a spider's web up into the gray, bleak sky. Too far! too short! and the line tumbles, plashing into the water. A new and fearf

X

ing-room some two hours before noon, and says to his porter and factotum, as he enters the doo

Meteor 's gone ashore on Long Beach; and t

id Brindlock, "you

y of the Meteor hanging to the sands, and a great débris of bales, spars

ll fast to him, though he is fearfully shattered and bruised. He is borne away under the orders o

o his home in Ashfield. Again the city, the boat, the river,-with its banks yellowing with harvests, and brightened with the glowing tints of autumn; again the sluggish brigs drifting down with the tide, and sailors in tasselled caps leaning over th

the mother, whom the daughter has scarce known. The passing is too hasty for recognition. Brindlock arrives at last with his helpless charge at the door of the parsonage. The Doctor is overwhelmed at once wi

low fever has set in, (the physician says,) owing to exposure and excitement, and he can predict nothing as to the result. Even Aunt Eliza is warmed into unwonted attention as she sees that poor battered hulk of humanity lying there; s

ckness, or of the little offices of friends which cheat it of pains, the old gentleman knows nothing: sick souls only have been his care. And it is pitiful to see his blundering, eager efforts to do something, as he totters round the sick-chamber where Reuben, with very much of youthful vigor left in him, makes fight against the arch-enemy who one day conquers us all. For many days after his arrival t

which that old gentleman, fumbling his watch-key, and looking grave, makes very doubtful respo

d in these last years; surely the Doctor does not; and

eye of Adèle as in a dream. At last she sees a great reach of water,-piling up, as it rolls lazily in from seaward, into high walls of waves, that are no sooner lifted than they break and

e to land, and gone to their homes. They make their way from that dismal surf-beaten shore to the nearest house. There are loiterers about the door; and within,-wit

nay, tears come to those eyes that have not known them for years. The grief, the passionate, vain tenderness of Adèle, somehow seem

life-long companion. Where shall the poor lady be buried? Adèle answers that, with eyes f

of that fatherless boy, Arthur, for whom Adèle had shown such sympathy. The youngster is there swinging upon the gate, his cap gayly set off with feathers, and he looking wonderingly upon the bier. He sees, too, the sad face of Adèle, and, by some strange rush of memory, recalls, as he looks on her,

hich he shows in all relating to the approaching burial. When an enemy even comes forward to help us bury the child we loved or the parent we mourn, our hearts warm toward him as they never warmed before; but

ollow it; we cannot rehearse it. The poor woman is buried, as Adèle had wished, beside her sister. No D

ainst the burial of the Papist. But the little Deacon has been milder; and we give our last glimpse of him-altogether ch

rdered a moniment yi

'm aware o

t the old folks did n't like it, and it's in his barn on the heater-piece. 'T ain't engrave

X

the short course will win. However that may be, his consciousness has returned; and it has been with a great

ashed into his soul when last he saw the serene face

iritual consolation; but he is not less moved when he sees reason stirring again,-a light of eager inquiry

it to the Doctor; and Miss Eliza, who is sew

in the other world as well as this, I fe

t see-broke over the face of Reuben. "'T is a broad

the Doctor. "And you see it, my son?-Repentance, Justi

hey suggest methods, dogmas, perplexities. Ch

st-the son of his own loins too-should find the authoritative declarations of the divines a weari

way, Miss Eliza had handed to Reuben after such time as her c

s the letter at the end, and, making a painful effort, tries to thrust it under his pillow. The good woman has to aid him in this. He thanks her, but says nothing more. His fingers are toying nervously at a bit of to

spoken some friendly consoling word of her mother; but his heart, more than his strength, failed him. Her mournful, pitying eyes were a reproach to him; they had haunted him through the wakeful hours of two succeeding nights, and now, under the light of that laggard letter, they blaze with a new and an appealing tenderness. His fingers still puzzle wearily with that tangle of the fringe. The noon passes. The aunt advises a little broth

the message is carried,-she herself presently b

,"-she murmurs it to he

f the sick-bed, and took the hand of Reuben with an eager clasp-that was met, and met again. The Doctor is in h

(Adèle knows already its history,) and when he has found it and shown it (h

essure of content, while the blood mounted into either che

had bidden adieu shining before him more beguilingly than ever. Yesterday it was a dim and weary world that he co

ould have died with scarce a regr

led more and more passionately those shrunk

not hopeless. The cloud

n her knees beside him, and with a smile of ec

s more than ever like the smile of Rachel. He has been telling the poor girl of her mother's death, thin

nal attitude as they floated down past the little chapel of N?tre Dame to enter upon the fateful voyage; he recounts their

alf, Adèle; yet she loved

miles throu

vidness; living over again, as it were, that fearful episode, till his brain whirled

against any causes of excitement. He is calm only at intervals. The old school-days seem p

he's an angel. Adèle! Adèle! Not good enough! I'm not good enough. Very well, very well, now I'll be bad enough! Clouds, wrangles, doubts! Is it my fault? ?dificabo meam Ecclesiam. How they

s son. "I am afraid,-I am afraid," he murmurs to himself, "th

ptember; the window is wide open, and the sick one looks out over a stretch of orchard (he knew its every tree), and upon wooded hi

beautiful!"

to explore his way into the secrets of Reuben's religious experience,-employing, as

rds are stumbling-block

, that I could make my

us always,-always in some sort fashionists, even in our soberest opinions. The robes of light are worn

see any li

; it shines back upon outlines of doctrines and

lear,-some are

seems clear

rbear the discussion,) "there is the cro

ctrine I see only catching radiations of the light. The men who teach, and argue, and declaim, and exorcise, are us

to Adèle, who has slipped in a

r; on the brink wher

see, Reuben, my

girls streaming with joy in the light; and haggard men with ponderous foreheads working out contrivances to bridge the gap between the finite and the infinite. Father, they are no nearer to a passage than the radiant girls who chant and tell their beads. Angels in all shapes of beauty flit over and amid the throngs I see,-in shape of fleecy c

wanders!" said

ed him with a freedom a mother might have shown,-leaving one hand toying caressingly with his

," says Adèle, "

with a strange, eager, satisfied

the window. Suddenly there came from the Doctor, whose old eyes caught soon

first time in sixty years broke utterly; and big tears streamed down

VI

tablishing an important connection of travel that was to pass within a few miles of the quiet town of Ashfield, was a passenger on the steamer Caledonia, for Europe. He

the house of a resident American, where, he was gayly assured, he would meet with a

French graves in Ashfield with an almost religious attention. In all the churchyard there was not such scrupulously shor

a great company of admirers it is easy to understand; but yet she gives a most cordial greeting to Phil Elderkin,-a greeting that by its manner makes the pretenders doubtful. Philip finds it possible to reconcile the demands of his business with a week's visit to Marseilles. To the general traveller it is not a charming region. The dust abounds; the winds are terrible; the sun is s

ious trip, and longs for the time when he will make the next. He, furthermore, to the astonishment of Dame Tourtelot (whose husband sleeps now under the sod), has commenced the establishment of a fine home, upon

s lost boy. Yet he says in his old manner, "'T is the hand of Providence; she first bloomed in

tude. On still days, indeed, the shriek of the steam-whistle or the roar of a distant train is heard bursting over the hills, and dying in strange echoes up and down the valley. The stage-driver's horn is heard no longer; no longer the coach whirls into the village and delivers

eel up with the old dash at the doors of the Eagle Tavern. The

er; she wears spectacles; she writes no more over mystical asterisks for

ys pelt the hanging nests of the orioles; a new race of sch

hard to conceive of her as yielding to the great conqueror. If the tongue and an inflexibility of temper were the weapons, she would whip Death from her chamb

often. If she is to be conquered and the Johns banner go down, she will accept the defeat so courageou

ntonly, she lifts a prim forefinger at them, which has lost none of its authoritative meaning. She is the impersonation of all good severities. A strange character! Let us hope that, as it sloughs off its earthly cerements, it may in the Divine presence scintillate charities and draw toward it

ill carrying an erect figure, though somewhat gouty in his step. This should be Mr. Maverick, a retired merchant, who is on a visit to his daughter. He makes wonde

atron,-and with her little boy-Reuben Elderkin by name-he wanders often to the graves where sleep his best beloved,-Rachel, so early lost,-the son, in respect to whom he feels at last a "reasonable assurance" that the

TO A

lifts up his startled head, as the cars come thundering along, and bounds away as if he were on the rugged hills that his ancestors climbed, ages ago, in wild freedom. O that cruel rope! how it stops him in his career with a sudden jerk that pulls him to the ground! See where it has worn away the hair round his neck, in his const

e have left behind, I was bewailing the fortune of another great order of the Mammalian class,-an order that Mr. Huxley and Mr. Darwin and other great thinkers of the day are proving to be close connecti

he incarnation of fat dividends," while you and I envy him his wealth and comforts; but he can never break his bonds. They are riveted to the counters of the money-changers, knotted around the tall masts of his goodly ships, bolted to the ore of his distant mines. He bears them to his luxurious home, and his fond wife, his caressing children, his

t, when you seek your pillow, that the chains you wear are not galling ones. But you are most irrevocably bound. Frank holds you fast. One of these days, when you are most peaceful and content in your bondage, scarcely recognized, there may come a stately tread, a fiery eye, a glowing heart, to startle you from your quiet ease; and when you bound, trembling and breathless in their mighty sway, you may feel the chain-before so light-wearing its way deep into your throbbing heart. May you never wake on the morn of that day, Madam! You don't car

some of which he can never break. He will weave with his own hands the silken cord of love, coil it about him, knot it with Gordian intricacy, net it with Vulcan strength, and then, with blind simplicity, place it in Beauty's hand to lead him captive to her capricious will. My dear Madam, did not Tommy's father do the same foolish thing? And is he not grateful to the lovely Mrs. Asmodeus for the gentleness with which she holds him in her power? Some of our bonds are light to bear. We glory in them, and hold up our gyves to show them to the world. Tommy may be a little shamefaced when his playmates jeer at the maternal tie; but he will walk forth, glowing wi

e are many other bonds which hold us to areas of life from which we have gathered all the fresh bloom and the rich fruit. We may tread their barren soil with jewelled sandals, wrap around us ermined robes in winter's cold, and raise our silken tents in summer's glare, while our souls are hungering and thirsting for the ambrosia and the nectar beyond our tethered reach. We are held fast by honor, virtue, fidelity, pity,-ties which we dare not break if we could. We must not even bear their golden links to their extremest length; we must not show that they are chains which bind us; we must not show that we are hungering and thirsting in the confines to which they restrain us. We must seem to be feasting as from the flesh-pots of Egypt,-fattening on the husks which we have emptied,-while our souls are starving and fainting and dying within us. 'T is a sad music that swells from these chords. How fortunate that our ears are

hat little circle is a happy home; love spun the bonds that hold them close therein, and many are the strands that bind them there. They come from beauteous eyes that beam with light; from lisping tongues more sweet than seraph choirs; from swelling hearts that beat in every pulse with fond affection,

s it to the pillar of the sun. Loose but the bond an instant, and it flies in wild, tangential flight, to shatter other worlds. The very bondage that we curse, and seek, in fretful mood, to break and burst, may keep us to the orbit that is traced, by overruling wisdom, for our good. We gravitat

e than death? Do we not trust ourselves, in venturous mood, to the frail tenure of a single strand which sways 'twixt heaven and earth? Not after birds' eggs, I grant you. We are not all of us so fond of omelettes. But over the wild crags of human passion many drop, pursuing game that shuns the beaten way, and sway above the depths of dark despair. Intent upon their prey, they further go, secure in the firm hold they think they have, nor heed the fraying line that, grating on the edge of the bare precipice, at last is worn and weak; while, one by one, the little threads giv

own to the dull, tedious monotony of worldly cares, aims, purposes. Like birds withheld from flight into the pure regions of the uppe

nt to lead Mrs. A. and myself in his summer wanderings. Let me hope that all our bonds may be those which hold us fast to peace, content, and virtue; and t

O'S T

s, made beaut

ion and by se

is to run wit

rrands of th

everence of u

mbus which the

ining forehea

eir completen

an town stands

orence blossom

delight, a

perfect and ce

ight of ages

till the glor

M HAWTHORNE'

I

ng dandelions of gold, and blue asters, as her parting gifts and memorials! I went to a grape-vine, which I have already visited several times, and found some clusters of grapes still remaining, and now perfectly ripe. Coming within view of the river, I saw several wild ducks under the shadow of the opposite shore, which was high, and covered with a grove of pines. I should not have discovered the ducks had they not risen and skimmed the surface of the glassy stream, breaking its dark water with a bright streak, and, sw

nd. The path to it is a very secluded one, threading a wood of pines, and just wide enough to admit the loads of meadow hay which are drawn from the splashy shore of the river. The island has a growth of state

e trees that seemed really made of sunshine, and others were of a sunny red, and the whole picture was painted with but little relief of darksome hues,-only a few evergreens. But there was nothing inharmonious; and, on closer examination, it appeared that all the tints had a relationship among themselves. And this, I suppose, is the reason that, while Nature seems to scatter them so carelessly, they still never shock the beholder by their contrasts, nor disturb, but only soothe. The brilliant scarlet and the brilliant yellow are different hues of the maple-leaves, and the first changes into the last. I saw one maple-tree, its centre yellow as gold, set in

. Thence to Cow Island, a solemn and thoughtful walk. Returned by another path, of the width of a wagon, passing through a grove of hard wood, the lightsome hues of which make the walk more cheerful than among the pines. The roots of oaks e

a little at the sight of it; and yet the grass about the pool may be of the deepest green, and the sun may be s

have not yet finished their song. Once in a while I see a caterpillar,-this afternoon, for instance, a red, hairy

y the whole conclave replies, and you behold them rising above the trees, flapping darkly, and winging their way to deeper solitudes. Sometimes, however, they remain till you come near enough to discern th

s among the grass, with trees growing in them; or crowning the summit of a bare, brown hill with their somewhat russet liveliness; or circling round the base of an earth

the circumference of an overshadowing oak. Passing an orchard, one hears an uneasy rustling in the trees, and not as if they were struggling with t

at broken intervals, is scattered along its border; and thus it meanders sluggishly along, without other life than what it gains from gleaming in the sun. Now, into the broad, smooth meadow, as into a lake, capes and headlands put themselves forth, and shores of firm woodland border it, covered with variegated foliage, making the contrast so much the stronger of their height and rough, outline with the even spread of the plain. And beyond, and far away, rises

to where had once stood a farm-house, which appeared to have been recently torn down. Most of the old timber and boards had been carted away; a pile of it, however, remained. The cellar of the house was uncovered, and beside it stood the base and middle height of the chimney. The oven, in which household bread had been baked for daily food, and puddings and cake and jolly pumpkin-pies for festivals, opened its mouth, being deprived of its iron door. The fireplace was close at hand. All round the s

ssable. The oaks are now far advanced in their change of hue; and, in certain positions relatively to the sun, they light up and gleam with a most magnificent deep gold, varying according as portions of the foliage are in shadow or sunlight. On the sides which receive the direct rays, the effect is altogether rich; and in other points of view it is equally beautiful, if less brilliant. T

cluded lane; a portly, autumnal gentleman, wrapped in a great-coat, who asked the way to Mr. Joseph G

ose examination; for this shows them to be rugged, wilted, and of faded, frost-bitten hue; but at a distance, and in the mass, and enlivened by the sun, they have still somewhat of the varied splendor which distinguished them a week ago. It is wonderful what a difference the sunshine makes; it is like varnish, bringing out the hidden veins in a piece of rich wood. In the cold, gray atmosphere, such as that of most of our afternoons now, the landscape lies dark,-brown, and in a much deeper shadow than if it were clothed in green. But, perchanc

is noticeable that the outlines of hills, and the whole bulk of them at the distance of several miles, become stronger, denser, and more substantial in this autumn atmosp

rs of the meadows for miles together, looks much more rugged, wi

had not thrown off their yellow robes. The sun shone strongly in among them, and quite kindled t

and one inhabitant after another turned aside from his way to look into the grave and talk w

h, and be lost to sight in another part of the tree, whence his shrill chatter would again be heard. Then I would see him rapidly descending the trunk, and running along the ground; and a moment afterwards, casting my eye upward, I beheld him flitting like a bird among the high limbs at the summit, directly above me. Afterwards, he apparently became accustomed to my society, and set about some business of his. He came down to the ground, took up a piece of a decayed bough, (a heavy burden for such a small personage,) and, with this in his mouth, again climbed up, and passed from the branches of one tree to those of another, and thus onw

thered pasture-ground, or crowning the tops of barren hills. Their hue, at a distance, is lustrous scarlet, although it does not loo

nks, make the short, fresh grass look greener around them. Dry leaves are now plentiful everywhere, save where there are none but pine-trees. They rustle beneath the tread, and there is nothing more autumnal than that sound. Nevertheless, in a walk this afternoon I have seen two oaks which retained almost the greenness of s

effect in the slope of a bank and in sheltered spots, where bright sunshine falls, and the brown oaken foliage is glad

garments of last year; part of the way with green grass, close-cropped and very fresh for the season. Sometimes the trees met across it; sometimes it was bordered on one side by an old rail-fence of moss-grown cedar, with bushes sprouting beneath it, and thrusting their branches through it; sometime

so I saw a mosquito, frost-pinched, and so wretched that I felt avenged for all the injuri

s are falling from the tree

It looked as if a drop of blood were hanging from it. The first change of the maple-leaf is to sca

e last, probably, that will be seen this

to him, to perform some act. The commanding person suddenly to die; and, f

e, but his body remains leaning on a staff, an

er, to be called

earance in Pandemonium, shining out

heology,-Five Po

ld perish prematurely, than a person of great intellect; because intel

ime in debasing and destroying a character naturally high an

ing this without the sense of guilt, but with a peaceful conscience,-habit, probably, reconciling him to

o strange after they have happened. As, for instance, to muse over a child's cradle, and

snake,-and it to be a s

history, and mysteries of nature,

afterwards found dead in a cavity of the rocks. After a time, Galliard, a merchant of Guernsey, paid his addresses to the young lady; but she always felt a strong, unaccountable antipathy to him. He presented her with a beautiful tri

so a preacher, and the exact likeness of himself. Sometimes strangers have beheld a white-haired, venerable clerical personage, nearly a

arried home, bleeding, to his house, Lady Mohun was

f Swift's about Partridge, but embr

knowing how to obtain it, he set out on a walk from Cambridge to Boston. On the way, he cut a stick, and after walking a short distanc

northwest coast of t

olets along

ay be supposed to deceive Death himself, so

in the honey which they collect. So some wr

he middle of the needle,-always to rise with the sun,-to pass an hour daily with the housekeeper,-to visit every room daily from garret to ce

accompanied it to Boston. Pepperell's only daughter married Colonel Sparhawk, a fine gentleman of the day. Andrew Pepperell, the son, was rejected by a young lady (afterwards the mother of Mrs. General Knox), to whom he was on the point of marriage, as being addicted to low company and low pleasures. The lover, two days afterwards, in the streets of Portsmouth, was sun-struck, and fell down dead. Sir William had built an elegant house for his son and his intended wife; but aft

e were forty portraits, most of them in full length. The house built for Sir William's son was occupied as barracks during the Revolution, and much injured. A fe

a week. All the Sparhawk portraits were covered with black crape, and the family pew was

below the elbow,-black mittens,-a lawn cap, with rich lace border,-a black velvet hood on the back of the head, tied with black ribbon under the ch

en in love with an officer named Fowler, who was supposed to have been slain in battle. After the death of her father and mother, Lady Ursula came to Kittery, bringing twenty men-servants and several women. After a time, a letter arrived from her lover, who was not killed, but merely a prisoner to the French. He announced his purpose to come to America, where he would arrive in October. A few days after the letter came, she went out in a low carriage to visit her work-people, and was blessing the food for their luncheon, when she fell dead, struck by an Indian tomahawk, as did all the rest save one. They were buried, where the massacre took place, and a s

s. The house spacious,-one room large enough to contain forty or fifty guests. Two silver branches for candles,-the walls ornamented with paintings and needlework. The floors were daily rubbed with wax, and shone like a mahogany-table. A domesti

atin. Old Major Cutts in brown velvet, laced with gold, and a large wig. The parson in his silk cassock, and his helpmate in brown damask. Old General Atkinson in scarlet velvet, and his wife and daughters in white damask. The Governor

capacity of four gallons, holding a pyra

gned to all t

labor in Lapland, where the s

sphyxi

may be said to be embroidered wi

ntrast of the inward man with the outward, as he looks aroun

ht hand, which people ever afterwards r

ossessed

-its tossing up and down on the small waves, and its sinking and rising in a calm swell, its heeling to the breeze,-the whole effect, in short, is that of a real ship at sea; while, moreover, there is something that kindles the imagination more than the reality would do. If we see a real, great ship, the mind grasps and possesses, within its real clutch, all that there is of it; while here the mimic ship is the representation of an ideal one, and so gives us a more imaginative pleasure. There are many schooners that

sionally running to the side of the pond; rough tars, or perhaps masters or young mates of vessels, who make remarks about the miniature shipping, and occasionally give professional advice to the navigators; visitors from the country; gloved and caned young gentlemen;-in short, everybody stops to take a look. In the

d perhaps pull out a horned-pout, that being, I thin

to stern, or possibly a few inches more. This, if I mistake

s which one has never been in, a

their spirits now extant on earth, in the g

t his mind into the highest possible activity, he shut himself up for several successive days, and used various methods of excitement. He had a singing-girl, he drank spir

ood,-a firm

yllable, a s

then jugs with

ey's worth by the purchase of large lots o

MOUN

d feet in a

bright and s

regions

with its fur

valley laugh

d sun o'erhan

he shadow

plains that

et slowly, s

ntil the co

eague of til

flocks that s

se ancient s

on his ete

emmed Peru

portals lan

to reach th

d pathless thr

se ice-lit b

er on tro

across th

day, by nig

cleave the

rener moun

rget its g

ewy, pasto

in the noo

hereof I lov

res of the

gladdened e

e distan

e wed to h

g valley m

squares of g

rye, the g

elders where

e springing

haunts of b

n daisied me

g river thro

at random,

a-grazing

goodly hei

mountain pour

with cares

t seeking o

at giant, str

e lowering t

its treasur

on the r

deluge rous

bristling f

is pines, an

a rich, imp

whistling t

pon his to

e phantoms

gibber, s

see the o

he current w

my summit

ls passing

ly argosi

with the he

ir dim, myste

cargo and t

where bound?-

s spread, th

what I fain

turn my

d, past the

ay long the

gleam my si

about the h

encircling,

n its i

a queen up

he city

s and temp

he nations

oud city s

rizon-boun

y station o

s little wo

he overha

so far and

he I inspi

d by the

he lower la

my finer s

what that

his dull ear

h many a sou

the ether

ening corri

archways sw

e process o

hemselves a

an reaches t

with the va

ntering He

lucent, an

dark and d

by the So

world, to tho

high, ill

r brightness

splendors

Dragon,

in his shi

Huntsman li

g on the a

while in a

s of his

, I may p

oter, spark

t sisterh

f our Gala

nwrapt in cl

over Learni

gloom the

atch-tower, c

o led the f

glory fa

mountain-

one who ho

or peasant,

o stands up

r than the

e joys they

beyond the s

my soul goes

noble heigh

-monarchs

EY-CORNER

I

CATH

o my wife, as I sat looking at the slant line of light made b

s the Alps, with their virgin snows and glittering pinnacles, are above all temples made with hands. Say what you will, those Middle Ages that you call Dark had a glory of faith that never will be seen in our days of cotton-mills and Manchester

e any flowers since Linn?us shut up his herbarium. We have no statues and pictures of modern saints, but sai

your cathedral

ough whooping-cough and measles, and borne the unruly whims of fretful invalids,-stocking-darning, shirt-making saints,-saints who wore no visible garment of hair-cloth, bound themselves with no belts of spikes and nails, yet in their inmost souls were marked and seared with the red cross of a life-long self-sacrifice,-saints for whom the mystical terms self-annihilation and self-crucifixion had a real and tangible meaning, all the stronger because their daily death was marked by no outward sign. No mystical rites consecrated them; no organ-music burst forth in solemn rapture to welcome them; no habit of their order proclaimed to themselves and the world that they were the elect of C

soul immutable in good. That woman shall be the first saint in my cathedral, and her name shall be recorded as Saint Esther. What makes saintliness in my view, as distinguished from ordinary goodness, is a certain quality of magnanimity and greatness of soul that brings life within the circle of the heroic. To be really great in little things, to be truly noble and heroic in the insipid details of every-day life, is a virtue so rare as to be worthy of canonization,-and this virtue was hers. New England Puritanism must be credited with the making of many such women. Severe as was her discipline, and harsh as seems now her rule, we have yet to see whether women will be born of

te by my having Aunt Esther all to myself for two whole days, with nothing to do but amuse me. She charmed me into smiling at the very pangs which had made me weep before, and of which she described her own experiences in a manner to make me think that, after all, the quinsy was something with an amusing side to it. Her knowledge of all sorts of medicines, gargles, and alleviatives, her perfect familiarity with every canon and law of good nursing and tending, was something that could only have come from long experience in those good old New England days when there were no nurses recognized as a class in the land, but when watching and the care of the sick were among those offices of Christian life which the families of a neighborhood reciprocally rendered each other. Even from early youth s

for herself. She was her own cook, her own parlor and chamber maid, her own laundress; and very faultless the cooking, washing, ironing, and care of her premises were. A slice of Aunt Esther's gingerbread, one of Aunt Esther's cookies, had, we all believed, certain magical properties such as belonged to no other mortal mixture. Even a handful of walnuts that were brought from the depths of her mysterious closet had virtues in our eyes such as no other walnuts could approach. The little shelf of books that hung suspended by cords against her wall was sacred in our regard; the volumes were like no other books; and we supposed that she derived from them those stores of knowledge on all subjects which she unconsciously dispensed among us,-for she was always telling us something of met

the fire, and never transgressing in one iota the proprieties belonging to a cat of good breeding. She shared our affections with her mistress, a

ees in the front-yard were won in time by her blandishments to come and perch on her window-sills, and thence, by trains of nuts adroitly laid, to disport themselves on the shining cherry tea-table that stood between the wind

n interesting conversation with her; and we boys, with the natural male instinct of hunting, trapping, and pursuing, w

e her acquaintance, and nothing delighted her more than that they should come there and read to her the books they were studyin

r writings, to consult her in their arguments, and to discuss with her the literature and politics of the day,

nd these came from her lips with the greater force because the precision of her memory enabled her to authenticate them with name, date, and circumstances of vivid reality. From that shadowy line of incidents which marks the twilight boundary between the spiritual world and the present life she drew legends of peculiar clea

ing-school of young girls. Here her lively manners and her gracious interest in the young made her a universal favorite, though the cares she assumed broke in upon those habits of solitude and study which formed her delight. From the day that she surrendered this independency of hers, she had never, for more than a score of years, a home of her own, but filled the trying position of an accessory in the home of others. L

or, and all the appliances of living had the rawness and inconvenience which in those days attended Western life. It became her fate to supply all other people's defects and deficiencies. Wherever a hand fa

wn were never hers. In her early days of attractiveness, none who would have sought her could meet the high requirements of her ideality; she never saw her hero,-and so never married. Family cares, the tending of young children, she often confessed, were peculiarly irksome to her. She had the head of a student, a passionate love for the world of books. A Protestant convent, where she might devote herself without interruption to study, was her ideal of happiness. She had, too, the keenest appreciation of poetry, of music, of painting, and of natural scenery. Her enjoyment in any of these things was intensel

ct to her daily movements and the arrangement of all her belongings, which would make the meddling, intrusive demands of infancy and childhood peculiarly hard for her to meet. Yet never was there a pair of toddling feet that did not make free with Aunt Esther's room, never a curly head that did not look up, in confi

n and injunction it is true, but also with a relish of right good-will. And, to do us justice, we generally felt the sacredness of the trust, and were more careful of her things than of our own. If a shade of sewing-silk were wanting, or a choice button, or a bit of braid or tape, Aunt Esthe

this very tiny fund, did not find something for children and servants. Her gifts were trifling in value, but well timed,-a ball of thread-wax, a paper of pins, a pincushion,-something generally so well chosen as to show that she had been running over our needs, and noting what to give. She

have been the greatest trial to her not to be able to provide for herself. Her dress, always that of a true gentlewoman,-refined, quiet, and neat,-was bought from this restricted sum, and her small travelling expenses were paid out of it. She a

her only form of selfishness was the monopoly of saintship,-that she who gave so much was not willing to allo

o a morbid and distressing gloom. Few knew or suspected these sufferings, so completely had she learned to suppress every outward manifestation that might interfere with the happiness of others. In her hours of depression she resolutely forbore to sadden the

ef in the immutability of the laws of nature. Whoever asked her got of her the absolute truth on every subject, and, when she had no good thing to say, her silence was often truly awful. When anything mean or ungenerous was brought to her knowledge, she would close her lips resolutely; but the flash in her eyes showed what she w

her brow. Her own room she kept as a last asylum, to which she would silently retreat when the torture became too intense for the repression of society, and there alone, with closed doors, she wrestled with her agony

and she was obliged to leave herself helpless in the hands of others. 'God requires that I should giv

great soul, that had served a long apprenticeship to little things, went forth into the joy

I do not think it the duty of noble women, who have beautiful natures and enlarged

he only message it gave to 'women with a mission'; and from duty to duty, from one self-denial to another, they rose to a majesty of moral strength impossible to any form of mere self-indulgence. It is of soul

NEER

ry, would prove himself unfit for his task. The battles fought in the press, pulpit, and forum, in ante-war days, were as much agencies in the great conflict as the deadlier ones fought since, on land and sea. Men strove in the former, as in the latter case, for the

ight, and especially of such as died with their armor on, of the utmost value to the historian. We therefore propose to offer a co

h, whatever their advantages to others, were not particularly well calculated to prepare young Bailey for the study of the learned profession he subsequently chose; and he had to seek, without their aid, the classical knowledge necessary to a mastery of the technicalities of medical science. Nevertheless he graduated with credit in the Jefferson Medical College, and at so early an age-for he was then only twenty-that the restriction in its charter deprived him of the usual diploma for a year. The statutes of New Jersey, however, while forbidding him to prescribe for the physical ailments of her citizens, did not pronounce h

s as the case might be. The ship's destination was Canton, and its arrival in port was attended by such an unusual amount of sickness among the crew, that it became necessary to assign young Bailey the office of surgeon. This he filled with promptness and skill, and when the vessel set sail for Philadelphia, the sailor was again found at his post, perfo

he organization of the Methodist Protestants. These "Radicals" had their head-quarters at Baltimore. There they started an organ under the title of "The Methodist Protestant," and to the editorship of this journal Dr. Bailey was called. His youthful inexperience as a writer was not the only remarka

r his arrival there the cholera broke out. This presented an aspect of affairs rather inviting to a courageous spirit. He gladly embraced the opening for practice; and, happening to be known to some of the faculty of the place, he was recommended for the appointment of Physician to the Cholera Hospital. Thus he was soon introduced to the general confidence of the profession and the public, and seemed to be on the highway to fame. Dr. Eberlie, a standard medical authority at that day, as he still is among many practitioners

probably been unconsciously prepared by the current of thought in Cincinnati, then under the mercantile control of her proslavery customers from Kentucky and other Southern States. But erelong he appeared as a convert to the antislavery side of the discussion. This he himself was wont to attribute, in great part, to the light which an honest comparison of views threw upon the subject; but it is evident that his conversion was somewhat accelerated by the expulsion of his antislavery antagonists in debate. Following the lead of these new sympathies, he became (in 1835) editorially associated with that great pioneer advocat

more conspicuous of the offenders, was of course more emphatically the object of the mob's wrath than the junior associate. But the latter shared with him the personal perils of the day, while bearing the brunt of the pecuniary losses. As is usual in such outbreaks, after three days of fury, the lawless spirit of the people subsided. There was a repetition of violence in 1840, however, and during another three days' reign of terror two more presses were destroyed. But such was the

ey was a prominent leader, entered for the first time into th

rence of the military power, and its demonstration was followed by a growth of liberal sentiment altogether unlooked for.

t through all his poverty his cheerfulness was unfaltering, and inspired all who came in contact with him. There was a better day before him,-better in a pecuniary as well as a political sense. He had now fairly won a reputation throughout the country for courage and ability as an antislavery journalist. A project for establishing an antislavery organ at the seat of the national government had been successfully carried out by the Executive Committee of the American and Foreign Antislavery Society, under the lead of that now venerable and esteemed pioneer of freedom, Lewis Tappan. The editorial cha

ism at Washington, but none for progress. There were numbers of bold thinkers throughout the country, who had found, here and there, a representative of their ideas in the government. But they had no newspaper to keep watch and ward over him, or to correctly report his acts to his constituents,-no vehicle through which they could bring their thoughts to bear upon him or others. Thi

fact of the Era's large supply of original and high-toned literary matter, added to the direct and reliable Congressional news it was expected to furnish, which stared them threateningly in the face. And we well remember now what pain these petty jealousies gave to the sensitive nature of our departed friend. But these gradually subsided, until there was hardly an antislavery editor of average discernment who did not com

e charge of complicity was laid at his door. His office and dwelling were surrounded by a furious crowd, including a large proportion of office-holding F.F.V.'s, and some "gentlemen of property and standing." These gentlemen threatened the entire destruction of the press and type of the Era, while the editor's personal safety, with that of his family, was again put in peril for the space of three terrific days. The Federal metropolis had never known such days since the torch applied by a fo

her freedom of debate on all topics of public concern should be tolerated there, or the capital be removed to some Western centre. The bare possibility of this event was more than the slaveholding land-owners could face, and produced the desired effect. The continuance of the paper once acquiesced in, the tact of its editor, aided by that remarkable suavity of manners which

These are so curious, that we are happy to be able to present what politicians would call the "secret history" of this book. The account was furnished to a friend by Dr. Bailey himself, when about to embark for Europe, on his first voyage for health, in 1853; the manuscript, now used for the first time

k, May 2

ails were never so irregular, for none of my subscribers was willing to lose a single number of the Era while the story was going on. Mrs. Bailey attracted my attention by her special devotion to it, and Mr. Chase always read it before anything else. Of the hundreds of letters received weekly, renewing subscriptions or sending new ones, there was scarcely one that did not contain some cordial reference to Uncle Tom. I wrote to Mrs. Stowe, and told her that, although such a story had not been contracted for, and I had, in my programme, limited my remittance to her to one hundred dollars, yet, as the thing had grown beyond all our calculations, I felt bound to make her another remittance. So I sent her two hundred dollars more. The story was closed early in the spring of 1852. I had not yet read it; but I wrote to Mrs. Stowe that, as I had not contemplated so large an outlay in my plans for the volume, as the paper had not r

ical sketch, not of Dr. Bailey, but of his distinguished contributor,-a project th

and unfavorable criticism of her friends. She had a painful lack of confidence in her own ability. Just before the transfer of the subscription list of the Visiter to the Era, she had sent in a story. To this, against her earnest protest, the editor had affixed her entire name, and the story, prepared for the Visiter, was transferred with its list to the Era, and was there published, in spite of the deprecations of Mrs. Southworth. It served the purpose intended. The attention of Dr. Bailey was called to one until then unkno

This, however, he anticipated, though he of course also anticipated ultimate profit, notwithstanding the warning which he had received from the equally unlucky experiment of the Cincinnati Daily Herald. In a letter to the writer of this, dated December 18, 1853, he sa

her which he had undertaken within a few years, for the benefit of his broken health. His body was brought home a

and social, and talked with interest of everything connected with public affairs at home and abroad. He suffered some inconvenience from the fact that his room was below, and that he could only reach it by descending two flights of stairs. We occasionally made a couch of cushions for him upon deck, when he became fatigued; but this made him too conspicuous for his taste, and he seemed uneasily fearful of attracting attention to himself as an invalid. After Tuesday the sea became remarkably smooth, and so continued to the end of the voyage. But it brought him no relief; his strength failed with failing appetite; and on Thursday, from staying too long on deck, he took cold, which confined him to his room next day. Otherwise he seemed about as usual through that day and Saturday, and on Sunday morning seemed even better, saying that he had slept unusually well, and felt strengthened and refreshed. He took some slight nourishment, and attempted to get up from his berth without assistance; the eff

ey her husband had found a woman of rare intelligence as well as courage, whose companionship proved most sustaining and consoling amid the trials of his eventful life. She and five of their children still live to revere his memory. Two of the survivors are sons; and it is pleasant to

e common praise of his contemporaries and colaborers. As a writer he was clear and logical to an uncommon degree, carrying certain conviction to the mind, wherever it was at all open to the truth; and with the rare habit of stating fairly the position of his opponent, he never failed of winning his r

ion of Mrs. Bailey, which, while affording much valuable information concerning the antislavery events o

TNO

Era. It was the list of "The Saturday Visiter," published for many years, as an antislavery journal, at Baltimore, which was transferred to the Era, together with the services of its editor and proprietor (J. E. Snodgrass) as special correspondent and publishing agent at that i

GAUNT; OR