c 73352 jnosraauavta i51:140 7%0 The Sabbath. Sweetly the Sabbath morning dawns— A calm is on the air; Like an o'erwcaried child, the world Lies 'neath the wings of prayer: The very clouds that float along The blue and silent skies, Look heavy with the holy thoughts That slowly heaven•waid rise. I love to deem the Sabbath ]ay A fairy isthmus given To run, where he may breathe awhile 3i On-earth the gales of heaven ; The whirls of life stand motionless— Action in slumber lies -1 The thought resumes its, throne, and • Faith Points, flame-like, to the skies. Upon our ear the sound of bell:. The Sabbath music—falls ; . Rejoicing let us enter in , Religion's hallowed/ivalls ! ..A day of joy! Wlt/walk ye then ' With.steps-siisad and slow 1 la not _God's smile above you spread? " Are not the dead below!" They are—but 'tis not well to mourn Our brethreeneath the sod; I.;an tears be grateful to the'cleadl , They are the care of God ! Sweetly the Sabbath morning dawns— ' A calm is on the sir— Ye have titi days to laugh and weep, Oh! give the seventh to rater ! The Miniature. Ilt IHR9;-1. H. L. CAXPIIELL Dear cousin, I've gazed on this image, Of meekness and beauty so long, That its spell has enraptured my spirit, And awakened my lyre to song. ;could that some fairy would furnish The winds to be woven in verse, For my language is weak and unfitted The charms of that face to rehearse. that brow has tho brightness of morning— Those tresses the sahle:ofn fight, Savc just where - day looks upon them, There gleams a soft trace of moonlight That check shames the lip of the sea•shell— So warm and so salt is its glow— - While those. fingers just fall on the bosom, Like snobs I.ll;kes .: descending on snow. The : blue and the brightness of heaven „3-1-fre met in those soft beaming eyes ; They remind us of violets nursing The sunbeams just caught from the skies, Their glance of gentleness,l cousin, Have thrown an enchantment round you and I fear if I gaze on them longer, My heart will turn worshipper too. ' Take back, then, and cherish the semblance Of her you have won for your bride, • Whose goodness enchains your affection, While her loveliness wakens your pride, And take vvith . it many kirld wishes That Heaven may proSper your love Whose beiuty, though "of the earth—earthy!" ,Shall beam will' new glory above. Passing Away. *hen moving o'er the waste of life And through each weary day, Mow often' we the lesson learn— all—all Must pass away. When the smiling spring-time cometh In all its bright aniy, E'en while we note its gayest tints, We see-them pass away. The summer with her sorgeons Sweet nature's matron day, But tells,us- in a thousand things, She too will pals away. .C / And mellow ant:rin cometh next, In splendor of decay; Telling, in all its fruits and fields, Its pride must pass away. Aud last comes winter's chilling reign, An ancient King, and grey— letus learn from even him, "That all things pass away: Lincs. 'Twos a lovely thoight to marklhe hOurs As they floated in light away, . the o'pening Itnd the bolding flowers That laugh to the summer's cly. • Thus had each moment its, own rich hue s Ahd itiiraceful cup and;bell, hike Virgin. in ich Ocean shell. Atu is not fife in its real flight Marked thus—even thus on earii, By the closing of one hope's delight r ./ And another's gentle birth ? Oh, fet us live, so that flower by flower Shutting in turn, may leave A lingerer still for the sunset hour, 4 A charm for the shaded one . _ 4 eill•'- -.•:::7) I 5 : . - . ,41,...4". 0 % ''.• '. , itiervq" , ,!. • .o'. , 4 i - 6 . 4 ;41 , ! . - T . ' • --; : : 4' " . • 1. - .. , 4§ l \ .„_ -‘,'• .) fr . . . _.( ' , . ". . 4 , s ._.,... . c_., ~....... , ~z rk ~. , , ~..,.....:,. 0 . 0 ~ ... Kate Connor : A Touching Story. BY MRS. C. S. 11ALL. Trust me, your lordship's opinion is unfounded," said the Lady Helen Graves ; and, as the noble girl uttered the words, her eye brightened, and her cheeks flushed with abetter feeling, than high-,born " fashionables " generally deem necessary. - " Indeed !" exclaimed the Earl, look- Ma' up.at the animated features of his god-daughter, D " and how comes my pretty Helen to know aught of the mat ter?—methinks she has learned more titan the mysteries of harp and lute, or the soft tones of the Italian and Spanish tongues. " Conte, he continued, "sit down on this soft ottoman, and prove the negative to my assertion—that the Irish'act only from impulse, not front principle." How long can an impulse last ?" inquired the lady, as she seated herself at her god-father's feet, just where he wished, playfully 'resting .her rosy cheek on his hand, as she inquired— " tell me, e first, how long an impulse can fast ?" " It is only a momentary feeling, my love ; although setting upon it may .em bitter a long life." But an impulse cannot last for a month, can. it ? Then lam quite safe ; and now your lordship must listen to a true tale, and must suffer me to tell it in my own way, brogue and all; and, moreover, must have patience.- It is about a peasant maiden, whom I dearly love—ay, and respect too ; and when efer I think of sweet "Kate Connor," .bless God that the aristocracy of virtue (if I dare use such a phrase) may he found in all its lustre in a . n Irish cabin. It was on one of the most chilly of '4 1 1 November days, the streets and houses filled with fog, and the few stragglers in the square, in their dark clothes, looking like dirty demons m a smoky pantomine, that papa and my self, at That outre season, when every body ,is out of town, arrived here, from Brighton ; he had been summoned on business, and I preferred accompanying him to remaining on the coast alone.— Not at home to any one," were the orders issued- when we sat down to dinner. The cloth had been removed, and papa was occupying himself in -looking over some papers ; from Hs occasional frown- I fancied they were not of the most agreeable nature; at last I went to my harp, and played one of the airs of my country, of which 1 knew he was particularly fond. lie soon left his seat, and kissing my fore head with much tenderness, said— •, That strain is too melancholy for me just now, Helen, for I have received no pleasant news from my Irish agent." I expressed my sincere sorrow at the circumstance, and ventured to make some inquiries as to the intelligence that had arrived. I cannot under stand it," he said ; •• when we resided there it was only from the papers that I heard of the—dreadful murders, hor rible outrages and malicious burnings. All around us was peace and tranquilli ty ; my rents were as punctually paid as in England; for in both countries a tebant, yes, a good tenant., too, may sometimes be in arrear. - 1 made al lowance for the national character of the -people, and while I admired the contented and happy faces that smiled as joyously over potatoes and milk as if •the board had - been covered with a feast of venison, I endeavored to make them desire more ; and then sought to attach them to tne by supplying . their new wants." And, dear air, you succeeded,' I Said ; never Were hearts more grate ful—never were tears more sincere than theirs, wh.n we left them to the care of that disagreeable; ill-looking agent." 1.. Hold, Lady Mal-a-pert !' interrup ted my father, sternly ; • I selected Mr. O'Brien ; you can know nothing of his qualifications. I believe him to be .an upright, but, I fear me, a stern man ; and I apprehend he has been the tool of a party.' Dear papa, I wish you would again visit the old castle. A winter among my native, mountains would afford nee More pure gratification than the moat limes - slid season in London." My lather smiled and shook his head.— . 6 The rents are now so difficult to col lect, that I fear----,' lie paused, and then Hilectabruptiv"; is very ex traordinary, often as 1 mention it to O'Brien; that Lean receive no informa tion as to the Connors. You have written frequently to your poor nurse, and she must have received the letters- , - .1 sent them over with my own, and they liave been acknowludgo r He Regardless.of De/ulna/Ilion front any 12:taken—Gov. ~PonTr.ii EzONVERTDI.9 13M&Ma01713 (5311/SHIM'9 LP&op ettlg'M 49 aS6Zo had scarcely finished this sentence, *hen- we' hear the porter in loud re monstrance with a female, who was en deavoring to force her way through the hall. I half opened the library door, where we were sitting, to ascertain the cause of the interruption. Ali, then, sure, ye wouldn'thave the heart to turn a poor crathur from the doore, that's come sicfra way jist to spake tin words to his lordship's glory ! And don't tell me that my Dady Hillin wouldn't see me, and she to the fore !' It was enough—l knew the voice of my nurse's daughter, and would, I do think, have kissed her with all my'heart ; but she tell on her knees, and clasping my hand firmly between hers, exclaimed,. while the tears rolled' down her cheeks, and sobs almost choked her utterance— holy Mary ! Thank God !—'l'is her self sure !—though so beautiful !—and no ways proud !—and I with have jus tice !' And then in a subdued voice she added—. Praise to the Lord !—his care niver left me ; and I could die contint this minute—only for you, mu . ther, dear !—yerself only—and--' Our powdered - knaves, I perceived, smiled and jeered, when they saw Kate Connor seated that evening by my side —and my father (heaven bless him for it!) opposite to us in his great arm chair, listening to the story that Kate had to unfold. When ye's left us, we all said that the'‘..vinter was coming in earnest, and that the summer was gone forever.— Well, my lord, we strove to please the agint ; why not ?—sure he was the master ye set over us !—but it doesn't' become the like: o'ine, nor wouldn't be manners to turn my tongue agin him, and he made as good a gentleman, to be sure, by your lordship's notice— which the whole counthry knew he was not afore, either by birth or by breeding. Well, my lady—sure if ye put a sod o' turf—saving yer presence —in a gold dish, it's only a turf still ; and he must ha' been Ould Nick's born child, (Lord save us !) when yer hon or's smile couldn't brightetihim ! And it's the truth rin telling, and no lie ; fitst of all, the allowance to my mother was stopped for damage the pig did to the hedge ; and then we were forced to give our best fowl as a compliment to Mr. O'Brien—because the goat.(and the crathur, without a tooth !) they said, skinned the trees ; then the priest (yer lordship num/a-Father Lavery) and the agint quarrelled, and so—out o' spite— he set up a school,•and would make all the clulder go to larn there ; and then the priest hindered—and to be sure we stud by the Church—and so there was nothin' but figloina b ; and the bdys gave over work, seeing that the tip-tops didift care how thingewent, only abusing each other. But it isn't that I should be bothering yer kind honor wid. My brother; near two years oge, picked up with the hoith of bad company, God knows how !—and got above us all, so grand like—wearing a ne.w coat and a jewel ring !—so, whin he got the time o' day in his pocket, he wouldn't look at the same side o' the way we wint ; well lady dear, this struck to my mo ther's heart—yet it was only the be ginning of trouble—he was found in the dead o' night—(continued poor Kate, her voice trembling)—but ye heard, it all—'twas in the papers—and 'he was sent beyant seas. Och ! mane's the night we have spint crying, to think of that shame--0r,,, on our bare, bended knees, praying that God might turn his heart. WO, my lady, upon that, Mr. O'Brien made no . more ado, but said we were a seditious family, and that he had yer lordship's warrant to turn us out.; and that the cabin—the nate little cabin ye gave to my mother—was logo to the guager.' " He did not dare to say that'?' in , torrupted my father, proudly ;•. he did not dare to use my name to a false , hood ?' The word—the very word I spoke!' exclaimed Kate. • Mother,' says I, his lordship would niter take back, for the sin of the son, what he gave to the mother ! Sure it was hard upon her gray hairs to see her own boy brought to shame,. without. being turn ed out of her little place' when the snow was on the ground—in the could night, whin no one was stirring, to say, God save ye, I remember it well ; he would not suffer us to take so much as a blanket, because the bits o' things were to be canted the next morning, to pay the rint 'of a field which my brother took but never worked ; my poor mo ther cried like a baby ; and,'wropping the - old gray cat, that yonriordship gave her for a token, when it Was a !mall kit, in her apron, we set off; as well as we could, for Mrs. Maliony's farm. It was more than two miles: from es—and the snow drifted—and, och ! but sor row wakens a body, and my mother foundered like, and couldn't walk; so I covered her over, to wait till she res ted a bit—and sure your token, my la dy—the cat ye gave her—kept her warm, for the baste had the sinse a'most of a Christian. Well, I was praying to God to direct us for the best, (but, may be I'm tiring your honors,) whin, as if from heaven, up drives Barney, and—' ••' Who is Barney, Kate I' I wish, my dear Lord, you could have seen Kate Connor, when 1 asked that question ; the way-worn girl look ed absolutely beautiful ; I must tell you that she had exchanged, by my desire, her tattered gown and travel-stained ha bsliments,, for a smart dress of my wait ing -maid's, which if it were not ;or reedy put on, looked, to my taste, all the better: Her face was pale, but her fill% dark, intelligent eyes, gave it much iiicd varied expression ; her beautiful hair—evetp Lafont's trim cap could not keep It within properbounds—influ enced, probably, by former habits, came straying (or she would call it sthreeling) down her neck, and' her noble mouth was garnished with teeth which many a duchess might envy ; she was sitting on a low seat, her crossed h . ands resting on her knees, and was going through her narrative in as straight-forward a manner as could be expected ; but my unfortunate question as to the identity of Barney put her out ; face, forehead, neck., were crimson in an instant ; papa turned away his head to smile, and I blushed from pure sympathy ; ...Barney—is Barney—Mahony— my lady,' she replied, at length, roll ing up Lafont's flounce in lieu of her apron—and a great true friend of—of my mother's—' And of yours, also, I suspect, Kate,' said my father. •• •We were neighbors' children, please your honorable lordship, and on ly natural if we had a—friendly----2 " • Love for . each other," said my lordly papa ; for once condescending to banter. " • It would be far from the likes o' me to contradict yer honor,' she stammered forth at length. " • Go on with your story,' said I gravely. ~ ` I'm thinking, my lord and my la dy, 1 left off in the snotv—oh, no! he was come up with the car :—well, to be sure, he took us to his mother's house, and, och ! my dear lady, but it's in the walls o' the poor Cabins ye find hearts !—not that I'm town-running the gintry, who, to be sure, know bet ter manners—but it's a great blessing, to the'traveler to have a war' fire awl dry lodging, and a share of whatet , er's going on—all for the lore of God.— Well, to be sure, they never looked to our property ; and Barney thought to persuade rue to make my mother his mother, and never heeded the disgrace that had come to the family ; and, knowing his heart was set upon me, his mother did the same, and my own mother, too, the crathud—wanted me S'ettled ; well, they all'eried, and wish= ed it done off at once ; and it was a sole trial that. Barney. says I, let go my hand ; hould your whist, all o' ye, for the blessed Virgin's sake, and don't be making me mad intirely ;—and I seem ed to gain strength, though my heart was bursting. Look !—(says I)—bitter wrong has been done us ; I know our honorable landlord has had neither act nor part in it—how could he?—and my mind misgives that my lady has of ten written to you, mother, for it isn't in her to forget ould friends ; but I'll tell ye what I'll do, there's nobody we know, barring his riverence and the schoolmaster, could tell the rights of it to his honor's, glory upon paper; his rit'erence wouldn't meddle nor make in it. and the schoolmaster's a friend of the agent's ; so ye see, dears, VII just go fair and aisy off to London myself, and see his lordship and make him szn4sible. And before I could say my say they all—all but Barneyset up sick a scornful laugh at - me as never was heard. She's mad ! says one ; she's a fool ! says another ; where's. the mo ney to pay your expinses ? says a third ; and how could ye find your way that doesn't know a step o' the road even to Dublin ? says a fourth. 'Well, I wait ed till they were ,all done, and then took the thing quietly. I don't think, says 1, there's either madness.ifir folly in trying to get one's own again ; as to the money, it's but little of that 1 want, for I've the use. , of mY limbs andcan walk. and it'll go hard if one of y.c wont lend a pound, or, may be, thirty shil lings, and no one shall ever lose by Kate • Connor, -to the value'of a brass farthing; and as to not knowing the road; sure 1 have a tonguein my head ; and ►f I hadn't, the great God, - that teaches the innocent swallows their way over the salt seas, will do as much for a poor girl who puts her trust ►n Him. ‘, - My heart's against it, said Barney, but she's in the right;—aud then he wanted to persuade me to go before the priest with him ; but no, says I, VII ne ver do that till I find justice ; I'll never bring both shame and poverty to an honest boy's hearthstone. rit not be tiring yer noble-honors any longer wid the sorrow, and all that, whin 1 left them; they'd'have forced me to take more than the thirty shillings—God knows how they raised that sum !—but I thought it enough ; and, by the time I reached Dublin there was eight of it gone; small way the rest lasted, and I was ill three days from the sea, in Liverpool. Oh ! when I got a good piece of of the way—when my bits o' rags were all sold—my feet bare and. bleeding, and the doors of the sweet white cottage shut against me, and I was told to go to my parish—then, then I felt I was in the land of the could hearted stranger ! Och ! the English are .a fine, honest people, but no ways tinder; well, my lord, the hardest temptation 1 had at all (and here Lady Helen look - ed up into her god father's face, with a supplicating eye, and press her small white hand affectionately up on his arm, so as to rivet his most ear nest attention) was whin L was ai,tung crying by the roadside, for 1 was tired snd hungry, and who,.of all the birds ' in the air, drives up in a sort of ear, but Misther O'llay, the great pig mar chant, from a mile beyant our place ; well, to be sure, it was he wosu't sur prised when he seen me ! Come back . with me, Kate, honey !—says he; I'm going straight home, and I'll let ate boy, ye know, have a nate little cabin I've got to let, for (he was pleased to say) you desarve it. But I thought I'd. persevere to the end, so (God bless him for it) he had only ten . shillings—see ing lie was to receive the money for the pigs he sould at the next town— but what he had he gave me; that brought me to the rest of my journey ; and if I hadn't much comfort by the way, sure I had hope, and times God's own blessing to the sorrowful ; and now, here 1 am, asking justice, in the name of the widow and the orphan, that have been Wronged by that black-heirt ed man ; and, sure as there's light in heaven„ in his garden the nettle and the hemlock will soon grow, in place of the sweet roses ; and whin he lies in his bed, in his dying bed, the just and holy God—' My father here interposed, and in a calm, firm voice reminded her that, before him, she must not indulge in invective. .1 humbly ask your honor's pardon,' said the poor girl, 1 leave it all now just to God and yer honor; and, shame upon me that forgot to pour upon you, my lady; the blessings the ould mother -of me snit ye—lull and plenty may ye ever know !—said she from her heart, the crathur—may the sun niver be too hot, or the snow too could for ye !—may ye live in honor and die in happiness ! and, in the ind, may heaven' be your bed!' You may guess how happy the poor girl became, when sheltered wider our roof, for the confiding hope, so powerful with those of her country, was strong within her, and she had succeed ed in assuring herself that at length she would obtain justice. " And now my dear Lord," continu ed the Lady Helen, " tell me if a fair English maiden, with soft blue eyes, and delicate accent, had thus suffered— if driven from her beloved home, with a helpless parent, she had refused the hand of the man she loved, because she would not bring poverty to his dwelling —if she had undertaken a journey to a foreign land, suffered scorn and starva tion—been tempted to return, but until her object was accomplished, until jus tice .was done to her parent, resisted that temptation—would you say she acted from impulse or from principler say," replied the old gentleman, answering his god-daughter's winning smile, " that you are a saucy gipsy, to catch me in this way. Vine times, in deed, when a pretty lass of eighteen talks down a man of sixty ! But tell me the result:" " Weil. now yob innti hear the se; quel toly story ; for it is only half finished; and I assure you the best is to come :,--- "Instead of returning to Brighton, my father, without apprising our ityor thy agent, in three days arranged for our visiting dear - Ireland! Only think hO\Y• delightful'..—so romantic, and so cou at. +av zcocceatatat, a, aut. useful tool' Kate—you cannot imagine how lovely 'she looked--;-ithe quite eclipsed Lafoutl Then her exclama tions of delight were so new, so cu. rious—nothing so original to be met With even at the soiress of the literati. There you may 'watch for .a month without hearing a single thing worth renteinbering ; but Kate's remarks were so shrewd, so mixed with obseriation and simplicity, that every idea was worth noting. I was so pleased at the prospect of the meeting—the dis comfiture of the agent—the joy of the lovers, and the wedding—(all stories that end properly, end that way, you know,)—that I did not even request to' spend a day in Bath. We hired a carriage in Dublin, and just on the Verge of papa's estate, saw Mr. O'Brien, his hands in is pockets, his fuzzy red hair sticking out all round his hat, like a burning furze bushi and his vulgar, ugly face, as dirty as if it had not been washed for a month. He was lording it over some half-naked creatures, who were breaking stones, but who, despite his presence, ceased working, as the carriage approached.— . There's himself,' muttered Kate. We stopped—and I shall never forget the appalled look of O'Brien, when my fa ther put his head out of the window— (Cruikshank should have seen. it.) Her .could not uttera single sentence. Many of the poor men also recognized us, and as we .nodded and spoke to some we recognized among them, they shout ed so loudly ; for fair joy , that the horses galloped on, not, however, before the triumphant Katharine, almost throwing herself out of the window, exclaimed— , And I'm here, Mr. O'Brien, in the same coach wid my lord and my lady, and now we'll have justice !.,-at which my father was very angry, and I was equally delighted. Two • weeny ' chil dren met ns at the entrance to the cot , Cage—Barney's cottage—their healthy' cheeks contrasted with the wretched ness of their attire, and told my father at once the condition to which his neg. ligence had reduced my poor,nurse, for the children were hers—l will show them to you one of these days, a leitle better dies ed. It was worth a, king's ransom to see he happiness of the uni. ted families of Connors and Mayhonys; the gray cat even purred with satisfac tion :—then such a wedding ! Only fancy, my dear lord, my being brides maid !—dancing an Irish jig on an earthen floor ! Ye exquisites and ex. clusives !.-how would you'receive the Lady Helen Graves, if this were known at.Ahnack's ? From what ,my father saw and heard, when be used his own eyes and ears for the purpose, he re , solved to reside six months of the twelve et Castle Graves . . . lon can scarcely Imagine how well we got on ; the people are sometimes a little obsti , nate, in the matter of smoke, and now then an odd dunghill too near the door; and,,as they love liberty themselves do not much like to confine their pigs.— But these are only trifles. I have my own school, on my own plan, which I will explain to you another time, and now will only tell you that it is visited by both clergyinan and priest; and only wish that all our absentees would follow our example, and then, my dear god-papa, the Irish would have good impulses„ and act upon right princi , ples," Good Anecdote. • We' heard a story some time since of Joe , which will bear repeat ing. Joe was one evening seated in the bar-rooin of a country tavern in Canada ; where were assembled several old coun , trvmen discussing various matters con nected with the ." pomp and circum stances of war." In the course of some remarks; one of them stated that the British government possesSed the larg est cannon in the world, and gave the dimensions of one which he had seen; Joe's Yankee pride would not allow him to let such an assertion pass ivith out contradiction. "Poll ! gentlemen," paid he, ..11. won't deny but that is a fait Sized non ; but you are a teetle mistaken in supposing it to be named in the same minute with one of our Yankee guns which i saw - in Charleston last rear.— Jupiter! that was a eannpn. Why, sirs, it., is so infernally large, that the soldiers were obliged to empty a yoke of oxen to draw in the ball." The devil they were exclaimed one of hut hearers. with a smile of I l i._ utnph ; " pray can you telt mellow they got the oxen out ogain ?" "'Why. you fool," returned Joe, they unyoked them-and drove them. though the yent,' Zeo Zlici
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers