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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
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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