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.237 ROBERT WEITZ! I,IIIDDLETO.II.I
HE GAA Al
" With sweetist flowers enrich'd.
From various gardens culi'd with care."
PROM THE PHILADELPHIA SATURDAY CHRONICLE.
The Hour of Prayer.
DV MaB. LYDIA JANE PEI/ELDON
'Tis now the hour of prayer,
The world is still and calm;
And all the trembling air,
Seems wing'd with liquid balm.
From valley, plain, or hill,
No busy voices come;
The flocks and herds lie still,
Tho labourer is at home.
Tho moon in holy light
Walks down the spangled sky;
And leave; all dewy bright,
To stealing breezes sigh.
Tho birds who all the day
Made field and forest ring;
Now sleep upon the spray
With head beneath the wing.
E'en childhood's voice of joy
Is bound in deep control;
And blissful dreams employ
The light and sinless soul.
No sound is on the air •
To lead the mind astray;
In this calm hour of pray'r,
How sweet it is to pray.
In this pale, holy hour
In mercy's garb array'd
TD see the love and power
Of Deity display'd.
To kneel upon the ground,
Beneath the arch He spenn'd;
While wide extend around
Works of His perfect hand.,
No rankling passions now
Exert their dark control;
The moon shines on the brow,
And peace is in the soul.
No weight is on the mind,
In this sweet hour of pray'r
The world is loft behind
With all its chain of care.
How blessed now to kneel
Humbly upon the sod;
To look to heaven and fool
Communion with The God.
To feel the spirit melt
With love's redeeming ray;
From Him who often knelt
In night's calm hour to pray.
To feel the spirit of tho Grave
With soft mysterious sway,
Shed o'er the soul that peace
'Which nought can take away.
Ch doubly sweet it were
With such communion bloat;
At this sweet hour of pray'r
To pass to endless rest:
•IMrr7MTER7=T• 0 a 'V .
T.bo Gun-Smith of Orleans,
•
'..: 2 1019. THE DEAD WO)TAN'S SECRET.
~ EX NEB. ELIZA BREEIDAIC.
OILLPTER ONS.
•
In •an;lkitable street in Paris, occupying the
third fioar of a respectable house, lived the hero
and heroine of the present tale, Cophiso and
Richard Morin.
They were orphans, brother and sister, Rich
ard was by some years tho elder, Cophiso having
just attained her nineteenth year. Their mother,
on her dying bed, bequeathed the sister to tho
brother's care, With an earnestness that long loft
its impression on the heart of Richard; and that
ho faithfully adhered to his mother's appeal for
protection for her daughter, will bo seen in the
events which follow,
After his mother's death, (his father having
died while ho was yet an infant,) Richard found
a situation for his sister with a respectable millin
er and dress-maker, with whom she remained
until she had learned the business in all its
branches. Richard then took the apartments
„where himself.tind Cophiso now resided, she at-
T. tending to their -little household arrangements,
.and doing needle-work fur the store of Madame
Dumas, while he was engaged as gunsmith by a
master whom he had served for eight years, and
who thought highly of him, both as a man and a
workman. ••••Indes?‘.l ,tho two orphans possessed
among their friends and neighbors high characters
for virtue, honesty, and industry.
Cophiso soya work in the principal room of
their little domicil, every thing around her bespeak
ing neatness and order. A small work-table stood
at her side, on which lay all the implements requi
site for her occupation. The manufacture of some
dresses was to lie completedby the following day.
There was a restless anxiety in the hurried
manner of drawing forth her needle, to the detn.
moot of the thread, which broke at every stitch
or two. The clock struck the hour of three, and
,as the last-stroke reverberated through the apart
ment she throw dOwn her work, rose hastily from
her seat, and listened as if to - catch the sound of a
step. 4 , Some ono ascends the stairs! it's Edwird,
perhaps!" A pause of a second, and tho footsteps
passed on to the floor above. With the same air
of unquietness, she resumed her work, soliloquize
ing as she from time to time raised her eyes from
her employment to wipe away a tear.
"Two whole days and I have not seen him!
two days! What an eget 'Tis the first time he
Imo ever staid away so long; he will not come
to-dav; ho knows '(is near the hour my brother
comes to dinner. I long to see him to talk over
our love, and the prospect of our marriage, and to
learn when ho will inform my dear Richard of his
Intentions. His employment surely could not
have detained him so long; ho has been from home
all night too, for I hive watched his window op
posite, and saw no light shine from it as usual.
What, can have happened? If ho hid not so
strongly prohibited my avowing our love to Rich
, ard, I would entreat my brother to seek him out.
'-Oh why should this secrecy exist? this conceal
ment of our affection; surely he would not opposd
the bestowal of my hand where I bad already
given my heart! I will tell Edward, 4hen next
wo meet, of my firm determination infiaving no
longer any concealment from ono who has been--
is so kind to mc."
Appearing bettor satisfied with- herself after
forming the above resolution, she resumed her
almost forgotten work, which she had suffered to
lie untouched upon her lap, when n knock at the
door started her once more from her occupation.
A hurried "come in," and the door opened, not
to give admittance to the person Cephise half
anticipated seeing, but to Madam Dumas.
"AU!" said the Madam, a at work, eh, Ccphiso?
I always find you with your needle in your hand.
Your brother at his employment too, I suppose?
Well, how do you do, my dear?"
a Quite well, thank you madam; I'm not Into
with 'my work, em I? I think this dress was pro
mised by to-morrow."
alt was," replied madam. " You are never
behind your time, my good girl. 'Tie not to
hasten your completion of this dress which brought
me here; I am more anxious about the two wed
ding dresses."
a They are already cut, and will be finished at
the appointed time," said Cephiso.
a Those dresses," continued Madam, a must
change their destination. I have a hurried order
from a family of distintion, for a wedding suit.
Will you, then, my good Cephise, for the credit
of my establishment, sacrifice ono night's rest to
complete this order?"
a Willingly, madam. Have you the measure?"
"Exactly like those you have, begun, only a
little shorter, as the lady has a well-turned ankle."
I shall be particular, madam."
a The bride is from Orleans; her mother a ha..
renew, and immensely rich," said the loquacious
madam.
.4 From Orleans, did you say?" end Cephise
thought for an instant; "I once knew—but 'tie
some time since—a rich baroness who resided in
that part of the country; she had a daughter then
about twelve years of ago. Ah, I shall never
forget them. I wonder if this is the same baroness;
do you know the name, madam,"
"Oh yes," said madam, taking a eard from her
pocket, and reading the superscription, " The Ba
roness Decourcy."
•4 'Tis she, 'tie she," exclaimed Cephise in an
ecstasy of delight; .. and her daughter's name is
Leonie."
How came you to tho knowledge of persons
in such high rank'!" inquired madam.
.s ll' tell you all about it, madam," and Cephiso
began her simple tale:
"After leaving your employment, my brother
and I had been about two years at our little house
keeping, when he was seized with an illness which
threatened his life. Alas, I tremble to think of
the result. We were orphans, without money or,
friends richer than ourselves. My tears were of
no avail; they offered no relief. I knew not what
to do, when an old and charitable neighbor who
assisted me in the care of my brother, told me that
a lady travelling with her daughter, to whom she
had recommended me, desired me to wait upon
her at the hotel. That day my brother was worse.
I • felt the necessity there was for exertion
part, and summoning fortitude, I hastened•to the
hotel. They showed me many handsome dresses,
and explained what they wished done.. I-tried to
listen to their orders without betraying my emo
tion. I thought of my poor dying brother, and in
spite of my eftbrts to repress them, tears rushed
to my eyes. The lady looked astonished, and
kindly inquired the cause of my anxiety. I told
her all. She ordered her carriage, and bidding
me enter it with her, drove to the humble habita
tion of my poor suffering brother! She endeavor
ed to cheer and encourage the invalid, and, at her
departure, left us gold—yes, gold, to supply the
many wants of my poor brother. Ho at length
recovered, and 'tis to that angel of goodness I owe
all my presort happiness, the Baroness Decour
cy, she whom I shall now work for with so much
pleasure. Oh take me with you when you go
with the dresses, will you, dear madam Dumas'!"
"Surely, surely, if you wish it," said madam.
, r I have promised the dress by twelve o'clock to
morrow; you shall accompany me then."
At this moment voices wore heard outside the
door, as if in warm discussion. Cephise's heart
beat as she listened in fearful expectation of
hearing /its voice. Her anxiety was quickly re..
lioved when she hoard the well-known tones of
her brother's voice, speaking to a fellow-workman
and companion of his,
Madam Dumas, with a kind "good morning,"
took her departure as Richard entered and
passed her with a polite salutation. He threw
himself into a chair, his countenance appeared
flush. Cephise took his hand, and kindly inquired
what had disturbed him.
, g Nothing, nothing, dearest sister; seo, I have
brought you a trifle; 'tis your birth•day;" and
taking from his bosom a small casket, displayed to
her view a necklace and bracelets.
" Des r Richard," said Cephise, "you will
quite spoil me. If I should over got a husband
he wouldnever be so indulgent as you are."
Richard's brow lowered; "do you think of mar
riage, Cephisel Are wo not happy as we are!"
"Yes,' faltered Cephise, "very happy."
a Toll me, Cephise, will you promise never to
leave mo—never to marry, if I take a vow of coli
bacy7 You shall be mistress of our little domicil,
' the purse, and myself."
"And would you, dear Richard, be content to
devote your life to your sister 7"
dt Hear me, Cephise. I am not the disinterested
bro , her you think me; there is much of selfishness
in my affection. 'Tie my happiness I fear to lose,
in losing you. It is now nine years since our
mother died; you were then scarcely more than a
child. Her dying words were, Be a father to
your infant sister.' The week after she died, I
set to work with the hope of gaining sufficient to
educate and provide pill with a marriage portion.
I laid by something from week to week. In a few
years van grew too pretty to remain longer at the
milliner's. I procured a home, and here we have
lived happy in each other's love, and in you and.
this little home is comprised alt I hold deer. on
earth; judge, then, the vacuum your absence
would create."
' • Poor Cephise checked a rising sigh as she
thought of EdWard. u But if a good and honor
able man, dear Richard. loved me, would you then
object to my rnarryingl" and she listened for his
reply with an anxiety she could ill disguise.
No, no, not if you wished it; but pshaw, you
are not in love yet, (Cephiso bent her bead to
conceal a blush,) so there's no chance of marriage
— love,dinner,dearestdianer; 1 must hack to work.
Their little table was soon spread, and they
prepared to deepatch their frugal meal.
_
‘'
"I WISH NO OTHER HERALD ) NO canine 'SPEAKER OF MY LIVING .iLoT/ONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR FROM OORRUPTION.".--MHARR.
eikLatTd 4 llrai3tiNl3o472 o /P&G_ WZRZtrAiI.II% QUIPOUPOIP a3le 11.2451c0
Richard addressed his sister.
dt Here I am, Cephiso. I promised a speedy
return. Why hav'nt you a light? It is a gloomy
day without, and rendered doubly gloomy by
having no light within."
I—l—was waiting your return, Richatd ; I
have something to say to you; something I must
say to.night."
And Cephiso determined to disclose all to Pi.
chard, and bo no longer the guilty thing - she felt
herself. Riche rd'asked the cause of her agitation,
but ore she could reply, a low tap at the chamber
door startled them. Richard unlatched the door,
on the threshold of which stood a venerable look-
f a this was the residence of Richard Morin{"
An answer in tho affirmative brought hima few
steps further into the apartment.
Cophise, a light," said Ricb,anl, handing the
stranger a seat. The light was instantly procured *
and as its ray fell upon the countenance of tha
old man, Richard exclaimed 4 , 'tie he, 'tie heL
good father Antoine. " .
" Oh, by the by," said Cephise, " allow for our
sex's characteristic curiosoty, and toll me what
was the subject of your discussion with Julien,
on the stairs, as you came inl"
" We were speaking of a circumstance that oc
curred this morning. Julien and I were left in
charge of the shop, when two young men of fash
ion came in to examine some pistols; while mak
ing choice, a third fashionable joined them, and
with the voice of a hunter, cried, Aha, Count
Chevalier, how ore you?' and with a hearty slap
on the shoulder of the one ho called 'count,' he
continued: 'my dear fellow, how comes on your
little amour with the pretty sempstress? Have
you ended the romance, or do you still act the dis
guised inamorata?' In short, dear Cephise, we
learnt from their conversation that this count, in
disguise and under a false name, was seeking the
ruin of a youne sempstress, poor, and virtuous.
That which they spoke of as mere pleasantry, I
looked upon as a crime. My heart throbbed
quickly, my hands rested on my work, and I half
raised myself to confront this villain nobleman,
when at that moment ho enjoined silence on his
companions, as he said he was to be married in
three days."
"To the poor sempstress?" hastily inquired
Cephise, as sho listened with breathless attention.
" No. Not to the good and virtuous girl who
toils for that subsistence she will not gain by in
famy; but to ono of noble birth. Ak, I have no
patienbo to think that, to the world, high birth
and wealth aro passports to vice, asanction to
crime, and aro the means of spreading destruction
among our poor but honest families; of bringing
misery and ruin upon our wives and, sisters."
Do you know the name this man, Richard?"
" I have his address where the pistols are to be
sent," and handing a richly embossed card to Ce
phise, she read the name of " Count Theodore
Preys)." Neither of them had ever heard the
name before.
e I must now to my forgo and files," said Rich
ard, rising. e I'll make haste to return as soon
as possible; bless you, bless you, Cephise," and
snatching up his hat., Richard darted down stairs,
and was at his accustomed work in a few seconds.
Cephiso sat in deep thought; the fate of the
poor sempctress possessed her mind.
e Yet, after all, she may be in the fault; a young
woman in her situation should not listen to the
love of one of high rank. But then he was in
disguise, and she was not to blame—yet how easy
to see where deceit guides the action. In my
case, for example, I have nothing to fear, Edward
has told me all. Neither richer or higher in life
than I, he laves, and seeks me for his wife." At
this moment her meditations were interruptel4y
tho door slowly opening, and a young man, habit
ed like a mechanic, entered the apartment. He
looked anxiously round, as if to assure himself
that Cephise was alone, then hastily taking her
hand in his, he affectionately inquired how she
tunt mot.— " - ' -
e Well, quite well. But where havo you been
so long, dear Edward?"
e I have been deeply engaged in my employ
ment, dearest," ho replied, wand out of town on
bUsiness, front whence• lam but just returned. I
shall be compelled to absent myself again shortly,
but only for a few days, to settle some family
arrangements."
"I thought yeu had , no family, Edward."
Edward's face flushed to the temples as ho hesi
tatingly replied: e Only an aunt, dearest, who
wishes to bavo a will drawn up, and desires my
presence as a witness; that done, I shall return
and pass with you the happiest hours of my life.'
e But_ henceforth, Edward, it must be only with
my brother's sanction that tncourage your ad
dresses; give mo leave, then, to tell him all our
prospects."
e Not yet, dear Cophiso; mystery hes always a
a charm for lovers, and 'tis only a momentary ob
stacle which forces me to conceal our projects.
From this aunt I expect to inherit property, which,
should I marry without her consent, falls to ano
ther heir."
"I only ask to make my brother the confidant
of my happiness. It is my wish, nay, my duty,
so to do. Judge what my feelings would be, did
ho learn from another that which I should have
been the first to disclose."
"And would you be satisfied, dear Cephise,
with the cold and formal interviews which the
presence of a third person naturally imposeal
the warm and buoyant feelings of our hearts re
pressed, and our present freedom exchanged for
silent bondage. Oh, Cephise, if you loved me"—
"If I had loved you, Edward! That word con
veys a reproach I do not merit"
U Listen to me, Cephiso, grant me an interview
to-morrow—the last secret ono I shall over ask—
nay, do not deny me. I have much to say to you,
and after that you shall bo free to disclose to Rich-
and all our 10ve.."
A knock was heard at the lower street doOr.
'a Quick! leave me; leave me, Edward, unless
you wish to flice my brother."
"Promise then an interview to-morrow."
I do, I do. Now leave me, I implore pu—
sh! you are too late."
Edward retreated towards the door, and as i
opened to admit Richard, favored by the twiligh
and dexterity, it gave egress to Edward, who softly
descended the stairs, and gently closing the house
door nfter him, found himself once more in safety
iu the open street.
ng man, of most benign aspect.
,He inquired
You remember me, then, my good childrenl"
said the father.
a Ayo do we," replied Richard. ""You raised
our mother's dying head, as, with the glassy eye
of approaching dissolution, she took her last look
of her poor orphans."
a My visit now to these orphans," said the priest,
"is neither ono of chance, ceremony, or curiosity.
I am here to comply with a sacred promise made
that dying mother, but I can only explain myself
in the' absence of your sister."
"Let her presence be no hindrance, good father;
we have no secrets, one from the other."
a Nevertheless, you alone must be the master
of the ono I have now to disclose."
• Richard kindly dismissed his sister to her little
apartment, and as ho led her to the door, she bid
him summon her the instant father Antoine was
gone; and she added, o I too have a secret for
your private oar, dear Richard, the revealing of
which will relieve my heart of a weight it now
labors under."
Rickard closed the door, and- drawing a chair
neat father Antoine, waited the disclosure of the
coming secret.
The good man drew from under his gray gown
a map wallet, which ho laid upon the table, and
thus began:
"It is now nine years since I was sent for to
attend your mother's dying bed, and received her
confeision, as I prayed Heaven to grant her the
pardon she implored. The expiring woman with
much difficulty drew from under her pillow a seal
ed packet, and putting it into my hands, spike
these words:
hither, this is my,will. In. the `name of
Heaven, promise to take charge—especial charge
of it.' I promised, and she continued: 'lt is no
thing 'of value I leave, for I am poor it is a long
concealed secret I do not yet wish my children to
know. Cophise is now ten years of age; if,
before' her nineteenth birthday, my daughter
should marry, do you open that paper, your own
conscience will direct you how to act. Should
she attain that age without quitting her brother's
protection, you, father, find out my ion, sae nix
Atose,.give him that packet, to be opened before
you, and as regards the secret it contains, I leave
him to act as his own heart shall dictate, with tho
aid of your advice. "
a My dear mother's will shall be strictly obeyed;
speak, father, what aro her requester
Father Antoine selected a small sealed packet
from the wallet, and handed it to Richard, who
pressed it to his lips with reverence; then hastily
breaking the seal, ho read as follows:
a Feeling assured of my approaching death, be
fore God, my conscience, and you, my son, I de
clare the disclosure I am about to make to be sin
cere. and veritable ; do not call me culpable; if I
have done wrong, you, at least, my eon, will par
don me"—.
a Read, father, for I cannot"
Aratitwi tookitiei paper; anet-contioussa:
"Heaven is witness to the truth of what I hive
affirmed. Cephiso .Morin died ten years ago.
The child I have left is not my daughter!"
Richard's heart beat loudly. Hie blood rushed
rapidly through his veins.
a Go on, father, go on."
Tho old man continued:
"I was a widow, and poor Charles, my eon,
away at school, when my daughter Cophise was
born. Misery and misfortune rendered my consti
tution unfit for nursing, my child, and it died
Just six months after I took my child to the bap
tismal fount, I followed her to the grave. It was
night, and raining fast; I threw myself on my
knees by the grave of my daughter. At that
moment I heard the cry of an infant. I searched
among the leaves from whence the cry proceeded,
and thorn lay a child as if just thrown there. I
caught it up, pressed it to my breast, and fled
from the church yard. I was ignorant of the road
took, and at daylight found myself in the wood
of Romanville. I looked at the infant, closely
nestled in my bosom. It was a girl about the age
of Cephise. On searching its garments, I found
a purse filled with gold, a certificate of its birth,
and a note froni its mother.
Tho father here laid down the confession, and
opened the papers that were enclosed, and select
ing the certificate of the child's birth, read as
follows:
On the 12th of March, 18—, was baptized at
he church at St. Pierre, at Bel!villa, Evelina
. Father unknown.—
And the mother'!" eagerly exclnimed Richard.
"The mother's name is effaced," replied father
Antoine, and he muttered to himself, 4 , 12th of
March--Bellvdle--should it her—
But the note, father. The note found with the
child. Read that."
The old man complied, and read a note written
n pencil as follows:.
is Whoever you aro, that may find this infant,
its mother implores you to cherish and protect it.
Leave in this bush your name and address, and
every year on this date you will receive a sum
equal to that contained in the purse found about
the child. Should the day arrive when its mother
can claim it with happiness to herself, she will
not full to do so."
is And the signature!" said Richard.
"It has none," answered father Antoine. "Now
to finish your mother's will."
Heaven pardon me; I did not, steal the child.
I was wild with grief; and know not what I did.
I never again could find the spot from whence I
took the infant. I then became its parent, and
you its brother. She has ever since gone by the
name of Cephise Morin. Ana now I die, my
children, asking pardon of you both, and of my
God. CATHATAINE MORIN. "
At the closing of the will, both the mechanic.
and the priest appeared abstracted; each as if he
labored under some great excitement, yet dreaded
is confirmation. Richard's elbow rested upon the
able, and his head upon his band. Father An.
Wine's hand fell by his side, still grasping the
document he had been reading. Richard started
from his lethargy.
_ a.S!le's not my sister, thank God, thank God!"
a What - Means this burst of joy, my eon'!" in
quired fathdr Antoine. . .
a She is not . my inster, , Sther, ; and *ow I feel
rising strong
_vrithin me the love I hitie so long
and strangely borne her ' es, pure, toly, and
Antlered love; ian ' . by Heaven now,
what happiness mat . , . te! Blie loves
L ' 44
me too, father, Pm .'."" . . .;. .—, for oho has
known no ,other who sOn . . ), 4
. bet young .affee
,._ ,
bona; what then remains for us but to be weddedto each other'!"
"Be it so, my son, and may you both be happy
as you deserve. And when next we meet, I may
have another as important secret to communicate.
In the mean time, confide to my care the certifi
cate And the note in pencil."
Richard gave them to him,and gained from the old
man the promise of joining their hands u soon as
Cephiso was informed of their relative positions.
a Willingly, my eon; to-morrow we meet again,
till when, farewell. Heaven bless you."
And as Cie door closed on the departing priest,
Cepluse was heard descending the stairs from her
chamber. Richard :met her with a face radiant
with expectant joy. But Oh, how different looked
the bowed down creature, pale with intense anxie
ty, who, placing her cold hand into that warm
ono extended to receive it, and looking in his eye,
innocently prepared to inflict a death-blow on all
his highly colored anticipations of happiness.
"Dear Richard," began Cephise, "I can. no
longer conceal from you the secret that presses
on my heart. I feel, Oh, how culpable I have
been in so long concealing from you that which
so nearly concerns my honor."
Cephise, explain, I beseech you."
"Richard, dearest brother, I have deceived you.
Often, when we have been, speaking of our affec
tion for each other, I have said I loved none but
you, my brother"—
, s Yon did, you did," exclaimed Richard, doubt
ing what was to follow.
44 Richard," continued Cophime, in a cairn low
tone, 44 Richard, I uttered falsehood. I did, I do.
love another!"
Richard dropped her hand, and stood like one
patalyzed, hie eye intently fixed on hers. She
continued:
44 You shall know all; you shall decide my fate,
dear brother. Oh, frown not on me, Richard, but
hear me out."
I , Go on, go on," cold Richard, in a voice scarce
audible.
It is now two months since I have known him
—since he has promised to demand of you my
hand in marriage. His name is Edward Dorville,
a journeyman like yourself, and en orphan"—
Cephirte paused; Richard replied not. She gazed
upon his face. Not a muscle showed the inward
working of despair.. All without was calm, statue.
like, awl firm.
"Yon do not speak to me, Richard," said Ce
phiso, getting close to him, and taking his hand.
This at once recalled him to himself.
is Sure some dream, and I have been too
roughly wakened. And." pressing her hand with
a convulsive grasp, 4s and you—yen—love him,
Cephisel"
"I do, dear brother."
, g Enough. You shall be his! you sliall be his!"
an% throwing himself into a seat, he ,buried his
face in his hands, and no longer struggling to o'er
master' the *le ot-bittei feelinis that oppressed
him, be wept. The sturd y mechanics wept. Ce
phise fell at his feet. The big drops trickled
I through his rough Angers, and fell upon the,up
raised forehead of the only being he had ever
loved intensely, and who now clung to his Juices
in the agony of aelftreproach.
[TO 115 CONTINUED.]
wamazatrixo
Prom the Munklin Repository,
DESPONDENCY.
•'Winter and gloom may leave the earth,
Their shadows may depart;
But what is all the sunshine worth
That cannot cheer the heart?' A. T. Las.
0, sou the days, the happy days
Of gay, and fresh, and buoyant youth,
Ere I had trod in maze,
Or ttun'd aside from heavenly truth!
0, for the cheering hopes that beinn'd
Along the path of earlier years,
When all was trusted as it liveried
Undimed by doubts or gloomy fears!
0 for the moments, blissful, mild,
To Nature's dearest raptures given,
When all her charms my soul beguiled
And lured my wand'ring thoughts to Heaven!
How are they fled! how darkly now
Mis-spent--regretted—pass my. days!
Ev'n while at Folly's shrine I bow
How scorn's my soul her idle praise.
How have the hopes that lit my path
Sunk before Passion's thoughtless course,
And but their ruins mark the scath
Wrought by that tlesolating - lbrce.
Even Nature moves not now my soul
With all her former power to charm,
Though many a thought I must control
Her scenes arouse in wild alarm.
Hence—visions of delight! away!—
Ye golden hopes of life,--adieu!—
Why should I mourn your swift decay,
Or grieve because ye prove untruel
So has it been—so will it be;
Illusive all, a pageant fair;
Nor is the happiest bosom free
From the dark whispers of despair.
Then onward—quid no more repine
At griefs which all on earth must know;
There is a rest will soon be thine,
The gray.e has balm for every woe. :
The Young Lovers.
To the man who is a little of a philosopher, and
a bachelor to -boot, and who, by dint of some expe
rience in tho follies of life, begins to look with a
learned eye upon the ways of man, and the eke of
women—to such a man I say, there is something
very entertaining in noticing the conduct of a pair
of lovers. It may not be as grave and scientific
a study as the loves of the planets; but it is Cer
tain' ly interesting. I have lingerer° derived much
pleasure, since my arrival at the Hall, from ob
serving the fair Julia and her lover. She has all
the delightful blushing consciousness of an artless
girl; inexperienced in coquetry, who has made her
first conquest; while the captain regards her with
that mixture of fondness and exultaliop with
which a young lover is apt to contemplate so
beauteous a prise. I observed them yesui, da y in
the garden, advancing along one of the bayed
walks. The min was shining with, delicious
warmth, making great masses of bright lierdure .
and deep blue shade. The cuckoo, that harbinger
of Spring, was faintly heard in the distanig the
thrush piped from the hawthorn, sod the yellow
rvou',.:•:.::::s--,
.. . • 4. '4 — :' fl,,ci - m.V4
leering
sported indi..iyed ilia 11 ,. . .r. , ,
The fair Julia was ering on;her 1 ,
V 4,4 1
*l6
listening to his conversation; with be ,
down, a soft blush upon her - cheek, .164 K ';4 ,
smile on her lips, while in thif hail] .tftektifftiffi):
negligently by her, side, was a buncli,r**,_ ,rvii..y,' - ',
In this way they sauntered. along, lind Wii*:*:
considered them, and the , scara in 4hi6lit 't/Orf:::
'were moving, I could not but. thintft wthitiarbill
pities that the season sherUld, evimgrov,c94o4-*A- . ,
that blossoms should eviriivn Wily'ln kniti.,='or''
that lovers should ever get tarried . —iivi nip.",::•:,.;:'
WHERE Ift /10;113?
Where is home', whom-
Not in scenes of grief and care;
Not 'mid strife, and pain, and ri e j • - t.';-; '..-
Therefore'hume is not below.
Ina better land afar,..
A Father's house home's mansions Me t
In the bowers of Paradise, ,
.• ,
Where peace abides,and never dies..
Where no arrow wounds the dove,
Whore no parting isior love,
Where are no rough ems of foust,-,:-
Where joy dwelleth, there is hou,
Whore no blight is in the rose,
. s.
Wheni no storm the lily 'comic
Where never fades the blossom fair,
Home, dear friend, is them, iithers!-
A SMART RITORTr-1.0111 ERilkipB
a large party, in which Lady gratin*" and' Mr.
Sheridan were present, ighat • wife was'only_ *t in;:
.•
canister tied to one's tail ;" upon which Sheridan
presented Lady Enikine with these lines:—' • -
•
Lord Enkine at woman presuming to rall,„:`
Calls a wife "a tin canister tied to one'a
And fair Lady Anne, while the e ir r ilectheeknies.4LO..
Seems hurt at his Lordship's d 'mg comparilkc — /':.
But wherefore degrading? cons erertarlicht,
A canister's polished, and , useful, and -
And should dirt its original purity hide '
is
That's the fink i
of the puppy to whom t 044', ' ze;
THE THREE STAIM-Of - the tliceisaixT
and one toasts which we have read "fliiring
the last few weeks, (says the Carlisle lffer- ,‘
ald,) the following is one that willpleaterthe':
ladies, and cause them to thank the penkin
who had the honor of presenting i t. But ,
should it not satisfy them, we have onti to
say that they are a tough set'of folks to ~,
please. It was drank at the railroad Cele.
bration in this place.
Woman—the morning War of our youth,
the Day Star °four manhood, the'Evenieg
Star of our age. God bless our stars:
The following lines Were written an. the , baci
of a note fat twenty-line cents, issued Icy the cor
potation of the borough of ,Reading: t•
. _
Go. ragged wanderer thron' a world of baregi d • •
I dare not keep thee longer. Jr' would, r Q r )
Lest. when I wished to spend thee: I' hould
Some honid tale of thy not being good- •
I motor believe. zeb.o eft been told x •=1
That thou art what is meant by 100tatt,....*:
Nest semi hirappking "Ardesel4.l'
Well, my good women,' said the doctor, hcivr - ';
is your husband to-day'l' better, no doubt.' ,
Ob yea, surely,' said the good woinins,''' He
is as well as ever, and gone to the Bela.*'
.
I thought so,' continued the doctor,', ' 'Th e _
leeches have cued him. Wonderful effect they
have. You got the leeches, of , course:. ,
Oh yes, they did him e., great'deal of good;
though he could not take them
Take them sill Why, my'good m ' W 0133811,
how did you apply theml' - • . • N
_ _ _
Oh, I managed nicely,' said the - wifORWII
quite contented with herself. For variety:if sake,
I boiled dne kali; and made fry oft,thn:l4ttun',' 4 1 ;
The first he got down very vrEditf l bitt
made him very sick: But whatliostoak jmike quite
enough, continued she, seeing same•horrorin;#l*
doctor's countenance, for he wee •betfectitineXt,T' z ' . 4'
morning, and to-day he is quite. well?,
, Uniph, said the doctor, with a sapientikake%.*
of the head, they have cured.him, tbaCiel4ll. - ;.-4
cient, but they , would have been better app4idect-' : .
ternally: • • • . -• , fr j
The women replied that she;would, do‘se;the
next time; and I doubt not that if everfate throws
a score of unfortunate leeches into •bet powar
again, she will make a poultice of cloim.
Ax EXPLANATION. 'Come, payMep ,Up us
the rhino.' •What's tip us the rhinol'.'eWhy,-out
with the duet.' 41 don't understand. `•Whj post
the pony.'' 'Poet the poneyl'. 'Yee, shell out.'
;Really, lamat a loss.' •Why, fork
plicable.' aounds, man, ash dourn: !41
Baron Smyth spent two whole &n and nighte".,!: , :tv
in considering an answer to the:conundrum,,iiphyi,f,
is an egg underdone like an egg overdone!' He
would suffer no one.to tell blm, and st fait hi bit
on the solution—because both are hardly : dose.
Ire is an unwise thin, Who in iiineiiike these; ,
does not take a newspaper.-- West. Min
[And ho is an unjust man,.awho in, times' like
these,'L does not pay for his newspaper.] •
A late London perialiosgsnys: iihdl9ons
now start almost every evaling from various
parts of the town—and men, Women ;and
monkeys are to be seen asceading,nad de- ,
scending. We have less commernhkand
other distrose, probably, in atonritnence of ,
the world's looki* ; lt,
The Fayette, Missouri, Democrat. an.
nouneee Major Horrer as a CSEldidallo t 'The
Brigadier General. The N. Ti Star says
he ought to be a formidable eatulidatip If ;:;:`s
his opponent is not "a man•of courage, be
will certmnly get horror.stricken. ,
LACIONio.—A remarkable eiutiapie4the
laconic 813110,1 m recently takets pianpoildels. -
would put Leutudns and his MxintrYstmin..t°
shame. Au Edinburg-T.4er lOW,
brotherquaker in London!" sheet fif.lstior
paper, contaiuing nothing .whatissnr:in.** ;-
writing way,save note orustestoptimatiki.
(7) his friend returned the Al*, sidding . l4 4
a sok reply a 0.. The _
_l/Ma atibeArUalF"
lion sad answer, is us fousint-po
,Nothingr
The Wheel Time" laYs tINP *044,
so bud, and payments ate a:atlaw#-'
the girls down out aompbip this 11 :
m.n cannot oven PAY thou 00--
MICE
MEM
5'
l