Newspaper of Burlington Free Press, March 8, 1839, Page 1

Newspaper of Burlington Free Press dated March 8, 1839 Page 1
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(Sflb mttvltutx. Jr NOT THE GLORY OF CiESAK HUT THE WELFARE OF HOME, BY II. B. STACY- From D lack wood's Edinbuigh Magazine. THE OMYX RING, CHAPTKR V. Musgrave had twice seen Elizabeth, the daughter of Farmer Wilsnn, in the first week nficr lior return, nnd now towards tho close of the second he sat again beside lier bed. Mnria Lascclles, who was now no longer a visitor nt Sir Charing liar court's, but living nt her unc.lu's house, a good deal further off, had found out tho dy ing woman, nnd wns with her when Mu grave entered, but. then rose nnd went nway. lie found the sufferer penitent, resigned, and hopeful, nnd ho felt thnt she comprehended him better than most of those whom he conversed with. She had grown rapidly weaker, and nearer to her tmd, and lie expected her very speedy de parture from the body. Sho was propped up by pillows in the bed, and her mother vnt beside her nt the opposite ide from the clergyman, and attended to all her wants. Musgrnve had his back to the window, through which a bright evening light ilow cd in nnd fell upon her wasted haggard face, nnd upon the shrunken hand that lay near him on the bed clothe0. She spoke to him nf Maria, and said, 'That lady is a great blessing to me; she reads and talks to me for hours, and her visits arc like those of a young prophetess. Sho enters strange ly into all I feel, though she can nrver have had any thing like it in herself. And when I say any thing of this kind to her. she only answers, that we have nil much the same things in our minds if we would nttend to them properly.' 'It must be a great pleasure and advan tage to you to have such a friend,' 'Oh! indeed it is so, sir. I think she has done me more good than any one 1 ever knew. She sees so well what kind of help I want, nnd sho always tries to make inn feel hnw reol and awful our sins are, and then points out how great is the blessing of being relieved from the burthen of them, Oh ! sho is n good young lady!' Musgravo listened with much interest, but thought it right in turn the conyersn. tion more directly on Elizabeth's own state. Tie expatiated on the happiness of a future life, the perfect freedom from sorrow nnd trial, and the luminous and ethereal kind of existence which i9 all we can imagine nf n perfectly spiritualized life in the unclouded presence of God. She listened with pome pleasure. But, though checked in expres sing herself, as the poor so often nre. by tho fear of differing with their superiors, die felt in her heart that what she chiefly wanted was not encouragement of this kind, but that which thould strengthen in her tho Fcnso of present victory even in this life over tho pain of actual sinfulness, .nnd the sharp remembrance of many pre vious offences. Sn only she guessed, but hardly dared in say even to herself, could eho look forward cheerfully and on sure grounds to a belter nnd nobler exigence hereafter. She took the first opportunity which Musgrnve's remarks offered of refer ring to her husband, nnd looked at him while she did fo with earnest eves, and spoke with trembling word'. Musgrave had known him, hut they Ir.d never been at all intimate. Her mother left the room to procure some drink for her, nnd while 6ho was gone, Elizabeth took from under her pillow n little packet of papers which flic looked at fondly for some seconds, and then held nut to Musgrave, saying, 'Take these ond read them, they may be of some use to you, for it is necessary to your work that vou should understand the thoughts nnd hearts of men. There are thing's among them that yon will perhaps make cut better even than I. whoso well knew the writer. It is very sore for me to part with them, now that 1 am so near tho last but if the v can do any gnod it is much bel ter so. You will sco that they arc mucn frayed and stnincd, for I have read them over and over, and have ncvor had them nway from my bed. Oh ! sir, before In died, he had far better faith and hnpo than ynu will find written there. Indeed in deedwith nil his faults ho was very good, nnd at the last when ho hnd suffered so much, and wns so anxious about me and our baby hi; was able, he told me, to trust that all was, and would be for the best, nnd was content to do ond suffer whatever might be tho will of God. Hut. I beg your pardon, sir, for troubling you in this way only I know you ore very kind, and none nf them hero can understand such things as lu thought of Oh! no, they never could. lie taught me sn much, so many many things, that I never should have known but for him nnd with all my faults, he has made mo see every thing 60 differently, somehow, as if ii were so much larger and brighter than it used to be hist as differ. cnt as the inside of a book full of beautiful writing and pictures is from tho cover out side of it. Oh! my own Henry !' She now closed her eyes, exhausted and in tears. Her mother came back and bu id, 'You know, dear, Mr. Musgravo is to givo you the sacrament to day. if you are well enough, and we ought not to keep him.' 'Oh, yes, mother, quite well enough, for that. I shall be very glad.' The mother called in tho others of the family, except James, who. was nway nt work, and they nil partook devoutly ot the sacred rite. In administering it to Eliza belli, Musgrave felt an if it were a meeting in a world of disembodied spirits. In her n new life seemed for a moment awakened, and sho looked more intelligent and lovelier than ho had ever seen her. When the others wero departing, she signfiied to them not to go, and looked 6tcadily at each of ineir tnces. bho then cast a long gaze round tho room at all the things she knew en well, thn cupboard, and the chest of drawers, and thn looking-glass that had so often reflected her girlish face: and then I tho apple-tree seen through the window, and the bright evening iky beyond. Hori eyes turned again m Musgrave, ne if thank, ing him, and reminding htm of the papers; and then again fixed on her mother, closed, opened, nnd turned once more to the same wrinkled face, over which tltc tears were now falling. Sho said, 'Dear mother ono fnthcr. and nil, and James too, it no wore here, I wish I could tell you how I lovo you all, nnd how happy I am in the thought that you lovo me, and will loam more and more" to Inve God.' Tho flush deepened over her checks faded returned faded again and her eves grew dim, nnd her lip white but they still murmured. 'I wish I could Bprcad my arms nnd take up tho whole world, and bring them.' She censed to look or speak; but soon again opened her eyes on her mother. 'Kiss me mother, I ennnot speak, but I am quite hap py, quite. I am going to my husband, nnd my poor baby, and God who is all in nil. Good bye, dear friends good good by. 1 shnll never see Burntwond again but' and sho was gono from earth. CHAPTER VI. Henry's Papers. How hard a work is life! Tho system of things which I live in lays on mnccrtnin unceasing tnsks, but gives mo no sufficient strength to fulfil them. The strong gladi ator drags me into tho arena of struggle that we call the world, and then and there it Rtrkcs nnd bruises me, and compels me to fight, yet with the certainty that I must he overcome nnd die. This very system awakens in me tho feeling thnt I am fit for something bettor. It gives mo n sense of pence, which it will not let me realise. Like a divine muse, it sings into my heart n song of mercy and hope, nnd at the same time, with tho talons of a fury, rends nnd strangles me. I have been twenty. three years in this visible world. For seven, partly from the foolish affection of others, partly from their selfish carelessness, I suffered evils that I did not. understand, nnd my gratifications wero slight nnd baseless, ret, in looking back even on this early part, it wears a certain brightness which it ncvor had in reality; pleasures, that wero trivial in I lie enjoyment, seem in the retrospect sublime Whence, then, comes tho sublimity ? It must be from my present self, from the creative power of my feelings nnd imagi nation. Yet this grandeur, which I am able to extend over the images of tho past, when I would grasp and embody it us on actual gond, fades and vanishes; only the Distant shines, the Near is pale and gloomy. Tim, all we see of beauty and bliss is but the feast of Tnntnlus, which melts when wo approach in the infcrnnl air. My boy hood was a time of strong and conscious growth, liut I had the pains of the pro ces, and never have known tho peaceful fruits of it. I then enlarged my knowledge of Nature and its forms, and increased my love of them. But thnt passion, ardent nnd lender at the first, and yielding many delightful hopes, has always ended in sors row. The Nymphs have all in turn shrunk beneath their waters and into their caves nnd left the enamoured boy to dare at the blank solitude. Tho enthusiasm of youth. ful hope and belief, kindled in the awaken ing consciousness by the shapes of Life and Reality, never finds a lulurc adequate to its demands. It but enlarges the heart to hold n larger portion of disappointment. Now that I am a man, I have faculties, in. deed, which enable mu to discern the prin eiples of things, and to embody theso ii lively images, and to devise lines of exten sivo'nctinii. But my heart is wearied and saddened by ill success; I want a field of movement ; and languish without sympathy from those around me. I havo n pupil whom I must teach, but. who will hardlv learn; and employers or patrons who re gard mo but as the menial groom of their favourite and costly horse. They would not give a shilling to save tho servant's life: but a hundred pounds to rescue that of the animal. Verily it seems to me that tho Life we know is nil a delusion. Wn sometimes pierce the covering, nnd find blackness and hollowncss within. Wo nro told, indeed, that inside this, in turn, there is I know not what treasure n gem, a light, on rye, a magical remedy. But may not this, too, be n delusion? Who knows? I have seen a French sugar plum-box with u picture of a watch upon the cover, to indicato that there was n watch within; but, on opening it, tho wntch was found to ho of painted nnd gilt sugar, as false ns the outward im. age. It is tho cry of moralists, and tho curse of our nature, that nil fair things seen by man turn into cloy, and lastly ho himself. Tho adaptation, so often trumpeted, of man to the system ot nature, is, 1 think, nt best but ns the rulntion of a line to Us par a Me). Their very parallelism secures that i hey shall never meet. Mnn works on wheels, but theso will not fit tho grooves they seem designed for, nnd can only move outsido of them in tho irregular rut which they have broken for themselves. Human life has evidently desires that human life can never satisfy. What is the remedy for this evil? Apparently, nono is possible, The very terms seem to involve a Hopeless contradiction. It ts indeed said Hint latth id God helps us out of the difli cutty, nnd raises man above himself. But when I ask mv teacher what ho means bv tho Deity, I receive either no answer or worse than none. One says, tho Creator of all things. But this tells mo nothing of tho kinu oi Heing who created all. Tho rat that lurks in tho crannies of a castle and is hunted and laid wait for daily, learns little to gratify its soul if told that the architect of the castlo formed tho rat-holes no less than the rat-traps, and oven took pains to slock them with Ins progenitors Another talks to mo of the Life and Ground FRIDAY, MARCH 8, 1839. of all things. Hut this gives mo scanty help ; for of all things I best know myself. It. is, therefore, by iook'ng within that I can find tho most intelligible specimen and example nf that All of which 1 am re ferred to thn Cause and the Vital ,1'rinci. pic. From this quarter, then, namulv, iny own cunscmosnes of myself, I must derive my view of tho character of the Primordial Power, Now, It is mv own consiiioipnc's which is sick, suffering, plagiio-strickcn ; and it is from ils miseries that I am directed to lako refuge in that Divine Ifloa which is yet so plninly shown to bo itsel wounded with the 6amo weapon and infected by the same poison. It is the very malady and desperation of all within mo "which lends me to seek help from somo thing outward. If that Outward bo but n repetition nf the Jnlcrior Existence, mag nified in the concave mirror of the Universe, all its distortions nnd scars, its blood nnd toara and steel-spiked crown, nre also re flected and enlarged there. If, again, I am sent to tho Bible. I see, indeed, clearly enough that what I will not call tho Jupiter oflhnt Ilhad, hut the Illiad, but the Fate of that High Hebrew Tragedy, would con demn nnd punish me for not being other than I am. But how I thai! become other, how bo fashioned by that standard, scorn? to me as vain an enquiry as how the flying fish can change itself into the dolphin which pursues it, and so find rcfugo in the waters. Finally, miracles aro no evidence to him who has no clear conception ot the JJfling they are said to proceed from; and even if they were, they would go to establish a ystcm which, lrom tho inconiormity of my mind to its principles, leaves me an outcast or makes me a victim. I cannot recognise myself or my experi ence of life in ilieSncrcd Records. When I read them I find myself travelling in an onchanted region that has almost nothing in common with my accustomed country. I here is little in it that joins on to nnv thing prc-exNent in me. I acknowledge, indeed, hero n rich and profusa beauty, as fairy pictures; there, a dreary awful power, ns in Druidical or Egyptian re mains ; wonders, again, as unprepared anil incoherent as thoso of droams ; lastly, ushes of human feeling and strains of thought which realty seem to belong to the same nature as mine, but which stand in no close or necessary relation to the loftier, stranger, more oracular portions. I can as little enter into the old Hebrew's views of divine and human things as ha, could he now revive, would comprehend my feelings ns to nature, nrt. and man. His world is, indeed, n laud of marvels, many of them lovely nnd many expressive, but nil shut up within n circuit nf huge walls. It seems to mo the chief of all confounding paradox es that so many millions of men, in time? and modes o different from iIk.o, should fancv tho grcv and thundering cloud of that old Eastern Theocracy can remain built up like a Cyclopian wall in our freer calmer Bky. In tho family I livo in there is no one who has tho smallest notion that my opin ions differ nt all from their own and from thoso of the clergyman of the parish. There is no one of them who could ever be bro't to understand the least portion of my views. Now if, as 1 cannot but suppose, tlicro aro many other instances ot the same entire misconception ns to the character!1 ond thoughts ol thoso wo live with daily, what a world of secret and unguessod lifo must be concealed within that which is palpable nnd commonplace! linw many hidden treasure chambers, forgotten graves, buried habitations, and inurned vet beating hearts inns', lie under the soil which the feet of busy men hourly and so heedlessly travel over! Perhaps tho world would gain were it to unknow nil it knows, provided it could also learn nil it. dues nut know. The com mon, the public, the familiar, is the product of chance, interest, indifference, fraud. The hidden and personal, thut which he who possesses it shrinks from casting into the open mud-pool of society, is the growth of inward feeling nnd reflection, the winnings of earnest endeavor. Wo wrap up nnd conceal tho sacred spoils that nro stained i with tho dear blond wo have shed in gain ing them; but wo hawk in open baskets tho pebbles, shells, nnd weeds, which nil may gather by tho Inghwnyside, or on the baro und trodden sand of tho frequented bay. The rush ond throng nf life nre fur ever driving back into colls and nooks whatever would como forth of independent, genuine, peculiar. The light, easy, empty, popular, is received into tho kindred cle. incut, is borne along with and swells the mass. Thus, probably, what each succes sivo generation has added to tho world's possessions is but the hiti-ks and scum of its' existence ; while whatever has been truly noble and severe was sunk and lost with or before its creators. Could the figures in tho apperont picture of history be sud denly effaced, and the glass they arc paint, cd on be made transparent, so as to show the reality it now hides, how completely might our views nf nil things and ourselves be reversed and transmuted ! Wo should sec, perhaps, in many n family of those poor barbarians whom bmsar slaughtered by myriads, more dignity, sensibility, gen. uine aensa of nature and power, than in the accomplished, radiant emperor. Knowing how in mysclt what is deep, arduous, and high minded shrinks from view, and all Ilia, is imitative, hollow, sciinh, and sequa cious lios on the surface, or rather forms it, may I not boliovo that tho like is true of tho world and all lis History f To-day is likely to bo a memorable one for me. I was wandering some miles from tho houso while my pupil was gono on a pleasure party with tho family in another direction. At last I came out of a lano upon a farm-houso with n little gardon in front of it, in which a young woman wns tying up the flowers. Shu had n singulnrly soft and quiet manner of moving, such ns indicated a quiet and harmonious life, nnd gave her more the nir of n lady thnn most Indies that 1 hive seen, I went up to speak to her. ond nskod whnro I wns, nnd what would bo my shortest wny back, when I saw her face moro distinctly, bur mild fea tures, nnd clear blue eyes. She answered mo in a low sweet voice, gravely but pleas antly, when an old man camo out of the house, whom I found to bo her father, and whom I remembetcd lo have seen two or throe times nt my employer's, tho squire's, where he hnJ.cotnc on justico business n an overseer of thn poor. I recollected that his name was Wilson, and on speaking to him and saying whore I lived, ho asked mo in. Tho daughter had gone before, and I willingly nj-reed. Tho family and tho house hnvo aliko an appearance of simplicity and pence at onco strnngo nnd delightful to mo. When I think of tho resiles orctensions nnd tho discontent nf those I live among, the contrast becomes very striking 1 ypont n quarter of on hour in tho house, ond when I was return ing through the woods and fields the figure of Elizabeth seemed always flitting before me, yet with her face turned towards mine, nnd with her bright and gentle eves and calm smile looking nt mo from botween the trees nnd ahuvR the lu-dge-rows. I could not. walk steadily, but jumped nnd ran, and every now nnd then stood still, the more clearly to recall her image. I, who seldom am able to pray, caught myself exclaiming, u uou .' impt thuu at last sent mo n being whom I mav love, nod who may nno day lovo mu r" I hav'e now soon Elizabeth mnnv times. Her whole lifo nnd culture hnvo had but tho two elements, tho domestic and the Biblical. Yet to how complete and melo dious, nay, sometimes how high and lyrical, a being has she attained ! She knows, in deed, little ; hut she has tho most open, the freshest, nnd the truest sense for what ever is natural ond worthy. Whilo with her, and thinking no longer of speculations or of myself, I feel ns if I had thrown off a stiff and heavy nrmour which I had worn for years, and been clad of a sudden in soft and lucid silken robes. Oh, how divine is the blessedness of Inve ! It leaves mo no fears nnd regrets. I feel that life i3 indeed a capacity for joy, and is nothing clso. All besides is but the pain nnd struggle thro' which that capacity is unfolded. She. without designing it, has opined my heart to see nnd feel goodness nnd benutv in every thing around mo. Nav, slrnngcet of all, when with her 1 read the Biblo, nnd when I see how its morality and devotion and multndinous imagery hnvo passed into and become portions of her heart, I seem to perceive that the Deity may be beheld iminndi.-.'.tl.-, and acknowledged, as wo dis cern and own what is excellent in n human being, and should feel it a villany to nsk how we can prove such nnd such a pure and heroic man not to be a mere cheat and quack. Much, indeed, is still dark ; but I can now conceive it to bo transitory nnd hopeful darkness, lor what once wns dark est of nil, namely, my own being and nffec lions, aro now bright and benignant. I now know that to believe is nobler than to theorise, and to act moro profitable than to murmur. I dare not complain of tho seem ingly inexplicable contradictions of Exis tence, while I am not guiding my own in the path which evidently opens before mo. I cannot, indeed, see its termination, but I do sec the portion nearest to me, which must, ot nil events, bo first travelled ; nnd ns 1 do not sen tho end, I know not but that it mny issue in tho solution of all my difficuliic'. There is a road of action guid ing mo I know not precisely whither ; and there must bo somowherc, though I know not precisely whore, an outlet from the labyrinth of speculation. One, therefore, nf those mav turn nut. to bo tin solution of the other. Nay, if nil Life ho not n hope less, planless chaos, I daro affirm that it must be. And that such nnd so darkly be wildered is not our mortal state, my hopes, my sympathies, my exulting joy. my sense of liberation, in tho lovo of Elizabeth, are to mo nbiindant proof. The God of the Bible ond the God of tho Universe, I now divine afar off, may be known ns one. But I am sure that In kmw Ilim nt nil, except by guns. I must resolvo that lie shall prac. ti'cally be my God. CHAPTr.rt vu. The effect of ihcse papers on Musgrave's mind was very strong. Ho had hardly ever road any thing not in conformity with Iin own habits ol mind nnd opinions. From nil bonks beyond his favorite circle, consisting of such works as A-Kempis, Jeremy 1 nylor, Herbert, and Fenohin, he turned awnv with itidifluronco or dislike Ilw was a sort of unchanging moonshine of the mind. Now hu felt as if thrown into n dungeon, with a dim lamp burning on one side, nnd a single sharp ray oi sun light piercing on tho other. Much that appeared in Henry's Papers he could not at all enter into, liut he saw enough to un derstand l lint his own previous world was n smaller nno than ho hnd imagined. Without losing his faith in the great truths which ho had never for nn instant of his life normittcd himself to doubt, ho now fe'l the sphere of his conceptions suddenly and painfully enlarged, and nn unexpected un nortnnco given to thoughts which had hardly heforo suggested themselves to him Ho had not read Walsingham':- Poems, and the ono which ho had now lighted on excited in him n new interest. It exhibited a coinpnsuro of mind which ho had fancied impossible unless connected with his own opinions; and at tho sniuo time, having read very little puctry, lie fancied ho found in it a frco and clear painting of many images, drawn from iinturo, nnd n ntendy, uutremiilous, sclf.cnsciousnoss, which, ns thus united together, and not derived ox iclu6ivcly from religious devotion, seemed to him vory wonderful. It mav thus bo como intelligible, that when tho" fated hour arrived, and Arthur could look back on Eilnmnstnno, Hnrcourt, Wilson, Ilnstings, and Musgravo ns so many disttncl solves, ho turned from them all, "nnd hoped to rise on bolder wings, nnd commando wider nir. when ho elected to assume tho being of Walsitigham. CHAPTER VIII. Extracts from Maria's Nbte'IJook. Walsitigham hnn now been hero nn n visit for two days. I nm not sure, but I suspect, that ho plotted to induce tny aunt to invito him; and although it seems nb surd. I can now hardly help fancying th.it it was on my account iio wished 'to come. I ennnot sou him without intorcst , nnd a certiiin pleasure. But 1 find thnt this feel irg is always accompanied by dissatisfac thn. and almost by self-reproach, when it is not justified by on equal sense of reliance and reverence. His sympathies socm to mo kind nnd right, and wonderfully impar tinl and comprehensive : nnd of bin talon's and accomplishment, then can be, I sup pose, no doubt. But I cannot nhnko off the persuasion that there is something wanting in him to gain try full admiration and esteem. I can imagine that a person who had never beheld a complete Gothic cathedral might see n beautiful tower of such a building, massive nnd profusely or. tinmented, and in which nil that had ever been begun was quite finished, and yet feel something to be wanting, though he" might not ho able to tell that it wns the sky point ing spires which ought to have crowned the tower. As to Wnlsmghain, however, it may be altogether a .nistake. of mine; and no doubt it seems more probable that I am in error than he. Oh, how hiird it is to keep one's life at onco clear, full, fresh, and steady! How I find myself wavering into sickly fancies, indulging selfish humours, repining at ray situation as if it wore not a necessary por tion of my existence, nnd as if thnt wero not, on the whole, a blessing. My God! strengthen me. The imago of Arthur has darkened, even saddened, my mind. But for hnw much hope, energy, feeling, am I not nl?n indebted to him. I look upon the stars or into the calm depth of pure waters, nnd I seem to knnw then that although here nnd now wo nte divided, tlicro is some distant imperishable world in which our spirits ever dwell together. Meanwhile, tho pat lies wild nnd dark behind me. The future moves onward with swift feet, and itn footsteps on that field of still smoking ashes are what wo cnll the present. Dear, dear. Arthur! though I cannot see vou, nor even hear of you. some dny of uncloud ed revelation will surely come, when ynu will know ho.v tonal, and devotedly I com pare ynur deep, though olicn troubled, Kiruglitig eornestneju, wit It t Ins cold, far- 'slicing, many sided, self idolizing, con utnmatc artist. I nm unjust to Walsitigham. No man could so well understand nnd tolerate all, kinds of characters, even the moat unlike his own, nay, even tho poor, foolish, pain ful, mimicries of himself, without a long nnd hard self-sacrificing discipline. There is nothing which I find that he so thorough ly hates os the coarse, tawdry finery ot the English upper classes, tinnccompaiiied, ns it so often i. bv any true refinement or sense of the beautiful. But I think, that when this better tnto eXHt-. ho is inclined to overlook in its favor much of moral evil, and even a gond deal of heartless sclfi-h-iie. When this tendency of hi breaks out I shrink nway from him. But then ngain my admiration is recalled to him by his sensibility to every form of power and Invlinnss, by his iu-dght into tho real sub stance of nil the kind- of human life we moot with, nnd UU capacity of diving the history nfench, nnd rending off its destiny into n clear and expressive whole. Some times, for n few moment?, I seem borne npwnid-i nn hi eagle wings, nnd feel long nl'ler ns if he had placed mo on a mighty mountain head, whence, in bright sunshine nnd keen blue nir, I can behold the great nnd living nias of Nature and Mankind. Dare I nsk myself whether I could no con tent to dwoll with him upon that summit? It is too late to doubt whether I shall ask tho question. Arthur, fnrgivn mo! But I am clear nf to the niwwcr No Oh, Nn. May God lorbid ! Rather let iin' live in the darkest, rudest valley, where I may be strengthened and guided by nno true, warm wise heart; where I should not only understand nnd mould to imagery nil tho beings round mo. but where they might feel thnt I loved them, mil was struggling onward with them to do whatever good we knew, at whatever sacrifice. Walsingham puzzles mo more and more. I cannot be inistnkeu as to the interest ho fools in me, and tho pleasure he has in my society. I too enjoy tho perpetual flow ofnniinated and graceful thoughts winch breaks from him on nil occasions, ond with roferencn to every little outward object, a plant, n bird, a shower, n village wedding. Now nnd then he expresses m a few words a view which seems to throw a wondrous light over wholo regions of one's lifo. As this n largo mind, which cannot tolerate small ones, is smaller than if it could. Or this when we feel strong, ly nnd mysteriously as to the past, we should remember that nil which seems strongest in our cnn-cioiisnesj may arise, not from tho past thnt it relates to, hut Irom lite prcsci't that it subsits in. Or this llochofoucnuld's maxima are n true picture, not nf human nature, indeed, but of its sol- fishiicss. He works like n pnintcr who paints the profile, nud chooses tho sido of tho Tace in which tho eye is blind nnd deform' ed, instead of tho other w Inch is unblemished Yet the pieluro may he n must accmnto copy. Or this the wider the base of life tho higher may wo hope to raise the eum- VOL. XIIlVo. 611 mit. Numberless more of such remark' has ho let fall in tho three days he hn been here, nnd chiefly when conversing with me. And yot thnro is nothing pedantic or sen. tontinus in Ins tone. Ho is cny nnd play ful, though earnest; nnd these sayings, nnd others like them, hnvo only cntne on! n-t explanations nf some casual remark winch had interested me, and on which I had wish, cd for more light. Yet. this man becomes, on occasion, quite a different being, nnd outs with whom I cannot sympathize nt nil, Thus, wo had yesterday at dinner, nnd slay till to. day, Mrs , nn airy, spark- lingjcrnnture, fond of admiration, very good natured, and skimming through life like n butterfly. Walsingham seemed much nmuscd by her, nnd paid her n great deal of ntlcntinn. I nm certain she could not in tho least understand him in hie more seri ous momsntp. But, the odd thing wns. that, seeing him with hor, no one could have snspnclcd him of ever having nuv serious moments. She was singing, nnd ex claimed, 'What stupid words these are I cannot sing them ! and yet the time in very pretty: Do give me something belter for Ii?' She held out her ivory tnblctp lo him with a coqnetish smile, nnd said, "Do. I should so like it." Ho took them from her laugh ing, nnd paid, "Mind you promise to sing tho lines," nnd in ten minutes he gave her the verses called Sappho, which, tho next morning, while I was out of the room, sho copied, hs a piece of mischief, intu my Album. 1. "By llio noontide Ileal opprcss'd, Sapidic in a cave would reat. Koc and Iny tree licdged it round ; Violets coveied sill the ground. o "But within the twilight shade, l,o ! a lovely hoy was laid, Who in deepea". calm reposed, Willi his wings of purple closed, 3. "Pleased, afraid, she knew not why, Willi a foml and dreaming siil!, Down fliCFank beside the child. Who, in sleep rejoicing, smiled. 4. "O'er llie imp an arm she threw, D.iinliesl arm, of white."! hue, He towards her bosom rinpi, 'though il teemed that still he (dept. 5. "To her heating heart he clung, Like a bee the flowers among ; And one throbbing music plaved, Through the veins of child iinci maid, 6. "On her eyelids, smooth and sweet, Sleep came down with presence fleet, How could sleep delay to rest In eo Eoft and fair a nest 7j "Then upon her foul arose Wondrotn visionary shows ; Man'y locks, lieioic eyes. With n voice of songs nnd sighs. 8. "In llio wooded v.!c it eemed, That the nnw-iriing godhead beamed, Come to wno her from above, Veiling all his power in love. 9. "How the hours had passed away, Dreaming fi,plio could not cay', But she woke alone, and found Evening floating o'er llie ground. 10. "Weeping drooped the lonely maid, And with invv.inl moan she said, 'Hoy, a double rest waslhine, Tor thuu leav'st me nought of mine." Mrs rati through this poem merrily for severnl s-tanzao, nnd while sho sang there wns a droll indefinable smile about the corners of her mnulh, which I could not make out. But heforo sho had done, she shook her pretty bright head, with all IN rair ringlets waving round it. and said, 0 ! lean never get through nil that.' She then gave hini on nrch glance, and ran off from the piano to me. saying, 'Dear Mis Lascellcs. what bores Sapphns. and Mad ame do Stoels. ond oil such people must have been. Do let us have some rational talk about fashions, and fiddlesticks, and nny thing useful.' Wnlingham took up n book, nnd his whole look changed In otie thnt would suit my notion of Plnin nr Pyth agora. and this evidently quite uncon sciously. Mrs could not keep her eyes offhim long, nnd nftor n quarter of on hour she made some excuse for moving. I saw her pass near him and say something; laughingly. But ho looked up with a fnc of such entire thoughtful nhstrnctinn, lint she started away as if she had seen a skole. ton head. Ho soon, however, smiled, an swered her, and then nnnie away and talked lo me about Albert Durer's Prayer-book which I was looking it. To be Continued. "Quarrels of anger ending in tears nro favornblo to love in its springtide, in plants arc fnnd to grow very rapidly alcr a. thunder-storm with rain." "The heart in ils physical sonso is not sullieiont for n kite's dinner ; yet the wholo world is not sufficient for it."' "God hath from tho beginning promised forgiveness to tho penitent, but hnlh no where promised penitence to the sinner." Coleridge. "One day, when I had not n shilling which I could spare. I wn passing by n collage not far Irnm Krwick. where a car. ler was demanding a shilling for n letter, which tho woman of the house nppenred unwilling to pay, nnd at last declined to take. I paid tho postage; nnd when lhs man was out of sight, i-lm told me that the letter was from her sun, who took thut. means af letting her I iuow thnt he wns well: tho letter wns not In he paid far. It w.n then opened, mid fuuiul to ho blank!" Coleridge, A Fair. ExciiANau Greit Britain pov. for the trnti-iiottiilion of her paupers to this country; nud Uneln Sam pays for the trnnspnrtntioii ol lin sub treasurers io Great: Britain.

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