I know little of the river Styx," answered the maid, smiling at the indignant ardor of her companion; "but I know that adamant can be broken, and the wall of China overcome, if the right means are employed. Would it be consistent to inform me what constitutes this fearful engine of separation between two loving hearts?"

"Certainly," replied Arlington. "It is the line that is drawn between wealth and poverty. By the customs of society, rank and worth are measured by dollars and cents. Merit, talent -even virtue, are cast out of the account, and gold, sordid gold, is made the sole standard of excellence! Is not this so ?"

"I think not wholly so," responded the lady, with a slight sigh. "But I perceive the topic is painful to you; let us change it."

"No, not painful; I confess my pride revolts when I find myself so completely the slave of custom; yet there is a self-conscious sense of the injustice of this unnatural distinction, which bears the bruised mind loftily above its influences. Before we are interrupted, my dear Miss Cortley, I have a favor to ask of you. This may be the last time that circumstances will permit me to visit your paternal roof. I have revealed to you the hopeless aspect of my dearest and best affections, and, relying on your discretion and judgment, I desire to make you still further my confidant. In my studio are the lineaments of her to whom my heart turns despondingly as the polar star of my happiness, traced there upon the canvas, in almost breathing truthfulness, by the inspiration of love's directing power. Promise me that you will visit the studio, and judge whether the object that I have chosen is not worthy of man's best and proudest devotion."

It is needless to say that the promise was given; for poor Mary, who thought that the knell of her own hopes had been sounded, felt then that she would give worlds to know and gaze upon the heartless creature who could reject such an expenditure of goodness and love from a heart so deserving. This done, Arlington took leave of the company and retired. Miss Clara had been not a little vexed at being compelled to leave Arlington and Mary

alone together, and her impatient mind found relief in his early departure.

True to her promise, on the following day, Mary, without ordering the carriage, walked alone to the studio. She found the painter in his working-dress, laboring upon the features of a cherub-looking child. The young lady entered the apartment under visible embarrassment; her agitation was in a measure uncontrollable, and a slight paleness, which usurped the place of the usually rosy warmth of her complexion, betrayed somewhat the emotions of her heart. The artist received her with a smile, that betokened more thanks than lips could utter, for what he termed her kind condescension, and taking courage from his frank cheerfulness and conversation, Mary soon grew more composed.

My dear Miss Cortley," he said at length, and his voice grew husky as he spoke, "you have come to-day on a mission of mercy, and in compliance with your promise to aid me with your counsel and advice in a matter that affects my whole happiness. This is generous. I have confided to you the great secret of my existence, in all save the name of the object that I worship, and as I am now about to make that also known to you, and to exhibit the features of her I love, I can but entreat, dearest girl, that your noble sympathies will, at least, pardon the presumption of an overflowing heart."

With these words, he drew aside a small drapery, and revealed a picture that hung upon the wainscot before the maiden. The story was told. The downcast eyes and suffused cheeks of the maid, revealed the effect of a single glance at the canvas, and informed the timid artist that it was with no displeasure she there beheld a life-like reflex of her own love-beaming features. Before her mind seemed the dawn of a new existence, and from that lifeless canvas came to her soul new thoughts, new hopes, new joys, all fresh and sweet to the senses. That she loved the artist, her own heart had a thousand times confessed; but that her love could be returned she dared not, did not hope. True to her instinct, rather than to her position in society, she had taught herself to regard the object of her affection as a creature of superior mold, a thing to be admired-revered, but not approached; and when the revelation of his love for her glowed upon her from the canvas, it seemed as the realization of a long and blissful dream.

Let us now draw the curtain over the whole

Mr. EDITOR:

Now you have dun it! I did'nt expect you was goin' to print that letter of mine, and you shouldn't a done so; or, at any rate, you mite have mended the spellin' a little. I didn't think it was so bad till I seen it in printed letters; and it seems to me now, you must a made it a little worse than it raly was. But howsever, it didn't tell anything but the truth, and so I ain't agoin' to be ashamed on't. And since you printed my story about Aunt Debby's Cheeses, I'll tell you another.

About four year ago, there was a fellow, named Ike Rawlins, that had been loafin' about our neighborhood for a good while, doin' little chores here and there, and then goin' to the tavern and gittin' drunk, as often as he could git money to pay for licker. That was all Ike spent money for; because wherever he did a

job, they always gin him somethin' to eat; and then when night come, he'd go and crawl in somebody's barn, and there he'd sleep without any expense for his lodgings. Ike seemed to be an honest, good-natured fellow, and nobody had anythin' to say aginst him, except that he set a bad example of idleness, and dissipation to the young folks; and, besides, a'most everybody was afraid that some night or 'nother, when he was drunk, he'd set somebody's baru a fire, tryin' to lite his pipe, for Ike was a considerable smoker; and so they all wanted to git rid on him, but charity wouldn't let 'em send him away: and then agin, it was kind a handy to have him about, because he was always ready to do any little job that was wanted, for a trifle, or somethin' to eat, providin' he was sober. And so Ike lived around, and did pretty much as he was a mind to for a long time.

One day it happened that two of our farmers

was gittin' in hay, when, right in the middle of their work, they seen a thunder-storm comin' on towards 'em, butt eend foremost. One was Cap'n Dorsey, and tother was old Jabez Crowle, we commonly called him Unkle Jabe. Well, the two meadows they were workin' in, lay right side and side, and when they saw the shower a comin', all hands put to with rakes and pitchforks to git in the hay, as if the Old Nick was arter 'em, they were so 'fraid the hay would git wet. Jest then, who should they see in the road, but Ike Rawlins, goin' rite by the corner where the lots jined. Both on 'em wanted all the help they could git, and both on 'em sung out "Ike!" as loud as they could holler, and about the same time. Ike stopped and looked 'round when he heard his name called, and Cap'n Dorsey and Unkle Jabe both started on a run to the corner where Ike stood, both on 'em determined to git him to come and help 'em to git in the hay. Unkle Jabe spoke first, while he was a runnin,' puffin' and blowin' all the time like a choked cow.

"Ike!" says Unkle Jabe. "here,-I want you to come help git in this hay-it's-a goin' torain-and I'll give you a-shillin'."

The Cap'n sung out next, and offered Ike eighteen pence if he'd come and help him. Unkle Jabe said he spoke to Ike first, and it want neighborly in the Cap'n to interfere. So the Cap'n said it wasn't none o' his business; he wanted a hand, and he meant to git him if he could, and if "neighbor Isaac" wasn't engaged, he'd be very thankful if he'd come and work for him, and he'd pay him as much as anybody. Unkle Jabe saw the soft sawder that the Cap'n was puttin' onto Ike, so he tho't he'd jest try a game worth two o' that. So, as Ike was standin' starin' first at one, and then at tother, with his eyes a stickin' out like a squirrel's, Unkle Jabe gin him a sly wink, and beckoned him up to the fence, and when Ike got there, Unkle Jabe whispered in his ear,-"I

say, Ike, the Cap'n 's a temp'rance man, but we've got a whiskey jug under the stack there, and if you'll jest give us a lift, you shall have a swig at it when we're done, and the eighteen pence to boot,-will you dew it?" "Yes, I will," says Ike, and he crawled over the fence into Unkle Jabe's lot, while the Cap'n went back to his work een-a-most swearin', tho' he is a deacon at the meetin' house. So Ike went to work, but he did more hurt than good, and they got in the last load o' hay jest after the shower began; and when Ike went for his "swig," at the whiskey jug, he found the jug, sure enough, but no whiskey.

The Cap'n was so mad when Unkle Jabe got Ike over the fence, that he and his hands went to it in such good earnest, that they got their hay in, high and dry, before the shower began ; and stood laughin' at Unkle Jabe's folks as they went in soakin' wet with their last load. "Ha, ha," says the Cap'n, "better do without, than have such help."

When I heard this joke, I couldn't help thinkin' how much Unkle Jabe and the Cap'n was like the politicians. The old parties don't either of them like the foreigners any too much, and they'r more'n half afraid they'll set Unkle Sam's barn afire yet, and they all wish 'em to the old Harry; but when the thunder-shower of an election comes round, they both run arter 'em, as the Cap'n and Unkle Jabe did arter Ike, to git their help; and so they git into a quarrel with one another, and use hard words, and try to outbid, and make promises that they can't keep, and don't intend to if they can and arter all it turns out, sometimes, that the party that gets 'em is none the better off by it; and so I think, like Cap'n Dorsey, that we'd "better do without, than have such help."

So no more at present from
Your friend,

SETH SLOMAN.

"I AM out of humanity's reach-
I must finish my journey alone;
Never hear the sweet music of speech;
I start at the sound of my own.
"The beasts that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see:
They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me." THE Great Ruler of the Universe, when he conceived the benevolent idea of forming man in his own glorious image, had he ever have designed for him a condition of solitude, would have never placed by his side the "last and best of all create," nor conferred on him any living thing.

Man, by nature, is a social being, and finds delight in the companionship of his kind; for, in his intercourse with his fellow-creatures, he realizes the expectations of a God of Love, and ameliorates the condition of the human race.

'Tis only in communing with our thoughts that solitude becomes requisite-but it is the temporary solitude of the chamber-the loneliness and retirement of the closet-the secrecy and silence of midnight, when all is hushed, and not a sound doth mar the calm repose of

nature:

For then we can breathe out the grateful

prayer to Heaven, and from the fount of the heart pour out, in adoration, the stream of gratitude for His boundless mercies and enduring love.

But the solitude of the mount or of the desert—an abandonment of the gay and polished scenes of life, for the solitary hut, far, far from the abodes of man, where no human footstep e'er can tread-is contrary to the intention of Him who has, by endowing us with intellectual capacities, impressed on the cultivated mind a knowledge of our duty to our fellow-creatures.

Man cannot hide from the world, nor escape from the tumultuous scenes of life. He may climb the mountain-top, or rear him a home in the forest, and shut out the cheering light of day; yet the bright-winged paroquet will hover o'er his head, and the red-bird pour gay its sweetest strains into his ears.

He will find society in everything around his sequestered abode in the running brook—in the creeping stream-in the waving leavesin the blooming flowers-in the insect humin the roaring winds in the gentle breeze in the dropping rain-in the falling dew-and

in the earth when whitened with the snow.

And, as 'mid the gloom of night he casts his

eye to the canopy which severs him from the beings of a brighter clime, the stars which spangle it, and the moon which reflects her matchless rays of unparalleled beauty o'er the threatening darkness, are powerful witnesses of his actions.

Who would waste in solitude the most precious moments of life? Who yield up his last breath where none could surround his dying couch, and where none could point to a haven of bliss beyond the restricted confines of the tomb?

"On some fond breast the parting soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires,
Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires."

Oh! commend us to the sweet companionship of WOMAN, when we tremble on the brink of eternity, to solace our last sojourn on earth, and strew with blooming flowers our pathway

to the silent halls of death.

Many and many a beautiful gem hath been written on solitude. Most sweetly have its charms been portrayed by gifted authors, and most eloquently have its delights been unfolded to view. Still, with all due regard to the sentiments of those with whom we cannot concur, and entertaining the highest opinion of their genius, we must, nevertheless, protest against that seclusion from society which has a tendency to restrict the usefulness of the human race, and creates a line of separation between man and his neighbor.

Our distinguished and talented Mrs. Sigourney beautifully pours out the rich resources of her mind, in her poem on 66 Solitude." Often and often, while bounding o'er the mighty deep, has your author drank in from the inspirations of this intellectual lady, as he perused her soul-stirring verse amid the calmness of the sea, by the light of the glorious moon, at the still and solemn hour of midnight: "Deep solitude I sought. There was a dell Where woven shades shut out the eye of day, While, towering near, the rugged mountains made Dark back-ground 'gainst the sky. Thither I went, And bade my spirit drink that lonely draught, For which it long had languished 'mid the strife And fever of the world. I thought to be There without witness. But the violet's eye Looked up upon me,-the fresh wild-rose smiled, And the young pendent vine-flower kissed my cheek; And there were voices, too. The garrulous brook, Untiring, to the patient pebbles told Its history;-up came the singing breeze, And the broad leaves of the cool poplar spake Responsive, every one. Even busy life Woke in that dell. The tireless spider threw From spray to spray her silver-tissued snare. The wary ant, whose curving pincers pierced

The treasured grain, toiled toward her citadel
To the sweet hive went forth the loaded bee,
And from the wind-rocked nest, the mother-bird
Sang to her nurslings.

"Yet I strangely thought
To be alone, and silent in thy realm,
Spirit of life and love! It might not be !
There is no solitude in thy domains,

Save what man makes, when, in his selfish breast.
He locks his joys, and bars out others' grief.
Thou hast not left thyself to Nature's round
Without a witness. Trees, and flowers, and streams
Are social and benevolent; and he

Who oft communeth in their language pure.
Roaming among them at the cool of day,
Shall find, like him who Eden's garden dressed,
His Maker there, to teach his listening heart."

We are not opposed to temporary, but to that eternal solitude which incloses man within

the limits of his dreary and lonely habitation -a solitude which bespeaks the littleness of his mind, and the narrowness of his heart. No matter where he may bend his steps, he

cannot flee from the wrath of an offended God, or close up his ears to the summons of death. The Omnipotent Eye can penetrate his mountain-home, and the grim messenger can unbolt his doors.

He can have no good cause for his banishment. The ingratitude of man should not have driven him to the wilderness, nor his villiany sickened him of the world. If she, the idol of his heart, hath played him false, and lavished her smiles on a more favored lover, he should have buried her treachery in forgetfulness:

A nobler flame shall warm his breast,
A brighter maiden faithful prove,
His youth, his age, shall yet be blest
In woman's love.

Or have thy miserly propensities, oh! wanderer, debarred thee from the calm and blissful enjoyment of domestic felicity? Perchance thou canst exclaim, "No blood of mine courses the veins of any living mortal, for yon solitary tomb encircles the companion of my bosom, and holds captive the children of my love." It may be that in the solitude he has chosen he devotes the residue of his days to prayer, and to the praise of The Eternal, and is preparing himself for that Realm where the rainbow never fades. If so, how commendable is such a state of solitude! Mindful of the follies and vanities of the world, he is holding converse with his God, and is placing his sole reliance on the mercies of the High and Holy One, on that final day when the hearts of all shall be exposed to the view of countless millions of beings, and when each around that vast multitude shall stand or fall by his