PHILADELPHIA PORT FOLIO: A WEEKLY JOURNAL

MARY CLAVERY'S STORY.

BY MRS. S. C. HALL.

THE language of the Irish peasantry is invariably strong and metaphorical; and when they would describe their distress, or paint their happiness, it becomes highly poetical. I will illustrate this remark by the story of Mary Clavery, in her own words, as she told it to some very dear friends of mine, who resided at Bannow Parsonage, and who united, in a singularly happy manner, the kindly feelings and active exertions that make a clergyman's family "the blessing of the poor."

vine even to bleeding, and suffers the bramble | the-feaver, and the steward found out some to grow its own way." stranger who offered money down on the nail sure there's no justice for the poor! 'twas a Every one cried shame on the landlord, but for the land, for we had it in prime order. sorrowful parting-for some how a body gets and the troubles came at once-and all wo their own eye-and I was near my laying-infond of the bits of trees even that grow under could get to shelter us was a damp hole of a though it wasn't in natur not to lament byplace. My husband got plinty good, firm-aye, firmer than ever, and no blight was on our name, nor isn't to this day; gone comforts, yet sure the love was, to the thank God for it, for nobody breathing can say, Thomas, or Mary Clavery, ye owe me the value of a thraneen.'

work, and

pressions, of whatever nature, are, at this time, easily made, and often permanently retained. We have already alluded to the distortions to which want of care subjects the body. False "That's true-thank ye, Sir, for that sweet perceptions, by which the brightness of chari-"it's happy to think of God's care-the only word of comfort," she replied smiling faintly; table feeling in after life is sullied and darkly clouded, often have their origin from early necare that's over the poor-though it seems unglect or false tenderness. How many melan- ordinary kind to me. grateful to say that to those who are so extracholy examples of excessive fear of supernatu- cabin-a milk white cow-a trifle of poultryral agencies, superstitious and absurd beliefs, Well; we had a clane envy, prejudice, vindictive passion, overbeartwo or three pigs, indeed every comfort in ing demeanour, and offensive pride, are strictly life according to our station, and thankful we referrible to the indolent yieldingness of a were for it. Why not! time passed as happy mother, and the gossip of an idle and ignorant another, but the eldest now was the third then, as heart could wish, and one babe came, and nurse. The first painful feeling created in the for it pleased God to take the two first in the breast of Byron, while yet a child, was by the feaver; and bad, sure enough, was the trouble, angry taunts of his mother at his deformed foot; and to this he referred his estranged filial and on, for as good as four months; and then for my husband took it, and there he lay, off affections in after life, Alfieri, the celebrated Italian dramatic poet, attributed his deep-root- to sell the cow: one would think the baste had the rint got behind hand, and we were forced ed aversion from every thing French, to his knowledge, for when she was going off to the "The change of air, and the fretting, and occasionally seeing, in early childhood, an old fair (and by the same token it was my brother-py for the darlint-but oh! it was heart-scaldone thing or other, made me very weakly, and marchioness of that nation, with rouged face, in-law's sister's son that drove her), she turned we lost the fellow twin to this one; it was haptasteless finery, and affected manners, among his mother's visiters. back and mowed-ay, as natural as a child that wasting, and to want the drop of wine, or the ing to see it peeking and peeking, wasting and was quitting the mother. Well; we never could rise the price of a cow agin, and that was blessing to its parents' grey hairs; it was then morsel of mate, that might keep it to be a a sore loss to us, for God sent two young ones just after my child's death, that to drive the the next time, and betwixt the both I could never get a minute to do the bit o' spinning or sorrow from his heart, Thomas took a little to yearly compliment. (She was not born a lady, gentle to me and the young ones, but in the knitting that the landlord's wife expected as a the drop, and yet he was'nt like other men, and they're the worst to the poor. Musheroom end it ruined us, as it does all who have any gentry! that spring up, and buy land, hand that grow cross and fractious; he was always over head, fron the rale sort, that are left, in though I say it, as ye could see in a day's walk call to it for he was as fine a young man, the long run, without cross or coin to bless-standing six feet two in his stocking vamps, themselves with-all owing to their generosi- and admired for his beauty; and we went to ty.) Well; to make up for that, I was forced to give some of my best hens, as duty fowl to the next town to sell my little spinning, that I handsome toppings. That wasn't all;-the the lady, on account that she praised their der; and, as was fated I suppose, who should had done to keep the dacent stitch on the chilpigs got the measles, and we might have sould cruiting sargent-and when the drink's in, be there, but the devil in the shape of a rehe- Mary, we have had disease and death in them to advantage; but my husband says, says the wit's out-and he listed-listed-And the our own house, and don't let us be the manes parting--oh! but I thought the life would of selling unwholesome mate upon no account; embarkment, and there they druv me from him lave me sure I followed him to the place of because it brings ill health, and we to answer honest deeds and the rogueish ones, straight for it, when nothin' will be to the fore, but the -and I stood on the sea shore-and saw him against each other, and no one to judge them on the deck of that black ship, his arms crossed over his breast like one melancholy mad; and it but the Almighty-the ONE who who knows was long before I believed he was really gone the rights of all;'-that was true for him. cheer me-for these did nothing but cry for -gone-gone; and that there was no voice to poor Thomas worked like any negre to the Well; we might have got up again, for my full; but just after we had sowed our little food. It was wicked, but I wished to die, for field of wheat, (it was almost at the corner of my heart felt breaking-the little left me was the landlord's park, and we depended on it for soon gone-I was among strangers-I could next gale day,) nothing would sarve the landnot bear to go to my own people or place, belord but he must take it out of our hands, wid- travelled from parish to parish, doing a bit of cause I was more like a shame, and my spirit was too high to be looked down on. my lady, and to soften her like, took what was out any notice, to plant trees upon. I went to I have work of any kind when I could get it, and present; she accepted them very genteelly, to left of my poor fowl--the cock and all-as a trusting to good Christians to give somebe sure, and promised we should have another thing to the desolate children, when all else field, and compensation money. failed." waited, but no sign of it; at last my huband made bould to go to the landlord himself, and Well, we tould him all that had passed between the lady and me. 'Don't bother me, man,' was the ancompensation am I to have for being out of my swer he made; 'compensation indeed! what rent so long-the time ye were sick, and ye without a lase? And I am certain my wife woman.' never promised any thing of the sort to the Thomas, civil of course; but she did, for my I ask ye'r pardon, Sir,' replied Mary tould me.'

One tranquil evening in autumn, a pale, delicate young woman rested her hand on the gate that opened to the green sloping lawn that fronted the Parsonage-house, uncertain whether or not she dared raise the latch, as she gazed wistfully on the group of children who were playing on the green. Although in the veriest garb of misery, she had nothing of the common beggar in her appearance; and the two little ones that clung to her tattered cloak were better covered than their mother. She carried on her back a young sickly-looking infant, and its weak cries arrested the attention of the good pastor's youngest daughter, who bade her enter, in that kindly tone which speaks of hope and comfort to the breaking heart. How much is in a kindly voice! When the woman had partaken of food and rest, and remained a few days at the parsonage, she told her tale.

May God reward ye-for ye have fed the hungry, and ye have clothed the naked, and ye have spoken of hope to her who thought of it no more; and ye have looked like heaven's own angels to one who had forgot the sight of smiles. May God's fresh blessing be about ye -may ye never want!-but a poor woman's prayer is nothing; only I am confident the Almighty will grant ye a long life, and a happy death, for your kindness to one who was lone and desolate, in a could world. It little matters where one like me was born, only I came of dacent, honest people, and it could not be said, that any one belonging to me or mine, ever wronged man or mortal; the boys were brave and just-the girls well looking and virtuous : seven of us under one roof, but there was full and plinty of every thing-more especially love, which sweetens all. Well, I married; and I may say, a more sober, industrious boy, never broke the world's bread nor my Thomas -my Thomas! I ask your pardon, ladies; but my heart swells when I think that may be he's gone to the God who gave him to me first for a blessing, then for a heart thrial."

The poor woman wept, and the father of the family she was addressing, adopting the figurative language which the Irish so well understand, observed-"The gardener prunes the

Then the land

lord-and my husband fired up. 'Sir,' said he,
"She tould ye a lye, then,' said the land-
if ye were my equal you dar'n't say the likes
o' that of my Mary-for though she's not of
gentle blood, she's no liar!'
lord called my husband an impudent blaguard,
and Thomas made answer, that he, being a
gentleman, might call him what he pleased;
but that none should say that of his wife that
the thing was, that we got warning to quit all
she did not desarve; however, the upshot of
of a suddent; but there was no help for it, as
the neighbours said, true for them-that Tho-
mas was by no means as strong a man as before

"You have never heard from your husband?"

ford to the care of one I know; but I cannot
often hear, the distance is so great."
"Oh! Sir, he sends his letters to Water-

lings of it, betwixt rent for the last hole we
"Did he not forward you money?"
"Three pounds; but we owed thirty shil-
lived in and two or three other matters. I was
overjoyed to be able to send the money, for the
debts laid heavy on my heart; and to be sure
the children wanted many a little thing, and
the remainder soon went."

tale; and on farther inquiry its truth was fully deeply interested in Mary Clavery's simple The "good pastor and his fire-side" were established, and it was also found that her husband was in the regiment then at Jamaica, gallant and distinguished officer. The story commanded by the clergyman's brother, a where every little circumstance is an event, and, to the credit of the united good feeling of circulated very quickly in a neighbourhood the very same Sabbath morning, in the Protesmy favourite Bannow, be it known, that on tant church and Catholic chapel, a collection was made for the benefit of the distressed family, and another week saw Mary and her chil

dren in quiet possession of a small two-roomed
cabin; the parish minister and parish priest con-
versing at the door, as to the best method of pro-
curing the industrious woman continued em-
ployment; and Hetta, Marianne, and Ellen (the
clergyman's daughters), busily engaged in ar-
ranging new noggins and plates, and all man-
ner of cottage furniture to their own sweet
taste; then farmer Corish gave Mrs. Clavery
a sack of potatoes-Master Ben engaged to
"teach" the children for nothing-Mrs. Cassi-
dy sent, as her offering, a fine fat little pig-aching from the same cause.
Mrs. Corish presented a motherly, well-edu-
cated goose, capable of bringing up a numerous
family respectably. Good Mr. Billy, as consi-
derate and worthy an old bachelor as ever
lived (how angry I am with good men for be-
coming old bachelors), sent her a setting hen
and seven eggs;-in short, the little cottage
and garden were stocked so quickly, and yet so
well, and the poor woman was so grateful that
she could hardly believe the reality of what
had occurred. Her kind friends at the Par-
sonage, however, saw that something more
was wanting to make their protegé perfectly
happy. What that was need 1 tell? my lady
readers have surely guessed it already, and
even the gentlemen have found it out. The
clergyman, without acquainting Mrs. Clavery,
had written to his brother, mentioning all the
particulars, and begging Thomas's discharge;
the last post had brought him a letter, saying
that his request was granted.

mind bore lovely blossoms, but there followed
no time of fruitage. Insufficient for himself,
he was desolate on the rock, terrified in the
storm, sad even amongst the sunbeams; he
had the eagle's spirit, but he wanted the eagle's
wing. Vivian Stanhope's is not an overdrawn
or an unfrequent character, but one that the
present state of society has a natural tendency
to produce, one that we should more frequent
ly discover, were it less difficult to strip the
disguise that self-love wraps round every heart

"Self-torturing, vain enthusiast, what would
you have? what would you be?" said a friend
one day to this most interesting being.
"I would have distinction-I would do great
things."

Need I pursue my story farther?

ILLUSTRATIONS OF MELANCHOLY.

BY MISS JEWSBURY.

There is no misfortune that the world regards with so little sympathy, nay, is so much disposed to regard as the consequence of crime, and the associate of an infirm mind, as MELANCHOLY, Sorrow resulting from any outward and tangible cause, such as sickness, poverty, loss of friends, or loss of fame, is a totally different thing. This it can comprehend, and even tolerate But melancholy-habitual depression of spirits without apparent reasons-a current of mournful thoughts on the most mirthful occasions-a cast of mind in its very essence and construction prone to sad thoughts, if not gloomy ones-how should the world know any thing about the matter, or, if it did, do other than laugh at it?-Alas! alas! If ge. nius were but always wedded to good sense, and good sense could but always appreciate the sensibility of genius-if the mutual forbearance that would naturally ensue would produce more happiness than can be any thing but dreamed of-there would be very little mere melancholy left; refinement and cheerfulness would absolutely shake hands, and that combination of nerves and sympathies, popularly termed the poetical temperament, would cease to be Guatimozin's bed of rosea!

The world is perfectly right in declaring that intellect ought not to make its possessor useless and melancholy; and it is certain that, unless connected with evil principles, or singularly unhappy circumstances, intellect of the highest order does neither the one nor the other. Inutility or morbid feeling are oftenest found in the lower grades of mind; for in intellect, as in politics, there is a tiers état. Genius has its buds as well as its full blown flowers, and it is on these buds that the canker worm oftenest seizes. It is only by reason of superior strength that the eagle defies the fowler; other birds have wings, and songs, and beauty, yet they perish in the snare. Shakspeare lived and was cheerful; Milton defied the "evil days and evil tongues;" Chatterton and Keats died broken-hearted. Vivian Stanhope, the subject of my first sketch, was born with the poetical temperament, and only just failed of being a poet; he had the heart of the nightingale, but he could not tune that "heart to song." He had the enthusiasm, the versatility, the passion, every thing that belongs to genius, but its mastering power. His

Then attempt great things."

"And effect only little ones."
"Then be satisfied with the estimation you
already possess, and believe it to be what it is
-considerable."

66

“And worth nothing because it is not more."
Vivian, be honest-do you deserve more?
Has the world been unjust to you?"
"No, no, no, my friend, and here lies the
secret cause of my melancholy-this is the
immedicable Marah."

"Not so, Vivian; humility would render the
waters no longer bitter. Dismiss all extrava-
gant desires of self-aggrandizement, and then
you would not sigh to see others preferred be-
fore you."

"And do I now? Oh you do not know me, not my heart I mean; I tell you the verdict of my own consciousness goes along with the verdict of the world-I feel it-see it-know itwrithe under it-ambition and inferior power jar together in my soul-and life is poisoned by the alternation of hope and fear, desire and dread. Every fresh mole hill I climb only reveals to me fresh wilds immeasurably spread;' every competition I pass only brings me nearer those I shall never pass-praise itself is bitter, for ten thousand deserve as much-affection itself is bitter, for I am jealous lest that should be discovered of me that I know of my self; sleep, dreams, food-all is bitter. Those who applaud me, do they mean it? Those who are silent-ah, what is not implied by their silence."

· Vivian, Vivian, beware! Better is half a talent, exercised with modesty and thankfulness, than the finest mind thus perverted by personal ambition, and corroded by unquiet, if not evil passions."

Vivian heard, but heeded not, and went on his way, a self-tormentor to the end. But melancholy, though generally peculiar to one kind of character, varies materially in its aspect, according to the circumstances that have occasioned its development, or the force of mind associated with imagination and sensibility. The melancholy of Graves Hamilton appeared a totally different quality from that of Vivian Stanhope. He had more pride, less vanity, and was less sensitive to opinion; his passions were fiercer, his mind more subtle and reflective, the whole character of a strong. er sterner cast. He was consequently less amiable, and his melancholy was a "moody madness" rather than a deep sadness. It was bitter, wild, blighting, poisonous-a moral Upas tree, that killed every thing within its shadow. It was a sceptical melancholy, and, not satisfied with personal complaint, took dark views of human life in general. Its creed was comprised in one phrase "man was made to mourn." And now for the cause. Graves Hamilton had been a spoiled child, a flattered self-willed youth, a disappointed man. These were radical faults in his bringing up, and they perpetuated themselves when he became his own master. His prominent characteristics were Thought and Passion; but one uncultivated, and the other unrestrained, they dragged him along like a chariot yoked to wild horses. Energy, that might have attained the highest rank in the noblest professions, was merely devoted to the pursuit of pleasure, till

in the end, like the scorpion surrounded by flames, it stung itself and died. Talent, leisure, and money (when under the guidance of principle, three great ingredients in happiness), became curses to Graves Hamilton; for, with impulses towards virtue, he despised the obligations of duty. His affections were a mine; precious things gleamed amidst its darkness, but wo to the being who trod its depths incautiously-sooner or later the fire-damp met him; and, if his love was strong as death," his "jealousy was cruel as the grave." He spoke one day, in the bitterness of his soul, worse of the few friends whom his mad moods had not estranged from him.

"I know," said he, "that I am wearing out, and that I am wearing out fast, but it is not time that is effecting the decay. If man had no mind he might last as long as a tree or a stone-no, it is the conflict of opposing passions, the weight of self-reproach, the sight of injured friends, the past-alive only with accusations, the future-a desert that sends back no echo when I call-it is that future beyond its horizon-it is these things that wear me out, that dig my grave before I enter it."

"But this need not be; shake off the chains of evil habits-arouse those sleeping energies." "They are dead, and can the dead awake?" "Hamilton, it is your scepticism that deceives you; I grant all you say; you have wasted thirty years of life-squandered endowments that might have sufficed to make you great, wise, happy-but you may yet redeem the past by the use of the present; oh, my friend, hear that VOICE which even now says -"Come forth, and all this burden shall fall from you like the grave clothes from Lazarus."

"Wise! great! happy! Solomon was wise, Solomon was great, was Solomon happy?" "Yes, in measure and in degree, happy as an Archangel, whilst he adored the Infinite!— whilst he sought the Schechinah!"

"It will not, may not be," responded Hamilton, with a heavy sigh. "Tell these things to the young; for me, it is too late; I have blighted my own spirit; my melancholy is the consequence of my own sin; my vision is distempered; I cannot see things in their right. hue and aspect; my soul is endowed with second sight; I see every thing in its change and reverse; the bride in her weeds of widowhood; the launched ship in its hour of storm; the happy innocent boy as the reckless brokenhearted man! The worm and the windingsheet are every where! To me the world is a Golgotha, a valley of judgment, a highway for the pale horse and its ghastly rider, and my paradise is sleep!" Words were a sin; truth and reason theinselves vain; Graves Hamilton pursued his worldly pilgrimage "feeding on ashes," because "a deceived heart had

turned him aside."

One other illustration and I have done. There has been tangible affliction in the case of Katherine Grey; but, even before she suffered, hers was a pensive spirit, one for sorrow to take deep root and flourish in. The rose has faded from her cheek, grey hairs are strewn amongst the brown; the jocund laugh is changed into a tender smile, and the bounding step into a matron's steady pace. Her tastes are contemplative; her views of life wear a sad-coloured livery; and there is a patient tranquil indifference to schemes that have reference beyond the passing day, which tells that the power of hoping is departed, and, with that, the desire of keen enjoyment. And yet her melancholy does "not so much resemble darkness, as daylight that hath died." The sable cloud has a silver lining. I spoke to her one day on the subject, and received this answer. The shadow is of this world,. the ray that brightens it is of the world to come; without that, I should be a weeping Niobe, useless to others, most wretched to myself. When I was young, having a romantic and reflective cast of mind, I cultivated melancholy, I was happy, and it diversified the sunshine of my existence, as agreeably as the

No. 22.

annum.

POETRY.

STANZAS.-BY J. G. BRAINARD,

On the lake of young life is a fairy boat,
Like the sweet new moon in a summer sky;
Through a calm of brightness it seems to float,
And in light and beauty its course to ply.
As sudden as a cricket's spring

Its feathery paddles dip the seas,
As gaily as the hum-birds wing

Its sails arrest the scented breeze;
And pennons bright and streamers gay
Flutter above the diamond spray,
As the keel cuts its wimpling way.
A little boy-they call him Love-
With dimpled cheek and sunny brow,
And pinions like a nestling dove,

Sits laughing on the fairy prow.
And one, as rosy bright as he,

Bearing his torch of purest light, With more of joy and less of glee,

Trims the gay bark, and shapes aright

Published every Thursday by JESPER HARDING, 36 Car-[haps longer, for Irish watches and certain people individual person, the accomplishments of Briareus ter's Alley, and 744 South Second Street. Price, $250 per lose half an hour in that time,) when a conversation and Argus. It is London diminished. No place Agents who procure and forward payment for four sub-arising between two gentlemen, who had just enter-like it to take the nonsense out of you." The first scribers, shall receive the fifth copy for one year; and so in ed, respecting the identity of the small foot that was person singular is, to all but itself, a very indifferent proportion for a larger number. patting the floor violently within the curtain, they pronoun. Nobody cares there whether you "cock fell to tossing over the gloves again, and selecting a your thumb" or no. Fanny Wright is no lion in pair hastily, the lady took the gentleman's arm and Broadway, and the frugal House-wife might eat her left the shop. "hard gingerbread," and swear that it was "nice" Miss (I wish I dare tell you the pretty uncontradicted. name those two black lines stands for but it's a How different from Boston! Here, every body true story, and of course you know I can't; so till I knows every body and his business. You cannot stir see you where I can whisper it in your ear, we'll without feeling your importance. A very little call her, if you please, Cecile.) Cecile, then, was stranger makes a "very splendid tiger," and a pea belle of two winter's standing. I hate description culiar tie in a cravat gives you a three months' imin a real story, and so 'I'll just say, that she was a mortality. Your birth, religion, early history, finansort of Aurora-Raby-looking beauty, (don't look for ces, and probabilities of distinction transpire with the description, Miss, it's a naughty book, Don Juan,) your arrival. "Good society," at the same time, dark eyed, dark haired, and with the foot and hand doubts while it discusses you, and though you are of a Peri. She was a glorious little creature, a real the cynosure of all eyes, you are suspected to be a angel by candle-light, and by day-light something rogue till you are known, by better than nature's between Honour O'Hara, Fenella and Di Vernon, authority, to be a gentleman. The shop-keepers but twice as lovely as either. The men adored her are professedly honest, street smoking is disreputaand the women, (nothing hates like a woman) were ble, small feet and French slippers are not much eating their hearts up about her. They abused her worn, and the Tremont is the finest hotel, and Dudtout-a-tout. They said she was not stylish, (that's ley the daintiest frizeur in the known world. For the word, since genteel is exploded,) but, like other society, the belles are slightly blue, the suppers exangels, she was a sort of witch, and knew the fashions quisite as a dream, and the beaux honest gentlemen a month before the milliners. They said she was traders, innocent of puns and neckclothiana, and proud, but pride is bewitching in a woman whose lip good subjects for matrimony. Literary people die is pretty. They said she was a flirt, and sarcastic, of the digito monstrari. Fanny Wright is held proand couldn't read without spelling, but on these fane, and lady editors beat theat Billingsgate. points, tout le monde et sa sœur had a different opin- Virtue here deprives no man of "cakes and ale." ion. Nothing would do; she was a belle in spite of Whiskers are no letters of introduction. Good Engthem and that reminds me to go on with my story. lish is preferred to bad French, and the pale of UniCecile, I was saying, had been a belle for two tarianism is the limit of gentility. winters-that is to say, within, that number of sea- We have a great mind, since we are "i' the vein," sons she had refused the three "fine men," (there to show up Philadelphia, with its comical contradicare never more at a time,) and provoked, beyond en- tions-its rectangular streets, and its graceful wodurance, the three hundred fine women, (of whom men-its excessively dressed dandies, and its decent there may be any quantity.) She had worn what she Quakers-its strict religion, and its European luxufancied, and the milliners had not resented it-said ry. We should like to sketch Baltimore, gay and what she chose and visited where she pleased, and wicked, and Charleston, learned and aristocratic, and cut all stupid people, authentic or not-and still the all the places and people in this salmagundi of a namen swore (and the women admitted because they tion-but-we were talking of Cecile. swore) that she was divine. Like another great conqueror, however, she soon exhausted her material, her. She got up in the morning, and could not think She was, as I said before, tired of every thing about and wept for new worlds. The same eternal beaux why she should be at the trouble of dressing. She kept at the same eternal distance the same eternal walked, dined, dressed again, dissipated, and went Vows from the same eternal whiskers-the same to bed, wondering, with the naivete of a seraph, why eternal day-light and candle-light, with their same such a stupid world should have been created. It eternal walks, suppers, and dances-it was too much was at this crisis of things that Mr. Hyperion St. for even angelic patience-Cecile was ennuyee a John, the very eidolon of a cravat, joined her, as usual, one morning, in Broadway. He was the best And who wonders? Who, that has made a cam-specimen of his class, and, having borne the caprices paign of fashion in the city of Gotham, wonders, of my lady with more constant bienseance than his at a feeling of toujours perdrix, at the very sound of fellows, stood rather the first in her graces. She its name, forever after? Broadway is well enough, took his arm very much as one leans upon a fence in but who loves to look at a panorama? The parties June, and lounged down toward the battery, listening to his exquisitisms as one, in the same idle cordon, composed of every nation, and speaking month, listens to the running by of a stream. Mr. every language under heaven? or, to maintain a Hyperion had never seen her in so unoffensive a monologue to a pale, exhausted, over-dressed crea- mood. He laid his forefinger against his dickey, to ture, who would rather die than be at the trouble of

The course, as they distance to weather and lee
The scud of the sky and the foam of the sea.
Two forms are their lading, two hearts are their care,
And precious the charge that they joy to convey;
The young and the happy, the brave and the fair,
Have sped on their journey, how blithely away!
But as the moon, which shone but now

A silver streak of heavenly light,
With added glory on her brow

Now nobly walks the queen of night-
And firmly moves, though clouds arise,
By storm and tempest fiercely driven,
Shrouding the blue and starry skies,

And darkening all the lights of heaven-
Thus sped the boat; each wale became
Of strong and more enduring frame,
And sternly to the sweeping blast
Stood out the tall and gallant mast.
That boy has strength and courage high,
And manhood lights with thought his eye;
And he, the pilot, sits demure

In dignity, serene, secure,

Yes, all have left their brightness now,
A brighter hope is on each brow;

No fancied chart, of fairy bays

And elfin isles, directs their ways

A heavenly guide sits kindly there,

Directing the course of the brave and the fair.
In yon blessed place be their anchor cast,
And holy the haven they find at last.

SELECT TALES.

THE ELOPEMENT.

mort!

are brilliant-but who loves to make one of a belle's

a sentence? Then the eternal oysters pickled and preserve its integrity, while he should look round at her face, and Cecile, at that moment having dropOne sauntering, sunshiny summer's day, soon af-stewed, stewed and pickled, (the only variety seen ped her head to watch, for want of better amuseter the introduction of Berlin iron ornaments and at a party through the season,) with a salad concoctment, the gliding in and out of her own lovely feet, sleeves a la gigot, (I like to date by great epochs,) ed a la Goth, rolled into the rooms upon round it suddenly occurred to him that it was very like there stood at Fontaine's counter-No.-Broadway, tables, and rolled out again, before he who eats like what he had heard called "a symptom"-his curri(you know the shop, lady, I dare swear,) a gentle- a Christian could select and transfix one of proper cle to a jarvey, the lady was in love with him! man in whiskers, (then a little ultra,) and a lady in proportions, and the pink champaign, sweet and With a silent blessing on Wheeler, (he had the French slippers, (then a rare article.) They were sickish; and the short, ill-cravated, indigenous beaux, grace to remember who made him,) he rallied his tossing over together, with looks of profound atten- and the tall, discontented-looking exotics-stereo- brains, (which, having rarely been rallied before, tion, a heap of some thousand gloves of every de-typed Manuel heads crowding upon the eye like the did not readily obey,) and remembering, that in all scription, which had been accumulating from every multiplications of an incubus, and the slavish simi- the stories he had read, the next to love was elopequarter of the store for the last half hour, without larity of every article of dress to its neighbourment, he coolly, as if it was a matter in course, begany approach, which the astonished shopman could Bennett fast asleep over his cremona, and cotillions ged to know whether she would prefer his bays or discover, to the satisfaction of the lady's taste, or dancing upon two feet square-who, we again ask, his grays on the first stage of the journey. The dithe gentleman's approval. An immense piece of in the name of the foul fiend, would not of such a version of this subject startled Cecile from her casdamaged burege, hanging in a festoon across the cor- routine tire and sicken? tle building. She looked up, and seeing the unwontner in which they stood, screened them from the Far be it from me, however, to indite an unquali-ed smile of satisfaction on the face of her admirer, notice of the passing customers; and when at last fied phillippic against the metropolis of our land. repeated his question twice over to herself before they had rejected every glove in the shop, and the There is no place this side the water which gathers she quite comprehended him. Her first thought imperturbable little fellow in a bandanna cravat stood so much of the rich and rare-no place where the was how absurd!"-her second, "how refreshleaning with his two hands on the counter, and look-feet of the women are smaller, or the enterprise of ing!" Here was a novelty! The world had not ing silently on the three hours' work they had made the men more laudable-none where the pave is so quite come to an end. She could do something she him, they quietly turned their backs upon him, and brilliantly thronged, the simple more dexterously had never done before. Run away!-the thought drawing farther into their sheltered position, con- enlightened, and the plethora of the pocket more was heavenly. She thanked the gods as she turned tinued their discussion of colours, (or some other speedily relieved-none, in short, where there are on her heel, and retracing their steps up Broadway, equally interesting topic,) with increased earnestness. united such foci of people and things, or where one they stopped to arrange matters more conveniently They had been thus occupied twenty minutes, (per-may learn faster the necessity of combining, in his at Fontaine's-where our story found them.

door.

That overhang the deep;
Thou'lt shriek for aid! my feeble arm
Shall hurl thee from the brink,
And when thou wak'st in wild dismay,
Thy curse will be-to think!

From Milman's History of the Jews.
TEMPLE OF JERUSALEM.

ITS DESTRUCTION BY FIRE, UNDER TITUS.

Cecile rose from the table at 6 o'clock that afterIneighbouring hills were lighted up; and dark noon, leaving her papa dosing over his Moselle and groups of people were seen watching in horrisnuff-box, and ringing for her maid, ordered a trunk ble anxiety the progress of the destruction; the and bandboxes into her dressing room. She then walls and heights of the upper city were crowdturned the key, and laying her dresses all out upon ed with faces, some pale with the agony of chairs, sofa and fauteuil, selected two or three of the prettiest, (a plain white one among them,) and folddespair, others scowling unavailing vengeance. ed them in the trunk. She threw in next two or The shouts of the Roman soldiery, as they ran three handsful of cameos, coral necklaces, and other to and fro, and the howlings of the insurgents necklaces, and other ornaments-some indefinite. who were perishing in the flames, mingled with articles of dress, a muslin night-cap, and a vinaiIt was on the 10th of August, the day already the roaring of the conflagration and the thungrette to be used in the fainting scene-next, a pair of French slippers and a Bible-and last, a lovely darkened in the Jewish calender by the de-dering sound of falling timbers. The echoes French apron of a new pattern, with which she in-truction of the former Temple by the King of of the mountains replied, or brought back the tended to astonish her lord at the first breakfast sub- Babylon; it was almost passed. Titus withdrew shrieks of the people on the heights; all the sequent to the ceremony. Having chosen her pret-again into Antonia, intending the next morning walls resounded with screams and wailings; tiest hat, and laid it aside, every thing was complete, to make a general assault. The quiet summer men, who were expiring with famine, rallied and she threw herself upon the sofa to dream away the time till the arrival of the note from Mr. St. John, evening came on; the setting sun shone for the their remaining strength to utter a cry of anannouncing the hour when his bays would be at the last time on the snow-white walls and glisten-guish and desolation. ing pinnacles of the Temple roof. Titus had The slaughter within was even more dreadI shall not attempt to describe the dream, because retired to rest; when suddenly a wild and terri-ful than the spectacle from without. Men and the lady did not attempt it herself in telling me the ble cry was heard, and a man came rushing in, women, old and young, insurgents and priests, story. It was, no doubt, like all city visions of matrimony, a long vista, closed in the blue distance by announcing that the Temple was on fire. Some and those who fought and those who intreated a four story brick house and iron railings, a servant of the besieged, notwithstanding the repulse in mercy, were hewn down in indiscriminate carin livery cleaning the door-plate, and a child in a the morning, had sallied out to attack the men nage. The numbers of the slain exceeded that pink frock and white pantalettes, playing in the ve- who were employed in extinguishing the fires of the slayers. The legionaries had to clamber randah. The arrival of the note, whatever it was, about the cloisters. The Romans not merely over heaps of dead, to carry on the work of put a stop to it very effectually. It was written on drove them back, but entering the sacred space extermination. John, at the head of some of rose paper, and, being June, sealed with a cameo with them, forced their way to the Temple. A his troops, cut his way through, first into the wafer. The first sentence or two, being sentiment, Cecile passed over till the second perusal. The es- soldier, without orders, mounting on the shoul-outer court of the Temple; afterwards into the sential part of it was the naming of the hour, and ders of one of his comrades, threw a blazing upper city. Some of the priests upon the roof glancing her eye down, she read, "I shall be at the brand into a gilded small door on the north side wrenched off the gilded spikes, with their door, in my kurrikle"-it was quite enough. To of the chambers, in the outer building or porch. sockets of lead, and used them as missiles run away with a man that couldn't spell!-oh, no! The flames sprung up at once. The Jews ut- against the Romans below. Afterwards they She took her pen and wrote a note declining the hotered one simultaneous shriek, and grasped fled to a part of the wall, about 14 feet wide; nour, rang for her maid, dressed and went to a party. Six months after, she took matrimony, (as the their swords with a furious determination of re- they were summoned to surrender; but two of doctors phrase it,) the natural way," and when I venging and perishing in the ruins of the Tem- them, Mair, son of Belgo, and Joseph, son of saw her last, was the loveliest of Madonnas, in an ple. Titus rushed down with the utmost speed; Dalia, plunged headlong into the flames. oiled silk apron, getting very learned in corals and he shouted, he made signs to his soldiers to No part escaped the fury of the Romans. The teeth-cutting.-Amer. Mon. Mag. quench the fire; his voice was drowned, and treasuries, with all their wealth of money, jewels, his signs unnoticed, in the blind confusion. The and costly robes-the plunder which the zealots legionaries either could not, or would not hear; had laid up-were totally destroyed—nothing they rushed on, trampling each other down in remained but a small part of the outer cloister, their furious haste, or stumbling over the in which 6,000 unarmed and defenceless people, crumbling ruins, perished with the enemy.with women and children, had taken refuge. Each exhorted the other, and each hurled his These poor wretches, like multitudes of others, blazing brand into the inner part of the edifice, had been led up to the Temple by a false prophet, and then hurried to the work of carnage. The who had proclaimed that God commanded all unarmed and defenceless people were slain in the Jews to go up to the temple, where he would thousands; they lay heaped, like sacrifices, display his Almighty power to save his people. round the altar; the steps of the temple ran with The soldiers set fire to the building; every soul streams of blood, which washed down the perished. bodies that lay about.

CHOICE EXTRACTS.

From Blackwood's Magazine for April. THE FORSAKEN TO THE FALSE ONE. BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

I dare thee to forget me!

Go wander where thou wilt,

Thy hand upon the vessel's helm,
Or on the sabre's hilt;

Away! thou'rt free! o'er land and sea,
Go rush to danger's brink!

But oh, thou canst not fly from thought!
Thy curse will be-to think!

Remember me! remember all-
My long enduring love,
That linked itself to perfidy;
The vulture and the dove!
Remember in thy utmost need,
I never once did shrink,
But clung to thee confidingly;
Thy curse shall be-to think!
Then go! that thought will render thee
A dastard in the fight,

That thought, when thou art tempest-tost,
Will fill thee with affright!

In some wild dungeon may'st thou lie,
And, counting each cold link
That binds thee to captivity,

Thy curse shall be to think!

Go seek the merry banquet-hall,'
Where younger maidens bloom,
The thought of me shall make thee there
Endure a deeper gloom;

That thought shall turn the festive cup
To poison while you drink,
And while false smiles are on thy cheek,
Thy curse will be-to think!
Forget me! false one, hope it not!
When minstrels touch the string,
The memory of other days

Will gall thee while they sing;
The airs I used to love will make
Thy coward conscience shrink,
Aye, ev'ry note will have its sting-
Thy curse will be-to think!
Forget me! No, that shall not be!
I'll haunt thee in thy sleep,

In dreams thou'lt cling to slimy rocks

Titus found it impossible to check the rage

Portrait of Bolivar.-The countenance of this of the soldiery; he entered with his officers, and person is daring, his eyes lively, his skin dry and surveyed the interior of the sacred edifice. The yellow, his hair crispy, his body slender and very splendour filled them with wonder; and as the bony. He possesses sufficient capacity to conceive flames had not yet penetrated to the holy place, and combine ideas with much promptitude, and at he made a last effort to save it, and springing the same time to receive a multitude of impressions forth, again exhorted the soldiers to stay the sions violent; thence arises that liability, a boyish without. His imagination is enthusiastic, his pas progress of the conflagration. The centurion, weakness, of divulging his thoughts; and an impetuLiberalis, endeavoured to force obedience with osity of explication without regard to decency, good his staff of office; but even respect for the Em-breeding or religion, in phrases low and offensive to peror gave way to the furious animosity against those with whom he speaks, especially inferiors the Jews, to the fierce excitement of battle, Impolitic enterprise, stupid errors, and enormous and to the insatiable hope of plunder. The sol- with a heavy yoke, for the fame of the hero, who crimes against his country, which he seeks to load diers saw every thing around them radiant with thinks himself superior to Napoleon, and above com gold, which shone dazzlingly in the wild light parison with Washington. He wishes to obtain his of the flames; they supposed that incalculable end by intrigue and force. His imagination carries treasures were laid up in the sanctuary. A him from object to object, and from plan to plan soldier, unperceived, thrust a lighted torch be- and does not permit him to execute with delibera tion, what he has conceived with audacity. His rul tween the hinges of the door; the whole build-ing passion is absolute command. He spares nothing ing was in flames in an instant. The blinding to obtain it; but he pretends always that he detests smoke and fire forced the officers to retreat, it. His obstinacy is unequalled, and he becomes and the noble edifice was left to its fate. more excited the more his plans are opposed. He

It was an appalling spectacle to the Roman, frequently changes his plans. He lives in a state what was it to the Jew? The whole summit of which make him view with disgust at one moment, of continual agitation, always inflamed by passions, the hill, which commanded the city, blazed like what he had embraced the moment before. But that a volcano. One after another the buildings fell which excites him most, is his arrangements to comin with a tremendous crash, and were swal-pass the dominion to which he aspires and sacrifices lowed up in the fiery abyss. The roofs of cedar all things. were like sheets of flame; the gilded pinnacles mises, social obligations, humanity and religion are Justice, public good, private rights, keeping proshone like spires of red light, the gate towers held in contempt by him, when they do not minister sent up tall columns of flame and smoke. The to his ambitious aims, and much more when they