THE ALIBI. It was on one of those bright and beautiful April mornings, which Nature sometimes throws in upon our eastern shores, as if in compensation for months of fog and fickleness, that I awoke from the uneasy slumbers of a mail coach passenger, just in time to drink in at eye, ear and nose, the brilliant sparkle, enlivening dash, and invigorating odour of my native waves, as they leaped up in exulting fondness to kiss the rocky barrier which Scotland opposes to the winter fury of the German Ocean. I was ere long to pass a barrier of a different description (now happily a nominal one) between two sister nations; or in plain English, to enter the town of Berwick-uponTweed, a few miles beyond which, on the southern side of the border, business obliged me to proceed. At the inn where we stopped to change horses, in this capital of "No Man's Land," (whose inhabitants assert their anomalous independence, by speaking a dialect which, like themselves, is neither Scotch nor English) I also exchanged, for the brief remainder of my journey, a taciturn common-place sort of fellow traveller, from whose wooden physiognomy I never dreamed auguring any thing, for one from whose modest, yet speaking countenance, and the interest she violently excited in the few who were astir at that early hour, it was impossible to avoid auguring a great deal. The horn sounded for departure-the coach door was opened, and with swimming eye, flushed cheek, and silver hair flowing about in the morning wind, a venerable looking old man took leave, with more than parental tenderness, of a simply dressed but lovely young woman, who, returning his tremulous "God bless and reward you" with an almost filial farewell, drew down over her face a thick black veil, and stepped in opposite to me. I never felt more inclined, and at the same time more at a loss, to open a conversation. To intrude on female sorrow would be unjustifiable to treat it with callous indifference more unpardonable still. That of my new companion seemed however of a gentle subdued sort, arising more from sympathy for others, than personal causes; and ere long, putting back her veil with the rising cheerfulness of a heart lightened of an unmerited burden, she looked calmly out on the fresh morning aspect of nature (so much in unison with her own pure and innocent countenance) and said, in the tone of one breathing at length from the long pressure of painful feelings, "How beautiful every thing does look this fine spring morning!" "It does indeed," said I, struck with the delightful naïveté of this involuntary exclamation; "and I suppose you are the more sensible of it, from being a young traveller." Her only answer was one of those quiet, though intelligent smiles, which admit of various translations, and which under other circumstances would have puzzled me a good deal; but, coupling with her remark and air of rustic simplicity, what I had accidentally observed of her whole luggage being comprised in one small band-box, I set her down for a farmer's daughter of the neighbourhood, and said, "I suppose, like myself, you are not going much farther-where are you to be set down?" But my companion, as if ashamed of having so far committed herself to a stranger, and a young gentleman too, (though I have a wife and five children written upon my face I believe pretty legibly) sat back in the coach, and answered one or two indifferent questions with that laconic gentleness, which is infinitely more discouraging than absolute silence. I felt I had not the smallest right to ask directly, "My dear, what could make you travel three or four hundred miles, to spend one day at Berwick?" and as I saw she had not the least mind to tell me, I really must plead guilty to the charge of being ashamed to worm out by idle importunity a secret, which, from another quiet tear which trickled down behind her veil, I guessed must be fraught with more pain than pleasure. The struggle between my curiosity and better feelings continued, till the approach to my friend's gate gave the latter an involuntary, and not very meritorious triumph. Now that all idea of intrusion was at an end, I could venture upon kindness; and I said, I am sure in honest sincerity, "The idea of your going such a long journey by yourself, or with chance company, grieves me. Can I be of any use in recommending you to the protection of the guard, or otherwise?" "Thank you, Sir, a thousand times," said she, raising for the first time a pair of mild eloquent eyes to my face, "but He who put it in my mind to come, and blessed the purpose of my journey, can carry me safe back again; and I should be silly indeed to mind going a few hundred miles by land, when, trusting in Him, I am about to sail to the other part of the world! I am not the less obliged to you, Sir, I am sure, though," said she, again wiping her eyes, "I see you think it very strange, and if we had time, perhaps I could explain." Time, however, always despotic, becomes inexorable when armed with a mail coach horn. I could only shake hands with the gentle being I left behind me, slip a crown into the guard's hand to look well after her, (which I was glad to see he took as a tacit affront) and turn my thoughts by a strong effort, to my Northumbrian friend's affairs. These occupied me fully and not very agreeably till late in the afternoon, when, being obliged to be in Edinburgh next morning, I was glad to compound for running reluctantly away from my good host's old claret and older stories, (for I had shot snipes on his lands with my first gun, some eighteen years before) by accepting his carriage to convey me back to Berwick, whence a coach I knew would start for the north in the evening. The sight of the inn of course brought full on my memory the romantic occurrence which had for the last few hours been eclipsed behind a mass of dusty law papers, and the harsh technicalities of a brace of Northumbrian attorneys. As I stood shivering on the steps in the cold east wind, and pondering on the vicissitudes of an April day, the landlord, a civil old fashioned Boniface, came up to make his bow, and I could not help asking, rather abruptly, "Pray, Sir, do you know any thing about the history of that nice decent looking young woman, who started from your house with me this morning for London ?" "Know, Sir!" echoed he, as if in compassion for my ignorance, "ay that I "I am going to London, Sir," said she, in a do, and so does all Berwick, and it would be tone of calm self-possession, as if such a jour- well if all England and Scotland did so too. If ney had been to her an every-day occur- there is a kind heart and a pretty face in the rence; and so indeed it proved, not metapho-three, it's surely Mary Fenwick's! It's rather rically, but literally! "To London!" repeated I, with more surprise than I could well account for; "were you ever there before?" "O yes," was the reply, rendered more poignant by its singular composure, I came from seventy miles beyond it, the day before yesterday." 6: It would be quite superfluous to say, that my curiosity was excessively excited by this extraordinary answer, and I dare say my reader will set me down (as I did myself, when it was too late) as a very stupid fellow for not finding means to gratify it. a long story though sir, and the horses are just coming round; but I am thinking there's one going with you as far as Houndwood, that won't want pressing to give you the outs and ins o't." So saying, he pointed to a stout countrylooking personage, in a thick great coat and worsted comforter, who by his open countenance and manly yeoman-like bearing, might have been own brother to Dandy Dinmont himself. "This gentleman" said the landlord, with a respectful glance towards me, and a familiar nod to the borderer, "wishes to hear | all about Mary Fenwick. You've known her from the egg, I may say, and besides were in court yesterday at the trial, so I'm sure her story will not lose in your telling!" Having explained, for the sake of propriety, that my interest in the damsel arose solely from the circumstance of one so young and apparently helpless, undertaking, with so short an interval, two such formidable journeysmy new companion, a primitive wool-stapler of Berwick, civilly begged my pardon, and assured me that no one there felt the least uneasiness as to the safety of Mary's journey "There's a blessing on her errand, Sir, and that the very stones on the road know; and besides, she's so very staid, and so sensible, and has so much dignity about her, that she's as fit to go through the world as her grand mother." To all this I assented the more readily, that this very dignity had made me forego all inquiry into what I so much wished to know; and even now, I listened with all the more satisfaction, for the hint she had thrown out, as if of regret for not having told me herself. "Does she belong to this place?" asked I, when we were off the stones," that you seem to know her so well?" "Yes, Sir, born and bred in Berwick bounds. She is a farmer's daughter, a mile out of town, and just what a farmer's daughter should be. Her mother, a clever notable woman, taught her to bake and brew, and knit and sew, and in short, every thing girls in her station are now too fine to do. They think these good old fashioned things make them ungenteel; but they never made Mary Fenwick so, for 1 am sure, Sir, but for her suitable dress, and simple manners, you might have taken her for a lady. Well! Mary came often in her father's little cart to market to sell her butter and eggs, (we've a great egg trade here you know Sir,) and somehow or other she fell in with a young man of our town, a banker's clerk, who was taken with her good looks, and cared very little for any thing else. His old father, however, (the old man who put Mary in the coach) made many inquiries about his son's sweetheart; and as he heard nothing but good of her, had the sense to see, that though she was but one of a large hard working family, she would be the very wife to reclaim his gay, idle, thoughtless son, if any thing could. "And very idle and extravagant he was, sir. The only son of people well to do in the world, and a good deal spoilt from a child, he neglected his business whenever he could, and loved dress, and company, and horse racing, and all that, far too well. But he really loved Mary Fenwick; and no sooner saw that she would not so much as listen to him while all this went on, than he left off his wild courses, and became quite a new man to gain her favour. It was not done in a hurry, for Mary had been brought up very strictly, and had a horror of every thing evil. But Dick Marshall was very clever as well as handsome, and could make himself any thing he pleased; and really to give the devil his due, as long as he had any doubts of Mary's love, no saint could behave better. At last he fairly gained her innocent heart, though I believe it was as much by the aid of his good father and mother's constant praises of himself, and doating fondness for Mary, as by his own good looks and winning ways. When he saw she loved him, and it was not by halves, though in her own gentle way, he wanted to marry her immediately; and Mary's father would have consented, for it was a capital match for his portionless girl. But Mary said, "Richard, you have kept free from cards, and dice, and folly, one six months, to gain your own wish, let me see you do it another to make my mind easy, and then I'll trust you till death divides us." Dick got into a passion, and swore that she did not love him; but she answered, "It is just because I do, that I wish to give you a habit of goodness, before you are your own master. Surely its no hardship to be for six months, what you mean to be all the rest of your life." the most effectual cure of my selfishness, and The being one, and one the element.' "Richard was forced to submit, and for three of the six months, behaved better than ever. But habit as Mary said, is every thing; and his had for years set the wrong way. With the summer came pleasure parties and junkettings, and, worst of all, races in the neighbourhood. Dick first staid away with a bad grace; then went, just to show how well he could behave, and ended by losing his money and getting into scrapes just as bad as ever. For a time he was much ashamed, and felt real sor-ly any other redeeming qualities: and as sorow, and feared Mary would not forgive him. But when she did so, sweet gentle soul, once twice, though her pale face was reproach enough for any man, he began to get hardened, and to laugh, at what he called, her silly preciseness. Mary was twenty times near giving him up; but his parents hung about her, and told her she only could save him from perdition-and in truth she thought so herself; and that, joined to the love for him, which was the deeper for its slow growth, made her still ready to risk her own welfare for his. when these, wild oats "It is not to be told how much she bore of idleness, extravagance and folly, (for vice was never as yet laid to his door,) in the hope, that were sown, Richard would settle down into a sober man of business. At last, however, to crown all, there came players to the town, and Dick was not to be kept from either before or behind the curtain. He fell in with a gay painted Madam of an actress, very showy to be sure; but no more to be compared to Mary, than a flaring crockery jug to a fine china punch-bowl. She persuaded him, that to marry a farmer's daughter was quite beneath him, and to be kept in awe by her, more contemptible still. So, Sir, to make a long tale short, Dick, after trying in vain to make his poor heart-broken Mary give him up, (that he might lay his ruin at her door,) had the cruelty to tell her one night, as he met her going home to her father's, from nursing his sick mother, that she was not a fit match for him, and that if ever he married, it should be to a wife of more liberal ways of thinking. He had been drinking a good deal, it is true; and was put up to this base conduct by his stage favourite; but when he found that instead of a storm of reproaches, or even a flood of tears, poor Mary only stood pale and shaking in the moonlight, and kept saying, "Poor Richard! oh, poor Richard!" he grew sobered, and would fain have softened matters a little, but she summoned all her strength, and ran till she came to her father's garden; and two days after, when the old Marshalls drove out in a postchaise to try and make it all up, and get their son put once more on his trial, Mary was off, her parents would not tell whither. (To be continued) From an Annual called Affection's Offering. "AFFECTION'S OFFERING.'-Who can pronounce these words without their awakening a thousand pleasing emotions in his bosom? AFFECTION is the charm of life; and on the interchange of mutually kind offices depends the far greater portion of human happiness. He that has never hung a wreath on AFFECTION'S shrine, is a stranger to the holiest feelings of our nature; and he that has never received one offering of fond attachment, must have lived in a desert world,-homeless, heartless, and without a friend. "MAN is, indeed, a selfish being; and but for his affections, which connect him with his kind, and give birth to sympathies which compel him, in spite of himself, to seek his enjoy ments in the gratification of others, he would soon become an odious as well as a wretched creature. 1 must have something to love, and if something to love, then something on which I can lavish tenderness, and whose happiness is the object of my deepest solicitude. This is ciety advances under the humanizing influ- 'Which Mary to Anna convey'd,' was an offering of the heart, and has lent to love. "A few days since our feelings were un 'Some feelings are to mortals given, "Amidst the multitude of golden links that We are indebted for part of this number, to the Spirit and Manners of the Age; the London Literary Gazette; the Juvenile Forget Me Not; and Affection's Offering. NIGHT. BY FREDERICK MULLER. I COME, I come, when the hours have run, Three times their course since the set of sun, Missions in Ceylon. The Raising of Lazarus. Short THE LITERARY PORT FOLIO. It is intended that this journal shall contain such a variety of matter as may make it acceptable to ladies as well as to gentlemen; to the young as well as to the old. While we shall take care that nothing be admitted which would render the work unfit for any of these classes, we shall endeavour to procure for it sufficient ability to en title it to the attention of all of them. To these ends we have secured an abundant supply of all foreign and do mestic journals and new books-and we ask the assist ance of all who are qualified to instruct or amuse the gree for our hopes of success, for however the abundant public. Upon this assistance we depend in a great de stores to which we have access, may enable us to supply matter highly interesting to our readers, we think it of adapted to the present time and circumstances; someeven more importance to give them something peculiarly thing from home. Communications should be addressed to "E. Littell for the Literary Port Folio,"-and subscriptions will be thankfully received by E. Littell & Brother, corner of Chestnut and Seventh streets, Philadelphia. Subscriptions are also received by Thomas C. Clarke, S. W. corner of Chestnut and Seventh streets. Wanted-to solicit subscriptions for this work, a suitable person. Apply to E. Littell & Brother. No. 7. Philadelphia, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 18, Terms.-Published every Thursday by E. Littell & Brother, corner of Chestnut and Seventh Streets, Philadelphia. It will contain four handsome engravings every year. Price Two Dollars and a Half a year, payable in advance. Agents who procure and forward payment for four subseribers, shall receive the fifth copy for one year; and so in proportion for a larger number. THE SENSES. BY THE REV. CHARLES WILLIAMS. "Senses, that inherit earth and heavens, Enjoy the various riches Nature yields; Far nobler, give the riches they enjoy; Give taste to fruits, and harmony to groves, Their radiant beams to gold, and gold's bright sire; Take in at once the landscape of the world, At a small inlet, which a grain might close, And half create the wond'rous world they see. But for the magic organ's powerful charm, Earth were a rude, uncoloured chaos still. Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the lake, Man makes the matchless image man admires." It seems there was a time, though it cannot be precisely determined, when the senses had a dispute as to their respective merits and claims. How it originated is also undecided; but, if certain chronicles are to be believed, much was said by one party respecting an appeal to the legal courts. As, however, many objections arose to this proposition, others were maturely weighed, and at length the disposition appeared general to refer the case to arbitration, in the presence of a select assembly. In order that justice should be done, it was resolved that each of the parties should obtain professional assistance, and Mr. Common Sense, the Recorder of a neighbouring town, was requested to preside. After the lapse of a few days every preliminary was arranged; lots were drawn by the counsel, and, as soon as it was discovered that they were to maintain the cause of their respective clients in the following order-Mr. Optic, Mr. Odour, Mr. Contact, Mr. Zest, and Mr. Auricle-Mr. Common Sense took the chair, and, having offered some appropriate observations, invited them to proceed. Mr. Optic. In the whole course of my professional career, Sir, I never rose with greater pleasure than I now experience; pleasure arising no less from interest in the cause entrusted to my care, than from the most confident anticipations of success. For, if exquisite organization, beauty of form, vivacity of expression, intelligence of aspect, and unceasing utility, have, severally, a claim to high regard, what, I ask, must be the force of that confederacy of attractions for which I now solicit, -I had almost said demand,-the suffrages of this distinguished assembly. My clients are, indeed, Nature's choicest twins-the mirrors of the soul; and well might the enthusiasm of love thus speak of Juliet : : "Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return." Milton's muse takes a higher range. When portraying Eve, he says, "Heaven was in her eye," and, had there been a nobler object for his choice, he would at once have selected it. To say nothing, which I am reluctant to do, of the amazing structure of the powers of vision, allow me to allude to the wonders of their operation. To take the instance given us by a modern philosopher, let us imagine ourselves stationed on Arthur's seat, or on the summit of Salisbury Crags, in the vicinity of Edinburgh. Turning the face to the north-west, the city which has been termed "the Modern 1830. and take his station in the temple of Fame? Or how could the ordinary engagements of life be performed were there a frequent occur. rence of so disastrous a privation? But, Sir, although I could long dilabe on this subject, I will not detain the flattering attention of yourself and of this audience-a brief statement of my client's claims are before you, I need scarcely say, "Fiat justitia!" As soon as a burst of applause had subsided, Mr. Odour rose, and thus addressed the chair: Athens," with its castles, spires, and stately edifices, presents itself to view. Beyond it, on the north and west, a beautiful country, adorned with villas, plantations, and fertile fields, stretches as far as the eye can reach, till the scene is bounded by Stirling Castle, at the distance of more than forty miles. On the right hand we behold the port of Leith, the shipping in the roads, the coast of Fife, the isles of Inchkeith and May, and the Frith of Forth, gradually losing itself in the German Ocean. If, then, we suppose the length of this landscape to be forty miles, and its breadth I confess, Mr. President, I am not surprised twenty-five, it will, of course, comprehend an at the elevated and triumphant strain assumed area of a thousand square miles. Now, in by my learned friend, to whose skill in advoorder to this one effort of sight, immense be- cacy I am ready to offer my profound and willyond all possible conception must be the num- ing tribute. Let not, however, his eloquence ber of rays issuing from the objects brought mislead the mind. The passions easily excited into view, and yet every ray must pass along may frequently be as easily allayed; whereas, undisturbed and unblended, so that it may pro- what is admitted in the calm exercise of readuce its specific effect on every eye; further, son, has often the foree of an active and abiding before the rays can enter the pupil, they must principle. If, then, I content myself on this be compressed into a space of little more than occasion with a train of remark less attractive one-eighth of an inch in diameter; and, more- in its character than that to which you have over, they are so extensively diffused, that the just listened, it is because I feel that the Doric effect they produce on one person's visual column will retain all its unostentatious dig. faculty they are ready to yield to that of mil-nity and stability, when the splendid Corinlions on millions of sentient beings;-an effect thian is bereft by the hand of time of its more by which all the objects thus surveyed are showy but adventitious decorations. With the most accurately painted, by innumerable pen- seat of that power for which I plead, you are cils of light, on a space in the eye less than well acquainted-"Naribus interea consedit half an inch in diameter. Here then, Sir, is a odora hominum vis"-its object, you know, is combination of wonders at which, while the to catch the light but fragrant gales, "docta ignorant are incredulous and sceptical, the re- leves captare auras," such, indeed, as having flecting may well be astounded. And yet this often filled the bosom with the most delightis only a single example. The eye opens, in- ful emotions in the happiest spots, deed, to the universe itself. By its aid we are present with those brilliant orbs, to whose distance the wide diameter of our planetary system is as nothing. Other senses seem to bind us to the earth, but with this we expatiate with transcendent power and perfect freedom through celestial regions. Is any consideration needed, Sir, to heighten the effect of these statements, I think it may be found by a reference to the loss of sight. What genius can adequately portray the privation he sustains, who exclaims, as this source of beauty, joy, instruction, and ever-varying magnificence is dried up— Seasons return:-but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But clouds instead, and ever-during dark Surround me." So far, however, we have attended merely to the appearance of external nature; but it behoves us to observe, that by means of the same organ we can perceive the dispositions, passions, and affections of those around us. How often, when the tongue is silent, does the eye recognise the kindling of wrath, the quailing of fear, the palpitation of love; and, even when the tongue dissembles, does the eye detect the lurking hypocrisy, and invoke its just visitation! Indeed, wore the power of sight as rare as the calamity of blindness, the few would appear prophets to the multitude; and the ordinary exercise of this amazing faculty would secure a tribute, due alone to supernatural endowments. Without alluding to those optical instruments which increase their energies, it may be affirmed that the eyes are the principal media for the reception of knowledge by the mind, since, in addition to the proofs already given, another is obvious, in whatever issues from the pen or the pencil, the chisel or the press, being accessible. How could an eyeless philosopher, or scholar, orator, or poet, rise superior to the obstacles that lie in his path, "Panchata quales Vere novo exhalat, Floreve quod oscula fragrant Roscida, cum Zephyri furtim sub vesperis hora, Respondet votis, mollemque aspirat amorem.' My learned friend referred to beauty as one of his client's most powerful claims; but with greater confidence I may advance this in favour of mine. Did the great Roman poet, when describing a vast, shapeless, horrid monster," Monstrum horrendum informe, ingens," add, to give greater hideousness to the figure he portrayed, the loss of an eye, "cui lumen ademptum?" He might have been far more effective could he have supposed a nose wanting, and have said, " cui narem ademptum!" Equally premature, I apprehend, is his triumph as to the enjoyment of natural scenery. Has he forgotten-but to forget is sometimes a privilege that but for those glasses, which the nose most disinterestedly bears, vision, except within the limits of a few inches, would be denied to multitudes? And then could the flowers so profusely scattered over the face of the globe be stripped of their odour, they would lose, assuredly, their principal charm. I repeat it, Sir, in words far happier than my own "In vain the golden morn aloft Waves her dew-bespangled wing; The sleeping fragrance from the ground." There is, however, one point in which I shall insist my client stands per se, alone and unapproached; I allude to his spotless and unimpeachable virtue. In this respect he precedes the eye an immeasurable distance. And here another instance strikes me in which my friend may esteem himself happily oblivious; Alexander the Great, it is said, arrived at the gate of Paradise, and was refused admission. With his usual impetuosity he cried to the attendant and guardian spirit-give me something to show I have been here! Here, madman, solemn manner, with the curse of God if he was the reply, is a cure for the maladies of ceeding, till Farel, spiritu quodam heroico af- What, I ask, in conclusion, is to be compared with virtue? Virtue transcends the sun in brightness, the rese in sweetness, the heaven born snow in purity, the granite rock in permanence;-compared with its worth, all the gems and riches of the globe are but a molecule, a monade, an atom; virtue allies the children of the dust with celestial beings; virtue the eye has lost, but virtue, unutterably precious as it is, the sense for which I plead has never forfeited! (To be continued.) THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL. A most beautiful work, deserving all the praise I can give it. I have cheerfully paid a guniea for this volume, but I have no doubt it will be worth more before a month goes by. Miss L.-Mr. Jennings is a publisher of unrivalled taste. Dr. B.-And Mr. Prout an artist of fine talents: a faithful copyist of nature, under whose hands she is represented neither more coarse, nor more refined than she actually is. Mrs. O.--And Mr. Thomas Roscoe an accomplished writer, and a man of judgment and experience. Ed.-Whole bound in morocco, gilt, with twenty-six steel engravings, and 278 pages of letter-press. If any purchaser is dissatisfied with his bargain, he ought to be pointed at throughout the whole city, as the discontented inan. The editor, or to speak more properly, the author has very skilfully and agreeably performed his task; the style is more than pleasing, the descriptions accurate, the observations just, and the arrangement judicious. As you will suppose, extracts from various travellers form the greater portion of the volume, and Mr. Roscoe has consulted the best authorities, as well as the most entertaining tourists; his principal object being to add to the enjoyment of the fire-side of those who prefer travelling by deputy, and like to find the su blime and beautiful without the pain and trouble of a search. I will lay before you the following speejmen: and that now he gave it to the poor; and so put it all in the poor box that was kept there. The syndics thanked the stranger; and Eckius admired the charity and modesty of Calvin. When they were come out of the church, Calvin invited Eckius again to his house; but he replied that he must depart; so thanking him for all his civilities, offered to take his leave; but Calvin waited on him to his inn, and walked with him a mile out of the territories of Geneva, where with great compliments they took a farewell of each other. "The last moments of Calvin were remarked as the finest of his life. Like a parent who is about to leave a beloved family, he bade farewell to those whom he had watched over so long with a truly parental care. To the elders of the republic and the citizens he gave his parting advice, that they should steadily pursue the course in which he had directed them. His remains were conveyed, without any pomp, to the burial place called Plain Palais. His tomb was simple, and without inscription; but the feelings of gratitude were deeply engraven on the hearts of the Genevese, and he was honoured with the sincere mourning of his adopted countrymen to whom he had been so long a father and a friend." Mrs. O-I have heard it said that "Landscape Annual" is a misnomer, the pictures being chiefly those of buildings, ruins, palaces, or streets. "Eckius being sent by the pope legate into France, upon his return resolved to take Geneva in his way, on purpose to see Calvin, and if occasion were, to attempt reducing him to the Romish church. Therefore, when Eckius was come within a league of Geneva, he left his retinue there, and went, accompanied but with one man, to the city in the forenoon. Setting up his horses at an inn, he inquired where Calvin lived, which house being shown him, he knocked at the door, and Calvin himself came to open it to him. Eckius inquired for Mr. Calvin; he was told he was the person. Eckius acquainted him that he was a stranger, and having heard much of his fame was come to wait upon him. Calvin invited him to come in, and he entered the house with him; where, discoursing of many things concerning religion, Eckius perceived Calvin to be an ingenious, learned man, and desired to know if he had not a garden to walk in; to which Calvin replying he had, they both went into it, and then Eckius began to inquire of him why he left the Romish church, and of fered him some arguments to persuade him to return; but Calvin could by no means be persuaded to think of it. At last, Eckius told him that he would put his life into his hands, and then said he was Eckius, the pope's legate. At this discovery Calvin was not a little surprised, and begged his pardon that he had not treated him with the respect due to his quality. Eckius returned the compliment; and told him if he would come back to the church he would certainly procure for him a cardinal's cap; but Calvin was not to be moved by such an offer. Eckius then asked him what revenue he had; he told the cardinal he had that house and garden, and fifty livres per annum, besides an annual present of some wine and corn, on which he lived very contentedly. Eckius told him that a man of his parts deserved a better revenue; and then renewed his invitation to come over to the Romish church, promising him a better stipend if he would. But Calvin, giving him thanks, From the [London] Spirit and Manners of the As soon, assured him that he was well satisfied with his condition. About this time dinner was ready, when he entertained his guest as well as he could, excused the defects of it, and paid him every respect. Eckius after dinner desired to know if he might not be admitted to see the church, which anciently was the cathedral of that city. Calvin very readily answered that he might; accordingly, he sent to the officers to be ready with the keys, and desired some of the syndics to be there present, not acquainting them who the stranger was. therefore, as it was convenient, they both went towards the church; and as Eckius was com ing out of Calvin's house he drew out a purse, with about one hundred pistoles, and presented it to Calvin; Calvin desired to be excused; Eckius told him he gave it to buy books, as well as to express his respects for him. Calvin with much regret took the purse, and they proceeded to the church; where the syndics and officers waited upon them, at the sight of whom Eckius thought he had been betrayed, and whispered his thoughts in the ear of Calvin, who assured him of his safety. Thereupon they went into the church; and Eckius having seen all, told Calvin he did not expect "The circumstance which led the great to find things in so decent an order, having apostle of the Reformation, Calvin, to adopt been told to the contrary. After having taken Geneva as his residence is singular._ Passing a full view of every thing, Eckius was returnthrough that town on his route from France to ing out of the church, but Calvin stopped him Germany, he encountered his friend Farel, a little, and calling the syndics and officers tothen resident at Geneva, who entreated him gether, took out the purse of gold which Ecto remain there and to assist him in his minis-kius had given him, telling them that he had try. Calvin, however, was desirous of pro- | received that gold from this worthy stranger, Ed.-I think the objection ill-founded-they are landscapes to all intents and purposes, and the title is a happy one. After a careful examination, I declare I cannot point out a single bad print of the whole 26. Some are, however, better than others. Mr. Millar's engraving of The Lake of Como;" Mr. R. Wallis's, of "The Bridge of Sighs;" Mr. Willmore's, of" The Ducal Palace at Venice;" Mr. Jeavons's "View of Vicenza ;" and Mr W. Wallis's " Milan Cathedral" are perhaps the best executed. The perspective defective. in the entrance to "the Lago Maggiore" is Mrs. O.-Do not forget that the plates are engraved under the direction of Mr. Charles Heath. RECOLLECTIONS. Age. How many dreams will fling their spells upon the troubled mind, As travellers in life's wilderness, gaze wistfully behind, On the changeful paths which they have traced, from young existence up To the hour of darkness and of ill, when they quaffed of sorrow's cup; How varied is that sky-like the record of our fate- Bright with the summer-hues of love, then dim Like the sea with light and shadow o'er its roll- Come not these visions when a sound breaks Such as in boyhood's morning hour it was a joy to hear : Some voice, like song of childhood 'midst the early buds at play, While o'er its path the blue sky bent, to bless him on his way; When the streams had emblems for his heart, so bounding and so free So filled with heaven reflected there, and mingling with its glee; While wooing still his truant step, young Hope around him flung The light of her beguiling wings, the music of And turning with dim Memory's eye, back on When the blast is howling forth its song, and Oh, that scene is buds and promise-when the wild and careless boy, Is drinking of life's newness from the purple cup of joy; barrier between myself and the sea. I had But there was an unusual bustle in the house. Young strapping servant-wenches were running to and fro, and the landlady herself, a tall, thin, spare, and cross-looking woman, was the most bustling body of all. What did this mean? Was there a justice-meeting in the place? Or had any neighbouring great-man "disturbed from their propriety" the ordinary habits of these secluded people? No, neither the one nor the other: but there was a wedding to be celebrated, and at this humble pot-house: even then the happy pair, with some thirty or forty friends and relations, were in the village Thus brooding o'er our withered years, and ga-church, the first undergoing, the others witthering in the soul When the hopes are thrilling in his heart, as in the unfolding rose, The dews of morn lie nestling in their innocent repose. Those thronging recollections which the heart How doth the voiceless grave give back unto Scarce bursting into beauty, ere they all had The winds have voices for the heart!-a sad or cheerful tone, To which its lyre-like cords reply, in magic unison; Whether 'midst leaves of June they stray, or, Whether they waft the cadences, which rang Or wake, above departed hopes, a requiem wild and high: They stir the human bosom, like a fount in summer's hour; It thrills unto their murmuring-it bends unto their power. duals, who have few other sources of pleasure, except the interchange of each other's kindly services. But refinement is making sad inroads upon all these ancient and hereditary rites and pastimes; and even in Wales, except, indeed, in the very secluded districts, they are, in many places, merely matters of traditionary gossip. In former times, the Welsh had many ceremonies peculiar to their weddings, which have now either fallen into desuetude, or are observed only in part, or incidentally. In the "good old times," when a marriage was about to be celebrated, a person well gifted with eloquence and address, sufficiently skilled in pedigrees, and anecdotes of families-active, sprightly, and handsome withal, was appointed to the office of BIDDER, whose duty it was to bid or invite the guests to the Hymeneal banquet. It was necessary that he should possess all, or the greater portion of these qualifications, as, on the success of his mission depended, in a great degree, the number of the guests, and upon the number of the guests depended the eclat of the entertainment. As the insignia of his office, he carried a staff, ornamented with flowers or ribands, and wore a bonnet similarly decorated; and, thus arrayed, he visited the mansions and other dwellings in the district. Formerly this character was usually sustained by a chieftain in favour of his vassal; and, during his circuit, his person was regard. ed by hostile septs as sacred and as safe as that of a herald. The purport of the bidding was not only to request the attendance of the nessing, the happy-happy ceremony. I stroll- 64 While I was in the church the father of the bride recognised me, and having been formerly a tenant of my father, as soon as the ceremony was over, he came to me, and courteously invited me to join the wedding party I accepted his invitation, and joined the throng. The distance from Llanberis to Cae glâs, the residence of Howel Rees, was not quite a mile; and having reached it, we proceeded at once to festivity and fun, I occupying the seat nearest the bride, who presided. The feast was as substantial as the wealth of its provider, and the party did ample justice to its excellence. No sooner was it concluded, than the room was cleared for dancing, and the young people set themselves to enjoy it with a heartiness that added, in my estimation, to the amusement. The old blind harper, Morgan Robert, and Jack Morris, the village fiddler, had enough to do to keep time to the merry movements of the dancers. Let me mention, that I, as the young master," had the happiness and honour of opening the ball, with the bride; and I could not but envy her stalwart protector, as I afterwards resigned her, blushing and blooming, into his safe custody. We kept it up till Where all earth's buds are perfected;-and, vitation of mine host, I borrowed one of his near midnight; and, resisting the pressing infrom the shrouded tomb, The slumbers of the dust arise, to live in death-horses, and rode home over the mountains in Alas! for that remorseless sea, down which our visions glide; How, to its voiceful, swelling roar have weary hearts replied! The pictured scenes of young delight have sunk into its breast Death, with a sceptre none may dare, hath calmed them into rest. Yet dwells there beauty in the shade of the destroyer's wing The winter of that dreamless sleep yields to a golden spring; less bloom! WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK. Philadelphia, May, 1829. The above poem is the production of one of the most distinguished Poets of America. It has been kindly forwarded for insertion in "The Spirit and Manners of the Age." THE WELSH WEDDING. By the Author of " Tales of Welsh Society and I HAD been wandering all the morning, with my fishing-rod in my hand, amidst the splendid Alpine scenery of the Snowdonian range of mountains. Snowdon himself, "the tripleheaded giant," the two Glyders, Trivaen, and Moel Ailer, all rose up before me, lifting their dark and undulating summits towards the blue summer sky, and forming a huge immovable 66 the moonlight, with as much ale and whiskey- Although refinement has extended its molli- but, at the same time, to solicit their seasonable presents and contributions, in order to form a little stock for the newly married pair. These free will offerings consisted accordingly of some article of wearing apparel or of furniture, live stock, provision, or money, according to the means and disposition of the donor; and the donation was always considered as a loan, to be repaid at any future wedding of the contributors or their friends or children. The duty of the bidder, if well performed, conferred as much honour upon himself, as it produced profit to his client: and as few persons could exhibit the requisite accomplishments for the successful performance of the character, it was considered an office of no trifling distinction. There was a good deal of ceremony attached to it also. On entering a dwelling, which he was careful to do at a time when all the members of the family were assembled, he struck the floor with his staff to command attention; and then, with a graceful obeisance to the master and mistress of the family he began his address. This was sometimes in a prescribed form, but more frequently extemporary, and left to the judgment of the speaker, who always rendered it as complimentary as possible, for the purpose of inducing his auditors to accept his invitation; and having succeeded, with viously drank to the happiness and prosperity another bow he left the apartment, having preof the company. On the day of the ceremony, the nuptial offerings having been previously made, and the names of the donors registered in a book, with the amount of the donations, the marriage was celebrated at an early hour; the bride and bridegroom separating afterwards, and returning to their respective families; when the signal for the commencement of the sport was given by the piper, who was invariably present on these occasions, mounted on a horse trained for the purpose. The first achieve. ment to be performed was the seizure of the bride, and the carrying her off from her friends. In order to effect this, the compa *This imitation of forcible abduction prevailed in some parts of the county of Cardigan, probably so late as twenty years ago, and may even now be occasionally practised; it seems to show, that at no very distant period real abductions must have been common in that district. |