He shook his head. "Oh! let me stay with you then,” sobbed the girl. "What are all other things to me, if you are not there? Riches! homage! I should hate them." "Think, think," he repeated calmly, yet sadly, "I have watched over you with a parent's care; but there are other ties, and dearer, that will meet you there; and you will soon learn, amidst the gaiety and happiness that will surround you, to forget the stern, gloomy man, who has hitherto guarded you, in the devotion of the young and handsome." "Oh, cruel!" she cried, wildly; "you cannot believe the words you speak! If you would have me live, let me be with you ever. You know not how I will serve and worship you," earnestly pleaded she and long; but he heard no more than this, he pressed his hand to his forehead, and that noble expressive countenance and those swollen veins were the same that had stood on the deck of the gallant ship some few years before; but if grief and wrong had then drawn forth those deep signs of feeling, now there was a look of inexpressible, unutterable joy, that almost stifled him. But when he remembered himself, he folded the poor girl to his heart. "No, we will never part," he muttered; and bore the senseless form to the interior of the cottage. I bave little more to tell, but that ere another week had passed, she became his bride; and a letter announced to those relations in England who had so long neglected her, that they were now too late, for that she was bound by stronger ties than theirs. And as to the wealth that was destined for her, she rejected it with thanks; for happiness was hers, and that was more than gold could ever buy. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. "There is a spell." There is a spell to mortals given, It charms us in our earliest youth, There is a spell. Oh, hearts that love It nerves the soul to brave the storm It dwells but in the kindest breast, GEORGE BAYLEY. SYMPATHY. BY ELIZA LESLIE. Hast thou not felt the kindred throb- GEMS OF THE EARTH. O'er his first-born's glance of love; The stars in their radiance gleaming To sever his country's chain; O'er her sick one's couch of pain. The bondage dull earth may twine; CEYLON. We well recollect with what pleasure we used to look at the Diorama in Street, and picture to ourselves fancied realities, which, alas, were doomed never to have any existence. We see the present, and the past is known; but the future is hid, and wisely too, from every human eye. Nevertheless we can judge of the past, and comparing the present with it, form conclusions as to the future, which will, in all human probability, come pretty nearly to the mark. It is in this strain we would desire to make a few cursory remarks as to the future state of the interior of Ceylon, taking for our guidance a stretch on either side of the present, to the extent of some ten or twelve years. Twelve years ago the central province was one continued mass of huge forest, intermingled here and there with plots and fields of chena and grasslands. A paddy field, with a few cocoanut and bamboo clusters, denoting where the village lay beside the brook, might occasionally be seen in our travels, and thus relieve the monotony of the scene. But beyond this, nothing was to be seen but the denizens of the forest, still too frequently found near many of the villages to this day-the elephant threading his way through the dense woods, throwing down large trees by the mere weight of his body, and apparently thinking no more of them than a schoolboy does of walking through a field of corn. between two towns, is sufficient of itself to show that the termini at which they respectively stop must be of more than ordinary importance. We hear of a coach being started between Kandy and Gampola, and it may, if inducement offers-and why should it not?-run on to the convalescent station of Nuwera Ellia. The country along the Nuwera Ellia road is very picturesque and romantic, and the climate, from and above Gampola, is delightfully cool. We were lately at Pussilava, some ten miles above Gampola; and it would cause no surprise to see, in a few years, a town something after the model of Nuwera Ellia springing up, the climate there is so delightful and cool. Indeed we know that if there were bungalows in that part of the country, people would prefer it to Nuwera Ellia, for two principal reasons, if there were no others, viz., from Pussilava being just one half of the distance that Nuwera Ellia is from Kandy, the fountain of the supplies and commissariat; and from the air of Pussilava being more mild and agreeable to old Indians than the keen and sharp biting air of Nuweria Ellia. As for Gampola, we have reason to know that there will shortly be a lively town there; the Government Surveyor is at this moment making out the intended streets and sites for buildings for the new town. It already possesses one or two large stores, and a thriving bazaar. A day hardly ever passes without there being some half-dozen Europeans in the Rest House there. When the trace between the 62 mile post (on the Kandy, the chief town of the interior, was at Colombo and Kandy road) and Gampola is that time but a very miserable place; not a white opened, and which no doubt will soon be the case, face was to be seen there, but that of one of the seeing that two-thirds of it are nearly opened, and military, or a civil servant; and occasionally a consequently only three or four miles left to make glimpse was to be had of a planter-a solitary Gampola, it will bid fair to outstrip Kandy. We planter, the only one in the province in those days. do not mean to say that it will entirely outstrip But all things change, and so has this island in Kandy, because as long as the seat of Government particular. The face of the country is entirely is there, it will always retain the principal part of changed, and were any one to rise from the grave its importance. But this we say it will become who has been there since that time, and could see soon equal to it in many important ways; all the the altered appearance of the country, he would residents of Pussilava, Rambodde, and the Badnot believe his eyes. The province has become dola country, in Kotmalee and the Ambegamoa quite an agricultural one. The planters number district, will make it their head quarters. We shall no small body of the community. It is studded have the Governor having a residence there, houses with coffee estates, and there are one or two sugar built, churches set a-going-a Baptist chapel was estates, all yielding a rich harvest to their respec-opened on the 3rd instant-and lastly, mail tive proprietors. It is intersected with roads, and coaches running between it and Colombo.-Ceylon the whole presents quite an European aspect. Herald, March 1. Kandy itself is very considerably changed in appearance, and its bazaars transact business to the extent of several thousand pounds a month in supplies alone, which will show to what an increased extent the town has grown, exclusive of the demands of the military. Europeans have commenced business; houses are being built; churches are also in a fair way of being opened; one, indeed, has already been opened, and is well and numerously attended every Sunday evening. What a pleasing prospect this to what was seen on the first night it was opened, when there was only one European present, with some natives! A mail coach runs between Kandy and Colombo every day, and the commercial community on the island, hating monopoly, are now running another. The circumstance of there being two coaches running Perhaps, in the philosophy of the human mind, there are few things more wonderful than that merciful dispensation by which the heart, bowed and crushed by affliction, does generally rise after awhile from the stunning blow. Especially is it so in youth; for though that may be the season of keenest emotion, and the feelings cooled by experience and disappointment, may be harder to receive impressions, they are also harder to retain. The difference is almost equal to that of the waxen image, and the graven stone which impresses it, Thou did'st weave them with the shadows from the hues of twilight caught, Blent with braids of summer lightning in a bed of subtle thought; Or with bolder hand unveiling Freedom's pinion hovering nigh; With an earnest skill awaking, like some ancient prophecy, Visions of the shrouded future, like as germs with beauty rife, Hid in gloom, are yet awaiting light to wake them into life: Yet cold hearts did frown upon thee, scorning wealth they could not reach, Deaf unto thy wild harp's music and the wisdom it could teach. Could the sordid mind interpret shadows of the sunshine born? Did they goad thy noble spirit to repay them scorn with scorn? As the sunlight on the waters reacheth not the caves below, Reck they of the heart's drear caverns whence the bright thoughts ebb and flow? Songs are hidden there that slumber till a breath can give them birth, Poets' dreams, like ocean flowers, that have known no stain of earth; But the fragile cell, that murmurs to the soft wind's gentle sigh, Echoes to the howling tempest with a fearful melody. Many a loving heart shall linger o'er thy wild prophetic strain, Echoing thy harmonious numbers till the poet lives again : While the tideless waters wander, they thy monument shall be ; While the southern breezes murmur they shall breathe a sigh for thee! THE GRAVE OF THE ORPHAN I stood beside a pallid child of woe, Whose quivering lip and sorrow-sunken eye Proclaim'd life's fitful, weary scenes below, With haste were passing by. I gaz'd with pity on that faded form, I mark'd the tottering step, the livid glare, Proof that the last dread enemy was there, Sickness had wrought upon that sinking frame With sure and deadly aim! I sigh'd, as deep reflection smote my breast Calm as an angel smil'd! I wept; but O, those weepings were in vain! I follow'd, with the rude and motley throng, Without one kind farewell! I linger'd long beside that silent clay- WHEN THOU SEE'ST A BARK. BY MRS. F. B. SCOTT. When thou see'st a bark On the lone sea, Girt round by storm-clouds dark, When thou see'st a leaf Fall, withering, But when thou see'st a star Pray thou that thus may cleave In the dark tomb! LITERATURE. clothes for the poor-we mean fancy work! How many a girl has devoted as much time to the construction of a Berlin wool ottoman, as that in which, if so employed, she might have acquired a EDITH LESLIE, A NOVEL; 3 Vols. (Newby.)-language-not to mention that her misplaced inAs this work is presented to the public anony-genuity has robbed some individual whose time mously, without the recommendatory ushering of and industry win her daily bread, of that portion "by the author of so-and-so," and without even of her just revenue! How many a thoughtthat letter of introduction-a preface, we are to kindling, soul-elevating field of knowledge might presume it is the outpouring of some new candi- be sown and reaped while the wonderfully agile date for literary honours; to be won, as were fingers are threading beads, and the poor starving warriors' laurels by adventurous knights of old, brain compelled to the sad resource of counting without raising the visor. We are not by any them! And this goes on wasting youth, warping means sure that such a suspicion inclines a critic the narrow mind as middle age advances, till to be bland and courteous; over piqued curiosity woman-oh! yes, she can embroider slippers, and sometimes stimulates to irritability, while the ab- make watch-guards, and bead purses, and spend a sence of grateful or loving recollections of former year in adorning a pocket-handkerchief! Oh! works keeps the critical eye clear-those same were head and hands but made for such purposes? memorials being very apt to rise, like sweet but But we will return to our author's text. bewildering incense, before our mental vision when we look for a fault in the new work of a favourite author. To own the truth, we were quite ready to find fault when we opened the pages of this book; yet, before we had cut the leaves of half the first volume, we were won by the earnest truthful spirit which pervades it, to that mood which, if it blames, can only do so in love and kindness. We are sure it is by a woman. The shades of character are marked too delicately to come from the rough painting of a masculine hand; yet if by a woman, and probably a young one, she has felt much and thought more. In truth, we look upon Edith Leslie as the opening of a new and rich mine, even more valuable in its promises than its present outpouring. Constantly we come to passages-mere sentences, perhaps which, glancing off to the details of the story, nevertheless give us a good hint of the ore there is from which to work. Who can give the plot of three volumes within the limits of a magazine column? We shall not attempt it. Quite enough that it is a story of the affections, which in all the reality of emotions, has been acted over and over again, and will be, we suppose, to the "crack of doom." We have misunderstandings, trials of constancy, and reconciliations; an Irish nurse, most happily sketched; and a darling dog made a "character" in life, and whose death is a tragedy; not to mention the history of Nelly's cat, Prim, who, washing her face before the fire, fills up the picture of the cottage interior, when the story of the Banshee is told with all the "elegant Irish talk that Nelly could put into it, to give the same a charm." "Having comparative wealth, my child, why not perform a real and twofold charity, in giving daughter? She is a nice work woman, and subthis mantle to be made by old Pearse's bed-ridden ing money for which she would be very grateful. missive to your wishes in everything, besides earnMy remark on this occasion is principally suggested from a fear that you might become a participator in mental delusion with those ladies who, perpetuating a great original mistake, devote clothes for the poor, conscientiously believing it their lives to the never-ending business of making their duty; and permitting the latent hope of being hereafter richly rewarded to influence their actions like a creed; forgetting, while thus eneducation, allowing to lie dormant talents given gaged, that they are losing the fruits of their early them (if they will) for the essential soul-service of their needy brethren, for whom more permanent good might be effected by a few words well suited, and at the same time expressed by other exertions, made in behalf of their estate, than by all the wool, or twice the cotton in the universe. It is lean constitution will stare through purple robes. easy to cover a naked body, but an intellectually If the morals of our people were more generally and charitably looked after by a better example, being whose nature might thus be reclaimed from and consequently by better precepts, the human evil in its most deformed shapes, could (with rare instances of exception) find means to clothe himself, and content would reign in perfect serenity before dethroned vice and abdicated despair. When will man stock the broad lands of the mind with common sense?" Well as the interest of the novel is kept up, we look upon this merit, important though it THE GRANDFATHER; a Novel. By the late be, as of far less amount as an evidence of talent, Miss Ellen Pickering; author of "The Fright," than the earnest love of the good and the true "The Grumbler," &c., &c.; 3 vols. (Newby.) which is constantly breaking out, the womanly-The reading a posthumous publication has spirit which pervades the whole, and the hearty boldness which dares to attack many a prejudice. For instance, who will deny the truth there is in the gentle reproof Mrs. Leslie offers her daughter, on the occasion of her manufacturing a winter cloak for a certain Margery? Although we should like a fierce crusade to be undertaken against a greater enormity and "blunder" even than making always a degree of melancholy attached to it, especially in the case of an author whose works are so justly esteemed as those of Miss Pickering, and one whose age left so much of future promise for weak-sighted mortals to dwell on. The present novel was left by its lamented author, or rather projectress, in an unfinished state: to another hand, therefore, are we indebted to the winding up of the story-that hand being the practised one of Miss Elizabeth Youatt. In a short, but appropriate preface, she acknowledges the assistance she has afforded, which we must own has been so skilfully rendered, that we have quite failed in discovering the page or chapter where the thread was broken by the strong hand of death; although, from the opportunities Miss Youatt's valued contributions to our own pages have given us of acquiring an intimate knowledge of her style, we had fully expected to recognise, without difficulty, her individual touches. Indeed, we feel that the highest praise is due to her, for the manner in which she has carried out the plan of a more than commonly interesting story. Without her acknowledgment it would really be difficult to believe the unity of construction had ever been disturbed; so very carefully are all the minor early details unwoven at the dénouement. The novel is of the domestic class, affording ample scope for heart-probing, and a display of its mysteries. Ambition, love, revenge, are the passions which move the whole, weaving a chain of circumstances rather natural, and therefore interesting, than complicated and perplexing. The character of Amy, from a child upwards, is beautifuly sustained; and her trusting love, contrasting with her lover's more suspicious nature, increases the individuality of each. The precise, yet warm-hearted housekeeper; the worthy rector, who "points to heaven and leads the way;" the interesting Dunorven; and the statue-like Lady Anne, who nevertheless does warm-all stand out in one's memory like familiar portraits in a gallery; and we cannot but thank the author for an introduction to them. If only for the melancholy interest attached of being Miss Pickering's latest production, "The Grandfather," we are aware, will be sought for eagerly; but we can assure our readers its merits would alone be all-sufficient to secure its favour. TALES AND SKETCHES FROM REAL LIFE. By Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. (Allman.)—A very nicely got up little volume of cleverly written, though simple stories, illustrative of American life. The influence of a healthy mind and high moral purpose is evident throughout. HEART: A SOCIAL NOVEL. By Martin Farquhar Tupper, author of Proverbial Philosophy. (Bentley.)-We are late in the day with this work, for it was published, if we mistake not, simultaneously with "The Crock of Gold" and "The Twins," each of which we had the pleasure of introducing to our readers a little time ago. Therefore it may be enough to say that "Heart," differing from those works in some respects, yet resembles them in simplicity of plot, in earnestness of purpose, and in nervous command of language. As we said before, we love the touching story condensed into the compass of one volume, and believe that, but for the tricks of trade, authors would often spare the public a few of the attenuated, spun out pages, which make up the regulation thousand. This story, however, does not occupy the entire volume, room having been made for a veritable ghost story, and two or three plea sant sketches. The incidents in "Heart," though many of them common-place enough, take fast hold of the memory, dwelling there like the recollection of pictures; while the chapter devoted to "the end of the heartless," death in the howling wilderness, belongs to the very highest order of fiction, that of idealizing the real. FLOWERS OF MANY HUES. ORIGINAL POEMS BY VARIOUS AUTHORS. Edited by Frederick Kempster. (Falkner, Manchester.)-When we mention Sheridan Knowles, "the author of Festus," Dr. Bowring, Mrs. Abdy, E. L. Blanchard, and John Critchley Prince, as among the contributors to this work, our readers may at once surmise that it is a very agreeable volume. Authors too, whose names are at present less distinguished, have contributed some poems of great merit; and altogether this slim quarto, with its scarlet and gold, and beautiful type and illuminated title-page, is a pretty and acceptable drawing-room table-book, which we suspect will keep its place for more than a season. "The Wanderer," by Prince-a humble poet, whose genius is even yet too little recognised, and whose history gives an additional interest to his productionswould grace any collection of poems with which we are acquainted; and the same may be said of E. L. Blanchard's "Past" and Mrs. Abdy's "Pleasure Boats." These poems, however, are all too long for extract, being at the same time remarkable for a unity of purpose, which would be destroyed by offering fragments; thus, as we are no advocates for pulling down a house to show a sample brick, we shall prefer giving some "Stanzas for Music," by C. B. Greatrex (illustrative of an Indian superstition), in which, to our mind, sense and sound harmonize with no ordinary degree of felicity. "An Indian maid, with her zone of bells Pleasantly ringing, pleasantly ringing, It is brightly burning, brightly burning! Then my lover, thank heaven, is safe and he Will be soon returning, soon returning.' But suddenly now outwent the light, With the wild waves leaping, the wild waves leaping; Then hope, with a smile, bade her heart good night, And she fell a-weeping, she fell a-weeping. 'Tis thus, alas!' said the Indian girl, Sadly sighing, sadly sighing, It can linger never, can linger never, |