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tensions to comeliness. A young English peasant | ably, a very enchanting scene. The dazzling lights, girl, even if she is not absolutely pretty, is usually rich music, and rare perfumes, lead the senses good looking. Her complexion is clear, and if captive; and we admire the lovely women surthe national plague, consumption, has not insi- rounding us, till we entirely forget how artificial a diously touched her, a sweet healthy colour glows great part of the whole affair is; and thus surrender upon her cheeks and lips, her motions are free and ourselves, in blind worship, 10 self-created divigraceful, her step elastic, and although she lacks nities, altogether unmindful of what they owe to ihat courtly air which can only be acquired by sparkling jewels and rich robes, to rouge and mingling in high society, her natural and modest pearl powder. naivelé amply compensates for it.
Agreeable illusions please mankind; few wish Look at those half-dozen lasses, busily plying to see them dissipated; hence we go on, day by their rakes, and tell us if you cannot select a village day, cheating ourselves into the soothing belief beauty. You hesitate. Nay, then, we must even that fiction is reality, and tinsel sterling gold. choose for you; or, as choice will perhaps be diffi- How many radiant lamp-light belles lose all their cult where all are pretty, let us present them in charms when stripped of adventitious ornaments, succession. Do you admire light brown tresses, and viewed by sober day. Roses fly from cheeks liquid blue eyes, and a bust slightly inclining to they adorned – white brows take a sallow hue; embonpoint? then here is Charlotte *** and the change is sufficiently striking both to repel for you. One kiss of those tempting lips would and cure the despairing lovers of the preceding amply repay a week of forced 'marches. Next evening, if they were only fortunate enough to comes a striking contrast ; a damsel whose long witness it. Herein the young rustic damsel has a sable locks escape from under her bonnet in propositive advantage over the fashionable lady. fuse ringlets. What rich, melting black eyes she She needs not dread the tell-tale daylight, for her has! and how arch their expression! She is a bloom is due to health, not to carmine; neither rustic coquette, and has a host of lovers : no won- have late hours and crowded assemblies withered, der,—we will look at her no longer ; another of in aught, the freshness of her beauty. those glances, aud we are but a lost poet. What a different being we find in her right-hand com
If the sun, with ardent frown,
Has slightly tinged her cheek with brown," panion! Do you not observe the mild expression of her Madonna-like countenance ? She blushes how infinitely preferable is the glowing hue of that beneath your gaze :-gentle girl, coquetry would complexion to the swarthy stain caused by using ill suit thy kind heart; or thine either, sweet noxious pigments. Mary *. Mary's well-formed figure and Does Love dwell mostly in cities or in villages ? pretty face never showed to greater advantage than -amid the din of bustling streets, or in the quiet in that light dress and straw bonnet. She seems seclusion of rural groves? It would be difficult
, too delicate for out-door work, and is indeed un- very difficult, to say; for there is no place under accustomed to it, but she gladly escapes from her heaven into which, at times, his holy and all-perusual occupations to partake in the labours and vading influence haih not entered. Prisons and pleasures of haymaking. Next to her, moves a palaces have alike received him; he has sprung light, sylph-like being, with bounding step and io life on the wild sea when tempests vexed it, merry eye; she is scarcely sixteen, and her figure and manisested himself when its waves were calm; is not yet filled. At no period of her life is a wo- he has lived contentedly in the waste wilderness, man more interesting than at this age. As we and displayed unwearying devotion in the darkest gaze upon her, fancy indulges in bright dreams of nooks of over populous towns,—but, surely, his coming years, and we invest her with charms favourite haunts are peaceful hamlets, hidden in which afterwards she may fail to possess. Surely verdurous valleys, far from the noise and bustle of Eliza will fulfil the promise she gives of future business or state. There, in lonely walks by clear goodness and beauty ; at present she is indeed moonlight, under the shadow of green trees, while
“ A rose with all its richest leaves yet folded.” the nightingales are warbling melodiously, should Last, though certainly not least, either in personal lovers' vows be sealed, with no other witnesses attractions, or sweetness of disposition, comes Ellen than their own hearts and the ever watching stars.
How brilliantly expressive are her fine Yet, suitable as such pleasant wanderings are 10 dark eyes ! how rich her ripe lips, sufficiently Love, in these his chosen retreats, there are many parted by a smile to show the pearls within ! how other scenes where his pure flame may be kindled, peach-blossom-like the hue of her cheeks! and and the soft impeachment owned; and doubtless, mark well the whiteness of her well turned fore- often, when engaged together amongst the fresh head, overshadowed by a profusion of auburn hay-shaking it out in the warm sunbeams, or tresses! She is--but, no matter--we have passed finally gathering in the fragrant crop- village the group in review; and now, tell us, what think youths have falteringly whispered those senti. you of them? Ah, we see you are satisfied. ments which spoken words are scarce eloquent
Truly, hayfields presenting such fair creatures enough to express, and written ones can never for our admiration, are pleasant places to visit ; embody, while bashful maidens have acknowledged and if all do not contain a galaxy of beauty like a passion destined hereafter to prove the blessing that we have just been delighted with, there are or bane of their existence. few in which we cannot find one or two blooming Stroll again through the hayfield. It is high girls
, whose fresh looks and comeliness peeresses noon, there is scarcely a breeze stirring, and the might envy. A brilliant ball-room is, unquestion- deep blue sky is cloudless—all is silent, except the
* * *
MY PICTURE GALLERY.
BY CALDER CAMPBELL.
A grey-haired man, a blind old man,
Leant on a fair girl's arm; “ Thou'st been to me, sweet child," said he,
“ A guard 'gainst every harm ;
“ I have not often chidden thee,
Though age and pain are apt
That youth's free pastimes, snapt
hum of insects. Where are the haymakers ? Look under yonder wide-spreading elms, whose mossed trunks aud gnarled boughs seem to have defied more than a century's tempests, and you will see the joyful groups reclining upon the sweet hay, and busily discussing their mid-day meal; not even in thought envying the curious cates and costly wines of the great. Healthful labour has given them appetites which would make an alderman jealous to imagine ; and their fare, though plain, is plentiful. There is abundance of cold beef, and nicely cured bacon, displaying its tempting streaks of red and white--and meat pies, and fruit pies, and cheese, and beautifully baked bread : and ifany man, with such“ appliances and means to boot," simple though they be, cannot contrive to make an excellent meal, a month's confinement in the Penitentiary, or in a Union workhouse, would be serviceable to him. Neither is there any lack of drinkables. There is sweet milk for those who like it-and yonder large tin vessels contain nut-brown ale — nice, sparkling beverage. How delicious it looks as it is poured foaming into those capacious horns. There are two places in which ale decidedly drinks bestin the cellar, and from a horn out of doors when you are warm and tired. Anywhere else it loses half its goodness.
The repast is soon over, but it is too hot to recommence labour immediately, and so the haymakers remain a little longer beneath the cool shade, singing, joking, and laughing. It seems actually impossible for any one to be morose in a hayfield. Thus passes the noontide hour pleasantly, and then—"all hands to work again.” A fresh breeze has sprung up, mitigating the fervour of the atmosphere, and rendering exertion less fatiguing than it was a little while ago ; so they move on gaily, collecting the luxuriant barvest, until, in two or three hours time, a fresh supply of ale makes its appearance. Another halt takes place; again the joke passes round, and, after a short rest, they return to their task, brisk and invigorated.
But evening draws on apace. The sinking sun throws lengthened shadows on the glade, and the air becomes yet cooler. Many acres of well-won hay have been this day got, but some yet remains ungathered. Never mind; the sky gives promise of a beautiful morrow, and the hour of repose is near. Wearied, but not exhausted, with their day's labour, the baymakers retire from the lively scene to their own dear homes—those safe and quiet cottages of which England has such just cause to be proud. There, under lowly roofs, upon humble couches, with roses and honeysuckles clustering round their chamber casemenis, the fair girls we so admired will be, ere long, sleeping tranquilly and securely; dreaming, it may, of love, and be. holding, in the night watches, vistas of future happiness. Peace be with them ! por think it a dream, thal angels indeed keep guard over the slumbers of innocence. When the lark trills bis malin song, they will arise, blithe and gleesome as that heaven-seeking bird, and, with light hearts and smiling faces, hasten to resume their labours in THE HAYFIELD.
Banks of the Yore.
" And, though I could not see the face
Of her who is my daughter's child ; Thy voice, when heard, a joy conserr’d,
Which vision's want beguiled : Like hers, thy flower-soft accents fellLike hers, I felt its music quell Each querulous murmur in my breast, And soothe me to sweet rest!
“ God bless thee, young Liese! I feel
The hour draw near which parts us. Nay, Weep not; Heav'n doth most kindly deal
With me, to let life pass away Without a pang.
You kiss my hand, But tears are with those kisses bland; Our God will dry those tears, for He Knoweth thy love for me!
“ Now, lead me where the summer's sun
May warm my fastly chilling cheekEven to my wife's lone grave! Not one
Intruding guest that spot will seek : There, let me kiss thy brow, and bless Thy life, in that last, pure caress : 'Tis well—now let me kneel and pray Child, turn thy head away!”
She led him to her grandam's grave,
She placed him kneeling on the sod ;She turned away, and tried to pray,
With closed eyes, to her God. But when the silence-long to herCaused terror in her breast to stir; She looked--and found that old man brave, Stark dead upon the grave !
BY J.J. REYNOLDS.
" MR, ANYBODY."
“ Well B. have you heard the news ?"
“ What news ? No, I have heard no news," says B., inquisitively.
“Why, that C.'s bank has stopped payment!" “ You don't say so ?" cries B.
“ Yes, 'tis preliy true," continues A. “ Now, by two-headed Janus,
“ But,” (and here the speaker drops his voice Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.” to a whisper, scarcely audible,) “ let me beg of MERCHANT OF VENICE. you not to tell Anybody."
“ You may rely on me," says his friend ; and so they part.
Here we find no salvo as to secrecy, made with Ilaving already introduced that worthy trio of reference 10 any other person than Mr. Anybody, individuals, Messrs. Everybody, Nobody, and the informant being, no doubi, well aware of bis Somebody, to the reader, it now only remains for gossiping propensities, and loial inability to keep me to say a few words upon the last of the a secret. “ Bodies," viz., Mr. Anybody, which I will now B, faithful to his promise, does not tell Any body, do without any furiber preface.
bui he imparts the intelligence to his very particuIt is a very common observation in the world, lar friend, whom he meets some twenty yards up that “ Anybody is Nobody,” but I am induced the street, on the same promise. This gentleman to think that the world in ihis instance (as it does retails it to Somebody, and from him, in the most by the way in a great many other instances) has natural way possible, it reaches the ears of Every. come to a wrong conclusion. Undoubtedly there body, and then adieu to all secrecy. is in many points a striking resemblance between I was once at one of the London minor theatres, the pair, yet the propriety of laying it down as an and a portion of the evening's amusement was the axiom "undeniable and incontrovertible,” at all performance of a company of acrobats. It was events demands a doubt.
during one of their most difficult seats, which the We are all well acquainted with “ Nobody" — majority of the audience, myself among the number, that he is a most insignificant fellow-spiritless, beheld with wonder and amaze, that an elderly genmean, and looked down upon by society at large. tleman with a plain matter-of-fact looking counteNot so “ Anybody," he is an important member nance, sitting at my right hand, exclaimed to the of the community, one whose name and actions great edification of those around him, are continually being called in question and scru- “ Stuff! 'pshaw ! . Anybody' can do that!" pulously canvassed. Few undertakings of a pub- “ Can he?" thought I ; “then, forsooth, he lic character are carried on without his having a must be a very active fellow." finger in the pie; and, though it must be admitted But the sneering, contemptuous way in which the part he acts in the play is frequently a humble the old man gave utterance to the above, led me one, still it is quite sufficient with his other attri- to infer that he had a very poor idea of the perbutes to rescuc his name from “ the blank of dark formance, and that it required but little agility to oblivion” to which the many would wish 10 con- execute it. And so it is-whenever a person, sign it.
wise in his own conceit, seeks to run down a Mr. Anybody is moreover endowed with a ver- work in any branch of art, he is almost certain satility of talents truly astonishing; and these to express himself by saying, that Anybody could talents he applies in a multitude of ways for the do it as well. benefit of his fellow-mortals, being a most oblig- Hence it may be deduced that this same Mr. ing creature—in fact, too obliging—for I am sadly Anybody is a species of Caleb Quotem-a Jack. afraid that it is the numerous and weighty matters of-all-no, not irades--accomplishments, possesshe undertakes to perform, and his consequent in- ing many, excelling in nore; a living realization ability to execute all which has given rise to the of the truth of the well-known saying, that it is imuniversally used expression, that Anybody is No- possible for a man to reach the Temple of Fame body. When you hear a person saying “ Any- if he treads more than one road. body will do this, or Anybody will do that for Should Anybody read this (and such an event you," and following such advice, the affair is en- may come to pass), he will of course not feel irusted to his care, it very frequently falls to your offended at any remark made here-as I have own lot to carry it out in the sequel; or from " nothing extenuated, nor set down aught in maAnybody's dilatory habits it would never be done lice.” From the privacy he maintains, it is at all. In these and similar instances Anybody wholly impossible to form a correct estimate of his proves himself an arrant Nobody.
character. All must be done by inference ; above Truth bids me acknowledge that he is a notori- everything, let him remember that it has ever been ous babbler, more given to tailling perhaps than an indication of a great mind to disregard the ever were a bevy of scandal-loving damsels over petty insinuations of the evil-disposed. a cup of tea," in proof of which take the following :
The reader must imagine two “ influentials” meeting in the street of a country town, and the one addressing the other in a portentous undertone, thus
THE VOICE OF MOURNING.
BY ELLEN S. M.
STANZAS. Standing by the silent sea
On a golden autumn day, Saw I brother, sisters three,
Children of one absent mother,
Gazing fondly on each other, Soon to part and sail away! Tossing on the Afric sea,
Saw I brother, sister, twain, Landward turning wistfully;
Wbile aloft with throats agape, Howld the spirits of the Cape, Farthest barrier of the main. Reading in a firelit room,
Saw I her they left behind ; Thither crept from outer gloom,
Scanty sunbeams lacking heat,
Winter's foot was on the street,
Which with fruits and foliage tall
Long they dwell apart, and strangers, Youth's communion past recall. Far from home and kindred grave,
Shall the three dissever'd sleep? Or, will Fate from distart wave,
Orient plain, and northern city,
With a late remorseful pity, Back their scatter'd ashes sweep? Mother, doating on thy flock,
Thou no future canst descry; God thus spares thy heart the shock
Of the baply coming pangs;
Chill estrangement, quarrel's clangs : Blessed wert ihou first to die !
E. A. H. O.
Gone are the days of youth, Like early leaves, by cold winds shed, Like the noon's sun-beams have they fled,
Like dreams of love and truth.
Gone are the days of miril, The silv'ry laugh, ihe gleesome bound, The dear one's footsteps' welcome sound,
Gone from the lonely earth.
The voice of love is flown, Affection's watchful eye and tear, They linger now no longer here,
Heav'n, ihen, hath claimed its own.
For me no spring can bloom ; No summer, with her dews and flow'rs, Nor autumn's rich and fruitful bow'rs;
I sigh but for the tomb.
From that shall spring fresh youth ; E'en from the wintry grave shall rise Eternal summer in the skies,
For those who worship truth.
No blossoms there shall fall, No scattered leaves proclaim their deaib, No tempests' cold and fatal breath
Shall spread a funeral pall.
No lov'd one there shall die,
Of grief from ev'ry eye.
THE ÆOLIAN HARP.
BY MISS POWER.
Hark to yon breezy moan,
Sad, sweet, and low! Sure not of earth that tone! But of some spirit lone
Those notes of woe.
Wringing the heart.
Wandering past; As they sweep o'er the strings Those tones the wild harp Alings
On the night-blast. Thus oft a passing sound
Wakes the heart's pain ; And some unhealed wound, Hid in its depths profound,
Answers the strain.
TO A LADY. (In Reply to a Warning not to write for an
Annual on the subject of Religion.) Not of RELIGION, dearest lady! Nay,
Why would'st thou setter thus the Muse's wing, That joys on heavenward flight to soar away,
O'er these dim shades of sin and suffering ? Behold yon wayworn pilgrim, doom'd to bend
Beneath his weary load of toil and care! Tell him 10 think not of his journey's end
To speak not of the rest that waits him there! See yon poor mariner, as tempest-toss'd
His litile bark reels o'er the foaming seaTell him to speak not of the friendly coast
His native port, just rising on his lee ! Bid the red soldier hush his battle-cry
As on he toils, where death contends with lifeTell him to speak not of that victory,
Whose very thought still nerves his arm for strise! “Nay,” say’st thou ?
“ Let them all their liope enjoy, And cheer each fellow-suff'rer with its ray." Dear lady, even so; and thus would I Feed my bright hope, and share its sweets with
thee ! With thee, and every reader of thy lay!
That hope, which breathes of Him, whose love (For all who blindly turn not thence away) A rest-a port-a “victory” in Ileaven !
BY T. M. RUSSELL.
ROMANCE OF HISTORY.
his mind is ill at ease even in the hour of triumph,
ere yet the full tide of his miseries had set in upou Asia Minor.
him. Thoughts like to these were passing within him, while his eyes wandered over all that was left of Ephesus.
“ Woe is me! Woe is me! Unhappy man that | I am! The young Amuruth delights in the
death of mere dogs, but whom may master bids me VII. MUSTAPHA PRETENDER.
save. How shall I fulfil the sultan's wishes in
preserving his younger children when Amuruth The confusion incident 10 Bayazeid's capture by the sultan has made agreement with the Greek
asks their heads, which he surely will? It is well Timour the Tartar, gave occasion to many bold bad men to work their way into power. Among out of their brother's reach. 'I hope the Christian
emperor that they shall be kept in Constantinople the most remarkable of these were Sineis Pacha, will not be intimidated by the threats I shall have of Smyma, whom Mahomet Bayazeid's youngest to send him, or the fair promises I shall have to son, but immediate successor, once pardoned, and make by command of Amuruth when Mahomet Mustapha, who, for a long time passed for Baya- dies and his son wishes his brothers' death." zeid's eldest son, of that name, but who died
While the grand vizier thus cogitated, some bravely fighting at the battle of Angora. The glittering Kowasses made their appearance at the origin of this worthy, as well as I can trace it, is foot of the hill whereon the Bayazeid's tent was romantic enough, his connection with Sineis erected. Several of the vizier's people, with an equally so, but the circumstances that threw the obedient start rushed down to meet them, and the baleful shadow of his evil genius across the paih Seraskier stroked his beard, and endeavoured to of the well-meaning and faiihful, but as it hap- look as composed as if the apostrophe with which pened very unhappy Vizier Bayazeid, are of a
he had commenced his soliloquy had never passed nature to demand their being called forth from the his lips. bitter record of treachery and woe which consti
“Sineis Pacha of Nicopolis greets you, Vizier tutes oriental history, and being arranged as an
Effendi, by me his pipe-holder, and he greets you historic romance of no trivial import. While Mahomet I. yet lived, and after the first the tongue of man can express.
with more compliment and assurance of love than
You are the outbreak and forgiveness of Sineis Pacha of light, &c. &c." Smyrna, who at the time governed Nicopolis, in Roumelia, Bayazeid Vizier, accompanied by Amu- sions that followed, for are they not written with
It is needless to repeat the hyperbolical expresruth then but iwelve years old, commanded the force perfect truth and fidelity by Morier and Fraser in sent against Pereligia the Novator,* another trouble their inimitable oriental tales. The same unof the unquiet times. He succeeded in reducing meaning flourish precedes all state dialogues the insurgents, or whatsoever they might be called, whether in Persia or Turkey. The reply of the and it was on the evening of the day on which the grand vizier was also quite in conformity with the Novator had been crucified that I wish to intro national custom of throwing away as few words duce him to my reader. There he sits, girt with upon an inferior as possible. His reply consisted many a gallant slave on a costly carpet, spread on the ground just without his ient. "His jewelled But though that is its literal meaning, its more
of but the word peeke or "well,” lwice repeated. scimitar is in his hand, his beads over his arm, general construction admits of great latitude aco his amber headed chibouk in his mouth ; but the cording to the intonation given in utterance. So distorted corners of that mouth, and the nervous quiver of his eye-lid from time to time, show that messenger doubled up at a suitable distance on
The robe was kissed and the coffee sipped, and the the extreme edge of the carpet.
“Sineis Pacha," continued the pipe-holder, * Through the distorting media of the historical “ will rejoice much at your successes against the annals of the middle ages, it is exceedingly diffi- infidels, more especially since it has pleased the cult to discern the real figure and proportions of prophet that you should be the sultan's red hand. such personages as this Percligia. As he de- By the sword in that hand, Sineis loves you, and nounced, nay, warred against the Moslems, they deems you a happy man. have at once set him down for a Christian; but, “Pecké, pecke," quoth the vizier, in a note amid the chaos of extravagant heresies and schisms amounting probably 10, “I am much obliged.". of the time, we can find none with whose tenets “ By the life of the sultan, I declare; yes, I, the those of Pereligia can be identified. Had he humblest man of the thousands he commands, lived in the third century, he might have been affirin it : Sineis loves Bayazeid ; and why should sympathised with by the Manichees: if in the he not? Did you not turn aside the scimitar that nineteenth, he would in the Socialists have found, thirsted for his blood ? How that Pacha does rein the laxity of their morals, very suitable disciples. verence you." When taken prisoner he defied his conquerors, “Pecke, pecké," said the great man, which pervery probably to avoid torments, 10 inflict death, haps meant, “ I have no doubt he does." the consequence of which was, he was for many • Now, Excellence, I humbly pray of you to years afterwards, though crucified publicly, be consider wherefore did Sineis Pacha send his pipelieved by his followers still to exist.
holder from Nicopolis hither ? certainly not merely