crouched in the stern, steering, Frank dashed his Dollard to the ground, careless of damage or danger, and rushed with an answering warwhoop, to the shore. wittiest tongue, the openest hand, the biggest soul, in all America, be the other who he may." "Waal! we'll have a time on't, this night, I swan," said 'Ky, with a broad grin, "and that "Fat Tom-who-whoop! Fat Tom! by all cariboo, he's ours, sartain. that's lucky and ridiculous!" "Not forgetting the one hundred niggers, and "And who may Fat Tom be?" asked Fred, the the one hundred wheelbarrows," said Fred last importation. "I am bent to hear that, before I sleep, let what "The heaviest man, the largest heart, the may come of it-and so, all hail to Fat Tom!" AFTER so long a thraldom, to be free, Is happiness supreme. Once I supposed Though all is over, and 'twere worse than idle The recollection of the days now fled, When all my thoughts were trusted to thy caroWhen I still followed where thy footsteps led, And deemed it happiness thy griefs to shareShall, in the silent night, come back to thee, And fill thy saddened heart with dreams of me. And I, alas! must think, and sigh the while, And knew no pain, but absence from thy side- And then my blood, with lava-flowing tide, I told the love that raged within my breast. Thy lips responded, and my joyous heart And I was thine at hazard of my soul- But now, when Reason reasserts her sway, I feel that Life hath nobler ends than Lore- Enfranchised now, no more my steps shall stray To lure me back again-I swear that never No more in trembling accents will I sue, I grieve for mine own weakness-I repine I have regained my heart, that long was thine, We part. Farewell! I never can forget I'll breathe a sigh, then onward with the crowd THE ANNIVERSARY; OR, THE MINISTRY OF THE BEAUTIFUL. BY ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH. WILL the coming women be great, according | guerilla warfare with small arms, which will to human acceptation, or what is better, harmo- not cease till we are better understood. niously beautiful? As yet, great men and great women are by no means the law of the race-they are the exceptions, and consequently, little understood in their day and generation. As yet, these great men and great women are rarely conjoined in marriage—and as yet, great men rarely covet the companionship of such in the aforesaid relation, preferring themselves to play Sir Oracle; preferring an undivided empire; preferring also, some one to flatter the small vanities of common life. Hence, judges, and lawyers, and doctors, and ministers, with their various endowments of intellect, are generally husbands of weak women; and these, with their petty airs, and small views, are the perpetual upholders of "Snobdom." These women, pluming themselves in their husbands' feathers, carry their little noses high in air, as if they were themselves something, because of this borrowed greatness. In justice to women, I must aver that superior women do prefer the companionship of superior men. Their indoor avocations; the petty details to which they are more necessarily condemned; and their perpetual environment with shallow, vain, or servile women, render such change not only refreshing, but absolutely essential to their intellectual well-being. Men have the resources of business, profession, books, and the sturdy, exacting mental friction of minds of their own stamp, their peers in mental culture, force and discipline, to repel egotism, and sharpen up their capabilities; therefore, the fireside is really to them, not an exhaustion, as it is to a woman, but a sweet prompting of the affections-and they care less for intellectual than feminal infinity, in this relation. Great men, from these premises, invariably believe all women to be their inferiors, and weak women always flatter them more and more deeply into the faith. In this way the two sexes have been playing at cross-purposes, rather than adjusting harmonious relations. In our day, the majorities of women are securing more practical views, and a more available kind of knowledge, than the majorities of the other sex; and they are now very expert in carrying on a sort of One thing is certain, few women are heroicphysically, we are, of course, all cowards; and most of us are so in a moral point of view. We lack that persistency which is essential to any grand passion. Marriage kills out the music of every young girl, and very few write poetry after the honey-moon. A marriage of love converts a woman into a "flat," and the contrary makes her a "flirt." Men, in spite of all our talk to the contrary, feel more deeply and lastingly than women do. Nor is this any reproach to us, in a true aspect of life. We were created to represent the beautiful; grace, harmony, joy, all tend thereto. Women cannot stay miserable; the divine harmonies of their nature reject it. They will make compromises-will struggle and strive, and finally overcome a grief, before which even a manly nature sinks in despair. All these thoughts flitted rapidly through my brain, as I watched the two lovers, talking in a sweet, low voice, under the shadow of the crimson curtain, with the statue of a Psyche lending a fine perspective to the back-ground. He was grave, spiritual, and an artist. A woman never fails to love such an one. She was petite, graceful as a fawn, always pretty, sometimes beautiful-though the artist, foreseeing the possible, yet undeveloped, thought her always so. Her baptismal name was Mary, but instinctively she was called "Minnie." "To love is to be immortal.” Minnie had found this written in pencil upon the ivory sticks of her fan, and she read it, blushing. The artist met her eyes admiringly, and Minnie asked, with ready coquetry in a tone he might have used in Wall street in "Do life of action, a world of art are before him, and he learns to suffer silently all the while he is becoming transfigured from the cross. The time will come when woman will learn to renounce also, and she will go forth with great purposes, and forget her sorrow in womanly aspiration. A broader field will invite her tɔ action also, and she will become in truth a help. "mete" or fitting for her brother. But, alas: now they renounce only to compromise. Unlike men, they do not ascend to the "higher love," "Look at Minnie, she seems actually to enjoy from the ashes of the less, but descend to for his assurance!" tune, worldliness, and folly. "Of course she does-it is a part of her prettiness." "The old dotard!" "He is called a fine-looking man." Of course, Minnie married the rich merchant Prior to the ceremony, she stipulated that all her more intimate friends should write her a letter to be opened upon the first anniversary of her "Do you think Minnie will ever consent to the marriage. Never did the prettiness of Minnie sacrifice?" "It will be none to her." "Be none, when " "She might have a true, loyal lover-one of God's children of inspiration-be the queen to a manly heart; become little less than the angels through a true human love, you would say." The lip of the artist trembled, and his pale cheek flushed with emotion. appear more winning than upon this occasion She colored, trembled somewhat, also, as the included the artist in the number of those whe must write her a letter for the bridal annicerery, It was curious to watch the expression of her face and the slight quiver of her lip as she made the request, half seriously, half playfully, to her several friends. You felt sure, in witnessing this, that pliant and superficial as Minnie s "Oh, it cannot, must not be she will be suredly was in her inexperience, there slept be wretched." "Pretty women take naturally to diamonds and laces, liveries and coaches-I never knew a pretty woman to die of a broken-heart-plain women may; beautiful women do. Can a timid child like Minnie oppose her destiny?" "And you understand your sex?" 66 neath a deep, unclouded lake of pure, beautiful womanhood, which, under the tender smile of the artist, might have revealed in her very lovely, if not noble characteristics. Well, she was | married-took the bridal tour-made a grandi party-received the congratulations of her the sand and one friends-took possession of her splendid house-and settled down at eighteen sa the pretty wife of a rich man; a handsome advertisement of his wealth, in the shape of rich dresses and immaculate diamonds. He came down to breakfast, in dressing-gown and slippers A-had a portentous "hem "-wore a "scratch," and read the papers. 'Assuredly; few have had equal opportunities to learn them. I love my sex also, and have great faith in the future to them. Girlhood is always beautiful-womanhood should be noble." "But Minnie-sweet, lovely Minnie!" "You have manhood, genius, aspiration. better awaits you. Thank God, that you are denied this boon. What will it prove to him?" pointing to the group. "Oh! she will die. It is too horrible!" "It may be so-better that, than to live to be a fat dowager, a common-place, frowsy rich old woman, when you are immortal; when the good God shall have revealed himself to you through some great, noble-hearted woman, perhaps, worthy to tread with you the golden gates of the Eternal City. Go, my good friend, do not take leave. 'It is spoken,' the Turk would say." A man who resigns a sweet, early love, and goes forth to noble effort, becomes thenceforth twice the man he might otherwise have been. A She appeared in the sweetest of imaginable demi-toilette-hair thrown back, and a rose at her girdle. But Mr. Centum never saw it. He read his newspaper, gulped his coffee, kissed her, with genuine, good, fatherly kindness, and went out. He was a very respectable man, Mr. Centum-regularly appeared in his pew of Sunday morning-read the responses aloud, and in truth, was quite a pattern man. One evening, Mr. Centum surprised his litte wife in tears. She had been all day shut up in her gorgeously-furnished room, with a headache. Now, a headache is a woman's unfailing re of a merchant's ledger, while Minnie, in spite of her coquetries, was full to the brim with it, but being a little body, it did not take much to fill source in all periods of difficulty. Does the new dress fail to come home at the time appointed-a headache. Does husband or father withhold pinmoney-a headache. Is a piece of embroidery | her. or lace spoiled in the working-a headache. Is she disappointed in a favorite beau—a headache. Does the invariable Mrs. Jones come just when she cannot be endured-a headache. Does the tiresome bore, Mr. Blank, call-a headache. Has she a fit of the blues, a fit of the tantrums, or a fit of laziness-a headache is the "scape-goat" for carrying all sins of the kind into the wilder ness. Mr. Centum, guileless man, a Benedict at the latest hour, was totally ignorant of this philosophy, and when told that little Minnie had the headache, was actually driven into a consternation as great as he might have felt at the fall of stocks in the market. He never had a headache in his life-why should he? His purse was full, his digestion good, and he was "one of our most respectable citizens." A headache to him was a terrible affair. It conjured images of fever, and plague, and cholera, and hydrocephalus, and black crape, and funeral processions-a woman might do anything in the world with poor Mr. Centum by pretending headache. Good man! he hurried up the stairs as fast as he well could he had done pulling down his waistcoat now, though the occasion was obviously greater-he puffed almost audibly through the hall and plumped himself into the cozy chair, quite devoid of breath. "Minnie, dear, what is the matter?" he almost groaned out, wiping his forehead, wet with the hurry of his movements. "Nothing but the headache, don't mind me," she answered rather coldly. But Mr. Centum was used to this, and supposed it to be her nature. Indeed he was rather glad of it-because it saved him from a good deal of trouble. But presently he heard the bursting of a little strangled sob, and hastily drawing back the curtains he was shocked to find Minnie weeping as if her little heart would break. Mr. Centum leaned forward and took the little hand in his, and unconsciously his thumb and finger pressed rather strongly upon the marriage ring; men are apt to do this in some way or other, dangerous as it is-I know of one man who actually snapped it in this way. It was regarded as a bad omen. Mr. Centum began to count Minnie's pulse, but before he had half got up to eighty, he went off into a calculation of compound interest, and thus her state of pulse is lost to our story. Minnie attempted softly to withdraw her hand, but that of the merchant has a "grip" to it even in his most unguarded moments, and the movement aroused him from his golden dreams to the conviction that his little wife was in a fair way of dissolving like a water-sprite through her eyes. "Why Minnie, what can be the matter of you? Don't you have everything you want? Do the servants plague you? Do you want a new dress of any kind, a carriage, anything in the world, Minnie?" "I want nothing in the world." "What makes you cry, then?" "For fun." Yes, why not? I've nothing else to do." "It seems dreadfully unreasonable," ejaculated matter of fact Mr. Centum. "Of course 'tis unreasonable, and that's why I love to cry." "Oh, Minnie, your mother told me you were the most sensible girl she ever knew." "And you believed her?" "Of course I did-or-" "Or?" Mr. Centum was frightened-he would not have finished the sentence for the world, and even Minnie did not care that he should do so; she was more reasonable, as the world goes, than she quite understood herself to be. Mr. Centum was nearly at his wit's ends. He had not supposed that any woman in the world would be otherwise than content with a splendid house, a beautiful carriage, fine dresses, a plenty of money, and nothing to do. In the main he was not far from right. But women differ, just as men do. "What is one man's meat is another's poison," is a proverb applicable to both sexes. Many a woman has felt a thorough contempt for all these fashionable accessories to life, and would willingly renounce them all for that freedom which she bartered at the marriage altar for these miserable gewgaws. She would willingly resign them all for honest toil and independence. "Mr. Centum is really a very good man-so good to his poor relations. Puts up with all my little ugly whims, really seems to like my extravagances-never eats onions when we are going to the opera, and is such a decent, steady manheigho!" and she ran down stairs in quite a fit of girlish glee, so pleased with her own prettiness, that she felt amiably disposed to all others. At length the anniversary of her marriage Mr. Centum found this mood of Minnie's very troublesome. It kept him away from his paper, the dinner was cooling also. In abstracted frame of mind his short, fat fingers played with the masses of Minnie's hair which lay scattered upon the pillow. Soon the magnetism of these money-came about, and the letters of her friends were making organs was penetrating to the delicate not wanting, for Minnie was the pet of the brain of the sentimental wife, infusing worldli- circle. ness and petty ambition, in the place of dreams and poetry; soon the ideal world faded in the distance, with all its music by unseen hands, its verdant slopes and sunny dells and tinkling waterfalls, with the low tones of congenial voices and kindred sympathies, all lost under the blighting and degrading touch of Mammon. Poor Minnie, the finer essences of her soul, feeble at first, and needing gentle fostering, were now nearly fading away like the exquisite limning of the sun upon the Daguerrian plate, upon which an ill breath has blown. At length Mr. Centum, good man, put his head down, and, in a voice meant to be much softer than that used to his clerk, asked in his awkward good heartedness On the evening upon which these letters were to be read, she made her plans as if preparing for a sacrament. The curtains of her boudoir were carefully dropped. A large arm-chair received her little figure, and her foot buried itself in an embroidered cushion. She even dressed herself exquisitely, with flowers in her hair. "Those who love me will be here in spirit," she said. "She is almost worthy the love of the artist," I said mentally, as Minnie closed the door upon us all, and devoted herself to the companionship of those who loved her in the past as well as today. I may as well observe here that the centre table contained only a vase of flowers, a large number of letters, and a pile of pocket handker "Have I done anything to hurt your feelings, chiefs, ready for use. Minnie ?" The first letter she opened was from a spinster aunt, who wrote as follows: The idea of such a thing seemed so preposterous to the little beauty, that she laughed quite in her old, merry way, to the great relief DEAR MINNIE-You are now embarked upon of Mr. Centum. She started up, gathering in the sea of matrimony, and by this time begin her straggling tresses, and in doing so displaced to experience the trials and the difficulties of several volumes ensconced about her pillow-the voyage. Oh, Minnie, men are all monsters down dropped "Corinne," with a half dozen and tyrants, bent upon crushing the hearts laced lachrymals saturated with sentimental sorrow. Mr. Centum was relieved, fascinated, but he hurried down to an excellent dinner. Thus these two in their brief communion had struck an average, as marriage is apt to do with most persons. She had magnetized him a little, just a little from worldly calculation, from the sordid pursuits of mere traffic, and he had taken her one step at least downward from the heavenly ladder. She felt something of this, for she was irritable, and fast losing the finer shades of character. "Do not tie the lacing so tightly," she said to her maid, who was adjusting her shoe-tie. "Place this rose-bud-no, no, I am too artificial for that place this japonica in my hair," and she half mused aloud Let me of women under the iron heel of their des- Do you ask why I have never appeared at the marriage altar? Oh, Minnie, I could a tale unfold, to harrow up your soul. Many and many has been the love-struck masculine who has almost sighed away his soul at my feet, but I was inexorable-once, yes, once I felt some tender repinings at the misery I caused, but "no," I said, "I will die, and my maiden |