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escaped from Dorset. Submit, unconscious of the auspicious omen, proceeded. The door was opened by Juno, an old negro matron. She summoned her daughters, Minerva and Venus; and the three goddesses exhausted on the child every epithet of endearment and admiration in their vocabulary. The doors communicating with the dwelling room were open, and there was the grandfather, all ear.

"My cried Juno, 'what pretty black eyes; for all the world like master's.' "That's well!' thought Dorset'; 'no black eyes among the Primes - gray, squint, or wall-eyed, every d-1 of them.'

"Dear! what a cunning little cherry mouth!' said Venus.

"Dan Prime's mouth is like a wolf's!' murmured Dorset.

"This beats the Dutch-master's peaked ear! exclaimed Minerva; 'and on the left side, too.'

"I saw, when I first looked at her, she favored father,' said Submit, tremulously; 'I suppose it was thinking of him so much!

Dorset longed to take mother and child to his heart; but the rememberance of his rash vow checked the impulse. A project by which he might, in part, evade its consequences dawned upon him. He went into the kitchen. Juno-experience made her the.boldest -Juno held the baby up to him-'Is n't she a beauty, master?'

"Put out your hands, Sybil Dorset,' said the trembling mother. The little girl, instinctively eloquent in her own cause, stretched out her hands, smiled, and jumped toward her grandfather. He caught her in his arms, looked steadily in her face for a moment, exclaimed, 'all Dorset, by Jupiter!' and then giving her to the servant, and his eyes blinded with tears, he made his way back to his apartment, slamming the doors after him, as a sort of expression or echo to his feelings. Poor Submit, after lingering in hope till the day closed, was obliged to return to her disappointed, sullen husband.

"Two years and a half after this first meeting, as Dorset was returning home, he saw a little girl tottling along the road-side, picking dandelions. His old dog Cesar sprang upon her, and threw her down. She patted him, calling him 'naughty Cesar.' They were familiar friends. It is she thought Dorset, and he quickened his steps, and gave her his hand, to help her up. She grasped his, and retained it. The pressure of a child's soft, chubby hand, is an electric touch to the heart.

"A'n't you my danfather?' said Sybil.


"Then do you come and live with us. Mother tells me every day I must love you, and how can I love you if I do n't see you?'

"I can't go to live with you, child - but would you like to come and live with me?' "With you and Cesar!-yes-if mother will come too.'

"And your father?'

"The child started at his changed tone of voice. 'No, no-not father-let father and aunt Marah stay at home.'

"Dorset conducted the little runaway to her own premises, went home, passed a sleepless night, and the next morning sent the following note to Prime's:


"If you will send me your child, Sybil Dorset, and sign a quit-claim to her, and you, Daniel Prime, promise, under oath, never intentionally to see, and never to speak with her, during my life, I, in return, will take her as my own child; and will endeavor so to bring her up that, when come to woman's estate, she 'll not quit me for any rascal on earth. Signed, JOHN DORSET.'

"This proposition was rather more than Prime could at once submit to; but, after a little reflection on the precariousness of Dorset's life how very uncertain other men's lives seem! his cupidity prevailed over his pride and every manly sentiment, as well as over his affections. We must look out for the future,' said aunt Marah; and many a case did she recount of breaches healed by the intervention of grand-children. So little Sybil was to be sent to serve the purpose of patent cement, and make the broken parts adhere more firmly than ever.

"The weakest, most timid animal will turn to defend her young; and Submit, for the first time in her life, when she heard her husband's decision, resisted. To give up Sybil, was to resign all that made existence tolerable to her.

"I cannot consent to this,' she said, with unprecedented vehemence. All the land on the round earth would not tempt me; no, not all my father's money, ten thousand times told.'

"You talk like a fool, wife.'

"Oh, Daniel Prime, I think there is no folly like that of craving for more and more; you are always toiling, and selling, and gaining, and it all does no good to any one, and least of all to you. Are you happy?'

"No: I am not; but I have been disappointed, balked. I shall be happy,' he stretched his hand toward Dorset's, 'when I get that farm."

"No, Prime; there is neither good nor happiness to those that forget the laws of God; and you are breaking his tenth commandment - but,' she added, raising her voice, 'you will never get it. I cannot part with Sybil. I was taught never to give away the least trifle given to me, and can I give away God's gift? No, never.'

"Prime would at once have enforced obedience, but he feared that his wife, driven to extremity, might fly to her father, and remonstrate; he therefore, let her exhaust her courage, and then urged compliance as a duty to her father. At this point she was vulnerable. From her child's birth, and the simultaneous burst of parental feeling in her own breast, she had a very common case- - experienced a new sense of filial duty, had lamented her infidelity to her father, and ventured to express her remorse in Prime's presence. She had now, her husband urged, an opportunity to atone for her fault, and this foregone, would be lost forever. Her father was old; more children she might have, never another father. And when she ceased to answer, but still wept, he suggested that her father's terms might be softened; he might consent to her seeing the child; and finally, and more than all, Sybil must prove a successful mediator between them. "Submit at last yielded, so far as to write to her father. The letter was modified by her husband, blotted with her tears, and sent. The following reply was immediately returned:

"The mother and child may meet as often as is reasonable; but Daniel Prime must be to Sybil as though he were not. Let no more be written or said about it. Send her on these conditions, mind ye! - to-morrow.'

"Sybil was sent, and her mother left to solitude and pining. She saw her child often. She found her always affectionate and kind, but there was little sympathy between them. Sybil was a healthy, bright, stout-hearted girl, living and laughing in sunshine, and unable to sympathize with her weak, drooping mother, who had no pleasure in life but her meetings with her child, and those embittered by Dorset's unrelaxing adherence to his vow."

The denouement involves details of even more stirring interest, and the whole is managed with fine dramatic effect.

'The Creole Village,' by WASHINGTON IRVING, is so characteristic and admirable, that we cannot resist the temptation to transfer it entire :



"IN travelling about our motley country, I am often reminded of Ariosto's account of the moon, in which the good paladin Astolpho found every thing garnered up, that had been lost on earth. So I am apt to imagine, that many things lost in the old world, are treasured up and perpetuated in the new; having been continued from generation to generation, since the early days of the colonies. A European antiquary, therefore, curious in his researches after the ancient and almost obliterated customs and usages of his country, would do well to put himself upon the track of some early band of emigrants, follow them across the Atlantic, and rummage among their descendants on our shores.

"In the phraseology of New-England might be found many an old English provincial phrase, long since obsolete in the parent country; while Virginia cherishes peculiarities characteristic of the days of Elizabeth and Sir Walter Raleigh,

"In the same way, the sturdy yeomanry of New-Jersey and Pennsylvania keep up many usages fading away in ancient Germany; while many an honest, broad-bottomed custom, nearly extinct in venerable Holland, may be found flourishing in pristine vigor and luxuriance in some of the orthodox Dutch villages, still lingering on the banks of the Mohawk and the Hudson.

"In no part of our country, however, are the customs and peculiarities, imported from the old world by the earlier settlers, kept up with more fidelity than in the little, poverty-stricken villages of Spanish and French origin, that border the rivers of ancient Louisiana. Their population is generally made up of the descendants of those nations, married and interwoven together, and occasionally crossed with a slight dash of the Indian. The French character, however, floats on top, as, from its buoyant qualities it is sure to do, whenever it forms a particle, however small, of an intermixture.

"In these serene and dilapidated villages, art and nature seem to stand still, and the world forgets to turn round. The revolutions that distract other parts of this mutable planet, reach not here, or pass over without leaving any trace. The inhabitants are deficient in that public spirit which extends its cares beyond its horizon, and imparts trouble and perplexity from all quarters in newspapers. In fact, newspapers are almost unknown in these villages, and as French is the current language, the inhabitants have little community of opinion with their republican neighbors. They retain, therefore, their old habits of passive obedience to the decrees of government, as though they still lived under the absolute sway of colonial commandments, instead of being part and parcel of the sovereign people, and having a voice in the legislation.

"A few aged men, who have grown gray on their hereditary acres, and are of the good old colonial stock, exert a kind of patriarchal sway in all matters of public and private import; their opinions are considered oracular, and their word is law.

"The inhabitants, moreover, have none of that eagerness for gain, and rage for improvement, which keep our people continually on the move, and our country towns incessantly in a state of transition. There the magic phrases, 'town lots,' water privileges,''rail-roads,' and other comprehensive and soul-stirring words, from the speculator's vocabulary, are never heard. The residents dwell in the same houses in which their forefathers dwelt, without thinking of enlarging or modernizing them, or pulling them down and turning them into granite stores. They suffer the trees, under which they have been born, and have played in infancy, to flourish undisturbed; though, by cutting them down, they might open new streets, and put money in their pockets. In a word, the almighty dollar, that great object of universal devotion throughout our land, seems to have no genuine devotees in these peculiar villages; and unless some of its missionaries penetrate there, and erect banking houses and other pious shrines, there is no knowing how long the inhabitants may remain in their present state of contented poverty.

"In descending one of our great western rivers in a steam-boat, I met with two worthies from one of these villages, who had been on a distant excursion, the longest they had ever made, as they seldom ventured far from home. One was the great man, or Grand Signior of the village; not that he enjoyed any legal privileges or power there, every thing of the kind having been done away when the province was ceded by France to the United States. His sway over his neighbors was merely one of custom and conviction, out of deference to his family. Beside, he was worth full fifty thousand dollars, an amount almost equal, in the imagination of the villagers, to the treasures of king Solomon. "This very substantial old gentleman, though of the fourth or fifth generation in this country, retained the true Gallic stamp of feature and peculiarity of deportment, and reminded me of one of those provincial potentates, the important man of a petty arrondisement, that are to be met with in the remote parts of France. He was of a large frame, a ginger-bread complexion, strong features, eyes that stood out like glass knobs, and a prominent nose, which he frequently regaled from a gold snuff-box, and occasionally blew with a colored handkerchief, until it sounded like a trumpet.

He was attended by an old negro, as black as ebony, with a huge mouth, in a continual grin. This was evidently a privileged and favorite servant, and one that had grown up and grown old with him. He was dressed in creole style- with white jacket and trowsers, a stiff shirt collar, that threatened to cut off his ears, a bright madrass handkerchief tied round his head, and large gold-earings. He was the politest negro I met with in a wide western tour; and that is saying a great deal, for, excepting the Indians, the negroes are the most gentlemanlike personages one meets with in those parts. It is true, they differ from the Indians in being a little extra polite and complimentary. He was also one of the merriest; and here, too, the negroes, however we may deplore their unhappy condition, have the advantage of their masters. The whites are, in general, too free and prosperous to be merry. The cares of maintaining their rights and liberties, and of adding to their wealth, engross all their thoughts, and dry up all the moisture of their souls. If you hear a broad, hearty, devil-may-care laugh, be assured it is a negro's.

"Beside this African domestic, the signior of the village had another no less cherished and privileged attendant. This was a huge dog, of the mastiff breed, with a deep, hanging mouth, that gave an air of surly gravity to his physiognomy. He walked about the cabin with the air of a dog perfectly at home, and who had paid for his passage. At dinner time he took his seat beside his master, giving him a glance now and then out of the corner of his eye, that bespoke perfect confidence that he would not be forgotten. Nor was he-every now and then a huge morsel would be thrown to him, peradventure the half-picked leg of a fowl, which he would receive with a snap that sounded like the springing of a steel trap-one gulp, and all was down; and a glance of the eye told his master that he was ready for another consignment.

"The other village worthy, traveling in company with this signior, was of a totally different stamp. He was small, thin, and weazen-faced, such as Frenchmen are apt to be represented in caricature, with a bright, squirrel-like eye, and a gold ring in his


His dress was flimsy, and sat loosely on his frame, and he had altogether the look of one with but little coin in his pocket. Yet, though one of the poorest, I was assured he was one of the merriest and most popular personages in his native village. "Compere Martin, as he was commonly called, was the factotum of the place — sportsman, schoolmaster, and land surveyor. He could sing, dance, and, above all, play on the fiddle, an invaluable accomplishment in one of these old French creole villages, for the inhabitants have a hereditary love for balls and fetes; if they work but little, they dance a great deal, and a fiddle is the joy of their heart.

"What had sent Compere Martin traveling with the Grand Signior I could not learn; he evidently looked up to him with great deference, and was assiduous in rendering him petty attentions; from which I concluded that he lived at home upon the crumbs which fell from his table. He was gayest when out of his sight; and had his song and his joke when forward, among the deck passengers; but altogether Compere Martin was out of his element on board of a steam-boat. He was quite another being, I am told, when at home, in his own village.

"Like his opulent fellow traveler, he too had his canine follower and retainer- and one suited to his different fortunes -one of the civilest, homebred, most unoffending little dogs in the world. Unlike the lordly mastiff, he seemed to think he had no right on board of the steam-boat; if you did but look hard at him, he would throw himself upon his back, and lift up his legs, as if imploring mercy.

"At table he took his seat at a little distance from his master; not with the bluff, confident air of the mastiff, but quietly and diffidently; his head on one side, with one ear dubiously slouched, the other hopefully cocked up; his under teeth projecting beyond his black nose, and his eye wistfully following each morsel that went into his master's mouth.

"If Compere Martin now and then should venture to abstract a morsel from his plate, to give to his humble companion, it was edifying to see with what diffidence the exemplary little animal would take hold of it, with the very tip of his teeth, as if he would almost rather not, or was fearful of taking too great a liberty. And then with what decorum would he eat it! How many efforts would he make in swallowing it, as if it stuck in his throat; with what daintiness would he lick his lips; and then with what an air of thankfulness would he resume his seat, with his teeth once more projecting beyond his nose, and an eye of humble expectation fixed upon his master.

"It was late in the afternoon when the steam-boat stopped at the village which was the residence of my fellow voyagers. It stood on the high bank of the river, and bore traces of having been a frontier trading post. There were the remains of the stockades that once protected it from the Indians, and the houses were in the ancient Spanish and French colonial taste, the place having been successively under the domination of both those nations prior to the cession of Louisiana to the United States.

"The arrival of the signior of fifty thousand dollars, and his humble companion, Compere Martin, had evidently been looked forward to as an event in the village. Numbers of men, women, and children, white, yellow, and black, were collected on the river bank; most of them clad in oldfashioned French garments, and their heads decorated with colored handkerchiefs or white nightcaps. The moment the steam-boat came within sight and hearing, there commenced a waving of handkerchiefs, and a screaming and bawling of greetings, and salutations, and felicitations, that baffle all description.

"The old gentleman of fifty thousand dollars was received by a train of relatives, and friends, and children, and grandchildren, whom he kissed on each cheek, and who formed a procession in his rear, with a legion of domestics, of all ages, following him to a large, oldfashioned French house, that domineered over the village.

"His black valet de chambre, in white jacket and trowsers, and gold ear-rings, was met on the shore by a boon, though rustic companion, a tall negro fellow, with a long, goodhumored horse face, which stood out in strong relief from beneath a narrow-rimmed straw hat, stuck on the back of his head. The explosions of laughter of these two varlets on first meeting with each other, and exchanging compliments, were enough to electrify the whole country round.

"The most hearty reception, however, was that given to Compere Martin. Every body, young and old, hailed him before he got to land. Every body had a joke for Compere Martin, and Compere Martin had a joke for every body. Soon his little dog appeared, to partake of his popularity, and to be caressed by every hand. Indeed, he was quite a different animal the moment he touched the land. Here he was at home; here he was of consequence. He barked, he leaped, he frisked about his old friends, and and then would skim round the place in a wide circle, as if mad.

"I traced Compere Martin and his little dog to their home. It was an old ruinous Spanish house, of large dimensions, with virandas overshadowed by ancient elms. The house had probably been the residence, in old times, of the Spanish commandant. In one wing of this crazy, but aristocratical abode, was nestled the family of my fellow traveler; for poor devils are apt to be magnificently clad and lodged, in the cast-off clothes and abandoned palaces of the great and wealthy,

"The arrival of Compere Martin was welcomed by a legion of women, children, and mongrel curs; and, as poverty and gayety generally go hand in hand among the French and their descendants, the crazy mansion soon resounded with loud gossip and lighthearted laughter.

"As the steam-boat paused a short time at the village, I took occasion to stroll about the place. Most of the houses were in the French taste, with casements and rickety verandas, but most of them in flimsy and ruinous condition. All the wagons, ploughs, and other utensils about the place were of ancient and inconvenient Gallic construction, such as had been brought from France in the primitive days of the colony. The very looks of the people reminded me of the villages of France.

"As I passed by one of the houses, the hum of a spinning wheel came issuing forth, accompanied by a scrap of a song, which a girl was singing as she sat at her labor. It was an old French chanson, that I have heard many a time among the peasantry of Languedoc; and the sound of it brought many a bright and happy scene to my remembrance. It was doubtless an old traditional song, brought over by the first French emigrants, and handed down from generation to generation.

"Half a dozen young lasses emerged from the adjacent dwellings, reminding me, by their light step and gay costume, of scenes in ancient France, where taste in dress comes natural to every class of females. The trim boddice and colored petticoat, and little apron, with its pockets to receive the hands when in an attitude for conversation; the colored kerchief wound tastefully round the head, with a coquettish knot perching above one ear; and then the neat slipper and tight drawn stocking, with its braid of narrow ribbon embracing the ankle where it peeps from its mysterious curtain. It is from this ambush that Cupid sends his most inciting arrows.

"While I was musing upon the recollections thus accidentally summoned up, I heard the sound of a fiddle from the mansion of Compere Martin, the signal, no doubt, for a joyous gathering. I was disposed to turn my steps thither, and witness the festivities of one of the very few villages that I had met with in my wide tour, that was yet poor enough to be merry; but the bell of the steam-boat summoned me to rëembark.

"As we swept away from the shore, I cast back a wistful eye upon the moss-grown roofs and ancient elms of the village, and prayed that the inhabitants might long retain their happy ignorance, their absence of all enterprise and improvement, their respect for the fiddle, and their contempt for the almighty dollar. I fear, however, my prayer is doomed to be of no avail. In a little while the steam-boat whirled me to an American town, just springing into bustling and prosperous existence.

"The surrounding forest had been laid out in town lots; frames of wooden buildings were rising from among stumps and burnt trees. The place already boasted a courthouse, a jail, and two banks, all built of pine boards, on the model of Grecian temples. There were rival hotels, rival churches, and rival newspapers; together with the usual number of judges, and generals, and governors; not to speak of doctors by the dozen and lawyers by the score.

"The place, I was told, was in an astonishing career of improvement, with a canal and two railroads in embryo. Lots doubled in price every week; every body was speculating in land; every body was rich; and every body was growing richer. The community, however, was torn into pieces by new doctrines in religion and in political economy; there were camp-meetings and agrarian meetings; and an election was at hand which, it was expected, would throw the whole country into a paroxysm.

"Alas! with such an enterprising neighbor, what is to become of the poor little creole village!"

The poetry of the 'Magnolia,' taken in the mass, is very superior. Mrs. ELLET, Mr. HERBERT, Grenville MelleN, 'FLACCUS,' with others of kindred celebrity, have contributed to this department. We subjoin a tender, affectionate offering, from the pen of the author of 'Guy Rivers :'

My brother!"

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Said, before me, a sweet maid,
Who looked a sister spirit from her eye-
And thereupon I wept- for I had none,
Brother nor sister and my way of life

Has been among the hills, and where the waste,
Sandy, and like the ocean-plane, spread out,

Pains the sick eye with gazing. I, alas!

Have known no brother's, felt no sister's love,

Drank fondly of no blessings, such as make

A cottage fireside a home like heaven,

Where all is peace and truth. Yet less I've sought
Of love, than of permission but to love-

The right to choose from out the hurrying crowd
My thing of worship. I have none to love-
None, for whose single good my heart may hope;
None, for whose choice delight, my form may care,
Bringing home dear enjoyments. Mine has been
The life of want a sister had supplied
That other self-sole, sweet, most singular,
To whom, as to an altar of high thought,
My heart could turn, when otherwise denied,
Secure of comfort.

'You may hold it weak,
That thus I wept, hearing that maiden call
The youth who stood beside her. What had I
That moment given to have thus been called!
Had she but placed her hand upon mine own,
And looked into my face, and bade me hold
Her, henceforth, as my sister;'- I had made
That girl my deity in after life,
And given her all my heart in offering.'

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