There, you

leading her to Charles, placed it in his. foolish children, love each other and be happy.' I received a kiss from each, and then returning to my chair, sat bolt upright like an automaton, with my feet on the fender, gazing at the fire as if looking into futurity, but its brightness seemed a mockery of my destiny. I sent Nellie from the room to prepare her studies for the following day; but she went very reluctantly, anxious, I suppose, to see what was next on the programme. The lovers were so enraptured with each other, that they talked over their plans before me, forgetting my presence, but in them all my welfare was the first considered. Yet the love and kind wishes of such dear friends did not make me happy, for after a sleepless night, I could see but one proper course to pursue, and that was to separate from them. On communicating this resolution to them, Aline at first tried to persuade me to the contrary; but, knowing my independent disposition, and seeing my determination, ceased to remonstrate with me. In a few days they were married, and departed to his residence at the South, declaring that the only draw-back to their happiness was my refusal to accompany them to their sunny home.

We were nearly inconsolable at Aline's departure, and to add to our trouble, I was taken very ill; had it not been for the care which my little nurse Nellie bestowed on me, I think I should never have recovered. I had always treated her as a child, but found her womanly character developed in her attendance on me during my sickness. After my recovery, life did not seem so wearisome as before, and I resumed my occupation as governess with renewed energy.

Not long after, we received intelligence of the death of Aunt Ruth, and that we, being the only near relatives, were the heirs to what proved to be a considerable estate.

At last, I found myself in the enjoyment of that fortune of which I had so often dreamed, and which, though not earned by my own exertions, I found none the less pleasant on that account. Though many years have since passed, I am still alive to enjoy it, and if any of my readers will take either steamboat or car to our pretty little village on the Hudson, and ask the way to the residence of old Miss Tracy, (as I am generally called, for although I had many opportunities to change my name, I have never done so, as you perceive,) you will have the pleasure of renewing your acquaintance with my ladyship, whom you will find very much altered in appearance, and quite infirm. Nellie married very young, but lived only a few years after. Amy, like myself, never married. Mrs. Wells gave up her school and came and lived with us for many years. Aline and Charles lived happily together, and I visited them frequently, but never could be persuaded to remain long at a time. They have all long since been taken from me; the only one I have left is the grand-child of Aline, bearing her name, to whom I am devotedly attached, and who accompanies me whenever I go out.

I sometimes hear children say: There goes the rich old lady and her beautiful grand-daughter.' I thank God I have been richly rewarded in the affection of this dear child, who is the consolation of my declining years, and in whom my first Aline seems to live again.

MARICA.

THE CHIL D AND

THE

SOLDIER.

A BALLAD OF THE RUSSIAN CAMPAIGN.

BY J. 8 WETT.

THROUGH the gloom of Russian forests struggled the retreating foe,
Where the sombre pines were shrouded in a drapery of snow;

ThatGrand Army,' torn and shattered, fled before the north wind's breath;
Wintry skies scowled darkly o'er it like a gloomy pall of death.

Howling o'er the Steppes in fury swept the frosty winds in wrath,
Following with relentless vengeance on the mighty conqueror's path;
Sharper than the Cossack lances, bitter blasts pierced to the bone,
And the moaning of the storm-wind drowned the soldier's dying groan.

Round the army's mid-night camp-fires stalked the gloomy Terror King,
And with cold and icy fetters sealed forever life's warm spring;
Heroes sank in wakeless slumbers, chilled by piercing hail and sleet,
Dying while the snow was weaving round their forms the winding-sheet.

Mixed with grim and bearded warriors that upon the long march pressed,
Was a mother with an infant clinging to her weary breast;

In those scenes of gloom and terror seemed that young and lovely child
Like a flower on Alpine summits where the wintry snows are piled.

Pangs of hunger, nights of horror, banished love from every heart;
Dimmed the glorious 'Cross of Honor,' rent the strongest ties apart:
That young mother's heart grew callous, death had filled her soul with dread,
And she flung away her burthen, flung it to the snows and fled!

Wildly shrieked the child deserted, but she closed her eyes and ears,
Heeded not its piteous moanings, deaf alike to shrieks and tears.

'I must see my native country,' muttered she in accents wild;

'I must live, but let him perish, he is but a little child.'

Then a stalwart grenadier raised the child upon his arm,
Saying to the heartless mother, 'Shield thy infant boy from harm; '
But again she flung it from her, when the 'bravest of the brave,'
Hero of a hundred battles, stooped the little child to save.

Even then the frantic mother cast her child once more away,
And again the boy was rescued by the arm of gallant NEY:
'Take the boy,' said the old hero, to a soldier of the Guard,
'Thou art kinder than its mother, though thy face is battle-scarred.*

That old soldier passed a comrade and refused a helping hand,
Though he shared his cup of water upon Egypt's burning sand;
He had heard and left unanswered many a wounded comrade's cry,
Left upon the freezing snow-banks in the mid-night gloom to die.

Though he staggered faint from hunger, all affection had not fled :
'I will be to thee a mother,' with a choking voice he said;
And he shared his scanty ration - little food had he to spare;
Nightly pressed him to his bosom, like a guardian angel there.

Through a thousand untold horrors that frail boy was borne along:
He survived the cold and hunger which laid low the bold and strong;
When the remnants of the army reached the Rhine with shouts of joy,
There was seen the grim old warrior and the rescued little boy.

But the cold, inhuman mother perished with a fearful doom;
For she died in the retreating in a night of death and gloom;
Fiercely swept the freezing river where she sank to rise no more,
With the thousands who died shrieking on the Beresina's shore.
San Francisco.

THE storm has at length come.

The visible signs, so long overcharging the skies, have at last been verified. Soon after Mr. Standish

was with us, as related in a former letter, the fact that Father Green on that occasion took wine, and that Rev. Mr. Motherwort, A.B., expostulated, were known.

You will please not forget the dignity of our suburb. It is a great metropolis on a small scale, and with variations. We have our Harper's, Putnam's, Knickerbocker, and other magazines: our Herald, Tribune, Times: our Churchman, Evangelist, and Independent, each walking on two legs, circulating free of postage, of its own motion, spreading knowledge, criticism, and plans for a millennium. I do not know with what number of cylinders these impressions are made, nor whether with Adams' or Hoe's presses, nor how much, if any, margin of profit is left for the news-boys. But the machinery is ample and rapid. Copies are multiplied, new editions with post-scripts easily and cheaply added, and if the same processes could be generally adopted over the surface of this little planet, the world would have all the benefit of magazines, newspapers, rail-roads, and telegraphs, on the voluntary principle,' and positively, without the trouble of subscriptions, stocks, and bonds, always as yet below par; but forever on the brink of being a good thing,' and bearing a premium. These processes favor us with the relish of a surprise. One reads his newspaper of a morning or evening, or his magazine while smoking his segar after dinner, or it may be on the cars. One says to himself: Here is my stock of news, my dish of gossip for the day here is my literary bulletin, my air-castle builder, my general expositor for the month!' He expects and he receives. He comes to the feast an invited guest, and at an appointed hour. But in our neighborhood publications you come upon your fortune unawares. A piece of news, a criticism, a good hot scandal, a sweeping and universal reform, a programme for a millennium, is thrust upon you at any turn of the street, at any odd hour. One retreats to his own hearth, perhaps gathers about him a few friends, and says to himself: Here,

now, is a comfortable privacy, 'the world shut out.' Let us eat, drink, and be merry.' But lo! in such an hour as he thinks not, when he 'most flatters himself that his heart is void of offence, he runs foul of some society, and knocks a hole through the bottom of some body's millennium. We are certainly made in the image of GoD in one or two respects. Our eyes are like His, in that they search all hearts. We do not allow our commandments to be disobeyed with impunity. All we seem to need to make the likeness complete, are His wisdom, His patience, His mercy, His benevolence, His love, His power, and the infinite harmony and beauty of His character.

You know that we had a rather stiff time, trying to entertain Mr. Standish. A bottle or some such matter of native wine was used, with

out malice of any sort. We are in favor of temperance societies. On the whole it is very well to let liquors and wines alone. I believe I have contributed toward Beetles and Apostles in an exemplary manner. We did not on that occasion mean any mischief to the world at large, nor to temperance principles in detail. The matter got out through Mr. Weaver. The sepulchral voice with which Rev. Mr. Motherwort admonished us, 'Look not upon the wine when it is red,' amused him. He related it as a good joke. It soon reached the ears of several societies, and assaulted them as 'with sticks, staves, stones, bludgeons as aforesaid.' A minister of the Gospel had done it! had, in fact, been guilty of drinking a toast. Mr. Motherwort did not spread the report. He merely could not deny it. Was there spirit-rapping also? What was the world coming to! Every old sore and bruise, every smothered discontent broke loose. Father Green was in for it. I was in for it-I who would not intentionally maltreat any body's plan of reform.

Rev. Mr. Motherwort, A.B., has now been evangelizing around this part of the country for a long period, doing wonderful works, and stirring people up. If he could be prevailed on to receive a call for a settlement What might we not do, under such an influence! If under Father Green we have been moving slowly and gently toward heaven, might we not under Mr. Motherwort, make more rapid strides? Of course we will not listen to the suggestion which has sprung up to dismiss Father Green from his charge. Of course, a part of us will therefore organize a new congregation, and build a new edifice. We will initiate this step by a public call of a meeting of the congregation to consider the propriety of the use of wines and spirituous liquors by ministers of the Gospel.

Mr. Standish must hereafter do much, if he would counterbalance the mischief he has occasioned. Meanwhile a few of us politicians set our wits to work to manage the meeting. We counted. We planned committees. We contrived resolutions. We did not mean to be out-generalled nor out-voted.

When the meeting assembled, your father was made chairman with little opposition, but the strength of the Motherwortarians was greater than we had hoped. Some management was necessary. The friends of Father Green understood each other, and would stand shoulder to shoulder for the love they bore him. The chairman inquired what business was before the meeting. A leading Motherwortarian offered

a string of resolutions to test the sense of the meeting, expressing a subdued but deep disapprobation of the use of wines and liquors, and especially of their use by ministers of the Gospel. These resolutions were received with a hum of approbation. A gentleman, very well known as a friend of Father Green, moved to amend the resolutions, by adding a clause against the use of tobacco. On this clause sprung up a fierce debate; but during its progress another amendment was proposed denouncing slavery; and after a while, a third, deprecating the Pope and Inquisition. Our Motherwortarian friends were divided into fragments, each fragment throwing its brilliance like pieces of broken diamond, at random upon the meeting, and, as it were, piercing each other with sharp rays of truth militant. I do not remember ever before to have seen so many millenniums let loose in a single collection of persons. I think the world might for once have learned what a miserable contrivance it is; that it is no great things to be a world any how; and especially nothing to be proud of to be such a world! Had the MAKER of the world been present, HE would have learned a piece of their minds! In that benign assemblage were many, very many, who, on their own showing, loved their CREATOR, and held every thing cheap that would not contribute to His glory; but not one who would not consider it disreputable to be caught in the act of making such a world as He had made. To save His credit, they intended to make it over again, and show how worlds ought to be made they were impatient of all delays interposed between them and the taking of this poor sham of a world to pieces; cleaning it, furbishing it, putting it together again in different combinations; and fixing it generally in good repair, so as to turn off a millennium or two every year. All this was much as we expected, and the friends of Father Green soon had control of the meeting. They were the conservators and peace-makers of the occasion. Our triumph was complete, until Father Green, who had thus far said nothing, took the stand amidst profound and almost painful silence, and upset all our well-laid plans. He was brim-full of feeling, and I thought was going to read his opponents a lesson; but his words were few and humble.

'Brethren and friends: I am an interested spectator of this scene. My heart is too heavy to say much. The ties which have been growing up between us, have become to me very strong; so strong that I have none on earth to be compared with them. But I see the path of duty clearly, and this alone relieves me from a degree of pain which might otherwise be insufferable. Those ties must yield to new relations. Some other person may do you more good. I appeal to those who best love me to make up their minds to it, and to give their best thoughts to making the change a profitable one. I should be unworthy the relations with which you have honored me, if I could for a moment consent to stand between you and union and happiness.'

This seemed to us, who had stood for him, almost like a rebuke. Our victory had vanished. But if we were humbled, what was the state of onr Motherwortarian friends? They were prepared for controversy, but not for this. A reaction seemed to take place in their bosoms, and protests were made against being understood to love Father Green less than