pugh and up come the game! The bottom of the skiff was soon covered with the spearings of the traveller. Great flounders, large as leaves of the pie-plant; sculpin, bloated with rage and wind, like patriots out of office; toad-fish, savage and vindictive as Irishmen in a riot. Down went the fish-pugh! It was rare sport, and no person could have enjoyed it more than Picton, except perhaps some of the veteran fishermen of Louisburgh, who were gathered on the beach watching the doings in the dingledekooch.

NOTE. So little is known of this once famous stronghold of the French in America, that I have induced the publisher of the KNICKERBOCKER to have copies made of the plans of the fortress and harbor, from Halliburton. They give a very good idea of the place as it was, and even now, the remains of the walls and batteries can be readily traced at Louisburgh by the visitor. By referring to the following references, the extent of the fortifications will be at once apparent:

A. The town of Louisburgh. B. The citadel. C. A lake where the fishing-boats winter. D. Stages for drying fish. E. A battery of twenty guns. F. The Dauphin battery of thirty guns, which defends the west gate, being that which was first delivered to the English. G. The Islandbattery of forty guns, silenced the twenty-fourth of June, by the Light-house battery at I, under the direction of Major-General Wolfe. H. A small battery of eight guns. I. The Light-house battery, taken by Major-General Wolfe, June twelfth, from whence the ships in the harbor were destroyed. K. A battery of fifteen guns, used for the destruction of the shipping. L. The grand battery of forty guns, destroyed by the French, the twelfth, when all the out parties were ordered into the works of the town. M. A battery of fifteen guns, destroyed the same time. N. Houses inhabited by fishermen. O. Rivers, from whence the inhabitants have their fresh water. pond, which defends part of the works, and makes this part very difficult of access.

P. A

I LOOKED into the fountain,.
In its waters bright and clear;
And I saw thy gentle features
Dimly, coyishly appear.

I knelt down by its margin

On the glittering golden sand,

And I thought that I might catch thee
With my eager trembling hand.

I whispered to thee softly,

Through the wavelets pure and bright;
But my earnest spoken love-words

Drove thee, weeping, from my sight.

I have sought thee in the mid-night,
When the stars shone bright above;
When the south wind to the leaflets
Was whispering its love.

I have sought thee in the summer;
I have sought thee in the fall;
I have sought thee in the spring-time,
When the dove its mate doth call:

But thy voice is ever silent,
And thy image seems afar;
Gleaming ever on my vision,
Like the distant evening-star.'

I will worship, lovely fairy!

At thy fount, within the wood;
For thy image, in my heart-home,
Ever whispers me of good.

W. L. L.

How long have I known her? Let me see it must be five, no, six years, since I spent that pleasant summer at Trenton parsonage, and first met Agnes Belden. A pleasant time indeed it was for one who loved freedom and Nature as I did, and who had enjoyed so little of it, city born, and city bred as I was.

To escape from the dust and heat of the city, from the glare of its brick walls and burning pavements, to the cool, refreshing breezes of some quiet, shady nook in the country; to exchange the endless hum of business, the rattling of wheels upon the pavements, the thronging crowds that hurry hither and thither, for the lowing of cattle, the singing of birds, and the joyous evening murmur of Nature; a quiet loneliness, with choicest company; this is enjoyment. Such enjoyment that the satisfied spirit sits down at her ease, for a space, contented with looking, listening, drinking in the beauty that fills air, earth, and sky.

6

But these restless spirits of ours, they will not be content to vegetate, even in a garden of unearthly beauty, and when the eye is somewhat satiated with seeing, and the ear with hearing - earth's varied loveliness - and Heaven's many-toned choir - it roves forth in search of something more stirring to the thoughts. Books,' you say, 'books for the country in the summer, what can you want more?' Real life, dear querist, all the autumn, the long winter, and the tardy, brief spring, are books-naught but books; and for relaxation, I wanted faces not city-faces, busy, bustling, care-worn, but the faces of the quiet country, gentle, placid, and full of homely kindness. In quest of these, I took, during that by-past summer spent at Trenton, many a pleasant ramble, often alone; but oftenest with one friend for company, kind cousin Lucy.

'I wonder if you have any thing like romance in this rough land of earth and stone and tree?' said I to my companion, after we had rode for an hour past well-kept farms, with their cheerful-looking dwellings, each presenting to the eye of the traveller its quota of hens and turkeys with their broods, not to mention the Guinea hens, which at some occasional farm-yard announced their presence and well doing, by their peculiar and incessant cackling; or sometimes a peacock, stalking about with aristocratic grandeur, one would imagine rather offensive to a master who would shake hands with a king upon his throne, and think it kindness to his majesty.'

'Turn your horse's head down that lane to the left,' was the reply, and I will show you something which you may call romance, but which I think far better; at any rate, it is the romance of real life.' It was a beautifully shaded lane; elms, maples, chestnuts, and here

and there a walnut mingled their foliage over our heads; and as we came out on a little stream - the Black river, as it was called by my friend the willows made their appearance, and with their graceful drooping foliage, gave softness to the scene. Appropriately was the stream named; though narrow, it was very deep; and as we looked down from the banks which in some places were high and precipitous, its waters seemed of inky hue, save where they chafed themselves to foam against impeding rocks.

We followed for a mile or two the windings of the river, sometimes our road lying on the edge of a lofty precipice, and anon bringing us down again to the water's edge, but ever revealing to the ravished eye new forms of beauty, when the sound of rushing waters saluted our ears. Involuntarily I drew the reins, that I might at leisure gaze upon the scene which opened before us. There was the Black river, dashing madly over a broken ledge of rock, sending its spray upon us even where we were; the shaded lane opened on our right upon a plain of exquisite loveliness, scattered with picturesque groups of trees, and bounded by heavy woods in the far distance.

A little behind the falls stood a patriarchal-looking mansion of stone, embowered in trees, two venerable elms shading the portal, around which, and indeed over the greater portion of the walls of the house, clambered the ever-green ivy and the fragrant woodbine.

'Is this romance enough for you?' said my friend, after giving me time to admire.

'It is beautiful, most beautiful; but this is Nature, not romance; it is material beauty I am longing for the spiritual.'

'Psha! nonsense! will nothing satisfy you? But come, I have a call to make at that old mansion; you must go in with me.'

I am a perfect stranger; will it not be deemed an intrusion?' 'I will answer for that; as my friend, you will be sure of a welcome.' So I gathered up the reins, which, in the earnestness of my admiration, had fallen at my feet, and bade our quiet pony go on his way, to which he seemed in no wise loth, as with most fleet steps he brought us to the gate of the little garden in front of the house.

What exquisite taste!' I exclaimed as we entered: 'I have imagined, but I never saw such a garden; so irregular, and yet such perfect symmetry.'

This is nothing; wait till you see the garden, before you go into raptures: there is a garden of three or four acres in the rear of the house, where I believe you can find every plant that Linnæus ever knew, and more; and Downing himself could not improve its arrangement.'

A demure little serving-maid ushered us into a pleasant and spacious sitting-room; its deep bay-window looking out upon the river, with its foaming, dashing waters. In the centre of the room, at a large table covered with books and papers, sat a fine-looking man, somewhat past the prime of life; though this might only be judged by the white and scattered locks upon his head. Tall, erect, and of full form, time left him otherwise unscathed. In the deep recess of the window sat a most gentle, lovely lady: old I may not call her; it seemed as more 33

VOL. XLIX.

sorrow than time had passed over her; and yet I knew not why I should think so, for I have seldom seen a look of more placid happiness. But there were lines in the face which told of patient endurance, of silent time-long grief; and yet, when the bright smile lit up the pale, delicate features, such thoughts passed away like the mist-wreaths before the morning sun. On a low ottoman by her side, was seated a young girl, to the eye about fifteen, and yet a thought haunted me that she must be some years more. I knew not why, perhaps it was the strange, sweet gravity of her face, perhaps it was the quiet gracefulness of her manner, simple yet dignified; but something showed her mind to have lived more years than the fair temple which enshrined it. I am not good at painting faces, and truly, when I see a fair, young countenance, truthful and pure in its expression, I am so taken up with looking, and loving too, that I forget to analyze, and so fail to remember each feature; it is rather as a whole that I recall such a face.

And such a face had Agnes Belden; to say that she was beautiful, was not enough; it was with a strange, fascinated interest the eye returned to the pale, chiselled features, to mark the rising of the faint glow to her cheek as she conversed; the look of tenderness which she turned upon her mother, or the admiring love with which she regarded her father. Nor did the charm cease when she led us through the garden, which was all and more than my friend's remark had led me to expect. Are you fond of gardening, dear reader? Well, I am sorry that now it will make my story too long to describe this paradise. At some future time I intend to write an essay on gardening, descriptive and practical, and shall introduce a full account, with plans, (for there was a plan, even in this maze of beauty,) by way of illustration of my views, long floating in my brain, here for the first time realized so prithee, patience, will thee?

:

'Who are these people? what is their history? for I am sure they have a history and why did you not tell me something of them before you took me there? Answer quick, for I am all impatience,' exclaimed I as we left the house.

'Softly, good Coz; one thing at a time, and the last question first; because described people always disappoint one; so I make it a rule to leave fair play for first impressions, and give every one a chance to discover wonders, or romances, if you please, for himself. Secondly, Mr. Belden was formerly a resident of one of the beautiful lake-villages of the western part of your State, where he owned a princely domain, comprising nearly one-third of the entire shore of the lake. Mrs Belden is a native of this place, born in the house in which you saw her, where her ancestors have lived for many generations; rather, I should say, on the spot, for the mansion has been re-built by the present occupant, most tastefully combining the venerableness of antiquity with modern grace and convenience in its arrangements and adornings. To your other question, I must premise that I am but a poor historian, but my friends have a history, as you truly surmised, and I will do my best to unfold it meanwhile, throw your reins loose, and let Brownie walk, for I never can tell a story upon a gallop, nor even upon a trot. Mrs. Belden is a descendant of one of the noblest and best of our

Pilgrim Fathers, and she inherits their unswerving adherence to duty, and their patient endurance of trial. Her husband is the last of a noble Huguenot family, who made this clime of liberty their refuge from the persecutions of their own king and people. You can discern his noble extraction in his person and bearing. His father, if I remember aright, owned large estates in Maryland; at any rate, somewhere in the South. This son, his sole heir, was sent, when a lad of about fifteen, to the Academy in this place, where he remained until he was fitted for college, a period of, I think, three years. In this time he became acquainted with Agnes Seymour, and visited at her father's house very frequently, being always received as a most welcome guest. A tacit engagement preceded young B.'s departure for college; an open one the parents would not consent to, on account of their extreme youth, Agnes being then but fifteen, no older than my pet Agnes is now. At this time, the home of Mr. Seymour, Deacon Seymour as he was, and is to this day called, boasted a goodly array of sons and daughters, of which Agnes was the youngest, the child of her parents' old age, the joy and treasure of all. Soon after Henry Belden left Trenton for college, the eldest son of Mr. S. forsook his native land to carry the good news of salvation to some of the dark lands of the East. There was cheerful resignation then in the hearts of those parents, mingled with gratitude, that they should be thus honored. The next summer their other son, a fine young man, was drowned while bathing in the C- river. They had 'hope in his death,' but it was a sore-bruising blow. Two years passed away, and their home was again cheerful; the eldest daughter had married, and had given back to her parents their son, for the little Alfred, with his baby face, was the miniature of the lost Alfred.

The engagement of Agnes Seymour and Henry Belden was now a matter publicly talked of, and they but waited the completion of the college course to be united. Alas! how little man knows of the future! A few months before Henry left college, an infectious and very fatal fever visited W. -. The married sister of Agnes, with her infant Alfred, were the first victims; next were Agnes' only remaining sister, and herself, prostrated by the dreadful disease. The sister died, and Agnes, after a fearful struggle between life and death, arose from her couch to see her beloved mother sink into the grave. In the last hour of life, the mother exacted from the bewildered and terror-stricken girl, a promise not to marry while her father lived. It will not be long, Agnes,' said the dying woman; he is sore broken by these heavy trials, and I am sure he will soon follow me. I cannot die in peace, unless you promise me that your dear father shall have your undivided

care.'

·

Agnes promised. She could not, dared not, in that awful hour, refuse; but it was with a quaking heart and a trembling voice. Was it not strange that a wife who loved so tenderly, so anxiously the husband of her youth, should not have feared to lay such a blight upon the young love of her child? Are not we women often selfish, even in our love? What think you, Coz? But I see you are too much interested to discuss such a question now; so I will on with my tale. Old Dea