twins, who had come to live in the Manse after all the other boys had left it: and who, as they were the last, so were they the loveliest of all my flock. The very sound, or accent of their southern voices, so pretty and engaging to our ears, in the simplicity of childhood, had won many a heart, and touched, too, the imaginations cf many with a new delight; and, therefore, on the morning when they were buried, it may be said there was here a fast-day of grief.

8. "The next day their mother arrived at the Manse. She knew, before she came, that her children were dead and buried. It is true that she wept, and at the sight of the grave, for they both lay in one coffin, her grief was passionate and bitter. But that fit soon passed away. Her tears were tears of pity for them, but, as for herself, she hoped that she was soon to see them in heaven. Her face pale, yet flushed; her eyes hollow, yet bright; and general languor and lassitude over her whole frame, all told that she was in the first stage of a consumption. Soon, other duties called her back to England, for the short remainder of her life. She herself drew the design of that monument with her own hand, and left it with me when she went away. I soon heard of her death. Her husband lies near Grenada, in Spain; she lies in the chancel of the cathedral of Salisbury, in England; and there, sleep her twins, in the little burialground of Auchindown, a Scottish parish."

CXV.-MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.

FROM COWPER.

1. O THAT those lips had language! Life has passed
With me but roughly, since I heard them last.
My mother, when I learned that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss,
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers-Yes!

2. I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day;
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away;

And, turning from my nursery window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!
But was it such? It was. Where thou art gone,
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown,
And, if I meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting word shall pass my lips no more.

3. Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return;
What ardently I wished, I long believed;
And disappointed still, was still deceived;
By expectation, every day beguiled,
+Dupe of to-morrow, even when a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent,
I learned at last, submission to my lot;
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.

4. My boast is not, that I derive my birth
From loins tenthroned, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud *pretensions rise,
The son of parents passed into the skies.

And now,
farewell! Time, tunrevoked, has run
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done.

5. By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again;
To have renewed the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine;

And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft:
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.

CXVI. AN EVENING ADVENTURE.

1. Not long since, a gentleman was traveling in one of the counties of Virginia, and about the close of the day stopped at a public house to obtain refreshment and spend the night. He had been there but a short time, before an old man alighted from his gig, with the apparent intention of becoming his fellow guest at the same house.

2. As the old man drove up, he observed that both the

shafts of his gig were broken, and that they were held together by withes, formed from the bark of a hickory sapling. Our traveler observed further, that he was plainly. clad, that his knee buckles were loosened, and that something like negligence *pervaded his dress. Conceiving him. to be one of the honest *yeomanry of our land, the courtesies of strangers passed between them, and they entered the It was about the same time, that an addition of three or four young gentlemen, was made to their number; most, if not all of them, of the legal profession.

tavern.

3. As soon as they became conveniently accommodated, the conversation was turned, by one of the latter, upon the eloquent harangue which had that day been displayed at the bar. It was replied by the other, that he had witnessed, the same day, a degree of eloquence, no doubt equal, but it was from the pulpit. Something like a sarcastic *rejoinder was made as to the eloquence of the pulpit, and a warm and able altercation ensued, in which the merits of the Christian religion became the subject of discussion. From six o'clock until eleven, the young champions wielded the sword of argument, adducing with ingenuity and ability every thing that could be said pro and con.

4. During this protracted period, the old gentleman listened with the meekness and modesty of a child, as if he were adding new information to the stores of his own mind; or perhaps he was observing with a *philosophic eye, the faculties of the youthful mind, and how new tenergies are evolved by repeated action; or perhaps, with patriotic emotion, he was reflecting upon the future destinies of his country, and on the rising generation, upon whom those future destinies must devolve; or, most probably, with a sentiment of moral and religious feeling, he was collecting an argument which no art would be "able to elude, and no force to resist." Our traveler remained a spectator, and took no part in what was said.

5. At last, one of the young men, remarking that it was impossible to combat with long and established *prejudices, wheeled around, and with some familiarity, exclaimed, “Well, my old gentleman, what think you of these things?" If, said the traveler, a streak of vivid lightning had at that

moment crossed the room, their amazement could not have been greater than it was from what followed. The most eloquent and unanswerable appeal that he had ever heard or read, was made for nearly an hour, by the old gentleman. So perfect was his recollection, that every argument urged against the Christian religion, was met in the order in which it was advanced. Hume's sophistry on the subject of miracles, was, if possible, more perfectly answered, than it had already been done by Campbell. And in the whole lecture there was so much simplicity and energy, pathos and sublimity, that not another word was uttered.

6. An attempt to describe it, said the traveler, would be an attempt to paint the sunbeams. It was now a matter of curiosity and inquiry, who the old gentleman was. The traveler concluded that it was the preacher from whom the pulpit eloquence was heard; but no; it was JOHN MARSHALL, the CHIEF-JUSTICE OF THE UNITED STATES.

CXVII.-NEW-YEAR'S NIGHT OF AN UNHAPPY MAN.
FROM THE GERMAN OF RICHTER.

1. ON new-year's night, an old man stood at his window, and looked, with a glance of fearful despair, up to the immovable, unfading heaven, and down upon the still, pure, white earth, on which no one was now so joyless and sleepless as he. His grave stood near him; it was covered only with the snows of age, not with the verdure of youth; and he brought with him out of a whole, rich life, nothing but errors, sins, and diseases; a wasted body; a desolate soul; a heart, full of poison; and an old age, full of repentance.

2. The happy days of his early youth passed before him, like a procession of specters, and brought back to him that lovely morning, when his father first placed him on the cross-way of life, where the right hand led by the sunny paths of virtue, into a large and quiet land, full of light and harvests; and the left plunged by the *subterranean walks of vice, into a black cave, full of distilling poison, of hissing snakes, and of dark, sultry vapors.

3. Alas, the snakes were hanging upon his breast, and

the drops of poison on his tongue; and he now, at length, felt all the horror of his situation. +Distracted with unspeakable grief, and with face up-turned to heaven, he cried, "My father! give me back my youth! O, place me once again upon life's cross-way, that I may choose aright." But his father and his youth were long since gone. He saw *phantom-lights dancing upon the marshes and disappearing at the church-yard; and he said, "These are my foolish days!" He saw a star shoot from heaven, and *glittering in its fall, vanish upon the earth. "Behold an emblem of my career," said his bleeding heart, and the serpent tooth of repentance digged deeper into his wounds.

4. His excited imagination showed him specters flying upon the roof, and a skull, which had been left in the *charnel-house, gradually assumed his own features. In the midst of this confusion of objects, the music of the new-year flowed down from the steeple, like distant church-melodies. His heart began to melt. He looked around the horizon, and over the wide earth, and thought of the friends of his youth, who now, better and happier than he, were the wise of the earth, prosperous men, and the fathers of happy children; and he said, "Like you, I also might slumber, with tearless eyes, through the long nights, had I chosen aright in the outset of my career. Ah, my father! had I hearkened to thy instructions, I too might have been happy."

5. In this feverish remembrance of his youthful days, a skull bearing his features, seemed slowly to rise from the door of the *charnel-house. At length, by that *superstition, which, in the new-year's night, sees the shadow of the future, it became a living youth. He could look no longer; he covered his eyes; a thousand burning tears streamed down, and fell upon the snow. In accents scarcely audible, he sighed disconsolately: "O, days of my youth, return, return!" And they did return. It had only been a horrible dream. But, although he was still a youth, his errors had been a reality. And he thanked God, that he, still young, was able to pause in the degrading course of vice, and return to the sunny path which leads to the land of harvests.

6. Return with him, young reader, if thou art walking in the same downward path, lest his dream become thy reality.