would peep out from its embowering shade. Yonder, the small hamlet of " Rydal," and the village of " Ambleside," with its clustering roofs, pretty ornamental chimneys, and the beautiful, half-Gothic church of St. Mary, with its symmetrical spire rising towards the clear blue above, greeted the sight; these and many more objects of beauty, artistically grouped, assisted in filling out the picture before us into one of most enchanting loveliness. "Longrigg Fell," "Rydal Head," "Cat Bell," and further on, Lang-Dale Pikes," with their sharp, dark outlines, and still farther distant, the giants of the range,Helvellyn," and bold "Skiddaw," form a background for the picture at once grand and imposing! 66 Below there at the right, now shut out from view by its surrounding trees, stands "Rydal Cottage," for more than thirty years the home of the poet Wordsworth. His wife, who survived him nine years, and became at last quite blind, continued to occupy the same home until her decease, which occurred in 1859. A lovelier spot for this poet's home could scarcely be found! Eminently a bard of nature, whose deepest philosophy and highest aspirations were drawn from the fresh springs which this common mother opens only to those who seek her teachings lovingly and with reverent heart; here, in this quiet retreat, surrounded by some of the sweetest aspects which she wears, among a simple people, whose rustic habits and rural pursuits were not too homely to attract his interest, and furnish themes for study, here he lived, and, from this place, sent out into the world a large proportion of all that he ever wrote. So much and so well did he observe the surroundings of his locale that one cannot take a stroll throughout the entire district without meeting some object, or looking upon some scene, immortalized by his verse. A few miles above is "Knob Cottage," occupied by that wonderful scholar and yet pitiable man, "De Quincy," during probably the happiest years of his life. One of the first to recognize and truly estimate the philosophical genius of the poet Wordsworth, he was attracted to this region as a place of residence, and for many years remained, finding, in the natural wildness and beauty of scenery, enough to gratify his taste for long, solitary rambles, plenty of retirement, and leisure for the pursuit of those abstruse studies in which he delighted; while in the select society of men of letters, gathered in the lake district during a portion. of the year, and in the indulgence of that noxious eastern drug, he found all the mental stimulus which his nature craved. Alas! that his splendid faculties were so obscured by that pernicious habit of opium-eating! Over yonder mountain road, seventeen miles away, lies "Keswick," for many years home of Robert Southey. Thus is this entire lake district full of associations connected with the lives of the poets and other men of genius, whose works have enriched the domain of English literature, and whose names (though attached to them may come thoughts of some imperfections and weaknesses) will for ages to come be a living power, operating upon the heart and intellect of their kind so long as sound philosophy, cheery views of man and his destiny, and love of nature in her varying moulds prevail. Among these scenes have "met and mingled" Coleridge, elder and younger, Wordsworth, Southey, De Quincy, Professor Wilson, Moore, Rogers, Lamb, and others, enjoying seasons of richer life amid these beauties of nature so lavishly bestrewn, and through whom these charms of natural scenery became better known and appreciated by the outer world. Under the shadow of these guardian mountains, and near the sweet lakes so much frequented in life, rest the mortal remains of Wordsworth, Southey, and Hartley Coleridge; not far distant still stands the lovely cottage, - fitly named "Dove's Nest,” once the abode of that sweet daughter of song, Mrs. Hemans. Wilson's villa, crowning a height overlooking the lake of Windermere, still remains a beautiful monument to his skill in planning, and taste in embellishing, a country home, which, while living, he occupied during many summers. It was 1863. then that Christopher donned his "shoot- TO MY BROTHER, WHO LEFT US MARCH 20, ing-jacket," and made the hills and vales. ring with his cheery laugh, and the blue waves cleave at the rapid strokes of his oars, wielded by such stalwart arms. Here, too, lived poor Charles Lloyd, sweet poet and lovable man who, after years of domestic happiness, of intel e tual and social life (to none more enjoyable than himself), was banished from this beautiful region by that dreadful prostration of reason which, long before it came in its hopeless reality, was maged to his delicate sensibilities in fearful premonition, "like the tramp of unseen footsteps ever nearing," yet still for some time delayed. At Ambleside, in one of the pleasant stone cottages, still dwells Miss Martineau whose thought has so strongly influenced many of the intellects of our countrymen. It is hard to think of her utter unbelief of the life and labors of the Divine One, - she, whose soul is so nobly philanthropic, whose practical benevolence is telling in improved condition upon her own countrywomen! But whatever doubt and regret may be felt (and few of her sex there are who do not feel both) in regard to the stand she has taken in religious opinion, none can deny her the credit of sincerity, consistency, and benevolent aims in life. By Mrs. E. Louisa Mather. BROTHER, as I read thy letters, while the sun sets o'er the lea, How the mists of time all gather, rolling back to Memory's sea! And the rainbow-tints of child-land span the past's own sad abyss, While I think of our last parting, of the tearful, silent kiss. In that land celestial, roaming, thinkest thou of earthly things, How the birds of fancy soaring, fluttered on their joyous wings? And in dreamland, wandering gladly, lifting up our eyes with joy, Thought we of our future, gayly, without shadows or alloy ? saintlike face, And she clasped me to her bosom, in a fond and true embrace. And our father! weary pilgrim on this barren, earthly shore, A word here to those who leave our For in visions I have seen her, with her gentle, shores for the mother country in search of health or repose. To those of pure taste and habit, who would fain seek some spot where the overtaxed brain and phys ical energies can find that change and rest necessary to a right equipoise of mind and body, - such will find Ambleside, Grassmere, Keswick, and the entire lake district, quite Eden-like for a summer's tarry, while, to the poet and student it will be found most attractive in its charming opportunities of communion with Nature in her fairest guise. Lilfred's Rest. M. C. G. I SHOULD not like to preach to a congregation who all believe as I believe. I would as lief preach to a basket of eggs, in their smooth compactness and oval formality. He has dropped his mortal vestments for the immortal evermore ; In the summer land of angels, meeting all his loved again, How his tender heart rejoices, free from every throb of pain. And our brother! he who battled with the angry storms of life, Thou hast seen the infant brother, him whose tiny bark set sail, O'er death's ocean wildly heaving, guided by the "boatman pale ;" And our father's angels met him, as he neared the heavenly strand, THE SPY OF THE MISSISSIPPI. By Mrs. C. M. Sawyer. CHAPTER XII. THE hours of the imprisoned Carleton Led him up the shining summits of the glori- ter day, as it waxed and waned, leaving had grown restless and moody. Day af ous wonder-land. Oh, my brother! thou hast met them, the beloved of other years, From the infant in its cradle to the aged full of years, Do they, in their home of beauty, dost thou ever think of me, As I sail along life's river, to death's yet unsounded sea? him in the most utter ignorance of the progress of the siege, of the condition of the city, and of the health and whereabouts of Florence, only increased his painful and wearing suspense. He paced his room like a caged tiger, now striving to gain some glimpse of the world beyond the high walls of his prison-yard; now wrestling with the single iron bar stretch Yea, I know I am remembered, by each thrilled across his open window that he might that doth arise In my bosom, true and faithful to the dwellers in the skies: By each tear delicious, falling, do I feel your presence near, By the chain of love e'er drawing my own spirit to your sphere. East Haddam, Ct. A LEGEND OF JUSTICE AND MERCY. STERN Justice stood before the Lord Erect, with folded arms and firmly chiselled lips. He came at the divine behest, As judge and witness both 'gainst sinful man. She came and knelt before the throne, Justice. The book was open to pale Mercy's gaze, For tears had washed the hateful sentence out, Watertown, N. Y. stretch himself further out, his thoughts and fears all the while chafing him to a semi-frenzy. To his mental distress was added the physical pain of keen hunger gnawing him as with sharp teeth. For weeks his rations had been constantly diminishing in quantity and deteriorating in quality as the supplies of the starving city grew less and less. But now for more than twenty-four hours not a morsel had passed his lips, the craving appetite of a vigorous convalescence rendering the privation a thousand times more painful than if fever were still sapping his strength and throbbing madly in his veins. Another privation increased his pain. The sweet roses and honeysuckles, with the two delicate but minute crackers which had every day mysteriously found their way to his prison, for the first time to-day came not; and the absence of the flowers, with their dear associations of his earlier years, left a keener hunger than that of the food itself. Other changes in the monotonous course of his life had also entered to disturb him. He had that morning, without explanation, been removed to another and pleasanter room, one whose windows with only one bar, were far enough from the ground to prevent any rational attempt at escape, but which looked on towering trees and thick shrubberies surrounding the high walls of his prison-yard, and gave entrance to balmy air and sweet odors. But even this pleasant feature was marred; for across the windows the heavy folds of a torn and faded rebel flag at intervals slowly swept, as rising to the breeze it spread its insolent "stars and bars" in the clear, red sun, a mocking insignia of the treason and rebellion which hatched it. The sight of this flag was a perpetual irritation to Carleton, driving him from the window to return to his nervous pacings to and fro in his narrow room. "It is strangely still to-day," he thought after a while, as, stopping suddenly, the clear, whirring sound of a locust rasping its wings, reached his ears from one of the neighboring trees. "It seems like a Sunday in the old days in Vermont. I have not heard a gun to-day, and how clear the atmosphere is too! The sulphurous smoke has quite floated off and now hangs like a great cloud miles away over yonder hills. I wonder what can be going on!" Again he strove to gain some glimpse of the city streets that might give him a clew to the new aspect of affairs which had arrested his attention; but he could only see the moving leaves and the clear sunshine pouring into the fissured walls and roofs of the shattered dwellings and the deep furrows of one narrow, grassgrown street which afforded him his only glimpse of the world below. Over this narrow interval, one after. another, glided the haggard forms of some of the citizens, all bent in one direction, while, as he listened, a faint, sullen hum, as of thousands of suppressed voices, steadily arose. Something new was evidently in progress, and the intuitions of the young man soon led him to the real solution of the mystery. "The city has surrendered!" A glow of triumph passed like a tide of sunshine through his frame, and, for a single brief moment, banished everything but the infinite joy of such a conclusion; then came the thought that he who had for so long devoted his life to the cause of his country was not with the victorious army to share its triumph, but a starving captain in the prison-halls of cruel and most unscrupulous enemies. "If I only could get out!" he reiterated again and again, grinding his closed teeth and shaking and straining at the bolted door and the window-bars,-" if I only could get out!" He glared around him. "Must I stay here like a starved rat in a cage, while my comrades march proudly into the captured city, their hearts beating in time to the blast of trumpets and the rolling of drums, and the stars and stripes floating over their heads?" At this moment the folds of the rebel flag settled slowly on the dying air, falling for one moment within three feet of the window. It was enough. With a bound like a tiger, Carleton had seized it, and tearing at the tattered fabric, half the dishonored emblem was, in another instant, on the floor and under his indig nant feet. "Lie there, accursed emblem of an accursed cause! Lie there, under my feet, as the traitors who spawned you will by and by lie under the feet of the government, they have insulted and dishonored!" A slight noise attracted his attention, and, turning, the jailer stood in the doorway, a half grin mingling with the shame and chagrin visible on his dull countenance. "Well, I reckon you've torn down the first flag, anyhow! Well, no matter; they'll all come down now! But here's a lady wants to see you!" He stepped back and Florence entered the room, the door closing behind her. Carleton stood, his foot still upon the rebel flag and the frown of indignation upon his brow, but, as the consciousness that that pale, hollow-cheeked, but very lovely young creature, looking with a sad smile into his face, was indeed Florence dawned upon his mind, a tide of joy long unfelt rushed through him. He started and took her hand in both of his. "Is it indeed you," he exclaimed, with a quick voice, half sob and half laughter, like a nervous child, whose long-missed treasure is restored. "Have you come at last?" She drew nearer to him, but a choking in her throat kept back the words she tried to speak. He perceived her emotion, half understanding it, and a sudden paleness displaced the bright glow that for a moment had suffused his thin and haggard face. "Sit down, dear cousin," he continued, drawing her to a large chair which stood near. "You are changed, and only one who loved you as I do would at once have recognized you.' "Changed? Yes! Oh, Guy! what I have suffered!" and a quick sob broke her voice. "And you! but you will now be free! The city has surrendered, Guy; and our beloved flag at last floats over its intrenchments." "I knew it, Florence. It came to me; and here, under my feet, lie the rags of the rebel flag that has so long flaunted over the city. The wind bore it within my reach, and I clutched it and tore it down." She smiled. May it never rise any higher, Guy! But leave it to its fate. I have much to say, Guy, before I leave you. I have come to bid you farewell!" "To bid me farewell?" he exclaimed, turning very pale.' "You do not mean it!" "I do. We must separate, Guy, and who knows, in these disastrous times, if we shall ever meet again!" The tears rolled unrestrainedly down her cheeks, and she wrung his hand with an unconscious vehemence as she repeated, "We must separate. You will soon be free; but I am a prisoner still, and while our victorious army enters the city and gives you liberty, I shall fulfil my parole and leave it with the family of General Pemberton." I "But it will be but for a short time, Florence. You will soon be released. will petition General Grant to insist on your immediate exchange." She shook her head with a wan smile. "Oh, you don't know what a dangerous character I am in General Pemberton's eyes, Guy; I doubt whether he considers even General Grant much worse, or would regard strong measures as much more indispensable for him than for me. Though we are old friends, and, personally, in spite of the mortifications I have occasioned him, he shows me much kindness; still he has felt it his duty to visit upon me, in the name of the Confeder acy, severe punishment for my fidelity to my country. You do not yet know all the ways in which I have manifested it; but he does." Carleton looked in her face with a troubled inquiry in his own. "Yes, he knows what I will tell you now, Guy, that ever since the war has been waging in the West, I have been a constant and unwearied spy in the service of General Grant. Do not look shocked. Even he does not know that it is a woman who has thus served him. He has always, to this day, believed me to be but a shrewd and daring boy, and to the end he must still believe thus. You have partly lifted the veil before, Guy; so I reveal the whole to you as a secret not to be betrayed to others." "Betrayed! and by me?" said Guy, a glow of many mingled feelings coloring his wan face. "I do not fear any ill from you," said Florence, reaching out her hand, with a full, frank look into his face; "and I know you will guard this secret as I am sure even Pemberton will, though he has confiscated all my property for the benefit of the Confederate Government." Carleton laughed. "Little good will it do them. With the entrance of our victorious army into Vicksburg, the power of the Confederacy over your fortune ceases." "You forget that only a small portion of it lies in this neighborhood. But let that all go; " she stopped; the tears rushed to her eyes and her lips quivered. "You do not know, Guy, that I have been bereaved. My little Flor is dead." "Dead!" repeated Carleton, in deep sorrow and surprise. "Little Florence dead!" "Yes, dead; and but a little while. She died of fever produced by hunger and confinement in underground air. The darling! She was spared more intense anguish perhaps. Lillie has but just survived the privations she endured; but with the surrender of the city, food in abundance found its way in, long before the terms of capitulation were finally adjusted, and she is now better." "And you, too, have suffered. I read |