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ments, retained her dignified deportment, rising canvas, and was now exulting in her treachery, from the midst of the chaos of ropes, sails, fags, making fast for Rayton Bay. The Captain hauled booms, bowsprits, mainsheets, foresheets, halyards, tawt his main-sheei, and steered upon the enemy's chains, and anchors, with her bonnet unbent, her track. Ridenta uttered an exclamation of anger ; dress and composure alike unruffled—even the while Valerius, turning his reproachful gaze from “Times” uncrumpled, and taking her accustomed the deceitful Nonpareil to ber expressive face, deplace in the bow, in the same attitude as she would manded—" And if, Ridenta, this boat is to be assume if seated in an easy chair in a drawing- known as Thundering Tom, what name wilt thou

bestow upon yonder Aying craft ?" Valerius, whose legs had long been hopelessly “Oh, let us call it “ Sneaking Jack !" And so entangled under one of the thwarts, succeeded in from thenceforth the Nonpareil became Sneaking extricating himself, and all, anticipating a calm Jack. sail home, turned to their books. Marianne pe- To make matters worse, we lost at least ten rused the leading article; Ridenta giggled over minutes while going about next tack; for though Mrs. Gamp; our dear Valerius smiled and sighed Thundering Tom answered splendidly to the helm, alternately over the waning favour and baffled yet the going about was rendered sadly awkward pride of the great duchess.

on account of Marianne's being somehow entwined “Now, do you really think that Jonas Chuzzle- in the foresheets. Things were righted at last, but wit did poison his old father? And didn't I al- at the expense of Marianne's gravity, she and the ways say that old Chuzzlewit was humbugging “ Times” together being fung, by the sudden acPecksniff all the time?”'_This from Ridenta. tion of the rope, to the bottom of the boat !

Pray, Ridenta, do not talk about what you are sometimes, however, virtue meets its deserts ; so reading: I have not read the last number.”—From it was with Thundering Tom; for, after a hard the solemn Marianne.

struggle, we overhauled Sneaking Jack, and en“I sincerely hope"-fron Valerius, in an earnest tered Rayton Bay a-head of our shabby antagotone of voice—“ I sincerely hope that the Sergeant uist; and though our dear Valerius (who, though a may marry Mrs. Plumpton-ihat deceitful Tip- perfect treasure of a man, is very awkward) twice ping !-to think of her flirting with Bimbelot, and missed the buoy, thereby nearly causing us to be the Sergeant abroad, too !”

wrecked on our own shore, yet the noble seaman“Neither have I read the magazine for the ship of the Captain brought Thundering Tom month”—reproachfully from Marianne.

safely through all dangers; and, moored at last, he “ Then, Marianne" from Ridenta -"you was left to ride in graceful rest, while his cargo should not be so slow. Why, here we are, in the took their way up the green shrubberies of Rayton middle of the month, and you have not read the to the expectant door of the hall. All that left that magazine.'

hospitable roof in the morning, returned in safety "How can I,” retorted Marianne, “when it is to its evening shelter ; only the grave Marianne in such requisition ? Whenever I want it, some discovered that she had lost overboard a very oldone else gets hold of it; there ought to be two maidish reticule, containing a much-valued purse, numbers, at least, taken in such a large family as a handkerchief edged with real Valenciennes, and

a set of ivory tablets; all else was preserved—the • What is that a-head ?" shouted the Captain. Times,” Mrs. Gamp, Proddy, the beloved Ser

Sergeant Scales, with the colours.”—Loud geant, and the proud duchess—that favourite of laughter from all on board stopped poor Valerius our dear Valerius : home, also, came the many in the midst of this speech. He sank back into cloaks, the plaids, the shawls-home came the bis corner, blushing deeply: he murmured—“I large family' of umbrellas : these were placed in meant to say Gibson, with the passage-boat and their accustomed stand ; the beautiful duchess, and his red flag.” Poor Valerius, ihou wert indeed her train of followers and foes, were allowed a far in the clouds !

short repose upon the library table; while her The Nonpareil is an unpretending-looking ves- faithful admirer found room for bis length of limb sel; white, with a scarlet stripe ; a simple lugsail beneath the well-spread board at Rayton Hall, and foresail, and little scarlet and white pennant. round which were also assembled the remainder of Just opposite Belgrange we came alongside of it; the crew of Thundering Tom, together with the its occupants apparently busily engaged in fishing, crest-fallen occupants (magnanimously invited) of its sails lowered, bearing altogether a most peace

Sneaking Jack'!" ful and unsuspicious aspect.

We slackened our speed, loosening our main-sheet; and falling off from the wind, we engaged in a pleasant, airy-kind of conversation with the handsome-looking occupants of the Nonpareil. Perhaps our manner was

IMPROMPTU; a little too patronizing, for mark the result. Unthinkingly, we sauntered (if such a word may be

(On being offered a Pansy.) applied to sailing) on our way, half-turning from the white, unobtrusive craft, which was scarcely Forbear, forbear, too lovely Rose, visible among the white dancing waves, when sud- Lest you to madness drive me; denly we heard a rushing noise ; a towering sail For while your hand heart's.ease bestows, shot past us. The Nonpareil had taken advantage Of that your eyes deprive me. of our unsuspecting disposition, had hois:ed her

X.Y, Z,



THE COUNTRY SABBATH. Oh, blessed country Sabbath!-oh, day of calm

and rest ! When we can praise our Father's name in peace,

and unopprest; It is a joyous morning, and through the shady Alone in nature's solitudes, from morn till iwilight

dim, The music of the Sabbath-bell is borne upon the May see his face, and hear his voice, and inly breeze;

worship Him! The dew yet lingers on the grass, and from the

meadow sod The lark springs up, and sings her song of thankfulness to God.



Beside our path the streamlet goes murmuring on


its way,

And the tall banks on either side with summer

[As the remains of Campbell were being lowAowers are gay i

ered into the grave, a Polish gentleman, who There, violets and forget-me-not, and fragrant blue attended his funeral, took a handfull of earth which

bells look, Narcissus-like, at their sweet selves, reflected in the Kosciusko, and scattered it over the coffin of him

had been brought purposely from the tomb of brook.

who had so warmly pourtrayed the woes and The air is filld with perfume of the snowy

wrongs of Poland.] blossom'd May, And through the limes that shade our path the

There sweepeth through the abbey proud dancing sun-beams stray;

A low and solemn sound; And see ! the gray church-tower appears, and there

A mourning train, in sorrow bowed, the village throng

The dead are gathered round;
Are gathering-youth and hoary age, the feeble
and the strong.

And sadly on the listening ear
The parting words steal o'er the bier,

A mighty mind hath gone ! Come, let us join our voices !-here is no crowded

The high and learned of the land, aisle,

In honour to the dead, No fierce declaimer thunders out; no courtly word

Are mingled with the kindred band, and smile

Who mourn the spirit fled; Are launch'd to lure the Dives-throng, who tread in For he who cold in death doth lie purple state,

Hath left a name that shall not die, And strive to enter easiest within the narrow

But still live proudly on: gate.

And some are there whose hearts beat high

To feel how wide his fame; Peace be within this temple! though harsh the Compelled their native land to fly, hymns that rise,

They venerate the name And simple are the words that speak the message Of him, the gifted son of song, of the skies;

Who pobly felt their country's wrong, And priest and worshippers alike fulfil their lot

And dared its friend to be. obscure,

And forth stands one amidst the band, Yea! blessed are the offerings and praises of the A tribute of the brave, poor!

To scatter with a trembling hand

Dust from a patriot's grave; And when the day is closing, and night's dim The relics of a spirit bold, shadows glide,

Whose deeds the sons of Poland hold How sweet ihe solemn quiet of the Sabbath even

In hallow'd memory. tide!

And o'er the cold and senseless clay When one by one the birds are hush’d, each in its The honour'd shower fell, leafy nest,

And hearts beat warm as there it lay And like young infants, dew-baptiz’d, the clos’d Beneath a gushing spell; flowers, sleeping, rest.

A passing gleam, a vision bright,

Of courage high and deeds of might, No sound of whirling chariots disturbs the soli

Swept on with magic breath. tude;

And who could seek a prouder spot No restless crowd dispersing home, with jest and On which that dust to shed laughter rude,

O'er him whose verse, that dieth not, Hurrying, their evening orisons in careless hasle to Hath sung the mighty dead ? pay,

The gifted poet sleepeth here, Or in unhallowed mirth and song to close the sacred The patriot's spirit hovers near, day.

A union still in death!


than the dazzling radiance of mere earthly loveli

ness; a being less to be admired than loved, and BY ELIZABETH YOU ATT,

whose brief and touching history can never be read, Author of The Price of Fame.&c.

we think, without emotion.

“She trod among the untrodden ways “ The most belov'd on earth,

Beside the springs of Dove;
Not long survive to day;

A maid, whom there were none to praise, So music past is obsolete,

And very few to love;
And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, “ A violet by a mossy stone,
But now 'tis gone away.

Half hidden from the eye;

Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky. It was a glorious summer noon when a group

“ She lived unknown, and few could know of young and merry-hearted girls, wearied at length When Lucy ceased to be; with their own mirih, sat down beneath the shadow

But she is in her grave, and, oh! of the trees to rest; while the conversation, as it

The difference to me!". was natural at such a time, took a somewhat ro

A whole volume could have told us no more than mantic turn; and each agreed to choose some cha

we learn in this simple and pathetic ballad of its racter in fiction which they could have wished to be. One, a dark-browed girl, with a proud eye position ; and how she existed not for the world,

sweet heroine ; of her gentleness and retiring disand curved lip, chose that of Rebecca, in Sir Wal, but the one whom grief for her loss has gifted with ter Scott's “Ivanhoe.” Another, who understood such strange pathos and touching eloquence, winsomething of German, and was as yet half bewildered with its beautiful mysticisms, identified ning for her under her assumed tame an immorherself with that exquisite creation of a mighty love of the beautiful and the true; and how she

taliiy of glory which shall pass away only with the genius--the Margaret of Goethe's." Faust." While died, and was laid in her early grave, even as she ihe youngest of that fair group, lifted up her dark had 'lived, unknown but to that passionate and passionate eyes and declared she would be Juliet, bereaved heart she left behind to break. That the only that she half feared she might never find a Romeo to her liking, looking in her girlish beauty for an instant doubted, abounding as it does with

character of Lucy is not an ideal one can never be the very ideal of the bard's conception. girl

, who sat with the hair swept back from her hot in very truth who the simple-hearted girl who But there was one there, a pale

, sickly-looking exquisite touches of nature and reality. But will

the mystery ever be cleared up? Shall we learn brow, smiling faintly when they spoke to her, and

dwelt assuring them that she was not very tired ! lest, for her sake, that merry party should be broken up;

“ Beside the springs of Dove" for they all loved her dearly, as well they might; actually was? And the one who mourned for her for she was the sweetest, gentlest, and best natured with such deep grief? We hope not; for it is far girl in the world. And when it came to her turn pleasanter to imagine for ourselves all that the bard to choose, she lifted up her weary head, and, after a moment's thought, wished to be Wordsworth's has left untold, and dream of her as we are doing

now amidst the haunts she so loved. Lucy; at which some smiled, while others recalled to mind, with a sad forboding, that Lucy gentle, and worthy to be loved, as our favourite

There are many Lucys in the world, as meek, and And, after a time, they all rose up and continued their walk, the feeble girl ac

Wordsworth's; but there is little notice taken of companying them ; although she would rather have them, and they pass from among us, few knowing remained bebind, for she was wearied out, but had

when they

cease to be"no heart to spoil their pleasure by saying so. For

* The violet by a mossy stone,” ourselves we were less unselfish, and lay dreaming beneath the shadow of the trees, long after the sound whose motto is, “I must be sought." Let us seek of their joyous voices had died away in the distance. them, then, in their silent haunts—amidst the A chord had been struck which awoke a thousand crowds through which they glide unrecognized; sweet and tender recollections. We were thinking in the homes gladdened, and made bright by their of Wordsworth's Lucy.

presence; and in their, for the most part, too early The young and holy child, whom nature took to graves. And here our hearts and memories must make a “a lady of her own”—breathing into her be our guide, for fame knows them not. soul its own wild yet sweet spirit-sportive as the

They are to be found in every rank of life, but fawn-moulded into unconscious symmetry by are rarely talented, or even beautiful, in the comthe clouds and trees—bending down her meek mon acceptation of either term, and seldom very head to the song of the waters in secret places strong. Their distinguishing characteristic is sim

plicity. Amidst those fair Italian cities where the “While beauty born of murmuring sound shall | daughters of England go to die, they abound in pass into her face."

fearful numbers. The fragile form which we have That is the beauty of sympathy with the pure and watched pass our windows with a step that every good—the sunshine of the divinity within, rather day grew feebler, and more dependant on that sup

had died young.

port which was so eagerly offered; the lip which, , We believe there is not one who would not lay although it might be pale with suffering, never down their very lives for her if need be; and yet failed to relax into a smile when it caught the too they say within themselves, “We know not how anxious glance of despairing love; the wasted it is, for how beautiful is her sister, the lady Grace ! cheek, fushed into crimson beauty by disease ; the and still we do not love her half so much." glittering eyes, that had more of heaven than earth But the time comes at length which separates the in them-all disappear on a sudden from the gaze child of nature from her humble admirers—which of the stranger who may have felt a temporary in- introduces her into a world far less pure and joyterest in marking them, and he knows thai the lamp ous than that which she had formed for herself hath burned out at length, but cannot even guess among her birds and flowers. She is placed in at the utter darkness it may leave behind; while some immediate contact with this fascinating sister, and such announcement as the following and how often made every hour to feel more painfully her own do we waoder over them with a careless eye !--tells deficiencies, until at length she shrinks back within the brief tale in her native land :

herself, and is most happy when unobserved. Ifoc“ Died on the 21st inst., at Florence, of con- casionally addressed in society, she looks up eagerly sumption, Caroline, only daughter of Robert Tracy, at the sound of the bland voice which custom has Esq., aged 19."

made so natural; but meeting no answering exAnd we think we hear a voice exclaiming, pression, replies with an embarrassment which is “Poor thing! It was hard to die so young. I mistaken for coldness, or worse still for stupidity, remember meeting her once or twice last year in and is again permitted to enjoy her favourite obsociety, but we did not speak. She seemed very scurity. quiet!"

And yet how happy she would still be at home, “ Was she pretty ?” asks another.

if they would let her! But the high-born mother" Scarcely; and yet she had a very sweet smile, the flattered and beautiful sister, whose affections but wanted manner and confidence, which was not society has already dimmed, if not wholly alienated, to be wondered at, considering how little she went have only time for lectures or reproaches. While out. Her mother was blind.”

her father, who loves and understands ber best of Thus, and in like manner did the world lament all, perhaps absorbed by the affairs of a mighty naher. But how was it in the home she left deso- tion, only finds a moment to part the hair upon the late, when the broken-hearted father returned pale brow of his “wild girl," as he calls her; and alone ; and the sightless woman, stretching forth tells her, that after a time she will get used to all her hands, asked him for her darling-her child-this, and be as much admired even as Grace herher only child; and missing the music of her kind self'; at which his daughter shakes her head, and voice, went down mourning to the grave ! while sighs heavily. the solitary man lived on for many weary years They take her to the Opera ; but she languishes afterwards, but never found her like again? for the singing of the free, bright waters in her favor.

Our simple-bearted Lucy may also be found ite dell—for the warbling of the birds in the leafy among the proudest aristocracy of the land, but woods. And she pines to exchange the diamond languishing like a wild flower transplanted into a circlet upon her aching forehead for the cool flower bed of forced exotics. Her governess complains wreath, which she had loved to bind there of old. that she can never make a lady of her. No won. But still no murmur is uttered ; and the proud der; she is “ Nature's lady." The back-board mother has just begun to entertain sanguine hopes and high chair are Aung aside, for a couch of that her youngest born will yet become all she turf and a pillow of Aowers. She breaks away could wish, when the girl falls dangerously ill, and from ber stiff walk round the gravel paths of the is ordered, as a last resource, to try the effect of pleasure grounds, to chase the deer and the butter- her native air. Ay, laughing aloud in her sportive glee, although “ Mother,” said she meekly,“ upless you wish repeatedly told such mirth was in the highest de- it, I will not go!" But there was something in the gree vulgar. In the summer time she is a broad at faded form and hollow eyes, even more affecting all hours, regardless of her complexion; and loves than those gentle words, and they bore her home 10 to sit by the singing brook, waiching the wreathes die! she weaves go floating along on its sparkling cur- After a time, the Lady Grace and her aristocrarent, or binds them about her head to cool her hot tic parents will return again to the gay scenes which brow. And when autumn comes how many a rent they so abruptly quitted ; and no eye, perhaps, frock and scratched hand, bear evidence to the will notice that she is not with them—will miss the merry, but truant putting parties which she loves pale, silent girl from her remote, and now vacant to join in the rich, sunless woods !

seat. But the statesman, hour after hour, may be Years pass away thus. The incorrigible girl sel- found sitting idly with the pen in his hand, and the dom becomes very accomplished ; but then she is large tears dropping silently on the parchment becheerful and pure-hearted, and not a bit like the fore him, yearning-alas! how vainly—for the acrest of the family, if we may take the word of those cents of a loved voice, hushed for ever-for the who have generally an excellent opportunity of as- bound of a fairy footstep which would never come certaining the real truth—its dependents. She has again. The sister too, how she turns away in the not a particle of pride about her, but speaks to midst of her pro umphs, to weep iears of them with a kind voice and a bright smile'; listens self-reproach and unavailing sorrow for the lost ! readily to all their little trials and troubles, and While the mother grows prematurely old, and is where she cannot relieve, she weeps with them. never known to smile again, And the poor, who

loved her so well, lead their children to her early / and needy, and whose sweet influence hallowed and grave, and tell them how good she was; and, purified his whole future life. whatever goes wrong in the family afterwards, have We, ourselves, can recall to mind a circuma melancholy pleasure in saying, “ Ah! it would stance connected with such a character as we have not have been so, if that dear angel, Lady been imperfectly attempting to describe, which, had lived; but she was too gentle for this world, and although it happened many years ago, remains as heaven in pity called her home!"

fresh in our memories as if it were but yesterday. They are to be found likewise in the depths of We had written some poem or play which had poverty and obscurity, shedding a light and glory been magnified by the partial kindness of friends in barren and desolate places, and pursuing the and relatives into one of the most wonderful procalm and even tenor of iheir way with the same ductions of infant genius and imagination. And we untiring meekness as though it lay among flowers. can remember its being produced before a large But we never hear of such stepping aside from the circle one festival nighi, and received with those common path of every day life, and performing those honied accents of praise and adulation, which fall brilliant acts of fame-deserving heroism, which so dangerously sweet on the aspiring heart of command our admiration; winning rather by slow youthi. Until at length one of the ladies present, degrees the love and affection we usually accordiurning 10 us with a bland louk, inquired when only to our equals. To use the exquisite language we found time to think of all this? To which we of Alfred Tennyson, “ They are but common clay, answered readily enough, for it was the truth, ta'en from the earth, moulded by God, and tem- “ After we relire to rest at night." pered by the tears of angels to the perfect form of “ Is it possible then,” exclaimed our interrogawoman.

tor, with a stern glance, “ that you never say your They may be known by their pure and holy lives, prayers ?" and early deaths; by the sickly plants which, There was one in the room whom we can see let them be ever so poor, are cultivated in their now in our mind's eye as plainly as if the events lonely homes, for we are sure that Wordsworth's of that night were acting over again; she was Lucy loved flowers as if he had told us so himself; young and slight, and attired in deep mourning. and by the before-mentioned fact, that they sel- | They told us that she had lost all her fair brothers dom or never emerge from the station of life in and sisters, just when they reached the age she was which they are born. Industry, for the most part, now, of consumption—and was the last of her supplies the place of genius; and, while others by race! And we can recollect feeling so rejoiced 10 their beauty or talents, aspire, ay, and sometimes see the bright crimson on her hollow cheeks, attain to nobler things, they toil on with a cheerful having associated the idea of paleness with disease, and contented spirit, which no suffering or priva- and knowing not that hectic flush was but the sure tion, however bitter, can utterly crush and anni- harbinger of her early doom. She had not spoken hilate.

before all the evening, but now as

we stood, We have been told often of one such. She was burning with shame, she drew us gently towards a cripple from her very childhood, and afterwards her, and said, in a kind and never-to-be-forgotten became entirely bed-ridden. But who ever heard voice, addressing herself half to us, and half to our a murmur from those pale lips? And, although stern examiner, “Oh no! she is far too good a her residence was in one of those crowded alleys child to forget that, I am sure.” which abound in our vast metropolis, and seem And as we bowed down our flushed and now consecrated and set apart as the fit abode of po- tearful face in her lap, we pressed our lips grateverty and wretchedness, she was not the less a fully to those thin white hands; at which she child of nature. It made her glad, she said, to smiled gently, as if to re-assure and comfort us. hear the flower girls pass beneath her window, cry: From that moment the voice of praise lost all ing their “bow-pots' -"two a-penny, bow-pots !” | charm, and for the remainder of the evening we for she knew then that spring had, indeed, come. never quitted her side for an instant; while she The sunlight tooấthe warm, bright sunlight!, seemed pleased to have us with her, and uttered who could ever feel wholly miserable while it con- much sweet coun.el, which we trust was not tinued to shine on them? And then, although she spoken in vain. We parted at length with a sad had lost the use of her feet, she thanked God her foreboding on our part, child as we were, that we hands were spared her. Every one was so kind, should never meet again ; which was too fatally too, (for who could help it ?) and the world, after verified ; for when we asked for her some months all, a very happy one for the most part !

afterwards, they told us with tears that she had And she sat up in bed, smiling, sewing, and gone to join her young brothers and sisters in singing hymns, until within a day of her death, heaven ! Oh, truly and beautifully has the poet which came suddenly at last, although not before Hervey said, she was prepared; for long ago she had expressed

“ Many in this dim world of cares her willingness to die whenever it should please heaven to take her to itself. Not because she was

Have sat with angels unawares.” weary of life, but in perfect faith “ that whatever There is scarcely a home without its Lucy-the is, is right!” And yet, even that lame and deso- quietest and gentlest of all the sister band, the late orphan was missed by one young heart—the good spirit of ihe household; the

peace-makerbrother whom her industry had supported—whom the one to whom every member of that little circle her piety had garnered round, and shielded from resort in cases of trial and suffering; the unthe ihousand snares that haunt the path of the poor wearied nurse in the time of sickness-lhe invisi

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