ble axis upon which the whole comfort of the family depends. If she be present none notice it, and yet all goes well; if ill, or absent, everything is confused and wrong; if she be taken away the void can never be filled up, or her memory die out from the altar of domestic affection! No murmur, no complaint ever escapes from her. Those nimble fingers and bounding steps weary not in the service of those she loves. If they chide her she only weeps, or opens her mouth but to give utterance to the "soft answer that turneth away wrath;" while praise from loved lips makes her the proudest and happiest girl in the world. Children worship her, if we may be allowed the term, and yet she seldom romps or plays with them; but when they gather silently about her knee, and look up lovingly into her pale face, she tells them in a low voice all about heaven, where the good only are admitted, and wins their trembling faith by relating how Christ loved little children, and blessed them, and would have them all come to him in that bright land whither he had gone to prepare a place; or teaches them that early prayer which is murmured alike by childhood and old age, with hymns that in after life are recalled by the magic of a word, and bringing with them a train of pure and holy associations, are our shield and safeguard amid the trials and temptations of the world. A stranger will sit whole hours in their presence without being hardly sensible of it, and yet when the circumstance is afterwards recalled to mind, he does remember a pale girl in white, who played quadrilles untiringly, in order that the rest might dance; making a thousand blunders, which she is always the first to laugh at, and which only served to increase the noisy mirth of the little party; and believes that she went away early with the headache. How often do we hear it said in society, of some silent member of it, "Is your sister always so quiet?" 66 Invariably. Somehow she never seems SO happy as when at home. But mamma insisted on her going." While the meek object of their scrutiny blushes, or tries to laugh, and wishes herself in very truth by her own fireside again. And this is the household jewel which men pass lightly over, dazzled by the false glitter of gems far less precious and endearing, instead of taking it to their hearts in perfect faith, that the affectionate, humble, and home-loving child will not be less contented and devoted as a wife and mother. It may be that on first entering a house we are struck by the beauty of one daughter, the sprightly vivacity of another, or tremble lest the wild and brilliant intellect of the third should lead her aside from the narrow and beaten track of life, from which none may transgress with impunity; while we scarcely notice a pale, quiet-looking girl, who rarely lifts her eyes from off her work, unless it be to wonder, considering how industrious she appears, how it is she manages to know so exactly Just when her mother's needle wants threading; or the little suffering boy on the couch by her side, either fancies the fire too fierce, or the light too strong, or moves restlessly, as though his pillow was far from being an easy one; and springs up for the screen, or bends over him with whispered words that soothe his fretfulness as if by magic. It is proposed, perhaps, to make a party for some theatre, and the pale girl accompanies us up stairs, and helps to arrange our dress, or braid our hair; and when all that can be done is silently accomplished, wishes us a pleasant evening, and goes back again to her little brother, whom she would rather not leave, especially now that he is so ill. And when all are gone but the child and her gentle nurse, how the little fellow half forgets his ailments, and laughs aloud at her droll stories, or sinks quietly to sleep to the sound of her low, sweet voice. If the latter be the case, ten to one but she resumes her sewing, and sits smiling to herself, as those only can who have deserved the blessed privilege of communing with their own hearts and being still. The next day a pic nic is proposed, but still there is no mention of her accompanying us; she does not even seem to wish it; and yet the child is so much better that she need not fear leaving him. We ask one of her sisters the reason, and are told that she seldom goes from home, being far from strong, so that a little thing fatigues and knocks her up. And, as we glance on her sweet tranquil face, we almost wish to remain behind too, but do not like to mention it, and fear that she will be dull, to which she gaily replies "Oh no, indeed! The days never seem long to me." And we hear her singing as we leave the room to dress for the expedition; from which, even though it may have been a merry one, all return home sadly tired, and in a right spirit to be grateful for the delicious refreshment set out so thoughtfully against our coming. While she listens and seems so interested in the eventful history of our adventures and mishaps, that it is almost as pleasant to relate as to enjoy them. Surely the influence of such a spirit as hers must be a blessed one, both to itself and others. After all, the circle of real happiness is but small, and the more we seek to extend its limits, or wander past them into the world beyond, the less likely we are to realize its tranquil enjoyments and home pleasures; one heart and one love we verily believe all-sufficient to ensure it, and the quiet hearth and homestead its most fitting habitation. It is neither a comet nor a meteor, to dazzle and bewilder and then vanish ; but a fixed star, shining on in its own pure light even until the end. But behold, the sun is setting, and here have we been dreaming away this long summer noon, utterly unconscious of the flight of time. Again we hear the rustling of light feet amid the long grass, and the sound of merry voices, that seem as though they would never tire of laughing. The Rebecca of a few hours since wore a quiet and Christian look, as if hallowed and subdued by the tranquil loveliness of earth and sky. Goethe's Margaret is evidently in the first stage of her existence, when life was a long glad holiday, and sin and sorrow alike unknown. Juliet is not with them, and by the arch looks they exchange when we ask for her, it may be that she has already met her Romeo. Heaven send that the end of all this be less sorrowful than Shakspeare's wild and beautiful legend. But Lucy-Wordsworth's Lucy-ah! here she is, with the flush of exercise lighting up her pale cheek; and they are hurrying her home before the dew begins to fall; but she pauses to whisper kindly how sorry she is that we were not with them, for they have been so happy; and to give us the wild flowers which she took such pains to seek out in their lonely nooks, because she knew we loved them. And now again all is quiet, and we try vainly to recal the broken chain of thought which their return interrupted. We wonder, with something of self-reproach, whether in truth it has been as they laughingly said, a noon wasted in idle dreaming. Surely not. If it serve to rescue from oblivion a class of beings so little known and appreciated-if it create a love for the simple and the good, in opposition to that thirst for excitement which is the prevailing feature of the present age, no matter whether it be lawfully or unlawfully ministered to-if it deepen our reverence for that old man whose name has passed into a household word, and whose calm and holy influence seems shed abroad only to purify and bless-if it have power to bring back, as with a spell, the memory of the blessed dead gone before us into heaventhen it is well both to have written and read of Wordsworth's Lucy! BEAUTY IS DEAD. BY CHARLES SWAIN, ESQ., (Author of "The Mind,” “Metrical Essays,” &c.) Snow-storing winter rides Morn meets no more the lark Sear on the willow bank Winter brings shroud and tomb- Sweeter than summer bird Pale lies that cheek of woe OLD TIMES. BY R. SHELTON MACKENZIE, LL.D. (Author of "Titian," &c.) "Mine eyes are wet with childish tears, Not the rippling streamlet's song, A heavenward flight when Beauty sings, SUMMER. Hail, Summer! the beacon of pleasure and joy, Oh, may thy bright hours ne'er meet with alloy; Thou art equally welcomed by grave and by gay, With thy flowers and sunshine in beauteous array, But what is the pleasure that thou dost impart To him who has sorrow and care at his heart; To whom all thy pleasures alike are unknown, Unnoticed, uncherished, unloved, and alone? Oh, then is the time for fond hearts to decay, When misery comes on a bright summer's day; Oh, then is the time for fond hearts to be sad, When grief in the garments of summer is clad. Ah, Summer! thy days are to me dull and drear, And thy beauties I view with a sigh and a tear; Thy gay, happy pleasures all others may see, But, alas! all thy treasures are hidden from me. Some say youth is happy : but how can they know The sorrow and pain that in young hearts may flow? Our words may be light, but how oft they conceal A pang, which our elders ne'er thought we could feel! Ah, Summer! thy praises the poets have told, But still thou to me art both cheerless and cold; Thy gay, happy pleasures all others may see, But grief hides thy treasures and beauty from me AUGUSTUS P. Q. R. HERO WORSHIP. (An Anecdote.) BY CAMILLA TOULMIN. I suppose," thought I, as we found ourselves one fine day last summer the only occupants of a spacious carriage on the Great Western Line, and whirling along at the delicious speed of a "fast train," ," "I suppose we shall find things as unchanged at Fairy Lodge as if but a single day, instead of a twelvemonth, had elapsed since our last visit. Perhaps our kind and aged host and hostess may be a little more bent with the accumulation of years; and probably the iron-grey head of Watson, the butler, may now be more snowy. Certainly the old-fashioned damask furniture must be a leetle more faded; and perhaps this year the ivy reaches quite to my bed-room window." My thoughts of change and progress -expressed half aloud-could go no further. "You forget the likeliest change," said my companion, with a smile, "the children must surely have grown." Now little Emily and Anne, the orphan grandchildren of Mr. and Mrs. Mowbray, brought to mind, by a natural association of ideas, their go-❘ verness. But this was the last individual in the world one would connect with change and variety, notwithstanding the infinite variety of her acquirements and accomplishments. Poor thing! twenty years of servitude, beneath the withering influence of the most false position in which a gentlewoman can be placed, had wrought their work upon her. It is true that her present employers had too strong a sense of justice, and hearts too kind, to do other than treat Miss Newson with something more than the usual consideration in which, alas! governesses are held; but it is not in the power of individuals to touch the root of the evil; this must be done by a change in public opinion, or I should rather say in general manners, which by rendering to the governess the liberty, respect, and homage which are her due, and approaching her guerdon somewhat more nearly to that of a favourite opera dancer, may make happy, the position which must be honourable. But I am endeavouring to relate an anecdote, not trying to moralize. I remembered that, with a regularity approaching that of clock-work, Miss Newson's duties had been fulfilled. At a certain hour she rose, at a certain hour she walked with her pupils, weather permitting (if not relaxed to battledore and shuttlecock with them in the great hall for exercise). There were certain hours for music, and certain days for painting; a certain time to remain in the drawingroom after dinner; and a certain time to retire to rest. That Miss Newson was a highly educated woman there could be no doubt, from the rapid progress her pupils made under her tuition; that she was amiable and kind to them there need be as little hesitation in declaring, since they were evidently warmly attached to her; and yet I know not how it was, she was nearly as little noticed in the family as any of the old-fashioned furniturelike that she seemed to belong to the house, and like that her absence would have been felt more perceptibly than her presence was remarked. If a stranger addressed conversation pointedly to her, she became a little embarrassed, and a bright colour would mount to her pale cheek, and strike off a dozen years of her age at least. Yet the sort of nervous timidity she experienced was painful to witness; the sound of her own voice to half-adozen listeners-if really entrapped into conversation was more than she could endure; and either her gloves, her netting, a book, or something, was sure to be wanted, giving her an excuse for escaping out of the room. It seemed really kinder to leave her alone, and suffer her to pursue the dull calm of her monotonous life unbroken even by the kindling words of sympathy. One thing, however, quite distressed me; and that was the want of respect, and sometimes indeed the marked neglect, with which the servants treated poor Miss Newson. To add to the many discomforts of a governess, she is very seldom popular with the servants; unless she is in mind and feelings quite unworthy her responsible position, she is almost always called "proud" by the domestics; simply because she finds, from experience, that not being protected by a sufficiently marked difference of station, the return of any kindly unbending on her part would assuredly be some unwarrantable liberty. Now at Fairy Lodge there were also some jealousies to contend with. The old nurse thought the governess had spirited away the children's affections from herself; and Mrs. Mowbray's own maid felt a just degree of indignation whenever Miss Newson was intrusted with the keys, or was solicited to write a note for Mrs. Mowbray, were it only one of invitation. I had always pitied the poor governess, notwithstanding her calm and placid manners, which were the farthest in the world from complaint; and I had often wondered if there existed an inner world of feeling in her heart, or if that quiet uncommunicative being could have told a history. Thanks to steam, the wonder and blessing of this century, our journey was neither long nor fatiguing. We had but three miles to travel from the station; the Mowbrays' roomy carriage awaited us, and we arrived at Fairy Lodge, fifty miles from London, as little wearied as if we had taken but a morning drive. How I love the warm, makeyourself-at-home greeting of old friends, especially when the house is old too-that is to say, old in one's acquaintance with it-when you know your way to your chamber without being told "to mind the three steps;" when you remember precisely where the morning sun will stream in, and have not to look about for the bell! Then the dogs-there cannot be a country house without dogs are not quite sure at first if they know you. That fine fellow, Tartar, barks vociferously as we enter the gates; but he changes his mind after a moment, and struggles to break from his chain; and as soon as we are quietly seated, not before, the beautiful King Charles crawls lazily to one's feet, with wagging tail and glistening eyes, as if beseeching a caress. I don't know how it is, but I think we remember such matters afterwards, rather than notice them at the time. All these things were just as usual, and our kind | slighted governess! This their acknowledgment of and worthy hosts as hospitable as ever. Their a superior being! to my mind both touching and grand-daughters were, as we expected, somewhat significant in its truth. The accomplishments of grown; but it was in Miss Newson and all that music and painting, and the more solid acquireconcerned her that a change was to be found! ments which, if they had thought, they must have Although her colour rose on seeing us, I do not known were hers, had won from them no recognithink it was from any fear of being spoken to; on tion. And, why? Because custom which does the contrary, she was kind in her inquiries, and not acknowledge the merits of the governess, or seemed willing enough to enter into conversation. her claims to more than ordinary respect, had With this loss of timidity she had acquired ease, blinded their minds to the facts. But directly they all that before was wanting to make her manners discovered (what was not really, though they perfect. I wondered in my own mind how the thought it) her higher title to consideration, they change had been effected; for at forty years of age, made up for their past neglect with heart and soul. and she must be that, it is seldom such an altera- There was really, however, much in her little votion takes place. lume to please simple-hearted people; for her poems were chiefly of a domestic kind and of the affections. And few authors, I think, will deny, that the slightly informed are often excellent judges of such productions; and no wise ones, we think, will scorn their admiration. 66 "Jane," said Miss Newson, to a servant, as we were about taking a stroll in the garden, "be kind enough to fetch my parasol." And Jane flew for it, bringing also a shawl, advising Miss Newson to wear it, as, though it was warm in the sun, the wind was rather chilly." I could not but look on in wondering admiration. A year ago the silent, timid governess would as soon have thought of ordering out the carriage as sending a servant on such an errand. Yet, after all, it was the maid's ready obedience which surprised me the most. "That is Miss Newson's bell," said another servant an hour afterwards, while she was uncording a box for me, "if you please, Ma'am, I will be back in a minute or two;" and though I had not too much time to dress for dinner, I was pleased as well as amused at the alacrity with which the summons of the governess was answered. I noticed, too, that at dinner old Watson offered to replenish Miss Newson's champagne glass more often than any one's else; and that, in the drawing-room, the footman brought a stool for her feet, without her asking for it. Indeed, the general deference towards her yet, that is scarcely the word; it is too cold to express the watchful kindness of the household-was so marked, that a visiter must have been blind not to perceive it. "There is a cause for all these effects," said I to myself, "and I cannot sleep till I find it out." It was decreed, however, that the mystery should explain itself. On the drawing-room table I found a handsomely-bound volume of poems, whose title-page declared they were by Eliza Newson! I turned the leaves with no common curiosity, and found that, though they did not bear the stamp of high genius and originality, they were full of womanly tenderness and purity, and replete with true poetic feeling. My congratulations were made with hearty sincerity, and received by Miss Newson not without emotion. "Yes," said little Emily, with more pride, perhaps, than if they had been her own," she has made them all out of her own head, and some of them, do you know, are quite stories in thyme. And, what do you think? I heard Watson the other day singing one of the songs to a tune he sometimes plays on the flute; and I know Jane has bought the book. Yes, indeed, Miss Newson, she has," continued the child, turning to the now blushing poetess. This, then, was the secret of the servant's hero worship, and consequent deference to the so long ray, But the clouds of life are gathering o'er the sun- The anxious bark is heaving on billows dark as The stream is gaily dancing at the fountain where The morning sunbeams bear most freshness on their wings; And a halo is encircling our happy childhood's hour, Like the magic of the moonlight that gilds the fairy flower. The sunshine through the day may banish care and strife, And flowers may brighten o'er the noontide of our life; But, oh! there wants that radiance when, smiling We spring again to happiness in childhood's early years. THE FAMILY OF THE GRUMBLERS. BY N. MICHELL, ESQ., AUTHOR OF THE TRA DUCED," THE FATALIST," &c. new piece happens to be performed, our friend is in his element; on such occasions, he ensconces himself in the pit, as near as he can get to the foot-lights. It is his philosophy to decry what others applaud; he loves at all times to exhibit an independence of opinion, and the carrying out of these noble and manly principles is perhaps the secret of the pleasurable emotions which he ex Perhaps there are more Grumblers in this happy, favoured, prosperous island of ours than in any other nation under the sun. Your Frenchman is too mercurial, too lighthearted for a grumbler. On the other hand, your Hollander is too phleg-periences in a theatre. The new piece, say a matic. Give the German his sour kraut and meerschaum, and let the world "wag as it will," he has no spleen to vent on those around him. The Russian serf is too degraded, too hopelessly fettered to the soil and his lord, to give utterance to the feelings which may "stir within him"-he dares not grumble. The Turk, supported by his belief in an inevitable destiny, contents himself amid all chances and changes; and, whether his horse or his country fall, still he will stroke his beard, and cry, "Allab wills it!” Without carrying our observations further, we must turn to our own country for specimens of the true grumbler; not that John Bull, upon the whole, is ill-tempered; but the secret is, he generally thinks himself aggrieved, and is rarely contented with that portion of this world's goods which "the gods afford him ;" and this disposition, developed under certain circumstances, produces the grumbler. Our constitutional and habitual grumbler is a man generally about the middle age; but the acerbity of his temper materially increases as he advances in years. The most rabid of the class usually possess a small independence, and are, in every respect, what the world calls "comfortably off." The grumbler of this description commonly dresses in a plain but respectable manner; his square-skirted coat is very large, as if he were desirous that it should be in every person's way, so as to afford him a legitimate plea for finding fault when any one happens to brush against or disturb its ample folds. His look is grave and reflective, and he sometimes carries a stout walking-stick. Our friend is almost invariably a bon vivant; no one eats and drinks as much as a grumbler; and notwithstanding every thing which he conveys to his mouth is, according to his own statement, execrable, he thrives upon it amazingly. He is a great frequenter of coffee-houses, where his chief employment seems to be in calling for refreshments, and intimating his disapproval of their quality. The waiter brings him a paper, and tries to make him comfortable; but something is always amiss; the paper is not the one whose politics he approves of; the place is too crowded and warm, or it is too empty and cold. Then, however reasonable his bill may be, he never, by any chance, forgets to protest against it; calling it an overcharge, and bestowing on the obsequious waiter sundry hard names; and when one coffee-house becomes "too hot for him," he shakes the dust from his feet upon it, and patronizes another. The grumbler not unfrequently attends the theatre; but what pleasure he derives from histrionic representation is known only to himself, for his growling, with little intermission, continues tragedy, commences; he grumbles at the lady before him for not taking off her bonnet, and at the man behind him for leaning over his shoulder. When any point is made by a favourite actor, he is sure to greet his triumph with-a biss! and when half the audience is melted to tears, he takes snuff, and growls "horrid nimby-pamby!" The author may regard such a character with supreme contempt, yet we can tell him that, too frequently, the most formidable obstacle to the success of his new piece is this same grumbler; for, by a cleverly timed exclamation of disapproval, or by a single groan uttered at a critical moment-say, during a pathetic speech-he has been known to turn the whole house, and bring down showers of condemnatory hisses, when otherwise applause might have been given. Our grumbler is sometimes in trade, and will be identified not unfrequently with the person of a thriving city merchant. In this case, so many being directly and indirectly dependant upon him, he will be a very much dreaded character. No clerk pleases him, and woe unto the wight who dares defend himself when unjustly accused by his master! He grumbles over his letters in the morning; grumbles over his ledger, however satisfactory its cash-balances may be; his business grows worse every year, every month, every day; and notwithstanding his warehouses are full of merchandise, and his coffers of gold, the times are ruinously bad, and he is the most unfortunate of men. Grumblers, at times, are candidates for parliamentary honours. By dint of grumbling at ministers, and all the powers that be-grumbling at the rottenness of the constitution, and finding fault with every system prevalent throughout the country, they get returned for boroughs. Operatives and ten-pound voters are remarkably taken with the grumbler, and consider him the only true patriot. In the House, the grumbler is an independent man; that is, he considers himself attached to no party. His motive for this is sufficiently obvious; for, by pursuing such a line of policy, he is able to indulge, without a check, his favourite views: he condemns every measure, opposes every motion, and groans at every speech. sometimes, in the shape of a lucrative office, is thrown to him to silence his Cerberus-like clamour; but even while devouring, he cannot but grumble over it. He has grumbled himself into the House, and unfortunately no counter grumbling on the part of honourable brother members can dislodge him. A sop, The man whose delight is to discover some evil quality in every person and in every thing, it may be presumed, never marries. Such a conclusion, however, is erroneous. Grumblers, as we have |