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acquainted, from his repeated wanderings, rushed forward, and sprang upon the brio with the country around, and the habits of gand like a tiger. The encounter was desthe men of whom he was in pursuit, he pro- perate, but short, and they both

soon rolled ceeded with a burning heart and deter-struggling together, into a small watermined purpose to the deepest recesses of course, that traversed the valley. the mountains, for he felt assured that- The ravisher, who had quitted the Countfrom the discovery of the principal agent ess on the first alarm, now stood bewildconcerned,-her dishonor was certain ; (dered, expecting every moment another and that the color of brigandage was attack from the surrounding thickets; but, merely given to the act to hide his fouler to his surprise, a dead silence prevailed. purpose. The young painter forgot the He directly proceeded to the assistance of scorn she once levelled at him, and remem- his follower, and having descended into the bered only the fair girl that had wiled away rocky hollow of the watercourse, beheld the happiest portion of his life, and whom the two combatants apparently dead, lying he could never cease to love. Distance or at some distance from each other. fatigue was nothing ; despair lent him su- proached with eager curiosity, to look upon pernatural strength. If he stopped, it was the features of the determined assailant ; but for a moment, to moisten his parched but at the moment of his scrutiny he was lips at some mountain stream.

seized by the throat, and dragged to the Deep in a woody ravine, where the strug- earth. The suddenness of the attack comgling moon, piercing the gloomy, over-pletely bereft him of power, and his sword hanging foliage, showed but a few streaks dropped from his grasp ; but he snatched of silver upon the mossy rocks, the forms his stiletto, and dealt some rapid blows with of two men, that were lying at full length it, in hopes of disengaging himself

, but in asleep upon the greensward, were disco- vain ; for, although some of his thrusts told, vered. At some distance from them, and he could not free himself from the wild deeper in the gloom, sat a female figure, grasp of his foe, who, suddenly finding his whose white draperies, in the loneliness of hold relax through loss of blood, ran back the spot, appeared ghost-like and unreal. a few paces and fred full at the front of his Beside her stood the call form of the Earl's antagonist, and the ravisher received the murderer, whose deep voice of passion and ball ihrough his heart. entreaty continued unavailing to attempt to The lady had sunk cowering down bemore the captive Countess, whose face was neath the shelter of a tree, unable to fly, buried in her hands, and who refused to and almost unconscious of what was passreply by a single syllable to his suit. The ing; but, after the report of the last pistol, speaker, after spending some time in threats she was startled by the appearance of a and expostulations, seized her rudely by man making his way slowly towards her. the arm, and although apparently weak from Whether friend or foe, in her distraction exhaustion, she struggled violently with she could not tell ; but upon his nearer aphim. Upon his attempting to drag her from proach she discovered that he was not either the vicinity of his sleeping companions she of her ravishers. Her heart leapt with joy uttered a despairing scream that was an- as she rose to meet him; but, ere she could swered by a thousand echoes from the sur- do so, he fell upon his knees, and sank at rounding rocks. The two sleeping brigands full length at her feet, breathing forth with started on their feet in alarm. Hardly able anguish a few words almost indistinct, and to shake off the effects of the deep slumber in which she heard her own name mixed into which they had sunk, they staggered with fervent thanks for her preservation. to the spot where the Countess was endeavoring to disengage herself from her rav- She knelt by the prostrate figure of her isher. The report of a shot rang through preserver, and raised his head. As she did the ravine, and the foremost villain sprang so, the moon beamed full and brilliant on into the air, and dropped down a corpse at the face of the young painter ! What were the feet of his companion, who for a mo- her emotions when she saw the blood that ment looked wildly around him, and saw at was flowing from that noble heart, faithful length the form of a man dropping down to her even unto death. His full eyes from the boughs of an overhanging tree. gazed, with a melancholy look, upon her He proinptly drew his pistol from his belt, pitying tears ! No words fell from his lips ; and fired. The figure lottered for a mo- but his bleeding wounds and noble devotion ment ; but, instantly recovering himself, I spoke with terrible tongues to her, as she felt, for the first time, that she had been ately promoted to the quarter-deck, went rapidly doubly his destroyer.

through the several ranks of the service, and Pride died in the stillness of that valley, proved one of its most distinguished ornaments.and her hand clasped the feeble hands of the gallant youth, as she watched with awe ANECDOTE OF Louis Philippe.-While the the last fleeting moments of his generous king was stopping to change horses at Essonne, spirit.

on his way back from Fontainbleau, an elderly

woman, rushing through the escort at the risk of Morning broke, and a strong party of sol- being trodden to death by the horses, reached the diers, who had been guided by the distant door of the royal carriage, and being seen by his reports of the fire-arms, soon discovered a Majesty, presented to him a small piece of paper, crouching female in white drapery. One which he received. The carriage immediately hand she clasped convulsively to her face, elapsed before an orderly officer returned, and de

afterwards drove on, but a very short time had and with the other she held the death- livered to M. Cullion, sub-prefect of Corbeil, who clasped hand of the dying painter to her had been in waiting for the king the poor woside. They

approached, and raised her man's petition, in which were several pieces of gently ; and, as she beheld the rigid fea- gold, which were immediately delivered over to

her. The petition stated that she was a travelling tures, and fixed eyes of her preserver, she pedlar, who had fallen sick at a public house, and shuddered, and wept. He was dead! She incurred a debt of eight francs, which she could turned to the commandant of the party, who not pay, and as a guarantee for which the publihad formed a litter for her, and almost in a

can had detained her dog, who was her only comwhisper said,

panion and friend. The fact was she owed the

publican eighteen francs, but she had ten francs Here is my preserver,-bear him with in her purse, and she could not, she said, deceive you,- I will not leave him here.'

the king by asking for more than she actually The mind of the Countess was for some wanted to pay her debt. It is gratifying to add, months in a state of oblivion as to the past ; the woman bore an excellent character.-Galig

that the sub-prefect of Corbeil ascertained that and when she awoke to consciousness it was nani. upon the bosom of her mother. No word was uttered in relation to what occurred; Low SUNDAY.-A curious volume of sermons, but she never smiled again, for the moon- printed A. D. 1652, lies before me. It is entitled, light ravine and the dying eyes of the paint- Bees sucking the honey of the Church's prayers er could never be banished from her ima- from the blossoms of the Word of God, blown out gination ! The color never returned to of the Epistles and Gospels of the divine service her pallid cheek, and I became the only throughout the year. Collected by the puny bee memento of what she was.

of all the hive, not worthy to be named otherwise than by these elements of his name, F.P."

The author, in his sermon for White or Low Sunday, thus writes :-“ This day is called White or Low Sunday, because, in the primitive Church,

those neophytes that on Easter. Eve were baptised ANECDOTE OF ADMIRAL Hopson. In the first and clad in white garments did to day put them action in which Admiral Hopson (then a boy) off, with this admonition, that they were to keep was engaged, after fighting cheerfully for two within them a perpetual candor of spirit, signified hours, he inquired of the sailors for what they by the Agnus Dei hung about their necks, which, were contending; and on being told that the ac- | falling down upon their breasts, put them in mind tion must last until the white rag at the top of the what innocent lambs they must be, now that, of enemy's mast was struck, replied, “Oh, if that's sinful, high, and haughty men, they were, by bapall, I will see what I can do! At this moment tism, made low and litile children of Almighly the ships were engaged yard-arm to yard-arm, and God, such as ought to retain in their manners and obscured in smoke; and our young hero noticing lives the Paschal feasts which they had accomthis circumstance, determined to haul down the plished.” Other writers have supposed that it was enemy's flag or die in the attempt. Accordingly, called Low Sunday because it is the lowest or latest he mounted the shrouds, walked across the main day that is allowed for satisfying of the Easter yard, and, unperceived, gained that of the French obligation, viz. the worthily receiving the blessed admiral's ship, when, ascending with agility to Eucharist. The former, however, appears the the main-top-gallant-mast-head, he struck the flag, most probable reason for the designation of Low and by that same route returned with it. The ene- Sunday.—Lit. Gazette. my's flag having disappeared, the British tars shouted Victory!! by which the crew of the Fry TestimONIAL.

-.--The Lord Mayor has, French ship were thrown into confusion, and fled with his usual benevolence and liberality, put from their guns. The officers,surprised at the event, himself at the head of a subscription, the object endeavored to rally them; but the English sailors of which is to commemorate the humanity of the seized the opportunity for boarding the vessel, late Mrs. Fry, by founding a refuge, bearing her and took her. At this juncture, young Hopson name, for the reception of female prisoners on descended from the shrouds with the French flag, their discharge from jail. It is a noble and most which be displayed in triumph. He was immedi- laudable design.

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Hark! the solemn winds reply,

“ Woman, thou art born to woe; Log ere 'tis thine hour to die,

Thou shalt be well pleased to go. Though the sunshine of to-day Blind thine eyeballs with its ray, Grief shall swathe thee in its pall, Life's beloved before thee fall. Bride, the grave hath comfort meet, Thankful spin thy winding-sheet!"

From the Metropolitan.



Slowly ravel, threads of doom;

Slowly lengthen, fatal yarn ; Death's inexorable gloom Stretches like the frozen tarn, Never thawed by sunbeams kind, Ruffled ne'er by wave or wind, Man beholds it, and is still, Daunted by its mortal chill; Thither baste my helpless feet While I spin my winding-sheet! Summer's breath, divinely warm,

Kindles every pulse to glee : Fled are traces of the storm,

Wintry frost and leafless tree: Shakes the birch its foliage light, In the sun the mists are bright; Heaven and earth their hues confound, Scattering rainbows on the ground; Life with rapture is replete While I spin my winding-sheet!. Summer's voice is loud and clear,

Lowing kine and rippling swell; Yet beneath it all I hear

Something of a funeral knell.
Sings the linnet on the bough,
Sings my bridegroom at the plough,
Whirrs the grouse along the brake,
Plash the trout within the lake,
Soft the merry lambkins bleat
While I spin my winding-sheet!
Thatched with mosses green and red,

Blooming as a fairy hill,
Lifts my home its cheerful head

By the ever-leaping rill.
Lo! its future inmates rise,
Gathering round with loving eyes ;
Some my Dugald's features wear,
Some have mine, but far more fair ;
Prattling lips my name repeat
While I spin my winding-sheet!

Let the world frown; not thou, not thou !
Twine rosy garlands round thy brow,
Nor pine for pearly braid, to fret

Thy whiter skin, beside it set;
Wild flowers are rife, and sweeter far
Than gemmy clasp or jewelled star :-
Smiles on thy lip, love in thine eye,
Let the world frown, I care not, I!

We may not now, as we had wont,
Slake sudden thirst from silvered font;
Nor, when we hunger, haste to sate
Our appetites with courtly cate;
The hot-house fruits ye rich may be-
We may not taste, but only see ;
But juicy apples from the bough
Smile on us still, so frown not thou !

We have been rich, and never tasted
The relish of those riches wasted ;-
We now are poor,--but not so poor
As drive the beggar from our door
With nayful looks—Hearts may despond
When linked thoughts cease to be fond, -
But that we love, our lives avow,
So let the world frown on-not thou !

Youth is bright above my track,

Health is strong within my breast; Wherefore must this shadow black

On my bridal gladness rest? On my happy solitude Must the vision still intrude ? Must the icy touch of Death Freeze my song's impassioned breath ? I am young, and youth is sweet, Why, then, spin my winding sheet?

And the world takes me at my word,
And flees us like a frighted bird;
Most aptly reading in our looks
A scorn iis nature little brooks ;
We heed it not-for round us glows
The sunshine of a love that knows
Nor pouting lip, nor clouded brow-
So let the world frown on-not thou !


They tell me first and early love

Outlives all after dreams;
But the memory of a first great grief

To me more lasting seems;
The grief that marks our dawning youth

To memory ever clings,
And o'er the path of future years

A lengthened shadow flings.

Oh ! oft my mind recalls the hour

When to my father's home Death came an uninvited guest,

From his dwelling in the tomb ! I had not seen his face before,

I shudder'd at the sight, And I shudder still to think upon

The anguish of that night!

A youthful brow and ruddy cheek

Became all cold and wan;
An eye grew dim in which the light

Of radiant fancy shone:
Cold was the cheek, and cold the brow,

The eye was fixed and dim; And one there mourn'd a brother dead

Who would have died for him.

I know not if 'twas summer then,

I know not if'twas spring;
But if the birds sang on the trees,

I did not hear them sing :
If flowers came forth to deck the earth,

Their bloom I did not see ;
I looked upon one withered flower,

And none else bloom'd for me.

A sad and silent time it was

Within that house of wo, All eyes were dull and overcast,

And every voice was low; And from each cheek at intervals,

The blood appear'd to start, As if recall'd, in sudden haste,

To aid the sinking heart !

Softly we trode, as if afraid

To mar the sleeper's sleep,
And stole last looks of his pale face

For memory to keep.
With him the agony was o'er,

And now the pain was ours,
As thoughts of his sweet childhood rose,

Like odors from dead flowers !

The gayest hours trip lightest by,

And leave the faintest trace ; But the deep, deep track that sorrow wears,

No time can e'er efface.

From the Atheneum.

'Tis a Birthday! You know whose :
One year added unto those
Which came round so very fast,
That we said, upon the last,
We would chronicle no more
Till had passed another score !
Well! the sky is just as blue
As it was in former years ;
Roses have the self-same hue,
And each summer flower appears
Gracefully to raise its head,
While its fragrant wealth is shed,
As when rudely from their stem
We young children severed them,

compose a plaything wreath.
Just the same the hawthorn's breath,
As when, in the studious hour,
It had a forbidden power ;
For, while stealing o'er our senses,
Thought was lured from present “tenses'
To the shady garden plot,
Or the fields where brooks were not.
There's the old clock striking tea!
Is it study-hour again?
Yea, but not from grammar book,
Or in school room's prisoned nook
Read we, as we ponder thus
Of:he change that is in us !

Yonder oak tree-not a bit Has it grown-I'm sure of it, Since against its sturdy bark Measured we our three feet height, And indented there the mark, Which, alas ! is vanished quite. Tell me-would'st thou, if we could, Recall one hour of childhood's years, With its April smiles and tears, With its trembling hopes and fears ; These so little understood, That a young child's woe or mirth, Is the loneliest thing on earth ? For the Future, castle-building, With bright fancy's ready gilding, May not be the wisest way We can pass an hour to-day ; But methinks 'twere quite as wise As to turn, with longing eyes, To the years that dropped so fast In that grave we call the Past. Earth grows richer every day In the wealth that mind must sway. So, though the sky be still as blueThe summer clouds as fleecy too,The flowers as bright-the ihrush's note As richly to the ear doth float, As when our tiny footsteps strayed In garden trim or emerald glade, Let us with hearts contented own That we the only change have known.

And when, at last, he was borne afar

From the world's weary strife,
How oft, in thought, did we again

Live o'er his little life?
His every look, his every word,

His very voice's tone,
Came back to us, like things whose worth

Is only prized when gone !

The grief has passed with years away,

And joy has been my lot, But the one is oft remember'd,

And the other soon forgot :



We're kneeling round thy grave, mother, the sun From the Dublin University Magazine.

has left it now,

It beams on happy children as they sport on yon THE MOTHER'S GRAVE.

hill's brow; There's none to mock the tears which flow so

copious from each eye, And mingle on this lonely sod, 'neath which you

silent lie. We're kneeling by thy grave, mother, the sun has

left it now, And tinges with its yellow light yon glad hill's

verdant brow, Where happy childern sport and laugh, with

whom we used to play, But we may not mingle with them now, since thou

From the Athenæum. wert borne away.

THE GRAVE IN THE CITY. We're driven from our home, mother, the home

we lov'd so well, We wander, hungry, houseless oft, while stran.

Not there, not there ! gers in it dwell, And seek our bread from door to door, sad, comfort-Little reck I of the blue bright sky,

Not in that nook that ye deem so sair ;less, and lone; Ah, mother, when you went away our happiness And the bending boughs, and the breezy air

And the stream that floweth so murmuringly, was gone.

Not there, good friends, not there! We pass'd our cottage door, mother, for still we In the City Churchyard, where the grass call it ours,

Groweth rank and black, and where never a ray And we linger'd by the garden wall, and saw our of that self-same sun doth find its way own bright flowers,

Through the heaped-up houses' serried mangAnd peep'd into the window, where the shadow Where the only sounds are the voice of the throng, of the blaze

And the clatter of wheels as they rush alongof hearth-light flicker'd on the wall-ah! so like Or the splash of the rain, or the wind's hoarse cry, other days—

Or the busy tramp of the passer-by,
Or the toll of the bell on the heavy air-

Good friends, let it be there!
And gleam'd upon a little child with sunny

curling hair, Who knelt low at her mother's knee, beside our Fourscore and five,-and bitter cold

I am old, my friends,-I am very oldold arm-chair;

Were that air on the hill-side far away; And as we gazed on her we wept, for there at close of day

Eighty full years, content I trow, 'Twas ours to kneel around thee, while our lips And

trod those dark streets day by day,

Have I lived in the home where ye see me now, were taught to pray.

Till my soul doth love them;- I love them all,
Each battered pavement, and blackened wall,

Good sooth! to me We thought upon that time, mother, and on thy Each court and corner. dying bed,

They are all comely and fuir to seeWhen we sobbing knelt around it, ere thy stainless They have old faces-each one doth tell spirit fled,

A tale of its own, that doth like me well, When you told us you must part us now, for God Sad or merry, as it may be, had will'd it so,

From the quaint old book of my history. He who can dry the orphan's tear and calm the And, friends, when this weary pain is past, orphan's woe.

Fain would I lay me to rest at last

In their very midst :-full sure am I, No glad hearth have we now, mother, to kneel How dark soever be earth and sky, at eventide,

I shall sleep softly-I shall know
No matron's eye beams over us in tenderness That the things I loved so here below

Are about me still so never care and pride ; But daily at this spot we meet, our bitter tears to That my last home looketh all bleak and bareblend,

Good friends, let it be there! And pour out all the grief-fraught heart before

the orphan's friend.

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And meet-oh, joy !-to part no more, nor shed

one tear of woe.

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