people whose very existence seems now to have been almost as fanciful as the magical creations in one of their own fairy tales.

CATHARINE MARIA SEDGWICK.

THIS charming writer was born in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Her father, the Hon. Theodore Sedgwick, one of the first men in the State, was at one time Speaker of the House of Representatives, and afterwards Senator in Congress, and at the time of his death (January 24, 1813), was a Judge of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts.

Miss Sedgwick first appeared as an author in 1822, by the publication of "A New England Tale," the success of which was so great as to induce her to continue in a career so auspiciously begun. In 1824,

she published "Redwood-a Tale," which immediately became very popular. In 1827, appeared "Hope Leslie, or Early Times in Massachusetts," in two volumes; in 1830, "Clarence, a Tale of Our Own Times;" and in 1835, "The Linwoods, or Sixty Years Since in America," the last, and, as many think, the best of her novels.

In 1836, she struck out into a new path, and gave to the public "The Poor Rich Man, and the Rich Poor Man," the first of an admirable series of stories, illustrative of every-day life. This was followed by "Live, and Let Live"-and this, by "Means and Ends, or Selftraining." Then appeared two volumes of delightful juvenile tales"A Love Token for Children," and "Stories for Young Persons."

In 1839, Miss Sedgwick went to Europe, and during the year she was there, wrote her "Letters from Abroad to Kindred at Home," which, on her return, were published in two volumes. She has also written a "Life of Lucretia M. Davidson," published in the seventh volume of "Sparks' American Biography ;" and has contributed many articles for "The Lady's Book," and other periodicals.

A discriminating critic thus speaks of the character of her writings: "It is impossible to speak of her works without a particular regard to their moral and religious character. We know no writer of the

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"We think this work the most agreeable that Miss Sedgwick has yet published. It is written throughout with the same good taste, and quiet, unpretending power, which characterize all her productions, and is superior to most of them in the variety of the characters brought into action, and the interest of the fable.”—North Am. Rev., xlii. 160.

class to which she belongs, who has done more to inculcate just religious sentiments. They are never obtruded, nor are they ever suppressed. It is not the religion of observances, nor of professions, nor of articles of faith, but of the heart and life. It always comes forth, not as something said or done from a sense of necessity or duty, but as part of the character, and inseparable from its strength, as well as from its grace and beauty. It is a union of that faith which works by love, with that charity which never faileth.

"There is another characteristic of Miss Sedgwick's writings which should not be overlooked. We allude to their great good sense and practical discretion; the notableness which they evince and recommend. This is so true, that we recollect having heard a zealous utilitarian declare, after reading one of her works, that political economy might be taught to the greatest advantage through the medium of romances."

A SABBATH IN NEW ENGLAND.

The observance of the Sabbath began with the Puritans, as it still does with a great portion of their descendants, on Saturday night. At the going down of the sun on Saturday, all temporal affairs were suspended; and so zealously did our fathers maintain the letter, as well as the spirit of the law, that, according to a vulgar tradition in Connecticut, no beer was brewed in the latter part of the week, lest it should presume to work on Sunday.

It must be confessed that the tendency of the age is to laxity; and so rapidly is the wholesome strictness of primitive times abating, that, should some antiquary, fifty years hence, in exploring his garret rubbish, chance to cast his eye on our humble pages, he may be surprised to learn, that even now the Sabbath is observed, in the interior of New England, with an almost Judaical severity.

On Saturday afternoon an uncommon bustle is apparent. The great class of procrastinators are hurrying to and fro to complete the lagging business of the week. The good mothers, like Burns' matron, are plying their needles, making "auld claes look amaist as weel's the new;" while the domestics, or help (we prefer the national descriptive term), are wielding, with might and main, their brooms and mops, to make all tidy for the Sabbath.

National Portrait Gallery.

As the day declines, the hum of labor dies away, and, after the sun is set, perfect stillness reigns in every well-ordered household, and not a footfall is heard in the village street. It cannot be denied, that even the most scriptural, missing the excitement of their ordinary occupations, anticipate their usual bedtime. The obvious inference from this fact is skilfully avoided by certain ingenious reasoners, who allege that the constitution was originally so organized as to require an extra quantity of sleep on every seventh night. We recommend it to the curious to inquire how this peculiarity was adjusted, when the first day of the week was changed from Saturday to Sunday.

The Sabbath morning is as peaceful as the first hallowed day. Not a human sound is heard without the dwellings, and, but for the lowing of the herds, the crowing of the cocks, and the gossiping of the birds, animal life would seem to be extinct, till, at the bidding of the church-going bell, the old and young issue from their habitations, and, with solemn demeanor, bend their measured steps to the meeting-house; the families of the minister, the squire, the doctor, the merchant, the modest gentry of the village, and the mechanic and laborer, all arrayed in their best, all meeting on even ground, and all with that consciousness of independence and equality which breaks down the pride of the rich, and rescues the poor from servility, envy, and discontent. If a morning salutation is reciprocated, it is in a suppressed voice; and if, perchance, nature, in some reckless urchin, burst forth in laughter, "My dear, you forget it's Sunday," is the ever ready reproof.

Though every face wears a solemn aspect, yet we once chanced to see even a deacon's muscles relax by the wit of a neighbor, and heard him allege, in a half-deprecating, halflaughing voice, "The squire is so droll, that a body must laugh, though it be Sabbath-day."

The farmer's ample wagon, and the little one-horse vehicle, bring in all who reside at an inconvenient walking distancethat is to say, in our riding community, half a mile from the church. It is a pleasing sight, to those who love to note the happy peculiarities of their own land, to see the farmers' daughters, blooming, intelligent, well-bred, pouring out of these homely coaches, with their nice white gowns, prunel shoes, Leghorn hats, fans and parasols, and the spruce young men, with their plaited ruffles, blue coats, and yellow buttons. The whole community meet as one religious family, to offer their devotions at the common altar. If there is an outlaw

from the society-a luckless wight, whose vagrant taste has never been subdued-he may be seen stealing along the margiu of some little brook, far away from the condemning observation and troublesome admonitions of his fellows.

Towards the close of the day (or to borrow a phrase descriptive of his feelings who first used it), "when the Sabbath begins to abate," the children cluster about the windows. Their eyes wander from their catechism to the western sky, and, though it seems to them as if the sun would never disappear, his broad disk does slowly sink behind the mountain; and, while his last ray still lingers on the eastern summits, merry voices break forth, and the ground resounds with bounding footsteps. The village belle arrays herself for her twilight walk; the boys gather on the green;" the lads and girls throng to the "singing school;" while some coy maiden lingers at home, awaiting her expected suitor; and all enter upon the pleasures of the evening with as keen a relish as if the day had been a preparatory penance.

THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS.

"Well," said Debby, "contentment is a good thing, and a rare; but I guess it dwells most where people would least expect to find it. There's Ellen Bruce; she has had troubles that would fret some people to death, and yet I have seldom seen her with a cloudy face."

"How do you account for that, Miss Debby? I am curious to get at this secret of happiness, for I have been in great straits sometimes for the want of it."

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Why, I'll tell you. Now, Ellen, I don't mean to praise you"-and she looked at Ellen, while an expression of affection spread over her rough-featured face. "The truth is, Ellen has been so busy about making other people happy, that she has no time to think of herself; instead of grieving about her own troubles, she has tried to lessen other people's; instead of talking about her own feelings, and thinking about them, you would not know she had any, if you did not see she always knew just how other people felt."

"Stop, stop, Deborah, my good friend," said Ellen; "you must not turn flatterer in your old age."

"Flatterer! The Lord have mercy on you, girl; nothing was farther from my thoughts than flattering. I meant just to

tell this young lady, for her information, that the secret of happiness was to forget yourself, and care for the happiness of others."

"You are right-I believe you are right," said Miss Campbell, with animation; "though I have practised very little after your golden rule.”

"The more's the pity, young woman; for, depend on it, it's the safe rule, and the sure; I have scriptur' warrant for it, beside my own observation; which, as you may judge, has not been small. It's a strange thing, this happiness; it puts me in mind of an old Indian I have heard of, who said to a boy who was begging him for a bow and arrow, 'the more you say bow and arrow, the more I won't make it.' There's poor Mr. Redwood; as far as I can find out, he has had nothing all his life to do, but to go up and down, and to and fro upon the earth, in search of happiness; look at his face: it is as sorrowful as a tombstone, and just makes you ponder upon what has been, and what might have been; and his kickshaw of a daughter-why I, Debby Lennox, a lone old woman that I am, would not change places with her-would not give up my peaceable feelings for hers, for all the gold in the king's coffers and for the most part, since I have taken a peep into what's called the world, I have seen little to envy among the great and the gay, the rich and handsome."

"And yet, Miss Debby," said Grace, "the world looks upon these as the privileged classes."

"Ah! the world is foolish, and stupid besides.”

"Well, Miss Deborah, I have unbounded confidence in your wisdom, but since my lot is cast in this same evil world, I should be sorry to think there was no good in it."

"No good, Miss! that was what I did not, and would not say. There is good in everything, and everywhere, if we have but eyes to see it, and hearts to confess it. There is some pure gold mixed with all this glitter; some here that seem to have as pure hearts and just minds as if they had never stood in the dazzling sunshine of fortune."

"You mean to say, Deborah," said Ellen, "that contentment is a modest, prudent spirit; and that, for the most part, she avoids the high places of the earth, where the sun burns, and the tempests beat, and leads her favorites along quiet vales, and to sequestered fountains.”

"Just what I would have said, Ellen, though it may not be just as I should have said it," replied Deborah, smiling.