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TO ALURA.

Tell me the hour-the sacred hour,
When thou art resign'd to Feeling's power,
When thy lip is not wreath'd with affected mirth,
And thy words are not breath'd for the dull cold earth!
When thy heart-dews are wept, and thy fancies receive
Fresh sweetness of thought from the tears that they leave:
Tell me that hour-that sacred hour-

I would then be a pilgrim, sweet saint, to thy bower!

Tell me the hour-the lonely hour,

When thou art all rapt in Music's power-
When thy lute is not strung for the cold or gay,
And thy spirit hath flung its light mirth away!
When thy soul is subdued into twilight repose,
And thy soft voice is breath'd like the sigh of a rose
Tell me that hour-that lonely hour-

I would then be a pilgrim, sweet saint, to thy bower!
J. AUGUSTINE WADE.

NEW-YORK.

A LEGEND OF Some seventy years since, when New-York was somewhat of a different city to what it now is, and steamers laden with cargoes of actresses, dancers, and monkeys, were not even thought or dreamed of, and when a goodly vessel laden with merchandise was considered a more important affair than the arrival of a tragedian, or a troop of goats and monkeys; we say, some seventy years since, toward the close of a beautiful autumnal evening, a vessel was observed standing in toward New-York; her hull was long and low; she was taut-rigged, with raking masts; her jib, flying jib, mainsail, and foretopsail set, and had every appearance of making the harbor.Suddenly, however, she tacked; and a boat was lowered and pulled toward the shore; by the time, however, she had pulled in, it had become quite dark, and the idlers had, one by one, passed away, so that the landing-place was literally clear; a gentleman landed from the boat, whose dress partly bespoke him as a naval man, though the richness of the various articles he wore indicated him to be one of no ordinary rank; for although it was not the dress of a British naval officer, yet there was something that plainly showed he was one used to command; in person, he might be about five-and-thirty, but with a complexion so swarthy and sunburnt, that it would be difficult to say whether he was over or under that age; a woman (and they are keen judges of looks) would have gazed after him, and thought, perhaps, just such a one would she have chosen as a model for admiration, for women will form models in their imaginations to love, though it is but rarely such an object ever becomes their partner through life; the stranger, however, pushed on through the narrow streets, merely asking for the residence of one Ephraim Dodds, a worthy, pains-taking man, but poor withal, and one whose speculations had rarely turned out well.

He was busied in the evening, on which our story opens, looking over his ledger, when the door of his counting house opened, and a stranger presented himself.

"Your name is Ephraim Dodds!" "It is, Sir, and yours?"

"No matter; I know you, Sir, by report, for an honest worthy man, but a very poor one! Look from your window, and, if the darkness will allow you, can you decipher aught of a goodly vessel, standing off in the distance? That vessel is laden with goods so rare and rich that its cargo would make the fortune of the richest merchant of New York; I would confide that cargo to you, not making you the mere agent, but as a partner."

"Ephraim stared hard at the stranger, and bethought him of all the legends he had heard of the devil tempting men in their hour of need, but still he listened."

"It matters little, Master Dodds, who and what I am, since 'tis little to the purpose, but suffering has laid its heavy hand upon me; my poor, poor Paquita, sleeps in peace; for my sake she endured all-much that woman could. Ah, Sir! you know not what it is returning to one you had for months been yearning to see, to find her gone from you forever, brokenhearted from the gibes and taunts of those who should have protected her; but she did not dare avow her marriage, and but no more; she left me, Sir, a child, a girl, whose features are as like her mother's as nature could have formed them. would not she should be with her mother's friends, to have the same measure of unkindness meted out to her as was her poor

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mother's fate. No, Sir, I would not it should be so; and this brings me to the purpose of my interview. If you will take charge of the cargo, one-half is your own, the other is to be my daughter's, and you must use them both in such way as seems best suited to your judgement."

"And the girl," exclaimed Dodds, not seeing the thing ex actly in all its bearings.

"She will be placed with one upon whom I can rely; that charge is not with you; and when you are called upon to ac count for her fortune, you will, I know, be ready. What say you, Master Dodds?" Ephraim paused a moment to consider, but the reflection was apparently a satisfactory one, for turning to the stranger, he said, "I am content; there is my hand upon the bargain."

The following morning found Master Ephraim Dodds one of the richest merchants in New York.

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Pass we over now a space of some seventeen years, and still lingering in the neighborhood of New York, cast our eyes upon one of the neatest cottages the thriftiest housewife could desire; both before and behind was a garden, tastefully arranged with such trees and plants as the sea-breezes would permit to grow, and within the lattices flowers, whose delicate natures required more protection; along side on the beach was drawn up a large boat, and toward the sea was a rudely con trived arbor, with a most primitive looking seat and table. The owner of the cottage was an Englishman, from the neighborhood of Newcastle, who had passed nearly all his life at sea. Owen Block was a true specimen of the English sailor, his wife was a quiet, sedate woman, who seemed rather supe rior to her husband. The greatest attraction, however, was their daughter, the pretty Marian. Great pains had been bestewed by Block upon her education, and her room, which was tastefully adorned with drawings by herself, showed that she had attained no mean proficiency as an artist."

There was a circumstance, however, which caused much excitement in the neighborhood, namely, the frequent visits of Walter Dodds, the only son of the principal magistrate of New York, and the wonder was the little anxiety that Master Block gave himself about the circumstance, though quick and quarrelsome enough on other occasions; some turned up their noses, and said, "Does he think Walter Dodds will marry her? but not he, indeed; Master Block will soon repent his vain ambition, and wish that he had more moderate views for his daughter."

But the visits of his son became known at last to the old magistrate; and full of magisterial ire, he determined to investigate the matter in person, and accordingly betook himself to the cottage.

Owen Block was somewhat surprised one morning, by a visit from the magistrate, and quickly stowing away a suspi cious-looking anker of spirits, seemed prepared for what might follow.

"Your name is Owen Block, I believe?"
"The same, at your service!"
"You have a daughter, I believe."

"I have."

"And you are trying to draw my son into a marriage with her."

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Softly there, Master Dodds, if you please; your son is doing as he pleases; if he chooses to come here, well and good; I have enough to do looking after my daughter, without caring for other people's sons."

"You are a scoundrel, Sir," replied the magistrate," and fear me not, we shall soon have you safe by the heels;" saying which he left the cottage, slamming the door hastily behind him, the hearty laugh of Owen Block ringing in his ears as he retraced his steps homeward.

Walter and Marian were, however, still as much as ever together, and Block, despite the burgomaster's threats, encouraged the young man, in affording him every opportunity of being in Marian's way, and the magistrate determined, in order to prevent matters going too far, that his son should be sent on a voyage to the Indies, whither the merchant had a valuable cargo proceeding.

Ephraim Dodds was one day busied in his study, making every preparation for the vessel sailing on the morrow, and writing out a set of instructions for the captain, and mixing up with them most particular directions for his son's being carefully attended, never being allowed to go on deck when it rained, or suffered on any account to ascend the rigging, and a variety of other minutiae, when a stranger was announced as wishing to see him on private business. He motioned to

a chair, continuing busy in his instructions. On raising his head

to demand the nature of his business, his eyes met those of the stranger's; they were features once seen, never to be forgotten.

"You see," said the stranger, "I am come as I promised, to claim the fulfilment of your agreement."

Dodds pointed to a box on one of the shelves. "There," said he, "are the accounts of stewardship up to the close of last month; you will find them I am sure correct to a fraction, nor do I think you will find I have speculated amiss with your daughter's dowry, since she is now the richest woman in New York."

"Your accounts I do not wish to see; you need render none to me nor to any one; my only object is to propose a marriage for your son.'

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The magistrate shook his head. "Alas, sir, I fear very much my son's affections are unworthily bestowed upon one from whom I have found it impossible to alienate them." "Upon Marian Block!"

"You know it, I see but too well."

"I do; and Marian Block is my daughter. I confided her as an infant to Owen Block, in whom I knew I could place every confidence; it was by my orders he took every means of throwing himself into your son's way, and bringing him in contact with Marian; what I so ardently wished has taken place. He has seen and loved her for herself, and not as the richest maiden in New-York, what more need I say; my plans have succeeded, and you I am sure can have no objection to this."

"Not I," replied the magistrate. "I did n't half like his going to sea; let them yet be married by all means-it's a long voyage to India-a very long one, but matrimony is much longer; however, its much safer."

The stranger smiled, and said, "They have both their dangers, but the present will doubtless be a smooth voyage, since there are few hidden rocks, and every thing promises well."

CHARADE.

BY 'THE MAN IN THE CLARET-COLORED COAT.'

Come, dearest, for flight all is ready;
Be quick-tarry not-I implore:
I've a coachman that's sober and steady,
With a carriage ten steps from the door.
In Providence we will be mated,

To-morrow, soon as we arrive;
Oh! hasten, or we'll be belated-

The boat starts precisely at five."

With her lover she hastes to the carriage;
The steps are put up-all is right:
And now for a runaway marriage,

In Sister's, and Pa's and Ma's spite!
To 'Pier Number One' they are driven.
"Oh, dear! will the boiler not burst?"
He replies not, until he has given

The coachman in waiting, MY FIRST.

"But see, who is hurrying hither!

'Tis my father! Oh, Henry, away! Oh, where shall I hide me? fly whither? His anger to brave, can I stay?""On this, Kate, I never had reckoned;"

Poor Harry exclaimed, with an oath. Oh! it was not-it was not MY SECOND, To be caught thus, the lovers thought, both. They were parted-and, three summers after, A matron was strolling one day, Where from flower-beds near came the laughter Of innocent children at play. Rich, rich was her silken attire,

Bright, bright were the gems in her hair, And beauty was hers,-but the fire

In her eyes was the fire of despair!

Who crosses her pathway so boldly?

A stranger? a stranger! ah, no! He fixes his gaze on her coldly;

Words need not interpret his wo! He came to upbraid-but he seeth

A wreck, like himself, of the Past;One look, long and sad, and he fleeth! MY WHOLE is his first word and last!

THE MISER OUTWITTED:

AN ORIGINAL TALE OF A MAN ABOUT TOWN. BY THE AUTHOR OF 'YANKEE NOTIONS.'

How old Boxall, the miser, became a generous man in spite of his teeth, is a story which I have some scruple in telling'; lest misers should remember it and be upon their guard: these worthy gentlemen are so sharp at taking hints. I therefore recommend to the patrons of this journal, to be particularly careful how they lend the present number. With this precaution we may be pretty safe. So here it is.

He

Mr. Benjamin Boxall was as respectable a man as you shall see of a summer's day, especially in any part of the town where good bargains were to be made. What signified it that he starved his wife to death, and would split a straw to save his own half? Was n't he worth three hundred thousand dollars, and in good name and fame upon 'change? He was formerly of the firm of Baggs & Boxall, Ship Chandlers, No. 418 State street, Boston, all the patrons of which respectable house were men of substance and reputation, and carried a high head and a clean collar,' as the phrase used to be. Mr. Boxall knew what money was worth'-a species of knowledge on which the possessors commonly pride themselves with a high degree of self-complacency. He had, indeed, ample reason to be proud of his own talents; for the beginnings of his greatness were precisely of such a nature as to show that no ordinary genius was at work in directing his career. became first known to the world in a public capacity by selling pop on the Common, in the good old times when matters of pop had not yet encountered the majestic explosion of penal statutes. In this wide field of action he picked up money enough to lift him into the more elevated sphere of old iron. The trade in old iron sharpened his wits to such a degree that in three years' time he made a bold push and cut at once into the victualling line. Here he balanced his accounts at the end of five years more, with such a preponderance of pocket, that he made another courageous swing and launched into the great ocean of grocery. All was fish that came to his net.He became well known up and down town, and every body saw that he 'understood what he was about;'—an expressive and significant phrase in the mercantile world, that means a great deal more than a learned philosopher would imagine.— Need I add more? The long and the short of the matter is, that he awoke one fine morning and found himself rich!

Did I say that Mr. Boxall knew what money was worth? If I said no more than this, I did not say half enough. He not only knew the worth of it, but he had so high an opinion of its value, that he thought nothing of so much importance as to keep it safely. He did business in a terribly snug way; never took a note of hand without two good endorsers, and charged compound interest whenever it was perfectly safe.These are only prudent precautions which careful people find highly conducive to their own comfort; although men of scanty means and small connections are apt to complain of them as a little embarrassing. However, what of this? Money was money: Mr. Boxall was a man who 'understood what he was about;' and he did n't understand why he should run risks without a 'consideration.'

This worthy old gentleman's only son Joe had grown up in a style that caused the old man strange fits of uneasiness at times. Joe was placed in what philosophers call 'a false position; that is, he expected much, and got little-a state of probation which, if not false in a metaphysico-moral way of speaking, is surely vexatious enough, in all conscience. He was already of an age to be doing something for himself. Yet not a sixpence would old Boxall advance to set him up in trade-so hard it was for the old miser to part with the cash, It was enough, he thought, for him to pay Joe's tailor and shoemaker; and even this he could not do without the most dismal grumblings.

It is astonishing to see how differently old people think from young people on the subject of money; for my part I never could understand it. If the old folks who have got money, could only be made to think like the young folks who want money, how many awkward family discords would be saved! However, all this moralizing won't help on my story.

"Five dollars for boots!-Monstrous! monstrous! Joe, how can you be so extravagant?"

"Extravagant!" echoed Joe, while old Boxall was puck. ering his little pinched-up features into a scowl of particular sourness and vexation, as he looked over a scrap of paper with 'Rec'd pay't' at the bottom.

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'Why, do n't you know, sir, the ball at Col. Swagger's? There were ladies, you see-could n't do without a coach." "Ladies! with a witness! Three dollars twenty-five cents, as I live! Joe! what profit is there in such trade as this?" "Ah! father, that is just what I was going to speak to you about: I've had it on my mind for a long while. There is a lady in the case. Young men, you know, must live—”

"Live-yes, live and learn, Joe-live and learn!"

"I was going to say that they must live and-marry. Now you know I have set my heart upon-"

"Living prudently, I hope."

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Yes, and taking a wife!"

"Hey!"

"Exactly so-keeping house will be so economical!" "Ay, Joe, but be sure and look out for a good match; do n't marry foolishly, Joe."

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My sentiments exactly! You have expressed my mind to a T: I would n't marry foolishly on any account-it 's entirely contrary to my inclination."

"I'm glad to hear of it, Joe; I hope you'll imitate your father, and always look out for the main chance-I always looked out for the main chance."

Certainly, certainly. Now my wife—that is, the lady that is to be my wife-is, beyond all doubt, the finest woman, the most accomplished, sweetest, most affectionate, most domestic, most excellent and charming creature-it will be so happy a union!"

"How much is her father worth?" asked old Boxall, taking up a pen, with a regular business look, and preparing a scrap of paper for figures.

"Got no father-died in the West Indies." "Mother?"

"Nor mother neither."

"Ah!" said the old man, with a look of visible satisfaction "then all the property is in her own hands."

"No-she's got no property."

Old Boxall was just poking his nose down to the paper to cast the interest on the amount of the lady's fortune, when this altogether unexpected announcement caused him to jerk his head upward and fix his little calculating gray eyes in Joe's face without uttering a word. What surprise he felt at his Son's unaccountable folly in falling in love with a woman who had no property! At length he would have spoken, but Joe had found time to rally his strength, during this short suspension, and followed up this astounding disclosure with something still more audacious.

And so, sir," said the son, "considering that we can't live on nothing, and you can easily spare it,-I only want say a small matter of twenty thousand dollars, to begin housekeeping."

Suppose, gentle reader, a snow-storm should burst upon you on the Fourth of July, and cool your dinner-table patriotism with the frigidity of Hudson's Bay; suppose a thunderbolt should break out of the blue sky; suppose Deacon Slouch, the tee-totaller, should walk into What-d'ye-call-em's, and ask for whiskey punch; suppose Congress should mind their business; suppose a tailor should be punctual; suppose a tin-peddler should be honest; suppose any thing in rerum natura utterly incredible and astounding: but you cannot suppose or imagine any thing that would overwhelm you with so much astonishment, as that which fell upon the astonished Mr. Boxall at these words. He sat with the forefinger of his left hand firmly planted on the paper before him, the pen clenched in his right, and raised in mid air. With open mouth and fixed eye-balls, he continued to gaze upon the young gentleman, who stood before him, actually frightened at his own audacity in saying such a thing as twenty thousand dollars to his father's face. At length the old man found words:

"No such thing father. Won't you have two hundred and eighty thousand left?

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense! that's the way young folks talk. Twenty thousand dollars!-just as if 'twas no more than a musketo-bite."

"Then you won't let me have it?"

"Have it?-what-twenty thousand! Bless my wits! no! conscience! twenty thousand dollars these hard times?" "Then, for heaven's sake, father, what am I to do?" "Don't know, Joe-none of my business-hard work enough for me to get a living these days; lost five hundred last week by the failure of Sam Slump-fool enough to take his note without any collateral. Mind, Joe, never take a note without good collateral."

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That's neither here nor there, father; will you let me have the money?"

"Can't think of such a thing-twenty thousand dollars! ugh, ugh! Bless my wits! couldn't do it to save my life.'

"Then I shall go mad, or hang myself!" said Joe, with an air of desperation; and, striking his fist upon the table at these words, he rushed out of the house.

Next day Joe did not appear, whereat his loving father was heard to utter an ejaculation of surprise, as he learned the fact while casting the interest on a mortgage. The day after, he was also absent, which caused the miser to'guess he had gone out of town.' The third day brought him not, and old Boxall 'wondered what had become of him.' Finally, a week passed, and no tidings of the young gentleman were obtained, when the fatherly and affectionate old creature declared that he shouldn't wonder if something had happened to him.' Time passed on: old Boxall made bargains, took mortgages, and did notes, but, for aught that could be perceived, never troubled his head with the question whether his son was in the land of the living.

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One morning just as he had stepped out of his door, he met his neighbor, Mr. Lemon, the grocer, who greeted him with a very uncommon stare. It hardly attracted his notice, but the next moment came round the corner Mr. Clack, the auctioneer, of Kilby street. This gentleman gave an extraordinary twitch of the head, and looked Mr. Boxall full in the face for at least three seconds. He was wondering what this could mean as he got into Congress street, where he came suddenly upon Pickins, the stock broker, who appeared so struck at the sight of him that he stopped short and looked at him leisurely from head to foot. Passing by Mr. Pickins, he emerged into State street, where he encountered Alderman Tubbs and Major Swallowmore. These worthies directed their eyes simultaneously toward Mr. Boxall with such earnestness that he began to feel quite alarmed. His alarm increased when he saw Deacon Slouch and Colonel Coppernose coming down the street directly toward him with uncommonly knowing looks. He made a bolt round the corner of the old State House, but met others in his way who stared and stared. Every body looked cannon balls at him, till the unfortunate man, after running up and down street for a quarter of an hour, and finding himself the observed of all observers, actually put his hand up to his face in a terrible fright lest he should find his nose had dropped off. Nothing less, he thought, could have made him the object of all these mysterious starings. But, as far as his fingers could ascertain, no part of that prominent feature was lacking, and Mr. Boxall, in great amazement, rushed into the Tornado Insurance Office. Here his eye lighted upon the following paragraph. he took up a newspaper to calm his agitated thoughts, when

MUNIFICENT BEQUEST.

We are gratified to learn that a donation of Fifty Dollars has been made by Benjamin Boxall Esq. of this city, to the Patch and Heeltap Charitable Society. The generous donor is entitled to the grateful thanks of the community," &c. &c.

Here was the mystery solved in an instant! That old Boxall should give away fifty dollars was surely enough to make all Boston stare: and Mr. Boxall himself had a sort of awkward consciousness that the thing was a phenomenon. "But how," quoth he to himself, "could the printer have made such a mistake?"-He ran straightway to Mrs. Fidgett, First Directress of the Patch and Heeltap.

"What a mistake they have made!" he exclaimed. "No mistake, I hope," she replied. "The boy's distracted! Twenty thousand dollars! Oh! out economically, and the accounts will all appear in the next "The money is laid he's certainly distracted." semi-annual report."

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Why, what do you mean?" said Mr. Boxall, “do you think that I"—

"Oh, Mr. Boxall, don't mention it sure we are much obliged to you for such an act of generosity; and I'm certain you will have your reward. I wish you could see the dear little ragged children!-Won't you go with me and pay them a visit ?"

"Thank ye, ma'am, no," exclaimed Mr. Boxall, in considerable trepidation at the thought of having a real demand made upon his charity. And with these words he abruptly made his escape, muttering to himself—" Mistake or not, 'tis their affair and not mine."

It was about a week afterward, and Mr. Boxall had quite forgotten the affair, when he happened to be passing down Winter street, and was accosted by Doctor Worrywell, the Recording Socretary for the Civilization of Heathen and Representatives. The Doctor caught Mr. Boxall by the hand, with a look of the most grateful and respectful deference. "Mr. Boxall, I feel highly gratified at what the papers say this morning, but really I hope you will remember us the next time!"

Really, Doctor, I don't understand you."

"Oho! Mr. Boxall, you are one of those noble souls who 'do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.' Well, I like that. Five hundred dollars, to be sure, is nothing to a man of your money; and if you should have another five hundred to spare -mark-I only say if you should—I think without any selfconceit or egotistical exaggeration, that our society should at least come next to the Bachelor's Orphan."

Mr. Boxall, in great amazement stood looking in the Doctor's face during this incomprehensible harangue, which the speaker finished by drawing a newspaper from his pocket, and exclaiming, "See how neatly they 've set you out for it."Mr. Boxall could hardly believe his eyes when he read as

follows:

"GENEROUS DONATION.

"It gives us the most heart-felt pleasure to be able to inform our readers that Benjamin Boxall, Esq., who no longer ago than last week made the liberal donation of fifty dollars to one of the charitable societies in this city, has this week presented the generous sum of five hundred dollars to the funds of that praiseworthy institution the 'Asylum for Bachelor's Orphans,' etc,, etc.,"

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followed by the regular set phrases of laudation whica always do duty when a rich man gives away a few litte bits of paper. How in the name of nature!" exclaimed old Boxall in utter amazement. "How in the name of nature could they?" "Ah! how could they find it out?" echoed the Doctor, with a knowing chuckle. "But they can find such things out, and they will find them out. There's no help for it.

Mr. Boxall got rid of the Doctor as well as he could, and made his way home, where he wrote instantly a note to the President of the Bachelor's Orphan Association, demanding an explanation. His increased astonishment can only be imagined at receiving an answer from that high functionary, thanking him in the politest manner for his liberal donation, and regretting most profoundly that any publicity should have been given to the affair. "But since the newspapers have got hold of it," he added, "Mr. Boxall must, notwithstanding his modesty, reconcile himself to the circumstance of seeing his noble deeds blazoned before the eyes of a grateful world," &c. &c. &c.

Nothing could surpass the perplexity of Mr. Boxall at these singular proceedings. People up and down town were talking of them too, as if they were matters of public notoriety. "Am I awake or asleep?" said he to himself:-and then he called to mind that he had been known to walk in his sleep! Merciful powers!" he exclaimed-"have I really given away all this money in my sleep?"

as he thought of this veracious narrative. "It is too true!" he exclaimed, "I certainly do walk in my sleep: it runs in the family; 'tis a hereditary disease. I must send for the doctor and get cured."

Two or three days pondering upon the matter somewhat reconciled him to the loss of five hundred and fifty dollars: for he had dismal suspicions that the money was gone. Alas! on the fourth day, he received official information that he had presented the enormous sum of One Thousand Dollars to the fund for the Lazybone Lectures! His horror and despair at this news had not half subsided when a special committee waited upon him with a vote of thanks for the splendid bequest of Five Thousand Dollars to the Society for the Diffusion of Useless Knowledge! Mr. Boxall fell down in a swoon at this honor; and when brought to himself, vowed he was an incurable sleep-walker, and ruined for ever.

It is needless to describe other acts of princely generosity, the honors of which came thick and fast upon him. At last one morning while reading the newspaper, after breakfast, he was observed suddenly to drop the sheet on the floor, clasp his hands together, and roll up his eyes with a look of utter despair. The servant picked up the paper and read the fol lowing article among the advertisements:

"INFORMATION WANTED.

Whereas, my son Joseph Boxall, left his home on the first day of April last, and has not since been heard of, I hereby offer a reward of Twenty Thousand Dollars to any person who will return him to me, or give such intelligence as will lead to his discovery. BENJAMIN BOXALL.

"No. 9 Squeezebone Alley, Boston."

This was a thunderstroke! Twenty thousand dollars-and he must pay it, for he had certainly done all this in his sleep, and could not get clear of the obligation. 'Twould be of no avail to say that he never made the promise with his eyes openfor who would believe him? Besides, every body knew him to be his only son, and though he did not value him at twenty thousand dollars, every body would say he ought to value him as high as this: public opinion would force him to pay it. Such were the comfortable reflections of old Boxall, as he cup of calamities. brooded over this brimming addition to his There was indeed one consoling possibility:-dared he name it to himself?-his son might be dead!

Whether the worthy old gentleman really did console him self with the hope, I will not pretend to say. He certainly did think of it, and just as he was most deeply in thought, he heard a voice of some one coming up the stairs, exclaiming, "I've found him! I've found him! here he is!" Old Boxall gave a most tremendous jump upon his heels at this sound-but whether from joy, surprise, or despair I will not pretend to judge. The door flew open, and a young lady entered, leading Mr. "Here is your lost child, Mr. Joseph Boxall by the hand. Boxall," she exclaimed, "'tis I who have found him. Heaven be praised for his safe return!"

The old miser stood aghast, but Joe understood his part, and threw himself at his father's knees. The young lady wept. She was handsome and interesting, so that Joe could not help What was strange, they seemed to know each weeping too. other's way well-they sympathized so naturally! Two such interesting persons could not help melting the heart of the old miser, albeit unused to the melting mood: he actually rubbed However, we must bear in mind he was a father. his eyes. The truth is, he was taken by surprise, and either did feel moved, or could not avoid appearing so.

"And now for the reward!" said the lady, with a look of as much innocence as if she had no hand in the plot. "Ugh! ugh!" exclaimed old Boxall-" what the, twen-really you don't mean"

-I'll swear

"Honor bright, Mr. Boxall, I did find him.” "Yes she did," echoed Joe, "she did find meto it. There's no getting off."

"What, twenty thousand dollars! What a monstrous sum! only think. Really, I am very thankful to you, young lady, for restoring me my son-but twenty thousand dollars-consider

"Loss!" exclaimed his son. "Now I've just thought of a way to save the whole of it!"

A train of the most startling thoughts now rushed through his brain as he called to mind all the fearful anecdotes of sleepwalking, which he had read in the newspapers. Such strange things as people had been known to do in their sleep! story too, came to his memory, which he had heard from his aunt-what a loss for me!" Judy Keturah, a maiden lady of unimpeachable veracity, how she got up in her sleep one Sunday night in the middle of January, and did all her washing-eighteen pair of sheets, four table cloths, twenty-seven shirts, nineteen pair of stockings, not to mention handkerchiefs, towels, caps, &c. without number-and went to bed again without once opening her eyes! Nothing could exceed the alarm which fell upon Mr. Boxall

"How!" cried old Boxall eagerly, and his eyes sparkling at the thought of saving twenty thousand dollars. Suppose I marry the lady, and then the money won't go out of the family!"

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The old man looked hard at his son, as if struck with the

ingenuity of the thought. He then looked at the young lady, who was blushing like sunset. "It's worth saving,' said he; "and if a bargain could be made on fair terms, considering that the demand"

"Prithee, father," said Joe," only hand me over the money, and I'll agree to quiet the claimant."

"Well, there it is; but won't she discount something?" "Yes-with my note of hand, and myself as collateral." I have only to add that the wedding followed as soon as possible, and Mr. Boxall paid over the twenty thousand with some grumbling. However, they all insisted it was as good as saved, and I imagine the old miser half thought so.Whether he ever found out the trick which the young couple practiced upon him with the newspapers and the societies, I cannot say. But he has not been known to walk in his sleep since, much less to give away money.

THE SECRET.

FROM THE FRENCH OF PAUL DE KOCK.

NATHALIE DE HAUTEVILLE was twenty-two years old, and had been a widow for three years. Nathalie was one of the prettiest women in Paris; her large dark eyes shone with remarkable brilliancy, and she united the sparkling vivacity of an Italian, and the depth of feeling of a Spaniard, to the grace which always distinguishes a Parisian born and bred. Married at eighteen to a man of three times her own age, Nathalie only thought of the delight of having so many new dresses, of carrying a bouquet of orange flowers, and of hearing herself called Mrs. M. de Hauteville was richhe loaded his young bride with presents-but a year had scarcely elapsed in this manner, when he was carried off by a short illness, leaving Nathalie a widow !

Her grief for the good man was sincere and strong. But in youth sorrow does not last long; and Nathalie, considering herself too young to live entirely alone, invited M. d'Ablaincourt, an old uncle of hers, to come and live with her.

M. d'Ablaincourt was an old bachelor; he had never loved any thing in this world but himself; he was an egotist, too lazy to do any one an ill turn, but at the same time too selfish to do any one a kindness, unless it would tend directly to his own advantage. And yet, with an air of complaisance, as if he desired nothing so much as the comfort of those around him, he consented to his niece's proposal, in the hope that she would do many little kind offices for him, which would add materially to his comfort.

M. d'Ablaincourt accompanied his niece when she mixed in the gay world; but, sometimes, when he felt inclined to stay at home, he would say to her-"My dear Nathalie, I am afraid you will not be much amused this evening. They will only play cards; besides, I do not think any of your friends will be there. Of course, I am ready to take you, if you wish to go. You know I have no wish but to please you.' And Nathalie, who had great confidence in all her uncle said, was easily persuaded to stay at home, saying-" Well, I believe you are right."

In the same manner, M. d'Ablaincourt, who was a great gourmand, said to his niece-" My dear, you know that I am not at all fond of eating, and am satisfied with the simplest fare; but I must tell you that your cooks put too much salt in every thing! It is very unwholesome; and the dishes are never well arranged on your table. The other day, we had six people to dinner, and the spinage was very badly dressed. What will people say of your housekeeping, when they perceive such things ?"

"You are right, uncle, and I wish you would be so good as to look out for a good cook for me. I am very much obliged to you for reminding me of these little things which escape my notice."

The cook who dressed the spinage was sent away, and replaced by another, who knew how to prepare the good dishes in which the uncle took so much delight.

Again, the garden was out of order; the trees before the old gentleman's window must be cut down, because their shade would doubtless cause a dampness in the house, prejudicial to Nathalie's health; or the caléche was to be changed

for a landau.

Nathalie was a coquette; accustomed to charm, she listened with smiles to the numerous protestations of admiration which she received. She sent all who aspired to her hand to her uncle, saying-" Before I give you any hope I must know my uncle's opinion."

It is likely Nathalie would have answered differently if she had ever felt a real preference for any one; but heretofore she seemed to have preferred her liberty.

The old uncle, for his part, being now master in his niece's house, was very anxious for her to remain as she was. A nephew might be somewhat less submissive than Nathalie. Therefore, he never failed to discover some great fault in each of those who sought an alliance with the pretty widow. Besides his egotism and his epicurism, the dear uncle had another passion-it was for backgammon. This game amused him very much; but the difficulty was, to find any one to play with. If, by accident, any of Nathalie's visiters understood it, there was no escape from a long siege with the old gentleman; but most people preferred cards.

In order to please her uncle, Nathalie tried to learn this game; but it was almost impossible. She could not give her attention to one thing for so long a time. Her uncle scolded; and Nathalie throwing down the dice, cried out-" Really, uncle, I never shall learn that game."

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"So much the worse," replied M. d'Ablaincourt, “as it was only for your own amusement that I wished to teach it to you.' Things were at this crisis when, at a ball, one evening, Nathalie was introduced to a M. d'Apremont, a captain in the navy.

Nathalie raised her eyes, expecting to see a great sailor, with a wooden leg, and a bandage over one eye; when, to her great surprise, she beheld a man of about thirty, tall and fine ly formed, with two legs and two eyes.

Armand d'Apremont had entered the navy at a very early age, and had arrived, although very young, to the dignity of a captain. He had amassed a large fortune, in addition to his patrimonial estates, and he had now come home to rest after his labors. As yet, however, he was a single man, and, moreover, had always laughed at love.

But when he saw Nathalie, his opinions underwent a change. He inquired-"Who is that pretty woman who dances so well?" "That is Madame de Hauteville. Is she not handsome, captain ?"

"Oh, yes-she is perfect."

"Yes, and she has as many graces of mind as of body. Ask her to dance the next set, and you will find I am right." "Ah! but I do not dance."

And for the first time in his life he regretted that he had never learnt to dance; but he kept his eyes constantly fixed on Nathalie.

Nathalie perceived this, although she pretended not to take any notice of him. "What fun it would be," said she, "to make that man fall in love with me; him who hardly ever speaks to a lady."

His attentions to the young widow soon became a subject of general conversation, and several of his friends said to d'Apremont-"Madame de Hauteville is a coquette. She will amuse herself with you for a while, and then cast you off."

At last, the report of Nathalie's new conquest reached the ears of M. d'Ablaincourt, and, one evening, when Nathalie mentioned to her uncle that she expected the captain to spend the evening with her, the old man grew almost angry. "Nathalie," said he, "you act entirely without consulting me. I have heard that the captain is very rude and unpolished in his manners. standing behind your chair; but he has never asked me afTo be sure, I have only seen him ter my health. I only speak for your interest, as you are so giddy."

Nathalie begged her uncle's pardon for her inconsiderateness in acting on her own responsibility, and even offered not to receive the captain's visit, if her uncle desired it; but this he forbore to require-secretly resolving not to allow his visits to become too frequent.

But how frail are all human resolutions-overturned by the merest trifle. In this case, the game of backgammon was the unconscious cause of Nathalie's becoming Madame d'Apremont.

the uncle heard this, he proposed a game; and the captain, The captain was an excellent hand at backgammon. When who understood that it was important to gain the uncle's favor, readily acceded.

be occupied with herself. When all the company were gone, This did not please Nathalie. She preferred that he should she turned to her uncle, saying-"You are right, uncle, after all. I do not admire the captain's manners; I see now that I should not have invited him."

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