the moonlight, a great hoary owl soars above your head, shrieking like an evil spirit in the fangs of torment. Such are the terrors I have encountered, and survived.

I have often thought it a peculiar misfortune that, while our noble New England was peopled with witches, who played their cantrips with success, scurrying through the midnight air on broomsticks, racking their victims with sharp pains and pinches, sending the murrain among their cattle, and the rot among their sheep, manufacturing myriads of tormenting horse-flies and musquitoes; in short, practising all the annoying parts of the black art, we should be destitute of those benevolent fairies so common in the East, who never exert their magic powers except in behalf of suffering virtue and benevolence. We have many a lovely river, gliding through scenes of pastoral beauty and luxuriance, but no Undine ever rises from its waters, no Stromkerl or Boy of the Stream ever breathes his music to the flowery banks. Many of our farmers would gladly entertain the "lubberfiend of Milton, the "drudging goblin;" but he comes not at our call, and we must rest satisfied in the knowledge that we have had our witches, and have still our phantom ship, the rival of the Flying Dutchman, lifting its phosphoric masts by night on the ocean off Block Island.

I, who am treading the downhill path of life, have grown somewhat weary and forgetful of the legendary lore which I imbibed with such keen relish in days when I saw the "splendour in the grass, and beauty in the flower;" still I have retained one or two tales firmly believed in the earlier part of the nineteenth century.

THE VERITABLE STORY OF THE WHITE CAT.

Not many years ago, there lived in the fine old village of West New York a handsome young farmer, whom we shall call Tom Ashland, who inherited from his father many an acre of available land, arable, pasturage, and woodland. The success of all his projects, the thrift and industry of the young man, were themes of wonder to his less enterprising or less fortunate neighbours. The old gossips of the vicinity were for a long time at a loss to discover some fault in him; at

length they began to wonder that he did not marry. His aversion to the fair sex was very strange, very singular, very suspicious. A family, consisting of seven old maids, all appeared one Sunday in new caps, to make a dead set at him, but he never looked toward their pew; and although the parson's daughter made a faint on purpose to be carried out of the meeting by young Ashland, he never offered her the least assistance. At length a great discovery was made-it was found he was courting Fanny Heathcote, the prettiest but poorest girl in the parish. Of course the whole town was in an uproar; scandalous stories were circulated about the young lady, and it was openly asserted that her mother, who was bed-ridden for fifteen years, died of infirmity, and was buried privately, was a witch; and it was moreover added (but this was whispered cautiously) that she had bequeathed some of the secrets of her art to her daughter as a legacy. And indeed any one who looked upon the black sparkling eyes of Fanny, or her rosy lips, must have confessed there was a witchery there, the strangest in the world. It was quite wonderful to observe what a sudden interest in the affairs of Ashland was taken by all those worthy fathers of the village, who had marriageable daughters. They would take him by the button when they met him in the street, ask very affectionately after his health, invite him to dinner or to supper according to the time of day, and conclude by throwing out very dark hints about the danger of forming hasty connexions. The parson, whose daughter was on the verge of ancient maidenhood, "felt it his duty to his dear young friend," to advise him to break off immediately with Fanny Heathcote. But the obdurate young man seemed to cling closer to his mistress the more her reputation was assailed; he waited upon her to meeting and to singing school, and even danced with her at the annual assembly ball. All this was matter of triumph to Fanny and an old crone of an aunt, who dwelt in the little cottage which was the sole remaining property of the family of Heathcote. The pretty young maiden, proud of her conquest, waxed capricious and coquettish: like an angler who has hooked a fine trout, she found sport in playing him with the line before she brought him to the bank. Ashland's ardent temper ill brooked this treatment,

he became moody, jealous, and disconsolate; finally, sulky and almost savage. In this mood he was again assailed by advisers, and finding the conduct of his mistress grow daily more and more provoking, he told her that their engagement was at an end-that he would never marry her. Fanny was thunderstruck-she wept, promised, and pleaded, while the old aunt scolded and threatened. All was vain-Ashland had decided, and he abided by his decision.

After this he entirely avoided female society, and lived secluded on his farm. He sought no companionship, and to visitors who forced themselves upon him, he behaved with a rudeness bordering on ferocity. One day as he sat at dinner, the door swung open of itself, and a beautiful white cat entered the room. She approached Ashland, purring, and seeking by her actions to win his caresses; but the rude farmer spurned her from him with his foot. She was not, however, to be repulsed, but continued to solicit his attention. From that time forward the cat never left the presence of Ashland, but followed him everywhere, to the field, to ride, to the stable, to the dining-room. This singular conduct of the animal attracted the attention, first of the female domestics and the labourers on the farm, and then of the whole village, so that in a short time nothing else was talked about. It was the universal opinion that she was a witch, and many hinted that it was Fanny Heathcote, who had taken that shape to persecute her faithless lover. Ashland, however, was warned against using violence, because it was predicted that ill luck would follow him in case he should permit his passion to get the better of his prudence. Tom, we have seen, was a fellow who little liked advice, and the conduct of the white cat at length became so insupport able, that one Friday he resolved to shoot her. As he took down his gun for that purpose, the cat moaned so piteously, and looked up in his face with so human an expression, that he half relented. "Hang ye!" said Tom, menacing her with his foot-"begone! or stay here and have a charge of buckshot in your confounded stubborn head, ye imp of Satan!" The cat stepped toward the door, then returned and lay down on the hearth-rug at full length. Tom levelled his piece and fired-a piercing shriek rang through the room, and the animal rolled on the floor in mortal agony. At

that instant the clock struck twelve. Not long after the door burst open, and in rushed the old aunt of Fanny Heathcote, breathless with exertion, and exclaiming, "You've killed her, you foul thief! My pretty Fanny is breathing her last."

Tom Ashland waited for no more; bareheaded he fled from the house, and took the well-known path to Fanny's cottage. He flew to her bedside, and found her writhing in agony, with the blood streaming from several wounds in her head. The pallor and convulsions of death were already upon her, but she took the hand of Ashland, and said, "Forgive and forget, as I do ; let me have a Christian burial," and expired. Her last wishes were attended to; but to secure her person in the grave, she was laid with her face downward, and a horseshoe nailed upon the coffin lid. Ashland survived her but a few months, during which he moped about his house, rarely taking food, and incessantly muttering strange phrases to himself. He was buried by the side of Fanny, and a plain slab of stone, without any inscription, marks the place of their repose.

A GOOSE OF A WITCH. The other tale is briefer still. In the same village lived an old hag, possessed of the black art, whose name I do not recollect, but whose malevolence seemed to direct itself exclusively against a neighbouring farmer, simply because she was the poorest, and he the richest person in the town. In this she proved herself a thorough radical. At length, the better to carry on her persecutions, she assumed the form of a goose, and followed the poor man everywhere, playing a thousand pranks, to his infinite annoyance. Several times he discharged at her the goodly king's arm, which had once poured its bullets upon Louisburgh

the goose or the witch seemed musketproof. At length to his great delight, the farmer caught the malevolent bird, wrung its neck, spitted it, and began to roast it. No sooner did the goose begin to roast, than the old hag, whose cottage was not far remote, began to utter the most piercing screams, which increased in vehemence as the culinary process proceeded. The few neighbours whom curiosity or kindness called in to the witch's cottage, declared, upon oath, that the skin and flesh of the hag looked precisely as if she had been exposed to

a hot fire, and that she gave up the ghost in great agony, complaining of a dreadful heat and thirst.

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DRESS.

Why do women array themselves in such fantastical dresses and quaint devices-with gold, with silver, with coronets, pendants, bracelets, earrings, chains, guales, rings, pins, spangles, embroideries, shadows, rebatoes, versi-colour ribands, feathers, fans, masks, furs, laces, tiffanies, ruffs, falls, calls, cuffs, damasks, velvets, tassels, golden-cloth, silvertissue, precious stones, stars, flowers, birds, beasts, fishes, crisped locks, wigs, painted faces, bodkins, setting-sticks, cork, whalebone, sweet odours, and whatsoever else Africa, Asia, and America can produce; flaying their faces to produce the fresher complexion of a new skin, and using more time in dressing than Cæsar took in marshalling his army; but that, like cunning falconers, they wish to spread false lures to catch unwary larks, and lead, by their gawdy baits and meretricious charms, the minds of inexperienced youths into the traps of love?"-Burton.

THIS is somewhat of a lengthy interrogation for the daughters of Eve to reply to; but still, "why do women array themselves," except for the abovementioned purpose? Only to think, now, of the manifold snares, dangers, traps, and temptations, we inexperienced youths are exposed to! How is the most cautious and circumspect man on earth to fight his way through this multitudinous conglomeration of devices? If he successfully resists the "pendants, bracelets, earrings, chains," &c., then ten to one but he falls a victim to the 66 ribands, feathers, fans, furs, or laces," and heaven only knows what else beside; for the machinations and resources of female society have become much more complex since the time of Burton: and thus it is, that despite all the quips, and jeers, and sneers, and jokes and witticisms about matrimony, the world still goes steadily and legitimately on, and statistical tables show what they denominate a "progressive increase." What an ingenuous creature is a woman! A man now (we speak not of exquisites or puppies) takes very little more dressing

than a horse. He has only to put on a few plain linen and woollen garments, brush his hair, and tie on his cravat, and he is done-insusceptible of further improvement; and for any personal impression he desires to make, he must trust to fortune, and the features and whiskers nature has given him. But a woman!-it is not in the unsophisticated mind of man to conceive the innumerable adornments she can bring into play to dazzle his senses, confound his judg ment, and lead him into precipitous and not-to-be-retracted declarations. The only wonder-considering the number of males who use tobacco and snuff-is, why the pretty creatures should give themselves such an infinity of trouble. But so it is. They have made up their minds to have nurseries-a whim you cannot put them off; and, indeed, after our author's enumeration of their formidable and multifarious implements of warfare, men may as well submit at once with a good grace, and no longer marvel at Benedict's despairing exclamation"Shall I never look on a bachelor of threescore again?"

NOTES OF A READER.

INDIFFERENCE IN MISFORTUNES.
THERE is a mood of mind, allied to

desperation, with which people are not unfrequently accustomed to mock at them with levity and apparent indiffetheir own misfortunes, as if by treating rence they could lighten their burden, and repulse their assaults. It is the rebound of the temperament, the return of that elasticity of soul, which cannot all be crushed, and which, like the palmtree in Theophrastus, the more it is trodden down, the more vigorously it springs up again. Some instances of this frame of mind may be collected from the annexed quotation :

"There is a well known anecdote of a physician, who, being called in to an unknown patient, found him suffering under the deepest depression of mind, without any discoverable disease, or other assignable cause. The physician advised him to seek for cheerful objects, and recommended him especially to go to the theatre and see a famous actor, then in the meridian of his powers, whose comic talents were unrivalled.

Alas! the comedian, who kept crowded theatres in a roar, was this poor hypochondriac himself! The state of mind in which such men play their part, whether as authors or actors, was confessed in a letter written from Yarmouth jail to the doctor's friend, Miller, by a then well-known performer in this line, George Alexander Stevens. He wrote to describe his distress in prison, and to request that Miller would endeavour to make a small collection for him, some night at a concert; and he told his sad tale sportively. But breaking off that strain he said: 'You may think I can have no sense, that while I am thus wretched I should offer at ridicule ! But, sir, people constituted like me, with a disproportionate levity of spirits, are always most merry when they are most miserable; and quicken like the eyes of the consumptive, which are always brightest the nearer a patient approaches to dissolution.' It is one thing to jest, it is another to be mirthful. Sir Thomas More jested as he ascended the scaffold. In cases of violent death, and especially upon an unjust sentence, this is not surprising; because the sufferer has not been weakened by a wasting malady, and is in a state of high mental excitement and exertion. But even when dissolution comes in the course of nature, there are instances of men who have died with a jest upon their lips. Garci Sanchez de Badajoz, when he was at the point of death desired that he might be dressed in the habit of St. Francis; this was accordingly done, and over his Franciscan frock they put on his habit of Santiago, for he was a knight of that order. It was a point of devotion with him to wear the one dress, a point of honour to wear the other; but looking at himself in this double attire, he said to those who surrounded his death-bed,The Lord will say to me presently, my friend Garci Sanchez, you come very well wrapped up! (muy arrapado!) and I shall reply, Lord, it is no wonder, for it was winter when I set off.' The author who relates this anecdote, remarks that o morrer com graca he muyto bom, e com gracas he muyto mao: the observation is good but untranslatable, because it plays upon the word which means grace as well as wit. The anecdote itself is an example of the ruling humour strong in death;' perhaps also of that pride or vanity, call it which we will, which so often, when mind and body

have not yielded to natural decay, or been broken down by suffering, clings to the last in those whom it has strongly possessed. Don Rodrigo Calderon, whose fall and exemplary contrition served as a favourite topic for the poets of his day, wore a Franciscan habit at his execution, as an outward and visible sign of penitence and humiliation; as he ascended the scaffold, he lifted the skirts of the habit with such an air that his attendant confessor thought it necessary to reprove him for such an instance of ill-timed regard to his appearance. Don Rodrigo excused himself by saying that he had all his life carried himself gracefully!"

TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES.

THERE is nothing new under the sun. We had thought that the temperance doctrines were an emanation of these latter days, but it appears that they also claim a respectable antiquity.

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Temperance Societies are not of so recent a date as is imagined. Maurice, Landgrave of Hesse, was the founder of one towards the end of the fifteenth century, under the title of 'The Order of Temperance.' Several princes and lords became members of this association, the singular statutes of which are still in existence, and show the light in which temperance was held in those days. Each member entered into a formal engagement never to get drunk, and to this end promised that he would never drink more than seven glasses of wine, of a certain fixed measure, at any one meal. He was authorised to take two solid meals in the twenty-four hours, and consequently might drink fourteen glasses of wine a-day, independently of a moderate quantity of beer and other liquors. Brandy, however, was entirely forbidden; and such member of the order as, either from accident or necessity, drank a glass of brandy, was bound to retrench two glasses of his allowance of wine."

CONTENTMENT.

THOUGH I am not of opinion with some wise men, that the existence of objects depends on idea; yet, I am convinced that their appearance is not a little influenced by it. The optics of some minds are so unhappily constructed as to throw a certain shade on every picture that is presented to them; while others, like the mirrors of the ladies, have a wonderful effect in bettering their complexions.