ravine; he could not divest himself of the hope that they might have taken shelter in some shepherd's hut—that they had somehow been preserved to him!-he would not believe they were dead; to him, however, it was reserved to find them, and witness with his own eyes the full extent of his punishment. He had followed an abrupt descent, and came suddenly where the rock had taken the shape of a level platform, the mass of snow half melted overhung it so as to form a sort of canopy over the spot where the Graff's young sons had been smothered in its drifting heaps; now it had fallen away from around them, leaving the bodies exposed to view; and there, as on a snow-white couch, these gentle martyrs lay—a most triumphant smile brightening their pale lips closed in death, and clasped in each other's arms. With one deep groan the Graff sunk senseless by their side-there he was found by the peasants whom he had sent out on their fruitless search. As soon as he had recovered they conveyed him at his own request down to the monastery at Innspruck, where his sons had dwelt; the superior did not refuse to receive the penitent and broken-hearted man, whose first act was to confess to him all the sins of which he had been guilty. It was the Graff's own desire that he should be delivered up to justice; but a higher judgment forestalled that of the law, and death removed him before he had undergone his trial. He bequeathed to the monastery all his worldly goods and possessions whatever they might be, and died bitterly lamenting his sinful life.

The superior of the convent, when we saw him arrive in the Neustadt, had just returned from the ruined castle, whence he had brought the remaining treasures of the unhappy Graff L--

THOUGHTS ON THE SEA.

I WATCHED the ocean rolling in its might,-
Wave after wave came foaming to the land,
And as they thundered on the pebbly strand,
Burst into glistening clouds of silvery white;
While the blue wave retreating o'er the sand,
And shining pebbles, passing from my sight,
As from a distance murmuring with delight,
Sent forth the voices of a numerous band.
The thought came o'er me, thus the sons of men,
As one by one they reach the happy shore,
Melt into clouds of light; and as they rise,
Hear the glad welcome sound from Paradise:
While the world changes not, but, as before,
Wave after wave comes rolling on again.

C. T.

33

MY AUNT NELLY'S PORTFOLIO.

(Continued from Vol. IX. page 282.)

con

LITTLE Septima's offering to the Vase, although written in a hand fair and flowing, was quickly detected by reason of some excursive strokes which here and there showed that the little guided hand had grown weary of its task. Of course, being her's, it was greeted with louder plaudits than all the rest--a spiracy against the simplicity of childhood, by the by, in which we are all too apt to take part; and already, to borrow one of George's slang phrases, the little lady is far from "thinking small-beer of herself." The manuscript in question opens with some sentences of prose, far more flowery than the verse to which they are the prelude: for example

It was on one of those faultless days which happen to old England about two or three times in the course of the year, that little Septima was taking a walk in her mamma's garden-or more properly a ride-for she was mounted on her brother Samuel's shoulders. The wind, the little there was of it, blew dry and bland, and brought with it the perfume of flowers. The earth was neither gaping by reason of long drought, nor saturated by endless rain; while the fountain of so much beauty and happiness-the sun had his brightness tempered by a veil so transparent as to defy the most skilful loom of Brussels or Honiton to produce its like. One would say, if one might be so fanciful, that it was one of his gala days when he declares himself "at home" to all creation, opens wide his golden portals, and greets every fresh arrival with the most gracious and unaffected cordiality, making no invidious distinctions between her Majesty the Rose, the Queenlily, the Crown imperial, and his own faithful retainer, the

"Wee modest crimson-tipped flower"

of the rustic bard. No wonder if his visitors, those of the floral tribes especially, seemed proud of his notice, met his overtures with grateful recognition, and opened to him their breasts without reserve. I said the floral tribes, but O what could come up to the extasies of the sky-lark as he pursued his way along the Presencechamber, even to the steps of the throne, as if nothing less would satisfy him than to dip his speckled breast in the fountain of light? Up, up he goes, the sweet bright good-tempered creature, well meriting the compliments that have been paid him, (which first and last, are not a few,) from the majestic bard who calls him

VOL. X.

"The bird that

Singing, up to Heaven gate ascends,"

D

even to George who describes him as "a fine hearty chap." So as I was saying, up he went winging springing, trilling thrilling, till Septima's little frame, catching the joyous infection, would certainly have tried to follow him had not her brother tightened his hold on her frock.

“You would like to be a sky-lark, would you, Septy ?"

"O yes, I ike to be a bird-let me let me !"

This bon-mot was treasured among the brilliant things for which the youngest in every family is noted; and which are sure to be repeated, praised, and commented upon in the hearing of the poor little bodies, till their sole grace, unconsciousness in the speaker, is utterly destroyed. Such applauders little reck the mischief, the lasting mischief they are doing; they dream not how subtle is the poison of flattery, and into how very small ears "the leperous distilment" will find its way, corrupting the source of all moral healthfulness.

I could say much more on this subject. One day I may perhaps pursue it, but just now it is right that I should redeem my promise to forward

SEPTIMA'S CHOICE; OR, LOOK AT BOTH SIDES.

(To the tune of "The Pope he leads a happy life.")

The cat she leads a happy life

She asks not spoon, nor fork, nor knife,
But licks the plate, and laps the cream-

How happy does the cat's life seem!

And yet I could not, for all that,
Methinks, consent to be a cat,
For whatsoever ill is wrought
The cat is sure to have the fault.

Why then I'd rather be a dog,
With lots of fun and sport and prog;
To course the hill, enjoy the course,
And nab my prey by fraud or force.

On second thoughts I'm half afraid
His labours are but ill repaid,
When having run himself quite lame,
He mayn't so much as taste the game.

A horse's life would suit me best;
He seems of quadrupeds most blest;
In winter hous'd, in summer grazed,
Groom'd, pamper'd, patted, petted, prais'd.

But is it always thus? O no,

Sometimes 'tis but a word and blow;

Hard work, hard fare-so then I see
The horse's life is not for me.

Why then I think I'll be a bird-
Ah yes, that's much to be preferr'd;
To skim, to fly, to mount, to soar
To heights I never reach'd before!

It must be, I confess, allow'd,
The height of which the bird's so proud,
Makes him the gunner's surer prey―
To him, then, I'll have naught to say.

Since thus it fares with cat and dog,
And horse and bird, I'll be a hog,
And grunt and grub and munch; and stay
Mid mud and mire the live-long day.

Yet O, methinks, I never could
Consent to lave my limbs in mud;
In mire and sloth my life to spend,
Nor "save my bacon" in the end.

I'd rather be, it strikes me now,
That charming animal a cow,
To wander o'er the gold-cupp'd field,
And butter, scarce less golden, yield.

And so I would-but don't they say
That kine, like swine, have but their day?—
And truly one would quite as lief
Be turned to bacon as to beef.

Well then suppose I'd be a mouse,
Having the range of all the house;
To climb the walls, race o'er the floors,
Nibble the cheese, and taste the stores?

It would no doubt be monstrous nice
To lead the life of cats and mice,
And, were there no such things as traps,
My wishes here would end, perhaps.

Since cares mortality pursue,

Ye moonlight Elves, I'll join with you,
Brushing the pearly dew away
In frolic dance-I'll be a fay.

Yet pause awhile-it hath been said

Elves hold all holy things in dread

Shrink from the light, and start with fear
At the glad voice of Chanticleer.

And is it thus? Then since I know
Each station hath its proper woe,
I think I'd better strive to be
Content with that assign'd to me.

So, Messieurs Cat and Mouse, and Dog,
And Horse, and Bird, and bristly Hog;
And eke thou merry moonlight Elf,
By your good leaves, I'll be-myself.

SEPTIMA.

MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS AT ALEPPO.

THE following most interesting and graphic letter will be perused by our readers with the same satisfaction which we ourselves have experienced :—

My dear C,

Beyroot, 16th Nov., 1850.

I have no doubt that, ere this, some intelligence has reached you of the late émeute and massacre at Aleppo. The following narrative of our late tour in the adjoining district may be interesting to you, as illustrative of the effect which the late disturbances have had upon the Mussulman population of the northern parts of Syria.

Before giving you an account of our own adventures, I will say a few words on the origin of the late outbreak. It appears, then, that the Mohammedans of Aleppo have been in a state of ferment for some time past, owing partly to the conscription, and partly to the growth of fanaticism, excited, it is supposed, by the comparative freedom which the native Christians have enjoyed for the last few years in the exercise of their religious observances. The privileges of toleration granted by the late imperial firman to all Christian sects in the Turkish empire, have been fully claimed and availed of by those of Aleppo, and in some cases have not been exercised with that prudence which, as having been for so many centuries subjected to the galling yoke of Islâm, their peculiar circumstances demanded. The outward display of religious processions and symbols, together with the return of several apostates to the Christian faith, irritated the fanatics of the town, who regarded with jealousy the growing prosperity of the Christians, and the exaltation of the Cross above the crescent. There was some ferment among the Mohammedans, occasioned by those demonstrations, when we passed through Aleppo last year; and the erection of a new Church, then in course of being built, added fresh fuel to the