you say?" exclaimed a rough strained throat, something resembling the combined noise of a blacksmith's bellows and a flintmill; "all gone, eh?"

"Yes, ma'am, all-all is lost to me," replied a female, in tones which would have excited pity in any heart that claimed the smallest acquaintance with humanity.

"So you think that story will do, eh?" continued the first," 'twont though, missus, so you must tramp; I don't keep a house for vagrums, and sich like."

"Indeed, indeed, 'tis true; the villians robbed me of all, and I've walked many, many dreary miles. Oh, but for a piece of bread—a little cold water!—can you deny me this? Indeed, I've not been used to beg."

'Why, that's the way with all you canting creatures-all ladies, forsooth! Where do you come from?"

"Oh, ma'am I'm a wretched girl, yet I was once happy; sorrow has indeed reached me-lost, lost Lucy."

"Ha, I see how it is! Why, you goodfor-nothing!-there, get out of my houseget out, I say!"

"Can you have the cruelty to let me perish? Where-where shall I find compassion, if my own sex refuse it! Oh, remember that mercy-that pity is the attribute of angels."

"Don't talk to me of angels. Out, I say. What, you won't, eh? Here John! Bet! where are you all, you pack of idle vagabonds? Here turn this woman out." "Oh, let me implore your pity-here humbly let me beg

This was too much for our honest tar.-| Entering the kitchen, he beheld a young girl, plainly but neatly dressed, on her knees before an old woman. The tears were running down her pale face, and she seemed fainting with fatigue and grief, while a man grasped one shoulder, a boy the other, and a maid-servant together, were attempting to force her out.

"Yo hoy, what's the matter here?" said the veteran, flinging the man to the opposite side of the room, and giving the boy a trip that laid him sprawling on the other. 'Cowardly rascals! what, grapple with a vessel in distress? And you (turning to the landlady) to stand looking on. Is this a Christian country? For shame, old woman."

"Old woman, forsooth," exclaimed the now doubly exasperated landlady; "old woman, forsooth! What, you takes the part of the young-un, eh? But she shall budge directly."

"I say she shan't, then. Come here, pretty one, and nobody shall harm you while old Will Block can keep the weatherguage."

Well, this is fine treatment, too, in my own house. And you, ye rascallions, who eat my victuals and take my wages, to see it tamely. Lay hold of her, I say."

"Touch her if you dare," says old Will, flourishing his stick, "and I'll—I'll-Ay, that's right, keep off, for if you come across my hawse, blow my wig but I'll cut your cables."

Poor Lucy had got close to his side; but fearing her protector would be injured for his generosity, she entreated him to desist "I am not worthy your notice, sir; I only ask a drop of water, for I am very faint."

"You shall have the best the house affords, while I've a shot in the locker. Go along, old Mother Squeeze-lemon, and get something for the poor child; don't you see she's all becalmed!"

"What give my property to vagrums and wenches-not I indeed. Will you pay the reckoning?"

"Avast, old Grampus! think of this here when you stands at another bar, and the last great reckoning comes-how will you look then? This will stand a black account against you, and what will you have to rub it off with, eh? Go, get her a glass of wine."

"And who's to pay? Wine, indeed!get her some water, John," said the now alarmed landlady, for Will's reflection, and the solemn manner in which it was uttered, had begun to operate on her conscience.

"Heave to, you purpoise-faced swabnone of your water; get us some wine, and the best in the house, too, d'ye hear? Why, what's the lubber grinning at? Will this satisfy you, ye old she-shark? (thrusting his hand into his jacket-pocket, and drawing it out again, filled with gold)-Will this satisfy you?"

The landlady's countenance brightened up. "Why, if so be as how you means to pay for it, that's another thing. Well, well, I dare say you're a gentleman, after all.— Come, child," she continued, addressing Lucy, "I'm sorry I was so harsh, but it's only my way. There, run, John, and fetch a bottle of my best wine, and some of those nice sweet cakes. Stop, John, stop, I'll go myself for the poor dear."

"Ha, ha, ha! what a generous heart," cried Will; "how readily it expands at the voice of distress (shaking his pocket).— Here's the key will unlock the flood-gate of her benevolence at any time (holding up a

What, the daughter of old B- that was in the Venerable as first lieutenant?" "Yes, I am indeed his wretched daughter."

"Zounds!" exclaimed Will," and has Tom dared-but don't be frightened. And so you have deserted your home and my poor old friend?”

"Spare me, sir, spare me; if my father was indeed your friend, oh, succour his erring child."

"Well, well, my upper works get crazy now-hardly able to weather the storm.But the villian that would betray innocence, and then abandon his victimzounds! but come, come along."

I thought of going to the admiral's, sir."

"To be sure, to be sure; we'll be under weigh in a minute.”

"Yet, sir, perhaps he will not see me, or it may be injurious to his interests; and, oh, I would willingly die to serve him, for he has a feeling heart."

"A what! a feeling heart! Why are you here, then? But come along, sweetheart;" and discharging the reckoning, they set off in company.

Of all the eccentric beings in this eccentric world, old Admiral M- was the most eccentric. He had risen, solely by merit, from the station of cabin-boy to vice-admiral, and it was ever his boast that he had never skulked in great men's pockets, nor been afraid to dip his hands in a tar bucket. "I came in at the hawse-holes," he would say, "and didn't creep in at the cabin-windows." He had been known to absent himself from home for weeks together, and no one could tell where he went, or what had become of him, till his repeated acts of generous bounty discovered the track he had taken. He would frequently return home without previous notice, enter the house unobserved, ring his bell, and order refreshments, as if he had never quitted it. Not an old sailor that ever sailed with him but was welcome to partake of his cheer; and those who had been his messmates previous to his mounting the uniform (if of good character, but not so successful as himself,) always sat at his own table. Possessed of an immense fortune, which he was accustomed to say was drawn from the Spanish Stocks, yet without children, for he was a bachelor, he had adopted his nephew, determined to leave him the bulk of his property.

The young man, who really was naturally of an amiable disposition, on this accession to his uncle's favor, associated with some of the dashing characters of the day, and became tinctured with their vice and their follies. He had been introduced to the family of Lieutenant B by a brother officer, when that acquaintance which terminated so sadly for poor Lucy was formed. Yet he passionately loved her; but fearing the condemnation of the admiral, and the loss of his patronage, he had withdrawn himself from Exeter, without even bidding her farewell, choosing rather to immure himself from the world, than break the oath he had pledged to Lucy, or disoblige his uncle by marrying without his consent, knowing that the old gentleman was ambitious for his nephew to look for a wife agreeable to the high prospects in view before him, and equally convinced that to

thwart his inclinations would but annihilate all his hopes, and cast him adrift upon the world. Such was the state of affairs when Lucy left her home to endeavor to gain an interview with her lover, and fell in with old Will, who, in early life, according to his own account, had sailed with the admiral, and was now going to pay him a visit, and see some of his old messmates, of whom the principal part of the household was composed. She had been plundered by some villians of all she possessed, at daybreak, but still continued her journey, till, worn with hunger, and faint with fatigue, she entered the inn and implored assistance.

The shades of evening fell on the landscape as they passed under the avenue of trees that led to Grove House. Will having promised to exert himself in obtaining an interview with Mr. M― and his convoy, left her at a short distance, and proceeded || onward. Almost overpowered by her reflections, and every pulse throbbing violently with agitation, she leaned against the trunk of a tree, expecting to see the being whom, next to Heaven, she loved most tenderly. It was now too dark to distinguish || objects, but she could hear footsteps approaching, and she sunk without sense or motion to the ground. On recovery, she found herself sitting on a couch in a small room, and the old housekeeper, with other females, sedulously administering to her necessity. Her eye glanced wildly for another object, while the old lady strove to soothe her mind; informing her that it was herself who had discovered her in the avenue, at the request of old Will. Refreshments were furnished, of which Lucy partook sparingly, desirous of knowing, yet trembling to ask, whether Mr. M- -was in the house, or who had seen the worthy veteran, her kind conductor.

"Pray, sir," said the admiral, entering the room, abruptly, and addressing his nephew, "pray, sir, what does that man deserve who robs a friend of his dearest treaure-who, stealing into the confidence of a young and artless girl, under the flag of affection, turns pirate, and plunders his prize with remorseless cruelty?"

The young man sat petrified, for these questions were precisely accordant to his own feelings previous to the entrance of his uncle.

"Answer me!" exclaimed the admiral, raising his voice, "answer me directly." "I cannot, sir, I am too deeply sensible

of error.

"Or what does he merit," continued the

admiral, "who, contrary to the views of a relative that has raised him to opulence, first contracted himself to a young female, and then deserted her ?"

Infamy, infamy, and disgrace!" exclaimed the agonized nephew; "I feel it all-all, and shudder!"

"You have judged right, sir; your acquaintance with the poor distressed child of Lieutenant B I have just received information of, and your own lips have condemned you."

"Not so much as my heart, sir," replied his nephew. "Pass what sentence you please, but, oh, suffer me to expatiate my fault-do not drive me to desperation."

""Tis well, sir, you are convinced of your error;" and ringing a bell violently, a servant appeared. "Order Mr. M's horse to the door." Then turning to the young man-"This is no longer a home for you; however, you shall have the satisfaction of facing your accuser;" and again ringing the bell, directed another servant to introduce the stranger.

No culprit ever stood more agitated than M-, while these orders were given; he fixed his eyes upon the door in anxious expectation. But what were his feelingswhat his agony, when Lucy herself appeared? He would have rushed towards her, but his uncle caught his arm, and in a voice that made the poor girl tremble, said, "No, sir ; would you again coil like a snake about your victim? Would you once more sting a bosom whose only fault was loving a villian? Go, sir; you have forfeited all pretensions to my favor-you have degraded my name-you have degraced yourself! Go, and let me never see your face again.”

This was too much for poor Lucy; she had expected a private interview with her lover, and imagined, when she had quitted the housekeeper's apartment, 'twas for that purpose the folding-doors of the drawingroom were thrown open, and she found herself in the presence of the admiral. He was habited in an immense cloak, that covered his whole person, with his laced cocked hat upon his head; but the sentence was no sooner pronounced than Lucy knelt before him, imploring mercy. Mat the same moment, threw himself by her side, caught her upraised hand, joined it to his own, and offered his petition with her's. The old admiral dashed the tears from his eyes, and overcome by the scene, grasped their united hands, and blessed them. But who can express the astonishment, the gratitude of Lucy, when, throwing off his cloak and hat, he appeared before her as

her generous benefactor, guide and pròtector Will Block.

SCENERY NEAR TROY, NEW YORK.

The scenery in this neighborhood is exceedingly beautiful. The junction of the Mohawk and Hudson, the falls of the Cohocs, the gay and elegant town of Troy, Albany in the distance, and a foreground of the finest mixture of the elements of landscape, compose a gratification to the eye equalled by few other spots in this country.

Think," says one of our noblest and best writers, speaking of a similar scene-"think of the country for which the Indians fought! Who can blame them? As the river chieftains, the lords of the waterfalls and the mountains, ranged this lovely valley, can it be wondered at that they beheld with bitterness the forest disappearing beneath the settler's axe-the fishing place disturbed by his saw mills? Can we not fancy the feelings with which some strong-minded savage, who should have ascended the summit of the mountain in company with a friendly settler, contemplating the progress already made by the white man, and marking the gigantic strides with which he was advancing into the wilderness, should fold his arms and say, "White man, there is eternal war between me and thee! I quit not the land of my fathers but with my life! In those woods where I bent my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer; over yonder waters I will still glide unrestrained in my bark canoe. By those dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's food; on these fertile meadows I will still plant my corn. Stranger, the land is mine! I understand not these paper rights; I give not my consent when, as thou sayest, those broad regions were purchased for a few baubles of my fathers They could sell what was theirs; they could sell no more. How could my father sell that which the Great Spirit sent me into the world to live upon? They knew not what they did. The stranger came, a timid suppliant, few and feeble, and asked to lie down on the red man's bearskin, and warm himself at the red man's fire, and have a little piece of land to raise corn for his women and children; and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says, It is mine. Stranger, there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not made us to live together. There is poison in the white man's cup; the white man's dog barks at the red man's heels. If

I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among the groves of the Pequots ? Shall I wander to the west? the fierce Mohawk-the man-eater-is my foe. Shall I fly to the east ?-the great waters is before me. No, stranger, here have I lived, and here will I die! and if here thou abidest, there is eternal war between me and thee! Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction, for that alone I thank thee; and now take heed to thy steps; the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day, my bullet shall whistle by thee; when thou liest down at night, my knife is at thy throat. The noon-day sun shall not discover thy enemy, and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood! thou shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with ashes! thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will follow after with the scalpingknife! thou shalt build, and I will burn, till the white man or the Indian shall cease from the land. Go thy way for this time in safety, but remember, stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee !"

As the same writer afterwards observes, the Pilgrim Fathers "purchased the land of those who claimed it, and paid for it—often, more than once. They purchased it for a consideration, trifling to the European, but valuable to the Indian. There is no overreaching in giving but little for that which, in the hands of the original proprietors, is worth nothing."

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.

It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a long absence from my native village, I stood beside the sacred mound beneath which I had seen her buried. Since that mournful period, a great change had come over me. My childish years had passed away, and with them my youthful character. The world was altered too; and, as I stood by her grave, I could hardly realize that I was the same thoughtless, happy creature, whose cheeks she had so often kissed. But the varied events of thirteen years had not effaced the remembrance of that mother's smile. It seemed as if I had seen her yesterday—as if the blessed sound of her voice was then in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and childhood were brought back, so distinctly, to my mind, that, had it not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have been gentle and refreshing. The circumstance may seem a trifling one, but the

thought of it even now agonizes my heart, and I here relate it, in order that those children who have parents that love them may learn to value them as they ought.

My mother had been ill a long time, and I had become so accustomed to her pale face and her weak voice, that I was not frightened at them as children usually are. At first, it is true, I sobbed violently, for they told me she would die; but, when day after day I returned from school and found her the same, I began to believe she would always be spared to me.

9

One day, when I had lost my place in the class, and done my work wrong side outward, I came home discouraged and fretful. I went into my mother's chamber. She was paler than usual, but she met me with the same affectionate smile that always welcomed my return. Alas! when I look through the lapse of thirteen years, I think my heart must have been stone, not to have been melted by it. She requested me to go down stairs and bring her a glass of water. I pettishly asked her why she did not call a servant to do it. With a look of mild reproach which I shall never forget, if I live to be a hundred years old, she said, "And will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor sick mother?"

I went and brought her the water; but I did not do it kindly. Instead of smiling and kissing her, as I was wont to do, I sat the glass down in haste, and left the room. After playing a short time, I went to bed without bidding my mother good night; but when alone in my room, in darkness and silence, I remembered how pale she looked, and her low voice trembled when she said, "Will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor sick mother?" I could not sleep, and I stole into her chamber to ask forgiveness. She had sunk into a slumber, and they told me I must not waken her. I did not tell any one what troubled me, but stole back to my bed, resolved to rise early in the morning and tell her how sorry I was fot my conduct.

The sun was shining bright when I awoke, and, hurrying on my clothes, I hastened to my mother's room. But she, alas! was dead. She never spoke to me more never smiled upon me again; and, when I touched the hand that used to rest upon my head in blessing, it was so cold that it made me start. I knelt down by her side, and sobbed in the bitterness of my heart. I wished that I could die and be buried with her; and, old as I now am, I would give worlds, were they mine to give, could my mother have lived to tell me she forgave my

childish ingratitude. But I cannot call her back; and when I stand by her grave, and whenever I think of her manifold kindness, the memory of that reproachful look she gave me will "bite like a serpent and sting like an adder."

ON THE IMPORTANCE OF ORDER. "Order may be defined a regular and systematic mode of operation in government and dicipline-an adherence to fixed principles. It may also include a convenient arrangement of things in a just and natural manner, in order to illustrate a subject or facilitate practical operations.”

The great importance of it may seem from the saving of time, that most precious of all commodities. Who has not witnessed the despatch with which an orderly housekeeper arranges her domestic concerns; a well trained merchant his accounts; and with what ease an efficient postmaster disposes of the mails? What would be the consequence if in such an office as New-York, the letters and papers were thrown indiscriminately together?— The great delay occasioned by such a course would produce vexation, disappointment, and perhaps ruin, to thousands. The merchant must assign his goods as well as papers to their proper places, that whatever is called for may be produced without delay. Contrast this with the man who would tumble his silks, muslins, ribbons, calicoes and shoes into a heap, and the great advantages of order will at once appear.

It contributes greatly to our happiness, and the enjoyment of the good things of this life. The methodical farmer arranges his business with care, acquaints his servants with his designs, and with the break of day they are prepared to carry them into operation. No delay is occasioned from the necessity of hunting for lost tools, or repairing injuries caused by neglect. He commences his labor cheerfully, for he has the day free before him, while he who pursues a haphazardous course, has the half-finished work of yesterday dragging at his heels. Let us visit the house of the man of system (for we will suppose him to have been judicious in the choice of his wife.) His house is finished, and just large enough for convenience. No suit of useless apartments to be furnished and kept in order; but every room is designed for use, and the furniture properly and conveniently arranged. How peaceably and quietly are all the affairs of the family conducted! The hour for rising and meals, all understand, and