quainted with the important fact. His manner instantaneously convinced her that she had misjudged on this point, and thus the whole train of reasoning by which she had convinced herself that such was the case, fell to the ground.

Mr. Levison went on to state the probabilities that the Delaneys were trying to draw the unsuspicious Denzil into a match with one of their daughters; and Fanny kept up the conversation in the hope of eliciting something which would cast light upon the mysterious conduct of Denzil.

As soon as Mr. Levison had retired, Miss Rachel fixed her eyes affectionately upon her neice, and begged to know the cause of her illness. Fanny's heart was quite subdued by the affectionate tone in Bursting into tears,

which her aunt spoke.

she threw herself on her neck, and in almost inarticulate terms, exclaimed, “I am, indeed, unhappy-very unhappy-and I have no hope of ever being otherwise."

By degrees Rachel drew from her the whole of her secret source of uneasiness.At the disclosure poor Miss Rachel was astonished. She had been heretofore blind to these events which had been passing before her eyes.

"It cannot be, my dear child, it is impossible!" she exclaimed, when Fanny repeated to her the conjectures she had formed, as to Denzil's being married. "How could he have carried on an acquaintance with any one without my finding it out? Recollect, when Charles was stealing out to meet that bold creature, Patty Stevens, and thought|| himself so secret and secure, how soon I found him out! Besides, other things that I could mention, but which there is no need to speak of now." [TO BE CONTINUED.

PRETTY GOOD.-Who is the author of the following we know not. It was found in an old newspaper that looks as if it was printed when Adam was a boy.

Sambo was a slave to a master who was constitutionally addicted to lying. Sambo being strongly devoted to his master, had, by dint of long practice, made himself an adept in giving plausibility to his master's large stories.

One day, when the master was entertaining his guests in his customary manner, among other marvellous facts he related an incident which took place in one of his hunting excursions.

"I fired at a buck," said he, "at a hundred yards distance, and the ball passed through his left hind foot, and through his head just back of his ear."

This, evidently producing some little doubt in the mind of his guests, he called upon Sambo to corroborate it.

Yes, massa," says the almost confounded slave, after a moment's hesitation, "me see de ball hit 'im. Jes as massa lif up de gun to he eye de buck lif up his hin foot to cratch 'm ear,' and massa's ball went clear trough 'im foot an' head at de same time."

The guests were perfectly satisfied with Sambo's explanation, and swallowed the whole without further hesitation; but when the guests were gone, Sambo ventured upon his master's good humor so far as to remonstrance. "For Gor almighty sake, massa, when you tell a nudder such a big lie, don't put um so fur apart; me hab deblish hard work for get um together."

WOMAN.-From the French. When Man is stricken by the shaft of sorrow, He wails his fate;

He wearies friendship's ear, from eve to morrow, With sad debate.

When Woman suffers, beneath beauty's mask
Lurk her anxieties;

Discreet and silent, o'er her usual task
She drops her eyes.

To the deep cell of secret meditation
Her woe retires;
Sooner than ope her soul to revelation,
That soul expires.

KNOWLEDGE. The high value of mental cultivation, is a weighty motive for giving attendance to reading. What is it that mainly distinguishes a man from a brute? KNOWLEDGE. What makes the vast difference there is between savage and civilized nations? KNOWLEDGE. What forms the principal difference between men, as they exist in the same society? KNOWLEDGE. What raised Franklin from the humble station of a printer's boy, to the highest honors of his country? KNOWLEDGE. What took Sherman from his shoemaker's bench, gave him a seat in Congress, and thereby made his voice heard among the wisest and best of his compeers? KNOWLEDGE. What raised Simon from the weaver's loom to a, place among the first of mathematicians? and Herschel, from a poor fifer's boy in the army, to a station among the first of astronomers? KNOWLEDGE. KNOWLEDGE is power. It is the philosopher's stone; the true alchymy, that turns every thing it touches into gold. It is the sceptre that gives us our dominion over nature; the key that unlocks the storehouse of creation, and opens to us the treasures of the universe!

COURTSHIP.

"Oh, Laura! will nothing I bring thee
E'er soften these looks of disdain?
Are the songs of affection I sing thee
All doomed to be sung thee in vain?
I offer thee, fairest and dearest,

A treasure the richest I am worth;
I offer thee love the sincerest,

The warmest that e'er glowed upon earth."

But the maiden, a haughty look flinging,

Said, "Cease my compassion to move; For I'm not very partial to singing; [love." And they're poor whose sole treasure is

"My name shall be sounded in story;
I offer thee, dearest, my name;
I fought in the proud field of glory!
Oh, Laura, come share in my fame!
I bring thee a soul that adores thee,
And loves thee wherever thou art,
Which thrills as its tribute it brings thee,
Of tenderness fresh from the heart."
But the maiden said, "Cease to importune,
Give Cupid the use of his wings;
Ah, Fame's but a pitiful fortune— ·
And hearts are such valueless things!"

"Oh, Laura, forgive if I've spoken

Too boldly!-nay, turn not away-
For my heart with affliction is broken-
My uncle died only to-day.
My uncle, the nabob-who tended

My youth with affection and care,
My manhood who kindly befriended-
Has-died-and-has-left-me-his-

heir!"

And the maiden said, "Weep not sincerest!
My heart has been your's all along:
Oh, hearts are of treasures the dearest-
Do, Edward, go on with your song."

REFLECTIONS OF METHUSELAH

IN HIS YOUTH-MIDDLE AGE—AND IN OLD AGE.

To-day I am a hundred years old! How blissful are the feelings of boyhood! My senses are acute as the tree with the shrinking leaf. My blood bounds through my veins, as the river pours through the valley, rejoicing in strength. Life lies before me, (like another plain of Shinan,) vast, unoccupying, inviting. I will fill it with achievements and pleasure! In about sixty years it will be time for me to think of marrying; my kinswoman, Zillah, will, by that time, have emerged from girlhood; she already gives promise, I hear, of comeliness and discretion. Twenty years hence I will pay a visit to her father, that I may see how she

Nearly three centuries have passed since my marriage. Can it be! It seems but yesterday since I sported like a young antelope round my father's tent, or, climbing the dark cedars, nestled like a bird among the thick boughs-and now I am a man in authority, as well as in the prime of life. I lead out my trained servants to the fight, and sit head of the council, beneath the very tree, where, as an infant, my mother laid me to sleep. Jazed, my youngest born, a lovely babe of thirty summers, is dead; but I have four goodly sons remaining; and my three daughters are fair as their mother, when I first met her in the Acacia grove, where now stands one of my city watch towers. They are the pride of the plain, no less for their acquirements than their beauty. No damsel carries the pitcher from the fountain with the grace of Adahnone can dry the summer fruit like Azubah -and none can fashion a robe of skins with the skill of Milcah. When their cousin Mahaleel has seen another half century he shall take the choice of the three.

My eight hundredth birth-day! And now I feel the approach of age and infirmity. My beard is become white as the blossoms of the almond tree. I am constrained to use a staff when I journey—the stars look less bright than formerly-the flowers smell less odorous-I have laid Zillah in the tomb of the rock-Milcah is gone to the dwelling of Mahaleel-my sons take my place at the council, and in the field. All is changed. The long future has become the short past. The earth is full of violence: the ancient and the honorable are sinking beneath the young and the vicious. The giants stalk through the length and breadth of the land, where once dwelt a quiet people—all is changed! The beasts of the field and the monsters of the deep growl and press on us with unwonted fury: traditions, visions and threatenings are abroad. What fearful doom hangs over this fair world I know not; it is enough that I am leaving it; yet another five or eight score years, and the task will be complete. But have I, in very deed, trod this earth nearly a thousand years? It is false: I am yet a boy! I have had a dream—a long, long, busy dream-of buying and selling-marrying and giving in marriage-of building and planting—feasting and warring-sorrowing and rejoicing-loving and hating; — but it

is false to call it a life. Go to-it has been a vision of the night; and now that I am awake I will forget it. Lamech, my son, how long is it since we planted the garden of oaks beside the river? Was it not yesterday?"

66

My father, dost thou sport? Those oaks cast a broad shadow when my sister carried me beneath them in her arms, and wove me chaplets of their leaves."

“Thou art my son; and I am old. Lead me to thy mother's tomb, and there leave me to meditate. What am I the better for my past length of being? Where will be its records when I am gone? They are yonder-on all, sides. Will those massy towers fall? Will those golden plains become desolate? Will the children that call me father forget? The seers utter dark sayings upon their harps when they sing of the future; they say our descendants shall be men of dwindled stature-that the years of their lives shall be contracted to the span of our boyhood! But what is the future to me? I have listened to the tales of Paradise-nay, in the blue distance, I have seen the dark tops of its cedars. I have heard the solemn melodies of Jubal when he sang on the sea shore, and the sound of the waves mingled with his harping. I have seen angels the visitants of men- I have seen an end of all perfection. What is the future to me?"

INTEMPERANCE.

Look at the man of intoxication, reeling and staggering home from some public place of resort, a bloated curse to himself, his family, and all mankind. Once, perhaps, he was looked up to with friendship and respect-genius flashed in his eye-eloquence dropped from his lips-and his friends were anxiously looking forward to a period when he should clothe himself with fame and renown. But, alas! how sad is the reverse: in the noon-tide of joy; in the very dayspring of fortune and honor; even then, lay lurking in his path the demon of desolation. His friends must be merry with him; they must gaily quaff the flowing bowl to his success in life. Soon the habit of loitering at these store-houses of ruin and despair became fixed; soon the serpent of the STILL more subtle than that which beguiled Eve, wound its venomous fangs around his very soul! And what is he now ? despised and scorned by all mankind; sunk below the level of the brute that wallows in the mire; his home a desolation; his starving, naked children, crying bitterly for a

crust of bread. The partner of his former joys mourning, in the bitterness of her soul, over the memory of days when the sun seemed to rise but for her happiness; when, wrapped in the enchantments of fancy, this world seemed a weedless garden-all above was sunshine, and all beneath was flowers. Now what is her situation: pale and wan; heart-broken; she is fast sinking to the silent tomb, where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. Look at the husband, once affluent and happy, respected and beloved. Now his hands trembling, his lips quivering, his face covered with wounds and bruises, his house stripped, and himself a beggar. A few more short days, and the alms-house receives him, covered with filth and disease, and racked with excruciating pain. He breathes his last, and the clods of the valley cover him.

THE SNOW-STORM.

BY F. J. OTTERSON

Coldly, coldly blows the storm-wind

From the ice-imprisoned North; Slowly treads the travellers, snow-blind, O'er the rocky, frozen earth; Fast the feathery flakes are falling From the bosom of the cloud, Forest, plain and mountain, palling In a pale and spotless shroud. High above the crowded city

Shakes the pinions of the blast;
Oh, ye wealthy! let your pity

Seek the shattered, tottering hovel,
Round the poor protection cast;

Through which howling tempests blow,
Where the wretched starving, grovel,
Freeze and die of want and woe.
Son of Mammon! ope your coffers,
Throw the shining ore around,
He that to the needy offers

In the Book of Life is found; Would you stamp on after story

Fame that Cæsar never cravedWould you win a place in glory—

Clothe the naked, feed the starved. Blustering Winter! may thy rigor

Pass unscathed our happy land— Soon the sun's returning vigor

Melt the sceptre from thy hand:
Lightly on the poor and lowly

May thy dreary mantle fall,
As the snow-flake, gently, slowly,

Sinks upon the rugged wall.

The love of country knows no obstacles; wherever it exists it works prodigies.

FRIENDSHIP.

When fortune smiles, and looks serene, "Tis-"Sir, how do ye do? Your family are well, I hope,

Can I serve them or you?"

But turn the scale-let fortune frown, And ills and woes fly t'ye"Tis then-"I'm sorry for your loss,

But times are hard-good bye t'ye."

TO A LEAF FROM THE LEMON TREE PLANTED BY WASHINGTON.

BY MRS. J. W. MERCUR.

Aye, comest thou hence from the bright groves that bloom, [fume? And waft o'er our fair earth the richest perFrom that clime with whose beauties no other can vie, [blue sky? From that glorious clime 'neath Italia's

Or comest thou hence from some ocean's bright Isle,

[a smile? Where sunbeams have lingered with many Where foliage ne'er varies its beautiful green,

But shines on forever, with richest of sheen?

OLIVER ELLSWORTH.

Oliver Ellsworth, Chief Justice of the United States, was born at Windsor, Connecticut, April 29, 1745, and was graduated at the college of New-Jersey, in 1766. He soon afterwards commenced the practice of the law, in which profession he attained an acknowledged eminence. His perceptions were unusually rapid, his reasoning clear and conclusive, and his eloquence almost irresistable. In the year 1777 he was a delegate to the continental congress. He found himself in a new sphere; but his extraordinary powers did not fail him, and he met the exigencies of the times without shrink

ing. In 1780, he was elected to the council

of his native state, and he continued a member of that body till 1794, when he was appointed a judge of the superior court. In 1787 he was elected a member of the convention, which framed the federal constitution. In an assembly, illustrious for talents, erudition and patriotism, he held a distin

guished place. His exertions essentially aided in the production of an instrument, which, under the Divine blessing, has been the main pillar of American prosperity and glory. He was immediately afterwards a member of the state convention, and con

oh! say? [away; And come from some fam'd land of glory Or here wert thou nurtured, in liberty's

clime,

ratification of that instrument.

When the federal government was organized in 1789, he was chosen a member

of the Senate of the United States. This elevated station, which he filled with his accustomed dignity, he occupied till in March, 1796. He was then nominated by President Washington chief justice of the supreme court of the United States. Though his attention had been for many years abstracted from the law, yet he presided in that high court with the greatest reputation. The diligence with which he discharged his official duties, could be equalled only by his inexhaustable patience. His charges to the jury were rich, not only in legal principles but in moral sentiments, expressed in a simple, concise style, and delivered in a manner which gave them a tenfold energy and impression. Towards the close of the year 1799 he was appointed by President Adams envoy extraordinary to France, for the purpose of accommodating existing difficulties, and settling a treaty with that nation. With much reluctance he accepted the appointment. In conjunction with Governor Davie and Mr. Murray, his associates, he negotiated a treaty, which, though it did not answer the just claims and expectations of the American public, was undoubtedly the best that could be pro

cured. Having accomplished the business of his embassy, he repaired to England for the benefit of its mineral waters, as his health had suffered much in his voyage to Europe. Convinced that his infirmities must incapacitate him for the future discharge of his duties on the bench, he transmitted a resignation of his office of chief justice at the close of the year 1800. On his return to Connecticut, his fellow-citizens, desirous of still enjoying the benefit of his extraordinary talents, elected him into the council; and in May, 1807, he was appointed chief justice of the state. This office, however, he declined, from apprehension that he could not survive under the pressure of his distressing maladies, and domestic afflictions.

Mr. Ellsworth was admired as an accomplished advocate, an upright legislator, and an able and impartial judge, a wise and incorruptible embassador, and an ardent, uniform, and indefatigable patriot, who devoted every faculty, every literary acquisition, and almost every hour of his life to his country's good. He moved for more than thirty years in a most conspicuous sphere, unassailed by the shafts of slander. His integrity was not only unimpeached but unsuspected. In his debates in legislative bodies he was sometimes ardent, but his ardor illuminated the subject. His purposes he pursued with firmness, independence and intrepidity. In private life he was a model of social and personal virtue. He was just in his dealings, frank in his communications, kind and obliging in his deportment, easy of access to all, beloved and respected by his neighbors and acquaintances. Amid the varied honors accumulated upon him by his country, he was unassuming and humble. His dress, his equipage and mode of living, were regulated by a principle of republican economy; but for the promotion of useful and benevolent designs he communicated with readiness and liberality. The purity and excellence of his character are rare in any station, and in the higher walks of life are almost unknown. He died November 26, 1807, in the sixty-third year of

his age.

SABBATH EVENING THOUGHTS, Ever since I was a child I have always thought the Sabbath to be the most beautiful of days. In the pilgrimage of life it is our resting-place; and as we approach it we may lay by all our cares, and prepare the mind for the society and converse of God and holy angels. Who is there, in the Christian world at least, that does not wel

come with joy the Sabbath evening? To me it comes fraught with a thousand pleasing recollections of childhood, and, in fancy, I behold myself innocent and happy. It is the hour best fitted for calm and sober reflection-for the veil of twilight is spread over the landscape, and seems to hide from view the busy cares of the coming week.

I have been standing this afternoon beside the mound where lies interred the body of a dear friend. Even beside his grave I was not sorrowful, for I knew that he had died a Christian; and I remembered the many happy hours we had passed together, when we were young and strangers to the world. It does not make me sad to think of the departed, when I know they have been cleansed in the blood of the Lamb. I know not why thinking upon death should make the heart gloomy! Is it because we wish our friends to live forever in this "valley of tears?" Are we so selfish as to mourn, because they are happy in another and better world? I love the poet and the Christian who could write these words:

I would not live always; I ask not to stay Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way! The few lurid mornings that dawn on us here Are enough for life's woes, full enough for its cheer.

It is twenty short summers ago, this day, that four happy boys were seated upon a beautiful hill in New-England. The services of the Sabbath were ended, and they had gathered there to gaze upon the setting sun. They looked with pleasure at the golden clouds, lingering in the west, but little did they think those clouds were emblems of themselves. I remember with what fond anticipation each looked into the future.--Before their visions, every thing was bright and full of promise. One, a dark-haired, noble boy, said "I would be a sailor." He left his home to roam upon the sea; but the voice of the tempest does not disturb him now, for his body is beneath the wave. Another said "I wish to be an opulent merchant." He also left his home and friends, and became a man of wealth, in a distant clime, among strangers; but in the prime of manhood he was called to die, and the cypress now sighs above his grave. Another said "I long for the applause of men." Ambition urged him onward, and the world did for a time listen to the magic of his name; but, alas! he too is among the forgotten dead. These three, the dearest friends of my boyhood, have gone to the world of spirits; and the fourth, the most unworthy one of all, is still in the land of the living.