tedious to one who has no mercantile business. Petersburg is pleasant, also, but all her magnificence could not cause me to forget the town where I had been in the garrison twenty-five years before, with Colonel Von Obendorf-and Sophie. I longed to revisit that town, and to behold once more, if possible, the beloved of my youth, who, if living, was now, perhaps, a grandmother. How full of vicissitudes is life, thought I. "My passport came at length, and I revisited the scene of my former pleasures and suffering. When my eyes fell on the dark cupolas with gilded domes, rising from the midst of gardens and fruit-trees, how my heart beat! I thought upon Sophie, and that her grave might be near one of those churches. "I had then no acquaintances in the town. A quarter of a century is a long while! The regiment to which I once belonged, was no longer here. The Colonel had been dead for many years; his daughter, it was said, had retired to her estate, not far from Brunn. None could tell me if she yet lived. "I will go there! I mentally resolved. If she is dead I will visit her grave, take thence a bit of earth, have it set in gold, and wear it instead of the bean! "In Brunn I learned, with a mixture of joy and dread, that she was yet living on her beautiful estate, five hours' journey from the city, and that she yet bore the name of the Countess Von Obendorf. "I went thither. I was directed to a charming country seat-the mansion surrounded by tasteful gardens. I trembled in approaching it, as I had never done before the enemy. 'I alighted from the carriage. Already I beheld her as I saw her last, full of heavenly grace and lovelinesss. Does she love me still? thought I, as, with unsteady steps, I crossed the garden. Under a blooming acacia-tree before the door, sat two elderly ladies, with two younger But I saw not Sophie. They were reading. ones. "I begged pardon for disturbing them, for they seemed surprised at my sudden appearance. Whom do you seek?' asked one of the elder ladies. || was dimmed with tears. 'Yes, old man!' I murmured, faintly, look now upon your Sophie! Oh, you dealt not well with us!' "The Countess stood near me, much embarrassed, and seemed apprehensive at my strange demeanor. I could not collect myself sufficiently to let her know who I was; grief had overmastered me. 'You are not well, sir,' said she, and looked anxiously toward the door. 'Oh, perfectly well,' I sighed. 'Do you not know me?' "She looked at me more earnestly, then gently shook her head. I then took the breast-pin from my bosom, knelt before her, and said, 'Sophie, do you remember this bean, which caused our separation five and twenty years ago? I have treasured it faithfully. Sophie, you then said it was a Providence. Yes, it was so." 'Great Heavens!' she exclaimed in a feeble voice, and sinking back upon the sofa, strove to cover her pale face, but had not strength to do so. She had recognized She loved me still. me. "I called for help, and the other ladies came in, not a little surprised to find their friend in a swoon, and a strange officer, in tears, kneeling beside her. But before they could bring water and cordials to restore her, the Countess had come to herself. She rubbed her eyes like one in a dream; then burst into a flood of tears, and sobbed violently, till uttering my name, she threw her arms round my neck, and wept upon my bosom. It was a moment in which angels might have wept over us. "I became the guest of the Countess, for we thought not of another parting. How much had we to relatehow truly had we loved! There was none now to divide us. Sophie gave me her hand in marriage; it was somewhat late, and yet not too late. Our hearts were united with youthful ardor. 'My story, or rather the story of the bean, is near an end-but not quite. I must tell you that the daughter my Sophie presented me with in due time, was marked 'Can I have the honor of paying my respects to the with a mole on the breast, exactly the shape of a bean. Countess Sophie Von Oberndorf?' I asked. Strange freak of nature! But the girl is only so much the dearer to me." 'I am the Countess'-to my utter astonishment, replied the lady, whom I judged to be at least forty. My head reeled. Such was the Colonel's story. I heard no more; all seemed to spin around me; there was a rushing, as of waters, in my ears. I only caught, once or twice, in the discourse, the name of Josephine. The Colonel's carriage was announced. Will you permit me to sit down ?-I-I-am not well,' I faltered, and seated myself without waiting for an answer. What a change! Whither was fled the bright bloom of her beauty? I recollected myself; I thought of the fatal quarter of a century. Sophie; yes-but the faded Sophie. With whom have I the honor to speak?' asked she and we have a fine moon." at length. It was "Ah! even she did not recognize me! I did not wish to make a scene before the other ladies, and therefore begged for a moment's private interview. The Countess led the way into the house, and into a room on the left hand. The first object that met my eyes, was a large oil painting-a portrait of her father. It was long before I could find words to speak, for my heart was full. I stood looking at the Colonel's picture, till my sight "You must not leave us to-night!" said our host. "Oh, yes!" replied the old man, "it is a lovely night, My carriage was announced. I rose, went to the Colonel, took him by the hand, and said, "Your name is Von Tarnau?" He bowed an affirmative. "I beseech you," I continued, "go home with me to-night. You must not return to your own residence. I have something of importance to say to you." I spoke so earnestly, and trembled so violently, that the old man knew not what to make of me. He was resolved to leave us. I was in despair. "Come, then," I cried, and drawing him apart a few paces, I showed him the talisman I wore in my bosom. "Look! 'tis not merely the sport of nature-the sport of destiny. I also wear a bean!" The old man opened his eyes in astonishment; he examined my treasure, shook his head and said, "With such a talisman you might conjure up my spirit after death. I will remain and go with you." He went with the counsellor to dismiss his carriage. On the way he took occasion to make sundry inquiries about me. The counsellor was kind enough to say only what was good and agreeable of me. I remarked that he was more cordial in manner to me than before. He handed me a glass of punch and said, "Here's to the beans!" As we drank, my courage and hope returned. when the strongest is somewhat enfeebled—the greatest somewhat lessened, one should not lay a straw on the wearied shoulder. Now hear me; it is quite another thing with your bean than with mine. Mine was first a stone of stumbling; then the corner-stone and chief pillar of true love; then a world to divide two united hearts, and, at last, the compass, which brought us again together. Your love is the sport of fantasy. From the moment I beheld my Sophie, I lived but for her; it only occurs to you, after a year's absence, to love Josephine. That you cannot gainsay. You will awake from your dream when you again see my daughter, and find the creature of your imagination changed into an earthly, common-place maiden. And, after all-nota bene! "So-your name is Her Von Walter?" asked he, Josephine loves you not!" after a while. "Walter, simply." And you were in Vienna a year or so ago?" "I was," I answered, and it seemed that a fire pervaded my whole frame. "So, so," he observed. "My sister-in-law told me much of you. You were at the hotel with them. You paid much attention to the good ladies-for which they shall thank you with their own lips." The conversation now became general, till the company broke up. The Colonel went with me to my house. I conducted him to the chamber appointed for him. "Well!" he said, "I have followed you obediently. What have you of importance to say to me?" "I began to tell him of my visit to Vienna-of the aunt of Josephine; but he interrupted me with—“I know all that! But what the mischief has it all to do with the bean you showed me ?" I then began a general confession. He still exclaimed, "all that I know--but the bean-the bean!” I told him of my second journey to Vienna. He burst into a laugh, and cordially embraced me. "No more! to-morrow we will speak more of the matter. You understand-I have nothing to do with it. What would you have of me? To-morrow you must go with me to my country seat. There you shall see Josephine; there I will present you to my Sophie. One must form acquaintances for one's self." We parted; I went to bed-but not to sleep. "Master Walter! let us understand each other, and have the plump truth!" said Herr Von Tarnau, the next morning at breakfast. "I know you are a rich man; I see you are a young man, such as ladies do not run away from in affright; I hear you are an honest man, esteemed by every body; I learn now from you, that you are really in love. But all that, sir, does not quite come up to the mark-" "That is hard," sighed I, "but are you certain of it?" "We will go to-day to my house, where you shall judge for yourself. What I know of your Vienna visit, I learned from my sister-in-law, not from my daughter, who may hardly remember your name. Still more; we have a dangerous neighbor; the young Count Von Holten. He visits us often, and Josephine seems to like his society. I have frequently observed her fix her eyes for several minutes together upon him, and if she saw I noticed her attention, she would crimson to the temples, and turn away laughing or humming." "If such is the case, my lord Colonel," said I, after a long pause, during which I was struggling for composure, "I will not accompany you. It is better for me not to see your daughter again." "You are wrong. I am anxious for your happiness. You must see her to correct your fancy, and accelerate your recovery to sound reason." After some debate I took my seat in the carriage with him. To say truth, I began to suspect my fantasy had played me a trick. I had lived so long alone in my dreamings-had cherished my ideal so dearly-had invested the image of Josephine with such wonderful charms-and now, for the first time, when the name of a third person was mentioned in connection with hers, I felt that the half of my history had been furnished by my own imagination. So long as a thought or feeling is unexpressed, we know it not. It is words, the integument of thought, that give substance and form to the idea, separate illusion from reality, and place the soul in a condition to judge of itself. It was a lovely morning in June when we set out for the Tarnau estate, and, to my surprise, I found myself in a calm and serene frame of mind, such as I had not enjoyed for a year past. The relations in which, as a stranger and a gentleman merely, I had stood to the ladies during my stay in Vienna, appeared now so clear "I lack the patent of nobility," said I, interrupting to me, that I could hardly understand how no longer ago him. than yesterday-and for weeks and months I had been so feverish on the subject. It vexed me, however, to discover, after all, that I had not loved Josephine in Vienna; that I loved her not even now, though I might find her very worthy of love. The carriage stopped before a handsome villa; the servants came to receive us. The Colonel led me into a parlor, where two old ladies welcomed me in a very friendly manner. He mentioned my name; then pre- || first salutations were exchanged, the riddle was solved. senting me to the elder lady, said, "This is my Sophie." || I told her how I had only yesterday learned her resi I bowed low to the excellent matron, so interesting on account of the narration I had heard the preceding evening. "Ah!" thought I, "what are youth and beauty?" It seemed that the veteran guessed the meaning of my sigh. He kissed his lady's hand, and said, "Eh, friend! when one sees old people, one can hardly persuade himself that they were once young, or that the maiden in her first bloom must come to wrinkles and grey hairs." Josephine's aunt recognized me at once; she spoke very kindly to me, and we seated ourselves at the table, to breakfast a second time, in compliment to the ladies. "And where is Josephine?" said the mother; "she will be pleased to see her Viennese acquaintance." "She is with Count Holten in the garden," replied the aunt; "there are auriculas to water, before the sun is too high;" and I shivered a little. All my old fancies vanished. Yet I quickly recollected myself. I had never possessed a claim here; I had none to lose. I began almost to be ashamed of my folly. I assumed a gay and unembarrassed deportment; conversed in the most sprightly manner, and told the aunt how sadly I had missed them on my second visit to Vienna. While we talked, a young man entered of noble exterior. He was pale, and there was something constrained and disturbed in his demeanor. "Dear ladies," said he, with forced suavity, "I beg permission to take leave of you. I have to go to-day to the capital-I have-I am-I shall, perhaps, be some time absent. It is a tedious journey." "The Colonel looked round at him surprised. "What has happened, Count Holten?" cried he. "You look like one who has committed a murder." 66 Nay," answered the young man with a constrained laugh, "like one on whom a murder has been committed." He kissed the ladies' hands, embraced the Colonel, and hastened away without saying another word. The father went after him. The ladies were dence, and she explained to me how her father had recently purchased this estate from a distinguished family, and retired from the world to this charming spot. "Ah, aunt! dear aunt!" cried she, while she seized the good lady's hand and pressed it in both hers, then to her heart, glancing at me the while with eyes in which joy danced-" did I not tell you so? Was I not right ?" The good aunt was silent, but she cast a meaning look at her niece. The mother looked down, to conceal a certain embarrassment. The father observed the exchange of glances; he rose, and coming to me, said in a loud whisper, "Master Walter! it appears to me you did find the bean in the right place. But you-Josephine-what have you done to the Count, that he is gone away in such a storm?" The young lady evaded the question. We now adjourned to the garden. The old gentleman showed me his buildings, fields, meadows, stables, etc, while the ladies were engaged in the pavilion in earnest conversation. After a tedious half hour, we returned to them. The Colonel now stepped aside a little, and I was left with Josephine. I had determined to be reserved, for I dreaded the fate of Count Von Holten. We talked of our acquaintance in Vienna, and of the little occurrences that then took place. "Ah!" cried Josephine, "if you had but known what I suffered on your account, when you were forced to leave us so suddenly! Surely, since then-yes-we have often spoken of you!" Now-how could I do otherwise? now I told her the whole history of my second journey to Vienna-my occupying her apartments, and, lastly-not without trepidation-of my discovery of the bean-my return home, and the tale of the preceding evening. I was at length silent. I ventured not to look up, but made crosses with my foot in the sand. Her silence lasted long. At length I heard her sob. I looked up; her face was hid bewildered. I learned that the youth was their neigh-in her pocket-handkerchief. With trembling voice I bor, Count Holten, who often spent the evening with them; that an hour before he had seemed very cheerful, and now was quite unlike himself. "What has disturbed him?" asked they of the Colonel, when, after some time, he returned. He looked grave, shook his head, and, at length, smiling on his Sophie, replied, "Ask Josephine." "Has she offended him?" inquired the aunt. "As one takes it. It is a long story, but the Count gave it me in a few words-'I loved, and was not loved again.'" Here the door opened, and the young lady entered. 'Twas she! and far more beautiful than I had known her in Vienna-than I had pictured her in my wild dreams. I rose and went towards her, but my knees tottered; I seemed tied hand and foot; I stammered a few incoherent words. Josephine stood blushing by the door, gazing on me as on an apparition, but soon approached the table, smiling, and recovered from her surprise. After the asked if my sincerity displeased her? She removed the handkerchief from her face, and looked at me with tearful yet smiling eyes. "Is it all true," asked she, after a pause. I took the breast-pin containing the bean, from my neck, and gave it to her, saying, "Let this convince you.” She took the pin, as if curious to examine its golden setting. She wept again. Then leaning on my arm, she laid her head on my should and murmured,—“I believe in a Providence, Walter!" I clasped the lovely girl to my bosom, crying-" Oh! I could die at this moment!" She seemed surprised at me, and a rustling in the bushes reminded us, just then, of the presence of others. Josephine still held the pin with the bean, as we came up to her parents. The Colonel saw it and burst into a laugh. Josephine hid her lovely face on her mother's bosom. But what is the use of further talk? You all know that Josephine is now my wife. I have thus acquainted you with the romance of my history. Original. DAVIE Mc'CRACKER'S LOVE ADVENTURE. BY HENRY F. HARRINGTON. of DAVIE MC'CRACKER is now twenty-three years age. He is not actually nou compos, but as he is fully conscious himself, lacks motive power in his mental composition. Give him an impetus, and superintend him as you would a machine, and he may be very serviceable; but of himself, he is nothing. He was born in the city of New-York, and never was outside of its limits. Never, again, until a certain occasion, to be hereafter related, accustomed occupant of which, had, for his offences, been made a denizen of the Egyptian tombs, or when a new receptacle of the kind had been provided by some grocer, or other appropriator of the contents of hogsheads. Davie's besetting sin is, and has been, vanity. He has been always more eager to receive a second hand garment, provided it were not too conspicuously decayed, and had been constructed of showy materials, in requital for his little services, than to be possessed of the means to satisfy his hunger, albeit he might have fasted an indefinite period. With this brief exposition of his rise and progress, we proceed to describe his apparel and appearance, on the twenty-fifth of October last, the unfortunate period on which the dart of love first trans had he known the exstasy of so large a fraction of a dollar as a two shilling piece. His mother was a washer-fixed his too susceptible bosom. His head, of which the woman of low English origin; of decidedly pugnacious and bibatory propensities; which latter imparted a rich rubicundity to her visage, and, in common with the former, compelled her, not altogether in consonance with her inclinations, to divide her time between the occupa unregulated and untrimmed locks were of a dazzling carrot hue, was surmounted by a straw hat, with a very high crown, and very narrow brim, in a strikingly dilapidated condition. It was truly a raw and gusty" tion by which she sought to live, and the amiable and day, giving token that old King Winter entertained no idea of indulging the earth in an interregnum; and convenient institutions, erected for the especial benefit of Davie was conscious that the material of his castor was those who indulge a pugilistic bias beyond the particular rather too delicate for the season. Nevertheless, as he enjoyment of those subjected to its sphere of operation, had been, as yet, unable to make an appropriation of a or who libate so freely upon strong potations, that the winter beaver, he consoled himself with the reflection, guardianship of the law is considered to be imperatively that October was not November, and that it was to be a demanded. As she was never united to any one 'for great deal colder; and that, before a much intenser dericher or for poorer,' in the holy state of matrimony, gree of frigidity had supervened, he could probably supDavie knew no object upon which to pour out the foun-ply himself with a more appropriate covering to his cra nium. So the straw hat was set jauntily on. His coat was black-of fashionable cut, but much the worse for wear. His neck was enveloped in a 'kerchief darkly, deeply, beautifully blue," the holes skilfully concealed, and the ends, which, fortunately, were comparatively uninjured, spread out over his bosom, to conceal the fragments of his shirt; for, alas! that garment, fragile when it first came into his possession, had maintained, for some months, uninterrupted intimacy with his tain of filial affection welling up within him, which wouldn't be poured out upon his brutal mother; and which progenies in general, when one parent is the south pole of the magnet in attraction, may lavish upon the other. Davie had none to love him. He was an outcast from his very cradle-cradle, do I say?-from his carpet-rag—for it was such a covering which invested his infant anatomy, and seldom, to the years of his maturity, did he know the luxury of a bed. His mother, who had afforded him a kind of quasi support and pro-back, until it had become indeed but a tissue of fragtection, died of delirium tremens when he was about ten years of age. His ments in every quarter; that would scarcely have borne From that period, to the time of the adventure we are about to describe, Davie can hardly be said to have lived; he only existed, and that very precariously-for his dependence, as far as food was concerned, was upon the meals he might receive in remuneration for little efforts of his genius in the way of getting pails of water, or running of errands; and for his nocturnal slumbers, the softest cellar-door he could espy, concealed from the prying eyes of the watchmen, or the interior of an empty hogshead; the attainment of which last was a luxury indeed. It is true, there were ever a number of these unambitious tenements for single gentlemen in various quarters, but they were usually appropriated by loafers Thus apparelled, on the morning of the designated of more imposing magnitude, resolution, or strength, twenty-fifth of October, Davie reclined on a cellar-door, than were possessed by Davie; and he dared not resist, on the sunny side of Chatham Street, obtaining the however comfortably he might have bestowed himself, greatest possible degree of bodily comfort, attainable when any one of them gathered up his protruding heels, under the circumstances of his case; viz: his destitution and dragging him out into the dim starlight or lamp-of a lodging and an outer garment. His mind soon fell light, proceeded to occupy his place; so that he could count on undisturbed repose in one of these cylindrical palaces, only when he exultingly crept into that, the into a philosophic reverie upon matters and things in general, and his own peculiar condition in particular; and thus he speculated, half aloud: suthin' o' the gemman 'bout 'im, to 'sociate vith; so I "Now isn't it too wenemous prowokin', that calcula- "vorst kind, as it vouldn't be reg'lar for vun wot 'as tin' and expectin' to work for a livin', as I be, there aint nobody to come along and set a feller a goin'! I'm all wound up like a church clock, an' on'y vaitin' for some gemman to set the pend'lum a swingin'. There's anuf on 'em to do it, if they vas on'y a mind to. That 'ere's the rub, an' no mistake! John Jacob Astor might do it, jest as vell as not, on'y he do't know a feller, and I can't git no interduction to him, coz I knows nobody as knows 'im. I'd set up a r'apple an' candy-stand at the corner o' some street, ef any body'd on'y pony up the phoenix to start vith. But that ered be no go, neither; coz I 'as such a mortal likin' for r'apples and candy, that I should sartin' remove the deposites afore a 'alf a day's bisness; and that ere'd be a funny go! It wouldn't pay interest, no 'ow you could fix it! It 'ud be like the men as gits up a bank for the good o' the public, an' then makes their own particklar selves the d'rectors, and ven the commissioners comes to zamine into their apple-cart, they find these d'rectors 'as used all the phoenix, and left the public to vistle. Vell, it's too bad to be a vastin' the days in this ere kind o' vay! Ef any body on'y vould set a feller a goin! I'm lik a ingine aboard a steamboat, as 'as got the steam up, an' ven the last bell rings, the feller as tends it, turns a crank and sets it all a fizzin'! Jest so my steam's up, an' I on'y need to be set a fizzin'! I'd take a sitivation rite off to sweep streets, on'y them places is gin out by the corporation, and that ere makes 'em a mernop'ly; and I does 'bominate mernop'lies so, that I vont 'ave nothin' to do vith 'em! 'Taint the vay it vorks as I partic❜larly cares for, but it's the principle o' the thing, an' I'll starve afore I 'ave any thing to do vith em, an' wiolate principle-by Solomon !" Here Davie, in a considerable state of mental and bodily excitement, brought his clenched fist down on the cellar door with a violent impetus, to give greater effect to his ebullition of virtuous resolve; but, unfortunately, his hand struck upon the head of a protuberant nail, which inflicted sufficient injury suddenly to interrupt the current of his feelings, and elicit, a second time, the valiant exclamation-while he rubbed the spot with the other hand-"Oh, Solomon!" Let it be told to his credit, that he never swore, or used any other qualifying phrase than the above. After a cessation of the pain, he continued: A placid smile lighted up Davie's countenance at this decision upon the mystery of human antipathies. The question whether he would not be half or indeed wholly paralyzed by fear at the sight of a mad bull or a kicking horse, I cannot answer; as he made no reference to the point in his soliloquy. He continued: "Vouldn't I like to be 'ired by vun o' the rich svells as lets their servants vear them great buttons, an' a gold band round their 'ats! Vouldn't I strut consider❜ble, ef I could cut vun o' them ere figurs! I've 'zamined them 'ere dresses wery partic'lar, a good many times, an' I considers 'em complete! Hows'ever, I'd be glad o' sarvice o' any shape-coachman, 'ackman, 'ouseman, omnibuster driver-any thing wotsomever; but just to think on't!-'ere I've been a valkin' the streets all the season, in a straggling sort of a 'aint goin no veres kind of a vay, that said, jest as plain as if it was rit in great big letters on this 'at, 'This 'ere gemman's to let,' but nobody haint took me up, an' 'ere's vinter a comin', an' I spect it'll be like all the vinters sence I remember, werry uncomfortable to poor Davie! But I vont set on this suller door no longer. Loafin' on suller doors is a kind o' bisness as aint o' no 'count; 'specially sence the sun's got round, so't dont shine on't. It'll never set a feller a fizzin' 's long 's he lives! I knows wot I'll do! I'll promivade down to Fulton Market, and see the good things as wot other folks 'as to eat, an' p'r'aps I'll git a real good smell out o' some cookshop, ven some feller 'appens to come out, an' leaves the door open. I'm werry 'ungry an' no mistake! I vunder who vants a pail o' vater got? I must git suthin' of a job this mornin', or else my dinner'll be quits vith my breakfast-nothin' o' neither." Thus closing his protracted reflections, which might have continued, however, an hour longer, but for a succession of chills running through his frame, which warned him that active locomotion was essential to the retention of a due quantum of caloric, Davie gently dusted those portions of his garments which had come in contact with the cellar door, with a white handker "Wot else is there to think on, as a feller might do? I spect them folks as picks up bits o' paper an' old rags in the gutters, to sell for a 'alf a cent a pound, 'as to vork werry stiddy to git a livin'; but then there aint no mernop'ly in the streets! No, to the everlastin' credit o' this ere great city, it can be said-an' it is a real blessin', an' no mistake!-the streets o' New-York is as free to men, vimin, chil'ren, four footed creturs, 'ogs, dogs and cats, as is alive or dead, an' all sorts o' rubbish an' slops, as ever they was ven they wasn't streets-ven there vant nothin' o' no 'ouses, on'y trees an' Ingins-chief, that would have miserably served the office of a ven natur was natur, an' no mistake-an' no great city hadn't mernop'lized the ground, an' set up shops in this 'ere place! That ere's a great consid'rashun attendin' pickin' up paper an' old rags. But then the creturs wot 'as took up that bisness, seems to be loafers o' the screen; and returning it to the pocket of his coat, taking especial care to leave one corner dangling out, in the most appoved Broadway style, he started for the designated market. But fortune had destined him to be engaged in a more exciting occupation than casting |