to forced contributions; but it appears to me that the Catholic clergy are much more careful and kind to their flocks than our own. How, indeed, can it be otherwise, when even now the majority of our clergymen are non-residents, expending the major part of the church revenue out of the parish, leaving to the curate, who performs the duty, a stipend which renders it impossible for him to ex

for charity begins at home, and his means will not allow him to proceed much farther.

was included in the purchase. We are none of us perfect—and Pompey had one vice; but the cause of the vice almost changed it into a virtue. He had not a correct feeling relative to meum and tuum, but still he did not altogether steal for himself, but for his friends as well. Many have witnessed the fact of the dog stealing a loaf, or part of a one, taking it into the stables, and dividing it into three portions, one for each poney, and the other for himself. Iercise that part of his Christian duty to any extent; recollect his once walking off with a round of beef, weighing seventeen or eighteen pounds, and taking it to the ponies in the field-they smelt at it, but de- But the public charitable institutions abroad are clined joining him in his repast. By-the-by, to much better conducted than those of England, prove that lost things will turn up one day or other, where almost every thing is made a job by hypothere was a silver skewer in the beef, which was crites, who work their way into these establishnot discovered until two years afterwards, when it ments for their own advantage. It is incredible was turned up by the second ploughing. One day the number of poor people who are effectually reas the ponies were in the field where I was watch-lieved on the continent in the course of the year, ing some men at work, I heard them narrating to a at an expense which would not meet the weekly stranger the wonderful seats of this dog, for I have disbursements of a large parish in England. But related but a small portion. The dog was lying by the ponies as usual, when the servants' dinner bell rang, and off went Pompey immediately at a hard gallop to the house to get his food. "Well, dang it, but he is a queer dog," observed the tnan, "for he's running as fast as he can, to answer the bell."

CHAPTER XI.

then, how much more judicious is the system! I know for a fact, that in the county where I reside, and in which the hard-working laborer, earning his twelve shillings a week, is quite satisfied if he can find sufficient bread for his family, (not tasting meat, perhaps, ten times during the whole year,) that those who were idlers, supported by charity, were supplied with meat three or four times a With all the errors of the Catholic religion, it week; nay, even the felons and prisoners in the certainly appears to me that its professors extend county gaol were better fed than was the industritowards those who are in the bosom of their own ous working man. And this is what in England is church a greater share than most other sects, of called charity. It is base injustice to the meritothe true spirit of every religion-charity. The rious. But most of the charitable institutions in people of the Low Countries are the most bigoted England are, from mal-administration, and pseudoCatholics at present existing, and in no one country philanthropy, nothing more than establishments is there so much private as well as public charity. holding out premiums for vice. I should like to be It is, however, to private charity that I refer. In despotic in England for only one year!! England there is certainly much to be offered in Among the institutions founded by Catholics, and extenuation, as charity is extended by law to the particularly deserving of imitation, that of the uttermost farthing. The baneful effects of the poor Sœurs de la Charité appears to be the most valualaws have been to break the links which bound to- blc. It is an institution which, like mercy, is twice gether the upper and lower classes, produced by blessed-it blesses those who give, and those who protection and good will in the former, and in the receive. Those who give, because many hundreds latter, respect and gratitude. Charity by act of of females, who would otherwise be thrown upon parliament has dissolved the social compact-the the world, thus find an asylum, and become useful rich man grumbles when he pays down the forced and valuable members to society. They take no contribution-while the poor man walks into the vows-they only conform to the rules of the sistervestry with an insolent demeanor, and claims re- hood during the time that they remain in it, and if lief, not as a favor but as a right. The poor laws they have an opportunity, by marriage or otherhave in themselves the essence of revolution, for if wise, of establishing themselves, they are at free you once establish the right of the poor man to any liberty to depart. How many young women, now portion of the property of the rich, you admit a precedent so far dangerous, that the poor may eventually decide for themselves what portion it may be that they may be pleased to take, and this becomes the more dangerous, as it must be remem- It is well known, that to support a large commubered, that the effect of the poor laws is repulsion nity, the expenses are trifling compared to what between the two classes, from the one giving un- they are when you have the same number of isolawillingly, and the other receiving unthankfully. ted individuals to provide for. A company of two How the new Poor Law Bill will work remains to or three hundred of these sisters living together, be proved; but if we may judge from the master-performing among themselves the various housepiece of the Whigs, the Reform Bill, from which hold duties, washing, etc., and merely requiring so much was expected, and so little has been obtained, I do not anticipate any good result from any measure brought forward by such incapable bunglers. But to return.

That the Catholic laity are more charitable is not a matter of surprise, as they are not subjected

forced into a wretched, wicked life, would gladly incorporate themselves into such a society in England; how many, if such a society existed, would be prevented from falling into error!

their food, would not incur the same expense in house rent. firing, and provisions, as thirty or forty isolated individuals. Soldiers in barracks are even well fed, housed, and clothed, at a much less expense than it costs the solitary laborer to eat his dry bread in his own cottage; and the expenses of

such communities, if once established, would very soon be paid by their receipts.

broke off her raptures because dinner was ready; if the fatigue had been great, she was consoled with her dinner; if she was on a hill, she walked down to her dinner; if she was in a valley, she walked up to it; and if on the level ground, she walkd to it. Now, when I read this chapter of the Student,' I said to myself, if there be any truth in these remarks, Mrs. Trollope must be a capital

It would be a double charity, charity to those who would willingly embrace the life, and charity to those who might require their assistance. It is well known how difficult it is to obtain a sick nurse in London. It is an avocation seldom embraced by people, until they are advanced in years, and all feeling has been dried up by suffering or disap-hand at the knife and fork, and not at all troubled pointment. Those who undertake the task are only actuated by gain, and you can expect but eyeservice. Not being very numerous, and constantly in demand, they are over-worked, and require stimulants in their long watchings. In fact, they drink and dose-dose, and drink again.

But how different would it be if those establishments were formed! Those who are wealthy would send for one of the sisters when required, and if the illness were tedious, her services could be replaced by another, so that over-fatigue might not destroy watchfulness and attention to the patient. You would at once feel that you had those in your house in whom you could confide. If your means enabled you, you would send a sum to the funds of the charity in return for the service performed, and your liberality would enable them to succour those who could only repay by blessings. A very small subscription would set afloat such a charity, as the funds would so rapidly come in; and if under the surveillance of the medical men who attend the hospitals, it would soon become effective and valuable. I trust if this should meet the eye of any real philanthropist who has time to give, which is more valuable than money, that he will turn it over in his mind;-the founder would be a benefactor to his country. And may it also find favor in the sight of those who are so busy legislating for cattle and the Lord's day-perhaps even my friends Buxton and Lushington will take it up, for, as the dress of the sisterhood are invariably black, at all events, it will be the right color.

CHAPTER XIL.

with dyspepsia, as are the American ladies, by her
account. I knew that she had dined with
and in the afternoon when we met I inquired. The
reply was, "Ah! mon Dieu! elle a furieusement
d'appetit et mange comme quatre."

There are all manner of deaths in this world besides dying. There are political deaths, as Brougham's, dead in the eye of the law, like a convict transported for life, etc.; but the worst death, after all, must be a literary death, that is to say, when a man has written himself down, or written himself out. It is analogous to the last stage of a consumption, in which you believe you are not going to die, and plan for the future as if you were in perfect health. Yet to this complexion must all authors come at last. There is not a more beautiful, or more true portrait of human nature, than the scene between the Archbishop of Grenada and Gil Blas, in the admirable novel of Le Sage. Often and often has it been brought to my recollection, since I have taken up the pen, and often have I said to myself, Is this homily as good as the last?' (përhaps homily is not exactly the right name for my writings.) The great art in this world, not only in writing, but in every thing else, is to know when to leave off. The mind as well as the body must wear out. At first, it is a virgin soil, but we cannot renew its exhausted vigor, after it has borne suecessive crops. We all know this, and yet we are all Archbishops of Grenada. Even the immortal Walter Scott might have benefited by the honesty of Gil Blas, and have burnt his latter homilies, but had he had such an unsophisticated adviser, would he not, in all probability, have put him out by the shoulders, wishing him, like the venerable hierarch, "a little more taste and judgment."

I have been reading Bulwer's "Student," and 1 prefer some parts of it to all his other writings. As a whole, "Eugene Aram" is the most perfect; but Since I have been this time abroad, I have made either Bulwer mistrusts his own powers, or I am a discovery, for which all prose writers ought to mistaken when I assert, that he is capable of much feel much indebted to me. Poets can invoke more than he has yet achieved. What he has as Apollo, the Muses, the seasons, and all sorts and yet done, is but the clearing off before you arrive varieties of gods and goddesses, naked or clothed, at the heart of the quarry. His style, as a speci- besides virtues and vices, and if none of them suit, men of the English language, richly, yet not mere- they may make their own graven image and fall triciously ornamented, is peculiar to himself. down before it; but we prose writers have hitherto There is room for much disquisition in many parts had no such advantage, no protecting deity to apof the "Student," and I doubt if Bulwer could hold peal to in our trouble, as we bite our pens, or to his ground, if many of his premises were attacked, call upon to deliver us from a congestion of the as although always brilliant and original, they are brain. Now being aware that there are upwards not always satisfactory. His remarks upon au- of three hundred and fifty thousand eanonized thors and their works are most assailable. I agree saints on the Roman calendar, I resolved to run with him as I do with the phrenologists, only in through the catalogue, to ascertain if there was one part; however, as a brother author, I will do him a who took prose authors under his protection, and friendly turn, and bring forward evidence in sup- to my delight I stumbled upon our man. By-theport of his arguments. by, Tom Moore must have known this, and he has In reading Mrs. Trollope's "Belgium," I observ-behaved very ill in keeping him all to himself. ed, that in every chapter, she expatiated on gastro- But I must introduce him. It is the most holy, and nomy. I think I reckoned eight-and-twenty times the most blessed Saint Brandon. Holy St. Branin the two widely printed volumes, and I mentioned don inspire me, and guide my pen while I record it to Murray. If there was a beautiful view, she thy legend! In the first place, let me observe that

WALTER FORREST,

The Young Soldier of Perkiomen.

ticipated, and in all his studies she became a partner. To Mr. Forrest she was as a daughter, and after he became blind, often did she set for hours together by his side, reading or warbling in his ear the ballads with which her memory was storedthen pausing to stroke back his silvery hair, she would throw her arms round his neck and cover his face with her affectionate kisses-at other times she would lead him out to the open air to enjoy the fragrance of spring, the singing of the birds and the calm sunshine, or guide him to the residence of her father, and there leaving him, bound off to meet Walter on his return to his dwelling, or to share the occupation that detained him. There was not a spot of green wood, nor a hill, nor dale, for several miles round, that they had not trodden together, and of which they did not know the shady coverts and secret recesses-amidst the morning dew, as noontide, and in the evening twilight, they were together bounding over the green hills, sketching the distant prospect, or seated on the banks of the Perkiomen, imparting to each other their different branches of knowledge, or telling their early tale of impassioned fondness,

WHEN the early darkness of a winter evening has gathered round, and the spirit of the storm is pouring abroad his fury over the earth, I love to join the friendly circle at the cheerful hearth, and listen to the tales of former times. There is much in the annals of our country to awaken the dullest soul, and many a tale that is told by the evening fire side is not inferior in point of interest to those that shed their fascinations over the pages of romance. It was at such an hour, and amid such a circle that the history of the young soldier of Perkiomen was related. Walter Forrest and Agnes Peters had grown up side by side like two young trees planted together, and as they will intertwine their branches, so had the hearts of the youth and maiden been mingled even from infancy. The parents of both were widowers, and resided on adjacent farms near the Perkiomen. Their rank in life was nearly the same, but in character they were widely different. William Forrest was the youngest son of an English gentleman, in rather limited circumstances, and as he could not hope for support from his father, immediately after his marriage he had emigrated to Pennsylvania, and settled at Perkiomen; where in the station of a farmer, he had attained a Thus years rolled on till youth succeeded infancompetency and even wealth-but he was not ex-cy and childhood. At the age of eighteen, the perempted from the ills attendant on mortality. The son of Walter was tall and manly, and with the exdeath of Mrs. Forrest, which took place before his youngest son, Walter, had attained his sixth year, throw an immoveable blight upon the felicity which he till then enjoyed-and some years afterwards, a dimness of sight, with which he had long been affected, terminated in total blindness-but his character remained the same, and even in his darkness, his amiable qualities and cheerful disposition drew round him many a friendly circle of the old and young-and throughout the country, no name was more respected than that of Mr. Forrest.

Mr. Peters, was also an Englishman, but his character was quite the reverse of Forrest's. The incidents of his early life had given a tinge of stern melancholy to his disposition, almost approaching to misanthropy, and on the death of his wife, whom he had passionately loved, he determined to bury himself and his sorrows in the wilds of America, where he lived in a state of almost monastic seclusion, excepting occasional intercourse with William Forrest.

pressive dark eye that shed a bright glow of intelli-
gence over his open animated countenance, and
the thick black curls that shaded his high forehead,
he might be considered eminently handsome. Ag-
nes had bright laughing blue eyes, and neither the
beams of the sun, nor the breezes that wantoned
among the clustering ringlets of her glossy brown
hair, had been able to deprive her polished brow of
its ivory tint-the glow of health was on her cheek,
and here were

"The ruby lip, the dimpled chin,
The bosom calm and pure within."

It need not be said that they loved, they could not have done otherwise-and their marriage was only delayed, until Walter should reach his twentyfirst year.

Hitherto their lives had been passed in almost unruffled happiness, but twelve months again rolled round, the war of the revolution came like an evil plannet, and cast a withering blight upon their hopes. Patriotism was a master passion in the soul of Walter Forrest, and in the inexpressible swelling of a youthful spirit, with the sanction of his father, he volunteered his services in the cause of his country-his offer was accepted, and with a swelling heart he prepared to fill the station of a captain in the American army. The parting of the lovers cannot be described, but the hope of fame sustained the spirits of Walter, while Agnes retired to shed almost her first tears of sorrow.

Often were the soft silvery tones of the laughing voice of little Agnes heard in the dwelling of Walter Forrest, who was but two years her senior, and from the difference of age as well as disposition between his brother and herself, she soon became his only playmate. Nor as they advanced from infancy to childhood was the friendship broken that had twined itself round their young hearts-their pursuits, their amusements were still the same, and even the moody humor of Mr. Peters was softened in favor of Walter Forrest. In whatever instruc- Mr. Peters did not openly espouse the cause of tions Agnes received from her father, Walter par- either party, but his prejudices were secretly in fa

vor of the English, and from the time of Walter's joined the British army, and had fallen in the first departure, he withdrew himself more than former- of his battles-and his father, he whom Walter had ly from the society of Forrest. At length ambition obtained the mastery, and removing his daughter to Philadelphia, which was at that time occupied by the British, he openly appeared in the character of an officer of the crown.

devotedly loved, and whose memory seemed like a guardian spirit to hover round his heart—that parent was no more-he had gone down to the grave with a broken heart. The frame of Walter was too weak to bear this accumulated weight of wretchCaptain Forrest still remained ignorant of this edness, and with a groan of agony he fell senseless occurrence, when a foraging party of which he had upon the floor. During the night his fever returnthe command, chanced to encounter a part of Col. ed with redoubled violence, and for some weeks he Peters', and a conflict ensued. The resemblance remained insensible to his misery. However, his of their leader to the father of Agnes, immediately disease at length yielded to the power of medicine, arrested the attention of the young warrior, but he and he once more slowly recovered. An exchange banished the idea, until chance threw them togeth- of prisoners had been effected, by which he was er, and the truth flashed with agonizing certainty once more restored to liberty, and when his health upon the mind-for a moment he recoiled, but he permitted he again joined the army. He did not could not pause in the path of duty, and he dashed dare to visit the scenes of his childhood, for it seemforward into the thickest of the battle-"On, on, ed as if they were haunted by the ghost of his demy brave boys," cried he in the energy of despair, parted happiness-he was wretched-miserableand the next instant the sword of Col. Peters was he felt that in the wide world he was alone-that flourished above his head, "Traitor! Rebel!" ex- there was none to love him-none whom he might claimed he, but Walter with a shudder of horror, love-he dared not trust himself to think on Agnes, turned from the combat-for he could not raise his not even to murmur her name in the secret recesses arm against the father of Agnes-his brain reeled, of his heart. He beheld others around him smiling the scene swam before him indistinct and dim, and and happy-but there was not one hope left on almost at the same momont, a ball entered his bo-earth to soothe the bitterness of his spirit, and he som, and he fell to the earth bleeding and insensible.

When he recovered his recollection, he found himself in a strange apartment, and learned that he had been taken prisoner and carried to Philadelphia, where he had remained for several days in a state of delirium. He anxiously inquired for Col. Peters, and for Agnes; but without being able to obtain any satisfactory evidence of the latter. Col. Peters, he was informed, had called frequently during his illness, and had expressed much satisfaction that morning on learning that his fever had abated.

It was not without chagrin that Walter received information that he had thus lost the opportunity of an interview with the Colonel, especially as he was about to leave the city, and the length of his absence would be uncertain. From his family he could obtain no tidings, and the anxiety of his mind considerably impeded his recovery, which, how ever, was slowly progressing. His total ignorance respecting all who were dear to him was inexpressibly painful, yet it was not without mingled sensations, that on his return from a short ramble, on the first day he had quitted the house, he found Col. Peters seated in his apartment. "I am happy sir," said he with a sarcastic smile, "that you have so far recovered from the effects of your rebellious spirit."

Walter colored, but without noticing his speech, anxiously inquired for Agnes.

"Walter Forrest,” answered he, in an altered tone, "to you Agnes Peters is no more; to-morrow her hand will be given to another and you must learn to forget her."

So saying, he placed a sealed packet in the hands of Walter, and left him stupified with anguish. Almost mechanically he unfolded and glanced his eyes over the pages of the epistle which Peters had given him, but he was soon painfully awakened by its contents. His brother, notwithstanding the entreaties, and even commands of his father, had

had no wish but to offer up his life on the altar of his country's liberty-he rushed into the wildest of the battle; but it seemed as if his very wretchedness had given him a charmed life'-swords flashed harmlessly above his head, and the bayonet entered not his bosom. But the heart cannot live in utter hopelessness, and time dulled the poignancy of his feelings, while the spirit of patriotism kindled once more within his bosom.

Several years had elapsed since the death of his father, when Walter was one day summoned to the couch of a British officer, who was a prisoner, and supposed to be mortally wounded. He instantly complied, and repaired to the bedside of the dying man. Life was on the verge of departing-the cold dews of death were already on his forehead— and Walter gazed for some moments on the hollow cheek and heavy glared eyes before he recognized the altered form of Col. Peters. Any animosity that he might have entertained towards the destroyer of his happiness, was at that instant extinguished in the bosom of Walter, who, clasping the cold hand which the Colonel extended towards him, burst into tears. Peters feebly pressed the hand of his young friend, and a flush of shame colored his pale cheek, as he entreated the pardon of Walter, and requested him to be the protector of his child, when her father should be no more. Walter's heart beat violently, and he almost gasped for breath while the words he would have spoken, died away in inarticulate murmurs from his lips. "I have rendered you both unhappy,” continued the Colonel. "For Agnes never loved other than you-a sudden illness delayed her union with the man for whom I had intended her, and his subsequent death prevented it forever. Therefore if your heart remains unchanged, she may yet be yours." A stifled sob from Agnes, who, with her face concealed amid the covering of the bed, had been silently weeping, unnoticed by Walter, at this instant attracted his attention, and the next moment she was in his arms,

FOUNDED ON EVENTS WHICH OCCURRED IN THIS CITY DURING THE PRESENT CENTURY.

MR. EDITOR-I saw a notice, some weeks since in one of the papers, that a gentleman of this city was about writing a book, the foundation of which, was the well known mysterious death of Miss Guilielma S, of this city, which happened in the year 1798, who at that time resided in Greenwich street with her aunt. I was very much surprized to see this, as I was then engaged writing a tale for your magazine which turned on the same event. I was a little chagrined that nearly forty years should pass over, and no one thought of this as a fine subject for a story until I had commenced one. I threw my half finished work aside, intending to abandon it, since then I resumed it, thinking my humble tale would be seen by few, and could not interfere in the least with the novel, as I have merely used the fact of her death.

E. R. S.

JOSEPH Denham, was the son of as good, quiet, and honest a quaker, as there was to be found in the city of New York; yet, strange to say, although he was brought up in the retired habits of the Society of Friends, and taught from his earliest childhood, to subdue his feelings, and eschew all light behavior, he was as gay, as wild, and passionate, as if he had never sat for hours in the stillness of a Friends Meeting. Amiable he was, and attached to his parents, yet he possessed a restless spirit which nothing could taine. Neglectful of his business, he might be constantly seen around the hotel doors, lounging with the idlers he found there. Among the acquaintances thus formed, was a native of Alsace, a nondescript, who belonged to France yet whose native tongue was German. His history no one knew, nor his means of livelihood, but all that could be seen of his face, through his bushy whiskers, and mustaches, bespoke one whose life had been sullied by the exhibition of the most violent passions. "Dark vice," would not "turn abashed away" from him, but would greet him as a fellow demon. Yet to this wretch, the comparatively pure Joseph, had, as he said, "taken a fancy," and by his example, was fast plunging deeper and deeper in vice, and was only arrested in his career by the gentle voice of love.

66

own heart is not perfectly free, and I shall see you a married man some day. Young Denham sighed folded his arms, and was soon in a deep reverie. The Alsatian smoked his segar, and gazed at him in silence. At last he said, "Joseph, you have ever acted towards me as a friend, why not trust me now? you are sad-Indeed I have observed your merry brow, often over cast lately. Talking of our troubles lightens them. Come-unbosom yourself to me and believe me, you will meet with true sympathy." Herinan, it is the old storytrue love crossed. Yes, I was once beloved by, and even engaged to that sweet girl, but her father heard of some of my wild conduct, and forbade me the house. Since then, now some months, I have never seen her, except last evening, when I met her at the house of the bride elect. Ah, how like an angel she looked, and how like an angel she acted-she held out her hand kindly to me, but because I imagined she had consented too readily to our separation, I behaved coldly, aye rudely to her. Wretch that I was!-a tear stood in her eye-I would have given worlds to have kissed it away, and sought many opportunities to repair my fault, but could not-Von Swartz, I love her more deeply than ever, and would she but be as once she was to me, I would forsake all my old haunts and dissipated friends, and live for her alone. No sobersides of them all should go ahead of me, in the career of virtue. It shall be so!" he exclaimed starting up-"No time like the present, I will now pay off all my old scores here, and return to my store, as a preliminary step to her favor." Von Swartz was aghast-Joseph possessed a generous heart, and had always shared his purse with the Alsatian who did not contemplate with composure the prospect of losing one means of subsistence. He well foresaw, that when Joseph forsook this course of iife, he would be "whistled down the wind," and left to shift for himself. He therefore determined in the dark recesses of his heart, to fasten himself on his unsuspecting friend, and drag him down so low in the haunts of vice, that there could no longer be hope for him. To make him sin so deeply that his fair lady would be lost to him forever. Joseph was an easy victim. His own open unsuspicious disposition, rendered him unable to penetrate into the vicious characters of his associates. his recklessness and generosity, induced him to overlook, or forget all he did observe. He was thus a complete prey to the dark plotting Alsa

And

"Well Denham," said Von Swartz, one bright day, as they were both standing before a window at the City Hotel. "It is time to make our arrangements for the races next Thursday." "I cannot go to the races this week," said Joseph. "And why not." "Hymen calls me away, Von Swartz." tian. "Hymen! mein gott! will you marry?" "Not The wedding day arrived-and as Herman Von myself, but I shall assist at the marriage of another Swartz had a great curiosity to behold the lady on Thursday morning. The bridegroom is a friend whom he considered as his rival with Joseph, he of mine, and I am to be groomsman; and more- determined to repair to the meeting house. Herover, one of the bridesmaids is the loveliest crea- man entered what seemed to him, the abode of ture in the city." "A quakeress ?" Yes, and a silence. All the human beings there were appamilder, purer being, never graced the earth." rently turned into stone. Quietly they sat, their "You are warm-I suspect freund Joseph, your eyes fixed on vacancy, or on the ground, commu