On the evening specified, Herman Von Swartz drove to the house of Mr. Denham, or as he was called among his own people, "friend Denham." Here, in two rooms arranged with the chastest simplicity, were the elete of the Friends Society. The furniture was of the most costly material, but plain and unornamented. The carpets were of the richest description, although of subdued tints, and the walls were altogether devoid of picture, mirror or hanging. No music, no dancing, or cards were introduced to amuse the company, but in conversing with each other, they found a truer and purer en ning with their own hearts, in deep and solemn up. Many now pressed forward to sign the certicontemplation. On one side placidly reposed ficate which was placed on a small table in front of many a blooming damsel, arrayed with sincere the newly married pair, and among them was Von simplicity, engaged in maiden meditation." Swartz, for an indefinable fascination drew him to While around them were their soberly appareled the vicinity of the peerless bridesmaid. When the mothers. The other side was occupied by demure bridal party retired, Joseph, as he passed his foreign looking young men, and abstracted old ones, friend, pressed his hand, and gave him an invitawhose serious faces were almost concealed, be- tion to his father's house on the ensuing evening. neath their broad brimmed hats. All sat wrapt, The Alsatian had avoided respectable society, entranced—their thoughts apparently freed from hitherto, yet his blood danced in his veins at the earth, had pierced the heavens, and reached "that thoughts of meeting the lovely creature who had high world which lies beyond our own," here so strongly interested him that morning, and he were no ceremonies, no music to divert the atten- readily promised to attend. tion from their spiritual worship. On the high seat sat the elders who were permitted to speak when inwardly moved," and beneath it were arranged the bridal party. The bride wore a robe of spotless white boinbazine, while around her shoulders hung a shawl of plain white merino, neatly bound with satin ribbon. A simple cottage hat of white satin, completed her attire. Joseph and the two other groomsmen were there, and the three bridesmaids. One of the latter was so supereminently beautiful, that Von Swartz confessed, in Europe or America he had never seen her equal. Her dark hair was classically parted over her inno-joyment than if they had resorted to the above cent forehead, while the extreme whiteness of her mentioned pastimes. In such an assembly enlight skin, and delicate regularity of her lovely features, ened minds feel themselves at home. As Herman the stillness and the fixedness of her look, gave her listened, dissertations on science, literature and histhe appearance of sculptured marble. Her dark tory were heard around, even from the lips of the soft eyes had been cast on the ground but as she young and lovely. The ladies, as if firm believers accidentally raised them, they encountered the ad- of that Milton, from whom they so often quoted, miring gaze of the Alsatian, and immediately a were "unadorned" by jewel, plume or scarf, and vivid blush flashed o'er her face, like the tints of their noble forms and glossy hair, were seen to rose, which the setting sun throws over the snow double advantage when not obscured by ornament. tipt mountain. Angel of innocence," signed Von Joseph to the great joy of Von Swartz, introduced Swartz. "That blush belongs to me, 'tis I who him to the charming bridesmaid. Was there no should shrink. from encountering the purity of kind angel near, to intercede for that gentle being, those eyes-wretch! what do I here-I, whose and induce Joseph to hesitate, before he placed that band is stained with blood. Who has revelled son of Ellis in the path of the fair young quakeress? in iniquity, why do I brave the heavens by sully. It is a simple ceremony, the introduction of two ining the threshold of this house of holiness and sim-dividuals to each other-" Miss A, permit me to plicity, by my unhallowed presence. Ah! if she knew how like a serpent, I am about to steal into her Eden; if that lovely being could read in the deep recesses of my heart, how would she shudder and recoil from me as from an adder. The silence around him sank like a weight on the Alsatian's heart. As if forced by a superior power to look within, the horror of the review overwhelmed him. Days of riot and excess, passed before his mental vision-crimes committed-time wasted-him Joseph's friend, and him she loved, with a pure the broken hearts of those who loved him-his dy- and unalterable affection. She had been forbiding mother's curse, all arose so vividly before him, den to have any communication with young Denas he sat in that temple of silence, and purity, that ham, and although they had been accidentally his agitation became beyond his control, and at- thrown together lately, still in compliance with her tracted the attention of those around him. The parents commands, the gentle Esther had avoided dark eyed bridesmaid, bent on him a look of pity, him more than in her own heart she wished. Next as if she deemed him ill. Unable to sit longer, to himself, his friend claimed her attention, and from the excess of his feelings Von Swartz was on her artless confidence and sweet vivacity comthe point of leaving the house, when a voice broke pletely chained Von Swartz to her side. What a dethe stillness around. He turned, and beheld the licious sensation thrilled through his heart, when she bridal party all standing. The bridegroom in a addressed him as plain "Herman," after the fashion low but calm voice declared that “in the presence of her people. He felt like one who had emerged of God, and this assembly, he took Rebecca G- from outer darkness, to the brilliancy of day. for his wedded wife, etc." The bride repeated this, and the simple ceremony was concluded. The elders then shook hands and the meeting broke introduce Mr. B," is easily said, yet to what consequences does it not often lead. In this case it was still simpler, "Esther Hanway here is my friend Herman Von Swartz," but the sorrows that sprang from it, were such, that could Esther have foresaw them, she would have shrank in horror from him. As it was, she entered into conversation with Von Swartz in rather more sprightly a manner, than was her usual custom to strangers, for she believed Dazzled and delighted while Herman gazed into her innocent eyes, and her intellectual countenance expressive of interest in all he said, he asked him our patron saint was an Irishman, and none the worse for that, as Ireland has had as good saints as any in the calendar. And it is now clear that he does protect us prosaic writers, by the number of reporters and gentlemen of the press which have been brought over from the sister kingdom. But to proceed. Saint Brandon, it appears, was a reading man, and amused himself with voyages and travels, but St. Brandon was an unbeliever, and thought that travellers told strange things. He took up the Zoology of Pliny, and pursued his accounts of "Andres vast, and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders." He read until his patience was exhausted, and, in a fit of anger, he threw the manuscript into the flames. Now this was a beavy sin, for a man's book is the bantling of his brain, and to say the least, it was a literary infanticide. That very night, an angel appeared to him, and as a pennance for his foul crime, (in the enormity of which every author will agree with the angel,) he was enjoined to make the book over again, no easy task in those days, when manuscripts were rare, and the art of book-making had not been invented. The sinner, in obedience to the heavenly mission, goes to work, he charters a vessel, lays in provisions for a seven years voyage, and with a crew of seven monks, he makes sail, and after going round the world seven times, during which the world went round the sun seven times, he completed his task in seven volumes folio, which are now out of print. Probably, being in manuscript, he took it up to heaven with him as a passport into paradise. For this miracle-and certainly with such a ship's company, it was a miracle-he was canonized, and is now the patron saint of all prose authors, particularly those whose works are measured by the foot rule. And now that I have made known to my fraternity that we also have a saint, all they have to do is to call upon hm six or seven times, when their brains are at sixes and sevens. I opine that holy St. Brandon amused himself with hazard during his voyges, for it is quite clear that, with him, seven's By the mighty Minster's bell, Know, a Prince hath died! By the drum's dull muffled sound, By the arms that sweep the ground, By the volleying muskets' tone, Speak ye of a soldier gone, In his manhood's pride! By the chaunted psalm, that fills, Reverently, the ancient hills, Learn, that, from his harvests done, Peasant's bear a brother on, To his last repose! ORIGINAL. The Invocation. BY A. D. WOODBRIDGE. COME gentle muse! oh, come! and bring "Yes! I come, but without bringing Hast thou not afar been flinging Hast thou not been meanly toiling While that Hydra, care, was coiling “Think'st thou then my choicest favors, No! I keep my richest treasures Burst the bonds thy spirit crushing! Then to thee, full gladly rushing, 'Tis true, Celestial Spirit, I have toiled Good Offices. Half the misery of human life might be extinguished would men alleviate the general curse they lie under, by mutual offices of compassion, benevolence and humanity. Man. To look at man as he is seen in the bustle and turmoil of the world, one can scarcely believe that he is born to enjoy life, but merely to deliver it down to others. THE stories current among the Irish peasantry are not very remarkable for the inculcation of any moral lesson, although numberless are the legends related of pious and good people,' the saints and fairies. The following tale of the Three Advices is the only one of a moral character which I remember to have heard. It was told to me by a professional story-teller, whose diction I have endeavored to preserve, although his soubriquet of Paddreen Trelah' or Paddy the Vagabond, from his wandering life, was not a particularly appropriate title for a moralist. The tale is certainly very ancient, and has probably found its way into Ireland from Wales, as it appears to be an amplification of a Bardic Traid of Wisdoin.' offer; and, therefore, after a slight consideration, told him that he agreed to take for his wages whatever he would advise, whether it was the twelve guineas or not. "Then listen attentively to my words," said the gentleman. "First-I would teach you this-Never to takea bye road when you have the highway." Secondly-take heed not to lodge in the house where an old man is married to a young woman.' "And thirdly-Remember that honesty is the best policy." "These are the three advices I would pay you with; and they are in value far beyond any gold; however, here is a guinea for your travelling charges, and two cakes, one of which you must give to your wife, and the other you must not eat yourself until you have done so, and I charge you to be careful of them." There once come, what of late happened so often in Ireland, a hard year. When the crops failed, there was beggary and misfortune from one end of the island to the other. At that time many poor people had to quit the country from want of em- It was not without some reluctance on the part ployment, and through the high price of provisions. of John Carson that he was made to accept mere Among others, John Carson was under the neces-words for wages, or could be persuaded that they sity of going over to England, to try if he could get were more precious than golden guineas. His work; and of leaving his wife and family behind faith in his master was, however, so strong, that he him, begging for a bite and a sup up and down, at length became satisfied. and trusting to the charity of good Christians. John was a smart young fellow, handy at any work, from the hay field to the stable, and willing to earn the bread he ate ; and he was soon engaged by a gentleman. The English are mighty strict upon Irish servants; he was to have twelve guineas a year wages, but the money was not to be paid until the end of the year, and he was to forfeit the entire twelve guineas in the lump, if he misconducted himself in any way within the twelve months. John Carson was to be sure upon his best behavior, and conducted himself in every particular so well for the whole time, there was no faulting him late or early, and the wages were fairly hi. The term of his agreement being expired, he determined on returning home, notwithstanding his master, who had a great regard for him, pressed him to remain, and asked him if he had any reason to be dissatisfied with his treatment. “No reason in life, sir," said John; "you've been a good master and a kind master to me; the Lord spare you over your family; but I left a wife and two small children of my own at home, after me in Ireland, and your honor would never wish to keep me from them entirely. The wife and the children." "Well, John," said the gentleman, "you have earned your twelve guineas, and you have been, in every respect, so good a servant, that, if you are agreeable, I intend giving you what is worth the twelve guineas ten times over, in place of your wages. But you shall have your choice-will you take what I offer, on my word ?" John saw no reason to think that his master was jesting with him, or was insincere in making the John set out for Ireland the next morning early; but he had not proceeded far, before he overtook two pedlars who were travelling the same way. He entered into conversation with them, and found them a pair of merry fellows, who proved excellent company on the road. Now it happened, towards the end of their day's journey, when they were all tired with walking, that they came to a wood, through which there was a path that shortened the distance to the town they were going towards, by two miles. The pedlars advised John to go with them through the wood; but he refused to leave the highway, telling them, at the same time, he would meet them again at a certain house in the town, where travellers put up. John was willing to try the worth of the advice which his master had given him, and he arrived in safety, and took up his quarters at the appointed place. While he was eating his supper, an old man came hobling into the kitchen, and gave orders about different natters there, and then went out again. John would have taken no particular notice of this, but immediately after, a young woman, young enough to be the old man's daughter, came in, and gave orders exactly the contrary of what the old man had given, calling him, at the same time, such as old fool, and old dotard, and so on. When she was gone, John inquired who the old man was. "He is the landlord," said the servant; and, Heaven help him! a dog's life has he led since he married his last wife." the door before he met the two pedlars, all cut and | I brought every step of the way with me from Engbleeding, coming in, for they had been robbed and land, and they will do for the children's supper. I almost murdered in the wood. John was very sorry ought surely to remember, as good right I have, to see them in that condition, and advised them not what my master told me for my twelve months' to lodge in the house, telling them, with a signifi-wages, seeing I never, as yet, found what he said cant nod that all was not right there; but the poor to be wrong.' pedlars were so weary and so bruised, that they would stop where they were, and disregarded the advices. And what did he say,' inquired the wife. 'Tis very well; and 'tis mighty easy for them to say so that have never been sore tempted, by distress and famine, to say otherwise, but your bidding is enough for me, John.' Straightway she went to the big house, and inquired for the young squire; but she was denied the liberty to speak to him. You must tell me your business, honest woman,' Rather than remain in the house, John retired to the staple, and laid himself down upon a bundle of straw, where he slept soundly for some time. About the middle of the night, he heard two persons come into the stable, and on listening to their conversation, discovered that it was the landlady and a man, laying a plan how to murder her husband. In the morning John renewed his journey; but at the next town he came to, he was told that the land-said the servant, with a head all powdered and lord in the town he had left had been murdered and that two pedlars, whose clothes were found all covered with blood, had been taken up for the crime, and were going to be hanged. John, without mentioning what he had overheard to any person, de-woman, for I've brought a purse full of gold to the termined to save the pedlars if possible, and so returned, in order to attend their trial. frizzled like a cauliflower, and who had on a coat covered with gold and silver lace and buttons, and every thing in the world. 'If you know but all,' said she, 'I am an honest young master; for surely it is his; as no body else could have so much money.' On going into the court, he saw the two men at 'Let me see it,' said the servant. Ay, its all bar, and the young woman and the man whose right-I'll take care of it-you need not trouble voice he had heard in the stable, swearing their yourself any more about the matter;' and so sayinnocent lives away. But the judge allowed him ing, he slapped the door in her face. When she to give his evidence, and he told every particular of returned, her husband produced the two cakes what had occurred. The man and the young wo- which his master gave him on parting; and breakman instantly confessed their guilt; the poor ped-ing one to divide between his children, how was lars were at once acquitted ; and the judge ordered he astonished to find six guineas in it; and when a large reward to be paid to John Carson, as he took the other and broke it, he found as many through his means the real murderers were brought more. He then remembered the words of his geneto justice. rous master, who desired him to give one of the cakes to his wife, and not to eat the other himself until that time; and this was the way his master took to conceal his wages, least he should have been robbed, or have lost the money on the road. off his hat, for he had not forgotten his manners through the means of travelling to foreign parts, and then nade so bold as to inquire if his honor had got the purse he lost. John proceeded towards home, fully convinced of the value of two of the advices which his master had given him. On arriving at his cabin he found U his wife and children rejoicing over a purse of gold, which the eldest boy had picked up on the The following day, as John was standing near road that morning. Whilst he was away, they his cabin door, and turning over his own mind had endured all the miseries which the wretched what he should do with his money, the young families of those who go over to seek work in Eng-squire came riding down the road. John pulled land are exposed to. With precarious food, without a bed to lie down on, or a roof to shelter them, they had wandered through the country, seeking food from door to door of a starving population; and when a single potatoe was bestowed, showering down blessings and thanks on the giver, not in the set phrases of the mendicant, but in a burst of eloquence too fervid not to gush direct from the heart. Those only who have seen a family of such beggars as I describe, can fancy the joy with which the poor woman welcomed her husband back, and informed him of the purse full of gold. "And where did Mack my boy, find it," inquired John Carson. Why, it is true enough, my good fellow,' said the squire, I did lose my purse yesterday, and I hope you were lucky enough to find it; for if that is your cabin, you seem to be very poor, and shall keep it as a reward for your honesty.' 'Then the servant at the big house never gave it to you last night, after taking it from Nanceshe's my wife, your honor-and telling her it was all right?' 'Oh, I must look into this business,' said the 'It was the young squire, for certain, who drop-squire. ped it,' said his wife; for he rode down the road Did you say your wife, my poor man, gave my this morning, and was leaping his horse in the very purse to a servant-to what servant?' gap where Micky picked it up; but sure, John, he 'I can't tell his name rightly,' said John, 'behas money enough besides, and never the half-pen-cause I don't know it; but never trust Nance's eye ny have I to buy my poor childer a bit to eat this again if she can't point him out to your honor, if blessed night.' so your honor is desirous of knowing.' 'Never mind that,' said John; 'do as 1 bid you, and take up the purse at once to the big house, and ask for the young squire. I have two cakes which Then do you and Nance, as you call her, come up to the hall this evening, and I'll inquire into the matter, I promise you.' And the squire rode off. John and his wife went up accordingly in the evening, and he gave a small rap with the big knocker at the great door. The door was opened by a grand servant, who, without hearing what the poor people had to say, exclaimed, 'Oh, go!-go! what business can you have here?' and shut the door. John's wife burst out a crying-' There,' said she, sobbing as if her heart would break, I knew that would be the end of it.' But John had not been in old England merely to get his twelve guineas packed in two cakes. No,' said he, firmly; right is right, and I'll see the end of it.' So he sets himself down on the steps of the door, determined not to go until he had seen the young squire, and, as it happened, it was not long before he came out. 'I have been expecting you for some time, John,' said he; come in and bring your wife in ;' and he made them go before him into the house. Immediately he directed all the servants to come up stairs; and such an army of them as there was! It was a real sight to see them. 'Which of you,' said the young squire, without making further words which of you all did this honest woman give my purse to?'-but there was no answer. 'Well, I suppose she must be mistaken, unless she can tell herself.' John's wife at once pointed her finger towards the head footman; there he is,' said she, if all the world were in the fore-clergyman, magistrate, judge, jury and all-there he is, and I am ready to take my bible-oath to him-there he is who told me it was all right when he took the purse, and slammed the door in my face, without as much as thank ye for it.' The conscious footman turned pale. "What is this I hear?' said his master. If this woman gave you my purse, William, why did you not give it to me?' The servant stammered out a denial; but his master insisted on his being searched, and the purse was found in his pocket. 'John,' said the gentleman, turning round,' you shall be no loser by this affair. Here are ten guineas for you; go home now, but I will not forget your wife's honesty,' Within a month John Carson was settled in a nice slated house, which the squire had furnished and made ready for him. What with his wages, and the reward he got from the judge, and the ten guineas for returning the purse, he was well to do in the world, and was soon able to stock a little farm, where he lived respectable all his days. On his death-bed, he gave his children the very three advices which his master had given him on parting: Never to take a buy-road when they could follow the highway. Never to lodge in a house where an old man was married to a young woman. And, above all, to remember that honesty is the best policy. The velocity with which the light of the sun travels to the earth, may be estimated from the fact, that it passes in the eighth part of a second, through a space which the swiftest bird could not traverse in three weeks. The Bridegroom Dream.* BY MRS. CRAWFORD. I HEARD a voice call As a voice from the tomb,"Make ready the pall! Weave the chaplet of gloom! Will wax wan in its sadness, As the breath of the wind, Chased the dream from my mind; And I heard the sweet breathing Of love at my side, There were many that day His blithe welcome to all; From goblets of gold, And the young maidens laughing The day waned apace, And the lamps 'gan to gleam, When I look'd on the face Of my bride; and my dream Chased the spirit of lightness; For gone was her bloom, And unearthly the whiteness That reign'd in its room. And I heard the voice call, As a voice from the tomb,"Make ready the pall, Weave the chaplet of gloom!" Yet I felt in my mind, That the judgment was wise, For love had untwin'd My soul from the skies; And affections more cherished Than heaven's sweet grace, Like the flowers that have pershed, But darkness embrace. event, which happened in the family of Sir Charles These stanzas were suggested by an affecting Lee, of Billislee, in 1662. Death. Well, let him strike! He shall not find Till age comes old, and sad and drear? |