there no longer. And would he tamely surren- | his reluctant friend an acceptance of the chalder her who was dearer to him than life, to the lenge. machinations of a set of bullies? (He always I will not attempt to describe his feelings duexonerated Tucker.) No, manhood, truth and ring that sleepless night. At one time he would love, alike forbade the dastardly thought. He with a shudder bury his head in his pillow, as he felt that he might trust to an overruling Provi- thought of himself as the possible murderer of a dence-ah, could he? His principles were too man for whom he entertained even friendly senenlightened, and his religious sentiments too sin- timents, and then with the image of Helen becere, to allow him to entertain for many moments fore him, he would eagerly justify himself and the idea that he could expect the blessing of bewail the fate he could not shun. In such Providence, if wilfully he entered upon a path dreadful fluctuations of feeling he welcomed the which might probably lead to the wicked shed- dawn. During the day his demeanor was calm, ding of human blood. And the miserable young but his inward anguish was but the more conman bent down his head in agony on his knees. suming. He had not seen Helen for two days. Violent and long was the struggle between feel- He dared not trust himself with her. Colonel ing and principle, and when, exhausted by the Sinclair had, to his relief, left the Springs that inward conflict, he ceased from the effort to come morning and would not be back until night. to a decision, principle had not triumphed, that Arthur remained in his room all day expecting is, it had been overcome; for error always keeps Lewis to call on him to make arrangements for the field when a drawn battle is proclaimed between her and truth. Arthur could not decide whether in the last resort, he would go to the bloody field, or whether he would refuse and bear the consequences, but he did decide that he would run the risk of commissioning Lewis to act as his friend and meet Captain Jones. the contemplated meeting. Lewis, however, did not come. In the evening, as he was standing at his window, to his surprise Arthur saw bis father, who was not expected for several days, get out of the stage. He stepped out to meet him, and his father exclaimed, "My son, are you ill?" Arthur said that he was slightly indisThis mental conflict which I have so imper-posed, but his father was not to be thus put off, fectly described, lasted about four hours, and du- and accompanying him to his chamber he perring the whole of it, Arthur felt the strongest im-ceived that it was mental distress, not bodily pulse to hasten to Helen Sinclair, confess his love sickness that gave him such a haggard look. for her, confide to her his trouble, and place his What can escape or deceive the eye of a fond fate in her hands. But while he felt the impulse, parent, accustomed for years to scan every varythe thought seemed too preposterous to be con- ing expression of the countenance of a beloved sidered for a moment. Was this a time to avow child? his passion? How unmanly as well as how unbecoming, to consult a young girl upon such a subject? Nevertheless, Arthur Lennox, well is ?" had it been for thee, hadst thou yielded to that Arthur tried to evade the inquiry, but his inimpulse-it was the whispering of thy guardian creasing perturbation only augmented his father's angel. The passionate heart of that quiet, blue-anxiety, and added solemnity to his entreaties eyed girl, has perceived thy love, and is ready, and commands to entrust him with that which it from its own depths, to answer to it. And with all your intellect, Arthur Lennox, Helen Sinclair has a clearer view of essential truth than you have. And brave as you are, her moral courage will droop never a pinion where yours will cower; and therefore, Arthur Lennox, well hadst thou done to have gone to Helen as a counsellor. "My son," said he, "some sore distress has come upon you tell me I beseech you what it was his right in the sight of God to know. At last, overcome, Arthur threw his arms round his neck, and with bursting heart exclaimed: "Father, I have never concealed any thing from you. Until now I never had any thing to conceal, and now I will tell you all, though it will go nigh to kill you." "My son cannot have committed crime, and any thing else, I think by God's help, I can bear." "Say not so, Father, until you have learned all. You know not how near I may be to crime." "Never so near that God's power cannot rescue you. Say on, my son." Lewis came at the appointed hour, and after hearing the decision of Arthur, again explained to him that it was to some extent a committal of of himself, and that he entertained but little hope that he could do any thing with Jones. Lewis was right in his anticipations-Jones would consent to nothing, except on conditions which Lewis told him he should not repeat in his pre- With his elbow resting on the table, and his sence, and which of course he did not commu- hand shading his eyes, for he could not look up, nicate to Lennox. The result was, that Arthur in a low but now steady tone, Arthur told his faLennox had, by 10 o'clock, sent by the hands of ther every thing, not omitting his love for Helen. "Father, I yield, I yield. God's will be done." 'Amen, my son, God's name be praised." They left the White Sulphur that night, Mr. Lennox merely saying, that a matter of the ut As he proceeded in his narrative of the efforts to avoid the duel, his father's hands were clasped. his body inclined forward, and his eyes almost protruding from their sockets with agonizing anxiety, and when he said that he had accepted most moment required their instant departure, the challenge, he uttered a sharp cry as if pierced, and fell forward on the table between them. Arthur sprang to him to raise him, exclaiming Father, father," and as he looked upon his pallid features, "oh, my God, I have killed my father!" : He laid him on a bed and was rushing out of the room for aid, when, in a feeble tone, his father said, "no, my son, let us be alone." Arthur saw him clasp his hands and raise them over his breast, and saw his pale lips moving in supplication to God. Soon he revived entirely, and sitting up said, "Blessed be God, who, by his Providence, caused me to return to-day-and now, my son, we must leave this place in the stage to-night." "Leave this place to night, father! and would you have to-morrow's sun rise on me branded with dishonor?" "My son, you are not now in a condition to reason-think not that I mean to upbraid. Well I know the fiery trial to which you have been subjected—no human strength, unaided by grace from on high, which alas, my boy, you have not sought, could resist it-never did the tempter set more artful toils to secure a noble prey. But I see clearly that the only safety for you is to leave this place." "Father, I cannot; what will the world say?" "Let it say, my son, what it will, if God and your conscience say peace." "And, Father, what will she say?" "If she is worthy of you, Arthur, as I believe she is, she will say that you have done right. But better lose her, if you must, than lose your soul." "Father, I cannot." "Say not so, my son, God will give you strength. Arthur, often have I prayed with you in childhood, kneel with me now my son, oh kneel with me, and let us implore God together, that he would give us grace to help in this time of sorest need!" and requesting the manager of the hotel to present their farewell to the family of Colonel Sinclair and other friends, and to say that the emergency of their departure prevented more formal leave-taking. The dejection of Arthur was extreme, notwithstanding the tenderest and most skilful efforts on the part of his father at once to arouse and soothe him. This dejection continued after their arrival at Philadelphia, so as to occasion great uneasiness as to his health. One day, about two months afterwards, as he was walking slowly up Chesnut street, to his great surprise, he saw Horace Tucker advancing towards him with the manifest intention of accosting him. "My trials," thought Arthur, "follow me here." Expecting to be insulted he endeavored to prepare himself for a calm and firm reply. How great was his surprise then to see him stretch out his hand, and in the most cordial manner exclaimWhy Lennox, my good fellow, how are you— how are you? But bless me, are you unwell? You look as thin as a volume of American poetry. What's the matter?" Arthur was so astounded that he could not reply, and Tucker to relieve him said, "By the way, I expected an answer to my last letter." "Your last letter,” said Arthur coloring at the painful recollection of the only correspondence which had taken place between them. "I do not understand you. I never received but one, I believe, and to that I returned an answer by my friend Mr. Lewis." "Oh confound that one," said Tucker, letter and answer both,—we will agree to forget them if you please. I mean the one that I sent you the night of your departure." "The night of my departure!" said Arthur eagerly, a ray of light striking his mind. "I never received it-what were its contents?" "Never received it? Surely my servant did not impose upon me. He told me that, knocking at your door, and receiving no answer, he had ventured to open it, when he saw you standing by the bed on which your father was lying turb him or you, he had laid the letter on a table beside you where you must see it, and retired.” And they kneeled together, father and son, as they had often done before, and as in solemn and fervent strain, the father prayed for the lad, as in touching scripture phrase he called him. apparently asleep and sick, and fearing to dis"for the life of the lad, even for the life of his soul,”—the long revered voice, with its hallowed associations, overcame Arthur. He wept like a child-the mists of pride and false shame melted from his eyes-by the divine blessing sought and obtained, error was driven from his soul, aud serene, heavenly truth resumed her throne there. They arose. In truth Mr. Lennox had perceived the letter as he was leaving the room and having looked at the signature, did not doubt that it was a communication touching some arrangements for the duel, and fearful that it might shake the still wavering mind of Arthur, had hastily destroyed it. "In truth," said he, "I thought but little about Those fellows around me seemed to take it "Perhaps so," said Arthur. "I have some faint recollection that I saw a servant enter my it. room, but I heard nothing of any letter, and for granted that I would challenge him, and I your manner makes me anxious to learn what was its purport." supposed it likely that some honorable adjustment would take place, or if we must fight, why "And you did not receive it!" again repeated it was an inevitable misfortune, and neither of Tucker. Then, my dear sir, you have to learn us would be to blame. I see now the folly of about a certain lady, something that I did not this inconsideration, and moreover, I begin to doubt you had been feasting on for the last two suspect that Jones, who has been officious in months. But turn in with me to my lodgings, this matter, is not every thing he ought to be." this is not matter for a street yarn." "Of that you may rest assured," said Lewis, After they were seated, Tucker in his easy off "I have made some discoveries about him this hand way, gave Lennox a circumstantial narra-morning, which I will communicate to you some tive, an outline of which, in our own words, is time again.” sufficient to conclude our story. Helen Sinclair Just then a knock was heard at the door, and 66 had anticipated the possibility of something un- a servant said that Captain Jones had sent to pleasant between the young men growing out of beg the favor of a word with Mr. Tucker. the scene at the ball-room, and when Arthur had "The impertinent fellow," exclaimed Tucker, shunned her all the next day, her uneasiness in-"What does he mean by interrupting me with creased. The three visits, in one day, made by such messages. Tell him to wait will you, boy." Lewis to Arthur's room had not escaped her ob- Nay," said Lewis, "it is a capital opportuservation, and the next day she took her course nity for me to give you some idea of what sort decidedly. She sent for Mr. Lewis and told him of a gentleman Captain Jones is. Send him her suspicions. Lewis endeavored to evade her word just to step to the door." questions, but she told him that she had been the subject of the original disagreement, that it was therefore her duty and office to arrest any thing further, and that she must be informed distinctly of the state of the case. Her calm authoritative manner was not to be resisted, and after some demurring, Lewis told her what had been done. "Is it possible," said she, "that Mr. Lennox can thus have surrendered his principles to public opinion? I thought he was a braver man." She paused some moments as if for reflection. putting her hand to her brow and over her eyes. Lewis thought he saw a tear trickle round the ring on her finger, but if so it was no indication of weakness. Raising her head, she said, "Mr Lewis you must carry a note from me to Mr. Tucker. I must see him." Again Lewis demurred, but again yielded, for he felt that the decision with which Helen acted, was based upon a clearer view of the exigencies of the case than he himself could command. Tucker came cheerfully, and made a graceful apology to Helen for bis deportment in the ball-room, and thauked her for allowing him the privilege of coming into her presence so soon again. Helen conducted herself with mingled dignity and grace, and with infinite tact. Tucker said at once in reply to her inquiries, that so far from bearing any grudge to Lennox for what he had done, he would have considered him a contemptible fellow had he done less. Accordingly Captain Jones came to the door where he paused, as if he expected Tucker to come out and speak to him. "Walk in Captain Jones," cried Lewis in rather a drawling tone, "walk in, sir.” And Captain Jones, with his glazed cap and gaiter boots, stepped into Helen's cabin, with a look of surprise, but bowed with easy familiarity to its fair occupant, who looked cold and motionless as an iceberg. "Now, Mr. Captain," said Lewis, rising as he spoke, "since you have had the impudence to disturb us here with your messages, I take the occasion to tell you, that I happen to know why you left Memphis in the fall of 1836, and to say that if you do not leave this place instantly, I will, with this lady's permission, cane you where you stand, and if you are not satisfied, I will repeat it to-morrow on the promenade." Captain Jones made an instantaneous exit, and left the Springs that night in the Stage. In fine, Tucker himself proposed, for his was as generous a nature as ever the sun shone upon, to write a letter to Lennox, and withdraw the challenge, frankly expressing his regret for all that had occurred. Lewis said he had intended to call upon Lennox, but would not do so that day that he might not anticipate Tucker's communication. 66 This was about two o'clock; Tucker sent the letter just before dark, and the result we know. “When I found,” said Tucker, that you were gone, owing, as the manager said, to some sudden news brought by your father, I made it my business, aided by Lewis, to give free circulation to the whole matter the challenge by me, your acceptance, and my | withdrawal of it, not omitting the episode of Captain Jones. You became quite a hero, enjoying the reputation of knocking me down at the ball-room-coming out, not second best, in the matter of the challenge, and sharing, in some way, though certainly undeservedly, the credit with Lewis, of Jones' overthrow. And now sir," rising as he spoke, "I trust we are as good friends as I have been mistaken in supposing we were, for two months past." "Friend-best of friends!" cried Arthur, "never shall I be able to thank you sufficiently for your generous conduct." And he clasped him in his arms. “Hold on, hold on!" cried Tucker, extricating himself "I never will allow a man with a beard to kiss me,-take care, sir, or I will remember that you once had the pleasure of knocking me down, and I will return the compliment. But seriously, my dear sir, let me call a carriage and see you home, for you evidently need repose." The Window Panes at Bn. Upon the window panes at B-n, on James River, are inscribed the names, cut with a diamond ring, of many of those who have composed the Christmas and May parties of that hospitable mansion in years gone by. As within the old mansion the holiday throng re-assembles in beauty and grace, And some eye looking out of the window, by chance, these memorial records may trace How the past, like a swift-coming haze from the sea, in an instant, surrounds us once more, While the shadowy figures of those we have loved, all distinctly are seen on the shore! Through the vista of years, stretching dimly away, we but look, and a vision beholdLike some magical picture the sunset reveals with its colours of crimson and gold All suffused with the glow of the hearth's ruddy blaze, from beneath the gay mistletoe bough,' There are faces that break into smiles as divinely as any that beam on us now. While the Old Year departing strides ghost-like along o'er the hills that are dark with the storm, To the New the brave beaker is filled to the brim, and the play of affection is warm: Look once more-as the garlanded Spring re-appears, in her footsteps we welcome a train fair women, whose eyes are as bright as the gem that From the canvas of Vandyke and Kneller that hangs on We leave the reader to imagine the pious gratitude that filled the bosom of Mr. Lennox, as he heard from Arthur the details of the circumstances we have mentioned, and it will be believed that it is beyond our power to describe the impetuous love-tide that surged in Arthur's Of breast, as he thought of Helen, and admitted to his bosom once more, that image which for two months he had been repelling as fitted only to wring his soul with anguish. He hastened to write to her, pouring out his love, asking permission to visit her, and saying that there were a thousand things that he wished to explain to her. Helen's reply was a mere mischievous She made no response to his declaration of love, and said that it seemed to her hardly worth his while to come from Philadelphia to Virginia to make explanations, but if he thought otherwise, she would not deny that it would give her pleasure to see him. note. June 1838, Arthur Lennox and his bride, old Mr. Lennox, Col. Sinclair, cousin Betsey, and Robert, who was on his way to Yale, Mr. Lewis and Horace Tucker, who had come on to L-. expressly to be present at the marriage ceremony, travelled together to Philadelphia, and all concurred with cousin Betsey when she said, that the aggregate happiness possessed by the party, was sufficient, if judiciously distributed, to make five hundred people comfortable for life. MIS-ASCRIBED QUOTATION.-" Semel insanivimus omnes," which, in most cases, is ascribed to Horace, forms part of a verse in an eclogue of Mantuanus, "De honesto amore." The whole is as follows: "Id commune malum, semel insanivimus omnes." on the guests and the revel and all; though rendered immortal by Art, Yet outshines not the beauty that breathing below, in a moment, takes captive the heart. Many winters have since frosted over these panes with the tracery-work of the rime, Many Aprils have brought back the birds to the lawn from some far away tropical climeBut the guests of the season, alas! where are they? some the shores of the stranger have trod, And some names have been long ago carved on the stone, where they sweetly rest under the sod. How uncertain the record! the hand of a child, in its innocent sport, unawares, May, at any time, lucklessly shatter the pane, and The fond names that survive in the memory of friends who yet linger a season behind. Recollect, oh young soul, with ambition inspired!-let the moral be read as we passRecollect the illusory tablets of fame have been ever as brittle as glass : Oh then be not content with a name there inscribed,— for as well may you trace it in dust,— But resolve to record it where long it shall stand, in the hearts of the good and the just! Σ. POETRY AND RELIGION. No. VII. its nature, is rather an evidence of its truth. It is of divine origin. Other systems are of human growth. It aims to regenerate and restore man to purity and peace; and as a remedy divinely adapted to its end, it encounters antipathy in the Additional prejudices considered-False impres-diseases of our nature. Other systems accord sions, as to the moral aimlessness of poetry, as with the morbid taste of that nature, which gave a mere art; and the separate province of Chris- them birth; and, instead of counteracting, foster tianity-Sources of prejudice-Inferiority of and feed its perverted tendencies. Christianity devotional poetry-Dr. Johnson's opinion exam-claims among its true adherents a comparatively ined-Influence of Ancient Classics-Relation small number of partially transformed and assimof the Bible to literary taste—Elements of Chris-ilated characters, who have realized its regenetian character supposed unpoetical. rating power while multitudes carelessly assent to its truth, but remain strangers to its spirit and a nominally christian land. From these ranks of practical unbelief, a large proportion of our polite literature is derived. Hence the frequent exclusion of Christianity from its pages. An enlightened Pagan might become familiar life. Other systems, presenting no conflict bewith a large portion of our polite literature, with- tween conviction and impulse, in so far as they out forming a clear conception of the distinctive gain an ascendancy over the understanding, character of our religion. And yet that litera- carry with them, in full consent, the passions of the ture professes to portray our best thoughts and devoted multitude. Many, who in theory acpurest sentiments-our noblest virtues and high- knowledge the truth of christianity, do yet pracest interests. Or could we imagine such a Pa- tically refuse to submit to its authority. As a gan to be the shade of some ancient poet of remedy adapted to restore fallen man to the imGreece or Rome, permitted for a time to revisit age and favour of God, the gospel will of course the earth, he would perhaps conclude, while re- be uncongenial to the propensities of his unreviewing that portion of our literature, which newed nature; and, even after a formal assent gives no intimation of a higher and holier faith, is yielded to its truth, the heart will spontanethat an obscure fragment of his own once gor- ously rebel against the remedy, until it has felt geous mythology was perpetuated in the belief its transforming efficacy. And if, in the mean of a degenerated people. It is a source of re- time, a position of indifference can be maintained, gret to every serious mind, familiar with the sub-between such formal assent to the truth of the ject, that much of the poetry and fine writing in system, on the one hand, and a cordial complinominally Christian lands bears no faithful im-ance with its duties, on the other, that position press of the prevailing religion. How has this will become the chosen attitude of multitudes, in come to pass? When other religions have pervaded all the forms of literature in other times, why does Christianity refuse to blend with so large a compass of modern literature? When the light of superstition sent its rays through all the avenues of ancient life, and coloured all the forms of art and all the images of poetry; why does the light of a brighter and better faith now shine for the most part through a separate medi- bination of certain inherent qualities in an obum; and why, with us, is the beautiful domain ject, as on a secret law of congeniality between of elegant literature shrouded in earth-born mists the desires and tendencies of the individual mind, and shadows, or illuminated only by the float- and the nature of the object; which law is as ing gas-lights of its own production? Have our variable as the shades of human character. If men of taste and genius, the authors of this ele- the heart be perverted by evil propensities, a gant literature, discarded christianity as false? preference will be awarded in point of excellence Or assenting, as they do generally, to its truth, to objects, which do not intrinsically merit such is it from any law of exclusiveness, in the exer- a distinction. Hence in that divine character, cise of their art, as poets, that they are prohibited held forth as a model for humanity to admire all reference to the themes of piety? Do Chris- and imitate, many "see no beauty, that they tianity and polite literature constitute two dis- should desire him," although it is adorned with tiuct departments-two hostile territories, be- perfect loveliness, with infinite attractions. Hence tween which all intercourse is excluded? No! also the themes and topics, the sentiments and it is not thus we may explain this anomaly. The virtues peculiar to Christianity, are to a great difference between Christianity and other sys- extent practically excluded from the department tems of religion, as it regards a connection with of polite literature. How far this exclusion exliterature, so far from being a disparagement of tends, we shall not pause to determine. Its prev The condition of the moral nature—the state of the heart-will modify our literary, as well as our moral tastes. The intellectual beauty that charms the soul depends, not so much on a com |