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played. He and little Katy were the gentle paired to see them on his way, and found the old whose happiness had been marred by the tittle mansion crowded with a bevy of cheerful, romptattle of those who retailed slanders without ing, wicked girls, full of fun and mischief, wild meaning any harm. as gazelles, with hearts free and souls pure. Now good critic, do not ask how girls can be wicked and mischievous, and yet have pure souls. I use the terms knowingly, it is no slip of the pen. A wicked girl is one who is devilish pretty, and knows it, and knows how to flirt and play the devil with you, and yet can say at the same time, in all purity, "get thee behind me satan." She is one with whom that little devil, Cupid, dwells, and from

Now, gentle reader, you think no doubt that when two loving hearts have been severed without just cause, that it is an easy matter to reconcile their differences and bring about a genial glow of love again. You think that love with whose windows he shoots his most envenomed his radiant smile might dissipate such mists-darts. "Her ringlets so curly, are Cupid's own you think that two loving hearts that were weld-net." And her mischief is so artless and full of ed together with a flame as white as ever burned fun and pleasantry, that you forget all about on Hymen's altar, could not be sundered but by Cupid and his wiles-his disguise is so complete a power as resistless as Vulcan's hammer. But you are utterly thrown off your guard.

in the ups and downs of this world's wonders, sometimes 'tis not so, and so it happened to Tim, for do what he would, say what he could, look as he might, strive as he did, it was all to no purpose, and he was forced "to give it up so."

Something must be done, Tim grew puny, not in strength or person, for he rather fattened, but he was puny in countenance, his heart was faint, there was an undefinable, indescribable weakness and lassitude about his looks that made


men weak who saw him move "as we feel warm in a winter's sun, in passing one who weighs a ton." The Doctor said he wanted air, fresh country air-the springs, the mountains blue, and the freshening breeze. It was a pleasant prescription, one that jumped with his humour and Tim bought him a handsome new buggy and sleek gay steed, a new whip, a new trunk, a new suit of black and altogether looked like a young widow emerging from her weeds when the first little bit of a white ribbon flaunts jauntily from her head. My good young sir, did you ever no- But there was one "varmint" of a girl, who tice this little symptom? You have. Well I didn't choose to have any moping, woe-begone assure you, "Shun danger and fly," for there is faces about her, she didn't like people who were as much danger under that little bit of a flag as" down in the cellar," she couldn't bear, she ever lurked under the glance of Kate Kearney. said, your psalm-singing, poke-easy, good for nothing, dumb-founded, sighing sort of beaux,she liked a fellow who could laugh. She said this not to Tim, but at him. She didn't like a groaning christian, one that would roll his eyes to heaven, and twirl his thumbs, and say "umph! ah me!" when any body smiled. "Now, Mr. Wilberforce," she appealed to Tim, "do you?" And before he could answer; "for my part,” she said, “I like to laugh"-and she suited the action to the word, and laughed very sweetly too. “I like to rattle away-aud to talk to a gentleman that knows how to talk-none of your 'this is very fine weather to-day, Miss,-this is horrid weather-indeed I think this is a very fiue day,”” and then she mimicked, most happily, one whom all

I have a story to tell. Do you suppose I intend following Tim along the road, stopping at this tavern to feed his horse, at that one to eat fried bacon and eggs and chickens that the dogs had run down five minutes before and were almost fluttering when they were served in his plate? There is no sentiment in plain "chicken fixings and mutton doings." Cupid has never yet been represented by painters or sculptors, peeping from a dish like the "four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie." He lurks among the roses, he is seen among the flowers, the dimples are his foot prints, and tresses are his bowers.

Tim set out for the Springs, but he had relations that lived under the mountain, and he call

Oh, there's nothing makes me so much grieve,
As that abominable tittle tattle,
Which is the cud eschewed by human cattle."

"His lamp, his bow, and quiver laid aside,
A rustic wallet o'er his shoulders tied."

You believe you are perfectly safe while you are chatting with a little innocent country lassie, when, my dear sir, you are under the dominion of the little god who is whistling his tune and sowing his wheat; and if it happen to fall upon good, mellow ground, it will spring up and bear a glorious harvest, some an hundred, some a thousand fold.

While the girls were wild and mischievous and full of frolic, Tim was just the reverse, and possessed not one amusing thought in the world,— he was grum, morose, sour, pensive, meditative,

absent. He had shut himself within his shell,

and what cared he for girls? He could

"Laugh at your darts tipped with flaming desire,
Since his heart, burnt to ashes, was proof against fire."

the girls knew very well, seizing a hat and stick | so full of mirth and pleasantry, would be to play and twirling the stick, and spinning the hat round the part of an ascetic. He did not like to be upon her fingers and bowing very fantastically. outdone; "He ought to do-and did his best." "Now," she said, "I like to cheer a gentleman up," and just as a friend of hers was seating himself near her, she pulled the chair from under him, and he was cheered up by landing at full length on the floor; and then she begged his pardon so sincerely and hoped he wasn't hurt-wouldn't have hurt him for the world, but the temptation was so strong-didn't mean to do it-knew he didn't mind it. "Oh do forgive me; Mr. Wilberforce wouldn't you?" And so she ran on, sometimes wit sparkling, sometimes mirth inspiring. all the time," bright eyes flashing-tresses waving," and it was impossible not to be pleased.

Now, gentle reader, I wish I had time to introduce you to all these lassies and to unfold half the tricks and past times they played. It is a pleasure to recur to these scenes. It is delightful to waken thoughts that long have slept, and to feel that those whom once we loved "in memory, bloom again."

But they brought Tim out, they rallied him about his heart, they told him there was "as good fish in the sea as ever came out." And our cheerful Fanny, that was her name, said she had read somewhere, that once Cyclops was in love, "and you know, Mr. Tim, he was an ugly hideous old fellow

'My single eye enormous lids enclose,
And o'er my blubbered lips projects my nose ;'"

And she pouted out her lips and made her nose almost meet her chin, "and even he," she said, "had learned love's torments to endure, and calm'd the passion which he could not cure." Now she ran on I do love to make up a match; "I do want so much to see you in love; I have a nice little friend, Mr. Tim, she's 'A lovely bird with azure wings,' an eye of most transparent light,' and she can sing songs that say a thousand things, and seem to say them all for you."" "Now," said Tim, "if you go on in this way, Miss Fan, I shall not only fall in love with your friend, but with the friend of the friend." "What, me? Lor bless you honey-me? that would be funny. Never had a beau in my life”—and she pulled her long ringlets down and tied them under her chin, and then she gave him such a look out of the corner of her eye and tossed her head and made him a low courtesy. "Oh," she said, "she has black eyes—coal black. sparkling ; little tiny foot, just peeping out, grace, softness. I know you would love a die away girl-not a romp like me." Now all this was said with a playfulness and an archness and a carelessness that was truly winning. Tim did not know what to be about. Not to make himself agreeable to one who was

Days ran on-time swiftly flew hours glided away in mirth, and music, and dancing, and many a gay repartee, and many a lively banter had Tim with the wild, the witching Fan; and he thought that his heart was unscathed. "To-morrow," he said, "I shall leave you, Miss Fan, I shall expect, some of these days, an introduction to your sweet friend." "Come and see me then, we'll cheer you up," she archly said, "and

'Strong indeed must be the heart,
Where love finds no unguarded part.'

Now, before you go, Mr. Tim, I am going to sing you a song. You and I will be such croniesI've taken a fancy to you, you know, and I'll down she sat at the piano, and poured out her say so many kind words for you to Bella"-and whole soul in a little merry air: “ My heart's in the Hielands-My heart is not here-My heart's in the Hielands a chasing the deer-A chasing the wild deer and following the roe-My heart's in the Hielands wherever I go."

When a man's heart has been shivered and he comes across one who seems to take a liking to him, and tries to mend his heart, and patches it with kindness and soothes him and takes him by the hand and cheers him, and whose friendship seems to be without selfish motive, and whose society is agreeable, who has a laughing eye and a laughing mouth, and withal a sweet voice,

"The devil hath not in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice," that man may be safely said to be getting into a quandary. Did you ever see a little cloud-" a frown upon the atmosphere," into which all the little fleecy sunlit mists of the heavens were rapidly drawn by the presence of the electric fluid, congregating into one solid mass, until its deep bosom heaved and muttered thunders? Well, when you get in love, you'll feel drawn by a power stronger than the fluid, and your bosom will heave, but your muttering will be as the cooing of a dove.

Tim went his way-but the wheat was sown. As he rode along, "My heart's in the Hielands," came ringing through his ears; he hummed it, he whistled it, he sang it, and then, for variety, he whistled it, he sang it, and he hummed it; and if he had been the happy owner of a Jewsharp, he would have Jewsharped it all along the road. Tim communed with himself: he did not believe for a moment that he who had "ambled through all love's gradations," could be caught by a wild harum scarum girl; he thought he could love a quiet, calm, soft, tender, sweet, mild little sort of a somebody. Ah, Tim! thou

knowest not thyself, nor yet the eccentricities of black silk, with a little white apron and neat love. I've seen a bandy-legged, crooked-shank, little pockets-in the one was a fine cambrie hump-backed, hair-lipped, cross-eyed, hard-fist- handkerchief, and in the other, two ripe peaches ed customer yoked to a beautiful, gentle little she had pulled in her walk. I like to be particMay-flower. I have seen a tall, Lombardy popular. Then instead of rose buds and flowers, lar, lank, lean, cadaverous spindle, with a fat, she had culled a few sprigs of white clover bloschubby, dumpy, rosy, plump partridge of a girl, som and a spire or two of grass that had gone to hanging on to his elbow. I've seen a gay Lo-seed, and these she had carelessly, you may almost thario, with form and features that Adonis might say dashed into her hair. She was without her have coveted, looking wistfully in the eyes of a bonnet, and yet if she had set at the glass for an haggard, swarthy old crone. There is nothing hour, she could not have disposed them with half wonderful in contradictions like this. Love seems the effect. I conscientiously believe that Cupid to sport in eccentricities and delights in bringing guided her fingers. If you or I, sir, had tried antipodes together. from morning till evening with hair pins and head Now gentle reader since we have jogged on pins, and side combs and tuck combs, and even cosily enough, we must introduce you to other with wafers or paste, we couldn't have fixed scenes. Our wild little Fan lived in a rural re- those little love traps to have saved our souls— treat, far from the noise and bustle of the city, they wouldn't have stayed there with all the care which for many years had been ornamented by and pains we could have bestowed; but sir, she the hand of beauty and of taste. Her mother might have tossed her head with disdain, she had taken the greatest pleasure-(she had been might have shaken her locks as the bird shakes gathered to her fathers within a few years gone by) its wing when wet with the gentle spray,—she -in adorning the approaches to the house with might have spun round and round in the giddy all the gay flowers and evergreens that she could waltz, till every ringlet by the centrifugal force collect, and they were trimmed and trailed in would have been as straight as an Indian's, and tasty festoons, and on beautiful arbors, that at yet not one clover blossom would have stirred once caught the eye, and made the place look from the position she gave it. There are more like the retreat of the Graces and the Muses: things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of and little Fan had followed the good example in thy philosophy." She had ended her stroll and set before her and continued to add specimens of completed her toilet, as we have seen unwittingly rare plants and beautiful exotics, which displayed made, when she heard the approach of wheels, her taste and added to the attractions and love- and suddenly at a turn in the road our lucky liness of her home. She was the idol of her Tim, who was whistling with all his might, “My father, who sorely afflicted with frequent attacks Heart's in the Highlands," came "full but," of the gout, seemed to cling to her gayety and "plenum sed," right along side of those same mirth as the life-giving principle of his age. And clover blossoms. while she frisked and romped like a mettlesome, unbridled steed with gay companions, yet she knew how to show him all the tender, delicate attentions that soften pain and disease and smooth it was full five miles off, and he was not preparthe brow furrowed with care. Oh, how much those old bachelors, who have tasted the sweets


Tim didn't know that he was so near Miss Fan's abode; he was seeking the house no doubt; he had been enquiring the road and been told


ed for the meeting. But then she met him so kindly. Didn't he intend coming in? And she inquired of him in the same vein that Scott knew so well how to describe. "And wha hae ye been, and what hae ye been a doing, and what for did ye na write till us." And Tim said she looked so well and put him in mind of old friends. And she said, "Now don't fall in love with me, Mr. Wilberforce-I wont allow it-I'm saving you for another."

"Some slight, light, hereditary twinges Of gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges," would give for a soft, little, velvety hand ("mollitèr manus imposuit,") gently and smoothly gliding along that heated, fevered, burning, throbbing, piercing toe.

Tim took her up in the buggy-and she shook him by the hand again. "Pon honor, you've improved," she said. "You don't look so moping. When I first saw you I thought you were a par

Our friend Fan-we have a right to call her so-had been for some time secluded without companions, and had been confined to her father's bedside, but now he was recovering from his attack, and she had rambled away from the son. Haven't I changed? I've become quite house all alone along the public road to catch ugly. I used to think that I could give a little the fresh air. She had no idea of meeting a glance"-and she looked at Tim full in the eyehuman being, but she was always neat and jaunty, (there was a heartquake)—" but now my eye has and this evening she was dressed in a glossy, lost its power." They reached the house, and

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she ushered Tim in-she ran into the next room and Tim would feel the force of the poet's ex-
and in an instant she came back with a silver clamation,
waiter in her hand, with a single glass of wine
and bit of sponge cake. She made him a cour-
"Ain't I a nice little waiting maid? I told
you I'd treat you kindly if you came to see me.
I am so glad to see you." She ran her hand into
her little pocket and gave him the peaches she
had culled. "I pulled them to give to my beau,"
she said. 66 'Don't be flattering yourself though
that I meant you,"-and away she went, leaving
Tim, as she said, to look at the pictures.

Tim was in a flutter. The whole affair had
come upon him so suddenly. Here was he in
this lovely place, with nobody but himself and
little Fan-all her friends gone, father sick; he
didn't know whether it was proper for him to
remain, and he began to be alarmed

"With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain."

He said to himself he would pursue his journey,
but he didn't. And here she comes again-

"Her eye its sun-like radiance flings

Beneath her dark, o'ershadowing tresses."

"One touch and all thy strength is gone,"

and while he was reading, it was strange to no-
tice how many lines seemed to have been writ-
ten expressly for Tim. The Poet said

"Earth holds no other like to thee,
Or if it doth, in vain for me."

Tim looked her full in the face, and the blood
tingled in his cheek. She did not look down nor
blush in turn, but she laughingly said, "That's
very prettily said by the poet. The first time
you get a fair chance, Mr. Tim, you say it to
your sweetheart. 'Twould produce quite a flut-
ter, wouldn't it? If some folks that I know were
sitting like you and I, and reading all about love
and darts and hearts, and were to come spang
up to two such lines, they'd grow a little pale-
wouldn't they?" Tim's brow cooled down. He
shut the book and mused. Why now," she
said, how you look like that same old parson-
moping, wo-begone," and taking the book she
opened it at hap-hazard and read away-

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"I am so sorry, Mr. Wilberforce, my papa is not able to see you. He is just recovering from the gout and says I must entertain you, and you know how I can do it. We can have such a snug little tete-a-tete. Pa says he's nothing but an old weed that hath no business to grow among the corn, but I laughingly tell him we often see in the same land,

'Poor weeds, rich corn, gay flowers together stand,'

and you know he thinks I'm a very daisy, but
the beaux call me a coquette-me!-innocent evening, else you should have the whole of it,
me," and she looked artlessly at Tim, and half-but of what avail would it be unless Hogarth
winked her eye-'twas not a full wink; if it had or Cruikshank had been there too and could have
been, it would not have been worth a fig. Now caught the manner. Every look was a new mesh
gentle reader can you imagine a young gentle- in that net that Cupid wove then and there. And
man in a more dangerous situation than this? she had a harp upon which she discoursed gentle
Even the most stubborn and determinedly stiff music when the conversation might have flagged.
may be made under such circumstances "to But what was the use of harps in a place like
bend his knee to love, and make obeisance at his this?
mighty shrine." But Tim, as you know, was a
susceptible gentleman-he had soft places in his
heart, and Cupid knew how to come at them.
Oh, how many sweet things that girl did say that
evening, and there was such a frankness and such a
genuine friendship about her sayings, and they sat
down by a little round table with two bright silver
candlesticks, and she handed him the "Poets of
the Ancients," and they read together out of the
same book, or rather he read to her and she
looked on, and sometimes he would, and some-
times she would, and sometimes both would turn
over the leaf, and then their hands would touch,


'He who defers the work from day to day,
Does on a river's brink expecting stay,
Till the whole stream that stopp'd him shall be gone.'


'Now wouldn't that be pretty for me to say to
But no body ever came a-courting me.
my sweetheart, if I had one, to spur him on?
We live
away off here in the country-you town gentle-
men don't care for country lassies. Oh, I know
you do"-laying the stress on the you. "You like
me amazingly, but I'm talking of lovers."
Good reader, I had no stenographer that

"There's music in the sighing of a reed,
There's music in the gushing of a rill,
There's music in all things, if men had ears."

After playing for some time, she suddenly jumped
from the harp, and running backwards to the
door she kissed her hand, and taking the tips of
her apron between her finger and thumb she cour-
tesied low, and saying, may "balmy sleep attend
you," ran out of the room.

In a short time Tim was ushered to his cham-
ber for the night. Have you ever seen a young
rabbit turned loose into a room for the first time

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by itself? If ever you should see one, you will have a full idea of Tim's actions. I am an observer of nature and study her ways. You must study them too. This was a lady's apartmentthere was no mistake about that. Tim thought the sexton had showed him into the wrong pew. There was a rosewood wardrobe carved most beautifully and polished most highly-a dressing table of the same wood, with a white marble top surmounted by a mirror which hid every wrinkle and smoothed the brow, and on the marble sat vases freshly filled with rose buds of every shade and hue, and a little white satin pincushion filled with tiny pins, and fanciful cutcut-glass bottles of real Farina cologne and fumes of Araby, and there was a French rose-"rolled out for inspection" in all its beauty and its bravery, and "glittering," as Mr. Burke said of the Dauphiness, "like the morning star, full of life and splendor and joy.”

Here it is, at last, the volume of volumes, over which

engravers and printers have worked so long and so faithfully, and into whose gallery of portraits hundreds of exper-months, to part with their ears for admission; here it is, cellent but despairing ladies have been ready, for many

wood bedstead, over which, from a gilt ring fastened in the ceiling, hung a canopy covered with an open net curtain lined with pink and fringed We need not tell the reader that in externals, in typography and magnificent engravings, it fully comes up to the with a richly-worked border looped at the four public expectation, high as that had been raised; for as centres with a pink bow; and downy pillows Mr. Charles Martin and Mr. Putnam, in their respective with frilled edges and snow-white linen sheets. branches, had each a reputation to lose, they would not And there was a bible and a prayer-book with probably have allowed it to go forth unless it were altopurple velvet covers clasped and tipped with gold.gether comme il faut. And there was a little book of poems-'twas lying on a chair, and between its leaves was a fresh leaf of rose geranium, and on the page the lines were marked,

We confess that we feel some embarrassment in giving an opinion as to the taste of this novel experiment in

book-making, because of the fact that, as the names are
affixed to the portraits in each instance, we cannot speak
of it in terms of disparagement, without appearing to be
personal in our remarks; and not for the world would we
offend any one of these ticketed beauties, who have doubt-
less as much delicacy as becomes their sex and many
more charms than Mr. Martin has given them. As an in-
dependent proposition, we certainly think it immodest in

those divinities who have been endowed by nature with
an uncommon share of pulchritude, to suffer their fair fea-
tures to be paraded before the public, and made the sub-
ject of criticism in all the book-stores throughout the
appears the more objectionable in
America, because it makes them obnoxious to the charge
of aping the aristocratic and titled females of the Eng-
lish court circle, whom Mr. Heath has for many years en-
shrined in his well-known annual. We hear it said, in-
deed, that Mr. Martin has defended his sitters from the
chance of remark upon their individual charms, by making
the heads of "The Book of Home Beauty" as little like
the originals as possible, and for the credit of the United
States we hope this is so, for we should be very unwilling
that these portraits should stand as the representatives of
American loveliness.

"'Tis all too late-thou wert-thou art
The cherished madness of my heart."

Tim wanted to get out of this apartment: he would have preferred a soft plank in a barn. He desired to ring for the servant, but he saw no bell. There were two doors: the one at which he entered the other which led he knew not whither. He wished to peep through the keyhole, but he did'nt.

Reader, he put out the light and then himself he put to bed, and tossed-not slept, and hoped, (and yet he hardly would admit he was in love,) and hoped

"For Hope's fond tongue

Can dupe the old as it has duped the young."


The vile bazaar has ever held this form
With woman's tender beauty, instinct, warm:
Or see thee standing thus upon the brink
Of servitude :-thou art Andromache
Chained to a rock, silent before the sea.

Notices of New Works.

Was it Carrara or the Parian vein

It may be readily supposed that the letter-press of this volume was a subject in itself of no little difficulty. Public expectation was on tiptoe concerning it, and Mrs. Kirkland was thought to occupy a rather delicate position Should each portrait be accompanied with a biographical sketch of the lady? Should she tell of the conquests each

From which this stately presence was set free,
Embedded there beyond the memory,

Of human life? O beautiful! I fain

Would speak the thoughts that welled up from my heart of them had made during maidenhood! Such a course

At sight of thy divinest anguish, place On paper the expression of that face, That haunts me ever, has become a part Of my existence. No! I cannot think

would obviously be improper, so she has adopted, with exceeding good sense, a very different one, by saying nothing whatever about the faces that interleave her work. This is a continuous story of great point and piquancy which will be read with interest and delight.

With Twelve Portraits from Life. By CHARLES
MARTIN, Esq. Engraved by eminent artists. New
York: George P. Putnam. 1852.

We dismiss the volume by saying, that sumptuous as it is, it yields in point of attractiveness to another publi cation of Mr. Putnam, which we shall straightway proceed to consider.

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