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dont know which were the boards, or the chairs and tables, the whiter; nor could I say if the son or the mother looked the happier. The widow was habited in a new brown stuff, white apron, black silk handkerchief, and a cap with three rows of border. Tommy appeared in his holiday attire, his polished face smiling and lit with pleasure, as he noted the satisfaction my old visage could not conceal.

"I perceive Tommy has taken the pledge," said I, as my glance fell upon his temperance cap, which I believe he took from the box to attract my notice.

"Oh, to be sure, Sir," replied the widow; "He, (pointing to the daub over the fire-place) God bless him, has been the good friend to the young and old men. Tommy puts all his earnings along with mine, and who knows but in a few years, with the help of both our savings, but he may have a little shop of his own."

I will omit the grateful blessings poured forth by the widow and her son; but as I gazed on that happy, comfortable-looking mother, and on the intelligent, well-clad young man, and thought on the wretched being I had first seen hobbling on the wet flags; and the miserable starving child when first I beheld him amongst wicked companions, I experienced a sensation of happiness which most assuredly was derived from all that is immortal in my nature. And for this, for securing that boy from the career of vice, which certainly he would have run; for perhaps saving his eternal nature from the prison of hell; for pouring joy into the heart of an afflicted widow, and being instrumental in her acquiring a comfortable home by the sweets of industry, I did not expend as much money as I would require to discharge my wine merchant's bill for supplying my table for one week. Of all the circumstances of my life, there is none which I recal with so much pleasure, as that on a winter's evening, the rain occasioned my missing the play.

LINES

OCCASIONED BY DISCOVERING THE INSINCERITY OF SOME ONCE VALUED FRIENDS. Mourn not above the youthful grave;

"Tis but a still, still resting place,
Where mild oblivion's power will save
Its tenant from the strong embrace
Of the most bitter mental pain;

Or worse of callous heartlessness.
Mourn for the living, who retain

Aught of that sacred love of truth,

Which in man's better nature holds its reign,

But oh! how seldom outlives early youth!
With what an intense pang breaks on the heart
The worthlessness of that it trusted in!
So painful that it soon doth either part
With life or feeling. It becomes akin,
In callousness, to those it meets in life;
Or sinks, unequal to the mental strife ;-

For while life's freshness doth remain,
The young heart's confidence will dress
All that looks kindly in a garb

Of rainbow brightness, false as fair;
Until 'tis wakened by the barb

Of wretchedness left rankling there,
As o'er it steals the blighting sense,

That faithless, hollow are the smiles
It loved and trusted. So intense

The pain is, it ere long exiles
The generous impulses by nature shed

O'er the unhacknied heart; or stills it with the dead.

A few a very few there are,

With, haplessly, a frame too strong
To sink beneath this mental war,

And yet with whom the worldly throng
Can claim no kindred :—who retain

Their early feelings to the last

(If they escape that blight of brain

By which the reason is o'ercast,)

To bend in worship at a shrine

Which seems with heaven's own radiance fraught,
And find the brilliance deem'd divine

As false as is the image caught
From midnight's gem-bedecked sky,

By the clear, placid summer lake;

A cloud, a breeze, which will destroy ;

The sternest, strongest soul might shake.

With those who still feel thus, stand by the narrow bed;'
Thou wilt not let them mourn, with thee, the early dead.

Then grieve not at the doom of those

Who sink to their last sleep, while still
The spring of young life's feeling flows
All freshly: like the mountain rill,

A joyous thing, without a stain,

When gushing from its hidden source;
Ere it hath reach'd the wide spread plain,
And caught pollution in its course;
Or by the desert's sands been drunk,
Till not a trace of it we find;
Just as within the world are sunk
Man's purity and truth of mind.—
Were the grave but a quiet home,

A place where weariness might rest,
Excluding those bright hopes to come,
That comfort the bereav'd breast;

Were it an endless residence to those who tread

Its halls, even then I'd mourn the living ere the dead.

F.

THE EARLY BLIGHTED,

A FRAGMENT.

The last declining sunbeam shot across the little room, and played upon that lonely bed, where the sweet child drooped like a cankered rose-bud— that beam seemed to speak of hope: he gazed upon it, and he thought so-but not in this world-there was no hope here for him-he did not seek it: his little life of half-a-score years had been a tearful struggle— for fell disease clung to that tiny form: he was a child whom one must love; and the eye rested on him as on some beautiful flower bruised and bent beneath the storm.

He was alone-for cold was the hand that might in that hour have wiped that chill damp brow; and still was the heart that would have throbbed in unison with his-his heart faintly beat in bitter loneliness.

His wandering eye seemed to ask, why he could not die-for he wished it—for it he prayed;-what had he to do with life?-he ne'er might stem the tide ;-he was a frail thing sent afloat to be the sport of sorrow:―was there no haven-no resting-place for him?-yes, there was, one beyond that glorious western sky, and he would soon be there.

There was no tie to bind his spirit here, for he was a brotherless orphan, and fed upon the scanty meal of charity: he was alone-alone in misery-and the world looked bright and gay-and the sweet wild flowers spangled over the meadows, and the birds too sung-gay fluttering things-but he thought they fluttered for themselves-all except the redbreast, for it hopped among the tomb-stones in the neighbouring graveyard, and seemed as though 'twere lonely too.

The sun had now sunk-the shades of evening deepened, and there was increased loneliness about the orphan's pillow the whispering breezes crept through the trees like trembling voices; their silver tones seemed as if asking him to come and wing away with them.

He smiled-'twas a faint and flitting smile, like a beam on a misty cloud: as he turned his wasted form on that wretched couch of pain and misery, he smiled as these breezy voices murmured by, for he felt that he would soon be one of them.

But evening grew apace-"night gemmed the skies;"-the heavens glittered in their starry beauty, but not for that now shrouded eye—that eye, which so oft had gazed upon their silent lustre, could view them now no more:-that throbbing heart had sunk into the slumber it long had sighed for-that poor bruised spirit had fled beyond its sorrows-death calmed the conflict there:-the orphan was at rest.

It was in a remote corner of that rural little church-yard, beneath that solitary tree, amid the tangled weeds, they made the orphan's grave. The digger of that grave, who always used to sing or whistle whilst he

laboured, was silent now. Why did he pause, and lean upon his spade? he viewed the hollowed bed, and thought of the early anguish of him who was to rest there, and his rude heart was melted;-he had often seen that lonely child pluck the wild flowers from the graves around, and his hard cheek was moistened at the recollection.

And now their steps advanced, that brought the orphan to his narrow home; in silence was their task performed-harshly the pebbles fell upon the wooden tenement.

Even that redbreast, which was once his familiar, flitted by, and stood with drooping wing upon a neighbouring tomb-stone ;-Fancy said, it mourned the early lost.

Again, the humid stars shone out; another day had rolled away for ever; and thus it was with the remembrance of the child who now was insensible to sorrow.

H. D. R.

MACKLIN; OR, THE SON'S

SACRIFICE.

CHAPTER XIX-THE TRIAL.

The hour of trial at last approached, and expectation and curiosity, worked up to the highest degree of excitement, counted the minutes with painful exactness. The night had been unusually wild and tempestuous, the morning misty and cloudy; but as the day advanced, heavy perpendicular rain, as if discharged from some mighty reservoir on high, poured down on the devoted heads of the multitude who filled the streets. But it never for one moment, however thoroughly it drenched them, damped their eagerness, not to be present at the trial, for that was impossible, but to get as near as possible to the court house, and there, patient alike of wet and pressure, to stand the live-long day catching the random accounts of the progress of events within, as they flew from mouth to mouth. Accordingly, from an early hour, every avenue leading to the court-house was thronged by eager crowds. The area in front of the building was absolutely packed with human beings, wedged-and that voluntarily too-so closely together that it produced a painful sense of suffocation and compression to look upon them. A passage in the centre, leading to the door, was with difficulty preserved by the police and soldiery, of whom numbers were upon duty, and along this might be seen lawyers, attorneys, clerks, witnesses, and reporters hurrying to take their places ere the momentous cause was called on.

Minutes appeared lengthened into hours to that anxious crowd, and it seemed to them as if the accused and his prosecutors never would appear. Those who could not get near the court-house, and "their name was legion," spread themselves in long lines on either side, adown the straggling street or road which led to the county jail, content to stand

1942. -ОстОВЕН.

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there ancle deep in mud, with a drenching rain pouring down, as if with a malicious intensity, upon their steaming persons,-in the hope to catch one fleeting glance, it could be nothing more, of the melancholy cortege.

At length and at last there came something like a murmur, rolling onward from the direction of the jail, and this grew deeper and nearer, and then was heard the rumble of wheels in rapid progress, and with them that ominous rattle, that invariably tells of the approach of armed horsemen. The sound swept on with the speed of the wind— in a minute more the plumed helmets of the soldiery were visible-in another, galloping fiercely the whole party appeared, surrounding a carriage driven with headlong speed, and ere many more clapsed, amid shrieks of pain, and cries for help from the multitude, who regardless of consequences had rushed in upon the passage, and were now violently thrust aside in the unchecked progress of the cavalry, the carriage with its occupants and guards dashed up to the door of the courthouse. But here, curiosity prevailed over the sense of danger and suffering. No sooner did the rattle of the descending steps announce the emission of the prisoner from the coach, than a headlong rush to behold him was made from each side, so violent indeed, that police and military were for a moment jostled together in helpless confusion, and it seemed as if a rescue were intended. Indeed so alarming seemed the collision, that one officer of the civil force, whose sole object seemed the preservation of the prisoner's life, called out in an agony of terror and supplication, "Blur and ages, boys, are you going to kill the gentleman before his time?"

Strange as it may appear, this speech had more effect upon those present than all the flats of sabres, the backing of horses, or even the butt-ends of policemen's muskets, fiercely and profusely as all were

used.

"By the powers, an' 'tis true for you," said one powerful fellow, who had shewn the greatest reluctance to yield an inch of ground before. "None of us thought of that. Sure it isn't one like him, or in his delicate condition, that ought to be annoyed or onconveynianced, let alone shoved an' dhriven about in a parsecuting manner like this. Lave it to me, sargeant. Back from the steps, will ye, every mother's sowl; back I say, or"-and he whirled a massive blackthorn above his head-"or 'tisn't playin' I'll be with ye, like the sodgers and police. No, by the piper of Moses, I'm a different sort; wherever I can't show my hand-writing, I'm always sure to lave my mark. Come, quit the building; none of ye's pays the rint or wor ever distrained for it."

And suiting the action to the word, it was wonderful the rapidity with which an active, sinewy, determined fellow like him cleared the steps and entrance to the court. Some he admonished by a gentle scientific touch beneath the leaf of the hat, between it and the eye-brows: to others he suggested the propriety of a speedy removal by "a smart rap," as he himself

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