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gal; to go forth to meet him ;' to 'fall on his neck and kiss him,' or to kill for him the fatted calf.' The unrelenting fiat has which makes him an alien from the halls of his father, and from the home of his youth. Dejected and penitent, he seeks in vain to enter the paternal doors. We have seen instances of this vindictive spirit, and cold repulse. There are many, many thus irretrievably lost, when they might have been snatched as brands from the burning.' How unchristian is it!- how fearfully differing from that model of perfect charity, prescribed by the Saviour of mankind !
But 'can a mother forget her child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, can never alter her unalienable love. She neither fortifies herself with pride, nor steels her soul with resentment, nor shuts
the avenues of pardon, nor casts away the memory of the ungrateful. But regarding with a sorrowful recollection the days that are past, she mourns over hopes blasted, and a treasure lost; and indulging in no severe upbraidings, and no bitter taunts, she lets the wound bleed. And if ever he is made to feel his error; if, like the dove which left its only place of safety, after wandering over the waste of earth, and finding no refuge for a troubled spirit, he returns once more whence he so unkindly departed, she opens the deserted ark of her affection, and regards the olive-branch of peace. Oh! holy spirit of maternal charity! Beautiful illustration of that prayer which saith, 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us ! For while other feelings may be blunted by insensibility, or mingled with selfishness, or utterly destroyed by earthly contact, this remains — distinct, pure, separate as God himself implanted it; a heavenly attribute upon the altar of a woman's heart.
I REMEMBER vividly the circumstances of her departure. Consumption had already done its powerful work. Unlike many who are smitten with this disease, she preferred to die in the bosom of her family. Why should the stag, pierced to the heart in its own thickets, seek refuge in the deeper glades, to bleed to death ?* It is a wrong idea, this, of searching in a land of strangers for health which is clean gone forever.' How many are thus yearly cut down in the midst of their wanderings ! In some desolate chamber, they lie in the agonies of death. No soft hand presses their brow; no familiar voice whispers in the ear; no cherished friend performs their funeral obsequies. Death is indeed bitter, under such circumstances, being without its usual alleviations. It is a sweet consolation to die at home :
On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.'
"Qualis conjecta cerva sagitta
comes stealing on so softly and so silently. It comes, too, in the garb of mockery and deception, and clothes its victims in beautiful garments for the grave. The hectic flush, the snowy brow, the brilliant eye;
who could believe that these were death's precursors, the signet of the conqueror! It invests the patient with a preternatural patience and sweetness under suffering, keeping alive, at the same time, in her breast the illusion of hope. Even in her moments of keenest suffering, she looks forward to days of returning happiness; and while the worm is for ever preying at the core, and her slender form becomes each day more feeble and attenuate, she hails before her a gilded prospect, and the mind and spirits are buoyant with the thought. But when the final struggle has at last commenced, how sublime is the spectacle! To behold the immortal mind so calm, so tranquil, and so triumphant; waxing brighter and brighter, while the tenement which contains it is but a poor fleshless skeleton; to behold the eye beaming with undiminished lustre toward the objects of its affection, until the soul at last bursting the charnel vault which has too long confined it, takes one triumphant bound. Then is the body still and silent. The feather is unruffled by the breath, and the glass retains its polish; for dust has returned to dust again, and the spirit unto God who gave it.
It was a tempestuous night. The rain poured down in torrents. The lightnings gleamed luridly. At midnight, I entered the apartment. A solitary taper gleamed dismally on the hearth. The forms of those in the room appeared like gloomy shadows, flitting to and fro. A stifled sob, and the ticking of a watch on the table, were the only sounds; and they struck like a barbed arrow to my heart. I observed her hand beckoning. Her head was raised with pillows. A smile shot from her glazing eye. She essayed to speak. I bent down my head with eagerness, to catch the last whisperings of her voice. There was a pause. She made signal to those about her to repress their emotions, as they valued her last legacy. The sobs ceased, the groans were scarcely audible, and the tear stood still upon the cheek of the mourner. • Ah! that is kind,' she began, in a voice as soft as music. Nature must have her course. The fountains of grief were too full. They burst the barriers which prudence would have fain erected, and poured forth in a torrent, sweeping all before them. A cry, long, loud, and piercing, filled the apartment. She cast back a look of sorrowful reproach.
She arose in the couch. A paroxysm of coughing seized her. She writhed for a moment in convulsive agonies, and then fell back upon the pillow. A gleam of lightning, bright, dazzling, appalling, shot through the casement. She was dead! • Let us pray!' exclaimed the reverend pastor; and with one accord the assembly knelt, while, at the noon of night, he offered up a fervent prayer. It was short, but clothed in the poetic language of the scriptures. It spoke of the silver cord being loosed, and the golden bowl being broken. It was finished. We arose from our knees, cast one look at the emaciated form of the departed, and left the apartment.
FROM CHINA, AND Before entering upon the extensive and varied original foreign correspondence, to which we adverted in the last number of the twelfth volume of this Magazine, we shall resume and conclude, for the present, our extracts from the epistles of an entertaining and instructive correspondent at Manilla, which — if we may judge from the reception given by the journals of the day to those which have already appeared — will not be without interest or amusement to the reader. The circumstances under which the writer pens
agreeable missives, should be taken into consideration, as we think, in a proper estimate of their character. Reflect how equable must be that spirit, which can patiently endure, while in the 'glow of epistolary composition,' peculiar to an oriental climate, the piquant salutations of musquitos that are striped,' as he tells us, “like zebras, and bite like rabid dogs !'. not to forget the host of kindred annoyances, so vividly depicted in a former article. It should seem, also, from the following outline of .men and manners' in the Philippine Islands, that there are other désagremens, quite as vexatious as venomous insects.
. We are a colony of griping, close-fisted, money-making devils, whose only study is to overreach a neighbor or a friend, and do him out of his ducats. Our little republic, in the suburbs of Manilla, is composed of yankees, pipe-smoking Germans, gin-drinking Englishmen, herring-eating, whiskey-drinking, Scottishmen o' the Hielands, and fiddling. Frongsays.' The first-named worthies are guilty of occasional study; the second think only of their business, smoke, and drink good gin; the third drink shocking bad gin, smoke thirty cigars per diem, and despise every thing which is not · England-come
from,' as all bred and born Britons do; the fourth dine on grilled herrings, from the Clyde, or some other Scottish stream, get fou'on their mountain-dew,' and then kick up their heels, and shout, “Hoot awa, bonnie Scotland !' and down they go, muttering an unintelligible something about their wild Highland localities, and die away to sleep with a Hey! for Loch Lomond ! — hey! for Ben Doon ! Hoot awa! - haggis, and fillibeg, and bagpipe, and skenedhu, and border beef-stealing, and border-robbing, and all those miscellaneous, amiable accomplishments, for which the nobility of the land o' cakes were so celebrated. So, you perceive that the KNICKERBOCKER, or any other 'bocker, would, and must necessarily, lack contributors in the Filipinas.'
Like very many well-read and tasteful American gentlemen, of the mercantile profession, than whom there exists no where a more intelligent class of men, the writer does not neglect his mental coffers, while filling those which are less important, and enduring:
*I am now fairly ashore, for want of something to read; and if you do not send me something soon, must increase my collection, (I cannot call it a library,) with Spanish tomes.
I have lately gone through five volumes of Don Quixotte, nine of Gil Blas, two of El Moro Exposito;' Works of Martinez de la Rosa, including a splendid poem on Zaragosa ; Hernan Perez del Pulzar, “he of the exploits ;' Historia de Espann; Historia de Filipinas; dipped deeply into a beautiful Spanish Bible; dislocated my under jaw with a Tazalo dictionary and grammar; read Comedias de Calderon; got a very slight sprinkling of Chinese ; knocked myself down flat with a mighty Bible, printed in the Malayan tongue; and all for want of books, proper, to break myself upon. Then, having nothing else to do, made my bow to my desk, and started off on a wild mountain scamper through the provinces of the Lazunn and Tayabas, and got a peep at the mighty Pacific, from the other side of the Island, and returned the very Humboldt of expeditionists !!
In touching upon American politics, our correspondent writes like an 'outside barbarian. We can assure him, that he would be accounted a stranger among his kindred, with his present party views. He will be ostracised, when he comes among them, with his political coat wrong side out.
* These are the orders. Decidedly, no indulgence will be shown. A vermillion edict. Tremble fearfully hereat!'
But to the extract : How go politics ? and how flourishes your party? I believe you must look upon me as one of the adverse faction,' because I am one of those philanthropic worthies, who ever love to espouse the weakest side; and then you know, as the majority must always be in the right, the weaker, or minority, must consequently be in the wrong, or, we will say the wronged; i. c., as Mr. Weller the elder would say, 'the wictims o' gammon;' consequently again, they must be subjects of sympathy to the world at large, outside ; and consequently, for the third time, again, a very select, choice, aristocratic little set of oppressed gentlemen at home, dear, delightful subjects of commisera. tion, and wonderfully interesting; and being all humbugs and rascals together, the one as well as the other, the lesser animal must be the cleaner beast; and so I'll none of your ' pelucas.' There's logic for you!
The subjoined minute bulletin, respecting the health and movements of the writer's family, feathered, canine, etc., is a model of • animal economy' and epistolary summary:
* Knowing that you are interested in the state of my family, I proceed to lay before you the novelties and casualties which have occurred therein, since my last epistle. The Nankin lark broke his bill against the wire of his cage, the other day, and died thereof, poor fellow! He is a household loss, having been the pet of all the ladies, on account of his beautiful notes. Know you not that he sang sweetly, and imitated sundry animals to perfection, and was such a funny fellow! One of the Canaries (ah ! the faithless jade! was it for this I sent you from mine own plate a boiled egg every morning for breakfast ?) ran, or rather fiew away, three days ago, the victim of seduction by a scape-grace, who hangs in the window of Dona Concepcion de Torres de Varela, on the other side of the river, opposite to our house. And so, in the bitterness of my heart, I accused the said Dona Concepcion of keeping irregular and unprincipled birds about her; at which she turned upon me, with her clear black eye, and laughed, and said I was a “gracioso.'
• I have just received three pretty cages from China, and must go down to the Alcayceria to-morrow, and buy another lark, and another faithless Canary bird. The Alcayceria is the head-quarters of all the sons of Han, who flock to this market from Nankin and ChinChin, in the junks which visit us annually from those places. Old “Smuggler' is dead. Poor old Smug! We found him stark and stiff, one morning, under a cart, in the yard at San Miguel. And as to his funeral, is it not written in the seventeenth book of Confucius, how
"We sewed him up in a canvass sack,
A canvass suck for a funeral pall;
We buried him, sack, and body, and all ?'. Old • Picara' is sick; not in bed, but in the porter's lodge, and we fear will die, as she is deeply advanced in years, and quite gray ; • Chiquibo' has listened to the artful whining of a neighbor's cur-ess, and absconded; Paddy' is courting a young lady out on the Calsada, and goes out regularly every night, *a-roving by the light of the moon,' and never returns until daylight! Bad habits, and must be corrected! Tayphoon' and · Leona' still live on, the happiest of mates, and little · Mona' has lost her sweet-heart, and is quite disconsolate.'
In a few touches of the pen, in the following passages, will be found sketched some prominent features in the history and
aspect of the far-distant city whence our correspondent holds familiar converse with the readers of the KNICKERBOCKER. We join with the writer in pressing home to our fair readers the queries contained in the last paragraph but one of the quotation :
'Say to Mrs. O. that, for her kind love and remembrance, contained in your letter, I beg to return my most grateful thanks, and that I am all hers, except the heart, which is not with me at present, but inside the city of Manilla; and as the day is wet and slippery, it would be a difficult matter to scale the walls, and pass the grim sen