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am capable. I have prayed to that God, whose | This was my situation for months—for years, when precepts I have so long neglected and forgotten, accident brought me into contact with a kindred and He will sustain me in the course I have chosen. spirit. Gently, and by degrees, did the influence The sincerity of my repentance will win mercy for of his congeniality fall upon my heart, filling it me at last, and the keenness of my sorrow shall with a new and exquisite delight, which rendered expiate my involuntary offences. To you, these even life itself, a blessedness I had never known offences have been great indeed; for, disguise it as before. you may, it was my unhappy infatuation, which first Months passed on as a dream, and I remained untempted you from the path of rectitude. Oh, Bur- conscious of the wrong I was perpetrating against ton, will you, can you pardon me? Return to the you-against him—and against myself. But that career of honor and ambition, from which my sel- period is now over, and I awake to the enormity of fish, criminal affection has beguiled you, and try, what I have done. You, who have known me so while you learn your own weakness and liability to long, know that I would not stoop to an uptruth, error, to forgive and pray for mine.

even to avoid shame; therefore, you will believe We shall meet no more; for you judge me but me when I say, that not until this day have I fully correctly when you say I am not one to live be- realized my position and my sin. I use no subierneath the roof of a husband whom in my heart 1 fuge of words to gloss over the fact, -I dare not have wronged; and how deeply I have wronged thus play the hypocrite :-then hear me. While mine, I knew not until this day. Farewell! I under your roof, bearing your own honorable name, make you the only atonement in my power, when I have suffered the bad passions of my nature to triI fly from you forever! Oh, Burton ! think not 100 umph over the good, and have loved another beiter, harshly of me when I am gone ; and to Rose, and far better than ever I loved yourself! For this, I 10-another, be a brother and a consolation for her alone have been to blame, and I alone should sufwho is unworthy their regret.

fer. I go to make atonement for the evil I have Seek not to discover me. When you receive committed, and, fortunately, the means are in my this letter, I shall be far, very far from these scenes power. of misery; but my heart will bear within it, its own There is a Carmelite Convent in Maryland, of deep agony.

the strictest order, in which it is my intention to ΕΜΜΑ. . seek adauission ; and though prevented by your re

maining in the world, from becoming a member of

it in the full sense, I doubt not to be allowed the From Emma lo her Husband.

privilege of uniting in its prayers and penances. Kind, noble, and indulgent as I have ever found There will I spend the remainder of a life hitherto you, I know not in what words to inflict upon your so mis-directed in its aims. To you alone shall I honorable mind, the wound I am compelled to give confide my place of refuge, and I entreat you to it. But I feel that from me alone should come the conceal it from all besides. I now pray to you for knowledge of the evil I have done you. When a pardon for the wrong, and for the unhappiness that few years ago, you received from my dear father, I have caused you. I pray you to let me remain the hand of a daughter he so deeply loved, little undisturbed in the retreat which I have chosen, did he, or you, or even I, know the worthlessness and to which I shall have commenced my journey of the gift. He loved and respected you, and ere you receive this letter. May you judge me taught me to esteem the many excellencies of your less harshly than I judge myself, and learn to forcharacter. I had not then loved another, and I get one so unworthy of your good opinion. In hoped to find happiness myself, and bestow it upon your noble calling and high pursuits, there is much you, by our marriage. You were much older than to fill and interest the heart; and you, who are so myself, and I felt it an honor to be selected by one above the weaknesses of mankind in general, will, who stood so high in the opinions of men, to be I trust, soon be able to forgive, and to pray for the his wife. You treated me with kindness and con- unhappy Einma. sideration, but I was not your equal; we both felt Under the circumstances in which I stood, I this : you looked upon me as a child, to be petted could no longer desecrate your dwelling with my and caressed; while I felt the contempt implied by presence; I dared not risk the punishments of this such a course, and soon shrunk from you as from a life and the next, by a fight with him for whom I superior—a master; before whom the natural im- had erred; and in the home of a friend, I felt that pulses of my soul were to be suppressed—its deep I had no right to carry my wretchedness. These tenderness concealed. Immersed as you were in have been the reasons which prompted my choice professional pursuits, from a participation in which of a future abode. Of my feelings, I have purI was excluded, my too active mind fell back in posely forborne to write you; they, and the strug. brooding moodiness upon itself, and my heart soon gles of a contrite heart, are known to God alone. began to crave a sympathy with some less eleva- May He forgive me and comfort you, is the prayer ted being than him who kept it at such a distance.' of the self-banished

ЕммА. .

From Emma to Rose.

He soon gave up his professional labors and con

fined himself to his own house, where my own famMy own dear Rose :

ily often went to visit him. To my little Emma, In this hour of agony, I can trust myself to write he became very much attached; but never but but few words to you, my friend, my more than sis- unce, did he allude to his wife, after our first conter; oh! why were you not also my example? But versation. He then told me that he knew where you have triumphed ! you have broken the spell she was residing, and had determined to leave her that bound me to madness and to misery, and for a year or two to her own reflections, when he pointed out to me the only solace of a wounded hoped to induce her to return to his home. He spirit. Yes, Rose, it is over! I have turned to condemned himself much for his want of sympathy religion for support, and on my bended knees have in her pursuits, and seemed far more ready to blame prayed for strength and for direction. These, I himself than her for what had occurred, repeattrust, have been granted me; and I am about 10 ing with strong emphasis—" There should be perfly from Temptation and Unhappiness, to the seclu- fect confidence between a married couple; but when sion of a Religious Life. Ask not where I am to she returns, I will act very differently, and she shall be-better, far better, that my retreat were known yet learn to love me.” to none, and uninvaded by the memories of the past.

Alas! how vain are the plans of mortals! The To you I leave the task of consoling the two on- cholera, which so desolated our village in the happy beings, whom it has been my fate to injure year subsequent to Emma's departure, found in Mr. and to grieve. May God sustain you in this act Delcour a fitting victim. He died in the arms of of Christian charity. To him, whose confidence I my husband, as I stood by, holding one of his hands have abused, be a friend and sister in affection. in mine. He bequeathed to my own Emma every And to the unfortunate, but innocent cause of all thing he possessed, while he left to his wife, his this evil, Rose, be a guide and a consolation. For pardon and his prayers. myself, I ask but your prayers ; you will pity my

I felt it my duty to inform Emma of this event, past errors, and forgive my faults, when they are and as Mr. Delcour had confided to me, while dying, no longer before you; and, Rose, let them teach the place of her retreat, I immediately wrote to even you a lesson ; To study well the dispositions her. I confess I was anxious to know how she of your daughters, and the characters of those to would then act; for I knew she was uncommitted whom you confide their happiness, ere you permit by any religious vow, which might preclude her the indissoluble bond of marriage to unite them. marriage with Burton, and I felt assured, he would Love, based upon congeniality of taste and feeling, now offer himself to her acceptance. Months had should alone sanction such a connection, for be as- passed since I had lost all trace of this still valued sured, the heart that enters into this solemn obli- friend, but I doubted not, that he was fully aware gation, without affection for the being it vows to of every thing connected with the history of Emma. honor and obey, will sooner or later experience it

In iwo months I received a reply to my letter. for another! Let not my name be forgotten

Emma had obtained a dispensation in her particuyour family circle, and to your little Emma, pre

lar favor, (in consequence of her severe discipline sent all that was once the property of your devo- during the year she had spent in the Convent,) and ted friend,

was permitted to consider it a portion of her noviEMMA CLIFFORD.

ciate. She wrote me, that on the 25th of November, (St. Catharine's day,) she would take the

White Veil, preparatory to her finally giving up the

world, and entreated my presence on the occasion ; I offer no comment upon the letters you have but at the same time begged me not to see her in just read, my dearest Ellen, for the heart that dic-private, as an interview might re-awaken thoughts iated them condemnd its own dereliction from duty of the past, which she had long been endeavoring too severely, for me to withhold my sympathy from to banish; adding, “I would not again, dear Rose, its sufferings. To Mr. Delcour, the fight of his disturb that peace of mind, which a perfect reliance wife came like a thunderbolt from Heaven, and so upon the truths and promises of religion, has at little had he suspected any thing of the kind, that length fully established.” I need not tell you,

that he asked me the name of the person to whom I was punctual to the day and hour specified, and poor Emma had become attached. Can you par- entered the Chapel of the Convent with feelings don me that I evaded enlightening him on the sub- deeply and painfully impressed, by the solemn rites ject? But, alas ! how little did either Emma or I was so soon to witness. myself understand that man! It is true, he had

The pomp and splendor of the Roman Catholic treated her more as a child, than as a companion; worship is too familiar to all, for me to loiter over debut he had loved her even as one loves a favorite tails so imposing. The chaunting, performed wholand darling child, and his sufferings were deep and ly by female voices, blended in beautiful accord with lasting.

the well-loned organ, and possessed for me a peVOL. XI-86

caliar charm; for I associated it with the idea of into its holy bonds: this ceremony was performed the angelic choir, welcoming a sister spirit to the by each of the sisters respectively, when the bride courts above. The singers were unseen, as a cur- retired through the door at which she had entered. tain hung in deep folds before the recess, whence Agreeably to her wish, I did not ask to see her ; issued such heavenly melodies. As the Chapel indeed, I could not then have commanded my feelbegan to fill, I thought of the rosy, brilliant, spark- ings sufficiently to do so. ling Emma Clifford, whom I had seen a few short I never again beheld Emma Clifford, for as you years before, pledging her maiden troth, and lovely may suppose, dear Ellen, I returned home comhand, in the midst of festivity, thoughtlessness and pletely subdued in mind and heart, by the reflecsplendor, to the man she had so litile understood. tions that grew out of the scene I had gone so far I thought, too, of him, now resting in the quiet to witness. I hope their influence has been salugrave; and my tears flowed freely, as I felt more tary. deeply than ever, the awful responsibility of a con- Of James Burton, I can say nothing whatsoever; tract so lightly entered into by the gay children of for he left our village the week after Emma's dis- Fashion and Luxury.

appearance,

and I have not heard a word from bim A tall, elegant woman now entered the Chapel since. The night that he had received her letter, from an inner room: she was dressed in white, he had brought it to me, in the hope that I might aid with the symbolic wreath of orange blossoms on him in discovering her asylum : I took a copy of it, her brow, and the long white veil, used to desig- and made him promise to visit me as soon as his nate the Bride on the occasion. · She was accom- mind was sufficiently tranquilized to talk on the panied by two of the sisters of the Order, and ap- subject. But five years have elapsed since he deproached directly to the foot of the altar. They parted from among us, and his name has become knelt together for a moment, when the Bride as- an almost forgotten sound : his virtues still live in cended to the rails, and was received by the Bishop, my memory, however, and my affections still cling arrayed in gorgeous vestments. What he said to to him as to a brother. Four months ago, I cut her, I was too distant to understand, neither did I this obituary notice from the columns of a Catholic hear the low response that followed; but the voice-newspaper : yes ! it was the sweet, rich voice of Emma Clif- “ Died, in the odor of sanctity, in the Carmeford, broken by afliction, deepened by suffering, lite Convent, in Maryland, Sister Mary Catharine, but soft and touching as in other days. Blinded by distinguished alike for her many virtues, and the my tears, I could not distinguish all the ceremonies strict observance of the severe discipline of the that passed ; but at the removal of the veil, when Order to which she had devoted herself. Her her bright, luxuriant, and still superb hair was dis- piety, zeal, self-sacrificing spirit, and severe aussevered from her graceful classic head, I caught terities, were the theme of all who knew her. She one glance of the pale face and hazel eyes that I was a convert to the Roman Catholic Communion; loved so well, and could not repress my emotion. and retired from the frivolities of the world at the When I looked towards the altar again, the veil age of twenty-four years ; giving up a high posihad been replaced with an appropriate address, and tion in society, and many friends who loved and the sisters were chaunting their hymns of praise. cherished her, to seek in the retirement of a ConThis taking of the White Veil is, you know, em- vent, 'that peace which the world cannot give.' blematical of the Bridal with Christ; to whose Her name in the world was Emma Clifford, and service the candidate promised to devote herself she was a native of one of the Southern States, for one year, when a still more painful ceremony, but all allusions to her former state appearing dis(the receiving the Black Veil.) follows. But you tasteful to her sublimated mind, little is known of may not know, that the year which is spent interme- her early history. Requiescat in

pace." diately in the solemn shades of the cloister, devoted This, then, dearest Ellen, is the history you have to meditation, prayer, and a strict investigation of so often urged me to give you, and you will now the conscience and feelings, may be also considered understand my reluctance to withdraw the reil one of trial, for at its termination, the novice has from events so long past, but still so interesting to the right of relinquishing her vocation, if she finds my feelings. Emma was dearer to me than a sisit no longer in accordance with her desires, and ter; and if she erred in judgment, her awakened she can again return to the world. No one will principles prompted her to an atonement, which censure her for doing so, and indeed the Priest is should plead for her to all who know how involunbound to investigate closely this fact, before he can tary was her fault. The memory of her talents

, of complete the rite, which indicates “ a wish to nes- her surpassing loveliness, her amiability, and her ile still closer in the bosom of God."

high-toned, but impassioned feelings, often comes When I looked again, Emma had descended upon me, when surrounded by my own daughters, from the altar, accompanied by the two sisters, and and I ask myself, whether, with so much that was approaching first to the Lady Superior of the Order, excellent, a mother's care would not have moulded was kissed by her on each cheek, as a welcome her into perfect goodness. Had Mr. Delcour understood the heart that was entrusted to his gui- I have sustained ; and in the practices it enjoins, dance by her father, how different would have been I find quite enough to occupy my time and my afthe fate of both; and blessed and blessing, they fections. To say that I am a better man than might have shed happiness over a wide circle of when you knew me, would scarcely be a boast; but their fellow beings. But I must close this mourn- that I am a far happier one, you will understand ful tale, and leave you to extract the moral for when I tell you, that for more than two years, I yourself. Farewell! I will forward this packet in have been one of the Brotherhood of Mercy,* an a few days, accompanied by a miniature of Emma, Order established in this city for certain charitable which is now being copied for you.

objects, by some members of our holy religion. It Your sincere friend,

Rose.

is one of those touching means, whereby the CathSt. Louis, Missouri.

olic can afford assistance to his suffering fellow be

ings, unseen, or rather unrecognized in the dark P. S. I open my packet, dearest Ellen, to en- folds of the dress which envelops him. And in close a copy of a letter which has just reached me, the constant ministration of its acts of benevolence, from James Burton; ah, how nobly has he redeem- its members are aware that the heart is purified ed the faults of his past conduct. Once more I and strengthened, and rendered more acceptable in recognize in him the friend, the brother of my the eyes of Him who created it. Yes, dear Rose, heart. His letter will tell you of a faith purify- religion has rescued me from myself; the evil pasing and elevating in its effects; and proving how sions which templed me to sin, are, I trust, forever truly I spoke, when I said to Emma, that religion overcome by its influence; while the misanthropy alone could conquer in a case like this. But read into which I was very near falling, has been subfor yourself, my Ellen, the letter is from Florence. dued by a love for my fellow men, and the desire

to “do good in my generation." I felt that one Enclosed letter from Burton to Rose.

duty remained for me to perform before, shutting

my heart to the particular interests of life, I should Florence.

give its energies to the general well-being of the MY DEAR AND EVER KIND FRIEND:

human race. This duty was to bid farewell to you, Letters, or more correctly, papers, from Ameri- friend of my early days, and to thank you for the ca have just reached me, wherein I see announced kindness and affection with which you then honthe happy departure to another world, of Sister ored me. Often are you mentioned in my prayers, Mary Catharine, of the Carmelite Convent in Ma- and long will you dwell in the memory of your ryland. I have thereby been induced to address to gratefully attached and devoted friend, you, who have been so cherished a friend of her's,

James Burton. and so dear to myself, the following brief history of my life for the last five years. You will, I

* The Brotherhood of Mercy is an institution established know, read with interest what ever relates to one

in Florence, in 1240, for the relief of persons suffering from

accident, sickness, or poverty. The members consist of all you once honored with your regard, and pardon me classes and callings in the city; from the Grand Duke down for recalling myself to your memory. Accident to the humblest artizan. The dress is of black sack-cloth, having made me acquainted with the retreat of completely enveloping the person, and girded round the waist; your gentle friend, I followed her to the Convent, the hood falls to the breast, with two holes for the eyes : and after much solicitation, obtained an interview. each member carries a rosary. They move along the streets

in persect silence, summoned by the sound of a bell, until I will not dwell upon what passed between us. Let

they reach the object of distress, when relief is immediit suffice, that I left her bumbled and contrite; ad- ately administered, or the sufferer is borne by the Brothmiring her strength of principle, and purity of pur- ers to the Hospital, where he is nursed unto perfect recop. pose, more than I can express; and satisfied that ery, regardless of his creed, country, or poverty. no effort could win her from resolutions so firmly established. The misery, which, for several subsequent months, paralyzed my faculties, acted at length upon my frame, and a severe attack of ill. ness reduced me to the verge of the grave. The

THE PAINTED LADY. near prospect of death awakened in me a new train

Perchance some gaudy painted flower, of thought, and I soon perceived how unfit I was

Whose colors catch the eye, to render an account of my past life. In an agony

May, for an idle, sportive hour, of remorse I prayed to be spared until I could pre

Attract the butterfly :
pare myself for that last hour, and mercy was
accorded to my petition. Slowly, but surely, But on such scentless leaves as these,
did health return; and strength of frame brought The worthy bee ne'er dwells,
strengthened resolutions.

Nor seeks for gandy tints to please,
Religion has been to me a substitute for all that But sweets within the cells.
I have lost; a consolation for the disappointments

Housier-land.

VII.

1.

Harold grace.

II.

IX.

III.

THE TEXAN SOLDIER.

The grape-vine that enfolds thy home, its fruit has shed o'er

thy cold hearth; As through thy house the panthers roam, the moccasin lies

in their path ; On Texas' plains the Hero stood, his fiery mustang* teth- The prickly pear, it guards thy hall, which owns no other ered near,

sentinel ; Rugged in mien, in manners rude, fierce as the Pampa's

Thy oranges and corn, they fall, and who may gather, none untamed steer ;

can tell. His swarthy brow has lost the hue, that marks the Anglo Saxon race,

VHI. Yet beats his heart, as ever true to thoughts that might a

Thy home must not entreat in vain; thy tall live oaks shall

canopy, Thy meek mimosas bend again with gentle sighs, to wel.

come thee, With red deer's hide his feet are shod, the wolf's skin The mocking-bird's wild song, to rest shall lull thee 'mid shields his manly head,

the gorgeous flowers : And scarred his brow,—such may you meet, when a battle's The red pomegranate's flaming crest still lights those green, o'er, among the dead,

luxuriant bowers. Marked with arrows, and by fire, marred by tomahawk and

lance. Who would know him ? not bis sire's ; n0,—nor e'en his We take thee by thy iron hand : in peace, or war, our bromother's glance,

ther be. By our stern Eagle's pinions fanned, what State shall dare

to trouble thee?

Brother, toil! no foe retards thee; thy brow in Labor's His right hand grasps his rifle true, his left his trusty

moisture lave; Bowie's bilt; His dirk hangs ready :-Freedom! view the tools that late Brother, peace ! the Eagle guards thee ; the Stars and

Stripes shall o'er thee wave. thy temple built. His comrades sleep, alas the day! on San Jacinto's bloody

Boston, Mass.

PABLO. field ;

"Patches overspread by mimosas, which as our horses In th’Alamo's ditch, the vultures prey on their bold hearts,-passed, drew up their leaves, and dropped their branches, sweet Freedom's shield!

ihus making a withered trace, which was gradually obliterated as the timid plants raised their stems again, and expanded their withered leaves.

accounted for it by supposing that they received a shock through their long

horizontal roots."- Visit to Tecas. Popocatapetl's hills resound his name, and quake to hear; Acapulco's matrons still their infants with that name of

fear; O'er Zaca-teca's length 'tis borne. In Oa-jaca's maizey fields,

THE MULBERRY TREE. Many a lonely widow mourns, for those the earth alone can yield.

My childhood has faded, --its joys are no more,

And 'midst strangers I wander afar ;

Yet brightly still beams my own native shore, The sad-eyed miner, wan and pale, who digs from deep

By the light of fond memory's star. Catorce's hoard, Smiles grimly, when is told the tale, how the Texan slew And it shines o'er the home of my life's early spring, his lord.

Where, as wild as the fawn were we;

And where often, at evening, would merriment ring, Texan freeman, like our sires, blood-baptized dost thou

All under the mulberry tree! stand, Light no more the red camp fires, turn to peaceful toils thy As I gazed on that tree, which defied the rude hand !

blast,
And still seemed to smile in its prime,

Through its houghs the wind murmured a tale of The cotton waves its snowy bolls, with golden smile to woo

the past ;thee back;

'Twas a voice of the olden time! The cane-brake's feathery pomp enfolds wild deer, to wake thy rifle's crack.

Here, perchance, the proud chief, in his might and Thy thousand cattle wander wild, and thunder o'er the

power, Pampa's length;

Whose spirit was wild and free, No more they fear the Prairie Child, whose lasso tamed Might have sought the cool shade at the noontide their sinewy strength.

hour, *Native horse of Texas.

Of the giant old mulberry tree.

.

IV.

#

VI.

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