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THE NATIONAL ERA*"
O. BAILEY, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR; JOHN G. WH1TTIER, CORRESPONDING EDITOR. VOL. IV? NO. 44. WASHINGTON, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1850. WHOLE NO. 200. I , >, an.ll Krm is P al.li.hnt Wrfklf. an fteventfc Ulreel, sppMiiu tM?l FelUw*'llall. ( TEHMV ] i ? J >llars per annum, payable in odvanea. j < ivertiseinents act exceeding ten liuea inserted ( , i mes for one dollar; every subsequent inserti.io. twenty-five cents. \11 communications to the Era, whether on < ! jnc-a of tho paper or for publication, should | ^?1 IriHSed to Q. RaIlxy, Washington, D. C. BUKLL k. Bl.ANCHARD, FKINTKKS, 1 Siith ?tr?et, a few door* south of Ptnnfy Iranla itinni. THE NATIONAL ERA. WASHINGTON, OCTOBER M, KM v V As we dislike to fetter our coniriuutors. ?c j * V? m ? following story certainly illustrates in an impres-ive way, the power of education. Whether in lLis case it was exerted for good or evil, will be |e<-iJed very differently according as the reader >e a Catholic or Protestant. The author is ? lently a very decided Protestant. So are /li e r<<_'gniftiug the fact that Catholic, like Protestant institutions of learning, are apt to mould the religious opinions of their pupils, we are not willing to assume that the former are in the habit of formally inculcating upon Protestant - i i 1 no,Miliar drWrinea and rites of the ibtholic Church.?Ed. Era. for the National hra. AGATHA: THE POWER OF EDUCATION. BY MAKY IKVINU. "Character gruweth Jay by day, and all thing* aid it in uuM<llng; disposition in bnilJed up by tbe fashioning of t,rvt impressions."?Topi*r. 1 sty n3t, sister ! exclaimed the stout gontleuun, thundering tfown his heavy Upon tite little rosewood table. The lip of the lady swelled into a proud'curve. As Agatha's responsible guardian, Mr. fd&xv. 11, I consider myself entitled to the liberty of my own decisiou in regulating her education Sister-in-law Maxwell," retorted her disputant, '' 1 um not going to dispute any of your i J.t at law. It is only your right iu conscience i !i it 1 deny, to put your husband's child, soul and body, into a living tomb!" A ou talk as though I were going to make a sultee of her!' returned bis sister, raising her -I iritei eyes in some surprise, and almost in cont tu11 of her brother-in-law's narrowuess of vision. What reasonable being would see such a bugbear in the way ot her spending a few months in a convent!" I tell you it will not end there! Agatha is a i 'oi.tntic girl and she has been half spoiled already by her love-nonsense, and what not; a fair tinder-box for tbe fire of superstition!" Mrs Muiwell smiled as she turned to arrange the drooping flowers around her still unfaded t o . ' My worthy brother! your argument does n?t hang together in unbroken liuks! This very 1 li.Ts.nntiHctiso' us vuu are (.leased to Btyle her i ngiipe?- i.1, will act as a sort of life-preserver, to keep her head above water, in that terrible I llumish whirlpool, as you style it, where I am going to throw her!'' "Humph! engaged at sixteen! to an army < ulet moreover?a fashionable lounger, for aught I know. 1 have no great faith in this love of tho bread-and-butter5 age, or in its preservative <iuafmee. The ' salt may lose its savor.' Well, well, let that puss till its time comes." " Vou will spare some fruitless words by doing so' was the laconic remark of the widow. Hut this nunnery affair! it stirs the old Scoteii hloo 1 in my veins, Susannah. I can almost hear my brother culling out of his grave, to forbid the sacrifice of his only child !" Vou use most shocking expressions, Mr. Maxwell. My dear husband, in confidjpg to my care or own child, trusted that every possible advan* tage of education should be accorded her. I shall most certainly send her to no second-rate school. '* She shall go where the daughters of the t lilt are educated. I beg leave to say, that in this matter, us in all others concerning the child, I shall exer -e a mother's t>c8t judgment, unswayed by any prejudice of the dead or living!" .She spoke with warmth, and her eye-flash quite disconcerted the stout-hearted Scotchman. "This comes of giving a woman her foolish way' muttered he, but he did not speak it; for the sliding door opened from a aide conservatory, and. with a burst of fragrance, Agatha danced in if iro him. She seemed a light-winged, gunny pint, sent to pour oil on the stormy wares of Jhennsioa, as she held up to the gaze of the disputants the first rcso that had bloomed on her own pet hush. ' Oh! uncle, are you here ?" cried she, her dreamy h i 1 eyes dilating with nffectionnte delight; and pressing her tiny foot upon theyieldingcarpet, she reache 1 him by a bound. Leaning one arm over his shoulder, with her soft, chestnut curls dropping ag.iiust his rough, crisped whiskers, and rougher cheek, she enthusiastically thrust her rose-bud into his very face, calling on him to echo her admiration. Agatha wo* a romantic girl, as her uncle had said. Circumstances and education had stimulated and nourished a temperament naturally excitable, till her heart was like the hot-house flower she held, forced into premature bloom and beauty. delicite ns the last blush of sunset, yet fated to shrink from the first rude blast the outer world should pour upon it, and fall rcsistlessly a ^ ori to the winds nnd waves of life. She was j+h and fragile, with a complexion?the old itni vs of pearl, alabaster, and cloud, have l?een Itumed into a thouiind-and-one different shapes, by xi many different des<ribers?so I don't know '' if 1 ""bill li| u ,in nnvtliinir ti? f?ntnnn? nnnn * f -V -r? them. Her Might frame aeetned a mere trnnapar? my for the light of noul?or, rather, the light of imagination?for that, like Aaron's rod, had ewall' *< I up the other faculties that were inborn? to t! i-b through. A beauty, an heiress. and, but r lnT i,:l,oti..ria ? -poiled child, it waa not surprihirg that wiilt her knowledge of the world yet i i jta infancy, lier heart had blossomed into Inte. A what d'ye c dl it 7 a It'll* Perptlutile f ex' Mined (he uncle, Why. it smells like a toa<heot, Agatha! donunend me to a good oldfashioned cabbage-rose, for a dozen of your 1'renchified flummeries!" Oh. uncle! how ran you ? Look at tbi* dell'a'e reining, this"? <>h ny?! I dare say it is pretty enough," internipt el the uncle, who dreaded a fit of the"rtoratnvali M he irrerermtly ctyled hi* niece's rap'"r * or. r the peta of her conserratory. " AgaI It* I x _ - - h nf i, i l. I no'/tng the white, reined arm I m.hi i to rtiUitu the rooe, "they tell me J<"?i :?rt? going in the Nunnery f I I won't he & nun! no, I won't he a nun!'' W utyhingly khji.' the glowing girl, trying to eatrlB r>i" her wri t from his graap, and turn hia 'rlitu from a channel where *he, with some o dreaded a hunt of rrproral. B rioaanen! if you pleaae, child! thia ia a B t m auhject, and likely to he attended with fi-us requite. Why are you going to a set of I heathen for your education 7" Kveryhodj goee there to fimxh,n anawered B ^ttha. opening her eyelaahea wide?" erary lady W it a lady. And mamma and Henry wlah me " "topped and atammerad. I . Jk. u Ahr A sarcastic clfaring of her uncle's throat iccompanied these word*, and pressed the crimen heart blood down fren into every fibre of her remulous finger*, that still lay <(uivering like Prightenfd birds in his horny hand. " Ah! that's the secret? Agatha ! Would you Jo a trrong for the sake of pleasing a whim of Harry Hest>ert's?" Tears ^ssed over the light that was gleaming in her eyes ; but the combativenees of her spirit was aroused to defend its lore. She caught her mother's glance, and answered firmly. " I do not believe it is a wrong, uncle ! It is not professing myself a Catholic." " Call it a Romanist, if you please, my girl. Can one go upon hot ooals and not be burned ? " So says inv i?*.L ...? L'.di- from v?u> , Agatha! And can you pray. u Lead me not into j Agatha, by the stanch Protes'antism of our forefithers, of your own dead father, I solemnly warn you to beware! " He dropped the hand he held, and Agatha, feeling herself released, hastened to eaoape from the presw^sofem ah?shslnsutftssurly as a ratatire, but had learned from her mother to half despise, as a " bigoted Scotch Presbyter " Agatha bounded back into the green-house, and closed the doors upon her. Two tears, one of emotion and one of petulance, she dashed from her clouded eyes Musing a few moments in a sort of thoughtful siroamtnoaa shs Kolilouuizcd. " I like it?this Catholic service?the chimes, the cathedral, the altar?the deep, glorious organ, and the divine paintings ' I like it all?and I thank Heaven I am not too bigoted to enjoy it!n What wonder that such sentiments found speech, on the lips of a girl who had been carried in earliest, most susceptible childhood, to the cathedral, in the arms of her unwatched nurse; and who, in liVer yta.rrf, ha<furf trnfrecently followed the steps of her mother-guide into that resort of the beauty and airstocracy of M . She fdided HuiAfltiiiW ^?r her shoulders, and was arranging her pretty bonnet before the little mirror, when she caught a reflection, and turned just in time to elude the grasp of a stealthy arm, aud wake the riogiug laughter of a clear, manly voice. "I knew where I should find my bird?among the flowers!" exclaimed Harry Herbert, relapsing into as near an approximation to sobriety as his buoyant spirits of the moment would allow. " Your bird ! 1 Am planning a flight from you, for your numerous saucy sayings, Mr. Herbert? and expect to fold my wings within walla which yours cannot overpass, were you the winged dragon himself!" "Yes! but only to plume those wings for a higher, g tyer flight in my very humble service!" returned the young man, laughing "You are to be' polished ' to the utmost degree of perfectibility, I suppose?then for your ' comiug out,' uui pctu< ? a star in the ' ku momlr ;' a star which 1 shall be most proud to find " " No?no! you arrogant presuracr ! You have no right to exercise your fettering prerogatives in anticipation! 1 am my own mistress, yet! and I will enjoy my freedom!" " Let the wild falcon soar her owing ' She'll eto?|> when she has tired her wing!" laughed Harry, carelessly. " Meanwhile, will your subline highness accept of your devoted cavalier's escort in the shopping excursion for which I take tor in-intcd vnu are arminir and equipping your self! 1 hold a morning promenade to be one of a young lady's articles of faith!" "Ridiculous! when you military men are always throwing our lack of exercise, in our faces, too!" u Yes! a deal of exercise there is in this?street Mu.atAr! Wall, you aae ready Not your green veil, for goodnees sake, Agatha!" exclaimed,lie in terror. ' 1 wish the cholera, that drives everything else green out of the market, would frighten off a platoon of these pestiferous green veils. The health of the city would rise ten per cent I" "How you talk! Would you like to see us all hlousy as fmh-women, or brown as fquuws?" ' Wear a quaker hat, or carry an umbrella, then ; but I detest these green veils! 1 never bow to one in the streets, for i always take for granted the face under it is old enough to he that of my great-grandmother?or ought to he, at least." ' And thereby run the risk of cutting your most valued and valuable acquaintances." returned she, dropping a mock courtesy. " I suppose I must obey!" and tossing the veil half reluctantly to its corner, she unfurled her butterfly parasol. Agatha came from the convent walls, with the chaut, the mass, the low voices of the nuns, and the vesper hymn ringing in her ears, to make that debut in the gay world, to which she hail so eager Iy lOOKeil iorwaru. rur ? mtiu uiur, nil n..o swallowed up in a sparkling novelty. Midnight soirees and fashionable flirtations dazzled and bewildered her into fancies of the ' seventh heaven.' But the foam on the champaign soon died away, and its dregs were insipid to her lips. " Mamtna!" she exclaimed one day, after yawning for hours over the tasteless pages of a secondrate novel, to drive away the ennui that follows a night of dissipation surely us a shadow its substance, " inauima! this is living to little purpose! It seems to roe a weary round. If the self-denying nuns I lef' four months ago are travelling the right road to 1 leaven, we surely are on the wrong one!" "My dear child!" cried the mother, startled into a remembrance of her brother-in-law's forebodings ; " of what are you thinking ?" "Of nothing very particular, mamma; but I always dream myself back to tnose quiet aisles, when I am tired of noise Hnd fashion; and sometimes I almost wish myself safely there." "And Harry?" asked the mother, with a light tone, hut a troubled eye; for she saw that her child's bosom heaved, as if her heart enshrined more than her lips uttered. " Harry !" she echoed, in a low tone. "Yes, Harry. The world is worth something with him in it! But if it be, as they tell us. an eternal gain to give up all mortal pleasures?if the greatest sacrifice win the greatest crown " She relapsed into a vacancy of dreaming. Housing herself at list, and springing from the sofa with eloquence in her glance, she exclaimed, ' No! I could ntv*r give up Harry! Mamma! I should have made a poor martyr!" and she hid her blushing cheek on her mother's bosom. "I would not care for the brightest crown in Heaven, unsharod with him. I could not be happy in the uuiverse without him! Mrs. Maxwell felt the cheek of her daughter burn against her shoulder; and,clasping her arm around her in a mother's caressing, she murmured, " And when Harry obtains his promised lieutenantcy, then " "Then" Agatha sprang to her feet as if detected in some felony, for an easily-rccognised step was at the door. "I thought to find you languid and jaded, after last night's revelry," said Herbert, taking the hand of his little Agatha ; " but the roses in your cheeks have outlived those in your Itouquet Heally, fashionable life suits your complexion charmingly, my Agatha!" " Agatha is not quite of your opinion," remarked the smiling mother " She was just lamenting the ' tedious round.' " " I have brought some tidings to diversify it," he returned, emphatically. Mrs. Maxwell smiled, and Agatha blushed again. " > our commission ?" suggested the former. "Yes, but" " But what ? " ?.tu? . - - - v. umc it |>ruTOKing mum 111 i?" ru? i'""1 blossoming I have no long waited My regiment is ordered lo the nether parte of California! " " How noon 1 " u In a fortnight!" replied he, laconically. Neither npoke for a moment. The tears at length csme brimming in Aga'ha'a eyee, and ahe rote to hide I hem llarrjr canght her hand pleadingly. "Anawer me one question, before you go, Agatha V' " Not now," ahe whiapered falteringly, and glided away to the rrceaaea of her chamber. " I unit aeal my treasure win/', before I go, mttthrr!" exclaimed the young man, pausing anxlously in his rapid involuntary pacing, and placing himself before Mm Maxwell. " 1 hare reasons whose force you cannot feel or know as I do. Those Jesuitical priests) it would hers been a dangerous thing to hnva left her longer under their influence! 1 do not fear that they oaa win her heart from me?bat whan I aaa away " Ha paimed, stifling the strong emotion that worked still in the knotting Tfine of his temples, " She /#m? you. Harry !'' answered the mother, with deep fervency. "I believe it; and were ahe not better my own? j 1 may not return for years," added he, in an under tone of dejected foreboding. " She ai**? go with you!" " It is impossible, then 7 But let her st least be tr my name?that is a smali boon. Let me bear the memory of my wife into my exile! " " Perhaps it were better thus," mused the mother, thooghtfully. Agatha's pure veil wis bound with pearls to her fairer brow, on the evening of her bridal Hopes that looked far away, conflicting with fears of the present, gave more of the light of soul to her eye and eheek, than is often added to the beauty of the bride. The bridesmaids hai left ! her at her request, and she stood fastening her wuSurv ?>vo m beueat h the ft > r k -, | ering chandelier. was dearest. She looked up, and then down again, and laid her hand on his arm "Do not say anything now!" she entreated, forcing a melancholy smile. " I do not waut to poil my eyes before " Bat t he tears stole silently down with her words. " Agatha} -Lhars esijjone proouee to ask?one pledge" " Hays I not given enough ? " asked she, trying to smile again. "It is on a matter of which I hare snid less to you than I have felt, lore; and now there is no time. You trill not profess yourself a Catholic white I am gone?" "How can you ask such a question now, Harry?" ow- 1? av 1. ?_ J nuc iwttu ijj) wiiu rcpruKua iu urr 17c, nuu, as he re&d its clear depths, he saw bis own image there, and was satisfied. His countenance assumed its naturally sportive expression. " Forgive me, my darling , but knowing your predilection for the ted, jou will pardon a shadow of a fear of finding you locked up in a convent s jaws, upon my return ! " Side by side they stood, to fasten the chain which years had woven. It was over?the simple rreabyter'w nr;;-; * states. Agatha's really warm-heartid uncle dropped the hand of the bewildered bride, to clasp that of her tearful motlmg "Congratulate you, sister! upon aceiug hwfairly married to a Protestant! I vr4l4 he were as religious as he is moral!" It is always sad to part! Sad, when it breaks a few links of school-girl association?sadder | when it breaks a home-chord ! It is the last pang of expiring nature; when this world is given up, it is still hard to fxirt! But, in the bridal hour, when the tendrils of the heart are clinging with the fervency of an unshaken, untold devotion, around an untried prop?when those tendrils are parted, be it ever so tenderly, the strongest heart will blaed! Henry Herbert laid his mercifully-unconscious bride in her mother's arms, as the steamboat bell was clanging its harsh peal. "Watch her, mother!?for me ! and," he whispered low in her ear, "do not let her attend the Cathedral too often!" He bent for one kiss, and was gone. It was on the first of May that Lieutenant Herbert left his bride of an hour. On the first of November, she received a letter with the wellknown stamp?hut it was in a strange hand ! She tore it open quiveringly, and gasped, 11 'l'hank God!" as her husband's handwriting lay before her eyes His letter closed ns follows "The pestilence is raging around me, love ; but 1 am as yet unharmed. It can but bring solemn thoughts to any heart not utterly hardened?thoughts of home, and thoughts of Heaven ! To see manhood and beauty stricken down thus in their pride and prime! I am no coward, Agatha, uud I face the pestilence of God's breath as freely hs the cannon of man s armory, but 1 am not ashamed to own my thoughtfulueas. Agatha ! would thst we had looked more heavenward ! " Here another hand abruptly added, "A comrade completes what your husband was not allowed Ij? fini?h. He die.d this morning " Agatha vamr Its, /.,??# t%A>> I She went down to the verge of the grave on the tide of that first great grief; and when, after weeks of agony, she lifted her head feebly from her pillow, she was a changed being. There was a hollow in each Heshless cheek, and the brow lay like inanimate marble, among the few thin locks that overhung it. She was changed within as without. She, too, sought to " look heavenward but, alas! deep midnight mists had rolled early between her and the sun, and her eye was too feeble to pierce them now. Her mother, watching her every glance and footstep with intense anxiety, rejoiced when, with a mockery of her former activity, she would array herself, and turn her faltering feet toward the fresh air and sunshine. Hut she did not long rejoice. She went up to Agatha's boudoir one day, and found, hanging over the little cushion where she had knelt from childhood to say her evening prayers, a miniature of the Virgin! Thunderstruck, she started back, and was standing with clasped hauds, when Agatha entered from her usual walk. She had been strangely reserved of late, seeming to ecorn all human sympathy, and her mother had refrained fiom intruding into the inner chamber of a "heart that knew its own bitterness." She had only sought to divert her mind by every device of amusement?all in vain ! " iMy daughter 1" cried the alarmed mother, (' Kaf ia t K i u ? on/! lvViArA Viuva rr.n l\nnn Agatha came forward and looked her ateadily in the face. " I hare been to the content, mother! It is time I told you all that I could not say before," she went on, pressing her hand ngainst her side painfully. " It is time you knew my resolve to give up the world for Heaven!" "My daughter!"' gasped the poor woman, " will yon leave me f" " I have vowed, mother V she exclaimed, with a wild gleam in her eye, while her breath came huskily, " I have vowed a vow?but it was for his sake, mother?only his /" She sank down upon her couch. "Agatha! you know his last wish?can you disregard it ?" Agatha looked up, and her lips moved faintly "lie looked heavenward f she whispered, and sunk into a swoon of exhaustion. The mother lay by her side that night, anguished with emotion, yet hushing every outward sign, that the child of her life might sleep. A troubled stupor at last snilcd slightly her own eyelids She awoke suddenly, with one of those convulsive starts, in which the life-strings of the henrt seem to be pulled by invisible fingers. It was a freezing night of February. The cold moon was gleaming in on the colder floor, and in its rays stood Agatha, tall and white, muttering faint words as she shivered. " My child!" exclaimed the mother, rushing to her in alarm. Agatha fixed a bewildered glance upon her. "Heaven is there!" she exclaimed, sweeping her wasted arm toward the round moon. " But, she added, in a fearfully thrilling tone, " but he is in purgatory !" The hand that Mrs. Maxwell grasped wns burning with fever. Agatha caught it away, and tossed both above her heid asshekneir ? 1 XT I !_ I XI I A -- I OIOMPVU irp^iu i itj mrj ivimuqr . n to mai is i hear me J save him ! uiv him!" " Whit shall I dot" eried the hopeless mother, wringing her hands. Agath* turned to her with the desperate energy of n fever "He blasphemed the Virgin end the Nsinte," he epoke, in a deep, sepulchre! tone; " but huah, don't whisper it Great God ! a thousand years of fire that shall not be quenched !" She aank heavily at her mother's feet, and Mrs. Maiwell, ringing her hell violently, despatched a servant to the house of her brother-in-law. It was a fearful thing to listen to that misguided spirit's ravings, during the days that followed; but it was more fearful to look on the countenance of that ooosoious mother, where remorse and too late repentanoe had traced dark lines of agony. " She cannot bold out much longer," said her physician, on the fourth day, as he felt her wasting pulse. That eve, for a little time, her delirium left her, and she looked about on all with a conscious but troubled glance, then seemed to sink Into a sort of half slumber. Auguring hopefully from this change, the worn-out mother lay down on a pallet near, and the faithful uncle left to refresh his lungs with the air of heaven for a few momenta As he noiselessly entered the ante-room of the sick-chamber, on returning, he started in surprise, I and then sprang forward in anger. Mrs. Max- j well still lay, sleeping heavily, and by the bed of the awakened sufferer stood a female form, in tha garb of a .Sister of Charity, and a ltomish priest! The Scotchman sternly laid n hand on the arm of each. " You will oblige me by retiring from this place immediately," said he, repreaaing, for the sick one's sake, the whirlwind of his wrath. The ' priest blandly bowed as he replied, "We come to pay the last rites to a daughter of the Holy Catholic Church?to one who wan i already numbered, in intantion, among our sacred Sisterhood." "Out of my house, liars and hypocrites!'" thundered the uncle, no longer restrained by prudence. His sister started up wildly as the twain reluctantly moved toward the door, aroasing themselves over the face of the dying a* they left, "Oh ! have mercy, uncle," moaned the unhappy girl. " They say I am dying Who will open the gate of Heaven for me? Blessed St Peter," she murmured, feebly. "Jesus, my precious niece?look to Jesus' The strong man was melted Into the tears and tenderness of childhood. " Oh, God ! have mercy on my child," cried the mother, sinking on her knees by the pillow. " 5?*oa< whevvf v*?t/ vwva Vrai. ) / mortal Bight was fast clouding over. " 1 cmnot J Ave Maria, ora pro notiuP} Sheclulched the outstretched hand of her uncle convulsively "S tve me?save me!" she gasped, while her mother's lips grew whiter and her unmowiug countenaucc seemed turned into stone by its own agonized gase. "Jesus Christ, your Redeemer, r?y Agatha? look to Him who died to save you !:; She stretched her Arms upward in a last vain Btrugzle?"Jesus! have mercy!' I he outstretched arms fell as the last breath poured out, aud the sacrifice was accomplished?the victim was at rest The mother fell, seemingly, as lifeless upon the floor beside her. The lusi cry was a cry for mercy; but what a fragile foundation was that one whisper for the hopes of Eternity ! forth* Natioual Kra. TO AN AUTHOR. HV CHARI.ES MSI. How well thy little volume lia* requite.1 The hour* in which It* treasured letter were real, What feeling* new and deep it ha* eaeileJ, T"'x: dUkaae i>w our da?k pftWrcAlsa? . * The holiness of nature, (by re'iance, Hy Superstition'* frowning mien utmwrd t The womlron* temple built for thought ami mpnre. ^ With feet assured, though humble, thou hut trod. That temple which gnat Angelo'i designing Ne'er equalled even in Fancy'*gtnial realm, In whose high vault* sphere*othnr sphere* entwining, Hung with stupendous skill, the sight o'erwhelm. Whose wa'ls are with ten thousand pictures emcred, Of more than Raphael's form* or Titian's hue*. Knchanting scenes, some by theeyediscovnt l. Some which alone the gating spirit views. . Where sings a choir whose member* ne'er endeavor To make their voices in the song combine? Kaeh breaths* hi* note, and music swells forever The natural accord of things divine Where fervent prayer* aris* by lip* unspoken, Not prayer* that Heaven new blessing* iniy impart, Not of repentance for commandment, broken, Hut incense from the pure and joyou. Iiesrt. Where symbol* ranged in order and profusion, Birds, flower*, and corals, gem* and star, appear, Conveying each a beautiful allusion To something holier in a brighter sphere. Where thou hast learned a homage pure to render, To think of duty, truth, and Hod, aright, Where thou hast dwelt in tnore than royal splendor, I by manna wisiiom, ana thy drink delight. O, that Time'* children, led by thy eunple, Woulit treaa tlioee hallowed alilea with heart* aincere, Survey their dome* so richly wrought and ample, Breathe their calm air, their soothing amain hear There they wonl 1 find conteutioui thought* forbidden, The amilea of gentle peace with bleising* fraught, In each unsightly obj'ot discord hidden, And harmony and love by beauty taught. t llioksus's llouaebo :a Ajrda I LITTLE MARY. a TALK or the irish famine. That was ? pleasant place where J was horn, though 'twas only a thatched cabin by the side of n mountain stream, where the oountry was ho lonely, that in summer time the wild ducks used to bring their young ones to feed on the bog, within ? hundred yards of our door; and you could not stoop oyer the bank to raise a pitcher full of water, without frightening a shoal of beautiful speckled trout. Well, 'tis long ago since my brother Richard (that's now grown a fine, clever mnn, Qod bless him!) and myself, used to set ofT together up the mountain, to pick hunches of the cotton plant and the bog myrtle, and to look for birds' and wild bees' nests. 'Tin long ago?and though I'm happy and well off now, living in the big house as own maid to the young ladies, who, on account of rny being foster-sister to poor darling Miss Ellen, that died of decline, treat me more like their equal than their servant, and give me the means to improve myself, still, at times, especially when James Sweeney, a dacent hoy of the neighbor's, and myself, are taking a walk together through the fields in the cool and quiet of ? summers evening, I cm t help thinking of the times that are passed, and talking about them to i James with a sort of peaceful sadness, more happy, may be, than if we were laughing aloud. Every evening, before I say my prayers, I read a chspter in the Bible that Miss Ellen gave me ; and lust night I felt my team dropping for ever so long over one verse, "And Ood shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be anymore pain; for the 1 former things are passed away." The words made me think of them that are gone?of my father, and his wife, that was a true, fond mother to me; and above all, of my little slater Mary, the clunen bntcn (white dove) that nestled in her bosom. I was a wild slip of a girl, ten years of age, and my brother Richard about two years older, when my futhcr brought home his second wife. She was the daughter of a farmer up at Lackabawn, and was reared with care sn 1 decency ; but her father held his ground at a rack-rent, snd the 1 middleman that was between him and the head landlord did not pay his own, so the place was ejected, and the farmer collected every penny he 1 hod, and set off with his family to America. My ' father had a liking for the youngest daughter, 1 and well beoome him to have it, for a sweeter creature never drew the breath of life ; but while ' her father passed for a strung (rich) farmer, he was timorous-like nlxiut asking her to share his | little cabin ; however, when he found how mat- 1 ters stood, he didn't lose much time in finding 1 out that she was willing to be his wife, and a ' mother to his boy and girl. That she w.ut, a pa- ' tieut, loving one. Ob 1 it often sticks ine like a ' knife, when I think how many times I fretted her with my foolishness and my idle way, and how 'twas a long time before I'd call her "mother." J Often, when my father would be going to chastise 1 Richard and myself for our provoking doings, j especially the day that we took balf-a-doten e^gs j from under the hstohing hen, to play " Blind ] Torn" with them, she'd interfere for us, and say, 1 "Tim, aleagk, don't touoh them, sure 'tis only ' arch they are; they'll get more sense in time." J Anil than after he wan crono nut. nhr'd fi<lvi*6 U8 ! for oar good no pleasantly, thai a thundercloud ' iUelf couldn't look black at her. Nhe did wonders, too, ftlK?ut the houHe and garden. They were both dirty and neglected enough when ahe first came over them; fori *m too young and fooliab, and my ftther too busy with hi-* out-door work, and the old woman that lived with us in service too feeble and too blind to keep the place either clean or decent; but my mother got the door raised, and the green pool in front drained, and a parcel of roses and honeysuckles planted there instead. The neighbors' wives used to ssy, 'twas all pride and upsetting fully to keep the kitchen floor swept clean, and to put the potatoes on a dish, instead of emptying tbein out of the pot into the middle of the table; besides, 'twas a cruel, unnatural thing, tbey said, to take away the pool from the ducks, that they were always used to paddle in ao handy. But my mother was alwaya too busy and too happy to heed what they said ; and, besides, she was always so ready to do a kind turn for any of them, that, out of pure shame, they hvl at last to leave off abusing her "flne Knglish ways." Weat of our house there was a straggling, stony pieoe of ground, where, within the msmory of man nothing ever grew hut nettles, docks, and thistles. One Mon lay, when Richard and myself came in from school, my mother told us to set about weeding it, and to bring in some baakstfuls of good clay from tha banks of the river; she said that if we worked well at it until Naturdsj, she'd bring me a new frock, and Diok a jacket, from the neat narkettown : and rncournged by this, we set to rork with right goo?l will, ami Ji.ln't leave off till 1 upper time. The next day we did the same ; and >y degrees, when we saw the heap of weeds and tones that we got out growing big. and the ground looking nice and smooth, an ! red and rich, ee got quite anxious about it ourselves, and we kuilt a nice little fence round it to keep out the jigs. When it was manured, my mother planted 1 iabbago, parsnips, and ouion-, in it; and, to be iure, she got a fine crop out of it, enough to make is many a nice supper of vegetables stewed with >epper. and a small taste of bacon or a red her ing Besides, she sold in the market as much as jought a Sunday coat for my father, a gown for 1 lerself, a fine pair of shoes for Dick, and as pretty i shawl for myself as e 'er a colleen in the country 1 jould show at mass. Through means of my faher'e industry and mothers good management, we were, with the blessimrs of God. as snnw and MRdwoai* - 7*:rr is ?\,j J; W e paid hut a am ill rent, and i? enJ wpw? k?<t I 1 - w kvnt.ifti i tirns* i' iness and decency in and nhout our little cabin 1 Five years p issed on in this w iy. a d at last little j j Mary was born. She was a delicate fairy thing, with that look, even from the first, in her blue 1 pyts. which is seldom seen, except where the 1 shadow of the grave darkens the ersdle. She was fond of her father and of Richard, and of inyaelf, \ and would laugh and crow when she saw us, hut the love in the oore of her heart was for her 1 mother. No matter how tired, or sleepy, or cross the baby might be. one word from her would set the bright eyes dancing, and the little rosy mouth smiling, and the tiny limbs quiveriug, as if walking or runniug couldn't content her, but she must ! fly to her mother's arms. And how thatwnothe- j Joted on the very ground she trod! I oftei j thought the Uueen in her state carriage, with her j ?on, CJoJ bless him ! alongside of her, dressed out j in gold and jewels, was not one bit happier than ny mother, when she sat under the shade of the ] Mountain ash, near the door, in the hush of the mmnier's evening, singing and cronnunwg her only >ne to sleep in her arms. In the month of Octo- 1 >er, IS4.*>, Mary was four years old That was 1 he bitter time, when first the food of the earth was turned to poison; when the gardens that used :o be swrr*; with ?sh [>le and white potato blossoms, became in one night black and off. naive, as if fire had comedown From heaven to burn them up 'Twas a heartbreaking thing ?? tire laboring men, the crathers ! that had only the one-half acre to feed their little families, going out, after work, in the evenings, to dig their suppers from under the black **alks. Spadeful after spadeful would be turned ap, and a long piece of a ridge dug through, before they'd get a small dish full of such withered voluiunt*ns, (small potatoes.) as in other years ; would be hardly counted fit for the pigs. It was sometime before the distress reached us, for there was a trifle of monoy in the saving's bank, that held us in meal, while the neighbors were next door to starvation. As long as my fahor and mother had it, they shared it freely with them that were worse off than themselves; but at last the little peuuy of money was all spent, the price of flour was raised , and, to to make matters worse, the farmer that my father worked for. at i poor eightpenco a day, was forced to send him in<! three wore of his laborers away, as he couldn't afford to pay them even that any longer. Oh! twns a sorrowiui nigui wuen my miner brought home the news. 1 remember, hh well as if I saw it yesterday, the ilesolate look in his face when he sat down by the ashes of the turf fire that had just baked n yellow meal cake for his supper. My mother was ut iho opposite side, giving little Mary a drink of sour milk out of her little wooden piggin, and the child didn't like it, being delicate, and always used to sweet milk, so she said " Mammy, won't you give me some of the nice milk instead of thntl" "I haven't it, nsthorf, nor can't get it," said her mother, " so don't ye fret " Not a word more out of the little one's mouth, only she turned her little cheek in toward her mother, and otsid quite quiet, as if she was hearkening to what waa going ou. " Judy," add iny father, "God la good,and sure 'tis only in 11 im we must put our trust for in the I wide world I can sec nothing but starvation be- j fore us." "God is good, Tim," replied my mother, " He won't forsake us." Just then Richard came in with a more joyful face than I had seen on him for many a day "Good news!" said he, "good uews, father; there's work for ns both on the Mmnmcarrn road' The government works are to begin there tomorrow?you'll get cightpence a day, and I'll get sixpence." If you saw our delight when we heard this, you'd think 'twas the free present of a thousand pounds that came to us, falling through the roof, instead of nu oiler of small wages for hard work To he sure, potatoes were gone, and the yellow meal was dear, and dry, and chippy?it hadn't the nature about it that a hot potato has for a poor man . hut still'twas a great thing to have the prospect of getting enough of even that same, and not to he obliged to follow the rest of the country into the poor-house, which was crowded to that degree that the crathurs there?God help them!? hadn't room even to die quietly in their hods, but were crowded together on the (loor like so many dogs in a kennel. The next morning my father and Richard were oil before daybreak, for they had a long way to walk to Droumoarra, and they should he there in time to bpgin work. They took an Indian meal Cake with them to eat for their dinner, and poor dry food it was, with only a draught of cold water to wash it down. Still my father, who was knowledgeable about such things, always said it was mighty wholesome when it whs well cooked; and !>ut some of the poor people took a great objection against it on account of the yellow color, which thev thought cimo from having sulphur mixed with it?and they said, indeed it was putting a great affront on tbo decent Irish to mix up their food as if 'twas for uiangy dogs, (ilad enough, poor crathurs, they were to get it afterwards, when senweed nnd nettles, and the very grass by the roadside, was all that many of them had to put into their mouths. When my father and brother came home in the evening, faiut and tired froin the two long walks and the clay's work, my mother would always try to have something for them to eat with their porridge?a bit of butler, or a bowl of thick milk, or maybe a few eggs She always gave me plenty, as tar as it would go; but 'twas little she lock herself She would often go entirely without a meal, and then she'd slip down to the huckster's, and buy a little white bun for Mary ; and I'm sure it used to do her more good to see the ohild cut it, than if she hud got a meat-dinner for lierself. No matter how hungry the poor little Ibing might be, she'd slwsysbreak off a bit toput nto her mother's mouth, and she would not tie intblied until she saw her swallow it; then the ;hild would lake a drink of cold water out of hsr little tin porringer, as contented as if it was new milk. As the winter advanced, the westher became wet and bitterly cold, and the poor men working on the roads began to suffer dreadfully from being all day in wet clothes, aud, what was worse, not having any change to put on when they went home at night, without a dry thread about them, fever soon got among them, end my father took it. My mother brought the doctor to see him, md, selling all our decent clothes, she got for him whatever was wanting, but all to no use, 'twas he will of the Lord to take hlru to hitnself,and he died after a lew days' Illness It would be herd to tell the aorrow that Lis willow wmi orphan* felt, when they saw the freah tola planted on hi* gmve It wu not grief altocether like the grand atatelv grief of Ibe <|uality, ilthough meylie the aarne eharp knife 1* aticking nto the aame aore boaom inalde in t>oth , but the intaide dilfera in rich and poor. 1 saw the mi*re** a week after Mine Kllen died, flhe wu* In ter drawing-room with the blind* pullet] down, litting in a low chair, with her elbow on thearanll rork-tuble, uud her cljeek resting on her hand? lot a speck of anything white about her but the wsbrio handkerchief, and the fuo* that waa paler h*n the marble chimney-piece. When *he *uw me, (for the butler, being bu*y, eiit me in with the luncheon-tray ) *h? oovered ler eye* with her handkerchief, and began to cry, i mt quietly, a* if she did not want It to be noticed, i \? I wo* going out, I juat beard her any to Mia* Mice, in a choking voice : "Keen Sally here alwaya; our poor darling wnM fond of ber " And a* 1 ctoaed the door, I heard her give one leep *ob. The neit time I oaw her, ah* wo*i|Uite lompoaed ; only for the white cheek and the black Ireaa, you would not know that the burning feel it a child's loat kiaa had ever touched her lips. My father'* wife mourned for him after anoth r fashion She could not ait <juiet ahe moat work hard to keep the life in them to whom be (awe it, and it waa only in the evening! when ahe lat down before the fire with Mary iu her arma, I hat she used to soh and rock herself to and fro, and sing a low, wailing keen for the father of the little one. whose innocent tear* werealways ready to fall when she saw her mother cry. About this lime my mother got an offer from some of the hucksters in the neighborhood, who knew her honesty, to go three times a week to the next market-town, ten miles off, with their little money, and bring them back supplies of bread, groceries, soap, and candles. This she used to do, walking the twenty miles?ten of them with a heavy load on her back?for the sake of earning enough to keep us alire. 'Twas very seldom that Richard could get a stroke of work to do : the boy wasn't strong himself, for he had the sickness too though he recovered from if. and always did his best to earn an honest penny wherever he could. I often wanted my mother to let me go in her stead and bring back the load; but she never would hear of it, and kept me at home to mind the house and litiu V#-M ) I she wanted. She would go after breakfast aud . a .... -^v .j. \Ut| V Alt U.tjTf for her mother, and never heeding the neighbors' children that used to come wanting her to play Through the live-long hours she would never stir, but just keep her eyes fixed on the lonesome h?r*h, (byroad ;) and when the shadow of the mountain ash grew long and she caught a glimpse of her mother ever so far off, coming towards home, the joy that would riush on the small patient face was brighter than the sunbeam on the river Faint and weary as the poor woman used to be, before ever she sat down she'd have Mary nestling in her bosom No matter how little she might have eaten herself that day, she would always bring home a little white bun for Mary ; and the child, that had tasted nothiugsince morning, would eat so happily, and then fall asleep ijuietly in her mother's arms. At the end of some months I got the sickness mvself. but not so heavilv ns Richard did hefore Any way, he and my mother tended me well through it. They sold almost every little stick of furniture that was left, to buy me drink and medicine. By degrees I recovered, and the first evening I was able to sit up 1 noticed a strange, wild brightness in r>y mother's eyes, and a hot Hush on her thin checks?she had taken the CmNI - A Before she lay down on the wisp of straw that served her for a bed, she brought little Mary over to me " Take her, Sally," she said?and between every wurd.x're parr the child a kiss?" take her , she's safer with yeu than she'd be with me, for you're over the sickuess. and'tisn't long any way I'll be with you, my jewel," she said, as she gave the little creature one long, close hug, and put her into my arms. 'Twould take long to tell all about her sickness?how Richard and 1, as good right we had, tended her night and day ; and how, when every farthing and farthings'# worth we had in the world was gone, the mistress herself came down from the big house, the very day after the family returned home from France, and brought wine, food, medicine, linen, and everything we could want. .Shortly after the kind lady was gone, my mother took the change for death ; her senses came back, she grow ijuite strong-like; and sat up straight in the bed. " Bring me the child, Sally, altaghf she said. And when 1 carried little Marry to her, she looked into the tiny face, as if she was reading it like a book. You won't be long away from me, my own one," Bhe said, while her tears fell down upon the child like summer rain. " Mother," said I, as well as I could speak for crying, "sure you know I'll do my best to tend her." " I know you will, ncrnhla; you were always a true and dutiful daughter to me and to him that's gone; but, Sally, there's that in my wenny one that won't let her thrive without the mother's hand over her, and the mother's heart for her to lean against. And now?It was all she could sty she just clasped the little child to her bosom, fell back on my arm, and in a few moments all m r.rui i I ,??? lieve that she was dead, and it wns very long hefore the orphan would loose her hold of the Btitl'eniug lingers , hut Trhrii the nrtf^hhere enm* in to prepare for the wake, we contrived to flatter her it way. Days passed on ; the child was very ijtiiet; she used to go as usual to sit at the door, and watch hour after hour along the road that her mother always took coming home from market, waiting for her that oouhl never onme again When the sun was near setting, her gaze used to he more fixed and eager, hut when darkness came on, her tilue eyes used to droop like the flowers that shut up their leaves, and she would come in quiet without saying a word, and allow me to undress her and put her to bed. It troubled us and the young ladies greatly that she would not eat. It was almost impossible to get her to taste a morsel, indeed, the only thing she would let inside her lips w is a hit of a little white bun, like those her poor mother used to bring her. There was nothiug left untried to plesse her. I carried her up to the big house, thinking the change might do her good, and the ladies petted her, and talked to her, and gave her heaps of toys nnd cakes, and pretty frocks and coats ; hut she hardly noticed them, and was restless and uneasy until she got back to her own low, sunny door-step. Krery day she grew paler and thinner, and her bright eyes had a sad, fond look in them, so like her mother's. One evening she sut at the door later than usual. "Come in, ulannnk," I said to her. "Won't you oome in for your own Sally ?" She never stirred. I went, over to her, she was quite still, with her little hands crossed on her lap, and her head drooping on her chest. I touched her?she was cold. I gave a loud scream and Richard came running ; he stopped and looked, and burnt out crying like an infant. Our little NiBicr wits : "Well, my Mary, the sorrow was hitter, hut it was short. You're gone home to Him that comforts as n mother comfurteth Ajra machru, your eyes are us blue, ami your hair as golden, and your voice us sweet, ns they were when you watched by the cabin door ; hut your cheeks are not pale, aeuihla, nor your little hands thin, and the shade of sorrow has passed uwuy from your forehetd like a rain-cloud from the summer sky. Hhe that loved yen so ou earth, ban clasped you forever to her bosom in heaven ; and God himself has wiped away all tears from your eyes, and planed you both, und our own denr father, far beyond the touch of sorrow or the fear of death. TilK TK1RS (IF LIFE. BY M K*. K. L. HEKVSY. (town among the smooth sands, paddling in the sou, with garments tucked up high uhove her knees, nay, gathered up and folded about her bosom, und only withheld from dropping on her young limbs by the little hands that clasped and buckled them fast in front, stood a child of some seven years old. Bred from her birth in the very lap of the great ocean, for her mother's dwelling whs a cutting in the side of the chalk cliff, little Katcy loved the kindly waters with the love of a fosterchild. Never were the surges too rough, never were the shining depths too treaoherously glassy for her daring feet. On this particular dsy, as she sported with the waves, it chanced that us she danoed backwards further and further into the sea, singing a careless chant of her own, an outbreak of some childish thought or emotion shaping itaelf into spontaneous melody, her eye was suddenly attracted to soma object standing out bright and sparkling from the white chalk of the cliff. At first she thought it was a gray gull, or a foolish guillemot, that had taken its stand on the jutting rooky ledge. NLe oould plainly discern two wings waving on the air, and fringed with numerous beautiful tints, exactly like those masses of sesfosro, touched by the sunlight, with which she had so often sported. Upborne by the fairy pin ions, ttoated a form more lovely than anything the child bad evsr seen. What oould it be 7 As she asked herielf this question, absorbed in her new wonder, the child allowed her garments to drop from her hoid. No sooner were incj r*ie*ve<i rrorn ner cianp irmn mr wimi mini them like ft axil, and uwny floated little Katey, far, far out upon tbe bottom of the greet waters. One moment ber affrighted g.iie turned toward home. Hbe beard her mother'a shriek from the cabin in tbe cliff, and, u>iogllng with the piercing cry, aha fancied ahe heard, too, tbe old echo so often giren back to her wild ahoat bj the atony heights overhead. Than, as drownere do, ahe saw, as the heavy tides roiled over her end pressed upon her shut lids, green fields gleaming far away?bright lends aha might never touch. Neat, the giddy waves seemed whirling her round and round, end the engulfing waters choked her, till ahe swooned. i With returning consciousness the first object that met her eyes was the wime fairy-like figure at which she had been (taring when the sea flowed , over her. On looking around, she foun 1 that she was lying in a small care or hollow of the cliff, niitlway up the steep The tloor on which she was stretched was a many-colore 1 n - uc, tornn I of the fan-shells from the beach below ; the roof she could not see, for the wings of the fairy being now bending above her completely arched it ore. so that all that met her up-turned gate was one beautiful downy net-work, g'.immeriug with opallike and ever-varying rays, like those upon the ocean foam, as she had seen it at ere when sunset lay along the winds. "Where am I?" was the first question of the bewildered chilJ. " In the care of the fairy Cliffelda.'" was the answer " He at peace, sweet sport er, between earth and the sea!"' continued the fairy; "lire k ?- ?? >>- -*1 - --? ?_ ? - i i -"re-/ ?v ? wall and the cloud. Here shall no strujrele.s -v ??*,?. M?t>IIMUI unui you lcurn to pine for your natural h one, this shall be your dwelling : but once lament, shed but one human tear for the world you hare left below, to swell the salt wares already overriding the chalky barriers stretched far and wide to impede them, and you must hcuce forever."4 " Wherefore ?" cried the child, in still greater amazement. " I will tell you," said the fury. " Know. then, oh ! sleeper in the sea, what it is that makes yon der waves so salt that our fairy lips turn aw ty from it in loathing. That salt is the taste of human woe. the gathering of mortal tears into one great urn of the deep. Hitherto, you have played with and ma le a pastime of sorrow , it has never yet struck home to your heart. The tears of millions have tlowe'l over your head this day, but your pulse throbs still, and the smile dances on your lip. Your life is secure till you shall add your first real tear to swell the vast heaving tide that rolls on forever and ever. Then beware! It will no longer be in my power, or in the power of any of my race, to save you. Thenceforward, yonder hitter waves shall have dominion over vou. Perchance it will he your fate to drink deep of them till your soul shall be sick with Iro?.>drg?ay, rv?i of life." ? -r \ j The fairy ceased. The child pondered. Few moons rolled over that vast sea before a I change fell upon the child. Kach moon, as it ^ , grew-hcartn*,* iaid a wiugh-'yotdm linger on the deep, and with it pointed to the shore The child could not look straight down helow because of the dir/y height on which she lay ; but she could murk the golden finger, and she could see that it pointed to her own beloved home, the narrow cabin at the foot of the clitf, J whose very tloor she well knew the high spring- ' tides were washing, whenever that golden-finger was so stretched across the deep. It was not long before the child began to pine for her lowly home, and as a new and strange intelligence, beyond her years, dawned upon her, she whispered softly to her own heart: '-Why am I here? What have 1 done that I should know no tears 7 Beautiful was my sister's Borrow, and sweet, when she was made to know her first great fault, and to weep over it. Sacred was my 1 father's woe when ho beheld me sink beneath the deep; for then 1 knew he lifted up his hands, and. looking on mv sister, blessed (Jod that 1 died I in ray young day* of innocence. My father was u hard man! but he is gentler now ray Bister walks softly in her sorrows Why, oh, why am I only to know no tears! Though this tloor were of gems instead of the little tide-shells, and though the bright wings I see waving above me were angel wings, yet should I pine for earth Hnd its chastening sorrows. To the strange nature of this fairy creature, tears may he bitter , hut, oh, they are sweet to us!" Thereupon the child wept. As she dropped her first real tear to the rippled sands below, the child felt herself falling gently downward, so gently that it seemed as if unseen wiugs were supporting her from hcneath, in order that she might descend the tnore Hoftly. Soon after she lay at her mother's door that, opened on the saud ; eager to enter, she turned hut one look hack. Thire she beheld the fairy Cliff-eld.. soaring upward to t-?r r ive on lbs cliff's ledge. She thought, too, tint, in spite of her strange teaching, the fairy smiled approvingly upon her, and that the eyes of Cliffelda herself were not quite as dry as they should have been, had her practice been consistent with her preaching Hut perhaps fairy tears, less bitter than mortal ones, feed only the rivers! In her own home nil beheld her in wonder. No one believed the talc she told of Cliffelda. It w is rather supposed that the tide had cast the child Katey, yet living, ut her mother's door , still Icsm was she listened to when shetoldwhut it was that in tde the sea wares so suit. Time passed, And the child Kfttey grew up in teudorness and truth. In plAoe of the wild freiks of childhood, a softer and more chastened spirit ruled the girl as she advanced in years And if, in her early womanhood, houig sorrows found her, it wu^erer noticed that at such times she looked upward, some said to the cave on the rock's ledge, the dwelling of the Clill'-side Kay ; others thought that she looked higher, eren unto henren. Pearson's Magazine. FROM THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION. Despatch received by the Navy l)> jmrtnn nt /mm I.fid. Jj. J. l)e Haven, commandtni; the JSrpedtfion in search of Sir John Franklin. UnitkdStatkm Rani Ai>van?k, OjJ Port Leopold, Am;. 2'J, 18.1(1. Sin: i hare the honor to acquaint you with the proceedings of the squadron under my command, since tearing the Whale Fish Islands, whence my last despatch was dated We sailed on the VS?th of June, hut, owing to culms and rery light winds, we did not reach the latitude of Uppernarick till the <Jth of July Up to this place, no obstruction from ice was met with. We found n clear passage of from ten to twenty miles in width, between the land and the " pack." The latter was sighted daily, and had the appearance of being impenetrable. To thenorthwardof IJpperntrick nuinystreanm of Hoc ioe were fouud extending from the main pack close into the land. Through these, with it fair wind, we found little difBct^lly in forcing our way, until we approached llullin's Islands, in the latitude of ?4?. Here the ice appoired so close and oontlnuous along the laud, that our progress in th it direction wan arrested. At the same time a clear and wide opening presented it#elf leading to (he west. We had a fair wind to enter it, and it was so directly in our course for Lancaster Sound that I coul l not resist the temptation, pnrtioulnrly us the passage looked to he almost hope Icm by the usual northern route through Melville llay. for several hours our hopes of a speedy an t direct pinwnge appeared to he confirmed ; but after a run of forty miles, ice was made ahead and on both sides in continuous line. We had hut entered a deep bight on the main pack. To return to the eastward, whence we came, would perhaps have cost us days, with the uncertainty of being able to get along even then I'asides, of the only three authentic accounts of attempts to make the passage through the pick in about this latitude, (wo were eminently successful. The third did not succeed so well In view of these facts, I thought it advisable to enter the pack, and endeavor to push through it, in a direct line for the theatre of our researches. We accordingly did so, and for several days snooeedsd in making some headway, until at last the ice became so tight and immovable that it became impossible either to advance or retreat. In this hopeless condition we remained until the VOth of July, when, by a sudden movement of the tiers, an opening presented itself to the north. A southeast wind springing up at the same time, we availed ourselves of it, nnd, with a press of sail, succeeded in forcing our way into clear water. . Ou the following day we were brought np again by the ice, having made a run of more than sixty miles. The wind by this time had freshened to a gale, which, together with a thick fog, made our position not a little embarrassing. The vessels were placed in as secure a. position as could he found ; notwithstanding which, they were in imminent danger from the heavy massed of ice driven before the gale, which pressed upon them. They wilhatood the ahock, though,bravely. The danger | au over on the gale abating. We were now in latitude 7b?, longitude no0, in tbe uftuel Melville Bay route. It did not apjpeur much more favorable than tho middle one, iron whence we bad juat eeoaped However, by keeping along the edge of the land ice, (whloh had no appearanoe of baring moved ihia eeaaon, and extended full thirty miiee from thn ahore,) we were enabled to avail ouraelvea of oooaaional narrow openlnga whloh appeared with the change* of the I wind , *e that, with the aid of warpe, during oitlat