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other, showing that it is not full. Pro- of a modern voice, to voices coming bably the most perfect history that ever from ages long past. Each page of his was written, so far as the use of all ma text, like a luxuriant modern sofa, terials applicable to its scope was con seems to stand on these notes, which, cerned, is Gibbon's Decline and Fall, like richly-carved antique feet, of all &c. He collected these materials forms, peep out from beneath. around him, until he seemed to sit in Thus it is with these letters—they the midst of “ Seven Hills" of authori are transcripts of the past. In the voties. The unremitting labor of a strong lume before us, Mr. Izard and his cormind and a long life enabled him to re- respondents speak as they spoke in duce these hills into a magnificent slope, 1774, '75, &c., &c. It is not looking that smoothly and majestically descend- back upon far-removed and indistinct ed from the first Cæsar to the last ; and scenes with a spy-glass, which brings yet he settled almost nothing but the them back only in parts, and with fact, that almost nothing could be satis- changed dimensions ; they give views factorily settled. His decisions, made taken at the time, and on the spot. after a patient investigation which few We wish such views were greatly mulminds could have made, have been tiplied. Hence, we are pleased to see questioned, and will continue to be the volume before us, and will be pleaquestioned. His notes, after all, are sed to see those which are to follow, the spice of his work; they give the Such leaves are, doubtless, much scatsayings of those who lived with the tered, and becoming every year more Cæsars. We turn from Gibbon to Those that can be gathered up them, as we would turn from the sound are hence only the more valuable.

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I know that I must struggle, and I know

That sorrow in that struggle must be mine,

And with denial I must chafe and pine !
My nature and the world decree it so !-
But shall I from the progress backward go?
My hand upon the ploughshare, shall my heart

Shrink from the toil because the toil be great,
And there are those who, striving, cry“ Depart !

Lest you provoke our ridicule and hate ?"

This were to fight with fortune against fate ;-
A harder conflict than to struggle on,

Still falling, and arising but to fall,

But still to rise and struggle, firm through all,
Growing stronger with each foot of progress won !

WHICH IS THE FORTUNATE MAN?

BY MISS ANNIE MIDDLETON.

“So Robert Hunt has taken himself has not as many dollars as Gerald's has off ?" said Lewis Maynard, joining a thousands," interrupted one of those group of students assembled on the col- quiet, yet commanding voices, which lege-grounds at S “I do'nt won- make themselves heard_" and Robert der ; what a deuced pretty rage he got Hunt is no coward, as you, and you, into in the class this morning." Why, and you," and he pointed to one and I did not notice it-what did he do ?" ex- another of the group, and then paused, claimed a youth who had lately entered. with an emphatic you, at Lewis May“Do!" echoed the first speaker—" that's nard, “can testify, who saw him, at the the beauty of it, he never does any- risk of his own life, last winter pull thing. If he would hurl a book at the little Dan Allan out of the river. tutor's head, or knock somebody down Robert is no coward, but he considers in his wrath, it would be finishing the it vulgar and ungentlemanly to fight, and thing in a fine manly way. Instead of is unhappily too sensitive to adopt the that, he turns red, then pale, trembles, other alternative, and endure with stoiclenches his hand, and is completely cism the rough-and-tumble 'of this topsy-turvy for the rest of the day. • work-a-day world.' But I do not • What was he angry at this morn- wonder that you, Lewis Maynard," ing ?" returned the boy, who had be- and he pointed again at the youth who fore addressed him. Why, he's been had been chief orator, cannot undertrying for the valedictory ever since he stand this, any more than you can imaentered college, and that great bully, gine how Gerald Morton can have no George Addington, (is he anywhere other motive than self-interest for his near ?) has been determined that he kindness to him.” The boys, with one shall not succeed ; and as he is too lazy involuntary movement, turned and lookand too stupid to oppose him studying, ed at the individual addressed ; one is purposed to do it by teasing; so ridi- near him whispered, “ Will you stand cules, mocks and sneers at Robert, till that, Lewis ?" and after a pause of five he is just fit for the lunatic asylum, I'd minutes, “ Coward—coward," was utfight him if I was beat to a jelly for it, tered by different voices in the group: or else be cool and indifferent, and take Lewis Maynard's face had changed no notice of his batteries, for he'd stop from red to pale, and pale to red, sevesoon enough if he saw it did not tease. ral times during the brief interval, but But Robert Hunt is too cowardly for at the opprobrious term his eye flashed, the first, and too much of a baby for and glancing around at his companions, the last. I wonder, for my part, why he exclaimed, in a firm tone—"I am no his mother did not keep him at home coward, and I'll fight the one who dares in pin-a-fores. But where has he call me so; but I did wrong, I acknowgone?” “Down to the bridge with Ger- ledge, in accusing Gerald Morton of ald Morton," answered one of his com- anything mean, and selfish, and intepanions. “ Yes,” continued Lewis rested. I did very wrong," he reMaynard, who had worked himself up peated, “and I desire all, who heard into something of a rage : "I suppose me make the accusation, hear me reGerald is giving him a sugar-plumb, as tract it. Gerald is as noble a fellow as usual, and that he'll walk him back ever lived, and I only wonder how he again quite cooled down.

I cannot can endure that little, snivelling Robimagine how Gerald can take such an ert Hunt. Richard Graham,” he coninterest in the puppy, unless Bob has a tinued, walking up to the youth who rich father, uncle, or something else, had corrected him, “

your reproof was and he expects in one way or another deserved; but I beg that you'll take to get paid for it." " Robert's father back what you said, as to my not un

Your great

derstanding anything noble and gene- feel for me, but not contempt. You are rous, however deficient I may be in all that is fair, and frank, and noble,these qualities myself. I certainly have but I-what am 1?" and the boy, the capacity and heart to admire them." with a gesture of despair, buried his “ I do take it back," answered the in- face again in his hands. dividual addressed, warmly grasping est fault is this undervaluing of yourself

, the proffered hand, “I fully and entire- dear Robert,” said his companion, kindly take it back; for much as I may ly. “You exaggerate your faults or have doubled your nobility and genero- rather infirmities, to a most frightful sity before, you have eloquently proved extent, and then start in horror from the yourself possessed of both, this morn- phantom you yourself have raised.” ing.” “And now, boys,” cried Lewis - No ! there is no exaggerating them," Maynard, after a moment's silence, returned Robert, sadly. “ Have I not throwing himself into a pugilistic atti- again and again vowed to myself, and tude" Who's for a fight ?" Nobody vowed to you, that I would not let that accepted the challenge; and the beil fool, idiot, that puppy of a fellow," he ringing soon after, each individual hur- muttered between his compressed teeth riedly obeyed the summons, having -"George Addington, by his congained, perhaps, some new ideas as to temptible tricks rouse me to anger, and what true courage, nobility, and gene- yet do I not daily yield to the temptarosity were, in the brief interval. Love tion ? But oh, Gerald—if you knew was the motive of Gerald Morton's the bitter pride that poverty makes, and kindness to Robert Hunt-disinterest- if you knew the hell upon earth I ened, ardent affection, which fills young dure with this suspicious, sensitive temhearts, aye, and old hearts too, (to the per of mine, you would indeed give exclusion of every mean and unworthy me your deepest pity and sympathy." feeling) oftener than some people in “You have them now-you have them this world will allow-Love, in spite now," said his companion, in a choked of his weaknesses, or rather the more and agitated yoice. " A child's glance for them, for the deepest pity added will at times almost madden me," he strength to his affection. He had, as continued, scarcely regarding the interthe boys said, led Robert away, but for ruption; "every feeling that I have in some time he did not speak, leaving the world seems to be a curse to me. the soft sweet air and thousand sights of I never look at my sisters' grace and rural summer beauty beneath their eyes, beauty, but I gnash my teeth at the to exert their tranquilizing influence, thought that they will be sacrificed to before he addressed his companion. At some uncouth booby who has money, length they reached the bridge which or waste their lives in the dreary, desospanned the river, where Robert, un- lating struggle with poverty, which able any longer to endure the violence killed my poor mother. My father's of his suppressed emotions, flung off gloom and misanthropy check the tenthe affectionate clasp on his shoulders, derness which should fill to the fount a and resting his head on the railing of child's nature ; but I think how differthe bridge, burst into an uncontrollable ent he might have been, had fortune fit of tears. “ Yes, despise me as you been kinder ; and I have the picture of will," he exclaimed, "

'you cannot des

an old age like his before me, sternness pise me more than I do myself; and as and harshness, a distress to himself, and I have given way to the most unmanly a terror to everybody else. I shall be anger,

1
may as well yield to these just like him, only worse.”

" Stop! unmanly tears.” Despise you, Ro- Robert, stop!” exclaimed Gerald Morbert ?" repeated his companion, in a ton—" do not talk any more such wild sorrowful tone, “ how little you know and desperate, nay, they are wicked what is in my

heart.” The boy was, per- words. We have each our destiny in haps, struck by the sincerity and emo our own hands, to make or mar, as wc tion in the speaker's voice, for he raised will. No man, unless he desires, need his head, and gazed long and inquiring- be the victim of circumstances. We must ly in the other's face. “ Gerald,” he control fortune, not be governed by itexclaimed, at length, “Gerald Morton, shape our own way, not follow in gloom I believe you, with my whole heart and and despair that which the veriest trisoul I believe you; love and pity you fles have made for us; and, my dear,

4

VOL. XIX.NO. XCVII.

dear Robert, your father's errors, inas- father has failed," answered the Premuch as you feel the germs of them in sident, hesitatingly—“but, my dear Geyour own bosom, should be viewed with rald, it is not ibat alone : can you bear the greatest leniency and tenderness; something worse ?" A dim dreadful at the same time that you resolve with apprehension slowly seized Gerald Morall your strength, and might, and power, ton, he trembled violently, his face grew not to yield the eightieth part of an inch deathly pale. “Oh! sir, do not say, do to these baleful, morbid tendencies.” . not say he's dead”—he wildly exclaim“ Yes,” said Robert, looking with a ed; “ do not cut off all hope. Tell me despairing admiration at his companion, that he has but the feeblest breath of "you can talk like an angel—and what life ip him, that I'll once more hear him is more—you can act like one. Ah, call. Gerald,' and I'll bless you;' and he Gerald, why must you have everything? awaited in breathless agony the one litwealth, love, genius, and a temper that tle word from his companion; but it would make life with a crust of bread was not spoken. “No! no !" shrieked happy." “ Not quite," answered Ger- Gerald Morton, throwing his arms franald Morton, laughingly ; " but as you tically over his head—" he's dead! he's have set me the example in flattery, I'll dead?" and fell senseless on the floor. turn the tables on you. Let lady Fortune When Gerald revived, a number of his go for

once, we'll see what Nature has companions were around him, and Rogiven you : a handsome face, a grace- bert Hunt was kneeling on the floor by ful and goodly outside—you can't deny his side, bathing his face with some that, Bob; a very wise head for such strong perfume. He gazed at first from a young pair of shoulders. President one to the other in amazement, but Mason asserts it, the whole college ac- catching a glance at the President's knowledges it; and a heart full of strong face, the whole melancholy truth flashaffections, and warm admiration for ed across him. He covered his face everything that is lovely and of good re with his hands. “ How did it happen, pute. The only shadow on the picture sir ?" said he at length, in a choked, you've thrown yourself; for never tell subdued tone. The President made a me that a man endowed so liberally, sign, and the collegians left the room, cannot fight the foul fiends, melancholy all save Robert Hunt, who, with the and despair, even unto the death. I keenest love and sympathy on his face, tell you, Robert Hunt, you make your still retained his kneeling position by the own troubles.” “And poverty ?" asked side of his friend. “ Can you bear to his companion, reassured and strength- hear it yet, Gerald !" asked the Presiened by his words. Poverty !" ech- dent. • Yes, sir," answered the youth. oed Gerald Morton, almost scornfully. But oh ! in how different a tone from the “ What man with a head and hand in clear, hopefulone of the morning-such this country need fear poverty; a com a subdued, quiet despair in the voice. petency is within the reach of all who “ I think you better wait till to-morrow, have ordinary talent and prudence, and my son,” persisted the kind old man. what do you want more ?" Little did • Oh ! no, sir, tell me now," said GerGerald reck the need he'd soon bave of ald, with a beseeching look. “ Your the fortitude and resolution he was so first supposition was correct," began the commending. On the afternoon of that President—" the firm of Morton, Atsame day, as he was alone in his room, kinson & Co. are bankrupt, owing he received a message from the Presi to the embezzlements and villainy of dent, requesting his immediate pres one of the junior partners, who fled • My dear young friend, I have

as it was discovered. Mr. bad news for you," exclaimed the kind- Atkinson went immediately down to hearted old man, when Gerald appeared your father's house to consult with (breathless and glowing with his haste) him, and take the necessary steps about before him. My father has failed, the matter. They sat up till late then ?" asked Gerald Morton. “Well, that night talking ; indeed it was two sir, I've thought such a thing very pos- o'clock before Mr. A. left him, and the sible ; a merchant's is the most preca- servants found him in the morning in rious life under the sun; but that is not the same position, in an arm-chair, such very bad news, for in my philoso- before a table covered with papers; but phy, sir, poverty is no evil." “ Your he was dead, quite dead. A disease

ence.

as soon

• He's poor,

of the heart—so the physicians say tion briefly to Mr. Jenkins, and said, -which he has had for years, and on going out, that he would send the this sudden shock killed him. The money as soon as possible. “Aye, last words he said, as he pressed Mr. aye,” muttered the man, “fair words Atkinson's hand at parting, were, “I cost little—what business had a beggar's can bear this very well; but my poor brat to be keeping a horse ?". Gerald's boy—.” “I think I'd better go to my blood boiled ; his first impulse was to room,” said Gerald faintly. He had fell the man to the earth. overrated his own strength; each word however," was his next thought ; " he's was a dagger to his heart. “And now goaded to harshness by poverty." leave me for a short time, Robert,” he And then a . vision of this poverty, exclaimed, as his faithful friend assisted dark and cheerless, rose before himhim to a seat; “ a little time alone, abusive words, cold looks, neglect and and then I'll see you." And Robert suffering, with not a ray of love or went out and left him with his grief. tenderness to gleam across his path ; “Oh! I have had such wicked and it recalled his one master-griefthoughts,” said Gerald Morton, hold- his father! What were all, if he had ing out his hand to his friend some two but his father! Gerald paused; a hours after such wild, wicked comforting, blessed thought rose withthoughts. To think that that 'man's in his heart. Could his father have villany killed my father; to think he endured poverty, with age, and sickwas murdered, absolutely murdered— ness, and increasing infirmities in its Robert, it drives me mad. He might train? Could he relinquish the luxhave been in prosperity and compara- uries which habit had rendered necestive health now, but for that scoundrel. sary; emerge from the intellectual, Ah! Robert, you need not tell me this melancholy seclusion in which for is wrong-I know it—it is all as it years he had buried himself, and withshould be ; this man was but the in- out youth or hope, and their thousand strument of one who doeth all things bright words of encouragement, wreswell.” And in spite of his firm, manly tle once more with the world ? He heart, Gerald Morton burst into an ago- could not-he was therefore removed ny of tears. “ We loved each other in mercy; and on that wretched night, so dearly,” he continued; “I was but from his misery and destitution, Gerald a baby, three years old, when my mo thanked God that he had taken away ther died, and he was father, mother, his father. His heart was light that all to me. Ah! what more than fem- he alone was to suffer. He wept, but it inine gentleness and patience he lav was with happiness, and a strong, bold, ished upon me. He never gave me resolute spirit as of yore, possessed but a look, Robert-it was sufficient to him. He could do all, he could endure subdue all my childish petulance, and I all. His father had borne the pang but kept not my highest thought from him. for an evening ; it was lightened to him Father! father!" and with that wild therefore, for a life-time. cry Gerald rose up strong and firm ; It was several days after the funehis face was pale, but his voice was ral, a guy, sunny day, once more clear and calın. “I need not ask you, President Mason," he said, go “ When flowers and trees, and birds and ing to that gentleman's apartment some

bees, hours after, “whether you'll trust me

Most beautiful things," for the payment of my last year's expenses here. I know you will, sir ; and were doing their utmost to make earth now, with many, many thanks for all glad. Human hearts nature, alas ! your kinduess-good-bye." The Pre- has in her keeping. Gerald's head sident pressed his hand, but was too rested on the garden-gate. He had much overcome to reply; and when he taken his farewell of his home. The raised his head, Gerald was gone. next day there was to be an auction, With the money in his possession, he and the place itself, and every vestige paid all his little debts ; the only one and remnant of the old familiar things, remaining of any consequence, was for were to pass into the hands of strankeeping a horse which had died a fort gers. All that sweet childish reminisnight before. He described his posi- cences had endeared; all that made

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