again as calm as ever; but it was the calmness of rigidity and not of peace they wore. It was a sacrifice of herself to Heaven she had me. ditated originally. "And why," exclaimed she mentally, "why should I shrink from the offering now, when Providence has enabled me to make it richer and more abundant-to make my soul's triumph more complete, as its trial is more bitter and severe !" Still, when the isle of her destination hove in view, it was with a shudder that she first looked upon the shore, and thought of the fate that there awaited her.

Woman's heart is a strange, a wayward thing. In many a bosom its strongest chords are never touched by the hand to which it is yielded. It is often bestowed with faint consent on him who seeks it-bestowed in utter ignorance of the power of loving-the wealth of tenderness it hoards within itself;

"Circumstance, blind contact, and the strong necessity of loving,"

will afterwards mould it to its fate and prevent repining at its choice; but when once its hidden strings have vibrated and given out their full music-when once its inmost treasures have been disclosed to its owner, counted over and yielded up with a full knowledge of their worth to another-when "the pearl of the soul" has been once la vished in the mantling cup of affection, it revolts from all feebler preferences, and it is true even in death to its one only love.

The missionary soon came on board to claim his bride. He was a plain and worthy man, with nothing to distinguish him from the members of his profession in our country, who mistaking the prompt. ings of zeal for the inspiration of a special calling, and who without minds matured by experience or enlightened by education leave the plough or the shopboard to become the instructors of those who, with feelings as sincere as their own and understandings far more exercised in knowledge of good and evil, are expected to bow to their narrow teachings-to receive them, not as humble soldiers of the Cross need. ing guidance like themselves but as the captains and leaders of the church militant, armed in full panoply a living bulwark against its foes.

Alice Vere had but little experience in society; but the quickening power of love had lately called all her dormant perceptions of taste and feeling into play, and a very brief interview sufficed for her to read the character of her destined husband. She felt that she could never love him. Respect him she did, as she would have done the humblest brother of her faith; and had she never known what love was, her regard would perhaps not have been withholden in time; for every woman loves the father of her children, if he be not a creature to be abhorred. But if there be an agonizing thought to a girl of delicacy and sensibility, it is the idea of becoming a bride under such circum. stances as surrounded poor Alice Vere-the thought that her heart shall beat against the bosom of a stranger, when its every pulse throbs for another. Still a high, imperious duty as she believed constrained her, and she prepared to resign herself to her fate.

The nuptial day arrived. It had been arranged that the master of the vessel, on board of which Alice, wistfully lingering, had begged to remain, should perform the ceremony, agreeable to the laws of the state of New York, by which marriage is merely a civil contract, requiring only a formal declaration of the parties before competent witnesses; Mr. T

himself commenced the ceremony by a prayer, which as

giving solemnity to the occasion was perhaps most proper in itself; but it was painfully long, and seemed to refer to almost everything. else but the immediate subject of interest. At length the bride, whose languid limbs refused to sustain her so long in a standing position, sank into a seat, and the missionary glancing a look of reproval at her ab. ruptly concluded his harangue. The worthy seaman was more expeditious in getting through with his share of the office. He merely ask. ed the parties severally if they acknowledged each other as man and wife. The missionary made his response in the affirmative with a slow and grave distinctness; but Alice faltered in her reply. A tumult of feelings seemed oppressing her senses for a moment; she looked to the untamed forest, whose boughs waved unfettered on the shore, to the broad main that spread its free waves around her, and the wild bird that sported over its bosom.

"Then she turn'd

To him who was to be her sole shelterer now,
And placed her hand in his, and raised her eye

One moment upward, whence her strength did come.”

The certificates, which had been previously drawn up, being then signed and witnessed, the missionary concluded with another homily; and the crew, who had been allowed to collect upon the quarterdeck during the ceremonial, dispersed over the vessel.

It was now sunset, and as a heavy cloud which threatened rain brooded over the island, the captain politely insisted that Mr. T should not think of returning to the shore, but take possession of his own private cabin. The rain soon after beginning to fall in torrents, drove those on deck below. Here the mates claimed the privilege of having a jorum of punch to drink the health of the bride, and the captain being willing to unite with them, Alice was compelled to retire to the new quarters which had just been provided for her; while the festive seamen insisted upon keeping their clerical guest for a while among themselves. Their mirth soon become so uproarious as to mock the tempest without, when a sudden squall struck the vessel, carrying her over, even as she lay at anchor under bare poles, upon her beamends. The seamen, followed by the missionary, rushed to the deck, where the glare of the lightning, as they looked to windward, revealed to them a female figure standing upon the taffrail, with arms outstretched towards a huge wave that lifted its over-arching crest above her, and threatened to ingulf the vessel. A cry of horror escaped the revellers, the bridegroom breathed a prayer as he clung to the rigging for safety; and then, as the descending sea righted the vessel, a suffocating moan was heard above the surge that swept the body of Alice Vere like a drift of foam across her decks.

The morning came at last, the sun rose serenely, the bright waves rippled joyously beneath the stern of the vessel, and their reflected light playing through the sloping windows of the cabin, glanced upon the un pressed couch of the Msssionary Bride. None could even tell how she had made her way to the deck in the midst of the tempest; yet none have ever whispered the sin of self-destruction against the lovely, the lonely, the ill-fated ALICE VERE.-Let this "ower true" tale bear a sad and solemn warning.

JOE MILLER, AND THE JESTERS OF ALL TIMES AND

CLIMES.

BY WILLIAM J. THOMS.

WITH A PORTRAIT OF JOE MILLER.

"Motley's your only wear."-SHAKSPEARE.

"MOTLEY'S your only wear?" quoth Shakspeare, and of a verity Shakspeare as usual is in the right; for motley has worn long and well, and found favour in the sight of our forefathers and ourselves from the time when it was first donned by the Vice of the Old Moralities, some centuries since, until it was doffed by poor Joe Grimaldi, who had not the smallest particle of a vice about him but this same suit of motley.

In all ages and conditions of society the humors of the professed droll or merrymaker have found universal welcome. To discuss the why and the wherefore would here be out of place; the fact was and is as we have stated it.

In the olden days the monks, who sought to instruct their unlettered flocks by dramatic representations of the most striking incidents record. ed in Scripture story, knowing as well as Dryden himself that

"Men are but children of a larger growth,"

seasoned the feast of reason to the popular palate, and enlivened the grave scenes of Biblical history by the introduction of a singular character entitled the Vice, a buffoon wearing a fool's habit, and the great. er part of whose employment consisted in teasing and tormenting upon every occasion the Devil whose bitter enemy he was. This character, according to the late Mr. Douce, ceased to be in fashion at the end of the sixteenth century. But as in the times of which we are speaking, this love of fun and frolic could rarely be gratified by anything approaching to the character of dramatic performances, since the mysteries and moralities were for the most part enacted only in celebration of the great festivals of the Church, this fondness for mad pranks and witty conceits gave rise to that now obsolete character, the domestic fool or jester; and the reader will readily conceive how prevalent must have been the custom of keeping such merry retainers, when he learns that a clever German writer has devoted a goodly octavo volume to the discussion and illustration of the history of Court Fools.

The subject is indeed a prolific one, for the practice was universal. Not a court in Christendom but resounded with their witticisms; not a feudal lord but sought relief from the troubles of war, or relaxation and amusement after the fatigues of the chase, in listening to the gibes of his jester; while so far was this practice from being confined to sovereign princes and the secular nobles, that it prevailed among ecclesiastics of the veryhighest rank, and this notwithstanding that the Council held at Paris, A. D. 1212, had expressly declared that churchmen should not keep fools!

The Popes Paul the Second and Leo the Tenth are known to have numbered such philosophers in motley among their retainers; and old Sebastian Brandt tells the story of a bishop, by other writers said to be the Archbishop of Cologne, who did so much to his discomfort. The story paints in such vivid colours the manners and spirit of the times