Imagens das páginas

knots. When the short pieces are used, secure add short strands, and make an end to correthe ends by an ordinary knot that will not slip, spond with the first. This neck-tie would be and continue with the single strands, working a very pretty if made with cerise and black chelength of 10 knots (5 on each side with every nille, or any other colours suitable for winter four), until only 8 inches of silk remain, when wear.




One sunshiny afternoon, a little girl sat in a for it moved and had a voice. And a strong wood playing with moss and stones. She was a feeling stirred the young soul, a sudden desire pretty child; but there was a wishful, earnest to know all things, to hold communion with all look in her eye, at times, that made people say, things. “She is a good little girl; but she won't live Now the day was gone, and the child turned long." But she did not think of that to-day, homewards; but she seemed to hear in sleep for a fine western wind was shaking the branches that night the whispered question, “What is merrily above her head, and a family of young life?” She was yet to know. rabbits that lived near by kept peeping out to watch her motions. She threw bread to the The seed had been blown away from a pine rabbits from the pockets of her apron, and

tree, and it took root downward and slot green laughed to see them eat. She laughed, also, to

spears upward, until, when a few summers had hear the wild, boisterous wind shouting among passed, ii had grown so famously that a sparrow the leaves, and then she sang parts of a song built her nesť there, among the foliage, and that she had imperfectly learned

never had her roof been so water-proof before. “ Hurrah for the oak ! for the brave old oak,

There, one day, came a tall, fair girl, with quick That hath ruled in the greenwood long!”

step and beaming eyes, and sat down at its

root. One hand caressed lovingly the young And the louder the wind roared the louder she pine, and one clasped a folded paper. How she sang. Presently a light-winged seed swept by had grown since she put that brown seed into her; she reached out her pretty hand and the earth! She opened the paper and read; a caught it. It was an ugly brown seed; but she bright colour came to her cheeks, and her hand said, as she looked at it, “ Mother says, if I trembled : plant a seed, may be it will grow to be a tree. “He loves me!” said she. “I cannot doubt So I will see.”

Then she scraped away a little of the mellow Then she read aloudearth, and put the seed safely down, and covered “When you are mine, I shall carry you away it again. She made a little paling around the from those old woods where you spend so much spot with dry sticks and twigs, and then a precious time dreaming vaguely of the future. I thoughtful inood came over her. That brown will teach you what life is. That its golden hours seed is dead now. thought she: but it will lie should not be wasted in idle visions, but made there in the dark a great while, and then green

green glorious by the exhaustless wealth of love. Truo leaves will come up, and a stem will grow, and

il life consists in loving and being loved." some day it will be a great tree. Then it will She closed the letter and gazed around her. live. But, if it is dead now, how can it ever Was this the teaching she had received from live? What as trange thing life is ! What those firm old oaks who had so long stood before makes life? It can't be the sunshine; for that the storms? She had learned to know some of has fallen on these stones ever so many years, their voices, and now they seeme'i to speak and they are dead yet : and it can't be the rain ; louder than ever, and their word was—"Enfor these broken sticks are wet very often, and durance!" they don't grow. What is life?

The never-silent wind, that paused not, nor The child grew very solemn at her own went back in its course, had taught her a lesson, thoughts, and a feeling as if some one were near also, in its onward flight, its ceaseless exertion troubled her. She thought the wind must be to reach some far distant goal. And the lesson alive; for it moved, and very swiftly, too, and it was—“Hope." had a great many voices. If she only could The ever "owing spring, whose heart was know now what they said, perhaps they would never dried up either in summer or winter, had tell what life was. And then she looked up at murmured to her of_" Faith.” the aged oaks, as they reared their arms to the She laid her head at the foot of the beloved sky, and she longed to ask them the question, pine, and said, in her heart, “I will come back but dared not. A small spring leaped down again when ten years are passed, and will here from a rock above her, and Hled past with cease consider whose teachings were right." less murmurs, and she felt sure that it lived too,

It was a cold November day. A rude north houses blessed her coming. She had been a wind raved among the leafless oaks that defied faithful steward of the Lord's gifts. its power with their rugged, unclad arms. The Eighty-and-eight years had dropped upon her heavy masses of clouds were mirrored darkly in head as lightly as withered leaves; but now the the spring, and the pine, grown to lofty stature, Father was ready to release his servant and child. rocked swiftly to and fro as the fierce wind Her numerous household was gathered around struck it. Down the hill, over the stones, and her bed to behold her last hour. On the through the tempest, there caine a slight and borders of eternity, a gentle sleep fell upon her. bending form. It was the happy child who had She seemed to stand in a lofty wood, beside a planted the pine seed.

towering pine. A spring bubbled near, and She threw herself on the dry leaves by the soft breezes swept the verdant boughs. She water's edge, and leaned wearily against the looked upon the tree, glorious in its strength, strong young evergreen. How sadly her eyes and smiled to think she could ever have desired roved among the trees, and then tears come to change her crown of immortality for its menced to fall quickly from them. She was senseless existence. Then the old questionvery pale and mournful, and drew her rich“ What is life?"-resounded again in her ears, mantle closely around her to shield her from the and she opened her eyes from sleep and spoke, wind. It had heen as her lover had said. She in a clear voice, these last words, had gone out into the world, had tasted what " He that believeth in the Son hath everlastmen call pleasure, had put aside the simple ling life. This is the true life for which we ea. lessons she had learned in her childhood, to dure the trials of the present. For this the follow his bidding, to live in the light of his labour and do good works. A man's life con. love. Ten years had dissolved the dream. The sisteth not in the abundance of the things he young husband was in his grave; the child she had called after him was no more. Weary | I have finished my course; my toil will be reand heart-broken, she had hurried back to compensed an hundredfold; and I go to Him the home she had left, and the haunts she had whose loving-kindness is better than life." cherished.

She embraced the young pine, tenderly, and exclaimed

“Oh, that thy lot was mine! Thou wilt stand here, in a green youth, a century after I

EARLY HOPES. am laiu low. No fears perplex thee; no sorrows eat away thy strength. Willingly would I be.

Ye who on the mountain height come like thee!”.

Of youth's enjoyinent, thence behold, At last she grew calm ; and the old question Far away in misty light, which she had never found answered to lier

Scenes of loveliness unfold satisfaction-" What is life?” — sprang up into

Beauty, passing every sense her inind. All the deeds of past days moved

Of hope, in its first innocence, before her, and she felt that hers had not been a life worthy of an immortal soul. She heard

Be not deceived, nor deem the road, again the voices of the trees, the wind, and the

Across the rallies at your feet,

Leads on to that far-off abode streain, and a measure of peace seemed granted

Through peasant paths, and verdure sweet; to her. “Endurance-Hope-Faith," she mur

A tract, all desolate and bare, mured. She rose to go.

Meets those who seek to enter there.
“ Farewell, beloved pine," she said. “God
knows whether I shall see thee again; but such From this vast height on which we stand
is my desire. With his help, I will begin a new The wilderness is seldom seen ;
existence. Farewell, monitors who have com But none can gain that beauteous land
forted me. I go to learn · What is life.'”.

Except they brave the waste between;
And those who from the danger shrink

Will perish on its very brink.
In a distant city, there dwelt, to extreme old
age, a pious woman--a Lydia in ber holiness--

The joys of that delightful clime,

Which from the hills of life we see, a Dorcas in her benevolence. Years seemed to

Belong not to the worlıl of time, have no power over her cheerful spirit, though

But shine from out Eternity; her bodily strength grew less. Great riches bad

We may behold their beauties here, fallen to her lot; but in her dwelling luxury

But know them not in mortal sphere. found no home. A hospital - a charity-schoolan orphan-asylum-all attested her true apprecia

They haunt our path to lead us on tion of the value of riches. In her house,

To worlds immortal, full of bliss; many a young girl found a home, whose head And not that we may rest upon had else rested on a pillow of infamy. The re A hope that perisheth in this; claimed drunkard dispensed her daily bounty to On earth no endless joys we cravo; the needy. The penitent thief was her treasurer. They meet us only through the grave! Prisons knew the sound of her footsteps. Alins




PARIS, October 22nd. a poaching dog, who stole upon the



it by a scientific bite, and brought it in triumph Bon jour ! my dear C; let us exchange a to his master! shake-hands à l'Anglaise by the electric tele

Madame George Sand is about to bring out a graph ; for surely that is a more friendly salute new piece, I believe, at the Porte St. Martin, than firing cannons between friends! Then we and is expected in town for the rehearsal. When will have a little chat about “things in general," she comes to Paris, she has an apartment where though as the season here will not commence for she receives her visitors, remains during the some weeks yet, I cannot promise you much day, and has her meals ; but where she sleeps no that is very interesting. I went the other night one knows : she always keeps it a profound mysto the Italian Opera, which opened brilliantly. tery. This is one of the many caprices of this The house was so crowded, that people were strange but highly-gifted woman.

When she sent away, and some who took places on specu- was last in town, she went to the Theatre lation sold them to late arrivals at treble and Français with her daughter Madame C; fourfold the original price: it must be remem- wife of the celebrated sculptor, and Alexandre bered, though, that the house is not a third of Dumas. A conversation between the two the size of either of the London ones. Madame

literary luminaries commenced, and was carried Barbieri Nini sung and played the part (Lucrezia carried on in so loud a key (Dumas always talks Borgia) beautifully, and I think will become a with a verve, an energy, and a luxe of words and decided favourite, though, strange to say, the action, perfectly inconceivable), that the auParisian audience, even when pleased, are so dience repeatedly called them to order. Wherevery much colder than the London, that it is not very easy to tell when they are really satisfied. I upon Dumas, far froin being silenced, became

so indignant at these interruptions, that, placing cannot help thinking, too, that there is a little himself in the front of the box, he informed the jealousy for their own opera, as you constantly amazed assembly that, if they were not utterly hear comparisons instituted between French and destitute of sense and taste, they would be only Italian music, and French and Italian singers. too enraptured to seize this solitary opportunity However, as the manager caters for the amuse- of listening to the conversation of George Sand ment of the public with indefatigable zeal and and Alexandre Dumas; and that it was M. intelligence, the house is well-built for seeing Scribe, and not they, “qui dévrait se taire !" and hearing, well lit, and the boxes remarkably Then having concluded his harangue, he comfortable, it will, no doubt, have at least its offered his arm to his fair interlocutor, and usual meed of success.

marched out of the theatre, followed by MaThe panic that prevailed throughout the spring dame C—, not a little abashed at the scene and summer regarding the political crisis that at which she had so unwillingly and unex1852 was to bring, seems to have quite died pected y assisted. a vay, and people appear to be looking forward to Have you seen any of the numbers that are the winter as gaily and hopefully as if no such coming out of the “ Chants et Chansons de thing had ever been dreaint of. They don't talk Pierre Dupont?” Some of them are very beaupolitics any the less though, unfortunately-se- tiful. I think “ La Bionde” is one of the most riously, that one engrossing subject has so com vaguely, mysteriously, etherially touching pletely invaded the salons, that the galantrie creations I ever read : there is a vapoury, dewy Française is completely swept away by it, and a night-atmosphere about it, if I may so express lady's drawing-room is converted into a field, it, an unearthly purity that hangs over the halfwhere all her male visitors think themselves at real, half-ideal creature, that thrills you with a liberty to discuss their various pinions, and sort of awe. Widely different is “ La Chataine," l'état politique de la France, without the slightest a beautiful, brilliant, capricious mutine coquette, regard to her tastes, ideas, or amusement, and that lives in an atmosphere of bougies, ballsometimes to her nerves, so loud and warm do rooms, and flattery, and that yet has a touch of the controversies frequently become. The shoot-childish insouciance, and of nature (such as it ing season forms some little diversion in certain is) about her, that prevents her being the wholly cases; and really the chasseurs' anecdotes and artificial thing such an atmosphere is likely to experiences are infinitely more amusing even to create, fernale auditors. M. C made me laugh the La Brune" is advertised to come out other day, by telling me that he had been at a shortly; I am curious to see it. Pierre Dupont shooting party, where it was remarked that has a strangely refined and subtle intellect for a though one of the guests hardly ever fired his peasant poet, which he is, though his education gun, his game-bag was fuller than that of almost has been far above his original position: he has any of his neighbours. No small astonishment been greatly félé, principally by the higher class of course arose from this circumstance, until the of English in Paris, but is not the least spoiled sportsman (!) confided to my friend that he had by it; and returns to his native woods and peasant wife, with as heartfelt pleasure and en- | tasted this season, have been from the Midi, the joyment as if he had never known a more refined Chasselas de Fontainebleau, as well as all the state of existence: in fact, all his inspiration is grapes in the neighbourhood of Paris, being drawn from the country, and when long re- hardly eatable from their acidity, instead of moved from it, he loses the power of writing. sweet and delicious as they usually are. CerI must confess that his political effusions please tainly, Paris does in general boast a delightful me less than the others; there is a strange luxe of fruit and flowers, and at prices that put jumble in his ideas on one point-his refrain is them within the reach of everybody. The ever aimons nous ;" but when you get through | poorest people never fail to present their relatives the chant, you always find the nous is used in an and friends with a beautiful bouquet or blooming extremely limnited sense, including only those of plant from the Marché aux Fleurs, on their féte, his own class and opinions, and not at all the the day of their patron-saint, whose name they world in general; in fact, “the powers that be," bear; for as every day in the year has at least "les rois” more especially, are viewed with any. one saint, and many three or four, it is difficult thing but a loving or Christain spirit.

not to name a child after one of them more The cold weather is putting an end to most of especially as many are the patrons of both the public fétes in the neighbourhood of Paris ; | sexes-for instance: St. Louis, St. Charles, &c., they have in general been less brilliant this year protecting the Louise's and Charlottes, as well than usual, owing to the want of fine warm wea- as their masculine namesakes. ther-a want which causes graver evils, as it has And now, my dear C- I must conclude seriously affected the grape crop, much of it being iny gossip to save the post. Adieu, donc, arec diseased, and the rest sadly wanting in flavour "les respects du caur," as Alexandre Dumas and sweetness. The only good grapes I have signs,

Yours ever,



Many of our readers may probably recollect that his good angel stepped forward to rescue him Mrs. Mowatt, the charming American authoress from despair. Ilis wife, who had from childhood and actress, who some two or three years ago

seemed to be a favourite of genius, in spite of all the delighted a London audience; and subsequently

diffidence that naturally rose up in her sensitire performed in our chief provincial towns-starring

breast, resolved by a public exhibition of those rare it there, as the histrionic term

qualities which Heaven has granted her, to resusciis. Personal

tate his fallen fortunes. This is the story of beauty, natural grace, and a versatility which

Mrs. Mowatt's professional career. Her debut was included genuine pathos and arch humour, com

triumphant in the extreme, and her professional bined to render this gifted lady an ornament to | efforts from the first have been one succession of the stage; and those who may recollect her

stage; and those who may recollect her brilliant engagements, both in Europe and America. sparkling Beatrice, or her impassioned Pauline, “During Mrs. Mowatt's engagement in this city, may be interested in the following details of her her audiences have been of the most select and private life, which we extract from a Boston discriminating character; and yet the Howard has paper:

been nightly thronged to its utmost capacity. Nerer

has she performed with more spirit or success, and “At the age of fifteen, Mrs. Mowatt became the never has she appeared to more advantage since the wife of Mr. James Mowatt, a barrister of New York. commencement of her professional career. There The home of the happy couple was at a beautiful are some accessory circumstances to which this is villa on Long Island, and it at once became the re- | perhaps in some degree traceable: here in Boston, sort of the literati of New York. As early as the Mrs. Mowatt is among friends and relatives, near first year of her marriage, Mrs. Mowatt published and dear to her ; sisters and brothers, with whom two volumes of original poems. About the year and for whom, she has ever cherished the kindliest 1841, on account of declining health, she visited i sentiments. With these about her, cheering her Europe in company with her husband, passing / arduous efforts by their smiles and kind affections, nearly two years in France and Germany, much im with their fostering care at those moments when the proving her health, and finding time to write one or actress is merged into the sister and the woman, no two dramatic works for private circulation. In the wonder that Mrs. Mowatt has felt at home in meantime, Mr. Mowatt, by some constitutional Boston, and has done herself, if possible, more than weakness, nearly lost the use of his eyes; and on usual justice as it regards her personation of her their return to America was obliged to give up his role of characters." profession entirely, and embarked his fortune in business. But few men who have lived professional

Mr. Mowatt died in London, last winter, after a

me lives and who have pursued that course of life in lingering illness, and the friends and admirers early years which is designed to fit them for such a of his wife will read with satisfaction that among career, have sufficient tact to adapt themselves to dear friends and near kindred, she is devoting mercantile occupation and business pursuits. The herself to her art-for occupation is surely one consequence of Mr. Mowatt's commercial specula- of the best resources against domestic care and tions was, that he lost all and failed. It was then sorrow.




One word, my love, before we part; “ Head of the army.”—Napoleon.

Ere I do leave thee far to roam,

One word I'll treasure in my heart, "I must sleep now.”—Byron.

And it shall cheer my distant home. " It matters little how the head lieth."-Sir But do not let thy young heart grieve, Walter Raleigh.

Let not the tear unbidden start; “Kiss me, Hardy— I thank God I have done Though absent long, do thou believe, my duty.”- Lord Nelson.

And smile to think, how dear thou art ! “Don't give up the ship.”- Lawrence.

One kindly word, my own dear girl, " I'm shot if I don't believe I'm dying."-1 Shall live like music in mine ear; Chancellor Thurlow,

One lock from off that golden curl “ Is this your fidelity ?”–Nero.

Shall bind my heart and hold thee dear;

And on thy lips the pledge I'll seal, “ Clasp my hand, my dear friend, I die."-1

So when my loitering steps depart, Alfieri.

Though absent long, thou still wilt feel, “Give Dayroles a chair.”—Lord Chesterfield. And smile to think, how dear thou art ! “God preserve the emperor.”Haydn.

Farewell, my love, I leave with theo “ The artery ceases to beat.”—Haller.

More than affection can make known; “ Let the light enter."- Goethe.

Farewell-whate'er I take from thee "All my possessions for a moment of time.”

Till death divides I'll call mine own; Queen Elizabeth.

Once more, adieu! "Twere vain to speak

How much it costs so soon to part, “What ! is there no bribing death ?"-Car While words of mine are all too weak dinal Beaufort.

To tell with truth how dear thou art!
“ I have loved God, my father, and liberty." Wakefield.
Madame de Stael.

“ Be serious.”—Grotius.
“ Into thy hands, O Lord !"-Tasso.

DEVOTION. “ It is small, very small indeed,” (clasping her

BY ANNE A. PREMONT. neck).-.Anne Boleyn.

Thy hands are clasped in prayer, thy brow is turned "I pray you, see me safe up, and for my com Upward, to the great source of life and love, ing down, let me shift for myself,” ascending And as if with rapt thought thy spirit burned, the scaffold).-Sir Thomas More.

A glow is on thy cheek, while meek as dove “Don't let that awkward squad fire over my

Newly made desolate, yet deep and high grave.”- Robert Burns.

| As eagle's earnest glance, thy stedfast eye

Seems piercing farthest heaven, whose holy calm “ I feel as if I were to be myself again.”—Sir

Has bathed thy very heart with its sweet balm Walter Scott.

And breathed such gentle influence on thy soul “ I resign my soul to God, and my daughter That every feeling yields to its control; to my country." - Jefferson.

Each harsh and angry thought away is swept, “ It is well.”—Washington.

And care lies hushed as if't had ever slept,

While trusting love is felt as surely there Independence for ever."— Adams.

As when a mother's hand steals fondly through “ It is the last of earth.”-J. Q. Adams.

thine hair. “ I wish you to understand the true principles of the government. I wish them carried out. I ask nothing more."--Harrison.

ELEANORE, “I have endeavoured to do my duty.”

(A Sonnet.) Taylor.

BY MRS, CHARLES ROWLAND DICKEN. “ There is not a drop of blood on my hands." - Fred. V. of Denmark.

Thy cheek is changed—thy brow is pale with woem

A sad tear quivers in thy starry eyes, “ You spoke of refreshment, my Emilie; take A hidden grief which spends itself in sighs, my last notes, sit down to my piano here, sing That look of sorrow which the loving know. them with the hymn of your sainted mother; Oh let me see once more the happy glow, let tre hear once more those notes which have The sweet bright freshness of thy sunny smile, so long been my solacement and delight." The maiden blush, the glance which knows no Mozart.

guile, “A dying man can do nothing easy."

The glorious ray that gladdens all below.

Sweet Eleanore! the beauty of thy face Franklin.

The soothing music of thy gentle voice “ Let not poor Nelly starve.”- Charles II.

Wraps me in dreams which are not of this earth;

There floats around thee such a nameless grace, “ Let me die to the sounds of delicious A grace which makes my loving heart rejoice, music.”-Mirabeau.

A joy which cannot be of mortal birth,

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