Cousin Rufus declined all thoughts of the wine, but consented to walk home with Ebenezer with the utmost good humor. They went away together, Mr. himself greatly obliged by the attention he had ren- | being up to that time kept profoundly sacred to the dered, and after shaking himself and walking forward members of her own family. a step or two, in order to ascertain the condition of his limbs, declared that all the injury received was a slight bruise and a rent in his nether garments, which could easily be remedied by a silk pocket handker-Smith politely giving his companion the wall, and chief, which he forthwith tied around the injured walking very fast when they came opposite the old limb and its still more deeply mutilated covering, in a apple tree. style that added very much to the natural interest excited by his appearance, which was always picturesque, and rendered just then decidedly poetical, by the aid of that soft, cool moonlight that lay all around him, and the touching romance of recent peril. When all the damages to Mr. Smith's person were repaired, we proposed returning home, and bade him good night; but Ebenezer had suddenly become social to a degree that excited our deepest sympathy; he cast a timid glance over the wall toward the apple-tree, another up the road, and projecting his right arm till it formed a triangle with his side, he asked permission to see Julia home, with a fervor and earnestness that would have excited gratitude in a heart of stone. Poor Julia, she cast one regretful look on her handsome cousin, placed her arm through the triangle, and walked homeward with a degree of fortitude which I could admire at a distance, but never hope to imitate. As it was, the arrangement had left Cousin Rufus to my undivided lot. It was a lovely moonlight evening, we walked very deliberately, and his voice was remarkably deep-toned and rich when he bent that animated face to address me. His eyes, too, were bright, dark and eloquent ; now and then I could see them flash and sparkle in the moonbeams, and altogether I felt it my duty to be resigned to the dispensation which had given Mr. Ebenezer Smith as an escort to Julia Daniels and Cousin Rufus to my unworthy self. It was beautiful to witness the treasures of hospitality which Mr. Smith's encounter with the stone wall brought to light in his noble bosom. He left Julia at the gate, and came hurrying breathlessly back while Cousin Rufus and my unworthy self were lingering beneath the maples in front of our house, deep in a conversation that was rather fragmentary but not the less interesting. Ebenezer came up to the gate panting for breath, just as I had broken a plume-like tuft of white lilac from a flowering bush and transferred it to the hand of my companion. As the foot tread of Mr. Ebenezer Smith interrupted us, the blossom miraculously disappeared, and when Cousin Rufus stepped forth into the moonlight at the call of Ebenezer I detected the soft and snowy spray of my gift trembling beneath his vest. Ebenezer had taken so violent a fancy to our new friend that he could not think of going home without him. The distance was nothing, and the currant wine in old Mrs. Smith's corner cupboard perfectly delicious. Cousin Rufus was bound to accept the evidence from the young man on hospitable thoughts intent, as no collateral testimony regarding the wine could have been gathered in the whole neighborhood, the mysteries of Mrs. Smith's tea cups and decanters I went to sleep that night with a spray of white lilac under my pillow; the perfume must have affected my dreams, for all night long I was in a garden luxuriant with blossoms and breezy with delicious fragrance, that floated through the foliage and settled on the earth in pearly clouds perceptible to the eye. The garden was haunted by another person, but whether that was Ebenezer Smith or Cousin Rufus I would rather not inform my readers, if it makes no particular difference to them. The spring deepened into summer, our minister still remained unmarried, and when the doctor had worn all the gloss from his new saddlebags, with hard practice, he was a single man and yet in the market. His attendance at the red farm-house became less frequent after Cousin Rufus was domesticated beneath its roof. Miss Elizabeth declared that the affection of the heart with which she had been so long afflicted was exhibiting new and surprising symptoms every day; still she was decidedly better, probably from her new system of exercise and open air. The childish taste for corn fields and new mown hay unaccountably returned upon her that summer, though the verdant season of life might reasonably be supposed to have subsided with her thirtieth birthday. It really was quite interesting and romantic when she tied on her pink sun-bonnet, and followed Cousin Rufus with a little rake daintily turning up the fresh grass as his sythe swept it in fragrant billows around her path. Occasionally Julia and myself gained permission to share her rural labor. At such times she was excessively kind and patronizing to our youth, always calling us the little girls or children, and exhibiting a deep sense of our juvenile condition in various ways, that proved how earnestly she had our welfare at heart, and particularly agreeable to a pair of full grown girls verging on sixteen, tolerably large for that age, and with the hopes of dawning womanhood brightening before them. And Cousin Rufus, he was indeed one of nature's own noblemen; resolute, courageous and ashamed of no exertion, honorable in itself, that promised to aid in the great hope of his existence. He had taken the best and surest way to distinction, worked his own path and toiled upward, diligently marking every footstep with the sweat of his brow. Instead of sitting down and repining over the cloud that had fallen upon his prospects, he put forth his energies and watched hopefully for the silver time which, sooner or later, is certain to gladden the industrious and faithful. Instead of suffering in personal appearance, he became more manly and noble from exertion. Athletic exercise and free air but served to enrich the tints of his complexion, and develop the strength and symmetry of his form. When he flung off his straw hat and un buttoned his collar, allowing the sunshine to dance among the raven curls heaped over his forehead, and the cool wind to bathe his throat, as every pliant limb swayed gracefully to the swing of his sythe, he was, as Miss Elizabeth classically observed, a perfect Apollo, deficient only in the lute. As for Julia and myself, we cared very little for lutes in those days, and had about as much knowledge of Apollo as Miss Elizabeth herself; but one thing amounted to a settled conviction in our minds, if Apollo was only half as SONNETS. BY CHARLES J. PETERSON. FANNY. I. A Protean creature! wayward as the shower A heart to love till death, all things divine Two diff 'ring natures meet! Thou couldst beguile A summer life with many a sportive wile, Idle as shepherd maids in Arcady. Or, if affection summoned to it, share A life of sorrow, braving down despair With heart as bold as Colon's when he stood Out in that unknown sea. Oh! ever fair And perfect type of earnest womanhood. II. And yet not perfect, rather may be so, As of a high soul conscious of its powers To watch that glowing countenance I love, And dream that, coming down from far off bowers, Angels have lived to win our souls above! AMY. I. As one embarking on a midnight sea, Thou standest silent, thoughtful on the shore, Oppressed with many fears of destiny, Girlhood behind, and womanhood before! But courage, courage, be faint heart no moreLife's serious duties urge thee earnest on, And fates are linked with thine, whose good or ill For earth or heav'n may turn upon thy willBear up, nor falter till the prize be won! All noblest impulses within thee glow, Alas! too oft concealed. Is man thy foe? This world all hollow? Oh! believe it not; For we may nurse suspicion till we grow Like those we dread. Far better die and rot. II. There have been souls who, trusting and betrayed, Be such as these; for ev'ry noble deed A hundred fold shall reap, and bosoms sealed As lives the day-god, keeping heav'n a-glow, "THERE IS NO GOD!" BY CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. "THERE is no God"-the skeptic scoffing said"There is no power that sways or earth or sky;" Remove the veil that folds the doubter's head, That God may burst upon his opened eye! Is there no God? Yon stars above arrayed, If he look there, the blasphemy deny ; Whilst his own features, in the mirror read, Reflect the image of Divinity. IS THERE NO GOD? The purling streamlets flow, PULPIT ELOQUENCE. BY MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY. THE day was declining, the breeze in its glee The landscape was glorious! In distance away A light-hearted child-I had wandered away In stature majestic-apart from the throng up with the splendors of youth and of love, Such language as his I may never recall, But his theme was salvation-salvation to all— And the souls of a thousand in ecstasy hung On the manna-like sweetness that dropped from his tongue. Till it seemed that an angel had brightened the sod, He spoke of the Savior! What pictures he drew! The cup of his sorrows-the wormwood and gall- He spoke, and it seemed that his statue-like form Oh God! what emotions the speaker awoke- There's a charm in delivery, a magical art The time is long past, yet how clearly defined The time is long past, yet what visions I see; I am standing once more mid that heart-stricken throng, A vision floats up-'t is the theme of my song All glorious and bright as a spirit of air; The light like a halo encircles his hair, And I catch the same accents of sweetness and love As he whispered of Jesus, and pointed above. How sweet to my heart is this pictnre I've traced; SHIVERTON SHAKES; OR, THE UNEXPRESSED IDEA. BY JOSEPH C. NEAL, AUTHOR OF "CHARCOAL SKETCHES,' "IN AND ABOUT TOWN," ETC. SHIVERTON Shakes had an idea-a cup of tea had "Two boys and they were a-" continued Shiver warmed the soil of his imagination, and it was flower-ton, pursuing his own peculiar train of reminiscence ing to fruit-he had an idea in bud—a thought which struggled to expand into expression, and to find a place in the great basket of human knowledge. undisturbed by Mary Jones or any thing else, and happy in feeling that there now appeared to be no impediment to the flow of his narrative. But yet this moment, though he knew it not, was a in the line of his being; slight perhaps in itself, but very material in determining the result of the journey. Mr. Shakes fixed his eye upon his son-Mr. Shakes seemed to ponder for a moment. Shiverton Shakes had an idea, and ideas, whether great or small-whether good, bad or indifferent-crisis in the fate of Shiverton Shakes-a circumflex must have utterance, or the understanding wilts and withers. Even the body sympathetically suffers. It is easy to mark the man who smothers his intellectual offspring-the moral infanticide, with his compressed lip, his cadaverous hue, his sinister eye, and his cold, cautious deportment; whose thinkings never go out of doors, and lack health for want of air and exercise. That man is punished for his cruelty to nature, by a dyspepsia affecting both his mental and physical organization. There is no health in him. But it must not be forgotten that Shiverton Shakes had an idea-little Shiverton, in his earlier years, when the world is fresh and new, and when the opening faculties are wild in their amazement. "Mamma," said Shiverton, suspending the assault upon his bread and butter; "mamma, what d'ye think?-as I was going down-” Mr. and Mrs. Shakes were too earnestly engaged in the interchange of their own fancies to heed the infantile voice of Shiverton. "What d'ye think, ma?" repeated the youthful aspirant for the honor of a hearing; "as I was going down Chestnut street I saw—" "A little more sugar, my dear," said Mr. Shakes. "And, as I was telling you," added Mrs. Shakes, 66 Mary Jones has got-" "I cannot stand it any longer," said he, "and what is more, I wont-that boy is a nuisance-he talks so much that I cannot tell what I'm reading, taste what I'm eating, or hear what I'm saying. I'm not sure, in fact, when he is present, that I know exactly whether it's me or not. He wants to talk all the time." Luckless Shiverton had been running wild in the country for a considerable period, and, while his elocutionary capacities had been greatly developed, the power of endurance in his parents had been weakened for want of exercise. They were out of practice-he was in high training. They were somewhat nervous, he was, both in mind and body, in the best possible condition, deriving as much nourishment from the excitement of noise as he did from food. "Well, I declare, he does talk all the time and asks such questions-so foolish I can't answer them," exclaimed the mother, with her usual volubility; "just as if there was a reason for every thing-so tiresome. I do declare, when he is in the room, I can scarcely slip in a word edgeways, and his tongue keeps such a "Sweetened to death! There-don't!" said Mr. perpetual clatter, that since he came back I hardly Shakes, withdrawing his cup rather petulantly. "Down Chestnut street, I saw-" "A new black hat, trimmed with-" think I've heard my own voice more than-" "Sugar enough to fill a barrel," muttered Mr. you hear? From this time forth you must never speak Shakes. "I saw-" "Hat with-" "Tea spoilt altogether-give me another-" "Very little black hat, trimmed with--" "Two boys, and what d'ye think?" chimed in the persevering Shiverton Shakes. "Why, what is all this?" exclaimed Mr. Shakes, as he raised his eyes in anger. "Hats and boys and sugar! I never heard such a Babel!" but when you are spoken to. Little boys must be seen, and not heard." "Well, I do declare, so they must-mus'n't be seen and not be heard-that's the way to bring up children." "Shiverton," added his father, impressively; "Shiverton, when you are old enough to talk sensibly, then you may talk. When you are mature enough-I say mature-" "What is mature?" inquired Shiverton, tremb "That child!" ejaculated Mrs. Shakes; "did you lingly. ever know-" "Mature is-never mind what it is-when you are older you'll know. But, as I before remarked, when | lout was Shiverton Shakes. He had been, so to you are mature enough to understand things, then you may ask about them." The rule, thus emphatically laid down, was enforced inexorably. It therefore not only happened that Shiverton's idea was suppressed on the occasion referred to, thus preventing the world from ever arriving at a knowledge of what really was done by those two mysterious boys, as he went down Chestnut street, but likewise cutting him off from other communications relative to the results of his experience and observation. Henceforth he was to be seen, not heard a precept and a rule of conduct which he was compelled to write in his copybook, as well as to hear whenever the workings of his spirit prompted him to "speak as to his thinkings." The twig was bent-the tree inclined. speak, paralyzed by his undeveloped idea. His original confidence, instead of being modulated and modified, had been extirpated, and the natural aplomb of his character-that which keeps men on their feet, maintaining the adjustment and balance of their faculties-had been destroyed. "The boy is a booby," said Mr. Shakes; "why can't you stand up strait and speak out?-you're old enough." "Well, I do declare," subjoined Mrs. Shakes, "I'm quite ashamed of him. I can't think how he came to be such a goose. When Mary Jones spoke to him the other day, I do declare if he did n't put his thumb right in his eye and almost twist himself out of his jacket; and when she asked him what he learned at school, all he could say was 'he! he! I don' know.' He sha n't show himself again till he behaves better→→→→ a great long-” "I don't like to be harsh-in fact, I'm rather too indulgent," philanthropically remarked Mr. Shakes; "but, if I were to do my duty by this boy, I ought to chastise him out of these awkward tricks. Therego-down stairs with you. It's the only place you're fit for." "He must never be allowed to come up when any body's here-not till he knows how to speak to people." Such was the earlier life of Shiverton Shakes. He was not to plunge into the billows of the world before he had learned to swim, and yet was denied the op What Shiverton Shakes might have been, had the trunk of his genius been permitted to ascend according to its original impulse, is now but matter for conjecture. Where he would have reached in his umbrageous expansion, had the shoots of his soul been judiciously trimmed and trellised-sunned, shaded and watered, who can tell? There may be a blank in glory's book which his name should have filled-an empty niche in our century's greatness where Shiverton Shakes should have been embalmed. At this instant, perhaps, the world suffers because some momentous truth which it was for him to have drawn to light, is still "hushed within the hollow mine of earth." Why, indeed, may we not suppose that when he was rebuked for making chips, to the annoy-portunity to acquire the rudiments of this species of ance of the tidy housekeeper, an invention perished in its very inception which would have superseded the steam engine? What might Shiverton ShakesShiverton cherished-Shakes undismayed--what might he not have been? A warrior, probably, phlebotomizing men by the battalion and by the brigade, and piling skulls to build his way to fame. Why not a patriot and a statesman, heading parties and carrying elections, with speeches from the stump and huzzas from the multitude? Nor would it be considering too curiously if it were to be imagined that, had circumstances been propitious, Shiverton Shakes might at this very hour have been in the enjoyment of the highest of human honors and the most sublime of modern inventions, that of being pilloried by the political press and flung at by half the nation-the new pleasure, for which an exhausted voluptuary of the classic age breathed sighs in vain. natation, in those smaller rills and ripples where alone the necessary confidence and dexterity are to be obtained. It was perhaps believed that he could cast the boy off and assume the man, without preliminary training, and that, having been seen but not heard for so many years, he would have an instinctive force, at the proper moment, to cause himself both to be seen and heard, thus suddenly stepping from one extreme to the other. There may be such forces in some people-in people who, in a phrenological aspect, have a larger propelling power, to drive them over the snags, sawyers and shallows of this "shoal of time." They were not, however, to be found in Shiverton Shakes. Nor was he a proof of the correctness of that common parental theory, so often urged to palliate and to excuse deficiencies in culture and supervision, that he would "know better when he grew older," thus endeavoring to make future years responsible for duties which should be performed by ourselves and at the existing moment. This method of "knowing better" may suit the procrastinating disposition, and there may be instances in which it engenders a corrective influence; but it is at best a doubtful experiment to permit defects thus to "harden When Shiverton Shakes came home-" why, into petrifaction” while awaiting the uncertain period there's company in the parlor," and Shiverton Shakes of removal. That we may "know better when we went to learn manners and deportment in the kitchen. are older" is like enough; but then, will we do better? Shiverton Shakes breakfasted, dined and supped in-who, of all the world, does better—much better— the kitchen, and when promoted by a call up stairs, half as much better as he ought-as he "knows betShiverton mumbled in his words, fumbled in his ter?" There are differences, sad to experience, pockets and rumpled among his hair. An ungainly hard to overcome, between knowing and doing. The But such delights as these were denied to Shiverton Shakes, who was too strictly taught to be seen and not heard who was not to speak until he was spoken to; in consequence whereof, as the invitation was not very often extended, he came near being deprived of the faculty of speech altogether. |