to prevent her, they deemed it more wise and prudent to provide her with everything necessary for the voyage, and to place her in the care of the captain of the steamship in which she was to go. In New York they had friends, to whom they gave her letters fully explanatory of her mission, and earnestly commending her to their care and protection. Two weeks before the ship in which Edward Marvel sailed reached her destination, Agnes was in New York. Before her departure, she had sought, but in vain, to discover the name of the vessel in which her husband had embarked. On arriving in the New World, she was therefore uncertain whether he had preceded her in a steamer, or was still lingering on the way. The friends to whom Agnes brought letters received her with great kindness, and gave her all the advice and assistance needed under the circumstances. But two weeks went by without a word of intelligence on the one subject that absorbed all her thoughts. Sadly was her health beginning to suffer. Sunken eyes and pale cheeks attested the weight of suffering that was on her. One day it was announced that a Liverpool packet had arrived with the ship fever on board, and that several of the passengers had been removed to the hospital. A thrill of fear went through the heart of the anxious wife. It was soon ascertained that Marvel had been a passenger on board of this vessel; but, from some cause, nothing in regard to him beyond this fact could she learn. Against all persuasion, she started for the hospital, her heart oppressed with a fearful presentiment that he was either dead or struggling in the grasp of a fatal malady. On making inquiry at the hospital, she was told the one she sought was not there, and she was about returning to the city when the truth reached her ears. "Is he very ill?" she asked, struggling to compose herself. "Yes, he is extremely ill," was the reply. "And it might not be well for you, under the circumstances, to see him at present." "Not well for his wife to see him?" returned Agnes. Tears sprung to her eyes at the thought of not being permitted to come near in his extremity. "Do not say that. Oh, take me to him! I will save his life." "You must be very calm," said the nurse; for it was with her she was talking. "The least excitement may be fatal." "Oh, I will be calm and prudent." Yet, even while she spoke, her frame quivered with excite ment. But she controlled herself when the moment of meeting came, and, though her unexpected appearance produced a shock, it was salutary rather than injurious. "My dear, dear Agnes!" said Edward Marvel, a month from this time, as they sat alone in the chamber of a pleasant house in New York, "I owe you my life. But for your prompt resolution to follow me across the sea, I would, in all probability, now be sleeping the sleep of death. Oh, what would I not suffer for your sake!" As Marvel uttered the last sentence, a troubled expression flitted over his countenance. Agnes gazed tenderly into his face, and asked "Why this look of doubt and anxiety?" "Need I answer the question ?" returned the young man. "It is, thus far, no better with me than when we left our old home. Though health is coming back through every fibre, and my heart is filled with an eager desire to relieve these kind friends of the burden of our support, yet no prospect opens." No cloud came stealing darkly over the face of the young wife. The sunshine, so far from being dimmed, was brighter. "Let not your heart be troubled," said she, with a beautiful smile. "All will come out right." "Right, Agnes? It is not right for me thus to depend on strangers." "You need depend but a little while longer. I have already made warm friends here, and, through them, secured for you employment. A good place awaits you so soon as strength to fill it comes back to your weakened frame." "Angel!" exclaimed the young man, overcome with emotion at so unexpected a declaration. "No, not an angel," calmly replied Agnes, "only a wife. And now, dear Edward," she added, "never again, in any extremity, think for a moment of meeting trials or enduring privations alone. Having taken a wife, you cannot move safely on your journey unless she moves by your side." "Angel! Yes, you are my good angel," repeated Edward. "Call me what you will," said Agnes, with a sweet smile, as she brushed, with her delicate hand, the hair from his temples; "but let me be your wife. I ask no better name, no higher station." SONNET.-CLIO. BY WM. ALEXANDER. UPON thy wide-stretched canvas we behold, THE MAID AND THE MAGPIE.-A BALLAD. BY JNO. B. DUFFEY. (See Plate.) WHY cometh out the multitude with still and awful tread? Why peals, from belfry and from tower, that requiem for the dead? Has sudden visitation laid her darling chieftain low, That Florence, in her every part, seems burdened down with woe? Thickens the throng: a whisper runs, like light, o'er ashy lips, That seem as if froze dumb by Death, with icy finger-tips: And hark! from far a chorus dread rolls on the heavy air, And faces fast are waxing white, and lips are moved in prayer. Nigh and more nigh the chorus rolls; and windeth through the street A sad and solemn train of priests, and monks with sandalled feet; With cross, and torch, and censer's swing, they tread their doleful way, And chant the fearful dying song-"That day, that wrathful day!" With jolt and jar, a creaking car brings up the priestly train, And laid thereon a coffin rude, tells why that mournful strain; And kneeling in that bed of death a trembling girl is seen; Her hands are pressed upon her breast, with helplessness of mien. From distant Rhine young Gretschen came, a maid of peasant birth, Who, save her gray-haired sire, had not a kindred one on earth: Need forced her from her fatherland, to wage the war of life, With mind and heart too innocent, too pure for such a strife. With wistful eyes oft looking back, she left her father's cot, And in a strange and far countrie, her sire's subsistence sought; Hoping, when winter's gathered snows had melted into rain, With lightsome heart, and laden purse, to greet her home again. Artless to higher work, with heart that knew no foolish shame, In Count Uboldi's household she a kitchen-girl became; Trusting that time, and growing skill, and duty's cheerful face Would, from her high-born mistress, win the guerdon of her grace. Alas! young Hope, how weak and vain are all thy flattering dreams! How swiftly pales the brightest star that in thy Present gleams! Thy Future's visions, what are they, though pleasant to thy sight, But rosy clouds of waning joy-fair harbingers of night! But why prolong our simple tale? Some silver spoons were lost, A ring of rich and rare device, and pearls of princely cost. Stolen they were at least so deemed: on Gretschen fell the theft For 'tis the poor alone that steal-what other way is left? Before her judges Gretschen stood, by innocence upheld; But torture racked her limbs, and then her woman's spirit failed: Confessed of theft, her doom was death-for such was then the law: To Death they lead her, monk and priest, with all his pomp and awe. The scaffold now is gained, and lo! above it, shining white, A pillar tall, to Justice reared, breaks sudden on the sight: Thereon an image, whose right hand a flashing sword reveals, Bears balanced in its outstretched left a pair of golden scales. And Justice sees the lifted axe, the maiden bent with fear, The headsman grim, the white-faced throng-yet Justice is not here. But look! the western sky grows black, and hushed is all the air Clouds are thy judgment-seat, and thou, O Justice, thou art there! Kissing the cross her father gave, poor Gretschen kneels to pray Pray for the peace of God to bless the dear one far away: And tears are in her eyes, to think how lonely he will pine, How drear will be, when she is gone, that cottage on the Rhine. Her head is on the block; her lips breathe out a lingering sigh: "Farewell, dear father! God, thou know'st how innocent I die!" The headsman's axe is lifted up-down falls the bloody stroke: Great Heaven! that flash! that fearful crash! Нате earth's foundations broke? Blinded and stunned, in fear uprose that multitude of men; And oaths and prayers, and groans and yells, woke air to life again. But all was o'er-that flash and crash the Father's will had done: The blue sky looked from snowy clouds, and gayly shone the sun. The statue, see! the lightning's stroke has hurled it from its place! And now a crowd is groping round the shattered pillar's base! Inquiring hands lift up the scales yon mocking Justice bore; A magpie's nest is in them found-and find they nothing more? Oh, faint not, soldier of the right, though often overthrown! Poor Gretschen! God has proved thy truth-His voice bas made it known: For lo inwoven in that nest the golden scales did bear, Were found the spoons, the princely pearls, and ring of setting rare! ILLUSTRIOUS CHARACTERS. BY THOMAS WYATT, A. M. (See Plate in August Number.) MRS. MARTHA WASHINGTON. THE illustrious subject of this memoir was born in the county of New Kent, in the State of Virginia, in the year 1732. She was the daughter of a Mr. Dandridge, a wealthy planter, whose ancestors had emigrated from Wales many years since. They had succeeded in obtaining from their government large tracts of land, which subsequently became the means of their wealth. But little is known of the early part of the life of Martha Dandridge, but that she excelled in personal charms, with prepossessing manners, and great loveliness of character In the early days of the colonial settlements, it was difficult for females to obtain anything beyond a plain education, and that generally imparted by their parents, with a few exceptions, where they were so fortunate as to obtain a resident instructor for their children. Mr. Dandridge received into his family a young Englishman, of superior education, who remained sufficiently long to lay the foundation for those accomplishments which became so important in the high and varied station his daughter was destined in after years to fill. Miss Dandridge had many admirers, but among her numerous suitors she selected Colonel Daniel Parke Custis, a planter living on the banks of the Pamunky River. This gentleman was the son of the Hon. John Custis, of Arlington, a king's counsellor, and a man of great wealth. The marriage took place in the year 1749-Miss Dandridge being only in her seventeenth year-the fruits of which were four children; two boys and two girls. One boy and one girl died in their infancy; Martha, the surviving daughter, lived to the age of twenty years, and died at Mount Vernon. John, the only surviving child, died in the service of his country, as one of the aids of the commanderin-chief, during the siege of Yorktown, in 1781, in the twenty-seventh year of his age, leaving behind him four children-the Hon. George Washington Parke Custis, now proprietor of Arlington, and three daughters. After the death of her husband, Mrs. Custis and her family continued to reside on their plantation. He being wealthy, it was some years before she could settle and arrange his large estate, which at last, however, she accomplished with that' strict accuracy which distinguished her through life. In the year 1758, Mrs. Custis was on a visit to a friend residing on an eminence of a branch of the Pamunky River, overlooking the ferry called WilVOL. XLV.-19 liams's Ferry, the direct road from Fredericksburg to Williamsburg. Mr. Chamberlayne (of whose house she was then an inmate), a man of leisure and a Virginia gentleman of the old school, was fond of society. He would frequently watch the ferry with great eagerness, and, as the boat reached the shore, if there were among the passengers gentlemen of respectable exterior, he would address them by an invitation to his house, and offer some refreshment before they proceeded farther on their journey. On one of his peregrinations to the ferry, he espied an officer attired in a military undress, with his servant and horses. Mr. C. addressed him, requesting he would spare time to partake of his hospitality before he proceeded further. The soldier pleaded his haste to Williamsburg, having despatches to the governor (Williamsburg being thirty miles distant); but Mr. Chamberlayne insisted that he must spare time to dine with him, and remarked that he would introduce him to the beautiful widow Custis, who was then on a visit to his family. The officer reluctantly consented; the gentlemen exchanged cards, and Mr. Chamberlayne found that his new guest was Colonel Washington. On their arrival at the house, Col. W. was introduced to the family of his hospitable host, and, among them, the interesting widow before spoken of. It is believed that the first interview proved the source from which sprung so many joys. Before entering the mansion, Col. W. gave orders to his servant to have the horses ready precisely at four o'clock, that they might arrive at their destination that night. Bishop, true to the orders of his master, waited with the horses in hand long after the appointed hour, wondering at the unusual delay. "Ah, Bishop!" says a fair writer, describing the occurrence, "there was an urchin in the drawing-room more powerful than King George and all his governors. Subtle as a sphynx, he had hidden the important despatches from the soldier's sight, shut up his ears from the tell-tale clock, and was playing such mad pranks with the bravest heart in Christendom, that it fluttered with the excess of a new-found happiness." Colonel Washington found so much difficulty in separating from such fascinating society, that he eventually yielded to the solicitations of his excellent host to pass the night with them. Some hours after breakfast on the following morning the enamored soldier was on his road to Williamsburg. Having made an early arrangement of his affairs at Williamsburg, he returned the same evening to 221 feast once more on the charms of the captivating widow. Within a year from this time, Mrs. Custis became the wife of Colonel Washington. They were married at St. Peter's Church, in New Kent County, on the 6th of January, 1759, by the Rev. Mr. Mossom, a clergyman sent from England by the Bishop of London, Virginia being at that time considered a part of that diocese. From private memoirs we are able to give a few particulars of this interesting event. Colonel Washington was dressed in a suit of blue and silver, lined with red silk, embroidered vest, small clothes, gold shoe and knee buckles, dress sword, and hair in full powder. The bride in a suit of white satin, rich point lace ruffles, pearl ornaments in her hair, pearl necklace, earrings, and bracelets, white satin high-heeled shoes, with diamond buckles. She was attended by several ladies in the gorgeous costume of that ancient period. Colonel W. was attended by the Governor of Virginia, several English army and navy officers in full costume, with the very élite of Virginia chivalry of the old régime. The dress of the governor was scarlet embroidered with gold, with bag wig and sword. The other gentlemen in the fashion of the time. The old-fashioned coach of the bride was drawn by six horses, while the bridegroom rode the fine English charger bequeathed to him by Braddock after the battle of Monongahela. From the account of the marriage handed down from those who were present, it appears that the bride and her ladies occupied the coach, and the gallant bridegroom and his brilliant cortège accompanied them on horseback. As this was the gay season at Williamsburg, Colonel and Mrs. Washington remained there for the space of three months after their marriage, allowing the colonel time to arrange the estate and affairs of his new wife. The first thing was to take upon himself the guardianship of Mrs. Washington's two children, which he did with the faithfulness of a father till the daughter died and the son came of age. By this marriage, Colonel Washington made an accession to his fortune of more than one hundred thousand dollars, and, possessing considerable property before, he intended now to turn his thoughts to the management of his private affairs. But about this time he was elected a member of the House of Burgesses, which he held for fifteen years, till the commencement of the Revolution. Mrs. Washington always accompanied her husband to Williamsburg during the frequent sessions, where she met the most distinguished families in Virginia, many of whom were the younger sons of the English nobility. Williamsburg was at this time the school of mannors and refinement. and Mrs. Washington felt much anxiety for the future. The Revolution had commenced, and her husband, appointed commander-in-chief, was directed to repair to Cambridge, where the army was concentrated. He left Philadelphia in June, 1775; Mrs. Washington joined him the September following. Mr. Custis states that it was the habit of the commander-in-chief to despatch an aid-de-camp, at the close of each campaign, to escort his lady to head-quarters, and her arrival at the camp was always hailed with a cheering influence. She has often said that she heard the first cannon at the opening, and the last at the closing, of all the campaigns of the Revolution. The military journals mention her privations and fortitude, and, with much emphasis, notice the trying winter of 1777-8, at Valley Forge, presiding in the chief's humble cabin, and dispensing comfort and relief to the suffering soldiery. In a letter to Mrs. Warren, she says: "The General's apartment is very small; he has had a log cabin built to dine in, which has made our quarters more tolerable than they were at first." A Freneh officer visiting General Washington, while on the banks of the Hudson, thus describes his head-quarters at Newburg: "They consist of a single house of the Dutch fashion, not large or commodious, and the inconvenience to which the General and Mrs. Washington had put themselves to receive me, obliged me to leave much earlier than I had intended." Thus, for six years, did Mrs. Washington accompany her husband through the most trying scenes of our revolutionary struggle, till the year 1781, when all her Christian fortitude was called into action by a summons to the death-bed of her last and only child. Mr. Custis, who was an aid to General Washington, lived to witness the victory at Yorktown, was seized with a violent fever, brought on by incessant fatigue, and died, in the arms of his mother, on the 5th of November, in the 27th year of his age. The General arrived only two hours before his death, and on no occasion whatever had the General been seen to evince such intense sorrow; it is said that he wept as a child. This sorrowful event was not less trying to his sympathy than his sensibility, for he had watched over his childhood and youth with a parental love, and afterward associated him as his companion and friend. Mr. Custis left four children. The two youngest, a son and daughter, were adopted by General Washington-the Hon. G. W. P. Custis, of Arlington, and Mrs. Lewis, of Audley, both now living. Mrs. Washington now found it more agreeable to seclude herself for a time at her home at Mount Vernon, hoping that the arduous labors of her husband were drawing to a close, and that he would soon follow her. But he did not retire from the army for nearly two years after the surrender of Yorktown. In December, 1783, General Washington resigned his commission and retired to his home, where he re mained till the year 1789, when he was notified that the choice of the people had fallen on him as president. New York being chosen as the place of residence for the chief magistrate, Washington arrived in that city in the month of April, and in the June following he was joined by Mrs. Washington. The following letter to her friend, Mrs. Warren, written soon after her arrival in that city, is expressive of her feelings on the change which circumstances had forced upon her. "Your very friendly letter of last month has afforded me more satisfaction than all the formal compliments and empty ceremonies of mere etiquette could possibly have done. I am not apt to forget the feelings which have been inspired by my former society with good acquaintances, nor to be insensible to their expressions of gratitude to the President; for you know me well enough to do me the justice to believe that I am fond only of what comes from the heart. It is owing to the kindness of our numerous friends in all quarters, that my new and unwished-for situation is not indeed a burden to me. "When I was much younger, I should probably have enjoyed the innocent gayeties of life as much as most persons of my age; but I had long since placed all the prospects of my future worldly happiness in the still enjoyments of the fireside at Mount Vernon. "I little thought, when the war was finished, that any circumstances could possibly happen which could call the General into public life again. I had anticipated that, from that moment, we should be suffered to grow old together in solitude and tranquillity. That was the first and dearest wish of my heart. I will not, however, contemplate with too much regret disappointments that were inevitable, though his feelings and my own were in perfect unison with respect to our predilection for private life. Yet I cannot blame him for having acted according to his ideas of duty in obeying the voice of his country. The consciousness of having attempted to do all the good in his power, and the pleasure of finding his fellow-citizens so well satisfied with the disinterestedness of his conduct, will doubtless be some compensation for the great sacrifices which I know he has made. "Indeed, on his journey from Mount Vernon to this place, and in his late tour through the Eastern States, by every public and private information which has come to him, I am persuaded he has experienced nothing to make him repent his having acted from what he conceived to be a sense of indispensable duty. On the contrary, all his sensibility has been awakened in receiving such repeated and uncquivocal proofs of sincere regard from his countrymen. With respect to myself, I sometimes think the arrangement is not quite as it ought to have been; that I, who had much rather be at home, should occupy a place with which a great many younger and gayer women would be extremely pleased. As my grandchildren and domestic connections make up a great portion of the felicity which I looked for in this world, I shall hardly be able to find any substitute that will indemnify me for the loss of a part of such endearing society. I do not say this bocause I feel dissatisfied with my present station, for everybody and everything conspire to make me as contented as possible in it; yet I have learned too much of the vanity of human affairs to expect felicity from the scenes of public life. "I am still determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may be; for I have also learned from experience, that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends on our dispositions, and not on our circumstances. We carry the seeds of the one or the other about with us in our minds wherever we go. "I have two of my grandchildren with me, who enjoy advantages in point of education, and who, I trust, by the goodness of Providence, will be a great blessing to me. My other two grandchildren are with their mother in Virginia." NEW YORK, December 26, 1789. As soon as the President was settled in New York, it became necessary to establish some rules for receiving visitors and entertaining company. It was essential to maintain the dignity of the office by forms which would inspire deference and respect; as for the chief magistrate and his lady to be accessible to all without respect of persons, at the same time securing the purity of our republican institutions. Accordingly, every Tuesday, from three to four o'clock, the President was prepared to receive all persons who chose to call. And every Friday afternoon, the rooms were alike open for visitors to Mrs. Washington, which were on a very sociable footing, and at which the General was always present. It may not be considered out of place here to give an extract from a letter, never before published, from a gentleman who attended one of the first levees. His description of Washington is considered, by the family now living, as the most perfect ever given. He gives a minute description of the levee in the following: "NEW YORK, 1790. "A servant, well looking and well dressed, received the visitors at the door, and by him they were dolivered over to an officer of the United States service, in full uniform, who ushered them into the drawingroom, in which Mrs. Washington and several ladies were seated. The lady of the President received me with perfect ease and good breeding, entering at once into an agreeable and interesting conversation. "In a few minutes, the General entered the room. It was not necessary to announce his name, for his peculiar appearance, his firm forehead, Roman nose, and projection of the lower jaw, his height and |