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and, extending his hand, pressed mine closely, his face wearing a mock expression of deep sorrow.

But soon the cloud passed away, as we entered into easy con. versation. Every mention, however, of his poor boy brought back a momentary look of sadness, which seemed put on, as if from a sense of duty, and passed away with any change of subject. So I relinquished the office of consolation as unnecessary. At length he began to ask my advice about the proper repairs for bis house, and the workmen to be employed. "I know,” said he, “ that such considerations may appear unsuitable to a time of deep affliction; but overwhelming as my distress has been"-and here he drew a handkerchief across his eyes, and winked them, as if to force a tear—"I must bear up against it. Prudence forbids a man in my circumstances to give way to grief. I have calculated, as well as my troubles would permit--for I can't always help shedding tears when I think of him, how much my poor boy would have cost me if he had lired. He was to have gone to school next quarter, and that, you know, would have been something. Allogether, I think I shall be able to plaster the house at least. Poor fellow! I wouldn't have lost him for a thousand houses !”

I gave my advice in regard to the disposal of what he had saved by his son's death; but he afterwards spent so long a time in perfecting his calculations, that the opportunity was lost: my friend finds himself threatened with another heir !

You've pointed to the star,
And spoke of your unchanging soul,
The needle's truth, and of the pole,

And of the mariner.
This is love's frailest common-place,

Written oft as spoken;
It is the lover's word of grace,

Before his vows are broken.
Yet you, you spoke with such a look,
That truth, as in the sybil's book,

Seemed clothed in every word ; And I-I listened and believed : And who may not be thus deceived,

Who feels it as he heard ?


By F. W. Thomas, author of “Clinton Bradshaw," &c.

Lady! thou art changed indeed

I may not love thee now, But view thee as an idol creed,

Unworthy of a vow. Yet once thy love was all to me : It was a courted destiny,

Such as his day-dreams show To the fondly trusting boy, Whose fancy is as full of joy

As earth is full of wo.

Thou queen of the voluptuous throng,

Where pleasure holds her reign,
No more I hear thy siren song,

Or court thy proffered chain.
No more the meeting hour of gladness,
No more the parling hour of sadness,

Shall light or cloud my brow:
You've broke the vow I loved the best ;
I feel I have the power to jest

With any other vow.
They're like thee, in this western land,

As lovely as thou art;
But then they have a warmer hand,

And wear a truer heart.
I may not kneel at any shrine,
So soon since I arose from thine-

I might mistake the maid :
And yet, oh! for the early dream
Of her I left o'er hill and stream,

I'd be again betrayed.
Betrayed !--no, not betrayed by thee

'Twas manhood's sober thought, That proved the cold reality

My boyish fancy wrought
To every virtue, every bliss:
Yet who, for such a dream as this,

Who would not be a boy?
With woman for his fairy queen,
And earth as one bright gorgeous scene,

A fairy land of joy.
Yes! ofttimes as I sorrowing pine

For those I've left behind me,
The friends who bound their hearts with mine,

And ever thus shall bind me;
As oft as I recall the hours
When law was left for lady bowers,

And reason left for rhyme ;
I think of those who round thee hung,
The love-note of thy siren tongue,

And of our tristing time.
And when I clasp a friend's warm hand,

Who like me loves the west-
Leaving afar our father-land,

Where thou art loveliest-
'Tis sweet with him to talk of thee,
Thy smile, thy look, thy witchery,
Thy beauty, and thy art ;

Vol. IV.-60

I wooed thy love as prophets woo

The hour they've promised long, Whose happy scenes should all be true,

And beautiful as song. How very vain the phantasy Of those who hope, and hope for aye,

While fickle passion lasts ; Who, like the summer's insect thing, Flit away on careless wing,

Till comes the chilling blasts.

And then it dies, as my hope dies,

No, never to relume; Devoted, as it highest flies,

To an untimely tomb. How often in the moonlit grove, When we have pledged our mutual love,


And when I hear it all unmoved,

the readers of the Messenger, from the ancient and I wonder if I ever loved,

modern poets. So very calm's my heart.

This is peculiarly the season for the resumption of

this subject. How beautifully sings the wisest, when I'm from thee many a weary mile,

in his canticles he says:
Where rolls La Belle* along;
I love its ripples, song and smile,

“The winter is past : the rain is over and gone;
'Tis like thy smile and song-

The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing is come,

and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land: So truly it reflects the scene,

The figuree puueth forth her green figs, and the vines, with the
The sunny ray, the changing green,

tender grape, give a good smell.”
The clear, o'erhanging heaven;
So truly, when I've looked on thee,

But few delights are there for the enjoyment of the
Thou gav'st each love-look back to me,

lover of nature in the winter time, I mean in our Till I have thought love given.

northern New England winter-time. My friend Brent

has touchingly described the sheeny show of the sleet, Oh, lady! in this changing world,

lighted by the next day's sun, but that is evanescent at Passions, strange and strong,

best, and always cold and dreary in its associations. Bear us, like a leaf, wind-whirled,

Yet do I remember some winter days when my ramWith varying fate along.

bles afield have been as delightful and as free from disBut yester.eve this bounding river

comfort as those of the merry summer time, or the Wore holy calm, as if forever ;

more sober of autumn days. One in a particular Now rolls it wildly free.

manner recurs to me. It was in December. The sun Thus I, who bid my heart be still,

rose as clear and undimmed as in May. I climbed to Now feel it bursting 'gainst my will,

the top of a lovely hill in the neighborhood, to enjoy a As wildly unto thee.

beautiful, and, to me, a most rare spectacle. I had never

before an idea of the fine effect upon a landscape of Alas! I am a wanderer From those who love me best,

the curling of a thousand smokes, wreathing slowly and Who, when it was my lot to err,

gently upwards from the collage roofs of little villages Relieved an aching breast;

scattered picturesquely around the base of a high bill. From friends who loved my lowly name,

The atmosphere was perfectly clear, and the sun shed

its short-lived warmth upon the sere grass at my feet, And never heard a word of blame, But to defend their friend;

rendering its yellow tint more deep and golden. It And here, o'er mountain and o'er flood,

dazzled my eye as it rested upon the sod. The sky I pour to them my gratitude;

was so soft and blue, and those little eddies of smoke 'Tis all I have to send.

were curling so slowly upwards to its expanse, I could

almost fancy it to be their resting place, and that it Oh! that I could my dark thoughts cast

was from them that it received its own azure beauty. Upon thee, lovely river !

The little river which bears the same name as the hill, And know, as on thy bright waves passed, was gliding on its serpentine way, forming little islands They'd pass with them forever.

and peninsulas, all covered with the same hue of winLady! we yet may meet again,

tery desolation, yet cheered and relieved by this un When memory shall no longer pain,

wonted and almost forgotten brightness. The sunbeam And love no longer sigh ;

played under the brown bank with the leaping wave. No more, no more may I adore thee;

let, which, as if delighted with its return, sparkled and Enough, the world is all before me;

flashed like scattering diamonds, beneath its influence. My lady-love, good bye.

The very oaks, shorn, as they had so long been, of Banks of the Ohio, near Louisville, 1835.

their verdure, and standing forth, as they did, in all their gaunt and gigantic majesty, seemed glad amidst all this gladness of nature: for they gently rated

their minuter branches, and looked down, methought, YET MORE ABOUT TREES. into their transparent mirror, to catch, from the bright

ness it reflected, a part of this general inspiration of " Still climbing trees

nature. With the Hesperides." Leigh Hunt.

But it is of summer trees, and not those of winter, A few months ago I strung together a few thoughts that I was writing. upon this most delightful theme; and interspersed some

The whole country is now in blossom. How beaupassages from the poets, and legends from the classics, tiful is Herrick, when apostrophizing these short-lived

visitants ! by way of illustrating those views. A critic of the cui bono class piqued me to write “More about Trees," in order to show that our countrymen had a love, and

'BLOSSOMS. were fast increasing that affection, for these beautiful

"Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, creations of God's hand : and the object of the present

Why do ye fall so fast? paper is merely to cite more of those illustrations, for

Your date is not so past,

But ye may yet stay here awhile * The French called the Ohio La Belle Riviere; the beautiful

To blush and gently smile,river.

And go at last !

What! were ye born to be

the dappled deer, where Orlando and Rosalind loved, An hour or half's delight,

and where Amicus sang in strains like these :
And so to bid good night?
'Twas pity nature brought ye forth,

Under the greenwood tree,
Merely to show your worth,

Who loves to lie with me,
And lose you quite !

And turn his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,
But you are lovely leaves, where we

Come hither!
May read, how soon things have

Here shall he see
Their end, cho' ne'er so brave ;

No enemy
And after they have shown their pride,

But winter and rough weather!'
Like you, a while,-they glide
Into the grave!

And in what but such a sycamore bower as Herrick There are those who pretend to despise the Syca- which Proctor, that sweet poet of our own day, was fain

apostrophizes, and Coleridge describes, was that, in more. This tree is not likely to come to perfection,

to dwell? unless planted upon the banks of rivers. It is not so good a tree for lawn or city as many others. Its rapid

Oh I would live where rivers gaily run, growth is in its favor. But the sycamore-haters should

Where shady trees may screen me from the sun:

Where I may feel and breathe the fragrant air, see it growing upon the Connecticut river: its noble

Where, (whale'er the toil or wearying pains I bear,) stems gracefully dipping “its broad green crown" into

Those eyes, which look away all human ill, the waves, and forming a verdant bower, into which May shed on me their still, swect, constant light, you may drive your skiff, and si: like a nested bird, And all the hearts I love, may, day and night, seeing but unseen. Old Herrick bas a prelly address

Be found beside me ever clustering still!! to this tree, among his delightful poems.

Barry Cornwall.

But I must close my leaf-gathering, and cannot do so "TO SYCAMORES.

more appropriately, methinks, than by transcribing for • I'm sick with love : oh let me lie

you a rare gem from old Draylon, (1630,) called
Under your shades, to sleep or die !

Either is welcome, so I have
Or here my bed, or here my grave.

I am the prince of sports, the forest is my fee,
Why do ye sigh, and sob, and keep

He's not upon the earth who pleasure castes like me.
Time with the tears that I do weep?

The morn no sooner puts her rosy mantle on,
Say! have ye sense, and do ye prove

Than from my quiet lodge I instantly am gone,
What sympathies there are in love ?

When the melodious birds, from every bush and brier

Orthe wild spacious wastes, make a continual choir. And a modern poet has been inspired by the beauty The mottled meadows then, fresh garnished by the sun, of such a tree as I have described. He says:

Waft up their spicy sweets, upon the winds that run

In easy ambling course, and softly seem to pace,
“This sycamore, oft musical with bees,

That we the longer may their lusciousness embrace.
Such tents the patriarchs loved ! oh, long unharmed

'I am clad in youthful green, I other colors scorn;
May all its aged boughs o'ercanopy

My silken baldric bears my bugle or my horn,
The sinall round basin, which this juuing stone

Which selling to my lips, I wiod so loud and shrill,
Keeps pure from falling leaves.

As makes the echoes shout from every neighboring bill;
Here iwilight is, and coolness; here is moss,

My dog.hook at my belt, to which my lyam’s tied,
A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade.

My sheaf of arrows by, my wood knife by my side ;
Thou may'st loil far, and find no second tree.

My cross-bow in my hand, I by the woodman's art,
Drink, pilgrim, here! here rest !

Forecast where I may spring the goodly high-palm'd hart.
Coleridge. To view the grazing herds, at sundry times I use,

When by the loftiest head I know my deer to choose, The same poet has this pretty conceit. Who has and to unherd him then, I gallop o'er the ground, not seen what he so tenderly describes ?

Upon my well breath'd nag, and cheer my faithful hound.

Sometimes I pitch my toils the deer alive to take, *This little lime-tree bower! in which I've marked

Someumes I like the cry the deep-mouth'd kennel make.

Meanwhile the feather'd flocks that the wild forests haunt,
Much that has soothed me. Pale beneath the blaze

Their sylvan songs to me in cheerful ditties chaunt.
Hung the transparent foliage : and I watched

The shades, like ample shielda, defend me from the sun,
Some broad and sunny leaf, and loved to see
The shadow of the leaf and stem above,

Through which to cheer my burning brow, the gentle streamlets

run ; Dappling its sunshine !"

No little bubbling brook from any spring that falls,

But on the pebbles play for me his pretty madrigals. While thinking, in our less genial clime, of such a

At morn I climb the hills, where wholesome breezes blow,
bower as this, how natural is it for the lover of nature At noon I seek the vales, and arching shades below;
to exclaim, with poor Keats,

At evening I again the crystal floods frequent ;
In pleasure thus my life continually is spent.

As princes and great lords have palaces, so I *Oh for a beaker full of the warm south,

Have in the forests here, for hall and gallery,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene !

The tall and stately woods, which underneath are plain;
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

The groves my gardens are, the heath and downs again
And purple-stained m

My wide and spacious walks. Ah! say whate'er you can,
That I might drink, and leave the world, unseen,

The forester is still your only happy man!
And fade away, into the forest dim!'

Adieu! I will yet, ere summer closes, climb more Such a 'forest dim' was that of Arden, when the trees, with the Hesperides.

J. F. 0. duke kept court, when the melancholy Jaques watched

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the partner of his joys, is so dispiriting, how much ON HEALTH.

more oppressive is it to those little ones who are by nature allied to gladness. Childhood, whose richest heritage is its innocent joy, must hush its sportive laugh, and repress its merry footstep, as if its plays

were sins. Or if the diseased nerves of the mother do Have we not all of us seen, with pity and regret, not babitually impose such sacrifices, it learns, from some sickly mother, burdened with the cares of her nature's promptings, to fashion its manners, or its voice, household ? Feeling that there were employments or its countenance, after the melancholy model of the which none could discharge as well as herself-modifica- sufferer whom it loves, and so forfeits its beautiful heritions of duty, in which the interest of her husband, the tage of young delight. welfare of her children, the comfort of her family, were Those sicknesses to which the most robust are subject, involved-duties which she could not depute to another, by giving exercise to self-denial and offices of sympa. without loss—she continued to exert herself, above and thy, from all the members of a household, are doubtless beyond her strength.

often blessed as means of improvement, and the mes. Still her step is languid, and her eye joyless. The sengers which draw more closely the bonds of true af“spirit, indeed, is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Herfection. But it must be sufficiently obvious, that I allude little ones observe her dejected manner, and become to that want of constitutional vigor, or of that confirmsad; or, they take advantage of her want of energy, ed feebleness of habit, which either create inability for and grow lawless. She, herself, cannot long persist in those duties which in most parts of our country devolve a course of labor that involves expense of health, with. upon a wife, a mother, and the mistress of a family, or out some mental sympathy. A temper the most amia- else cause them to be discharged in languor and wretchble, will sometimes become irritable or complaining, | edness. And I speak of them, that the attention of when the shrinking nerves require rest, and the de- those who conduct the earliest physical education of mands of toil, and the claims upon painful thought, are females, may be quickened to search how an evil of such perpetual. Efforts, which to one in health, are like magnitude may be obviated. dew-drops shaken from the eagle's wing, seem to the Mothers, is there any thing we can do to acquire for invalid like the ascent of the Alps, or like heaping our daughters, a good constitution ? Is there truth in Pelion upon Ossa.

the sentiment sometimes expressed, that our sex are Admitting that a sickly woman has sufficient se}f becoming more and more effeminate? Are we as control to repel the intrusion of fretfulness, and pre- capable of enduring fatigue as were our grand-moserve a subdued equanimity, this, though certainly de.thers? Are we as well versed in the details of houseserving of praise, is falling short of what she should keeping, as able to bear them without inconvenience, as wish to attain. The meek look of resignation, though our mothers? Have our daughters as much stamina of it may cost her much to maintain, is not all that a hus- constitution, as much aptitude for domestic duty, as we band wishes, who, coming from the vexed atmosphere ourselves possess? These questions are not interesting of business or ambition, would fain find in his home to us simply as individuals. They affect the welfare of the smile of cheerfulness, the playful charm of a mind the community. For the ability or inability of woman

to discharge what the Almighty has committed to her, Men, prize more than our sex are always aware, the touches the equilibrium of society, and the bidden health-beaming countenance, the elastic step, and all springs of existence. Tenderly interested as we are those demonstrations of domestic order, in which un- for the health of our offspring, let us devote peculiar broken activity delights. They love to see a woman attention to that of our daughters. Their delicate equal to her own duties, and performing them with frames require more care in order to become vigorous, pleasure. They do not like to have the principal theme and are in more danger from the prevalence of fashion, of domestic conversation a detail of physical ills, or to be I plead for the little girl, that she may have air and expected to question, like a physician, into the variety of exercise, as well as her brother, and that she may not symptoms which have supervened since their departure. be too much blamed, if in her earnest play she bappen Or if this may be occasionally done, with a good grace, to tear or soil her apparel. I plead that she be not where ill-health is supposed to be temporary, yet the punished as a romp, if she keenly enjoy those active saddening eftects of an enfeebled constitution, cannot sports which city gentility proscribes. Į plead that always be resisted by him who expected to find in a the ambition to make her accomplished, do not chain wife a "yoke-fellow," able to endure the rough rouds her to the piano, till the spinal column, which should and sharp ascents of life. A nature possessing great consolidate the frame, starts aside like a broken reed;capacities of sympathy and tenderness, may doubtless nor bow her over her book, till the vital energy which be softened by the exercise of those capacities. Still, ought to pervade the whole frame, mounts into the the good gained, is only from the patient, perhaps the brain, and kindles the death-fever. christian endurance of a disappointment. But where Surely we ought to acquaint ourselves with the those capacities do not exist, and where religious princi- outlines of the mechanism of this our clay-temple, ple is absent, the perpetual influence of a sickly and that we interfere not, through ignorance, with those mournful wife, is as a blight on those prospects which laws on which its organization depends. Rendered allure to matrimony. Folly, moroseness, and lapses precious, by being the shrine of an undying spirit, our into vice, may be often traced to those causes which ministrations for its well-being assume an almost fearrobe home in gloom.

ful importance. Appointed, as the mother is, to guard If to a father the influence of continual ill-health in the harmony of its architecture, to study the arts on

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at ease.

which its symmetry depends, she is forced to perceive upon her vitals? We know that it is so. Who, that has how much the mind is affected by the circumstances of tested the omnipotence of fashion, will doubt it? This its lodgment, and is incited to cherish the mortal for the is by no means the only sacrifice of health that she sake of the immortal.

imposes. Bat it is a prominent one. Let us, who Does she attach value to the germs of intellect? are mothers, look to it. Fully aware, as we must be, Let her see that the casket which contains them, be of the danger of stricture on the lungs and heart, dunot lightly endangered or carelessly broken. Does ring their season of development, why should we not she pray for the welfare of the soul? Let her seek the bring up our daughters without any article of dress good of its companion, who walks with it to the gates which could disorder the seat of vitality? Our sons of the grave, and rushes again to its embrace on the hold themselves erect, without busk, or corset, or framemorning of the resurrection.

work of whale-bone. Why should not our daughters Those who educate the young, should be ever awake also ? Did not God make them equally upright? Yes. to the evils of compression in the region of the heart But they have “sought out many inventions.” and lungs. A slighi ligature there, in the earlier stages

Let us educate a race who shall have room to of life, is fraught with danger. To disturb or impede breathe. Let us promise, even in their cradle, that the laborers who turn the wheels of life, both night and their hearts shall not be pinioned as in a vice, nor their day, is absurd and ungrateful. Samson was bound spines bent like a bow, nor their ribs forced into the in fetters, and ground in the prison-house, for a while, liver. Doubtless, the husbands and fathers of the next but at length he crushed the pillars of the temple, and generation will give us thanks. the lords of the Philistines perished with him. Nature, Let us leave no place in the minds of those whom though she may be long in resenting an injury, does we educate, for the lunatic sentiment, that the mind's not forget it. Against those who violate her laws, she healthful action, and the integrity of the organs on often rises as a giant in his might, and when they least which it operates, are secondary to the vanities of exexpect it, inflicts a fearful punishment. Fashion seems ternal decoration. If they have received from their long enough to have oppressed and insulted health in Creator a sound mind in a sound body, teach them its strong holds. She cannot even prove that she has that they are accountable to Him for both. If they rendered the form more graceful, as some equivalent deliberately permit injury to either, how shall they anfor her ravages. In ancient Greece, to whom our paint. swer for it before the High Judge ? ers and sculptors still look for the purest models, was But hou shall the mother answer it, in whose hand the not the form left untortured ? the volume of the lungs soul of her child was laid, as a waxen tablet, if she sufallowed free play ? the heart permitted, without mana- fer fashion to cover it with fantastic images, and folly cles, to do the great work that the Creator assigned it ? to puff out her feverish breath, melting the lines that

The injuries inflicted by compression of the vital wisdom pencilled there, till what heaven would fain parts, are too numerous to be readily recounted. Im- have polished for itself, loses the fair impression, and paired digestion, obstructed circulation, pulmonary becomes like common earth. disease, and nervous wretchedness, are in their train. Hartford, Conn. A physician, distinguished by practical knowledge of the Prolean forms of insanity, asserts that he gains many patients from this cause. Another medical gen. tleman of eminence, led by philanthropy to investigate the subject of tight-lacing, has assured the public, that multitudes aunually die by the severe discipline of busk

TO A FRIEND AT PARTING. and corsel. This theory is sustained by collateral

We part-- perhaps to meet no more ; proof, and illustrated by dissections.

And oft may I, with fond regret, It is not sufficient that we, mothers, protect our younger daughters, while immediately under our au

Such scenes the beart can ne'er forget. thority, from such hurtful practices. We should fol.

Long months--it may be years--will roll;

It may be (who can know the pain low them until a principle is formed by which they

With which that thought weighs down the soul?) can protect themselves from the tyranny of fashion.

On earth we ne'er shall meet again. It is true, that no young lady acknowledges herself to be laced too tight. Habits that shun the light, and Through distant lands and stranger climes shelter themselves under subterfuge, are ever the most

Our lot 'twill be to wander far,

Yet shall our hearts, like cadenced rhymesdifficult to eradicate. A part of the energy which is

With friendship for their polar star-essential to their reformation, must be expended in Together flow unjarring on, hunting them from their hiding-places. Though the

Persuading us with siren strain, sufferer from tight-lacing, may not own herself to be

How hopes exist, till life be gone, uncomfortable, the laborious respiration, the constrain

That we shall haply meet again. ed movement, perhaps the curved spine, bring differ

But should such hopes delusive prove, ent testimony.

And ne'er again that joy we know, But in these days of diffused knowledge, of heighten While doomed, aparl, alone to rove ed education, is it possible that any female can put in

Through life's uncertain hours of wo; jeopardy the enjoyment of health, even the duration of Then let this last memento be existence, for a circumstance of dress? Will she throw

A link in friendship’s holy chain,

To prove my heart still true to thee, an illusion over those who try to save her ? and like

Although we ne'er shall meet again! the Spartan culprit, conceal the destroyer that feeds


Recall the scenes we've travelled o'er :

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