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with its own weariness, and her cheek wan with the presence of unutterable grief, blame her not! for the forgetful indifference of one we have held dear, is terrible to endure-and well we know, that human love dieth not at our bidding. But alas! "seulement les femmes n'oublient jamais!"

ance in public was always rapturously greeted. |witching and mysterious idol of his romantic Night after night, Arthur had listened breathlessly youth. to her melodies; and the young poet's ardent ad- One sentence from the lady, of graceful acknowmiration might well be pardoned, for rarely had ledgment of Arthur's politeness, and then they tones more exquisitely thrilling, fallen on mortal separated, and Edith met Lesbourne no more. ear, than those now pouring forth so rich a tide of She turned for a moment, and saw his manner of gushing harmony. There was an indefinable charm rapt attention and his eloquent glance of tendertoo around the songstress, whose dark and stately ness at the fascinating face of his enchantress. beauty spoke volumes of the proud intellect whose There had been a period, when even thus that lustre it reflected. Hers was a face to look on look had followed her and haunted her very dreamingly, and to linger long in the gazer's dreams; and if, for an instant, she deemed this trial memory. It was not regularly beautiful, but more than she could bear—if her heart grew faint fraught with a nameless fascination, which aroused, even in a careless spectator, something of interest regarding the minstrel's experience in the past. Ah! her's was a painful history, with all its triumphs! It told of a childhood of lowliness and destitution, of a girlhood, when loveliness won praise, and adulation brought ambition. Then, in later years, came gradual but premature worldliness, the tutoring of thought and impulse, and finally, that settled policy of motive and action, he sunk beneath the premature old age of sorrowwhich too often follows aspirations founded on vanity, ending a youth of discontented expectation in a maturity of idle artifice. There had been in her career, many sacrifices of feeling to bear, many It was a beautiful night, and the moon shone suspicions to endure, and regrets which had seared brilliantly through the open window of the invalid's the heart, now throbbing so rapturously with grati- apartment. The air was soft, though the autumn fied anticipation. Arthur listened, absorbed and had nearly past; and the light wind murmured entranced; and when the singer ceased, and the mournfully, as if sighing a farewell to the sweet voice of her song "died into an echo," he felt as if the deafening applause which resounded were profanation, and such common plaudits but mocked a being so rarely and radiantly gifted.

During the several following days, Mr. Mordante's illness rapidly increased; his strength declined almost visibly; and in the prime of manhood,

ful humiliation. He spoke of his situation frequently and calmly-with the composure of one, who in leaving life, left no hopes.

days of sunshine and flowers.

Edith watched by Mordante; and for several hours he had seemed to sleep. "You are very kind, dear Edith," he said at last, faintly pressing the hand, which during his slumber had held his own; "but leave me now, for I shall need no.attendance, and I would be alone for awhile. God bless you, dearest!"

Arthur and Edith were among the last to leave the apartment, and as they approached the door, the lady came from an adjoining room, and passed before them. A gentleman accompanied her, and she leaned familiarly on his arm. As she moved, Reluctantly his companion obeyed; and the sick the drapery of her dress became entangled, and one was left to the solitude of those sad thoughts, Arthur paused to assist her companion to extricate which were now drawing his career so speedily to it. She turned to thank him with that enchanting its close. The light of the round moon, that light smile, whose witchery so few could resist; and as which looks on death so often and so coldly, shone they lingered, Edith's eyes encountered the gen-full upon his face, lending even more than their tleman's gaze. She read in it no sign of recogni- own paleness to his changed and wasted features. tion. The time which had elapsed since they met, Did he dream, or was there in truth a step beside had erased her from his memory; and now, face to him, and a familiar face bending over him? For face as strangers, they stood, who had been lovers an instant, he doubted his conviction; then the in other years. O! could he have traced the tear-reality could be no longer questioned, and he turned ful agony of the pure heart, beating so near him-with a shudder of agony from his unbidden and could the sweet hopes of his youth have been re- unwelcome visiter. Shocked at the impression called by the glance, which once gave him rapture, her unexpected appearance had produced, the stranhow dark would have appeared the long tissue of falsehood, deception and folly, which made up the dishonorable record of his after life! But it was not thus to be. Lesbourne's experience had been too active and varied, for one such episode to be lastingly remembered. His look of kindness was now for another; and the lustrous eyes which She paused for a reply, and Mordante's answer "spake again," were those of Nina-the be- was low, and spoken painfully. "I had trusted,

ger knelt in passionate grief by the sufferer, and wildly pressed her lips to his thin white hand.

"Mordante! dearest, speak one word to me! I am not worthy of it; I have sinned beyond man's forgiveness; but you were ever kind and generous. Let me hear your voice once more, and die!"

Evelyn, I should have been spared this ordeal; my hours on earth are but few, and the last moments of a dying man even you might have held sacred." "I came but to implore your forgiveness," returned the intruder-" to look again upon your face, to ask your prayers, and then to go back to my wretchedness. Say one sentence of pardon and kindness, then I will cease to profane your thoughts, and we shall meet in this world no more!"

"May heaven forgive you, as I do, Evelyn! the death-bed is no place for human wrongs to be remembered, and all I have suffered is forgotten now in all I hope for. You bear with you my pardon, and my earnest entreaty that your future life may be spent in the repentance which will bring you peace. Go now, and tell Arthur and Edith to come to me, for I am faint and weary, and the light grows dim to my eyes!" and Mordante sank back exhausted.

Evelyn! thine should have been the hand to press that throbbing brow-thine the words to whisper of comfort in that fearful hour! Truly, the cup thy folly had filled to overflowing, was bitter then! Heaven help the spirit, frail and erring like thine, when its time of inevitable punishment hath dawned!

On the few remaining days of Mordante's pilgrimage we will not dwell. There is a sanctity in the sufferings of one, on whom the world's worst trials had lain so heavily, and there seems something of profanation in even the most reverential withdrawing of the veil which covers life's final mystery. His grief had reached its ending, as it were a tale that is told, and we will not revive its memory, to hymn even the faintest

"Soft, sad, miserere chant,

For the soul about to go."

Turn we now, to the living history of another's heart. J. T. LOMAX.

THE MYSTERIES OF PROVIDENCE:

A POEM.

Delivered by P. Spencer Whitman, at the recent commencement of Mercer University, Ga.

From yonder ocean, rolling wide,
To far Missouri's rushing tide;
From wild Superior's lofty strand,
To Mexico's more heated sand,
Survey each scene of beauty rare,
Select th' enchanted landscape where
Thy feet entranced would linger long-
Thy heart would lift its praise in song→
Turn off thine eyes-away-beware-
Rear not thy hopeful mansion there!
O'er this elysium first of all,
The storm-the blighting storm shall fall-
Thy beauty isle, though firm as rock,
Is first to feel the earthquake shock.

Thus wand'ring far in olden time
Through Andalusia's wanton clime,

'Twas such a spot one Udolph found,
With orange-grove and citron crowned,
Where warblers sweet fill every tree,
And gentle gales sweep from the sea,
And crystal fountains gushing bright,
Refresh the weary traveller's sight;
There, 'mid the loveliest hills that rise,
Beneath those soft voluptuous skies,
Behold, enchanting to the view,

Our Udolph's cottage rise,
More cheering than Aurora's huc,
To Nature's weeping eyes.
Serenely on the waters bright,

That lie reposing near,

The sunbeam sheds its softest light,
Or mirrored skies appear.

And near the wave upon the shore,
Has true Love built the bower,
Where young hearts wedded, love the more,
Resigned to Hymen's power.

But scarce has Udolph drawn his bride,
In closer union to his side,

To list that voice so dearly sweet,
When other sounds unwelcome greet
His happy, unsuspecting, ear:-
Dismayed, his eye now wild with fear,
Beholds the maiden's starting tear,
And each in turn grows deadly pale-
They feel the shake; they start and quail-
Their tender dreams have passed away,
And ere they've time to think or pray,
The earth in one convulsive throe

Fills the whole scene with blackest woe,
And all, that late was passing fair,
Is now a desert rude and bare;
Beneath the ruin of that hour
Buried the lovers and their bower.

Look to the sea-the restless sea;

"Tis night and tempest on the deep,
And for their wrath, all hope shall flee-
Wake, seaman! wake thee from thy sleep;
Without a guide, without a star,

With bending mast and swelling sail,
On, on, the proud ship dashes far

Before the madly raging gale.
But ah, that dreadful lightning flash
Reveals the fatal breakers nigh:
All wait the last destructive crash,
With terror mute, or rending cry.
And closer to her tortured breast,

The mother draws her slumbering child;
How soon, alas! they both may rest
Beneath that flood so black and wild.
The lover clasps his throbbing bride
And, watching still the threat'ning wave,
Resolves that they two, side by side,

Will slumber in their ocean grave.
The dreams of life all quickly flown,

The rocks leap forth, the surge rolls o'erSoft woman's shriek, bold seaman's groan

Now mingle with the ocean's roar.

Still on his knees, the man of God

Cries "thou canst save, Lord, thou canst save!?!

And, like the Hebrew Leader's rod,

That prayer is potent o'er the wave.
Through clouds dispersed, a friendly ray
Now shines to point them to their haven;
The skies their wonted orbs display,
All cheering as the hopes of Heaven.
Like infant on the parent breast,

The ship lies tranquil on the waves; The seaman's heart is now at rest

And grateful to the arm that saves. But as, before the expiring breath,

The cheek shows oft a flattering hue, So, this is but the calm of death

To that gay bark and hopeful crew. Brief, brief the rapture of their hearts-

They see-but ne'er shall reach-the shore; Alas, the ship asunder parts

One scream-she sinks-and all is o'er!Come, lift the veil, thou gentle youth,

And here, with lustre all divine, Behold, another solemn truth

Shines on thy wayward path and mine. Mark well-this life is but a sea

Whereon thou sailest-oh beware! Lured by the siren melody,

Thou'lt founder while the sea is fair.
Shall man fear only in the gale?

And only by the lightning's glare,
Behold himself-how weak-how frail?
Then only, seek his God in prayer?-
Ah no-when life's a gentle stream,
Fate, like a dreadful thunder peal,
Through skies all tranquil as a dream,
Rolls o'er and ends all earthly weal.

Behold, unto the peaceful shade,
By science more alluring made,
Like this wherein we joyful meet
To pay our court at Learning's feet,
The pious Reed and Thomas* come,
Leaving the fond delights of home,
To cull the flowers of science here,
Which bloom in age, and grace the bier.
"Tis not to grasp the laureled fame-
A splendid bubble, but a name—
That they have turned their eager eyes
Where Wisdom, like a goddess, cries.
Though constant and devout their zeal,
Yet they no wild ambition feel;
And thus they human learning seek,
Conscious that she alone is weak
To guide man's sinful wayward feet
Aloft to Virtue's holy seat.

Upon the green a merry throng
Resume their sports with laugh and song:
Not there for Reed and Thomas look,
Who have the jocund band forsook:
Behold them in their blest retreat,
Where green the boughs above them meet-
The bower, where this youthful pair
Are mingling warm their tears in prayer.
These are the children of the Cross,
Who deem earth's glittering joys but dross,
Who o'er her moral deserts yearn-
With all their morning ardor burn
To sound the Gospel trump afar,
Where never yet hath shone the star
Of Bethlehem-that only light

To cheer the universe of night.

And time passed on. Fair youth is flownAnd they, to blooming manhood grown, With fervent zeal where'er they stray,

These gentlemen, having devoted their youth to a preparation for benevolent labor, both died, as they first came in sight of their Missionary station, the one being drowned, and the other killed by the falling of a tree from the bank of the river, along which they were sailing.

Plead India's cause-for her they pray.
And as the wondering audience hear
The warm appeal and mark the tear
O'er heathen woes in pity shed,
They seem on India's soil to tread,
There view the moral death that reigns
Through all her fair idol'trous plains.
Now by the blood on Calvary shed
For their own rescue from the dead,
No longer they their prayers withhold,
And freely too resign their gold.

'Tis morn-and o'er the waters blue
Aurora sheds her blushing hue-
Plays on the spire and hill-top green;
When on the noiseless shore is seen
A friendly throng slow gath'ring there
To breathe once more a parting prayer-
The mother with a tearful eye,
The father with a stifled sigh,
For idol son or daughter dear,
With whom they part forever here.
Soon, soon the sea and land along
Far swells their plaintive farewell song-
The fond embraces then ensue-

The tender kiss, the last adieu.
Yon ship now spreads her pinions white,
Then glides away like eagle's flight.
And trembling o'er the swelling tide,
Each coupled with his tender bride;
Still faintly there, we may discern
Our Reed and Thomas as they turn
To watch the dear retreating shore,
Without a hope to see her more.

Farewell, now your native hearth,
Farewell songs of love and mirth:
Vast the oceans roll between
These your smiling hills of green,
And the far deluded land
Where you sigh to wave the wand,
That hath power divine to save
India from her moral grave.
Far beyond the ocean tide,
Holy banners spread them wide;
Pagans shall Messiah see-
Darkness from their temples flee.
Oh Providence, was it thy wrath
That tore from Patriarchal hearth
The youthful Joseph who was sold
In bondage for Egyptian gold?
Thy hand in darkness moveth still
For good, though counter to our will;
The seasons scarce have circled o'er,
When skies once bright are bright no more :

The sea brings back a sound of woe,
And tolling bells peal sad and slow:
A wail from Asia's distant strand-
A wail from that dear Mission band
Sweeps mournful o'er the dark abyss,
Proclaiming India's deep distress.
It bids thee, Zion, sorrowing weep
O'er champions early sunk in sleep.
Thy champions sleep:-fair Meinam's wave
Flows mournful by their lonely grave;
And India still is wrapt in gloom,

Though honored with the Christian's tomb.
Alas, the orbs that shone so bright,
Have set and left the land in night.
Mourn, India, for the stars are few
That shine with saving light for you:
Mourn, saints, the herald's voice is hushed,
Weep for the hopes of India crushed.

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Now rises on the dusky plain,
Slow paced but firm a valiant train:
Above the ranks and soaring far,
Our own bold eagle screams for war.
On, on they move with bristling steel,
With sabre clash and musket peal:
Amid the ranks and foremost there
One patriot arm is raised and bare;
And shriller than the battle roar,
Cheering amid the strife and gore,

One voice nerves every arm and breast-
One soul breathes life into the rest.
"Tis done-and o'er the land and sea,
Echoes the shout of victory.

Warm in the country's bleeding cause,
Each heart swells with unfeigned applause
To the brave chief whose valor saves
A nation from invading waves.

But humble is the warrior's home-
No marble walls, no princely dome-
A cabin rude in region wild
Receives the mighty warrior child.
Yes, hither he with laurels crowned,
Doth seek a balm for every wound,
Returning from the bloody strife
To scenes of calm domestic life.

Time passed. Once more around that chief,

The people rally for relief:

Like Cincinnatus at his plough,

They bid him save his country now;

Not from the Indian's ruthless dart,
But from disorder at the heart.
Thus from his calm Ohio home,
They lead him to our Federal dome :
And pomp and show attend his way-
The old and young, the grave and gay,
The aged man, the prattling child,
The eager youth, the maiden mild,
Come forth their country's chief to meet,
And pay their homage at his feet.
With proud huzzas they rend the air-
They strew his path with flowrets fair:
In every breeze bright banners float,
And Music swells th' applauding note.
'Twas not more gorgeous when of old,
The Roman victor stern and bold,
Returning home from Persian war,
And mounting proud his triumph car,
With suppliant kings in gilded chain
Swelling his long procession train,
Swept through th' Imperial City's throng,
'Mid deaf'ning shouts and festal song.

When for his goodness thus renowned,
With civic laurels newly crowned,
He lays his scheme of wise reform
To lure the rainbow from the storm!
Behold, the jarring discords cease
And leave the land to hope and peace.
Alas, vain hope!-scarce doth he stand
On that proud summit of command,
While round him thousands, great and wise,
Turning to him their hopeful eyes,
Wait there, obedient to his call-
There watch the hallowed words that fall
From reverend lips, when, lo! that flash
Of lightning rends his sky; that crash,
As of a mountain falling, shakes
The earth; to view the ruin, wakes
The slumbering nation;-lo, God's arm,
Filling the earth with dread alarm,
Hath laid, with one mysterious blow,

In death the worshipped hero low!

Far off the fair Ohio's queenly wave Sweeps mournful by the patriot warrior's grave; In that dear soil he rescued from our foes, His honored bones have sunk to their repose. Alas, dear countrymen, ye put your trust

In trembling flesh now mould'ring back to dust. Then pause-lo, from that hallowed burial ground Issues a trembling but distinctive sound; "Trust ye in man and still forget your God? "Well may ye feel th' Almighty's chast'ning rod : "In vain, ye honor man however wise and just, "If Christ ye shun or trample in the dust." Proud Statesman pause, and oh be wise, Lift up, lift up thy slumbering eyes; Above thee see in Congress Hall,

What once the proud Balshazzar saw, God's finger writing on the wall,

His own decree, his fearful law;

"Man in his glory passeth like the dew,

"Now swelled with pride soon coffined from the view; "If human glory all thy treasure be,

"If this you love and worship more than me, "Then tremble, for Balshazzar's curse is yours. "Alas, like him, you've nought that Heaven ensures : "Be wise, like that good chief, though first in power, "Prepare for bliss beyond life's transient hour."

Oh Providence, thy stern decree

We mourn, and o'er the ruin sigh;
For through our tears, but clouds we see,
That hide thy goodness from the eye.

Yet Thee alone we mortals trust,

We kiss the rod that seems to smite,
And though it lay our hopes in dust,
Submissive Faith cries "all is right."
Through Faith alone we feel secure,
Till this same Providence we view,
Emerging from the night obscure,
All radiant with benignant hue.
When we our mortal course have run,
Her loveliest form we then shall see ;
And all the work that she hath done,
Bright with celestial purity.

THE WINTER NIGHTS' CLUB.

BY MARIA G. MILWARD.

If we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl.-Shakspeare. Without preface or apology, we shall at once introduce the reader into the comfortable back parlor, where Captain Broadhorn, and his sister, Mrs. Mustin, were seated on either side of the hearth, enjoying the warmth of the ruddy fire, that glowed in the grate.

"Do you know that the Club' meets here for the first time?" inquired a voice, as the door briskly opened.

The speaker who entered was about seventeen years of age, diminutive in person, but exquisitely formed, with a face beaming beauty and good

nature.

"I hope you intend honoring us with your presence, aunt Mustin, and you too, father, though

from your dishabille, I am fearful that you intend | enveloping herself more closely in a costly cashkeeping your stations in the chimney corners."

"Why, Nancy," replied the captain, fixing an admiring gaze on the blooming cheeks and gay dress of his daughter, "your aunt and I feel more at home in these 'snug harbors,' talking over old stories, than in the drawing-room."

"I beg pardon, Capt. Broadhorn," said Mrs. Mustin, rather nettled, "I am not such a Goth as you would infer. The intense cold, my dear,"-she looked at Nancy," is my objection. To dress in such weather, would be quite an undertaking."

"You are well enough dressed, aunt, with the exception of your cap. Come, ring for your new one. You can put it on by the fire, whilst I give orders for lights in the drawing-room."

"And what is the object of these meetings?" asked her father.

mere shawl which depended from her shoulders— "defend us from lemonade in the winter: the bare mention of it chills me to the heart!" and she ran shivering to the fire. "And cake too, without even a sandwich! that will never do."

"She has come with a determination to be on the opposition," whispered Letitia Ward to Nancy. This young lady and her sister Harriet, were the bosom friends of Miss Broadhorn. "She thinks to attract notice by being singular; I shall oppose sandwiches might and main."

"I feel very much inclined to second Miss Hurst's motion," said a tall, pale-faced, young man-"I think the tonic influence of a sandwich highly requisite at our meetings."

"But mercy, Dr. Enfield!" exclaimed Nancy, "it is not to be supposed, that through the preceding day, we have lived like hermits-the animal food taken at dinner, I think, will be sufficient, without running the risk of clouding our intellects with a heavy meat supper."

"Oh, amusement and instruction combined! Each member is required to bring all his or her stock of talent, whether it be in reading, singing, dancing, recitation, or whatever will contribute to the entertainment of the night, and it will be hard Nothing can be lighter or easier of digestion if among such a mélange, we have not some diver-than a sandwich," answered Dr. Enfield-" and sion and a little instruction, too." the action of the mustard

66

"Come, doctor, your internal application of a sinapism may be very good, but let us arrive at some definite understanding about the rules--let us begin in order."

After this brief sketch of the "Winter Nights' Club," Nancy hurried away to ascertain whether all was arranged with suitable propriety, for the reception of the company. She did not forget to place on the centre-table a superb desk of East "This Society shall be called the 'Winter Nights' Indian workmanship, the gift of her father, who Club'"-" What next?" The person acting as sechaving once commanded a fine merchantman, which retary, seated before the India desk, as he said this, had traded to "the golden orient," and to other held a pen full of ink, suspended over the blank foreign lands, had found various trifles, curious and sheet of paper placed upon it. "I really think," rare, to bestow upon "Lovely Nan," as he was often said Miss Ward, pursuing the subject, just interwant to call his only and idolized child. Advan-rupted by Mr. Braithwaite—"that as Nancy and I cing age and the gout, besides the acquirement of were the first projectors of the Club, we ought to a competence, had induced him, some years back, be allowed some extra privilege of opinion." to quit the service of the sea, that he might spend the remainder of his days, tranquilly, in his native place, a small seaport town, the geography of which is left to the conjecture of the reader: for, though in this spot there remained few of the associates of his early days, there yet lingered about it a halo, dear to his honest heart.

"Oh! if you wish to take out a patent for its invention, you have my sanction," said Miss Hurst, laughing-" but such rigorous opposition to sandwiches, appears so supremely ridiculous-however, Mr. Braithwaite, do write down, sandwiches are as positively prohibited as the smoking of cigars in a Circus or Theatre."

Mrs. Mustin's head, freshly bedight with a new Miss Ward reddened and bridled, while the words cap-Capt. Broadhorn's bandanna neckcloth dis-"bonnet" and "cloak" were audible, as she made a placed by a heavy glazed stock-the company, one motion to retire.

and all, assembled-the scene changes to the hand- "Stay, dearest Letitia," said Nancy, imploringly; somely furnished and well illuminated drawing-"this is the silliest affair ever heard of. We will

room.

settle every thing as it ought to be, presently."

The members of the proposed Club consisted of Rather more order prevailing, Braithwaite proabout twenty young persons, of both sexes. The ceeded to commit the rules to paper, as they were room was in a universal buzz, which rendered it suggested and agreed upon. difficult to comprehend more than the general drift "I think," began Capt. Broadhorn, who hithof the conversation. Among the strife of tongues, erto had been silent-Mrs. Mustin twitched him the words "cordial," and "lemonade," were dis- by the sleeve, "You have no right to think here, tinetly audible-the important items of refreshment, sir, or at any rate to give utterance to your being at that moment on the tapis. thoughts."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," cried Hortensia Hurst,

"And pray, why not, madam ?"

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