AN OLD MAN'S RECOLLECTIONS.

BY T. S. ARTHUR.

"I am not a very old man," said a venerable friend to me one day, "yet my head has become whitened, and my cheeks furrowed and often, as I pause and lean upon ny staff at the corners of the streets, the present reality gives place to dreams of the past, and I see, here, instead of the massive pile of brick and marble, the low frame dwelling, and there, in place of the lines of tall warehouses, humble tenements. If in my aimless wanderings about the city, I turn my steps towards the suburbs, I find that change, too, has been there. I miss the woods and fields where once, with the gay companions of early years, I spent many a summer hour. Beautiful dwellings have sprung up, it sometimes seems to me as if by magic, where but yesterday, I plucked the fruit from overladen branches, or flung myself to rest among tall grass or ripening grain."

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ilies of some of our own citizens. Any one of years and observation in any city, will bear a like testimony. The circumstance of their actual occurrence, and the fact that the present reality diminishes, from many causes, our surprise at events, tend to make us think lightly of what is going on around us. And, besides this, we ordinarily see only the surface of society. The writer of fiction unveils the mind and heart of those he brings into action, and we see all. We perceive their thoughts and feel their emotions. But, if

we could look into the bosoms of those we meet daily, and read there the hopes and fears that excite or depress, we should perceive all around us living histories of human passion and emotion, that would awaken up our most active sympathies. All this, however, is hidden from our eyes. And it is only, in most instances, when the present becomes the past, that we are permitted to lift the veil, and look at the reality beneath."

We were sitting near a window overlooking one of the principal streets of our city, and a slight noise without, at this time, attracted our attention.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Do you see that poor creature, slowly moving along, just opposite?" "Yes."

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"But other changes than these have marked the passage of time. Changes that cause them to sink into obscurity in comparison. "There she is again. Poor Flora! How Thousands in our goodly city have passed my heart aches for you," my companion from the cradle to the grave, during the suddenly ejaculated, in a tone of deep symyears that have been allotted me; and thou-pathy, after gazing into the street for a mosands have proved that all the promises of ment or two. early years were vain. All external mutations would attract but little attention, did they not recall other and more important changes. Thought and feeling have put on forms as new and strange, but not, alas! so full of happy indications. Prosperity has crowned the toil and enterprise of our citizens; but how few of the many who were prosperous when I was in my prime, are among the wealthy now! How few of the families that filled the circles of fashion then, have left any of their scattered members to grace the glittering circles now. The wheel of fortune has ceased not its revolutions a Inoment. Hopes that once spread their gay leaves to the pleasant airs, have been blighted and scattered by the chilling winds of adversity.

Pausing and leaning upon my staff, as I have said, I often muse thus, when some object recalls the memory of one and another who have finished their course, and been gathered to their fathers. In every city and village, wherever there is human life, with its evil passions and good affections, there are histories to stir the heart, and unseal the fountains of tears. Truth it is said is strange, stranger than fiction, and never was there a truer sentiment uttered. In all the fictions that I have read, nothing has met my eye so strange and heart-stirring, as the incidents in real life that have transpired in the fam

Twenty years ago there was not a gayer girl in the city, nor one more truly beloved by all."

"She?"

"Yes. Nor one of fairer hopes."

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Hope has indeed sadly mocked her!" I said, giving almost involuntary utterance to the thought that instantly passed through my mind. Just then I caught a glimpse of her face, that was partly turned towards us. Though marked by disease and sorrow, it was yet no common face. It still bore traces of womanly beauty, that no eye could mistake.

Poor Flora! What a history of disappointed hopes and crushed affections is thine! What a lesson for the young, the thoughtless, the innocent!" the old man said as he retired from the window.

"Who is she?" I asked, after a brief pause.

"You have seen that beautiful old mansion that stands in street, just above

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.?"" Yes."

"It is used now as an extensive boardinghouse: but in my younger days, it was one of the most princely establishments in the city. It then stood alone, and had attached

to it beautifully laid out grounds, stocked the deep quiet of the grave shall bring peace with the rarest and richest plants, all in the-sweet peace."

highest state of cultivation." No American "There was Florence R. We used workman could produce furniture good enough to call her the spring blossom-she was so for its aristocratic owner. Every thing was bought in Paris, and upon the most extensive scale. And truly, the internal arrangement of Mr. T's dwelling was magnificent, almost beyond comparison, at the time."

"And was that the daughter of Mr. T- -?" I asked, in surprise.

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Yes; that was Flora T- "the old man said, in a voice that had in it an expression of sad feeling, evidently conjured up by the reminiscence.

"You knew her in her better days?" "As well as I knew my own sister. She was one of the gentlest of her sex. No one could meet her without loving her."

"She married badly?"

"Yes. That tells the whole secret of her present wretched condition. Alas! How many a sweet girl have I seen dragged down, by a union with some worthless wretch, undeserving the name of a man! There is scarcely a wealthy family in our city, into which some such a one has not insinuated himself, destroying the peace of all, and entailing hopeless misery upon one all unfitted to bear her changed lot. The case of Flora is an extreme one. Her husband turned out to be a drunkard, and her father's family became reduced in circumstances, and finally every member of it either passed from this world, or sunk into a state of indigence, little above that of her own. But the worst feature in this history of wretchedness is the fact, that Flora, in sinking so low, externally lost that sweet spirit of innocence, which once gave a tone of so much loveliness to her character. Her husband not only debased her condition, but corrupted her mind. O, what a wreck she has become!"

fragile to the eye, and had a spirit so pure, that its fragrance was like the first sweet odor of early flowers to the external sense. There were many young men worthy the hand of Florence, who would have been proud to have worn her upon, yea, within their bosoms, but they feared that so much sweetness and innocence were not for them. And even while they looked on with admiring hesitation, one bolder and ruder, and unworthy, stepped rudely forward, and plucked the lovely blossom from its bending stem. I say unworthy, because he was incapable of understanding the nature and wants of a heart like that which beat in the bosom of Florence R- The world calls him a good husband. And yet he is breaking the heart of his sweet wife. It is only a few weeks since I met her in the street. She had just stepped from their elegant carriage, and was attired in garments of the richest fabric and manufacture. But, oh, how thin and pale, and heart-broken was her face.

"Mrs. seems in very bad health," an old friend remarked to me, at the moment.

I said "Yes." But I saw deeper than he did." Ill health, and the suffering and confinement incident to maternal duties, sadly mar a woman's beauty, and weaken and attenuate her frame-but they never give to her face such an expression as that which rests upon the countenance of Mrs.

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"Does he treat her unkindly?" I asked. "The world would exonerate him fully from any such charge," was the old man's reply. He is not unkind, as it is called, but indifferent. He provides her with all the external appliances of happiness, but he does not love her."

"Does not love his wife!" I exclaimed "How could he help loving one whose character is such as you have described?"

"How few families there are," I said, after a few moments, "as you have justly re-in surprise. marked, the happiness of which has not been destroyed by the marriage of a much loved and fondly cherished daughter and sister to "He does not love her, because he is incaone all unworthy of the heart whose best af-pable of loving any thing half so well as himfections had been poured out upon him like self. He thinks that he is as much attached water." to her as any men are to their wives, and, in providing for all her external comforts, and meeting all her expressed wants, imagines that he is fully acting a husband's part. And she, conscious that all the deep yearnings of her heart for love's pure reciprocations, are wasted, like water poured upon desert sands, shrinks within herself, and lets the principle of life, as a flame turned back upon itself, waste and grow dimmer every hour.

"The misery arising from this cause," the old man said, "is incalculable. Nor does it always show itself in the extreme external changes that have marked Flora T's sad history. I could take you to many houses, fine houses too, and richly arrayed within, where hearts are breaking in the iron grasp of a husband's unfeeling hand, that contracts with a slow, torturing cruelty, keeping its victim lingering day after day, week after. week, month after month, and year after year, looking and longing for the hour when

"As I thus look back through a period of some twenty, thirty, and forty years," continued the old man, "noting the changes that

HISTORICAL COLLECTIONS.

THE TORY GALLANT.

A STORY OF THE REVOLUTION.

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"Show that gentleman to the best room." Aye, aye, sir!" cried the little Ruggles, who had caught his father's phrases. It was

The officer was accommodated. early in the afternoon that he had arrived there, and after tea he took a short ride for the purpose of looking at the village, particularly, he said, in order that he might obtain a glimpse of the surrounding scenery from the hill yonder. He had written his name on the tavern register, and there it was in a wonderful flourish and parade of penmanship Captain George Fudge," etc.

In the Revolutionary War, while the British forces were in possession of the city of New York, a young officer rode up to an inn which he had been credibly informed was tinctured with toryism, although it was forty miles from the city. He rode a beautiful horse that seemed perfectly trained to his service, and his dress was neat and trimmed to an unusual degree. What with a regular face and fair complexion, a red coat, and trimmed as if it were but a day old, buff small clothes and boots in a military style, an a snow white plume that nodded over his brow, he was an object to entrap a whole coterie of damsels, and to bring every man to bay, Whig or Tory, long enough to get "one look at him." He dismounted, gave his "I've hardly had a chance," said the landhorse to an ostler, and stepped up the plat-lord, "to ask the news, sir; I 'spose there's form. something stirring."

On returning to the inn he seated himself upon the platform where the landlord and a few tavern loungers were collected as usual, at sunset.

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Aye, aye, sir, New York's safe enough I 'spose."

"Bless me! we live luxuriously in that city. We have balls and parties, and parties and balls. It would be refreshing, 'pon honor, to have a little fighting as well as dancing."

The landlord was a stoutly built man, hav- "Why, indeed," replied the officer, slaping high cheek bones and rather a large ping his small clothes with his glove, "the mouth; but these marks of physiognomy, rebels talk as loud as ever; but 'pon honor we which might indicate a choleric and sensual have little to do in the way of our profession, character, were opposed by the double ex--you understand me?" pression that lurked in his small blue eyes, a trait that would puzzle an entire stranger who would strike his purse upon a conjecture of his real character. He saw at once that the stranger was fully aware of his own importance as a British officer, and treated him accordingly. The officer, as we have said, had been informed that the landlord was a Tory, although the Whigism of the village made it imprudent for him to blaze it abroad. "By no means, landlord. I was at LexMoreover, there were two or three brotherington, indeed I was so-so early in the war officers lodging in the next town whom he had as that. I should have done something there, left behind; "being anxious," as he after- had it not been for the sly and unsoldier-like wards said, "to pass a few days in this charm-conduct of the rebels-you understand me?— ing hamlet, and to ascertain those particulars I have had five horses shot under me-leaped in regard to the fairer portion of its population which every gallant is bound to note upon the tablet of his recollections."

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Ha, landlord," said he, as he caught a glimpse of his host.

"You are too young, sir, I 'spose to have seen a great deal of hard service?"

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four six bar fences just ahead of a bulletshot twenty-one men, stabbed eleven-ali standing-hand to hand-indeed I have."

Here the loungers were gaping with wonder and curiosity, but Mr. Ruggles maintain"Your servant, sir!" was the host's reply.ed his grave dubious physiognomy. We ought to have mentioned our landlord's name before, but we hate interlining; so here it is: Eliakim Ruggles.

"Why at a skirmish near Boston," continued the captain, "I was taken prisoner, but the scales turned. I saw a stout regiment "I think it probable, landlord," said the of of ours not far off-knocked e guard down ficer, "that I can find accommodation within-brushed by another ran a gauntlet along your house for a transient visit a few days- a sharp fire of musketry-swam a strong you understand me.” current, and mounted Bucephalus at the head of our gallant company-indeed I did, landlord; you understand me?"

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Aye, aye, sir, as long as your honor pleases."

"And give your eye, landlord, to that Bucephalus of mine: you understand me." "Sir?"

Not long after this, Capt. Fudge called the landlord aside, and after some conversation was heard to say

"You will procure me, landlord, the privilege of paying my respects to Miss Wheeler, although her father is, you say, a Whig." "All right, sir," replied the landlord. The fact was our captain in his ride had caught a glimpse of a young lady, the daughter of Mr. Wheeler, in the neighborhood of the tavern. He applied to the landlord for his assistance in obtaining an introduction to the family, although he almost despaired of overcoming the obstacles which the Whigism of the father would probably throw in the way of an intimate acquaintance with his daughter. The recollection which the captain had of personal beauty and his power over the sex prevented any doubt in his mind as to his success in the subsequent points, provided he could once obtain an opportunity of employing his address.

At this time a small detatchment of American soldiers lay at no great distance from the village, and this circumstance the landlord well knew. Captain Fudge, however, was not aware of it, and if he had been, would have relied upon his own troops, which he had left a few miles off, and his fellow of ficers who were engaged yet nearer to him in such recreation as the time permitted.

ed, with a rope and pulley for the purpose of raising heavy burthens.

The captain rightly thought it impossible to obtain the sanction of her father to the wishes he had no doubt the daughter entertained in common with himself, and had therefore deliberately hinted to her, after he thought himself sufficiently master of her heart, the plan of admitting him by means of the pully and basket, into the other part of the store and then to her chamber. He was not surprised when, after some becoming maidenly hesitation, she intimated her assent to his proposal; for he had endeavoured to secure the intercession of the landlord in his favor; and his own attractions of themselves without the eulogium of his host, he thought sufficient to secure his success. He had concealed it from her father, yet he wondered that the stern Whig should so civilly have tolerated his frequent visits at his house.

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The night came. Beneath the beam stood Captain Fudge, and he deposited himself in his flushed expectations, standing half open, a basket. High above him was the door of and partially disclosing the figure of his conquered victim. He cast up one delightful look, twitched the rope, and the basket mounted. It is at the beam; there is but a The landlord procured for him the desired step to the door; he raises himself to take it introduction. The father was cold but toler--but the door is closed: the rope is firm. ably civil, and the daughter was declared by 'Pon honor," muttered the Captain; "if the captain to be the most victorious rebel it were not a fine evening, this would be unhe had met with in two campaigns! After fortunate! I would not wait: but I must his first visit he made the landlord aware of though. Cut it? no, no; what a tumble; the character of his design towards Miss ugh! Stay here all night! 'pon honor! My Wheeler. His plans were laid and his visits dear!" he continued, raising his voice so as were continued nearly a week with what to be heard at the door: "my dear, just open seemed to the suitor a manifest advantage to the door, you understand me?" He stopped his purpose. His scheme was confided only in the basket to rest himself, casting anxious to the landlord, Mr. Ruggles. One or two looks in every direction to devise some esshrewd neighbors conjectured the existence cape, but in vain. of some special interests between them, but A cloud came over the moon, and brought these had no other reasons for it than their others in its trail. A few big drops of rain having noticed in the conversation between pattered on the basket. The captain would them, a slight and momentary shade passing have rescued his plume from the misfortune over the usually hard and unchanging fea of being wet, but he could not hide it, and it tures of the landlord, like the shadows of a soon dropped as the rain began to beat upon cloud driven by the wind over a field of it, and upon the unfortunate gallant, whose wheat. Meanwhile he had left the village curly hair it adorned. for a day or two-upon what business was not known to the captain-and on his return he hastened his schemes to their consummation. The details were entrusted to his care, and he arranged them with Miss Wheeler to her satisfaction, and the captain's, so far as he was aware of them.

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How it does rain!" muttered the neighbors to themselves or to their spouses, as they lay on their beds and heard their reviving sound. "How it does rain!" thought the unfortunate captain. Well was it for him that the basket had the excellent qualities which the Irishman in the canal ascribed to his boots, that of letting the water out as fast as they let it in.

The shop of Mr. Wheeler formed a part of his house, and stood on a corner, so that the windows of both looked upon a street. It is just morning, and the topers are abroad, In the second story of the shop, there was a and those who rise early for better reasons. door for taking in goods, placed between the" Look there," cried one, "what's the basket windows, and over this door a beam project-there for, with a feather in it?" The cap