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and commented on its beauties, a distressing conviction seized the mind of Laura, that they
should no more visit that spot in company.—||
This she expressed to Eustace, upon whose mind, a class of emotions of the most crushing influence,descended with the intelligence. They passed on. The angle of a copse was crossed by them; a narrow pass required Eustace's assistance—it was given;–every touch, every look, was now thrillingly felt.— Their friend was still skipping on in front of them, through a scented field of clover flowers. They still followed, and as they passed, a declaration, chaste as it was sincere, met the ear of Laura, while a reciprocity of feeling was experienced and expressed. Time rolled on, and still their affection grew, when an unexpected circumstance arose, and pointed to a period, not far distant, when that which to each of them appeared but as the prelude of death, separation — must take place. The effect produced upon the constitution of Eustace was not less deep and destructive, although less perceptible, than on the delicate frame of Laura. The
time drew rapidly only, with, in appearance to
them, unusual celerity—one day only intervened when the painful farewell sound was to be heard. That day they walked again over the ground which they had before walked in company, and for the last time, visited some spots on which memory had affixed a signet never to be obliterated. The shades of evening gathered—night came on—the last chaste embrace was given—their hands seemed unable to let go their hold of each other—but they parted. The adieu was felt, rather than heard. They parted forever!— Morning dawned again, but not as formerly for Eustace and Laura. He took one, long, long look at her window, and then rushed to the conveyance which was to bear him far, flow from her who was dear to his heart, and, “Midst earth's gay millions lov'd alone.”
The distress of mind under which Laura had labored, during the hours of the past night, had so far overcome her, that her enfeebled system was sunk in profound sleep at the time of Eustace's departure: but when at length the obvious influence of slumber wore off she awoke to all the anguish of a mind to which, now, no earthly specific could be applied. She arose, and as the painful conviction pressed upon her, that every passing moment bore Eustace still farther and farther from her, an agony almost insupportable was borne by her. She looked back to the past evening, to the comparative happiness she enjoyed while in his company, and then dwelling once more upon her present bereaved state, clasped her hands, and sighed out, as
The Landscape at Home.
she paced her room, “O, what a change will not a few hours effect " Once, after Eustace's arrival at the place of his destination, Laura received from him information of the fact. He endeavored to console, but the unmanageable wildness of his own anguish was too plainly discoverable in the disjointed epistle which he furnished, to be passed over. Affliction is keen sighted, and Laura's eye, naturally so, now became doubly penetrating. Eustace directed her to |Him who is a “very present help in time of solo. and to his protection and blessing |recommended her. The comfort was received, but the consolation could not save a shat. tered frame—she drooped for a few weeks, sunk, and died . By her express desire, a journal of her own keeping was forwarded, through a friend, to Eustace. He pressed the pledge of undying affection to his bosom, and, in a short period after its arrival, his spirit followed Laura's, in the full assurance of faith, into that world,
And still I will hope, that as time rolls around,
That a pure hour of happiness yet will be found–
A Wom AN may be of great assistance to her husband, in business, by wearing a cheerful smile continually upon her countenance. A man's perplexities and gloominess are increased a hundred fold when his better half moves about with a continual scowl upon her brow.
No false pride, or foolish ambition to appear as well as others, should ever induce a person to live beyond the income of which he is cer
Scraps of Thought—-The Shipwrecked Mariner restored.
For the Ladies' Garland.
Sweet, unutterably sweet, are the hallowed ties of friendship and of love. Though the band, which unites two kindred spirits, is softer than a silken girdle, yet the union is more firm than the deep-laid foundations of our cloud capped mountains—these shall “melt with fervent heat” and disappear amid the desolation of matter and the downfall of the doomed universe—but that shall endure fresh and vigorous, as primeval spring, as long as a spark of immortality remains. Imperishable as the glorious natures it binds, itshall resist the fearful shocks of ruin which will demolish the universe and overturn the empire of man. Death cannot break it. He may rob us of the bodies of our beloved ones—he may ruthlessly tear them from our embrace and drag them to the solitude of his own dark chambers, but the deathless affection triumphs over separation, and the band of union is unbroken. The departed hovers, on pinions of celestial growth, over the dwelling of the living, and, like a guardian angel, watches over their safety. The living feel the proximity of the dead, and in the silence of the evening hour hold mysterious communion with their sainted friends. They seem floating on the bosom of the clouds, and every murmuring zephyr seems vocal with their voice of invitation to the bareaved, bidding them hasten to the happy home of the virtuous and the pure. The wheels of time bear them rapidly to the dark borders of eternity—a pain—a struggle—a pang, and dropping their afflicted bodies they soar to better climes, and soon are met by their exulting friends who conduct them to abodes of ineffable bliss; their union is then complete and indissoluble beyond the power of accident or evil—its endurance shall be coequal with the throne and empire of Deity. Thrice happy are the possessors of such a love, for though poor as Lazarus they have a treasure worth more than all the wealth of Golconda's mine.
A Massachusetts vessel from Charleston, bound to Norfolk, when a short time out was capsized; but upon cutting the lanyards, the masts went by the board, and she righted.— Six days afterwards she was fallen in with by a Russian vessel, the crew taken off and carried to Europe. The friends of the crew had long given them up as lost, when lo! a letter arrived informing them of their safety.
The Poet has seized the moment when the supposod widow in her weeds, while telling her son the cause of her grief, receives the joyful news of her long mourned husband's safety.
THE WRECKED MARINER RESTORED
“Mother, oh, tell me why you weep— Why watch you when all others sleep— Why turns your eye tow'rds yonder sea, When tempests shroud the rocky lee— Why start you at the post man's bell— Why heave that sigh! Dear mother, tell.
“I weep for one you never knew;
“'Twas on a lovely eve, when high
“Soon to the breeze his sail he spread,
“Long have I watched with aching breast
“Deep wrapt within his sea-weed shroud,
“But, mother, do not weep so now;
“Overlook Nothing”—The Devoted Wife.
The celebrated Talleyrand is said to have adopted in early life the above sentiment as his device, and to have strictly adhered to it throughout the whole course of his long and eventful public career. And surely no man whose name history has given, has more fully and strikingly than himself, verified the remark of another of his distinguished countrymen, “that there is no mischance which a clever man may not turn to his own advantage.” Talleyrand always kept his eyes open, turned every thing to the best account, and contrived, with singular sagacity and success, to make every breeze waft him onward, and every event, however untoward, <ontribute to his advancement.
And we cannot help thinking that the possession or want of a habit of accurate observation—a fixed purpose “to overlook nothing,” perseveringly adhered to, occasions not a few of the great differences which we notice Yetween different individuals. Some men seem to go through the world with their eyes shut—others keep them always open. The latter, at every step, are adding to their stock of knowledge, and correcting and improving their judgment by experience and observation. They keep their minds ever awake, and active, and on the alert—gathering instruction from every occurrence, watching for favorable opportunities, and seeking, if possible, to turn even their failures and mischances to their advantage. Such persons will rarely have occasion to say, “I have lost a day,”—or
the careless it will seem at best but a blank, or perhaps a scene of confusion, “without form or comeliness,” possessing little to excite curiosity or admiration.
To the young especially would we recom|mend habits of close and careful observation. |We would say to them, “overlook nothing.” Do not despise the day of small things. Endeavor to turn the leisure time you may have —the money you may earn or inherit—the privileges you may enjoy, in short, every thing to the best possible account. Take care of the minutes and cents, and the hours and dollars will take care of themselves. He who learns to regard his leisure moments as valueless, and habitually squanders for trifles the small sums of money he may have, because they are small—will never be learned nor rich. The secret of success is to be careful of little things.
In the awful disaster which befel the Pulaski, many incidents of the most thrilling nature occurred—among others, one which deserves commemoration, as showing the inestimable value of woman's love, is faintly described in the following verses. “There was among the passengers a young married pair, who were separated from each other— the wife who was on deck, called repeatedly on the name of her husband, crying, “My dear, where are you!” Her husband answered from amid the waves. She shrieked —“I come, my love!” and springing upon the taffail, leaped into the sea, and they perished together!”
The radiant stars were shining out,
As the gallant barque pursued her route,
Hush'd was the roaring tempest's voice,
And each there felt his heart rejoice,
The midnight came, its gentle breath Betokened placid sleep;
When sudden rose the wail of death, O'er the surrounding deep.
A burst like thunder simote the air, Then came that thrilling cry;
And ev'ry heart stood still with fear, Thus suddenly to die.
Oh God! It was a fearful sight. To see them meet their doom;
Sunday in the Country.
But let as away into the far, far country : Into the still, pure, unadulterated country.— Ah! here indeed is a Sabbath : What a sunny peace, what a calm yet glad repose, lies on its fair hills, over its solemn woods. How its flowery dales and deep secluded valleys, reflect the holy tranquility of heaven. It is morning, and the sun comes up the sky as if he knew it was a day of universal pause in the workings of the world: he shines over the glittering dews, and green leaves, and ten thousand blossoms; and the birds fill the blue fresh air with a rapture of music.— The earth looks new and beautiful as on the day of its creation: but it is as full of rest as if it drew near its close, all its revolutions past, all its turbulence hushed, all its mighty griefs healed, its mysterious destinies accomplished; and the light of eternity about to break over it with a new and imperishable power. Man rests from his labors and every thing rests with him. There lie the weary steeds that having dragged the chain and smarted under the lash; that have pulled the plough and the ponderous wagon, or flown over hill and dale at man's bidding; there they lie on the side of the sunny field; and the very sheep and cattle seem imbued with their luxurious enjoyment of rest. The farmer has been walking in his fields, looking over this gate and that fence, into enclosures mottled with grass like a carpet, or rich green
corn growing almost visibly, at his cattle, and the shady quiet of his house. And it is a shady quiet. The sunglances about its porch, and flickers amongst the leaves on the wall, and the sparrows chirp and fly to and fro; but the dog lies and slumbers on the step of the door, or only raises his head to snap at the flies that molest him—the very cat, coiled up on a sun-bright border of the garden, sleeps voluptuously; within all is cleanness and rest. There is none of the running and racketing of the busy week day; the pressing of curds, and the shaping and turning of cheese; the rolling of a barrel churn and the scouring of pails; the ...; and slopping, and working and chattering, and scolding of dairy-maids; all that can be dispensed with; and what must be done, is quietly, and is early away. There is a clean cool parlor; the open windowslets in the odor of the garden, the yet cool and delicious odor, and the hum of bees, flowersstandin their pots in the window; gathered flowers stand on the breakfast table; and the farmer's comely wife, already dressed for the day,+ as she sees him come in, sits down to pour out his coffee. Over the croft-gate the laborers are leaning, talking of the last week's achievements, and those of the week to come; and in many a cottage garden, the cottagers, with their wives and children, are wandering up and down admiring the growth of this and that, and every one settles in his own mind, that his cabbages and peas and beans, are the best in the whole country; and that as for the currants and gooseberries, apricots and straw| berries, there never were such crops since |trees and bushes grew.
| But the bells ring out from the old church tower. The parson issuing from his peasant parsonage; groups of peasantry are already seen streaming over the upland towards the village; in the lanes gay ribbons and Sunday gowns glance from between the trees; and every house sends forth its inhabitants to worship. Blessings on the old gray fabrics that stand on many a hill, and in many a lowly hollow, all over this beloved country; for, much as we reprobate that system of private o: political patronage by which unqualified, unholy, and unchristian men have sometimes been thrust into their ancient pulpits, I am of Sir Walter Scott's opinion, that no places are so congenial to the holy simplicity of the Christian worship as they are. They have an air of antiquity about them,-and stand so venerably amid the most English scenes, and the tombs of the generations of the dead, that we cannot enter them without having our im|agination and our heart fully impressed with |every feeling and thought that can make us love our country and yet feel that it is not our abiding place. Those antique arches, those low massy doors, were raised in day
Sunday in the Country.
that are long gone by, around the walls, nay,
holy tranquility, in which twilight drops down
A pleasant cheerful WIFE is as a rainbow set in the sky when her husband's mind is tossed with storms and tempests, but a dissatisfied and fretful wife, in the hour of trouble, is like one of those who were appointed to torture lost spirits.
Look only to your own interests; enter not into the cabals, disputes or quarrels of others.