No. 4. The Wanderer's Return. 51 the light of a pious and unoffending martyr. the scenes of his young exploits, his early The same crown of martyrdom, would have loves, his long-lost happiness, were about rewarded Audeley the same; and can it be to be spread before his gaze, yielding to the that even death can assimilate a Hampden, torrent of his feelings, he stirred his charger a Sidney, or a Russel, to the tyrant who has with the spur, and dashed up the long and undergone, for his crimes or his folly, what broken ascent, now plunging through mire they might have encountered in the holiest fetlock-deep, now striking dust and flame cause which can inspire the eloquence of the from the bare rock, as madly as though the orator, or nerve the warrior's arm-the cause avenger of blood were on his track. The of liberty. In her cause would Audeley top was gained, and beneath him lay have fallen, had he not by a timely flight stretched in far perspective the lovely vale, escaped from the tender mercies of the star with the thousand windings of its broad chamber, and the procession and pomp of river, here glancing like silver to the mornTower Hill. A fishing boat conveyed him ing sun, there creeping away in silent ripacross the channel, but not before he had ples under the shadow of bank and thicket. received the tidings-as if it were not Cold must be the feelings, or heavy the enough of calamity, to be hunted like a felon || heart of him who would not linger and turn from the country he would have died to save again to gaze on so fair a valley, bounded -that he was disowned by the father of his by the heath-clad hill and blue mountain, youth, abandoned and forgotten by the be- rich in the luxuriance of cornfield and pastrothed of his affections. Years had passed ture, embossed with dark tracts of woodaway-flying with the speed of the hurri- land, and broken by coppice-like hedgerows, cane, or lagging with the pace of the tor- whilst here and there the castellated dwelltoise-still they had passed away. The free ings of many a noble baron frowned from hearts of England had shaken off one op- some bolder height, or the Gothic arches of pressor, had striven through years of slaugh- monastic pile, or lowly hermitage, peeped ter to regain their freedom, merely that when forth from the dense foilage of embowering gained, it might be again surrendered to ano- glade, or sunny upland. Cold must be the ther despot; and changed a king for a pro- heart, even of a stranger, who could gaze tector, and a protector again for a king. The on such a scene, without feeling his bosom son of the martyr was again in the high glow with love towards his kind, and gratiplace of his ancestors, filling the halls-tude to the Creator and giver of every good which had been flooded by the gore of the faithful followers of his race, aye! of his own sire; the halls, which had since witnessed the unexampled rise, and enlightened policy, the hypocrisy or the enthusiasm, of earth's mightiest usurper-with unblushing riot and more than Babylonian debauchery. Years had passed away since the nocturnal flight of Audeley, yet no tidings of his adventures, or even of his existence had transpired, his very memory had perished, -and now, spared by the tempests of the deep,-escaped from the stake and the scalp-willing bride of another; or perhaps reing knife of the savage,-unscathed by the moved even farther from his reach, in the. lightnings of the tropical tornado, and un- silent and shadowy regions of the grave. wounded by the yet deadlier bolt of war's His heart rose into his throat, he struggled artillery-the wanderer stood again on his for breath, as he checked his panting courser native earth, viewed again the green hills on the brow; the memory of past hopes and beautiful haunts of his childhood, jour-and joys crowded on his brain, faster even neyed again to his paternal roof, with scarce than the images of the gorgeous view an expectation of finding a hand to greet, an thronged on his eye:—where was the spirit eye to recognize, or a heart to welcome the that could quail to no earthly calamity now; wanderer, long-lost and now returned, him where now the stubborn resolution, which who had been as it were dead, and lo! he is had looked unmoved on the faggot and toragain alive. As mile after mile of his jour-tures of the Indian; where now the boasted ney receded behind him, his features grad-stoicism which had borne its disciple through ually lost their composure, in an impatient and excited expression, and his eye became anxious. At length, when the last hill alone was interposed between him and the place of his birth; the hill from whose summit and perfect gift. What then must have been the feelings of Francis Audeley as he gazed over that familiar landscape, unchanged and lovely still, when all but the face of nature was changed and gloomy? he saw beneath him the woods which had rung a thousand times to his joyous shout; the creeks and eddies of the stream, where he had mimicked in boyish sport the voyages of olden time; the lanes, where he had wandered many a moonlight eve, and whispered his ardent pleadings of love, to one, now the danger, pain, and sorrow, tearless and unflinching? The indignation of the exile, the pride of the soldier, the coldness of the philosopher, had vanished in an instant, ab||sorbed in the mightier emotions of nature; 52 The Wanderer's Return. VOL. 1. a fleeting moment had changed the crafty language the absence of the careful hand of politician, the deeply-read student, the uni-man. By and bye the road emerged into the versal traveler, the citizen of the world, open lawn, whose carpet had been as soft into a mere man, as subject to his passions, and smooth as the velvets of Genoa, now as susceptible to his affections, as simple- broken up, heaped with rubbish, flourishing hearted in his emotions, as the child who with the rank vegetation of years; and to pours forth his first sobs and lamentation on crown the whole, the castle, the birth-place the bosom of its mother. Francis Audeley of every Audeley since the conquest of the wept, he sat immoveable, with the large Norman William, the boasted inheritance of tears coursing one another down his cheeks, warriors and statesmen, the proud domain of unwet for years by such a visitation, while a line which yielded not in pride or power the large grayhound gazed with an almost to England's noblest, stood a shivered pile human expression of intelligence at the un- of blackening and dismantled ruin. There wonted workings of his master's counte- needed no historian's voice to tell the soldier, nance; till at last, whether in weariness of by what fell agency such desolation had the protracted halt, or in sympathy with been wrought; the mighty sons of the forfeelings beyond the scope of his instinct, he est which had stood unharmed for ages, sprang almost to the face of the rider, with felled from their stations,-lest they should a cry between a howl and a bark, and, dart- || shield a foeman from the iron shower,-the ing down the hill, disappeared among the pierced and battered walls,-the ground yet shrubs which clothed its rugged sides. torn and channeled by shell or shot,-all Roused from his revery by the clamor of the marked the unrelenting hand of war. Words hound, Audeley dashed the tear-drop from could not have spoken more plainly to the his eye, mastered the swellings of his heart, mind of Audeley,-his father had defended and pursued his path as stately and collected, his dwelling against the ironsides of Oliver, as if he had never yielded the government -defended it for the thankless tyrant, who of his soul to the violence of everwhelming had set a price on the head of his son; depassion. Another mile placed him before fended it, but to perish with the honored the entrance of his paternal domain. A habitation of his race, amidst the downfall towered gate-house, with large wickets of of the cause he had espoused. He stood a ornamental iron work, had formerly given few moments in silence; bound his horse to a access to the wide chase which surrounded solitary tree, which had survived the wreck the mansion, but now all was changed,- of its prostrate brethren, and passed under a the stained glass which had adorned the yawning archway into the scathed and roofnarrow casements was gone, the shattered less halls. The ruin was complete, not a stairframes flapped and creaked in every blast; || case or a ceiling had escaped, not a painted the battlements had been hurled to the wall, not a fretted cornice remained to tell ground, and a part of the solid masonry had the visiter its tale of former magnificence. yielded as it seemed to violence. Of two Even the eye of Audeley could scarcely devast oaks, which had formerly spread their fine the sites, or his memory distinguish the gigantic arms on either side of the entrance, separate apartments, once so familiar. He one had been hewn from its very roots, sat down for a while on the base of a fallen while the rugged bark and splintered limbs pillar, and covering his face with his hands, of the other seemed to have suffered from a mused deeply; ere long, however, he was ⚫ storm more fatal than that of the elements; roused by a sudden and violent rustling from the portal was obstructed only by a slight the dense thicket which had encroached and inartificial hurdle of saplings from the upon the precincts of the building; he rose forest, while the tall rank verdure had shot to his feet, his hand glanced instinctively aloft from every crevice of the pavement downward to the hilt of his rapier, and an within, and had even partially pushed the inch or two of the polished blade was albroad flagstones from their ancient founda- ready flashing from the scabbard, when a tions; within the grounds the scene was noble buck, bursting from the branches of if possible yet more dismal; the once trim the shrubbery, darted through a breach in ride through embowering plantations, now the walls, and bounded as if in mortal terror, covered with dark moss, and overflowed by across the deserted halls before the very every rill which had long since deviated face of their master. The gallant animal from its choked canal, showed no vestige had alrerdy traversed the court, another inof wheel or horse-track; the woodland un-stant would have seen him flying over the thinned, and neglected,-the trunks mould-open lawn, when suddenly he sprung high ering on the spot where they had fallen, the very tameness of the beasts of chace, which had hardly moved aside before the horse of the wanderer,-bespoke in audible into the air with all his feet, and pitching forwards, ploughed the soil with his branch ing antlers,-rolled over and over from the speed of his previous career, even after life No. 4. The Wife-How to choose a good Husband. had left the graceful limbs, and before the close report of fire-arms had announced the cause, was already lifeless. The whole occurrence did not occupy the time consumed in the recital. Audeley had not moved, scarcely even thought, before the deer had fallen by the aim of his unseen destroyer; he was still gazing, hardly conscious of what had passed, when the hunter made his appearance through the same portal to which the deer was bounding when arrested by the fatal bullet. To be Continued. THE WIFE. BY WASHINGTON IRVING. I have often had occasion to remark the fortitude with which women sustain the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity and elevation to their character, that at times it approaches sublimity. 53 subsistence; but chiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic endearments, and his self-respect kept alive by finding that though all abroad is darkness and humiliation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, of which he is the monarch. Whereas, a single man is apt to run to waste and self-neglect; to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin, like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant. When you see a young man of frugal and industrious habits, no fortune hunter,' but who would take a wife for the value of herself, and not for the sake of her wealth, that man will make a good husband; for his affections will not decrease, neither will he bring himself nor his parents to poverty or want. Nothing can be more touching, than to behold a soft and tender female, who had been all weakness and dependance, and alive to every trivial roughness, while treading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising in mental force to be the comforter When you see a young man whose manand supporter of her husband under misfor-ners are of the boisterous and disgusting tune, and abiding, with unshrinking firm-kind, with 'brass' enough to carry him any ness, the most bitter blasts of adversity. where, and vanity enough to make him think every one inferior to himself, don't marry him girls, he will not make a good husband. When you see a young man using his best endeavors to raise himself from. obscurity, to credit, character, and affluence, by his own merits, marry him; he will make a good husband, and one worth having. As the vine, which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak, and been lifted by it into sunshine, will when the hardy plant is rifled by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its shattered boughs; so it is beautifully ordered by Providence, that woman, who is the mere dependant and orna- When you see a young man depending ment of man in his happier hours, should be solely for his reputation and standing in his stay and solace when smitten with sud- society upon the wealth of his rich father, den calamity; winding herself into the or other relatives, don't marry him, for goodrugged recesses of his nature, tenderly sup-ness sake, he will make a poor husband. porting the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart. When you see a young man, always employed in adorning his person, or riding through the streets in gigs, who leaves his debts unpaid, although frequently demanded; never do you marry him, for he will in every I was once congratulating a friend, who had around him a blooming family, knit together in the strongest affection. "I can wish you no better lot," said he with en-respect make a bad husband. thusiasm, "than to have a wife and chil- When you see a young man who never dren. If you are prosperous, there they are engages in any affrays or quarrels by day. to share your prosperity; if otherwise, there nor follies by night, and whose dark black they are to comfort you." deeds are not of so mean a character as to And, indeed, I have observed, that a mar-make him wish to conceal his name; who ried man falling into misfortune, is more apt to retrieve his situation in the world than a single one; partly because he is more stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless beings who depend upon him for does not keep low company, nor break the Sabbath, nor use profane language, but whose face is seen regularly at church, where he ought to be, he will certainly make a good husband. 54 He was our Father's Darling-A Virgin Heart. When you see a young man who is below you in wealth, offer to marry you, don't deem it a disgrace, but look into his character; and if you find it corresponds to these directions, take him, and you will get a good husband. Never make money an object of marriage, for if you do, depend upon it, as a balance to the good you will get a bad husband. When you see a young man who is attentive and kind to his sisters or aged mother, who is not ashamed to be seen in the streets with the woman who gave him birth and nursed him, supporting her weak and tottering frame upon his arm, who will attend to all her little wants with filial love, affection and tenderness, take him girls, who can get him, no matter what his circumstances in life, he is truly worth the wincing and having, and will in certainty make a good husband. When a young man is known to visit taverns and ale-houses, or use strong drink even in the smallest degree-girls do not marry him, for if you do you will come to poverty and rags. Lastly. Always examine into character, conduct and motives, and when you find these good in a young man, then you may be sure he will make a good husband. HE WAS OUR FATHER'S He was our father's darling, Her life's untarnish'd light, Her vision'd hope of night. Were wild as mountain wind- He was our brother's treasure, A fair depending blossom, VOL. I. A thing to watch and cherish, He is a blessed angel, His home is in the sky- A bud of early doom, A. W. MESSENGER. A VIRGIN HEART. There is nothing under heaven so delicious as the possession of pure, fresh and immutable affection. The most felicitous moment of man's life, the most ecstatic of all his emotions and sympathies, it is that in which he receives an avowal of affection from the idol of his heart. The springs of feeling when in their youthful purity are fountains of unsealed and gushing tenderness; the spell that once draws them forth is the mystic light of future years and undying memory. Nothing in life is so pure and so devoted as woman's love. It matters not whether it be for husband or child, sister or brother, it is the same pure and unquenchable flame, the same constant and immaculate glow of feeling, whose undeniable touchstone is tried. Do but give her one token of love, one kind word or gentle look, even if it be amidst desolation and death, the feeling of that faithful heart will gush forth as a torrent, in despite of earthly bond or mercenary tie. More priceless than the gems of Golconda, is a virgin's heart, and more devoted than the idolatry of Mecca, is woman's love. There is no sordid view to gratify self interest in the feeling. It a principle and characteristic of her nature, a faculty and an infatuation which absorbs and concentrates all the fervor of her soul, and all the depths of her bosom. I would rather be the idol of one unsullied and unpractised heart, than the monarch of empires. I would rather possess the immediate impassioned devotion of one high souled and enthusiastic virgin, than the mere sycophant fawnings of millions. There is more thrilling felicity derived from the union of two guiltless and uncontaminated hearts, than all the conquests of Alexander, the wisdom of Socrates, or the wealth of Croesus would afford. The general world know nothing of these things. None can appreciate the refinement of pure feelings, but those who by nature, or some peculiar property of the mind, are No. 4. Female Influence-New England-Language of Flowers. 55 qualified to drink of the depths of its gushing || and sparkling fountains. None can know the elysium of possessing a heart until they know the value of a gem so priceless-until they can think of its embodying something too holy to be mingled with the grosser images of passion and humanity-until they at last imagine a seraphic spirit clothed with imperishable mortality. When this wild dream mingles with the colder and more calculating visions of life; the world may put forth its anathemas, misfortune may shower down its adversities, but all in vain-even the sword of Israel (the angel of death) would scarcely destroy the unutterable ecstacies of this Heaven-descended happiness. NEW ENGLAND. By every recollection dear, By friendship's hallowed tie, New England-dear New England, I may not climb the misty hills, But by the bright autumnal sky, I will remember thee! Though in the far and sunny south, FEMALE INFLUENCE. Every where throughout the circle of her intercourse, her influence is felt like the dew of heaven, gentle, silent and unseen; yet pervading and efficient. But in the domestic circle its power is concentrated; and is like the life giving beams of the sun; awakening, illustrating, and almost creating the moral aspect of the scene. To speak first of the filial relation-none can conceive how much a daughter may promote the comfort, and the moral benefit of her parents, but those who have seen the female character exhibited under the influence of an enlightened understanding and an improved heart; which, by their mutual action, have produced the most extended views of duty with the strongest desire to fulfil it. As a sister, a female may exert a most important influence. With no strong counteracting circumstances, she may give what features she pleases to the moral and intellectual character of those with whom she is connected in this relation. All the sweet endearments of mutual affection and confidence will give weight to her influence. An intelligent, high-aiming female, of a well dis-L ANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. ciplined mind and pious heart, has been known to give a much higher cast of character, attainment, and condition, to a large circle of brothers and sisters, than they would otherwise have received. But it is as a mother, that woman has all the powers with which the munificence of her Divine Benefactor has endowed her, matured to their highest perfection, and exercised in their greatest strength. Open your heart to sympathy, but close it to despondency. The flower which opens to receive the dew, shuts against rain. And when from weary wanderings, (And false she cannot be,) We this week present emblematic significations of several of the most common Howers, &c., and such whose meaning is deemed most interesting. There are, it must be borne in mind, various significations given to the same flowers, by different persons or authors, yet we believe the following to be the most correct, and most current too. From the list given, it can easily be perceived, that by skillfully forming nose-gays of dif ferent flowers, entire sentences may very readily be expressed.-[Eds. Telescope. Almond tree. Indiscretion. Amaranth. Immmortality. |