where's the use of being forever washing one's hands? Every time I go out, the ould lady in the kitchen is for making me temper the stove and lift some of them smoky boilers."

Mrs. Chancy shook her head to silence him. "What d'ye plase to say ma'am?" he asked, not taking the hint, and in rather a louder tone, at which one or two of the gentlemen smiled, and Rosetta giggled.

Mrs. Chancy now felt herself obliged to apologize for some of the dishes, and her husband, with regard to her feelings, was kind enough to assist her by saying, that any deficiencies must be attributed to the cook not having got into the way of managing the stove.

neglected to have it swept, and serious danger was now apprehended. The day was windy, and large masses of burning soot were blown about the roof. The boys in the street immediately raised the alarm, the nearest firebell rang, and in a few minutes three or four engines were rattling around the house. The fire was soon extinguished, but the damage did not end with it. There had been a dearth of conflagrations for some time; and the youths who had been so prompt to save the house, in their delight to show off their engines, continued to pour floods of water, not only down the kitchen chimney, until every thing in their way, the stove excepted, was ready to swim, but down that of the back parlor also, and Mrs. Chancy's elegant new carpet and needle-worked rug sustained such an injury as could never be remedied.

The second course having come on, Arthur, who had been bringing it in, after depositing the last article, asked, in another of his whispers, "How long 'll it take ye, ma'am, Of course, to return to dinner after such a till ate up this tableful? The ould lady wants turmoil was not to be thought of, and the genme till go intil the cellar and split her a fag-tlemen, after waiting until they saw their engot of pine to poke among the stone-coal and tertainers out of danger, took their hats and keep it a-going, or the pies 'll be dried intil their leave. water crackers."

Again Mrs. Chancy shook her head, at which Arthur again demanded, "What d'ye plase to say ma'am?"

"It is all your fault, Mr. Chancy, with your abominable stove!" exclaimed Mrs. Chancy, as soon as the guests had retired, easing her fright and her vexation, as it is common for ladies to do, by a hearty fit of crying; 66 you have turned off my servants, half killed me with labor, ruined my temper, disgraced my housekeeping, and now given me this terrible fright; I shall never get over it!"

Then came another course as bad as those preceding, and, to increase her vexation, Mrs. Chancy noticed that Arthur had brought in knives more discolored than those he had taken away. She ordered him, in a low voice, to "bring the clean ones." "These Mr. Chancy did not gainsay her reare the clane ones, Mestress Chauncy," he proaches; but the next day he quietly had returned, this time forgetting to whisper at his invention removed from the kitchen, and all; "I upset the vinegar on them when I the former stove restored to its place. Though was saving the turkey from bein' drounded he did not acknowledge it even to himself, by the soup and forgot till scour them, when but blamed all the mischances on the obtusethe ould lady put me at paaling the last dig-ness of his household, he was convinced that gin of potaties." the mere desire to be thought a genius is not alone sufficient to make one. He did not stop here, but recalled Alexander, paid Prudy's doctor's bill, and brought her back; and the next time he gave a dinner, though it was not prepared with the expectation of a newspaper puff, he had the satisfaction of knowing that it well deserved one.

Mrs. Chancy once more shook her head, and Arthur replied, for the third time, which, indeed, proved the charm, for, fearing farther communications, she ordered him from the room, "What d'ye plase to say, ma'am?" and, as he was going, he added to Rosetta, who, as he passed her, in an energetic whisper, explained his fault, "Hould your tongue, ye jade! d'ye think I have till be tached my manners by a nagur?"

His exit, however, was not final. In a few minutes he came rushing back, exclaiming, "Presarve us, Mester Chauncy! och, murther! the chembly's a-fire, and we'll all be burnt out of house and home! och, that stove! the ould boy's in it, to a sartainty!" and Mr. Chancy flew to the kitchen. The guests hastened to the windows, and, in truth, beheld volumes of thick smoke, with a dusky blaze, bursting from the chimney. Mr. Chancy, in his impatience to set up his stove, had

SINGING BIRDS.

Every copse

Deep tangled, tree irregular, and bush
Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads
Of the coy choristers that lodge within,
Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush
And wood-lark, o'er the kind contending throng
Superior heard, run through the sweetest length
Of notes; when listening Philomela deigns
To let them joy, and purposes, in thought
Elate, to make her night excel the day.

THOMSON.

the Prussians to decide the fortunes of the

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. field.

BY WASHINGTON IRVING.

I have spoken heretofore with some levity of the contrast that exists between the English and French character, but it deserves more serious consideration. They are the two great nations of modern times most diametrically opposed, and most worthy of each other's rivalry; essentially distinct in their characters, excelling in opposite qualities, and reflecting lustre on each other by their very opposition. In nothing is this contrast more strikingly evinced than in their military conduct. For ages have they been contending, and for ages have they crowded each other's history with acts of splendid heroism.

Take the battle of Waterloo, for instance, the last and most memorable trial of their rival prowess. Nothing could surpass the brilliant daring on one side, and the steadfast endurance on the other. The French cavalry broke like waves on the compact squares of the English infantry. They were galloping around those serried walls of men, seeking in vain for an entrance, tossing their arms in the air in the heat of their enthusiasm, and braving the whole front of the battle. The British troops, on the other hand, forbidden to move or fire, stood firm and enduring. Their columns were ripped up by cannonry, while rows were swept down at a shot; the survivors closed their ranks, and stood through the pelting of the iron tempest without firing a shot, without any action to stir their blood or excite their spirits. Death thinned their ranks, but could not shake their souls.

It was several years afterward that I visited the field of Waterloo. The ploughshare had been busy with its oblivious labors, and the frequent harvest had nearly obliterated the vestiges of war. Still the blackened ruins of the Hugumont stood, a monumental pile, to mark the violence of this vehement struggle. Its broken walls, pierced by bullets and shattered by explosions, showed the deadly strife that had taken place within, when Gaul and Briton, hemmed in between narrow walls, hand to hand, and foot to foot, fought from garden to court-yard, from courtyard to chamber, with intense and concentrated rivalship. Columns of smoke fumed from this vortex of battle as from a volcano. "It was," said my guide, "a hell on earth." Not far off, two or three broad spots of rank unwholesome green still marked the places where these rival warriors, after their fierce and fitful struggle, slept quietly in the lap of their mother earth. Over all the rest of the field peace had resumed its sway. The thoughtless whistle of the peasant floated in the air, instead of the trumpet's clangor; the team slowly labored up the side once shaken by the hoofs of rushing squadrons; and wide fields of corn waved peacefully over the soldiers' graves, as summer seas dimple over the place, where many a tall ship lies buried.

A HUSBAND'S LOVE.

Incidents of life occurring from day to day, and, we suspect, some not altogether divested of fiction, are not unfrequently to be met with A beautiful instance of the quick and gen- in the public prints, in which they are hererous impulse to which the French are prone,||alded as instances of the all-absorbing and is given in the case of a French cavalier, in the hottest of the action, charging furiously upon a British officer, but perceiving in the moment of the assault that his adversary had lost the sword arm, he dropped the point of his sabre and courteously rode on. Peace be with that generous warrior, whatever were his fate. If he went down in the storm of battle, with the foundering fortunes of his chieftain, may the turf of Waterloo grow green above his grave; and happier far would be the fate of such a spirit to sink amidst the tempest, and unconscious of defeat, than to survive and mourn over the blighted laurels of his country.

In this way the two armies fought through a long and bloody day-the French with enthusiastic valor, the English with cold inflexible courage; until fate, as if to leave the question of superiority still undecided between two such adversaries, brought up

ever enduring affection which burns with eternal brightness in the bosoms of wives, mothers, and sisters. But who has ever be fore seen, in the columns of our public journals, a record exhibiting to the world the equally intense and not less abiding devotion of husbands, fathers, and brothers? Such records are rare, indeed; not, as we believe, that the latter instances are less frequent than the former, but because there is in them less to impress the amiable feelings of our nature, and excite that peculiar interest which surrounds every thing hallowed by female virtue or heroism.

The Lowell Journal relates a case in point, which, through succeeding years, had failed to interest the pen of the chronicler. In a grave-yard, situated in a wild rural place, about a mile from a little village in that vicinity, stands a very neat granite monument, It is the only monument in the yard, and

stands by itself over a solitary grave, apart from all other graves. The history of that monument is interesting and melancholy in the extreme. It marks the spot where lies buried the young wife of one of the young men of the village. He was married, a few years since, to one who seemed in every way calculated to render him happy. At that time the prospects of the young couple bid fair for a long life of happiness and usefulness. In a year or two after marriage, the small pox broke out and raged in the neighborhood. The young wife was attacked with this dreadful disease, and became its victim.

FEMALE PATRIOTISM.

A THRILLING INCIDENT.

Col. John McDonald, of Ross County, at a public dinner, related the following touching incident. In 1789 Wheeling was besieged by a large army of British and Indians. So sudden was the attack made, that no time was afforded for preparation. The fort at the time of assault was commanded by Col. Silas Zane; Col. Ebenezer Zane, the senior officer, was in a block house, some 50 or 100 yards outside of the wall. The enemy made several desperate assaults to break into the fort, but on every onset they were driven The fears of the community prevented her back. The ammunition for the defence of friends from attending her during her sick- the fort was deposited in the block house, and ness. Her husband, her physician, and one the attack was made so suddenly and unexor two attendants were the only persons pectedly, there was no time to remove it. On who were present to smooth down her dying the afternoon of the second day of the siege, pillow. The same fears took away the ac- the powder in the fort was nearly exhausted, customed forms of a Christian burial. A spot and no alternative remained but that some for her grave was pointed out in the grave- one must pass through the enemy's fire to the yard, remote from other graves, by the pro- block house for powder. When Silas Zane per authorities; and at the dark hour of night, || made the proposition to the men, to see if any with none present but the husband, the phy- one would undertake the hazardous entersician, and one or two fearless friends, the prise-at first all were silent. After looking burial took place. There was no long train at each other for some time, a young man of kindred to witness the ceremony; the af- stepped forward and said he would run the flicted husband was the only relative who, at chance. Immediately half a dozen offered the burial, ventured to shed the last tear over their services in the dangerous enterprise. the grave of the loved and the departed. While they were disputing about who should go, Elizabeth, sister of the Zanes, came forward and declared she would go for the powder. Her brother thought she would flinch from the enterprise, but he was mistaken. She had the intrepidity to dare, and the fortitude to bear her up in the heroic risk of life. Her brother then tried to dissuade her from the attempt, by saying a man would be more fleet; and consequently would run less risk of losing his life. She replied that they had not a man to spare from the defence of the fort, and if she should fall, she would scarcely be missed. She then divested herself of such of her clothing as would impede her speed, and ran till she arrived at the door of the block house; her brother, Colonel Zane, hastened to the door to receive his intrepid sister. The Indians, when they saw her bound forth did not fire a gun, but called aloud, squaw, squaw, squaw! When she had told her brother the errand on which she came, he took a table cloth and fastened it around her waist, and poured into it a keg of powder. She then sallied back to the fort with all the buoyancy of hope. The moment she was outside of the block house, the whole of the enemy's line poured a leaden storm at her, but the balls went innocently whistling by without doing her any injury. She afterwards married a Mr. Clark, raised a family of children, and is yet alive, and living near St. Clairsville, Ohio.

Months rolled on, and black melancholy still brooded over the young man, but soon loosened its hold somewhat. Sorrow still remained, but it was mingled with resignation. He resumed his accustomed occupation, and seemed to forgot the past; the past was not forgotten, however, nor the object which the past had endeared to him. The grave of his wife was solitary and alone. Over that grave he resolved to erect a monument to her memory. That monument, although a blacksmith by trade, he chose to plan and work with his own hands. He procured the rough blocks of granite, and commenced his pleasing task. Every leisure hour he could obtain was spent on his favorite work. No other hand planned, and no other hand than his own executed. Month after month, alone and unaided, with no knowledge of the art except what nature had taught him, sometimes at noonday, and sometimes at night, when others had left their tasks, he toiled on, until his work was completed. That monument, which, as a specimen of art, is exceedingly fine, and would be an ornament even in Mount Auburn, now marks out the grave of his wife. While it serves to call to mind the memory of the dead, it speaks also of the constancy and purity of the affections which death and time could not destroy.-N. Y. Sun.

||

ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE.

diately, when his mother confessed that her son had been a voluntary exile, and would have remained so had not his parents, whom he loved and respected, given their consent to his union. After frequent communications, his parents consented, and he instantly quitted Jamaica to claim the hand of his first love. Hastening to meet her, death ruthlessly arrested his progress before he had been many hours on his native shore. As a proof of the sincerity of his attachment, the lover, in the hour of dissolution, bequeathed to his bride elect £2,000.—English Paper.

A TOUCHING STORY Is told in the Portland Argus, in connection with the wreck of the new bark WILLIAM FALES, which was driven ashore on the coast of Maine, about the latter part of February last, during a violent gale.

"As the unfortunate bark approached the shore, on the night of her loss, it was found impossible to keep her off; and Capt. Thomas let go his anchors, which failed to bring her up. In a moment she struck, and took off her keel. Four seamen, who were on the

The following details are as strange as they are true. In the neighborhood of Gloucestor, a young lady of highly respectable connections has experienced a series of reverses in the cause of the heart's best affections, seldom equalled. A gentleman of some station in society, became, by accident, acquainted with the maiden to whom we allude,|| and their affection becoming reciprocal; the day was fixed for their union, which was to have taken place in the city of Gloucester. Agreeably with this arrangement, and as the match was a desirable one, her parent parted with a lucrative business in the country, on which she and her daughter lived in respectability and comfort, and went to Gloucester, intending to settle. The day for the celebration of the wedding arrived, but, alas, the bridegroom came not. His parents had peremptorily forbidden the match, and he was already, by their contrivance, on the seas, bound for Jamaica. A letter reached the poor girl, but to confirm her worst fears. His parents' consent had been withheld, and he had suddenly left the sea-port town in the west of England, where he resided, not a faithless but an unhappy lover. Time passed, and industry on the part of the hapless girl but ill-yard taking in the remnant of sail that she supplied the loss of the comparative independence herself and family had left when they came to Gloucester, with the views and indulging the hopes to which we have alluded; and though blighted in heart, she cheerfully succeeded in helping to support her decrepid mother and aunt in comfort. Time, the gentle softener of affliction, had many a long day cast its dimming shadow over the great event of her life, and nothing more had been heard of her absent lover till a week or two ago, when, to her astonishment and delight, she received a letter from him, breathing the devotedness of constant attachment, and vows of unaltered affection, not the less welcome though wafted across the seas. Another and another followed, begging forgiveness for the former apparent neglect and still another, the last accompanied by the consent of the parents of the absent one. The poor girl's hopes were at the highest pitch of excitement, when she received a still more welcome epistle assuring her that her lover had landed at Falmouth, and was hastening to perform his neglected promise. The day was looked forward to with delight. It came, and with it the dark tidings of the grave. Her lover had been suddenly seized with illness the night before his departure for the city of Gloucester-he was a corpse before the morning. As a melancholy satisfaction "Thomas McClellan (one of the lost) was to the poor, disappointed girl, the mother of but a lad of fifteen or sixteen years of age; the intended bridegroom visited her imme- "and was the only son of his inother, and she

was carrying when the anchors were let go, were hurled into the deep by the violence of the shock, and at once drowned in the vortex. When she struck a second time, it was with such force that her masts were, in a moment, swept away. At this crisis, Capt. T. inquired of his surviving men who would leap into the foaming billows, and take a rope ashore? They shrank from the hazardous ordeal, and no one volunteered. Capt. T. then impetuously seized a line, took a few turns of it round his arm, and leaped towards the shore. He was thrown back by the retreating surge, and was drawn partly up the side of the vessel, when the line became unloosened, and he was washed away and seen no more.

"The bark soon swung stern to the shore, and the lad that was saved says, that, by jumping into the surge as it was rolling in, it threw him far up the beach. (There was a house but a little distance off, from which assistance was promptly rendered.) Very likely, more of the sufferers would have been saved by taking this precaution. The violence of the billows may be inferred from the fact, that in less than half an hour from the time she struck, that new staunch bark was broken up, and not a vestige of her to be seen!