another figure of our little drama a figure whom we beg leave to introduce to our audience and readers by the name of Amelia Stubbs.

She was the daughter of constable Stubbs, (who was a candidate for reelection to that high dignity,) and the fair one whose picture graced the barber's pole, in company with the defunct rabbit. As Falstaff had hinted, in the mail-stage, the whole election - at least on the side of the Toad and Anti-rabbit party - hinged on her. The most influential of that party had, at some time or other, and somehow or other, fallen in love with her manifold graces. She was certainly not a Venus de Medici; but charms she did possess, which marble never has possessed, or can or will possess.' There was nothing magnificent in her features; but there was something really magnificent in her smile-and her laugh ye gods! it was a laugh, that made the very air merry a

mile around.

Her father, the honorable constable, Solomon Stubbs, was, in addition to his official duty, devoted to sportsmanship; he could ring his whistle as merrily through the woods, and run down a rabbit as quickly as any. He was envied for his admirable facility in gathering a string of these long-eared hop-o'-my-thumbs, and envy begat opposition. He had also unfortunately murdered (in cold blood,) half a dozen clattering bull-frogs, who had disturbed his slumber for more than two months, unannoyed.

From these two facts sprang the great Bull-frog and Rabbit party, so warm in its enmity-so virulent in its invectives!

Nathan, the blushing quaker of the stage-coach, was a staunch friend to Solomon Stubbs; in fact his friendship for that potentate was so enlarged and electric, that it extended even to his beloved daughter Aurelia. The orator, also, who fell through, in his sublime attempt at missile argument, was an enemy to Solomon, only because he had been occasionally laughed at and despised by his blooming daughter.

The political war in the streets, or rather street, of Bell-town, waxed hotter and hotter. The country was scoured; old men, who had lived a lifetime in the woods, were disinterred, and brought once more on the stage: juveniles, beardless and almost yet petticoated, adventured to draw nigh and deposit a vote. Old women, clothed in the habits of male octogenarians- sleight-o-hand voters, who knew how to insert. two ballots at a time were sought after, and well feed. One hatless, unhewn son of Erin deposited four votes.

WHILE the campaign deepens, Ralph Jones, the third traveler, o'erwearied with the bustle of Bell-town, has escaped at least two miles from its precincts, and, supported by an antique stone wall, is alternately plucking and eating cherries.

Forbidden fruit!' cries a gentle voice, apparently emerging from behind a clump of alder bushes.

Ralph turned hastily, and somewhat frightened, to discover the body whence it issued, but to no purpose. He returned to his repast on the glossy red fruitage. The voice drew nigher, and as he turned a second time, his eye alighted on a summer damsel a very living cherry — approaching with downcast features.

Young gentleman, that is choice fruit; it is father's tree; pray forbear. He now leaped from the fence, and as he turned to survey the supplicant, his face shone full upon her.

Is it you, Ralph Jones?- dear Ralph, is it you?' exclaimed the fair one, with a musical tremor in her tone.

And is it you, Aurelia?' cried the cherry-thief, with a similar quavering of the voice.

They knew each other—their eyes had already passed the quick telegraph-signal of recognition; more than two volumes had already been spoken. They rushed toward each other, but did not (as perhaps they ought to have done) embrace, but simply, warmly, affectionately - shook hands!

You rogue, you stole away on that spring morning, three years ago- was it three?—from our little village, like a poultry-thief in the night. Do you know the amount of sorrow you left behind?' No, Aurelia - were there any tears shed?'

'A pond. I shed not a few myself, for the copy of Robie Burns you plagiarized. Falstaff Furness too, remembers you, for that post-boy sin of yours.'

Riding his black horse within stone's throw of death? Falstaff remembers me no longer: his memory has given my face the quittance; for I was with him this morning, and he said not even Good day to you?' but Aurelia, Nathan Ellwood, the unquakerish quaker

6

'Oh, Ralph, he is desperately in love with me— me!-and is striving to make Solomon Stubbs high-constable of Bell-town, to further his amorous intents. Cupid and I have been in close partnership, this is the third year, to make father a catch-pole: but what, where, how have you been, Ralph, for three blessed years?'

Over flood and earth; 'twould cost a winter's night to tell them: but who comes yonder ?—that mathematical figure, through the wood

It is Nathan Ellwood! Pray let us withdraw, through this path. He is coming to make love. I'd as leave see him dance, as that.' 'Does n't Master Nathan dance?'

EVERY Vote was gathered. Fortune had thrown her dice, and both parties - the Rabbit and Anti-rabbit-pressed forward to learn whether she had turned up sixes or blanks.

Gentle reader, have you ever seen a hollow pumpkin illuminated? Then have you seen a type of the thick heads of Bell-town lit up with the faint rays of hope. At length, victory perches on the shoulders of the Bull-frogs, and they croak forth 'Solomon Stubbs forever!' - and the welkin answers, Solomon Stubbs!' - and at that name tremble rabbits and reptiles without number - - for Stubbs their direst foe is victor!

And the rogues and chicken-hearted thieves of Bell-town (for their whole heart is placed on chickens,) rejoice for Solomon has been a father to them, and winked at their larcenies, for the small tax of a fat pullet, or a brace of geese.

But lo! there! Nathan Ellwood rushing toward Solomon Stubbs, and a knot of his joyful friends — puff, pant, and gallop — hallooing from the distance, with the mouthful of breath that running has left him. The devil! - villains! Stubbs ! married to Aurelia! Run, fly! Quick! or Satan has her!'

Stubbs and his mob of friends stared broadly at the shouting quaker, whose face was inflamed as a setting sun; and as he came nigher to the crowd, his frenzy seemed to work like beer within him - striking baleful and volcanic sparks from his eyes. As it slowly subsided, and Nathan became sufficiently composed to act according to his cloth, they learnt that Ralph Jones, the strange interloper, was actually then getting married indissolubly to Miss Stubbs by parson Dusthead. The announcement caused a sudden sally of the whole force of Solomon's friends toward the parsonage.

They reach it, and with a simultaneous shout, call for Dusthead. No Dusthead appears. They advance to carry the house by storm; and with one gigantic push, the front-door is forced. They ransack the house, and by dint of research, discover Ebenezer Dusthead in an upper chamber—not ready to receive them in martial opposition, unless his night-cap were a helmet - but ensconced quietly in a bed - pale, emaciated, and apparently sick to the core. A thousand pardons are begged in rustic village style, and the assailants withdraw.

IF, a few years after the scenes of the foregoing history occurred, a venturous traveler had passed into Bell-town, casting his eye to the left he might have beheld a neat two-story cottage, with green blinds, and a well-shaven area of grass surrounding it, with three hearty, happy children, full of frolic and fun, capering over it like young colts. Let him enter, and there he would see the mother of those happy ones the identical blooming Aurelia Stubbs.

For a few questions, relative to the simple mystery of this tale, she might reward him with this simple explanation: that she was the lawful wife in wedlock of Ebenezer Dusthead, parson of Bell-town church, on the hill; that she was wedded to him on the day and date of the hue-and-cry' about his house, by Ralph Jones, aforesaid a young clergyman who had come from a neighbouring city merely to tie the knot; that Mr. Dusthead's sickness and emaciation were all a pretence; that at the time, she was by his side, while the reverend master Jones was hidden in the cellar, mayhap drinking the spirit' among cidercasks.

Farther, that a squint-eyed news-boy of the village reported that he had seen Nathan Ellwood hanging himself in his barn, which was false; for, as was afterward learnt, Mr. Ellwood was merely hanging a sheep to celebrate the marriage; and that finally Dusthead loved her dearly, dividing his time nicely between the pulpit and her and that he often prayed, that if he went to heaven, as he truly hoped, he might be allowed to bear his wife under one arm, and his Bible under the other.'

C. M.

THERE are who deem that spirits blest return,
To dwell awhile amid their loved on earth,
Or the fierce tide of human deeds discern

From the calm mansions of their upper birth.
It may be thus; but I would ever pray

That my loved ones in spirit-worlds might stay,

Far from the passion, tumult, strife that mar

And quench the beauty of this lesser star.

And though 't were bliss to sometimes deem them near,
When the heart knows (what heart hath never known?)
The utter nothingness of all things here:

Seeking its joys in hours forever flown,
And in its restlessness would barter all,
One golden moment from the past to call:
Yet then I feel I would not have them see,
Unchanged and pure, or change or sin in me.

There was in Paradise a spirit erst,

So tried and pure that might have happy been,
Had not strange thoughts, with retrospection cursed,
Linger'd too fondly on each vanished scene.
From arch to arch, when choral hymns would roll,
Remember'd voices mid the anthems stole;

When heaven's high towers were bathed in glory sheen,

Her home arose amid its bowers of green;

And more than heaven, lawns, woodlands, garlands smiled,
And more than angels seemed the inmates fair;

Her bosom's partner and her cherish'd child,

Son of her youth these were the angels there.
Years rolled away, yet years brought no relief,
Nor heavenly joys beguiled of earth-born grief;
Till, with soft pity mov'd, relenting fate
Upon her oped the adamantine gate,
And free to roam, from Paradise she pass'd,
Nor lingering look upon its mansions cast;
And never mortal left the world of pain,
With half the joy that she returned again.

HAMLET.

I.

'Alas! 't is only buried love

Nor chance nor change can quench or dim;
To me there were no joys above,

For what were heaven away from him?
I deemed that day by day his cheek

Was dew'd with sorrow's burning tears;
I thought his lips would often speak

The name he has not breathed for years
The name forgotten - to another

My child was taught to murmur 'mother.'

II.

'I thought a single hour beside

His home my widow'd heart would bless ;
I came to see a fairer bride

Receive each glance and soft caress.
I thought his love from memory stray'd
To doat upon his boy alone;

I came and children round him play'd,
Who would not thrill to hear my tone,
Nor on that dusty canvass trace

One feature of a mother's face.

III.

'I left my son as pure, and mild,
And gentle, as a seraph blest,
But earth, and sin, and passions wild
Have written wrinkles in his breast.
His little lips would then repeat

Prayer from a heart that had not err'd
And mingled with love's accents sweet

How dear was each imperfect word!
And now, nor prayer, nor mother's name
His thoughts and words one hour can claim.

IV.

'Mid angel smiles and angel joys

Affection kept its faith unchanged,

The while that perishable toys

Their hearts from all the past estranged.

And what is now that past to me,

Or what, alas! this cherished scene?
Since all my agony will be

The thought that I have ever been.
Oh earth farewell! I could not brook
Again on those changed hearts to look.'

With drooping wing beneath his kindly rod,
The gentle spirit sought again her God,
And there forever poured the love and trust
Which clung too long to animated dust.

Oh deem not, hope not, that the dead can know
Or joy or grief that stir loved breasts below;
A single glance upon a scene like this
Would mar long ages of celestial bliss,

And angels' songs were harsh as words of strife,
If ever blended with the sounds of life.

To see no more cold time affection steal,
And hearts that felt, forget they e'er could feel;
To learn no more that virtue can decay,
More frail and transient than its shrine of clay;
To never learn the oft repeated lot,
That mortals loved -- and having loved,-forgot;
That vows are words, and holiest ties are riven -
To be away from earth, oh this is half of heaven!

New-York, June 16th, 1836.

B. D. W.