To watch his gentle sleep, and on his cheek
And lip to mark the glowing hues of health-
When years had added vigor to his limbs,
Like the young antelope, Beersheba's hills
He bounded o'er; or climbed in youthful glee
The graceful sycamore, or lofty palm,

Or careful watched his father's numerous flocks.
Thus lived the parents of the Hebrew race,
Each loving each, and all approved of God.

Easy is virtue's path when clust'ring joys
Surround our steps, each moment sending forth
Some fresh perfume of bliss to charm the soul;
But few with pious Job can bless the hand
That strips us of our joys and leaves us lone
And comfortless, to walk a thorny road
Unblest by aught to cheer the gloomy way.
Oft does the Almighty prove his faithful ones
In furnace of affliction-as the gold

Is rendered pure by ordeal of fire,

So by sore trial shines the virtuous mind.

Calm in those eastern skies the morning dawned,
Revealing nature in her loveliest forms,

But not as wont, suggesting to the mind
Of the old patriarch, gently pleasing thoughts.
His high wrought soul was rais'd above the earth,
Intent upon accomplishing the deed

His God required-With tenderness of love,
Sparing the mother's weakness; not to her
This man of God the dreadful secret told;
But rising early, bids his child prepare
To journey on with him from Gerar's vale.
They pass the brook of Besor, Sorek's stream,
Judea's wilds and Bethl'em's sacred plain.
The third day, to the man of God, reveal'd
A mount refulgent with celestial beams,
Token sublime that here Jehovah look'd,
Of his obedience, to see the proof-

One moment at the mountain's base they paus'd,
But soon its steep ascent began the child,
Unconscious, bears the wood; the fatal knife
To slay the victim, and the fire to burn,
The father carries in his trembling hands.

They reach the mountain's top, an altar raise;
The child, in simple innocence, exclaims
"My father, we have here the fire and wood,
But we have yet no lamb for sacrifice!"
The father look'd with anguish on the boy
And nature plead in his behalf-but soon
A sudden vision broke upon his soul.
He saw his darling son an emblem stand
Of that great sacrifice which God would make
Of His Beloved for the sins of man-

The patriarch seized the knife-A voice is heard―
"Touch not the lad-Abra'm, thy faith is prov'd;
Thou fearest God, since thou hast thus resign'd
Thine only, well beloved child to me."
Th' astonish'd father scarcely dare believe
He hears aright-When looking up, he saw
A lamb before him-victim sent by God,
The ransom for his son; he quickly seized
And gave it a burnt off'ring to the Lord-
Then on their way rejoicing, back they went
To Gerar's valley; to his mother's arms
The child is given-and in the father's breast
Dwells joy serene, and sweet approving voice
Of conscience whispering, thou hast proved thy faith.

A. H. L.

SKETCHES OF AMERICAN CHARACTER.

IN again resuming the Sketches, I have but obeyed what seems to be the wishes of a majority of my readersthat is, judging from hints I receive from friends at home, and letters from correspondents abroad. I intend therefore to prepare occasionally, a story from the Manuscript, but I shall no longer give the reminiscences of other days an exclusive preference over the "manners living." The truth

is, the past history of our country can as yet be only history. The events and persons are not sufficiently removed by time, that grand mystifier, to assume the shadowy and uncertain shapes and characters which is the allowed foundation of the romantic. We read a story of the past with suspicion,-not that we care so much that the whole should be true, as that truth should not be disfigured. We feel that the past history of our country is a triumph, and we fear that in attempting to illustrate those transactions by fictitious tales, we shall belittle that history. But there is one species of history, the biography of eminent individuals, which is generally acceptable. And I am intending to collect such notices as soon as practicable.

CAPTAIN GLOVER'S DAUGHTER.

SUNDAY, especially in the country, is the true holiday of a Yankee. In saying this, I do not mean that it is considered as a day of recreation-no, indeed,-there are very few native born and native dwelling Yankees but would revolt at the idea of finding their own amusements on the Lord's day. They intend to keep the day holy, but they wish to appear respectable in so doing, and they like to enjoy themselves. What better method to attain these objects than regular attendance on church, dressed in their best, where they can see and be seen?-the elderly people having an opportunity for cordial greetings and disquisitions on the weather, either when they meet on the road or around the church door; and the young ones exchanging smiles, glances, or warm pressures of the hand, which between those of the same sex indicate friendship. Ladies only indulge in friendship--but when the eye of a young man is habitually and continually directed across the gallery, or into a neighboring pew of fair damsels, we may not wrong him by imputing to him a sentiment which he does not call friendship. At least, one half our rural beaux fall in love at church.

"Pray who was that handsome girl who sat in the pew on the left of the pulpit," said young Albert Eaton to his cousin James Rowe.

"On the left of the pulpit?-O! that was Captain Glover's daughter."

"She is the finest girl I saw in your church, James. Does her father live in the village?"

"O, no-he lives down by the mill."

"Not in that small house by the bridge ?"

"Yes, by the bridge-in that little hut "-and James cast a glance of keen inquiry on his cousin, and it might be there was some derision in his smile.

Albert Eaton's father was a man who had gathered much substance, and waxed rich in speculations, and he now lived like a rich man, engrossed with the cares of adding to his possessions, or harrassed with the fears of losing his property. Riches never bring content; at least they never bring it to a worldly man. Albert happened unfortunately to be an only child, and as all the estate would finally descend to him-(and sorely did it grieve the elder Mr. Eaton when the idea crossed him that he must die and leave his property,) he had been lectured on the necessity of economy, good calculation, and taking care of his money, till he had often wished there was no such thing as money in the world. He particularly hated half-cents. "Always remember and save the half-cent in your bargains," his father would say. Albert was a good natured soul, but he never heard his father say, 'save the half-cent,' without a frown, and he never would save it. "As well be a beggar at once as practice such beggarly economy," Albert thought.—And truly, what is the benefit of possessing property, when we only note its increase by increasing anxiety

It will probably be surmised, by the reader, that Albert would not regard the poverty of a lovely girl as an insuperable bar to his addresses. Neither would he have so regarded it had that poverty only exhibited itself in the lack of money; but, to lack a decent house to live in, placed the indigence of Captain Glover's daughter in a mortifying point of view to Albert Eaton. Few people form their own opinions of what is really excellent in character from reasoning. We are the slaves of circumstance, education, fashion. Albert had always lived in an elegant dwellingall his particular friends resided in fine houses, and he fancied those persons worthy of his admiration must be found in fine houses. He saw and felt the meanness of being devoted exclusively to the love of money; but he did not dream that the undue value placed on those luxuries which

money commanded, was a passion just as sordid and selfish. The only difference is, that the latter error may more easi ly be corrected. And it was not many days, before Albert acknowledged that virtue, intelligence and refinement, as well as beauty, might be found in a humble dwelling.

Captain Glover was a man of considerable talent, and in his youth, extraordinary good looking. His father gave him a farm, and assisted him to build a house, and he married a pretty, amiable girl: thus beginning the world with bright prospects for a farmer; every body prophesied he would do well, and so he would have done, but for one single failing. He was indolent. The sluggard is not so criminal as the drunkard; but he is far from being innocent. Yet there are but few men, notoriously lazy, who would have maintained so respectable a standing among the stirring generation of Yankees as did Captain Glover. His temper was as unmovable as his frame, and he would sit the live long day in his elbow chair, chatting and laughing without once being disturbed from his imperturbable good humor by the advice, or even reproaches of his wife, (she did scold sometimes, and nobody blamed her for scolding,) or the noise of his children. Toil on his farm he would not-and he really felt relieved when the sheriff attached and sold it to satisfy executions which had been renewed to the utmost limit of time allowed by the law. His creditors were loath to distress such a good natured fellow, till he urged the sale of the farm, alleging that the fences were going to ruin, and the sooner it was disposed of the better. Relying on the old saying that the lame and the lazy are always provided for, Glover gave himself no uneasiness about his future residence, or business, till a brother of his wife, out of pity to her and her children, offered him the employment of tending an old mill. Glover accepted the situation, and very contentedly established himself, as he hoped, for life.

from

There seemed indeed little prospect that any one, though differing in politics, would covet his place. The mill was on a small stream, which divided the town of B the village of L-; consequently, like a neutral between two parties, was not much patronized by the inhabitants of either. The stream was scanty, and usually dry six weeks every summer; and the ice and other accidents obstructed