of him three days, and finally, traced him to his home, came in, and raised him from the floor and spoke to him of his mother's dying message to him, that his heart was relieved by a flow of tears. The widow had died after an illness of one day only. Letters had been sent to Donald, but they found him not. The messenger who was sent for him returned with tidings of his dismission from college, but unable to find him, for Donald was careful to leave no clue by which his old friends and creditors might follow him; and the remains of his parent were committed to the grave on the eighth day after her decease, according to her earnest request. It was her belief, that " many are buried alive," and therefore was her funeral so long deferred. No one of her acquaintance ventured to treat her request with contempt, or with lightness. The will of the departed is, as it should ever be, sacred. She died with a trembling hope in the Savior's mercy, sadly lamenting that she had so neglected to cultivate the mind, and regulate the temper of her darling child, although she was not aware of his habits of dissipation and she begged Mr. Dow to carry him her dying love and blessing, and tell him to study prayerfully the word of God, and give his heart to the AImighty Savior." Happy had it been for Donald Mc'Ollister, as day after day, he traversed again those lonely rooms, weary of life, and "sick at the soul with sorrow,' ," had there been some kind friend to paint to him the way of everlasting peace for though he read his bible, it was with a dark and wandering mind. He had no heart to pray to him "who heareth prayer;" otherwise his heart had been lightened of its woe. His former friends tarried not with him, for they were too happy to enter into his sorrows, and too delicate to obtrude their levity upon his heaviness of spirit. He became, at length, so gloomy and taciturn, that Mr. Dow persuaded him to remove to his house and resume his studies, which, he did with full purpose of heart to become a thorough scholar. For three months he faithfully kept his resolution, but his present abode seemed very unlike home, and he felt alone in the world.

As the summer was closing, there came to our village, driven, it was surmised, by misfortune, which rendered economy an inevitable duty, a Mrs. Walters, from the city, with her daughter; an exceedingly well educated young

lady, though the casual observer might not have suspected it, for she did not "clap her wings and crow in Latin and French," and the technical terms of various sciences, "as the manner of some is." I do not refer to ladies only. Donald was fascinated by the beautiful stranger. Heretofore he had said to himself, "man delights not me, nor woman either." Now, books were thrown aside; and as often as propriety might allow, possibly a little oftener, he made his morning visit at Mrs. Walters and the tedious days which intervened between his calls, were spent on the white cliff mentioned in the last number, from which, unfortunately, he could distinguish the abode of his new acquaintance, and a blue hat and pelisse which sometimes issued from it. Margaret Walters was a fair, gentle girl; but according to Miss Mercy, "she was dreadful high-minded." She would not give her hand to one who had been expelled from college, or one on whose fame the shadow of a blemish had ever rested; although, I believe, she did love him, as she never can love another. Donald was inexcusably precipitate to offer his hand, before he had re-established his reputation, if I was correctly informed; for in regard to this part of my story,

"I cannot say how the truth may be-
I tell the tale as 'twas told to me."

A story was breathed to somebody, (from whom I lately received it,) in friendly confidence, under the strictest injunction of secrecy; a tale of rejected love and blighted hope. It was not circulated in our quiet town at that time, being known only to those concerned, and to that person, who faithfully kept the secret as long as she considered it expedient. However, Donald suddenly became pale and melancholy, and resolved to go to sea. "A voyage," he said, "was necessary to the restoration of his health,-he felt unable to study." His friends remonstrated in vain; and by the first opportunity which presented, he left us, poor youth, with a heavy heart, I imagine, for he could not speak his farewell. Long it was ere any tidings of him came to us; and when they did come we were very sorrowful.

Remember you the lonely bark which was wrecked in one awful tempest among coral rocks in Madagascar seas? In that lonely bark perished the hopes of Donald Mc'Ollister.

EVERALLIN.

DEATH OF THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.

Died he as the soldier joys to die,

When the banner he follows is waving high,
And from voices, whose tones he remembers well,
Loudly the cheers of triumph swell;

'Till victory's shout on the free breeze floats,
He hath caught its sound, 'mid the wild war notes,
-One flash of hope, his eye grows dim-

The land he hath served will remember him?

Died he as the patriot prays to rest,

His labors all crowned, and his country blest;
Garrulous age, his echo of fame,

Repeating the proud and cherish'd name;
While the spirit of youth, like a charger stirred
By the clarion's swell, at the glorious word,
Thirsting for danger, and spurning at fear,
Bounds to follow his hero's career?

He died, but not on the battle plain,
Where laurels are freshened with crimson rain;
Nor the rolling drum, nor fife's shrill tone
Nerved him to stifle the low death groan :

Nor the clasp of a comrade his cold hand thrilled,
And bade his heart leap ere its pulse was stilled,
That a message of love from his lips would be borne
To the fond friends who never might greet his return.

He died, and his memory passed away,
Like the rain-bow gleam from the torrent's spray;
And ne'er at his country's high triumphs was heard
His name, that should be the signal word,

When from learning's halls, and bowers of mirth,
Young genius at Freedom's call, starts forth,
And ye read in the fearless, flashing eye,
He comes to the battle, 'to do or die!'

He died, and 'twas by the foeman's hand,
But not like a soldier by ball or brand,—
-A felon's fate was his fearful doom!
Yet gather young flowers to deck his tomb,
Spring's earliest buds-they shall emblems bet
Of the hopes that wood him to victory-
55

VOL. II.NO. IX.

ton.

O, bright they shone,-but there came a frown
And his sun in its morning light went down!

And he died, and his death was a bitter one,
For taunting foes were gazing on;

He heard their scorn on his lov'd land poured,
Yet his fettered hand could not grasp his sword.
-He stood beneath the fatal tree,

And gazed on the cord undauntedly!

-If there came a pang, it blanched not his check-
And the wish they had mocked, he disdained to speak.

He died when the war-cloud was gathering fast,
When havoc and horror were borne on the blast-
But sure to the martyr of Freedom is given
A glance of the future, when ripe for heaven-
-Ŏ didst thou not see, young Hale,* in that hour,
The eagle's broad pinions in pride and power,
Bearing the banner of liberty,

Shadow thy own land from sea to sea?

And didst thou not feel, when pouring thy breath,
That duty done, plucks the sting from death?

CORNELIA.

*This young man was a student in Yale College, when the Revolutionary struggle commenced. He left his studies for the post of danger; and though not twenty years of age, was appointed captain of a company in the regiment of Colonel KnowlAfter the British had obtained possession of Long Island, General Washington considered it of the utmost importance to obtain information of their strength and intentions. Captain Hale offered himself a volunteer for this hazardous service. He passed in disguise to Long Island, examined every part of the British army, and obtained the best possible information respecting their situation and future operations. In his attempts to return, he was apprehended, carried before Sir William Howe, and the proof of his object was so clear, that he frankly acknowledged who he was, and what were his views.

Sir William Howe at once gave an order to the provost marshal to execute him the next morning. The order was accordingly executed in a most unfeeling manner, and by as great a savage as ever disgraced humanity. A clergyman, whose attendance he requested, was refused him; a bible for a moment's devotion, was not procured, though he requested it. Letters, which, on the morning of his execution, he wrote to his mother and other friends, were destroyed, and this very extraordinary reason was given by the provost marshal, that the rebels should not know they had a man in their army who could die with so much firmness.'

Unknown to all around him, without a single friend to offer him the least consolation, thus fell as amiable and promising a young man as America could boast, with this as his dying observation,- that he only lamented he had but one life to devote to his country.'

To the memory of Andre, England has erected a magnificent monument, and bestowed on his family high honors and liberal rewards.

To the memory of Hale, not a stone has been erected, nor an inscription, to preserve his name from oblivion.

Hannah Adams' History of New England.

LITERARY NOTICES.

CAPTAIN HALL'S TRAVELS IN NORTH AMERICA. Philadelphia. Carey, Lea & Carey. We name this work mostly, for the purpose of extracting a paragraph relating to Miss Sedgwick. We have not room for a long article, and merely remark, that the spirit of the book may be comprised in this -it is a labored defence of monarchy, aristocracy, and all the artificial distinctions of rank established in Europe, especially in England, and an unqualified and often sneering condemnation of our republican institutions and democratical usages. How far Captain Hall's opinions, in the minds of liberal and intelligent men on the other side of the Atlantic, will be justified by the descriptions of what he witnessed among us, and the sketches of character and manners he has introduced, remains to be seen. That Americans would adopt his conclusions, he could not expect. The book, though written by an enemy, will not injure republicans, if they are only true to themselves. Even Captain Hall allows us patriotism in an enthusiastic degree. Let all our people, therefore, use strenuous exertions to improve, remembering, that not only individual happiness and respectability are dependent in a great degree, on the intelligence and refinement which mental cultivation bestows; but that the character of our free country, indeed, of freedom itself, is involved in the question of universal education. If men are ignorant, they will, in some manner, be enslaved.

The lady, whose writings Captain Hall mentions with respect, well deserves the eulogium. Her genius has been devotedly employed in delineating scenes and circumstances that refine the taste and awaken the heart to the perception of moral and natural excellence, and the beauties of nature. These are among the most salutary influences that must combine to educate and exalt a republican people.

'Besides these numerous detailed examinations of the country society in Massachusetts, we had the frequent good fortune to meet the more wealthy class of the village residents at their own houses. Upon one of these occasions, I was gratified in a very high degree, by making acquaintance with the accomplished author of several admirable works of fancy, Redwood,' Hope Leslie,' and others, which I am happy to find, have been re-published, and are becoming more known in England, because, independently of that high and universal interest attaching to works of fiction, in the hands of genius-wherever placed, these novels possess another and very pleasing kind of merit, in the graphic truth with which the country, in which the scenes are laid, is described.

It was our peculiar good fortune, no only to converse with the author, but after