I re

When she recovered herself, she lighted a lamp, spread a little table and served up the supper. Now she looked around her after me, and invited me to take one of the twisted reeden chairs. So I sat down opposite to her, and the light stood between us. She folded her bony hands and asked grace audibly, whilst she made her wry faces, so that I came very near laughing again; but I was on my guard lest 1 should make her angry with me. After the supper she returned thanks, and then she showed me a bed into a low and narrow chamber,-she slept in the room. mained not long awake, I was half stupified, but I awoke sometimes in the night and then I heard the old lady cough and speak to the dog and at intervals to the bird who seemed to be in a dream and was continually singing only the single words of his song. That together with the birch, which rustled before the window, and the song of a distant nightingale made so strange a medley, that I did not always feel as though I were awake, but as if I were only in another, yet stranger, dream.

In the morning the old lady awoke me and directed me soon afterward to the work. I was obliged to spin, and very soon I understood also, I must take care of the dog and the bird. I was soon initiated into the mysteries of housewifery, and all the objects round about me became familiar to me. I felt now as if every thing must be so. I thought nothing of it at all thenceforth, except that the old lady had something strange about her, the dwelling was situated oddly and far remote from all men, and there was something extraordinary about the bird. His beauty always indeed struck me, for his feathers glittered with all possible colours, the most beautiful light-blues and fiery red alternately shone on his neck and body; and when he sung he puffed himself so proudly that his feathers appeared still more magi.ificent.

Oftentimes the old lady went out and did not return until evening, when I went to meet her with the dog, and she called me Child and Daughter." I became good to her from the heart, as our mind grows attached to every thing, particularly in childhood. In the evening hours she taught me to read, I readily understood it, and it was afterward in my solitude a source of endless pleasure; for, she had several old-written books, which contained won

derful stories. The recollection of my manner of life at this time is still even now strange to me: visited by no human creature, domesticated in a family circle so small, for the dog and the bird made the same impression on me which elsewhere only longer-acquainted friends produce. As often as I called the dog by name at that time, I have never been able to recollect it unto this day.

Four years I had lived thus with the old lady and might be about twelve years of age, when she at last placed greater confidence in me and revealed to me a secret. The bird, for instance, laid every day an Egg in which a Pearl or a Precious Stone was found. I had already constantly remarked, that she managed the cage privately, but I never concerned myself about it. She committed to me now the charge, in her absence to take these eggs and preserve them carefully in the various vessels. She left behind for me my food and stayed out now longer, weeks and months at a time. My little wheel buzzed, the dog barked, the wonderful bird sung, and besides every thing was so quiet in the country round, that I do not recollect a single hurricane or tempest of thunder and lightning. Not a single man lost his way thither, not a wild beast came near our dwelling, I was contented and worked from one day to another. The man would be perhaps quite happy, if he could pass away his life unto its close thus undisturbed.

Out of the few things which I read I formed to myself quite wonderful ideas of the world and men, every thing was taken from myself and my society. When the story was of merry men, I could not represent them to myself in any other way than as little wolf-dogs; magnificent women looked always like the bird, all old ladies resembled my wonderful old lady. I had read also something of love, and now it sported with myself in strange stories of my imagination. I fancied to myself the most beautiful knight in the world, I adorned him with all excellencies without really knowing how he looked after all my pains. But I could have real compassion on myself if he loved me not in return; for, I recited long pathetick speeches in thought, sometimes also aloud in order only to win him.--You smile! we are now indeed all of us beyond this time of youth.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE WHITE CLOUD.

What next; what next; thou changeful thing,
With the feathery breast and the silver wing,
That seem'st like a lonely bird to fly

To some distant home o'er the clear blue sky ?
I saw thee suspended a moment ago,

By a hand unseen, like a wreath of snow,
Withheld from the fall that might give it a stain
So deep it could never be blanched again.

And once thou hast shone in a cluster of flowers,
As pure as they'd bent from the heavenly bowers,
Defying this valley of shadow and blight

To sully or wither their leaves of light.

Thou hast looked like a king, that with sceptre and crown, From his palace of ether his looks sent down,

While he walked the skies with a pomp and pride

As setting at nought all things beside.

I've seen thee, too, pass over my head

Like a beautiful ship with her sails all spread,
That, laden with treasures too pure and bright
For an earthly touch, or a nortal's sight,
Was proud to some far-off port to bear
Her viewless riches through seas of air.
Thou'st taken the form of a youthful maid
In a stainless and dazzling robe array'd,
Who hung, as in sorrow o'er us who toil
Where under each flower is the serpent's coil,
While her hand was raised as to point the way
From venom and night to an endless day;
And written in pearls on her azure zone
The name of pitying Mercy shone.
Again, thou hast seemed as the spirit of love
His mantle had dropp'd from the realms above,
And 'twas floating along, as a sign to show
To those who should look from the vale below,
That their garments must be of a spotless white,
Before they can enter a world of light.

Beautiful changeling! now, even now
I see thee dissolving, I know not how-
Thine atoms are fading; and one by one
Melted and lost in the rays of the sun.

Vapour deceitful! cloud of the morn!
Like thee are the hopes that of earth are born.
Their forms are varying, high and fair;
But melted by light-torn to pieces by air!
Bright vision of falsehood! thou shalt teach
The soul in her search for joys, to reach
To a world of truth, where deceit is o'er-
Where changes and clouds shall be known no more!

H. F. G.

LETTER TO THE EDITOR.

MRS. HALE. I am seriously but not desperately in love with a young lady of this city, and have several times been on the very threshold of the declaration, yet something always occurred so mal-apropos to my feelings that I have never yet actually come out with my story. I am not a bashful man, and it seems strange to me, on reflection, that I have not yet told my love; were I superstitious, I should think my genius, whether sylph or gnome remains to be proved, had repeatedly interposed to prevent me from committing myself. Such a thought, foolish as it may appear to commercial men, had actually occurred to me, when, as I was endeavoring to banish the demon of ennui, that for sometime past leagued with the fog and villainous east wind, was nigh making me as mad as Lear, by turning over the pages of Sketches of Naval Life,' (an excellent book, by the way, which I heartily recommend to the perusal of all my countrymen) my eye was arrested by 'virtuous women,' 218th page, vol. 2d, and as all excellencies in female character instantly remind me of my own chere amie-that is to be, I read to the end of the chapter. I will quote it, beginning however, with the beginning of the adventure.

"We stopped in the streets of Marseilles, and a lady, rather advanced in years, was handed in by a genteel looking man, who, however, did not accompany her. She took some knitting from her bag, and as the stage rolled on, over the smooth roads, made YOL II. NO. XII.

73

her fingers fly, her tongue generally keeping them company. I found her excellent company. She discovered that I was an American, and said she had just seen Lafayette in Paris: his reception and journey through America were familiar to her and seemed to please her very much. We engrossed the conversation at length, and it became personal. I told her all about my walk to Marseilles, and in return, she described her mode of educating her children and grandchildren, for she was a grandmother I discovered. The carriage came to a long hill, halfway between the cities, where it was necessary for all to walk. We fell in company and jogged on together, behind the stage. I made a second offer of my arm at a rough part of the ascent, which she declined, remarking however that woman was a feeble being.

'Yes,' I said, 'they are physically weak, but surely you cannot call those feeble, who form our childhood and afterwards give a character, whether of joy or sorrow, to all our life!' Sentimental enough; but remember I was in France. I said no more, however, for she took up the conversation, and for more than half an hour, I scarcely had time or inclination to say a word. In the most animated parts of it she would get right before and stop me; lay one hand on my right arm, and with the other gesticulate with the eloquence of a lawyer.

The subject was virtuous women and their influence; she turned to me, at last, and said

"I see you listen attentively and take this to yourself; I mean it for you think of my advice when you are three thousand miles from this, and you will often thank me for it. You say you are single; now let me impress this strongly on you-when you wish to change your condition, wherever it may be, never have a particular hour for visiting. If you do all will be prepared for you; the house in nice order, and every one with looks prim and composed; but take them by surprise as much as possible. Go one day before déjune, (at ten o'clock;) another day, in the afternoon; and then again, in the evening; and you will find more of the real character of a lady in two such visits than you will in twenty of the usual kind. An acquaintance of mine was paying his addresses to a young lady, whom he considered an angel in temper, and the house was so nice and well-ordered; but one day he happened to ring at an unusual time. No one answered, and he opened the door at last, as he was of course on familiar terms. At that moment a side door flew open and the young lady appeared, her face red and inflamed, but she disappeared as soon as she had seen him. Her mother followed in tears, and was going to disappear, too, when he stopped her-" Madame, do tell me what is the matter?"