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requested her to write a sentiment to grace the commencement; but, when she glanced at the simple incident I intended to relate, she thought the motto and the sketch were not very appropriate; but, as I insisted on its appropriateness to my brave Arthur's story; and, as I also had the slip of paper in my hand on which it was pencilled, (possession being nine points of the law,) I was allowed to retain it, or rather she was obliged to yield to my whim, and, accordingly, I transferred it in triumph to the top of the page on which I commence

A REVOLUTIONARY STORY.

Near the extremity of the beautiful peninsula on which Charlestown is situated, stood a large old-fashioned house, in the year 1775, whose timeworn walls were partially concealed, in the warmer seasons, by luxuriant grape-vines, that, spreading over the latticed portico, ran across the small windows, and clambered along the gable roof. A group of horse-chestnut trees, and a hedge composed of the briery bushes of the barberry and blackberry, with here and there a sweetbrier, covered with its delicate pink blossoms, enclosed a yard overgrown with bright green grass, and which extended around the eastern and western sides of the mansion. Beneath the vine-covered windows on the west a small parterre of flowers bloomed, while beyond, a vegetable garden extended to where the bright waves of the river Charles rolled onward. The house was occupied by Mrs. Leslie, her two children, and a female domestic, Captain Leslie being with the American army, at the neighboring town of Cambridge, where it had been stationed for nearly two months, while the British troops lay shut up in Boston.

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It was the beginning of June, and, as the afternoon of a beautiful day drew near its close, Mrs. Leslie laid aside the sewing materials that had absorbed her attention during the morning, and, stepping out upon the green turf, directed her steps towards a low wooden bench beneath a large apple-tree, where a young and sweet-looking girl was sitting. As her mother approached, Anna Leslie dropped her knitting work and held forth a few simple, but fragrant, flowers. A caress was the reward which the affectionate girl expected and received for her gift. As she threw a glance so expressive of love on her mother's face, it was sad for that mother to know, that she could not perceive the smile of affection in return; for her child's dark blue eyes were sightless, poor Anna Leslie was blind. Few persons would have thought, as they looked in the lovely child's face, as some strain of music, some loved and familiar tone, or some bright, happy thought awakened in her countenance a beautiful expression, which accorded well with her symmetrical features, few persons would have thought that Anna had been born blind, that she never had viewed the charming scenes of nature, that her eye had never glanced over the pages of literature, or the works of art. But a mother's watchful tenderness and patient instruction had, during the twelve years of her life, some what supplied the deficiency which her misfortune occasioned; and her brother Arthur, two years older than herself, had, with more than a brother's usual affection, cherished and protected his helpless sister. Unlike the interesting and unfortunate Laura Bridgeman, Anna could hear the loved voices of her friends and the sweet tones of her mother's harpsichord. She could give utterance, too, in a low, clear voice, to her thoughts and feelings, and, although she saw not her mother's smile, she heard the whispered words of love, and returned her affectionate greeting.

Drawing her daughter's arm within her own, Mrs. Leslie returned slowly towards the house. The blushing June roses were sending forth their rich odor from the large bushes, covered with flowers, that bordered the path, and Mrs. Leslie plucked an opening bud and placed it in her daughter's

hair. All around their little domain looked peacefully, but Anna echoed her mother's sigh, as the beating of the drum and other sounds of war came faintly from the hostile camps and awakened in their bosoms sorrowful thoughts of the situation of their country, and the welfare of the husband and father, whose life was so precious, yet in such peril. As they silently approached the house, Anna felt conscious that her mother was becoming absorbed in melancholy reverie, and, to divert her attention, proposed to meet Arthur. Mrs. Leslie consented, and they passed through the flower beds and proceeded to the lower parts of the grounds, where Arthur employed himself in cultivating the vegetable garden; for it was impossible to procure a man in the town for that purpose, all who were able having joined the army of their country. But Arthur, with the occasional assistance of Rachel, their faithful black servant, had managed to raise quite a respectable stock of vegetables, not only for his own family, but he sometimes found means to carry a portion to supply his father's table at the camp. Arthur, who had just completed his work and refreshed himself by a bath in the river, as his mother and sister appeared in sight, hastened to join them, and to communicate an account of an extensive depredation committed the preceding night in his garden. Naturally impetuous in his temper, Arthur now complained bitterly, and vowed vengeance on the British thief, as he persisted in calling him, for he had traced the footsteps over his delicate lettuce beds and young peas, till they terminated on the verge of the river. As his boyish imagination magnified his wrongs, Arthur's dark eye sparkled, his cheek flushed, and his red lip curled with scorn, and not till the sweet voice of his sister had communicated in a whisper a plan for watching that night, and at least ascertaining who the thief was, did his brow become unclouded, just as they entered their quiet, low-ceiled sittingroom. A very pleasant room it was, though old fashioned. Its deep window seats were nicely cushioned, its clumsy-looking mahogany tables, with dark, time-colored surfaces, highly polished, the carved boxes and stands that came from Calcutta, its fireplace, surrounded by small Dutch tiles, the antique-looking portraits, that came over in the Mayflower, it was said, and the painted screens placed around, made the apartment a favorite with Arthur and Anna. The bright flowers in the old China vases, and the white drapery of the table, now spread with their simple evening repast, enlivened the somewhat sombre aspect of the room, for the sun had just sunk below the horizon and the vines hung thickly over the windows; but Rachel pushed them aside and commenced swaying her fly-brush, as Mrs. Leslie seated herself at the table. Rachel was somewhat a privileged being in the family, as she was a faithful and trusty domestic, and she often enlivened the children at meal-times by her quaint expressions and anecdotes of the olden time. This evening she began to lament, as she glanced ruefully at the plain bread, fresh strawberries, and bright water from their own cool and shaded well, that her lady could no longer preside, as formerly, over the splendid silver plate and beautiful China tea-set, that once adorned the table, covered with the delicacies of the season. But now what was the use of the plainest cups and saucers without tea, and even the strawberries must be eaten without cream, for the British foragers had stolen their last

COW.

Arthur, who had been absorbed in his own thoughts, now joined in the conversation, for he generally felt interested when any thing was said respocting the injuries inflicted by the foes of his country; and, long after Mrs. Leslie had retired from the room, did the eager boy continue to listen to Rachel's tales, and even Anna at last left them, and passing out of the glass door into the large hall, for she was perfectly acquainted with every nook in her childhood's home, and could find her way without difficulty through every room of the house, she ascended the broad staircase with large wooden balustrades, at the head of the hall, and entered her own

chamber. Drawing the snowy curtain aside, Anna seated herself on the window seat, for though she could not look out upon the moonlit scene, it was pleasant to feel the cool fragrant breeze play over her face, and hear it rustling among the branches of the horse-chestnut trees. Long did Anna sit there, and longer she would have lingered, indulging in those waking dreams, sad and yet sometimes enchanting, that are peculiarly endeared to those, who, like her, are shut out from many of the bright realities of life, if the door communicating with her mother's apartment had not gently opened, and Mrs. Leslie entered with a mother's care to see that all was safe. Anna, my child, nine o'clock, and you sitting here, when the damp breeze from the river is blowing directly in the window? what imprudence!" The window was closed, and Anna was carefully enveloped in flannel, and only her urgent remonstrances prevented her mother from administering some hot herb tea. After Anna had retired, Mrs. Leslie withdrew to her chamber, full of anxiety for her beloved child, whose delicate health and helplessness seemed to increase the love she felt for her.

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When the old clock in the corner of the hall struck nine, Arthur lighted his candle and hastened to his room. After closing the door, he took from his chest an old fowling-piece and carefully examined it. Placing it on the table, he repaired to the window, and, parting the waving tendrils of the vine, looked out anxiously. Light clouds had been flying across the deep blue of the sky all the evening; but now, darker and darker they gathered in huge masses, till it was impossible to discern objects with any distinctness on the river, or even in the garden below. Arthur was a brave boy, but he hesitated at the thought of descending to the garden and there watching for the thief, for the increasing darkness made it impossible to see from the window; but his hesitation vanished, for he thought he faintly heard the sound of oars on the river, and snatching up his fowling-piece and silently opening his door, he proceeded lightly along the hall. As he passed the clock, it struck ten, and its silvery sound somewhat startled him as he felt his way in the dark. Noiselessly he opened the hall door, and stepped out into the yard. Everything around was quiet, except the rustling of the branches as a gust passed by, and the sound of oars striking the waves, which he now heard with more distinctness. Arthur bounded lightly over the hedge of sweetbrier, and made his way through the dewy shrubbery to his garden. It was very dark, and as he hid behind a group of currant bushes and awaited the coming of the depredator, he could scarcely distinguish a single object. Suddenly the noise ceased on the river, and breathlessly Arthur watched through the gloom. He started as he thought he perceived a tall form bending over near him; but, looking more closely, he saw it was a large sunflower bowing its head in the breeze. Again; did his imagination deceive him? No; a tall Highlander, his tartan and plumes shaken by the wind, crept cautiously through the bushes and proceeded to fill a large bag with all that the increasing darkness would enable him to lay his hands on. Arthur's fears, if he had any, were now dispelled, so indignant did he feel as he saw the inroads made in his fine beds of vegetables, and he sprung behind the startled Highlander and in a voice hoarse with rage, levelling his fowling-piece close to his head, threatened him with instant death if he made the least resistance. The frightened fellow, rendered confident and more daring by his former unmolested visit, had come totally unarmed save a dirk in his belt; but the surprise and consternation which his sudden detection had occasioned, not being able to see his enemy and with death so near, his presence of mind utterly forsook him, and he followed implicitly the commands of Arthur, who ordered him to take up the bag and to walk in front whither he should direct. Tremblingly the Highlander, not daring to move his head, for the loaded gun still threatened him with instant death, obeyed; and Arthur, following closely and silently through the garden and along the road, stopped

not till he arrived at the camp in Cambridge, where he delivered his prisoner into his father's hands. Proudly Captain Leslie gazed on his intrepid boy, and many were the compliments that his courage obtained from the officers and soldiers. Nothing could exceed the anger and mortification which the Highlander felt as he gazed in surprise on his youthful captor, and many were the oaths that fell from his lips, as he saw the scornful sneers and listened to the contemptuous remarks of the American soldiers as they passed him and looked upon his sturdy form, and compared it with the slight, graceful figure of Arthur Leslie. Arthur did not long remain at the camp, but hastened home to relieve the anxiety of his mother and sister, and just as the sun began to gild "tree, shrub, and flower," Arthur with one bound sprang over the thicket, shaking large pearly dew-drops from the roses, and entered the portico just as his mother was descending the stairs from his room, where the bed, which evidently had not been occupied, had dreadfully alarmed her. Her anxiety was somewhat allayed by the appearance of Arthur; and when at the breakfast table he related to her and to Anna the adventure of the night, Mrs. Leslie knew not whether to blame the temerity, or praise the courage which he undoubtedly had manifested. Rachel was delighted with her brave boy's conduct; and long afterward, when the war was ended and Captain Leslie had removed to the city, where Mrs. Leslie resumed her former station at the head of a splendid establishment, and the sweet Anna had cultivated, with her brother's assistance, the learning and accomplishments attainable by one in her situation, then did Rachel recount to her wondering hearers the story of Arthur's adventure with the Highlander.

LXII.

DESCRIPTION.

Description, as defined by Webster, is "a representation of names, natures, or properties, that give to another a view of the thing."

It is, in fine, a picture, delineated, not by lines, but by words; and it must be so presented as to convey a clear, definite, and exact semblance to the mind, such as the object described presents to the eye. Such a representation may be called a faithful description. Faithful descriptions, therefore, are faithful pictures. All definitions must be less perfect descriptions of a material thing, than a visible figure or delineation. But when a definition is expanded, so as to embrace not only all the particulars in which the object defined differs from other objects, but also those in which it resembles others of the same kind, such a definition, is, in fact, a description.

Owing to peculiar associations in the mind, and the difference in the habits of perception and observation, no two individuals would probably describe the same scene or the same object alike. This is particularly the case with young writers. Some, from a natural sluggishness of mind,

will perceive few particulars worthy of notice, where others, of different temperament, will find the subject replete with interesting details, all worthy of regard.*

A few suggestions will now be presented, which will probably lead those who may use this book to think, and to use their eyes to some purpose, when called upon to give a written description of any sensible object. These suggestions will be followed by a list of details, some one or more of which may always be noticed in a written description.

It will be noticed, that the object in presenting such a list is only, as has already been said, to suggest ideas, which the student himself is to mould as they may arise, and combine with what may spring spontaneously from his own mind.

To collect materials for a good description, there must be a devoted attention to the beauties of nature and to the scenes of social life. The mind will thereby be rendered susceptible and discriminative, acquiring sources of improvement which would otherwise be lost, while variety and copiousness of expression will at the same time be secured.

There are three great classes, under one of which all the varieties of description may be arranged. Under the first class are included all those subjects which are immediately under personal notice; which are actually present before our eyes. In the second class may be arranged all those which have been noticed, but have left only their pictures in the memory. The third class includes only those subjects which are purely imaginary. In the descriptions of all these classes, the object to be effected is one and the same; namely, to present to the reader a picture, easy and natural, lively in its character, and animated in its appearance; making those details the most prominent which would affect the beholder as most striking, and throwing, as it were, into the shade those circumstances which are designed to produce a subordinate impression. In producing such an effect, the writer should pay particular attention to the epithets † with which he designates particular objects, that he may render the impression, which he designs that they should convey, strong and durable. For this reason he cannot be too particular in the choice of his qualifying words, for they are sometimes more expressive than the objects themselves when presented in naked simplicity.

Thus, for instance, suppose we are describing a scene in a wood or forest; the following terms would appropriately describe the appearance of the scene: Dark, obscure, deep, dreary, gloomy, overcast, indistinct, dim, cloudy, dense, lurid, livid, &c.

Or a summer's noon; the following terms will be found in most cases suitable: Bright, shining, clear, lucid, brilliant, dazzling, splendid, resplendent, sparkling, refulgent, ardent, conspicuous, clear, placid, &c.

Or a storm, or a cataract; the following terms will be found expressive: Harsh, discordant, roar, howl, hiss, crash, reverberate, dash, splash, murmur, growl, clamorous, confused, terrific, tremendous, thundering, &c.

There are many kinds of description, also, in which the following terms may not only, with considerable advantage, be interwoven, but the terms themselves, by the law of association, will suggest ideas; such as, placid, calm, tranquil, motionless, peaceful, serene, restless, lazy, unruffled,

See the "Dialogue between a Tutor and his Pupils," on page 8th. † See the article on epithets.

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