Marshal de Villars stepping up to him, said "Captain do you know who the President of the Court of Aix yonder is ?-It's old Manasseh, the Jew of Brussels. I pawned a gold watch to him which I stole from Cadogon when I was with Malbrook's army in Flanders."

Here the Duc de la Roche Guyon came forward very much alarmed. "Run me through the body" said his Grace, "but the Controller-General's lady there, is no other than that old hag of a Margoton who keeps the"-here the Duc de la Roche Guyon's voice fell.

66

Cartouche smiled graciously, and walked up to the table; he took up one of the widow's 15,000 gold pieces-it was as pretty a bit of copper as you could wish to see. My dear," said he politely, "there is some mistake here, and this business had better stop."

"Count!" gasped the poor widow.

"Count be hanged," said he, "my name is CARTOUCHE!"

THE HUDSON FOR EVER!

They may sing of the Rhone and the Rhine,
With their palaces, castles and towers,
Of their banks, overflowing with wine,
And their hamlets embosomed in flowers;
But while through our own native land,

The Hudson's blue billows shall shiver,
I will hail it with heart and with hand,
Nor sigh for a lovelier river!
Our highlands-what foe dare invade,
Where the arm of each freeman's a tower?
And for castles-see yon palisade,

And scoff at the enemy's power!
As for wine-with what reason complain,
Has the Rhine or the Rhone a sublimer
Than Cozzens's rosy Champagne,

Or Stetson's superb Rudesheimer!
Then fill high to our beautiful stream!
We ask not a braver or broader-
On its bosom what argosies gleam!
How green wave the woods on its border!
While its waters shall flash in the sun,
No rival our heart-ties shall sever,
But we 'll sing-will we not? every one,
The Hudson! the Hudson forever!

A SCHOOLMASTER OF THE OLD LEAVEN.

The good old race of flogging schoolmasters, who restrained the passions by giving vent to them, and took care to maintain a proper quantity of fear and tyranny in the world, are now, perhaps, nearly extinct; at least, are not replenished, as they used to be, with a supply of bad blood in the new ones. Education has assumed the graces fit for the calm power of wisdom. She sits now in the middle of smiles and flowers, as Montaigne wished to see her. Music is heard in her rooms; and health and vigor of body being cultivated, as well as of mind, neither master nor scholars have occasion for ill humor. I know a master of the old school, who flourished (no man a better rod) about thirty years back. I used to wish I was a fairy, that I might have the handling of his cheeks and wig. He was a short, thick-set man about sixty, with an aquiline nose, a long convex upper lip, sharp mouth, little cruel eyes, and a pair of hands enough to make your cheeks tingle to look at them. I remember his short coat-sleeves, and the way in which his hands used to hang out of his little tight wristbands, ready for execution. Hard little fists they were, yet not harder than his great cheeks. He was a clergyman, and his favorite exclamation (which did not appear profane to us, but only tremendous) was "God's-my-life!" Whenever he said this, turning upon you and opening his eyes like a fish, you expected (and with good reason) to find one of his hands taking you with a pinch of the flesh under the chin, while with the other he treated your cheek as if it had been no better than a piece

of deal.

I am persuaded there was some affinity between him and deal. He had a side-pocket, in which he carried a carpenter's rule, (I don't know who his father was,) and he was fond of meddling with carpenters' work. The line and rule prevailed in his mode of teaching. I think I see him now, seated under a deal-board canopy, behind a lofty wooden desk, his wooden chair raised upon a dais of wooden steps, and two large wooden shutters or slides projecting from the wall on either side to screen him from the wind. He introduced among us an ac

quaintance with manufactures. Having a tight little leg (for there was a horrible succinctness about him, though in the priestly part he tended to the corpulent,) he was accustomed, very artfully, whenever he came to a passage of his lectures concerning pigs of iron, to cross one of his calves over his knee, and inform us that the pig was about the thickness of that leg. Upon which, like slaves as we were, we all looked inquisitively at the leg; as if it had not served for the illustration a hundred times. Though serious in ordinary, and given to wrath, he was "cruel fond" of a joke. I remember particularly his delighting to show us how funnny Terence was, (which is what we should never have found out); and how he used to tickle our eyes with the words “Chremes's Daater." He had no more relish of the joke or the poetry than we had; but Terence was a school-book, and was ranked among the comic writers; and it was his business to carry on established opinions and an authorised facetiousness.

When he flogged, he used to pause and lecture between the blows, that the instruction might sink in. We became so critical and sensitive about him, watching his very dress like the aspects of the stars, that we used to identify particular moods of his mind with particular wigs. One was more or less peevish; another Neronian; a third placable and even gay; most likely the one he wore on going out to a party. There was a darkish one, old and stumpy, which

from its horrid hair

Shook pestilence and tasks.

Never shall I forget the admiration and terror with which one beheld M, one summer's afternoon, when our master nodded in his chair, and we were all standing around, make slow and daring approaches upwards between this wig and the nape of his neck, with a pin! Nods of encouragement were given by some; go it was faintly whispered by one or two. It was an unknown thing among us, for we were orderly boys at all times, and frightened ones in school. "Go it," however, he did. Higher, a little higher, a little more high. "Hah!" cried the master, darting round; and there stood poor M— all his courage gone, fascinated to the spot, the very pin upright between his fingers! I forget what task he had; something impossible to achieve; something too long to say by heart at once, and that would ruin the whole of his next holidays. So much for fear and respect.

I could tell tales of this man's cruelty and injustice, almost inconceivable in many such schools as we have at present. Our great check upon him, or hope of a check, (for it was hopeless to appeal against a person of his great moral character and in to his wife: a woman with a ready smile to us, and a fine infinite respectability) was in the subjection he himself lived pair of black eyes. She must have been the making of his family, if he left any. When she looked in at the door sometimes, in the midst of his tempest and rage, it was like a star to drowning mariners. Yet this man had a conscience, such as it was. He had principles, and did what he thought his duty, working hard and late, and taking less pleasure than he might have done, except in the rod. But there it was. all his learning, he had a nervous mind and untamed passions; and unfortunately the systems of education allowed a man at that time to give way to these, and confound them with doing his duty. He was a very honorable man in his day, and might have been rendered a more amiable, as well as useful one in this; but it is not the less certain (though he would have been shocked to hear it, and willingly have flogged you for saying so) that with precisely the same nature under another system of opinion, he would have made an inquisitor.

With

So dangerous is it to cultivate the antipathies, instead of the sympathies; and so desirable for master, as well as scholars, are the healthier and cheerfuler roads to knowledge, which philosophy has lately opened to all of us.

SINCERITY OF PASSION.-That which the heart most asks is that which no words can convey. Honesty, Patriotism, Religion, these have their hypocrites for life; but Passion permits only momentary dissemblers.

HABITS AND CUSTOM.-'Tis distance lends enchantment to

the view, and what is absent is prized on that very account. Habit dulls ecstasy, and Custom is a sad damper to emotion. Men's words to women are much kinder when written than when they are uttered.

LOVE.-Love has made me like the sandal tree, that sheds sweetness on the axe that wounds it.

GOOD ADVICE.-Say nothing about yourself, either good, bad, or indifferent.

THE UNWILLING BRIDE.

BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

The joy-bells are ringing-oh! come to the church;
We shall see the bride pass, if we stand in the porch;
The bridegroom is wealthy: how brightly arrayed
Are the menials who wait on the gay cavalcade,
The steeds with the chariots prancing along,
And the peasants advancing with music and song.
Now comes the procession: the bridemaids are there,
With robes, and ribbons, and wreaths in their hair;
Yon feeble old knight the bride's father must be,
And now, walking proudly, her mother we see;
A pale girl in tears slowly moves by her side:
But where is the bridegroom, and where is the bride?
They kneel round the altar,-the organ has ceased;
The hands of the lovers are joined by the priest;
That bond!—which death only can sever again!
Which proves ever life's greatest blessing or bane!
A bridal like this is a sorrowful sight:

See! the pale girl is bride to the feeble old knight.
Her arm on her husband's arm passively lies,
And closely she draws her rich veil o'er her eyes;
Her friends throng around her with accents of love;
She speaks not-her pale lips inaudibly move,
Her equipage waits, she is placed by the side
Of her aged companion-a sorrowing bride!
Again the bells ring, and the moment is come
For the young heart's worst trial, the last look of home!
They pass from the village-how eagerly still
She turns and looks back from the brow of the hill!
She sees the white cottage-the garden she made;
And she thinks of her lover, abandoned-betrayed!
But who, with arms folded, hath lingered so long
To watch the procession, apart from the throng!
'Tis he! the forsaken! The false one is gone-
He turns to his desolate dwelling alone;
But happier there, than the doom that awaits
The bride who must smile on a being she hates!

PIC-NIC ON THE HUDSON.

BY THE GENTLEMAN IN THE CLARET-COLORED COAT.'

"Starboard your helm, skipper! or you'll run the Arrow's bowsprit through the cabin windows of the sleepy craft ahead

of us. Starboard the helm !"

The speaker was quite a young man, ambitiously attired in the suit of a fair-weather sailor, with checked shirt, white trowsers and a tarpaulin hat. A seaman would have been amused at the wearer's sedulous attempts to preserve the proprieties of the character he had assumed for the occasion; while those who could not detect the technical blunders in his phraseology might regard his nautical personation as a capital piece of acting.

"Starboard it is, Frank. What do you make her out ?" replied the helmsman, who had been dignified with the title of skipper.

"Schooner ahoy!" screamed Frank, making a speakingtrumpet of his two fists, as the Arrow came abreast of her larger companion. "Where are you bound-what's your cargo-and what's your skipper's name?"

"Dobb's Ferry-bricks-Philip Van Huyt," was the laconic reply of the fat Dutchman, who quitted his helm, and leaning over the taffrail of the "Fair Katrina," looked smilingly down upon the gay party of ladics and gentlemen assembled on the deck of the little yacht.

"Van Huyt! Does your mother know you're out?" rejoined the irreverent youth as the Arrow shot ahead. "Silence there on the starboard bow, or we shall keel-haul you, Sedgwick," exclaimed the skipper of the Arrow.

The banks on either side of the noble Hudson were arrayed in more than their ordinary charms. There was a glitter of festal pomp on the tufted foliage. The Palisades towered in their castellated magnificence, like the embattled walls of some gigantic fortress. Their gray fluted shafts and pilasters, hewn by a more cunning architect than Art, shone with prismatic hues; and, at their base the diminutive hut of the laborer cowered like a violet at the root of a stupendous sycamore.

Merrily and cheerily darted the Arrow through the sparkling foam. How shall we describe the groups, not neglectful of the beauties around them, upon her deck? Contrary to all nautical regimen and etiquette, the helmsman, or skipper, as he was called by Frank Sedgwick, was lazily seated on an ottoman, while on another, by his side, as if the more to divert his attention from the task of steering, sat a young lady, fair as day, apparently engaged with him in conversation. Hers was one of those faces which painters love to select as types of female gentleness. To features regularly beautiful, light flaxen hair, and eyes of the purest blue, she united an expression of countenance habitually tender and contemplative, but variable, and emitting faithfully every lightning-flash of thought or of passion from within.

"And do you hope to find abroad, Harry Tarleton," said the lady, "any thing more beautiful than this? Look at the broad, majestic stream-at the contrast of its banks-on one side rising into huge, perpendicular buttresses of rock-on the other sloping in smooth lawns and waving forests to the water's sandy rim! Can you conceive any thing more lovely and diversified in river scenery? I have floated down the Rhine, and gazed day after day upon its castled crags and legendary ruins, and vine-laden banks, but give me in preference the simple, natural glories of the Hudson. They are quite enough to fill my contemplation and satisfy my fancy."

"I am with you, Leontine, in your praises of the Hudson. Think not that any prouder and more memorable stream can ever wean me from my first love. Have I not braved these billows from a boy? Was I not born within sound of their chime? Was it not on these shores that we used to ramble in childhood, and gather pebbles, with which to skim its placid waters? Ah! I shall never forget the Hudson-for I can never forget you, Leontine! When I heard yesterday, that I was to see Leontine Brudenel, the playmate of my boyhood's days, returned from her visit to Europe, I pictured to myself a little girl in a very white and stiffly starched frock, with yellow curls down her neck, and a whip in her hand, ready to

chase me down the hill to theriver's side. How different was the reality! I saw before me a young lady in all the dignity of silk attire, who with graceful cordiality of manner, advanced and claimed the privilege of old acquaintanceship. "How changed and yet how beautiful!"

Uunchanged in one thing, by your leave-in inalienable attachment to my native soil, native habits, and native people. I wish, Harry-excuse me I wish, Mr. Tarleton, you may pass the ordeal of European travel as well."

"There is a talisman, Leontine, which I know would secure me against all chance of change."

"What is it?"

"Your love."

"Silence it is," replied the youngster hitching up his sers, and rolling an imaginary quid of tobacco through his

mouth.

It was an afternoon in July. There was just wind enough to dash the surface of the Hudson into sparkling furrows. The showers of the previous day had freshened the verdure of the earth, and washed the atmosphere of its stains, till not a breath of dimness was left. The blue sky seemed to rise away to an impenetrable height, illumined by a sun, whose sharp radiance made every angle of shade more than doubly black by contrast. One fleecy cloud with pillowy folds, white as the whiteat snow, hung beneath the zenith,

"As if an angel in his upward flight
Had left his mantle floating in mid-air."

flection.

"Tarleton! you are a nice man for a skipper, I don't think. If I hadn't spoken when I did, you would have driven us high and dry on the shore. I cannot say that I think it glory enough to serve under such a chief. I resign my commission."

"Mutiny, gentlemen, mutiny! Here is a fellow, regularly shipped before the mast, refusing to do duty."

nine-tails; throw him overboard; put him on shore!" ex"Mast-head him; put him in irons; give him the cat-o'

claimed several voices.

"Ladies! I throw myself with confidence upon your pro

tection," said Frank Sedgwick, with well-feigned terror. "I appeal to you, Miss Tarleton, and to you, Miss Vane, and to you, Miss Bullion, and to you, and you, and you-but not to you, Miss Brudenel, for you are an interested witness-whether a man can, with due regard to the interests of his owners and the safety of his passengers, steer a ship and make love at the same time?"

Shouts of laughter, directed against the discomfited skipper, were called forth by this sally. Symptoms of mutiny among the fairer portion of the crew began to be plainly manifest. A strong party in favor of young Sedgwick was rapidly forming, and there is no predicting the consequences that might have ensued, had not Tarleton, with praiseworthy magnanimity, ascended the ottoman, the tiller still in his hand, and addressed the malcontents in these terms:

"Ladies and gentlemen! I abdicate. As Napoleon said to the imperial guard at Fontainbleau, before his departure to Elba, I might with my soldiers maintain a civil war; but it would render France unhappy. Be faithful to your new skipper. Do not lament my fate. Should a squall come, or a steamboat threaten to run us down, I shall be on hand to take the helm. This is truly an affecting moment. Deposed from the command of my own ship, I yet shall be found ever ready, semper paratus, in time of trouble. Mr. Francis Sedgwick, I resign to you the helm."

Hereupon, Mr. Sedgwick advanced, took the helm, and flourishing a white pocket-handkerchief somewhat ostentatiously, covered his face with it a moment, and then replied: "Ladies and gentlemen! my emotions upon this occasion may, as has been most happily remarked by a celebrated author, be more easily imagined than described. Of my predecessor, it may be said, that nothing, while he held his office, became him like the leaving of it. For myself I can truly affirm, that I bring to the discharge of my high duties a zealous determination to consult the interests and wishes of my subjects, and to administer the constitution as I understand it. It is needless to pledge myself that there shall be a thorough reform in the government, and that a suitable economy shall be introduced into the several departments. Ladies and gentlemen! I have finished. Mr. Gallagher, you will please order up some imperial champagne punch."

The concluding sentence of this harangue being received with considerable enthusiasm by two or three thirsty young gentlemen, peace was soon restored, and the various groups resumed their former occupations or broke into new circles. Miss Brudenel, who seemed to be quite intently engaged in studying the language of the waves, as she leaned over the side of the vessel, was again joined by Henry Tarleton. The carnation rushed to her cheeks a moment, but gave way to an instant composure of demeanor. "Tell me now," said she, "who all these people are. You forget how many years I have been away from New-York. Bring along that ottoman, and make yourself agreeable."

"To begin, then: the lady in the slate-colored bonnet, is Edith Tarleton, fortunate in being the sister of your humble servant."

"Do not provoke me. I asked for information." "She is, as you may remark, surrounded by beaux, two of whom are particularly devoted. One, the individual with mustachios and long locks, is Count D'Angleville, a Parisian, but master of our language, and au fait in many other things." "I do not doubt it."

"You know him?”

"I have heard of him. Proceed."

"The rival swain is a Mr. Sterling, a young Pearl street merchant. I was assured by an anxious mother the other evening, that he was a gentleman of expectations, and in excellent business. You will observe every time Sterling says a good thing, D'Angleville manages to draw off Edith's attention, before it is well uttered, with a scornful sort of abstraction bitterly annoying. Poor Sterling would like to kick him, but the Count seems insolently unconscious of the merchant's existence. Edith is secretly enjoying the vexation of the one and the finesse of the other."

"It is evident to me that Sterling is in love himself, and that the Count is merely trying to make the lady in love."

"Very like. Yonder female, who is laughing so very loudly, is Mrs. Dove, who could not consent to have her daughter, the pretty girl in white, of our party without a chaperose. The meek-looking gentleman, with his thumbs in the armlets of his vest, who is contemplating the Arrow's cable, is Mr. Dove, who has made a fortune in the iron business. The individual who is perking and smirking in the face of Miss Dove, much

to her annoyance, poor girl, is Mr. Hookaway, a broker. I dislike the fellow heartily, but he smuggled himself on board the Arrow in the company of his ornithological friends, and I have not yet found an opportunity of slyly pushing him overboard." "Abominable! Who is the person talking to Miss Bullion?" "That is Mr. Flipp-Frederick Flipp. There is character in his very dress. Every article of apparel from his collar to his pantaloons is a world too big for him. He anticipates the age in every thing, from a town-lot to a pair of stockings. Ask Flipp any question, literary, scientific, theatrical, financial, theological or historical, and he always has an answer at the tip of his tongue. Ask him how many mud hovels there are in Timbuctoo, and he will give a number as readily as he would answer the inquiry, how many states there are in the Union. In fine, he is one of those men who draw upon their imagination for their facts, and upon their memories for their wit; and yet Flipp is a clever fellow and prosperous."

"Miss Vane has a pretty, Grecian face. Who are the cavaliers by her side?"

"The talker is Mr. Flash. The attitudinizer and dandy is Mr. Starchbourne. Flash is really clever, but too redundant of good things. There is no repose in his conversation. It is a constant succession of small shot, and the consequence is, that if you converse with him but five minutes you set him down as a very agreeable fellow-if ten, you think he keeps the attention a little too much upon the stretch-if fifteen, you regard him as absolutely tiresome-if half an hour, you write him down in your tablets, a bore.

"I see that, like Iago, you are nothing, if not critical. Now for a charcoal sketch of Mr. Starchbourne."

"His tailor has saved me the trouble. Do you not perceive what felicity he derives from the contemplation of those unwrinkled and immaculate pantaloons? If you wish to make him your enemy for life, tread upon his boot so as to destroy the polish; or induce him to take hold of a rope with his white kid gloves. He was engaged to a beautiful girl not long since, but withdrew from the alliance because the lady in a playful attempt to throw a strawberry into his mouth, produced a stain upon his vest."

"Who is the gentleman with the tumbler in his hand, devouring a sandwich!"

"That is Mr. Gallagher, a very acceptable person at a dinner-party when three of your invited guests have disappointed you by their absence. He is merely whetting his tusks. But see! We are off the Point. Ho, Sedgwick! Hard a-port with the helm! We will come to anchor here, and go on shore in the small-boat."

"Ay, ay. Let her slip. And, Starchbourne! let go that main sheet."

66

of unhappiness in the soiling which his white kid glove had undergone from the rough hand of old Peter.

The boat's keel grated on the pebbly shore, and the party gaily jumped on dry land. The spot chosen for the fete was one worthy of the retreat of a sylvan deity. Leaving the narrow, sandy marge of the river, they ascended a sloping ledge of moss-covered rock, and in an instant were in a thick wood, "beneath the shade of melancholy boughs." A little path, strewn with the last summer's withered leaves, led them farther up the ascent to a level shelf of table land, surrounded by trees of immense height, whose topmost branches interlaced, forming an impermeable roof. Through the foliage in front the shimmering of the river could be seen, and in the rear the hill rose bristling with a forest, as yet uninvaded by the woodman's axe. Upon this level vantage-ground, it was decided by acclamation that the pic-nic should be consummated. The gentlemen immediately occupied themselves in forming rustic seats for their fair companions. A board was laid upon the grass, and spread with a snow-white cloth. In a few minutes the faithful Gallagher was seen sweating under the weight of a basket of champagne. The servants in attendance unpacked the various viands and spread the festive board with a liberal collation. At the appearance of the Westphalia ham, the oys ter pie, the chickens and the pate de fois gras, Gallagher rubbed his hands, and seemed at the summit of terrestrial felicity. Even the taciturn Mr. Starchbourne had recovered his equanimity, and was seen turning up the cuffs of his coat, with the evident intention of making a descent upon the "creature comforts." Gallagher had seized a carving-knife, and plunged a fork into the Westphalia, when Flash laid his hand upon his arm, and in solemn accents, said:

"Stop, my friend. It-is-going-to-rain!"

A general uprising instantly took place. The ladies were futtered. Gallagher's under jaw dropped half an inch, as with a deprecating expression he looked up at the clouds: Nonsense, Flash, we shall have no rain to-day. You almost frightened me out of my appetite ;" and without more hesitation, he attacked the ham.

The onslaught was now general. The champagne corks few high in air, followed by a rosy vapor and overflowing foam. First a libation to Ceres," said Mr. Flipp emptying a goblet upon the earth, and then filling for the ladies.

"Will you accept it?" said Sterling, offering a plate of icecream to Miss Tarleton.

"Thank you. The Count is catering for me," was the reply.

"Hang the Count," muttered the disappointed wooer turning so abruptly as to upset a glass of claret, which Starchbourne had at his lips, by which accident the shirt-bosom of the unfor tanate dandy was drenched with the purple liquid. The victim looked daggers but used none.

"This is a magnificent oyster-pie," exclaimed Gallagher, and in the attempt to cut it, his knife slipped, and his hand plunged through the crust.

"You may give me some of that pie, now that your hand is in," retorted Mr. Flash.

By the way, Flipp," said Mr. Frank Sedgwick, "I have been disputing here with Miss Vane as to where is to be found

the line:

His devious way through tangled glades he sought,
And whistled as he went for want of thought.'"

"I know it is in Dryden," said Miss Vane. "You will fad it in his Palamon and Arcite."

"You are quite mistaken, my dear young lady," said Flipp, smiling benignantly. "Permit me to fill your glass."

One question more, I want to ask you, Flipp," continued Master Sedgwick," and that is, what was the amount of the unclaimed interest on the public debt of the United States in the year 1835 ?"

"Fifty thousand dollars, to be sure."

"Excuse me for troubling you once more, but I have a paricular reason for inquiring, how many paving stones there are Broadway between Wall-street and Canal ?"

"Mrs. Dove, allow me to give you some of this Charlotte

Russe," said Flipp, covering his retreat from the impertinence of his youthful antagonist, by a different sort of ruse. "Thank you, yes. Mr. Dove, my dear, you may take some of the tongue, if you want it."

"You don't want any of that article yourself, madam, I believe ?" inquired Mr. Flipp with overstrained politeness. "No, I thank you," was the lady's unsuspicious and veracious reply.

All this time, Mr. Hookaway, “the broker-man," as he was called by Mrs. Dove, was, as he believed, fast insinuating himself into the young affections of Miss Dove, whom, as the only daughter of a millionaire and a pretty girl into the bargain, he regarded as a most desirable speculation, quite equal to his last great hit in the "Moonopolis Independent Bank" affair. "Yes, Miss Julia," said the enamoured Hookaway, as he impaled an oyster upon his fork, “if there ever was a man, in whom the domestic feelings and"-(here the oyster abruptly disappeared) "affections were above par, I am that individual. How delightful the exchange of one's thoughts and-eh? speculations, and-all that sort of thing, with the partner of one's bosom-the sharer of one's prof-I would say joys and (these oysters are capital) woes. I am convinced that one's happiness is multiplied at least fifty per cent by marriage. It is a sure investment, believe me, Miss Julia. (Permit me to fill your glass with Heidseck. No? Then, here goes.) Connubial bliss! Ah, I begin to perceive you are not wholly insensible to the advantages of that stock-state, I mean.'

Here Mr. Hookaway filled his tumbler again with Heidseck, which he swallowed at a single draught, with the evident intention of nerving himself to a desperate undertaking.

"Don't go yet, Miss Julia," continued he, mistaking the poor girl's insuperable disgust for maiden coyness. "Away disguise! Need I tell you, Miss Julia, that I have long admired you in secret; that there is a large unredeemed balance in your favor on the books of my heart; that you have made my affections bankrupt?"

However, he

Here Mr. Hookaway, taking advantage of an intervening tree that concealed him from the rest of the party, knelt, and seizing the lady's hand, pressed it to his lips. Notwithstanding the all-absorbing character of his passions, he could not forbear thinking that the hand was not what you migh call a delicate hand for a lady. No; it was a little too large, and not altogether of the lily's texture and hue. thought of the money it would bring, and his courage returned. "Speak, my dear Miss Dove. Nay, do not tremble, and struggle to withdraw these-snow-white"-(here Hookaway stopped as if he had swallowed something the wrong way)— "these fingers from my grasp. Speak; or may I indulge the delightful hope that silence gives consent? Has my ticket indeed turned up a prize?"

"Did you speak, sir?" said a shrill, lisping voice.

Hookaway looked up. It was the hand of Frank Sedgwick he was holding.

"Damnation!" muttered the broker.

"Lame duck, eh? Hookaway! Bit this time, and no mistake. The fortune of trade, though, eh? Ha, ha, ha! I will go down to the river, and wash this tar and tupentine off my hand. This comes of handling ropes. Miss Julia, shall we

take a walk to the water's side?

"With all my heart," said the poor girl, uneasy at the thought of being again beset by the importunate Mr. Hookaway.

"Where is Harry all this while?" asked Miss Tarleton. "I see a white scarf glimmering through the trees above us," said Mr. Sterling. "There is Miss Brudenel on the slope. Harry cannot be far off. Shall I interrupt their Arcadian téte-à-téte, and tell them you want them here?"

Before Sterling had well put this interrogatory, the Count had broken in upon Edith's attention with a remark of his own: "I remember now where the air occurs. It is in Nor

"So it is. I recollect. Did you ask me any thing, Mr. Sterling?"-but, with a frown of vexation, Sterling had walked away toward the voracious Mr. Gallagher; and a loud, but somewhat constrained laugh was all the reply to Edith's question.

"By the way, Gallagher," said Sterling, striving to appear remarkably unconcerned, "who is this Count D'Angleville ?" "I don't know. But it will be well worth our while to cultivate his acquaintance. He has in his possession the recipe of the original and genuine sauce a la financiere. Let me give you some of this pate."

"Ď―n the pate," said Mr. Sterling, turning abruptly away.

"Well; that is the most profane remark I ever heard in the whole course of my life," muttered the gourmand as he attached a second clean napkin under his chin.

"What a scene for the pencil of a Watteau!" said Henry Tarleton to the lady by his side, as from a higher bank they looked down upon the group assembled on the little plat of level woodland. In another moment they had joined their companions. At length was the deck of the Arrow once more enlivened by the laughing throng. As the sun declined nearer to the horizon, the breeze freshened, though the sky still continued clear, and the air was warm and fragrant.

"We shall have a fine run of it to Castle Garden," said Tarleton, taking the helm. "Up with the anchor, Peter; and then out with every rag of canvass."

"Where is Gallagher?" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Starchbourne.

"Where is Gallagher ?" reiterated a dozen voices in return. "Now I think of it," said the mild and amiable Mr. Dove; "when I last saw the man Gallagher, he was reposing at the root of a tree with a bandanna handkerchief thrown over his face."

"Stop pulling there at the windlass ;" said Harry, "and go on shore for Mr. Gallagher. There he is by the water's edge waving his bandanna at us.'

In less than five minutes, the missing gentleman was restored to his friends; the anchor was weighed, and the Arrow was shooting ahead with a dashing breeze from the north-west. As they lost sight of the Palisades, the sun set; but horizontal lines of clouds, like flaming shafts of crimson, long hung above the west. Gradually they faded into the dark background. The evening star came forth with intensest lustre.The purple night had descended. Less frequent became the jocund laugh on board the swift gliding schooner. Gay voices grew more subdued; and bright eyes, as they looked up at the stars and around at the shadowy banks on either side, were now and then moistened with a tear. The influence of the hour had descended upon all; upon " the just and the unjust," and even Hookaway and Starchbourne began to think that there might be such things as sentiment and a soul. The night had not far advanced when the Arrow glided on past Weehawken, while toward the left the lights of the huge metropolis began to glimmer in the distance. Soon afterward, a burst of exhilarating music was heard, and a double-decked steamboat, brilliantly illuminated in every part, darted along on its luminous pathway over the subject waters. The band on board were playing that glorious melody, "Hail to the chief," and as the Arrow rolled and tossed in the swell of the vessel's wake, a general exclamation of delight and susprise broke from the spectators on her deck.

A few moments more, and the members of the pic-nic party, we have commemorated, were dispersed; the greater part being landed at the pier, near Castle Garden, while Henry Tarleton and his sister, with Miss Brudenel, continued a mile or two down the bay, and anchored at a little dock that protruded from the shore, leading to the Narrows on the northerly side of Long Island.

"Home at last," said Henry Tarleton; and, helping Edith and his companion to land, he proceeded with them up the hill to Eagleswood.

EQUIVOCAL VERSER.-The Weekly Packet of Advice from Rome, No. 23, May 6, 1679, contains the following in Latin and English: we transcribe only the latter. It is entitled, "The Jesuits' Double-faced Creed."

HOPE.... BY T. K. HERVEY.
AGAIN again she comes!-methinks I hear
Her wild, sweet singing, and her rushing wings;
My heart goes forth to meet her with a tear,
And welcome sends from all its broken strings.
It was not thus-not THUS-we met of yore,
When my plumed soul went half way to the sky
To greet her; and the joyous song she bore
Was scarce more tuneful than the glad reply:
The wings are fetter'd by the weight of years,
And grief has spoiled the music with her tears.
She comes-I know her by her starry eyes,

I know her by the rainbow in her hair!
Her vesture of the light and summer skies-
But gone the girdle which she used to wear
Of summer roses, and the sandal flowers
That hung enamored round her fairy feet,
When, in her youth, she haunted EARTHLY bowers,
And culled from all the beautiful and sweet.
No more she mocks me with her voice of mirth,
Nor offers now the garlands of the earth.
Come back, come back-thou hast been absent long,
Oh! welcome back the sybil of the soul,
Who came, and comes again, with pleading strong,
To offer to the heart her mystic scroll;
Though every year she wears a sadder look,
And sings a sadder song, and every year
Some further leaves are torn out from her book,

And fewer what she brings, and far more dear.
AS ONCE she came-oh, might she come again,
With all the perished volumes offered THEN.
But come-thy coming is a gladness yet-

Light from the present o'er the future cast,
That makes the present bright-but oh-regret

IS PRESENT sorrow while it mourns the PAST,
And memory speaks, as speaks the curfew bell,
To tell the daylight of the heart is gone.
Come like the seer of old, and with thy spell,

Put back the shadow of that setting sun
On my soul's dial; and with new-born light
Hush the wild tolling of the voice of night.
Bright spirit, come-the mystic roll is thine
That shows the hidden fountains of the breast,
And turns, with point unerring, to divine

The places where its buried treasures rest
Its hoards of thought and feeling; at that spell,
Methinks I feel its long-lost wealth revealed,
And ancient springs within my bosom swell

That grief had checked, and ruin had concealed,
And sweetly swelling where its waters stray,
The tints and freshness of its earlier day.

She comes-she comes-her voice is in mine ear,

Her mild, sweet voice, that sings, and sings for ever,
Whose strains of song sweet thoughts awake to hear,
Like flowers that haunt the margin of a river;
(Flowers, like lovers, only speak in sighs,
Whose thoughts are hues, whose voices are their hearts,)
Oh-thus the spirit yearns to pierce the skies,

Exulting throbs, though all save hope departs:
Thus the glad freshness of our sinless years
Is watered ever by the heart's rich tears.
She comes-I know her by her radiant eyes,
Before whose smile the long dim cloud departs;
And if a darker shade be on her brow,

And if her tones be sadder than of yore,
And if she sings more solemn music now,
And bears another harp than erst she bore,
And if around her form no longer glow

The earthly flowers that in her youth she wore-
That look is loftier, and that song more sweet,
And heaven's flowers-the stars-are at her feet.

WIT.-As true wit generally consists in the resemblance and congruity of ideas, false wit chiefly consists in the resem blance and congruity sometimes of single letters, as in anagrams, chronograms, lipograms and acrostics: sometimes of words, as in puns and quibbles: and sometimes of whole sentences or poems, cast into the figures of eggs, axes, or altars. Nay, some carry the notion of wit so far, as to ascribe it even to external mimicry; and to look upon a man as an ingenious person, that can resemble the tone, posture, or face of another.