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It was on a delightful morning in the glorious I was one of those old, greyheaded, worthy pastors, month of June that I for the first time left my dispensing goodness and charity in every case native home to seek my fortunes on the world's where he thought they were needed, that we could wide estate ;” and as I was whisked past on the imagine a pastor of a village to be. The Rev. mail coach (alas ! that we can speak of it only Hugh Wilmot was, in fact, the living semblance in the past tense) the cottage residences of my of that “brotherly love and Christian charity.” humble village friends and school-boy acquaint- which he endeavoured, each Sunday, to instil in ances, I felt that strange mixture of joy and the hearts of his humble congregation, from his sorrow which only those experiencing it can old worm-eaten pulpit in the corner of the understand: and as the old women, peeping church. Below the pulpit was stationed, in all from under the clusters of roses and woodbine the glories of faded scarlet drapery, the “parwhich overhung the windows of their dwellings, sonage pew.” Our pew, being the largest in the looked on me-as I thought at that moment- church, was situated next to theirs, thus enabling with pride, and sent forth blessings on the head those in our pew to have a good view of the of their “ darlin' boy," I felt my bosom rising inmates of theirs. There was not much novelty, with pride ; and yet could scarce refrain from however, in this; its only occupier being a young bursting the portals of the fountain of grief, and very pretty girl, just emerging from the which hung, like a weight, upon my otherwise buoyancy of youth into the stately sedateness of buoyant spirits.

womanhood. Marian Wilmot was the only I was the only son of a poor, but prpud daughter of a younger brother of the vicar's, squire, who, having but little means and much who dying, left his child—then of tender years haughty blood, kept me at home instead of to the care of his brother. Trained in all the sending me to school-himself acting as my elegance of the then fashionable female accomtutor; the consequence naturally was that, under plishments, and possessed of depth of mind his tuition, I stood a fair chance of following in equal to the beauty of her person, it is not, his footsteps—a proud and poor man, striving to perhaps, surprising that I was an almost constant keep up a large appearance, and not knowing in visitor at the parsonage; the kindness of the which quarter to turn for the means; heir to an good old pastor, and the gentle acts of friendold family estate always wanting repairing, and ship of his ro less kind niece, are circumstances two or three tenants upon it wlio never paid the that will ever shine as bright memories in the rent. Such were my expectations in life at the moments of retrospection. A kind of friendship age of sixteen. My father-on account of the rather than anything else existed between us; expences entailing upon it-keeping no company, and it was not without great heaviness of heart my only associates were the village gossips, in- that I thought of our parting—perhaps for ever. cluding the blacksmith, or, in his own terms, After due consideration, however, I at last “the farrier," the parish clerk, and the tailor, determined that I would save both of us that besides innumerable old women; not, I must often eventful word in our life-Adieu. confess, merely for their own sakes, but for the The morning was lovely as I started out of sake of possessing, if possible, the good will of the small yard of the inn of “our village,” their daughters; of whom, I think, our village perched on the roof of the aforesaid coach; of B-could boast–in the estimation of my Nature, freshened with the morning air, sent untutored fancy—of as handsome a group as forth her beauties with luxuriant grandeur ; that of any harem of the east. At the age of larks sprang on high from their mossy couches sixteen, my father thinking I ought to be earning at her command; while, from many a woody a livelihood for myself

, and imagining the sword glen, the throstle's note came warbling forth, so to be the most aristocratic way of accomplishing soft, so sweet, that passers by might fancy that it that object, a commission was purchased for me came from heaven; everything, in fact, spoke of in the -- regiment of foot, then stationed at the calmness and happiness. Here from a cottage Chatham barracks, waiting to be embarked for door came rushing forth, with many a joyous service in the east. The reader must suppose shout, the dimpled children of the cottager, who, me just starting per mail” for the former with brawny limbs scarce covered with rags, place, at the opening of this narrative.

came also to the door to see the passengers on I will now introduce the reader to two per- | the coach-to him a little world. But though sonages rather more elevated in their position the children were ragged and poor, they were in life than those whom I before included in my happy in their poverty, and so more to be envied small circle of friends. The vicar of the parish than half the slaves of wealth.

Ilow strange it is, but yet how true, that, I turned from a scene so sad to me, cast down our fancies alter with the moments of our ex- in spirit, weary and sad. I sauntered back, till istence! Full twenty times within a mile from at last I came in sight of that dear spot, in starting did I wish I had spoken once more to which were concentrated all the hopes, the fears, Marian. Fain would I have stopped the coach the every thought of happiness, for me. I to go back to see her, but such an act would hastened on to meet once more the old man's have been madness; so I was compelled to pro- kind embrace, and hear again the tender words ceed on my journey. We had not proceeded of friendship from Marian's lips. When near far, when, amidst the screaming of the female the house, I scarcely could collect my bewildered passengers, and the groaning of the less delicate senses to know the place, so altered was it portion of humanity, one of the off-side wheels since I had last seen it. The garden, kept came off, and went Aying a-head. Fortunately before with neat compactness, was now hidden the coach was not very full, or the consequences from my sight by tall, rank weeds, growing might have been serious; so, by all leaning to above the garden railing. Her favourite rosethe near-side, we escaped the damage that might tree, in the centre, was alone visible-withered otherwise have resulted. Of course we could and dying, and bearing the golden tinge of not proceed for some time; so, taking advantage Flora's death; the few pale buds upon its of the delay, I set off back to say " Good-bye" branches were drooping with the blight upon to her, whom I now felt to be the guiding star its leaves-blighted and dying in the very beauty of my existence. An hour's walk brought me of their short-lived summer. The old church to the beautiful little residence of her uncle. On seemed full a score years older than it did entering the gateway, I beheld Marian tending, five years back : its sturdy wall, covered thick with gentle touch, the choicest flowers, of which with ivy, which, in those gay days for me, was she was so fond. We had not met for more refuge only for the friendly sparrow, and no less than a week, and I was surprised at the change friendly warbler, robin, now sheltered many a in her look and behaviour. She seemed, in that nest of noisy starlings; while, on the top, a short time, like the gay rover of the summer croaking raven had built its dusty home, and sunshine, to have emerged from the chrysalis of startled passers-by, on starry nights, with its careless youth into the grave and steady manners dusky form and horrid scream among the tomb. of womanhood. She seemed to be in the very stones in its neighbourhood, like the evil spirit, MORNING of her existence, and as I looked calling out with vengeful voice for those that upon her "lovely form and feature” I felt proud were his own. Time and storms seemed to have of having even the friendship of such a creature wreaked their foulest vengeance on its battered of light. Our farewell words were few; and as form. I hastened through the church-yard walk we parted, she made me promise to visit her on to gain admittance to the vicarage-house, when, my return. I promised, and we parted, scanning over the monuments of those departed.

Years rolled by, and beheld me again, in the my eyes became transfixed upon a monument of month of June, wending my way on the same more than usual simplicity, which a man with road I had traversed five long years before. swarthy arms was putting in its place of desNature in that time seemed to have slept; though tination. Stopping to see the name of the poor Time, with rapid stride, seemed passing on with departed spirit, I gazed with breathlessne on more than fearful havoc. The same views met beholding the following inscription on its my gaze, the same familiar voices rang upon my polished face :ear; but those who spoke were not the same. Children who used to toddle to me as I sat upon

SACRED TO THE MEMORY the road-side bank, and lisp into my ears some

MARIAN WILMOT, childish sentence, now turned away from me as

Who departed this life on the I passed, with all the pride and consequence of

17th June, 18riper years. But travelling on, I could not help pausing on a scene of more than ordinary loveli- “All gone—all gone:" the words rang in my ness—'twas Marian's favourite spot; a small ears as I sat, or rather fell down, sick and faint streamlet glided across the road, while higher up at the realization of my worst fears. From the it turned the miller's wheel. Determined once mason at work I learnt that she had been more to visit a spot so dear to the memory of buried but the day before, in the vault of the my childhood, I proceeded by the brook-side vicar's family, who, I learnt from the same to an old tree upon its bank. A seat was round source, had, since the death of his niece, become its sturdy trunk when last I saw its giant arms, a broken-hearted old man. I stopped to hear and stood in the welcome shade beneath its no more, but turned towards the hall, where I clustering leaves ; but on reaching, by the well found my father well; thus rendering the trial known road, the much-loved spot, I was scarce less irksome to me. I stopped a few weeks, and man enough to hide my tears on beholding my then returned to my regiment, a wiser and, I dear old favourite tree dead and stricken by trust, a better man. the lightning's blast. 'T'was almost the first Many years, since this event, have now passed relic of home that I had seen; and as I dashed by in their steady course, and I am getting in away a truant tear of fond remembrance from the decline of years, a bachelor, my health broken my sun-burnt cheek, I could not help but think by unwholesome climates, and my spirit deit a bad omen of the things to come. In haste stroyed by the remembrance of my early loss.


One consolation I have—I kept my last promise with Marian: I visited her on my return, though it was in the NIGHT time of her existence. Though years have now rolled by, and the monument placed to her memory is grown over with moss and tinged with age--though her name is one now never heard by me from human lips, save my own-I often visit the resting place of her who in my boyhood's days was to me as the cloud of Israel, to guide my path through all the dangers of a soldier's life; and as I look around me in the old church-yard on the remembrance-stones of those who, in early life, were my monitors and playmates, the sad words still ring in my ears—"All gone_all gone.”

Child of the south, thou still canst spread

As fairly here thy leafy crest, Unscathed the honours of thy head,

That proudly bendeth to the west ;

Our northern sleets thy hardy breast Assail unharming. Oh, that she,

Whom in the grave I laid to rest, Had braved the unsparing winds like thee! But the dark foot no eye can see

Trampled her life and strength away,
And ’numbed each vital energy,

Cold as the snows that round her lay;
Beneath our sky's inclemency,
Fade not like her, Acacia Tree!


Not with the damp and stagnant earth

Can she have part, the beautiful ; Not sunk the glory of her birth

In matter the corrupt and dull,

Nor in the flowers she loved to cull Is her fine essence merged and fused,

Since Death himself cannot annul The graces which she ne'er abused ;

Nor rose nor flower, if fairer be,

Can image her who went from me. Nor do her eyes look through a star,

As Indian mourners fondly say Who recognise the dead afar,

Familiar in each nightly ray;

Nor on the breeze she takes her way, That beauteous and evanish'd wife;

It is too stormy in its play
For her who had no thought of strife ;

But by my cottage door I see
Her emblem in the Acacia Tree.

The branches at my window pane

Are always pattering through the night, And soothe my grief with fancies vain

Of summons from her loving sprite ;

And when the infant day is bright
The burnish'd leaves dance o'er the sill,

Like smiles from her, with gush of light
My vacant house and heart to fill;
And oft at eve, serene and still,

The fragrance of its scented flowers
My inner heart's recesses thrill

With memories of our wedded hours, And then deep sighs of sympathy Moan in thy boughs, Acacia Tree! The yew-flank'd churchyard, where she lies,

Beyond my trellis'd gate is shown, And thither stray my weary eyes

So often as I sit alone;

But over one new graven stone
A slender bough the Acacia throws;

Of all the tombs it hides but one,
The one that weighs on her repose,
And if my heart too heavy grows,

And sinketh with intenser pain, The kindly blossoms interpose,

And bid me rise to hope again.

I would not leave my small domain, The humble roof that once was hers;

The rooms that echoed to her strain,
Where now no sound of joyance stirs ;

But precious most, and dear to me,
I would not leave the Acacia Tree!

E. A. H. O.

It was a tender sapling when

Her playful hand inearthed it there; But it is flourishing and green,

And I a wintry stem and bare !

Yet trembling in the sunny air, Of its own shadow'd self afraid,

Its fluttering murmurs speak of her Whose timid arm on mine was stay'd ; Nor yet more grateful is its shade,

From storm of rain or fervent heat, Than from life's cares her sweetness made

My home a place of calm retreat, From turmoils of the world flee Like thy own shade, Acacia Tree ! It is an alien in its kind,

That like as wandering, homeless Jews, Come to us with the eastern wind

From warmer skies and kinder dews;

And, seeing it, I cannot choose But tbink of her who left her race,

And mated with a rude recluse, Could still preserve her buoyant grace, The kindling beauty of her face,

That shed a brightness on our land, And glorified each thing and place

Sunned by her eye, touch'd by her hand; Well, then, her monument may be Child of the south, the Acacia Tree.

SONG.–THOU DOST NOT LOVE ME. (In answer to Mrs. Norton's exquisite Ballad, I

do not love thee.")
“ I do not love thee,” sayest thou ?

Yet, could I read thine heart,
Methinks it would the truth avow,

And other thoughts impart.

Thou dost not love me! If 'twere so

Then thee I've loved too well; Yet in my breast, through weal and woe,

Thine image still shall dwell.

Thou dost not love me! yet thy tone

Betrays those words are vain;
Let “ Pride" no more the truth disown,
Thine heart doth love retain.



“A merry Christmas !"—What a welcome and no cloud obscure their sunshine, in the salutation in the ears of every Englishman! mansions of celestial radiance. Well, indeed, that there is one period of the But are there none to whom “A merry year set apart for Christian joy and gratitude Christmas” may be spoken in vain? Would an opportunity for assembling around the do- that it were not so ! mestic hearth, and of bringing our dear absent friends together; some, perhaps, whom we have Oh, ye who gather round the glowing hearth, not seen since childhood, and whom we may To drown the hours in streams of social mirth, never, perhaps, see again

Turn to this cot, and for a moment scan

What stern misfortune pours on suffering man, “ 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark

Nor doubt the scene that curdles on the view : Their coming, and look brighter when they come ;"

The tints are homely, but the picture 's true.” for leaving the busy hum of men, and hastening

Ye who are affluent, forget not the want and from the ledger, counter, study, market, to share wretchedness of your poorer neighbours. Even the peaceful delights of a hoine-fireside and its the crumbs off your luxurious table may prove luxuries—delights which can be found nowhere acceptable to many. And whilst you are enjoy. else. What more pleasing than to behold one who ing the good things of this life, with “the feast has arrived at the winter of his days, greeting of reason and the flow of soul,” peep into some his second and third generations, and who re- poor man's hut, and gladden his heart with some peats in his heart the simple language of Richard of your abundance; “fling a faggot on the at the village fair-

hearth, and a seasonable morsel on the creaking

table ;” it will double the enjoyment of your God bless you all, my girls and boys;

own repast, and give you a lasting satisfaction in How glad I am to see you here!"

being the weak instrument for imparting comfort and plenty to many a hungry soul at this

festive season. “A merry Christmas !" cries the gallant lover to his fair Adona, when he whispers tales of the hand of benevolence and good-will

, will en.

A deep sense of gratitude, accompanied with love--ay, and under the mistletoe. • A merry Christmas !” says the creditor to which I so readily and sincerely wish may be

sure to all “ A merry and a happy Christmas," the debtor, mayhap hoping the mirth of the sea

realized to the ne plus ultra by the readers of son will infuse some silvery balm for him.

Some consider that Christmas has gone into the New Monthly Belle Assemblee! " the lean and slippered pantaloon." True, it Chelmsford.

A. M, Wicks. may be more refined now in its bearing, more graceful in its deportment: but is there less warmth of heart, less hospitality than characterized the “ by-gone days?" Surely not; although the old drinking-horn may be changed In watching the sea, the mind never becomes weary; for a cut-glass goblet, and Miss Clotilda may each wave, as it curls its silver foam and dashes on the blush to dance under the mistletoe, while she shore, has some novelty in it. There is no monotony willingly languishes in the polka. "Tis true that, in the motion of the waves, and the mind speculates when you look back upon the past year, many

momentarily on each variety of motion and of form, changes may have taken place-many pleasures

finding in all an inexhaustible fund of amusement, and troubles to recall to mind, which are the excitement, pleasure, and wonder. It is no less true common lot of all. Some chair, perhaps, may which, in its movement, has not a wearying effect upon

than remarkable, that the ocean is the only substance be vacant, which a year ago was filled by one in the gazer. All other forms, animate or inanimate

, the enjoyment of health and every earthly may amuse for a moment, a minute, or an hour ; but blessing. The young and the old, the rich and their charm is gone, there is a monotony in them, the poor, the learned and the unlearned, have selves, they are unchangeably the same in their general alike been taken from the scenes of mirth to the form. Even the brook, rippling along, has a mocold and darkened tomb. But even these re-notony which is not in the motion of the sea. Perhaps flections have an improvement, and should re

the nearest approach to the pleasing variety shown in mind us of that great achievement which Christ. the movement of the ocean, is the ever changing, mas is intended to commemorate, that blest

ever varying display in the features of the huMAS redemption which alone can cheer the despond- tion or repose, the next the varying ripple, as the

FACE; one moment expressing the calm of resigna. ing heart, and impart tidings of great joy to the ever changeful thoughts—like the uncertain winds

, pious and the virtuous. And to such our cele- playing over the waves, display themselves upon its bration here is but a type of a future festival, surface—and, anon, the boisterous storm of anger, when friends shall meet to separate no more, madness, or revenge!-W. H. Fisk.


l Occasioned by hearing a gentleman wish he

were a woman.)

" Love Quarrels !” Ah! they bring,

For one brief moment of forgiving bliss, Hours, days, months, years of anguish-tears that

spring In vain, to heal the wounds which no fond kiss Can thoroughly cicatrise anew! Oh, ye

Who court the perilous play of heartless strife, Come hither ! scan me well, that ye may see

The living death within the dying life!

The smile upon my brow

Not ignorance itself can take for mirth;
The faint and watery eyes, that strive to know

The hearts of others, doubting ev’n the worth
Of those who are most worthy :- hollow cheeks,

Written with wrinkles, less of age than care, And the quick tremulous movement, which bespeaks

The heart disease, self-given by its despair.

Oh, who would be a woman? Never, sure,
One human being who has known and felt
A woman's duties, or a woman's fate.
Is it profane to ask, by suffering bowed,
Why the great God, who placed her on the earth
To be man's idol, or his slave-oh, why
Did He not steel her gentle heart, instead
Of filling it with tenderness and love ?.
Wherefore did He bestow such dangerous gifts ?
And why those cravings for affection, which
Man's deep devotion can but half repay ?
Oh! none that ever felt a woman's cares,
Her tenderness, anxieties, or fears,
Doom'd from her hour of birth to be in turns
Caressed, forsaken; slighted, now admired ;
Flatter'd, and then despised. Or, what is worse,
To linger in suspense and painful doubt,
Without the power of knowing how to act,
Whether to love, or whether to withhold
That precious tide, that in her bosom flows
Pure, fresh, and endless ; even when the frost
Of man's ingratitude has bound her heart
(At least its surface) in his icy chains ;
To see the pearls most precious in her eyes
Trampled beneath the foot of vulgar scorn,
And crush'd beyond redemption. Such her life !
Were I a mother, surely I would weep
A daughter's birth, but that the memory
Of the Messiah's death forbids my tears,
While I remember that to woman's care
The great Creator gave his only Son,
That for our sakes his Virgin mother bore
Sorrow and grief, as though a very sword
Her gentle soul had pierced,” while she beheld
Her much loved Son upon th' accursed tree !
Yet He, while in his deepest agony,
Cared for, and pitied, that lone Woman's woe;
Wherefore my heart has faith, and blessed hope,
That for that mother's sake, He cares for us.
Regent's Park.


The trembling hands—but why

Complete the fearful picture of a life Sadden'd-oh, would 'twere shorten'd-by the lie

Suspicion tells, begetting pain and strife ! The human heart at best is strangely stored

With warring feelings ; doubt and dread conspire To make the idle word a busy sword,

The lightest feud sweet love's funereal pyre !

Contend not with the Loved !

The erring may be true, and fond, and kind, Yet scarcely bear to have their faults reproved

By even the spirit pure and mighty mind : Soothe them, when sad; and when the devious mood

Is on their souls, pray for their peace-nor fear That God will frown. Oh! write this with thy blood,

“ Contend not with the Dear!"


When Evening's shades are closing round,

And twilight's dark’ning hours appear, love to seek a lonely mound, Some ancient church-tower butting near.

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