roughly with him in the lists of argument, but after a few lances were broken, to his infinite discomfiture, he was fain to leave the field to his rival, and now confines himself to the realm of natural sciences, wherein he knows no peer. It does not in the least detract from the awe in which he is held by the younger portion of our community, that he is suspected of a leaning to skepticism, and once was heard to speak disparagingly of the Shorter Catechism. The post-master is a most important member of our confederacy; and the minister of our own-the orthodox- -church, is always invited to our sober tea-drinkings. The editor is hardly comme il faut, but we none of us like to neglect him. printers are so disagreeable when they are offended, so he always receives a formal invitation when some great affair comes off; and if he comes, no one hinders him from enjoying himself if he can; and, in return for our condescension, the whole world for ten miles round is edified on the succeeding Wednesday with a minute account of Mrs. Sh's brilliant soirée on Thursday evening last; faithfully recording how Miss B n was bewitching, and Miss J s enchanting; how Mrs. Th-s-n looked distinguée, and the aristocratic Mrs. J-k-ns was superbe; and how, after all, the lovely Miss P-tt was the belle of the evening, the cynosure of neighboring eyes, the leader of the starry host, and was dressed in simple white muslin, with three roses and a japonica bewitchingly implanted in her hair. The rich shoe-and-leather dealer's family rank very high with us, and since the old Nantucket captain has set up his splendid span of grays, and talks of a conservatory, all Thorntonville delights to do him honor.

But the very head and front, the beginning and the end of our fashionable society, is Colonel Thornton and Colonel Thornton's family. With Colonel Thornton's family Thorntonville began; in them it lives and moves. Colonel Thornton's grand-father owned Thorntonville; Colonel Thornton's father buried Colonel Thornton's grand-father, and speculated in Thorntonville, and was gathered to his fathers; and then Colonel Thornton settled in the old place, and practised law for a little while, was elected to the Senate, retired from public life to Thorntonville, and by-and-by he too will journey by the same broad road from Thorntonville to another world.

The noble-looking, proud old man walks erect through the shady village street, so lofty, so unapproachable, his keen black eyes darting such vivid fire, and the thin lips so firmly pressed together, such an air of haughty condescension in his brow, and such a consciousness of lordly sovereignty upon his lofty forehead, that the man never lived in Thorntonville who did not hastily uncover as he passed, and return his bow with one of low deference, and answer to his salutation in respectful, subdued tones.

Years ago, when Colonel Thornton, ripe in honors, and sated with the toil and tumult of public life, came back to the shady green retreats of Hawthornden, he looked out in pride over the rich acres that stretched away from his window, and over the green lawn before his door, to the noble grove of oak, and elm, and maple, and down to the village that lay slumbering along the silvery winding stream down in the valley; and then, as he thought of the great wealth and the proud

position he enjoyed, he remembered the four beautiful girls who sat down at his table, and the noble boy who should bear his name down to another generation.

Who will ever forget little Sidney Thornton, that beautiful boy of thirteen summers? Who does not remember his flashing dark eyes that were as full of fickle feeling as ever were a woman's, one moment filling fast with tears, and then sparkling through the drops with boyish glee? or the sweet childish lips that were for ever moving, quivering now with fleeting sorrow, or pouting in momentary anger? Old men used to gaze upon his broad sunny brow, so clustered round with glossy curls, and bless the child. Every body loved the boy; who could help it? and the gruff blacksmith, who had his shop down by the river, used to wipe off his smutty face when he heard his clear laugh of an afternoon, and would let his iron cool to follow him about the shop, answering all his questions, and teaching him to use his tools. And the surly old shoe-maker, that was never known to sleep, nor ever to be really awake stitching, and hammering, and boring holes the livelong day, and far into the dark hours of the night—even he used to look up through his great brass-rimmed spectacles with a strange grim smile upon his care-worn face, when little Sidney stood in his shop-door; and he would stop his endless rap-tap' upon his lap-stone, and get up to hunt about among the odd strips of leather and many-colored morocco for the best and softest piece for his ball-cover; and they do say that he stitched and stitched away all his odd minutes for many weeks upon the straps of Sidney's first pair of skates; and, in sooth, when they came forth from his hands, the new and strange devices wherewith they were decorated excited the admiration and envy of the whole villagery of boys.

Down in one corner of the Thornton property dwelt poor Adam Locke, in his little cottage. Adam Locke had grown up from a boy upon the estate, and while the hardy enterprising young men of the village were pushing their fortunes westward, he remained still upon the old place, without a dream of changing his condition, till he took to himself to wife a pretty little bustling house-maid in the Thornton family, and went to dwell with her where his father had lived before him; and, furbishing up the old hoes and spades, he took up regularly his father's duties in the great garden, and the orchards and groves of Hawthornden. While Adam's locks were growing gray and thin, and in his sweaty, sun-burned brow the simple story of laborious years was being written line by line, one year after another brought up around him a growing group of healthy daughters, as pretty, as bustling, and as industrious as their mother; but he had to wait long before a son was born to him; and when little Johnny came at last, the old man's simple heart was full, and he used to spend the long summer evenings dandling and hushing his infant boy; and when the little fellow learned to walk, and could call his father by name, the two would go forth together into the broad alleys of the garden, and while the old man hoed up the heaps of weeds the little boy chatted away to him, and he would stop to answer him as if he knew every word of his baby-talk; and he 16

VOL. XLVI.

found a deal of comfort and great help in the company and childish prattle of his only little son.

When Johnny Locke grew up a homely, sun-burned boy, square, stout, and clumsy - it would puzzle you to know why the old man used to stop and lean on his spade and watch him so proudly; and why he would talk about 'My John' so much, as if no other John was ever half so good, or smart, or wise. But he was a brave, active lad, passionate and generous, and all the boys in the village liked John Locke, and the school-master used to say that he studied harder than any boy in his school.

Little Sidney Thornton would find his way to the garden-bed, or the hedge where John was working, and the two boys soon became fast friends; so that whenever they could get a holiday they were sure to be wandering together into the forest, or up among the hills, or along the river's banks, fishing, or nutting, or swimming; and Colonel Thornton, proud though he was, could not find it in his heart to interfere with the pleasure of his darling son. So the two were left to enjoy themselves in their own way, and grew in favor daily with the villagers.

One summer afternoon there was something flying about, and wafted on whispering breath from house to house of the village, and from knot to knot of anxious, inquiring men in the street; and as each one heard it he held his breath, and gasped in horror, and hurried to his home. Foaming horses came clattering in, and each rider was stopped, and eager groups thronged about him, hanging on the reins and clinging to the stirrups; and as the horseman galloped on from group to group, dismay and terror spread through the town. At each gate-way were frightened mothers and clusters of weeping sisters; for a party of boys had gone to the lake to bathe, and two of them were drowned! Fathers heard it, and remembered the missing face at table; one pale face met another in the street, and quivering lips gasped out the fearful question : Is it mine? Horses and carriages were flying through the town toward the lake, but before them all was gray-haired Colonel Thornton, spurring on his black steed covered with foam and dust, reining up to inquire of each group of affrighted boys on their homeward way, and spurring on again. In heavy wagons, on foot, on horse-back, the village poured out to the lake; and Colonel Thornton was galloping madly up and down before the throng on the bank, calling for ropes and drags; and the blacksmith was in his boat, and ropes were thrown in, and grappling-irons, and stalwart oars-men took their places; and boat after boat was manned, and swept over each foot of water, up the swift current, and over the deep pools, and round the whirling eddies, down among the roots of trees, and amidst floating logs; the crowd so mute lining the shore, and Colonel Thornton, on his panting horse, shouting the word of command, and holding up his heavy purse. One boat was drifting far down the stream into the river, its long lines sweeping the bottom; silent and swift it glided on, till the blacksmith shouted from the stern. A heavy body was entangled in the grapnels; and, as he hauled and hauled away, it came to the surface, just glancing in the red light of the setting sun, and something was lifted in, and away sped

the skiff to the shore. The crowd rushed down to the beach; Colonel Thornton threw himself from his saddle and broke his way through. One moment they pressed around, swaying and pushing for a sight, then they shrunk back in awe and terror, as the old man lifted up his gray head from the bodies and turned his face toward them, and fell away silently on either side to let him pass.

Then such a wail arose! sobbing and sighing low upon the evening breeze, and rising and swelling into fierce, loud lamentations, as one after another drew near and recognized the bodies; for there was John Locke, in his coarse garments, clasped firmly round the waist by the naked arms of Sidney Thornton, and dragged down to death by him!

Slowly they turned away, and slowly the straggling groups and single foot-men stole home at dusk; and the stout blacksmith, tenderly wrapping up the poor bodies, drove softly, late at night, into the village.

The rusty hinges of the old family vault did not open for little Sidney Thornton. It was not for him to lie in his chill, damp niche until the resurrection-morn. They chose out a place where the sun-light fell bright and warm, where the dank, thick shade of the trees might not fall too cold upon him; and they dug there a grave for two. And one bright morning of July the whole village thronged together there as mourners. Nearest stood Colonel Thornton, his gray head uncovered, and the silvery locks blowing about in the summer-breeze; and on the other side of the grave knelt Adam Locke, bending over the edge, and gazing down upon the coffin-lid that covered up the face of his only boy-two old men, so much unlike, and yet so near, stricken down by one blow, looking into one grave, burying together there their hope, and pride, and joy; helpless and feeble alike, and needy and desolate!

There is an old book that I found once on the top-shelf of my library, buried in rubbish, and covered thick with dust. I read many strange things in its tattered pages, and, among others, it told how one man and one woman were the parents of us all. I soon forgot the curious story, and the old book is as dusty as it was before; but as I turned away from that wide, deep grave, I could not help thinking that perhaps the great haughty Colonel Thornton and poor Adam Locke were pretty near relations after all.

NIGHT-PIECE

то JULIA.

HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting-stars attend thee;

And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow

Like sparks of fire, befriend thee.

ERRICK.

A MOTHER'S LAMENT.

BY THE PEARANT BARD.

"T WAS when the rye was in the blow,
And Summer's breath was sweet,

My baby from my arms did go
The LORD OF LOVE to greet.

Thou 'rt now a little angel, dear!
And dost thou mind me yet?
Thy mother's love, so fervent here,
Can Heaven's bliss forget?

I feel it wrong to mourn for thee,
But who unmoved could keep?

'T were fitter thou shouldst weep for me,
If angels ever weep.

Again the rye is in the blow,

And Summer's breath is sweet;

But fairer flower than June can show,
Is dust beneath my feet.

Again the sheltering maples fling
Their shadows round my door;

Again the social warblers sing
As cheerly as before:

But there's a gloom around my heart

No shadow of the tree;

And, would I tempt the tuneful art,
Mine is the minor key.

Yon hang-bird, swinging in her cot, ⚫
Is joyful with her own:

O bird thou 'rt happy: I am not:
My nestling 's early flown.

The gloaming shadows tint the vale,

The sober moon I see;

And lonely sounds the piping quail

Out on the darkening lea.

There's something gone I do not meet;
Lost, that I may not find:

True, Summer smiles around me sweet,
But joyless is my mind.

O Memory! stern or pleasing be
The phantoms of thy power;
Would that the vision I can see
Were real for the hour!