leg, through two whole rainy days, under an open shed, and refused to be comforted. The eaglet was sold to a peripatetic peddler for a dollar. Better far it would have been for him if, months before, he had been dead for a ducat,' for the peddler consigned him to the caravan, and thenceforward he was an helpless, hopeless captive.

But if you would see the eagle in his glory, go where nature is the wildest and most grand, for the king of birds seeks his surroundings in sublimity. Far up upon the mountain-tops he builds his castle-eyrie, and fixes his lofty throne. You may see him sailing on his broad bronze wings over the White Mountains; hovering high in air at Catskill; poised on powerful pinions above Niagara, gazing with steady eye upon the gulf of surging waters, and listening to that awful anthem which was the opening voluntary of the created world, and which will be its funeral dirge; or sitting serenely on the storm-lashed cliffs by the seashore. No other living mortal being has the GoD-like power of the eagle. What strength of wing, almost annihilating time and space; what terrific power, when like a thunder-bolt, he swoops upon his prey; what length of life; for men are born, grow up to be so strong, and live so many years, but when they are old and bowed with age, and ready to fall into the grave, the eagle is still strong to mount sun-ward far above the clouds and gloom of earth. What a glorious life is his among the mountains; what pride of power to lift himself so far above the world, to fly before the tempest, out-stripping even the storm-driven cloud, and far out at sea he soars,

-' HIS thunder-baffled wings Extended in the whirlwind.'

What is the storm to him! His wild exultant scream rises above the tempest, and the mariner, in his stranded ship, can hear the flapping of his pinions like the Death-Angel's wings, more awful than the tempest, more terrible than the storm.

Not long ago, in looking over the Cockahoopia Gazette, we read that Mr. John Snizzle, who lives over by the mountain, had shot, on such a day, an eagle. The fact was duly glorified, the dimensions of the bird, ten feet from tip to tip, were given, and so on. We are not over and above sensitive, but we confess that we saw the announcement with more sorrow than we should to have read that Mr. Snizzle had been murdered, his house burned to the ground, and his wife and children carried away into captivity by the Cockahoopian Indians, as might have happened an hundred years ago. Yet he will boast of this deed all his life, and tell his children how one morning, down by the glen, he shot an eagle; whereas he should carry shame in his soul for that transaction to his dying day. Shot an eagle! He might as well have gone over and shot 'Squire Calcart's best hunter; indeed the honest 'Squire himself said, with tears in his eyes, that he would rather he had done

SO.

There was no glory in the deed, for eagles generally keep out of rifle-shot; but this one (the first one in our neighborhood for five years) was gorged with food, too heavy and stupid to fly, and might undoubtedly have been killed with a club. But for all that, Mr. John Snizzle had no more right to shoot him than he had to shoot his own grand-father.

That eagle was State property, and his murder was an outrage on community.

Soon again the time will come when the birds, like those bright hopes that linger with us only in our summer-days, will flee away, and leave us desolate awhile. The mournful autumn-winds will sweep over the sacred spot where stood the domicile of Josey, scatter the ashes of the old mansion, and strip the foliage from the trees. Thus, as we grow old, all the joys of life are taken, one by one, away, and naught but mournful memories remain. But we are not yet alone; the Doctor still is with us, and we are growing old and wise together. Perch thyself on the back of our arm-chair, while we with our meerschaum raise a huge cloud of smoke, and shut out this fussy and careprovoking world, and learn a lesson of wisdom from thee, O beloved Doctor!

MEMORIES

BY SURREY KEENZ.

1.

Now, while the sun-set, with its golden banner,
Waves brightly over purple hill and heath,

I wander idly under leafy billows,

And mark the shadows quivering beneath.

II.

My feet fall silently in hushing mosses;
A trancéd calm is in the summer air;
A flush of beauty comes from dewy blossoms;
I drink delirious draughts of fragrance rare.

IIL

But now a subtler perfume, stealing o'er me,
Speaks to my senses in a voice of power;
The gates of gloom roll back, and fair before me
The past lies, living in a simple flower.

IV.

Ah! fair blush-rose! my heart is still thy garden,
Thy sweetness perfumes every memory;
Thou art to me a counsellor and warden,
A prophet of the joys that are to be.

Unsealed by thee comes back a fairy vision,

Pure and unclouded by the mists of years:

The present vanishes; in dreams elysian

The one bright flower that crowned my life appears.

VI.

I cannot still my heart's tumultuous heaving,

I cannot quench my life's one long regret;

I see her fairy fingers lightly weaving
Thy blushing beauties for a coronet.

VII.

As the fair morning comes with soft approaches,
So steals the soul to her blue beaming eyes;
And her pale cheek, before my earnest pleading,
Grows flushed and roseate as sun-set skies.

VIII

In Time's old glass the shining sands ran gayly
To music chanted by our happy hearts;
And the poor common things of life grew daily
More glorious with the grace that love imparts.

IX.

Ah! feeble earthly love! that had no power
To stay the faint pale roses on her cheek!
How she grew farther from me hour by hour,
Haunted by blissful dreams she could not speak.

I.

Those lustrous eyes had fathomed depths of being
Which my dim earthly sight could not attain;
That brow had laid aside its thorns and flowers,
A deathless crown from martyred hands to gain.

ΧΙ.

The wine of life, in Love's enamelled chalice,
With purple bubbles, beaded on the brim,
Gladly she loses for that living water,

Before whose crystal earthly draughts grow dim.

XII.

O sweet blush-roses! by her couch in dying
Ye lingered last of earth's dear memories,
Marring a moment her soul's rapture, sighing
A faint regret 'mid heaven's ecstasies.

XIIL

She walks beneath the mystic palm-trees waving,
She sees the amaranth in eternal bloom;
I wander by these fair flowers, frail and fading;
I only see, in all the world, a tomb.

XIV.

For her, the sun-shine of God's face for ever,
The choral strains of heaven's triumphant song;
For me, to grope in darkness, haunted ever
By endless echoes of a voice that's gone.

XV.

Rose of my heart! no coming spring shall wake thee Into the sweet luxuriance of life;

From thy new garden, no rash hand can take thee, To waste thee in this rude world's jarring strife.

XVI.

But when for me the chill and deathly angel
Coldly upon this bounding life-tide breathes;

When to my ears Eternity's evangel

Sings earth's tempestuous sorrows into peace:

XVII.

When this weak human heart is fearing, fainting,
May but one kindly angel near me stand,
Bearing, as in the old Italian painting,
Announcing DEATH, a blush-rose in his hand.

XVIII.

And thinking how this fading earthly symbol
Springeth for ever new from DEATH'S decay,
My soul shall cast aside its weary fetters,
To hail the dawn of an eternal day.

Springfield, (Ill.,) August, 1855.

LETTERS TO ELLA: ELLASLAND.

NUMBER TWO.

SINCE you left us I have become the owner of a prospect; that is to say, of some few acres of ground which commands a view; and I have named it after you. If your name were not to us more full of joy and happiness than any other, there are coïncidences which connect you with it. I must tell you how it happened. More years ago than I like to count backward, and when studying my profession, my attention was by an accident fixed particularly upon a principle of law of rather uncommon application, and of a recondite character. I will not stop to explain the circumstance, but it was quite ridiculous, and not altogether pleasant at the time, arising from one of those practical jokes which school-mates play upon each other. It happened afterward, and about the time of your birth, that among the few clients who then found their way to my office, was a reckless young man, nearly at the end of a considerable fortune he had inherited, who was in trouble about the title to his only remaining piece of land. A speculator had discovered a defect in his title-deeds, and had bought in the title from those who conveyed, or intended to convey it, to my client; and, failing to frighten him into a compromise, had commenced suit to eject him. It happened that the principle of law to which I allude was exactly applicable, and saved his land, to the surprise of the speculator, and of some members of the profession, much better lawyers than myself, but who had never had occasion to use the principle in question, and had over-looked it, as I should have done, probably, but for the accident I refer to. The circumstance gave me more reputation than I had before enjoyed, so that my professional reputation and you were born about the same time. The necessity for finding more bread for more mouths sharpened my faculties for a diligent improvement of my good fortune, and my business grew faster than you did. The client, however, paid me nothing. He got wretchedly drunk on his victory, and while hiccuping my eulogy, gambled away his land to the very speculator from whom I had saved it; and then considered it a point of honor to convey it to pay his gambling debt, and leave his lawyer unpaid.

Some short time since, a widow woman, advanced in life and stricken