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coming of the “ Lady of the Wilderness,"—the “woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars,” spoken of in the Scriptures, as having “fled into the wilderness, where she hath a place prepared of God, that they should feed her there a thousand two hundred and threescore days.” (Rev. xii.) We may wonder that such a man as Kelpius should labour under a delusion of this character, but those who will visit the spot he selected for his “ prayerful waiting,” will agree with me in opinion that it was singularly well chosen to harmonise with and foster his eccentric views and romantic religious expectations.

There is another interesting legend, connected with the monastery on the Wissahiccon, which I feel inclined to allude to, if I may do so without being held responsible for its veracity. It is a tale of unhappy love, and relates to a young, beautiful and accomplished French lady, who followed her lover to the Indian wars, who fought in disguise by his side, and who closed his eyes when he fell at her feet, mortally wounded. Being subsequently admitted, for temporary shelter, into the monastery, she passed a day or two in unavailing grief, and died heart-broken at the loss of all she held near and dear on earth. The particulars of the melancholy fate of the beautiful Louisa, I may hereafter unfold to the reader, but I beg my young friends who may discover the mound which covers her remains at the foot of a weeping willow, washed by the gurgling stream, to shed a tear to the memory of one whose beauty and virtues deserved a happier fate.

I have thus attempted to give a sketch of the ever-delightful Wissahiccon, and to cast a hasty glance at a few of the prominent incidents with which it was once associated. If I have failed to excite interest in the mind of the reader, let him not hesitate to attribute the circumstance to the feeble powers of the writer, rather than to the paucity of the subject to which his attention has been called. Beautiful and magnificent beyond comparison are the picturesqne views of this romantic stream, and for ages to come may its crystal waters continue to course through the valley, affording peaceful enjoyment to the pedestrian on its banks, and unqualified delight to those who may ramble through its attractive forests.

CANZONET.

BY C. C. CONWELL.

HASTE to yon hallowed spot,

Earth's dearest daughter-Haste to my viny cot,

O’er the blue water. Tell me not dearest one

How the world views us, Envy and spite alone

Make them abuse us. What if the world disprove

Coldly and drearlySweetest, while thus we love

Fondly and dearlyTell me not how the vow

Fervently plighted, Warm from affection now,

E'er can be blightedSay not that love can flee

Forms that embow'r it, And, like the sated bee, ,

Leave the spoil'd flowret. Love, like the rose-fly, his

Plant still must cherish, Share with it storm and bliss,

Die if it perish. The broad sun that bade the day

Gaze on my treasure,

Steals all his light away,

Leaves us to pleasure. Now is the hour of bliss,

Now the day closes; Now Autumn's breezy kiss,

Dies on the roses. Dian o'er Ether's breast

Leads her bright million, Here be our bed of rest,

Heaven our pavilionHere be our bloomy bed,

Here in the valleyHere where around thy head

Hangs the lime-alley.

SAGITTO, THE WARRIOR OF THE WASHPELONG.

BY MORRIS MATTSON.

BY MORRIS MATTSON. THROUGH what is now one of the western states, about half a century ago, there roamed a small band of aborigines, who were the terror of the neighbouring whites. They were, altogether, not more than fifty in number, consisting entirely of those, who, actuated by a restless and warlike spirit, were at continual enmity with the less enterprising and turbulent brethren of their tribe, and accordingly formed themselves into a band of reckless desperadoes. Sagitto, by common consent, was elected their war chief. He was chosen, perhaps, partly for his unwavering intrepidity; and partly, because - he was known to possess extraordinary prudence and foresight. Sagitto was by no means one of the worst of men. Although bold, daring, and oftentimes merciless, yet there was a loftiness and grandeur in his character, that partially obscured every evil passion of his nature. His muscular and proportioned frame-his haughty and majestic stride-his manly and prepossessing features all seemed to proclaim that he might be fashioned for some noble and exalted purpose. Over his followers he exercised a strange and unbounded influence. His occasional severity only tended to increase their admiration and love. They looked upon him as a superior being, invested with the entire control of their destiny ; and Sagitto, shrewd and penetrating as he was, lost not the

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