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returned to the hotel, and found Philip sitting out on the front porch, his usually good-natured countenance some what overcast with trouble. I asked him if he had yet delivered his packages. He answered that he had not, but

notwithstanding he was a little vexed at being taken for a | dies; and having heard a good deal of the beauty of the hen-pecked husband, we had a hearty laugh over the sage young lady mentioned in this note, was already more than conclusion which the elderly maiden lady had drawn from half in love with her. This is the good word' Mrs. A. the appearance of the bandbox. The morning after our promised to speak for me, is it ?" said he. "A pretty return arrival in Charlottesville, whilst I was engaged in dressing, indeed, for all the trouble I have taken on her account. in order to call upon some friends I had residing in the There is one reflection, however, in which there is some town, Philip entered my room with a most wo-begone ex- consolation. As the lampblack is all spilled, I shall have pression of countenance, and requested the loan of a change no occasion to deliver this precious certificate of my chaof linen. Knowing that he had packed away in his trunk a racter, as a great convenience." Seeing that Phil was a full supply before leaving Richmond, I asked him what had good deal vexed, I left him to clean off his bundles in the become of the stock he had brought along with him for the best way he could, and returned to my room. After spend occasion. At first, he seemed unwilling to disclose the na-ing two or three hours in calling on my friends in town, I ture of his misfortune, lest it should provoke a laugh on my part; for Phil., notwithstanding his good nature, did not like to be laughed at, more especially when that laugh would be accompanied with a look which would say as plainly as words could, "Did not I tell you so?" But see-that there would be time enough for that the next day; that ing that concealment in the present instance would be im- he did not feel in the humor of going around, and at every possible, he made a virtue of necessity, and told me, that house telling the story of his mishap, and receiving in reone of the bundles he had carried in his trunk, had turned turn nothing but sour looks; "for,” said he, “every one out to be a paper of lampblack, or ivoryblack, or something will think that had I possessed the 'gumption of a goose,' of that kind, and by the jolting his trunk had received the day their bundles would not have been blacked up in the way they before, had been broken open, and its contents were now are; though, how I was to know that Mrs. A's bundle conscattered over every thing in his trunk. "And as to the tained lampblack, unless I could see through half-a-dozen linen I had on yesterday," added he, "that abominable folds of wrapping paper, is more than I can tell. For a bandbox which I carried on my knees, and which rubbed part of the morning, I have been engaged in attempting to against me whenever from drowsiness I leaned a little brush these unfortunate bundles clean, but it does seem to forward, has left a great blue and yellow spot upon the me, that the more 1 brush them the blacker they get, (a bosom, which I have in vain attempted to button my vest consequence which he might have foreseen had he thought in such a way as to hide. And what makes the matter still for a moment,) and since I gave that job up as hopeless, I worse, if possible, this broken bundle was one which Mrs. have been to call upon an old gentleman with whom I A. had sent by me to her sister, accompanied with a note have some important business to transact, growing out of of recommendation to her niece, Miss R., who you know the settlement of my father's estate. In my call, I found is spoken of as a great beauty, and whom I had a particular the old man at home, and am now awaiting his arrival in desire to see." I could not suppress a laugh at Phil's mis-order to a final settlement." In a few minutes, the old fortune; and indeed I did not try to do it, as I wished to gentleman mentioned above arrived, and by Philip's remake him feel the folly of attempting to serve and oblige every body; and having supplied his wants, followed him into his room, to have a look at his trunk. As we entered, there sat the trunk, and indeed there had been no exaggeration in saying that the black powder, be it what it might, was scattered over every thing in it. Phil's linen, his white vests and pants, which he had brought along for the express purpose of "making an impression" upon the young ladies with whom he might meet, had lain just under the unfortunate bundle, and had the black powder ground into them in such a way, that it seemed doubtful whether it could ever be gotten out. But what at once attracted my attention, was the note of which Phil. had spoken, which having rubbed out loose from the bundle, lay open in the trunk. As it lay, we could not help seeing its contents; and I give a copy of it as a fair specimen of the way in which some persons will impose upon a good-natured man.

quest, I accompanied them to his room, 'to witness' the transaction. The old man, who appeared to be a very me thodical man of business, at once produced his well-fil ed pocket book, and remarked, that if Mr. Baldwin would now give him the necessary papers, he was ready to pay the money. Philip went to his trunk, and commenced removing the packages, in order to come at the one contain ing the papers referred to. Package after package was removed, but the one containing the papers did not appear each package was then more carefully examined, but with no better success; every corner of the trunk was searched, but no papers could be found. The truth was at length evident; and Phil., reluctant as he was to do so, was compelled to admit it. In his anxiety to oblige others, he had carefully stowed away every strange package which was sent him, whilst he had entirely overlooked his own. The papers were laying on his table in Richmond. When the old gentleman became aware of this, he remarked, that "Dear sister, I send you herewith a paper of lampblack, of course Mr. Baldwin would not expect him to pay the as requested in your last letter. If the sheepskin you money before he received the necessary papers to secure promised to have prepared for little Charley is ready, himself; and making us a stiff bow, and formally wishing please send it to me by Mr. Baldwin, the young gentleman us a good-day, left the room. Scarcely had he closed the who will deliver you this. Don't be afraid of troubling door, when Philip exclaimed-" Was ever man so unfortu him with it-just tie it up neatly, as I have this lamp-nate!-Here have 1 come all the way from Richmond, in black, and he will never know but that the paper contains tending to settle this business, and have left the necessary some very precious thing. Your affectionate sister, J. A." papers behind :—and now, as this is Thursday, and next "P. S. I had almost forgotten that I promised to speak a Monday is the last day on which I can legally claim this good word in Mr. Baldwin's behalf to Matilda; so that if money, I shall be compelled to take the stage to-morrow he should be pleased with her, &c. All I have to say is, morning, and return to the city at once. And what is still we ladies who have no sons or brother to wait on us, and worse, I calculated so surely on receiving this money. whose husbands are too much engaged in business to at- that I brought none along with me, and shall be competed tend to little matters, find him a great convenience. Ato beg, borrow or steal' enough to pay my stage fare to

word to the wise is sufficient." "

After reading this note, Philip's good nature seemed for once a little ruffled; for he was a great admirer of the la

Richmond.

A pleasure trip to the mountains, indeed! I have come 80 miles, on a hot day, over dusty roads; bare carried a bandbox on my knees all the way; bave had to

pacify an outrageous Frenchman; have been mistaken for a ben-pecked husband; have had my trunk and all that was in it soiled with lampblack; have got some fifteen or twenty bundles on my hands, in such a condition that I shall receive no thanks for delivering them, and shall have at each house to tell over the whole story of my mishap to get off with nothing worse than no thanks; have brought along with me a precious certificate of my character as 'a great convenience;' and to crown the whole, have after all come on a fool's errand, and like a fool, shall have, in sight of the mountains, to turn about, and with borrowed money go back to the place from which I came. Surely, if I get out of this difficulty, I will turn over a new leaf.'"

As Philip seemed really distressed, and not without reason too, I said nothing which could add to his unpleasant feelings; but at once loaned him the money he needed. The next morning, long before I had left my bed, Philip Baldwin was on his way back to Richmond; and thus ended the pleasure trip of a good-natured man. Washington College, Va.

THE DEAD LANGUAGES.

To MR. T. W. WHITE,

Editor of the Southern Literary Messenger. Sir,-The article from the " Lucky-Bag," on the School Ship, in the December No. of the Messenger, well deserves the very general attention which it has received. The auhor has not only afforded great pleasure to your numerous eaders, but has conferred a benefit of no small magnitude his country. There is, however, one paragraph, which f it does not maintain a literary heresy, will at least, I fear, rom the weight of authority, retard the progress of literaare. To this, I beg leave to call the attention of the auhar, of the public, and yourself. And I do this in no spirit of cavil or criticism, but with the ardent desire of assisting o carry out the excellent designs of the writer. I feel cerain, too, that he will receive with candor and kindness, sy suggestion which may further his patriotic views. A omparison of ideas, by those who are laboring to effect the ame purposes, can do no harm, if it should be productive of 19 positive good.

The paragraph to which I allude, relates to the acquision of languages. The living, and not the dead, are those o which I understand the author would confine the atten100 of the pupils, and would have that most difficult lanuage, the English, taught with especial care.

adopted by all enlightened men; although they may have previously doubted or denied.

A knowledge of the English, or of any other language, cannot be called good, unless it enables the possessor to read understandingly the best literary and scientific books in the language:; for that is the very purpose to which that knowledge should be applied; of such knowledge only do I speak. In regard to the French, Spanish and Italian, it is deemed unnecessary here to argue the question, because it is admitted by all those, I believe, who have given the subject a mature consideration, that they are so slightly changed from the Latin in their modern forms, that they are considered as dialects of that language, rather than distinct tongues.

Nearly all the radicals, or raw materials, if I may so express it, of those languages, are Latin. Any person who can read this language, has only to become acquainted with the interchangeable letters, and a few laws of etymological formation, to read French, Spanish and Italian with ease. Comparative readings of the same book, in these dialects, present the phenomena which lead to the induction of the laws of verbal formation in each. And in less time than the pupil can become tolerably acquainted with one, with the aid of the Latin, he can acquire them all; and at the same time be further advanced in the philosophy of language, and in that inductive training of the mind, which is of still more value than the acquisitions made in the process. Permit me to offer, in illustration, part of a single sentence in these languages, compared with the Latin. It will be seen, at a glance, that the Latin words become the key and interpreter of those derived from them. And, consequently, if the Latin word be known, its descendants are easily recognized. The words become associated in the mind and recall each other.

Latin.--Erat lux vera quæ illuminat omnem hominem.
Spanish.-Era, la luz verdadera que alumbra a todo

hombre.

Italian. Era la luce vera che illumina ogni uomo.

French.-Etait la vraie lumiére qui illumine tout homme. Without more knowledge of the Latin than is necessary to read Cæsar, Sallust and Virgil, it becomes an instrument of great power. Many hundred words in Italian, for instance, are recognized as familiar acquaintances in Latin, from simply changing into i,- -as flamma, flame, into fiamma; templo into tempio; plano into piano. And many more, by changing the prefices de, cx, se, ob and e, into s; as descendere, into scendra; excommunicato, scommunicato; securis, scure; obscuro, scuro; enervato, snervato ; &c.

In Spanish and French, changes as slight, obscure the Latin words. The principles on which these changes are it is not the classical question which I propose to agitate. made, are easily discovered by comparative reading, and Far from it. But one of strict utilitarianism. All admit the the difficulties vanish like unknown quantities eliminated dvantages which are derived from a knowledge of the mo- in algebraic equations. It may be supposed, as the English lern spoken languages. And the best means of acquiring that language from its name would seem to claim a different panowledge, if ascertained or demonstrable, will commend ternity, that these remarks do not apply to it. It certainly bemselves to all friends of useful learning. While I dis- is not derived, in so great a portion of its words, from the inctly admit that the English, French, Spanish and Italian Latin. It is much more multifarious and difficult of acquianguages, can be acquired without the aid of the Latin and sition, being a mingled stream of Teutonic, Norman, French, Greek, (the latter of which slightly modernized, is still a Greek and Latin. Yet these enter into its composition in ring spoken tongue,) yet I am persuaded, not only from very different proportions. And so large a portion of it is he experience of many years devoted to teaching, in which Latin and Greek, especially in scientific works, that the have made many experiments on this subject, but from student has to resort to the dictionary, at every step in his he very nature of the modern languages, including the Eng-progress, for the meaning of individual words. To rememish, that they are most readily and perfectly acquired, and ber these, without any associating principle, is an Herculean a the shortest time, by using the dead languages as instrunents. If I shall succeed in establishing this proposition, objections to the study of them, so far as to make them hus available, will be removed, and I shall obtain the suffrage of the author of the "Lucky-Bag." When the best among he various means of accomplishing a desirable end, are astertained, I cannot doubt for a moment that they will be

task. A knowledge of the radicals, is the key to the meaning and uses of large classes of words; and it so happens, that while we find in our language a great many derivative formations from one radical, that radical itself, is not to be found in the language. It will be admitted, that when we become acquainted with the reason or rationale of any operation or process, we are more apt to remember it, or if for

And this becomes more apparent in the case of those who study law or medicine. Half the time of such is taken up in consulting dictionaries for the meaning of technical terms, which, from the want of any rational principle of association to fix in the mind, are forgotten, and hunted up again and again. And after all this toil, how miserably superficial is their knowledge even of the import of terms, To read works of science in the English language, without any knowledge of Latin and Greek radicals, seems to me as great a waste of time as to attempt to cut down the largest trees in a forest with an axe without a helve. There is no loss of time in putting a helve to the axe. Among the distinguished opposers of classical literature, the most of them, I believe, have objected to the study of the dead languages on the ground of their inutility in this age of the world, and the loss of time incurred in obtaining a knowledge of them. More useful acquisitions might have been made, it has been asserted, applicable to the purposes of life. Had they been considered as the most efficient instru

gotten, to recall it. Now the reason for the spelling or or already formed, without or with very slight change; and we thography of a great number of English words, cannot be have adopted their modes of formation. known to the mere English scholar, much less of their Such being the nature of our language; the principle of meaning; and therefore, in order even to spell them correct-association, and the power to classify and arrange words, ly, he must remember the form of each individual word. as well as animals or plants, enable us to groupe the modWho, for instance, unacquainted with Latin, can certainly ern formations, and form an acquaintance with the small say among the great number of English words ending in number of radicals, to understand whole orders, classes, tion and sion, whether a given word should have one or the genera and species of words. This is certainly a meel. other of these terminations? What rule or principle has shorter, more satisfactory and comprehensive course, than he to guide him? It depends entirely on a Latin verbal pro- the study of words individually, or as mere arbitrary cess; and when that is known, he can determine its appli- signs of thought, unaided by a knowledge of the radicals. cation to all cases that occur. If the Latin verb, from And the memory, too, is burdened by a mass of insulated which the English noun is derived, forms its supine in tum, facts, without any connecting principle. But when the raas convenio, conventum, the English noun will end in tion, dicals are known, and the modes of formation from them, as convention; but if the supine of the Latin verb end in thousands of English words are at once thoroughly undersum, as repello, repulsum, the English derivative noun will stood, and the reason of their meanings is also known, end in sion, as repulsion. Will it be said that it is merely which fixes them in the mind. Other words similarly pleasing, as a matter of curiosity, to know why such words formed are not locked up in a dictionary; but the radicals as oppugn, malign, condemn, &c. are, and ought to be, spell- are ascertained, and the whole family are understood. ed as they are? Surely not. The Latin words oppugno, maIn this process, the reasoning power is called into action; lignus, condemno, not only indicate the cause of the mod- whereas, the memory is principally employed in acquiring ern English forms, but associate the real meanings with a knowledge of our language, when we have no recourse to those forms. Neither the spelling nor the meaning of words its radicals. And this I conceive to be a matter of no ltin the modern languages is arbitrary. Whether the primi- tle consequence in education. The saving of time and of lative words in any language were so or not, philological re- bor to all who would understand the best books in the Easearch has discovered the materials and modes of combi-glish language, by devoting some time to the acquisition of nation, and consequently the proper spelling and meaning the materials of which the language is formed, is very great. of most modern formations. And words made in accordance with known methods of combination, and out of known radicals, need no explanation. What Latin scholar required to be informed of the meaning of such words as dividend, resolved, magnify, verisimilitude, benevolence? or, what Greek scholar had to be informed of the meaning of the new word kaleidoscope, or the old one telescope? Their materials indicated at once both their proper orthography and meaning. And there never was a greater literary crime attempted to be perpetrated on our language, than that of altering the spelling of words, to make the forms conform to the fashionable pronunciation of the age. This is really sacrificing both the body and soul of words to empty sound. It would take away all the indices of their descent, formation, meaning, and consequent adaptation to the expression of thought, in a literal or figurative sense; and make them mere arbitrary articulate sounds, incapable of analysis and of any rational explanation. Whereas the words so spelled as to indicate their radicals and mode of formation, become the exponents of their value. I will not say with a distin-ments only of acquiring a thorough knowledge of the Engguished ornament of literature, that no classical scholar lish and other modern languages, I presume that on the ever undervalued classical learning, and that one not pos- score of utility, they would have favored their acquisition. sessed of it is not a competent judge of its value. But I To them I present this view of the subject. The editors of will attempt to show how, by a limited knowledge of it, ac- our literary periodicals, I consider in an especial degree, to quired in a short time, the acquisition of the English be- be the guardians and conservators of the language and latecomes much more easy, satisfactory, thorough and expedi-rature of the country. They are the attorneys-general and tious. And I might here rest this position on actual expe- advocates of the commonwealth of letters. All the means rience. For "no proof like matter of fact is." I might of advancing the true interests of this commonwealth, they refer to the experience of the most enlightened and distin- are bound to advocate, and to bring to the bar of putis guished teachers in this country and in England. But 1 opinion, and to proscribe all offences against it. In this believe it will be more satisfactory, to show why it is so, stirring age of steam, I may be esteemed guilty of adfrom the nature of the language, and from the nature of our vancing heretical doctrines, and as deserving to be exconminds. Our language is not an original tongue, but is communicated. In that case, I warn you beforehand, that I posed of derivative formations; the radicals of these for- shall crave the intercession of even the author of the “ Lucky mations bearing a very small proportion to the number of Bag" himself, from whose articles I have derived so much derivations from them, and belonging to the dead languages. pleasure and profit, in obtaining a pardon. L Out of some two hundred Latin words, there have been Frankfort, Ky. formed more than fifteen thousand in the English language ; | and out of about eighty Greek words, we have upwards of three thousand. From the Latin word signum, alone, we have eighty words. From the Greek logos and grapho, we have all our terminations in logy and graphy-not a few. We have not only appropriated these radicals to our use, but in many instances have taken the derivatives from them

Leaving Church.-The fourth Council of Carthage decrees him to be excommunicate "qui, sacerdote verbum fæciente in ecclesia, egressus de auditore fuerit," "who shall go out of the church before the sermon be ended."

[Jeremy Taylor.

THE ISLAND: A ROMANCE.

BY MRS. S. J. HOWE.

'Twas May, the sun was sinking in the west,
Like some proud monarch going to his rest,
Or, like some mighty genii of the deep,
Retiring to his coral caves to sleep;
Above, the sky, a gorgeous veil, was spread;
Below, the ocean closing o'er his head,—

The waves all sparkling with a thousand dyes,
As light reflected from the genii's eyes!
A lofty ship is safely anchored there,
Her brilliant pennon streaming in the air;
Upon her deck a little band is seen

With folded arms, and pale, and saddened mien;
Despair had written on each pallid face
Dark lines which even death could not erase!
For death was master of that gallant ship,
And held his icy chalice to each lip.
Full many a one the brimming cup had quaff'd,
The rest were ready to receive the draught!
Youth, with its ruby lip, and glossy hair,
And age, with trembling hand, and brow of care,
Had drain'd the cup, and slept beneath the sea,
Unconscious of the remnant's misery!
Disease had come upon them, foul disease,
With none to aid them on the lonely seas-
The sea! where none might hear the piercing cry
That strove to cleave the far-off burning sky-
And some stood back, and would not touch the brow
On which their lips had breath'd full many a vow-
Those, who were one in every walk of life-
Paths which had often been with sorrow rife,
Threw by affection in that fearful hour,
And coward-like fell back in danger's hour!

Yet some were firm; and never swerv'd in thought
From any task which love or duty taught.
Love hath his votaries, as fond, and true,
As any veiled beneath yon arch of blue!

Night closed upon the broad and fearful main,
Bright, as it ne'er had known the tempest-stain,
And calm, as if beneath its sparkling waves

So many warm hearts had not found their graves!
Upon the lonely deck the little band

Is gather'd now,-in sad array they stand
Around the shrouded form of one who lies
Alike forgetful of love's tears and sighs.
The fair pale cheek is laid upon the deck,
The bright hair falling o'er the snowy neck,
The graceful arms cross'd on the silent breast,
As tho' she had but sank to gentle rest!
They raise her up, one moment stand they still,
As if they struggled hard against their will-
And then a plash-the silent waters part,
And close again, above a gentle heart.

One moment twinkles up the snowy shroud,

Like starlight shining on a fleecy cloud,
And all is over-o'er the ocean swept
A plaintive wail as tho' an angel wept
Its banishment from heaven's eternal gate;
A cry that told a heart was crush'd by fate.
The mourner was a fair young girl, and she
Whom they had buried in the soft blue sea,
The last bright link of an oft-broken chain
That held the mourner to a life of pain!
The golden link that held her heart was broken,
And on the hopes of life she had no claim,
And of the time to come she ask'd no token
To tell her. life would ever be the same!
She was alone-the cold and bitter truth

VOL. VII-50

Fell like a mildew on the heart of youth!
There was not aught the bitter grief to check,
And pale with wo she sank upon the deck.
Disease was on her-thro' her youthful frame
The dark destroyer sent the fever flame-
She who had pillow'd on her own fair breast
A dying sister's head, and fondly prest
Her lips upon the cold and clammy brow,
Had none to whisper comfort to her now.
Yes! one was there, who had stood by unknown,
To catch each look, and treasure every tone,
Who'd mark'd the sufferer from day to day,
Propping with hope the darkness of decay,
And pouring in her gentle sister's ear
Sweet words of home and love to lighten fear:
While all shrank back, he knelt beside the form
So late with every grace and beauty warm.
He parted from her brow the sunny hair,
And bathed the snowy brow with tender care-
Oh, gentle Love! thine is a simple school,
That laughs at system and defies all rule;
Full many a lesson thou dost aptly reach
That sage experience had fail'd to teach!
Full many a day and weary week had fled
And found the lover by the sick one's bed,
Upon the ocean's dreary solitude.

All other feelings save Love's own subdued-
How could they choose but love, when life was new,
And Hope her weight into the balance threw?
They hail'd hope's promises as those of truth,
And view'd them thro' the telescope of youth.
Death was around them--each successive day
Found some new victim pining with decay,
And yet no aid-Life's sad and weary span
Seem'd as if cast 'neath heaven's avenging ban;
The lonely wail, the agonizing look,
The all of death, we find so hard to brook,
Were darkly past without a pitying eye
To mark the sufferer's dying agony!

"Twas this that faster bound Love's gentle chain,
And made him wear so little of earth's stain!
At length in very weariness, the few
Who had been left by death, despairing, threw
The white sails to the wind, away, away!
She flew as flying from death's fearful sway,
They cared not whither, for it matter'd not-
Worse than it had been, could not be their lot-
Famine and death had look'd them in the face;
They could but die, no matter where the place.
The ocean was alike, the same blue waves
Would open easily to give them graves!
All day they sail'd beneath a burning sun,
And when the fiery god his race had done--
When to his briny couch he sank at last,

The cry of land' came from the towering mast.
Oh! what a sight was there-some wildly wept,
Whose hearts, when death was round them, calmly slept;
And some as wildly laughed, as if the brain
Were tortur'd into madness. It were vain
To strive to tell the frantic joy of those
Who deem'd their sufferings so near the close!
They knew not what it was-it was enough
That land was near, albeit tho' rude and rough!
But Ella wept not; closer still she clung
To him around whom all her hopes were flung;
With earnest eyes she gazed into his face,
As if she strove their future fate to trace ;
While he, with one arm fondly round her twined,
With kindling eyes the big tears strove to blind,
Spoke to her heart in whispers soft and low,
That call'd the red blood swiftly to her brow

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All gaze with rapture on the shores of green,
No longer veil'd by distance, plainly seen.
Some who were smitten with the hideous plague
Come forth with sadden'd feelings wild and vague,
Remembering faintly friends they left behind,
Whose memory with life is intertwined,-
And some, whose hearts had long forgot the pray'r
Which they had learn'd when life was young and fair,
With meek and chasten'd spirits humbly knelt,
And gave to God the gratitude they felt!

At length the anchor cleaves the sleeping sea,
Boat after boat is let down joyously;
And faces, which had long forgot to smile,
Look'd happy as they near'd the fairy isle!
An isle that seem'd as heaven had gather'd there
The very essence of the ambient air:
Around the laurel many a bright rose twines,
As on the lap of glory love reclines —
While from the turf the violet's eye of blue
Looks up to skies of its own gentle hue ;-
The orange trees put forth their bridal leaves,
Twinkling like stars on Summer's dewy eves,
Their leaves unshaken, nor their odor stirr'd,
Save by the melody of some sweet bird;
The ocean seems by Beauty's power subdued,
Nor strives to break upon her solitude-

The flowers spring up, along the em'rald verge,
As tho' they fear'd not e'en the foamy surge-
The moon looks softly into streams and brooks
Which ne'er have known the light of other looks-
Earth hath no gem of beauty, rich, or rare,
That bounteous nature had not garner'd there-
A realm of beauty man had never trod,
Belonging but to nature and her God!
Days fled apace, and gentle Love had made
A temple fair, as love's may ever be,
And on its gorgeous altar-place was laid

Life's earliest flowers from every earth-stain free!
But Death had not withdrawn his iron grasp,
And little reck'd he that Love's feeble clasp
Was striving to keep back his fatal power:
He only waited for his own dread hour!

Alas, it is the heritage of life!

Its paths are e'er with grief or evil rife;

And when we deem we've reach'd the promis'd goal,
Perchance cold age has wither'd up the soul!
The cup that sparkled brightly to the brim,
Has, to our eyes, grown strange and sadly dim-
Or death will come, stern and unyielding death,
E'en while we're panting to recall the breath
We've lost in running for some tinsel'd toy,
Which, when obtained, is made of dark alloy !
Health had return'd to all, save her whose smile
Was as the sunshine to that happy isle;
She was the treasur'd one of that lone band-
A flowery coronal upon life's strand!

As pines the bird, tho' girt with love and care,
So Ella pined for her own native air-
Columbia's hills-her bright and sunny sky-

The broad blue rivers that beneath it lie-
The leafy forest and the flowery plain
Came back upon her heart so oft again
That blinding tears would have their ready way—
They would not be subservient to Love's sway!
Oft would she sit beside the cottage door

The little band had rear'd, and cover'd o'er
With Summer vines, to watch the flag that hung
On the deserted ship's mast, as it flung

Its storied stripes and stars unto the breeze,
And long to dare again the treacherous seas.
She would have dared the sea, to look once more
Upon her own Columbia's rock-bound shore,
But none were there who would so madly brave
The monster death within the very grave!
True, there was one who would have peril'd life-
Who would have dared the elements' deep strife
With quiet heart, if thus he could but save
His treasur'd idol from an early grave!

He was but one-his heart was strong with hope,
But with the task his strength could never cope.
Ah, thus it is our hearts are often strong,
And high resolves within its chambers throng;
But quickly as the purpose has its birth,
Some galling chain has dragged us back to earth!
He strove with Love's own sweet enduring art
To weave forgetfulness around her heart;
And many a legend of the olden time
Was woven into sweet and tinkling rhyme;
Or as she sat and watch'd some favorite star,
His fingers wander'd o'er his lov'd guitar;
And he would improvise some gentle tale
Of love, that could o'er all things else prevail!
Leonni was a Hebrew; in his face
His lineage you might distinctly trace;
Man never wore a truer, manlier heart-
In such a nature guile could have no part!
From Italy he came-tho' far away,

Where Jordan rolls its dark and time-stain'd waters-
Far, where the Saviour's bloody foot-prints lay-
Where wept his human sorrows Judah's daughters,
His birthplace lay. In proud Jerusalem,
That vainly strove Jehovah's frown to stem,
His
eyes first saw the light-His heart had learn'd
Full many a legend by the Christian spurn'd-
Strong in the faith he had been ever taught,
He gave no other e'en a passing thought.
Trusting that Judah's glory would return,
And with a holier, brighter radiance burn,
Fore'er unchanged. He could not choose but deem
The Christian's creed a wild delusive dream.
And now he found his faith fast giving way
Beneath Love's beautiful and gentle sway!
So many memories were round it flung,
His spirit to its ancient glories clung:
Love such a mantle o'er Religion threw,
He deem'd the one, and then the other true.
His heart was stored with dreams of Italée,
As bright as minstrel dreams can ever be;
And in its core a brilliant fountain play'd-
A fount of sunshine and of gentle shade;
And to his lips such burning words would start
As have their birthplace in the poet's heart;
And lovely thoughts, that could not calmly lie
Within his heart would kindle in his eye,
And light his face with looks so sweetly fair
That told a glorious mind was written there;
And oft with some sweet tale he strove to chase
The gathering memories from Ella's face:
Or they would wander forth on dewy eves,
When stars were twinkling thro' the darkling leaves,

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