loss of blood, and the exposure to the sun, brought on brain-fever, and nothing but the most unremitting care and attention saved his life. He bore his sufferings with that noble endurance which is true heroism, and which, let me tell you, is a much rarer article than mere courage in the field. In fact, he displayed during his sickness so many admirable qualities, that it was a mystery to me how I could have mistaken his character so completely. Whether it was owing to this, or to my having done him a service, I cannot tell; but insensibly the hatred all melted from my heart, and in its stead sprung up a feeling of strong regard for him. Curious, was n't it?

But whether this feeling was reciprocated or not, I knew not; for, although his manner toward me was peculiarly soft and gentle, and his eyes would light up when I approached his couch, he remained as taciturn and reserved as ever, and never made any allusion to the subject of our quarrel. I felt a little piqued at his silence; for I could not help thinking that my having saved him from a miserable death deserved at least a few words of acknowledgment. More than once he seemed on the point of broaching the subject; but he appeared to be waiting for me to begin it, and I, of course, waited for him.

'At last, he was so far recovered that my professional services were no longer required. As I rose to take leave at my last visit, I signified as much to him, and added:

"Am I to understand, Captain Elliott, that we return to the same footing as we were on before?'

The same footing? God forbid!' he exclaimed, with a sudden earnestness that surprised me.

"Because,' continued I, if you wish to finish the quarrel so inopportunely interrupted, you will find me ready at any time.'

"Do you wish to renew that unhappy quarrel?' asked he, an expression of deep disappointment overspreading his countenance.

Who, I? Most certainly not,' said I but you demanded satisfaction, Captain Elliott, and until that demand is withdrawn, I must, of course, hold myself in readiness to grant it.'

"I withdraw it now,' said he, speaking very quick. I ask your pardon for my rash and injurious words. If that will not satisfy you, I will bare my bosom to your sword, but I will never,' said he with emotion, raise my hand against the noble, the magnanimous preserver of my life!' Those were his very words. After a pause, he added: -, we have all our lives misunderstood each other. - believe me, had I known your worth sooner, I would have acknowledged it. We have been enemies long enough let us now be friends. Will you try to overlook what is past? Will you be my friend?'

'Dr. C.

My dear Captain Elliott!' cried I, deeply touched by this generous speech, I am your friend. Since I carried you in my arms in that lonely glade of the chapparal, I have become so much attached to you that I would as soon shoot my own brother as lift a finger against you.' 'I held out my hand to him, but he threw himself on my breast, and burst into tears, for his nerves were weak with his recent illness. all was

There was no more coldness after that, no more reserve —

open and above-board between us; and I am proud to say that the

more we unfolded our hearts to each other, the more highly did we esteem each other.

'I had the happiness afterward of reconciling him to his fair cousin, to whom he was still fondly attached, (notwithstanding the little episode of the señorita ;) and,

"When wild war's deadly blast was blown,

And gentle peace returning,'

I assisted,' as the French say, at their wedding, which took place in New-Orleans. The very day after that interesting event, I was seized with yellow fever; and Elliott and his new-made wife spent their honeymoon at my bed-side- the truest, faithfulest, most devoted

friends that ever a man had in this world!

'And that,' said the Doctor, throwing the end of his cigar into the fire, was the upshot of my duel with Captain Elliott.'

LUN A CIE S

THE moon is up; the stars have all retired,
As if they feared to break the solitude
Of their calm-loving Queen. One fleecy cloud
Has left the courtier-train that serves the sun,
And put its robe of glory off, to bathe
In the full, o'erflowing fountain of her light,
And strengthen for its journey. A quiet
Rests down upon the earth from the great void,
And soothes its day-time restlessness, and stills
The feverish throbbings of its pulse, as if
The GREAT PHYSICIAN laid his hand upon it.
No sound is heard, save when some passing spirit
Lingers among the trees, and kindly stops,
To whisper, with a pleasing, mournful voice,

Its sorrow for our fearful doom of care,

And the great joy of calm. All doubt, and fear,
Ambition, and the eagerness of hope,

The phantoms that the sun-light conjures up,
To weary us of life, have fled away
From the calm presence of this holy eve.
In such an hour as this, GOD stoops to us
From the deep sky, and kindly makes us feel
How great this soul of ours, how greater far
Than all the littleness of passion.

If we might always breathe this quiet air!
If we could fill the chambers of the soul
With this great calmness, and shut fast the doors,
And give no heed to the loud-knocking cares
That claim admittance with the dawning light!·
Alas! that we must let our angels go!
That this half-hour of heavenly whispering
Should be a lotus-island in our way,
Where we can only rest a single night!
The doom of toil is on us, and the hours
That usher in the day will bring again

The burden and the staff, and we must march,
Until our weary feet shall reach the land,
The shadowy, silent land, where life is rest.

Great Barrington, Mass, 1858.

H. H

THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. BY THOMAS B. THORPE, pseudonom 'TOM OWEN, the Bee-Hunter.' In one volume. New-York: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.

THE reading public, especially of the west and south, have become familiar with the writings of the author of this very pleasant volume. His characteristics are great clearness and simplicity of style, close observation of nature and character, and a certain dry humor of description, which is especially captivating. His sketch of 'TOM OWEN, the Bee-Hunter' is an excellent illustration of his felicity in this regard; and his picture of 'Wild TurkeyShooting' is another 'case in point.' We can see, what is the fact, that the writer is an artist, and that in writing, as in painting, a picture is always before him. Observe the following admirable description of the habits of the wild turkey. The way he looks out for himself is ‘a caution:'

'WE once knew an Indian, celebrated for all wood craft, who made a comfortable living by supplying a frontier town with game. Often did he greet the villagers with loads of venison, with grouse, with bear, but seldom, indeed, did he offer the esteemed turkey for sale. Upon being reproached for his seeming incapacity to kill the turkey, by those who desired the bird, he defended himself as follows:

Me meet moose; he stop to eat, me shoot him. Me meet bear; he climb a tree-no see Indian; me shoot him. Me meet deer; he look up-say may be Indian, may be stump and me shoot him. Me see turkey great way off; he look up and say, Indian coming, sure; me no shoot turkey; he cunning too much.''

"I rather think,' said a turkey-hunter, 'if you want to find a thing very cunning, you need not go to the fox or such varmints, but take a gobbler. I once hunted regular after the same one for three years, and never saw him twice.

"I knew the critter's 'yelp' as well as I knew Music's, my old deer-dog; and his track was as plain to me as the trail of a log hauled through a dusty road.

'I hunted the gobbler always in the same 'range,' and about the same 'scratchins,' and he got so, at last, that when I 'called,' he would run from me, taking the opposite direction to my own foot-tracks.

"Now, the old rascal kept a great deal on a ridge, at the end of which, where it lost itself in the swamp, was a hollow cypress tree. Determined to outwit him, I put on my shoes, heels foremost, walked leisurely down the ridge, and got into the hollow tree, and gave a call,' and boys,' said the speaker, exultingly, it would have done you good to see that turkey coming toward me on a trot, looking at my tracks, and thinking I had gone the other way.'

"They seem incapable of being deceived, and taking every thing strange, as possessed to them of danger-whether it be a moth out of season, or a veteran hunter - they

appear to common or uncommon observers annihilated from the country, were it not for their foot-prints occasionally to be seen in the soft soil beside the running stream, or in the light dust in the beaten road.

'A veteran gobbler, used to all the tricks of the hunter's art; one who has had his wattles cut with shot; against whose well-defended breast had struck the spent ball of the rifle; one who, although almost starved, would walk by the treasures of grain in the 'trap' and 'pen; a gobbler who will listen to the plaintive note of the female until he has tried its quavers, its length, its repetitions, by every rule nature has given him; and then perhaps not answer, except in a smothered voice, for fear of being deceived; such a turkey will W. select to break a lance with, and, in spite of the chances against him, win.

The turkey-hunter, armed with his 'call,' starts into the forest; he bears upon his shoulder the trusty gun. He is either informed of the presence of turkeys, and has a particular place or bird in view, or he makes his way cautiously along the banks of some running stream; his progress is slow and silent; it may be that he unexpectedly hears a noise, sounding like distant thunder; he then knows that he is in close proximity of the game, and that he has disturbed it to flight. When such is the case, his work is comparatively done.

'We will, for illustration, select a more difficult hunt. The day wears toward noon; the patient hunter has met no sign,' when suddenly a slight noise is heard, not unlike, to unpracticed ears, a thousand other wood-land sounds; the hunter listens; again the sound is heard, as if a pebble dropped into the bosom of a little lake. It may be that woodpecker, who, desisting from his labors, has opened his bill to yawn; or, perchance, yonder little bird so industriously scratching among the dead leaves of that young holly. Again, precisely the same sound is heard; yonder, high in the heavens, is a solitary hawk, winging its way over the forests, its rude scream etherealized, might come down to our ears, in just such a sound as made the turkey-hunter listen; again the same note; now more distinct. The quick ear of the hunter is satisfied; stealthily he intrenches himself behind a fallen tree, a few green twigs are placed before him, from among which protrudes the muzzle of his deadly weapon.

Thus prepared, he takes his 'call,' and gives one solitary 'cluck,' so exquisitely that it chimes in with the running brook and the rustling leaf.

'It may be, that a half a mile off, if the place be favorable for conveying sound, is feeding a gobbler;' prompted by his nature, as he quickly scratches up the herbage that conceals his food, he gives utterance to the sounds that first attracted the hunter's

attention.

'Poor bird! he is bent on filling his crop; his feelings are listless, common-place; his wings are awry; the plumage on his breast seems soiled with rain; his wattles are contracted and pale-look! he starts! every feather is instantly in its place; he raises his delicate game-looking head full four feet from the ground, and listens; what an eye; what a stride is suggested by that lifted foot! gradually the head sinks; again the bright plumage grows dim, and with a low cluck, he resumes his search for food. 'The treasures of the American forest are before him; the choice pecan-nut is neglected for that immense 'grub-worm' that rolls down the decayed stump, too large to crawl; now that grasshopper is nabbed; presently a hill of ants presents itself, and the bird leans over it, and, with wondering curiosity, peering down the tiny hole of its entrance, out of which are issuing the industrious insects.

'Again that cluck greets his ear; up rises the head with lightning swiftness; the bird starts forward a pace or two, looks around in wonder, and answers back.

'No sound is heard but the falling acorn; and it fairly echoes, as it rattles from limb to limb, and dashes off to the ground.

"The bird is uneasy; he picks pettishly, smooths down his feathers, elevates his head slowly, and then brings it to the earth; raises his wings as if for flight, jumps upon the limb of a fallen tree, looks about, settles down finally into a brown study, and evidently commences thinking.

'An hour may have elapsed; he has resolved the matter over; his imagination has become inflamed; he has heard just enough to wish to hear more; he is satisfied that no turkey-hunter uttered the sounds that reached his ear, for they were too few and far between and then there rises up in his mind some disconsolate mistress, and he gallantly flies down from his low perch, gives his body a swaggering motion, and utters a distinct and prolonged cluck, significant of both surprise and joy.

'On the instant, the dead twigs near by crack beneath a heavy tread, and he starts off under the impression that he is caught; but the meanderings of some ruminating cow inform him of his mistake. Composing himself, he listens; ten minutes since he challenged, when a low cluck in the distance reaches his ears.

'Now, our gobbler is an old bird, and has several times, as if by a miracle, escaped from harm with his life; he has grown very cunning indeed.

'He will not roost two successive nights upon the same tree, so that day-light never exposes him to the hunter, who has hidden himself away in the night to kill him in the morning's dawn.

'He never gobbles without running a short distance at least, as if alarmed at the noise he makes himself; he presumes every thing is suspicious and dangerous, and his experience has heightened the instinct.

Twice, when young, was he coaxed within gun-shot, but got clear by some fault of the percussion-caps; after that, he was fooled by an idle school-boy, who was a kind of ventriloquist, and would have been slain had not the urchin over-loaded his gun.

"Three times did he come near being killed by heedlessly wandering with his thoughtless play-fellows.

'Once he was caught in a 'pen,' and got out by an over-looked hole in its top.
'Three feathers of last year's 'fan,' decayed under the weight of a spring-trap.

'All this experience has made him a 'deep' bird; and he will sit and plume himself, when common hunters are tooting away, but never so wisely as to deceive him twice. They all reveal themselves by over-stepping the modesty of nature, and woo him too much; his loves are far more coy, far less intrusive.

'Poor bird! he does not know that W is spreading his snare for him, and is even then so sure of his victim as to be revolving in his mind whether his goodly carcass should be a present to a newly-married friend, or be served up, in savory fumes, from his own bachelor but hospitable board.'

It was the fate of that unlucky gobbler to follow hundreds of his predecessors; and as to 'how it was done,' the reader will learn by perusing the delightful description in the volume before us, which we cordially commend to their perusal.

THE APOCALYPSE UNVEILED: The Day of Judgment, the Resurrection, and the Millenium, presented in a New Light. The Repossession of Palestine by the Jews, and their Conversion to CHRIST as their MESSIAH. In two volumes. New-York: E. FRENCH, 12 Bible House.

To the common reader of the Scriptures, the Revelations is almost entirely a sealed book, and but few among the orthodox commentators have arrived at any thing like unanimity in their expositions. SWEDENBORG, who claims to have been admitted into the world of spirits while yet in this life, has written an explanation, in five large volumes, which we have never had the leisure to read. We know many good men, however, who believe his claims to be well-founded, and who receive his explanations as 'law and gospel.'

The

'The Apocalypse Unveiled' appears anonymously: the writer is unknown to us, and the work would probably have passed without our notice, if our attention had not been called to it by a friend. We have read the work, and without imbibing the author's views, have been interested by it. The illustration of prophecy in the history of the world since the introduction of Christianity, strikes the mind of the reader with a peculiar force. author believes the 'Last Judgment' to refer to a new dispensation, or epoch in Christendom. He believes in the conversion of the Jews, their return to Palestine, and in the personal reign of CHRIST on this earth, which he says is never to be destroyed by fire, but to be changed or purified, so as to be a proper abode for the REDEEMER, and all the pure and the holy.

It is not our province to pass judgment on a work like this, and we shall not, therefore, attempt any criticism of it. Our object is merely to call attention to the book. No one can read it without being deeply interested, and often startled by the conclusions of the writer, who marches up to them without seeming in the least to fear what any one may say of them.