shut out in a cold and lonely world, from whence all that was most lovely and lóving' had departed. But then the horrors of such a gráve! so fríghtful, so dishonoured! There was nothing for memory to dwell on that could soothe the pang of separation-none of those tender though melancholy círcumstances' that endéar the parting scène-nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears' sent, like the dews of heaven, to revive the heart in the parching hour of anguish. To render her widowed situation more désolate, she had incúrred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attáchment, and was an éxile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends' have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by hórror, she would have expérienced no want of consolation, for the Irish' are a people of quíck and generous sensibilities. The most delicate and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amúsement to dissipate her grief, and wéan her from the tragical story of her lòver. But it was áll in vain. There are some strokes of calamity' that scáthe and scorch the soul-that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness-and blást it, never again to put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as much alóne there as in the depths of solitude. She walked about in a sad réverie, apparently uncónscious of the world around her. She carried with herl an inward wòel that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and "heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he ever so wisely." The person who told me her stóry had seen her at a masquerade. There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful! than to meet it! in such a scène. To find it wandering like a spectre, lonely and jóyless, where all around is gày-to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wàn and wóe-begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd' with an air of utter abstráction, she sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and looking about for some time with a vàcant air, that showed her insensibility to the garish scéne, she began with the capriciousness of a sickly heart' to warble a little plaintive àir. She had an exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was so simple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness, that she drew a crowd! mute and silent around her, and melted évery one into tears. The story of one so true and ténder could not but excite great interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her, and thought' that one so true to the dead! could not but prove affectionate to the living. She declined his attèntions, for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed! by the memory of her former lover. Hé, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteèm. He was assisted by her conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and dependent situation, for she was exísting on the kindness of friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assúrance that her heart was unalterably another's. He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scéne might wear out the remembrance of early wòes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring mélancholy' that had entered into her very sòul. She wasted away in a slów, but hopeless decline, and at length sunk into the gráve, the víctim of a broken heart. It was on her that Moore, the distinguished Irish poet, composed the following lines: "She is far from the land! where her young hero sleeps, And lovers around her are síghing; But coldly she turns from their gazeꞌ and wéeps, She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains. Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, He had lived for his love-for his country he died, Oh! māke hēr a grāve whēre the sūn-bēams rést They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west, WASHINGTON IRVING. THE CHRISTIAN PAUPER'S DEATHBED. [CAROLINE BOWLES, or MRS. SOUTHEY, was born near Lymington in 1787, and died in 1854. Her earliest production was the "Birthday." But for more than twenty years, the writings of Caroline Bowles were altogether anonymous, and although widely circulated and warmly appreciated by the public, it was not until after the publication of "Ellen Fitz Arthur" and her "Chapters on Churchyards," which first appeared in Blackwood's Magazine, that her name and identity became known beyond a very limited circle. On the death of the poet Southey's first wife, she accepted him as her husband in 1839.] Tread softly-bow the heùd— In reverent silence bow No passing bell doth tóll, Stranger! however greát, Greáter than thòu. shod Beneath that beggar's roof, Ló! Death doth keep his state, Enter-no guàrds defend This palace gate. That pavement, damp and cold, Óne sílent woman stands, No mingling voices sound-- That short deep' gasp, and then- Òh! change-óh, wòndrous change! Oh! change-stupèndous change! The new immortal wàkes Wákes with his God. CAROLINE SOUTHEY. THE GULF STREAM. THERE is a river in the ocean. In the severest droughts it never fails, and in the mightiest floods it never overflows. Its banks and its bottom are of cold water, while its current is of warm. The Gulf of Mexico is its fountain, and its mouth is in the Arctic Seas. It is the Gulf Stream. There is in the world no other such majestic flow of waters. Its current is more rapid than the Mississippi or the Amazon, and its volume more than a thousand times greater. The currents of the ocean are among the most important of its movements. They carry on a constant interchange between the waters of the poles and those of the equator, and thus diminish the extremes of heat and cold in every zone. The sea has its climates as well as the land. They both change with the latitude; but one varies with the elevation above, the other with the depression below the sea level. The climates in each are regulated by circulation; but the regulators are, on the one hand, winds; on the other, currents. The inhabitants of the ocean are as much the creatures of climate as are those of the dry land; for the same Almighty hand which decked the lily, and cares for the sparrow, fashioned also the pearl, and feeds the great whale, and adapted each to the physical conditions by which his providence has surrounded it. Whether of the land or the sea, the inhabitants are all his creatures, subjects of his laws, and agents in his economy. The sea, therefore, we may safely infer, has its offices and duties to perform; so, may we infer, have its currents; and so, too, its inhabitants: consequently, he who undertakes to study its phenomena, must cease to regard it as a waste of waters. He must look upon it as a part of that exquisite machinery by which the harmonies of nature are preserved, and then he will begin to perceive the developments of order and the evidences of design. From the Arctic Seas a cold current flows along the coasts of America, to replace the warm water sent through the Gulf Stream, to moderate the cold of western and northern Europe. Perhaps the best indication as to these cold currents may be derived from the fishes of the sea. The whales first pointed out the existence of the Gulf Stream, by avoiding its warm waters. Along the coasts of the United States all those delicate animals and marine productions which delight in warmer waters are wanting, thus indicating, by their absence, the cold current from the north now known to exist there. In the genial warmth of the sea about the Bermudas on one hand, and Africa on the other, we find in great abundance those delicate shell-fish and coral formations which are altogether wanting in the same latitudes along the shores of South Carolina. No part of the world affords a more difficult or dangerous navigation than the approaches of the northern coasts of the United States in winter, Before the warmth of the Gulf |