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Oh, Wissahickon ! could the poet's art
Depict thee in thy beauty and thy bloom,
Such as thou seemest to the boyish heart,
Before bright hopes have been begirt with gloom,
Or day-dreams tound their ever-certain tomb,
Thy praise would swell in every foreign land,
And hotels with a many well-crammed room

Would greet the tourist hastening to thy strand,
To look upon thy hills, and hear Frank Johnson's band.


Many have been the cool though summer hours,
That I have passed on gray rocks by thy side,
Plucking the sweet and delicate wild flowers,
Those filtest types of modest maiden pride,
Or joyed alon: the stony road to ride,
My courser slowly stepping over rills
Which gently hasten to enrich thy tide:

If any wish to canter o'er these hills,
They'll leave the old ‘Ridge Road' at Robinson's flour mills.


Silence reigns o'er thee, and we tread thy banks,
Forgetful for a time of worldly care :
Nought to disturb (confound the noisy pranks
Of those young urchins in the water there !)
The spirit as it mounts into the air,
Above the things of time, and sense, and earth,
Winging its way into those regions fair,

Where all our dreams of happiness have birth;
And oh! without such dreams, what were existence worth !


For what were life, with its too real woes,
Its disappointments - no illusions they !
Its bitter cups - oh! blest is he that knows
Not of these things, even in childhood's day!
Its sinful deeds, for which we bend and pray,
Then madly rush to tread Guili's pathway o'er,
Till checked by Conscience in our downward way,

Again we kneel our madness to deplore,
Sinning e'en while we pray that we may sin no more.


What would life be, if we might never know
Fair Fancy, with her changeful magic glass,
Which, like the prism, bids the bright colors glow
Around each object which we swirtly pass,
And all seems fairy land. Too soon, alas!
The charm is broken; yet to her we cling
Mid all the cares that daily life harass,

Leaving them for a while, with hopeful wing,
When cheered by some blest spot, like that which now I sing.


The laurel blooms upon the wrinkled brow
Of time-worn rock, which guards thy rugged path;
And who would pluck, will find, I rather trow,
That here, as in the mingled tears and wrath
Of gory battle-field, that he who hath
Desire to wear the wreath, must danger dare:
Oh! 'it is fun' to see a cooling bath

Given to some big-whiskered, clumsy bear,
Who strives by agile feat to please his ladye-fair!


Adieu, sweet stream! thou fair and holy spot
To all who in the morning's vocal time
Have wandered by thy side, or met the hot
And quiet hour of noon, where merry chime
Of water falling comes like pleasant rhyme
Upon the drowsy ear; or sauntered slow,
Filled with high thoughts, sky-reaching and sublimes

When the soft moon her genile smile doth throw
Over the valleys hush, and waters' murmuring flow.


We think of thee, and with thy presence come
'Thoughts of the young, and beautiful, and gay;
Voices as joyous as the bee's quick hum,
Eyes which then beamed as with a heavenly ray,
Are heard and seen as if but yesterday.
We laughed, or wept with them, in mirth or wo;
We were so happy then!

but who can say
If we again such blissful hours may know,
When with excess of joy the heart shall overflow!


But let us leave this too bewitching theme :
We said, in the commencement of our tale,
Some happy hearts were gathered near this stream;
Pity it is not deep enough to sail
A pleasure-boat, without its timbers frail
Scraping acquaintance with the rocks beneath,
Which from each fair evokes a doleful wail,

Like that which rings on some deserted heath,
Where ghost-chased rustic speeds, with terror-chattering teeth.


Seated around in many a joyful group,
They held brisk converse, or half-chiding, smiled
At foolish jest, while someʼneath boughs which droop
Over the road-side, thought of him who piled
Rock upon rock, in such confusion wild;
Till startled from their meditative trance
By some mirth-loving, fun-creating child,

Who from far height above, sent stone to dance,
And from sharp crag to crag, like steed to madly prance :


Till with a whizzing and impetuous leap,
It bounced into the middle of the throng;
Scattering 'all hands,' even as a little sweep,
Who, in hot haste courses the pave along,
When our big fire-bell peals its loud ding-dong!
Some sceking shelter behind rocks and trees,
And others shouting in a cadence strong,

“There, stop that ball!' while the rude joker flees, Like one who with long stick has stirred a hive of bees.


But there was one apart from all the rest,
Perched on a peak which overlooked the scene,
Which once for all I know was eagle's nest;
Right noble was the heart that there I ween
Was soaring with an eye as bright and keen
As Freedom's bird, through fancy's upper air,
Through realms by all but poet's ken unseen:

He had a princely brow, and oh! his hair
Foretold that he a wig, or scalp, need never wear.

His stature was five feet say nine or ten;
His form was faultless as it well could be;
His fingers seemed but made to hold a pen;
His boots (for feet we could not hope to see,)
Were small, and tapered to nonentity:
And there he stood, with earnest, thoughtful gaze,
Gently reclined against a stripling tree,

(So gracefully, it was beyond all praise,) And looked on wave and sky, glowing with sunset's blaze.


Then seized by a most sentimental thought,
He sat him down upon a mossy stone,
And with pen, ink, and paper, which he'd broughts
Expecting as he did to wander lone,
And leel within him thrill that witching tone,
Which nature, in her merriment or wo,
Whether in joyful song or sad’ning inoan,

Wakes ever in the souls of those who go
To see her with the awe felt by a youthful beau:


He scribbled down a sonnet to the sun,
And melted by it to a softer mood,
He wiped his noble brow, and then begun
(While breezes played around, and gently wooed
Away hot beams, which ofttimes will intrude
When wanted least,) some verses to indite
In praise of one to whom he ne'er had sued

Before in words, but now he felt 'the might
Of thousands' in his heart, and fear was put to flight.


His work's complete. He reads it o'er with joy,
Such as a lover-poet only feels;
Beside, Alphonso was no more than boy,
Of warm, sincere nineteen; and fiercely steals
Bliss through the heart, when first it proudly kneels,
With trembling, at some idol's beauteous shrine,
And with a faltering tongue, wildly unseals

The inmost soul, as at a fane divine:
Blessed her lot who knows the worth of the rich mine!


There is one privilege an author hath,
Thanks to no eartbly power, my friends, for that!
One which in these sad days of vengeful wrath
'Gainst all monopolies, no saucy brat
Of a big-fisted, reckless democrat
Can pluck from out our tender ink-stained hand;
Thai is, of reading, be it rare or flat,

Whate'er our heroes write; and we'll withstand,
And laugh his name to scora, who dares this right demand $


In my next number, I will read to you
Alphonso's verses, as a sample fair
Of what young men will sometimes wildly do,
When they are left at liberty to stare
At pretty face: if maids would only wear,
As in the eastern lands, a close-drawn veil,
And thus the youths in mercy sometimes spare,

I had not penned this sentimental tale,
Nor on Apollo's harp thus levied my black mail.'

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It was on the occasion of some great gathering on the Battery, when all the idle people of the great city of New-York appeared to have been attracted by a common sympathy to that beautiful spot, that the two Tucks, in company with our hero, made their appearance among the crowd, and by their shouts helped to increase the hubbub and confusion. Of course there were many personages present, of greater importance than these three young gentlemen, and who probably attracted more attention at the time; but, as we believe, there were none there for whom the reader will feel a greater interest.

Whether it was the arrival of some great man, or the execution of some great rogue, that caused the gathering, is not material to the right understanding of this history; but it was a gay and exhilarating scene. The day was warm, yet not oppressive; and a timely shower in the morning had washed the dust from the trees, and given to the grass on the Battery, and the opposite shores of Jersey and Governor's Island, an appearance of verdant beauty. The bay was covered with boats, which were moving about in all directions, with gay pennons flying, and from some strains of martial music proceeded, and from others, the reports of fire-arms. On shore, crowds of elegantly-dressed women were jostled by crowds of badly-dressed men; and nurses were out-screaming the interesting little creatures placed under their protection; while numerous companies of citizen soldiery were performing evolutions that Napoleon never dreamed of, to the immense delight of innumerable little black boys, who were perched on the overhanging branches of the elms and sycamores; and sentinels, as fierce as regimentals could render them, were repelling the invasion of any stray cow or old apple-woman that might chance to encroach upon the district placed for the time under martial law. Bands of music were playing, and guns were popping off in every direction. Every body seemed resolutely bent upon making a noise, and our three young gentlemen had every disposition to increase the tumult, by letting off a few squibs and crackers; but on examining their pockets, they discovered that they could not muster a sixpence between them. It chanced, unluckily, that Mr. Tremlett was out of town, and our hero could think of no way to procure any money. Tom Tuck tried to persuade him to pawn his watch, but that he resolutely refused to do, because his father (for so he called Mr. Tremlett,) had given it to him but a few days before. He said he would not part with it to procure himself bread, much less squibs. While they were trying to hit upon some plan for raising the necessary funds for a frolic, their mortification was increased, and their desires were excited, by a party of youngsters of their acquaintance, who




rowed past in a boat, with a horse-pistol and a flask of powder. At last Sam Tuck said he knew where his mother kept her purse, and he promised, if the two would wait for him, to go and bring it. Accordingly he started off

, and his brother Tom and our hero indulged themselves during his absence with a couple of hard-boiled eggs, and a bottle of ginger beer, meaning to pay for them as soon as the adventurer returned. But that enterprising young gentleman soon came back, quite out of breath, and as destitute of money as when he left. His mother had caught him in the very act of breaking open her bureau, and he had to fight hard to escape. They were now placed in a very disagreable situation. They had before them a practical illustration of the evils of the credit system. They had contracted a debt, with the expectation of paying it out of the proceeds of an uncertain adventure, and being disappointed in its issue, they were involved in great distress, which was very much heightened by a boatman coming up to them, and offering to row them about the bay for a dollar. It was such a gay, exciting scene upon the water; the boat lay rocking so temptingly, with a white awning stretched fore and aft; wbat should they do? The Tucks knew nothing about restraining their desires ; it was a part of their education that had been neglected. Their mother was always fearful of spoiling their dispositions by crossing their inclinations ; and so she always let them have their own way, when it did not interfere very much with her

Here I would willingly pause, and either bring this history to a close, or blot out from it the transactions of this gala-day; but as I have already promised to record all the controlling events of our bero's life, I feel myself bound to do so, however prejudicial it may prove to his reputation, or repugnant to my own feelings.

After many idle suggestions on the part of the Tucks, Tom at last hit upon one that promised to afford the required funds.

'I know how I could get some money, and our own money too,' said Tom Tuck.

*How ? how ?' eagerly inquired the other two.

'I know exactly where my uncle Gris. keeps his pocket-book, in bis desk, and I could very easily get it,' said Tom; and it would only be taking it a little in advance, you know, Sam, because mother says he will leave all his money to us when he dies; and he can't live much longer; so what difference does it make, whether we take it now, or after he is dead ?'

That is prime!' said Sam; that is first rate !-- is n't it, Jack? That is capital ! That is equal to Rinaldo Rinaldini. Come, let us have it right off, Tom.'

Whether it was because our hero thought he had no right to interfere in family arrangements, we cannot determine, but he remained perfectly silent, and neither opposed nor approved the proposition of the brothers to rob their uncle. It was finally arranged between them that Tom and Sam should proceed to their uncle's countingroom, and that while one of them called the old gentleman away, the other should rifle his desk. Our hero, in the mean time, was to remain as a hostage with the dealer in hard-boiled eggs and gingerbeer. But just as the two adventurers were about starting on their

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