Altogether it was a miracle of mystery. In this strong hold that utterly depraved old rebel defied the great algebraical potentate and all his hosts. Every process was tried to rout him out; the royal sheriffs he caught and sent home, stuck through and through with asymptotes; the royal mathematicians all came back with a brain fever. Finally, the sublime Quadrate himself and all his engineers and hosts, went forth and enveloped the equation with some sort of powerful analysis; but a chemist might as well try to decompose a bank-safe with buttermilk; they were all glad to get back to day-light again considerably shattered. To this den, flocked every bad character of the whole region round about. Decayed theories, exposed humbugs, sophisms that had been set up in the pillory, radicals persecuted for political offences, and all kinds of dissatisfied Surds and Symbols, who had emigrated from the great empire, made up the regular population; but they had a constant run of visitors from the Court of Chaos and sable-vested Night,' young Princes of Darkness, roaring Tetrarchs of Tartarus, dissolute naval officers from Acheron, and brawling captains from the garrison of Domdaniel, who, you may well imagine, made the country echo with their orgies. The annoyance which this nest of vagabonds caused to their civilized neighbors is not easily expressed. Not only was it impossible for any friend of decency to stay within a good many leagues of such an unintermittent riot, but the conquests of science could not be pushed beyond it: there the dingy old castle barred all progress, unyielding as a rock.

It was now, as we before gave notice, about midnight. Darkness covered the land; a soft and silent darkness, not like that harsh blackness which enveloped the territories without, but a refreshing darkness which flowed from the sluices of heaven, and covered the empire like a sea of fluid shadows. The innumerable, stars like luminous bugs, crawled up the dome of night, but the moon, like a gorgeous shining beetle, had crept with a good deal of briskness out of sight. At this moment that abominable old settler, whose character we took occasion to discuss in the last chapter, emerged from the regions which he usually adorned with his presence, into the gentle starlight. More of him and his doings in a concluding number.

CUPID SHIPWRECKED:

ΑΝ ANACREONTIC.

BY D. BETHUNE DUFFIELD.

WANDERING late at eventide
By ocean's loud resounding side,
Where the wild billows beat the shore
With angry and incessant roar ;
Far out upon the breaker's crest,
And fiercely by the storm opprest,
A tiny bark I chanced to see
Hard struggling for the mastery.
Now high it rose against the cloud,
Enveloped by a foamy shroud;
And now, between the surges' swell,
Down to the lowest depths it fell.
The exulting sea-bird's direful scream,
The frequent lightning's vivid gleam,
Seemed portents that no skill could save
The sailor from a watery grave:
But, fearless at the vessel's prow,
Stood CUPID with his shafts and bow;

A gorgeous sea-shell was his boat,
Which one scant sail had kept afloat:
No star or helm to guide his way,

Reckless he dashed through whirling spray;
Around his lips a lurking smile
That spoke of triumph all the while.

O for his sea-born mother's hand

To bring her darling safe to land!'
So spoke I; when a stronger blast
Swept from the deck the sail and mast;
And down in NEPTUNE's caverns dark,
Sank CUPID with his foundered bark.

I, overwhelmed with pity, stood
Powerless to aid the little god;
And briny tears flowed free and fast,
That LovE had met his death at last.
But, as I mourned his hapless fate,
A friendly wave bore him elate,
And tossed him near me on the beach,
Beyond the angry surge's reach.
Up sprang the urchin from the sand,
His bow and quiver still in hand;
Laughing, he pressed his dripping hair,
And flung its tresses on the air:
Then, as he shook his wings, with art
Quick from his quiver drew a dart:
'My string I fear will never dry,
My bow is spoiled-but let me try;'.
And urged with sudden, certain aim,
Deep in my heart the arrow came.
Then, floating off on rosy wing,
With mocking glee I heard him sing:

Detroit, May, 1849.

Old DEATH may shut all mortal eyes,
But sportive CUPID never dies:
My bow I find still serves me well,
And, stranger, learn the truth I tell ;
A truth thou now dost truly prove :
That Pity is akin to Love.'

THE FIRST KISS.

BY AN AMATEUR.

WHEN I speak of kissing, I don't include kissing mother, or sister, aunt, grandma', or the little people; that's all in the family, and a matter of course. I mean one's wife, sweetheart, and other feminines, that are not kin or blood connection. 'That's the sort to call kiss

ing,' and that is the sort I am going to describe.

There is a beautiful village about twenty-four miles north of NewHaven, called in the Indian tongue Pomperany. What it means in Indian I do n't know. It was not taught us in the district-school up there, where we learned our a B c's, and afterward progressed as far as B-A, BA; K-E-r, ker; Baker, when I was allowed to graduate, and enter the Youth's Seminary,' under the charge of the Reverend Mr. Fuller. One of my school-mates in the latter place was a bright, intelligent boy, of the name of Walter Marshall. I loved him; so did every body else in the old village love him. He grew up to manhood, but not there. No; New-England boys do n't grow up at home; before they reach manhood they are transplanted, and are flourishing in all parts and ports of the known world, wherever a Yankee craft has been, or the stars and stripes. Talk about Americans abroad; its altogether too general. They are Yankees,' and nothing else; the pure New-England stock. Speak of your Virginian, your SouthCaroliuian, and Southern-Staters in general; where are they? who are they? where can you find 'em? Go out into the great world; run up to Greenland, down again to Patagonia, round on t'other side, up to the Russian Settlements, slip across to the Feejees, touch again at Australia, pass the Straits of Sunda, cut up to Java, in around to Japan, China, British India; visit Muscat, the Gulf of Persia, run down the Arabian coast; call in at Mocha for a cup of coffee; get on board an Arab Red-Sea craft, land at Suez; cross the desert, take a look at the Pyramids, then ship in the Marseilles steamer, which will fetch you along toward home; and who of your own countrymen have you seen in all those different 'diggins' that you visited? Seen any Southerners, any Georgians, (our Georgians,) or Marylanders, or Mississipians? No; you have met with none but the genuine Simons; the real piloting, pioneering, peddling, push-ahead genuine Yankee breed. But what has all this got to do with kissing, except the Yankees are a kissing stock? I have come back to New

York again to make a fresh start, after having travelled a long round

about way.

Walter Marshall, when he reached the age of fourteen, arrived in New-York from his native village, in the destitute situation that is frequent among the New-England boys; that is to say, he had only the usual accompaniments of these young unfledged chips, who afterward make the merchants and great men of this country, and not unfrequently of other lands. He had a little wooden trunk, pretty well stocked with 'hum-mades,' a sixty-eight cent Bible his mother packed in for him, fearful that he might forget it, a three dollar NewHaven City bank-bill, and any quantity of energy, patience, perseverence and ambition. He entered the counting-room of a large mercantile house in South-street. His honesty, activity and industry won him many friends. Among them was an English merchant, who had a large commercial house in Calcutta, and a branch at Bombay. He was in this country on business connected with his commercial firm in Calcutta, and did his business with the firm Walter clerked it with; and here the latter attracted his notice. He was sixteen years of age only; yet the Bombay gentleman fancied him, made him a liberal offer to go to India with him; which, after very little palaver among his friends, Walter accepted. New-England boys don't often start off on one of their unusually long, wandering excursions, without first getting leave of absence for a few days' preparatory exercise, which they spend in going where they originally came from, and then, having a few good looks at the weather-beaten old village church, the high old steeple, which has wonderfully reduced in size and elevation since they first saw it, to notice it, in school boy days; then they must hear the old bell ring once more, even if they have to take a spell at the rope; then take a turn among the white gravestones, see if there are any very green mounds, fresh made, and if so, to ask who among old friends has gone to his last resting place; then kiss mother and sisters, shake hands with father - and the stage is at the door of the tavern, and they are ready for a start to go any where.' Walter went up to do, and did do, all this; but he did not get into the stage at the tavern. He walked down the road ahead of the coach toward the old bridge, and told the stage-driver to stop and let him get in at the minister's house at Parson Fuller's. Mary Fuller lived there too, for she happened to be the parson's only daughter. She was the merriest, loveliest little witch that ever wore long, loose tresses of auburn hair, and had blue eyes. She was only twelve years old, and Walter was nearly seventeen. She did love him, though; he was all in all to her; he had fought her battles all through her childish campaign, and she had no brother. She was Walter's cousin too; a sort of half first cousin, for her mother had been the half sister of Walter's mother. They were not too near related, for purposes hereafter to be named.

-

Poor Molly! she would have cried her eyes out on this occasion, had it not been that Walter's solemn phiz set her ideas of the ridiculous in motion; and she made a merry ten minutes as a wind-up to their parting scene. Three days afterward Walter was in New

York; and just four months and twenty days farther on in Time's almanac he was making out invoices and acting as corresponding clerk to the firm' in Bombay.

I shall not stop long enough to relate how many times he went to the exhibition of venomous-looking cobra de capellos biting sepoys, just for fun, and to show how innocent the beauties were, and how easy their bite was cured; how often he visited the far-famed Elephant Caves; how many times he dined with good Sir Robert Grant, the Governor of Bombay, and how he was with him, and what he said the very morning of the day the old scourge, the Cholera, made the excellent Sir Robert his victim-all these things I shall leave to another time, and a more appropriate heading. I skip over all these, and six years of time beside, and land Master Walter at Staten Island, bring him up to the city in a steam-boat, and leave him at a respectable hotel, and there let him sleep all night, and take a good shorerest,' after a tedious voyage of four months and more.

The next morning we awaken him; make him get up, pay his bill, take a hack, and ride down to the New-Haven steam-boat and go on board. It is seven o'clock A. M. At one P. M. the boat has reached the landing; his trunk and traps' are on board the Litchfield stage; he has taken a seat inside; his destination is an intermediate village. He is alone in the stage; no, not alone; there is an old woman on the front seat, and a Presbyterian clergyman on the middle seat. The stage is up in the city, and slowly meandering about New-Haven town, picking up passengers, who have sent their names to the stageoffice, as is still customary in that staid and sober city of mineralogy, theology, and other 'ologies in general. The stage Jehu pulls up at the door of a neat little cottage in Chapel-street. A passenger, a young lady of sweet seventeen or thereabout. Before she has fairly got inside, Walter has noticed her, and she has noticed him too. gazes in astonishment at the perfect vision of loveliness before him ; he has n't seen any thing of the kind for some years. There is not a particle of copper about her. She on her part, half laughing, has regarded him very attentively; pushes back the golden ringlets that almost shut in her face, and takes another look, as if to be certain that she had made no mistake.

'Here is a seat, Miss, beside me,' says the gospel-preacher.

He

Thank you, Sir,' but I prefer sitting on the back seat with that gentleman, if he will let me,' said the most electrical voice that Walter had listened to in some time.

'Certainly, Miss,' said the delighted Bombayite; and when she seated herself by him, she gazed into his face with such a queer kind of mixed-up delight and astonishment, that Walter actually took a look down upon himself, to ascertain what there was about his person that appeared to be so pleasing to the fair maiden; but he discovered nothing unusual. The stage rolled on toward Derby, at its usual rapid rate of five miles an hour, and Walter and the merry maid seemed as chatty and cosey together as though they had known each other for years instead of minutes. The minister tried to engage the ringlets in conversation, but he soon found himself 'no where.' She