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neither the foibles nor the sensibilities of her sex, and is required to enact Sphynx on all matters, foreign and domestic. And wo to her who is weighed and found wanting in any thing that appertains to the character wherewith her friends have invested her!

To a sensible woman,' the gratification of that omnipotent wish of the female heart, the desire to be loved, is seldom accorded; for man, disliking in woman the approach to any thing masculine, as an overstepping of the bounds of modesty; associating the idea of a masculine, with a strong mind; fearful of encroachment on his own sovereign prerogative, power; and unmindful of the early teachings which should direct the understandings of future statesmen and heroes; chooses out from among the daughters of the land a wife, whose thoughts extend not beyond the present fashion of a garment; while with her own sex, the sensible woman,' one whose talents and example all should admire and emulate, is rather feared than loved. Affix to me, therefore, any other appellation, call me old, even, rather than burthen me with that which I have neither the nerve nor the will to bear; the name of 'a sensible woman!' Assez !


'Be sure to wear the green spectacles, Marie, and the green shade, and fold your veil closely over your face, and keep your eyes shut when the sun shines; for you know the doctor opposes your determination to set forth; and foretells blindness, as the reward of your pertinacity; so, take care of your beaux yeux!' was the final injunction of sister Die, as we bade adieu, for the twentieth time. pray,' she added, 'pray do not forget your note-book!' Notes of travel! As well might I have looked to bind the Pleiades,' as to stay my wingéd thoughts with a lead-pencil! The verdant vales and hills of Connecticut, the and green sunny plains of Massachusetts, had gladdened our eyes; mine own 'Athens' had received us; steam and storm had conveyed us to Portland; the Beautiful, reposing like a sea-nymph, within the circling arm of Ocean; our onward route had been through a part of Maine Maine, the woody, and crowned with abundance; known to few beyond her confines, save as a field for speculation; but who, in her short seasons of seed-time and harvest, bringeth forth plenteously, and enricheth the husbandman with her increase; and for the first time, we had beheld the magnificence of sunset, and the glories of morning among the New-Hampshire hills.

Spectacles, shade, veil, bonnet - all had been thrown aside, and the ominous shake of the Doctor's head quite forgotten, when, on a beautiful morning in July, the stage-coach, containing our merry party, entered the Notch of the White Mountains.

The fate of the unfortunate Willey family has attached a melancholy interest to this romantic mountain pass. Sterile and grand, on either side arose the hills. We were before the open portal of the house, from which, fourteen years ago, in the deep midnight, the terrified inmates rushed forth, to escape, as they hoped, the coming avalanche, but alas! to meet the destruction they sought to avoid. Beyond, overgrown with grass and dwarf pines, lay the mountainslide, which had overwhelmed them. We entered the lone house; it

seemed like treading the floor, and breathing the atmosphere, of a sepulchre.

Names innumerable of visitors are recorded upon the walls, and upon the mouldering plaster of the narrow vestibule. Some sympathising hand has scrawled, Desolate is the dwelling of Morna!'

We had clambered to the top of the coach, to obtain an unobstructed view of the Hills, which, as we wound slowly through the valley, seemed to environ us. Never was mortality more thoroughly impressed with a sense of its own nothingness! On the right, our narrow pathway was bounded and overhung by gigantic rocks; and on the left, itself bounded by the hills beyond, far down in its dark and narrow bed, on to the ocean, rushed the river which we were tracking to its source; while beyond, far up the gorge, the WaterFall, a silver thread, flowed down the bold and barren steep, like the one pure vein of affection, humanizing a stern and rugged nature. Dwellers within the walls, the narrow, and confined streets, of a populous city; new to the scene which had opened to us; rapturous were our exclamations of delight. 'What think you of the Notch?' asked one of the driver, desirous to comprehend with what manner of impression a child of the hills looked upon this sublime creation. 'Well,' he replied, 'I 'm used to this; but I s'pose if I should go down to 'York, I should gawk round too!'

'So custom,' thought I, 'renders one indifferent, even to a scene like this!' I was reminded by the man's reply, of a matter-of-fact sort of old body, once employed to show myself and others to the Falls of the Cattskill. Impatient of the slow movement necessary to our conveyance up the mountain, we had left the coach, and continued our ascent on foot. Enthusiasm bore us bravely on, and we had far outstripped our guide; for whose coming we at length found it expedient to pause. 'Well,' said he, as he toiled slowly up the path, well, you 're almost at the eend of your job.'

'Brace yourself up, Sir,' said the driver, to a mustachoed 'monDieu'-ing individual, seated beside him on the box, an uncomfortable sharer in our elevated position. Brace?' mon Dieu!' he replied; 'I am deceive, Sare, ver' moch! What for I come here, eh? Un malade, Sare! von invalide! My good friends say, 'Monsieur, you sick; you will go to de Hills; the air shall considerable brace you up.' 'I say, 'ver well; I shall go!' Vell, I go; I come here. I am shake almos' to pieces; and now, mon Dieu! I am told for brace myself up!'

There's the 'pure democracy' for you!' said a fellow traveller, to a man standing in the door-way of a post-office; at the same time tossing him a newspaper; there's the pure democracy for you! Take it, and study it through, line by line.'

'That 'democracy," retorted the other, as he lifted it from the ground, where it had fallen, 'that 'democracy,' I have all by heart!' We had driven through the Franconia Notch; hallooed to the 'Old Man of the Mountain;' and at the Pool' drank in its waters farewell and remembrance, with some pleasant friends, about to leave us, whose society had added a charm to a week of travel and mountain sojourn. Far behind lay the green hills of Vermont, their beauteous valley, and its winding river. Standing upon the ruins of the old

fort at Ticonderoga, I drew forth my note-book to deposite therein, as a memento of that storied ground, an herb that I had just gathered. Alas! for sister Die! The leaf of a tall birch, which, uptwisted by a sudden whirlwind, and thrown directly across our path, on our return drive from the Franconia Notch, had well nigh served to furnish forth our newspaper-catastrophe. A sprig of pine, brought from the highest point of vegetation at Mount Washington, and this one memorandum, Mount Deception, July: The durability of kid slippers not to be relied on, in a mountain scramble,' were its only contents! My 'notes' were all of 'exclamation,' upon peak, and crag, and waterfall, and river:

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'Valley, and cataract, and lake,

And Alp on Alp sublimely swelling;
Mighty, and pure, and fit to make
A rampart for a Godhead's dwelling.'

Their grandeur is recorded in my soul, and over all is traced the name of THE ETERNAL.

M. E. H.



THE east is now dappled with dawning of light;
To the woods, for the deer, ere the sun is in sight!
The hoar-frost has spread its fresh silver-like veil,
And if a hoof passes, it tells us the tale;
The hound in swift gambols darts hither and yon,
Let us shoulder our rifles, and rapidly on.

Each limb how elastic, how bracing the air!
Hurrah boys! what know we of sorrow or care?
Our veins tingle wild with delight, as we feel
The breath of the autumn morn over us steal;
The herds from their pastures are wending along,
And hark! the first robin has burst into song;
From the pine, the hawk launches, in circles to sail,
And in the brown stubble-field whistles the quail :
Then faster, for now the deer glides from the shade,
To drink at the streamlet, and graze in the glade,
And if longer we loiter, we'll seek him in vain,

For he'll soon make his couch in the thick swamp again.

His haunts we approach; creep on cautious and slow,
The snap of a twig, our dread presence will show;
His haunts we approach; part those bushes, and look
For his traces, and scan well the marge of the brook;
Here's a dash of the moss from the rock; there has sunk
His hoof in the brown brittle dust of that trunk;
Lead the bound to yon thicket; these tracks all around,
Proclaim that the run-'way at last we have found.

In the forests, bright Autumn his flag has unrolled,
And they blaze with the splendors of crimson and gold;
The leaves, cutting sharp on the soft sapphire sky,
Seem clusters of jewels suspended on high:

While the gray light, their delicate webs melting through,
Is changed, underneath, to an opal-like hue;
With this canopy, rich as a monarch could claim,

And rifle on shoulder, I wait for the game.

As my breathings I hold, the hound's music to hear,
The prattle of waters comes sweet to my ear;
The light merry chirp of the cricket I catch,
The spider's quick beat, like the tick of a watch;
And in contrast, the glee of the grasshopper throng,
With the caty-did's solemn, monotonous song;


Then wearied with listening, I smile as I see
The grass-snake thrust fiercely his red tongue at me,
And on the prone beech, the coxcombical crow
Strut lordly, as if his black plumage to show;
But hark to that sound, stealing faint from the wood!
My heart beats, my veins glow with rushing of blood;
It swells from yon thicket more loud and more near,
'Tis the hound giving tongue- he is driving the deer!
My rifle is levelled- swift tramplings are heard
And a rustle of leaves-then, with flight like a bird,
His antlers thrown back, and his body in motion,
With a quick rise and fall, like a surge of the ocean,
His eye-balls wide rolling, in frenzied affright,
Out bursts the magnificent creature to sight.
A low cry I utter; he stops, bends his head,
His nostrils distended, limbs quaking with dread;
My rifle cracks sharp, he leaps wildly on high,
Then pitches down headlong, to quiver, and die.

On the trail now comes leaping and panting the hound,
And I hear the shrill whoop of my comrade resound;
Up wheels the broad sun; and his light like a flood,
Rolls swift to the innermost depths of the wood;

A twitter and flutter awake in the trees,

And stream casts its vapor to wreathe in the breeze;

As under our burthen we stagger along,

The sociable wren bids good morrow in song,

But the chatterbox squirrel stamps fierce, and looks queer,
And seems in his bark to ask what we do here;

We heed not his antics, but trudge on amain,

Till we stand, spent with toil, at our threshold again.


A. B. .



A GENTLEMAN once sat in his study, where he had passed many delightful and tranquil hours. He had fitted it up, and furnished it with many a goodly row of silent and beloved companions, at the happy age when the young, crude aspirant for literary fame has ripened into the man of genius and of learning.

He had chosen that retreat, because, among other recommendations to the student, it possessed one peculiarly suited to his taste and temperament; the view its one large window commanded of a sweet sequestered scene, over which the goddess Nature presided, a deity of harmony and beauty. It was a home view, that the eye could scan at a glance, and grow familiar with; and yet of such varied beauty, that it palled not on the sight; and at one opening in the hilly woodlands, the bold outline of a distant mountain appeared. On that the young student would fix his gaze, after it had wandered in calm delight over the intermediate scene; and then, withdrawing his eye from the outward view, and turning it, with an air of quiet content, round the well-furnished walls of his study, Thus, thus,' he thought, shall my mind travel through the flowery fields of unexplored literature, till they lead me to the proud height of fame!' He had not yet discovered it was a cold and barren rock.

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He had cased his heart about in the lore of the philosophers of old, and thus believed it armed for a noble contest in the arena of letters;

and invulnerable, perchance he deemed it, to the shafts that wound through the affections. But hearts such as his, filled with pure thoughts, and lofty aspirations, are true love's favorite citadels; and in an unguarded hour, he makes good his entrance, and takes possession; and we all know what a band of ruffians it takes to dislodge him, and what a scene of devastation he and his disappointed crew leave behind.

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Some such struggle early laid waste the heart of the student, and damped his ardor in the pursuit of knowledge. The silver chord was loosed, the golden bowl was broken.' But what was once his delight, became at length his solace. He turned the keen scrutiny of a scholar into his own heart; and from beneath the ruins of his buried hopes, brought up precious relics; and from his despair received the gift of eloquence. And then, unsought, the meed was won; the recompense of genius. He stood on that rocky height, and raised his adventurous eyes even to the image of Fame, on the loftiest altar of the temple; and turning to some drooping figures near, who, with aching heads and bleeding hearts, had reached the same elevation, he acknowledged that all was vanity!'

Years had passed away, and again he sat in his still favorite retreat. Around him, as of old, stood his silent, yet eloquent companions;' and from the open window, his eye wandered over the same scene that had feasted it in former days. But a gloom had gathered over it. Was it autumn, with its fading green and yellow? or the leafless gloom of winter? No, it was the dark hue of melancholy; and evening after evening, as he watched the dim twilight, and saw the varying tints of the western sky fade in the horizon, pale Melancholy hovered near, and cast the dull shadow of her pinion on every object he looked upon, and to every sound imparted her plaintive murmurs. There was a species of enjoyment in this, like the joy of grief,' described by the poet; so that the student courted Melancholy, and even went so far as to write an ode in praise of her charms. What wonder, then, if she haunted his silent dwelling, and hung like a shadow on his footsteps, and pervaded with her gloomy presence the very atmosphere he breathed, till his soul sickened, and his right hand forgot its cunning,' and he gave himself up an easy prey to a yet darker intruder, of whom Melancholy was but the forerunner.

He was at his open window, as usual, in the dusky light of evening, poring over some old volume, till the characters became indistinct, and the book dropped from his hand, and he fell into sad communings with his own heart. Melancholy, as was her custom on such occasions, drew nigher toward him, and by the uncertain light, he perceived that close beside her, under the very shadow of her wing, stood Despondency.

There are two of you now,' said the student, and he sighed deeply: 'It is presuming, O Melancholy, on the favor I have shown thee, to bring hither unbidden yon gloomy stranger.'

It is my twin sister,' said Melancholy, and she frequently takes my place, when I grow weary. That is the case now. I have watched by you, and echoed your sighs, and mingled my tears with yours, till my health has suffered. My lungs are sore, my appetite fails; I need change of air. In the mean time, I hope my sister De spondency will answer every purpose.'

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