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For the Southern Literary Gazette.
BE IN EARNEST.
BY C. T. QCINTARD, M. D.
Be in earnest —be in earnest!
Worker in the light of day—
Feel the need to do, not waiting,
Lest the buds of hope decay.
Be ye constant, persevering,
Faith your hopes will warm to life ;
And in heaven’s armour fighting.
Never yield, but win the strife.
Jleed not thou the feeble hearted.
Who are falling by your side,
Only win and let the story
Tell how bravely you have died.
It in better far to perish
With the heart still beating true.
Than to live, yet never doing
All the work we have to do.
Be in earnest —be in earnest!
Turning to the left nor right ;
Keep the way and keep advancing,
Labouring still with all your might.
Let your armour be unspotted,
Tarnished by no earthly stain ;
Then—well done, true-hearted brother,
Dying, thou shalt live again.
Boswell, Geo.
Ctrl flflrt] Ctlltr.
THE VIRGIN OF VESTA
BY AUGUSTINE DUGANNE.
CHAPTER I.
“For Rome is as the desert, where we steer,
Stumbling o’er recollections.”—Byron.
The Tiber gleamed in the light of
its illuminated banks. Far down the
Palatine Hill, from the Imperial Pal
ace, flashed forth a long line of radiance
upon the Via Sacra. And across the
clear water, from the marble court of
Apollo’s temple, came the evening
chant of the priests, and the sound of
music, as if their god had struck his
sculptured harp.
The temple of Vesta, alone, upon
the southern slope of the hill, was lit
by the rich moonbeams, that clothed
with a silver lustre its marble portico,
and glittered through the thick foliage
of the sacred oaks which embosomed
it. Nought burned there but the pure
fire of the altar, around which now a
circle of white-robed virgins bent in
their evening orisons.
And now the mystic rite is ended,
and the solemn chant of the vestal
train, as they slowly retire through the
dim aisles, sounds faintly in the dis
tance. One is left—the virgin, who,
through the still night, shall watch the
sacred altar-flame, and offer to the spot
less goddess a prayer for her favourite
shrine. Why gazes she so fixedly at
her departing sisters ? Why casts she
an anxious glance around the lonely
court ?
A shadow stole across the marble
pavement, and the figure of a man stood
forth in the moonlight. The maiden
flew to meet him.
“My brother ! thou art here ! O hap
py—”
“Hist! they seek my life!” cried the
young man, casting an anxious glance
around.
“My brother ! what meanest thou?”
“Germanicus is slain!” said the broth
er in a stifled voice.
The maiden gazed into the youth’s
face, as if she would fain read there the
contradiction of his words; but she
saw that his features were deadly pale.
“Ah, my brother,” she murmured, “it
is not so—O, say not that our benefac
tor is .”
“’Tis true —even at the banquet. 1
stood beside him—l held his cup. Se
janus, the tyrant, filled from his own,
and my master fell dead at my feet. —
I escaped, hut the slaves of Sejanus
follow me!”
“And he—Germanicus —he is no
more,” cried the sister.
“Av, Livia —poisoned by the wretch
who aims at the imperial purple! Ger
manicus is dead, Livia. But hark!
they come —1 hear the tramp of their
feet within—”
“They will not harm thee here, my
brother—they dare not tear thee from
the shrine of Vesta !”
“And what is Vesta to Sejanus?”
cried a voice, as a hand of soldiers en
tered the temple gate. “Drag the
slave away ! ’tis the emperor’s will !”
“Beware!” cried Livia, as, snatching
a torch from the altar, she sprang to
her brother’s side. “Beware, ere the
insulted goddesssliall avenge her shrine!
Back, back ! lay not your hands on
him who claims the aid of Vesta.”
The sister stood by hei brother’s
side, like the very goddess whom she
served. The rude and superstitious
soldiers trembled before the blaze of
the virgin’s eyes. But their leader’s
voice aroused them.
“Ila !” cried he, “will ye be balked
by a woman ?” and he grasped the mai
den's arm.
The sword of the brother circled
over the soldier's head, and the bright
blade rang on his iron helmet. But
ere the blow could be repeated, lights
gleamed along the corridors; and the
high priestess broke the silence.
“What means,” said she, “this clash
of steel? why is the shrine of Vesta
violated ? Is Rome so sunk in crime
that the temples of hergodsare not re
vered? Speak, Livia! why are these
bold men here ?”
“A stranger sought the protection of
our altar. He is the freedman of Ger
manicus, whom they-have murdered.
These men would drag him to a cruel
death. O, save him, he is my brother!
And, the spirit that upheld her giving
way, she sunk trembling at the feet ot
the priestess.
“Fear not, Livia! Tiberius himself
dare not iesec-rate the shrine ot our
goddess. Return !” said the high priest
ess to the soldiers—“and say to Sejanus
of Vesta protects
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“Advance!” cried the centurion.—
“Pluck him even from the altar’s foot.
Think ye that the vengeance of the
gods is surer or more terrible than the
wrath of Sejanus ? Advance upon the
slave!”
The soldiers, accustomed to obey,
hesitated no longer. Throwing them
selves together upon the freedman,
who, grasping his swoad, had awaited
the result of the interference ot the
priestess, they wrested the weapon
from his grasp, and dragged him from
! the temple court.
Livia lay senseless at the foot of the
altar. But the high priestess heeded
S her not. Her own proud heart was
swelling at the thought of her insulted
goddess. The sanctuary violated !
sacrilege at the very altar ! “Tremble,”
she cried, as the corselets of the retreat
ing soldiers flashed in the blaze that
streamed from the imperial [ alace—
“Tremble, Sajanus! thv fate is sealed!
W horn the gods would destroy, they
first make mad !”
Sejanus reclined at the banquet.—
Rival of his master in dissimulation,
he knew how to preserve in public an
austerity that effectually hid the gross
ness of his sensuality. He was at the
pitch of his subordinate power; for Ti
berius. sunk in the enervating pleasures
of his Caprccan palace, had apparently
resigned all care of government into
the hands of his favourite. The word
of Sejanus was law in Rome.
Yet his ambition still looked higher,
and already the imperial crown seemed
within his grasp. The children of the
elder Germanicus were banished. Dru
sus had drunk the poison of his host.
What was now to prevent the attain
ment of his vast ambition—the empire
of all Rome?
A messenger appeared.
“The freedman of Germanicus is
taken.”
“To the dungeon with him! Yet
stay —guard him hither!”
Herman entered between the sold
iers who advanced towards Sejanus. —
But the cautious tyrant stayed their
approach.
“And thinkest thou, tyrant, / slay at
the banquet?” cried the bold freed
man.
“Ha! slave! are we braved?—a
worthy eub of thy master art thou.
Methinks rebellion hath grown bold ?
Where found ye him ?”
“In the temple of Vesta—he had
taken sanctuary.”
Sanctuary ! ’tis well. Rome has yet
to know that Sejanus is her master. —
Had he papers ?”
“He has destroyed them.”
“Ila!” cried Sajanus, “bear him to
the dungeon. The torture shall be
thine on the morrow, <), fearless de
spiser of tyrants!”
CHAPTER 11.
‘‘A sister’s love—the holiest thing
That earth hath won from Heaven.”
The priestess and Livia knelt at the
altar. Together they hung the sacred
garlands upon the shrine—together
watched the holy fire. Suddenly the
virgin paused —she threw herself at the
feet of the priestess.
“Can we not save him ?” she mur
mured—“my brother —mv only broth
er!”
“Livia ?” said the calm voice of the
priestess, “I knew not that thou hadst
a brother. Where dwelt he when
Germanicus consigned thee to my
care!”
“He was his freedman—we were
once the children of his enemy, for our
father’s sister was Thusnelda, the wife
of the bold Arminius. At that dark
defeat, when Varus sunk before the
power of the German leader, my father
fell. Thsnelda succoured us till she
herself became a captive, and then the
generous hand of Germanicus preserved
the offspring of his foe. Herman be
came his freedman, and I, at my own
desire, (which may our goddess pros
per!) became the child of Vesta. —
Thou hast heard my story.”
“Poor child !” said the priestess. —
“He is thine only brother, and in the
power of Sejanus. But hearken, Livia,
—wouldst thou brave danger to save
thy brother’s life!”
“Gladly, gladly,” murmered the vir
gin, her eyes lighting up with joy ;
“what would I not brave ? —he is my
l rother.”
“Then will I instruct thee,” said the
priestess. “Listen!”
The brow of the vestal priestess was
white as the marble pillar against
which she leaned, and her dark eye
flashed in the altar fire, as she gazed
upon the young girl —“Thou must go
to Tiberius,” she said.
“To the dreadful tyrant?”
“Even so, Livia, even to the tyrant,
and to his unholy place of Capra;. —
But fear not! The mantle of our god
dess shall cover thee, and her power
shall cover thy heart. Thou mayest
seek the dreadful isle unfearing. My
self and the virgins of Vesta will pray
for thee.”
“I will go,” said Livia.
“Fearest thou to ask thy brother’s
life of Tiberius? Fearest thou to tell
him of our altar’s sacrilege?”
“I fear not?” said Livia. “Ourgod
dess will protect me.”
She knelt with the priestess before
the shrine of Vesta. Her crossed
hand rested on her pure bosom, and
her mild, trusting eyes were turned
towards Heaven. “I fear not,” she
said.
Tiberius reclined on his couch in his
palace of Capra;. A round of sensu
ality had enervated him. His meagre
frame, that seemed the impersonation
of death, tossed restlessly from side
to side; and his bright eyes shot un
easy and furtive glances from beneath
their shaggy brows. Ilis scarred and
bloated countenance worked fearfully :
for the tyrant Remorse was mightier
than himself. He started —a step ap
proached—
“A lady craves to enter!” said the
slave who appeared.
fTTI .1 1 IB
“In a barque from Rome —the cen
turion of the Western gate received
her. She answered nought to our ques
tions, but prayed to be conducted to
the Emperor.”
“Lead her hither!”
And Livia entered. Her white
robes were concealed by a dark man
tle, and her flowing hair was bound be
neath a dose cap. She advanced to
wards Tiberius.
“Slaves ! let her not approach !”
“Nay,” cried the maiden, “fear not
me ! and letting fall her mantle, and
removing from her head its covering,
she stood before Tiberius.
It was as if an angel had stood with
in that den of vice and infamy. Ti
berius started from his couch—never
before had a vision such as this broken
upon the eyes of the sensualist. He
motioned to his satellites, and they re
tired.
“What seekest thou, maiden?” he
asked in the low, silvery tone lie could
so weli assume.
Livia paused. It was with a trem
bling heart that she had entered the
palace of the tyrant. Many and fear
ful accounts had she heard of his vio
lence and untrammelled passions, and
she had recalled them all during the
swift passage across the sea, in the
barque of Vesta’s temple. But the
thought of her captive brother gave a
high and holy fervour to the love of
the meek vestal.
“Mighty emperor !” she cried, sink
ing at the feet of Tiberius—“l implore
thy mercy for my brother !”
“Thy brother—who is he ?”
“The freedman of Germanicus,whom
Sejanus—”
At that name a smile played upon
the lip of the emperor. It was a dark
and singular smile, like the gleam of
the serpent’s eye ere it strikes.
“Rise, gentle lady !” said Tiberius ;
and taking her hand, he gazed upon
her lovely countenance. The modest
eyes of the vestal 101 l before his keen
glance—but shetrembled not —she was
thinking of her brother.
A curious and searching glance was
that of Tiberius. “And hadst thou no
fear ?” he asked. “Didst thou not
know that Tiberius is called tyrant ?
Darest thou to brave him ?”
“I would brave everything,” said
Livia, “for my brother !”
“But thou art beautiful! Hast thou
not heard wild tales of the crimes of
Tiberius ? Dost thou not fear ?—thou
art in my power.” His eye fell again
with a scrutinizing glance upon the
maiden’s face.
She looked up into his countenance
fearlessly, trustingly. Iler eyes fell
not before the gaze of Rome’s impe
rial master. She trembled not.
“Mighty emperor ! the gods protect
the innocent. Vesta will not forsake
her servant.” She spoke with a free
and holy confidence:—Tiberius was
awed —he bent before the power of
virtue.
Suddenly he seized herhand—“Why
lovest thou thy brother ?” he asked.
“Heloveth me —he isgenerous, good
and noble!”
Tiberius released her hand, and
stamping his foot, the slave re-entered.
“Lead the maiden forth, and see her
courteously attended.”
The slave looked inquiringly to his
master, as if for further instructions.
Tiberius turned to his couch.
“But my brother, mighty emperor —
my brother!”
“He loveth thee—he is generous,
good, and noble! Let that content
thee!”
Livia was led forth, and Tiberius
moved painfully to the balcony.
The bright moonlight flashed upon
the wave ; it lit the rocks and the foam
that dashed over them ; it glittered on
the arms of the sentinels that paced
the palace ramparts; and it fell on the
brow of the monarch of the land, and
made it yet more ghastly.
“He is generous, good and noble—
thus she said,” murmured Tiberius to
himself. “Ho !” then he cried aloud,
“bring forth the wine, and bid Sempro
nius hither!”
CHAPTER 111.
Wouldst thou be free !
Then strike the tyrant boldly. To the hilt
Drive thou thy steel.— Gondolier.
The freed man of Germanicus slept
in his dungeon. In dreams he wander
ed on the bright shores of the Danube.
Thusnelda and his mother rose to his
view. Then he beheld that mother
stretched beside his father’s corpse—
no light was in her eyes —she was dead.
He gazed fearfully upon her sac
was Livia’s. lie started with a sud
den cry from his slumber.
A form bent over him. and the freed
man recognized the face of Sejanus.—
“Ha, tyrant!” he cried, starting to his
feet, “thou here?”
“Peace, slave, and listen ! wouldst
thou be free? wouldst thou have wealth
and honour?”
“What meanest thou?” cried the
young German.
“Listen to me—l admire thy fear
less spirit young freed man, and 1 would
save thy life, and raise thee to honour.
Thou hast been faithful to Germanicus:
so thou wilt be to me.”
“To his murderer!” murmured the
freedmati.
“It is false ! He was not murdered,”
said Sejanus—“But speak! wilt thou
live ?”
“If I may live in honour 1” said Her
man.
“Thou shalt have riches and honour,*’
said Sejanus, “one thing only I re
quire.”
•■Fla!” cried the German youth—
“speak !”
“Take thou this dagger —a barque
shall bear thee to Caprse. Strike this
steel to the heart of Tiberius; and
name thy reward. Dost thou hear
me ?”
“Tiberius?” murmured Herman.
“Ay, the tyrant —at Caprae.”
The eyes of the German youth flash
ed like the lightning’s gleam, and his
frame towered proudly above that of
Sejanus. “Away!” he cried, “traitor
CHARLESTON SATURDAY, JAN, jt, 1851.
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and assassin, away from a freeman’s
sight !”
•‘Dost thou refuse me ?”
“Away, ere 1 strike thee with my
chains,” cried Herman, raising his pon
derous manacles above his head.
“The torture shall be—”
“Art thou gone ?” cried the youth,
springing forward towards Sejanus.
The favourite of Tiberius quailed be
fore the eyes of the freedman. With
a muttered oath of vengeance, he left
the dungeon, and Herman turned once
more to his couch.
But ere he reached it, a figure stood
forth from behind one of the huge pil
lars that supported the roof of the cell.
“Freedman of Germanicus,” said a voice
while a hand at the instant grasped his
own—“thou hast said well!”
“Who art thou'?” cried Herman,
turning quickly.
“Thy friend —come with me !”
“Whither 1”
“To liberty —speak not, but follow.”
The freedman followed the footsteps
of his conductor. They went forth
from the prison, and passed through
the grove that surrounded the palace of
Augustus. Then crossing the Via Sa
cra:, they descended the hill. A boat
rocked lightly upon the wave. “Enter!”
said his conductor, and Hermanobeved.
The stranger placed himself beside
him, and immediately the oars of the
stout rowers propelled the barque over
the water.
Across the blue sea bounded they,
and still the companion of Herman
spoke no word.
Across the blue sea went they, till
the waves glanced in the morning sun,
and the rocks of Caprai's harbour were
in sight. And when the sun of Italy
beamed high over Capra;,Herman stood
in the presence of Tiberius.
“Thou art the freedman of German
icus,” said the emperor.
“Even so.”
“Thy sister has been here.”
Had the lightning gleamed around
him, it had startled Herman no more.
Tiberius watched him.
“Ay youth ! she has been here! A
generous maiden to sacrifice herself for
her brother! Dost thou not thank
her ?”
“May the gods blast thee, tyrant!”
cried the excited youth. “Oh, Livia,
Livia—thou art lost forever ! and for
me —” He struck his breast with his
clenched hand—“But thou hast not
dared,” he exclaimed, springing for
ward and confronting the emperor—
“thou—”
The smile of Tiberius met him—
that meaning smile, wreathing around
the corners of his dark mouth —a low
laugh came from his lips ; he stamped
his foot—the door opened, and Livia
appeared.
“My brother —oh my brother!” cried
she, flying to his side.
But he returned not her embrace.—
He grasped her hand, and gazed wist
fully upon her face. “Servest thou
Vesta ?” he murmured.
The maiden looked into his eyes —
she smiled ; that smile was enough for
a brother’s heart. He beut his lips
upon her forehead, then looked around.
Tiberius was gone, but in his place
stood the man who had led Herman
from his dungeon. He approached
them—the brother and sister. Tibe
rius bids me lead you forth,” said he.
“Thy sister’s love and thy own loyalty
have gained thee a friend in the empe
“And thou—”
“I was sent by Tiberius to thy dun
geon, and there overheard thy refusal
of the dark offer of Sejanus. The em
peror sends thy sister this !” lie gave
Livia a packet. It was a necklace of
pure pearl, and a scrap of papyrus—
upon the latter was written “May the
gods blast thee, tyrant!”
“Herman remembered his own dar
ing words.
Again Liaia knelt before the shrine
of Vesta and watched the pure flame.
And while she knelt, amid her sister
vestals, there came up the hill from the
Forum, the sound of voices—a mur
CHARITY.
FROM A POEM BY MATTHEW PRIOR. BORN 1()64.
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject mind,
Knows with just reins and gentle hand to guide
Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.
Not soon provoked, she easily forgives ;
And much she suffers as she much believes.
Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives ;
She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives ;
Lays the rough paths of peevish Nature even,
And opens in each heart a little Heaven.
mur of many tongues —and a mighty
shout as of thankfulness and joy. The
next moment the form of her brother
knelt beside her,and his lips murmured,
“ Listen!”
Livia and the priestess, and the ves
tals, bent their heads as the mighty
shout swelled up from the city—
“Sejanus is no more —the tyrant has
fallen!”
The priestess knelt before the altar
of her goddess. “Thou hast avenged
thy servants,” murmured she. “Se
janus is no more!”
From the Drawing Room Journal.
THE MAID OF THE WOODS.
BY WILLIAM GRIMSHAW.
IN THREE CHAPTERS—CHAPTER FIRST.
Diffugeremves, redeunt jam grainina campis,
Arborisqtie eouicea;.
Hor. Udr VII, Lib IV.
It was in the spring of IT—that Ed
ward Devereaux, then in his twenty
second year, was deputed, by a wealthy
merchant of Philadelphia, to visit one
of the Western counties of Pennsylva
nia, on business having relation to ex
tensive tracts of uncultivated lands,
which the merchant had purchased on
speculation. In the execution of this
duty, young Edward left the city on
horseback ; the only mode of travell
ing at that time practicable in the re
mote parts of the State, or of convey
ance , even for merchandize : turnpike
roads being unknown throughout the
whole western world. To attempt a
description of the various scenery,
through which our young traveller pas
sed, in the performance of his arduous
commission, or a detail of the many
inconveniences suffered by him during
his tedious and fatiguing journey,would
be to narrate a more than “thrice-told
tale.” The majestic queen of night
(viz, the moon ) “flung” her silvery
beams “athwart” the quivering foliage
of the woody wilderness. The sun
rose, and the sun set, “gilding the sum
mits of the lofty mountains with a flood
of purple and red,” and all the other
various hues, described in the most
“thrilling” and “unrivalled,” regularly
constructed romances, and the several
morceaus of literature, furnished peri
odically, to the lovers of those pretty
volumes, which bear the general de
nomination of Annuals, and the spe
cific titles of Albums and Caskets, Bi
jous, Souvenirs, and Gems.
In about three weeks after his depar
ture, the adventurous agent found him
self under the roof of a log cabin, the
proprietor of which occasionally enter
tained the weary traveller, a few miles
east of the. Little Beaver Creek, in that
part of Western Pennsylvania then
included in the County of Washington,
but, at present, within the limits of the
County of Beaver, about three hundred
and fifty miles from home. Although,
in the course of his journey, the weath
er had, in general, been clear, and he
had been but little incommoded by
rain, yet, owing to a different state of
the atmosphere, in the more western
regions, and the melting of the snows,
the streams had all, for several days
so much swollen, that to ford
them was impracticable ; and, as there
were neither ferry boats nor bridges, in
those days, to convey the traveller over
a creek of comparatively so trifling a
breadth as that of the Little Beaver,
there seemed no other alternative left
to Devereaux, than to remain where
he had passed the night, until the wa
ter should subside. Zealous, however,
and indefatigable, in the execution of
any business intrusted to him, and im
patient of delay, from whatever cause,
the young Philadelphian determined to
proceed at all hazards; and having
eaten a hearty breakfast, of wild tur
key and ham, he mounted his trusty
steed, and pursued his journey.
After riding about two hours,through
a country extremely difficult to tra
verse, he reached the Little Beaver,
and found it even more swollen and
more rapid than he had expected.—
From one bank to the other, it cover
ed a channel of at least two hundred
yards; and the drift-wood, which float
ed on the surface of the muddy tor
rent, threatened destruction to any ri
der, who should attempt to cross it, by
swimming on a horse’s back. For an
instant, even the ardent temperament
of the impatient Devereaux was cooled
by a view of the impetuous torrent,
which rolled before him: and, dis
mounting from his uneasy steed, he
elevated himself upon a fallen tree, and
looking to the other side of the foam
ing waters, he uttered a deep drawn
sigh.
His reverie, however, Mas but for a
moment. Fastening his horse to a
tree, he descended,by the margin of the
stream, until he reached a bend in its
natural course, where he loosend an ac
cumulation of drift-wood, which he in
stantly perceived might be used by
him, in crossing, as a bridge. Having
returned to the place where he had tied
his horse, lie unbuckled his great coat
and valise, and, making fast the bridle
in such a manner as to prevent its en
tangling the animal's feet, he drove
him into the river, ahd hastened, him
self, to reach the drift-wood, over which
he succeeded in gaining the opposite
shore, just when his horse, with not
less difficulty and danger, having been
carried in an oblique direction by the
force of the current, had landed nearly
at the same spot.
The head quarters of Edward Dev
ereaux, while engaged in the examina
tion and sale of the lands, were for
some time, at an inn, situated on the
western bank of the Little Beaver
Creek ; the site of the present village
of Darlington, or, as it is more fre
quently called, by the people of that
part of the country —Greensburg. —
From this place, he almost daily rode
out, in the execution of the business
intrusted to him, and, owing to the in
tricacy of the surrounding forest, he not
unfrequently found it difficult to make
his way without a guide. One eve
ning, on his return to the inn, alone, he
arrived at what is called a “fork” in the
road, finger-posts being then esteemed
too aristocratic by the people of the
far-west, he was completely at a loss
as to which direction he should pursue.
Had he thrown the reins upon his
horse’s neck, he would have carried
him to the inn, with unerring certainty
—for such is the sagacity of that ani
though the fact is little known—but
Devereaux was untaught in the mys
teries of a back-wood life. Fortune,
however brought to his relief a guide,
of a very different description. See
ing a young female advance from the
border of the woods, towards a farm
house, situated at a little distance, on
the face of a gentle hill, he checked
his steed, until she approached within
a few yards, for the purpose of inquir
ing the way. She pointed to him the
proper path; informed him that he
had about tour miles to travel, and
that, if he rode quickly, he might reach
the inn before night.
The penetrating eye of Edward soon
told him that the damsel, to whom he
was indebted for this seasonable infor
mation, had something different in her
character, from what is met on most
ordinary occasions. There was an air
of simplicity—an archness—a naivete
—in her countenance and manners,
such as he had never before witnessed,
in any condition of life. When she
had replied to his several questions,
she seemed impatient to depart, yet
appeared, at the same time, to linger,
as if to prolong the conversation. Her
attire was of the humblest description;
and her head, without a covering, dis
played a profusion of hair, of a light
and glossy brown. In one hand, she
bore an axe ; in the other, a piece of
hickory wood. While she swung the
former, carelessly, to an fro, as if indi
cating an impatient desire to reach the
cottage, she rested one end of the lat
ter, with a kind of uncertainty upon
the ground, standing with her side to
wards Devereaux; while she looked
at him with a glance from her light
blue eyes, and spoke to him, with a
voice as soft, as melodious, as ever
stole, with the witchery of undesigning
love, into the ear of journeying Knight,
in the days of truest chivalry. “1
must go home with my broom,” she
said ; at the same time, gently swing
ing her axe, until it came in contact
with the piece of hickory, which rested
upon the road.
“Your broom!” exclaimed Deve
reaux, “Call you that stick of wood a
broom ? It seems more like a handle
for such an implement; but much too
thick, even for that purpose.”
“Oh, Sir, 1 intend making a broom
out of it,” replied the playful maiden ;
at the same time, looking significantly
at her axe.
“Can a delicate girl, like you, make
a broom out of that rude sapling?'’ re
turned Devereaux.
“Yes, indeed, 1 can, Sir, and sweep
with it after it is made.”
“You would make a good farmer’s
wife.”
“No! I will never marry,” replied
she, half averting her beautiful face,
and gently moving her head, from side
to side, as if pondering on some past
remembrance. “I will build a little
lint in the woods, and live there by my
self.”
“1 will come and be your compan
ion, my pretty girl,” rejoined Deve
reaux, at the same instant advancing
his horse something nearer to the in
teresting wood-nymph, and looking in
to her face, with an intentuess of curi
osity, as if doubting the soundness of
the maiden’s mind. “Though born and
brought up in a city, I delight in the
romantic scenery of the forest: and,
with such a girl as you, I could live in
a cabin forever!”
“1 will live by myself,’’ continued
the girl, with a sigh, which seemed a
response to that just uttered by the
young Edward, and an expression of
countenance of mingled contemplation
and mildness. “I fear we should quar
rel, if we were in the same house to
gether. I will live alone.”
Convinced that he was in conversa
tion with some unhappy lunatic, our
traveller began to chide himself for
THIRD VOLUME-NO. 39 WHOLE NO 139.
thus sporting with her infirmity ; but,
before parting, he thought he would
inquire the maiden’s name.
“Oh! I have no name,” she said,
“have you ?”
“Yes, I have a name,” replied Deve
reaux, “and will bet you that your
hame is Anne. Here is my name upon
that card. Here is a pencil; come,
write your name upon it, also, and we
shall be married.” She took the peu
cil from his hand, and, resting the axe
against her knee, placed the card upon
the top of the hickory stick, and hav
ing done as he requested, she returned
him the pencil and the card, upon
which was written, “Nancy Macdon
ell,” in a hand that would do no dis
honour to a female of the most finished
education.
On seeing the name, Edward gave
indications of surprise; but immedi
ately recovering himself “Macdonelt!”
he observed.
“I guessed right,” said he, “when 1
said you name was Anne. I intend
setting out, on my return home, to
morrow, and shall bring a pretty little
grey hoase for you. if you will go with
me to Philadelphia.”
“Is it 1 sir,” replied the girl, who ap
peared to assume more of the charac
ter of Miss Hardcastle, in Goldsmith’s
comedy of “She Stoops to Conquer,”
than a lunatic ; “1 should break down
any horse within the county. There*is
no horse able to carry me; and be
sides,” continued she, “in this dress! —
1 should frighten the people, in tue
streets!”
“But you have better clothes than
these Nancy. You, no doubt, go to
church, and cannot do without a Sunday
suit”
“Oh, yes : I go sometimes to church;
but my best clothes are upon my back.
1 can afford no better,” replied she,
throwing an arch look over her homely
attire, which afforded her a shadowy
covering over a form as beautifully
moulded as any that ever served for a
model to an Apelles.
Devereaux was confounded. There
was a mystery about the girl that he
found impossible to unravel. So much
simplicity and archness, so much grace
fulness of movement, and homeliness
of costume —so much loveliness, with
so much apparent imbecility of mind,
he had never seen blended iu the same
person. He looked at her, and sighed:
he tried to read the true state of her
intellect in that unerring index—the
eye; but her eyes were always averted
from his searching glance, and there he
could discover nothing. He sighed
again, and, taking the mysterious stran
ger by the hand, -and praying God to
bless her, he turned his impatient steed
towards the inn, and was soon out of
sight, in the bosom of the lonely for
est.
When Devereaux reached the inn,
the family were just sitting down to
supper, but he had no inclination to
join in the repast; and, feigning him
self fatigued, retired to bed. He slept,
however, but little; his mind dwelt un
remittingly upon the maid he had en
countered in the forest, and he rose, in
the morning, with an aching heart. At
breakfast, he related to the landlady
the occurrence, and mentioned the
name of the female, stating, as his
opinion, that she was insane. %
“You are not the first,” replied his
hostess, “that has expressed the same
opinion ; but l know- Nancy well: she
is as free from insanity as any girl in
the township ; and, on the contrary,
possesses extraordinary acuteness ; and
they say that, in respect to education,
though she was never known to be at
any school, she has more learning than
any other girl in the country. Nancy,
however, is fond of playing pranks;
and, notwithstanding her oddity of
manner, there is not a farmer’s sor
within twenty miles that would not be
glad to have her for a wife ; and, though
you saw her so plainly attired, she can
turn out on a Sunday, as handsomely
as any other girl on this side of the
Alleghany. But look, sir, there she is
herself, mounted on that side-saddle.
I never before saw her come in a-shop
ping at so early an hour. 11l bet she
has come to have a little flirtation. —
You had better, sir, take care of your
heart!"’
“It is too late for that,” thought
Devereaux; “1 feel that the business
is done already.”
With these words, he hastened to
the door; and, sure enough, there was
Nancy, attired in a becoming riding
dress, with a black beaver hat and
feather, and a little whip in her hand.
Having stopped at the store, which
was kept in one end of the inn, Deve
reaux, saluting her with urbane gallan
try, assisted her to dismount; and,
when she had finished her little pur
chases, again tendered his services, to
enable her to regain her saddle; then,
putting her comely steed to a canter,
she was soon lost to his view amongst
the trees.
A week elapsed, and Devereaux had
occasion again to pass by Miss Mac
donell’s house. At this time, the sun
had already set, and, being uncertain
as to the way, which his young Inform
ant had before pointed out, he rode to
the door, and, knocking with the end
of his whip, it was quickly opened by
the girl herself; and, immediately af
terwards there came out an elderly
person, whom she accosted as her fath
er.
“You are the young gentleman trom
Philadelphia,” said he; “you are a
stranger in this part of the country,
and I consider it my duty to give you
a caution. Put your horse into my
stable, and step into my cabin, until
the morning. You are reputed to have
a large sum of money with you, w r hich
you have received in payment of lands:
it might be dangerous for you to enter
into those woods, after dark. You
may have observed that deep ravine,on
your right, as you go to your inn, cal
led the Traveller’s Rest. It is known
by the name of “Hell-Hollow,” in
consequence of the misdeeds said to be
practiced by the family who reside in
the frame house under the hill, situated
to the left. Stolen horses are said to
have been frequently concealed in the
dense thicket with which the ravine is
entirely covered ; and it is whispered
that there is no species of crime that
they would not be likely to commit,
for the sake of gain”
“Edward thanked Miss Macdonell’s
father for this information, and his
courteous offer of hospitality, but de
clined the invitation : partly, it is prob
able, because he feared to subject him
self to any further conversation with a
fascinating girl, apparently of so hum
ble a condition in life, and partly be
cause the money which he was reputed
to have received, he had entrusted to
the care of his host, at the Traveller’s
Rest. Wishing them, therefore, a good
night, he put spurs to his horse, and,
possessing a courage w hich never per
mitted the idea of danger to enter his
mind, he expected that a smart ride of
half an hour, would bring him in safety
to the inn.”
He was soon, however, made sensi
ble of his temerity, and had cause to
regret that he had not accepted the
kind invitation of Mr. Maedonell.—
Scarcely had he proceeded a mile,
when the hoarse exclamation of u Stand,
traveller ! stand!” assailed his ear; and
looking forward through the gloom, he
beheld two men—one on each side of
the road—wffio seemed In the act of
closing upon him, to arrest his pro
gress.
[To be continued.]
EARLY LIFE OF BISHOP HUGHES.
Our Washington correspi indent sends
us the following facts regarding the
early life of John Hughes, now Cath
olic Archbishop of the diocese of New-
York:
“Circumstances have recently brought
to my knowledge, tacts connected with
the former times of Archbishop Hughes,
which going strongly to illustrate the
force of his character, can hardly fail
to interest the New-York City reader.
A distinguished gentleman, now’ of
this city, recollects when this celebra
ted, learned, and powerl’ul Divine, sup
ported not only himself, but an aged
parent, by sodding, planting and trim
ming gardens, in Chambersburg, Pa.
He has often seen him wheeling his
barrow, with rake and spade, from
dwelling to dwelling, when engaged in
this work, for which he was usuallv
paid fifty cents per diem. John Hughes
w r as one of the very best Latin and
Greek linguists in America, having re
ceived a scholastic education from his
early youth until coming to America,
when just on entering upon manhood.
Subsequently, he made his way to Em
metsburg, Md., and entered into the
service of the celebrated Jesuits Col
lege, there as a grower of cabbages !
The Institution, accordingtothe custom
with Roman Catholic (Mlleges in this
country, has a highly cultivated small
farm attached to it, and Hughes being
employed as a labourer upon it, was
placed in charge of the cabbage beds.
On one occasion, seeing one of the lads
of the Institution puzzling over his task
in Cicero, requested him to let him
look at the book, and asking him to
explain the meaning of a paragiaph, to
the astonishment of the youth, correc
ted his reading. He also disclosed to
the boy in the same way the fact that
he w r as a proficient in Greek. Shortly
afterwards, the boy getting stumped on
a lesson in Ilomer, repaired to the
gardener and procured a translation,
which when produced as his own, sat
isfied his tutor by the elegance and
perfect correctness with which it was
rendered into English, that it was not
the work of the boy. The latter was
then questioned as to who had helped
him on the lesson, and surprised all by
declaring that it was “only Johnny,
the Gardener had.” Hughes was in
stantly summoned before the faculty,
who w ere incredulous as t<> the truth of
the pupil's story. A Prefect undertook,
to examine him, when it turned out
that he was by far the best Greek and
Latin scholar in the Institution. With
the capital judgement which distin
guishes those who manage the affairs of
the Jesuits every where, John Hughes
was instantly made to exchange his
cabbages for the humanities, and at
once became a tutor in the Institution.
This was the commencement of the
superstructure of his fortune and fame,
the foundation being his native intel
lect and his energy, industry and pro
bity, from his earliest infancy. Ho
soon became the leading spirit of the
Institution, where he remained, until
his fame, spreading throughout the
country, his church authorities called
him to labour in the wider and more
important field of the world. There
are lessons in these excerpts from the
history of John Hughes, which youth
everywhere may treasure in memory
to its great future advantage.”
The African Exploring Expdi
tion. —We have recived intelligence
from the Saharan African Expedition
up to the 29th of August last.
The expedition had literally fought
its way up to Selonfeet in Aheer, near
to the territory of the Kailouee Prince,
En-Nour, to whem it is recommended.
Mr. Richardson had been obliged to
ransom his life and those of his fellow
travellers twice. The whole of the
population of the Northern districts of
Aheer has been raised against the ex
pedition, joined by all the bandits and
robbers who infest that region of the
Sahara.
The travellers are now in compara
tive security. It has been a tremen
dous undertaking for them to force
their way among tribes who had never
seen the face of a Christian, and who
look upon Christians as the declared
enemies of God.
The great Soudar route, from Ghat
to Aheer, is now r explored. — London
Times.
“That’s what I call e. repetition,” ex
claimed a friend the other day. “M hat’s
that, Tom ?” said we. “ W hy, look at
that sign across the way —J. E. W eller,
jeweller.”