fastened. There could be no doubt as to her being the charming writer he had so long wished to discover. Latimer!" he exclaimed; "surely this must be the daughter of him who was involved in the ruin of B and T-." Upon making inquiries Mr. Leslie found that she who was now struggling with poverty and neglect had once been among the favourites of fortune. He described to his wife the scene in Mr. C- ―'s parlour, and she readily joined with him in the wish to serve Elizabeth. But it was too late to serve or save. She had returned to her lodgings, and throwing herself upon her bed, gave way to utter despondency. A low fever had been for sometime hanging about her, and she now lay down, expecting to rise no more. Oh! that sinking of the heart, when, after struggling with ill fortune, we find ourselves at the very spot from which we set out, like the shipwrecked wretch who, after buffeting the waves through a long night of darkness, sees himself at morning in the midst of a shoreless ocean, with hope and strength exhausted. Elizabeth had not moved from the spot where she had first thrown herself, when her landlady announced Mr. Leslie. His name excited no emotion. She rose mechanically, and went down. Leslie had been examining the books which crowded her little apartment, and everything he saw convinced him that he was right in his suspicions. He delicately stated to her his discovery, and expressed a wish to remove her to a station where her talents might procure for her competency and respect. The words sounded like mockery to Elizabeth. Her mind was in that state of abandonment and depression that, had the honours and riches of the world been within her grasp, she would not have extended her hand. Mr. Leslie proceeded to offer her the superintendence of the education of six young ladies, all of that age when a desire to learn saves the teacher an infinity of trouble. She was about to decline, but the thought of Louis roused her. She lifted her languid head, and attempted to thank Mr. Leslie. "Yet give me a short interval of rest before I begin any new employment. It will be but short, for now I feel as if the prospect of accomplishing the first wish of my heart will give me new life and spirits. It is not to contribute to my own necessities that I have struggled with misfortune, but I have a brother dependent upon me-a boy of such uncommon abilities, that I feel it would be neglecting one of Heaven's best gifts were I to repress them by devoting him to an employment better suited to his circumstances.' This indeed," thought Leslie, "is woman's love! This is woman's pure, self-sacrificing spirit! That which has supported the sage in his dungeon, the martyr at the stake, and many a misnamed hero, is not wanting here. She is satisfied with her motive, looking forward to a reward so uncertain as the promise of talent in boyhood, a promise as deceitful as the winds or waters." He left Elizabeth with excited hopes, that prevented her from feeling for some hours the fever that was preying upon her. But the hour of reaction came. All night the wild images of delirium danced before her tortured eyes, and on the morrow, when Mrs. Leslie called to invite her to her house, Elizabeth's ear was deaf to the soft voice that tried to awaken consciousness. As soon as she was well enough to bear removal, Mrs. Leslie carried her into the country, where the sight of the green hills and slopes made her feel as if she could again brush the dew from their summits; but even Naturebeautiful Nature-once so beloved, and, during her long, gloomy hours in Street, so anxiously pined after, failed to restore elasticity to her step. It was autumn-a season she had always loved better even than "The music and the bloom And all the mighty ravishment of spring." But now, those softly shaded days, which once filled her heart with a pensiveness that she would not have exchanged for mirth, gave a chill to her frame as though the season had been December. Elizabeth felt that her race was run; but the heart, where despondency had long made its cheerless abode, was now soothed by the new and welcome feelings of gratitude and love. Mrs. Leslie was one of those benevolent beings who seize upon our affections as their right. The heart gave itself up to her with perfect confidence. The greatest sceptic as to the existence of virtue could not look upon her open, candid countenance without feeling staggered, nor witness the happiness she diffused around her, by the influence of a heavenly disposition upon the daily events of life, without feeling that the source from whence they flowed was pure. One felt in her presence that something good was near, yet there was no parade of goodness about Mrs. Leslie-not obvious, not obtrusive, and only seen "In all those graceful acts, Those thousand decencies that daily flow From all her words and actions." "Look, dear Elizabeth," said she to her languid, pale companion, as they were returning from an excursion to some of the beautiful villages on the Connecticut; "Look! that is Mount Holyoke. He overlooks my native village. I hope the time is not far off when we shall climb his rugged sides together." Elizabeth shook her head. "Do not deceive me. I feel that ere long I shall be in the presence of God. And yet I cannot say I die without regret, for I am yet young, and youth, even though oppressed with care, shrinks back at sight of the grave. Yet, as I feel drawing nearer to it, much of the fear that it once excited subsides, and perhaps before my last hour comes, I may cease to think even on Louis. Poor Louis! if I could have lived a few years longer-but God's will be done!" Mrs. Leslie wept. She understood how dreadful was the uncertainty of Elizabeth's mind as to Louis, and she lost no time in consulting her husband about removing the only weight from her heart. He willingly agreed to her benevolent proposal, and that very evening Elizabeth was made happy by his assuring her that Louis should receive the same advantages of education as his own son. She could only weep and press their hands. "My generous friends! may his future life thank you! may he rise up with your own and call you blessed!" Elizabeth lingered only a month longer. The Leslies would not part with her, and their attachment grew stronger as the object of it was fading before their eyes. There were times when all her delightful powers seemed renewed; when the treasures of her memory and imagination charmed away the winter evening; but the flushed cheek and glittering eye warned them that the lamp of life was burning fast away. One evening she left the drawing-room earlier than usual. Mrs. Leslie saw with alarm the extreme paleness of her countenance, and after a brief interval followed her to her chamber. She paused a minute at the door, for Elizabeth had sunk on her knees at the foot of the bed. One arm hung by her side; her head had fallen on the other, which she had flung across the bed. Mrs. Leslie trembled as she saw her motionless, then rushed forward-but the hand she grasped was icy cold. The spirit had quitted its earthly tabernacle for ever.- - The Legendary. VIEW FROM A HALTING-PLACE. 1 A stretch of bleak December heath, To one with travel bending,- The small birds wander here and there- On his destruction doating. The crowding mountains far away For aye, like sprites unholy--- The cattle seem in musing mood, To gaze on distance, with slow-winking And languid eyes:-one almost knows They cannot but be thinking Of summer with its shiny days, And grass with dew-drops twinking, And wild bees from the fragrant flowers The honey-treasure drinking. The clouds are marble-like above So also is the gray ground underThe heron on the marsh stone stands Lost in a dreamy wonder Why such a thing as ice should keep So this is Highland winter-well He has a solemn air about him And rules it sternly, I don't doubt him-That's right:-fire-candles-and the tea-cups, And Blackwood-who could do without him? Sweet "May-day"-"Cottages"-and "Birds;" If winter ventures here, we'll rout him. Rev. Thomas Brydson, died about 1856. Whilst labouring as minister of Kilmalcolm he contributed in prose and verse to various periodicals. The above is from his volume entitled Pictures of the Past. THE SHIP-BUILDERS. BY J. G. WHITTIER. The sky is ruddy in the east, The ship's white timbers show. Then let the sounds of measured stroke And grating saw begin; Hark!-roars the bellows, blast on blast, And fire-sparks, rising far and fast, All day for us the smith shall stand The groaning anvil scourge. From far-off hills, the panting team For us the raftsmen down the stream Rings out for us the axe-man's stroke Up!-up!-in nobler toil than ours Where'er the keel of our good ship The sea's rough field shall plough,— Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak And know we well the painted shell Ho! strike away the bars and blocks, Look! how she moves adown the grooves, In graceful beauty now! How lowly on the breast she loves God bless her! wheresoe'er the breeze Or sultry Hindostan ! Be hers the Prairie's golden grain, -Songs of Labour. THE WAR-TRUMPET. BY MRS. HEMANS. The trumpet's voice hath roused the land, A hundred hills have seen the brand A hundred banners to the breeze The chief is arming in his hall, The peasant by his hearth; The mourner hears the thrilling call, And rises from the earth! The mother on her first-born son They come not back, though all be won, The bard hath ceased his song, and bound The falchion to his side; E'en for the marriage altar crowned, The lover quits his bride! And all this haste, and change, and fear, By earthly clarion spread! How will it be when kingdoms hear DYSPEPSY. "O cookery! cookery! that kills more than weapons, guns, wars, or poisons, and would destroy all, but that physic helps to make away some."-ANTHONY BREWER. Ye who flatter yourselves that indolence and luxury are compatible with the enjoyment of health and hilarity of spirits, that the acquisition of the means of happiness is to be happy, and that the habitual pampering of the senses is not for ever paid for by the depression of the immortal soul, listen to my story, and be wise. People talk of the mischiefs of drinking; invent remedies and preventives, and institute societies, as if eating was not ten times more pernicious. There are a hundred die of eating to one that dies of drinking. But gluttony is the vice of gentlemen, and gentlemanly vices require neither remedies, preventives, nor societies. beauty and fashion" in these United States. In It was my good fortune, as the world would call it, to meet with a young man of capital, who wanted a partner skilled in the business to which I had been trained. We accordingly entered into partnership, and our business proved exceedingly profitable. In a few years I had more money than I required for my wants. And with the necessity for exertion ceased the inclination. When a man has been toiling for years to get rich, and dreaming all the while that riches will add to his enjoy-me at other times. ments, he must try and realize his dreams after his exertions have been crowned with success. I had proposed to myself a life of ease and luxury as the reward of all my labours. Accordingly, finding myself sufficiently wealthy, I retired from the firm as an active partner, continuing, however, my name to the connection, and receiving a share of the profits, in return for the use of my capital. I am now my own master, said I, as I shook the dust of the counting-house from my feet. I can do as I please, and go where I please. Now a man that has but one thing to do, and one place to go to, can never be in the predicament of the animal between two bundles of hay; nor puzzled to death in the midst of conflicting temptations. At first I thought of going to Europe; but before I could make up my mind the packet had sailed, and before another was ready I had altered my mind. Next I decided for the Springs; then for the Branch; then for Schooley's Mountain; and then, in succession, for every other "resort of I went to a physician, who gave me directions as to the various modes of treatment in these cases. "You are dyspeptic," said he, "and you must either eat less, exercise more, take physic, or be sick." As to eating less, that was out of the question. What is the use of being rich unless a man can eat as much as he likes? As to exercise, what is the use of being rich if a man can't be as lazy as he pleases? The alternative lay between being sick and taking physic, and I chose the latter. The physician shook his head and smiled; but it is not the doctor's business to discourage the taking of physic, and he prescribed accordingly. I took medicines, I ate more than ever; and what quite discouraged me, I grew worse and worse. sent for the doctor again. "You have tried physic in vain; suppose you try exercise on horseback," said he. I I bought a horse, cantered away every morning like a hero, and ate more than ever; for what was the use of exercise except to give one impunity in eating? I never worked half so hard when I was an apprentice, and not worth a groat, as I did now I was a gentleman of case and luxury. It was necessary, the doctor said, that the horse should be a hard trotter; and accordingly I bought one that trotted so hard, that he actually broke the paving-stones in Broadway, and struck fire at every step. O reader! gentle reader, if thou art of Christian bowels, pity me. I was dislocated in every joint, and sometimes envied St. Barnabas his gridiron. But I will confess that the remedy proved not a little efficacious; and it is my firm opinion that, had I persevered, I should have been cured in time, had I not taken up a mistaken notion, that a man who exercised a great deal might safely eat a great deal. Accordingly I ate by the mile, and every mile I rode furnished an apology for a further indulgence of appetite. The exercise and the eating being thus balanced, I remained just where I was before. I sent for the physician again. "You have tried medicine and exercise, suppose you try a regimen. Continue the exercise; eat somewhat less; confine yourself to plain food, plainly dressed; abstain from rich sauces, all sorts of spices, pastes, confectionaries, and puddings, particularly plum-puddings, and generally every kind of luxury, and drink only a glass or two of wine." "Why, zounds! doctor, I might as well be a poor man at once. Why, what is the use of being rich if I can't eat and drink, and do just as I like? Besides, I am particularly fond of sauces, spices, and plum-puddings." "Why, so you may, do as you like," replied he, smiling. "You have your choice between Dyspepsy and all these good things." The doctor left me to take my choice, and after great and manifold doubts, resolutions, and retractions, I decided on trying the effects of this most nauseating remedy. I practised the most rigid self-denial; tasted a little of this, a very little of that, a morsel of the other, and ate moderately of everything on the table; cheat- | ing myself occasionally by tasting slily a bit of confectionary, or a slice of plum-pudding. Now and then, indeed, when I felt better than usual, I indulged more freely, as indeed I had a right to do; for what is the use of starving at one time, except to enable one's self to indulge at another? The physician came one day to dine with me at my boarding-house, the most famous eating place in the whole city, and the most capital establishment for Dyspepsy. He came, he said, on purpose to see how I followed his prescription. I was extremely abstinent that day, only eating a mouthful of everything now and then. The doctor, I observed, played a glorious knife and fork, and seemed particularly fond of rich sauces, spices, paste, and plum-pudding. "Well, doctor," said I, after the rest of the company had retired, "am not I a hero-a perfect anchorite?" My dear sir," said he, "I took the trouble to count every mouthful. You have eaten twice as much as an ordinary labourer, and tasted of everything on the table." But only tasted, doctor; while you—you gave me a most edifying example! Faith, you displayed a most bitter antipathy to pies, custards, rich sauces, and most especially plumpudding!" "My dear Ambler," said the doctor, “you are to follow my prescriptions, not my example. But, by the way, that was delightful wine, that last bottle-Bingham, or Marston, ey!" I took the hint, and sent for another bottle, which we discussed equally between us, glass for glass. I felt so well I sent for another, and we discussed that too. "My dear fellow,' said the doctor, who by this time saw double, "my dear friend, mind, don't forget my prescription; no sauces, no paste, no plum-pudding, and above all, no wine. Adieu! I am going to a consultation." That night I suffered martyrdom; nightmare, dreams, and visions of horror. A grinning villain came, and seizing me by the toe exclaimed, "I am Gout; I come to avenge the innocent calves who have suffered in forced meatballs, and mock-turtle, for your gratification.” Another blear-eyed, sneering rogue gave me a box on the ear, that stung through every nerve, crying out, "I am Catarrh, come to take satisfaction for the wine you drank yesterday." While a third, more hideous than the other two, a miserable, cadaverous, long-faced fiend, came up, touching me into a thousand various pains, and crying in a hollow, despairing voice, “I am Dyspepsy, come to punish you for the gluttony of yesterday." I awoke next morning in all the horrors of indigestion and acidity, which lasted several days, during which time I made divers excellent resolutions, forswearing wine, particularly old wine, most devoutly. This time, however, I had one consolation. The doctor and not I was to blame. It was he that led me into excesses for which I was now paying the penalty. I felt quite indignant. "I'll let him know," said I, "that I am my own master, and not to be forced to drink against my inclination.' So I discharged the doctor who set me such a bad example, |