While glancing now and then at her grief-steeped countenance, which was naturally a comely and interesting one, every person on board that vessel would have given much to have been able to alleviate her distress, and when the boat landed at the Bromielaw, many were eager to assist her on her course homewards. But she was accompanied by a friend of her own sex, who precluded the necessity of any such aid. With this person, then, she wended her way to the home, which, for the first time, probably, she felt reluctant to enter. What were the feelings of the father on hearing of the accident, can only be imagined. I afterwards learned that the distress of the honest pair lasted but one night. Joy came to them with the morning-and the Greenock coach; for in that vehicle, before breakfast-time, arrived the missing boy. As conjectured, he had fallen backwards through the treacherous gangwaydoor, and been precipitated into the water. The receding tide had carried him rapidly down the river for a short space. Luckily he was observed from the Irish steamer, the captain of which instantly stopped to pick him up. This was the cause of the bustle we had observed in that vessel, and I now wondered that no one had thought of the possibility of such being the case, when the mother was wailing for a lost son. By using the proper exertions, life had been restored to the poor child, and when they reached Greenock, the parties on board left him to be sent back to his parents, each contributing a trifle to pay the necessary expenses. I could not help thinkingit almost worth while to have a son thus endangered, and suffering the acutest pain on his account for a night, in order to draw forth so much good feeling from one's fellowcreatures, and experience so joyful a relief from temporary sorrow.-Edinburg Journal. Sketches. THE PICTURE. During the administration of the government of the city of Rome, by Piccolomini, an honest man, whose advanced age and feeble health, allowed him no longer to be occupied in the humble art, by which he and his wife had sustained themselves, found himself constrained to sell, one by one, the few articles of their household furniture which still remained, in order to procure bread. Among them was a small, but precious painting, by the illustrious Raphael, which had been transmitted from the wealthy ancestors of the old man; but of the history and value of which he was entirely ignorant. Obscured with smoke and dust, he regarded it as unworthy the trouble of an attempt to sell it. At last, pinched by necessity, and meeting an accidental opportunity, he offered it to an artist, who, though possessing no ability with the pencil, had an exact judgment of paintings, and devoted his time to the purchase and sale of them, a traffic in which he had become famous among amateurs and the nobility. No sooner had the artist beheld the picture than he recognized the hand of Raphael, and was convinced of its great value. But wishing villainously to take advantage of the good old man's ignorance and urgent necessities, he immediately began to depreciate it as a daubed production of some inexperienced and obscure hand, and offered for it a few coppers, which he failed not to represent as alms given out of compassion, rather than a compensation for the painting, exulting, meanwhile, in his heart, at the rich acquisition, and smiling at the readiness of the poor man, who thankfully accepted the deceitful offer. There arrived not many days after, at the house of the suffering pair, an old friend, who, seeing no more the picture which he had been accustomed to behold on the wall, inquired what had become of it. They informed him to whom, and for what they had sold it. The visitor was filled with indignation, at the chicanery of the artist, and assuring the old man that it was the work of some great master, and was infinitely more valuable than he had supposed, insisted upon an immediate appeal to the Governor, whither he offered to accompany him. This judicious officer heard the facts attentively, and after noting the measure of the picture and other statements, dismissed them both with the assurance that he would fully repair the loss. The Governor himself was a lover of the arts, and possessed a valuable collection. In his gallery there were fortunately, two pietures which corresponded in size with the one which he was anxious to rescue from the dishonest painter. Commanding one of these to be removed, he sent for the artist. 'Can you,' said he, 'by any means discover a painting which will fit that frame, and be suitable to accompany the adja- || had been purchased, and whom the Govcent works? 'I possess the very article,' replied the painter, transported with joy, and a splendid production of the renowned Raphael. A better in fact, cannot be found in the city to fill that vacancy.' Bring it for my examination,' said the Governor; and the artist hastened away for it, delighted with the success of his management. ernor had concealed during his interview with the artist. It is easy to conceive the horror of the painter at this unexpected sight; he turned pale, was bewildered, and trembled from head to foot. The Governor allowed him to stand some time in confusion, when assuming an air of severe authority, 'Behold,' said he, 'villain, how thou hast taken advantage of the ignorance and sufferings of an unhappy old man. How couldst thou so treat him without remorse? Thou hast taken from helpless age and poverty their bread. Execrable wretch, what penalty would be too severe for thee? Be as The subject was the Holy Family, delineated with masterly touches. Cleared of the smoke and dust, the colors appearad to perfection, and the delighted eye saw revealed at once all the exactness of contour, the delicacy of complexion, beau-sured that if this crime is ever repeated, ty of drapery, elegance of figure, and truth of expression, which characterize Raphael. Placed in the frame, the Governor, after admiring it some time, inquired the price. 'I have already been offered a thousand dollars,' replied the painter. A friend yesterday made the offer, in behalf of an English nobleman, who is impatient to obtain the gem.' I replied firmly demanding twelve hundred, which the work fully deserves, but since it pleases so well your Excellency, you shall have it at whatever addition to the first offer, you may choose to make.' The Governor was astonished and indignant at the cool dishonesty of the painter, but dissimulating his feelings, tranquilly said that he wished not to depreciate the genuine merit of the production, which was obviously of a high character, but he could hardly persuade himself, however, that so great an offer had been made for it. The painter broke forth in protestations the most serious and solemn, averring that he had scarcely told the whole truth, that even more was indirectly offered, and that if it was necessary, he would immediately produce his friend, the agent of the Englishman, to confirm his statement. 'Have you certainly then,' replied the Governor, 'had the offer of a thousand dollars ?' 'I have,' answered the painter,' 'and can hope for much more if I demand it.' 'Very well,' rejoined the Governor, 'we will say no more.' 'Open that door,' he cried with a loud voice, turning suddenly towards an adjacent room. The door flew open, and they beheld before them the poor old man, from whom the picture the present instance shall be remembered, and a double retribution be inflicted. The thousand dollars, which by thine own confession the picture merits, and which thou hast asserted to have been already offered, give immediately to this man, and be grateful that I permit thee to escape with thy life.' Confounded, shame-faced and forbidden a word of reply, the painter retired. With tears of tenderness and gratitude, the good old man blessed his sagacious benefactor, and the governor tasted in its fulness the incomparable pleasure of having delivered from injustice and want the face of villainy to blush. a suffering family, and of having made Each tree had its thought, and the vow could impart, the heart; The thorn was still there and the blossoms it bore, And the song from its top seemed the same as before. 'Twas evening, and Harriet Sinclair sat at an open window, in her rich uncle's dwelling. The warm sultry air just lifted the curls from her white forehead, and fanned her hope-flushed cheek. She was a timid, modest creature; all unfit to grapple with the world. She sat at the window, her head raised as if listening for some expected sound. She listened in almost breathless silence for some time, when a slight start and joyful blush told, That mingled in youth the warm wish of that the well known voice had reached her ear. At first it came low and faint, but growing more distinct each moment, till each word of a little song she had often heard before, came full and clear, wafted to her upon the fresh evening breeze. She listened till the last sound floated away, and then, in a voice that vied with the bulbul's in sweetness, she sang a few answering words. In a few moments a light step was heard, and the maiden was no longer alone. One timid glance was given to the new comer, and then, half whisperingly, she said, 'You When the curtain of night over nature was spread, And Bob had returned from the plough to his shed, Like a dove on her nest he reposed from all care, have come at last.' 'At last, precious one! surely the hour is not passed which you mentioned for me to come, and bade me not venture sooner. You know, Harriet, it is only on your account I am careful.' 'I know it was wrong to speak so, but the time seems so long till you come, and yet it is well you came not sooner, for my uncle has but just gone into his study. He sat later with the family this evening than usual.' 'And how long must we thus watch his movements, to obtain an interview? Harriet, I weary of the life I lead.' 'O do not say so. Let us be thankful that we are enabled, even by watching uncle's movements, to obtain an interview, and hope for better times. How succeeds your task? Is your book nearly ready for publishing?" 'No, I cannot write. I can do nothing but think of you. Put an end to this uncertainty; become my wife immediately, and I doubt not I shall obtain a support for both. Why should we wait longer? Your uncle will never consent to your marrying any but a rich man, and that I never shall be. No, Harriet, I never shall be rich, but we shall be so happy in our quiet home, that we will forget that the world's idol is gold. Come, love, consent, and we will part to-night for the last time; when we next meet, it will be to register our vows in heaven. Say, shall it not be So ? 'Oh, no! I never can consent to become a burden to you; have a little patience. My uncle, I think, loves me, and when he finds my happiness is really at stake, he will not be inexorable. Then, Alfred, possessed of my little fortune, trifling though it may be, we shall bid defiance to poverty. Persevere in your writing; if you succeed'— I never shall succeed in anything till you are irrecoverably mine, beyond your uncle's power to bestow you upon his favorite, miserly friend, with his bags of gold, and skin that vies in color with his treasure. Love you, indeed! he loves your money much better I can tell you, and as long as he can keep possession of that, by not giving consent to your marriage, he will never give it. As for me, I am weary of the life of anxiety and uncertainty I lead. Harriet, if you love me as you have sometimes said, relieve me from it.' In a retired, romantic valley, far away from the noise and bustle of city life, stood, at the time of which I write, a neat little cottage, nearly concealed by the luxuriant foliage of woodbines and honey-suckles. The open windows reached to the floor, and looked out upon a light airy piazza, from which the ground sloped gently on each side. A small, but well kept flower garden extended across the front of the house, and was joined at the back by a kitchen garden, well supplied with the requisites for a good table. It was altogether a comfortable looking scene. There was an air of tranquility about the spot, that was truly heart-cheering. The owners of the place, a young couple just entering upon the realities of life, were seated within one of the pleasant looking rooms. The husband, an un'Why will you talk so? I tell you it commonly handsome man of twenty-two or three years, was engaged with his is the only means to secure success to my undertakings. With you by my side, my ed with manuscripts in every stage of pen; before him stood a little table, strewpen will become instinct with life-incompletion; fragments of poetry, scenes spired by your cheering smile, my tho'ts of plays, unfinished chapters of novels, will flow in an unchecked stream of fresh-histories and sermons-prefaces to works, ness and beauty. I shall obtain not only wealth, but fame; and I will bless you as the means.' 'Alas! what would you have me do ?' 'Become my wife immediately.' 'And be a clog upon your exertions ever after.' as yet unwritten, and odes to my wife,' without number. Opposite to him, sat his young and beautiful wife, her white hands busily employed in the fabrication of some fairy-like article of clothing, which seemed so much to engage her attention, as to make her unconscious of what was going on about her. After a silence of some length, she raised her eyes from her employment, and looked at her husband tenderly, as she said, you read me the commencement last evening? I thought it very beautiful: pray, finish it, Alfred, it will bring a good price, I am certain will you not finish it? Much more the lover urged, for lover's words How fast and winningly, when they have an object to attain; and the maiden listened, and (as all maidens will) yielded at last to the entreaties of him she loved. Yes, it is even thus! woman, trusting, confiding woman, will brave the storm and tempest, the world's scorn, its obloquy, its poverty, for him she loves;Why do you not finish the tale of which she will leave the home of her childhood, perchance of affluence-the mother who watched over her-the father who blessed her the friends that were dear to her -and the world that has always smiled upon her-she will leave all, and go with him into obscurity; and, while she is beloved, she is happy. Though poverty enter their dwelling, and sit beside them at their board and fireside, her voice will still be soft and sweet; her smile cheerful-adversity cannot dry up the well spring of affection in her heart. If her husband's spirits fail, she cheers himdoes he despair, she wins him back to 'Not at present, love. I have a plot for a splendid work in my brain, which I must put into a tangible form, and then I will finish your favorite Adela." 'But why commence so many things! would it not be better to finish one first? See, your table is literally loaded with beginnings, remember how fortunate you were in disposing of the work you finished, which enabled you to purchase this lovely place, where we may be so happy. Surely, love, it is better to finish one thing, before commencing another. Our money is nearly expended and' Come, come, my love, you must not chide me!-how much of our little horde remains ? 'But one bright dollar.' 'Bright as our hopes! it shall last till I can obtain a fresh supply. Our credit is good; our garden and larder well stocked. Oh! we may bid defiance to starvation yet awhile, and I will commence writing immediately an article which shall bring us a good round sum.' Take my advice, and finish the one you commenced last night.' 6 And so I will, pretty one, as soon as this is done.' The young wife said no more, but a faint sigh agitated her bosom as she resumed her work; but, faint as it was, it was not unperceived by her husband; he had not been married a sufficient length of time to have become indifferent to even the slightest indication of sorrow from his beautiful partner. He heard the sigh, and immediately rose from his seat, and putting his arm about her, and kissing her fondly, he said, 'Would it give you great pleasure to have me finish Adela? 'It would, indeed, Alfred, on more accounts than one.' On what account, my sweet counsel lor ?' 'I fear that you are contracting a habit, which you will find it difficult to shake off, of continually commencing something new, which will never be of any advantage, because never finished. You know, dearest, that our only dependence is upon your pen, and,' she added, with a blush, half timidity, half pleasure, another year our wants will be increased.' She playfully held up her work as she ceased speaking. necessary it is, that we should have some sure means of support. Your writing would be all-sufficient, but if it never reaches the publishers, we can derive no pecuniary benefit from it. However, I will not be importunate: write first your plot, and then finish Adela.' 'So be it. Adela shall be published before another week.' It was never published! Several months passed away, and the inmates of the little cottage were still happy; true their money was all gone, but there was another being added to their family; a bright-eyed, cherub-like image of its mother; and the parents forgot, whilst admiring the little creature, that in a short time it would require more substantial sustenance, than sufficed for it now. Even Harriet,our usually thoughtful Harriet, forgot, as she pressed her lovely infant to her heart, with all a mother's deep and holy love for her first born, that it was another claimant upon their exertions. Her song rose gay and cheerful from her lips. Her wants, as yet, had always been supplied. True, ther debts increased, but Alfred would write something soon, which would shortly set them clear of the world. To be sure, her dear mother had often cautioned her against accumulating debts, and she used to have a great horror of it; but then they should so soon be able to pay all up, that it could not do any great harm, and the tradespeople were so urgent to have them buy, and so willing to give credit, that she had become quite reconciled to it—at least till Alfred finished writing something. In this way had the young, confiding wife, sought to quiet her misgivings relating to the future; and in part she had succeeded. Her husband told her so repeatedly that he could at any time replenish their empty purses, that she at Well, well, be it so, Adela shall be completed; though it is a pity to lose so good a plot, as I have now almost per-length believed it; and though she ocfected in my head.' 'Cannot you write it after Adela is finished?' casionally could not help expressing a wish that her 'dear Alfred would in earnest set about something,' she never doubted that all would end well. She never for a moment suspected, that the obliging trades-people's desire to dispose How long would it take you to write of their goods would cease, as soon as it then?" 'No, I shall have to call up an entirely different set of ideas, which will effectually banish these.' ‘Oh, a very short time, but no matter, you shall be gratified at any rate.' 'It is not merely my gratification which I seek, but you know as well as I do, how they discovered a disability on the part of their customers to meet their demands. Poor woman! she had a hard lesson to learn, and not long could she be spared. (Concluded in our next.) |