"What! did he never tell you? Of course not, though, being sick ever sence, and thinking me dead, too. Well, I'll tell you but mind, you mustn't banter the child about it, for he can't stand it,though it's only a joke. Might have been serious, to be sure, but, as things turns out, a pretty good joke, to my notion,though I'm rael sorry he's been so bad about it." Mac rose, removed his coat, and marched deliberately up to our guest. "See here, Sir," said he in his deepest bass voice, which his dark frown made still more ominous, "do you mean us to infer that you have been making that child Clarian the victim of any of your infernal jokes, as you style them?" Buckhurst stared a moment, and then, seeming to comprehend the drift of Mac's words, burst into a hearty laugh. Fact, though, he did indeed. Shoved me right in, so quick I didn't know what the Devil was the matter, until I soused kersplash! and see him taking out over the drawbridge like mad." "When was that, Mr. Buckhurst ?" "Jest inside of a month ago, Sir, one night." "Sapperment, Ned! that was the time of the herb Pantagruelion'!- Well, what were you doing on the canal at that hour?" asked Mac, slyly. "No, you needn't, now,-I see you wink at him, honor bright. I'd been up to town, to take a mess o' clams at Giberson's, with maybe a sprinklin' of his apple-jack, — nothing else,—and I was on my way home,- to Skillman's tavern at the dépôt, you know, — and I'd jest stopped a piece, and was a-standing there, looking at the moon in the water, when he tipped me over. I tell you, I was mad when I crawled out wet as a rat; and if I'd ketched him then, you may depend upon it, I'd 'a' given his jacket a precious warming. As I said, he run off, but jest as I turned towards the tavern, I see him a-coming back, kinder wild-like; so I slipped behind a lumber-pile, hoping he might come over the bridge, so I could lay my fingers on him. The moon was about its "What did he do?" asked Mac, hur- highest, so I could see his face, plain as riedly. Buckhurst laughed in that hearty way of his. Said he, "I'll wager you a stack of hay agin them books yander you couldn't guess in a week now. What d'ye think it was? Ho! ho! Why, why, the little rascal shoved me into the canawl!" "Shoved you into the canal!" echoed I, while Mac, looking first at him, then at me, finally burst into a peal of laughter, shouting the while, "Bravo! There's your experience' philosophy, Ned Blount! Catch me teaching milksops again! Go on, Buckhurst, tell us all about it." "Yes," said Mr. Buckhurst, apparently quite pleased to see that we laughed with him. "It don't look like it was in the nature of things, somehow, does it? day, white, skim-milk warn't a circumstance to it,- and his eyes wide open as they could stretch. I tell you, he was wild! He looked up and down a bit, mumbled somethin' I couldn't make out, and then what do you think that boy did? Why, he jumped in, clothes and all, bold as a lion,- plainly to save me from drowning, and me all the time aspyin' at him from behind a lumber-pile! He was sarching for me, I knowed, for he swum up and down jest about there for the space maybe of a quarter of an hour. And when he give it up at last, and come out, he kinder sunk down on the tow-path, and I heard him say plain enough, though he only whispered it,jest like a woman actor I see down to York oncet, playin' in Guy something or other, she was a sort of an old gyp sy devil, says he, I am a murder er, then!' Thinks I, 'Sonny, all but the murderer!' And as he stood up again, he 'peared to suffer so, his face was so white, and his knees so shaky, that I says to myself, Dan, you've carried the joke far enough.' So I sings out to him, and comes out from behind the lumber-stack, but, Lord bless ye! he jest peeped round over his shoulder oncet, gave a kind of chokin' scream like, and put out up the road as if the Devil was after him. I knowed it warn't no use to follow him, so I got on a dry shirt and went to bed. The next day I went home, and I'd mighty near forgot all about it, only today I came to see Dr. Thorne for somethin' to do my cold good, and he wantin' to know how I ketched it brought the whole matter back again." "You're an old brick, Buckhurst!" cried Mac, giving the jovial farmer a thundering slap on the back, and a hearty grasp of his hand; "and you shall drink the boy's health with Ned and me this day, or I'll know the reason why. Ned Blount, a'n't it glorious? Said I not, you ill-omened bird, said I not, Il y a toujours un Dieu pour les enfans et pour les ivrognes'? So you came down with Thorne to ease the poor little fellow's mind, did you, Buckhurst? That's right, and you shall see the picture, by Jove! And you'll say, when you see it, that such a picture were cheap at the cost of duckings for a dozen Buckhursts. Now tell me truly, what do you think made him push you in ?." แ "Buckhurst, he wants to see you; go in there," said he,- adding, in a lower tone, "Now, mind you, the child's delicate as spun glass; so be careful." "Come in, Mr. Buckhurst," called Clar ian. The worthy farmer looked to right and left, as if he would much rather have made his escape, but, impelled by a shove from the Doctor, he ran his fingers through his coarse hair, and, with a very red and "I-wish-I-was-out-of-this" face, went in, closing the door behind him. "Phew!" said Thorne, seating himself somewhat testily, after having filled and lighted a pipe," Phew! So that's over, and I a'n't sorry; it's as bad as reading the Diary of a Physician.' The boy will be all right now, and the lesson won't hurt him, though it has been a rough one. But no more metaphysics for him, Ned Blount! And, boys, let this be a warning to you. He's too brittle a toy to be handled in your rough fashion." "You needn't tell us that, Thorne," said Mac, drawing a long breath. "Catch me kicking over children's baby-houses again, or telling 'em ghost-stories in the dark!" "He vows never again to touch brush, crayon, or pencil; and if he is the devotee you describe him to be, Ned, I would not advise you to oppose him in his determination. You must keep him here till vacation, and next term he can exchange his room. Macbeth's company will never be very agreeable to him, I should judge; and it will not do to let him destroy the picture." Thorne puffed away vigorously for a minute or two. "That boy ought to turn preacher, Mac. He touched me nearer just now than I have been touched for an age. "His voice was a sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tunable with every saddest grief, Till those sad eyes, so spiritual and clear,' almost persuaded me to follow the example of divine Achilles and 'refresh my soul with tears.' He has that tear-bringing privilege of genius, to a certainty." And so it seemed, indeed; for presently the worthy Mr. Buckhurst made his reappearance in quite a sad state, mopping his red face and swollen eyes most vigorously with a figured 'cotton handkerchief, and proclaiming, with as much intelligibility as the cold in his head and the peculiar circumstances of the case would admit of, that he'd "be dagg'd ef he hadd't raver be chucked idto two cadawls dad 'ave dat iddocedt baby beggid his pardod Wat de about de codfouded duckid! hell did he care about gittid wet, he'd like to kdow? Dodsedse!-'twad all dud id fud, adyhow!" "And now you, my dear, dear friends," said Clarian, turning his sad, full eyes upon us, and calling us to his side, and to his arms. But I shall draw a veil over that interview. That night, after we had talked long and lovingly together, and were now sitting, each absorbed in his own thoughts, and emulating the quiet that reigned around college, Clarian softly joined us, and placed an open book in Mac's hands. "Will you, dear Mac?" murmured he. Then Mac, all full of solemn emotion, read through the grand periods of the Church Litany, and when he had finished, Clarian, with a thrilling "Let us pray," offered up such a thanksgiving as I had never heard, praying to the kind Father who had so mercifully extricated him, that our paths might still be enlightened, and our walks made humble and righteous. "Clarian," said Mac, after a pause, when we were again on our feet, — he laid his hands on the boy's shoulders, as he spoke, and looked into his eyes, "Clarian, would it have happened, if you had not taken that foul drug?" Clarian shuddered, and covered up his face in his hands. "Do not ask me, dear Mac! do not ask me! Oh, be sure, my aims, I thought, were noble, and myself I thought so I cannot say, Mac, I pure! — but cannot say. "We are so weak, we know our motives least In their confused beginning.' "At least, Clarian," said Mac, after a while, his deep voice wonderfully refined with strong emotion, "at least, the picture was not painted in vain. Even as it is in the play, Banquo died that his issue might reign after him; and this lesson of ours will bear fruit far mightier than the trifling pains of its parturition. Ay, Clarian, your picture has not been vainly painted. And now, Ned," said he, rising, "we must put our baby to bed; for he is to wake early to-morrow, and know himself a man!" SPRING. DOVES on the sunny eaves are cooing, Spring has come with a smile of blessing, Kissing the earth with her soft warm breath, Spring has come! The rills, as they glisten, And dream of the sky as they hear her pass. Coyest of roses feel her coming, Swelling their buds with a promise to her,— And the wild bee hears her, around them humming, And booms about with a joyous stir. Oaks, that the bark of a century covers, Windows are open,- the pensive maiden For we and the trees are brothers in nature; Whence dost thou come, O joyous spirit? Dear angel! that blowest with breath of gladness Dost thou not sing a constant promise That joy shall follow that other voice, — That nothing of good shall be taken from us, But all who hear it shall rise, to rejoice? RUFUS CHOATE, MR. CHOATE's mind was so complex, peculiar, and original,- so foreign in temperament and spirit to the more representative traits of New England character, so large, philosophic, and sagacious in vision and survey of great questions, and so dramatic and vehement in their exposition and enforcement, — so judicial and conservative in always maintaining in his arguments the balance and relation of interdependent principles, and so often in details marring the most exquisite poetry with the wildest extravagancies of style, so free from mere vulgar tricks of effect, and so full of imaginative tricksiness and surprises, - so mischievous, subtle, mysterious, elusive, Protean, that it is no wonder he has been more admired and more misunderstood than any eminent American of his time. It was because of these unaccustomed qualities of mind that matter-offact lawyers and judges came slowly but surely to Mr. Webster's conclusion, that he was "the most accomplished of American lawyers," whether arguing to courts or juries. In the same way, critically correct but unimaginative scholars, who "can pardon anything but a false quantity," who "see the hair on the rope, but not the rope," and detect minute errors, but not poetic apprehension,- admitted at last the fulness and variety of his scholastic attainments. And perhaps the finest tribute to the power and subtlety of his influence was, that, to the last, juries, who began cases by steeling themselves against it, and who ended by giving him their verdicts, maintained that they were not at all influenced by him, so profound, so complete, and so unconscious had been the spell this man of genius had woven around them. When it is remembered that a great lawyer in the United States is called up on (as he is not in England) to practise in all our courts, civil and criminal, law, equity, and admiralty, and, in addition. to all the complicated questions between parties, involving life, liberty, and property, arising therein, that he is to know and discuss our whole scheme of government, from questions under its patent laws up to questions of jurisdiction and constitutional law,- it will be seen what a field there is for the exhibition of the highest talents, and how few lawyers in the country can become eminent in all these various and important departments of mental labor. In their whole extent Mr. Choate was not only thoroughly informed as a student and profound as a reasoner, but his genius produced such a fusion of imagination and understanding as to give creativeness to argumentation and philosophy to treatment of facts. We propose to try to give some idea of those mental characteristics and peculiarities in which he differed from other lawyers, and to indicate some salient points of his genius and nature which went to make up so original and interesting an individuality. Immense labor and talent will no more produce genius or its results, than mere natural genius, without their aid and instrumentality, can reach and maintain the highest rank in any of the great departments of life or thought. With true genius, imagination is, to be sure, paramount to great and balanced faculties; but genius is always demonstrating its superiority to talent as well by its greater rapidity and certainty in seizing, arranging, and holding facts, and by the extent of its acquisitions, as by its superior philosophic and artistic grasp and vision. Though Mr. Choate was so much more than a mere lawyer, it was in court that he displayed the full force and variety of his powers. Hic currus et arma. We shall, however, speak more especially of his jury-trials, because in them more of his whole nature was brought into play, and because of them and of his management of them there is and can be no full record. The arguments and triumphs of |