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force, till, moaning and fainting, she lay still on the ground. At the same instant another female voice was heard from a young girl, who was held by the wrists by two young men, her brothers. Is it you?-is it you? -truly is it you!-aue! aue! they hold me, they restrain me wonder not that I have not followed you; they restrain me, they watch me; but I go to you. The sun shall not rise,

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the sun shall not rise, aue! aue!' Here she fell insensible on the rush floor, and with the sister was carried out. . . The spirit spoke again. Speak to me, the tribe!-speak to me, the family!-speak to me, the pakeha!' The pakeha,' however, was not at the moment inclined for conversation. At last the brother spoke, and asked, How is it with you?—is it well with you in that country?' The answer came (the voice all through, it is to be remembered, was not the voice of the tohunga [priest], but a strange melancholy sound, like the sound of the wind blowing into a hollow vessel)- -It is well with me: my place is a good place.' The brother spoke again-Have you seen and ?' (I forget the names mentioned), Yes; they are all with me. A woman's voiee now from another part of the room anxiously cried out Have you seen my sister?' Yes, I have seen her.' 'Tell her my love is great towards her and never will cease.' Yes, I will tell.' Here the woman bursti into tears, and the pakeha felt a strange swelling of the chest, which he could in no way account for.

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The spirit spoke again. 'Give my large tame pig to the priest (the pakeha was disenchanted at once) and my double gun.' Here the brother interrupted-' Your gun is a manatunga; I shall keep it.' He is also disenchanted, thought I, but I was mistaken; he believed, but wished to keep the gun his brother had carried so long.

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pose the imposture without showing palpable disbelief. We cannot find your book,' said I; where have you concealed it?' The answer instantly came, I concealed it between the tahuhu of my house and the thatch, straight over you as you go in at the door.' Here the brother rushed out; all was silence till his return. In five minutes he came back with the book in his hand! I was beaten, but made another effort. What have you written in that book?' said I. A great many things.' Tell me some of them.' Which of them?' Any of them.' You are seeking for some information; what do you want to know? I will tell you.' Then suddenly- Farewell, O tribe! farewell, my family, I go!' Here a general and impressive cry of farewell' arose from every one in the house. Farewell,' again cried the spirit from deep beneath the ground! Farewell,' again from high in the air! Farewell,' again came moaning through the distant darkness of the night. Farewell!' I was for a moment stunned. The deception was perfect. There was a dead silence-at last. A ventriloquist,' said I— or-or-perhaps the devil.''

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The young woman who had been so much affected kept her promise to follow her departed brother to the land of spirits. Long ere the sun rose she had committed suicide.

"Old New Zealand" may be warmly recommended to public perusal. It is a most racy and interesting book, and vividly brings before us scenes which will never be acted again. The country in which they took place is undergoing a complete transformation, and its natives are fast passing away, like the gigantic birds, the Moas, which at one time peacefully looked over the gardenfences, or yielded, perhaps, part of the daily

“An idea now struck me that I could ex-food of the population.

B. S.

THE New Yorker Handels-Zeitung contains | County; Liefer Boll bie Seragus, Ane Daike the following: "We need not be surprised at the vast number of letters annually coming from Germany, which are returned thither through the Dead Letter Office, if we cast a look at the following collection of directions, communicated to us by a post-officer. We have only to add that these are by no means exceptional directions, but that they were copied from a comparatively small number of German letters :- Tubilef hat di Jeneral Post Hoffes for To be left at the General Post Office; Blackrakden Ehre Kande for Black Rock, Erie County; Diestrick Hemstett, Keelkauten for District Hemstead, Queen's County; Leinnz, Vein Canton, for Lyons, Wayne

Counti, for Liverpool, Syracuse, Onondaga County; Starckwill, Haekemaer Kanto, Newjorker Staat for Starckwill, Herkimer County, State of. New York; Westsentlelk, Rertzler Cy, for West Sandlake, Renssellaer Co.; Dschimaka, or Schumaeken, for Jamaica; Nuttanglang Eiland for New Town, Long Island; Bostoffs, Scherle, Irikante, for Post Office, Shirley, Erie County; Sechsen Drenetekirch Brodweg for Sexton Trinity Church, Broadway; Thiri Ocks for Three Oaks; Eisack Lewei for Isaac Levi; Elias Abbet Str. for Elizabeth Str.; Haus Dun Str., for Housdon Str." &c., &c.

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For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded free of postage.

Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume.

ANY VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers.

ANY NUMBER may be had for 13 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value.

A MEMORIAL.

M. A C.

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

Он, thicker, deeper, darker growing,
The solemn vista to the tomb
Must know, henceforth another shadow,
And give another cypress room.

In love surpassing that of brothers,

We walked, O friend, from childhood's day; And looking back o'er fifty summers,

Our foot-prints track a common way.

One in our faith, and one our longing
To make the world within our reach
Somewhat the better for our living,

And gladder for our human speech.
Thou heardst with me the far-off voices,
The old beguiling song of fame,
But life to thee was warm and present,
And love was better than a name.

To homely joys and loves and friendships
Thy genial nature fondly clung;

And so the shadow on the dial

Ran back and left thee always young.

And who could blame the generous weakness Which, only to thyself unjust,

So overprized the worth of others,

And dwarfed thy own with self-distrust?

All hearts grew warmer in the presence
Of one who, seeking not his own,
Gave freely for the love of giving,

Nor reaped for self the harvest sown.

Thy greeting smile was pledge and prelude
Of generous deeds and kindly words;
In thy large heart were fair guest-chambers,
Open to sunrise and the birds!

The task was thine to mould and fashion
Life's plastic newness into grace;
To make the boyish heart heroic,

And light with thought the maiden's face.

O'er all the land, in town and prairie,

With bended heads of mourning, stand The living forms that owe their beauty And fitness to thy shaping hand.

Thy call has come in ripened manhood,

The noonday calm of heart and mind, While I, who dreamed of thy remaining To mourn me, linger still behind:

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All day I heard the pines lamenting
With thine upon thy homestead hills.
Green be those hillside pines for ever,

And green the meadowy lowlands be,
And green the old memorial beeches,
Name-carven in the woods of Lee!

Still let them greet thy life companions
Who thither turn their pilgrim feet,
In every mossy line recalling

A tender memory sadly sweet.

O friend! if thought and sense avail not
To know thee henceforth as thou art.
That all is well with thee forever

I trust the instincts of my heart.

Thine be the quiet habitations,

Thine the green pastures, blossom soon, And smiles of saintly recognition

As sweet and tender as thy own.

Thou com'st not from the hush and shadow
To meet us, but to thee we come ;
With thee we never can be strangers,
And where thou art must still be home!
-Independent.

ALL THREE.

WE loved them so !

Yet when our country, with a thrill of pain,
Called on her sons to rid her of the shame
That burned and throbbed through every tor-
tured vein,
We bade them go.

We sent all three :

The eldest born, with calm and holy face;
The dark-haired one, just entering on life's race;
The youngest, with such boyish freaks and grace;
Ah, me! ah, me !

Oh! with what thrill

We saw them leave us, for we could not know,
In the drear future, though we loved them so,
What dreadful depths of anguish they might
know

O heart, be still' !

O War! O War!

Will there a time come when we need not weep,
Or for our dear ones lonely vigils keep,
Or with salt tears our sleepless pillows steep,
Hearts aching sore?

O Peace! O Peace!

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From The National Review.

THE ART OF TRAVEL IN EUROPE.

Handbook of France (1861); of the Continent, Belgium, and North Germany (1852); of Southern Germany (1858); of Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and Iceland (1858); of Russia (1849) of Rome (1862); of Florence (1861). John Murray, Albemarle Street.

Guides de Paris à Havre; de Paris à Bordeaux; de Paris à Strasbourg et à Bâle; de Paris à Genève et à Chamounix. Hachette:

Paris.

Guida dell' Italia Superiore di Massimo Fabi.

Ronchi Milano.

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Handbook of Travel-Talk. John Murray.
Bradshaw's Continental Railway Guide.

THE art of travel is rapidly becoming so vast a subject that no single professor will be able to expound it. Mr. Galton and Captain Burton have gone far to exhaust the science of life among wild beasts and savages; and either of them could probably act as master of the ceremonies to the king of Dahomey. But they would, we suspect, be the first to disclaim any like acquaintance with the mysteries of the haute volée in Viennese society, or with mountain travelling in Switzerland. It must be a great chance, at least, if a hero of the Alpine Club would be as good a guide about Rome as many a shy scholar who has not the strength to scale ice-encrusted cliffs, or the peculiar knack of walking up perpendicular rocks. The East is a field in itself, and something more than mere going over the ground is needed to make it intelligible. But for one traveller who has the leisure or the opportunity to explore the Zambesi river or to wander out towards Palmyra, there are at least a hundred who find every summer that six weeks in Germany or France do more to refresh the brain and turn the mind into a new track, than ever the sea-side or the moors in their own country could do. It is a long time before the most cosmopolitan Englishman gets to feel as thoroughly at home in a foreign railway carriage as on the Great Western. In spite of all that has been done to Anglicise the Continent, where English churches, bifsteaks saignants and bottled beer, large basons, shooting-coats and wide-awakes, have sprung up sporadically in the track of the locomotive, the difference of language and manner, if not of opinion, are still in all material respects unaffected by our superficial

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intercourse with our neighbors. One chief cause of this, no doubt, lies in the strong objection a highly educated man feels to express himself in a language he can only speak imperfectly. He is painfully conscious of every blunder he makes, the moment after it is made, and the subjects he cares to talk about are precisely those which require a large vocabulary and a ready power of translating ideas by their foreign equivalents. Accordingly a bagman will go over half the Continent, joking, chattering, and making friends,

with fewer words than enable a scholar to

stumble through his want in the railway

terminus or the inn. But the chief reason no doubt is, that no man can catch the tone of a new society in a moment. All that difficult family history, which we learn half unconsciously in our own country, the distinction of great and small requirements in etiquette, and the chief political and religious shades of feeling, are a shibboleth that cannot be hastily mastered. Mr. Grattan mentions in his last book, that he once gave great offence in a country district of France because, in entire ignorance of days and seasons, he invited a large party on the anniversary of the death of Louis XVI. In the same way, we have heard of English people electrifying the residents of a foreign town by making promiscuous visits without letters of introduction. Our countrymen had no doubt been told that the custom abroad was for the last arrival to call first, and did not understand that the custom only warrants visits where there is some excuse for acquaintance. Every man who has lived out of England will probably remember some circumstances where he has acted awkwardly or given offence, in spite of the very best intentions to the contrary.

An excellent article on "Companions of Travel," that appeared rather more than two years ago in the Saturday Review (Nov. 2, 1861), among other hints to which we shall have occasion to refer, suggested that pictures of society and manners should form part of a future series of Handbooks. We should like

to see the task attempted, but we confess to a grave doubt if it could be achieved to anything like the extent the writer seems to contemplate. Take, for instance, the wonderful descriptions of German manners in the works of Baroness von Tautphoeus, to which the article referred, among other instances, as examples of what was possible. No one can

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