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he might paint as many more as he pleased at | either before or since. It was the solemn and the same price. But the artist knew that time yet joyous requiem of a departing spirit. In the would never come, and that he should never be evening he composed and sang a little hymn, strong and well again! Could it be that uncle just as he had done years ago when a child. Pierre, led away by his own love of music, had “Come up hither," was the burden of each counselled unwisely? Had not his old father verse. “ Come unto me," said the Saviour, said at parting, “ God's will be done!” It was with his loving voice, “ Come unto me, all ye done, and His will is not our will, or His ways that sorrow and are heavy laden, and I will give our ways; but He knoweth what is best-we, you rest! I am the way! Come up hither!" only what seemeth best. Carl Malanotti might Before the next Sabbath-day the weary spirit of have lived to become a great artist; he might the young poet_had passed away. have painted angels, and yet never dreamed of Many a time, on a still summer evening, or at heaven; or he might have rivalled the Signor midnight, when others slept, did Grete hear in I--, and won nightly plaudits from an ad- imagination her brother's voice floating down, miring crowd; but God gave him instead a little as it were, clearly and distinctly from heaven, golden harp!

and saying to her, in its well remembered tones When a child, Carl's mother had given himn of love, Come up hither!" And his aged a small, clasped bible, which was found in his parents have heard it also, when they sat alone bosom on the 'morning that he fainted. But ihinking of their lost and gifted one. was it treasured thus for God's love or hers? A twelvemonth after Carl's death the beauWere its holy precepts also hidden in his heart? tiful Grete died also. Isabel married and went Ay, anid all its wanderings, all its aspirings, to Paris with her husband, where she frequently although he knew it not until "sickness and saw the angel on the panel, which then stood in sorrow fanned the divine spark into a flame. the magnificent gallery of the Count de M, Therefore it is that sickness and sorrow are and heard how every one praised it. The brooftentimes sent in love, and the earth-wearied thers were separated hither and thither over the turn lingeringly to heaven. And yet there were world. The 'dear mother, and the old, grey. hours when the young heart of Carl Malanotti headed father, sleep tranquilly in the village still clung to life.

churchyard. Uncle Pierre too has passed away “ Mother," he would say, "I will go back from earth, and there is a new organist. In the with you to Switzerland. I will paint pictures cottage where Carl was born, and where he all the week, and play the organ on the Sabbath- wrote poetry, painted his first picture, played on day in our dear old village-church. We shall his wonderful violin, lived, dreamt, and died, be so happy!”

dwell a poor but honest couple, who are glad to “ So happy!” repeated his mother, while she let their best room in the summer months to turned away and wept.

some wandering artist or chance traveller, whom A few weeks afterwards they left Paris, travel- a love of the picturesque may bring to that quiet ling by easy stages. The angel on the panel place. And when inquiries are made concerning smiled upon Carl as he went forth, as if she had the faded picture, they tell you the simple known that she had brought him wealth and history of Carl Malanotti, even as we have honour, and that he would soon be at rest. related it. And now his mother also noticed the strange resemblance to her who was no more. His living brothers and sisters welcomed back the wanderer to his home. Grete had grown more beautiful than ever ; but the clear red and white

LORD HENRY. of her dazzling complexion, and the bright, starry eyes had less of earth in them. Uncle The wind, like a wild dove, descends from the sky, Pierre wept aloud : he blamed himself, and And coos to the ocean a soft lullaby. above all, the hard-hearted manager. Carl

The billows are rolling-are rolling to shore, blamed no one.

All sleepy and crestless, in purple and or: “ It was not good for me,” said he meekly. As if the pale Autumn had lent them its tone.

They break on the sand with a die-away moan, “ God, who alone knoweth what is in the heart The tall cankered rocks, that like giants around, of man, did not see fit to trust “me with Stand dripping with sea-weed, re-echo the sound,

With a strange hollow wail from their inmost recess, * His will be done !” added the old father. Like the sleepless lament of a spirit's distress. Sorrow, the purifier, had completed its work. The Day-God sinks slow in the amethyst west,

The Count de M--, accompanied by some Disrobing, like king for his chamber of rest ; of his friends, came to superintend the removal Still sparkling in, gems, as a monarch beseems, of Carl's picture to his own residence. It is

While round him the fleecy clouds hover like dreamswonderful!” said they. “And the artist self- Now purple, now saffron, now wrapt in a blaze

Of pure molten gold, as they dip in his rays, taught; and so young-he must not die !” “The gifted are not immortal!” replied the Absorbed in his kiss, with excess of delight.

Then blend with his glory, and melt from the sight, Count de M---, while the angel smiled on as And Evening looks out, from her pale rising star, they hammered away at the panel.

And leads out her four sable steeds to her car ; Carl played the organ in the old village Then mounts her dun chariot, all misty and dim, church. Never was such music heard there And seizes the reins-but not yet, for the rim

success.

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Of magnificent Day sends a long lane of light She made him vow never to bathe there, or float
O'er Ocean's domain, and still dazzles her sight : On its treacherous billows, in vessel or boat.
It flashes, it quivers, 'tis gone with the sun,
And the earth is all gray, and the heavens all dun; She but kindled his fancy; alas ! she forgot
And the breeze, like a lark that has warbled all day, That ever, in this world of dreams, 'tis the lot
Sinks at once on the billow, worn out with its lay. Of wild youth to follow forbidden pursuit -

That ever the dearest the sweet stolen fruit ! Lord Henry looked up, and Lord Henry looked Lord Henry would gaze from his turret on high, round,

For long dreaming hours, on the waves rolling by; His young beart impressed by the calmness profound He follow'd each white sail that glided in sight, That brooded o'er earth and that brooded o'er sea ; And wonder'd and wonder'd by day and by night, And his dark eye lit up with a wild fantasy.

Why he was forbidden to skim o'er the waves, All is still ! all is still I save his pulses that beat In light bounding shallop; and often he craves, With a yearning unrest, and the waves at his feet, With tears and entreaties, but craves still in vain : That well up and die with a murmuring wail.

“ If thou wilt not for mine, for thine oath's sake Not a soul is in sight, not a lingering sail :

refrain !" He's alone on the rock, he's alone with his thought, His mother replies; and the oath he still kept. His young dreaming fancy. What is it has brought But oft, when his mother thought Lord Henry slept, Lord Henry to sit on that wild, lonely rock,

Lord Henry would secretly leave his soft pillow, That far out in ocean receives the first shock

And steal out and wander beside the lone billow, Of the inrolling tide ?—and anon it will be

When up was the moon, and the waves dancing A small lonely isle, all surrounded by sea.

bright, He heeds not the tide, for his thought is away,

One after the other, in silvery light.
Far out in the sea, with the dolphins at play. The wild hollow dirges that rang on his ear-
He wanders with sea-nymphs, beneath the green Mysterious murmurs that fill’d with a fear,
waves,

Yet a thrilling delight his young heart-seem'd to Through fairy-built mansions, and coralline caves.

him

The mermaid's lament, or the sea-maiden's hymn; Lord Henry's the last of a race of renown;

And he listen'a, he listen’d, in spell-bound delight, Bred up in the country, he knows not the town. Till the rays of the sun turn'd the clouds of the A creature of fancy, of field, and of flood,

night Oh! little cares he for the gift of high blood; To purple and topaz; and this lonely grot The wild bird and bee his companions have been, For ever at eve was the favourite spot And rather he'd rove through the shady wood green Where Henry would sit, and gaze up and around, Than mix with his compeers. All lonely and shy, In mystical dreaming and silence profound. From the dance and the banquet Lord Henry will fly, To roam by the forest, to roam by the tide- All is still--all is still! not a cloud in the sky; Yet not by the last, for the last is denied ;

Not a breath on the wave, that creeps sleepily by; For Lord Henry's mother, she dreamt a strange Not a sail in the sight, not a bird on the wing. dream,

He gazes—he gazes : what is it—that thing When her son saw the daylight, and thrice it did That like a white swan, with a soft swelling motion,

Comes floating towards him, borne up by the ocean? The same vision arose in her dreams of the night, Now nearer it moves, full of motion and light, And filled her thought waking with awe and affright. The light of a beauty that dazzles his sight. And this was her dream : that she gazed on the sea, " Ave Maria !” he cried, “what is this can it be? That flow'd, she thought, tranquil as e'er it could be ; 'Tis a woman! a woman!" But what does he see, When rang on her ears a low funeral wail,

As softly she rises and falls on the billow, Like a sea-dirge; and floating, all lifeless and pale, As pliant and graceful in form as the willow, A beautiful youth on the billows was borne,

With skin like the lily, and pale amber hair, His dark locks all dripping with sea-weed, and worn Half revealing, concealing her white bosom bare, The light of his beauty, the light of his eye; But pure as the pearl in the depth of the ocean? She knew 'twas her son, and she woke with a cry, Behind he beholds, with a sickcning emotion, And gaz'd around startled ; again it return'd; Two long slimy tails, like an eel's, that are roll's And the third time she wept, for she thought she And twisted, and shining in silver and gold. discern'a

"1 'Tis a mermaid! a mermaid !” he breathes in The warning of Providence. Fervently prayed

affright; For Heaven's protection the niother, and made Yet through him thrills quick a mysterious delight. A vow in ber heart, that her son should be bred He gazes as spell-bound - his eyes open wide, With a terrible fear of the ocean, and fed

And now she is floating by Lord Henry's side. With marvellous legends-of sea-serpents vast, There are pearls round her white arins, as polish'd That arise o'er a vessel as high as the mast,

and rare With mane like the war-horse, and eyes like the As the arms of a Venus ; and pearls in her hair ; moon,

And she drew the long curls from her brow, and her And stare men to madness; of rocks, that as soon

eyes As a vessel approaches, with magnetic power Gaze into Lord Henry's. Lord Henry replies, Attract it, and keep it spell-bound from that hour, With a look full of wonder, and terror, and shame : Till it rots away piecemeal, with sun and with dew, “What art thou ?" he falters, “and what is thy And death and starvation alight on the crew.

naine, She told him of shipwrecks; of whirlpools that suck Thou wonderful creature !" His heart it beat thick, Tall ships in their bosoms; of lightnings that struck And over her soft, swelling form, with a quick The masts of tall vessels, and set them on fire: And a delicate sense of its beauty, his eye Each-all-she imparted of fearful and dire, Stole softly, and thrilling, and wondering, and shy, Lord Henry with dread of the sea to inspire. Till it rested at last on her long silver tail.

seem

Lord Henry turn'd red, and Lord Henry turn'd pale, Are innocent, pure as the fruits that suffice
And again his young eye to the mermaid's was rais'd. For our nourishment simple. And if I entice
She gaz'd, and she gaz'd, and still ever she gaz'd Lord Henry to come, 'tis because I would show
In the dark wond'ring eyes of the beautiful boy: The all-lovely gardens where ripen below
He thrill'd with a feeling, half fear and half joy, The large luscious branches of grapes, white and blue,
Beneath her strange orbs, so unearthly and wild, That cluster the crystalline walls, where stream
Their beauty oppress'd him. She smild, and he through
smil'd-

The sunbeams, refined from their harsh earthly glare ; Unconsciously smild; for his own caught each trace, And nectarines and peaches-all fruits ripen there, Each meaning, each look, of her beautiful face. And all lovely flowers; and there the sun glows

Through translucent waves in a thousand rainbows; “I come from my home, from my lone coral cave, And grottoes of amber and crystal are there, Where the pearl-shells are gleaming beneath the green Incrusted with pearls, and all gems rich and rarewave;

There sea-violets blush and anemones bloom, Where the pure amber glows, and the red coral trees and the amber-tree breathes out its deathless perfume. Are stirr'd by the breath of the lower sea-breeze Overhead arch the waves, clear as crystal and bright, That sings through our grottoes of crystal, as lone

Where the sea glow-worms cluster and spangle the And as wild as the wind-harp's mysterious tone.

night; I have swept out my cell, I have deck'd out my bower There rages no storm-wind-pure as zephyr the airWith the rarest of shells and each lovely sea-flower ; Then come to this heart, dear! and happiness share." I have gather'd sea-fruits the most ripe and most rare, And I come for Lord Henry my banquet to share.” “Oh! silence, young mermaid ! it makes my heart

beat Thou beautiful mermaid, thou fill'st me with dread! With a thrilling delight but to hear thee repeat I dwell with the living, thou liv'st with the dead !

The wonderful things that I've read of, and knew Thy face is all beauty, thine eye is all love,

By heart, but till now I had never thought true. And thy voice is as soft as the voice of the dove ;

My mother awaits me; my supper is spread ; But thy limbs, that behind thee are curving in sight, Yet sing me a song ere I go to my bed. Are the tails of a fish, and they fill me with fright.”

For fain would I hear if indeed it be true,

As I've read of in books, that you sing as you do“Oh! hush thee, Lord Henry! what use were to me

The tide is not out, and the light is yet strong, The limbs of the land on the never still sea ?

I will sit on this rock while thou sing'st me a song." With knowledge unearthly, well stor'd is my mind ; And my heart is as true, and as soft, and as kind,

Then laugh'd the sly mermaid at Henry's desire; As any that beats in the bosom of maid

She held in her hand a small tortoise-shell lyre. Of earth; and know more, while their beauty must As slowly she tun'd it, still coyly she smil'd; fade,

Her beauty grew wondrous. The poor boy beguildMy beauty will fade not; Time passes me by ;

Like a bird by the gaze of a serpent-grew pale Oh! why then so fearful my tail in thine eye?”

And then red, with strange feeling; he thought now

ber tail I fear thee, thou beautiful mermaid, I do!

Grew ever less fearful, as each graceful fold Thy heart may be woman's, thy form may be true,

Arose to his sight, deck'd in silver and gold. Thy beauty may last--but thine eye hath a glance

The while, like a pearl just releas'd from the shell, That makes mine eye thrill, and that makes my blood That rises and falls on the ocean's soft swell,

Her dance

bosom heay'd with its inward emotion,

pure With a sickening emotion I cannot withstand :

And her pliant form answer'd each wave of the ocean Swim thou in the sea, and I'll stay on the land.

That lapp'd round a shape such as artist in vain For I vowed, not to bathe in the sea, nor to float

Might seek for his canvass or stone to attain. On its treacherous bosom, in vessel or boat."

All is still ! all is still !-save the young hearts that “Oh! shame thee, dear youth ! that a beautiful And the eyes that gaze on, or are cast down, to meet

beat, maid, With soft loving heart, should thus make thee afraid. The eyes of the thrill'd youth for ever revealing

Again in a gaze of a yet deeper feeling; I have garnish'd my cell, and my table is spread;

A world of rous'd feeling-strange, new, undefin'd, On this soft beating bosom I'll pillow thy head,

For he sees to the life the wild dream of his mind. And sing thee to sleep with a song such as earth,

Does he wake?-does he dream? But hark! hark ! With all art can perfect, yet never gave forth.

in the air Then come to my arms, to my bright coral cave;

There trembles a tone like the sigh of despair ; No monster shall harm thee, nor wet thee the wave.

Like a lover's lament, it breathes trembling around;

Oh! never did mortal voice utter such sound“ I will not come, mermaid ! I fear thee too much!

Such an aching complaint of love, grief, hope, desire, Thou art half a fish! I have heard tell of such,

As the sea-girl pour'd forth o'er her tortoise-shell Who lure men from land with their wonderful charms, lyre: Then drown them, or press them to death in their Now rising in air, with unearthly wild tone arms."

Now sunk on the wave, like the sea-dirge's moan,

She breath'd out no words : like the nightingale's “Oh! shame thee, Lord Henry! to hold such belief; throat My heart is all tender! 'twould break with its grief She warbled, and round him the witching tones float To hurt living thing on the land, in the sea,

With a power and a spell; like the richest incense And not for the whole world would I injure thee ! They pervaded his heart, and the soul, and the sense. 'Tis the people of earth, 'tis the people of blood, His young heart is reeling, his young eye grows diin ; That murder and injure; we nymphs of the flood He feels like a part of the sea-maiden's hymn :

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Was it not a happy flower,
To be born in such a bower,
And not on the common wide,
Or the dusty roadway-side ?

Happy ?-Yes, if round some thing,
It warmly, tenderly might cling;
For nothing yet was happy found,
With nought to fling its arms around.

Her song died away in a whisper scarce heard ;
But the soul of sweet sound in that whisper was

stirr'd : It thrill'd through and through him with sickening

ache, And he wept, and he wept as his young heart would

break. He gaz'd through his tears, as her magic song ended, And sees ber beside him, with white arms extended, And eyes that entice him with answering tears; And all was forgotten-his home and his fears, And the mother who watch'd and whose fond love had

guided, And into the mermaiden's white arms he glided ! Mute, spell-bound, entranc'd; like a soft-dying tone That espires on the lute that awoke it, his own Young spirit dissolv'd in the passionate sense That chain'd heart and soul with a spell all intense.

Ah! but list! the woodbine flower Had its choice within the bowerThe ash, the oak, the eglantine, Paid their court unto the bine;

And the aspen in alarms
Sought the pressure of its arms-
And the ivy strove to find it,
And the birch, and larch to bind it;

But it heeded neither's charms,
For ah! it sought the bramble's arms-
And clasp'd till death, with loving power,
The thorns that wounded it each hour !

CHARLOTTE CAYME.

With a strange cry of pleasure, of pride, and of joy,
Her white arms encircle the beautiful boy ;
She has won him, she has him, she holds him now

tight, And her bright eyes are flashing in fairy delight. There's a change in the sky, there's a curl on the

wave, There's a warning cry rings, as when wild tempests

rave; The sea-bird gives out, with a free, swan-like motion, The mermaid is breasting the fast swelling ocean. She is there – she is gone : and the high dashing spray, And the two flashing fins that a moment there play, Glancing high o'er the waves with a silvery light, Tell the spot where she dived with her prize, out of

sight.

LOVE'S LIFE IS ITS DEVOTION.

(Song.)

BY GEORGE HALSE.

Love is a balm, yet 'tis a bane;
It is a pleasure-yet a pain;
Once cherished, it must be again.

Oh! 'tis a bitter potion :
Its food is sorrow and despair,
Its drink is mingled tears and care;
Its thoughts-of things that only were:

Love's life is its devotion !

All is still — all is still; night descends on the world,
And the land and the sea in her mantle are furl'd.
But hark! on the dark strand arises a cry--
"Lord Henry! Lord Henry!" The lone rocks reply,
Lord Henry ! Lord Henry! in faint mocking tone.
Lord Henry comes not. All is lone - all is lone!
His mother stands weeping beside the dark shiore ;
But the lost young Lord Henry was never seen more!

ALBERT TAYLOR. Woodlands.

Yet, truly echoed, what can mete
Its height and depth of bliss-its sweet
Unbounded boundings ? What so tleet

As note its course, its motion ?
What force can bind it? what o'erthrow
Love's peaceful union? Can a blow
From pain or poverty ?

Oh no-
Love's life is its devotion !

THE WOODBINE.

This treasure's neither sold nor bought,
Nor won, like baubles, at a thought;
But 'tis a simple, mild, untaught,

Spontaneous emotion.
Once nobly won 'tis never lost-
A true heart is its only cost;
By absence only is it crost:

Love's life is its devotion!

Light, and dew, and sun, and shower,
Fondly nurs'd a woodbine flower;
To it so much grace was given,
Fancy deem'd it brought from heaven.

THE NEW ORGAN FOR ST. PHILEMON'S.

(An American Story.)

BY

THEOPHILUS

PRINGLE.

I don't know, Mr. Editor, that I can be called “ We are getting better known, I suppose," a saint--in fact, if anybody were to say that I she replied, very innocently. was, I think that body would be a little out of the “ So I should think. But isn't it a little surway. Nor am I an intolerable sinner, but what prising that Mr. Dearsoul, who is such a good most people would call about “ so so.” Now man, and so watchful over his flock, never found you comprehend pretty accurately my standing us out before ?” in the community, and this settled in the begin- “ His congregation is large.” ning, I will proceed to tell my story.

“ Yes--but he looks over it every Sunday. My wife, you must know, is a religious wo- We sit directly in front of him. I'm sure l’ve man; and to accommodate her, as well as to ap- seen him looking at us a hundred times. I wonpear respectable, I hired a pew in St. Philemon's der, Esther, if it can be possible that he has church, and attended service at least once on heard of our new house that is building ?” every Sabbath. Our minister, Mr. Dearsoul, For shame, Mr. Pringle !" said my wife, a was a great favourite, especially with the ladies, slight glow of indignation warming her cheek. and was allowed to do pretty much as he pleased. Maybe I am wrong to think that," I replied, I liked him well enough, though I must own that in a way to soothe my wife's feelings. Dear, his notions of morality and mine did not always good soul, she never thinks harm of any one. just tally. Perhaps I am a little obtuse; but if Ånd how should she? She has no standard of so, it's my misfortune more than

my

fault. evil in her own heart by which to judge others. When I first took a pew in Mr. Dearsoul's As for myself, I frankly confess that I am not so church, I was a very humble individual who had charitable. I have a wonderful propensity for just commenced business, and lived in a style looking below the surface, and sometimes, I must that was by no means imposing. I went regu- own, am apt to see a little more than is to be seen. larly every Sunday with my wife, and maintained After a while we got into our new house, which as devout an exterior as most persons, even going I am vain enough to think looks very handsome. so far as to join in the responses. But I remained There is no reason why it should not, for it cost a stranger in St. Philemon's for several years. me over seven thousand dollars, independent of The leading and influential members did not the ground, and in moving into it I expended know me; and as for Mr. Dearsoul, he did not nearly two thousand dollars in extra furniture

. so much as call upon my wife to offer her spi- Little over a week had passed, after we took posritual comfort. fortunately for us, we are inde session, before my wife had calls from Mrs. pendent sort of folks-that is, my wife and my- Dearsoul and daughter, and from the wives of self—and were not much annoyed by this indif- suudry influential members of the chureh. ference and neglect. We attended to our own Within a month, Dr. Dearsoul invited himself concerns during the week, and went to church and family to take tea and spend the evening on Sunday for our own reasons. My wife's, as with us. I have before intimated, were something better “ Bless us, Esther,” I said, “ what does all than mine.

this mean? Mr, Dearsoul is getting to feel Well, it so happened that this thinking about quite at home with us. I am sure 1. never and attending to our own concerns made our dreamed of this honour. I cannot help thinking external condition prosperous. In a few years I our new house has something to do with it.”. built myself a house, and furnished it with some Now why will you talk so? It is downright expense and taste. It is wonderful how quickly scandalous ! 'I don't believe Mr. Dearsoul would this was known. Long before my house was visit us any quicker in this house than he would done, I was nodded to across the church on Sun in the old one.” day by influential vestrymen, stopped by them “ But did it never strike you as a little strange in the street, and honoured with invitations to that he didn't happen to find us out there?" visit them at their houses. Mr. Dearsoul, too, I'm sure he did visit us in the old house." about this time, made the discovery that we were “Oh, so he did, once-but that was after this members of his church, and made us a pastoral one was nearly finished.” visit, for which we were duly grateful.

"Now don't talk so, dear; you really make “ We're getting of consequence, Esther,” I me feel unhappy," said my wife, with a look of said to my wife, as these indications assumed a distress. “I know you wrong Mr. Dearsoul

, more decided aspect. “What can be the rea- who is far above being governed by mere ap

pearances.”

son?"

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