I understand you—his looks, his temper, his circumstances, are all much in his favor. But there are some associations that cluster round my internal image of a husband-for grave and melancholy as you seem to consider me, I have sometimes drawn this ideal picture—which are most remote from any thoughts that I can connect with this man. Alas! I would say, in the customary phrase, that I thank him for his good opinion of me, and so forth; but it would not be true, and I do not thank him. I am sure that I never could regard him with any feeling but one so nearly allied to loathing, that I would not marry him for the world. I am not so good as you affect to think me, but a very proud, and perhaps a capricious girl. I do think, that woman, in no age of time, was ever considered such a miserable slave as that universal impression views her, which adjudges that a rich fool, if he be neither a brute nor a demon, ought to be accepted by the first poor girl to whom he offers himself. It is, it must be, a penance to live in this relation with a fool for life, and I am determined not to marry for penance. Others may consider a girl like me a marketable article, if they choose. I am not in the market, on this condition. I am contented as I am, and while I possess these hands, I shall always consider myself and my mother independent, so far as regards subsistence.' 'I was allowed the privilege to be present at this discussion. Observing, perhaps, a good deal of surprise in my countenance, she turned to me, and said: ' My friend and brother, (she was accustomed to call me so,) I hope you are not offended with me for taking this view of the subject.'Not at all, my dear sister,' I replied. On the contrary, you have removed a load from my heart.' And I verily believe, in the excitement of the moment, that she would have had another offer on the spot, had she not contrived, probably in anticipation of my purpose, with her accustomed tact and decision, to give the con

versation another turn.

It happened, that not many days after this rejection of the rich lover, I visited New-York, and spoke as I felt of Hannah, to my admirable young friend, Henderson L, of whom I will pronounce no other eulogy, than that my simple, unvarnished tale inspired him with a sort of love for her, and a determination to return with me to Rochester, and if he found her such as I had described, to make a tender of his heart to her. He was heir to one of the best estates in the country, handsome, accomplished, high-minded — sustaining the highest standing, and, in a word, a person with the very mind to be allured by such a young lady as Miss Hervey. In a few days I returned, and he accompanied me, causing me, however, on the way, repeatedly to renew my biographical sketch.

'When he arrived at our house, as she had never heard of him, and was led to suppose that his motive for visiting Rochester was business, there was in her deportment toward him none of that consciousness and reserve which it would have been almost impossible for a young person like her wholly to have avoided, had she been aware of the object of his visit. She saw, indeed, by our deportment toward him, the high regard, the great consideration, we entertained for him; and this, no doubt, insensibly influenced her estimate of him. The unequalled strength, the unpretending dignity of her character, produced a still deeper impression upon him than I had expected. Though she had

grown to be decidedly beautiful, she would not have been considered, by ordinary observers, a 'showy girl.' But seeing us making every effort to amuse our friend, and wholly unsuspicious that he had come with any thoughts in relation to her, she naturally put forth all her powers of pleasing. We soon discovered that our friend was deeply in love. Hannah was the last one among us to make the discovery, but she did make it; and, as was natural, became in consequence more reserved and constrained in her manner toward him a circumstance which accelerated his declaration.

She was not a little surprised, and she must have been more than woman or mortal, not to have been flattered. She told him, however, that she had not for him the sentiment, if she understood what it was, that is called love; but that she liked him much, and had an impression, that if he saw fit to allow her the pleasure of a longer acquaintance, she might attain that sentiment toward him. This was a way of receiving a declaration, I believe, wholly out of the mode; but there was a reason, truth, and propriety in her manner, that satisfied her lover, who continued to remain in our family. Scarcely a month had elapsed, when an incident occurred, which set the moral worth of Henderson L, and his magnanimity, kindness, and integrity in a most striking light. It was an incident for which he could not have been prepared. It was by mere accident that it reached her ears. Her eyes glistened, as the noble action of our friend was related by me, certainly with no embellishment, but as certainly in a way which I intended, if possible, should make a direct and striking impression upon her heart. Tears stood in her eyes, as I proceeded, part of which tribute I might suppose paid to my eloquence-a circumstance always favorable to the increase of that attribute in the orator. They walked together in the woods and meadows, the evening subsequent to her learning the facts in question. With a perturbation rather unusual to her firm and collected character, she told Henderson L that she now loved him, and if he continued of the same mind as formerly, was ready to give him her hand, whenever he chose to ask for it.

You will easily divine the rest. He purchased the estate we have passed, and there built that sumptuous country house, which they make their summer residence. His wife has the satisfaction, in addition to possessing the best husband I know, of making the old age of her mother comfortable, and of many a lonely evening walk to the graves of the loved and lost of her family, cut off by the dreadful catastrophe I have mentioned. These walks do not, as she affirms, render her sad, but calmly-thoughtful, and more firm and active for her duties. They repress the fulness of a joy, which in the case of such a happy nature as hers, and one which has so completely met all that she ever imagined necessary to felicity, might become too buoyant and confident. They remind her of the uncertainty of that tenure by which we hold all below the sun. I should be glad if the thousands of heartless fools, mere beaux and belles, who know nothing but what they call fashionthose biped animals of existence, who are preparing a generation of fools for the coming age- could contemplate this couple, and see what is the real dignity and enjoyment of wedded life. It is to be hoped we should no longer hear them denouncing blues,' and knowledge, as

pedantry, and enviously wishing to reduce every body to their own level of inanity. But my desire is useless: for these vain and senseless souls would not have eyes to see the instruction which this spectacle is so well calculated to afford'

THE DYING WIFE.

AND I must die!

I must pass away from the beautiful earth,
Where the roses bloom and the birds have birth —
Ere the rude world's blight o'er my spirit has blown,
Ere the music of life has lost one tone;

As the dew-drop swept from the aspen spray,
With the summer's breath, I must pass away.
The maiden laughs in the sunny glade!

Ah why doth she laugh? Her joys must fade.
All that is dearest to her, are mine,

All that is brightest, on me now shine :

There's joy for me still in the lemon-leav'd bower,

Where the mocking-bird sits, in the hushed night hour:
There's joy for me still in the festal throng,

In the mazy dance, and the sparkling song;
There's a flush in my cheek, a light in mine eye,
And my heart beats warm- but I must die!

I must leave them now!

I must pass from the home of my childhood's mirth,
And my place shall be mourned by my father's hearth.
His hair is white and his eye is dim-

And who shall now speak of the glad earth to him?

And who shall now pour on his time-dulled ear,

The olden lay that he loved to hear?

He will sit and pine in his dwelling lone,

For I was his all, and I shall be gone.

There is one on my heart hath a tenderer claim!

I have taught my soft child to lisp his name;

On his faithful breast when my head is laid,

I forget I am dying my pain is stayed.

I trust to his words, as on hope he dwells,

But the pale lip mocks what the fond heart tells :
The cold drops stand on his manly brow,

Oh God! must I leave - must I leave him now?

I will come again!

I will come again, in the twilight gloom,

When the sad wind wails o'er my lowly tomb;

When the shade's in the bower and the star in the sky,
The early-loved scenes will I wander by:

I will pass by the hall of the glad and gay,

For they shall laugh on, though my smile be away:
Where the aged man weeps, my breath shall be there,
I will come to my child at her young-voiced prayer:
When lovely she kneels by her father's side,
His gaze resting on her, his darling and pride.
With a dark'ning shade should his brow be crossed,
As his thoughts are afar with the loved one lost;
I will live in her form, I will speak in her eye,
I will steal from his lip the half-breathed sigh;
With her silvery voice, will I soothe his pain,
I will whisper his heart, 'I am come again

Trenton, (N. J.) January, 1836.

34

H. L. E.

COMETS AND ECLIPSES.

IT is both interesting and gratifying to observe the universal care and foresight which pervade every object in nature. The celestial world bears, in its order and harmony, the signs of the wisdom and providence, as well as the sublime magnificence of its Maker. The class of larger terrestrial existences show in their conformation such perfect adjustment, and beautiful arrangement, and the microscopical objects whose mechanism optics have unveiled, such just proportion and delicate adaptation, that here, also, we see the tracings of the same power and wisdom which presided over the birth of the heavens.

This supervision of God over the universe, as well in its most minute as in its grandest scale, though rendered clear, bright, and glorious, by the sun of modern science, still must have broken- perhaps with a misty, fitful light — on the darkness of the remotest antiquity. Its belief was the cause of many ancient superstitions, and was the soul of those fictions of mythology which breasted every wave of time and opinion, till swept away by a more noble creed.

It produced a faith of no ordinary dignity- which led the historian to credit that the gods looked down with interest on human affairs; and which inspired the poet to introduce them in his song, as sympathizing with the virtuous love and the honorable ambition of man — a faith beautiful and excusable; for it sprung from a persuasion congenial with that which has raised to the Most High the temple of Natural Theology. It was a pellucid spring, gushing from a silver fountain, and then winding through the barren heaths of life. Though tainted by its impurities and its passions, yet its course could be marked by the flowers of brighter hue, and sweeter perfume, blooming upon its banks.

To this same source, also, may be attributed the belief that the gods were willing to unfold, through their chosen oracles, the destiny of man, and the still more exalted idea that they occasionally manifested their approbation or anger by signs in the heavens. So agreeable is it to our vanity, so ennobling to our pride, to think ourselves objects of interest to Deity, that when celestial phenomena occurred on the eve of some important event, surely it required little credulity to imagine the skies the face of Providence, whence beamed his look of pleasure, or darted his glance of disapprobation. We should reflect, too, that eclipses and comets were of no very frequent appearance, unknown to happen in the ordinary course of nature, and varying in their aspect. How natural for those about to engage in some mighty conflict, or commence some great enterprise-whose souls were thus roused by the prospect of action and glory to emotion, or elevated to enthusiasm - when the sun lost its wonted light-to sink to despondency, or when a comet streamed over the firmament, to be nerved to greater resolution, by the bright omen of success.

Two armies are drawn up in battle array, one eager to contend for the honor of their prince - the other ready to risk their lives in protection of their homes and institutions. Cyaxares, confiding in the strength and discipline of his troops, proceeds to the encounter, and the conflict begins. As he advances, his soldiers, clothed in armor of brass, meet the bristling pike of the Lydians. For a moment they are staggered, but these weapons are soon swept from the hands of the enemy, and a more

deadly contest rages with the scimetar. The Medes falter and break; carnage rides through their ranks like a whirlwind, and Halyattes, the Lydian, rushes on to victory. But onward come the Median charriots, winged with death, mowing down the struggling soldier, breaking the array of the foe, and arresting them in the arms of triumph. The tide of battle is turned. High swell the notes of exultation-deep the cry of despair. Hush! Those shouts cease-those groans are smothered. The conqueror stops in his course - mingled horror and wonder seize the combatants. The affrighted seer raises his hands in adjuration to the skies, deprecating the divine wrath. The arm ready to strike, falls paralyzed with fear the dying turn round in their last agonies to witness the miracle. Every eye is turned on high, and every hand points to the portentous phenomenon. Behold a veil is drawn slowly over the sun! An unearthly light illumines the scene. Man gazes on the countenance of his fellow, and shrinks back from its ghastly hue. Darkness follows, and either army retires from the field, filled with wonder and awe. The gods forbade the contest.*

-

How beautiful to see a reliance upon the watchfulness, and a recognition of the sovereignty of the Creator, thus evincing their power, though erroneously, in remote antiquity-separating armies in the heat of battle, and checking the uplifted weapon of victory!

Eclipses, particularly when total, were ever regarded with terror, and considered as special interpositions. Ancient history shows a universal credence in this opinion. An account of one of these, is otherwise somewhat interesting, from its affording an instance of wit and presence of mind in a renowned captain. Agathocles, determining to carry the war into the realms of the enemy, sailed from Sicily for Africa, with a large army. At the moment of departure, the sun was eclipsed, which so daunted the spirit of his troops that they were irresolute whether or not to embark on the expedition. An eclipse betokens change, and good-fortune will desert Carthage,' exclaimed the ready chief. Reassured, they sat out with good-will, firmly confiding in the interpretation nor did the result invalidate the prediction.

But Thales † and his science gave a blow to this faith, and the calcu lation of eclipses, confirmed by their occurrence nearly at the time foretold, eventually struck a mighty link from the chain of superstition. Long after the knowledge of these calculations became prevalent among the intelligent, comets, rarely of a size to attract attention, occasionally varying in appearance, so that no connexion between their successive returns could be established with facility, were still watched with curiosity and consternation.

When important events occupy our whole thought, how easy to connect with them every incident! Hence a comet, which appeared at the time, was said to have announced the death of Julius Cæsar; another, which, at this day, presents one of the proudest triumphs of science, the birth of Mithridates, and one in 1305, the great plague. Indeed, all which have been observed, even to a very modern date, have been viewed in the same light.

We have mentioned the probable origin of this feeling; and cannot wonder, therefore, that one so much in accordance with the other opi

* Rollin. Hist. Persians.

+ About 500 years B. C,