foundation of their virtue, but demolishes the whole fabric at once, by telling them, that if capable of performing a few brilliant actions, such a halo will shine around them, as will entirely conceal from the eyes of every beholder their want of sincerity, truth, fidelity, or moral honor. Wo to my country, when the public sentiment shall be so far corrupted, as to think that heroism, and what is known by the name of glory, can compensate for the want of true, consistent, undying virtue!" Montague chanced to be looking at Margarette when Mr. Claremont began to speak, and the look she gave. Mr. Gordon fixed his attention upon her, though he heard not the remark that called it forth. He watched her countenance with deep interest, as it gradually lighted up to a glow of admiring approbation, strangely intermingled with a shade of sadness. "I will have her opinion on this subject from her own lips," thought he; and placing himself near her, he said "Sweet sensibility, O, la! "I heard a little lamb cry, bah!" said Mr. Claremont. "Come, Alice, don't cry about it, but tell me the price of the necklaces." "How can I," said the sobbing Alice, "when you make such cruel sport of my feelings? Indeed, uncle, it is cruel!" "I never make sport of your feelings, my dear, when there is any thing that ought to awaken them," said Mr. Claremont. "But come, tell me the price of the pearl necklaces." "They are fifty dollars apiece." "Whew!" said Mr. Claremont. "And so I must spend a hundred dollars to adorn the necks of my nieces?" "O, Margarette can buy her own, you know uncle, and so you will have to give away but fifty." "I hold Miss Claremont's purse-strings, you know," said Mr. Claremont, "and I shall serve you both alike." "What is your opinion of Lord Nelson, Miss Clare- Margarette's, as well as yours, must be the gift of her mont?" "O, exactly the same as my uncle's," said Margarette. "And how could it be otherwise? when I have so often heard my dear father express sentiments exactly similar. He very carefully taught me, never to let any external glory, any meretricious glare, blind me to real defects, or to the want of intrinsic and solid excellence." Her eye, as she finished speaking, sparkled through a tear, which was not unobserved by either Montague or Gordon. "There is, then, a fountain of feeling within," thought Montague, as he still looked upon her-"A fountain of deep, pure, noble feeling!" "By Jupiter, there is a tear!" thought Gordon"and Montague has had the good fortune to call it forth. Who would have thought, that to talk of Lord Nelson, was the way to touch her heart? I would have given a thousand dollars, rather than he should have had this triumph!" One morning Montague called at Mr. Claremont's, but found that both the young ladies were out. Mr. Claremont, however, was in the parlor, and he and Montague had passed a very pleasant half hour, ere Alice and Margarette came in. Margarette bade Montague 'good morning'-but Alice just nodded at him, and hastened to her uncle, and seating herself on his knee, exclaimed "Dear uncle, I am so glad you are in! I want to ask a great favor of you." "What is that, my dear?" said Mr. Claremont. "I am half afraid to tell," said Alice, "you will think me so extravagant. But, dear uncle, Margarette and I have seen the two most beautiful pearl necklaces at Wendall's, you ever beheld!" "And you want them?" "O, I do, most sadly," said Alice. "And do you, Margarette ?" uncle." "I do not wish for one, my dear sir," said Margarette, but Mr. Claremont heeded her not, and opening his pocket book, gave them fifty dollars each. Alice loaded her uncle with kisses and thanks, while it was with evident reluctance that Margarette took hers in her hand. But as some ladies at that instant entered the room, without saying more, she put it in her purse. As soon as the visiters had withdrawn Alice went to her chamber, and Margarette siezed the opportunity of being alone with Mr. Claremont, to restore to him the fifty dollars. "My dear sir," said she, "I cannot accept this money, and should have declined it at the moment, only I could not explain before strangers. You will relieve me greatly by taking it again." "By no means, my dear-I should be much pleased that you and Alice should have necklaces alike." "But I do not want a necklace, sir, and should feel very badly to spend fifty dollars on a useless ornament." "Then purchase something else with it, Margarette.” "I am in want of nothing, sir, and had much rather restore it to you." "Can you find no use for it, my dear?" asked Mr. Claremont. "O yes, sir-I could find enough to do with this, and ten times more. But perhaps you would think it injudiciously expended." "What should you do with it, Margarette?" asked Mr. Claremont. "Give every cent of it away, sir," Margarette replied. "Very well," said Mr. Claremont. "It is yours, my dear, to throw at the birds, if you please. I can depend on your judgment and principles, that it will not go to indulge idleness or vice." "O, I thank you most sincerely, my dear uncle," said Margarette with warmth-"in behalf of those who are suffering from want. It will give me great delight "I think not, sir," said Margarette-while Alice at to be your almoner." the same moment cried “O, Margarette can have whatever she wants, she is so rich!-not a poor beggar like your own Alice, dependent on the bounty of another for every thing" and bursting into tears, she hid her face on her uncle's shoulder. There was a very narrow lane ran past the foot of Mr. Claremont's garden, in which stood a little hut, occupied by a poor, but pious old man, who earned a scanty livelihood by gardening. He was known all over the town by the title of Commodore, merely because 'Sometimes, but not often," Margarette replied. "And do they affect you as they do cousin Alice ?" "Affect her?" cried Alice-"no, indeed! I never saw her moved to tears, by reading, but once in my life. "And pray what was she then reading?" asked Montague, with a smile. 'Did you read the tract, cousin Alice?" "Yes-from mere curiosity, after witnessing the wonderful effect it produced." in his youth he had commanded a fishing-smack. Montague had one evening walked some way out of town; and on his return, intending to pass an hour at Mr. Claremont's, he passed through this lane as the shortest | way to his house. In passing the Commodore's domicil, which stood on the lower side of the lane, he cast his eyes in at the window, which had neither shutter nor "A little penny tract, called 'Old Sarah, the Indian curtain, and by a glimmering fire-light saw the old man | Woman””—said Alice. "Over that she actually wept!” sitting in his arm chair by the fire, while a female sat on a low stool beside him, who seemed to be doing something to his foot, which lay across her lap. Montague halted an instant, for there was something about the female figure, although enveloped in a large shawl and hood, that reminded him of Margarette. But her back was toward him, and the fire-light was so dim, that he remained in doubt whether or not it was she. "If it is her," thought he, as he walked on-"If it is her, performing such an office for the poor old Commodore, it may, after all, be her who visits the Delantys." As he came out of the lane, he met an acquaintance, with whom he conversed a minute or two, and then proceeded to Mr. Claremont's. On entering the parlor, he found the little domestic circle complete. Mr. Claremont was engaged in a volume of Brewster's Encyclopedia; Alice with Malvina, over which she was shedding a torrent of tears,-and Margarette with her knitting work. "It was not her, after all," thought Montague; "but who could it be? she had not the air of a rustic!" After receiving Mr. Claremont's cordial welcome, he advanced toward his cousin, and closing her book with gentle violence, said | "If you sustain no other injury, my dear Alice, you will inevitably ruin your eyes by reading while you weep so profusely. I wish you would relinquish novels as I fear they do you little good. Their general tendency is to enervate rather than strengthen the character.”“I wish you could persuade her to relinquish them, Mr. Montague," said Mr. Claremont. "I am satisfied that that class of reading, only increases in Alice that sensitiveness which is already too strong. It will degenerate into weakness, and I know of few things more to be dreaded than a sickly sensibility." "Why should you suppose that the reading of novels would produce that effect, more than the scenes of real life?" said Alice, "when it is universally conceded, that no genius can ever reach the truth." "I can tell you why, Alice," said Montague. "In reading works of the imagination, persons of feeling unconsciously identify themselves with the favorite character; and then in a day or two, and sometimes in a few hours, their feelings are taxed with those scenes of sorrow and excitement, which in real life are scattered through months, or perhaps years. The greater part of life is made up of comparative trifles, which make little demand on the feelings, and scenes of sorrow and excitement are 'few and far between,' like the convulsions of the elements-which, though often distressing, and sometimes disastrous, are, on the whole, highly beneficial. But were the elements always at war, nature would soon sink to dissolution; and so if the mind and the heart were constantly raised to a state of high excitement, their energies would soon be exhausted, and the corporeal part would soon sink in the conflict. Do you read novels, Miss Claremont?" inquired Montague. "And did it call forth your tears?" "No, certainly not !—Sarah was a good old creature, to be sure, but there was nothing in the tract to touch one's sensibility; and I could never conceive what there was in it, that so moved Margarette.” "Pho, pho, Alice," said Mr. Claremont, "Margarette is not the Stoic you represent her. I caught her no longer ago than this very morning, with a tear in her eye, while reading." "My dear uncle," said Margarette, in a supplicating tone, while the pure blood in her cheeks rushed to her temples. "What was she reading, uncle?" cried Alice. "None of your lackadaisical nonsense, you may be certain, Alice," said Mr. Claremont. "She was reading a newspaper." Alice laughed outright. "Not so laughable an affair, neither, my dear," said Mr. Claremont, "as she was reading of the bravery and sufferings of the poor unfortunate" "Dear uncle!" again ejaculated Margarette. "Poles," added Mr. Claremont, without noticing the interruption. "The Poles? O yes," said Alice. "There was 'Thaddeus of Warsaw'-he was a divine creature! Well might one weep at the recital of his sufferings !” "Doubtless, my dear-but Margarette's sympathies were moved by sufferings of a more recent date than his-by the narrative of bravery and suffering in all their nakedness—unadorned with the romance and poetry that Miss Porter has thrown around her hero. And to tell you the plain truth, Alice-I do like that sensibility better, that sympathizes with the actual miseries of our fellow creatures, even though there be nothing elegant, or poetic about them, than that which has tears only for some high-wrought tale of fictitious woe-the afflictions of some fallen prince, or the sorrows of some love-stricken swain, or lovelorn damsel.” "That, dear uncle, is as much as to say," ," said Alice, while her voice was choked with rising emotion—“that I can feel for sorrows of no other kind, and that you like Margarette's sensibility better than you do mine! I suppose you love her, too, more than you do your own poor, lone Alice! I feel that she is stealing every one's affection from me, though I love with so much more ardor than she does ! and she burst into tears. All present felt exceedingly uncomfortable, and Margarette, who was really distressed, resolved to give a new turn to the conversation. Alice had seated herself on Mr. Claremont's knee, and thrown both her arms around his neck-so leaving him to soothe her wounded feelings in his own way, Margarette asked Montague some question, as foreign as possible to their recent conversation. The effort succeeded-the tears of Alice were soon dried, and the remainder of the evening pass- | almost daily opportunities for exercising true greatness ed very pleasantly. and magnanimity of soul; and should every one improve the opportunity, the wilderness of this world One evening Montague and Gordon met the Clare-would soon be like Eden, and her deserts like the mont family, with a small select party, at the house of garden of the Lord!'" "It would." "And the only true one, according to my apprehension," said Margarette," and I have often had the pleasure of seeing it exemplified. And this moral greatness a friend. Gordon, as usual, secured a seat next Mar- Margarette's countenance again beamed with pleagarette, who was also attended by Alice, who had learn-sure and approbation, as she said—“Moral grandeur, ed that to be near her, was the surest way to be near would then be your definition of greatness, Mr. Monthe idol of her imagination, the Black Prince. Montague tague ?" likewise stood near them; for he was beginning to find, that there was something extremely attractive, even in Margarette's apparent coldness; or rather, that it was peculiarly interesting to observe marks of deep feeling, under so calm, so placid an exterior. Gordon recollect-leads to sublimity of thought," she added. "It expands ed the conversation concerning Lord Nelson, and the effect produced on Margarette; and resolving in his turn to find a passage to her sensibilities, led the conversation to heroes and great men. He made some very eloquent remarks, as he apprehended, on heroism and greatness, which had previously been arranged with great care. the soul, and elevates the conception. As an instance: I once attended a prayer meeting, where was a man who had no more than ordinary capacity, and who knew nothing beyond the cultivation of his little farm, and the path to heaven. He could scarcely read intelligibly. Being called on to lead in the devotions of the evening, he knelt down, and began in this manner- —'O, thou, "Whom do you consider truly great men, Mr. Gor- who lightest up heaven! To me, it was like a shock don ?" asked Alice. 'Alexander-Louis the Fourteenth-NapoleonVoltaire and Lord Byron," said Gordon. "Each in his turn, and in his own way, has dazzled the whole world!" "Dazzled, but not enlightened!" said Montague. Margarette looked up with one of her brightest smiles, and Montague felt, at the bottom of his heart, that it was warm, as well as brilliant. "By Vesta," thought Gordon, "she has rewarded him for those two words, with that smile, which I have made such useless efforts to obtain! and he has made no effort at all!-I abandon her!" of electricity! I have thought of it a thousand times since, and doubt whether Byron, with all his genius, in his happiest moment of poetic inspiration, ever had so sublime a conception." "Would you like to examine the prints on the centre table, Miss Lansdale ?" asked Gordon, rising, and offering her his arm. With a heart bouyant as the thistle's down, Alice accepted the proffered arm, and Montague secured the seat she vacated. "There is nothing here that you have not seen a hundred times," said Gordon-" but I panted to get into a warmer latitude. The north pole has few charms for me, notwithstanding its brilliant corrusca "Whom do you esteem great men, Mr. Montague ?" tions. By the way, is this cousin of yours ever warmer inquired Margarette. "O, there have been hosts of them in the world," answered Montague; "but perhaps it would be better to tell you what I call true greatness, than to name those whom I esteem great. True greatness, I apprehend, consists in conquering or in duly restraining the ruling passion; in forgiving an injury, when we have fair opportunity for avenging ourselves; in sacrificing our own feelings and interests for the good of others; in that benevolence that leads to a forgetfulness of self, in efforts to promote the happiness and welfare of mankind." "The world will hardly subscribe to your explanation | of greatness," said Gordon, with something like a sneer, and few are great!" "Few are-but many might be," said Montague. “Every one who foregoes his own personal good, for the good of others; who forgets his own happiness, in efforts to promote the happiness of those around him, and who will not be turned aside from his purpose by the obstacles, or the unkindness, or the ridicule with which he meets, is great." than the summit of Mont Blanc?" "Why ask me such a question ?" said Alice. "Because I thought you would be likely to know," answered Gordon. "She is much admired and beloved," said Alice, with a sigh. "I wish I had her power over the heart!" "Admired she may be-but beloved is she?" said Gordon. "You surprise me, Mr. Gordon," said Alice. "I thought-I feared-I mean I conjectured"—and she stopt short. "What did you think, fear, or conjecture, Miss Lansdale ?" asked Gordon. "O nothing-nothing of any consequence," said she, with real or assumed embarrassment. "Now be frank, sweetest Alice," said Gordon, tenderly pressing her arm, which was still locked in his, to his side-"be frank, and tell me kindly what you thought." "Why I knew that you admired my cousin, and I feared-pshaw-I mean that I thought you loved her," and she sighed again. "Who sees such greatness?" asked Gordon. "O no, I could never love a block of marble, even if "It has sometimes been conspicuous on earth, as in moulded into a Venus," said Gordon. "Believe me, the case of Howard, Peter the Great of Russia, Wil-sweet Alice, there must be some signs of sensibilityberforce, Clarkson, Mrs. Fry, and multitudes of others," some little warmth of feeling, to awaken the affections said Montague. "But no matter whether it is seen by of my heart. I could never love the twin-sister to the the world or not, provided its influence be felt. And snow, and such I take Miss Claremont to be." there is no one, capable of moral action, who has not VOL. II.-12 "So you are going to take an airing this morning, Commodore!" said Montague, as he saw the old man getting into a wagon in the street. "Now that is the most provoking thing I ever knew you do, cousin Hubert!" said Alice. "But I will find out, if I go to Delanty's on purpose!" "But I tell you they do not know, Alice; and beside, "Yes, Squire; you see I am taken from my work"holding out a lame foot-"and so I am going on some if a motive of benevolence would not draw you to them, business into the country." "How long have you been lame? and what is the matter with your foot?" asked Montague. "I sprained it a fortnight ago, sir-and it is almost the same as well now-only Miss Margarette made me promise not to try to use it too soon." "Miss Margarette ?-Margarette Claremont ?" said Montague. "Does she advise you about your lame ness?" "Yes, and more than that, Mr. Montague, for, under Providence, she has cured it. There hasn't been a day since I hurt it, in which she has not come and tended it herself, bathing it with her own little hands, in a medicine she brought a-purpose. I couldn't put her off, Mr. Montague! And when she has so patiently and kindly sat, with the old man's foot in her lap, I'll tell you what I thought; I thought-here is the very spirit of Him who said-'If I, then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, ye ought also to wash one another's feet'—and the tears ran down my old cheeks whether I would or no." There was a slight rising in Montague's throat, but he checked it, and inquired-"How far the Commodore was going." "I don't know exactly, Squire, as I am going to buy a cow, and want to hunt up a pretty good one." "A cow!" said Montague-"What in the world can you do with a cow ?" 'Why, she isn't for my own use, Mr. Montague, though she is to be kind o' mine-but that's neither here nor there, and I must be going, as I want to get back in good season. Good day, Squire," and the Commodore drove off. when they were in distress, pray do not let so poor a one as curiosity procure them a visit, now that they are comparatively happy." Margarette stayed by most perseveringly this morning. She would have given almost any thing would Alice have left the room, if only for one minute. Great was her satisfaction when her cousin hastily rose, saying-"I entirely forgot to send Mrs. Frost the pattern of my new pelerine. I must do it this moment." She had scarcely closed the door, ere Margarette said, "I must do away the mistake under which you labor, Mr. Montague. The Delantys are indebted to my uncle, and not to me. I was only the channel through which his bounty flowed." "Mr. Claremont was then Mrs. Delanty's nurse!" said Montague, smiling. "O no, not that-but the clothing and the cow were purchased with his money." “I understand it perfectly," said Montague. “I have seen my cousin's neck, encircled by a pearl-necklace ; but Miss Claremont preferred relieving the sufferings of a poor Irish family, to adorning her own person." "But Mr. Montague!" said Margarette. "But Miss Claremont !" said Montague, laughing. "Very well," said Margarette, in great perplexity what to say," you must think as you will." "I will think as I must," said Montague,-"and bid you good morning." A few weeks after the above conversation took place, Mr. Claremont, on returning from a morning's ride, was thrown from his horse, a few rods from his own door, and was brought in, apparently lifeless. At the appalA few days after this, when Montague was one morn-ling spectacle, both his nieces obeyed the impulse of ing at Mr. Claremont's, it came into Alice's mind to in- nature, and turned to fly. But Margarette had scarcely quire after his protégés, the Delanty's. begun her retreat, ere she returned. "I must face it," thought she, "however dreadful! kind heaven sustain me!" Without much apparent agitation, she gave directions, and assisted in conveying her uncle to his room; and before medical aid could arrive, employed herself in examining his limbs, to ascertain whether they were broken, and then in chafing his hands and head, to produce, if possible, some signs of life. All beside herself, seemed nearly delirious from fright. "O, they are all well, and in comparatively comfortable circumstances," said Montague. "They have found a very kind friend, who has furnished them with comfortable clothing, besides lending them a cow. Should they be the survivors, I think they would canonize her," added he, smiling. "Her!" said Alice. "Is it a lady, then ?" "Yes, the same young lady that I told you assisted in nursing the mother. I wish you could hear them express their gratitude, in their own emphatic dialect, with their strong Irish feelings?" The news of the accident flew like wild-fire, and in twenty minutes Montague was at the house. He found Alice in the parlor, walking the floor, and wringing her "It is strange who it can be," said Alice. "Have hands, in an agony of distress, constantly exclaimingthey not yet found out?" "It seems she has been very careful to conceal her name," said Montague, "as they have not yet learned it. But yesterday I was there, and they pointed her out to me, as she at that moment chanced to pass by." "And did you know her, Hubert ?" eagerly inquired Alice. "my dear uncle!"-"my poor, dear uncle." In answer to Montague's hasty inquiries, she exclaimed "O, he is dead!—my dear, dear uncle!—and what will become of his own poor Alice?-doubly-doubly an orphan ?" Montague hastened to Mr. Claremont's room, hopeless of learning any thing of his situation from his cou"I did," said Montague, "but I did not tell them, sin. The physician and surgeon were both there, and as she seems so desirous to 'do good by stealth,' and there was Margarette-pale as a statue, and appawould doubtless blush to find it fame'-and neither rently as firm, supporting her uncle's head on her bowill I tell you, cousin Alice," he added, as Margarette som. There was a deathlike silence in the room, cast on him a look of mingled distress and supplication. while the medical gentlemen were endeavoring to re store animation; while all feared that their endeavors | "Her sensibility results in good to no one, for she has would prove useless. A groan at length announced no sympathy. Her character used to interest me, until that the vital spark was not extinguished, and Mr. I saw it contrasted with one so much more valuableClaremont opened his eyes on his niece. so much more exalted!-It was you, my dearest wife, "Dear uncle,” said Margarette, “do you know me ?" who first taught me the strong distinction betwixt sym"Margarette!" murmured Mr. Claremont. pathy and sensibility,—and how utterly useless the lat“Away with her, Mr. Montague," said the physi- | ter is, when unaccompanied by the former. With Alice, cian-" she is gone!" it is not love for Gordon, but self-love that is the cause Montague clasped her in his arms, and bore her out of her thus pining. Let some other romantic looking of the room, while a servant hastened after with resto-knight appear, and sue for her hand, and her affections ratives. "She must be mine!" thought Montague, as would be at once transformed. Should no such one aphe supported her lifeless frame, while the servant resorted pear, she will by degrees degenerate into a peevish, to the usual means of restoration,-" she must be mine! useless, discontented, burdensome old maid. And Such benevolence without ostentation,—such firmness the best advice I could give to any young lady of and deep feeling,-such exalted worth and true humili- great sensibility, and who would be either useful or ty, are a rare combination! She must be my own!" happy, is-That she should strive to forget her own Mr. Claremont was scarcely able to leave his room, sorrows, whether real or imaginary, and expend her to which he was confined several weeks, ere Montague sympathies on the afflictions and distresses of her felasked him, if he would bestow upon him his niece. low-creatures. By so doing, the benevolence of her "Yes, take her Montague," said Mr. Claremont, heart would be constantly expanding, until she would "take her as the choicest treasure one man ever bestow-on earth approximate to the character of an angel,ed on another. I know no man but yourself, worthy of and when the summons came, would drop the garment her hand and heart." of mortality, and shine a seraph in eternal day." An almost convulsive pressure of the hand, was the only sign of gratitude Montague could give. Well, who was at the wedding ?-and when did it take place?—It took place in a few months, and a large company was assembled,-for Mr. Claremont hated a private wedding. The Black Prince was one of the guests. "Are they not a beautiful-a fine-looking couple, Mr. Gordon?" said Alice, after the great cake was cut, and the congratulations were over. “O, yes”—said Gordon-" as fine pieces of statuary as one could wish to look upon! Montague, indeed, has fire enough—the more fortunate for him, for a deal it must have taken to thaw the ice of your cousin!" "They are both a little singular," said Alice, "yet they love each other tenderly. How happy they will be! How sweet life must be, when congenial hearts are thus united forever!" "Yes,-perhaps so-but after all, sweet Alice, it is better to do, as you and I do-love each other, and still be free! I would not link my fate with that of any woman in the world. I am quite sure, that I should hate even you, sweetest,-angel as you are, could you call me husband. O, there is something killing to all romance, in the very sound of that word!-Do you not agree with me, dearest ?" S. H. There is little merit in the following lines besides that rare merit in poetry, their truth. They were written in the place of the writer's nativity, where he had They were written in a house just purchased, and from at length settled down, after an absence of thirty years. which the former owner had not yet removed his famiShe was young, beautiful, accomplished, newly marly, and were inserted in the Album of his daughter. ried, and wealthy. Though confined to her room by bad health, she was preparing for a voyage to Europe, since happily accomplished. ΤΟ We met as strangers, Lady, tho' the scenes Alice could not utter a syllable-but cast on him a My infant's cheek; and see her little hands heart-rending look of mingled disappointment, mortifi-Rich with the gifts thy kindness has bestowed. cation and astonishment!-"False!-ungrateful! cru- And this is all: but there is more than this el!" at length she murmured-and hastened to her That with a link of sympathy connects chamber, at once to indulge and conceal the bitterness My heart with thee, as if some common lot, of her feelings. Some common spell of destiny had bound Our fates in one. And we have much in common. "Alice is mourning herself to death, for that worth-The hope that guides thy steps to distant lands, less, heartless Gordon," said Margarette to Montague, some time after their marriage. "She is doing what she has ever done," said Montague-" thinking only of herself, and cherishing feelings that are totally destructive of all that is valuable in character." "She has keen sensibility," said Margarette. In quest of pleasures, such as boundless wealth, Where the fierce savage whets the vengeful knife |