152 MRS. SYKES. my lamented friend, or I might say rather an unwil- this mysterious impulse. The grave was opened, the lingness to be found alone with her in such a peculiar battery was applied secuudem artem—and the result is situation, also induced me to prevent if possible the the restoration to society of our beloved Mrs. Sykes. retreat of Grizzle, and I fastened with some degree of In proportion to her horror at the idea that she must violence upon his projecting queue. It was fortunate have rested from her labors but for my skill, was her in so far as regarded Grizzle, that art in this instance gratitude for this timely rescue. She fell on my neck had supplanted nature. His wig, of which the queue and clung like one demented, till a gathering frown on formed no inconsiderable portion, was all that my hand the face of my spouse warned me of the necessity of retained. Had it been otherwise, such was the tenaci-repelling her embraces. Mrs. Sykes was now desirous ty of my grasp on the one hand, and such his momen- of returning immediately home, to restore, as it were, tum on the other that Grizzle must have left the natu- life to her bereaved consort, who was no doubt mournral ornament of his cerebrum, while I, though unjust-ing at his desolation, and refusing to be comforted. ly, must have been charged with imitating our heath- But here I felt it my duty to interpese. "My dear enish aborigines. As it was his bald pate shot out from Mrs. Sykes," said I, "your return at this moment beneath it with the velocity of a discharged ball; nor would overwhelm him. The sudden change from the was the similitude to that engine of carnage at all lowest depths of woe to a state of ecstacy, would conlessened when I heard its rebounds upon the stairs, sign him to the tenement you have just quitted. No! How long I remained overwhelmed by the wonderful this extraordinary Providence must be gradually unscenes which I had just witnessed I cannot tell; but folded." She yielded at last to my sage councils, and on recovering, I found that Mrs. Sykes had been consented to wait till the violence of his grief had someremoved to my best chamber, and Job and Mrs. what abated, and his mind had become sufficiently Tonic both busily engaged about her person. They tranquil to hear the tale which I was cautiously to rehad, as I afterwards ascertained, by bathing her feet late. On the following day, however, her anxiety to and rubbing her with hot flannels, wrought a change return had risen to a high pitch, and truly by evening almost miraculous; and the effects of the laudanum it was beyond my control. She was firin in the belief having happily subsided, she appeared, when I enter that I could make the disclosure without essential ined, as in her pristine state. At that moment they were jury to the Deacon; "besides," as she remarked, about administering a composing draught, which un- "there was no knowing how much waste there had doubtedly she needed, having received several severe been in the kitchen." It was settled at last that I contusions on the stairway, in our endeavors to extri- should immediately walk over to the Deacon's, and by. cate Grizzle. But rushing forward, I exclaimed, a judicious train of reflection, for which I was admira"thanks to Heaven that I again see that cherished bly fitted, prepare the way for this joyous meeting. face! Thanks that I have been the instrument, under When I arrived at the house of mourning, though perProvidence, of restoring to society its brightest orna- haps the last person in the world entitled to the name ment! Be composed, my dear Mrs. Sykes, ask no of evesdropper, yet as my eye was somewhat askance questions to night, unless you would frustrate all my as I passed the window, I observed a spectacle that for labors." Then presenting to her lips an opiate, in a a time arrested my footsteps. There sat the Deacon, short time I had the satisfaction of seeing her sink recounting probably the virtues of the deceased partner, into a tranquil slumber. and there, not far apart, sat the widow Dobble sympaAs I considered it all important that the matter thizing in his sorrows. It struck me that Deacon should be kept a profound secret till I had arranged my Sykes was not ungrateful for her consolatory efforts; plans, and as Mrs. Tonic had in a remarkable degree for he took her hand with a gentle pressure and held that propensity which distinguishes woman, I was it to his bosom. Perhaps it was the unusual mode of under the necessity of making her privy to the whole dress now exhibited by the widow Dobble, that led him transaction, trusting that the probable ruin to my reto this act; for she was decked out in Mrs. Sykes' best putation consequent on an exposure would effectually frilled cap, and such is the waywardness of fancy, he bridle her unruly member. My venerable friend, too, might for the moment have imagined that his help-I invited for a few days to my own mansion, lest the mate was beside him. Be that as it may, while I was bruises he received during his exodus from the dissect- thus complacently regarding this interchange of friending room might have deprived him of his customary ly feelings, the cry of "you vile hussy," suddenly rang caution. The last and most difficult step was to pre- in my very ear, and the next instant, the door having pare the mind of Mrs. Sykes, who was yet in nubibus been burst open, who should stand before the astonishas to her new location. With great caution, I gradu-ed couple but the veritable Mrs. Sykes! The Deacon ally unfolded the strange event that had just transpired leaped as if touched in the pericardium, and essayed →her sudden apparent death, the alarm of the village to gain the door; but in his transit his knees denied. touching the miasma, and the consequent sudden in their office, and he sank gibbering as his hand was, terment. "Your exit, my dear Mrs. Sykes," I con- upon the latch. As to the terrified widow Dobble, L tinued, "seemed like a dream-I could not realize it. might say with Virgilius, steteruntque comae, her combs Such an irreparable loss! I thought of all the remedies stood up; for the frilled cap was displaced with no little that had been applied in such cases. Had any thing violence, and with an agonizing shriek she fell, appabeen omitted that had a tendency to increase the cirrently in articulo mortis, on the body of the Deacon culation of the radical fluid? There was the galvanic What a lamentable scene! and all in consequence of battery-it had been entirely overlooked, and yet what the rashness and imprudence of Mrs. Sykes. No wonders it had performed! No sooner had this thought sooner had I left my own domicil than Mrs. Sykes, occurred to my mind than I was impressed with the regardless of my admonitions, resolved on following conviction that you were to revisit this mundane my steps, and was actually peeping over my shoulder sphere, and that I was the chosen instrument to en- at the moment the Deacon's hand came in contact kindle the vital spark. No time was lost in obeying with the widow Dobble's. It was truly fortunate for all concerned that a distinguished member of the faculty was near at this dreadful crisis. In ordinary hands nothing could have prevented a quietus. Thei spirits were taking wing, and it was only by extraordinary skill that I effected what lawyer Snoodles said was a complete "stoppage in transitu." I regret to state that this was my last visit to Deacon Sykes'. Unmindful of my services in resuscitating Mrs. Sykes, he remarked that my neglect to prepare him for the exceeding joy that was in store, had so far shattered his nervous system that his usefulness was over, and, in fine, had built up between us a wall of separation not to be broken down. I always opined, however, and of this opinion was Mrs. Tonic, that the Deacon's coldness arose in part from an incipient warmth for Mrs. Dobble, which was thus checked in its first stages. It was even hinted that on her departure, which took place immediately, he manifested less of resignation than at the burial of Mrs. Sykes. The coldness of the widow Dobble toward me, certainly unmerited, was also no less apparent, till I brought about what I had much at heart, viz. a match between her and Major Popkin. He was a discreet, forehanded man, a representative to our general court, and kept the variety store in that part of our town, that was named, in honor of him, "Popkins' Corner."* * From the papers of Doctor Tonic, recently brought to light. THE STORM-GOD. We have two objections to the following spirited poem sent us from Brunswick, Maine. One is, the subject does not entirely suit us, and the other, that it is a little too long; too much spun out. Still we are disposed to publish it, for it has a great deal of artistical merit. Its verification is very easy and graceful, and it abounds in strength and happy expression. We infer from the diffident tenor of the letter accompanying it, that it is from a young writer; and if so, we think it betokens a high degree of poetic ability. We should be happy to hear from him again. THE STORM-GOD. Gloomily wailed the moaning wind, Right loud and gloomily On whirled the dusky murky clouds, Like a spectre-band from the spirit land As they flew with the speed of a maddened steed With a car of cloud, and with steeds of air, Through the bright green tree tops sighing, Through the summer azure flying, Sing not to me of rippling streams, And their tiny wavelets plashing, On the golden sand of a sunny land!Tell not of the merry dashing Of the bright cascade, in the everglade, Oh tell me not of your music sweet! Or the wailing moan of the trumpet's tone I ride there ever-unseen my form; I ride the wide creation o'er; And I rule the course of the storm-wind wild, What though the cries of the hapless rise To sink to their grave in the deep, deep, sea, As the gugling brine stops the life blood warm; And these were its words, for I marked them well And the tempest rages at his command! No joy to him is the sorrow tone Thou lov'st, of the weak, when their hope is gone.. 153. REVOLUTIONARY RELIC. 154 of Brandywine, by the Rev. Joab Prout, to a large por- Brynewood Farm, Chester co. } REVOLUTIONARY SERMON. "They that take the sword shall perish by the sword." SOLDIERS AND COUNTRYMEN-We have met this evening perhaps for the last time. We have shared the toil of the march, the peril of the fight, the dismay of the retreat-alike we have endured cold and hunger, the contumely of the internal foe, and outrage of the foreign oppressor. We have sat, night after night, beside the same camp fire, shared the same rough soldier's fare; we have together heard the roll of the reveille, which called us to duty, or the beat of the tattoo, which gave the signal for the hardy sleep of the soldier, with the earth for his bed; the knapsack for his pillow. And now, soldiers and brethren, we have met in the peaceful valley on the eve of battle, while the sunlight is dying away beyond yonder heights, the sunlight that to-morrow morn, will glimmer on scenes of blood. We have met, amid the whitened tents of our encampment; in times of terror and of gloom, have we gathered together-God grant it may not be for the last time. It is a solemn moment. Brethren, does not the solemn voice of nature seem to echo the sympathies of the hour? The flag of our country droops heavily from yonder staff, the breeze has died away along the green plain of Chadd's Ford-the plain that spreads before us, glistening in sunlight-the heights of the Brandywine arise gloomy and grand beyond the waters of yonder stream, and all nature holds a pause of solemn silence, on the eve of the uproar of the bloodshed and strife of to-morrow. "They that take the sword shall perish by the sword." And have they not taken the sword? Let the desolated plain, the blood-sodden valley, the burned farm house, blackening in the sun, the sacked village, and the ravaged town, answer-let the whitening bones of the butchered farmer, strewn along the fields of his homestead, answer-let the starving mother, with the babe clinging to the withered breast, that can afford no sustenance, let her answer, with the death rattle mingling with the murmuring tones, that mark the last struggle for life-let the dying mother and her babe answer! It was but a day past and our land slept in the light of peace. War was not here: wrong was not here. Fraud, and woe, and misery, and want, dwelt not among us. From the eternal solitude of the green woods, arose the blue smoke of the settler's cabin, and golden fields of corn looked forth from amid the waste of the wilderness, and the glad music of human voices awoke the silence of the forest. Now! God of mercy, behold the change! Under the shadow of a pretext, under the sanctity of the name of God, invoking the Redeemer to their aid, do these foreign hirelings slay our people! They throng our towns, they darken our plains, and now they encompass our posts on the lonely plain of Chadd's Ford. "They that take the sword shall perish by the sword." Brethren think me not unworthy of belief, when I tell you that the doom of the Britisher is near! Think me not vain, when I tell you that beyond the cloud that now enshrouds us, I see gathering, thick and fast, the darker cloud, and the blacker storm of Divine Retribution! They may conquer us on the morrow. Might and wrong may prevail, and we may be driven from this field-but the hour of God's own vengeance will come! Aye, if in the vast solitudes of eternal space, if in the heart of the boundles universe, there throbs the being of an awful God, quick to avenge, and sure to punish guilt, then will the man, George of Brunswick, called King, feel in his brain and in his heart, the vengeance of the Eternal Jehovah! A blight will be upon his life --a withered brain, an accursed intellect; a blight will be upon his children, and on his people. Great God! how dread the punishment! A crowded populace, peopling the dense towns where the man of money thrives, while the laborer starves; want striding among the people in all its forms of terror; an ignorant and God defying priesthood chuckling over the miseries of millions; a proud and merciless nobility adding wrong to wrong, and heaping insult upon robbery and fraud: royalty corrupt to the very heart; aristocracy rotten to the core; crime and want linked hand in hand and tempting men to deeds of woe and death-these are a part of the doom and the retribution that shall come upon the English throne and the English people! Soldiers-I look around upon your familiar faces with a strange interest! To-morrow morning we will all go forth to battle-for need I tell you that your unworthy minister will march with you, invoking God's aid in the fight?-we will march forth to battle! Need I exhort you to fight the good fight, to fight for your homesteads, and for your wives and children? My friends, I might urge you to fight by the galling memories of British wrong! Walton-I might tell you of your father butchered in the silence of midnight on the plains of Trenton; I might picture his grey hairs dabbled in blood; I might ring his death shriek in your ears. Shelmire, I might tell you of a mother butchered, and a sister outraged-the lonely farm house, the night assault, the roof in flames, the shouts of the troopers, as they despatched their victim, the cries for mercy, the pleadings of innocence for pity. I might paint this all again, in the terrible colors of the vivid reality if I thought your courage needed such wild excitement. But I know you are strong in the might of the Lord. You will go forth to battle on the morrow with light hearts and determined spirits, though the solemn duty, the duty of avenging the dead-may rest heavy on your souls. And in the hour of battle when all around is darkness, lit by the lurid cannon glare, and the piercing musket flash, when the wounded strew the ground, and the dead litter your path, then remember, soldiers, that God is with you. The Eternal God fights for you he rides on the battle cloud, he sweeps onward with the march of the hurricane charge-God, the Awful and the infinite fights for you and you will triumph. "They that take the sword shall perish by the sword." You have taken the sword, but not in the spirit of wrong and ravage. You have taken the sword for your homes, for your wives, for your little ones. You have taken the sword for truth, for justice and right, and to you the promise is, be of good cheer, for your foes have taken the sword in defiance of all that TRINITY COLLEGE. man holds dear, in blasphemy of God-they shall sand per annum. Up he came. "What! can I beperish by the sword. lieve my eyes? George? what the do you here? Tandem, too, by.” (I leave blanks for the significant accompaniments dropped from his mouth like pearls and rubies in the fairy tale, when he was in a passion.) I have it, thought I, as an idea crossed my mind, which I resolved to follow. I looked right and left, as it was not possible if it could be me he was addressing. "What! you don't know me, you young dog? Don't you know your uncle? Why, sir, in the name of common sense-pshaw ! you've done with that. Why, in name, a'nt you at Cambridge ?" And now, brethren aud soldiers I bid you all farewell. If any of us may fall in the fight of to-morrow -God rest the souls of the fallen-many of us may live to tell the story of the fight of to-morrow, and in the memory of all will ever rest and linger the quiet scene of this autumnal night. Solemn twilight advances over the valley; the woods on the opposite heights fling their long shadows over the green of the meadow-around us are the tents of the continental host, the suppressed bustle of the camp, the stillness and silence that marks the eve of battle. When we meet again, may the long shadows of twilight be flung over a peaceful land. God in heaven grant it. Let us pray. Make the man of our hearts strong in thy wisdom; bless, we beseech, with renewed life and strength, our hope and thy instrument, even GEORGE WASHINGTON-shower thy counsels on the Honorable the Continental Congress; visit the tents of our host, comfort the soldier in his wounds and afflictions, nerve him for the fight, prepare him for the hour of death. And in the hour of defeat, oh! God of Hosts, do thou be our stay, and in the hour of triumph be thou our guide, PRAYER OF THE REVOLUTION. Great Father, we bow before thee. We invoke thy blessing we deprecate thy wrath, we return thee thanks for the past, we ask thy aid for the future. For we are in times of trouble, oh! Lord, and sore beset by foes, merciless and unpitying; the sword gleams over our land, and the dust of the soil is dampened with the blood of our neighbors and friends Seeing he was getting energetic, I began to be apprehensive of a scene; and resolved to drop the curtain at once. "Really, sir," said I with as brazen a look as I Oh! God of mercy, we pray thy blessing on the a American arms. could summon upon emergency, "I have not the honor of your acquaintance." His large eyes assumed fixed stare of astonishment. "I must confess you have the advantage of me. Excuse me; but to my knowledge, I never saw you before." A torrent I perceived was coming. "Make no apologies, they are Your next rencontre will, I hope, be unnecessary. is like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. Bye, more fortunate, though your country cousin in London bye, old buck." The cart was removed and I drove off, yet not without seeing him, in a paroxysm of rage, half frightful, half ludicrous, toss his hat on the ground, hearing him exclaim, "He disowns me! the jackanapes! disowns his own uncle, by - !" finished stroke of impudence is present, at this inPoor Philip Chichester's look of amazement at this stant to my memory. I think I see his face, which at no time had more expression than a turnip, assume that air of a pensive simpleton which he so often and so successfully exhibited over an incomprehensible Dished completely. What could induce you to be such problem in "Principe." "Well! you've done it. a blockhead ?" said he. "The family of blockheads, my dear Phil," I replied, "is far too creditably established in society to render their alliance disgraceful. I'm proud to belong to so prevailing a party." "Pshaw! this is no time for joking. What's to be done?" , "Why, when does a man want a joke, Phil, but when he is in trouble? However, adieu to badinage, and hey for Cambridge instantly." "L Cambridge?" Teach us to be merciful. Though the memory of galling wrongs be at our hearts knocking for admittance, and they may fill us with desires for revenge, yet let us, oh! Lord, spare the vanquished, though they never spared us, in their hour of butchery and bloodshed. And, in the hour of death, do thou guide us into the abode prepared for the blest; so shall we return thanks unto thee, through Christ, our Redeemer-God prosper the Cause.-Amen. 155 TRINITY COLLEGE. CAMBRIDGE, ENG., FIFTY YEARS AGO. It was a lovely morning; a remittance had arrived in the very nick of time; my two horses were in excellent condition; and I resolved, with a College chum to put in execution a long-cherished scheme of driving to London tandem. We sent our horses forward, got others at Cambridge, aud tossing Algebra and Anarcharsis "to the dogs," started in high spirits. We ran up to London in style-went ball pitch to the play -and, after a quiet breakfast at the St. James's, set out with my two horses upon a dashing drive through the west end of the town. We were turning down the Haymarket, when whom, to my utter horror and consternation, should I see crossing to meet us, but my old warm-hearted, but severe and peppery, uncle, Sir Thomas To escape was impossible. A cart before, and two carriages behind, made us stationary; and I mentally resigned all idea of ever succeeding to his five thou "At Cambridge, sir?" said I. "At Cambridge, sir," he repeated, mimicking my affected astonishment! "Why, I suppose you never was at Cambridge! Oh! you young spendthrift; is this the manner you dispose of my allowance? Is this the way you read hard? you young profligate, you young you." "In the twinkling of an eye-not a moment to be lost. My uncle will post there with four horses instantly; and my only chance of avoiding that romantic misfortune of being cut off with a shilling is to be there before him." Without settling the bill at the inn, or making a single arrangement, we dashed back to Cambridge." Never shall I forget the mental anxiety I endured on my way there. Every thing was against us. A heavy rain had fallen in the night, and the roads were wretched, the traces broke-turnpike-gates were shutdroves of sheep and carts impeded our progress; but 156 THE SQUIRE AND HIS LADY. in spite of all these obstacles we reached the College in less than six hours "Has Sir Thomas been here?" said I to the porter, with an agitation I could not conceal. "No, sir." Phil thanked God and took courage. though they knew each other by sight and reputation, yet, never having been formally introduced, like two simpletons, they looked at each other in silence, and left the mountain separately and without speaking; and that cracked fellow-commoner, Meadow, had shown me a caricature, taken from life, representing a Cambridge man drowning, and another gownsman standing on the brink, exclaiming, Oh! that I had had the honor of being introduced to that man, that I might have taken the liberty of saving him!" But, it, thought I, he never would carry it so far with his own uncle! I never heard your father was a gay man,” continued he, musing; "yet, as you sit in that light, the likeness is-" I moved instantly. "But it's impossible, you know it's impossible. Come my dear fellow, income: I must get some dinner. Who could he be? Never were two people more alike!" "If he does, tell him so and so," said I, giving veracious Thomas his instructions, and putting a guinea into his hand to sharpen his memory. "Phil, my dear fellow, don't show your face out of College for this fortnight. You twig! God bless you! I had hardly time to get to my room, to have my toga and trencher beside me, Newton and Aristotle before me, optics, mechanics, and hydrostatics, strewed around in learned profusion, when my uncle drove up to the gate. "Porter, I want to see Mr. -," said he; "is he the room?" "Yes, sir; I saw him take a heap of books there ten minutes ago." This was not the first bouncer the Essence of Truth, as Thomas was known through College, had told for me; nor the last he got well paid for. "Ay! very likely; reads very hard, I dare say?" "No doubt of that, I belive, sir," said Thomas, as bold as brass. "You audacious fellow! how dare you look in my face and tell me such a deliberate falsehood? You know he's not in College!" "Not in College! sir, as I hope". None of your hopes or fears to me. Show me his rooms. If two hours ago I did not see. See him; yes, I've seen him, and he's seen the last of me." We dined at an inn and spent the evening together; and, instead of the fifty, the "last fifty," he generously gave me a draft for three times the amount. He left Cambridge the next morning, and his last words were as he entered his carriage, "My brother was a handsome man; and there was a Lady Somebody, who, the world said, was partial to him. She may have a son. Most surprising likeness. God bless you. Read hard, you young dog; remember. Like as two brothers!" I never saw him again. His death, which happened a few months afterwards, in consequence of his being bit in a bet contracted when he was a "little elevated," left me heir to his fine estate: I wish I could add, to his many and noble virtues. I do not attempt to paliate deception. It is alHe had now reached my rooms; and never shall I ways criminal. But, I am sure, no severity, no reforget his look of astonishment, of amazement border-proaches, would have had half the effect which his ing on incredulity, when I calmly came forward, took kindness, his confidence, and his generosity wrought his hand, and welcomed him to Cambridge. "My on me. It reformed me thoroughly and at once. I did dear sir, how are you? What lucky wind has blown not see London again till I had graduated; and if my you here?" degree was unaccompanied by brilliant honors, it did "What, George! who-what-why-I can't believe not disgrace my uncle's liberality, or his name. Many my eyes!" years have elapsed since our last interview; but I nev"How happy I am to see you!" I continued; "hower reflect on it without pain and pleasure-pain, that kind of you to come! how well you're looking!" "How people may be deceived! My dear George, (speaking rapidly,) I met a fellow in a tandem, in the Haymarket, so like you in every particular, that I hailed him at once. The puppy disowned me-affected to cut a joke and drove off. Never was more taken off my stilts. I came down directly, with four post-horses, to tell your tutor-to tell the master-to tell all the College, that I would have nothing more to do with you; that I would be responsible for your debts no longer; to enclose you fifty pounds, and disown you forever." "My dear sir, how singular!" "Singular! I wonder at perjury no longer, for my part. I would have gone into any court of justice, and taken my oath it was you. I never saw such a likeness. The air, the height, the voice, all but the manner, and—that was not yours. No, no, you never would have treated your old uncle so." "How rejoiced I am that ". "Rejoiced; so am I. I would not but have been undeceived for a thousand guineas. Nothing but seeing you here so quiet, so studious, surrounded by problems, would have convinced me. Egad! I can't tell you how I was startled. I have been told some queer stories, to be sure, about your Cambridge etiquette. I heard that two Cambridge men, one of St John's, the other of Trinity, had met on the top of Vesuvius, and that, our last interview on earth should have been marked by THE SQUIRE AND HIS LADY. AMONG those whom I knew, when as yet young life had scacely felt the burden of a care or the bitterness of a disappointment, were the 'Squire and his Lady. In those days, a village 'squire was allowed by universal consent to be a man of great importance; and, generally speaking, as much deference was paid to him, and as much homage duly rendered, as might have satisfied any ordinary claimant to such honors in the high and palmy days of British feudalism. The peasantry and farmers of our neighborhood. were in no wise lacking in matters of rural etiquette, which, however, did not extend much beyond the doffed hat, the low bow, or the modest curtesy; and nothing could surpass the alacrity with which their little stock of "good manners" and suitable terms of address were put in requisition, whenever the 'squire or his lady was to be approached or spoken unto. Let not my readers, however, mistake all this for mere ob |