Mr. M. Ha, ha, ha! That is rich! One of the eccentricities of genius. Mr. H. But don't say a word about it; it would so mortify her; and the present she intended to make will come in good time, for of course she had no thought of giving me a stocking. SCENE III." Blue Stocking." Mrs. H. Thank goodness, dinner is over, and Mr. Martin is gone! Mr. H. It was a capital dinner, though, and Martin is a capital fellow. Mrs. H. Yes; but to Jennie belongs the praise of the dinner, and Mr. Martin compliments too much. If Jennie had not been here, you would have dined on stale bread alone. Such a plight as I was in: I could cry now with vexation! J. Don't lay it so much to heart, Amelia. Mrs. H. I can't help it. Then I feel so dissatisfied with myself. I wish I were more like you; practical common sense is better than talent to make a home happy. I fear George's love will grow cold m Mr. H. My dearest Amelia, bless you ; but I can't think of accepting it. Mrs. H. You must; indeed you must. You say you are in trouble about your business; that will help you. Mr. H. But to take your money. Mrs H. Your own money, for I am yours, and all that I have is yours. Take it, if you love me, and remember that my pen earned it, when I am absent-minded, and the buttons are off your shirts, and the strings gone from your collars. Mr. H. I will remember everything that is good, and lovely and amiable of This money will be the saving of you. me. J. So, after all, it isn't so very bad a thing to have for a wife a Blue-Stocking! REST ABOVE. BY ANNA M. BATES. Rest in the home of the angels, Time in his flight left there. We shall rest in the home of the angeis, And the tears cloud many an eye, And O, that home of the angels, 'Tis a land of tadeless light, There the King dwells in His glory, And the saints wear robes of white; Hush! o'er the waste and the river, Their voices are floating nigh, Rest with us, pilgrim, ever, Will reward thee by-and-bye. Rest in the home of the angels O, the blessed thought we'll keep, And lead us by-and bye, 'Tis not in books, 'tis not in lore, To make us truly blest, If happiness has not her seat And centre in the breast; We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest. THE CANOE AND THE SADDLE. "THE CANOE AND THE Saddle. Adventures among the Northwestern Rivers and Forests; and Isthmiana. By THEODORE WIN THROP." Each new book of Winthrop's is hailed with admiration and delight, by a multitude of hearers, not a little heightened by the lively curiosity one cannot but feel in thus repeatedly drawing from the rich treasury left to the world by the gifted young hero. This last work has all the vigor and freshness of the previous ones. It is not a fiction, but a narrative of adventures, as the title indicates, and the writer carries you along with him in the tide of his own buoyant overflowing life. You are there in the Northwestern wilds; you hear the rushing and surging of mighty rivers; you gaze, awe struck, upon regal mountains; and behold, in his graphic word-painting, the aboriginies of the forest. Winthrop's style is peculiarly his own; not copied with careful differences from the old masters of the pen; nor built up, a glowing mosaic, in unconscious imitation of those he has read and admired. Terse, piquant, racy, it seizes hold of you with a kind of magic and makes you feel the personality of Winthrop. You can't forget Winthrop as you read; not that he is egotistical in any sense, but there is on every page, a lively presence, and you can almost catch the flash of his eye and hear the exultant tones of his voice. What a companion Winthrop must have been how joyous, ardent, genial! One feels that it would have been a rare privilege to have known him. His love of nature was genuine and enthusiastic ; he did not behold in it that breathless, ideal admiration which the highest poetic spirits sometimes feel, but with clear, open eye he gazed upon it, understanding and loving its every varying mood. Every word seems to tell on Winthrop's pages; they are clear as crystals, and though often so oddly and unexpectedly grouped, you would not change them if you could. Literary criticism is set at naught continually, and you are pleased that it is so, in proportion as you delight in the unique and original. Perhaps you think he sometimes dwells too long and frequently upon vulgar characters and coarse scenes, but after all you are bewitched into forgiving what you would scarcely tolerate in another. His quaint humor charms, and his descriptions of Nature enchain you. Hear what he says of mountains: "Poet comes long after pioneer. Mountains have been waiting, even in ancient worlds, for ages, while mankind looked upon them as high, cold, dreary, crushing, as resorts for demons, and homes of desolating storms. It is only lately, in the development of mens' comprehension of nature, that mountains have been recog nized as our noblest friends, our most exalting and inspiring comrades, our grandest emblems of divine power and divine peace.' "We had rounded a point, and opened Pugallop Bay, a breadth of sheltered calmness, when I, lifting sleepy eyelids for a dreamy stare about, was suddenly aware of a vast white shadow in the water. What cloud, piled massive on the horizon, could cast an image so sharp in outline, so full of vigorous detail of surface? No cloud, as my stare, no longer dreamy, presently discovered, no cloud, but a cloud-compel ler. It was a giant mountain dome of snow, swelling and seeming to fill the ærial spheres as its image displaced the blue depths of tranquil water. The smoky haze of an Oregon August, hid all the length of its lesser ridges, and left this mighty summit based upon uplifting dimness. Only its splendid snows were visible, high in the unearthly regions of clear blue noonday sky. The shore line drew a cineture of pines across the broad base, where it faded unreal into the mist. The same dark girth separated the peak from its reflection, over which my canoe was now pressing, and sending wavering swells to shatter the beautiful vision before it. the Columbia, Achilles of rivers, sweeps short-lived and jubilant to the seaa-above the lovely vales of Willamette and Unpqua. Of all the peaks from California to Frazer's river, this one before me was this royal Mount Regmir, Christians have dubbed it, in stupid nomenclature perpetuating the name of somebody or nobody. More melodiously the Siwashes call it Yacoma,generic term also applied to all snow peaks. Whatever keen crests and crags there may be in its rock anatomy of basalt, snow covers softly with its bends and sweeping curves. Yacoma, under its ermine, is a crushed volcanic dome, or an ancient volcano fallen in and perhaps as yet not wholly lifeless." a In another place he devotes a chapter to Yacoma, and hereafter, in the reader's imagination it stands a glorious rival of Mont Blanc. His description is beautiful as well as vivid. After painting it in it stern grandeur, he says: pure snows. “No foot of man had ever trampled its It was a virginal mountain, distant from the possibility of any human approach and human inquisitiveness as a marble goddess is from human loves. Yet marble goddess is from human loves. Yet there was nothing unsympathetic in its isolation, or despotic in its distant majesty. But this serene loftiness was no home for any deity of those that men create. Only the thought of eternal peace arose from its heaven upbearing monument like incense, and, overflowing, filled the world with deep and holy calm." Then he tells of the "infinite sweetness and charm" which the playing sunshine and soft tracery of snow gives Yacoma. "Grace played over the surface of majesty, as a drift of rose leaves wavers in the air before a summer shower, or as a wreath of rosy mist flits before the grandeur of a storm. Loveliness was sprinkled like a boon of blossoms upon sublimity The lesson that he draws is so beautiful we cannot wholly pass it over, though it is too long to quote entire. "Our lives forever demand and need visual images that can be symbols to us of the grandeur or the sweetness of repose. There are some faces that arise dreamy in our memories, and look us into calmness in our frantic moods. Fair and happy is a life that need not call upon its vague memorial dreams for such attuning, but can turn to a present reality, and ask tranquility at the shrine of a household goddess. The noble works of nature, and mountains most of all, have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal silence.' And studying the light and majesty of Yacoma, there passed from it and entered into my being, to dwell there .evermore by the side of many such a thought and an image of solemn beauty, which I could thenceforth evoke whenever in the world I must have peace or die. For such emotions, years of pilgrimage were worthily spent." Sentences Twice he gives descriptions of dawn as glowing and radiant as though his pen had been dipped in auroral flame. like polished gems are oddly strung with rough diamonds. Notice in the following sentences, and contrast them with the inquotation the melody of the first and last tervening ones, so forcible and expressive: "Tame and inarticulate is the harmony of a day that has not known the delicious prelude of dawn. For the sun, the godlike does not come blundering in the upon Nor does he bounce forth upon scene. the arena of his action, like a circus-clown. Much beautiful labor of love is done by earth and sky, preparing a pageant where their Lord shall enter." Turning from the captivating pages we have quoted, to many others in the book, is like taking the step from the sublime to the ridiculous. That spirit which had such exquisite appreciation of all things sublime or beautiful in nature, also possessed the keenest perception of the grotesque and ludicrous. In these western wilds nature was on the side of dignity and admiration, humanity on the side of burlesque and repulsiveness. One almost shudders at such close contact with the flat-faced salmon-fed, fishy-smelling Indians. Even the robes of royalty, which he humorously throws over Woven a lustrous crown, but the noble the first savages introduced, do not make them the less disgusting, and if you have ever dreamed of primeval purity and freedom of life as the heritage of the American Indian, you are disenchanted forthwith. But forget the poor denizens of the forest and read again of glorious nature. One night Winthrop is travelling in the wild woods and a terrific storm overtakes him. You are by his side, you see the lightnings flashing" revelations," and performing queer "gymnastic feats." You behold the illuminated vista before the traveller and the blazing mountain side. Then the lightning retires and the rain comes down. He tells it thus quaintly: head on which it should have rested, lies low in death, the ear on which the world's loud plaudits would have vibrated so plea santly, hears not; and the heart which Iwould have throbbed with such heart-felt pride and joy at great success, beats no more forever. These thoughts sadden you as you read. You wish he could have lived to have reaped the harvest of his sowing. You would he walked the earth an acknowledg ed peer among the sons of genius. You would gladly pay him homage, but he is beyond the sphere of human praise or blame. What were the motives that prompted him to write so much without an effort to "By this time the grandness of the scene publish? Did ambition, a shining pres were over. Madness and died pangs away into sullen grief. Passion was over; tame ence, stand by his side and point to those realities were coming. There had been a luring heights where stands the temple of majestic overture crowded with discordant Fame? Did he ever say, "Not yet, not concords, and there was nothing left for yet, bright tempter; I must do better still the opera but dull recitative. Night be before I give of my treasure to the world?” came undramatic; sulky instead of inspir- Or did he think to suddenly arise, a daz ed; grizzly instead of splendorous. Sol-zling star in the literary sky? Or was he i rain now took the place of atmosphere. half unconscious of his powers, and did he While the storm rampaged, it was adven- only write from an overflowing heart that turous and heroic to breast it; now our must have expression ? journey became an offensive plod." Winthrop and his guide become lost, and stop most unwillingly. They build at fire and luckily, for the effect it gives to the narrative, it ignites a venerable pine, and they have an impromptu display of pyrotechnics rivalling the lightning exhibition. As the flames die out and the vanquished pine is falling into white ashes, morning comes, a dull uncomfortable dawn, as ordinary people would say, but Winthrop has it thus: Many more such queries do you make, but there comes no answer from the voice less grave. Counting by years, Winthrop's life was short; counting by results, few have lived so long. And he still lives in the hearts of a grateful people. His literary fame pales beside the glory of a still nobler renown. You admire his genius, but the patriot, the hero, the martyr, calls upon your profoudest love. Vernal be his memory while Columbia's children have a literature to nurture; lov ed be his name while they have a country to defend ! M. S. DAVIS. RICHES. Every man is rich or poor according to the proportion between his desires and enjoyments; any enlargement of wishes, is therefore equally destructive to happiness, with the diminution of possession; and he that teaches another to long for what he shall never obtain, is no less an enemy to his quiet than if he had robbed him of his patrimony. I presume that you are sometimes refused by ladies who would esteem it as great a pleasure to aid this cause, as do many who contribute largely to it." her long and intimately, and there is no lady of my acquaintance, whom I think possessed of warmer or tenderer sympathies than Mrs Vinton." "If she is entitled to your favorable estimation, I can conceive of no obstacle to her contributing to the support of defenseless, homeless childhood, She is wealthy, and yet of her abundance, refuses even a pittance! You may, possibly, with reasons satisfactory to yourself, exuse her sordid indifference, but I cannot, and I regret to say, I cannot even respect her." "Excuse me, Mrs. Eberle, but I think you quite too severe in your censure of Mrs. Vinton. All who know her thoroughly, respect her highly. She is esteemed a lady of pure and Christian principles, one whose heart is ever warm with Christian love." "I should be most happy to assent to the reputation which you so unqualifiedly ascribe to her, for I wish not to be censorious or uncharitable, and would gladly know on what ground you justify her utter disregard of the orphan's cry.' "I am aware, Mrs. Weston, that many possess hearts far more liberal than their means. But I cannot suppress a feeling of surprise when a woman, blessed with wealth, and a mother withal,- -can lack the heart to bestow of her abundance toward the support of little, helpless, parentless children. I confess to a sense of mortification for, and contempt of, those of my sex who are so devoid of humanity as to refuse their aid when the object is so purely humane, and the demand so urgent as this. And further: I freely own, that I feel not only disappointed but really pained, and not a little vexed, that Mrs. Vinton, whom I confidently expect ed would rejoice at the opportunity of becoming a liberal donor to this benevolent "I ought not, I fear, to publish the enterprize, should actually, though not cause which governs, and, in my estimawithout some hesitation, 't is true, plead tion, justifies the conduct of my neighbor; her inability. And then, that she should but I venture to assure you on the authorpoint her rejection with affected regret; Iity which years of friendly intercourse has felt half disposed to resent her plea as an established of her character, that Mrs. insult to the cause I advocate. I am sad- Vinton has reasons which her most philanly at a loss to conceive how any lady, oc- thropic promptings caunot overcome, for cupying her position, can willingly hazard not contributing to the object you propose. her reputation for liberality, by refusing I am confident that it is not lack of interwhat need have cost her scarce a thought, est in, or love of humanity, that your sosave. that of pleasure to bestow. If all licitation was not readily and cheerfully were thus unfeeling and parsimonious, responded to.” what would beco ne of the indigent and unprotected?" I beg you do not, Mrs. Eberle, apply the term unfeeling,' to Mrs. Vinton; fr she assuredly merits a more lenient judgment. But truly, if all were, like her, obliged to suppress the promptings of sweet humanity, then sad indeed would be the lot of the suffering and dependent poor. I am really sorry for your disappointment, and for Mrs. Vinton, whose regret I am sure was sincere, in not being able to aid so laudable a cause as this in which you are engaged. I have knowu You excite my desire to absolve her of blame, and also, curiosity to know on what plea she may stand acquitted." "I could wish that no occasion for vindication had occurred; but I think it bet ter the truth should be known, than that one so estimable in life and character should be unfavorably regarded by the charitable and good of our community. I would gladly disabuse your mind, for I am sure you would not wilfully misjudge or prejudice the opinion of others against her.' "By no means, Mrs. Weston! I had |