raised up, the cutlass-cut across his brow bound up, and he was then carried to Mat's house in a state of insensibility. The operation for trephine was performed upon him, and for a month he was delirious. He then recovered, and, to use his own expression, "bore up from the lee shore of sickness, with every sail he could crowd, for the port of health and spliceation." A short time after Rose and Denis became one, and two or three of the mayors of F were the lineal descendants of the Irish smuggler and his pretty Rose. The intervention of the king's men was owing to a rejected rival of Denis having betrayed them. He was discovered, and met the fate of a traitor. One misty night, soon after the run, he fell from a cliff seven hundred feet high. Not one atom of his body was found in its original shape. Rose had influence enough over her commander and father to prevail on them not to tempt the peril of the free-trade again, and accordingly her namesake was sold. And thus ended the Rose's "First and Last Run:" and now the web of our yarn is wove, and, to conclude with the words of the oriental sage, kind and gentle reader, who hast followed us thus far, "may your shadow never be less." -East Lothian Journal.

TO A YOUNG GIRL.

Sweetest! if thy fairy hand
Culls for me the latest flowers,
Smiling hear me thus demand
Blessings for thy early hours:

Be thy promised spring as bright As its opening charms foretell; Graced with beauty's lovely light, Modest virtue's dearer spell.

Be thy summer's matron bloom
Bless'd with blossoms sweet like thee;
May no tempest's sudden doom

Blast thy hope's fair nursery!

May thine autumn, calm, serene,
Never want some lingering flower,
Which affection's hand may glean,
Though the darkling mists may lower!

Sunshine cheer thy wintry day, Tranquil conscience, peace, and love; And thy wintry nights display

Streams of glorious light above.

MRS. TIGHE.

THE BURIED LIFE.

[Matthew Arnold, born at Laleham, near Staines,

Middlesex, 24th December, 1822. He is a son of the late Dr. Thomas Arnold, the eminent head-master of Rugby School, and is the Inspector of Schools under

the Council of Education. From 1857 till 1867 he was professor of poetry at the Oxford University. It is as an essayist that Mr. Arnold exercises most influence upon his age, although as a poet he has won many laurels, His poems are for the most part purely reflective, and are characterized by earnest thought and profound sympathy with the hopes and efforts of his fellows The Edinburgh Review says: "For combined culture and fine natural feeling in the matter of versification, Mr. Arnold has no living superior." A complete edition of his poetical works in two volumes has been published following extract is made. Amongst his prose works are: Essays in Criticism; Schools and Universities on the Continent; and A French Eton, or Middle Class Ederetion and the State.]

by Macmillan, from the second volume of which the

Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there's a something in this breast
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay stiles no anodyne;
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love, thy inmost soul!

Alas, is even love too weak

To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal'd
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met

With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved

Trick'd in disguises, alien to the rest

Of men, and alien to themselves!--and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast,

But we, my love-doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts?-our voices?-must we too be dumb?

Ah! well for us, if even we,

Even for a moment, can get free

Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd;

For that which seals them hath been deep ordain`d!

Fate, which foresaw

How frivolous a baby man would be,
By what distractions he would be possess'd,
How he would pour himself in every strife,

And well-nigh change his own identity;
That it might keep from his capricious play
His genuine self, and force him to obey
Even in his own despite his being's law,
Bade through the deep recesses of our breast
The unregarded river of our life
Pursue with indiscernible flow its way;
And that we should not see

The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying at large in blind uncertainty,

Though driving on with it eternally.

But often, in the world's most crowded streets,

But often, in the din of strife,

There rises an unspeakable desire

After the knowledge of our buried life,

A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire

Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us,-to know

Whence our thoughts come and where they go.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough, alas, none ever mines!
And we have been on many thousand lines,
And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;
But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves!
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our
breast,

But they course on for ever unexpress'd!

And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well-but 'tis not true!
And then we will no more be rack'd
With inward striving, and demand
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour
Their stupefying power;

Ah yes, and they benumb us at our call!

Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the soul's subterranean depth upborne
As from an infinitely distant land,

Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey
A melancholy into all our day.

Only, but this is rare!

When a beloved hand is laid in ours,
When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,

Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen'd ear

Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd-
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would,
we know!

A man becomes aware of his life's flow,
And hears its winding murmur, and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.

And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth for ever chase
That flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows

The hills where his life rose,

And the sea where it goes.

ENGLISH MARRIAGES.

BY A PARISH CLERK.

It would not, perhaps, be unamusing to describe the vast changes in fashion which have officiated as parish clerk; but though I am not taken place during the forty years that I have an inattentive observer of dress, I have looked beyond the bridal robes, and my chief delight has been to scrutinize, I hope not impertinently, the conduct of the parties. I was much interested by the appearance of a lady who came in a splendid carriage, and attended by her friends, to our church. She was richly and elegantly attired in white lace and white satin; but no one who looked upon her countenance would ever cast a thought upon her dress again. Her form was so thin and fragile, it seemed a mere shadow; her face was of lily paleness, and she wore a look of such deep and touching melancholy, that the heart melted at the piteous sight. There was, however, no violence in her grief; her eyes were tearless, and her manner was calm. I understood that she was a great heiress, who had lately changed her name for a large fortune, and that she was of age, and her own mistress, therefore there could be no constraint employed in inducing her to approach the altar. My ears are rather quick, and I could not help overhearing a part of this lady's conversation with her bride's-maid as they walked up and down the aisle together. "I was wrong to come here," she said, in a mournful tone, "wrong to allow any persuasion to tempt me to violate the faith I have plighted to the dead. Can an oath, so sacred as that which I have sworn, ever be cancelled? I scarcely dare glance my eyes towards those dark and distant corners lest I should encounter his reproaching shade: it seems as though he must rise from the grave to upbraid me with my broken vow."

was now going to be united to her first love; but no such thing: and I was told afterwards that the young heiress was so shocked by the inconstancy of the faithless friend-for it seems that he was not aware of the report of his death, and had long ceased to trouble himself about her—that her attachment was quite cured, and she had determined to bestow her hand and fortune upon the man who best deserved them.

Pulling down her veil, she passed her hand across her eyes, and sighed heavily. Not wish ing to appear intrusive, I withdrew to the vestry-room; and shortly afterwards the bridegroom entered, accompanied by a gentleman whom he introduced as a stranger, saying that the relative who was to have attended him as the groom's-man had been suddenly taken ill, and his place unexpectedly supplied by a friend newly arrived from the Continent. He then inquired for the bride, entered the church, and led her to the altar. The clergyman opened his book, the ceremony commenced, and the lady, raising her drooping downcast head, fixed her eyes upon the stranger who stood by her intended husband's side, and uttering a wild scream, fell lifeless on the ground. We carried her immediately into the vestry, and, after many applications of hartshorn and water, she at length revived. In the interim an explanation had taken place; and I learned that in early life the bride had been engaged to the gentleman whose appearance had caused so much agitation, and whom she had long mourned as one numbered with the dead. The bridegroom did not urge the conclusion of the ceremony; and indeed the spirits of the lady had sustained too severe a shock for the possibility of going through it. Her tremor was so great that there was some difficulty in conveying her to the carriage, and the whole party retired, looking very blank and dejected.

About three months afterwards the same lady, came to church again to be married, and never in my life did I see so astonishing a change as that which had taken place in her person and demeanour. She had grown quite plump; a sweet flush suffused her face, and her eyes, instead of being sunk and hollow, were now radiantly brilliant. She stepped forward with a cheerful air, and her voice sounded joyously. If my surprise was great at this alteration, it was still greater when I looked at the bridegroom, and saw that he was the very same gentleman who came before. I thought, to be

There was something very remarkable about the next couple who came to be married. The lady was old, and the gentleman young-a mere boy of one-and-twenty going to link himself with sixty-five. And such a vinegar aspect as the bride possessed was surely never before exhibited at a wedding. She seemed conscious that she was about to do a foolish thing, and was angry that the world thought so too; the bridegroom looked sheepish, and kept his eyes on the ground, while he rapped his shoe with his cane, much to the discomfiture of the lady, who was compelled to put herself forward as he hung back, and to take his arm instead of waiting to be led to the altar. She could not conceal her mortification at the neglect she experienced, but she bridled, and tossed, and cast such bitter glances upon those who seemed disposed to smile, that all the party stood awe-struck; and when the ceremony commenced, it was rather curious to hear the bridegroom whispering his part of the service, while the sharp shrill voice of the bride was actually startling in the solemn silence of a large and nearly empty church. The contrast between this antiquated belle's yellow parchment visage and her snowy drapery was so striking that it increased her ugliness. I could think of nothing but an Egyptian mummy tricked out in white satin; and there were some sly looks amid the company when her restless fiery eyes were for a moment withdrawn, which seemed to say that some such idea was gliding through their heads. I sup pose that she had a good deal of money, for by the poor lad's manner I should think that nothing else would have induced so young a man to link himself with such a withered, and, I may say, pestilent creature.

I have seen, to be sure, many unwilling bridegrooms in my time. One, I remember, was evidently brought to church through fear of the brothers of his bride: they came, three of them, to escort the lady, as fierce as dragoon officers; and I believe one of them was in the army, for he clattered in with long spurs, and wore a brave pair of mustaches on his upper lip. The other two were stout athletic men,

the green baize door leading to the front portal. She passed behind this screen and was seen no more. I thought it very odd, but it was not my place to speak, so I returned into the vestry-room, that I might not be questioned. Presently the bridegroom arrived, and an ill-favoured gentleman he was, with a fret ful discontented countenance; and he began complaining of having been detained at home by some fool's message. After he had grumbled for a few minutes the bride was called for; she was not to be found. The father stormed. "Is this a time," he exclaimed, "to play such childish tricks? she has hidden herself in some corner." And away we all hastened in search of her. The church-doors were shut and locked, but as I passed up the gallery stairs I observed that the bolts were with drawn from that which led from the side-aisle. I did not, however, feel myself compelled to publish this discovery, though I shrewdly suspected that the reticule which had rung so loudly as it fell contained a key; and so it proved. Some time was wasted in examining the organ-loft, and indeed every place in which a mouse might have been concealed. At last somebody hit upon the truth, and a little inquiry placed the elopement beyond a doubt. We learned that a carriage had been in waiting at a corner of the street opposite to the church, and that a gentleman had been seen loitering under the portico, who, the instant that two ladies popped out, conducted them to his equipage, which moved leisurely away, while we were engaged in our unsuccessful search. Upon strict examination it came out that a pew-opener had furnished the means of obtaining a false key. It would be impossible to describe the rage and dismay of the disappointed parties: the mother went off in hysterics, the bridegroom looked sourer than ever, the father raved and swore bitterly; and the clergyman, after vainly attempting to pacify him, read him a lecture upon intemperate conduct. All those who were not related to the parties slunk away, perhaps to have their laugh out; and I take shame to myself to say that I could not help enjoying the scene, so thoroughly unamiable did those persons appear with whom the fair bride was unfortunately connected. I was anxious about the young couple, and heard with great pleasure that they got safe to Scotland.

Another young lady, forced by her parents to the altar, did not manage matters quite so cleverly. They had dressed her out, poor thing! in a ball-room attire; her beautiful hair fell in ringlets from the crown of her head down

a swan-like neck as white as snow, and these glossy tresses were wreathed with long knots of pearl, which crossed her forehead twice, and mingled in rich loops with the clustering curls. Her white arms were bare, for her gloves had been lost in the coach, and the veil had slipped from her head and hung in disorder over her shoulders. Before the carriage reached the church I saw her fair face thrust out of one of the windows as if in expectation of seeing somebody. She paused for an instant on the steps, and, unmindful of the gazing crowd, cast hur ried glances up and down the street; and even in the vestry-room, and in the church, she searched every corner narrowly with her eyes, turning round quickly at the slightest sound. Hope did not forsake her until the very last moment, when the bridegroom appeared-a tall, prim personage, who drew on his gloves very deliberately, not seeing or heeding the agonizing perturbation of his intended bride. Her movements became more hurried as her expectation of a rescue decreased. She suffered herself, as if bewildered, to be led to the communion-table, her head all the time turned over her shoulder, still watching for the arrival of some too tardy friend. But when she stood by the rails, and the actual commencement of the ceremony struck upon her ear, she seemed to awaken to a full sense of her dangerous situation; and throwing up her beautiful white arms, and tearing away the long curls from her brow, she exclaimed, with much vehemence, "No! no! no!" Her bosom heaved as though it would have burst through the satin and lace which confined it; her dark flashing eyes seemed starting from her head; her cheek was now flushed with the hue of crimson, and now pale as death, and every feature was swelled and convulsed by the tumultuous emotions which shook her frame. The tall, prim gentleman looked astounded: there was a gathering together of friends, but the bride was not to be appeased-she still continued her half-frenzied exclamation, "No! no! no!" A slight scuffle was heard outside the church, and in the next moment a fine-looking young man dashed in through the vestry-room, scarcely making two steps to the afflicted fair, who, uttering a piereing cry of joy, rushed into his outstretched arms.

The clergyman shut his book, astounded by the indecorum of these proceedings; the tall, prim gentleman opened his eyes, and seemed fumbling in his waistcoat pocket for a card: and the lovers, careless of everything but each other, clasped in a fervent embrace, had sunk down upon one of the free seats in the middle