It is not a proper subject for a jest,' said the mother, and then added in a whisper, 'do you know that we are nearly reduced to beggary? that we are but one step removed from degradation and want?'

I have reason to know it, replied Mortie, unpocketing one finger and making a circle on the frosted pane, for if it had not been for Spangles, curse me, if I believe we could have entertained the Greys at all: by some mystery he managed to turn several chairs and an old bureau into cash; whether he took them to his laboratory in the garret or to some gentleman with a tri-orbed symbol over the door, I know not, but he got the money and we may be thankful.'

'Spangles is invaluable to us,' said Mrs. Squiddy.

'So he is; is it not strange, ma', that there should be no clue to his parentage?'

'Very strange indeed,' replied Mrs. Squiddy, looking at the fire.

CALM is the air and still:

A sabbath quiet rests on hill and dale,
Uninterrupted, save that now and then
Rings the sharp echo of the woodman's axe,
Or sportsman's gun, in yonder forest deep.
The russet leaves lie motionless and dry,
Where the last fitful gust, or partridge drum,
Or swift flight of startled quail hath swept them.
A genial light pervades the atmosphere,
Clothing the landscape with its golden hues.
In this old wood, where through the summer long
A leafy roof had kept the sun at bay,
He comes and goes as freely as the wind:
And the bare woods and fields alike are bathed
In his warm flood. Old sheriff Winter now

Hath loosed his frosty grip, with which of late
He seized on Nature: and with seeming grace
Grants her a respite brief from his cold reign.

With what a smile she thanks him for the boon,
And decks herself anew for his embrace,
Alas! too soon to be renewed. Her thousand rills
Run sparkling with delight; the smoky air
Again is cleft with wing of bee and bird;
The buds again are swelling on the trees;
Flowers are peeping from their wintry beds,

Waked from their slumber by the warm wind's kiss;
And all around, the green and tender blades
Pierce through the matting of the withered grass.
Rejoice! while yet ye may, O trusting birds,
And flowers bright, and tiny insect throng!

For, sitting on this mossy rock, I feel
The frosty breath of him who soon again
Will, in his icy fetters, lock you all.

Newtown, November, 1848.

W. 0.

THE SAINT LEGER PAPERS.

SECOND SERIES.

THE casement is open. The delicious perfume of Summer finds its way hither unbidden. The still, solemn pines tower up in the twilight. Across the Avon the New Forest' stands lonely and silent. The river runs between, dark and deep, always flowing, flowing. Season after season, year after year, age after age, the river flows on; a singular emblem of permanence and change.

I feel like labor. Go to! I will spoil this beautiful twilight. 'Thomas, bring candles.'

Now comes the moth to seek destruction in the flame. Hark! the cricket is chirping its unvaried note; the nightingale whistles his sweet but melancholy strain. The owl and the bat, the fire-fly and will-o'-the-wisp, are busy enough too.

Where is the lively squirrel that has been springing all day from bough to bough? where the pigeon and the hawk? where the lark and the vulture, the linnet and the eagle, the coney and the fox?

The snake no longer glides across the path, and the toad has found a resting-place. But the owl hoots from the tree, and the bat flits crazily through the gloaming; the fire-fly and will-o'-the-wisp-see! there they sparkle and flicker and brighten again!

Where is God my MAKER, who giveth songs in the night?'

Reader-whoever you are-who have borne me company thus far, if indeed you have entertained a sympathy in this narrative, then let you and I stop and rest a moment here.

Perhaps you are young, and if you are young, stand up! and bless GOD that now, just at this very instant, you are brought to a

pause.

BRING OUT YOUR HOPES AND LOOK AT THEM. Look at them, but not through a Claude-Lorraine-glass. Look at them, and tell me, do they belong to the petty future of earth, or to the Infinite of another life? Can you not answer? Alas! what an unhappy thought that you know not yourself; that you should be always journeying on, journeying on, with- -a stranger; yourself a stranger to you, and you a stranger to yourself; an awful and a mysterious companionship. Great GOD! what if you should be destined to live thus forever!

Perhaps, reader, you are young no longer. Nevertheless, you have hopes-ay, hopes still!

BRING OUT YOUR HOPES AND LOOK AT THEM. Look at them, but not through the dark vapor of disappointment or despair. Nay,

shake not your head so gloomily, but arouse; and do you too thank God that you are brought for a while to this stand-still, as the world rushes on and leaves you behind. Do not be impatient; do not say to me: 'Hands off! I must overtake my comrades youder; see how they get the start of me.' Stay! something better is in store for you than this unnatural race which you are running; and oh! what balm is there in that word 'better ! Let it continue always better, better, and how will you approximate by-and-by to the TO BEATIETON! Come, then, youth and man and maiden; come and sit ye down with me, just as the evening deepens into night. There, I have put out the candles, and the moth is safe.

Let us bring out our hopes and look at them. Let us do it in a cheerful, hopeful, heartfelt way. Thank God we are here yet, safe upon the earth; and the earth does seem safe to man; the enduring earth, the kind mother, the patient nurse, which yields us sustenance and supports our life. While we talk of a BEYOND, we would not forget Thee, Prolific Parent, with thy changing seasons; glorifying and renewing thy days in the hoar-frosts of winter, in the balmy breath of spring, in the triumphant maturity of summer, and in the fading glories of the fall. Earth, we bless Thee! Surely we may bless thee, if the CREATOR pronounced thee 'good!' Shall we not forgive thee the bearing of a few 'thorns and thistles' for all the fruit which we have pressed from thy bosom, or shall we complain, that in the sweat of our face we have to till the ground, since it yieldeth us her strength by tilling?

But to our hopes. These hopes shall indicate our destiny. Arrest and cut off all that are anchored here; strip the heart of the vain promptings which flutter around it; silence the busy whisperings of passion and self-love; then tell me-youth, man, maiden-what have we remaining? Is there a void-an utter void-left in these hearts of ours? nothing had, nothing enjoyed, and no residuum but the bitter ashes? Is it even with us as when an hungry man dreameth, and behold he eateth; but he awaketh, and his soul is empty; or as when a thirsty man dreameth, and behold he drinketh; but he awaketh, and behold he is faint, and his soul hath appetite?' Then indeed have we made shipwreck before the voyage has scarce commenced, and we have only to look to it that such shipwreck be not irreparable. To the work! quick! quick! that the voyage may NOT

be lost!

But arrest and cut off and silence these whisperings and promptings and hopes, and do our hearts still beat with their usual time? Do we behold a broad expanse beyond the extreme limits of the actual? Is our gaze into this expanse only rendered brighter and clearer by the cutting away of the superfluous foliage? and can we with a lofty look and a courageous heart and a trustful spirit, lay our hands upon our breast and feel the Infinite stirring within us? Oh! youth, man, maiden, I give ye joy if this be so; for then indeed are we safe! Safe, though the possibilities which surround us are fearful to contemplate; though we may not control the hour or the circumstance; though grief may be preparing for us a potion in the

same cup from which we have drank delights and joys; though every thing about us seem dark and unpropitious; though every thing be dark and unpropitious, yet are we safe-safe!

Farewell, youth, man, maiden! Perhaps we shall meet in another world; perhaps we may then call to mind how, for a few moments, here upon the banks of the Avon in gentle Warwickshire, we stopped and communed together.

What had become of Kauffmann? I was to meet him on the second day after our interview; several weeks had elapsed and he had not made his appearance. At first I wondered at his prolonged absence, but I soon became so interested in Wolfgang Hegewisch and by the society of Theresa Von Hofrath, to say nothing of studies which I pursued systematically under the learned Professor, that I had almost forgotten Kauffmann, and his company of FREE SPEAKERS.

One morning after breakfast I was seated in my own room. Whether I was thinking of my last evening's conversation with Theresa, or of the latin thesis upon which I was engaged, would be difficult to say, for the two were so blended in my mind that I had accomplished little or nothing, although I had been an hour at the task. My door was open, I held my pen in my hand, and a partly finished sentence, began half an hour before, had dried in upon my paper, together with sundry attempted continuations, which had been corrected, written over and dashed out. I heard a step upon the stairway, and then a step through the hall, then a step into my room, a bold, manly, hopeful, straightforward step; but I did not look up, I did not feel like looking up; for just at that moment the strong elastic physique of the step was discordant to my feelings; so I held my head over the paper, brought my pen to a line with the sheet, and was about changing a participle into a gerund by way of emendation, when I received a friendly blow upon the shoulder, at the same time a hand was held out for me to shake. Then I looked up - it was Frederick Kauffmann,

'I see I must announce myself—my name is Kauffmann, once a friend to you-'

'Now a friend of me!' interrupted I, laughing. How could you expect to be recognised after running away, staying away, and breaking an engagement to boot?'

'Spem bonam certamque reporto,'

exclaimed my friend in a cheerful tone.

'Se non è vero è ben trovato,'

returned I, looking him full in the face, and discovering that hope was indeed in the ascendant there.

'How are you metamorphozed, my friend; what has happened to you? Give me your hand again. You are happier than you were; better than you were, your mind is in health; it was not in health when we separated. Kauffmann, I rejoice with you, although I know not the cause of this change.'

Kauffmann's countenance assumed a serious expression. It was

evident that he had something to communicate. Shutting the door, he proceeded to seat himself close by me.

St. Leger, I have settled in my own mind a matter that has always perplexed it.'

'Well.'

It is the relation of the sexes to each other.'

'Ah!'

'So sure am I that I am right, that I do not fear to tell you all.' 'Pray go on.'

Do you not re

you told

I will. Do you remember our last discussion? collect some wizard must have put it into your head me that I had had in my time a love affair, and had quarrelled with my friend because she would not yield to me?'

" Yes.'

'St. Leger, every word was true; true verbatim et literatim. And had you struck me to the earth with a blow I should not have been more astounded.'

'Surely,' said I, 'something must be wrong in what I have done, if a mere acquaintance lights upon it in this way. So I went home and locked myself into my room, and I said after I had turned the key: 'Friederich Kauffmann, thou goest not out hence till thou hast sifted thyself as wheat. Self-confident though thou art, thou shalt yield if thou ought to yield; and I communed with my heart, and I tried to commune with GOD; I brought to mind every thing that took place at that last interview- that unfortunate interview, between Margaret and myself. I weighed every thing truthfully. I had done the same before, but in different scales. Then I thought of creation and life, and happiness and unhappiness, and what should cause the one and the other; and I asked myself; to fit us for a hereafter, MUST we of necessity suffer-suffer, always suffer? Dare I blame my Maker before I have searched in myself for cause for blame? And so I came standing up alone before GOD-to believe and to feel and to KNOW that much as I had loved Margaret, I had not loved her aright, or thought of her aright, or treated her aright; and then a new light broke in upon me, and I unlocked the door and ran out, and earth was bright. The next day I had seen Margaret and all was explained.

'But the relation of the sexes to each other,' said I.

'I intended that for another interview, when we both had more leisure. I come now on a special mission.'

Nay, but I am curious to have a synopsis at least of your theory.' Very briefly then, it is this: The most perfect spiritual happiness consists in the spiritual union of two of different sex, just as the most perfect domestic happiness consist in a well-adapted temporal union. How rarely are both kinds of happinesss blended! How are we taught from youth up, that man's province is command, and woman's submission! Is it not absurd absolutely absurd to suppose that the Creator should make one sex to be under subjection to the other? The Great and Good GoD, to ordain and perpetuate an eternal tyranny! Beside, is it not folly to suppose that friend