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my departure, Anna was address-enthusiast, but in her observance ed by a man whom she married of them she was faithful and sinupon six weeks acquaintance: that cere. She was one of those senman was coarse, repulsive, vulgar sitive creatures that seem born and illiterate; but he was rich, like sweet but transient flowers, and, though herself well provided, which shed their fragrance and Anna Hervey married him for his perish in their youth. To a heart wealth! So ended my first love: like Clara's, love could not long the object of it had plainly been be a stranger, nor could it be a invested by the romance of my passive inmate in her breast. Her youthful mind with a sensibility, whole soul was fixed on one obdelicacy, and modesty, to which she had no title. I had mistaken the bashfulness of a simple girl for those high attributes. The favors which afforded me so much delight and pride, she had set no value upon; or if sensible enough of the import of such favors when granted by a young woman in the bloom of youthful beauty to an ardent young man, she must have a mind coarse and indelicate, though aware of that import, when she lavished them where her heart went not with them: either alternative, and one or other is inevitable, is decisive of her character. I was at the moment confounded: but I have not lived long enough in the world to know how often an ingenious countenance, and artless demeanor, belong to the mean and deceitful, and that nature's fairest, are not always her noblest works I had not, when I loved Anna Hervey, this experience. I was deceived; yet the phantom which my own fancy raised continues to haunt my memory, and though I am now aware I loved an airy nothing, yet, like Gibbon, I am proud that I was once capable of feeling so pure and exalted a passion.

THE WITCH. 'What do ye here, ye black and midnight hag?

'A deed without a name.'

CLARA was a well educated and intelligent girl, but romantic to an extreme. In her ideas of honor, of friendship, of love, she was an

ject. Her wishes, thoughts, and actions, seemed to have but one origin; but her lover died, and her happiness died with him. By degrees she grew more calm, but a settled melancholy hung upon her heart, and her spirit was utterly gone. Col. M, when on the point of leaving Spain, suggested to her father that change of scene might in some degree divert her thoughts from the dangerous channel which they had taken, and proposed that she should accompany his own family, to all of whom she was very much attached. The offer was accepted, and she came to England. The noise and gaiety of London, however, ill accorded with her wounded feelings, and she felt gratified at accompanying her friends to Lincolnshire. As the autumn advanced, she used to wander out alone, and day after day she would sit on Aukborough hill to watch the suns rays fading over the sleeping waters, while she thought of her own bright land, with its mountains and its streams sparkling and smiling in the golden light of sunset, and of one who was cold in his grave, and then she would weep and return in sorrow to her home. Her beautiful form gradually wasted away beneath the strong influence of these feelings, and she became more and more wedded to solitude. One evening as she was walking towards her favorite spot, an old gipsy, who was standing at the foot of the hill, accosted her.

The maid who repairs to Aukborough hill

When the stars are out, and the winds are

still,

Shall see a form and shall hear a voice
That will make her sorrowing heart re-

joice.

And if her lover died in a distant land,

Let her make three circles with her hand
On the green grass turf, and look on the

streams

That dance in the light of the pale moon beams;

Let her fix her gaze, and hold her breath,

And her lover will come from the realms
of death,

And sit with her when the winds are still,
And the stars are out upon Aukborough

hill.'

The sybil had no doubt, gained her of the sybil's spell. The from Col. M's domestics some in-winds had sung themselves into sight into the poor girl's history, tranquil slumbers, and the moon and, as Clara approached, she looked calmly on the sparkling muttered in a low and solemn tone: waters beneath. Clara remembered the charm, and made three circles on the turf, held her breath and fixed her gaze on the rivers. The night was far advanced, and Col. M. became alarmed that Clara had not returned home; but, knowing her favorite haunt, he repaired thither and stole softly behind her without being observed. She was sitting on the grass, and speaking in a whisper to some one beside her, as the Colonel at first thought; but he was soon satisfied that she was alone. As he stood there he heard her say, 'You did not die then? Oh, Leon! how could you jest so with me? You have nearly broken my heart; and had you not come now, I should have been, to-morrow, cold and dead as my hopes! but you are come to me, and I will not think of sadness. To be sure I do forgive you! Oh, yes! Nay, nay, you must not kiss me! We are not married yet, but we soon shall be; shall we not my Leon? And we will go to our own country, where the olives grow, and where the happy birds sing all the day long in the citron groves. Oh, Leon, my heart is so full, and my head burns so; I am too happy. Why is my father not here to meet you? I want to see my poor father, for I did not kiss him last night, and he will think that I have forgotten him.

tell

As she concluded, she drew towards Clara, and said, 'Let me your fortune lady.' She then went on her way, and the maiden ascended the hill. A superstitious feeling crept over her as she reflected on the words of the gipsy, which increased as the evening advanced. Her thoughts were entirely engrossed by them. The lowing of the cattle as they were driven home to their stalls, the tinkling bell that called the scattering sheep to the patriarch of the flock, the chime of the village clock, and the farewell song of birds, struck not upon her ear.The distant trees that reflected their autumnal tints on the bright waves; the quiet heavens with their progeny of clouds, the valleys and hills and streams, were not seen by her; she seemed like a statue placed among animated beings, and was for a time, dead to the living charms of nature. Whilst ruminating on the lines she had heard, the sun went down, and the stars began to speckle the blue sky. For the first time she raised her eyes, and bethought

My eyes feel so heavy! No! no! not on your breast, the green grass turf shall be my pillow!-and yet, again, I think I shall be softer in your arms, my Leon, than on the cold ground. She sank with a sigh upon the earth, and Col. M. hastily advanced to the spot where she lay. He spoke to her, but she gave no answer. He took

her hand, but it returned not his pressure. The moon-beams fell on her pale and beautiful face, where a smile of tenderness still lingered, and the stars looked brightly upon her, but she felt not their power, and she saw not their light, for her heart was still, and her eyes were closed forever.

A TRUE STORY.

F.

mined that the purse of his rich neighbor should cure the wounds he had inflicted on the beast; a law suit was of course resorted to, and after the usual delays, the cause was brought before the judge and jury for trial-the evidence was plenary-the animal was seen issuing from the garden of Maj. W. in a mutilated state, without the ears or tail that formerly belonged to her; this was A few years since, Maj. W. who positively sworn by a credible witowned a large and beautiful gar- ness; no defence was made by the den in Boston, was much annoyed counsel for the defendant-in desby some of his neighbors' cows, pair he had left the cause with the who claimed and exercised the jury without argument; and the privilege of promenading his de-judge could see no reason to doubt lightful parterre, and of tasting its his guilt; and the jury were only delicious fruits without invitation hesitating as to the amount of from its rich owner. One in par- damages which should be given, ticular had acquired such dexter- when the Major suddenly raising ity in penetrating the forbidden himself from one of the benches, premises, that no artifice of his thus addressed the court, 'please could prevent her nocturnal visits. your honor sir, I should like to ask It may be supposed that the dep- the witness one question.' The redations of the sagacious intru-judge consented, and the witness der were not unfrequent. En- was called. You say sir,' said raged at these repeated acts of vandalism, in a moment of anger he directed one of his domestics to lie in wait for the four footed destroyer, and as a punishment for the repeated injuries he had sustained, it was decreed she should be deprived of the two essential appendages of the lady brute, her tail and ears-the sentence was executed with as much despatch as were ever the mandates of Robespeirre, and the next morning the poor animal was seen issuing from the enclosure where she had so often been a trespasser, completely shorn of her useful and ornamental gear, to the no small amusement of the spectators, who, although they commisserated the suffering of the poor brute, could not but smile at her ridiculous appearance,notwithstanding her punishment exceeded her offence. But the owner of the animal deter

the Major, 'you saw the cow come from my garden with her ears and tail cut off.' 'Yes,' was the reply. And pray sir,' continued he, can you swear she had any tail and ears on when she went in there?' The witness was confounded, the court was convulsed with laughter, and the Major acquitted.

THE CHAMBER OF DEATH.
A FRAGMENT.

I SILENTLY
of H-

stood beside the pall and in mute sorrow gazed upon her placid features, beautiful even in death. There yet played about her lips her wonted smile, the same in which her happy spirit had passed from earth to heaven. True, the brilliancy of her eye was extinguished; but it seemed more as if she had softly closed them on terrestrial scenes in pity of their earthliness.

She had scarcely attained her huts or wigwams, built of bushes twenty-first summer, the vista of or mud, or in holes dug in the life was just opening; her path was ground. In one of these huts you strewed with the flowerets of pros-will find, perhaps, a widow and pective happiness, and illumed by three or four children, without the lambent gleams of young and table, chair, or bed; sallow from buoyant hope, while the charms of long exposure, pale from fa ine, youth were budding in profusion and with hardly sufficient clothing around her; but alas! the chilling to cover their nakedness. I have frost has nipped their tender blos-often seen children going about soms, and the blooming maiden with nothing on but a shirt-and now lies shrouded in the pale ha- that, too, ragged. I have known biliment of death! Touching and young women to keep themselves monitory was the sight, so young, hid away all day, because their so innocent and lovely, and so ragged clothes would not hide their soon torn from the arms of doat- limbs. These people have lived in ing friends! this way for more than two years, partly upon charity, partly by selling, one after another, the little valuables they might have saved from their houses, (for they were once comfortably off,) and buying a little bread to eat with the roots which they pick up.-You may ask, how can they live? I answer, that American woman could not live— but give to a Greek two pounds of bread and a dozen of olives, and he will subsist on them a week; but they cannot always get this, and they, many of them, die-die from hunger and exposure. high coloured picture which I hold up to you-nay, I do not, perhaps, put in a strong light enough.

I tasted the luxury of wo,? and enjoyed a mournful, yet pleasing pleasure while bending o'er the bier where lay her remains, for she possessed 'the peace that passeth all understanding, her last moments were peaceful and happy, and in humble confidence of being welcomed by sister angels, her pure spirit winged its flight to brighter realms. Oh! Religion, thine were the comfort that assuaged her sufferings and sweetly soothed her pillow-strengthened and upheld by thy arm, calmly she surveyed the approach of the king of terrors-thine was the smile which sat upon her lips when she meekly sunk into his embraces, and closed her eyes in sweet repose.

It is no

I could tell you of families with no other than the shade of an olive tree; of emaciated half famished orphans, who go round to pick up the most offensive substances for food! of many a wretch whom I have seen lying by the

We regret that our limited pages will not allow us to extract more copiously from the interesting statement of Doct. Howe, (at the Greek meeting in New-road side upon the bare ground, York) relative to the miseries suffered by parched up with fever, and with that devoted nation; these few paragraphs no other substance than perhaps we trust will be acceptable to our readers. a draught of water brought by the passenger: but it is not cases of individual misery that you want to hear of; it is that wide spreading general suffering, which in this enlightened age, the Christian world has tamely looked on, and seen inflicted on a Christian peo

NAPOLI DI ROMANI.

AROUND this town, besides its own numerous poor, are collected about 6000 miserable refugees who have fled from their devastated villages, and live upon the sea-shore in small

ple, by that nation which outrages yesterday; and the modern Greek the most sacred rights of man, and whose habitation is swept away openly scoffs at our holy religion. by a single blast of war, flies for The unprovoked butchery of the refuge to those buildings which Patriarch, and of all the Bish-have survived the devastation of ops of Constantinople; the wide an hundred wars-whose splendid spreading massacres at Scio, Ip-columns have resisted the tempest sara, Candia, and Cyprus, where and earthquake, and seem to stand more than fifty thousand were put in mockery of the power of time. to death in cold blood, were looked upon by Christian Europe and America, almost with indifference.

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The Greek peasantry are more intelligent, more frugal and temperate, and more virtuous than Napoli Mills, July 24th, 1828.- the peasantry of Spain, Italy, or Started at day light, and after Russia: and would not lose much crossing the Racious, penetrated by the comparison with those of the interior of the marsh, (the fa- France and Germany. There is mous Lerna,) where in a dry spot much to be said against the modI found several hundred families of ern Greeks, but much may be said refugees from Argos and the sur-in their favor, and to be hoped rounding villages, who have taken from the establishment of order temporary refuge in the centre of and good government among them. this vast swamp, as it affords them There is yet a spark left of the security from the enemy's caval-spirit of ancient Greece which ry; most of them were suffering long ages of subjection, and four from exposure and famine-I gave hundred years of horrible slavery, them orders for their portion of have not been able to put outflour. After getting out I rode to the same love of learning-of libArgos-I found a most melan-erty-and their native land.choly scene: when I was last Greece never was entirely a land there, it had 3000 houses filled of slaves, she was never entirely with a busy population; now its subdued by the Turks-and there streets are deserted and still as was always in the mountainous death, and our passage along them districts a free and hardy race who was continually interrupted by the maintained a stern independence, ruins of the houses-the fire and and lived by predatory warfaresword had passed over it, and of such were the Suliotes, the Maiits inhabitants, only here and there notes, (or Spartans) the Sphaciwas to be seen a solitary being, otes, &c. Who has not heard of poking among the ruins of his once the Suliotes: who that loves the happy home, in the hope perhaps works of Byron and Sheridan, will of finding something valuable to not admire the magnanimity, the sell for bread. Left the place by hospitality, and the bravery of Tripolizza road-I passed the an- their hardy mountaineers. cient theatre, the seats of which are perfect, and an ancient build-Oh who is more brave than the dark Suling. What a contrast between iote,

To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock,

ancient and modern Greece-the In his snowy camese and his shaggy casplendid piles reared three thous- pole; and years are still erect and seem to look down with scorn on the ruins of cities built as it were but VOL. I.

And descends to the plain like a stream

from a rock.'

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