At the time of his father's death, Charles had no idea of leaving his native country. He had intended to command some of the king's forces in foreign service, and, with his father's sword, win his way to honor and renown. For he felt certain, that, if drawn in defence of his country, it would not return to its scabbard till it had done its execution. But, upon reflection, the question arose in his mind, where, — when he should have returned, with his lofty plume waving the prowess of his deeds, where would be the sweet faces and warm hearts that should welcome his return? From his sovereign, when he looked upon the unrequited deeds of his loyal and patriotic ancestors, he could expect only a look of cold approval, if successful. And, if the fortunes of war should be against him, who would soothe the wounded spirit? who would pour the balm of consolation in the heart, rankling with disappointed pride and mortified ambition ? Alas! the desolation in his heart told him, none, none. And he determined to espouse the cause of the new republic of America, and there seek the only being who could in any degree fill the void in his heart that death had repeatedly and rudely made.

When he arrived at the strand, the American vessel, in which he was to sail, was about to spread her canvass to the breeze. Activity seemed to characterize every one on board; but above the din of preparation was heard a voice that would almost drown the thunder of a tempest, singing, —

"When Freedom, from her mountain height,

Unfurled her standard to the air,

She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory there!

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure, celestial white
With streakings from the morning light!
Then, from her mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land!"

J. R. DRAKE.

put his bag

no time in

Mr. Bentley's valet, Jack Hughes, had gage on board, and he seemed to lose making acquaintances among the crew. The tar with whom he was conversing was endeavoring to enlighten his mind with regard to the theory of the constitution of the United States; and the exclamation of Jack, "Say you that all men are equal!" broke from his lips as Charles stepped on board. But, occupied with his own meditations, he took no notice of it. That little floating world, the vessel, was soon upon the move, and our hero saw, with indescribable emotion, his native island apparently retiring to some eastern sea, while he gazed on its retreating loveliness. Less and still less appeared the object of attraction, till at last it faded entirely from his view. He then turned his attention to the west. The sun was elevated but little above the horizon, and seemed a demigod, seated on his throne of clouds, his smile changing into light and beauty everything on, which he looked. And while Mr. Bentley reflected on the incomprehensible nature of light, he thought there was some excuse for the Persian idolatry.

But light of a different kind was beginning to dawn on his darkened prospects. It was the light of Hope; the only bland deceiver who has the address to retain

our confidence, when we know her promises to be so often specious and illusory. Perhaps Emma Fitz James, the object of his thoughts, was gazing, that very moment, on the glorious luminary before him; perhaps his rays fell on her sweet face, and were reflected back on some beholder who was drinking in those rays with ecstasy. Charles started, and walked hurriedly across the deck. He cast his eyes upon the broad expanse around him, and quieted the rising emotions of his soul.

The horizontal beams of the setting sun seemed now to rest upon the bosom of the wave, and to cover it with gorgeous carpeting of gold. Nay, the radiance was more glorious than human invention could ever have devised, and told that it was not from earth it came! Perchance the sea-nymphs, from their mossy caves, had chosen this hour to dance upon the surface of the deep. Who has not gazed upon the glassy wave, till fancy saw them, bright as their own pure, liquid element, now moving like thought in their celerity, now in slow curves, and graceful as the arch that spans the heavens, when the bow borrows their liquid radiance combined with light? or, till the ear drank in aerial music, unallied to earth, and fancied it a requiem for the dead the rapacious deep had swallowed in the moments of his wrath? But know, insatiate main, that man, immortal, is not within thy grasp! The deep-the deep-O, what a theme for contemplation! Yet now, there it lay, tranquil and pure as when the almighty fiat first fixed it in its bounds. It is, methinks, no unapt emblem of the human heart. Moved by every breath of heaven, like mortals by adventitious circumstances; darkened alike

by every cloud that flits across them, whether it be of sorrow, or but a vapor; both lashed, at times, into fury by the war of elements or words; the dark, uncultured soul is enlightened by the lamp of science and the Sun of righteousness, as the fearful depths of the ocean are made light and glorious by the natural sun; and beacons of hope gleam across the darkness of each, that guide to a safer bourn. Or, we may use it as a metaphor, and limit it to one in whom we trust. Yes,

The faithful heart 's a boundless deep,
In which the pearls of feeling sleep;
And many a gem there shrouded lies
Beneath those azure, cloudless skies.
But when the blackened clouds are seen,
And lightnings flash with fiery sheen,
When elements, with warlike clash,
Cause adverse waves to roar and dash,
'Tis then these gems, that long have lain
In unknown depths, the mental main,
Are seen, with pure and steady ray,
To reflect the brightest beams of day.
Yes, day created by that light

That beamed upon the darkest night,

(The night that sin's black, doleful pall

Has thrown around us since the fall,)

When He, the Way, the Truth, the Light,

Put hosts of earth and hell to flight,

And opened up a glorious way,

To guide us to immortal day.

Mr. Bentley retired to his cabin, and amused himself by looking over a Keepsake, which had been given him as a parting present. "A Lady's Farewell to her Pastor" interested him deeply. It was this:

On life's tempestuous ocean cast,

Exposed to shipwreck, shoal, and blast,

Hope now sings gayly at the bow,
Fills full the sails, and guides the prow;
Consoles the sailor in the shrouds,

And whispers peace mid tempests loud;
Elates him on the sunny deck,

And cheers him on the floating wreck.
She now, too, beckons from the west,
And promises a place of rest;
For woman e'er may safe embark,
When home 's to her the sacred ark
That bears her o'er life's troubled sea,
And anchors in eternity.

Thus do I go, to soothe and bless
My partner in the wilderness;

To chase the world's contagious care,
Which active man is doomed to share.
To bless? Nay, rather to be blest,
While such kind hearts are Heaven's behest,
As glow, with ardor ever true,

For me, and e'en indeed for you.

And though the number of your flock,
Whose strong defence is Christ, the Rock,
Be lessened by our wanderings,

Yet, trust the almighty King of kings
Will bless the word, and soon replace
By numerous trophies of His grace.

But, think not 't is without regret
We leave the friends so warmly met.
Ah, no! A pestilential blast

Has blown on friendship as it passed,
And chilled sweet sensibilities,
And dried the roots of sympathies.
Hence, when we find a verdant germ,
Nor scathed, nor sapped by envy's worm,
We look on it as sterling gold,

And talk of treasures yet untold;

Engrave th' impression on the heart

For memory's use, when called to part.

And though our hearts, with feeling true,

Must bleed to say the word adieu,