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changes are of constant occurrence in the destinies of human nature. The once happy family, whom we have pictured to ourselves in their prosperity, gradually descend in the scale of social importance. Misfortune after misfortune presses upon them; circumstances become every year more unfavourable; business declines; one little resource after another is exhausted; and finally, they find themselves reduced to poverty and privation. They still, however, struggle on, but it is a struggle against a fearfui crowd of evils. The creditors at length grow importunate, they will brook no further delay. There is no alternative, the work of ruin must be completed, and the household furniture is at last announced to be sold by public auction.

The day of sale arrives. Sofas, chairs, beds and bedding, lie lumbering about in all directions. Passages are blocked up, people come crowding in from all quarters, some for the purpose of buying, others from mere idle curiosity. The furniture is examined-remarks are made upon its novelty, or its antiquity, questions are asked concerning the family, and reports, with little foundation in truth, are freely circulated concerning them. One professes his sympathy for their misfortunes; another looks very grave-shakes his head, and says

"Ah! I knew it wouldn't do. I knew such extravagance couldn't be kept up. I was sure that it would come to this at last."

The auctioneer,-a pompous, worldly, bustling-looking man,at length makes his appearance. His only thoughts are, how to sell to the greatest advantage. The more the goods produce, the greater his commission. He never thinks for a moment, of the misery-the despondency of the family, upon whose property he is making his vulgar jokes-passing off his ribaldry, or his pointless wit.

In due time the house is cleared, and let to a new tenant, and the majority of the household treasures are transferred to THE FURNITURE-BROKER'S SHOP.

LITERATURE.

Twice Told Tales. By N. HAWTHORNE, ESQ. London: Kent and Richards, Paternoster Row.

Twice Told Tales-a curious title, forsooth; but we believe an author, like the Duke of Newcastle, may do what he will with his own, and therefore we do not quarrel with our author, if his Tales have been told more than the number of times implied by the title. They will bear repetition, and we doubt March, 1849.-VOL. LIV. NO. ccxv.

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not, but that in England, as well as in America, Mr. Hawthorne's Tales will be read with interest and delight.

But we have a bone to pick with our author. His title is inappropriate. The elegant little volume now lying on our table, does not consist exclusively of tales. Often, like the weary knife grinder of Canning, Mr. Hawthorne may exclaim :"Story, God bless you, I have none to tell, sir."

Such

We have reviews, moral, poetical, by the sea shore, by churchyards, on calm Sabbath mornings, in the stillness of the night, full of fine feeling, in graceful language,-to many, we doubt not, as acceptable as tales; but tales they certainly are not. tales as the volume does contain, are such as must delight, especially the young, to whom the work will form a most appropriate present; to such its pure tone of style and thought must be especially grateful.

Mr. Hawthorne is an American, and strongly reminds us of his countryman, Washington Irving, and we need not add of our own unrivalled Addison; not that he has their peculiarly felicitous vein of humour, but he resembles them in the elegant simplicity of their style. We do not agree with some of our American brethren, when they tell us, that in America alone is the English language spoken in its purity; but we do think it would be difficult to find a writer whose style is more correct than that of our author. Like Washington Irving, Mr. Hawthorne's modes of thought and expression are strongly those of the best writers of our Augustan age, and we trust that our author will find as hearty a welcome here as the writer of the "Sketch Book" obtained. Like him, he writes not for America alone, but Britain as well, and by many a fireside, we predict, will the "Twice Told Tales" be joyfully perused. We have to thank the publishers for making such a valuable addition to the literature of the day. But Mr. Hawthorne can speak better for himself, than we We will therefore extract one tale as a specimen, and leave the reader to judge for himself. It is headed,-" David Swan; a Fantasy."

can.

"WE can be but partially acquainted even with the events which actually influence our course through life, and our final destiny. There are innumerable other events, if such they may be called, which come close upon us, yet pass away without actual results, or even betraying their near approach, by the reflection of any light or shadow across our minds. Could we know all the vicissitudes of our fortunes, life would be too full of hope and fear, exultation or disappointment, to afford us a single hour of true serenity. This idea may be illustrated by a page from the secret history of David Swan.

"We have nothing to do with David, until we find him, at the age of twenty, on the high road from his native place to the city of Bos

ton, where his uncle, a small dealer in the grocery line, was to take him behind the counter. Be it enough to say, that he was a native of New Hampshire, born of respectable parents, and had received an ordinary school education, with a classic finish by a year at Gilmanton academy. After journeying on foot, from sunrise till nearly noon of a summer's day, his weariness and the increasing heat determined him to sit down in the first convenient shade, and await the coming up of the stage coach. As if planted on purpose for him, there soon appeared a little tuft of maples, with a delightful recess in the midst, and such a fresh bubbling spring, that it seemed never to have sparkled for any wayfarer but David Swan. Virgin or not, he kissed it with his thirsty lips, and then flung himself along the brink, pillowing his head upon some shirts and a pair of pantaloons, tied up in a striped cotton handkerchief. The sunbeams could not reach him; the dust did not yet rise from the road, after the heavy rain of yesterday; and his grassy lair suited the young man better than a bed of down. The spring murmured drowsily beside him; the branches waved dreamily across the blue sky, overhead; and a deep sleep, perchance hiding dreams within its depths, fell upon David Swan. But we are to relate events which he did not dream of.

"While he lay sound asleep in the shade, other people were wide awake, and passed to and fro, a-foot, on horseback, and in all sorts of vehicles, along the sunny road by his bedchamber, Some looked neither to the right hand nor the left, and knew not that he was there; some merely glanced that way, without admitting the slumberer among their busy thoughts; some laughed to see how soundly he slept; and several, whose hearts were brimming full of scorn, ejected their venomous superfluity on David Swan. A middle-aged widow, when nobody else was near, thrust her head a little way into the recess, and vowed that the young fellow looked charming in his sleep. A temperance lecturer saw him, and wrought poor David into the texture of his evening's discourse, as an awful instance of dead drunkenness by the road-side. But, censure, praise, merriment, scorn, and indifference, were all one, or rather all nothing, to David Swan.

"He had slept only a few moments, when a brown carriage, drawn by a handsome pair of horses, bowled easily along, and was brought to a stand-still, nearly in front of David's resting place. A linch-pin had fallen out, and permitted one of the wheels to slide off. The damage was slight, and occasioned merely a momentary alarm to an elderly merchant and his wife, who were returning to Boston in the carriage. While the coachman and a servant were replacing the wheel, the lady and gentleman sheltered themselves beneath the maple trees, and there espied the bubbling fountain, and David Swan asleep beside it. Impressed with the awe which the humblest sleeper usually sheds around him, the merchant trod as lightly as the gout would allow; and his spouse took good heed not to rustle her silk gown, lest David should start up, all of a sudden.

"How soundly he sleeps!' whispered the old gentleman. From what a depth he draws that easy breath! Such sleep as that,

brought on without an opiate, would be worth more to me than half my income; for it would suppose health, and an untroubled mind.'

"And youth, besides,' said the lady. Healthy and quiet age does not sleep thus. Our slumber is no more like his, than our wakefulness.'

"The longer they looked, the more did this elderly couple feel interested in the unknown youth, to whom the way-side and the maple shade were as a secret chamber, with the rich gloom of damask curtains brooding over him. Perceiving that a stray sunbeam glimmered down upon his face, the lady contrived to twist a branch aside, so as to intercept it. And having done this little act of kindness, she began to feel like a mother to him.

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Providence seems to have laid him here,' whispered she to her husband, and to have brought us hither to find him, after our disappointment in our cousin's son. Methinks I can see a likeness to our departed Henry. Shall we waken him?'

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To what purpose?' said the merchant, hesitating. We know nothing of the youth's character.'

"That open countenance!' replied his wife, in the same hushed voice, yet earnestly. This innocent sleep!'

"While these whispers were passing, the sleeper's heart did not throb, nor his breath become agitated, nor his features betray the least token of interest. Yet fortune was bending over him, just ready to let fall a burthen of gold. The old merchant had lost his only son,

and had no heir to his wealth, except a distant relative, with whose conduct he was dissatisfied. In such cases, people sometimes do stranger things than to act the magician, and awaken a young man to splendour, who fell asleep in poverty.

"Shall we not waken him?' repeated the lady, persuasively. "The coach is ready, sir,' said the servant, behind.

"The old couple started, reddened, and hurried away, mutually wondering, that they should ever have dreamed of doing any thing so very ridiculous. The merchant threw himself back in the carriage, and occupied his mind with the plan of a magnificent asylum for unfortunate men of business. Meanwhile, David Swan enjoyed his nap.

"The carriage could not have gone above a mile or two, when a pretty young girl came along, with a tripping pace, which showed precisely how her little heart was dancing in her bosom. Perhaps it was this merry kind of motion that caused-is there any harm in saying it ?-her garter to slip its knot. Conscious that the silken girth, if silk it were, was relaxing its hold, she turned aside into the shelter of the maple trees, and there found a young man asleep by the spring! Blushing, as red as any rose, that she should have intruded into a gentleman's bed-chamber, and for such a purpose, too, she was about to make her escape on tiptoe. But there was peril near the sleeper. A monster of a bee had been wandering overhead-buzz, buzz, buzz-now among the leaves, now flashing through the strips of sunshine, and now lost in the dark

shade, till finally he appeared to be settling on the eyelid of David Swan. The sting of a bee is sometimes deadly. As free-hearted as she was innocent, the girl attacked the intruder with her handkerchief, brushed him soundly, and drove him from beneath the maple shade. How sweet a picture! This good deed accomplished, with quickened breath, and a deeper blush, she stole a glance at the youthful stranger, for whom she had been battling with a dragon in

the air.

“He is handsome,' thought she, and blushed redder yet.

"How could it be that no dream of bliss grew so strong within him, that, shattered by its very strength, it should part asunder, and allow him to perceive the girl among its phantoms? Why, at least, did no smile of welcome brighten upon his face? She was come, the maid whose soul, according to the old and beautiful idea, had been severed from his own, and whom, in all his vague but passionate desires, he yearned to meet. Her, only, could he love with a perfect love him only could she receive into the depths of her heart-and now her image was faintly blushing in the fountain by his side; should it pass away, its happy lustre would never gleam upon his life again.

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'How sound he sleeps!' murmured the girl.

She departed, but did not trip along the road so lightly as when she came.

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Now, this girl's father was a thriving country merchant in the neighbourhood, and happened, at that identical time, to be looking out for just such a young man as David Swan. Had David formed a way-side acquaintance with the daughter, he would have become the father's clerk, and all else in natural succession. So here again had good fortune the best of fortunes-stolen so near, that her garments brushed against him; and he knew nothing of the matter.

The girl was hardly out of sight when two men turned aside beneath the maple shade. Both had dark faces, set off by cloth caps, which were drawn down aslant over their brows. Their dresses were shabby, yet had a certain smartness. These were a couple of rascals, who got their living by whatever the devil sent them, and now, in the interim of other business, had staked the joint profits of their next piece of villainy on a game of cards, which was to have been decided here under the trees. But finding David asleep by the spring, one of the rogues whispered to his fellow

"Hist! do you see that bundle under his head?'

"The other villain nodded, winked, and leered.

"I'll bet you a horn of brandy,' said the first, that the chap has either a pocket-book, or a snug little hoard of small change, stowed away amongst his shirts. And if not there, we shall find it in his pantaloons' pocket.'

"But how if he wakes?' said the other.

"His companion thrust aside his waistcoat, pointed to the handle of a dirk, and nodded.

666 So be it!' muttered the second villain.

They approached the unconscious David, and, while one pointed

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