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tiful person, a face • like an angel,' and an elocution that ravished all hearers with its swelling cadences and sweet intonations.

Bishop McIlvaine combines in himself many of the good qualities of his great predecessors, and avoids many of their faults. So true is it that he knows all qualities with a learned spirit,' the remark once made on Daniel Webster may with justice be applied to him, that he has but to state a point to argue it. He is evangelical in doctrine and earnest in his appeals to the conscience and reason of mankind. He believes that · Nothing, not even the eloquence of creative imagination, has a greater hold over the mind of men than the exhibition of the grand realities of revealed truth in their naked elements, as they came from the mind of God; and when this is done with clear sight, strong realization, and impassioned conviction, the effect cannot but be powerful.' Habitually does he practise according to this rule, because he farther believes that, if true to the Gospel and the nature of man, he will thrill all mankind in every country and every age. He makes posterity his auditors, and says, with Zeuxis, . In æternitatem pingo.'

A v ER Y CURIOUS TRUE STORY.

BY PAUL MARTIN DAIB.

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'Tis now some sixteen years agone,
That on a balmy night in June
A summer breeze, with odors laden,
Bore away a spirit maiden
To that inhospitable shore,
Where with restless wild commotion

Evermore
The frozen ocean
Hurleth back with angry roar
Defiance to the lurid glow
That resteth upon Hecla's brow :
Thither was she, in punishment,
A messenger from FLORA sent.
Thither she in sorrow went
To pluck, if she might find it there,
One beauteous flower,
Which wizard power and wizard care
Had nourished in that wintry air

For many a year.

PART THE SECOND.

FIXDETE what sbe went Sor.

UNDERNEATH a shelving rock,
Sheltered from the storm's attack,
Struggling up through moss and snow;
There condemned for aye to grow
Unless some friendly maiden hand,
Seeking that wild wintry land,
Should evade the wizard's power,

Pluck it in its modest bloom,
And restore it to its home;
Without or sun, or rain, or dew,
In lonely solitude it grew;
Opening its white petals fair
To the damp and chilly air,

Which ne'er before
Had wooed so beauteous a flower.
While its brilliant ruby heart
Sparkled in the diamond light
Of thousand crystals snowy white,
Earnest seeking, there she found it,
Trembling to the breeze that bore her,
As if its full heart must adore her ;
Cautious plucked it, lest a stain
On its bright vesture should remain;
In her golden tresses wound it,
On her swelling bosom bound it;
Then with joyous shout away,
Retraced her course ere break of day!

PART THE THIRD.

A COUNTRY residence, and the people who in. habit there.

Far, far away in the sunny south,
Where skies are bright as the blush of youth,
Where broad savannahs gently waving

Lend their flowers
To perfume gales from other shores,
There, by the border of the sea,

Where constantly
Bright waves laving the pebbly beach

Break in soft minstrelsy ;
In a wild, shady nook,
Near where a running-brook

Murmureth ever :
Where no intruding sound is heard

Save song of bird,
Or leaf that by the wind is stirred,
Where foot of man trod never ;
There on a green enamelled throne
With Nature's fairest jewels thrown,
Clothed in garments rich and bright,
Woven from the rainbow's light,
Reclined the glorious Queen!
While around, her hundred maids,
Sported in the everglades ;
Each with each in beauty vieing;
Each some flower personifying,
Which, for talisman, with care
She ever wreathéd in her hair!
Surely no fairer scene
Since the wide world began,

Ever hath been.

PART THE FOURTH.

Tu maiden returns, and her reception.

In radiant beauty from afar,
Like a shooting silver-star,
Soon the erring maiden came,
Laden with her precious gem;
With one wild, ringing, joyous shout,
She held the priceless treasure out:

Then at FLORA's feet she kneeled,
Who on her lips forgiveness sealed.

PART THE FIFTH.

A metamorphose which beats OVID.

For many and many a weary year
Had that bright flower, now held so dear,
Been lost to that fair band;
And as now with trembling hand
To her throbbing heart she pressed it,
Or with ardent lips caressed it,
She washed away with joyous tears
Each sad remembrance of those years,
And then, lest wizard power or witches' charm
Again should bring the treasure harm,
She gave her high command, and lo!
Instant transformed its beauties grow,
And straight within her arms instead
She pressed a beauteous little maid !

PART THE SIXTH.

Speech of an illustrious personage to a select qu. dience

'T WERE a lengthy tale, I trow, to tell
The whole that on that night befel;
But this be sure there did betide,
And many curious things beside,
That Flora, bending o'er her low,
Pressed a lily on her brow,
Saying, 'Such shall ever be
Thy unsullied purity!'
Then took a moss-rose from her zone,
Which with glittering dew-drops shone;
‘Perhaps some honest tongue,' said she,

May speak too loud its praise of thee;
Then these mantling blushes quick
Shall tinge the velvet of thy cheek;
And thou for sign perpetually
Shalt carry in thy beaming eye
The violet's bloom, for modesty!'

PART THE SEVENTH.

Anaounces an important fast, and concludes with a question which a panctili. ous person might consider personal.

Old Time has sped some way, I ween,
Since these curious things were seen ;
And still, with wit and joy and mirth,
Hither and thither on the earth
That little maiden tarries,
Still those talismans of youth,
Fair Modesty and earnest Truth,
She with her carries!
Graceful as the Naïad Queen,
Or the Evening Zephyr, when
Of summer leaves her harp-strings making,
Her balmy breath their strains awaking,
She o'er the lake at easiest leisure,
Tripping slow to softest measure,
Joins the lingering moonbeams, glancing
O'er the polished surface, dancing
With water-nymphs in airy ring,
To her own sweet music's murmuring !
Can'st thou tell me certainly
Who this little maid may be,
Oh! Miss 'Nella C- ?

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A STRAY LEAF FROM THE MANUSCRIPT DIARY OF AN OLD BACHELOR.

BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.

Don't your thoughts in mid-winter, Mr. KNICKERBOCKER, by the simple force of contrast, sometimes go back to spring and summer, and bring up before your mind's eye scenes as different as possible from those at the time around you ? Mine do, I confess; and although the snow is now on the ground, and I have had to-day my first taste of sleighing, all alone, yet my mind has this evening 'gone a-Maying;' and here is the result. *Presto!' - and it is May!

May, at last ; long looked for by sanguine young hearts, and partly dreaded, partly welcome to us older folk. Every one knows that quiet is to an old bachelor the ne plus ultra of life; but I have only enjoyed it by snatches, owing to a bevy of young relatives, and a troop of old friends, who are constantly invading my privacy, and advising me to marry. Having a good income, I retired from business at thirty, and applied myself to agriculture and study. I ereeted a snug cottage of the · Elizabethan style' as it is termed, in the very wilderness; that is, forty miles from any town, on a small branch of one of our noblest streams, with no neighbor within ten miles, save an industrious squatter. To this place I removed my books, my simplest furniture, and my rare shrubs, plants and annual flowers. A lawn sloped from the porch to the river, a river that had never been desecrated by aught save the Indian's canoe, until I launched my light shallop upon it.

Here for a few months I indulged my taste for soliloquy and quiet; but one sunny day in autumn, my harum-scarum nephew, Tom Rattlefast, alighted, gun in hand on the porch ; and as he entered the door, QUIET slipped out on a two months' furlough; at the expiration of which time my nephew also departed, to the great joy not only of his uncle, but of all the quails, partridges, and deer on the demesne. The short-sighted bore, not content with this, gave such a flourishing account of affairs at • The Lodge,' as he styled my place, that a certain misanthropic bachelor, with a plethoric purse, was induced to reconnoitre our surroundings, and plant a rival lodge within a quarter of a mile of me! For a long time I was sorely afflicted with “the blues ;' for I could not go to the window without seeing the smoke of my neighbor's chimney rising up in fantastic gyrations from amidst the tall trees under whose branches I had had some of my most delightful soliloquies. I had mentally vowed to check every approach on his part to an acquaintance; but my fears were needless. He was as shy as myself, and we had been neighbors upward of a year before accident revealed to me that his sister kept house for him.

The third summer of my residence here, a new neighbor, with a house full of young people, planted himself on my left; and the arrival of a bevy of cousins, nieces, and nephews, full of curiosity to see · Uncle's Lodge,' made me acquainted with my new neighbors, and banished forever the quiet I had so longed for. At the period therefore to which I allude, at the commencement of this page of my diary, I had settled down into a good-natured uncle, who allowed himself to be teased, coaxed and worried for six months in the year, with a hope of peace for the next six.

Among other fantastic notions, my nephew Tom had a passion for reviving old customs, and this year he had induced me to consent to keeping the first of May after the good old fashion. The squatter's children were now grown; and these youngsters, with my left-hand neighbor's, and rattle-pates from New York, formed quite a party, all agog with the idea of keeping May.' Some old folks found their way to the lodge as spectators and guardians ; so that, as you may conceive, I had a rare time of it. I was hunted, Sir, like a badger, from every hiding-place!

Such a littering of divers-colored bits of muslin and tissue-paper was never seen in these parts before! A tall sapling, with a crown of leaves, was planted in a meadow hard by, and a tent pitched for the old folks to gaze from under; and a long table of pine boards was placed at a convenient distance, with a raised seat for the Queen. I went out the last day of April to survey the preparations, and returned with my wide shoes full of insects; for this was an unusually forward season.

Most of my guests passed a sleepless night, and came down late in full dress, without any appetite for breakfast. The two Lawlers soon arrived. Araminta had passed the Rubicon, yet called herself a child of Nature. I do n't like these children of Nature! They are the most unnatural offspring a parent was ever cursed with. That's my opinion, at least; yes, and my experience, too! Araminta wore her yellow hair in dishevelled masses, thinking it a sin to confine it with comb and braid.

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