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husband approached; she held out both her hands,
and sung a short measure, dancing as she moved to-
wards him. The dowager was looking on; jeal-
ous wrath flashed over her face; she turned away.
That night all were busy dressing themselves to
the best advantage. Oh! for the truthful memoirs
of a mirror-a long mirror-a wide mirror-my
lady's mirror, at which she has powdered, painted,
patched, and mended her face for fifty years. Ah,
vanity of vanities! on thy smooth surface there is
no change, yet how many a bitter change doth
there appear! Thou smooth deceiver; thou long-flying on her almost strangled her.
trusted confidant, so gradually dost thou reveal thy
unpleasant truths, that they lose the horror of their
novelty, and we slip from youth to age, from beauty
to deformity, without the sharp consciousness of
rapid change and sudden decay!

what she told him; but after her funeral he left the
manor. A month after he was heard of in France;
but though the late lord went in search of him he
could not find him. A twelvemonth passed, and a
letter arrived by an express to inform the family
that Lord H. was in confinement in a madhouse at
Paris. The stepmother of the unfortunate young
man immediately set out. She travelled night and
day; and when she reached Paris she went to the
place from which the letter was dated. She saw
the young man, but he cursed her to her face, and

Very disagreeable reports were spread about the country. It was said that the young lord lay for nights on the bare ground, screaming that he saw a figure that scorched him as she passed; that flames shone perpetually on the wall; that she came with taper fingers tipped with fire, and passed them over his brow that burnt like brimstone. He died raving mad about six months before the dowager. She never recovered her long attendance on him; she never left Paris till after his death, and then her own son became Lord H., and she returned to the manor.

Lady H.'s attendant had left her almost dressed; all was adjusted save her diamond necklace. The clasp was clumsy, and the snap difficult to close. She stood alone, her door was open. The late lord, your grandfather, had just left his own room, having finished his toilet. His apartment was the one next to the bride's. He saw the elder Lady H. coming along the passage. He drew near to The night before she died she was sitting up in speak to her, and as he did so, he heard the young her bed when her woman came in with the comlady say," Who will help me with this?" She posing draught that she had been preparing. turned to the door and he saw her. The delicate She cried-"Oh, Hannah! Hannah! look there lace fell round her slender and beautiful form;-there! See, their faces shine through the walls there were jewels in her tiny ears and in her yellow on me; their eyes are hell-hot, and their breath hair; her arms were half bare, and hanging sleeves burns me. Help! help!" She screamed on so fell from her elbows. The dowager looked round till she died. sharply but steadily into the room, and then turned in. Her son saw no more; he went down the stair. He heard a wild shriek-another, another, a flaming figure dashed past him, there were people hurrying to and fro-screams, sobs, then silence.

She died that night. An hour before her death she begged to be left alone with her husband; with great difficulty this was granted. No one knows

I have often stood beneath the elm-trees of Cranmore, listening to the wild liquid strains of the nightingales that sing there the whole of the summer nights, and then I have wondered more than ever how in so sweet a home a deed so diabolical could be conceived and perpetrated.

REMARKABLE ACCUMULATION OF ICE.-When Captain Parry's ships, Hecla and Griper, were on their Arctic voyage, the month of March set in mildly, (at their retreat in Winter Harbor,) so that the solid ice, which for some time had lined the ships' sides, began to melt. It therefore became necessary to scrape off this coating of ice, on which occasion Captain Parry observes" It will, perhaps, be scarcely credited, that we this day (March 8) removed above one hundred buckets full, each containing from five to six gallons, being the accumulation which had taken place in an interval of less than four weeks; and this immense quantity was the produce chiefly of the men's breath and of the steam of their victuals during meals."

ALL THE UNIVERSE IN MOTION.-If, for a moment, we imagine the acuteness of our senses preternaturally heightened to the extreme limits of telescopic vision, and bring together events separated by wide intervals of time, the apparent repose which reigns in space will suddenly vanish, countless stars will be seen moving in groups in various directions; nebula wandering, condensing, are dissolving, like cosmical clouds; the milky way breaking up in parts, and its veil rent asunder. In every point of the celestial vault, we should recognize the dominion of progressive movement, as on the surface of the earth, where vegetation is constantly putting forth its leaves and buds, and unfolding its blossoms. The celebrated Spanish botanist, Cavanilles, first conceived the possibility of" seeing grass grow," by placing the horizontal SCIENTIFIC COOKERY.-Liebig, in his Chemistry micrometer wire of a telescope, with a high mag-of Food, recommends the following method of nifying power, at one time on the point of a bam- cooking meat on scientific principles. Put the boo-shoot, and at another on the rapidly unfolding joint into water in a state of fast ebullition; allow flowering stem of an American aloe; precisely as it to remain in this state for a few minutes, and the astronomer places the cross wires on a culminat- then add so much cold water as to reduce the teming star. Throughout the whole life of physical perature to about 160 degrees, in which state it is nature-in the organic as in the sidereal world- to be kept for some hours. By the application of existence, preservation, production, and develop-boiling water at first, the albumen is coagulated, so ment, are alike associated with motion as their as to prevent the water from penetrating the meat, essential condition.-Humboldt's "Cosmos." and extracting the soluble juices.

NEW YEAR'S EVE.

A TRANSLATION, OR RATHER ADAPTATION, FROM A 'SWEDISH TALE BY ANDERSEN.

LITTLE Gretchen, little Gretchen,
Wanders up and down the street;
The snow is on her yellow hair,
The frost is at her feet.

The rows of long dark houses

Without look cold and damp,
By the struggling of the moonbeam,
By the flicker of the lamp.

The clouds ride fast as horses,
The wind is from the north,
But no one cares for Gretchen,
And no one looketh forth.

Within those dark, damp houses

Are merry faces bright,
And happy hearts are watching out
The old year's latest night.
The board is spread with plenty,
Where the smiling kindred meet,
But the frost is on the pavement,
And the beggars in the street.
With the little box of matches

She could not sell all day,
And the thin, thin tattered mantle,
The wind blows every way.

She clingeth to the railing,

She shivers in the gloom-
There are parents sitting snugly
By firelight in the room;
And groups of busy children

Withdrawing just the tips
Of rosy fingers pressed in vain
Against their burning lips,
With grave and earnest faces

Are whispering each other
Of presents for the new year, made
For father or for mother.

But no one talks to Gretchen,

And no one hears her speak;
No breath of little whisperers
Comes warmly to her cheek;
No little arms are round her;

Ah me that there should be,
With so much happiness on earth,
So much of misery.
Sure they of many blessings

Should scatter blessings round,
As laden boughs in autumn fling
Their ripe fruits to the ground.
And the best love man can offer
To the God of love, be sure,
Is kindness to his little ones,
And bounty to his poor.
Little Gretchen, little Gretchen
Goes coldly on her way;
There's no one looketh out at her,
There's no one bids her stay.
Her home is cold and desolate,
No smile, no food, no fire,
But children clamorous for bread,
And an impatient sire.

So she sits down in an angle,
Where two great houses meet,
And she curleth up beneath her,

For warmth, her little feet.

And she looketh on the cold wall,
And on the colder sky,
And wonders if the little stars
Are bright fires up on high.
She heard a clock strike slowly,
Up in a far church tower,
With such a sad and solemn tone,
Telling the midnight hour.
Then all the bells together

Their merry music poured;
They were ringing in the feast,
The circumcision of the Lord.
And she thought as she sat lonely,
And listened to the chime,

Of wondrous things that she had loved
To hear in the olden time.

And she remembered her of tales
Her mother used to tell,
And of the cradle songs she sang
When summer's twilight fell,

Of good men and of angels,
And of the Holy Child,
Who was cradled in a manger,
When winter was most wild;

Who was poor, and cold, and hungry,
And desolate and lone;

And she thought the song had told
He was ever with his own.

And all the poor and hungry,
And forsaken ones, are his;
"How good of him to look on me,
In such a place as this!"
Colder it grows and colder,

But she does not feel it now,
For the pressure at her heart,
And the weight upon her brow.
But she struck one little match
On the wall so cold and bare,
That she might look around her,
And see if He were there.

The single match has kindled,
And, by the light it threw,
It seemed to little Gretchen

The wall was rent in two.
And she could see the room within,
The room all warm and bright,
With the fire-glow red and dusky,
And the tapers all alight.
And there were kindred gathered
Round the table richly spread,
With heaps of goodly viands,

Red wine, and pleasant bread.
She could smell the fragrant savor,
She could hear what they did say;
Then all was darkness once again,
The match had burned away.

She struck another hastily,
And now she seemed to see,
Within the same warm chamber,
A glorious Christmas tree.

The branches were all laden

With such things as children prize, Bright gift for boy and maiden,

She saw them with her eyes.

And she almost seemed to touch them,
And to join the welcome shout;
When darkness fell around her,
For the little match was out.

Another, yet another, she

Has tried, they will not light, Till all her little store she took,

And struck with all her might.

And the whole miserable place
Was lighted with the glare,
And lo, there hung a little child

Before her in the air.

There were blood-drops on his forehead, And a spear-wound in his side,

And cruel nail-prints in his feet,

And in his hands spread wide.

And he looked upon her gently,

And she felt that he had known
Pain, hunger, cold, and sorrow,
Ay, equal to her own.

And he pointed to the laden board,
And to the Christmas tree,
Then up to the cold sky, and said,
"Will Gretchen come with me?"

The child felt her pulses fail,

poor

She felt her eyeballs swim,
And a ringing sound was in her ears,
Like her dead mother's hymn.

And she folded both her thin white hands,
And turned from that bright board,
And from the golden gifts, and said,
"With thee, with thee, O Lord."

The chilly winter morning
Breaks up in the dull skies,
On the city wrapt in vapor,

On the spot where Gretchen lies.

The night was wild and stormy,

The morn is cold and gray,
And good church bells are ringing,
Christ's circumcision day.

And holy men were praying
In many a holy place;
And little children's angels
Sing songs before his face.

In her scant and tattered garment,
With her back against the wall;
She sitteth cold and rigid,

She answers not their call.

They have lifted her up fearfully,
They shuddered as they said,
"It was a bitter, bitter night,
The child is frozen dead."

The angels sang their greeting,

For one more redeemed from sin;
Men said, "It was a bitter night,
Would no one let her in ?"

And they shuddered as they spoke of her,
And sighed they could not see,
How much of happiness there was,
With so much misery.

THE SOUL'S PASSING.

"THE Soul's Passing" is the title of a touching poem in a late "London Athenæum." A hushand is looking upon the scarce cold form of his dead wife:

Take her faded hand in thine

Hand that no more answereth kindly;
See the eyes, were wont to shine,
Uttering love, now staring blindly;
Tender-hearted, speech departed-

Speech that echoed so divinely.
Runs no more the circling river,
Warming, brightening every part;
There it slumbereth cold forever-
No more merry leap and start,
No more flushing cheeks to blushing-
In its silent home the heart!
Hope not answered to your praying!
Cold, responseless lies she there;
Death, that ever will be slaying

Something gentle, something fair,
Came with numbers soft as slumbers-
She is with Him otherwhere.

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. DON'T tell me of to-morrow!

Give me the man who 'll say, Whene'er a good deed 's to be done, Let's do the deed to-day.

We

may

all command the present, If we act and never wait; But repentance is the phantom Of the past, that comes too late. Don't tell me of to-morrow!

There is much to do to-day That can never be accomplished

If we throw the hours away. Every moment has its duty

Who the future can foretell?
Then why put off till to-morrow
What to-day can do as well?

Don't tell me of to-morrow!
If we look upon the past,
How much that we have left to do
We cannot do at last!
To-day! it is the only time

For all on this frail earth;
It takes an age to form a life,
A moment gives it birth.

1

From the Episcopal Recorder. As in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.-PROV. xxvii. 19.

SWEET thoughts come sometimes floating o'er the mind,

We know not whence; seemeth to us they grew In our soul's inner garden; were designed By our own pencil; ardent, artless, new, Just borne to being's joyfulness. When, lo! Some page we open, never turned before, And there they meet us; lovely but the more, As clad in vestments of a brighter glow,

And in the drap'ry of a richer frame. And thus daguerreotypes thoughts often seem Which but similitudes 't were wise to deem; For as in water answereth face to face, So minds upon their inner hist❜ry trace Impressions ofttimes kindred—or the same. A. W. M.

NEW BOOKS. The Power of Goodness; A Sermon commemorative of the Life and Character of the late JAMES MACDONALD, M. D., preached in St. George's Church, Flushing, on the 5th Sunday after Easter, 1849, by John D. Ogilby, D. D.

We have read this with the deepest interest, both on account of the subject, and the admirable and judicious manner in which it is treated. The professor avoids the tones of fulsome adulation and vague panegyric which are often indulged in on such occasions, while he beautifully delineates the lovely character of his departed friend, and sets before those whom he addresses his example, as far as he was a follower of Christ. The consistency of his conduct as a man and a Christian, his devotion, constant and untiring to the duties of his station, his sympathetic and refined humanity in the performance of those duties; his conscientious regard for his religious obligations; and his Christian resignation, faith and hope, in the hour of departure, are set forth with the fidelity and profound feeling of a deeply attached friend. Dr. Macdonald had been for some years the family physician of the preacher, who had thus learned both to know his value and worth, and to lament his loss by separation from his friends on earth.-Churchman.

Dark Scenes of History. By G. P. R. James.
New York: Harper & Brothers.

In this department of writing, James has certainly an
uncommon degree of vigorous descriptive talent. The
present work is redeemed from the verbose common-place
of his more elaborate productions, by the fact that it is
composed of a series of short stories, of less ambitious
character, and more completely within his grasp. He
has shown great judgment in the selection of his topics,
and handled them with more than his usual facility and
effect. Among the "Dark Scenes" which he brings to
light are the histories of "Perkin Warbeck,"
bigenses," "Wallenstein," "The last days of the Tem-
plars." They are portrayed with the rich coloring for
which the author is distinguished, and will add to his
reputation among his numerous admirers.-Tribune.
The Gallery of Illustrious Americans.

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The Al

A few weeks ago the public were interested by an announcement, that, with the new year, would commence the publication of this Gallery, in a style superior to anything which had gone before it. There are so many pompous announcements made of enterprises which are never carried out, and so many pledges given of this kind, which are never redeemed, that we can hardly express our satisfaction, on finding that the first number has more A Blind Man's Offering. By B. B. Bowen. 1850. contains a magnificently engraved portrait of General than made good all the promises which were given. It This is the title of a very neat duodecimo volume, con- Taylor, which, in beauty of execution, striking resemtaining some fifty or sixty articles on various subjects, blance, naturalness of expression, and artistic effect, surall written in a pleasing manner, and calculated to win passes anything of the kind we have ever seen of him, esteem and commiseration for the author, who is blind, and, we must confess, of anybody else. The engraving and who gives soine account of himself in the commence- is made by Mr. D. Avignon, the celebrated French artist, ment, by which we learn that he was one of six original- from a splendid daguerreotype of the largest size, by Mr. ly selected by Dr. Howe to form the school for the blind Brady. This number contains five sheets, printed on in Massachusetts. Mr. Bowen will wait in person on drawing paper of imperial folio size; the first being the our citizens, when, we trust, those who are anxious to title-page, the second the " Salutation," the third and procure a good and pleasant book, as well as those who, fourth a Biographical Sketch, and the fifth the portrait, without such a wish, can sympathize with a fellow-man all enclosed in a beautiful printed buff cover, which, in who has lost his sight in the tender years of infancy, and addition to serving the purpose of a portfolio for the numwho has consequently to grope his way through life, de-bers, turns out to be an exquisitely printed, and an exceedprived of the greatest of God's blessings, will all cheer-ingly able and interesting, journal of art, criticism, and fully purchase a copy.-Republic. advertisements which concern the progress of taste and literature.

Morris & Willis' Home Journal occupies a place of more importance in its moral relations than, as we suspect, is commonly supposed. It is devoted to the discussion of subjects relating to literature, art, social intercourse, and amusements, and is read by great numbers, whose opinions are probably influenced by it more than by graver methods of instruction. In treating these subjects, the Home Journal will almost invariably be found on the honorable, manly, and humane side. Mr. Willis, the principal editor, is second to no other in this country in the native endowments of a poet, and in his peculiar department he holds an almost equal place as a prose writer. Every number of the Home Journal contains columns sparkling with wit and humor, and brilliant descriptions; while beneath all there is a substantial basis of good sense, for which he has not always had the credit due to him. When he discusses matters of importance, there is found a dignity, discrimination and sobriety of judgment which always command attention; and in the few controversies into which he has been led, he has shown himself to possess such powers that few persons would choose him for an antagonist, unless they were to have the advantage of wind and sun. There are so many papers which address the taste for light reading of so worthless a description, that we are glad to see that one of so high a character as this, meets with a large and constantly growing public patronage.-Christian Register. The American Illuminated Abbotsford Edition of Waverley. New York: Hewet, Tillotson & Co. Illustrated by H. W. Hewet.

With us,

type and paper, and, indeed, the whole work, surpasses The entire design of the Gallery is original; and the anything that we have ever seen as a specimen of the art every American may take pride and pleasure. We are of typography. From the publication of such a work, glad, too, that the price is put at a dollar a number, which brings it within the reach of nearly all of our citizens. Such works, when published abroad, are confined in their circulation, of necessity, to the upper classes; their circulation is small, and their price enormous. everything can be sold cheap, because the consumers are numerous. publication of this Gallery, in the superb style in which It was a bold enterprise to undertake the it now appears; and we confess we had no expectation of ever seeing, in this country, so magnificent a specimen of the printing art. We hope that all our public men will encourage the enterprise, and that literary men, universities, and schools of learning, libraries, and institutions of art, will everywhere encourage this work, that it may be but the beginning of other enterprises equally superh and exalted in their character and influence. It is so large that it cannot be sent by the mails, without greatly injuring its beauty by close rolling or folding; but, thanks to the many vigilant and rapid expresses which run now to almost every portion of the country, the work can he sent in every direction. It is published by John Wiley, G. P. Putnam, D. Appleton & Co. The principal depot is at Mr. Brady's Gallery, No. 205 Broadway, although we see it for sale in all the principal bookstores. Every person connected with it deserves credit for the superb style in which it appears; and we doubt not it will be A few days ago we spoke of the publication of "Ivan-greeted warmly and kindly by the whole country.-Evenhoe," the romance selected by the publishers as the pio-ing Mirror.

neer volume of their beautiful edition of the Waverleys. A New Work on Italy.

We would again call attention to this American edition,

as an undertaking of great cost and labor, which should re- It is announced that the late Miss Margaret Fuller, now ceive the support of the reading public. In the respects of styled in the Tribune the Marchioness Ossoli, has a paper, print, and general style of production, it is every-work in preparation on the recent revolutions in Italy. thing that could he wished, both as a book to read and as It will probably be published before the close of the winan ornament to the library. Both in matter and manner ter, simultaneously in New York and London. The it is a correct copy of the Abbotsford volumes, which re- same paper adds: "We have some reason to expect her ceived the last emendations of its illustrious author.-return to this country next summer, accompanied by her Boston Post. husband and child."

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POETRY.- W. S. Landor to the Author of Festus, 399; New Year's Eve, 429; The Soul's Passing; Today and Tomorrow; The Heart answereth to the Heart, 430.

SHORT ARTICLES. - Body of Gustavus Vasa, 396; Imitative Galvanism; How Chronome ters are tried at Greenwich, 401; Dr. Bethune in Holland 418; Great African Lake; Lon don Mortality, 421; All the Universe in motion; Accumulation of Ice; Scientific Cookery, 428; New Books, 431.

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Postage. When sent with the cover on, the Living Age consists of three sheets, and is rated as a pamphlet, at 4 cents. But when sent without the cover, it comes within the definition of a newspaper given in the law, and cannot legally be charged with more than newspaper postage, (14 cts.) We add the definition alluded to:

A newspaper is "any printed publication, issued in numbers, consisting of not more than two sheets, and published at short, stated intervals of not more than one month, conveying intelligence of passing events."

Monthly parts.-For such as prefer it in that form, the Living Age is put up in monthly parts, containing four or five weekly numbers. In this shape it shows to great advantage in comparison with other works, containing in each part double the matter of any of the quarterlies. But we recommend the weekly numbers, as fresher and fuller of life. Postage on the monthly parts is about 14 cents. The volumes are published quarterly, each volume containing as much matter as a quarterly review gives in eighteen months.

WASHINGTON, 27 DEC., 1845.

Or all the Periodical Journals devoted to literature and science which abound in Europe and in this country, this has appeared to me to be the most useful. It contains indeed the exposition only of the current literature of the English language, but this by its immense extent and comprehension includes a portraiture of the human mind in the utmost expansion of the present age. J. Q. ADAMS.

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