husband approached; she held out both her hands, what she told him; but after her funeral he left the and sung a short measure, dancing as she moved to- manor. A month after he was heard of in France; wards him. The dowager was looking on; jeal- but though the late lord went in search of him he ous wrath flashed over her face; she turned away. could not find him. A twelvemonth passed, and a That night all were busy dressing themselves to letter arrived by an express to inform the family the best advantage. Oh! for the truthful memoirs that Lord H. was in confinement in a madhouse at of a mirror-a long mirror-a wide mirror-my Paris. The stepmother of the unfortunate young lady's mirror, at which she has powdered, painted, man immediately set out. She travelled night and patched, and mended her face for fifty years. Ah, day; and when she reached Paris she went to the vanity of vanities! on thy smooth surface there is place from which the letter was dated. She saw no change, yet how many a bitter change doth the young man, but he cursed her to her face, and there appear! Thou smooth deceiver; thou long-flying on her almost strangled her. trusted confidant, so gradually dost thou reveal thy Very disagreeable reports were spread about the unpleasant truths, that they lose the horror of their country. It was said that the young lord lay for novelty, and we slip from youth to age, from beauty nights on the bare ground, screaming that he saw to deformity, without the sharp consciousness of a figure that scorched him as she passed; that rapid change and sudden decay! 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

I have often stood beneath the elm-trees of

in. Her son saw no more; he went down the stair. He heard a wild shriek-another, another, a flam- Cranmore, listening to the wild liquid strains of ing figure dashed past him, there were people hur- the nightingales that sing there the whole of the rying to and fro-screams, sobs, then silence. 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.

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

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; nebulæ 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.

So she sits down in an angle,

Where two great houses meet, A TRANSLATION, OR RATHER ADAPTATION, FROM A And she curleth up beneath her, "SWEDISH TALE BY ANDERSEN.

For warmth, her little feet.
Little Gretchen, little Gretchen,

And she looketh on the cold wall,
Wanders up and down the street ;

And on the colder sky,
The snow is on her yellow hair,

And wonders if the little stars
The frost is at her feet.

Are bright fires up on high.
The rows of long dark houses

She heard a clock strike slowly,
Without look cold and damp,

Up in a far church tower,
By the struggling of the moonbeam,

With such a sad and solemn tone,
By the ficker of the lamp.

Telling the midnight hour.
The clouds ride fast as horses,

Then all the bells together
The wind is from the north,

Their
merry

music poured ;
But no one cares for Gretchen,

They were ringing in the feast,
And no one looketh forth.

The circumcision of the Lord.
Within those dark, damp houses

And she thought as she sat lonely,
Are merry faces bright,

And listened to the chime,
And happy hearts are watching out

Of wondrous things that she had loved
The old year's latest night.

To hear in the olden time.
The board is spread with plenty,

And she remembered her of tales
Where the smiling kindred meet,

Her mother used to tell,
But the frost is on the pavement,

And of the cradle songs she sang
And the beggars in the street.

When summer's twilight fell,
With the little box of matches

Of good men and of angels,
She could not sell all day,

And of the Holy Child,
And the thin, thin tattered mantle,

Who was cradled in a manger,
The wind blows every way.

When winter was most wild ;
She clingeth to the railing,

Who was poor, and cold, and hungry,
She shivers in the gloom-

And desolate and lone;
There are parents sitting snugly

And she thought the song had told
By firelight in the room;

He was ever with his own.
And groups of busy children

And all the poor and hungry,
Withdrawing just the tips

And forsaken ones, are his ;
Of rosy fingers pressed in vain

“ How good of him to look on me, Against their burning lips,

In such a place as this !"
With grave and earnest faces

Colder it grows and colder,
Are whispering each other

But she does not feel it now,
Of presents for the new year, made

For the pressure at her heart,
For father or for mother.

And the weight upon her brow.
But no one talks to Gretchen,

But she struck one little match
And no one hears her speak;

On the wall so cold and bare,
No breath of little whisperers

That she might look around her,
Comes warmly to her cheek ;

And see if He were there.
No little arms are round her;

The single match has kindled,
Ah me! that there should be,

And, by the light it threw,
With so much happiness on earth,

It seemed to little Gretchen
So much of misery.

The wall was rent in two.
Sure they of many blessings

And she could see the room within,
Should scatter blessings round,

The room all warm and bright, As laden boughs in autumn fling

With the fire-glow red and dusky,
Their ripe fruits to the ground.

And the tapers all alight.
And the best love man can offer

And there were kindred gathered
To the God of love, be sure,

Round the table richly spread,
Is kindness to his little ones,

With heaps of goodly viands,
And bounty to his poor.

Red wine, and pleasant bread.
Little Gretchen, little Gretchen

She could smell the fragrant savor,
Goes coldly on her way ;

She could hear what they did say ; There's no one looketh out at her,

Then all was darkness once again,
There 's no one bids her stay.

The match had burned away.
Her home is cold and desolate,

She struck another hastily,
No smile, no food, no fire,

And now she seemed to see,
But children clamorous for bread,

Within the same warm chamber,
And an impatient sire.

A glorious Christmas tree.

The branches were all laden

THE SOUL'S PASSING.
With such things as children prize,
Bright gift for boy and maiden,

“ The Soul's Passing” is the title of a toucting She saw them with her eyes.

poem in a late “ London Athenæum.” A hushaai

is looking upon the scarce cold form of his dead And she almost seemed to touch them,

wife:And to join the welcome shout; When darkness fell around her,

Take her faded hand in thineFor the little match was out.

Hand that no more answereth kindly;

See the eyes, were wont to shine, Another, yet another, she

Uttering love, now staring blindly; Has tried, they will not light,

Tender-hearted, speech departedTill all her liule store she took,

Speech that echoed so divinely. And struck with all her might.

Runs no more the circling river, And the whole miserable place

Warming, brightening every part; Was lighted with the glare,

There it slumbereth cold foreverAnd lo, there hung a little child

No more merry leap and start, Before her in the air.

No more flushing cheeks to blushing

In its silent home the heart !
There were blood-drops on his forehead,
And a spear-wound in his side,

Hope not answered to your praying!
And cruel nail-prints in his feet,

Cold, responseless lies she there; And in his hands spread wide.

Death, that ever will be slaying

Something gentle, something fair, And he looked upon her gently,

Came with numbers soft as slumbers
And she felt that he had known

She is with Him otherwhere.
Pain, hunger, cold, and sorrow,
Ay, equal to her own.

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW.
And he pointed to the laden board,

Don't tell me of to-morrow! And to the Christmas tree,

Give me the man who 'll say, Then up to the cold sky, and said,

Whene'er a good deed 's to be done, “ Will Gretchen come with me?”

Let's do the deed to-day. The poor child felt her pulses fail,

We may all command the present, She felt her eyeballs swim,

If we act and never wait; And a ringing sound was in her ears,

But repentance is the phantom Like her dead mother's hymn.

Of the past, that comes too late. And she folded both her thin white hands,

Don't tell me of to-morrow ! And turned from that bright board,

There is much to do to-day And from the golden gifts, and said,

That can never be accomplished

If we throw the hours away. “ With thee, with thee, O Lord.”

Every moment has its dutyThe chilly winter morning

Who the future can foretell? Breaks up in the dull skies,

Then why put off till to-morrow On the city wrapt in vapor,

What to-day can do as well! On the spot where Gretchen lies.

Don't tell me of to-morrow! The night was wild and stormy,

If we look upon the past, The morn is cold and gray,

How much that we have left to do And good church bells are ringing,

We cannot do at last! Christ's circumcision day.

To-day! it is the only time

For all on this frail earth; And holy men were praying

It takes an age to form a life,
In many a holy place ;

A moment gives it birth.
And little children's angels
Sing songs before his face.

From the Episcopal Record: In her scant and tattered garment,

As in water face answereth to face, so the heart of a

to man.--Prov. xxvii. 19. With her back against the wall ; She sitteth cold and rigid,

Sweet thoughts come sometimes floating o'er the She answers not their call.

mind,

We know not whence ; seemeth to us they gres They have listed her up fearfully,

In our soul's inner garden ; were designed They shuddered as they said,

By our own pencil; ardent, artless, new, “ It was a bitter, bitter night,

Just borne to being's joyfulness. When, lo! The child is frozen dead."

Some page we open, never turned before,

And there they meet us; lovely but the more, The angels sang their greeting,

As clad in vestments of a brighter glow,
For one more redeemed from sin ;
Men said, “ It was a bitter night,

And in the drap'ry of a richer frame.

And thus daguerreotypes thoughts often seem Would no one let her in ?"

Which but similitudes 't were wise to deem; And they shuddered as they spoke of her, For as in water answereth face to face, And sighed : they could not see,

So minds upon their inner hist'ry trace How much of happiness there was, Impressions ofttimes kindred-or the same. With so much misery.

A. W.M.

NEW BOOKS. The Power of Goodness; A Sermon commemorative of the Life and Character of the late JAMES

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

In this department of writing, James has certainly an MACDONALD, M. D., preached in St. George's uncommon degree of vigorous descriptive talent. The Church, Flushing, on the 5th Sunday after Eas-present work is redeemed from the verbose common-place of his more elaborate productions, by the fact that it is ter, 1849, by John D. Ogilby, D. D. 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," "The Albigenses," "Wallenstein," "The last days of the Templars." 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.

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.

A few weeks ago the public were interested by an an nouncement, 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 some 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 nunwho 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 The entire design of the Gallery is original; and the more importance in its moral relations than, as we sus-type and paper, and, indeed, the whole work, surpasses pect, 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 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.

due to him.

anything that we have ever seen as a specimen of the art of typography. From the publication of such a work, glad, too, that the price is put at a dollar a number, which every American may take pride and pleasure. We are 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. With us, everything can be sold cheap, because the consumers are numerous. It was a bold enterprise to undertake the publication of this Gallery, in the superb style in which of ever seeing, in this country, so magnificent a specimen it now appears; and we confess we had no expectation 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 superb and exalted in their character and influence. 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 superh 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,

It is so

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 be 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."

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.

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,