From Fraser's Magazine.

HAIR-LOVE.

"There seems a love in hair, though it be dead;
It is the gentlest, yet the strongest thread
Of our frail plant-a blossom from the tree,
Surviving the proud trunk."-LEIGH HUNT.

ing now like a bird!-bless her! But she'll be leaving me before long, I suppose ! Ah, well, please God we shall all meet together in heaven!"

its accustomed place.

We assured her with truth that such had not been the case; but felt sad, nevertheless to think how the families of the poor, ay, and the rich too, for the matter of that, come to be divided and scattered up and down in the world. And what a sweet fancy was that hair-love, which kept alive the remembrance of each in the widowed heart of their aged parent! Many a sad and truthful reminiscence, heard and experienced years ago, golden links in the chain of memory and association, come back with the recollection of that old relicbottle.

For some moments neither spoke, while the singing came nearer and nearer, and presently afterwards Bessie's bright young face appeared at the entrance, to tell us that breakfast was ready. DURING a late excursion to the sea side we were "I'm afraid I have wearied you," said the old struck with the appearance of a wide-mouthed, old-woman, as she put back the bottle reverently into fashioned glass bottle, placed upon the mantelshelf of the humble sleeping apartment it was our fate to occupy for one night only, ere we passed on to gayer scenes. The contents of the said bottle puzzled us not a little, just at first, to decipher; consisting, as we presently found out, of several pieces of human hair, of divers shades and colors, not braided, but each tied singly together with a piece of thread, or faded riband, to which a small slip of paper was attached bearing a name on it. But some of them were sadly discolored from age, and not being written very legibly at first, almost wholly obliterated. We remembered just glancing at it the night before, and taking it for some curious specimens of moss or There was a pale, quiet-eyed girl, governess in a sea-weed, and were still looking with some interest family with which we were once intimate, who used on these newly-discovered relics, when our simple to be very kind to us children, and let us rummage hostess entered the room. She was surprised to her bag of embroidery silks, or set her cotton-box see us already up and dressed; and upon our turning" to rights," as we termed it, just whenever it suitthe conversation to the object which we still held in our hands, told us that it was her children's hair. "But you will laugh at my old country fashions." "No, indeed," was the eager reply. "Let me see," continued the old woman, encouraged by our evident interest in the subject, "there ought to be nine of them. First, there was Tom, the grey-headed man who drove you hither. Ah, you would not think, to look at him now, that his hair was once so black and shining. He was a handsome youth, was Tom, just like his poor father! but time, and sorrow, and poverty, work great changes! Then came George, who died abroad of the fever. And little Walter,—nothing would do but he must be a sailor also; but he never came back from his first voyage. Then there was Mary and Susan, twins, and so much alike_that_people | used to be puzzled to tell them apart; but Susan's hair was a shade darker. Well, she died too; and poor Mary pined and pined away until she grew to a mere shadow, and then followed her; they do say that twins seldom survive each other. Next was Hetty-no, that's not it. I can't make out the names very clearly, but I know Hetty's hair; it was like threads of gold-we never see such hair now-a-days! Ah, that's my poor Hetty's! but not so bright and sunny! The ladies used to stop me in the street to admire Hetty's hair, and they all said she was too beautiful to live long. God's will be done! It is a weary world for one like her, so good and gentle; and, doubtless, He took her away in His love from the evil to come.'

The aged woman paused in her simple revelations; her eyes were filled with tears, and we could not, for the life of us, help weeping too. Hetty had, it seems, been the mother's darling-her "summer child," as Frederica Bremer would have said.

"Then there is Kate; she married a soldier when she was but sixteen, and went abroad with him. But it is so long now since we have heard anything of her, that she may be dead also before this -she was never very strong, poor child! Next came Robert, married too, and living near London, but badly off. And Bessie, my merry little Bessie! -the comfort of my old age! Hark! she is sing

ed us, and seemed glad to purchase a few hours'
peace at any price. Poor thing! it was but little
rest she got, what with one and another; and then
she was so good-natured, so wonderfully sweet-
tempered, never saying an angry word to any of
us.
We all loved her dearly, and sometimes, when
we saw her resting her head upon her hands, and
looking so sad and weary, would whisper to each
other that poor Miss M- had the headache, and
hush our wild sports all at once, but the worst of it
was we soon forgot it again, growing as noisy as
ever, and she never thought to chide us.

In the aforesaid cotton-box was one little packet which had frequently excited our curiosity. It was carefully sealed up, and she always evaded our questions on the subject, taking it gently away, and declaring she would not lose it for all the world; from which we naturally concluded that it must be something very valuable indeed. It chanced, however, on one particular evening, when we had as usual begged hard for a sight of this concealed treasure, that she smiled sadly, and prepared, with a sweet and patient kindness, to gratify our restless curiosity. But we noticed that her hands trembled as she untied the slender fastenings.

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Only a lock of hair!" was our first exclamation of wonder and disappointment. And then followed a whole string of inquiries, "Whose is it? Your parent's? Or your brother's, perhaps?" for we knew that she had a brother in India.

The poor governess only shook her head; but we could see the tears falling fast and silently upon this little relic; and, half sorry that we had prevailed upon her to open it, dared not ask any more questions.

Not long after this Miss M's health became so delicate that it was thought best she should return home for a while, and try the effects of her native air. Every one was sorry to part with her, and hoped that she would get quite well, and come back to them again very soon. But we never saw her any more. Some say that she died of consumption; others of a broken heart! Anyhow, the story of her secret grief so long and meekly borne, together with that of the much-treasured curl, was buried with her.

A history somewhat similar to the above, is related of a young Creole, residing many years ago in a select establishment for young ladies, in the neighborhood of London. Ayesha was what is called a parlor-boarder; and being considerably older than most of the girls, and proud and reserved in her manners, could not boast of a single friend or confidant in the whole school, nor did this seem to afford her the slightest uneasiness. She was evidently happiest when alone; and none loved or cared for her sufficiently to seek, or interrupt her in her solitary meditations. Ayesha was as thoughtless and extravagant as she was rich; and so generous, that if one of her school-fellows only happened to admire any trinket, however valuable, she would take it off directly, and insist upon her keeping it. But still, for all her riches and her warm, generous heart, she was not beloved; some-neath their soothing influence. thing more than this is needful for affection.

glove, for it was white_once, some withered flowers, a MS. poem! Yes, he was a poet-that proud and aged man, or would have been, had not the fountain of song been too soon turned into bitterness and scorn. Next came a tress of hairthe same bright hair whose silken folds he had so often twined around his fingers in happier daysand now, unbidden, and like "sea-birds," as dear Christopher North calls them, "that come unexpectedly floating up from some inland vale," a tide of past recollections swept across the old man's heart, until he bowed down his stern head, and wept like a child. A blessing upon those white sea-birds of memory! touching the floodgates of bygone thoughts and feelings with their gentle wings, and nestling and brooding over the worldwearied soul, until it grows calm and peaceful be

Returning home from church one dark, winter night, Ayesha lost a small gold bracelet, which she always wore. The most diligent inquiries were made after it without success, while the girl, who cared so little in general for these things, became strangely restless and unhappy, offering a reward which must have been double the value of the lost jewel, to whoever could find and restore it to her.

After the lapse of a few days it was brought back by a poor old woman, upon whom Ayesha not only cheerfully bestowed the promised reward, but gave her a thousand thanks and blessings beside. And when the woman was gone, she sat down and burst into a flood of passionate weeping; while the girls gathered round her in silent wonder and commiseration. It seemed so strange for her to weep whom they had thought so cold and proud. At length one of the teachers remarked, that the bracelet did not appear to be so very valuable after all.

"To me," said Ayesha, "it is above all price!" And turning it half round, her companions saw that there was hair in it; and some among them ceased to wonder.

A few days afterwards Ayesha's parents came to fetch her home, and her school-fellows noticed to one another that the hair could not have been theirs, which was black instead of light. Whose it was, and why so cherished by that silent and lonely girl above all her other treasures, is a mystery which has never been solved to this day. Human life is full of such romances; and stranger, far stranger oftentimes than fiction.

Hair-love is equally for the rich and the poor. The relic may be gorgeously set, but in that case it hallows the gold, and not the gold it; and is not a whit more precious in the jewelled casket, than simply tied with a faded end of riband. A love token which all may exchange Flowers wither; miniatures, however like, are but a resemblance. But this is a part, as it were, of the beloved one! An actual and living relic, speaking to the heart with a strange power; and recalling many a sweet bygone hour of a happiness which we felt even then must be too great to last.

The old man turns over the hoards of his youth. There is a cold, mocking smile on his thin, compressed lip. His brow is wrinkled and contracted, his eyes stern and deep-sunken; and, worse than all, his heart has become seared and hardened. Merrily leap up the devouring flames on that comfortless and lonely hearth, as he flings into them, one by one, the records of past days. A pocketwook, a purse, delicately embroidered, a white kid

A young girl sits alone, with a pale cheek and flashing eyes, holding in her trembling hands a tress of black, shining hair-her own! but which she never thought to have received again thus. What a tale of heart-withering misery does such a scene present! and we fear it is far from being an uncommon one. How well does she recollect when he half begged, half stole it from her, with many a fond caressing word and earnest vow! And how she would have staked her very life at that moment upon his fidelity, as she had already done her happiness! They had just heard of the estrangement of some mutual friends, and wondered together. It seemed impossible for those who loved one another ever to quarrel. Alas! for the hour when we first wake up from this sweet dream, and see the dark summer-cloud gathering over the sunshine of an affection that had withstood so many trials, and we fondly thought would never fail us. Well, if that cloud pass away in showers of weeping only; but far oftener it deepens into a tempest of fierce wrath, whose angry waters make shipwreck of our peace for evermore! A word, perhaps, might have allayed its fury One drop of the oil of human kindness flung upon the raging billows of passion-but we are too proud to utter it-and repenting only when it is too late, sit down amid the ruins and pray to die!

No one who saw that young girl a few years afterwards would ever have imagined the tress of raven hair to be hers, which had turned since then into a silvery grey; or, but for the pale cheek and withered form, suspected the dreary weight of woe so long and smilingly endured, for she was too proud to complain. They pitied her when her heart broke at length; they should rather have rejoiced!,

The absent daughter, married and far away, sends home a tiny curl in a letter-it is that of her first-born! "The softest, silkiest, brightest hair, she verily believes, in all the world! And its dear little head is quite covered with it, like so many rings of gold. Ah, if they could but see it!" Why, it seems but yesterday she was a child herself, the merriest of the household band-the most mischief-loving, provoking, and yet fascinating being one can well imagine. Threats and reproof were alike thrown away upon her; but a fond word would bring her to her mother's side in a moment, all penitence and humility, although, ten to one, the next she was as wild as ever. But she became grave all of a sudden, married, and took to housekeeping by instinct as it were, for she could have had but little previous experience in these matters; but love makes us apt scholars, and became a very

pattern wife and mother. We need not say how long again in her agitation as there was any need that tiny curl will be kept and prized by the happy to wind it up, while her partner's whispered grandmother, who wept for joy as she remembered praises only served to increase her embarrassment. all this. Mindful, at the same time, with the sad experience which is the heritage of old age, of the precariousness of all human felicity, and how many as bright a bud of fair promise as that golden-haired child were now among the angels of heaven!

Helen W- was far from beautiful, but her eyes were bright and gentle, and her hair the admiration of all beholders. It swept the ground when she stood upright-but then, to be sure, she was not very tall; and when braided and twisted around that small classic-looking head, after a peculiar fashion of her own, formed a rich and yet simple coronet that a queen might have envied. Some "Yes, I am silly to agitate myself in this manpeople said that it was a sign of weakness and ill-ner when you will be back again so soon. There, health; but such was not the case with Helen.

There were never thought to be any spirits then haunting those ancient halls; perhaps the girl's sweet voice, which might be heard singing up and down the gloomy corridors from morning till night, "Mother," said she, in the intervals of her deserved to exorcise them, or the living sunshine of lirium, "I am glad that Henri is not here; he her presence banished every darker superstition. would have been so grieved at my illness, and I Nor were they so lonely then, for the youthful and shall be well again by the time he comes back." the noble came to stay there for weeks together; at "I hope so, dearest!" And Mrs. Wwhich times they danced every night in the old ban-wise thought that it was best that he should be ab*queting-hall until the faded banners seemed to sent, since his presence could not do any good. catch the contagion of their wild mirth, and swayed | Like Helen, she had no fear. But meanwhile, the to and fro with a quick, restless motion. It was on one of these occasions that Helen's long hair, escaping from its fastenings, swept the marble floor as she whirled round and round in the gay waltz, and then, stopping all of a sudden and coloring to the very tips of her little slender fingers, took as

"But still more so to lose you, my precious | are wrought in a few passing years! How do we