room upon her brow passed instantly away, and was succeeded by so gracious an aspect, that Leonard, if he had not divined the cause, might have mistaken this gleam of sunshine for fair weather. found a regular vent in her tongue. This | The scowl which she had brought into the kept the lungs in vigorous health. Nay it even seemed to supply the place of wholesome exercise, and to estimulate the system like a perpetual blister, with this peculiar advantage, that instead of an inconvenience, it was a pleasure to herself, and all the annoyance was to her dependants. Mrs. Trewbody lies buried in the Cathedral, at Salisbury, where a monument was erected to her memory worthy of rememberance itself for its appropriate inscription and accompaniments. The epitaph recorded her as a woman eminently pious, virtuous and charitable, who lived universally respected and died sincerely lamented, by all who had the happiness of knowing her. This inscription was upon a marble shield supported by two Cupids, who bent their heads over the edge, with marble tears larger than grey peas, and something of the same color, on their cheeks. These were the only tears which her death occasioned, and the only Cupids with whom she had ever any concern. When Leonard had resided three years at Oxford, one of his college friends invited him to pass the long vacation at his father's house, which happened to be within an easy ride of Salisbury. One morning therefore he rode to that city, rung at Miss Trew body's door, and having sent in his name, was admitted into the parlor where there was no one to receive him, while Miss Trewbody adjusted her head dress at the toilete, before she made her appearance. Her feelings while she was thus employed were not of the pleasantest kind towards this unexpected guest; and she was prepared to accost him with a reproof for his extravagance in undertaking so long a journey, and with some mortifying questions concerning the business which brought him there. But this amiable intention was put to flight, when Leonard, as soon as she entered the room, informed her that having accepted an invitation into that neighborhood, from his friend and fellow collegian, the son of Sir Lambert Bowles, he had taken the earliest opportunity of coming to pay his respects to her, and acknowledge his obligations, as bound alike by duty and inclination. The name of Sir Lambert Bowles acted upon Miss Trew body as a charm; and its mollifying effect was not a little aided by the tone of her nephew's address, and the sight of a fine youth in the bloom of manhood, whose appearance and manners were such that she could not be surprised at the introduction he had obtained in one of the first families in the country. A cause which Miss Trewbody could not possibly suspect, rendered her nephew's address thus conciliatory. Had he expected to see no other person in that house, the business would have been performed as an irksome obligation, and his manner would have appeared as cold and formal as the reception which he anticipated. But Leonard had not forgotten the playmate and companion with whom the happy years of childhood had been passed. Young as he was at their separation, his character had taken its stamps during those peaceful years, and the impression which it then received was indelible. Hitherto hope had never been to him so delightful as memory. His thoughts wandered back into the past more frequently than into the future; and the favorite form which his imagination called up was that of the sweet child, who in winter partook his bench in the chimney corner, and in the summer sate with him in the porch, and strung the fallen blossoms of jessamine upon stalks of grass. The snow drop and the crocus reminded him of their little garden, the primrose of their sunny orchard bank, the blue bells and the cowslip of the fields wherein they were allowed to run wild, and gather them in the merry month of May. Such as she then was he saw her frequently in sleep with her blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, and flaxen curls; and in his day dreams he frequently pictured her to himself such as he supposed she now might be, and dressed up the same image with all the magic of ideal beauty. His heart, therefore, was at his lips when he inquired for his cousin. It was not without something like fear, and apprehension of disappointment that he awaited her appearance, and he was secretly condemning himself for the romantic folly which he had encouraged, when the door opened and a creature came in, less radiant indeed, but more winning than his fancy bud created her, for the loveliness of earth and reality was about her. "Margaret," said Miss Trewbody, “do you remember your cousin Leonard?" Before she could answer, Leonard had taken her haud. "Tis a long while, Margaret, since we parted! ten years! But I have not for. gotten the parting,-nor the blessed days of our childhood." She stood trembling like an aspen leaf, and | looked wistfully in his face for a moment, then hung down her head, without power to utter a word in reply. But he felt her tears fall fast upon his hand, and felt also that she returned its pressure. Leonard had some difficulty to command himself, so as to bear a part in the conversation with his aunt, and kept his eyes and thoughts from wandering. He accepted, however, her invitation to stay and dine with her, with undissembled satisfaction, and the pleasure was not a little heightened when she left the room to give some necessary orders in consequence. Margaret still sate trembling and silent. He took her hand, prest it to his lips, and said in a low earnest voice, dear, dear Margaret." She raised her eyes, and fixing them upon him with one of those looks the perfect remembrance of which can never be effaced from the heart to which they have been addressed, replied in a lower but not less earnest tone," dear Leonard," and from that moment their lot was sealed for time and for eternity. I will not describe the subsequent interviews between Leonard and his cousin, short and broken but precious as they were; nor that parting one in which hands were plighted, with the sure and certain knowledge that hearts had been interchanged. Remembrance will enable some of my readers to pourtray the scene, and then perhaps a sigh may be heaved for the days that are gone. Hope will picture it to others, and with them the sigh will be for the days that are to come. There was not that indefinite deferment of hope in this case at which the heart sick ens. Leonard had been bred up in poverty from his childhood; a parsimonious allow ance, grudgingly bestowed, had contributed to keep him frugal at college, by calling forth a pardonable, if not a commendable sense of pride in aid of a worthy principle. He knew that he could rely upon himself for frugality, industry, and a cheerful as well as a contented mind. He had seen the miserable state of bondage in which Margaret existed with her aunt, and his resolution was made to deliver her from that bondage as soon as he could obtain the smallest benefice on which it was possible for them to subsist. They agreed to live rigorously within their means however poor, and put their trust in Providence. They could not be deceived in each other, for they had grown up together; and they knew that they were not deceived in themselves. Their love had the freshness of youth, but prudence and forethought were not wanting the reso : lution which they had taken brought with it peace of mind, and no misgiving was felt in either heart when they prayed for a blessing upon their purpose. In reality it had already brought a blessing with it; and this they felt; for love, when it deserves that name, produces in us what may be called a regeneration of its own-a second birth-dimly but yet in some degree resembling that which is effected by divine Love when its redeeming work is accomplished in the soul. Leonard returning to Oxford, happier than all this world's wealth could have made him. He had now a definite and attainable hopean object in life which gave to life itself a val ue. For Margaret, the world no longer seemed to her like the same earth which she had till then inhabited. Hitherto she had felt herself a forlorn and solitary ereature, without a friend; and the sweet sounds and pleasant objects of nature had imparted as little cheerfulness to her as to the debtor who sees green fields and sunshine from his prison, and hears the larks singing at liberty. Her heart was open now to all the exhilarating and all the softening influences of birds, fields, flowers, rernal suns, and melodious streams. She was subject to the same daily; and hourly exercise of meekness, patience, and humanity, but the trial was no longer painful; with love in her heart, and hope and sunshine in her prospect, she found even a pleasure in contrasting her present condition with that which was in store for her. In these, our days, every young lady holds the pen of a ready writer, and words flow from it as fast as it can indent its zigzag lines, according to the reformed system of writing-which said system improves hand writing by making them all alike and all illegible. At that time woman wrote better and spelt worse; but letter writing was not one of their accomplishments. It had not yet become one of the general pleasures and luxuries of life,-perhaps the greatest gratification which the progress of civilization has given us. There was then no mail coach to waft a sigh across the country at the rates of eight miles an hour. Letters came slowly and with long intervals between; but when they came, the happiness which they imparted to Leonard and Margaret lasted during the interval, however long. To Leonard it was an exhilirant and a cordial which rejoiced and strengthened him. He trod the earth with a lighter and more elevated movement on the day when he received a letter from Margaret, as if he felt himself invested with an importance which he had never possessed till the happiness of another human With which it's best freedom to be bound. Happy indeed, if there be happiness on earth, as that same sweet poet says, is he Who love enjoys, and placid hath his mind That he deserves to find so good a place.* True, gentle love is like the Summer dew, Which falls around when all is still and bush, And man's a young and an unspotted thing, Translated from the French The Scold. There were, not long since, two youths, male and female, who were so affectionately attached, that it appeared to them they could not live without each other; and consequently they soon honestly became husband and wife. During the first two days all was peace and love. But it is always the case, with both men and women, that during courtship they keep concealed many little traits and qualities which after marriage soon discover themselves, and the defects of of the parties are both mutually known. The husband soon learned that his wife, with all her beauty, possessed also an evil and scorching tongue which the slightest causes would set in motion. She loved her husband with all her soul; and of this he was sensible; but he was of a choleric disposition and sometimes replied to his wife's upbraidings in a mauner which he was afterwards sorry for. To free himself from the annoyance of her tongue, be gradually fell into the habit of absenting himself from home, and while wandering hither and thither in company with his friends, became addicted to the bottle. On his return at evening, after having decided upon the quality of various winds, with swollen eyes and stammering tongue, one may well imagine the reception she gave him. As soon as she heard the key turn in the door, she would station herself at the top of the stairs and overwhelm him with a torrent of reproaches. He, half stunned with her clamor, and stupified with the wine in his head, after some efforts at retorting in her own style, would sneak off to bed. Finally the evil increased to such a degree that they saw each other but little, for the drunken husband slept by himself, and sometimes even did not come home all the night, but slept at the tavern. The wife in dispair, went to a "gifted lady," and asked advice of her. From the dealer in forbidden knowledge she obtained a phial of very limpid water, which she said had been brought from beyond the seas by a prilgrim of the greatest virtue and holiness, with the instruction that, when her husband came home, she must immediately fill her mouth with it, taking great care neither to swallow nor spit it out, but keep her mouth closed. The lady thanked her cordially and then hastened home to wait the arrival of her husband and make trial of the virtues of the water. At length the husband, with fear and dread enters the house, and is astonished to find his wife, whose mouth was full of the charmed water, perfectly quiet.— He address a few words to her; but she says nothing. The husband becomes pleasant; she says to herself, behold the effects of the charmed water and is delighted. The husband asks her what has happened? and she acts courteously and looks peasantly, but makes no reply. Peace is soon made between them. The water lasted many days, during which time they lived as harmoniously as doves. The husband went no more abroad, but found happiness at home. But at last the water of the phial was exhausted, and soon again beheld them in the field of domestic strife. The wife repaired again to the "gifted lady;" but this one said, "alas, the vase in which I kept the water is broken!" "What is to be done!" asked the other. "Hold," replied the sybil, "your mouth exactly as if you had the water in it, and your success will be the same." Every person similarly situated, is advised to make the experiment. Every sort of water is believed to be equally good, and even without water it is thought the same end may be obtained. THE MAGNOLIA. Hudson, Saturday June 14, 1834. To SUBSCRIBERS AND AGENTS.-As the first volume of the Magnolia is drawing to a close, we invite the attention of our patrons who are in arrears, to the payment of the amount due. Each one must be well aware, that from the size of this paper and quantity of matter it contains, that very trifling profits can be realised at one dollar per annum.— Punctuality in the payment of our dues is therefore absolutely necessary. From the New-Yorker. Cure for Sea Sickness. Capt. Maryatt, the editor of the London Metropolitan, is amusing his readers with a series of pictures of nautical life and manners, drawn from his own experience, under the title of "Peter Simple, or the adventures of a Midshipman." Our young midshipman is placed on board a man-of-war, and very naturally falls desberately sick on first acquaintance, and the following mode of treatment which was adopted by an old sailor has, we believe, the merit of originality, as well as complete success : "The next day every thing was prepared for sea, and leave was permitted to the officers. Stock ef every kind was brought on board, and the large boats hoisted and secured. On the morning after at day-light, a signal from the flag-ship in the harbor was made for us to unmoor; our orders came down to cruize in the Bay of Biscay. The Captain came on board, the anchor weighed, and we ran thro' the Needles with a fine N. E. breeze. I admired the scenery of the Isle of Wight, looked with admiration at Alum Bay, was astonished at the Needle rocks, and then I felt so very ill that I went down below. What occurred for the next six days I cannot tell. I thought that I should die every moment, and lay in my hammock or on the chests the whole of that time, incapable of eating, drinking, or walking about. O'Brien came to me on the seventh morning, and said that if I did not exert myself I should never get well, that he was very fond of me, and had taken me under his protection, and to prove his regard he would do for me what he would not do for any other youngster in the ship, which was to give me a good basting, which was a sovereign remedy for sea-sickness. He suited the action to the word, and drubbed me on the drie ribs without mercy, until I thought the breath was out of my body, and then he took out a rope's end and thrashed me until I obeyed his orders to go on deck immediately.Before he came to me, I could never believed it possible that I could have obeyed him, but somehow or other I did contrive to crawl up the ladder to the main deck, where I sat down on the shot racks and cried bitterly. "What would I have given to be at home again! It was not my fault that was the greatest fool in the family, yet how was ] punished for it! If this was kindness from O'Brien, what had I to expect from those who were not partial to me? But by degrees I recovered myself, and certainly felt a great deal better, and that night I slept very sound ly. The next morning O'Brien came to me again. "It's a nasty slow fever, that sea-sickness, my Peter, and we must drive it out of you;" and then he commenced a repetition of yesterday's remedy until I was almost a jelly. Whether the fear of being thrashed drove away my sea-sickness, or whatever might be the real cause of it I do not know, but this is certain, that I felt no more of it after the second beating, and the next morning when I awoke I was very hungry. I hastened to dress myself before O'Bried came to me, and did not see him, until we met at breakfast. "Peter," said he, "let me feel your pulse." "O no!" replied I," indeed, I am quite Well." "Quite well! Can you eat biscuit and salt butter?" 66 It's thanks to me then, Peter," replied he, "so you'll have no more of my medicine until you fall sick again." "I hope not," replied I, "for it was not very pleasant." "Pleasant! you simple Simple, when did you ever hear of physic being pleasant unless he prescribes for himself? I suppose you'd be after lollipops for the yellow fever. Live and larn, boy, and thank Heaven that you've found somebody who loves you well enough to baste you when its good for you're health. "I replied that I certainly hoped that much as I felt obliged to him, I should not require any more proof of his regard." "Any more such stricking proofs, you mean Peter; but let me tell you that they were sincere proofs; for since you've been ill, i've been eating your pork and drinking your grog - which latter can't be too plenty in the Bay of Biscay. And now that I've cured you, you'll be tucking all that into your own little bread basket, so that I am no gainer, and I think that you may be convinced that you never had or will have two more disinterested However, thumpings in all your born days. you're very welcome, so say no more about it." NEW ENGLAND. By J. G. Whittier. Land of the forest and the rock Of dark blue lake, and mighty river- Whose deeds have linked with every glen, The stream beneath the green hill flowing- Whose soil and noble blood is red, Beneath the glorious heaven of France; Like life beneath the day beams glance, The palm may shake its leaves on high, And through the Brahmin's sacred grove Yet unto thee, New England still Thy wandering sons shall stretch their arms, And thy rude chart of rock and hill Seem dearer than the land of palmis! The massy oak and mountain pine More welcome than the banyan's shade, And every free blue stream of thine Seem richer than the golden bed Of Oriential waves, which glow And sparkle with the wealth below, Land of my fathers!-if my name, Now humble, and unwed to fame, Hereafter burn upon the lip, As one of those which may not die, Linked into eternal fellowship With visions pure and strong and high- Like spectres changed to being warm ; The star-like crown of glory shine,- The murmur of his praise be thine. At Athens, on the 2d inst. Edward Hinman, aged 93 years. The words of the poet might in truth be applied to him. "An honest man's the noblest work of God." In the city of New-York, on the 27th ult. Gaius Stebbins, formerly a resident of Hillsdale, in the 71st year of his age, a soldier of the revolutionary army. At Athens, ou the 30th ult., Mrs. Ann Mazurie, aged, 61 years; wife of William Mazurie. In this city, on the 30th ult., Robt. Martin, aged 38 years. On the same day, Miss Charlotte Baldwin, aged 18 years. |