the sun, and the two took up their line of march toward the hotel, Mrs. Percival complaining all the way of her clothes sticking to her. "Where on airth did you put them?" she said, addressing Betsy; "you must 'a hung 'em somewhere where they got wet, they keep sticking a-fast to me, and feel dreadful oncomfortable." But that ebony goddess protested she had hung them in a dry place, where no water could reach them; and so they pursued their way, the French lady remaining silent, in consequence of not understanding what was said. If she had done so, possibly a faint suspicion might have crossed her mind that she could throw some light on the subject of the sticking garments. The hotel was reached, and each sought her own room. When Mrs. Percival reached hers, the first thing she said was: "Set that ar baskit down, Betsy, and come here and see what in the name o' goodness ails these ere clothes o' mine." Betsy obeyed, and in a few moments broke into a loud "He -- he — he! Oh, good grashus, ole missus!" "What are you laughin' at, jackanapes?" "Oh, Lord a mussy! ma'am, you done sot down on de French lady's plaster, and it's stickin' fass to you!" “A plaster?” said Mrs. Percival, tugging at it to get it off; “ sure enough it is -a Burgundy pitch plaster. This is what she called 'a poultice!' Lawful sakes!" said she, sitting down to laugh; Betsy rolling over the floor in her glee. Here, Betsy," said her mistress, when her mirth subsided, "take the plaster to the French lady's room; but, for the land's sake, don't tell her where you found it. To think of my settin' on it all that ar time while she was a-huntin' for it!" ON MARRIAGE. “Love, honor, and obey, until death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth." The solemn words are spoken, the false vow registered beneath God's holy temple, and hollow-hearted mortals view the scene complacently, extend the congratulatory hand, and press the lips that have just perjured themselves before high Heaven. Oh, blind moles! groping in darkness, how long will it be ere the day-star of truth will rise on your benighted souls? In human courts of justice the finger of scorn is pointed at, and every mark of contumely heaped upon the head of the unprincipled wretch who swears falsely; but the votary of fashion can kneel before God's altar, and personate a living lie, with mocking words upon the lip, and joy-semblance on the brow, when the heart beneath is a heap of ashes a blackened charnel-house, where the fires of mammon have extinguished the mild rays of truth, and left their charred and blackened brands to smoulder and fret upon the hearth-stone. How few marriages there are contracted in this world from pure motives and affection, founded on esteem, a mutual knowledge of character, and a congeniality of habits, tastes, and principles! Ask nine hundred and ninety-nine out of every thousand you meet, "If they were wedded to the object whom they would have singled out from all others to share life's journey with," and you will find invariably (if they speak the sentiments of their hearts) that their unions were more the result of accident than anything else: with some, necessity; with some, ambition; with others, compulsion; with very few, love. Yet they will tell you "that they had learned to love each other afterward." Yes, a sort of affection, such as one might suppose two animals would entertain for each other that had tugged together under the same harness for years; in other words, they had got used to each other. Well, with the mass, perhaps, it is better that it should be so. We live in an every-day world, surrounded by every-day circumstances, and have no time to indulge in romance. The rotund Mrs. Smith of to-day, encompassed by six or eight juvenile responsibilities, would almost forget the time when she drew her waist into the circumference of half a yard, and indited love-sonnets to the moon. And so the world rolls on, and will, until “this mortal shall put on immortality," when we shall no longer "; 'see through a glass darkly," but, with spirits freed from the dross of earth, shall return to the abiding-place of truth, and resuscitate from the tomb of time the holy dreams and aspirations of our youth, to flourish and bear goodly fruit through the countless ages of eternity. THE DREAM-ANGEL. And now the Dream-Angel soared once more over sloping roofs, tall chimneys, spires, domes, and brick-and-mortar cages. Where in the vast city will she first bend her glances? See, through yon partially raised dormer-window, the full moonlight streaming, falls on the couch of a slumbering youth. It is an humble attic in which he rests; its walls are bare, its cot meagrely furnished; but that coarse pillow caresses a head where ideality and lofty thought have imbedded their priceless jewels on the brow's broad surface. Bend lower, spirit; look into that imaginative brain, and deep down into that warm glowing heart. No garret's bounds can crib their longings; no raftered roof holds down their high desires and lofty aspirations. 'Tis Nature's child you look upon — and towering mountains, starry heights, singing brooklets and flowery dales, are his inheritance. Oh! guard well the poet's dream - let not the stains of earth mar its brightness! Tenderly the Dream-Angel binds o'er his brow a chaplet of the mystic witch-hazel, softly singing through its leaves as she does so: Breathe here " a spell," mysterious plant Let dreams embody his soul's deep want! The unplastered walls of the little attic crumble down, and he stands on a wood-crowned upland, which slopes gently away, terminating in a green valley and fairy lake. The tinkling bells of browsing cattle, mingling with the ripple of laughing brooklets, float through the golden atmosphere, which no visible sun illumines, but soft, rosy, and purple clouds, with gilded edges and inward glow, like the fire shut up in the opal's heart, wave gentle folds over the burnished blue heaven. The air is sleepy with the odorous breath of flowers, and golden-winged beetles hum a drowsy drone as they rest on the tall silken grasses that wave green banners over the dancing streamlet. A thick wood, with its interlacing leaves and branches, shuts out this paradise from the noisy world; and fairy shapes flit through the green recesses, or dip their clustering ringlets in the limpid lake; while starry eyes peep over the rosy hedges, and taper-fingers rain showers of jasmine-buds upon eyelids slumbering on the mossy banks, or in the bowers where clematis and sweetbrier twine their stars and fragrance. No sounds are heard from out the playful host but laughter musical; they look their love, and speak with flowers their pure thoughts. And now, a band of dimpling, blushing nymphs have twined a wreath of amaranth, and, circling around him in a mazy dance, they place it on his brow; while soft through the hushed air a dreamy cadence floats, and unseen harps and voices blend a witching strain : Come! come! come! Come to our bowers of light, O son of the morning-land! Dreary and dark is the baneful night That shrouds the world's cold, strand. 'Tis suspicion, and doubt, and wrong But come to the bowers where faith is strong, Come! come! come! Drink of the fount of immortal Truth, 'Tis the glow of generous thought That golden lights our sky; And love makes our music-melody wrought Come! come! come! Come! come! come! Here, the words you breathe, Here, the thoughts that burn Will spring into living flowers, to wreathe Lay down thy petty cares; Cast off thy sin's dark yoke; And cool thy brow with ambrosial airs, Come! come! come! "Where? where?" exclaimed the youth, starting from his pillow with kindling eye and flushing cheek; "oh, where will that glorious dream be realized?" "In heaven!" softly whispered the Dream-Angel, as she floated out on the moonbeam. ELL ELIZA LOFTON PUGH. LIZA LOFTON PUGH, née Phillips, is a native of Louisiana, though of French and Irish extraction; and few, who have any acquaintance with her, fail to recognize, both in manner, conversation, and appearance, the prominent characteristics of the races from which she sprang; few either, who, recalling her father, fail to remember in him the true type of the "Irish gentleman" a man well and widely known throughout the State, generous, brave, and hospitable, endearing himself to all ranks by his bonhommie of manner, which, united to his talents and energy, made him a successful politician. To fine qualities of mind and heart he united the gifts of a ready narrator, and that talent, not uncommon to his countrymen, of rendering himself the "life of convivial gatherings." To all who knew and loved Colonel Phillips this sketch of his daughter among the literati of the South will not prove uninteresting. Alas! that an early death snatched from him the gratification of realizing in the woman the fond predictions of the early promise of the child. From her infancy she evinced a constitution so remarkably fragile, that it caused her devoted mother many an hour of sad reflection - particularly sad, as she discovered that as the powers of her mind were being rapidly developed, the inspiration of the soul seemed wearing away the body. She lived in a world of her own creation, surrounded by images of her own fancy. Her conversation has ever been remarkable for its originality and freshness, which has rendered her from childhood interesting to persons of all ages. Reared in the almost entire seclusion of home - bereft one by one of its inmates and the companionship of those endeared to her not less by the closest ties of relationship than a warm and earnest sympathy in the passion of her life, she became prematurely thoughtful as the companion of her widowed mother, in the absence and marriage of an only sister. At the age of ten she wrote a little story, in which the precocity of her inventive genius was apparent. She also evinced great talent in the extreme force of her descriptions, the elevation of her sentiment, and the poetic beauty of her language. After a careful home education, she completed her course under the |