of gratitude, and exclaimed, "You have then saved my child, and there is something left me in this world worth living for." The business of the Indians being speedily conducted, Col. Ormsby had the pleasure of carrying back to his adopted child, a mother in every way worthy of her. Lucy married well, and continued through life to honour and love her self-constituted father, while she became the comfort and solace of her unfortunate mother. Col. Ormsby used often to speak in his old age, of his nocturnal adventure in the forest. "Had I been a timid man," he would say, "that child would have either been devoured by the panthers, or have been brought up a savage. But stay, I am talking like a foolish old man-It was God himself who put it in my heart to follow the cry of human distress, and it is to him alone, that Lucy owes her wonderful preservation on that awful night. Let us give Him the glory of all our good achievements, while we take the blame of our evil ones upon ourselves.”

C.

MONTICELLO.

When Spring unfolds her many colour'd robe,
And gems its glowing tints with crystal dews,
I love to wander thro' thy silent groves,
Sweet Monticello: loveliest in the hour
Of vernal freshness; when the balmy air
Distils rich fragrance from each bursting gem.
I see thee in unequall'd beauty now,
As rising from dark winter's sable pall
Thou smilest sweetly on thy loneliness.
The distant mountain's undulating line
Waves thro' the blue horizon, lost at length
To the dim vision, in the misty air.
While the near summits, darkly frowning still
In wintry barrenness, disturb the eye
Sent forth in search of beauty.

Yes, I love

To gaze upon the scene, tho' all is mute;

Hush'd are the sounds of childhood's mirthful voice
And youth's glad laugh, that woke the echoing hills!
Oh! can it be, that one, one little year
Suffices thus for desolation's work?

Where now is that loved form, so often seen
In morning's dewy hour, when flowers unfold
Their many tinted petals to the sun?
Gently she moved, in matron dignity

Among the sweets her fost'ring hand had spread;
Her infant prattlers sporting at her feet,
While often she repress'd their noisy glee:
For at her side, with the delib'rate step
Of tranquil age, her Patriot Father mov'd.
Where rests he now? Columbia's cherished son,
Whose wisdom framed the charter of her rights
And spurn'd the lion from her op'ning path;
Who gave his life thro' long protracted years
Of patriotic toils; where rests he now ?
Lo! in the bosom of his earthly home
His consecrated relics sleep in dust.
There freedom twines a never dying wreath
Around his lowly tomb, and weeps the while;
And History's faithful pen will bear his fame
Thro' the long track of time's unwearied course.

For her, whose virtues emulated his

In life's domestic scenes. Whose graces shone
Conspicuously bright to every heart

For her, no peaceful haven is reserv'd

Thro' ages' gath'ring cloud, or sorrow's gloom.
What country, boastful of the Patriot's worth
Has found him but a grave! While for his child
(For whom his closing lips besought their aid)
No home is left within her native clime.
Quench'd is the blazing hearth! silent the halls,
Where social intercourse improved the heart.
Each cherished relic of enlightened taste
Once hoarded by his hand, is scattered now!
The lonely spider, spreads her lengthened web
Unheeded, thro' the tenantless abode!
The very air breathes mournfully, as tho'
The voice of nature would a requiem sing
O'er banish'd worth, nd unrequited toil.
28

VOL. II.-NO. V.

Here science found within our southern clime,
A stately home beneath the sage's eye.

He rear'd her temple, while his waning life
Shed its last lustre on the rising fane.

But all is now forgotten in the grave-
Or if remember'd, only to express
The barren sympathy of heartless words.
Some few proclaim the patriotic deeds
Of him, who slumbers ir yon lowly tomb;
While others shun the theme, as if it moved
The soul too rudely from its selfish calm.
Yet time will gather round the patriot's name
A halo of imperishable light,

While those, whose petty int'rests have absorb'd
The heart's best feelings, shall forgotten lie
In cold oblivion's undistinguished gloom.

VIRGINIA.

RECOLLECTIONS.-NO. 2.

MY FRIEND MARY WILLIE,

you re

THE parents of my friend had died in her early childhood, before I knew her, and the little orphan girl was left to the real kindness of a wealthy relative, who cherished and educated her as if she were her own child. If collect Sir Walter's description of the little Moorish girl, in, I believe, Peveril of the Peak, it will afford you a very correct idea of Mary's person. She was not very pretty, being one of the darkest of brunettes, but in the essential points, good eyes, and good teeth," she certainly excelled. Her mind, and her heart, however, were beautiful and highly adorned. The far-famed academy at long been the favorite resort of the young ladies of its vicinity, and, until a rival seminary was established at a shorter distance from the metropolis, of those city misses, who wished to avail themselves of the benefits of country air and exercise, without relinquishing, for a while, their studies. It was here that Mary Willie was long distinguished by

has

her unaffected and lovely deportment, and by her proficiency in all the branches of science and the genteel accomplishments, which then constituted an elegant and finished education. Frank, generous, and affectionate, she was ardently beloved by her friends, among whom indeed, she might safely include the whole school. Of our mutual friendship, I had not purposed to relate any thing, as it would probably be utterly uninteresting to a third person-this however, I would say, that in affection and confidence we were as sisters; and when, on her quitting our village for a distant one, we exchanged farewells, it was with a mournful presentiment—we never met again.

A while after Mary's departure, it was rumoured in our quiet town that "Mary Willie was receiving the addresses. of a graduate from college," (and when such an affair as "a courtship" is existing, then, invariably, does

"Rumour hold her trumpet high

And tell the story to the sky,"

invariably, in town or country) and then again, report was saying, "that she was soon to be married to the young student." But after some time the well-authenticated story came to us, that "Mary Willie, the young, and beloved Mary, was deserted by her friend, and that she was declining rapidly in a consumption. Charles Vaughan was gallant, and generous, and sensible, and the first in his class." He had loved Mary as other men love-ardently and she had loved him as women love-unchangeably.

"She gave to him her innocent affections
And the warm feelings of a guileless breast-

*

"He left her—and in trouble she awoke

From her bright dream of bliss, but murmured not
Under her silent sufferings, nor spoke

To any one about her cruel lot.

You would have deemed that he had been forgot

Or thought her bosom callous to the stroke,

But in her cheek there was one hectic spot,
"Twas little, but it told her heart was broke."

Those who knew Mary, and did not know Charles, concluded he must be a heartless villain to leave so youthful and lovely a girl to the hopelessness of disappointed affection-but Charles, though deficient in firmness and con

stancy, was far from being heartless, or a villain. Mrs. Vaughan was a haughty and ambitious woman-proud of her family, and prouder of her son: it was when the beautiful, the accomplished, and richly endowed Miss Helen Montgomery made her appearance in Land particularly when (young and artless, and ignorant of his engagement as she undoubtedly was) she seemed to regard with much complacency the polished manners of the youthful collegian, that Mrs. Vaughan began to draw injurious comparisons between her and the unsuspecting Mary, who was then residing at a distance from L; and having established it in her own mind that Miss Helen would be the more suitable companion for her only son, she felt justified in employing all a mother's influence, and hers was as much as a mother ought to possess, to induce him to renounce his ill-starred engagement. Poor Charles was over-persuaded by his parent, whose will had ever been a law to him; his betrothed was not there to plead her own cause with the eloquence of her modest look; and as in thought he contrasted, her diminutive, though sylph-like figure with the graceful height of her rival, Miss Helen Montgomery, "a most magnificent " looking girl, he wavered, and heaven forgive him, as Mary Willie did, he broke his sacred vow. Thus were honor and affection sacrificed at the shrine of splendour and wealth-and will Charles Vaughan ever know prosperity or peace of mind again?

And as for that gentle victim of a broken troth,

"She bowed her head in quietness; she knew
Her blighted prospects could revive no more,
Yet she was calm, for she had heaven in view-

She "was composed to rest with many tears"-and her "fame is in the dark green tomb."

There was a little ballad written after Mary's death, by one of our school-girls, who sincerely loved her and faithfully cherished her memory. The term "beautiful" seemed to be misapplied; but we could never prevail on her to exchange it. Indeed, Mary's face was so mild, so sweet, and her voice so melodious, that it was difficult for those who heard her speak, to believe she was otherwise than handsome.