me, who knows but they will come and persecute her as they did me, and make her tell fortunes and find out stolen goods. If it were not for the hidden cool caves of a day, and the still kind moon at night, I should have gone crazy long ago. But on the top of the rock it is sweet to watch the glorious stars; and near by is the grave-yard; and there all is peace,—peace,— peace. Many is the good fortune I have told for others; but who will tell a good fortune for poor Molly?"

"Were I what I lately was, Molly," said Mr. Evelyn, "you know, that if what the world calls good fortune would make you happy, you should not have cause to complain."

"And do you, James Evelyn, do you, who valued so little the worthless dross, who have enjoyed it without pride, and parted from it without sorrow; do you think it is this for which poor Molly mourns? Alas! I would dig in the earth, but not for golden ore; and the lost ones that lie there, I may not bring them up. But in truth, I have been to the grave-yard, with my mattock, at midnight, and thought to try, but that was when I was not in my right mind. Could ye give me your calm contented mind, James Evelyn, the gold ye have lost would be to me as worthless as it was to you. But beneath the sod and beneath the sea, there lie Molly's treasures; and sometimes in the deep caverns, the waters speak so soft and low, I cannot but start as if it were that kind voice which was once music to poor Molly's ear. But farewell, James Evelyn! the goods of this world could not spoil you, and that shall enable you to bear its frowns. Farewell! poor Molly's good word is worth but little, but such as it is you will never want it."

'It was but a few days after this interview, that the gossips of Tattleborough, in considerable numbers, repaired, as a kind of deputation, to Moll Pitcher's cabin, to lay their troublous case before her. Many of them were her old customers. She had promised Miss Charity Harkwell a husband, years ago, which was one of the greatest stretches of conscience Molly ever committed, and shook her reputation, as a true prophet, in the opinion of most persons except the lady herself. She had given Colonel Fourthproof pretty strong hopes of commanding the brigade; and Thomas Twigmore, the school-master, had nearly worried her into the reversion of the ushership at the Littlefield Philosophical and Manual Labor Institute. But to do Molly justice, although, like the great Lord Chancellor Bacon, she took fees from all of them, she administered her favors with a pretty strict eye to merit. It required a smart thrifty lass to get any thing of a match out of Molly's tea-cup. She fobbed off the forward, impertinent sluts, that were continually pestering her, with

ordinary fellows. She put several on rigid probation, and sentenced more than one to solitary blessedness for life.

'Molly saw the troop wending their way towards her cottage. She knew them all at a glance; and as her mind was pretty full of the recent trouble of her friends the Evelyns, who she knew had settled down in the midst of this precious neighborhood; and as she had heard all the tattle of the place from some of them who had of late been separately to consult her, she had a kind of foreboding that the visit now made had reference to the Evelyns. This was one of those shrewd guesses which persons of rapid apprehension occasionally make; which often come to nothing, and sometimes prove true. A few such lucky hits had originally gone far to establish Molly's character for divination. Moll framed her question with a very considerable latitude, to fit almost any state of the case; for of course she knew nothing of their precise errand.

"And what are ye doing with the Evelyns, good people?" she said, "I know your thoughts."

'This struck the nail on the head; and terrified those whose fanaticism had not mastered their humanity. They stood abashed in the presence of one, who, they thought, read the ill nature of their hearts.

'Molly perceived that she had hit the mark; and sternly repeated the question, " and what are you doing with the Evelyns, Deacon Pitchpipe, Master Twigmore, and you, Nabby Broadfist; I hope, Nabby," she added in a half-whisper, to the damsel," that ye mind your ways; the smart cocked hat and epaulette I spied for you in the tea-cup last Christmas, had almost vanished before the new year. But neighbors, gossips all, what are you doing with the Evelyns? I know your thoughts."

'With a great deal of hemming, and ha-ing, and appealing from one to the other, and stammering and confusion, the deacon, and school-master, and Colonel Fourthproof, made out to explain their visit. They stated the notorious loss of property which the Evelyns had met with; that nevertheless they appeared to live in comfort and want for nothing;-that Mrs. Evelyn had her piano, and Mr. Evelyn his hogsheads of wine; that they had books to read, and clothes to wear, and money to give, when it was asked; that Mr. Evelyn had been lately heard to say, that ten of his best ships had come in that morning; that he had boasted of riding in his coach and four, and finally declared that he had the Philosopher's Stone. These strange and uncomfort able doings had perplexed the good people of Tattleborough; they were an honest hard-working people, who paid their taxes: ("when you are sued," muttered Moll," and not before, and that

ye know, Squire Close fee, right well; for you spirit them up not to pay, and then you set the constable on 'em,") and were opposed to all popery, witchcraft, and black art; they took the Philosopher's Stone to be neither more nor less, than one of the works of the devil; and had come to ask Mrs. Pitcher's advice what they had better do. And saying this, by way of fitting the action to the word, Twigmore attempted to lay a silver dollar, (the fund which had been raised by the company to cross Molly's palm,) in her broad outstretched hand.

Molly drew herself up, with unaffected native dignity, and turned her hand, with a repulsive gesture, away from Twigmore. As she gathered up her thoughts to reply, the long and confi dential intercourse she had had with the Evelyns rushed upon her mind, and particularly their last interview. She remembered many instances of Emily's kindness to herself in winter and in sickness. The admirable conduct of both, in the reverse of their fortunes, (with which her conversation with Mr. Evelyn had made her well acquainted,) crowded upon her recollection. She was provoked at the senseless persecutions they encountered; vexation mingled with her tenderness; and as usually happens in such cases, she ran off in a somewhat extravagant and mock heroic strain, in which, as in the character of Hamlet, it was not easy to discriminate the method of madness, from the agitation of a shrewd but excited intellect. Looking sternly round upon the group, and stretching forth her hand in an oratorical manner, she commenced her address with an exordium, not precisely calculated, according to the precepts of Quinctilian, to conciliate the audience.

"Louts, tipplers, and busy bodies,-I told ye I knew your thoughts, when I asked what ye would with the Evelyns. Go back to your place, vain tormenting people. What! do you wonder that they live in comfort? Do ye not know that the man is free from debt, and hath a quiet conscience; and that his wife is an angel of goodness? Ay, free from debt, farmer Shortswath, and well were it for you, if you would be the same. And when I tell you that his wife is a good-tempered soul, your husband will know what that means, Jane Peckstill. Ye tell me they live in comfort. Well, when he lost the fortune of a prince, (which he spent, ye skinflints, as nobly as an imperial monarch,) he saved a poor five hundred dollars a year; and less than half of that pays the board of himself and wife. Does the like sum pay your bill at the bar-room of the tavern? Answer that, Colonel Fourthproof, as you hope one day to be a brigadier; but I have turned and turned my tea-cup over and over again, and not an inch can I start you from your regiment, Colonel; and the

wine he gives you to drink, (and there I blame him) he has it for you because it never wets his own lips. I do not wonder that passes your understanding, George Guzzlewell; and then she dresses tidy, does she, Nab Broadfist? I tell ye, malkin, ye might rig on a new changeable lustring every day in the month, and put Emily Evelyn into a single plain calico once a year, with a pretty sprig on a white ground, (and I see her neat little shape as plain as if she were here,) and ye'd always look like a slut as ye are, and she like a lady. And she has her piano, has she, Eunice Screechowl, that gape in the front gallery o' Sundays, till ye take the curl out of the minister's wig? I'll tell you how she has it. It's not her own, Eunice, for that went with the rest of her things; and they tell me that she took a leave of it, that would have melted the heart of your nether mill-stone, Sam Poorgrist, or your own, which is as hard; but she hires it in Boston, if you must know, and pays a few dollars a year for the use of it; and the poor soul allows that it is a little extravagant, but her husband obliges her to keep it, and makes it up by saving in something else: because he says he cannot live without his wife's music. Do you think your husband, Eunice Screechowl, will say as much, if I ever let you have one? Thank your stars, I have picked you out an old quarter-gunner, that has been as deaf as a haddock since the war at Tripoli; but the last time I turned the tea-cup for ye, he had got a hearing trumpet in his ear. Unless he gives that up ye lose him. And you, Twigmore, you do not see where he gets his books? At the public library, you oaf; and what is the public library for? And do you suppose that James Evelyn is a thick-pated fellow like yourself, that must thumb, and thumb, and thumb till the leaf is worn into rags, and then not half understand it, Thomas Twigmore? And when his elegant books were brought to the hammer, did he not calmly say, 'I could have read but few of them, had they remained my own, and what I have leisure to read, I can borrow from the public library?' And his coach and four ye cannot comprehend. There, there it goes, louts, tipplers, gossips," pointing at the Salem stage that dashed by at the moment; "that's James Evelyn's coach and four, and my coach and four, and yours, Charity Harkwell, if ye choose to ride in it; and quite as creditable it would be to you, I can tell you, as your own old square-top chaise, and poor raw-boned spavined beast, to go limping along with ye. And his ships, did he talk of, James Evelyn's ships? Yes, well I remember, ships he had; and dreadful was the storm that sent one to the bottom. Could the bright and blessed moon have called off the roaring waves, she would have done so. toiled all night, the moon and I, to save the noble vessel.

We

I was

at Pigeon Cove, when the storm came on, and that you remember, Richard Smugglejug. They heard my tramp at the dark midnight, like an earthquake, through Beverly and Danvers. But the bright moon that had raised the storm, could not lay it, and James Evelyn's ship went upon the Graves. But did he boast of his five good ships? Now look out upon the ocean, louts, tipplers, gossips, five, ten, twenty ships dancing over the tide, and gladsome to the heart of him that sees them. The owners are eaten with care; the owners mayhap are loaded with debt; the owners are worried to sell the cargo; but whosoever has a heart to rejoice in the prosperous works of his neighbor, and the wonders of Providence, he is the lord of what his eyes rest on. He has the comfort of all he sees, while others have the cares. The town is his, and the country is his. He enjoys the stately palace, whose fair proportions meet his eye; he enjoys the broad fields, which spread beneath his feet. They yield him all the pleasure which man can derive from them. He owns their beauty and their fertility; the proprietor owns but their trouble and weariness.

'And what is the Philosopher's Stone, Dr. Longleech? a thing, I trow, that's not over plenty among your ill-savored rubbish. What's the Philosopher's Stone, Thomas Twigmore? a thing ye'll not pound into your poor brats, for you have not got it yourself; and how shall they teach that have not learned, Thomas Twigmore? What's the Philosopher's Stone, Eunice Screechowl? Your quarter gunner that you leave me no peace for (and a weary long time he tarries, I grant ye, and that's not the worst of it, 'twill be longer ere it's shorter,) he'll hardly bring you that from his foreign travel. I'll tell you, louts, tipplers, gossips, and you, busy bodies and trollops, it's domestic peace. It's a gentle temper; mark that, Alice Sourface! It's a clear conscience; hear ye that, Ichabod Prowlwood! It's temperance, Colonel Fourthproof. It's patience, Amanda Flashfire. It's brotherly love, you Job Pesterkin, that swore your own sister's child into the State's Prison, for passing a counterfeit bill on ye, and who made it ye know yourself as well as any body. It's these that make the plenty and the happiness of the Evelyns, and their Philosopher's Stone is a contented mind.'

The Religious Souvenir, though it makes less pretension on the score of mechanical and literary execution than the Token, is especially commendable for its excellent moral tone. It is also enriched by some very valuable contributions, particularly a tale by Mrs. Sigourney of Hartford, illustrating the fatal results of Intemperance.

VOL. XXXVIII.-NO. 82.

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