A FRAGMENT:

AFTER THE MANNER OF THE ORIENTAL

APOLOGUE.

LOVE is moral beauty, enamoured with its own lovely form in a kindred spirit.

FRIENDSHIP is virtue pleased with beholding its own disposition displaying itself in another's acts, in a full belief of a reciprocity of feeling.

HONOR is the conducting one's-self in ordinary and extraordinary circumstances as a clear head and a pure heart would commend in the beau ideal.

Ir is the power of these three united to make an amulet in the moral world capable of producing a charm greater than the magi ever called up, or superstition ever imagined. This charm is happiness. In the march of this holy alliance, FRIENDSHIP must precede Love, and HONOR guard it. There are also good and evil genii who attend their progress. The good has in his train a host of ministering angels; Watchfulness, Forbearance, Gentleness, Kindness, Assiduous Attentions, Pure Aspirations, and Old Fidelity, with all his scruples of conscience. The evil genius follows close with his fiends, Dishonest Ambition, Fashionable Dissipation, Unmeaning Frivolities, Carelessness, Indifference, Wantonness and Infidelity; and some of these are the more dangerous, as they are often found assuming the robes of better beings. When the good genius is in the full course of his duty, he is the loveliest of the lovely; his wings are the feathers of the bird of paradise, his eye the evening star, and his voice a seraph's harp; but once overcome, how great the change! His eyes are a baleful glare, his wings the feathers of the foul bird of prey, and his voice the raven's scream. The evil genius once a conqueror, the amulet is changed to an obeah, and the celestial charm, happiness, to a spell of infernal wretchedness.

The charm is hard to obtain, and difficult to preserve. On the morning of the day of prosperity a thousand delicate Ariels breathe sweetness on the air, who sleep at noon and are gone at eventide. This is but the picture of a fair day; in one of clouds and darkness these gentle spirits are soon frightened by the blast, and are instantly gone forever. One bright vision here and there touches the earth, to show the sons of men that they are not quite forsaken, and a sweet voice is sometimes heard to linger on the wings of the gentle breeze, and says, or seems to say, 'Despair not! you are destined to other worlds, and your reward is there !' Then a new light cheers the soul, and the star of hope points to it, and the promises of OMNIPOTENCE secure it.

And when the good genius keeps on his course with every attendant virtue in his train, the crooked path is made straight and the rough way smooth. By the preservation of the charm until the deep vale of years, man passes the bounds of Time, and on the upward track of light reaches happiness immeasurable as space and lasting as eternity.

TO

ALL hail to MARY! Sweetest name
That e'er was spoken under heaven!
The gentlest ever known to fame,
To GOD's earth-mother given.
Like His religion spreading far

MARY.

And wide throughout the realms of earth, Still brightening, like the glorious star That told His wondrous birth.

In olden times that name hath stirred
Devotion in the warrior's breast,
As mailed and helmeted and spurred,
He set his gleaming lance in rest.
Through dim cathedrals vaulted high,
In Europe's saint-protected climes,
Oft have its praises sought the sky
At matin and at vesper chimes.

Shrined in all hearts and hallowed there, Though much of the old faith is gone,

All sacred as a tokened gem, Since first upon the wandering air

Shone the bright star of Bethlehem : Fit type of all that's mild or fair,

And stainless as the blue above; Breathed by soft lips in holy prayer, And murmured thro' the dream of love. September, 1850.

A holy charm around it clings;
As, when the wild-bird's song is done,

Still in our ears the music rings.
My mother bears that gentle name,
A sister who is dear to me;
And thou, my daughter! bear'st the same,
O! bear it ever worthily!

HOWARD CHILTON.

ROUGH SKETCHES OF FEMALE FIGURES.

BY A TRAVELLING ARTIST.

MARY

HINCH MAN.

In her childish days she learned her lessons at school, and obeyed her parents at home; but on the track of her girlhood there stands no monument of shame or beauty. When she parted from her associates at the academy, leaving forever the theatre of her instruction, her teachers commended her good conduct, and her fellow pupils bade her a kindly farewell; but no tears were shed, no bosom friend exchanged with her promises of eternal attachment, and her departure left no 'aching void behind.' I am, however, bound to say, that all united in the declaration, that she was a very ' amiable girl.’

Her features have a correct outline, she has a pleasant smile, and her form is well proportioned. She dresses with care and neatness, she does nothing ungracefully, she never gives offence, she was never addicted to romance, and received her lover with as much equanimity as her washerwoman.

One word as to lovers. Bob Dyckman was a free-hearted, bold, manly fellow, with a good figure, a good disposition, and a good appetite. Without being sentimental or transcendental, he was affectionate; he loved his parents, his family, and his friends, and it so happened that he loved the subject of this sketch. Gay, rollicking fellow that he was, the quiet manner of Mary Hinchman had quite a charm for him;

she would smile at his jokes, listen quietly to his abundant small-talk, ride with him and walk with him. His overflowing spirits made him satisfied with his statuesque companion, and his generosity attributed her lady-like frigidity to self-control, and an innate sense of propriety, developed by the polish of education.

Bob was trustful in his nature, and having endorsed for a visionary friend, suffered seriously from his bankruptcy. With characteristic frankness, Bob immediately informed Mary of his losses; he was confoundedly sorry' both for himself and his friend, and told Mary that she knew more than he did about every thing, taking care of money included, and that he would cheerfully make over to her her own portion, and the greater part of his property, so that they could be secure of a decent competency. But Mary's parents being worldly-wise people, thought that as 'circumstances altered cases,' Bob's altered circumstances materially altered this case, and therefore strenuously advised their dutiful daughter to discard her lover. So at the very time when a true woman's heart would have warmed toward him, at the very moment when the noblest instincts of our nature would have led her to cling to him, Mary informed Bob that prudential considerations, her filial obligations, and a sense of duty,' combined to make the alliance impracticable, but that she should always esteem him as a friend, and that he had her best wishes. Bob was not particularly gifted with the faculty of persuasion, but in his own rough, yet kindly way, he explained that if they loved each other there was really no impediment. Mary remained firm in her position, and in this case her lover suffered nothing by any lack of honeyed words, for had he spoken with the tongue of men and angels, the result would have been the same, and any man in his situation would have been as profitably employed in expostulating with a grave-stone. Bob believed in the sense of duty' statement because she made it, and so left her.

His was a heart not to be broken by inconstancy, and there was no danger of his going into a decline in consequence of his rejection; but he had not sufficient sagacity to see the truth, and the idea never occurred to him that all the love ever embarked in this affair was invested solely by himself. Bob is now a married man, and enjoys as much happiness with a loving little wife as his somewhat animalized nature will permit; but to this day he regards Mary as an excellent, amiable woman, entitled to his high respect, and somewhat too good for him.

The parents of Mary commended her discretion, and Aunt Patsy Wattles, who in somewhat advanced years had married a rich soapboiler, considered her only as little lower than the sainted in Heaven.

Another suitor came, one Jack Handy, whose father had left him half a million, the interest of which was alone under his control. Jack was pleased with the change from theatres and ball-rooms, and race-courses and gambling-houses, to Mary's quiet parlor, where he would daily while away an hour, tapping his patent-leathers with a nice little cane, boasting of the triumphs of his brown mare 'Jenny Lind,' and rattling away on other subjects equally momentous. There was not enough in Jack's composition to make him either very good or bad; there was nothing positive in his character; and having been placed in circum

stances calculated to make him frivolous and dissipated, he of course became so.

Mary's friends considered the match a capital one, for although Jack was somewhat gay, they thought her influence would purify him, and prove a perfect Sands' Sarsaparilla' for his moral nature.

Every arrangement for the wedding was amicably made, and would have been completed, if the gentleman had lived long enough, but he suddenly left Mary, horses, dogs, guns, and other attractions, in a fit of delirium-tremens, surrounded and persecuted, as he thought, by a great number of snakes, spiders, and other noxious animals. This hallucination constituted a remarkable epoch in his life, as it was the only time when he gave any evidence of possessing the faculty of imagination.

Mary endured her loss with her usual placability, and in due time another lover made his appearance on the stage. This was no other than Rev. Joab Meek, son of old Meek the tailor, who 'in the line of his profession' had accumulated a large property, and died at a convenient period, leaving his only child Joab sole heir to his property. Joab had a soul above buttons,' and so became a minister. He was very long, very lean, very ugly, and very evangelical.' The only approach to fleshiness or rotundity about him was seen in a little pair of round cheeks, looking as if they had been distended in the act of blowing, and never got back to their place. These cheeks of his presented a striking contrast to his nose, which was very long, and like his father's needles, and unlike his own acquirements, came to a decided point.

6

Joab's prayers were quite tedious, and a little spiteful, and his sermons quite poor, and intended to be pious. He was regarded as a great man by his deacons, who borrowed money of him; by sundry church members, who furnished him with all the slander of the day; and by several old women, with whom he drank tea and talked theology. The young ladies did not particularly affect him, their admiration being principally confined to clergymen who are handsome, or talented, or in delicate health.'

Joab's mind was none of the strongest; and his language, not at all fascinating, was rendered no more attractive in coming through his nose. He wore a high white cravat, and a high shirt-collar, both of which were in their highest condition, when he offered himself to Mary, and was accepted. She married him, and instead of looking at a ballet through an opera-glass, or whirling in a waltz at a ball, or riding behind 'Jenny Lind' on the avenue at the rate of a mile in three minutes, as she would have done if she had married Frank, she listened patiently to her husband's preaching, taught in the Sunday school, joined the Rechabites, and officiated as President of the Society for the Conversion of the Jews. She 'lived after the manner of the straitest sect,' and was admitted to be a very correct and amiable lady.

Joab fell sick, and sending for a physician as ignorant and pious as himself, very naturally died; and indeed it was very easy for him to die, as he had only to become a litttle more stiff. In his last hours he praised the LORD that he was different from other men, a thanksgiving in which I think 'other men' would gladly participate.

Mary's 'sense of duty' led her to bear her loss with the utmost calm