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solitary, wretched hovel, bordering on the marsh, the abode of the most ghostly, yellow, emaciated objects in human form I ever beheld, except some of the cayenned, curry-dried, liver-worn AngloEast Indians we left at Cheltenham. The sun was fast setting, and we had still two miles to make, and were coasting along the edge of a knoll, thickly set with huge and speckled aloes, intermingled here and there with stunted ilexes, and with the strawberry-tree, then bright with its globes of deep red gold, when methought I heard a rustling among the branches, and a sound like that of the grinding of teeth. I noticed it to my companion. He suddenly turned ashy pale, and whispered hysterically, "We are near a herd of swine!"

Vast numbers, I should have told you, are turned out in the fall of the leaf, to fatten here, and become so savage and wild, that none but their keepers dare approach them; and cased as they are in an almost impenetrable mail of leather, even they sometimes fall victims to the ferocity of these brutes.

"It is well for us,' "continued my friend, "that there is a hut within a few hundred yards. Let us lose no time in making for it." As he spake, the sounds became louder, and I saw some hundred hogs emerging on all sides from the brushwood, grunting fiercely, and gnashing their teeth in unison. They were huge, gaunt, long-legged, long-headed and long-backed creatures, giants of their species spectral monsters, more like starved bloodhounds than swine.

They now mustered their forces in battle array, outside the thicket, and commenced the attack in a systematic and regularly concerted manner; the veterans of the herd directing the movements of the hostile band, and one, by a deeper grunt, not ill resembling the word of command of a certain general, de grege porcus, of our acquaintance, giving dreadful notes of preparation, as if to spirit on the line to a charge.

We made our way with difficulty through the rotten and yielding morass, leaping from tuft to tuft, and risking, by a false slip, to plunge into a bottomless abyss, while our bloodthirsty pursuers, with their long legs and lanky sides, and tucked-up bellies, advanced-a fearful phalanx, in semilunar curve, momently gaining ground! My friend, who was more accustomed to the bogs than myself, soon outstripped me, not daring to look behind. Once, and once only, did I, and beheld them coming on like a

pack of hounds in full cry, and with the scent breast high, and, to my horror, perceived the two horns or wings of the troop, making an echellom movement in an ever-narrowing circle, like a regiment of cavalry bringing their right and left shoulders forward, to outflank, and then enclose us. I dared not risk a second glance at my foes, but the hoarse voices of the ringleaders ran through the ranks, and I heard and saw the plash of their many feet as they turned up the mud but a few yards in my rear.

How I reached the hut I know not, but reach it I did, where I found my friend leaning against the wall, breathless with terror. The shed was rudely constructed of peat, and appeared to have been long deserted, consisting only of bare walls and a few rafters; but, providentially, there was a door hanging by one hinge; this I contrived to shut just as the centre of the herd reached the threshold. They made a halt, retired a few paces, and collected together, as if to hold a council of war. While they were undecided how to act, we discharged our four barrels loaded with small shot, from the window, at the nearest, which slowly limping, with a sullen grunt of disappointment, the whole of their comrades at their heels, retreated into the covert.

"Thank God!" said R, when he saw the last disappear among the aloes. "It is but a year since a traveller, crossing the Maremma, paid for the journey with his life. There was not a tree to shelter him; and though he was a determined man, and well armed, and no doubt made a gallant resistance, they hemmed him in, and devoured him. Î could shew you the spot where the swineherds drove them from his mangled remains; it was pointed out to me the last time I came here."

SPECIMEN OF A NEW NOVEL.

AN ORIGINAL SKETCH.
BY A QUIET OLD GENTLEMAN.

YES, my dear boy, I will comply with your request, and the tranquillity of which I am so fond will become more agreeable to me, occupied in recalling, for your amusement, the incidents of my past life. Expect from me, however, nothing like a mysterious and romantic story. I have been the victim of no dark plot-no devastating passion; nor has my destiny been interwoven with revolutions, battles, or other great public events. Fortunately for myself, but

unluckily for my narrative, I knew who were my parents, was never stolen during my infancy, have never been exposed in a box, and, in short, have experienced little which has not been the fate of hundreds who never dreamed of printing their hopes, fears, and feelings. But from your earliest boyhood I have so often enjoyed your youthful and ardent curiosity; so many a time, by the pleasant winter fire, I have held you on my knee and in my arms, while your inquiring spirit drank in all the casual reminiscences which accident or your own solicitations drew from my lips, that I feel a true gratification in being able to oblige your wish, and in giving you, on paper, all that I can gather from the forgetfulness of an old man's mind. Perhaps, too, the garrulity of age, as well as the warmth of affection, prompts me to comply. I will adventure upon the perilous ground of authorship, and endeavour to fling upon paper the fragments which you have already heard, with such additional particulars as I can remember.

It was a lovely summer night. The full moon had mounted in the east. The silver clouds lay stretched along the heavens in silent and radiant sleep, and, behind their soft shapes, the lustrous stars twinkled, and the near planets burned steadily. The gentlest of breezes just stirred the leaves, without breaking the langour which hung over the beautiful city, after a long August day of intense heat. Every thing in the streets was still, except the footsteps of the pedes trians, who came out in parties to enjoy the breath of evening, or, peradventure, the sound of a guitar, or the notes of a piano melting in with the voice of some music-loving girl, heard through the wide-opened window. Over the whole scene appeared that brilliant enchantment and tranquil lustre which the poetry of England has ascribed too exclusively to eastern climes. The heavens and the air had all the deep and transparent beauty of Italy or Asia. The inhabitants of New York, who move over the broad pavements at this calm delicious hour, or sit inhaling the odours of their gardens from windows and terraces, do not know how unsurpassably enchanting are those long, sweet, American summer nights.

Many of the streets of this great metropolis, too, were even at that period remarkable for their beauty. They exhibit nothing of the gloom of European The buildings are high and

towns.

elegant, the streets wide, the whole exterior scene clcar and bright, and the people are abroad, contented and happy -free from beggars, bayonets, and spies, and upon a soil entirely their own.

On the night to which I have alluded, all the town appeared in motion, and in pursuit of pleasure. It was an hour when the spirits rise, the heart expands, when soft hopes and pensive recollections steal across the mind, and we think the earth a heaven, and wish to live in it for

ever.

A lordly building, that rose in the white moonlight, and cast a strong, uneven shadow into the street, shewed a dim light from two of its windows. The rest of the building was dark, and carefully closed, the bell was tied to the brazen guard, the old-fashioned knocker was muffled, and the stones before the side-walk in front of the door were thickly covered with the soft bark used by tanners, over which the wheels of each passing carriage cease their thunders and roll lightly, as on felt. These arrangements plainly enough denoted some one sick within-too much prostrated to bear the clash and tumult of the ever-busy, external world. Group after group went lightly by the sad dwelling. The aged tottered on, and breathed the fresh nightair with unalloyed satisfaction. The young and the gay went talking and laughing by. The maiden stole blissfully beneath the window of death, and listened to the whispers of love; and the careless shouted as he passed, in the unthinking buoyancy of strength, health, and enjoyment. selfish world.

Thus goes ever on the

The gloomy chamber, tenanted by the sick, perhaps by the dying, was elegantly furnished as a sleeping apartment; an accumulation of vials, cups, bowls, and all the paraphernalia of sickness lay around. At the farther end of the room, upon a bed hung with silken curtains, lay an attenuated female form, apparently in a deep slumber. By her side sat a lovely girl, pale with anxiety, and an old nurse moved about with a feline noiselessness, and the indifference of one skilled in such scenes, and callous to them from habitude. Before the sufferer awakens from her slumber, let me introduce her to you.

Maria Morgan had been born of affluent parents, who satisfied themselves with bestowing upon her a fashionable education, and regulating her morals according to fixed standards, without cultivating her affections and refining her

mind. She had grown up correct and unfeeling, accomplished and admired, but not beloved. Her wealth procured her a husband, who died after the birth of one daughter, and the haughty and wealthy widow, subsequently, lived on in single independence, having found the state of matrimony either too happy or too miserable to induce a second experiment. The same effect springs often equally from opposite causes.

The daughter had been, like herself, sent early to a boarding-school, where almost total separation from her mother had offered no opportunity for the growth of filial attachment, except the theoretical sentiment caught from poetry and romances, which, like phosphoric fire, inflames, without warming the heart. Even had the mother been capable of inspiring affection, Flora could have scarcely loved her as a child should love a parent.

The girl spent her vacations at home, in a circle small, but fashionable and refined, though tedious, for here etiquette took the place of morals, and formality of love; and she returned, with cordial delight, to her school amusements and school friendships. Here she lived the life, almost, of a flower in a garden, blossoming amid clusters of other flowers. For, if her life was not one of idleness, it was one of sunshine, and the routine of her daily avocations scarcely troubled her opening mind more than the rose is disturbed by the dew and the breeze, when its leaves burst their bud with a gentle violence; even so easy and pleasant a thing was learning to Flora Morgan. Music, French, dancing and drawing, map-painting, worked fire-screens, and gilt paper-boxes filled up the leisure of her lighter hours till she reached the dignified age of seventeen, and bordered upon the entire completion of her education.

As the mamma grew old, she grew, if possible, more isolated and repelling. Neither loving nor loved, she was believed to be utterly heartless, as she was assuredly, utterly disagreeable. She quarrelled with her servants, slandered her enemies, and insulted her friends, and, at length, when neither man, nor woman, nor cat would endure her companionship, on account of her caprices, and the exactions of her eccentric, domineering, and ungenerous disposition, she recalled poor Flora, now a tall, careless, beautiful girl, to be her companion or rather her victim.

Poor Flora! a sad day was it for the

affectionate girl when she received official orders to repair to head-quarters. However she came by it, she was of a sweet and gay disposition, and a mind lofty and noble, when awakened to exertion. Her school life had been all peace and sunshine. Equally beloved by her companions and instructors, quick at her tasks, accomplished, and full of talentsusceptible in feeling-adorning nature and freedom-proud, but gentle-modest and timid, yet constant and firm-capable of heroic actions, yet indolent and pleasure-loving, and destitute of resolution in the petty details of life, she was a character from which, at once, every thing was to be hoped and every thing to be feared.

The whole fabric of her education was built on the soundest moral principles, and she, therefore, regarded her mother with a profound respect, which almost any other woman could have awakened into affection, but she was too well aware of those peculiarities which always rendered her society painful, and her eyes filled with tears when she took leave of her girlish haunts, and the companions of her happiest hours. She bade a heavy adieu to a score of school-girl Hebes, to whom she had vowed inviolable fidelity; she kissed her dear and reverend instructress with unfeigned affection. Even her favourite bird was fondled, for the last time, in her bosom and consigned to another; for, of all things, her mother was unable to endure the "screaming of a bird." Her muchused books were gathered together, and packed up; rings, seals, and locks of hair were interchanged; vows, adieus, and kisses were repeated again and again, with all the unbounded fervour of youthful love. There are few things more tender than the heart of a young boarding-school girl. It has all the fond enthusiasm of a woman's, without its experience. Poor Flora pressed her hand upon hers, to keep it from breaking, as she looked back from the carriage-window, and saw the home of her pleasantest associations disappear amid the trees.

I do not think nature has created woman a nobler being than man, because I think their capacities for virtue are originally the same. But the world has made him inferior in many points. I have no time to discuss opinions, I mean only to express them; but it is certain that she is kept more aloof from those influences of policy and artificial passions, which distort the characters of the other sex. She is less corrupted by avarice,

ambition, a thirst for science, a worldly pride, and plans of life too broad to be executed purely and peacefully. The elements of her thought and feeling are less alloyed by common-place considerations. Napoleon was tormented with an unquenchable mania for empire. His mother and his wife always looked farther and higher, and sighed not over his obstacles, but his successes. The emperor, from his situation, felt himself compelled to repudiate the faithful Josephine. Her heart-her fame her love her happiness, were thistle-down in his path, while she would have preferred one smile of his to all personal distinctions. When the consul had usurped the crown, he met his mother one morning walking in a garden and gave her his hand to kiss, but the stern matron, with a thousand times more than the majesty of Juno, rebuked the conqueror of the world, and bade him remember, it was his duty to kneel to the being who gave him existence. The symbols of a queen or an empress were in her eyes, what Philosophy herself would pronounce them, idle baubles, which accident gives without merit, and takes away without justice; but the title of a mother, was the rank of nature conferred by the voice of God. This is generally the difference between the character of man and woman. But where is Flora?

The dutiful daughter sighed at the unkindness of her fate, and resolved to love her mother, if she could. At all events, she resolved to act as if she loved her. It was a heavy task, but there is a wonderful support in the consciousness that we are doing our duty. She had not been home six months when two events occurred which opened a world of thought to her youthful contemplation. In the first place she fell in love with a poor student at law, worth every thing but money. In the next, Mrs. Morgan was seized with a sudden, rapid and dangerous illness, which alarmed every one but the victim herself. For three months she languished, and as she grew more sick, she also grew more peevish. No task is more grateful than to watch by the couch of one dear to us. It brings the very finest and tenderest sentiments of the mind to the surface. The heart is perpetually full of a melting compassion -the eyes ever ready to be moistened with tears. I have hung over the pillow of such a one sleeping, with a feeling so purified that I could have clasped the unconscious hand, which was no more to act among the living, and met death

without a lingering wish for earth. But Flora's labours were of a different kind. The lips of the sufferer had never uttered a kind word to her, though she had served her like an angel. Sickness and death are frightful enough everywhere, and to everybody; but to the young, they are terrible and ghastly. They are a tremendous lesson to the tender eyes which have hitherto roved only over sunshine and flowers.

Flora watched her mother's fading face and wasting form with intense interest and sympathy. Never was a kinder nurse. Her delicate attention was visible everywhere. The bad temper of Mrs. Morgan broke out in new forms of caprice under the pressure of pain and ennui, and those nearest her received their share indiscriminately. But Flora never failed her-never replied-never murmured. It was her hand that shook the heated pillow-it was she who was ever near to aid the wearied and dying patient to a new position, and her overseeing care which hushed every voice and step, conciliated every attendant, and invented every sweet artifice to soften the rugged horrors of death. In this period of trying selfsacrifice, her character deepened, opening to her new sources of strength, hitherto hidden from herself, and her loving nature found even in the peevish and still haughty sufferer, much to excuse and to redeem, if not to admire.

On the night in question, I called to inquire what hope remained of Mrs. Morgan's recovery. I remember how heavily my heart weighed in my bosom on leaving the moonlight-the musicthe gay voices-the light shuffling of young steps-the grateful evening breeze, and all the tokens of cheerful pleasure without, to enter the gloomy chamber of death-to behold a human life quenched, for I had a presentiment that the scene was near its close. It had always been understood between Mrs. Morgan and myself, that I was to be the guardian of Flora, and of the ample property which was to come into her possession. I had made several attempts to converse with the former upon the subject, but always found myself baffled by her adroitness in eluding the subject. Nothing could persuade her that she was seriously ill. She persisted in every artifice to convince herself of returning health; had for a long time rejected the aid of physicians, and was perpetually forming gay plans for the future. Flora watched and wept. The peevish mother rebuked and ridiculed her.

This evening I found Flora calm and cheerful.

"She has been much better, sir," she whispered; "and so kind."

I would have made one or two inquiries, but she pressed her finger on her lip. I walked softly to the bedside and gazed upon the pallid features of the mother. They were so appallingly altered as to be scarcely recognizable. Yet upon her sunken temples, fearfully emaciated cheeks, and all the thin sharp features, still even in sleep, even in death, appeared the haughty coldness, which spoke a heart whose affections had been embit tered.

Flora gazed down upon that passionless unloving face, till the big tears leaped from her eyes and fell upon the floor. It was the first time she had beheld a fellow-creature blighted by disease, and sinking into that dark fate which swallows up before our eyes our dearest and best, and which surely awaits our own steps, however young, light, ardent, and happy.

"How still! how pale! how deathlike!" I murmured. The nurse was mixing a medicine to be taken during the night. A man went by in the street singing aloud. Mrs. Morgan opened her eyes languidly. Tears were on her cheeks. She put forth her long bony fingers with a look of deep terror and affection to the beautiful girl-the only one who had faithfully loved her in spite of all her faults.

"Flora, dear Flora-save me! save me!"

"My dearest mother."

The sufferer lay a moment recovering, whether from the effects of a dream, or from sudden apprehensions of the reality of her danger, no one can now say. In a few moments she grew more calm.

"Flora, my sweet girl, you have been a ministering angel to me. Forgive me. I wish-I have-you ought to possess all now-but-oh, save me-save me!" Another boisterous passenger beneath the window uttered an idle oath. It was answered by a hoarse laugh. Then the clock struck, quivering in the silence upon the last peal of twelve. The faint voice of the mother ceased; her extended hand fell heavily to the bed; her eyes closed, opened again, and fixed their starting and glazed orbs steadily upon the ceiling. The experienced nurse motioned me to lead Flora away. voice of the street passenger still went on singing.

The

"Let me speak to my poor mother," said Flora.

"She cannot hear you now, my dear child," I exclaimed.

"Why cannot she hear me?" asked the unconscious girl.

"She will never hear you again. We are all in the hands of God, my child, we must submit to his will."

"Mother-dear, dear mother!" exclaimed the affrighted and bewildered girl. She spoke to a cold clod. A long convulsive sob heaved her bosom. She fell into the nurse's arms, and hid her face in her bosom, and then not a breath was heard in the chamber of death, while the blue, tranquil moonlight streamed down through the windows upon the floor. Some days passed away; at the proper period the will was read. Imagine my surprise on finding that Mrs. Morgan had bequeathed all her property to Sir William Fitzroy-a gentleman to whom she was said to have been remotely related, but whom she had never seen to whom she owed nothing, and who was already worth twenty thousand pounds a year!

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WHEN the prow of Columbus first struck the point of San Salvador, and he cast his eyes upon the new world, he was so completely fascinated by the sublimity of the surrounding landscape, that he terms it a second paradise. regards climate, productions of soil, and grandeur of scenery, he acknowledges himself utterly unable to give even a sketch, and far surpassing the imagination of the wildest and most enthusiastic admirer of nature. Beautiful birds, of rainbow colours, fluttered and sported in the groves, making their cool shady aisles sound to a thousand mingling notes; bright insects, with light, transparent wings, were roving from flower to flower, giving a drowsy hum to the already bland and languid air, and the mingling colours that they exhibited playing confusedly together, appeared elegant and grand; the atmosphere was pure and elastic, and bore all the wild sweetness of the surrounding verdure and flowers; the magnificent forests swept away as far as the eye could reach, with their summits wreathed in a fresh and brilliant verdure; the bays lay sleeping within their banks, with a bright and glossy stillness; the music of the far-off rivers was heard in the silence of the atmosphere, and the waters of those that were near flowed forth sparkling and fresh as the mountain spring. As regards the

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