THE ARTS AND SCIENCES.

From Blackwood's Magazine.
THE DAGUERROSCOPE.
FRENCH DISCOVERY.

high lands of the dividing ridge forty miles south of the has represented, from the Point des Arts, and in a very
utcrop of this depot near the lake, and twelve or fifteen small space, the whole bank of the Seine, including that
undred feet higher than the original location. So to part of the Louvre containing the grand gallery of pic-
he south of the great limestone deposit, boulders of this tures. Each line, each point, is rendered with a perfec-
ock are very numerous. Within five miles, where tion quite unattainable by all means hitherto used; he
tones are collected for walls, these boulders are found in has also reproduced the darkness of Notre Dame, with
ome places to constitute one-half or one-third of the its immense draperies and Gothic Sculpture. He has
tones gathered from the fields. As we recede to the also taken the view of a building in the morning at eight
outh their numbers and size become less, and scarcely o'clock, at mid-day, and at four o'clock in the afternoon,
trace of them can be found. North of the outcrop of during rain and in sunshine. Eight or ten minutes at
his limestone formation, few or no boulders of this stone most, in the climate of Paris, is sufficient: but under a
.re found, even though all the streams flow across it in more ardent sun, such as that of Egypt, one minute will
hat direction, thus demonstrating that their removal to suffice. To artists and savans, who travel, and who oft-
the elevated ranges south was effected by force, and that en find it impossible to prolong their stay at interesting
he force exerted was from a northern quarter. Bould-places, this process must be most welcome. The French
ers exercise much influence on the agriculture of a coun-journals, and reports of proceedings, however, admit
ry by their size and numbers, and by the material of that these admirable representations still leave something
which they are composed Thus a country occupied by to be desired as to effect, when regarded as works of art,
imestone or gypseous boulders, is more likely to be adapt- It is singular, they observe, that the power which creat-
d to the culture of wheat than one in which the grani-ed them seems to have abandoned them, and that these
ic form prevailed. So uniform has been the course of works of light want light. Even in those parts most
the boulders on this continent, the northern part parti- lighted, there is an absence of vivacity and effect; and
cularly, that the presence of any kind of rock or earth, it is to be allowed that, amidst all the harmony of their
may be considered proof that the location of the rock, or forms, these views appear subjected to the sober and hea-
the strata from which the earths were formed, may be vy tone of color imparted by a dull Northern sky. It
found to the north of its present position.
would appear that, by passing through the glasses of
the optical arrangements of M. Daguerre, all the views
are uniformly clothed with a melancholy aspect, like that
given to the horizon by the approach of evening. Mo-
tion, it is obvious, can never be copied; and the attempt
to represent animals and shoe-blacks in action, conse-
quently failed. Statuary is said to have been well-de-
Pencil of Nature.-Who has not admired the splen- fined, but, hitherto, M. Daguerre has not succeeded in
did and wonderful representations in the camera obscura? copying the living physiognomy in a satisfactory man-
-images so clear, so full of life, so perfectly represent-ner, though he does not despair of success. It cannot
ing every object in nature. These living pictures, by
traversing lens and mirrors, are thrown down with dou-
ble beauty on the table of the camera obscura by the ra-
diant finger of light. The new art has been discovered
to fix these wonderful images, which have hitherto past
away volatile-evanescent as a dream—to stop them, at
our will, on a substrance finely sensible to the immediate
action of light, and render them permanent before our
eyes, in traces reprented by tints in perfect harmony on
each point with different degrees of intensity. We must
not, however, believe, as has been erroneously reported
to the public with respect to these (Parisian) experiments,
that the proper color of objects are represented in these
images by colors; they are only represented, with extreme
truth, by light, and in every gradation of shade; as an
oil painting is given by a perfect engraving, consisting
of black lines; or, perhaps, more akin to a design made
with mathematical accuracy, and in aqua-tinta; for there
are no crossings of lines in the designs by the pencil of
nature: red, blue, yellow, green, &c., are rendered by
combinations of light and shade-by demi-tints, more or
less clear or obscure, according to the quantity of light in
each color. But, in these copies, the delicacy of the de-stitution of steel for copper plates, for engraving, though
sign-the purity of the forms-the truth and harmony
of the tone the aerial perspective-the high finish of
the details, are all expressed with the highest perfection.
The formidable lens, which betrays monstrosities in
the most delicate fand aerial of our masterpieces may We must add a few words with reference to science.
here search for defects in vain. The creations of nature This newly discovered substance, so easily acted on by
triumph. Far from betraying any defect, the highest the rays of light, opens a wide field for photometric ex-
magnifier only tends to show more clearly its vast supe-periments which have hitherto have been hopeless, more
riority. At each step we find new objects to admire, re- particularly on the light of the moon. M. Arago calls
vealing to us the existence of exquisite details, which to our attention some experiments made by himself, to-
escape the naked eye, even in reality. Nor can this as-gether with some other philosophers, by which the light
tonish us when the radiant light, which can only act ac-
cording to the immutable laws of nature, substitutes its
rays for the hesitating pencil of the artist. M. Daguerre

any sign of heat on the most delicate thermometer. We should be glad to know if any experiments have been yet made with the concentrated light of the moon upon thermo-electrical apparatus, which may be constructed of extreme delicacy. The substance used by M. Daguerre is evidently sensible to the action of lunar light, since, in twenty minutes, he can represent, under the form of a white spot, the exact image of this luminary.

M. Biot, who, from the nature of his labors in the field of science, takes a lively interest in the subject in questisn, anticipaies much from the means afforded by it to carry out the analysis of some of the most delicate phenomena of nature. M. Daguerre has, it is asserted, already discovered some new properties of light, and is still carrying on the investigation." Here, in truth, is a discovery launched forth upon the world, that must make a revolution in art. It is impossible, at first view, not to be amused at the sundry whimsical views the coming changes present. But to speak more seriously, in what degree will art be affected by it? Art is of two kinds, or more properly speaking, has two walks, the imaginative and the imitative; the latter, indeed, may greatly assist the former, but, in the strictly imitative, imagination may not enter but to do mischief. They may be considered, therefore, as the only two proper walks. It must be evident that the higher, the imaginative, cannot immediately be affected by the new discovery-it is not tangible to its power-the poetry of the mind cannot be submitted to this material process; but there is a point of view in which it may be highly detrimental to genius, which, being but a power over materials, must collect with pains and labor, and acquire a facility of drawing. Now, it is manifest that, if the artist can lay up a store of objects without the (at first very tedious) process of drawing, both his mind and his hand will fail him; the mind will not readily supply what it does not know practically and familiarly, and the hand must be crippled when it is brought to execute what it has not previously supplied as a sketch. Who will make elaborate drawings from statues or from life, if he can be supplied in a more perfect, a more true manner, and in the space of a few minutes, either with the most simple or most complicated forms? How very few will apply themselves to drudgery, the benefits of which are to be so remote, as an ultimate improvement, and will forcgo for that hope, which genius may be most inclined to doubt, immediate possession? But if genius could really be schooled to severe discipline, the new discovery by new and most accurate forms, might greatly aid conception. If this view be correct, we may have fewer artists; but those few, who will 'spurn delights and live laborious days,' will arrive at an eminence which no modern, and possibly no ancient master has reached.

have escaped chemists that various chemical products are
sensibly affected by light. Some gases may remain to-
gether in the dark without any effect, but a ray of light
will cause an instant explosion. Other bodies, such as
the chloruret of silver, are modified in color. It at first
takes a violet tint, and afterwards becomes black. This
property would have doubtless have suggested the idea
of applying it to the art of design. But, by this mode,
the most brilliant parts of the object become discolored,
and the darker parts remain white. This produces an
effect contrary to fact; and, again, the continued action
of light tends to render the whole dark. Mr. Talbot's
method would seem to be based on the use of the salts of
silver, with the addition of some substance or covering to
prevent the further action of light when the design is
complete. This discovery will doubtless effect a great
revolution in the arts of design, and in multitudes of ca-
ses, will supersede the old method, so inferior. The in-
terest of many may temporarily be affected; but whatev- But in the merely imitative walk, and that chiefly for
er is truly good cannot essentially do mischief. The in- scientific purposes, draughts of machinery and objects of
vention of printing soon employed many more than were natural history, the practice of the art as it now exists,
employed as copyists. Even in our own time, the sub-will be nearly annihilated—it will be chiefly confined to

fifty times the number of copies may be taken from them,
has, by the substitution of good engravings for indiffer-
ent ones, so extended the demand that more steel plates
are now required than were formerly used of copper.

of the moon (300,000 times less than that of the sun)
concentrated by the most powerful glasses, gave no indi-
cation of chemical action on the chloruret of silver, nor

the coloring of representations made by the new instruments-for it is not presumed that color will be produced by the new process. Our mere painters of views will be superseded, for our artists have strangely dropped the wings of their genius, and perched themselves, as if without permission to enter, before the walls of every town and city of Christendom, and of some out of it: so much so, that after-generations, judging of us from our views in annuals and other productions, may pronounce us to have been a proscribed race, not allowed to enter within gates; pictoral lepers, committed to perform quarantine without, and in the face of the broad sun, if possible, to purify us. These mere view-makers will be superseded; for who that really values views, will not prefer the real representation to the less to be depended on?

We have so little taste for these things that we shall say
so much the better, if it does not throw many worthy
and industrious men out of employment. Yet who is
allowed to think of that in these days, when the great,
the universal game of "beggar my neighbor" is played
and encouraged with such avidity? Then it remains
to be considered—will taste be enlarged by this inven-
tion? Do we not despise what is too easily attained?
Is not the admiration of the world at once the incitement
and the reward? Has it not greatly, mainly, a refer-
ence to ourselves? It is what man can do by his ex-
traordinary manual dexterity that we are so prone to ad-

mire.

People prefer a poor representation of an object made by a human hand to the beauty of the thing itself. They will throw away a leaf, a flower of exquisite beauty, and treasure up the veriest daub that shall have the slightest resemblance to it. We suspect our love-our admiration of art arises, in the first place, because it is art, and the work of man's hand. This is a natural prejudice, and one designed, probably, to bring the hands nature has given us, to their utmost power. There are things so exquisitely beautiful, and at first sight, acknowledged to be so by all, that it is surprising they are not in common use. For instance, the camera obscura-how perfectly fascinating it is! Yet, how unsatisfied are people with it, because its pictures are not of the human hand, and how seldom do people, even of taste, return, as it might have been expected they would, to the exhibition of it? We are afraid something of this indifference will arise from the new invention. However beautiful may be the work produced, there will be no friend to be magnified, no great artist for the amateurs to worship with all the idolatry of their taste, or of their task of it. The love of imitation, innate although it be, and so determinate in infant genius as it has ever shown itself, will be undoubtedly now checked as mere idleness; and, in lieu of improvement by practice, the young genius will be surfeited with amusements which he has had no share in creating, and for whose excellence he has had no praise. If this view be correct, it may be presumed that the number of artists will be greatly lessened, and that a few will attain to greater ex. cellence.

Another question arises-will painters and engravers be equally affected? In the present view of the matter, for we have not seen any announcement of a power of making impressions ad infinitum, though in certain cases of fixed objects, and with fixed light and shade, something of this kind may be looked for; yet, for practical purposes, it is probable that the engraver will be more than ever in demand. We hope it may be so, for it is in this way practice in drawing will still be required, and without practice in drawing we can have no painters. Yet, when one thinks of the possible power of copying pictures-in having fac-similes, in all but color, of Raphael and Correggio, one cannot but dread, in the the midst of the hope of the rich possession, the diminution of so admirable an art.

The sailor

The woes of human life are relative. springs from his warm couch to climb the icy top-mast at midnight without a murmur-while the rich merchant complains of the rattling cart which disturbs his evening repose. In the time of peace, we announce the cracking of a limb or a bone as a "melancholy event," but in war, when we read of the slaughter of our neighbors and thousands of the enemy, we clap our hands and shout "glorious victory."

A gentleman is a human being combining a woman's delicacy with a man's courage,

SELECT POETRY.

From the Baltimore Patriot.
MUSINGS IN PRISON.

The reader is informed that I have been confined in
the Baltimore prison, with a view of eradicating two in-
veterate habits to which I have been addicted. I vainly
endeavored to break the chains of habit myself, and some
distinguished gentlemen of Baltimore, my particular
friends, seeing my situation, determined on seeking a
pretext, which was soon found, of encarcerating me in
prison, where I should not be able to obtain the enemies
of my soul. I have acquiesced in the decision, and re-
main a voluntary prisoner, with the determination never
to leave these walls until the chains of habit are broken,
and I can go forth into the world a radically changed
man. Methinks the curious reader will ask the cause
of those habits. I answers disappointment in early life
in an affair of the heart, in which I was to blame. In
Baltimore, the causes have been, loss of every thing by
fire, and pecuniary embarrassment, for the want of em-
ployment.

What mean those long dark vaults I see,
And massive doors of iron made?
The home of mirth and misery—

Here human nature is displayed.
Here the poor debtor mourns his doom,
Vindictive vengeance hath decreed;
Pity can seldom pierce that gloom,

Or bid the tyrant's bosom bleed.
See, yonder comes his youthful wife,
To weep and worship at his feet;
Such scenes destroy the joys of life,

And yet such scenes to me are sweet;
They tell of deep undying love,

They tell of woman's constancy;
Of joys the angels feel above,

Mingled with much of misery.
The youthful and the man of prime,
In dark abodes are gathering here;
They are the dreadful sons of crime,

Outcasts from all in life that's dear;
No father's hand will bless them now,

No tender tears bemoan their fate;
The mark of Cain is on their brow,
Alas! repentence is too late.
Dost mark that youth of noble mein,

Of manly form and features fair?
He once in virtue's path was seen,

He once did fortune's favors share :
But ah! one fatal step hath been,

The ruin of that wayward child;
His mother sleeps, the grave within,

His sister roams a maniac wild.
Loaded with chains in yonder cell,

A man of mind and many cares,
Cut off from all the world, doth dwell,

The counterfeiter's name he bears;
And see, where beauty comes to bow,
And weep o'er her dear father's sin;
She mourns to think what he is now,
And what that fathermight have been.
Oh human nature, weak thou art,

Thy frailties to the best belong;
The bleeding breast, the broken heart,
The mother's, wife's and sister's wrong,
All spring from thee-the fatal hour,
Ye touch the wine cup or the bowl;
Ye are within the demon's power,
For they're damnation to the soul.

The following lines were written by the late Margaret Miller Davidson,
when she was only twelve years of age.

INVOCATION TO SPRING.
Bend down from thy chariot, oh! beautiful spring;
Unfold like a standard, thy radiant wing,
And beauty and joy in thy rosy path bring!
We long for thy coming sweet goddess of love!
We watch for thy smile in the pure sky above!
And we sigh for the hour when the wood birds shall sing,
And nature shall welcome thee, beautiful spring!
How the lone heart will bound as thy presence draws near
As if borne from this world, to some lovelier sphere,
How the fond soul to meet thee, in rapture shall rise,
When thy first blush has tinted the earth and the skies—
Oh! send thy soft breath on the icy-bound stream:
Twill vanish-'twill melt like the forms in a dream:
Released from the chain, like a child in its glee,
Twill flow on unbounded, unfettered, and free!
Twill leap on in joy, like a bird on the wing,
And hail thy sweet music, oh! beautiful spring :
But tread with thy foot, on the snow covered plain,
And verdure and beauty shall smile in thy train!
But whisper one word with thy seraph-like voice,
And nature and earth shall rejoice! shall rejoice!
Oh spring!-lovely goddess! what form can compare,
With thine so resplendent, so glowing, so fair?
What sunbeam so bright as thine own smiling eye,
From whose glance the dark spirit of winter doth fly,
A garland of roses is twined on thy brow-
Thy cheek with the pale blush of evening doth glow;
A mantle of green o'er thy soft form is spread,
And the light wing'd zephyrus plays round thy head.
Oh! could I but mount on the eagle's dark wing,
And rest ever beside thee, Spring! beautiful Spring!
While the thought of thy beauty inspireth my brain,
I shrink from the terror of cold Winters' reign-
Methinks I behold thee-I hear thy soft voice-
And in fullness of heart, I rejoice! I rejoice!
But the cold wind is moaning, the drear snow doth fall,
And nought but the shrieking blast echoes my call.
Oh! heed the frail offerings an infant can bring,
Oh! grant my petition, Spring! beautiful Spring!

Many of our New York readers will remember the two little children-who about two years ago so delighted many a brilliant coterie with their infantile warblings. The following stanzas from the Philadelphia Inquirer are inscribed to the eldestTO MISS ROSINA SHAW,

AGED TEN YEARS.

Beautiful girl! that tiny face,

Where roses seem to struggle through
The lily's white-that childish grace—
Those eyes so like the voilet's blue—
The mirth those laughing orbs reveal,

Undimmed by Time's corroding powers—
Oh! who can look on these, and feel
Life hath not some delightful hours!
Fair warbler! on thy sunny brow

Grief hath not set his wrinkled palm,
Nor marred its glorious brightness-thou
Art gentle passionless, and calm;
Thy checks are not yet blanched with care,
That demon in this world ours,
And darkling guilt and fierce despair,

Thou know'st not e'en their symbol flowers!
Sweet girl! still stainless may'st thou be!

Thy spirit's quenchless hopes, still bright,
May life's brief herritage to thee,

Ever be brilliant with delight!
May'st thou be gently woo'd by Death--
Dimming, as stars dim, ray by ray—
Like roses in their own rich breath,
In thine own music, melt away!

JOHN S. DU SOLLE

THE RICHMOND COUNTY MIRROR:

A WEEKLY PAPER PRINTED ON STATEN ISLAND, DEVOTED TO SCIENCE, LITERATURE, & NEWS.

THREE DOLLARS PER ANNUM.

NEW BRIGHTON, MAY 11, 1839.

VOLUME III.-NUMBER XV.

SELECT TALES.

ANN WILKINS,

OR THE WEDDING GARMENT.

The beautiful Cinderella, ere she was out of her infan- | satisfying himself with her looks, wished next to be sat

based boy-husband. His time was out and his employ-
ment precarious.

What God had intended Ann to be it would be impi-
ety to presume; but what she was what man had made
her-even the evil one himself would have felt pity to
behold. This was the dark, the dangerous part of her
life. She looked on her wailing infant, she saw it press
the enfeebled, milkless bosom, and she wished it dead.
How she lived through those four long years of rags and
wretchedness, she never could tell; she was not yet
nineteen when her misery seemed to have reached its
climax. Her husband lay ill, in the last stage of a ra-
pid decline. While the man was dying, two parishes,
each of which were disputing which should not be en-
cumbered with his bones, refused relief.

cy, was fast sinking down into the sickly and dowdy mother of low life. Then came the parish medical attendance, and the begrudged parish relief; the lowering REVENGE, when opportunity permits the full indulg-look, the heavy curse and the heavier blow of the deence of its energies, in man becomes ferocity, in woman, malignity. The former, courage may overcome, patience support, or submission subdue-but death only can relieve us from the violence of the latter. Relieve us, did I say? No, the breath of that baleful passion settles like a black mist upon the grave of its victim, and blasts the few flowers that may attempt to flourish around it. That person is brave who can conscientiously say that he fears the resentment of no man-but he is a fool who dares that of a woman. I only know three cases in which it may be any thing short of madness to tempt a lady's vengeance: when you find yourself in the last stage of consumption-after you have been condemned to death-or are about to be expatriated either at your own or at your country's expense-and, that I am not over cautious, any one who will take the trouble to read the following narrative will be ready to confess. Beauty, thou art a dangerous but a bright mantlethere is fire, too, in thy brightness; for sometimes, like the shirt of Dejanira, thou art fatal to the wearer-and sometimes, like a flower that is withered up by the sun, destructive to the gazer. Of this quality, so important for good or for evil, Ann Wilkins had almost more than a mortal's share. She was the daughter of low, almost vagabond parents; of her father she knew little-he disappeared when she had attained her tenth year, overwhelmed, no doubt, in some of those gullies of filth and wretchedness that perforate the heart of the metropolis; he was heard of no more. Her mother was a practical political economist; she, in the neighborhood of Paddington, verified one of its principal dogmas-the turning into the utmost profit the residuum, the caput mortuum of the raw material—she gained her livelihood by sifting cinders—a dirty, but honorable employ—and, thanks to the carelessness of the metropolitan menials, not altogether unprofitable-as many a silver spoon and fork rewarded Mrs. Wilkins' inquisitorial researches.— Till Ann was fourteen, she shook her elbows on the dusty field in unison with her mother, and, looking at them, I assure the reader that she did it with infinitely more grace than ever was possessed by the Marquis of H—, though the ivories fell from under his aristocratic manual vibrations, and ashes from hers. Yes, she was a beauty, tall, rounded, with eyes that could madden, and lips that could smile away madness.

At fourteen, her companions began to treat her as a woman; she no longer sifted, shoeless and stockingless; she began to give herself airs, and begged people to behave themselves genteelly-had a smart dress, clean white cotton stockings, and prettily sandalled shoes for Sundays. That was a foot-never mind-why should we speak of her foot when so many, even then, were thinking of her hand?

There is a great affinity between strong contrasts. A young baker, not yet out of his time, not more than eighteen years of age, saw and loved. Owing to the English poor laws, and the excellent state of morals of the poor-the effect of those laws-these minors married, and Ann was, at the age of a little more than fifteen, a mother. Start not! This is an unexaggerated fact.

|

isfied with her story. He then gave her his countenance because he liked her own so well; afterwards, an education, as he said he intended she should succeed his housekeeper; he was his own steward. So she was taught music, dancing, French and Italian, in order the better to be able to check the baker's and butcher's bills. The old housekeeper opened her eyes; she, however, shut them again on being pensioned out of office in excellent style. People began to surmise; Sir Peter grew angry and talked about his disinterestedness. Now it was well known that every body who knew Sir Peter, and every body who knew Ann, did not want the baronet to marry the widow of the journeyman-baker, so they went the very best way about effecting the match. They said "it was improper and scandalous,” and dared him to do it. He did it, only to prove that it was neither scandalous nor improper.

Sir Peter had his reward. She made him an excellent wife, and he made her an excellent will.

Things were in this state when Anne, taking her lit- At the age of thirty-five, behold Lady Ann Rankles, tle child by the hand proceeded through crowds of the just clear of her first year of widowhood, stepping into well-fed and the gay to seek redress at the hands of the her well-appointed carriage, in order to make one at a magistrate, against the inhumanity of the overseer.- dinner party in Brunswick square. Her hostess was The day was bright and sunny; she was thrust hither also a widow, the relict of a Colonel Canderson, of the and thither by crowds of better-dressed people; she saw Honorable East India Company's service, rich, avarishops overloaded with delicate viands-her child cried cious, fond of play, past forty, and not very remarkable for them-that cry irritated her; she was herself very, for personal charms. She was one of those whose intivery hungry. Ye, who have never hungered, be mer-macy, it is the moral we wish to inculcate, we should ciful in your condemnation. On that day her heart har- beware of. dened; she who had, through all her misery, never yet been selfish, now allowed selfishness to enter into her soul. She said to herself—"Yes, he will die;" and she was glad; “and were I quit too of this whimpering | brat! I am not yet twenty-my beauty may return-I can shift for myself were I but quit of him!"

It was a diabolical thought. She was in a crowded thoroughfare-she did not attempt to lose him;-no, I will never believe it; I am myself a father; but she was careless, abstracted, reckless. That night she was a widow and childless.

Then the people were kind to her. The overseers took blame to themselves-magnanimous souls! They had no idea the case was one of extremity. However, they were pious folks; their pews at the parish church were decorated with crimson curtains, moving on bright brass rods, consequently they told the widow that God willed every thing for the best, and bade her take comfort, but she could not;-her little Alfred!

"I never forget my friends, and never forgive my enemies," was continually on her mouth, and at least the latter part of it, in her heart. For the first clause of her creed, I never knew that her friends were very grateful; how she acted upon the second will shortly be shown. To apply her aphorism to herself, I know of no one of whose actions so much forgetfulness ought to have been wished, or of whom, as Christians, we should have more to forgive.

Let us now suppose Mrs. Colonel Canderson to have filled her two drawing rooms with her evening party, ir addition to her dinner guests; that she has left the task of making them "comfortable "—a word not yet exploded in Brunswick Square-to her goady, and has made herself so at the whist table; for she has got a shrivelled, adult, roguish lawyer for a partner, and Lady Rankles for an opponent. Mrs. Canderson is all smiles, but they are glittering and false as summer ice. The appearance, the all-beautiful appearance of Lady Rankles on that memorable night, was, not beyond all description, for I could describe it—but I will not. I hold the remembrance of her as a devoted lover does the miniature of his affianced in his bosom, not to be obtruded on the eye ofthe inquisitive, the cold or the worldly. There is nothing like training, after all-for who could ever have imagined that those long, white and delicate fingers that so agitate the bosoms of the be bcides, once agitated a cinder-sieve? The expression of her countenance is that of a subdued joyousness. Once, or perhaps twice in the course of the day, a little absence of manner, and Let us pass rapidly over the next fifteen years of Ann's a swimming of the eyes in tears that she could not relife. The house-keeper of Sir Peter Rankles, a mid-press, yet would not let fall, told that even the summer dle aged bachelor, had heard of her story, so she took of a loveliness sweet as hers was sometimes overcast by Ann upon trial as house-maid. Her beauty returned, if a passing cloud; yet it did not. on that account, seem possible, with increased splendor. Sir Peter, after well the less transcendent.

Whether the parish authorities were very assiduous in their search after the little lost pauper, we know not, as he was never found; but this we know, when Mr. Bolster, the overseer, met Mr. Scrimp, the vestry-clerk and attorney, that evening, in the well furnished apartments of the master of the work-house, they congratu❘lated each other and the parish, over an excellent bottle of port, at the expense of the said parish, at their good luck in getting rid, in one day, of both father and son. God had, no doubt, taken them both, so they pronounced it a God-send.

"But perhaps her ladyship will have the goodness to The loser rose, the winner grew angry, and again begive me my revenge at ecarte.”

"

Why, really; I had almost made a vow never again
to play at that hateful game. You always beat me at
it; and it is late; but as I see that you have set your
mind upon it, we will have a game or two."

"Then, I assure you, it must be for very high stakes
or I shall hold you craven; come, you have won between
fifty and sixty pounds of me, and you limit the games
to three; you must say twenty pounds a game."
"Oh, no no!"

"Ten?" and the hostess began to shuffle the cards
with eagerness.

"No, indeed; it would go against my conscience."
"Ah! conscience; well, some consciences which
would walk through fire and water without a muscle's
quivering, are all over nerve whenever they come to a
card table. Do not think that I mean to be personal,
Lady Rankles."

But she had some dreadful hours of solitude. There, there was the throbbing of the riven heart, the wild tossing of the arms, the agonized wringing of the hands, 'My Alfred! my little angel!" And in the darkness of night, and in the land of dreams, sleeping or waking, the icy hand of retribution lay heavy on her heart, and then the childless mother felt the horrors of living heigh tened by the dread of death. How often did she scan over every moment of that fatal morning, how fearfully exact was every face painted to her, that she had met in that walk; and how she strained every nerve that seemed to cut into her tightening heart, to find out some exculpation for what she wished, but could not call, her passive crime! The fact ever came painted to her in pictures of fire upon her brain, that when she missed the little hungry sobber from her side, she did not look back until she hoped, until she knew that looking back was fruitless. She would repeat to herself, until it was uttered in screams-" Oh God! I did not walk faster-I did not walk faster." The flattering unction would not lie upon her soul; and the horrible word infanticide, would quiver upon her lips. Then, when her compunction was of a more tender nature, how would she weep, weep for uncounted hours, uttering only these words"My poor, poor hungry Alfred!" But these parox-play." ysms were not of frequent occurrence, or she would have sunk under them. They were generally brought about by seeing children of about the age of the one she had lost, weep. Miserable as all this was, she had her consolation, and that was in repentance and prayer. It made her think of Heaven oftener than she otherwise would have done, and had it not been for this, earth would, perhaps, have held too much sovereignty over her.

This lovely being is now playing whist against her hostess. The stakes are high, as Mrs. Canderson is notoriously avaricious. It is short whist, a terrible provocative of short tempers. She and her partner are really playing admirably-yet they recriminate. Mrs. Canderson's money and good humor are fast going, there the latter is entirely gone-that last hand did the business.

"Mr. Obit," says Mrs. Canderson, flinging down her loss, with much asperity, "I think if you cannot handle parchment better than you do pasteboard, you ought not, in conscience, to undertake any man's law business.You will pardon me, sir, but I never saw any one play worse."

66

Madam," said the lawyer, bowing sarcastically, "the blame of my loss this evening lies between three parties, "myself, Dame Fortune and my partner. Of the three, I really can only exonerate myself."

Mrs. Canderson was about to reply, but seeing a titter upon the faces of the standers-by, she felt that to encounter the lawyer at polite vituperative tilting, would only be kicking against the pricks, so she, like all cowardly spirits, turned round, with her vial of wrath brimfull, to pour it on the head of the humble in mind, and the meek in carriage.

"Lady Rankles," said the hostess, with a most ominous emphasis on the word lady, "I have lost to you just fifty-three sovereigns this evening."

gan to be sarcastic. She still kept her scat and contin-
ued to shuffle her cards. Lady Rankles' patience and
forbearance were fast giving way to the attacks of the
other; at length, after one more rude than the rest, she
said, with great dignity, "Mrs. Canderson, while I held
any of your money, I permitted you to get it back in
your own manner, but I can go no farther. I cannot
risk my own money with a lady, who, at every deal, by
accident, of course, drops one or two cards in her lap.
"Woman," said the tigress, "it is false!"

"It is true," said her ladyship, and approaching her opponent, endeavored to remove the handkerchief which lay partly on the edge of the table, and partly on her lap. Something like a scuffle ensued. Mrs. Canderson rose from her chair, and beside it, on the carpet, lay three of the kings! There was a dead silence for half a minute. At length Mrs. Canderson came up to Lady Rankles, and whispering distinctly in her ears, uttered these words-" Card dropping is not, after all, so bad as

"I fervently hope not. It really does go against my
conscience, and I had already made up my mind to give | child-dropping!"
the sum that I had won to-night to some charity.. So
you see, if you win this back of me, you are winning of
the poor and the unfortunate; really, I am very loth to

It was then that Lady Rankles appeared to be the
guilty party. She staggered to her chair, and seemed
ready to faint. Mrs. Canderson was a great general;
she knew that her reputation was at stake, and, before
"Well, as you please, Lady Rankles," said Mrs. C. surprise had time to give way to indignation, she ran up
with a fiendish malignity; "but, in return for your very to her ladyship, wiped the perspiration from her brow,
pleasant and moral refusal to oblige me, permit me to kissed her on the cheek-oh! that hateful kiss!—and
give you a piece of excellent moral advice. Give the exclaimed, "Good heavens! I hope I have not carried
money to a charity, but take care that it be to the Foun-the joke too far! My dear, dear lady Rankles, it has
dling Hospital."
been a jest altogether. Not one farthing of the money
that you think you have lost was ever intended to be ta-
ken. Come here, Mrs. Crump, and tell Lady Rankles
if all this was not a planned thing."
The toady advanced, and exclaimed, with ready as-
"To be sure it was; all a planned thing."
"A planned thing!" echoed many of the guests, who
unceremoniously departed. Lady Rankles returned the
kiss of peace, took back the money, laughed at it, with
a bursting heart, as an excellent joke, walked up and
down the room arm-in-arm with her hostess, gave her
and two or three who were near her an invitation to dine
with her next day, once again kissed her tormentor, and
took her leave.

Had sentence of death been suddenly passed on Lady
Rankles, she could not have been more horror-stricken.
She knew that none possessed her fatal secret; but this
dreadful allusion, from this very dreadful woman's lips,
accidental as it seemed to be, was like the blast of light-surance,
ning. Yet, with a wonderful effort, she prevented her-
self from fainting; and, though deadly pale, she bowed
her head as in submission to a chastisement from Hea-
ven, and, with scarcely a thought of her mortal tor-
mentor, said, with humility, "Mrs. Canderson, I will
play for whatever you please.”

The hostess, again mantling her face over with artifi-
cial smiles, said, “Well, then, in deference to your scru-
ples, which I really respect, I will meet you with consid-
eration for your acquiescence-let the stakes be but five
guineas. I am a plain honest woman, that never forget
my friends or forgive my enemies, and if you are going
to give so largely to a charity, I sincerety wish you may
double your gains."

And, in her zeal for the good of the poor, she began playing by placing her large white handkerchief on the table, and dropping two out of the four kings into her lap. Her opponent saw it.

When they both found themselves alone, one said, "Gracious God! does she know my secret? Impossible-impossible! Yet she must not be provoked.”– The other said, "I never forget my friends, or forgive my enemies," with a bitter emphasis upon the four last

words.

It was long before Mrs. Canderson recovered that estimation of her own set, that the transaction of this memorable night had estranged from her. However, the two widows now became inseparable. Nothing that attention, flattery or zeal could do was left undone by Mrs. Canderson to win the affection of Lady Rankles. She succeeded. She succeeded.

man.'

Ladies cheat at cards-sometimes. The young and beautiful-bless their bright eyes!—do it daringly and desperately, with a frankness that is quite charming. Oh! they avow it, and laugh at you. An excellent About this time Mrs. Canderson invited to her house joke, if it did not cost us poor "masculine humans" so a Captain Templetower, a fine handsome youth of onemuch money. Elderly ladies, who are preparing their and twenty, gentle in his manners, manly in his bearsouls for Heaven, cheat piously and secretly, in ordering, and with "all good graces that do grace a gentleHe was Mrs. Canderson's nephew, her only relative, an undoubted favorite, and heir to her very considerable property. Lady Rankles admired him from the first moment she beheld him. Young Ernest was equally struck with the rich and beautiful widow; and, though years were certainly not in her favor, in youthful appearance they seemed nearly equal. They were a Lady Rankles soon lost all that she had won, and a happy trio. Young Ernest was all gratitude and love, few pounds over. Play had ceased in the other parts of and devotion-Mrs. Canderson all affection: her nature the room. Many had already left, and almost all who seemed to have undergone a change—her occasional asremained had collected around the two antagonists.-perity of manner to be entirely subdued-even whist and

"If it gives you pain, my dear Mrs, Canderson," she that they may put two shillings into the plate at the door replied, mildly, "I am really very sorry for it." of the chapel or church, when they have a charity sermon, instead of one. These devout ones do it secretly, because they know that they are, speaking of their good deeds, "not to let the right hand know what the left doeth." So praiseworthy an end sanctifies the means. Ladies cheat at cards-sometimes.

"Gives me pain, indeed! I should not have thought of it—I believe, I have got just as much pain in losing this money, as you have sorrow in winning it."

"Never said a truer word, by Japres," said a voice in the crowd that usually surrounded Lady Rankles, when she went in public.

This was wormwood and bitter aloes to Mrs. Canderson. She took, however, no notice of it, but continued