The overflowings of an innocent heart—
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!

1 Alone it hangs

Over a mouldering heirloom, its companion,
An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm,
But richly carved by Anthony of Trent,
With Scripture-stories from the Life of Christ;
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robes of some old ancestor-

That by the way, it may be true or false'But don't forget the picture; and you will not, When you have heard the tale they told me there. 2 She was an only child-her name Ginevra, The joy, the pride of an indulgent father, And in her fifteenth year became a bride, Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,

Her playmate from her youth, and her first love.
3 Just as she looks there in her bridal dress,
She was all gentleness, all gaiety,

Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
And in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.
Great was the joy; but at the nuptial feast,
When all sate down, the bride herself was wanting;
Nor was she to be found!-Her father cried,
""Tis but to make a trial of our love!"

And fill'd his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread,
2 "Twas but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back, and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.
* But now, alas! she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could any thing be guess'd,
But-that she was not!

7 Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and embarking,
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.
Donato lived-and long might you have seen
An old man, wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find he knew not what!
When he was gone, the house remain'd a while
Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers.
Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten,
When on an idle day, a day of search,
Mid the old lumber in the gallery,

That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said
By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra,

66

Why not remove it from its lurking-place?" "Twas done as soon as said; but on the way

8

It burst-it fell; and, lo! a skeleton!
With here and there a pearl, an emerald-stone,
A golden clasp clasping a shred of gold:
All else had perish'd, save a wedding-ring
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both-
"Ginevra."

7 There had she found a grave!
Within that chest had she conceal'd herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fasten'd her down for ever!

Samuel Rogers.

THE FISH HAWK AND THE BALD EAGLE.

1 Spirited narrative; the tones well modulated, and increased and relaxed in energy as the spirit of the clauses requires. 2 The same qualities of utterance, but greatly increased in vivacity and spirit. 'THE flight of the Fish Hawk, his manœuvres while in search of fish, and his manner of seizing his prey, are deserving of particular notice. In leaving the nest, he usually flies direct till he comes to the sea, then sails around, in easy curving lines, turning sometimes in the air as on a pivot, apparently without the least exertion, rarely moving the wings, his legs extended in a straight line behind, and his remarkable length, and curvature, or bend of wing, distinguishing him from all other hawks. The height at which he thus elegantly glides is various, from one hundred to one hundred and fifty, and two hundred feet, sometimes much higher, all the while calmly reconnoitering the face of the deep below. Suddenly he is seen to check his course, as if struck by a particular object, which he seems to survey for a few moments with such steadiness, that he appears fixed in air, flapping his wings. This object, however, he abandons, or rather the fish he had in his eye has disappeared, and he is again seen sailing around as before. Now his attention is again arrested, and he descends with great rapidity; but ere he reaches the surface, shoots off on another course, as if ashamed that a second victim had escaped him. He now sails at

a short height above the surface, and, by a zigzag descent, and without seeming to dip his feet in the water, seizes a fish, which, after carrying a short distance, he probably drops, or yields up to the Bald Eagle, and again ascends, by easy spiral circles, to the higher regions of the air, where he glides about in all the ease and majesty of his species. At once, from this sublime aerial height, he descends like a perpendicular torrent, plunging into the sea with a loud rushing sound, and with the certainty of a rifle. In a few moments he emerges, bearing in his claws his struggling prey, which he always carries head foremost, and, having risen a few feet above the surface, shakes himself, as a water spaniel would do, and directs his heavy and laborious course directly for the land.

"Elevated on the high dead limb of some gigantic tree that commands a wide view of the shore and ocean, the Bald Eagle seems calmly to contemplate the motions of the various feathered tribes that pursue their busy avocations below,-the snow-white Gulls, slowly winnowing the air; the busy Tringe, coursing along the sands; trains of Ducks, streaming over the surface; silent and watchful Cranes, intent and wading; clamorous Crows; and all the winged multitudes that subsist by the bounty of this vast liquid magazine of nature. High over all these hovers one, whose action instantly arrests his whole attention. By his wide curvature of wing, and sudden suspension in air, he knows him to be the Fish Hawk, settling over some devoted victim of the deep. His eye kindles at the sight, and, balancing himself, with half opened wings, on the branch, he watches the result. Down, rapid as an arrow from heaven, descends the distant object of his attention, the roar of its wings reaching the ear as it disappears in the deep, making the surges foam around. At this moment, the eager looks of the Eagle are all ardour; and, levelling his neck for flight, he sees the Fish Hawk once more emerge, struggling with his prey, and mounting in the air with screams of exultation. These are the signal for our hero, who, launching into the air, instantly gives chase, and soon gains on the Fish Hawk; each exerts his utmost to mount above the other, displaying in these rencontres the most elegant and sublime aerial evolutions. The unencumbered Eagle rapidly advances, and is just on the point of reaching his opponent, when, with a sudden scream, probably of despair and honest execration

the latter drops the fish; the Eagle, poising himself for a moment, as if to take a more certain aim, descends like a whirlwind, snatches it in his grasp ere it reaches the water, and bears his ill-gotten booty silently away to the woods.— Wilson's American Ornithology.

3

THE BATTLE FIELD.

'Triumphant narrative. 2 Gloomy description, with a tone of triumphant pride. Melancholy contrast. Tone of repose and cheerfulness. Poignant grief. Melancholy and contempt.

'I LOOKED on the field where the battle was spread,

Where thousands stood forth in their glancing array; And the beam from the steel of the valiant was shed, Through the dun rolling clouds that o'ershadowed the fray.

2 I saw the dark forest of lances appear,

3

As the ears of the harvest, unnumbered they stood;

I heard the stern shout, as the foemen drew near,

Like the storm, that lays low the proud pines of the wood.

Afar, the harsh notes of the war-drum were rolled,
Uprousing the wolf from the depth of his lair:

On high, to the wind, streamed the banners red fold,
O'er the death-close of hate, and the scowl of despair.

I looked on the field of contention again,

When the sabre was sheathed, and the tempest had passed; The wild wind and thistle grew rank on the plain,

And the fern softly sighed in the low wailing blast.

Unmoved lay the lake, in its hour of repose,

And bright shone the stars, through the sky's deepened blue; And sweetly the song of the night-bird arose,

Where the fox-glove lay gemmed with its pearl-drops of dew.

5 But where swept the ranks of that dark-frowning host, As the ocean in might-as the storm-cloud in speed! Where now were the thunders of victory's boast

The slayer's dread wrath, and the strength of the steed?

3 Not a time-wasted cross, not a mouldering stone,

6

To mark the lone scene of their shame or their pride: One grass-covered mound told the traveller alone,

Where thousands lay down in their anguish, and died!

Here, glory! behold thy famed guerdon's extent:

For this thy slaves toil, through their earth-wasting lot; A name, like the mist, when the night-beams are spent,A grave, with its tenants unwept and forgot! Mrs. Hemans.

THE DISTRESSED FATHER.

Interesting narrative. ? Sympathy. 3 Eagerness. Intense grief. • Deep sympathy. 6 Blunt, affecting narrative. 7 Blunt, pathetic reproof. A glimpse of hope. 9 Apprehension. 10 Stupefaction and despair. 'HENRY NEWBERRY, a lad of thirteen years, and Edward Chidley, aged seventeen, were fully committed for trial, charged with stealing a silver tea-pot from the house of a gentleman, in Grosvenor Place. There was nothing extraordinary in the circumstances of the robbery.-The younger lad was observed to go down into the area of the house, whilst his companion kept watch, and they were caught endeavouring to conceal the tea-pot under some rubbish in the Five Fields: but the case was made peculiarly interesting by the unsophisticated distress of Newberry's father.

The poor old man, who, it seems, had been a soldier, and was, at this time, a journeyman pavier, refused at first to believe that his son had committed the crime imputed to him, and was very clamorous against the witnesses; but, as their evidence proceeded, he himself appeared to become gradually convinced. He listened with intense anxiety to the various details; and when they were finished, he fixed his eyes in silence, for a second or two, upon his son; and turning to the magistrate, with his eyes swimming in tears, he exclaimed-"I have carried him many a score miles on my knapsack, your honour!"

There was something so deeply pathetic in the tone, with which this fond reminiscence was uttered by the old soldier, that every person present, even the very gaoler himself, was affected by it. *"I have carried him many score miles on my knapsack, your honour," repeated the poor fellow, whilst he brushed away the tears from his cheek with his rough unwashed hand, "but it's all over now!-He has done-and-so have I!"

The magistrate asked him something of his story. He said he had formerly driven a stage-coach, in the North of Ireland, and had a small share in the proprietorship of the coach. In this time of his prosperity, he married a young woman with a little property, but failed in business, and, after enduring many troubles, enlisted as a private soldier in the 18th, or Royal Irish Regiment of Foot; and went on foreign service, taking with him his wife and four children. Henry, the prisoner, was his second son, and his "dar