TO JULIA. BY A WESTERN MISSIONARY. THINE eye is bright, thy brow is fair, How rich the blessings that have crowned thee! Strew o'er thy path the choicest flowers: Maiden! I give thee joy of life; Think not, dear maiden, I despise Wouldst thou be happy? There are tides They flow not in the bowers of ease, Where sloth on downy couches sleeps; Tis not in these we find the streams Of mad ambition; nor the field Of strife, where feebleness must yield, And power treads down the right and true, No! seek not happiness in those: Wouldst thou be happy? Live to bless; THE HOME! the fount of joy or woe! Maiden! if any cynic sneer At home, and love, and fireside cheer; Or point to higher destinies Than holy wedlock, 'neath the skies, Julia! I draw not random lines Goes mourning for the loved and lost. Julia! if some fond, faithful youth, Shall seek that holy tie to twine; And if, in more than "Love's Young Dream" Heart flows with heart, a mingled stream; Enter the sanctuary of life; Be-what God made thee for-a wife. Live then for Him who lived for thee, shorn of lights and transparency, looked gloomily a deep curtain of black lace all round-its neighat us in the morning sunshine. But by ten o'clock | bour looked hazy in blue gauze. A third being there had been a clearance, and everything was in marching order-the very tents had one foot off the ground and were balancing unsteadily on the other. Most of them were quite emptynothing remaining but floor and canvass; but now and then one might see a belated pile of coats and cloaks and bundles, or a pair of boots and a looking-glass, or a pail on the end of a broomstick, slowly emerge and move off to barracks. "Have you moved, Mr. E-?" said one of us. "Yes indeed-I don't care about displaying my possessions to ladies' eyes around.'” "But why don't you have the soldiers to carry all these things?" said old Mrs. R- surveying him compassionately. "I must refer you to head-quarters, ma'am," said the cadet, smiling; "but there seems to be no very good reason why we shouldn't carry our pails to barracks, since we have to use them a good deal there." "You don't surely have to bring water?" "Water and coal, ma'am." Mrs. R-looked so astounded, that Mr. Ewent on to reassure her. "It's not so bad as you think, ma'am. Why, there was a man here once, who chose his room in the upper story of the barracks, that he might get the more stair-exercise." "I admire his spirit," said Florence; "I can't bear to see men afraid of a little trouble." "Then what would you think, Miss Florence, of a man who, after a walk to the top of one of these mountains, said, 'If any one wished to insult him, he might just ask him to go again.'" "I should think-but first tell me who it was?" "Not I, I assure you." intended-not to cover the head, a worked and laced handkerchief did that-but to give two small, ungloved hands, plenty of occupation, tottered about on its supposed resting-place, while the little hands made vain attempts to seem to tie the green loops, and the fair owner protested "she didn't know what was the matter with itshe had never had the least trouble before." And her mother said, "Tie it, my dear," and then the flat perversely stuck itself on one side of the head and then on the other; and how it managed not to rumple either the white kerchief or the lady's temper, was a marvel to unsophisticated people. In short, there were bonnets and wearers of every sort, and streamers enough to dress out one manof-war at least. No less graded and curious were the scraps of conversation, which one in the midst of the crowd could not help hearing. Talk as we would, a pause must sometimes come; and other voices were so loud as to demand attention. Mothers discussed their own daughters-and Saratoga. Then up comes Miss, just on the wing for New York, but promising to "come back next week, and then we will have some dancing." Little-hands described her last visit to a friend: "but then," said she, with a most bland smile, "her daughter died the day after we got there, and you know that was dismal." So was her display of truth, to me at that moment. Near me, but a little withdrawn from the crowd, sat two young girls, one of whom was probably at a fashionable hotel for the first time; for, leaning towards her companion, she said, in a somewhat anxious and low tone of voice, "Do you dress for dinner?" And now comes the second tap of the drum, "I hope it was none of my friends. But did and there is a little more stir in the camp. This anybody really say that?" "So I was told." "Why, we all went up there some years ago— at least up Crow's Nest, if that's where you mean --and stayed till after sunset, so that we had to guess at the path coming down, and, to be sure, we were tired to death and didn't want to move again for a week, but that was nothing." 44 Nothing!" "No, nothing at all; we expected to be tired, and so we were; and we expected to be pleased, and were that, too. Are they going to strike these tents at eleven?" "They must be ready by that time, but we shall have to wait till the officers come from the examination-hall, before we do anything but make ready." cadet knocks his tent-pins first up and then down, and another runs up to borrow the mallet, and the tents lose form and stability together, for all fastenings are removed except the standard, and even that is loosened and swaying. One or two cadets remain by each, but otherwise the camp seems deserted. Meanwhile, oxen and soldiers are conveying off the marquee which once stood in the distance, and which has been struck privately and without bustle-as not befitting its dignity. We are in a great state of expectation for a little, and then, as it occurs to us that the second tap is not the third, we subside again. Not quite into our former listlessness. We are constantly alarmed for the safety of the cadets, as some tent goes off at a dangerous angle, and threatens to immolate its supporters. Then a portion of the camp goes down on its own re And wait we did. The cadets deposited themselves upon the tent-floors, or the ground: the mu-sponsibility-without word or signal. Apparently sicians sat under the trees, and the unfortunate people who had come a-pleasuring sat on campstools, or as a country Methodist once said— | "relieved the sitting posture by standing." Indeed, some stood, per force; for there was more company than accommodation. It was not "a sea of heads," but a thatched roof with here and there an uncomfortable-looking chimney of mustache and beaver. Smoke was not allowed on the camp-ground. And such a thatch! Straw of every variety, bonnets of every shape though flats took the palm of numbers and singularity. This one was edged with there was some confusion about the taps in other minds than ours. Poor Plebs! that was your doing; and it brought its own punishment, for the tents must be laboriously raised up and maintained. "They are all the time doing some such thing," said a senior cadet-quite forgetting that he had once been 'a Pleb' himself. "I'll tell you what I saw once, Miss Florence," said Lieut. - who was still further removed from that unfortunate fourth class-"I was on parade, and when the gun fired, one of the new cadets was so startled that he dropped his musket." "And what did you do?" "O, I talked to him about it afterwards, and told him it was very unsoldierlike, and so forth, and he was frightened almost to death." "Well, but he couldn't help starting-mayn't a man have nerves and feelings when he is only learning to be a soldier?" "His feelin's is all very well,'" said the gentleman, laughing," but here come our missing officers." How earnestly we all watch then!-watch till our eyes ache-for if we look away for a minute we may lose the very thing for which we have waited so long. At last-tap! and for one instant we see the flutter of the white canvass, we have one thought of its maintaining its ground, and then the whole body of tents fall together, and in the same direction. Moreover, the guardtents tumble down behind us, or, as some nervous ladies think, on top of us. It dwelt within my heart ere love was known, THAT LAZY FELLOW, THEOPHILUS BY AUGUSTIN. I AM Sorry I have undertaken to say anything about Theophilus. Not that I am afraid he will read this, and attack me with a stick. No danger. Theophilus never opens a magazine-rarely ever opens a newspaper, and when he does he only reads the anecdotes. Besides, I don't intend to name where he lives. There is no danger. Even if the Postmaster reads the magazine, and sends for Theophilus and shows it to him, and urges him "not to stand it," he is too lazy to get angry; or, if he does, he is far too lazy to attack one. And the scene is empty, think you? Not at all: that fallen canvass was but a conjuror's bag, out of which he has brought the whole corps of cadets there they stand-ready for action. "And action it is," as Captain Cuttle would say. You may imagine one light pair of heels,' but two hundred! The air is as full as it was before, only that was white and quiet, and this is gray and scampering. Such running and jumping, and folding of canvass, and hurrying to get done before the other companies! Then some lover of mischief lifts up a tent-floor, and then another, and lo and behold! "there they find a sturdy rat, where rat suld na be--or a half-dozen rats-for 1 can no more count them than I could the conjuror's balls, as, amid screams and shouts and hurrahs, they are thrown into the air again and again, till the one rat or the half-dozen seem multiplied indefinitely. And then Lieut. C-, as he walks past the prostrate camp, turns about and treats us to such a laugh!--one wonders instinc-cident tively how long it is since he left the Plebs and his seventeenth. No; the reason I am sorry I undertook to say anything about him, is because there is so very little I can possibly say. There is no use in attempting to say anything about his father. It is true he kept shop, and sold marbles to me when I was a boy, and was in the militia, and once came within three votes of being elected corporal. I have racked my memory, and cannot recollect anything concerning him except that he sold tape, and nails, and calico, over his little counter, as far back as I can remember, without one single inwhich I can possibly dress up into an interesting narration. As to Mrs. Scall, she was simply, solely, and only Mrs. Scall, and that is literally all I, or any The hubbub is over. And are these the same cadets that march out with such order and pre-body else, ever knew about her. She made a cision? Even so: having left their dead enemies on the field of battle, they come with as much demureness as if the genus Mars had never been heard of-take up their arms which were stacked in front of the camp-and form their long, quiet line. Then the band strikes up, and presently the companies are marching off over the plain, their even steps and the sweet music satisfying both eye and ear. We stand still to watch them; and the plumed files as they sink and rise with the undulating ground, the bayonets that glitter and flash in the sunbeams, the steady, regular progress, make one think of real things of war and battle-of such files marching to disorder and death, while every wild note from the band deepens the illusion. But our army goes to the Superintendent's, and thence is dismissed peacefully to barracks. SONNET. TO DEAREST, thy name though not sweet Music's own, new bonnet and two new calico dresses for herself every year, made and mended the clothes of Mr. Scall and Theophilus, ground the coffee, baked the biscuits, and occasionally the cakes, helped a neighbour quilt, suckled Theophilus when he was a baby, spanked him when he was a boy, and knocked upon the partition, (Mr. Scall's family lived in the back part of his shop,) when dinner was ready. Love and marriage are always interesting, and if I knew anything about theirs, I would relate it, even if I had to add a little fiction in the way of an opposing father, or a wonderful rescue of Mrs. Scall, that was to be, by Mr. Scall, from some mad dog or runaway horse, or something or other. But nobody ever knew or said anything about their marriage. I suppose they went to school together, and grew up together, and got married together, so much as a matter of course as not to excite any stir at all in Pikesville-yes, I will call our town by that name, for there is no use wounding, or running the risk of wounding, Theophilus's feelings. Much more has now been said about Mr. and Mrs. Scall than I thought could possibly be said; So. I feel encouraged to go on and speak about their only son. I might have described the death and quiet funeral of his father, and how his mother followed his father to the little graveyard just three months | She did teach Lucinda a peculiar way of pre- Theophilus had his father's tall figure, red hair, and every-day sort of face, inherited his father's little shop, his father's habits of opening the shutters late in the morning, breakfasting late in the back-room, sitting on a goods-box in front of the door, or by the little stove in the shop, as it happened to be summer or winter, all day whittling a stick, or chatting with somebody. If a customer came in, he rose slowly, clasped his pocketknife by shutting it against his thigh, slipped it in his pocket, went around the counter, weighed the sugar wanted, or measured off the gingham, just like a man who had plenty of time to do it in. Lucinda inherited her mother's realm in the back-room, and kept up the rapping when dinner was ready, as it had been kept up for the last forty years by her mother. I always thought her superior to her mother. She was rather pretty, medium size, lively black eye, red lips, rosy cheek, | loving heart-only needed the mind within her to be lighted, to glow and sparkle, and be a lovely and fascinating girl. Apparently, however, the very same path lay before her as before her mother; grinding coffee, baking tarts, making pickles, making garments, mending socks, helping quilt, and combing her hair, seemed to be literally and absolutely all that lay before her through life, with some slight change as to the maternal duties of nursing and spanking in case she married. From Monday till Saturday, every day seemed to be a mere repetition of the preceding one. On Sunday they went to church regularly; but I do firmly believe that they always returned without the increase of a single idea-at least, of any one strong enough to waken and move them on a higher course of thought, and feeling, and action. Everybody in the town-there are about four hundred persons in Pikesville-liked Theophilus and Lucinda well enough; but the brother was hardly ever mentioned, without the adjective lazy attached. "That lazy fellow, Theophilus Scall," was his usual designation. It was only a few days ago, when I was attending on Mrs. Milson,— for I am a practising physician in Pikesville,—that I overheard Mrs. Jones tell Mrs. Smithers, who had also dropped in to sit up with Mrs. Milson, that Mr. Scall was heard to express himself more strongly in admiration of her-Mrs. Smithers'daughter, Jane, than was altogether consistent with mere admiration. "Well, what then?" said Mrs. S., I thought rather tartly. "Why, nothing," replied Mrs. J., "except that Theophilus is old enough to marry." "Do you think I'd let my Jane marry that lazy fellow, Theophilus Scall?" said Mrs. S., in a half scream, loud enough to waken my patient. I could not stand it. My office is right opposite Scall's store, and I have seen so very much of him sitting on his goods-box, that I felt myself to be more acquainted with him than anybody else. I am only going to stay a few months longer in Pikesville, to gain a little more reading and practice in my profession, and then I intend going to the wider field of Texas; and so I determined I would take the first opportunity to talk with my neighbour-see if I could not benefit him a little. I think it was the Monday after that, that I did SO. I had that morning operated for strabismus on Henry Milson's left eye-had read hard upon the operation, both before and after it-had ridden over to Squire Smithers', and got back-had drawn my dentist chair near the window to read a little more upon Mrs. Milson's very delicate diagnosis, when I saw Theophilus sitting as usual on the box opposite. No one was with him. I laid aside my book, went out, locked the door, and went over, determined to spend the hour before the tavern-bell rang for supper, in talking to Theophilus. In order not to make too sudden an attack. I drew out my knife as I slowly sauntered over, took a seat by Theophilus, on the box, split off of it a splinter to whittle, and chatted a few minutes about the warm, beautiful weather we had. "There is something," said I, "in this bright, blooming weather, that warms one through and through. It is like spending an hour with Jane Smithers, to have an hour of such sunshine!" My figure was not extravagant. I have been married two years, and, besides, Jane is so lovely and intelligent, and warm-hearted, and laughing a girl, that to call her embodied sunshine, is a compliment to the sun, not to her. I saw I had hit the nail on the head. Theophilus coloured and looked up with more life in his eye than I had ever seen before. "Think so?" said he. "I'll tell you what it is," said I, "that girl is a prize. She deserves to marry a man. All her sunshine would be wasted on anything else." "Don't understand," replied my companion, rather earnestly. I had no time to lose, for the sun was getting low-so I came right to the point. Nothing but a hearty slap will waken a sleepy-headed man. "Theophilus," said I—and I glanced at the wellformed head and open countenance of the man, and saw he was worth talking to, notwithstanding his drooping shoulders and listless habits. "Theophilus," said I, putting my hand on his shoulder, "I know you love Jane: I know you won't get her, unless you change very much in some things. I am going to leave here in a short time, and I want to have a plain talk with you before I go, because I like you. You won't be offended?" "No." "You have one grand fault. It has wrapped itself all around you like a boa constrictor-which you saw in the show here last March. It is sliming you over with its saliva, and will swallow you up, presently, before you know it." "What do you mean, Doctor?" "Just exactly this: you are lazy-daily becoming more so." "Well, fact is, I believe I am, but I don't see why I should slave myself. I make enough for me and Lucinda to live on. And if I ever do marry-here he coloured-"I dare say something will turn up. Everything is cheap. I will have a plenty to live on." Phidias cut a Venus out of the quarries in Mount Hybla. Here was a rougher, deader quarry to get a perfect man out of! "You were created by God?" "Pshaw, what a question!" "Well, He is working out some great plan in the millions that have trod, are treading, and will tread the earth. He don't create these millions by millions, but individual by individual, giving each man his peculiar duty in the world. He made you to do something- -or He would not have made you at all—there would have been no object in it." "You see, no man was created to be nothing and do nothing. Every man has his own business, and it is his duty to God to do all he can, to the utmost of his strength in that business-for God as loudly commands you to be not slothful in business, as he does not to steal, lie, or murder." "I see!" "There are many different sorts of business in the world. It is by division of labour that each is carried on; just as in a large printing establishment in Philadelphia: one class of workmen have the sole duty of preparing the paper; another the duty of setting the type; another the duty of passing the sheets through the press; another the duty of receiving them from the steam-driven cylinders; another the duty of taking them, thus completely printed, and folding them for the mail or for binding. You see, by the energy of each class, and of each individual of each class, the whole work moves with order and speed, scattering printed sheets over the reading world. "Whether a man plough, or plead law, or act as a legislator, or sell goods, or doctor, it is only when a man throws his whole force into his peculiar business that he does his duty. Every blow of Peter's hammer, down yonder in the blacksmith's shop, every piece of business you do, every visit I pay as a doctor, has a double object, you see, individual profit and general improvement ;-at least it ought to have. Well, then, every wasted moment, every half-effort of any man, is just so much lost-lost to the man himself-lost to the public. Every one of us has his business every man's work in that business has a certain value. Every hour, then, you waste on this box in lazy trifling, not only confirms you in the disease of indolence, not only habituates your mind to idle thought and talk-but every such an hour is an actual and deliberate theft of just so much value as that hour spent in work would have yielded-a theft from your own fortune, Theophilus, and a theft from the public.” "Every man has his place, Doctor. Mine is a mighty little one. Not much to be done in it ?" "Yes, but do you do with all your might, all you can possibly do in it?" "Why no; I might do a great deal more business if I would, but I do enough to make a living; that's all I want." "Ah, but what do you mean by a living? The living a rational man ought to live, is not only to have plenty of food and clothing, but a plenty of books and papers for the living of his mind-pictures and statuary too, where it can be afforded. You ought to be active too, if it was only not to set an example of laziness-if it was only to stir everybody all around you into greater energy and enterprise by your example. Besides, you ought to get rich as fast as you can-if it was only to increase your power of doing good." "Doing good? Pshaw, you are preaching!" 'Yes, doing good. If you were rich, you could educate orphans, build asylums, colleges, and churches. If you had five thousand dollars to spare, and the soul to give it, you might build up an academy in this very town which would give all the children a good education, and refine and improve the place beyond anything you can think. If you,"-continued I,-" had spent those hours in some business, which you have spent in lying on this box doing nothing, you would be able to do it now-and would thus have made yourself a blessing to the town for ever!" My lazy friend here clasped his everlasting knife, and put it in his pocket. It was a good omen. "Theophilus," said I, standing in front of him, "consider, will you, my dear fellow, what a tremendous mass of work is upon all men now? The generation passing away, is leaving to us the world-wide business which has strained its efforts to the utmost. The cultivation of the immense raw material consumed in the ten thousand manufactories of the world, is passing from their bard hands into ours. The machinery of these ten thousand manufactories has to be kept up in uninterrupted speed. The innumerable roads and vessels by which the commerce of the world is carried through it; the million inventions by which cities are lighted with gas, by which thought is flashed on lightning around the world, by which all surgery is performed without pain,-pshaw, you know all the thousand new inventions, from a new plough to a new telescope-all these have to be kept up in full use." "But, Doctor" "Wait a moment; our government has to be kept up too, in all its branches-made to do more and more on its own citizens-more and more for the freedom of the old world. What a vast amount of legislating has to be done! and what a vast deal of voting, and of reading, and thought, that the voting may be intelligent and good! The vast system of education, too, has to be kept up. All the thousands of schools and colleges have to be kept supplied with able teachers." "Don't know what you mean.' "I mean that our generation inherits the work of the 6000 years since creation, has to keep it up in full vigour. Besides, millions of acres more have to be brought under cultivation. Thousands of manufactories more have to be established. |