Thou canst not; and 'tis breathed in vainThy sophistry of love. 'Tis not in pride or cold disdain Thy falsehood I reprove. Inly my heart may bleed-but yet Cease then thy fond impassioned vow For still my erring heart might prove And tears-though feigned and false-might move, And prayers, though insincere. But no. The tie so firmly bound Is torn asunder now; How deep that sudden wrench may wound Go thou to fortune and to fame, Thou canst not light or wavering deem My bosom, all thy own, Thou knowest, in joys enlivening beam, Or fortune's adverse frown, My pride-my bliss had been to share Thy hopes; to soothe thine hours of care; With thee the martyr-cross to bear, Or win the martyr's crown. Tis o'er-but never from my heart Thou shalt not be forgot; Poured forth to Him who sways the sky Shall my own name be breathed on high, And thine remembered not. Farewell! and oh may He whose love Endures, though man's rebel, NELLY BELCHER. band and children." "Touch the oor woman!" Uncle Snooks had a pretty hard time on it sometimes, when the women folks used to come and plague him about not selling any more rum to their husbands. There was one Barney Belcher, who drank up his farm. They used to say his old cow choked him, because he sold her last of all his stock, and died in a fit, while he was drinking the very first dram that he bought with the money he got for her. Barney's wife tormented uncle 'Zeik from morning to night; and her persecution, together with the loss of his property, as I always thought, drove him out of his business, and shortened his days. She was a proper firebrand, though she never took any spirit herself. There was not a happier couple in our parish, when they were first married; and they had a family of four little children, that every body used to notice, for their neat appearance, I've seen them many a time, of a Sunday going to meeting, hand in hand, and all four abreast, along with their father and mother. Barney was a very thrifty farmer, and I never thought he was the man to die a drunkard. It used to be said, that there had'nt been a likelier couple married in the parish for many years; for though they had almost nothing to start with, yet they were amazing handsome to look at; they were generally as smart as a couple of steel traps, and very industrious into the bargain. They did surprising well for years. But he got to be an ensign, and rum and regimentals did the business for poor Barney in less than no time. When he got to be pretty bad, she first came to the house, and then to the shop, to get uncle 'Zeik not to let him have any more liquor. They had a good many talks about it, but uncle 'Zeik would have his way. At last she consulted a lawyer, and came over to the shop, and gave uncle 'Zeik a real dressing, before more than a dozen customers. Well, Nelly Belcher," said uncle 'Zeik, when she came in, resolved to be beforehand with her, "what do you want to-day?" Mercy," said she, if I can't What care I for your court?" replied she <<the have justice. You well know what I want. I now day will come and it may come this hour when a request you once again to sell my husband no more higher court may sit; and you shall answer for spirits." "And how can I help it ?" said uncle 'Zeik, more than all this a thousand fold. Then you cold somewhat disturbed by her resolute manner. Ihearted old man, I will lead my poor ragged childhave taken a lawyer's advice," said she, "and you ren, before the bar of a righteous God and make a have no right to sell liquor to common drunkards." short story of their wrongs, and that poor young "Do you say that your husband is a common man's who has fallen by your hands, just as though drunkard?" said he. To be sure I do," she he had been killed with ratsbane. There's none of replied. "I really do not think your husband is you here that does'nt remember me and Barney a common drunkard, Nelly Belcher," said uncle when we were first married. Now, I ask you if "Zeik. " Snooks," said she, clinching her fist, "you ever you dreampt that we should come to this? are-what you are. You know that Barney is a Was there ever a little farm better managed!-And if common drunkard, and you made him so, you old-I was not a careful, faithful industrious wife to Barlicensed, rumselling, church member." "Go out of ney, I wish you to say the very worst to my face. my shop," cried uncle 'Zeik; stepping towards her. And were my little ones ill-treated? Had'nt they "I would'nt touch the poor woman," said one of the whole clothes for Sunday, and was'nt they constant company; she's driven on by the state of her hus- I at meeting for years, till this curse crept in upon 66 66 us, like an adder? And till then did ye ever see a likelier man than Barney? And as for his kindness to me and the children till that hour, it's for me to witness; and I say it before ye all, that before he tasted this old man's liquor, there never was a hard thought or a bitter word between us. He was the boy of my foolish love when he was seventeen, and the man of my choice when he was three and twenty. I gave him an honest heart that never loved another, and the trifle of worldly goods that my mother left me; but he has broken the one and squandered the other. Last night, as I lay upon my straw bed, with my poor children, I thought of our young days, and of our little projects of happiness; and, as I saw poor Barney in my fancy just the trim lad that he was with his bright eye and ruddy cheek, I felt my eyes filling with tears, as they're filling now. I hope I may never shed another," said she, dashing them off with the back of her hand, and resuming her look of vengeance. "I'm going to cross your threshold for the last time, and now mark me well, I ask you once for all, to sell poor Barney no more liquor. If you do, I will curse you till I die, as the destroyer of my husband, and I will teach my children to curse you when I am dead and gone, as the destroyer of their father. for rhyming; and she used to come and sit upon the horse-block before our shop, and sing a sort of song, that was meant to worry uncle 'Zeik, and it did worry him dreadfully, especially the chorus. Whenever he heard that, he seemed to forget what he was about, and every thing went wrong. 'Twas something like this He dug a pit as deep as hell, And into it many a drunkard fell; One time when poor Nelly sung the chorus pretty loud, and the shop was rather full, uncle 'Zeik was so confused that he poured half a pint of rum, which he had measured out, into his till and dropped the change into the tin pot, and handed it to the customer. I really felt for him; for about this time, two of his sons gave him a sight of trouble. They used to get drunk and fight like serpents. They shut the oldgentleman down in the cellar one night, and one of them when he was drunk slapped his father in the face. They did nothing but run him into debt; and at last he got to taking too much himself, just to drown care. Old Nelly was right; for uncle Snooks fell into his own pit before he died. After the Temperance Society was formed, he lost his license, and got to be starving poor, and the town had to maintain him. He's been crazy for several years. I went to see him last winter with father, who has tried to get him into the state hospital. It made me feel ugly to see him. He did'nt know me, but all the time I was there he kept turning his thumb and finger as though he was drawing liquor, or scoring it with a bit of chalk upon the wall. It seemed as if he had forgotten all his customers but one; for though the wall was covered with charges of rum and brandy and flip and toddy, the whole was set down against Barney Belcher. Uncle Snooks continued to sell rum to Barney Belcher, as before, whenever he got any money. It was thought by a good many that Nelly had lost her reason, or very near it, about that time. She found out that Barney got rum at our store, and sure enough, she brought her four little children, and standing close to the shop door, she cursed uncle 'Zeik, and made them do so too. It worried him exceedingly. Whenever she met him in the road, she stopped short, and said over a form she had, in a low voice; but every body knew, by her raising her eyes and hands, that she was cursing uncle 'Zeik. Very few blamed her; her case was a very hard one; and most folks excused her on the score of her mind's being disordered by her troubles. But even then she made her children obey her, whether present or absent, though it was said she never struck them a blow. It almost made me shudder sometimes, when I've seen these children meet uncle 'Zeik. They'd get out of his way as far as they could; and when he had gone by, they'd move their lips, though you could'nt hear a word, and raise up their eyes and hands just as their mother had taught them. When I thought these children.. were calling down the vengeance of heaven upon uncle 'Zeik, for having made them fatherless, it made my blood run cold. SONNET. BY WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. How fall fame's pillars at the touch of time! How fade, like flowers, the memories of the dead! How vast the grave that swallows up a clime! How dim the light by ancient glory shed! One generation's clay enwraps the next, And dead men are the aliment of earth; Passing away," is Nature's funeral text, Uttered co-evous with creation's birth. What though 'tis certain that my humble name, With this frail body, shall soon find a tomb? After the death of her husband, she became very It seeks a heavenly, not an earthly fame, melancholy, and a great deal more so, after the loss Which through eternity shall brightly bloom : of her two younger children. She did not curse Write it within thy Book of Life, O Lord, uncle 'Zeik after that. But she always had a talent | And in «the last great day," a golden crown award! THE MARTYR OF THE ARENA. BY EPES SARGENT. Narrated in Gibbon's Roman Empire. Honour'd be the hero evermore, Who at mercy's call has nobly died! Echoed be his name from shore to shore, With immortal chronicles allied! Verdant be the turf upon his dust, Bright the sky above, and soft the air! In the grove set up his marble bust, And with garlands crown it, fresh and fair. In melodious numbers, that shall live With the music of the rolling spheres, Let the minstrel's inspiration give His eulogium to the future years! Not the victor in his country's cause, Not the chief who leaves a people free, Shall deserve a greater fame than he ! Fill'd with gazing thousands were the tiers, Rang the dome with plaudits loud and long, As, with shields advanced, the athletes stood, Was there no one in that eager throng To denounce the spectacle of blood? Ay, Telemachus, with swelling frame, Saw the inhuman sport renew'd once more: Stepped he forth upon the circling sand; In unhallowed combat be profaned! Now to swear, they shall forever close!" Peal'd the shout of wrath on every side; Strains celestial, that the menace drown? But he stood and perish'd-not in vain! Not in vain the youthful martyr fell! Then and there he crush'd a bloody creed! And his high example shall impel Future heroes to as great a deed! Stony answers yet remain for those Who would question and precede the time! In their season may they meet their foes, Like TELEMACHUS, with front sublime. The Anniversary of Lovejoy's Martyrdom. BY MARIA WESTON CHAPMAN. No tears to-day! a lofty joy should crown We will not water it with griefs and tears; 'Mid hostile crowds, in darkness for the right; Yet may we mourn that, ringing through the night, Sharply to theirs thine answering shots reply. Tears for the blood of others shed by thee;Joy for thy blood poured forth so joyously and free. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. They pass me by like shadows, crowds on crowds, We only truly live, but ye are dead." VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED. No. 4. "FOR BEHOLD THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS WITHIN YOU." BY HARRIET WINSLOW. Pilgrim to the heavenly city, Groping wildered on thy way Look not to the outward landmark, List not what the blind guides say. For long years thou hast been seeking Some new idol found each day; All that dazzled, all that glittered, Lured thee from the path away. On the outward world relying, Earthly treasures thou wouldst heap; Titled friends and lofty honors Lull thy higher hopes to sleep. Thou art stored with worldly wisdom, Brightly sparkle wit and wine. Richly droop the silken curtains, Round those high and mirrored halls; And on mossy Persian carpets, Silently thy proud step falls. Not the gentlest wind of heaven Dares too roughly fan thy brow, Nor the morning's blessed sunbeams Tinge thy cheek with ruddy glow. Yet midst all these outward riches, Has thy heart no void confessedWhispering, though each wish be granted, Still, oh still I am not blessed? And when happy, careless children, Lured thee with their winning ways-Thou hast sighed in vain contrition, Give me back those golden days. Hadst thou stooped to learn their lesson, Truthful preachers-they had told Thou thy kingdom hast forsaken, Thou hast thy own birthright sold. Thou art heir to vast possessions, Up, and boldly claim thine own: Seize the crown-that waits thy wearingLeap at once into thy throne. Look not to some cloudy mansion, 'Mong the planets far away; Trust not to the distant future, Let thy Heaven begin to-day. When thy struggling soul hath conquered,- When thou art prepared for Heaven, THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. The population of Lowell is constituted mainly of New Englanders, but there are representatives here of almost every part of the civilized world. The good-humored face of the Milesian meets one at al. most every turn,-the shrewdly solemn Scotchman, the trans-Atlantic Yankee, blending the crafty thrift of Bryce Snails foot with the stern religious heroism of Cameron, the blue-eyed, fair-haired German, from the towered hills which overlook the Rhine, slow, heavy, and unpromising in his exterior, yet of the same mould and mettle of the men who rallied for Father-Land" at the Tyrtean call of Korner, and beat back the chivalry of France from the banks of the Katzbach-the countryman of Ritcher, and Goethe, and our sainted Follen. Here, too, are pedlars from Hamburgh, and Bavaria, and Poland, with their sharp Jewish faces and black keen eyes. At this moment, beneath my window, are two sturdy, sun-browned Swiss maidens, grinding music for a livelihood, rehearsing in a strange Yankee land the simple songs of their old mountain home, reminding me by their foreign garb and language, of "Lauterbrunnen's peasant girl." Poor wanderers!-I love not their music; but now as the notes die away, and, to use the words of Dr. Holmes, "silence comes like a poultice to heal the wounded ear," I feel grateful for their visitation.Away from the crowded thoroughfare, from brick walls and dusty avenues, at the sight of these poor peasants I have gone in thought to the vale of Chaumony, and seen, with Coleridge, the Morning Star pausing on the bald awful head of Sovran Blanc," and the sunrise and the sunset glorious upon snowycrested mountains, down in whose vallies the night still lingers-and following in the track of Byron and Rousseau, have watched the lengthening shadows |