He was our prophet-our majestic oak, That, like Dodona's, in Thesprotian land, He was our Daniel-'mid the roar of men, We called him giant, for in every part He seemed colossal; in his port and speech, In his large brain, and in his larger heart. And when upon the roll his name we saw Of those who govern-then we felt secure, Because we knew his reverence for the law. So the young master of the Roman realm But slowly to this loss our sense awakes: To know what space it in the forum fill'd, Her mournful tidings Albion lately sent But peaceful Britain knows, amid her grief, She could well spare the soldier and his sword: What can OUR councils do without OUR Chief? Blest are the peace-makers! and he was ours, Let us be thankful, if we kept aloof From their calumnious rank who slandered him, Putting his fineness to their venom's proof. It hurt him not; for if his gold contained The richest stones, the most refined and pure, The autumn rains are falling on his head; The snows of winter soon shall be his shroud; And spring with violets will adorn his bed; And summer shall be joyful on the shore Where he is sleeping; but the breath of spring, Or summer sunshine, will not wake him more. Resume the rhyme, and end the funeral strain : Sing round his grave great anthems, day and night. Not with vain hope to hang upon his hearse But simply to record the nation's moan. We have no high cathedral for his rest, Boston, U. S., November 1st, 1852. ON THE PORTRAIT OF THE HON. JULIA MAYNARD. BY MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND. (See Plate.) Deep earnest thoughts, and fancies fine, Thus strangers may perchance declare It doth not give-it cannot give It doth not, cannot, show that mien And much of all thy mind's best wealth And yet while Friendship weaves this strain Lest words that are but simple Truth SONNET. (Addressed to the Author of an Autumn Sonnet, ante page 249.) Yes, Autumn, dearest friend, sheds many tears, With sad and fleeting glory. But the years So glad to me to know another gone Of those dark years that must precede the DaySo glad to know the morning-star has shone, And catch from mountain-top its infant ray; That all the drops heaven sheds from morn till night, My spirit hails the baptism of the Light. THE CHRISTMAS WIS H. In the ancient hamlet of Warrensberg, which stood for ages among the pasture-lands on the northern Elbe, till Steinbock and his Danish army utterly destroyed it on their march to burn Altona, there once lived a family known to their people as the Wessers. The paternal side of that house was German; the maternal, Danish; and it consisted of the grandmother, Maud, than whom there was not a more active dame of seventy-three within the duchy; her eldest son, Karl, a thrifty, sober bachelor; and Casilde, the orphan-daughter of Dame Wesser's second son, who was just eighteen, and by common consent the prettiest girl in the parish. Old Maud spun all manner of flax and wool, and kept the house in good Holstein fashion. Karl looked after their five cows on the pasture, and two great nets constantly set in a creek of the Elbe, where his family had a manorial right to fish. Casilde helped her grandmother at the wheel and housekeeping, her uncle with the cows and nets, and did whatever she pleased besides, including a large amount of rustic but very innocent coquetry with all the eligible young men in the neighbourhood. Casilde's uncle and grandmother had brought her up from infancy, and somewhat spoiled the girl between them. She was still the child of their household, whom nobody could expect to be steady or thoughtful, the orphan of their dear Ernst, whom it would be a sin to contradict or rebuke sharply; and though a modest, merry, good-hearted girl, Fraulein Wesser had grown up in consequence a little self-willed, and more devoted to dress and admiration than is common with the prudent daughters of Holstein. The Wessers were not rich; but all her neighbours regarded Casilde as an heiress. Old Maud was so active and her son so steady, they had lived so long together and worked so well, growing into each other's ways, and, as it seemed, each other's years, that everybody knew they had something safe in the Altona Bank, which would of course come in good time to Casilde, as people never imagined the sober, careful Karl could think of changing his condition. How much these expectations contributed to augment the number of the fraulein's admirers tradition does not say; but they were many. Casilde believed to her last hour that she might have had her choice of at least a score; it was nevertheless true that none of them came within fifty degrees of the proposing point, except Hubert Krantz and Wilhelm Roskin. The claims of those rival suitors were so nicely balanced that old Maud and her son could see no cause of preference. Both were the children of old neighbours, descended from honest and well-reputed families. Hubert was the master of a barge, which carried farm-produce to the great towns on the Elbe, and brought back all manner of city goods to the country villages. He was also heir-apparent to a snug cottage occupied by his aged mother, who prayed every morning to see her son decently married before she left this world. Wilhelm was all but owner of a pasture-farm with a great orchard, a substantial house, and a stock of Holstein cows, which his old father owned were all going wrong for want of a good wife. No marvel that the grandmother and uncle could not decide, for Casilde herself was divided between the candidates. his barge crew valued him as a kind master, Hubert was brave, frank, and ready-witted; and all Warrensberg knew him for a good son. and a trusty friend; but he had a blunt habit of speaking his mind, which brought him into occasional quarrels, and would have danced with any girl or made merry with any comrade in the presence of Casilde. The elders of the village Wilhelm; his name was never heard in scrape or were unanimous in admiring the prudence of quarrel; his father asserted he would not spend avowed he must make a model husband, being a penny in a twelvemonth, and the matrons no ways inclined to strong beer or merrymakings. Better than all that, he was an attentive lover; and, readers, attention is the highway to success with most ladies. Casilde at times caught herself thinking of Hubert; but then she was persuaded Wilhelm loved her best-he took such long walks to see her, shewed such deference to her slightest word, and seemed to observe no lady else when she was present. Casilde's grandmother was too old and too busy to be her confidential adviser, moreover grandmothers are rarely selected for that office; but a confident she had in Bertrude, a young and far-off cousin of Dame Krantz, who had lived with the old woman almost as a daughter ever since her father a rich horse-dealer in the west country-brought home a proud, hard step-mother, with a fortune of fifteen hundred thalers, from Altona. Bertrude was some years older than Casilde, and not quite so pretty. The neighbours one and all agreed that she would make Dame Krantz a desirable daughter-in-law, for a wiser or more industrious fraulein had never been known in Warrensberg. The dame admitted that she had once thought so, too; but it was not to be: and when Casilde rallied her friend, as girls will, Bertrude said coolly that Hubert would never be her choice, nor she his; they would be a good brother and sister she hoped, but nothing more. A good brother and sister they were. The village came at length to regard them as such; and if Casilde entertained any lingering suspicion it gradually wore away before Bertrude's unvarying commendation of the barge-master a brocade petticoat was considerably above her above his rival. station; till the girl whose heart was peculiarly set on the crimson petticoat began to fancy that Bertrude was afraid of being utterly eclipsed, and broke off the conference in a sulky mood, determined to obtain the triumph and get the petticoat if possible. Under this resolution she contrived to bring forward the brocade question while she and her grandmother were preparing the second breakfast, which German housewives know to be a concern of some weight. Overlooking the Elbe, on a rising ground about a league from the village, stood the old castle of the Baron Von Warrensberg, which one of his ancestors, a Teutonic knight, had erected in the eleventh century on the lands he conquered from the Pagans. Though the happy proprietor of sixteen quarterings, with titles and blood to match, the forty-fifth baron, reckoned from that mighty warrior, was so limited in means that he left his paternal mansion to the owls, the bats, and a family of old servants, while himself resided at Altona, where he held an office under the reigning Duke, and his only daughter was maid of honour to the Duchess. Courts are proverbially uncertain ground, and the ducal one of Holstein in its day was no exception to that rule. Somebody told something to the prime-minister's private-secretary's hair-dresser's apprentice, in consequence of which the old family-carriage rumbling through their quiet street one autumn evening, informed the good people of Warrensberg that Baron Adelbert and his daughter (the Lady Alfleda Etheline Ermengarde) had returned to the seat of their ancestors. By way of making himself and daughter popular, and shewing how much they enjoyed their retirement, the Baron determined to give a rustic fete on the seventh day after their arrival, which happened to be the anniversary of Lady Elfleda's birth. Accordingly the villagers, rich and poor, old and young, were assembled to a dance and supper in the great hall, where the Baron and his daughter, supported by most of their relations, and one parvenu nobleman on whom it was said the family had designs, presided in ancient feudal fashion over the festivities. There was no lack of brawn, krout, and strong beer; but the marvel of the evening was a crimson brocade petticoat, which, worn beneath a white satin corsage and stretched on twelve feet of whalebone (as fashion in those days commanded), set forth the now maturing charms of the lady Elfleda. The oldest inhabitant had not seen its like on that side the Elbe. Everybody admired, but Casilde adored, the petticoat. For weeks it was her dream by night and her theme by day. She wondered how much it had cost, how long it would wear, and to herself and Bertrude how well she would look in such a garment beside the great, pale, solemn-looking Lady Elfleda. "You would be too fine to talk with me, then," said Bertrude, smiling, as Casilde repeated that wonder for the third time, one morning, when they met as usual at the village well. "Oh no, not I," said the simple Casilde. "But I think my grandmother might let me have one. It can't be so very dear. Hubert could bring it for me in his barge from Hamburg, or at least inquire what the like would cost." Kindly and seriously did Bertrude advise her friend against that speculation, demonstrating that her grandmother would never consent, and that "Is the child deranged?" cried her grandmother. "What would'st thou do with a crimson brocade petticoat? turning thy head with vanity, and making thine honest house a laughing-stock to all Warrensberg? No, no; good stuff and linen befit thy station, and stuff and linen thou shalt wear!" "What's this?" said Karl, entering; for Dame Wesser's voice rarely rose so high, and with a forlorn-hope now that she had gone so far, Casilde unfolded her petition. Karl did not often contradict his niece; but the crimson petticoat was too much for him, and his veto was even more decided than her grandmother's had been. It was scarce delivered when in stepped Hubert Krantz to say good-bye, as his barge was on the point of sailing. "What troubles you all, this morning?" inquired the frank young master, glancing at the flushed face of Casilde. "Just the extravagance of these times," responded her grandmother. "Somebody has put it in that child's head to want a crimson brocade petticoat, like the Baron's daughter." "A crimson brocade petticoat!" cried Hubert, bursting into a loud laugh. "In the name of wonder, Casilde, how did you come to think of that?" "No matter how I came to think of it, Mr. Krantz: it was just my fancy," said the girl, keeping back the tears that were coming fast. Hubert's mirth was over, and he tried to make peace by asserting that Casilde looked much better in her own purple jacket and pale blue petticoat; but all the louder were her wishes for the crimson brocade, till, much to the satisfaction of old Maud and Karl, Hubert forgot his politeness, and bluntly told her she had no occasion for any such thing. "I'm sure I wouldn't wear it, if you brought it, anyway," cried Casilde, in high indignation. "No; I'm certain you have more sense. But good morning, for my barge is going," said Hubert, holding out his hand. "Good morning, Mr. Krantz," said Casilde, keeping her hands fast under her apron, and trying to look as spiteful as she could. "I hope you will be more civil to the next fraulein you meet." Hubert's eyes flashed; but he shook hands with her uncle and grandmother, who were sufficiently annoyed at such treatment of their old neighbour's son, and left the cottage in great haste. Casilde did not see the long look he cast back when half way to the river; but her share of the second breakfast was small, and she took the first opportunity to slip out and cry. Behind the orchard-fence there was a corner with a great mossy rock, and a green lane leading out to the open country. On that rock Casilde was seated, with her apron to her eyes, when who should pass but Wilhelm Roskin, on his way to the cottage, with a favourite apology to borrow some fish-hooks from her uncle. Of course Wilhelm inquired, as a lover should, into the cause of her woe, and Casilde made a full declaration. She found sympathy there at least. Wilhelm at once entered into her feelings regarding the crimson brocade, blamed her uncle and grandmother, observed that old people were always stingy and odd. As for Hubert he promised to fight him on the first occasion, and concluded by telling Casilde, in a significant manner, that with his will none of them should annoy her long; in proof of which he volunteered to bring her the coveted garment himself from Hamburgh. Casilde, with all her faults, was not foolish enough to entertain the latter proposal; but from that hour Wilhelm was the accepted, and Hubert Krantz the discarded, suitor. The shortening days flew fast away. The corn and apples were gathered in; the neighbours began to say that the pretty Casilde would soon become Frau Roskin. The Prime Minister was disgraced; the Baron and his daughter recalled to court, and everybody forgot the crimson brocade except Casilde. Old people said they never remembered such a winter. There was no "I do; ay, and for the crimson petticoat, too!" said the thoughtless Casilde, as they crossed the sacred threshold. That evening Hubert danced with Bertrude, and Wilhelm with Casilde, round the Christmas tree, set up, according to custom, in the village market-place. The old people who smoked and chatted there said young Krantz was growing steadier; the young, that he looked careworn; and Christmas passed as a hundred Christmases had passed in Warrensberg. Most of the doors remained closed till a late hour next morning; but Casilde was early astir. She knew that her uncle had set his salmon-net overnight, and wished to see what it had caught. The winter morning was cold and gray upon the Elbe when the girl approached. She could see there was something in the net, and cautiously raised it by one of the cords. It was crimson; it was cloth; a great bundle of silk; in the midst of which a poor starved salmon splashed and struggled. Instinctively Casilde seized a projecting end, and pulled with all her might; so did the salmon; and part of the net gave way, leaving in her hands nothing less than a crimson brocade petticoat. home, roused her grandmother and uncle, Wild with joy and amazement, Casilde ran showed them her prize, and told how she had credit either their eyes or ears. All the neighfound it. The mother and son could scarcely bours said it was little short of a miracle, especially when Casilde recollected her Christmas wish. frost, but great storms had been; while the refuse to let her wear the brocade. Casilde Brought by a salmon, the Wessers could not Elbe was quite open and clear of ice at Christ- dried, pressed, and smoothed it with all imaginamas. The festival stood high among the Hol-ble care; and when fairly provided with a stout stein villagers, and they had an old world-belief that Providence would grant whatever a person fervently wished on first entering church that morning. faded, it looked marvellously like Lady Elfleda's. hoop of cane, though a good deal soiled and Casilde's triumph was complete, and by way of doing herself full justice she resolved to wear her petticoat at the annual fete which the Mayor of Warrensberg gave to the villagers regularly every New Year's Day. It was blythe to see the good neighbours of Warrensberg turn out, all in their best clothes, at the sound of the morning-bell; relations, friends, and sweethearts, walking hand and hand The entire village were assembled in the long to church, with all the sprigs of green they old timber edifice which had served as weighcould collect. Among the rest came Casilde house, town-hall, and manor-court to many a and her friend Bertrude. (Their misunderstand-generation. For the present solemnity it was ing at the well was long over.) "Have you thought of a wish, Casilde?" said Bertrude, pausing in the porch for the old people to come up. "Oh yes," said Casilde. "I wish for a crimson brocade petticoat exactly like Lady Elfleda's." "Hadn't you better wish to know whether Wilhelm or Hubert loves you best?" said Bertrude. "Oh, Wilhelm, certainly. He stood by me when every one else went against me. And Hubert, too!" said Casilde, looking unaccountably vexed. "Yes," said Bertrude, "he stood by you in a foolish thing, Casilde; but do you think he would do so in a serious trial? My girl, it is not likely. I wish you could see whether he or Hubert cares most truly for you!" decorated with bright torches and green holly; tables and benches, covered with white linen, were ranged on either side for the comfortable distribution of hot cakes, beer, and cyder. At the lower end was stationed the orchestra, consisting of three violins, two tambourines, and a key-bugle; and, in places of honour, at the upper sat the Mayor and Mayoress, the parson, and the tax-collector, with their respective ladies; while the centre was left clear for the dancers. Magnificent among them appeared Casilde, her golden hair falling in long plaits over the linen corsage she had made to resemble as nearly as might be that of the Lady Elfleda. Bunches of bright ribbons fluttered at each elbow, and on its aweinspiring hoop the crimson brocade. Wilhelm had insisted on conducting her to the fete, and Casilde thought all the girls looked envious, especially Bertrude, who stood quietly between her Uncle Karl and Hubert in a corner. her trust in God, that he would defend her innocence, she resolved to bear up bravely, and not grieve her friends further. "Its quite above her station, but you know we could not take it from the child," said the half-ashamed, half-gratified grandmother to old Dame Krantz, when the Mayor's servant in waiting at the door popped in a frightened face, saying two strangers without required to speak | with his master. The Mayor left his seat: musicians and dancers waited his return; but they waited not long, for the good man re-entered, looking perfectly bewildered, and followed by two officers of police, who stepping up to Ca-pect him to marry the girl now. silde, arrested her in the Duke's name as a receiver of stolen goods, and an accomplice of the gang who robbed the most noble Baron Von Warrensberg and his daughter on their way to celebrate the festival of Christmas with their serene relations in Schleswig. The Mayor's fête broke up early that year; such an event had not been heard of at Warrensberg, and few tongues rested till daylight. Some tried to comfort old Dame Wesser, and believe in Casilde's innocence; but the greater number could not forgive her short-lived glory, and openly said it was very odd. As for Wilhelm, he went home in great quietness, telling his farm man, Peterkin, that nobody could ex "I never received stolen goods, nor robbed anybody in all my life," cried poor Casilde. "Never!" echoed her uncle, grandmother, and half the company. "Young woman, you wear a witness against you, which we have had trouble enough in tracing," said the fiercest of the officers, glancing significantly at the crimson brocade. A cloud of suspicion settled on most of the surrounding faces at this intimation. Wilhelm stepped back, and tried to conceal himself among the neighbours: while Hubert, followed by the whole Krantz family, bustled forward. "Good gentlemen, there is some mistake," cried the young barge-master. "Casilde Wesser is a good girl, and come of an honest family. She got that petticoat by a salmon in her uncle's net." "Its a capital story, young man, she has made you believe," said the officer, suppressing his laughter, for Hubert's brow was by this time like a thunder-sky. "However, we have our warrant, and the law must be obeyed." Old Maud wept, and implored them not to take away her poor Ernest's daughter. Dame Krantz and Karl protested. Casilde knew she was innocent, and had kept her courage till she saw Wilhelm slip away; but that was more than she could bear, and the poor girl walked away between the two officers to their boat, which waited on the Elbe, weeping sorely, but in silence. All the Wessers and Krantzes were in Altona next noon, except Hubert, when Casilde, in her prison garb, was bronght before the chief of police. The mended salmon-net was shewn in confirmation of her story; but the Chief said it was very ingeniously done, and told Casilde he would endeavour to procure her pardon if she made a free confession. "I can't tell falsehoods, your Excellency," said Casilde; "I am an innocent girl, and want no pardon,” Then we must keep you in prison till the robbers are taken," said the chief, drily; "but perhaps you can tell us how you got Lady Elfleda's crest, which was worked in gold threads, off the band of this petticoat?" and he pointed to the brocade lying on the table before him. Casilde was about to answer, when a small man, dressed in the newest of the fashion, and exclaiming, with a strong French accent, that he could throw light on Mademoiselle's case, made his way to the front, and, bowing to the chief, said "Your Excellency has doubtless heard of me I am Albert, of the Magazin de Mode, and all the world has been talking of my misfortune; for on the first of November the Louis le Grande, from Havre, was totally wrecked on the rocks of Heligoland, with my whole winter's supply on board; and ever since, adorable brocades, captivating corsets, and divine trains, have been fished up in all the rivers flowing into the North Sea. Yes, noble Prefect, the sturgeon and the porpoise have worn the winter fashions intended for the rank and beauty of this capital! why not also a salmon ?" "Never mind, Casilde," said Hubert, "God" knows you are innocent; and they can't prevent your uncle and Bertrude and me from going with you to Altona.' The officers did not prevent them; and the three accompanied poor Casilde to the inner door of the prison in the heart of that old city, where Hubert slipped something into the hand of the turnkey in a corner, bidding him be kind to the girl, and give her a quiet cell, for she was not used to bad company. The turnkey of course behaved considerately; but it would needlessly lengthen this story to relate poor Casilde's prison thoughts. There was a vein of strong sense in the girl, notwithstanding her youthful folly; and at last putting Here his speech was interrupted by a sound at the door, and Hubert Krantz shouting, Here's the rag!" as he held another crimson petticoat high and wide like a banner, rushed in, followed by a whole company of the police, carrying all manner of jewellery and garments, and marching four men, fast bound, among them; while an old man, of seafaring appearance, with a staff and a wooden leg, brought up the rear. The chief of police was used to strange scenes, yet even he expressed some astonishment when the company's officer explained that they had found the robbers, with all their plunder, at an ill-reputed inn, in the suburbs to which Hubert had directed them; having obtained information from the old disabled seaman to whom the barge-master had been in the habit of giving |