suffered here severely from intermittent fever. She was just able to go about when her husband declared his intention to leave the place on account of its being sickly.

"Where do you think of going?" she asked, raising to his her large pensive eyes.

"I have hardly made up my mind yet," he replied. "But I was thinking of R.”

Rachel's eyes fell to the floor, and a gentle sigh escaped from her bosom. This was noticed by her husband. "Have you

asked.

any objection to R -?" he

"Why not go back to the old place?" Rachel ventured to say, while her eyes were again fixed upon him, but now earnestly and tearfully.

"Would you rather live there?" he asked, with more than usual tenderness in his voice.

"I have never been happy since we left there,"

the poor wife replied, sinking forward and hiding her tearful face on his breast.

Parker was confounded. He had never dreamed of this. Rachel had always so patiently acquiesced in all that he had proposed to do, that he had imagined her as willing to remove from one place to another as he had been. But now a new truth flashed upon his mind-" Never been happy since we left there!"

"We will go back, Rachel," he said, with some emotion. "If I had only known this!"

And they went back. But somehow or other Rachel Parker did not recover the healthy tone of body or mind that she had lost. By strict attention to business and continuing at it for some years in one place, her husband got along well enough, though he did not get rich. As for Rachel she gradually declined and three years after her return was laid at rest.

MIDDLE-AGED people! and what kind of people are they, gentle reader? Now of all things indefinite, undefined and undefinable it is this, of being middle-aged. Old age is comprehensible, so are childhood and youth, but this land between-where beginneth and where endeth it? In short, what is a middle-aged gentleman ?

I speak feelingly, reader, for I am myself a middle-aged bachelor. The why it remaineth for me to appropriate to myself the last epithet is a secret not to be revealed to common ears. They say a man is seen in his writings-it is for you, then, under the shadow of types and printing ink to discover the secret. Whether there was that lack of attraction which left me alone and unheeded in a world of so much surrounding loveliness, or whether I failed in that perception of the beautiful which caused to fall on my soul without impression all those perfections of mind and form which constitute woman, or whether I was loved and forgotten, or whether I loved and forgot

So,

"The heart knoweth its own bitterness And the stranger intermeddleth not therewith." But back to this known yet unknown, this region of existence quod non describi, the sphere of middle-aged gentlemen. I should premise here, that ladies in this have decidedly the advantage over us. They are always young, or supposed to be till they pass off to matrimony, and young lady and single lady are by courtesy synonimous terms. That dress has much to do with the matter may be suspected. Gauzes, laces, flowers, all the paraphernalia of feminine toilet, of which luckless man knows not even the name; all this, it is barely possible, may throw a shadowy witchery over thirty-six as well as sweet sixteen, while our sex stand forth in undisguised truthfulness.

Married people of course do as they please in all things and, in fact, as married gentlemen approach this climacteric they almost invariably increase in worldly consequence, especially if their dollars have observed the arithmetical progression of years. We have encountered more than one college chum in the journey of life who, when we parted with him at the portal of our alma mater, laid claim to the smallest possible number of ideas, and whose opinions on any subject were neither

offered nor even given when asked, but literally, only to be dragged from their hiding places by labor far beyond their value. Yet when some years had given a grey hair here and there on his forehead, a little bulk to his figure, a wife to hang on his arm, and two or three rosy urchins to troop at his heels, we have heard him, under this new combination of circumstances, discourse most fluently and oracularly on any and every topic of policy or propriety, of church or state, nations or individuals, that came before him; with the additional feature in his discourse, that the more extended and abstruse the subject the more rapidly it was disposed of under the alchymy of his intellect; while our dull apprehension strove in vain to read (in the common operation of cause and effect) a cause in either of the aforesaid facts for enlarged wisdom.

And so, misérabile dictu, only on the luckless bachelor hath the mantle of reproach fallen. He is too old to frolic with the young, too young to sympathize with the old; not that his heart has lost any of its freshness or his step its elasticity, albeit it is more firmly planted, but he is no longer a boy, and merriment would be "frisky and foolish."

Woman too-kind woman! It is thine to give the most cruel cut of all. Thy sallies of wit and humor, thy merry laugh which ringeth clear as a bell, thy ready hand for the dance, all these are bestowed without stint or measure on the beardless fopling, scarce emancipated from the birch of the pedagogue! What a sorry substitute does the poor middle-aged gentleman receive in that respectful tone and scrupulous politeness. Laugh out! canst thou not? Laugh loud and free, argue, doubt, contradict, it is music to his heart, as of yore; he might even try a twirl in that whirligig waltz didst thou not chill the attempt by "supposing he never dances."

So much for loss; what is the gain, gentle reader? For him that is climbing the ladder of life is left at the foot of it many a sweet flower, many a gentle tone his heart will think of in after days. He gains in view a scope of mental vision to which the most extended prospect that the natural eye ever revelled on is as nothing. Thou gazer from the height of years-what seest thou?

Lo! a wide and varied landscape, with its barren wastes and mines of wealth-its storms and sunshine; spots which seem to bask in the smile of the heaven above them, and fearful chasms and dark-chambered caverns whose mysteries thought shrinks from penetrating. So lies the unseen landscape of mind, unseen save by that thing itself unseen, the mind.

Talk of the natural sciences; here is that which will live when they are forgotten. When the rock and the cataract, which have been pondered on and invested with curious hypotheses, and stand wrapped up in cobweb certainty until some wiser hand cometh to brush away the folly and array it in a newer garment, shall be no more, and the Heavens shall be rolled up as a scroll, this on which thy spirit alone looketh shall be even as it now is. The mental landscape! what is not there? Light, emanating from the Eternal One, in whose blaze suns are dim; and this light, as in the natural world, hath fallen on many a poor darkened spot to brighten and cheer it. There are places too of gloom and despair and misery, poorly typified by the deepest shadow that ever rested on mortal scene. Wrecks too lie on thought's ocean strand, to whose "wealth gone down" the gems and gold of all the Indies count nothing-wrecks of hopes and hearts and immortal souls, and things that once seemed mighty now thou seest moved by small springs, and where thou couldst once see nought now thou beholdest much. And so, reader, thou art climbing life's ladder to look on all this.

"We note time by its loss," and it is singular how pleasantly blind one can be to his own changes at the same time quick to see his neighbor's. One meets a friend after a lapse of years"how changed, hardly know you!" while the same exclamation might come in play before an honest mirror, yet who makes it?

One is loth to grow old and, if the subject is investigated philosophically, there are some hundred good reasons for this at least. Setting aside the inconvenient appendages of walking on crutches, spectacles and ear trumpets, one of the first infantile ideas is a horror of the aged. The prime hobgoblin of the nursery is an old man that carries away naughty children; all the witches are old women (which I observe en passant is very unnatural, because all the bewitchments of real life are done by young ones); then our first introduction to belles-lettres is generally under the auspices of an old lady-not to forget that the refractory urchin whose spirit rebels against nursery-maids is always turned over to some old woman, who "knows how to manage him."

No wonder the spirit shrinks from the path which must be trodden; and for myself, gentle reader, although my heart has long since ceased (from other causes than absolute age) to angle for

the admiration of fair ones and, consequently, the ravages of time bring no particular terror; nevertheless, some little incidents have occurred in recent days which have caused my spirit to realize ir full force the unhappy fact that I am--a middleaged gentleman.

It was at the prospect of a ride with a youthful beauty that all the little goblins (and their name is legion) came up from the bottom of my heart, where I thought them long before dead and buried.

It was, as I say, in prospect of a ride. A ride at any time is delightful (unless perhaps in the rain without an umbrella) far beyond the pleasure of a walk; because being borne along without the momentary exertion of volition, it leaves all the intellectual faculties full freedom for exercise; but a ride in one of the most luxurious vehicles that ever rejoiced in velvety cushions and Bower's patent springs, with one of the fairest faces in the land, confided to my care too by her dear papa--was there ever aught brighter, dear reader? But to my tale!

I had been spending some six weeks at the chateau of a friend about a day's ride, a long day's ride, from London. It was one of those courtly, ancestral mansions, wherein it seemed as if generation after generation had had no other thought than how to accumulate within its walls all the luxuries and comforts of existence. Its vasty halls, lined with mirrors and couches and all the devices of modern art, the soft light of stained windows with their gorgeous draperies, the well filled library, the paintings, the music-room-to say nothing of wine-cellars and saddle-horses-no wonder the six weeks passed like a day! And then my fair hostess and her fairer daughter, beings so hedged round by wealth and love and innocence that sorrow, the arrant varlet, had never yet dared press a finger on heart or brow. No wonder six weeks passed like a day!

But mortals must always sooner or later go forth from paradise, from old Adam downward, and the day came round which was to be my last under their hospitable roof. The family equipage had been ordered to be at the door betimes the next morning, to convey me back to London, (for a common post-coach would not have accorded with their ideas of proper courtesy.) and sadly I stood to bid adieu to my kind host and his kind lady; and the other one besides, there, just in her teens -had I not romped over the terraces with her for six long, nay, short weeks? Had she not forgotten, or seemed to forget, that I was a staid middle-aged gentleman, and called on me to perform forty odd little services at all times of day? Had I not held the poodle while she washed and combed it; taken the pet bird out for fresh air and flower leaves, and loaded my pockets with all sorts of oddities in the course of a morning walk to distribute among Siberian squirrels and Olaska rabbits? Had

she not in the same spirit invited me to climb to the top of some tumble down rocks, at the peril of life and limb, for some insignificant wild-flower which she declared she had learned to classify in school? Had I not turned over music leaves and helped tune the harp? And now, when it all came rushing over memory like a mighty flood, as I turned to say "good bye," what thinkest thou, reader, were my sensations as her mother proposed this fairy being as my travelling companion for the next day!

It would be such a good opportunity for Elise to accept an invitation from an aunt, a London dowager, and she would go so safely with me.

Safely dear lady, had it been the crown diamond of the great Mogul I could not have valued higher the trust or mentally vowed to be more worthy of it.

The plan was speedily arranged; Elise was to be my travelling companion and I was to deposit her in safety at the mansion of the aforesaid aunt. At sunrise the next day my valet pro tem entered my chamber with refreshments and word that the carriage was in readiness, and when I descended the happy Elise stood waiting between her doating father and mother.

How buoyant was my step! I was young again! I was sipping of the well of perpetual youth--a mere college boy! and after a parental injunction from his lordship to" take care of her," and a thousand directions from her mother on a thousand points during her stay in London, the latter took me aside

"You will have a little watchful eye over Elise, I hope;" said her ladyship. "I will;" I answered and my heart averred that my eyes should never be off her. "She is so innocent and unsuspecting" I like her for that, said my heart againand some say pretty;" I think her beautiful as Hebe, chimed in my heart again; and she regards you so highly." I almost started. "I am sure she would listen to your advice at any time," I bowed very low; "for (continued the lady) she fooks on you as a father." My heart could not drink in that last word, but it gave a gulp and the lady went on. You are so much older than Elise, a mere child, my dear Mr. ," and then came something about parental care. "Look on her as your child "-" gay circles"-"young fops'

64

-"thoughtlessness." How much more she said I don't know; it was a mere mutterance of sounds, and when I turned to hand Elise to her seat the scene was all changed; the sunlight, the rainbow tints, the fairy-land had all vanished. I was henceforth the convoyer of a treasure, precious and pure and beautiful, with about the same share in it that the royal guard has in the box of gold he deposits in the vaults of the Bank of England.

Now I had not been so silly as to dream of love in this case, but I had entertained some vague notions of companionship; where was the use of putting one off so far? Her father! Give adviceadmonish! Whew! I was not to join the mad cap frolic then, but to mar it-not even to be her brother, but from my great middle-age, I must play, forsooth, her father. Bright visions, how ye faded! It is past the midnight. I have scribbled on into the morning hours; and now, to my " mind's eye" thy slight bended form, Aunt Bridget, glideth in. Age bore to thee nought repelling, although three score-and-ten, man's full measure, was allotted thee. Middle-age to Aunt Bridget was mere childhood; and I well remember two maiden nieces, whom in despite of their coming grey hairs and incipient wrinkles, she persisted in denominating the children from mere force of habit. She had watched the first tottle of their baby steps, the first dawn of intellect and, though forced to see that they could actually walk without directions, could never be brought to allow equal maturity to their minds and, consequently, their most trivial daily operations received her untiring surveillance.

For my part it was delightful to receive her constant assurance that I was but a mere boy! A middle-aged urchin, indeed! but I cared not to analyse or anatomise too closely the anomaly; I even passed over without resentment the neverfailing accompaniment, that boys have no judg

ment."

Dear, kind-hearted old lady! thou wast one of the flowers at the foot of life's ladder! Would that the world's eye could greet me as lovingly as thine! the sins then of this, my solitary midnight reverie, would be easily forgiven; and the thoughts pent up in the hours of toil and daylight, to flow forth at the witch-time, might perchance find favor and approval.

THE sun had set, soft, fleecy clouds appeared
In all the glory of the twilight hour;
Like Alps on Chimborazo high upreared,

They slowly sailed in majesty and power→→
Now rent asunder and now formed an airy tower.

The winds were hushed, and all was peace and calm,
Each leaf was still, no ripple on the wave;
The birds had sung to God their evening psalm,
And beasts no more in crystal streams did lave,
both and
And all enjoyed the fairy scene,
gay grave.

The moon arose from coral depths below,
Adding much beauty to the silent scene,
By giving to that scene a silver glow,

Like a sweet virgin beauty, just sixteen,
Who gives forth purer rays to all around, I ween.

And on the bosom of the sleeping sea

There lay a ship, a glorious, helpless thing; And when a dying swell came stealthily, Methought she strove to flap her canvass wing, And nod " to the moon with graceful swing. good evening

And on that vessel's deck there lay a boy,

Among all Neptune's sons were none more fair;

Upon his lips there was a smile of joy,

And on his brow were jetty locks of hair

The last, soft, lingering breeze had placed and left them there.

And there he lay, the dark, deep blue below,
And fondly gazed into the blue above,
Where his imagination in its glow

Pictured, far off, as far as thought could rove, The Great Eternal's throne, the fountain of all love.

As thus he gazed into the upward deep

A drowsiness came o'er the orphan boy; And guardian angels fanned him to his sleep, And dreamy Cupids playfully did toy,

And whisper happy dreams, all free from sin's alloy.

Again he saw his home, once happy home, Again he stood beside his mother's knee, While she unclasped the old inspired tome, And read "let little children come to me, For such shall dwell with God through all eternity."

And thus by precept and example mild

She traced his course upon the chart of life; Then knelt and prayed to God that her dear child Might shun all sins with which the world is rife-Deceit, hypocrisy, and all unholy s.rife.

Anon he sat upon his father's knee,

And listened eagerly, with much surprise,

To thrilling stories of the briny sea,

Of sea-serpents of monstrous length and size, And beautiful mermaids with tear-drops in their eyes.

Again he heard from that fond, good old man, (Who'd been a seaman in his younger day, And yarns could spin, as most old sailors can,} How, often, on the topsail yard he'd lay, When frenzied winds swept madly o'er the briny way.

And now he stood beside his sister's grave, And heard the deep-drawn sigh of sturdy men; And saw the weeping willow mournful wave In sympathy with heaving bosoms when They laid the damp, cold earth, where oft his head had la

His only sister dead! and he alone

Left as the solace of his parents dear;
He felt his soul bad lost its cheerful tone,

And while thus dreaming there stole out a tear Upon his cheek, and guardian angels all drew near,

And there consulted o'er the boy's sweet breath,
Each emulous to gain the precious prize;
When one more conscious of its virtue saith,

Ah! 'tis too pure for us poor angels' eyes;"
Then took the gera and wafted it to the All-wise.

The boy dreamed on. Upon a lofty hill
He sat, and saw, wild rushing 'neath his feet,
A swollen stream which onward, onward still,
Did curl and dance to its own music sweet,
And leap the jagged rocks with wild fantastic feet.

A sudden change and lo the stream was dried
And shrunken by the hot sun's piereing ray;
And o'er the lazy, loitering, lagging tide,
The boy again did jump in eager play,
And leap from rock to rock, nor heed the slippery way.

And now this dreaming youth did spread his sail,
And steer his little bark to meet the wave,
Which curled its lip of white foam to the gale,

And broke upon the shore where sweet flowers lave, And meekly fit themselves to deck some infant's grave.

A change! He saw his mother's slender form,
So still, and cold, and pale, he knew not why;
Alas! he knew not death was in the storm,
And in the clear and blue and pleasant sky,

He knew not that each breath he drew to death did hie.

Another change! For there his father lay

A cold and stiffened corpse, and faces strange Were wet with tears, while one good man did pray; Yet o'er the father's face there came no change. Poor boy!"the world was all before him where to range."

The feelings of his dream were changed, and now, He grappled with raisfortune and its woes; And as he dreamed the sweat stood on his browHis bosom heaved with agonizing throesHe groaned aloud-awoke-and thus my dream shall close.