king, who had already signalized himself by his heroic exploits, encountered and slew the two champions; but Alfhilda herself was not disposed to surrender tamely. She boldly put to sea with her female companions, all clothed, like herself, in male attire, and completely armed for war. They fell in with a fleet of Vikingar, who, having just lost their chieftain, elected the intrepid heroine for his successor. She continued thus to rove the Baltic Sea, at the head of this band of pirates, until the wide-spread fame of her exploits came to the ear of Alf, her suitor, who gave chase to her squadron, and pursued it into the Gulf of Finland. The brave Alfhilda gave battle. Alf boarded the bark of the princess, who made a gallant and obstinate resistance, until her helmet being cloven open by one of his champions, disclosed to their astonished view the fair face and lovely locks of his coy mistress, who, being thus vanquished by her magnanimous lover, no longer refuses him the hand he had sought, whilst his gallant champion espouses one of her fair companions.

From "History of the Northmen."

CHRISTMAS IN ST. PETER'S.

G. S. HILLARD.

Ar an early hour on that day I found the church already occupied by a great crowd. A double row of soldiers stretched from the entrance to the altar, around which the Pope's guards, in their fantastic uniform, looking like the knaves in a pack of cards, were stationed; while a series of seats on either side were filled by ladies dressed in black and wearing veils. The foreign ambassadors were in a place appropriated to them in the tribune. Among the spectators were several in military uniforms. A handsome young Englishman, in a rich hussar dress, of scarlet and gold, attracted much attention. In a recess, above one of the great piers of the dome, a choir of male singers was stationed, whose voices, without any instrumental accompaniment, blended into complete harmony, and gave the most perfect expression to that difficult and complicated music which the church of Rome has consecrated to the use of its high festivals. We waited some time for the advent of the Pope, but, with such objects around us, were content to wait. The whole spectacle was one of animated interest and peculiar beauty. The very defects of the church-its gay, secular, and somewhat theatrical character-were, in this instance, embellishments which enhanced the splendor of the scene. The various uniforms, the rich dresses, the polished arms of the soldiery, were in unison with the marble, the stucco, the bronze, and the gilding. The impression left upon the mind was not that of sacredness; that is, not upon a mind that had been

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formed under Protestant and Puritan influences; but rather of a gorge ous ceremonial belonging to some 'gay religion, full of pomp and gold.” But we travel to little purpose if we carry with us the standard which is formed at home, and expect the religious sentiment to manifest itself at all times, and in all places, in the same manner. The Scotch Covenanter upon the hillside, the New England Methodist at a camp-meeting, worship God in spirit and in truth; but shall we presume to say that the Italian is a formalist and a hypocrite, because his devotion requires the aid of music, painting, and sculpture, and, without visible symbols, goes out like a flame without air?

In due season the Pope appeared, seated in the "sedia gestatoria,” a sort of capacious arm-chair, borne upon men's shoulders, flanked on either side by the enormous fan of white peacock feathers. He was carried up the whole length of the nave, distributing his blessing with a peculiar motion of the hand upon the kneeling congregation. It seemed by no means a comfortable mode of transportation, and the expression of his countenance was that of a man ill at ease, and sensible of the awkwardness and want of dignity of his position. His dress was of white satin, richly embroidered with gold; a costume too gaudy for daylight, and by no means so becoming as that of the cardinals, whose flowing robes of crimson and white produced the finest and richest effect. The chamberlains of the Pope, who attended on this occasion in considerable numbers, wear the dress of England in the time of Charles I., so well known in the portraits of Vandyke. It looks better in pictures than in the life, and shows so much of the person that it requires an imposing figure to carry it off. A commonplace man, in such a costume, looks like a knavish valet who has stolen his master's clothes.

High mass was said by the Pope in person, and the responses were sung by the choir. He performed the service with an air and manner expressive of true devotion; and, though I felt that there was a chasm between me and the rite which I witnessed, I followed his movements in the spirit of respect, and not of criticism. But one impressive and overpowering moment will never be forgotten. When the tinkling of the bell announced the elevation of the Host, the whole of the vast assemblage knelt or bowed their faces. The pavement was suddenly strewn with prostrate forms. A silence like that of death fell upon the church-as if some celestial vision had passed before the living eyes, and hushed into stillness every pulse of human feeling. After the pause of a few seconds, during which every man could have heard the beating of his own heart, a band of wind instruments near the entrance, of whose presence I had not been aware, poured forth a few sweet and solemn strains, which floated up the nave and overflowed the whole interior. The effect of this invisible music was beyond anything I have

ever heard or ever expect to hear. The air seemed stirred with the trembling of angelic wings; or, as if the gates of heaven had been opened, and a "wandering breath" from the songs of seraphs had been borne to the earth. How fearfully and wonderfully are we made! A few sounds, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have been merely a passing luxury to the ear, heard at this moment, and beneath this dome, were like a purifying wave, which, for an instant, swept over the soul, bearing away with it all the soil and stains of earth, and leaving it pure as infancy. There was, it is true, a refluent tide; and the world displaced by the solemn strain came back with the echo; but though we "cannot keep the heights we are competent to gain," we are the better for the too brief exaltation.

From "Six Months in Italy."

WASHINGTON AT GERMANTOWN.

SIDNEY G. FISHER.

IN 1793, whilst the yellow fever was in Philadelphia, Washington resided in Germantown. He lived in the house on the south-west side of the main street below Schoolhouse Lane, then the property of Isaac Franks, now owned and occupied by the family of the late estimable and respected Samuel B. Morris. It is a large and comfortable mansion, old-fashioned in its style of architecture, but in better taste than many modern houses of more pretension. There Washington dwelt; and every day his stately and graceful form was seen in the street and lanes, on foot and on horseback, returning with grave courtesy the salutations of the people; conversing with the humblest and the highest with unaffected kindness and simplicity, mingled with native dignity; and inspiring in the hearts of all, veneration and love by his aspect and manner, as well as by his achievements and character. No man depended less for the respect of others upon the adventitious and the external. Not to what he had, of station or power or wealth, but to what he was, to what he did daily, to what he had done through life, was the spontaneous homage of men rendered, whenever he could be seen among them. There was nothing brilliant or dazzling in his character. He was not a genius, in the sense that implies great powers of original or subtle thought or creative imagination. He was neither a philosopher, a poet, nor an orator. Even in war, there are names whose Plutonian splendors eclipse his own. His mind was distinguished by large, sound, practical good sense, inspired and elevated by noble sentiment. His sagacity was of that high kind that perceives intuitively the great laws that control the action of society, and could neither be deceived by visionary dreams of ideal good, nor degraded to serve the low interests of the passing hour. His views were broad and

general, comprehending the necessities of the present and the hopes of the future; but they were attainable, and contemplated the actual government of human society, not Utopian republics of impossible happiness and virtue. His qualities in action were similar. Judgment, prudence, unwearied fortitude and perseverance, bold and prompt decision, all directed to just and moderate ends, and these gained, satisfied; not sighing for fresh fields of enterprise, and other worlds to conquer. No temptation could have made him cross a Rubicon; no Moscow could have allured him to empire or ruin. He had no selfish designs either of gain or glory; no private purposes. The freedom and independence of his country were the objects to which he devoted himself, and to these only because they were in themselves just and right. He

In this dulcet period of my history, when the beauteous island of Manna-hata presented a scene, the very counterpart of those glowing pictures drawn of the golden reign of Saturn, there was, as I have before observed, a happy ignorance, an honest simplicity prevalent among its inhabitants, which, were I even able to depict, would be but little understood by the degenerate age for which I am doomed to write. Even the female sex, those arch innovators upon the tranquillity, the honesty, and gray-beard customs of society, seemed for a while to conduct themselves with incredible sobriety and comeliness.

Their hair, untortured by the abominations of art, was scrupulously pomatumed back from their foreheads with a candle, and covered with a little cap of quilted calico, which fitted exactly to their heads. Their petticoats of linsey-woolsey were striped with a variety of gorgeous dyes-though I must confess these gallant garments were rather short, scarce reaching below the knee; but then they made up in the number, which generally equalled that of the gentlemen's small clothes; and what is still more praiseworthy, they were all of their own manufacture -of which circumstance, as may well be supposed, they were not a little vain.

These were the honest days, in which every woman stayed at home, read the Bible, and wore pockets-ay, and that too of a goodly size, fashioned with patchwork into many curious devices, and ostentatiously

worn on the outside. These, in fact, were convenient receptacles, where all good housewives carefully stored away such things as they wished to have at hand; by which means they often came to be incredibly crammed-and I remember there was a story current when I was a boy, that the lady of Wouter Van Twiller once had occasion to empty her right pocket in search of a wooden ladle, when the contents filled a couple of corn baskets, and the utensil was discovered lying among some rubbish in one corner-but we must not give too much faith to all these stories; the anecdotes of those remote periods being very subject to exaggeration.

Besides these notable pockets, they likewise wore scissors and pincushions suspended from their girdles by red ribands, or among the more opulent and showy classes, by brass, and even silver chains— indubitable tokens of thrifty housewives and industrious spinsters. I cannot say much in vindication of the shortness of the petticoats; it doubtless was introduced for the purpose of giving the stockings a chance to be seen, which were generally of blue worsted with magnificent red clocks or perhaps to display a well-turned ankle, and a neat, though serviceable foot, set off by a high-heeled leathern shoe, with a large and splendid silver buckle. Thus we find that the gentle sex in all ages have shown the same disposition to infringe a little upon the laws of decorum, in order to betray a lurking beauty, or gratify an innocent love of finery.

From "Knickerbocker's History of New York."

FASHIONABLE PARTIES IN NEW NETHERLANDS.

W. IRVING.

In those happy days a well-regulated family always rose with the dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed at sunset. Dinner was invariably a private meal, and the fat old burghers showed incontestable signs of disapprobation and uneasiness at being surprised by a visit from a neighbor on such occasions. But though our worthy ancestors were thus singularly averse to giving dinners, yet they kept up the social bands of intimacy by occasional banquetings, called tea-parties.

These fashionable parties were generally confined to the higher classes, or noblesse, that is to say, such as kept their own cows, and drove their own wagons. The company commonly assembled at three o'clock, and went away about six, unless it was in winter time, when the fashionable hours were a little earlier, that the ladies might get home before dark. The tea-table was crowned with a huge earthen dish, well stored with slices of fat pork, fried brown, cut up into morsels, and swimming in gravy. The company being seated round the genial