daughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested fervor of a woman's first and early love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around his name, she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must have been the agony of her`, whose whole soul was occupied by his image! Let those tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed between them and the being they most loved on earth, who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a cold and lonely world, whence all that was most lovely and loving had departed.

3. But then the horrors of such a grave! so frightful, so dishonored! there was nothing for memory to dwell on, that could soothe the pangs of separation, none of those tender, though melancholy circumstances, which endear the parting scene`, nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent like the dews of heaven to revive the heart in the parting hour of anguish.

4. To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities. The most delicate and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her love.

5. But it was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity which scathe and scorch the soul, which penetrate to the vital seat of happiness, and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but was as much alone there as in the depths of solitude`; walking about in a sad reveric, apparently unconscious of the world around her. She carried with her an inward woe, that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and "heded not the song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely."

6. The person who told me her story had seen her at a masquerade. There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful than to meet it in such a scene; to find it wandering like a specter lone and joyless, where all around is gay`, to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and, looking about for some time with a vacant air, that showed her insensibility to the garish scene, she began with the capriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was so simple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness, that she drew a crowd mute and silent around her, and melted every one into tears.

7. The story of one so true and tender, could not but excite great interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm It completely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her`, and thought that one so true to the dead could not but prove affectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed by the memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and dependent situation, for she was existing on the kindness of friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assurance that her heart was unalterably another's.

8. He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene might wear out the remembrance of her early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very soul. She wasted away in a slow but hopeless decline, and, at length, sank into the grave, the victim of a broken heart.

1. Look on him: through his dungeon-grate,
Feebly and cold, the morning light
Comes stealing round him, dim and late,
As if it loath'd the sight.
Reclining on his strawy bed,

His hand upholds his drooping head;
His bloodless cheek is seam'd and hard;
Unshorn his gray, neglected beard;
And o'er his bony fingers flow
His long dishevel❜d locks of snow.

2. No grateful fire before him glows,

And yet the winter's breath is chill:
And o'er his half-clad person goes
The frequent ague-thrill.
Silent, save ever and anon,

A sound, half-murmur and half-groan",
Forces apart the painful grip
Of the old sufferer's bearded lip.
O, sad and crushing is the fate
Of old age chain'd and desolate.

3 Just GOD! why lies that old man there?
A murderer shares his prison-bed,
Whose eyeballs, through his horrid hair ́,
Gleam on him fierce and red;

And the rude oath and heartless jeer
Fall ever on his loathing ear;
And, or in wakefulness or sleep,
Nerve, flesh, and fiber thrill and creep,
Whene'er that ruffian's tossing limb,
Crimson'd with murder, touches him.

4. What has the gray-hair'd prisoner done? Has murder stain'd his hands with gore?

Not so: his crime's a fouler one:
God made the ōld man pōōr!

For this, he shares a felon's cell,
The fittest earthly type of hell:
For this, the boon for which he pour'd

His young blood on the invader's sword,
And counted light the fearful cost,
His blood-gain'd liberty-is lost!

5. And so, for such a place of rest,

Old prisoner, pour'd thy blood as rain.
On Concord's field, and Bunker's crest,
And Saratoga's plain?

Look forth, thou man of many scars,
Through thy dim dungeon's iron bars!
It must be joy, in sooth, to see
Yon monument* uprear'd to thee;
Piled granite and a prison-cell`!
The land repays thy service well!

6. Go, ring the bells`, and fire the guns`,
And fling the starry banner out`;
Shout "Freedom!" till your lisping ones
Give back their cradle-shout;
Let boasted eloquence declaim
Of honor, liberty, and fame;
Still let the poet's strain be heard,
With "glory" for each second word,
And every thing with breath agree
To praise "our glorious liberty!"

7. And when the patriot cannon jars

That prison's cold and gloomy wall,
And through its grates the stripes and stars
Rise on the wind, and fall;
Think you that prisoner's aged ear

Rejoices in the general cheer?

Think ye his dim and failing eye
Is kindled at your pageantry?
Sorrowing of soul, and chain'd of limb,
What is your carnival to him?

8. Down with the law that binds him thus!
Unworthy freemen, let it find

No refuge from the withering curse
Of God and human kind!
Open the prisoner's living tomb`,
And usher from its brooding gloom
The victims of your savage code,
To the free sun and air of GOD!
No longer dare as crime to brand
The chastening of the Almighty's hand!

*Bunker Hill Monument.

XLVIII.

- LA FAYETTE AND ROBERT RAIKES.

FROM GRIMKE.

THOMAS S. GRIMKE was a distinguished lawyer of Charleston, South Carolina. He was a man of great learning, pure and high toned religious sentiment, and remarkable eloquence.

LA FAYETTE was a French nobleman, who gave his services and spent his fortune in aid of America in the Revolutionary War, which terminated in 1783. In 1824 he revisited this country, and was received with an enthusiasm seldom equaled.

[Extract from an address delivered at a Sunday-School Celebration.]

1. Ir is but a few years, since we beheld the most singular and memorable pageant in the annals of time. It was a pageant more sublime and affecting than the progress of Elizabeth through England after the defeat of the armada; than the return of Francis I. from a Spanish prison to his own beautiful France; than the daring and rapid march of the conqueror at Austerlitz from Frejus to Paris. It was a pageant, indeed, rivaled only in the elements of the grand and the pathetic, by the journey of our own Washington, through the different States. Need I say that I allude to the visit of La Fayette to America?

2. But La Fayette returned to the land of the dead, rather than of the living. How many who had fought with him n the war of '76, had died in arms, and lay buried in the grave of the soldier or the sailor! How many who had survived the perils of battle, on the land and the ocean, had expired on the death-bed of peace, in the arms of mother, sister", daughter, wife! Those who survived to celebrate with him the jubilee of 1825, were stricken in years, and hoary-headed; many of them infirm in health; many the victims of poverty ́, or misfortune, or affliction. And, how venerable that patriotic company; how sublime, their gathering through all the land; how joyful their welcome, how affecting their farewell to that beloved stranger!

3. But the pageant has fled`, and the very materials that gave it such depth of interest, are rapidly perishing: and a humble, perhaps a nameless grave, shall hold the last soldier of the evolution. And shall they ever meet again? Shall the patriots and soldiers of '76; the Immortal Band, as