And you'll do it when called on?' Dick bowed his head in assent.

Good!' said Mr. Hardesty, grasping the boy's hand. more of this,' he continued, filling Dick's glass.

Take a little

Your aunt shall suffer

for this yet, if there's any law or justice in the land.'

'Ain't there no law,' inquired Dick, pausing in his draught, 'for suing an old lady for 'sault and batterhim?'

'No, Dicky, I fear not in your case; but if I get any damages, I'll give you half.'

Dick drained the contents of his glass, and shaking hands most cordially with Mr. Hardesty and Master John, bade them good night. It is scarcely necessary to add, that the last surviving male heir of the Sidebottoms was gloriously drunk in less than an hour, and made such a demonstration of that fact to his sober and discreet aunt, that she caused his head to be soused repeatedly in cold water, and then flogged him into sobriety.

It is not to be supposed that the disappearance of the village grocer from his usual post for a whole day together, and particularly on Christmas, that busiest of all days, failed to excite a degree of general curiosity and inquisitiveness as to the cause of his absence; but to the many inquiries of his friends touching that subject, he only replied by shaking his head and saying that time would show. Enough had leaked out, however, to satisfy the public that the affair was shrouded in a mystery that was worth the trouble of penetrating; so that when on the morning of the first of January immediately succeeding the year that had just closed, Mr. Thomas Hardesty and Miss Margaret Sidebottom were summoned each by three lusty cheers from the town-crier to appear before his worship the police judge of Idleberg, the populace rushed to the scene of judicial conflict, until the humble and contracted audiencechamber was crowded to overflowing.

The witnesses summoned in the case were Mrs. Jenkins, Jake Crow, and Master Dick Sidebottom. In due time the defendant came into court, leaning on the arm of her next friend and privy counsellor, Mrs. Jenkins, who as usual was attended by a bevy of young Jenkinses. Before embarking in this trying embassy, the ladies, by the way, had gone to the Maderia bottle; the one complaining of a pain in the breast, and the other of general nervousness. Mr. Hardesty was unattended, and so were his remaining witnesses.

The warrant gravely charged the defendant with stealing or causing to be stolen from the plaintiff, on the night of the twenty-fourth of December last past, a pair of boots and a pair of breeches, whose respective values were duly set forth. The reading of this document created quite a sensation throughout the court-room. Mrs. Jenkins was called and sworn. She deposed that on the night specified in the warrant, she had taken tea at the defendant's house; that she was suddenly called home, missing thereby a great deal of anticipated pleasure; that the defendant passed the next day, being Christmas-day, at her (witness's) house; and witness did not at any time see defendant steal or cause to be stolen from plaintiff the said boots and breeches, nor did she believe Miss Sidebottom to be capable of such an act; and particular,' she

6

said in conclusion, from such a pitiful old scamp as Tom Hardesty ;' and glancing around triumphantly at the audience, and scornfully at the plaintiff, she waited for the court's cross-questions.

'Is that all you know about the case, Madam?' inquired his worship, smiling.

That was all.

'You can retire. Call Jake Crow.'

Mr. Crow stood in no need of being called, as he marched up to the judge immediately, and deposed that on the last Christmas-eve night, he had called at defendant's house for Mrs. Jenkins, as old Jenkins had been knocked on the head and carried home drunk. (At this Mrs. Jenkins looked like a carnation pink, and commenced fanning herself violently with her pocket-handkerchief.) Witness, however, did not enter the house, and knew nothing whatever of the matter in dispute.' 'You can retire, Mr. Crow. Call Richard Sidebottom.'

Dick had managed, with his usual restlessness, to retire some time before this from the crowded room, and was breathing the pure air and playing his boyish pranks in a distant part of the town. The officer who was despatched for the young gentlemen returned presently, lugging him by the coat-collar. After being introduced to the court by the usual solemnities, Dick proceeded to give in detail the events of the memorable night, as already known to the reader. He also gave an interesting account of the defendant's oft-repeated cruelties to himself personally; how on Christmas night he had restored the stolen articles to plaintiff, and how the rightful proprietor was wearing the same in

court.

A general hurrah and stamping of feet succeeded the delivery of this testimony; at which the judge frowned, and the constable cried Order!' with all his lungs.

'Mr. Hardesty,' said the judge, when order was restored, do you feel disposed to prosecute this suit? I fear I must dismiss the warrant, on the ground that the court can furnish no relief in the case. What say you?'

6

Mr. Hardesty arose. May it please your worship, the time was, and I care not who knows it, when I entertained for the defendant in this cause feelings of the most profound respect and admiration. And I had been led to hope that my passion was not altogether disregarded; that Miss Sidebottom would one day become Mrs. Hardesty. And this, Sir, as detailed to you by the last witness, her own nephew, is the treatment I have received!' The speaker paused and applied his pocket handkerchief to his eyes. The audience was touched. It ain't the temporary loss of my breeches; it ain't the long weary hours I spent shivering in that closet; it ain't the wading home bare-footed in the snow; it ain't the finger of scorn some gentlemen may p'int at me now, that wounds my heart; but it's feeling and knowing that the woman I loved better than my own life; the woman I would have lived for, or died for, to make her happy; that that very woman He could say

no more; his feelings overpowered him, and he sat down.

Miss Sidebottom's sympathies were evidently touched throughout this harangue. Until now, she had been rocking to and fro in her seat, and

when Mr. Hardesty concluded, she rushed through the crowd, threw herself on his neck, and kissed him passionately.

'Clear the room!' bawled his worship, starting to his feet.

'Clerk,' he continued, addressing that official personage, who was standing near, 'write me a license to unite Thomas Hardesty and Margaret Sidebottom in the holy bands of matrimony. I know they are of age, and do n't need any guardeens.'

The judge sat down, convulsed by his own wit, while the clerk proceeded to his task. The loving pair looked up and smiled through their tears. 'I loved you, Tom, all the time; I did indeed. It was all in fun, dear man indeed it was!' Tom Hardesty threw his arms around

her neck, and pressed her head to his bosom. 'Come!' said his worship, after reading the license, none of your hysterics here, but stand up and be married.' And married they were; and the bride, in consideration of her cruelty, paid the costs of the suit and the marriage fees; and off they marched homeward, amid the deafening huzzas of the multitude that was gathered in the street.

Happy New-Year! that sealed Tom Hardesty's happiness! Many a changing season has come and gone since then, and nobody knows but they are the happiest couple in Idleberg. Mr. Hardesty's first domestic advice to his bride was to decline Mrs. Jenkins's farther acquaintance, which she did most readily. The old gentleman has long since despaired of having an heir direct, but has promised John, who is prospering behind his old master's counter, that he and Belinda shall marry before long. Mr. Richard Sidebottom is one of the reformed drunkards,' and eschews Madeira especially. He is now an attorney, in embryo, and gives ample promise of carrying into his profession all the acuteness and cunning which distinguished his exploits on the memorable night that opened this chapter in the biography of Mr. Tom Hardesty.

THE fire is burning cheerly bright, the room is snug and warm,
We keep afar the wintry night, and drive away the storm;
And when without the wanderer pines, and all is dark and chill,
We sit securely by the fire, and sparkling glasses fill.

And ever as the hollow wind howls through the moaning trees,
Strange feelings on the boding heart with sudden chillness seize :
But brightly blazes then the hearth, and freely flows the wine;
And laugh of glee, and song of mirth, then wreathe their merry twine.

We think not how the dashing sleet beats on the crusted pane,
We care not though the drifting snow whirls o'er the heath amain;
But haply, while our hearts are bright, far struggling through the waste,
Some traveller seeks our window's light, with long and fruitless haste.

Hark his halloo! we leave the fire, and hurry forth to save:
A short half hour, and he had found beneath the snow a grave.
Pile on the wood!-feed high the flame! - bring out our choicest store!
The traveller's heart grows warm again; his spirit droops no more.

J. G. P.

SONG OF THE NEW YEAR.

BY MRS. R. S. NICHOLS.

I HAVE Come, I have come from a shadowy clime,
An heir of the monarch Earth's children call TIME;
With years yet unborn, I have stood in the hall
That was reared by our sire, awaiting his call:
Last eve, as I lay on his bosom at rest,

I saw slowly rise a white cloud in the west;
Now through the blue ether, through regions of space,
It floated up softly, with fairy-like grace,

And paused 'neath the light of the white-shining stars,
Whose rays pierced its centre, like clear silver bars;
The winds revelled round it, unchecked in their mirth,
As it hung, like a banner, 'mid heaven and earth.

The soft fleecy folds of the clouds swept aside,
The winds ceased their revels, and mournfully sighed ;
A car slowly rolled down the pathway of Time,
A bell slowly tolled a funereal chime:

A sound in the air, and a wail on the breeze,
Swift as wave follows wave on tempest-tossed seas;
Thin shadows swept by in that funeral train,

As glide o'er old battle-grounds ghosts of the slain.
I saw the dim spectres of long-buried years-
The Seasons close followed, in mourning and tears.

Arrayed in his armor, death-darts in his hand,
The grim King of Terrors strode on with the band,
While cold, stark and ghastly, there lay on his bier
The death-stricken form of the hoary OLD YEAR!
How bent was his figure, how furrowed his brow,
How weary he looked from his pilgrimage now!
The phantoms of Passion, of Hope and Despair,
With dark, waving plumage, encircled him there;
The Months stood around, and the bright dancing Hours
On spirit-wings floated, like birds among flowers.

A voice sweet as music now smote on my ear:
'Go forth in thy beauty, thou unspotted Year!
The old Year hath died 'mid rejoicings and mirth,
That rocked the stern heart of the rugged old Earth!
The midnight is passing; away to thy car!
Thou 'lt sail by the lustre of morning's bright star;
Away! And I rose from the bosom of Time,
And fled through the gates of that shadowy clime;
My car sped along on the wings of the wind,
While Winter, old man! tottered slowly behind.

The sky's eastern portals impeded my flight,
When Morning rose up from the arms of the Night;
The dawn faintly glowed, and I saw the old Earth,
And sailed in my kingdom, a monarch at birth!
Then give me wild music, the dance and the song,
For ever!' I shouted, while whirling along :

'I have come, I have come from a shadowy clime,
A breath of the monarch Earth's children call TIME!"

Cincinnati, December, 1843.

VOL. XXIII.

ON COLOUR.

FULL angel-like the birdis sang their hours*
Within their curtains green, within their bowers
Apparelled with white and red, with bloomys sweet..
Enamell'd was the field with all colours:

The pearlit drops shook as in silver showers,
While all in balm did branche and leavis fleit. t
Depart fra' Phoebus did Aurora greit;

Her chrystal tears I saw hing on the flowers

Which he, for love, all drank up with his heat.

1. The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

DUNLAR

2. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters; He restoreth my soul. A PSALM OF DAVID.

As I walk over the surface of this fair Earth, an erring and a wayward being, at times dejected by the trials of a solitary and an almost abortive life, or sustained or elevated by its prosperous incidents; I sometimes think that no one other blessing of existence hath ever comforted my heart and restored my soul so much, as the pleasures and delights of COLOUR. It is my wealth, my joy, my faculty, my fountain! The recreative pleasure that others find in Music, although this is not denied is less to me than to them, a restorative and a balm. Music excites, arouses me; melts me into weakness, or animates me into passionate exertion; but it is in the green pasture and beside the still waters, in bowers apparelled with white and red; it is in the tints with which autumn is bedecked, and Day expires; that I feel I shall not want, and that God restoreth my soul! And it is among huge and solitary mountain masses of grey castellated rock, in the crevices of which the stinted pine, and the cedar with its brown and tattered trunk, struggle out a hard and scanty existence and are yet covered with neverfading verdure-mountains to which the Saviour of mankind might have retired to meditate and pray that I feel that the Lord is my Shepherd, and shall bring me to the green pastures, and lead me beside the still waters; my Rock! my fortress! and my high tower!

Sometimes my heart takes a fancy altogether for brown hues; and as you cannot at all times command these in the country, I seat myself down quietly in front of a precious Cuyp with which God hath endowed me, and that (except the sky and water) is composed entirely of them in every gradation and shade; and when I rise up from the contemplation of it, I feel that it is in brown hues that GOD restoreth my soul.

Sometimes I dwell upon the silvery trunk of the birch-tree, or upon the darker hue of the beech. Sometimes my soul drinks the full beauties of the umbrageous chestnut; or revels in the golden berries, and the graceful branches that seem overladen with them, of the mountainash. As I grow old I wave often in the grey pendulous mosses of the South, or stand in thought under the gigantick branches of the live oak, with all its leaves of laurel, and its heroick gesture. Good GOD! I say,