"Walter!"-exclaimed Mr. Clark, in the deep bass tones of his guttural voice, seizing one of the youth's hands.

"Walter!"-screamed aunt Judy, a full octave above the highest treble notes she ever before used-as she caught the other.

"Walter!" murmured Fanny, in a voice sweeter to his ear than the breathing of an Eolian harp, as disengaging himself from the grasp of her father and aunt, he pressed both her hands in his, and while she sunk into the chair from which she had partly risen, just touched his lips to her forehead.

The action was unnoticed by aunt Judy, who had stooped to pick up her spectacles, which had fallen in her hurry to welcome Walter; and which she would not have had broken, for a kiss from the handsomest young man in the universe. If Mr. Clark saw the slight caress, the smile that beamed on his features, while he pointed Walter to a seat in his usual place, did not argue displeasure.

"What is the matter with Fanny now?" said aunt Judy. "I shouldn't think Walter's coming home was any occasion for tears."

"We will proceed in the duties of the evening," said her brother, solemnly, as he just glanced on his daughter.

"You may have Fanny," said Mr. Clark to Walter the next day but, as I told you in my letter, you must not marry till next November. Manage for yourself one year. Go, hire yourself out, and be steady and industrious; you will gain much useful knowledge, and next fall come home here, and you shall be as my own son. Fanny, too, has need of learning many things, before she will be fitted to manage a family."

"Yes, indeed," responded aunt Judy. "Fanny never has cared whether she knew how to bake, or brew, or any such necessary matters, if she could only skip and sing. But I hope now she will be more steady, and mind how I season my pies; the wedding cake I shan't let her try to make, for it would be a bad sign, besides a very great waste, if the wedding cake should be spoiled."

"These wild, idle boys sometimes succeed well," said a neighbor to the grandfather of Walter Wilson. "There is your grandson, he has married the richest and prettiest girl in the country. Who would have guessed it?”

"It has happened just as I intended," replied the sagacious old man, significantly shaking his head, "when I per

suaded the child to live with Mr. Clark. Walter was one of your romantic, hasty, wayward boys; but he had a good heart notwithstanding. One of those tempers, so difficult to manage, and so well worth the attempt of managing. I placed him in the right way, and he is now so trained and bound, that habit and inclination will keep him right. His own ardor and ambition will soon carry him forward, and 'tis the blessing of our happy institutions, that merit and talents, in whatever station, if rightly exerted, will command respect, and ensure success. I prophesy," continued the old man, raising himself up with a lofty air, "I prophesy, that if Walter Wilson lives twenty years, he will be a distinguished man!"

There is now a large, elegant brick mansion beneath the shade of those old elms, that once threw their arms over a long, low, irregular building; the grounds, and every thing around, bespeak the owner a gentleman of industry, wealth, and taste; and the address of that gentleman is, the Hon. Walter Wilson.

THE MOTHER'S LAMENT.

'Tis done! sweet pilgrim of an hour!
Affection's fairest, dearest flower;

Thou beauteous germe of life and youth,
Emblem of purity and truth:
Bright heir of an immortal birth,

Lent for an hour to bloom on earth-
"Tis done! the fated shaft is sped;
Affection droops, and Hope is fled!

Vain is that hope, which thought to trace
The expanding charms of childhood's grace;
Vain is the cherish'd hope, which strove,
To shield thee with a parent's love,
Fondly to watch thy cherub form,
To guard thee from the darkling storm,
And fold thee in affection's arms,
Safe from adversity's alarms;
To bid the "genial current" flow,
Fervent with youth's ingenuous glow;→
It might not be; the chasten'd sense
Of hope, for thy pre-eminence,

Is buried in the ruthless grave
Of all, to life a charm that gave!

But oh! thy little span of life
Reck'd not of mad ambition's strife;
Thou hast not known, my angel child,

Of mad❜ning thoughts, and passions wild;
The secret, silent agony;

The brain of fire; the tearless eye;

The heartfelt pang; the bosom's throe,
When hopeless love instils its wo;

Scorn's sneering smile; the world's neglect,
And fortune's frowns, thou hast not reck'd.
Avails it, that thou hast not known
Of storied page, and wisdom's zone;
Nor snatched the etherial fire, which burns
Fraught with the lore of classic urns?
Thou hast escaped the hectic joy
Of those, whom midnight toils employ,
When its lone vigil Genius keeps,
And all, but heaven-born Fancy, sleeps.

But oft, at twilight's solemn hour,
Rapt by devotion's soothing power,
Alone, to thy dear grave I'll stray,
A mother's holiest gift to pay.
And o'er the turf where rests thy head,
Perennial flowers their sweets shall shed.
Far from the world, its noise and care,
I'll seek a cherished refuge there,
And meekly own the dread behest,

Which gives my babe an angel's rest.

J. P. L.

DUELLING.

A writer in the New York Morning Courier, commenting on the late fatal rencontre between Messrs. Graham and Barton, remarks, that women, pious and intelligent women, approve of the fashionable mode of settling disputes by the pistol. And moreover, he insinuates, that it is the influence of the ladies, on the opinion of society, which renders it so impossible for a gentleman, who would be esteemed honorable, to refuse a challenge without incurring the imputation of cowardice, and consequently, losing the favor of

the fair. This is a serious, indeed, a horrible charge, against the feelings and principles of pious ladies; but can we believe it correct?

That women are fond of fame, and admire courage in men, is not denied; but they do not fix the standard by which that bravery shall be tested. Neither do the ladies lack penetration to discern, that he who fights only because he is impelled by the fear of incurring the ridicule of the world, no more deserves the epithet of brave, than does the soldier, who is goaded on by the sword of his officer to the combat. Much is said of the inutility of the laws to check duelling, but till their effect has been energetically and impartially applied, we have no reason to doubt their efficiency. There are many crimes, now considered infamous, and punished by our statutes, which, were they treated by the magistrates and laws in the same cautious, delicate, and lenient manner that duelling is, would soon become more fashionable, and quite as honorable. Take, for instance, theft. Among the Spartans, successful theft was applauded -let it be so here, and those, whom we now stigmatise as thieves, and brand with indelible infamy, would be called adroit gentlemen, who had ingeniously discovered an easy and genteel method of enriching themselves from the stores of the plodding and mechanical. The courts of justice are exclusively under the control of the men, and it is presumed no gentleman, however low he may bow to the opinion of the ladies when expressed in society, will concede that women have any share in the enacting of the laws, or any influence on their execution. Men are legislators and jurists; let them frame laws against duelling, and enforce them with as much rigor as against theft. Let them send the honorable murderer and his abettors to the gallows, or the States' prison-the pity of the ladies would unquestionably follow the criminal; for they cannot choose but pity misery-yet certainly their smiles would never be lavished on a convict. But so long as the laws screen, instead of punishing the offender, duelling will be termed honorable, because men of responsibility and high station will practice it. And while such is the case, can we wonder that ladies, although they condemn the barbarous practice, yet can we wonder they should sensitively feel the dread of that disgrace, which they are so often told, attaches to the man who will not vindicate his character by accepting a challenge! Their acquiescence, therefore, is that of necessity;

the men only have the power of abrogating the code of honor; how sincerely the women would rejoice to see its bloody requirements annulled, no person can doubt, who knows the sensibility of the female heart, and how often it must sicken at the idea, that some beloved one, may be involved in a trivial, yet fatal quarrel.

Our pilgrim ancestors invented a punishment for duelling, which very effectually prevented the single combat from ever becoming popular in New England. Those bold and politic men knew well the influence of public opinion; and by the manner in which they discountenanced vice, effectually secured that opinion on the side of morality. They seized the first persons who attempted to perpetrate a duel, and tying the honorable offenders against the peace of the colony together, kept them twenty-four hours without meat or drink.

If slight offences of the same honorable kind were now punished in the same manner, or by a souse in cold water, the effect would, doubtless, be very salutary, both on the temper and pride of the young duellists; and soon render the custom, in the estimation of society, what it really is, contemptible and ridiculous. And though the ladies should still approve of duelling, and the gentlemen still be solicitous to please them, yet few knights of the nineteenth century would be found sufficiently obsequious to hazard the being tied neck and heels, and losing their dinner into the bargain, merely to gain the favor of the fair.

We are now speaking of quarrels which originate from trifles, light as air; and which might easily be adjusted, did not those who have involved themselves, feel bound, while the laws are so impotent, to obey the fashion of society. This fashion is becoming more prevalent, and is it not partly in consequence of the manner in which "affairs of honor" are treated by some of the distinguished writers in our public journals? The duellists are there called " fortunate:"the one who falls is represented as a martyr to public opinion; his loss is lamented, and he is eulogized much more flatteringly than he probably would have been, had he "died in his bed, like a good christian, with all his friends about him."

un

A respectful tribute to the dead, when it can be consistently rendered, is a pious duty which surviving friends should never neglect; but public sympathy ought not to be awakened in behalf of one who has acted so weak and