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honesty, even when gilded with wealth, is hard enough to bear. Examples of this class are sufficiently frequent, without resorting to those convict villains who fill our jails.

Thus observation and reflection, by exhibiting to us the dire effects of vice, as well as commending to our lips the pleasant cup of virtue, strengthen the foundations of morality. If, therefore, we are ever to find materials to improve and perfect the science of morality, I am persuaded we must find them in observing the relations existing among mankind, of all classes and denominations, and a minute and careful study of these relations. These studies, together with a contemplation of the great works of nature, may, and probably will, bring back that simplicity of religion, which is supposed to have existed in the early ages of the world - the fabled golden age. In religion, as in other sciences, there are two ages of its simplicity; first, in the infancy of the world, and next, in the maturity of its philosophy To the first, we cannot return; to the latter, we appear to be hastening; and all philanthropists, having an influence in society, should, I humbly conceive, use their endeavors to hasten our return to that more perfect simplicity.

PRAYER.

ARRESTED suns and tranquilled seas declare
To heaven and earth the omnipotence of prayer ;
That gives the hopeless hope, the feeble might,
Outruns the swift, and puts the strong to fight,
The noon-tide arrow foils, and plagues that walk by night.

II.

Unmatched in power, unbounded in extent,
As omnipresent as omnipotent;
To no meridian nor clime confined,
Man with his fellow man, and mind to mind,
'T is hers, in links of love and charity, to bind.

III.

But farther still extends her awful reign :
To her indeed belongs that golden chain,
From fabled gods and their Olympus riven;
But, since to Truth and her adorers given,
E'en with his MAKER man to join, and earth with heaven.

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Not that our prayers make heaven more prompt to give,
But they make us more worthy to receive :
There is in that celestial treasury

Wealth inexhaustible, admission free ;
But he that never prays, rejects the golden key.

BROTHER GRAY-FROCK AND THE PILGRIM.

FROM THE GERMAN OF BÜRGER.

A PILGRIM maiden, young and fair,
A cloister-pile came to,

She pulled the bell-rope at the door,
And Brother Gray-Frock stood before
Her, without sock or shoe.

She said, 'Now praised be Jesus Christ!' 'For evermore!' said he.

Most strangely these words on him fell, And when he marked her features well, His heart beat violently.

The pilgrim in a soft, low breath,

And in a timid tone:

'Most rev'rend sir, oh! to me say, If here my heart's belovéd stay, In monastery lone?'

'My child, how can thy well-belov'd Be known unto my eyes?' 'Ah! by the cloth of hair and serge, By girdle, willow-wand, and scourge, Which his fair limbs chastise;

'Still more by shape and countenance,
Like dawning morn in May,
And by his locks of golden hue,
And by his eyes of heav'nly blue,
So friendly, true, and gay!'

'My goodly child, how long ago!

Long dead and buried deep!

The rank grass waves with whistling moan, And heavy lies the marble stone,

Long dead and buried deep!

'Seest thou the ivied window there,
Half hidden from the sight?
There dwelt he, but expir'd ere long,
Still weeping for his maiden's wrong,
And like a flick'ring light.

'Six youthful fellows, strong and slim,
With dong and song and prayer,
They bore unto the grave his bier,
While down there trickled many a tear,
When sunk his coffin there.'

O wo! O wo! so art thou gone?
Art gone, and buried low?
Now break, O heart! the guilt's thine own,
And wert thou like his marble stone,

Thou couldst not harder grow.'

'Have patience, O my child! nor weep,
But pray thou yet the more;
Despair it rends the heart in twain ;
The eyes' sweet light is dimm'd by pain,
Then weep not thou so sore!'

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'Where are your eyes, the blue and clear?
Your cheeks, the rosy red?
Your lips, like lilies' sweet perfume?
Ab! moulders all within the tomb,
While aches my weary head!'

'My child, O grieve not so! but think
What humors men have seized!
In most there blows from out one breast
Both hot and cold; they now are blest,
And now as soon displeas'd.

'Who knows, in spite of love and faith,
But what he chang'd his mind?
Thy dearest love had youthful blood,
And youthful blood has fickle mood
As has the April wind.'

'Ah, no! most rev'rend sir, ah, no!
Say not these words to me!
My love so dear was gentle too,
Like sterling gold, as pure and true,
From falsehood ever free.

And can it be that him the grave
Can in its dark jaws hide?
So bid I then adieu to home,
And with my pilgrim staff I roam
The broad world, far and wide.

'But first I'll turn me to his vault,

And there will I kneel low,
There shall, with kisses and with sighs,
And thousand tears from these poor eyes,
The grass more greenly grow.'

'My child, O turn thee first in here,
And take refreshment meet! [spire,
Hark! how the storm shakes tower and
And glassy hail-stones in their ire
On roof and window beat?'

'O no! most rev'rend sir, O no!

Hold me not back, I pray!
The rain upon my head may dash,
No rain in all the world can wash
My guilt from me away.'

'Ha! ha! good mistress, turn thee round,
And see thy comfort nigh!

Fair love, see here whom thou hast got!
Knowest thou Brother Gray-Frock not?
The dearest that am I!

Through pain of ever hopeless love,
This garb of serge I chose;
Soon had in monastery lone
My life and never-ceasing groan
High oaths brought to a close.

'Now heaven be praised! My trial year
Is not yet quite pass'd o'er;

Fair maid, if now to you I'm known,
And thou mak'st hand and heart my own,
I enter there no more.'

Thank heaven! thank heaven! now pass
All sorrows from my heart! [away
O welcome, welcome, pleasures blest,
Come, my heart's chosen, to my breast!
Death only can us part!'

FOX-CHASE OF OLD ENGLAND.

BY W. H. SOTHAM.

'Nothing I admire

Beyond the running of the well trained pack.
At fault none, losing heart, but all at work!
None leaving his task to another!-answering
The watchful huntsman's caution, check, or cheer,
As steed his rider's rein! Away they go!'

LOVE CHASE.

I HAVE never seen, in any publication in America, a true description of an old-fashioned English fox-chase. Let me endeavor to sketch one, for the entertainment of readers who have never been called to mingle in the exciting sport. I have thought that it might prove amusing, since it has afforded pleasure to so many great men, in the old world. Their minds are chiefly engaged with it through the winter season, and their indulgence in it is indeed extravagant. It is the topic of conversation, both in the field and drawing-room. The ladies enjoy it; they admire a 'bold rider,' and consider such as call themselves sportsmen, and yet cannot give an accurate description of every check, turn, and desperate leap, they take, and distinguish the notes of their favorite hounds, as cowards and 'milksops,' and unworthy to protect a 'spirited lady.' Such opinions spur young men on to purchase high-priced horses, to keep an extra number, and by these means, to gallop out of their fortunes.

A true sportsman is literally enamoured with a favorite hound. He delights to see him take his meals, and caresses him, as he would his dearest friend. He cheers him with a view-halloo,' a sound which will at all times charm the ear of a tired hound, and enliven the spirits of a weary hunter; and when he dies, instead of throwing him to the muck-hill, to decay ingloriously, he bestows a tomb, a monument, and an epitaph, to his memory, erected in the most con

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spicuous part of his pleasure-ground. No sportsman passes by, without giving a 'death-halloo' over the remains of the old and valued friend, who has afforded him so much pleasure. He turns away with many a lingering look behind, saying, perhaps, 'A better hound than lies buried there, never entered a cover !'

A great brag is your professional fox-hunter. His descriptions of the chase are generally exaggerated. As a farmer, however, cannot be deemed a true sportsman, he is more likely to confine himself to facts. Having trained a number of young horses, to attract attention, I was induced to ride rather boldly. Should a farmer's horse be seen to flag in the chase, every sportsman is soon aware of it, and will not purchase. Give me a fair start, and I could keep as near the hounds as the best of them; and my repeated success in obtaining the brush, when but a beardless boy, elicited many a curse from certain jealous sportsmen. Having, as I modestly conceive, a thorough knowledge of the chase, the reader may rely upon the faithfulness of my sketch.

A pack of fox-bounds contains from sixteen to twenty couples, to which are attached a huntsman and two whippers-in.' Each pack generally hunts four days in a week, when the frost will permit. They make their appointments near woods, where foxes frequent, at ten o'clock in the morning. Each duke, lord, baronet, and esquire,

, , who may attend the meeting, send their servants forward with the horses they intend to ride through the day, who take care to ride them steadily to the cover, and have every thing as clean and neat as if just out of the stable. Many gentlemen who have long distances to come, send their servants and horses to a tavern near the meetingplace, the previous evening, and come in parties, or alone, as their inclinations lead them; some in a carriage and four, some driving tandem, some in a chaise, and some on horseback. There are generally a great many students from the Universities, who go to cover as fast as their horses can carry them. When these various parties enter the meeting-field, each looks out for his own servant and horse, and the gentlemen all turn out of their carriages, each one with scarlet coat, black waistcoat, buckskin or white cord breeches, top boots, spurs, and long hunting-whip in his hand; unless it be a parson, who is obliged to content himself with a black coat, his calling rendering the scarlet one a forbidden privilege, though his dress in every other respect corresponds with the others. Gentlemen who come to cover on horseback, generally wear overalls' to keep their dress clean; and when they arrive, their servants take them off, and turn them out as neat as those who came in their carriage. A sportsman's dress, it may be observed, is strikingly genteel. Not a pin, a broach, or any show of jewelry, is seen about

his person. The nobility and gentry pass their morning compliments, talk over the last run,' relate the amusement, perhaps, of the previous evening - the fortunate boasting of his winnings at play, and the loser swearing at his losses, etc. The young farmers assemble around them, riding fine young horses, trained for the purpose of sale. The nobility will give any amount for them, if spirited and successful. Among some of the high bloods at college, whom their fathers supply well with money, the price of a good horse is no object. The credit of gaining the brush,' scalp,' or 'pad,' is worth the price of

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the animal. In addition to the classes mentioned, the meeting is often attended by merchants, tailors, and grocers, and others who have horses of their own. Even gipsies, who have commonly a good supply of old worn-out hunters, and broken-down stagers, often sally out to see the start. The hedger lays aside his hatchet, the ditcher throws down bis spade, the mechanic leaves his handicraft, and the husbandman his tillage, each running as far as his legs will take him. The poacher takes advantage of the opportunity given him by the hounds, to disturb the game.

'It is his delight, of a shiny night,' he sings, to pursue his vocation ; but many a pheasant and hare disappears in open day, when the nobility and their keepers are too much excited with the chase, to think of foul play in their preserves.

Away they go to the wood, in pursuit of the fox! The whippersin are placed on the weather side, to give the 'view-halloo,' when Reynard escapes from it, as he is almost certain to 'break cover' on that side. The huntsman with the pack of hounds stands near to the wood, until he thinks they are at their post, and not a hound dare enter it, until he receives his order from him ; but as soon as it is given, they all rush in, with their heads and tails up, determined to find their prey, if the wood contains him. Each hound ohunts his ground true, and as soon as the fox starts from his den, (which he perhaps made the same morning, being stopped out from his hole the night previous, by the earth-stopper,) one or other of the pack soon takes scent, and gives the first challenge, for which every ear, of man and horse, is open. The instant it is heard, it thrills through every vein, braces every nerve, and makes all eager for the chase.' No one can imagine the intense excitement of the moment, unless he has bimself been engaged in the sport. Every hound, when he hears the challenge of the first, makes his way toward him, and all join in the cry. The music of a well trained pack of fox-hounds is more grateful to a sportsman's ear than even the finest notes of the immortal Catalani, particularly when they are coming toward bim, and pressing the fox to break cover near bim. Observe how his horse paws the ground, champs his bit, and stretches every limb with firmness, looking as stately and noble as his fearless rider! Suddenly you perceive he becomes perfectly still, as if a bullet had pierced him. He is listening attentively for the 'view-halloo,' while the rider's eyes look anxiously for the fox to break cover. He no sooner reaches the open fields, than the whippers-in discover him, and give the expected sound, the shrillness of which echoes through the air, and is heard at a great distance. Each horseman makes his way toward the direction whence it proceeds, and by the time they have nearly all arrived, the hounds break cover. Away they go across the fields, and those who keep nearest the hounds are the best fellows.

Many young students are random, bold riders, but with little judg. ment. They often tire their horses before the run is over, by taking some unnecessary straining leaps, on purpose to boast of them; but the judicous rider evades such, unless he sees they are absolutely necessary to shorten his cut. There are very few horses that will leap a brook well. I have often been much amused to see them

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