the last. Just when my health began to fail from constant exertion, I was rescued from all further care, by the return of my lover. His cousin had sunk under the effects of early excesses, and Willeston was now heir at law to his princely fortune. On my twentyfourth birthday we were married. My infancy was wrapt in the garments of poverty, my childhood decked with the rich gauds of wealth, my youth folded in the coarse garb of humble industry, and my womanhood again displays the costly trappings of affluence. am happier than I ever was before, but my contentment has never failed me. I have been satisfied with a simple meal in a poor cottage, and can say no more than that when I sit down to the richest viands in my own bright home. I love my husband most devotedly, and do most heartily enjoy the comforts and luxuries of his present station; but should another revolution of fortune's wheel

I

place us again on the humble level of poverty, I think I should still find courage to endure, and contentment to meet our lot."

Such was the story of my light-hearted friend, and as I listened, I felt that the wise man was right when he said, "A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.”

HEAVEN'S BOND.

WHEN two fond hearts are joined, love pledged to love,

The gods are witnesses. Whatever deed
Were sin in wife to husband, or reverse,
Is sin, by lover or by mistress done.

When once a maid her virgin troth hath plighted,
Though yet the nuptial torch be lighted not,
And binding vows be still unregistered,
The heart is wedded in the sight of Heaven!

THE SLAVE MOTHER'S PRAYER.
BY MISS GOULD.

O THOU, who hear'st the feeblest prayer,
The humblest heart dost see,
Upon the chilly midnight air

I pour my soul to thee!

I bend a form with ceaseless toil
Consuming all the day;

And raise an eye that wets the soil,
As wears my life away.

I lift a hand that's only freed
Until to-morrow's task;

But how, O God, does nature bleed
Upon the boon I ask!

How wretched must that mother be,
(And I'm the hapless one,)
Who begs an early grave of thee,
To shield her only son!

I would not that my boy were spared
To curse his natal hour;

To drag the chains his birth prepared
Beneath unfeeling power.

Then, ere the nursling at my breast
Shall feel the tyrant's rod,

O lay his little form at rest
Beneath the quiet sod!

And when before thine awful throne
My master shall appear,
A naked spirit to atone
For all his dealings here;

If pardoning grace can be bestowed,
And Heaven has pity then,
For him, who here no pity showed
Towards his fellow men,

Thou'lt spare him, in thy mercy, Lord,
The sinner's fearful doom-

The wages, for his just reward,
Of death beyond the tomb.

MISCELLANY.

Connecticut Yankees.-There is no state in the Union whose sons have contributed more to the advantage and honour of America than Connecticut.

In letters we can name Percival, Brainerd, Halleck, Bryant, Hillhouse, and Barlow, in addition to those eminent statesmen who

have reflected so much honour on our own and other states which they have represented. In mechanical discovery, Whitney, the inventor of the cotton gin, which has done more velopment and enhancement of our national than any thing else, save steam, for the deresources. John Fitch, who first applied steam to navigation; Moses Rogers, the captain of the first steamer that ever crossed the Atlantic, and Junius Smith, the projector of the present steam communication with Europe. Captains Fanning and Palmer, and Silas E. Burrows, Esq., who have penetrated further towards the Southern Pole than any other navigators. Austin, the founder of the infant republic in the South West, whose blazing star is fast rising to a high spot amid the galaxy of nations, were all natives of Connecticut, whose children in general intelligence and enterprise are inferior to none. You must go abroad, throughout the world, however, to look for her sons. Seek the uttermost parts of the sea and land-visit the busy marts of commerce and manufactures, explore the streams that flow through untamed forests, enter the national councils, you will there see them amongst these whose sagacity and talents sway the interests and minds of men.

"I guess," said a New Yorker to Wallack, the day after the fire, "when your theatre was blazing, you sent for the newspapers. Why for the newspapers?"-" Because they form the most powerful engine in the United States."

"A friend of ours," says the editor of an American paper, "is growing weaker and weaker every day; he has got so weak now, that he can't raise five dollars."

"What do you think of my taste?" as the fly said when he got into the man's mouth.

HEREWARD THE HUNTER,

BY H. W. HERBERT.

THE evening of a summer's day was rapidly approaching, and though the sun was still above the horizon, filling the heavens with a soft and rosy light, he had yet sunk so low, that his long rays were intercepted by the gigantic trees, which, at the period of our tale, flourished in one unbroken tract of forest over the swampy plains, now bare and woodless, of Cambridge and the isle of Ely. Dreary and desolate as is the present aspect of those vast, open marshes, which have succeeded to the boundless woodlands, far gloomier and sterner was their character in the first century, reckoned from the Norman conquest. So wild, indeed, and savage was the nature of these solitudes, that, till the hapless day when England yielded to the fierce and tyrannous foreigner, no foot but of the roaming hunter ventured to tread their black and treacherous morasses; which, although bearing a thick growth of alder, and marsh willow, with here and there a group of mighty ashes towering above the stunted underwood and tall rank

VOL. 1.

sedges, offered no sure foundation to the tread of man or beast, and held forth no inducement save in the myriads of aquatic fowl which had bred, almost undisturbed, for ages, in their sequestered pools and perilous quagmires. But when the insatiate victor had seized upon the fairest and fattest of the land, as lawful spoil of war-when it was found by the unhappy Saxons that neither the mail-shirt of the warrior, nor the grey cassock of the monk, was proof against the rage of Norman persecution-thousands of outlaws fled for safety to those impenetrable fastnesses, wherein they dwelt for many a year, defying the relentless enmity of the usurpers, fearless and free, and happier far than those of their own race who, seeking by submission, and on sufferance, to hold precarious tenure of the lands once their own, dragged out a wretched and degraded life, the serfs and bondsmen of their imperious conquerors.

Into the depths of this stern wilderness, the boldest of the Norman barons had never even dreamed of venturing; and if, at times, necessity compelled them to traverse any one of the few roads which had been carried

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through its borders, they marched as in a hostile country, with scouts and prickers in advance, with vizors closed, in complete panoply and even thus, in awe and apprehension, so daring and so dauntless were its dwellers, when in the limits of their own impregnable demesne.

It was by one, the most frequented, of these roads leading through Huntingdon from the metropolis to the more northern districts, that at the hour we have just described, two men were lying in concealment, watching, as it would seem, for the approach of travellers. The spot was one, if their intent were violence or plunder, as something in their aspect seemed to indicate, most singularly adapted to their purpose. The narrow causeway, floored by rude logs, with the black loam forced up through their interstices at every step that pressed them, was skirted on the left by an extensive fen; the soil of which, half mud, half water, could evidently bear the weight of no more bulky visitor than the curlews or herons which flapped over its surface, or waded in its slimy waters. On the right hand, the earth was firmer, as might be judged from the dense thicket which embowered it, with many a timber tree, of venerable age, and bulk proportionate, lifting its dark head, clearly defined, against the ruddy sky; but from this island of the marsh, the road was separated by a wide, sluggish stream, soaking its way through moss and mire, between deep banks of tremulous unstable bog. Beside this stream, concealed by the thick foliage of the alders, lurked the two men alluded to aboveboth Saxons by their aspects, for both were strong and muscular of limb, blue-eyed, and yellow-haired, with fair complexions, where their skin had been defended from the summer's sun and winter's storm, which had tanned all parts exposed to their inclemency into one general tint of ruddy brown.

One

of the two, and, as it would seem from the deference shown to him by his companion, the superior person, was indeed of size almost gigantic; considerably above six feet in height, broad-shouldered, and deep-chested, with muscular and brawny limbs, he yet gave promise of activity scarcely inferior to his strength --his features were decidedly, although not eminently, handsome, with a frank, open, and intelligent expression, and animated by a glance of bold and reckless daring. He wore above his close-curled auburn hair, an open morion or bacinet of steel, once brightly polished and adorned with curious carving, but now completely embrowned by the rust, which had been suffered to encroach upon its surface, partly, it might be, because its present dinginess of hue was more congenial to the habits of its wearer, than the ostentatious brilliancy with which it had once glanced to every wandering sunbeam. The remainder of his dress was a steel shirt or hauberk of the an

tique and uncouth form peculiar to the Saxons, consisting of rude rings of iron, not linked into each other, but sewed upon a leather cassock edgewise, with hose and buskins of tanned deer-skin; about his neck was slung by a stout chain, the ponderous gisarme, or doubleheaded bill, which had been from the earliest times, the weapon of the Saxon race, a long, broad, two-edged wood-knife, thrust carelessly into his girdle, and two short, massive boarspears in his hand, completed his equipment. His comrade was attired in garments similar in shape, though of materials even coarser, consisting chiefly of the skins of animals, dressed, for the most part, with the hair upon them—he, also, wore a head-piece and offensive weapons, like those of his superior, but no coat of mail or hauberk.

The eyes of both were fixed intently on the farthest point at which the road was visible toward the south; and by their attitudes, and the expression of their anxious and excited countenances, it could be seen at once that they were listening anxiously for some expected sound.

"'Twas but the wind, again!" exclaimed the younger of the two-"'twas but the wind stirring the tree-tops, Hereward! The sun is sinking fast; we shall not have them here, I trow, this evening."

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Tarry awhile-they will be here anon, good Elbert; two of their horses would fall lame, I know full well, this morning-that would delay them somewhat. Americ de Bottetourt is not the man to halt, or turn aside, till he have reached his harbour for the night-especially with his bride, that should be of the company! He will not rest, I warrant thee, till he has lodged her safe with the proud priests of Huntingdon. No! no! good Elbert, tarry and list, awhile, they will be here anon. Hist! hist! what sound was

that? Sure 'twas the clink of steel."

"Tis but the chain that holds yon ash from falling. Ringan, let slip a link! But tell me, Hereward, what bride doth Americ lead with him? I knew not he was wedded."

"Nor is he," replied Hereward, in a deep voice, that actually quivered with the violence of his excitement-"nor, by the soul of Hen gist, shall be! but, an' he could, he would wed Edith, the bright daughter of old Lancelot Valletort-and she, they say, abhors him. A curse upon the base marauder ! He knows no more of courtesy or gentleness toward dame or damsel, than of good faith, or truth, or mercy toward men! May his soul find no rest hereafter, for his vile carcass I will take order with it, and that speedily! And lo, I hear the trampling of their horses!" and as he spoke, he laid his ear close to the margin of the sluggish stream. "I hear them now, distinctly; they have already passed our station! Hist! Ringan, hist! be ready. Hie to our comrades, Elbert; when they shall

hear me shout, let them cast loose the lashings, and cut clear the trees, as speedily as may be but till I cry St. George, let no man quit his covert, and as ye love your lives, let no man harm the lady. I care not if by chance, or by design, but whoso harms one hair of her, dies ere he may crave mercy!"

Before he had well finished speaking, his follower left his side, and instantly was lost to sight amid the tangled branches of the thicket; at the same moment a loud and longdrawn cry was heard at a considerable distance southward, and while its echoes were yet ringing through the forest, a crash, as of a huge tree falling suddenly, arose from the same quarter, and instantly a second and a third report of the same nature, were heard in quick succession.

The party, which had been expected by the foresters, might now be seen threading the perilous and toilsome windings of the road, and as the distant yell rang on the summer air, and was succeeded by the echoes of the falling timber, Hereward-known far and wide through England, as the most free and fearless of his persecuted race, known to the Saxon as the boldest and most uncompromising friend of his unhappy kinsmen, and to the Norman, as the most dangerous and deadly foeman they had found, since first they landed on the white cliffs of SussexHereward, surnamed the Hunter, looked forth with eager scrutiny to note what the effect should be of these unwonted sounds on his approaching victims. He might behold them pause, and halt irresolutely for a moment, moving up close together as if to hold brief council. Ere they moved on again, a horseman dashed up at hard gallop from the rear, and held some converse with the leader of the little party, which, as it seemed, consisted of some ten or twelve armed men, wellmounted and accoutred in the complete panoply of the victorious Normans, besides two waiting-women riding among the spearmen on mules or small-sized hackneys, and a horse-litter, with close curtains, the usual conveyance, in that early age, for ladies of distinguished birth. Scarce had he noted these particulars, before the outlaw saw that the Normans once again had put themselves in motion. Three men-whom his quick eye at once detected, by their less cumbersome accoutrements, and the long-bows they bore, already bent, with arrows on the string, to be the far-famed archers who had performed such fatal feats upon his countrymen at Hastingsled the advance at a pace as quick as the roughness of the unsafe causeway would permit ; these were succeeded, at a short distance, by the same number of those light-armed horsemen, called hobblers, from the small, active animals which they bestrode, with their long lances in the rest the centre, which consisted of Sir Americ, mounted on his barbed war-horse,

with his esquire, and two veteran men-at-arms, all sheathed from head to heel in complete harness, rode close behind the hobblers, the females bringing up the rear under the escort of two more stout archers. It was, indeed, though small, a gallant and a formidable body; and on firm open ground, with enemies to meet them "manfully," as the phrase ran, "under shield," they would have cut their way, unscathed, through five times their own number of assailants, fighting on foot with bill and bow-spear. But he with whom they had to do, knew well the irresistible and fiery valour of the Norman onslaught-knew well the dogged hardihood of his own stubborn countrymen !-closely had he considered, and with accurate and wary calculation noted the disadvantages to which each mode of fighting was most liable--and, with a full appreciation of the high courage of his enemies, and of that practice in the use of arms which rendered every Norman confident and secure of victory, he had so laid his plans, as while exposing to every possible risk and disadvantage the detested Normans, to bring out the peculiarities of the Saxon character and their undisciplined but daring energies with the most powerful effect.

"Mine! mine!" he muttered, as he saw them entering the toils, "they are all mine, already! Soul of my father, triumph! Mother, thou art avenged!-He, whose accursed hand quenched with your blood the embers of the hospitable hearth, that never warmed a villain till on that hapless night when he craved food and shelter-craved entrance only to betray-shall glut the raven and the fox, ruthlessly slaughtered by his weapon whom he made an orphan. Triumph! rejoice, I say. Souls of the murdered dead!---ye are avenged already!"

Well was Sir Americ de Bottetourt known, and widely, and with good cause was he dreaded through the green confines of that lovely but unhappy island, which he and his usurping comrades had watered with the best blood of its natural owners. In his first youth when the red field was fought which had consigned fair England to the Norman race for ever, he had yet ridden through the bloody fray side by side with the bravest ; and, gifted forthwith by the Duke, with a rich fief torn from its right possessor, he had, in fact, been trained up from his very boyhood to deeds of barbarous and unrelenting cruelty. He was, indeed, that rare occurrence among men, even partly civilized, a human monster. Though at this period, when the conquest was in fact but half accomplished, all Norman barons were tyrannical and grasping, and, if not actually cruel, reckless, at least, of bloodshed, none equalled Americ de Bottetourt for dread intensity of evil. To him, a Saxon life was as that of the boar or deer, or even of less value. The slightest pretext was suf

ficient to justify the utmost violence to all of that degraded race-the temporary tenure of a few fertile acres, or the supposed possession of a few hoarded angels, was ample cause for the death-warrant of a Saxon Franklin; while beauty or accomplishment, or even youth itself, was held excuse for the worst injury to his defenceless family. Skilful, no less than brave, in fight, this savage Baron had continually risen in the estimation of the successive monarchs who had held sway in England; had constantly received fresh fiefs, fresh appanages; but still the wealthier and the more powerful, the more ambitious he became of greatness, and the less scrupulous of means

or measures.

Licentious as he was avaricious

-when he had passed already the mid-years of manhood-when age, no less than fiery passions, and exposure to the scorching heat of summer, and the keen frosts of winter, had ploughed a thousand deep, deforming wrinkles on his harsh features, and sprinkled his dark locks with snow he had cast on the lovely Alice de Valletort an eye of fierce desire. What were the secret links, none knew, by which the fierce and overruling spirit of Sir Americ had trammelled the whole soul of this lady's father-a man, who ever of a timid and avaricious, rather than bold or grasping spirit, now, in his age, had yielded himself up altogether to the direction of his sterner neighbour, whom, even while he tremblingly obeyed his slightest mandate, he did not even feign to honour, much less to esteem.

Her

absolute reluctance to the marriage, nay, more, her utter hatred of the man, had been, for months, the topic of almost universal conversation; for so widely had the fame of her unrivalled charms been circulated, that in that age of chivalry and generous adventure numerous were the young and gallant cavaliers who would have deemed it no slight privilege to be permitted to adopt the colours of the lovely Alice at tilt or tournament; and whom, not even the fierce jealousy and savage prowess of her avowed admirer, could deter from offering at the beauty's footstool, the tribute of their admiration. All their endeavours were, however, vain; and when it was discovered that the bright damsel, though she had eyes to glance, and lips to smile at times upon some favoured gallant, had yet no heart to yield or if she had, possessed not the poor option to bestow it where she pleased when it was seen that if she caught the dark eye of Sir Americ gazing on her unwonted mood of merriment, she broke off like a guilty thing detected in commission of some desperate offence, and voluntarily, as it would seem, submitted herself to his imperious will-men ceased to strive for that return of courtesy, at least, if not affection, which, while it could be sought for only at considerable risk, it seemed impossible to gain. Such had been now, for many months, the state of matters between the lady and her

lover, if lover it be right to term him, who had no mood of gaiety or softness, even for a moment's space-who never offered any admiration, never showed any kindness, never feigned any courtesy, much less affection. Such, then, for months, had been the state of matters, when it was suddenly announced that on a near-appointed day, Alice would be surrendered by her father into the hands of Sir Americ; for the purpose, it was understood, of being under his protection conducted in all honour to a well-known and celebrated nunnery of Yorkshire, the abbess of which was sister to the puissant Baron-there to remain till such time as she should submit herself with no more of reluctance or delay to the high destiny which waited her. The route by which they must proceed, lay, for a space, along the outskirts of the desolate and dreaded tract of fen and forest, which was in those days tenanted so wildly by the unconquered Saxons; and as Sir Americ's name was hated by these savage foresters with no small or unmerited degree of detestation, it had been deemed advisable to travel northward with a powerful and well-armed escort—more, perhaps, as a matter of precaution, than of necessity, for, although, since they had been led by Hereward, the Saxons had increased amazingly in boldness-although they had in many instances surprised, and pitilessly slaughtered those of their oppressors whom they found wandering alone, or with but slight attendance in pursuit of the woodland game among their perilous fastnesses they had not yet attained to such a pitch of absolute audacity as would have prompted them to attack men-atarms, equipped in complete panoply of war, and on their guard no less against the hidden ambush, than the bold front of violence.

It had been Americ's intention to pass the dangerous morass, in which, if anywhere, he might expect to meet with interruption, at a much earlier hour of the day than that at which he reached it. Two of the horses of his train had fallen lame upon the route, and much time had elapsed before he had been able to replace them; still, he had hoped to cross the causeway before the sun should set, and therefore had pressed onward, having, in truth, no alternative but so to do; for after he had left Cambridge, which was already miles behind him, there was no hostelry or even cottage on the road, wherein it would have been advisable, or even possible, to pass the hours of darkness.

It was, then, in no placid mood that Americ de Bottetourt saw the sun gradually sinking behind the tall trees, which now fringed on every side the darkening horizon; and little was his hope of making good his passage without blows and bloodshed; for he was not unconscious of the bold valour of the Saxon outlaw, nor of the deadly cause he had for waging war to the last extremity against him