AMERICA. A COLLECTION OF ELOQUENT AND INTERESTING EXTRACTS FROM THE WRITINGS OF BY QFO. B. CHEEVER, D. D. A.vT Mil It PHY- NEW YORK: LEAVITT & ALJ.EN, 379 BROADWAY. 1858. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1851, By LEAVITT & COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United Statei for the Southern Dis rict of New York. r 3.2 PREFACE. BOOKS of common-place are the amusements of literature. It is pleasant to have at one's side a well- selected volume, to which he may turn for mentai recreation, when the fatigue of preceding exertion has rendered him unequal to intellectual effort. It is pleasant, also, to have before us the eloquent passages of our favourite authors, so that we may occasionally awakei. and prolong the delightful sensations with which we at first perused them. But the mere power of conferring amusement is not that, which gives to publications of this sort then- highest value. To all those, whose constant occupation precludes the possi bility of spending many leisure hours in the acquisi tion of 'literary taste and knowledge, they maybe ren dered eminently useful. The present volume is selected entirely from Ameri can authors, and contains specimens of American lit erature from its earliest period to the present day. It is hoped that it may not be found inferior in excellence or interest to any of those compilations which have hitherto embraced only the morceaux delideuse of Eng lish genius. When we say this, it is without any feeling of na tional vanity or rivalry. Our wish is merely to furnish a volume which shall correspond in design and execu don to those which are now so popular abroad, and 4 PREFACE. which contribute so extensively to the improvement of general and literary taste, by bringing the happier ef forts of higher minds within the reach of all classes of society. The volume now offered to the public may also, we frust, prove serviceable to the interests of education. The selection contained in the following pages is such, it is hoped, as will ex^rt a favourable influence on the minds of youth, by tbe predominating intellectual and literary character of the pieces. The sentiments im bibed from the peruspl of this compilation will be such as our most eminent writers have inculcated ; and the spirit infused by it will be that vivid admiration of nature ar>d of human excellence, which forms a char acterirtio trait in American writings. EDITOR TABLE OF CONTENTS. Gocdnesg of the Deity displayed in the Beauty of Creation. Dwight. 9 Night Season favourable to Contemplation and Study. . . Ucnnie. 10 CoHoquial Powers of Dr. Franklin Wirt. 12 An Apparition Clulj-Ruom. 14 Rural Occupations favourable to the Sentiments of Devotion. Buckminster. 19 Reciprocal Influence of Morals and Literature Frisbie. 21 Evening Scenes on the St. Lawrence Silliman. 23 Franklin's first Entrance into Philadelphia Franklin. 23 Passage of the Potomac through the Blue Ridge Jefferson. 25 Moral and intellectual Efficacy of the Sacred Scriptures. Wayland. 26 Character of Washington Ames. 29 Labours of periodical Composition . . Idle Man. 33 Industry necessary to the Attainment of Eloquence. . . . Ware. 34 Ingratitude towards the Deity .... Jlppleton. 36 Resistance to Oppression J. Quinr.y, Jan. 37 Lafayette in the French Revolution Tieknor. 33 Poeta nascitur, Orator fit Monthly Anthology. 42 Intellectual Qualities of Milton . . Chanaing. 43 National Recollections the Foundation of national Character. E. Everett. 44 Extract from the Legend of Sleepy Hollow Irving. 46 Reflections on the Settlement of New England. . . . Webster 51 Forest Scenery Paulding 53 Influence of Christianity in elevating the female Character. J. O. Carter 55 Necessity of a pure national Morality. . . Beecher 57 Value of religious Faith Buckminster 59 Death of General Washington . Marshall 64 The Lessons of Death Norton 66 Character of Chief Justice Marshall Wirt 68 Moral Sublimity illustrated. . Wayland 71 Eloquent Speech of Logan, Chief of the Mingoes. . . . Jefferson 74 Fox, Burke, and Pitt A. H. Everett 75 Surprise and Destruction of the Pequod Indians. . . Miss Sedgwick. 81 Character of Fisher Ames . Kirkland. 83 Reflections on the Death of Adams and Jefferson. . . . Sergeant, 94 Indolence Dennie. 97 Escape of Harvey Birch and Captain. Wharton Cooper. 99 Scenery in the Notch of the White Mountains Dwight. 107 Exalted Character of Poetry Chanmng. Ill Eloquent Appeal in Favour of the Greeks. North American Review. 115 Death of J. duincy, Jun. . . .... .7. Quincy 123 Danger of Delay in Religion . Buckminster. 124 Scenes in Philadelphia during the Prevalence of the Yellow Fe ver, in 17U3 C. B. Brown. 12S 6 TABLE OF CONTENTS. ftg* Important of Knowledge to the Mechanic. . . O. B. Emerion. 133 Humorous Description of the Custom of Whitewashing. Francis Hopkinson. 135 May you die among your Kindred Greenwood. 141 'Description of a Death Scene Miss Frcmcis. 141 The Rose. Mrs. Stgourney. 145 Influence of Female Character Timelier. 14t: Character of James Monroe. . Wart. 150 The Stout Gentleman. A Stago-coach Romance Irving. 153 Patriotism and Eloquence of John Adams. . . . Webster. 161 Description of the Speedwell Mine in England Silhman. 166 Effects of the modern Diffusion of Knowledge. . . . Wayland. 169 The Love of human Estimation Buckminster. 172 Extract from an Address on retiring from the public Service of ilie United States of America Washington. 176 Sj>eecli over the Grave of Black Buffalo, Chief of the Teton Tribe of Indians Big Elk JUaha Chief. 179 Speech of Ho-na-yu-wus, or Farmer's Brother . 180 Abdication of Napoleon, and Retirement of Lafayette. . Ttc.kn.or. 181 Extract from " Hyperion." J. Quinty- Jun. 185 The Sabbath in ]\ew England Miss Sedgwick. 190 Description of the Capture of a Whale Cooper. 199 LakeGeorge Club-Room. 197 Hypochondriasia and its Remedies Rush. 205 Climate and Scenery of New England Tudor. 209 First and second Death Greenwood. 215 Posthumous Influence of the Wise and Good J\lurton. 217 Difficulties encountered by the Federal Convention. . . Madison. 218 Reflections on the Battle of Lexington E. Everett. 221 Purpose of the Monument on Bunker Hill /(..We/-. 223 Albums and the Alps BuckminKlrr. 224 Interview with Robert Southey Griscom. 226 Christmas Irving. 228 Declaration of American Independence Jefferson. 230 Mementos of the Instability of human Existence. . . . . Fitch. 234 Description of the Preaching of Whitfield. . . . .Mis* Francis. 238 Anecdote of Dr. Chuuncy Tudor. 240 Effects of a Dissolution of the Federal Union. . . Hamilton. 242 Sports on New Year's Day .... PaiUding. 245 Conclusion of " Observations on the Boston Port Bill." J. Quincy, Jun. 249 Necessity of Union Ixjtwecn the States. ... ... Jay. 253 Character of Hamilton ... jJmes. 256 Morality of Poetry. G. Bancroft 259 The Consequences of Atheism. ... ... Cliannin Shipwreck of the Ariel Cooper. 3i9 Destruction of a Family of the Pilgrims by the Savages. Miss Scdgirick. '.'9 The Emigrant's Abode in Ohio Flint. ^3(5 Melancholy Decay of the Indians .... Cass. 337 Object and Success of the Missionary Enterprise. . . Wayland. 339 Mont Blanc in the Gleam of Sunset Griscom.' 343 Contrast in the Characters of Cicero and Atticus. . Buckminster. 345 Scenery in the Highlands on the River Hudson Irving. 346 . Eternity of God Greenwood. 350 Philosophy and Morality of Tacitus. Frisbie. 355 The Village Grave- ^ard Greenwood. 359 Influence of the Habit of Gaming on the Mind and Heart. . Nott. 363 The Preservation of the Church Mason. 367 Modern Facilities for evangelizing the World Beecher. 368 Speech of the Chief Sa-gu-yu-what-hah. called by the white People Red Jacket 370 Extract from a Speech on the British Treaty Ames. 373 Appeal in Favour of the Union Madison. 378 Grand electrical Experiment of Dr. Franklin Stuber. 380 Extrication of a Frigate from the Shoals Cooper. 383 Lafayette's first Visit to America. Ticknor. 393 Goffe the Regicide Dwight. 396 General Washington resigning the Command of the Army. Ramsay. 397 Alexander Wilson. . North American Review. 403 Female Education and Learning , . . Story. 407 Poetical Character of Gray Buckminster. 409 Republics of Greece and Italy Hamilton. 414 Professional Character of William Pinkney. ... H. Wheaton. 415 External Appearance of England A.H.Everett. 417 Features of American Scenery Tudor. 42] Literary Character of Jefferson and Adams Webster. 422 Eloquence and Humour of Patrick Henry Wirt. 424 Valley of the Commanches Francis Berrian 425 Pleasures of the Man of a refined Imagination. . . . Idle Man. 427 Scene at Niagara . Miss Sedgwick. 429 Procession of Tsuns in a Catholic Hospital. . . Miss Francis. ,430 Grandeur cf astronomical Discoveries Wirt. 434 Scenes on the Prairies Anonymous. 436 Eulogy on William Penn . . Du Ponceau. 439 Morbid Effects of Envy, Malice, and Hatred Rush. 440 Appearance of the first Settlements of the Pilgrims. Miss Sedgwick. 442 Description of a Herd of Bisons Cooper. 444 The Character of Jesus Thacher. 448 Recollections of J. Quincy, Jun J. Quincy. 450 The true Pride of Ancestry Webster. 451 A Slide in the White Mountains. Mrs. Hale. 453 The Twins .... Token. 454 The lone Indian. Miss Francis. 457 A Scene in the Catskill Mountains. . G. Mellen. 459 Tho St. Lr .vrence. . . JV. P. Willis. 460 I have seen an End of all Perfection. . . . Mrs. Sigoumey. 461 Neatness . . ... . Dennie. 464 Description of King's College Chapel . . SUliman. 467 INDEX OF AUTHORS. Fe. Tig* j a y 253 Ames 29, 256, 375 Jefferson. . . . 25,74,230 Kirkland 88 ApplPton 36 Bancroft, G 259 Madison 218,378 Marshall 64 Beecher 57 368 Mason 367 Big Elk Maha Chief. ... 179 Mellen, G 459 Brown, C. B. ... 128, 316 Norton 66, 217 19 59 124 172 224 345 409 Nott 363 Paula! ng 53,245,296 Pass 337 (banning. . . . 43,111,262 Club-Room 14, 197 Quincy, J., Jun. . 37, 185, 249 Quincy, J 123, 450 Cooper. 99, 192, 283, 319, 383, 444 Dana, R 268 Red Jacket, (an Indian Chief.) 370 Dcnnie 10,97,464 North American 115 403 Uwiht. . 9 107 396 Rush 205 440 Emerson, G. B 133 Everett, A. H 75, 417 E. 41 ""1 Sedgwick, Miss. 81, 190, 329, 429, 442 Sergeant ... . . 94 Sigourney Mrs. . 145, 461 Silliman 23, 166, 467 Chief.) . .'.... 180 Sparks 27 1 Fitch. . .... 234 Story 407 Flint. . . .... 336 Stuber 380 Francis Bernan 425 Francis, Miss. 141, 238, 430, 457 Franklin 23 312 Thacher 146,266,448 Ticknor. ... 38, 181, 393 Frisbie. . ... 21, 355 Token 454 Greenwood. . 141, 215, 350, 359 Griscom. ... . 226 343 Tudor. . 209, 240, 306, 421 Ware 34 Hale, Mrs 453 Washington. . . 176 Wayland. . 26, 71, 169, 339 Hamilton 242, 414 Hopkinson F 135 Idle Man 33, 427 Webster. 51. 161, 223, 310, 422, 451 Wheaton, H 415 Willis, N P 460 Wirt. 12.68 150,263 424,434 Irring. . 46, 153. 228, 298, 34J PROSE WRITERS AMERICA. Goodness of the Deity displayed in the Beauty of Creation. DWIGHT WERE all the interesting diversities of colour and form to disappear, how unsightly, dull, and wearisome, would be the aspect of the world ! The pleasures, conveyed to us by the endless varieties, with which these sources of beauty are presented to the eye, are so much things of course, and exist so much without intermission, that we scarcely think either of their nature, their number, or the great proportion which they constitute in the whole mass of our enjoyment. But, were an inhabitant of this country to be removed from its delightful scenery to the midst of an Arabian desert, a boundless expanse of sand, a waste, spread with uniform desolation, enlivened by the murmur of no stream, and cheered by the beauty of no verdure ; although he might live in a palace, and riot in splendour and luxury, he would, I think, find life a dull, wearisome, melancholy round of existence ; and, amid all his gratifi cations, would sigh for the hills and valleys of his native land, the brooks, and rivers, the living lustre of the Spring, and the rich glories of the Autumn. The ever-varying brilliancy and grandeur of the landscape, and the magnifi cence of the sky, sun, moon, and stars, enter more exten sively into the enjoyment of mankind, than we, perhaps, ever think, or can possibly apprehend, without frequent and extensive investigation. This beauty and splendour of the objects around us, it is ever to be remembered, is not necessary to their existence, nor to what we commonly in tend by their usefulness. It is, therefore, to be regarded 10 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF PROSE. as a source of pleasure gratuitously superinduced upon the general nature of the objects themselves, and, in tins light, as a testimony of the divine goodness peculiarly affecting. JVight Season favourable to Contemplation and Study. DKXXIE. ' Watchman, what of the night ?" ISAIAH xxi. 11. To this query of Isaiah, the watchman replies, that " The morning cometh, and also the night." The brevity of this answer has left it involved in something cf the ob scurity of the season in which it was given. I think that night, however sooty and ill-favoured it may be pronounced, by those who were born under a daystar, merits a more particular description. I feel peculiarly disposed to ar range some ideas in favour of this season. I know that the majority are literally blind to its merits ; they must be prominent, indeed, to be discerned by the closed eyes of the snorer, who thinks that nig~ht was made for nothing but sleep. But the student and the sage are willing to believe that it was formed for higher purposes ; and that it not only recruits exhausted spirits, but sometimes in forms inquisitive and mends wicked ones. Duty, as well as inclination, urges the Lay Preacher to sermonize while others slumber. To read numerous vol umes in the morning, and to observe various characters at noon, will leave but little time, except the night, to digest the one or speculate upon the other. The night, there fore, is often dedicated to composition, and, while the light of the paly planets discovers at his desk the Preacher, more w.n than they, he may be heard repeating emphatically with Dr. Young, "Darkness has much Divinity for me.' He is then alone ; he is then at peace. No companions near, but the silent volumes on his shelf; no noise abroad but the click of the village clock or the bark of the vil lage dog. The deacon has then smoked his sixth, and last pipe, and asks not a question more concerning Josephus COMMON- PLACE BOOK OP /ROSE. 11 or the church. Stillness aids study, and the sermon pro ceeds. Such being the obligations to night, it would be ungrateful not to acknowledge them. As my watchful eyes can discern its dim beauties, my warm heart shall feel, and my prompt pen shall describe, the uses and pleas ures of the nocturnal hour. " Watchman, what of the night ?" I can with propriety imagine this question addressed to myself; I am a professed lucubrator ; and who so well qualified to delineate the sa ble hours as " A meager, muse-rid mope, adust and thin ?" However injuriously night is treated by the sleepy mod erns, the vigilance of the ancients could not overlook its benefits and joys. In as early a record as the book of Genesis, I find that Isaac, though he devoted his assiduous days to action, reserved speculation till night. " He went out to meditate in the field at eventide." He chose that sad, that solemn hour, to reflect upon the virtues of a be loved and departed mother. The tumult and glare of the day suited not with the sorrow of his soul. He had lost his most amiable, most genuine friend, and his unostenta tious grief was eager for privacy and shade. Sincere sor row rarely suffers its tears to be seen. It was natural for Isaac to select a season to weep in, that should resemble " the colour of his fate." The darkness, the solemnity, the stillness of the eve, were favourable to his melancholy purpose. He forsook, therefore, the bustling tents of hia father, the pleasant " south country," and " well of La- hairoi ;" he went out and pensively meditated at even tide. The Grecian and Roman philosophers firmly believed that the " dead of midnight is the noon of thought." One of them is beautifully described by the poet as soliciting knowledge from the skies in private and nightly audience, end that neither his theme, nor his nightly walks, were forsaken till the sun appeared, and dimmed his " nobler in tellectual beam." We undoubtedly owe to the studious nights of the ancients most of their elaborate and immortal production-!. Among them it wa necessary that every man of letters should trim tho mi 'night lamp. The day 12 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF PROSE. might be given to the forum or the circus, but the night was the season for tne statesman to project his schemes, and for the poet to pour his verse. Night has, likewise, with great reason, been considered, in every age, as the astronomer's day. Young observes, with energy, that " An undevout astronomer is mad." The privilege of contemplating those brilliant and nu merous myriads of planets which bedeck our skies is pe culiar to night, and it is our duty, both as lovers of moral and natural beauty, to bless that season, when we are in dulged with such a gorgeous display of glittering and use ful light. It must be confessed, that the seclusion, calm ness, and tranquillity of midnight, are most friendly to seri ous, and even airy contemplations. I think it treason to this sable Power, who holds divided empire with Day, constantly to shut our eyes at her ap proach. To long sleep I am decidedly a foe. As it is expressed by a quaint writer, we shall all have enough of it in the grave. Those, who cannot break the silence of the night by vocal throat, or eloquent tongue, may be per mitted to disturb it by a snore. But he, among my readers, who possesses the power of fancy and strong thought, should be vigilant as a watchman. Let him sleep abun dantly for health, but sparingly for sloth. It is better, sometimes, to consult a page of philosophy than the pillow. Colloquial Powers of Dr. Franklin. WIRT. NEVER have I known such a fireside companion as he was ! Great as he was, both as a statesman and a philoso pher, he never shone in a light more winning than when he was seen in a domestic circle. It was once my good fortune to pass two or three weeks with him, -at the bouse of a private gentleman, in the back part of Pennsylvania ; and we were confined to the house during the whole of that time, by the unintermitting constancy and deptb of the spows. But confinement could never be felt where Frank- COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF PROSE. 13 .in was an inmate. His cheerfulness and bis colloquial oowers spread around him a perpetual spring. When I speak, however, of his colloquial powers, J do not mean to awaken any notion analogous to that which Boswell ha? given us, when he so frequently mentions the colloquial powers of Dr. Johnson. The conversation of the latter continually reminds one of " the pomp and circumstance of glorious war." It was, indeed, a perpetual contest for victory, or an arbitrary and despotic exaction of homage to his superior talents. It was strong, acute, prompt, splendid and vociferous ; as loud, stormy, and sublime, as those winds which he represents as shaking the Hebrides, and rocking the old castles that frowned upon the dark rolling sea beneath. But one gets tired of storms, however sublime they may be, and longs for the more orderly cur rent of nature. Of Franklin no one ever became tired. There was no ambition of eloquence, no effort to shine, in any thing which came from him. There was nothing which made any demand either upon your allegiance or your admiration. His manner was as unaffected as infancy. It was na ture's self. He talked like an old patriarch ; and his plain ness and simplicity put you, at once, at your ease, and gave you the full and free possession and use of all your fac ulties. His thoughts were of a character to shine by their own light, without any adventitious aid. They required only a medium of vision like his pure and simple style, to exhibit, lo Ihe highest advantage, their native radiance and beauty. His cheerfulness was unremitting. It seemed to be as much the effect of the systematic and salutary exercise of the mind as of its superior organization. His wit was of the first order. It did not show itself merely in occa sional coruscations ; but, without any effort or force on his part, it shed a constant stream of the purest light over the whole of his discourse. Whether in the company of commons or nobles, he was always the same plain man ; always most perfectly at his ease, his faculties in full play, and the full orbit of his genius forever clear and uncloud ed. And then the stores of his mind were inexhaustible. He had commence'! life with an attention so vigilant, thai 2 14 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF PROSE. nothing had escaped his observation, and a judgment so solid, that every incident was turned to advantage. His youth had not been wasted in idleness, nor overcast by in- tempe"rance. He had been all his life a close and deep reader, as well as thinker ; and, by the force of his own powers, had wrought up the raw materials, which he had gathered from books, with such exquisite skill and felicity, that he had added a hundred fold to their original value, and justly made them his own. Jin Apparition. CLUB-ROOM. THE sun was hastening to a glorious setting as I gained the last hill that overlooks the forest; and, late as it was, I paused to gaze once more on this most brilliant and touch ing of the wonders of nature. The glories of the western sky lasted long after the moon was in full splendour in the east ; on one side all was rich and warm with departing day on the other how pure and calm was the approach of night ! If 1 had been born a heathen, I think I could not have seen the setting sun, without believing myself immortal : who, that had never seen the morning dawn, could believe that wonderful orb, which sinks so slowly and majestically through a sea of light, throwing up beams of a thousand hues, melting and mingling together, touch ing the crest of the clouds with fire, and streaming over the heavens with broad brilliancy, up to the zenith then retiring from sight, and gradually drawing his beams after him, till their last faint blush is extinguished in the cold, uniform tints of moonlight who could believe that source of light had perished ? Who then could believe that (lie being, who gazes on that magnificent spectacle with such emotion, and draws from it such high conclusions of his own nature and destiny, is even more perishable ? I remained absorbed in such reflections till the twilight was almost gone. I then began rapidly to descend, and, leaving the moon behind the hill, entered the long dark shadow it threw over the wood at its foot. It was gloomy nd chill the 'faint lingering of day was hidden by the COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF PROSE. 15 trees, and the moon seemed to have set again, throwing only a distant light on the rich volumes of clouds that hung over her. As I descended farther, the air became colder, the sky took a deeper blue, and the stars shone with a wintry brightness. The thoughts which came tenderly over me, by the light of the setting sun, now grew dark and solemn ; and I felt how fleeting and unsatisfactory are the hopes built on the analogies of nature. The sun seta so beautifully it seems impossible it should not rise again ; but in the gloom of midnight, where is the promise of the morrow ? In the cold, but still beautiful, features of the dead, we think we see the pledge of a resurrection; but what hope of life is there in the dust to which they crum ble ? I arrived late at the inn. It was a large and ruinous structure, which had once been a castle, but the family of its owner had perished in disgrace : their title was extin guished, their lands confiscated and sold, and their name now almost forgotten. It stood on a small bare hill in the midst of the forest, which it overtopped, only to lose its shelter and shade, for from it the eye could not reach the extremity of the wood. I knocked long before I was admitted ; at last an old man came to the door with a lan tern, and, without a word of welcome, led my horse to the stable, leaving me to find my way into the house. The spirit of the place seemed to have infected its inhabitants. I entered a kitchen, whose ejctent I could not see by the dim fire-light, and, having stirred the embers, sat down to warm me. The old man soon returned, and showed me up the remains of a spacious staircase, to a long hall, in a corner of which was my bed. I extinguished the light, and .ay down without undressing ; but the thoughts and scenes of the evening had taken strong hold of my mind, and I could hot sleep. I did not feel troubled, but there was an intensity of thought and feeling within me, that seemed waiting for some great object on which to expend itself. I rose, and walked to the window : the moon was shining beautifully bright, but the forest was so thick that her light only glanced on the tops of the trees, and showed nothing distinctly -all was silent and motionless not a breeze, not a sound, not a cloud the earth was dim and undistinguisb- 16 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF PROSE. able, the heavens were filled with a calm light, and the moon seemed to stand still in the midst. 1 know not how long I remained leaning against the window and gazing upward, for I was dreaming of things long past, of which I was then, though I knew it not, the only living witness ; when my attention was suddenly recalled by the low but distinct sound of some one breathing near me I turned with a sudden thrill of fear, but saw nothing ; and, as the sound had ceased, I readily believed it was fancy. I soon relapsed into my former train of thought, and had forgot ten the circumstance, when I was again startled by a sound I could not mistake there was some one breathing at my very ear so terribly certain was the fact that I did not move even my eyes; it was not the deep, regular breath of one asleep, nor the quick panting of guilt, but a quiet, gentle respiration ; I remained listening till I could doubt no longer, and then turned slowly round, that I might not be overpowered by the suddenness of the sight, which I knew I must meet again there was nothing to be seen the moon shone broad into the long desolate chamber, and, though there was a little gathering of shadow in the cor ners, I am sure nothing visible could have escapgd the keenness of my gaze, as I looked again and again along the dark wainscot. My calmness now forsook me, and, a_- I turned fearfully back to the window, my hand brushed against the curtain, whose deep folds hid the corner near which I was standing the blood gushed to my heart with a sharp pang, and I involuntarily dashed my hands forward they passed through against the damp wall, and the tide of life rolled back, leaving me hardly able to support my self. I stood a few moments lost in fear and wonder when the breathing began again, and there ^in the bright moonlight I felt the air driven against my face by a being I could not see. I sat down on the bed in great agitation, and it was a considerable time before I could at all com pose my mind the fact was certain, but the cause inscru table. I rose, and walked across the chamber. I made three or four turns, and gradually recovered my tranquillity, though still impressed with the belief that what I had heard was no natural sound. I was not now in a Itate to be easily deluded, for my senses were on the alert, COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF PROSE. 17 but my mind perfectly calm. The old floor groaned under every tread, but the noise excited in me no alarm ; I did not even turn when the planks sprung and cracked behind me long after my foot had left them. But, good God ! what were my feelings when I heard distinct footsteps fol lowing my own ! the light tread of naked feet I stopped instantly, just as I had made a step the tread ceased, and a moment after I heard a foot brought up as if to support the walker in this unexpected pause Could it be echo ? I struck my foot upon the floor the sound was short and sullen, and was not repeated I walked on, but the steps did not follow I turned, and paused again all was still. I walked back, and as I reached the spot where the sounds had ceased whether I heard or saw it I cannot tell but something passed me, and a soft sigh floated along with it, dying away in distance like the moaning of a gentle wind. It was indistinct as it passed, but as I listened to catch its last lingering, I knew the voice of Gertrude ! " Her mann !" it said, in a tone so tender and mournful, that my eyes filled with tears, and I seemed to hear it long after it had ceased. " Gertrude !" I cried aloud the same sweet sigh answered me, and for an instant I caught the dark beam of her eye there was no form, but I saw her own look that deep melancholy gaze it was but a moment, and it was gone. " Gertrude !" I cried again, " if it be thou, do not fly me come to me, beloved !" A pause of deeper silence followed ; my eyes were fixed on the air where I had lost her, when the shadows at the extremity of the chamber began to move like the waving of a gar ment ; their motion at first was indefinite and hardly per ceptible, but gradually increased till they parted and rolled away, leaving a brighter space in the middle. This had at first no determinate form, but soon began to assume the outline of a human figure. I shall never forget the sensa tion af that -foment my hair rose, my flesh crept, and drops of sweat rolled fast down my cheeks ; yet it was not fear I cannot describe the emotion with which I watched the figure growing more and more distinct ; and even when I saw the face of my own Gertrude, all thoughts of earth were swallowed up in those of eternity I stood in the presence of a .spirit, and felt myself immortal i Tha 18 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF PROSE. triumph was short it was too like herself the eyes were closed, but it was her own graceful form, though attenu ated and almost transparent her own face pale and lan guid, but oh, how beautiful ! at last the eyes opened they alone were unchanged, and they gazed on me with a tenderness I could not bear 1 sunk on my knees, and hid my face I felt her approach I did not raise my eyes, but I knew she was near me by a glow of more than human happiness a hand was laid upon my head " Hermann !" said the same sweet voice, " dear Hermann ! but ona year more !" and the sound floated away. I looked up she was already disappearing she smiled on me, and the form faded, and the shadows gathered over it. I had sunk on the floor exhausted ; the first feeling I remember was one of unutterable grief and loneliness ; but the next was joy at the thought thi,t I was not to en dure it long " but one year more, at