It might have been a curious spectacle to have watched these two wretched old men after the entrance of him who had been plying his productive trade upon the bridge; the quiet grim smile with which he counted his day's gain into the other hand; the mutual satisfaction with which it was added to the contents of the wooden trunk already so weighty with copper coin, that no single man could raise it. Then would they silently sit down to the supper which he at home had prepared. Stale fish, the refuse of some neighbour's dinner; or as a luxury on fete days, a boiled morsel of half dried pork, of which they previously devoured the fat and fragrant soup, formed the materials of this repast. With such dainty fare, their equanimity of temper was unlikely to be disturbed by the intrusion of visitors; nor were they ever known to ask a neighbour into their room. It was a curious fact, that even a hungry dog never whined to them for food; it would seem the wretched curs were disciples of Lavater, that they looked in the pinched faces of the brothers, and felt an appeal to their compassion would be vain. Their affection for each other, which appeared their strongest feeling after their love of hoarding money, was not unmingled with suspicion, for each never failed to count their valueless treasure after the other. After supper, however, came their hour of delight; then were the cold and pain and tauntings of the day forgotten; then did the bitter revilings of those without charity seem music to their very souls; a genial heat warmed the lagging blood in their shrunk veins the triumph, not less delicious because untold, was theirs. A turbaned monarch of a land of slaves has less his soul's desires gratified, than our two humble, despised, and solitary men, when after renewed examination of the well-secured door and windows, first by one and then another pair of peering gray eyes, the coffer before mentioned was placed on the table. Then with their stools touching each other in exquisitely delicious approximation, the iron box was opened, and the misers began to count their gold; the feeble glimmer of an illfed lamp lighting a board spread with golden treasure. Curiosity had wholly died away respecting these men, when new food was given to the gossips of the neighbourhood by the sndden introduction of a beautiful high-spirited girl, the newly acknowledged daughter of the younger of the misers. Of all the possible addition to this confined family circle, none could seem so utterly inappropriate. It appeared from the unwary prattle of the girl to the neighbours, that she has been placed at school from her earliest recollections by an old childless lady, whose companion her mother had been, who had died in giving her birth. Whatever, in other respects, the conduct of her father,it was known after the old lady's death, that at least he had so far acted honourably as to have made the young woman his wife. The property of her benefactress died with her; and thus the child of her adoption became, from a free, gay, petted girl, delighting in the sunshiny air, the inmate of a dwelling far more gloomy than a cloister, for there the mind may make its own creations of delight; whereas the moral gloom that infests the covetous and niggardly mind poisons every healthful spring of existence, nor fails to exercise its pestilential and restrictive power over the brightest natures subject to its influence. At first the young girl wept and prayed, entreated with soft childish pleadings, and then stamped with passion, haughtily demanding as a right, sufficient food and clothing, and for egress, in lieu of wretched fare and rags, and unwholesome confinement; but when she found that neither passionate nor gentle sorrow moved either father or uncle to the slightest variation of expression in speech or feature, a sort of numbness fell upon her mind. It was not singular that a temper by nature unconciliatory should be driven to cunning for its defence, and to hate those who made such defence necessary: but it was, indeed, singular that the misers never sought to send her from them to earn subsistence for herself, a boon she ardently implored. She thought it was cruelty that denied this to her, but it might be that these rigid and penurious men found a kind of satisfaction in gazing on the faultless face of their young relation, in watching the movements that perfect formation, rather than early instruction rendered purely graceful: and they might derive an affectionate and pleasurable pride, from the sensation that their blood flowed in the veins of so fair a creature. Fair, indeed, was the appropriate term to apply to her for the bloom that almost died her cheek on her first arrival soon disappeared with hard fare and confinement; and though her spirit ultimately rose from its first depression, the bloom had departed for ever. Rebecca possessed no youthful feelings, compression had killed them, and the result was fatal to her character and happiness. The temptations she encountered to change her mode of life for one more luxurious were not unfrequent; it was not the vice of the life offered to her choice, nor its shame and loneliness, nor its corruption and induration of the heart, that deterred her from adopting it; for she felt so utterly degraded by her present state and occupation, that she thought it impossible to sink lower in the scale of humanity. But she was guarded by that passion which alike leads to crime and guards from evil, in its various power, too often omnipotent, especially with women. It would have been a happy accident had the man she loved proved worthy of her affection---he might have exerted a beneficial influence over her destiny. The chances were not, however, in this uhnappy girl's favour. Struck with her beauty, a young man, of open and prepossessing appearance, followed her home. An acquaintance commenced under such circumstances could scarcely prove fortunate in its result. We dare not pursue the history of their unholy loves, but will come at once to its result and the conclusion of our tale. One stormy night, when the raging winds that howled through the air. the rooring thunder aud beating rain, made such a confusion of noise as to render all other sound inaudible, Rebecca open the casement of the closet within the room where the misers slept with their treasure, and silently admitted her lover through this entrance. It was the dead hour of night; the storm that raged without, alone might have appalled the hardiest: yet Rebecca's stern pale face, just discernible by the light of a lantern her lover held, exhibited no fear of the elemental war, her whole anxiety appeared lest Albert should be heard by the sleepers within. Of this there was little chance; and after closing the window, she stole softly to her lover's side "Re "Are you determined ?" she asked inquiringly. solved," was his cold reply; and placing the dark lantern in her hand, he commanded her instantly to lead the way. The door that separated her closet from the mişers' room was shut, and she opened it slowly and with difficulty. "shall I go alone?" said Albert, who fancied her hand trembled. "Incur danger alone?" said Rebecca reproach fully---" no, no, no, I have courage---fear me not." They entered the chamber. The deed of blood was accomplished ---we will not pause upon its horrid circumstances. One hour since and she at least was free of guilt, and now its leprosy was on her soul! But a softer feeling stole upon her mind, even in the first hour of remorse; for Albert, not for self, she had surpassed her sex in strength and courage, and, alas! in crime. But his love would sometimes soothe her unexpressed agony; and sometimes bright brief passages of passionate love would lend a charm even to her paricidal existence. A tear trembled on her eye-lids, and hung on her dark lashes, a tear neither filial affection nor remorse could have won from her; and she turned the full expression of her softened eyes upon Albert---his refused to meet that glance! he pointed to the bed's head, that she might take the key of the coffer from under the pillow of her murdered relatives. She silently obeyed the motion of his hand, and as she did so, stained her hand with blood. saw Albert's eyes were fixed upon the stain, whilst she unlocked the coffer that gave him, alone with herself, golden independence, and yet she felt chilled at their expression. And now, Albert, let us fly this place for ever, and endeavour to forget the past,' Her musical voice trembled, but more with love than with horror. Fly with thee, woman! was Albert's stern reply: "aye, I should feel well with the arms of a murderess about my neck. Could no tie bind you---not even the sacred name of father? What, court destruction at your hands when you may please to tire of me? Woman! thou art beautiful, and I loved thee, but now thy beauty seems to me that of a demon---I loathe thee!" She Rebecca heard breathlessly every word distinctly as it was uttered; the overwhelming thought that solely for him, at his bidding, she had aided a deed of blood, played false with her soul's eternal welfare; to be thus by him rewarded, choked the words that swelled her proud bosom for utterance; the beautiful small features became convulsed with feelings she could not express, yet far too powerful to bear suppression. Blood gushed to her mouth, to her nostrils, even her eyes seemed filled with blood, and she fell a corpse at the feet of the murderer. A new emotion now took hold of this wretched man ; he raised the girl in his arms, and tried to call the dead to life by the same weak weapons that had the power to kill. His passionate appeals were fruitless, and he remained stupified, like a drunken man, over his third victim, till he was thus discovered by an accidental visitor, who immediately delivered him over to justice with him justice was condemnation.-- Keepsake. THE DYING SUMMER. My days are short'ned! misty eves Mourn, man, for me, for with me go The happiest hours thy heart has known ;, Let tears for my departure flow, Nor let those tears be thine alone. Let trees drop warm their dews in woe, A sterner power succeeds me now; No more in grove, or by the stream, Thou'lt lay thee down, with thoughtful brow, Of poesy and love to dream. I've given the fruit, I've given the grain, A little while soft air shall blow, O! prize me yet, for not for long Than mine, and it may quickly fade. MARY GRAHAM, BY JOHN CUMMING, A. M. "Oh heavens! is't it possible a young maids' wits Should be as mortal as an old man's life?" SHAKSPEARE. MARY GRAHAM was the innocent cause and the innocent victim of a foul deed ignobly expiated. The perpetrator satisfied the laws of his country by rendering a life for a life. "And happy in my mind was he that died, For many deaths hath the survivor suffered." Reason"the guiding spark" has fled; and, haunted by a distempered imagination, she roams abroad in abject poverty, the jeer of the wicked and the thoughtless, the pity of the kind hearted and humane. I have only met her once, but the impression produced by that single interview can never be effaced from my mind "while memory holds her seat." Finding that my business would admit of such an arrangement, I started, a few summers ago, on a long meditated ramble through the more romantic districts of Scotland. I visited every scene which was remarkable either for its natural beauty or its historic associations. On the field of Culloden I have pondered on the "hair-breadth 'scapes of the unfortunate Charles, and admired the generous attachment of his devoted though mistaken followers. At midnight I have climbed the lofty Nevis, "whose mountain top is pinnacled in icy cold sublimity," and I have bewailed the atrocities of Glencoe on the spot where the crimson torrent flowed. While sailing on the Leven, poor Mary Stuart's sufferings would perforce intrude, and the heroic ardour, the romantic chivalry of the noble Douglas made me but the more deeply lament his fate. Within the regal halls of Holyrood I have gazed on all that art could do in perpetuating the remembrance of our Scottish monarchs, and my fancy has conjured up "the song, the revel, and the dance," which prevaded the court in "the days of other years." But why expatiate upon these topics, familiar as they must be to all who have perused the writings of our northern enchanter? Rather let me proceed with my tale. I had taken up my residence at Dunkeld for the purpose of enjoying a few day's angling on the Tay, and was returning to the inn one evening, when my attention was arrested by hearing an old Scottish ballad warbled forth with exquisite pathos. There was a plaintive wildness in the tones which bespoke a heart but ill at ease, and I unconsciously pressed forward till I stood in the presence of the songstress. She was beautiful. I do not intend to attempt a description of her person. or her features, knowing that I should be able to convey but a faint idea of the original, and shall leave the reader to fill up the portrait in imagination. Her dress, certainly somewhat fantastic, was arranged with great neatness, and her external appearance did not, in the slightest degree, indicate her internal malady. There was, indeed, a wildness in her eye-a vacant wandering in her gaze, which, at times betrayed the absence of reason, but she was free from those unequivocal peculiarities which generally denote the maniac. While I conversed with her, she spoke calmly and reasoned sensibly, save when she attempted to relate her own sufferings. Then her whole frame became convulsed, and she spoke so incoherently, that her meaning was more readily ascertained from her gestures and her looks than her words. I contrived to divert her from this subject, and, ere I had left her, she was comparatively calm. The sad fate of one so beautiful, so young, for she did not then appear more than twenty, of course interested me deeply; and, on my return to the village, I instituted some inquiries regarding her. The answers I obtained, and the information derived from her own recital, have supplied me with the following particulars of her short but eventful life. Mary Graham was the only daughter, indeed the only child, of parents who moved in a respectable sphere, and who were remarkable for their piety. Were it not "to consider it too curiously to consider it thus," I should probably be more correct if I said "a rigid observance of religious ordinances; for in Scotland the one is frequently suffered to usurp the place of the other, and many contrive, by outward semblance, to obtain credit for inward feeling. She was beloved by Donald Rose, and she returned his passion with the ardent fervour of a woman's first and only love. He was, in all respects, her equal, and there was not a lass in all the parish who did not set her cap at Donald. Yet there was not one who envied Mary because she was his choice. She was so good, so kind, so clever, that every body rejoiced in the prospect of her union with the man of her heart; and to crown her happiness, the parents of both parties smiled upon their love. was settled that the marriage should take place as soon as Donald could obtain a farm in the neighbourhood, It and they, meantime, lived in the indulgence of those fond endearments which can be better felt, than described. About this time a Mr. Wilson, became a neighbour of old Graham's. There was little wonder that Mary's beauty and address should attract his attention; and, in a short time, he made her proposals of marriage. They were received as might have been expected. She thanked him for his kind opinion, she was proud of his partiality, but her heart and hand were plighted to another. Like a true man of the world, he instantly went to her father, and, representing the state of his affairs, soon convinced the old man that he was a much more eligible son-in-law than Donald Rose. A few evenings after, Donald was sitting as usual conversing with Mary in her father's house, when Mr. Wilson entered, and the subject was mentioned for the first time in his hearing. The old man, addressing himself to Donald, said, “I've been thinking, my lad, that ye're owre young to marry. Ye're no sae steady as a man should be wha taks charge o' a family. I would like to see how ye come on for a few years afore I would suffer my bairn to leave her father's roof for yours. Now, Mr. Wilson's a douce man, and a man o' substance, and Mary's mither and mysel think it best for a' parties that she should accept his offer, and that ye should be your ain master again. We'll aye be glad to see you though, and to hear o' your welfare." A hectic flush passed over Donald's cheek for a few moments he sat motionless; but at length he rose and said, " Mary Graham, is it by your desire that this is spoken? Say ay, and, miserable though it makes me, I relinquish my claim at once; for if I have lost your love, what's a' beside? Say no and nae earthly power shall separate us."-" Can ye ask me sic a question, Donald? Hear me, father: : your ain tongue betrothed me to this lad; in the presence of an all-seeing Heaven ye declared me his, and in the presence of that Heaven I now call upon you to keep your word. It's no to me ye forfeit it, but to ane wha will require an account. The first lesson ye taught me was to respect the truth, and not to tell a falsehood even in sport. I hae tended ye frae childhood, an' the best proof that I been a dutiful daughter is this-though austere to ithers, ye never said to me, Mary that was wrang.' Still would I tend you, still watch your sick bed, day and night, nor e'er repine; but when ye would mak' traffic o' your daughter's heart, when you would drive her to a mercenary prostitution (for it is a prostitution o' the mind and waur than that o' the body), her soul sickens at the revolting perjury)—she maun claim what is due to hersel' and her character, and protest against sic unnatural barbarity. O mither, ye hae loved yersel,' and how would ye hae liked had your cruel parents torn ye frae the man o' your heart and gi'en ye to a stranger? But ane word mair. Ye may tear me frae my Donald, but I never, never will be anithers' I here, before Heaven an' these witnesses, declare mysel' this lad's wife."-" Tak' her frae him," said her father, and Mr. Wilson rose to obey the order. -"Never," exclaimed Donald; "she has placed hersel' under my protection, seeing that her parents are unequal to the task, and sooner than suffer her to quit my side, my heart's blood stains your floor. Ye've driven me to despair, but I still ken whar to bestow my Mary."-On leaving the cottage together, Mary turned round, and with a tone of mingled anguish and reproach exclaimed," Walter Graham, ye are henceforth a childless man." Donald conveyed her to the residence of his parents, by whom every effort was made to reconcile old Graham to the match-but in vain. He could think of nothing but the worldly advantages to be expected from a union with Mr. Wilson, and accused Mary of disobedience and ingratitude. This charge stung her to the heart, but she repined not: "Alas! our affections are not at our command. We cannot bestow them on an object, and then recall them at pleasure. We're fickle enow as it is, an' why should we mak' oursels Soe? Ungrateful she was not, for no bad feeling could find a place in her pure bosom; and, spite of their unnatural treatment, she still inquired for her parents with truly filial solicitude, and never did she lay her head on her pillow without commending them to the care of heaven! One would have thought that time would soften Walter Graham's heart, and that the declining health of his daughter would induce him to secure her happiness by withdrawing his opposition; but no: gold was his only object, and he cared not if it were purchased by his daughters misery. One Sunday morning, about this time, Donald had sauntered alone into a neighbouring wood. There he accidentally met Mr. Wilson for the first time since their interview at Walter Graham's, and intended to pass without the usual salutations; but he was prevented. Wilson tauntingly inquired how Mary was, and insinuated that few discreet maidens would leave a father's roof to live with a gay young man. "Breathe not a word, sir, either against her virtue or my honour, "Why, my I lords, should I add falsehood to my list of crimes? here stand before you-alas! that it should be soand I can safely say that, till that fatál day, I never wronged the living being my Creator formed. Nor was this crime premeditated. I entertained not the slightest enmity towards the deceased, but he heaped insult upon insult, and aspersed the fame of her who is dearer to me than life. I then lost all command over my feelings, and they hurried me to madness-to murder. Think not that I urge this in extenuation of my crime. No: I wait for judgment—' An eye for an eye-a tooth for tooth a life for a life.' By an earthly tribunal, my doom is fixed-inevitable, but I look for mercy from the Judge above. I only feel for my Mary; and, were I assured of her future comfort, I would leave the world without a sigh,"He was, of course, found guilty, in terms of his own confession, and the presiding judge pronounced the awful sentence of the law, He was ❤ venerable man, and the tears which that day bedewed his cheek did not disgrace his ermine. But who can describe poor Mary's sufferings? She refused to be separated from her lover. She shared his cell---she ministered to his wants, and unceasingly upbraided herself as the author of his misery. She accompanied him to the scaffold with firm step. She joined in the devotions of the day with calmness and ferveney; but when the fatal signal dropped, she uttered a frantic shriek and sunk motionless into the arms of the chaplain. Animation was speedily restored, but her senses had fled for ever. PARIS CORRESPONDENCE. Dulness, as far as fashion is concerned, has lately been the order of the day, and the fickle goddess in the absence of her votaries, has not condescended to task her prime favourites, taste and invention; the latter more especially, for the sake of the few listless gazers of the Parisian Metropolis, or the metropolitan sightseekers, or lively promenaders of the present Champ Eliseés. There have been no small bustle, hilarity, and festivity, among our lively Parisian population, who can at all times enjoy themselves without any example from their superiors, with extreme satisfaction to themselves. Promenading, dancing, sight-seeing, more particularly those calculated to improve the taste, "soften the manners, and prevent them being brutal," which are here to be enjoyed by all gratuitously, have had their due influence on them generally, and we seldom [see in mixed assemblies more order and politeness than is the characteristic of the "people" of Paris. Though undertaking to skim the surface of fashionable varieties, and present you with a slight sketch, I have thus far, perhaps, trespassed on the patience of your readers, but in the absence of the element for my usual theme I may perhaps be excused for stepping out of the path to pay a tribute of respect to a most worthy class of society, one which so largely contributes to our comforts and luxuries. The very touching scene at the fête given by Evard, the harp manufacturer, to his workmen, after his receiving honours from his sovereign, for the perfection to which he has brought his art, may deserve not only commemorating but imitating. The liberality and good feeling of the master in providing an entertainment of a twofold character, and the anticipating attention of the artizans in honouring with busts the members of the family are highly gratifying, and similar examples, in my humble opinion, would do more to allay the fermentation which has lately risen so fearfully between workmen and employers, than a hundred combinations for protection on the one hand, or resistance on the other. The classe industrielle was perhaps never more honoured than at the present moment, receiving as it has from the fountain of honour, honourable marks of approbation. Few, one would think, should be more interested in their welfare thau the beau monde, who shine through their instrumentality. At the opening of the Chamber, at which was present much of the rank and fashion remaining in the metropolis, the King and Queen might be cited as rather remarkable for simplicity and plainness of apparel; the white muslins were very predominant, and were principally distinguished by the ornamental parts, which marked the taste of the wearer. Flowers, or a feather or two, placed frequently in the midst of tasteful bouquets, adorn the head. The skirts are getting so long that it is anticipated that our volatile Parisians will be shortly metamorphosed into stately dames of the old school, with ample trains, and starched stomachers. The Cachmere shawls recently imported from India and to be seen in the greatest variety at one of our most noted "magazins, are of the richest, most beautiful, and varied character; but for eulogy heaped on eulogy, till tottering with the weight of the lofty structure, the curious may see the Petit Courier of a late date. The aeronautic wonder will have been doubtless fully expatiated on in the London prints; but I may add, that being in the habit of frequently communicating with one of the parties, I am satisfied of their entire confidence in the powers of the ærial monster, notwithstanding the accident that happened to the first productions. C. de A. LONDON AND PARISIAN FASHIONS. FROM A VARIETY OF THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, INCLUDING COPIOUS EXTRACTS FROM "Le Petit Courrier des Dames"-"Journal de Paris et des Modes, L'Observateur des Modes et L'Indiscret"-" Le Follet Courrier des Salons"'-"Le Mercure des Salons," &c. &c. DRESSES.-We cannot mention any great novelties either in the make or material of dresses: white muslin and organdi, and other light textures, greatly predominate; embroidery au plumetis and lace trimmings. are generally preferred with them. Many are made with pélerines, richly trimmed with two or three rows of lace, others as a redingote, half mounting. We observed a pretty redingote of pou-de-soie, with a chicorée of the same material at the bottom of the skirt in front; a scarf of black tulle, worked in rosecoloured silk, flat; a little cap, called baigneuse, complete this toilette. A l'estoquienne dress, black ground, and sprinkled with various designs in mixed colours, with a mantelet of rose-coloured pou de soie, trimmed with very rich English lace; the hat of paille de riz, ornamented with rose-coloured foulard ribbons, and a couple of roses, had a striking appearance. On low dresses, pelerines in the same style are worn to fall very low on the shoulders and back. Many gros de Naples and foulard redingotes with small checks, are made to close on the left. Some muslin dresses have been in fashionable society trimmed à la Ninon, and have an extremely pretty effect, particularly for a light graceful figure. A very pretty and simple toilette, for young persons particularly, extremely becoming, is composed of a white dress of striped muslin, long sleeves, corsage à la vierge, over which is thrown a tulle neck kerchief, trimmed all round with deep lace, and forming an irregular fold on the shoulders and neck; the ceinture, with long ends, passes over the tulle handkerchief. For a blonde, the following toilette is very becoming: a dress of mousseline de l'Inde, united to the corsage; elegant mantilla, point a l'aiguille, ribbons pistachio green, formed into a bouquet of roses nuancées, a scarf passed beneath the ceinture; for the shoulders, ribbon of the same kind, the ends falling. Volans are again coming into favour; they are much worn round the skirt, but the true secret of putting them on, is in not placing them round the entire breadth, but only in front; this management prevents the heavy uniform appearance so frequently seen to spoil an otherwise elegant toilette,-Ball dresses almost always have one or two rows of haut volans in very rich lace. Dresses are worn still lower, so much so that it has become a question whether trains will not be next introduced; the approaching season will doubtless deter mine this. Round the pelerine, and also in front of the skirt, edging of the same material, trimmed with narrow lace, has a very pretty effect. HATS, CAPS, Hats for the morning are very frequently of muslin, embroidered en plain, and of a very simple shape, trimmed with a taffeta ribbon, glacé with striped or check patterns. They are almost flat behind, terminated by plaits gathered in at the top. Trimming, three rows of English tulle, either plain or with narrow valenciennes; at the side is placed a nœud en rosette, made with white ribbon, and two flat coques; strings long. Many are trimmed with two rows of Valenciennes, point a l'aiguille, trimmed with point, coquillé round ribbon coques; to complete the whole, deep English lace, ornamented with small light flowers, similarly to a deep hat. Rose-coloured capotes with large folds are lined with gros de Naples point, with good effect; they may be worn in the morning as negligés, and in the evening for demi-toilette, they have an elegant simplicity which is very generally becoming. The fronts of hats in Italian straw are again somewhat larger, and worn with a ruche of taffeta ribbon, On straw hats, green bands embroidered in cherry colour have a very pretty effect. A capote of court green with a moss rose placed in the midst of a tuft of ribbons forms a pretty coiffure. To those with whose complexion green does not agree, pearl-grey with rose-coloured lining is recommended. Rice straw still keeps the ascendancy, and is likely to enjoy it, at least during the present month. For ornaments some use plumes, but small bouquets are preferable. Caps are worn rather close, the ornaments are not high nor upright, but inclining a little towards the forehead. The little garlands of ribbon, coques pointues in the manner in which they are now sometimes worn, are execrable. The charm of a lace ruche is its beautiful transparency, but the things above mentioned are so heavy as to be devoid of all grace and elegance. -- MATERIALS AND COLOURS. White may now be considered the predominant colour, and is not only pretty but extremely useful, it being capable, with the addition, judiciously arranged, of lace, embroidery, trimming, &c., of wearing the most varied aspects, Court green, a specimen of which is seen in the engraved illustration of costumes, is now quite in vogue among the fashionable. |