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touching ceremonials which in military funerals give to the most formal pomp a seeming of deeper sadness, than ever attends the ordinary obsequies of the dead. In the commencement of such a campaign, the full observance of the usual etiquette on such occasions would most probably have been dispensed with, but Lascelles took a solemo interest in causing their exact fulfilment in the buria! of his friend. There was an imposing and sad romance in the ceremonials of that midnight procession. The first death in an army where so many were soon to fall-his youth, his bravery, his station-made the fate of Selby the subject of wide commiseration ; and thousands of hardy soldiers who had seen death in every shape, and mingled, times unnumbered, without a thought in such pageants as the present, gathered round the tent while the few and simple arrangements for the funeral were going on. Scanty, indeed, for the affection of Lascelles were all the conveniences he could obtain. On a few rude planks he stretched the body of his friend-forming with his military cloak the only pall he could procure. Then with proud minuteness he placed the cap and sword which had been bravely worn upon the bier, and having himself formed the men into their ranks, he wrapped his cloak around him, and with emotion that almost choked him, gave the order for the march. Slowly and sadly, they moved along,--the measured tread of the long array according solemnly with the mournful music of that hymn always used upon the occasion, of which the thrilling pathos gives almost sublimity to grief. Many other officers fell into the procession, but to Lascelles was accorded the melancholy precedence of following the bier. Deeply as he felt, he walked firmly on until the procession, striking through the woods, halted in an open and sequestered bay, about a mile from the camp. There, as the last tones of the funeral strains died upon the moonlit wave—and the forest echoed with the report that told all was over-the full consciousness of the hapless fate of his friend gushed for the first time into his mind, and he gave way to an excess of grief, to which all who were present accorded the grateful sympathy of leaving him alone.

The reveillée had been long sounded, before Lascelles returned to the camp, and then his features bore little outward indication of the sorrow at his heart. With a double and restless activity he engaged in the duties of his regiment, and when the order for the army's march had been given, he felt in the hope of speedy ven. geance which it held out to him, the first and only sense of anima. tion he could enjoy.

The events of the memorable campaign which followed, are not for such a tale as this. To the British army it was one of toil and danger and disaster, but Lascelles went through all unhurt; and distinguished himself on every opportunity that offered. Honored by his general's approbation, and indulging in all the warm hopes which the delights of home, and the uninterrupted enjoyment of


peace, offer to the soldier after a protracted absence, Lascelles returned to the proud seat of his fathers, in England, one of the happiest of mortals, and soon forgot all the toils and distresses of a foreign warfare in the sweet enjoyments of domestic society. Efforts he made to discover the sister of the unfortunate Selby, whose death had affected him more perhaps than any other event of his life; but they were ineffectual; and with that ready facility which present happiness creates in ill-regulated minds, the promise to his buried friend which he had made in the solemnity and full purpose of his heart, was, if not forgotten, at least completely neglected. Often, indeed, in his listless moments, when accident would bring it before him, he would gaze at the miniature bequeathed to him with such an affecting trust, with deep interest, and feel as he gazed a return of those feelings which at the painful time of their occurrence were so completely sacred and absorbing. There was much in it to give even a holiness to such sensations in hearts far more warped by the usages of the world than was that of Lascelles. It was a masterly effort of the pencil, and represented a beautiful girl at that time of life when the child is lost in the dawn. ing consciousness of the woman. Her age might be about fourteen; and while fine rich clustering curls, pensive blue eyes, and features delicately fair, made up a picture which any one would call pretty, and on which the eye would delight to linger, the painter with consummate art had caught each varying indication of unformed character, and made them shed over her countenance that fascinating expression whose memory continues to haunt the soul like some idol of idea. To all this, which had a claim only upon feelings which he held in common with the careless and the cold, Lascelles could not help perceiving, softened and as it were spiritualized in the exquisite features of his sister, the very appearance even to the minutest expression of his lamented friend. The resemblance was so close that it would have struck any who had ever known Selby. There was something in it more than mere family likeness—the same soul seemed to speak from the eyes of both—the same sentiments and disposition to animate each ; and the strong recollections which would be thus forced upon his mind, of the noblest being he had ever known, would beget in the imagination of the aristocratic Lascelles a thousand indefinable feelings, which, however, generally ended in inaction and self-reproach. higher society of England is perhaps more essentially exclusive and aristocratic than that of any other land; and the extensive proprietor, esconced in his magnificent residenee, and surrounded hy walled domain, maintains intercourse only with his equals, and never admits to his privileged abode the less favored whom rank has made his inferiors in society. If the heir of such a family, in the university or the army, when apart from conventional claims to respect, forgot the usual maxims of his order so far as to choose his associate, or perchance to make his friend, from a class which the parlance of the world would call inferior to his own, though the high-mindedness of inherent honor might withhold from such friend, under such circumstances, no confidence and no familiarity, still upon a separation, when the one, as in the instance of our tale, may be cut off by death or would remingle unnoticed with his fellows, and the other returns to his lordly seat, becomes treated with liabitual deference, and resumes the systematic opinions of his set,—it is hardly in human nature, but that ties so formed will be

weakened, or at all events, removed from that perfect equality in · which alone such connections can exist. It was thus that if ever

Lascelles, whose heart was naturally generous, but whose habits were formed according to all the feelings and customs of his caste, in the influence of the strong and attached friendship which he had formed in the early romance of situation, warmed to the noble qualities of the hapless Selby, and formed personal wishes, involving his beautiful and unprotected, perhaps unprovided sisterand if, when at times gazing upon her exquisite likeness in his possession, he felt his soul soften to touching thoughts, or expand with generous projects-the instant influence of habit would neutralize the feeling, and acquired lessons of duty to station and connexions would make him instantly shrink within the narrow circle of his selfish privileges; and then the portrait would be laid aside, and the solemn and affecting duty he had self-incurred would be, not forgotten, but again and indefinitely postponed. Was the disposition of Lascelles to blame, or his rank? Both had their share. The prejudices of the one had modified the good qualities of the other-and produced that apathy of character, which under some circumstances, and without really bad intentions, has all the effect of crime. Left to his own unassisted feelings, without the extrinsic allurements of his every-day life to distract, or corrupt them--they would all have become, if not personally moved, at least intensely interested, in the redemption of that solemn vow pronounced to the dying, and now doubly incumbent on him as a pledge to the dead.

Circumstances soon proved that this was essentially the case. His regiment was ordered to Ireland ; and now that duty opened the path to conscience, Lascelles felt his mind relieved from a pressure which had long given him almost insupportable uneasi

He hastened to his quarters, and endeavoured by every means in his power to discover the family he was in search of. © But removal to the country where they resided, did not facilitate

his success; and after several ineffectual trials, judging they had either left the country, or retired to some obscure situation, he gave up the attempt in despair ; and after some tim, he ceased altogether to think of his friend or his request, save as an affecting incident in his military recollection.





The blackening hills close round-the beetling cliff
On either hand towers to the upper sky-
I pass the lonely inn--the yawning rift
Grows narrower still, until the passer-by
Beholds himself walled in by mountains high,
Like everlasting barriers, which frown
Around, above, in awful majesty-

Still on, the expanding chasm deepens down,
Into a vast abyss which circling mountains crown.

The summer air is cooler, fresher, here-,
The breeze is hushed, and all is calm and still-
Above, a strip of the blue heaven's clear
Cerulean is stretched from hill to hill,
Through which the sun's short transit can distil
No breath of fainting sultriness ;-the soul
Imbued with love of Nature's charms, can fill

Itself with meditation here, and hold
Cominunion deep with all that round it doth unfold.

Thou, reader of these lines, who dost inherit
That love of earth's own loveliness which flings
A glow of chastened feeling o'er the spirit,
And lends creation hall its colorings
Of Light and Beauty—who from living things
Dost love to 'scape to that beatitude
Which from converse with secret Nature springs,

Fly to this green and shady solitude,
High hills, clear streams, blue lakes, and everlasting wood!

And as thou musest 'mid these mountains wild,
Their grandeur thy rapt soul will penetrate,
Till with thyself thou wilt be reconciled,
If not with man-thy thoughts will emulate
Their calm sublime-thy little passions-hate,
Envying and bitterness-if such be found
Within thy breast-these scenes will dissipate,

And lend thy mind a tone of joy profound,
An impress from the grand and mighty scenes around.
VOL. V. NO. XVI.-APRIL, 1839. Y

Here, doth not wake that thrill of awe—that feeling
Of stern sublimity, which overpowers
The mind and sense of him whose foot is scaling
The near White Mountain Notch's giant towers;
Here, is less grandeur, but more beauty-bowers
For milder, varied pleasure—in the sun
Blue ponds and streams are glancing, fringed with flowers,

There, all is vast and overwhelming-one
Is La Fayette—the other, matchless WASHINGTON!

Great names ! presiding spirits of each scene,
Which here their mountain namesakes overlook-
'Tis well to keep their memories fresh and green
By thus inscribing them within the book
Of earth's enduring records, where will look
Qur children's children,—till the crumbling hand
Of time wastes all things, every verdant nook

every crag of these proud hills shall stand
Their glory's emblems, o'er our broad and happy land I

Where a tall post beside the road displays
Its lettered arm, pointing the traveller's eye,
Through the small opening 'mid the green birch trees,
Towards yonder mountain summit towering high-
There pause—what doth thy anxious gaze espy?
An abrupt crag hung from the mountain's brow!
Look closer !-scan that bare sharp cliff on high

Aha! the wondrous shape bursts on thee now!-
A perfect human fuce-neck, chin, mouth, nose and brow !

And full and plain those features are displayed,
Thus profiled forth against the clear blue sky,
As though some sculptor's chisel here had made
This fragment of colossal imagery-
The compass of his plastic art to try.
From the carved neck up to the shaggy hair
That shoots in pine trees from the head on high,

All, all is perfect-no illusions there
To cheat the expecting eye with fancied forms of air !

Most wondrous vision ! the broad earth hath not
Through all her bounds an object like to thee,
That traveller e'er recorded, nor a spot

More fit to stir the poet's phantasy-
• The names of the two highest peaks, one of the Franconia, the other of the White
Hills. The two groups are about twenty miles distant from each other

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