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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 habitual 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 uneasiness. 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 time, 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
Cœrulean 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
Communion deep with all that round it doth unfold.

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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 half 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
Our children's children,-till the crumbling hand
Of time wastes all things, every verdant nook
And every crag of these proud hills shall stand
Their glory's emblems, o'er our broad and happy land!

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 face-neck, chin, mouth, nose and brow I

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 curved 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

There from thy wreath of clouds thou dost
Those features grand-the same eternally-
Lone dweller mid the Hills! with gaze austere
Thou lookest down, methinks, on all below thee here!

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And curious travellers have descried the trace
Of the sage FRANKLIN's physiognomy

In that most grave and philosophic face-
If it be true, Old Man, that we do see

Sage Franklin's countenance, thou indeed must be
A learned philosopher most wise and staid,

From all that thou hast had a chance to see,

Since Earth began-here thou, too, oft hast played With lightnings, glancing frequent round thy rugged head.

Thou sawest the tawny INDIAN'S light canoe
Glide o'er the pond that glistens at thy feet,
And the White Hunter first emerge to view
From up yon ravine where the mountains meet,
To scare the Red Man from his ancient seat
Where he had roamed for ages, wild and free.
The motley stream which since from every state
And clime through this wild vale pours ceaselessly,
Travellers, gay tourists, ali have been a theme to thee!

In thee the simple-minded Indian saw
The image of his more benignant God,

And viewed with deep and reverential awe
The spot where the GREAT SPIRIT made abode,
When storms obscured thee, and red lightnings glowed
From the dark clouds oft gathered round thy face,
He saw thy form in anger veiled, nor rowed

His birchen bark, nor sought the wild-deer chase,
Till thy dark frown had passed, and sunshine filled its place.

Oh! that some bard would rise-true heir of glory,
With the full power of heavenly poesy,

To gather up each old romantic story

That lingers round these scenes in memory,
And consecrate to immortality-

Some western SCOTT, within whose bosom thrills

That fire which burneth to eternity,

To pour his spirit o'er these mighty hills

And make them classic ground, thrice hallowed by his spells!

But backward turn-the wondrous shape hath gone-
The round hill towers before thee smoothly green-
Pass but a few short paces further on,—

Nought but the ragged mountain side is seen,—
Thus oft do earthly things delude, I ween,
That in prospective glitter bright and fair,
While time or space or labor intervene→
Approach them, every charm dissolves to air,
Each gorgeous hue hath fled, and all is rude and bare!

And trace yon streamlet down the expanding gorge,
To the famed BASIN close beside the way,
Scooped from the rock by its imprisoned surge,
For ages whirling in its foamy spray,
Which issuing hence shoots gladly into day,
Till the broad MERRIMACK it proudly flows,
And into ocean pours a rival sea,

Gladdening fair meadows as it onward goes, Where, 'mid the trees, rich towns their heav'nward spires dis


And further down, from GARNSEY'S lone abode,
By a rude footpath climb the mountain side,
Leaving below the traveller's winding road,
To where the cleft hill yawns abrupt and wide,
As though some earthquake did its mass divide
In olden time-there view the rocky FLUME-
Tremendous chasm-rising side by side,

The rocks abrupt wall in the long, high room,

Echoing the wild stream's roar, and dark with vapory gloom.

But long, too long, I've dwelt as in a dream,
Amid these scenes of high sublimity—
Another pen must eternize the theme

Mine has essayed, though all unworthily.
FRANCONIA, thy wild hills are dear to me—

Would their green woods might be my spirit's home!

Oft o'er the stormy waste of memory

Shall I look back, where'er I chance to roam
And see their shining peaks rise o'er its angry foam!



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