EAEMEES” JQEHEMAL, AME i3©MM;‘ll.i.3.@EAHi AEVEBTESFJM.

Tlllitabllshed 1823. Fern Leaves from Fanily’s Portfolio.

OUR HATTY. I ( Onniiaurl from Hsssarvl's Gasatle, No. 97.)

Re , tap, on the door of Hatty’s little den—what on earth did it mean !. She hoped they were not oing to take that away from her; and, with a guilty, frig tened look, she opened the door.

Miss Tabetha entered. _ ou vexed with me for coming here, child ; don't loo glad to see me."

No, no!” said Hatty, pushing back a tangled mass of dark hair; “ but it's so odd you should want to come. ever wanted to see me before."

“ And why not, Hatty!"

*- Well, I don't know,” said she, with touching meekness and simplicity. " unless it's because I'm ' stupid, and ugly, and disagreeable.” '

“ Who told you that, Hatty i”

“ All ofghem down stairs," said she ; “ and I don't care about it, on_lv—only-—" a d be tears rolled down her

i

You

n t cheeks, “ it s so dreadful to feel that nobody can ever love

e.

‘Miss Tabetha said, “ Humph !”

“ llatty,” said she, “come here. Do you ever look in the lam?”

“k ct since a long while,” said the young girl, shrinking

e .

V “Come here, and look in this little mirror. Do you see those large, dark, bright e es of yours! Do on see that wealth of raven hair, w ich a skilful ban might renders. beauty, instead of that tangled deformity ’! Do you see those lithe, supple limbs, which a little care and training might render graceful as the swaying willow! There is intellect on your hrow ; soul in your eyes ; your voice has a thrilling heart-tone. liatty, on are a gem in ' You cannot be ‘ ugly ;’ but listen to me. It is every woman's duty to be lovely and attractive. You have underrated and neglected yourself, my poor child. Nature has been no ni rd to you. I do not say this to make you vain, but to inspire you with a proper confidence in yourself. But what have we here!” as a large portfolio fell at her

eet. . “ 0 Miss Tabetha, please don't! It's only a little scrib- blin .just when I felt wretched. Please don't !"

“ es, but I shall, though. It's just what I want to see most;" and she went on readin paper after paper, while Hatt stood like a culprit before liar. When she had finish- ed, s said, very slowly and deliberately, " Hatty, come here. Did you know that you were a genius."

“ A what, Miss Tabetha .”

“ A nice, a delicious little bit of simplicit_v—a genius! You’l know fast enou h what it means; and to think that I should have been the st toflnd it out;” she caught the astonished child in her arms and er, ' thought a genius must be the mos_t delightful thing in ewor . to hr Ia:-III _ V“-l|}h _

“ Look here, Hatty, does anybody know this!” holding up the manuscripts.

Hatty shook her head.

“ So much the better. ‘ Stupid, ugly, and disagreeable !’

humph? c you know I'm goin to run off with iron " said the little old maid. “ We sha see what we shall see, Miss liatty !"

Five years had rolled away. A new life had been opened to Ilatty. She had grown into a tall, graceful woman. Her step was light as a fawn’s. Her face——not beautiful, cer- hinly, if tried by the rules of art; and yet who that watched its everovarying expression would stop to criticise? No one cared to analyse the charm. She produced the efllict of bsaut ; she was magnetic: he was facinating. Miss Tabet a was satisfied ; “ she knew it would be just so.”

They had almost forgotten her at Lee House. Once in a while they wondered “ if Miss Tabetha wasn’t tired of her.” Miss Tabetha thought sha_wculd let them know ! Unbounded was their amascinent when Miss Tabetha ushered “ Our Hatty” in It was unaccountable ! She was really “ almost pretty!" Still there was the same want of heart in their manner to her ; and the little old maid could not have kept within bounds had she not had powerful reasons of her own for keeping quiet awhile. _

" By the way, Miss Tabeths,” said Mr. Lee, “ as you are abluestocking, can you enli hten me as to the author of that charinin little volume o poems which has set all the

- A ........~. ~-vi~n-wc- -.

Charlottetown, Prince Edward island, Saturday, January 7, 1854.

suuusa ‘DAYS.

A delightful summer we passed, to be sure, at the Hotel, in the quiet village of 8?. A collection of prettier women. or more gsntlemanly, agreeable men, were never thrown together by the necessity of seeking country quarters in the dog-days. Fashion, by common. consent, was laid upon the shelf, and comfort and smiling faces were the natural results. Husbands took the cars in the morning for the city, rejoicing in linen coats and pants, and loose neckties ; while their wives were equally independent till their return, in flowing muslin wrap , not too dainty for the wear and tear of little climbing gist, fresh from the meadow or wildwood.

There were no seperate “ cliques" or “ sets.” Nobody knew. or inquired, or cared, whether your great-grandfather had his horse sliod,or shod horses for other people. The ladies were not afraid of smutting their fingers or their reputation, ifthey washed their childrcn’s faces ; and did not consider it necessary to fasten the door, and close the blinds, when they replaced a missing button on their husband's wrist- band, or mended a rugged frock. _

Plenty offruit plenty of fresh, sweet air plenty ofchil- dren, and plenty of room for them to play in. A short nap in the afternoon, a little additional care in arranging tumbled rin lets, and in girdling a fresh robe round.thc waist, and t ey were all seated‘, in the cool of the evening, on the long piazza, smiling, ha y, andexpectanfl M1 "'0 car-bell announced the return 0 their liege lord_s from_ the dusty, heated city. It was delightful to see their business faces brighten up as each fair wife came forward and relieved them from the little parcels and newspapers they carried in their hands, and‘ smiled a welcome sweet as the cool, fresh air that fanned their heated foreheads. A cool bath, a clean dickey, and" they were presentable at the supper-table, where merry jokes flew round, and city news was discussed between the fragrant cups of tea, and each man fell in love with his pretty wife over again——or his neighbour's if he liked !

was one linriiionious, happy family; Mrs. and her liusband were the prime ministers of fun and frolic in the establislinicnt. It was she who concocted all the games, and charadcs, and riddles, that sent our merry shouts ringing fair and wide, as we satin the evening on the $5 moonlit piazza. It was she who planned the pic-nics an sails. and drives in the old ha -cart; the rry parties, and romps on the green ; and the little cosy suppers in the back arlour, just before bed-time, that nobod but herself could iave coaxed out of the fussy old landlor . It was she who salted our cofi'ee and sugared our to:ist;it was she who made puns for us, and wrote verses ; it was she who sewed up pockets in overcoats, ur stole cigirs, or dipped their ends in water; it was she who nursed al the sick children in the house: it was she who cutout frocks and pinaforesi and caps for unskilful mothers; it was she who was here» and thcre,and everywhere, the embodiment of mischief, and fun, and kindness ; and as she ticw past her handsome husband with her finger on her lip, bent upon some new prank, he would look after her with a proud, happpy smile, more eloquent than we lie was the handsoniest man [ever saw—tall. command- ing and elegant, with dark-blue eyes, a profusion of curling black hair, glittering white teeth, anda form like Apollo's. Mary was so proud of him ! She would always watch his eye when she mcditatcd any little piece of ro uery, and it was discontinued or perfected as she read its anguagc. He was just the man to appreciate her—to understand her son- sitlve, enthusiastic nature—to know when to check; when to encourage ; mid it needed but a word, a look, for her whole soul went out to him.

And so the bright summer days s ed tleetly on ; and now autumn had (Ollie with its gorgeous anty, and no one had courage to speak of breakin up our happy circle ; but oh, there came one, with stea thy steps, w 0 had no such scruples !

The merry shout of the children is hushed in the wide halls—anxious faces are grouped on the piazza; for in a darkened room above lies Mary's princel husband, deli- rious with fever! The smile has lied her ip, the rose her cheek ; her eye is humid with tears that never fall ; day and night, without sleep or food, she keeps nntiring vi il, while unconscious of her presence, in tones that pierce er heart he calls unceasin l for ‘- ni wife!" She puts back the tangled masses ofgdhrk hair rem his heated forehead! she passes her little hand coaxingiy over it ; she hears not the

literary worl astir! It isn’t often I get upon stilts; but I'd ive someting to see the woman who wrote ' .”

hfiss ’I‘abetha’s time had come. Her eyes twinkllid with She handed him avolume_, saying, “ Well

malicious deli ht. ' was commissioned to give you by the II

here is a bee I autheress herself. Mr. Lee rubbed his glasses,lse:_ them astride his nose, and

read the following on the fly- ea :- " To in dear hther, James Lee; from his slectionate dan hter. "

h r, Lee spran from his chair, and, seizin his child by

‘both hands, ejacu ated, “ Ilatty Lee, I'm prcu of you

thered slowly in her large eyes ‘as she said, “ Oh, . Dear father, fold me once to your heart, and say, ‘ Hatty, I love you !’ ” Her head sack upon his shoulder. The old man read his child's heart at last; he saw it all—sll her childish unha iness ; and, as he kissed her brow, and check, and lips said’: in a chokin voice, “ Forgive your old father, llntty !” Her ban was laid upon his lips, while smiles and tears chased over her face like sun and shadow over an April sk . Oh, what is Fans to a woman! Like the “ apples oft e Dead Sea,” ikir to the si ht, ashes to the touch ! From the depths of her unsatisfied cart comsth ever a voice that will not be hushed, Take it all back, only give me love !

I TWO IN_l-IIAVEN.

" You have two chileren," said I. "I have four," was the reply; “ two on earth, two in

°Th:ile.,spoke the mother ! Still here, only " gone before !” Still tOIl'|3DbOl’Od, loved, and cherished, by the hearth and d

at the bee ; their places not yet filled ; even though their successors i'aw life from the same faithful breast where their dying heads were pillow .

" Two in heav n !"

Baxsly housed from storm and tempest. No sickness there: nor roopln head, sq; fading eye. nor weary feet. the

1 green t ts b h Sh pherd linger the “la lair» of the lIeavenl_,y 0 good . ’ " Two in heaven!"

I fold. flesh-Ins athaetive. Eternity Invisible cords. drawing the liahrnal soul upward l small voices, ever wh sparing, Oasis! to the world-weary spirit. '4 The a haven P’

llfifflf.

advice of the physician. “ to procure a nurse.” She fears not to be alone with him when he is raving. She tells no one that on her delicate breast she hears the impress of an almost deadly blow from the hand that was never before raised but to bless her. And now the physician, who has come once, twice, thrice a da from the city, tells the anx- ious on s in the hall that iis atient must die. Not one dare bless the news to the wretc cd Mary! There is little need! She has guscd in their faces witha keen, sgonised earnestness; she has asked no question, but she knows it all, and her heart is dying within her! No intreaty, no persuasion, can draw her from the bedside.

The old doctor, with tr,-arfiil eves, passes his arm round her trembling form, and says, “ My c iild, you cannot meet the next liour; leave him with me."

A mournful shake of the head is her only answer, as she takes her seat again by her husband, and presses her fore- head low upon that clunimy hand, praying God she may

io with him. '

An hour of tiine-—on eternity of n ony—has passed. An unrcsisting form is borne from that e ianiber of death.

Beautiful us ii piece of rare sculpture lies the husband! No traces of pain on lip or brow ; the long, lieav lashes lay upon the marble check : the raven locks, damp with the dew of death, cliistercd profusely round the noble forehead ; those chiselled lips are gloriously beautiful in their repose ! Tears fall like rain from kindly eyes; servants pass to and fro respectfully, with measured tread ; kind bands are busy with vain attempts to restore animation to the fainting wife. Oh, that bitter, bitter waking !—-for she does wake. God

it er! P ller hand is passed slowly across her forehead; she re- membcrs—-she ' w! She looks about the room;

there is his hat, his coat, his cane; and now, indeed, she throws herself. witha burst of passionate grief, into the arms of the old physician, who says, bctwixta tear and a smile, “ Now, God be praised! shu weeps !”

And so, with the falling leaves of autumn, “ the Great Rea r” gathered in our noble friend. Why should I dwell on this agony of the gentle wife ; or tell of her return to her desolate home in the cit ;of the disposal of the rare pictures and statuary co lected to grace its walls by the refined taste of its proprietor; of the necessary disposal of every article of luxury; of her removal to plain lodgings, where curious people speculated upon her histor , and marked her moistened eyes; of the long, interm cable, wretched days; of the wakefnl nights, when shells with her cheek pressed against the sweet, lhtherless chi of her love ; of her nntiring elorts to seek an honorabie,"ilde€n- dent su port! It is but an everyday history: but, od knows, its crushing weight of agony is none the less

“°""?-".fi.?.:ll.";ll:1"‘i..'°‘...i“i.’i:..'.‘.‘I's" if2.'..‘I.‘.}°'I.,..‘l‘. «rill-hints so as then -o p to them,” though - an suntan h» l" » .I _ .. .

an by suusm

COMFORT FOR THE WIDOW. LA LIITLI fatherless boy, four vcars ofage. sat upon the

ther‘s face, as the tears fell t ick and flist, he spran to her side, and. peeping curiously in her face, as he put his little ' ors, said, “ 'ou‘vc of. me ! Simple. artless little comforter! Dry your tears, young mother. There is somethin lelt to live for ; there are duties from which even

not “ bu a stewardship of which our Lord must receive an account ; a blank page to be fil ed by your band with holy truth ; a crystal vase to keep s tless and pure ; ii tender plant to guard from blight and mi deiv: ti dew-drop that must not exhale in the sun of worldliness; an angel for whom a “ white robe" must be made; a cherub in whose hands a *‘ golden harp" must be _placed; a little “ lamb " to be led to the “ Good Shepherd !"

“ You've got me !" Ay! Cloud not his sunny face with unavailing sadness, lest he “ catch the trick of grief,” and sigh amid his toys. Teach him not, b your vain repinings, that “our Father" pitieth not his c idren; teach him to love Him, as seen in the sky and sea, in rock and river; teach him to love Him in the cloud as in the sunshine! You will have your gloomy hours ; there is a void even that little loving heart may not fill, but there is still another, and He says, “ Me ye have always."

TIIORNS FOR THE ROSE.

." It will be very ridiculous in you, Rose, to refuse to ive up that child," said ii (lavk-looking man to the pretty wi ow

“ Think what a relief it will be to have one of your children taken off your hands. It costs something to live now-a-da s, ’ and Uncle Ralph scowled portentously, and pus ed his purse farther down in his coat—pocket; “ and on know you have another uioutli to feed. 'l'hey‘ll educate her, clothe and feed her, und—“

" Yes,” said the impctuous, warm-hearted mother, rising quickly from her chair, and setting her little feet down in u very determined manner u on the floor, wliilo ll bright flush passed over her cheek, “ es, Ralph, and teach her to forget and disrespect her mother !"

“Psliuw, Rose, how absurd! She'll outgrow all that when she gets to be a woman, even if the succeed now. Would you stand in our own child's light? She will be an heiress, if you act like 11. sensible woman; and, i you persist in refusing, you may live to see the day when she will reproach you for it.

This last argument carried soiue wei ht with it; and Mrs. Scldon sat down dejcctedly, and foldc her little hands in her lap. She had not thought of that. She might be taken away, and little Kathleen forced to tell for daily bread.

l.'ncle Ralph saw the advantage he had gained, and deter- mined to pursue it. for he lnid xi great horror ofbeing obliged eventually to provide for them himself,

s|*Come, Rose. don't sit there looking so solemn; put it down, now, in black and white. and send ofthe letter, be- fore one of your soft. wouianish fits comes on again,"and he pushed a sheet of paper towards her, with pen and ink.

youth and health ; and springing into her mother s lap, on

long eyelashes.

her child to her breast, and raining tears and smiles enough upon her to make a mental rainbow.

to hear somebody there tell you so, I’m thinking;” and he slammed the door in a very suggestive manner, as he passed out.

Poor Mrs. Seldcn! Stunned by the sudden death ofa husband who was all to her that her warm heart craved,she clung the more closely to his children. No woniun ever knew better than Rose Sclden the undying love ofa. mother. The offer that had been made her for Kathleen was from distant relatives of her husband, of whom she know little, except that Mr. and Mrs, Clair were wealthy and childless, and had found a great deal of fault with her husband’s choice ofa wife. They had once made her a short visit, and, somehow or other, all the time they were there-and it seemed a little eternity to her for that very rcason—she never dared to creep to her husband's side, or slide her little hand in his, or ss it curessingly over his broad white forehead, or run into the hall for a parting kiss, or do anything, in short, save to sit up straight, two leagues ell’, and be proper !

Now you may be sure this was all very excruciating to little Mrs. Rose, who was verdant enough‘ to think that husbands were intended to love, and who owned a heart quite as large as a little woman could conveniently carry about. She saw nothing on earth so beautiful as those great dark eyes of his, especially when they were bent on her, nor heard any music to coin re with that deep, rich voice; and though she had been married many happy years, her heart lea ed at the sound of his footstep as it did the first day be en led her “ wife."

Cared “the Great Reaper" for that! Stayed be for the clasped hands of intrcaty or the 8('fll(lll1 tear ofugon ’ Iiecked he thlft not one silver thread mingle in the dark loc s of the stron man’ No ! by the desolation of that widowed heart, no! 1 c laid his icy linger on those lips of love. and chilled that warm, brave heart, and then turned coldly away to seek another victim. And Rose pressed his chil-

dren to her heart with a deeper love. a love born of sorrow, and said, We will not part. She knew that lin rs that never toiled before must toil unceasiugly now. S e know. when her heart was S.lll, there was no broad breast to lean She had already seen days that seem to have no end,

upon. draggin their slow, weary length along. She dared not to a rower, or trunk, or escritoire, est some memento

gfhim should meet her eye. She struggled bravely through the day to kce back the tears, for her children's sake ; but night came, wlien thoselittle restless limbs needed a respite, even from play, when the little prattling voices were lineb- ed, and the bright eye prisoned beneath its snowy lid ; then, indeed, the long pent-u grief, hold in check through the day by a mother's unsel sh love, burst forth ; till. exhaustc with tearful vigils. she w0uld\creep, at the _ ii, c- tween the rosy little else ers, and, nestling close to their blooming faces, dream—i owe how mockingly—-of happy hours that would never come again.