inquisitive boy, and had been looking into a great factory where several sorts of work, mostly in iron, were done by water-power. At night, in my dream, I was there again, staring at the great building, whose naked rafters I could just see by a dim, dusky light. I felt of one thing and another curiously, with some feeling of awe, however. At length, I took hold of an iron rod that reached down to my head near a forge, not knowing its use in commanding the machinery, and boy that I was, I pulled it slightly. Upon this, I heard a click, and a plash, and the great water-wheel began to go round; all about me and over my head, the machinery of the whole establishment got into a crazy motion, until I was myself almost crazed by the hum of wheels, and the flapping of leather bands, and here and there the buzz of screws, doing their unseasonable work. What to do I knew not, but instead of pushing up the rod which I did not think of, I pulled another, supposing any change must be for the better; but alas, the big trip-hammer now rose and fell upon the anvil, first slowly, and then faster and faster, till the whole shop rang with the furious din. This uproar was the more painful because I knew not how much mischief was going on, nor how I had done it, nor how it could be stopped. My knees would hardly support me-but I put my hands to my ears--and away I went down the lane, the hum and clang resounding at my heels, till I pitched into a hollow, which I found to be my bed.-It may seem strange, but I always remember that dream when I hear those words, 'Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!' Our least doings may have wonderful consequences, as I learned to my dismay. So complicated is the machinery of this world! What mischief the weakest hand may bring down on a village, on a nation; what confusion the most innocent movement may throw the world into; while God only knows who did it, and how he did it! Especially, how easy is it for one to work his own ruin under one thoughtless impulse. And as this world for us may turn upon a blow, upon a word, so is it with the world to come. A figure lost from the account we are to balance here-we may be bankrupts there. The hour that is struck in time echoes in eternity."

Here the clock struck eleven-my friend started-took his lamp— and retired, saying, Good night and profitable dreams!

March, 1837.

P. A.

CONSTANCY.

BY GEORGE HERBERT.

Who is the honest man?

He that doth still and strongly good pursue,
To God, his neighbor, and himself most true:
Whom neither force nor fawning can
Unpin, or wrench from giving all their due.

Whose honesty is not

So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind
Can blow away, or glittering look it blind:
Who rides his sure and even trot,

While the world now rides by, now lags behind.

Who, when great trials come,

Nor seeks, nor shuns them; but doth calmly stay,
Till he the thing and the example weigh:

All being brought into a sum,

What place or person calls for, he doth pay.
Whom none can work or woo,

To use in anything a trick or sleight;
For above all things he abhors deceit :

His words, and works, and fashion too,
All of a piece, and all are clear and straight.

Who never melts or thaws

At close temptations: when the day is done,
His goodness sets not, but in dark can run :
The sun to others writeth laws,

And is their virtue; virtue is his sun.

Who, when he is to treat

With sick folks, women, those whom passions sway,
Allows for that, and keeps his constant way:
Whom others' faults do not defeat;

But though men fail him, yet his part doth play.

Whom nothing can procure,

When the wide world runs bias, from his will
To writhe his limbs, and share, not mend, the ill.
This is the marksman, safe and sure,

Who still is right, and prays to be so still.

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.

A SCENE FROM AN UNPUBLISHED WORK.

Note.-Chester Norton has been tried, and sentenced to death, upon fictitious evidence. The chapter opens with his return to prison, where his betrothed, (Ellen Plummer,) after escaping the vigilance of her friends-comes secretly to condole with him. The remainder of the chapter, with this explanation, will be sufficiently intelligible.

I WAS remanded to my cell until the day of execution. No kerchiefs waved on my return, the balconies were all empty, a few friends followed me "afar off," while the troops which had been employed in the morning to prevent my rescue by the populace, now defended me

from insult and injury.—It is a fearful thing to have no better security for life, than the unstable approbation of the multitude.

Shut out from all external objects which might momentarily wean me from the contemplation of my own melancholy situation, I now became more capable of realizing the certainty of approaching doom; and my feelings which, crushed and stunned by the first shock, seemed to lose all susceptibility to pain, and had endowed me with a sort of torpid resignation, or deathlike calmness, now seemed quickened with a new and insupportable sensitiveness. As a tree when released from the pressure of a blast recoils as far in the other extreme. The blood rushed swiftly through its channels, my face burned, my brain grew dizzy, and throbbed to bursting; a fierce strength convulsed my muscles, a mad hilarity my heart. I sang, and leapt, and clanked my chains, and laughed, and shouted, and cursed the day of my nativity, and the impotence of my friends, and the malignity of my enemics. I shook the iron gratings of my window, till my hands were clotted with my own blood, and dashed my forehead against the cold walls, till I became stupified with self-inflicted torture. It was the very holiday of phrensy! the gambolings of despair! With a cruel precaution every instrument with which I might have produced a kindly wound, had been removed from my dungeon. I would have twisted my heavy fetters about my neck, and baffled the gallows, and the executioner; but the jailer had studied well the annals of crime, and knew well the dreadful alternatives, by which the condemned sometimes endeavor to avoid the ignominy and delay of a public execution, and had therefore so shortened my manacles, that every attempt at self-destruction with these was abortive. With a strong ef fort I ceased to breathe, until my heart and pulse waxed slow and faint, and almost ceased to beat; but as insensibility stole gradually over me, nature resumed her sway, the dull and heavy sense of suffocation departed, again I panted into life, and again essayed new methods for selfdestruction, till finally exhausted by incessant ravings, locked out as it seemed from death, yet condemned to die, alone, disgraced ;-too horror-stricken to pray! too desperate to weep! I hurled myself at full length upon the oaken floor of my prison, in the very drunkenness of

From this lethargy of wretchedness, I was finally aroused by the creaking of hinges, and looking up, I saw my cell-door standing open. A female figure, attended by the jailer, had just entered-and the latter, placing a lantern upon the dirty and ill-fashioned table which cumbered my apartment, retired to the space-way, and left me in company with the strange visiter. A light shawl hung loosely from her shoulders, partially concealing her person, and a deep straw bonnet with a long sweeping veil protected the beautiful features beneath, as well from idle curiosity as from my immediate recognition. In one hand she bore a small fancy-basket, and taking up the lantern with the other, advanced towards that corner of the cell whither I had withdrawn myself, and where I now sat, reclining against the walls in gloomy silence.

"Who have they sent now ?" at length muttered I, in a tone harsh and unnatural even to myself; "who have they sent now, to disturb the solitude of the outcast and murderer? away with you, friend or enemy!

this is no place for either love or hatred; begone! and leave me to the executioner." The apparition, if such I might denominate the delicate and breathing form which stood before me--paused, as though doubting suddenly to approach the object of her mission, and then, elevating the light to give me a clearer view of a face which, though wanting its usual bloom and gladness, was at once familiar, she came boldly forward, while a voice more than musical by contrast, responded to that of her hoarse challenger.

"Compose yourself, Chester Norton-alas! you know not who it is, or surely you would not question her so roughly-'tis Ellen, your be. trothed-but do not look so wildly on me-I have come to mitigate, if possible, your afflictions,--to share your prison, and go forth with you, and never until then." Thus speaking, she placed herself at my side, and leaning her head upon my shoulder, wept aloud.

"Matchless! devoted girl!" said I, when after a painful struggle I could sufficiently master my feelings to reply-" how have I merited this proof of your esteem? or how can constancy and virtuous tender. ness find their reward, in this damp and gloomy prison? Ellen, this is no place for a frail body and a bleeding spirit. You will grow delirious with the horrors of this mental inquisition. Chester Norton has been declared a felon-his name sullied forever-and he knows too well the bitterness of such a fate, to wish it shared by one so lovely and beloved as Ellen Plummer."

"And do you think then, Chester," responded my gentle companion, "that woman was made only for the sunshine? No, no-in the hour of affliction, her spirit soars highest. She is like that bird which, naturalists tell us, nestles in the flowers of summer, but only flies in the storm. What you have done for me, heaven and my conscience impel me, as far as practicable, in this hour of your adversity to reciprocate; and if you respect my wishes, or my happiness, here let me remain. The dungeon is a palace, if love be there-the world a solitude, where it is not." "Yes, yes! it always was your happiness to do good-and sûrely no voice like yours can soothe the wounded heart. You shall stay with me, Ellen Plummer,-and when I feel those hot, revengeful promptings, which, although natural to an injured man, are all unfit for one about to resign alike his spirit and its woes into the hands of his Maker, you shall place your finger upon my lips, and I will be silent. Nay, it is almost enough to quench the pangs of death, to know there is one who believes me innocent, or would not reproach, though guilty."

"From the depths of my soul, Chester, I believe you innocent-and were you not, I could love you no less. The affection which we professed in happier hours, must now be tested in the even tide of our exist ence and our hopes-and learn, like some evergreen vine, to cling as fondly to the ruin as to the garden-trellis, and to blossom as kindly in the shadow as in the sun.'

"My guardian angel! my solace-Heaven bless and reward you, Ellen-yet why do I ask a guerdon which you possess already, in those pure and noble feelings that exalt your spirit so far above its frail tenement? Or why do I consent that a creature formed to bless the world, should waste her existence among such sights and sounds as these? Listen, Ellen," continued I, as a peal of loud laughter, mingled with coarse

oaths and vile execrations, rose from a cell contiguous to my own, where, as it appeared from various gambling phrases, a set of criminals were striving to banish reflection, by cards and dice. "Hear you the burst of wild merriment, that rings in fiendish chorus along these sepulchres of the living? Those are wretches who, like myself, have just learned their sentence; they purchase their freedom to-morrow, by the lash and the branding iron; now they riot in the leniency of their doom! They know not shame; the bitterness of corporeal suffering will soon be past-'tis all they can taste of punishment-and, unshorn of a single iniquity, they will go forth in triumph. The law is most merciful to these

bosoms of adamant. But minds to which the slightest tinge of dishonor is worse than the ghastliest forms of physical destruction, are made to atone for the apathy of the herd, and stand forth as fearful proofs of the uncompromising severity of human justice. Well, well-be it so, I know the worst! I cannot be more miserable, nor shall I be less innocent, though exhibited upon the arena of shame, and trampled under the dust of the highway. But you, you! Ellen Plummer, will be linked with crime, and regarded as the secret confessor of a murderer, as a thing upon whose heart has been written a bloody chronicle. Truly, the sacrifice of one so young and confiding would be impious-religion and duty alike forbid it. Leave me, Ellen; I recall the license which blind affection induced you to ask and me to grant. Fly, fly, while yet unspotted, from this unhallowed place, the very air of which is palpable with moral contagion."

"Calm yourself, dear Chester," said Ellen, placing her hand, as she spoke, soothingly upon mine," your words afflict me more than could an age of prisons. You speak, if not unkindly, at least unjustly. Society will think no worse of an unhappy woman, for having shared the adversity of her lover; and were I assured of consequent censure, do you believe I would falter now? Besides, if you resist as a gratuity my poor sympathy-receive it, then, as a partial return for weightier obligations. Can I forget who rescued me from a watery grave? Would you have me survive my gratitude? No, no, Chester Norton; my place, come weal or woe, is by your side. I have escaped from my prison to visit yours, and eluded my keepers, if possible, to release you-and now to an important portion of my errand-have you petitioned the Governor?" "Yes, ineffectually; he believes me guilty."

Ellen clasped her hands across her forehead, and remained for sometime silent, apparently in deep and perplexing thought; at length, she resumed her inquiries, in a tone in which the flickerings of hope seemed blended with the low aspirations of subdued sorrow. "And has he neither wife nor daughter, whose influence I might propitiate in this extremity?"

"He has, Ellen; but all anticipations from such sources will prove delusive. He is a stern man-and when justice, or his better judgment prompts, these stone walls are as flexible."

"Despond not, discourage me not, Chester-life is worth a struggle. Grief is eloquent. I will test his mistaken virtue, with an argument which has vanquished the warrior in his mail, and made the despot as a child, a woman's tear! Mortal he cannot be, who resists a maiden when supplicating for the life of her lover. But should prayer and entreaty