tume, stood in picturesque groups beneath the trees, little girl, unconscious apparently of the presence or wandered up and down enjoying the brilliant of any one, and pouring out her whole soul in melscene; and other hundreds, the beautiful and high- ody, like some language learned in a brighter born, in their splendid equipages, drawn by spirited sphere, and faintly remembered amid the cloud and horses, that by their arching necks and flashing darkness of the present. The haughty Countess eyes seemed conscious of their burthens, added to turned away, muttering, "It is only some beggar," the beauty of the charming scene. But our story and supposing that her son followed, passed into has to do with the occupants of one only of those the church. But the boy stood spell bound; that numerous carriages. A gentleman, with a pale, song, striving to be joyous, but speaking only the thoughtful face, and subdued, melancholy, though more truly of suffering, touched a cord in his heart, benevolent expression, occupied one seat, and by that vibrated with the readiest sympathy. He aphis side sat a lady in the prime of life, beautiful, proached the pillar, purse in hand, to offer relief; but not with the beauty that most frequently wins but the motion was arrested as he gazed upon the hearts. Her face was haughty, and her curling, figure that rose suddenly to sight at the sound of slightly scornful lip spoke of pride of birth and his footsteps. A beautiful child stood before him, station; sometimes she gazed with a listless look some ten years old, her clothing poor and meagre, on the beauty around her, and then her eye fell on speaking of poverty and want, yet clean, and worn a youth, the sole other occupant of the carriage; with a natural grace, that took nothing from the in that glance the true woman was seen, all the beauty of the countenance; her bright, dark hair full, deep tide of a mother's love beamed in her fell in wavy curls over the snowy shoulder, half eyes at those moments, speaking of a warm, true revealed; the complexion was dark, but oh, how heart beneath the cold exterior of forms and cere-beautiful! the rose just blushing on the cheek; the monies. Some sixteen years had passed over the mouth seemed made for the sweet voice within; boy's head, and he was one of whom a mother but most remarkable of all were the eyes, large, might well be proud; all the lady's beauty was in his face, but the expression was, like his father's, mild and benevolent; the fair brow, the large, dark, thoughtful eyes, speaking of a spirit that despised all meanness, that rose above the trammels and shackles of the society around him. He was the first to break the silence that had for some time rested on the party.

dark, but with none of the dancing joyousness of childhood in them, their light seemed quenched and their expression told of sorrowful thought and painful reverie, that one so young rarely feels; grief had matured the soul more than many years, and through its peculiar feature it revealed itself, adding a new charm to those of childhood, that were perfected in every other. An instinctive delicacy told the sympathizing boy that gold alone would not remove the bitterness from that young heart, and taking her hand gently in his own, he said,

"You have many sorrows, let me share, that I may lighten them." It was not the words merely that touched the child's heart, but the manner, so full of kindness and love; she raised her eyes, swimming in tears, to his, and in a broken voice said,

The lady smiled, and making a mution of assent, the carriage turned quickly from the brilliant drive and proceeded rapidly to the entrance of that vast, wonderful church. With what a solemn grandeur the gray twilight invested it! The party entered the beautiful square, and paused for a moment in "Oh, how I thank you, no one ever speaks to the magnificent colonnade; an Egyptian obelisk rose me so now but my mother; they took her from me before them, bringing to the mind thoughts of long long, long weeks ago, but when I sleep she comes, past ages; the waters of the fountains fell with a and whispers words of love to me, and when I musical sound, sweet and soothing, back to their would clasp her, she is gone." And then as if her marble basins; and it was with minds subdued and heart was unlocked by the sympathy of one so quieted by the hour and the scene that the party near her own age, she told him all; how she, with at length entered the church itself. Just within her father and mother had come to Rome, how the portico their steps were arrested by the sweet, happily they had lived, how her life seemed like musical strains of a voice, now clear and full, now one long, bright, sunny day, 'till sickness came, selow and plaintive, they fell upon the ear like the vere and grievous sickness, borne on the soft balmy echo of an angel chorus, but the sadness, the mel-air, that, loaded with flower-breaths, wooed one to ancholy that at times wailed thrillingly through its enjoyment; how, day by day, she had watched them, spoke only too plainly of earth and its shad-them; how at length they had fallen quietly asleep, Ows. The whole party paused and looked eagerly and then how strangers came and took them away through the gathering twilight for the meaning of from her, and she was all alone.

those sweet tones. At the base of one of the pil- They told me they were dead," said the child, lars, almost lost in shadow, reclined the figure of a'" but when I lie down on my little pallet at night,

my mother lays her hand on my brow as she was he was living in a London November fog,-the wont, and sings me to sleep with a sweet lullaby." The boy wept as he listened, and spoke kind, soothing words; years of close companionship could not have so endeared those two children to each other. Earnestly and long they talked together. forming plans for the future, forgetful alike of time and place. The boy was at length aroused by his mother's voice.

"My son," she said, "I hope you have enjoyed the vesper service you were so anxious to hear. Let us go now. You make strange friends."

courted and flattered, the admired and envied Lord Grey. Possessed of title and estates, handsome and gifted, with a mother who doated on him, and a thousand friends, still the young lord was not happy! In the company of the gay and joyous, he was grave and thoughtful; when beauty smiled upon him, a remembrance of something lost seemed to steal over him and the smile was not returned. Alone and almost unattended, he was now travelling through the Southern cities, seeking "something, he knew not what, he could not find!" Change of place seemed the one thing coveted, but change of place brought no relief; at Paris or Naples, it was all the same. "Thank heaven!" he exclaimed, as he sauntered through one of the most retired streets, "thank heaven, I am free at last from those troublesome friends, for one day at least I can be alone."

The little girl turned her mournful eye upon him. for she felt this parting as another sorrow; and he, whispering her to meet him on the morrow in the same place, sprang into the carriage and was borne quickly away. The child gazed after him a moment, then sighing deeply, turned with rapid steps and was soon lost to sight amid the gathering shadOWS. As they drove through the darkness to Scarce were the words spoken before some one their splendid home, the boy eagerly related his grasped his arm, with the familiarity of an old story, but the haughty Countess made no reply, and friend, and, "My dear Grey, this is indeed a forwhen he told of his appointment and earnestly be-tunate meeting," sounded in his ear. The young sought that the beautiful child might go with them man turned, and recognizing an old school friend to England, a smile curled still more his mother's in the merry face before him, greeted him as corlip, and laying her hand on his arm she said, dially as his mood would allow; and then came all the news of the day.

"Impossible, my son! such things may do in romance, but in reality it is far different; there can be no sympathy between an English lord and an Italian beggar."

The new singer," exclaimed his friend, "have you heard of the new singer; the Syren is nothing to her, she makes her first appearance to-night, Julia Pisino, a Roman name, and there is a strange story of her having been taken from the streets there, by some one attracted by her voice, and educated for the stage; you must go and hear this wonder."

Lord Grey answered listlessly; he scarce heard what his companion said, and half in desperation, half in the hope of ridding himself of his friend, he promised to be there. The evening came and found the young lord on his way to the principal theatre, not that he expected to be amused, but because he might as well be in one place as another. He entered, the brilliant lights, the crowded boxes,

Though the boy thought differently he was silent, and locked his feelings only the more closely in his own bosom. At an early hour the next morning, a travelling carriage, containing the English family, departed from Rome, carefully avoiding the direction of St. Peter's; a cloud seemed to have fallen on the party, for they were silent, and a shade of displeasure rested on every face. Why on that day did a little girl, with a countenance that tempted many to turn back with an earnest gaze, wander through the church seemingly waiting for some one who came not? Her sweet voice was hushed, and often the tear-drops from her eyes glistened the flashing eyes, were nothing to him; seating like diamonds on the marble pavement. At length as darkness crept over all things, driving before it the pale gray light, the child murmured to herself, "And has he left me too? Perhaps he will come to me, with my mother, in my dreams." And with slow steps, often looking back as though hope still lingered, she moved away and was seen no more.

himself in a retired corner, he leaned his head on his hand and was soon lost in thought. He forgot the scene before him, he forgot the present hour. Scenes of his boyhood arose in his mind, scenes of which ten years had effaced not one line; he thought of Rome and the dark, mournful eyes he had met there; and then came speculations on the fate of the child who had so interested him. Suddenly the same tones, that for ten years had echoed in his soul, floated on his ear, but sweeter, richer; now they rose clear and high like a gush of wild, Lord Grey was at Naples, "fidelissima Napoli," bird-like music, heard in some pleasant wood, now the bright, the beautiful, the city of the Syren, low and full they floated on the air, stealing into that piece of Heaven fallen to earth; well may its the very soul; it was a sad song too, and the same inhabitants exclaim: "See Naples and die!" Could melancholy strains that had won him before, came not all this enchantment call a smile to the lip of now to his ear, and found his heart not less susLord Grey? Ah, no! He was as melancholy as if ceptible. He dared not raise his head, lest the de

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

lusion should be dissipated, it seemed so like a be- for the young lord feared that his happiness might witching dream. So there he still sat, his face again be wrecked. With gentle, persuasive words, buried in his hands, drinking in every note of that he won her; with tears and blessings her kind old delicious melody. There was a pause-the thea- teacher committed her to his care. They were tre rang with acclamations, then all was hushed, married; the Neapolitans were half wild with and again the song went on. Excited and anxious disappointment at their loss. From the foot-lights with hope, and yet with fear, the young lord raised of a theatre, the beautiful Julia Pisino stepped to his head and gazed earnestly on the stage. How the rank of a Countess; and never on one fairer, or beautiful it was! A lovely girl, just blooming into more worthy, from the possession of every wowomanhood, was before him, and yet it seemed the manly grace, was a coronet conferred. child he had met at Rome. The same exquisite features, something even of the sad expression lingered, though now it seemed to come from thought rather than from suffering. Her hair still fell gracefully around her face, and the simple white dress, In a London drawing-room, where every thing relieved only by a small bouquet of valley lillies, that wealth or taste could devise was collected, a fittingly draped a figure so full of purity and peace. lady, still beautiful, for years had left but few tra Such a figure could be the object of no harsh word, ces on her face, her cheek resting on her hand, no unholy desire; a feeling of respect and sympa- sat lost in thought. The fire-light flashed fitfully thy sprang up in every heart-even the applause over the rich furniture, now revealing some beautiwas subdued, lest it should wound one so shrinking ful face smiling from the wall, now chasing the and so gentle. One look was enough for Lord shadows from the corners, where they had collected, Grey. Who that had seen him in the whirl of as it were, for comfort on that cold November night. London fashion, or the still more brilliant scenes The rain pattered against the windows, but as the of Parisian gaiety, cold and haughty, indifferent eye glanced towards them, it rested on the rich curand scornful, would have recognized him now? He tains blushing faintly in the fire-light, and a feeling stood up in his box, his fine face beaming with ex- of comfort and repose stole into the heart. Gentle citement, his dark eyes kindling with love and joy, thoughts-thoughts of the loved and absent subwhile a feeling of reproach lent a shade to his ex- dued the still haughty expression of the lady's face; pression. The young singer gazed timidly around the soft light of affection was in her eye as she the crowded house; at length her eyes rested on gazed musingly into the fire, tracing, in its decaythat standing figure. What rush of recollections ing brightness, scenes of beauty, faces that smiled overpowers her? Why does her cheek grow pale, familiarly upon her. The time for her son's return the tones tremble and die away upon her lips? was approaching, and her mother's heart yearned Can it be that a face but once seen, and that amid to speak the words of greeting. A servant enthe gathering twilight, can so impress the heart? tered silently and presented a letter; the lady held The countenance of one who speaks words of sym- it up in the faint light and a smile brightened her pathy and love in our hour of distress, is never for- face as she recognized the beloved writing. Lights gotten, though time and change write deep and last- were brought, and with the impatience of eager ing traces upon it. Who shall say what had shield-affection, she tore it open. Why does the expresed that young girl from all the temptations that sion of her face change as she reads? The flush surrounded her, keeping her spirit pure and child- of indignation burns in her cheek, and in her eye Jike? Perhaps the remembrance of that twilight the light of anger quenches, alas, the light of love. hour, the thought that one noble, generous heart Her compressed lip curls with scorn. It was no would sympathize with and feel for her. And now longer the gentle, loving woman who stood there, they had met. It seemed but a moment from their but the woman proud of rank and the privileges of recognition before the half fainting girl was borne from the stage by her early friend. An hour after, the beautiful Julia was seated with the young lord in her own graceful parlor, much was to be told by both, and long and earnest was their conversation; singer--disgraceful! The boy is mad! He who no reproaches clouded that happy hour, for the fair girl knew her companion's noble soul too well to doubt. She told him her sorrow at not meeting him again, and how soon after, a kind, mild old man, attracted by her singing, had given her a home and treated her like a daughter, and how she was now striving to repay the debt. And then she heard from him of his father's death, his own rank and wealth, but not one word of his haughty mother,

birth, and outraged at their invasion. With the letter grasped in her hand, she walked the room with a quick, uncertain step. "Married!" she muttered, "Married! and to an actress, a public

might have chosen from the pride of England, to stoop so low, to be made the dupe of a low-born girl.

it.

But I will never acknowledge, never permit And in an hour he will be here to greet his mother-to present his wife-his wife! He shall see how a mother can meet a disobedient son― shall feel the scorn due to one who stains the honor of a noble line." She threw herself back on a sofa, and bitter thoughts sent shade after shade

across her brow. He, who had been her pride and hitherto invulnerable. When she appeared in sojoy, in whom, from infancy, every hope and ex-ciety all were in admiration--every voice for once pectation had centred, had now so cruelly disap- united in her praise. She moved amid those brilpointed her. But as she thought of his childhood, liant scenes as if born to rank and fortune; every his loving heart, his goodness and beauty, gentler motion was grace-every word won for her the thoughts arose, till almost unconsciously her feel- hearts of those who listened. The splendor that ings of resentment were softened and faded gradu- surrounded her made no change in her character; ally away; she could not lose him, her bright, her the same meek, gentle spirit reigned within. Good only one. She heeded not the passage of time; as she was beautiful, loving and beloved, brilliant suddenly a loud knock aroused her; hastily start- indeed was her destiny. The morning was indeed ing to her feet, she drew herself to her full height obscured by clouds, but the day was only the more and stood gazing at the door; a confused sound bright and serene, and cloudless it glided on to was heard in the hall below, quick, well-known steps on the stairs, and in a moment her son stood before her. His face was pale and anxious, and his dark eyes gazed at her with a tender, mournful look, that went to her very heart; a mother's love rose up fresh and strong again within her; hard was the struggle between offended pride and yearning affection, but affection conquered, as it ever should and will. She opened her arms and clasped him to her heart.

"Oh, mother!" he murmured, "forgive me, if in my own happiness I have for a moment forgotten you; let us all be happy together."

She knew not till that moment how much she loved him, his heart beat against her own; his voice sounded like music to her ear; all resentment, all anger were swept away. What could she not forgive to him, who from infancy had been to her like life itself, when leaning on her bosom he told her all? The prejudices of years were in that moment forgotten;-pressing her lips to his forehead, she said in a voice broken by sobs, "Where, my son, where is the daughter you have brought to me?"

What happiness brightened Lord Grey's face at those words; he felt that in them was conveyed the fullest forgiveness and the dark clouds, that he feared would rest forever on his happiness, were swept away in an instant, and a long vista of calm, peaceful enjoyment spread out before him. Not until that moment had he ever realized all the strength and worth of a mother's love. He quickly left the room and soon returned with his young wife, the beautiful Julia, leaning on his arm. His mother turned her eyes upon her and started with surprise; could the modest, gentle, graceful being before her be the one she had determined to hate? She laid her hand tenderly on the head of the shrinking, tearful girl, and pressed her lips gently on her cheek: "Thus," she said, "let the love between us be forever sealed."

How happily the closing hours of that night glided on. At a late hour they separated, and every heart was full of peace and joy.

The news soon spread through London that Lord Grey had returned with a young and beautiful bride; many were the surmises-great the curiosity, to see the one who had conquered a heart considered

VOL. XIII-6

THE END.

TO THE "FAR BLUE MOUNTAINS."

Your spell is on my fancy still,

O! Mountains, grand and stern,
Ye who have taught my dreaming heart
So many thoughts to learn,
And who are linked with memories held
Most precious to me now,
That brighten like a diadem

'Round every rugged brow.

Ye have indeed been "friends" to me,
Most faithful and most true,

I cannot tell the rapture-tints
My spirit owes to you.
Would I could look upon you now
And teach my restless woes,
The moral of your silentness,
The wisdom of repose.

I blend you with the sunny times
My young experience knew,
The brightest days my life has seen
Were all beheld by you:
And lovingly I strive to paint
Each bold, familiar form,
In all its wild variety

Of ruggedness and storm.

Ye looked upon the ties that lent
Such sweet illusion then,
And when I gazed upon your forms,
Ye brought them back again.
An early love, now passed away,

Yet pleasant to recall,

A friendship tried by time and change,
Yet triumphing through all-

And one, who with her glorious eyes
Looked fondly on your pride,
One who in all her loveliness

Amid your grandeur died.

HISTORICAL SOCIETY

OF THE

UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA.

B. B. MINOR, Esq.

application, and that, however this generation may have annihilated time and distance, and boldly trodden paths of investigation in the arts and sciences to regions of which its Fathers were trembling strangers, no royal road has yet been discovered for thought, and, if the creatures of the mind are to be resolved into their elements, and the true springs of human happiness to be entirely revealed, an ability, learning and good intention, and an unwearied patience are to be employed not inferior to those which were necessary to the great originals who have gone before us.

Although it cannot be denied that there is much contemporary matter to engage our attention and repay our study, yet the truest and purest philosophy is ever to be drawn from the annals of past generations. However we may be astonished at the magnitude of events which are happening in our own day, a serious consideration will show that they are not of capital importance in the history of man. Dear Sir,―The position occupied by the Mes- We are engaged rather in invention than discovery. senger, as the Literary Organ of the South, sug- We are carrying principles, heretofore evolved, into gests an offer to its pages of the enclosed paper their practical details-details though, which are bearing upon the Revolutionary History of North not unfrequently clear indexes of a glorious DivinCarolina. If accepted, it will be the first time that ity striving within us. To speak in metaphor, we it has been published. Although the paper be of either sow seed which yields an annual return, or peculiar interest to Carolinians, yet its perusal may are engaged in pruning the trees which nature and give pleasure to all who claim an inheritance in our fathers have planted; but we plant no slips to that glory which marks the actions and declarations yield fruit and pleasant shade to our posterity. of the American Revolution. It throws some "in-The civilized world is at present agitated by the fluence of light" upon that political chaos about the commencement of our history, whose utter confusion it may well be feared, that the present generation does not entirely appreciate, and of whose very existence many intelligent persons are ignorant. It speaks plainly of the labor with which the founders of this Republic struggled through this wasteful deep; and the simile, supplied by the great English poet, is carried out still farther in the reflection, that the oracles which seemed to them

"A universal hubbub wild

Of stunning sounds, and voices all confused,
Borne through the hollow dark,"

since they have traversed the great abyss, give "certain sounds" of warning and encouragement; a broad and beaten way has been paved, upon which we may tread with security and ease.

The paper before us affords ample evidence that very much has been learned about government, particularly representative government, during the last seventy years;-that the political principles which we put into daily practice, and which we are fond of calling axiomatic and eternal, were delivered to the world within the memory of some old men among us, with a fearful hope, if not in their right, at least in their expedience. It is fit, therefore, that we should be reminded that the theories of which we speak so flippantly, are the worthy offspring of great intellectual power and

occurrence of two important events, sufficiently illustrative of the genius and temper of our times. A European has succeeded in converting cotton into an explosive substance, which, in all probability, will supplant gunpowder in its various uses. This is an invention of great practical value; but in a scientific point of view, is only a splendid detail of chemistry, which in its turn may be traced to the formulas of Lord Bacon. A month or two since, a French mathematician might have been seen in the seclusion of his closet, closely engaged in combining certain disjointed letters and cabalistic signs according to the rules of his art. Having been silently occupied thus for some time, he at length announces, as the result of his curious and apparently senseless labors, that he has discovered, far off in space, another tributary, wheeling its immense proportions around the sun. Its distance from that Body he states to be so immense, that light, travelling for five hours, at the inconceivable rate of two hundred thousand miles in a second, would still be farther from the Planet than the Earth is from the Sun. For centuries Astronomers had been engaged in scrutinizing the heavens with their glasses without discovering this star, yet the certainty of his science and the tested accuracy of his operations, left no room for doubt upon the mind of the Frenchman. Another observation directed to the particular point which its discoverer assigned for its position on a given day