Locomotive, Volume 32, Number 7, Indianapolis, Marion County, 7 April 1855 — Page 1

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JOHN R. ELDER, Editor. 'The Chariots shall rage in the streets, they shall seem like torches, they shall run like the lightnings." Xihum,H, 4. ELDER & HA RSNESS, Publishers.

VOL. XXXII.

THE LOCOMOTIVE 3 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED EVERT SATURDAY , BY ',. ELDER & HARKNESS, At their Book and Job Printing Office, on Meridian Street Indianapolis, Ind., opposite the Foil Office. TERMS: One Dollara year. Twonty-flve Cents for throe months. Six copies to ono address for one year. Five Dollars; thirteen, copies one year forTen Dollars, Vf itviKi i i all CiSK.Q No paper will be sunt until paid for, and no paper wilt bo continued ufterthelhne paid forexpiros, unless tlio subscription is renewed. Look out run thi Cross All mall andcountysubscribers can kuow their lima is nut when they see a larre rosb marked on their paper, uud that is always the last paporsout uutllthe subscription is renewed. ... . ' ' terms or mntiiim: One Square, (8lincs,orlo.is, 250ms,) for 1 week " lt foreachsubaoquontinsurtlon, forthrue mnnihs, ' ": forsix months, , j.... (t for i.o yoMr, w ;i:i',itt itir:iliii,. .. . 0.50 . 0.85 . 3.0 . 5.(10 . H.flO for one year, with frequent chuuirus,. .12. U0 A smalt reduction mude on larger advertisements Cuts and Special Notices double the abovi rates. ipp Adt-ertitcmcnta mutt be Kandedin by Tkuriday of each week,orthey will bedef erred untilt he nextieeue. Printers Ink! WE huve Just rocotved, cliroct from the Manufactory o John G. Lijrhtborty, a fresh supply of Summer Ink, which will be sold in the following sized Itoga, mid at the fololwing prices: NEWS INK 23 Cents per : 12 fcs and kof?( $3.. "SO 21 ft, s and keg, - - - - - - 5.7.r 54 Its and k, - - - - - 14.23 Iu hali'burriila, of 100 fts, no churpo for kegs. NEWS INK NO. I 30 Cents per ft,: 21 ftsand kcjc,- - - - i;.80 1 54 fcSHndkeg, " - - $10.M 100 Jts (o charge for keg,) , 30.00 BOOK INK 40 Cents per ft,: 12&sandkoff, - - - $5.30 21 ft, und kog, - - - $8.00 FINE BOOK INK 50 Cents per ft: 21 fts and keg, $11.0q , FINE CARD INK: In land 2 cans, at $1.00 per ft. COLORED INKS : Red, plue, and Green, in half pound cans, at $1.50 percan. All orders accompanied with the cash, will be promptly attended to. Address, KhDKK & HAKKNKSH, , . Agents for Lightbody's Inks, Indianapolis, Ind. Stoves? Flow Ac. 5 Ac, JUST received a large and general assortment of Cooking and Parlor Stoves, which are unsurpassed by any in the market. Among our Cook Stoves may be found Pacific, Triumph, Buekevo Htate. Hay State, Empire State, Hoosier State, Quoen City, Prize Primuim, Ohio Premium, Oregon, California, Pheonix, and Cleveland Air Tight; also, a great variety, of Parlor Stoves and Coul Grates; also, a general assortment of Steel Plows, kept constantly for sale, waranted of the best quality. Tin-Ware constantly kept on hand, wholesale and retail. All kinds of Tin, Copper, and Shee ron work done to order. Those wanting anything in our lino, will do well to give us a call before purchasing elsewhere, at the sign of the Gilt Ball, south side of Washington Street, near the Masonic Hall. octl-y R. L. 6c A. W. McOUAT. GREAT itfAHUMS VAIlffK THE UDERS1GNED kes this method of iillini? tho atttMition of $v& the public to his large t& M''H V fMAKBLK. Haviiiff rffi 1 J d A i , .i" hast, wnere he nas been to all the different quarries and mills in New York and Vermont, and having takt- rtr-i ni' . -11 va en great pmns in snlectins: his Marble, he t lit not h si tut a in 1 t. : - .;'( saving that he has now ..jp on fiaiui mo largest if' and best assortm-iiit of Marble ever brought West of thu state of Vermont, and is daily receiving new supL plies. He most respectfully invites the public to call and examine his stock and work, as he is prepared to furnish anything in the Monument, Tomb, and Headstone line, that may be desired, on the most reasonable terms. He fuels assured that he can give perfect satisfaction in the finishing of his work as he has in his employ among the best of workmen from the most fashionable establishments in the eastern cities. Those who wish to perpetuate the memory of those who were near and dear to them, will find It to their interests to call at No. 07 Washington street, opposite A. Wallace's store, before purchasin'lsewhore. He would saynfr'the trade, that they can make ft to their interest tojyU and examine his stock, as he is prepared to wholesale ly f ll,at wil oe satisfactory. ATl "js sent by mail, or otherwise, from different portions of m "Lnu, for finished work, will receive prompt attention, WFrc work lorwarded on at the earnest opportunity, emember No. 67 Washington street, Indianapolis, Ind. nov4-6ra JOHN DUSTMAN. , EW ABKAnBEMIiNT TO TAKE EFFECT vilOSiBiY, .Inly 2t. IS-l-tCTT mmXXmmma INDIANAPOLIS AND CINCINNATI tjtV-mSr RAILROAD, Connecting with tho Ohio auU Mississippi U road, byiiefial Train. No detFiTOTfla on t i thin route bv waitlnor for Cither trains! i nrougn 10 uincinnau in it uonrs. The only direct route to Cincinnati, being 30 miles shorter and 11 hours quicker than any other route. Lightning Express 7Vatn leaves Union Depot at ll A. M., and arrives at Cincinnati at 3 P. M., only stopping at Shelbyville, Grecnsburgh and Lawrencolmrgh; dine at Shelbyville. Chicago Mail Train leaves at 4 P. M., aftr the arrival of the Chicago train and arrifcs at Cincinnati at 9fc P. M., supper at Greensburgh. Fare to Cincinnati, $3. 00- Baggage checked through. Through tickets can be procured at Union Depot, over this route to New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Pittsburgh, Columbus, O., and Wheeling, via the Little Miami Railroad. Passengers taking the 11 A. M. train, arrive in Cincinnati in time to take the- 5 P. M. trains for the-East. july29 , :r T. A. MORRIS, Freys't'."' , a ; . GREAT CEIVTUAIi AND 'EASTERN JIOUTE. INDIANA CENTRAL RAILAVAY. 1855. am Wj OPf .855. NEW .ARRANGEMENT. few Route to Cincinnati and Iu ton, folelntBiaand New York.. himbus, Cleveland JL'itiHburerh 1'ltiluOn and after Thursday, August 17, 1854, Passenger Trains will run as follows, Sundays excepted: . Two Trains daily, each way. ' . . , ' Morning Express leave Indianapolis at 5.45, A. M.' Passengers leaving in 5.45 A. M. train arrive in Cincinnati at 11.45 A. M., in Dayton at 10.40 A. M., in Columbus at 2.3U P. M., in Cleveland at fi. 45 P. M. ' Mail train leaves Indianapolis at 12 M. Passengersleaving in 13 M. train arrive in Cincinnati at C. 30 P.M., in Dayton in 5.00 P. M. Passengers for Columbus, Newark, and Zanesville,by taking the 12 M. train arrive in Dayton at 5.110; in Columbus at 9.45 P. M., being six hours in advance of all other Routes. Passengers taking 12 M. train arrive in Cincinnati at 6.30 P.M. Passengers leaving Indianapolis at 12 M. for Dayton, Columbus, Crestline, Pittsburg, Philadelphia, and, New York, arrte In Dayton at 5.00 P. M., in Columbus at 9.45 P. j, at Crestliffb 12 at night, in time to connect with the night train on Ohio and Pennsylvania Koud, for Pittsburg, Philadelphia, and N. York. No change of guago or ears to Dayton. ' Passengers save by this route 2H miles to Dayton, and 50 miles to Columbus, Pittsburg, or Wheeling, over any other Railroad route. - Through tickets can be procured at the office ,in tno Depot.' ' TQEastern Buggago Checked to Huffalo ; Pittsburg, Philadelphia and New'York Baggage to Pittsburg. - ' , JAMES M. SMITH, Supt.' , ' As regards Freight, inquire of Jan7 . W. a. BRADSHaW, Freight Agent., THE GREAT EASTERN ROUTE. O P 1855. INDIANAPOLIS, BFLLEFONTAINK . AND CLEVELAND RAILROAD. COXF.CTn(5 at misplace with trains from Lafayette, Tcrre Hante, Joffersonville, trad Mudiou. Passengers will lind this the cheapest, shortest, quickest and most comfortable route to Davton, Springfield, Urbanna, Bellefontaine, Columbus, Cleveland, Pittsburg, Dunkirk Buffalo, Albany, New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore.slnd Washington. Two Trains leave Indianapolis 'daily (Sundays excepted). 1st day Telegraph Express leaves the Union Depot at 6 A. M.; connect at Union with Train for Dayton and Cincinnati; at Bellefontaine with Train for Sandusky, Toledo, and Detroit; at (Jallion with Train for Columbus; and arrive in Cleveland at? same evening, in time to connect at Cleveland with the Lake Shore fVailrondjKxpreasTrain, connecting at Dunkirk and Buffalo with the day Express Train, and arrive in New York early same evening. Passengers by thistraiu breakfastbefore leaving Indianapolis. . 2d. Express Mail Train leavesthe Union Depot at 12.45 P. M making the way-connections arriving in Cleveland uext morning in time for the Express Trains for' Dunkirk, Buffalo and New York also for Pittsburg, Philadelphia and Baltimore Through Tickets can be procured at the office in the Depot. ' TTpPassengers for Columbus, by taking 6 A. Ai. train via. Bellefontaine, arrive at Columbus at 5 same afternoon. . FareThrough iiM.00 1. NOTTINGHAM, Superintendant, .. 2'iice nearthe Union Depot, Indianapolis 1853. - oct29-tf

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INDIANAPOLIS,

From the Journal of a Plain Woman. B T L LA FAHUAK, CHAPTER I. How slowly pass these dull days of childhood! 01), for a swifter rush of Time's pinions! Why should I not be happy as my sisters are? Ah, I have no friends save birds and stars. All the rich and beautiful ladies who call on mamma, caress my sisters but never notice me. And papa, and mother, and brother Arthur love them. Mamma kisses Athalie's white forehead, and looks tenderly into Carrie's bright, handsome blue eves: and papa buys them rich satin dresses, and Arthur brings his friends to admire them aad 1, slay alone, lunely and sad, and come creeping up to this old garret and weep as I listen to the moaning of the night winds, and watch the stars in the high, blue sky; 1 watch until I think those white clouds are angles drifting by, and then the fever fans down on my brow. I think, too, the stars smile most on the lonely; yet the love of objects without language cannot satisfy a yearning heart. Oh, why should, Carrie and Athalie forget that they have a sister Lyra? I cannot tell, only I have heard mamma 6ay that I am plain, frightfully plain. Oh, that these cloudy days would hasten on, that 1 may get out into the great world, and amid ils earnest strife forget this sorrowful childhood. CHAPTER II. I am sitting by this open garret-window as in summers ago. Standing on the wide slope of girlhood, and looking back; those dim, far away years are beautiful, bathed in the mellow light of memory, I am lonelier now than then, and looking backwards from this darkness those hours are straight. I am alone in the dim twilight, I hpar Athalie's gay laugh, and the rich music of Carrie's voice as she sits at the piano. Mamma, and papa, and Arthur are out on the piazza. . All gay, all happy, save plain Lyra in the garret. Papa seldom speaks to me, save to say, "Oh, Lyra! what a perfect fright you are!',' And mamma never caresses me or talks to me. , This morning I picked a japonica for my hair, and she pushed me from the mirror, and told me to go from the drawing-room. I have often heard Carrie and Athalie say, "Lyra can never go from home into the gay world. She would be stared at, she is 60 very plain." And t)ie other day I was in the library looking at the paintings, when Arthur heard the gay voices of some of his friends, and he said, kindly to be sure, "You had better go out, Lyra! My friends would be surprised to meet you here." So I came up here againP I thought- that pmwdm mentioned my name just now. Yes, they are talking about me., It is mamma s own voice that says, "1 wish she was 6hut up in some nunnery. . We never can do anything with her. All she cares for is brush, and paint, and canvass. I forbid her, but it does not signify. I am quite disheartened. She will never do to go into society. She is such an absolute fright, . I amquite ashamed to have her seen." ,' ' ' ,., Oh, it is cruel to hear those words from mamma's lip. . This is why no onejoves me. Well, I shall not stay here. T cannotI , I shall go away, where, I hardly care, for I never can find a home, with brothers and sisters in it who love me. , No one will miss me here. How happy they all are down there. Carrie and Athalie are riding away in a splendid carriage, to attend a brilliant festival in the lighted halls of the city." Oh, why did not God make me beautiful? , , ' I shall not stay at home. I, am Lyra Rivers still. . The patrician bloqd of the haughty llivers, flows in my veins, and I have all the family pride. I will mortify them no longer. CHAPTER III. I am very near the city this golden summer afternoon. I can see the dusu clouds of smoke and mist rolling over it. I cari hear the loud din, the confused jar. I can catch glimpses of the ifleamy water of the bay, and the lightning train of cars going into the city. 1 can hear the shrill whistle and the distant rumblinsr of coaches, and the puffVof the loaded steamboat. I can see the shapelwte mass of buildings, and the" tall spires and monuments. , - , I am almost there. Oh, how many long miles am I away from the grand, high old home of childhood! I wonder if my plain face and awkward figure is missed yet? Every person that I have met, stares at me as if 1 were.a ghost. I met a kind looking man and he looked at me pitlyfully; and as I passed on, I heard him say :roor gun ; i tear sue is crazy, wnat wild eyes she has." Two boys went by me, and one saidy-J'Lbok, Jim, there is a veritable spirit from Tophet," and he looked at me so sharp that' I went on faster, and the one that was with liim shouted; "Haste along you little hobgoblin!" And a lady met roe who said "I pitty a girl so painfully plain!" and a gay beautiful girl came along, who said '-'I wonder if the days of the witches have not returned." , . Sometimes I wish that I Was. quite, dead my plain features mouldering away into dustv But I passionately love the true and beautiful. . I could stay forever mid paintings and statuary. ' There in the creations of Raphael, and Angelo, and Claude Lorraine. . . I wonder if I shall find a home in this large city, a home from whence no one can take me back to my proud parents. But I must hasten on, for the shadows lengthen, and the sunshine is fading. How strange this is! can it be that this wanderer is Lyra Rivers. . ... i ." CHAPTER IV. In this dusky twilight I sit in an elegantly furnished loudoir which they have given me. When I came in the city I stopped at many mansions, but the servants all bade me begone. They wanted no such frightful faces as mine near them; so, I went on, very friendless and homeless, until I came here. I did not go in the kitchen, but through the courts -filled with gorgeous flowers, up the tfcoad marble steps, through the open mahogany doors, treading lightly on the velvet carpets, which were soft and rich like those at hoijie. A pale, sweet lady was sleeping on a brocade lounge; there was no one else in the apartment,

IND., SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 1855.

and 1 went and awoke her. As her eyes opened and rested on nie, she almost shrieked "Go out ofthehousel You are crazy!" But I sat down on the carpet and told her my past, and of the future which I had planned. .She pitied me and offered mo a home with her --and gave me the name of Mabel Liston. But she sighed as she gazed on my pale, plain face. Then her son a man high and beautiful as my own brother Arthur, came in the room and stared at me in astonishment, until his mother explained i't to him. Mrs. Corhwwell said she would furnish rne with a wardrobe immediately: and with her own lilly Hugerc, slw hr'ii'led t..wi.:th Jon heavy black hair from my brow, and wreathed it in massive braid3 around my head. Then I heard Charles Cornwell soliloquise "Not so goblinish after all." And the pale lady said with a smile "You are not so plain after all; you have a full, classic forehead, and glorious dark eyes." I smiled with gladness until I caught a faint whisper from Charles; "But, mother, only think of those plain, pale features oh, 60 shockingly plain. I shall dread introducing her as my cousin she will be so stared at. And I never can endure taking her to the opera." Oh, how the hot blood rushed to my face, and as Charles left the room I took my white sun-bonnet and turned to the door to wander on again. But Mrs. Cornwell drew me back, and whispered, "Never mind if you are plain, Mable. Truth and genius will make you beautiful. And, then she led me up to this rich room so filled with paintings and statuary. And this is the home which I have found beneath a stranger's roof. CHAPTER V. My music master and painting teacher have just gone, and I sit hern in this spacious library, which they have appropriated to tny use. Around me is all which the mind craves for of knowledge; paintings robed'!' waftn mellow covers, lean against the wall; from every nich gleam' out marble statutes pale, beautiful and life-like. Before me lies my canvass and delicate brushes and color boxes. My masters say that I already excel that I must commence a master-piece for the exhibition. J will do it. Mine shall be a drama picture, which shall startle many and bring the memory of Lyra Rivers to some. Will they who look upon my plain face in those pictures murmur ns they do now? Ah, I must needs change from impulsive, wayward girlhood into the dignity of womanhood. I must cultivate self-possession and calmness. I remember that Mrs. Cornwell said "Gracefulness and an easy dignified address, will conceal plainness, taking thje place of beauty with a greater charm." One ordeal is pujmed. . 1 have, been presented to Mrs. Cornwall's frinds. How thrj' stmvd at mc, yot in the character of Mrs. Corn well's niece, they were forced to treat me deferentially. Two or three times as fashionable young ladies were announced, I saw Charles color. But when he presented me as his.cflu.sin, I was very calm and firm. I hear! one of the hfclies say to her friend in the hall "Were it not for her tine eyes, Miss Liston would be positively ugly.' The Cornwells are very handsome, and I never saw any of their friends 'who resembled Miss Liston. I pity Charlie, if he has to escort her, round the city." As I watch Charles, I see that he really dreads taking me into company, and I will avoid all opportunity 'of obliging him to do so disagreeable a task. But yet how good, and noble, and beautiful he is. The reality of the ideal lover of whom I have ever dreamed. But what a phantasy is this?jTTJush! my weak, girlish heart? Be thou strong "!nid firm! Chain thy gushing impulses! Let a remembrance of the plain face above thee, hush thee; wake thy airy dreams. . -r CHAPTER VI. Another severe ordeal is passed. I have been to the opera with liim, and I have seen them. As I went ifijjan Jiundred opera glasses were levelled at;!ne at my plain features, probably. Fortunately, Charles had selected a private box; and through all that evening I sat with him alone. He was silent and abstracted, scarcely speaking to me. In the dress circle I saw mamma, and papa, and Arthur, and Carrie, and Athalie, all in mourning for me probably for the unloved one of the household the uncherished and neglectea. xnev nine areamea mat i was so near them. They did not see me, and if they had, they would not have recognized me in that magnificent costume of rose satin, with those pearl wreaths twined id my braided, black hair; They would not have thought of their lost Lyra, of the neglected daughter, the unloved sister, who used to stay away from her father's parlor alone, lonely and unmissed. Ail through the long bnl liant passages of "Norma," I sat and watched them. Papa and Arthur were somewhat sub dued, but mamma, and Carrie, and Athalie were gay as ever. While at the opera I heard a group speaking of the exhibition, that a lady was painting a drama-picture for the gallery a six-scened picture on separate ' panhels. They did not know the subject,' neither the lady artists name she was some one staying in the city they believed,; But hush, I hear foot -steps; it is Mrs. Cornwell. . She has brought me the evening paper, pointing me, to an advertisement. Let me read it: "Information wanted of Lyra Rivers, daughter of Leon Rivers,1 of B k n. She is tall and slender, very pale, .dark, eyes and. black . hair; very- plain looking, about .eighteen years of age. When she left Lome, she was dressed in green calico. Any information relating to her will be thankfully received by her afflicted father Leon Rivers." . Ah, advertising for one they never noticed when with them, save by a frown and pettish word; Well, I am safe as to detection. No one will dream that the plain lost Lyra Rivers, and the fashionably dressed Mabel Liston, are one and the same. . , , , . .. A ! CHAPTER Vir. My pictures are all finished. "The Neglected Child," "The Star Gazer," "The Scorned," and "The Welcome to the Stranger's House," all finished and in the gallery, with the announcement that on the next day the last one of the Series will be exhibited. Express tickets have been sent to the Rivers' family, and they will not

fail of coming. Ah, my aristocratic parents, my haughty sisters, my proud brother, what a lesson you shall learn. CHAPTER VIII. I have seen them; in a curtained recess near my picture, I have sat with Charles all this long summer day watching the groups in the gallery. My drama picture was the star, Strangers gath

ered soonest around it, and lingered latest there. H Late in the afLernoon I saw a group dressed in black enter. It was the llivers' family. ! "Here, Mr. Rivers," said a proud commandinglooking man, "come this way, here is the ctcf d ouvre: And a murmur of "s'.rauge likenesses" "What does this mean" "What 1 are the Rivers' family represented in the pictures for," they pressed on towards the paintings. A moment and their faces blanched. Athalie swooned quite away, and mamma's eyes were wet, and Arthur trembled like an Aspen; and with pale lips, Carrie whispered, "It is papa; Lyra is there; it'is mamma pushing her from the mirror, when she is arranging the japonica in her hair; it is Lyra in the garret room gazing at the stars. It is Lyra wandering the dusty streets leading to the city. It is my sister whom those rude women are repulsing from that basement. It is Lyra bending over the sleeping ladv in that rich room. It is all Lyra " and Carrie's face was deadly pale. 1 ' Then I faintly heard papa say "Yes, these pictures are but life histories of our lost Lyra; poor neglected girl, where art thou?" Many saw , the agitation of that group, but comprehended not. Then the proud man who had spoken first, said "The drama is not' yet finished, Col. Rivers, there is a picture scene for to-morrow. It is called , "The Surprise." , That group grew paler yet, and Arthur murmured "Oh, to find my lost sister. The future should repay her the past." Oh, how I yearned to throw my arms around that saddened, repentant group, find forgive them; but my triumph was not yet perfect. As - they passed on,, a coterie of fashionable ladies paused before my pictures, and I heard many say "How nearly that girl is like Mrs. Cornell's niece Mable Liston." And another said, "This surely is afac similie of Mrs. Corn well's sitting-room; and that lady lying on the lounge is surely Mrs. Cornwell. How very mysterious these pictures are !" ' ' ' CHAPTER IX. ' ' ' He has gone; and ' I am sitting in the soft, sweet starlight, with my heart filled with earnest thanksgiving for this sudden joy. No more tears (or the gloomy past over which no Hope Star gleamed, no ray of love-light shone. No matter now for thin niiv3ttM. uiii,- o 1 . . 1. o Om,, well loves me. He told me to-night that Genius and Truth had shed a magic lustre upon my face, making it beautiful to him. Another week and I shall be his happy bride. Childhood and girlhood lit up the splendor of my dawning womanhood. . .- , CHAPTER X. , , Eve Once more. Loved ones are lightly slum bering near me, mv own sister Athelia sleeps on a couch beside me. But I, happy girl, cannot sleep. ' This morning, 1 stood in that high, wide picture gallery, leaning against a mar-( bie pillar, motionless as a statue, facing my cov ered pictures. At last, an earnest group passed before me and paused before my pictures, which Uharles had ordered not to be uncovered, until Mr. Rivers' family came. ' They paused, and the last picture was unveiled. They were penciled there, as standing before a picture in the loftv gallery and in the foreground stood their lost Lyra, leaning against a marble pillar. , In a moment, Arthur comprehended the scene, and he turned around; as he did so, my veil and shawl were thrown back, and I was clasped in my brother's arms; and "Lyra our loved, lost Lyra," was all the murmur that I heard from those dear household lips. The lost was found. and in the jubilee they forgot my cold plain face. And at night as we all sat in Mrs. Cornwell's spacious parlors, I told them all, and they! love me now. There is a murmur of astonishment all over the city, as they learn the history of the Arusi viiri who painted tnat six-act picture. ' ) ' ; CHAPTER XI. Once more, I am in my own home in B , the beautiful home, of my lonely childhood. What matters my plain face now? Oh sad and friendless child 1 Oh, loved, flattered and caressed woman. Canst thou yet solve the- problem of Life; yet read the enigma of Being? Happy Lyra Cornwell ! . . , As I write in my journal, mv proud, hand some husband is bending over me, and his warm lips are pressed lovingly against my plain face. Oh, trembling heart, that thou shouldst win the guerdon of love!, -, ; ' With the snowy moonlight flooding m thro these bay windows, as of yore it fell upon me, loneiy and sad, Dy the garret window 1 muse; and in this beautiful existence, my far-away childhood, my wounded sensitiveness, .my deep hatred ot my plain face, my strong, vain yearn ing to be loved, my repulsed trust, my bitter ag ony, are to me, as the written phases of a stran gerslife chapters from a dim, dusty romance faint glimpses of an old dream half forgotten memories of tales and legends heard in the years ago. . THE BIRDS OF SPRING. BT WASHINGTON IRVING. My quiet residence in the- country, aloof from fashion, politics, and the money market, leaves me rather at a loss for occupation, and drives me occasionally to the study of nature, and other low pursuits. Having lew neighbors, also, on whom to keep a watch and exercise my habits of observation, I am fain to amuse myself with prying into the domestic concerns and peculiarties of the animals around me ; and, during the present season, have derived considerable entertainment from certain social little birds, almost the only visiters we have, during the early part of the year. Those who have passed the winter in the country, are sensible of the delightful influences that

NO -7.

accompany the earliest indications of spring ; and of these, none are more delightful than the first notes of the birds. There is one modest little sad-colored bird, much resembling a wren, which came about the house just on the skirts of winter, when not a blade of grass was to be seen, and when a few prematurely warm days had given a flattering foretaste of soft weather. He sang early in the dawning, long before sunrise, and late in the evening, just before the closing in of night, his matin and his vasper hymns. It is true, he sang occasionally throughout the day ; but at these still hours, his song was more remarked. He sat on a leafless tree, just before tho window, and warble'l forth his notes, few and simple, but singularly sweet, with something of a plaintive tone, that heightened their effect. The first morning he was heard, was a joyous one among the young folks of my household. The long, death-like, sleep of winter was at an end ; nature was once more awakening ; they now promised themselves the immediate appearance of buds and blossoms. I was reminded of the tempest-tossed crew of Columbus, when, after their long dubious voyage, the field-birds came singing round the ship, though still far at sea, rejoicing them with the belief of the immediate proximity of land. A sharp return of winter almost silenced my little songster, and dashed the hilarity of the household ; yet still he poured forth now and then, a few plaintive notes, between the frosty pipings of the breeze, like gleams of sunshine between wintry clouds. I have consulted my book of ornithology in vain, to find out the name of this kindly little bird, who certainly deserves honor and favor far beyond his modest pretentions. He comes like the lowly violet, the most unpretending, but welcoraest of flowers, breathing the sweet promise of the early year. Another of our feathered visitors, who follows close upon the steps of winter, is the Pe-wit, or Pc-wee, or Phcebe-bird ; for he is called by each of these namesfrom a fancied resemblance of the sound of his monotonous note. He is a sociable little bing, and seeks the habitation of man. A pair of them have built beneath my porch, and have reared several broods there, for two years past their nest being never disturbed. They arrive early in the spring, just when the crocus and the snow-drop begin to peep forth. Their first chirp spreads gladness through the house. "The Phoebe-birds have come ! " is heard on all sides; they are welcomed back like members of the family ; and speculations are made upon where they have been, and what countries they have seen, during their long absence. Their arrival is the more cheering, as it is pronounced, by the old weather-wise people of the country, the sure sign that the severe frosts are at an end, and that the garuener may jcsuujc tiij lauois win. commence. , About this time,, too, arrives the blue-bird, so poetically yet truly described by Wilson. His appearance gladdens the whole landscape. You hear his soft warble in every field. He sociably approaches your habitation, and takes up his residence in your vicinity. , ., The happiest bird of our spring, however, and one that rivals the European lark in my estimation, is the Boblincon, or Boblink, as he is commonly called. He arrives at that choice portion of our year, which, in this latitude, answers to the description of the month of May, so often given by the poets. With us, it begins about the middle of May, and lasts until nearly the middle of June. Earlier than this, winter is apt to return on its traces, and to blight the opening beauties of the year ; and later than this, begin the parcht ing," and panting,' and dissolving heats of summer. But in this genial interval, nature is. in all her freshness and fragrance : "The rains are over and gone, the flowers appear upon the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land." ' The trees are now in their fullest foliage and brightest verdure; the woods are gay with the clustered flowers of the laurel ; the air is perfumed by the sweet-briar and the wild-rose ; the meadows are enamelled with clover-blossoms ; while the young apple, the peach, and the plum, begin to swell, and the. cherry to glow, among the green leaves. This is the chosen season of the revelry of the Boblink. He comes amidst the pomp and fragrance of the season ; his life seems all sensibility and enjoyment, all song and sunshine. He is to be found in the soft bosoms of the freshest and sweetest of meadows ; and is most in song when the clover is in blossom. He perches on the topmost twig of a tree, or on some long flaunting weed, and as he rises and sinks with the breeze, pours forth a succession of rich tinkling notes ; crowding one upon another, like the out-pouring melody of the sky-lark, and possessing the same rapturous character. Sometimes he pitches from the summit of a tree, begins his song as soon as he gets upon the wing, and flutters tremulously down to the earth, as if overcome with ecstacy at his own music. Sometimes he is in pursuit of his paramour ; always in full song, as if he would win her by, his melody; and always with the same appearance of intoxication and delight. Of all the birds of our groves and meadows, the Boblink was the envy of my boyhood. He crossed my path in the sweetest weather, and the sweetest season of the year, when all nature called to the fields, and the rural feeling throbbed in every bosom ; but when I, luckless urchin ! was doomed to be mewed up, during the livelong day, in that purgatory of boyhood, a school-room. It seemed as if the little varlet mocked at me, as he flew by in full song, and saught to taunt me with his "happier lot. Oh, how I envied him ! No lessons, no task, no hateful school ; nothing but holiday, frolic, green fields, and fine weather. Had I been then more versed in poetry, I might have addressed him in the words of Logan to the cuckoo : Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, ,-, Thy sky is ever clear; : . . Thou hast no sorrow in thy note, ; . No winter in thy year. , . ' . j ' 1 Oh! could 1 fly, I'd fly with thee; ' , We'd make, on joyful winfc. Our annual visit round the irlobe, Companions of the Spring I ., ... , Further observation and experience have given me a different idea of this little feathered voluptuary, which I will venture to impart, for the benefit of my school-boy readers, who may regard him with the same unqualified envy and admiration which I once indulged. - I have shown