Sounds, as sweet as fancy's dream "Loved one! who will shelter thee, Soothe my sorrows all away. MAY DAY. C. M. A. "Oh! I am so glad, I am so glad!" exclaimed Lucy Ashly, a lovely, blooming girl, with great animation; "I am so glad to-morrow is the first of May!" "Indeed," said Harriet Love, the eldest of a little coterie of boarding misses, pettishly, I don't care about it-we shall have no coronation, and so I don't care. I wonder why Mr. Thornton didn't let us have one. You know how delightful it was last year. Mary Harris was Queen-how beautiful she looked, and I was one of the maids of honor." "Who besides?" inquired Lucy Ashly. "There was myself" "Ann Price, that died last winter?" said Lucy. "Oh, yes-but don't interrupt me. Jane Smith was five, Catherine Hope was six, Eudosia Fry seven, and I made eight." "Where did you have it ?" inquired Lucy. "Oh! in that delightful grove that overlooks the village, under those tall oaks that seem almost to reach the skies. We had a beautiful bower, covered with all kinds of flowers, for I believe Mrs. Home and Mrs. Wise sent every one in their garden-so did all the other ladies; and we went in procession with a band of music before us. Mamma said we looked so pretty as we wound around the hill-and we had such a long table, filled with every thing that was good. I thought 1 should never eat enough, and I carried home my bag full to little Bill and Sam.” "Well," said a little girl who had hitherto been silent, "I wish we could have a coronation. I do not care about eating, I am always too much pleased to think about it, and Mamma will never let me carry home any thing in my bag, but I love to see the company, and hear the fine music, and we always dress so pretty, you know." "Well," said Lucy, "if we can't have a coronation, we must have some fun." "I am sure,” said one of the girls, “we have no holiday to-morrow, so I must get my lesson. Hush talking, do hush girls, and let us get our lessons." With this, she put her hands on her ears, and waving to and fro, began loudly to con her morning's task. "Oh!" said Lucy after a pause, as if she had been pondering on some great and weighty matter, and with the vivacity of one who has suddenly hit on some new pleasure, "let us try our fortunes." "Oh, yes" said all, with rapturous delight, "do let us try our fortunes." 66 But, Lucy, how can we try them?" 'By taking a looking glass and holding it over the well. Ma says she tried hers when a girl and saw Pa in the glass.” "La me! I never heard of such a thing," exclaimed they. "Well I have, often enough," said Harriet Love, but here is Miss Julia-let us ask her to join us." At this time, a young lady entered the room. She was two or three years their senior, tall and graceful in her movements, and with a face of peculiar sweetness and expression. "Miss Julia, Miss "Oh!" said the little group laughing, "you have Julia," cried they vociferously, each trying to be counted yourself." "Well, I'll begin with Susan Jones." "How many were there ?" said Lucy Ashly. "There were eight, let me see; Susan Jones was one," at the same time pressing her thumb, successively, on each finger, with a corresponding nod of the head, "Caroline March was two, Helen McAllister was three, Ann Price was four" the first to speak, "Will you try your fortune tomorrow! Do, now-oh! please do, 'tis the first of May, and you can see who you are going to marry." "You silly things," said she, with a good humored smile, "let me go-you had better be getting your lessons;" and she essayed to pass on; but they continued with still greater pertinacity,"Oh, do! Miss Julia, please." Being unable to overcome their importunities, and anxious to gratify their childish whim, she tacitly consented by asking what was to be done. They were all in raptures at her good-natured compliance, and they kissed her repeatedly. "Now girls," said she, "you must go to bed. 1 Papa (their preceptor,) is quite unwell and says he must dispense with prayers. You must not make any noise as you pass his room-so good night," kissing each affectionately. As she retired, they bade her remember to get up very soon, as their success depended on their early rising. This is the morning of our life— But ere the Noon, or Evening sun, Whether of good or harm. She ceased-a solemn stillness pervaded the spot. Each took the glass in succession; some returned it with a gleam of satisfaction, while others looked indifferent, or disappointed. At length it came to Julia's turn. She held the mirror with a firm Those gay creatures were up with the dawn, grasp, and looked on its polished surface with great with the same buoyant spirits, as on the preceding intensity. She continued gazing longer, much lonnight. They dressed themselves quickly, in a tu-ger, than the rest, her color heightening to a beaumult of delightful anticipation, then gently tapped at Julia's door-"Miss Julia," said they softly, but eagerly," are you ready?" “Yes,” said she, at the same time unclosing the door. tiful glow. She suddenly became deadly pale. "Miss Julia, dear Miss Julia, what do you see?" exclaimed the astonished girls, in alarm and expectation-" do tell us what you see." She tremblingly handed the mirror to the one nearest her They silently descended the steps for fear of and silently and dejectedly walked away. Arrived waking those who slept. As they opened the at home, Fanny Thornton, her elder sister, made large folding doors, the air was fresh and balmy, some inquiries of the girls respecting their mornand touched the cheek with beauty's breath. The ing's adventure; then turning to Julia said with a early spring flowers were shedding their sweetest odors; the birds were making compensation for the long and dreary winter, and ushering in with their most melodious lays, this sweet month. May, beautiful May-how typical of youth! Just merging into life, when first weaving those fantasies of hope, those buds and blossoms of the heart, into every sweet and varied shape, little dreaming of the canker, that preys upon the tender germ, and blights the opening blossom. smile, "Well, Julia, I expect to hear something quite romantic from you-pray what did you see?" "Nothing," said Julia languidly, "nothing Fanny." "I know Miss Julia saw something," said Lucy Ashly, "she turned so pale." Fanny looked at her sister attentively, and perceived she was wan and agitated. She therefore forbore further remarks; but when at night she was alone with Julia, in their little sleeping apartments, she importuned her to tell her what she had seen. They pursued their way, blithe and gay as young "I know, dear Fanny, you will think me very fawns, laughing and jesting on their coming for- absurd, but nevertheless, I will tell you. I saw, tunes. At last, they reached the well, encom- dear sister, a grave-yes, an open grave :—and I passed by a few tall trees. They continued talk- know you will soon be alone, in this little room— ing-but somewhat less volubly, and drew closely we shall no more lie side by side. Yes, Fanny, around, their voices gradually subsiding to occa- you will soon be alone, in our dear little room; and sional whispers. Each sobered into seriousness-I," she said with a shudder, "will be in my little "Hush, girls, hush!" whispered Lucy Ashly, narrow home, no covering but the damp, cold earth, "speak not a word. Now form the circle, and I no shelter but the canopy of heaven. Say, Fanny, will act the Sybil." She left the spot a moment, when the moon shines sweetly, as it is now shibut quickly returned, bearing in her hand a branch, ning, on my lonely grave, say-will you not think which was to serve as a mimic wand. All was of me." now profoundly still. Lucy waving her wand, "Julia," said Fanny reproachfully, “don't talk walked slow and solemnly around the well seve- so. I am surprised that you should suffer such triral times. At length, in a low but impressive fles to weigh on your mind. It was, I am cervoice, she repeated the following lines, (still walk-tain, nothing more than an illusion of your too sening slowly around.) Sacred, sacred, be the well, And may we see, sitive imagination." "It may be so," said she dejectedly, "I have not been well lately. Although I am gay-sometimes too gay-I often think of dying. I seize each innocent pleasure with avidity. I love to visit my young friends; and oh! how dearly I love you all! but a cloud, a mist dims the future, that future which you, dear sister, think strewed with flowers.-I form no such anticipations." "Nonsense, Julia, nonsense;—it is all nonsense," | ing those gay dreams so natural in the spring time said Fanny with a gaiety she did not feel. "What of life. "Julia," said a lady who called shortly would Sinclair say to this? you know his visits are after her return, "will you walk, it is a charming intended for you, and we shall soon have a wed-evening, it is also the Sabbath, and I love on such ding. Let me see," said she laughingly, "when evenings, to visit the grave of my dear, my angel will it be?" child." "Never! never!" said Julia emphatically, "he may be yours, or Lizzy's, but never mine." "Well, well,” said Fanny with a yawn—" we'll say no more, I am very sleepy, so good night." The sisters were soon quietly slumbering, with brows as calm as the glassy lake untouched by the summer's breath. Julia awoke the next morning, cheerful as usual, and with the charming elasticity of youth, busied herself with her customary occupations. Oh! happy period! when the tear is soon chased by a smile, when the fountains of sorrow are quickly dried by the zephyrs of Hope; or when sunbeams soon break through the cloud, making all sunshine and gladness. One day, a few weeks after this, Julia was ing those sweet lines of Mrs. Dana's "Shed not a tear o'er your friend's early bier, "I too," said Julia, "love to walk there on the Sabbath, when the heart and affections seem subdued and refined by its holy calm, its consecrated stillness. All seems in unison: it is a melancholy pleasure to visit the mansions of the dead." While talking over the graves of those whom they had known, and sadly commenting on their fate, Julia complained of a headache. They returned, but Julia's indisposition increased. The next morning found her seriously ill; a physician was called in, but still she grew worse. A consultation of several eminent physicians was held, but still she was no better. A week passed and but little hope was entertained of her recovery; delising-rium ensued, and often she talked wildly and incohe rently, of the warning she had received on the first of May. She awoke from a pleasant sleep and seemed refreshed. "My dear child," said her mother, "I know you are better; I know you are, tell me my child, my angel, tell me you are better." "Yes, mother, I am better,-I have had such a sweet and pleasant dream—a dream of Heaven. Your Julia will be cold, cold, when yonder setting sun shall have risen again, and when it sets again, Fanny remarked a tear stealing down her fair and rounded cheek. Discovering that her sister had seen the emotion, Julia said smilingly, "you know, Fanny, I am going from home to-morrow, perhaps it will throw its farewell glance on my new made to stay a week or two. I can not help feeling a little sad when I think of leaving you, although I anticipate a great deal of pleasure.' 66 Yes," said Fanny, "I know you will enjoy your visit; the country is so beautiful at this season; and Betty Grafton will make your time so agreeable! I wish I was going with you." The next morning the carriage stood at the door. Julia kissed her family circle, bidding them a warm and affectionate adieu; she stept gaily in, bowing and smiling on the loved ones, until they were lost to sight. As she was farther and farther removed from the village, she threw off the shackles of morbid apathy-inhaling the morning breeze laden with the fragrance of many flowers, listening to the song of many birds, and marking the rich and varied landscape. She felt a renovated beingshe indeed felt the wild delight of a bird let loose. Her taste was decidedly rural, and as she alighted from the carriage, at Mr. Grafton's door, she exclaimed, with artless animation, " Oh! how I love, how I do love the country!" Time flew on angel's wings; she rode, she walked,-she laughed and sang with all her heart. How blithe, how merry was she! She returned to her home, redolent with health and joy, the gayest of the family group. The impression she had received on the first of May had entirely vanished, and she was unconsciously weav bed. Mother I shall sleep then-so sweetly,-I am tired now, dear mother, but then-I shall sleep so sweetly-sweetly." She closed her eyes and slept forever. Winter Brook, Tennessee. M. S. R. MAY DAY ADDRESSES. INTRODUCTION, By the 4th Maid of Honor. Crown'd with beauty gently cometh, On the sea-and on the plain; Queen of May! the elves decreed thee; Queen of May! we make thee known; Loyal ladies long to lead thee, Queen-like to thy mossy throne. First Maid of Honor. Seated in thy regal chair, With the warbling birds above thee; Blest with courtiers ev'ry where, Tried and true, that can but love thee; With the seal of royal-seeming, On thy brow of beauty beaming, Take thy sceptre, Queen of May; "Tis a wand of potent pow'r; Emblem of thy regal sway, Worthy of the golden hour. By thy garland's beauteous dye, Then, by all the hearts before thee, Queen's Address. Sisters, courtiers, subjects, how, How, shall I your love command; Tho' the crown is on my brow, Tho' the sceptre in my hand? Fain would I in welcome meeting, Give you all a Queen-like greeting; But the honor, and the favor, And the compliments you pay- Take my thankful thoughts away. Sisters, (thus I first address you,) Tho' thy kindly gift elates me, "Till that hour of trust and duty, "Till that summons comes to me; Tho' these forms of fairy beauty Well forbid a barsh decree; Yet, by all the love I bear you, Duty bids me not to spare you. Let no anxious thought be hereNot a sigh-not a tear Not a breath of breathing care- Courteous subjects,-one, and all, Putnam, Ohio, May, 11. THE FIRST SCHOOLMASTER! A LEGEND OF THE CENTAUR. nity to all the craft and brotherhood. The free- Far away on the hills of Thessaly dwelt this wondrous being. Tempe refreshed him in her grassy meadows, the Peneus slaked his thirst, and Ossa and Olympus echoed to his cheerful horn in Phyllirides Chiron."-Virg., Georg. III., 550. the chase, and his merry laugh over his wine cups No man likes to have his father ill-spoken of. with Pholus. Foremost in feats of strength, and It comes near home. His own honor is touched peerless in grace and beauty, (out on thee who by it. In like manner, to be thought a man of no couldst find it in thy heart to say si modo nature ancestors, a mere filius nullius, hath somewhat of formam concedimus illi,) and sought after by many disgrace in it. A good taster knows very well a fair-haired Hylonome, his rocky cave was ever that the clusters of this wine were sunned on the his unshared home, and wild wood sports his oceuhill sides of Madeira, and of that on the slopes of pation and delight. Nor might the youths, more the Carpathians: nay, a good taster most certainly than the maidens of Thessaly, win him to their knows that this cup hath its flavor from a northern companionship. The assemblies of mortals were exposure, and that from a southern; as the learned not honored with his presence, save only when he and nice Montanus could discern whether an oyster might find just fellowship with demigods and hehad grown near Circeii, or in the Lucrine lake.roes of celestial birth. Nursed in wild and rocky The grape smacks of the soil in which it grew. solitudes, and trained by want and danger, he grew So men buy a horse, not for his points only, but for into nobleness and strength. his pedigree. The winner of the palm at Elis Gladly would we tell all the story of this our comes not of the same stock with the Satureian great ancestor and pattern. But scanty and imnag. As a man may well take shame to himself perfect are the records of that rugged and solitary for the foul deed of his ancestors, so is he entitled life. In this was he a type of his most excellent to some share of the renown, and this too without followers, whose lives are passed in the quiet obreckoning the merit of the blood. Thus it is that men live before they are born, and have a patrimony in the past; as well as after they are dead, entailing a sad or a glorious inheritance on those who spring from them. And so, in all time, has it been declared, that noble birth is sponsor to no- Once, when were wedded heroic Peleus and ble doing. Antiquity every where affirms that gentle Thetis, who scorned not human nuptials, heroes and poets and the founders of common- the chivalry of Thessaly were there, from Phthiowealths are the offspring of the gods. Orpheus tis, Tempe, and the walls of Larissa and far Seyros; sprang from the loins of Apollo. Was not the silver- and the rude peasantry forsook the plough and the footed daughter of the sea proud of her boy, Achil- hook, to gaze on the splendors which that day came les? What but the maternal love of Venus guarded up to Pharsalia. There, in the mingled throng of Eneas through his years of wandering and peri- gods and demigods, came Chiron, as to no too lous wars? Even the little great have rendered lofty fellowship. Peneus, the river god, and foresthomage to this doctrine of heavenly birth, and the son of Olympias dared to claim descent from Ammonian Jove. Kindred to this relation of a parent to his children is that of the founder of an art, or a frater scurity of doing good and good deeds love the shade. Rarely did he leave his calm retreat and his favorite pursuits. Yet once and again we find him on gala days and feasts of solemn fitness, sharing the festivities of mingled gods and men. * Princeps e vertice Pelii Advenit Chiron portans silvestria dona. Quis permulsa domus jucundo risit odore. |