movement, however, came the full development of the powerful spell and dreadful mystery before her. As her feet receded, though but a single pace, to the tree against which she now rested, the audibly articulated ring, like that of a watch when wound up with the verge broken, announced the nature of that splendid yet dangerous presence, in the form of the monstrous rattlesnake, now but a few feet before her, lying coiled at the bottom of a beautiful shrub, with which, to her dreaming eye, many of its own glorious hues had been associated. She was conscious enough to discriminate and to perceive, but terror had denied her the strength necessary to fly from her dreadful enemy. There still the eye glared beautifully bright and piercing upon her own; and, seemingly in a spirit of sport, he slowly unwound himself from his coil, then immediately, the next moment again gathered himself into its muscular masses the rattle still slightly ringing at intervals, and giving forth that paralyzing sound, which, once heard, is remembered for ever. The reptile all this while appeared to be conscious of, and to sport with, while seeking to excite her terrors. Now, with its flat head, distended mouth, and curving neck, would it dart forward its long form toward her; its fatal teeth, unfolding on either side of its jaws, seeming to threaten her with instantaneous death, while its powerful eye shot forth glances of that fatal power of fascination, malignantly bright, which, by paralyzing with a novel form of terror and of beauty, may readily account for the spell it possesses of binding the feet of the timid, and denying to fear even the privilege of flight. Then, the next moment, recovering quickly, it would resume its folds, and with arching neck, which now glittered like a bar of brazed copper, and fixed eye, continue, calmly as it were, to contemplate the victim of its secreted venom-the pendulous rattle still ringing the death-note, as if to prepare the conscious mind for the fate which is at hand. Its various folds were now complete the coil forming a series of knots the muscles, now and then, rising rigidly into a hill, now corded down by the pressure of another of its folds into a valley. These suddenly unclasping, in the general effort to strike its enemy, give it that degree of impetus which enables it to make its stroke as fatal, at the full extent of its own length, as when, suddenly invaded, its head is simply elevated and the blow given.

"The glance of Bess Matthews at this moment upon her enemy, assured her that the sport of the deadly reptile was about to cease. She could not now mistake the fearful expression of his eye. She strove to scream, but her voice died away in her throat. Her lips were sealed-she sought to fly, but her limbs were palsied-she had nothing left of life but its consciousness; and in despair of escape, with a single scream, forced from her by the accumulated agony, she sunk down upon the grass before her enemy-her eyes, however, still open, and still looking upon those which he directed for ever upon them. She saw him approach-now advancing, now receding-now swelling in every part with something of anger, while his neck was arched beautifully, like that of a wild horse under the curb; until, at length, tired as it were of play, like the cat with its victim, she saw the neck growing larger, and becoming completely bronzed when about to strike-the huge jaws unclosing almost directly above her, the long tubulated fang, charged with venom, protruding from the cavernous mouthand she saw no more! Insensibility came to her aid, and she lay almost lifeless under the very folds of the monster. In that moment the copse parted, and an arrow, piercing him through and through the neck, bore his head forward to the ground, alongside of the maiden, while his spiral extremities, now unfolding in his own agony, were actually, in part, resting upon her person. The arrow came from the fugitive Occonnestoga, who had fortunately reached the spot, in season, on his way to the Block-house. He rushed from the copse, as the snake fell, and, with a stick, fearlessly approached him where he lay writhing upon the grass. Seeing him advance, the courageous reptile made an effort to regain his coil, while shaking the fearful rattle violently at every evolution which he took for that purpose; but the arrow, completely passing through his neck, opposed an unyielding obstacle to the endeavour; and finding it hopeless, and seeing the new enemy about to assault him, with something of the spirit of the white man under like circumstances, he turned recklessly round, and striking his charged fangs, so that they were riveted in the wound they made, into a susceptible part of his own body, he threw himself over upon his back with a single convulsion, and, a moment after, lay dead upon the person of the maiden."

THE DISGUISED LOVER.

A SKETCH FROM LIFE.

My friend Tom has a natural affection for dirt, or rather dirt has a natural affection for Tom. It is to him what gold was to Midas; whatever he touches turns to dirt. No matter how white the cravat-no matter how immaculate the vest, the moment that it comes within the sphere of Tom's influence, its white ness is gone; it is immaculate no longer. Dogs, sweeps, and lamplighters, never pass him without leaving upon his dress unequivocal marks of their presence. Once, and only once, I saw him cross the street without encountering the wheels of a carriage. I opened my mouth to congratulate him, and before I could utter one word, it was filled with mud. The careless blockhead lay at my feet, full length in the gutter. At my earnest solicitation, he once purchased a suit of precisely mud colour. It was a capital idea. He crossed the street three times; he walked half a mile, and returned, in appearance, at least, unscathed. The thing was unprecedented. True, he was welcomed by the affectionate caresses of a dog that had been enjoying the coolness of a neighbouring horse-pond; true, he received a shower-bath from the wheels of an omnibus. But to plaster mud on Tom's new coat, was "to gild refined gold-to paint the lily." "Tom will be a neat man yet," I said, as I witnessed the success of my plan.

In about half an hour, it was my fate to meet a gentleman with seven stripes of green paint on his back-it was my friend Tom; he had been leaning on some newly painted window-blinds.

His shoeblack declares that "he can't see no use in blacking his boots when they never remain black;" and his washerwoman, with a very proper regard for her own reputation, has been compelled to discard him, not from any ill-will, but, as she declared with uplifted hands, "if any one should ask me if I washed Mr. Smith's clothes, what could I tell them ?" But there were very few things in this world with which Tom could have more easily dispensed, than the services of his washerwoman.

Having no other amusement, one morning, I strolled over to Tom's rooms. As I ascended the stairs, I heard his voice in a very decided tone. "But it must be done, and so there is an end to it." "Really," was the reply, "any thing

within the limits of possibility, but, to inake a coat in ten hours-I will promise anything in the world, but I really fear I shall be unable to perform."

"If double your price would be any object—

"Certainly, sir, if you insist upon it; certainly. I will put every man in my shop upon it; it shall be done in time. Good morning, sir."

The door opened, and a fellow with shears and measures passed out. What could Tom be doing with a tailor?

"Just the man I wanted to see," he exclaimed. "I require your advice upon a very important affair; which of these cravats do you think most becoming?" and he spread before me some half dozen, of every hue and fashion.

"Now what in the name of all that is wonderful does this mean, Tom? A fancy ball, is it? You have chosen an excellent disguise; your nearest friends will never know you. But you cannot support the character; if you had taken that of a chimney-sweep, now; but that would have been too natural. Tell me truly, Tom, what does all this mean?"

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Why, the fact is, Frank," passing a hand through his hair, redolent of macassar, "I have concluded-I think I shall be a little more neat in future. You, doubtless, remember the good advice you gave me some time since; it has had an excellent effect, I assure you."

Now it so happened, that of all the good advice I had ever given Tom, this was the very first instance in which he had seen fit to follow it. So I could not attribute the metamorphosis of my friend to my eloquence. Who but a woman ever changed a sloven to a fop?

"Pray, where are you going this evening," I continued, "that you must have a new coat so suddenly ?"

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Going? nowhere, in particular. I had, indeed, some idea of calling on my old friend, Mr. Murray; no harm in that, I hope."

Conviction began to flash upon me. "Your old friend, Mr. Murray ;-and his young niece, Miss Julia, has no share in your visit, I suppose? I heard that she arrived in town last night."

Now, upon my word, Frank, you mistake me entirely. I did not know that she was in town last night-when I-that is, when I-I did not know any. thing about it."

"And so you were there last night, too! Really, this is getting along bravely."

"Why, the fact is, Frank, you must

know everything. I called last evening to see Murray on some business, about that real estate, you know. I had no more idea of meeting a woman than a boa-constrictor-my beard was three days old, my collar ditto-and the rest of my dress in excellent keeping. I became engaged in conversation, and some how or other I forgot all about the real estate."

"And so you are going again tonight-and that is the secret of your new coat ?"

"By no means; I wanted a new coat, and tailors are always so long, you know. Do you think blue will become me? Blue is her favourite-that is-I mean blue

THOUGHTS AND MAXIMS.

MADAME DE STAEL has well observed, that men collected in a public assembly, and debating upon great questions of public interest, generally end in electri

"The fact is, Frank,-take another glass of this wine the fact is good wine, isn't it? been two voyages to the Indies—the fact is, I suppose-I rather fancy-I am a little in love. Try some of that sherry. What are the symptoms, Frank-a queer feeling about the heart, and something which drives the blood through one like lightning?

"Exactly! I believe I have seen Julia, short and chubby, isn't she-with red hair, and a little squint-eyed?

'Frank, I never did knock you down, though I have been tempted to do so a great many times; but, if you don't stop that nonsense, I will, "

"Quite valiant in defence of your ladye-love. Well, Tom, I will confess that she is a lovely girl, and to-morrow I will come and learn your success. So, good morning."

"Well, Tom, what success?" "Would you believe it! she did not recognise me."

"Not recognise you!"

"No. You know what a quiz that Murray is. As soon as he saw me enter, dressed in such style, he came up, shook hands with me, and without giving me a chance to say one word, introduced me to Julia, as Mr. Frederick Somebody. And would you believe it, the little witch did not know me. I think I should not forget her so easily. Nor was that all. Murray said something about the fellow who called there the previous evening a country cousin, he said, clear enough, but an incorrigible sloven. And Julia said, he pressed like a barbarian-just think of that Frank, a barbarian! She shall pay for that yet. Such eyes-and she steps like a queen. Well, Frank, a clean

Maria Leczinska (queen of Louis the Fifteenth, and daughter of Stanislaus Sobieski, the dethroned king of Poland) frequently remarked, that the mercy of kings consisted in their justice, but that the justice of queens was more frequently found in being merciful.

Those who reduce everything to the strictness of analysis resemble chemists, who destroy the splendour and the perfume of flowers, to distinguish their nature, character, and qualities.

A wise man living in a country in a state of revolution, should imitate the traveller who, in passing through a forest infested with robbers, makes as little noise as possible.

The Emperor Napoleon often remarked, that true wealth does not consist in the possession of gold and silver, but in the judicious use made of them.

The English language expresses the Deity more appropriately than any other for God is the contraction of the Saxon good.

Every adjuration of love, every oath of fondness, always contains this mental reservation-"so long as you are what you now are."

True philosophy can discern nothing else in a great many words and names but the letters of the alphabet which compose them.

An active and faithful memory doubles life; for it brings a man again upon its stage with all those who have made their exits.

When a personage becomes formidable to his competitors, or subordinates, they generally seek to deceive or destroy him.

A head properly constituted, can accommodate itself to whatever pillows the vicissitudes of fortune may place under it.

Fools line the hedges which bound the road of life; what can the wise man do but smile as he passes along it?

To do good to our enemies, is to resemble the incense whose aroma perfumes the fire by which it is consumed.

The apostles of error are never so dangerous as when they appear in the guise of gray-headed old men.

In the conception of Mahomet's paradise, there is no distinction between a perfect woman and an angel.

Men are like weathercocks, which are never constant or fixed, but when they are worn out or rusty.

If you have received an injury from any one, wash it out, not in blood, but in the waters of Lethe.

Elevated posts in governments are like steep rocks, only accessible to eagles and to reptiles.

To act upon a determination made in anger, is like embarking in a vessel during a storm.

To speak harshly to a person of sensibility, is like striking a harpsichord with your fists.

Religion and medicine are not responsible for the faults and mistakes of their doctors.

Ink is a caustic which sometimes burns the fingers of those who make use of it.

An indiscreet person is like an unsealed letter, which everybody can pe

verses and the escudo, who came up to her, saying, "Ha, Preciosa, I am happy to see you; did you read the verses which I gave you the other day ?"

"Before I answer you one word," returned Preciosa, "I must conjure you, by all that is most dear to you, to tell me one truth."

"That," said the page, "is an adjuration which I can by no meaus resist, even though to tell it should cost me my life."

"Then what I want to ask you," said Preciosa, " is, whether you are peradventure a poet."

"If I be a poet," answered the page, it must necessarily be peradventure. But you must know, Preciosa, that this name of poet is merited by very few so am I not a poet, but one who have a liking for poetry; and, for so much as I have occasion for, I do not go and solicit verses from another hand; those which I gave you are my own, and those which I now give you also, but I am not therefore a poet, and God forbid that I should be one."

"Is it such a bad thing to be a poet?" asked Preciosa.

"It is not a bad thing,"replied the page, "but I do not think it a very good thing to be a poet, and that only. Poetry should be used like a precious jewel, whose owner does not wear it every day, nor shew it to every one, nor at every step, but only at proper times and on proper occasions. Poetry is as a beautiful damsel, chaste, modest, prudent, intelligent, and retired, confining herself within the limits of the strictest discretion. is a lover of solitude,-of verdant fields, and murmuring streams, of soothing shades, and gladsome flowers, and there she affords delight and instruction to all who are indulged with her converse."

She

"But I have also heard," said Preciosa, "that she is very poor, and even somewhat of a mendicant."

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"Rather the contrary," returned the page; every poet may be said to be rich, since they all live contented with their condition, a philosophy to which few men attain; but, Preciosa, permit me to ask what induced you to put this question to me?"

"I did so," answered she, "because, as I consider all, or the greater number of poets to be poor, I was astonished at the gold escudo, which I found enclosed in your couplets; but now that I know you are not a poet, but only an amateur in poetry, it may be that you are rich; although I doubt it, because this habit

of rhyming must lead you to squander whatever substance you possess ; for they say that no poet is capable either of getting that which he has not, or keeping that which he has."

"But I," replied the page, "am not of that number-I make verses; and yet I am neither rich nor poor; but without feeling it, or grudging it as the Genoese do their dinners, I can very well give away an escudo or two when I please. My sweet Preciosa, take this second escudo which it contains, without staying to consider whether I am a poet or not. I would only have you consider and believe, that he who gives you this would gladly bestow on you, if he had it, the wealth of Midas."

So saying, he gave her a paper; and feeling that there was an escudo within it, Preciosa said, "This paper should live many years, for it has two souls within it; one, that of the escudo, and the other that of the verses, which are always full of souls and hearts; but you must know, master page, that I don't want so many souls; and if you don't take out one of them, you need not expect me to receive the other. I wish to know you only as a poet, and not as a giver of money, and so we shall be longer friends, since you may more easily be some day at a loss for an escudo than for the composition of a song."

"Well, then," replied the page, "since Preciosa will have me to be poor, let her not refuse the soul which in this paper I send her, and let her give me back the escudo; which, if her hand but touch it, I will keep as a precious relic as long as I live." Preciosa returned the escudo, but kept the paper; which, however, she would not read in the street. The page took his leave, and went away with great satisfaction, believing that Preciosa was already conquered, as she had spoken to him with such affability.

And her attention being occupied by finding out the house of Don Juan's father, she would not stop to dance anywhere on the way, so that she soon found herself in the street in which it stood, and which was very well known to her. Having gone about half way along it, she looked up at the gilt iron railing of a balcony, and saw in it a gentleman of about fifty years of age, of venerable appearance, with a red cross suspended on his breast; and scarcely had he observed the gipsy girl, before he said, "Come up hither girls, and we will give you alms."

These words brought to the balcony three other gentlemen, one of whom was the enamoured Don Juan, who, when he beheld Preciosa, was so agitated that he turned pale and was almost ready to swoon. The gipsies all went up, except the old one, who remained below, to inquire among the servants about Don Juan.

When the gipsy girls entered the apartment, the old gentleman was saying to the others, "This is undoubtedly the beautiful gipsy girl who is going about Madrid."

"It is," replied Don Juan, "and certainly she is the most lovely creature that ever was seen.'

"So they say," interrupted Preciosa. "I heard it all as I was coming; but, indeed, they must be overrating her beauty, at least one half. Pretty well I do think she is, but as for her being as beautiful as they say, I don't believe it."

"By the life of my boy Don Juan," said the old gentleman, "you are even more beautiful than they say, fair gipsy."

"And where is your boy, Don Juan ?” asked Preciosa.

"This spark who is by your side," answered the old gentleman.

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Indeed, Sir," said Preciosa, "I really thought you were protesting by some child of two years old; but what an infant is this, and what a pretty plaything he wears upon his breast! I declare he might be already married; and I judge from some lines on his forehead, that it will not be three years before he is so, and much to his liking, unless he should in the mean time either lose or change it."

"Oh, oh," said one of the gentlemen, "does the little gipsy understand lines in the forehead!"

The three gipsy girls who accompanied Preciosa, had now got together in one corner of the room, and putting their lips close together that they might not be overheard, Christina, with whom the reader is already acquainted, said to the others, "Girls, this is the young gentleman, who this morning gave us the three eight-real pieces."

"So it is," returned they, "but let us not mention it, nor say anything to him, unless he mentions it to us: we don't know but he may wish to conceal it."

While these three were thus talking, Preciosa said, in answer to the gentleman who had noticed her powers of divination,-" "What I see with my eye,