WEEHAWKEN.

EvE o'er our path is stealing fast;
Yon quivering splendors are the last
The sun will fling, to tremble o'er
The waves that kiss the opposing shore;
His latest glories fringe the height
Behind us, with their golden light.

The mountain's mirrored outline fades
Amid the fast extending shades;

Its shaggy bulk, in sterner pride,

Towers, as the gloom steals o'er the tide ;
For the great stream a bulwark meet
That laves its rock-encumbered feet.

River and Mountain! though to song
Not yet, perchance, your names belong;
Those who have loved your evening hues,
Will ask not the recording Muse,
What antique tales she can relate,
Your banks and steeps to consecrate.
U *

Yet should the stranger ask, what lore
Of by-gone days, this winding shore,
Yon cliffs and fir-clad steeps could tell,
If vocal made by Fancy's spell,—
The varying legend might rehearse
Fit themes for high, romantic verse.

O'er yon rough heights and moss-clad sod
Oft hath the stalworth warrior trod ;
Or peered, with hunter's gaze, to mark
The progress of the glancing barque.
Spoils, strangely won on distant waves,
Have lurked in yon obstructed caves.

When the great strife for Freedom rose
Here scouted oft her friends and foes,
Alternate, through the changeful war,
And beacon-fires flashed bright and far;
And here, when Freedom's strife was won,
Fell, in sad feud, her favoured son ;-

Her son, the second of the band,
The Romans of the rescued land.
Where round yon cape the banks ascend,
Long shall the pilgrim's footsteps bend;
There, mirthful hearts shall pause to sigh,
There, tears shall dim the patriot's eye.

There, last he stood. Before his sight
Flowed the fair river, free and bright;

The rising Mart and Isles and Bay, Before him in their glory lay,

Scenes of his love and of his fame,—

The instant ere the death-shot came.

A SIMPLE TALE.

In a certain village, pleasant enough to behold, as you ride or walk through it, but abominably unpleasant to remain in, on account of the unconquerable propensity of its inhabitants for scandal and tittle-tattle, which prevails to a degree infectious even amongst decent people,-In this village, about ten years ago, a man and his wife, of plain appearance both in person and dress, came to reside, having the fear of God before their eyes; and in that fear, I trust, they died.

But they were the subjects of much speculation; and the presidential question has not, to my certain knowledge, called forth so much original argumentation among the people of that village, as did the arrival of this couple; unpretending, unquaint, and inoffensive as they were.