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ORIGINAL POETRY.

A SKETCH.

THE sun went down in loveliness, and left
Its farewell beams upon the fading sky;
In all their summer glory; one broad belt
Of snowy clouds was resting, in its pride,
Far o'er the glowing west; and brightly there
The rosy gleams were playing, and that cloud
Seemed a broad curtain with its fringe of gold;
The glorious drapery of a twilight heaven.
I love these sunny twilights-they are hours
When man with nature may hold sweet com-
munion,

And feel his spirit raised above the cares,
And petty troubles of the sorrowing world,-
I went without to ramble-oft I steal
Far from the dense and busy haunts of men,
To taste the sweets of solitude, and mark
The silent, still recesses of the world,

Where nature's silence, unmolested reigns.
I wandered till the dewy shades of night
Had stolen on me imperceptibly,

The burnished west had faded, and that cloud
Like a still bird had winged its silent flight.
No vestige then remained; nights vaulted hall
Was one pure arch of deep majestic blue,
Save those thick lights that twinkle in the air
Like a broad sea of diamonds.-But the moor.,
The crested "Queen of the deep nut-brown
eve,"

Came wheeling o'er the mountains of the east ;
And as she climb'd the ladder of the sky,
She found me treading with a lingering step
Upon the holy ground of sepulchre-
The sacred mounds of the departed dead.-
'Twas lone, but beautiful, the silken beams
Came down so gentle on the humble graves,
Casting full many a dark,and lengthened shade
From the tall, graved memorials of the dead,
Upon the silent rank grass; I had found
"The grave of one I loved, around whose heart
The twining tendrils of mine own had wound."
The morn of our existence had began
In one and the same season, and we grew
Together through our helpless infancy;
And when bright, laughing boyhood came, it
found

Our young arms linked tegether, every charm
Which he delighted in, I ever loved;
Each thought of mine, was his, and his, was
mine.

I sat me down upon a moss-grown stone
That lay beside his grave, and called him back,
In retrospection, through the "vista dim"
Of intervening seasons, such as when
I saw his manly and majestic form
In the high prime of boyhood; when the sun,
The bright sun of maturity had shed
Its first bewitching glance upon his brow,
'Twas then he sunk,-upon his portly form,
Pale, chill disease spread out her raven wing;
Just twenty glorious summer suns had shed
Their ripening beams upon him-his proud bark,
Of snowy sail and well-directed helm,
Was in its gladdest waters--and the bow
Of budding promise, which above him shone,

Was in the hey-day of its loveliness,
The scattering blast came o'er him and he fell,
We saw him slowly fading-o'er that cheek
The icy hand had hovered long, before
It left its palled print, aud whiteness there.
He sunk not like the feeble twelve-hour'd rose,
But, like the withering lily, pale decay
Stript of its loveliness by slow degrees.

Supplied his every want, and strove to smooth The waning path which led him to the grave; 'Twas a bright summer morn, the laughing sun Came through the festive heavens, and the breath

I lingered by him, watched his every look

Of all the flowers was on the atmosphere;
The choristers of morn, were on the wing
Chaunting the joyous song of jubilee.

I sat beside his death-bed-they had thrown
The window open-and had parted wide
Upon the smiling summer; he looked forth
The snowy curtain, that he might gaze out
And marked its beauties, his young soul was
wrapt

In deep and holy feeling--but he turned
And waving out his long enfeebled hand,
White as the linen drapery of his couch,
He placed it within mine, and casting up
A glance--a glance I never shall forget,
He said, 'tis hard to leave so bright a world;
Yes, it is painful: when so pure a thing
As this fair earth, is putting forth its charms
In all their loveliness; and luxuries
Are showering down around us--when the sun
Of life is shining sweetly; and the rose
Is quickly opening; when no lowering cloud
Is in our azure Heaven, and all things
Invite the traveller to linger long--
Yes, it is painful then to go away.
But I have conquered this, and star ey'd Hope
Points to a brighter; an eternal world.
And O! 'tis sweet, 'tis soothing to my soul,
To know, that when the current that now

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Is published every other Saturday morning by Dorr & Howland, Worcester, Mass. at One Dollar a year, payable in advance. Subscriptions and communications may be directed as above, (post paid) through the post office.

This paper will be forwarded to some of our friends, who otherwise would not know of its existence. If it is received however, by any one of them who does not wish to become a subscriber, a return of this paper, directed to The Talisman, Worcester, by mail, will be a || sufficient intimation of the same.

THE

Worcester Talisman.

NO. 2.

APRIL 19, 1828.

ORIGINAL TALE,

THE ORPHAN.

[CONCLUDED.]

chor of hope.

VOL. I.

he dwelt on a most interesting theme--the vir tues of Alfred. "Trust him Jane," he would say," with your whole soul." You shall not be deceived. Tell him of the tribute which I unceasingly pay to his unwearied exertions But there was one secret which Charles did to preserve me from the snares laid for my innot reveal, even to her. Constitutionally del- experienced feet. He will shed tears of brothicate, his intense application had undermined erly sorrow over my grave, while he, for whom his health; he felt it to be declining, but Alfred was forsaken, will remember me only hoped that after having made his last great as the pitiful dupe of his artifice. He would exertion at Cambridge, the change of air, the then lose himself in a tempest of conflicting society of his friends, and the season of relax- emotions. Jane trembled whenever he openation which he should allow himself, would re- ed the subject; but when, for the last time, he store it, and he should be able to commence spoke upon it with unusual animation, and the study of law agreeably to arrangements. closed with a solemn expression of resignation, But his manly countenance faded with the she felt that through the remainder of her pilfading beauties of the season, his secret be-grimage, this interview would be to her an antrayed itself to his watchful friends, and, after lingering for a time, he yielded to their earn- When Mr. Smith had buried his darling est solicitation, and took passage in a vessel hopes in the grave of his son, his attention was for New Orleans, as a last resource for regain-turned to another object of tender solicitude. ing his health. Charles, freed from all restraint, soon became a leader in every scene of riot and profligacy. He was goaded by the stings of self-reproach, and he hurried on to drown reflection in the Lethe of dissipation. But his career was soon to close. A few weeks before the period when the fond father had anticipated his sons return, fitted to adorn the station for which he was intended, he did in deed return the worn out victim of his vices. Urable any longer to endure the stimulants which, alone, had supported him for a considerable time, his decline was excessively rapid. In his person, was seen the wreck of a fine manly form. In his mind, were the remains of affectionate and virtuous dispositions, not wholly extinguished by a thorough acquaintance with all that sullies the purity of the human soul. When again restored to the bosom of his family, when he saw anxiety depicted, where he had been acustomed to behold only smiles and cheerfulness, the upbraidings of his conscience were agonizing in the extreme. Viewing himself as the cause of the change, it added pangs to the just sense, he had of his own state. His father labored without ceasing,to prepare him for his approaching change. He sometimes succeeded in tranquillizing his agitated mind and fixing his attention, and Charles once answered to his earnest entreaties with a look of composure, and even a gleam of hope.-" The Judge of all the earth will do right." When alone with Jane,

For many years, his felicity had been broken by the consciousness, that the "worm in the bud" was feeding on the cheek of his wife. But the progress of desease had been so gradual, that he had been induced to hope, they might decline along "the down-hill of life" together. But Charles's sickness had called forth all her energies: she had bestowed upon him a Mother's care, and when the stimulus to exertion was removed, she keenly felt the effects of her exposure. Jane too was exhausted and spiritless, and the dejection of the whole family was increased by receiving no intelligence from Alfred. Mr. Smith resolved on taking a journey with his wife and daughter, to divert their minds, and restore, if possible, a portion of health and cheerfulness. They proceeded to the West, visiting such places as had been, either from natural or incidental circumstances, rendered remarkable. Mrs. Smith's spirits revived. She grew cheerful and even animated. Her husband hailed these indications with joy, not suspecting that they arose from a conviction in her own mind, that upon her, death had set his seal. She had but recently began to tread upon the thorns of life, but they had pierced her to the heart, and she was weary of the path. Jane was sunk in melancholy. The haunts of gaiety and fashion, and the wonderful works of nature and fashion were alike unheeded.

Charles and Alfred were the subject of her thoughts by day, and her dreams by night.

with them. The obligation under which their
acquaintance had commenced, induced the
family to treat him with attention; and this
opportunity for enjoying their society was too
congenial to his wishes not to be improved. He
had first seen Jane at the table.-Her appear-
ance, her amiable manners, and the share
which she took in the conversation, rivetted
his attention, and he ardently wished for a
further acquaintance; but finding they were
strangers, who had only called to view the
ecene, and then to pass away, he tried to aban-
don the idea. Still, however, when they went
out to survey the Falls, he followed in a sepa-
rate group.
When he saw Jane's venturous
design, being acquainted with its dangers, he
stationed himself near enough to give her his
assistance, should she require it, and, thus, was
the desired introduction unexpectedly obtain-
ed. He found, in Jane's society, a charm be-
fore unknown, and much of their time was
spent together. In a few days, the family pre-

The certain fate of the former weighed less heavily upon her mind, than the mystery which hung over the latter. But when her father revealed to her his suspicions, that the mother was wasting away, she roused her dormant faculties, and became unwearied in her exertions to render her every service. They now approached the falls of Niagara, and Jane's curiosity was excited, when they came within hearing of its thunders. When they reached the Falls, Mrs. Smith was unequal to the task of surveying them, but she insisted on her husband's leaving her with suitable attendance, and accompanying her daughter. Jane beheld this wonder of the Western world with silent awe and astonishment; she evinced more interest in the scene than in any before visited, and, with eager haste, stepped into the boat which was to convey her to the Canada shore. Here new wonders presented, and wrought her feelings to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. Her inquisitive, energetic mind not content with a superficial survey, prompt-pared to return, and Montague resolved to deed her to expose its hidden secrets. Upon viate a little from his direct route, to accomreaching the vast cavern formed by the pro- pany them. On the day previous to their dejection of the Fable Rock, though its impene-parture, he said to her, "Miss Smith, you have trable gloom, the thundering of the waters in its horrible abyss, and the tremendous rushing of the waters from overhead, struck her with a force terribly sublime; yet they did not dissuade her from her purpose of descending to this dark recess, and venturing behind the edge of the sheet. She did so, and as she tripped lightly along, a spectator might have fancied he beheld one of the Naiades of the St. Lawrence seeking her home in its tremendous bosom. But the next step proved her mortality, for the blast which constantly issues from its depths, met her with great force, and she turned to effect her escape. Deprived of her breath she fell, and in the effort which Nature | ever makes to preserve herself, she caught the corner of a projecting rock, to which she clung, though insensible.

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treated me with unmerited confidence; but one circumstance yet remains a secret-your dejection--the frequent tear which I have seen start unbidden from your eye, still more than your sable garb, bespeaks no common woe may I ask who was the object of your bereaved affections?" "A brother," replied Jane,

66

an only brother, but my keenest sorrows are for the uncertain fate of a friend-deareryes, still dearer to me.—】 -Your tender concern merits my confidence, and my father will tel! you all." Jane was relieved, when Mr. Montague emphatically answered, "permit me, as far as possible, to supply the place of that brother." They now felt that they understood each other-all embarrassment was removed, and Mr. Montague, with a painful, but powerful effort, vanquished those hopes which he had sometimes indulged, notwithstanding, that whenever he had betrayed any marks of tenderness, a most mournful expression would suddenly shade his countenance, and dash his hopes to the earth. He accompanied them home, staid with them a short time, and proceeded to New York. Jane's spirits were improved, though the secret anxiety which she

"Am I safe?" said Jane, as her recollection dawned, and she perceived that she grasped a pillow, instead of the rock, which was the first image that presented itself to her memory."Yes, my child," said her father, "compose yourself, you are perfectly safe." "And how did you deliver me from my perilous situation?" "It is to a lighter step and a firmer hand that we owe your rescue; for, had the little assist-felt on Alfred's account, increased. But new ance which I could render, been your only safeguard, you would have been lost to us for ever. The stranger who restored you, waits to hear of your recovery." "He shall hear it," she replied, "from my own lips." The stranger, having had information of her recovery, and, what he most wished to hear, that she would soon see him, was waiting in the parlor. As they entered, "My daughter," said Mr. Smith, "this is Mr. Montague; the gentleman to whom we are so much indebted," as the salutation passed. Jane recollected having seen him at the breakfast table. Mrs. Smith was unable to travel, and Montague remained

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trials awaited her. Her father was attacked by a fever, which soon hurried him to the grave. He died in the full triumph of the Christian. As he expressed himself, "there was but one tie that bound him to the world." The sting of separation from his wife, was removed, by the knowledge that their union would be speedy. But on this occasion, bis parting with Jane was embittered. My child," said he, "could I have you under Alfred's protection, I should be resigned; but should he not return, I trust you will find a protector in your new brother, and He, who "tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,' will not

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thought, word, and deed, and the exuberance of her spirits was so chastened by delicacy and propriety, as to render her a delightfui companion. She was not insensible to Montague's virtues, and his offer, though unexpected, was taken under consideration. "May you be as happy as I once was," said Jane, affectionately, and oh! may you never know the pangs which I have known." "Oh," returned Ann, "I am happy with him or without him; but he has made me believe, that without my favor he should be unhappy, and I could not bear the thought of that, you know." Jane smiled at her sophistry, and thought that Charles had not much to fear.

She

forsake you." Mrs. Smith did not long survive this second shock. She felt her end approaching without one regret, except for Jane, and committing her to the care of Heaven, quietly passed away. Jane was now quite overpowered, and as she had no motive for action, she fell into a listless stupor. From this she was aroused to a painful sense of her situation, and it was at this period, that she so emphatically exclaimed, 'I am alone in the world.' As she inherited the patrimony, she was solicited by the sympathizing villagers for permission for their new pastor to reside at the parsonage.She acquiesced in their arrangements, and soon found herself a boarder in a strange family, in her own house. But the attentions of Her garden now engrossed her care. this family, particularly those of the pastor's was busily engaged in it, when the sudden cheerful, happy daughter, soothed her feelings. stopping of the stage coach arrested her attenAnn Wilson was a girl of great vivacity, ac- tion. She turned towards it, shrieked " Alfred companied by acute penetration. She felt for Manton," and sunk to the earth. He did not Jane's sorrows, and she possessed the happy see her, but went into the house, where, not talent of adapting her remarks to time and cir- meeting with one familiar face, a deadly sickcumstances, in the best possible manner, to ness came over his heart, but he durst not inbeguile her melancholy. The youthful heart, quire the meaning of the change. Jane sumlike the tender vine, must cling to some object || moned all her self-control to compose herself for support. Jane already felt less alone in the for the meeting: she entered by the garden world, and when she received a letter from door, and saw Alfred mute and motionless.' her new brother, Charles, as she loved to call When their feelings found utterance, they him, informing him that unexpected business could only learn from each other that both would soon call him through the village, she had passed through the furnace of affliction, remembered her father's assurance,and thought and come forth with hearts purified, but unthat the wind was indeed tempered to her.- changed. The trials they had suffered were Hope now took possession of her breast. their daily theme of conversation.-And while felt a holy confidence that Alfred would be Alfred's aspirations of praise rose to the throne restored to her. While reason told her that of Heaven, that utter desolation had not enevery day added new causes for doubt and tered the house where he had passed the despair, she sometimes endeavored to convince morning of his life, he mourned the loss of Mr. herself of the absurdity of her hopes, but they and Mrs. Smith as the loss of the good are alstill remained. "Oh! Jane," said her gay ways mourned,-and did indeed shed tears of friend, one morning, "I have had the strang- brotherly sorrow' over the grave of Charles. est dream-I thought that I was to be married to Mr. Montague, that you were to be bridesmaid, and Alfred, groomsman." "And does this exhilarate you so? you forget that dreams go by contraries." "For my own part," returned Ann, "I should choose they should, but for your sake, I am willing to put faith in them." As spring approached, Mr. Montague again mentioned in one of his postscripts, that || Jane might soon expect to see him. She communicated the intelligence to Ann, and added,|| "will you believe that you have become an object of jealousy? I cannot think his sober affection for me would prompt him so soon to repeat his visit." "Oh, quiet your fears, I beseech you, there is little danger of such a giddy girl as I am, making any impression on such a saint as Mr. Montague; besides, dreams go by contraries, you know." "Well, we shall see," replied Jane; "you are gay, but not giddy, and he is not always so serious as when sympathizing with the child of affliction." When he arrived, Jane rejoiced to find that those affections, which nothing but her superior prudence had prevented from being wrecked, were to be bestowed on her new friend.Gay as Ann Wilson was, she was pure in

In

Jane's trials are already known; an abbreviation of Alfred's shall be given. "Our voyage" said he, 66 was prosperous and delightful, until one day when off the coast of Florida, we discovered a strange vessel, which whether we sailed fast or slow, seemed to keep at precisely the same distance from us. This alarmed our fears, but when night was closing in, we hoped, by spreading all our sail, to rid ourselves of her unwelcome company. spite of our efforts she gained upon us, and all our fears were realised when she commenced firing. We defended ourselves as well as we could, but were soon boarded by the pirate's crew, when such a scene followed as I will not attempt to describe. I had charge of a large sum of specie which the Captain had secreted for me. After extorting from him the place of concealment for that and the other money, they murdered him in the most barbarous man

ner.

While the crew were sharing the same fate, I endeavored to prepare my mind to meet death with fortitude. Till that moment, I knew not the extent of your power over me; your immage gave eloquence to my tongue, and persuasion to my lips. I pleaded for life so earnestly, as to awaken the last spark of

he kept inviolate; and crucifying the passion for variety, he levelled every thesis with exemplary pertinacity, at vice and novel reading.

He had singular misgivings on the tendency of women, and considered poetry as a wile of the devil.

pity in the pirates breast. They bound me, took me on board their vessel, scuttled ours and hurried away. "None are all evi."Though they could not liberate me without endangering themselves, they never offered further violence, nor even suffered me to witness any, but left me concealed in one of the I came in one beautiful summer night, and West India Islands, (as I suppose) when they Job was reading Byron! If he had strapped a went on their piratical cruises, but so strictly razor on his bible, I should have been less guarded as to preclude all possibility of escape surprized. He was sitting bolt upright, gazing or information. Their day of retribution is with intense eagerness on the book, and rockcome; they have been taken by surprise, and || ing to and fro like an incarnate hexameter. now await the sentence of the law. How are the good and ill of this life blended together. My long residence in that genial climate has had the most favorable effects: I am restored to health, and to you, and I should be ungrateful to repine." Ere the close of Autumn, Jane had exchanged her sable weed for the bridal wreath, and Montague was summoned to share in the nuptial festivities. While he and Ann attended them to the altar, the latter archly whispered," Dreams go by contraries ;" and Jane smiled gracefully, as she answered "The wind is tempered to the shorn lamb, and I am no longer alone in the world."

MISCELLANY.

If she be not fair for me,

What care I how fair she be. Somewhere out of the world, and in Vermont, my college chum was christened Job. It was the first word I ever heard him speak. He entered the room to my infinite dismay, the evening of my admission, surmounted by a chair, a table and a pine chest, which he deposited with great deliberation; then advancing to the centre, and passing his right foot to the rear, he ejaculated Job Clark, and stood in statu quo for a reply.

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His personal appearance was decidedly Vermontese. He had a huge angular frame, probably seven feet in length; though, from rigidly || observing the line of beauty, his perpendicular upon the plumb line would be five and a fraction. His face was large and irregular, and set with a nose like a crude amethyst. There was but one feature of Job's outer man that indicated the vein he afterwards exhibited; his eyes were of a light blue, very deeply seated, and in better company would have been expressive. I am not sure that he was aware of this beauty; or indeed that he had any personal vanity. If there was any partiality in his regard for his perfections, it leaned rather to his hair. Of this I have one solitary eviidence. He would raise his hand on Sundays and holidays, and closing his two fingers on the small portion that graced his temples, coax it to an incipient curl. It resumed its position on Monday, and the point was never insisted on. During the first year, his attention to his studies would have been no scandal to a Cameronian; and of his temper, I need only say, that it was proof against a Freshman ordeal. His principles too,peculiar though they were,

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It was indeed a marvel. He had never to my knowledge, committed an apostrophe; he had never outraged the blank leaves of his algebra with a rhyme; and on women and leather shoe strings, he was perfectly incorrigible. From this time Job Clark lived in a new world. He was like a man just couched for a cataract. He had never stopped to look at a glow-worm, nor had women and sunsets ever reminded him of Paradise and the Peris.

He was essentially blind, and now that he could see, his great Green Mountain heart was as full as a toy shop. Every thing was beautiful; and every thing went through his veins like a whole river of electricity.

If the sun came out of a cloud, Job popped into a reverie; and as to the moon, he was a perfect heathen-he worshipped her like an Ephesian.

In the full progress of this vein, he was under the necessity of leaving college to recruit his funds. The situation of tutor in a gentleman's family offered itself and he took up his march on foot for a romantic situation in the neighborhood of the Catskill.

It was the first time he had been abroad since his metepmsychosis; and, of course, it was like travelling in a new star. He treasured up mountains, rivers, and green fields, till his memory was like a painter's port folio.

He would sit down by the way side; and with a mere brook for a thread of association, the whole map of his pocket Arcadia expanded before him, and he revelled in roses like a very Persian.

The new Tutor was soon domesticated.His duties, were few, and in themselves delightful. A family of intelligent children for pupils, and a gentleman and lady of a high order of refinement, were better materials for happiness than had ever before fallen to his lot. Why did I leave out the beautiful Sophy? Simply because she is a whole paragraph by herself, and because I am not sure that I ought to class her with Job's comforts.

She was just seventeen; and as perfect a litle Venus as ever trifled with Dan Cupid. She certainly had no more gravity than a child; but her mind was a perfect wonder.

She fairly reasoned Job out of his logic, and puzzled him with problems, and out-flew all his romance, and anticipated all his philosophy.

If she raised her little hand for emphasis, he despaired of his position; and if she looked up at a quotation, he knew it was wrong. She

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