ecure and retain their esteem, and that a
frank avowal of differing opinions, even if they were wrong, would work
its forfeiture. A respect held on so frail a tenure were little worth.
But it is not so. I believe that manhood and womanhood are too truly
harmonious to need iron bands, too truly noble to require the props of
falsehood. Truth, simple and sincere, without partiality and without
hypocrisy, is the best food for both. If any are to be found on either
side too weak to administer or digest it, the remedy is not to mix it
with folly or falsehood, for they are poisons, but to strengthen the
organisms with wholesome tonics,--not undiluted, perhaps, but certainly
unadulterated.

O Edmund Sparkler, you builded better than you knew, when you reared
eulogiums upon the woman with no nonsense about her!

MY SHIP.

Mist on the shore, and dark on the sand,
The chilly gulls swept over my head,
When a stately ship drew near the land,--
Onward in silent grace she sped.

Lonely, I threw but a coward's glance
Upon the brave ship tall and free,
Joyfully dancing her mystic dance,
As if skies were blue and smooth the sea.

I breathed the forgotten odors of Spain,
Remembered my castles so far removed,
For they brought the distant faith again
That one who loves shall be beloved.

Then the goodly galleon suddenly
Dropped anchor close to the barren strand,
And various cargoes, all for me,
Laid on the bosom of my land.

O friend! her cargoes were thy love,
The stately ship thy presence fair;
Her pointed sails, like wings above,
Shall fill with praises and with prayer.

* * * * *

BETROTHAL BY PROXY: A ROMANCE OF GENEALOGY.

CHAPTER I.

Ye who listen with impatience to the Reports of Historical Societies and
have hitherto neglected to subscribe to an Antiquarian Journal, ye who
imagine that there can be no intelligent and practical reply to the
_cui bono?_ shake of the head which declines to supply the funds for a
genealogical investigation, attend to the history of my adventure in
Foxden.

There!--I like to begin with the Moral; for no sensible man will leave
the point and purpose of his testimony to the languid curiosity of a
spent reader. Dr. Johnson never did so; and who am I to question his
literary infallibility? So if you do not take kindly to the solemn
rumble of the Johnsonese mail-coach of a sentence i