REMINISCENCES.

soon have thought of falling in love with the stone image of Minerva on the college-green, as with the president's learned daughter. There was something in her sturdy good sense which everybody rather liked, yet the want of softness and pliability in her character excited a certain dread in all who came near her. Gifted with peculiar powers both of mind and body, she had no compassion for feebleness of frame or infirmity of purpose, for she had no clear perception of such things. Her intellect was like a telescope through which she could examine the grand and the remote, but she could not use it as a microscope to examine the littlenesses of humanity. It is only through the sympathies of the heart that we learn respect for the sufferings, or compassion for the weaknesses of our fellows-and Abby Leyburn had no sympathies, except those of the brain.

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"dust of the schools," or displaying the beauty of her Juno-like figure, as she paced to and from the huge spinning-wheel; she was certainly a world's wonder. There is a half-remembered story of Aunt Abby's spirit, which no one dares to talk of openly; but it is believed that a certain gentleman, now high in civic honors, received, when a youth of twenty, a severe caning from the lady, in consequence of some impertinence, offered when under the influence of a deep potation. But this may be only a piece of scandal.

The circumstances of Aunt Abby's marriage were as peculiar as were her own traits of character. Among the students of the college was a young gentleman of large fortune and fine talents, who was afflicted with a constitutional timidity and nervousness that paralyzed all his powers. He was the only child of a widowed mother, who had foolishly re

fore remained at home under the charge of tutors, and when the death of his mother released him from her affectionate tyranny, he entered college only to find himself inferior in attainments to every one else, and a perfect butt, from his timid shyness. He was full of poetry and sentiment. Among realities he was lost and bewildered, but in the world of fancy he was a hero even to himself.

Perfectly self-possessed, because thoroughly conscious of her own vast superiority, and utterly insisted the boy's wish to go to school. He had theredifferent as to the impression she was likely to make, Abby's manners in society had all the elegance and nonchalant ease which fashion tries so hard to teach. She conversed exceedingly well on all subjects, and possessed the gift (most rare among talented women) of making herself as agreeable to her own sex, as to the men. Everybody admired her, yet everybody feared her; everybody acknowledged her rare powers, yet everybody kept at a certain distance. "He comes too near who comes to be denied," so says one of the wits and demi-reps of a past age; but Abby never suffered any one to reach the confines of Love-Land, and, of course, none ever attained to Declaration Point.

It is difficult to imagine a character like that of Aunt Abby. A woman without softness, and tenderness, and sentiment, seems such an anomaly, that we are tempted to doubt the probability of her possessing any of the qualities we seek in woman. But Abby had all the necessary knowledge of womanly duties, all the considerateness we look for in woman, all the attention to detail which is a woman's peculiar province, and withal was possessed of the most indomitable good humor. She was sententious, because every truth became, in her mind, an axiom, to be stowed away in the smallest possible space; she was dogmatic, because her opinions were made up by her own unaided reflection, and were not to be changed or modified by words. Her self-esteem was prodigious; it was not the puny vanity which is so often dignified with such a title, it was rather a magnificent Johnsones que self-appreciation, precisely like that which looms so grandly beside the vain pettinesses of the biographer of the great lexicographer.

She was certainly a great puzzle to every one. A woman who could quote Longinus, read Homer, expound a disputed text in the Hebrew Bible, chop logic with the most caviling acuteness, and talk of the Differential Calculus as if it were the last new poem, was certainly something of a wonder; but when that same woman was seen seated on the milking-stool, or standing at the churn, or presiding over a blazing oven, or, broom in hand, raising motes in the sunbeams by her vigorous attack upon the

To a gay set of frolicksome students nothing could offer better game than the mental and personal peculiarities of the rich young Southerner, who rejoiced in the name of Sampson Terricott, (a name soon transmuted into Sampson Tear-your-coat) by his companions. Nothing could be more ludicrous than the association of such a name with such a person. The redoubtable Sampson was some five feet four inches in height, with an exceedingly slight figure, small features of the style usually designated as "snub-faced," with a skim-milk complexion, and hair of that sun-burned flaxen color, so common among hatless country urchins. His voice was a piping treble, with an occasional tone in it like that of a cracked penny-trumpet. His hands and feet were ridiculously small, and when attired in his college-gown, it required but little caricaturing to draw his portrait in a style decidedly feminine, yet decidedly like. He received all kinds of nicknames for his personal peculiarities, but, perhaps, none annoyed him more than the soubriquet of "Miss Dalilah," which was generally bestowed upon him. Yet a mind filled with images of beauty was hidden beneath this unpromising exterior. He had no force of character, no iron strength of intellect, but he had an unbounded imagination, and an unlimited reach of vision into spiritualities. He was a poet, but lacking the key to a poet's harmonies of utterance, he expended his strength in the beautiful cloud-land of metaphysics and became a moral philosopher.

Like all diminutive men Sampson had a decided partiality for large women. The colossal beauty of Abby Leyburn had struck him when he first beheld her, and he loved nothing so well as to contemplate her from a distance, being quite too timid to address himself to her. Now there was in Abby a certain

How the courtship was managed no one ever knew. I am inclined to think there was not much lovemaking, and from the kind of dreamy surprise which Sampson exhibited when questioned about his engagement, it is presumed he was scarcely conscious of his own happiness. People said that Miss Leyburn, reversing the usual order of things, had popped the question to Sampson, who stammered out, "Yes," through sheer fright. The probability is that he did exactly as she directed him. She gave him to understand she meant to marry him, and if he offered no

propensity that might almost be called compassion | toward little people. She regarded them as a huge Newfoundland dog often looks upon a poodle-their very insignificance and feebleness seemed a claim upon her protection. It had often been remarked that Miss Leyburn showed especial favor to those whom she denominated "the poor little fellows, and no one was surprised, therefore, to find her taking a great fancy to Sampson Terricott. There was something so appealing in his manner, such a tacit acknowledgment of inferiority in his humble de meanor, such an irresistible claim to tender treat-resistance, feeling rather pleased at being relieved ment in his timid little voice and stammering speech, from responsibility for the rest of his life. that Abby at once took to him as to one of those "incurables" for whom the world is a hospital, and every charitable person ought to be a nurse. To the gentle Sampson the lady became "like the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." She overshadowed him so completely that he could find repose and refreshment in her presence. Instead of attempting to be any thing, or do any thing, or say any thing, he gave himself up to the enjoymont of a consciousness of perfect insignificance as compared with the splendid creature, who could excel any and every body. It was a comfort to see every body look small in her presence, but to the nervous student it was a positive luxury to feel small, without being mortified and disgraced.

Sampson was not in love with his Minerva, he had no sentiment, no passionate longings for any thing which the world of reality could afford. His loves were all idealities, and could not be prisoned in flesh. But with the same weak fondness that had once tied him to his mother's apron-string, he submitted to the guidance of Abby Leyburn. What were Abby's motives for troubling herself with little Sampson no one knew or cared; but when it was known that she was soon to become Mrs. Terricott, everybody thought that the large fortune of the tiny lover would account for the whole affair.

As usual, the world was mistaken. Abby was as free from all mercenary feelings as she was from all other frailties. But she had her own notions about doing good. She saw in Sampson Terricott a highly imaginative and gifted man, wasting mental power in immature schemes which his timidity thwarted in their very outset, and suffering a fine fortune to be idle in his hands for want of energy to take up his stewardship. He was weak in health, and subject to attacks of morbid spirits which sometimes threatened his reason. In a word, Abby saw that he wanted some one to take care of him, and she fixed upon herself as the fittest person. She was now nine-andtwenty, in the full bloom of health and beauty, and, as she argued, "if society provides no other resource for destitute females than marriage, I must marry, or at my father's death find myself a beggar." Having come to this conclusion, she decided that, as the giving herself a master was out of the question, and the idea of possessing a slave in her husband was equally disagreeable, she had better divide the dif ference, and unite herself to one who needed a stronger nature on which to rest.

They were married in the chapel of the college, and the hali-suppressed glee of the saucy students may be imagined. All the blank walls about the college were filled with caricatures, illustrative of the one idea, "paired, not matched." One of these charcoal libels was particularly annoying, it represented a nondescript and beautiful winged animala Hippogriff-with the face of a woman, curving her proud neck beneath a rein held in the hands of Apollo, while directly beneath was a second representation of the same magnificent creature tamely yoked with an ox to the plough.

But Abby cared little for these things, and she would not suffer her husband to pay any attention to them. She made him one of the best wives in the world, and though she was ten years his elder, and thrice as big as he, nobody ever believed that he repented the step he had taken. Their home was at the South, and, during her husband's lifetime, Abby never paid a visit to her early friends. But she was visited by her family connections, and we younger members of the circle were often entertained in childhood by the accounts of Aunt Abby's splendid service of gold-plate, her massive silver ewers and basins in every dressing-room, her Turkey carpets and rich hangings of Gobelin tapestry, and all the paraphernalia of great wealth and magnificent tastes.

When Terricott died, she exhibited her peculiarities of character still more strikingly. She knew people had accused her of marrying for money, and she therefore induced him to make a will, bestowing all his large property upon his own relatives, with the exception of a life-annuity of a thousand dollars to his widow. "I don't want his money," she said, "I took good care of him while he lived, and if he did not become a great man, it was no fault of mine. He was rich, and I used his money freely, because he liked to see fine things and good things around him; but now I have no occupation here, and so I shall go back to my old home, and 'live along.' I dare say something will be given me to do."

So she buried her poor little Sampson, handed over his property to the heirs, and with the first instalment of her annuity in her pocket, came to take up her abode in But her father had been dead for many years, and the place was filled with new people who knew little of her history or of her cha racter. She soon became disgusted with her new home, and removing to New York, established herself there for the rest of her life. In her later years

Poor Aunt Abby! she used to shock the women of her time by talking of women's rights, and was guilty once of the enormity of wishing to be Pope of Rome, in order to carry out some scheme for the advancement of woman's social position. She talked of freedom until some pious prudes really suspected she meant license, and she predicted that the time would come when the genius of woman would rise superior to the imposed trammels of sex. She should have lived in the present age, when she would have seen woman's struggles for emancipation, as exhibited in the French female clubs, and the German free associations, to say nothing of the free inquirers and declaimers against female slavery in this country. She should have lived till now to exhibit a rare and peculiar instance of masculine power submitting itself cheerfully to feminine duties; and perhaps the knowledge that Aunt Abby, with all her mental, moral, and physical perfections, lived and died un

she gave up taking exercise daily, and in consequence of this she grew immensely large. I have the faintest shadow of a reminiscence respecting her personal appearance at that time. I was a child of perhaps five years old, and had a dear old aunt, who was as little as a fairy, and almost as benevolent. This kind little old body once took me to see our great Aunt Abby; but my head was crammed full of fairy legends and nursery tales, and when I saw an immensely large, fat woman sitting in a chair from which she could not lift her ponderous form, and met the full stare of her great black eyes, I thought of the Ogress who always devoured little children, and immediately set up such a howl of terror that I was sent away in disgrace. She died not long afterward, having lived to count her ninetieth birthday. Her disinterestedness left her no fortune to bestow on her relatives, and but for her profile, (which, cut in black paper, hangs in an attic room,) her pincushion, and the traditions which re-loving and unloved, might go far toward settling the main in the family respecting her, all trace of her has vanished from the earth.

question of woman's rights, and make her quite satisfied with her easily accorded privileges.

PARTING.

INSCRIBED TO MY SISTER ADELA M. WADSWORTH.

BY MRS. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON.

PARTING! Oh, is it not the bitterness

Of life, and death? It were small agony
If we and those we love-heart pressed to heart-
With loving words, and blended prayers, could die.

'Tis not the rending of the strings of life

That makes death terrible. The mental pain Is parting from our dear and beautiful,

Who weep, and pray-and bid us live in vain.

It is not that we fear to close our eyes,

And rest from life's long labor, that we cling
To pain and weakness. 'Tis fond human love
Which binds our soul with many a quivering string.

To know that we shall never look again
Into those loving eyes-shall never hear
Again those sweet-toned voices-never clasp
Again those forms, so tender, and so dear.

Yes-parting is the bitterness of death-
And life is full of parting. Day by day
We see the cherished of our homes depart,
As fledglings from the bird-nests flit away.

The cherished ones, whom we have called our own,
And loved so many years, that they have grown
Into our hearts, and so become a part

Of all that we have felt, or done, or known.

The ever-present with us, who were wont

To greet us every morning, with a smile,

To answer to our voices all day long,

And cheer us with love's sunlight all the while.

Each hath a separate mission to fulfill,
And when their path diverges from our own,
And they have said farewell! and turned away
From our embrace-oh, then, we are alone!
We miss them in all places, everywhere,
And feel a shadow, and an emptiness
Forever by our side-but most of all

In the departed one's accustomed place.

We turn to speak to them-they are not there-
The thought we would have uttered curdles back
Upon our heart, a stifling agony-

We turn our tearful gaze along the track

By which the dear one went 't is desolate-
Our home-our heart-our world is desolate-
In all the places where our joy has been
Dark shades, and weeping memories, congregate.
But when our only one-the dearest, best,

The angel of our household, bids good-bye
And goes forth weeping-then the tortured heart
Reels with the anguish of the broken tie.

Yes-parting is the bitterness of life

The agony of death-the ban of earth-
The inevitable doom-to love-to part-
Is the condition of our human birth.

Thank God there is a world where loved ones meet
In perfect beauty, and unclouded joy,

Where all is love-where parting never comes
The everlasting rapture to destroy.

THE HEAD-QUARTERS OF GENERAL JACKSON AT THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS.

[SEE ENGRAVING.]

By the courtesy of Mr. J. R. Smith, the artist, we | and was laid out. The spot is a favorite resort of are permitted to present our readers with another view of a remarkable place. It is Montgomery's House, occupied by General Jackson as his headquarters at the time of the celebrated Battle of New Orleans, January 8, 1815. It is surrounded by a splendid garden and grounds, and a beautiful grove of cedars, which in this latitude grow to an immense size. The line of intrenchments running up the lane by Montgomery's House back to the cedar swamp can still be distinctly traced. Farther down on the banks of the river Mississippi are four liveoak trees, of immense size, forming a square, and hanging with Spanish moss. Beneath these trees the British commander, General Packenham, expired

curious visiters from the city, who go to examine the battle-ground. Below this is a splendid building, called the Battle-Ground Sugar Refinery, on the rear of which is a group of willows, with a mound in the centre, and surrounded by water. Here are buried the 2000 British warriors who were slain in the battle of the 8th of January. A planter's house near the spot was occupied, previously to the action, by General Packenham as his head-quarters. All these objects form very suitable subjects for the pencils of our artists; and we are only surprised that they have not been drawn, engraved and familiarized to the public long ago.

The search after the philosopher's stone, after having | The phrase "untold gold" is meaningless now, for novexed the crucibles, and puzzled the brains of alchemists for ages, is about to be rewarded with success. The New Eldorado promises wonders as great, and riches as abundant, as the most vigilant of dreamers could imagine.

thing but gold is talked of, and the wealth, which was significant of immensity, when coupled with "iron chests," and "bank vaults," is sicklied over, and feeble, when contrasted with the fields of gold which glitter over