as ever made, only all bog-the Kilmurray men "Thank you, ma'am," I answered; "one of my id wait for them, and snared them into a game- mother's second cousins married a Bradshaw,' and eeper's lodge, making believe it was a whiskey-may-be I'd find something about his family here." ill-just a place where they had plenty of the | A gentleman stared at me over his “Bradshaw,” and ountain-dew-which (bad luck to it) is a wonderful a mighty pert little old lady, who was reading her trengthener of sin, and kept them there drinking and "Bradshaw," let down her glass and asked me when ancing until the election was over; and then, leav- | ng the Kilconnel boys sleeping, the Kilmurray men isappeared in the night. When the poor fellows staggered out in the rising sun and found how it was, hey grew very savage, and just fair and easy burnt the lodge. And may-be murderings and destructions did not grow out of that, and lawsuits and persecutions that made men of two attorneys, who never had cross or coin to bless themselves with before the burning of Crag-road lodge!

My mistress says they manage things more quietly here. I can't say whether or not I'm glad of it, for I like a bit of a spree, now and then, to keep the life in me for the English are wonderful quiet; you might as well travel with a lot of dummies, as with them and the suspicious looks they cast on you, if you only speak civil to them, or look twice their way; the ladies rowling themselves up in shawls, in the corners of the railway carriage, and keeping their eyes fixed, as if it was a sin to be civil. I travel with my mistress, FIRST CLASS-aunt dear, let all the people know that, coming from mass, Sunday morning-so I see their ways; and the gentlemen bury their noses in a mighty perplexing sort of papercovered book, called "Bradshaw," or in a newspaper, which they read to themselves and keep to themselves, never offering to lend the "news" to any one, only shifting it into their pockets, as if they could get more out of it there. They scramble in and out of the carriages, without ever moving their hats, or offering to help the ladies out or in. The truth is they're a good people; but uncommon surly, or uncommon shy. And as to that book, "Brad shaw," I thought it must be diverting; people bought it so fast at the railway stations; and you see it sticking out of the pockets of the little scutty coats that are all the fashion, and out of the bags the ladies nurse like babies on their laps, and which they spend months of their time on, to make them look as if made of odds and ends of carpet-which, indeed, they do. I asked my mistress if she would not like to have "Bradshaw," it must be such pleasant reading. So, with the same quiet smile with which she does every thing, she bought it, and gave it to me, saying:

I left Ireland. [Aunt dear, how did she know I was Irish?] I looked and looked at one page-and then at another-leaf after leaf-it was about trains, and going and coming—and figures in, and figures outall marked, and crossed, and starred-up trains, down trains, and Sunday trains-without a bit of

sense.

"When will our train arrive at Cranley station?" asked my lady, after I had been going across, and along, and about, and over "Bradshaw " for an hour or two-I was so bothered, I could not tell which.

"It was written as a penance for poor traveling sinners," I answered in a whisper, for I did not want to let on I couldn't understand it: she did not hear me, and asked the question again.

I

"I can read both running-hand and print, ma'am," said; "but none of my family had a turn for figures, and this looks mighty like what my brother got a prize for-they called it by the name of allgib-raa."

My mistress sometimes looks very provoking—and that's the truth-I can hardly think her the same at one time that she is at another.

The little pert lady thrust her "Bradshaw" into her bag, and snapt the clasp-then turning round to the gentleman, she snapt him-"Do you understand Bradshaw, sir?"

"Noa," he drawled out, "not exactly-I heard of a gentleman once who did, but im-me-diate-ly after he became insane!"

I shut the book-oh aunt, I would not be that, you know, for all the books that ever were shut and opened. What should 1 do without my senses? Of all the ancient places you ever heard tell of, Cranley Hurst is the quarest I ever saw. When you think you are at the far end of the building, it ·begins again—rooms upon rooms-shut up for ages— and passages leading to nothing, and nothing leading to passages-and a broad terrace looking over such a beautiful bog, and a pathway under the terrace to Cranley-marsh (that's English for bog.) I often go that path, thinking of the waste lands of my own poor country. Oh, aunt, to see the great innocent frogs, the very moral* of the Irish ones, and lizards,

"There it is, Ellen; I hope you may understand turning and wriggling among the bullrushes; and

it."

I was a little hurt, and made answer"Thank you kindly, ma'am: nothing puzzles me upon the print but foreign languages or, may-be, Latin." And as we were going down to Cranley Hurst, I fixed my mistress in the first class, and my self opposite her, with a rale carpet-bag on my lap, and my "Bradshaw " in my hand.

between the floating islands of green, plashy weeds, that veil the deep pools, you see fish floating round the great gray stones, which, my mistress says, the Romans flung into Cranley-marsh to make a bridge. You should hear my mistress talk of it--she has such fine English.

"Although it's a flat," she says, "I like it better than any mountain I ever saw. Such a combina"You may read if you like, Ellen," said my mis-tion of rich color-such orchis-such shades and masses of iris-such floats of rush-cotton-such banks "Picture"-" model."

tress, the smile twinkling in her eyes (I'm sure her eyes were mighty soft and sly when she was young.)

"But not her memory," screamed the hag, striking her stick upon the floor. "I mind the open window

of forget-me-nots-such ferns-and, in the spring, | from the witch, who faced round, and would look at such piles of golden blossoming furze: the peat, so her; "there-keep back. Ellen, keep her backdark and intense, forms a rich contrast to the vege- her mind is gone." tation; and the 'Roman stones,' piled here and there into low pyramids, have a gray, solemn effect, and afford shelter to numerous migratory birds, who feed abundantly upon the insects that hover, like metallic vapors, over the deepest pools." Them were her very words.

and the ropy ladder-and my young master's misery when the hawk 'ticed away the dove that was to be his bride-his own first cousin." "It was too near, Maud."

"No; the Cranleys married in and out-in and out-and what brings you now? withered and shriveled like myself, with only the voice!-nothing but the voice! More worn-and old-and graythan himself—a lean old man! You called me ‘Ugly Maud' once; what are you now? Augh!"

The reception, I must tell you, we got at Cranley Hurst, seemed to me mighty cool-I felt my mistress tremble as she leaned on me; but there was neither master nor mistress at the door to welcome her. The servants were there, to be sure, to carry the things to her room; but she paused in the long, low hall, that was furnished like a parlor, to look at one She threw down her stick, and began waving her picture, then at another; and while she stood before bony arms, and sailing round my poor mistress, in a one of a very dark, sorrowful lady—a little pale, sort of mock dance. I stepped in between them, to wizen'd woman stole out of a room in the distance, keep her eyes off my lady; but she dodged between and shading her eyes with one hand, while she leaned us, mocking, and saying cruel words, and looking, with the other on a cross-headed stick, she crept, just as a curse would look, if it had a body. All of rather than walked, toward my mistress. Her arms a sudden, a hard, firm step came up the hall: I knew were only little bones, wrapt in shriveled skin, and it was the master of Cranley Hurst. The little bag deep ruffles fell from her elbows. She was more of paused, pointed to me to pick up her stick, which, a shadow than a substance-so very small-so over like a fool, I did. Stepping back, she curtsied reand above little—that if I had seen her at the Well verently to my lady, her little pinched face changof Sweet Waters on Midsummer-eve, I would have ing into something human; then, going to meet the crossed myself, knowing she was one of the good master, "I came to give the fair Miss Cicely people. She would have been a fair go-by-the-welcome," she said, "but I could not find her: that ground, but for her high-heeled shoes; and, day-old lady stole her voice! She Miss Cicely!" light as it was, I did not like the looks of her. The nearer she came, the more wild and bright her eyes glistened; and the lace borders of her cap flew back from her small sallow features. Though I could not help watching the withered woman, I tried to go close to my mistress; but when I made the least motion, she waved her stick, and her eyes flashed so, that I was rooted to the floor at once. She stole over the floor, and the silence was increased by her presence. Aunt, dear, you know I hate silence; and this hung like a weight on my heart, and gathered over us like clouds-suffocating. At last she came close to me; the border of her cap flapped against my hand, but, to save my life, I could not move. Her eyes were on me; they were everywhere at

The master struck something which hung in the hall; they call it a gong: the air and house shook again at the deep, loud noise, and from half a dozen doors servants rushed in. ·

"Can none of you take care of Maud?" he said. "She is insane, now-quite. Keep her away from this end of the house."

"I only came to look for Miss Cicely: I found a voice-SHE stole a voice!" said the old creature; and she continued talking and screaming until the doors were shut, the echo of the alarum being like the whisperings of spirits around the walls. I wished myself anywhere away, and I did not know where to go; the house was all strange to me; the cousins seemed afraid to look at each other. My She crept round to my mistress, rested her mistress drew down her veil, and extended her hand; hands on the cross of her stick, and stared at her; hard as it is-thin and worn-the master kissed it as her eyes flashing, not like soft summer lightning, but fondly as if it had been the hand of a fresh fair girl of like what we once watched darting into the very eighteen. Aunt dear, it was as strange a meeting as heart of the fine ould tower of Castle Connel. ever was put in a book-those two aged people-one When my lady looked down from the picture, she who had loved, the other who had taken her own saw the withered woman. will; and small blame to her, aunt. Sure it was "Old Maud!" she cried. And, oh! what sorrow better for her to run off at the last moment, than take there was in them two words! a false oath at God's altar.

once.

"The soul outlives the body," said the woman, in a crackling voice—not loud—but sharp and dry, "and the voice outlives the beauty. They said the fair Cicely Cranley was coming, and I laughed at them. No; they said Mrs. Bingham was comingthat was it—and I said it must be Miss Cicely; for Mistress Bingham had never entered the door of Cranley Hurst since she broke faith with her cousin."

"Hush, Maud!" said my poor mistress, turning

I shall never forget the look of downright, upright love that shone in the master's face, as they stood like two monuments forenint* each other. I don't know when they'd have left off or moved, if the sister-in-law, Mrs. James Cranley, had not flung into the hall, followed by her maid, with a clothesbasket, full of printed papers and sealed letters, and a footman running on with a big tea-tray, covered * Opposite.

with the same sort of combustables. She came in peaking; and one word was so hot foot after the other, that it was out of the question to know what she meant.

She was a tight-made little lady-nor young, nor old-without a cap (though it would be only manners to ask after it) mighty tight, and terrible active -spinning round like a top, and darting off like a swallow; her head looked like a pretty tiger's fierce and keen: she seemed ready to pounce on any thing-living or dead; no creature could be easy, or quiet, or comfortable, or contented in the same room with her. I saw that in a minute, and thought she'd be the death of my poor lady,

As soon as she saw her and the master standing the way I told you of, sure enough she sprung on her you would have thought they had lain in the same cradle, to see the delight of her: she pulled up her veil, and kissed her on both cheeks,

"You dear creature!" she exclaimed. "Now, I know I shall have your sympathy→your help-your experience. Now, don't interrupt me, Cousin Francis (the poor gentleman was looking dull and stupid) do n't interrupt me-don't tell me of difficulty," she said. "I should think no one in the county has forgotten how triumphantly I carried the question of the green pinafores in the very teeth of the rector and the churchwardens: the children wear them to this very day. I'll organize an opposition such as no power can withstand. I'll neither give nor take rest;" (I believed that,) "and if Lady Lockington's candidate should be returned, in violation of every constitutional right, I'll petition the house." She waved her hand round like the sails of a wind-mill. I never saw a prettier little hand, nor one that had a more resolute way with it.

ance.

time she was tossing over the letters, like one mad, and my mistress shrinking away farther and farther from her. "Is it possible," she exclaimed at last, "you take no interest in these things?"

The master said that his cousin was fatigued. "Well, well!" it is just possible," said the lady; "but positively, before she goes to her room, I must interest her in my LITTLE ELECTION."

At night, when I went up to attend upon my mistress, I told her I did not see any sign of what I should call an election, either in the house, or out of the house, though every living creature was tearing and working away for the dear life, at they could hardly tell what, and not a bit of dinner until halfpast eight at night, when Christians ought to be halfway in their beds. Now, my poor lady always had her dinner at two, and yet what did you think she said to me? why-eight is the fashionable hour!” But she was not herself, for she never troubled about what she 'd put on next morning, only sat there like a statue; and when at last I coaxed her to go to bed, she laid awake, keeping down the sobs that rose from her very heart. Sure the quality has quare ways, and quare thoughts! And just as she fell into that sweet sleep which is as soft as swan's-down, and as refreshing as the flowers in May, before the young birds call for food, or the sun looks upon the earth-that little whirligig of a lady came spinning into the room, as alive and as brisk as if no mortal ever needed sleep. "Whisht!" I says, stopping her frisking. "Whisht! if you plaze, whisht!" The start she took! and asked me what language "whisht" was; and, seeing it diverted her, I drew back to the door, and out on the landing, saying all the “Avourneens" and "Grama-chrees" and real Irish words I could think of, to take her off my mistress. So she called me a "dear creature," and declared I would be quite attractive at her little election, if she might dress me up as a wild Irishwoman, and if I really would make myself useful. I was glad to get her out of my lady's room, so that she might rest, but I had no notion of making a fool of myself for all the elections upon the face of the earth-I know my place better than that-I leave that to my superiors. Well, if the house was in a state of disturbance that day, what was it the next? Nothing but making cockades of blue glazed calico and of ribband, and turning her blue silk dresses into flags; and open house

"Gently, my good sister, gently," said the master; but Mrs. James did not hear him. She pressed my lady into a chair, commanded her maid, with a fine French name, to lay down the basket, and said that she longed for sympathy quite as much as for assist"Active as I have been, and am," she said, "it would delight me to turn over a few of my duties to your care. In town, it is worse-absolutely worse! Remember my committees-seven of a morning! Remember the public meetings-the bazaars, which could not go on without me-the Shanghai Commission-the petitions of the women of England-the concerts-the Attic Improvement So--all trying to waste and destroy the most they ciety!-duties of such public importance, that I have not spent an hour in my own house for weeks together; never seen your master's face except beneath the shadow of a night-cap." [Aunt, dear! I thought she was a widdy woman until that blessed minute, never hearing tell of her husband.] "Then the college committees for the education of young females, prevent my having time to inquire how my owning them cockades; and to be sure I did work. And daughter's education progresses; and the "Pap and Cradle Institute" occupied so much of my attention, that my charming Edward will never get over the effects of that horrid small-pox, all through the care lessness of his nurse-dreadful creature! No, no; there is no repose for me, sweet cousin." All this

could; and such sending off dispatches, here, there, and every where; and such baskets-full of letters. Oh, then, surely the post-office should pray for an election as hard as ever it prayed for Valentine's-day. I lost sight of my poor dear mistress that day, for as good as five hours, for the Honorable Mrs. James Cranley locked me and three others into a loft, mak

I told one of the girls, when we were fairly come to the end, that I would not have worked as I did, and out of the sight of my poor lady, only for the honor of working for a member of parliament; and to hear the laugh was raised against me. "Why," said Mrs. James's English maid, "its not a parliament election

AMBITION'S BURIAL-GROUND.

BY FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER.

"A late letter from California states that the writer counted six hundred new graves, in the course of his journey across the Plains."

FAR away, beyond the western mountains, lies a lovely | Vanquished! while above the tumult, Victory's trump, land, with swelling surge,

Where bright streamlets, gently gliding, murmur over golden sand,

Where in valleys fresh and verdant, open grottoes old and hoar,

Sounds for him a song of triumph-sounds for them a funeral dirge!

E'en the laurel wreath he bindeth on his brow, their life-blood stains

In whose deep recesses treasured, glitter heaps of golden Sighs, and tears, and blood commingling, make the glory that he gains

ore

Lies a lovely land where Fortune long hath hidden price- And unknown, sleeps many a hero, on Ambition's burial less store. plains!

But the path which leadeth thither, windeth o'er a dreary Or, the purple field despising-deeming war's red glory plain,

And the pilgrim must encounter weary hours of toil and pain,

shame

Wouldst thou, in seclusion, gather greener laurels, purer fame?

side

Ere he reach those verdant vallies-ere he grasp the gold Stately halls Ambition reareth, all along her highway beneath;

Ay, the path is long and dreary, and disease, with poisonous breath,

Lurks around, and many a pilgrim finds it but the way to death.

Ay, the path is long and dreary-but thou canst not miss the way,

Halls of learning, halls of science, temples where the arts abide

Wilt thou here secure a garland woven by scholastic pride?

Ah! within those cloisters gloomy, dimly wastes the midnight oil

For, defiant of its dangers, thousands throng it night and Days of penury and sorrow alternate with nights of day,

Pouring westward, as a river rolleth on in countless

waves

toil!

Countless crowds those portals enter, breathing aspirations high

Old and young, alike impatient all alike Ambition's Youthful, ardent, self-reliant-each believing triamph slaves

Pressing, panting, pining, dying-strewing all the way with graves!

Thus, alas! Ambition ever leadeth men through burial plains

Trooping on, in sad procession, melancholy funeral

trains!

Hope stands smiling on the margin, but beyond are
gloomy fears-

One by one, dark Disappointment wastes the castles
Fancy rears-

All the air is filled with sighing-all the way with graves
and tears!

nigh;

Countless crowds grow wan and weary, and within those portals die !

Ay, of all who enter thither, few obtain the proffered prize,

While unblest, unwept, unhonored, undeveloped genius dies!

Genius which had else its glory on remotest ages shown

Beamed through History's deathless pages, glowed on canvas, lived in stone

Yet along Ambition's way-side, fills it many a grave unknown!

Wouldst thou seek a wreath of glory on the ensanguined But, perchance thou pinest only for those grottoes old battle-field? and hoar,

Know that to a single victor, thousands in subjection In whose deep recesses hidden, Fortune heaps her glit yield; tering store:

Thousands who with pulses beating high as his, the Enter, then, the dreary pathway-but, above each lonely strife essayed

mound

Thousands who with arms as valiant, wielded each his Lightly tread, and pause to ponder-for, like those who shining blade

Thousands who in heaps around him, vanquished, in the

dust are laid!

slumber round,

Thou mayst also lie forgotten on Ambition's burial

ground!

REVIEW OF NEW
NEW BOOKS.

The Upper Ten Thousand. By Charles Astor Bristed.
Stringer & Townsend, Broadway.

A very clever book, by a rather clever man. We learn it is the most popular brochure of the season, nor do we wonder at it, for it has all the elements to procure it a fleeting popularity-pungency, personality, impudence, insolence, ill-nature, satire and slang, malignity and mendacity-every thing, in short, likely to tickle the palates of all classes, to pander to the worst tastes, please the worst passions, and gratify the self-adulation of all readers.

It is not to be denied that the descriptions are racy and pointed; that some caste-affectations are skillfully satirized; some local absurdities happily shown up; and that there are some points of humor, and even some sound criticisms, mixed up with much grossness, much ill taste, most disgusting egotism, and personality the most broad, brutal, and malign.

To show the perfect identity of the persons Henry Masters and Charles Astor Bristed, we shall proceed to quote two or three passages, which are, by the way, singularly good specimens both of the style of the book, with its flippancy and smartness, its insolence and egotism, its blended capability of amusing and disgusting-the revolting effect it must have on every high judgment and right thinking mind, and the power of entertaining the fashionable mob, who delight in scandalizing and abusing their dearest friends, and the vulgar mob, who are always dying to hear something about the fashionables, be it right or wrong.

Mr. Charles Astor Bristed's money concerns with exLieutenant Law of the British army!

"At that moment Clara appeared, in a dressing-gown also; but hers was a tricolor pattern, lined with blue silk. "A very handsome young couple, certainly,' thought the Englishman, but how theatrically got up? I wonder if they always go about in the country dressed this way!' And he thought of the sensation, the mouvemens divers that such a costume would excite among the guests of the paternal mansion at Alderstave.

"Masters, with a rapid alteration of style and manner, and a vast elaboration of politeness, introduced his wife and guest. Ashburner fidgeted a little, and looked as if he did not exactly know what to do with his arms and legs. Mrs. Masters was as completely at her ease as if she had known him all her life, and, by way of putting him at his case too, began to abuse England and the English to him, and retail the old grievance of her husband's plunder by Ensign Lawless, and the ungentlemanly behavior of Lawless père on the occasion, and the voluminous correspondence that took place between him and Harry, which the Blunder and Bluster afterward pub

As to Mr. Charles Astor Bristed's denial of the applicability of Harry Benson, alias Harry Masters, in this edition, to himself, and of all personality or individual satire throughout the pages of the work--he may say what he will, but no one will believe him. An author who, in depicting a fictitious hero, chooses to identify that hero with himself, to the extent of accurately describing the houses of his own grandfather and father-in-law, with their respective bearings, distances and situations in the city, as those of the same kinsmen of his hero-of attributing to him well-known incidents of his own life, such as lending money to a dissipated and debauched young ex-lieutenant of the English army, and then dunning his half heartbroken father for the paltry amount, with rowdy letters, which he subsequently published in the newspapersbuying a negro slave, in order to liberate him and gain Buncombe, as it is called, by making capital of his phi-lished in full, under the heading 'American Hospitality lanthropy in the public journals-and, lastly, ascribing to his fictitious personage his own domestic grievances, and his own quarrels at a watering-place-all matters of actual notoriety-has no earthly right to complain if the public say he has made himself his own hero.

Nor when he describes invidiously, and most illnaturedly depicts well-known persons of "our set," as he chooses to denominate it-though we greatly doubt his belonging even to it, trifling, ridiculous and contemptible as it is--so accurately that neither the persons caricatured, nor any who know them, can avoid at a glance recognizing their identity, has he any reason to wonder if his wit be rewarded with the cowhide. When we compare Mr. Charles Astor Bristed's positive denial of any personality, with his broad and brutal delineation of the Hon. Pompey Whitey, editor of a New York Socialist, Anti-Rent, Abolition, and Ghost-believing journal, ex-member of Congress-we say brutal, because in it he lifts the veil of domestic life, and touches upon matters which, whether true or false, the public has no right to hear of-we know not which most to wonder at, the audacity, or the shortsightedness, of the falsehood.

The attempt at disguise is so feeble that we doubt not the prototype, either of Pompey Whitey or of the Catholic Archbishop Feegrave, could readily obtain exemplary damages from any jury, if he should think it worth the while to break a butterfly upon the wheel.

and English Repudiation,' in extra caps; and so she went on to the intense mystification of Ashburner, who could n't precisely make out whether she was in jest or earnest, till Masters came to the rescue."

Mr. Charles Astor Bristed's purchase of the negro, and his opinion of Southern gentlemen in general. Of which said Southern gentlemen will doubtless die broken-hearted!

"I got these a bargain for 800 dollars from a friend,' quoth Masters, anent his horses, who was just married and going abroad. Probably a jockey would have charged me four figures for them. That was a year ago last month. I had twenty-six hundred then to spend in luxuries, and invested it in three nearly equal portions. It may amuse to know how. These horses I bought for myself, as I said, for 800 dollars; a grand Pleyel for Mrs. Masters for 900 dollars; and a man for myself for the same sum.' "A man?'

"Yes, a coachman. You look mystified. Come, now, candidly, is New York a slave State? Do you know, or what do you think?'

"I had supposed it was not.'

"You supposed right, and know more about it than all your countrymen take the trouble to know. Nevertheless, it is literally true that I bought this man for the other 900 dollars; and it happened in this wise. One fine morning there was a great hue and cry in Washington.