thought he had been mistaken in the signs he fan- the calmer and fuller quiet of a more thoughtful cied he knew so well-while he still stood silent, and complete affection. She marries Mr. Har

with his earnest eyes fixed upon her downcast face, Evelyn looked up again, and, with a strange mixture of shyness and simplicity, began

court before Juliet dies.

Before we close the volumes, however, let us You are always so very kind to me, Mr. Har- take one more scene, which we may quote with court, that I will not let you puzzle about me-you less reference to the connected incidents of the think I am sorry that Colonel Maxwell is gone I tale than to its charming development of Evelyn's am; but see, he will come again-" and, with her character. A young man, who has long been her eyes sparkling, and her cheek glowing, she touched intimate friend, and who had before confessed to

the ring on her finger. Mr. Harcourt recognized

it at once.

"Ah! is it so indeed?" he said, and smiled; then, kindly taking her hand, continued, "May you be happy, dear Evelyn. I trust you will be happy. I think you will. I will not say," he continued, looking at her with a fond and fatherly smile, "that I think Colonel Maxwell is worthy of you; for I will praise you for once, Evelyn; but I think he will make you happy. I think he loves you." Evelyn looked up, with tears in her eyes, to thank him. "And when was this?" he asked.

"This morning," Evelyn replied; "though he was so unhappy, he thought of me even then. - I don't quite know," she continued, "what I ought to do; I don't think I ought to say anything about it; only, that as he asked me to wear this ring, I think I ought, perhaps, to ask papa to allow me to do it. What do you think? If you think it would be right, dear Mr. Harcourt, I can speak so much better to you, would you be so very kind as to ask him for me; and just to say that I was frightened to ask him myself."

" Willingly, dear Evelyn; that or anything else you wish."

her that he was in love with Clarice, (whom Colonel Maxwell had married,) suddenly proposes to her. It is before she is conscious of Mr. Harcourt's love, and when she has been thinking that she shall never find any one to care for her.

It was a soft, mild day-a pause after a stormand, as the whole party walked home from church, the sun was shining with almost the warmth of summer. As they were entering the house, Henry Egerton pulled Evelyn back into the garden.

"It is a shame to go in, Evelyn; come and walk with me."

She complied, and they walked along, but, unusually for Henry, in silence. Suddenly, he looked at her with a kind of smile. "I wish you would be my wife, Evelyn!" She started with wonder.

"I mean what I say, Evelyn; I wish you would be my wife!" and he looked anxiously, earnestly, in her face.

"Are you gone quite mad, Henry!" exclaimed Evelyn, looking up in great astonishment.

"Why should I be mad? Ah! I see how it is, Evelyn; you don't believe me, because I don't make speeches and rant about love; but I never shall do that again-I did it once. But, dear Evelyn, I really love you better than anybody in the

"Thank you very much," she said. "And now, please don't ever say anything more about it, unless I get a little tired of not talking to anybody -because I don't quite think I ought."-As she spoke, she got up, and took her work-frame in her world-better than my mother-better, far better,

arms-" Ah, Juliet," she said, smiling, "I forgot you quite and have you heard all I said? But never mind," she added, as she bent and kissed her, and then left the room.

Mr. Harcourt still stood by the window. Juliet looked anxiously at his thoughtful appearance ; then, climbing upon a chair near him, she threw her arms round his neck-"Are you sorry, papa?"

she asked.

Mr. Harcourt looked at her seriously and surprised. "Why, Juliet, should I be sorry ?" Juliet blushed slightly, and said nothing.

The reader will better appreciate the beauty and pathos of this scene when we add that Mr. Harcourt, who has most anxiously promoted the attentions of Colonel Maxwell, is himself in love with Evelyn, though his secret is unknown to all but his daughter.

Colonel Maxwell is unfaithful, and marries an old schoolfellow and playfellow of Evelyn's in Italy. The effect of this sorrow in chastening and deepening her character, is the object of the tale. But we shall not pursue it by extract, which would convey nothing of the subtle and refined texture, and really tragic pathos, which we have found in this interesting story. Suffice it to say that justice is done to all-to Colonel Maxwell in the mingled cup of joy and misery which is filled for him to overflowing, and to Evelyn in

than Clarice, and I wish you would be my wife; we would be very happy."

"I am very sorry. Henry," said Evelyn, " indeed I am; but I really don't love you well enough."

"Oh, yes, you do! You know me better than anybody, and you know that I have loved you all my life; and I know you, and I know that you are the best and nicest girl in the world, and this is a great deal better than nonsense about love. Dear Evelyn, it would make me so very happy."

For a moment, a strong temptation came over Evelyn to say Yes. She had so wished, so longed, that somebody should love her, and care for her, that she scarcely could resist the tone of tenderness in which he addressed her. But it was but a moment; her heart was so clear and simple, and its impulses so true, that she was rarely led astray. She knew that she did love Henry better than almost any one, but she felt that she could love much more, and felt, too, that her own restless heart required something far different from Henry to lean upon.

He watched her debate anxiously; it was but a few moments, and then she spoke decidedly.

"No, Henry, I must not say Yes. I do love you better than almost any one, but I don't love you enough for that, and never can. I am very

sorry, dear Henry, and I feel so very, very grate-
ful to you for thinking of me, and it has made me
quite happy to think that any one could really care
for me." And tears came into her eyes;
could not marry you-I ought not."

"but

"You don't mean to say, Evelyn, that you are Kate Walsingham is a novel of the stamp we going to live single for that fellow Maxwell's have indicated. The composition is good; the

sake?"

"Henry!" said Evelyn, indignantly, "you do not suppose that I am so wicked as to think of him now;-oh! no," she continued, with her simple manner, "I hope I shall marry some day, because I should like very much to have somebody who would really care for me; but then I must love and respect before I can marry."

"And I suppose you mean to say that you don't respect me?"

"No, Henry, not very much," she said, with

an affectionate smile.

narrative is clear and flowing; and many of the persons have nature about them; but it is a common sort of nature-we meet such people every day and anywhere. They have hardly character enough for a magazine "sketch;" when put into a three-volume fiction, they want strength to sustain the requisite interest; so that, to speak plainly, the young are juvenile and the old decrepid. One might as well try to make a novel out of any collection of persons in a parlor or drawing-room, by learning the story of the most romantic among them and taking the others as surrounding planets.

"Well, Evelyn, you may be right, and I don't love you the less for what you have said, for indeed I do love you, dear Evelyn. I like your truth and your openness; one may always depend upon you. But it can't be helped; we must try and be happy as we were before. Come along, there 's the luncheon-bell, I suppose we had better go in." And they walked amicably together into the dining- to have been designed to illustrate the disad

room.

We remember nothing more easy, unaffected, or natural than this, in the writings of our most favorite story-tellers.

We have exceeded our limits, or we might have spoken of many admirable qualities in the third and concluding tale. There is less harmony and keeping about it than in the other two, and some points of character strike us as rather strained. We should suspect it, though standing last, to be the earliest production in the volumes. But the happy art of seizing and retaining the reader's

attention is here equally manifest; and the pure womanly aim, the thoughtful purpose, and high moral tone, are as strikingly developed.

From the Spectator.

KATE WALSINGHAM.

ness" and "situations" as it were of the circu

There are two or three love stories in the book; but the main interest is sought to be fixed upon Kate Walsingham, the heroine; and she appears

vantages of genius to a female. This, however, is not very aptly done. We do not see that Kate has genius enough to "point the moral," even if

she "adorns the tale;" but the incident that produces the denouement is hardly sufficient for its purpose. We do not mean that in life slight events may not influence the fortunes of individ

uals, just as a very trifling accident may kill them: but that these are not sufficiently general for fiction. Kate is betrothed to a rather disagreeable Byronic sort of personage hight Raymond Berrington; whose wayward and suspicious illtemper and ill-breeding cause distress for a couple

of volumes, partly arising, it would appear, from his disliking female wits. After the course of Kate's true love has been duly ruffled in this way, Mr. Berrington, in a luckless moment, is incited to start as a parliamentary candidate; but, though a very extraordinary person, he is deficient in what so many senators have too much of, "the gift of

the gab." Struck dumb upon the hustings the first day, his silence is attributed to illness; in the interim Kate writes a speech for him, which turns

ment.

It does not appear very clearly from the title page whether this novel is written by the editor of "The Grandfather," or by the late Miss Pickering, or whether both are one. The book bears the tables in his favor. His mother discovers the internal evidence of being by Miss Pickering. fact; writes jestingly about it to her intended She possessed sufficient literature; she was well daughter-in-law; misdirects the letter to a misversed in the arts of fictitious effect-the "busi- chief-making Lady Rathallen, by whose means an exposure takes place; and Mr. Berrington comes lating library; and her observation of character, in a towering passion to break off the engageespecially of female character, had been close if not extensive. Her ideas of the governing events of life, however, were false or feeble; either drawn from fictions of the common class, or she attributed to incidents that had fallen under her own observation an influence they were unlikely to possess, or engrafted on them a weight they were unable to bear. Hence, her fictions, though pleasant reading, never rose much above the common circulating library novel; they could not as actual delineations of society be placed on a par with the best of Mrs. Grey even; and she never, that we know of, hit by accident upon some moral principle or lesson of life, the leading idea of which, if steadily adhered to, may produce an effect in despite of any errors of detail.

In the midst of their mirth the servant entered to say that Mr. Berrington was below, and wished to speak to Miss Walsingham, but he would not detain her above a few moments.

"Do not go," said Catherine to her friend; "I have so much to say to you so much to arrangeI shall be back almost directly."

Isabel smiled; she could pretty well guess from experience what Raymond's few moments and her directly meant; but, not being in a very great hurry to return home, she promised to wait for her if she was not really gone too long.

Raymond Berrington was pacing up and down the room with hasty strides and a hurried and unequal step, but he paused suddenly at her entrance; and Catherine started back with a slight scream at

sight of his pale colorless features and gleaming | fact! Rather exult and glory in the triumph you

"Into work the poet kneads them,-
And he does not die till then!"

Catherine lifted up her large eyes to his face, full of gentle pleading; but there was no reproach in them. Her words, could she have spoken, would have been loving still; but speech seemed denied her; and he passed away and left her thus.

After deep distress and the development of consumption in Raymond, his mother steels herself to confess the truth; the lovers are reconciled on the Byronic hero's deathbed; and Kate survives, to exhibit the moral of resignation and single-blessedness, though an old lover is sighing for her.

From Cist's Advertiser of Cincinnati.

NEW YORK AND CINCINNATI.

it is, indeed, which may justly arrest one's attention, and serve to prove that even exaggeration in the estimates of the growth and progress of this country, can hardly keep pace with reality.

Another consideration is forcibly suggested by this comparison that Mr. Polk, and his school of politicalism, and Gen. Cass too, who promises that, if elected, he will continue the system of the present administration-while admitting that the

constitution of the United States authorizes the

appropriation of the public treasure, to promote, facilitate, and render more secure, our foreign cominerce, and consequently with that view to deepen harbors, construct breakwaters, erect lighthouses, public piers, &c., on the sea board-yet pertinaciously deny that the same objects can be constitutionally undertaken and accomplished for internal commerce-so that the Ohio, the Mississippi, and the lakes, which bear upon their bosom annual exports from Cincinnati alone, to the amount of fifty-five millions of dollars, may not be rendered less dangerous to navigation, at the cost

FEW persons, even among our own citizens, entertain adequate notions respecting the extent and magnitude of western business. If I were to assert that the exports of Cincinnati surpassed those of New York, I should startle even intelligent persons here, and incur ridicule elsewhere, if the assertion were left without its proper evidence. The proof is as easily made, however, as the state- of the common treasury!

ment. The exports of New York, in 1847, amounted to $52,879,274. This exceeded the exports of 1846 by sixteen millions, and the exports of 1846 exceeded those of any previous year.

The mere statement of such a distinction is sufficient, at all times, to prove its absurdity-but when this absurdity is put in still bolder relief by such a fact, as in the above comparison between the trade of New York and Cincinnati, one may hope that even the blindness of party, and the narrowness of the Baltimore platform, will be made to give way to common sense, common justice, and the common welfare.-N. Y. Courier.

The exports of Cincinnati for 1847, which was the first year during which any register of exports was kept, were in value $55,735,252, being an excess over those of New York amounting to nearly three millions of dollars. I might insist on a still greater disparity being exhibited, in the fact, that over five millions of dollars of the New York exports consisted of specie, an article in no degree an industrial product, and whose export, in fact, Sabbath Scripture Readings. By the late Dr. CHALought to be deducted from the business operations of New York, rather than be permitted to swell their amount.

These statistics serve distinctly to show the vast superiority of interior to foreign commerce, as a means of adding to the wealth of any community. The probability is that five times the amount of productive industry

was

MERS. New York: Harper & Brothers.

as

A VOLUME of the posthumous works of this distinguished divine and philosopher. These "Sabbath Readings," it will be remembered, were the private remarks and annotations of the author, and were never by him designed to meet the public eye; peculiarly interesting, therefore, as indicative of his most retired religious meditations and devotions. They will form two volumes; the first, now before us, being devoted exclusively to the New Testament. Ewbank's Hydraulics and Mechanics. New York: Greeley & McElrath.

they will be regarded sustained in our shipments over theirs the great body of their exports being merely forwarding of the products of the west.

We give place to the above extract as one eminently fitted to arrest attention. We have not examined the figures, nor is it material, so far as the mere fact is concerned, of the greater amount of exports from this city or Cincinnati.

We have noticed the successive numbers of this work as they have appeared. The entire treatise

But that there should be any means of com- is now completed, forming a handsome octavo volparison at all is the startling, and, let us add, the ume. We are free to say that a more instructive

gratifying fact, that a city like Cincinnati, which has sprung into being within the memory of living men, covering with its populous streets and firmset mansions, and storehouses, and school-houses and churches-a region reclaimed from the savage within comparatively few years should be already competing in trade with New York-the Queen of the Seas-among the earliest settlements of Europeans upon our shores-a city in short, of quite respectable antiquity in this New World, and as is commonly thought of a good deal of commercial activity, enterprise and wealth-this

and entertaining volume has rarely if ever been issued from the American press. There is scarcely a subject connected with hydraulics or the mechanic arts, from the remotest ages to the present time, that is not illustrated, by both author and engraver, in the volume; and the descriptions and explanations, drawn from ancient and modern sources inaccessible to the general reader, are written in a very popular and pleasant vein. Mr. Ewbank has given us a "treasury of knowledge" on these subjects, of incalculable use to the professed mechanician, and to the general reader really of more absorbing interest than many books having a more captivating title.-N. Y. Com. Adv.

DREADFUL HURRICANE. - On the night of the 18th August, about one thousand boats, each manned by (FOR FATHERS AND MOTHERS ONLY) ON AN IN- five fishermen, left the various ports of the coast of