charges. Miss Emily Ponto at the piano, | she whirled up stairs; she galloped up stairs; and her sister Maria at that somewhat exploded instrument the harp, were in lightblue dresses that looked all flounce and spread out like Mr. Green's balloon when inflated. "Brilliant touch Emily has! What a fine arm Maria's is!" Mrs. Ponto remarked, goodnaturedly pointing out the merits of her daughters and waving her own arm in such a way as to show that she was not a little satisfied with the beauty of that member. I observed she had about nine bracelets and bangles, consisting of chains and padlocks, the major's miniature, and a variety of brass serpents with fiery ruby or tender turquoise eyes writhing up to her elbow, almost, in the most profuse contortions. When the performance was concluded, I had the felicity of a presentation and conversation with the two tall and scraggy Miss Pontos, and Miss Wirt, the governess, sat down to entertain us with variations on "Sich a Gettin' up Stairs." They were determined to be in the fashion. For the performance of the "Gettin' up Stairs" I have no other name but that it was "a stunner." First, Miss Wirt, with great deliberation, played the original and beautiful melody, cutting it, as it were, out of the instrument, and firing off each note so loud, clear and sharp that I am sure Stripes must have heard it in the stable. she rattled up stairs; and then, having got the tune to the top landing, as it were, she hurled it down again, shrieking, to the bottom floor, where it sank in a crash, as if exhausted by the breathless rapidity of the descent. Then Miss Wirt played the "Gettin' up Stairs" with the most pathetic and ravishing solemnity; plaintive moans and sobs issued from the keys. You wept and trembled as you were gettin' up stairs. Miss Wirt's hands seemed to faint and wail and die in variations; again, and she went up with a savage clang and rush of trumpets, as if Miss Wirt was storming a breach; and, although I knew nothing of music, as I sat and listened with my mouth open to this wonderful display, my caffy grew cold, and I wondered the windows did not crack and the chandelier start out of the beam at the sound of this earthquake of a piece of music. "Glorious creature, isn't she?" said Mrs. Ponto. "Squirtz's favorite pupil. Inestimable to have such a creature. Lady Carabas would give her eyes for her. for her. A prodigy of accomplishments !—Thank you, Miss Wirt!" And the young ladies gave a heave and a gasp of admiration—a deep-breathing, gushing sound such as you hear at church when the sermon comes to a full stop. Miss Wirt put her two great double-knuckled hands round a waist of her two pupils, and said. "My dear children, I hope you will be able to play it soon as well as your poor little governess. When I lived with the Dunsinanes, it was the dear duchess's favorite, and Lady Barbara and Lady Jane McBeth learned it. It was while hearing Jane play that, I remember, that dear Lord Castletoddy LAST OFFICIAL LETTER OF WASHINGTON TO GENERAL PUTNAM. first fell in love with her; and, though he is but an Irish peer with not more than fifteen thousand a year, I persuaded Jane to have him.-Do you know Castletoddy, Mr. Snob? Round Towers-sweet place!-County Mayo. Old Lord Castletoddy-the present lord was then Lord Inishowan-was a most eccentric old man; they say he was mad. I heard His Royal Highness the poor dear duke of Sussex-such a man, my dears, but, alas! addicted to smoking-I heard His Royal Highness say to the marquis of Anglesea, I am sure Castletoddy is mad;' but Inishowan wasn't, in marrying my sweet Jane, though the dear child had but her ten thousand pounds pour tout potage." LAST OFFICIAL LETTER OF WASHINGTON TO GENERAL PUTNAM. HEADQUARTERS, 2d JUNE, 1783. EAR SIR: Your favor of the 20th of May I received with much pleasure. For I can assure you that among the many worthy and meritorious officers with whom I have had the happiness to be connected in service through the course of this war, and from whose cheerful assistance in the various and trying vicissitudes of a complicated contest, the name of a Putnam is not forgotten, nor will be but with that stroke of Time which shall obliterate from my mind the 391 remembrance of all those toils and fatigues through which we have struggled for the preservation and establishment of the rights, liberties and independence of our country. Your congratulations on the happy prospects of peace and independent security, with their attendant blessings to the United States, I receive with great satisfaction, and beg that you will accept a return of my gratulations to you on this auspicious event—an event in which, great as it is in itself, and glorious as it will probably be in its consequences, you have a right to participate largely, from the distinguished part you have contributed toward its attainment. But while I contemplate the greatness of the object for which we have contended and felicitate you on the happy issue of our toils and labors, which have terminated with such general satisfaction, I lament that you should feel the ungrateful returns of a country in whose service you have exhausted your bodily strength and expended the vigor of a youthful constitution. I wish, however, that your expectations of returning liberality may be verified. I have a hope they may; but should they not, your case will not be a singular one. Ingratitude has been experienced in all ages, and republics in particular have ever been famed for the exercise of that unnatural and sordid vice. The secretary at war, who is now here, informs me that you have ever been considered as entitled to full pay since your absence from the field, and that you will still be considered in that light until the close of the war, at which period you will be equally entitled to the same emoluments. of half pay or conmutation as other officers of your rank. The same opinion is also given by the paymaster-general, who is now with the army, empowered by Mr. Morris for the settlement of all their accounts, and who will attend to yours whenever you shall think proper to send on for the purpose; which it will probably be best for you to do in a short time. I anticipate with pleasure the day and that I trust not far off-when I shall quit the busy scenes of a military employment and retire to the more tranquil walks of domestic life. In that, or whatever other situation Providence may dispose of my future days, the remembrance of the many friendships and connections I have had the happiness to contract with the gentlemen of the army will be one of my most grateful reflections. Under this contemplation, and impressed with the sentiments of benevolence and regard, I commend you, my dear sir, my other friends, and with them the interests and happiness of our dear country, to the keeping and protection of almighty God. I have the honor to be, etc., GEORGE WASHINGTON. it forth-in such a manner as man never did before. The cords of argument with which his adversaries frequently flattered themselves that they had bound him fast, became packthreads in his hands. He burst them with as much ease as the unshorn Samson did the bands of the Philistines. He seized the pillars of the temple, shook them terribly, and seemed to threaten his opponents with ruin. It was an incessant storm of lightning and thunder, which struck them aghast. The fainthearted gathered courage from his countenance, and cowards became heroes while they gazed upon his exploits. It was in the midst of this magnificent debate, while he was descanting on the tyranny of the obnoxious Act, that he exclaimed in a voice of thunder, and with the look of a god: "Cæsar had his Brutus; Charles the First, his Cromwell; and George the Third"("Treason!" cried the Speaker. "Treason! treason!" echoed from every part of the house. It was one of those trying moments. which is decisive of a character. Henry faltered not for an instant, but, rising to a PATRICK HENRY ON THE STAMP ACT. loftier attitude, and fixing on the Speaker an IN enue on the Colonists by a Stamp Tax; but, notwithstanding the protests of the Colonies, in January, 1765, the famous Stamp Act was passed, to take effect on the first of November following. In May, 1765, Mr. Henry was elected to a seat in the House of Burgesses, but being a new member he waited for some of the older members to introduce a protest against the offensive tax. He, however, waited in vain, and he therefore himself, a few days before the close of the session, introduced five resolutions of protest, which after a fierce debate were adopted, the last of them by a majority of only one vote, and the next day, Mr. Henry being absent, it was expunged from the journals. The following account of Mr. Henry's speech on this occasion is on this occasion is from his Life by William Wirt. N the year 1764 the House of Burgesses of Virginia protested against the British Parliament laying a rev It was an occasion that called upon him to put forth all his strength, and he did put eye of the most determined fire, he finished hist sentence with the firmest emphasis :) "may profit by their example. If this be treason, make the most of it." WILLIAM WIRT. LOVE IS BY FANCY LED ABOUT. LOVE is by fancy led about From hope to fear, from joy to doubt. Whom we now an angel call, Divinely graced in every feature, Straight's a deformed, a perjured creature : Love and hate are fancy all. GEORGE GRANVILLE. (Lord Lansdowne.) THE PAST OF AMERICA. HEN I think of the time, and | period of twenty years, I pause, wonder, and, although I know all to be fact, can scarcely believe its reality. call back to my mind the grandeur and beauty of those almost uninhabited shores; when I picture to myself the dense and lofty summits of the forest, that everywhere spread along the hills, and overhung the margins of the stream, unmolested by the axe of the settler; when I know how dearly purchased the safe navigation of that river by the blood of many worthy Virginians; when I see that no longer any aborigines are to be found there, and that the vast herds of elks, deer and buffaloes which once pastured on these hills and in these valleys, making for themselves great roads to the several salt-springs, have ceased to exist; when I reflect that all this grand portion of our Union, instead of being in a state of nature, is now more or less covered with villages, farms and towns, where the din of hammers and machinery is constantly heard; that the woods are fast disappearing under the axe by day and the fire by night; that hundreds of steamboats are gliding to and fro over the whole length of the majestic river, forcing commerce to take root and prosper at every spot; when I see the surplus population of Europe coming to assist in the destruction of the forest and transplanting civilization into its darkest recesses; when I remember that these extraordinary changes have all taken place in the short Whether these changes are for the better or for the worse, I shall not pretend to say; but, in whatever way my conclusions may incline, I feel with regret that there are on record no satisfactory accounts of the state of that portion of the country from the time when our people first settled in it. This has not been because no one in America is able to accomplish such an undertaking. Our Irvings and our Coopers have proved themselves fully competent for the task. It has more probably been because the changes have succeeded each other with such rapidity as almost to rival the movements of the pen. However, it is not too late yet; and I sincerely hope that either or both of them will ere long furnish the generations to come with those delightful descriptions which they are so well qualified to give of the original state of a country that has been so rapidly forced to change her form and attire under the influence of increasing population. Yes; I hope to read, ere I close my earthly career, accounts from those delightful writers of the progress of civilization in our Western country. They will speak of the Clarks, the Croghans, the Boones, and many other men of great and daring enterprise. They will analyze, as it were, into each component part, the country as it once existed, and will render the picture, as it ought to be, immortal. JOHN JAMES AUDUBON. ATHENS. HE sun of Athens pierced into my windows early in the morning and would not let me sleep. It was the opening of October, and the sky was a positively dazzling blue. I looked out of my window; the white houses of the long straight streets were almost painful to the sight because of the clear atmosphere, that allowed full fierce play to the glare of the sun. Lifting my eyes just above the level of the highest housetops, I see an object the sight of which sends a thrill through me. It is the Parthenon. I cannot see any part of the Acropolis, on which it rests; the city and its houses come between me and hide the great rock of the citadel. The Parthenon seems as though it rested on air. So clear and keen is the atmosphere that the pillars of the Parthenon appear to be within easy touch of my hand, and yet they are so far away that the divine temple looks almost as small as a child's toy. I resolved to rouse up little Steenie and give him his first sight of Athens and the Parthenon. Steenie Vale, I should say, was the son of Sir Thomas Vale, a distinguished official in the Indian civil service. Steenie had been sent home from India a mere infant, and brought up by relatives in England and sent to school there. His mother was dead; now his father was coming home, and intended to spend some time in Greece. I had taken charge of the boy until his father should get to Athens. Steenie proved a very wholesome companion to me in my present mood and surroundings. He was an unconscious corrective of the effusive or the sentimental. It would have been impossible for me to rave about the Acropolis while that boy was anywhere near. The streets shone with a bewildering brightness when Steenie and I set out to have a look at Athens. Our hotel was in the street of Hermes; its windows at one side looked into the great square of the Constitution, where stands the royal palace, a huge barrack built of marble already yellowing under the keen influences of air and wind and sun. Those who do not know the city may be told that modern Athens is a town of white, straight, well-paved streets running at right angles with each other. Every street which is not given up to shops is shaded by a double row of young trees, chiefly the pepper trees, which after a shower of rain send about them such a pungent odor that the unthinking wayfarer finds himself compelled to sneeze as he passes. One is reminded here of Brussels, there of Weimar. That is to say, the streets and houses occasionally remind you of these cities. The people in the streets do not remind you of Brussels or Weimar, or of any city, probably, that saw before. Intense activity, watchfulness, restlessness, chatter, are the characteristics of Athens. Everybody is brisk and stirring as if all his hopes in life depended on his moving quickly, gesticulating much and talking at the top of his voice. They say Athens is you ever |