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dominates. The titles of my own bundles would form a chapter interesting enough to the D'Israelis of literature.

I design these remarks as an introduction to the translation of a little pamphlet of six pages, which I bought in the Piazzia di San Marco. And I sincerely trust that no one will understand me as designing or desiring by its publication to cast the slightest ridicule on religion or on faith, in however humble a form it may manifest itself.

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But there are spots my feet have pressed,

When summer suns were sinking low,
That seemed to me so calm, so blest,

That fairies well the haunt might know.

Sit closer to me, sweet: the blush

Is mantling rarely on thy cheek;
I know full well that gentle flush

Betokens what thou may'st not speak;
For memory summons to thy brain

The eve when, with a happy band,
We crossed the fields and reached the plain

That thy dear lips named 'FAIRY-LAND.'

Through slumberous woods the pathway steals

That leadeth to this quiet scene,
And suddenly its close reveals

The hidden landscape, smooth, serene.
On either side, a gentle hill,

To meet the plain, comes greenly down,
And there, embosomed, hushed and still,

It lies, a gem in Nature's crown.

Upon that eve, the burning thought

That in my bosom long had lain,
Rose up, and for expression sought,

And yet I hushed it down again:
For thou wert coy, and shunned my side;

Dearest, thou wilt not shun it now!
And Love, o'ermastered, quelled by Pride,

In vain had flushed my cheek and brow.

We left that lovely spot: my heart

Throbbed high with passion, mixed with fear;
And oh! I felt the tear-drop start,

To think that thou wert still so dear:
Yet ere the moon began to wane,

That shone that evening in the grove,
I looked into thine eyes again,

And in those eyes read naught but love!

Thou lovest me: my heart has found

The rest that it hath sought so long:
Through grief and pain its pathway wound,

To happiness untold in song:
And with thy dear form close to me,

Thus clasped in mine thy timid hand,
Oh, loved one! canst thou doubt that we

Have found the spirit's Fairy-LAND?

Above us spreads the sky of Hope,

Beneath us flowerets wave and move,
Sweet flowers, whose dewy petals ope

To catch the welcome breath of Love:
Our footsteps tread on magic ground,

Our brows by fragrant winds are fanned ;
Yes, yes! at last our hearts have found

The soil, the breeze of FAIRY-LAND!
Newcastle, Me., Nov. 19, 1851.


It was a peculiar blessing of the Reverend John Eliot, styled in the early history of New-England, the Apostle of the Indians,' to have had, during the self-denial and hardship of his lot, for so many years, the solace of a most careful, loving, and pious wife, who found in her home duties her highest happiness.

ANN MOUNTFORT, born in England in 1604, was the cherished object of his

young affections. They were affianced ere he left his native land, in 1631, at the age of twenty-seven, to bear the message of the gospel to what was then called the western wilderness. It was deemed prudent by their relatives that the marriage should not take place until he had gone over, and decided on some permanent abode, and made such preparation for her arrival as circumstances might allow.

The blasts of November were bleak and searching, when, after long tossing upon the deep, he landed, with his small band of colonists, upon the shores of Massachusetts. After officiating a short time in Boston, he decided on a settlement in Roxbury, and sent to hasten his betrothed to his home and to his heart. Under the care of friends, who were to emigrate to that region, Ann Mountfort bade a life's farewell to the scenes of her infancy and those who had nurtured it, and committed herself to a boisterous ocean. The comforts that modern science has invented for the traveller on the trackless deep were then unknown. No noble steamer, with its lofty deck and luxurious state-rooms, appeared with the promise of speed and safety, and with a power to make winds and waves subservient to its will.

Only a frail, rocking bark was there, which the billows seemed to mock. Wearisome days and nights, and many of them, were appointed to those who adventured their lives in such a craft. But the affianced bride shrank not. Often, amid storms, ‘mounting up to the heavens, and going down to the depths,' and long, by the dreary prospect of seas and skies, and by the loathing heart-sickness which neither pen nor tongue hath described, was the complexion of her love and the fabric of her faith tested; and both triumphed.

At length, the New World stretched as a thin cloud to their view. More tardy than ever seemed the movements of the way-worn vessel. Hovering upon the coast, the autumnal brilliance of American forests and thickets, the crimson, the orange, and the umbered brown, blending, receding, and contrasting, beneath the bright rays of an October sun, struck the daughter of the dimmer skies of England as a gorgeous dream of Fairy-land.

The joy of the patriarch, who, going forth to “meditate at the eventide,' saw the arching necks of the camels that bore to his mother's tent the daughter of Bethuel, surpassed not his, who, after long watching, and vainly questioning the sullen billows, at length descried the white sail that heralded his lone heart's treasure. And the maiden remembered no more the sorrow of the sea, in the welcome of the lover, who was all the world to her.

John Eliot and Ann Mountfort were married immediately after her arrival, and commenced their housekeeping in what was then called Roxborough, about a mile from Boston. Simple, almost to rudeness, were the best accommodations that the pastor had it in his power to offer; but the young wife was satisfied, for the home that her presence illumined was a paradise to her husband.

Scarcely more than ten years had elapsed since the colonists at Plymouth first set foot upon the snow-clad rocks, tenanted only by wild beasts and savages. Though visible progress had been made during that period in the accession of household comforts, yet many of those luxuries which we are accustomed to count as necessaries were unattainable. Carpets, sofas, the sheltering curtains, and the burnished grates of the mother-land, with their never-dying coal fires, were unknown. Yet the unadorned apartment and homely board were beautiful to them; for love was there, a love whose entireness was perfected and made permanent by having its root in the love of a Saviour.

In the autumn of the following year, 1633, their first-born, a fair daughter, smiled upon them, waking a fountain of unimagined joy, and making their hearts more at home in the stranger-land. The cradle of rude boards rocked on a still ruder floor. But the lullaby of the young mother gushed out with as rich melody as in any baronial hall; and doubly sweet in the wilderness were the hallowed, half-inspired words of Watts :

'Hosu, my dear! lie still and slumber!

Holy angels guard thy bed.' In addition to this new treasure, the next twelve years gathered around Ann Eliot five little sons. Her watchful tenderness for the physical and spiritual welfare of her intrusted flock, never slumbered. Nothing was neglected that maternal zeal or diligence could devise or perform. She was careful to nourish them on plain and wholesome food, believing that the indulgence of luxurious or inordinate appetites lay a foundation not only for bodily ills, but moral infirmity. Obedience, the key-stone of education in primitive times, was so early taught as to mingle with the first developments of character; and industrious employment, suited to difference of age, judiciously mingled with the sports of childhood. Their young minds clinging around her, their teacher, with a loving tenacity, as they put forth new tendrils, or leaves like those of the lilac, fragrant ere they unfolded, gave accessions to her happiness, for which she daily praised God.

Sometimes, the wintry winds, swaying the branches of the naked trees, swept them against their lowly roof with a melancholy sound. The apostle might be absent among his Indian flock, at Natick, fifteen miles distant, for the elements stayed him not. Then nearer and nearer to herself she gathered her nurslings, 'a nest of five brothers, with a sister in it, teaching and cheering them. In the hushes of her loved voice, or in the pauses of the storm, they listened for the father's footstep, and piled higher the fire of logs with blazing brush-wood, that, as the evening deepened, his own window might gleam out to him as a blessed star.

Ever solicitous, like the mother, for their instruction in the things that accompany salvation, he studied to render the morning and evening

of course,

family devotion not a monotonous task to them, but a season of interested attention. Order and quietness were,


among them, and then, from the portion of Scripture that preceded the prayer, each child was permitted to select such passage or expression as most pleased or impressed its mind; no matter whether it were but a line, or even a single word. They were encouraged to make a remark upon it, to ask a question about it, to speak of it throughout the day. It was their own goodly pearl' that they had found by the still waters. It was their own little seed of knowledge that they had chosen for themselves. In the heart of the parent was a prayer that God would suffer it to grow and bring forth fruit unto eternal life. No matter how broken or infantine the phrase in which the young thought, thus born of the Inspired Book, might clothe itself, no fear obstructed its utterance, for there was no critic to frown. There was the revered father, bending his ear to listen; the earnest eye of the mother, ready to beam approval. Under this regimen, it was wonderful how soon the youngest bud lifted up its tiny dew-drop.

Mrs. Eliot, amidst her devotedness to the care and nurture of her six children, found time for those many duties that devolved on a New-England house-keeper of the olden time, when it was difficult and almost impossible to command the constant aid of domestics. To provide fitting apparel and food for her family, and to make this care justly comport with a small income, a free hospitality, and a large charity, required both efficiency and wisdom. This she accomplished without hurry of spirit, fretfulness, or misgiving. But she had in view more than this : so to perform her own part, as to leave the mind of her husband free for the cares of his sacred profession. This she also performed. Her understanding of the science of domestic comfort, and her prudence, the fruit of a correct judgment, so increased by daily experience, that she needed not to lay her burdens upon him, or to drain the strength with which he would fain serve at the altar. "The heart of her husband did safely trust in her,' and his tender appreciation of her policy and its details was her sweet reward.

It was graceful and generous in the good wife thus to guard, as far as in her lay, his time and thoughts from interruptions. For, in addition to his pastoral labors, in which he never spared himself, were his missiontoils

among the heathen. His poor, red-browed people counted him their father. He strove to uplift them from the habitudes of savage

life. Groping amid their dark wigwams, he kneeled by the bed of skins where the dying lay, and pointed the dim eye to the star of Bethlehem. They wept in very love for him, and grasped his skirts as one who was to lead them to heaven. The meekness of his Master dwelt with him, and day after day he was a student of their uncouth articulations, until he could talk with the half-clad Indian child, and see its eye brighten. Then he had no rest until the whole of the Book of God, that 'light to lighten the Gentiles,' was transfused into their language. It is a well-known fact, that the first volume which ever proceeded from the New-England press was the Aboriginal Bible of the Apostle Eliot. All its pages were written with a single peń, consecrated by prayer to that peculiar work. Sacred pen! Ought it not to have been preserved, like ‘Aaron's rod that budded, with the tables of the covenant.'

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