too sensitive, too hasty. If you are, injured, I shall never forgive myself. But you shall stand only one shot; if, when Dixon finds you are determined not to return his fire, he does not then feel satisfied, I will fight him, and I will return his fire. Do not give me any farewell messages, I cannot hear such melancholy things.'

They reached the spot; an accommodation was proposed to Dixon, if he would disclaim the intention of insulting George; but this he would not do, and he ended with some sneering remarks about the Yankees that made Robert's blood boil, but which, had it not been for the feelings of his friend, George would no more have heeded than the idle wind.

The ground was measured, and they took their stations.

'You can kill him George,' whispered Robert Simonds.

'I shall not attempt it,' replied George. 'I am not seeking revenge.'

'But you ought to endeavour to preserve your own life.'

"Then I ought not to have come here. But this is idle now. Give the word.'

The word was given-Dixon fired-and George Torrey fell. Robert sprung to him, raised him—a stream of blood gushed from his right side. 'It is all over,' said George faintly, as he recovered a little from the first shock. I am dying. I must leave the world just as it begins to smile upon me. I must leave Delia and you. O! I have lately dreamed of great

things I have thought that, blessed with Delia's love and your friendship, I should use such exertions-I should be so indefatigable, that success would be mine. But it is all over-I must die before I have done anything-I must die and be forgotten-Die as the fool dieth.'

'O! George, George,' said Robert, with tears flowing fast down his cheeks-What shall I do? How shall I comfort Delia ? Why did I allow you to send the challenge?'

George attempted to reply, but the effort overcame him, and they thought him dying. But he revived again, and was conveyed to the house of Judge Simonds. He lingered twelve hours, and during most of the time, was able to converse.

George Torrey was laid in the family vault of Judge Simonds, and before the year had expired, Delia slept beside her lover. Robert Simonds, agitated with grief for the loss of his friend, and indignation against Dixon, could hardly be said to be in possession of his reason, when, three days after the burial of George, he challenged his murderer to meet him. Dixon was so elated with his success over poor George, that he exultingly accepted the challenge of Robert. They met; and at the first discharge, Dixon was shot through the heart.

Robert Simonds still lives, but he is a melancholy, misanthropic being. Alone in the world, and continually brooding over the memory of those dear friends he accuses himself of destroying.

THE SPRINGS.

-She had marked

The silent youth, and with a beauty's eye
Knew well she was beloved; and though her light
And bounding spirit still was wild and gay,
And sporting in the revel, yet her hours

Of solitude were visited by him
Who looked with such deep passion.'

PERCIVAL

It was in July, 1818, that Emily Woodworth made her debut at Saratoga. She came accompanied by her guardian, Mr. Chapman, and his wife. Mrs. Chapman was a dyspeptic, nervous and very particular lady. In her youth she had been a celebrated beauty, and still felt all that thirst for personal admiration which had once been so lavishly bestowed upon her eharms. But alas! for the woman who has passed her tenth lustre and yet has no claim to the attentions of society, save what personal beauty imparts. Such women have always a horror of being thought at all acquainted with Time-that unfashionable old gentleman is entirely excluded from their conversation, and any allusion to him, they deem, in their presence, impertinent. It was always with a look which seemed intended to petrify the speaker, that

Mrs. Chapman heard her increasing infirmities attributed to increasing years; she wished to be thought young, and yet she had neither health nor inclination for the gayeties of youth; and so she eagerly condemned all pleasures in which she could not participate, as vain, frivolous or unfashionable. In short she was always of the opinion that those amusements, which were inconvenient or unsuitable for her, were either very vulgar or very sinful.

Mr. Chapman was an industrious mechanic, a carpenter by trade; but he had an inventive genius, and a persevering temper; and had generally succeeded in his plans and projects, till finally he had become not only the architect, but proprietor of several mills and one large cotton manufactory; and partly by labor, partly by lucky speculation, had accumulated a large fortune. He was a thorough Yankee, shrewd, sensible and somewhat sarcastic; at least his ready repartees, and the knowledge of characters and circumstances they frequently implied, made his wit often feared by those who felt conscious of follies or faults they did not wish exposed. Yet he was a good natured man, as the uniform forbearance, and even pity with which he listened to the peevishness and complaints of his wife, and his constant kindness in his own family, and the cordial civility with which he treated his friends, except when an occasion for a good joke occurred, sufficiently testified.

Emily Woodworth-but I will not introduce her formally, by telling her height, or describ

ing her features, or noting the color of her complexion, eyes, lips and hair. Take a pen, fair reader, look in the mirror, and then try the sketch yourself. But be sure and make Emily as handsome as your beau ideal of female loveliness, or I shall in future draw my own heroines. And yet it is a task in which few succeed. The artist, proud of being complimented with possessing the skill of a Vandike in delineating the countenances of men, will find it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to paint the likeness of a beautiful woman. To be successful he must embody sense, spirit and modesty in that just proportion which shall give the idea of dignity as well as delicacy to features where passion has left no record; and he must impart meaning and expression to the 'smoothness and sheen' of a face where neither the ambition of pride or energy of thought have stamped any predominating faculty of soul. This task can only be accomplished by one skilled in reading the heart as well as drawing the head. There are but few descriptions of women, even in our best poets and novelists, that do justice to the female character. The mistake is that mere physical beauty, harmony of features and a fair complexion, are generally represented as entitling their possessor to the appellation of amiable, interesting, elegant, &c.-it is the countenance which is supposed to give a tone to the mind, not that the mind inspires the countenance. Such a mistake would never be made by an artist who was painting men. And while