"THE ANGELS HAVE WON HER AWAY!" BY FRANCES A. SHAW. "THE angels have won her away!" For she was their sister, and might not stay In her life's young morn, she has winged her flight Would we wish her back from her home of bliss, The gem was too rare for earth's shadows and gloom; Smile on us, blest seraph, from heaven, Whisper of that bright land to earth's ransomed ones given, SUNSET AT MOHEGAN. BY MRS. H. C. GARDNER. O, YOU should see the sun go down Those rich camera lines are traced. The far expanse so clear and calm, The tapering spars of ships at restAll wear the sunset's peerless charm. The artist in his silent room May labor at some sweet designMay bid his borrowed landscape bloom, And its minutest shades define; But God alone can by his power, A glorious view like this portrayGive life to all that charms the hour, And guide the sweet decline of day. REMEMBERED MUSIC. BY MRS. S. K. FURMAN. O WAKE them not, those tones so dear, In silence let them sleep; "Tis fitting that each melody Those lone, mute keys should keep, Since the dear hand that waken'd last Each old familiar strain, In all the sacredness of song, As when the spring-time came, Within each loving spirit chim'd Sweet as a magic bell, And o'er her paths the light of joy I think of her as when the late And 'neath the window curtain'd o'er Their odorous perfume; And like those gentle-hearted flowers, She breath'd her last soft sweet refrains In melting numbers there. Each day a weaker smile and words It seem'd but now, with fingers pale, It fell on the hush of even, I know she's far more beautiful As o'er me mem'ries roll, I hear the echoes of her voice THE WIDOW OF GENERAL MONTGOMERY. JANE BY MRS. JULIA M. OLIN. ANET LIVINGSTON, daughter of the Hon. Robert R. Livingston, one of the judges of the Superior Court of the province of New York, was born August 27, 1743. She was the eldest of a family of four brothers and six sisters. Most of her childhood was spent with her father's mother, of whom she writes: "The first thing that strikes my memory was her tears; often has she lulled me to sleep on her bosom by her tales of sorrow taken from the Bible, or perhaps the incidents of her own life. The fate of Joseph has cost me more tears than ever his father shed at the sight of his many-colored coat. With this tender parent I lived till my twelfth year, when her sudden death changed my destiny. I was taken home to my parents. Why I should always have been a favorite with old people," she continues, "I am still at a loss to conjecture; yet so it was; and my grandfather on my mother's side ever gave me a preference, and took me to live with him, when I could be spared from home. Figure to yourself my old parent, very deaf, and almost deprived of sight, sitting in the great chair, and calling for Miss Janet to read the newspaper; his constant word was, 'Omit nothing, child; begin with the high and low water mark-the price of flour and wheat,' etc.; not an advertisement left. This was my daily task, at first not pleasant, but I loved my parent, and was satisfied to add to his enjoyments." This grandparent was Col. Beckman, whose country-house on the banks of the Hudson is still standing. This old stone house, with its loopholes, used in those early days in the conflicts with Indians, was the first built in Duchess county. It is in Rhinebeck, which was named for him by the early settlers, combining the first syllable of his name with that of the beautiful river of his father-land. His modesty would not consent to their wish to name it Beckman. While moving in a brilliant circle in New York, Janet Livingston met Captain Montgomery. He had served in the British army from his eighteenth year. At the age of twenty-one he was at the taking of Louisberg, and for his gallant conduct on that occasion was promoted by Wolfe to a lieutenancy. He was afterward captain of the Seventeenth Regiment, and when the Stamp Act was to be enforced, an order was given to employ that regiment, then in England. But Captain Montgomery, with several others, declared publicly, that, having lived so long in America, they would throw up their commissions if the order was persisted in. In the year 1771 he had the promise of a majority, and had lodged his money for the purchase, when he was overlooked, and another purchased over him. This gave him a disgust to the service, and he immediately sold out, and in 1772, 73, came to New York, and purchased a farm at King's Bridge, resolving not to marry, and never to draw a sword again—resolves broken ere he had been three years in the country. Eight years before he had first met Janet Livingston. He was on his way to Michilimacinac, where his regiment was stationed, wher the sloop on which they were ran aground opposite Clermont, the beautiful country-seat of Judge Livingston. He was there introduced to her by one of his officers, and remained there for the day. The circumstance of this visit led him to call upon her in New York. He became attached to her, and they were married the 24th of July, 1773. A fine farm in Rhinebeck was given to them by her grandfather, Col. Beckman, a mill was built, and the foundation of a house laid, in which they fondly anticipated many years of domestic happiness. Montgomery was warmly received in the family circle at Clermont, where he found kindred spirits in the father, distinguished for his probity, piety, and wisdom, and the eldest son, Robert R., who was associated with Jefferson, Adams, Franklin, and Sherman, in the preparation of the Declaration of Independence, and who, as the first chancellor of the state of New York, administered the oath of inauguration to Washington. There too were the brothers, Henry Beckman, a colonel in the Revolutionary army, rewarded for his bravery by a sword from Congress ; John R., who was the latest survivor of this band of brothers and sisters; and Edward, the youngest, the idol of the whole family, who was afterward Secretary of State, minister to France, who has won for himself enduring fame by the code of laws he prepared for the state of Louisiana; the mother, with her stately bearing and noble character, admired and revered by all; Margaret, afterward Mrs. Tillotson, of high intelligence, poetic talent, and deep piety; Catherine, who, as Mrs. Garrettson, was a model of Christian excellence for more than half a century; Gertrude, who married General Lewis; and Alida, who became the wife of General Armstrong-both women of decided talent and genial humor; and Joanna, afterward Mrs. Peter F. Livingston, remarkable for the simplicity, purity, and graceful strength of her character. Well might Mrs. Montgomery say, "No table was so surrounded—it was the feast of reason and the flow of soul." Minds of no ordinary tone were brought into contact at that hos pitable board, and the conversation, with its "power, point, and pathos," was continually enlivened by sallies of wit and flashes of genuine humor. Studious in his habits, philosophical in his turn of mind, Montgomery, in the still happiness of domestic life, looked forward to years of quietness and peace. "Poor mortals!" writes Mrs. Montgomery, "how short-sighted we are! and when, poor easy fools, our happiness is ripening, a dart from heaven drops down and breaks our rest forever! I had only been a wife three months, when a dream warned me of my fate. Methought I came into a room, and found my husband and his brother with swords drawn ready to destroy each other. I gave a scream, and ran between them, crying out, 'Is there no other way? Must brother fight with brother? My husband replied, 'No other way, no other way.' I left them to call for help; when I returned I found him on the floor desperately wounded. They raised him to a bed. I kneeled at his feet. I wept, and asked him if he knew me. He shook his head. My agony was terrible. I rose and looked for some one to assist me. I saw his father on one side of the bed, and his mother on the other they had died long before—their countenances were mild, but mournful. They bent over him as if to catch his parting spirit. At this moment my husband awakened me. 'What is the matter? said he; 'surely some frightful dream has disturbed you.' My pillow was wet with my tears. My senses had fled; I knew him not. I could not believe he was beside me. The horror of my vision seemed to rest upon my heart. When I was able to repeat it, he said, 'I have always told you that my happiness is not lastingit has no foundation-let us enjoy it as long as we may, and leave the rest to God.' And enjoy it we did, blessed with parents, brothers, sisters, and friends. We had peace and plenty in the land. "War was the dream we thought of. My grandfather alone foretold war with England. At that distant day-in 1773-who could allow him to talk of it as a certain matter? One day, after some disputation, there was a pause. He turned to my father, and said, 'You and I will never live to see this country independent-Montgomery, you may; but, Robert, [speaking to his grandson, afterward Chancellor Livingston,] you will.' These words proved to be prophetic." The quiet scheme of life which Montgomery proposed for himself was put an end to-he touchingly said, “perhaps forever"-by his appointment as one of the eight brigadier generals of the American army. "Hardly had this announcement been made," writes Mrs. Montgomery, "when it was proclaimed that Washington was to pass through New York, on his way to Boston. On the morning of the expected arrival, the whole town was in motion-all the militia were paraded-bells ringing-drums beating-and in that moment Tryon arrived. As he landed, he looked with delight at the commotion, and on a company covered with gold lace, which he had commissioned, and called the Governor's Guards. As he landed, he said, 'Is all this for me? when two of his councilors took him by the hand, and mournfully led him to a house on Broadway, where he nearly fainted, when he saw the great Washington pass, attended by a crowd of patriots. I was happily placed to see him at a window next the City Hotel. Here Generals Schuyler and Montgomery received their commissions and instructions. General Montgomery told Washington he wished he would allow him to go with him. The answer was, 'Sir, you have a more important business to attend to; we trust every thing to you.' Washington's stay was but a moment at New York. He drove a sulky with a pair of white horses; his dress was blue, with a purple ribbon sash, and a long plume of feathers in his hat. What a mortifying sight to Governor Tryon! The next day, when my General opened his pockets, he found all the commissions of his brigade blank, which he had to fill at his pleasure." Montgomery had much to contend with in his Want of discipline and want of spirit in his troops, among whom prevailed the unhappy passion for going home; the severity of the weather, and difficulties in providing supplies and ammunition, made the task of the commander a most arduous one. new career. "The master of Indostan could not recompense me," he writes, "for this summer's work! O fortunate Agricoli! would I were at my plow again!" Success, however, attended his efforts; and the taking of St. Johns and Montreal rewarded his courage and perseverance. From his headquarters before Quebec he writes to his brother-in-law, Robert Livingston: "Should my good fortune give me success, I shall as soon as possible return home. I have lost the ambition which once sweetened a military life. A sense of duty is the only spring of action. I must leave the field to those who have a more powerful incentive. I think our affairs at present in so prosperous a situation, that I may venture to indulge myself in that sort of life which alone gives me pleasure. Should the scene change, I shall always be ready to contribute my mite to the public safety." But the hero who had responded so nobly to the call of his adopted country, was never to taste again the home life for which his spirit yearned, in the strife and tumult of war. The blow which laid low that noble head pierced the heart of the country; and deep was the sympathy felt for the wife, thus early widowed. Her tears fell not only for her brave husband, but for her beloved and honored father, and her grandfather, Col. Beckman, who, during the last three weeks of 1773, were all called away from a family bowed down with sorrow. Throughout Mrs. Montgomery's long life, her husband's name and memory were as a robe provements; the carriage-seat covered with seeds and nuts after a visit to the country-seats of her brothers-in-law, frequently called forth the playful expostulation, "Why, Mrs. Montgomery, you will never live to see those trees grow." "Well, then, I plant them for those who come after me;" and the grand old trees of her planting are now beautiful memorials of her at Montgomery-place. She died in November, 1828, in the eighty-sixth year of her age. THE ARTIST'S DREAM. AX GREUFEL sat at his garret window, his of honor to her. She had been more than forty rest gaze appearing to rest on the grand years a widow when Congress ordered her husband's remains to be brought from Quebec and interred in St. Paul's church-yard, in New York. Declining the offer of friends to be with her, she seated herself alone on the piazza of her beautiful residence, which commands a wide range of the Hudson, over whose waters were to be borne all that was mortal of the hero whose blood had been shed in the country's struggle for liberty. It was an hour of intense emotion, bridging a half-century of solitary years, and bringing back the hour when the young British officer just landed on the banks of that river, when life, and hope, and joy were new. The boat came in sight, dressed with flags and emblems of mourning, while strains of funeral music were wafted upon the breeze. It stopped opposite the house, and a salute was fired. The fountains of memory and of feeling were too deeply stirred, and losing all consciousness, Mrs. Montgomery fainted away. old cathedral of Nuremburg, although he was really gazing on a home which his thoughts had often pictured, different far from his present lonely life, for it was gladdened by loving faces and the merry voices of young children. The present was long lost in a dreamy reverie from which at last he was roused by the chimes for evening prayers. Startled by the lateness of the hour, he rose wearily, and taking up his pencil began sketching a face which had often interwoven itself with his thoughts; for many hours he worked steadily, till on the canvas glowed a form so lovely yet simple in its girlish beauty, that he involuntarily paused and wondered at his own work, and when he betook himself to his hard pallet, the sweet face he had been painting mingled with his dreams. It seemed to him that he was walking with a blooming maiden in a meadow, where the fresh grass was enameled with the brightest flowers, a soft breeze was around them, the notes of the birds filled the air; and all nature rejoiced in the early spring, when suddenly he awoke cheered and refreshed by a vision so lifelike. All the ensuing day he painted with unceasing diligence, at the same face, and when at night he closed his eyes, it was with a hope that in sleep he might again meet that beauteous girl, and again he saw her, and it seemed to him that she was his betrothed, and he entered with her into her parents' dwelling, and they received him with joy as the promised husband of their only daughter, Gretchen, and he felt the happiness and the pleasure of home which he had never known since the poor widow Greufel died, and with many tears and prayers, left her orphan son to strive alone with the stormy world. Mrs. Montgomery was a woman of noble presence, of masculine mind, and of great force of character, and she ranked among her friends some of the most eminent men of that eventful age. Spending much of her time in solitude, she had ample leisure to store her mind with the riches of English literature. During the later years of her life she was almost entirely deprived of sight, in consequence of her having read the diamond edition of the British poets; but varied was the information conveyed to her by the hearing of the ear. An estimable lady, who resided with her, read aloud to her many hours every day, and a great number of volumes were perused during the quiet days of the long winter. Always deeply interested in the politics of the country, she was regularly supplied by her brother, Edward Livingston, with Congressional documents and reports from the various departments of state, to the read- A new life dawned upon Max, and many days, ing of which she gave an attention that never ah! even weeks passed thus, the dreams of the flagged. night furnishing a bright store of happy recollection She was deeply interested in agricultural im- for the day; the picture meantime growing dearer to him every hour. The people of the house wondered much to see the young man's face beam with radiant hope, to hear his springing step and cheerful voice; they knew that his food was poor and insufficient, that he was barely clothed against the piercing blasts of the winter which was setting in, but little did they reckon of the inner life of the striving artist. Now in his dream it appeared to him that the maiden was wooed and won his own forever; the good and lovely Gretchen, and her likeness was the face of the picture, which only wanted the last touches to complete it, and which glowed in the little room with a marvelous beauty. And the day that it was finished Max Greufel's heart felt glad, and satisfied, for to him it was the living semblance of his bride as he first met her on that spring morning in the verdant meadow. But in sleep that night, as he watched her fondly, it seemed to him that her face grew wan, and her sweet blue eyes looked sad and dim, and then an anxious foreboding filled his mind, and the next day he was sore depressed. Alas! the happy dream was fading fast away; and now, instead of the once radiant visions came those of doubt and perplexity, and by day all things were changed to Max; even the face of the picture no longer looked out on him with peace and love, but the eyes seemed mournful, and ill at ease. Many weary days passed thus and the artist's step grew feebler and feebler, for each night he saw his dream wife fading slowly from him, and he felt all hope departing. And one dreary night, when the wind was howling, and the elements all were waging a stormy warfare, as he lay in a restless slumber it seemed to him as he gazed on her gentle face that the Angel of Death had spread his shadowy wings above her, and with a mournful cry he awoke, for his heart was broken. And when he was sought in his garret, they found him kneeling dead before his easel, his arms round the fair picture which he had loved so fondly. P. G. A GOD THAT CAN SHAKE THE WORLD. DURING an earthquake that occurred a few years since, the inhabitants of a small village were generally very much alarmed, and at the same time surprised at the calmness and apparent joy of an old lady, whom they all knew. At length one of them addressing the old lady, said, "Mother are you not afraid?" A ANNIVERSARY OF THE WEDDING-DAY. LARGE flourishing elder-tree grew in a corner of a poor little yard; under it two old people sat one evening in the beautiful sunshine. It was a very old sailor with his old, old wife; they were great-grandparents, they were soon to celebrate their happy wedding-day, but as they sat talking of old times, they could not remember the exact date. "Do you not remember," said the old sailor, "at the time we were quite little, and laughed and played together, that in this very yard where now we are sitting, we planted little twigs and made a garden." "Yes," answered the old woman, "I remember it very well, and we watered the slips; and one of them was an elder-twig, which took root, put forth green branches, and became a great tree, under whose shade we are now sitting." "Yes, certainly, and there in the corner stood a water butt, there floated my boat; I made it myself; how well it could sail! Soon after I went to sea." "Yes, but first we went to school and learned something," said she; "and then we were confirmed, we both wept; but in the afternoon we went hand in hand to the round tower, and saw the world beyond, over Copenhagen and the water; then we went to Fredericksburg, where the King and Queen were being rowed on the canal in their splendid boat." "But, indeed, it was necessary for me to row others, and that many years, to a great distance, on long journeys." Yes, I cried often for thy sake," said she, "I thought thou mightest be dead and gone, and lying there under the deep water, tossed by the waves. Many a night have I got up and looked if the weathercock had turned. Yes, it pointed aright, but thou didst not come. I remember so well, how, that one day the sky was pouring with rain. The carter who fetched away the dust came where I was at service; he went in with the dust-tub, and remained standing in the doorway; O, it was such horrible weather! Just then came the postman and gave me a letter; it was from thee. How far it had come! I opened it and read! I laughed and cried, I was so glad! Thou saidst that thou wast in warm countries, where the coffee-berries grow. What a beautiful land it must be! Thou hadst written so much, and I read it all, while the rain came pouring down; and I stood there with the dust-man. Then came a stranger and put his arm round my "No," said the mother in Israel; "I rejoice to know that I have a God that can shake the world." | waist." |