hose of my young perusers who know about
the pages of Grecian history know, that, won-
derful and sentimental just like the episodes of my
story, they are entirely good with truth ; and
the individuals who are not, will do well to peruse the life of
Aristomenes, the overcome deliverer of Messenia, which
I guarantee them they will discover all the more genuinely fascinating
than any story of fiction I at any point yet scrutinized.
A
THE
Psalm IN HARVEST TIME.
BY CHARLES WEST THOMSON.
'Neath summer's brilliant and wonderful sky,
While gladly waves the brilliant grain,
What's more, through the falling fields of rye
Goes ahead the blissful gatherer prepare —
While nature grins, and slope and plain
Are quiet as the dozing ocean,
What's more, peace and bounty brilliantly rule
By residence hearth and woods tree —
Divine force of the seasons, unto thee we raise
Our hands and hearts in song and acclaim.
There is a sweet breath from the slopes,
The incense of the mountain air,
Which from a thousand blossoms distils
Its smells fragile and uncommon —
28
THE VIOLET.
We feel its emollient — we see it there
Among the bowing wheat-edges move,
Kissing their tops in dalliance reasonable,
As though its extremely life were love —
Divine force of the reap, whence its breezes blow,
Get the modest thanks thy animals owe.
Our stacked wagon comes winding home —
At that point let us rest underneath the shade
Of this old oak, our verdant vault,
What's more, watch the night shadows blur —
O'er mount and knoll, grass and meadow
They spread their deep'ning tints of dim,
Till all the scene their shades infest,
What's more, nightfall wonders soften away —
Divine force of the world, who round thy window ornament tosses,
A debt of gratitude is in order for the season of calm and rest.
How still is nature all around !
No tune is sung, no voice is heard
Spare all over a mumbling sound,
As though some anxious sleeper stirr'd —
The grasshopper, night's clam'rous fowl,
THE FARMER'S BOY.
29
Peeps gay, however all is quiet adjacent to —
Furthermore, quiet is the relieving word,
Whose spell diffuses far and wide —
Divine force of the universe, by night and day,
We favor thee for the endowments we ne'er can pay.
Philadelphia.
THE T MB IK Q © H ® B P H A KI a
A TRUE STORY.
BY JOHN CAR NE, ESQ.
Amid the battle for the freedom of
Greece, I happened to visit its capital city, Tripo-
lizza, that had been taken by attack a couple of months
past. Most of the populace was
put to the sword, for the winners did not extra.
The abodes of the Turkish nobles were desolated ;
what's more, the blood, even of women and youngsters, was shed
in their extremely chambers. There was a royal residence at the
furthest point of the town, whose condos were luxuriously
overlaid, and its windows investigated the plain past,
also, the grandiose chain of mountains. In this extravagant
home had carried on a Turkish aristocrat, significantly regard
ed by the general population ; for he was liberal, and kind to
poor people. He was killed, with all his family, spare
one wonderful kid, of around seven years old. I
here and there entered this destroy home, and saw Gre-
THE TURKISH ORPHAN.
31
cian officers there, gaming, drinking 1 , and situated on
the rich floors. What's more, there was likewise observed, on occasion,
the vagrant tyke, meandering in the midst of the rooms where
he had been raised in extravagance, where he had
known a mother's delicacy, and where the blood
of dad, mother, sibling, and sister, had been poured
forward like water. Two of the previous hirelings of
the family constantly went to him, and viewed over
his wellbeing ; yet there was no peril — even the fero-
cious soldiery looked on him in pity, and talked merciful
to him. There was in the kid's perspective an articulation
of grit and patient enduring, that was sufficient
to contact the hardest heart: on the off chance that he had sobbed and
grieved, the outsider would not have felt a large portion of the
enthusiasm for his support. Be that as it may, there he stood, or sat,
quietly, his thin shape dressed in land pink robe
what's more, tunic of silk, and a white turban on his forehead,
looking unfortunately around, or lost in his own particular reflections.
His composition was reasonable ; yet his wonderful eye
was flawlessly dull, as was likewise his hair. His fathe*
had been general of the battalion, and was a man of
high rank, and also riches ; and the soul of a
officer appeared to be in the kid's look, as he overviewed
the weapons extended against the dividers, or took care of the
32
THE VIOLET.
silver-hilted knifes that lay on the floor. Numerous
©f them were his dad's arms, that he recalled
well. Be that as it may, when he entered the array of mistresses, or women's
chamber, where he had been breast fed, it was more
than he could bear ; for the windows of lavishly recolored
glass, the words from the Koran, in letters of gold,
with which the dividers were secured, the wellspring,
what's more, the garden past — every one of these things were fami-
liar to him from earliest stages : thither the ladies fled
at the point when the Greeks entered. It may be stated, in the
expressions of Scripture, " Death went into all their
wonderful chambers, abruptly." The vagrant had no
companion left on earth : he let me know, that, would he be able to get
to the ocean shore, and leave, there were relatives
at Constantinople, who might demonstrate him thoughtfulness.
Could anything be more devastate than his situa-
tion 1 yet " God will most likely not spurn the dad
less," and in Him the Turkish kid, youthful as he seemed to be,
put his trust. We require not watch that the Maho-
metan religion, in which he had been raised, is
one of mistake: the poor tyke knew little of its delu-
sions ; however he realized that in Alla, or God, there was
benevolence and power, to ensure the vulnerable ; and he re-
unraveled to be unwavering. The Greeks,
