r minds."

The sisters read. On the following Lady-day James Cheshire had turned
over his farm advantageously to another, and he, his wife, Nancy, and
the old servant, Mary Spendlove, all embarked at Liverpool, and
transferred themselves to the United States, and then to the State of
Illinois. Five-and-twenty years have rolled over since that day. We
could tell a long and curious story of the fortunes of James Cheshire
and his family--from the days when, half repenting of his emigration and
his purchase, he found himself in a rough country, amid rough and
spiteful squatters, and lay for months with a brace of pistols under his
pillow, and a great sword by his bedside for fear of robbery and murder.
But enough, that at this moment, James Cheshire, in a fine cultivated
country, sees his ample estate cultivated by his sons, while as colonel
and magistrate he dispenses the law and receives the respectful homage
of the neighborhood. Nancy Dunster, now styled Mrs. Dunster, the Mother
in Israel--the promoter of schools and the counselor of old and
young--still lives. Years have improved rather than deteriorated her
short and stout exterior. The long exercise of wise thoughts and the
play of benevolent feelings, have given even a sacred beauty to her
homely features. The dwarf has disappeared, and there remains instead, a
grave but venerable matron--honored like a queen.

MOORISH DOMESTIC LIFE.

At the threshold of the door, leading from the court-yard to the house,
the daughters of Sidi Mahmoud received us with cordial welcome. They are
two very beautiful girls. The eldest, who is about fourteen years of
age, particularly interested me. There is an expression in her soft,
intelligent, eyes which shows that she feels the oppression of
captivity. Her features are not those of a regular beauty; but the grace
which marks all her movements, the soul breathing animation which lights
up her countenance, and the alternate blush and pallor which overspread
her delicate cheek, seem to mark the fair Zuleica for a heroine of
romance.

While I gazed on her, I thought she looked like a personification of her
lovely namesake, the glorious creation of Byron's muse. Her beautiful
chestnut hair was unfortunately (in compliance with the custom of the
country) tinged with a reddish dye. It was combed to the nape of the
neck, and a red woolen band was closely twisted round it, so that the
most beautiful adornment of a female head was c