will among the tenantless dwellings, and the wild fox found in their ruins a covert for her young. Nothing now remains of the history of the Huguenots, but a few statistical facts. The romance of their legendary lore, terminated with the abdication of their colony. From the year 1700, they became incorporated with the inhabitants of Boston. Their habits conciliated respect and regard, and their character is still maintained by their descendants. In 1713, the lands which they had vacated were occupied by a second colony, who still retained for their settlement and for the river that environs it, the names of their Huguenot baptism. The pastor Daillé, beloved almost to adoration by his flock, and revered by all around for his example of amiable and consistent piety, was taken to his reward, in the year 1715. His successor in the sacred office was the Reverend Andrew de Mercier, author of the "Church History of Geneva, with a political and geographical account of that Republic." The church, which it was the care of this religious people to erect soon after their removal to Boston, was situated where the present Universalist Church, in School-Street, now stands, and is designated in the records of that date, as the "French Protestant Church." May I be forgiven for adding one more matter of fact, as an additional witness to the integrity of my Legend? In the Granary Burying-Ground in Boston, two lowly graves still legibly bear the simple inscription of the "Reverend Pierre Daillé, and Scyre, his wife." Yet it is amid the fair scenery of Oxford, that we gather the strongest evidence of the truth of this narration, and most visibly commune with the images of a race, whose serene patience, and unwavering faith, render them models of primitive devotion. There, a gray-haired man has long pointed the traveller to a deep hollow in the turf, and told him, "This is the spot where the house of Jeanson stood, the French Protestant, who with his whole family were here massacred by the Indians." The most aged inhabitants of that pleasant region assert, that within their remembrance, the empurpled hearth-stone, on which the heads of those beautiful babes were dashed, was still seen, resisting with its indelible record the action of the elements, long after every other wreck of the dwelling had perished. But among the most striking vestiges of this interesting people, are the ruins of the Fort constructed for their defence, and bearing the antiquity of a century and a half. There, within a quadrangle of ninety feet, whence the stones have been principally removed in the processes of agriculture, may be still traced, the well, from whence they drew water in their rude, foreign home. Asparagus, from the original germs of France, annually lifts its bulbous head and its feathery banner, to attest the identity of its perished plants. Fruit-trees, said to be descendants from their ancient nurseries, still flourish, and are entwined by the coarse vines, and en. livened by the deep blush of the indigenous rose of our country, fondly striving to naturalize the strangers. ence. There are probably some, who will doubt the truth of this narrative, and still more, who will turn from the simple vestiges of its veracity with indifferBut there are others of a different class, who could not wander amid those disjointed stones, once the rude barrier against the ruder savage, nor explore through matted grass the paths of those persecuted and peaceful emigrants, nor reclining beneath the shades so often hallowed by their prayers, recall their firmness in danger,-their chastened joy in prosperity, their serene and saint-like patience, in affliction, without feeling like the Law-giver of Israel, constrained to "put their shoes from their feet, because the ground on which they stand is holy." Hartford, November 30, 1833. THE FAMILY PORTRAITS. Blest be that art, which keeps the absent near,— LOVE of Fame, has been called by philosophers, the universal passion. The desire of adhering to the memory of those we love, is an integral part of our nature. We need not turn to the costly mausoleum, or the pyramid on the sands of Africa, to prove this "longing after immortality." It is equally illustrated, though on an humbler scale, by the boy, who climbs a tree, to carve his initials on its trunk, the student, who defaces the college precincts with multiplications of his nomenclature,—the guest, who graves it upon the grotto of his host, -the traveller, who inscribes it in the Alpine Album. Yet there is one modification of this sentiment, at which I have ever marvelled, viz,-the bequeathing of our bodily presence to posterity, in a style calculated to disgust, or alarm them. When I have gazed at Family Portraits, whose ugliness and quaintness of costume, scarcely the deepest reverence for their H |