MISS MITFORD'S LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF AMERICAN LIFE.

THIS is another series of tales selected by Miss MITFoRD from the stores of North American fiction. She has adopted the fanciful title of Lights and Shadows., wider the idea that these little histo- zies duly represent the accidents of moral light and shade in the United States. We have here the Yankees drawn by themselves; and if far more harshly painted than by any of our travellers, we trust that republication will not by them be considered as bad as the original offence. In none of the most ill-natured works by English travellers, has there been found any thing so bitingly sa- tirical on the political and official character of the country, as in "The Politician"—nothing half so severe upon the Republican's absurd admiration of foreign fashion, and his veneration for foreign rank and title. The "Azure Hose," is a most laughable sketch of the blue-stockings of the States, the sentimental nonsense mon- gers, who imitate, or rather caricature BYRON by word and deed: had any thing equally malicious been composed in this country against the pretensions to literature of the ladies and gentlemen of the States, we should have had a war !

The best and most interesting of the contents of the three vo- lumes, is the story which begins the second—" The Young Back- woodsman," the minute and interesting description of the settle- ment and progress of a family in the New Western States. The Aouching traits of character—the affecting incidents—the sad struggles and afflictions of this amiable little community—form altogether a tale of the most engrossing interest, and would alone ..give high value to this work. It is equal, and in the loftier cha- racter of its subjects superior, to many of the best parts of Lawrie Todd.

From this tale we will make an extract : it contains a principal incident of the story, and on which, indeed, turns the fate of the family—the death of their chief and father ; the mild, intellectual Mr. Mason, a man of too amiable and sensitive a disposition to stand the wear and tear of the incessant squabbling, both in reli- gion and polities of every town in the civilized part of the States,

. and who succumbed before the rude trials of its uncivilized portion. This is the account of his last moments (he bad long been sinking), and of his funeral— Such was the state of things until the twenty-fifth of -September. It Was Sabbath evening, and a glorious sunset. The sun was sinking behind the ,trees into the misty veil of Indian summer ; the turtle-doves were cooing mournfully in the woods, as though sad at the departure of day. Mr. Mason roused ; awl instead of relapsing, as usual, into lethargic drowsiness, seemed to revive to unwonted consciousness. It was the mysterious hut common and sublime effort of the spirit about to take its final flight. Ile requested that his family might assemble about his bed. The whole family, even to the youngest member, was instantly about him, in that speechless awe—in that mute and -unutterable excitement of love, astonishment, and terror—which presses too hard upon the whole nature, to allow scope to any individual feeling. They were there to hear his last words, and to witness his last struggles with mor- tality. In his left band wss a baud of each of the children ; in his right, that of the worn, pale, and speechless companion of his toils. His eyes were turned upwards, and his lips moved evidently in silent prayer. When be had finished this speechless communion of a dying father with his Maker, in a firm and distinct voice he uttered the following words- " The last twelve years of my life have been a succession of days of pain -and sorrow. I have a thousand times anticipated all the circumstances of this hour. For myself, I should rejoice to be gone. Death is but the pang of a moment. All that is terrible in this hour is, in leaving you behind. Love of you has such entire possession of this heart, that it seems to me as if it could not grow cold. Eliza, my wife, you need strenth, and while you implore it of God, struggle for it yourself. We are not here in sin and tears, to melt in sorrow, but to conflict firmly with ti ml, temptation, and at last with death. My last charge to you is, to shed as few

• tears for me as may be after I am gone, awl to strive to associate pleasant in- stead of painful remembrances with the intercourse we have had together and -with this parting. Gird up the loins of your mind, and strengthen yourself in the strength of God for your duty. Above all, look to God, and never despair. Will you promise your dying husband this?" A shuddering movement of her bead gave consent.

" For you, George," be continued, " I see the firmness of duty in your eye. God has endowed you, as by a miracle, with the strength of mind necessary to take care of this helpless family. You are to labour, and to pray, that you may :become as of iron ; that you may have no sensibilities—no fountains of tears; that you may act with the singleness of firm and wise judgment for these dear ones that I now commit, under God, to your care. In the management of them, will you be faithful, wises affectionate; and, what I have not been, firm? You are young to take such a charge, and make such a promise." A slight spasm passed over the beautiful and sun-burnt face of the noble boy, which indicated that the machinery of tears-was in operation. It was the - struggle of but a moment. He bent down, and kissed his father's forehead, and uttered in a firm and unfaltering voice, "Dear father, think only of your- -self. I promise all." The father convulsively grasped his hand, looked eagerly and intently in his face, and said in a low and expiring voice, "Now, Lord, lettest Thou thy servant depart in peace!" No sobbing, no tears, no holding to this earthly prop, retained his spirit in its flight. He heaved his last sigh ; and the bosom, which still preserved the semb- lance of what had been the seat of passion and sorrow, sunk to the stillness of other inanimate matter.

A woman, accustomed to perform the last duties for the dead in the settle- ment, with the aid of two or three slaves, robed and prepared the body far its final sleep. •While these painful duties were performing, they were not inter- state& by-fliVelies -afia ivhich;.- on Such occaSiOna;-they were- at- m itoined. The Mourners remembered the promise so recently given, and they walked backward and forward in the paleness of death ; but there were no words, no audible lamentings. The children clung to their mother with an en- preon of terror and awe, but were not heard to cry. Silent respect and sym- pathy were on the countenances of the neighbours. The passing slaves stop- ped, took off their hats, gazed respectfully for a moment on the face of the dead, and passed on. Slander had been busy with the name of the deceased, while living; but the claims of truth and justice are everywhere felt to a certain de- gree. The manner of these people told more eloquently than any words they could have used what had been their real thoughts of him while living. I may remark, in passing, that it is the character of people such as those among whom Mr. Mason expired, to be deeply moved with such scenes of distress as these. Whatever appeals directly to their senses powerfully: affects them. They forgot their envy and slander of the living, and were saying, in an under-tone among themselves, what a wise and learned man he had been, arid how they pitied his poor and helpless family. They kvere considerate and unequivocal in the offer of the aid of servants, provisions, and all the little decencies and mournful pre- parations for such a funeral as the customs of that region prescribed. There was no white person at that time within thirty miles, who was accustomed to perform the usual religious duties on that occasion. This circumstance was stated to Mrs. Mason. It aroused her feelings from the stapefaction of her dis- tress, to think that the remains of her dear husband, who had so many hundred tunas tattered the voice of prayer over the lifeless bodies of others, should be carried to his long liome withcut prayer. Pompey, a converted Methodist slave of Mr. Garvin's, was in the habit of preaching to the Negroes, and of praying at their funerals. Mrs. Mason very properly preferred that he should perform the funeral solemitities of her husband, rather than have none on the occasion. Torough a pardonable relic of former passions, and the feelings which had been nurtured in another country and another order of things, Mrs. Mason chose that the body of her deceased husband should be placed in the coffin, robed in the gown and basds, the insignia of his former office and standing. I should be glad to give the reader as distinct an image as I have myself of this rustic funeral in the Mississippi forest. I see the two solitary cabins standingin the midst of the corn which overtopped the smaller cabin. I see the high and zig-zag fence, ten rails high, that surrounds the field, and the hewn puncheon steps in the form of crosses' by which the people crossed over the fence into the enclosure ; the smooth and beaten foot-path amidst the weeds, that leads through the corn-field to the cabins. I see the dead trees throwing aloft their naked stems from amidst the corn. I mark the square and compact enclosure of the deep green forest, which limits the prospect to the summit; of the corn-stalks the forest, and the sky. A path is cut through the corn a few feet wide to a inige sycamore, left in its full verdure in one corner of the field, where Mr. Mason used to repose with George when he was weary, and where he had expressed a wish, during his sickness, that he might be buried. Under that tree is the open grave. Before the door of the cabin, and shaded by the western slope of the sun behind it, is the unpainted coffin, wanting the covering plank. In it is the lifeless form of the pastor, the cheek blanched to the colour of the bands about the neck, and contrasting so strongly with the full and flowing black silk robe, in which, in the far country of his birth, he had been accustomed to go up to the house of the Lord. I see the white Mothers, their children, antis considerable number of blacks, who had been permitted to attend the funeral, in consideration of the service which was to be performed by one of their number. I see the tall and swarthy planters, with the sternness and authority of the rude despotism which they exercise over their slaves, and their conscious feeling of their standing and Importance impressed upon their countenances. I see the pale faces of the little group of =Innen, struggling hard with nature against lamentations and tears. They could not liave, and they needed not, the ex- pensive and sable trappings which fashion has required for the show of grief. Their faded weeds and their mended dresses were in perfect keeping with the utter despondency in their countenances, and their forlorn and desolate prospects. The assembled group was summoned to prayer. The Black, who officiated, was dressed, by the contrihut ions of his fellow-servants of the whole settlement, in a garb as nearly like that of the Methodist ministers, who were in the habit of preaching in the settlement, as the case would admit. The position was to hint one of novelty and awe. His honest and simple heart was affected with the extreme distress of the mourners, and the trying position in which he Was placed. He began at first in awkward and unsuccessful attempts to imitate the language and manner of educated ministers. He soon felt the hopelessness of the effort ; and pouresl out the earnest, simple, and spontaneous effusions of real prayer, in the tones of the heart, and in language not less impressive from being uttered in the dialect of a Negro. He dissolved into tears from his own earnest- ness; and, while the honest and sable faces of his fellow-servants were bathed in tears, the contagion of sympathy extended through the audience, producing a general burst of grief. I should despair of being able at all to catch the living peculialities and dialect of the discourse, or exhortation, which ffillowed. Never- theless I shall attempt an outline of the beginning, which may fairly serve as a sample of the rest. "White masses and people, please to hark, and hear the poor words of Pom- pey. Great God let white men bring poor Pompey over the sea, and make him work hard in field. Great God good, when he seem hard with us. He send good men to turn Pompey's heart, and make hint Christian. Strange things God work. Here Massa Mason, great Yankee preacher, know all tongues, read all books, wear the grand gown you see there in coffin, preach in big meetin. He come way off here to Massaseepa to die, die in the woods. Nobody pray over him but poor Pompey. Well. Methink all one thing fore God. Me feel here, when me die, me go to heaven. God no turn me out, cause me no touchhook-learning. Massa Mason he die, he go to heaven. Oh! Lord God, touch Pompey's lips, that he speak a word in season to poor Missis and the dear children. Oh! Missis! you see Heaven, you no want him back. No sin, no labour, no tears." And the poor, earnest slave proceeded to pour forth from the fulness of his heart all the motives of resignation, patience, and hope, that his retentive memory and the excitement of his feelings enabled him to utter. For roe, I have often heard the cold and studied words of doctors, learned and famed in the schools, with less effect than the heartfelt preaching of this devout slave. The audience melted anew into tears as he proceeded ; and those of Mrs. Mason, and those of her children who were able to comprehend, were tears of resignation and reli- gion. When the service was finished, he recited in his peculiar accent and dialect those beautiful verses of a Methodist funeral hymn, which he had so often heard repeated as to have committed to memory- " Those eyes he seldom could close.

By sorrow forbidden to sleep," &e.

I have never heard voices so sweet as those of some female Blacks on such oc- casions. The thrilling tones will remain on my memory, while I live. . To we, too, there is something affecting in that sacred music in which the whole con- gregation unite. Every one joined in this hymn, and it seemed to be a general wail sent up from the woods to heaven.

When the hymn was closed, the man who officiated as master of ceremonies

on the occasion' proposed to those who wished to takes last look at the deceased to come forwitid. It is a common custom in that country for widows who affect refinement to shut themselves in retirement from the funeral iolemuities of their husbands. Such was not the way in which Mrs. Mason expressed her grief and her affection. She walked firmly to the coffin, and all her children came round her. They looked long, turd without tears, at the pale and care- worn countenance and the deep and sunken eye of the husband, the father, the being who had been, next to God, their stay and their dependence. Well might the widow remember the slay when, in the prime of youth, love, and hope, in the same robes of office in -which his body was now lying before her in the coffin, he had led her to the church, the sabbath after their marriage! Oh! there are views and reflections of a moment, that fill remembrances of years. The look of unutterable thoughts and feelings was over. The unpainted cover was applied to the coffin, and the nails were driven. Twelve of the most sub- stantial planters were the bearers. The mourners walked directly behind the coffin, and the whole mass followed through the corn-field in a crowd. The coffin was let down into the grave, and the fresh and black soil was heaped upon it. According to the affeeting and universal custom of that region, eache one present took up a handful of earth, and threw it into the grave. A couple of stakes were planted, the one at the head and the other at the foot ; the neighbours dispersed to. their several abodes; and the widow and her children returned to their desolate dwelling. I feel a chill pass over me as in imagination I look in this evening upon the de- solate family. I mark the empty chair, where the deceased bad been used to sit. I observe his vacant place at the rustic table, and the supper removed un- touched. I remark the deeper sense of desertion aud loneliness, when Mrs. Ma- son took down the family Butte at the accustomed hour of evening prayer, and gave it to George. The noble boy remembered that his ilyiug father had de- legated to hint the responsible and patriarchal authority of head of the family, and had warned hint against giving way to sorrow and tears. He opened the Bible at that sublime and pathetic chapter of Job which begins—" .lan that is born of a woman, is but of few days, and full of troublc,"—a strain of poetry so deep, pathetic, and sublime, that it reads, in my ear, like a fluvral hymn, with the accompaniment of an organ. He had reduced to writing his far lit r's evening prayer, as be remembered it, and in a firm and distinct voice he read it. He sung sweetly, and had been long accustomed to raise the evening hymn. It was an effort beyond his firmness; and, instead of the customary concert of voices, was met by a general burst of grief. I need not describe how dark this night looked to the children, as it settled on the forests, nor describe the thrill with which the long and dismal howl of the wolves, echoing through the woods, came upon their ears ; nor need I mention the convulsive shudder with

which the orphan daughter lay down with her mother upon the mattress on which her father had died.

The days that followed seemed to them of immeasurable length. George and Henry went to the field, as they bad been wont, when their father was alive ; for, on the first morning after the funeral, it was agreed that to proceed

to their duties, as usual, was the proper construction of his dying charge. Resolution in a well-principled mind can do IMIC11. But the heart knoweth,

and will feel, its own bitterness. The boys streamed at their task, or thought

too intently of something else to make much progress. Days, however, pro- longed by sorrow, came and went to them as though they had been in joy. For a few days the neighbours looked in upon them with countenances of sym- pathy for their distress; but in a fin tuight all this was to them as though it had not been ; and the bereaved family was regarded with as much indifference as the dead trees about the dwelling. "After that, had it not been for the con- nexion of some of their own selfish feelings with their case, whether they were naked or clothed—whether they were feelings or fed—whether their hearts ached or were glad—would have -been known only to themselves and to God.