Birds and flowers, song and beauty,
Seem'd this ragged realm to fill;
That which was my soul's entrancing
Was the music and the glancing
Of a rock-born plashing rill.
Lingering there, I was delighted,
Musing on the days gone by,
Watching its bright spray-pearls sprinkled,
Every silvery tone that tinkled
Touch'd some chord of memory.

'Twas as if sweet spirit-voices
Threw a spell around me there:
Now, in lightest notes of gladness,
Now, in deeper tones of sadness,
Wafting whispers to my ear.
Memory, hope, imagination,
Seem'd to have usurp'd my will;
And my thoughts kept on a-dreaming
Till the bright stars were a-gleaming
To the music of the rill.

What a world of strange reflections
Came upon me then unsought!
Strange, that sounds should find responses—
Where e'en mystery ensconces—
In the corridors of thought!
Then emotions were awaken'd,
Making my heart wildly thrill,
As I linger'd there and listen'd,
Whilst the dew around me glisten'd,
To the music of the rill.

STEPHEN GIRARD, THE MONEY
MAKER.

ABOUT the year seventeen hundred and
fifty, in the environs of Bordeaux, in France,
there lived an old sea-captain, named Pierre
Girard, with Madame Larfargue, his wife.
They had already four children,—no matter
whether male or female, for they lived and
died in the obscurity in which they were born.
But in the year seventeen hundred and fifty,
on the twenty-first of May, another child
came into the world—a boy, named Stephen
Girard.

Up to the age of ten or twelve, there
is no record of the life and progress of
this boy. At that time he was found, with
one eye, embarked as a cabin-boy, with
no other acquirements than an imperfect
knowledge of the elements of reading and
writing, on board a vessel bound for the
West Indies. His one eye was made the
subject of ridicule amongst his companions,
and his temper was thus early soured for
life. With this physical deformity, without
friends, patronage, or money, he was thrown
upon the world.

He did not remain long in the West
Indies, but bound himself apprentice to
a shipmaster, in whose service he first
set foot in the port of New York, about
the year seventeen hundred and sixty-four.
Morose as Stephen Girard was, he gained
the confidence of his employer, and he was
made mate of the vessel in which he sailed,
and afterwards captain, when his master
left the sea. He voyaged several times
successfully to and from New Orleans. In
this position he first began to accumulate
means, and to trade on his own account, and
he soon became part owner of the ship and
cargo, which he commanded. A large gap
in the minute progress of his history now
occurs, but in seventeen hundred and sixty-
nine we find him an obscure, plodding, quiet,
thrifty trader in Water Street, Philadelphia.

At this period he took a liking to one
Mary, or Polly Lum, the daughter of an old
ship-caulker, who lived in a water-side house
down amongst the vessels that traded to
that city. The girl was plain, but comely,
and employed as a domestic servant in a
neighbouring family. Stephen Girard does
not appear to have been looked upon with
favour by the parents of the girl, for they
forbade him the house for some time. They
were eventually married, but the union was
not a happy one. She was neglectful of her
duty: he was morose and austere. One child
was born, which died. At length he applied
to the legislature of Pennsylvania for a
divorce, and obtained it.

He still continued to rent the small house
in Water Street, to which he had taken his
wife when they were married, and he
industriously pursued his combined occupations
of sea-captain, shipowner, and merchant.
About this time he entered into partnership
with one Isaac Hazlehurst, of Philadelphia,
and purchased two vessels in which to
trade to the Island of Saint Domingo. The
brigs were captured by British men-of-war,
and sent to Jamaica: a misfortune which
dissolved the short partnership. There
is another gap in the story of Stephen
Girard, extending from seventeen hundred
and seventy-two to seventeen hundred and
seventy-six. It is probable that during this
time he continued his old business, trading
as shipmaster and merchant to New Orleans
and Saint Domingo.

The war put an end to the sea enterprises
of Stephen Girard, and he was compelled to
turn his attention to the land.

He opened a small grocery store in Water
Street, joined with a bottling establishment,
where he worked hard with his own hands at
the occupation of bottling claret and cider.
About the year seventeen hundred and
seventy-seven, upon the alleged approach of
the British to Philadelphia, he purchased a
small tract of land from his former partner,
Mr. Hazlehurst, on which there was a house,to
which he removed his business; employing
his time, early and late, in preparing claret
and cider for the market, and selling them at
a large profit to the American army,
encamped near his residence. Here he remained
until seventeen hundred and seventy-nine,
sometimes making a voyage in a boat as a
water-pedlar to Philadelphia, to dispose of
his wares. His appearance was not much
in his favour. His skin was dark and
dingy; his form was short and thick; he