VOLIJAIE 19,
tielect Poetry, anb Miscellany.
nxer.
,I
DI "r, uecuANAN BEAD
NV ho are ye who Nit and murmur
O'er your grievance fiord and long!
Who are ye u hose necks are trodden
By the iron foot of wrong?
Wear yo not God's mighty image?
Rise! assert it, mid he strong! -
Can ye see your wives and children
Under old oppressions cower,
And not feel yolir right arms aching
With thefullness of their power?
Rise! a life of idle groaning
Is not worth'one well-n rought hour!
Able-bodied, idle-minded?
DO you weep beneath your pain?
Or, with empty ettut of ,Freedom„
> Do ye stagger with your ehai
ilear'ye not Your weaker brother?
Riot or Wt•P r- the ettrat of.Caitt!
Will ye it in dust and ashes,
Gazing. on the proud and great?
Kuaw :sou not that soul and sinew
,!11 achieve their own estate?
Rise! to action—or in garret.
Dre•aut, and o ti. rve your fate!
Are ye FR men—ncemen r d) I
110 Ne act n froomea do?
An , dour reel r,. not t oter Ivader.,7
Arc many, ate on few!
Itn.e! a ith iturpo:o: flint, and n.ach tloqn
They 'most finq by ruled by
Into you belong , the V("(
Ana Ow freedom of the ~a ;
Will 3on hear your rvapu, dictate
NV hut hor fry ight or la n o :1)011 he!
lii-e! anil hurl tl u err over,
the he-t of tva!
NOI3ILIT
Orlljc
I=
i- 4111' 1.711:1,1 4111'1/Wll lan that r'••r
1:,111
Well, %%ell, own anti,-Lxvlll not argue the
with you; as an Auivr.eau you are right in It
such a belief; int you ritti , t we to
tkat there is something not to be dispised in a
and honorable de-cent. I cannot but belie
the descendants of tho.e who for generation
beck! ennobled by lofty deeds of high enterpri
be more likely to perform tnagmanimoui actio
the son of a !mumble ptebian:'
"You agree with rid, llenri;
differ in tering. I assert that the childredolla fam
ily which can look back' with homiest pride to deeds
of integrity' and uprightness, of virtue and'h
arc. the true scions of nobility: lei-their paten
the signet of an Altnip_ny hand."
:"Then the Fntt of an honest blacksmith of l
he as proud of his birth as the heir of a
rend or a rOtle; is that votir opinion?"
~o tilething very like it, I confess, nenr
% as the origin_of the nobles of the old .cot It
pine and violchee'gave them their heritage
lans, \ nduleseivilesuLoni4sion to a monarch, or per
baps treachery to his enemy was, often the price
paid fur their sounding llad
_they ben en-
nobled for tbeir- virtue, Henri, rind had the3 l trans
mitted these; together ‘vith their proud names, !Jiro'
succeeding generations, then well might. their; de- .
EC ellaillitB have glo?ied in their birth; but strely
you need not be reminded of the black, catalogue of
crime which cuhfrit be appended to every gerralogi
cal chart in 'merrie England,' no less than in your
4 .Trande 1131,i )II?'
"I won't quarrel wltlCyou about it, Fran but I
ELall never become a Convert to your doctribe; per
haps I am too, deeply infected with such prejudices,
but they were a part of ray lawful heritage."
know . it, llenri, the blood of one of the noblest
families of France rulis in your veins,' and the only
wonder is, that under such circumstances you should
possess such tree nobility." I
°What do you mean?"
"I am surprised that you did not follow :tile ex
ample'of most Branches of a noble stock: and make
the fame of your ancestors a licensOor your own
wort hlessness
"Frank, you are incorrigible," said Henri, laugh
ing; "according to your creed I ought to rank you,
mho possess so many estimable qualities, among the
lowest of the low:"
"Place me in what station you choose, Henri, so
long as you find no cause for despising me. But
you rui,take ino: I do not think nobility olsOul in
coMpatilde with nobility of birth: I only :tiettn to
as-sert that heroic deedsare more frequently ;.erforin
cl by men in a lowly than in an exalted station, for
the latter have an inheritance of fcitne, anil are, too
often content to use it to its last grain, wi l j thout add
ing aqthing to it for the next generation ."
"I should like to see your father, Prank."
"You shall be gratified if you choose to :accom
pany me home in the spring; but, in what station
do you expect to find him!"
"If i must judge by jour theory, I should say he
is some bumble artisan, but I know better Unlit to
believe such a thing; I suppose be is one of the aris-
tocracy of your republican country living in the most
independent of all modes, as a gentleman farmer,
and I should not be surprised if he had carefully
preserved ti box of old papers, which enabled him to
trace his descent from some English yeoman of the
time of tine eighth Harry."
"You never were more mistaken in your life."
don't tell MC anything about 'IMO mean
to go and see for myserf, but no one shall persuade
me that you could derive from lany mean parentage
the chivalrous sentiments which led you to save my
life at the risk of your own."
"Pshaw, i with you would not think so much of
a trifling service."
'You may untlerrae your disinterestedness as
much as you please, but if any onelAise were to tell
tyre that the man who bound his own life preserver
on a sick stranger, when the black waters were
yawning to devour him, had performed only a tri
lling service, I think he would find a little of the
pirit of my ancestors in my reply."
The speakers who thus discussed points of honor
while they - 1 ulTed the fragrant smoke from 'their
`ilsbanar," were Henri de Valence, a young We.t."
,
,
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pint
Ming
MB
neient
r. tly.
lin4e
MEM
ME
MEM
t bea rs
=I
ontme-
; what
Ra
i broad
Indian of large fortune, and his friend Frank Wes
ton, who had left his native village to seek wealth
in New Orleans, that Eldorado of all who can resist
musrmetoes and yellow fever. They had mq, as
strangers on board a Mississippi steamer, !where
Henri was suffering from the feebleness -attendant
.upon a long illness, Before they reached their port
of destination, the boat was snagged, and the pas
sengers were in the most imminent danger, when
Frank, seeing theptillul stranger at his side,,quiet
ly took offs his life-preserver, saying, "I am strong
and can swim, but you are utterly helpless, take this
and save yourself." The opportune' arrival of a
steamer rescued them, after an exposure_of some
hours to the most imminent danger, but llenri never
forgot the heroic act of hisinew friend. With the
warm-heartedness of his age and clime, he attach
ed himself•closely to Frank, and even resolved to
accompany him to his native home, rather than part
•
with him fur a whole season. •
The first spring buds Were unfolding their .soft
green to the warm gales, when the filiends set out
ow their northern journey. Henri was charmed With
everything he saw in nature, though strongly dispos
ed to find amusement in some very Wailral trails
of individual .character. The bold and magnificent
scenery of our .beitet iful land excited his-enilinsias
tic -admiration, while his prejudices were sadly
shocked_ at_ t iome occasional glimpses of American
life. By the. time he afrivud ai New York, he was
more deeply confirmed in his idetts of the advantage
of high birth, and as he contrasted the quiet gen
tlemanly deportment of Frank. with the coarse
tiers of sonic of their travelling cOinpanions, be
could not help congratulating himself on having
found a ft iend among the better class of our plebian
It. was /ate in the afternoon ()bone of those balmy
days which make .lane delightful a mouth in
Atnerica,"when the tra',ellers approached the spot
where Frank _Weston was born and bred. -As the •
proceedeit slou, ly along a road cut in a side of a
mountai u, - ticey looked down.upon the village, lying
at the foot of a decli% ity, and nothing could be more
beautiful than the view. The neat. snc w -white
cottages were clustered together in a beautiful val
ley, through which ran a clear and - rapid stream,
spanned by a rustic bridge. Large clots, those
most beautiful of all forest trees, were seen, Fuld
(hug the inequalities of the ground in positi ons th at
,:eetned chosen for their picturesque beanie; and, as
the heauts of the setting-sun shone asiant between
their broad stems, gilding the surface of the little
river, and reflecting in gorgeous hues from the case
merits of the pretty cottap , „es,`llenri. thought he had
never seen so loved' a spot.
i "you l%ill,liiid my native home rather a humble
hbode, Henri," said Frank, as he aPproached it.—
' Henri did certainly look a little surprised when he
found Frank's father occupying a house not h white
superior to his neighbors, a low-browed cottage,
with plenty of room on the ground floor, but posses
sing no•claim either to stateliness or gentility. To
be sure it wt§ neat as woman's skill could make it.
Carpets of home manufacture covered the llourtables
of cherry wood, polished so as to rivhl mahogany,
supplied the place of more costly furniture; chairs ev
ident the handicraft or;:otne vii lege mechanic, ollbred
no promise of luxurious ease; and the row of shining
brass eandlestick4 which decorated the rude chim
ney-piece, were certainly
.better calculated to excite
ideas of utility than of beauty. But Henri sor n for
got these things -in the pleasure which he de
rived from the warm and hearty welcome with
which - he was greeted. The family consisted only
of Mr. Weston and his daughter. And the young
stranger knew not whether to be most charmed with
the frank and courteous manners of the old man, or.
the fresh and - glowing beauty of his friend's sister.
Lucy Weston was• a true,Amercian beauty; not
one of those fragile delicate creatures to be seen. in
gossamer robes and -silken slippers, treading the
muddy streets of our great cities,-and awakening by
Ithe very_character of their loveliness, the painful
remembranctof decay. She had a clear complexion,
a deep yet cool color upon her cheek, a mouth, per-
I haps rather too large fur regular beauty, but full of
bxpr'ession, eyes blue as the sky in spring, and arch
ed by brows iif the darket Chestnti l t, hair of that rich
golden brown which is rarely seen in perfection
among the unmixed Saxon race', a form slender and
graceful, yet- developed into perfect symmetry by
healthful exercise, and all these' characteristic to -
American loveliness. Remember,. gentle reader,
I am desdribing the native charms of a village beau
ty.
Lucy Weston had not been immured in the
impure atmosphere of a heated nursery during her
infancy; ,shebad not spent the ten best years of her
life amid .,
the restraints of a boarding • school,—she
had not been taught that a game of romps was a
very "ungenteci thing," and that "little Indies should
never move faster' than a walk." She had sported
and played, and enjoyed a thorough drilling in that
physical education which is now neglected. The
merry little hoyden had acquired the rich treasure
of health, while she was only pursueing the bent of
j her, childish nature, and when she did apply herself
jto mental labor, she brought to her duties a robust
1 fraMe and perceptions quickened by - daily use.—
S'oadH L , to say, Lucy would pot lihve figured to much
advantage,at a soiree, or even at a ball. She was
1
indebted to the village singing master for her little
knowled t fe of music, and though she occupied a
distinguisOd place in the church choir, she would
scarcely hale been able to join us in an Italian duct:
And-as to tier dancing—it was lady-like, for he
could do nothing that was not so,, but certainly her
teacher had added few "foreign airs" to her "native
graces." She wati very deficient in the requisites
for obtaining.distinction in fashionable life; but then
she possessed no small share of useful accomplish-,
mc nts . She made the whiteskbread and the sweet
est butter that ever graced a ,breakfast table—her
puddings and pies were delichine—her skill in darn
ing and mending, that mots necessary talent of '
"making auld clothes tuik 'moist as well as new," '
was unrivalled=she was the neatest - and quickest
of sempstresses,(no small accomplishment, let me
tell you, my fair reader)—and to crown all, Lucy
was one of the Most systematic of housekeepers.—
There was no noise, , no bustle in the liouse; every
' thing_ seemed to be done as if by - tuagic. Rooms
' were "put to rights,"—the semi-weekly baking was
' accomplished—daily churning was done, even the
weekly washing, that most dreaded of all days to
' slovenly housewive, wits quietly finished, without
any One being made acquainted with thd precise
time %%lien ail these tasks were in proon,..§;_und
LVI) NV7 AR D.,, , E3 r r..\• ;
SATURDAY MORNING,MAY 20, IMB.
when Lucy took her seat at the mid-day dinner, at
tired in a - neatly fitting dress, with her beautiful
hair smoothly folded over her placid brow, no one
would have dreamed that she had been the principal
,actor in the busy scenes of their - rustic life, and that
the profusion of healthful viands which loaded the
well arranged table, owed their rich gusto to hel
culinary skill.
Are you shocked, friend reader, that a heroine
should know how to cook a dinner? I ,know it Lis
contrary to all established rules, for — the suffering
damsels of the Minerva press never even condescend
to eat or drink, through three thick volumes of dis'-
iressful adventure. They May sometimes "snatch
a morsel of refreshment," or "sip sortie wine from a
richly_chased antique goblet," but to eat a vulgar
dinner, would be destrdctive of all heroic and senti
mental ideas. The heroines of those times were
superior to the common wants of humanity; their
immaculate white dresses neve r became soiled, - even
if they were plunged in the most. loathsome of dun
geons, their tresses never hung in other than -rich
ringlets, even if they were iist snatched from a
watery grave, and their appetites never led them to
commit such an outrage upon delicatAensibility as
to eat a really good dinner. To those who are dis
posed to be * pained by, the unrefined habits of my
friend Lucy, I can only say in the words of Boccac
cio, "ii you do n'ot like my story, turn to another
page." lam painting life as it is, and, believe me,
actual life with all its chances . and changes, ore
! -sents many a picture more deserving of the artist's
pencil than any thing which exists only in the
dreams of the fancy. I
I:lenri de Valence was eli . armed with both fattier
and daughter. Mr. Weston was a man of remark
ably prepossessing appearance. Upwards of six
feet high, finely proportionk and of almost Her
culean strengtlyhe preSe T oted a fine study for a
painter as he sat, in the pOrch at eventide, his vest
open to the ,breeze, and' his long grey locks
floating upou'his shoulders.. his broad, full brow,
his deep blue eyes, his eMbrowned but ruddy com
plexidn, seemed to form;] the very perfection of
healthful and vigorous and happy age. Mr. West
on had rarely quitted his native village, but he was
a diligent reader o . jg,ood books, a close observer of
manners and above till, a profound and accurate
thinker. Ilis,emarks were - distinguished for their
originality and acuteness, and one could not help
believing, while listening to Iris simple but ener,get
ic language, that the fate which had destined' him
to a peaceful obscurity, had deprived philosophy of
a noble votary. Ilenri's excitable and enthusiastic
temper, all'orded a striking contrast to the calm and
grace tune of the old man's Mind, and as'it frequent
ly happens in such cases, they were mutudly pleased
with each ther. Mr. Weston liked Henri's frank
de-
I rma
kich
ness and worm-Iseartednesq, while Henri was
lighted with the-cordial killidness,the strung
sense, and the deep insight ipto huinan nature wb
he found in the father of his friend.
In the meantime Frank Weston seemed to el
everything. He was glad to• be once more
home,' he was pleaseq with the respect with W
144 1 / 4 fat her had inspird Henri, because he had
ranged a little plot n jaint,t his friend's prejud
when he hoped to bring, to tx aucco<<ful issue,
he liked the respectful cmurtesy, which char m
ized Henri's manners to his sweet sister Lue,
But Frank was not as clear•sighted us he hadl
agined. He did not read all the feelings W
were concealed beneath t4e polite demeanor of
friend. Henri was fat Neu - lilting a captive,
‘'bow and spear," but of rustic beauty and ge l
itess. He had mingled much in gay' society,l
he had seen much of - its hollowneSs; he had been
courted by manmuvering mammas, and flattered 153,H
mercenary daughters, but he distrusted them, and
shrunk from all their advances. It was not until he
saw Lucy and understood her truthful character,
that he felt himself enthralled by Oudot.° of woman.
Yet there were some points, on which he was
not yet satisfied. He had not yet discovered Mr.
Weston's occopation, for he went out daily before
Henri had finished his morning slumbers and only
returned nt evening, while it happened, somehow or
other, that 'Henri never met him in his village
walks, nor even heard him aillude to . his business.—
It was not until more than a mond; had elapsed,
that Frank thought proper to enlighten.him.
am going to take you by a new rent() ip-day,
Henrii" said Fritok, as they proCeeded to walk, one
morning.
"Have you any I new beauty to show me?" asked
•
Henri.
o, but I have an old prejudice, to batter down,
and I am seeking the Proper field for its destruc
tion. Tell me, Ilenriz—what do -you think of my
-father?"
"In truth, Frank, you have just reasons \ to be
proud of •Ititn; he is worthy to have been a Rolaan,,,
in the palmy days of the republic, when the name
was a prouder title than that of a king."
"And you would be proud of such a father, even
it he i.verF of ignoble birth, Illenrir asked Frank
with a smile. --
Henri laughed as he replied, "I think I may ven
ture to say yes; but why do you always argue from
itnpossibilitiesr ,
"Will you forgive me the harmless plot by which
I have contrived to show you the fallacy of your
opinions?" said Frank. "Look there," he contin
ued, as a suddenLturn-in the lane. brollght them in
full view of the biasing tires of a blacksmith's
• •
forge.
As Henri turned his eyes hi the.direction to Which
his friend pointed, he was thunderstruck. • 'l'owcr
ing a full head above his swart workmen, and
wielding an immense piece of iron which would
have foiled a man of ordinaly wend', stood; Mr.
Weston. His face was blackened by smoke, his
muscular arms bared to the shoulder, were grimtned
with the dust of his forge, and his leathern apron
shrivelled and scorched by use, left no doubt,
as to the nature of his daily employment.
“You look surprised, Henri," said Prank; e‘ouilit
to be leas proud of that parent, becabse he occu
pies no higher station than that of a village black
smith?" •
ii:Ard, no, Frank, you are right—the man would
enoble any station," exelaimEtd Henri, as he ran for
ward to grasp the hand of Mr. Weston.
"Softly, softly my boy," said Mr. Weston,
_as
lienry•sprang to'hisiside, "or you may chance to
burn yaur broad-cloth;" and the old man, who hod
early become a participator in Frank's sche'me. made
the welkin rinrr with his merry laugh.
•
Henri returned home a little disappointed, and
not very Well pleased at this attack upon his strong
est Predjudi9s. lie could, not but acknowledge
to himself that had he known Frank's - perentage lie
would never have become his guest, and yet he felt
no disposition to depart from the hospitable roof.—
As lie tot#:his seat at the evening _ meal, and con
tempiatealhe sweet face of Lucy Weston' he could
not help regretting that she should be .so Misplaced
in life. "I' have seen many a lady of fortune and
fashion, who would give all her wealth fur such , a
faCe and stilt a form," thought he; .“what a pity
that the sh uld only be a blacksmith's daughter." -1;
Lucy, who,had been a party to Frank's innocent
design upon what he considered his friend's l
'only
weakness, harrowly scrutenized his condi ct, in or- 1
der to discoyer if there were not some cho 1 ge in de-
meanour e'onsetioent upon the recent-discovery of
i 1 -
their humble origin. But Henri possessed:too no- i 1
ble a nature to be guilty of such nit_tOies , ; and
whatever he thought, he alloWed no trace of feel
ings to be ?received in his , conduct. 1 --
Months passed away, attd the time drew Wear (Or
Frank's rei d ,urn to New Orleans.
".Po you mean to accompany me, Ilet . ri," said
he, ono day to his friend, "or shall you -pend 'the
winter amid thetayeties of New York'?"
"That does not depend on my wilt,"
Henri quickly; "I mean to be decided bl
stances."
"\Vhat o you mean, Henri?"
"Is it possible you do not guess my
and that her decision must 'govern my
Lions?"
•
"My sister!" exclaimed Frank. "I trust you are
only jesting, Henri, mid yet it is a subject on which
Frank? have you rot aeon that I love your sister
I can scarce bear a jest."
"I am s4rious as I hope for Heaven." .
"Then I can only say, tIMt I shall der
your having entered this humble abode."
"Frank lis this your friendship?" .
"What will 3tout friend:; what wijl i the
Henri, if you return to your native lam
daughter f a village mechanic as your
'not they : license me. of a mercenary desi
0. you into my family?"
roiirself not concernon that set
L.
I [than, rich and unconneetedkat.
choose fLit myself."
ucy love you, Ilenri?"
I dared answer in the Alma
ken to her on the subject, but
lets most have informed her of 1
to has become so strangely 1.
bin the last few weeks, that I s
:self with hole."
illerstands it all.
Aie'of love, Henri,
introdueilY ;
"Give
I am an 0
a right to
lIMIS
41 wish
never spo
anq mann
in truth s
rgered wi
flatter m
"She u,
her your
answer—t
I=2l
"Wha
"As I h
nve done. I know
eve, but she will
verious—the love
ier character, my friend;
lot become your wife."
which coul d overcome
ices, ought to conquer her scrlsles.''
nowledge of those prejudices,peari, has
ter scruples; she is as 'proud s yourself,
ery fact of their B ing a sing) distinction
you, Which cool lead. you t think you
oping to an allitinc with her, would be suf
o_tnalte her reject your suit. Try, if you
dare say she could love you ; vith all the
if her aPckinnate !nature, but
r consent to your proposals." -
was right, though l lletiri's In
r his love, made liqo hope a bi: l
inestly confessed that in other
) (mid hate been the object of
!from the moment When she dit i l
alities of his charlacter, she
ii l i
r herself from the wleakness of I
no believer in bliiW fatality re.
s, Mr. De Valence,"said sheq
ycu pos-essed the attribute's which are .
tire to t omen, but I knotsi that you
differeni sphere of life; 7 —n ind 1 do not
one, thunghthe world . thin is it so. I
loved jlit dearly, but 'I %%ilk! not, an I
my heart rebels; but my dt.cision is mi t
"(Amy, dearest, Lucy, with such fee
itig forme in your own hcsoin. why w
my suit"? I have, wealth unbounded; y
pass lig
I e a fairy tale." 1- -
"When you offered me a true heart,
1 lence,ou offered a strotger tempte r
w ISi
e Ith of your Indian isle.
the'o—b
I I
one of s, an heir to repiblican feelin
haps r.):oublican povert i , I could (Eel
en you - the heart and hand Which yot
I
you h6..e prejudices which are a part
itage, ( a vlyou would WA to have it h
world hat ilte father of yOur bride was
,'. I a too prong, lowly thoi
proud/to be look° down uponf
1
"Sukose, those projn ices were ce
Ow inv
"Xou
y prejt
"The
MB
aroused
ces,
and
and the
between
ME
Were sto
Y. —
1 im
jlinch
iir°t
n t;:i hi s
and
ficient t
TEM
w arinth
3 ield he
Prank
as well
Lucy lio,
ces Ise wr
but that
noble q
guarded
"I a
affectio
arti§an
AT to
nnot ;;Uppose an i
r early vigour, bu
to waive them.
'ld,
nil the
%Min.
►vice,
•ou would be constantly on the watch leiq fhe
'of my birth should escape. "ou would be
ally mortified by my i,gnoran e of fashiona
uette; every que. , ,•tioir respec ing my early
be torture, to yim; theret a mi l ne of my rich
es would seem to you to bear a sinutch fronl
acksmith's fingers. No ? sir, for your sake
ban my own, I dare not reciprocate - your al-,
~I
peqvi'
blileti
lifE w
egt ro
tilt b
nwe
feoi.
lain Henri pleaded with hil the eloquence of an
ioned lover. Lucy waslresolnte, even though
att strongly assorted ita.claim i to be heard.—
hus they parted; Henri to lament over his nn
ed love, and Lucy to cherish it the Secret-re
of her heart a 'tender' recol ection of one
proffered affection sho had rejccted.
• - • •' • •_
itn)az
het h
And t
reoi
ceibe
wios;
e years had passed away-- r ilvel years with all
ances and changes, ere Fronk once more re
d his father and sister. rip, was tipidly win
his way to fortune, but his father, like the Man . ]
Fontaine's pretty fable, had. found her sittink '
s. door. One of those speculativt4ehernes which
a the few rich and the manyoloor, hail brought
great demand the land lying on the borders of
iver which divided the villtiiel where he
resi
t Taking advantage of a mani. which he did
-11are 4 Mr. Weston sold hiefa m itt.a price far
. .
into
the
dad
not
answered
131113E1
meaning,
uture
MEM
world say,
with the
fe? Will
.11 in thus
re, Frank;
rely I hove
ire; 1 have'
my looks
y feelings;
oh] and re
arcely can
le girl: tell
lid she will
;She is a not
if you will,
Ishe will not
vanity
:ter •ivsult.
1 .
etrcurnstan-
her choice,
icdi•ered the
)cl carefully
ving bib).
7arding the
1 , 1 saw that
issnst aurae
elongell to a
say a higher
might have
, even no
de." I
Hogs plead
-11 you reject
ur life shall
Mr. Da W
ien than all
ad you been
ga and per
fidy have' giv7
seek. But
t. ydur heri -
nown to the
1 1 an humble
)okli I seem, I
vercorne, Lu-
they .exist- in
r anee, you are
2riss7bility
in . this ins
If I were t
become your
beyond his wildest ideas of its' value, and abandon
ing his forge, sought an abode in the populous city,
where extensive libraries and the society; of cultiva
ted men afforded him the advantages he had so long
sighed to enjoy, Frank found the old man occupy
ing a neat and comfortable mansion, while Lucy
was now quite a city belle, and really looked prettier
than ever: Lucy was now three-and-twenty, and
every one predicted that she would be an old 'maid,
for she seemed to have formed some ideal scheine of
happiness which could scarcely be realized in this
cold world. But Frank had/not returned - alone;
Henri de Valence was again his conpanion.
', , 1 had great difficulty in persuading him to' come,"
said Frank, as Lucy blushing and trembling, endea
vored to welcome with calmness her brother's friend.
"Lucy,',' whispered Henri, "I came to you when all
the luxries of wealth were mine, and I determined
never to appear before you again until I could con
vince you that these fatal prejudices which 'had been
the the barrier to my happiness, were entirely over
come. _ But fate hasiorderecl it otherwise. I come
L
not novas a lover, Lucy; no my heart is still full
of your image, but lam now beg.gar; labor and
sorrow are henceforth my portion..
"
"What do you mean, Henri?" asked Lucy, as
Frank discreetly led hip father from the room.
"A hurricane has ruined the value of my West
India possessiens, Lucy, anp a general revolt of the
slaVes on the island has driven me from my native
land. I have returned to , our peaceful country to
I earn my tread by the Sweat of my brow. I ollered
myself to your brother as/a clerk, but he tvoilld not
1 listen to,my proposal, and I am now a partner in
1 his commercial houses'__.
" Do you still love me, Henri 1" said Lucy, lthile
the blood' mantled her cheek and brow' with crimson.
"God,:knows how
_fervently," responded Henri;
" for your sake, I have become blind to the beauty
of women, and deaf to the accents of tenderdess; but
not now would I'fue for the love which you once
denied; you refused to share my wealth, and there
must now be none to softer my poverty."
"Am I not-now rich enditgli for both Henri'?" mur
mured limey as he laid her hand in his. "The love
which has survived so long a probation, is beyond all
price; will you accept as a free-will offering the
hand yciti once sought 'in vain, or will, you cease to
value that which in so unmaideuly a manner.is be
stowee :unsought?"
I.llie_y-beeatne the wife of her early lover, and when
in la tier 'life, his renovated fortunes enahleil him to
display his beautiful wife in, the saloons of Eltrropean
elegance, the admiration which her graceful man
ners, and self-possessed dignity obtained, left {tim no
cause to : regret that he had found TRUE NOBILITY in
the BLACKSMITH ' S DAUGHTER. -
Teti SUFFERING MonmoNs.-I.etters from the Up
per Missouri, state that between• four and five thou
sand of the Mormons have taken up their line of
march from their winter quarters at Council Bluffs
for the Salt Lakes country, beyond the Rocky
Mountains. we uie :tun), co learn chat they leave
behind,:in the'eountry of the Pawnees, Owabas and
ttoes, and in the unsettled portions of low , a large
t xfinber who tire too sick and too poor to p oeeed On
li
tlieir journey Among these there has betln a con
siderable mortality during the post winterftrom the
eSposure and 'privation incident to their condition,
and they appear to be without much hope of im
proving it. We are informed that.delegates from
these poor people to solicit alms in, their behalf are
now in bur,city, and need say no more to invite for
them the liberality of all truly charitable.—j Times.
GEN. Pmr.ow.—The last we have seen from the
court of inquiry in Mexico, is in •favor of this basely
traduced and per'secuted officer. The Whole of the
proceedings against him are disgraceful to the army.
Ills foibles are magnified' into crime; his steps
watched; his every conversation noted and pervert
ed; and the ready witness, Trist, even counted the
letters he addressed to his wife! We arelnot par l
-
ticular admirers of Gen. Pillow, but we must say
that his deportment throtfghout, befbre the court of
inquiry, has shown hi l m to be superior in many re- -
specti., to his prosecutors. The whole prosecution
will turn out to have originated in political malig
nity. A brave officer who had been twice cut d'ovi
in battle, was to be 9crificed in order to injure the
President of the United States. Notwithstanding
those petty weaknesses—the fondness for pomp add
,praise—which mark the character of Gen. Pillow,
we believe the verdict of public opinion will be in
his favor when all the facts_in regard to his trial
shall come out. We hope the President will'cause
them to be published.—Mississippian.
Mon ABOUT THAT "Ros."—A new rolling
mill has just been completed at Trenton, N. J.,
while a mill heretofore erected is turning out 300
tons of railroad iron a weak. I,arg,e brick build
ing, live stories high, and 216 by 54 feet, is being
built at Auburn,.N. Y. It is intended for a woolen
factory, and will contain 20 setts of machinery.—
there is now nearly finished, at Matto, N. Y., a
pail (Wooden bucket) factory, that will give.employ
ment:to 100 hands, and will turn out, 1000 pails a
ay. The cost of the building and Machinery Will
be probably e 30,000,. - The Chesapeake and Delar'-
ware Canal is now doing a greater amount of busi
ness than it has ever been doing before. From 20
to 30 vessels and boats are continually waiting at
each end; and - one day last week, forty-three canal
boats were towed from Havre-de-Grace to Chesa
peake city, at one time, being the largest number
ever towed by a single boat.—Pittsbilrgh POst. -
A FoaTuNy.Duscovimr.o.—On the line of the Con
card and Montreal railroad, the first seventeen miles
of 'which is to be opened this , week' as far.as San
bernton bridge, the freight earsmre already, active-.
ly employed in conveying soap stone from a quarry
recently discovered, while gradkng the ro4d, in Can
terbury. The stone is said to pe of the ,first,Tiali
ty; and the fortunate pioprietor of the quarry, Cap.
Enoch Gibson, finds for it a really market at the rate
of e2B per ton.
"Ex-rnrins ManT.'"—We notice in the last
Washingt4n Union, that' the lion. Mr. Pillsbury.
member of congress from Texas, was on the iSth
inst., married to Miss Rebecca S. Carpender' of
Penobscot, Maine. Mr: Pillsbury, according to the
old saying, might "have, gone farther and fared
worse;' but he couldint ha e gone a great waysfor'-
ther in this cou dry for-a tile, that's certain.
" itl7" 'The %Vhig Nations Convention inech; in Phila
ae„lphin on the 7th of Jane '
NUMBER 1.
NAPOLEON reigned as Emperor in Prance. The
learned and modest lexicographer, Boiste, had just
pUt the finishing stroke to his dictionary. lle had
arrived at the:point of time so happy for an author
he had just corrected the last proof-sheet, and sent'
it to his publisher. Sweet wag' his sleep, with
brilliant dreatns of future fame! The next day,•the
book that Would give him name and wealth was to
see the light! He awoke to find his bed surrounded
by gen d'armes. . ' _ •
"Gentlemen, you have certainly made some mis
take. lam Monsieur _Boiste, grammarian to the
emperor."
"The very man," answered the laconic brigadier.
"It is all right: here is the order for_ the arrest of
Boiste, grammarian."
The argument was conclusive—there wag no ap
peal. Go with them he must: and soon the vehicle
stopped before the fort of Vincennes.
. Once arrived at the prison, poor Boiste had some
hope that the obStinate sillmce hitherto maintained
would cease. He humbly supplicated to be told the
cause of his arrest, pr esting his innocence and de
voted allegience.. he o dial, through'some little
feeling of respect for an old man, deigned qi_open
the order for arrest; and after readingit, -- COolly an
swered, "To secure the public safety."
Poor 'Joists was then sent 011 - to a room, the iron
bars of its windows securing to him three months',
leisure to torture his brain in the endeavor to discov
er how he who had spent his whole life arranging
words under their different heatle,_from A to Z, could
Ilve compromised the public safety.
_lle said to
himself, with all the tranquility -of an untroubled
conscience, "It cannot be for My book that - I -am
arrested, since it has been examined three times
over, corrected, and considerably diminished, by
both the heads and the subordinates in the office of
the imperial censorship."
- Boiste did not content himself with lamentations;
he made strew?, appeals, 4 - memorials addressed -te—
en the influential persons of his acquaintance, al
-
ways ending with this most higical conclusion, "I
have done nothing; but only tell -me what I have
done, that I may justify myself."
But, unhappily, not one of his letters was answer
ed. At length, one appeal from the unlucky pris
oner fell into the hands of - Pentanes, ILE, head of
the university, who knew and esteemed the poor
grammarian; and fully persuaded of the itmesence
of a man whose whole life had been devoteit to his
dictionary, he hastened to Mention him to ihe em
peror; who, happening to be in a favorable mood
that day, smiled at the artless'epistle, and viewing
the matter in the.snme light with Fontanel:, sent
fur the Duke of Otranto. Fouche was as ignorant
as they were of the grounds of arregt, and was
'quite surprised; he had probably signed the order
without reading it; and he in his turn summoned the
prefect. The - prefect could give no explanation, -
and sent for his deputy; who, after two days of re
search, at last found the fatal document. It was
taken to. the Tuilleries, and there it was found that
it was made out upon the d'eniMciation of the cen
sor, ho bad r.cttin , iy charged Beiste -)p g
I t spoken of Bonaparte as a spthlatPr. "Howl warm?
where?" this cleapriciation did not mention. The
censor was ordered to makeltis.appearance; but ho
teas about a hundred leagues oft on n' tour of in
spection, exercising his vigilant superintendence-of
MI
the provincial press.
"Let Boiste himseit'be examined," was Napoleon's
next order. "For, besides that I believe him inca.
pubic of such an act, it realliwould not be common
sense in a dictionary." ,
The next day, Boiste was once more permitted to
sec the sub„ and , was carried to the,Babinet of the ,
Duke of Orantu, where Fontanes was already in at-
tendance.
"Sir," said Fondle, "you are accused of a libel
ag,aiustthe-;august prince who reigns over this migh-
ty empire,"
"A libel! I, my lord? Surely you cannot belie - ve
it? A libel comes from libellus, a little book. Ask
that gentleman, sir, at the head of our university...—.
I know too well the meaning—the force of words,
to—"
"Nevertheless,l added rontanes, showing him the
information, but keeping his finger 'over the sisns
'ture, "read , .
Boiste cast hii eyes rapidly along the paper.
. "Well!" cried Fouche, seeing the quiet 6unte.
nance unchanged.
"Is - that -all?" said Boiste. •
"All! and is it not quite enough? I hopejor your
sake, it is a mistake." '
' "NOt at all: it is the truth."
4 4 l'he truthl"
"Unquestionably: it was all to do ho or to oui
emper" : "
•
"To do hoaor to him!".
"Yes; to show that he was asr o ptitto.Jinguist as
lie is a hero," r
"Come, sir!" said Fondle, impatiently, "it is qtiito
ime to put an end to such foolery. This is no jest-
ng matter."
“God foibid that I shouiil make a jest of it! I
would not take such a liberty to 'yogi' excellency's
nesence."
"Be good enoufrh to-give some explanation, then"
"Nothing it lirb exisy." And taking a copy of hiti
dictionary, which lay 'on the table; he opened it at
the Word "spoliator," and/pointing to two words in
the following order:—"Spoliator—Bonapartc."
The two functionaries indignantly exclaimed
"And pluit could have tempted yowl() such en au
dacious libel?" -
"I was but giving his majesty , the credit due to
him.' I
( ttt his name after the ,word 'spoliator, as
the anth rity for the word—he, when General Bo
)
naparthltving been the first to make use of the ex
-I'l
pressidn ' n the tribune.', It is a coinage of his own,
and not known in; the French language till he used
Fouche and i f .`ortanes turned upon each other n be
wildered look, thiste was set at liberty; but it cost
him the expense of the sheets that replaced the sedi
tious page through the ilhole edition. And Boiste '
thought himself happy to - .get off so cheaply, now
now that he began to preceive that his tribute to the
emperor's coinago was considered so equivocal a com
pliment.
ErTho I I arrishorgh Telqvaplt alleges that two-thirds
of the Peints:, ivania I),•legates to tho Federal National
Convenl ion at e im• Srott:
The Libelled Emperor.
MEM