B. r. OLOAg, Mdftor
VOLUME 0.
'Votttl.
• IIUVEILITT.
I=l
'There'll a quaint and quiet corner.
In my soul has sat all day.
With her white hands softly folded.
And her robe of sober gray—
But in vain have brighter dwelled
Bought to frighten her away.
Once, to-day. a radiant sparkler,
With a thee of roguish glee,
Glided up and asked, demurely,
What the corner's name might be—
And she raised her eyes And 'answered
Low and soft—"llumility."
•
And the little dancer wolered
That she had such lovely eyes;
And almost wished her crimson lips
Could make each soft replies;
Yet such a face with such a dress's
Btill filled her with surprise.
She scorned the *Viet cower
With the brown and braided hair,
For her own flowed down in ringlets,
And Witlllooped with flowers fair,
, And she did not like a sober robe,
When hero with gems shone rare.
So no one sought the stranger
With the sweet bead bowed so low,
With the fair and placid forehead,
And the hands as pure as snow—
But she smiled to be neglected
As the rest glanced to and fro.
Put the evening now lacewing
R'heu'my heart shuts up is halls—
When the silvery coke of reverie
To the e‘ening worship calls
All the thousand dating dwellers
That have been within its walls.
The dancing and the singing ones
Arc weary of their play— •
Thoy come with lingering footsteps,
And tones no longer gay,
And gathcrsad and silently
In mute and tired Array,
And some, the dark and restless ones,
Have wandered off and died;
And many grand and lofty ones
Have yielded up their pride—
With broken wing and broken lute ]
They gather side by side.
And now the mcek•browed corner,
In her robe of pensive grey,
IVith a face of holy loveliness
Bends quietly to pray,
And from her form the mantle
Of mee%ness falls away:-
And underneath is flowing
A robe Tike sUnSCI fair,
And her gollien wing unfolding
lie floats into the air—
And now I know I've .entertained
In angel unaware,"
311i0rellttuil.
CLARA FIELDING;
THE PRIMA DONA.
DID it over occur to our readers, as they sat in a. con
cert-room, that the warbling beings in the orchestra were
genuine fellow-ere ituresl that those plumed and jewel
eitheads might ache, those eyes flow with tears, those
white-gloved hands be wrung with anguish? %Vo think
not; contented to gaze and to listen, wo vaguely imagine
the dark-eyed signora, and ringletted English girl, live
only to sing; that they dwell forever in a sort of myste
rious musical existence—cox et practerea rake!. Tho con
tr.iry is, however, sometimes forced on the spectator's
=EI
Clara Fielding was born with the finest musical capa
bilities. Her mother (lied almost in Clara's infancy, and
the child was educated by her remaining patent, amidst
poverty and difficulties of various kinds. Himself a pub
the singer, though not of celebrity, his life had been one
long struggle with plinury; whilst the mortifications to
Which a second-rate public performer 'is inevitably and
constantly aunjected, had soured his temper, and render
ed him but a harsh preceptor. Ho had aeon, three years
older then Clara, who was brought forward as one of
those "wonderful Children," who are so frequently; offer
ed up to the parental Moloch. The diminutive spectres
of the past will sweep before my readers—perhaps the
victims they have seen, applauded, and involuntarily
aided to destroy—George Aspull, the infant Lyra, and a
crowd more, whose innocent voices cry from their un-
timely graves.
Alfred Fielding. however, was indeed a boy of aston•
ishing muifical abilities; at seven years old ho had his
concerts.where crowded hundreds who listened in'amtize-'
meat to his instrumental performance, and hung with
delight on the melodious sounds that issued from his in
fant mouth. Sometimes the attenuated form and pallid
cheek were remarked to the father, who instantly replied
by an assurance that he was in perfect health, end "never
so happy ai when playing." This last assertion was in
a great measure correct. Besides a natural passion for
music, vanity and primmer') ambition had been instilled
into his little heart, and there was no degree of applica
tion to which he would not have submitted, rather than
be surpassed.
At five years old. Clara made her first appearance be
fore the public; rather to inure her early to their gaze,
than from any display of which she was then capablei—
She was a beautiful, clever. but very volatile child, and
it required groat occasional severity to oblige her to a
ficient diligence for her fallier's future plans.
Four years Fielding continued to reap a golden and
abundant harvest. He went on the continent with his
children, and Alfred was admired, and caressed by tiito
potentates of Europe; he returned Co his native country
to be still more celebrated; and after appearing for a
fourth season before a London audience. who did observe
(for people hare hearts) that he looked paler and thinner
then ever—that "his voice was certainly going"—and
that they "never saw a boy with such large eyes"—it
Was answered that Alfred Fielding had a cold; and he
was taken down to Hastings, where in six weekshe was
laid in his silent grave. and the sea-mow dips her white
•
Wing over it.
Clara was now alone. It has been said and sung, that
the tears of childhood aro forgotten as soon as shed; but
such is not alWays the case; the brother and 'sister had
loved each other with uncommon affection; add it might
truly bo said, that in Alfred's grave Clara's vivacity was
buried; she was never reproached for it agaiu. By that .
skill in self-doluaion which every mortal possesses' so
exquisitely, Fielding easily persuaded himself that a cold
caught at his last concert, or a damp bed at an Inn. or 41
Variety of purely accidentaFcausee, had occasioned the
boy's death; and turned, with redoubled ardor, to culti
vate little'daughter's talents. As au instrumental
performer, oho seamed never likely to equal bor brother;
but her voice promised to be of most surpassing Wittig's
tad by the earnest udvico of his professional friends, be
refrained from any public exhibition of it daring her .cbild:
hood.
Over these yeees we will pies; they werd
~marked by
none of the ottjoymentipecUliez to Oat soosoo . of, OX1.8".
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fence. Alfred's death had reconeigued the fainily to
Poverty; for fielding, with the usual, carelessness of his
caste, had saved but little; so that poor Clara's time was:
divided between the laborious pursuit of her future .pro
fession and the Severest household drudgery. Yet, elf
thoritativo and exacting as her father was, she loved him
most affectionately; for hers was a heart overflowing
with tenderness, and, except an Italian greyhound, that
a foreign prince had given her brother, Clara had nothing
else on earth to Love. At length ehe approached woman
hood, and, in spite of toil and privation. grow pp tall and
handsome, if not blooming; her hair and eyes were so
dark, and her general turn of features so Italian,t that at
one time her father meditated bringing her . oat as a na
tive of that country: But en idea that still 'greater inter
est would attach to' her as the sister of the celebrated Al
fred Fielding. occasioned this plait to be finally fella
quialied.
Cl ra was not quite sixteen when she made her debut.
It was a most brilliant one; constant and judiciouS culti
vation from her infancy had given every possible perfec
tion to a splendid voice, of unusual power, of almost-nu
rivalled compass, of unearthly (meekness. She also pos
sessed all the sensibility' indispensable for a truly
,great
singer—a sensibility that, havingrlittlo else on which to
expend its power, - exhaled itself in music with irresisti
ble-charm and pathos. Although taturally timid and re
tiring, early habit had anfamiliarized her to the public
gaze, that her self-possession was almost that of a veter
an: her elegant figure and handsome face had, doubt
ass, their share in producing the rapturous reception
with which the young aspirant was almost overwhelmed.
The exulting father anticipated golden days once more;
and felt tempted to fall at her feet and worship her. '
From this moment began' that dazzling, that intoxica
ting career, which has been run se often, and which has
sometimes terminated in a night as sudden, as profound,
as the early burst of morning was splendid and .astonish
ing. PubliC and private concerts; musical festivals at
York, at Birmingham, at Manchester; private exhibi
tions for the especial behoof of royalty; suppers at the
duke of this, and breakfasts at the marchioness of that;
visits; and invitations, and fetes, and verses, and gold
bracelets clasped with emeralds, add bouquets of flowers,
and baskets of fruit, crowded on each other, leaving
Clara scarcely time to breathe. Hardly more complete
is the change experienced by the poor little unsightly
worm, that, after a two years' residence in tho mud, one
summee's morn climbs a stem 'of grass by its native
water, and then becomes, it knows not how. a splendid
insect, glittering like a jewel, and pursued. as it floats
through the air, by the coveting aye of admiration.
Without a mother, or any other female protector. the
youthful Clara was beset by dangers, to which she had
no advantages of education or example to oppose. Field
was not exactly a bad man. but ho had no . guiding
principles, save interest end self-indulgence; nor had he
ever attempted to warn his inexperienced child of the
precipices she must approach. But there aro some soils
so excellent, that although no careful hand hits ever
sodght to cultivite diem, scatter but a few grains of good
seed, and they will produce a luxuriant`harvest. There
are also hearts thus constituted—and such a heart was
Clara's: In addition to this inestimable poslession. not
withstanding her natural and inevitable enjoyment of her
own fame, there would at times cotite over her inmost
soul, amidst the glare and the glitter, the migh ty rush of
the orchestra behind her , the waving sea of u lifted faces,
tho ringing of plaudits in front, or even while 'the titled
steward was handing her up to the orchestra as if she
were a queen, a feeling that her position and her triumph
wore unreal, hollow, and evanescent. Perhaps this hu
mility add t seneo of insecurity had been acquired when,
as a little child, at Hastings, she ',Wowed her dying
brother's !Mad ou her bosom, and heard s him faintly
whfver, "Clara, it was that last concert that killed
me." ; • .
'Phis triumphant career had continued for a year, and
Fielding, grown wiser, carefully amassed their earnings
and lived economically. During this period, incessant
labor in her profession. combined with late hours and all
the vicissitudes of a public singer's' life, had materially
impaired Clara's health, whilst cares of a different na
titre. oppressed' her mind. A nobleman, whose years
might have enabled him to be her grandfather, pursued
and annoyed her by attentions, by presents, by a thou
sand polite arts of persecution. For a considerable
pe
rtod she abstained from her usual reserve with him, be
cause she was perfectly ignorant of his views, which in a
younger man she might have suspected; and when she
became aware of their nature, she knew not how to
shelter herself from his assiduities. Her father was no
protection to her; the ladies of rank, who invited her to
their hduies.' never dreamed of extending to Clara the
shield they held over the young females of their own
class. "She. you know, is a singer," was enough to
make such neglect intelligible: But there was one req..-
son in the world who always could, and always did, af
ford her succor. •
Aldovini, the first tenor of the day, frequently sang
with Clara; he was as celebrated as heiself, and had
enjoyed his fame much longer. It was condescension
to sing with any but a countrywomen.'and Clara felt
flattered by tho distinction. They practiced and rehear
sed together, and an intimacy naturally grew lap between
thew; she formed her taste by his opinion, and it was
amazing how her expression increased when she sang
with Aldpviiii.. On his part, he appeared sometimes en
tirely to forget th - at.he had any other auditor; for. ilprimo
tenor. had a profound contempt for everything English.
from' itsclintato to its music—Clara Fielding; perhaps,
being the solo exception. Respecting the duke. Aldo
vini had no greater pleasure than exhibiting to his grace
the souse of his own superiority. and shielding her com
pletely from his attentions. Ho could always pretend, as
a foreigner. net to understand what the duke said, and
his grace felt that ho qould not conveniently quarrel with
such a person: so thlt there were few objects in creation
more hateful to him than Aldevini's falcon eye, raven
whisker, and aquiline nose, relieved by the fair pale fore
fiend of Clara.
The poor girl herself, thus thrown on his protection.
and ardently grateful for the readiness and aufdretis with
Well it wasalways afforded; speedily learned to look up
to him, to trust him, to obey hitn—to love him. A sort
of sentimental, Platonic connection was gradually estab
lished between thorn: a mere amusement to the Italian;
to Clara the only real source of happiness she
• ifostiossed
on earth. This attachmeni, such' as it was. was never
interfered with nor commented on by her father. beyond
a satrical smile, With which he sometimes looked at
whew. •
Under these anspicee..Clara's second London season
commenced; her hilalth Was impaired, bit her father was
not a man to consent to any relaxation in her efforts. and of
late kerepirits had risen,and supplied any lack of strength.
Early in the year her fresh career began; "Miss Field
ing's first morning concert" was duly announced and
advertised; all the dielculties; and heart-burnings, and
quarrellings ensued. that' invariably precede tho public
production of harmony. vocal or instrumental. But, at
length. Avoryth hog was satisfactorily arranged; the prima
_ dona . of the day, at Aldovirti'a earnest request. toneeni
ed to sing once "for the chalk-faced child;" whilst be
acceded to all Fielding wished. except-permitting Clara
to sing a doer with anybody. but himself; ma that 'OllO
.•
Rohn he was inexorable. ' - I
• The very night before the concert. thiia,
hiuteted by the fatigaewet the day=—the eoiiitigi, and
the efetielng. and 'the sliming at 41,eltitt44eVelAitiet
SATURDAY 'MORNING ) OCTOBER 1 3 ,1849.
•• , \
heiself lu a little sitting-room called her own, her father.
Catnebaitily in. 'with a bewildered air of consternation,
and an open letter in his httnil. It:ace:thirds were spee
dily communicated. A, professional friend of Fielding'
had induced him to vest the large profits of the preced
ing year Ina theatical speCulation ifi which ho had en-.
gigad. This man had become a..baitmptand fled; and
Fielding was, 4 .! ., al l probility, liable tb A share of his re
eponeibility. 'More proveity•Was not'Areatly dreaded by,
either Fielding or Clara: they ,tore lemiliarized to it;
and morover, they both felt that she bid the power• of
commanding affluence; but" this personal liability was
something vague terrible, Not* word of reproach pasi
ml Clara's lips, although ehe had combatted this manner
of, appropriating her earnings with as much firmness as
As had over ventured to exhibit, in opposition to her fath
er; but she was overwhelmed. like himself, by the idea
of what exasperated creditors might attempt. After
short pause. Fielding. who was traversing the room with
hasty EiloPo, approached his daughter. and said, iu a low.
hearse voice. "You can save me. Clare; and you must"
. "Me! ehe cried, in surprise and half-awikened
joy. while she sprang from the .seat. '"Can I? tell me
howl"
',Yes, you can: I have somotimos thought of speak
ing ..to you about, it bolo:v. but I was unwilling; and,
besides, you were so young, and—and—sor-. But now
It must be done. Tho duke, Clara,.has often offered me
almost any sum I required, to use my influence over you
to treat him moro graciously and I really fool it to be aduty
now, both to yon and myself, to accept his proposals.—
Therefore—_. Don't look at mo in that way, Clara, and
shudder, as if it was something monstrous and unheard
of. Let me tell you, such offers have been made me
more than onco; and I bellow) that I have been a fool to
Wino them. Only that I was certainly proud of your
being so correct; and had you continued as particular
with regard to all othore, you should never have heard a
word on this subject from me, come what might. But
after this silly connection with that fellow, Aldovini, I
don't see why I am to bo more scrtfputous than other
peOpls." •
"Father!" shrieked Clara, who had hitherto stood
entranced in horror, "you are not in earnest! you cannot
mean what you say! Aldovini! there is nothing, I swear
to you. father. wrong between us. Oh! how can you
think so ill of your child?"
"Clara; Clara! don't, when I am' half distracted, drive
me quite mad! It may be very well to talk in this way
with your find ladies, though they ain't a bit nicer than
you, perhaps, after all; but to me! No. no; you may
fancy, foolish child, that you are very cunning! but you ,
cannot deceive me. AVhat! make me believ2l that Al
dovini, who can livo with the nobles in tho land, and has,
them.all at his bock. comes and sups with.you on bread •
and butter and , radishes, only to sing tg duets!, Clara.,l,
think it my duty not to allow you to throw yourself awop,
and, therefore, 'shall tell the duke."
"Father," reiterated Clara, "you will kill me if you,
talk in this way." , .:•••
Those words, and the voice of agony in .which they
wets tittered,airested Fielding's attention; and perceiving
from her ghastly countenance, that he must try different
methods; fiereoftetted his tone, soothed or rather endee
vend to soothe her, and began a gentle enumeration of
the duke's many claims upon her attention.
"Be'merely civil; bm'at. present you are really. quite
rude to him. And then there is'Elr. Grinsivertliitlwaie
saying you sing too much;, , •
Clara had sunk on a seat; she arose, anifiu'a fa nt.
hollow tone said, "Lot me go now, father. I cantata talk
to-night any more.' To-Morrow—;" and 8 0 0 °ming lina
ble to utter another word, she quitted the room.
Fielding immediately proceeded to some persons con
nected with his treacherous friend, and endeavored to
enter into an arrangement with them as to his affairs.—
A representation respecting the concert, procured him a
promise of personal immunity for the following day; and
Fieldin g returned home, resolved, in the course of it, to
conclude suclia treaty with the duke as should relieve
him effectually from his present horrid anticipations.--
Long habituated to live by expedients, he revolved many
schemes in his mind for his extrication. One was
to fly with Clam to the continent the motneut thozoncert
was over, and thus avoid forcing horro a stop for which
she evinced so vieletit a repugnance, In justice to
Fielding it must be said, not without a severe struggle,
not till a prison stated him in the face, had ho resolved,
on sacrificing his daughter. How far he realty was in
fluenced by her supposed weakness with. Aldovini, in
yielding to tho duke's proposals, cannot be said; at least.
it formed part of the unction ho laid to his soul on the
occasion. While Fielding was ,thus occupied, Clara sat
on the floor of her own cham b er in o state of mind dif
ficult to be described. A blow had been struck to ber
very heart, and a sense of her utter helplessness. of be
ing a lonely. wretched, enslaved creature. bowed to , the
earth by immeasurable culamity, long filled her soul, de
priving her of all energy, all power, oven of. thought.—
The pecuniary embarrasseientrwes forgotten—one solo,
image stood before her—her father! One sound rung lA'
her ear—thee°, words. never to he forgotten--themunut
terably,hideous words: glom hed dearly loved that sole
parent; she litid even reepected him; end now the over
whelming eons° of his loathsome haleness, was para.
mount to every other. Hours passed unheeded, during
which she shed no tears, but sat metionleal as a statue,,
gazing ou vacancy. At length ttliti partielloy recovered
the first stunning shock; and began to think. She had
only one friend on earth to coolly)! in her extremity; and
to that one she knew the most Mintipiortable part,of her
grief, would occasion no surprise: Aldovini had more
thadonce tittered mysterious expreleions, which , Clara
now underitood but too well. A single ray of. hope, too,
gleamed faintly on her benighted soul: it was possible
that there wes even happiness in Store for her; but she
ventured nut to dwell on this vision. Towards morn
ing exhausted nature sank Into a brief oblivion.
She -awoke somewhat refreshed.' and comparatively
calm. She had been visited with strange brit soothing
dreams.' Her lirwhere's form had hoVered before, her,
clad in long glittering garments, and, smiling on her,
said. "Fear nothing, Clara, you shall be happy to-mor
row."
' Tha following morning, the actual
. business of the
concert pressed on both father and daughter so engros
singly, that they had no time for conversation. Clara,
accustomed from infancy to share in such labors, moved
mechanically through' her duties; only an occasional
eoniulsii;e shudder and the wandering Of her eye, be
traying the perturberation and anguish Within.. All the
machineribeiug in order, her toilet completed, a soupcon
of rouge on her wan cheek. the traniparent bonnet tied
loosely under her chin, even the bon tet and pocket
handkerchief ready,,ahe ' repaired to the apartments ad
joining the concert-room, and gazed aninad in epeech
less Alderini, The night before. he had
been engaged to sing at afczegiven by. a lady of rank.
and, perchance, . the marquess' claret was unusually
tempting . .. 'Be that as it might, the overture, was actual
ly over before ho appOM.ed; and the repel 'part of , the
concert was to open With . a dnet beiween Clam and hint
' self: When ellOpew him, when she heard his voice, a
sudden sense of peace and security, dame over her;
her eyes lit '4: and her "0. Alaavinii hoer late you
- are!" 'Wes tittered with;somOwhatlike aamile.„ln ano
ther moment she was fac i ng tnikliant anclieneep: and
tumnittof aPplaties were eehekn4 round her:
She had tronie'ntig,snisiithe appointed, duet wills Al
:4evinti Il w i utonewbTeh dip a., ers neve . WWI
OW
;igen; And'ito
taro NW 41,113).4a
tree floated round tile — rooTn; rising and falling—now
singly in melodious stream—now blending in one ming
lingigwth of harmony—all listened in breathless, outran.
cod delight, nor dreamed of the throbbing anguish be
nitath the veiled bosom' of the siren. As Aidovini led
her away; she entreated him in en eager whisper. to speak
t 4 her akine; they entered a small apartment , adjoining
tfis one where refreshments were placed; and In a few
marly inarticulate broken. words, she communicated the
lents of the' preceding evening.
rAdvise me—for lam almost out of my mind. How
lit I avoid this terrible—. Oh, Aldovini: you are so
,girth more experienced than I am: Advise me, for
pity's sake!"
:"More experienced, Indeed," replied Ablovini, with a
antille and a sigh; "1 thought something was the matter.
,Stay—let me think;' and don't tremble, peveiina; but sit
down—remember the cavatina is still to be sung."
' ••Sho sank in a, chair. After manifest disturbance and
64n - embarrassment, he approached, and taking her cold
hand, said, "You have only one refuge, Clara. if you
will accept it. Hers!" and he struck hie breast. "Come
with me, diarina min; it will be better than being sold
to that old sclerato. Come to Italy with mo'cara fan
ciulla. My engagement is broken with those opera fools;
and within a week 1 will be ready. I hate the count ry. ‘
and shall rejoice to quit it. 1 have lost two notes since
cattle, You,' mean-while--"
. "lint my father." interrupted Clara; "ho would never
consent." .
1 ",Consent!—to what? Consent to what. Clara:"
"To—sUch a thing; he has so great an aversion to my
marrying a foreigner."
At these words, Aldovini suddenly withdrew the arm
h 4 had throwit round Clara; and, drawing back, looked
earnestly upou her. The whole expression of his coun
tepance changed; his eyelids dropped; a softened smile
quivered fora moment on his lip.. Then he said, iu a
tone of great feeling. "And is it indeed so / 1 is it possi
h
We?" Still lie remained gazing fixedly upo her; while
he stood In br athless surprise and anxiety. A struggle
Was visible on his countenance; a second change suc
ceeded; and then, as if resolved. he returned to her side,
retook her pas i sive hand, and said: ,
"1 might deceive you; heti will not . Clara. Un sot
bad() f perhaiiii . it is the firit and the last you will over
give me, for, Tara, rata," though It appears you have ne
ver heard the t r act-1 am married. Cara mitt." he repeat
ed fri alarm.its she sprang back with a faint. suppressed
cry, and sank b a her seat.,,
Thera was la pause; Clara uttered not a word; and
I
after, a moment, Aldovini continued:
: Anal nearly twenty year. older than you. Clara, and
his been married these dozen years. bly wife is a
beehty; nail htis the voice of an 'angel. She likes the
Kiiiee.of Rese ll s Bronnenberg better. than pour Giulio Al
dovini, the singer; and yon—you—dear and innocent
child. are I fear—"
_4!. this moment, several eager voices called on her
- for her Attendance in - the orchestra.
...Clara forghie me!" whispered Aldovini, as ho raised
her from her, seat . Still silent. a convulsive shudder was
her only reply. I Her father appeared. calling her hastily
and seemly. She stepped quickly forward-And followeil
him: ,
,Tiliencondaylstm shone full on Clara as she appeared
in, the orchestra; -hor numerous admirers looked at her
tUltiVentsStrUel(by , her bewildered air. The cavatina
, was pnt'into her hand, and the symphony began, it ter
minated with a Single trumpet note, and the thunder roll
of the kettle drums. At that instant she !tailed, and
gaied wildly around. One soft ,sound from a flute, and
Clara's lips par4d for the first note of the recitative. A
shriek--a single, piercing shriek issued from them; and
she fell forward in the orchestra. Tho utmost confusion
instantly prevailed; a tfflaNte discordant sound produced
by the ready bogs of ihe various instruments, slipped
hurriedly down he strings, mingled with the surrounding
voices. The u happy girl was carried oil, and some
minutes elapaedF several of the audience inquired at the
entrance to the private apartments, and strange rumors
began to circulate. At length, it was currently reported
in the concert-riom that Miss Fielding was dead.
"Dead! you . on% mean to say Mot etio died in the or
chestra?" excla med it lady of very high rank. in an in
dignant tone.
rather think she did! , .
"Oh! then it is quite Limo to give up conceits, if the
singers are to be so devoid of decency as actually to die
beforo onee•s very face!" said the vary same lady.
Rumor, for one e, spoke truly. Clara had. indeed.
pired as she felh l although the fact was not asedrtatned
for some lime afterwards.
Aldovini. as he rushed past every one else, and lifted
her from the groUnd, was the first who even imagined
this terrible ovoid; but he recalled her look' when that
fatal word escaped hia lips 7 -her total silence afterwards;
and now he gazed on her iivid couwtonance, andfdi all
was indeed over. • •
"Back, old man!" he exclaimed to the duke. "Back,
fiend!" he repeated to her father, as all his Italian pas
sions roused to freezy. he struck him away.
Then tier inclaspinghi s arms, he continued in a bro
ken••
' voice, "She is at rest! you cannot harm her now!
Clam, Clara, pray for me in your bright abode, and for
.
give ‘ me."
Pturscrios or; .
of the eharpaet rat
appear full is brat
even. and full of U,
muall need le resell
‘ lie rese
bee asen•through
where the mast b 4
blemish he inequal
be discerned. Th
than the yarn wit
Bata silk worm's
shining, and over,
is made with a ps i
the little spooks or
found to be ml
cent is the system!
Tax Prapcomilis.—At San Nicholas's Bay we saw a
fair specimen of the Patagonian. This is that singular
race of men which + have so inexplicable lost half their
statue in the last two hundred years!. Magalhaon af
firmed them toll' 'nearly twelve feet high, Cordova and
Sarmiento at least nine,,Anson about eight, and our own
school geography full seven, In truth they measure about
six feet, and are very strongly built. Whether time tears
down tallness hem men or f r om fables, is a point for
conjecture. Thecae Horse Indians as they are commonly
ealled,lrom their ) t equestrian ii are friendly and very
ample . The Te,ra del Fougien; Or Canoe Indiana, are
of the ordinary hight. magpies in tongue, bid:moons in
countenance, andimps in treachery. Many conflicts have
liken place between them and sealing vessels. They
ire 'best seen eta distence,--Letter from thralls of
Magettai.'
0:37 A friend tells 11111 that a little girl from the metro
polis. who hid visited a town not a thousand miles from
Now York, wee ailed r with surprise at the, sight of a girl
milking a cow., didn't know you did it in that way."
she said, with round eyed wonder. - "I thought they took
bold of the coves - itail; and PuisPed.the milk out of her.
Whit's the grit io ling . a toil
,fori"
/french wag Para that whin the, togs binder the work
of the telegraph. the French provineirds do not know
whether 'they era governed bia King or a President.
- - .
Navuns.—Upon examining the edge
doi or lancet with a microscope. it will
ad 'ai the. back' of a knife—rough, tin
-I,otches and furrows. An exceedingly
siblba an iron bar; but the sting of a
the same instrument. exhibits every
s l antiful polish, without the least flaw,
dity. and it ends in a point' too fine to
ho threads of a fine lawn seem coarser
.it which ropes are made for anchors--
web appears perfectly qmooth and
whore equal. The smallest - dot that
i i appears irregular and uneven. But
in the wings or bodies of insects are
dist accurately circular. How magnifi
,i of Nature!
THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE.
ITS HISTORY TO TUE TIME OP PETER.
Russia is the most extraordinary country on the globe,
in the four most important particulars of empire—its his
:orb its extent, its population, and its power.
It has for Europe another interest—the interest of alarm
the evidence of an ambition which has existed for a him-.
deed and fifty years, and haa never paused: en increase
of territory which has never suffered the slightest casuality
of fortune; the most complete security aganst the retalia
tion of European war; and a government at once despotic
and popular; exhibiting the most oonndless authority in
the sovereign, and the most absolute submission in the
people; a mixture of habitual obedience, and divine ho
mage: the reverence ton monarch, with almost the pros
tration to a divinity.
Its history has another superb anomaly: Russia gives
the most memornble in stanceth in human annals, of the
power which lie within the mind of individual man. Pe
ter the Great was not the restorer, or the reformer of
Russia: ho was its moral creator. Ile found it, not as
Augustus found Rome, according to the old adage, "brick
and left iv marble; ) * he found its living swamp, and lef t
itcoverod with tho fertility of la ws,encrgy.and konwiedgo
ho found it Asiatic arid left it European; lie remove
it as far from Scythia as if he had placed the diameter
of the globe between: he found it not brick; but mire, and
he transformed a region of huts into the magnificence of
empire.
Russia first appeared in European history in the middle
of the ninth century., Its climate and its soil and till then
retained in it primitive barbarism. Tho sullenness of its
winter had prevented invasion by civilized nations, and
the nature of its soil, one intense plain, had given full
scope to the roving habits of its half-famished-tribes.—
The great invasions which broke down the Roman em
pire, had drained away the , population from the north,
and left nothing but remnants of clans ,behind. Russia
had no ma by which she might sand her bold savages to
plunder or to trade with Southern and Western Europe.
And, while the man of Scandanvia was subduing king
doms, oucarrying back spoils to his northern crags and
lakes, the Russian remained, like the bears of his forest
in his cavern during the long winter of his country; and
even when the summer Came, was still but a melancholy
savage, living like the bear upon the roots and fruits of
his ungenial soil.
It was to one of those Norinans, who, instead of steer
mg his bark toward the oputp,nea of the south, turned his
dreary adventure to the north, that Russia owed her first
connection with intelligent mankind. The people of
Novgorod, a people of tradere,:finding themselves over
powered by their barbarian neighbors:solicited the aid of
Ruric, a Baltic chieftain, and of course, a pirate and a
robber. Tho name of Noratan'had earend old roknown is
t he north. Runic cams, rescued the city, but paid him
self by the seizure of the surrounding territory•, rind found
a kingdom, which ho transmitted to his descendant 4, and
which lasted until the middle of the sixteenth century.
In the subsequent reign wo seo the effect of the north
ern pupilagii; an expedition, in the style of the Pattie ex
ploits, was sent to plunder Constantinople. The expe
dition consisted of two thousand canoes, w,th eighty
thousand men on bead. Tho expedition was defeated,
for the Greeks had not yet sunk into the degeneracy of
latter times. They fought stoutly fur their capital, and
roasted the pirates in their own canoes, by showers of
the famous "Greek fire."
Those invasions, howevei, were tempting to the idle.,
nese and poverty. or to the avarice and ambition of the
Russians; and Constantinople continued to bo the grun t
object of cupidity and assault, for three hundred years,—
But tho city of Constantino was destined to fall to a
mightier conqueror.'
Still. the northern barbarian had now learned the road
to Greece, and intercourse was mutually beneficial.
Greece found daring allies in her old plunderers. and in
the eleventh century she gave the Grand duke Valdimir
a wife, in the person of Anna. sister of the emperor Ba
sil IL, a gift made more important by its being accom
peeled by his conversion to Christianity.
A settled succession is the great secret of royal peace;
but among those bold riders of the desert. nothing wa
ever mottled save by the sword; and the first act of all the
eons, on the decease of their father, was.' to slaughter
each other; until the contest was sAtleki in their grave,
and the last survirognietly ascended the throne.
But war, on a mightier scale than the Russian Step
pes had over witnessed. was now rolling over Central
Asia. The cavalry of Genghis Khan, which came. not
in squadrons, but in nations, and charged, not like troops
bet like thunderclouds, began to pour down upon the val
ley of the Wolga. Yet the Couquet of Russia WWI not
to be added to the triumps of the great Tartar chier:ain;
a mightier conquest stopped him on his way. and the
Tartar died.
His son Tohusi, in the beginning of the thirteenth
century, burst over the frontier at the
,head of half a
million of horsemen. Tho Russian . princess. - hastily
making up their quarrels, advanced to meet the invader;
but their army was instantly trampled down, and before
the middle of the century, and the prOvinces and all the
cities of allßSitl, were the prey of the men of the wilder
ness, Novgorod alone escaped.
The history of this great city would be highly interes
ting. if it were possible now to recover its details. It was
the chief depot of the northern Asiatic commerce with
Europe; it has a government, laws, and privileges of its
own, with which it suffered not even the Khan of the
Tartars to interfere. Its population amounted to four
hundred thousand—_-then nearly equal to the population
of a kingdom. In the thirteenth • century. it connected
itself still more effectually with European commerce, by
becomming a member of the Hanseatic League; and
the wonder and pride of the Russians were - expressed in
the well-known half profane proverb, "Who can resist
God and the great Novgorod?"
There is always something almost approaching to pie
turesque grandeur in the triumphs of barbarian'. Tho
Turk, until ha was fool enough to throw away the tether;
was the most showy personage in the world. The Arabs
under Mehemet, were the most stately warriors, and the
Spanish Moors throw all the pomp, and even all the ro
mance of Europe into the shade. - Even the chiefs of
"Golden lords" seemed to have had as picturesque a
conception of supremacy as the Saracen. Their only city
was a vast camp, in the plains between the Caspian
and the Wolga; and while they loft the provinces in the
hands of the native princes, and enjoyed thennielves iu
the manlier sports of hunting -through the plains amid
mountains. and commanded that every vassal prince
should attend of tho imperial tent to receive permission
to reign, or perhaps to live; and that even, when they
seat their Tartar collectonit to receive tho tribute, the
Revislau princes should lead the Tartar hauls by the bri;
die. and give him a feed of oats out of theirlap of state!
But another of those sweeping deveststory. one of
those gigantic executioners who seem to have been
'sent. front time to time to punish the horrible protigecies
of Asia. now rose upon the north. Timour Khan, the
Tamerlane of European Story. the invincible; the lord of
the Tartar world; rushed with hii countleis trooPS . upon
the soverieguties 'of Western 4sla. , This point* con
conqueror crushed , the Totter_ dynasty of `Russia,
.end
then burst sway like arrinundetion., to overwhelm other
lends. But the native Russians sgsiaiiedei head against
their Tartar misters. and ti Century Out ik iii4f Of Mogul'.
"airy. vitarfare - followed; w*. ataol2l ftsinone ' atidv wiibent
any other result then blood.
91 50 A YEAR, in 41.,Lynne*.
In the fifteenth century Russia began to assume a
form. Ivan 111. broke off the vassalage ofßnaaia to the
"Golden Horde." He had married Sophia, the niece
of the Greek Emperor, to which we may attribute his
civilization; and he received the enibassies of Germany.
Venice, end Rome et Moscow. His Son, hart IV..
took Novgorod, which he ruined, and continued to fight
the Poles end Tartars until he died. His son. Ivan, In
the middle of the sixteenth century, was crowned by the
title of tzar, formed the find standing army of Russia
named the Strelitzes, and established a ,code of laws.
In 1598, by the death of the Czar Feeder without chil
dren, the male line of Rorie, which had held the throne
for seven hundred and thirty-Six years, and under fifty
six sovereigns became extinct.
Another dynasty of remarkable distinction' ascended
the throne in the beginning of the seventeenth century.
Michael Remand!: descended from the line of Runic. by
the female side, was declared Czar. His son Alexis
was the father of Peter the Great, who, with his brother
Ivan was placed on the throne at the decease of their
father, but both tinder the tßardianship of the Princess
was sent to it convent, Ivattlivhe was imbecile In mind
and body, surrendered the throne, and Peter became sole
sovereign of Russia. •
The accesion-of Peter began the last and greatest pe
riod of Russian history. Tfiouoh a Min of fierce pas
sions and barbarian habits. to had formed a high con,
ception of the value. of European aril, chiefly through an
intelligent Gonevese. Lefor6, who had been his tutor.—
Block-mood's 3lngazine.
THE SEVEN-SHILLINGPIECE.
It was duriug the panic of 17:26 that a gentleman.
whom we shall call Mr. Tbompsen, vt as seated wit t some
thing of a melancholy look in his dreary bathroom, watch
ing his clerks paying away thousands of poundithourly.
Thompson was a banker of excellent credit: there existed
perhaps, in the city of London no safer concern than that
of Messrs Thompson and Co., hut ate moment such as /
speak of, no rational reflection was admitted, no former
stability, was looked to; a general distrust was felt. and
every one rushed to his banker's to withdraw his hoard,
fearful that the next instant would be to late, forgetting
entirely that this step was that all ambers the most likely
to insure the ruin . besought to avoid. - -
Hut to return. The wealthy citizen sat gloomily watch
ingt the outpouring of his gold, and with a grim smile list.
ning to the clamorous demands on his cashier; for although
he felt perfectly oast' and Secure as to the ultimate strength
of his resources, yet lie could not repress a feeling or bitter
nesias ho 'saw continual rush in, and those whom he
fondly imagined to be his dearest friends eagerly wisisting
in the run upon his strong-box.
Presently the door opened, and a stranger was ushered
in, who, after gazing for a memont at the bewildered ban
ker. cooly dreiv a chair, and abruptly addressed him.—
"You will pardon mo sir, for asking a strange question
hut I am a plain man, and like to como straight to the
point."
sir?" impatiently interrupted the other.
"I have heard that you have a run on your bank, sir."
"{Yeti?" •
"It is true?"
"Really, sir, I must decline repking to your very extra
ordinary query, 11, however, you have any money in the
bank, you had better at once draw It out, and so satisfy
yourself: our cashier will instantly pay you:" and the ban
ketrose, as a hint for the stranger to withdraw.
"Far from it. sir: I have not ono sixpence in your
hands."
"Thou may I ask what is your business here"
•4 wished to ascertain if a small sum would .. aid you at
this moment?" •
• "Why do you ask the question?"
"Because if it would, 1 should gladly pay in a 'man de
posit." .
The money-dealer started
• 'You seem surprised you don't know my person or my
motive. I'll at once explain. Do you recollect some
twenty years ago when you resided in Essex?"
"Perfectlv."
then; air, perhaps you have not forgotten the
turnpike•gate through which you passed daily 7 My father
kept that tate, and was often honored by a few minutes'
chat with you. Ono Christmas morning my father was
sick, and I attended the toil•bar. On that day you passed
through, and I opened the gate for you. Do you recollect
it, sir?"
"Not I, my friend."
•*No, sir; few such men rerncmder their kind deeds,
but Those who ero benefited IT thorn eldom forget them.
1 am perhaps prolix:-listen, however, only a few mu.
moots and 1 have done,".
The banker began to feel interested, and at once assen
ted,.
"Well, air, as I said before; I throw open the gatk for
yea, and as I cousidered myself in duty bound, I wished
you a happy Christmas. "Thank you, my lad," repli;
ed you—"thauk you; and the same to you: here is a trifle
to make it so; and you threw ma a seven-shilliog piece.
It was theTirst money I ever possessed; and never shall 1
forget my joy on receiving it. or your kind smite in be
stowing it. I lOng troasnred it, and as I grew up, added a
little to it. till I was able to rent. a toll myself. You left the
part of the country, and I lost might of you. Yearly, heitsr
ever, I have been getting oni your present brought g o od
fortune with it: I am comparatriely rich, and to you I
consider I owe all. do this (miming, hearing acciden- •
tally that there was a run on Your bank, I collected all i lny
capital, and brought in to lodge with you, in case it can be
of any usei hero it is;" and he handed a bundle of bank
notes to the agitated Thompson. "In a few days I'll call
again;" and Snatching up his hat, the stranger, throwing
down hie card, waked out of the room.
Thompson undid the roll; it contained £.30,000! The
stern-hearted banker—for all .bankers must be stern—
burst into tears. The firm did not require this prop; but
the-motive was so noble, that even a milionaire sobbed
—he could not help it. The firm is still one of the first in
London.
The £.30.000 of the turnpike -boy is n
I -C-t160,000. Fortunate has well dispos
Wog CoussEL.—The Horne Journal
owing oxtruct from en addresa of the ire
president of the Union College. N.-York:
have been young. and em now - old; lei in review
of the past, end the prospect of, the future. declare An
te you, beloved pupils. were it permitted me to live my
life over again. I would, by the help of God, fro4l the
very outset, live better. Yes. from the outset 'I would
frown vice; I would favor virtue: and lend my
in
&fetice to ildvanect whatever would exalt and adorn hu
man nature, alleviate humid misery, and contribute to
render the world I lived in. like the heaven to which I
aspire. the abode of innocence and felicity. Yes. though
I were to exist no longer than the ephemera that epos;
away their hour in the sunbeams of the morning; even
during that brief period I would rather soar with the
eagle; Mid leave the record of my flight and my fall
among the eters, then droop to the earth salad:with*
with the reptile, and having done so, bid my body_ with.
My memory in the gutter.!' '
• A; Thai paper gate off the following hit at "Northern
fan'at:ics:".-A Yankee patriot has recently petitioned
Congress to Pail a bill for the deniolltion of thi great chain
of the /it ottkraannalna, on the groUnd that it is unisonby
of s,free country to bear chaini.
ice'
NUMBER 22,
w grown in some
of, her gifts.
gives the fol.
•rable Dr. Nott.