v absiwatlavoi
- ,
r.' Val
. The and for iale. '
1 . 1. 17. 3; •
. World farsilei-4ang ant a sign,
every traveler hereto me;
•. rylbey this brave estate . of mine, •
Andset my weary spirit free?
i , go ing !—yes, I mean - to fling •"?
fie bultble from my sotil away; •11
, e R it, whatsnder it bring; , * 3,
The world at auction hete,to day ! -
s glorious thing to see— •
tl4it has cheated me so sore! -
u sot what it seems, to be !
or sale! Ittiloall' be mine naintue.
e, turn it o'er and lists it well;—
would not have' yon purchnie dear
go i n g—goirg, !—I linnet sell !
Who bids!-Who'll buy the splendid tear?
t e r , w ealth iriglittering heaps of gold—
Who bids? _ B at let me tell you fair,
-
baser lot wisnerer sold, -
Who'll buy , the heavy heap; of care "t
n d b or e, spread out in broad domain . ;
A goodly laudsdiPe all may ,trace
I, cottage; tree, field, hill and plain ;'
Who'll buy himself a burial place t
t re's Love, the dreamy potent spell .
Thst Ecsuty.flings aroiind the heart,
bow its power; alas!: too Well ; •
To going !—Love and I must partl
pan!! --What can I - more with Love?
over the enchanter's reign;
buy the plumeless, dying love,—
breeth of bliss,—a 'norm of pain ?
Friendship—rarest gem of earth—
.o e'er Jiath found a jewel his?
fickle, false, and little worth—
bids for friendship milt- is
doing--going !--bear the call ;
Ore, twice, Ind thrice !—Tis 'very low !
an once my hope, my stay, my all—
blitow the broken staff must go!
tot! hold the brilliant pteteof high ;
Gov dazzling every gilded name !
I millions, now 'a the time:to boy.
flow inch for fame I How much forfamel
.r how it thunders!-World you stand
high Olympus far renowned,
ra purchase, and a world command, _
Sad be' with a world's curses crowned !
aof Hope ! with ray to shine
ery sal forbcding breast, _ •
this desponding one of mine—
lo bids for' maxi's last friend and best
not Mine a bancnipt life, .
treasure should my soul sustain;
►pe and I sue now at strife, •
wer may unite again. • •
_
fashionostrm and pride,
from all fir/ever now;
m overwhelrainctiae,
night my haughty bean to bow.
!stern sheriff, all bereft,
qt, yet !wink& hiss the rod ;
of all I still Itilve .
my Bible, and - my god.
ltithk.r World than This.
•
slam I trod li re's early ways,
lope sin* my fleeting " hours,
mos/Wow in her rays, - .
wit is her flowers ;
ought on days of present joyi
'3l*xi! of future - 111m
nod that sorrow could allay
tht a woild an this.
weary chains I wove,
from my fancy tied, - -
rich who owned my tender love
numbered with the dead;
!it pallid lips tpressed
l's parting
I I •
me fo ra world of rest;
;hrer world than this.
the spacious world soppy
ties of opeaing life, -;
its mocking flattery, °
fe e its bitter strife; •
first began to look
Parer, truer bliss, •
Ted to trace.in , dod's own - book,
:ter world than this.
heart desires; relief,
the goad I sought,
is trial and in grief,
the soothing Mellen, -
\ the worldling may deftipiq,
)bed of earthly bliss,
hoinhly hopes to share
net world:than this. •
bout and Folly:
lily were at play,
waVed fo - be wise,
°tt; wail in a fray
Pin o u t R apid ,. eyes.
And wai tried,
‘ uitrtted,
itottld to love be 'ead
' 4 144: e d to Iraq thslt
• 4'
-
IRE
r
• i
„. • . .
.• '
• .. , ..-
• ' . ..
. . ~ , - .. •
1 -
. , •
. .
• I
, , . ,_ .1 ,-. • .
•
4V . -•:...','. ~- ' ',..''''. :: ,''';.' -' . ".. ' ' l
,1: r ... :.!r .. '''. • .'', - , f. ....,--''' • - J..
.. .
•0 : • • .
-- ,' -
. ,
•• 4 - '.- o ' ....: -..-. 1 . ,•--,'
..... ._,.,.
, .. .
'C.../ a. . ) --, ~ Y - ' '', ~ -•'. - , .
.., ~ ~ • .. •
._
. .
. 1. , /..
~ ..
(II! 1 . .. . .... • .----....,.., ~ . .y. .-. ~
ill
gow sweetly bluomed the gay-green kirk,
How rich tbehawthom's blossom,
'As underneath t h eir fragrant shade
' , I clasped her to my bosom. •
I ' l _ 4 Will you go with me, Laura, down
by Alm brook ?" said I, as the merry
hearted girl came in,. singing gaily , al:
t e fiyatering her flowers, looking doubly
beautiful from her exercise.
- "Go— . oh ! yes.' •
" - But you'll put on your ' bonnet.
surely."
" What that hateful one with the ve
ry, very , large cape, I thought you didn't
like it. • • 2
"PshUvf ! Laura—only" put it on—
the suitis siift , an hour. high. '
Nell then, since I must"—and
tripping gaily in, she re'-appeared di
rectly with the huge, bonnet overshad
log her face, and covering with its en
ormous cape her snowy shoulders. In
another instant she was bounding like
a fairy over the grassy knoll.
Laura wasjust seventeen, with' raven
curls, dark hazel eye, and,ii form of
exquisite symmetry. She was the on
ly child RE my guardian, and we had
spent our childhood together.. Even
then I had a boyish fancy for her,—
climbing the trees to pluek her fruits or
nuts, making rail-bridges:for her across
the little -streams in our- wall* and
gathering the sweetest flowers t6' bring
her, when she happened 'one spiing, to
be ill for a fortnight. But with my re
moval to school new feelings arose;
accident had • prevented our meeting for
years f.andt I came at last to look back
upon that period as on ' a_liappy, but
lialf-remembered dream. But this sum
mer after eaduating I met her again ;
and we had not been together a week
before all my did sentiments returned.
But it was no longer a' boyish fancy
it was the deep. ardent passion of a first
love—that holy feeling, which visits us
but once, and which amid the woe and
misery of this world seems like =a sun
beam from the blest. Alas ! that we
never love again as we did in the holt
. Reis of our first affection. The passion
is there, b y t its purity is gone.
I found Laera itiipossible to' read.—
To me site was all frankness; yet slid
'not this prove that she thought of 'me
only as a brother,? 'But I remembered
that she _ always lived a. secluded life,
and that she freely confided all her lit.
sle secrets to me. She was sometimes
so tauntingly merry at my eipense
'that I would vow she loved me not.—
But then she did at hundred things
which could have been done only to
please me. That very bonnet had been
almost discarded, because one dayi
laughed at its enormous . capc.' She
read my books,c.patted my dog, and I
half suspedted her of filling - the vase in
my bed-roOm with flowers every morn
ing. It was delicious ; but I would
have givenworlds had she been more
reserved.
If she used to be merry at my ex=
pease; I'took my revenge by calling
her jocularly a country.girl. She was
too,affectienate to get angry, but she
only half liked it. But though I, plagued
ed her - about her rural education, it was ,
in - reality her sweetest charm. She
had, never been contaminated by the
society'of cities, antOike the lily of tier .
own valley, was purity itself. Her
very voice carolling a song as she tend
ed her flower's, gushed forth.with a mu=
sic to my fancy almost' divine.. She
was the idol of my yonng heart; the
theme of daily reveries , and nightly
dreams. I still turn to that summer of
my young existence, like the traveler
to the cool fountain sparkling in the
desert. ,
"Let us go over to the tipper brill ffe',"
said she.pausing at the top of the knoll,.
and flinging her dark .curls back from
her forehead. as she looked up to the
cliff from which the structure sprung.
. • " Whatl—is it ever used?", said I,
in some surprise ; for the fail planks
rocked at a dizzy height above us—" I
had n 6 idea it was safe."
" Had IN you ?—oh ! prove
it,—that is,' amid she, smiling 'archly,
"if you're 'not afraid to follows wild
country-girl." • =
Pshaw I 'Laura." .
.0 Well—come." •
" Stop, Laura--"
".Oh ! indeed it's safe. but if
.you're
really afraid. I'll come hack,"• foi she
was already high on the cliff above,her
white dress *Meting. and her ringlets
waving in the -breeze. .
Afraid !--only oflyoUrself," anti I
sprung4,ithe 'went Mier the laughing
girl. :SW clime lip. and
then for iiirniti r pod pointing at the
• •
I=
ENO
I
14 First love,
BY 11,4. VERNON.
ESSI
*;
,
Regardless of DOSUSSCif 41 . 4 S from any Quarlerr-Gov. PORTZIL,
MDWASIIDL - 9 1131BAIMMIBED oannawir, gimr :us
You've been .liege for a month, I
declare, and never have been on this
rock before. I Aally believe," she
cods hued, looking nfohly , at me, , , . you
wells half afraid toittempt the ascent.
But we country-,girts
. don't mind.it.—
Look - here though at Chester Hill, ris
ing dark and gtoomi , on the northern
horizon, and away there, ;like a far-off
cloud, pi.,lhe blue hills of your own
state/ NO that igloor house, almost
atone feet,—see I can throw this stone
upon the roof—and there is the lake,
and the mill-dam. and yonder is New.
port, and down, , down there," and she
led me gaily to the edge of the ravine.
1.6 the little streamlet murmuring , and
`babbling along. 'See, the bridge is
swinging in the wind. And now, va
liant khight, cross with me,wancl spring
ing laughingly away,—for I , had made
an attempt to grasp her arm; she,was
the next minute rocking on the frail
structure, a hundred feet and more from
the etreamlet. • , _
s' Take care—take care," . she laugh
ed 'tantalizingly, as I followed, *, it may
not bear you—or your foot mightalip-6-
It's not two feet acres.% do. do go back
now 1" and the high-spirited girl stood
perfectly secure, upon a height that
a.-
most made me - dizzy. But I answered
gaily, and was soon by her side. '
"And now I'll take you to *brook
by my path—you're not afraid are you ?"
and breaking from me againin the exu
berant"-gaiety of a young and happy
heart, she began to descend one of those
steep pathit which-may be fdund onthe
side of almost every ravine, now spring
ing lightly over some narrow chasm, ,
and then swinging herself boldly around
the.corner of the rock by the roots that
grew in the clefts. I followed with
some difficulty, amazed'at her skill and
coolness, and trembling lest a false step
should precipitate her down the giddy
steep,—while :every moment or two
she would pause fcm me to' overtake
her, laughing:lerrily at my fears for
her safely. When we reached the foot
of the cliff she - thing herself panting up
on the sod. gaily motioning me to a
seat upon the turf beside her. With
her eyes sparkling, her cheek flushed
with exercise, and her snowy bosom
heaving her beddice, I thutight I' had
never seen her look so beautiful before;
and when carelessly throwing off her
bonnet, site permitted the, breeze to
wanton over her cheek, tossing the dark
curls, from her forehead, I alinost' fan
cied I looked upon some mountain
nymph, such - as the l old Greek poet
loved ,to sing of. The spot too we .
were in, -fevered the notion ; for the
dark cliff-overhung it on all- sides, aqd
the glassy - stream lay like a mirror at
out feet. To complete the magic of
the scene, the rays' of the setting sun,
gliinmering through the leaves down
the ravine, flooded the'spot with a
mellow, golden, subdued, and dreamy
light.
•• This is my b oudoir," said Laura
gaily, "and you must think it quite a
compliment to be admitted, here. Isn't
it beautiful?" , • "
It is—but, Laura, do you always
approach itby that dizzy path 2" '
• Oh ! no, only when I wish to give
it eclat, and then, you know, it appears
the prettier just in proportion to its dif
ficulty of access. But, I declare, I ne
ver thought you'd look half so frighten=
ed," vontinued she laughingly, I
'shall, not venture to take you back, that
way—we must cross the l brook below
05,,..0ver the water and over the sea:r "
—and she &fished her sentence by
humming that delightful old Jacobite
air. •
•
" Are you serious ?"
" Serious !—to be sure, Mr. Imper
tinence." . -
" Well, then;l' said I, " Laura, I - will
go back the way wq-came."" '
"Oh ! no—you musn't think of it—
it's, really, positivery dangerous to as
cend:Z.-besides I wish to show you my
path across the itreamlett" ,
"If it, is dangeroes to ascend I am
decided. And4onder," I continued.
pointineto a steep and • apparently im
practicable golly up the 'perpendicular
side of the ravine. "is a more difficult
road still--.wait here till J come back.
and• their( you shall shew rme your
Qh no—indeed: you shall 'do no
'leek . thing l , l —and , she laid her harifif
'artlessly upon my,arm. _
" But. Laura, you said yoil were se-
_ •
No=no. , it was only in jest" - said
she cage* loo4ing into into thy very
soul with her melting eyes,
pot only for a ininute or tyo—
you've &red minatO f the trialthere
no dinger;" -have - gently
real - o'6lllo arm as Made - a:step' or•
two klva*stketarc*lc -; • -
2
i:• -, ,',.1'':,..1::-,,:;,..!,';','":,1:-;,t',--'-'-'2:' ''.:':-..":,-,
!:: - ,ft.t i, f;;. - ..if,V?:44 - ,% ): 4 • i i ., ' :i:l : Ai ; , -,-• = 1 ; ,...• : .! : E-6':: : ,,;•;:;'
.:i -, '; ; A..4l: * kZ":l - i i e&l;':4 4 :';ia ' Aat . :fi& ' , t2;;t;4gl,•.
" Intreed,:indeed I Twenty injest-r
vaned fall,_ indeed yea. will—take. at
least, the path we came—now. Hart*,
don't go," said she. w'ith that low.
thrilling entreaty, and , that , imploring
look which makes every nerve tingle.
'• - Why. don't Jou' wish ; tine to go,
Laura-?! I whippet:ad softly:, . •.,
" Because I Irn afraid," she scarcely .
murmured.
Why are 'you afraiil 'for me, La'u•
ra ?"
Because—because "-=and, [drop
piog- her eyes to the
,giound, beneath
my gaze, while the crimson tide rushed
down to her bosom, and dyed even the
fingers That lay upon my arm, she teas
all,at once unaccountably silent. My
heart beat with wild emotion.
Say, Laura," I whispered, as My
arm stole 'around_ her delicate waist„
would you weep for me if anything
should happen?" '
I conitg l e l el her-light form. trembling
as I pro ded=but she made nose
ply. Thera , was , a minute's silence,
and then /came a deep, 106 - g -drawn
sigh.
• a , And—Laura! will you love Toe
too?" •
Her bosom heaved wildly, and she
breathed quick ; but; she neither an
swered, nor raised her eyes from 'the
ground. She-was picking a flower to
pieces. I ventured to draw her to my
bosom as I whispered
Will you."' , • .-
14, She looked up timidly, but olli how
trustingly into my eyes. and heaving a
sigh as if her heart had brOke, fell upon
my breast. I pressed her sacredly to
it, and in
_silence, It was .a tnnment
never to be forgot. One holy kiss I
bestowed upon her brow, onelong,
passionate l embrace,—and then gently
she iiisengaged herself front my-:arms.
But her ‘sWinirning eyes, froarbeneath
their lbng, silken , lashes, told of her
first,antkonlv love.
It is many a long - Year since then, but
Laura is still. tolny eyes, as beautiful
as ever. She isvi..;not so' merry as' she
was that summer, though' .her eye" is
softer, and her voice more sweet. She
has now a matronly look, and a smile
of holier repose ; but there is a little
Laura on liertnee with the self-aame
eye and girlish laugh. and her mother
still brushes to the brow when shelisps
out a request, at her father's laughing
bidding, to hear .the story about 'pa's
Flaw Lovi.
Egypt at Daybreak from a Pyramid.
This remArkable night passed with.
out sleep, under the wondrously( glit
tering scars of the African heavens, now
brought so near to us. We awaited
with eagernesss the morning; 'Mien it
broke, and the • sun arose out of the san
dy desert behind Cairo in glorious
state, we had a majestic prospect.—
Eastward -flowed the Nile, through
the fruitful plain ; beyond, we beheld
Cairo with ite green palms and acacias;
south from it, in the distance, nearly
twenty lesser pyramids in a wiste'sandy
plain ; and 'deer na l farther in the desert,
between the Nile, and .the
,pyramids,
the ruins - and mounds of the ancient
,city of Memphis. ImMediately around
us, on the same hill of sand six other
pyramids reared themselves, one of
which . was nearly as large as that on
which we stood. byt had yet a smooth
and pginied top, and had never yet
been, jasiended. Another, not very
distant, is but a 'very little less; but
the other four are decidedly less. All
these monstrous piles are'said to have
served for the sepulehres" of the: kings
and priests of the ancienf Memphts,,
and that their entrances were but :re
cently discovered by an Austrian ship's
captain.
Liberty.
Ariosto tells a pretty story.ota fairy,
who, by some ,mysterious law of •her
nature,..was condemned to-,apppear at
certain' '
seasons in 'the form of a foul
and poisonous snake. Thole who in.
jured her in' the period of her disguiSe,
were excluded from participation in the
hiessings which she bestowed, But
to those who, in spite . Ocher loathsome
aspect, Oiled 'and .ptotected her. she'
afterwaniscrevealed hentell in the_ bee*
tiro) 'atfeelestial form which urea pat—
ural to`‘,her. accentpanted' 'their steps,
granted all their- wiehe.s, filled' their
bailees With 'wealth,' midi-them hap
py in RiVer and victorious in war. Alvah
a spirit isliberty. At times she takes.
the form - of a hateful' reptile. 'She'
grovels, ,she 'hiSses: she stittps.
wo to . ti who in &egos t shall venture
to-crsh
.ter' , 1 And'happy,' are ,thoife
hcit ,avieg,,dated to - tecm° her in her
degraded:aa:crfrightfut., shape ' Shall a(
length WieWatiled - * het in: the %hie
of her
f. bei hint t •
RW-t! 0 caw
•
, • - .„•1. •
1 1
The , Aga of _
pleasing to the 'philosopher, as
well as the .Plularithropist, ,to mark the
march of moral! reformation which is
- ihread in the,, land. Its mighty reviile
tionris liand, , more glorious. than any,
ever recorded on the pages of history--
more brilliant and beneficial than any that.
ever severedthe,ohaiss from the limbs of
liberty, or rescued and , redeemedilman
from slavery far more dreadful than death.
It will be achieved ..without arms—and,.
unlike the conquestS of Alexander, Cae
ser, and that man without a model, who
snatched a brand from the French volca
no and lit all'Eurppe with its blaze, it
will be eccompliShed without bloodshed
and established without tyranny. ' How
glorious, will be its accomplishMent !—•
How brilliant.the benefits` upon
mankind ! Thej greedy grave will no
longer be glutted with the.victims of a,
vice which ha's stain more than ail the
evils of the earth ; yea! More than live
fallen by , famine, pestilence -and the
sword. Dreadful indeed has been the
record ‘of their ruin antic& their renown,
and melancholy the memorials of their
martyrdom. =
Of all bondage that ever blasted ht man
ambition and - shackled- the' understand
ing of man, the most galling and inglo
,rious is, the slavery of the soul. The
chains of habit! are strong as adamant,
and it requiret , a grasp like that of a giant
to rend them' asunder. Of all
~ the cala
!Office of life, the most touching and ter
riffle to behold is human reason in ruins,
hurled from the exalted throne by the
paralizing power of intemperance., .
Thank Heaven; the spirit of glorious
temperance has; ohe forth into the gar
dens of America, and an effort is being
made ~ which- will save millions from dis
graceful graves, dry up the team of the
weeping wife, and soothe the anguish of
the weeping Mother, who has so long
lamented the eareer of her wretched sons.
Thank .11eaven, the time has arrived
when .the catalogue of crime be oblit
erated ; when the gallant end gifted will
rescued from rhin - , and the reckless will
not dare to outrage public opinion: - !
Oh baltimore, mother of monuments
and moral reformation, march praise is
thine, for thy mighty efforts in the cause
of temperance.: Other cities will folloW
thy example, and' ere long we hope to be
hold our country freerrom a curse, more
fatal to the fame, fortunes, and -eternal
salvation of man, than any other that ev
er disgraced the annals of burden error.
Oh! what a beautiful world werethis,
were the demon of dissipation exiled
from the earth, and the spirit of teMpe
ranee tnumplient. Man, redeemed from
this curse, would rise in the scale of he
ing ; the ' serpent that crawled over the
cradle or Eden _would no longer tempt
him to error, and virtue would preside
over the hopesi and happiness of .the hu
man heart. The red arm of repine and
revenge would no longer reek with hu
man gore, nor the gleamy walls of the
dungeon echo the groans of the. con
science-stricken. wretch. Intipstry, pros
, perity and happiness would rise from the
ruins of degradation and' disgrace, and
peace, like a clove, carry couselaticil`tO
thousands,lyed Millions, who mourn..
'Go oq,. then, ye ,pioneers in the great
,cause of human happiness. Relax not
, 3iour • efforts,,,, until the strong towers of
Intemperance! hall lie level with the=
dust, and the beautiful temple offempe
ranee shall, rise upon its ruins and stand
to all 'future - ages the - admiration Of the.
World. , r. • • /
TREATMENT OF SCARLET r
In letter Ifrom Mr: Edward — Chaplin,
0, eSt. Helena, South Carolina, recent
ly published in die - Charleston Mercu
ry be descibes the following treatment
for' Searles Fever, as having been emi
niiitlY itteceisfal. He says ..out of
thirtyitour caies' where administered
the Jalap,l mit - one remained in bed
more than; one day." •
4. Direcliorts--Immediately on the
first syniptotria, whieh, is a Sof* throat,
give a lulUdoie Of jalap; to.artudult
ty, seventir,.or even eighty grains. ;at
night givo i strUng red pepper tea, from
a tea cup
,to. a pint, according to
age and violence_pf the sytiptonis s ; the
onezt.day 'give a smell "dose'-of; jalap;
say half the-quantity.given the,day be
fore. continne the popPer;tea *night ;
On the third ; (Ny ~if there is , any. soreness
remaining" iti ' `theihroat; give .a dose of
salts, which Ivillgenarally effect a cure;
the doses' of Course moat be - regulated
atoordintta the lige•of the PStient."
IffusiciL.--44 Smith, mud' a New
York Judge,-` l when :about 10 'sentence a
. ciilprit•hut. just arrived: in country,
Smith, I shall have 0. send you to
'Slug Sing."?Judge," . .,said he;
have,a very bad cold just at this par
ticalar dine, sod I would rather be expi
'sed fronCeiliginuuntil -, k - get' over my
titlarEc*Sso if it,'o!,2lllfitioiiolne 20 y011. 2 -'
• • ;
-1 .
e
eoagazta.zt Gum,
=III
-.The young and-r osy-footed )Spring,
with all its freshness andl;fAauty k is
breaking brightly 'OPon Us. Its many
toned voices are heard echoing thrthigh
*the grovi,and,forest, and ,ruakieg our
hearts, glad by their sweetness and
'lovely_ melody. - The limpid - istreime,
freed froth their icy bOnds,-are leaping
aloivg in every' jOy uE freedoni, and
breathing music in
, the!r gentle caden
ces. The feathered choristers ;; of na
ture are. making ' their'sylvan . homes
vocal with their .untaught minstrelsy,
and sending , up the incense ,of praise in
song to God.
Every season has its moral and its •
type. Spring- ,. --with its blooming flow
er', its beautiful landscapes, its bright
full dreamy sunshhie,its circulean skies,
its fragrance and. its *dome !--Thow
emblematic of the adolescence nf infan
cy and childhood-- when Hope, with
rain-bow hues, weaves' its fairy wreath
o'er the chinded future--when the
young heart, unschooled in the wiles of.
deceit and free from the turbulence of
passion and ambition, revels in its lit.
tle world pf innocence - and joy.!
Summer and autumn, too,,have their
bright skies and their mellow sunlight,
but they bring with then the sober re-'
elides of riper - years. The freshness
of the young year_ has Iled,and a bit
ter drop mingles with the cup that was
once all sweetness to the taste 'and
brilliance to the eye. The ideal crea
tions of the glowing imagination, have
lost their fair_ proportions, and wear a
sadder and a sterner tinge • and the
Harvests of Life, seen th rough the
meridiarhof Hope, has not been realiz
ed in its fulness. Rank weeds arid
tares have sprung np in the,spot which
delusive fancy decked with flowers and
shrubbery—aid p a in and cate.ocCupy
the foreground, instead of joy and
bliss, • '
Then comes old winter, With 'his
hoar frosts and bleak and -.chilling airs.
that bear no fraarance on their wings.
How symbolic of that ..second _ infancy
and mere oblivion" .of the lest of seven
ages of man, ere Death, in pity of his
dotage and infirtnities,4 drops the cur
tain over the - diante- of this. strange.
eventful history, and the solemn 'epi
logue is rehearsed. -
If we could look into the . heart: Of a
girl when she first begins to love, we
should find the nearest resemblance 'to
what poetry has described as the state of
our parents when in. Paradise Which this
life ever presents. Ail is .then eolored
with an atmosphere of beauty and light,
or. if• a passing cloud sailiracross' the
azute sky, reflecting a transitory shadow
on the scene below,
.it is but to be swept
away by the next balmy gale, which
leaves the picture more lovely for this
momentary, interruption of its stillness
and repose..- But that which coustitmei
the essential eharnrof a first, attachment
is its perfect disinterestedness. She who
entertain? this sentiment, lin its profound
est character, lives no longer for herself.
In all her aspirations, her hopes, her en
ergies-7—in all her noble flaring, her con
fidenceAer enthusiam, her fortitude,'her
.own interest is absorbed by the interest
of another. for herself, and in her own
charaeter alone, Ole is, nt the same time,
retiring, meek mid humhle—content to.
be neglected by the whole world—,des
nised, forgotten or contetnnedso that
to one being only she. may t3iill be ill in
all. ' And is this love to be slightly spo
ken of, or harshly dealt with? Oh, no!
but it bas'nlanY a rough blasi to encoun
ter vet, and an insidious enemy to copewith, before it can be stamped - with the
seal of faithfulnesi ; and until then, Who
can distintruish the ideal from the true ?'
• • AFFECTATION ETTRAORDINARir.4--1
. 14 Mamma,! exclaimed a beautiful girl.
who had suffered affectation to obscure
the' little intelligent she iiosseased.:
what is that long green thing lying,on: -
the dish before P -
•
4! Acucumber, .my - beloved Georgi
ana,"'replied the mamnia,"with a blind
smile of' approbation on - her darling's
commendable nurtosity.. -
“,A. 'cucumber! gracious goodness:.
-my dear mama.' how very extraordini. :
ryi. . : I ;always ituagined. - until thiS
moment, that they.grew , in slices l"
TAXING A POETICAL LICENBB.---18 8
church yan.l in•theNonli Enginnd is an
epitaph on . John Newtown
Pile* lies. (alas!) and tutee's the pity,
; • 4P thai Wmarns orlotin New
The :poet v.erYhandsoglelY,lkekilioWt
edge* thnpooticai license,. he haa .!aken
16.114 notabeve e. The•inites nitne .
- '
.
.
„
inn
EN
MEN
IN
ME
MEE
- ,<-
lEEE
FICDo . O.De
LOW.