Norwalk Gazette, Tuesday, June 4, 1833 · page 1

 

 

 

>1: '1.*‘-:

VOL. 16.

PUBLISHED
Every T1lCS(Zd_7/ Zllorning,
A FEW nons WEST or THE BRIDGE,
BY 2
JAIVIES REED. JR-
'_§_‘,E Egfi-fiS—'1‘wo Dollars per annum, payable
quarterly: Mail Suliscribers in advance. A liberal
discount made to coinpanies.-—-Any person who wil

become responsible for six papers shall have the
seventh gratis.

 

E-E ARE §«WAEi3._E{‘.
AT VVIIOLESAE OR IKETAIL.
Y the subscriber. The following are a few of
the principal articles, viz. :—

Cross Cut Saws and Fiddles. Japaned Lamps and
Griddles, Snull'er Trays and Latches, Knob Locks
and Matches, Gridirons and Snuff Boxes, Coffee
Mills and Wrcnchei, Oil Stones and Tea \Vaiters,
Powderflorns and Augers,Warming Pens and Meas-
ures, Crow Bars and Horse Whips, Pertussian Caps
mid Wafers, Cut Nails and Razors. Morlice Locks
and Giinblets, Cotton Cards and Mouse Traps, Brass
Knobs 8» Clothes Brushes, Horse Combs and Lather
Boxes. Bridle Bitts and Said Irons, Glass Knobs and
Toasting Irons. Butcher Knives and Iron Shovels,
Brass Butts and Tliimbles, Iron Squares and Jews
Harps, Grind-Stones and Beeswax, Looking Glasses
and Sleigh Bells, Cork-screws and Iainb Hooks,
Buck Saws and Pewter Faucet , Pocket Knives
and Nail-Rods, Pad Locks and air Brushes, Stair
Rods and Straw Knives, Slates and Razor Straps,
Tongs and Frying Pans, Shovels and Tea Bolts,
Door Springs and Spectacles, Hand Saws and
Tooth Brushes, VVindow Springs and Furnaces
Trace Chains and Shoe I{lll\ es, Steel Squares and
Sash Pullies, Brass Nails and liik I’owder, Caiidle-
sticks and Paint Brushes, Mill Saws and Jack
Knives, Coffee Pots "N. Pokers, I’enKnives and Chalk
Lines,Tea Spoons and Scissors, Brass Back Saws
and Chissels, Copper Tacks and Gou-gee, VVood
Screws and Holland Skates, \~'v’indow Glass and Gun
Flints. Table Spoons and Andirons, Riding Whips
and Fish Lines, Shutter Screws and Cutting Plyers,
Scale Beams and llantlioiiis, Curr_y Combs and Saw
Files. Cast Steel and Bed Cords, Bed Screws and
Horse Brushes, Sheep Shears and Bellows, Bed Key
and Plane Irons, Curtain Pins and Slcdges, Hub
Bandsand Dish Kettles, I’a’ent Butts and Snuffers,
Flat Bolts and Lather Bruslies. Compass Saws and
Wedges, Sauce Pans and Screw Drivers, Bl:ickLead
and Steel-Yards.Iroi: l‘ots and Compasses, Lehigh
Coal and Axes, l-2 R-iund Files and Table Casters,
Sad Iron Stands and Wagon Boxes, Rat Tail Files
and Iron Casters, Bench Planes and Hinges, 'I'1'_ving
Squares and Spiders, Flush Bolts and Adzcs. I-lat»
ters Grates and Lashes, Ditching Spades and Gages,
Spring Steel and Door Knockers, Segar Tubes and
Trowels, Sash Cords and Sparables, Steel Traps and
Gate Balls. Shaving Soap and Paper, 'l‘runk Locks
and Oil Cloth, Chest Locks and \V|iet Stoims,
Wrought: Nails 1‘lll(ITl‘Llt‘ll( Locks, Red Chalk and
Indigo, Bread Trays and Carvers, Pocket llules and
Sun Glasses. Bottle Corks and Miiiking Bmslics,
Cotton Yarn and Dog Collars, Knitting Pins and
l)Ia\v Locks, Trip Hammers and Anvils, Sic Sui.-.

The above goods with many more, may be tound

at the Store of J.--‘ICOB S/lIl’I'I‘[.

IIIRAIVI IIOYT, ILVIIJI-lCi'IAN'i‘ TA KLOF’

W/est side of the Brit/g'e, 8az.'g'atuch'.
IIE Subscriber Iias just returned from New

York with a gene-i'al assortinent of Cloths,
Cassiinercs, Satiunets, Vcstiugs, t‘,'c. which is offer-
ed to the public as cheap as can be pui'clia::cd at
any other Establisliiiicnt in the Country. The fol-
lowing compiise a part, vi:-3. super bl:ick, blue.
brown, olive, green and mix’: bro-adcloilis, black,
blue, and striped cassiineres, blue, drab, black inixt,
and Adam's mix't satiniicis, of a superior quality,
plain and striped inoleskins. wide and narrow cord,
fiincy do. Vestings-—black and brown figured silk
vnstings, black satin faqed do. (a good article) figur-
cd silk and linen do, black silk and t:.ibh_v velvet,
plain and figured buff t‘i'Iarseillci=, white and liizht
figure ;I do, white figured Valencia. suspenders of all
descriptions, s;ocks, collars, cravats. and pocket
lli‘ill(IlU’l'Clll€fS of ever) tli-.script‘on, together with a
general assortment of triininings. N.B. 'I‘;iiloring
will he done go the best and most faishionable style.

I’

The latest New-York fashions received quarterly. .

An assortment of reaily-maile Clothing kept con-
stantly on hand, and for sale cheap, by
Saugatuclt, April lfith, 1833. ’ H. IIO‘i"I‘.
A U1‘.'i’€'.['.»'ll.‘v' Cf-"RE I"-()i'\’. THE
H '1‘ »-H

.'..u

TIIIS filthy and infectioiis ilisriixlt-r, be it over so inveterate,
may be cured in one /imtr’s 1/;»;.i‘i'i:z:/imi In; the NSC Q]
l)U.\Il-‘ltll:1.5" Ul;\"l‘.‘.ll3j‘l'l‘

It is unrivalled for the plcusrml.iw.-.-s, um, c.~.;mlz'.'1‘.cn, ::n_.[‘r,-.'_.r/.
and certainly, with which it prodiiccs a perfect cure of this
disease. The Ointment is km,-\-.'n to he :~,()t.‘t.'l'l1tlll and e.\'pe-
ditious in its operation, as to Bill. ct a cure in on hr.-in-‘.5’ appli-
culian only.’ without aiiylia’/.:ii'd oft'.il;ii-.;.,v cold. as the com-
position does not contain the least prirtiitlc of incrcury, or
any other (l11llL'Cl”U\lS lllgl'C(llCilb ; it inay be applied with per-
fect safety in the state of prcgiiaiicy, and evcii to children at
tile l.-reast. '

II71’ri2:e 37 1-2 cents a 120351} with ample directions.
DUMFRIES’ IIIGIILY APPROVED
EYE V!‘-‘IA, '.‘E]i".! v

TIIIS safe and powerful wash for sure or inflanml Eyes,

stands pre-eniinent. among the multitude of ordiiiary pre-
parations for this purpose. The most 0l)Sllll.'tl.(’."ilS well as
the more slight inilaininations of that delicate organ, yield to
this highly approved Eye \Vatoi', whicli will brace and re-
store the tone of the diseased parts. On recent sore eyes,
the effect is highly salutary, and in cases of years standing,
the most unexpected relief has been received, after other
applications of inferior efiicacy had failed. Those who use
it pronounce it to be one of the best preparations for those
complaints they ever met: with, especially in obstinate cases
of soreness and inflammation.

Price 25 cents a bottle, with rlircclirms.

—Ai.so-— -

Ufrhe celebrated CAi\lBRl.»\l\f.TOOTlI ACIIE PILLS,

\-. .‘.ch give inzmuliate rclicy” without'the least injury to the

CI’-,otli. On trial this will ie found one of the best remedies

f this painful complaint. Price 50 cents abox, with di-
1 -.9-tions.

FOR FEMALES.
DR. RELFES’ Alt0MA'I‘l(.‘ PILLS

HAVE been long celebrated as a most: valuable and etlica
cious remedy against these general complaints peculiar

to the female portion of society. They cleanse, purify, and

promote a free and brisk circulation of the blood, when be
come sluggish and languid from the afflicting ailments for
wliich~these Pills are a. safe and effectual specific. They
assist the suspended operations of the sanguiferons system,
when nature requires it, and rectify the irre-gular habits of
the unliealtliy female, whose sickly and pahd countenance
becomes reanimated, and freshens with the natural glow of
xestorcd health. They are a tried and approved remedy in
.ob.9truction.v, (IcbiIit_i/,hy[iochon(lriI1, grecnsickncss, ,L,"L'(llli.7lL'.S‘S, pal-
pitation of the heart, had digestion, loal/ting. of fund, pains of the
stomach, shortness ofbrcath, upon every little motion, sinking
-of the spirits and its consequence, a (l(.‘_](3l:l.C‘(I countenance
and dislike for exercise and conversation. They are equally
conducive to the liealtlt of married ladies, except in cases of
pregnancy, or hectic and consumptive habits, when thcy must
not be taken. But they may be administered to great advan-
,tage a month or more after accrntchnicnt, for the purpose of
cleansing the system and purging those gross liumours,
which, when retained, lay the foundation of numerous di-
seases, and render the incautious subject, unhealthy for life.
They should also be taken by all women from 45 to 50, to
prevent the dangerous ‘disorders consequent; upon that cri-
tical period of female life. They have been further found,
by experience, to afford a powerful remedy in all hypoclionzlriac,
hystcric, and uupourish disorders, both in men and women, whose
nervous system they strengthen and regulate, aid nature in
throwing off those gross and superabundant. liumours which
produce melancholy and depression of spirits, renovate the
iody, rezinirnate the mind, and diffuse a general clicerfulness
End elatsltigity tjirougliout the whole system. Price 81 50 a

ox, wt 1 tree ions.

IICTTIIO above valuable Medicines are prepared from the
Original MS. ltecipe of the late .Dr. W. '1‘. C'o.\'w1iv, by
'1‘. KIDDER, his -Ifiintctliatc .S'ur:cc.9sor and Sole Proprietor. For
-sale at his Counting Room, No. 99, next door to J. Kinni:it’s
Drug Store, corner of Court and Hanover .Strects, near Con-
cert Hall, Boston; and also for.sale by his special appuintuicnt
(together with all the valuable Medicines, as pre in-ed b the

* 3
late Dr Conway ) by P Y

WEED and BUTLER, Druggists. Norwalk : SEYMOUR
JARVIS, and WM. 5. W001), Stamford, and Ci.os 1-:81.
lV1,i«;An, Greenwich.

'¢,,+ Observe that none are genuine without the written
signature of T. KIDDER, on the outside printed Wrapper.

I1'j‘A large discount inade to those who buy to sel. agziin.
4
~“ I IJGAT UCK 25 HF l4"i_‘lN G 15‘
girlie -BALE. L. 8L M. B. fviiim) have con-

stantly on hand several bales Stiugatuek Sheeting.
Merchants can be supplied with slieetings by the

~ bale or less quantity at the satire price as at the

l*‘actory._ __._l\lorwalk, Feb. llth I833.

P OE TRY.

FAREVVELL TOIIVIY HOME.
Sweet home ofiny cliildbood farewell to thy walls,

Farewell to thy shelter, farewell to thy halls,
But ah I can I meet wherever I roam,

A welcome like that which awaits me at home?
And though in a land of the stranger caress’d
My home, my sweet home, is first in my breast,
Oh ! how blissful to feel that wherever I roam,
The friends ofmy childhood will welcome me home.
Farewell then, farewell to thee, spot ofmy birth,
Farewell to the nearest, and dearest on earth,
And if from thy walls to a palace I’d roam,

I can never forget thee, my early loved lioinc.

 

From Blackwood’s Magazine.
TI-IE E VENIG STAB.
Oh sweetly shine the summersun,

When heaven from clouds is free;
And brightly gleains the moonlight on

Field, rock, and forest tree.

But to tho pensive heart oflove,

Oh sweeter than these by far,

It is with devious step to rove,

Beneath the evening star!

To others give the festal hall,

\Vherc wine cups shine in light;
The music oftlie crowded ball,

II/ith beauty’s lustre bright;

But give to me the lonely dell,

Ob sweeter than these by far,
Where pine trees wave and waters swell,

Beneath the evening star,

The days are past that I have seen,’

And ne’ei' again shall see,

\-Vhen nature with a brighlcrgrcen,

O’erspread ilio held and tree,
Tlioiiglijoyless not the present day,

Yet sweeter than it by far,

’Tis on the past to nuts}; and stray,

Beiieiitli the evening star.

For all the future cannot give

What spurt-less time has left,
And, oh! since thou hast ceased tolive,

A vacant world is left.

I turn me to my days oflovc,

The sweetest on earth by far,

And oil in =hought with thee'I rove,
lZene.'ith the evening star.

, wr_ an-aux

E‘.’:".'.. ..

IIIISCVELLANII.
—”I.‘;I:(IIII the New Mon-tlily ltlaigiiz/Iii—i:fIiI'TApt'il.
':i"I'IE VEIL IND PIU'I‘_URE.

A 'I'AI.E OF THE FINE ARTS.

 
 

the good die first,

llat those whose llt.‘lll'l$‘. are diy as suiniiier dust

Burn to the sockets.-~ Ii/om".»'.'.i.’urt/i.

Some time since, at one of the artists’

couversazioiii which are held in London, I
l‘CCO_<_"lll'/.Ctl an iiidividiial whom I had pre-
viously known at Rome. He was consi-
dered, iii that inotropolis oftlic arts, 21 young
ll'l.’lll of first-rate genius; and certainly
those of his productions which had come
before my notice, I thought fully entitled
him to lay claim to so exalted a character.
‘We became iniiin-ate, and were much in
each other’s soeiety.—I_ found, as I listened
to his observations on_his favorite study,
wliicli he l(l0ll7.C(.l with an exalted enthusi-
asm, that, to the exquisite taste and inature
lllL’lg’l1l()l’ll’. he evinced on every subject con-
nected with art, liejoiiicd ti highly poetical
iniagiiiution, and a mind well stored with
the treasures of classical literature. \Vhen
Ileft Italy we parted with mutual regret,
and I proceeded on my travels, leaving
him to continue his studies with every pro-
bzibility of his soon becoming famous.
Since then I had not heard from him, al-
tliougli I was frequently an eat‘-witness of
his pmises; the joy, therefore, with which
we met may easily be imagined.
I observed astrange alteration in his per-
son and features. Vt/hen I left him he pos-
sessed a handsome athletic form, eyes flash.
ing with animation and u eountenilce where-
on the lines of health and manly beauty
had been mellowed beneath the influence of
a southern sun. He now appeared thin
and pale, a shadow of deep melancholy
enshrouded his features ; and his gaze,
which used to make all glad on which it
fell, forced the spectator to participate in
the wretclicdness it expressed: he was evi-
dently sulfcring from illness.

“Good God! Arthur,” I exclaimed, as I
upproaclied him, “what has caused this fear-
ful cliaiige. Have you been ill '1”

He seemed pleased at meeting me, but
did not answer my question. I repeated it,
and with a forced laugh he answered me
that he was very well, laying an emphasis
on the two last words. He then changed
the subject, and we talked of old times and
old adventures; our troubles after Raffael-
les and Salvntors among monasteries and
palaces; and our dangers in search of the
picturesque among mountains and brigands.
He entered, into. the conversation, but he
had lost all that sparkling vivacity which
had always made him so agreeable a com-
panion. I-lc smiled occasionally, when I
brought to his recollection any odd incident
which had previously given us food for
many hours laughter; but the smile was
so faint, that it only showed more vividly
the sufi'ering it attempted to conceal. It
was quite painful to me to observe the
change which had taken place, and my
lieart aclied as I listened to his broken
voice.

I received the most pressing invitation to
visithim frequently, of which, on the first
opportunity, I gladly availed myself: for all
my sympathies were awakened for his ap-
pearance, and I tliouglit if I could find otit
the cause of the alteration, I might possibly
discover seine remedy which would restore
him to the health and happiness he had pre-
viously enjoyed. On my first visit be show-
ed me several of his productions. Many
of them were grand, some remarkably beau-
tiful, aud all gave signs of extraordinary
genius. The subjects were I1l0Slly"lllSI.Ol'l-
cal; but there were some landscapes and

iiiiagiiiativc coinpositions, and a few per-

ivonvvisms, CONN. TUESDAY, JUNE 4., 1833.

traits;.they possessed a richness of color,
and a coi're'ctfiess of drawing, rarely equal-
led in modern painting. His figures were
designed in a masterly style—his females
particularly ; they were worthy of the high-
est praise, aud possessed a character of iii-
tellectual beauty which made one feel dis-
posed to worship them as beings of superior
order. One paiiiting‘ only be neglected to
show me; it was in his studio, carefully
veiled with a green curtain. I thought it at
first rather strange that he should pass it. uh-
noticed ; btit imagining it to be unfinislied,
I made no remark upon the subject.

I afterwards visited him frcqiicntly. The
only real pleasure he seemed to enjoy was,
when I sat by his easel while he was busily
employed, and read to him the best classic
authors; but his lieulth did not improve.
He seemed declining‘ rapidly, and I began

some malady which was secretly undermin-
ing his constitution ; yet he never coin-
plaiuct], and when I asked him if he was
ill, he would always reply in the negative.
He took but little nourishment, and drank
very sparingly of wine. At last he seemed
wasting away so rapidly, that I found it im-
possible any longer to restrain myself from
interfering, and determined, at any risk, to
get at the knowledge of the hidden mis-
chief, whose effects appeared every day to
me becoming more dangerous.

One day afier I had been reading Plato
to him in the original, to whose philosophy
he listened as if his soul was bound up in
the words, I laid the book aside, and ad-
dressed him in the most kind and persua-
sivo language I could use, while I watched
to observe what effect my discourse pro-
diiced.

“Artliur,” said I, “it is evident: to me that
you have some secret which is ruining__your
peace of mind, and destroying‘ your health.”
/ ‘I observed that he trembled and changed
color, but (lid not speak.

“P_ardon me,” I continued, “if I am in-
ti'utling' upon your private thoughts. I am
iriflueiiced by a regartl foryour wclfare,and
I cannot retain the sacred name of friend,
if I‘ see you miserable, and attempt notliiug
to render you happy.”

“Happy!” he exclaimed involuntarily,
but with such an expression of anguish as
can scarcely be imagined ; and then relaps-
ed into silence.

“I knew you,” I proceeded, “at one time,
when you seemed not to have a care in the

' world ; when your heart was buoyant and

your step liglit. I now find you like one
who, in the world, has no occupation--
whose soul is oppressed with a multitude of
g'riefs—-and whose foot clings to the earth,
as if the limbs were rooted to the ground.
I am certain that some heavy disappoint-
ment has falls-.n upon you, on which your
happiness chiefly depended. I do not de-
sire to participate in your secrets from feel-
ings of idle curiosity; I am actuated by
motives of a flu‘ higher character; but I
must say that I consider you very wrong in
keeping your afllietioiis to yourself, when
there is one beside you who is ever ready to
share them, and to offer whatever consola-
tion it is in his power to bestow.”

He shookhis head inournfully, as if to
intimate that the remedy was beyond my
aid.

“ You ought to be convinced, my dear
friend,” I continued, “that the encourage-
ment of any secret grief is wrong; there is
a selfishness about it; it generates niisau-
tliropic feelings; it is often followed by
consequences of a debasing character to the
moral excellence of the human heart; and
I must think that mind little influenced by
the golden truths of philosophy, that can
continue in a practice so contrary to social
love and generous fellowship. I know that
you will not take olfciice at any thing I can
say to you on such an occasion as this,when
I can regard nothing but the human wreck
which I see before me, and can desire no-
tliiug but a speedy return to “all its original
bi'ig'lituess.” You may reply, perhaps, that
there is a luxury in the sole enjoyment of
grief; but it is onethat should not be indul-
ged in. Any thing carried to excess is iii-
jurious—the feelings and passionsof hu-
manity particulary so; they create a deliri-
ous poison that runs tlirough the blood, iii-
fecting all the channels of vitality, till the
heart and .soul are deprived of all their
social qual'ities under its withering influence.
For \vliat‘are we endowed with reason, my
dear Arthur, but to show how far we are su-
perior to the rest of the creation, and to
keep us from acting under the blind im-
pulses of passion ? You have allowed your
feelings to get the better of your reason,
and a morbid sloth has overpowered your
better nature. Shake oil’ this incubus——
shake it off, I implore you." I observed a
slight twitching of the muscles of the face
as I concluded ; his eyes glistened ; he laid
hold of one of my hands with u convulsive
g ‘asp, and nature, after a short struggle, tri-
umphed. He turned away to conceal the
weakness he had evinced, and I returned
him a cordial pressure of the hand. I al-
lowed him the full indulgence of his feel-
ings, knowing that their influence would go
furtlier towards producing the state of mind
in which I wished to keep him, than all the
eloquence of which I was master. At last
he broke sileuce—

“ I had thought,” said he, in [1 voice
tremulous with agitatioii, “that the secret
would have gone with me to the grave ; but
it is for the best, perhaps, that it should be
divulged—-—tlierefore I will tell you all.”

He seemed as if he was preparing liim-
sclf for an efl'ort, and then continued-—

“ In my early youth I became acquainted
with a young lady, whose beauty_I will not
eulo ise, because you will soon have an op-
p0l't§lllli_V of’-judgitig for yourself. I loved
her; we were both young, but I was, by a
few years, her senior ; and in a short
time she returned my affection with all the

r
|

devotedncss of a woi_nau’s first love. We
f‘-

to fear he was laboring under the effects of

i

lived within a short distance of each other.
My family had once moved in a sphere of
the highest‘ respectability, but misfort.iines
had liumbled them, and they were obliged
to find associates in a difl'erent community.
Her father had amassed a considerable for-
tune by the most intiiistrioiis habits, and in
his old age continued the same employment
with as much perseverance as he had prac-
tised in his youth. As long as he saw his
family comfortable and his business pro-
ductive, he carcd not how the world went,
and never iut‘crfei'cd in domestic matters.
Her mother was a vulgar and ignorinit wo-
man, of a t:yrauiiical disposition, who con-
sidered wealth the only sign of respectabili-
ty; she ruled every where. She took care
that her children should be educated as
well as money could make them, in the
hope of their forming alliances that. would
increase her importance. Laiira was the
youngest of them all ; it was strange that a
form and nature of such rare woi'kman-
ship should have been produced from sncli
materials; but nature loves to disappoint
the calculations of philosoplicrs. Site had
but one brother, who was a few years older
than herself; he was the coinitcrpart of his
mother in all things, and cousoqueiitly her
idol. It is almost needless to say that I was
objected to by them; but this r:itliet'strengtli—
one-cl Laiira’s affection than the contrary,
and we met elandestiiiely, and correspond-
ed through the agency of her servant.

“At a very early age I had given evi-
dence of a talent for painting, and I was
educated for that profession. I have al-
ready told you that my family had been uti-
fortunato; another reverse of fortune oc-
curred, which obliged them to leave that
neigliborliood for ever. At that time, hav-
ing, I knew, nothing to depend upon but
my own exertions; I thought that the world
might suspect me of interested motives in
retaining the alfectioiis of a young girl
whose expectations were so far superior to
my own ; therefore, after a long and painful
struggle with my feoling's, I came to the de-
termination of discontinuing the connexion
rather than throw myself open to such de-
basing suspiciotis. I wrote, and resigned
all claim to her hand and heart; as from
my situation in society -I was unable to offer
her those advantages which I felt convinced
she had a right to expect. ’I‘lien, in lati-
guage that can never fade from my memory,
she replied—-‘ "When you have lost all all'ec-
tion for me, then, dearest Arthur, tell me
that you cannot offer what I have a right to
expect; and she who now fuels in calling
herself only _7/our Laura, will no longer
style herself by so enviable a name. This
silenced my scruples, and I resigned myself
to the delighted enjoyment of loving and
being‘ loved.

“Some envious wretch, like the Evil One,
when he behold the felicity of our first pa-
rents, had witnessed our happiness only
with a desire to mar it,—lie told her family
of our secret meetings. They were of
course very much enraged, took advantage
of Laura’s ab:sence to break open her writ-
ing-desk, and there discovered several of
my letters. Laura was instantly sent for,
overwliclnied with abuse, which she bore
with the incckness of an angel, and made
to indite a very angry letter to me, the pur-
port of which was to reprove me for my
presumption in daring‘ to aspire to an alli-
ance with llCl' family, and to forbid any fur-
ther correspondcuce. \Vhcn I received it,‘
it caused me mncli anxiety, and I began to
believe in the fickleuess of woinankiiid, but
the next post brought me a letter full of wo-
manly tenderness, and of words——

‘ Sweetcrtlian the lids of Juno’s cg es,
Or Cyrethea’s breath.’
It cleared up the mystery.

“Altliough she was watched with the
most rigid espoignage, and suffered every
indignity from the family, because she would
not promise to renounce me. For two years
we continued to correspond with, and at
intervals to meet ericli other. She iinprov—
ed in beauty, and I in my profession. I
studied long and earnestly for im prove ment,
for I thought that only by attaining emi-
nence I could prove myself worthy of her
love. About this time her letters became
less frequent, and our interviews at longer
intervals. Yet in speech and in writing
she seemed as kind as over. At last she
told me that our correspon(.lence must be
discontinued, as her mother had quarrelled
witli-the faithful servant by whose agency
it had been carried on; and us she had been
dismissed froin her service, no letters of
mine could come to her without being dis-
covered; ‘she eoticluded her letter by say-
ing—‘I allow that time does make chaiiges,
but it never—never will in my regard for
you; and I tell you dear Arthur, that while
I can hear that you still remain firm in your
affection to your Laura, no power on earth
shall force me to give my hand to another.’
Although I could not but regret that the
only channel bf communication between
us was no longer available, these assurances
of her unalterable attachment convinced me

of her sincerity, and I felt assured that the

absence of my letters would make no differ-
ence in her regard for me- I placed the
most unbounded confidence in her truth.”

As he concluded the sentence,» Arthur
linked his arm witliiu mine, and led me be-
fore the picture, which I have noticed as
the one concealed by a curtain.

“So deeply,” he continued, “were her
features fixed upon my memory, that want-
ing to paint 8. picture from the story of
Abelard and Heloise, I made her as a study
for the latter, and endeavored to trace upon
the canvass those cliarnis which had made
so lasting an impression on ‘my heart. I
had then no opportunity of seeing her, but
she was ever in my thoughts ; therefore,
fi'oin memory I am indebted for the strong-
reseinblance which the portrait bears to the
original. There is no composition with
which I li:tve taken so much pains; I ‘lin-
gered over it like a mother over her lust-

..x

"availed myself of its influence.

born ; I touched, and retouchedi it, and en-
deav ored to bestow upon it all the exquisite
finish of a Gerard Dow. I have lately
closed the painting from view, because it
became too painful a mockery for the ot
bear. _

\Vith a trcmling hand he drew aside
the curtain, air”‘I never beheld any thing
so lovely as t|‘e being before me; the at-
.inospliere seemed to grow bright, as ifa
burst of sunshine had flashed upon the
room. Heloise was designed as rising from
a couch, on which she had been reclining
while her lover, kneclirig at her feet, had,
in the passionate eloquence of verse, de-
clare_d the eagerness of his love. Her hair
was light and of a glossy litic, parted off her
‘fair and open foreliead, and rested in luxu-
riant tresses upon her (lazzliiig throat
and swelling breast; her eyes were of that
deep rich line that seem born of heaven,
from their resemblance to the fair clouds
wliieli veil it from oiii' sight, and were filled
with that deep and earnest expression of
womanly tenderness that subducs the heart
on which it falls. Beauty seemed to breathe
in the swelling‘ outline oflier form, and pas-
sion appeared to dwell in the melting fond-
ness of her looks. I-Ier dress was in the
picturesque costume of the twelfth century
allowing the griicefiil shape of the limbs to
be seen beneath its folds.—Tlic room was
decorated with tapestry, on which were de-
lineated subjects front scriptural history and
the rich light; which fell upon the eloquent
features of Heloise came mellowed tlirougli
a wiiidoiv of painted glass whercon :1 Vi!‘-
gin and child were drawn in clear and fade-
less colours.

I looked upon the painting with uncon-
cealed rapture: it was a master-piece.~—
It appeared to possess all the flowing rich-
ncss of color which belongs to the Italian
school,united with the exquisite finish oftlie
Flemish painters. I. think I should have
gazed at it till nightfall, entranced in ad-
iniration, had I not been started by a heavy
sigh. I hastily let fall the curtain, and
turned round; my friend had stink into a
sent; his face was buried in his hands,
and his attenuated frame shook with vio-
lent convulsions. '

“Artliurl” said I, taking his thin hand in
mine, “what ails you '!”

“Notliing,” he replied, faintly, catch-
ing his breath at intervals, as if something
impeded his respiration, “ nothing——notli-
ing-—my friend; ’tis 8 sliglit attack to
which I am sometimes subject, butrit will
soon be over; tliei'e—there—I ain better
now—I am much better——I will now go on
with my n.'irrative.” _

“No, no, Artliiir,” I exclaimed, observ-
ing the agitation he was endeavoring to
control, “you can continue it at some other
tithe.” ,

“Perliaps not, my frieud—perhaps not,”
he replied; I dare not trifle with time.’’—
He made a violent effort. to coriqiici' his
weakness, and then, with assumed coin-
posure, continued. “Soon afterwards‘ my
productions attracted the attention of acer-
tain nobleman, well known for tire liberali-
ty with which he patronizes the fine arts, he
was so pleased with my compositions, that,
aftcra short acquaintance, he offered at
his own expense, to send me to Italy. to pur-
sue my studies. This was a temptation I
could not. resist, and I soon accepted his
generous offer. Although I sought fre-
quently, I found no opportunity of having
an interview with Laura before I left Eng-
land; but when I arrived in Reine, I deter-
mined to confine myselfto one object, that
of rising in my profession, for the sole pur-
pose of becoming worthy of her affection.
The name of my noble patron was a pas-
port to every palazzo in Rome, I quickly
I studied
the glorious creations of the antique till I felt
imbued with the spirit of their beauty, and
the immortal designs of the great painters I
had before my eyes, till I became familiar
with every excellence they possessed.——
There I _found the best living models to
draw from—woinen as lovely as the Ma-
donnas of Raffaello, and men as finely
shaped as the Deities of Canova.

“Three years I remained in Italy, seek-
ing for eminence, and in some clegree—in
a degree which gave me a proud and happy
coiiciousness of having succeeded in my
endeavors-—-I obtained it. Yet Laura was
never absent from my remembifaiice. I
fed my heart with hopes of creating-a name
and fortune worthy her acceptance. I
yearned for distiiiction, only for her sake.
I was happy with the world and with all
around me. I had obtained honors and
rewards above my expectations, and I
looked forward to the possession of Laura
as the crowning gift which would give a
value to the rest. She was present with me
at all times, and in all places, and shed la
line of beauty and excellence over all I did.
IfI wanted todesigii :1 figure possessing
extraordinary grace, I tliougbt of her, and
creations more‘ than eartli-born loveliness
rose upon the canvass. It was her to
whom I looked for inspiration; and all
bright thoughts and glorious imaginings
were centered in her reinembratice. _Vis-
ions of Beauty thronged upon my mind,
freshly bathed in the sunshine of her deli-.
cious smiles, or newly glorified by the soft
brilliance of her eiiamoured eyes.

“The time drew tiear for my return to'_
Engla‘nd, and I busied myself, during my
voyage home, with delightful anticipations
of my coming felicity. I thought of
the joy with which she would welcome
me after so long a separation, and seemed
to boliold thelustre of her dove-like eyes
dwelling fondly on my own. I hailed the
white cliffs of Dover, shining through the
mist for bringing me nearer to her presence.
My fame had travelled before me; and I
discovered on my landing, that I was in
as high estimation among my fellow-coun-
trymen, as had followed my efiorts in Italy.
At the first opportunity I made inquiries for

at

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1\’5,(-).:2'3.l if

-Laura and her fgnily. I found that ‘her
father had died during my absence, leaving
an immense fortune to be divided aijnoiigst
his widow and children, who, with the ex-
ception of the son, had l‘Cl.ll:e(l into the coun-
try. It was some time before I found out her
residence, and when it was, discovered, I
had still greater ditliculty in seeing her.
At last I met her by accident in town.--
She appeared glad to see me, pressed my
hand wit.h ecstasy, and looked up into my
face with all her usual tenderness; yet, at’-
terwards, she blushed, hung down her head
in silence, and seemed fe,arful of being seen
in my company. I would not leave her until
she had given me permission to write to
her, and hail received her promise to un-
swer inc. 1 was too much wrapped up in
the happiness I felt in her society, short as
the period was in which we were together,
to observe, at the time, those signs of es-
trangeinent, wlii‘ch afterwards came before
my memory with all the bitterness of disap-
pointment. My fi'iend—it was the last
time we met 'l” -

In the few last sentences his voice futil-
tered, and at the conclusion it was so brok-
on as to be scarcely audible ; but with a ‘su-
pernatural energy, lie sti'uggled with his
feelings, and,in a few minutes, resumed his
narrative with apparent composure.

“I wrote,”--lie continued——“yes, I wrote
to her; I told her how long I had loved
ber—liow faitliful had been my affection,
and that my attachment could only cease
with my existence.
glory Iliad obtained was worthless, unless
she for whom only it was sought made it
valuable by sharing it with me ; ‘and I irri-
plored her, by her gentle endearments, and
by all the happy moments we had passed in
each others society to assure me, at once,
either of the certainty of my happiness, or
ofiny misery. I waited long and anxiously
for an answer. VVheu any suspicion enter-
ed my mind of her inconstancy, I thoitglit;
of all she had endured for my sake. I re-
called to mind the letter she had written to
me from the couiitr , where she had been
sent by her friends for the purpose of pre-
venting any communication between us, in
which she stat.ed that the persecutions of
relations had become quite insupportable,
and the waters of a lake, round which she.
was in the habit of walking, looked so clear,
so trauqiiil, and so beautiful, that she had
been tempted to put an end to her misery
and her existence at once; but that the
thoughts ofposscssing my love held her back,
and she felt that ‘she could not give tip my
afl'ection, even to possess pcace,vand happi-
ness, and heaven. Yes,’I thought of these
things, and my lieart smote me for suspec-
ting her of deceit. I waited without a
murmur: laid the fault of the delay on a.
variety of ditl'erent causes, andgfelt assured
of my coming happiness. My friend 1
imagine my feelings when I received this
letter.”

VVith trembling hand he gave me a note
which appeared much crumpled, and felt
damp to the touch ; it was dated more than
three months back, I read as follows :—-

“You have, perhaps, before this, accused
me of neglect for not having answered your
note before, but I have been unable to do
so. Your letter was what might have been
expected from you-—noble and disinterested.
I am greatful for your kind affection for me
though I can never repay it as you merit.
Forget me, Artliur—I ask you to forget me;
I am stillyour friend, and shall never cease
to be so, but you will meet with those more
likely to make you happy; you can /then.
remember me as the friend of your adversi-
ty, and as one who would nevcr“‘liave for-
saken you in the day of trouble. \

“Your sincere well wisher, “LAUR./l."3’

I was wondering, within myself,'ut the
extraordinary fickleness of this girl, when
my friend, with more composure than I
could have expected from him, proceeded ;

“\Vheii I had perused that letter,” be con-
tinued, “its meaning came with such .a.
sudden shock upon my brain, as to derauge,
at once every faculty it possessed; I was
sensilile only of sudden and intense pain
about the region of the heart. " The rest I
heard from my attendants; they were a-
larmed by hearing :1 noise in my room;
they rushed in and found me extended on
the floor. For several montlisl was de-
lirious; my life was despaired of; but I re-
covered to the state in which you now see
me, to linger a painful and cieclining death.-
\Vliat are to me fame, and name, and hon-
or, and glory, now she for whom I sought:
them requires them not? \Vhat are to me
the riches of the world, now her for whom
I struggled to obtain them, refuses to a share
them with me‘? I have no\occupation—I
have.- no incentive to occupation. The

‘\.

sioiis have no power over me. I am‘ wast-
ing away, gradually, but surely; all the
functions of the body have lost their ener-
gy, though tllljfl soul lives in the immortal-
ity of its yout . ' .

I went home in the most melancholy
state of mind form hearing my'friend’s
eventful history. 'I‘lic next morning I cal-
led upon him at an early hour. j had left

surprised and delighted atjliis composure.
my hand with more than his’ usual kind-
cing their way along‘ his llllg‘g.'ll'(’l cheeks.
things to my mind : the servant opened; it ;1

into my friend’s, bed-room, and there Ibe-~
held the unhappy man extended lifeless 01}
his bed’! On the table near him ‘ lay 8.
small bottle, which had contained poison
of the deadliest nature. I saw how bitter-
lvI had been deceived by his composure
6f the previous evening; he had evidently’
premeditated self-destruction, and bad as-

sumed tranquiliry to avoid suspicion. He

L,

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That to me all the.

world holds out to me no prize worth strug- .
g-ling for, and the stimulus of eta’.-tlily pas”:-‘-'

him tranquil and resigned]; intleetl, I felt-
Wlien I was taking my leave, be pressed.
ness‘ of monitor, ‘while the tears. were-tra-~-
I knocked at the door as I rcc_alled these .

his look alarmed me; I rusliedup stairs-.