POE TRY.
GENEVIEVE.
BY s. T. COLERIDGE.
ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
\Vhatever stirs this mortal frame,
~ All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.
Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o’cr again that happy hour,
’ VVlien midway on the mount I lay
' Beside the ruin’d tower.
The inoonbcams, stealing o’er the scene,
Had blended wit.li the light ofeve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
2 _ My own dear Genevieve!
, She leant againt the armed man,
1 The statue of the armed knight;
She stood and listened to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.
, Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy ! my Genevieve!
She loves me best wliene’er I sing
The songs that make her grieve.
I play’d a soft and doleful air,
- I sang an old and moving story—-
An old rude song that suited well
_‘_'_Ijliat ruin wild and hoary.
She Iistend with a flitting blush,
Xvith dmviicast eyes and modest grace;
For, well she knew, I could not choose
"'3
_ , Upon his shield a bucrniiig brand ;
And that for ten long years he wooed
- The Lady of the Land.
‘ll . I told lier_liow he pinctl : and uh !
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
\Vith which I sang another's love,
Interpreted my own.
She listen'd with a flitting blush,
\Vith dowiicast eyes and modest grace ;
And she forgave me that I gazed
Two fondly on her face.
But when I told the crtiel scorn
That crazed that hold and lordly Knight,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods,
Nor rested day nor night;
at sometimes from the savage den,
metimes from the darksonie shade,
metiins starting tip at once
.en and sunny glade,
came and looked him in the face
tel beautifttl and bright;
.he‘knew it was a Fiend,
.s miserable Knight!
that, unknowing what he did,
.. leaped amid a murderous band,
‘Ind saved from outrage worse than death
The Lady of the Land!
And how she wept, and clasp’d his knees ;
And how she tended him in vain-—
And ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain.
And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
‘V hen on the yellow forest-leaves
A dying man he lay.
His dying words——but when I reach’d
That tcndcrcst. strain of all the ditty,
DIV faltering voice and pausing harp
Disturbed her soul with pity !
All impulses of soul and sense
Ilad tlirill’d my guilelcss Genevieve;
The music arid t.lie dolcftil tale,
The rich and balmy eve;
And hopes, and ftars that kindle hope,
An uiidistinguishablc tlirong,
And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subducd and clicrislicd long!
She wept with pity and delight,
She blush’d with love, and virgin shame;
And like the murmur ofa dream,
I heard her breathe my name.
Her bosom hcavcd—-slie stepped aside,
As conscious of my look she stcpp’d—
/Then suddenly, with tiinorous eye
She fled to me and wept.
She half incloscd me with her arms
. 7
She iress’d me wit.li a meek embrace '
i _ .
And bending back her head, looked Lip,
And gazed upon my face.
’Twas partly Love and partly Fear,
And partly ’twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel and see,
The swelling oflicr heart.
I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;
‘ iid so I won my (iencvieve,
-Iy bright and bcautcous Bride.
. , £5 THE Rl‘I’l'I‘.()SI’l‘I(.Z’I‘.
’Twas"c suing when I left the vale,
That iutrsed my boyish ycars,—-
My father’s manly check was pale,
My inotlier’s wet with tears ;
Then born upon the breeze of night,
3 I heard the distant bells
‘ Come o’er t.liose waters, coldly liiight,
\Vith all their breathing spells ;—
Sweet village bells I sweet village bells!
\V1th all their breathing spells.
The stars are in the blue skies sct,
And light on the sea,
And some that parted—now arc nict——-
But whosliall vvelconic iiic?
‘They light not liomc's unwrcathcd bo\vei's,
3 Of whom my spirit tells,
l\'or come, as when in happier hours
I. heard those village bells;
. - Sweet village bells! sweet village bells,
l ‘ \Vith all their breathing spells.
R0 III ANCE OF HISTORY.
THE CIIEVALIIER BAYARD,
AND T11}-2 F.-HP. winow.
ill the world has heard, and read, and talked,
'» he Chevalier Bayard. His is one of those
gies, which, like talismen, suiiurioii up whole
ris of romantic imagery, and generous feel-
. In looking over a volume of Frcncli tales
.'-4 anecdotes, I met with an agreeable story of
Chcval,ier’s airiours, which I do not recollect
:;iave seen elsewhere, Perhaps I may only
-/clating, what has been much better related ;
_1f the reader has not before met with the fol-
‘ltlg narrative, I think he will be pleased with
I How far the tale is fotindcd in truth, I will
'.WctcI1d 10 say. The Chevalier is certainly
fle more of a gallant. in it than history war-
.'s us in believing him. ’J_‘|.¢; Story, [,Owevc,.,
lfull)’ i|1l0TWovcn among several striking
well-known facts ofliis life; and is, 1 pm‘.
‘I , about as true as the iriajority of ljistorical
v . ' . t . .i' ,. . - . . —.
‘Ll. the time when the (,lit,v.i.ici’s reputation sieur De Ncmours to Milaii.
}; in its full brillianey, there lived attlic court
f*‘rancis I, the beautiful Madame Dc Itandan,
fhc illustrious Ilouse of Miranda. She 11-Lu]
' her husband while she was as yet but twen-
cars of age; and what linsband was ever so
ply regretted l—Never did eyes of twenty
rs old shed so many tears fora deceased lins-
(I. Nothing was talked of at court, but the
if of the young widow; she no longer dcign-
o coiisult-tlie mirror, aud,iu the words of the dead, and pity for the livintr.
roiriaiice, ‘deiiied her beautiful couiueiiancc
fie. white crystal, which desired so mticli to a degreec of'iinpatien_t-c.
d it.’
cut gcntleincii ofl.t‘ranct-.-. She,covei'cd her-
was superior to the greatest beauties of the court.
The Countess of Rochefoucauld; her sister,
the Marcliioness of Rothelin; Diana, of‘ Poic-
tiers; the Duchess ofVa1cntenors; all those beau-
tiful danies were not equal to the Fair \Vidow.
old, and had already merited the title of the
Chevalier, withotit fear or reproach.
La Palice, (his friend,) was proud to have been
named by acclamation to the command of the
army of Ravcnna, after the death of M. De
Lautric. These two preux chcvalicrs, who play-
ed a brilliant part in the armies, were scarcely
v~'=-‘:3: s_Qenat_c_Qur_t_. V_ They left to tlie_ge_ntle Bon- .plainly. She did not say halfso much to me.’
-’;~-:.;., .
I’ " A-i.i»):- -- _...'.. -. . .' I .'
fly’ ‘ l.\Id(lt1l11(._l).(. mllltltlll <.lr,spis(.d dr.c- C.ipl.iin La I’.ilice, tslic has wept; 511.3 has
run, from a vow which she hurl made to the shown the portrait ofthe deceased; and I have
le ofhcr husband, who was one y(}[ the most been obliged to retire with very lit.tle hope ’—
I
BY WM. G. HYER.
PRINCIPLES AND l\Il£'_\'.
$2 PER Annnisi.
VOL. 18.
Madame De Curson, or the beautiful D’U'/.cs;
The Chevalier Bayard was but thirty years
Captain
nevit, and others, the entire 135$:-,>_‘ 'i.‘7‘-“i~'5*"i" COUFH
and they were well recon1pensc‘t'."~’V" ‘_.I?i)l]l]C\’ll, '
however, came occasionally to COl1\'(2I"..-If; with the
Captain La Palice and the Chevalier Bavartl ;
his cold spirit sought to warm itself at Illx. fire
which animated them. ’\Vhen they talked of
battle, honor, loyalty, Bonnevit repaid them by
a courticr’s conversation-—the news, anecdotes,
and sometimes chronicles. The fair widow at
length came in the course ofconversation.
‘\Vhat do you think,” asked Bonnevit, one
day, ‘of Madame De B andan ?’
‘Sue nion chief, ne vis eucqucs taut dame de
bon lieu,’ said Bayard.
‘Benit dieu,’ replied Palice; “it is too much
grieving for a dead man"
‘Hear my project,’ added Bonnevit. ‘I have
advised her to finish her widowhood soon. Do
Rome, and in France “I Enough—l~:now in short,
that the fair widow weeps no 1nore.”
‘Admiral,’ replied La Palace, ‘I fear much
that you will not find this like the affair of Be-
coque. All battles are not victories; but sieges
have become blockades.”
‘The blockade may last a long time,’ said the
Chevalier Bayard.
‘I understand the thing better than either of
you,‘ said the Admiral; ‘enough;’-—and he left
ilie two clievalicrs.
As soon as he was gone, and that they were
alone, ‘VVhat a man is this Admiral!’ said Pa-
liee. .
‘After what he has done,” said Bayard, ‘to a
noble lady, whom you know, into whose cham-
ber he iiitroduced himself by a trap-door, I am
persuaded that he is enterprising.
This said, the Captain Palice and the Chev-
alier maintained silence. Bayarr‘ interrupted
it lirst. ‘Let us drink,
Oh, my readers, do not be precipitate in your
judgirieiits; in the sixteenth cent.ury they drank,
and fashion did notinterdict the use ofwine; our
preux chevalicrs might be seen seated round a
great table, the sword and slioulder-bclt beside a
volume of Frontin, or Polybius, and the bottle
close by. The older ones cracked jokes upon
the Spanisli rodoinontades; discourscd at great
length about masterly retreats and brilliant at-
tacks. The younger ones talked, without ever
being scandalous, of the humor of the ladies;
and evil would have bcfallen him, who had
touched upon the sharp chords instead of the
swtet. To return to the clievaliers.
‘Drink,’ replied Captain La Palice. The
convex‘.-:ation again ceased ; strange thoughts pas-
sed at the bottom of their souls—tliey were both
in love. It was the first moment of their pas-
sions; and this moment is certainly sometimes
embarrassing.
‘It would be,’ said La Palice, ‘a great happi-
ness to touch the heart of so courteous and res-
pected a lady.’
‘It \votild be a great honor,’ said Bayard.
‘My dear Chevalier, this Bonnevit has given
me some severe blows in the heart. I scarce
know what’s the matter with me.’
‘My dear Capt., for my part Ifcel as much as
you.’
‘Indeed, my friend !’
"Yes, indeed, Captain.’
They. stink again into silence; it was with
surprise; beliold them become rivals! \Vhat
was to be done?
‘between us,’ said the Captain, ‘there should
you know what they say ofme at Milan, at.
NGRVVALK, rrunsrainr, assert. as, tests.
hope of success. ‘I will go to-morrow,’ said he;
‘I will go, and you shall know what happens to
me.’ *
The interview of Bayard and the fair widow,
was not exactly of the same kind.. The CI']CV'£1-
lier was younger than the Captain, and enjoyed
a more brilliant reputation. The fair widow
wept; showed the portrait; but she lent a lis-
tening car to Bayard, and when he said to her,
‘I will come again, madame,’ the beauty replied,
‘It will be a great pleasure to me.’
The Chevalier repeated the conversation to
the Captain, word for word. ‘Chevalier,’ cried
the Captain, ‘you will be preferred. I see
The Captain paid another visit to the widow.
Tears again; and again the portrait. Bayard
returned assiduously, on the appointed days;
and whilst the Captain was always at the same
point, Bayard advanced day by day. The fair
widow threw afew glances at her mirror. There
was as yet no dressing; there were as yet no
soft looks; but she scarcely wept any more.—-
Slic prolonged the conversation by questions
which required long replies, to which the Cliev-
alier was not very particular in being precise and
laconic.
‘Relate to me,’ said she one day, ‘your adven-
Iture offifteen hundred, when your were made
lprisoner in Milan by Ludovic.
‘I was,’ replied Bayard, ‘at the head ofa par-
ty of French ; we were met by a party ofItal—
ians, who pushed usbrisklv; we were so aiiiinat-
l ed on both sides, that our party did not perceive
that it fell back, nor the other that it advanced.
The two troops having arrived at the gates of
Milan, a French gen d'armcs cried to me with
a loud voice, ‘Turn, man ofarins, turn.’ I, who
would conquer.——I was deaf to his cries, and en-
tered on a gallop into the city, as if I would sing-
ly have taken the place. The soldiers, the peo-
ple, eveu to the women, fell upon n1e.
brave fellow, whose valor had always kept him
within reach of my blows, had me surrounded
by his soldiers, and took me prisoner. Ludo-
vie had seen from his window my feats of bra-
very, and sent for me. ‘My gentleman,’ said
he, ‘what has brought you here '1’ ‘The desire
of victory, monseignior.’ ‘And did you think to
take Milan with your single arm '!’ ‘No; but I
thought myself followed by my comrades.’ ‘Both
they and you could not have executed this de-
sign.’ ‘At any rate they have been wiser than
me; they are free, and here I am a prisoner.’-—
‘Eh; what is the force of the French army '?’—-
‘\Ve never count ottr enemies; I can assure you
one thing, that the soldiers of my master are
picked men, bt.-fore whom yours could not stand.’
‘The sequel will give another opinion of my
troops; a battle will soon decide my rights, and
their Courage.’ ‘\Vould to God that it was to-
morrow, and that I was at liberty.’ ‘You are ;
I love your firmness, and your courage; and I
will add to thisjust benefit, any thing else you
desire.’ I fell at his feet, and entreatcd him to
pardon, in favor of my duty, wliatcvor there was
hardy in my replies. I asked for my horse and
my arms, and I took leave of him. Thus fin-
ished my adventure at Milan.’ Bayard contin-
ued fcelingly‘, ‘It was easy for Ludovic to re-
store me my liberty; but thatwliich I have lost
near you, is a thing beyond recovery.’
Captain La Palice was informed of this long
conversation; for Bayard, faithful to his oath,
concealed nothing for him. He presented him-
self before the fair widow, and imagining that he
had found out the trite way of paying court, he
set to work, to relate all the battles in which he
had been engaged, from Marignan to Ravenna.
All words lost!—-Thatwhich the fairwidow lov-
ed to hear from Bayard, did not interest her
when the Captain was‘ the narrator. ‘\Vell,
then,’ cried lie to Bayard. ‘I must sound a re-
treat; farwell to the beautiful widow; yours,
Chevalier, is the honor of the conquest; should
a third rival iiitervinc, here I am your compan-
ion in arms.’
The fair widow became insensensibly accus-
tomed to the Chevalier Bayard. Love grovs
out ofhabitude; that which first was but a pleas-
be no wrong done. By St. Denis, let us swear
that he of us two, that is least favorably receiv-
ed sliall give entire place to the other; and that
iftlicrc comes a third, the rejected shall be the
Ct)lIlp'r1l'll0ll in arms of the favored one.
promise, on the faith of brave chevaliers, to ren-
der accouiit——but secretly for the honor of the
fair widow--ofall that she shall say to us.’
‘I swear it,’ said Bayard.
They eiiibraced, and scparated—one went to
the riglit, and the other to the left. \Vould it
be believed, that by two roads, so opposite in
appcarzince, they should arrive at the same end ‘.7
lt was towards the hotel of the beautiful widow,
tliiu. they had directed their steps. Bayard had
already put liis foot upon the threshold of the
door, when he saw the Captain approacliing.—
layard felt liimsclf strong enough to be all his
life above suspicion and reproach. ‘Pass, my
Captain: you are my ancient. Good evening,
and good luck to you. I willreturn to-morrow.’
\Vith tliese words he withdrew, The Captain
was announced to the beautiful widow.
I:Io\v shall I represent Matlanie De Randan?
A gray dress; her hair without powder, turiieo
tinder a large cap, which covered her face '; lriiig
mitteiis on the arms; a large hand kcrcliicfrou rid
lier neck; before her, a frame for silk work : be-
-51‘-l0 1101‘: E1 young damsel, who read beautiful
passages of the liistory _of Godfrey of Bottlogne,
of wlnch the widow int.crrupted the reading by
many sighs. Such was the I'Iclen, whose favor
was about to be contended for by the two lira-
vest of Chevaliers. She considered the visit of
the Captain I’alic_e as an honor, buts]-,3 was not
the more talkative on that account.
‘You see before you,’ said the Captain, ‘a loy-
al clievalier, who hasjust devoted l_1imsclfentirc-
ly to your service.’ '
‘\Vhat is it you tell me _?’
‘Truth, my beatiful widow ; know Captain
La Palicc, uiadanie;—his hand, his heart, all
are at your feet.’
At this avowal the fair widow was silent, and
wept. The Captain touched and allectcd, was
on the point of weeping also; he struck his forc-
head and said-—‘This is a more licart-breaking
allair t.o me, than when ill coiiducted, pitcously,
after the taking of Ravenna, the body of Non-
I. drew after me
then a tomb; at present I carry death in my
licart.’
'\Vhile he was talking, the beautiful widow
had caused her damsel to uncover the portrait of
Monsieur De Randan, and for a reply, pointed
with her finger to this inscription, ‘I love him
still.’ Captain La Palice int.ci'riiptcd immedi-
ately this iriutc reply. ‘I go,’ said he, ‘to pray
“Ml: that he will give you forgctfulucs of the
The Clievalicr Bayard waited liisreturn with
‘Ah! iI.’s a pity,’ said
J.‘lie Chevalier had a high opinion of the word
.‘VVIll1.;.lltc div-SS of it 7‘C'lij-j'Mit'8u‘. fltlcl yet she ' of tlic Captain, and did not flatter hirnsclf with
Let us!
, ure, at length became a want. She had quittcd
1 her weeds, and her dress improved day by day ;—
one would have said, that the certainly of being
, loved gave her the desire of pleasing. She rc-
solvcd to re—appear at court, and try if her amour
l_2)7'0jTI'B would not be flattered by the advantage
which she ‘. 'as sure of obtaining over the most
bcatttiful. The Chevalier Bayard was the on-
ly man who could have served as an excuse for
the fair Wid0w’s return to the world :——she was
called nothing at court but La Dame De Bay-
ard.
Spain having renewed a truce with Fiance,
-, the ambassadors of this power were received at
I Paris with the greatest pomp ;—tlicir public en-
vtry was brilliant. The fetes given by Francis,
corresponded with the idea which the Span-
iards already entertained of his magnificence.
The fair widow was one of the ladies chosen
to figure in the dance,—slie carried away the
apple.
One of the Spanish cavaliers, in the suit ofthe
ambassador, fell in love with her. His seren-
ades, his gallants, messages, were in vain, and
Don Alon:/.0 (which was his name) learnt that
this heart, wliich appeared inaccessible, had a
weak side, by which the Cl'i.ev_alicr Bayard had
made an entrance. He was not int.imidat.ed by
the high reputation of his rival. The more re-
doubtablc the Clicvalicr, the more glorious it
was to combat and vanquish him. The desire
to gratify this particular revenge, was united to
the desire of sustaining the honor ofthe nation.
Bayard vanquished by a Spaniard !—It would
be suflicient for the glory ofSpain. Don A_.lo_i_i-
zo provoked the Chevalier to a duel. Bayard
accepted the combat. The judges of the field
were named. Capt. La I’alice obtained the
appointment ofguaizd of the field. The Spati-
ish were irit.erestcd in the trimnpli of tlieircliain-
pioii. The French made vows for the Cheva-
lier Bayard. Thus a private quarrel became al-
most a national one.
How can we describe the aflliction of the fair
widow! She was the ii1noccnt.ca_use oftliis coin-
bat. She sighed and groaucd, and coiisitlci‘cd
it a i'nisfortune to have appeared beautiful iutlic
eyes of Don Alonzo. \Vliat a moment for the
soul ofthe Chevalier !——It was amidst tears, and
tlirougli a thousand sobs, that he hca_rd, from the
lips of the fair widow. a confession which he
had never d'.t_red to dcinatid. I*Ie dried her
tears; and, as a pledge oflove, she bound one of
her garters round his arm, and gave him a por-
trait. It was a Cupid lifting up a crapo, and
drying the tears, of the fair widow with rose
leaves. The Chevalier received this portrait
on both knees, and after having kissed it a tliou-
sand tinics, and a thousand times kissed the hand
from which he received it, he placed it on his
heart. ‘Dcarimage,’said he, -‘tliisis yourplace:
remain there as constantly as your model is
treasured in my heart.’ He took leave of the
beautiful widow. --
Captain La Palice had arrived before him.—-
'They have appointed me,’ said he, ‘guttrrlian
o_f't_he field; butrccol_lec_t our treaty: in case of
One '
need, I will be your companion in arms; or if
you would-—but no, you never would. \Vcll,
then, go and humble the joy ofthese Spaiiiards;
true braggarts as you know them to bc.’ Cap-
tain La I’-alice condor.-ted Bayard, mounted on a
beautiful courscr, covered with white housings :
but the Spanish champion would fight on foot.
Bayard accepted the combat on foot. The field
had been marked out in haste, simply by some
great. stones, laid a short distance froui eaclioth—
er. The Chevalier Bayard placed liiinselfiu
one end of the field, accompanied by several
valiant captains, such as La Palicc, d‘Urcgc,
d’Iinbcrcourt, Dc Fontcrailles, Baron De Beard.
Don Alonzo was likewise accompanictl by his
friends. Tliejtidgcs sent the weapons to Bay-
ard, \\'liL':l,1-v.'c-.'e an ester and a poniard. They
were artricd with gorgct and scgrctte. '_l.‘li<',-
Chevalier was indillercnt to the choice. The
Spaniard and he having entered the field, cncli
threw himself on his knees t.o pray to God ; but
the Chevalier l)l'()Sll"dl.CtI liimsclfat full lcngtli to
kiss the earth, and on rising made the sign ofthe
cross, after which’ he advanced strait towards
his enemy. They each made lirst blow with
the ester, and for seine time they could not do
any lL‘.',l'l2‘l, because they were each adroit enough
to party every blow. The Clic\'alici‘, faligttetl
with the length of this species of combat, seized
a moment when Don Alon‘/.o lifted his arm t.o
give him a blow, and raised his at the same
time: but he held the ester in the air without
striking, to be able to take his enemy wlicn ex-
posed, and in fact struck him in the neck. Don
Alonzo, having received a severe woniitl, threw
away his ester, and grappled with the Clieva—
licr. _,'Ii'licy had a vigorous struggle, pushing and
(ll'ilgg'll'lg, and lifting each other, until they had
both rolled upon the earth. The Clievalier, the
most ready plunged his poniard in the face of
his enemy, crying to him, Wtirreiitlcr or you are
dear.” Don Alonzo expired. The Chevalier
wa‘s".‘-.-. 'l‘i‘cted : for he would have conquered
him living. His first care was to fall on his
knees and thank God, after which he kissed the
earth three times; he then drew his enemy otit
of the field, and said to l1is_parru'1”/', ‘Have .I done
enough!’ ‘But too much,’ replied the Spun-
iard, "for the honorofSpain.’ ‘You know,’ said
the Chevalier, ‘that I have a right to do what I
please with the body; I deliver it to you; and
truly I would, saving my honor, that the case
were otherwise.’ He was conducted in triumph.
with the sound of trumpets ant-l clarioris, to the
residence of La I’alicc, wliere before doing any
thing else, the good Clicvalicrwcnt to the church
to Ilia-nk God, and afIi_-rwai‘tls made the best of
his way to the beautiful widow. If we would
paint the joy, the ingenuous joy oftliis young la-
dy, we must paint her beautiful eyes, and all her
person. Allwas soul; all, even to her siglis,
wasjov. She ran to meet him. She forgot.
lierscff, and seemed as though she would rc-
cline on(:.lte bosom of this brave Clicvalicr.—
I’t'(iii~.{fw,is moinont Cupid united their licartswilh
all his Ila’-.i‘itls.
How shall we describe the joy which succeed-
ed, from day to day, this first intoxication ‘.7 It
is bet._tei;\to drop the curtain for a while over
the transport ofthe happy pairand leave the rea-
the Chevalier Bayard and the Fair \Vidow.
THE IVIORALIST.
HUMANITY.
GENTLENESS, which belongs to virtue, is to be
carefully distinguished from the incau spirit of
cowards, and the fawning assent of sycophants.
It renounccs no just right from fear ;—i_t gives
up no imp_ortant truth fr.om llattery;—-it is in-
deed not only consistent with a firm mind, but
it necessarily rcqttires a manly spirit and a fix-
ed principle in order to give it any real value.
It stands opposed to harshness and sevcrity,—
to pride and arrogauce,—to violence and oppres.-
sion : it is, properly, that part of the real virtue,
charity. which makes us unwilling to give pain
to any of our brethren. It corrects whatever is
offensive in our manners, and by :1 constant train
of human attentions, studies to alleviate the bur-
den of common misery. Its oflicc is therefore
extensive; it is contimially in action, when we
are engaged in intercourse with men. It ought
to form our atltlicss, regulate our speech, and to
diffuse itself over our whole behavior.
That gentleness, which is characteristic of a
good man, has, like every other virtue, its seat
in the heart. In that unzilIcctct.l civility which
springs from a gentle mind, there is a cliarni infi-
nitely more powerful than in all the studied man-
nersiof the most finished courticr.
It is liitiiiihid on a a sense of what we owe to
Him who made us, and to the coinmoii nature
of which we all share. It arises from reflection
on our own failings and wants: and from views
of t.lie condition and dirty ofinan. It is native
feeling lieightcncd and improved by principle.--
It is the heart which easily rclents; which feels
for every Ihingthat is human; and is backward
and slow to iiillict the least wound. It is affable
in its address, and mild in its demeanor: ever
ready to olilige, and be oliligeil by others;
breathing liabitual kindness toward friends, cour-
tesy to strangers, long sullizring to enemies.
It exercises autliorily with 1nodci'ation; ad-
ministers rcproofwitli tenderness ; confers favors
with care and _modcsty. It is unassuniing in
opinion, and teinpcratc in '/_.cal ; it contends not
eagerly about trillcs; slow to cont_i'adict and still
slower to blame, but prompt to allay disscnsion
and restore peace. lt. neither llII(‘.I‘|ll(EtlLllL‘S with
the ali'aii's, nor pries into the secrets ofotliei's.—
It tlelights above all tliings to alleviate distress;
and, ifit cannot dry up the falling tear, to soothe
at least the grieving lie-art.
\Vliere it has not the power of being useful, it
is never I)Ill'(.lCl]SUll'lC. It seeks to please rather
than sliine and dazzi--.l, and conceals with care
that superi_ority, eitheroftalents orofrau k, which
are oppressive to t.liosc who are li_cncatli it. It is
the great avenue to mutual enjoyment; amid
the strife of iriterfcriug interests, it tempers the
violence of contention, and keeps alive the seeds
of'liarn1oi‘iy. It softens animositics, renews en-
d ’-armcnts, and renders the countcnaiice of iuan
a rcfrcsliincnt to man. It prcposscses and wins
every heart. It pei'su:‘u.lcs when every other ar-
gument fails; often disariris the fierce, and melts
the stubborn.
To the man ofhunianity the world is general-'
ly disposed to ascribe every other good quality ;
ofitsinlluence all in some degree partake, and
therefore all love it. i
The man of this cli.'.u'actcr rises in the world
without a struggle, and llotirishcs witltout envy;
his misfortunes are 1]l)l\'Cl‘S:llly lamented, and
his failings are easily forgiven. The inward
tranquility whicli it promotes is the first rr-quisitc
ofevery pleasurable feeling. It is the calm and
clear atinosplicrc, the serenity and sunshine of
the Inind. '
Attacked by great iii_},ui'ies_, the man of mild
and gentle spirit will feel what huni:ni_ nature
feels; and will defend and resentus his luty al-
lows liirn ; but to slight provocations li
der to learn hereafter how prospt.-rcd the loves of
No. _ 5.
pily superior. Inspired with noble sentiments,
tauglu to regard with indulgent eye, the frailtics
ofmen, the omissions of the c:n't-less, the lollies
ofthe iniprudcnt, and the levity ofthe fickle; he
retreats into the calinricss ofliis spirit, as int_o an
undisturbed sanctuary, and quietly allows the
usual currcnt.oflife to hold its course.
Ili<:vi«:r..\'.i'ioi\' AND SCllC.\'(.'lC--GDhl.‘5 \Voi-.n
.\-.\'n lllS \Vonks.—“Aiiy disagreement that litis
been thought to sulisist between the physics or
the records of the Iloly Scriptures and the late
discoveries ofc.vpi-riincnt and oli.<erv:ttioii, .I take
in truth to be nothing more than a disagrct-inciit
between false coticlusions tlrawii on both sitlt-s
form true ])l‘(,‘llIl>‘{‘S. It may have been the fault
til'tli\‘iiics to be too lltlblf to'di':t\v t.-oiiclusiou:-: of
their own liirmllle doctrines of the holy writ,
\vliicl'1 they frcqiu_-iitly confotuid \vith the divine
doctrine itself, as if they uiatle a part ofit: mid
it hath been the fault ofiizuurztl pliilosoplicrs to
be no less liasty to build ct)ti_]ccltti‘t:s upon fat-ts
tliscovcrcd, whicli they presently conlound with
the disco\'crics Ili<—rinscl‘.'cs, altliougli they are
not confirmed by any cxpcrinicn_ts yet made.
and are what a fuller intcrprctatioii of the plie-
iioincna of nature may lit-i‘c:1ftci' pcrliaps rcfutc.
".l.'lius while genuine revelation and sound philo-
sopliy are in perfect good agrccinent with each
other, and with the actual coiistitutioii ofthe uiii-
vcrsc, the errors of the religious on the one side,
and the leariu.-d on the other, run in contrary
directions, and the discordaiice of these errors is
mistaken fora discord of the truths on which
they are severallygrafted.
To avoid this evil, in every coinpznison ofphi-
losopliy with Ilevclation, extrcnic caution sliould
be used to separate the explicit assersioiis oflioly
writ from all that men have inferred beyond
what 15 '.1s.-zertcd, or beyond its iniiiicdiatc and
necessary consequences; and an equal caution
should be used to separate the clear naked de-
position ofcxperiincnt from all coiijct-.tural deduc-
tions. \Vitli the use of this precaution, revela-
t.ion and science niay receive mutual illlusti'a-
tion from a coniparisoii with cacli other; lllll
without it, while we think we compare I.-lod’s
'\\’orks vvilli (iod’s \Vord, it may cliancc that we
coinpt‘rc nothing better than the tlill_L-i'ciitcliiiiie-
ras ofthe litiniau iinagiii:‘ition.”—-Bisliop Ilorslcy.
i‘..‘.';.‘.«.......m-.
’J.‘IflE LOST SA.'l')'l)iI. 5.
A SCl‘Z.\'l". l.\' Till". \\']i$'I‘ l;\'l)ll'ZS.
“Snttuil(‘-rs,” quotli the oldest man from the
sanctuiii, “lius ye cooiitctl tlic saydcls ?”
“ Yes, uncle, twice over, and tlicrc is st.illonc
inissiiig.”
“ Vzira extraordinar,’ rejoiiied the small lins-
ky voice from the dark corner—“\’.'.tra extraor-
dinur.” Then after a pause “I‘Iavc yc closed
aw the or.-counts, Saunders? -
“ No, sir.”
“ \Vhilk of t.liem are open yet I”
“ Mr. \Vandcrson’s.”
“ Yin,” said the voice.
“ .lollilli-‘. and Blackhousc."
“ Twa.”
“ Skinlliiit and Pear.-cmcal_.”
“ Three.”
‘-‘ Ilis honor the Custos.”
“ Four.”
“ And Gabril Juniper.”
“ Ay, tliere’s five 0’ them. '\Vecl-a-wccl,
Saunders, we maunna loose the value ofthesay-
del at no rate—sae just clap in ‘item one saydcl’
to ilk ane o’ the five ye have read affthe new
seriawtim—they ’ll no aw objeck—ane we will
surely stick—maybe inair.”
I was a good deal amused with this, and while
the others were inspecting some sctts of harness
and the quality of several boxes of soap, I could
not resist drawing nearer, under t.lic lee of the
partition, t.o enjoy the fun ofthe thing. Present-
ly Twigg joined me.
The conscience ofthe younger of the two in-
visiblcs, seemed to rebel somewhat at this na-
tional and cliaracteristic method ofbalanciug an
account, and making gain of the loss ofa saddle.
“ Really, uncle, none of these parties got the
saddle, Iain positively certain of that.”
!
lose the saydle, Saunders, by no mainier ol
means.” -
“ 0, but, sir,” persisted the other. “I\II‘. ‘Van-
derson, for instance, a person you always speak
so highly of.”
“ I-Iaud your tongue, sir, and do as I bid ye—
it’ll no he charged again yere conscience, and
ye ’rc no the keeper 0’ mine.”
I was amazingly tickled at this. After a
pause, “I-Iae ye charged the saydcls yet Saun-
dcrs'!”
“ Yes, sir,” said the clerk, doggedly; “yes,
all charged, and I’m just closing the accounts.”
“Close mine 0’ the accoui_its—devil’s in the
lad wi’ his lmrry—elosc nane o’ the accotints,
sir-——so noo charge twa or three odd things till
each o’ the five, just to smoor the saydcl, yc
ken-—what are ye glowering at---do yo no tin-
dcrstziun yere inither tongue--to mak’ the charge
less noticeable, ye gawmarcl.”
“ Really, _sir,” said the younger ofthe two, “I
have not the courage to do so _unjust an action of
myself.”
“}Iaud yere t_oiigue, _arid write what _Idic-
late, then, sir---wha’s fi_r.-tfl.7 Ay, Mr. \Vander_-
son. Let me see an I L hinge, aiul a negro
lock, and a bott.le o’ blister llies, to Mr. \Van-
derson. I.lc’s always giving poor people help
and medicine, and hc’ll ne cr notice tlicin.---
\\"lia’s ncist?”
“ The Custos, sir.”
“ Ay, the Custos,” said the voice: “a jovial
cliicld is his honor--—so, so-—-just clap doon, item,
twa corkscrcws. IIe’s no muckle git-ii to pa.y-
in,’ but ne’er mind---I’ll screw it out o’ liiin in
rain and plaintains.” yknd here the creature
laughed a_n “cldrit.ch laugh,” sounding more
like kcck, kcck, kcck, than any C0_1l]_l)'l0_l_1 cach-
innatioii. “\Vl'i;t’siieist_?”
“.lollilfe and Bl:u.-kliousc.’’
‘‘ Ay, braw English lads are they baitli, lec-
beral chiclds, and fond o’ giiid eating: clap a
round 0’ Jew bccfon the la p 0’ their saydel.”---
Keck, kcck, keck. “\V'lia’s ncist ?”
“ Skiiillint and Pcaceincal, sir.”
Bah! nasty Scotch bodies,” (and what mav
you be, thought I;) “and well _I wot I would bi:
glad to saydcl thcni”---kcck, kcck---“but tliey’ll
no he llsl(.'(l that gate, _[ trow---they are ewre
gleg: sell them a loose, and iflie wanted :1 deg
of the ftuI-..-—iny ccrtie, let abce findin’ it out they
«wad plea it afore they payed it——sae pass them
ower. But wt-ilt awee—-I arn loath to let Skin-
flint escape, after aw. How many gmnsianes
did their cart ca’ for the other day I” i
“ Two dozen, sir.” . . .. .
‘-"I‘w'.-1 dizzen grunstancs, did ye_ say ?——herd»
ony mortal the like o’ tliat--four-and-twenty
grnnstancs? ‘\Vhat can they do wiflsacl ii‘i,t';..-my-'2
They muan surely mack soap o"tliem,'or feed
their negers wi’ them—.—or niay bothcy. gr-ind‘
their noses on thern_”.---kcck,,l;eck.;--r‘Dicl7you;
is liap- send an _inv,o_ice"w_i’ thelcart, Satinélers ?"
“It’s no my fawt ifthey didna—we canna
“ No, sir ; the man went away without it.”
“ V-a_ri wecl.”
“ The cart upset on the way home,’ and broke
several of the stones, I hear.” ‘
‘-‘Better and better---mak the lIL'(l,(ll7.7.eD (7:-rcc,
Saunders; surely thc’ll na piece the broken ancs
the gither to check the tally--—the extra dizzeu
will aboot balance a saydcl, Saunders. So, if
we canna fit them wi’ a saydel, we'll tak a ride
affthem, bare-backer .” Keck, kcck, keck.---
“\Vha’s neist?”
“ Gabriel Juniper, sir.”
“ Fashions, drunken, ncerdowell---wasli his
saydle down wi’ a gallon o’ gin and twa o’ braii-
dy. He’il no be able to tlirecp wi’ me, for he’s
arnaist aye drunk noo---ayne he could’na keep‘
ain saydel the last time I saw him on horse-
back, it's but riclit licscould pay for the lost ane”
Keck, kcck, keck. “Noe, Saunders, yc’re ade-
cent lad, sac satisfy ycre (‘()ll.~‘.(‘lt‘llt'3C, and mind
ye gie tip in shape o’ discount at the settlement,
the amount 0’ aw the fictitious items, barring‘
the saydcls and the grunstancs, tliougli--—mind
tliat---lizirring the. sziytllcs and the gruustancs.——
Non, soom up and close, ye dccvil---seem tip
and close.”
A banker at I’aris. rcturtiiiig lioine some even-
ings ago from :1 ball, iiiisscd lhrcc thing:---liis
wife, his cztsliicr, and the contents ofhis strong
box. Ilaviug by some iiicaris ascertaiiicd that
the fugitives were gone to I.l:l\'l‘(‘., hc immediate-
ly fiillowctl tlicm, and .‘ll'!‘l\'(.‘(l at the Itlotel in
wliicli they had tukcii up their abode, where he
lt'Z,H'Il(‘til they were to sail the next day for Antler-
l(‘.'l. lllziltiiig :1 ('(Illlltl€llll of the lzuidlord, the
liziiikt.-1‘ went to the (.'llLlll‘il,l(‘,l‘ in xvhicli the two
culprits were. ‘At the liist siinmions the re-
«L-i'c:iiit c:i..-'liit'r opciicil llllt door-—-turd’ tlu'o\\'iItg
liiuist-lftit the lift)! of his iii_}tit-.-il lit-iu»f:it-toi‘, ac-
l\'llt)\\'l('ll_‘_ft*ll liist'riiui:i::lit_v, and (ilIi_\' .-'nppli<~at-
(:(l lll(,‘l‘(’_\' liar his guilty t-onipziiiioii, who lay
ll'f'll:lIlll'I_11' in the lH‘.(l \\'lll(flI he had just quitu.-d.
‘‘Don’t be alariutd, n'i_v xvortliy fellow,"---s:tit,l
the btuikcr, "all l want is my uioiu-\_‘.” The
wliolc oftliis \,\’:1>‘ iiiiiii.*tli:itt*i_j;' gixcn iip. Tlic
li:iiikci', liaving ll.\’(‘t‘l‘l2llll:*(l tliat nothing was
kept lizick, llIl'Ht.‘tl to the dclinquciit and olli.-red
hint notes to the aniouiit of lU,(,ltl(lli'., sayiiig,
“Tliis is for the st-i‘vit:e you lizive i'_cinlci‘ed me
in ridiliiig me of a vii.-iotis wife. You may set
olfwitli her to-niorrow for I\c\v iI_.'t)l'l{, on con-
dition that you sign an :u:knowlttdgoiiicnt that
you have received the lltUllt.‘_‘.' for the expciiscs
ofthe voyage ofyoui‘sclf;iiiil ;‘ol:u|:tnic---to the
Uiiited States.” The paper was signed, the
door was clo:-:cd, and the liaiikei‘, having remain-
cd not_mu_cli more than .'i qtinrlcr ofan hour in
Ilavrc, set out on his mail l.\at:k to l’ai'is.
Discoun.-\t;i.\'u.---A gr,-ntleiiiaii in a in.~igliboi'-
ing town l'I2Zlf‘lIt'tl li(_))ll(3 late one night, and just
before his arrival, stopped at a tavcrii and regal-
cd liiiii:-‘elf over his sovcntli glass. (,)n Outcr-
ing the llottst-, he. took liis::t-at bv the lirc. His
wife li.-id rctirctl for the niglit,ibtu previously,
knoxving licr littshautl would waiit his supper,
had plat-cd such good tliiugs as the house allin‘tl-
ed on llip licmtli. that he ‘miglit lit-lp liinisclf,
when he should ::ri'ivc. (i)iii'il'rit-inlis strt-iigtli
failed him, and the task of pl:u:iii;_r his siippcr on
the table was more than he coiihl pcrliiriii. He
called to his wife, who w:'t.< in nu :idji;iuiug room,
the door leading to \\'llll.‘ll \v;is opt-ii.
“ l}ets<_-y, ,l. \v:iuI my s:ippci‘.'’
‘‘ lt is close by you on the l_;(.':li'lll, iiiytlt-*t1i'."
()ur ii'icn..l \\':l>' silent for :1 nioiuctit, and sat;
making his olicisancc to ll‘.t‘ lirc bcli-rt‘ hiii'i.
“ I weiiit iii_v stippi.-r, llct.-v_v," said he a se-
coml time with a. tlt.-ii.-cti\'c \oic:_.
“ It is right there on the liezu‘tlt,
spouse.
“ .l:li;_:lit devil !,’ said he to liiiiiself, and silence
again prc‘.'aih:il_.
Ilungcr applied its spurs, and otir friend once
more in an aiigry tone (‘.(lllt‘tl for his supper.
“ A re you (/run/.: .7” iiiquircd his b_;-ttcr half,
raising her head from the pillow.
“ No, Betsey 1’iit nzost morlall]/ cIiscom‘r(g'ed.”’
H
repeated his
CL.-tv.——.»\s the lieuclicial effects of clay on'
light and sandy soils, is so generally tiiulcisttititl
and acknowledged, we are sui'pi‘ised that it is
not more extensively used in anieliorating the
condition ofsoils of this nature. A gei1tl.::maii of’
this town iiiforins its that in many cases he coii-
siders clay altogether preferable t() manure, from
his own experience in the matter. Itlour or live
year.-: since, he had carted" on to _a lot of small ex-
tent, :1 considerable quantity of clay, _\\'l)l(.‘ll was
spread over the surface to the depth of three or
four iuclics; this was left until dry, when it was
rolled; the lot was then planted with potatoes,
which yielded agrcat crop. The sticcccdiiig
year the lot was ploughed, and seeded down
with hemp; the crop tliatfollowcd was the heav-
iest raised in this Cotiiit.y that year. In the fall
of the same year the lot was again ploughed,
and seeded down with wheat, of which it pro-
duced an exti'aordiiiary crop. This wheat crop
brought the highest premium in this Con1inor1-
wealth. The land has been liberally mamtrcd,
and has since yielded great crops ofliay. In
this case there has evidently been a great im-
provenieiit of the soil, and-siinilar treatment of
light soils would doubtless be followed by simi-
larelli*.cts, If we were a farmer, we think we
should try it.---Greenfield‘ Ga’/..
VI1t'1‘_UJ:s or THE }ZLl)lCR 'rr.1;i;.—Sir J. E.
Smith has remarked that this tree is, as it were,
a whole magazine of physic to rustic practition-
ers. It is said that if sliccp that have got the
rot can get at the bark andyouug shoots ofthe
older they will soon cure tlicniselvcs. The wine
made from older berr'cs is too well known by
families in the country to need any ecomiums;
it is the only wine the cottagcr can procure, and
when well made, is a most.cxc.ellcnt and whole-
some drink, taken ,warn1 before going to bed.—
It causes gentle per.-:piratioii_. aiitl is a gentle opi-
ate. If a rich syrup be made from ripe elder
lierries, and a few bitter almonds, when added
to brandy, it has all the flavor of the very best
cherry brandy. The white elder berries when
ripe, make wine much resembling grape \_vine.—
The buds and the young tender shoots are great-
ly admired as pickle. The leaves of the elder
tree are often put into the subterranean paths of
moles, to driv_e those noxious little animals from
the garden. Iffruit t.rces, flowering shrubs, corn
or other vegetables, be whipped with the green
leaves ofthe elder branches, it is said that insects
will not attach tlicmsclves to them. An infu-
sion of these leaves is good to sprinkle over rose
buds, and other flowers subject to blight, and the
devastations of cattcrpillars.—Lcigh Hunt.
A II.-vr ovi_:r.eo.»utn.-—'.l.‘lic U. S. Gazette
coiila_ins an excellent story, in which the follow-
ing anecdote is related. A sailor was sent aloft,
in a gale, and in a few moments after seen in the
wat.cr——liy great cx.crti_on lie was rescued. The
captain deliglited with the success of his mante-
vcrs, and with the happy attempt at saving the
life _ofone ofliis crew, sent to Jobic to come aft.
Jopic s_trc.'miiiig \\'llll the water which he had
drunk, from the bottom of which he had recent-
ly conic, prcscntctl llllTl5’("ll‘ l)t‘llJJ.‘C the captain
with his glazed hat _in his hand.
How did it happen my poor follow, that you
fell overboard .7” ' " ”‘3""
u‘._;"
purposc_.”
“l'I0\,V is that? _Are_,you drunk §’!,f§,;,.,-.,;.,,,.,,v -.‘..','
hoai'd—it was Illy,.l£1Sl.-rtantl asfi
,— _.t '_ ‘_s
‘i ",4. ~' ‘-'-.»»‘.'; 5,.» ,t'...-‘.~t._
AN I .\'.Dr«:1>ici\' Dl‘.‘l\‘7I"
tiou—__di,nner ?”
.1
)_E
4-.
“May it please vour honor," sairT‘Jlo]3i'c,“‘l.l"'f’
.- - " . . 4. .,;l. .«y N: vi.-,1
did not fall ov,erboar,tl—'l jltI1lp(_‘Ll't)lI'Il1C yard on f
' ‘‘,‘'iI'‘.''I’' ‘.‘-dirt-‘
‘Beg our _pardoii,, _(:_.’:l.]:)[.2xl'Il.l,.’, b.u,t, t1li,e_[iir_it~,3_,i,s;¢..»,-.
my hat, _WIll)I'.(:l1 costqne ~.ii_i_ijie,_..fij_a1 cs; ‘fell..oyer_-_,~j:
. . . . . Ii.-lu,te.iv'-itlizttta5.-.
1993* “ ioultl Hot. .120. wt nil’ v.(lIs"c.(..».l.;Il-ii‘-ew..~.~.-;
mys0lt_" from the .1'1.1¥‘l i.w.1.to..t1.tt.~*.s.ea.; .,tl1iit.n‘e.mig11§-as;
W l‘ l 6 ‘«"i"°<l mé.I<>!.l‘.1;~?t‘.‘t2ri.<1 il.1¢;F5éi1i”iS.§iII inyiia.u.c1.;:":
_]LlSI as you see it.”
;E.I.I'.C'l'i'i.r:.--—-"‘lI ~'siip'pds'e, i"'
neighbor,” tsill-Ll‘Olin:iclo(1i€)T-'«'ltl)—'ZtIiOlllélli,"""€VI‘I‘lI"lll;:
i{'.§i\‘.6 a pl.,u.nrper,for Mr._-s-e-—-,\>‘i_‘s =ynii-ili»tl"bet‘iir‘e'3'!"»
“N0,’?s:1id.-tlie other; —‘L‘I. donltttliinkIisithlil-U1lhe"“'
.l>.eefwasn‘t (lressc,d.to«:m-y '_111Inl'l"t1_l. ‘his-'1l‘é’.~.'~t’ erect‘ "3
:1
Norwalk Chronicler