POETRY.
LINES, BY N. P. \VILLIS.
ON‘ THE PICTURE or .-i GIRL LEADING HEP. BLIND
MOTIIEP. 'i‘mtoUoH THE WOOD-
“The green leaves as we pass
Lay their light fin_gers oti thee unaware,
And by thy side the hazels cluster fair,
And the low forest grass
Grows green and silken where the woodpatlis
' wind—— _
Alas! for thee, sweet mother! thou art blind!
And nature is all bright;
And me faint gray and crimson of the dawn,
Like folded curtains from. the day are drawn ;
And evening’s purple light
Quivers in tremulous softness on the sky-'-
Alas! sweet mother! for thy clouded eye.
The moon’s new silver shell
Trembles above thee, and the stars float tip,
‘ In the blue air, and the rich tulip 5 cup
ls pencill’d passing well.
And the swift birds on glorious pimons flee-—
Alas! sweet mother! that thou canst not see !
And the kind looks of friends
.Peruse the sad expression in thy face,
And the child stops amid his bounding race,
And the tall stripling bends
Low to thine ear with duty unforgot-—
Alas? sweet mother! that thou seest them not!
But thou canst /tear! and love
May richly on a human tone be pour’d
And the least cadence of a wliispcr’d word
A daughter's love may prove-—- . _
And while I speak thou kiiowcst it I smile,
Albeit thou canst not see my face the while!
Yes, thou canst hear! and He
‘Vito on thy sightless eye its darkness hung,
To the attetit.ive car, like harps, hath strung
Heaven and earth and sea 17
And ’tis a lesson in our hearts to know
If/Iith but one sense the soul tnuy over;/Iota."
I
l
"t
\r
TALES OF FASHIONABLE LIFE.
MY _NFXT IIUSB.\;_\’I_),
.\,si<i:'1‘Cti I-‘ROM LIFE.
Lady Gracb Gayton was--I should say is,
btit that would be adopting the style unhistori-
'cal; she was then, a cliarming young person
‘A whom one could not help loving. She has been
.»-copied for the heroine of a score of modern ro-
mances, just as Charles Lamb sat to a portrait
painter for a series of the British .Admirals :—
readers of books seldom know whom they are
Qi\.ll1lIl‘ll)E. Lady Grace was as good nattired as
sin»: was» beautiful; I am certain that, like Uti-
cle '?Toliv, she wotild not willingly have liarnicd
a fly. :.\.ll tlte world kn«>.w Lady Grace-‘s good
nature; all the world. therefore, were astonisli-
ed at her trcattiictit of Fr'ank ‘.\Iildardoitr.
I Poor Frank! I never kticw a man“so deeply
'ti love: he cxistcd only in her smiles: lie would
ave attempted any exploit to gratify the sliglit-
.cstTnCltci' wliims; a word from her would have
' iiiatlelliitii light a windtitill, travel to Tintbuc-
too, or stiidy German metaphysics. Frank had
never lo'vcd any other woiiiati tliati Lady Grace;
his love had all the zeal and siticeiily ofa first
attacliment, all the ititciisity and dcvotcducss of
art absorbing pa.-zsion. I_’oor Frank! I say
again; every body syiitpatliized with hitn, and
..(lec-lared that iflie cottld not command success,
he ccrtaitil-y ‘stiulicd to dc.-‘serve it.’ llowcvcr;
let us dcfcr niorali;/.iug till \ve come to the ctid of
the storv.
lilratifi and Lady Grace had been on f.'inllll£It'
terms for intiiiy yr.-ars; it vcas utterly ititjtttss.i-
, "hie for the heart ofthe young lady not to respond
. to the passioii of so ardent a lover :—-a passion
that had grown with his _-__rrowtl‘i, and stt'ctigtlt-
cntd with his sti'c-iigtli. In plain terms, she pos-
itiv.-ly loved Frank; how could she hclpit!
she had so good a heart, so sweet a temper !—
Tlev were certaitilv tlestiticil for each other;
£lllldt:VGl'_\’ body priniounccd that nothing on
catjlt cotild part them, for Lady Grace bestow-
ctlfftcr swc-ctcst stuilcs upon I-'rai.tl~;. and he be-
caiie the shadow oflicr;—-l,-tit cvt-t‘y—body was
soitcwliat t-ui.<.takeii. I\llon't know, by the
my, a less itifallible pr-rsonage tliati the satuc
=cv.-ry body. Never was an ciitcrprisc so prom-
asiig as that of .lt‘i'auk in inaking love to Lady
‘Giace; she had a tlccidctl pom.-ltaiit for him
trim the very ltP_g=llllllllf_T, and her esteem for
"bin did bitt increase on every niomcut’s ac-
~q:ainlance, for l-‘ratik was one of the best of
ll);‘ll. Never did a cotirtsliip promise a more
li:ppy coiisttttttitatioti; nearly c\‘ct‘ytliitig was
-stttletl, and lt‘rai.tk was only waiting for Lady
‘(rage to iiziiuc tlictliiy. . '\\*'ell, my dear Lady
(.racc,’ said .l~'rank,~ witlitltc uttuost itttpaticiicc,
at his next vi.-it, ‘when is the hour to he that
shall make me the liappicst of l1l('ll ! Thurs-
day, I hope, or Fi‘iday—or next week at far-
tlicst.’ V
. ‘My dear Mr. Frank,’ replied she, in some
cotifusion, ‘I am the most ttrifortunate creature
in the world; you are ccrtaitily one of the best
pf men ; it is so unlucley—l am shockingly
‘greivcd on your account; but it is so unlucky
that you did not make your proposals sooiier.’-—
, ‘\Vhat do you mean, Lady G-race?’ said
Frank, in the greatest alarm.
‘Dear me! Mr. Frank, I am afraid you nev-
.er will forgive me,’ replied the lady, with the
sweetest smile iniagiuable; ‘but the truth is. I
_},;we already promised my liaud to Sir Billy
v
I
Rattle.’
‘Sir Billy Rattle!’ said Frank in unfcigned
-amazement.
’ ‘Yes, Sir Billy Rattle; you know Sir Billy;
"tis the most amusing creature in the universe;
positively, Ithink he’ll make me die with laugh-
ing, one of these- days: however, ’tis a pity for
your sake that it ltas happened so, as I have the
..most sincere esteem for you, Mr. Mildardour;
but Sir ,E_$illy has such a fascinating way that he
}'}lj5Qlnt_ely won my 'cons_en_t before I was axvare
;0f\vha[1lIatl pro_ti'iise_d liirri. La! me! ’tts_a
ost awkward affair-—I _know what you will
gay, but i_t can’t be l_i,elp_c.d ; Sir Billy lllSlSlS up-
,on the proiiusc ; he is a strange creature. _
Frank could hardly believe his ears while
»listening to this astounding recital. In any
iotlier case, he would have exploded with a ter-
rent of reproaclies and imprecations; but Lady
,{(;‘rrace had such a sweet aml affable manner,
,display_ed S.l.lCl_'l'§l,Cl_]§U't11lflg affability while con-
,doling with hiiii on his ill luck, and expressed
so ntucli‘ real regret at _f.l}C occurrence, that it
iwasimpossible tofeeltlie smallest angergagainst
r.- _In spiteofall, therefore, Ft‘at1.li:lt:>_v.'e_d her
as strongly as,evcr. _
‘Ah! My dear-Lady Grace,’ said lie,-w.itli-al
- sigh,.‘I,~rnust submit, since destiny will,
i it so; b_ut,_to live without you is llll1)OSEI_l),lC‘
.vill live no longer.’
lay, my dear Mr. Frank,’ replied she. slrriil-'
upon him in a manner not to be resisted,
must on no account hang or drown your-_
yougmust not. for my sake-—bccause Sir
1', who is a great limiter, may break his neck.
j.day,_pp<ir man. Here Lady Grace put
-liandkereliief to her eyes, which, however,
tiglit never looked so bright as at tl_iat~
.-‘And :th<,-rt. continue to love me; you
«_7/ next /tusliaml.’ '
was a drop ofconsolation at least in?
rarice; -.b4.t Frank took the disaster tcr-«
fhcart. Xllli.-zo the matter came out,
.,-Alf] prod’-r:t.cd that i the disappointment
l.a'.\;c;.tltc -dcatli oi hitn, and perhaps it‘
, ‘only fI..ady Urace’s prohibition that
iicltl lilS,‘f‘t£1l)tl. Bot Ladv Grace married,
Frairlt" lived 011- Let a'lover never des-
' ;,‘:‘,ir I‘-illy Rattle broke his neck at Mel.-
Vmlllll fl year ; ’twris nobod_y’s fault but his
tltottgli his lady did predict it. C
"' Fmllli Mlldardonr was thus, when he
expected it, raised from the depths ofde$—
ncy 10 the summit of’ confident assurance.
‘{5} iti1pu__lse was to rush in the presence of
- Ht'i(rlo;t_-iv, with protestations of his unab_:gt-
L'li10llm_ent,,but a slight consideration con-
dltttn that he ouglit not to intrude his ypilvs
"" I B §Zlcrctlt1ess of grief. He allow-
9'.
Ca
:5
BY VVIVT. G. HYER.
V70-L. 18.
ed, therefore, a few weeks to pass, at the end of
which time he ventured to approach her with a
condolence on her loss, _and an assurance Ofllls
unaltered love. "Tis melancholy,’ added Frank.
with as deep a sigh as he could put forth on the
occasion,—-‘this domestic calatnity of yours-
poor Sir Billy! But you may yet be happy,
my dear Lady Grace; you know your prom-
ise?’ .
Lady Grace was as beautiful and engaging as
ever. ‘I am sure, Mr. Frank,’ said she, ‘I
shall ever feel the deepest obligations to you;
you are so good, so constant; and the most sin-
cerc lover I ever knew. I would rather than a
thousand pounds it had not happened so; but
must I tell you the truth ?—I have promised my
hand.
‘Promised your hand !’ exclahrted the aston-
ished Frank,—‘\Vliat! a second time?_ Oh,
Lady Grace !’
‘My dear Mr. Frank .’ returned she, ‘Iknew
you would be concerned to hear it, but I hope
you will not be angry,-—no, I know you are too
good natured to be angry. ’Tis an awkward
affair, and I wish with all my heart it were not
so; but I proiriised this very morning to marry
Colonel Flaslidagger; he loves rue to distrac-
tion; btit no tnatter for that, I wish you had been
so fortunate as to have seen me somewhat earli-
er. A few days earlier—-orily a_ few days—
would have totally altered the affair.’
‘Earlier! my dear lady Grace; Sir Billy has
been dead but three or four weeks.’
‘True, true, Mr. Frank,—he died ver sud-
denly, poor man—biit I always predictet it.—
However, I am very sorry for this disappoitit-
ment of yours; but the Colonel has been so as-
siduous in his attentions, how could I refuse?—-
These military gentlemen have away, with
them indeed! Dear Mr. Frank, I shall rc-
-member you as long as I live ; I know how de-
voted you are, and, iftlie Colonel should ever
get killed in the wars, why, then, of course, you
are 711.3; neat husbaml. _
Frank could not restrain himself from starting
up and vowing to challenge Colonel Flashdag-
ger; but Lady Grace protested iii the most pos-
itive inantier that she would not hear of a duel.
His next vow was to love Lady Grace no more,
but this was as irieffecttial as the first; hcsoon
discovered she had more power over him than
ever, since his love cotitiuued unabated through
circumstances that seemed calculated to inspire
a far different feeling. Frank thought it the
strangest conjuncture ofeveiits in the world ; but
he was cotiviticcd that Lady Grace loved him-
how could he help it? Lady Grace had such
a bewitchiiig smile, and such an engaging air,
and talked so cliarminglv. Eindmatiifested so deep
:1 regret for his misfortunes, and was so polite
and good natured and sincere. ‘She is the
most beautifitl, fascinating, tantalizing creattirc
in the world,’ ‘and the Colonel is not bullet-
proof, so-—-’
\Vitli this assurance, therefore, that Lady
Grace was an angel, and Colonel Flashdagger
might be killed, Frank slirttgged his shoulders
and let the second iiiisfortutie pass. The Col-
onel went to the wars, and had his head shot oil
by a cannon-ball. ‘Now,’ quotli Frank, ‘my
time is come; nobody shall anticipate trie by
having less scruple in wiping away a widow’s
tears !’ So,.without losing a iriotiiciit’s time, he
hurried to Lady Grace and claimed the fulfil-
ment of her promise.
Lady Grace received him in the most oblig-
ing manner possible, and Frank thought her a
great deal handsomer than ever. ‘I beg ten
tlioitsatul pardons, my dear Mr. Mildardoiir,’
said she, ‘but there is a circumstance 'WllIC‘llI
cannot control; I Would it were otherwise.-
You are the man of all the world that I esteem;
btit the Colonel, poor man! has laid a. solemn
injunction upon me, by his will, to marry his se-
cond cousiti, Toni Starling, on paiti of forfeiting
his whole estate. \Vhat can I do, my dear Mr.
Frank, ’tis sucti an awkward affair‘! I Do yoti
know Tom? he is a queer creattire—sing-s a
splendid song, they say—but I atn sorry for you,
with all my heart.’
‘Uh, Lady Grace!
Frank.
‘Really, Mr. Mildardour,'I feel quite as much
grieved at it as you—I do indeed ; you are such
an cxcellctit man. Brit you woti’t deprive us of
your company; we shall have such deliglitful
conce.rts——quite eliarming, I assure you.
‘My dear Lady Grace,’.said Frank, wri-ugin-g
his hands, ‘what will become of tne ?’
‘Oh, Mr. Frank ! you know I have the great-
est regard for you; and if Tom, who is a very
choleric fellow, should ever be shot in a duel,
why, then, positively, Frank, nothing can pre-
vent it—you must be my next husband.’
Frank ran away from her in despair, and made
another vow not to think any more of Lady
Grace; but he only thought the more of her on
that very account. She was such a sweet crea-
ture, indeed, that the hope of possessing her
might have supported a man through a thous-
and mishaps. But Frank began to think him-
self doomed irrevocably to disappoitment. and
fell into a desperate irielariclioly. He set offfor
the Continent, traversed France and Italy, and
got to Naples in a fit of the most doleful dumps
that ever clouded the brains of a hapless lover.
He was just about to throw ltimselfinto the era-
ter of Vesuvius. when he received intelligence
that Mr. Tom Starling had died suddenly ofa
surfeit, at a harrrionic celebration of the Anniver-
sary of the Sons of Thunder.
‘Tliere is still a chance left,’ said Frank, as he
ordered post horses for his return. ‘Ye Gods!
annihilate both space and time!’ But the Gods
regfuscd to do any such thing, and Frank arrived
t.oo'la.t,c, Lady Grace had given him up for
lost, and was engaged to Mr. VVilliam James,
late of _tl_i,e city, a rich banker, just retired from
.busin_e§éa.
Lady Grace!’ exclaim-
ed
nothing wanting to overwhelm him. He did not
wait upon Lady Grace to extort a renewal oflter
pmmi.s__e_, lrutabaridonetl hiinselfto his tiielancho-
Ly, concei-v.ing his case to be utterly hopeless.
\,Vhe_n _—tli,ings are at the worst however they
are sure to mend. Passing along Oxford street
one afternoon, he saw a great crowd collected
before a ne.w builclittg, and, by dint ofinquiries,
soon learned the particulars of the accident that
had asseinbled _it. He flew, like lightning to
Lady Grace.
‘L_ady Grace,’ said he, ‘you are once more a
widow !' .
‘It cannot be, Mr. Mildardoiir. How a wid-
ow! Mr. Janie}; walked out in perfect health not
halfap hour ago.’
‘Exzictly, my dear Lady Grace—I am sorry
to be the bearer-—alicm !—of such ill news; but
Iyvill tell youjtist how it. liappcncd. Mr. James
was walking along Oxford street, arm-in-arm
with Sir Harry Wildgoose-—’
‘Ah! the very man; Sir Harry is always
here. _Si_r Harry is quite a friend of tiiitic—but
go on, Mr. Frank, with your relatioti.’ '
‘Mr. James, I say, my dear Lady Grace. hap-
perted to pass near the scaffolrliiig of a liiiiltling
Just 9% ll}? ‘,"-‘.’..‘!‘!{l?.‘l were !l°l~"li!"8 a truss Swttc.
, .. .-
i
Poor Mr. Frank Mildardour!—tliere seemed-
I’RI.\'CI1‘LES AND MEN.
NOIIVVALK, TUESDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1835.
v
when a horse in the street taking fright, run a-
gainst the scaflbldiug; the stone fell—-and oh,
Lady Grace!-Mr. James was killed on the
spot! _
‘Dear me! Mr. l\lildardour! you doti’t say
so T’ .
‘Positively true. I saw him with my own
eyes.’
Lady Grace put. her liatidkerclitef to her eyes,
and there was a dead silence for SOITICUITJC‘; at
last Frank thought it time to remind her of his
purpose by saying-— _
‘Lady Grace, you know your promise ?’
‘My dear Mr. Frank, there 13. only one obsta-
cle in the way; I have a pronitse to Sir Harry
\Vildgoose; it was only _last week_: ’tis an un-
fortunate tliing---biit if Sir Harry dies, then up-
on my honor, you shall, truly and positively, be
my 7lc.7.'t /tusbaml.’
‘On your honor.’
‘On my honor.’ _
1
‘Then, my dear Lady Grace, I air) the happi-
est maii in the world, for the same stone has
'killed bot.li of them,’ ‘ I ' I‘ 1
Lady Grace started with surprise: icr cc -
ings I need not attempt to describe, for how few
can guess what it is to lose two husbands at a
single blow! ‘I am the happiest man in the
world,’ repeated Frank. Lady Grace looked
upon him in a maiinertliat left itdubious whetli-
er asmile or a tear was to follow; but she wins
fairly caught. Frank loved her. and she-.—w l0
can doubt it ?—«.—had always loved him. They
were married at St. George’s Hanover Sqttalge;
but I am unable to say whether Lady Grace as
made a further appointment of lier-next husband.
TALES OF NECRODIANCY.
THE i\IAGlCIAN’S VISITER.
It was at the close of a fine autumnal day,
and the shades of evening were beginning to
gather over the city of Florence, when a low
quick rap was heard at the door of Cornelius
Agrippa, and shortly after a stranger was intro-
duced into the aparttneiit in which the philoso-
pher was sitting at his studio. The stranger, al-
though finely formed, and of courteous demean-
or, had a certain impregnable air of mystery
about him which excited awe, if, indeed, it had
not a repellant effect. His years it was difficult
to guess, for the marks of youth and age were
blended in his features in a most extraordinary
manner. There was not a furrow in his check,
or a wrinkle on his brow; and his large black
eyes beamed with all the brilliancy and vivacity
of youth ; but his stately figure was bent. illllla‘
reritly beneat.li the weight of years; his liatr al-
though thick and clustering, was grey ; and his
voice was feeble and lretnulous, yet its tones
were ofthe most ravisliitig and soul searching
melody. His ctistome was that of a Florentine
gentleman ; bitt he held astafl like that ofa pal-
mcriri his hand, and a silken sash, inscribed with
Oriental characters, was bound around his waist.
His face was deadly pale; but every feature of
it was singularly beautiful, and its expression
was that of powerful wisdom, mingled with
poignant sorrow. ‘Pardon me, leartied Sir. said
he, addressing the philosopher, ‘but your fame
has travelled into all lands, and has reached all
ears; and I could not leave the fair city of Flo-
rence without seekiugati interview with one who
is its greatest boast and ornament.’ ‘You are
right welcome, Sir,’ returned Agrippa, ‘but I
fear that your trouble and curiosity will be but
ill repaid. I am simply one, who instead ofdc-
voting my days as do the wise, to the acquire-
merit of wealth and honor, have passed long
years in painful and unprofitable study, in en-
deavoring to unravel the secrets of nature, and
initiating myselfiii the mysteries of the occult
sciences. ‘Talkest thou of long years !’ echoed
the stranger, and a tiielancholy stuile -played
over his features, ‘thou, who has-t scarcely seen
four score since their left’st thy cradle, and for
whom t._l1e quiet grave is now waiting, eager to
clasp thee in her sheltering arms! I was
among the tombs to-day—-tlic still and solemn
tombs; I saw them smiling on the last beams of
the setting sun. \Vlien I was _a boy I used to
wish to be like the setting sun; his career was
so long, so bright, so glorious. But to night I
thought it -was better to slumber amongst those
tombs than to be like him. To night he sank
behind the hill, apparently to repose; but to-
morrow he must renew his coitrsc, and run the
same dull and unvaried, but toilsome and un-
quict race. There is no grave for him, and the
night and morning dews are the tears he sheds
over his tyrannous destiny.’ Agrippa was a deep
observer and admirer ofcxternal nature and of
all her plicnotne_na, and had often gazed upon
the scene which the stranger described ; but the
feelings and ideas which it awakened in the
mind of the latter were so dilferci'it frotn any
thing which he had liimselfexperieticcd, that he
could not help, for a season, gazing upon him in
speechless wonder.
. His guest, however, speedily resumed the dis-
course. ‘But I trouble you, I trouble you; to
my PUTPOSC in mflliifig you this visit. I have
heard strange tales of a wondrous mirror, which
your potent art has enabled you to construct, in
which whosoever looks may see the distant or
the dead on whom he is desirous again to fix his
gaze. My eyes see nothing in this outward vis-
ible world which can be pleasing to their sight.
The grave has closed over all I loved. Time
has carried down the stream every thing that
once contributed to my enjoyment, The world
is a vale of tears which_ water that sad valley,
not one is shed for me; the fountain in my own
heart, too, is dried u_p. Iivould once more again
look upon the face which I loved. I would see
that eye more _bright, alltllllélt step more stately,
than the ant_elope’s ; that brow, the broad smooth
page on wliicli God has inscribed his fairest char-
acters; I would gaze 011 all I loved and allI
lost. Such a gaze would be tlearcrto my heart
than all the world has to offer me, except the
grave.’ The passiotiate pleadings of the strati-
ger had such an effect upon Agrippa, (who was
not used to exhibit his miracles of art to the
eyes of all who desired to look at it., altliough he
was often tetupted by exorbitant presents and
high h0.no.,r.s to do so) that lie readily consented
to grant the request of his extraordinary visiter.
‘VVliom would’st thou see ?’ tMy child_, my
own Sweet Miriam,’ answered the stranger.—
Cornelius iminediately caused every ray ofthe
light of heaven to be excluded from the chain-
bor, placed the stranger on his right hand, and
commenced chanting, in a low soft tone, and in
a strange language, some lyrical verses, to which
the stranger thought he heard occasiotially a re-
sponse; but it was a sound so faint and indis-
tinct., that he hardly liiiowwlictlier it existed any
where but in his own faticy. As Cornelious
coiitiirucrl his cliatit, the‘ room gradually became
illtiminated ; but whence the light pt‘o.cccdc.(l it
\V{lSlll]p0SSll)!_Cl0 discover. At length the strati-
ger plainly perceived a mirror which covered the
whole oftlte extreme cud ofthe apartment, and
over the surface of which :1 dense haze or cloud
seemed to be rapidly passiiig. ‘Died she
rs“ &“is’@
$2 PER Aunmg.
NO. 49.
wedlock’s holy bands I’ inquired Coi'nclius.——-—
‘She was a virgin as spotless as the snow.’-
‘How many years have passed a way sitice the
grave enclosed her!‘ A cloud gathered on the
stranger’s brow, and he answered somewhat im-
patiently, Many, riiany--more than 1 tiow have
time to remember.’ ‘Nay,’ said Agrippa, ‘but I
must know. For every ten years that have elap-
sed since her death once mnst I wave this wand;
and when I have waved it for the last titne, you
will see her figure in the mirror.’ ‘\Vave on
then,’ said the stranger, and groaned bitterly.-
‘\Vave on, and take heed that thou be not wea-
ry.’ Cornelius Agrippa gazed on his strange
guest with soinetliiug of anger, but be excused
his want of courtesy on the ground ofthe proba-
ble extent (if his calamities. He tlieu waved his
magic waiiumany times, bitt to his consterna-
tion, it sectncd to have lost its virtue. Ttirning
again to the stranger, he exclaimed, ‘\Vho and
what art thou, man? Thy presence trotiblcs me.
According to all the rules of my art, this wand
has already described twice two liniidred years
-—still the stirface of the itiirror experienced no
alteration. Say, dost thou mock me, and did no
such person ever exist as thou liast described to
me?’ ‘\Vave on, wave on!’ was the stern and
only reply which this interrogatory exacted from
the stranger. The curiosity ofAgrippft, altliongli
he was himself a dealer in wonders, began now
to be excited, and a mysterious feeling of awe
forbade him to desist front waving his wand,
mticli as he dotibted the sincerity of his visitor.
As his arm grew slack, he heard the deep,
solemn tones of the stranger, exclaiiiiitig‘, ‘\Vavc
on, wave on!’ and atlengtli, after his wand, ac-
cording to the calc-ula_tions of his art, had descri-
bed a period of above twelve liutidrcd years, the
cloud cleared away frotn the face of the mii'rot',
anti the stranger with art exclamation ofdelight,
arose and gazed rapturously upon the scene that
was there represented. An cxqtiisitcly rich and
romantic prospect was before him. In the dis-
taticc rose lofty mountains crowned with cedars;
a rapid stream rolled in the tniddlc, and in the
fore ground were seen catncls, grazing a rill
trickling by, in which some sheep were quench-
ing their thirst, and a loft.y palm-.rce, beneath
whose shade a female of exquisite beauty, and
richly habited in the custome of the East, was
sheltering herself from the rays of the noon-tide
sun. "Tis she! ’tis she!’ shouted the stanger;
and he was rusliiug towards the mirror, but was
prevented by Cornelius, who said, ‘Forbear, rash
man, to quit this spot! with each st.cp that thou
ad-vancest towards the niirror, the image will
become fainter; and sliouldst thou approaclt too
near, it will vauisli away etitircly.’ Tliits warti-
ed, he rcsutned his station, but his agitation was
so ext;-ssi\'e, that he was obliged to lean on the
arm ofthe pliilosoplter for support, while from
time to time he uttered incoherent expressions of
wonder, delight and lanientation. "Tis she ! ’tis
she! even as she looked wiiile living! How
beautiful. she is! Miriain, my child, canst thou
speak to me! By lie:-iijeu she moves, she smiles!
Oh, speak, to tire a single word! or brcatlie, or
;~i'g‘rr“!4'Xl;“isT"£ill is Sll(_’lll—-I'lUll and desolate as
this heart! Again that smile, the rcniciitbrattcc
of which a thousand winters have not been able
to freeze tip in my heart. Old man, it is in
vain to hold mc—I must clasp her.’ As he tit-
tercd the last words, he ruslicd franticly towards
the mirror; the scene i'cpt'csented witltiii faded
away. the cloud gathered again over its surface,
and the stanger sunk senseless to the eartli.——
\Vhen he recovered his consciousness, he found
himselfin the arms of Agrippa, who was chafing
his temples and gazing on liiul with looks of
woiidcr and fear.
He itninediately rose on his feet, with restored
strength, an(l pressing the hand of his host, he
said : ‘Thanks, thanks, for thy courtesy and t.liy
kindness, and for the sweet but painful sight
which tliott hast [)l'CSCl_]lt‘._tI to my eyes.’ As he
spake these words he put a purse into the hand
of Cornelius, but the ‘latter ret.iirncd it, saying,
Nay, nay, keep thy gold, friend. I know not,
indeed that a clirist.iati tiiati dare take it; but be
that as it may. I sliall esteem inysclfs_ulIit:ictrt—
ly repaid if thou wilt tell me _v.'lio tliott art.’-
‘Bcliold!’ said the stranger, pointing to a large
historical picture which hung on the left hand of
the rootn. ‘I. see,’ said the pliilosoplicr. ‘An
exquisite work of art. the production of one of
otir best and earliest artists, rcprcsctititig our Sa-
viour carrying his cross.’ ‘But look again!’
said the stranger, fixing his kccn dark eyes in-
tently on liitn, and pointing to a figure or) the
left hand ofthe picttire. Cornelitis gazed, and
saw with wondcrwliat he had not observed be-
fore—t.lie extraordinary resemblance which this
figure bore to the stranger, of whom indeed it
might have been said to be a portrait. ‘That,’
said Cornelius, with an emotion of liorror, ‘is
intended to represent the unhappy infidel who
smote the divine sitlfci‘ci‘ for not walking faster,
and was therefore condemned to walk the earth
himself until the period of that sutl,'e_re_r‘s second
coming. "Tis, ’tis I,’ excluiuicd the stranger;
and rusliingoutnftlie house, i'apid_ly di.-:appcar-
ed. Then did Cornelius A,gripp-a, know that he
had been co_n\‘cr_=‘iug with the \‘.".-\.\'ni.:i>.i.\'o
.IE\V.
BIISCE LL ANY.
Vor._u.vrr.-uw S'rAr.wi'i'io.\‘.---Professor Huf-
fland, in one of his Journals, gives a most extra-
ordinary case ofa tradesmaii, who iiiipclled by
asucccssioti of misfortunes, and absolutely des-
titute of the means of procuring food, retired to a
sequestered spot in a forest, and there resolved on
death. He put the tlcteintiriatioii in force Sep-
tember 15, and was found oti the 3d of October
(18 days) still living, altliougli speechless, in-
scnsible, and reduced to the last stage ofd.cbili—
ty. A small qi_iarit.it.y of liquid was given him,
after which he expired. By his side was fotitid
a pocket book and pcrrcil, with which lie liad
contrived to keep a daily _iottt'ii:il of his state and
sull'eritigs, and in \\'l;l(,'ll lie pcrsc.vc_reil till the
'3Slt.li of September. He bi-gins by giving an
account of liinisclf, and states that he was a res-
pectable tradesnian, posscssitt_;: good property of
which he had been deprived by tnisftutiiiic
and villainy, and that lie liad conic to the dc-
terinination of starvirig himselfto death, not so
much with the view of couuiiitting suicide, as
because he was unable to procure work; that
he had in vain ofl‘ei‘cd himselfas a S()l(llL‘§.'; and
was too proud to apply to i_iufeclii_tg relations.---
This note is dated on the 10th, which day he
had employed in c_onsti‘ucting a little hut of hush-
es and leaves. Do the 18th, he complains of
suffering tnucli front crild, and in hisjouriial o'
the 18th, he iuentions liaving .s_ir_ll‘ct'_etl from in.
tollerable tltirst, to appease which he had licked
the (low from sui'ro_uii:litig vegetables.‘ On the
20th, he found a small piece of coiti am] with
great difiiculty rcaolted an inn, where he pus-
chased a bottle ofbcer. The beer failed, how-
ever, to qitcucli his thirst, and his strength was
so much reduced that he took three hours to ac-
com plisli the distance, about two miles. On the
32d, h_c discovered aspring of water, but though
-
t.ortiictitcd with thirst, the agony which the cold
water produced on his stomacli excited vomiting
and co_:iviilsiuiis._ Tl:e 23d Efitde tcti days since he
ll:t(I taken any food but beer and a little water.
During that time he had not slept at all. On
the 26th, he coiiiplaitis of his feet being dead.
and of being distracted by thirst; he was too
weak to crawl to the spring, and yet dreadfully
stisceptiblc ofsutl'cring. The 29th ofSt-ptcui-
her was the last day on which lictnadc any
memorandum. \Vc regret that no dissection
was made.
Lauri-ts’ }2US'l‘l.,l-‘._.‘.l.-.-,-'I_‘llt3 Chester Chronicle,an
Etiglisli provincial paper, records the following
ludicrous incident, as ofreccut occurrence :—As
a well-dressed lady was proceeding dowti ‘Va-
tergate-street, Chester, a huge jackass was ob-
served to throw tip his nose, etc. Presently he
kicked up his heels, and with a most sonoroiis
ycc-ltaw! ycc-haw! set off at the top of his
speed down the street. The lady turned round,
and seeing Ncddy dashing along, apparently in-
tending to carry all bc-litre liitu,s|ie ran, atlriglit-
ed, to the other side of the street, to get out of
his way. The dotikcy tacked in his course and
crossed over too, which the lady no sooner per-
ceived than shc gatlicrcd tip her garnictits, and
scampercd away with all her might. antid
shouts oflatigltter frotii the spectators. The re-
lcntless jackass still gave chase, calling to the
fill!‘ flI.,‘_1l1l\'t>\‘.‘lll1. an occasio.ual yce-liaw! to liali
and suri'ciu.ler. At ls.-iigtli he seized her by
that prominent deformity wliicli ladies call “a
bristle,” tearing the skirts of her gown and tin-
dcr-gartnents away front her body. The cin-
b.'.rri'astucnt and confiisioii, indeed the absolute
state of fright itito which the lady was tlir-owii
under such (_3Il‘(.'lln'lSl.'1nC'(‘S, may he more easily
(.'()l’lC(‘.l\’('.(l than described. She, liowcver, es-
capcd. half denuded, imo one of the shops leav-
ing a stream of brownislt powder to mark her
route, besides a coiisidc-i'abl_e quantity that had
been emancipated by the first assult ofthe doti-
key. Tlte solution of this extraordinary scene
was now obvious. The lady’s bristle was stuff-
ed with bran; aiid the poorjackass. who had
had a lotig series of banyan days, and had latc-
ly had no better fare than hard knocks and this-
tlcs, could not resist the temptation to treat hitti-
self to a irioiitliful of fariiiaceous food, even
tliough to be obtaiticd only by storming a lady’s
bustle! Our fair ('()Ul)lt‘yt'._.‘t)ltlCl) would grieve
exoeetlirigly if nature had made them with one
ofthesc tlroirtcdary appeirilzigtrs on their backs;
but if they, to whom nature has given sylpli-
likc fornis, will disfigure tltein:-:elves, they will
at least do well not to .stttfl' tlicir bustlcs with
bi".-ui or outiiical!
AVERAGI-I I)Ult.\'l'l0N or Liri-:.--Upoii the val-
ue ofthe average dnratioti of life, in dctertiiining
the relative prosperity of tiatioiis, M. Queteleit
has sotiie excellent retnarks: "It may be said,
that nation is increasingin prosp6l‘ity when it pro-
duces fewer citizens, _bttt preserves them longer.
This condition is entirely tothe advantage ofthe
population ; for if the tiutribcr horn are smaller.
the 1lS(3lIll:lLll)jCClS are more abundant, and gett-
erations are not so freqtici‘itl_v reticwetl, to the iti-
jttry ofthe stale. Matt, in h_is early years, lives
at the expetise of society. He contracts a debt,
to be repaid at a future day ; and if he does not
live to discharge it, his existeiice has been a bur-
den to his coutilry. Tticstiitiate this expense, it
is suflicicnt to state, that a child, frtitn its birth.
till it attains t.o twelve or sixteen years, costs’ in
the hospitals of _the|Lo\v Countries. 1,110 fraiics;
say, however only 1,000 francs. E\-.eryindivid-
rial, then, who survives infancy, contracts a sort
ofdcbt, which cannot at least be less than 1000
francs--—tlie sum thus paid by society for each in-
fant,whcn abandoned toits charity. In i't‘i-once
the atmual births ainoiiiit to 960.000, of which,
0-20t.lis die before tittairiing to a serviceable tria-
turity. These 430,000 iinfortimatcs iuay bc coii-
sidered as so many stiarigers, who may without
fortu_ne or industry, take a part in the general
constimption, and depart without leaving any
other trace oftlieir passage save cteriial rcgrci.
The expense of their ntaiiitcnance, without reck-
oning the tiiric they have prc-occupied, repre-
sent the enorinous sum of -I3I'3,0U0,U00 of francs.
we cotisidcr, on the other hand, the gricftltatsuch
losses tmist occasion. which no liiimati sacrifice
can compensate, itwill be perceived how inipor-
tant asubjcct they aflbrd to the C(’tllSlt'_Ii“.l'1lllril] of
the legislature and pliilosopher. It eatinot betoo
often repeated, that. the pi‘ospe_t'i,ty of States con-
sists lcssiii the miiltiplicatioii than iitth_e preser-
vation oftlicir conipouciit llUl]ll),t3l'S,.” Tliis re-
flection gives a new ii.ei_ii in the Long account be-
tween maii,k_i__iid arid their gov.criun's, on the score
of useless .wars, by wliicli so many are cut ofl'-at
a mott_ten_t_oftlicir iticipiciit utilit_v, and the great-
est possible waste is ._o_cc:_1sio_t'icd of the uatioiial
rcsoiirces.
IS r‘ri~:c'i‘ or Till-I 'i\loo_\'.—\\"c have all lI(',¢',‘ll',(l
of clianging the color of the hair. Here is.
A Iii-:i:ii*t-1 FUR Ct~l;\.\'(}l;\_‘G 'rni-2 I-lion o 1-‘ 'I‘lll~:
l*Ii;"i-:s.——M,'_.\,' kind liofst 1.lll0\.‘.'Ctl me to occupy a
flat upon his house-top dtiritig my stay, (at
Alcppo,) in preference to being confined in a
room; but the influence ofthe moon upon my
liead was so powc;_ful, that whenever its beattis
reaclicd me I was compelled to get up and move
my mattress to S(.tl1l_G part ofthe liyp;};t.lit‘al cham-
her which was in the shade ; and it was easy to
comprclicnd the full force of the l‘saltriist‘s
prophetic ;'iroii__'iis_e_, S§'I‘h_e sun shall lltlllglgllrll thee
by day, neither the ii_io__on by iiigh_t.’, The inju-
rious itifltteirce of the moon upoti the eye in
Eastern countries, has been llUl_l(.‘Ctl by various
..ti'avellei's. In passit1gf‘;t_on‘i t\Ie.:-'siir:t to the coast
ofCalabria with Messrs. \Yortlswortli, E rrigtoii,
and Iilcitzies, the ;f,,laptaiii of our spirouai'a liad
eyes of so light a blue as to he uuniittiral iii 2' p-
peai'aiicc_. _lIc said it was occzisiotict! by having
slept under the iuoon's beanie." '
l\'l}it:.\'ii‘ict-:_\"i' I.-’iii~:st:.\='i'.-—-.-\,p ltlttsl India-
maii arrived lately at London, liriitging as part
of her Cargo :1 number of articli.-s of a most (ost-
ly and iriaguilitteiit (It-SCl'l[)ll(Itt, as ]ll't"’St'l‘.l.~.‘ to
the King of Etigltitid, from the King of Oiide,
They consisted ofa bedstead of solid gold. and
a table of the same metal ; two clizzirs of solid
silver, besides other articles, the whole richly
chased and ornamented with carved figures.
There were sent also two clephaiits, two Ara-
bian horses, and two (l\V.'-1l',f' biglliiliit-3.. The cl:
epliants are small of stature, but eleven years of
age, uialc and female, accoimiziitiml by attend-
ants. natives of Itidia, at_t.ircd in the splendid
dresses ofthe cotnit.i'y_, and the elephants accou-
tred with sploiiditl trappings. The tlw'at‘l’liitlii.i—
loes are the size o_ftlie troipnpiii pig _i_t_i this coiiti-
try, but are tnost beautiful crcattircs, and as a
ctiritisitytiiiiqtte. The whole ofthe [)l'¢S_L‘lll$ are
estiiriztted of the value of .£S0,00().
___.__._...______._..
A large pumber of the leading citizens of Ar-
kansas Territory" ll2l.\’9 fornied themselves into
aiiAnti-gaii.iit.ig‘Society. This is a better mode
of putting down the Gamblers than hanging
them. If people cease to play, the gamblers
will soon disappear.
AGRICULTURAL.
CULTURE OF‘ \VIrIEAT.
As this is considered the most important crop
to which the farmer can direct his attention. it is
at the same titiie one ofthe most ditlicult to ctil-
tivate with iinilbtni. success. Different and ev-
en opposite courses must be pursued under dif-
fcrettt circumstances, in order to obtain the satire
desirable rcsult—a good crop; difference of soil
—dit’fererrce of (.'lIll'l{ll(.‘-_-,.-_Lllfl_I3l.‘CIl_.(3(3 in the time of
sowing—-—attd difference in the variety of seed, all
frequently reqtiire material variations in the
mode of cultufe, rendering the bttsittcss of rais-
mg wheat one of the most complex of all the
branches ofagricultural practice.
In oflcring a few remarks tipou the cultivation
oftliis very itiiportarit crop, we propose princi-
pally to point otit that course which practice has
shown to be ntost uniformly attended with stic-
cess; and we indulge the hope, that by placing,
at the present time, these facts and instructions
concisely before the farmer, he may not only be
enabled the more eflcctually to put his previous
knowledge into operation, but also to derive new
and useful hitits frotn the experience of others.
Soil and prcparrt/i0n.—ln preparing the spjl
for many other crops, it is rare that much can-
tioti or skill is necessary; for instance, corn re-
quires liiglr iuaiiuring and a rich soil, and it is
scarcolv possible to carry this to excess. But.
very ri_cli, or highly inaniircd, is apt to cause,
during the hot season of summer, a too rapid
growth of straw, at the expense oftlte seed, and
rust, hiding, and ultimate failure is frequently
the c0nS0qttcttr.'c. This evil is increased to a far
greater tlcgrec if strong urilcrrtiented manure is
employed.which causes astill more luxuriant
growth of stalks. Unfertneiited or fresh ina-
nure should therefore never be applied to land
intended it1iineil_iatcly' for wheat. But as 3 ma-
feriiictit in the open air, and thus waste a large
part. ofitsrst_ren_gth, itis always best, where prac-
ticable, to apply fresh l_flUl_ttlr¢ to other crops
which are to precede wlicat. ‘In this way the
manure bccoincs well rotted audiitlrprtitiglily in-
corporated with the soil by the time that wheat
is sowti upon it. Land may be highly manur-
cd by this course, without any bad effects; in-
deed, sonic ofthe best crops are olitaiiicd from
ground etiriclicd in this manner; instances of
which may he often seen in places wlicre large
quantities of manure have been accidciitally de-
posited i_n |li,ijcvious years, as by old stacks ofhay,
demolishet b_uil_di_ngs, &_'e._, where grain is gfien
three times rriorc proiluctivc t_han on zitljoining
ground in the same field. i H I
Deepp/0ug'Iiing.—\\-'licii the above course of
maiiuring is pursued, land is rarely made too
rich for wheat, provided it is accoiupaiiied with
deep ploiigliitig. This is indeed highly impoif.
taut, csppcially in heavy fertile soils, such as
coiistitute a large part ofthe land of westcrti New
York. Nearly all who raise large crops on such
soils have made use ofdccp plougliiiig in previ-
ous years. There are, howevcr,sotne verv shal-
low ‘soils, wlterc the subsoil will not fdtIt]_1it..pf‘ this
practice ; such of course must form "exceptions;
but these form but a stitall part of the land in
this coiititry. ‘ ' I '
Sum)tzcr_/2tllo~u:s and roluljun !{f{'T0pS.—Il is a
point which appears to be pretty generally coii-
ccded, that test is of no use to land, and can nev-
er improve its tptztlily while nothing grows upon
it. Ground which is not employed in producing
food fiir anitiials, should be occupied in preparing
food for plants; or in other words, ipstead of ly-
ing naked, it should be prodiicing stpic suitable
crop to serve as it coat _oftpauure t_o_ enrich itself.
The practice of sniniiicr fallowit'ig,' therefore,
can only be of me in destroyitig weeds with
which laitd may lia\'e become infested, and in
pulvcrizing and mixing soils ofa he.’-ivy adhesive
nature. Iti other cases the practice should never
be resorted to; _for although it generally is fol-
lowed by good crops, yet these are produced at
sticli expense, as to render it in the end much
more urrprofitablethan ajiitlit-ioiis rotation. For‘
in addition to sevci'al expensive ploughings, the
use ofthe land for nearly two years is appro-
priated to a single crop.
But one of_th_e wo_rst practices in husbaiidr_v,
is that of raising successive crops of wheat on the
same field. In this way land always must do-
teriorate, at the san'ic time it becomes foul with
chess aitd oth_c_r weeds. In tnany parts ofthe
State of New York where this course has be_e_ri
practised, fields have been seen the present seas-
on with little else than chcssgrowiug upon them.
It is true there are sortie farmers who liave stic-
ceeded in raisitig _a sttcccssion of good crops on
one piece of grouttd, but such instances are com-
paratively very rare; and even where they ex-
ist, the pract_ic'e should not be continued. For it
has been proved by repeated experiments, that
where the same crop is taken year after year
from a piece of land, it becomes sooner or later.
exhausted _ofits specific food for that crop—iii
Others it rcquiresa lonn series of years. btit in‘
all cases it is the inevitable eotiseqiience. Iii-.
stanccs of soils thus worn out are not wanting in
the older settled parts pf this country, which
were once reinailtablc for their fertility, but
which now allbrd crops scarcely wortlt raisirig.
And it inay be rcgariled as a universal rule, tliiit
lands, out-.c t,-apable of producing good crops, and
afterwards losiiigtliis quality, are brought to that
state by improper cultivation—by a too frequent
succession _of(.-xliatistiiig crops, instead ofa con-
statit change from one crop to another, from
crops ..of as dilfcrcttt nature from each other as
possiblc, a_iid changes from tillage to seeding
with grass, and from grass again to tillage. ' "
Peas, beans, atid'clovei'. j.‘{tf§: among the best
crops to precede wheat, as they are very differ-
ctit in their nature front it, and conscqiiciitly up
ford a greater pliange in tho .sn_t;ecssioti. Clover
in particular possesses several advantages: its
roots loosen the soil, it furiiishcs ext-cllcut ma-
nttrc when ploughed rtiulei, and unlike the nat-
ural gt'1l$Fp:§, does not fortniso tough at sod as to
require suntincr fallowing in order to break and
pulverizc it. p L
Bcsl sorts 0 seal.-—lii favorable SCaS()nS,‘flI]’tI’
on good ground, the red cliztfflialtl wheat is gen-
erally to be preferred, as atlimling the largest
attd best prodiict.; but as the whiteflint is _a liar-
dicr plant, and utorc capable of witlitstatiding the
vicissitudes of the seasons, there is ritoijc _C_et‘taiti-
ty of its ptmlnciiig a iiiiifortii crop ; it is more es-
pecially to be jit‘c.li:i'i‘ctl on wet soils, or where
wheat is liable to be i_\}'llll0l' killed, or otherwise
suffer from uiifavorable causes. On soils of un-
cqtial nature, or wlicre the uriccrtaitity of the
coming scusoii renders it i;irpo_ssibl_e to know
what variety may be best adapted, it ltas sortie-
times been found useful to mix seed ofopposite
properties, such as flint and red t".-liafl. so that
wlierc one does not stir-t-i»-i-kl, the other may take
its pl:i:ee. Tltc ‘e-rate wheat, arid sortie other of
the l.-e:irilc_il .\'ill‘lt.'lll'.*I, ]ll't|iiltt‘(‘ good crop-', but
are not pi-rliaps equal in all respects to those
above tnctitiotit-il.
It is not only itiiportzii _t to obtain the best va-
rieties, bitt also to use the finest and largest sccd
wliiclt cart be pt‘o(‘ut‘t‘d ofsuclt \'Ul'l€lI€S.
Cff(7Il_;"_£‘ cfscetl.-—'I‘liere is also a great advan-
tage in acliange of seed from different climates,
and front soils of air opposite nature, if the qual-
ity be equally good. 'C’t.'.rlttIl] varieties, if culti-
vatpd for a long succession of years on the same
spot, gradually change i_ntliei_r nattireignd quali-
ty, according to ;lic‘natti're of the climate and soil,
lftltis cliapgciis such as in particular‘ to lcsseii
its v:rl_ire_, flip sectl should be trliaiigcd by substi-
rniiiig Ilia; whicli gi'_e}v wlicre sue-licliginge is not
produced. An instance may scrye to illustrate
t '-- JV '
tliis:"“-Iii sonic intiitiitairious countries.” says
I’ r(il'(::-‘sot’ I3t'o_nti, in ‘Scotland {Qt "example. they
bring the seed fl'_(t_tn the low country and from.
the plains, where the climate is more mild, and
(:()llS('qll_0lllly the seed _more forward, a quality
which it always pres_er.v_es for rnany generations.
We are convinced that the cultivator of this
mountainous district, if he alwaysipsed seed
from his own crops, would reap later and later
harvestt,t>‘Q.tl_iat at last perhaps they would no;
99939 t9.pet.t?;°stttt!t9ri*r= st !-‘!¥.°“?¥‘S'f‘"”‘
with wltcattlie case is p_ther\\'ise; laud naturally .
tcrial loss would result from allowing manure to .
Norwalk Chronicler