Best Of Tears For Fears Rar
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LITERARY EXAMINER.OM Fluaaetee.Old Memories! Old Menories!What precioae thing they ere!How dose they cling aroenii our heart,How dearly cherished there!How often wo will cast asideThe cop of promised bliss;And gladly turn as to tho pt, mSo fraofht with happiness.Let others boast of coming joys,Aud trll how brightly shiuoTbeir hopes of future happinessBe memory\" pleasure mine.I would not lose the consciousnessOf one good action done.To weave the brightest web of blissThat Taney ever spun.Old Memories! Old Memories!Oh! how they stir the heart!How oft a smile will part the lips, .How oft a tear will start.As memory, faithful to her trust,Brings other scenes again,la all their very truthfulnessOf pleasure or of pals! .Oh! who would lose the memory,Of Childhood's early day;Would wipe a mother's tenderness,A father's care away;A dear, dear d rot her 's earnest love,A gentle sister's smile.The joyous friend of early years,When life was glad the while.Oh! who would roll the Lethean wave,Above the early youth.When earthly light seemed all nndimmedAud all uusulUed truth!Nay, nay, amid life's latter scenes.Ami J its cares and tears.There are green spots to which w (urn.Through ail our after years.There's many a light from bygone days,Around our pathway cast,There's mauy a treasare garnered laThe unforgotten past.Than let m seek to dwellTrom present scenes apart.And glean for memory's treasure house,A lecKon for the heart!1 kc arariiiiM r Josephine a h1 NssslessRumors bad for some time been reachingJosephine of the doom which was impending over her. Agitated with the most terrible fears, and again clinging to tremblinghope, the unhappy empress passed severalweeks in the agony of suspense. Both wereunder great restraint, and each hardly ventured to look, at the other. I he contemplated divorce was noised abroad; and Josephine read in the averted looks of her former h lends, the indications of her approaching disgrace. Napoleon and Josephine hadbeen a:cus:omed to live upon terms of themost Mtectionaie intimacy, and in their privats hours, fiee from the restraints ofcoin, she would loiter in his cabinet, andhe would steal in, an ever-welcome visitor,upon the secresy of her boudoir. Now, reserve end restraint marked every word andmovement. The private access betweentheir apartments was closed. Napoleon no' lomrer entered her boudoir, but, when hewished to speak to her, respectfully knock-mar at the door, would wait her approach,Whenever Josephine heard the sound ofbis approaching footsteps, the fear that hewas coming with the terrible announce-m . t ament of separation, immediately causedsuch violent palpitations of the heart, that itwas with the utmost difficulty she could totter across the floor, even when supportingherself by leaning agamt the walls, andthe articles of furniture. They had manyprivate interviews before Napoleon ventured to announce directlv his determination,in which he hinted at the necessity of themeasure. From all these interviews Josephine returned with her eyes so swollenwith weeping a to give her attendants theerroneous impression that personal violencewas used to compel her to consent.The fatal day for the announcement atlength arrived. Josephine appears to havehad some presentiment that her doom wassealed, for all the day she had been in herprivate apartment weeping bitterly. Asthe dinner-hour approached, to conceal herweeping and swollen eyes, she wore a headdres with a deep front, which shaded thewhole of the upper part of her face. Theydined alone. Napoleon entered the roomin the deepest embarrassment. He utterednot a word, but mechanically struck theedge of his glass with his knife, as if to divert his thoughts. Josephine could not conceal the convulsive agitations of her frameThey sat together during the whole meal insilence. The vaiious courses were broughtin, and removed untouched by either. SayJosephine, \"We dined together as usual. Istruggled with my loars, which, notwithstanding every effort, overflowed my eyes.I uttered not a worn during that solitarymeal; and he broke silence but once, toask an attendant about the weather. Mysunshine, I saw, had passed away; thestorm burst quickly.\" Immediately afterthis sorrowful repast. Napoleon requestedthe attendants to leave the room. 1 he hnvpcror closing the door after them with hisown hand, approached Josephine who wastrembling in every neive. 1 he struggle inthe soul of Napoleon was fearful. ' Hiswhole frame trembled. His countenanceassumed the expression of the firm resolvewhich nerved him to this unpardonablewrong. He took the hand of the empress,pressed it to his heart, gazed lor a moment,speechless, upon those features which hadwen his youthful love, and then with a voicetremulous with the storm which shook bothsoul and body, said; \"Josephine, my goodJosephine, you know howl have loved you;it is to you alone, that I owe the few moments of happiness I have known in theworld. Josephine, my destiny is more powerful than my will. My dearest a flectionsmust yield to the interests of France.\"'Say r.o more,\" exclaimed the empress inmortal anguish; \"I expected litis. 1 understand and feel for you; but the stroke is notthe less mortal.\" And with a piercingahnek, she tell lileless upon the floor. Napoleon hastily opened the door and calledfor help. His physician. Dr. Corviaart,was at hand, and, entering with other attendants, they raised die unconscious Josephine from the floor, who, in a delirium ofagony, was exclaiming, \"Oh no! you cannot, you cannot do it! you would not killme.\" Napoleon supported the limbs ofJosephine, while another bore her body, andthus they conveyed her to her bed room.Placing the insensible empress upon thebed. Napoleon again dismissed the attendants and rang for her women, who, on entering, found him bending over her lifelessform with an expression of the deepest anxiety and anguish. Napoleon slept not La.tnight, but paced his room in silence andsolitude, probably lashed by an aVnrig'conscience. Ho frequently, duringthenight, returned to Josephine's room to inquire concerning her situation, Iwt eachtime the sound of bis footstep and of hisvoice almost threw the agonised empress into convulsions. -No! no!\" says Josephine,-l cannot describe the horror of my situation during that night! Even the interestwhich he affected to take in my sufferings,eemed to me additional cruelty. 0! howjustly had I reason to dxe&d becoming anempress!\" f , . ,At length the dav arrived for tV. w,M,.snnounceaient of tie divorce. Ths imperial Icouncil of stale was convened in the Tuilcrics, and all the members of the imperialfamily arid all the prominent oihceis of theempire were present. Napoleon, with hisnale and care-worn features, but ill-concealed by the drooping plumes which were ar.ranged to overshadow them, sacrificingstrong love to still stronger ambition, with avoice made firm by the very struggle withwhich he was agitated, in the followingterms assigned to the world his reasons forthis cruel separation:\"Ihe political interests oi my monarchy,the wishes of my people, which have constantly guided my actions, require that Ishould leave behind me, to heirs of my lovefor nay people, the throne on which Provi-dence has placed me. For many years 1have lost all hopes of having children byny beloved spouse, the empress Josephine.That it is. mat induces me to sacrifice theiweetest affections of my heart, to consideronly the good of my subjects, and desire thedissolution of our marriage. Arrived at theage cf forty years, 1 may indulge a reasonable hope of living long enough to rear, inthe spirit of my own thoughts and disposition, the children with which it may pleateProvidence to bless me. bod knows whatsuch a determination has cost my heart; butJ 1st\"mere is no sacrince which is above my courage, when it is proved to be for the inteiestof France. Far from having any cause tfcomplaint, 1 have nothing to say but inpraise oi the attachment and tenderness ofmy beloved wife. She has embellished fifteen years of my life; the remembrance ofthem shall be forever engraven on my heartShe was crowned by my hand; she shallretain always the rank and title of an empress. But, above all, let her never doubtmy feelings, or regard me but as her bestand deai est friend.\"Josephine, with a faltering voice, andwith her eyes suffused with tears, replied,respond to all the sen;iments of the emperorin consenting to the dissolution of a marriage w hich henceforth is an obstacle to thehappiness of France, by depriving it of theblessing of being one day governed by thedescendants of that i;rcat man, evidentlyraised up by Providence to efface the evilsof a terrible revolution, and restore the altar, the throne, and social order. But hismarriage will in no rwpect change the sentimenta of my heart; the emperor will everhnd m me his best inend. 1 know whatthis act, commanded by policy and exaltedinterest has cost his heart; but we both glory in the sacrifices which we make to thegood of our country. I feel elevated bygiving the greatest proof of attachment thatwas ever given upon eerth.Such were the sentiments, replete withdignity and gtandeur, which were uttered inpublic; but Josephine returned from thisdreadful effort to her chamber of the darkest woe, and so violent and so protractedwas her anguish, that for six months shewept so incessantly as to be nearly blindedwith grief. The next day afier the publicannouncement to the imperial council ofstate ol the intended separation, the wholeimperial lamilv were assembled in the gransaioon oi me i uiienea tor the legal consummation of the divorce. It was the 16ihof December, 1610. Napoleon was therein all his robes of state, yet care-worn andwretched. With his arms folded across hisbreast, he leaned against a pillar as motion.less as a statue, uttering not a word to anyone, and apparently insensible of the tragedy enacting around him, of which lie wasthe sole author, and eventually the mo3t nitiable victim, The members of the Bonaparte family, who were jealous of the almost boundless influenco which Josephinehad exerted over their imperial brother, M ereall there, secretly reioicir ft in her disgraceIn the centre of the apartment there was asmall table, and upon it a writing apparatusoi gold. An arm chair was placed beforethe table. A silence, as of death, pervat i .i . it .uea me room. Ail eyes were nxed uponthat chair and table, as though they werethe instruments of a dreadful execution. Aside door opened, and Josephine enteredsupported by her daughter, Uortense, whonot possessing the fortitude of her mother.burst into tears as she entered the apartmentand continued sobbing as though her heartwould break. AH immediately arose uponme appearance oi Josephine, fche woresimple dress of white muslin, unadorned bya single ornament. With that peculiargrace lor which she was ever distinguished,she moved slowly and silently to the seatprepared for her. Leaning her elbow upon the table, and supporting her pallid browwith her hand, she struggled to repress theanguioii oi ner soul as she listened to thereading of the act of separation. Thevoice of the reader was interrupted only bythe convulsive sobbings of Uortense, whostood behind her mother's chair. Eugenealso stood behind his mother in that dreadful hour, pale, and trembling like an aspenleaf. Josephine sat with tears silently trick-ling down her cheeks, in the mute composure oi aespair.At the close of this painful duty, Josephine ior a moment pressed her handkerchieto her weeping eyes; but, instantly regain,ing her composure, arose, and with her voiceof ineffable sweetness, in clear and distincttones, pronounced the oath of acceptanceAgain he sat down, and with a tremblingI J..t..l .. . onana, toon me pen and placed her signatureto the deed, which forever separated herfrom the object of her dearest affections andfrom her most cherished hopes. Scarcelyhad she laid down her pen, when Eugenedropped lifeless upon the- floor, and wasborne to his chamber in a state of insensibility, as his mother and sister retired.But tliere still remained another scene ofanguish in this day of woe. Josephine satin her chamber in solitude and speechless,ness, till Napoleon's usual hour for ret'uingto rest naa arnvea. in silence and inwretchedness, Napoleon had iust nlaredhimself in the bed from which he had eiect-ed the wife of his youth, and his servant w aswaiting only to receive orders to retire,when suddenly the private door to his cham.ber opened, and Josephine appeared withswollen eyes and dishevelled hair, and allthe dishabille of unutterable agony. Withtrembling steps she tottered into the room.approached the bed, and then irresolutelystopped, and burst into an agony of tears.ueiicacy a ieeline as if she now had noright to be dure seemed af first to havearrested her progress: but. forireLiinir evurv.icing in me iuuness oi ner grief, she threwherself upon the bed; clasped her husband'sneck, and sobbed as if her heart had bnbreaking. Napoleon also wept, while heendeavored to console her. and thev remained for some time locked in each other'sarms, silently mingling their tears together.The attendant was dismissed, and. for anhour, they remained together in this last private interview, ana men, Josephine partedu.cver irom me nusDand she had no lono-so fondly, and so faithfully loved. : As Josephine retired the attendant again entered,and found Napoleon so buried in the bedclothes as to be invisible. And when hearose in the morning, his tale and ha trtrnr1features gare attestation of the sufferings ofsleepless night. . ; . . : : I,At eleven o'clock the next day, Josephinewns to leav the scene of all her earthlypreuliiess, and to depart from the Tuileriesoi ever. The whole household were assembled sn the stairs and in the vestibule, inorder to obtain a last look of a mistresswhom they had loved, and who, to use anexpression of one present, 'carried with herinto exile the hearts or all who had enjoyedthe happiness of access to her presence.'Jotwphine appeared, leaning upon the armof one of her ladies, and veiled from head tofoot. She held a handkerchief to her eyes,and moved forward Bmid silence, at first uninterrupted, but to which immediately succeeded a universal burst of grief. Josephine,though not insensible to this proof of attach,ment, spoke not; but instantly entering alose carnage, with six horses, drove rapidlyway, without casting one look backwardon the scene of past greatness and departedhappiness. 1 he palace of Malmaison wasassigned to Josephine for her future residence, and a jointure of about six hundtedthousand dollars a year settled upon her.Here, alter many months ot tears, she gradually regained composure, as time healedthe wound which had been inflicted upon herleart. It was soon evident that theie wasno surer way of securing the favor of Napoleon ;han by paying marked attention toJosephi.ie. She was consequently treatedwith the utmost deference by all ths ambassadors of foreign courts, and all the crownedhcad.1 ol Luroj e.One of the ladies who had been attachedto the brilliant court of Josephine, upon thefall of her mistress, was anxious to abandonher, and to revolve as a satellite around thenew luminary, Maria Louisa. To the application. Napoleon replied in an angrytone, 'No! no! she shall not. Althougham charged with ingratitude towards Josephine, 1 will have no imitators, especiallyamong the persons whom she has honoredwith her confidence and loaded with her favors.Josepiine gives ihe following account ofa subsequent inteiview with Napoleon, atMalqmuon. '1 was one day painting a violet, a flower which recalled to my memorymy more happy days, w hen one of my women ran towards me and made a sign byplacing her finger uiwn her lips. The nextmoment 1 was overpowered. I beheld Napoleou. He threw himself with transportinto the arms of his old friend. O! thenwas convinced that he could still love mefor that man really loved ine. It seemedimpossible for him to cease gazing upon meand his look was that of the most tender af.feclion. At length, in a tone of the deepest compassion and love, he said, 'My dearJosephine! I have always loved you 1 loveyou-suit. Do you anil love me, excellentand good Josephine Ho you still love mein spiti ol the relations I have contractedand whicli have separated me from youBut they have not banished you from mymemory. 'Sire, said I 'Call me Bonaparte,' i J he; 'speak to me, my belovedwith the same freedom, the same familiarityas ever.' Bonaparte soon disappeared, andI hewd only the sound of his rearing foolsteps. 0! how quickly does everythingtake place upon earth. I had once morefelt the pleasure of being loved.'The repudiation of Josephine, strong awere the political motives which led to it, isme earnest siain upon tne cnaracier oi apoleou. And, like all wrong-doing, however ieeruingly prosperous for a time, it promoled final disaster and woe. A pique,originating in his second marriage, alienated Ale lander of Kussia from the I reneemperor, and hence, the campaign of Moscow, and the imprisonment of Napoleonupon tins rock of St. Helena. Kins andTare t sksswa INiwrr f Frl.in tho norliern para of Siberia mercuryis sometimes frozen, and the frost must therereach a point represented by 40 degrees below Aero of r ahrenhcit k thermometerYv ere such a destructive agent to operateduring one ol our winters, bn gland wouldbecome a desert, trees and shrubs perishand the ensuing spring cad in vain for inreturn of flowers and foliage. But there areelements in rature which could prodjee,t it fwere Uiey allowed to com Dine, a lar moredestructive cold than that which reduces thliquid quicksilver to a hard block of metalThe prewr.it arrangements of the Creatorprevent the union of such powers, but themists have produced an artificial combinationof natural agents, from which has ensued acold 91 degrees below Zero, and 131 degrees below the freezing point. J his fatadegree cf cold is caused by a union of twoparts of sulphuric acid with one part ofsnow; now, elements are around us, whichcould, therefore, make a winter capable ofdestroying all animal life in a month. Afrost equal to 10 degrees below Zero penetrates about two hundred yards into theground; but cold of 91 degrees below thesame point must penetrate to a far greaterdepth, turning the whole crurt of the earthinto a frozen mass. The consequences ofsuch a degree of cold on the human bodycan scarcely be imagined; but some notionmay be gaiued from the fact, that no metalic substance can be touched by the hand,when the thermometer is 40 degrees belowZero, without producing a burn like thatcaused by grasping a hot poker, so similarare the effects of extreme heat and extremecold. To produce a disorganization in ourglobe there is but needed a fresh distributionof die tcids stored up in nature, but whichare kept in their present safe arrangementby the agency of an all-wise God. Thecold doc, indeed, sometimes increase to thevery highest point of safety, but it neverquite passes this line, being held, like theocean, within its appointed limits, and exhibiting, through many seasons, a uniformity which attests the control of some invisible power. Thus in the severest winters inour latitude the frost docs not penetrate intoball that depth, as may be proved by placinga thermometer in the ground during a sharpfrost. The waters of the sens around theseislands tend to preserve it from the highestrigors of cold, for the temperature of theBritish Channel is, even in the winter, notbelow fifty degrees, and that of the GermanOcean seldom lower than forty-two degreesof Fahrenheit. The vast stratum of airaround Great Brittun Is, therefore, warmedby the ocean in winter, and thus the cold iscontinually checked in its intensity.' ( bharpe t Magazine.ike Sadism dUetr\"'One of the first settlers in Western NewYork, wait Judgo W , who cslabliuhcdhimself at Whitestnwn jbout four milesfrom Uticu. He brought his family witham, among whom was a widowed daughter with an only child a fine boy aboutlour years bid. You wiH lecollect, thecountry around was an unbroken forest,and this was the domain of the savagetribtm.Judge W saw the necessity of keep-ng on good ttirms with the Indians, for asre was alone he was completely at theirmercy. Accordingly he took every opportunity to assure them of his kindly feelings,and to secure their good will in return.Several of the chiefs came to see him, andall appeared pacific But (here was onething that troubled him; an aged chief ofthe Oneida tribe, and one of great influence,who resided at the distance of a dozenmiles, had not yet been to see him, norcould he ascertain tho views and feelings ofthe sachem in respect to his settlement inthat region. At last he sent him a message,and the answer was that the chief wouldvisit him on the morrow.True to his appointment the sachemcame; Judge W received him withmarks of respect, and introduced his wife,his daughter and little boy. ihe interview,lhat followed was interesting. Upon its resuit the Judge was convinced his securitymight depend, and he was therefore exceedingly anxious of making a favorable impression upon-the distinguished chief. Heexpressed his desire to settle in the country,to live on terms of amity arid good fellowship with the Indians, und to be useful tothem by introducing among them the arts of(hviliz&uon.The chief heard him out, and then said'Brother, you ask much and you promisemuch. What pledge can you give of yourfaith The white man's word may be goodto the white man, yet it is wind when spoken to the Indian.1 have put my life in your hands,\" saidtho Judge, 'is not that an evidence of mygood intention I have placed confidencein the Indian and will not believe that hewill abuse and betray the trust lhat is thusreposed.'So much is well,' replied the chief, 'theIndian will repay confidence with confidence, if you will trust, he will trust you.Let the boy go with me to my wigwam Iwill bring him back in three days with myanswer!'If an arrow had pierced the bosom of themother, site could not have felt a deeperpang than went to her heart, as the Indianmade this proposal. She sprang forward,and running to the boy, who stood at theiide of the Sachem, looking into his facewith pleased wonder and admiration, she encircled him iu her arms, and pressing himto her bosom, she was about to fly from theroom. A gloomy and ominous frown cameover the Sachem's brow, but he did notspeak.But not so with Judge W . lieknew that the success of their entei prise,the lives of his family, depended on a decision of a moment.Stay, stay, my daughter,' he said. 'Bringback the boy, 1 beseech you. He is notmore to you than to me. 1 would not riska hair of his head. But my child, he mustgo with the Chief. Cod will watch overhim! He will be as safe iu the Sachem'swigwam, as beneath our own roof.'The agonised mother hesitated for a moment; she then slowly returned, placing theboy on the knee of the Chief, and kneelingat his feet, burst into a flood of tears. Thegloom passed from the Sachem's brow,but he said not a word. He arose and departed. I hall not attempt to describe the agonyof the mother for the ensuing days. Shewas agitated by contending hopes and fears,In the night she awoke from her sleep,seeming to hear the screams of her childcalling on its mother for help. But thetime slowly wore away and the third daycame. How slowly did the hours pass.The morning waned away, noon arrived;yet the Sachem came not. There was agloom over die whole household. Themother was pale and silent. Judge IVwalked the floor to and fro, going everyfew minutes to the door, and looking thro'the opening in the forest towards the Sachem's abode.At last the rays of the setting sun werethrown upon the tops of the trees around,the eagle feathers of the Chief were seendancing above the bashes in the distance.He advanced rapidly aud the little boywas at his side. He was gaily attired as ayoung chief his feet being dressed in moccasins, a fine beaver skin on his shoulders,and eagle feathers were stuck in his hair.He was in excellent spirits, and so proud,was he of his honors, that he seemed twoinches taller than he was before. He wassoon In his mother's arms, and in that briefminute she seemed to pass from dca;h tolife. It was a happy meeting too happyfor me to describe.The white man has conquered!' said theSachem; 'hereafter let us be friends. Youhave trusted an Indian; he will repay youwith confidence and friendship.'He was as good as his word; and JudgeW lived for many years in peacewith the Indian tribes, and succeeded inConceit is the most contemptible and oneof tho mostodi jos qualities in the world. Itis vanity driven from all other shifts, andforced to appeal to itself for admiration.An author, whose play has been damnAover-night, feels a paroxysm of conceit thenext morning. Conceit may be defined arestless, overweening, petty: obtrusive me-chanical delight in our own qualifications,without any referenco to their real value, orto the approbation of others, merely becausethey are ours, and for no other reason whatever, it is the extreme of selfishnessfolly, 'HazliU, . : -i i ; ittc,A Prrtlawa Ascrat.As looked backward Horn the first promontory which turned us iiilo the sen, I sttw (heHoop scatteied along the btacb, and the lastbaggage camels pacing out from among thebushes about our camp, sometimes in thebays we had to go slowly over fieldj ofsand; sometimes to cross the promontoriesby steep paths or shelves in the rocks; andoftener, to cross the water, guiding our camels as usual; for the water was clear as theair. At last we were brought to a stop,when we agreed that there were two roads,any. The promontory before us juttedout too far to make it prudent to take thewater without guidance: and there was besides only a stony wadee which looked as ifnobody ever passed through it, or ever would.So we made our camels kneel, and waitedon our saddles. Others who came up didthe same, till we were a curious kneelingparty. Bishara passed us at length, and ledthe way up the stony wtidee. We littleknew what we were entei ing upon; and ifany one had told us that it was the pass toWadee Negabad, the words would haveconveyed to us no more thnn they probablynow do to my readers, i he ascending wadeenarrowed to a pass of steper ascent, andthe pass to a mere narrow road, and thenthe road to a staircase, a zigzag staircase o(eteep, irregular steps, so completely withoutpause that the great anxiety of everybodywas to keep his camel going, because everyone behind was in euspennion, hanging between two steps, so that any stoppage wouldbe worse than inconvenient. Many wouldhave been glad to dismount, but they mustnot stop even for that moment. The waywas also too narrow for alighting safely.Une lady jumped off, and then was in a greatagony because her camel resisted being pulled forward, and there was not room for herto pass behind to drive it. The next in the3tring applied his stick to good purpose, solhat we were relieved horn our hanging attitude. During the minute I could glancebehind me, and most striking was the picture of the sandy and stony areas below,with the long-drawn caravan winding farbeneath and up the steep. Our positionnusthave looked tern he to the hindmostAt the top we found ourselves on a pinnacle, a mere point, whence the way downlooked more threatening than that we hadpassed. I could not allow myself a singlemoment here, for the camels were still taito nose all the way down, and in the sameway must they descend the tremendous zigzag before me. Most of the gentlemen contrived to slip off here, but there was no roomor time for me, in the precise spot 1 occupiedto do so, so I set myself firm in my stirrumand determined to leave it to my camel howto accomplish the break-neck descent. Only two besides myself rode down the wholeway; and 1 believe we were all surprisedthat every one arrived at the bottom in safety. There were a few slips and falls, butno harm done. 1 ho ridge of a camel is agreat height from which to look down on,not only the steepest turns of sharp zigzagon me side ol a precipice, but long slipperystone steps, in quick succession. I depended altogether upon my stirrups; a pair hungshort over the front peg of the saddle, whichsaved the necessity of resting one's foot onthe camel's neck in any steep descent, andwere a great help in keeping one steady.do not think such a pass as this could be accomplished without them. Miss Martiiteau's Eastern Travel.laying the foundation of a flourishing andprosperous community. W. Tracy.\"They thai Keek Me Early shall Fia4 He,'ar w. o. claii x.of thy years areCome, while the blossomsbrightest.Thou youthful wanderer in a flowery mazeCome, while the rustless heart is bounding lightest, And joy's pure sunbeam trembles in thywhile sweet thoughts, like summer bodsunfolding,Waken rich feelings la ths careless breastWhile yet thy hand the ephemeral wreath isholding.Come and secure Interminable rest.Soon will the freshness of thy days be over,And toy rree buoyancy or soul be flownPleasure will fold her winrs and friend andloverWill to the embmeee of the worm have foue!Those who aow love thee will have passed forever;Their looks and kindness will be lost totheeThou wilt need a balm to heal thy spirit's fever,as my sick Heart broods over years to be.Come while the morning of thy life Is glowingEre the dim phantoms thou art chasing dieEre the gay spell which earth is round theethrowing,Fades like ths crimson from a sunset sky.Life is botshadows, nave a promise given,I hat lights the future with a fadeless rayCome touch the sceptre win a hope of Heaven, Come, torn thy spirit from this world away.Then will the shadows of this brief existenceKeem airy nothings to thine anient soul 'Aid shining brightly in the-forward distance.Will, of tire patiant race, appear the goalHome of tbs weary where ia bliss reposing,The spirit lingers ia unclouded blissThough o'er the dust the curtained grave is cloning, . . t'' Whs would not E41I.T choose a lot like this.Uriah las llaalla la I rr 1m a Si.The proptmsity for intoxication amongthe people had been remarked from the ear-best times, hit W . Fettv, who wrote in thyear 1GS'2, when Dublin contained but 6,025houses, statea 1,200 of them were publichouses, where intoxicating liquors were sold.In 1793, in Thomas street, nearly everythird house w is a public house. The streetcontained 190 houses, and of these fifty-twowere licensed to sell spirits. Among theupper classes the great consumption wasclaret, and so extensive was its importation,that, in the year 1793, it amounted lo 8,000tuns, and the bottles alone were estimatedat th. value cf JL'67,000. This fact is detailed by honest Butty, the Quaker histori. f . I . r t i i ian ui uie couniy oi JJuDiin. uch werethe convivial habits of the day, and so absorbed were Lie people in the indulgence,that the doctor recommended that port shouldbe substituted in its place, 'because,' said he,with quaint simplicity, it would not admiso long a sitting, a great advantage to wisemen in saving a great deal of their precioustime. In fact, the great end and aim oflite in the upper classes seemed to be convivial indulgence to excess. The rure ofdrinking was, that r.o man was allowed toleave the company till he was unable tostand, and then he might depart if he coulKam.\"No ovation slyNor sober shift, was to the puking wretchIndulged apart.\"If on any occasion a guest left the room,biis of paper were dropped into his glass,intimating the number of rounds the bottlehad gone, and on his return he was obligedto swallow a glass for each, under the penallies of so many glasses of salt and water.It was the practice of some to have decanters with round bottoms, like a modern soda-waterbottle, the only contrivance inwhich they could stand being at the head ofthe table, before the hoft. Stopping thebottle -was thus rendered impossible, andevery one was obliged to fill lis glass atonce, and pass the bottle to his neighbor,on peril of upsetting the contents on the table. A still more common practice- was toknock the steins off the glasses with a knife,so that they must be emptied as fa3t as theywere filled, as they could not stand.Sketches of Inland Sixty Years Ago.An Irish Kevel Maty Vrars Aga.An elderly clergyman of our acquaintance, on leaving home to enter college,slopped, on his way, at the hospitable mansion of a friend of h'13 father for a few days.The whole time he was engaged with drinking parties every night, and assiduously pliedwith bumpers, till he sank under the table.In the morning he was, of course, deadlysick, but hi3 host prescribed 'a hair of theold dog.' that is, a glass of raw spirit. Onone night he contrived to ateal through aback window. As soon as he was missed,the cry of Stole away,' was raised, and hewas pursued, but effected his escape into thepark. Here he found an Italian artist, whohad also been of the company, but, unusedto such scenes, had likewise fled from theorgies. : They concealed themselves by lying down among the deer, and so passed thenight. Towards morning they returned tothe house, and were witnesses of an extraordinary procession. Such of the companyas were still able to walk had procured aHat-backed car, on which they heaped thebodies pf those who were insensible; then,throwing a sheet over them, and illuminati.ag them with candles, like an Irish wake.some taking the shafts of the car before, andothers pushing behind, and all setting up thef L L MI 1 f. . Iirisn cry, inc senswie survivors leu meir departed insensible friends at their respectivehomes. The consequences of this debauchwere several duels ' between the active andpassive performers on the following day J, lieMsaaltsj tMsalresl Uartltr.fl was not an age of peculiar eemestnes,this limine and Walpole age- but no oneran be in earnest himself without in somedegree- aircttins oth w. 'I reit.r mber a p.ts-ioge in the Xicar-of Waktfitld' said John-son, a lew years alter lis autnor a ceam,which Goldsmith was afterwards fool enoughto expunge. do not tore a man who istalous for noUtmg. 1 he words were iit-e, since the feeling was retained; for theery basis of the little tale was a sincerityand zeal for many tilings. This, indeed, itwas, which, while all the woild was admir-ng it for its mirth and sweetness, its brightand happy pictures, its simultaneous movement ol ihe springs of laughter and tearsgave it a rarer value to a more select audience, and connected it with not the leastmemorable anecdote of modern literary history. It had been published little more thanfour years, when two Germans, whose namesbecame afterwards world-famous, one a student, at lhat lime in his twentieth, the othera graduate, in his twenty-fifth year, met inthe city of fciraaburg. I he younger, JohannVV olfgang Goethe, a law-scholar of the university, with a passion for literature, soughtknowledge from 'the elder, Johann uott-neq Ileider, for the course on which be wasnoved to enter. Herder, a severe and masterly, though somewhat cynical critic, laughed at the likings of the young aspirant, androused him to other aspirations, i'roducmga German translation of the V icar of II akefield, he read it out aloud to Goethe in Imanner which was peculiar to him; and, asthe incidents of the little story came foith inhis serious, simple voice, in one unmoved,unaltering tone, ('just as if nothing of itwas present before him, but ail was onlyhistorical; as if the shadows of this poeticcreation did not affect him In a life-likmanner, but only glided gently by,) a newdeal of letters and of life arose in themind of the listerer. Years passed on; andwhile that younger student raised up and reestablished the literature of his country, andcame at last, in bis prime and in his age, tobe acknowledged for the wisest of modernmen, he never ceased throughout to confesswhat he owed to those old evenings at btras-burg. The strength which can conquer circumstance; the happy wisdom ot ironywhich elevates itself above eveiy objectabove fortune and misfortune, good and evil,death and life, and attains to the possessionof a poetical woild, first visited Goethe in thetone with which Goldsmith s tale is told.The fiction became to him life's first reality;in country clergymen of Drusenheitn therestarted up Vicars of Wakefield; for Oliviasand Sophias of Alsac, first love fluttered athis heart; and at every stage ot his ulustnous after-career its impression still vividlyrecurred to him. He remembered it whenat the height of his worldly honor and suecess, he made his written Life ('Wahreitund Dichtung ) record what a blessmarhad been to him; he had not forgotten it,when, some seventeen years ago, standing,at the age of eighty -one, on the very brinkof the grave, he told a friend lhat in the decisive moment of mental development theV icar of akefield had formed his educalion, and lhat he had lately, with unabateddelight, 'read the charming book again frombeginning to end, not a little affected bythe lively recollection' how much he hadbeen indebted to the author seventy yearsbefore. torslert Life of Ulirer Goldsmiih.hours ol Iassuule an.1 soirow I,0ur V5the 'fretful tir i nprofiiHMe' of ,'\";'ai lu.il world Iiaa Luiur !... . r,: iD I Oil II i. \"ihe light breakio- mny fro... , .ee of faroff distance. n.nd leading the fancy afi. rinto Llysium, or rural groups, ,eveIstyrs, or clouds, or face ofpuSvS v V 'serene saint, has arrested the troVl ' i 1 0rof thought nped.1.certain pictures which it would be a , iure to see commemorated, but wli, hidental visitor can enter into .1 t-express to you, said a i,m,t ,t:: . .nr'tstatesman of the oresent dav. as J, T'dthe midst of his beaniif.,! . 3 ',,, j.iLiures, quk ficn ju j my leetinjs ofIT. oi resmrafirtr ml. ...i ii Vi - ' 1\" 11,tn' an kv.val ftf harrav.irr- 1 'vun,u utl.ilround me herethe slow, quietturned his eyescaiJ nanUVjto itII. s-And while heone oi aM rw a loresl su tr, , rrlnpi nni trniart j t, F - \"v. s..v ,k lur a minute or 'silence a silence I was careful not m K .as il us cool dewy verdure, iu Cr. 'siou, its transparent waters stes,!; -the glade, bad sent refreshment into 1Picture Galleries of London.tm I art's . .,.Beranger, ihe idol of ihe set.! - ..been called the only poet inex V,married. To his Dinnant Iroguun smiie ana ragged pttuu.. i ,long rejoiced the pays t i,1. \"I. .. .. .cian grace have charmed for T UVx.,Zthe safonj of our aristocratic hub -Vthe fair English girl, who rar. ..' ,next door to him, and livoS a l:fe ision, Cf ntent to wa!( h him in if.. ,.. -breathe the air wiiith his pre.,. 'redolent of poetry ' N0 t0 lton.. .he has bestowed his hand ar ,1 hiso long sought, both so len- cv.-rj ,v'of the fairest and most diTii -i i( ',land, upon Mad Hi Jud i.h. L;a Vand cook. Jjondcn Aths.A Fraltr la Daalia Nisi YrarsiS,On the, 29th of July, 1784, six buckswere returning home, after dining with theAttorney-General, Fiugibbon. As they passed the house of a publican, named Flattery, on Ormond-quay, fhey determined toamuse themselves by aweaani him, i. emaking him give up all bis fire-arms. Theyentered the bouse and began the entertiment bj 'pinking the waiter. Mrs. Flattery, presuming on the protection that wouldbe afforded by ber sex, came down to pactfy them, but one of the party, more heatedwith wine than the rest, assaulted and beganto take indecent liberties with her. Hhusband, who had at first kept himself concealcd, in the hope that his tormentors couldbe got quietly out of the house, roused bythe insult to his wife, rushed out and knocked the assailant down. The bucks dretheir swords. Flattery armed himself witha gun, and, aided by the people in the houseand some who came to his assistance fromthe street, succeeded in driving them out onthe quay. The bucks, who happened to holdhigh military rank, unfortunately met withsome soldiers, whom they ordered to followthem, and returned to Flattery's house, vowing vengeance uu ait me inmates. A message had been sent to the sheriff. Smith, tocome and keep the peace, but he was ableto collect only five men at the main guard,and when they reached the scene of the riot,ii was so violent mat tneir assistance wasquite useless. The spree would probablyhave ended in the total sacking of 1- lattery'shouse, only for the accidental arriving ofsome gentlemen dispersing irom a volunteermeeting, who wdhngly assisted the sherifiThe 'bucks, however, escaped being arrested. One of them was a noble lord, twowere colonels in ihe army, and the others ofhigh rank, and aides-de-camps to the Lord-Lieutenant, the Duke of Kutland. The latter interested himself on their behalf; andsuch was the influence of their rank lhat thematter was hushed up, and th gentlemenengaged in this atrocious outrage, though allwell known, escaped unpunished. Sketches of inland iStxty iears Ago.Tra Paliteaeas.Now as to politeness, many have attempted its dcnmtiotw i believe it is best to beknown by description; definition not beingable to comprise it. I would, however,venture to call it benevolence in trifles, orthe preference of others to ourselves, in little daily, hourly occurrences in the commerce of daily fife. A better place, a morecommodious scat, priority in being helpedal table; what is it but sacrificing ourselvesin such trifles to the convenience and pleasures of others And this constitutes true politeness. It is a perpetual attention (byhabit it grows easy and natural to us) to Chjlittle wants of those we are with, by whichwe either prevent or remove them. Bowingceremonies, formal compliments, stiff civilities, will never be politeness; that must beeasy, natural, unstudied, manly, noble.And what will give this but a mind benevolent, and perpetually attentive to exert thatamiable disposition in trifles towards all youconverse and live with. Benevolence ingreat matters takes a higher name, and isthe queen of virtue. Lord Chatham.trar.ii'i--ITraasjallaslsis; Csjret af 1ctar.Every good picture, by which I meanevery picture lhat has something good in it,is not mere surface and color; it has acountenance, like the countenance of a friendor lover, of which extent certain expressionsare revealed only to certain eyes at certainmoments. . Then, there are the associationsof long: acquaintance; accidental gleams oflamp or sunshine have lighted up tho shadowy nooks, and startled die eye with revela--n\"3 ofdden beauty and meaning; or in I'isI-V IV' f :Abas .Htak( Daar.ritv m. waish j T,,n,What lilllflit 1 J. III! if TOMlVi hat xl'noU4 J.ii,t ijiv .trt..Wmilii thy (i n it r;la love tiulrikjhl.Aii'l ft-aj-e their H;a l .Oppression's ea it Dii.;U be m1With lir..liingdir.1n,f .,,,,',,;And kiioa lo.'c .u, 'From sho, e to fLifjh. on the eye of iuru:l. ;.All alavrry, warfare, .1:1,; r,All va-e and cruie in.nt j-;And nil!' a id t .r.i.To each man b-.fi,Be fr- aiwaiTnfi in uThe meanest wretch thai r er \"The deeiwvt sunk in e\"il- a-! 1Might tai j er.it,In s-lf-resH t.An J t-haretheteeanin,si.rlWhat iriiijht be lon Tl. ra r-e.Ami tirre than th . mv -utf, ria l,roMore than the tcn-w.E'er Mid 01 une.If men were vw an.l jove-1 f..h .nr.iinpt rcep. r.The Meraasl Hina af lb Iksm.They evidently pass through one, it\" r.oimore stages of existence, prepar:orv -dtheir becoming perfect wirgd insect.-..' l:.the summer, towards evening, it is cir-nuito see on ihe trunks of the tre. ittc.-. uany upright thing, a heavy. looking. Li..:,.-.',backed, brown beetle, an itch-anJ-fi-L.:long, with a scaly coat; clawed, foUicr-i klegs, and a somewhat dirty apett, n .5easily accounted for, when at t ie loot t!':;etree a little hole is visible in the turr,he haj lately crept. I hav MMueiimt cu.jfully carried these home, and wa:tiitJ v.i.great interest the poor locust 'shu!i'emortal\", or rather earthly coil, and i:r.c:.vinto a new wotld. The first syirp:0.u .the opening of a small silt which . the back of his coat, between t..ethrough which, as it slowly gapes 1fale, soft, silky-looking tejture is -.i b-.ow, throbbing and heaving backwciil. scjforwards. Presently, a fire Mj'inre l.-sJ.with two light red eyes, Las d!ser.i;:rjsell, and in process of tune. (ir tl.elormation goes on almostI a ...this is toi lowed ry the liberation ot p. illy body and a conclusion: after vi.'., h :brown leggings are pulled o:f I ke t J.and a pale, cream-colored, weak, sou . jtare very slowly and tenderly walks s.tfrom his former self, which rcma:r.s Stirling entire, like the coat of ntnil .fa .3tiUof old, ready to be encased in tie calx:.:!of the curious; the shelly plaies of :i.e .lhat are gone looking after the lost c ':with a sad lack of speculation' '\" iheiii.On the back of the new-born cieaiur lie t jsmall bits of membrane doubled ai d crumpled up in a thousand puckers l.ke a Limerick glove in a walnut shell. Thr-e U i nto unfold themselves, and gradually spiesdsmoothly out into two larzts beautlii.l cpaicolored wings, which, by the fol'uwirmorning, have become clearly traiia.ti.whilst ihe body kis acquired iu proper co.t-aistency and da'tk color; and when pl-icdon a gum-trele happy thing scon rxi'uits whirring, creak ing, chirruping sonj, v w hcontinues, with little intermission, as loias its happy, banale-a life. Mrs. .Vrrfdith's Aerr South Walts.New liaas Wfrrrrs. Iaae Arrival 4i snisaisMsarltv Caatstreaf\" a ftlater.Intelligence has been received at thefice of ihe American Missianary A'soclauuof the safe arrival at Sierra Leone, of Kev.Geo. Thompson, and Anson J. Carter, n.isionarie on lWtr way to Haw MeiIi.They sailed from this city in the baik Mjrio, Captain Brown, April 8, and reachfuthe coast of Africa, May in good Leti!:h.At Sierra Leone they got tieir first viewof the horrors of the slave tiaJe. A captured slaver was brought in while they (there, and they went on boaid of ter.There were 500 slaves on board; ten baddied after her capture: Mr, TluiDpoftsays: \"Of all lie sights I ever witnessed,this is the worst. The deck ta literallycovered with men and women and c hi Lire n,some lying down, some killing, some standing. Many of them were quite wuall boand girls many of thein were mothers, aidall quite naked. Below were crowded tuaor three hundred, between floors not exceeding 2 1-2 feet apart. Men fitting flat onthe fioor, cannot sit up straight, and tLeiethey are crowded in as close as they ran tejammed; the first row sitting on the flcorwita their backs against the side or end ofthe vessel, then another row sitting in thesame way crowded close in between theirlegs, and so on as many as they cin crowdin. There they sit, week after week, in alltheir filth and stench,' and aicknesa anddeath!! When I think of mv countrvrotnengaged in such an infernal traffic, and oftheir sending their ship-loads l rum, rxc.to help on the woik cf degradation anadeath, I know not what to say.\"Mr. Thompson and Mr. Carter expectedto proceed immediately to Haw !endi.Their latest inulliscnce from the uias.oa 153554b96e
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