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POETST.
FROM THE MEMORIAL.
THE LIGHT OF HOME.
M)tboy, thou wilt dream the world is fair,
j • •'And thy spirit will sigh to roam, .
> ,f And thou must go;—but never when there,
Forget the light of hon.e
pleasure may smilrwith a ray more bright,
It dazzles to lead '
Jdecpen the night,
lely way.
1 lost,
V Like the meter’s >Has3
at When thou treatiest i.
•A
jfi tut the hearth of home has a constant flame,
irei ) And pate as vestal fire:
ij Jr will hum, ’twill burn forever the same,
**^^gfay<Rture feeds the pyre.
TAJ sea of ambition is tempest-test,
And thy hopes may vanish like foam;
But when saifa are shiver’d and rudder Ic
Then look to the light of home,
And there like a star through the midnight cloud,
Thou shalt see the beacon bright,
For never, till shining on thy shroud,
Can be quench’d its holy light.
The sun of fame, aye ’twill gild the name.
But the heart ne’er felt its ray;
And fashion’s smilee that rich ones claim,
Are but beams of a wint'ry day.
And how cold and how dim those beams would be l-
Should life’B wretched wanderer come!
/But my boy, when the world is dark to then,
Then turn to the light of home.
-/
T
t.
FROM THE CONNECTICUT MIRROR.
-It Tains! What lady loves a rainy day?
Not she who puts prunella on her foot,
Zephyrs around her heck, and silken socks
Upon a graceful ankle—nor yet she
W T ho sports her tassell’c! parasol along
The walks beau-crowded on a sunny noon,
Or trips in muslin in a winter night
On a coid sleigh ride to a distant ball.—
She loves a rainy s day who sweeps the hearth,
And threads the busy needle, or applies
The sci c sors to the tom or thread-bare sleeve,
Who blesses God that she has friends and home;
Who, in the pelting of the storm, will think
. some poor neighbour that she can befriend;
;v/enfy"ro^'! j0 ^j^*.th(vlamp at night and reads aloud
plied gradtist.'enng brother, tales he loves to hear.
minute*/. 1 ,™ 3 cheerfully abroad to Match
• rr-i 1*^0 of some sick and suffering friend,
‘ . ‘ *yr that best of medicine,
. re ;UiredVA tender care, and cheering hope—
n*- Mika-forceIpad, e’en in a rainy day.
Scotch firWOfld. ~ --
^ ’ W* l THE LAST COFFIN.
4
had
y.otj
'‘the
4001
.otCW 1 ’
He opened the' door ;• a
r
L\
From the German.
The Avafohman upon the turret had cried
[the midnight hour : the heavens shone in
il* their starry}, splendour ; and the ground
^glittered with myriads of brilliant specks.
! Every sound of living breath seemed be-
Tiumbed by the frost, and every murmur
>.hat arose from the sleeping city was borne
iway upon the blast. Fearfully now re
rided the footsteps of the sentinels, as,
M up in their long white cloaks and
^black caps, they wandered to and fro,
measured paces, like the spirits of the
toted.
an aged prince passes through the
i gate of the castle into the neighbor
ing^ Ilis faithhUattendants, who have
w , atcV.S^| Ss stepyj^jt^ period exceeding '
the usual^fe^f^JPp^,ty, would fain im
plore theirTolu jjJ^-een his hoary head,
now thai the last branch of his royal house
is withered : but the earnestness of death
darkens the king’s Countenance—silently
they bow their heads before him, for their
lips refusk their, office, and thgy. follow him
sorrowfully with their eyes.
With impetuous, haste the aged prince
totters through hi? skittering evergreens.
He feels not the cold/ nor the frosty breath
of the wind that t.oss§sJhc few scanty, gray
locks upon his barJf head. It is as though
he would anticipated!e destiny that seizes,
with icy hand, upon his trembling heart.
He has arrivefj#!t the verge of his park,
near the humble dwellings of the work^
people in the eitiploymenS’ef the court.—He
stands still—“Oh Fate' thou shouldst have
spared me my o-fc^,last, solitary child,”
sighed he. “ Oh, lappier than thy coun
try’s prince art thovi, base artisan, even
though thou wakest amid thy sleeping little
ones with care, because thou hast not where
withal to satisfy their hunger on the morrow.
Thou.livcst anew in them ;—but iwith me
my whole race is descended into the grave.
He advanced a few steps forward ; a noise
met his ear ; it was the grating sound of a
saw.
“ W T ho works so much beyond the mid
night hour ? Doubtless,” continued he, Re
plying to himself, “ it is the coffin maker,
preparing his coffin. Man, thou might’st
become rich, if now thou madest him &
cradle.” He had approached nearer to the
house whence the sounds proceeded; when
the sawing ceased, and he distinguished the
tones of a deep male voice. It was an old
strange melody, harsh and monotonous as ^
the words which grated, on his ear
The fiend of death has seized his bow,
His shaft unerring flies—
No tower of strength can ward the blow,
The might wr-oinal dies!
Ye powers of craft and malice, lo f
Your treacherousjdeeds proclaim—
Malice has wrought its owner’s woe j
/ . His craft has turned to shame.
\ '
'Behold the pit—toy man of sin,,
A anarc for ot laid— h*T
But fate has callxL aq£ $ee,;*■' - J
His own death-bed'is mad
Then, hail! Oh hail/Eternal _
In-whom is placed my trust
% know thjnttnmMb in perils hope,
Omnipotent and just.
£?he king listened ; anon the song teased,
d a noi>c resounded from within as of tools
more composed,
hot vapour rushed forth, and a large apart
ment presente i itself to him, illuminated by
many lights* At a long working bench
stood a tall, haggard form, busied upon an
almost finished coffin. No life, no emotion,
no spark of sensibility beamed from the
workman’s glassey eyes, as he continued
his employment, regardless ofthe monarch’s
entrance.
So late at your duty, master?” stud the
pnnee. “ Every man,” returned the joiner,
“ performs the work to which the Eternal
Master calls him ; and he has sent me to
you to prepare your race a resting place.
“Man ! how can God have called thee to
that work ?” exclaimed the raging prince,
“ madman wouldst thou add to my anguish ?”
“ Sire,” returned the coffin-maker, undis
mayed, “ if you would fain hear my history
and your own, sit you down upon that cof
fin-lid ; it is the coffin of your own heir, but
there is no other seat in the place. See, it
is a masterly work; this sculpture upon it
is the design of a church crumbling to
pieces, with its tombstones and crosses, the
tokens of death, destroyed by death’s hand.
Why dost thou stand staring so wildly at
my work? Make no ceremony, but be
seated, that I may proceed ; the job is al
most don«v and will occupy mo just- -a -Long
as my story.”
As if pressed down by some invisible
power, the prince seated himself upon the
coffin lid, as it lay upon the floor ; the coffin
itself stood upon the bench. The joiner
tucked up his wide sleeves about his ner
vous arms, and began to plane it, while,
with his eyes fixed upon his work, as if he
heeded nothing else, neither the high per
sonage who listened to him, nor the import
of his ow n words, or rather as if the latter
were spoken by another mouth or at least
another spirit, he began :—
“ Sir, did you know the deoeased Prince
Sigismund ?”
“ My ancestor,” answered the king,
gloomily, “ the least of his family, as I of
mine.” “ My grandftither, said the, work
man.” “ Thy grandfather ?” replied the
prince, with surprise. *“ Heavens, what
form suddenly presents itself to my memo
ry?” “ My history will explain all, rejoin
ed the coffin-maker. “ Whrfn I first came
into the world there was litw.prospect that
the golden circle would ewer deck your
brow; and just So much t&ie more wildly
was the storm to rage amia the clustering
branches of our family, till none were left
but my grandmother and her only daughter.
Then your father mounted our house’s
throne. The prince’s widow was little
heeded: God’s judgment upon her, because
she herself was wanting in maternal l«ve,
and at length thrust her daughter-out of
her own house—after disturbing her men
tal peace by her tyrannical aiifi? immoral con
duct.? Then the latter gay^up all earthly,
glory, and desired, after so deep a deception
nothing more than a heart full of love, and
the quiet peace of obscurity. She found
both in my father; for though he was not
of princely descent, he possessed a lofl^
mind and a towering spirit. She ^brought
him six sons ; when l|jp last was’bom her
of duty was performed. My fa
ther cofid not survive her, and yet durst not
die: the\leparted drew him after her ; his
children held him. He lived here with her
the life of a saint in an,inseparable union of
souls; 1 never saw him either joyful or sad
like another mortal. Hi3 thoughts were
constantly turned inward, and one could see
in his eyes that his soul already belonged to
another world. One care only had he for
this ; to instil into his sons their mother’s
lofty spirit, and to prepare such a fate for
them that the workings of that spirit in them
might not be oppressed by an overpowering
ucight, of worldly misery! He ordered
their education accordingly, and dedicated
his undivided attention to it; and as he pos
iscssed, himself, but little of this Morld’s
goods, he doubted not but your father would
at least bestow some portion of them upon
the descendants of a man from whom he
-had obtained all, and whose throne he oc
cupied. His entreaties found no way to the
prince’s heart. Then you, hiq. only son,
ascended the throne. You, at lenst^ he
hoped, having received such signal bounty
from heaven,' and expecting to become the
founder of & race far extending into futurity,
would be willing to deserve such grace, by
showing some commiseration for the last
withering branches of your own stock. But
he received no answer to his repeated sup
plications; and when at last he attempted
to approach your person, your sentinels
thrust him back with their halberds. There-
fore~bas God sent Jhe destroying angel into
your house, whose entrance no sentries can
prevent. But I am anticipating my story.
Attend!” , -f !
,.iThe monarch, trembling with fear and
agitation, sub^prted himself against the
pillar which ^sustained the wide roof. The
coffin-maker Avont on with his narration
without interrupting, his work. “ Just as
my\father received this rude repulse, the
had arrived ^rhen my three eldest bro-
) were to entetf tm the -career that he
eptkselecM'd. for- them. He called us all
jqg’isnrrssagepd,’ said- he, ‘ has determined
j^eKe wished.’ Proceeding
wws with his circumstances,
hri* vonjffl^PWj givelup all ideas of gran
deur, and iontflv the humble vocations which
he had already made choice of for us. We
were silent, because wc,M'ould not distress
our father, but the spipt of the departed
prince burned in the he:
At night we all asc
exprcssibjtmward anxiety betrayed
to our father what w&s passing. On a sud
den he appeared ib the midst of us—as his
six sons stood there in a circle, with their
daggers raised iii their hands to swear, and
their eyes, especially those of the youngest,
though he had not completed his fourteenth
year, flashing with indignation. Our arms
dropped mechanically as he regarded us
with a placid look, and our anger died away
when ho addressed us ; ‘ Children, have I
dedicated ye to the dark deeds of hell! Is
every ray of heavenly light from yonder,
where your mother beckons ye, extinguish
ed in your breasts V Every wrathful feel
ing was eradicated as life spoke, and all
power of Volition destroyed But in pro
portion spirits gre* composed, an in
ward feeds’ darned mtoe anl more to ani-
matetotor fatli* : his ^cs beamed so bright
ly that we durst; scarce look at him ; a spirit
of pfophesy came over him, and with a ter
rible voice he suddenly exclaim'd—‘ Stain
not your hearts and hands! Veageance is
His, He will repay !’ It was dear to us,
then, that we must leave it to God to judge;
and the hands which we had raised to im
precate vengeance, were now uplifted to
confirm the vow that we would never seek
for revenge on the foe who had wronged us
in our parents.’’ ^
Without leaving off his work, the coffin-
maker stopped a second, as if to give the
king time to recover himself-, f 0 r° ho had
swooned away. ’ ^
; Sir,” continued he, “ thc.r^ w?s the
youngest. It was latef at night*.,
separated; I walked ofit into the garden
The weather was sultry, and the atmos
phere exceedingly oppressive; while the
thick darkness was only occasionally re
lieved by the< faint glimmer of a distant flash
broken lily’s stem, the butterfly with torn
wings, and the leafless rose ; and as I en
tered the city, the wailings of the people
bursted upon my ear, and I learned that the
carriage which bore your daughters, three
lovely brides, betrothed to three royal bride
grooms, had been overturned and dashed 4
down a precipice; and just as I reached the
boundary of your parjt, they brought the la
cerated corpses of your beloved children up
on litters* covered with costly canopies,
through the postern entrance. After this, a
long period elapsed. Mightily appeared
your race to wrestle with the destruction that
impeded over it. Powerfully grew your
youngest son, a bold hero in the field of
slaughter. We celebrated the prince’s
nuptial fete. He brought conquests to your
country.; his bed was unblessed. Then
winter laid both meadow and stream in
chains ; all nature reposed ; hut restlessly
raged on the fury of mankind in reckless
bloodshed. I went out into the dark and
deertgreen forest. There was an aspiring
fir,To Avhoge^lofty summit I often locked up
in admiration of the mighty artizan who had
formed so proud a work; its long straight
stem * lay extended at the feet of lowly
shr^B. Then the voice spake, while I
gazo’fl on it full of sorrow—“ Now is the
ax<? Aid to the trunk.” Without delay I l«d upon to contj
1 A _ 1 1 ^ V f- "akw
benf my steps homeward, and scarcely had
I looked on the sculpture of the fallen tem
ple-when the joyous cry of victory resound
ed through the city; but suddenly every
tongue was stilled, and quickly followed the
/hen we. direful news, that the crown prince had fal
len on the field! Not for his own sake has
he aggrandized his kingdom—others will
new possess it. Now, Sir, my story is fin
ished, and I have no more emblems.” The
v . . |*ng cried as if struck with madness. “ And
of lightning.-1/at myself dowi^exhausted Jhastthou nocoffinleft for me f» “ Thou wilt
in spirit and in bedy^ and Cell asleep. Singu-
words which one apparition- had ^ispered
to'ine, echoed articulately and intelligibly
in my soul. ‘ Gird thyself to prepare the
coffins, in which, the unmerciful gticration
shalkhc carriefd to the grave !’ lnd as I
now (Coserved that I had fallen astep be-
neatm^ny favourite rose tree, oj which
wereriqx roses, its first bearing, wich had
all opened in the day and withereqduring
the nightf* I looked upon this as a tjjcen of
the certain fulfilment of my vision. ~
“Like my brothers, I relinquish!! my
ambitious hopes, and entered the m?.c$mor-
ning into: the service cf!a joinedwhoje bu
siness I speedily began,to learn.4 acquaint
ed nobody wiMtln* vyist circ : #mstanc.e of
my dream. I wonfeea»;n4friktigably,**and
when my tipte of servitudet^xpired, wander
ed about in foreign parts s>eking employ
ment as a journeyman. J never gave iny
relations any tidings of me for I knew that
in obscurity alone could I follow my obscure
calling. I obtained reputation as a me
chanist ; then . you * appointed me to your
city. I knew it must so happen ; but a
long time elapsed before I found ’employ
ment, so that I had opportunities of inven
ting curious ornamental devices for coffins,
n« need a coffin,” answered the workman,
“ but permit me try the lid ; let, us see if all
the parts correspond.” He placed the lid
upon the coffin, and examined the work with
the scrutinizing eye of a proficient in his
art. ~**|kThese figures do not harmonize
well,” said he, “ I must chaunt my old bur
then once again”; tlms% ill the work be best
completed. He san.g£- 4
Behold the pit—by mawof sin
A snare for others laid ;
But Fate has called^ and sec, within
His own death-bed is made !
Then hail! Eternal Power!
In whom is placed my trust,
I know thy strength in peril’s hour
Omnipotent and just! -
The king was senseless. Supported a-
gainst the bench, he might, have remained a
long while in that state. When he came
to’tumsclfthe song had ceased, and he was
alone in the workshop. ^ The curious coffin
stood before him, completely finished. The
coffin-maker had disappeared, and from that
hour nobody ever saw him again. Brit the
prince tfjemainedja Jong while standing be
fore thSpbJ&n.; mnd thee looking back up
on hisj^past life,* the gloomy recollection
rase up in his whirling brain, that one day
a memorial was presented to him, and he
felt deep Qommisscration for the indigent
father al\d his six young sons ; but his cour
tiers dissuaded him from affording them re-
busincss; but as I said befor
tunatc phrase ruined him.
How much money was ityou
Wflls. .
Why, a thousand dollars, if o
Mr. Witt
True—my memory is getting br
Well, l had another neighbour at?
A com dealer, Mr. Toms. He hae
favorite phrase, which built hima fine 1-
several ware-houses, and filled illegal
bargain.
You excite my curiosity, Mr. AM
let me hear it.
When I asked him—have y<l
thing by your last purchase^/
Yes, indeed, Mr* Witt, a grfcn'l
ney, at least a hundred doll
time seeing him dejected,
what is the matter, Mr. Toms^
seem in good spirits to day ?
answer, I have met with a hca\
fifty dollars—a great deal of ill
This man began in A small wayj
theless, built a fine house, excc
houses, and filled them bestc
Now which phrase do you lildj
The last, to be sure. %
However; this Mr. Toms, dftn
me altogether, either^ for when he^Q
Or for some^ubimB^rtSV&racnt,
ways a great deal of^money jvith hj
Mr. Gull’s phrase would have -
pos ; for Toms was rich, and conic
ford it. Since then I have at ‘ time
one phrase, at times the othei
the occasion.
Ah ! Mr. Wittjigive me the lincH
and the well filled warehouses.
Let us proceed to business—-Mr/
how much money did you want ? A5jl
deal of money, Mr. Witt—full a thoi
dollars—if you can spare them, r
That will do, Mr. Wills. Wl
want to borrow from a frit
speak like Mr. Toms, whe
upon to assist a friend or contnbut^
useful purpose, you shoui|f”
Gull.
-When
v A *
rasl
and in many an hour olf the night *£ (Kbf» and since then no complaint of their’s
worked up my materials tit cmblamaticf l [ nad reached his ear. Now his last
son
Dissimilation.-
love, they put outi
man who is desirpus of. pleasin
%vorld of care to cojScpal his dtsj
woman knows still better how to c\1
Two personq ofteu£st udv for .six i f
gether how t6 bubble onje anot
last they marry
remainder
lation. .
Promotion•
Ithc
"nnu-
E'very body It
suddenly^ coo ]J
ed to his pla ^ k
At a la,
i were enga/, :
s. I was offered great prices for] was at rest, enclosed in the narrow coffin, j and aflei rO
:—“They are bespoke,” said I,'and buried deep below the earth. The } together,, el
’ ’ ~ 1 ’ king, tired of life, mounted his judgment i fraternal*hug.*
its sen
own asid^ <c B\it no guilt rests upon room of the bouse.-
r. v said the p.^ee, “ I have seen j ther to relinquish life than degrade ourselves
of his grandsons,
to the topmost
ere we resolved ra
sculptures,
my work
“ and must be got ready beforehand, for
such work is not to be performed in the hour
of need.” Nobody understood me; I a-
lone knew what I meant. I was afterwards
appointed coffin-maker to your household.
Now, thought I, business will begin. But
your house’s splendour glowed on with in
creasing lustre; your children grew up in
strength and beauty; and you were esteem
ed the happiest of princes. But the spirit
in me spake—“ They must he exalted high
that their downfall may be the greater” and
I waited patiently for the accomplishment of
that, w hich I knew must come to pass.
“ It happened that one clear spring day I
w'ent out of my w orkshop, ard wandered
through the green meadow^ £*ldenly the
sky darkened above me^and tuj/hail fell
and destroyed the fresh s<jed hat’was just
beginning to shoot. Whil\j I /effected on
the passing scene, a voice within me said,
“ The first things shaif be first sacrinc?^”
\ understood this not, but went home ;—
then the cry of despair assailed my ears.
The twin sons thy wife had first bom thee
were gone ; a malignant disorder had quick
ly swept them away, both in an hour. Then
I thought of the sculpture of the pair of
doves offered up in the temple—and I look
ed them out and fitted them to the coffin in
which your twin sons repose under the cold
sod. —
“ Years rolled on ; it was summer. I as
cended a hill where I was accustomed to
quench my thirst with a fresh draught from
a lucid spring thai; collected in a stone basin,
under the shadow of a lofty beech tree
which stood on the skirts of a mountain
meadoiv. Far extends the glance from
that elevated spot over a flat fertile land,
dotted with innumerable cities and villages,
the fairest portion of your kingdony But
when I had reached the spot, the channel
was dry in which the streamlet used to purl,
and the bason empty. Then spake the
voice—* Now the spring fails.’ I hurried
home, and got ready the sculpture of th»>
parting mother, for I ivell. knew that soon
would your royal spouse decline ; and so it
happened.
“ The circling years again ro]
I stood one day in autumn bert'
vorite tree that you planted
hand ; and while I ga?sd Av/b a
at.its ripening foutt, thd . stc/m j
arms and branches j and
all the fruit fell off. Thcj^uc^gl
the fruit falls.” 1 returqtt^bon
mediately to preparedsculpture]
ife
and shoulders* of the combatants that m
a*
occasion, on the v
parade, a y oun »fa t i|ccr stepped out of the
ranks in extreme gitaUon, to complain that
he had bbeni^l^d. slighted, passed over,
and that he liaaven five years a lie\itenant
without being ale to obtain promotion. \
“ Calm yourself,’haid. the Emperor, “ I was
seven years lieutnant, and yet you see a
man push hiAself forward for all that.”
and the youhg officer,
these few words, retum-
Inecdotes of Napoleon.
r « in tJtbs*, two men who
nding water quarrelled,
t (kistle fell to the ground
M each other Avith a most
l,lw U1 . ,l,c ’ n.- juugmom! eternal nugq Asr^oon as they were down,
seat once again, and commanded those un-1 every man witlim convenient distance rushed
teehng counsellors before him, and punish- , to the spot, audn^d the full water buckets
ed them. He caused the grand children of with such zeal ai$*&xterity upon the heads
his ancestor to be sought for, but none of 1 ’ * ■ - J *
them were to be found in his kingdom.
They dwelt in foreign countries, in the
peaceful enjoyment of domestic happiness,
and despised the gifts Avhich he now
proffered too late. The name of his race
Avas not extinct, but had descended from the
princely dignity to the middle station of life.
Insanity at length seized on the hapless
prince, and when the ocean was raging with
its wildest fury around th^ rocks upon which
his castle raised its lofty turrets, be threw
himself headlong dow n from the battlements
into the foaming flood. His corpse was ne
ver found ; the coffin maker had said, 1 thou
Avilt not need a coffin.’ A boundless ocean
swalloAvs up, at last all generations of men
—some rise above, some sink low. Ye,
who rise, compassionate the sinking, for ye
are supported only by the divine mercy.
N FROM THE GEORGIA COURIER.
A PLEASANT STORY.
One day, Mr. Wills, a young beginner,
requested of Mr. Witt a loan for a specula*
lation which he had in view. Much, he con
tinued, Iydo not calculate to make, by the
speculation, for in these times one has to be
satisfied with small profits, but I must do
something, so I may as well content myself
Avith a little as nothing at all.
This prelude did not please Mr. Witt in
the least. What amount may you stand in
need of Mr. Wills! A trifle, Mr. Witt, not
more than a thousand ^dollars or so.
Well sir, replied Mr., Witt, as it is not
more 1 will assist 'you Avith pleasure, and
to shoAv you that I wish you well I will
add something which shall be Avorth at least
a thousand dollars more to you.—
What could that be Mr. Witt ?
Nothing but a little story my friend.
I had formerly a neighbour, Mr. Gull, a
wine merchant; and a good kind of man
ho was. He had the habit of using a certain
phrase: that unfortunate phrase ruined him.
Sometimes, I Avould ask him, how is it
neighbour Gull; have you made any thing
by the bargain you Avere completing the o-
day ? A trifle Mr. Witt, a merctfrific,
y fifty dollars or so. Another ’time I
y to him quite a failure to day ; I
u are not a loser: no rfof Avorth nien-
a trifle—^five hundred dpi Jars or so.
I first knew, ibis man he was in s good
i
ra /‘
less tliag two < minutes they were both upon
the r fett, “ as cool a| cucumbers,” and en
tirely ffeed from their pugnacious propensi
ties.— .Thus should desert in arins be
croAvncr.” 1
JL
Jlnccdote.—In the Gourt of Oyer andTer-
roincr/on Friday last, a bdoker.being under
examnation, was asked by one of the coun--
se!*w|ipther he belonged . to the honourab,
c°rp*l Ans. I dojjQwJeterminc Avheth
it isJfpnourable—-b9pP?ave been a lawyer,
and am and don’t think I
have >st ka^Brexchange—JY. V F- Paper.
Genius.—“ I know of no such thing as
-• | Hogarth toMr. Gilbert Cooper:
‘ hing but labor and diligence.”
Avion scud himself, “ That if
ever hebeen able to do any thing, he
had effected it by patient thinking only.”
Pride.—If a proud man makes me ke
my distance, the comforts he keeps hi
the same time—Swift.
What Avould be the effect of a poem,
line serious, one burlesque, on one and
same subject, in tragic and comic altera
tion? Would not the reader cry'Avffh dfi/
eye, and laugh Avith the other ?
FeAv Avomen would have chosen to marry
Newton, or Milton, or. Pops ; no comfort
nor rest; always crawling out of bed to note
down their night thoughts : {as for Young,
he never went to bed until morning.
If an unhappy person would not be Avilling
to exchange situations with one whom he
Idew to be happier, it is not, that he Avould
not be glad of many changes in his situar
tion; but because he is not willing to lose
his consciousness, his individuality; it would
be like dying, and living again, without
knowing himself.
There is something exquisitely delicate-in
advertising the elopement of a Wife in
rhyme; though it. is not exactly a novel idea
to be poetical on such occasions. We read
the following in the Flemington (N.) J.)
Gazette:—
My wife in the fall, uhe packed her goods all,
She left me, ahe went in a bluster;
Now plainly I say, her debts. Fttnot pay.
And you ran your oato risk ifyou-iruat her.
SAMUEL Hi SNIPER.
J
