Newspaper Page Text
»p
POSTS'T.
Fp>m the New Monthly Magazine.
THE ANTIQUE SEPULCHRE.*
BY MRS. HEM AN S.
Ob! ever-joyoua band
Ofjeveliers armtist the Southern vines!
On the jiale marble, by some gifted hand,
. Fix'd in undying lines;
i iiou with the sculptur’d bowl,
And thou that wearest the immortal wreath,
And thou from whose young lip and flute the soul
Of music seems to breathe ;
And ye, luxuriant flowers,
* Linking the dancers with your graceful ties,
And cluster’d fruitage, born of sunny bourn
Under Italian skies.
Ye, that a thousand springs,
And leafy summers, with their odorous breath,
May yet outlast ; wuat do ye there, bright things,
' Mantling the face of Death ?
Of sunlight and soft air,
And Dorian reeds, and myrtles evergreen,
Unto the heart a glowing thought ye bear—
Why thus, where dust hath been ?
Is it to show how slight
. • The bond that severs festivals and tombs,
Musk- and silence, roses and the blight,
Crowns and scpulctuai glooms!
Or, wuen the lather laid
Ilappv ms child’s pale asties here to sleep,
When tiie friend visited the cypress shade,
Flowers o’er the dead to neap.
Say, if the mourneis sought
\ In those ncli images oTsuuuiter mirth,
\ These .vine-cups and gay wreaths to lose the
tooiight
nr oui ij»»t hour on earth?
Ofi Ye have no .oice, no sound,
flutes anu lyres, to tell uie what I seek;
Sdeiu ye are, tight lor.ns with vine-leaves crown’d,
^ Vet to my soul ye speak.
.Alas! for those that lay
Down in too dust without their hope of old!
Backweru they look’d on life’s rich banquet-day,
But ail beyond was coid.
Every sweet wood-note then,
And through the plane-trees every sunbeam’s glow’,
And each glad murmur from the homes of men,
Made it more hard to go.
But we, when life grows dim,
When its last melodics float o’er our way,
Its cbtfhgeful hues belore us faintly swim,
iiJkUitbiig lights decay;
Ev*n though we bid farewell
Unto the spring’s,blue skies and budding trees,
Yet may we lift our hearts, in hope to dwell
Mi«!st/blighter things than these;
And ujunk of deathless flowers,
And of 0fight streams to glorious valleys given,
And know, the while, how little dreams of ours
Caiv shadow forth of Heaven !
1 Les [ sarcopiiagns weme, chez les anciens, ne
portion of his time
ite establishment
* aod tjW gap
den of the one was separated^#!!
grounds of the other by a vyallof ineonsid-
One day ^.whilst lingering
in the walks in the rear orine hospital, his
ear was struck with the plaintive notes of a
voice in the adjacent garden, which sang
the melancholy Irish air of “ Savourneen
Deelish :” curiosity prompted him to see
who the minstrel was, and clambering to an
aperture in the dividing wall, he saw imme-
diately^below him a beautiful girl, who sat
in mournful abstraction beneath a tree,
plucking the leaves from a rose-bush, as she
sang her plaintive air. As she raised her
head and observed the stranger before her,
she smiled and beckoned him to come to
her ; after a moment’s hesitation, and reflec
tion, on the consequence, he threw him
self over the wall and seated himself beside
her. Her mind seemed in a state of perfect
simplic ty; her disorder appeared to have
given her all the playful gentlen ess of child
hood, and, as she fixed her dark, expres
sive eyes on his, she would smile and
caress him, and sing over and over the song
she was trilling when he had first heard her.
Struck with the novelty of such a situation,
and the beauty of the innocent and helpless
being before him, W — stayed lone
\
rappeUen(/<pia-;d£*.HlECs guenires
zmgsm&i
ou nantesOn
representes en tfas^rdiels
/
.g litres are Prom a volume ol
by thfe'Vtite lx- Heber, Bishop of
;d by his widow.
ie to the grave but we will not deplore
darkness encompass the
Though sorrows and
tomb; ,
Thy Saviour has pass’d through the portal before"
thee,
And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the
gloom.
Thou art gone to the grave!—we no longer behold
S thee,
Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy
side;
But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold
thee,
And sinners may lie, for the sinless have died!
Thou art gone to the grave! and its mansion for
saking,
Perchance thy weak spirit ih fear lingered long;
But the mild rays of paradise beam’d on thy waking,
And the sound that thou heardst was the Sera
phim’s song!
Thou art gone to the grave!—but we will not de
plore thee,
Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian and
guide,
He gave the a—He took thee—and He will restore
thee,
And death has no sting, for the Saviour 1ms died!
\
SINGULAR NARRATIVE.
From a letter written at Smyrna, and published in a
late British Journal.
On our return to the hotel, we found the
landlord in a fiery dispute with two English
gentlemen, who had just landed from a
French brig in the bay. One was a fine
looking young man of about four or five and
twenty, but apparently in the last stage of
emaciation and diseaseand his compan
ion, ruther more robust, was endeavouring
persude the Italian host lo give him quar-
|ia in the locanda. This, however, he ob
stinately refused* oil the plea of the young
g3E*hunan’s illness, who was reclining, as
we efttert'd, on a sofa, in a state of enfeebled
exhaustion, with sunken cheek and lus
treless-eye, whilaLAhmlgbate
ceed»ng, «nd the’ landlord with expressive
shrqgs unfeelingly pointed to his miserable
appearance, hqd urged that as a few days
«jjustenqe, he should not
oyahee of his death and
enough to avoid detection, and then return
ed by the same means he had entered the
garden, but not till she had induced him to
promise to come again and see her.
The following day he returned and found
her at the same spot, where she said she had
been singing for a long time before, m hopes
to attract his ear again. He now endea
vored to find out her story, or the cause of
her derangement, but his efforts were una
vailing, or her words so incoherent as to
convey no connected meaning. She was,
however, more staid and melancholy while
he remained with her, and smiled and sigh
ed, and wept and sang, by turns, till it was
time for him to again bid her adieu. With
the exception of those childlike wanderings,
she betrayed no other marks of insanity ;
her aberrations were merely playful and in
nocent : she was often sad and melancholy,
but oftener lively and high spirited.
IV felt an excitement in her pre
sence which he had never known before ;
she Appeared to him a pure child of Nature
in tliev extreme of Nature’s loveliness. She
seemed not as one whom reason had deser
ted, b\^ as a being who had never mingled
with thiO&oHd ; and dwelt in the midst of
its vice and deformity, in primeval beauty
and uncontaminated innocence and affec
tion. His visits were now anxiously repeat
ed and as eagerly anticipated by his inter
esting companion, to whom he found him-
self almost involuntarily, deeply attached,
the more so, perhaps, from the romantic cir
cumstances of the case, and the secrecy
vgfiich it was absolutely necessary to main
tain of the whole affair, so that no ear was
privy to his visits, and no eye marked their
meetings. At length, however, the matter
began to effect a singular change in the
mind of the lady, which became more and
more composed; though still subject to
wanderings and abstraction ; but the new
passion, which was daily taking possession
of her mind, seemed to be eradicating the
cause, or, at least, counteracting the effects
of her malady. This alteration was soon
visible to the inmates of the house, and the
progress of her recovery was so rapid as to
induce them to seek for some latent cause,
and to watch her frequent and prolonged
visits to the garden ; the consequence was,
that at their next meeting, an eye was on
them which reported the circumstance of
W ’s visit, to the Superior of the es
tablishment; an immediate stop was then
put to her return, and the lady’s walks con
fined to another portion of the grounds.
The consequences were soon obvious ; her
regret and anxiety served to recall her dis
order with redoubled vigour, and she eager
ly demanded to be again permitted to see
him. A communication was now made to
tier parents, containing a detail of all the
circumstances—her quick recovery, her re
lapse, and the apparent cause of both ; and,
after some references, it was resolved that
W should be invited to renew his
returned, p
. 80' long a se :
er who had never passed ft
*tid. his remembrance,
family felt for him the warmest gratitude and
affection, from the consciousness that he
had been the main instrument in the resto
ration of their daughter; but the issue of this
interview they awaited with the most pain
ful suspense. She had long ceased to men
tion his name, orbetray any symptom of re
collecting him ; he seemed to have passed
from her memory with the other less impor
tant items of her situation, and this moment
was now to prove to them whether any cir
cumstance could make the stream of memo
ry roll back to this distracted period of her
intellect, From the shock of that inter
view never recovered. She re
ceived him as her family had anticipated ;
she saw him as a mere uninteresting stran
ger ; she met him with calm, cold polite
ness, find could ill conceal her astonishment
at hisagitation and despair of manner, when
he fonnd too truly that he was no longer re-
memUered with the fond affection he had an
ticipated. He could not repress his anxiety
to remind her of their late attachment ; but
she oiily heard his distant hints with asto
nishment and haughty surprise. He now
found that the only step which remained for
him was to endeavour to make a second im
pression on her renovated heart; but he
failed. There was still some mysterious
influence which attached their minds; but
the alliance on her part had totally changed
its former tone, and when she did permit her
thoughts to dwell upon hint, it was rather
with aversion than esteem ; and her family,
after long encouraging his addresses, at
length persuaded him to forego his suit,
which, with a heavy hopeless heart he as
sented to, and badq^her adieu forever.
But the die of his fortune was cast ; he
could no longer walk heedlessly by those
scenes where be. had once spent hours of
window, through which
streaming on hi
lden dies of sunset. \ It
ie corner of Smyrna, and no sound
turbed the calm silent progress of dc
the sun went down at length behind the hills;
the clear calm voice of the Muez:zin from
his tower, came from the distant city, and
again all was repose. We approached the
bed ofW , but his soul had bid adieu
to mortality ; he had expired but a moment
before, without a sigh and without a struggle.
The following day the remains of poor
W were interred in the English bury
ing grdund. The few travellers at the mo
ment in Smyrna attended, and the Janissa
ries of the Consul preceded the coffin, which
was borne by four sailors, covered with an
English ensign.—In a solitary corner of the
cemetry, beside a group of cypresses, his
grave was dug by the attendants of the Bri
tish hospital; and his last remains rested
by those countrymen who have fallen vic
tims to the climate of the Levant. Mr.
Arundel, the chaplain to the factory, read
the service of the church over his tomb ;
and perhaps it never was pronounced under
more melancholy circumstances ; beneath
the calm bright sky of Asia, on an eminence
which looked down on the bustle of the city,
but was far removed from its din and cla
mour, and disturbed by no sound save the
sigh of his friend, the hum of the glittering
insects fluttering in the sunshine, and the
hollow rattle of the clay on the receptacle
of the wanderer’s dust.
t that wi
_ Jftoal
4 thaT*
no fee but
ges. All that the par
.such shall be inserted
bad enough in such a- case
without having to pay for u
gets his fee, the clerk his; the groomsmen
and bridesmaids their bridal favours, and
why should the printer be forgotten.—J\fi-
crocosm.
> not consider
Iti is
'married,
parson
\ must terminate!
V wild have th
M
bed
buthis establishment would lose
^ in the suspicious climate of
an inmate having expired in it.
difficulty that the elder , gentle-
1 permission for him to remain on
t he wept to seek more hospi-
for him ; he succeeded, how-
he evening, the invalid |vas re-
to a house near St. Catharine’s Gar-
are he stretched himself on the
visits and the affair be permi tted to take its
natural course. He accordingly repaired to
the usual rendezvous, where she met him
with the most impassioned eagerness, affec
tionately reproaciied his absence, and wel
comed him with fond and innocent caresses
He now saw her as often as before, and a
second time her recovery was rapidly pro
gressing, tin ar iengitr snews so far restor
ed that her parents resolved tin removing her
to her own home, and she accordingly bade
adieu to her asylum.
There were here some circumstances
happiness ; and he felt that, wander where
he might, that happiness could never return.
At length, to crown his misery, the last ray
of hope was shortly after shaded by the mar
riage of his mistress.*—W now
abandoned every prospect at home, and, in
order to shake off that melancholy which
was gathering like rust around his heart,
went to the Continent; but change of scene
is but a change of ill to thosewho must bear
with them the cause of their sorrow, and
find within that aching void the world can
never fill. He hurried in vain from one
scene of excitement to another ; society
had no, spell to soothe his memory, and
change no charm to lull, it; “ Still slowly
passed the melancholy day, and still the
stranger wist not where to strayat length
he joined the cause of the struggling Greeks
and his name has been often and honoura
bly mentioned amongst the companions of
Lord Byron at Missolonghi. After his Lord
ship’s death he still remained in Greece,
but his constitution was too weak to permit
him to be of active service as a Palikari
He had, therefore, taken a post in the garri
son, which held possession of the castle anc
town of Navarino, in the Morea, and was
wounded in the action at Sphacteria, in the
summer of 1825. The unskillful manage
ment of a native surgeon during his confine
ment in the fortress, previous to its surren
der to Ibrahim Pacha, and a long and dan
gerous fever from the malaria of Pylos
combined with scanty diet and bad atten
dance from his Greek domestics, united
with his broken spirit to bring on a rapid
consumption. It was under these circum
stances that Mr. R— , who now ac
compared him, had found him at a village
in the district of Maina, and had since paid
him every attention in his power. By can
tious management and gentle voyages he
had brought him to Hydra, where he was
enabled to procure him a passage in a French
vessel, from whence he hoped to find a Bri
tish ship to land him in England, where his
last moments might be watched by friendly
eyes, and his bones rest with his fathers.
The particulars of his inhospitable reception
here I have already recounted ; but we at
last saw him fixed under, the care of an old
French officer at Smyrna, who engaged to
pay him every requisite attention, till he
should depart for Europe, or another world
SWEETS OF MATRIMONY.
We send you here a little cake
For you to feast upon,
That you may set our marriage up
Without a sigh or groan.
Doggerel.
We have frequently read of these delicate
condiments in romances, and we hope have
had our share of them in real life, but there
is one unquestionable shape in which they
present tjhemselves to the printer, thougl
ired on^** rise, as ne
irsofhis s& ,,owin g da .V- The parti-,
L‘ : *1 * X. flC flimr a-
was ^lever to rise, as he
us by his com
circumstances ofhis
as they were related to
thing peculiariy mqlancholr2fi a,ned S ? me
«is name was W-
apeatleman in gpateq, is
gmally destined for the pa^ssion
ctne, in the preparatory for wl £jT
had made? considerable advancement. Ti
happened that the hospital i n which
jq^thc habit of attending clinical '
which W-
—’s companion, Mr. R. rela
ted indistinctly, or of which I retain but an
imperfect recollection; and he who could
alone have informed me of them was gone
to his long home before I heard his singular
story. It appeared, however, that, after
some farther intercourse, he was obliged
to be absent from Ireland for some time,and
during that interval, the progress of her mind
to perfect collecledness continued uninter
rupted ; but her former memory seemed to
dec y with her disease, and she gradually
forgot her lover. Long protracted illness
bmori _with_Jjie ensued, andJher spirits and constitution
‘ ‘ seemed to droop ~^th exiiaufelioh alter their
former unhealthy excitement, till at length
after a tedious recovery from a series
relapses, her ^faculties were perfectly
restored; but every trace of her former situa
tion, or the events which had occurred du-
and residence in Dublin had
from Jier memory, nor
venture to touch her
em.
The following day we called to see
W— , but we found that human sympa
thy would soon cease for him; the step of
death was already on the threshhpld. The
surgeon of H. M/ S. Cambrian had been to
see him, # but all prospect of his surviving
had fled. The fatigue of his removal from
the vessel, his exposure to the sun in the
boat whilst landing, and his annoyance
the inn; seemed to have hurried down t
few remaining sands of his glass, and he
felt himself that time was dewing to a close
with hjm. He was perfectly collected, and
as fully as he could, was giviug his last di
rections to his friend,, who had so generous
ly attended him; he spoke much'of his fa
mily, jmd gave particular mess'ages to each
pointi
trinlo
out to R-
the various little
memor
he wished to send them as dying
Is of himself; a ring which he still
wore oil his finger, and which bore the in
scription “ To the memory of my dear
mother,*, he desired might be buried with
him, togkher with a locket which was sus
pended from his neck, and contained a lock
of raven hrir he did not mention whose.
But words <tould not paint the expression of
countenance, nor the sad sublimity of other.
“ like angel’s visits, few and far between,”
that calls for his special acknowledgement.
We refer to those substantially fungous and
saccharine compounds of spiced and har
moniously variant ingredients, concornitated
according to the most approved recipes of
those distinguished culinary philosophers
Mrs. Glass, Dr. Kitchener, or “ my grand
mother,” and designed as an offering upon
the Altar of Hymen, preparatory to his in
serting in his register the united names
table TALK.—On thecustom of marrying
with a ring.—The custom of marrying with
a ring seems to have beqn first borrowed
from the Homans among whom, it was usu
al for the' man to give his intended a small
token of this sort, as a sign of the contract
between them. Thus Juvenal,
Commentum tamen, et pactrnn, et sponsalia.nota
Tempastate paras, jamque a tonsore megistro
Pecteris, et digito pignvs fortasee dedisti.
The ring itself was, in Pliny’s time, of plain
iron, without any stone in it, but came after
wards, as it ought, to be made of gold. Anil
this it seems, the engaged fair one always-
wore in open sight, as a sort of caveat emp--
tor or notice to all concerned that she was no
longer in the market. And, by the way,
this practice was obviously both honest and
convenient, as it served to put sober gentle
men on their guard against the possible airs
of coquettes. And accordingly, we find
that the good father Tertuilian allows his
Christian convert to wear it and says very
beautifully of her, “ aurum nulla morah prac-
ter unico digito quam sponsus oppignorasset
pronuha annulo —that is “ she wore no
gold except upon the single finger which her
heirotlied had circled with his mairimoniaf
.” Afterwards however, it seems the
ring was only given at the time of marriage,
and then having lost its original use, it came
to be looked upon as Hooker saith, only as
little symbol “ to testify mutual love or
rather to serve for a pledge of conjunction in
heart and mind agreed upon between them.”
Still t is a very pretty mystic type and
suggests a great deal to a lively fiincy. Thus
being round, it is obvious a symbol both of
perfection and of eternity: having neither
beginning nor end that we can see, is, of
course, a proper emblem of love that usual
ly begins (except in some romantic cases,}
without notice, and ought always to be
without end. ■ *
of
his votaries. Mr. Hymen’s register, how
ever, is merely a figurative, fanciful con
cern. It is the printer to whom the world
looks for proof that the endearing knot is
tied. Without this, the mysterious and so
lemn, yet simple ceremony, that gives lo
two beings but one name, a unity of exis
tence, and sets the seal to their weal or wo
loses half its consequence. A wedding
and no mention of it in the next morning’s
paper, is a mere blank. The fact is doubt
ed or dqnied by all who did not witness the
ceremony, while those who- did, wonder if
the parties are not half ashamed to let the
public know they are married. A wedding,
and no notice of it by the printer, remains
as unknown, unhonored, and unsung as
Achilles would be without Homer, iEneas
without Virgil, or a lottery broker without
advertisements. But Homer and Virgil
wrote for their own fame, as well as that of
their heroes, and the broker looks to the
profits, while the printer who sets up a mar
riage, is generally left to stick his types to
gether at a late hour of night, to give “ a lo
cal habitation and name” to some marriage
at which others have piped and he has not
danced, feasted and he has not tasted
crumb, drank (we mean wines and ladies
cordials) and he has remained dry. “ Ah
who can tell how hard it is” for the printer,
when called upon by an empty handed
groomsman to unlock his form at the hour
all other forms are locked in sleep, and
squeeze in the important fact that Miss——
has quarrelled with her own name, and that
Mr. :— has supplied her with one she
promises to like a great deal better, and
which he has promised she shall never see
cause to repent having assumed. It is quite
wonderful how much this task is sweetened
by a bridal favor, in the form of a slice of
rich cake, smilingly presented, by one of
love’s ministers, from the happy pair. The
very ink that gives the impression assumes
a brightness as if reflected from the frostings
of the cake, and the blushing bride and hap
py bridegroom, when they read, with that
delightful consciousness which can never
be felt but ones, their own names insepara
bly united as their hearts and hands have
been in that bond which then appears as the
consummation of eveiy wish, the promise of
every bliss, may enjoy the reflection that the
first record of their union has been made in
cheerfulness instead of vexation and reluc
tance, so dissonant to evipry thing that should
be connected with that auspicious event.
The evening of our last publication we
were agreeably sensible of the value of bri
dal favor connected with a request to insert
a marriage, especially when coming as this
did, written in a distinct hand upon a neatly
folded billet attached to an envelope con
taining a liberal portion of. rich cake, and a
heart frosted (as we trust the hearts of tho.<?^
>
Cravats.—Sterne, in his Sentimental
Journey, remarks that “the French con-
ceive, better than they combine,” which ie Mb
indeed true; but it is not thence to be -ih-: ^
ferred that they do not combine tolerably
well, notwithstanding. The contrary is the?
fact. Witness Cuvier’s theories, Villele’s
politics, Ude’s cookery, Monsieur Colbm-
bin’s cosmetics, and madame Bequet’s fash
ions. But if the point had been doubtful
before, it is settled now ; for, a book has
been published in Paris entitled : “ The art
of putiing on a cravat in thirty-four different
ways, with the author’s portraitwhich
latter, by the way, is no doubt adorned with
a neckcloth in his very best style. Now,
if this work does not display a talent at
combination, we know nothing of the mat
ter. Quere—Would not a translation be in
request among our own CJi trailers des modes ?
—Cravat tying has hitherto been one of the
most mysterious of all arts,; more difficult
tolearn than the interpret?«ion of the Egyp
tian hieroglyphics, and harder to execute
than to rival the cartoons of Raphael. Its
perplexities set genius and sleight of hand
equally at defiance. Gentlemen who are
comme ilfaut at ever}’ thing else, are pro-
vokingly puzzled in this important affair.
We have known young blades that aspire to
lead in matters of taste, and who make them
selves almost rank with civit and musk, to
throwaside in a pet at least a half dozen
pieces, fresh from the bureau, which they
have tortured to suit their fancy, in vain ;
and to retain a seventh only because they
found their beau ideal to be out of the reach
of their practical skill. And, badinage apart,
what contributes more to a finish of bust
and a dignity of presence, than a cravat suit
ed to the neck with tact and grace ? We -
repeat that the new author on Cravats ^
likely to become popular—if no where qjse,
at any rate among all dandies in distress.
of
his
his voice, when; fpr the last time, he feebly
grasped the hand of ►his affectionate
friend, thanked hini for all his .former’kind
ness, arid hade him his last mortal farewell;
he shortly:-after sank into an apparent!
painless lethargy, from which he hev6
roused himself. It, was.evening befor.
died ; there was "riot a breath of wind to
wave tbo branches of the peach-trees around
In tWb other recent instances, simi
lar favours have greeted us; an example
which we hope will become as . contagious
for the benefit of printers, as the frequency
of the union of the y.oung, the sympathetic
and the happy, will be the prosperity of. so-
cidty : of course we presume only swc/i wil)
wish to have their marriages recorded.
‘Thosewho wed from convenient or son
motives cannot be expected fo ^exe
'■iemm
Tender Courtship.—The young ladies of
New Caledonia, and the adjacent islands,
repair w ith patriarchal simplicity to the wells
and fountains of their neighbourhood for wa
ter. When a youth has seen and conceiv
ed a passion for one of them, he repairs to.
the fountain, and lies in ambush in the thick
et or behind a rock. As the lady approach
es with her pitcher, and stoops to draw the
water, her lover, taking advantage of her
when she is in the most defenceless posture,
rushes upon her, and strikes her down with
a club. Then seizing her by the hair of the J
head, he drags her aw r ay wounded and bleed-
ing, to his hut, and '“thus she becomes his
wife.—-TVeekly Review.
We laugh at Indian names ; but are they
not often more sensible than our own ? not a
mere sound, but specifying individuality of
character, . Nor w r ould they look so inter-
„ _ v — ... _ minablefuid we not from ignorance of thp.ir
for whom it was made, may never be,) though language, blend distinct sounds into one
as pleasant to the tasto and attractive to the 1 ' m '* 4 ”
eye as we hope they niay ever be to each
word.
Eliot, (anagram 7oi7c,).the mi
e Indian “savages,” wh
ible into Indian, with on"
pen* give us, among others of their ses ,
pedili a verba, the following, I conceive erro-
evvord: ' Kummogkodonqttoot-
gannnnuonawf»
'Tl^Pcet Horace,, says :
letcctor of men’s hearts