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»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