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the greatest musical edfes-t of modern times;
and as such I practised it la-day ; and, un
known to manrsgcr or author.T and the
band prepared this surprise. But the au
thor is not here. Poor and despairing, he
is at home lamenting his unappreciated ef
forts! Let us awake him; let him learn
that the generous people of dVferseillescan
understand and feel great music- Come,
let all who l have hearts follow nie, and
chant the mighty song as we go.’ An 1 1
Claudine, stepping across the orchestra,
landed in the pit, and bareheaded, light
dressed as she was, rushed towards the
door, followed by every spectator, and by
the musicians, who, however, put on their
hats, and even threw a cloak and cap on
ihe excited and generous young songs
tress.
Meanwhile the composer's dreadful re
solve was being carried out. The horrid
fumes of the charcoal filled the room ; soon
they began to consnme and exhaust the
pure air, and the wretched youth felt all
the pangs of coming death. Hunger, ex
haustion, and despair, kindled a kind of
madness in his brain ; wild shapes danced
around him ; his many songs seemed sung
altogether b> coarse, husky voices, that
male their sound a punishment; and then
the blasted atmosphere*oppressing his chest,
datkening his vision, his room seemed
tenanted by myria Is of infernal and de
formed beings. Then again he closed his 1
eyes, and soft memory stealing in upon
him, showed him happy visions oi his
youth, of his mother, of love, and hope,
and joy; of green fields; and the murmur
ing brooks which had at first revealed
melody to his soul; and the young man
thought that death must he come, ail I that
he was on the threshold of a better world.
But an awful shout, a tremendous clam
our, bur-t on his car; a thousand voices (
roar beneath his window. The young
man staits from his dream : v. hat is this he ,
hears 1
** Aux arm : lit ye ,
Koruiez \o batailio.is,” &c.
“ What is this ?’’ lie cries. My Song
of the Rhine!”
He listens. A beautiful and clear voice j
is singing; it is still his song, and then the i
terrible chouis is taken up by the people ; j
and the poor composer’s first wish is gain
ed ; he feels that he is famous.
But he is dying, choked, stifled with
charcoal. He lies senseless, fainting on
his bed ; but hope ami joy give him strength.
He rises, falls, rather than darts across the
room, his sword in hand. One blow shiv-
I
ers the panes of his window to atoms; the
broken glass lets in the cool sea breeze
and the splendid song. Both give life to
the young man; and when Claudine enter
ed the room, the composer was able to
stand. In ten minutes he had supped in j
the porter's lodge, dressed, and come out.
to he borne in triumph h ick to the theatre,
where that night he heard, amid renewed
applause, his glorious song sung between
every act, and each time gaining renewed
laurels.
Ten days later, Rouget de L’lsle was j
married to Claudine, the prima donna of
Marseilles; and the young composer, in
gratitude to her and her countrymen,
changed the name of his song, and called
it by the name it is still known by—“ The
Marseillaise!’’
L\ Jj'jsUiiJjjA ffiB&CTEL
THE FIRST MESMERIZER:
—OR, —
XVhy’Squire Jones lost his scat in the church.
One bright morning in the latter part of
18 —, the usual quiet of the little village of
A was disturbed by the appearance of
a dashing buggy, drawn by two horses ala
tandem The showy equipage, dashing
round the corner, drew up in style before
tlie tavern door. Now as all travelers who
stopped at the tavern were compelled to
turn this corner, it was the grand rendez
vous of all the village gossips and idlers.—
Here they collected to crack their jokes at
the expense of each other, and the way
farers who came into the village. Another
attraction was afforded in the form of a lit
tle groggery. This place had a couple of
doors facing the street, over each of which
hung a large red sign, whereon was paint
ed, in large gold letters, the imposing ap
pellation of “ The Rialto.” —The vehicle
had no sooner turned the corner of “ The
Rialto” than the crowd which usually liung
about that place rushed to the corner, and
strained their eyes to catch a glimpse of the
objects of tbeir curiosity. They watched
till the baggage was taken out, when they
returned to their seats and began to ex
change their opinions as to the intentions,
business, and destination of the travelers.
Nothing, however, was determined upon
until one asked the ’squire what he thought
about it.
“ Why, gentlemen,” said he, “ I know
my ‘pinion aint much, because
Tin a plain onlettered man, but 1 thinks
that fellow is some town dandy and his
ooni.vn gwiiic to the Springs.”
The ‘squire’s opinion was law’ with the
crowd, and everybody felt satisfied that the
’squire was right ’Squire Jones was dea
con of the Baptist Church, Justice of the
Peace, and oracle of the village. He had
risen to the first of these stations by means
of a long face, and the proper ap|>earanee
of his visible life. The last two he had
gained through the medium of “ The Rial
to.” His manner of electioneering was
similar to that practised at the present day
A few drinks were given away and the do
nee was his lasting friend. The ’squire was
very severe upon the vices of the age, and
especially reprobated swearing. The near
est which he had ever-been known to ap
proach to swearing, was in the use of his
favorite and only oath, “ Dang my buttons.”
Why it was that he always swore by his
buttons no one ever knew. The ’squire
was a conceited little man—short, fat and
round. He was very cross before dinner;
tlw**c persons who were at litigation within
(he limits of his jurisdiction never brought
their cases up until after that meal. He
never failed to annex the “J. P.” to his
name, and always accompanied it by an om
inous flourish, which of itself would have
disclosed the fact which he was so anxious
to have known
Such was ’squire Jones. Evory village
has one such.
Curiosity was now at its pitch, and the
loafers had passed and repassed a dozen
times before the tavern door, in the hope
of getting a better view of the town dandy.
At last he came out, and walked directly
up to the corner. Entering “ The Rialto,”
he took a drink, and then pasted upon a
large China tree, just opposite the door, the
following bill: —
MESMERISM!
DR. BRIGHAM,
(Th celelmited Mesmeric Operator,) *nd IjwJy
have the honor to announce to the
CITIZEN’S OF A*****,
that they will pve a lecture on Mesmerism at the
Academy This Evening, at 7 o'clock.
f*rice srt cents--children, half-price.
Scptcmf>er 2*, 18--. f Scrotta. F,
The Dr. had no sooner left the tree than
it was surrounded by a perfect host of men
and boys, all anxious to know what sort of
show it was. The ‘squire read the bill at
least a dozen times, and had it not been for
his explanation of it, but few would have
I known, until they saw for themselves, what
mesmerism was.
“ Dod drot it if I know what mesmerism
is,” said a tall, strapping fellow who bore
the cognomen of Ned Mann ; “ tell us what
| it is, ‘squire. If anybody knows you docs.”
“Oh yes!” said half a dozen voices,
•• tell us, ’squire The ’squire’s my man!”
j “ Is it a succus, ’squire ? ” and many other
such inquiries came in from all sides.
The ‘squire, who was elevated upon a
’ pine box, thus gave his “private ‘pinion” to
the crowd :
“ Mv private ‘pinion is,” said he, “that
mesmerism is a Zoological Farnology Lec
tor’ That’s mv ‘pinion, gentlemen. And
dang mg buttons if I aint a-gwine, too!”
“ So ain I,” “and I,” “and 1,” cried a
dozen voices. “ Hurrah, boys, for the Zoo
logical Farnology Lectur’,” and the hats
flew up into the air like dust in a windy,
day.
“ The Rialto man ” was busy all day in
changing bills into halves and quarters, and
that night Dr. B. beheld a large, if not, in
telligent audience. The Lecture being ov
er, Mrs. Brigham took her seat, and the Dr
immediately commenced operations. In
about two minutes the lady dropped back
in her chair, and was apparently fast asleep.
The passes were then made, and the Dr.
rose and requested some gentleman of well
known respectability to come forward and
see that all things were done fairly. All
eyes were turned upon the ‘squire, and he j
took his seat upon a bench near by, where, j
to use his own language, lie could “ see the !
motions.” Dr. B. then handed the ’squire 1
a pin, and requested him to plunge it into j
Mrs. B.’s arm. lie complied, but no signs !
of pain whatever were exhibited. Those ;
who had doubted the truth of the Dr.’s |
statements, in his lecture, (the ’squire with :
the rest,) now began to yield. The next
experiment was made upon the operator,
and the audience perceived that when the \
’squire stuck the pin into the Dr. he made
some remark as to its hurting, and the la-:
day jumped!
“ The reason of this singular phenome
non,” said the Dr., “is because a constant
I stream of electricity is running from me to
Mrs. 8., upon which the pain glides.”
A number of other experiments were
tried, which had the effect of making the
I good people open their eyes and mouths
| wider than they had ever been stretched
before. But when the Dr. commenced
| making his experiments in the department,
| of the will there was no end to their aston
| ishment.
“ The first thing,” said lie, “ which I will
Mrs. B. to do, is to blow out the candle
which I hold in my hand.”
Standing oil’ behind his wife, the Dr.
looked at her with all the force of his eyes,
and presently she rose, and, advancing to
I to her husband, blew out the candle as he
had willed.
A murmur of applause went round—the
’squire swore by his buttons that he did n’t
know how that was done, and the whole
crowd began to be anxious about their safe
ty. They feared a man who had so much i
power. Dr. B. then took the watch of a
I gentleman, and, holding it up before the au
; dience, said:
“ Ladies and gentlemen, I hold in un
hand a silver watch, with three hands and
a silk chain. I will my wife to de scribe it.”
Mrs. B. complied, and the crowd were
! now in extacies. But ’squire Jones, who
saw how things were now working, was
not so much astonished. The first hint
I which lie had of deception, was an inclina
of the lady to laugh, which she only pre
: vented by coinpressing her lips tightly to
gether ; and even then she could not pre
i vent an occasional smile from escaping her.
The ’squire was ambitions to be mesmer
ised. lie knew that if he succeeded, it
w ould increase his importance tenfold. As
soon, therefore, as Mrs. B. was roused, lie
went up to the Dr. and requested his yeer
for a few moments. He then proposed to
be mesmerised. “ I see how the thine is
worked,” said he, “and ’twill be a good
joke to carry out the deception a little far
ther.”
The Dr. saw that it was useless to deny
anything. They returned to the stand, and
l)r. Brigham announced that he would now
proceed to mesmerize ‘squire Jones.
This proceeding, however, was strenu
ously opposed by the “ old lady Jones” and
her daughters.
“ You ’squire Jones,” said the old lady,
“ you ’squire Jones, you’d better not!” and
she shook lier finger menacingly at him—
“ I tell you, you’d better not 1”
“ MTi)-. Betsey, honey,” Said the ‘squire.
11 ©ill®®®
“ you need n’t be afeard. No harm can’t
come of it M ho’s afeard ?”
“ Are you crazy, ’squire Jones ?” she re
turned, “or what upon yearth do you
mean! You'd look nice,gwine up to be mes
merised ,wouldn’t ye l You’d better be at
home a-sayin’ of yer prayers, an’ I wouldn’t
lie s’prised if you got turned out of the
church by it yet. If you goes up, ‘squire
Jones, and gits to sleep anil does n’t never
wake up no more, don’t you blame me for
it!”
In spite of opposition up went the ’sqnire,
and in a few moments he was fast asleep.—
The same experiments were tried on him.
with the same success, and only one more
remained. It was the experiment with the
pin. Ned Mann acted as inspector of af
fairs, and to him the operator now handed
the pin.
He approached the sleeping ‘squire with
caution Then drawing back his arm, with
force sufficient to have stunned an ox, he
drove the instrument up to the head in the
calf of the ’squire’s leg.
The effect was electrical. Up jumped
the ’squire perpendicularly, to the height
of about three feet, and he alighted in a sit
ting posture upon the bench where sat his
wife and gals. Over went the bench, and
with it the old lady and all. “ Oh Lordy,”
said the old lady, “ I’m kilt! I’m kilt!”
It were useless to attempt a description
of the melee which ensued. Above all was
heard the yell of ’squire Jones, as he ex
claimed ;
“ Ouch! that hurt, and n you ! You tar
nal fool, you niought a-knowed I wasn’t a
sleep good ! I was jest waking up when
you stuck me. Dang my buttons it’ 1 aint
a good mind to walk right into you.”
“ Hurra for the ’squire 1” cried the voice
of a dozen, while “Go it, ole boss!” “At
him, Blaze!” “Help up the old lady!”
“Where’s the gals?” “Go it, ’squire!”
“ Down with Zoology !” was heard all over
the room.
Order was a last restored, and Dr. B.
begged ten thousand pardon—the ‘squire
was soon pacified. He was aware that he
had let slip a word not very consistent in a
deacon of a church, yet he flattered himself
that none had heard him. But he was mis
taken. A jealous brother deacon heard and
noted down the word, and, also, the. testi
mony of a half dozen others.—The “ Zoo
logical Farnology Lectur’ ’’then closed,and
all went home well satisfied with the eve
ning’s entertainment. The next day the
Dr. and his lady left the v illage.
But the matter did not end here. On
the following Sunday, the ’squire, the old
lady, and the gals, made their appearance
at church, as usual. After the service was
over, a conference was held to judge of the
’squire’s conduct. The evidence was so 1
conclusive that he threw himself upon the
“ mercy of the court.” He was sentenced
to six months’ suspension, and be returned 1
home a crestfallen man.
“ I told you so !” said old Mrs. Jones. “ I
said you’d get turned out for it, and what I
said is jes so 1”
“ Dang my buttons!” said tlie old man, j
“ I guess I’ll never go to another Zoological
Farnology Lectur’. If I do, dang my but
tons!”—Wheler’s Southern Monthly.
ip and sis a y ,
For Richard*’ Weekly Gazette.
FLORENCE DOM BEY.
She wai the b autiful little ruse V>utl of the
room. —Pombey & So\.
Upon his face, her soft blue eyes
Were fixed with mournful gaze—
With cheering tones and wo.ds she tri<*s
HU drooping heart to ra se ;
She breathed the incense of a love
As pure as Heaven could give,
Anl sent her angel prayer above —
*• OLi! that poor Fuul would live ! ”
With tearful eyes <!e< p fixt and on Floy,
11c felt the fleetii g breath
Grow feebler. “ Hope, sister, joy !”
Must nil be left for death ?
Oh ! softly, slowly, calmly stole
Death's hand along his face ;
While upwards went his quitting soul —
Up to its place !
But Florence, alone, for many years
Must meet the storms of life—
Alone! through sorrow and through tears,
Amid this earthly strife :
No hop.- to cheer—no heart to ad
No hand to help her on ;
Os a father, oh ! she was a'raid,
Foe he loved but his son !
But when night's dirlust, oft appears
The light of coini ig day—
So Florences smile, through saddest tears,
Through gloomiest hours, was gay.
Oh, Florence ! the future s| eaks to you
With a glad and clicorlul voice ;
For oh! thou shall be hi] py too,
With the husband of thy choiae.
O. A. Lochrane.
—i i
For Richard*’ Weekly Gazette.
TO E., ON RECEIVING A FLOWER.
The flowrcUs bloom is withered,
The tiowret’s leaves are dead ;
The llowret’s beauty faded,
But its fragrance has not tied.
A fragrance that enchants the heart ,
Oh ! never may its power depart.
I'll keep this blessed token,
From one so fair, and pure,
Wc dream that she hath wandered,
From a far, sinless shore.
Angels, they say, ha\e sometimes trod,
Eanh's darkened and polluted sod.
This withered flow ret, lately,
Grew on its parent st m ;
And heaven bedewed it nightly,
With many a pearly gem.
Thus, fairer Flower! within thy breast.
All holy thoughts like dew-drops rest.
There is a true affection.
That knows no sordid end ;
in whose unselfish elements
No baser feelings blend.
’Mid human wrong and human ill,
Love's Jlowcr will bloom unfading s ill,
V H. 11.
Greenville, S. C. Sept 1819.
a s 3 gsi -i i w a s.
PdF.TI.Y OF A STEAM ENGINE.
There is, to our thinking, something aw
fully grand in the contemplation of a vast
steam-engine. Stand amid its ponderous |
beams and bars, wheels and cylinders, and
watch their unceasing play; how regular
and how powerful! The machinery of a
lady’s Geneva watch is not more nicely ad
justed—the rush of the avalanche is not
more awful in its strength. Old Gothic ca
theJralsare solemn places, preaching solemn
things ; hut to him who thinks, an engine- |
room mav preach a more solemn lesson still.
It will tell him of mind—mind wielding
matter at its will—mind triumphing over j
physical difficulties—man asserting his ‘■
great supremacy—“intellect battling with
the elements.” And how exquisitely com
plete is every detail! —how subordinate ev- j
ery part towards the one great end ! —how
every little bar and screw fit and work to
gether! Vast as is the machine, let a holt
be but the tenth part of an inch too long or
too short, and the whole fabric is disorgan
, ised. It is one complete piece of harmony ,
—an iion essay upon unity of design and i
execution. There is deep poetry in the
steam-engine—more of the poetry of mo
tion than in the bound of an antelope—
more of the poetry of power than in the
dash ol’a cataract. And ought it not to he
a lesson to those who laugh at novelties,
and put no faith in inventions, to consider
that the complex fabric, this triumph of art
and science, was once the laughing stock
of jeering thousands, and once only the |
waking phantasy of a boy’s mind as he sat 1
iand in seeming idleness, watchel a little
column of vapor rise from the spout of a
tea-kettle ?— llluminated Magazine.
■■ -4
Quicksilver ntoM China. —This metal
—so extensively employed in medicine, in
the amalgamation of the noble metaD. in
| water-gilding, the making of vermilion, the
silvering of looking-glasses, the filling of
| barometer and thermometer tubes, &c.—has
hitherto been imported chiefly from Spain,
i Germany, and Peru. Now, however, there
is a prospect of its being obtained from Chi
na. some of the provinces of which have
been long known to yield it inconsiderable
abundance. One of the main novelties in
i the Chinese import consists in the mode of
package, the metal being simply poured in
to a piece of bamboo, about a foot long and
ihree inches thick, having each end firmly
; closed with rosin. This rude form or pack
age is found quite as serviceable asthe iron
bottle in which mercury is usually brought,
while it is lighter, and in every way more
convenient for shipment. Specimens were
recently shown in the London market: and
| from the remunerating prices which they
brought, it is expected that renewed ship
ments of the article to Europe will take
place, on an extensive scale.
i Natural Musical Telegraph.—The
i natives on some parts of tlie African
! Coast hold dialogues at great distances by
| means of little reed flutes. They are said
to be able to communicate to the distance
of several miles, where the locality is fa
vorable to the resonance of sound. The
Ashar.teesand the Cameroons convey intel
ligence to a great distance, by beating cer
tain understool taps upon the drum. Tiie
war drum is used in the villages to give
warning of danger to distant places. The
savage ear is more instinctive to sound than
that of the civilized European, yet civili
zed in this respect far outshines barbaric
instinct, for while certain understood sounds
may be communicated to a great distance,
on the hanks of the Niger—the whole move
ments of an army may be regulated by a
bugle, on the Thames.
Chinese Astronomy. —The only astro
nomical fact, to which we can refer to fix
the antiquity of Chinese astronomy, is a re
markable conjunction of five planets in one
constellation, said to be recorded in their
annals, as having taken place about 2500
1 years before our era. Now it can be shown,
that such a conjunction must have taken
place in the year 2440 B. C., which proves
that this record is not fictitious, because
the Chinese have never possessed sufficient
knowledge of the theory of astronomy to
determine this by calculation, after it had
taken place. From about this time until
about 480 years B. C. astronomy was liber
ally patronized by the Chinese emperors;
and a knowledge of the science was sure to
raise its possessor to tlie highest offices in
the empire.
Great Land Emigration Scheme.—A
New York letter to the Philadelphia In
quirer says:
Letters have been receive! by the last
steamship from the agents of the North
American Land Company, which says
that a similar company has been establish
-led in London and one in Germany, and
that both associations will co-operate with
the company established in this city. That
the agent in Germany has already entered
into contracts to forward 10,000 emigrants
during the present year, an I that arrange
ments are also on foot foi another organ
ization in Paris.
Politeness.—General Burgoyne, dining
with Gen. Gates, immediately after the sur
render of the former to the latter, anil hear
■ ing General Schuyler named among the
officers presented to him, thought it neces
sary to apologize for the destruction of his
-.elegant mansion, a few days before, by his
orders. “ Make no excuses. General,” was
the reply, “1 feel myself more than com
pensated by the pleasure of meeting vou at
this table.”
Refinement.—Persons who by their
! meanness were formerly spoken of as “small
i potatoes, and few in a hill,” are now re
garded as “diminutive tubers, and sparse
in the mundane elevation.”
iffli]3BßlLlL£lgnr
CHAPTER ON LOVE.
The following admirable passage is |
taken from Mrs. Ellis's new novel of
“ Hearts and Homes.”
Will the young reader endure for a mo
ment a few grave hints on a subject which ,
is too frequently placed beyond the pale of j
reasoning; by some parties thought ton ;
sacre I, by others too trifling, by a'l unsuit
able for the exercise of the reasoning pow
ers 1 And consequently that which forms
at one time or another in the experience of |
every human being a large portion of the
business of human life—that which above
every other tendency, impulse, or passion,
decides their destiny for this world, and 1
often for the next—that which attaches
them by indissoluble ties of relationship,
home, and society—that which constitutes
their bane or their blessing, their happiness
or their misery, which enters alike into
their success or their failure, and is equally
capable of accelerating both—that is not
to he looked into with serious eyes, hut is
left for the gossip of the young, and jest of
the vulgar, and the scorn of the would-be
I wise.
One word, therefore, of serious earnest
; ness on this forbidden subject—one word
]of quiet reasoning, and of simple truth,
i may surely he borne with, for the sake of
the variety which it presents in the accus
; tomed mole of treating a somewhat popu
lar theme. One word—and it is this.—
j There are two distinct ways of becoming
j entangled in a love affair: there is love
j itself- a holy, and a precious thing : an f
\ there is the love of being loved—a mean
I --a greedy—a devouring passion where it
exists without the act of loving, and where
it demands so costly a thing as a human
heart, with all its warm and generous af
i lections, to satisfy the hunger of a selfish
: vanity.
It is on these unequal groan Is that the
I young so often mix in society, and that
| such fearful and fatal mistakes are conse
| quently made. The false passion exhibits
all the outward symptoms of the real one,
and what renders discrimination between
j the two more difficult, is that it often, if
, not always, is in some mea.itre mixed with
j it; for to love, and not to desire to be loved
j in return, would be as little ir. accordance
with reason as with nature.
It is on these unequal, and false grounds,
that women sometimes dare to marry; anti
i oh ! what an awakening to the truth comes
; then ! The devoted affection which had
i supplied abundant food for vanity in those
j circles of society where it could be exhibit
ed as a trophy of conquest, or while the
| freshness of the victory enhanced its value,
how does it pall and weary in the privacy
J of domestic life; or perhaps if still valued
j for the precious incense it offers, how is it
drawn upon, and drained of its sweetness,
by that requiring and insatiable love of
| being loved, which must be fed by constant
demonstrations of attachment, at once de
: grading to the dignity of man, and weary
| ing to the patience of the most devoted !
It is this vanity of being loved, when
| mistaken for the act of loving, which makes
so many fretful, teasing, and requiring
wives. The character of the flirt is pecu
liarly marked by tins propensity, and might
be a warning instead of an attraction, as it
too often is, to those who compete for her
favors or her smiles. The position of a
| flirt is that of a person demanding of others
| a costly and valuable treasure, for which
j it is impossible that any equivalent should
he returned. It is more odious even than
this, for it implies the use of deep artifice
looblain by secret means what right, reason
and honorable feeling would alike blush
to demand openly. It implies deception
too, for it makes a show of being able to
return in kind, some portion at least of the
treasure demanded. It promises nothing
—it cannot promise—because there would
he living witnesses that others had shared
in the same, and all would know that the
heart in question, however large and boun
tiful, could not be bestowed upon all. No ;
the flirt is acquainted with a safer course
than this. It is the great business of her
life to find out and practice such methods
of acting, speaking, and even looking, as
shall convey the idea that she herself has
a heart to he won, when in reality the
ruling passion of her life is to win the hearts
of others.
If the professed flirt were the only one
addicted to this practice, or liable to
be deceived herself while deceiving oth
ers, there would be comparatively little in
jjury done to society; nor would the indi
vidual injury be such as to claim any large
amount of sympathy or consideration. But
the evil to be deplored is one which tries
the foundation of human happiness in a
widely different manner. It arises in fact
I out of that ignorance of themselves which
is supposed necessarily to belong to the
young, and which education makes no
pretence to remedy. It consequently exists
I amongst the learned and the highly-taught
i according to the accustomed fashion of iu-
I struction, and influences their actions, to
as great an extent as amongst the more
ignorant and unenlightened.
By which of the common systems of in
struction. for instance, is a vain young girl
to be made aware of the fact, that while
believing herself captivated by her first
love, and fancying him an object of affec
tion, she is only captivated by his flattering
attentions, and charmed with the idea of
being an object of affection herself I—that
she is in reality preferred before others ;
and thus the deeper the impression she
has the power ter make, the more ardent
and devoted the attachment disptayed by j
her lover, the greater the gratification to
her own vanity and self-loVe ?
It is precisely this mistake, so frequent-,
ly the result of pure ignorance as regards!
the motives, powers, and passions which ,
habitually influence our common nature,
that makes shipwreck of so large an a- j
mount of human happiness in the married
state. It is the fact of entering upon that
state prepared, and expecting to receive , !
rather than to give —to be the pampered,
cherished, flattered one, rather than to
cherish, bear with, and, if profoundly ad
miring be flattering, then to flatter anoth
er.
If in the outset there should he so great
a similarity in the symptoms of these two
emotions, oi tendencies, as to excite the in- j
quiry—where lies the difference? —their 1
results are so strongly marked by contra
dictory elements of character, as to draw
out, through the whole experience of life,
a set of feelings and habits entirely oppos-1
ed to each other. In one case, these arc !
greedily bent ou receiving—in the other, j
benevolently disposed to give out perpetu
ally from a fountain inexhaustible as life
itself. In one case there is a constant de
mand—in the other, a no less constant
supply. In one case there is self for the
centre of all good—in the other, self is for
gotten in ministering to the good of a being
who is more than self. In one case, kind
ness, attention, solicitude, are watched for,
demanded as a right, and only borne with
out, by sorrow, reproaches, and tears ; in
the other they are dispensed like the sun- :
shine and the dew—equally natural, gene- 1
rouf, and spontaneous, but not the less es- 1
sential to the verdure and the beauty of
life. In one case the insatiable receiver i
sits like a bloated idol on a mystic shrine, !
gloating over rich offerings presented there
—in the other, the heart itself pours forth |
its secret wealth, and asks for no return
j beyond those of welcome and acceptance.
Just in proportion then as it is more
I blessed to give than to receive : and just in ‘
the same manner, is the act of loving, gen
erously and devotedly, superior in all the
elements of true nobility and Hue happi
ness, to that common, mean and despicable
passion, which deserves no better name
! than a greediness for being love 1 ; and just
in proportion, too, as these distinct elements
of character differ from each other, is it
important to learn in early life how to dis
| tinguish them each from the other, both in
j their out ward manifestations, and in their
secret influence upon the happiness or
} misery of life.
When education shall have mastered a
I few difficulties of this description, it will
| indeed have become worthy of its name.—
When educators shall have turned their
attention tn subjects of this nature —when
they shall even have dreamed that it is de
sirable to do so—when they shall have en
tertained, though but a faint idea of the
fact, that the springs of human conduct
arise more out of this class of feelings, than
out of problems in algebra, jr Latin roots,
|or even living language in any of its vari
j ed forms, they will have advanced one step
j towards that blessed era when moral culti
! vation shall assert its claim to be regardeJ
! in connection with intellectual. Even then,
I the long years in which intellect alone has
i been the direct object of the educator in
j systematic training, will have to be recover
ed by that neglected portion of our nature,
i out of which spring the motives of all hu
| man conduct —out of which spring bappi
; ness and misery—good and evil. All the
long years in which this has been neglect
ed will then have to be made up for by ten
fold earnestness and effort, before that
equal balance of mind, that harmony of
character, and that consistency of action
can be looked for, which constitute a fitting
1 recipient for the higher influences of re
| hgion, and which, instead of frustrating the
great work still remaing to be done, is like
; the preparation of the soil before the scat-
I tering of the precious seed.
■* ■■
A TRAGICAL AFFAIR.
The following tragical affair, related in
the N. V. Courier des Flats Unis , affords
i another proof that truth is stranger than fic
tion :
Among the strangers of distinction who
for many years came to spend the winter
in Paris, were M. and M. Arcos Spaniards
of immense wealth. Failing to make their
i usual visit last winter, it was thought their
Castilian pride could not accommodate it
self to republican rule ; but it afterwads
! appeared their absence arose from a far dif
ferent cause. M. Arcos, like his country
j man Aguado, had made his own fortune.
He began life as a pedlar and small retail
trader; and having thus accumulated some
little funds, he engaged in stock specula
tions, then became contractor for the salt
| tax in Spain, and finally, while still young,
retired from business a millionaire. He
might have enjoyed his fortune long and
happily; but in endeavoring to indulge a
pardonable vanity, he lost both fortune and
j life. It appears that M. Arcos, while yet
poor, had made a voyage to Chili, and there
became smitten with a young lady of res
pectable family, who were proud'of their
rank, her uncle being no less than the Bish
op of Santiago. So that, it being thought
a great piece of presumption in a poor, un
known, man to expect a Bishop's niece, he
met with a ruJe rebuff on demanding her
in marriage. But as the young lady was
willing to give her consent, that of the
Bishop was not again asked; and having
married in secret, the young couple depart
ed tor Europe.
After becoming wealthy, M. Arcos wish-
I ed by displaying it with his wife, to tri
umph over the family that had once des
pised him. Instead then of going to Paris
last winter, M. and Madame Arcos depart
ied for Chili, in a vessel which they pur
; chased and furnished at great expense.
They carried with them all the appliances
of luxury and show; diamonds, plate,
splendid furniture, carriages and servants
in rich liveries: nothing was forgotten that
might serve to dazzle their disdainful rela
tives. After a pleasant voyage, they ar
rived in Chili; but they had still before
them a land journey of 300 miles, before
they could arrive at the city where the fam
ily of Madame Artfos resided. They were
informed that the road was infested with
bands of robbers, so ferocious, that they e
ven fed on the flesh of their victims!— and<
were advised to wait until those bands haik
been dispersed.
But M. Arcos, impatient to enjoy the tri
umph of fiis self-fove, procured 1 aio escort
of one hundred well armed men, and set
out on his jouiuey with all his train. Let
ters recently received from Valpariso con
tain the most melancholy intelligence con
cerning the unfortunate travellers. About
half way, the caravan was attacked, part
were k illed : part escaped by flight, and the
rest, with M. Arcos and Ins wife, were
made prisoners, and after being robbed of
all their property, were put to death on the
spot!
GOLDEN SANDS.
SIFTED FOR RICHARDS’ WEEKLY OAZETTK
‘‘The gold n s.mdi of thought.”—T. A. Goii.ru,
Genius. Genius is in the heart. The
sublime wearies : the beautiful deceives ;
the pathetic alone is infallible in art. There
is more genius in one tear, than in all the
I museums and all the libraries in the uni
verse. Man is like the tree, which is sha
ken to make it shed its fruit, lie never
i can be moved, hut tears must fall, ham
's artine.
A Hindoo Baptism..—The baptismal
i admonition of the Hindoos is as impressive
I on the bystanders as it is beautiful:
“ Little babe, thou enteresl the world
weeping, while all around you smile;con
trive so to live, that you may depart in
smiles whilst all around you weep.”
Ugliness is native to nothing, but possi
ble abstract evil.— Tapper.
Enthusiasm. —Pure, fresh enthusiasm,
j is the bright and earnest evidence of a no
ble mind.
Enemies. —Dear to nt are those who
love us; the swift moments we spend
with them are a compensation for a great
deal of misery : they enlarge our life; but
dearer are those who reject us as unwor
thy, for they add another life : they build
a heaven before us whereof we had not
dreamed, and supply to us new powers out
of the recesses of the spirit, and urge us to
new and unattemptc.l performances. — R.
IV. F merson.
They are gone!—Like an inundation
of tli? Indus is the course“'bf time. We
look for the homes of our childhood, they
are gone. The loves and animosities of
youth, where are they ? Swept away like
the camps that had been pitched in the san
dy bed of the river.
Life i< too short to waste
In critic prep or cynic balk,
Quarrel or reprimand ;
’Twill soon be dark ;
I p. heed thine own aim, and
God speed the mark !
R W. Emerson.
Trials of genius.—Genius has one tri
al which finds no sympathy ; it is the tri
al of being measured as coarse things are;
of seeing its jewe's accounted of no value;
its inspiration lost for want of interpreter,
or used iiji as fit mixtures with common
things.
Maxims on Lovf..—There aie people
! who would never have been in love, had
j they never heard talk ot it.
In love, we often doubt of what we most
I believe.
We are much nearer loving those who
hate us, than those who love us more than
we like.
The reason why lovers are never weary
of each other is this, they arc always talk
; ing of themselves.
A lover never sees the faults of his mis
: tress till the enchantment is over.
We forgive, just as long as we love.—
Rocliefoucault.
Town and Country.—The country is
lyric—the town dramatic. When mingled
they make the most perfect musical drama.
| — Longfellow.
; Love — what a volume in a word, an ocean in a
tear,
A seventh heaven in a glance, a wliHwind in a
sigh,
The lightning in a touih, a millennium iu a
moment,
What concentrated joy or woe in blest or blight’
ed love!
Originality.—The stupidest fellow, if
he would but reveal with child-like hon
esty how he feels and he thinks, when the
stars wink at him, when he sees the ocean
for the first time, when music comes over
the waters, or when he and his beloved
look into each other’s eyes,—would he bul
reveal this, the world would hail him a?a
1 genius in his way, and would prefer In*
story to all the epics that ever were “Tit
len, from Homer to Scott.
The commonest mind is lull of thought, s° n ' e
worthy of l he rarest;
And could it sue them faiiiy writ, would * oni ' e(
at its wealth. Mr*. Child.
Inspiration.--It is a mistaken doctrine
that inspiration belongs exclusively to the
ology. He who inspired Moses in diviw
ty, inspired Newton in philosophy; an
Michael Angelo was not less gifted in
fine arts, than was Balaam, the son of
or, in prophecy.
Ridicule.—People of mean capacity*
always ridicule more what ts above 1
reach of theirown intellect, than ihat”b |C
is below its standard.
Woman's Heart.—The heart of vvottH”
draws to itself the loves of others,
! diamond drinks up the sun’s rays —ottl)
return them in tenfold strength and bcatit.