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A MBTjgill FlliLl TO LITHIUM, Til MTS MB SCIIHCSS, 118 T© SIHEML MWLUMML
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
SONG.
More than I can tell thee,
Love, thou art to me; —
Source of all my gladness,
What am 1 to thee 1
Thoughts of thee are sunshine
In my heart, each hour,
And my inmost being
Owns thy beauty’s power.
All my dreams thou stealest,
In the starry night,
And thy bright eyes haunt me,
With the morning light.
More than l can tell thee,
Love, thou art to me ;
0! my Consucllo ,
What am 1 to thee 1
Charleston , S. C
From the New York Tribune.
MISERRIMUS.
BY II . H. STODDARD.
“ Rest! perturbed spirit!”
lie has passed away
Fr< m a world of strife,
Fighting the wars of Time and Life;
The loaves will fall, when the winds are loud,
And the snows of Winter weave his shroud,
Hut he will never, ah ! never, know
Anything more
Os leaves and snow!
The Summer tide
Os his life was past,
And his hopes were strewn like leaves on the
blast ;
His faults were many—his virtues few,
A tempest, with flecks of the Heaven’s blue!
might have soared in the morning light,
But he built his nest
With the birds of Night!
He glimmered apart
In a solemn gloom,
Like a dying lamp in a haunted tomb ;
He touched his lute with a cunning spell,
But all its melodies breathed of Hell!
He summoned the Afrits and the Ghouls,
And the pallid ghosts
Os the damned souls!
But he lies in dust,
And the stone is rolled
Over his sepulchre dim and cold ;
He has cancelled all he has done or said,
And gone to the dear and holy dead !
Let us forget the path he trod,
And leave him now
To his Maker, God!
October , 1849.
ifaißiaißaiAiaisias.
rlKi , i^ A T
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For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
SUCCESS DEFEATED.
BY “LA GEORGIENNE.”
PART FIRST.
The character of an ordinary produc
tion is written in its first three lines.—
“Sublimely bad” commences with thun
der-storms; romancing comes in with a
sea-breeze; and sentimentality ushers in
its heroes, beseeching your sympathy.—
All these do well enough for the beautiful,
the heart-rending, or the awful; but when it
comes to “life’s dull realities,” the more
quietly they walk in, on a good sunshiny
day, the better. Now, the state of the
weather you may guess from the burden
of my Tale.
In the wealthy part of our city, is an
aristocratic, old-looking building, known
by the name of “ Lorsden Hall.” In Eng
land, it might have passed for a comforta
ble country-house, but standing where it
does, it is looked upon as a wonder of an
tique elegance. Certain it is, that the
massive pillars in front, and the lofty oaks
overshadowing, bear no resemblance to the
“creations of the day” by which they are
surrounded. The present occupant is one
of proud and noble lineage —tracing far
back into the old world, from whence his
forefathers came, ready-made gentlemen.
Indeed, (if we may credit the records of
our State,) they well deserved the esteem
in which they were held—possessing, with
a just sense of their own rights, a constant
consideration for the dues of others; and
uniting these qualities to sound heads and
courageous hearts. But the heir, to whom
most of their wealth had descended, was
the “degenerate son of a worthy race,” de
ficient in the virtues which had made them
beloved, and utterly void of that common
sense which would have given him a just
estimate of his own standing. He stood
aloof from the world at large, mingling on
ly with those of his own atmosphere, and
seldom troubling himself about others—
whom he looked upon as beings of a dif
ferent sphere. His daughter, the only re
maining child, inherited a great many of
her father’s ideas, but with them, a concil
iating refinement, that softened, even when
pride was most apparent. Another mem
ber of the family w r as Edwatd Larsden, a
nephew of the old gentleman, who, having
been left an orphan heir, had lived in the
family mansion, until every one considered
it his home. His “clique” regarded him
as a singular compound of talent and folly
—the populace called him “The Noble
Aristocrat”—and both parties joined in ad
miration of his fine mind and equally fas
cinating manners. These three, together
with sundry old family servants, who did
pretty much as they pleased, completed
the establishment. But there was another,
who, from being constantly found there,
might almost be classed among them.—
This was a grand nephew of the old gen
tleman, who prided himself on being very
much like him, and looked upon his fa
ther's brother as altogether too democratic
for an aristocrat Between these four, an
animated discussion was now going on, in
which the old gentleman was very vehe
ment, and his nephew very earnest. Hen
ry Larsden broke in whenever he could—
and Ella seemed more intent upon what
was said, than desirous of having a voice.
“/ say,” continued the old gentleman,
“ that God Almighty has placed us in a
higher grade, and that it never was meant
for us to assimilate with lower.”
“ And yet,” replied the nephew, “it is
the duty of every true-born aristocrat to do
all in his power to elevate individual merit,
come from whence it may, exclusive of the
policy of strengthening our higher ranks
with those who are superior to their own.”
“ And what do you cal! superior 1” edg
ed in the younger.
“Superior in refinement and intellect ,”
returned the other. “As for moral worth,
I believe there is as much in the middle, as
in the higher classes.”
“But what if these said ‘superiors’
strike out our ‘ inferiors’ 1”
“ Well, let them do it! I tell you, Hen
ry, the worthless vagabonds ot our class are
doing more harm in the world than all the
excellent put together can wido. Take
one thing only: ‘ Mobocracy' —which is
now shaking the very foundations of our
strength—-never would have gained ground
as it has done, if our young men had not
been too insignificant to command respect.
Actually, they inspire contempt , where
their fathers did veneration.”
“Ye heavens! how he is derogating
from our dignity,” exclaimed the young
man. “ Why, Uncle, you’ll have my cou
sin Ella, here, marrying a plebian, for fear
of finding her lord a ‘ worthless scamp.’ ”
“ Ella has too much of her father’s spirit
for that,” said her proud father, smiling on
his daughter.
“ I don't know about that,” persisted the
young man. “I think Ella has been lis
tening to other advisers, of late.”
Ella changed countenance, but laughed,
and replied—
“ There is not much danger of good
counsel taking effect, among such a set of
rank aristocrats.”
“ Oh, exclude me,” exclaimed the elder
cousin; “771 go hand in hand with you.”
“ But 1 won’t go ‘ hand in hand’ with
you, though.”
And laughing, she sprang to the piano,
and struck up “Yankee Doodle,” with an
emphasis that set them all laughing. The
three stood regarding her with looks of ad
miration, but there was something in the
expression of her elder cousin, which told
of a more enduring feeling. A momenta
ry gloom passed over his face, and he turn
ed to resume the conversation, in which
both his uncle and himself seemed, from
some cause, deeply interested. They talk
ed on for some time—Ella meanwhile play
ing away, as if she had no concern in what
was going on. Her young cousin, after
gaping for some time, declared she was ter
ribly stupid, and went home. The old
gentleman, not long after, left the room—
and Ella remained alone with Larsden.
And now, to understand the whole beau
ty of this man’s character, we must look
into the heart—see what is going on there
then look to the objects for which he is
laboring—and finally, see him, with the
might of a vigorous mtnd, casting aside all
prejudice, and viewing things through eve
ry medium in their proper light. He had
watched the growth of his little cousin—
had seen the gradual opening of virtue af
ter virtue, and had bent all the powers of
his fine mind to develope and beautify
hers. Under his tuition, the loveliest traits
of her character had appeared. Her hered
itary pride had been tempered, and all the
finer feelings of her nature had been culti
vated. Now, she was his companion, his
delight; but when he would have laid his
fortune at her feet, he found her affections
set upon another, worthy in every respect,
but poor, and unnoticed. For a while, his
heart sank within him. Life seemed to
have lost its chief object. But even Ella
never guessed the cause of his sudden sad
ness, and wept that his manner had grown
cold and reserved. Then came a gradual
change. The mind was returning to its
wonted vigor; and ere a month had pass
ed, he was warmly interesting himself in
the object of her affections—rousing him to
action, and bringing him into notice—at
the same time, seizing every opportunity
for weakening her father’s high-born pre
judices, which he saw must form an insu
perable barrier to their union. And now
we may judge what his own feelings were,
as he seated himself by her, and talked
over their plans for the future.
“It is impossible,” he said, “ to tell
whether we have made any progress as
yet. Your father evidently suspects noth
ing, and it is better he should not. After
the world has learned to appreciate How
ard for his own intrinsic worth , he may
then sanction your engagement; but so
long as he remains a poor, unnoticed man,
with nothing to recommend him but agood
head ami heart, 1 have very little hope.
I am candid, Ella, because you must be
careful.”
Ella laughed and replied—“l believe my
dear, kind father thinks me in love with
Henry.”
“ I wish you could make Henry think
so,” returned Larsden. “I’m not much
afraid of your breaking his heart, and a
little disappointment would lower the fel
low’s vanity. Moreover, I think he sus
pects your attachment, and if he does, it
will soon reach your father.”
The tears started into Ella’s eyes, as she
exclaimed : “Ah! dear cousin, I'm becom
ing a complete hypocrite.”
The other replied, with a sigh, “You
must meet men of the world with their own
weapons, Ella; and your father, with all
his virtues, would not hesitate to sacrifice
your happiness to his pride.”
“Oh! I can't believe it,” she exclaimed.
“ Father never refused me anything in his
life.”
“ Nor would he anything else, Ella.”
The two parted—Ellen to grieve over
her duplicity—Larsden to go to Howard,
who was to make his debut at the bar on
the following day.
His client was not one likely to bring
either honor or emolument, being an un
fortunate Irishman, taken in the midst of
a brawl; but Larsden declared that, once
launched forth, there would be no keeping
him back. “And for a first show, the
Irishman would do wonders. Besides
which,” he added, “ you may save the
poor fellow a thrashing.”
*******
The important day came —clear, cold,
and invigorating, and Charles, quite as
calm as usual, took his seat. All the
wealthy idlers about town had assembled
—among them, the old gentleman, several
strangers, and someone or two foreigners.
Larsden came in while the charges were
being read, and took his seat just behind
Howard. His uncle sat just opposite, join
ing occasionally in the criticisms upon the
young advocate.
“What a remarkably fine head,” said
one intellectual-looking man.
“ I wonder if there’s anything in it
asked a youth, who looked like a senti
mental goose.
“ That remains to be proved,” said a
third.
“He's a splendid looking fellow,” re
marked a young officer.
“ Now comes the test,” exclaimed ano
ther.
The young man rose, wrapped his cloak
around him, cast a look of merry sympa
thy at the doleful prisoner, and had com
menced, when an old lawyer, from the op
posite side, exclaimed —
“ Capital! The fellow’s no more afraid
than I am.”
The young man bowed across the court,
and replied—“ lam awfully afraid that my
poor client stands a bad chance, sir.”
The prisoner, who had been looking
quite dismal, burst into a loud laugh, ex
claiming—
“Now, by St. Patrick, he’s an Irish
man.”
But poor Pat was called to order, and the
case progressed. Despite all the young
lawyer’s eloquence, the unfortunate delin
quent was in some danger. His accusers
made the best of their evidence; and poor
Pat got in the fidgets.
“Bymy so wl! won’t they let me spake!”
says he. “Genthelmen, it’s a misthake
you’ve made.”
Another call to order, and Pat sat down
again. Howard excellet even the expec
tations of his friend. His arguments were
strong, his eloquence tocching and impas
sioned, and the classic ease of his whole
bearing seemed the inspiration of a noble
mind, rather than the studied grace of a
scholar. Murmurs of ipplause occasion
ally interrupted him ; aid when he closed,
his client was cleared, and congratulations
poured in from every sile. Poor Pat made
his way through the best of them.
“And snre,” says he, “it’s myself that
has a right to spake to the genthelman. —
And it’s a raal frind you are,” says Pat,
“ and it’s thruly I hope when yer honor
gets in throuble, you’ll call upon myself.”
And the poor fellow wiped his eyes with
his sleeve, and stared at the laugh.
Among the few who did not come for
ward, was the old gentleman. He felt no
interest, and did not ctre to assume it.
After the rest had all gone, Howard met
him at the door, when he remarked, with
dignified politeness, “You made an excel
lent defence , sir,” and the next moment, in
the same tone, said, “I don’t see my hat.”
Larsden looked disappointed, and Howard,
somewhat anxious, colored, which the old
gentleman attributed to modesty, and, being
for the first time interested, asked him to
dinner. Charles was engaged, but thank
ed him for an invitation to call whenever
business would permit. They parted, mu
tually pleased : on the whole, not even
Larsden was disappointed.
And now all things seemed to prosper.
Howard, buoyant with hope and energy,
found in every stumbling-block a stepping
stone to success. Even poverty added to
his eclat, and men who had grown old
among law books, applied to him for coun
sel. In high life, the wealthiest and most
respected outvied each other in the honor
bestowed. And Larsden began to fear that
his young head would be crazed. But he
soon saw how matters stood. Howard
valued bis success only as placing him at
Ella’s side, and while he studiously avoid
ed pointed devotion, was insensible to eve
rything but the hope of being made worthy
of her. Larsden watched them with trem
bling anxiety; he saw their attachment
daily growing stronger, and feared lest it
might be inadvertently disclosed; but a lit
tle schooling does wonders—and the most
keen-eyed never could have guessed that
aught of love lurked beneath their despe
rate flirtations. Things, however, could
not remain always as they were. Charles
had twined himself completely around the
old man’s heart, and even Larsden indulg
ed the hope that all obstacles were now
surmounted.
The hour came. Ella had left the room.
Charles, Larsden, and his uncle, had for
gotten what they were talking about.—
Larsden got up and walked humming to
the window. Charles felt like following,
but stood still. As for the old gentleman,
he seemed lost in a reverie. At last—
“I know no one,” he said, turning to
Charles, “whose success in life has been
more rapid than yours.”
“ And yet,” replied Howard, “the whole
object of my endeavors is not yet attained.”
“ Not yet attained,” exclaimed the other
in surprise, “ why what else would you
have 1”
“ What you alone can grant sir,” replied
Charles, crimsoning as he spoke.
The old gentlemen looked at him en
quiringly, and then scarce crediting the
presumption of the man, exclaimed, “ why
you are mad!”
“ I am, if love be madness, sir,” return
ed the young man,
“Do I understand you?” said the old
gentleman, incredulously.
You are determined not to understand
me,” replied Charles, his temper rising.
“Ah! I begin to realize my senses,”
said the other. “You may hear what my
daughter has to say, sir.” And, bowing
haughtily, he left the room. Charles stood
confounded, Larsden looked shocked and
distressed, and neither seemed to know
what to do. Larsden was the first to
speak. “Go to Ella, at once,” he said,
“ she is in the library.” He opened the
door between, and Charles passed through.
Ella was tying up a beautiful bouquet. She
held it up as he entered, saying, you are
to take this to but, pale and excited,
he clasped her in his arms. *’• Ella,” he
said, “my fate is sealed—your father
sends me to you.”
“Then why do you look so pale—you
know" —she hesitated.
“ That you love me—tell me so, Ella —
yes I do know it—but what if your father
forbids it.”
“ Why I thought he sent you here.”
“ So I did,” thundered the enraged fa
ther, entering, “but did I ever dream that
my daughter could love a plebian.”
“ Your daughter loved no plebian,” ex
claimed Howard, excited to the highest
pitch.
“ It matters not,” shouted the old gen
tleman, throwing Ella off. “Sir, I order
you never again to enter my house.”
The young man paused—“And 1,” he
returned, taking Ella’s hand, “ swear never
to marry another.”
“Nor will I, Charles,” exclaimed poor
Ella, bursting into tears.
He held her hand for an instant, pressed
it to his lips, and left her weeping bitterly.
Larsden heard him leave the house, and
followed.
Ella was fading, the bloom on hercheek
was gone, and her proud form wns becom
ing more fragile ; but gentle and unmur
muring, she filled her station as before,
and her father was blinded. Larsden, on
the contrary, watched over her as a dying
plant. He saw the gradual decay, and
every pursuit yielded to the barest hope of
checking its progress. Every scheme that
ingenuity could invent was in turn re
sorted to; and when all failed, he devoted
himself to her, almost compelling her to
study; interesting her when least atten
tive, and keeping her so steadily employ
ed, that insensibly her depression began to
wear off’. Still the silent hours of the
night made sad havoc. Larsden, while
he made every effort for her happiness,
felt almost inclined to give up in despair.
At last, the change became so apparent,
that even her father was aroused. He
railed against Howard; wished that “she
had never set eyes on him;” but as all
this did no good, he made up a large party
for the coui :ry, and poor Ella, in the
midst of ga\ety and youth, was whirled
off to play lady hostess.” Pat saw them
as they dash, and by.
“Where’s he ginthleman ?” cries he to
the servants in the rear.
“ What ge. tleman ?” shouted they.
“Misther Howard to be sure.” An in
sulting laugh replied, and Pat not to be
out-done, goes to the “ginthleman him
self.” Howard was busily engaged with
his law books, when a head poked through
the door. “Where's the horse 1” says Pat.
“What horse 1”
“To follow the partliy, your honor.”
“ What party 1”
“The parthy with the young laidy.”
“ What do you mean 1 ?” asked Howard.
“ Arrah! the young laidy your honor’s
been paying his devotions to.”
“And, what do you know about that?”
“Sure, have’nt 1 been watching you at
all the parthies.”
“ You scamp!” exclaimed Howard, al
most laughing.
“ Faith ! its yourself is the scamp,”
said Pat, “ laive a young crature like that.”
“Come, Pat! I wont’t have this,” ex
claimed Howard, getting angry—“ you are
going too far.”
“ Pm going to favor the owld gentleman
with my sintiments,” said Pat, scratching
his head.
“ Come sir,” exclaimed Howard, exas
perated—“ you are interfering where you
have no business, and the sooner you keep
quiet the better.”
Poor Pat looked deprecatingly at him.
“oh, your honor,’ he said, “it’s the rich
ginthleman, keep aisy when a friend’s in
throublc.”
It was needless to argue the point. Pat
would’nt be convinced, and after a good
hours “bother,” Charles got rid of him
by promising to go to see his wife and
“the children.” Several days passed be
fore his troublesome friend again appear
ed ; and as there was then no resisting his
importunities, Howard prepared for the
walk. Their way lay through the thick
est part of the city, and as Pat was parti
cularly proud of “ the ginthleman,” they
paraded on to the no small amusement of
Howard’s friends, who greeted him as they
passed, with “ Where to now, Howard ?”
Howard nothing ruffled, let Pat discourse
on, uninterrupted, except by an occasional
laugh, but as they neared the outskirts of
the city, he began to wonder how far they
were going.
“ Only a mile or two, your honor.”
“ What road is this ?”
“ The road the old ginthleman and the
young laidy thravels, ycr honor.”
“ The mischief!” exclaimed Howard, be-
| ginning to wonder what he would look
like in such company.
“You needn't throuble yerself, yer hon
or,” said Pat. “The young laidy’sas par
tial to myself as you are. Sure, didn’t she
ride out there, and compliment the childcrs
with anew suit a-paice.”
For some distance, their road was dull and
uninteresting—leading through a gloomy
succession of stagnant swamps and half
starved pines; but leaving these, they turn
ed into a covered path, which brought them
to the banks of a beautiful river. Here
they threw themselves beneath the shade
of a wide-branching oak, and listened to
the quiet rippling of the water. They had
both grown callous to city noises, but
country quiet was delightful.
[Continued next week. ]
[From Mack ay’a “Western World.”]
SOCIAL LIFE IN AMERICA.
It may as well here be premised that, in
America, the ladies exercise an undisputed
sway over the domestic hearth. Home is
their sphere, and to them all the arrange
ments of home are exclusively left. In
many respects, this is the case in every
civilized society ; but in Europe, the fami
ly is, in some points, as much under the
control of external influences, as the indi
vidual, denying to those who manage the
household, that perfect freedom of action
which they enjoy in America. Let no quer
ulous lady, who thinks that she has not
enough of her own way, imagine that this
implies, on the part of her more fortunate
American sister, an absolute immunity from
marital control. Wives in America know
their place, and keep it, as generally as
they do here, although how far that may
be, might be difficult to tell. But, whilst
in their social relations they are less fetter
ed by existing institutions than European
women, there is a more general abdication
in their favor, on the part of husbands, in
all that concerns the domestic arrangements
and external relations of the family, than
is, perhaps, to be found anywhere else.
The consequence of this is curiousenough.
The social position of the husband is not
carried, in all its extent, into the social re
lations of his family. His sphere of action
is without, where all are on an equal foot
ing ; but in the position of his family, and
in their intercourse with those of his neigh
bors, he finds no such principle very gen
erally recognised. Equality without—ex
clusiveness within—such seem to be the
contrasts of American life. The profession
al man may be on the veiy best of terms
with the blacksmith, but ten chances to one
if the daughters of the professional man
know the backsmith’s daughters, or if they
would acknowledge it if they did. In-door
life in America is fenced round by as many
lines as social life in Europe. Therp is not
a community there, any more than here,but
has its fashionable quarter and its fashion
able circle. This may be all very natural,
but it is not in conformity with the gener
al aspect of their national social life, that
they carry with them into these coteries all
the exclusiveness of feeling, which forms
so marked a feature in the social fabrics of
the old world. In a widely extended coun
try, like the translantic republic, and a
widely scattered community, like that
which peoples it, it is to be expected that
these feelings would manifest themselves,
in different places, in different degress. In
some, however, they assume a form quite
as inveterate as they do with ourselves;
and young ladies will turn up their delicate
but saucy noses at the bare idea of an ac
quaintanceship with those, with whose
fathers or brothers their own fathers or
brothers may be on terms of the most per
fect familiarity. The circle once drawn,
it is not very easy for those without to
transcend it. The family’ that introduces
anew member, is held responsible for his
or her good behaviour and respectability ;
and it is not always that the countenance
of a particular family will suffice to give a
party the tree range of the favored circle.
In great communities, where the circle of
society is large, and the lines have been
long drawn, one need not be surprised at
this, the fashionables finding within their
own circle sufficient sources of amusement
and gratification. But it is singular to wit
ness the speedy development of the feel
ing in anew community, where inequality
of circumstances are scarcely yet known ;
where all are, side by side, though in dif
ferent ways, perhaps, equally engaged in
the pursuit of the same end. Indeed, it is
in these communities that the feeling is gen
erally carried to its most ludicrous extent,
society in the older and larger cities hav
ing assumed a fixed form, in which each
family has its appropriate place ; but in the
new towns, the prize of social pre-emi
nence being yet to be striven for, those who
are uppermost for the time being, assume a
very supercilious attitude to those below
them. It is in these matters tnat the men
in America take very little part. Whilst
they are engaged providing the means, the
mothers and daughters are using them in
working the family in its true position as
regards society.
The exclusive feature of American socie
ty is no where brought so broadly out as it
is in the city of Philadelphia. It is, of
course, readily discernible in Boston, New
York, and Baltimore; but the line drawn
in these places is not so distinctive or so
difficult to transcend as it is in Philadelphia.
The fashionables there are more particular
in their inquiries, than are their neighbors,
before they give admittance to the stranger
knocking at tbeirgates. Asa general rule,
an unexceptionable recommendation is all
that is necessary in America to secure the
stranger a ready acceptance by those to
whom he is presented. The presumptions
are all in favor of his fitness for the sphere
which he aspires to adorn. To this, how
ever, society in Philadelphia forms the most
notable exception ; a recommendation there
only operating to put the new comer
on his probation, and if found wanting, his
recommendation goes for no more than it
is worth ; being estimated more from the
proved qualities of the party receiving than
from the standing of party giving it. Once
admitted, however, society in Philadelphia
will be found amply to compensate for any
delays and uncertainties with which the
preliminary ordeal may have been accom
panied. It is intellectual without being pe
dantic, and sprightly without being boister
ous. It seems to be a happy blending of
the chief characteristics of Boston and New
York society. In both society is more ac
cessible than in Philadelphia. In Boston
the nucleus on which it turns is the litera
ry circle of the place, which, comprising
individuals and familes of all grades of
wealth, gives to society there a more dem
ocratic cast than it possesses eitheir in New
York or Philadelphia. It must be confess
ed, however, that there is a literary affecta
tion about it, which is easier to be account
ed for than endured, Bostoniansalwaysap
pearing to best advantage when they are
farthest from home. In New York, again
the commercial spirit predominates overev
cry other, and largely infuses itself into the
society of the city. There is a permanent
class of wealthy residents, who form the
centre of it; its great bulk being composed
of those who, by themselves or friends, are
still actively engaged in the pursuits of com
merce. With a few exceptions it is, there
fore, in a state of constant fluctuation, in
accordance with the fluctuating fortunesof
commercial life. Its doors are guarded,but
they seem never to be closed, and you have
a constant stream flowing in and out. The
consequence is, that there is much more
heart than refinement about it. It is gay
to a degree, sprightly and cordial, but far
less conventional than the corresponding
circle in Philedelphia. Society in the lat
ter has all the advantages iucident to a large
community, in which the commercial spirit
does not overbear everything else, and in
which literature is cultivated as an orna
ment, more than pursued as a business.—
In their habitual intercourse with each oth
er the Philadelphians have an ease of man
ner which is perfectly charming. They are
familiar without being coarse. It is not
until the stranger gets upon the footing of
being thus treated by them, that he begins
to appreciate the real pleasures of Philadel
phia life. It is only after he has surmount
ed the barrier of formalism which encoun
ters him on his first entrance, that he be
comes aware of the genial and kindly spir
it that pervades the circle to which he is
introduced. In many respects, Philadel
phia life is the best counterpart which
America affords to the social refinements of
Europe, whilst it has at bottom a warmth
and cordiality, the manifestation of which
is not always compatible with the exigen
cies of European etiquette.
fi©*-The “Cardinal points” have been
pronounced, in Rome, to be bayonets.
No where, is the place where the
banks lend money to the poor men who
need it, instead of the rich, who do not.