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Terms, $2 Per Annum, in Advance. “ Second Year, No, 44—Whole No., 94. i mwm Final wm, —wwm to ummu, *m mts hi scimcsbs. ab to mm mnmmmi. For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. WHAT IS BEAUTY? BY WM. C. RICHARDS. What is beauty 1 Ask the blushing rose ! “ Heauty,” it answers, “ is my dower, In every leaf that folds my heart it glows. Hut withers in an hour!” What is Beauty 1 Ask the bubble bright! “ Than mine,” it answers, “ none was erst Vet while the glittering vision gives delight, The airy thing lias burst. What is Beauty 1 Ask the seveu-hued bow! “In me,” it answers, ‘ see its form !” Brief-while the p.igeant glads our sight below, Born of the .Sun and Storm ! What is Beauty I Ask the dolphin dying ; “Beauty?” it gasps—“my fading hue;” Bach shade the rose or rainbow tints outvieing, Fades swiftly from the view ! What is Beauty 1 Ask the dew-drop gem : “ In me,” it says, “ behold its dawn “\o pearl more bright on eastern diadem:” The sun breaks forth—’tis gone ! What is Beauty 1 ’T is a fading rose, A bubble bursting on the sight; A rainbow ever paling while it glows, The dolphin’s hues amid its dying throes; A dew drop in the light. For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. LOVE’S REVERSES. Written, half prospectively, for California Fever Times. BY CHARLES WORTH. A a splendid ship sailed out of a New England port, bound for California. More than a hundred men were on board, all eager for the newly-discovered land of gold. They had left wives, employments, conditions, positions, relatives, and were associated for the one purpose of making themselves rich, in a land where gold could literally be dug from the earth in im mense quantities. Was the fortune which those men sought, an end ? Nay ; each one had an end beyond that. To this point they had all converged, from many points; and they could diverge to as many more. A long story, more or less interesting, might be written of each one, embodying the whole history, in minute detail, of this long, perilous, uncertain enterprise. Some ‘vent there and died ; some remained, and became a pan of the population : some re turned to their home and friends—some “ith fortunes—some penny less; some, who departed with much nobleness and good ness of character, came back bankrupt in everything that makes life desirable, but money; while very few realized their hopes of wealth, and found themselves at home again, better off’ in every way than when they started. But we will confine ourselves to two of all these hundred men, George and Charles. Both were lovers. Each had left behind what was dearer than all the land whither •hey were going. They were strangers when they went on board the vessel; but they were among the first to establish a deep-matured friendship. At first, they were drawn together, as if by a magnetic attraction, and their friendship was cement ed by sympathies of feelings, coincidences of opinions, and similarities of tastes; and both were lovers. During the long voyage, they delighted to be together, in as retired a part of the vessel as could be found, and spend the long moonlight or starlight evenings, tell lng each other, in an under tone, of their beautiful ladies, left behind, and of their dfeams of happiness in the future. In this manner, each assisted the other to be guile the dull hours of a long sea voyage, and prevented the ennui each would have suffered, were it not for the other. Then, the beauty and grandeur of ocean scenery, of which both were enthusiastically fond, inspired within them many poetic moods, which were expressed in conversation to gether. Thus the voyage was very pleas ant to both. George was a young man of large, strong, erect figure, with a lofty, majestic, rather ponderous, beating. His features were marked, and stamped with a nobility surpassing common men. His eye was se vere and strong, and looked as if it never had quailed, and never could. His voice was of a deep, rich, bass lone, which sent out its words distinctly, coining his thoughts into finished, rounded sentences, of an elo quence unique and powerful. His person al presence always gave weight to an oc casion,, as if no occasion, wherein he fig ured, could he trivial. Indeed, he was the most imposing, in appearance and influence, of all on board. Charles was different in person and char acter. He was tall, rather slender, and supple, yet compact, and graceful as an elm tree. The elm was his arborescent type ; the oak was George’s. His face was one of those transparent ones, which always attract attention and inspire in terest. It had a better chiselling than George’s, and a more artistic finish. His eye was keener than that of George, and could flash more vividly and easily. His brow was lofty and clear, as if no low thought could emanate therefrom. His mouth looked pure, as if no unchaste or vulgar expression could find utterance through it. His voice was more musical, bdt less powerful, than George’s. Charles was of the lonic order of architecture; George, Doric. George was a strong em bodiment of the masculine element; Charles was a true feminine man, i. e. a man with just enough of the feminine in his compo sition. Charles was independent and no ble-minded, yet retiring ; George was proud at times, and always dignified—demeaning himself in such a way, that no one would dare infringe upon his l ights, oi attempt to impose on him an arbitrary law. George loved a noble woman, who lived in her affections most, but was endowed with an intellect of superior order, and moral sentiments highly developed and cultivated. She could be depended on for ever, through flood or fire, or both togeth er. Her name was Laura. Cynthia, the betrothed of Charles, was more beautiful and brilliant, and had a more universal than particular love. One would wonder that she could he particu larly devoted to one man. She was of a buoyant, assimilating nature, which charm ed and captivated at once'. She was prac tically unacquainted with the world, and had never experienced or beheld much sor row. Her friendship could be trusted; but her moral nature could not, in a trial hour. Laura had been involved in affliction, till her nature was of a deep current. Had she and Cynthia appeared together, at a party, for instance, Laura, who was a woman of more calibre than Cynthia, would he in a corner, conversing with a few, on some deeply interesting subject, while Cynthia would shine before the whole company, and give direction to the popular tide. Cynthia would outdazzle; Laura would outweigh. George and Laura had loved each other many months. He had never done well in life, as the world would say; he had never found a place which he thought was his; and he was not one to accept of what Fate doled out to him. Now he was bent on amassing a fortune, at all events.— When he first named his project to Laura, she disliked it, and besought him to aban don it; but he said so much, that she final ly yielded. He was resolute and hopeful in the prospect; she fearful and sad, yet unrepining, unobjecting, since he was so determined. The hour of parting came. He bore it as the oak bears a storm; but she—she was a woman! and she knew how terribly money will sometimes despoil a man ; and who could assure her that her lover was invulnerable ? ’Twas terrible to part with him for so long; and heavier woes might come. But was he not noble? Could she not trust him ? Was not her love an aegis over his heart ? Would not the god within him preserve him ? Did she doubt him? If so, did she love him? Does love admit of doubt ? But she did love him; and she trusted him Still, fears would gather, as they do about the fancy of a child who has just heard ghost sto ries: though he knows better , yet, when he goes to his bed, will not dare to look into the dark, lest he should see something that— is not. The moment of parting came. She flung her arms around his neck, as if it was for the last time, and gave her blanch ed lips to his; and when that long embrace was ended, she sank into an arm-chair — closed her tearless eyes, and bowed her whirling head; and for a long time, felt more as if she were a conscious statue than a human being. When again she raised her head, and looked around, he was on his way; he might never return; if he should, it might not be him, as he then was. The light, the room, seemed differ ent from before. She looked out of the window ; the scenery was changed, as if an element had been destroyed ; the world was different—life another thing, hence forth, with her. Days afterwards, she heard the ocean’s voice. She had heard it before ; but how different. Then, it was a voice of courage, of strength, grandeur, eternity, to her; now it moaned a sad foreboding ; it told of hope and trust in danger. She listened if she might hear in telligence from him who was far away on its bosom: hut the roar was hollow; his voice was unmingled with it. “ O God!” she cried, “keep my George.” And he, all this while. When he clasp ed her to his bosom that last time, he tried to magnetize her with courage, and forti tude, and hope, and went from her pres ence with triumph in his mien, and went on board the ship with his nerves full of will, and his soul pulsing a sublime de fiance to all Fate. He felt a purpose with in him, which would not be balked—a power which would not be baffled. Eve ry swell of that great water lifted him to a mightier self-reliance. The thought of her, and her love, so deep, so eternal, hallowed every feeling in his breast. She became calmer, and seemed the same to those around her; she even was cheer ful, when with others, but whenever she was alone, the dark side of the world would turn towards her. Charles and Cynthia had been betrothed but a short time. He had not met with worldly success, because he deemed the de velopment of character of more importance than the acquisition of wealth, and to that he had devoted all his energies. The world laughed at him for refusing to im prove opportunities which it called excel lent. But he was able to bear that, and poverty too. But now he was a lover— another’s destiny was linked to his, and he wished for means to make a home for himself and his beloved; and who knew but he might legitimately obtain it in Cali fornia ? He had long regarded himself as doomed never to be rich, do what he would: but he resolved to go and try it; Fortune might change with him. And, if he should not succeed, he would acquire a discipline, and a test of inward resources, which would be valuable. He would be paid for going, in any case; and if he should bring back a bag of gold, that would be so much better still. Added to all this, he was not fully at rest with regard to Cynthia’s love. A vague whisper from afar bade him look to it. He was willing to go away for a year or two, or three, and exercise no in fluence over her, and forego her’s on him, which was very essential to his happiness, and if she could forget him whilst away— if anything could separate them, they be longed not to each other, and ought to sub mit to the test. He loved as few men can love, and he foresaw that if aught should interrupt it, it would nearly or quite de stroy him. Therefore, it was with the soul of a hero that he left tier. He went to take leave of her. Few were their words; but her manner, her look and one word of love, and his own faithful heart, assured him. Their parting embrace was tender and ardent; and he left her in good spirits. But as the ship dropped down the harbor, and out to sea, and the land receded from his sight, and he was, beyond return, embarked on an un known fate, a sadness came upon him.— Before him rose a vision of hardship, sick ness, failure; and then he should return, if ever, in disappointment. But he indulged not long in this : he trusted in the powers above, if not in her, or himself. Yet, many times, while lying awake in the lone night, these fears would steal into his heart, and make him wretched. But when he became acquainted with George, who was always hopeful, and they talked of their loves, their hopes, &c., the world would assume her brightest hues, and no cloud of doubt or fear would mar Ins firmament. Months rolled away, like waves upon the sea —slowly and pleasantly with George and Charles, swiftly and gayly with Cyn thia, and slowly and deeply with Laura.— Yet Laura forgot the weariness in her weariless accomplishment of the duties of life. The young men did not weary of the everlasting sea; it was ever a source of grandeur and omnipotence to them; but when their voyage ended on the golden shore, they were glad, independently of their wish for gold, or other considerations. Soon after landing, the company disband ed, not being able to agree upon their course, plans of operations, &c.. and the country presenting various inducements, in different directions. Our two friends sep arated, and saw each other seldom after wards. And now they were in the universal scramble for the glittering dust. Think of a land whose veins are filled with the pre cious metal, whither :he world’s reckless adventurer’s flock, without order or law. Think of the state of morals, of spiritual life there. Think of the honesty where the love of gold is the all-ruling, all-ab sorbing passion ! Can any one withstand such corruptinginfluences ? Were George and Charles equal to a coping with such temptations? We shall see. George at first tried the mines; but did not succeed according to his wishes. He found he might expend his strength with out being sure of finding a fortune ; or he might spend a fortune in a lottery, and draw no prize. So he turned to specula tion. He did not believe this a legitimate way of acquiring wealth, but he found no other method so sure, and quieted his scru ples by reasoning of the necessities of the case. He very soon yielded to temptations to dishonesty, reasoning that that was the mode of proceeding adopted by all; every body expected it of everybody; and it was not deceiving to be so. He found he could deceive more skilfully than the most of those he dealt with ; and he abandoned himself to such modes of trade as every one else used. He received letters from his dear one.— They were filled with sentiments of purity, and principles of devoted virtue. She magnetized her words with all the noble ness and high sense of right she could summon. As he read them, he was not insensible to their worth ; and he would say to himself, “ 1 will be worthy of all this when 1 am done with this hateful place; but w-hile lam here, destiny rules that l must compromise. There is no alter native.” So he forgot, for the time, the impres sions her communications made, and rush ed into the effort for money. Fortune was attentive to him—much more so than he had expected; and when the appointed time for his return home drew near, he found himself the possessor of ten times the wealth which would have satisfied him when he started. Not long before he was to embark for New England, where he was determined to be true and just, he found a man out one night, with a large bag of gold. He knew the man : he was a worthless villain. It was daik—they were alone. George rea soned thus to himself: “ This man has no high ideas, motives, or aspirations; his thought stops with the acquirement of money; his life is sordid to himself, and valueless, and a curso to the world. I wish to return to love and a life of usefulness. After this once, I will be a true man.” He hesitated—a wild impulse roused— he yielded. That night, he added that man’s bag to his own heap, and burned his vest, which had blood on it. In a week, he was on board a steamer, on his way home. And now he was alone—without the constant excitement of business—and his conduct for the last two years rose before him. He found it would not do to think of it in any ordinary way. He must jus tify it to himself. He looked at his yellow pile: that would not excuse it. He finally stilled his conscience, as a physician puts a sleepless patient to rest, by sudorific*, which is not a healthy sleep by any means. He talked like this : “It was not me, the essential me. I did not love such a course; it was not inmost, but a very external matter. I will be great enough now to stand erect, as if it had never been. It is a hiatus in my true life. That life was an external one, taken on for the occasion. Now I cut it off.” When Charles arrived in California, he saw the terrible profanation of all that is divine in man ; how every base faculty was roused; how every noble one was prostituted. He had expected to find it so, but he had had no idea of the extent and degree of it. Instead, of yielding to it, he turned from it with unutterable dis gust. He found no chance for him to get money, and retain his moral self-respect; he must sell all, if he would buy gold; and what were life, love, worth, if gold were the only treasure ? He dug in the mines a while, but found he could not do that alone. He sold his labor for wages, but he was brought into continued contact with rascals—with men who would pass for refined, moral, and pious, at home; but there, they utterly abandoned themselves to all kinds of vice, and became what the vilest were at home. He could not stay in such a place, and returned before half his allotted time expired, pennyless, but uncorrupted. He had beheld scenes of vice and rascality, among men who were esteemed the best at home, till his soul be came sick, sick, with disgust. Oh! how he though of his beloved then, and pictured to himself, in contrast, the beautiful, noble life he would live with her, unstained b T the world’s corruption. He saw that a soul crushed under a pile of gold, is dead. He received but one letter from Cynthia during his absence. It contained words of endearment, accounts of her pursuits and studies, which pleased him—wolds of cheer and hope to himself, and noble purposes for her future. But its magnetic air was chilly: it lacked the electric ardor which he wished. It made him sad—and a fear, which he dared not utter to himself, would haunt every vision of love he contemplated. But he trusted the best, and would not doubt till the last moment. He thought her noble enough to tell him that her love had ceased, the instant that it was so.— Yet, if her love should cease, O God ! avert the consequences to him. Through all that long voyage, he had feared more than hoped, and sometimes suffered as much as if he already knew the worst; but as lie approached home, he be came more cheerful, and felt sure that she still loved him; yet he wanted to be as sured; and he dreamed of happiness in soon meeting her, and in her approval of his coming home without the gold, so long as his soul retained its dignity and purity. He dreamed—yes, he dreamed. He met her at her home. She simply shook his hand, as with an ordinary friend. He at tributed this unmanifestation to her re straint in the presence of the family. Her talk with him was general—avoiding aught particular—and her manner reserved. He wished the family away —he scanned her features : she looked in good spirits, as if satisfied with herself. He thought her in capable of deceit for a moment. She had engaged to accompany a party to the thea tre that even! ig, and she desired him to attend her. He consented—and now his hopes and fears were mingled together, as oil and watc- are mixed by being shaken violently. While they were sitting to gether, witm sing an interesting perform ance, she was absorbed in it; he— he satv not what was before him ; his attention was otherwise occupied, as his wild eye and convulsive motions testified. He half looked like an insane man. After return ing home, and they were alone, they sat in silence for half an hour—he with his face covered. An occasional sigh escaping him, told that the work of agony was being wrought within him. At last, he raised his eyes, and looked at her; her face in dicated a strange perplexity. Now, he was fully awakened to the fact that his love had been thrown away, wasted upon one who could not appreciate it. He said, in a voice which was not Aft: “ Cynthia, you do not love me. This fact is the grave of all my hope ; and now the world is a desert, with here and there a mournful monument of my dreams ot love. On them I may rest from my weary wanderings, which now commence. You have found that you can dazzle many eyes —and that gratifies more of your nature than such a love as mine. 1 see I was mistaken. I resign myself to my fate. I have loved you with all the force and pas sion of my nature. That love is sunk, as if in the bottom of that ocean I have just crossed, and I am all alone again, a thou sand fold more alone, in a dark world.” And he bowed himself upon the sofa, and felt himself encased in a dark, dense cloud of despair, floating in abyssmai space a million miles from any planet. The cold grief of his heart made his teeth chatter, and his whole frame tremble, as in an ague fit. “O! agony ! .*harp agony! For trusting heart to find, That vows believed were vows conceived, As light as summer wind.** She came to him —took his hand in her’s, and said, “Do not give up thus; life will yet be bright. Do not give way to grief, if you have any regard for me : it will kill me. thought you were stronger than this. I know you feel an agony, and I am the cause of it; but I cannot help it. Do not be bowed with despair, if you care aught for me.” What heartless egotism that! Those words pierced him like so many cold dag gers ; and when she pronounced them, he wondered that he lived. As if he must, or could forget that awful disappointment, right in the midst of it, out of regard to her who had wrought it. In after times, when he thought of it, he wondeTed he hail not felt like plunging a dagger into his hal lowed heart. A'et, at tile time he forgave her, and felt kindly towards her; and when she asked him if he blamed her, he said no; but at another hmc4ie recalled it and answered it again; “No ! I blame nobody, for anything.” This word of bitter scorn, accompanied with an indignant flash of his eye, all wrung out by her utter lack of genuine feeling in the matter, would have wound ed her more than all else he said, that for giveness, wrung out of a loving, forgiving, trusting nature, by such cool sympathy, would have sent a sting of remorse into her soul forever, had she possessed the heart of a true woman. When he retired from her that night, she asked him to be her friend, and she would be his. What wanted he of friendship, made of such ma terial ? Can a heartless freak of love (?) end in friendship ? She thought it could ; but he found, after long trying to make it so, that it could not he. And he was obli ged to yield to hatred. And he turned back to a dreary world, to try to forget his disappointment and mistake, and make them minister to his development of character. And when his grief was sufficiently calmed to look at her as she was, and not with the intoxicated eyes of a lover, he saw her to be like a magnificently finished room, splendidly fur nished, and decorated with brilliant attrac tions, purchased by such brilliant beauty, and graces of conversation, as her’s, but with no fire in it. Love could not abide there. Whoever goes in to admire it, will freeze before he can see it all; and no one can ever think of sitting there in quiet and comfort. Afterwards, whenever they met, she could never comprehend his deportment to her. He could hardly give her any treat ment. She thought he cherished a vindic tive spirit; but far from that, he strove to wipe all recollections and effects of the aftaii out of memory and existence, as if no such thing had ever happened. But he found he could not do it, and he doubted if it were in the nature of things to be done. In process of time, George again trod the path to Laura’s dwelling. What emo tions thronged around his heart, as he came near to that noble woman, whose was unstained and stainless. She could have gone to California, or anywhere, without being corrupted. He had not been equal to it: he had been and brought back wealth —of gold—but had bartered for it his wealth of moral character, his spiritual life. He assumed his former erectitude, his noble air, and for a moment he felt noble, as he firmly resolved he was going to be now— and entered the abode of her he loved.— {Loved! —Had he not temporarily spurned her love, in a time when it gathered all the voices of a higher world, and whispered warnings and brave resolves into hisheart ?) She sprang into his arms, before looking at him, and lost herself in his embrace. She felt a stiffness in that embrace, which al most made her relax her’s. He had hug ged a bag of gold, till he could not give the embrace of love. He strove to feel as noble, as pure, as once he did, that he might look so to her —but in vain. When she looked into his face, it looked as if it had been squeezed in the clutch of a mi ser’s fist, during all his absence. It was the face of a sordid, distased, bloated soul. Her eye looked into his, with a look like the dead eye of hope, and she clung to him the closer, as she said, in plaintive tones, “O, George ! this world is full of tempt ations for some, and woe for others. You are lost in one —I in the other. Where is your innocence of youth, your nobility of manhood ?” And she fainted, or died, he knew not which. He ran for water and assistance. As he stood over her, trying to restore her, the serpent of remorse sprung up alive in his bosom, and nestled there among his vitals forever afterwards. He would have given all his gold, but it was too late ; he had pawned all for money, and now had nothing to redeem it with. And love! —he could not ask that lovely soul to love him any more. He felt infinitely unworthy. ‘He saw her revive to consciousness, but such a consciousness ! O God ! why must woe attend the pure and true? We ask not in infidelity : we wish to see the har mony of which it is a part. But even that is impious—we forbear— we trust. He tried to comfort her, but saw that all the comfort he could give, could only torture her; and he withdrew. Another day he went to bid her a last farewell. He found her in a mournful state, as if her heaven had been changed to eternal night. She saw him to be the living petrifaction of a man; as if his soul once loyal to love, and a high law of right, had been changed to gold. He asked her what he could do for her.— She answered— “ Leave me to die, and never see me more.” And as she pressed his hand to her heart once more, she added, “ And may God yet bless you !” He turned away, feeling as if the atoms of his body were crumbling apart, and soon went back to the scenes of his down fall, where he forgot his former self, the ruined Laura, and his God, ill a whirl of dissipation and money-getting. Charles heard of this, after George had departed. Then he thought of Laura— how she must suffer, far more than he, laying aside that he was a man, and she a woman ; for, all other things being equal, woman can suffer more keenly than man. He met her, ami they assisted each other with a help neither could have had else where. He had withstood the worst tempt ation man is ever subjected to, and surviv ed that terrible trial. She had passed through the deepest woe that can come upon woman, perhaps with an exception. Had he been her husband, and the father of her children, the affliction would have been harder. But both became greater and better for these experiences. Some years afterwards, their destinies were united in marriage.— Their young love had been blighted; but who \#ill say that manhoods love, after disappointment and trouble, though less romantic and enthusiastic, is less deep and ardent, and not more valuable, in this stage of man's development, when nothing is certain till it is severely tried—when no metal is known to be pure till it passes through the fire? George is a hanker and. distinguished politician, without purity of purpose or nobleness of aim, in California. Cynthia is an authoress, who has a popular repu tation in the fashionable world, but with out heart, or chastity of soul. She is the legal wife of an unprincipled lawyer. Charles and Laura live in a retired part of the country, rearing a noble family, and living a true poetic life, in rural occupa tions and enjoyments—sometimes appear ing in the literary world, giving lessons of sublime virtue, and gloriously laboring for the advancement of mankind. Tf'aSMiiMßA&'Y. From Mackaj’i “Western World.” REAL SOURCE OF ENGLISH & AMERICAN POWER. “In estimating our own position amongst the nations of the earth, we are too little in the habit of taking the glowing power, wealth, and influence of America into ac count. We think we do enough, when we measure ourselves against the nations of Europe, and take steps to maintain oursu premacy amongst them. America is too far away to have much influence upon our political arrangements, and we accordingly attach but little consequence to her in any light. J'his is a great mistake. America is the only power on earth which we have to dread. We have not to fear her politi cally, for reasons already mentioned; we have not to apprehend any military chas tisement at her hands, for in that respect we know both how to avenge and to de fend ourselves; but we have to fear the co lossal strides which she is taking in indus trial development. We have less reason to dread the combined armaments of the world, than the silent and unostentatious operations of nature, and the progressive achievements of art on the continent of America. We be gird ourselves with fleets, and saturate the community with military and police, and think that we have done all that is needed for the perpetuation of our influence and the maintenance of our power. But in all this we mistake the leal source of our pow er. What is it but our material wealth ? Napoleon confessed that it was the gold more than the arms of England that hum bled him. Our wealth is the result of our industry. It may be humiliating to confess it, but it is not by surrounding ourselves by all the pomp and panoply of war that we can maintain our position, but by the steady promotion and encouragement of our industry. Let our industry flag, and our unemployed capital will find investment