Newspaper Page Text
«nce with principles, and their application, arc out of the question
while the hurried literary travelling of the day continues. Mount
n foreigner on one of the Rail-Roads that belt the country—ply your (
steam--travel a hundred and fifty miles in ten hours ; what knows j
he of the Geography of your State ? If lie were to judge by what j
he sees, he might set his trans-atlantic brethern agape by announcing
the singular fact, that in this young Republic he saw “ trees as men
walking.” In Education there must be time allowed for thought and
review,°if impressions are accurate and permanent. Learning is not,
to be acquired like fortune, by speculation. The tune, the thought, the
study, wc invest in the enterprise will never fail of an ample dividend,
but we cannot grow wise on expectation and be introduce I, at last, into
the emovmeiU of this priceless possession without labor and care, like (
an heir into the estate of a testator. The great mathematician of Sy- 1
racuse informed his lordly Sovereign that there was no royal road to
Geometry, and I would add, there is no menial raU-wiy. Ino toil
some assent must remain steep and toilsome still. No embankment i
can span the vales of science, and give the passenger a level footway. ,
Sneed must be graduated by capacity and application. In the absence
ofthe.se, there may be nominal advancement, but presumption and fol
ly will be the companions of our journey. C.iance will direct and dis
appointment mock our toil. Far better stand upon the shore and gather
pebbles with Newton, than launch the ocean without compass or know
ledge of stars. Tell me not of the march of mind, of the great improve
ments in the books, of the instrumental advantages for explanation, of
lectures and experiments. I know it all, and I know too, that mind is
but mind after a'l; the same in birth, and subject to the same la\vs as in
days of old. You cannot quicken apprehension by chemical agencies,
rouse up dull perception by the roar of steam, irradiate the inner dark
ness by gas-light, nor enlarge and fill the meagre capacity by the com
pression of the screw. You cannot charm the secrets of science from
their hiding places by the concourse of sweet sounds, nor win Litera
ture to give up its embellishments by the witchery of useless orna
ments. e Night yields reluctantly to the day, flies not in haste, broken
and dismayed, but retreats in order, nor will ignorance depart at the
waving of a book, or surrender to the nod of a school master. The
murky sovereign retires from her fastnesses even as the savage from
his forest, with tardy steps, and with many a struggle. Sun, moon
and stars, and winds, and streams, have their laws, and they obey :
and is mind alone lawless and independent, subject to no proprieties of
time, place and action ? Is there t>be no respect to age, no consid
eration of capacity',‘no adjustment of means to ends ? Shall we anti
'cipate results utterly beyond all reasonable expectation, and then com
plain of disappointment? Can the cradled infant perform the work of
Hercules ? Are we to call children fiom their toys and arm them with
Algebras, and Euclids, and Enficlds, and send theni forth to win con
quests where Titans only could succeed ? Would you encase the effe
minate son of fashion, who had grown up in the shade of his paternal
trees, in the armor of the old Roman soldier? Why then task the
youthful mind with the labor of manhood? Why heap the burden of
maturity nn tho of tbo minor ? Doraogomont, imbecility,
confusion, must follow as the legitimate products of this ill-judged poli
cy. It acts and reacts disastrously. Memory is forced into undue
action, and the understanding left unimproved. It creates a disrelish
for study, converts the academy into a prison-house, and gathers the
gloom of despondency where all ought to be bright, and cheering, and
pleasant.
I have but little hope of seeing any great improvement until such a
revolution can be wrought in public sentiment, and general practice,
as shall prevent the introduction of girls into society at so early an age
as is now common in the land. This prevalent and pernicious habit
constitutes one of the most formidable obstructions to tiie course of
Female Education. Notwithstanding the unparalled multiplication of
schools, the very general disposition among all classes to make the fa
cilities of the day available for the rising generation, yet there lias not
been a proportionate elevation in tie standard of intellectual improve
ment. The diffusion of knowledge, even in its simplest elements, is
important enough to attract and deserve the attention of Legislators,
and Patriots,and Christians; still it is to be kept in mind that there is
an obvious distinction between the mere diffusion of knowledge and great
intellectual advancement, the lifting up of the mind to the highest range
of thought, and conception, and attainment. In view of the large and
glorious results that might follow if the spirit of enterprise were prop
erly directed, and the means of the countiy judiciously applied, it is
bad policy to expend all our labor and time, and treasure, in the more
extension of benefits hitherto confined. The thorough education of all
the people is impracticable, and perhaps not to be desired, but there is
wisdom, liberality and energy enough in the country to provide cdq,
cation, in some of its degrees, for the whole population. Multiply i
primary schoota ; erect them in every district, and town, and hamlet; ;
provide teachers, reduce tuition to as mere a gratuity as circumstan
ces will allow, that the poor may share in the distribution : but then let
us not forget to set high the standard of a finished education, and take
care that the domestic policy of the country does not counteract, by
ill-timed removal, the whole possible benefit. The enlargement of
plan, the extension of the course, unless the time afforded be propor
tionately increased, will only perpetuate existing evils. A College can
confer no higher literary distinction, as to real acquisition, than an
Academy, if forced upon the usual hasty method of instruction. As
to the course of study, the Academy, on paper, proposes oftentimes to
teach a greater variety of branches 'than the College. The specific dif
ference, and that which shauld deservedly give the College pre-emin
ence is, that its diploma should be the voucher of a superior education.
Primary learning should become more accurate and extensive, and the
standard of admission into a College should be elevated—a regular uni
form system adopted, so that the course of learning might be graduated
according to the ordtr of nature, and the minds development, regulating
studies by age and circumstances, from the child in its alphabet, to the
young lady upon the verge of womanhood. Ido deprecate the notion
that the mere name of having spent a few months tit this institution,
should be considered honor enough. We do not propose to make mem
bership a certificate of superior attainments. We do not desire to he
sustained by delusive appearances, on occasions like this, by newspaper
panegyrics, but by solid instruction, by living epistles of commendation.
But to effect our purposes, we must have the co-oporation of Parents
and Pupils. When young Indies arc thrown prematurely into the whirl
of fashion—exposed to the world, with its thousand dissipations—sub
jected to the evil influence of amusements, that distract and dazzle; on
what authority of reason or experience shall we look for great and ben
eficial results ? With the powers of the mind imperfectly developed,
moral and intellectual education but just commenced ; the mind, for
the want of maturity', unable to discriminate properly—at the juncture,
POET 11 Y.
PARTING.
BY FREDERICK BROWN.
I left thee dearest, bath’d in tears, those eyes,
Those beauteous, bright black eyes, which used to
shine
So full of tenderness,—affection, love, —
Were then alas ! sunk and beditn'd with grief,
Till mem’ry fades, I ne'er shall cease to think
On that sad hour, that bitter painful hour.
When strong necessity’s stern.hand, forc’d me
To fly iroin all that binds my heart to earth,
We parted love in misery :—'tis not
For me to paint the feelings of my soul,
\\ lien torn from thy embrace—l cannot, love !
The cold convulsive pressure of the hand,
Which seems to cling, e’en as in death, to that
Our hearts hold dear. The lips that cannot speak
The last, yet dreaded word ‘Farewell.’ The eyes,
That dare not meet, to take the one sad look,
Hut, burning, dry the tear we wish, and strive
In vain to shed : —Oh ! these are agonies,
The deep-felt agonies of soul, that tear
Bach nerve, and make us fetl in life, what aro
The pangs, th« deadi'st pangs of death itself.
To those who never deeply, dearly lov'd,
My word* muy seem a madness of the brain s
But those who’ve lov’d like me, will /tel like me.
Tha parting kisa thou gav’st me love, is still
Unsullied ou my lip, snd when we mei-t,
That puie and virgm'd kiss, is thine again,—
But should 1 never more behold thee love,
That ku* shall hang upon my djing breath,
And die same sigb that waf's my soul hum earth
7*o Ifeav’n, shall waft that kiss to thee, my |ov#.
to appreciate study, to feel the desire for improvement, to understand
the art of learning, just then to be withdrawn from hooks and instruc
tions, and restraints, and ushed forthwith into society, the untutored
f clings left without proper moral direction, (for at this stage the sense
of responsibility is feeble and relative obligation but ill understood,)
beset with temptations that disguise the frivolities of life with attractive
splendor, and robe the veriest vanities with the witcheries o£ refine
ment and taste ; blind to the prostitution of time and power ; the waste
of thought; the utter enervation of intellect, what wonder that scholar
ship is superficial, that duty to God is forgotten, that the higher walks
of moral action are untrod, unvisited ? What wonder that taste is
frothy, that dress and entertainment, and parade of t rifling circumstan
ces engross faculties formed for nobler ends —that life’s solemn duties,
wide-reaching as they arc in their relations and influences, should over
task a nature sunk in effeminacy—a nature whose capabilities have
dwindled and deteriorated for the want of culture, evaporated in dreams
and fantasies, waxed powerless to dare or to do. The mind must have
development and maturity to understand and appreciate its high res
ponsibilities. If subjected to the high pressure action, urged through
with hasty’ step, and then without digestion of thought or relish for so
lid knowledge, dismissed to pastime and show, nothing can be expected
but conversations puerile, thoughts weak, a character dependent upon
trifles and in rapture with what deserves contempt. •
It is gratifying to believe that a revolution may and will he
wrought up an this subject. The conviction of its necessity is gen
eral. The time has come when the reigning fashion is to be dis
placed by a better state of things. The country demands that ed
ucation shall no longer consist of mere manual accomplishments,
hut of actual preparation for the duties of life. Who would refuse
the change an honest, earnest welcome ? Who will refuse to con
tribute his influence to effect and establish it ? The recognition of
its necessity is, we trust, the harbinger of its introduction. Chiv
alry', patriotism, religion urge 11s to rally our recreant energies and
hasten the day when Female influence shall be identified with all
that is benevolent, intellectual and praiseworthy. Intellectual Fe
male society is the surest, most efficient instrumentality for the lit
erary elevation of the State. Summon Woman’s mngic power to
the aid of Literature, and you will refine taste, ennoble sentiment,
awaken emulation, and diminish temptations to vice by' multiplying
the sources of rational enjoyment. Enlarge her attainments, en
rich her mind with the stores of learning, and robe her character
with the light of genius, people her bosom with noble thoughts, bid
her walk amid the glorious mysteries of nature in the freedom of
all her faculties, mingle the emanations of her mind with the pure
affections of her heart, and you invest her beauty with a brighter
charm, give to her language a richer melody’, combine with her in
fluence an element of power wide as the complicated relations of life
—pervading and mighty—make her home a vision of loveliness,
embodied and real, luminious with viiiure’s purest light, and redolent
of blessing.
Huil ye daughters of the South ! I proclaim to-day the restora
tion of y'our birth.right; I commit to the flames the warrant of your J
exile. To your legitimate possession in the name of the State, and
the Church, I give y'ou your title and a welcome. Hail Georgia ! j
beacon star in the night of years, we greet thy beams with rip- j
lure and hail the sign of promise as did the Roman mother the j
lambent fire that played round young Tarquin’s cradle. The first j
to rise on Woman’s destiny', shine on undimmed and bright, nor set j
till earth is childless and time’s no more !
It is an auspicious circumstance that Education, at last, begins j
to he understood in the full comprehension of" its meaning. Strange {
it is that the obvious signification of the word should have been so j
long forgotten, and glad am I that the light begins to shine. “ A
religious education,” says a French philosopher, “ is the first want!
of any people.” The doctrine is sound, the sentiment is just.—
Contemplate Christianity in its effects upon the civii, domestic and I
political relations ot life, and that man is neither philosopher, phil
anthropist or patriot who does not recognize it as the tutelary ge
nius oi his country, the ministering angel of the world. The Bible
has been too long excluded from the republic of letters. lie who
would prolong this banishment, forbid the alliance of learning and
religion, is a moral madman, more fit for the confinement of a Itt
-1.. .ic asylum than for the immensities of Society. We repudiate
and denounce the principle of compromise and exclusion. With
education, divorced front Christian morals, we hold no fellowship,
and unto the assembly of its advocates we would not unite our hon
or. No ; let the Bible be to our Colleges what the Skckiuuh was
to (he Temple of the olden time, at once the symbol of the presence
and the worship of God. Science herself is blind to the true in
terests of man until tier ey'es are opened by washing in the waters
of Siloam’s pool. Multiply your Academics, erect your Colleges,
organize your Faculties, gather your Pupils together, deliver your
Lectures, seek all the advantages of Apparatus and Cabinets, and
Libraries, bid exclude the Scriptures of eternal truth, and you turn
loose upon society minds full armed for mischief: the rod which in
Aaron’s hand would have budded and blossomed, you convert into
a serpent that will devour well nigh all the virtues of the land.—
But let the warm and magic breath of Christianity (as here, thank
God, it does) shed its magic breath upon the youthful spirits that
crowd your halls of learning—then shall hope beam over them in
the light of hallowed prophecy, and the revolutions of Time’s wheel
shall evolve the destiny of each in the brightness of kuowlege and
, virtue. Let politicians make penal enactments, and seek to bind
j depravity with human laws, as did the Piiilistians the man of Gaza
with feeble cords, but be it our labor to plant society in the shadow
| of the Eternal Throne, draw over it the shield of Omnipotence,
j and protect its interests with the thunder t£at issues from the thick
I darkness in which Jehovah dwells. Talk ye of Pierian Springs, and
! Castalian founts, and Arcadian groves ? Give me the Testament
! of Jesus, the inspiration of the Cross, the baptism of the spirit.—
: Let others seek the accomplishments of classic lore—wander amid
the ruins of antiquity—learn leesons of wisdom from the gay chron
iclers of departed time—sit wrapt in poetic mood as the evening
star looks down upon the lone and mighty wild, over whose bosom
wide and waste lie scattered the moulding relics of ciilC* that have
crumbled into tombs : he it ours, my countrymen, to lead cur cl.’d
dren amid the gardens of the Lord, and point them to the glories
ot the great hereafter. Let the dying enemy of God bequeath his
millions to rear a marble monument, within whose capacious di
mensions the feartul experiment is to be made of raising men with
out Religion—but on this Institution rest, forever rest, the dews
! of Zion and the smile of God !
MISCELLANY.
From the London New Monthly Magazine for June.
A DOMESTIC SCENE.
Nine o'clock had just struck at the Imperial Palace
at Fontainbleau. Napoleon,seated by the fire side with
Marie Louise, was enjoying that freedom of conversa
tion and familiarity he was so fond of. Never had his
noble and antique features assumed so joyous and so
natural an expression. He laughed, lie chatted, he
joked ; and a stranger entering by chance, would have
had much difficulty iiv recognising the Emperor in that
little stout man, lolling with so much nonchalance in an
arm chair.
He poked the fire with the tip of his boot, rubbed his
hands with glee, and with playful and tender sallies,
provoked Marie Louise to venture upon pome French
phrases, as yet strange toiler, which she disfigured with
a German frankness so irresistibly droll, that Napoleon
burst into fits of laughter.
The Empress, half angry, half smiling, catne and sat
upon the knee of Iter husband. At the same moment
the door opening, the soldier-like face of Duroc present
ed itself.
‘Sire,’ said hr, ‘the Italian artist is arrived.'
‘ Conduct him here immediately,' replied the Empe
ror, at the same time pushing hack Ins arm chair, he
left a space for the new comer between the Empress
and himself.
The visitor on entering, made a profound how to the
two illustrious personages into whose presence he was
admit'ed : and at the desire of Napoleon, took a seat
near the lire.
‘Welcome to France, tny dear Canovn,’ said the Em
peror, in one of liis kindest acern's. ‘But how pale
and thin you have become since I last saw you You
must certainly leave Home and come to reside in Paris.
The air of ilia capital will resturr you to health and
vigour. See how well we arc,'said he, taking in his
hand the fresh, and rosy chin of Marie Lapse
‘Sire, you must attribute my til health to tint fatigue
<>f my occupations, not to the air of tiiv country. To
leave home altogether would lie iiiipmusibfe for me; in
deed, it would lie futnl to me.'
Tan* is the capital of tiie art* You must at*) here.
T HE SOUTHERN' POS T
I desire it,’ said the husband of the pretty German, in a
commanding tone, on a sudden assuming the Emperor.
‘Your Majesty may dispose of my life; butifyou wish
it to be devoted to your service, sire, grant me permis
sion to return to Italy, as soon as I have finished the
bust of her Majesty, the Empress, which I am about to
undertake.’
‘ Devil's in the man,’ exclaimed the Emperor, ‘he
refuses to remain with me! You see, Louise, he has
no other ambition than to be tlte greatest sculptor in
the world. He longs to leave us to return to Rome to
resume his labors, and to present to the world another
such a work nt Iris ‘Terpsichore,’ ‘Paris,’ ‘Les Dan
sense?,’ ‘Venus,’ or the ‘Magdalen.”
'I lie conversation ihcn become more general : they
talked o( the/Excavation’ continued bv the Borghese
family of Italian ariists, of the ’Colonuc Vt ndomr,’ and
a thousand oilier topics. Nothing was new to Napo
leon, who conversed with a perfect knowledge of every
subject, and a w onderful clearness of perception.
Conova could not retain bis surprise and admiration.
‘How is it possible for your majesty to divide your at
tention between so many different matters?’ exclaim
ed lie.
‘I have sixty millions of subjects,’ replied Napoleon,
with a smile ; eight or nine hundred thousand soldiers,
r. hundred thousand houses. The Romans themselves
had not so manv; I have commanded at forty battles.
At Wagrani, I fired a hundred thousand cannon halls,
and tills lady, who was then archduchess of Austria,
desired my death.’ At this lie pulled the enr of Marie
I/iuiso, who answered witli a droll imitation of her
German accent. ‘II etre hion frai.’ *1 think.’ said the
Fomin artist, ‘tilings now wear a different aspect.
‘Oil! Celaeet lioin vrai,’ said Marie Louise; tins time
in tile best French possible, kissing the Emperor’s
‘■nod tenderly, who taking the young creature l.v (lie
w made her set upon his lap, but ns she blushing! v
resisted, ‘Bah! ball! said Nr.|sifeon; “ Canova is a
blend, mid we don't mnke ceremonies with friend*
beside*, he is himself of a tender and susceptible IlS .'
tore, and w II lie delighted to whins* the happiness of
an affectionate couple."
L sten to mi' I sense, ami ! will relate to you a t> '
nistitjc story the hero of which you msv easily guts.;
you will ilw r, judge it 1 1 lose who lov* each o(Im( ought I
to feat remain! before Cauovs '
1 lie kissed Marie Louise, and keeping her still upon
his knee, began : “In the province of there is :|
a little village called Possagno. In th:« place was b ra
and reared the -on ofan architect, whose father died at
ihe earlv age of twenty-seven, and whose mother mar- ,
ried a second time, ‘S ttori di Crepano.’
I 'At four years old, the child, bv name Antonia, way
cn'rusted to the care of its grandfather, who treated it
wish much severity. By him it was sent to pass an
autumn at Pradrazzi, two nr three leagues from Pos-!|
sagno, at the house of an Italian senator; a friend of,
his, whose name was Faliero. The latter observing
Ihe intelligence of the little peasant, and pleased with
the abiii'y 'he evinced in carving stone, shaping clnv,.
placed him as a pupil with a clever sculptor called
; Toretto.’ j
‘What! your mnjpsty knows a!! those minute details
of my private life ?’ exclaimed Canova in surprise.
‘I know many more,’ replied Napoleon maliciously,
and he continued.
i ‘Tpretto was a man of strict morals, hilt however
' narrowly he may have wateht-u 100 favorite pupil. An
-1 tonia tound means to escape from the Atelier now and
then to go and dance at the village fries. lie was then
only sixteen. Am mgst tliegav throng of |icasnn!s ns- •
sembled together during the vintage to dance the taran
tella, there was one whose elm-ms captivated hisheart,
Betti n a Biasi; she was just fourteen. Her large black j
eyes sparkled with animation : her waist was so taper
ing two hands could span it; her hair, the loveliest that
ever adorned a maiden.’
A sigh escaped from the bosom of Canova.
; The Emperor pressed the hand of Maria Louie, that j
' she might remark that sigh, and without interrupting.
, his recital, continued —
‘Antonio was enthusiastic, and in love. As for the
! grandfather, he was much less moved hv the fascina
tions, than by the marriage pdHion ol Bettinn, winch j
was considerable, particularly for the poor apprentice 10
a sculptor.
‘The parents of both formed projects of uniting them;
arrangements for their marriage weredrawing to a close, |
when Toretto and the Senator chanced to hear of it. |
‘They reflected that this union would destroy the
prospects of theirprofege,and determined to prevent it. I
‘One evening they entered the chamber of Antonio, I
commanded him tofolldw them ; and notwithstanding!
hjs tears, his resistance, and despair, carried him to j
Venice, " here ‘,'ney confined him during a whole year.
‘Ail endeavors to escape proved fruitless. The ena
tTiored youth finding his return to Parndazzi impossible, j
was compelled to seek consolation in the study of his
favorite pursuit—sculpture.
‘The talent and rcpu'ntion of ihe young man soon
spread abroad; his celebrity was established —he be- 1
came rich—his society was courted by all, and ;’, ie
mory of Bettina Basi was gradually erased from his
mind.
‘At the same time, the ar“ end blandishments of ano
ther; little coquette, Dominica, took the place in his af
fecnons. ?.'ne was the daughter of the sculptor. Volpato.
‘Proposals of marriage were made ; but as Dominica
11 was yet young, a postponement was agreed upon till die
following year. Aln«! bes-re that time, Dominica be
!; stowed her hand on Raphael Morghen.
i ‘The poor deserted lover was in despair at this new
piece of treachery.’
Ai this part of ihe recital, Canova feel into a deep fit
|of mnsing and melancholy, unconscious of what was
passing around him.
j ‘His health gave way. His physicians and friends
: recommended him to return and breathe ihe air of his
native village.
j ‘(Were Corvisnrt here, he would say this was a’reme
dy the faculty donot believe in, but nevertheless it nl
| ways succeeds.)
j ‘Antonio set off on his journey.
j ‘On his approach to his native place, die thoughts of
i Bettina Biasi, that charming, that lovely girl, so disin
terested in her love for him, rushed upon his imaginu
! tion more fresh, and more engaging than ever.
I ‘ ‘Oh !’ cried he, -how ungrateful have I been to neg
i lect and forget hr r!’
j ‘Dismissing from his mind all remembrance of Do
jminica, he dreamt only of Bettina Biasi He pictured
to himself the delight he should experience in again
: cln«ning her to his bosom
\ ‘His her, in bent with hope and joy, and whilst he was
irsolving within himself, to proceed next day without
\ fail to Pradazzi, he perceived the village spire ofPassag
no before him.
i ‘Too much agitated to remain in the slow ‘vetturino,’
j he alighted and continued his journey on foot by a short
i road, until he arrived at the gate of the little town.
I ‘At this moment a crowd of young men who were
awaiting his arrival, and perceive him approach, fill die
air with shouts of welcome, surround and embrace him.
| ‘tie stands without the power of speech, hisheart
I throbs within him, his eves are filled with tears,
j ‘The mad is strewed w ith laurel brancln sand ever
greens. n!! the inhabitants of l’a-'-f gng, women, chil
dren and old men, in holiday costume, line trie road,and
! salute the celebrated youth.
.‘The venerable Toretto, the old master of Canova,
! folds him in his arm o , werpingover him. At a distance
approach the mother of Canova, his step-father, and
behind them, a female bathed in tears?
•Bettina ! mia Bettina ! cried Canm a.
‘She stretches out her hand to him, lie is about to
speak, when the ' ells of the village sound a.merry peal,
salvosof musketry rend the air, and the euraie a' the
head ofiiis clergy, singing the ‘Te Deum,’ advances in
his clerical robes, knee's down, and returns thunks to
Providence for having g anted to Paspagno a child so re
nowned as Canova. The aged priest then passes his,
arm throught that of Canova, his mother leans on the
other, and the procession conducts the heroin triumph
to liis grandfather, whose infirmities confine him to his j
house.’
‘All ! sire, sire ! let me entreat you not to continue a
recital which awakens such cruel anil such sweet re
collections,' interrupted Canova, sobbing.
But Napoleon was too much pleased with thoimpres
sion he had made on his listeners to think of stopping.
Marie Louise had several times wiped the tears from
her eyes.
‘Listen to the rest, resume 1 lie, addre-sitiguhe cm
press, ‘we are coming to the denoumcnf , which is well j
worthy of the rest of the story.’
‘The day following, as Canova was entering the little
garden ot his grandfather, lie saw Beilina Lhasa ap
upproaching him.
‘Five years had diminished nothing of her beauty, ex
cept that she was pale, and resembled one of his own j
white marble statues.
“O Betiina ! Bettina !’ criud lie, ‘will you pardon me
\ my ingratitude, and confer on me a happiness 1 scarce-1
jly deserve. 1 had not yet seen you, when all the fervent
and tender affection I once bore you returned upon me
I withincreased strength.’
‘‘Listen!’said Bettina, whose voice trembled with!
J emotion—‘listen ! Antonio Mio—l suffered much when
I learnt that you were to lie married to Dominion, hut I
felt even then, dearest friend, that the humble village
girl ofPradrazzi. the daughter of a peasant, the nlliuTi
, ced of the apprentice Anionio, could never lie ihe wife
|of the celebrated Conova. Nevertheless, I refused se
vered offers of marriage, and for five years I lived upon
i the iCeolleci.'on of him I loved. But when J heard that
I you were aboil! tore'urntoPassagno when I conclu
ded, from my own feciti,;at vou would not lie able
jto see me again without emoife:' —'* len I reflected
we might be Both weak enough to rent-.’.’ i.T’macies
| rendered unreasonable by your present position, J was
| anxious to save us both not only the possibility of yield
ing, but also the agitation and struggles we would
i have to undergo—l married.’
j ‘‘Married’—you married!’
| ‘‘About eight days ago, to a deserving young man,
! who has sought my hand for four years.’ ’ "
| ‘ ‘Oh ! that was a noble and worthy creature !’ cried
i Marie Louise.
| Canova, had left his seat, and had gone to lean liis;
head against the window, to conceal Ins grief.
I A knock came to the door, and the Minister of
Police, tiie Due d’Otrante, put in his plain but expres
; sive bead.
! ‘Really, M. le Dir, you could not have arrived at a
I more opportune moment.
I ‘See tiie effect I have produced, tlmitks to tiie inf >r
ntation you have procured me from Italy, w ithin tiie
I last few day*.
| ‘Adieu, Canova,’ continued he gently patting the
shoulder of the artist. ‘Employ yourself in making the
I bust of my wife, nnd when you have finished it, if you
still persists in returning to Italy, I suppose we must let
I you go.
i ‘Good niglit! I have business with M. le due d’-
Otrante. Ah ! it is a hard life that of emporer,’ said lie
—‘it is not often 1 have an evening to ntv-elfand,‘i.cud,
near the fire.
‘Now come, M. le Due.’ And he w ent out with the
I minister.
We must not omit to add, that this was tiie evening
of the 11 tli October, 181), and that the Emperor, Mur,l
i Louise, and Conovn, were in the same room, nnd in ir
| the same fire place where Napoleon signed liis abdira
j tion, 11th of April, 1914.
Mr During the President’s stay in N".*v York, he
! was called upon by Hannah Gouge, a lady residing in
| that city, wlio is in her one hundred nnd fourth t,. Br .
j ‘‘the said she had seen every President of llie l imed
States—lmd shaken hand* with Washington, and mis
quite del glued to see the present incumbent. Hite walk
ed without assistance from bar n *nfeie -
Mr The Bareojife.tfus, brought l.y Comm ■ 1 |;iv
o'l, from Egypt, lm* best presented 4<y him to the Go
| raid Culiege
PICAYUNE! ANA.
“Get out of the way you black rascal,” said a drgti
ken loafer yes'erdav, as he staggered against a negro
and knocked him off the side-balk.
“Wet, if I is black I is'ut hlu° as vou is, dat I ainf,”
retorted the ntgrj. We thought the hard hit a just one.
The editor of the B niton Transcript calls soda foun
tains the handmaidens of temperance.
_ The Bos on people are infatuated with the Giraffe.
Several stoop-shouldered individuals have become com
pletely straigln by gazing at him long and steadily.
The editor of the Times dont like our chequered “tin
ny ntio-inhlcs.” VV« do. It is curious how great minds
will differ about small matters.
Eliza \ an Stecnburgh recently made .lob F. Gardner,
of .Saratoga, pony up a cool $100) for saying she was
so and so w hen it was not so.
The “Old B tell” of the B is'on Transcript says he
won! 1 not give a rotten apple for a stolen kiss—but for
“a given'one, lie confesses “amiable weakness.” Com
pare a slol' n kiss to a rotten apple ! The old hunks
ought to have a peck thrown at liis head.
Query. —What is Kendall going to do with lfs che
quered breeches ? We are terrible anxious to know.
We expect an answer right off.
Times ofldst evening.
Y'ou shall have one, Ainsworth, “right off.” As those
‘•checks” are becoming so attractive, and so much
notice is taken of them, we have concluded not to wear
them nut at once, hilt keep them for training days,
Sundav-go-to meetings, and to go and see the girls in.
Don’t you wish you had a pair just like them ?
If there is any thing in this world that will make a
man (eel worse than pinching his fingers in the crack
of a door, we should like to know it. "
Exchange paper.
W odd vou ? We!', put your nose in and pinch that
a spell. We never tried it, but think it would hurt
equally as bad if not worse.
Tito Dike of Cumberland, or present King of Han
over, is heir presumptive to the throne of England. We
are not a marrying man, but we would rather bind
ourself to little Victoria for better or wmrse, than such;,
sovereign should disgrace the throne of o'J England. !
We arc told that the little Queen, thinks the worlds of
us since we sent her thy I gumbo,
“,4A ! where is t-'ancy bred ?” —Where is fancy bred?
t hat is indeed an enigma which few will he found
prepared to solve. This climate—this whole country
—-perns as favorable to its growth as that of iw rus
niultiaiuUs. It vegetates here as potatoes do in Ire
land, or as whortleberries do down-east. It is as pecu
liar to our country ns short-horned cows are to Durham
in England, tobacco pipes to Dutchmen, revolts to
Frenchmen, mules to Spain, metaphysics to Germans,
assassinations to Italians, or grandiloquent proclaim! j
lions to Mexican Generals. It may be said that not
withstanding the sublime scenery, the unrivalled beau
ties and towering grandeur with which nature has :
stamped our country, that it has been comparatively
barren in the production of pets—those men who give
A local hah tation and a name ;”
and that therefore funny, which, to use a mercantile 1
and unpoctic expression, i3 their stock in trade, must l
heaseatcc commodity, and, like the Giraffe or the j
; Fourth of July, not to be seen every day. This, how
! ever, is a ‘ wulgar error,” as we are prepared to show
I without travelling very fur for the proof.
What was the golden era predicted by Titos. 11.
Benton, when the p.rcious metals were to he seen float
| ingun the Father of Waters? It was but a fancy
i sketch.
VVh it ha= been the sum and substance of the sub
! treasury bill ? A fancy sketch.
W hat v. etc the whig and loco-foco accounts of the
Virginia elections ? Fancy sketches.
What is Gen. Macomb’s treaty? A fancy sketch.
Wll.lt are the railroads of the patriotic Gen. Gaines ?
Fancy sketches.
1 What were the Canadian revolution and the Maine
! war ? Each a fancy sketch
What has the Atlantic Steam Ship hill, passed bv our
: Legislature las', session, turned out to be ? A fancy
' sketch.
i What were the lectures of Mr. Buckingham? Fancy
I skendies.
What was the moral reform preached by Fanny
Wright? A fanevsketch.
What does all the nonsense about lobelia and bran
| bread amount to? A fancy sketch.
What is E py’s theory of rain ? A fancy sketch.
| What are the delights oi inatrimonv in most eases?
I Fanev eUeteUa
\\ hat are the supposed miseries • fan old bachelor's
i life ? Nothing—nothing but a fancy skc’clt.
Wltat is animal magnetism and what the fable 9 of
Alaria Monk ? Mere fanev sketches
W hat is Mormouism and Joe Smith’s biblc ? A fancy
| sketch.
I W itat was Benne't’s description of the coronation ?
A faney sketch.
What arc the hopes of Santa Anna in regaining
Texas ? A high-wrought fancy sketch.
What tire the anticipations us the Abolitionists? A
j dark, revolting tancy sketch.
W hat is rep ismg confidence i.i u sub-treasurer? A
fancy sketch.
What v. ns our story of “ Fun on board a Steam
| boat ” A fancy sketch.
! What were tiie eroakings lately made about yellow
I fever ? Fancy sketches.
What done all that is said in the North about the im
j morality of Nr w Orleans amount to ? A fancy sketch.
I What are the pleasures ofan editor’s life ? A fancy
sketch—and o- e requiring the greatest stretch of fancy.
What was Dr. Plough’s washing machine? A fancy
sketch.
What is fame, honor, glory, and all that sort of tiling?
AH.: 1i! a fancy sketch.
What have all our swamp cities turned out to be?
Pretty fancy sketches.
What is all this long yarn we have been spinning?
A fancy ske'ch.
From the National Intelligencer.
THE. CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.
The Leant if ill effusion which the reader will find be
low, i- the production ol the chaste and classic mind
ot the late venerable and distinguished Senator from
Rhode Island, Mr. Robbins, and was occasioned by
die following circumstances: During the Session of
1837-8, Mr. Webster entertained a large party of friends
at dinner; among them, the venerable Senator we
have named The evening passed off with much hi
larity, enlivened with wit and sentiment; hut, during
i 'he greater part of the lime, Mr. Robbins maintained
i that graie but placid silence which was his habit.
While thus apparently abstracted, someone suddenly
’ called on him li>r a toast, which call was seconded by
I tiie company. He rose, and in liis surprise asked if
j 'hey were serious in making such a demand of so old
| a inan ; and being assured that they were, he said if
i they want and suspend their hilarity lor a lew moments he
would give them a toast and preface it with a few ob
set vation*. Having thus secured a breathless stillness,
in w ent on remark that they were then on the verse
of the 22d of February, h‘:r anniversary of the birth of
the great patriot and statesman of our country, whom
i al! delighted to remember amt to honor; and he hoped
ho might lie allowed the privilege of an aged man to
recur tor a few moments to past events connected with
iiis character and (tistory. He then proceeded, and
delivered in tiie most happy and impressive ninnnerthc
beautiful speech which now graces our columns. The
! whole company were electrified by his patriotic enthu
siasm ; and one of the guests, before they separated,
begge l that lie would take the trouble lo put on paper
what lie had so happily expressed, and furnish a copy
for publication. Mr.R, obligingly complied with tins'
| request on the following day, but by some accident tiie
manuscript got mislaid, and eluded all search for it un
til a feivdavs ago, when it was unexpectedly recover
, cd, ami is now presented to our renders :
On the near approach of that calender-day which
gave birth to Washington, 1 feel rekindling within me
s unc of those emotions always connected with tiie re
collection of that hallowed name. Permit me to in
nul r ilu m, on this occasion, for a moment, ill a few
remarks, as preliminary to a sentiment which 1 shall 1
l eg leave to propose ,
I consider it a* one of the c insolations of my age that
l am od enough and fortunate enough to have seen
that wonderful man. This happiness is still common
to so many yet among the living, that less is thought of
it now Ilian will he in after times ; but it is no less a
happiness to me on that account.
W !ii!i a hoy at school, I saw him for the first time
it was when he was passing through Neiv England to
t ike the eoiiimnnd-iu-eliirf of the American armies at
" Never shall I forget the imprest..., lus
imposing presence then iiinileupon my young imaginn-!
ti ni; so superior did lm seem to me to nil that I Imd
*< en or iiiiumned of the liimintt fiirni for striking effect.
n member with wlmt delight, in my after studies, j
■ lie e to the line in Virgil that expressed all the enlhu
- i-in ol tiiv nw i fe< bugs, a* inspired by that presence,
nrul i, tneli I could nut often enough rejieut:
fr<oo i qiiidem, tier vara files, genn* esse doorum."
* : ' 11,1 ' ■ ll w '.i if It Hot bamlwsu,
' ' ' •, t■' "I ol e unbilled op. ra
" 11 ell* "'ll I'eei Slid Ihe American ar.
r-rr Fiinah «n i|,e t hcaiincake; and then .
I sawthetmineiw crowd drawn hgeilier from all the
"’ tihlior.ng towns, to get, if poatbjg, on* look al the
man who had throned himselfin every heart. Notone
ot that immense crowd doubted the final triumph of his
country in her arduous conflict; for everyone saw, or
| thought he saw, in Washington, her guardian an'vl
1 commissioned by Heaven to insure to her that triumph’
Nil desporandum was the motto with every one. *
“Nil desperandum, Teucro dnee, auspice Teucro.”
In after life,, when the judgment corrects the extra
vagance of early impressions, I saw him on several
I occasions, but saw nothing at either to admonish me
jof any extravagance in my early impressions. The
impression was st ll the same; I had the same over
powering sense ofbeituyn the presence of some supe
rior being *
It is indeed remarkable, and I believe unique in the
history of men, that Washington made the same im
pression upon all minds, at all places, and at once.
When his fame first broke upon the world, it s; read at
onceover the whole world. By the consent of man
kind —by the universal sentiment—he was placed at the
head of the human species; above all envy, because
above all emulation : for no one then pretended, or has
pretended to be—at least who has been allowed to ba
—thecotrival of Washington in fame.
When the great Frederick of Prussia sent his por
trait to Washington, with this inscription upon it,.
“From '.he oldest G.moral in Europe to the greatest
General in the world," he did hut ecnorfhe sentiment of
all the chivalry of Europe. Nor was the spntiment
confined to Europe, nor to the hounds of civilization ;
for die Arab of the Desert talked of Washington in his
tent; his name wandered with the wandering Scyth
ian, and was cherished bv him as a household word in
all his migrations. No clime was so barbarous as to
be a stranger to the name; hut every where, and by
ail men, that name was placed at the same point of
1 elevation, and above compeer. As it was in the begin
ning^so it is now; of the luture we cannotspeak with
certainty. Some future age, in the endless revolutions
of time, may produce another Washington; but the
greater probability is that Itn is destined to remain for
ever, as he now is, the Phenix of human kind.
\V r hat a possession to his county is such a fame '.
Such a
“ Clarttm ct veuerabile nomen
“ Gentibus ?”
Tv all his countrymen it gives, and forever will give, a'
passport to tespect wherever they go, to whatever part
of the globe ; for his country is in every other identified
with that fame.
What, then, is incumbent upon us, his countrymen ?
Why, to he such a People as shall be worthy of such
a fame—a People of whom it shall be said, “No won
der such a People have produced such a man as Wash
ington.” I give you, therefore, this sentiment:
'Phe memory of Washington : May his countrymen
prove themselves a People worthy of his fame.
•
A THIRD Os JULY SKETCH.
Mr. Forbes, in what he calls a “Third of July” sketch,
written for an exercise in the Mississippi Lyceum, and
: published in the Natchez Free Trade r, hits off in ad
| mirahle style tho<e who think that tho historical truth
and the classical beauty ol a Fourtlt of July oration
I yonsist in
“Words oflenrned length and thundering sound.”
How often have we heard one of those wordy patriots
-sacrifice truth and the text to perpetrate a high-sound
ing sentence, or n-fleet a finely rounded period. Ot
such gentlemen Mr. Forbes thus discoursed]:
“ Our fathers—the brave, the good the plain, the
strait-lorward old men of the revolution—were the finest
of fellows. They did their duty, and should not have
mountains upon mountains of words thrown upon their
I bosoms, as they lay in their graves, face upwards, look
ing for the resurrection of tiie just! Had they known
what torrents of adulation would have been rolled over
their memories long after they were dead—what per
fumed breezes of sentimentality would have come from
! the odorous looks of ambrosial and curled effeminates,
they would have, from the heart, adopted the pious re
sponse of liturgy, “i-Vcm all sunk afflictions, good Lord,
deliver us !"
How sentimental nn exquisite was Gen. Putnam,
when riding down the cliff at Cow-Neck, with a horde
of Bri ish soldiers firing down the steps after him and
] he yelling hac-k to them to "fireawayar.dht and and!"
What a perfumed dandy wns Gen. Knox—short, thick
and brawny —putting liis own broad shoulders to the
wheels of his artillery as they l olled them up the eastern
hank of the Delaware the morning before the battle of
Trenton, and halloing to his men like a stentor ! What
ail elegant orator was Gen. Stark, who, on the morn
j ing of the battle of Bennington, made the following
ornate and classic oration (no fourth of July onr)to his
army ; “ Bovs, wo must lick the reg lars and Hessians
jto day, or M> lly Stark is a widow tonight!" How
sweet-spoken was even tits “father of his country”
when he met Gen. Lee in foil retreat at the battle of
Monmouth, and swore at him ns roundly as Cicero
ever did at Cataline, or Gen : Jackson at the U. S?
Bnnk! But enough ; the fathers rest in their glorv, to>
high up on the billowy clouds of immortality lobe reach
ed hv the arrows of detraction or smothered by the in
cense of adulation.”
() R I G I N AL.
For the Southern Post.
(addressed to e. m. f.)
1 love the land ! the bcautcou* earth,
Os evershifting, welcome green ;
With all its flowers of fragrant worth.
Like scattered jewels o’er the scene.
I love its moss-clad-rocks, and rills
Os dimpling-depths; each fountain, glade ;
Its boundless plains and tuft crowned hills;
All chequered o’er with light and shade.
I love to climb some lofty steep—
Some tow’ring mount and gaze below,
W lu re sweet contentment scents to sloop;
That maid of smiles and sunny brow.
Yon cottage, deep embowered in trees ;
The sparkling streamlet, bridge and boat.
Spell-hind the sight; hark ! on the breeze.
Voices like music, heav’n-ward float,
It brings me back my own dear home,
A mothers smiles and tender fears—
Sec ! see like Angels! see they come ! ,
The forms I’ve cherished, loved for years-
How sweetly thus, an hour in dreams,.
To steal away from years of care,
To cull from mern’rys choicest themes,
Repeopling them as erst they w'ere.
I love to stand above the storms,
Free from their murky spite and wrath ;
By sunlight, watch their tumbling forms,
And trace the lightning in its path.
And as, when sorrows break away,
Joys seem more precious, steep’d in tears;
See ! olt how lovely ! where the day
Melts through the mist, defend appears.
I love tiie woods, the deep, dark wood.
Os tasseied spread ; whose ceaseless roar
Tells ot the mighty winds, that brood,
Like spirits, ail the forest o’er.
Ttterc is within their hollow moan,
A depth, to thrill a mortals frame,
That mortal never heard, alone,
And thence returned, in heart the same.
I love the earth, in sun and shade,
In morn, or eve, or glorious day;
Or, when the pale moon fends her aid,
Tonursle dew-drops on the spray.
I love the land, where all my friends,
Tiie few now left me, still reside ;
Whose love and care so often lends,
To swell of human joys the tide.
Os all the lands, I love /Are best.
My own America ! of tlipe
I sing, in tlienu s not half exprest,
Land of my soul and liberty !
Thy name first lisped tny infant tonguo,
When soothed beneath its holy spell,
A mother o’er me sweetly sung,
Ami taught the sound I love so well.
America ! awhile I rest,
Pause, ns n lover on thy name!
A* dwells the fond bird o’er lit r nest
A moment, e’er she leaves the aamo.
In wh. cling circles, slow ly then,
Sic lure* her swelling heart away,
Again, again, I seize the pen,
To write thy name, America! If EDA®