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«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®