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PHILADELPHIA PORT FOLIO: A WEEKLY JOURNAL

The house in which Rousseau resided is agree-
ably situated in a valley surrounded with moun-
tains; but the garden to which he alludes in
his Confessions as having cultivated with his
own hands, is now no longer to be traced.

At Vevay may still be seen the house in which Ludlow the Republican, one of the most honest and manly adherents of the Parliament, in their great struggle with Charles I., lived and died. The mansion stands near the gate leading to the Vallais, and over the door are inscribed the words,

OMNE SOLUM FORTI PATRIA

QUIA PATRIS.

Of his residence at Vevay, and of the infamous attempts there made to assassinate him, Ludlow has left an account in his Memoirs. The parties employed to perpetrate this crime had already succeeded in destroying Mr. Lisle, another of the regicides, who, in the language of one of the royalist writers, was "overtaken by divine vengeance at Lausanne, where the miserable wretch was shot dead by the gallantry of three Irish gentlemen, who attempted the surprisal of him and four more impious parricides." One of these attempted surprisals is thus related by Ludlow: " According to our information, some of the villains who were employed to destroy us had, on the 14th of November, 1663, passed the lake from Savoy in order to put their bloody design in execution the next day, as we should be going to the church. They arrived at Vevay about an hour after sunset; and having divided themselves, one part took up their quarters in one inn and the other in another. The next day, being Sunday, M. Dubois, our landlord, going early to the church, discovered a boat at the side of the lake with four watermen in her, their oars in order and ready to put off. Not far from the boat stood two persons, with cloaks thrown over their shoulders; two sitting under a tree; and two more in the same posture a little way from them. M. Dubois, concluding that they had arms under their cloaks, and that these persons had waylaid us with a design to murder us as we should be going to the sermon, pretending to have forgotten something, returned home and advised us of what he had observed. In his way to us he had met one Mr. Binet, who acquainted him that two men, whom he suspected of some bad intention, had posted themselves near his house, and that four more had been seen in the market-place; but that, finding themselves observed, they had all retired towards the lake. By this means, the way leading to the church through the town being cleared, we went to the sermon without any molestation, and said nothing to any man of what we had heard; because we had not yet certainly found that they had a design against us. Returning from church, I was informed that the suspected persons were all dining at one of the inns, which excited my curiosity to take a view of the boat. Accordingly I went with a small company and found the four watermen by the boat, the oars laid in their places, a great quantity of straw in the bottom of the boat, and all things ready to put off. About an hour after dinner, I met our landlord, and having inquired of him concerning the persons before-mentioned, he assured me they could be no other than a company of rogues; that they had arms under the straw in the boat; and that they had cut the withes that held the oars of the town-boats, to prevent any pursuit if they should be forced to fly. But these ruffians, who had observed the actions of M. Dubois, and suspected he would cause them to be seized, came down soon after I had viewed the boat, and in great haste caused the watermen to put off, and returned to Savoy. This discovery being made, the chatelain, the banderet, together with all the magistrates and people of the town, were much troubled that we had not given them timely notice that so they might have been seized. We afterwards understood that one Du Pose, of Lyons, Monsieur Du Pre, a Savoyard (of

whom I shall have occasion to speak more
largely,) one Cerise of Lyons, with Riardo be-
fore-mentioned, were part of this crew."

Du Pre was subsequently seized, and having
been convicted of attempting to assassinate
the English and of another crime, was sen-
tenced to lose his head. The account of his
execution is dreadful. "The day appointed

Boast not thy victory, Death! [power-
It is but as the cloud's o'er the sunbeam's
It is but as the winter's o'er leaf and flower,
That slumber, the snow beneath.
It is but as a tyrant's reign
O'er the look and the voice, which he bids be
-But the sleepless thought and the fiery will
Are not for him to chain.

[still:

They shall soar his might above!
And so with the root whence affection springs,
Though buried, it is not of mortal things--
Thou art the victor, Love!

COUNTRY CLERGYMEN.
BY MRS. HOFLAND.

BEHOLD two different men in sacred garb
Speed to the house of prayer-they walk as
Yet rarely do we meet in social life
friends,
Friends in such opposites. He on the left,
Of that magician who hath stained his locks,
Of slender form, and lightly buoyant step,
Which like his sparkling eye, defies the touch
Looks smilingly and kind, on all around,
As on a flock beloved-his speech is sweet,
And humbly cheerful, as of one who feels
Contentment in his office, and himself,
Yet holds it meekly, and dependently,
As a good gift from the great donor's hand,
Who may resume it ere to-morrow's sun.

for his execution being come, he was brought down; but the terrors of death, with the dismal reflections on his past life, seized upon him to such a degree that he fell into a rage, throwing himself on the ground, biting and kicking those who stood near him, and asking been taken in his own country, where he had if there were no hopes of pardon. He was told that he ought to remember that, if he had murdered his brother-in-law, and had been have been used so gently. He refused to go to broken in effigy on the wheel, he should not the place of execution any otherwise than by force; so that about two hours were spent bedie, though it was within musket-shot of the fore he arrived at the place where he was to prison. Here the executioner put a cap on his head, and placed a chair that he might sit; but he took off the cap and threw it away, and kicked down the chair among the people. When the executioner saw this, he tied his hands between his knees; and having assured him that if he persisted in his resistance he would cut him into forty pieces, after about an land, with the view of serving against James hour's contest, he at last performed his office." On the revolution Ludlow returned to Eng-The other with a stately step, and slow, in the House of Commons by Sir Edward Sey- Reluctantly bestowed-his eye upturnedII. in Ireland; but a motion having been made Looks not to right, or left-his towering form, And gait majestical-his scanty speech, mour, for an address to the king, praying that Bespeak far different feelings, aims, and he would cause Ludlow to be apprehended, he returned to Switzerland, where he died in the thoughts: year 1693. A monument was erected to his Yet stranger, pause-thou must not dare promemory in the principal church of Vevay, by his wife, which Addison has copied in his Travels.

LOVE AND DEATH.

BY MRS. HEMANS.
By thy birth, so oft renew'd
From the embers long subdued;
Py the life-gift in thy chain,
Broken links to weave again;
By thine Infinite of wo,
All we know not, all we know;
If there be what dieth not,
Thine, Affection! is its lot!
MIGHTY ones, Love and Death!

Ye are the strong in this world of ours,
Ye meet at the banquets, ye strive midst the
flow'r-

-Which hath the Conqueror's wreath?

Thou art the victor, Love!

Thou art the peerless, the crown'd, the free-
The strength of the battle is given to thee,
The spirit from above.

Thou hast buoy'd up the fragile and reed-like

Thou hast look'd on death and smiled!

form

Through the tide of the fight, through the
rush of the storin,

On field, and flood, and wild.

Thou hast stood on the scaffold alone: Thou hast watch'd by the wheel through the torturer's hour,

And girt thy soul with a martyr's power,

Till the conflict hath been won.

No-thou art the victor, Death!
Thou comest-and where is that which spoke
From the depths of the eye, when the bright

soul woke?

-Gone with the flitting breath!

Thou comest-and what is left
Of all that loved us, to say if aught
Yet loves, yet answers the burning thought
Of the spirit lorn and reft?
Silently thou must kindred meet;
Silence is where thou art!
No glance to cheer, and no voice to greet;
No bounding of heart to heart!

nounce

Censure on "priestly pride," "hypocrisy,"
Or other sins, which giddy ignorance
Might deem his failing-know that both are
good,

Both wise ambassadors from that dread King,
Whom with true hearts they worship-but dis-

tinct

Are they by nature, and not less distinct
In worldly circumstance. The first is he
Who fills our Vicarage, and merits well
His pleasant affluence-the other long

Like a strong bark hath striven with adverse

waves,

And now cut off from learning's hallowed

seats,

From hope's delusions, and from beauty's
smile,

Seeks the poor shelter of a Curate's home.
The man with heart at ease, and prone to feel
Life's sweetest charities, exults to think
How much he can bestow-the other feels
In his keen sense of blighted fortune now,
How much he must receive-he only prays
For more humility-his heart is full,
His mind abstracted; yet that heart is soft,
That mind of noble bearing;-cold and stern
Stands the lone ice-berg on the wintry waste,
But melts and sparkles in the summer sun.
And thus in time his hour of joy may come,
His hour of bounty and benignity-
Heaven speed the day!

After the execution of Sir William Stanley, when King Henry visited Lathom, the Earl, house, conducted him up to the leads for a when his royal guest had viewed the whole prospect of the country. The Earl's fool, who was among the company, observing the King draw near to the edge of the leads not guarded with a balustrade, stepped up to the Earl, and pointing down to the precipice, said "Tom, remember Will." The King understood the meaning, and made all haste down stairs, and out of the house; and the fool long after seemed mightily concerned that his lord had not had courage to take that opportunity of avenging himself for the death of his brother.

DOWN ONE HILL AND UP ANOTHER. [From an interesting article in the Museum, upon Head's North American Forest Scenes.]

THE method of travelling in these parts is not at least without its apparent danger. Mr. Head met with an able driver, and they passed over their difficulties in a style worthy of the four-in-hand club: we question whether any members of that now obsolete society ever took a drag down and up a hill in better style than Mr. Head's charioteer.

"Occasionally, during this stage, we encountered some little ravines, or precipitous gullies, which crossed the road, and which formed small creeks or outlets of the river. There were several of these which it was necessary to pass, and at the bottom of each was a rude wooden bridge without side-rails, and scarcely broad enough to permit three horses to pass abreast; notwithstanding which, we went over with our pair always at full gallop: much to my annoyance at first, till I found that the cattle possessed quite as much sense as their driver, and sufficiently understood what they

were about. The ravines were so steep, that in order to ascend one side, it was absolutely necessary to rush down the other to gain an impetus; and the distance from the top to the bottom was about one hundred and fifty yards. The bridges were composed of pine logs laid loosely together, which made a rattling and a clatter as the horses' feet came upon them. The Frenchman drove with long cord reins, without any contrivance to prevent them fall ing down the horses' sides, and the rest of the tackling was of an equally simple fashion. The cattle were indeed but barely attached to the vehicle; a matter of little importance during the former part of the journey, but now deserving a little more consideration: for the horses, so sure as they arrived at the verge of each ravine, seemed to take all sort of charge upon themselves, while the driver, yielding to circumstances, sat still upon his seat. Up went their heads and tails, and, like a pair of hippogrifs, down they went with a dash till they reached the bridge, when, closing together, laying back their ears, and cringing in their backs, they rattled over the logs at full gallop, and up the opposite bank, till the weight of the vehicle brought them to a walk. Now came the turn of the driver; and as he was perfect in all the words which frighten horses, he used them with such emphasis, jumping out of the sleigh at the same time with considerable activity, while the animals dragged it through the deep snow, that he contrived to keep them to their collar till they had completed the ascent." -p. 81-83.

A QUIET KIND OF MAN.
[From the Same.]

Ar Presque Isle Mr. Head was entertained at the house of a Mr. Turner, on whom he has exercised his talent for sketching; the portrait is curious: in these remote and thinly inhabited countries, if a man has not active duties to perform, in the absence of all claims of society and all motives of excitement he sinks into a state of absolute torpor.

"My host was, I believe, an American,-a tall, withered, thin man, about sixty years of age, with extremely small legs and thighs, narrow shoulders, long back, and as straight as a ramrod. Innumerable short narrow wrinkles, which crossed each other in every direction, covered his face, which was all the same colour-as brown as a nut; and he had a very small mouth, which was drawn in and pursed up at the corners. His eyes were very little, black, keen, and deep set in his head. He hardly ever spoke; and I do not think, that while I was in his house I ever saw him smile. He was dressed in an old rusty black coat and trowsers, both perfectly threadbare, and glazed about the collar, cuffs, and knees, with grease; and he sat always in one posture and in one place, bolt upright on a hard wooden chair. He seemed to me the picture of a man who,

from want of interest in the world, had fallen
into a state of apathy;-and yet that would
seem impossible, considering that Mr. Turner
was the chief diplomatist in these parts,-the
representative of the commissariat department,
charged with the duties of supplying the garri-
son at Presque Isle, a man of high importance
in his station, invested with local authority,
and in direct communication and correspon
dence with the higher powers at Quebec. Not-
withstanding all this, the energies of Mr. Tur-
ner's body and mind were suffered to lie at rest;
for the garrison consisted of a corporal and
four privates, making in all five men, to supply
them with rations was nearly his whole and
sole occupation; and so he had gradually so-
bered down into the quiet tranquil sort of per-
son I found him. A daughter, a fine, hand-
some, bouncing girl, under twenty, with spark-
ling black eyes and an animated countenance,
seemed to bear testimony to days gone by,
when affairs were somewhat more lively; but
the contrast now was sufficiently striking; for
he kept his place and attitude, sitting always
without regarding her, any body, or any thing,

close to the stove.

nutes levelled with the earth, and in the mean time we cleared of snow a square spot of ground, with large pieces of bark ripped from the falling trees. The fibrous bark of the white cedar, previously rubbed to powder between the hands, was ignited, and blowing upon this a flame was produced. This being fed, first by the silky peelings of the birch bark, and then by the bark itself, the oily and bituminous matter burst forth into full action, and a splendid fire raised its flames and smoke amidst a pile of huge logs, to which one and all of us were constantly and eagerly contributing.

"Having raised a covering of spruce boughs above our heads, to serve as a partial defence from the snow, which was still falling in great abundance, we sat down, turning our feet to the fire, making the most of what was, under circumstances, a source of real consolation. We enjoyed absolute rest! One side of our square was bounded by a huge tree, which lay stretched across it. Against this our fire was made; and on the opposite side, towards which was growing, and into this latter, being old and I had turned my back, another very large one decayed, I had by degrees worked my way, and it formed an admirable shelter. The snow was banked up on all sides nearly five feet high, its position, not an atom yielding to the like a white wall; and it resolutely maintainfierce crackling fire which blazed up close against it.

"There was a small square hole in the cen-
tre of the door (as there generally is in all Ca-
slider as occasion requires: this he kept opened
nada stoves), made to open and shut with a
for a purpose of his own; for by long practice
he had acquired a knack of spitting through
this little hole with such unerring certainty,
by a particular sort of jerk through his front
teeth, that he absolutely never missed his mark.
This accomplishment was the more useful to
him, as he was in the habit of profusely chew-
ing tobacco,-all the care he seemed to have!
-and he opened the door of the stove now and
then, to see how the fire was going on."-pp.
98-101.

A COLD NIGHT.
[From the Same.]

On one occasion it blew a violent snow-
storm, and no exertions of the party could en-
able them to reach their appointed resting-

obliged to spend a polar night under the incle-
ment air, which makes a citizen in snug quar-
ters tremble with horror and apprehension.
The narrative of this night's efforts forms an
encouraging picture of the resources of human
power. It begins thus-

place. The consequence was, that they were

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cane.

"The Canadians were soon busily employed cooking broth in a saucepan, for they had provided themselves much better with provisions than I had. I had relied upon being able to put up with the fare I might meet with, not taking into consideration the want of traffic, and distance from the civilized parts of the province; owing to which, the scanty provision of the inhabitants could not allow them to minister to the wants of others, although they might be provided with a sufficiency for themselves. And I now saw the guides pulling fresh meat out of the soup with their fingers, and sharing it liberally with my servant, whom they had admitted into their mess. The poor fellows seeing that I had nothing but a piece of salted pork, which I had toasted at the fire on a stick, offered me a share of their supper, but this I felt myself bound to decline. My servant had fewer scruples, and consequently fared better. In return for their intentions I gave them a good allowance of whiskey, which added to

their comfort and increased their mirth. One by one they lighted their tobacco pipes, and continued to smoke; till, dropping off by degrees, the whole party at last lay stretched out. snoring before me."

A SETTLER'S LIFE.
[From the Same.]

But, in spite of every obstacle, the strength of the two Canadians was astonishing; with bodies bent forward, and leaning on their collar, on they marched, drawing the tobogins after them, with a firm, indefatigable step; and we had all walked a little more than seven hours, when the snow-storm had increased to such a pitch of violence, that it seemed impossible for any human creature to withstand it; WHEN We read of the sturdy life of the foit bid defiance even to their most extraordirester, of its independence and its activity, of nary exertions. The wind now blew a hurri- its healthy energy and its noble freedom from We were unable to see each other at a the chains of poverty, we cannot help exclaimgreater distance than ten yards, and the drifting with Mr. Head, why do not the young and gave an appearance to the surface of snow we were passing over, like that of an agitated sea. Wheeled round every now and then by the wind, we were enveloped in clouds so dense, that a strong sense of suffocation was absolutely produced. We all halted: the Canadians admitted that farther progress was impossible; but the friendly shelter of the forest was at hand, and the pines waved their dark branches in token of an asylum.-We turned our shoulders to the blast, and comfortless and weather-beaten, sought our refuge. The scene, though changed, was still not without interest; the frequent crashes of falling trees, and the cracking of their vast limbs as they rocked and writhed in the tempest, created awful and impressive sounds; but it was no time to be idle: warmth and shelter were objects connected with life itself, and the Canadians immediately commenced the vigorous application of their resources. By means of their smal! light axes, a good sized maple tree was in a very few mi

free seek a home among the untrodden wilds of bounteous nature. Why linger away a life of dubious existence in corrupt capitals, or in hungry villages: why suffer the pains of contempt and want and repulsed endeavours, when the woods invite the resolute occupant to peaceful labour and well-earned content: in the woods poverty is no evil: the settler has nothing to buy, nothing to pay; all he wants is to be had for the trouble of procuring it: the trees which afford him shelter, supply him with abundant fuel; the ground he disencumbers is his farm; far and wide extend his manorial rights: with a gun in his hand he seeks for food what others pursue for pleasure; the water supplies him with fish, and he is a bad manager if he does not soon surround his habitation with abundance. It requires a strong will to plunge out of society into the wide sea of the solitary wood; and it would be absurd to undervalue the advantages of society to those who stand well with it; but, for the man

to whom it is a niggard of its goods, whom it suffers in its bosom rather than cherishes, for the stout arm that can hardly win its bread, and the stout heart almost broken by witnessing distress it cannot relieve, the terrors of the boundless forest must be small indeed. Listen to Mr. Head, who does not speak without experience: the privations of this species of life he was as likely to feel as another, and yet his memory is charged almost wholly with the advantages of such an existence in comparison at least with pauperism at home; and pauperism is not confined to the dependancy of the parish. "It seemed wonderful to think there should be so few among our poorer classes with energy enough to break the chains of poverty, and visit a land where pauperism is yet unknown; where youth and strength supply the catalogue of human wants, and where industry must meet its sure reward. The exuberant abundance of wood for fuel renders the fire side of the peasant, during the long evenings of winter, a solace equal to that of many a wealthier citizen of the world, and as his children, with united strength, drag each log to the hearth, he rejoices at the clearance of the encumbered earth, when those of the civilized world pay dearly for the enjoyment of warmth. An emulative feeling stimulates the natural industry of his constitution. The rattling clank of a neighbour's axe, the crashing fall of a heavy tree, seem to demand responsive exertion on his part, and give rise to an energy, which, even if the tinkling frosty air at his fingers' ends fails to remind him that he has work on hand, quickly rouses within him the spirit of active labour. The work of his young children is of a value to him, far exceeding the expense of their maintenance, and he lives in the enjoyment of the consciousness of being able to leave them an inheritance of peace, if not of affluence. With facilities of water carriage, fish in abundance, and fuel, by the help of his gun, he may complete the necessaries of life, and while the partridge and wild pigeon supply him with variety in food, he has also in store both recreation and amusement."-pp. 259-260.

It must be understood all along that our author speaks of the Canadas: other countries, as New South Wales, South Africa, may have their advantages-may have also greater countervailing evils. The apparent objection to the more northern parts of North America is the severity of the cold, which it is very possible may be so far from being a real objection, that it may contribute to the production of energy and the preservation of health.

Polypus-Take the fresh water polype (Hydra viridis or grisea) a small lump of translucent jelly, about the size of a pea when contracted, but when extended, and viewed under favourable circumstances, lengthened in its body to about three quarters of an inch, and more resembling the finger of a small glove, with a few ravelings round the edge, than any other familiar figure. This creature possesses neither wings nor legs, nor any of the ordinary organs of progression; it is apparently homogeneous in its structure, showing not even a rudiment of bone for leverage, or a semblance of muscle for contraction, and yet it protrudes and withdraws its tentacles, moves from leaf to leaf, travels from plant to plant, from stone to stone, quits the dark and approaches the light side of the vessel in which it may be kept, basks in the sunbeams, enjoys the warmth of summer, becomes torpid during cold weather, and hybernates like the tortoise or the dormouse; retreats if touched, defends itself when attacked, and often attacks in turn; pursues its prey with avidity, and, although it has neither tongue, nor teeth, nor palate, yet with hungry relish it devours the minute animalcules it can catch; nay, even with cannibal propensities, will force smaller or weaker individuals of its own species into its simple pouch or stomach, digest a part, and then reject the

fæces by that single aperture which is both | entrance and exit, both mouth and vent to this gastric prototype, which thus absorbs a part of its ingested food and vomits up the rest; such being the natural process in this simple being, to which the higher grades return in many cases of disorder or disease. And yet so finely does this prima communis via participate in the peculiarities of digestion, and acknowledge its general laws, that, like the animal stomach of the highest grade which will digest a bone when dead, but cannot act on a pulpy worm when living, this pouch can only feed on prey that has been truly killed. Trembley, I think, it was who observed two hungry polypes fighting which should become the other's meal; or perhaps the little one endeavouring to escape, the greater attempting to devour the less: strength, however, at last prevailed, and this Saturnian polype swallowed at one gulp his son: the little fellow, not being, however, slain, was indigestible, and played such freaks within his living tomb, that the greater one, quite sick at heart, returned his dinner, unhurt, uninjured, to the light of day. But again, the polype has neither eyes nor ears, nor any of the ordinary organs of our senses, and yet it sees and feels, or at least is sensible both to light and touch, and probably to odours and to sound. Every part of this thing's body is equally sensible to the various stimuli which affect its system; it is an eye, an ear all over, but of what a kind!-an eye which sees not, an ear which does not understand: and when vision is to be perfected, the visive function becomes isolated, and the power concentered to a peculiar organ, which is developed by degrees to its highest point; and as of the eye, so of the ear, the hand, and all the rest.

From Blackwood's Magazine. ON THE PORTRAIT OF WICKLIFFE.

BY DELTA,

"Had it not been the obstinate perverseness of our prelates, against the divine and admirable spirit of Wickliffe, to suppress him as a schismatic or innovator, perhaps neither the Bohemian Husse, and Jerome, no, nor the name of Luther or of Calvin, had ever been known." Milton, for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing. WHEN Superstition overspread the realm, And Truth's bright star was shaded; When Tyranny struggled to overwhelm A world by a gloom pervaded; From out that midnight, so dark and deep, A voice cried, "Ho-awaken!" Till the sleepers aroused themselves from sleep, And the thrones of earth were shaken. Wickliffe that noble voice was thine,

Which called the free to their stations; Thou gavest the light of Heaven to shine Again on the blinded nations:When foes were many, and friends were none, Though pitfalls yawn'd around thee, On the hill of defiance aloft-alone

The hour of danger found thee.

I love to trace the lines of that face,
So calm, yet so commanding;
Thy white beard's venerable grace

O'er thy russet vest expanding;
Thine eyebrows so deeply arch'd-thy look
Of serenest contemplation,
At whose kindling glance the guilty shook
In pitiful consternation.
Methinks I note thy youthful

gaze,

Truth's holiest pages perusing,
Where summer boughs exclude the rays,
An emerald calm diffusing;

I follow thy steps from bower to bower,

Still pondering on what enthrall'd thee, Till the bell of Merton's toll'd forth the hour, Which to vesper service call'd thee. Fear never smote thy dauntless heart, That, spurning at craft and folly, Burn'd, in its ardours, to impart

The Gospel unmarr'd and holy; 'Mid persecution's storm it rose,

And, triumphing nobly o'er it, Pierc'd through the corslet of Craft, and bore Superstition to earth before it.

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Long after thy days were ended,
The sound of thy words, to times unborn,
Like a trumpet-call descended.
A light was struck-a light which show'd
How hideous were Error's features,
And how perverted the law, bestow'd
By Heaven to guide its creatures;
At first, for that spark, amid the dark,

The Friar his fear dissembled;

But soon at the fame of Wickliffe's name,

The throne of St. Peter trembled! Oh! that the glory, so fair to see,

Should from men's eyes be shrouded;
Oh! that the day-dawn, which rose with thee,
Illumining all, should be clouded!

In vain have heroes and martyrs bled-
When all that they nobly fought for
Is recklessly given, like carrion dead,

To the dogs, whenever sought for!!
Oh! that the lamp of Faith burns dim-

That our public men grow cravens-
And oh! for the spirit that burn'd in him,
An eagle amid the ravens!

Of the book which had been a sealed-up book,
He tore the clasps, that the nation,
With eyes unbandaged, might thereon look,
And learn to read salvation.

I turn me from him-I cannot gaze
On the calm, heroic features,
When I think how we have disgrac'd our days—
Poor, miserable creatures!

And when, how we have betray'd our trust
The sons of our sons shall hearken,
Can it be else than that o'er our dust
The spittle of scorn should barken!

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No. 12.

PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, MARCH 25,

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Trevor was destined to receive a sudden shock
in the death of her father; this affected her
spirits very much, but her husband's fond af-
fection kept up her drooping heart, and hope
smiled again around her, and she felt happy.
But alas! a heavier trial was yet to come upon
her in the death of her first and only child.
She watched for many long days and nights
by the bed-side of her infant-so soon to go to
heaven; the blow at last came, but death
struck feebly, and with a sigh its little spirit
ascended up into heaven. This last trial proved
too sad and too severe for Mary's gentle spirit,
and gradually (in spite of her husband's doting
affection, and her sister Emily's fond care,)
she drooped, and drooped like a withered lily,
until it was but too plain unto all who saw her,
that the once gay and happy Mary Trevor
would soon sink into an untimely grave. She
had been tenderly watched and nursed, and
her husband hoped that the evil moment had
gone by, and that she would be again restored
unto blessed health. It was on such an even-
ing in autumn as I have described that, tempt-
ed by the fineness and beauty of the evening,
Mary had ventured out alas! but it was for the
last time.

Unfaded, yet prepared to die."-Wordsworth. "WHAT a beautiful evening is this, my dear Henry," exclaimed Mary Trevor to her husband, who had been anxiously watching over her pale and drooping form during the short and feverish sleep from which she had just awoken. Her husband went to the open window, through which, from the little garden, came the sweet smell of the roses and jessamines, refreshed, yet bending with the weight of a shower just gone by. It was one of those serene and beautiful evenings of autumn so common towards the latter end of September; the blue sky above had not a sha-❘ dow between it and the earth-the heavy Her husband had walked on slowly with her clouds of the shower that had just passed were and in silence, down the green lane that led sinking low beneath the dark trees of the fo- from the cottage to the village church, the rest, the skirts of which came close up to the spire of which pointing up to heaven in the paling which surrounded the garden of Henry evening light, could be distinctly seen some Trevor's cottage. There was no sound abroad distance off, rising amid the dark funereal yews but the song of the wood-pigeon from the fo- that grew in the churchyard around it, but rest, or the distant barking of some shepherd's here Mary became so exhausted from fatigue, dog as he drove the sheep home to the evening that she sunk fainting into his arms. He bore fold. Mary now joined her husband, and tak her gently on, still drooping upon his shoulder, ing his arm they both walked out into the and seated her down in the beautiful sunset, open evening; they were silent for the first on one of the grassy graves in that churchfew minutes after leaving the cottage, for yard, enamelled with the few autumn flowers Henry Trevor's heart was full almost to burst- that were yet remaining on the ground, and ing at the sight of his beloved wife slow sink- drooping in the evening dew. She faintly ing unto death, from that rapid and fatal dis-opened her soft blue eyes upon him, and then ease, consumption. The burning hectic flush that had lit up the cheeks of Mary upon first coming out into the fresh evening air, had now left them, and they were again pale and colourless as the fairest marble; her spirits were as gay and as buoyant as ever, but at times these too would droop, and the tears would chase each other down her pale, pale cheeks, till a wild hysteric fit of weeping or laughter would silence her oppressed heart, and her Lears would then cease to flow, and her spirits would gradually regain their accustomed lightness and buoyancy.

Mary was the eldest of four sisters, the daughters of the curate of the village of D―, in the county of E. It was about four years previous to the time at which I am now writing, that Henry Trevor first saw her, and touched by her beauty, (for Mary had been very beautiful), her elegance and accomplishments; he affectionately wooed and won her, and two years had scarcely elapsed when Mary was made the happy wife of Henry Trevor. No two beings ever seemed more formed for each other, and their wedding day was as a "sunshine holiday" to the whole village of D—, where Mary resided. Her pathway to church was strewn with flowers by the village girls, and many a prayer was that day raised to heaven that God would bless and protect her and her husband. The marriage ceremony was soon over-Mary's father pronounced a nuptial benediction over them, and giving them his blessing, they parted, and the young couple drove off, followed by the prayers and hearty good wishes of all around them. They then parted never again to meet upon this earth.

For the first twelvemonth after their mar riage pleasure and happiness seemed to have strewn their path with "flowers that never faded." But about this time the heart of Mary

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| they) when the veil of silence must be thrown over the communion of the spirit with its Maker.

There was no sound heard in that little room, but the footsteps of those who were placing the shrouded and beautiful dead in the deep coffin which was, the next day, to be borne to the turfy grave, and laid low beneath. the damp sod in the churchyard. There were steps heard descending the narrow stair, the door of the cottage was opened and closed again, and all was silent. Henry Trevor saw them depart from the window of the room above where the coffin of his wife lay, and at that moment a cloud passed away from the beautiful sunset, and the rays fell upon the page of the Holy Bible he had been reading, and the words "God is a very present help in time of trouble" shone like light upon his soul, and he felt comforted, and went and sat down by the coffin, and watched and slumbered there through the night. Early in the next morning the sound of footsteps was heard in the passage beyond the little room where he had spent the night, the footsteps approached, and he arose up to hear with calmness any words of hope and consolation from a fellow-christian. There was a slight tap at the door:-it was opened, and a grey-haired old man, the curate of the village, entered with Emily, Mary's sister, leaning on his arm. "My son, be of good cheer, nor mourn as those who have no hope in this vale of tears below," were the words the good old man addressed to the husband upon entering the room, and they all three knelt down, and he prayed aloud that God would suffer this bitter cup to pass from them; there was a silence of some minutes after that prayer was ended, and each heart relieved itself in sobbing and in tears. They arose from prayer and went out into the little garden, where a few flowers were opening to the morning sunshine, and the old man spoke unto the widower and sisterless words of holy hope and comfort, and blessing them both, he left

raised them up to that beautiful heaven above,
to which her pure and gentle spirit seemed so
fast hastening. She soon recovered, and lean-them.
ing upon her husband's arm, she returned
slowly to that home, which, alas! she was
never to leave again but wrapped in the white
shroud of death, and borne to the cold church-
yard grave. From this time Mary Trevor
gradually neared that bourne, through days of
autumn sunshine and nights of holy beauty,
from whence no traveller ever returns. Her
husband and her sister watched over her pallid
form with every care that fondest love could
give, but the decree had been written in hea-
ven, that Mary Trevor was not long for this
earth below. The stroke of death came at
last, but it fell almost as gently upon her as
upon her infant, who had gone unto heaven
before her. There was no sound heard in that
little room, all was silent and hushed as the
evening without, and at that beautiful hour
the spirit of Mary Trevor passed away from
this earth into heaven. They had been watch-
ing by her bed-side throughout the day since
the morning, there was no struggle through
her frame to tell when death came near, and
the silence of her breathing alone told them
that her soul had fled and ascended up into the
holy evening skies.

The sister fell down by the side of the dead,
in a deep, deathly swoon, the childless and the
widower grasped the cold hand and kissed the
fair brow:"Oh God! oh God! my Mary!"
escaped from his lips;-'twas not a cry, but a
half-stifled prayer; and in heavy agony of spi-
rit, he sank down by his dead wife.

There was then a hushy silence in that place of the dead, through the blue darkening hours of twilight, and through the holy starlight of the night, even until the rising of the morning;-but there are hours (and these were

The hour of sunset was very near when the heavy toll of the funeral bell sounded from the village church-tower over to the distant hamlets, and each one who heard it stopped and listened, as that bell sent sadness into his heart, for each one knew that sound would soon roll over the new-made grave of Mary Trevor: each one had loved and respected her, and all now felt sorrow for the mourners. That bell tolled on, and the funeral train slowly moved out from the cottage with the dark pall and the coffin, and went down the green lane which led to the churchyard, where it was met by a train of the village-girls, who went with it, strewing flowers in the way to the grave. There was a crowd around it, but each one made way when the burial-train approached. The holy words of the burial service were begun by that grey-haired old man, who had knelt down with the mourners that morning in the room where the coffin lay, and as he read, each heart was hushed, each breath was stopped, and nothing was heard but that old man's voice, or the stifled sobbing of the mourners at the foot of the grave; those holy words, "Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust," sounded over the churchyard, and the harsh clay rattled upon the coffin, each prayer had been said by that grave, and each heart had answered to them, and the service for the dead was over, the tolling of the funeral bell had died away, and its echoes had floated up to the blue evening skies, and over the quiet hush and repose of the brown autumn woods, until they were heard no more. The grave was soon closed up, and the villagers dispersed, one by one, until that burial ground was as silent and as shadowless as before, and the mild light

of the evening stars and the rising moon shown down from the skies above, upon the new made grave, where reposed Mary Trevor.

ON TAKING LAUDANUM.
From the Journal of Health.

Some have habitual recourse to laudanum or opium, to relieve pain and uneasiness, caused usually by the undue gratification of their appetite. Let them learn, that there is no example on record of any agent used for medicinal purposes, in particular diseases or alarmIT is a difficult task to so lay down any gene- ing emergencies, which has on these occasions ral principle, and enforce it by examples in de- a direct, controlling, and sanitary power, that tail, that the perverse ingenuity of some can- will not, when persistently used, become noxnot find omissions, which they are fain to re- ious to the animal economy, and poison all the gard as exceptions in their favour. We have springs of life. It is thus with wine, alcoholic repeatedly, in this Journal, entered our solemn liquors, opium and laudanum, and the various protest against the sin of drunkenness, and tinctures and cordials of which opium is the pointed out, with some care, the masks its vo- basis: it is thus with all the vegetable bitters taries put on, to evade the reprobation with and mineral tonics without exception. All the which the vice, in its grosser forms, is univer-powders and cordials which have been recomsally stamped. We have indicated the vari- mended for the cure of gout, have invariably, ous means by which at first the health, and af- when taken for any length of time, destroyed terwards the disposition of children are ruined the digestive powers, enfeebled the brain and by an early indulgence of their appetites; and nervous system, and often brought on dropsy, reprobated the false method, devised in well- palsy, and apoplexy. A physician, after due intentioned but mischievous ignorance, of atdeliberation and much counsel with himself or tempting to restore lost strength by domestic medical friends, will prescribe mercury, bark, prescriptions, recourse to wine bitters or home- opium, or perchance arsenic, for the cure of brewed liquors. Our efforts have, we are well the violent and dangerous malady under which assured, been attended, with some success; his patient is labouring at the time; and his ef and we are encouraged thereby to persevere forts will often be crowned with success. But and continue to point out the various malprac- let this patient, of his own accord, or under the tices, by which the body's health and mind's pestilential influence of domestic or empirical peace are slowly, but surely destroyed. advice, use any of these articles for a length of time, and, for one uneasy symptom, which he wished removed, ten will take its place; and his constitution will be so broken down, that even his first successful adviser and medical

The evil to which we would now direct the attention of our readers, and entreat them to abandon or shun, as the case may be, is not confined to either sex exclusively; nor is it one for which the inconsiderateness of youth, or the infirmities of age, can be pleaded as palliation. The enjoyment which it brings is solitary, as that from dram-drinking itself, and in its consequences, if possible, still more pernicious. It is, in fact, dram-drinking on a small scale, and in a more fashionable, and, as it is thought, scientific manner. It is a concentrated poison, not jovially quaffed from the glass and the bowl amid songs, and joyous shouts; but carefully meted out in drops by the idle and luxurious man, who has lounged away his day in listlessness at home, in place of courting occupation and enlivenment by active exercise in the open air; or by the belle, whose pallid face and sunken eye show the exhaustion of the midnight assembly and dance. They dare not hope for, they are sure they cannot obtain, the sweet sleep which follows industrious labour and useful exertion; but they must forget themselves: the day had for them sufficient horrors, without a wakeful night redoubling the store. What then, say they, remains for them to do, if not to take their accustomed number of drops of laudanum, or some equivalent stupifying solution. They who are afraid to meet the summer's heat or winter's ice-whose nerves are too feeble to bear the slight motion of a carriage, or the shortest ride on horseback-and to whom pain is dreadful even in idea, have no hesitation in thus nightly swallowing a poison, each drop of which, causelessly taken, brings with it more bodily uneasiness and mental torment, than the longest day to the lashed galley slave. They may sleep the sleep of stupefaction, or dream themselves in paradise; but when they awake, "fear, sorrow, suspicion, discontent, cares, and weariness of life, surprise them in a moment, and they can think of nothing else: continually suspecting, no sooner are their eyes open, but this infernal plague of melancholy seizeth on them and terrifies their souls, representing some dismal object to their minds, which now, by no means or persuasions they can avoid."

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VICENZA is to be visited as the city of Palladio. It is the Mecca of architects, adorned with a hundred shrines, each claiming the devotion of the pilgrim. "Vicenza," says an excellent critic (Mr. Forsyth), "is full of Palladio. His palaces here, even those which remain unfinished, display a taste chastened by the study of ancient art. Their beauty origi nates in the design, and is never superinduced by ornament. Their elevations enchant you, not by the length and altitude, but by the consummate felicity of their proportions, by the harmonious distribution of solid and void, by that happy something between flat and prominent, which charms both in front and in profile; by that maestria which calls in columns, not to encumber, but to support, and reproduces ancient beauty in combinations unknown to the ancients themselves. Even when obliged to contend with the coarsest Gothic at La Ragione, how skilfully has Palladio screened the external barbarism of that reversed hulk, by a Greek elevation as pure as the ori ginal would admit. His Vicenti villas have been often imitated in England, and are models more adapted to resist both our climate and our reasoning taste, than the airy extravagant structures of the south."

One of the latest and most signal triumphs friend, can now be little more than a melan- of Palladio's genius, is the Teatro Olimcholy spectator of remediless decay. This is pico, or Olympic Theatre, erected at the exnot the language of exaggeration or specula- pense of the Olympic Academy, an association tive fear. We speak from a full knowledge of formed in the sixteenth century for the prothe facts. We repeat it-the person who gives motion of polite literature. This splendid ediinto the habit for weeks, (he may not reach to fice, framed upon the model of the ancient months, or if he pass these, his years will be theatres, exhibits, in the place of the moveable but few and miserable,) of daily measuring out scenery which decorates modern theatres, a to himself his drops of laudanum, or his pills of stationary view. Looking through the proopium, or the like deleterious substance, call scenium, which consists of a magnificent archit tincture, solution, mixture, potion, what you way, supported by columns, the spectator sees will, is destroying himself as surely as if he five several streets or approaches to the stage, were swallowing arsenic, or had the pistol ap- formed from actual models of buildings, so plied to his head. The fire of disease may for framed as to imitate an architectural perspecawhile be concealed-he may smile incredu- tive. The centre portion of the theatre is oclous at our prediction; but the hour of retribu-cupied by the orchestra, and around it rise the tion will come, and the consequences will be terrible.

seats in the form of an ellipsis, and above the seats a range of Corinthian columns.

been described by Mr. Stuart Rose. The Rotonda of Palladio was imitated by Lord Burlington in his villa at Chiswick, now the property of the Duke of Devonshire.

Besides, who are the unfortunate creatures, Another celebrated structure of Palladio is who, in impious despair, destroy themselves the Rotonda, so called from its containing in by poisoning with opium or laudanum? hTe the centre a large circular room with a cupola. very same who had long been in the practice The building itself is square, having four coof using it as a soother and a balm: as a means lonnades, each of six unfluted Ionic columns, of procuring repose after the languor of idle- with a flight of steps and a pediment. The ness, or the perturbations of vice. Miserable Rotonda is situated on the Monte of Vicenza, resource from care or grief! to stupify one's a hill near the city, covered with the seats and self with such a drug for a few short hours, casinos of the Vicentine gentry, and which may only to awake in renewed despondency, with a be ascended under the cover of porticos, remind paralyzed and unfitted for the commonest sembling those near Padua, and leading to the duties of life. The countenance of the unhap- church of Madonna di Monte. The extraordipy victims of the practice, reveals too painful-nary view from the summit of the Monte has ly to an observant eye their condition. The expression is more haggard, and the features more distorted, than even from common drunkenness, and produce on others a mingling feeling of pity and fear. The humid lustre of the eyes is exchanged for a dull, turbid, and dejected appearance of this organ, which is sunk in its orbit: the rounded cheek, once flushed with the glow of health, is now pale or leaden, and the corners of the mouth no longer raised into ready smiles, have a downward direction, indicative of suffering alternated with listlessness and apathy. The moral nature is not less fearfully changed than the physical. All manly resolution is fled: to think is too great an effort: the sight of distress elicits childish grief, without furnishing sufficient incentive to its relief or mitigation. Not very different, in fine, is the confirmed opium-taker from the torpid animal warmed into motion by

However repugnant to our feelings as rational beings may be the vice of drunkenness, it is not more hurtful in its effects than the practice of taking laudanum. Disgusting and repulsive to the eyes of others, and injurious to the indulgers in it, as is the chewing of tobac-artificial heat: it twists itself about, attempts co, it is not more censurable, nor so much to be dreaded in its consequences, as the habit of chewing and swallowing opium, to mitigate unpleasant feelings, or remove melancholy.

some gambols, or with impotent malice, tries
to bite and annoy those near it. But in a few
minutes, the stimulus of heat is gone, and it
sinks once more into torpidity.

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In examining the palaces designed by Palladio, it must be remembered that the architect was frequently compelled to sacrifice his own pure and beautiful conceptions to the false taste of the persons by whom he was employed. This appears not only from an inspection of his published works, but especially, as is stated by a writer in one of our literary journals, from a collection of original drawings by Palladio, now in the possession of the Signor Pinale of Verona. Amongst those drawings are many designs for buildings which were never executed, but which are more creditable to the architect than any of his existing edifices. Amongst others, there is a beautiful design for the bridge of the Rialto. It must not be forgotten that the modest and tasteful mansion built by Palladio for his own residence, is to be seen near his most celebrated work, the Teatro Olimpico.

While residing at Vicenza, Mr. Stewart

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