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PHILADELPHIA PORT FOLIO: A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

of quick evaporation, thereby keeping the place to which it has been applied continually damp, until it shall have been thoroughly washed off. It is on this principle, that salt river water has been recommended for watering the roads immediately contiguous during the summer time, as, from such watering, they would retain something like humidity, when others were quickly dry and dusty.

History and Geology mutually confirmatory. -In the first of a course of Lectures on the Natural Sciences, recently commenced at Paris in the College de France, by M. Cuvier, that learned naturalist took occasion to remark on the tendency of history and geology to confirm each other. While the traditions of every country (he observed,) have preserved the memory of a great catastrophe, which changed the whole surface of the globe, and destroyed the human race almost to a man,-geology teaches us, that of the various revolutions which have taken place in the matter which forms the world, the last corresponds with sufficient nicety with the period assigned to the deluge. The date of this great event is to be fixed, (continues M. Cuvier,) with tolerable precision, on purely geological considerations, in the following manner: There are certain formations which would necessarily have commenced immediately after the last great change on the earth's surface, and which, from that moment to our days, have continued with great regularity. Of this kind are the accuinulations of earth at the mouths of riversthe slopes existing at the foot of mountains, and which are forined of fragments fallen from the summits. These respective deposits receive an annual augmentation, the quantity of which may be ascertained by observation. There is, consequently, no difficulty in calculating the time necessary for them to acquire the dimensions which they are observed to be of at present. Calculations to that effect have been made with regard to the deposits at the foot of mountains, and give a result of from five to six thousand years. The same calculation being made as to the deposits at the mouths of rivers, gives the same number of years.

A Powerful Reminder.—-A__minister and
churchwarden were talking of the dissolute-
ness of the sexton. "I know of but one way
of making him think of his latter end," said the
minister," and that is to make him toll the fu-
"Aye, sure enough," replied the
neral bell."
churchwarden, "he would constantly have a
rope before his eyes then."

66

Uncertainty.-Mr. W., a respectable medical
practitioner, lately residing at Croydon, was
one day called on to visit a gentleman in the
above town who had been suddenly attacked
with illness: "Doctor," said the patient, in a
trembling voice, "shall I die, do you think?"
apprehen-
The doctor assured him he had no
Then, do
sion of so melancholy an event.
you think, doctor," hastily replied the patient,
"that I shall be well by next Thursday?"
"Indeed," replied the doctor, "that is a ques-
tion beyond my skill to answer with any cer-
tainty; but why are you so particular as to a
day?" "Because, doctor," said the anxious
invalid, "I am to be married on that day!"
Mr. W. was naturally inquisitive as to the lady
to whom he was to be united: "Really, doc-
tor," said the patient, "I am not exactly fixed,
but either-to Miss M-, or Miss S-!"

The Drunkard and the Sot,-the Glutton and
the Epicure.-There are several classes of vo-
luptuaries who deliver themselves up, unrea-
sonably, to the gratification of the sense of
taste. There are drunkards and gluttons-and
there are minor subdivisions of these two fun-
damental species. In drunkenness, society is
burthened with the drunkard and the sot; both
sensualists of a different character. In the vice
of gluttony we also find the glutton in quantity
-and the epicure, or glutton in quality.

The drunkard is a lean and sunken-eyed being, the current of whose life is reduced to a poor half-pint, and one-half of that is settled in

his nose.

He drinks for the sake of the stimu-
lus, and seems scarcely to live when the exci-
tation is at an end. You see him then with
blood-shot eyes, and mean and trailing pace,
crawling along the earth, or standing still with
his limbs hanging about him like those of a
pateboard Merry Andrew, when the child has
ceased to pull its string. All his sober moments
are employed in efforts to appease the anger of
those friends whom he has offended in his
maudlin fits. He takes indignities with pa-
tience-not the patience of a Christian but that
of a coward; a coward who murders his friend
in his heart, while he crouches to him in ap-

project, are forgotten in this single and beastly
propensity: every duty is sacrificed; every ob-
ligation is slighted; every affection surrender-
ed to its gratification.

Scotchmen in London.-" Mr. Murray, who was the London publisher of the Edinburgh Magazine and Review, was a very respectable and eminent bookseller in Fleet-street, London; where he succeeded to the business of Mr. Millan, a Scotsman, who, to accommodate himself to the prejudices of the English, (for-pearance. Every feeling, every care, every merly strong against the Scots) changed his original name of Mac Millan, by dropping the Macklin, patronymic Mac, signifying clan of. the famous comedian, who was an Irishman, had, in a somewhat similar manner, changed his name of M'Lane to Macklin; and Almack, a Scotchman, well known at the fashionable end of the town, by keeping a famous subscription house in Pall Mall nearly opposite the Palace of St. James's, altered his name from M'Caul. The original name of Mr. John Murray was Mac Murray, under which name he served his country for several years as an officer of marines; and being reduced upon half-pay at the close of the war, which ended in 1763, he purchased the stock in trade and good-will of Mr. Millan, then lately deceased, and imitated him in dropping the northern Mac. He was succeeded in business at his death by his son, the present Mr. John Murray, who now carries on the bookselling business extensively in the same shop in Fleetstreet."-Smellie's Mem. by Kerr.

When Mr. Murray removed to Albemarlestreet, he disposed of his shop, No. 32 Flectstreet, to the late Mr. Thomas Underwood, also a Scotsman, whose brother now continues the business. If not the oldest book-shop in London, it is very nearly upon the site of the oldest; Wynkin de Worde having occupied the premises about this very spot, some three hundred years ago.

The sot is a sensualist of another order, different in appearance and different in character. He is a huge bloated creature, with a lead-coloured complexion and stupid sleepy eyes, into which no human excitement can infuse a spark of fire or intelligence. His drink is ale, or some heavy malt liquor, which will gradually stupefy and beget a dull oblivion, without at any time wholly depriving him of consciousness. The drunkard acts as if his brains were converted into fire; the sot would lead you to believe that his cranium contained a huge lump of mud. He smokes his pipe and gulps down his coarse draught for the sake of the sedative, not like the drunkard in pursuit of stimulus. But both are nothing better than the brute.

"Yet why should I libel the poor brutes by such a comparison? It is a shame to call a man a beast, when he puts on a character which no well-regulated animals in the whole Linnæan system would assume. Poor sinless things! I wrong you vilely, when I class you with the glutton and the drunkard. Who ever saw a horse with a paunch like some human creatures, or a hog with a carbuncled proboscis? What dog, unless a dog tutored by man, would surfeit himself on made-dishes, like an

epicure, and turn up his nose at plain beef or mutton? Who talks of intemperance in a pig. stye? What if the poor hog does love a roll in the mire, and cats his pease at the rate of a quart to the mouthful, still it is a sober beast, and fulfils its part in the system of the universal harmony. It would blush, if, a hog could blush, to neglect its little squeaking family for the best trough of pease, or the vilest slough that ever tempted him. It is egregious flattery to call a drunkard ́or a glutton a beast.

The glutton, whose passion regards the quantity of his diet, is a hideous creature. To please himself he would have his stomach as capacious as a post-bag. He envies his horse when he enters the stable, and sees him tugging at a rack full of hay. He emulates the quadruped, and goes on dilating like the frog in Esop, till he is ready to explode from plethora. An apoplectic stroke, in general, concludes his feast, and sends him straight from the table to his tomb.

The epicure is a daintier sinner. He prides himself on a degree of imaginative delicacy in eating, which only proves him to be the more thorough sensualist. The glutton is only devoted in body to the passion, his mind is suffered to stagnate or run wild as it pleases. But the epicure brings both into play. He makes his intellect subservient to the uses of the passion, and debases the lofty faculties of his eternal nature to the service of a mean and selfish appetite. Who would not suppose that the following passage from a fragment of Plato's comedies, had been written for the benefit of those philosophers

"What is your science But kitchen science? Wisely to descant And prove by logic that his summum bonum Upon the choice bits of a savoury carp, Lies in his head: there you can lecture well, And whilst your grey beards wag, the gaping guest

Sits wondering with a foolish face of praise."

Nature, having denied reason to the brutes, sistence should be thinly scattered over the wisely ordained that the means of their subearth, and that they should seldom find food in masses sufficiently abundant to produce a surfeit. A horse who enters on a pasture field with the hungriest inclinations, can do no more in the course of a day than graze a tolerable meal. The same provision was not resorted to in the instance of man; for his reason rendered the precaution unnecessary. But he has contrived to escape the restraint of that severe admonisher in this as well as in other cases.

SONG.
"SHE died in beauty!-like a rose
Blown from its parent stem;
She died in beauty!-like a pearl
Dropp'd from some diadem.
She died in beauty!-like a lay
Along a moonlit lake;
She died in beauty!-like the song
Of birds amid the brake.
She died in beauty!-like the snow
On flowers dissolved away;
She died in beauty!-like a star

Lost on the brow of day.
She lives in glory!-like Night's gems
Set round the silver moon;
She lives in glory!-like the sun
Amid the blue of June!"

THE LITERARY PORT FOLIO. It is intended that this journal shall contain such a variety of matter as may make it acceptable to ladies as well as to gentlemen; to the young as well as to the old. While we shall take care that nothing be admitted which would render the work unfit for any of these classes, we shall endeavour to procure for it sufficient ability to en title it to the attention of all of them. To these ends we have secured an abundant supply of all foreign and do mestic journals and new books-and we ask the assist ance of all who are qualified to instruct or amuse the public. Upon this assistance we depend in a great de gree for our hopes of success, for however the abundant stores to which we have access, may enable us to supply matter highly interesting to our readers, we think it of even more importance to give them something peculiarly adapted to the present time and circumstances; some thing from home.

No. 20.

PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, MAY 20,

Terms.-Published every Thursday by E. Littell & Brother, corner of Chestnut and Seventh Streets, Phila

errors of his youthful days, and fervently supdelphia. It will contain four handsome engravings every plicated the Almighty not to impute them;

year. Price Two Dollars and a Half a year, payable in advance.

Agents who procure and forward payment for four subscribers, shall receive the fifth copy for one year; and so in proportion for a larger number.

ANCIENT DUELLING.

The following interesting account of a duel, extracted from an old British magazine, gives a faithful delineation of the ferocity and barbarity which distinguished ancient private combats. At the time of this transaction duelling was sustained by the Common Law of England, which countenanced trials by battle.American.

His Grace the Duke of Brunswick to the Lord
Baltimore, being the first letter that passed

between them.

The affront that you gave me at the minister's ball last night, would argue me a person very unworthy the character I bear, were I to let it pass unregarded. To prove me that adventurous knight, which your evasive expression would have given the noble lady to understand, may perhaps be the most acceptable means to reconcile your spleen; convince me, then, that you are more of a gentleman than I have reason to believe, by meeting me near the first tree behind the lodge at Hyde Park, precisely at half past 5 to-morrow morning; and that there may be no pretensions to delay, I have sent by the bearer two swords, of which I give you the privilege to make a choice, and shall approve of whatever terms of fighting you'll be pleased to propose. In the interim I wish your Lordship a good rest. Whitehall, 9 o'clock.

Lord Baltimore's answer to the above.

after which he rose, and bid the Lieutenant
awake, for he could not willingly have his
Grace, he said, wait a moment, as the morn-
ing was a little rainy, and cold withal. By the
time they were accoutred, it wanted just half
an hour to the appointed time; Lieutenant
D'Lee desired to view his Lordship's sword,
and examined the point and handle very cau
tiously, then returning it, by adding he hearti-
ly wished it was going to be employed in a
cause more serviceable to his country: his
Lordship answered that it would be of little
consequence in that respect, let the event be
what it would. Just as his Lordship was open-
ing the door for their departure, the Lieute-
nant General desired to know if there was any
thing his Lordship thought proper to commu-
nicate; to which he replied, it was very fortu.
nate that he had mentioned that, and delivered
a letter to the Right Hon. the Countess of
Essex, desiring that he would give it to her
alone, and not upon any consideration trust it
to another hand; as for his family affairs, he
said they were already settled according to his
will.

On this they immediately left the apartment,
and arriving somewhat before the appointed
time, took several turns from the lodge to the
tree. His Lordship several times expressed
wonder at his Grace's delay, though it was not
two minutes by Lieutenant D'Lee's watch
above the limited hour when he arrived, at-
tended with one second only. He bado his
Lordship a good morning, and hoped they had
not waited for them long: then pulling out his
watch, said he had hit it to a point; adding, at
the same time, that he had rather die than
break his promise on such an occasion. His
Lordship returned the expression with this ad-
dition, that though they waited a little while,
there was sufficient time left to despatch the
business they were upon. To which his Grace
replied, the sooner it is despatched, the more
leisure will be behind. In the interim the se-
conds were pairing their swords, and each one
loaded his adversary's pistols. They then
agreed to the following terms, viz:

1830.

that battles were seldom won by hasty mea sures, deliberately levelled his, and wounded his antagonist near the throat. They both discharged again, when his Lordship received a slight wound in his arm; on which they instantly drew their swords, and impetuously charged each other, rather each of them meditating the death of his adversary, than his own safety. In the first or second thrust, Lord Bentangled the toe of his pump in a tuft of grass, and, in evading a push from his antagonist, fell on his right side, but supporting himself with the sword hand, by inconceivable dexterity, sprung backwards, and evaded the push apparently aimed at his heart. A little pause intervening here, his Grace's second proposed to his Lordship a reconciliation; but the ardent thirst after each other's blood, so overpowered the strongest arguments of reason, that they insisted to execute each other's will, whatever might be the consequence. Nay, the anger of his Grace was raised to such a high pitch of revenge, that he in that critical moment swore, if, for the future, either of the seconds interposed, he would make his way through his body. Thus, after finding all remonstrances of saving them without effect, they retired to their limited distance, and perhaps one of the most extraordinary duels ensued that the records of history can produce, fairly disputed hand to hand. The parrying after this interval brought on a close lock, which, Monsieur de Barreaux says, nothing but the key of the body can open; in this position they stood for I dare say a minute, striving to disengage from each other by successive wrenches; in one of which his Grace's sword point got entangled in the guard of his Lordship's, which, in fact, his Lordship overlooked: so that this advantage was recovered by his Grace, before the consequence which it might have brought on was executed. At last, in a very strong wrench on both sides, their swords flew out of their hands; I dare say his Lordship's flew six or seven yards upright. This incident, however, did not retard the affair a single moment, but both seizing their thistles at the same time, the duel was renewed with as much malevolence as ever. By this time his Lordship had received a thrust through the inner of his sword arm, passing right forward to the exterior part of the elbow; bis, at the same time, passing a little over that of his an tagonist, but alertly drawing back, I think partly before his Grace had recovered his push, ran him through the body a little above the right pap. His Lordship's sword being thus engaged, nothing was left but his naked left arm, and his Grace being in this dangerous situation, yet had fair play at almost any part of his Lordship's body, yet he bravely put by several thrusts exactly levelled at his throat, till at last, having two fingers cut off by defending the pushes, and the rest mangled in a terri ble degree, his Grace lodged his sword one rib To which four articles they both consented. below his heart, and in this affecting condition His Grace stripped off his coat, which was they both stood, without either of them being scarlet, trimmed with broad gold lace, when able to make another push, and each of them, my Lord B's second stepped in to unbut- by this time, was in a manner covered with About four in the morning his Lordship ton his waistcoat; on which, with some indig- blood and gore; when both the seconds stepped waked and got softly up, without (as he nation, his Grace replied, "Do you take me in and begged they would consider their situathought) being observed by his bedfellow; and to be a person of so little honour as to defend tion, and the good of their future state; yet dressed himself, buckled on his sword, fixed myself by such means as hiding a shield under neither would consent to part, until, by the two agate flints in his pistols, and then charged my doublet?" Lieutenant General D'Lee de- greater loss of blood which his Lordship sus them; but recollecting that his Grace's se- sired his excuse, adding he was bound to see tained in being first wounded, he fell down cond would probably desire to see them loaded, justice done to the cause he had espoused. senseless, but in such a position that he drew drew them again. By this time the Lieutenant The same ceremony passed upon his Lordship his sword out of his Grace's body; but recowas awake, and observing his Lordship take a who had already off his coat, which was crim-vering himself a little before he was quite book out of his pocket, thought it was improper son, with broad silver lace; and both the com- down, faltered forward, and falling with his to give him to know he was observed; his Lord- batants being now ready, my Lord B add-thigh across his sword, snapped it in the midship kneeled down by a small table in the Lieu-ed, "Now, if it please your Grace, come on;" dle. His Grace observing that he was no lon. tenant's bed-room, and seemed to pray with ger capable of defence, or sensible of danger, great devotion for a quarter of an hour, often immediately broke his own, and fell on his repeating, just loud enough to be heard, the body with the deepest signs of concern, and

I received your Grace's message, and accept the contents. It would give me a sensible concern to be obliged to give up the pretensions which your Grace is doubtful of. It was an oversight, I presume, that your Grace gave me the privilege to choose my sword, except your Grace has been so little used to this sort of ceremony as to have forgot that it is the challenged's choice. This, however, is but a trifle (if any thing); appear at the time appointed, and in the interim I wish your Grace a very good night. B

Cavendish Square, 11 o'clock. After my Lord Baltimore had answered his Grace's letter, he visited several of his friends, and was observed to be remarkably jocose when at lady Nottingham's; which occasioned a young lady, after his departure, to remark, that she fancied there was something very agreeable to his Lordship renewed again; alluding to the Countess of Essex, as she well knew his extraordinary passion for that lady. He told the messenger that carried his letter to bring his Grace's answer to Lieutenant General D'Lee's, the gentleman whom he had pitched upon for his second, and with whom he lay all night at his house in St. James's street, which was done.

1st. That the distance of firing should not be less, at either time, than seven yards and a half.

2d. That if either should be dangerously wounded at the first discharge, the duel should cease, if the wounded person would own his life was in the hands of his antagonist.

3d. That between the firing and drawing their swords, there should be no limited time, but each should endeavour to make the first thrust.

4th. That if either should yield, as in the second article, during the engagement with swords, whether by a wound, false step, or any other means, then the engagement should

cease.

when they instantly stepped into the circle.
His Grace fired and missed; but my Lord
B-, perhaps from more experience, knew

both expired before any assistance could be got, though Dr. Fountain had orders from his Grace not to be out of the way in case he should be called upon that morning. Thus fell those two gallant men, whose personal bravery history can hardly equal, and whose honour nothing but such a cause could stain. This anecdote was signed R. Deerhurst, who, it is presumed, was his Grace's second.

P. S. In the above manuscript several passages are quite defaced, especially the reign and year, which I make nothing of, at least reeoncilable to history. The language I have modernized partly through the whole, for the better perusal of my son; but the seven last lines are not one of them legible, though I believe them to contain reasons why the unhappy affair never got into history.

so great a distance. On one of the days of my stay here, the wind blew so violently from morning to night, that the sand was raised, though not in clouds, yet in sufficient quantities to penetrate every thing, and render it difficult to stand against it: my tent, which was pitched in the plain below, was blown down, and I was obliged to take up my abode in the place of tombs. The large chamber excavated in the rock, and inhabited by Belzoni during his residence of six months here, is close to the pyramid of Cephrenes; it is very commodious and lofty, though excessively warm. On entering the door, the only place through which the light is admitted, an immense number of bats rushed out against us. All the ruinous apartments and temples in this country are peopled with these animals, which Belzoni contrived to get rid of by lighting large fires, the smoke of which soon expelled them.Carne's Letters from the East, p. 116.

[From the Saturday Bulletin.]

A LOCK OF HAIR. Few things in this weary world are so delightful as Keepsakes! Nor do they ever to my heart at least, nor to my eye, lose their tender-their powerful charm! How slight, how small, how tiny, a memorial, saves a beloved-one from oblivion-worn on the finger, or close to the heart! especially if they be dead! No thought is so insupportable as that of entire, total, blank forgetfulness-when the creature that once laughed, and sang, and wept to us, close to our side, or in our arms, is as if her smiles, her voice, her tears, her kisses had never been. She and them all swallowed up in the dark nothingness of the dust!

VISIT TO THE PYRAMIDS. THE next morning I ascended the great pyramid. The outside is formed of rough stones of a light yellow colour, which form unequal steps all round, from the bottom to the summit: these stones, or steps, are two, three, or four feet high, and the ascent is rather laborious, but perfectly free from danger, or any serious difficulty. What a boundless and extraordinary prospect opened from the summit! On one side, a fearful and melancholy desart, either level, or broken into wild and fantastic hills of sand and rocks; on the other, scenes of the utmost fertility and beauty marked the course of the Nile, that wound its way as far as the eye could reach into upper Egypt; beneath amidst the overflow of waters, appeared the numerous hamlets and groves, encircled like so many beautiful islets; and far in the Of all Keepsakes, memorials, relics,-most distance was seen the smoke of Cairo, and its dearly, most devoutly do I love a little lock of lofty minarets, with the dreary Mount Mo-hair-and oh! when the head it beautified kattam rising above. Who but would linger over such a scene; and, however wide he roamed, who would not feel hopeless of ever seeing it equalled?

The height of the great pyramid is five hundred feet; its base about seven hundred feet long at each square, making a circumference of about three thousand feet; and its summit is twenty-eight feet square. It is perfectly true, as a celebrated traveller has observed, that you feel much disappointed at the first view of the pyramids: as they stand in the midst of a flat and boundless desart, and there is no elevation near, with which to contrast them, it is not easy to be aware of their real magnitude, until, after repeated visits and observations, their vast size fills the mind with astonishment.

On the third night, carrying lights with us, we entered the large pyramid by a long gradual descent of near a hundred feet in length; and next ascended the long gallery of marble, a hundred and fifty feet in length, and excessively steep, which conducted us to the great chamber. In the roof of this lofty room are stones of granite, eighteen feet long; in what manner these masses were conveyed to such a situation, it is not easy to conceive; still less for what purpose these immense structures were formed, filled up, as the greater part of the interior is, with masses of stones and marble. The few chambers hitherto discovered bear no proportion whatever to the vast extent of the interior. So immensely strong is their fabric, and so little do they appear injured by the lapse of more than three thousand years, that one cannot help believing, when gazing at them, that their duration can only end with that of the world.

The celebrated sarcophagus which Dr. C. fancifully supposed to have contained the bones of Joseph, stands in the great chamber: it has been much injured by the various pieces struck off. The pyramids of Cephrenes, the passage into which Mr. Belzoni has opened, stands not far from that of Cheops, but cannot be ascended. The pyramids stand on a bed of rock, a hundred and fifty feet above the desart, and this elevation contributes to their being seen from

has long mouldered in the dust, how spiritual seems the undying glossiness of the sole remaining ringlet! All else gone to nothing -save and except that soft, smooth, burnished and glorious fragment of the apparelling that once hung in clouds and sunshine over an angel's brow! Aye, a lock of hair is far better than any picture-it is a part of the beloved object herself; it belonged to the tresses that often, long-long ago, may have been dishevelled, like a shower of sunbeams, over your beating breast! But now solemn thoughts sadden the beauty once so bright-so refulgent: the longer you gaze on it, the more and more pensive grows the expression of the holy relic-it seems to say, almost upbraidingly, "weep'st thou no more for me?" and then indeed, a tear true to the imperishable affection in which all nature once seemed to rejoice, bears witness, that the object towards which it yearned is no more forgotten, now that she has been dead for so many, many, long, weary days, months, years-that she was forgotten during one hour of absence, that came like a passing cloud between us and the sunshine of our living-her loving smiles!

Political Pismires.-A Frenchman, who had spent some time in the United States, was lately travelling in one of the western stages, and undertook to describe to a fellow passenger, an Englishman who had just arrived in the country, the names and character of the dif ferent political parties. After running over the odd list of Democrats, Federalists, Republicans, Quids, Bucktails, &c. &c. with a proper explanation to each: "Then dare is de -de-de-vat you call-em-vat in England you call de leetle red Pismire, ha? The little red Pismire?" replied the Englishman. Why, we call them ants." Begar, dat is it antis-de antis party-de pismire party." This significant description and manner of refreshing his memory, excited the risibility of all the passengers but two, the honest Frenchman, who was unconscious of having said any thing to laugh at, and a renouncing anti-mason who thought it a personal allusion.

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66

Ithaca Journal.

THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT.

From the MS. notes of a Detenu. When the French, under the command of Dumourier, had completely defeated the Austrian army at Jenappes, they found among the heaps of dead and dying a female child, about three years of age. In what manner and by whom she had been brought into the field of slaughter no one could tell. The little innocent was guarded by a large black poodle, who would not for some time allow the soldiers to approach; to this faithful animal the care of the child appeared to be entrusted. The partiality of the French military for dogs of this species is well known; after much enticement he consented to partake of some nourishment, and allowed his charge to be taken by one of the soldiers, who placed her upon his knapsack; he belonged to the 40th regiment of Infantry, and it was unanimously agreed upon among the inen of his battalion, that both child and dog should be adopted by the regiment. The poodle they called Felix, and the young girl was christened by the title of "La Fille du Regiment." By turns she was carried upon the backs of the soldiers; who were delighted with the little creature, and she accompanied them to Holland. Upon several occasions she was in the midst of the battles in which the regiment was engaged, yet the roaring of the cannon did not intimidate her; but her heart was ready to break when, in a skirmish that took place on the banks of the Rhine, her favourite and faithful attendant, Felix, was wounded by a gun shot, and died in her arms. The regiment, after three years severe service, were ordered into garrison at Mons. Their protegee was now six years of age; when, by the advice of the colonel and officers, they determined on placing her in a respectable boarding-school to receive her education; and the sum of four thousand four hundred francs was collected in the regiment and delivered to the Mayor of the town, who was appointed her guardian. Having received sudden orders to march to some distant place, nearly all the men of the regiment came to the school where their beloved child was dwelling, tenderly embraced and bid her farewell for ever, as in the course of a few years probably not an individual of the regiment remained alive-they perished in those sanguinary contests that took place in Italy. In 1808 I had an opportunity of seeing the young girl at Tournay, whither she had been removed by the permission of the Mayor of Mons, who had obtained for her the situation of governess in the family of Count de L.-She was beautiful, of extremely amiable disposition, and highly accomplished. I have heard her say that the recollections of the time she spent in the regiment were quite fresh and fraught with pleasing associations; she had not even forgotten the names of those persons who were more particularly kind to her, and she expressed herself with the deepest feelings of gratitude for the education she had received by their bounty. She often made inquiries of the officers, who were continually arriving from the scene of warfare in Italy, whether they had met with any of "her dear Fortieth;" but alas! they had all disappeared from the earth. Her birth continued involved in mystery, and I never heard that she was able to ascertain who her unfortunate parents had been. In 1809, she was married to Baron de L., the colonel of a regiment, and also holding a situation in the Imperial Court. About this period I frequently used to see her going to the Palace of the Tuilleries, of which she formed one of the most brilliant ornaments: her amiable manners, her beauty and virtue, were the theme of universal admiration; and even at a time when so elevated in rank, she was not ashamed of acknowledging herself as "the daughter of the regiment." A young Englishman, who had been acquainted with her when she resided in the family of Count de L. was, in consequence of attempting to effect his es

cape from Valenciennes, ordered by the minister of the police to be confined in Bitche; from this fortress he contrived to get away, but was taken on the frontiers of Holland, tried by a Court-Martial as a spy, and sentenced to the Galleys for life. Hearing that this lady possessed much influence at Court, he wrote and informed her of the dreadful si

tuation in which he was placed, on the eve of being transferred with one hundred and fifty felons to the Bagne of Rochefort. The lady did all in her power to save the unfortunate youth, and at length obtained from Fouche an order to have him sent to the Citadel of Valenciences, where he remained until the allied armies entered France. The sojourn of this amiable woman upon earth was but brief; her husband appears to have been acquainted with the mystery of her birth, but probably never made known to her the circumstances. Upon

the marble-slab that covers her tomb is inscribed "Cy git Madame la Baronne De. Son epoux la vit naitre et mourir." [Her husband saw her born and die.]

"When I consider the Heavens, the work of thy hands, the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him, or the son of man, that

thou visitest him?"-PSALMS.

Come ye! upon whose shrouded mind

Dark Unbelief hath cast its pall,—
Ye, that are blindest of the blind,
And grope where mystic shadows fall-
Upon whose dull, benighted way

There is no flood of sunlight shed,
Save boasted Reason's fitful ray,

A restless dream, by Passion fed :

Ye, who seek evidence of God,

And scorn the lessons of his Word;
Look o'er the paths ye all have trod,-

Recall the themes ye all have heard:
The murmured warnings that have press'd,
Like low breathed voices to the ear,
The awful whisperings of the breast,

That deeply echoed-" God is here!"
Come, and while Spring's alluring song
Is borne from every freshening spray;
When every gale that steals along

Bears the young bird's beguiling lay :-
When like the mystery of a Dream,
Bends o'er ye the Eternal sky,
O'erlooking wood, and field, and stream,-
Hear the heart whisper "God is nigh!"
Come, when the proud, descending sun
Wraps the cloud-draperies round his brow;
When the wide Earth he looks upon,

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Seems radiant in his boundless glow
When buds are closing,-and the haze
Comes o'er the far blue mountain's head:-
While Sunset's free and kindling blaze
Lies painted on Day's ocean-bed!
In Autumn's hour-in Winter's scene,
When pale pure hills in glory rise:-
When forests, stript of Summer's sheen
Stand naked 'neath the bitter skies:
In the deep terrors of the storm-

The tempest's mighty thunderings,-
As Death's dark angel rears his form,

And veils the wide Earth with his wings!

Read ye of these!—and unbelief,

Will like a shadow disappear-
Like a sad night-bird's lay of grief,
From the unpillared atmosphere :—
A light, like Summer's radiant morn,
Will on the enraptured soul break in:-
And glorious visions will be born,

Unstained by earthliness or sin!
Oh, who can cast his glance abroad,—
Up to the chambers of the sky-
Nor feel the presence of his God,-

The awful searchings of His eye!
Even the sad changes of our way,
Are leaves of a great volume given :-
They bear the records of Decay,

And bid us seek repose in Heaven!

Col. Star.

MOUNT CARMEL.

1 Kings, chap. xviii. v. 44, 45.

Extract from a Journal, by an English Officer,
on board the Hydrios Brig of War, the
Achilles.

As we were seated at breakfast, a sailor put
his head within the door, and saying briefly,
that it looked squally to windward, hurried
again upon deck. We all followed, and on
coming up, saw a little cloud on the verge of
the horizon towards the south, which was
every instant spreading over the sky, and
drawing nearer to us. The captain altered
his course instantly, preparing to scud before
it, and in the mean time ordered all hands
aloft to take in sail. But scarcely an instant
had elapsed ere the squall was upon us, and all
grew black around: the wind came rushing
and crisping over the water, and in a mo-
ment the ship was running almost gunwale
down, whilst the rain was dashing in torrents
on the decks. As quick as thought, the fore-
sail was torn from the yards, and as the gust
rushed through the rigging, the sheets and
ropes were snapping and cracking with a fear-
ful noise. The crew, however, accustomed to
such sudden visitants, were not slow in reefing
the necessary sails, trimming the rigging, and
bringing back the vessel to her proper course;
and in about a quarter of an hour, or even less,
the hurricane had all passed by-the sun burst
again through the clouds, that swept in its
impetuous train-the wind sunk to its former
gentleness, and all was once more at peace,
with the exception of the agitated sea, which
continued for the remainder of the day, rough
and billowy.

It is the dread of such bourasques as the present, that compels almost every vessel in the Levant to shorten sail at the break of day, since, in cloudy weather, it would be next to impossible, during the night, to discern the approach of the tempest in time to prepare for its reception; and to a ship, with all her canvass spread, its effects might prove terrific. This instance and others I have witnessed, are thoroughly explanatory of the passage in Kings, where the servant of Elijah descries from the top of Carmel the little cloud ascending from the sea: "And it came to pass at the seventh time, that he said, Behold there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea like a man's hand." And in the meanwhile the heavens grew black with clouds and wind, and "there was a great rain." (1 Kings, chap. xvii. v. 44, 45.) In the Mediterranean such scenes are frequent; but fortunately, though so dreadfully impetuous, the hurricane is so local in its fury, that its impetuosity will scarcely be perceived at the distance of a very few miles.

MARY LEE

A BALLAD, BY JOHN CLARE.
I have traced the valleys fair,
In May morning's dewy air,-
My bonny Mary Lee,
Wilt thou deign the wreath to wear,
Gathered all for thee?

They are not flowers of pride,
For they graced the dingle side,
Yet they grew in heaven's smile,

My gentle Mary Lee,

Can they fear thy frowns the while,
Though offered all by me?
Here's the lily of the vale,
That perfumed the morning gale,
My fairy Mary Lee,
All so spotless and so pale

Like thine own purity:
And might I make it known,
'Tis an emblem of my own
Love-if I dare so name

My esteem for thee-
Surely flowers can bear no blame,
My bonny Mary Lee.
Here's the violet's modest blue
That 'neath hawthorns hides from view,
My gentle Mary Lee,
T'will show whose heart is true

While it thinks of thee;
Though it seeks each lowly spot,
The sun disdains it not;

I'm as lowly too, indeed,

My charming Mary Lee,
So I've brought the flower to plead,
And win a smile from thee.
Here's a wild rose just in bud,
Spring's beauty in its hood,
My bonny Mary Lee,
"Tis the first in all the wood

I could find for thee;
Though a blush is scarcely seen,
Yet it hides its worth within,

Like love,-for I've no power,
My bonny Mary Lee,
To speak, unless the flower

Can plead excuse for me.
Though they deck no princely halls
In bouquets for glittering balls,

My gentle Mary Lee,
Richer hues than painted walls,

Might make them dear to thee;
For the blue and laughing sky
Spreads a grander canopy

Than all wealth's golden skill,

My charming Mary Lee;
Love would make them dearer still,
That offers them to thee.
My wreath of flowers are few,
Yet no fairer drank the dew,
My bonny Mary Lee,
And may seem as trifles too,
Yet not I hope to thee,
Some may boast a richer prize
Under pride and wealth's disguise,
None a fonder offering bore

Than mine to thee;
And can true love wish for more?
Surely not, Mary Lee.

There are at present three titles known in Ireland to have been transmitted from time immemorial, and whose origin is lost in the lapse of ages. They are known as the Knight of Kerry, the Knight of Glin, and the White Knight, which last is centered in the Earl of Kingston, who claims the priority in point of antiquity. The other two are in the family of the Fitzgeralds, and differ very little in the mottos they assume from that of the Duke of A Curious Circumstance.-If horses are put Leinster, which in the old Milesian phrase of to grass on a townland, five miles to the west "crom a boo," is supposed to be an ancient war of Rathkeale, county of Limerick, at the end cry; that of the Knight of Glin is "shanet a of two months the caronate ulcerates, the boo," and the others differ in minute particu- horny hoof separates gradually from the sensilars. The translation given to the Duke's is tive foot, and falls off. The horse must be "I burn," and is accounted for in a curious horned, and the void created by the opening of manner. It is said that one of the early pro- the exterior of the horny substance kept congenitors of the family kept in his house at Car- stantly filled with cotton or fine tow. When ton, in Kildare, a monkey of extraordinary do- the hoofs fall off the horse gets perfect new cility; and, the house one day catching fire, ones, free from sand cracks, ringbones, corns, the monkey is said to have rescued a child in quitters, and narrow heels-a desideratum in his arms from the impending danger, and car- farriery. The wild fowl that resort to the ried it to a place of safety; the motto of "crom place lose their feathers, and are caught in a boo," was afterwards adopted, and continues, abundance by the country people. The land with monkies as supporters to the armorial in the vicinity of the quicksilver mines in Bobearings, up to the present day.-Court Jour-hemia and Hungary, possesses the same qua lity.

nal.

LEGENDARY BALLADS.*

BY MR. MOORE.-Just Published. THIS work contains twelve new songs by the best song-writer England has ever produced. The airs, all of which are good, and some extremely beautiful, are selected from various sources, with the exception of one by Bishop, and another by Mrs. Robert Arkwright. The volume is farther enriched by a set of very spirited drawings in illustration of the ballads. We have much pleasure in extracting several of the songs, which, like every thing that comes from Moore's pen, must be highly interesting to our readers. We begin with the following beautiful ballad, entitled

CUPID AND PYSCHE.

"They told her, that he to whose sweet voice she listen'd,

Through night's fleeting hours, was a spirit unblest;

Unholy the eyes that beside her had glisten'd,

And evil the lips she in darkness had prest.

"When next in thy chamber the bridegroom reclineth,

Bring near him thy lamp when in slumber he lies,

And there, as the light o'er his dark features shineth,

Thou'lt see what a demon hath won all thy sighs.'

"Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing,

When calm lay the sleeper, she stole with her light;

And saw-such a vision!-no image appearing To bards in their day-dreams was ever so bright.

"A youth but just passing from childhood's sweet morning,

Whose innocent bloom had not yet fled away;

While gleams from beneath his shut eyelids gave warning,

Of summer noon lightnings that under them lay.

"His brow had a grace more than mortal around it,

While, glossy as gold from a fairy land mine, His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crown'd it

Seem'd fresh from the breeze of some gar. den divine.

"Entranced stood the bride on that miracle gazing

What late was but love, is idolatry now; But, ah-in her tremour that fatal lamp raising

A sparkle flew from it, and dropp'd on his brow.

"All's lost-with a start from his rosy sleep waking,

The spirit flashed o'er her his glances of fire; Then slow from the clasp of her snowy arms breaking,

Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow than ire:

"Farewell-what a dream thy suspicion hath broken!

Thus ever affection's fond vision is crost; Dissolved are her spells when a doubt is but spoken,

And love, once distrusted, forever is lost!"" More playful, but not less delightful is

THE MAGIC MIRROR.

"Come, if thy magic glass have power To call up forms we sigh to see; Show me my love in that rosy bower,

Where last she pledged her truth to me.'

Legendary Ballads, by Thomas Moore, Esq., arranged with Symphonies and Accom paniments, by Henry R. Bishop. London. J. Power. pp. 81.

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By fancying still her true love nigh!' "But the page returns, and-oh! what a sight

For trusty lover's eye to see!Leads to that bower another knight, As gay, and, alas! as loved as he!

"Such,' quoth the youth, 'is woman's love;' Then darting forth with furious bound, Dash'd at the mirror his iron glove,

And strew'd it all in fragments round.

Moral.

"Such ill would never have come to pass, Had he ne'er sought that fatal view; The wizard still would have kept his glass, And the knight still thought his lady true."

There is something particularly chivalric and wild in the following ballad :—

THE HIGH-BORN LADYE..

"In vain all the knights of the Underwald woo'd her,

Though brightest of maidens, the proudest was she;

Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her,

But none was found worthy of the high-born Ladye.

"Whomsoever I wed,' said this maid so excelling,

That knight must the conqueror of conquerors be;

He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in,

None else shall be bridegroom of the highborn Ladye!'

"Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round her,

On knights and on nobles of highest degree; Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her,

And sigh'd, at a distance, for the high-born.
Ladye.

"At length came a knight, from a far land to woo her,

With plumes on his helm, like the foam of

the sea;

His vizor was down--but with voice that thrill'd through her,

He whisper'd his greeting to the high-born Ladye.

"Proud maiden! I come with high spousals to grace thee,

In me the great conqueror of conquerors

see;

Enthroned in a ball fit for monarchs I'll place thee,

And mine thou'rt for ever, thou high-born Ladye!'

"The maiden she smiled and in jewels array'd her,

Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she; And proud was the step, as her bridegroom convey'd her

In pomp to his home, of that high-born Ladye.

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"'Twas one summer night, when the village lay sleeping,

A soft strain of melody came o'er our ears; So sweet, but so mournful, half-song and halfweeping;

Like music that sorrow had steep'd in her

tears.

"We thought 'twas an anthem some angel had sung us,

But soon as the day-beams had gushed from on high,

With wonder we saw this bright stranger

among us,

All lovely and lone as if stray'd from the sky. "Nor long did her life for this sphere seem intended,

For pale was her cheek with that spirit-like hue,

Which comes when the day of this world is nigh ended,

And light from another already shines through.

"Then her eyes when she sung,-oh! but once to have seen them,

Left thoughts in the soul that can never depart;

While her looks, and her voice, made a language between them,

That spoke more than holiest words to the

heart.

"But she pass'd like a day-dream-no skill could restore her

Whate er was her sorrow, its ruin was fast; She died with the same spell of mystery o'er her,

That song of past days on her lips to the last.

"Nor even in the grave is her sad heart reposing,

Still hovers her spirit of grief round her tomb;

For oft when, the shadows of midnight are closing,

The same strain of music is heard through the gloom."

We feel confident that this delightful volume will, ere long, be found in every drawing-room where the combined charms of music and poetry are duly appreciated.

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