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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-
ling black eyes and an animated countenance,
some, bouncing girl, under twenty, with spark-
seemed to bear testimony to days gone by,
when affairs were somewhat more lively; but
the contrast now was sufficiently striking; for
without regarding her, any body, or any thing,
he kept his place and attitude, sitting always
close to the stove.

"There was a small square hole in the cen-
tre of the door (as there generally is in all Ca-
nada stoves), made to open and shut with a
slider as occasion requires: this he kept open
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-
and he opened the door of the stove now and
ing tobacco,-all the care he seemed to have!
then, to see how the fire was going on."-pp.
98-101.

A COLD NIGHT.
[From the Same.]

storm, and no exertions of the party could en-
able them to reach their appointed resting-
place. The consequence was, that they were
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-

On one occasion it blew a violent snow

cane.

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 I had turned my back, another very large one was growing, and into this latter, being old and 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, like a white wall; and it resolutely maintained its position, not an atom yielding to the fierce crackling fire which blazed up close against it.

"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. ing that I had nothing but a piece of salted The poor fellows seepork, 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 small 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 Wick. liffe, 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 scaled-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!

BOYHOOD.

BY CHARLES SWAIN.

THE dreams of early youth,
How beautiful they are-how full of joy,
When fancy looks like truth,

And life shows not a taint of sin's alloy.

When every heart appears

The temple of high thought and noble deed;
When our most bitter tears

Fall o'er some melancholy page we read!
The summer morn's fresh hours,

Her thousand woodland songs-her glorious hues

Oh! life's so full of flowers,

The difficulty then, is where to choose.

The wonderful blue sky

Its cloudy palaces,-its gorgeous fanes--
The rainbow tints which lie

Like distant golden seas near purple plains.

These never shine again

As once they shone upon our raptured gaze;
The clouds which may remain,
Paint other visions than in those sweet days!
In hours thus pure-sublime-
Dreams we would make realities: life seems
So changed in after time,

That we would wish realities were dreams!

Communications should be addressed to "E. Littell for the Literary Port Folio,"-and subscriptions will be thankfully received by E. Littell & Brother, corner of Chestnut and Seventh streets, Philadelphia. Subscriptions are also received by Thomas C. Clarke, N.W. corner of Chestnut and Seventh streets.

Wanted-to solicit subscriptions for this work, a suitable person. Apply to E. Littell & Brother.

No. 12.

PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, MARCH 25,

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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 shadow between it and the earth-the heavy clouds of the shower that had just passed were sinking low beneath the dark trees of the forest, the skirts of which came close up to the paling which surrounded the garden of Henry Trevor's cottage. There was no sound abroad but the song of the wood-pigeon from the forest, or the distant barking of some shepherd's dog as he drove the sheep home to the evening fold. Mary now joined her husband, and taking his arm they both walked out into the open evening; they were silent for the first few minutes after leaving the cottage, for Henry Trevor's heart was full almost to bursting at the sight of his beloved wife slow sinking unto death, from that rapid and fatal disease, 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 tears 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 marriage pleasure and happiness seemed to have strewn their path with "flowers that never faded." But about this time the heart of Mary

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.

1830.

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. 66 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 them.

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 ham

Her husband had walked on slowly with her and in silence, down the green lane that led from the cottage to the village church, the spire of which pointing up to heaven in the evening light, could be distinctly seen some distance off, rising amid the dark funereal yews that grew in the churchyard around it, but here Mary became so exhausted from fatigue, that she sunk fainting into his arms. He bore her gently on, still drooping upon his shoulder, and seated her down in the beautiful sunset, on one of the grassy graves in that churchyard, enamelled with the few autumn flowers that were yet remaining on the ground, and drooping in the evening dew. She faintly opened her soft blue eyes upon him, and then raised them up to that beautiful heaven above, to which her pure and gentle spirit seemed so fast hastening. She soon recovered, and leaning 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-lets, and each one who heard it stopped and 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. husband and her sister watched over her pallid form with every care that fondest love could give, but the decree had been written in heaven, 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 watching 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.

Her

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 spirit, 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

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 cach 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.

Ir is a difficult task to so lay down any general principle, and enforce it by examples in detail, that the perverse ingenuity of some cannot find omissions, which they are fain to regard as exceptions in their favour. We have repeatedly, in this Journal, entered our solemn protest against the sin of drunkenness, and pointed out, with some care, the masks its votaries put on, to evade the reprobation with which the vice, in its grosser forms, is universally stamped. We have indicated the various means by which at first the health, and afterwards the disposition of children are ruined by an early indulgence of their appetites; and reprobated the false method, devised in wellintentioned but mischievous ignorance, of attempting to restore lost strength by domestic prescriptions, recourse to wine bitters or homebrewed liquors. Our efforts have, we are well assured, been attended, with some success; and we are encouraged thereby to persevere and continue to point out the various malpractices, by which the body's health and mind's peace are slowly, but surely destroyed.

Some have habitual recourse to laudanum or
opium, to relieve pain and uneasiness, caused
usually by the undue gratification of their ap-
petite. Let them learn, that there is no ex-
ample on record of any agent used for medi-
cinal purposes, in particular diseases or alarm-
ing emergencies, which has on these occasions
a direct, controlling, and sanitary power, that
will not, when persistently used, become nox-
ious to the animal economy, and poison all the
springs of life. It is thus with wine, alcoholic
liquors, opium and laudanum, and the various
tinctures and cordials of which opium is the
basis: it is thus with all the vegetable bitters
and mineral tonics without exception. All the
powders and cordials which have been recom-
mended for the cure of gout, have invariably,
when taken for any length of time, destroyed
the digestive powers, enfeebled the brain and
nervous system, and often brought on dropsy,
palsy, and apoplexy. A physician, after due
deliberation and much counsel with himself or
medical friends, will prescribe mercury, bark,
opium, or perchance arsenic, for the cure of
the violent and dangerous malady under which
his patient is labouring at the time; and his ef
forts will often be crowned with success. But
let this patient, of his own accord, or under the
pestilential influence of domestic or.empirical
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

friend, can now be little more than a melan-
choly spectator of remediless decay. This is
not the language of exaggeration or specula
tive fear. We speak from a full knowledge of
the facts. We repeat it-the person who gives
into the habit for weeks, (he may not reach to
months, or if he pass these, his years will be
but few and miserable,) of daily measuring out
to himself his drops of laudanum, or his pills of
opium, or the like deleterious substance, call
it tincture, solution, mixture, potion, what you
will, is destroying himself as surely as if he
were swallowing arsenic, or had the pistol ap-
plied to his head. The fire of disease may for
awhile be concealed-he may smile incredu-
lous at our prediction; but the hour of retribu-
tion will come, and the consequences will be
terrible.

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 lauda-ness, or the perturbations of vice. Miserable num, 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 drear 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."

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 tobacco, 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.

Besides, who are the unfortunate creatures, who, in impious despair, destroy themselves by poisoning with opium or laudanum? hTe very same who had long been in the practice of using it as a soother and a balm: as a means of procuring repose after the languor of idle

VICENZA.

Bressant.

Mænia, templa, domus, et propugnacula, et arces, Atque alia in multis sunt monumenta locis Istius ingenio, et cura fabrefacta decenter Fama unde illius vivet, honorque diu. 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 original 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 of Palladio's genius, is the Teatro Olimpico, or Olympic Theatre, erected at the expense of the Olympic Academy, an association formed in the sixteenth century for the promotion of polite literature. This splendid edifice, framed upon the model of the ancient theatres, exhibits, in the place of the moveable scenery which decorates modern theatres, a stationary view. Looking through the proscenium, which consists of a magnificent archway, supported by columns, the spectator sees five several streets or approaches to the stage, formed from actual models of buildings, so framed as to imitate an architectural perspective. The centre portion of the theatre is occupied by the orchestra, and around it rise the 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.

Another celebrated structure of Palladio is the Rotonda, so called from its containing in the centre a large circular room with a cupola. The building itself is square, having four colonnades, each of six unfluted Ionic columns, with a flight of steps and a pediment. The 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 porticus, 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 artificial heat: it twists itself about, attempts 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.

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

Rose witnessed the exhibition of an improv | visatore in one of the halls of the Teatro

Olimpico. "Two understrappers appeared upon the stage with materials for writing, and a large glass vase; one of those took down, on separate scraps of paper, different subjects, which were proposed by such of the audience as chose to suggest them. The other having duly sealed them, threw them into the above mentioned vase, which he held up and shook before the spectators. He then presented it amongst them for selection, and different subjects were drawn, till they came to Alfieri alla tomba di Shakspeare,' an argument which was accepted by universal acclamation.

"The two assistants now retired, and the principal appeared in their place. He was young and good-looking, and being of opinion that a neckcloth took from his beauty, wore his neck bare, but in other respects had nothing singular in his dress, which was precisely that of an Englishman. He received the paper on entering, and immediately threw himself on a chair, from whence, after having made a few Pythian contortions, but all apparently with a view to effect, he poured forth a volley of verse, without the slightest pause or hesitation; but this was only a prelude to a mightier effort.

"He retired, and the two assistants re-appeared; subjects were proposed for a tragedy, the vase shaken as before, and the papers containing the arguments drawn.

"Amongst the first titles fished out was that of Ines de Castro,' which, as no objection was taken to it, was adopted, and communicated to the improvvisatore. He advanced, and said, that, as he was unacquainted with the story, he desired to be instructed in the leading facts. These were communicated to him, succinctly enough, by the suggestor of the theme, and he proceeded forthwith to form his dramatis persone, in the manner of one who thinks aloud. There were few after the example of Alfieri. As soon as the matter was arranged, he began, and continued to declaim his piece without even a momentary interruption, though the time of recitation, unbroken by any repose between the acts, occupied the space of three hours.

"Curiosity to see how far human powers can be carried, may tempt one to go and see a man stand upon his head; but to see a man stand on his head for three hours is another thing. As a tour de force, the thing was marvellous; but I have seen as wonderful in this country, which is fertile in such prodigies. I recollect once seeing a man to whom, after he had played other pranks in verse, three subjects for sonnets were proposed, one of which was, 'Noah issuing from the ark;' the other, The death of Cæsar;' and the third, The wedding of Pantaloon.' These were to be declaimed, as it may be termed, interlacedly; that is, a piece of Noah, a piece of Caesar, and a piece of Pantaloon. He went through this sort of bread and cheese process with great facility, though only ten minutes were given him for the composition, which was moreover clogged with a yet more puzzling condition: he was to introduce what was termed a verso obligato, that is, a particular verse, specified by one of the audience, at a particular place in each of the sonnets. This last somerset in fetters appeared to please the spectators infinitely, who proposed other tricks which I do not remember, but which were all equally extraordinary."

In the earlier part of the present century, the Signora Fantastici was the favourite improvvisatrice of the day. Mr. Forsyth has described her performances, which displayed very extraordinary powers: "She went round her circle, and called on each person for a theme. Seeing her busy with her fan, I proposed the fan as a subject; and this little weapon she painted, as she promised, col pennel divino di fantasia felice. In tracing its origin, she followed Pignotti, and in describing its use, she acted and analyzed to us all the coquetry

of the thing. She allowed herself no pause, as
the moment she cooled, her estro would es-
cape. So extensive is her reading, that she
can challenge any theme. One morning, after
other classical subjects had been sung, a Vene-
tian count gave her the boundless field of Apol-
lonius Rhodius, in which she displayed a mi-
nute acquaintance with all the Argonautic
fable. Tired at last of demigods, I proposed
the sofa for a task, and sketched to her the in-
troduction of Cowper's Poem. She set out
with his idea, but being once entangled in the
net of mythology, she soon transformed his
sofa into a Cytherean couch, and brought
Venus, Cupid, and Mars on the scene; for such
embroidery enters into the web of every im-
provvisatore."

which they would bring down to a level with affairs of the most common nature. They forget, or overlook its true and essential character; they are insensible to its institution, recorded in that book of truth which bears the impress of God's own signet. They listen not to the voice which informs us that, even in a state of innocency, man, the lord of the creation, "created a little lower than the angels, to be crowned with glory and worship," found a void, an insufficiency, which could only be replenished by the gift of his benevolent Creator. That gift was woman, lovely woman, ab. stracted from man himself, and therefore part of his very existence. "A help meet for him," was thus provided, that being "bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh," she might, knowThe curious philologist who visits Vicenza ing her dependence on him as her superior, will not neglect the Sette Communi, the des- grow up by his side, and repay his protection cendants of some northern tribes, residing and support by smiles of loveliness, and the amongst the hills in the neighbourhood of Vi- charins of willing and affectionate duty. Thus cenza, and retaining not only the characteris- was "marriage instituted in Paradise in the tic habits and manners, but even the language time of man's innocency," amidst angels and of their ancestors. Much controversy has blessed spirits, who walked familiarly on the arisen as to the original stock from which this earth, the Almighty's last and most interesting tribe is derived, which, undoubtedly, from the work of creation; whilst the eternal God prolanguage still spoken by them, was of northernnounced his blessing on the guileless pair, and extraction. It is said that one of the kings of proclaimed, once and for ever, such union diDenmark, visiting Italy, found that the idiom vine and indissoluble. Thus instituted in Paof the Sette Communi so much resembled the radise, the record and usage of it descended Danish, as to enable him with ease to under- through successive ages to the various famistand their language. This tribe furnishes by lies who peopled the earth. Hence we find no means a singular instance of a community not only amongst the Jews, upon whom esperetaining the language of their ancestors in cially the light of Jehovah's countenance beamthe midst of another nation. On the borders ed, but also among the Gentiles, alienated as of Transylvania a Roman colony is still in ex- they were from their first estate, and darkenistence, by whom the Latin language is fami- ed by the clouds of immorality and ignorance, liarly spoken. A late traveller, passing through marriage was considered holy, and celebrated this part of the country, was wakened one with religious observances. morning at his inn by the entrance of a Transylvanian Boots, with a glass in his hand, who addressed him in the following words, "Domine, visne schnaps?" The traveller, summoning up his classical acquirements, replied by another interrogatory, "Quid est Schnaps?" "Schnaps est res," said the Boots, " omnibus maxime necessaria omne die,"-presenting to him the glass of brandy.

cut

In the neighbourhood of Vicena a singular contrivance is described by Ray, who visited Italy in 1663. "In the same village we had also sight of the famous Ventiduct, belonging to a nobleman of Vicenza, contrived for the coolness of his palace, during the heat of the summer, to effect which channels are through the rocks from a spacious high-roofed grotto to the palace, so that when they intend to let in the cool air, they shut up the gate at the cave, and by opening a door at the end of the channel, convey the fresco into the rooms of the palace, each of which has a conduit or hole to receive it."

MARRIAGE.

BY THE REV. W. SHEPHERD.

"Young, chaste, and lovely-pleased, yet half afraid,
Before yon altar droops a plighted maid,
Clad in her bridal robes of taintless white,
Dumb with the scene, and trepid with delight,
Around her hymeneal guardians stand,
Each with a tender look and feeling bland;
And oft she turns her beauty-beaming eye,
Dimm'd with a tear for happiness gone by!
Then coyly views, in youth's commanding pride,
Her own adored one panting by her side,
Like lilies bending from the noon-tide blaze,
Her bashful eyelids droop beneath his gaze;
While love and homage blend their blissful power,
And shed a balo round his marriage hour."

Omnipresence of the Deity.
"WHAT is truth?" was the question put by
the Roman governor to his innocent and hea-
venly victim. The question involved a com-
prehensive reply, for which, however the in-
quirer, to mark either his contempt or fear of
the answer, did not wait. There are many in
the present day disposed to say, What is mar-
riage? with the same feelings and sentiments
of indifference to the result of their inquiry.
Such people, and there are such even amongst
British senators, esteem the ordinance of mar-
riage as a civil contract, the celebration of

Had marriage been merely a civil contract, every individual would have been at liberty to enter into it with any one whomsoever he might choose without any restriction whatever; at least, such is the nature of civil contracts, there is no prohibition of bargains between even the nearest relations and kindred. But amongst the Jews there were express restraints imposed, prohibiting the intermarrying of persons of the same family within certain degrees of consanguinity. The priests also were limited within certain rules, which they might not disregard in the choice of their wives. Surely such restriction exalts marriage, independent of its divine institution, high above civil obligations, and stamps it with a seal which belongs not to the common transactions of life. Founded as it was in Paradise, and containing the germ of man's salvation, the chosen people upon whom these restrictions were laid, considered it a holy ordinance, which they might neither corrupt nor defile by any unclean mixture or impure debasement. Hence, they call its observance "a conjugal sanctification," and they celebrated it by several religious rites and blessings. Surely, therefore, they held it in the estimation of something more than a civil contract. They appear to have entertained juster notions of this benevolent institution than the enlightened patriots and reformers of the nineteenth century, the splendour of whose brilliant minds and philanthropic hearts bewilders their understandings, and contracts their mental vi. sions against the milder, and purer, and more heavenly dispensations and ordinances of God. Either they are more enlightened by reason than the Jews were by revelation, or they labour under an eclipse more dark than that which involved the heathens; for even these erected the obligation of marriage upon a pedestal made hallowed by religion. They called marriage holy; and the ceremonies instituted by Romulus were such as "to bind the wife entirely to her husband as her only resource, and the husband to rule his wife as a possession closely allied to him, and which might not be taken away." Let the Remuses of the present day, who would insultingly leap over the walls which protect the Capitol of public morality and domestic virtue, blush to

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