such countless expedients to arouse her mirth, amuse her with anecdote, or interest her in conversation; and such inexpressible triumph, when her eye beamed pleasantly upon the successful competitor! The Neapolitan cast burning glances of passion, whenever he could meet her gaze; quoted Petrarch, and soothed his hopeless moments by dark looks,intended to alarm his brother gallants, and awaken her pity. The Frenchman, on the contrary, was all smiles, constantly studying his toilet and attitude, and laboring, by the most graceful artifices, to fascinate the fancy of his lady-love. The Yankee evinced his admiration by an unassuming but unvarying devotion. If Angelica dropped her fan, he was ever the one to restore it; was the evening chill, he always thought of her shawl, and often his dinner grew cold upon his neglected plate, while he was attending to her wants. day her album was circulated. Don Carlo, the Neapolitan, wrote a page of glowing protestations, asserting his inextinguishable love. Monsieur Jacques, in the neatest chirography, declared that the recent voyage had been the happiest of his life, and his present confinement more delightful than mountain liberty, in the company of so perfect a nymph. Delano simply declared, that the sweet virtues of Angelica sanctified her beauty to his memory and hart.

One

There are some excellent creatures in this world, whose lives seem to conduce to every body's happiness but their own. Such an one was the Donna Paulina. Affable and engaging, and with a clear and cultivated mind, she lacked the personal loveliness of her sisters, and yet rejoiced in it as if it were her own. No one could remain long in the society of the two, without perceiving that the confidence between them was perfect, and founded on that mutual adaptation which we but occasionally behold, even in the characters of those allied by the ties of a common parentage. To this kind-hearted girl I discovered that the lovers had separately applied for counsel and support in the prosecution of their suits. Don Carlo begged her to warn her sister against the advances of the Frenchman, as he knew him to be a thorough hypocrite; and Monsieur Jacques returned the compliment, by assuring her that the Neapolitan was by no means sufficiently refined and accomplished to be the companion of so delicate a creature as Angelica. Young Jonathan, with a more manly policy, so won the esteem of Paulina, by dwelling upon the excellencies of her sister, that she became his unwavering advocate. I confess that as the appointed period of our durance drew to a close, I began to feel anx ious as to the result of all this dallying with the tender passion. I saw that Monsieur was essentially selfish in his court, and that vanity was its basis. It was evident that the Neapolitan was stimulated by one of those ardent and sudden partialities, which are as temporary as the flashes of a volcano, and often as capricious, In truth, there was not enough of the spirit of sacrifice, or vital attachment, in their love, to warrant the happiness of the gentle being whose outward charms alone had captivated their senses. Delano, I knew, was sincere, and my fears were, that his future peace was involved in the result. At length the last evening of our quarantine had arrived. Mons Jacques had played over, as usual, all her favorite airs on his guitar, and Carlo had just fervently recited a glowing passage from some Italian poet, descriptive of a lover's despair, when sunset, playing through the

bars of our window, reminded us that the cool hour of the day was at hand, when it was our custom to walk in the outer court. As we went forth, there was that eloquently sad silence, with which even the most thoughtless engage in an habitual employment for the last time. No one anticipated me in securing the companionship of the sweet child of nature, whose beauty and gentleness had brightened to us all so many days of pilgrimage and confinement; and I determined to improve it, by ascertaining, if possible, the probable success of my poor friend. I spoke of the many pleasant hours we had passed together, of that social sympathy which had cheered and consoled, and asked her if even those narrow walls would not be left with regret. Consider,' said I, 'you will no more be charmed with the exquisite elegance of Monsieur Jacques'· - she looked up as if to see if I really thought her capable of being interested by such conventional graces 'or be enlivened,' I continued, by the enthusiastic converse of Don Carlo' - she smiled-or know,' I added, with a more serious and searching glance, the affectionate and gifted society of Delano'- a tear filled her eye, but the smile assumed a brighter meaning. I looked up, and he was before us, gazing from one to the other, with an expression of joyful inquiry, which flashed the happiest conviction on ny mind. The passionate Neapolitan had flattered, and the genteel Frenchman had amused, but the faithful Yankee had won the heart of Angelica De Falco.

H. T. T.

THE LAST SONG.

WRITTEN AT THE SIDE OF THE CORPSE OF A FOREIGNER, WHO DIED SINGING A NATIONAL BALLAD.

New-York, Nov., 1838.

THOUGHTS.

'Defend me

From reveries so airy from the toil
Of dropping buckets into empty wells,
Aud growing old with drawing nothing up.'

Ir is in vain - the power is not within!
The lamp of Genius lends my soul no ray,
To light my name to immortality.

The bird unfledged, looks upward from the nest,
Upward to yon cloud-palaces of air,

Marks the far eagle poised on mighty wing,
And seeks, like him, to soar through ether pure,
And revel 'mong the sunbeams. All too weak,
All, all unequal to the lofty flight,

Falls powerless on some thorn, which pierceth bim.

FAME! IMMORTALITY!-Was this the goal
Toward which my spirit spread its feeble wing,

And with the strong-plumed dared the upward track?
Glory, and Fame!- Faine to the helmed and crowned!
Fame to the conqueror on his rolling car!

Fame to earth's mighty ones! but unto me,

A woman, praise from one devoted heart,
The love of friends, and

deathless memory —

These are mine aim- be these my meed, my guerdon,

MY OWN PECULIAR:

OR STRAY LEAVES FROM THE PORTFOLIO OF A GEORGIA LAWYER.

NUMBER TWO.

AFTER all, there is no life so exciting as that of a lawyer. True, it is not mixed up with blood and battle. The cannon's roar and trumpet's tongue rouse him not up from his bed of earth, that he may slay or be slain; nor is he called to be a witness of the intense and heart-rending misery of a sick room, or a bed of death; to hear the dying wretch, in the bitterness of despair, invoking curses upon his Maker, and defying his vengeance, and then, his stern soul, quivering before the uplifted hand of the tyrant Death, imploring, in the wildest tones, for a few seconds of time, ere he should be hurled into an eternal hell; nor yet is the lawyer called upon to cheer the desponding sinner; to impart comfort to the weary and heavy laden; to view with delight the stray sheep returning to the heavenly fold of their master, God! None of this falls to his lot; at all events, not as a part of his vocation; for though he may mingle incidentally in such scenes, they are not the business of his day. Still is his life a series of intense excitements. Fame, ambition, the love of gain, each and all spur him on with their sharp goads. The court-room is a wrestling-ground, where mental strength is ever struggling to get the 'under hold' of the physical giant, and Genius and Knowledge are the moral bottle-holders, who aid the feeble and sinking energies, in the fearful combat with unfeeling knavery, and avaricious insensibility. It is a theatre, too, where each man in his time plays many

parts;' and many and various are the scenes and characters that pass before the gaze of the practising attorney. Here may he study all the shades and varieties of the human character; its evil traits, its good affections; here may he view the hell of the human heart, the debased and debasing passions, that rush like demons through it, blighting every honorable feeling, and extinguishing every noble impulse; here too, may he see the modest and shrinking mind of virtue, speaking the whole truth, albeit the utterance of it may bring infamy to those who are dearer than its own existence; in short, here may he see, the tragedy, comedy, and farce of life.

WHAT a strange thing character is! Of how many myriad shades is it composed; how nice the line of demarcation between the honest scoundrel, and the man whose character is divided by a hair's breadth from the confines of roguery! Every thing has a character. Men, trees, stones, all have characters peculiar to their kind; and then, again, each individual man, tree, and stone, has his or its peculiar character, totally distinct from, and unconnected with, the general character of the genus to which he or it belongs. For example: the laurel is the dandy, the exquisite of the tree kind; the cypress and the yew are the mourners of the vegetable race. Then, there is the sensitive touch me-not,' retiring with maiden modesty from the rude touch of the bold and reckless profligate; and the go-to-the-devil look of the old bachelor,' which imitates, with a perfection worthy of a better cause, the ugliness, selfishness, and uselessness of the unfledged drone after whom it is so appropriately called. This is the general character; but there is also the individual disposition. Who has not seen a melancholy laurel, looking as if it had been crossed in love? Or a sprightly cypress tree, like a lively young widow, arrayed in her second mourning, and seeming, in her semi-gay and demi-mournful apparel, as if she were ready to dance a jig on the tomb-stone of her half-lamented husband; or a rakish-looking 'sensitive plant', or a modest and graceful-looking 'old bachelor!' (I speak of the vegetable species; I charge no man with the absurdity of believing that he has ever seen one of the animal kind, that had any thing good-looking or good-feeling about it.) What observer of nature or nature's works has not seen each or all of these things? I, who love to pry into the inmost recesses of the bona dea, have often beheld, and been struck with it. Let him who doubts, plant two parallel lines of any species of tree; let him fix them as perpendicularly as he pleases, and after a few years shall have passed away, let him come back and mark the development of their different dispositions. He will see some buckish-looking scions of the forest, inclining gracefully toward their opposite neighbors, who in their turn, according to their respective characters, will either meet their complaisant fellows half way, or will have receded as the others have advanced. He will see the passions and vices of the man, developed in a slighter degree in the tree. Look at that fellow with the upright trunk, who has not swerved to the right or the left since the day he was transplanted, and who has carefully kept his branches from all contact with the plebeians, who are placed "twixt

the wind and his nobility.' His vice is pride. He is aping the walking vegetables, who occasionally strut beneath him, and who imagine that a broad-cloth coat and a well-filled purse constitute them gentlemen, when it is apparent to every one else, that it would require a force of forty-miracle power, to give them one sensible thought, or one generous feeling. Now turn your eye to the tree that stands the third from the one we have just been examining; there, to the right; see, how he bows, when the slightest zephyr plays amid his branches, as if he were paying his respects to all with whom chance had associated him. He is the politician of the set. And so I might go on, pointing out to you the various passions, and vices, and follies, which we so commonly see in man; but it would be tiring you, gentle reader, and the next time you walk into a forest, look and judge for yourself. It has been said by an eminent poet,

'Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined;'

But it is not so. This is one of those popular fallacies, which, first asserted by some master spirit, are taken for granted by the commune vulgus, without farther examination. If the poet had said,

'Just as the twig's inclined, the tree is bent,'

I would concede the correctness of the assertion. If it be true that the boy is the father of the man,' that the dispositions and passions of our youth still continue to exercise their influence over us in manhood's years, then, reasoning as our friend of the Dr. Johnson school did, 'analogically and progressively,' we may suppose, that the twig is the father of the tree, and that the inclinations of the one continue to actuate the other, until they 'fool it to the top of its bent.'

BUT let us leave the vegetable and return to the animal creation. If you would see the true character of an individual, look at him 'when he is placed on a stand, that he may be insulted with impunity,' which I believe is the latest and the most correct definition of a witness. Regard him, as he calls upon his Maker to witness, that he will reveal the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Ah, how few there are among us, who feel the solemnity of the occasion, who hear the voice of GOD, and see his almighty frown, admonishing us, not to take the name of the Lord, thy God, in vain!' If these were seen and felt, should we view the disgusting prevarication of every-day occurrence in our court rooms? Should we so often turn away with loathing and contempt from the exhibitions which the frequenters of halls of justice are compelled to observe? Better, far better, would it be, to abolish all judicial oaths, and to trust to the mere ipse dixit of those who are cognizant of the facts of the case, than to continue the worse than blasphemy, which hourly degrades our courts of justice. If human wisdom cannot devise some form to make the witness feel and reverence the name he is invoking, let human wisdom abolish the idle, the blasphemous ceremony. To see (as I have seen) a drunken magistrate qualifying' a still more