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cast an occasional furtive glance at his old partner Peebles, suspecting that the latter might be laughing in his sleeve. Satisfied, at length, that such was the fact, and conscious that he was playing a part somewhat ridiculous, he cried out, 'Let go the clue garnets, my lads! let go! My figure-head has such a heel to port, that no carpenter can right it!' Upon this he sprang forward, and suiting the action to the word, jerked with so much violence upon the curtain, that the hooks which supported it gave way, and Tarbox and scenery came down together.

The Squire, as soon as he saw that his friend had sustained no injury, exclaimed, 'Order! gentlemen; Captain Tarbox has the floor.' He then waved his hand, as a signal for three rounds, in which, however, being convulsed with laughter, he was unable to join. The only actual sufferer on this occasion was Mr. Martin; it being customary with the Squire, whenever he uttered what he deemed a good joke, to remind him of it by a punch in his ribs. It was as much as to say, 'Do you catch the idea?' This at times was no easy matter, even for those who had some quickness of apprehension; and to this Martin had no claims. Rising from his chair with some difficulty, the Squire again wished them to adjourn for a short interval, till Marcy' had repaired damages. I think,' said he, 'that as this was emphatically a drop-scene, it is but right that we take a drop.' Here he again punched Martin, and in a most excellent humor led off, followed by all the gentlemen.

The fourth tableau, which was to conclude the evening's entertainment, was well calculated to excite an interest in every American bosom. This was 'Washington taking leave of his family.' Miss Peebles had been unremitting in her endeavors to render this tableau worthy of the subject; and she was so fortunate as to find at Dr. Snaggs' an engraving of this very scene. No pen can describe the emotion of the spectators, when this affecting exhibition opened to their view.

Old Major Smith, who was out in '79,' actually shed tears, and even the Squire looked grave, and doubled his allowance of rappee. Mr. Snoodles, who personated the faithful black, was redolent of Day and Martin, and assumed a gravity of demeanor suited to the scene. Miss Peebles, as Lady Washington, was dressed in a rich drab silk, and a lace cap, high in the crown, and bordered with a deep ruffle. A cambric handkerchief concealed her face, and it was undoubtedly wet with tears; for she tottered with emotion. Squire Peebles, on account of his great corpulency, was considered as the best qualified to represent the Father of his Country, and in that character he was urged to appear. But he was deaf to all their entreaties, and, as the only alternative, it devolved on Dr. Snaggs.

The person of this gentleman afforded a fine contrast to that of Peebles, being short in stature, and almost as destitute of flesh as one of his own skeletons. A casual glance at him, would leave any thing but the impression that he was born to command. But a closer observation would detect a carriage decidedly military; a broad pug nose, indicative of firmness, and an eye of fire. In fact, Dr. Snaggs, though professedly a disciple of Apollo, was in reality a worshipper of Mars. He at one time held a commission in the Tabbyville Blues,

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was afterward attached to the staff in the division, and was always distinguished for his daring in the autumnal sham fights. It was this predilection for garments rolled in blood, that probably led him to treat his patients after the method of Sangrado. Between the doctor and Miss Peebles, there was some little difference of opinion relative to the appropriate ornament for the General's head; the latter contending for a three-cornered hat, in conformity to the engraving, and the doctor being equally strenuous for a tin cap, surmounted with horse hair, and worn by the Tabbyville Blues. The matter was finally arranged to the entire satisfaction of both; Miss Peebles yielding in favor of the tin cap, on condition that the Doctor would appear in her brother's buff vest, which, when stuffed with a pillow, made a tolerable fit. The uniform coat he had obtained from one of the cavalry; it had the usual quantity of scarlet, edged with gold cord, but was lamentably deficient in the skirts. In the tableau, the general appeared with his right hand clasping that of his lady, his attitude erect, his eye averted, and the base of his nose elevated to an angle of forty-five. From the expression of his countenance, it was evident that there had been an agonizing struggle between love and patriotism, and that the latter had triumphed.

At this moment, Snoodles, anxious to give a finishing touch to the picture, or else fearful that he was not sufficiently conspicuous, advanced to the front of the stage, and clasping his hands together, rolled his eye-balls gradually to the ceiling. But in the endeavor to preserve his balance, in this new attitude, he displayed a portion of his person that led to results wholly different from his anticipations; this was his artificial African heel, somewhat elongated. As might well be imagined, this unexpected sight occasioned a cachinnation among the treble in the front seat, which was soon joined by the alto of Mr. Popkin, and at length closed with the deep bass of the Squire. Doctor Snaggs, surprised at this ill-timed levity, and, from his position, ignorant of the cause, started back indignant. His motion, however, was much too violent for the buttons of the buff vest; and the pillow bursting from its confines, produced a roar of laughter, which it was impossible to suppress. Meanwhile, the unfortunate Snoodles, perceiving nothing amiss, and unconscious that he had been the cause of all these 'moving accidents,' was completely paralyzed by this sudden change from grave to gay; nor, until Lady Washington herself rushed forward, and dropped the curtain, was Snoodles himself again. These were the first 'tableaux' at Tabbyville, and the last. Miss Peebles, mortified at the total failure, has announced her determination to give no more parties, and even is 'not at home' to any except Miss Nancy Bean. It is certain that no one else, with the present raw matériel, will have the courage to attempt a similar exhibition.

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SO FINE his muse, 'tis half a crime
BURNS ever wrote without a rhyme;
But then his prose so pure and terse is,
'Tis Reason's triumph o'er his verses:
Some brains have so bemuddled either,
We wish they had attempted neither.




LEONORA started from her sleep,
With morning's dawning ray,
Her heart oppressed by boding dreams,
At WILHELM's long delay.

With Frederick's force her soldier went,
To meet his country's foe,
And since, no tidings had he sent,
To tell of weal or wo.

The king and the proud empress-queen,
Weary of endless war,

At length renounce their fruitless strife,
And welcome peace once more:
Rejoicing on their homeward way,
With many a festive garland gay,
With blare of trump, and beat of drum,
The weary, toil-worn warriors come!

And every way-side, every path,

Is thronged with eager feet;
Of friends and kindred hurrying forth,
The coming host to meet.

'Now God be praised!' the mother cried,
Fond greetings murmured many a bride,
But ah! for LEONORE alone,
No kiss, no lover's welcome tone!

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'Oh mother, what is lost, is lost,
And what is gone, is gone!
Death, death! it is the only good;
Would I were never born!
Go out, life's light - for ever out;
Die, die in night and dread;
With God there is no pity,

Oh, would that I were dead!'

'Gop! into judgment enter not
With this thy wretched child;
She knows not what she uttereth,
She raves in phrenzy wild;
Forget, poor maid! thine earthly woes,
And think on joys above;
For there thy stricken soul no more

Shall need the bridegroom's love.'

'Ah mother! what is heaven's bliss,
Ah mother! what is hell?
With him, with him, is happiness,
And oh without him, hell!
Go out life's light, for ever out,

Die, die in night and dread;
No joy hath earth or heaven for me,
Would, would that I were dead!'

Thus raged the frenzy of despair,
Within her burning brain;
Thus 'gainst God's righteous providence,
She strove with anguish vain.
She beat her breast, and tore her hair,
Till the still night came on;

Till the moon high amid the stars
Had tossed her silver horn.

When lo! she hears a courser's hoofs
Ring on the frozen ground;

A knight alights before the gate,
His clanging arms resound:
And now the portal bell doth ring,

Its soft alarum, 'kling, ling, ling;' [there, While well-known accents, murmured Sound hollow on the midnight air:

'Who knows our heavenly father's love, 'Rise, love! unbar thy chamber door!

Knows he can aid impart;

The blessed sacrament shall soothe
Thy pierced and bleeding heart.'
'No balm upon this burning heart
The sacrament can pour;
No sacrament to love and life

The cold, cold dead restore !'

'But child, how if the faithless one,
In some far foreign land,
Forgets his plighted troth to thee,
In a new marriage band?
Let the false rover tempt his fate,
And each wild wish pursue;
For this, when soul and body part,
GOD's vengeance he shall rue!'

Art watching, or asleep?
Hath Leonore forgot her vows,
And doth she smile, or weep ?'

'Ah, Wilhelm, thou! so late at night?
Oh, I have watched and wept,
That from thy Leonora's side,
So long her love hath kept!'

'At midnight only do I ride;

For thee I come, though late,
To claim thee for my plighted bride;
Wilt share thy lover's fate?'

"The wind blows thro' the hawthorn bush, It whistles loud and shrill;

Come in, and warm thee in my arms;
Ah! why so cold and still?""

'Let the wind through the hawthorn blow, Or howl across the meer;

The black horse paws, loud clank the spurs,
I dare not linger here;
Come, don thy snow-white robes with
And swiftly mount behind;
We ride a hundred leagues ere day,
Our bridal bed to find!'

'Ah! tell me where the bridal hall,

And where the couch is spread?' 'Oh, far, far hence; cold, narrow, drear, Lies our low marriage-bed!' 'Hast room for me? For thee and me; Come, busk thee! bonny bride; The wedding guests are waiting, The door stands open wide.'

The maiden donned her robes with speed,
On the black steed she sprung;
Then round the knight her snowy arms
In trembling silence flung:
And on they gallop, fast and far,
Nor mount nor stream their course can bar,
While horse and rider pant and blow,
The fire-sparks flashing as they go!

Still as they ride, on either side,
The riven rocks resound;

The bridges thunder 'neath their tread,
And rings the hollow ground:

Ha! doth my Leonora fear

With her true love to ride?

Now where the moonbeams faintly fall,
Yon frantic rabble see;
How fearfully they wheel and spin,
Beneath the gallow-tree!
Halloo! halloo! ye grisly crew,
Come here, and follow me;
'Around us prance a festive dance,
And quit the gallow-tree.'

And now across the dreary waste,
They hurry on behind;

A sound like dry and withered leaves
Low rustling in the wind.

And onward, onward still they speed,
Nor rock nor stock their course impede;
While horse and rider pant and blow,
The fire-sparks flashing as they go.

Fast flies the quiet moon-light scene,
Fast, fast and far it flies;
Fast fly the fleecy clouds above,
And fast the starry skies.
'Still dost thou fear? the moon shines clear,
Soon will our course be sped!
The dead ride swift, buzza! huzza!'

'Oh wo!-leave, leave the dead!'

'Methinks I smell the morning air,

And hark! the cock doth crow! Then onward speed, my trusty steed! Haste! haste! our sands run low; Our race is run, our course is done, And we are at the goal;

The midnight moon shines cold and clear, Swift ride the dead -huzza! huzza!

Dost fear to be my bride?

Hark! wailings float upon the air,
And hollow dirges ring!
Why tolls the bell that solemn knell,
Why flaps the raven's wing?
Lo! 'tis a funeral train draws near;
They bear the coffin and the bier,
And like the frog's hoarse, croaking cry,
Sounds their sepulchral symphony.

'Bury your dead, when midnight's past,
With wild lament and prayer;
To-night I wed a bony bride,

Our banquet ye shall share;
Come priest, and choir, and mourners, all,
Come crone the marriage song;
Come priest, and bless the bridal bed,
And join the merry throng.'

Now fades into the dusky air
The coffin and the pall;
And like a torrent on they come,
The mourners, priest, and all;
And faster, faster still they speed,

O'er wild morass, and moonlight mead,
While horse and rider pant and blow,
The fire-sparks flashing as they go!

How swiftly, on the right and left,
The mountains hurry by!
How swiftly on the right and left
Town, tower, and forest fly!

Doth my love fear? the moon shines clear,
Ah ha! dost fear the dead?
The dead ride swift - huzza! huzza!'
'Ah, speak not of the dead!'

Come, priest, bind soul to soul!'

Up to an iron-grated door,

With slackened reign they ride, When lo! the massive bar and bolt Back from their staples glide! And now, with harsh recoil and clang, The doors upon their hinges swang, And still the rider and his horse O'er mouldering graves pursue their course.

Sudden on her bewildered gaze

A fearful vision burst!
The rider's armor, piece by piece,
Fast crumbled into dust;
She sees a hideous skeleton,
Of ghastly horror, stand
Before her glaring eye revealed,
With hour-glass in his hand!

High reared the fiery, frantic steed,
And trembled with affright;
Then sunk into the yawning earth,
And vanished from her sight!
Wild howlings echoed through the air,
And from the graves beneath,
While Leonora's throbbing heart
Trembled 'twixt life and death.

Now round her, in the pallid light,
The wheeling spectres fly,

And as they weave the circling dance,
In hollow murmurs cry:

'Be patient, though the heart should break,
Submit to heaven's control;
We yield her body to the earth,

May God receive her soul!'



'THUS error's Proteus shapes from earth are driven;
They fade, they fly; but TRUTH survives their flight:
Earth has no shades to quench that beam of heaven;
Each ray that shone in early time, to light

The faltering spirit in the path of right,
Each gleam of clearer brightness, shed to aid

In man's maturer day his bolder sight,

All blended, like the rainbow's radiant braid,

Pour yet, and still shall pour, the blaze that cannot fade.'


LORD BACON, in his Novum Organum,' establishes the principle, that all theories are useless, unless based on fact. And this principle, so obvious to common sense, has produced changes more wonderful than steam, more beneficial than gunpowder, quite equal, in many respects, to printing; indeed, printing would be worse than nothing in that art, if the matter it promulges were only crude hypotheses and wild imaginations. The long mystification of the ancients upon the subject of astronomy, was owing to their founding their theories on conjecture. This new guide of Lord Bacon, in scientific researches, opened the eyes of philosophers, as suddenly as a flash of lightning shows the way to the lost traveller, journeying in the dark night. The present received theory of the heavenly bodies is nearly the same with that system taught by Thales of Miletus, who lived five hundred and forty years before Christ. With him it was merely conjecture. He had no facts, no proofs by which to establish it; and at his death, his theory was buried; disregarded for the sake of notions seemingly more rational, but utterly false. Like the blinded one, in a play of children, they were often near their object, and sometimes had it in their grasp, without being able to distinguish truth from error. How painful to follow them in their devious course! Dispersi jactantur gurgite vasto.'

Lord Bacon, if he could open his eyes upon the present generation, would be not a little disgusted and surprised, to see his great principles so much disregarded by the multitude. Humiliating to the pride of intellect is it, to hear such expressions as these used by people of liberal education, and by some who stand at the head, nominally, of societies and professions: 'I will not believe it ;' I would not believe my own senses;'It cannot be true;' Who ever heard of such a thing?' with regard to phrenology, animal magnetism, and other subjects. Some people seem to think the world is about as wise as it can be; that there are to be no more improvements and discoveries; that every opinion which disagrees with their notions, which are most probably the notions of their fathers and grandfathers, handed down together with old tankards, China, brocade dresses, and bureaus, to an admiring posterity, must necessarily be wrong. But it is delightful to think that new principles are ever destined to come to light, to meet the wants of man, and that they will be correspondingly great and sublime, with his improved capacity to enjoy and use them. The great woods which cover an unsettled country, are first used by the emigrant for fuel; as the coun

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