'Thank God! he is a bold man,' replied the stranger but to my more pressing task, for I see your carriage is nearly ready. The prince of Guastella is now within the territory of Mantua; he knows that this night you enter the city. If you go by the ordinary road, you will fall into his hands,and nothing but a miracle can save you from his power. When you come to the vine. yard of Perriotto, just opposite the castle of Fred erick di Sasso, order the driver to turn down the left-hand road and follow it to the city. Aid shall be near at hand, if needful,—but it were far better to avoid than to encounter evil.'

Princes, he said, must be the slaves to their du. ties, and though he doubted not that to one so young and beautiful as herself, it must be somewhat painful to unite herself to a man in the decline of life, yet he was sure that she would make no opposition to that which would set at rest forever all the contending claims on Mantua and Montferrat.

The stranger smiled, apparently well pleased. || have driven on, had not the old servant who at'These are three princes,' said he; 'but what say tended upon her interfered to enforce his mistress' you, lady, if a simple gentleman of noble birth, command. Even his authority the driver was and of some renown-against these three prin- inclined to resist; but while with true Italian ces, fate, fortunc, and all the world to boot- carelessness of time, loud words, and exaggerawere to enter the lists for that fair hand ?' ted gestures, the two were arguing, there came 'He were a bold man answered Mary, with a sound of horses galloping. It was what the ■ deep blush. driver wished and expected, and, looking up the road, he saw a body of some ten or twelve So well and wisely had her unknown coun mounted men coming at full speed. Mary saw sellor hitherto advised her, that she followed his them too, and terror and anguish took possession directions also in this to the letter. She showed of her heart. As they came on, however, there no repugnance, but bending down her head with suddenly appeared other figures in the road be- the ingenuous blush of modesty upon her check, tween her and them. From amongst the trees she replied as he had dictated. The duke secm. and vineyards poured out a little band on footed pleased; perhaps it was more than he expect and horseback; and at their head, managing his ed, and he replied with sanguine expectation fiery horse with ease and grace, she beheld him that his divorce would not now be long delayed, whom she had seen at the convent not an hour after which a dispensation would be easily ob before. Of her he took now no notice; but, tained. There was but one thing which Mary standing firm in the way, formed with his band besought him earnestly to grant, which was, a barrier between her and the coming horsemen. that she might return on the morrow to the con The driver still paused, though she besought vent where she had passed her early days. To him to go on; and she could behold swords this he consented; but while he yet spoke, the crossed and pistols fired, and one or two old attendant, who had ever remained attached horsemen fly up the road again. She saw not to her, was admitted by a page, and, bending well which party had the advantage-but the low, he related to the duke the adventure which driver judged more clearly, and, smacking his had befallen them on the way, and commented whip, drove down the road he had been ordered bitterly on the treachery of the driver. The to take. duke sent for his secretary, and whispered a word in his ear; and soon after, as he was lead ing Mary to the hall where supper waited them, there came through the windows the sound of a loud volley, and one shrill piercing cry! The duke moved gracefully by her side, without a change of countenance; but Mary turned deadly pale. On the following morning, another servant drove the vehicle that contained her, back to the convent.

'O! better, far better!' echoed Mary; but oh! gentle stranger, do not leave me. If you have power, give me protection against that daring man!'

'I will not be far from thee, fairest and brightest,' replied the stranger, but have I not said that I am without power in the land ?-what this hand can do, will be done in your defence; and if it be needful to pour out the last drop of my heart's blood, it shall be staked as freely as a gambler's ducat. A few faithful servants, too, will not flinch from their poor master in the hour of need; and if you are saved from hazard, my guerdon shall be one kiss of that fair hand.Shall it not be so?"

New agitation now fell upon Mary of Mantua as she approached the abode of her uncle; and as drawbridge after drawbridge and gate after gate were passed, she prayed to Heaven for strength and prudence to save herself from the dark horror of his love.

She had not seen the duke Vicenzo for many Oh! you might claim far better boon than years, and had long forgotten him, so that imathat! cried Mary, eagerly.

'Have I not won my reward?' he said.

gination drew her own sketch from the rumors
and stories of the day. It was now twilight, It was about noon when she arrived, and the
and she was ushered up the long flight of mar- busy nuns surrounded her like a swarm of bees.
ble stairs afterwards destroyed in the cruel They were all eager to hear tidings from with-
sacking of the city-and then into a cabinet, || out, and were soon satisfied. And, at the same
where she remembered having played in the evening hour at which, on the day before, she
days of her childhood, when her father was liv. || had watched the fair prospect of the Mantua
ing, and when he was the duke of Mantua. It plains, she again stood by the table of stone in
now seemed smaller, and more gloomy, though the convent garden, and the stranger was by
it was well lighted, and on the opposite side sat her side. She thanked him eagerly, and often
one whose appearance at once marked out the looked upon the bright and glowing countenance
prince. He arose and advanced towards her, as that again gazed with tender admiration upon
different a being as it was possible to conceive, || her.
from all that she had previously fancied. Tall,
graceful, handsome, though in his decline, and
though sickness-perhaps vice-had worn all
the rosy lines of youth away, and left nothing
but the shadow of beauty behind, his appearance
was certainly far more prepossessing than she 'Mary" said he, 'Mary, I will win thee or die!
had expected. Nevertheless, there was some- Three more evenings will I stand by yon old
thing in the expression of his countenance-shrine, in the dear hope of seeing you again-
something in the fixed and criticising gaze with || and then my footsteps must wander from thes
which he looked upon the lovely creature be-
fore him, that made an involuntary shudder pass
over her frame; and, when he took her by the
hand, and, as her uncle, kissed her cheek, the
warm blood rose up in it, and she thought of the
warning she had received, and of him who had
given it.

'Well, then it shall be so,' said he, 'one kiss of those sweet lips! But now, bethink you, lady, how you will meet your uncle? If, as I am sure he will, he offers, contrary to God's law, to make his brother's child his wife, be wise, and drive not his passionate mind to frenzy. He has a wife still living; but the bonds between them the pliant church is now about to sever. Be cautious; show no harsh repugnance. Tell him that you can hear no such words from him so long as he is priest, uncle, husband to another; that all those bonds must be loosened by the church, ere you can ever let his words rest in your ear. But lo! they see you; I must away! Contrive some short delay, that I may reach the point of danger first. Tomorrow, at this hour, if you have returned, I will seek you here.' Thus saying, the stranger turned and left her, and in a few minutes the servants sought her,|| saying that the carriage was ready. The directions of the stranger she followed implicitly, trusting with the confidence of unpracticed youth. She detained the carriage for a few minutes, and then ordered the coachman to drive as she had been instructed. The Italian looked at her in sulky silence, and went on as if intending to obey; but when the vehicle reached the turning of the road, he was evidently about to pursue the way which had been forbid- It was not long ere he spoke upon that theme den. Mary of Mantua, however, stopped the which she most dreaded to hear; but he spoke carriage,and trying to raise her gentle voice into not in the terms which might have been most the sharp tone of displeasure, asked how he dar- painful to her. He treated it but as a matter of ed to disobey. The man replied surlily, 'Be-court necessity; he talked of his marriage with cause it is the best road!' and he would certain. her as a thing that would benefit the state.

Mary replied not, but cast down her eyes with a warm blush. The stranger bent over her, and with the tenderness of love, chastened by respect, he pressed his lips to hers.

far. But I leave thee not unwatched, nor um guarded. My spirit shall hover round thee, though my body be absent; and I promise, swear, in three months more, even to a day, is stand in your presence, and win you for my bride or die!

There might have been in Mary's state and sta. tion, those who would have thought the stran ger bold to believe that she might be so won by an unknown and inferior person, and to talk as if he were born to contend for her hand with princes. But Mary of Mantua thought not so; feelings that she had never known before were

busily possessing themselves of her heart; and fore the death of duke Vincenzo, he has gener-
though to feel them, made her thrill with some-ously determined that even in his mortal illness
thing like apprehension, yet they were so sweet he will see the alliance completed this very
she would do nothing to banish them. She lin- night.
gered with him long, and he with her; and for
three nights more they met, and passed a happy
hour, gilded with the dawning brightness of
young love,

He left her on the third, with a painful and anxious farewell; and she now felt how lonely was her state of being.

The warm, warm blood, was all over that bright face; but the smile the timid yet confiding smile, spoke more than words could have done. In a few moments more, the duke of Rhetel led to the altar, raised in the hall beyond, a trembling, blushing, but not an unhappy bride.

THE NATURALIST.

A RHINOCEROS STORY.
Once on a time my father took his sons out to

It was with difficulty that Mary of Mantua prevented herself from sinking off the seat in terror and agony. The horror, the awful horror, of being called upon in a moment to wed one whom she had never before beheld, while her heart was but too surely given to another, overpowered her for a few minutes; but then she reThe hours passed heavily, the days rolled on collected all the resolution and courage of her in care and anxiety-but she forgot not the ab- race; she protested against the cruelty and in-hunt; he only had a gun, and we had assegaes sent: and every rumor that she heard of move- justice of the act which her uncle proposed to and knives. At first we were very unsuccessful, ments at the court of Rome regarding her un-|| commit, a solemnly declared that nothing we found nothing till the second day, and were cle's divorce, made her heart sick. But Vincen- should induce her to yield her hand, in such in- very hungry, when we came on a rhinoceros. zo himself seemed to press matters but fecbly; decent haste, to an utter stranger. The lady The old man soon wounded it in the leg, and and when at length the appalling news reached who accompanied her, heard all with that chil. then told us to throw stones at it, to make the her that he was free, he showed no inclination || ling coldness which is far more dispiriting than || wound worse. You know how Namaquas can to profit by that freedom. She then heard that|| actual opposition, and merely said, that she fear-throw stones; so we crept upon the rhinoceros, he was sick-sick even to the gates of death!|| ed her highness would find herself forced to obey. followed it, and threw stones with such effect, and there were rumors of arming in Guastella, Mary had recourse to silence, and though her || that at last it lay down from pain. I being armand of Austrian forces moving to take possession of Mantua on the duke's decease; and of France sending armies to secure it for the house of Nevers. Then came tidings of messengers hurrying to and fro between Paris and Mantua and Rome. And so went by the time, till three months had passed over; and then, though the air was wintry, Mary eagerly hurried forth and stood by the table of stone, as the sun was sinking to repose. She gazed over the Mantua plain, but no one was seen; she listened, but heard not the voice whose memory had cheered her solitude. The sun sank, and all was darkness.

With a heart sad and depressed, she was taking her way back to the convent, when the bell at the gate rung, and an immediate summons was given her to proceed to Mantua, in one of the duke's carriages, with all speed, to hear the last injunctions of her dying uncle. State now surrounded her, guards were on each side of the vehicle, and in the convent parlor walked a high dame of the court to accompany her on the way.

The scene she had to go through Mary felt would be painful; but there was a greater degree of depression at her heart than even the anticipation of standing by the death-bed of her Panele could account for. Gloomy then and desponding, disappointed and anxious, Mary entered the carriage, asking herself what was to be sher fate when her uncle should be no more.The night was dark and stormy; the dull winds blew and whistled along the road, and for about a mile not a word was spoken by either Mary or her companion.

||

heart was sad and heavy, she remained firm,
and said to herself, "They can but kill me-that
they will not do--and if they do, better to die.'
Once more she passed the manifold gates and
draw-bridges, and entered what she felt to be,
for her, one vast dark prison; but she thought
of him she loved, and though she called him
cruel in her own heart for not having come to
advise or deliver her-still she felt that she loved
him, and that she could not, dared not, wed an-
other.

ed with a knife, then approached it from behind, and commenced to hamstring it, while my elder brother, who is now dead, Cobus, remarkable for two strange rings round his eyes, tried to climb over the back of the animal to thrust his lance into its shoulder (it would have been very dangerous to have gone up to its shoulder on foot.) He had just begun to climb, when the rhinoceros rose suddenly with a terrible blast or snort; we all ran off as fast as we could to a tree, and there held a consultation about our further proceedings.

The gates of the palace were at length reached; the courts were filled with soldiers; cannon We had not been long at the tree when the guarded the entrance; everything told that vast rhinoceros, observing where we were, rushed preparations had been made to secure tranquility towards us, with his horn at first in the air, and among the people on the death of the reigning then as he came near, he tore up the ground with duke. She saw lights streaming from the hall it. We scattered ourselves before him, when above, and, led forward by her companion, she || Cobus, getting in a passion, stopped short in his advanced up the wide staircase, and into the ante flight, called the rhinoceros an ugly name, and chamber. There an officer addressed her, say- turned and faced it. The rhinoceros, astonished ing, 'All is ready, madam, the duke waits for at this unexpected manoeuvre, also stopped and your highness-there is not a moment to spare.' stared at Cobus, who then commenced calling 'Go forward, madam,' said Mary to the lady out loudly and abusing the monster; it now who accompanied her, 'go forward, and tell my seemed to be seized with fear, for it sidled offuncle my unalterable resolve, as I announced it Cobus, who had a heart like a lion's, and was as to you.' active as an ape, immediately pursued the huge animal, seized the tail, sprung with its assistance on its back, rode it well, and plunging his asscgac deep into its shoulder-it fell, and was despatched by the rest of us.

||

The lady paused and looked back, but she
saw that Mary could not escape, and advancing,
she entered the hall beyond, leaving the door a-
jar behind her. Mary could only see the faded
form of her uncle lying on a splendid couch, The rhinoceros is often accompanied by a sen-
and looking as if death had already achieved tinel to give him warning, a beautiful green-
the victory ; but she heard his voice, very sharp- || backed and blue-winged bird, about the size of
ly, saying, 'If not by good will, by force and a jay. When the animal is standing at its ease
then another and a sweeter voice, and the French || among the bushes, or rubbing itself against a
tongue, 'Let me speak with her for a moment,|| dwarf tree, the bird attends it to feed on the in-
my gracious lord.'
sects which either fly about it, or are found

An instant after the door opened, and, clothed || in the wrinkles of its neck and head. The creep-
in princely apparel, a young man appeared-ing hunter, stealthily approaching the leeward
Mary's heart beat fast-her knees trembled side, carefully notes the motions of the bird. If
the color game and went in her check-she
stretched forth her arms towards him—she fell
almost fainting on his bosom.

the monster moves its head slightly, the bird || flies from its horn (where it is generally seated) to its shoulder, remains there a short time, and 'Oh! why came you not-why came you not?' then returns to its former strange perch. If, she cried.

At length, however, the lady said, I have been commanded to inform your highness as soon as we were actually on the way, that it will be necessary for you to prepare your mind for a great change of condition. The duke is, as you know, at the point of death. The duke of Nevers is next heir to the coronet of Mantua, and as it is absolutely necessary that all the claims to this duchy and Montferrat should centre in one race, it has been determined that your high- || ness should give your hand to the young duke of 'Hark, Mary" he answered, as the palace Rhetel, son of the duke of Nevers. The prince clock struck loud and clear, 'hark, beloved, it is destined to be your husband has already arrived our hour of meeting-and I am here-thine own in Mantua, and as there is the most urgent ne. dear cousin, Charles of Gonzaga! Will you recessity that your marriage should take place be-fuse the duke of Rhetel still?

from its elevated position, the bird notes the ap. proach of danger, and flies up in the air suddenly, then let the hunter beware, for the rhinoceros instantly rushes desperately and fearlessly to wherever he hears the branches crack.

[Col. Alexander's Expedition,

THE KING SNAKE.

dure no more-and I lost all sense. At length,
I had the painful tingling sensation of returning
life through my veins and, when in full con-
sciousness, I arose from the earth, I saw near
me, tranquilly and quietly lying, a king-snake,
and farther off the lifeless length of a tremend-

ed-and I am now satisfied that the king-snake
had crept over my body to my rescue-there bc.
ing a large log on the one side and the lake on
the other, so that his nearest approach to the en.
emy was over my body. But although my life
was providentially preserved, yet the effects of
that scene are the exhaustion of a great portion
of my excitability, and the introduct of grey
hairs and premature debility, in all my powers
of mind and body.

There is a species of snake commonly called || in the southern states the 'King Snake,' perhaps because he is the most formidable enemy of the rattle-snake. It seems to be the chief' object of his existence to seek, to pursue, and to destroy the latter, whose retreat and presence is discov-ous rattle-snake. I sat upon a log and reflecterable by the emission of a peculiar smell, resem. bling that of the cucumber vine. The king snake, to almost all other reptiles, is the most gentle and harmless of creatures; you may strike him, he shows no resentment, he hisses not, he turns not, nor does he exhibit any terror or sluggishness. Drawn by the smell of cucumber, he frequently enters gardens; but his ap. pearance excites no alarm in any human being that knows he is the king-snake; on the contra. ry, women and children will approach him, turn him about with a stick, and playfully annoy him with impunity; he is only a relentless enemy of the rattle-snake, whose strength and venom avail nothing against the activity and mode of attack of the king-snake, who is always victor in every combat.

[Anecdotes of the South,

LADIES' DEPARTMENT.

WHEN AND WHOM TO MARRY.

The following article contains much sound, practical good sense. We commend it to the attention of young ladies; and, we firmly believe if they would give ear to it, and follow the good advice given below, there would be many less unhappy matches than at present.

1. Young ladies ought not to marry at fifteen, or sixteen, or seventeen-they are too young, know nothing about house-keeping and providing for a family, etc.

Yet the rattle-snake is a terrible reptile; there is a peculiarity truly appaling in the sound of his rattles, being unlike the noise of any other creature; and when you hear it the first time, true instinct impresses on your quailing heart that danger and death are near. Never shall I forget one horrid event of my life! I was fishing in a southern fake one summer day, when an unusual disposition to sleep affected me. I stuck 2. They ought not to marry until they have the end of my fishing rod in the bank of the lake, got the consent of their minds to give up tightand sought a beautiful place of shade to enjoy || lacing-because the marriage state should be repose. I laid myself on the grass between two free from bondage, compression and oppression. trees scarcely six feet apart from each other, 3. A young lady should not marry until she my head resting against one and my feet against has got the consent of her mind to obey her the other. I slept. When I awoke, I turned husband-because if she cannot and will not o. to one side, and perceived at some distance from bey her husband, she does not love him; obedime two brilliant orbs-and instantly a tremu- ence is the strongest evidence of love. lous, mingled sensation of an indefinable nature came upon my faculties. Something of an instinctive dictate or impulse counselled me to avert my looks; but then there was such an ab. sorbing, wishful delight in gazing into eyes that intently and meltingly gazed into mine, that even the tremulous pulsation of fear fixed my frame, and I remained so fascinated that I could

see nothing but the most beautiful colors. In short, I was totally lost, so completely bewildered with commingled emotions, that I could not withdraw my gaze, nor even move.

The melting eye-balls glared with sparks of fire-there was a movement-I was aroused from a dreamy state-I saw a huge rattle-snake —its gaze was disturbed, and when I heard the dreadful rattle sound, the full danger of my situation aroused me, and through all my frame I felt the extremity of terror; and just as I was obeying a frenzied impulse to fly-God of Heaven! I felt the deadly reptile, as I thought, coiling around my neck! I saw part of his body-I felt the slimy skin upon my neck-and

the shiver of horror went through every joint and member of my frame. Such a feeling of agony-my eye-balls were filled with scorching|| fire-first red, next yellowish green. Oh! there are moments of existence which involve the sensation of years, and when the whole detail of a thousand feelings scarcely occupy the brief space of a leisure thought. Nature could en

These are some of the TIMES when young la dies ought not to marry. Now I say

1. They ought not to marry a young man who, when he comes to address them, can stay a week or two-such an one will be likely to love the fire too well, will not go to the barn, the corn-field, etc. often enough.

5. A young lady will be very unsafe in mar. rying a young man who uses ardent spirits-either temperately or intemperately-because more women have been rendered wretched on account of drunken husbands, than any one thing elsc.Don't marry a reformed drunkard, as a man hardly ever gets clear of this awful disease. If you want to be miserable, if you want babblings, if you want wounds without a cause, marry a man who drinks, who takes a little,' and you are more likely to have the above-named enjoyment, than in marrying any other character.If a man can't give up his dram, he will sacrifice the happiness or property of any woman, by taking a little. But methinks I hear some one say by this time, Where are young ladies to get husbands-you lop so close you leave us none.Look for them in the honest, virtuous walks of life. Don't marry a profane swearer-a gambler -one who takes 'a little'-a debauchee—a man without an occupation. You had better live and die an old maid than marry either of these. Young ladies, remember your soul's salvation is involved in your choice-then pray to God for

direction.

FEMALE INFLUENCE AND ENERGY.

I have observed that a married man falling into misfortune is more apt to retrieve his situa. tion in the world than a single one-chiefly because his spirits are soothed and retrieved by domestic endearments, and self-respect kept alive by finding that, although all abroad be darkworld of love at home, of which he is the monness and humiliation, yet there is still a little arch; whereas, a single man is apt to run to waste and self-neglect; to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruins, like some deserted mansion for want of an in

habitant. I have often had occasion to remark

the fortitude with which women sustain the most overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of a man and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity and elevation to their character, that at times it approaches to sublimity. Nothing can be more touching than to behold a soft and tender female, who had been all weakness and 2. Never marry a man without some occupa- dependence, and alive to every trivial roughness tion, by which he can support a family-he will while treading the prosperous path of life, sudotherwise need the proceeds of such occupation denly rising in mental force to be the comforter when the trade must be learned. He must be and supporter of her husband under misfortune, a doctor, not a quack; a lawyer, not a pettifog-abiding with unshrinking firmness the bitterest ger; a merchant on his own capital, not a bor- blasts of adversity. As the vine which has long rowed one; a shoemaker, not a cobbler; have twined its graceful foliage about the oak, and the thing itself; a farmer or a mechanic of some had been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the order; have the 'profitable occupation.' Don't hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling marry him without it.

3. Never marry a young man who wears fine clothes and swears profanely-because if he will not treat his Maker's laws with reverence, he will be very unapt to treat you kindly and with respect; moreover, he who swears will lie, and of all characters a liar is to be detested and a

voided, and not chosen as a companion.

round it with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its shattered boughs-so it is beautifully ordered by Providence that woman, who is the orna. ment and dependant of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten with sudden calamity; winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly sup

porting the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart.

Irving.

4. A young lady should never marry a young man who is in the habit of gambling-because he will-ten to one-spend every cent of his and How often we hear men in the pursuit of part. his wife's estate, and bring her at last to begga-ners for life, inquire for a beautiful woman, and ry. Reformed gamblers are not safe-I would yet how brief the existence of what they seek, advise no young lady to marry one, at least un-and how unproductive of happiness is its pos der ten years reformation.

session!

MISCELLANY.

COURTSHIP ON THE BATTERY.

We have ofter heard of love-making on that pleasant promenading ground, the Battery, in New-York, when the grass and trees are green, and the birds discourse sweet music to the ear. But the following authentic story of the wooing and winning and becoming the lawful possessor of a young and guileless heart, carries in its details more matter of interest than any love affair that has recently come to our knowledge, and we will now give it to our readers as briefly

as we can.

Some time during the last summer a French gentleman, a member of a wealthy mercantile firm in New-Orleans, came on hither to spend a few months in rest and recreation, until the

subsidence of the heat, and mayhap diseases of
his city of residence, should induce him to re-
turn to his home. As almost all other strangers!
do, he often strayed from his place of sojourn,
at the Carlton House, to spend a pleasant hour
in the promenade on the Battery to inhale the
pure breezes that came in whispering coolness
from the ocean, and gaze upon the galaxy of
beauty that tripped so fairy-like along the grav-
el walks of that arboriferous retreat. There, as
the afternoon shadows were lengthening, also
came a beautiful girl of 19, named Mary
a domestic in the family of Mr.

a weal

thy merchant in the neighborhood, whose lovely children she had charge of, and whom she every day conducted to the Battery, for air, exercise, and indulgence in their innocent gambols. In the discharge of this duty one day, Mary was met by the French gentleman from New-Or

leans.

He was attracted by her beauty, her perfect neatness of appearance, her artless innocence, and her devotion to the wants and comforts of the young children committed to her care. Soon he made bold to engage her in conversation of

el, and set out to the party-that party being her
lover. He met her-procured a carriage, and
they together went to the Bishop of this Diocese,
and were joined in wedlock, according to the
rites of the Episcopal Church-the divino giv
ing her a certificate of her marriage.

beloved of them both. While he slept peace. fully, they sat silently by his side, weaving rainbow tissues into dreams. When he awoke,they came with the lark, to bid good morning, and he gave a hand to cach.

He became a man. Every day Hope guided him to his labor, and every night he supped with Memory at the table of Knowledge.

But at last Age found him, and turned his temples gray. To his eye the world seemed altered. Memory sat by his elbow chair, like an old and tried friend. He looked at her scriously and said, 'Hast thou not lost something that I entrusted to thee.'

They were then driven to the Carlton House, where the lovely Mary was ushered in as the inerchant's bride, and where they spent the night. In the morning, at the New-York mer. chant's house, the question was repeatedly asked, Where is our Mary? which none could answer. Soon, however, an order was sent to the mer. chant's house for Mary's trunks of clothingAnd she answered, 'I fear so-for the lock of but the prudent merchant refused to deliver them up, unless My came herself. She accordingly my casket is worn. Sometimes I am weary and came, with evident confusion on her counte. sleepy, and Time purloins my key. But the When asked what was the matter, she gems that thou dist give me when life was new replied, I believe I am married-and here is a—I can account for them all-see how bright paper the minister gave me ;' pulling out her cor- they are! tificate, which the merchant immediately recognized to be genuine-and much to his surprise also discovered that Mary's husband was a wealthy merchant of New-Orleans, whom he knew, and with whom he had large mercantile trans

nance.

actions.

After the usual bestowment of wishes of hap. piness, and the interchange of affectionate adieus, Mary and her husband set out for New. Orleans, and arrived there after a short and plea. sant passage. There she was ushered into a large house clegantly furnished, as mistress,and there she enjoyed all the comforts and abund. ance that this life can afford. Her husband doated upon her, and immediately employed a

number of teachers to instruct her in music,and

all the several branches of useful and ornamen.
tal learning. By letters received in this city
from New Orleans a few days since, we are in-
formed that Mary was in the enjoyment of fine
health and spirits, and one of the happiest of the
happy.

Such is a true history of a successful though
romantic courtship, on the Battery, which has
resulted as auspiciously as any could wish.

[New-York Transcript,

HOPE AND MEMORY.

the chasest kind; and as he conversed with her
from day to day, he became insensibly deeply
enamored with the lovely Mary, and re.
solved, if possible, to make her his bride. He
learnt, from her lips, that she was of Irish pa-
rentage, was an orphan, with little if any educa- A little babe lay in the cradle, and Hope came
tion, and was dependent alone for support upon and kissed it. When its nurse gave it a cake,
the wages she received from the merchant, in Hope promised another to-morrow; and when
whose house she was employed as a domestic. its young sister brought a flower, over which it
After repeated interviews he made known his pas. clapped its wings and crowed, Hope told of
sion, and offered Mary his hand if she would mar-brighter ones, which it would gather for itself.
ry him, and promised she should become the mis-
tress of his splendid house, and his heart, in New
Orleans. The innocent, unsuspecting girl was
alarmed at these proposals--could not believe
they were sincerely made and hesitated to
yield her consent. The French gentleman how-
ever pressed his suit with apparent success, and
gave Mary to the 15th of October to make up
her final determination, and prepare herself for
her coming nuptials. She reflected much upon
the subject, and at the appointed time was still
undetermined. Her lover then gave her until
the first of November to decide-and told her
then to meet him, and they would go and be u.
nited. And, in obedience to his instructions, on
that day she told a young lady, a seamstress in
the house, that she was going to a party that
evening; and she was dressed in her best appar

The babe grew to a child, and another friend came and kissed it. Her name was Memory. She said, 'Look behind thee, and tell me what thou seest.' The child answered, 'I see a little book. Memory said, I will teach thee how to get honey from the book, and that will be sweet to thee when thou art old.'

The child became a youth. Once when he went to bed, Hope and Memory stood by the pillow. Hope sang a melodious song, and said, 'Follow me, and every morning thou shalt wake with a smile, as sweet as the pretty lay I sang thee.'

But Memory said, 'Hope, is there any need that we should contend? He shall be mine as well as thine; and we shall be to him as sisters all his life long.'

So he kissed Hope and Memory, as he was

While they thus sadly conversed, Hope put forth a wing that she had worn, folded under her garment, and tried its strength in a heaven. ward light.

The old man laid down to die, and when his soul went forth from the body, angels took it.-Memory walked with it through the open gate of heaven. But hope lay down at its threshold and gently expired, as a rose giveth out its last odors.

Her parting sigh was like the music of a ser. aph's harp. She breathed it into a glorious form, and said, 'In.nortal happiness! I bring thee a soul that I have led through the world.-It is now thine-JESUS hath redeemed it.' [Mrs. Sigourney.

WHAT IS AN ARISTOCRAT? Casimer Perier on being called an aristocrat, replied, 'My only aristocracy is the superiority which industry, frugality, perseverence and intelligence will always ensure to every man in a free state of society; and I belong only to those privileged classes to which you may all belong in your turn. They are not privileges created for us but by us. Our wealth is our own, we have made it; our ease is our own, we have gained it by the sweat of our brows, or by the labor of our minds. Our position in society is not conferred upon us, but purchased by our. selves with our own intellect, application, zeal, patience and industry. If you remain inferior to us, it is because you have not the talent, the industry, the zeal or the sobriety, the patience or the application, necessary to your advance-. ment. You wish to become rich as some do to become wise; but there is no royal road to wealth any more than there is to knowledge. The hus bandman who will not till his ground shall reap nothing but thistles and briers. What right have you, who do nothing for yourselves, your families, or your country, or mankind, to imagine that you will be selected by your fellow citizens for their favor, their confidence, their rewards? If, by an aristocrat, you mean one who has earned his promotion by his industry, then indeed I am an aristocrat; and, please God I may always remain so. You are too idle to labor, and too proud to beg. I throw back then with indignation and resentment the charge

which is made.'

[Blackwood,

THE ESSAYIST.

For the Poughkeepsie Casket.
A PARALLEL.
BENEDICT ARNOLD AND THOMAS PAINE.

Poughkeepsie, January, 1839,

TO PARENTS.

B.

are pleased to notice that he ever pays a defer richly repay us for all the labor and privation it ence to the truths of Christianity, and often ever cost us to procure the means? In short, founds many of his deductions upon its precepts. by being prudent, we may become the authors So long as he held, even nominally, to the truths of a great amount of good to others and happi. Benedict Arnold possessed the confidence of of Christianity, he was considered as a brightness to ourselves; while extravagance can only the American people; he was placed at the head and a shining light in our political horizon. But prove the reverse, and plunge us, perhaps deep of her armies and led them on to victory; the at the present day we cannot see Thomas Paine and inevitably into ruin. people delighted to honor him, both as a soldier || except enveloped in the murky clouds of Atheand a patriot. ism, and know him but as an infidel. His greatBenedict Arnold became a traitor; the Amer-ness and his goodness lie buried in his own tomb, ican people withdrew from him their confidence; and his 'Age of Reason' is his only cenotaph. he ceased to be a patriot, and even an American; February, 1839. he became a loathing and a byword throughout the colonies; his virtues and his valor disappeared behind the thick veil of infamy that covered him, and he was known and spoken of by way of eminence as 'THE TRAITOR; his former deeds served only to increase his condemna

much to the success of that eventful struggle, and to the establishment of the old confedera. tion as any other man.

The people loved, honored and rewarded him; he was deservedly ranked among those master spirits of the times who left the old path in which the world had travelled, and became the pioneers in that of the free institutions which we now enjoy. But, corrupted in the French school of Atheism, he too became an infidel, and pub. lished to corrupt the world that master-piece of blasphemy and scurrility, the 'Age of Reason. From this hour he fell from the high elevation he had acquired; his patriotism and devotion to civil liberty were forgotten, and his name too became a byword to posterity.

If we would give the most effective definition to the word 'traitor,' we have only to pronounce the name of Benedict Arnold; and not only does the understanding assent, but the the heart and passions bear testimony that it is well under

stood.

When we would impart to youth an idea of infidelity, and the withering corruptions festering in a heart seared by its deleterious poisons, we are taught that the name of Thomas Paine conveys to the mind the full measure of al! that is perverted in intellect, degraded in passion or

in vice.

G. L. L.

For the Poughkeepsie Casket.
PRUDENCE.

In the spring of the year we see parents aetive in repairing the fences, cutting up the wood for the coming year, mending the farming instruments, putting the working cattle in good order; every thing is seen to and in readiness for putting in the summer crops.

Parents should in the first place, see that they have an attractive, comfortable school house, furnished with maps, globes, and the necessary fixtures.

Who ever lost any thing by being prudent? Not I, nor you, dear reader; nor can you point We wish to make this laudable activity and to a person who ever has or will have cause to forethought with farmers turn us to a lesson on say, "I am sorry that I have been prudent another subject. The fall schools are about prudence has proved to me an injury." Who opening. The children of the country, the most ever heard a man mourning over the wreck of of whom have labored during the summer, are fortune, bewailing the loss of property and home, again ready to enter the schools for the winter lamenting that he had brought himself and fam-season-and there is a duty to be performed by ily to penury and want by well regulated habits parents. and an economical manner of living? Who ever heard the prudent man exclaiming To this state has folly and extravagance brought me my family beggared-old age has come upon me, and I shall lay my head down in sorrow, reflecting painfully upon the past, and without hope in the future. A large family of children now circle around me, but in them what com. fort, what hope can I see? Poor, and proud as I myself have taught them to be, they look upon their equals in fortune with a scornful eye, thinking them unfit for their associates, and aspire to a display in society which their means will not allow them to make,"

And how is it on the other hand? We now view a man of very different character. We behold one who once had wealth and honors, and all that might have rendered life a blessing and home a paradise. A blooming family crowded around him, a wife who loved him, and children who hailed his leisure hours with glad. dening hearts. But alas! these cease to be at tracting; home has lost its joys for him; he spends his days in sporting and extravagance of every kind, and night closes o'er him at the gambling table. And here ends his ruin.

They should then place in the house a well qualified teacher; gentlemanly in his deport. inent, and skillful in a business at once so ardu ous and responsible.

They should, thirdly, procure a full supply of the best school books in the market, for stingi. ncss here will make the expense of the school almost useless.

4thly, parents should determine to send every one of the family, old and young, that can be spared, to school, and that they shall not miss a day during the winter.

5thly, we should furnish a separate room at home for the children to use in the evening while getting their lessons. The practice is generally for all to sit in the warm kitchen in the evening. But how can the children study where the family is noisily engaged in household affairs, in conversation with the neighbor who has just dropped in; where the younger children are crying, or romping with their play. things where there is but one candle for all to work by, and but one little stand, adınitting byt two sitters at its sides. Parents should not make this a study room, but prepare another, furnished with a good fire, a large table, and plenty of light,

7thly, parents should make it a part of their business for each week to visit the school for examination and for showing an interest in the teacher and the progress of the pupils.

Oh! have we not always had sufficient lessons of this kind to teach us how very necessary it is to be prudent in all things? to teach that without economy we cannot be happy? Have not the warning voices of poverty and distress 6thly, they should be prepared to carry the sounded in our ears full oft to teach us that ex- children to school whenever the weather is stor travagance is the way to ruin and wretchedness? my, and the walking unpleasant—and at night Is not the saying a true one, that "prudence is the sleigh should again wait upon them. the way to wealth and happiness ?" and is it not far better to lay up store in season, and be prepared for a time when old age shall have unfitted us for toil; so that we can say our duty in this respect is done, and have the satisfaction of knowing that our lives have not been wholly spent in vain? Is it not a pleasure too, to alleviate the misery, supply the wants, and help our fellow creatures when in distress? When we find the widow and orphans in a state of want and almost starvation, then to open our His political writings, so full of truth and so plain. storehouse of plenty and minister to their comly illustrated by his energetic mind that they fort, and hear them pronounce their heart-felt receive the ready assent of the reader, were the thanks, while tears of joy stand in their lifted result of his earlier years; and in all these wel eyes? Oh! is it not a satisfaction such as does

But do we justly, thus to run a parallel between a traitor, one who was a victim of avarice and all the meaner passions which can degrade a soul, and a mind like Paine's, which has shed so much light on the principles of civil liberty, and which, even in its efforts to destroy the hopes of the Christian and to put out the lights of immortality, evinces attributes which bespeak for it respect. We have not introduced him in such company because we would place them on a level; far from it—but to show that a single error in the one case produced the same result as that of the other other. It was the fault of his enfeebled age that despoiled Paine of the honors he had formerly achieved.

7thly, the teacher should be respected, appreciated, and well rewarded, if he is a model man, and if not he should be dismissed.

In conclusion, we do most earnestly ask pa. rents to bank up the school house, put in the broden palcs of glass, nail on the fallen clapboards, plaster tight the open cracks, put the door on the hinges, and fill the wood house with plenty of dry fuel. Do pay one hour's attention, when your children are to meet the cold blasts of winter.

[Common School Assistant,