то FERDINAND

FREILIG RATH.

BY MARY E. HEWITT.

THE poetry of FREILIGRATH, some noble specimens of which are included in LONGFELLOW'S 'Poets and Poetry of Europe,' has been rendered more familiar to us by BAYARD TAYLOR's spirited and beautiful translation of The Dead to the Living' FREILIGRATH's share in the late political events in Germany and subsequent exile, are well known to the reading world.

For, like the sign that led by night and day,
The God-commanded,

Before the PHAROAH Might thou leadest the way
Of nations banded.

And thou, her Bard! all hallowed with the fame
Of thy devotion;

That like to yonder rainbow's arch of flame,
Spanneth the ocean:

Oh, doomed to exile! if it be to death
Thy faith hath won thee,

It is to martyrdom thou goest forth
The crown upon thee!

HOW TO LIVE WHERE YOU LIKE,

A LEGEND O F UTICA.

BY A. B. JOHNSON.

LONG before Utica was a great city, indeed while it was only a small settlement, called Old Fort Schuyler, a little man lived in this little place, in a log house near the old fort, which was then standing in all its pristine formidableness, except that it was no longer garrisoned with soldiers. He was fifty-seven years old, which is a prodigious time in a new country for one pair of lungs to have kept constantly blowing at the spark of life, and one heart constantly beating seconds; and his were never known to cease, except once, for a few moments, when he had the night-mare from eating at supper too freely of broiled bear. He could not see to read without spectacles, nor with them very well, as the glasses were sadly scratched from rough companionship in his pocket with gun-flints, and new glasses were not easily procurable. His hair had become gray, and no person in those days of simplicity could hide such a calamity with a wig; so that he was a great curiosity to the numerous little papooses who used occasionally to see him; and while half of them wondered how a human being could live so long, the other half wondered how much longer he could live.

His nearest neighbors were the Indians, who lived at Oneida Castle, and with whom he had from time immemorial trafficked in beaverskins, muskrats, fox-skins, and other furs, giving in exchange NewEngland rum, pig-tail tobacco, and kindred luxuries. As he was an honest man, never permitting any advantage to be taken of the poor Indians except by himself, he was quite popular among them, and had acquired what in those simple times was deemed a large fortune, though the exact amount is unknown to tradition.

Schenectady was then the head quarters of inland commerce, and as the old man's wealth was notorious, he never visited the ancient city without receiving much hospitality, intermingled with surprise, that a man of his fortune and age would live among Indians, instead of luxuriating amid the refinements of Schenectady. To all these suggestions he uniformly responded by a mysterious shake of his head, that seemed to signify just what the questioner happened to imagine. The old women interpreted it as meaning that he could not think of removing from the ashes of his departed wife, and under this persuasion would sympathetically wipe their eyes and say that he was doubtless right and knew best, while the young ones used to laugh and think that some old lady at Oneida or thereabouts was the secret attraction.

But though the mysterious shake of the old trader's head thus satisfied his Schenectady friends, it failed to satisfy the more inquisitive mind of a little girl, his only child, who had become the idol of her father and used of late to accompany him in his periodical journeys to the city. She was fast becoming a young woman, and every step in her progress to puberty added to the interest with which she heard the accustomed surprise in relation to his continued residence at Old Fort Schuyler. Every thing in Schenectady delighted her. Even the young men delighted her with their vivacity and gallantry, and the young women with their fashionable attire, conversation and merry meetings. The very dogs and cats seemed to enjoy a social happiness peculiar to the city, and to chase round after their tails with a pertinacity and glee unknown in the woods. That a young woman who was confessedly fitted for society should be doomed to pass her days and nights in solitude, seemed every day a greater marvel to her and a more intolerable misery.

The old man was not slow in discovering the discontent that was maturing in his daughter, and as her efforts to conceal it became every day less zealous, he was fain to allay it by assuring her that the present were her best days, that she was now exempt from all real trouble, and by urging various kindred doctrines, which ever since the flood age has handed down for the benefit of the young and which have usually been as ineffectual as they were in the present instance. Finding, however, that all his attempts to allay her discon'tent but added to her restlessness, he at length told her, more in sorrow than in anger, that all he possessed would be hers, and if she would only wait patiently a short time he should follow her mother to the grave and she could then live where she liked.

The little girl had already bloomed into womanhood when these remarks occurred and though she yearned for society, she was too benevolent to contemplate it with complacency on the terms proposed by her father; yet he, as if in pity to her wishes or possibly in grief at her apparent unhappiness, lost his relish for trade, and after a little drooping, a little unusual taciturnity, a little disinclination to arise from his bed as early as usual, became admittedly sick and died, leaving her undisputed possessor of his house and all its contents. In the first surprise and grief at the event she felt no desire to leave

the spot where she had been reared and where she had interred her kind parent; but Nature, like an authoritative overseer with a contumacious mendicant, soon disciplines us out of the inaction of sorrow, and she accordingly soon gained a sufficiency of composure to determine on closing the house, and making a journey to Schenectady.

Previously, however, to executing this design, she took a brief survey of the treasures to which she had succeeded. They were principally situated in a locked cupboard, and she found they consisted of three not very large, but square boxes, which were severally numbered one, two, three, and on their lids were the following labels:

On number one,
On number two,
On number three,

'Open this; I shall not be offended.'
'Touch not till the other is expended.'
Nor this, till the other two are ended.'

She had never been deficient in filial obedience to the express injunctions of her parent, and she determined to obey in the present instance the directions which he had thus transmitted with his property; and consequently, but not without much trepidation, applied a chisel and a hammer to the lid of number one, and forced it open. It was nearly full of gold, in coins of England, France, Spain and Portugal, which were then (bank notes being unknown) the common medium of circulation throughout the United States. The amount of money seemed immense, and was in truth no small sum, being, as far as can be ascertained from a careful measurement of the box, (which, with the original label thereon, is still preserved in the Utica museum,) not less than two thousand dollars. She felt, however, a little self-reproach when she saw on the inside of the box, in the well-known handwriting of her father, ‘Live where you like.'

But she soon brought herself to believe that this was not a reproach for the impatience she had exhibited during the life of her father, but rather a parental reward for having so well overcome her impatience. Thus encouraged, she speedily transferred the gold from the box to her travelling trunk, carefully wrapped in cloths, to insure its safety, and departed with it for Schenectady, in a canoe, by the way of the Mohawk River, leaving in the locked cupboard the other boxes; for so great was the honesty of the simple period, that few persons ever placed a lock on even their street doors on journeying from home, but in its stead placed a log of wood, so as to lean against the outside of the door, as a signal that the inmates were from home, more than as a protection against intrusion.

At Schenectady, where she arrived in safety with her trunk, she found a ready welcome. The whole city, from sympathy with her recent affliction or influenced by her youth, beauty, and reputed wealth, or perhaps from all these causes, seemed anxious to make her happy. She readily reciprocated their good feelings, and liked every body and every thing, and was more than half determined to establish her residence permanently where beauties and luxuries seemed so abundant, when, unfortunately for such a determination, she accepted an invitation to join a party who were the next day to visit the neighboring city of Albany. The distance, though short in

the present period of rail road speed, was then a journey of some severity and duration, over sands almost trackless, and over hills of no small altitude. For Albany, however, the party departed in a two-horse wagon, which, though it possessed not the benefit of springs, possessed inmates that carried springs within themselves; and a merry time they made of it, for they started on the theoretic principle, that the worse the roads the better the sport; and as a recent rain had raised the streams that intersected the way, and gullied the hills, they suffered no lack of mirth-inspiring events during the long summer-day, which was all expended in the transit. But even the best of jokes must come to an end, and the party finally found themselves in the city of Albany, and dispersed among their respective cousins, with whom they were to lodge for the night.

Albany, at the period of which we are speaking, was a splendid city, when compared with Schenectady. The noble Hudson was as superior to the shallow Mohawk as it is now, while the old Dutch church,' as it was subsequently called, though then not old, graced the bottom of State-street, and astonished the young maiden with its height and size when she for the first time beheld it. The ladies also of Albany were entirely different from the women of Schenectady, both in dress and address, except that they were equally delighted with the handsome heiress of old Fort Schuyler. They feasted her on young sturgeon, while the gentlemen regaled her with fumes of tobacco out of pipes two feet long and tipped with red sealing-wax. These and various other novelties soon effaced from the maiden all intention of residing in Schenectady, and after some days she quietly permitted her companions to return home without her, and accepted an invitation to remain behind at Albany. Indeed, who could expect that a person having the power to choose, and the means of gratifying the power, should reside in Schenectady, when they could live at Albany? The statement of the proposition shows its absurdity; and the interesting orphan determined that Albany was precisely the place she had always seen in her dreams, and that henceforth it should constitute her residence.

Scarcely had the aforesaid determination been expressed, to the approbation and delight of all her new friends, when a sloop from New-York approached the dock, bearing on its deck a gallant young man, fresh from the even then great metropolis, who was fated to reverse what had thus been too rashly resolved. Never before had she seen a real metropolitan beau, and she was as much surprised at the extent of his information as at the confident superiority of his general deportment over his Albany acquaintances. In his first interview he expatiated so fluently on the amusements of the city, its theatre, its battery, its Broadway, its sea-views, and its multitudes of gay and busy inhabitants, that she determined to see New-York before she irrevocably attached herself to any other place, and secretly reproached herself for her hasty resolve in favor of Albany, having but so lately experienced at Schenectady the rashness of precipitate resolutions by a person who had seen so little of the world as she.

How she gratified her intention of visiting New-York the historian