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THE MOUNTAIN OF THE TWO LOVERS.
BY LEIGH HUNT.

We forget in what book it was, many years ago, that we read the story of a lover who was to win his mistress by carrying her to the top of a mountain, and how he did win her and how they ended their days on the same spot.

We think the scene was in Switzerland; but the mountain, though high enough to tax his stout heart to the uttermost, must have been among the lowest. Let us fancy it a good lofty hill, in the summer time. It was, at any rate, so high, that the father of the lady, a proud noble, thought t impossible to scale it. For this reason alone, in scorn, he wade him do it, and his daughter should be his.

The peasantry assembled in the valley to witness so extraordinary a sight. They measured the mountain with their eyes; they communed with one another, and shook their heads; but all admired the young man; and some of his fellows, looking at their mistresses, thought they could do as much. The father was on horseback, apart and sullen, repenting that he had subjected his daughter even to the show of such a hazard; but he thought it would teach his inferiors a lesson. The young man (the son of a small land-proprietor, who had some pretensions to wealth, though none to nobility) stood, respectfully looking but confident, rejoicing in his heart that he should win his mistress, though at the cost of a noble pain, which he could hardly think of as pain, considering who it was he was to marry. If he died for it, he should at least have had her in his arms, and have looked her in the face. To clasp her person in that manner was a pleasure which he contemplated with such transport as is known only to real lovers; for some others know how respect heightens the joy of dispensing with formality, and how the dispensing with formality enennobles and makes grateful the respect.

The lady stood by the side of her father, pale, desirous, and dreading. She thought her lover would succeed, but only because she thought him in every respect the noblest of his sex, and that nothing was too much for his strength and valour. Great fears came over her, nevertheless. She knew not what might happen in the chances common to all. She felt the bitterness of being herself the burden to him and the task; and dared neither to look at her father nor at the mountain. She fixed her eyes now on the crowd (which nevertheless she beheld not) and now on her hand and her fingers' ends, which she doubled up towards her with a pretty pretence-the only deception she had ever used. Once or twice a daughter or a mother stepped out of the crowd, and coming up to her, notwitstanding their fears of the lord baron, kissed that hand which she knew not what to do with.

The father said, "Now, sir, to put an end to this mummery;" and the lover, turning pale for the first time, took up the lady.

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The spectators rejoiced to see the manner in which he moves off, slow but secure, and as if encouraging his mistress. They mount the hill; they proceed well; he halts an instant before he gets midway, and seems refusing something; then ascends at a quicker rate; and now being at the midway point. shifts the lady from one side to the other. The spectators give a great shout. The baron, with an air of indifference, bites the tip of his gauntlet, and then casts on them an eye of rebuke. At the shout the lover resumes his way. Slow, but not feeble, in his step, yet it gets slower. He stops again, and they think they see the lady kiss him on the forehead. The women begin to tremble, but the men say he will be victorious. He resumes again; he is half way between the middle and the top; he rushes, he stops, he staggers; but he does not fall. Another shout from the men, and he resumes once more; two-thirds of the remaining part of the way are conquered. They are certain the lady kisses him on the forehead, and on the eyes. The women burst into tears, and the stoutest men look pale. He ascends slower than ever, but seeming to be more sure. He halts, but it is only to plant his foot to go on again; and thus he picks his way, planting his foot at every step, and then gaining ground with au effort. The lady lifts up her arms, as if to lighten him. See: he is almost at the top; he stops, he struggles, he moves sideways, taking very little steps, and bringing one foot every time close to the other. Now-he is all but on the top; he halts again; he is fixed; he staggers. A groan goes through the multitude. Suddenly, he turns full front towards the top: it is, luckily, almost a level; he staggers, but it is forward. Yes; every limb in the multitude makes a movement as if it would assist him. See-at last-he is on the top; and down he falls flat with his burden! An enormous shout! Ile has won; he has won. Now he has a right to caress his

mistress, and she is caressing him: for neither of them gets up. If he has fainted, it is with joy, and it is in her arms. The baron put spurs to his horse, the crowd following him. Half way he is obliged to dismount: they ascend the rest of the hill together, the crowd silent and happy, the baron ready to burst with shame and impatience. They reach the top. The lovers are face to face on the ground, the lady clasping him with both arms, his lying on each side. "Traitor!" exclaimed the baron, "thou hast practised this feat before on purpose to deceive me. Arise!"_" You cannot expect it. sir," said a worthy man, who was rich enough to speak his mind, "Samson himself might take his rest after such a deed.

..

Part them!" said the baron.

Several persons went up, not to part then, but to congratulate and keep them together. These people look close, they kneel down; they bend an ear; they bury their faces upon them. "God forbid they should ever be parted more," said a venerable man: they never can be." He turned his old face, streaming with tears, and looked up at the baron: Sir, they are dead."

A PHILADELPHIAN LADY.

The following sneering, but amusing and spirited sketch, is extracted from Mrs. Trollope's " Domestic Manners of the Americans." But we must caution our readers not to draw a conclusion that this is a perfect portrait of American ladies in general, or even of Philadelphians in particular. The picture (if it may be so called) is rather a highly-coloured representation of a certain portion of our trans-Atlantic sisters, -a delineation of a genus. Our traveller. however, would make us believe, that in her selection of one lady, she has faithfully presented us with the verisimilitude of all. This is by no means correct. It is a fault in Mrs. Trollope (and we deem it to be an unpardonable one,) that she invariably singles out a solitary fact, selects an isolated circumstance, and marks an individual character, to build up a general opinion of the habits, manners, and amusements of a whole nation. This mode of jumping to a conclusion is not only absurd, but highly culpable: it betrays either a want of real honesty, or good judgment, or perhaps both. It is calculated to deceive the reader-to create false impressions, and very frequently to engender feelings and sentiments the very opposite to those that ought to have been entertained. Much as we condemn such a proceeding under ordinary circumstances, we hold the act to be flagrant in the extreme, when its object is to excite ridicule against a people with whom we ought to be on terms of the best fellowship.-to spread still wider those rankling jealousies, those feelings of dislike, anger, and hatred, which every truly noble spirit would rather be desirous to soothe and to subdue.

But not to detain our readers, we shall present them with her description of the life of a lady of "a senator and lawyer of the highest repute:"

"She has a very handsome house, with white marble steps and door-posts, and a delicate silver knocker and door handle. She has very handsome drawing-rooms, very handsomely furnished; there is a sideboard in one of them, but it is very handsome, and has very handsome decanters and cut glass water-jugs upon it. She has a very handsome carriage, and a very handsome free black coachman. She is always very handsomely dressed, and, moreover. she is very handsome herself. She rises, and her first hour is spent in the scrupulously nice arrangement of her dress; she descends to her parlour neat, stiff, and silent; her breakfast is brought to her by her free black footman; she eats her fried ham and her salt fish, and drinks her coffee, in silence, while her husband reads one newspaper, and puts another under his elbow, and then, perhaps, she washes the cups and saucers. Her carriage is ordered at eleven; till that hour she is employed in the pastry room, her snow. white apron protecting her mouse-coloured silk. Twenty minutes before her carriage should appear, she retires to her chamber, as she calls it, shakes and folds up her still snow-white apron, smoothes her rich dress, and with nice care sets on her elegant bonnet, and all the handsome et ceteras, then walks down stairs, just at the moment that her free black coachman announces to her free black footman that the carriage waits. She steps into it, and gives the word, Drive to the Dorcas Society.' Her footman stops at home to clean the knives, but her coachman can trust his horses while he opens the carriage door; and his lady, not being accustomed to a hand or an arm, gets out very safely without, though one of her own is occupied by a workbasket, and the other by a large roll of all those indescribable matters which ladies take as offerings to Doreas Societies. She enters the parlour appropriated for the meeting, and

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finds seven other ladies, very like herself, and takes her place among them: she presents her contribution, which is accepted by a gentle circular sinile, and her parings of broad cloths, her ends of ribbon, her gilt paper, and ber minnikin pins, are added to the contributions with which the table is already covered; she also produces from her basket three ready-made pincushions, four ink wipers, seven paper matches, and a pasteboard watch-case; these are welcomed with acclamations, and the youngest lady present deposits them carefully on the shelves, amid a prodigious quantity of similar articles. She then produces her thimble and asks for work; it is presented to her, and the eight ladies all stitch together for some hours. Their talk is of priests and of missions, of the profits of their last sale, of their hopes from the next, of their doubt whether Mr. This, or young Mr. That, should receive the fruits of it to fit him out for Siberia; of the very ugly bonnet seen at church on sabbath morning; of the very handsome preacher who performed on sabbath afternoon, and of the very large collection made on sabbath evening. This lasts till three, when the carriage again appears, and the lady and her basket return home: she mounts to her chamber, carefully sets aside her bonnet and its appurtenances, puts on her scolloped black silk apron, walks into the kitchen to see that all is right, then into the parlour, where, having cast a careful glance over the table prepared for dinner, she sits down, work in hand, to await her spouse. He comes, shakes hands with her, spits and dines. The conversation is not much; and ten minutes suffice for the dinner, fruit, and toddy; the newspaper and the work-bag succeed. In the evening, the gentleman being a savant, goes to the Wister Society, and afterwards plays a snug rubber at a neighbour's. The lady receives at tea a young missionary and three members of the Dorcas Society, and so ends her day."

This, as we have said before, is a tolerably fair specimen of a particular class of the Philadelphia ladies. In it there is nothing to be ashamed of; on the contrary, there is much to approve and imitate. Even Mrs. Trollope's pen has failed to injure the fair original in our esteein:-it could not hint a love of intrigue or insinuate a doubt of character. It presents us with a day's life of a lovely, modest, goodhearted, amiable, and benevolent woman; and we thank Mrs. T. for the picture, though we must reprove her for the bad feeling she displays in an endeavour to overwhelm with ridicule that which is so deserving of praise and admiration.

ROMANTIC LEGEND.

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We copy the following legend from Lord Nugent's new work, entitled Legends of the Library at Lilies." It must be premised, that the youthful couple had been separated by an intrigue of an ambitious mother, which led to a mutual belief of the other's inconstancy.

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It soothed my wounded heart, my wayward fancy, to lie
beside her on this monumental stone, to call it my nuptial
couch! You weep, Aline! Nay, dry your tears. I am
wrong to move you thus; and tears enough have already
fallen on these cold stones. But we will weep no inore;
and to-morrow's blessed dawn shall begin a life of smiles for
both of us." Why did you bring me here, dear Hypolite?'
said the fair girl; why did you bring me here? Indeed,
indeed, we have had our share of melancholy. My heart
sickens at the remembrance of grief, it yearns for happiness;
and this scene, with all that it recals of your past suffer.
ings, gives me a pang which you ought not to inflict. It
is, at least, unnecessary now, Hypolite, 'tis strange, but I
am jealous of that marble figure. You came to her for
comfort, when you thought your Aline false. You came
to her, because she could not change. You found here a
silent welcome, but it was changeless; and her bosom was
less cold than that which had so lately cast you away. Oh,
Hypolite! if you loved her, how must you have hated me!'
Sweet Aline,' returned Hypolite, how can I chide you
for such jealousy? Oh, no! It tells me of the warm true
love that lives for me within your faithful, your wronged
heart. But you also must acknowledge the motive which
drew me to this spot-to la Belle Chanoinesse. It was
true and ardent love for you that made me forswear all
all other solace than what this peaceful semblance of death
could promise me. To-morrow. Aline! to-morrow!-Hark!
what noise is that? Who spoke? Who laughed?' With
a slight shudder. Aline clung to her lover, and both paused,
and listened again to catch the sound. It was not repeated.
Aline,' said Hypolite, pressing the trembling girl to his
bosom, Aline, we will go. We have been overheard; and
what we have said has appeared fit subject for merriment
to some one whose heart is free from care and kindly feel-
ing.' It was no laugh,' replied Aline; and she clung still
closer to his breast. Hypolite, it was no laugh-at least,
no merriment was there. Tis said, idiots will laugh when
they see others weep, I could fancy such ill-timed mirth,
a sonnd so lacking sense and sympathy, in the wild noise we
heard. I tremble still. Yes, let us hasten hence, dear Hy-
polite. It is a childish wish of mine; but would that we
were to meet to-morrow in any other church than this?-
Once, already, here have our fond hopes been crossed. Oh,
may they not again be deceived!'

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And now the morning came. The church was crowded with smiling faces, and the bride and bridegroom stood be fore the altar, to receive the blessing to which every bosom was eager to respond, It was a sultry September morning, and the gay assembly drew no sad presage from the gathering darkness of the atmosphere, which seemed to portend a stormy day. The distant thunder growled, and sheets of faint summer lightning flickered at intervals against the "On the eve of the day which was now fixed for their purple canopy which gradually deepened along the skymarriage, they walked alone together, till the moon had The priest was proceeding to pronounce the final benedicrisen high above their heads. As they were returning to tion, and the hands of the betrothed were already joined the residence of Aline, Hypolite drew her towards the together, when a sudden and tremendous shock of an earthchurch, in which, when a few hours more should have quake rocked the whole edifice to its foundation. The elapsed, those vows were to be exchanged between them words broke off. The congregation were panic-struck; which would unite their fates indissolubly and for ever.— many sunk on the pavement with fear; some rushed to the They entered, and passing up the main aisle, approached doors to escape the threatening peril; but few had had time the tomb of the Belle Chanoinesse. The faint beams of the to issue forth, before a second shock came, and then a third, lamp, which was suspended before the high altar, fell upon to which the high altar, and that part on which it stood, the recumbent statue. Hypolite's arm was round the slen- bowed and sunk with a tremendous crash. The loud shrieks der waist of his companion. Aline,' said he, you must of hundreds were heard, mingled with the roar of the admire the calm and melancholy beauty of the Belle Cha- crumbling edifice; a stifling cloud of dust arose, and for noinesse; you must love this monument for my sake.- some minutes covered all the building; and when it cleared Aline, it was but yesterday you asked me what had soothed away, nearly a one-third portion of the church lay in a my spirits into patience under my affliction-who had been mighty and confused mass of ruins. All those who had my friend, my comforter? The midnight silence of this been near the altar, had, at the first alarm, takeu refuge in church that steady, constant flame, shedding a glimpse that part which still stood. As the trembling crowds aslike that of memory over the scene of past day's busy tur- sembled in the streets, all were found safe and unhurt-all moil,the deep repose of this beauteous statue, so like that but one. The bridegroom was missing! In vain did the which she sought and found, the peace which this world name pass from mouth to mouth. All search was vain.cannot give, and never can disturb-all these were long my Vain were the hopes that he might yet be found alive, comforters. Night after night I have lingered here. This among the lighter fragments of the chancel wall. He was has been my bed, Aline,' continued he, placing his spread seen no more till several days after, when the workmen, hand on the cold stone which formed the table for the marble who since that fatal morning had incessantly laboured to figure; here have I rested whenever I could find rest; effect a passage to where the altar had stood, found the there was my kind, my constant friend (he touched the fore- pavement broken into the vaults, over part of which the head of the figure with his lips as he spoke); here was the monument of the Belle Chanoinesse had been built, and patient listener to the story of my woes, the silent monitor, which now, together with the statue, was in fragments.— even the bride who welcomed me, when, as I thought, IThe body of the poor young man was discovered, uncrushed was abandoned by my living bride, by my Aline! Her hands are joined in prayer; look at them, dear love, they are closed upon the ring with which I had prepared to wed you. Betrayed by you, as I then believed I was, I gave to this cold bride that ring, with many a vow, that since you were false, no living one should ever claim me as her ford.

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and unwounded. It appeared as though he had died from suffocation, under one of the low arches of a stone grave, which had not fallen in. His body was stretched out tranquilly in death, and near it lay a small skeleton, which had been buried there probably centuries before. A plain gold ring, of modern workmanship, was on its bony hand."

THE PROPER SITTING POSTURE FOR FEMALES.

This question has been disputed; one party insisting that girls should always sit erect, while others are advocates for a lounging position. It is not difficult to shew that both are wrong: when a delicately formed girl is supposed to be sitting erect, she is generally sitting crooked: to a superficial observer she may appear quite straight; but any one who will sit on a music stool, and endeavour to keep his body in a perpendicular line for ten minutes, will be convinced that it is difficult for even a strong man to sit as long as a delicate female is expected to do, without allowing the spine to sink on one side, or to fall forwards.

chair; and if the lower part of her spine is weak, a small. cushion will afford great relief. As it is quite a mistake to suppose that the shoulders, if raised in any other way than by the action of the muscles, or by the curvature of the spine and ribs, will continue high, there is no real objection to a girl who is delicate being supported by an arm chair; for, occasionally resting on the elbows, a considerable weight is taken off from that part of the spine which is most likely to yield.

These observations refer only to the manner in which delicate girls, whose spines are still straight, should sit when the spine is actually distorted, it will be necessary to use other means.- -Quarterly Journal of Science, Litera

PITIABLE CASE OF AN OLD MAID.

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-The long demurring maid.
Whose lonely unappropriated sweets

The attempt to sit erect beyond a certain time is inju-ture, and Arts, 1827, rious; for although bending the spine occasionally is useful rather than hurtful, yet when it is done involuntarily, and when the bend is attempted to be concealed by an endeavour to keep the head straight, there is a danger of the spine becoming twisted. Inderd a double curve is generally the consequence: there is first a bend to one side, to give ease to the fatigued muscles; and then, to conceal this, there is a second curve that is necessarily accompanied by a slight twist in the vertical line of the whole column.

The proposal to allow children to sit in a crooked or lounging position, seems to have been founded on the idea that all the muscles are more relaxed in this way than even when the child lies at full length on its back. This notion is certainly incorrect, and such a mode of sitting is injurious; fur even were the muscles more relaxed by it, the bones and ligaments acquire such a shape as necessarily produces distortion.

It may naturally be asked how a girl should sit, since it would appear, whether she is in an erect or stooping position, she is equally in danger of becoming crooked. As sitting, in a manner generally recommended, affords little or no support to one who is weak, the answer would be, that a delicate girl should not sit for even more than five or ten minutes without having some support to her back; and when she is fatigued, that she should lie down or recline on a couch. But as it would be very annoying to a girl not to be allowed to sit up except for so short a time, and as a couch is not always at hand, we must endeavyur to shew how a delicate girl may remain in an upright posture for a reasonable time without incurring any risk of becoming crooked. This leads to an inquiry into the merits of the chairs which are at present generally used by children.

Smiled like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff,

Not to be come at by the willing hand."-BLAIR. Mr. Editor:-Convinced that my case is no less lamentable than any which has hitherto claimed your attention, I shall, without apology or preface, unbosom my sorrows and state my grievances. I am a maiden lady of fifty, possessing a fortune not inconsiderable. My father was a rich linendraper of London, who married a lady remarkable for her talents in the different departments of housewifery. Being the eldest of their two daughters, my parents were uncommonly solicitous to bestow on me a good education, and to have me fully initiated into what is called a knowledge of the world. They liberally stored my mind with maxims which (although I received them with veneration) I did not understand: but which, when I came to years of maturity, I resolved to follow, without examining their propriety, or considering their consequences.

At the usual time I was ushered into the world as a girl fully armed against all the wiles of artifice and the fascinations of flattery. I was taught to consider every man who courted my favour as a gallant or debauchee, if he did not perform some extraordinary piece of kindness for me, or was unwilling to be received by me upon the

terms of a slave.

With rigid punctuality I performed the injunctions Young ladies are often obliged, while at their music lessons, to sit upon those chairs which have high backs, long laid on me by my parents. My life was spent in one inlegs, and small seats. These chairs are said to have been sipid round of solicitation and rejection. I found none invented by a very eminent surgeon, and are intended, of my edmirers so frantic as to lie down and break their either to prevent distortion by some supposed operation on the spine, or as the most effectual means of supporting the hearts at my indifference, or to go and sigh to the woods body. It is difficult to imagine how a chair of this descrip- and streams for my cruelty. It is true I received many tion can effect the first purpose; and to discover how far it woeful ballads; but as I found these went far beyond is calculated for the second, the reader should make the ex-reality, I concluded (perhaps justly) that their authors periment on a chair of the same proportion to his figure as could not be sincere. In short (not to tire your patience), the chair in question is to that of a little girl. He will find I was found to be a creature who in a manner breathed that if the seat or surface on which he rests is small in pro- in another atmosphere, who was not willing to partake portion to his body, the chest will, after a time, either fall the common lot of humanity, and who acted only as inforward or on one side, unless he exert himself to a degree that terest directed or age enjoined. is very fatiguing. Indeed, if the seat be at the same time so high that the feet do not rest fairly on the ground, but dangle under the chair, a forward position of the head is almost necessary to preserve the balance of the figure.

The objection to such chairs have been met with the assertion, that girls feel remarkably comfortable in them.This is no argument in favour of their use; for it is not uncommon for a girl who has seven or eight pounds of iron strapped upon her body, and next to her skin, to say the machine annoys her so little that she does not care how long

she wears it.

But whether this chair is agreeable or not, it is easy to shew that it is not calculated to give much proper support to the body, and that it is almost impossible for a delicate girl to sit long in a natural or easy position upon it.

It may be allowed, that the chair which we consider the most comfortable, that is, the chair which affords most support to the body, should, if made in proper proportions, be the best for a delicate girl. In such a chair the seat should be scarcely higher than the knees (thus perinitting the whole of the feet to rest upon the floor), and of such a size that, on sitting back, the upper part of the calves nearly touch it. This form of seat is very different from that of the chair alluded to, the back of which is also equally objectionable; for, instead of being in some degree shaped to the natural curves of the spine, it is made nearly straight, and projects so as to push the head forward. A delicate girl should always sit so as to rest against the back of the

While I was thus engaged, my younger sister made an elopement with a neighbouring grocer's son, with whom she had exchanged a few glances, while purchasing some articles for the use of the family. My father, as may naturally be conceived, was at first irreconcileable; but the young man's father being a constant customer of my father's, an agreement was happily effected before any severe measures had been taken.

Thus, while my sister was laudibly (I must say) performing her duty to society, I was spending my time in useless inquiries, suspicions, and deliberations, till the time of action was over, and the possibility of choice precluded.

Robbed by the hand of time of all those attractions which awaken and cherish the tender sentiment of love, I am become the derision of my enemies, the sport of the young, and the contempt of the aged. If I enter at any time into the assemblies of youth and gaiety, I may expect to meet the glances of the whole company, while a low titter circling around, conveys to my ears the invi dious epithet of an Old Maid.

If, again, I seek for relief among those whom age has rendered more grave and solemn, I meet with a mortification no less grievous. They look upon me either as one who by some disgusting peculiarity has excluded herself from the joys of connubial felicity, or, as a misanthrope who

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has shut herself up from the burdens and cares of the marriage state, to enjoy the quiet of celibacy. Had I followed the sage advice of my favourite author, this had not been my present situation. "There are goods," says he, so opposed, that we cannot seize both, but, by too much prudence, may pass between them at too great a distance to reach either." This is often the fate of long consideration; he does nothing who endeavours to do more than is allowed to humanity. Flatter not yourself with contrarieties of pleasure: of the blessings set before you make your choice, and be content.

Advanced to my fiftieth year, I look back with regret on a life spent to little or no purpose; unless, Sir, my conduct may serve as a warning to others against that false scrupulousness in the choice of a husband, which has ruined my happiness, and rendered me more an object of pity than of censure. L. E, L.

upon the subject which has enabled us to discover that they knew nothing about the matter. This is about the extent of information which the wisest of us have derived from their researches. In truth, there is no employment so unprofitable as digging in the mine of metaphysics. The produce may sometimes be showy, but is never sterling. It reminds one of the laburnum, its rich clusters of blossoms serve to decorate the shrubbery, but the hum of the bee is never heard among them, for they furnish no nutriment.-Royal Lady's Magazine.

EFFECTS OF TIGHT LACING.-A few weoks ago a smart, well-dressed, fine-looking young woman, with a figure remarkably symmetrical, presented herself before Mr. Minshull at Bow-street, and craved his assistance under the following serious circumstances:-She stated that she had been discharged from a situation without a character, except one that her employers wished her to accept, but which she had rejected with becoming digADVICE TO GENTLEMEN INTENDING TO MARRY.-nity, viz., " that she invariably laced her stays so tight that she could do no work." The accusation she denied with disdain, and naturally felt a proper contempt for the mistress who held her form and appearance in such slight estimation. However, such a character prevented her procuring another place, and she prayed the worthy magistrate to interfere and protect her. Alas! the days of chivalry are gone! The worthy and venerable Mr. Minshull assured her that he conld do nothing for her, and she was eventually compelled to retire, with no high notions of the gallantry of magistrates, or the taste of puritanical masters or mistresses.

I once called on Horne Tooke, in Richmond-buildings, with Mr. Merry, the poet, just as the latter was on the eve of being married to Miss Brampton, the actress. In the course of conversation, Mr. Tooke adverted to his intended marriage; and, directing his discourse to me, said, "I told this gentleman that I was once as near the danger of matrimony as he is at present; but an old friend, to whom I looked with reverence for his wisdom and experience, gave me the following advice: You must first,' said he, consider the person of the lady, and endeavour to satisfy yourself that, if she has excited, she "I'M AFRAID I'M TOO EARLY."-As I was leisurely is likely to secure your admiration. You must deeply scrutinize her mind, reflect whether she possesses a rate walking the streets the other evening, a young lady, acof intellect that would be likely to render her an intelli-companied by a gentleman, ascended the steps of a house gent companion; if you are satisfied she does, you are to lighted up very brilliantly, and thus exclaimed to her examine her temper, and, if you find it amiable, and not companion-" I'm afraid I'm too early!" Thinks I to likely to irritate your own on any occasion, you must myself, too early for what? as it was then near nine proceed to obtain all the information you can procure it cannot be too early to go home or even to go to bed, as o'clock in the evening. Certainly, said I, in a low voice, respecting her parents and relatives; and if you have no reason to object to their being your relations and com- has made such vast improvements during the last half customs were when I was young. But, said I, the world panions, you must then inquire who and what are her friends, for you must not expect her to sacrifice all her century, it is impossible to guess what the young lady old connexions when she becomes your wife; and, if you was too early for; and after walking half a mile, comfind them agreeable people, and not likely to be burden-paring the past with the present, I determined on resome or intrusive, and are quite satisfied with the pros that is to say, walk by slowly and see what was going on. tracing my steps, to reconnoitre the illuminated premises, pect, you may then order your wedding clothes, and fix the day for your marriage. When the bride is dressed Judge of my surprise, when every appearance indicated suitable to the occasion, the friends at church, and the that a tea-party was assembling. Thinks I to myself priest ready to begin, you should get upon your horse, when the good woman of the house would wash her again, how different from the by-gone days of my youth, and ride away from the place as fast and as far as your dinner-dishes, put on her best calico dress, catch, bridle horse would carry you.' 'This counsel,' added Mr. Tooke, from one who was thoroughly acquainted with and saddle the old mare, jump on her at one o'clock, ride the world, made me investigate the nature of wedlock; by flapjacks swimming in butter, and return home in three or four miles and take a cup of bohea, accompanied and, considering the difficulties attending the advice which he recommended, made me resolve never to enter for ever gone, and with them has gone much of the reseason to get supper for the family! But those days are into the happy state.' publican simplicity which was once a characteristic of the people of New England.---American Paper.

"

LOVE.-The passion of love is undoubtedly the most complex and the most curious of all the passions. It is to be found everywhere. All nature avers its influence, and it may with truth be said to cover the earth as the waters cover the sea. It is the growth of all climates, for lovers of all ranks and descriptions may be seen basking in the rays of a tropical sun, and, at the same time, like whales and walrusses, they may be found disporting amid snow-storms, and melting with tenderness on an iceberg. Love, moreover, is immortal; for although it is now a fact well ascertained, that several species of animals have disappeared from the surface of the globe since the historical ages, yet is love as lively as if he was born yesterday, and judging from experience, there is every reason to believe that he will outlive the last man. This thought ought to be a great consolation to us, as it will give us time to explain the hitherto inexplicable system by which he has ruled the hearts and turned the heads of mankind-and of womankindthroughout all generations. Our greatest philosophers have devoted themselves, from time to time, to the elucidation of his mysterious influence-they have examined his operations, in the most profound spirit of inquiryand the result has been that they have thrown a light

LITERATURE.

TO MARY.

་་

BY THE AUTHOR OF ABSURDITIES."
My heart is gone, and I've no art to tell—

And shall but ill express what I can feel so well:
But that I love thee, Mary, is as true

As I have lost one heart-and won thee too.

I fain would sing what I can never feign;
(To be a gay deceiver I'm too plain)
But fear I some false note-whate'er my fire-
Would make me seem, in truth-the Muse's Liar!
Besides, beside myself I first must be,
Ere I can praise in artful poesy,

One whom plain reason guides in her converse,
Who would not give a smile for rhyme per-verse!

Then in three simple words, I'll simply say,
"I love thee!"-aye, and will till "settling day;"
For Time shall work no change in me-unless
Time dwindles thee-why then I'll love thee-less.
-In point of beauty, tho' we disagree,

I trust this will our only diff'rence be.

And this may be averted, while I live,
If thou wilt please thy counteuance to give
To him, who wanting thy fair favour, will
Be in such need that needs must quickly kill.
-But stay my pen !—perchance thou mayʼst esteem
As sweet profession, this my candid theme :
A final word or two I'll just indite,

Which right well fit what I'm well pleased to write.

When Cavil waited on the widow Bland,
With letter and with settlement in hand-
She read Sir Solo's nonsense—and she sigh’ð:

Then sweetly said, just laying it aside,

(The world's experience such precaution breeds)

His words are fine-now let me see-the Deeds !” THE BOUDOIR; October, 1832. London S. Robinson. A very superior number, embellished with beautiful engravings of Shirley House and Arundel Castle; also, a neatly executed plate of Ladies in Fashionable Costume. The Literary department contains a well-selected variety of light and amusing, as well as instructive reading, with several pieces of good poetry, from which we select the following:

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LITERARY SOUVENIR for 1832. Longman and Co. Few, if any, of the Annuals of this year will be found better to fulfil their pleasant end than does this present vo. lume of the "Literary Souvenir" Its contents are se lected with taste and judgment, arranged with an eye to variety and contrast, and are sufficiently numerous to afford scope for the admission of many different classes of composition, from some of the most favourite cultivators of this gay department in the garden ground of modern letters.

THE FORGET ME NOT for 1833. Ackermann. We need not say better of this publication, than it is not inferior to its numerous predecessors-more numerous, we believe, than those of any other of those" Annuals" which have contrived to make themselves, by some pleasant alche my," perennials;"-for the "Forget Me Not" is the parent of them all, in this country at least. The plates are pretty, but not remarkable for any higher degree of merit than that which will maintain for them a creditable place among their competitors. Those of Night and Love," and The Emigrant's Daughter," are the best.

REVIEW OF MUSIC.

De Pinna's Cavatina, Gaily chaunt the Summer Birds, and his Serenade, When Rosy Daylight Flies, are two of the sweetest compositions of their kind which we have ever heard. The words, too, by Mr. Imlah, and especially the Serenade, are exceedingly pretty and musical. We warmly recommend these songs to all those of our lady readers who possess a piano, and the skill of making it discourse" most eloquent music"

THE BRIDE.

Written by Charles Jefferys.-Composed by S. Nelson. Sung by Mrs. Wood.

Oh! take her, but be faithful still,

And may the bridal vow

Be sacred held in after years,
And warmly breath'd as now.

Remember 'tis no common tie

That binds her youthful heart;
Tis one that only Truth could weave,
And only Death can part.

The paradise of childhood's hour,
The home of riper years,
The treasur'd scenes of early youth,
In sunshine and in tears.

The purest hopes her bosom knew.
When her young heart was free;
All these and more she now resigns,
To brave the world with thee.
Her lot in life is fixed with thing,
It's good and ill to share;
And well I know 'twill be her pride
To soothe each sorrow there.
Then take her; and may fleeting Time
Mark only Joy's increase!
And may your days glide sweetly on
In happiness and peace!

DOMESTIC ECONOMY.

Loss OF WEIGHT IN COOKING ANIMAL FOOD.-It is well known that, in whatever way the flesh of animals is prepared for food, a considerable diminution takes place in its weight. As it is a subject both curious and useful in domestic economy, we shall give the result of a set of experiments) which were actually made in a public establishment; they were not undertaken from mere curiosity, but to serve a purpose of practical utility,

Twenty-eight pieces of beef, weighing 280 pounds, lost in boiling 73 pounds 14 ounces. Hence the loss by beef in boiling was about 26 pounds and a half in 100 pounds.

Nineteen pieces of beef, weighing 190 pounds, lost in roasting 61 pounds 2 ounces. The weight of beef lost in roasting appears to be 32 pounds in each hundred.

Nine pieces of beef, weighing 90 pounds, lost in baking 27 pounds. Weight lost by beef in baking, 30 pounds in each hundred.

Twenty-seven legs of mutton, weighing 260 pounds, lost in boiling, and by having the shank-bones taken off, 62 pounds 4 ounces. The shank-bones were estimated at 4 ounces each, therefore the loss in boiling was 55 pounds 8 ounces. The loss of weight in legs of mutton boiling is 21 pounds and one-third in each hundred.

Thirty-five shoulders of mutton, weighing 350 pounds, lost in roasting. 109 pounds 10 ounces. The loss of weight one-third in each hundred. in shoulders of mutton, by roasting, is about 31 pounds and

roasting, 49 pounds 14 ounces. Hence loins of mutton lose, Sixteen loins of mutton, weighing 141 pouods, lost in by roasting, about 35 pounds and a half in each hundred.

Ten necks of mutton, weighing 100 pounds, lost in roasting. 32 pounds 6 ounces.

From the foregoing statement, two practical inferences may be drawn. Ist, In respect of economy, that it is more profitable to boil meat than to roast it. 2dly. Whether we to one-third of its whole weight.-Philosophical Magazine. roast or boil meat, it loses, by being cooked, from one-fifth

In case of any scratch, or wound, from which the lock

jaw is apprehended, bathe the injured part freely with ley, or pearlash and water.

A rind of pork bound upon a wound occasioned by a needle, pin, or nail, prevents the lock-jaw. It should be always applied. Spirits of turpentine is good to prevent the lock-jaw. Strong soft soap, mixed with pulverized chalk, about as thick as batter, put in a thin cloth or bag upon the wound, is said to be a preventive to this danger wound begins to discharge itself, when the patient will find ous disorder. The chalk should be kept moist, till the

relief.

If you happen to cut yourself slightly while cooking, bind on some fine salt: molasses is likewise good.

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Flour boiled thoroughly in milk, so as to make quite a thick porridge, is good in cases of dysentery. A tablespoonful of rum, a table-spoonful of sugar-baker's molasses. and the same quantity of sweet oil, well simmered together, is likewise good for this disorder; the oil softens the harshness of the other ingredients. Mrs. Childe's Frugal Housewife.

TARTAR ON THE TEETH.-It has been ascertained by M. La Baume, that tartar on the teeth is produced in the same manner as coral, by animalcula, which, after having the nidus, insinuate themselves between the gums and teeth, causing diseases of both, and their secretion often contaminates both. M. La Baume has also ascertained that washing the teeth with vinegar and a brush will, in a few days, remove the tartar; and the use of powdered charcoal and tincture of rhatany will effectually prevent its formation.

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