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THE VINE.-A SKETCH.
“ In this little rocky dell,” said my grandfa- | hitherto stunted tendrils, its broad leaves glisther, as I, a light-hearted, laughing girl, tripped tened in the dews of the morning, and its sweet by his side, on a sunny May morning-“in this perfume mingled with every breeze that swept very dell which you so much love, I, too, used across the door-way. to play, when my eyes were as bright and my “I left the cottage for a distant school; years heart as light as yours; and when we reach passed, and when I returned, its strong green yonder rock, and are seated, I will tell you a arms seemed to uphold the cottage roof, its little story, which may interest, and, perhaps, luxuriant foliage threw a grateful shadow over instruct you."
the rude seat which had been reared beneath My heart, as well as my limbs, bounded at it. It seemed to woo the passing zephyrs, and this mention of a story, for I well know how hold them singing in its bosom, and while I sweetly my grandfather could blend the useful lounged beneath its shade, they carolled in my and attractive; and in a moment I was seated, ears soft lullabies. The birds beneath the cotand my dress spread upon the rock to the ex tage eaves and within its sheltering branches, tent of its dimensions, for the double purpose of whispered their loves, reared their rustic protecting the feeble old man from its coldness, homes, and sang soft soothing notes to their and inducing him to sit very near me. I nes tiny nestlings. tled closely to his side, and looked wistfully in " Again I left that cottage home, a man, to his eye, which seemed lighted with something toil and struggle · mid the strife and fever of of youthful brilliancy, as he called up this re the world.' Long and weary was the war I miniscence of his boyhood. “There,” said he, waged with its cares, its hopes deferred, its pointing to a cleft rock which had been riven prospects never realized, and I returned an old, and thrown into a mass by some unknown gray-headed man. power—“there, from amid that mass, when I "As I approached the time-changed roof, which, was a boy, I uprooted a little, stunted vine, in the days of boyhood, and, indeed, of wandering which seemed struggling for life, with a multi manhood too, had seemed to me the very contude of opposing circumstances. I looked at centration of joy and peace, of hope and hapits pale and scattered leaves, which the warm piness,—though gone, all gone, were the friends rays of the sun but seldom reached, its creep- of my youth, the parents who had soothed my ing, scraggled roots, watered by no friendly infant sorrows, and ministered to the wants of rill, and scarce covered with soil, and my young riper years,—the soft, sweet voice of a sister, too, heart pitied its lone poverty. Come with me, who had been as the light of heaven to the eye little, friendless vine, said I; I will transplant of my soul, was hushed in the long sleep of the thee in a more genial soil, where sun and grave,-still flourished and bloomed on my beaushower diffuse their warmest influence,' and if tiful vine, and as its soft leaves fanned my thou wilt requite my labors, thou shalt be the fevered brow, I exclaimed, in the language of pride and joy of my heart. I loosened its slight | an unknown poet, hold to its native rock, and bounded homeward. I turned up the rich mould at the sunny side of
“Oh! beautiful to me art thou,
Green vine,-my pity now our cottage door, and with boyish ardor planted
Is well repaid : deeply the tiny roots which had scarce ever
When thou wert weak, unnoticed, lone, before known shelter. I removed every shrub
I saved, and loved thee as my own. which would throw a shadow upon it; at morn
Now thou dost prove
How, blessing others, we are blest. and even I watered it, and with anxious eye
Though joy is dead within my breast, waited the effect of my faithful labor. Nor did I
Yet thou wilt sing my life to rest, wait and look in vain; soon it thrust upward its
'Mid scenes I love.'"
C. M. S.
THE PURITAN IMMIGRANTS.-As our pub- , among the Puritans? They deserve well of lisher has chosen for one of the embellishments the world, for having done so much toward the of the present number of the magazine, a solution of that problem about liberty of consketch-in the main an excellent one, we science. Even Hume, skeptical Hume, looking think-of the debarkation of the immigrants in through the green spectacles of infidel philosothe ship Mayflower, it may, perhaps, be ex phy though he always did, was obliged to conpected, that some buckets full of editorial en fess this. Conscience was everything with thusiasm will be dipped up from Plymouth har them. “But they made some sad blunders in bor, to treat our readers withal. But we shall that same matter." So they did. But these do no such thing; and that for several reasons, blunders were the legitimate result of the cirnot the least of which is, a pretty strong sus cumstances under which they had been edupicion that our readers are generally good,
cated. To us, the wonder is not that they sensible people. It is the fashion of the times made the blunders, but that they were able to for a man to run crazy, and foam at the mouth, break away so far from the influence of their and perform all manner of strange antics, at | early education—not that the full blaze of the the mere mention of the name of a hero; and sun of religious liberty did not burst upon them when you talk to him of half a score of these at once, which would have been little else but heroic characters, it is necessary sometimes to a miracle, but that that sun shed around them hold bim, for fear he will break somebody's so pure and beautiful a twilight. crockery, in his wild, disorderly mêlée. But It is a truth-and it were idle to dispute it we are for taking things a little more coolly. and to cavil at it, as some affect to do—that the There is some policy in this, we confess; for foundation of our free institutions was laid we cannot help thinking, ever and anon, when on the rock of Christian principle; and we bewe are dealing with a hero, that if we raise a lieve they are maintained only by the maintewhirlwind and waft him up into the skies, we nance of Christian principle. We do not beshall have to get up pretty much the same sort lieve there is any other wall between the present of a whirlwind for the next hero that comes order of things and anarchy and monarchy; nor along. We hope we shall not be charged with can we believe that any republican government penuriousness; but this bellows-blowing is resting on another basis will attain to a very too expensive. We declare we can't afford it. remarkable longevity. If the French republic
That the Puritans of Old England and New ever becomes hoary-headed, there will have to England were stern, iron-hearted, conscientious, be a new corner-stone laid, or we are but a principled men, however, we wonder anybody sorry prophet. who forms his notions in this century, can for a moment doubt. They have, indeed, been NAPOLEON AND ADAMS.- What a contrast overrated. But that is no reason we should was there in the death, as well as in the life of underrate them. With all their errors, foibles, these two great men! The conclusion of Gov. faults, weaknesses—and they had some, many, Seward's late eulogy, on the occasion of the if you will have it so—they presented some of death of the American statesman, presents this the richest specimens of humanity the world contrast in a manner as elegant as truthful. has ever produced. There was too much reli The orator portrays the beautiful and impresgionism, so to speak, among them too much sive picture of the last days of Adams. “He technical religion. Their faces were elongated could not shake off the dews of death,”—we more than they need have been, and there was quote the language of the eulogy—“that gathan austerity bordering on asceticism in their ered on his brow. He could not pierce the piety. Those things were not well. But were thick shades that rose up before him. But he they worse than their relative extremes ? and knew that Eternity lay close by the shores of where, in Cromwell's century, will you go for Time. He knew that his Redeemer lived. the spirit of Christianity, if you do not find it Eloquence, even in that hour, inspired him with
his ancient sublimity of utterance. This,' | arch-a monarch by Divine appointment-the said the dying man, "THIS IS THE END OF first of an endless succession of monarchs. EARTH.' He paused for a moment, and then But there were other monarchs who held sway added, “I AM CONTENT.'
in the earth. He was not content. He would Then is sketched with a hand as masterly reign with his kindred alone. He gathered and true, the rise and fall of another remarkable new and greater armies from his own landman. The sketch is lengthy, but we cannot from subjugated lands. He called forth the resist the temptation to present it entire : "Only young and brave-one from every household two years after the birth of John Quincy from the Pyrenees to the Zuyder Zee-from Adams, there appeared on an island in the Jura to the ocean. He marshalled them into } Mediterranean Sea, a human spirit, newly born, long and majestic columns, and went forth to endowed with equal genius, without the regu seize that universal dominion which seemed lating qualities of justice and benevolence almost within his grasp. But ambition had which Adams possessed in such an eminent tempted fortune too far. The nations of the degree. A like career opened to both : born, earth resisted, repelled, pursued, surrounded like Adams, a subject of a king—the child of him. The pageant was ended. The crown more genial skies, like him, became in early fell from his presumptuous head. The wife life a patriot and a citizen of a new and great who had wedded him in his pride, forsook him republic. Like Adams, he lent his service to in the hour when fear came upon him. His the State in precocious youth, and in its hour child was ravished from bis sight. His kinsof need, and won its confidence. But unlike men were degraded to their first estate, and he Adams, he could not wait the dull delays of was no longer emperor, nor consul, nor geneslow and laborious, but sure advancement. He ral, nor even a citizen, but an exile and a prissought power by the hasty road that leads oner, on a lonely island, in the midst of the through fields of carnage, and he became, like wild Atlantic. Discontent attended him there. Adams, a supreme magistrate, a consul. But The wayward man fretted out a few long there were other consuls. He was not content. years of his yet unbroken manhood, looking He thrust them aside, and was consul alone. off, at the earliest dawn and in evening's latest Consular power was too short. He fought twilight, toward that distant world that had only new battles, and was consul for life. But just eluded his grasp. His heart corroded. power, confessedly derived from the people, | Death came, not unlooked for, though it came must be exercised in obedience to their will, even then unwelcome. He was stretched on and must be resigned to them again, at least in his bed, within the fort which constituted his death. He was not content. He desolated prison. A few fast and faithful friends stood Europe a fresh, subverted the republic, impris- around, with the guards who rejoiced that the oned the patriarch who presided over Rome's hour of relief from long and wearisome watchcomprehensive see, and obliged him to pour on ing was at hand. As his strength wasted his head the sacred oil that made the persons | away, delirium stirred up the brain from its of kings divine, and their right to reign inde long and inglorious inactivity. The pageant of feasible. He was an emperor. But he saw ambition returned. He was again a lieutenant, around him a mother, brothers and sisters, not a general, a consul, an emperor of France. ennobled, whose humble state reminded him He filled again the throne of Charlemagne. and the world that he was born a plebeian; His kindred pressed around him, again reinand he had no heir to wait impatient for the vested with the pompous pageantry of royalty. imperial crown. He scourged the earth again, the daughter of the long line of kings again and again fortune smiled on him, even in his stood proudly by his side, and the sunny face wild extravagances. He bestowed kingdoms of his child shone out from beneath the diadem and principalities on his kindred, -put away the that encircled its flowing locks. The marshals devoted wife of his youthful days, and another, of the empire awaited his command. The a daughter of Hapsburgh’s imperial house, joy. legions of the Old Guard were in the field, and fully accepted his proud alliance. Offspring their scarred faces rejuvenated, and their ranks, gladdened his anxious sight; a diadem was thinned in many battles, replenished. Russia, placed on its infant brow, and it received the Prussia, Austria, Denmark and England, gathhomage of princes, even in its cradle. Now | ered their mighty hosts to give him battle. he was, indeed, a monarch-a legitimate mon- | Once more he mounted his impatient charger,
and rushed forth to conquest. He waved his lower in the scale of intelligence have learned sword alost and cried, “TETE D'ARMEE. | to take advantage of it. The fererish vision broke—the mockery was ended. The silver cord was loosed, and the BULKLEY'S NIAGARA.-- We promised our warrior sell back upon his bed a lifeless corpse. readers, a while ago, to present a specimen of This was the END OF EARTH. THE CORSICAN
this poem, recently issued from the press of WAS NOT CONTENT.”
Leavitt, Trow & Company; and now that so
many thousands are flocking to see the worldOur Birds.--Say what you will, the par
renowned cataract, we must redeem the promtridge is a very interesting bird, on more than ise. What do you say to this, reader? one account; and the pair which our artist has
“I saw the day-star set behind the bills; sketched in the engraving brings so forcibly to
The shadows fell o'er plain, and stream, and vale, our mind sundry tricks which we have noticed
As if the sunbeams bright had lost their life, in some members of this family, that we can And now had lengthened out their darkened forms hardly help alluding to one or two. You must
To die on earth; slowly they sank to rest,
Their requiem sung in vesper tones of birds, know that the partridge is a very demure-look
And leaves and brooks that murmured low their grief ing sori of fellow. Nobody would suspect, to In mutled winds, and groaning cataracts; see these birds hobbling along in the woods,
The tearful flowers their censers waved in air,
The streams moved on funereal to the sea, and occasionally turning around in a very silly
Their burial place, bearing with solemn looks manner, to look at their pursuer, that there was The death shades of the day; and as they marched, any wit about them. But there is a good deal
Their footsteps lightly might be heard to sweep of it. When the female has a nest, her cun
Along th' enamelled banks, themselves all clad
With Night's dim robe of grief. The bills stood by, ning almost always prevents its discovery. We Like dark veiled mourners round the couch of death. have spent hours, when a boy, in hunting after With sorrow mute, and witnessed last of all
The spectacle of Day's departing light, a partridge's nest, but we could have found a
Sending their tears forth from their fountain-eyes, gold mine as well. As soon as the partridge While the gre n trees, their offspring on their breasts, perceives an enemy approaching, she leaves Wept dew-urops down upon the sad dark bier,
Borne by the rivers on. All Earth was still, her nest carefully, after covering it with leaves,
Her hour for tears had now returned again, and without making the least noise, walks
For darkness settled on her heart its weight; away several rods from the spot. Then she
The moaning Waterfall threw down his form
In griel's abandonment, and writhed in wo; discovers herself, and tries to make her ene
Yet not forgetful of the widowed sky, mies believe that her treasures are concealed Into her ear he poured his sympathies in that vicinity. When the young appear, the Witla manly voice, to soothe her aching breast;
And o'er her brow to close her sleepless lids, inother makes use of another artifice at the
Whose starry lashes shone 'mid dewy tears, approach of danger. She first utters a note of
Drew the solt curtains of his gauze-like mists. alarm, which the little ones understand, and in Slowly the moments made their pilgrimage,
For the dim clouds bung o'er the path of Time, an instant they hide themselves ainong the
To frown away the stars that measure night, leaves or grass, till the danger is over. The
And check his chariot wheels in circling course. mother throws herself in the path, and begins The last deep sigh of natural life seemed heaved,
At evening, and methought the pulseless earth to flutter and beat the ground with her wings,
Had died indeed, her children parentless, at a great rate, pretending to be wounded.
And not a kindred orb to weep her loss." The object of this feint is to draw attention from the young to herself, which, unless the
DEMPSTER'S CONCERTS.-Mr. Dempster, the passenger is well acquainted with her strata
far-famed vocalist, has taken his leave of our gems, she succeeds in doing. She allows
| city, though we hope only for a short time. We herself to be clased until she is at a sufficient
are always delighted with his singing. There distance from the spot where the little ones are
is not a particle of empiricism about him, that concealed, and then she exhibits pretty conclu
ever we could see. He puts on no airs-emsive evidence that her power of locomotion is quite adequate to the circumstances, after all.
ploys no superfluous so-called embellishments, This maneuvre is rather a severe satire on the
to captivate the soulless vulgar-he does not rapacity of the race of Adam. This running
" tear a passion to tatters, to very rags," with full tilt after the largest prize-real or sup
his endless graces, his trills, and turns, and posed--is a peculiarity of the genus homo, so tremandos, like a poor, shivering victim of the marked, it should seem, that animals much ague. On the contrary, he is simple, modest,
unaffected-willing to make up in the sweet- | There is a vast amount of talent in every comness of his musical tones what he lacks in | munity, which, like latent heat, is now useless clap-trap. The airs he sings are mostly of | to others; and which, with a little effort, might his own conception; and some of them, as become available. We do sincerely hope, that specimens of the true ballad style, are most no excessive modesty or fear of editorial ceneffective. Such sweet and touching efforts as sorship, will deter any one who has the faculty the “ May Queen,” and the “ Lament of the
of writing sensibly and well, from sending us Irish Emigrant,” place him in the front rank
an occasional contribution. The publisher of composers in this department, and separate authorizes us to say, that he will forward the him from the legion of stupid musical pretend
Magazine one year to any person from whom ers, as far at least as the poles are separated.
an acceptable article is received.
Now we think of it, we must acknowledge
the receipt of some pleasant lines from a new A WORD to New CONTRIBUTORS.–We are female contributor, under the caption of always happy to hear from a new contributor, “Grief for the Dead,” which shall appear in and wish to extend a general and cordial invi our next number. May we hope to hear again tation to our friends to write for our pages. ! from the same source ?
Napoleon and the Marshals of the Empire. Complete in
two volumes ; with sixteen steel Portraits in Military Costume. Philadelphia : Carey & Hart. New York: Sold by John S. Taylor.
Gunn's Domestic Medicine, or, Poor Man's Friend in the
hours of Affliction, Pain, and Sickness. New revised edition, improved and enlarged. New York : Charles M. Saxton.
This work is issned in the same style with “ Washington and the Generals of the Revolution," by the same enterprising house, and it has a similar general design and plan. We have taken great pleasure in reading it. The picture which the author draws of Napoleon is, in our judgment, pretty nearly accordant with truth. In other words, we do not essentially dissent from the conclusions arrived at in the history, and think that he is right in the main. There must be, from the nature of the case,- from the brilliancy, eccentricity, and unparalleled achievements of this remarkable man, as well as from the diversity of position in the stand-points from which he must be viewed-various and conflicting opinions respecting his motives, while none, unless they be wilfully and stupidly blinded by prejudice, can fail to concede to bim the possession of genius in a degree seldom reached in the world's history. Those who have written of Napoleon's achievements, and who have respectively passed them under review, in the light of philosophy, have very generally fallen into one of two opposite extremes. They have either praised him too much or too little -either lauded him as a sort of demi-god, both as to the strength of his intellect, and the purity, disinterestedness, and philanthropy of his aims; or branded him as an ambitious, blood-thirsty fiend in human shape, with about the same number of redeeming qualities that Milton accords to the archapostate himself. Now it needs but little shrewdness for an unprejudiced student of history to discover that neither of these opinions is correct. The truth, we humbly conceive, lies somewhere between these extremes-very possibly about midway. At all events, the writer of this history seems disposed to avoid equally both extremes, and we certainly honor his judgment. The sketches of this wonderful general and his twenty-six marshals, besides possessing great intrinsic excellence, which adapts them to any age, will be especially interesting when read in the light of the new and astonishing political changes that are now taking place in France, and in fact on the whole arena of Napoleon's conquests.
As a general proposition, we are opposed to the use of those books in the family which describe the symptoms and niodes of treatment of all manner of diseases. Somebody has said that the world is governed too much With equal truth we think it may be said that the world is doctored too much ; and it has been our opinion that medical works prosessing to be safe guides for the use of tbe family, were too often the offspring of empirics. For this reason we have thought them capable of effecting quite as much evil as good. But this book of Dr. Gunn, if we do not greatly mistake, is liable to no objections on this score. It bears the marks of having been written by a scientific man, and one of intimate acquaintance with his profession. We like it for this reason, too, if for no other-that it advocates the use of medicine sparingly ; and in cases of slight indisposition not at all. Dr. Gunn's practice, we believe, is somewhat in accordance with the principles of the old school, though differing from those principles so far as to be called the reformed practice. What that reformation is, exactly, we do not know. Perhaps it consists, in part, in giving less medicine-perhaps in administering fewer mineral and more vegetable agents-perhaps it includes both these elements At any rate, our examination of the book leads us to believe that these elements are embraced in the system, and this change of itself is a reform worth speakipg of. We should think it decidedly the best manual of the kind that we have ever seen. For our single self, we hardly know what to believe, in this revolutionary age, about this matter of curing diseases. We are erratic, perhaps, in our theories-skeptical, for aught we know.
A French Grammar, or, Plain Instructions for learning
French. In a series of Letters. By WILLIAM COBBETT. New York: John Doyle. As an assistant in learning to read and write the French language, this Grammar has long stood in the front rank, and we are glad to see this edition of Mr. Doyle. The style is